FOOTNOTES:

FOOTNOTES:[217]laigher = lower.[218]prins = pins.

[217]laigher = lower.

[218]prins = pins.

Part IIClerk Saunders and may MargaretWalk’d owre yon garden green;And deep and heavy was the loveThat fell thir twa between.II‘A bed, a bed,’ Clerk Saunders said,‘A bed for you and me!’‘Fye na, fye na,’ said may Margaret,‘Till anes we married be!’—III‘Then I’ll take the sword frae my scabbardAnd slowly lift the pin;And you may swear, and save your aith,Ye ne’er let Clerk Saunders in.IV‘Take you a napkin in your hand,And tie up baith your bonnie e’en,And you may swear, and save your aith,Ye saw me na since late yestreen.’VIt was about the midnight hour,When they asleep were laid,When in and came her seven brothers,Wi’ torches burning red:VIWhen in and came her seven brothers,Wi’ torches burning bright:They said, ‘We hae but one sister,And behold her lying with a knight!’VIIThen out and spake the first o’ them,‘I bear the sword shall gar him die.’And out and spake the second o’ them,‘His father has nae mair but he.’VIIIAnd out and spake the third o’ them,‘I wot that they are lovers dear.’And out and spake the fourth o’ them,‘They hae been in love this mony a year.’IXThen out and spake the fifth o’ them,‘It were great sin true love to twain.’And out and spake the sixth o’ them,‘It were shame to slay a sleeping man.’XThen up and gat the seventh o’ them,And never a word spake he;But he has striped[219]his bright brown brandOut through Clerk Saunders’ fair bodye.XIClerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn’dInto his arms as asleep she lay;And sad and silent was the nightThat was atween thir twae.XIIAnd they lay still and sleepit soundUntil the day began to daw’;And kindly she to him did say,‘It is time, true love, you were awa’.’XIIIBut he lay still, and sleepit sound,Albeit the sun began to sheen;She look’d atween her and the wa’,And dull and drowsie were his e’en.XIVThen in and came her father dear;Said, ‘Let a’ your mourning be;I’ll carry the dead corse to the clay,And I’ll come back and comfort thee.’XV‘Comfort weel your seven sons,For comforted I will never be:I ween ’twas neither knave nor loonWas in the bower last night wi’ me.’Part IIIThe clinking bell gaed through the town,To carry the dead corse to the clay;And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret’s window,I wot, an hour before the day.II‘Are ye sleeping, Marg’ret?’ he says,‘Or are ye waking presentlie?Give me my faith and troth again,I wot, true love, I gied to thee.’III‘Your faith and troth ye sall never get,Nor our true love sall never twin[220],Until ye come within my bower,And kiss me cheik and chin.’IV‘My mouth it is full cold, Marg’ret;It has the smell, now, of the ground;And if I kiss thy comely mouth,Thy days of life will not be lang.V‘O cocks are crowing on merry middle-earth,I wot the wild fowls are boding day;Give me my faith and troth again,And let me fare me on my way.’VI‘Thy faith and troth thou sallna get,And our true love sall never twin,Until ye tell what comes o’ women,I wot, who die in strong traivelling?’VII‘Their beds are made in the heavens high,Down at the foot of our good Lord’s knee,Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers;I wot, sweet company for to see.VIII‘O cocks are crowing on merry middle-earth,I wot the wild fowls are boding day;The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,And I, ere now, will be miss’d away.’IXThen she has taken a crystal wand,And she has stroken her troth thereon;She has given it him out at the shot-window,Wi’ mony a sad sigh and heavy groan.X‘I thank ye, Marg’ret; I thank ye, Marg’ret;And ay I thank ye heartilie;Gin ever the dead come for the quick,Be sure, Marg’ret, I’ll come for thee.’XIIt’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,She climb’d the wall, and follow’d him,Until she came to the green forèst,And there she lost the sight o’ him.XII‘Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?Is there ony room at your feet?Or ony room at your side, Saunders,Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?’XIII‘There’s nae room at my head, Marg’ret,There’s nae room at my feet;My bed it is fu’ lowly now,Amang the hungry worms I sleep.XIV‘Cauld mould is my covering now,But and my winding-sheet;The dew it falls nae sooner downThan my resting-place is weet.XV‘But plait a wand o’ bonny birk,And lay it on my breast;And shed a tear upon my grave,And wish my saul gude rest.’XVIThen up and crew the red, red cock,And up and crew the gray:‘’Tis time, ’tis time, my dear Marg’ret,That you were going away.XVII‘And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret,And Marg’ret o’ veritie,Gin e’er ye love another man,Ne’er love him as ye did me.’

