His cheeks were like the roses red,His neck was like the snaw;He was the bonniest gentlemanMy eyes they ever saw.His coat was o' the scarlet red,His vest was o' the same;His stockings were o' the worset lace,And buckles tied to the same.The shirt that was upon his backWas o' the Holland fine;The doublet that was over thatWas o' the Lincoln twine.The buttons that were upon his sleeveWere o' the gowd sae guid, &c.
His cheeks were like the roses red,His neck was like the snaw;He was the bonniest gentlemanMy eyes they ever saw.
His cheeks were like the roses red,
His neck was like the snaw;
He was the bonniest gentleman
My eyes they ever saw.
His coat was o' the scarlet red,His vest was o' the same;His stockings were o' the worset lace,And buckles tied to the same.
His coat was o' the scarlet red,
His vest was o' the same;
His stockings were o' the worset lace,
And buckles tied to the same.
The shirt that was upon his backWas o' the Holland fine;The doublet that was over thatWas o' the Lincoln twine.
The shirt that was upon his back
Was o' the Holland fine;
The doublet that was over that
Was o' the Lincoln twine.
The buttons that were upon his sleeveWere o' the gowd sae guid, &c.
The buttons that were upon his sleeve
Were o' the gowd sae guid, &c.
This is mercery of the eighteenth, and no earlier century. Both Gilderoy and Gil Morrice are decked out in a similar fashion; and we may fairly surmise that it was no man's mind which revelled so luxuriously in the description of these three specimens of masculine beauty, or which invested them in such elegant attire. Johnie kills the seven foresters, but receives a deadly hurt. He then speaks in the following strain:
'O is there a bird in a' this bushWould sing as I would say,Go home and tell my auld motherThat I hae won the day?'Is there ever a bird in a' this bushWould sing as I would say,Go home and tell my ain true loveTo come and fetch Johnie away?'Is there a bird in this hale forestWould do as mickle for me,As dip its wing in the wan water,And straik it ower my ee-bree?'The starling flew to his mother's bower-stane,It whistled and it sang;And aye the owerword o' its tuneWas, 'Johnie tarries lang.'
'O is there a bird in a' this bushWould sing as I would say,Go home and tell my auld motherThat I hae won the day?
'O is there a bird in a' this bush
Would sing as I would say,
Go home and tell my auld mother
That I hae won the day?
'Is there ever a bird in a' this bushWould sing as I would say,Go home and tell my ain true loveTo come and fetch Johnie away?
'Is there ever a bird in a' this bush
Would sing as I would say,
Go home and tell my ain true love
To come and fetch Johnie away?
'Is there a bird in this hale forestWould do as mickle for me,As dip its wing in the wan water,And straik it ower my ee-bree?'
'Is there a bird in this hale forest
Would do as mickle for me,
As dip its wing in the wan water,
And straik it ower my ee-bree?'
The starling flew to his mother's bower-stane,It whistled and it sang;And aye the owerword o' its tuneWas, 'Johnie tarries lang.'
The starling flew to his mother's bower-stane,
It whistled and it sang;
And aye the owerword o' its tune
Was, 'Johnie tarries lang.'
The mother says in conclusion:
'Aft hae I brought to BradisleeThe less gear and the mair;But I ne'er brought to BradisleeWhat grieved my heart sae sair.'
'Aft hae I brought to BradisleeThe less gear and the mair;But I ne'er brought to BradisleeWhat grieved my heart sae sair.'
'Aft hae I brought to Bradislee
The less gear and the mair;
But I ne'er brought to Bradislee
What grieved my heart sae sair.'
Now, first, is not the literary beauty of the above expressions of the young huntsman calculated to excite suspicion? It may be asked, is there anything in the older Scottish poets comparable to them? Second, how like is the verse regarding the starling to one inGil Morrice!
Gil Morrice sat in guid green wood,He whistled and he sang;'O what mean a' the folk coming?My mother tarries lang.'
Gil Morrice sat in guid green wood,He whistled and he sang;'O what mean a' the folk coming?My mother tarries lang.'
Gil Morrice sat in guid green wood,
He whistled and he sang;
'O what mean a' the folk coming?
My mother tarries lang.'
Then, as to the last verse, how like to one inYoung Waters!
Aft hae I ridden through Stirling town,In the wind both and the rain,But I ne'er rade through Stirling townNe'er to return again.
Aft hae I ridden through Stirling town,In the wind both and the rain,But I ne'er rade through Stirling townNe'er to return again.
Aft hae I ridden through Stirling town,
In the wind both and the rain,
But I ne'er rade through Stirling town
Ne'er to return again.
Mary Hamiltondescribes the tragic fate of an attendant on Queen Mary, brought to the gallows for destroying her own infant. The reflections of the heroine at the last sad moment are expressed in the same rich strain of sentiment as some of the passages of other ballads already quoted, and with remarkable parallelisms in terms:
'O aften hae I dressed my queen,And put gowd in her hair;But now I've gotten for my rewardThe gallows tree to share.* * *'I charge ye all, ye mariners,When ye sail ower the faem,Let neither my father nor mother get witBut that I 'm coming hame.* * *'O little did my mother thinkThat day she cradled me,What lands I was to travel ower,What death I was to die!'
'O aften hae I dressed my queen,And put gowd in her hair;But now I've gotten for my rewardThe gallows tree to share.
'O aften hae I dressed my queen,
And put gowd in her hair;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows tree to share.
* * *
* * *
'I charge ye all, ye mariners,When ye sail ower the faem,Let neither my father nor mother get witBut that I 'm coming hame.
'I charge ye all, ye mariners,
When ye sail ower the faem,
Let neither my father nor mother get wit
But that I 'm coming hame.
* * *
* * *
'O little did my mother thinkThat day she cradled me,What lands I was to travel ower,What death I was to die!'
'O little did my mother think
That day she cradled me,
What lands I was to travel ower,
What death I was to die!'
The Scottish ladies sit bewailing the loss of Sir Patrick Spence's companions, 'wi' the gowd kaims in their hair.' Sir Patrick tells his friends before starting on his voyage, 'Our ship must sail the faem;' and in the description of the consequences of his shipwreck, we find 'Mony was the feather-bed that flattered on the faem.' No old poet would use foam as an equivalent for the sea; but it was just such a phrase as a poet of the era of Pope would love to use in that sense. The first of the above verses is evidently a cast from the same mould of thought as Bradislee's mother's concluding lament, and Young Waters's last words just quoted. The resemblance is not of that kind which arises from the use of literary commonplaces or stock phrases: the expressions have that identity which betrays their common source in one mind, a mind having a great command of rich and simple pathos.
In theGay Gos-hawk, a gentleman commissions the bird to go on a mission to his mistress, who is secluded from him among her relations, and tell her how he dies by long waiting for her; whereupon she returns an answer by the same messenger, to the effect that she will presently meet him at Mary's Kirk for the effecting of their nuptials. The opening of the poem is just a variation of Bradislee's apostrophe tohisbird-messenger:
'O waly, waly, my gay gos-hawk,Gin your feathering be sheen!''And waly, waly, my master dear,Gin ye look pale and lean!'Oh, have ye tint at tournamentYour sword, or yet your spear?Or mourn ye for the southern lass,Whom ye may not win near?''I have not tint at tournamentMy sword, nor yet my spear;But sair I mourn for my true love,Wi' mony a bitter tear.'But weel's me on you, my gay gos-hawk,Ye can both speak and flie;Ye sall carry a letter to my love,Bring an answer back to me.'
