Chapter 102

1‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?And wha will glove my hand?And wha will bind my middle jimpWi a lang, lang linen band?2‘O wha will kame my yellow hair,With a haw bayberry kame?And wha will be my babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame?’3‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,Thy brother will glove thy hand,Thy mither will bind thy middle jimpWi a lang, lang linen band.4‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,Wi a haw bayberry kame;The Almighty will be thy babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame.’5‘And wha will build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea?For I will go to seek my love,My ain love Gregory.’6Up then spak her father dear,A wafu man was he;‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea.7‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea,And ye sal gae and seek your love,Your ain love Gregory.’8Then he’s gard build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea,Wi four-and-twenty mariners,To bear her company.9O he’s gart build a bonny ship,To sail on the salt sea;The mast was o the beaten gold,The sails [o] cramoisie.10The sides were o the gude stout aik,The deck o mountain pine,The anchor o the silver shene,The ropes o silken twine.11She had na saild but twenty leagues,But twenty leagues and three,When she met wi a rank rever,And a’ his companie.12‘Now are ye queen of heaven hie,Come to pardon a’ our sin?Or are ye Mary Magdalane,Was born at Bethlam?’13‘I’m no the queen of heaven hie,Come to pardon ye your sin,Nor am I Mary Magdalane,Was born in Bethlam.14‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,That’s sailing on the seaTo see if I can find my love,My ain love Gregory.’15‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?It’s a’ covered oer wi tin;When thou hast saild it round about,Lord Gregory is within.’16And when she saw the stately tower,Shining both clear and bright,Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,Built on a rock of height,17Says, Row the boat, my mariners,And bring me to the land,For yonder I see my love’s castle,Close by the salt sea strand.18She saild it round, and saild it round,And loud and loud cried she‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,And set my true-love free.’19She’s taen her young son in her armsAnd to the door she’s gane,And long she knockd, and sair she ca’d,But answer got she nane.20‘O open, open, Gregory!O open! if ye be within;For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,Come far fra kith and kin.21‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!O open and let me in!The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,The rain drops fra my chin.22‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,The glove unto my hand,The wet drops fra my yellow hair,Na langer dow I stand.’23O up then spak his ill mither,An ill death may she die!‘Y’re no the lass of Lochroyan,She’s far out-our the sea.24‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,Ye’re no come here for gude;Ye’re but some witch or wil warlock,Or mermaid o the flood.’25‘I am neither witch nor wil warlock,Nor mermaid o the sea,But I am Annie of Lochroyan,O open the door to me!’26‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,As I trow thou binna she,Now tell me of some love-tokensThat past tween thee and me.’27‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,As we sat at the wine,We chang’d the rings frae our fingers?And I can shew thee thine.28‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,But ay the best was mine,For yours was o the gude red gowd,But mine o the diamond fine.29‘Yours was o the gude red gowd,Mine o the diamond fine;Mine was o the purest troth,But thine was false within.’30‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,As I kenna thou be,Tell me some mair o the love-tokensPast between thee and me.’31‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,As we sat on the hill,Thou twin’d me o my maidenheid,Right sair against my will?32‘Now open the door, love Gregory!Open the door! I pray;For thy young son is in my arms,And will be dead ere day.’33‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,So loud I hear ye lie;For Annie of the LochroyanIs far out-our the sea.’34Fair Annie turnd her round about:‘Weel, sine that it be sae,May neer woman that has borne a sonHae a heart sae fu o wae!35‘Take down, take down that mast o gowd,Set up a mast of tree;It disna become a forsaken ladyTo sail sae royallie.’36When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,And the sun began to peep,Up then raise Lord Gregory,And sair, sair did he weep.37‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,I wish it may bring good!That the bonny lass of LochroyanAt my bower-window stood.38‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,The thought o’t gars me greet!That fair Annie of LochroyanLay dead at my bed-feet.’39‘Gin it be for Annie of LochroyanThat ye make a’ this main,She stood last night at your bower-door,But I hae sent her hame.’40‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,An ill death may ye die!That wadna open the door yoursellNor yet wad waken me.’41O he’s gane down to yon shore-side,As fast as he coud dree,And there he saw fair Annie’s barkA rowing our the sea.42‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’But ay the mair he cried AnnieThe braider grew the tide.43‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,Dear Annie, speak to me!’But ay the louder he gan callThe louder roard the sea.44The wind blew loud, the waves rose hieAnd dashd the boat on shore;Fair Annie’s corpse was in the feume,The babe rose never more.45Lord Gregory tore his gowden locksAnd made a wafu moan;Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,His bonny son was gone.46‘O cherry, cherry was her cheek,And gowden was her hair,And coral, coral was her lips,Nane might with her compare.’47Then first he kissd her pale, pale cheek,And syne he kissd her chin,And syne he kissd her wane, wane lips,There was na breath within.48‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She turnd my true-love frae my door,Who came so far to me.49‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She has no been the deid o ane,But she’s been the deid of three.’50Then he’s taen out a little dart,Hung low down by his gore,He thrust it through and through his heart,And words spak never more.

1‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?And wha will glove my hand?And wha will bind my middle jimpWi a lang, lang linen band?

‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?

And wha will glove my hand?

And wha will bind my middle jimp

Wi a lang, lang linen band?

2‘O wha will kame my yellow hair,With a haw bayberry kame?And wha will be my babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame?’

‘O wha will kame my yellow hair,

With a haw bayberry kame?

And wha will be my babe’s father

Till Gregory come hame?’

3‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,Thy brother will glove thy hand,Thy mither will bind thy middle jimpWi a lang, lang linen band.

‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,

Thy brother will glove thy hand,

Thy mither will bind thy middle jimp

Wi a lang, lang linen band.

4‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,Wi a haw bayberry kame;The Almighty will be thy babe’s fatherTill Gregory come hame.’

‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,

Wi a haw bayberry kame;

The Almighty will be thy babe’s father

Till Gregory come hame.’

5‘And wha will build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea?For I will go to seek my love,My ain love Gregory.’

‘And wha will build a bonny ship,

And set it on the sea?

For I will go to seek my love,

My ain love Gregory.’

6Up then spak her father dear,A wafu man was he;‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea.

Up then spak her father dear,

A wafu man was he;

‘And I will build a bonny ship,

And set her on the sea.

7‘And I will build a bonny ship,And set her on the sea,And ye sal gae and seek your love,Your ain love Gregory.’

‘And I will build a bonny ship,

And set her on the sea,

And ye sal gae and seek your love,

Your ain love Gregory.’

8Then he’s gard build a bonny ship,And set it on the sea,Wi four-and-twenty mariners,To bear her company.

Then he’s gard build a bonny ship,

And set it on the sea,

Wi four-and-twenty mariners,

To bear her company.

9O he’s gart build a bonny ship,To sail on the salt sea;The mast was o the beaten gold,The sails [o] cramoisie.

O he’s gart build a bonny ship,

To sail on the salt sea;

The mast was o the beaten gold,

The sails [o] cramoisie.

10The sides were o the gude stout aik,The deck o mountain pine,The anchor o the silver shene,The ropes o silken twine.