Clerk Saunders and may MargaretWalk’d owre yon garden green;And deep and heavy was the loveThat fell thir twa between.

‘A bed, a bed,’ Clerk Saunders said,‘A bed for you and me!’‘Fye na, fye na,’ said may Margaret,‘Till anes we married be!’—

‘Then I’ll take the sword frae my scabbardAnd slowly lift the pin;And you may swear, and save your aith,Ye ne’er let Clerk Saunders in.

‘Take you a napkin in your hand,And tie up baith your bonnie e’en,And you may swear, and save your aith,Ye saw me na since late yestreen.’

It was about the midnight hour,When they asleep were laid,When in and came her seven brothers,Wi’ torches burning red:

When in and came her seven brothers,Wi’ torches burning bright:They said, ‘We hae but one sister,And behold her lying with a knight!’

Then out and spake the first o’ them,‘I bear the sword shall gar him die.’And out and spake the second o’ them,‘His father has nae mair but he.’

And out and spake the third o’ them,‘I wot that they are lovers dear.’And out and spake the fourth o’ them,‘They hae been in love this mony a year.’

Then out and spake the fifth o’ them,‘It were great sin true love to twain.’And out and spake the sixth o’ them,‘It were shame to slay a sleeping man.’

Then up and gat the seventh o’ them,And never a word spake he;But he has striped[219]his bright brown brandOut through Clerk Saunders’ fair bodye.

Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn’dInto his arms as asleep she lay;And sad and silent was the nightThat was atween thir twae.

And they lay still and sleepit soundUntil the day began to daw’;And kindly she to him did say,‘It is time, true love, you were awa’.’

But he lay still, and sleepit sound,Albeit the sun began to sheen;She look’d atween her and the wa’,And dull and drowsie were his e’en.

Then in and came her father dear;Said, ‘Let a’ your mourning be;I’ll carry the dead corse to the clay,And I’ll come back and comfort thee.’

‘Comfort weel your seven sons,For comforted I will never be:I ween ’twas neither knave nor loonWas in the bower last night wi’ me.’

The clinking bell gaed through the town,To carry the dead corse to the clay;And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret’s window,I wot, an hour before the day.

‘Are ye sleeping, Marg’ret?’ he says,‘Or are ye waking presentlie?Give me my faith and troth again,I wot, true love, I gied to thee.’

‘Your faith and troth ye sall never get,Nor our true love sall never twin[220],Until ye come within my bower,And kiss me cheik and chin.’

‘My mouth it is full cold, Marg’ret;It has the smell, now, of the ground;And if I kiss thy comely mouth,Thy days of life will not be lang.

‘O cocks are crowing on merry middle-earth,I wot the wild fowls are boding day;Give me my faith and troth again,And let me fare me on my way.’

‘Thy faith and troth thou sallna get,And our true love sall never twin,Until ye tell what comes o’ women,I wot, who die in strong traivelling?’

‘Their beds are made in the heavens high,Down at the foot of our good Lord’s knee,Weel set about wi’ gillyflowers;I wot, sweet company for to see.

‘O cocks are crowing on merry middle-earth,I wot the wild fowls are boding day;The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,And I, ere now, will be miss’d away.’

Then she has taken a crystal wand,And she has stroken her troth thereon;She has given it him out at the shot-window,Wi’ mony a sad sigh and heavy groan.

‘I thank ye, Marg’ret; I thank ye, Marg’ret;And ay I thank ye heartilie;Gin ever the dead come for the quick,Be sure, Marg’ret, I’ll come for thee.’

It’s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,She climb’d the wall, and follow’d him,Until she came to the green forèst,And there she lost the sight o’ him.

‘Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?Is there ony room at your feet?Or ony room at your side, Saunders,Where fain, fain, I wad sleep?’

‘There’s nae room at my head, Marg’ret,There’s nae room at my feet;My bed it is fu’ lowly now,Amang the hungry worms I sleep.

‘Cauld mould is my covering now,But and my winding-sheet;The dew it falls nae sooner downThan my resting-place is weet.

‘But plait a wand o’ bonny birk,And lay it on my breast;And shed a tear upon my grave,And wish my saul gude rest.’