'O waly, waly, my gay gos-hawk,Gin your feathering be sheen!''And waly, waly, my master dear,Gin ye look pale and lean!
'O waly, waly, my gay gos-hawk,
Gin your feathering be sheen!'
'And waly, waly, my master dear,
Gin ye look pale and lean!
'Oh, have ye tint at tournamentYour sword, or yet your spear?Or mourn ye for the southern lass,Whom ye may not win near?'
'Oh, have ye tint at tournament
Your sword, or yet your spear?
Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
Whom ye may not win near?'
'I have not tint at tournamentMy sword, nor yet my spear;But sair I mourn for my true love,Wi' mony a bitter tear.
'I have not tint at tournament
My sword, nor yet my spear;
But sair I mourn for my true love,
Wi' mony a bitter tear.
'But weel's me on you, my gay gos-hawk,Ye can both speak and flie;Ye sall carry a letter to my love,Bring an answer back to me.'
'But weel's me on you, my gay gos-hawk,
Ye can both speak and flie;
Ye sall carry a letter to my love,
Bring an answer back to me.'
Hardyknute,Sir Patrick Spence, andGil Morrice, all open, it will be recollected, with the sending away of a message. Here is a fourth instance, very like one artist's work, truly.
The lover describes his mistress in terms recallingBradislee:
'The red that is on my true love's cheekIs like blood-draps on the snaw;The white that is on her breast bare,Like the down o' the white sea-maw.'
'The red that is on my true love's cheekIs like blood-draps on the snaw;The white that is on her breast bare,Like the down o' the white sea-maw.'
'The red that is on my true love's cheek
Is like blood-draps on the snaw;
The white that is on her breast bare,
Like the down o' the white sea-maw.'
The bird arrives at the lady's abode:
And first he sang a low, low note,And syne he sang a clear;And aye the owerword o' the sangWas, 'Your love can no win here.'
And first he sang a low, low note,And syne he sang a clear;And aye the owerword o' the sangWas, 'Your love can no win here.'
And first he sang a low, low note,
And syne he sang a clear;
And aye the owerword o' the sang
Was, 'Your love can no win here.'
Gil Morricehas:
Aye the owerword o' his sangWas, 'My mother tarries lang.'
Aye the owerword o' his sangWas, 'My mother tarries lang.'
Aye the owerword o' his sang
Was, 'My mother tarries lang.'
The lady feigns death, after the device of Juliet:
Then up and rose her seven brethren,And hewed to her a bier;They hewed frae the solid aik,Laid it ower wi' silver clear.Then up and gat her seven sisters,And sewed to her a kell;And every steek that they put inSewed to a silver bell.
Then up and rose her seven brethren,And hewed to her a bier;They hewed frae the solid aik,Laid it ower wi' silver clear.
Then up and rose her seven brethren,
And hewed to her a bier;
They hewed frae the solid aik,
Laid it ower wi' silver clear.
Then up and gat her seven sisters,And sewed to her a kell;And every steek that they put inSewed to a silver bell.
Then up and gat her seven sisters,
And sewed to her a kell;
And every steek that they put in
Sewed to a silver bell.
Here we have the same style of luxurious description of which we have already seen so many examples—so different from the usually bald style of the real homely ballads of the people. It is, further, very remarkable that inClerk Saundersit is seven brothers of the heroine who come in and detect her lover; and in theDouglas Tragedy, when the pair are eloping, Lord William spies his mistress's
... seven brethren boldCome riding o'er the lee.
... seven brethren boldCome riding o'er the lee.
... seven brethren bold
Come riding o'er the lee.
Both of these ballads, indeed, shew a structure and a strain of description and sentiment justifying the strongest suspicions of their alleged antiquity, and pointing to the same source as the other pieces already noticed.
The ballad ofFause Foodrage, which Sir Walter Scott printed for the first time, describes a successful conspiracy by Foodrage and others against King Honour and his queen. The king being murdered, the queen is told, that if she brings forth a son, it will be put to death likewise; so she escapes, and, bringing a male child into the world, induces the lady of Wise William to take charge of it as her own, while she herself takes charge of the lady's daughter. The unfortunate queen then arranges a future conduct for both parties, in language violently figurative:
'And ye maun learn my gay gos-hawk,Right weel to breast a steed;And I sall learn your turtle-dowAs weel to write and read.'And ye maun learn my gay gos-hawk,To wield both bow and brand;And I sall learn your turtle-dowTo lay gowd wi' her hand.'At kirk and market, when we meet,We'll dare make nae avowe,But—Dame, how does my gay gos-hawk?Madam, how does my dow?'
'And ye maun learn my gay gos-hawk,Right weel to breast a steed;And I sall learn your turtle-dowAs weel to write and read.
'And ye maun learn my gay gos-hawk,
Right weel to breast a steed;
And I sall learn your turtle-dow
As weel to write and read.
'And ye maun learn my gay gos-hawk,To wield both bow and brand;And I sall learn your turtle-dowTo lay gowd wi' her hand.
'And ye maun learn my gay gos-hawk,
To wield both bow and brand;
And I sall learn your turtle-dow
To lay gowd wi' her hand.
'At kirk and market, when we meet,We'll dare make nae avowe,But—Dame, how does my gay gos-hawk?Madam, how does my dow?'
'At kirk and market, when we meet,
We'll dare make nae avowe,
But—Dame, how does my gay gos-hawk?
Madam, how does my dow?'
When the royal youth grows up, Wise William reveals to him his history, and how his mother is still in confinement in Foodrage's hands. 'The boy stared wild like a gray gos-hawk' at hearing the strange intelligence, but soon resolves on a course of action:
He has set his bent bow to his breast,And leapt the castle-wa',And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage,Wha loud for help 'gan ca'.
He has set his bent bow to his breast,And leapt the castle-wa',And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage,Wha loud for help 'gan ca'.
He has set his bent bow to his breast,
And leapt the castle-wa',
And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage,
Wha loud for help 'gan ca'.
The slaying of Foodrage and marriage of the turtle-dow wind up the ballad. Now, is not the adoption of the term, 'gay gos-hawk' in this ballad, calculated to excite a very strong suspicion as to a community of authorship with the other, in which a gay gos-hawk figures so prominently? But this is not all. 'The boy stared wild like a gray gos-hawk,' is nearly identical with a line ofHardyknute:
Norse e'en like gray gos-hawk stared wild.
Norse e'en like gray gos-hawk stared wild.
Norse e'en like gray gos-hawk stared wild.
Scott was roused by this parallelism into suspicion of the authenticity of the ballad, and only tranquillised by finding a lady of rank who remembered hearing in her infancy the verses which have here been quoted. He felt compelled, he tells us, 'to believe that the author ofHardyknutecopied from the old ballad, if the coincidence be not altogether accidental.' Finally, the young prince's procedure in storming the castle, is precisely that of Gil Morrice in gaining access to that of Lord Barnard:
And when he cam to Barnard's yett,He would neither chap nor ca',But set his bent bow to his breast,And lightly lap the wa'.