The sides were o the gude stout aik,

The deck o mountain pine,

The anchor o the silver shene,

The ropes o silken twine.

11She had na saild but twenty leagues,But twenty leagues and three,When she met wi a rank rever,And a’ his companie.

She had na saild but twenty leagues,

But twenty leagues and three,

When she met wi a rank rever,

And a’ his companie.

12‘Now are ye queen of heaven hie,Come to pardon a’ our sin?Or are ye Mary Magdalane,Was born at Bethlam?’

‘Now are ye queen of heaven hie,

Come to pardon a’ our sin?

Or are ye Mary Magdalane,

Was born at Bethlam?’

13‘I’m no the queen of heaven hie,Come to pardon ye your sin,Nor am I Mary Magdalane,Was born in Bethlam.

‘I’m no the queen of heaven hie,

Come to pardon ye your sin,

Nor am I Mary Magdalane,

Was born in Bethlam.

14‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,That’s sailing on the seaTo see if I can find my love,My ain love Gregory.’

‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,

That’s sailing on the sea

To see if I can find my love,

My ain love Gregory.’

15‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?It’s a’ covered oer wi tin;When thou hast saild it round about,Lord Gregory is within.’

‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?

It’s a’ covered oer wi tin;

When thou hast saild it round about,

Lord Gregory is within.’

16And when she saw the stately tower,Shining both clear and bright,Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,Built on a rock of height,

And when she saw the stately tower,

Shining both clear and bright,

Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,

Built on a rock of height,

17Says, Row the boat, my mariners,And bring me to the land,For yonder I see my love’s castle,Close by the salt sea strand.

Says, Row the boat, my mariners,

And bring me to the land,

For yonder I see my love’s castle,

Close by the salt sea strand.

18She saild it round, and saild it round,And loud and loud cried she‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,And set my true-love free.’

She saild it round, and saild it round,

And loud and loud cried she

‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,

And set my true-love free.’

19She’s taen her young son in her armsAnd to the door she’s gane,And long she knockd, and sair she ca’d,But answer got she nane.

She’s taen her young son in her arms

And to the door she’s gane,

And long she knockd, and sair she ca’d,

But answer got she nane.

20‘O open, open, Gregory!O open! if ye be within;For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,Come far fra kith and kin.

‘O open, open, Gregory!

O open! if ye be within;

For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,

Come far fra kith and kin.

21‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!O open and let me in!The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,The rain drops fra my chin.

‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!

O open and let me in!

The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,

The rain drops fra my chin.

22‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,The glove unto my hand,The wet drops fra my yellow hair,Na langer dow I stand.’

‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,

The glove unto my hand,

The wet drops fra my yellow hair,

Na langer dow I stand.’

23O up then spak his ill mither,An ill death may she die!‘Y’re no the lass of Lochroyan,She’s far out-our the sea.

O up then spak his ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

‘Y’re no the lass of Lochroyan,

She’s far out-our the sea.

24‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,Ye’re no come here for gude;Ye’re but some witch or wil warlock,Or mermaid o the flood.’

‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

Ye’re no come here for gude;

Ye’re but some witch or wil warlock,

Or mermaid o the flood.’

25‘I am neither witch nor wil warlock,Nor mermaid o the sea,But I am Annie of Lochroyan,O open the door to me!’

‘I am neither witch nor wil warlock,

Nor mermaid o the sea,

But I am Annie of Lochroyan,

O open the door to me!’

26‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,As I trow thou binna she,Now tell me of some love-tokensThat past tween thee and me.’

‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,

As I trow thou binna she,

Now tell me of some love-tokens

That past tween thee and me.’

27‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,As we sat at the wine,We chang’d the rings frae our fingers?And I can shew thee thine.

‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,

As we sat at the wine,

We chang’d the rings frae our fingers?

And I can shew thee thine.

28‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,But ay the best was mine,For yours was o the gude red gowd,But mine o the diamond fine.

‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,

But ay the best was mine,

For yours was o the gude red gowd,

But mine o the diamond fine.

29‘Yours was o the gude red gowd,Mine o the diamond fine;Mine was o the purest troth,But thine was false within.’

‘Yours was o the gude red gowd,

Mine o the diamond fine;

Mine was o the purest troth,

But thine was false within.’

30‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,As I kenna thou be,Tell me some mair o the love-tokensPast between thee and me.’

‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,

As I kenna thou be,

Tell me some mair o the love-tokens

Past between thee and me.’

31‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,As we sat on the hill,Thou twin’d me o my maidenheid,Right sair against my will?

‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,

As we sat on the hill,

Thou twin’d me o my maidenheid,

Right sair against my will?

32‘Now open the door, love Gregory!Open the door! I pray;For thy young son is in my arms,And will be dead ere day.’

‘Now open the door, love Gregory!

Open the door! I pray;

For thy young son is in my arms,

And will be dead ere day.’

33‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,So loud I hear ye lie;For Annie of the LochroyanIs far out-our the sea.’

‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,

So loud I hear ye lie;

For Annie of the Lochroyan

Is far out-our the sea.’

34Fair Annie turnd her round about:‘Weel, sine that it be sae,May neer woman that has borne a sonHae a heart sae fu o wae!

Fair Annie turnd her round about:

‘Weel, sine that it be sae,

May neer woman that has borne a son

Hae a heart sae fu o wae!

35‘Take down, take down that mast o gowd,Set up a mast of tree;It disna become a forsaken ladyTo sail sae royallie.’

‘Take down, take down that mast o gowd,

Set up a mast of tree;

It disna become a forsaken lady

To sail sae royallie.’

36When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,And the sun began to peep,Up then raise Lord Gregory,And sair, sair did he weep.

When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,

And the sun began to peep,

Up then raise Lord Gregory,

And sair, sair did he weep.

37‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,I wish it may bring good!That the bonny lass of LochroyanAt my bower-window stood.

‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,

I wish it may bring good!

That the bonny lass of Lochroyan

At my bower-window stood.

38‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,The thought o’t gars me greet!That fair Annie of LochroyanLay dead at my bed-feet.’

‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,

The thought o’t gars me greet!

That fair Annie of Lochroyan

Lay dead at my bed-feet.’

39‘Gin it be for Annie of LochroyanThat ye make a’ this main,She stood last night at your bower-door,But I hae sent her hame.’

‘Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan

That ye make a’ this main,

She stood last night at your bower-door,

But I hae sent her hame.’

40‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,An ill death may ye die!That wadna open the door yoursellNor yet wad waken me.’

‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,

An ill death may ye die!

That wadna open the door yoursell

Nor yet wad waken me.’

41O he’s gane down to yon shore-side,As fast as he coud dree,And there he saw fair Annie’s barkA rowing our the sea.

O he’s gane down to yon shore-side,

As fast as he coud dree,

And there he saw fair Annie’s bark

A rowing our the sea.

42‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’But ay the mair he cried AnnieThe braider grew the tide.

‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,

‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’

But ay the mair he cried Annie

The braider grew the tide.

43‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,Dear Annie, speak to me!’But ay the louder he gan callThe louder roard the sea.

‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,

Dear Annie, speak to me!’

But ay the louder he gan call

The louder roard the sea.