Then up and crew the red, red cock,And up and crew the gray:‘’Tis time, ’tis time, my dear Marg’ret,That you were going away.

‘And fair Marg’ret, and rare Marg’ret,And Marg’ret o’ veritie,Gin e’er ye love another man,Ne’er love him as ye did me.’

FOOTNOTES:[219]striped = thrust.[220]twin = break in two.

[219]striped = thrust.

[220]twin = break in two.

I‘O where hae ye been, my long, long love,These seven long years and more?’—‘O I’m come to seek my former vows,That ye promised me before.’—II‘Awa’ wi’ your former vows,’ she says,‘For they will breed but strife;Awa’ wi’ your former vows,’ she says,‘For I am become a wife.III‘I am married to a ship-carpenter,A ship-carpenter he’s bound;I wadna he kenn’d my mind this nichtFor twice five hundred pound.’IVHe turn’d him round and round about,And the tear blinded his e’e:‘I wad never hae trodden on Irish groundIf it hadna been for thee.V‘I might hae had a noble lady,Far, far beyond the sea;I might hae had a noble lady,Were it no for the love o’ thee.’—VI‘If ye might hae had a noble lady,Yoursel’ ye had to blame;Ye might hae taken the noble lady,For ye kenn’d that I was nane.’—VII‘O fause are the vows o’ womankind,But fair is their fause bodie:I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,Were it no for the love o’ thee.’—VIII‘If I was to leave my husband dear,And my wee young son alsua,O what hae ye to tak’ me to,If with you I should gae?’—IX‘I hae seven ships upon the sea,The eighth brought me to land;With mariners and merchandise,And music on every hand.X‘The ship wherein my love sall sailIs glorious to behowd;The sails sall be o’ the finest silk,And the mast o’ beaten gowd.’XIShe has taken up her wee young son,Kiss’d him baith cheek and chin;‘O fare ye weel, my wee young son,For I’ll never see you again!’XIIShe has put her foot on gude ship-board,And on ship-board she has gane,And the veil that hangit ower her faceWas a’ wi’ gowd begane[221].XIIIShe hadna sail’d a league, a league,A league but barely twa,Till she minded on her husband she leftAnd her wee young son alsua.XIV‘O haud your tongue o’ weeping,’ he says,‘Let a’ your follies a-bee;I’ll show where the white lilies growOn the banks o’ Italie.’XVShe hadna sail’d a league, a league,A league but barely three,Till grim, grim grew his countenanceAnd gurly[222]grew the sea.XVI‘What hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,The sun shines sweetly on?’—‘O yon are the hills o’ Heaven,’ he said,‘Where you will never won.’—XVII‘O whaten-a mountain is yon,’ she said,‘Sae dreary wi’ frost and snae[223]?’—‘O yon is the mountain o’ Hell,’ he said,‘Where you and I will gae.XVIII‘But haud your tongue, my dearest dear,Let a’ your follies a-bee,I’ll show where the white lilies grow,In the bottom o’ the sea.’XIXAnd aye as she turn’d her round about,Aye taller he seem’d to be;Until that the tops o’ that gallant shipNae taller were than he.XXHe strack the top-mast wi’ his hand,The fore-mast wi’ his knee;And he brake that gallant ship in twain,And sank her in the sea.

‘O where hae ye been, my long, long love,These seven long years and more?’—‘O I’m come to seek my former vows,That ye promised me before.’—

‘Awa’ wi’ your former vows,’ she says,‘For they will breed but strife;Awa’ wi’ your former vows,’ she says,‘For I am become a wife.

‘I am married to a ship-carpenter,A ship-carpenter he’s bound;I wadna he kenn’d my mind this nichtFor twice five hundred pound.’

He turn’d him round and round about,And the tear blinded his e’e:‘I wad never hae trodden on Irish groundIf it hadna been for thee.

‘I might hae had a noble lady,Far, far beyond the sea;I might hae had a noble lady,Were it no for the love o’ thee.’—

‘If ye might hae had a noble lady,Yoursel’ ye had to blame;Ye might hae taken the noble lady,For ye kenn’d that I was nane.’—

‘O fause are the vows o’ womankind,But fair is their fause bodie:I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,Were it no for the love o’ thee.’—

‘If I was to leave my husband dear,And my wee young son alsua,O what hae ye to tak’ me to,If with you I should gae?’—

‘I hae seven ships upon the sea,The eighth brought me to land;With mariners and merchandise,And music on every hand.

‘The ship wherein my love sall sailIs glorious to behowd;The sails sall be o’ the finest silk,And the mast o’ beaten gowd.’

She has taken up her wee young son,Kiss’d him baith cheek and chin;‘O fare ye weel, my wee young son,For I’ll never see you again!’

She has put her foot on gude ship-board,And on ship-board she has gane,And the veil that hangit ower her faceWas a’ wi’ gowd begane[221].

She hadna sail’d a league, a league,A league but barely twa,Till she minded on her husband she leftAnd her wee young son alsua.

‘O haud your tongue o’ weeping,’ he says,‘Let a’ your follies a-bee;I’ll show where the white lilies growOn the banks o’ Italie.’

She hadna sail’d a league, a league,A league but barely three,Till grim, grim grew his countenanceAnd gurly[222]grew the sea.

‘What hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,The sun shines sweetly on?’—‘O yon are the hills o’ Heaven,’ he said,‘Where you will never won.’—

‘O whaten-a mountain is yon,’ she said,‘Sae dreary wi’ frost and snae[223]?’—‘O yon is the mountain o’ Hell,’ he said,‘Where you and I will gae.

‘But haud your tongue, my dearest dear,Let a’ your follies a-bee,I’ll show where the white lilies grow,In the bottom o’ the sea.’

And aye as she turn’d her round about,Aye taller he seem’d to be;Until that the tops o’ that gallant shipNae taller were than he.

He strack the top-mast wi’ his hand,The fore-mast wi’ his knee;And he brake that gallant ship in twain,And sank her in the sea.

FOOTNOTES:[221]begane = overlaid.[222]gurly = rough, surly.[223]snae = snow.

[221]begane = overlaid.

[222]gurly = rough, surly.

[223]snae = snow.

IClerk Colven, and his gay ladie,As they walk’d in yon garden green,The belt about her middle jimp[224]It cost Clerk Colven crowns fifteen.II‘O hearken weel now, my good lord,O hearken weel to what I say;When ye gang to the wall[225]o’ StreamO gang nae near the weel-faur’d may[226].’III‘O haud your tongue, my gay ladie,Now speak nae mair of that to me;For I nae saw a fair woman[That I cou’d] like so well as thee.’IVHe’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,And merry, merry rade he on,Till that he came to the wall o’ Stream,And there he saw the mermaiden.V‘Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny may,And ay’s ye wash your sark o’ silk.’—‘It’s a’ for ye, you gentle knight,My skin is whiter than the milk.’VIHe’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,He’s ta’en her by the sleeve sae green,And he’s forgotten his gay ladie,And he’s awa’ wi’ the mermaiden.VII—‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven,‘And aye so sair as akes my head!’And merrily leugh[227]the mermaiden,‘O ’twill win on[228]till you be dead.VIII‘But out ye tak’ your little pen-knife,And frae my sark ye shear a gare[229];Row[230]that about your lovely head,And the pain ye’ll never feel nae mair.’IXOut he has ta’en his little pen-knife,And frae her sark he’s shorn a gare;She’s ty’d it round his whey-white face,But and ay his head it akèd mair.X‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven,‘O sairer, sairer akes my head!’—‘And sairer, sairer ever will,And aye be war’[231]till ye be dead.’XIThen out he drew his shining bladeAnd thought wi’ it to be her deid[232],But she’s become a fish again,And merrily sprang into the fleed[233].XIIHe’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,And dowie[234], dowie rade he hame,And heavily, heavily lighted downWhen to his ladie’s bower he came.XIII‘O mither, mither, mak’ my bed,And, gentle ladie, lay me down;O brither, brither, unbend my bow,’Twill never be bent by me again!’XIVHis mither she has made his bed,His gentle ladie laid him down,His brither he has unbent his bow,—’Twas never bent by him again.

Clerk Colven, and his gay ladie,As they walk’d in yon garden green,The belt about her middle jimp[224]It cost Clerk Colven crowns fifteen.

‘O hearken weel now, my good lord,O hearken weel to what I say;When ye gang to the wall[225]o’ StreamO gang nae near the weel-faur’d may[226].’

‘O haud your tongue, my gay ladie,Now speak nae mair of that to me;For I nae saw a fair woman[That I cou’d] like so well as thee.’

He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,And merry, merry rade he on,Till that he came to the wall o’ Stream,And there he saw the mermaiden.

‘Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny may,And ay’s ye wash your sark o’ silk.’—‘It’s a’ for ye, you gentle knight,My skin is whiter than the milk.’

He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,He’s ta’en her by the sleeve sae green,And he’s forgotten his gay ladie,And he’s awa’ wi’ the mermaiden.

—‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven,‘And aye so sair as akes my head!’And merrily leugh[227]the mermaiden,‘O ’twill win on[228]till you be dead.

‘But out ye tak’ your little pen-knife,And frae my sark ye shear a gare[229];Row[230]that about your lovely head,And the pain ye’ll never feel nae mair.’

Out he has ta’en his little pen-knife,And frae her sark he’s shorn a gare;She’s ty’d it round his whey-white face,But and ay his head it akèd mair.

‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven,‘O sairer, sairer akes my head!’—‘And sairer, sairer ever will,And aye be war’[231]till ye be dead.’

Then out he drew his shining bladeAnd thought wi’ it to be her deid[232],But she’s become a fish again,And merrily sprang into the fleed[233].

He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,And dowie[234], dowie rade he hame,And heavily, heavily lighted downWhen to his ladie’s bower he came.

‘O mither, mither, mak’ my bed,And, gentle ladie, lay me down;O brither, brither, unbend my bow,’Twill never be bent by me again!’

His mither she has made his bed,His gentle ladie laid him down,His brither he has unbent his bow,—’Twas never bent by him again.

FOOTNOTES:[224]jimp = slim, slender.[225]wall = well.[226]weel-faur’d may = well-favoured maiden.[227]leugh = laughed.[228]win on = continue.[229]gare = gore, strip.[230]row = roll, wrap.[231]war’ = worse.[232]deid = death.[233]fleed = flood.[234]dowie = dolefully.

[224]jimp = slim, slender.

[225]wall = well.

[226]weel-faur’d may = well-favoured maiden.

[227]leugh = laughed.

[228]win on = continue.

[229]gare = gore, strip.

[230]row = roll, wrap.

[231]war’ = worse.

[232]deid = death.

[233]fleed = flood.

[234]dowie = dolefully.

I‘O lady, rock never your young son youngOne hour longer for me;For I have a sweetheart in Gareloch WellsI love thrice better than thee.II‘The very sole o’ that lady’s foot,Than thy face is mair white.’—‘But nevertheless now, Young Hunting,Ye’ll bide in my bower this night?’IIIShe has birl’d[235]in him Young HuntingThe good ale and the wine,Till he was as fou drunkenAs any wild-wood swine.IV[She has kiss’d him by] the candle-lightAnd the charcoal burning red,And up she has ta’en Young Hunting,And she’s had him to her bed.VAnd she’s minded her on a little pen-knifeThat hang’d below her gare[236],And she has gi’en Young HuntingA deep wound and a sair.VIThen up and spake the popinjayThat flew abune her head:‘Lady, keep well your green cleiding[237]Frae good Young Hunting’s bleid!’—VII‘O better I’ll keep my green cleidingFrae good Young Hunting’s bleidThan thou canst keep thy clattering tongueThat trattles in thy head.’VIII‘O lang, lang is the winter’s night,And slowly daws[238]the day!There lies a dead man in my bower,And I wish he were away.’IXShe has call’d upon her bower-maidens,She has call’d them ane by ane:‘There lies a dead man in my bower,I wish that he were gane.’XThey have booted and spurr’d Young HuntingAs he was wont to ride—A hunting-horn about his neck,And a sharp sword by his side;And they’ve had him to the wan water,Where a’ men ca’s it Clyde.XIIn the deepest pot of Clyde-waterIt’s there they flang him in,And put a turf on his breast-baneTo hold Young Hunting down.XIIThen up and spake the popinjayThat sat upon the tree;‘Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,And pay your maids their fee.’—XIII‘Come down, come down, my pretty bird,That sits upon the tree;I have a cage o’ beaten gold,I’ll gie it unto thee.’—XIV‘How shall I come down, how can I come down,How shall I come down to thee?The things ye said to Young Hunting,The same ye’re saying to me.’XVShe hadna cross’d a rigg[239]o’ land,A rigg but barely ane,When she met wi’ his auld father,Came riding all alane.XVI‘Where has ye been, now, lady fair,Where has ye been sae late?We hae been seeking Young Hunting,But him we canna get.’—XVII‘Young Hunting kens a’ the fords o’ Clyde,He’ll ride them ane by ane;And though the night was ne’er so mirk,Young Hunting will be hame.’XVIIIO there came seeking Young HuntingMony a lord and knight,And there came seeking Young HuntingMony a lady bright.XIXAnd it fell ance upon a dayThe King was bound to ride,And he has miss’d Young Hunting,Should hae ridden on his right side.XXAnd they have to his true love gane;But she sware by the thorn,‘O I have not seen Young HuntingSince yesterday at morn.XXI‘It fears me sair in Clyde WaterThat he is drown’d therein!’O they have sent for the King’s divers,To dive for Young Hunting.XXII‘Gar dive, gar dive!’ the King he cried,‘Gar dive for gold and fee!O wha will dive for Young Hunting’s sake,Or wha will dive for me?’XXIIIThey dived in at the tae water-bank,They dived in at the tither:‘We can dive no more for Young Hunting,Altho’ he were our brither.’XXIVIt fell that in that lady’s castleThe King was boun to bed,And out it spake the popinjayThat flew abune his head:XXV‘Leave off, leave off, your day diving,And dive upon the night;And where that sackless[240]Knight lies slainThe candles will burn bright.’XXVIThey left their diving on the day,And dived upon the night;And over the place Young Hunting layThe candles shone fu’ bright.XXVIIThe deepest pot in Clyde WaterThey got Young Hunting in,With a green turf tied across his breastTo keep that good lord down.XXVIIIThen up and spake the King himsel’,When he saw the deadly wound:‘O wha has slain my right-hand man,That held my hawk and hound?’XXIXThen up and spake the popinjay,Says, ‘What needs a’ this din?It was his light leman took his life,And hided him in the linn[241].’XXXShe sware her by the grass sae green,So did she by the corn,She hadna seen Young HuntingSince Monanday at morn.XXXI‘Put not the wyte[242]on me,’ she says,‘It was my May[243]Catheren.’Then they have cut baith thorn and fern,To burn that maiden in.XXXIIWhen they had ta’en her May Catheren,In the bonfire set her in;It wouldna take upon her cheeks,Nor yet upon her chin,Nor yet upon her yellow hair,To heal the deadly sin.XXXIIIOut they have ta’en her May Catheren,And put the lady in:O it took upon her cheek, her cheek,Took fast upon her chin,Took fast upon her fair body—She burnt like hollins[244]green.

‘O lady, rock never your young son youngOne hour longer for me;For I have a sweetheart in Gareloch WellsI love thrice better than thee.

‘The very sole o’ that lady’s foot,Than thy face is mair white.’—‘But nevertheless now, Young Hunting,Ye’ll bide in my bower this night?’

She has birl’d[235]in him Young HuntingThe good ale and the wine,Till he was as fou drunkenAs any wild-wood swine.

[She has kiss’d him by] the candle-lightAnd the charcoal burning red,And up she has ta’en Young Hunting,And she’s had him to her bed.

And she’s minded her on a little pen-knifeThat hang’d below her gare[236],And she has gi’en Young HuntingA deep wound and a sair.

Then up and spake the popinjayThat flew abune her head:‘Lady, keep well your green cleiding[237]Frae good Young Hunting’s bleid!’—

‘O better I’ll keep my green cleidingFrae good Young Hunting’s bleidThan thou canst keep thy clattering tongueThat trattles in thy head.’

‘O lang, lang is the winter’s night,And slowly daws[238]the day!There lies a dead man in my bower,And I wish he were away.’

She has call’d upon her bower-maidens,She has call’d them ane by ane:‘There lies a dead man in my bower,I wish that he were gane.’

They have booted and spurr’d Young HuntingAs he was wont to ride—A hunting-horn about his neck,And a sharp sword by his side;And they’ve had him to the wan water,Where a’ men ca’s it Clyde.

In the deepest pot of Clyde-waterIt’s there they flang him in,And put a turf on his breast-baneTo hold Young Hunting down.

Then up and spake the popinjayThat sat upon the tree;‘Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,And pay your maids their fee.’—

‘Come down, come down, my pretty bird,That sits upon the tree;I have a cage o’ beaten gold,I’ll gie it unto thee.’—

‘How shall I come down, how can I come down,How shall I come down to thee?The things ye said to Young Hunting,The same ye’re saying to me.’

She hadna cross’d a rigg[239]o’ land,A rigg but barely ane,When she met wi’ his auld father,Came riding all alane.