And when he cam to Barnard's yett,He would neither chap nor ca',But set his bent bow to his breast,And lightly lap the wa'.
And when he cam to Barnard's yett,
He would neither chap nor ca',
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly lap the wa'.
It may fairly be said that, in ordinary literature, coincidences like this are never 'accidental.' It may be observed, much of the narration inFause Foodrageis in a stiff and somewhat hard style, recallingHardyknute. It was probably one of the earlier compositions of its author.
TheLass o' Lochryandescribes the hapless voyage of a maiden mother in search of her love Gregory. In the particulars of sea-faring and the description of the vessel,Sir Patrick Spenceis strongly recalled.
She has garred build a bonny ship;It's a' covered o'er wi' pearl;And at every needle-tack was in'tThere hung a siller bell.
She has garred build a bonny ship;It's a' covered o'er wi' pearl;And at every needle-tack was in'tThere hung a siller bell.
She has garred build a bonny ship;
It's a' covered o'er wi' pearl;
And at every needle-tack was in't
There hung a siller bell.
Let the reader revert to the description of the bier prepared for the seeming dead lady in theGay Gos-hawk.
She had na sailed a league but twa,Or scantly had she three,Till she met wi' a rude rover,Was sailing on the sea.
She had na sailed a league but twa,Or scantly had she three,Till she met wi' a rude rover,Was sailing on the sea.
She had na sailed a league but twa,
Or scantly had she three,
Till she met wi' a rude rover,
Was sailing on the sea.
The reader will remark inSir Patrick:
They had na sailed a league, a league,A league but barely three, &c.
They had na sailed a league, a league,A league but barely three, &c.
They had na sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three, &c.
The rover asks:
'Now, whether are ye the queen hersel,Or ane o' her Maries three,Or are ye the Lass o' Lochryan,Seeking love Gregory?'[20]
'Now, whether are ye the queen hersel,Or ane o' her Maries three,Or are ye the Lass o' Lochryan,Seeking love Gregory?'[20]
'Now, whether are ye the queen hersel,
Or ane o' her Maries three,
Or are ye the Lass o' Lochryan,
Seeking love Gregory?'[20]
The queen's Maries are also introduced inMary Hamilton, who, indeed, is represented as one of them:
Yestreen the queen she had four Maries;The night, she has but three;There was Mary Seton and Mary Beaton,And Mary Carmichael and me.
Yestreen the queen she had four Maries;The night, she has but three;There was Mary Seton and Mary Beaton,And Mary Carmichael and me.
Yestreen the queen she had four Maries;
The night, she has but three;
There was Mary Seton and Mary Beaton,
And Mary Carmichael and me.
On arriving at love Gregory's castle, beside the sea, the lady calls:
'Oh, open the door, love Gregory;Oh, open and let me in;For the wind blaws through my yellow hair,And the rain draps o'er my chin.'
'Oh, open the door, love Gregory;Oh, open and let me in;For the wind blaws through my yellow hair,And the rain draps o'er my chin.'
'Oh, open the door, love Gregory;
Oh, open and let me in;
For the wind blaws through my yellow hair,
And the rain draps o'er my chin.'
He being in a dead sleep, his mother answers for him, and turns from the door the forlorn applicant, who then exclaims:
'Tak down, tak down the mast o' gowd;Set up a mast o' tree;It disna become a forsaken ladyTo sail sae royallie.'Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk;Set up the sails o' skin;Ill sets the outside to be gay,When there's sic grief within.'
'Tak down, tak down the mast o' gowd;Set up a mast o' tree;It disna become a forsaken ladyTo sail sae royallie.
'Tak down, tak down the mast o' gowd;
Set up a mast o' tree;
It disna become a forsaken lady
To sail sae royallie.
'Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk;Set up the sails o' skin;Ill sets the outside to be gay,When there's sic grief within.'
'Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk;
Set up the sails o' skin;
Ill sets the outside to be gay,
When there's sic grief within.'
Gregory then awakes:
O quickly, quickly raise he up,And fast ran to the strand,And there he saw her, fair Annie,Was sailing frae the land.* * *The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,And dashed the boat on shore;Fair Annie floated on the faem,But the babie raise no more.* * *And first he kissed her cherry cheek,And syne he kissed her chin;And syne he kissed her rosy lips—There was nae breath within.
O quickly, quickly raise he up,And fast ran to the strand,And there he saw her, fair Annie,Was sailing frae the land.
O quickly, quickly raise he up,
And fast ran to the strand,
And there he saw her, fair Annie,
Was sailing frae the land.
* * *
* * *
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,And dashed the boat on shore;Fair Annie floated on the faem,But the babie raise no more.
The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
And dashed the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floated on the faem,
But the babie raise no more.
* * *
* * *
And first he kissed her cherry cheek,And syne he kissed her chin;And syne he kissed her rosy lips—There was nae breath within.
And first he kissed her cherry cheek,
And syne he kissed her chin;
And syne he kissed her rosy lips—
There was nae breath within.
The resemblance of these verses to several of the preceding ballads,[21]and particularly toSir Patrick Spence, and their superiority in delicacy of feeling and in diction to all ordinary ballad poetry, is very striking. It chances that there is here, as inSir Patrick, one word peculiarlydetective—namely, strand, as meaning the shore. In the Scottish language, strand means a rivulet, or a street-gutter—never the margin of the sea.
There is a considerable number of other ballads which are scarcely less liable to suspicion as modern compositions, and which are all marked more or less by the peculiarities seen in the above group. Several of them are based, like the one just noticed, on irregular love, which they commonly treat with little reproach, and usually with a romantic tenderness.Willie and May Margaret[22]describes a young lover crossing the Clyde in a flood to see his mistress, and as denied access by her mother in a feigned voice, after which he is drowned in recrossing the river; the ballad being thus a kind of counterpart of theLass of Lochryan. InYoung Huntin, otherwise calledEarl Richard, the hero is killed in his mistress's bower through jealousy, and we have then a verse of wonderful power—such as no rustic and unlettered bard ever wrote, or ever will write:
'O slowly, slowly wanes the night,And slowly daws the day:There is a dead man in my bower,I wish he were away.'
'O slowly, slowly wanes the night,And slowly daws the day:There is a dead man in my bower,I wish he were away.'
'O slowly, slowly wanes the night,
And slowly daws the day:
There is a dead man in my bower,
I wish he were away.'
One calledFair Annierelates how a mistress won upon her lover, and finally gained him as a husband, by patience, under the trial of seeing a new bride brought home.[23]In the latter, the behaviour of the patient mistress is thus described:
O she has served the lang tablesWi' the white bread and the wine;And aye she drank the wan water,To keep her colour fine.
O she has served the lang tablesWi' the white bread and the wine;And aye she drank the wan water,To keep her colour fine.
O she has served the lang tables
Wi' the white bread and the wine;
And aye she drank the wan water,
To keep her colour fine.