44The wind blew loud, the waves rose hieAnd dashd the boat on shore;Fair Annie’s corpse was in the feume,The babe rose never more.

The wind blew loud, the waves rose hie

And dashd the boat on shore;

Fair Annie’s corpse was in the feume,

The babe rose never more.

45Lord Gregory tore his gowden locksAnd made a wafu moan;Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,His bonny son was gone.

Lord Gregory tore his gowden locks

And made a wafu moan;

Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,

His bonny son was gone.

46‘O cherry, cherry was her cheek,And gowden was her hair,And coral, coral was her lips,Nane might with her compare.’

‘O cherry, cherry was her cheek,

And gowden was her hair,

And coral, coral was her lips,

Nane might with her compare.’

47Then first he kissd her pale, pale cheek,And syne he kissd her chin,And syne he kissd her wane, wane lips,There was na breath within.

Then first he kissd her pale, pale cheek,

And syne he kissd her chin,

And syne he kissd her wane, wane lips,

There was na breath within.

48‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She turnd my true-love frae my door,Who came so far to me.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

She turnd my true-love frae my door,

Who came so far to me.

49‘O wae betide my ill mither,An ill death may she die!She has no been the deid o ane,But she’s been the deid of three.’

‘O wae betide my ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

She has no been the deid o ane,

But she’s been the deid of three.’

50Then he’s taen out a little dart,Hung low down by his gore,He thrust it through and through his heart,And words spak never more.

Then he’s taen out a little dart,

Hung low down by his gore,

He thrust it through and through his heart,

And words spak never more.

11, 431. Oh.

P. 233.G.These three stanzas, which Scott annexed to ‘Clerk Saunders’ in the second edition of the Minstrelsy, 1803, II, 41, were contributed by the Ettrick Shepherd, who writes, not quite lucidly: “Altho this ballad [Clerk Saunders] is mixed with another, according to my mother’s edition, in favour of whose originality I am strongly prepossessed, yet, as the one does in no sense disgrace the other in their present form, according to her it ends thus.”

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 141, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

1‘But plett a wand o bonnie birkAn lay it on my breast,An drap a tear upon my grave,An wiss my saul gude rest.2‘But fair Marget, an rare Marget,An Marget, o verity,If eer ye loe another man,Neer loe him as ye did me.’3But up then crew the milk-white cock,An up then crew the grey;Her lover vanishd in the air,An she gaed weepin away.

1‘But plett a wand o bonnie birkAn lay it on my breast,An drap a tear upon my grave,An wiss my saul gude rest.

‘But plett a wand o bonnie birk

An lay it on my breast,

An drap a tear upon my grave,

An wiss my saul gude rest.

2‘But fair Marget, an rare Marget,An Marget, o verity,If eer ye loe another man,Neer loe him as ye did me.’

‘But fair Marget, an rare Marget,

An Marget, o verity,

If eer ye loe another man,

Neer loe him as ye did me.’

3But up then crew the milk-white cock,An up then crew the grey;Her lover vanishd in the air,An she gaed weepin away.

But up then crew the milk-white cock,

An up then crew the grey;

Her lover vanishd in the air,

An she gaed weepin away.

P. 236 b. Add: Waldau’s Böhmische Granaten, II, 121, No 176.

236 f., III, 512 f. The Rev. S. Baring-Gould has recovered several copies of ‘The Unquiet Grave’ in the West Country. It will be observed that the variations in this ballad do not take a wide range. The verses are not always sung in the same order; there is not story enough to keep them in place. Mr Baring-Gould informs me that there is a Devon popular tale which is very similar (possibly a prose version of the ballad). In this, a bramble-leaf comes between the lips of the maiden and her dead lover, and her life is saved thereby. This tale is utilized in the ballad as printed in Songs of the West, No 6, ‘Cold blows the wind, sweetheart!’

a.Sent Rev. S. Baring-Gould by Mrs Gibbons, daughter of the late Sir W. L. Trelawney, as she remembered it sung by her nurse, Elizabeth Doidge, a woman of the neighborhood of Brentor, about 1828.b.Obtained by the same from John Woodrich, blacksmith, parish of Thrustleton, as heard from his grandmother about 1848.c.By the same, from Anne Roberts, Scobbeter.

1‘Cold blows the wind tonight, sweet-heart,Cold are the drops of rain;The very first love that ever I hadIn greenwood he was slain.2‘I’ll do as much for my sweet-heartAs any young woman may;I’ll sit and mourn on his grave-sideA twelve-month and a day.’3A twelve-month and a day being up,The ghost began to speak:‘Why sit you here by my grave-sideAnd will not let me sleep?4‘What is it that you want of me,Or what of me would have?’‘A kiss from off your lily-white lips,And that is all I crave!’5‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,My breath is earthy strong;To gain a kiss of my cold lips,Your time would not be long.6‘If you were not my own sweet-heart,As now I know you be,I’d tear you as the withered leavesThat grew on yonder tree.’7‘O don’t you mind the garden, love,Where you and I did walk?The fairest flower that blossomd thereIs withered on the stalk.* * * * * *8‘And now I’ve mourned upon his graveA twelvemonth and a day,We’ll set our sails before the windAnd so we’ll sail away.’

1‘Cold blows the wind tonight, sweet-heart,Cold are the drops of rain;The very first love that ever I hadIn greenwood he was slain.

‘Cold blows the wind tonight, sweet-heart,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The very first love that ever I had

In greenwood he was slain.

2‘I’ll do as much for my sweet-heartAs any young woman may;I’ll sit and mourn on his grave-sideA twelve-month and a day.’

‘I’ll do as much for my sweet-heart

As any young woman may;

I’ll sit and mourn on his grave-side

A twelve-month and a day.’

3A twelve-month and a day being up,The ghost began to speak:‘Why sit you here by my grave-sideAnd will not let me sleep?

A twelve-month and a day being up,

The ghost began to speak:

‘Why sit you here by my grave-side

And will not let me sleep?

4‘What is it that you want of me,Or what of me would have?’‘A kiss from off your lily-white lips,And that is all I crave!’

‘What is it that you want of me,

Or what of me would have?’

‘A kiss from off your lily-white lips,

And that is all I crave!’

5‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,My breath is earthy strong;To gain a kiss of my cold lips,Your time would not be long.

‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,

My breath is earthy strong;

To gain a kiss of my cold lips,

Your time would not be long.

6‘If you were not my own sweet-heart,As now I know you be,I’d tear you as the withered leavesThat grew on yonder tree.’

‘If you were not my own sweet-heart,

As now I know you be,

I’d tear you as the withered leaves

That grew on yonder tree.’

7‘O don’t you mind the garden, love,Where you and I did walk?The fairest flower that blossomd thereIs withered on the stalk.

‘O don’t you mind the garden, love,

Where you and I did walk?

The fairest flower that blossomd there

Is withered on the stalk.

* * * * * *

8‘And now I’ve mourned upon his graveA twelvemonth and a day,We’ll set our sails before the windAnd so we’ll sail away.’

‘And now I’ve mourned upon his grave

A twelvemonth and a day,

We’ll set our sails before the wind

And so we’ll sail away.’