‘Where has ye been, now, lady fair,Where has ye been sae late?We hae been seeking Young Hunting,But him we canna get.’—

‘Young Hunting kens a’ the fords o’ Clyde,He’ll ride them ane by ane;And though the night was ne’er so mirk,Young Hunting will be hame.’

O there came seeking Young HuntingMony a lord and knight,And there came seeking Young HuntingMony a lady bright.

And it fell ance upon a dayThe King was bound to ride,And he has miss’d Young Hunting,Should hae ridden on his right side.

And they have to his true love gane;But she sware by the thorn,‘O I have not seen Young HuntingSince yesterday at morn.

‘It fears me sair in Clyde WaterThat he is drown’d therein!’O they have sent for the King’s divers,To dive for Young Hunting.

‘Gar dive, gar dive!’ the King he cried,‘Gar dive for gold and fee!O wha will dive for Young Hunting’s sake,Or wha will dive for me?’

They dived in at the tae water-bank,They dived in at the tither:‘We can dive no more for Young Hunting,Altho’ he were our brither.’

It fell that in that lady’s castleThe King was boun to bed,And out it spake the popinjayThat flew abune his head:

‘Leave off, leave off, your day diving,And dive upon the night;And where that sackless[240]Knight lies slainThe candles will burn bright.’

They left their diving on the day,And dived upon the night;And over the place Young Hunting layThe candles shone fu’ bright.

The deepest pot in Clyde WaterThey got Young Hunting in,With a green turf tied across his breastTo keep that good lord down.

Then up and spake the King himsel’,When he saw the deadly wound:‘O wha has slain my right-hand man,That held my hawk and hound?’

Then up and spake the popinjay,Says, ‘What needs a’ this din?It was his light leman took his life,And hided him in the linn[241].’

She sware her by the grass sae green,So did she by the corn,She hadna seen Young HuntingSince Monanday at morn.

‘Put not the wyte[242]on me,’ she says,‘It was my May[243]Catheren.’Then they have cut baith thorn and fern,To burn that maiden in.

When they had ta’en her May Catheren,In the bonfire set her in;It wouldna take upon her cheeks,Nor yet upon her chin,Nor yet upon her yellow hair,To heal the deadly sin.

Out they have ta’en her May Catheren,And put the lady in:O it took upon her cheek, her cheek,Took fast upon her chin,Took fast upon her fair body—She burnt like hollins[244]green.

FOOTNOTES:[235]birl’d = poured.[236]gare = gore, in the skirt.[237]cleiding = clothing.[238]daws = dawns.[239]rigg = ridge.[240]sackless = innocent.[241]linn = stream, pool.[242]wyte = blame.[243]May = Maid.[244]hollins = holly.

[235]birl’d = poured.

[236]gare = gore, in the skirt.

[237]cleiding = clothing.

[238]daws = dawns.

[239]rigg = ridge.

[240]sackless = innocent.

[241]linn = stream, pool.

[242]wyte = blame.

[243]May = Maid.

[244]hollins = holly.

IAn earthly nourrice[245]sits and sings,And aye she sings, ‘Ba, lily wean!Little ken I my bairn’s father,Far less the land that he staps in.’IIThen ane arose at her bed-fit,An’ a grumly guest I’m sure was he:‘Here am I, thy bairn’s father,Although that I be not comèlie.III‘I am a man, upo’ the lan’,An’ I am a silkie[246]in the sea;And when I’m far and far frae lan’,My dwelling is in Sule Skerrie.’IV‘It was na weel,’ quo’ the maiden fair,‘It was na weel, indeed,’ quo’ she,‘That the Great Silkie of Sule SkerrieSuld hae come and aught[247]a bairn to me.’VNow he has ta’en a purse of goud,And he has pat it upo’ her knee,Sayin’, ‘Gie to me my little young son,An’ tak thee up thy nourrice-fee.VI‘An’ it sall pass on a simmer’s day,When the sin shines het on evera stane,That I will tak my little young son,An’ teach him for to swim his lane[248].VII‘An’ thu sall marry a proud gunner,An’ a proud gunner I’m sure he’ll be,An’ the very first schot that ere he schoots,He’ll schoot baith my young son and me.’

An earthly nourrice[245]sits and sings,And aye she sings, ‘Ba, lily wean!Little ken I my bairn’s father,Far less the land that he staps in.’

Then ane arose at her bed-fit,An’ a grumly guest I’m sure was he:‘Here am I, thy bairn’s father,Although that I be not comèlie.

‘I am a man, upo’ the lan’,An’ I am a silkie[246]in the sea;And when I’m far and far frae lan’,My dwelling is in Sule Skerrie.’

‘It was na weel,’ quo’ the maiden fair,‘It was na weel, indeed,’ quo’ she,‘That the Great Silkie of Sule SkerrieSuld hae come and aught[247]a bairn to me.’

Now he has ta’en a purse of goud,And he has pat it upo’ her knee,Sayin’, ‘Gie to me my little young son,An’ tak thee up thy nourrice-fee.

‘An’ it sall pass on a simmer’s day,When the sin shines het on evera stane,That I will tak my little young son,An’ teach him for to swim his lane[248].

‘An’ thu sall marry a proud gunner,An’ a proud gunner I’m sure he’ll be,An’ the very first schot that ere he schoots,He’ll schoot baith my young son and me.’

FOOTNOTES:[245]nourrice = nurse.[246]silkie = seal.[247]aught = own.[248]his lane = alone, without assistance.

[245]nourrice = nurse.

[246]silkie = seal.

[247]aught = own.

[248]his lane = alone, without assistance.

IThere lived a wife at Usher’s well,And a wealthy wife was she;She had three stout and stalwart sons,And sent them o’er the sea.IIThey hadna been a week from her,A week but barely ane,When word came to the carline[249]wifeThat her three sons were gane.IIIThey hadna been a week from her,A week but barely three,When word came to the carline wifeThat her sons she’d never see.IV‘I wish the wind may never cease,Nor fashes[250]in the flood,Till my three sons come hame to meIn earthly flesh and blood!’VIt fell about the Martinmas,When nights are lang and mirk,The carline wife’s three sons came hame,And their hats were o’ the birk.VIIt neither grew in syke[251]nor ditch,Nor yet in ony sheugh[252];But at the gates o’ ParadiseThat birk grew fair eneugh.VII‘Blow up the fire, my maidens!Bring water from the well!For a’ my house shall feast this night,Since my three sons are well.’VIIIAnd she has made to them a bed,She’s made it large and wide;And she’s ta’en her mantle her about,Sat down at the bedside.IXUp then crew the red, red cock,And up and crew the gray;The eldest to the youngest said,‘’Tis time we were away.’XThe cock he hadna craw’d but once,And clapp’d his wings at a’,When the youngest to the eldest said,‘Brother, we must awa’.XI‘The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,The channerin’[253]worm doth chide;Gin we be miss’d out o’ our place,A sair pain we maun bide.’—XII‘Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,Lie still but if we may;Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,She’ll go mad ere it be day.’—XIII‘Fare ye weel, my mother dear!Fareweel to barn and byre!And fare ye weel, the bonny lassThat kindles my mother’s fire!’

There lived a wife at Usher’s well,And a wealthy wife was she;She had three stout and stalwart sons,And sent them o’er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her,A week but barely ane,When word came to the carline[249]wifeThat her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,A week but barely three,When word came to the carline wifeThat her sons she’d never see.

‘I wish the wind may never cease,Nor fashes[250]in the flood,Till my three sons come hame to meIn earthly flesh and blood!’

It fell about the Martinmas,When nights are lang and mirk,The carline wife’s three sons came hame,And their hats were o’ the birk.

It neither grew in syke[251]nor ditch,Nor yet in ony sheugh[252];But at the gates o’ ParadiseThat birk grew fair eneugh.

‘Blow up the fire, my maidens!Bring water from the well!For a’ my house shall feast this night,Since my three sons are well.’

And she has made to them a bed,She’s made it large and wide;And she’s ta’en her mantle her about,Sat down at the bedside.

Up then crew the red, red cock,And up and crew the gray;The eldest to the youngest said,‘’Tis time we were away.’

The cock he hadna craw’d but once,And clapp’d his wings at a’,When the youngest to the eldest said,‘Brother, we must awa’.

‘The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,The channerin’[253]worm doth chide;Gin we be miss’d out o’ our place,A sair pain we maun bide.’—

‘Lie still, lie still but a little wee while,Lie still but if we may;Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes,She’ll go mad ere it be day.’—

‘Fare ye weel, my mother dear!Fareweel to barn and byre!And fare ye weel, the bonny lassThat kindles my mother’s fire!’

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