The expression, the wan water, occurs in several of this group of ballads. Thus, inJohnie of Bradislee:
Is there ever a bird in this hale forestWill do as mickle for me,As dip its wing in the wan water,And straik it o'er my ee-bree?
Is there ever a bird in this hale forestWill do as mickle for me,As dip its wing in the wan water,And straik it o'er my ee-bree?
Is there ever a bird in this hale forest
Will do as mickle for me,
As dip its wing in the wan water,
And straik it o'er my ee-bree?
And in theDouglas Tragedy:
O they rade on, and on they rade,And a' by the light o' the moon,Until they cam to yon wan water,And there they lighted down.
O they rade on, and on they rade,And a' by the light o' the moon,Until they cam to yon wan water,And there they lighted down.
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light o' the moon,
Until they cam to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.
See further inYoung Huntin:
And they hae ridden along, along,All the long summer's tide,Until they came to the wan water,The deepest place in Clyde.
And they hae ridden along, along,All the long summer's tide,Until they came to the wan water,The deepest place in Clyde.
And they hae ridden along, along,
All the long summer's tide,
Until they came to the wan water,
The deepest place in Clyde.
The circumstance is very suspicious, for we find this phrase in no other ballads.
InClerk Saunders, the hero is slain in his mistress's bower, by the rage of one of her seven brothers, whose act is described in precisely the same terms as the slaughter ofGil Morriceby the bold baron:
He's ta'en out his trusty brand,And straikt it on the strae,And through and through Clerk Saunders' sideHe's gart it come and gae.[24]
He's ta'en out his trusty brand,And straikt it on the strae,And through and through Clerk Saunders' sideHe's gart it come and gae.[24]
He's ta'en out his trusty brand,
And straikt it on the strae,
And through and through Clerk Saunders' side
He's gart it come and gae.[24]
Sweet William's Ghost, a fine superstitious ballad, first published in Ramsay'sTea-table Miscellany, 1724, is important as the earliest printed of all the Scottish ballads after the admittedly modernHardyknute:
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,With many a grievous groan;And aye he tirled at the pin,But answer made she none.* * *'O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!I pray thee, speak to me;Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,As I gave it to thee.''Thy faith and troth thou 's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin.'[25]'If I should come within thy bower,I am no earthly man;And should I kiss thy rosy lips,Thy days will not be lang.* * *'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,Afar beyond the sea;And it is but my spirit, Margaret,That's now speaking to thee.'She stretched out her lily hand,And for to do her best,'Ha'e there's your faith and troth, Willie;God send your soul good rest.'Now she has kilted her robes of greenA piece below her knee,And a' the live-lang winter night,The dead corp followed she.'Is there any room at your head, Willie,Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willie,Wherein that I may creep?''There's no room at my head, Margaret;There's no room at my feet;There's no room at my side, Margaret;My coffin's made so meet.'[26]Then up and crew the red, red cock,And up then crew the gray,''Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margaret,That you were going away.'* * *
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,With many a grievous groan;And aye he tirled at the pin,But answer made she none.
There came a ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous groan;
And aye he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.
* * *
* * *
'O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!I pray thee, speak to me;Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,As I gave it to thee.'
'O sweet Margaret! O dear Margaret!
I pray thee, speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margaret,
As I gave it to thee.'
'Thy faith and troth thou 's never get,Nor yet will I thee lend,Till that thou come within my bower,And kiss my cheek and chin.'[25]
'Thy faith and troth thou 's never get,
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.'[25]
'If I should come within thy bower,I am no earthly man;And should I kiss thy rosy lips,Thy days will not be lang.
'If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man;
And should I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.
* * *
* * *
'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,Afar beyond the sea;And it is but my spirit, Margaret,That's now speaking to thee.'
'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard,
Afar beyond the sea;
And it is but my spirit, Margaret,
That's now speaking to thee.'
She stretched out her lily hand,And for to do her best,'Ha'e there's your faith and troth, Willie;God send your soul good rest.'
She stretched out her lily hand,
And for to do her best,
'Ha'e there's your faith and troth, Willie;
God send your soul good rest.'
Now she has kilted her robes of greenA piece below her knee,And a' the live-lang winter night,The dead corp followed she.
Now she has kilted her robes of green
A piece below her knee,
And a' the live-lang winter night,
The dead corp followed she.
'Is there any room at your head, Willie,Or any room at your feet?Or any room at your side, Willie,Wherein that I may creep?'
'Is there any room at your head, Willie,
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?'
'There's no room at my head, Margaret;There's no room at my feet;There's no room at my side, Margaret;My coffin's made so meet.'[26]
'There's no room at my head, Margaret;
There's no room at my feet;
There's no room at my side, Margaret;
My coffin's made so meet.'[26]
Then up and crew the red, red cock,And up then crew the gray,''Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margaret,That you were going away.'
Then up and crew the red, red cock,
And up then crew the gray,
''Tis time, 'tis time, my dear Margaret,
That you were going away.'
* * *
* * *
So far, the ballad appears as composed in the style of those already noticed—a style at once simple and poetical—neither shewing the rudeness of the common peasant's ballad, nor the formal refinement of the modern English poet. But next follow two stanzas, which manifestly have been patched on by some contemporary of Ramsay:
No more the ghost to Margaret said,But with a grievous groanEvanished in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone, &c.
No more the ghost to Margaret said,But with a grievous groanEvanished in a cloud of mist,And left her all alone, &c.
No more the ghost to Margaret said,
But with a grievous groan
Evanished in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone, &c.
No such conclusion, perhaps, was needed, for it may be suspected that the verse here printedsixthis the truefinaleof the story, accidentally transferred from its proper place.
There is a slight affinity between the above and a ballad entitledTam Lane, to which Scott drew special attention in hisBorder Minstrelsy, by making it a peg for eighty pages of prose dissertationOn the Fairies of Popular Superstition. It describes a lover as lost to his mistress, by being reft away into fairy-land, and as recovered by an effort of courage and presence of mind on her part. It opens thus:
O I forbid ye maidens a',That wear gowd in your hair,To come or gae by Carterhaugh,For the young Tam Lane is there.
O I forbid ye maidens a',That wear gowd in your hair,To come or gae by Carterhaugh,For the young Tam Lane is there.
O I forbid ye maidens a',
That wear gowd in your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For the young Tam Lane is there.
It may be remarked how often before we have seen maidens described as wearing gold in their hair. One maiden defies the prohibition:
Janet has kilted her green kirtleA little aboon her knee,And she has braided her yellow hairA little aboon her bree.
Janet has kilted her green kirtleA little aboon her knee,And she has braided her yellow hairA little aboon her bree.
Janet has kilted her green kirtle
A little aboon her knee,
And she has braided her yellow hair
A little aboon her bree.
This, it will be observed, is all but the very same description applied to Margaret in the preceding ballad. The narrative goes on:
She had na pu'd a red, red rose,A rose but barely three,Till up and starts a wee, wee manAt Lady Janet's knee.
She had na pu'd a red, red rose,A rose but barely three,Till up and starts a wee, wee manAt Lady Janet's knee.
She had na pu'd a red, red rose,
A rose but barely three,
Till up and starts a wee, wee man
At Lady Janet's knee.