1Cold blows the wind to-night, my love,Cold are the drops of rain;The very first love that ever I hadIn greenwood he was slain.2‘I’ll do as much for my true-loveAs any young woman may;I’ll sit and mourn upon his graveA twelve-month and a day.’3When a twelve-month and a day were up,His body straight arose:‘What brings you weeping oer my graveThat I get no repose?’4‘O think upon the garden, love,Where you and I did walk;The fairest flower that blossomd thereIs withered on the stalk.5‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweet-heart.The flower will neer return,And my true-love is dead, is dead,And I do naught but mourn.’6‘What is it that you want of meAnd will not let me sleep?Your salten tears they trickle downAnd wet my winding-sheet.’7‘What is it that I want of thee,O what of thee in grave?A kiss from off your lily-white lips,And that is all I crave.’8‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,My breath is earthy strong;If you do touch my clay-cold lips,Your time will not be long.’9‘Cold though your lips in death, sweet-heart,One kiss is all I crave;I care not, if I kiss but thee,That I should share thy grave.’10‘Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,Wring water from a stone,And likewise milk from a maiden’s breastThat never maid hath none. (Readbabe had.)* * * * * *11‘Now if you were not true in word,As now I know you be,I’d tear you as the withered leavesAre torn from off the tree.’

1Cold blows the wind to-night, my love,Cold are the drops of rain;The very first love that ever I hadIn greenwood he was slain.

Cold blows the wind to-night, my love,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The very first love that ever I had

In greenwood he was slain.

2‘I’ll do as much for my true-loveAs any young woman may;I’ll sit and mourn upon his graveA twelve-month and a day.’

‘I’ll do as much for my true-love

As any young woman may;

I’ll sit and mourn upon his grave

A twelve-month and a day.’

3When a twelve-month and a day were up,His body straight arose:‘What brings you weeping oer my graveThat I get no repose?’

When a twelve-month and a day were up,

His body straight arose:

‘What brings you weeping oer my grave

That I get no repose?’

4‘O think upon the garden, love,Where you and I did walk;The fairest flower that blossomd thereIs withered on the stalk.

‘O think upon the garden, love,

Where you and I did walk;

The fairest flower that blossomd there

Is withered on the stalk.

5‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweet-heart.The flower will neer return,And my true-love is dead, is dead,And I do naught but mourn.’

‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweet-heart.

The flower will neer return,

And my true-love is dead, is dead,

And I do naught but mourn.’

6‘What is it that you want of meAnd will not let me sleep?Your salten tears they trickle downAnd wet my winding-sheet.’

‘What is it that you want of me

And will not let me sleep?

Your salten tears they trickle down

And wet my winding-sheet.’

7‘What is it that I want of thee,O what of thee in grave?A kiss from off your lily-white lips,And that is all I crave.’

‘What is it that I want of thee,

O what of thee in grave?

A kiss from off your lily-white lips,

And that is all I crave.’

8‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,My breath is earthy strong;If you do touch my clay-cold lips,Your time will not be long.’

‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,

My breath is earthy strong;

If you do touch my clay-cold lips,

Your time will not be long.’

9‘Cold though your lips in death, sweet-heart,One kiss is all I crave;I care not, if I kiss but thee,That I should share thy grave.’

‘Cold though your lips in death, sweet-heart,

One kiss is all I crave;

I care not, if I kiss but thee,

That I should share thy grave.’

10‘Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,Wring water from a stone,And likewise milk from a maiden’s breastThat never maid hath none. (Readbabe had.)

‘Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,

Wring water from a stone,

And likewise milk from a maiden’s breast

That never maid hath none. (Readbabe had.)

* * * * * *

11‘Now if you were not true in word,As now I know you be,I’d tear you as the withered leavesAre torn from off the tree.’

‘Now if you were not true in word,

As now I know you be,

I’d tear you as the withered leaves

Are torn from off the tree.’

1‘It’s for to meet the falling drops,Cold fall the drops of rain;The last true-love,etc.2‘I’ll do as much for my fair loveAs any,’etc.

1‘It’s for to meet the falling drops,Cold fall the drops of rain;The last true-love,etc.

‘It’s for to meet the falling drops,

Cold fall the drops of rain;

The last true-love,etc.

2‘I’ll do as much for my fair loveAs any,’etc.

‘I’ll do as much for my fair love

As any,’etc.

The rest “almost exactly” asb.

‘Charles Graeme,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 89, Motherwell’s MS., p. 624, begins with stanzas which belong to this ballad. What follows after the third, or just possibly the sixth, stanza reads as if some contributor had been diverting himself with an imposition on the editor’s simplicity. Buchan himself remarks in a note, p. 299: “There seems to be a very great inconsistency manifested throughout the whole of this ballad in the lady’s behavior towards the ghost of her departed lover. Perhaps she wished to sit and sigh alone, undisturbed with visits from the inhabitants of the grave.” (Translated by Gerhard, p. 63.)

1‘Cauld, cauld blaws the winter night,Sair beats the heavy rain;Young Charles Graeme’s the lad I love,In greenwood he lies slain.2‘But I will do for Charles GraemeWhat other maidens may;I’ll sit and harp upon his graveA twelvemonth and a day.’3She harped a’ the live-lang night,The saut tears she did weep,Till at the hour o one o’clockHis ghost began to peep.4Pale and deadly was his cheek,And pale, pale was his chin;And how and hollow were his een,No light appeard therein.5‘Why sit ye here, ye maiden fair,To mourn sae sair for me?’‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,Aye foot I cannot jee.6‘Sae well’s I loved young Charles Graeme,I kent he loved me;My very heart’s now like to breakFor his sweet companie.’7‘Will ye hae an apple, lady,And I will sheave it sma?’‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,I cannot eat at a’.’8‘Will ye hae the wine, lady,And I will drain it sma?’‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,I cannot drink at a’.9‘See ye not my father’s castle,Well covered ower wi tin?There’s nane has sic an anxious wishAs I hae to be in.’10‘O hame, fair maid, ye’se quickly won,But this request grant me;When ye are safe in downbed laid,That I may sleep wi thee.’11‘If hame again, sir, I could win,I’ll this request grant thee;When I am safe in downbed laid,This night ye’se sleep wi me.’12Then he poud up a birken bow,Pat it in her right han,And they are to yon castle fair,As fast as they coud gang.13When they came to yon castle fair,It was piled round about;She slipped in and bolted the yetts,Says, Ghaists may stand thereout.14Then he vanishd frae her sightIn the twinkling o an ee;Says, Let never ane a woman trustSae much as I’ve done thee.

1‘Cauld, cauld blaws the winter night,Sair beats the heavy rain;Young Charles Graeme’s the lad I love,In greenwood he lies slain.

‘Cauld, cauld blaws the winter night,

Sair beats the heavy rain;

Young Charles Graeme’s the lad I love,

In greenwood he lies slain.

2‘But I will do for Charles GraemeWhat other maidens may;I’ll sit and harp upon his graveA twelvemonth and a day.’

‘But I will do for Charles Graeme

What other maidens may;

I’ll sit and harp upon his grave

A twelvemonth and a day.’

3She harped a’ the live-lang night,The saut tears she did weep,Till at the hour o one o’clockHis ghost began to peep.

She harped a’ the live-lang night,

The saut tears she did weep,

Till at the hour o one o’clock

His ghost began to peep.