Remember Sir Patrick's voyage:
They had na sailed a league, a league,A league but barely three.
They had na sailed a league, a league,A league but barely three.
They had na sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three.
Let it also here be noted that the eldern knight in that ballad sits 'at the king's knee,' and the nurse inGil Morriceis not very necessarily described as having 'the bairn upon her knee.' Why the knee on these occasions, if not a habitual idea of one poet?[27]
The consequences of the visit having been fatal to Lady Janet's health and peace, she goes back to see her elfin lover, Tam Lane, who instructs her how to recover him from his bondage to the queen of fairy-land.
'The night it is good Halloween,When fairy folk will ride;And they that wad their true love win,At Miles Cross they maun bide.''But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lane,Or how shall I thee knaw,Amang so many unearthly knights,The like I never saw?''The first company that passes by,Say na, and let them gae;The next company that passes by,Say na, and do right sae;The third company that passes by,Then I'll be ane o' thae.'First let pass the black, Janet,And syne let pass the brown;But grip ye to the milk-white steed,And pu' the rider down.'
'The night it is good Halloween,When fairy folk will ride;And they that wad their true love win,At Miles Cross they maun bide.'
'The night it is good Halloween,
When fairy folk will ride;
And they that wad their true love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide.'
'But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lane,Or how shall I thee knaw,Amang so many unearthly knights,The like I never saw?'
'But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lane,
Or how shall I thee knaw,
Amang so many unearthly knights,
The like I never saw?'
'The first company that passes by,Say na, and let them gae;The next company that passes by,Say na, and do right sae;The third company that passes by,Then I'll be ane o' thae.
'The first company that passes by,
Say na, and let them gae;
The next company that passes by,
Say na, and do right sae;
The third company that passes by,
Then I'll be ane o' thae.
'First let pass the black, Janet,And syne let pass the brown;But grip ye to the milk-white steed,And pu' the rider down.'
'First let pass the black, Janet,
And syne let pass the brown;
But grip ye to the milk-white steed,
And pu' the rider down.'
Compare the first two of these stanzas with the queries put by the gay gos-hawk to his master:
'But how shall I your true love find,Or how suld I her know?I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spoke,An eye that ne'er her saw.''O weel sall ye my true love ken,Sae sore as ye her see,' &c.
'But how shall I your true love find,Or how suld I her know?I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spoke,An eye that ne'er her saw.'
'But how shall I your true love find,
Or how suld I her know?
I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spoke,
An eye that ne'er her saw.'
'O weel sall ye my true love ken,Sae sore as ye her see,' &c.
'O weel sall ye my true love ken,
Sae sore as ye her see,' &c.
As to the latter three stanzas, they exhibit a formula of description, which appears in several of the suspected ballads, consisting of a series of nearly identical statements, apparently for the sake of amplitude. For example, the progress of the seeming funeral of the lady in theGay Gos-hawk:
At the first kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the bells be rung;At the second kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the mass be sung.At the third kirk of fair Scotland,They dealt gold for her sake;And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,Her true love met them at.
At the first kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the bells be rung;At the second kirk of fair Scotland,They gart the mass be sung.
At the first kirk of fair Scotland,
They gart the bells be rung;
At the second kirk of fair Scotland,
They gart the mass be sung.
At the third kirk of fair Scotland,They dealt gold for her sake;And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,Her true love met them at.
At the third kirk of fair Scotland,
They dealt gold for her sake;
And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,
Her true love met them at.
Or the following, inSweet Willie and Fair Annie, which is almost the same incident and relation of circumstances as the said seeming funeral; only the lady in this case is dead:
The firsten bower that he cam till,There was right dowie wark;Her mother and her sisters threeWere making to Annie a sark.The next bower that he cam till,There was right dowie cheer;Her father and her seven brethrenWere making to Annie a bier.The lasten bower that he cam till,O heavy was his care;The waxen lights were burning bright,And fair Annie streekit there.
The firsten bower that he cam till,There was right dowie wark;Her mother and her sisters threeWere making to Annie a sark.
The firsten bower that he cam till,
There was right dowie wark;
Her mother and her sisters three
Were making to Annie a sark.
The next bower that he cam till,There was right dowie cheer;Her father and her seven brethrenWere making to Annie a bier.
The next bower that he cam till,
There was right dowie cheer;
Her father and her seven brethren
Were making to Annie a bier.
The lasten bower that he cam till,O heavy was his care;The waxen lights were burning bright,And fair Annie streekit there.
The lasten bower that he cam till,
O heavy was his care;
The waxen lights were burning bright,
And fair Annie streekit there.
In Scott's version ofTam Lanethere are some stanzas of so modern a cast as to prove that this poem has been at least tampered with. For example, the account of fairy life:
'And all our wants are well suppliedFrom every rich man's store,Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,And vainly grasps for more.'
'And all our wants are well suppliedFrom every rich man's store,Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,And vainly grasps for more.'
'And all our wants are well supplied
From every rich man's store,
Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,
And vainly grasps for more.'
Without regard, however, to such manifest patches, the general structure and style of expression must be admitted to strongly recall the other ballads which have been already commented on.
Only a wish to keep this dissertation within moderate bounds forbids me to analyse a few other ballads, as theDouglas Tragedy,Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,Lady Maiery, theClerk's Two Sons of Owsenford, and a ScotchHeir of Linnelately recovered by Mr J. H. Dixon, all of which, besides others which must rest unnamed, bear traces of the same authorship with the ballads already brought under notice.
It is now to be remarked of the ballads published by the successors of Percy, as of those which he published, that there is not a particle of positive evidence for their having existed before the eighteenth century. Overlooking the one given by Ramsay in hisTea-table Miscellany, we have neither print nor manuscript of them before the reign of George III. They are not in the style of old literature. They contain no references to old literature. As little does old literature contain any references to them. They wholly escaped the collecting diligence of Bannatyne. James Watson, who published a collection of Scottish poetry in 1706-1711, wholly overlooks them. Ramsay, as we see, caught up only one. Even Herd, in 1769, only gathered a few fragments of some of these poems. It was reserved for Sir Walter Scott and Robert Jamieson, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, to obtain copies of the great bulk of these poems—that is, the ballads over and above the few published by Percy—froma lady—a certain 'Mrs Brown of Falkland,' who seems to have been the wife of the Rev. Andrew Brown, minister of that parish in Fife—is known to have been the daughter of Professor Thomas Gordon, of King's College, Aberdeen—and is stated to have derived her stores of legendary lore from the memory of her aunt, a Mrs Farquhar, the wife of a small proprietor in Braemar, who had spent the best part of her life among flocks and herds, but lived latterly in Aberdeen. At the suggestion of Mr William Tytler, a son of Mrs Brown wrote down a parcel of the ballads which her aunt had heard in her youth from the recitation of nurses and old women.[28]Such were the external circumstances, none of them giving the least support to the assumed antiquity of the pieces, but rather exciting some suspicion to the contrary effect.
When we come to consider the internal evidence, what do we find? We find that these poems, in common with those published by Percy, are composed in a style of romantic beauty and elevation distinguishing them from all other remains of Scottish traditionary poetry. They are quite unlike the palpably old historical ballads, such as theBattle of Otterbourneand theRaid of the Reidswire. They are unlike the Border ballads, such asDick o' the Cow, andJock o' the Syde, commemorating domestic events of the latter part of the sixteenth century. They are strikingly unlike theBurning of Frendraught, theBonny House o' Airly, and theBattle of Bothwell Bridge, contemporaneous metrical chronicles of events of the seventeenth century. Not less different are they from a large mass of ballads, which have latterly been published by Mr Peter Buchan and others, involving romantic incidents, it is true, or eccentricities in private life, but in such rude and homely strains as speak strongly of a plebeian origin. In the ballads here brought under question, the characters are usually persons of condition, generally richly dressed, often well mounted, and of a dignified bearing towards all inferior people. The page, the nurse, the waiting-woman, the hound, the hawk, and other animals connected with the pageantry of high life, are prominently introduced. Yet the characters and incidents are alike relieved from all clear connection with any particular age: they may be said to form a world of their own, of no particular era, wherein the imagination of the reader may revel, as that of the author has done. It may be allowably said, there is a tone ofbreedingthroughout these ballads, such as is never found in the productions of rustic genius. One marked feature—the pathos of deep female affections—the sacrifice and the suffering which these so often involve—runs through nearly the whole. References to religion and religious ceremonies and fanes are of the slightest kind. We hear of bells being rung and mass sung, but only to indicate a time of day. Had they been old ballads continually changing in diction and in thought, as passed down from one reciter to another, they could not have failed to involve some considerable trace of the intensely earnest religious life of the seventeenth century; but not the slightest tincture of this enthusiastic feeling appears in them, a defect the more marked, as they contain abundant allusion to the superstitions which survived into the succeeding time of religious indifference, and indeed some of their besteffectsrest in a dexterous treatment of these weird ideas. There is but one exception to what has been observed on the obscurity of the epoch pointed to for the incidents—the dresses, properties, and decorations, are sometimes of a modern cast. The writer—if we may be allowed to speculate on a single writer—seems to have been unable to resist an inclination to indulge in description of the external furnishings of the heroes and heroines, or rather, perhaps, has been desirous of making outeffectfrom these particulars; but the finery of the court of Charles II. is the furthest point reached in the retrospect—although, I must admit, this is in general treated with a vagueness that helps much to conceal the want of learning.
Another point of great importance in the matter of internal evidence, is the isolatedness of these ballads in respect of English traditionary literature. The Scottish muse has not always gone hand in hand with the English in point of time, but she has done so in all other respects. Any literature we had from the beginning of the seventeenth century downwards, was always sensibly tinged by what had immediately before been in vogue in the south. Nor is it easy to see how a people occupying part of the same island, and speaking essentially the same language, should have avoided this communion of literary taste; but the ballads in question are wholly unlike any English ballads. Look over Percy, Evans, or Mr Collier's suite ofRoxburghe Ballads, giving those which were popular in London during the seventeenth century, and you find not a trace of the style and manner of these Scottish romantic ballads. Neither, it would appear, had one of them found its way into popularity in England before the time of Percy; for, had it been otherwise, he would have found them either in print or in the mouths of the people.[29]
Upon all of these considerations, I have arrived at the conclusion, that the high-class romantic ballads of Scotland are not ancient compositions—are not older than the early part of the eighteenth century—and are mainly, if not wholly, the production of one mind.
Whose was this mind, is a different question, on which no such confident decision may for the present be arrived at; but I have no hesitation in saying that, from the internal resemblances traced on fromHardyknutethroughSir Patrick SpenceandGil Morriceto the others, there seems to me a greatlikelihoodthat the whole were the composition of the authoress of that poem—namely, Elizabeth Lady Wardlaw of Pitreavie.
It may be demanded that something should be done to verify, or at least support, the allegation here made as to the peculiar literary character of the suspected ballads. This is, of course, a point to be best made out by a perusal of the entire body of this class of compositions, and scarcely by any other means. Still, it is a difference so striking, that even to present one typical ballad of true rustic origin, could not fail to make a considerable impression on the reader, after he has read specimens of those which are here attributed to a higher source. Be it observed, when an uneducated person speaks of knights, lords, and kings, or of dames and damosels, he reduces all to one homely level. He indulges in no diplomatic periphrases. It is simply, the king said this, and the lord said that—this thing was done, and that thing was done—the catastrophe ordénouementcomes by a single stroke. This we find in the true stall-ballads. A vulgar, prosaic, and drawling character pervades the whole class, with few exceptions—a fact which ought to give no surprise, for does not all experience shew, that literature of any kind, to have effect, requires for its production a mind of some cultivation, and really good verse flowing from an uninstructed source is what never was, is not now, and never will be? With these remarks, I usher in a typical ballad of the common class—one taken down many years ago from the singing of an old man in the south of Scotland:
JAMES HATELIE.It fell upon a certain day,When the king from home he chanced to be,The king's jewels they were stolen all,And they laid the blame on James Hatelie.And he is into prison cast,And I wat he is condemned todee;For there was not a man in all the courtTo speak a word for James Hatelie.But the king's eldest daughter she loved him well,But known her love it might not be;And she has stolen the prison keys,And gane in and discoursed wi' James Hatelie.'Oh, did you steal them, James?' she said;'Oh, did not you steal them, come tell to me?For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true,You's never be the worse of me.''I did not steal them,' James he said;'And neither was it intended by me,For the English they stole them themselves,And I wat they've laid the blame on me.'Now she has hame to her father gane,And bowed her low down on her knee,'I ask—I ask—I ask, father,' she said,'I ask—I ask a boon of thee;I never asked one in my life,And one of them you must grant to me.''Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;'And aye weel answered ye shall be;For if it were my whole estate,Naysaid, naysaid you shall not be.''I ask none of your gold, father,As little of your white monie;But all the asken that I do ask,It is the life of James Hatelie.''Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;'And aye weel answered ye shall be;For I'll mak a vow, and keep it true—James Hatelie shall not hanged be.''Another asken I ask, father;Another asken I ask of thee—Let Fenwick and Hatelie go to the sword,And let them try their veritie.''Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;'And aye weel answered you shall be;For before the morn at twelve o'clock,They both at the point of the sword shall be.'James Hatelie was eighteen years of age,False Fenwick was thirty years and three;He lap about, and he strack about,And he gave false Fenwick wounds three.'Oh, hold your hand, James Hatelie,' he said;'And let my breath go out and in;Were it not for the spilling of my noble bloodAnd the shaming of my noble kin.'Oh, hold your hand, James Hatelie,' he said;Oh, hold your hand, and let me be;For I'm the man that stole the jewels,And a shame and disgrace it was to me.'Then up bespoke an English lord,I wat but he spoke haughtilie:'I would rather have lost all my lands,Before they had not hanged James Hatelie.'Then up bespoke a good Scotch lord,I wat a good Scotch lord was he:'I would rather have foughten to the knees in blood,Than they had hanged James Hatelie.'Then up bespoke the king's eldest son:'Come in, James Hatelie, and dine with me;For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true—You'se be my captain by land and sea.'Then up bespoke the king's eldest daughter:'Come in, James Hatelie, and dine with me;For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true—I'll never marrie a man but thee.'