4Pale and deadly was his cheek,And pale, pale was his chin;And how and hollow were his een,No light appeard therein.

Pale and deadly was his cheek,

And pale, pale was his chin;

And how and hollow were his een,

No light appeard therein.

5‘Why sit ye here, ye maiden fair,To mourn sae sair for me?’‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,Aye foot I cannot jee.

‘Why sit ye here, ye maiden fair,

To mourn sae sair for me?’

‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,

Aye foot I cannot jee.

6‘Sae well’s I loved young Charles Graeme,I kent he loved me;My very heart’s now like to breakFor his sweet companie.’

‘Sae well’s I loved young Charles Graeme,

I kent he loved me;

My very heart’s now like to break

For his sweet companie.’

7‘Will ye hae an apple, lady,And I will sheave it sma?’‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,I cannot eat at a’.’

‘Will ye hae an apple, lady,

And I will sheave it sma?’

‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,

I cannot eat at a’.’

8‘Will ye hae the wine, lady,And I will drain it sma?’‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,I cannot drink at a’.

‘Will ye hae the wine, lady,

And I will drain it sma?’

‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,

I cannot drink at a’.

9‘See ye not my father’s castle,Well covered ower wi tin?There’s nane has sic an anxious wishAs I hae to be in.’

‘See ye not my father’s castle,

Well covered ower wi tin?

There’s nane has sic an anxious wish

As I hae to be in.’

10‘O hame, fair maid, ye’se quickly won,But this request grant me;When ye are safe in downbed laid,That I may sleep wi thee.’

‘O hame, fair maid, ye’se quickly won,

But this request grant me;

When ye are safe in downbed laid,

That I may sleep wi thee.’

11‘If hame again, sir, I could win,I’ll this request grant thee;When I am safe in downbed laid,This night ye’se sleep wi me.’

‘If hame again, sir, I could win,

I’ll this request grant thee;

When I am safe in downbed laid,

This night ye’se sleep wi me.’

12Then he poud up a birken bow,Pat it in her right han,And they are to yon castle fair,As fast as they coud gang.

Then he poud up a birken bow,

Pat it in her right han,

And they are to yon castle fair,

As fast as they coud gang.

13When they came to yon castle fair,It was piled round about;She slipped in and bolted the yetts,Says, Ghaists may stand thereout.

When they came to yon castle fair,

It was piled round about;

She slipped in and bolted the yetts,

Says, Ghaists may stand thereout.

14Then he vanishd frae her sightIn the twinkling o an ee;Says, Let never ane a woman trustSae much as I’ve done thee.

Then he vanishd frae her sight

In the twinkling o an ee;

Says, Let never ane a woman trust

Sae much as I’ve done thee.

P. 240, 513 a, III, 514. Mabillon cites Balderic’s history of the first crusade, whose words are: “Multi etiam de gente plebeia crucem sibi divinitus innatam jactando ostentabant, quod et idem quædam ex mulierculis præsumpserunt; hoc enim falsum deprehensum est omnino. Multi vero ferrum callidum instar crucis sibi adhibuerunt, vel peste jactantiæ, vel bonæ suæ voluntatis ostentatione.” Migne, Patrologiæ Curs. Compl., tom. clxvi, col. 1070.

A man who is looking forward to a pilgrimage to the Holy Land wishes to have the cross burned into his right shoulder, since then, though he should be stript of his clothes, the cross would remain: Miracula S. Thomæ, Auctore Benedicto, Robertson, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, II, 175. The branding of the cross in the flesh must have become common, since it was forbidden by the canon law. In some editions of the Sarum Missal, a warning is inserted in the Servitium Peregrinorum: “Combustio crucis in carne peregrinis euntibus Hierusalem prohibitum est in lege, secundum jura canonica, sub pœna excommunicationis majoris.” Sarum Missal, Burntisland, 1867, col. 856*. (Cited by Cutts, Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages, p. 167.)

P. 242 ff.F, which Jamieson says he received from Scotland, happens to have been preserved at Abbotsford. Since Jamieson made a considerable number of small changes, the original text is now given here.

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 133 c, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

1‘I have a towr in Dalesberry,Whilk now is dearly dight,And I will gie it to young Musgrave,To lodge wi me a night.’2‘To lodge wi thee a night, fair lady,Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;For I see by the rings on your fingersYe’re good Lord Barnaby’s wife.’3‘Lord Barnaby’s wife although I be,Yet what is that to thee?For we’l beguile him for this ae night;He’s on to fair Dundee.4‘Come here, come here, my little foot-page,This guinea I will give thee,If ye will keep thir secrets clossTween young Musgrave an me.5‘But here hae I a little pen-knife,Hings low down by my gare;If ye dinna keep thir secrets closs,Ye’l find it wonder sair.’6Then she’s taen him to her chamber,An down in her arms lay he;The boy koost off his hose an shoonAn ran for fair Dundee.7When he came to the wan water,He slackd his bow an swam,An when he wan to growan gressSet down his feet an ran.8And whan he came to fair Dundee,Could nouther rap nor ca,But set his braid bow to his breastAn merrily jumpd the wa.9‘O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,Waken, an come away!’‘What ails, what ails my wee foot-pageHe cry’s sae lang or day?10‘O is my towers burnt, my boy?Or is my castle won?Or has the lady that I loe bestBrought me a daughter or son?’11‘Your halls are safe, your towers are safeAn free frae all alarms;But oh, the lady that ye loe bestLyes sound i Musgrave’s arms.’12‘Gae saddle me the black,’ he cry’d,‘Gae saddle me the gray;Gae saddle me the milk-white steed,To hie me out the way.’13‘O lady, I heard a wee horn tout,An it blew wonder clear,An ay the turnin o the noteWas, Barnaby will be here!14‘I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,An it blew loud an hie,An ay at ilka turn it said,Away, Musgrave, away!’15‘Lye still, my dear, lye still, my dear,Ye keep me frae the cold!For it is but my father’s shepherds,Drivin there flocks to the fold.’16Up they lookit, an down they lay,An they’re fa’n sound asleep;Till up start good Lord Barnaby,Just closs at their bed-feet.17‘How do ye like my bed, Musgrave?An how like ye my sheets?An how like ye my fair lady,Lyes in your arms an sleeps?’18‘Weel I like your bed, my lord,An weel I like your sheets;But ill like I your fair lady,Lyes in my arms an sleeps.19‘You got your wale o se’en sisters,An I got mine o five;So take ye mine, an I’s take thine,An we nae mair shall strive.’20‘O my woman’s the best womanThat ever brake world’s bread,But your woman’s the worst womanThat ever drew coat oer head.21‘I have two swords in my scabbart,They are baith sharp an clear;Take ye the best, and I the worst,An we’l end the matter here.22‘But up an arm thee, young Musgrave,We’l try it hand to hand;It’s neer be said o Lord BarnabyHe struck at a naked man.’23The first stroke that young Musgrave got,It was baith deep an sair,An down he fell at Barnaby’s feet,An word spak never mair.24‘A grave! a grave!’ Lord Barnaby cry’d,‘A grave to lay them in!My lady shall lye on the sunny side,Because of her noble kin.’25But O how sorry was that good lord,For a’ his angry mood,When he espy’d his ain young sonAll weltering in his blood!