JAMES HATELIE.
JAMES HATELIE.
It fell upon a certain day,When the king from home he chanced to be,The king's jewels they were stolen all,And they laid the blame on James Hatelie.
It fell upon a certain day,
When the king from home he chanced to be,
The king's jewels they were stolen all,
And they laid the blame on James Hatelie.
And he is into prison cast,And I wat he is condemned todee;For there was not a man in all the courtTo speak a word for James Hatelie.
And he is into prison cast,
And I wat he is condemned todee;
For there was not a man in all the court
To speak a word for James Hatelie.
But the king's eldest daughter she loved him well,But known her love it might not be;And she has stolen the prison keys,And gane in and discoursed wi' James Hatelie.
But the king's eldest daughter she loved him well,
But known her love it might not be;
And she has stolen the prison keys,
And gane in and discoursed wi' James Hatelie.
'Oh, did you steal them, James?' she said;'Oh, did not you steal them, come tell to me?For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true,You's never be the worse of me.'
'Oh, did you steal them, James?' she said;
'Oh, did not you steal them, come tell to me?
For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true,
You's never be the worse of me.'
'I did not steal them,' James he said;'And neither was it intended by me,For the English they stole them themselves,And I wat they've laid the blame on me.'
'I did not steal them,' James he said;
'And neither was it intended by me,
For the English they stole them themselves,
And I wat they've laid the blame on me.'
Now she has hame to her father gane,And bowed her low down on her knee,'I ask—I ask—I ask, father,' she said,'I ask—I ask a boon of thee;I never asked one in my life,And one of them you must grant to me.'
Now she has hame to her father gane,
And bowed her low down on her knee,
'I ask—I ask—I ask, father,' she said,
'I ask—I ask a boon of thee;
I never asked one in my life,
And one of them you must grant to me.'
'Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;'And aye weel answered ye shall be;For if it were my whole estate,Naysaid, naysaid you shall not be.'
'Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;
'And aye weel answered ye shall be;
For if it were my whole estate,
Naysaid, naysaid you shall not be.'
'I ask none of your gold, father,As little of your white monie;But all the asken that I do ask,It is the life of James Hatelie.'
'I ask none of your gold, father,
As little of your white monie;
But all the asken that I do ask,
It is the life of James Hatelie.'
'Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;'And aye weel answered ye shall be;For I'll mak a vow, and keep it true—James Hatelie shall not hanged be.'
'Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;
'And aye weel answered ye shall be;
For I'll mak a vow, and keep it true—
James Hatelie shall not hanged be.'
'Another asken I ask, father;Another asken I ask of thee—Let Fenwick and Hatelie go to the sword,And let them try their veritie.'
'Another asken I ask, father;
Another asken I ask of thee—
Let Fenwick and Hatelie go to the sword,
And let them try their veritie.'
'Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;'And aye weel answered you shall be;For before the morn at twelve o'clock,They both at the point of the sword shall be.'
'Ask on, ask on, daughter,' he said;
'And aye weel answered you shall be;
For before the morn at twelve o'clock,
They both at the point of the sword shall be.'
James Hatelie was eighteen years of age,False Fenwick was thirty years and three;He lap about, and he strack about,And he gave false Fenwick wounds three.
James Hatelie was eighteen years of age,
False Fenwick was thirty years and three;
He lap about, and he strack about,
And he gave false Fenwick wounds three.
'Oh, hold your hand, James Hatelie,' he said;'And let my breath go out and in;Were it not for the spilling of my noble bloodAnd the shaming of my noble kin.
'Oh, hold your hand, James Hatelie,' he said;
'And let my breath go out and in;
Were it not for the spilling of my noble blood
And the shaming of my noble kin.
'Oh, hold your hand, James Hatelie,' he said;Oh, hold your hand, and let me be;For I'm the man that stole the jewels,And a shame and disgrace it was to me.'
'Oh, hold your hand, James Hatelie,' he said;
Oh, hold your hand, and let me be;
For I'm the man that stole the jewels,
And a shame and disgrace it was to me.'
Then up bespoke an English lord,I wat but he spoke haughtilie:'I would rather have lost all my lands,Before they had not hanged James Hatelie.'
Then up bespoke an English lord,
I wat but he spoke haughtilie:
'I would rather have lost all my lands,
Before they had not hanged James Hatelie.'
Then up bespoke a good Scotch lord,I wat a good Scotch lord was he:'I would rather have foughten to the knees in blood,Than they had hanged James Hatelie.'
Then up bespoke a good Scotch lord,
I wat a good Scotch lord was he:
'I would rather have foughten to the knees in blood,
Than they had hanged James Hatelie.'
Then up bespoke the king's eldest son:'Come in, James Hatelie, and dine with me;For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true—You'se be my captain by land and sea.'
Then up bespoke the king's eldest son:
'Come in, James Hatelie, and dine with me;
For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true—
You'se be my captain by land and sea.'
Then up bespoke the king's eldest daughter:'Come in, James Hatelie, and dine with me;For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true—I'll never marrie a man but thee.'
Then up bespoke the king's eldest daughter:
'Come in, James Hatelie, and dine with me;
For I'll make a vow, and I'll keep it true—
I'll never marrie a man but thee.'
Here is love, and here is innocence in difficulties—two things of high moral interest; yet how homely is the whole narration; how unlike the strains of the ballads which have been passed before the reader's view! And be it observed, the theory as to our ballads is, that they have been transmitted from old time, undergoing modifications from the minds of nurses, and other humble reciters, as they came along. If so, they ought to have presented the same plebeian strain of ideas and phraseology asJames Hatelie; but we see they do not: they are, on the contrary, remarkably poetical, pure, and dignified.
Here I may, once for all, in opposition to Professor Aytoun and others, express my belief that the ballads in question are for the most part printed nearly, and, in some instances, entirely, in the condition in which they were left by the author. InEdward, I question if a line has been corrupted or a word altered.Sir Patrick SpenceandGilderoyare both so rounded and complete, so free, moreover, from all vulgar terms, that I feel nearly equally confident about them. All those which Percy obtained in manuscripts from Scotland, are neat finished compositions, as much so as any ballad of Tickell or Shenstone. Those from Mrs Brown's manuscript have also an author's finish clearly impressed on them. It is a mere assumption that they have been sent down, with large modifications, from old times. Had it been true, the ballads would have been full of vulgarisms, as we find to be the condition of certain of them which Peter Buchan picked up among the common people, after (shall we say) seventy or eighty years of traditionary handling. Now, no such depravation appears in the versions printed by Percy, Scott, and Jamieson.