1‘I have a towr in Dalesberry,Whilk now is dearly dight,And I will gie it to young Musgrave,To lodge wi me a night.’

‘I have a towr in Dalesberry,

Whilk now is dearly dight,

And I will gie it to young Musgrave,

To lodge wi me a night.’

2‘To lodge wi thee a night, fair lady,Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;For I see by the rings on your fingersYe’re good Lord Barnaby’s wife.’

‘To lodge wi thee a night, fair lady,

Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;

For I see by the rings on your fingers

Ye’re good Lord Barnaby’s wife.’

3‘Lord Barnaby’s wife although I be,Yet what is that to thee?For we’l beguile him for this ae night;He’s on to fair Dundee.

‘Lord Barnaby’s wife although I be,

Yet what is that to thee?

For we’l beguile him for this ae night;

He’s on to fair Dundee.

4‘Come here, come here, my little foot-page,This guinea I will give thee,If ye will keep thir secrets clossTween young Musgrave an me.

‘Come here, come here, my little foot-page,

This guinea I will give thee,

If ye will keep thir secrets closs

Tween young Musgrave an me.

5‘But here hae I a little pen-knife,Hings low down by my gare;If ye dinna keep thir secrets closs,Ye’l find it wonder sair.’

‘But here hae I a little pen-knife,

Hings low down by my gare;

If ye dinna keep thir secrets closs,

Ye’l find it wonder sair.’

6Then she’s taen him to her chamber,An down in her arms lay he;The boy koost off his hose an shoonAn ran for fair Dundee.

Then she’s taen him to her chamber,

An down in her arms lay he;

The boy koost off his hose an shoon

An ran for fair Dundee.

7When he came to the wan water,He slackd his bow an swam,An when he wan to growan gressSet down his feet an ran.

When he came to the wan water,

He slackd his bow an swam,

An when he wan to growan gress

Set down his feet an ran.

8And whan he came to fair Dundee,Could nouther rap nor ca,But set his braid bow to his breastAn merrily jumpd the wa.

And whan he came to fair Dundee,

Could nouther rap nor ca,

But set his braid bow to his breast

An merrily jumpd the wa.

9‘O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,Waken, an come away!’‘What ails, what ails my wee foot-pageHe cry’s sae lang or day?

‘O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,

Waken, an come away!’

‘What ails, what ails my wee foot-page

He cry’s sae lang or day?

10‘O is my towers burnt, my boy?Or is my castle won?Or has the lady that I loe bestBrought me a daughter or son?’

‘O is my towers burnt, my boy?

Or is my castle won?

Or has the lady that I loe best

Brought me a daughter or son?’

11‘Your halls are safe, your towers are safeAn free frae all alarms;But oh, the lady that ye loe bestLyes sound i Musgrave’s arms.’

‘Your halls are safe, your towers are safe

An free frae all alarms;

But oh, the lady that ye loe best

Lyes sound i Musgrave’s arms.’

12‘Gae saddle me the black,’ he cry’d,‘Gae saddle me the gray;Gae saddle me the milk-white steed,To hie me out the way.’

‘Gae saddle me the black,’ he cry’d,

‘Gae saddle me the gray;

Gae saddle me the milk-white steed,

To hie me out the way.’

13‘O lady, I heard a wee horn tout,An it blew wonder clear,An ay the turnin o the noteWas, Barnaby will be here!

‘O lady, I heard a wee horn tout,

An it blew wonder clear,

An ay the turnin o the note

Was, Barnaby will be here!

14‘I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,An it blew loud an hie,An ay at ilka turn it said,Away, Musgrave, away!’

‘I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,

An it blew loud an hie,

An ay at ilka turn it said,

Away, Musgrave, away!’

15‘Lye still, my dear, lye still, my dear,Ye keep me frae the cold!For it is but my father’s shepherds,Drivin there flocks to the fold.’

‘Lye still, my dear, lye still, my dear,

Ye keep me frae the cold!

For it is but my father’s shepherds,

Drivin there flocks to the fold.’

16Up they lookit, an down they lay,An they’re fa’n sound asleep;Till up start good Lord Barnaby,Just closs at their bed-feet.

Up they lookit, an down they lay,

An they’re fa’n sound asleep;

Till up start good Lord Barnaby,

Just closs at their bed-feet.

17‘How do ye like my bed, Musgrave?An how like ye my sheets?An how like ye my fair lady,Lyes in your arms an sleeps?’

‘How do ye like my bed, Musgrave?

An how like ye my sheets?

An how like ye my fair lady,

Lyes in your arms an sleeps?’

18‘Weel I like your bed, my lord,An weel I like your sheets;But ill like I your fair lady,Lyes in my arms an sleeps.

‘Weel I like your bed, my lord,

An weel I like your sheets;

But ill like I your fair lady,

Lyes in my arms an sleeps.

19‘You got your wale o se’en sisters,An I got mine o five;So take ye mine, an I’s take thine,An we nae mair shall strive.’

‘You got your wale o se’en sisters,

An I got mine o five;

So take ye mine, an I’s take thine,

An we nae mair shall strive.’

20‘O my woman’s the best womanThat ever brake world’s bread,But your woman’s the worst womanThat ever drew coat oer head.

‘O my woman’s the best woman

That ever brake world’s bread,

But your woman’s the worst woman

That ever drew coat oer head.

21‘I have two swords in my scabbart,They are baith sharp an clear;Take ye the best, and I the worst,An we’l end the matter here.

‘I have two swords in my scabbart,

They are baith sharp an clear;

Take ye the best, and I the worst,

An we’l end the matter here.

22‘But up an arm thee, young Musgrave,We’l try it hand to hand;It’s neer be said o Lord BarnabyHe struck at a naked man.’

‘But up an arm thee, young Musgrave,

We’l try it hand to hand;

It’s neer be said o Lord Barnaby

He struck at a naked man.’

23The first stroke that young Musgrave got,It was baith deep an sair,An down he fell at Barnaby’s feet,An word spak never mair.

The first stroke that young Musgrave got,

It was baith deep an sair,

An down he fell at Barnaby’s feet,

An word spak never mair.

24‘A grave! a grave!’ Lord Barnaby cry’d,‘A grave to lay them in!My lady shall lye on the sunny side,Because of her noble kin.’

‘A grave! a grave!’ Lord Barnaby cry’d,

‘A grave to lay them in!

My lady shall lye on the sunny side,

Because of her noble kin.’

25But O how sorry was that good lord,For a’ his angry mood,When he espy’d his ain young sonAll weltering in his blood!

But O how sorry was that good lord,

For a’ his angry mood,

When he espy’d his ain young son

All weltering in his blood!

The following copy was kindly communicated to me by Mr David MacRitchie, Honorary Secretary of the Gypsy Lore Society, in advance of its publication in the Journal of the society. While it preserves the framework of the story, it differs very considerably in details from all the printed copies. It is evidently of the same origin as some of the Scottish versions (all of which seem to derive from print), though it has no marked resemblance to the actual form of any particular one of these. Some peculiarities are plausibly attributable to dim or imperfect recollection. Thus, the ball-play ofD,E, etc., is turned into a ball. Lord Barnard is made a king, and the page the king’s brother (neither of which changes is an improvement). We may observe that inJLord Barnabas is at the king’s court, and inISir Grove is Lord Bengwill’s brother; but these points are not decisive, and the changes may be purely arbitrary. 4 shows traces ofE5 andF3; 8 may have been suggested by something likeG4; and the last line of 14 looks like a corruption ofG29. This involves the supposition that the source of the ballad was a version somewhat different from any hithertorecovered; but ‘Little Musgrave’ is one of the best known of all ballads, and the variants must have been innumerable. On the whole, 1–8, 14, present a free treatment of ill-remembered matter; 9–13 are fairly well preserved; compareE13–17.

‘Moss Groves,’ taken down in 1891 by Mr John Sampson, Liverpool, from Philip Murray, an old tinker, who learned the ballad in his boyhood from an old gypsy named Amos Rice.

1There was four-and-twenty ladiesAssembled at a ball,And who being there but the king’s wife,The fairest of them all.2She put her eye on the Moss Groves,Moss Groves put his eye upon she:‘How would you like, my little Moss Groves,One night to tarry with me?’3‘To sleep one night with you, fair lady,It would cause a wonderful sight;For I know by the ring upon your handYou are the king’s wife.’4‘If I am the king’s wife,I mean him to beguile;For he has gone on a long distance,And won’t be back for a while.’5Up spoke his brother,An angry man was he;‘Another night I’ll not stop in the castleTill my brother I’ll go see.’6When he come to his brother,He was in a hell of a fright:‘Get up, get up, brother dear!There’s a man in bed with your wife.’7‘If it’s true you tell unto me,A man I’ll make of thee;If it’s a lie you tell unto me,It’s slain thou shalt be.’8When he came to his hall,The bells begun to ring,And all the birds upon the bushThey begun to sing.9‘How do you like my covering-cloths?And how do you like my sheets?How do you like my lady fair,All night in her arms to sleep?’10‘Your covering-cloths I like right well,Far better than your sheets;Far better than all your lady fair,All night in her arms to sleep.’11‘Get up, get up now, little Moss Groves,Your clothing do put on;It shall never be said in all EnglandThat I drew on a naked man.12‘There is two swords all in the castleThat cost me very dear;You take the best, and I the worst,And let’s decide it here.’13The very first blow Moss Groves he gave,He wounded the king most sore;The very first blow the king gave him,Moss Groves he struck no more.14She lifted up his dying headAnd kissed his cheek and chin:‘I’d sooner have you now, little Moss Groves,Than all their castles or kings.’

1There was four-and-twenty ladiesAssembled at a ball,And who being there but the king’s wife,The fairest of them all.

There was four-and-twenty ladies

Assembled at a ball,

And who being there but the king’s wife,

The fairest of them all.

2She put her eye on the Moss Groves,Moss Groves put his eye upon she:‘How would you like, my little Moss Groves,One night to tarry with me?’

She put her eye on the Moss Groves,

Moss Groves put his eye upon she:

‘How would you like, my little Moss Groves,

One night to tarry with me?’

3‘To sleep one night with you, fair lady,It would cause a wonderful sight;For I know by the ring upon your handYou are the king’s wife.’

‘To sleep one night with you, fair lady,

It would cause a wonderful sight;

For I know by the ring upon your hand

You are the king’s wife.’

4‘If I am the king’s wife,I mean him to beguile;For he has gone on a long distance,And won’t be back for a while.’

‘If I am the king’s wife,

I mean him to beguile;

For he has gone on a long distance,

And won’t be back for a while.’

5Up spoke his brother,An angry man was he;‘Another night I’ll not stop in the castleTill my brother I’ll go see.’

Up spoke his brother,

An angry man was he;

‘Another night I’ll not stop in the castle

Till my brother I’ll go see.’

6When he come to his brother,He was in a hell of a fright:‘Get up, get up, brother dear!There’s a man in bed with your wife.’

When he come to his brother,

He was in a hell of a fright:

‘Get up, get up, brother dear!

There’s a man in bed with your wife.’

7‘If it’s true you tell unto me,A man I’ll make of thee;If it’s a lie you tell unto me,It’s slain thou shalt be.’

‘If it’s true you tell unto me,

A man I’ll make of thee;

If it’s a lie you tell unto me,

It’s slain thou shalt be.’

8When he came to his hall,The bells begun to ring,And all the birds upon the bushThey begun to sing.

When he came to his hall,

The bells begun to ring,

And all the birds upon the bush

They begun to sing.

9‘How do you like my covering-cloths?And how do you like my sheets?How do you like my lady fair,All night in her arms to sleep?’

‘How do you like my covering-cloths?

And how do you like my sheets?

How do you like my lady fair,

All night in her arms to sleep?’

10‘Your covering-cloths I like right well,Far better than your sheets;Far better than all your lady fair,All night in her arms to sleep.’

‘Your covering-cloths I like right well,

Far better than your sheets;

Far better than all your lady fair,

All night in her arms to sleep.’

11‘Get up, get up now, little Moss Groves,Your clothing do put on;It shall never be said in all EnglandThat I drew on a naked man.

‘Get up, get up now, little Moss Groves,

Your clothing do put on;

It shall never be said in all England

That I drew on a naked man.

12‘There is two swords all in the castleThat cost me very dear;You take the best, and I the worst,And let’s decide it here.’

‘There is two swords all in the castle

That cost me very dear;

You take the best, and I the worst,

And let’s decide it here.’

13The very first blow Moss Groves he gave,He wounded the king most sore;The very first blow the king gave him,Moss Groves he struck no more.

The very first blow Moss Groves he gave,

He wounded the king most sore;

The very first blow the king gave him,

Moss Groves he struck no more.

14She lifted up his dying headAnd kissed his cheek and chin:‘I’d sooner have you now, little Moss Groves,Than all their castles or kings.’

She lifted up his dying head

And kissed his cheek and chin:

‘I’d sooner have you now, little Moss Groves,

Than all their castles or kings.’

259 a. Insert underC:d.Printed and sold in Aldermary Church-yard, Bow Lane, London.

P. 266.B.Motherwell sent ‘Child Noryce’ to Sir Walter Scott in a letter dated 28 April, 1825 (Letters, XIV, No 94, Abbotsford). He changed several readings (as, orders to errand, in 64), and in three cases went back to original readings which he has altered in his manuscript. I am now convinced that the alterations made in the manuscript are not in general, if ever, corrections derived from the reciters, but Motherwell’s own improvements, and that the original readings should be adhered to.

P. 281. “From Jean Scott.” In the handwriting of William Laidlaw. “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 29, Abbotsford.

Excepting the first stanza, the whole of this fragment (with slight changes) is found in the ballad in Scott’s Minstrelsy. That ballad has about twice as many verses, and the other half might easily have been supplied by the editor.

1Fair Marjorie sat i her bower-door,Sewin her silken seam,When by then cam her false true-love,Gard a’ his bridles ring.2‘Open, open, my true-love,Open an let me in;’‘I dare na, I dare na, my true-love,My brethren are within.’3‘Ye lee, ye lee, my ain true-love,Sae loud I hear ye lee!For or I cam thrae Lothian banksThey took fare-weel o me.’4The wind was loud, that maid was proud,An leath, leath to be dung,But or she wan the Lothian banksHer fair coulour was gane.5He took her up in his armis,An threw her in the lynn.6Up then spak her eldest brother,Said, What is yon I see?Sure, youn is either a drowned ladieOr my sister Marjorie.7Up then spak her second brother,Said, How will wi her ken?Up then spak her . . . brother,There a hinnie-mark on her chin.8About the midle o the nightThe cock began to craw;About the middle o the nightThe corpse began to thraw.9‘O whae has doon ye wrang, sister?O whae has doon ye wrang?’10‘Young Boonjie was the ae first manI laid my love upon;He was sae proud an hardieHe threw me oer the lynne.’11‘O shall we Boonjie head, sister?Or shall we Boonjie hang?Or shall we pyke out his twa grey eyes,An punish him or he gang?’12‘O ye sanna Boonjie head, brother,Ye sana Boonjie hang;But ye maun pyke out his twa grey eyes,An punish him or he gang.’13‘The ae best man about your houseMaun wait young Boonjie on.’

1Fair Marjorie sat i her bower-door,Sewin her silken seam,When by then cam her false true-love,Gard a’ his bridles ring.

Fair Marjorie sat i her bower-door,

Sewin her silken seam,

When by then cam her false true-love,

Gard a’ his bridles ring.

2‘Open, open, my true-love,Open an let me in;’‘I dare na, I dare na, my true-love,My brethren are within.’

‘Open, open, my true-love,

Open an let me in;’

‘I dare na, I dare na, my true-love,

My brethren are within.’

3‘Ye lee, ye lee, my ain true-love,Sae loud I hear ye lee!For or I cam thrae Lothian banksThey took fare-weel o me.’

‘Ye lee, ye lee, my ain true-love,

Sae loud I hear ye lee!

For or I cam thrae Lothian banks

They took fare-weel o me.’

4The wind was loud, that maid was proud,An leath, leath to be dung,But or she wan the Lothian banksHer fair coulour was gane.

The wind was loud, that maid was proud,

An leath, leath to be dung,

But or she wan the Lothian banks

Her fair coulour was gane.

5He took her up in his armis,An threw her in the lynn.

He took her up in his armis,

An threw her in the lynn.

6Up then spak her eldest brother,Said, What is yon I see?Sure, youn is either a drowned ladieOr my sister Marjorie.

Up then spak her eldest brother,

Said, What is yon I see?

Sure, youn is either a drowned ladie

Or my sister Marjorie.

7Up then spak her second brother,Said, How will wi her ken?Up then spak her . . . brother,There a hinnie-mark on her chin.

Up then spak her second brother,

Said, How will wi her ken?

Up then spak her . . . brother,

There a hinnie-mark on her chin.

8About the midle o the nightThe cock began to craw;About the middle o the nightThe corpse began to thraw.

About the midle o the night

The cock began to craw;

About the middle o the night

The corpse began to thraw.

9‘O whae has doon ye wrang, sister?O whae has doon ye wrang?’

‘O whae has doon ye wrang, sister?

O whae has doon ye wrang?’

10‘Young Boonjie was the ae first manI laid my love upon;He was sae proud an hardieHe threw me oer the lynne.’

‘Young Boonjie was the ae first man

I laid my love upon;

He was sae proud an hardie

He threw me oer the lynne.’

11‘O shall we Boonjie head, sister?Or shall we Boonjie hang?Or shall we pyke out his twa grey eyes,An punish him or he gang?’

‘O shall we Boonjie head, sister?

Or shall we Boonjie hang?

Or shall we pyke out his twa grey eyes,

An punish him or he gang?’

12‘O ye sanna Boonjie head, brother,Ye sana Boonjie hang;But ye maun pyke out his twa grey eyes,An punish him or he gang.’

‘O ye sanna Boonjie head, brother,

Ye sana Boonjie hang;

But ye maun pyke out his twa grey eyes,

An punish him or he gang.’

13‘The ae best man about your houseMaun wait young Boonjie on.’

‘The ae best man about your house

Maun wait young Boonjie on.’

33.thare.

4should probably follow 5.

63. either asubstituted forsome.

73. her second: secondstruck out. youngest?

82. The corpse: corpsestruck out.

P. 297.Danish.Now printed as No 298 of Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, by Axel Olrik, the continuator of that noble collection, with the title ‘Svend af Vollersløv.’ There are fifteen old versions besides Tragica 18 (which is a compounded and partly ungenuine text) and the one recently printed by Kristensen, the basis of which is the copy in Tragica. ‘Ung Villum’ is Tragica 18 with two stanzas omitted.

298, III, 515 b. ‘Liden Engel’ is No 297 of Danmarks gamle Folkeviser. There are eight old copies, and Kristensen has added five from recent tradition: the two here noted and three in Jyske Folkeminder, No 49,A-C, 201 ff. There is also a Swedish copy of 1693, printed in Dybeck’s Runa, 1844, p. 98, which I had not observed.

P. 303 b, 513 b, III, 515 b. Robert le Diable in Luzel’s ballad, II, 24 f, when one year old, was as big as a child of five.

At the age of five, Cuchulinn sets out for his uncle’s court, where he performs prodigies of strength. In his seventh year he is received among the heroes, etc.: Zimmer, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen, 1890, pp. 519–20. Merlin, when two years old, “speaks and goes,” and defends his mother before the justice: Arthour and Merlin, vv. 1069–70, ed. Turnbull for the Abbotsford Club, p. 41. Ögmundr when seven years old was as strong as a full-grown man: Örvar-Odds Saga, c. 19, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, II, 241. The three-nights-old son of Thórr and Járnsaxa removes the foot of Hrungnir from the neck of his father when all the gods have tried in vain. He also speaks. Skáldskaparmál, c. 17. “The Shee an Gannon was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in the evening to ask his daughter of the king of Erin:” Curtin, Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, p. 114. Cf. p. 223, where a champion jumps out of the cradle. (G. L. K.)

P. 309.B.“The ballad about Lady Livingston appears to be founded on a truth; her fate is mentioned by Sir R. Gordon. Only her mother, Lady Huntley, is made a queen; which it was natural enough in a Highland poet to do.” Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe to Sir Walter Scott, Letters, XV, No 231, Abbotsford, 1825 or 26.

What Sir Robert Gordon says is: “In July 1616 yeirs, Elizabeth Gordoun, Ladie of Livingstoun (wyff to the Lord Livingstoun, now Earle of Lithgow), daughter to the Marquis of Huntly, died in chyld-bed, at Edinburgh, of a son called George, who is now Lord Livingstoun.” (Genealogy of the Earls of Sutherland, p. 335.) The characteristic particulars are wanting.

Dis also in Kinloch MSS, V, 363, in the youthful handwriting of J. H. Burton, and is probably the original copy. The differences from the text ofD, p. 314, except spellings, are these:

11, it was. 13, and me.

P. 321, note *. See further in Notes and Queries, First Series, II, 519; V, 32, 112, 184, 355.

321 ff., 513.

‘Lamkin,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 133, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

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