It may be objected to the arguments founded on the great number of parallel passages, that these are but the stock phraseology of all ballad-mongers, and form no just proof of unity of authorship. If this were true, it might be an objection of some force; but it is not true. Theformulæin question are to be found hardly at all in any of the rustic or homely ballads. They are not to be found in any ballads which there is good reason to believe so old as the early part of the seventeenth century. They are to be found in no ballads which may even doubtfully be affiliated to England. All this, of course, can only be fully ascertained by a careful perusal of some large collection of ballads. Yet, even in such a case, a few examples may be viewed with interest, and not unprofitably. Of the plebeian ballads, a specimen has just been adduced. Let us proceed, then, to exemplify the ballads of the seventeenth century. First, takeFair Margaret and Sweet William, which Percy brought forward from a stall copy as, apparently, the ballad quoted in Fletcher'sKnight of the Burning Pestle; though subjected to some alteration during the intermediate century and a half. It is as follows:
As it fell out on a long summer day,Two lovers they sat on a hill;They sat together that long summer day,And could not take their fill.'I see no harm by you, Margaret,And you see none by me;Before to-morrow at eight o'clock,A rich wedding you shall see.'Fair Margaret sat in her bouir window,Combing her yellow hair;There she spied sweit William and his bride,As they were a-riding near.Then doun she layed her ivorie combe,And braided her hair in twain:She went alive out of her bouir,But never cam alive in't again.When day was gone, and nicht was come,And all men fast asleip,Then came the spirit of fair Margaret,And stood at William's feet.'Are you awake, sweit William?' she said;'Or, sweit William, are you asleip?God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,And me of my winding-sheet!'When day was come, and nicht was gone,And all men waked from sleip,Sweit William to his lady said:'My deir, I have cause to weep.'I dreimt a dreim, my dear ladye;Such dreims are never good:I dreimt my bouir was full of red swine,And my bride-bed full of blood.''Such dreims, such dreims, my honoured sir,They never do prove good;To dreim thy bouir was full of red swine,And thy bride-bed full of blood.'He called up his merry-men all,By one, by two, and by three;Saying: 'I'll away to fair Margaret's bouir,By the leave of my ladye.'And when he came to fair Margaret's bouir,He knockit at the ring;And who so ready as her seven brethrenTo let sweit William in.Then he turned up the covering sheet:'Pray, let me see the deid;Methinks, she looks all pale and wan;She hath lost her cherry red.'I'll do more for thee, Margaret,Than any of thy kin,For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,Though a smile I cannot win.'With that bespake the seven brethren,Making most piteous moan:'You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,And let our sister alone.''If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,I do but what is right;I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,By day nor yet by night.'Deal on, deal on, my merry-men all;Deal on your cake and your wine:For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.'Fair Margaret died to-day, to-day,Sweit William died to-morrow;Fair Margaret died for pure true love,Sweit William died for sorrow.Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,And William in the higher;Out of her breast there sprang a rose,And out of his a brier.They grew till they grew unto the church-top,And then they could grow no higher;And there they tied in a true lovers' knot,Which made all the people admire.Then came the clerk of the parish,As you the truth shall hear,And by misfortune cut them down,Or they had now been there.
As it fell out on a long summer day,Two lovers they sat on a hill;They sat together that long summer day,And could not take their fill.
As it fell out on a long summer day,
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer day,
And could not take their fill.
'I see no harm by you, Margaret,And you see none by me;Before to-morrow at eight o'clock,A rich wedding you shall see.'
'I see no harm by you, Margaret,
And you see none by me;
Before to-morrow at eight o'clock,
A rich wedding you shall see.'
Fair Margaret sat in her bouir window,Combing her yellow hair;There she spied sweit William and his bride,As they were a-riding near.
Fair Margaret sat in her bouir window,
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spied sweit William and his bride,
As they were a-riding near.
Then doun she layed her ivorie combe,And braided her hair in twain:She went alive out of her bouir,But never cam alive in't again.
Then doun she layed her ivorie combe,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bouir,
But never cam alive in't again.
When day was gone, and nicht was come,And all men fast asleip,Then came the spirit of fair Margaret,And stood at William's feet.
When day was gone, and nicht was come,
And all men fast asleip,
Then came the spirit of fair Margaret,
And stood at William's feet.
'Are you awake, sweit William?' she said;'Or, sweit William, are you asleip?God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,And me of my winding-sheet!'
'Are you awake, sweit William?' she said;
'Or, sweit William, are you asleip?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet!'
When day was come, and nicht was gone,And all men waked from sleip,Sweit William to his lady said:'My deir, I have cause to weep.
When day was come, and nicht was gone,
And all men waked from sleip,
Sweit William to his lady said:
'My deir, I have cause to weep.
'I dreimt a dreim, my dear ladye;Such dreims are never good:I dreimt my bouir was full of red swine,And my bride-bed full of blood.'
'I dreimt a dreim, my dear ladye;
Such dreims are never good:
I dreimt my bouir was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.'
'Such dreims, such dreims, my honoured sir,They never do prove good;To dreim thy bouir was full of red swine,And thy bride-bed full of blood.'
'Such dreims, such dreims, my honoured sir,
They never do prove good;
To dreim thy bouir was full of red swine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood.'
He called up his merry-men all,By one, by two, and by three;Saying: 'I'll away to fair Margaret's bouir,By the leave of my ladye.'
He called up his merry-men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying: 'I'll away to fair Margaret's bouir,
By the leave of my ladye.'
And when he came to fair Margaret's bouir,He knockit at the ring;And who so ready as her seven brethrenTo let sweit William in.
And when he came to fair Margaret's bouir,
He knockit at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethren
To let sweit William in.
Then he turned up the covering sheet:'Pray, let me see the deid;Methinks, she looks all pale and wan;She hath lost her cherry red.
Then he turned up the covering sheet:
'Pray, let me see the deid;
Methinks, she looks all pale and wan;
She hath lost her cherry red.
'I'll do more for thee, Margaret,Than any of thy kin,For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,Though a smile I cannot win.'
'I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin,
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win.'
With that bespake the seven brethren,Making most piteous moan:'You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,And let our sister alone.'
With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous moan:
'You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.'
'If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,I do but what is right;I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,By day nor yet by night.
'If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day nor yet by night.
'Deal on, deal on, my merry-men all;Deal on your cake and your wine:For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.'
'Deal on, deal on, my merry-men all;
Deal on your cake and your wine:
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine.'
Fair Margaret died to-day, to-day,Sweit William died to-morrow;Fair Margaret died for pure true love,Sweit William died for sorrow.
Fair Margaret died to-day, to-day,
Sweit William died to-morrow;
Fair Margaret died for pure true love,
Sweit William died for sorrow.
Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,And William in the higher;Out of her breast there sprang a rose,And out of his a brier.
Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,
And William in the higher;
Out of her breast there sprang a rose,
And out of his a brier.
They grew till they grew unto the church-top,And then they could grow no higher;And there they tied in a true lovers' knot,Which made all the people admire.
They grew till they grew unto the church-top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And there they tied in a true lovers' knot,
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,As you the truth shall hear,And by misfortune cut them down,Or they had now been there.
Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
Here, it will be observed, beyond the expression, 'my merry-men all,' there is no trace of the phraseology so marked in the group of ballads under our notice. Take, also, a ballad which, from the occurrences referred to, may be considered as antecedent to the epoch ofHardyknute, and we shall observe an equal, if not more complete, absence of the phraseology and manner of this class of ballads. It relates to a tragic love-story of 1631, as ascertained from the grave-stone of the heroine in the kirk-yard of Fyvie, Aberdeenshire: