SELECT SCOTISH BALLADS.
VOLUME I.
CONTAINING BALLADS IN THE TRAGIC STYLE.
THE SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED.
SELECT SCOTISH BALLADS.
VOLUME I.
LONDON, PRINTED BY AND FOR J. NICHOLS.
MDCCLXXXIII.
HARDYKNUTE, AN HEROIC BALLAD, NOW FIRST PUBLISHED COMPLETE; WITH THE OTHER MORE APPROVED SCOTISH BALLADS, AND SOME NOT HITHER TO MADE PUBLIC, IN THE TRAGIC STYLE.
TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED TO DISSERTATIONS,
I. ON THE ORAL TRADITION OF POETRY.
II. ON THE TRAGIC BALLAD.
JAMQUE SACRUM TENERIS VATEM VENERSTUR AB ANNIS.
TO HIS GRACE THE Duke of BUCCLEUGH.
MY LORD,
IT is with much pleasure I embrace this opportunity of testifying my sincere respect for YOUR GRACE's exalted character, as the friend and as the ornament of your country, by addressing these volumes to a name so much revered and beloved by the nation whose poetry they are intended to preserve and to illustrate.
The chief compositions in this volume, MY LORD, will be found to breathe the living spirit of the Scotish people, a race of men who have left monuments of their martial glory in every country. YOUR GRACE, it is hoped, will with pleasure here recognise the noble ardour your example lately tended to revive, by raising and commanding in person a military force in defence of your country, at a period when her natives had not discernment to perceive, nor spirit to assume, the privileges of British subjects.
The second volume, MY LORD, contains chiefly pieces descriptive of rural merriment, and of love and domestic happiness. Even these, it is humbly believed, YOUR GRACE will not disdain; for it is well known that the felicity of the poor in general, and of your numerous tenants and dependants in particular, is regarded by YOUR GRACE as essential to your own. In reward, YOUR GRACE enjoys a domestic felicity now seldom or never known to the great who are generally obliged to exchange the free enjoyment of true pleasure for the gaudy slavery of ostentation.
At a period when many of the British nobility are wasting their patrimonial estates in profligate dissipation; men trained to arms in defence of their rights and liberties, villages beautified and rendered salubrious, and their inhabitants rendered happy, have been the monuments of expence of the DUKE OF BUCCLEUGH.
The silent gratitude of the poor will ever speak YOUR GRACE's praises with an expression unknown to the most exalted elocution; and it were surely absurd for any writer to enlarge on what is the common subject of conversation, and known to all; I shall not therefore any longer intrude on YOUR GRACE's patience.
That SCOTLAND may long consider YOUR GRACE as one of the best guardians of her liberty, and the living assertor of her ancient spirit, is the earnest wish of,
MY LORD, YOUR GRACE's Most obedient Servant, JOHN PINKERTON.
CONTENTS.
DISSERTATION I. Page xv
DISSERTATION II. Page xxviii
1.
Hardyknute,
Part I. Page 1
1.
Hardyknute,
Part II. Page 16
2.
Child Maurice.
Page 34
3.
Adam o Gordon.
Page 44
4.
The Child of Elle.
Page 52
5.
Gilderoy,
Page 62
6.
"The Gypsies came to our good Lord's gate.
Page 67
7.
The Cruel Knight.
Page 69
8.
Young Waters.
Page 72
9.
Sir Hugh, or the Jew's Daughter.
Page 75
10.
Flodden Field, or the Flowers of the Forest.
Page 78
11.
Edward.
Page 80
12.
Sir Patrick Spence.
Page 83
13.
Lady Bothwell's Lament.
Page 86
14.
Earl of Murray.
Page 88
14.
Sir James the Rose.
Page 90
16.
Laird of Woodhouselie.
Page 94
17.
Lord Livingston.
Page 98
18.
Binnorie.
Page 102
19.
Death of Menteith.
Page 105
20.
Lord Airth's Complaint.
Page 107
21.
"I wish I were where Helen lyes."
Page 109
Fragments.
Page 111
Notes.
Page 115
Glossary.
Page 156
DISSERTATIONS ON THE ORAL TRADITION OF POETRY, AND ON THE TRAGIC BALLAD.
DISSERTATION I. ON THE ORAL TRADITION OF POETRY.
IT has long been a subject of regret, that the inventors of the fine Arts have by oblivion been deprived of the reputation due to their memory. Of the many realms which lay claim to their birth, Egypt seems to possess the preference. Yet, like the Nile, which animates that country, while they have diffused pleasure and utility over kingdoms, their origin remains hid in the most profound obscurity.
That poetry holds a distinguished superiority over all these sciences is allowed; yet the first practiser of this enchanting art has lost the renown it was designed to confer. We must either allow the contested claim of the Osiris of the Egyptians, and Apollo of the Greeks, or be content to withhold from any, the fame which indeed seems due to as many inventors as there are distinct nations in the world. For poetry appears not to require the labour of disquisition, or aid of chance, to invent; but is rather the original language of men in an infant state of society in all countries. It is the effusion of fancy actuated by the passions: and that these are always strongest when uncontrouled by custom, and the manners which in an advanced community are termed polite, is evident. But the peculiar advantages, which a certain situation of extrinsic objects confers on this art, have already been so well illustrated by eminent critics
Particularly Dr. Blackwell, in his Enquiry into the Life and Writings of Homer; and Dr. Blair, in his elegant Dissertation on the Poems of Ossian.
, that it is unnecessary here to remember them. I have besides noted a few such as immediately concern the compositions now under view in the subsequent Dissertation; and only propose here to give a brief account of the utility of the Oral Tradition of Poetry, in that barbarous state of society which necessarily precedes the invention of letters; and of the circumstances that conspired to render it easy and safe.
Among the Egyptians, probably the most ancient authors of the elegant, as well as useful sciences, we find that verses were originally used solely to preserve the laws of their princes, and sayings of their wise men from oblivion
Herodot. Diodor. Sicul. &c.
. These were sometimes inscribed in their temples in their hieroglyphic character, but more frequently only committed to the memory of the expounders of their Law, or disciples of their sages. Pythagoras, who was initiated in their secret science, conveyed in like manner his dictates to his disciples, as appears from the moral verses which pass under his name at this day. And though the authenticity of these may be questioned, yet that he followed this mode of bequeathing his knowledge to his followers, is proved from the consent of all antiquity
Jamblichus de vita Pythag.
passim;
and particularly
lib.
I.
cap.
15. and 25.
. Nay, before him, Thales composed in like manner his System of Natural Philosophy. And even so late as the time of Aristotle, the Laws of the Agathyrsi, a nation in Sarmatia, were all delivered in verse. Not to mention the known laws of the Twelve Tables, which, from the fragments still remaining of them, appear to have consisted of short rythmic sentences.
From laws and religion poetry made an easy progress to the celebration of the Gods and Heroes, who were their founders. Verses in their praise were sung on solemn occasions by the composers, or bards themselves. We meet with many before Homer, who distinguished themselves by such productions. Fabricius
In Bibliotheca Graeca,
tom.
I.
has enumerated near seventy whose names have reached our times. That immortal author had the advantage of hearing their poems repeated; and was certainly indebted to his predecessors for many beauties which we admire as original. That he was himself an ΑΟΙΔΟΣ, or Minstrel, and sung his own verses to the lyre, is shown by the admirable author of the Enquiry into his Life and Writings
Sect. VIII.
. Nor were his poems rescued from the uncertain fame of tradition, and committed to writing till some time after his death
Aelian. Var. Hist. lib. xiii. c. 14.
.
Such was the utility of the poetic tradition among the more polished nations of antiquity: and with those they denominated Barbarians we find it no less practised
The reader, who would desire more intelligence on this head, may consult a curious
Dissertation on the Monuments which supplied the Defect of Writing among the first Historians,
by the Abbé Ansesm, in Les Memoires de l'Academie des Inscriptions, &c.
. The Persians had their Magi, who preserved, as would seem in this way, the remarkable events of former times, and in war went before the army singing the praises of their illustrious men, whom the extraordinary gratitude and admiration of their countrymen had exalted into Deities. If they gained the victory, the Song of Triumph recorded the deeds of those who had fallen, and by their praises animated the ambition of those who enjoyed the conquest to farther acts of valour. The latter custom was in use still more anciently among the Jews, as appears from the songs of Moses
Exod XV.
and Deborah
Judges V.
preserved in Sacred Writ.
The Druids of Gaul and Britain afford a noted instance
Et Bardi quidem fortia virorum illustrium facta heroicis composita versibus, cum dulcibus lyrae modulis cantitarunt.
Ammian. Marcell.
lib. xvi.
. Such firm hold did their traditions take of the memory, that some of them are retained in the minds of their countrymen to this very day
Atque horum (Bardorum seu Druidarum) cantiones, aut ad similitudinem potius earundem fictae etiamnum aliquae extant
die Moister Gesänge,
sed recentiores pleraeque, nec vel quingentos annos excedentes.
Bessel. in notis ad Eginbart.
Traject. 1711,
p.
130. Nonnulli eruditi viri observarunt veterem illam Gallorum consuetudinem (
scil.
visci saerum usum apud druidas) etiam nunc multis Galliae loeis retineri, cum anni initio clamitant,
Au guy l'an nouf.
i. e. Ad viscum; annus novus.
Hotoman. ad Caes. l.
6. Druydes vero Heduorum, qui tunc habitabant in quodam loco, hodiernis temporibus Mons druidum dictus, distans a nostra civitate Heduensi per unum milliare ubi adhuc restant vestigia loci habitationis eorum, utebantur pro eorum armis anguibus in campo azureo; habebant etiam in parte superiore ramum visci quercinei
(ung rameaul de guyg de chasne)
et in parte inferiore unum cumulum parvorum anguium seu serpentium argenteorum quasi tunc nascentium, qui vulgo dicitur,
coubee de serpens d'argent. Chasseneuz
Catalogi Gloriae mundi, 1529,
folio verso
26.
. The Germans, as we learn from Tacitus, had no other mode of commemorating the transactions of past times than by verse. The brave actions of their ancestors were always sung as an incentive to their imitation before they entered into combat. The like we read of the ancient Goths
Jornand. See
Warton's Hist. of English Poetry.
, those destroyers of all literature, who yet possessed greater skill in the fine arts than is commonly ascribed to them. From them this custom passed to their descendants the inhabitants of the Northern regions, many animated specimens of whose traditional poetry have been preserved to our times
See the Histories of Saxo Grammat. Jo Magnus, Torfaeus, &c.
passim;
and Dr. Percy's
Five Pieces of Runic Poetry.
and quoted by their modern historians as uncontroulable vouchers; as the Arabian historians refer for the truth of many events to the Spanish romanzes, saved in like manner by tradition for many ages, many of which are of very remote antiquity, and abound with the higher beauties of poetry
Hist. de las guerras civiles de Granada.
A most beautiful imitation of their manner may be found among the Poems of Voiture. The Spanish word
Romanze
seems now applied to any short lyric tale on whatever subject. We find in Gongora, their most eminent poet,
Romances Amorosos, y Burlescos.
. Traditional verses are to this day a favourite amusement of the Mahometan nations; though, instead of recording the illustrious actions of their real heroes, they chaunt the fabled exploits of Buhalul their Orlando
Huet, Lettre à Monsieur Segrais, sur l'origine des Romans, p. LXVII. edit. d'Amst. 1715.
, or the yet more ridiculous ones of their Prophet
Historiale description de l'Afrique, escrite de notre temps par Jean Leon, African, premierement en langue Arabesque, puis en Toscane, et à present mise en François—En Anvers, 1556.
lib.
III.
p.
175.
A curious specimen of the Eastern religious poetry may be seen in Sir John Chardin's Voyage to Persia, vol. I.
. From them it would appear that rime, that great help to the remembrance of traditional poetry, passed to the Troubadours of Provence; who from them seem also to have received the spirit and character of their effusions. Like them, they composed amorous verses with delicacy and nature; but when they attempted the sublimer walk of the Heroic Song, their imagination was often bewildered, and they wandered into the contiguous regions of the incredible and absurd
Huet, ubi supra, p. LXX. Ermengarde vicomtesse de Narbonne—L'accueil favorable qu'elle fit aux Poetes Provençeaux, a fait croire qu'elle tenoit cour
d'amour
dans son Palais, mourut 1194. Almanach Historique de Languedoc, à Toulouse, 1752, p. 277. See Hist. Liter. des Troub.
Paris,
1774. Translations of Provenzal Sirventes, and an imitation of the Provenzal Heroic Romanze, may be found in a volume lately published by Mr. Dilly, intituled, RIMES. Odes, Book II. Odes, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.16.
.
In proportion as Literature advanced in the world, Oral Tradition disappeared. The venerable British Bards were in time succeeded by the Welsh Beirdh
History of Wales, by Caradoc of Lhancarvan, &c. 1702. p. 159
, whose principal occupation seems to have been to preserve the genealogy of their patrons, or at times to amuse them with some fabulous story of their predecessors sung to the harp or crowd
This is the instrument meant in the following verses of Ven. Fortunatus, lib. vii.
Romanusque lyra plaudat tibi, barbarus harpa,
Graecus Achilliaca, Crotta Britanna canat.
See more of the Harp in War. Antiq. Hibern. cap. 22. And Mr. Evans, Dissert. de Bardis, p. 80.
, an instrument which Griffith ap Conan, King of Wales, is said to have brought from Ireland, about the beginning of the twelfth century.
In like manner, among the Caledonians, as an ingenious writer
Mr. Macpherson, in his Dissertation on the Era of Ossian, p. 228. ed. 1773.
acquaints us,
Every chief in process of time had a bard in his family, and the office became hereditary. By the succession of these bards the poems concerning the ancestors of the family were handed down from generation to generation; they were repeated to the whole clan on solemn occasions, and always alluded to in the new compositions of the bards.
The successors of Ossian were at length employed chiefly in the mean office of preserving fabulous genealogies, and flattering the pride of their chieftains at the expence of truth, without even fancy sufficient to render their inventions either pleasing or plausible. That order of men, I believe, is now altogether extinct; yet they have left a spirit of poetry in the country where they flourished
See Martin's, and other Descriptions of the Western Isles, passim.
; and Ossian's harp still yields a dying sound among the wilds of Morven.
Having thus given a faint view of the progress of the Oral Tradition of Poetry to these times
For an account of the more modern minstrels see Dr. Percy's Dissertation, which is so complete that it leaves nothing to add:
, I proceed to shew what arts the ancient bards employed to make their verses take such hold of the memory of their countrymen, as to be transmitted safe and entire without the aid of writing for many ages. These may be considered as affecting the passions and the ear. Their mode of expression was simple and genuine. They of consequence touched the passions truly and effectively. And when the passions are engaged, we listen with avidity to the tale that so agreeably affects them; and remember it again with the most prompt facility. This may be observed in children, who will forget no circumstance of an interesting story, more especially if striking or dreadful to the fancy; when they cannot remember a short maxim which only occupies the judgement. The passions of men have been and will be the same through all ages. Poetry is the sovereign of the passions, and will reign while they exist. We may laugh at Sir Isaac Newton, as we have at Descartes; but we shall always admire a Homer, an Ossian, or a Shakspere.
As the subjects of these genuine painters of nature deeply interested the heart, and by that means were so agreeable and affecting, that every hearer wished to remember them; so their mode of constructing their verse was such, that the remembrance was easy and expeditious. A few of their many arts to aid the memory I shall here enumerate.
I. Most of these Oral poems were set to music, as would appear, by the original authors themselves. That this was the custom so early as the days of Homer, may be seen in the excellent author formerly adduced
Enquiry, &c. Sect. VIII.
. How should we have been affected by hearing a composition of Homer or Ossian
ung and played by these immortal masters themselves! With the poem the air seems to have passed from one age to another; but as no musical compositions of the Greeks exist, we are quite in the dark as to the nature of these. I suppose that Ossian's poetry is still recited to its original cadence and to appropriated tunes. We find, in an excellent modern writer
Mr. Warton, in his History of English Poetry.
, that this mode of singing poetry to the harp was reckoned an accomplishment so late as among the Saxon Ecclesiastics. The ancient music was confessedly infinitely superior to ours in the command of the passions. Nay, the music of the most barbarous countries has had effects that not all the sublime pathos of Corelli, or animated strains of Handel, could produce. Have not the Welsh, Irish, and Scotish tunes, greater influence over the most informed mind at this day than the best Italian concerto? What Modern refined music could have the powers of the
Rance de Vaches
See Rousseau, Dict. de Musique,
sur cette article.
Though the Swiss are a brave nation, yet their dance, which corresponds to the
Rance des Vaches,
is, like their others, rather expressive of an effeminate spirit.
Les dances des Suisses consistent en un continuel trainement de Jambe, ces pas repondoient mal au courage ferme de cette nation. Coquillart en son Blazon des armes, et des dames.
Les Escossoys font les repliques,
Pragois et Bretons bretonnans,
Les Suisses dancent leurs Moresques,
A touts leurs tabourins sonnants.
Mons. L. D. Notes à Rabelais, Tom. IV. p. 164. 1725.
of the Swiss, or the melancholy sound of the Indian Bansha
See Grainger's Proso-poetic Account of the Culture of the Sugar-cane, Book IV.
? Is not the war-music of the rudest inhabitants of the wilds of America or Scotland more terrible to the ear than that of the best band in the British army? Or, what is still more surprizing, will not the softer passions be more inflamed by a Turkish air than by the most exquisite effort of a polite composer? as we learn from an elegant writer
Letters of Lady M. W. Montague, XXXIII.
, whom concurring circumstances rendered the best judge that could be imagined of that subject. The harmony therefore of the old traditional songs possessing such influence over the passions, at the same time that it rendered every expression necessary to the ear, must have greatly recommended them to the remembrance.
II. Besides musical cadence, many arts were used in the versification to facilitate the rehearsal. Such were:
1. The frequent returns of the same sentences and descriptions expressed in the very same words. As for instance, the delivery of messages, the description of battles, &c. of which we meet with infinite examples in Homer, and some, if I mistake not, in Ossian. Good ones may be found in Hardyknute, Part I. v. 123, &c. compared with part II. v. 107, &c. and in Child Maurice, v. 31, with v. 67; and innumerable such in the ancient Traditional Poetry of all nations. These served as land marks, in the view of which the memory travelled secure over the intervening spaces. On this head falls likewise to be mentioned what we call The Burden, that is, the unvaried repetition of one or more lines fixing the tone of the poem throughout the whole. That this is very ancient among the barbaric nations, may be gathered from the known Song of Regner Lodbrog, to be found in Olaus Wormius
Regner Lodbrog, King of Denmark, flourished in the Ninth Century.
; every stanza of which begins with one and the same line. So many of our ballads, both ancient and modern, have this aid to the memory, that it is unnecessary to condescend on any in particular.
2. Alliteration was before the invention of rime greatly used, chiefly by the nations of Northern original, to assist the remembrance of their traditional poetry. Most of the Runic methods of versification consisted in this practice. It was the only one among the Saxon poets, from whom it passed to the English and Scotish
See Hickes,
Ling. Vet. Sept. Thes. c.
23. From the Saxons he observes, that the author of
Pierce Plowman
drew this practice, c. 21. This poem was written about 1350. There is a remarkable similarity in its style and manner with those very curious pieces of ancient Scotish poetry, styled The Prophecies of Thomas Rymer, Marvellous Merling, Beid, Berlington, Waldhave, Eltraine, Banister, and Sybilla, printed at Edinburgh in 1615, and reprinted from that edition, 1742, 8vo. It is very surprising that the respectable editor of
Ancient Scottish Poems, from the MS. of George Bannatyne,
1568.
Edin.
1770, seems to regard these as not more ancient than the time of Queen Mary. His reasons are only founded on the modern appearance of some particular passages. That they have been modernized and corrupted, I will readily allow; but that they are on the main nearly as ancient as Rymer's time, who died about the beginning of the 14th Century, I believe the learned must confess from intrinsic evidence, in such cases the surest of all. Not to mention that Sir David Lindsay, who wrote in the reign of James V. is an undoubted witness that they must be more ancient than this eminent Antiquary would infer. For in enumerating the methods he took to divert that prince while under his care in his infancy, after condescending on some risible circumstances, as
Whan thou wast young I bare thee in my arm
Full tenderly till thou began to gang;
And in thy bed oft happed thee full warm,
With lute in hand than sweetly to thee sang,
Sometime in dancing fiercefully I flang,
And sometimes playing fairses on the flure,
And sometimes of mine office taking cure.
And sometimes like a feind transfigurate,
And sometimes like a greesy ghost of gay,
In divers forms oft times disfigurate, &c.
He adds,
The Prophesies of
Rymer, Bede,
and
Merlin,
And many other pleasant history
Of the red
Erin,
and
Gyre Carlin,
Comforting thee when that I saw thee sory.
Episile to the King, prefixed to his Dream.
They begin thus:
Merling says in his book, who will read right,
Althouch his sayings be uncouth, they shall be true found,
In the seventh chapter read who so will,
One thousand and more after Christ's birth.
Then the Chalnalider of Cornwall is called,
And the wolf out of Wales is vanquished for aye,
Then many ferlies shall fall, and many folk shall die.
This exordium is evidently retouched by a modern hand.—But very many of the passages seem to stand in their original form, as the following lines, which are all in the Saxon manner, will testify:
And derfly dung down without any doome—
A proud prince in the preis lordly shall light,
With bold Barons in bushment to battle shall wend.—
There shall a galyart goat with a golden horn.—
And many similar. That prophecy which bears the name of Thomas Rymer is not destitute of poetic graces. It opens with the following lines:
Still on my ways as I went
Out throuch a land beside a lee,
I met a bairn upon the bent
Modernized
way,
though against the rime.
,
Methought him seemly for to see,
I asked him wholly his intent;
Good Sir, if your will be,
Since that ye bide upon the bent,
Some uncouth tidings tell you me:
When shall all these wars be gone?
That leil men may live in lee;
Or when shall Fasehude go from home,
And Lawtie blow his horn on hie?
I looked from me not a mile,
And saw twa knights upon a lee, &c.
I imagine, however, they are all the composures of one hand; and, if I may use a conjecture, were written immediately after the visions of Pierce Plowman, every English poem of note in those days being soon succeeded by an imitation in Scotland.
. When rime became common, this which was before thought to constitute the sole difference between prose and verse, was still regarded as an accessary grace, and was carried to a ludicrous length by some poets of no mean rank in both nations. So late as the reign of Queen Elizabeth we find the following lines in a court poet:
Princes puff'd; barons blustered; lords began lowr,
Knights storm'd; squires startled, like steeds in a stowr;
Pages and yeomen yelled out in the hall
King Ryence's Challenge,
in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry.
Vol.
III.
p.
27.
.
And William Dunbar, the chief of the old Scotish poets, begins a copy of verses to the King thus,
Sanct Salvator send silver sorrow
Bannatyne's Scottish Poems, p. 68.
.
I asked him wholly his intent;
Good Sir, if your will be,
Since that ye bide upon the bent,
Some uncouth tidings tell you me:
When shall all these wars be gone?
That leil men may live in lee;
Or when shall Fasehude go from home,
And Lawtie blow his horn on hie?
I looked from me not a mile,
And saw twa knights upon a lee, &c.
I imagine, however, they are all the composures of one hand; and, if I may use a conjecture, were written immediately after the visions of Pierce Plowman, every English poem of note in those days being soon succeeded by an imitation in Scotland.
III. But the greatest assistance that could be found to the tradition of poetry was derived from the invention of rime; which is far more ancient than is commonly believed. One of the most learned men this age has produced
Le Clerc, Biolioth. Universelle, tom. IX.
, has shewn that it is common in Scripture. All the Psalms consist of riming verses, and many other passages which he names. They were used among the Greeks so early as the time of Gorgias the Sicilian, who taught the Athenians this practice. And though the spirit of the Greek and Latin languages did not always admit of them in poetry, yet they were used as occasional beauties by their most celebrated writers. Homer, Hesiod, and Virgil, have a few, though apparently more from chance than design. The ancient Saturnine verses were all rimes, as an old commentator
Servius ad Georg. II. ver. 386.
informs us. And it is more than probable they were so constructed merely that the memory might the more easily preserve them, their licence forbidding their being committed to writing. Those who would wish to know more particularly the universality of this mode of versifying among the other ancient nations, may consult the
Huetiana
of the most learned and respectable Bishop of Avranches
Sect. 78.
. The Eastern poetry consists altogether, if I mistake not, of riming lines, as may be observed in the specimens of Hafiz their most illustrious writer, lately published
Jones, Comment. Poeseos Asiaticae—Richardson's Specimen of Persian Poetry.
. It appears, however, that alliteration supplied the place of rime with the Northern nations till within a recent period
Ol. Worm. Lit. Run. p. 165 & 176.
. Ossian's poetry, I suppose, is in stanzas something like our ballad measure; though it were to be wished the translator had favoured us with some information on this head evidenced by specimens of the original. He indeed acquaints us that
Each verse was so connected with those which preceded, or followed it, that if one line had been remembered in a stanza, it was almost impossible to forget the rest
Dissert. on the Era of Ossian, p. 228, ed. 1773.
:
but this stands greatly in need of explanation.
The common ballad stanza is so simple, that it has been used by most nations as the first mode of constructing rimes. The Spanish romanzes bear a great resemblance in this, as in other respects, to the Scotish Ballads. In both, every alternate line ends with similar vowels, though the consonants are not so strictly attended to. As for instance, in the former we have
bana, espada; mala, palabra; vega, cueva; rompan, volcanos;
for rimes: and in the later,
m
dale, girdle; keep, bleed; Buleighan, tak him;
&c. The English, even in the ruder pieces of their first minstrels, seem to have paid more attention to the correspondence of their consonants, as may be observed in the curious Collection published by Dr. Percy.
As the simplicity of this stanza rendered it easy to the composer, and likewise more natural to express the passions, so it added to the facility of recollection. It's tone is sedate and slow. The rimes occur seldom, and at equal distances: though when a more violent passion is to be painted, by doubling the rimes, they at once expressed the mind better, and diversified the harmony. Of this the reader will observe many instances in this collection, as,
Here maun I lie, here maun I die: Like beacon bricht at deid of nicht: Na river heir, my dame,
deir:
&c. and, to give a very solemn movement to the cadence, they sometimes tripled the rime, an instance of which may be observed in the first stanza of Child Maurice.
When all the circumstances here hinted at are considered, we shall be less apt to wonder, that, by the concurrence of musical air, retentive arts in the composition, and chiefly of rime, the most noble productions of former periods have been preserved in the memory of a succession of admirers, and have had the good fortune to arrive at our times pure and uncorrupted.
DISSERTATION II. ON THE TRAGIC BALLAD.
THAT species of poetry which we denominate Ballad, is peculiar to a barbarous period. In an advanced state of arts, the Comic Ballad assumes the form of the Song or Sonnet, and the Tragic or Heroic Ballad that of the higher Ode.
The cause of our pleasure in seeing a mournful event represented, or hearing it described, has been attempted to be explained by many critics
Aristotle, Scaliger, Dubos, Trapp in his Praelections, Hume, Essay on Tragedy; but, above all, Mr. Burke in his Enquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful.
. It seems to arise from the mingled passions of Admiration of the art of the author, Curiosity to attend the termination, Delight arising from a reflection on our own security, and the Sympathetic Spirit.
In giving this pleasure, perhaps the Tragic Ballad yields to no effort of human genius. When we peruse a polished Tragedy or Ode, we admire the art of the author, and are led to praise the invention; but when we read an unartful description of a melancholy event, our passions are more intensely moved. The laboured productions of the informed composer resemble a Greek or Roman temple; when we enter it, we admire the art of the builder. The rude effusions of the Gothic Muse are like the monuments of their Architecture. We are filled with a religious reverence, and, forgetting our praise of the contriver, adore the present deity.
I believe no Tragic Ballad of renowned Antiquity has reached our times, if we deny the beautiful and pathetic CARMEN DE ATY in Catullus a title to this class; which, as a modern critic of note has observed
Essay on the writings and genius of Pope,
p.
324. 3d
ed.
, seems a translation from some Greek
Dithyrambic
The
Dithyrambics
were Heroic Songs, written with the highest glow of poetic fancy in honour of the ancient deities. Aristotle informs us, that the Greek Tragedy originated from them; as their Comedy did from their Pastoral Love Songs.
, far more ancient than the times of that poet. His translation of Sappho's Ode might shew that he took a delight in the ancient Greek compositions, from which indeed he seems to have derived in a great measure his peculiarly delicate vein.
But it was with the nations in a state of barbarity that this effusion of the heart flourished as in it's proper soil; their societies, rude and irregular, were full of vicissitudes, and every hour subject to the most dreadful accidents. The Ministrels, who only knew, and were inspired by the present manners, caught the tale of mortality, and recorded it for the instruction and entertainment of others. It pleased by moving the passions, and, at the same time, afforded caution to their auditors to guard against similar mis-adventures.
It is amusing to observe how expressive the poetry of every country is of its real manners. That of the Northern nations is ferocious to the highest degree. Nor need we wonder that those, whose laws obliged them to decide the most trifling debate with the sword
Frotho etiam III. Danorum rex, quemadmodum Saxo, lib. V. refert, de qualibet controversia ferre decerni sanxit: speciosius viribus quam verbis, confligendum existimans.
Schedius de diis Ger. Syng.
II.
c.
46.
, delighted in a vein of poetry, which only painted deeds of blood, and objects horrible to the imagination. The ballad poetry of the Spaniards is tinged with the romantic gallantry of the nation. The hero is all complaisance; and takes off his helmet in the heat of combat, when he thinks on his mistress. That of the English is generous and brave. In their most noble ballad, Percy laments over the death of his mortal foe. That of the Scots is perhaps, like the face of their country, more various than the rest. We find in it the bravery of the English, the gallantry of the Spanish, and I am afraid in some instances the ferocity of the Northern.
A late writer
Miscellanies by John Armstrong, M.D. vol. II. p. 254.
has remarked, that,
the Scottish tunes, whether melancholy or gay, whether amorous, martial, or pastoral, are in a style highly original, and most feelingly expressive of all the passions from the sweetest to the most terrible.
He proceeds,
Who was it that threw out those dreadful wild expressions of distraction and melancholy in
Lady Culross's Dream?
an old composition, now I am afraid lost, perhaps because it was almost too terrible for the ear.
This composition is neither lost, nor is it too terrible for the ear. On the contrary, a child might hear it repeated in a winter night without the smallest emotion. A copy
It is intituled,
A Godly Dream compiled by Elizabeth Melvil, Lady Culross younger, at the request of a friend.
Edinburgh, 1737, 12mo. p. 20. It is either reprinted from some former edition, or from a MS. It was written, I conjecture, about the end of the Sixteenth Century; but in this edition I suspect several expressions are modernized and altered to accommodate it to the common capacity.
The lady Culross here meant was Elizabeth daughter of Sir James Melvil of Halhill, and wife of John Colvil Commendator of Culross. She is believed to have been the mother of Samuel Colvil the satyrical poet, author of the Scots Hudibras, &c.
of it now lies before me, and as some curiosity may have been raised by the above remark, I shall here give an account of it. The dreadful and melancholy of this production are solely of the religious kind, and may have been deeply affecting to the enthusiastic at the period in which it was written: It begins thus;
Upon a day as I did mourn full sore,
For sundry things wherewith my soul was grieved,
My grief increased, and grew more and more,
I comfort fled, and could not be relieved;
With heaviness my heart was sore mischieved,
I loathed my life, I could not eat nor drink,
I might not speak, nor look to none that lived,
But mused alone, and diverse things did think.
This wretched world did so molest my mind,
I thought upon this false and iron age,
And how our hearts are so to vice inclined,
That Satan seems most fearfully to rage,
Nothing on earth my sorrow could aswage,
I felt my sin so strongly to increase;
I grieved the spirit was wont to be my pledge;
My soul was plunged into most deep distress.
Her Saviour is then supposed to appear in a dream, and lead her through many hair-breadth scapes into Heaven:
Through dreadful dens, which made my heart aghast,
He bare me up when I began to tire;
Sometimes we clamb oer cragie mountains high;
And sometimes stayed on ugly braes of sand,
They were so stay that wonder was to see;
But when I feared, he held me by the hand.—
Through great deserts we wandered on our way.—
Forward we past on narrow bridge of tree,
Oer waters great which hideously did roar, &.
The most terrible passage to a superstitious ear, is that in which she supposes herself suspended over the Gulph of Perdition:
Ere I was ware, one gripped me at last,
And held me high above a flaming fire.
The fire was great, the heat did pierce me sore,
My faith grew weak, my grip was very small.
I trembled fast, my fear grew more and more.
My hands did shake that I held him withall,
At length they loosed, then I began to fall, &c.
At length she arrives in view of the Heavenly mansions in a stanza, which, to alter a little her own expression, 'Glisters with
tinsel.
'
I looked up unto that castle fair
Glistering with gold; and shining silver bright
The stately towers did mount above the air;
They blinded me they cast so great a light,
My heart was glad to see that joyful sight,
My voyage then I thought it not in vain,
I him besought to guide me there aright,
With many vows never to tire again.
And the whole concludes with an exhortation to a pious life.
But what has the Christian religion to do with poetry? In the true poetic terrible, I believe, some passages in Hardyknute yield to no attempt of a strong and dark fancy. The Ballad styled Edward may, I fear, be rather adduced as an evidence that this displeases, when it rises to a degree of the horrible, which that singular piece certainly partakes of.
The Pathetic is the other principal walk of the Tragic Muse: and in this the Scotish Ballads yield to no compositions whatever. What can be imagined more moving than the catastrophes of Ossian's Darthula, the most pathetic of all poems? or of Hardyknute, Child Maurice, and indeed most of the pieces now collected? Were ever the feelings of a fond mother expressed in a language equal in simplicity and pathos to that of lady Bothwell?—This leads me to remark, that the dialect in which the Scotish Ballads are written gives them a great advantage in point of touching the passions. Their language is rough and unpolished, and seems to flow immediately from the heart
.
. We meet with no concettos or far-fetched thoughts in them. They possess the pathetic power in the highest degree, because they do not affect it; and are striking, because they do not meditate to strike.
Most of the compositions now offered to the public, have already received approbation. The mutilated Fragment of Hardyknute formerly in print, was admired and celebrated by the best critics. As it is now, I am inclined to think, given in it's original perfection, it is certainly the most noble production in this style that ever appeared in the world. The manners and characters are strongly marked, and well preserved; the incidents deeply interesting; and the catastrophe new and affecting. I am indebted for most of the stanzas, now recovered, to the memory of a lady in Lanarkshire.
A modern lyric poet of the first class
Mr. Gray. See his Letters published by Mr. Mason. Sect. IV. Let. XXV.
has pronounced Child Maurice a Divine Ballad.
Aristotle's best rules,
says he,
are observed in it in a manner that shews the author had never read Aristotle.
Indeed if any one will peruse Aristotle's Art of Poetry with Dacier's Elucidations, and afterwards compare their most approved rules with this simple Ballad, he will find that they are better illustrated by this rude effort of the Gothic Muse, than by the most exquisite Tragedy of ancient or modern times. The Oedipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, the Athalie of Racine, the Merope of Maffei, and even the very excellent Drama, which seems immediately founded on it, not excepted; there being many delicate strokes in this original, which the plot adopted by that author forbade his making proper use of. This does honour at once to the unknown composer of this Ballad, and to the first of critics. In the former the reader will admire a genius, that, probably untracked by erudition, could produce a story corresponding to the intricate though natural rules of the Greek author. To the latter will be readily confirmed the applause of an ancient
Apud Suidam.
, that, he was the secretary of Nature, and his pen was ever dipped in good sense.
These, and the other monuments of ancient Scotish Poetry, which have already appeared, are in this edition given much more correct; and a few are now first published from tradition. The Editor imagined they possessed some small beauties, else they would not have been added to this Selection. Their seeming antiquity was only regarded as it enhanced their real graces.
MDCCLXXVI
* These Dissertations, &c. were written of this date, but slight additions have been made to them from time to time; as the reader will observe from references to books published since that period.
.
HAVING in the First of the foregoing Dissertations mentioned with applause the Spanish Ballads, or Romanzes, contained in the HISTORIA DE LAS GUERRAS CIVILES DE GRANADA, and that book being seldom to be met with, and written in a language of no wide study, the Editor has been induced to give a few translations from that work; the two which Dr. Percy has published having rather excited than gratified curiosity.
Before producing these translations, it may be proper to give some short account of the work whence they are taken. The History of the Civil Wars of Granada is a well-written narration of those dissentions which tore that kingdom in pieces, for some years before the period that Ferdinand and Isabella, king and queen of Christian Spain, conquered it, down to the time of conquest. The chief sources of those dissentions were the two great
Vandos,
or factions, of the Zegris and the Abencerrages; whose exploits and adventures, with those of their adherents, are here displayed with a minute detail that savours very strongly of romance, though the great outlines of the work are evidently founded on historical truth; which, if the reader pleases, is indeed only another name for a certain species of romance.
This History, as we learn from the work itself towards the close, is a translation from the Arabic of an anonymous Moor, who fled to Africa with many of his countrymen, when Granada was yielded to the arms of Ferdinand. His grandson, by name Argutaafa, found this work among his grandfather's papers, and presented it to a Jew, called Rabbi Santo, who translated it into Hebrew; and gave the Arabic Original to Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Conde de Baylen. That lord being interested by it, as his ancestors had been concerned in the wars there related, ordered the Jew to translate it into Castillan Spanish; and afterwards gave the translation to the Spanish editor, whose name from the first edition, Barcelona printed by Seb. Matevad, 1610, appears to be Ginez Perez.
On almost every occasion the author produces some romanze, as the voucher of his incidents, translations of a few of which shall now be produced. It must, however, be premised, that the first translation is merely meant to convey to the reader an idea of the verse in which most of the originals are written; for which purpose one of the feeblest was chosen, as, had strength of thought or incident been attempted in this way, the spirit would have totally evaporated in the midst of attention to the double rimes, of which the English language is remarkably penurious.
ROMANZE I.
I.
AT the pleasant dawn of morning,
Moorish knights in numbers sally,
To maintain a solemn turney
In Granada's verdant valley.
II.
Justing they wheel their fleet horses;
On his lance each warrior steady
Bears a rich and beauteous penon,
Wrought with art by his fair lady.
III.
The bright sun they dazzle, shewing
Jupes of silk and golden tissue:
Each young hero hopes to soften
His proud dame by that day's issue.
IV.
From the towers of proud Alhambra
The celebrated palace of the Moorish kings of Granada.
Moorish ladies view the trial;
And among them two the fairest
Of the court without denial.
V.
Fatima they and Xarifa
Love on both has play'd his quiver:
Thee, Xarifa, O that Alla
Would from jealousy deliver!
VI.
Tho friends they, for this has silence
O'er them spread his sullen pinion.
Fatima the heart has stolen
Of Xarifa's faithless minion.
VII.
Abendarrez call the rover;
Guiltless she of his defection;
For of Fatima's firm passion
Abenamar was th' election.
VIII.
Spoke at length the wrong'd Xarifa,
As with scorn her rage to cover;
For she thought her friend with favour
Heard the suit of her false lover.
IX.
'Love cannot be hid, my sister,
'But himself he still discloses;
'Of thy tongue where is the prattle?
'Of thy cheeks where are the roses?
X.
'Thou art not in love, I know it!
'See the cause of thy condition;
'Thy knight, Abendarrez, tilting,
'Hopes the prize with fond ambition.
XI.
Beauteous Fatima her silence
In wise answer thus has broken:
'Never yet did Love, Xarifa,
'Of my heart receive a token.
XII.
'If my speech and colour leave me
'It is not without a reason;
'Short time since my gracious father
'Died by Alabez's treason.
XIII.
'And if ever Love, my sister,
'To his law could bring me over,
'Abendarrez should not win me,
'From thy charms a cruel rover.'
XIV.
Thus the Moorish dames have spoken;
Then in silence clos'd their prattle,
To remark each gallant chieftain
Who maintain'd the seeming battle.
ROMANZE II.
I.
WHEN valiant Ferdinand beheld
Granada to his prowess yield;
And o'er Aihambra's highest tower
The banner fly of Christian power;
II.
Thus to the flower of Spanish ground,
His peers and loyal leaders round,
The mandates of his mighty breast,
The monarch in his pride address'd.
III.
'Who when the morning springs, will go
'Our chief against the mountain foe;
'And spread our princely ensign tall
'O'er Alpuxarra's rebel wall
When Ferdinand was occupied with the arquisition of Granada, Alp
xa
ra, and some other Moorish towns newly conquered, took the opportunity to revolt.
?
IV.
In silence every troubled peer
Read in each other's face his fear:
The journey full of perils great
They knew, and doubtful the retreat.
V.
Each tremulons beard in terror shook,
Till from his seat, with frowning look,
Alonso de Aguilar sprung
And thus bespoke with fearless tongue.
VI.
'O king, for me is this emprize,
'And shame or praise that thence may rise;
'The queen her sovereign promise gave
'No other the bright claim should have.'
VII.
With joy the king the valiant heard.
Soon as the morrow's dawn appear'd,
Alonso with his eager van
To climb Nevada's heights began.
VIII.
Five hundred horse to battle bred,
A thousand infantry he led;
The Moors in silent ambush lay.
In crowds to guard the rocky way.
IX.
Amid the pathless cliffs the cry
Of conflict echoes to the sky:
The cavalry no footing gain,
But fall by stony fragments slain.
X.
Alonso, and the foot-array,
Sore lessen'd by the bloody fray,
At length attain an upland dale,
Where countless Moors their ranks assail.
XI.
Tho bleed around whole bands of foes,
Yet who such numbers may oppose?
The chief at length beheld his host,
In one unbounded slaughter lost.
XII.
Tho left alone, the lion-knight
Declines not the unequal fight;
Where'er he turns his eyes of fire,
As struck by lightning crowds expire.
XIII.
Fresh Moors possess the bloody field;
No longer strong his sword to wield,
The victim of a thousand wounds,
The shade of death the chief surrounds.
XIV.
Tho bravely dead, each coward Moor
With caitiff lance his body tore;
Then to Ogixar they him brought;
Where all to see the warrior sought.
XV.
Each Moor and Moorish dame with joy
Saw him, who wont their hopes destroy,
No more exert his matchless force,
But harmless ly a bleeding corse.
XVI.
A Christian captive of the crowd
Yet mov'd their tears with outcry loud:
For she had nurs'd him at her breast,
And in the cradle footh'd his rest.
XVII.
'Alonso, Oh Alonso brave!
'May heaven thy generous spirit have!
'The Moors of Alpuxara slew
'The bravest knight that fame e'er knew.'
ROMANZE III.
I.
EIGHT to eight, and ten to ten,
Knights of valour and renown,
Turney in Toledo fair
The glad day of peace to crown.
II.
An high festival the king
Gives his pleasure to evince;
Concord reigns between his brother
And Granada's warlike prince.
III.
Others say the feast is given
Zelindaxa bright to please;
Mistress of the king's affection,
She ordains him pain or ease.
IV.
The Zarrazins and Aliatores,
There in gallant union ride;
The Alari
es and Azarqués
Them oppose with equal pride.
V.
The Zarrazins, a noble band,
On sorrel horses there were seen;
Their mantles and their jupes distinguish'd
By the orange hue and green.
VI.
On their shields a cimiter,
Bent as Cupid's bow, they wore;
And the words FUEGO Y SANGRE
Fire and blood.
,
As the chosen motto bore.
VII.
Equals in the gallant show
Next the Aliatores shone;
In carnation garbs array'd
With white foliages bestrown.
VII.
For device, upon the strength
Of Atlas stood a stable heaven;
TENDRELO HASTA QUE CANSE
He will support it till be is weary.
For the motto there was given.
IX.
Them ensued the Alarifés
In most costly manner clad;
Their sleeves right curiously were purfled
On the yellow cloth and red.
X.
A naked Hercules they gave,
Who a savage monster tore;
And above FUERCAS VALEN
Strength is powerful.
As the valiant word they wore.
XI.
Them the eight Azarqués follow'd,
And in pride exceeded all;
Straw's pale dye and brownish gray
Were their hues of festival.
XII.
On each chieftain's verdant shield
Held two daring hands a sphere;
EN LO VERDE TODO CABE
In the green every thing is comprehended.
As the words of honour were.
XIII.
Among this band the king beheld
The rival of his lady's love,
And jealousy his cruel heart
To thoughts of utmost fury drove.
XIV.
To Selin thus, high constable,
The sovereign spoke in frantic mood:
'The sun that dazzles now mine eyes,
'Ere long I trust shall set in blood.'
XV.
The graceful knight so strongly threw
It was anciently the custom for the Spanish gentry to amuse themselves while on horseback with throwing small rods, or canes, into the air; on darting of which with such force and skill as to delude the eye, they much valued themselves.
His rods, they vanish'd in the air;
Nor could the power of keenest eye,
Their progress or their fall declare.
XVI.
Each lady, from the windows high,
Or scaffolds, that enjoy'd the sight,
With anxious looks of fond desire
Bent forwards to behold the knight.
XVII.
As he advances or retires,
'May heaven thee save!' the vulgar cry:
While, burnt with jealousy's fierce flames,
The king still answers, 'Let him die!'
XVIII.
Bold Zelindaxa, sovereign fair,
As near the royal tower he drew,
Tho 'Hold! hold!' cried the angry king,
Sprinkled the chief with fragrant dew.
XIX.
The turney stopp'd: in silence deep,
And expectation, stood the ring;
While, giving reason's rein to rage,
'Arrest the traitor!' cried the king.
XX.
The two first troops their lances seize
The princely mandate to fulfill.
Alas! what barrier can be set
Against an amorous monarch's will!
XXI.
The other two defence prepar'd,
Had not the Azarqué to them said,
'Friends, tho the king's love has no laws,
'Remember laws for your's were made.
XXII.
'Lower your lances, tho my foes
'Ye eager see my blood to spill.
'Alas, what barrier can be set
'Against an amorous monarch's will!
XXIII.
They took the noble Moor. His friends
Drop'd tears of rage his fate to see.
In wild disorder rush'd the croud,
By force the captive knight to free.
XXIV.
They had no chief to guide their ire,
And fled before superior skill.
Alas, what barrier can be set,
Against an amorous monarch's will!
XXV.
Fair Zelindaxa cried aloud,
'Rescue, ye Moors, your warrior brave!'
And rose as if she meant to leap
From the high tower her knight to save.
XXVI.
Her mother her embrac'd, and cried,
'Ah, are you mad yourself to kill!
'Alas, what barrier can be set
'Against an amorous monarch's will!'
XXVII.
The furious king a message sent
The mournful damsel to convey
To a lone mansion of her friends,
In lasting durance there to stay.
XXVIII.
'Tell him,' she said, 'where'er I go,
'My firm love shall attend me still.
'Alas, what barrier can be set
'Against an amorous monarch's will!'
ROMANZE IV
This ballad is composed of three different ones on the same subject; the first beginning,
Por la plaça de San Lucar;
the second,
Sale la estrella de Venus;
and the third,
No de tal braveza lleno.
.
I.
ALONG San Lucar's ample square
See gallant Gazul ride;
In snowey hue array'd, and green,
And purple's radiant pride.
To Gelves he designs to go,
His valiant skill to try;
In turnament with many a knight
Of high renown to vie.
II.
The chief a noble dame adores;
Of her farewell to take,
A thousand anxious turns before
Yon mansion see him make.
Lo, from the balcony at length,
The lovely maid inclines,
As o'er a distant hill the morn,
In rosy radiance shines.
III.
Swift from his steed the warrior lights,
And kneels upon the ground,
As struck with awe: such power has love
The valiant to confound.
'O fair,' he cries with trembling voice,
'This day must fame be mine:
'What chance can hurt me now that I
'Have seen thy charms divine?
IV.
'Yet of thy favour I beseech
'Some badge to bear along
It was the custom for ladies to present their lovers with the penon or fireamer they were to wear on their lance in combat or turney. The penon was commonly richly inwoven with the lady's cypher.
See Stanza XIII.
;
'That, with it grac'd, my haughty lance
'May as my love be strong.'
In jealous rage the maid replied,
For then full well she knew
That Zaida, his first desire,
An elder duty drew.
V.
'If in the combat thy success
'My heart's desire may crown;
'No more, false knight, shalt thou return,
'But life lose, and renown.
'To God I speak my eager wish,
'Sincere as thou dost lye,
'That in the fight by secret foes
'Ignobly thou mayst die.
VI.
'O may thy enemies be strong!
'Thy friends all dastards prove!
'O be thou dead, as is thy fame,
'And not even pity move!'
The leader thinks she speaks in jest,
And thus in haste replies;
'The Moor who would us set at strife,
'Believe me, lady, lies.
VII.
'May all thy curses on him light!
'My soul must now abhor
'That Zaida; tho wont, I own,
Her beauty to adore.
'After long years of service, she
'For a base Moor me left—'
The fair retired, nor more would hear,
Of patience quite bereft.
VIII.
A page appear'd, and gallant steeds
Him brought in rich array:
'Return,' the frantic warrior cried,
'We try no arms this day.'
In frenzy then against the wall
That hid his fair from view,
So fierce he tilted, that his spear
In thousand splinters flew.
IX.
In anguish now he paus'd a while,
Now rode in furious mood,
Till madness fired his inmost soul,
And prompted deeds of blood.
His wandering way to Xerez far
Along the shore he held;
Where with her sire his former love,
False Zaida, now dwell'd.
X.
The star of eve with golden light
Illumed the western wave,
When near to Xerez Gazul drew,
As Rodamonte brave.
Not he, that king of Argel high,
When for his fair he strove
With Mandricardo, stood in praise
Young Gazul's name above.
XI.
Now near her mansion, with fresh rage
His dauntless bosom burn'd;
And thus he spoke, while plaintive waves
And rocks the sound return'd.
'O Zaida, more faithless far
'Than that inconstant sea;
'Not half so savage are these rocks,
'Not half so hard as thee!
XII.
'How can'st thou give thy youthful hand
'To him thy suitor old;
'And leave the riches of the mind
'For sordid wealth of gold?
'Oh, may ev'n he, thy suitor old,
'Thy falshood learn to scorn!
'May never love thy anxious nights,
'Nor joy thy days adorn.
XIII.
'At zambra
A moresque dance.
, nor at festival,
'May never knight appear,
'Thy cypher on embroider'd sleeve,
'Or silken badge to bear.
'May jealousy ev'n of his age
'Thy peace still violate.
'May he live long! Thy fiercest foe
'Can wish no worse a fate.'
XIV.
Thus as he spoke the gradual night
Descended all around;
And, as he near the mansion drew,
Of mirth he heard the sound.
Sudden before a rushing croud
The doors were open thrown;
And thro' the gloom in bright array
A thousand torches shone.
XV.
In midst the future husband held
Young Zaida's false hand.
To church they went, where stood the priest
To fix the sacred band.
This cruel sight when Gazul saw,
His madness found new flame;
A while he rested, till at hand
The brilliant troop now came.
XVI.
Then spurr'd his steed into the midst,
And thus his lady's choice
Address'd, while all in sudden fear
Stood trembling at his voice.
'Hope not, base traitor, to enjoy
'This lady, once my love;
'Defend thyself if e'er thy arm
'Could skill or valour prove.
XVII.
He spoke. They fought. The aged Moor
Lay dead upon the ground.
Swift to revenge his wretched fall,
His numerous friends drew round.
Against their force the warrior stood
With more than mortal might:
Then, slow retreating, refuge found
Amid the shades of night.
LA PLUPART DE CES CHANSONS SONT DE VIEILLES ROMANCES DONT LES AIRS NE SONT PAS PIQUANS; MAIS ILS ONT JE NE SAIS QUOI D'ANTIQUE ET DE DOUX QUI TOUCHE A LA LONGUE.
ROUSSEAU.
HARDYKNUTE. AN HEROIC BALLAD.
PART I.
STATELY stept he east the ha,
And stately stept he west;
Full seventy yeirs he now had sene,
With scerce sevin yeirs of rest.
He livit whan Britons breach of faith
Wrocht Scotland meikle wae,
And ay his sword tauld to their cost
He was their deidly fae.
Hie on a hill his castle stude,
With halls and touris a hicht,
And gudely chambers fair to see,
Whar he lodgit mony a knicht.
His dame sa peirles anes, and fair,
For chaste, and bewtie, sene,
Na marrow had in a the land,
Save Emergard the quene.
Full thirtein sons to him she bare,
All men of valour stout,
In bluidy ficht, with sword in hand,
Nyne lost their lives bot doubt;
Four yit remaind; lang mote they live
To stand by liege and land:
Hie was their fame, hie was their micht,
And hie was their command.
Greit luve they bare to Fairly fair,
Their sister saft and deir,
Her girdle shawd her middle jimp,
And gowdin glist her hair.
What waefou wae her bewtie bred!
Waefou to young and auld,
Waefou I trow to kyth and kin,
As story ever tauld.
The king of Norse, in summer tide,
Puft up with pouir and micht,
Landed in fair Scotland the yle,
Wi mony a hardie knicht.
The tidings to our gude Scots king
Came as he sat at dyne
With noble chiefs in braive aray,
Drinking the bluid red wyne.
"To horse, to horse, my royal liege!
"Your faes stand on the strand;
"Full twenty thousand glittering speirs
"The cheifs of Norse command.
"Bring me my steid Mage dapple gray."
Our gude king raise and cryd:
A trustier beist in all the land,
A Scots king nevir seyd.
"Gae, little page, tell Hardyknute,
"Wha lives on hill sa hie,
"To draw his sword, the dreid of faes,
"And haste and follow me."
The little page flew swift as dart,
Flung by his master's arm;
'Cum down, cum down, lord Hardyknute,
'And red your king frae harm.'
Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown cheiks
Sae did his dark-brown brow;
His luiks grew kene, as they were wont
In danger grit to do.
He has tane a horn as grene as grass,
And gien five sounds sa shrill,
That tries in grene wode shuke thereat,
Sae loud rang ilka hill.
His sons in manly sport and glie
Had past the summer's morn;
Whan lo! down in a grassy dale,
They heard their father's horn.
'That horn, quoth they, neir sounds in peace,
'We have other sport to bide;'
And sune they hied them up the hill,
And sune were at his side.
"Late, late yestrene, I weind in peace
"To end my lengthend lyfe;
"My age micht well excuse my arm
"Frae manly feats of stryfe:
"But now that Norse does proudly boast
"Fair Scotland to enthral,
"It's neir be said of Hardyknute,
"He feird to fecht or fall.
"Robin of Rothsay bend thy bow,
"Thy arrows shute sa leil,
"That mony a comely countenance
"They've turn'd to deidly pale.
"Braive Thomas taike ye but your lance,
"Ye neid na weapons mair;
"Gif ye fecht wi't, as ye did anes,
"Gainst Westmoreland's ferce heir.
"And Malcolm, licht of fute as stag
"That runs in forest wilde,
"Get me my thousands thrie of men
"Weil bred to sword and shield:
"Bring me my horse and harnisine,
"My blade of metal clere."
If faes but kend the hand it bare,
They sune had fled for feir.
"Farewil my dame sae peirless gude,"
And tuke her by the hand,
"Fairer to me in age you seim
"Than maids for bewtie famd:
"My youngest son sall here remain,
"To guard these stately touirs,
"And shute the silver bolt that keips
"Sae fast your painted bowers."
And first she wet her comely cheiks,
And then her boddice grene;
The silken cords of twirtle twist
Were plet with silver shene;
And apron set with mony a dyce
Of neidle-wark sae rare,
Wove by nae hand, as ye may guess,
Save that of Fairly fair.
And he has ridden our muir and moss,
Our hills and mony a glen,
When he cam to a wounded knicht,
Making a heavy mane:
'Here maun I lye, here maun I dye
'By treacheries fause gyles;
'Witless I was that eir gave faith
'To wicked woman's smyles.'
"Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bouir,
"To lean on silken seat,
"My lady's kindlie care you'd pruve
"Wha neir kend deidly hate;
"Hirsell wald watch ye all the day,
"Hir maids at deid of nicht;
"And Fairly fair your heart would cheir,
"As she stands in your ficht.
"Arise young knicht, and mount your steid,
"Bricht lows the shynand day;
"Chuse frae my menie wham ye pleise,
"To leid ye on the way."
Wi smyless luik, and visage wan
The wounded knicht replyd,
'Kind chieftain your intent pursue,
'For heir I maun abide.
'To me nae after day nor nicht
'Can eir be sweit or fair;
'But sune benethe sum draping trie,
'Cauld dethe sall end my care.'
Still him to win strave Hardyknute,
Nor strave he lang in vain;
Short pleiding eithly micht prevale,
Him to his lure to gain.
"I will return wi speid to bide,
"Your plaint and mend your wae:
"But private grudge maun neir be quelled,
"Before our countries fae.
"Mordac, thy eild may best be spaird
"The fields of stryfe fraemang;
"Convey Sir knicht to my abode,
"And meise his egre pang."
Syne he has gane far hynd, out owr
Lord Chattan's land sae wyde;
That lord a worthy wicht was ay,
Whan faes his courage seyd:
Of Pictish race, by mother's side:
Whan Picts ruled Caledon,
Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid
When he sav'd Pictish crown.
Now with his ferce and stalwart train
He recht a rising hicht,
Whar brad encampit on the dale,
Norse army lay in sicht;
"Yonder my valiant sons, full ferce
"Our raging rievers wait,
"On the unconquerit Scottish swaird
"To try with us their fate.
"Mak orisons to him that sav'd
"Our sauls upon the rude;
"Syne braively shaw your veins are filld
"Wi Caledonian bluid."
Then furth he drew his trustie glaive,
While thousands all around,
Drawn frae their sheiths glanc'd in the sun,
And loud the bugils sound.
To join his king, adown the hill
In haste his march he made,
While playand pibrochs minstrals meit
Afore him stately strade.
'Thrise welcum, valiant stoup of weir,
'Thy nation's sheild and pride,
'Thy king na reasoun has to feir,
'Whan thou art by his side.
Whan bows were bent, and darts were thrawn,
For thrang scerce cold they flie,
The darts clave arrows as they met,
Eir faes their dint mote drie.
Lang did they rage, and fecht full ferce,
Wi little skaith to man;
But bluidy, bluidy was the feild
Or that lang day was done!
The king of Scots that findle bruik'd
The war that luik'd like play,
Drew his braid sword, and brake his bow,
Sen bows seim'd but delay.
Quoth noble Rothsay, 'Mine I'll keep,
'I wate it's bleid a score.'
"Haste up my merrie men," cry'd the king,
As he rade on before.
The king of Norse he socht to find,
Wi him to mense the faucht;
But on his forehead there did licht
A sharp unsonsie shaft:
As he his hand pat up to feil
The wound, an arrow kein,
O waefu chance! there pind his hand
In midst atweene his eyne.
'Revenge! revenge!' cryd Rothsay's heir,
'Your mail-coat sall nocht bide
'The strenth and sharpness of my dart,'
Whilk shared the reiver's side.
Anither arrow weil he mark'd
It perc'd his neck in twa;
His hands then quat the silver reins,
He law as eard did fa.
'Sair bleids my liege! Sair, sair he bleids!
Again with micht he drew,
And gesture dreid his sturdy bow;
Fast the braid arrow flew:
Wa to the knicht he ettled at;
Lament now quene Elgreid;
Hire dames to wail your darling's fall,
His youth, and comely meid.
'Tak aff, tak aff his costly jupe,'
(Or gold well was it twin'd,
Knit like the fowler's net, throuch whilk
His steily harnes shynd.)
'Beir Norse that gift frae me, and bid
'Him venge the bluid it weirs;
'Say if he face my bended bow
'He sure nae weapon feirs.'
Proud Norse with giant body tall,
Braid shoulder, and arms strong;
Cryd, 'Whar is Hardyknute sae famd,
'And feird at Britain's throne?
'Tho Britons tremble at his name,
'I sune sall mak him wail,
'That eir my sword was made sae sharp,
'Sae saft his coat of mail.
That brag his stout heart could na bide,
It lent him youthfu micht:
"I'm Hardyknute. This day," he cryed,
"To Scotland's king I hicht
"To lay thee law as horse's hufe;
"My word I mean to keip:"
Syne with the first dint eir he strake
He gar'd his body bleid.
Norse ene like grey gosehauk staird wilde,
He sich'd wi shame and spyte;
'Disgrac'd is now my far famd arm
'That left thee pouir to stryke.'
Syne gied his helm a blow sae fell,
It made him down to stoup,
Sae law as he to ladies us'd,
In courtly gyse to lout.
Full sune he rais'd his bent body;
His bou he marveld sair,
Sen blaws till than on him but dar'd
As touch of Fairly fair.
Norse ferlied too as sair as he,
To see his stately luik;
Sae sune as eir he strake a fae,
Sae sune his lyfe he tuke.
Whar, like a fyre to hether set,
Bauld Thomas did advance,
A sturdy fae, with luik enrag'd,
Up towards him did prance.
He spurd his steid through thickest ranks
The hardy youth to quell;
Wha srude unmuvit at his approach
His furie to repell.
'That short brown shaft, sae meinly trimd,
'Lukes like poor Scotland's geir;
'But dreadfu seims the rusty point!'
And loud he leuch in jeir.
"Aft Britons blude has dim'd its shyne
"It's point cut short their vaunt."
Syne perc'd the boster's bairded cheik
Nae time he tuke to taunt.
Short while he in his sadil swang;
His stirrip was nae stay,
But feible hang his unbent knie,
Sair taken he was, fey!
Swyth on the harden'd clay he fell,
Richt far was heard the thud;
But Thomas luk'd not as he lay
All waltering in his blude.
Wi careles gesture, mind unmuv'd,
On rade he north the plain
His seim in peace, or fercest stryfe,
Ay reckless, and the same.
Nor yit his heart dames' dimpeld cheik
Cold meise saft luve to bruik;
Till vengefu Ann returnd his scorn,
Then languid grew his luke.
In thrauis of dethe, wi wallow'd cheik,
All panting on the plain,
The bleiding corps of warriours lay,
Neir to arise again:
Neir to return to native land;
Na mair wi blythsum sounds
To boast the glories of that day,
And shaw their shynand wounds.
There on a lee, whar stands a cross
Set up for monument,
Thousands fu ferce, that summer's day,
Fill'd kene wars black intent.
Let Scots while Scots praise Hardyknute
Let Norse the name aye dreid;
Ay how he faucht, aft how he spaird,
Sall latest ages reid.
On Norway's coast the widow'd dame
May wash the rocks wi teirs,
May lang luke owr the shiples seas
Before her mate appeirs.
Ceise, Emma, ceise to hope in vain,
Thy lord lyes in the clay;
The valiant Scots na rievers thole
To carry lyfe away.
Loud and chill blew the westlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy shouir,
Mirk grew the nicht ere Hardyknute
Wan neir his stately touir:
His touir that us'd wi torches bleise
To shyne sae far at nicht
Seim'd now as black as mourning weid:
Na marvel sair he sich'd.
"There's na licht in my lady's bouir,
"There's na licht in my ha;
"Na blynk shynes round my Fairly fair,
"Na ward stands on my wa.
"What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, say."
Na answer fits their dreid.
"Stand back my sons I'll be your gyde."
But by they past wi speid.
"As fast I ha sped owr Scotland's faes—"
There ceis'd his brag of weir,
Sair shamd to mind ocht but his dame,
And maiden Fairly fair.
Black feir he felt, but what to feir
He wist nae yit wi dreid:
Sair shuke his body, fair his limbs
And a the warriour flied.
PART II.
"RETURN, return, ye men of bluid,
"And bring me back my chylde!"
A dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd, wi echoes wylde.
Bestraught wi dule and dreid, na pouir
Had Hardyknute at a;
Full thrise he raught his ported speir,
And thrise he let it fa.
"O haly God, for his deir sake,
"Wha savd us on the rude—
He tint his praier, and drew his glaive,
Yet reid wi Norland bluid.
"Brayd on, brayd on, my stalwart sons,
"Grit cause we ha to feir;
"But ay the canny ferce contemn
"The hap they canna veir."
'Return, return, ye men of bluid,
'And bring me back my chylde!'
The dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd, wi echoes wylde.
The storm grew rife, through a the lift
The rattling thunder rang,
The black rain shour'd, and lichtning glent
Their harnisine alang.
What feir possest their boding breests
Whan, by the gloomy glour,
The castle ditch wi deed bodies
They saw was filled out owr!
Quoth Hardyknute "I wold to Chryste
"The Norse had wan the day,
"Sae I had keipt at hame but anes,
"Thilk bluidy feats to stay."
Wi speed they past, and syne they recht
The base-courts sounding bound,
Deip groans sith heard, and throuch the mirk
Lukd wistfully around.
The moon, frae hind a sable cloud,
Wi sudden twinkle shane,
Whan, on the cauldrif eard, they fand
The gude Sir Mordac layn.
Besprent wi gore, fra helm to spur,
Was the trew-heartit knicht;
Swith frae his steid sprang Hardyknute
Muv'd wi the heavy sicht.
"O say thy master's shield in weir,
"His sawman in the ha,
"What hatefu chance cold ha the pouir
To lay thy eild sae law?"
To his complaint the bleiding knicht
Returnd a piteous mane,
And recht his hand, whilk Hardyknute
Claucht streitly in his ain:
'Gin eir ye see lord Hardyknute,
'Frae Mordac ye maun say,
'Lord Draffan's treasoun to confute
'He usd his steddiest fay.'
He micht na mair, for cruel dethe
Forbad him to proceid;
"I vow to God, I winna sleip
"Till I see Draffan bleid.
"My sons your sister was owr fair:
"But bruik he sall na lang
"His gude betide; my last forbode
"He'll trow belyve na sang.
"Bown ye my eydent friends to kyth
"To me your luve sae deir;
"The Norse' defeat mote weil persuade
"Nae riever ye neid feir."
The speirmen wi a michty shout,
Cryd 'Save our master deir!
'While he dow beir the sway bot care
'Nae reiver we sall feir.'
'Return, return, ye men of bluid
'And bring me back my chylde!'
The dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd wi echoes wylde.
"I am to wyte my valiant friends:"
And to the ha they ran,
The stately dore full streitly steiked
Wi iron boltis thrie they fand.
The stately dore, thouch streitly steiked
Wi waddin iron boltis thrie,
Richt sune his micht can eithly gar
Frae aff it's hinges flie.
"Whar ha ye tane my dochter deir?
"Mair wold I see her deid
"Than see her in your bridal bed
"For a your portly meid.
"What thouch my gude and valiant lord
"Lye strecht on the cauld clay?
"My sons the dethe may ablins spair
"To wreak their sisters wae."
Sae did she crune wi heavy cheir,
Hyt luiks, and bleirit eyne;
Then teirs first wet his manly cheik
And snawy baird bedeene.
'Na riever here, my dame sae deir,
'But your leil lord you see;
'May hiest harm betide his life
'Wha brocht sic harm to thee!
'Gin anes ye may beleive my word,
'Nor am I usd to lie,
'By day-prime he or Hardyknute
'The bluidy dethe shall die.'
The ha, whar late the linkis bricht
Sae gladsum shind at een,
Whar penants gleit a gowden bleise
Our knichts and ladys shene,
Was now sae mirk, that, throuch the bound,
Nocht mote they wein to see,
Alse throuch the southern port the moon
Let fa a blinkand glie.
"Are ye in suith my deir luvd lord?"
Nae mair she doucht to say,
But swounit on his harnest neck
Wi joy and tender fay.
To see her in sic balefu sort
Revived his selcouth feirs;
But sune she raisd her comely luik,
And saw his faing teirs.
"Ye are nae wont to greit wi wreuch,
"Grit cause ye ha I dreid;
"Hae a our sons their lives redemd
"Frae furth the dowie feid?"
'Saif are our valiant sons, ye see,
'But lack their sister deir;
'When she's awa, bot any doubt,
'We ha grit cause to feir.'
"Of a our wrangs, and her depart,
"Whan ye the suith sall heir,
"Na marvel that ye ha mair cause,
"Than ye yit weit, to feir.
"O wharefore heir yon feignand knicht
"Wi Mordac did ye send?
"Ye suner wald ha perced his heart
"Had ye his ettling kend."
'What may ye mein my peirles d
me?
'That knicht did muve my ruthe
'We balefu mane; I did na dout
'His curtesie and truthe.
'He maun ha tint wi sma renown
'His life in this fell rief;
'Richt sair it grieves me that he heir
'Met sic an ill relief.'
Quoth she, wi teirs that down her cheiks
Ran like a silver shouir,
"May ill befa the tide that brocht
"That fause knicht to our touir:
"Ken'd ye na Draffan's lordly port,
"Thouch cled in knichtly graith?
"Tho hidden was his hautie luik
"The visor black benethe?"
'Now, as I am a knicht of weir,
'I thocht his seeming trew;
'But, that he sae deceived my ruthe,
'Full sairly he sall rue.'
"Sir Mordac to the sounding ha
"Came wi his cative fere;"
'My fire has sent this wounded knicht
'To pruve your kyndlie care.
'Your sell maun watch him a the day,
'Your maids at deid of nicht;
'And Fairly fair his heart maun cheir
'As she stands in his sicht.'
"Nae suner was Sir Mordac gane,
"Than up the featour sprang;"
The luve alse o your dochter deir
'I feil na ither pang.
'Tho Hardyknute lord Draffan's suit
'Refus'd wi mickle pryde;
'By his gude dame and Fairly fair
'Let him not be deny'd.'
"Nocht muvit wi the cative's speech,
"Nor wi his stern command;
"I treasoun! cryd, and Kenneth's blade
"Was glisterand in his hand.
"My son lord Draffan heir you see,
"Wha means your sister's fay
"To win by guile, when Hardyknute
"Strives in the irie fray."
'Turn thee! thou riever Baron, turn!'
"Bauld Kenneth cryd aloud;
"But, sune as Draffan spent his glaive,
"My son lay in his bluid."
'I did nocht grein that bluming face
'That dethe sae sune sold pale;
'Far less that my trew luve, through me,
'Her brither's dethe sold wail.
'But syne ye fey our force to prive,
'Our force we fall you shaw!'
"Syne the shrill-sounding horn bedeen
"He tuik frae down the wa.
"Ere the portculie could be flung,
"His kyth the base-court fand;
"When scantly o their count a teind
"Their entrie micht gainstand.
"Richt sune the raging rievers stude
"At their fause master's syde,
"Wha, by the haly maiden, sware
"Na harm sold us betide.
"What syne befell ye weil may guess,
"Reft o our eilds delicht."
'We fall na lang be reft, by morne
'Sall Fairly glad your sicht.
'Let us be gane, my sons, or now
'Our meny chide our stay;
'Fareweil my dame; your dochter's luve
'Will sune cheir your effray.'
Then pale pale grew her teirfu cheik;
"Let ane o my sons thrie
"Alane gyde this emprize, your eild
"May ill sic travel drie.
"O whar were I, were my deir lord,
"And a my sons, to bleid!
"Better to bruik the wrang than sae
"To wreak the hie misdede."
The gallant Rothsay rose bedeen
His richt of age to pleid;
And Thomas shawd his strenthy speir;
And Malcolm mein'd his speid.
'My sons your stryfe I gladly see,
'But it fall neir be sayne,
'That Hardyknute sat in his ha,
'And heird his son was slayne.
'My lady deir, ye neid na feir;
'The richt is on our syde:'
Syne rising with richt frawart haste
Nae parly wald he byde.
The lady sat in heavy mude,
Their tunefu march to heir,
While, far ayont her ken, the sound
Na mair mote roun her eir.
O ha ye sein sum glitterand touir,
Wi mirrie archers crownd,
Wha vaunt to see their trembling fae
Keipt frae their countrie's bound?
Sic ausum strenth shawd Hardyknute;
Sic seimd his stately meid;
Sic pryde he to his meny bald,
Sic feir his faes he gied.
Wi glie they past our mountains rude,
Owr muirs and mosses weit;
Sune as they saw the rising sun,
On Draffan's touirs it gleit.
O Fairly bricht I marvel fair
That featour eer ye lued,
Whase treasoun wrocht your father's bale,
And shed your brither's blude!
The ward ran to his youthfu lord,
Wha sleipd his bouir intill:
'Nae time for sleuth, your raging faes
'Fare doun the westlin hill.
'And, by the libbard's gowden low
'In his blue banner braid,
'That Hardyknute his dochtir seiks,
'And Draffans dethe, I rede.'
"Say to my bands of matchless micht,
"Wha camp law in the dale,
"To busk their arrows for the fecht,
"And streitly gird their mail.
"Syne meit me here, and wein to find
"Nae just or turney play;
"Whan Hardyknute braids to the field,
"War bruiks na lang delay."
His halbrik bricht he brac'd bedeen;
Fra ilka skaith and harm
Securit by a warloc auld,
Wi mony a fairy charm.
A seimly knicht cam to the ha:
'Lord Draffan I thee braive,
'Frae Hardyknute my worthy lord,
'To fecht wi speir or glaive.'
"Your hautie lord me braives in vain
"Alane his micht to prive,
"For wha, in single feat of weir,
"Wi Hardyknute may strive?
"But sith he meins our strenth to sey,
"On case he sune will find,
"That thouch his bands leave mine in ire,
"In force they're far behind.
"Yet cold I wete that he wald yield
"To what bruiks nae remeid,
"I for his dochter wald nae hain
"To ae half o my steid."
Sad Hardyknute apart frae a
Leand on his birnist speir;
And, whan he on his Fairly deimd,
He spar'd nae fich nor teir.
"What meins the felon cative vile?
"Bruiks this reif na remeid?
"I scorn his gylefu vows ein thouch
"They recht to a his steid."
Bownd was lord Draffan for the fecht,
Whan lo! his Fairly deir
Ran frae her hie bouir to the ha
Wi a the speid of feir.
Ein as the rudie star of morne
Peirs throuch a cloud of dew,
Sae did she seim, as round his neck
Her snawy arms she threw.
'O why, O why, did Fairly wair
'On thee her thouchtless luve?
'Whase cruel heart can ettle aye
'Her father's dethe to pruve!'
And first he kissd her bluming cheik,
And syne her bosom deir;
Than sadly strade athwart the ha,
And drapd ae tendir teir.
"My meiny heid my words wi care,
"Gin ony weit to slay
"Lord Hardyknute, by hevin I sweir
"Wi lyfe he sall nae gae."
'My maidens bring my bridal gowne,
'I little trewd yestrene,
'To rise frae bonny Draffan's bed,
'His bluidy dethe to sene.'
Syne up to the hie baconie
She has gane wi a her train,
And sune she saw her stalwart lord
Attein the bleising plain.
Owr Nethan's weily streim he fared
Wi seeming ire and pryde;
His blason, glisterand owr his helm,
Bare Allan by his syde.
Richt sune the bugils blew, and lang
And bludy was the fray;
Eir hour of nune, that elric tyde,
Had hundreds tint their day.
Like beacon bricht at deid of nicht,
The michty chief muvd on;
His basnet, bleising to the sun,
Wi deidly lichtning shone.
Draffan he socht, wi him at anes
To end the cruel stryfe;
But aye his speirmen thranging round
Forfend their leider's lyse.
The winding Clyde wi valiant bluid
Ran reiking mony a mile;
Few stude the faucht, yet dethe alane
Cold end their irie toil.
'Wha flie, I vow, sall frae my speir
'Receive the dethe they dreid!'
Cryd Draffan, as alang the plain
He spurd his bluid-red steid.
Up to him sune a knicht can prance,
A graith'd in silver mail:
"Lang have I socht thee throuch the field,
"This lance will tell my tale."
Rude was the fray, till Draffan's skill
Oercame his youthful micht;
Perc'd throuch the visor to the eie
Was slayne the comly knicht.
The visor on the speir was deft,
And Draffan Malcolm spied;
'Ye should your vaunted speid this day,
'And not your strenth, ha sey'd.'
"Cative, awa ye maun na flie,"
Stout Rothsay cry'd bedeen,
"Till, frae my glaive, ye wi ye beir
"The wound ye fein'd yestrene."
'Mair o your kins bluid ha I spilt
'Than I docht evir grein;
'See Rothsay whar your brither lyes
'In dethe afore your eyne.'
Bold Rothsay cried wi lion's rage,
"O hatefu cursed deid!
"Sae Draffan seiks our fister's luve,
"Nor feirs far ither meid!"
Swith on the word an arrow cam
Frae ane o Rothsay's band,
And smote on Draffan's lifted targe,
Syne Rothsays splent it fand.
Perc'd throuch the knie to his ferce steid,
Wha pranc'd wi egre pain,
The chief was forcd to quit the stryfe,
And seik the nether plain.
His minstrals there wi dolefu care
The bludy shaft withdrew;
But that he sae was bar'd the fecht
Sair did the leider rue.
'Cheir ye my mirrie men,' Draffan cryd,
Wi meikle pryde and glie;
'The prise is ours; nae chieftan bides
'Wi us to bate the grie.'
That hautie boast heard Hardyknute,
Whar he lein'd on his speir,
Sair weiried wi the nune-tide heat,
And toilsum deids of weir.
The first sicht, when he past the thrang,
Was Malcolm on the swaird:
"Wold hevin that dethe my eild had tane,
"And thy youtheid had spard!
"Draffan I ken thy ire, but now
"Thy micht I mein to see."
But eir he strak the deidly dint
The syre was on his knie.
'Lord Hardyknute stryke gif ye may,
'I neir will stryve wi thee;
'Forfend your dochter see you slayne
'Frae whar she sits on hie!
'Yestrene the priest in haly band
'Me join'd wi Fairly deir;
'For her sake let us part in peace,
'And neir meet mair in weir.'
"Oh king of hevin, what seimly speech
"A featour's lips can send!
"And art thou he wha baith my sons
"Brocht to a bluidy end?
"Haste, mount thy steid, or I sall licht
"And meit thee on the plain;
"For by my forbere's saul we neit
"Sall part till ane be slayne."
'Now mind thy aith,' syne Draffan stout
To Allan loudly cryd,
Wha drew the shynand blade bot dreid
And perc'd his masters syde.
Law to the bleiding eard he fell,
And dethe sune clos'd his eyne.
"Draffan, till now I did na ken
"Thy dethe cold muve my tein.
"I wold to Chryste thou valiant youth,
"Thou wert in life again;
"May ill befa my ruthless wrauth
"That brocht thee to sic pain!
"Fairly, anes a my joy and pryde,
"Now a my grief and bale,
"Ye maun wi haly maidens byde
"Your deidly faut to wail.
"To Icolm beir ye Draffan's corse,
"And dochter anes sae deir,
"Whar she may pay his heidles luve
"Wi mony a mournf
teir."
II. CHILD MAURICE▪
I.
CHILD MAURICE was an erle's son,
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor yit his meikle pride,
But it was for his mother gay
Wha livd on Carron side.
II.
'Whar sall I get a bonny boy,
'That will win hose and shoen,
'That will gae to lord Barnard's ha,
'And bid his lady come?
III.
'And ye maun rin errand Willie,
'And ye maun rin wi speid;
'When ither boys gang on their feet
'Ye sall ha prancing steid.'
IV.
"Oh no! oh no! my master deir!
"I dar na for my life;
"I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
"For to triest furth his wife."
V.
'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
'My deir Willie,' he said,
'How can ye strive against the streim?
'For I sall be obeyd.'
VI.
"But O my master deir!" he cryd,
"In grenewode ye're your lane;
"Gi owr sic thochts I wald ye red,
"For feir ye sold be tane."
VII.
'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha,
'Bid her come here wi speid;
'If ye refuse my hie command,
'I'll gar your body bleid.
VIII.
'Gae bid her tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd but the hem:
'Bid her come to the gude grenewode,
'Ein by hersel alane:
IX.
'And there it is, a silken sarke,
'Her ain hand sewd the sleeve;
'And bid her come to Child Maurice;
'Speir nae bauld baron's leive.'
X.
"Yes I will gae your black errand,
"Thouch it be to your cost;
"Sen ye will nae be warnd by me,
"In it ye sall find frost.
XI.
"The baron he's a man o micht,
"He neir cold bide to taunt:
"And ye will see before its nicht,
"Sma cause ye ha to vaunt.
XII.
"And sen I maun your errand rin,
"Sae sair against my will,
"I'se mak a vow, and ke
p it trow,
"It sall be done for ill."
XIII.
Whan he cam to the broken brig,
He bent his bow and swam;
And whan he came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
XIV.
And whan he cam to Barnards yeat,
Wold neither chap nor ca,
But set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa.
XV.
He wald na tell the man his errand
Thoch he stude at the yeat;
But streight into the ha he cam,
Whar they were set at meat.
XVI.
'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame!
'My message winna wait,
'Dame ye maun to the grenewode gae,
'Afore that it be late.
XVII.
'Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd bot the hem:
'Ye maun haste to the gude grenewode,
'Ein by yoursell alane.
XVIII.
'And there it is, a silken sark,
'Your ain hand sewd the sleive;
'Ye maun gae speik to Child Maurice;
'Speir na bauld baron's leive.'
XIX.
The lady stamped wi her foot,
And winked wi her eie;
But a that she cold say or do,
Forbidden he wald nae be.
XX.
"It's surely to my bower-woman,
"It neir cold be to me."
'I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady,
'I trow that ye be she.'
XXI.
Then up and spak the wylie nurse,
(The bairn upon her knie),
"If it be come from Child Maurice
"It's deir welcum to me."
XXII.
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye filthy nurse,
'Sae loud as I heir ye lie;
'I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady
'I trow ye be nae shee.'
XXIII.
Then up and spake the bauld baron
An angry man was he:
He has tane the table wi his foot,
Sae has he wi his knie,
Till crystal cup and ezar dish
In flinders he gard flie.
XXIV.
"Gae bring a robe of your cliding,
"Wi a the haste ye can,
"And I'll gae to the gude grenewode,
"And speik wi your lemman."
XXV.
'O bide at hame now lord Barnard!
'I ward ye bide at hame;
'Neir wyte a man for violence,
'Wha neir wyte ye wi nane.'
XXVI.
Child Maurice sat in the grenewode,
He whistled and he sang:
"O what meins a the folk coming?
"My mother tarries lang."
XXVII.
The baron to the grenewode cam,
Wi meikle dule and care;
And there he first spyd Child Maurice,
Kaming his yellow hair.
XXVIII.
'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Child Maurice,
'My lady loes thee weil:
'The fairest part of my body
'Is blacker than thy heil.
XXIX.
'Yet neir the less now, Child Maurice,
'For a thy great bewtie,
'Ye'se rew the day ye eir was born;
'That head sall gae wi me.'
XXX.
Now he has drawn his trusty brand,
And slaided owr the strae;
And through Child Maurice fair body
He gar'd the cauld iron gae.
XXXI.
And he has tane Child Maurice heid,
And set it on a speir;
The meinest man in a his train
Has gotten that heid to beir.
XXXII.
And he has tane Child Maurice up,
Laid him across his steid;
And brocht him to his painted bower
And laid him on a bed.
XXXIII.
The lady on the castle wa
Beheld baith dale and down;
And there she saw Child Maurice heid
Cum trailing to the toun.
XXXIV.
"Better I loe that bluidy heid,
"Bot and that yellow hair,
"Than lord Barnard and a his lands
"As they lig here and there."
XXXV.
And she has tane Child Maurice heid,
And kissed baith cheik and chin;
"I was anes fow of Child Maurice.
"As the hip is o the stane.
XXXVI.
"I gat ye in my father's house
"Wi meikle sin and shame;
"I brocht ye up in the grenewode
"Ken'd to mysell alane:
XXXVII.
"Aft have I by thy craddle sitten,
"And fondly sein thee sleip;
"But now I maun gae 'bout thy grave
"A mother's teirs to weip."
XXXVIII.
Again she kiss'd his bluidy cheik,
Again his bluidy chin;
"O better I loed my son Maurice,
"Than a my kyth and kin!"
XXXIX.
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
'An ill dethe may ye die!
'Gin I had ken'd he was your son
'He had neir been slayne by me.'
XL.
"Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!
"Obraid me not for shame!
"Wi that sam speir, O perce my heart,
"And save me frae my pain!
XLI.
"Since nothing but Child Maurice head
"Thy jealous rage cold quell,
"Let that same hand now tak her lyfe,
"That neir to thee did ill.
XLII.
"To me nae after days nor nichts
"Will eir be saft or kind:
"I'll fill the air wi heavy sichs,
"And greit till I be blind."
XLIII.
'Eneuch of bluid by me's been spilt,
'Seek not your dethe frae me;
'I'd rather far it had been mysel,
'Than either him or thee.
XLIV.
'Wi hope'ess wae I hear your plaint,
'Sair, sair, I rue the deid.—
'That eir this cursed hand of mine
'Sold gar his body bleid!
XLV.
'Dry up your teirs, my winsome dame,
'They neir can heal the wound;
'Ye see his heid upon the speir,
'His heart's bluid on the ground.
XLVI.
'I curse the hand that did the deid,
'The heart that thocht the ill,
'The feet that bare me wi sic speid,
'The comlie youth to kill.
XLVII.
'I'll aye lament for Child Maurice
'As gin he war my ain;
'I'll neir forget the dreiry day
'On which the youth was slain.'
III. ADAM O GORDON.
I.
IT fell about the Martinmas,
Whan the wind blew shrill and cauld:
Said Adam o Gordon to his men,
"We maun draw to a hauld.
II.
"And what a hauld sall we draw to,
"My mirrie men and me?
"We will gae strait to Towie house
"And see that fair ladie."
III.
The lady on her castle wa
Peheld baith dale and down,
When she was ware of a host of men
Riding toward the toun.
IV.
'O see ye not, my mirry men a,
'O see ye not what I see?
'Methinks I see a host of men,
'I marvel wha they be.'
V.
She wein' it had been her luvely lord,
As he came ryding hame;
It was the traitor Adam o Gordon,
Wha reck'd nae sin or shame.
VI.
She had nae suner busked hersel,
And putten on her gown,
Than Adam o Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.
VII.
The lady ran to hir touir heid
Sae fast as she cold drie,
To see if by her speiches fair
She cold wi him agree.
VIII.
But whan he saw the lady safe,
And the yates a locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrauth,
And his heart was all aghast.
IX.
"Cum doun to me ye lady gay,
"Cum doun, Cum doun to me:
"This nicht ye sall lye in my arms,
"The morrow my bride sall be."
X.
'I winna cum doun ye fause Gordon,
'I winna cum doun to thee;
'I winna forsake my ain deir lord,
'Thouch he is far frae me.'
XI.
"Give owr your house, ye lady fair,
"Give owr your house to me;
"Or I sall brin yoursel therein,
"Bot and your babies thrie."
XII.
'I winna give owr, ye fause Gordon,
'To nae sic traitor as thee;
'And if ye brin me and my babes,
'My lord sall mak ye drie.
XIII.
'But reach my pistol, Glaud my man,
'And charge ye weil my gun,
'For, bot if I perce that bl
idy butcher,
'We a sall be undone.'
XIV.
She stude upon the castle wa
And let twa bullets flie;
She mist that bluidy butchers heart,
And only razd his knie.
XV.
"Set fire to the house," cryd fause Gordon,
A wood wi dule and ire;
"Fause lady ye sall rue this deid
"As ye brin in the fire."
XVI.
'Wae worth, wae worth ye Jock my man,
'I paid ye weil your fee;
'Why pow ye out the ground-wa stane
'Lets in the reik to me?
XVII.
'And ein wae worth ye Jock my man
'I paid ye weil your hire;
'Why pow ye out the ground wa stane
'To me lets in the fire?'
XVIII.
"Ye paid me weil my hire, lady,
"Ye paid me weil my fee:
"But now I'm Adam o Gordon's man;
"And maun or doe or die."
XIX.
O than bespak her little son
Frae aff the nource's knie,
'Oh mither deir, gi owr this house,
'For the reik it smithers me!'
XX.
"I wald gie a my gowd, my chyld,
"Sae wald I a my fee,
"For ae blast o the westlin wind,
"To blaw the reik fiae thee."
XXI.
O than bespak her dochter deir,
She was baith jimp and sma,
'O row me in a pair o sheits,
'And tow me owr the wa.'
XXII.
They rowd her in a pair o sheits,
And towd her our the wa,
But on the point o Gordon's speir,
She gat a deidly fa.
XXIII.
O bonnie bonnie was her mouth,
And chirry were her cheiks;
And cleir cleir was her yellow hair,
Wharon the red bluid dreips!
XXIV.
Than wi hi
speir he turnd her owr—
O gin her face was wan!
Quoth he. "Ye are the first that eir
"I wishd alive again."
XXV.
He turnd her our and our again—
O gin her skin was white!
"I micht ha spair'd that bonny face
"To hae been sum mans delyte.
XXVI.
"Busk and bown, my mirry men a,
"For ill doom I do guess:
"I canna luik on that bonnie face,
"As it lyes on the grass."
XXVII.
'Wha luik to freits, my master deir,
'Freits will ay follow them:
'Let it neir be said, Adam o Gordon
'Was daunted by a dame.'
XXVIII.
But whan the lady saw the fire
Cum flaming our her heid,
She weip'd, and kist her children twain;
"My bairns we been but deid."
XXIX.
The Gordon than his bugil blew,
And said, 'Awa, awa:
'Sen Towie House is a in a flame,
'I hauld it time to ga.'
XXX.
O than bespied her ain deir lord,
As he cam owr the lee;
He saw his castle in a blaze
Sae far as he cold see.
XXXI.
Then sair, O sair, his mind misgave,
And a his heart was wae;
"Put on, put on, my wichty men,
"Sae fast as ye can gae.
XXXII.
"Put on, put on, my wichty men,
"Sae fast as ye can drie.
"He that is hindmost o the thrang
"Sall neir get gude o me."
XXXIII.
Than sum they rode, and sum they ran,
Fu fast outowr the bent,
But eir the formost could win up
Baith lady and babes were breat.
XXXIV.
He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And weipt in teinfu mude:
"Ah traitors, for this cruel deid
"Ye sall weip teirs o bluid!"
XXXV.
And after the Gordon he has gane,
Sae fast as he micht drie:
And sune in his foul hartis bluid
He has wreken his deir ladie.
IV. The CHILD of ELLE.
I.
ON yonder hill a castle standes,
With walles and towres bedight;
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.
II.
The Child of Elle to his garden wente,
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo, he beheld fair Emmeline's page
Come tripping doune the dale.
III.
The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he stoode not stille,
And soone he mette faire Emmeline's page
Come climbing up the hille.
IV.
Now Christe thee save thou little foot page,
Now Christe thee save and see,
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges be?
V.
My lady she is all woe-begone,
And the teares they fall from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadly feude
Betweene her house and thine.
VI.
And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare;
And biddes thee sometimes think on her
Who loved thee so deare.
VII.
And here shee sends thee a ring of gold,
The last boon thou mayst have;
And biddes thee weare it for her sake
Whan she is laid in grave.
VIII.
For ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee,
Sith her father hath chose her a new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.
IX.
Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
And within three dayes she must him wedde,
Or he vowes he will her slaye.
X.
Now hye thee backe, thou little foot page,
And greet thy ladye from mee.
And telle her that I, her owne true love,
Will dye or sette her free.
XI.
Now hye thee backe, thou little foot page,
And let thy fair ladye know
This night will I be at her bowre-windowe,
Betide me weale or woe.
XII.
The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither stint na stayd,
Untill he came to fair Emmeline's bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he sayd;
XIII.
O, ladye, I've been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee;
This night will he bee at thy bowre windowe,
And die or sett thee free.
XIV.
Now day was gone and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe:
All save the lady Emmeline,
Who sate in her bowre to weepe.
XV.
And sune she heard her true love's voice,
Lowe whispering at the walle;
Awake, awake, my dear ladye,
'Tis I thy true love call.
XVI.
Awake, awake my ladye deare,
Come mount this fair palfraye;
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye.
XVII.
Now naye, now naye, thou gentle knight,
Now naye this may not bee;
For aye should I tine my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee.
XVIII.
O ladye thou with a knight so true
Mayst safelye wend alone,
To my lady mother I will thee bring,
Where marriage shall make us one.
XIX.
"My father he is a baron bolde,
"Of lynage proud and hye,
"And what would he saye if his daughter
"Awaye with a knight should fly?
XX.
"Ah well I wot he never would rest,
"Nor his meate should do him no goode,
"Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
"And seene thy deare heart's bloode."
XXI.
O, lady, wert thou in thy saddle set,
And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could doe.
XXII.
O, lady, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befalle.
XXIII.
Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
At lengthe he seizde her lilly-white hand,
And doune the ladder he drewe.
XXIV.
And thrice he claspde her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlie;
The tears that fell from her fair eyes
Ranne like the fountayne free.
XXV.
He mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,
And her on a fair palfraye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye.
XXVI.
All this beheard her own damselle,
In her bed whereas she lay,
Quoth shee, My lord shall knowe of this
So I shall have golde and fee.
XXVII.
Awake, awake, thou baron bold!
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle,
To doe the deede of shame.
XXVIII.
The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And callde his merry men all;
"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,
"The ladye is carried to thrall."
XXIX.
Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her father's men
Come galloping over the downe.
XXX.
And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitour,
"Nor carry that lady awaye.
XXXI.
"For she is come of hye lynage,
"And was of a lady borne;
"And ill it beseems thee a false churles's sonne,
"To carry her hence to scorne."
XXXII.
Now loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight,
Nowe thou doest lye of mee;
A knight me gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.
XXXIII.
But light nowe doune, my lady faire,
Light down and hold my steed,
While I and this discourteous knighte
Do try this arduous deede.
XXXIV.
Fair Emmeline sighd, fair Emmeline weept,
And aye her heart was woe;
While twixt her love and the carlish knight,
Past many a baleful blow.
XXXV.
The Child of Elle he fought soe well,
As his weapon he wavde amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,
And layd him upon the playne.
XXXVI.
And now the baron and all his men
Full fast approached nye,
Ah what maye ladye Emmeline doe?
'Twere now no boote to flye.
XXXVII.
Her lover he put his horn to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill,
And soone he sawe his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.
XXXVIII.
Now hold thy hand thou bold baron,
I pray thee hold thy hand;
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts
Fast knit in true love's band.
XXXIX.
Thy daughter I have dearly lovde,
Full long and many a day,
But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye said wee may.
XL.
O give consent she may be mine,
And blesse a faithful paire;
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lynage faire.
XLI.
My mother she was an erle's daughter,
And a noble knight my sire—
The baron he frownde, and turn'd away,
With mickle dole and ire.
XLII.
Fair Emmeline sigh'd, fair Emmeline wept,
And did all trembling stand;
At lengthe she sprang upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
XLIII.
Pardon, my lord and father deare,
This faire yong knight and mee,
Trust me, but for the carlish knight,
I never had fled from thee.
XLIV.
Oft have you calld your Emmaline,
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmaline destroye.
XLV.
The baron he stroakd his dark broun cheeke,
And turnd his heade asyde,
To wipe awaye the starting teare
He proudly strave to hyde.
XLVI.
In deep revolving thought he stoode,
And mus'd a little space;
Then rais'd fair Emmeline from the grounde,
With many a fond embrace.
XLVII.
Here take her, Child of Elle, he sayd;
And gave her lillye hand:
Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my land.
XLVIII.
Thy father once mine honour wrong'd,
In dayes of youthful pride,
Do thou the injury repayre
In fondness for thy bride.
XLIX.
And as thou love her, and hold her deare,
Heaven prosper thee and thine;
And now my blessing wend wi' thee
My lovelye Emmeline.
V. GILDEROY.
I.
GILDEROY was a bonny boy,
Had roses till his shoon;
His stockings were of silken soy,
Wi garters hanging doun.
It was, I ween, a comelie sight
To see sae trim a boy:
He was my joy, and heart's delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.
II.
O sic twa charming een he had!
Breath sweet as ony rose:
He never ware a highland plaid,
But costly silken clothes.
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eer to him was coy:
Ah wae is me, I mourn the day
For my dear Gilderoy.
III.
My Gilderoy and I were born
Baith in ae toun together;
We scant were seven years beforn
We gan to luve ilk ither:
Our dadies and our mamies thay
Were fill'd wi mikle joy,
To think upon the bridal day
Of me and Gilderoy.
IV.
For Gilderoy, that luve of mine
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding sark of Holland sine,
Wi dainty ruffles wrought;
And he gied me a wedding ring
Which I receiv'd wi joy:
Nae lad nor lassie eer could sing
Like me and Gilderoy.
V.
Wi mickle joy we spent our prime
Till we were baith sixteen,
And aft we past the langsame time
Amang the leaves sae green:
Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,
And sweetly kiss and toy;
While he wi garlands deck'd my hair,
My handsome Gilderoy.
VI.
Ch
h
t he still had been content
Wi me to lead his life!
But, ah, his manfu heart was bent
To stir in feats of strife.
And he in many a venturous deed
His courage bauid wad try;
And now this gars my heart to bleed
For my dear Gilderoy.
VII.
And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee:
I gied him sic a parting luik!
'My benison gang wi thee!
'God speed thee weil mine ain dear heart,
'For gane is all my joy;
'My heart is rent, sith we maun part,
'My handsome Gilderoy.'
VIII.
My Gilderoy, baith far and near
Was tear'd in every toun;
And bauldly bare awa the geir,
Of mony a lawland loun.
For man to man durst meet him nane,
He was sae brave a boy;
At length wi numbers he was tane,
My winsome Gilderoy.
IX.
Wae worth the louns that made the laws
To hang a man for gear;
To reave of life for sic a cause
As stealing horse or mare!
Had not their laws been made sae strick
I neer had lost my joy;
Wi sorrow neer had wat my cheek
For my dear Gilderoy.
X.
Gif Gilderoy had done amiss,
He mought hae banisht been;—
Ah what fair cruelty is this,
To hang sic handsome men!
To hang the flower o Scotish land,
Sae sweet and fair a boy:—
Nae lady had sae white a hand
As thee, my Gilderoy.
XI.
Of Gilderoy sae fear'd they were,
Wi irons his limbs they strung;
To Edinborow led him thair,
And on a gallows hung.
They hung him high aboon the rest,
He was sae bauld a boy;
Thair dyed the youth wham I lued best,
My handsome Gilderoy.
XII.
Sune as he yielded up his breath
I bare his corse away,
Wi tears, that trickled for his death,
I wash'd his comelie clay;
And siker in a grave right deep
I laid the dear lued boy:
And now for ever I maun weep,
My winsome Gilderoy.
VI.
I.
THE gypsies came to our good lord's gate;
And vow but they sang sweetly!
Our lady came doun the music to hear,
They sang sae very completely.
II.
And she came tripping down the stair,
And a her maids before her;
As soon as they saw her weil-fared face,
They coost the glamer our her.
III.
Gae tak frae me this gay mantile,
And bring to me a plaidie;
For, if kith and kin and a had sworn,
I'll follow the gypsie laddie.
IV.
Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
And my good lord beside me;
This night I'll ly in a tenant's barn,
Whatever shall betide me.
V.
Oh come to your bed, says Johnie Fa,
Oh come to your bed my dearie;
For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,
Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.
VI.
I'll go to bed to my Johnie Fa,
I'll go to bed to my dearie;
For I vow and swear by what past yestreen,
My lord shall nae mair come near me.
VII.
And when our lord came hame at een
And speird for his fair lady,
The tane she cry'd, and the ither reply'd,
She's awa wi the gypsie laddie.
VIII.
Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
Gae saddle and mak him ready;
Before that I either eat or sleep
I'll gae and seek my fair lady.
IX.
And we were fifteen well-made men,
Of courage stout and steady;
And we were a put doun, but ane,
For a fair young wanton lady.
VII. THE CRUEL KNIGHT.
I.
THE knight stands in the stable door
As he was bownd to ride;
Whan out thair comes his fair lady,
And him desires to bide.
II.
"How can I bide, how dare I bide,
"How can I bide wi thee?
"Have I not kill'd thy ae brother?
"Thou hadst nae mair but he."
III.
'If thou hast kill'd my ae brother,
'Alas and wae is me!
'But if I save thee from the paine,
'My luve's the mair to thee.'
IV.
She has taen him to her secret bower,
Steik'd wi a siller-pin;
And she's up to the highest tower,
To watch that nane come in.
V.
She had nae weil gane up the stair,
And entered in the tower,
When four and twenty armed knights
Came riding to the door.
VI.
'Now God you save, my fair lady,
'Declare to me I pray,
'Did you not see a wounded knight
'Come riding by this way?
VII.
"Yes bloody bloody was his sword,
"And bloody were his hands;
"But, if the steed he rides be good,
"He's past fair Scotland's strands."
VIII.
Then she's gane to her darksome bower,
Her husband dear to meet;
He deem'd he heard his angry faes,
And wounded her fou deep.
IX.
'What harm my lord provokes thine ire,
'To wreak itself on me?
'Have I not sav'd thy life frae faes,
'And sav'd for sic a fee!'
X.
"Now live, now live, my fair lady,
"O live but half an hour;
"There's neer a leech in all Scotland
"But shall be at thy bower."
XI.
'How can I live, how shall I live,
'How can I live for thee?
'While running fast oer a the floor,
'My heart's blood thou may'st see!'
VIII. YOUNG WATERS.
I.
ABOUT yule, quhen the wind blew cule,
And the round tables began,
There came to wait on our king's court,
Mony a weil-favour'd man.
II.
The Quein luik'd owr the castle-wa,
Beheld baith dale and doun,
And then she saw young Waters
Cum riding to the town.
III.
His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind:
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.
IV.
Gowden-graith'd his horse before,
And siller-shod behind;
The horse young Waters rode upon
Was fleeter than the wind.
V.
Up then spak a wylie lord,
And to the Queen said he,
Tell me quha is the fairest face
Rides in the companie?
VI.
I've seen lords, and I've seen lairds,
And knichts of high degree,
But a fairer face than young Waters
Mine een did never see.
VII.
Out then spak the jealous king,
(An angry man was he,)
"And if he had been twice as fair,
"You might have excepted me."
VIII.
You're neither lord, nor laird, she says,
Bot the king that wears the crown;
There's not a knicht in fair Scotland,
Bot to thee maun bow down.
IX.
For a that she could say or do,
Appeas'd he wad nac be;
Bot for the words that she had said,
Young Waters he maun die.
X.
Sune they hae taen young Waters,
Put fetters on his feet;
Sune they hae taen young Waters,
And thrown in dungeon deep.
XI.
They hae taen to the heiding-hill,
That knicht sae fair to see;
And for the words the queen had spak
Young Waters he did die.
IX. SIR HUGH; OR, THE JEW's DAUGHTER.
I.
THE bonnie boys o merry Lincoln
War playin at the ba;
And wi them stude the sweet Sir Hugh,
The flower amang them a.
II.
He kepped the ba there wi his foot,
And catchd it wi his knie,
Till in at the cruel Jew's window
Wi speid he gard it flie.
III.
'Cast out the ba to me, fair maid,
'Cast out the ba to me:'—
"Ye neir sall hae't my bonnie Sir Hugh,
"Till ye come up to me.
IV.
"Cum up sweet Hugh, cum up dear Hugh
"Cum up and get the ba;"
'I winna cum up, I winna cum up
'Without my playferes a.'
V.
And she has gane to her father's garden
Sae fast as she cold rin;
And powd an apple red and white
To wyle the young thing in.
VI.
She wyld him sune through ae chamber,
And wyld him sune throuch twa;
And neist they cam to her ain chamber,
The fairest o them a.
VII.
She has laid him on a dressin board,
Whar she was usd to dine;
And stack a penknife to his heart,
And dress'd him like a swine.
VIII.
She row'd him in a cake o lead,
And bade him lye and sleip;
Syne threw him in the Jew's draw-well,
Fu fifty fathom deip.
IX.
Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And ilka lady gaed hame;
Than ilka lady had her young son,
But lady Helen had nane.
X.
She row'd her mantel her about,
And sair sair can she weip;
She ran wi speid to the Jew's castel,
When a war fast asleip.
XI.
'My bonnie Sir Hugh, your mither calls,
'I pray thee to her speik:'
"O lady rin to the deip draw-well
"Gin ye your son wad seik."
XII.
Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And kneel'd upon her knie;
'My bonnie Sir Hugh gin ye be here,
'I pray ye speik to me;'
XIII.
"The lead is wondrous heavy mither,
"The well is wondrous deip;
"A kene penknife sticks in my heart,
"A word I dounae speik.
XIV.
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
"Fetch me my winding sheet;
"For again in merry Lincoln toun
"We twa sall never meit."
X. FLODDEN FIELD; OR, THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
I.
I Have heard o lilting at the ewes milking,
Lasses a lilting eir the break o day;
But now I hear moaning on ilka green loaning,
Sen our bra foresters are a wed away.
II.
At bouchts in the morning nae blyth lads are scorning,
The lasses are lenely, dowie, and wae;
Nae daffin, nae gabbing, but siching and sabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away.
III.
At een in the gloming nae swankies are roaming,
'Mang stacks wi the lasses at bogle to play;
For ilk ane sits dreary, lamenting her deary;
The Flowers o the Forest, wha're a wed away.
IV.
In harst at the sheiring na yonkers are jeiring;
The bansters are lyart, runkled, and gray;
At fairs nor at preaching, nae wooing nae fleeching,
Sen our bra foresters are a wed away.
V.
O dule for the order sent our lads to the border!
The English for anes by gyle wan the day.
The Flowers o the Forest, wha ay shone the foremost,
The prime o the land lye cauld in the clay!
XI. EDWARD.
I.
WHY does your brand sae drap wi bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drap with bluid,
And why sae sad gang ye O!
O I hae killd my hauk sae gude,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killd my hauk sae gude;
And I had nae mair but he, O!
II.
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward.
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee O!
I hae killd my reid roan steid,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killd my reid roan steid
That erst was fair and frie O!
III.
Your steid was auld, and ye hae mair,
Edward, Edward:
Your steid was auld, and ye hae mair,
Sum ither dule ye drie, O!
O I hae killd my fadir deir,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killd my fadir deir,
Alas! and wae is me O!
IV.
What penance will ye drie for that,
Edward, Edward?
What penance will ye drie for that,
My deir son, now tell me O!
I'll set my feet in yonder boat;
Mither, mither:
I'll set my feet in yonder boat;
And I'le fare owr the sea, O!
V.
What will ye do wi touirs and ha,
Edward, Edward?
What will ye do wi touirs and ha,
That were sae fair to see, O!
I'le let them stand till they doun fa,
Mither, mither:
I'le let them stand till they doun fa,
For heir I maunae be O!
VI.
What will ye leive to bairns and wife,
Edward, Edward?
What will ye leive to bairns and wife,
When ye gang owr the sea O!
The warld's room to beg throuch life,
Mither, mither;
The warld's room to beg throuch life,
For them I neir maun fee, O!
VII.
What will ye leive to your mither deir,
Edward, Edward?
What will ye leive to your mither deir,
My deir son, now tell me O!
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither:
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gied me, O!
XII. SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
I.
THE King sits in Dunfermlin toun,
Drinking the bluid-red wine:
"Whar sall I get a gude sailor,
"To sail this ship o mine?"
II.
Than up and spak an eldern knicht,
Wha sat at his richt knie;
'Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
'That sails upon the sea.'
III.
The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi his hand;
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Wha walked on the sand.
IV.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A leud lauch lauched he;
The neist line that Sir Patrick red
The teir blinded his eie.
V.
"O wha can he be that has don
"This deid o ill to me,
"To send me at this time o yeir
"To sail upo the sea?
VI.
"Mak haste, mak haste, my miny men a
"Our gude ship sails the morne."
'O say na sae, my master deir,
'For I feir deidly storm.
VII.
'I saw the new moon late yestrene,
'Wi the auld moon in her arm;
'And I fear, I fear, my master deir,
'That we will cum to harm.'
VIII.
Our Scottish nobles were richt laith
To weit their shyning shoen;
But lang or a the play was owr,
They wat their heids aboon.
IX.
O lang lang may their ladies fit
And luik outowr the sand,
Or eir they see the bonnie ship
Cum sailing to the land!
X.
Mair than ha
owr to Aberdour—
It's fifty fathom deip—
Lyes gude Sir Patrick Spence for aye
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.
XIII. LADY BOTHWELL's LAMENT.
I.
BALOW, my babe, lye still and sleip,
It grieves me sair to see thee weip;
If thou'lt be silent I'll be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart full sad;
Balow my boy, thy mither's joy;
Thy father breids me great annoy.
II.
Whan he began to seik my luve,
And wi his sucred words to muve;
His feining fause, and flattering cheir,
To me that time did nocht appeir;
But now I see that cruel he
Cares neither for my babe nor me.
III.
Lye still, my darling, sleip a while,
And whan thou wakest sweitly smile;
But smile nae as thy father did
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid,
What yet I feir, that thou sold leir
Thy father's heart and face to beir!
IV.
Be still, my sad one: spare those teirs,
To weip whan thou hast wit and yeirs;
Thy griefs are gathering to a sum,
God grant thee patience when they cum;
Born to proclaim a mother's shame,
A father's fall, a bastard's name.
XIV. THE EARL OF MURRAY.
I.
YE Hielands and ye Lawlands
O whar hae ye been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray
And laid him on the green!
II.
'Now wae be to you Huntly!
'O wharfore did ye sae?
'I bad you bring him wi you;
'But forbad you him to slay.'
III.
He was a bra galant,
And he rid at the ring;
The bonnie Earl of Murray
He micht ha been a king.
IV.
He was a bra galant,
And he playd at the ba;
The bonnie Earl of Murray
Was the flower amang them a.
V.
He was a bra galant,
And he playd at the gluve;
The bonnie Earl of Murray
He was the queen's luve.
VI.
O lang will his lady
Look owr the castle downe,
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Cum sounding throuch the toun!
XV. SIR JAMES THE ROSE.
I.
O Heard ye o Sir James the Rose,
The young heir o Buleighan?
For he has kill'd a gallant squire,
Whase friends are out to tak him.
II.
Now he has gane to the house o Mar,
Whar nane might seik to find him;
To see his dear he did repair,
Weining she wold befreind him.
III.
'Whar are ye gaing, Sir James,' she said,
'O whar awa are ye riding?'
"I maun be bound to a foreign land,
"And now I'm under hiding."
IV.
"Whar sall I gae, whar sall I rin,
"Whar sall I rin to lay me?
"For I ha kill'd a gallant squire,
"And his friends seik to slay me."
V.
'O gae ye doun to yon laigh house,
'I sall pay there your lawing;
'And as I am your leman trew,
"I'll meet ye at the dawing.
VI.
He turnd him richt and round about
And rowd him in his brechan:
And laid him doun to tak a sleip,
In the lawlands o Buleighan.
VII.
He was nae weil gane out o sicht,
Nor was he past Milstrethen,
Whan four and twenty belted knichts
Cam riding owr the Leathen.
VIII.
'O ha ye seen Sir James the Rose,
'The young heir o Buleighan?
'For he has kill'd a gallant squire,
'And we are sent to tak him.'
IX.
"Yea, I ha seen Sir James,' she said,
"He past by here on Monday;
"Gin the steed be swift than he rides on,
"He's past the Hichts of Lundie."
X.
But as wi speid they rade awa,
She loudly cryd behind them;
"Gin ye'll gie me a worthy meid,
"I'll tell ye whar to find him."
XI.
'O tell fair maid, and, on our band,
'Ye'se get his purse and brechan.'
"He's in the bank aboon the mill,
"In the lawlands o Buleighan."
XII.
Than out and spak Sir John the Graham,
Wha had the charge a keiping,
"It's neer be said, my stalwart feres,
"We killd him whan a sleiping."
XIII.
They seized his braid sword and his targe,
And closely him surrounded:
"O pardon! mercy! gentlemen,"
He then fou loudly founded.
XIV.
'Sic as ye gae sic ye sall hae
'Nae grace we shaw to thee can.'
"Donald my man, wait till I fa,
"And ye sall hae my brechan;
"Ye'll get my purse thouch fou o gowd
"To tak me to Loch Lagan."
XV.
Syne they tuke out his bleiding heart,
And set it on a speir;
Then tuke it to the house o Mar,
And shawd it to his deir.
XVI.
'We cold nae gie Sir James's purse
'We cold nae gie his brechan,
'But ye sall ha his bleeding heart
'Bot and his bleeding tartan.'
XVH.
"Sir James the Rose, O for thy sake
"My heart is now a breaking,
"Curs'd be the day, I wrocht thy wae,
"Thou brave heir of Buleighan!"
XVIII.
Then up she raise, and furth she gaes;
And, in that hour o tein,
She wanderd to the dowie glen,
And nevir mair was sein.
XVI. THE LAIRD OF WOODHOUSELIE.
From TRADITION.
I.
SHYNING was the painted ha
Wi gladsum torches bricht;
Full twenty gowden dames sat there,
And ilkane by a knicht:
Wi music cheir,
To please the eir,
Whan bewtie pleasd the sicht.
II.
Wi cunning skill his gentle meid
To chant, or warlike fame,
Ilk damsel to the minstrels gied
Some favorit chieftan's name:
"Sing Salton's praise,"
The lady says—
In suith she was to blame.
III.
'By my renown ye wrang me sair,'
Quoth hautie Woodhouselie,
'To praise that youth o sma report,
'And never deim on me:
'When ilka dame
'Her fere cold name,
'In a this companie.'
IV.
The morn she to her nourice yeed;
"O meikle do I feir,
"My lord will slay me, sin yestrene
"I prais'd my Salton deir!
"I'll hae nae ease,
"Till Hevin it please,
"That I lye on my beir."
V.
'Mair wold I lay him on his beir,'
The craftie nourice said;
'My saw gin ye will heid but anes
'That sall nae be delaid.'
"O nourice say,
"And, by my fay,
"Ye sall be weil appaid."
VI.
'Take ye this drap o deidly drug
'And put it in his cup,
'When ye gang ot the gladsum ha,
'And sit ye doun to sup:
'Whan he has gied
'To bed bot dreid,
'He'll never mair rise up.'
VII.
And she has tane the deidly drug
And pat it in his cup,
Whan they gaed to the gladsum ha,
And sat them doun to sup:
And wi ill speid
To bed he gied,
And never mair raise up.
VIII.
The word came to his father auld
Neist day by hour of dyne,
That Woodhouselie had died yestrene,
And his dame had held the wyne.
Quoth he "I vow
"By Mary now,
"She sall meit sure propine."
IX.
Syne he has flown to our gude king.
And at his feet him layne;
'O Justice! Justice! royal liege,
'My worthy son is slayne.
'His lady's feid
'Has wrocht the deid,
'Let her receive the paine.'
X.
Sair muvit was our worthy king,
And an angry man was he;
'Gar bind her to the deidly stake,
'And birn her on the lie:
'That after her
'Na bluidy fere
'Her reckless lord may slee.'
XI.
"O wae be to ye, nourice,
"An ill dethe may ye drie!
"For ye prepar'd the deidly drug
"That gard my deiry die:
"May a the paine
"That I darraine
"In ill time, licht on thee!
XII
"O bring to me my goun o black,
"My mantel, and my pall;
"And gie five merks to the friars gray
"To pray for my poor saul:
"And ilka dame,
"O gentle name,
"Bewar o my sair fall."
XVII. LORD LIVINGSTON. From TRADITION.
I.
'GRAITH my swiftest steid,' said Livingston,
'But nane of ye gae wi me;
'For I maun awa by mysel alane
'To the foot of the grenewode tree.
II.
Up spak his dame wi meikle speid.
"My lord I red ye bide;
"I dreimd a dreiry dreim last nicht:
"Nae gude sall you betide."
III.
'What freit is this, my lady deir,
'That wald my will gainstand?'
"I dreimd that I gaed to my bouir dore,
"And a deid man tuke my hand."
IV.
'Suith dreims are scant,' said the proud baron,
And leuch wi jearing glie;
'But for this sweit kiss my winsum dame
'Neist time dreim better o me.'
V.
'For I hecht to meit with lord Rothmar,
'To chase the fallow deer;
'And speid we weil, by the our o nune,
'We sall return bot feir.'
VI.
Frae his fair lady's sicht he strave
His ettling sae to hide;
But frae the grenewode he came nae back,
Sin eir that deidly tide.
VII.
For Rothmar met him there bot fail,
And bluidy was the strife;
Lang eir the nunetide mess was rung,
They baith war twin'd o life.
VIII.
'Forgie, forgie me, Livingston!
'That I lichtly set by your dame;
'For surely in a the warld lives not
'A lady mair free frae blame.
IX.
'Accursed be my lawles luve
'That wrocht us baith fic tein!'
"As I forgie my freind anes deir,
"Sae may I be forgien.
X.
"Thouch ye my counseil sold ha tane
"The gait of gyle to eschew;
"Yet may my saul receive sic grace
"As I now gie to you."
XI.
The lady in her mournfu bouir
Sat wi richt heavy cheir,
In ilka sough that the laigh wind gied
She weind her deir lord to heir.
XII.
Whan the sun gaed down, and mirk nicht came,
O teirfu were her eyne!
'I feir, I feir, it was na for nocht
'My dreims were sae dowie yestrene!'
XIII.
Lang was the nicht, but whan the morn cam,
She said to her menie ilk ane;
'Haste, saddle your steids, and seik the gerenewode,
'For I feir my deir lord is slain.'
XIV
Richt sune they fand their lord and Rothmar
Deid in ilk ither's arm:
'I guess my deir lord that luve of my name
'Alane brocht thee to sic harm.
XV.
'Neir will I forget thy seimly meid,
'Nor yet thy gentle luve;
'For sevin lang yeirs my weids of black
'That I luvd thee as weil sall pruve.'
XVIII. BINNORIE.
From TRADITION.
To preserve the tone as well as the sense of this Ballad, the burden should be repeated through the whole, though it is here omitted for the sake of concisemess.
THERE were twa sisters liv'd in a bouir;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Their father was a baron of pouir,
By the bonnie mildams of Binnorie.
The youngest was meek, and fair as the May,
Whan she springs in the east wi the gowden day:
The eldest austern as the winter cauld,
Ferce was her saul, and her seiming was bauld.
A gallant squire cam sweet Isabel to wooe;
Her sister had naething to luve I trow;
But filld was she wi dolour and ire,
To see that to her the comlie squire
Preferd the debonair Isabel:
Their hevin of luve of spyte was her hell.
Till ae ein she to her sister can say
"Sweit sister cum let us wauk and play."
They wauked up, and they wauked down,
Sweit sang the birdis in the vallie loun!
Whan they cam to the roaring lin,
She drave unweiting Isabel in.
'O sister! sister! tak my hand,
'And ye fall hae my silver fan;
'O sister! sister! tak my middle,
'And ye fall hae my gowden girdle.'
Sumtimes she sank, sumtimes she swam,
Till she cam to the miller's dam:
The miller's dochter was out that ein
And saw her rowing down the streim.
"O father deir! in your mill dam
"There is either a lady or a milk white swan!"
Twa days were gane whan to her deir
Her wraith at deid of nicht cold apeir:
'My luve, my deir, how can ye sleip,
'Whan your Isabel lyes in the deep?
'My deir, how can ye sleip bot pain,
'Whan she by her cruel sister is slain?'
Up raise he sune in frichtfu mude,
'Busk ye my meiny and seik the flude.'
They socht her up and they socht her doun,
And spyd at last her glisterin gown:
They rais'd her wi richt meikle care;
Pale was her cheik, and grein was her hair!
'Gae, saddle to me my swiftest steid,
'Her fere, by my sae, for her dethe fall bleid.'
A page cam rinning out owr the lie,
"O heavie tiding I bring!" quoth he,
"My luvely lady is far awa gane,
"We weit the fairy hae her tane;
"Her sister gaed wood wi dule and rage,
"Nocht cold we do her mind to suage.
"O Isabel! my sister!" she wold cry,
'For thee will I weip, for thee will I die!"
"Till late yestreene in an elric hour
"She lap frae aft the hichest touir"—
'Now sleip she in peace!' quoth the gallant Squire,
'Her dethe was the maist that I cold require:
'But I'll main for the my Isabel deir,
'Binnorie, O Binnorie!
'Full mony a dreiry dyy, bot weir,
'By the bonnie mildams of Binnorie.'
XIX. THE DEATH OF MENTEITH.
From TRADITION.
I.
SHRILLY shriek'd the raging wind,
And rudelie blew the blast;
Wi awsum blink, throuch the dark ha,
The speidy lichtning past.
II.
'O hear ye nae, frae mid the loch,
'Arise a deidly grane?
'Sae evir does the spirit warn,
'Whan we sum dethe maun mane.
III.
'I feir, I feir me, gude Sir John,
'Ye are nae safe wi me:
'What wae wald fill my heart gin ye
'Sold in my castle drie!'
IV.
"Ye neid nae feir, my leman deir,
"I'm ay safe when wi thee;
"And gin I maun nae wi thee live,
"I here wad wish to die."
V.
His man cam rinning to the ha
Wi wallow cheik belyve:
'Sir John Menteith, your faes are neir,
'And ye maun flie or strive.
VI.
"What count syne leads the cruel knicht?"
'Thrie speirmen to your ane:
'I red ye flie, my master deir,
'Wi speid, or ye'll be slain.'
VII.
"Tak ye this gown, my deir Sir John,
"To hide your shyning mail:
"A boat waits at the hinder port
"Owr the braid loch to sail."
VIII.
"O whatten a piteous shriek was you
"That sough'd upo my eir?"
'Nae piteous shriek I trow, ladie,
'Bot the rouch blast ye heir.'
IX.
They socht the castle, till the morn,
Whan they were bown'd to gae,
They saw the boat turn'd on the loch,
Sir John's corse on the brae.
XX. LORD AIRTH's COMPLAINT.
From a MANUSCRIPT.
I.
IF these sad thoughts could be express'd,
Wharwith my mind is now possess'd,
My passion micht, disclos'd, have rest,
My griefs reveal'd micht flie:
But still that mind which dothe forbere
To yield a groan, a sich, or teire,
May by its prudence, much I fear,
Encrease it's miserie.
II.
My heart which ceases now to plaine,
To speke it's griefs in mournful straine,
And by sad accents ease my paine,
Is stupefied with woe.
For lesser cares doe murne and crie,
While greater cares are mute and die;
As issues run a fountain drie,
Which stop'd wold overflow.
III.
My sichs are fled; no teirs now rin,
But swell to whelm my soul within,
How pitieful the case I'm in,
Admire but doe not trie.
My crosses I micht justly pruve,
Are common forrows far abuve;
My griefs ay in a circle muve,
And will doe till I die.
XXI.
From TRADITION.
I.
I WISH I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries
To bear her company.
O would that in her darksome bed
My weary frame to rest were laid
From love and anguish free!
II.
I hear, I hear the welcome sound
Break slowly from the trembling mound
That ever calls on me:
Oh blessed virgin! could my power
Vye with my wish, this very hour
I'd sleep death's sleep with thee.
III.
A lover's sigh, a lover's tear,
Attended on thy timeless bier:
What more can fate require?
I hear, I hear the welcome sound—
Yes, I will seek the sacred ground,
And on thy grave expire.
IV.
The worm now tastes that rosy mouth,
Where glowed, short time, the smiles of youth;
And in my heart's dear home,
Her snowey bosom, loves to lye.—
I hear, I hear the welcome cry!
I come, my love! I come.
V.
O life begone! thy irksome scene
Can bring no comfort to my pain:
Thy scenes my pain recall!
My joy is grief, my life is dead,
Since she for whom I lived is fled;
My love, my hope, my all.
VI.
Take, take me to thy lovely side,
Of my lost youth thou only bride!
O take me to thy tomb!
I hear, I hear the welcome sound!
Yes life can fly at sorrow's wound.
I come, I come, I come.
FRAGMENTS.
I.
EARL Douglas then wham nevir knicht
Had valour mair nae courtesie,
Is now sair blam'd by a the land
For lichtlying o his gay ladie.
'Gae little page, and tell my lord,
'Gin he will cum and dyne wi me,
'I'll set him on a seat o gowd,
'And serve him on my bended knie.'
'Now wae betide ye black Fastness,
'Bot and an ill deid may ye die!
'Ye was the first and formost man
'Wha pairted my true lord and me.'
II.
She has called to her her bouir maidens,
She has called them ane by ane:
"There lyes a deid man in my bouir,
"I wish that he war gane."
They ha booted him and spurred him,
As he was wont to ryde,
A hunting horn ty'd round his waist,
A sharp sword by his syde.
Then up and spak a bonnie bird,
That sat upo the trie;
'What hae ye done wi Earl Richard,
'Ye was his gay ladie?'
"Cum doun, cum doun, my bonnie bird,
"And licht upo my hand;
"And ye shall hae a cage o gowd,
"Whar ye hae but the wand."
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman!
'Nae cage o gowd for me;
'As ye hae done to Earl Richard,
'Sae wad ye doe to me.'
III.
See ye the castle's lonelie wa,
That rises in yon yle?
There Angus mourns that eir he did
His sovereign's luve begyle.
'O will ye gae wi me fair maid?
'O will ye gae wi me?
'I'll set you in a bouir o gowd
'Nae haly cell ye'se drie.'
"O meikle lever wald I gang
"To bide for ay wi thee,
"Then heid the king my father's will,
"The haly cell to drie.
"Sin I maun nevir see nor speke
"Wi him I luve sae deir,
"Ye are the first man in the land
"I wald cheis for my fere."
IV.
Whar yon cleir burn frae down the loch,
Rins saftlie to the sea,
There latelie bath'd in hete o nune
A squire of valour hie.
He kend nae that the fause mermaid
There us'd to beik and play,
Or he had neir gane to the bathe,
I trow, that dreirie day.
Nae suner had he deft his claiths,
Nae suner gan to swim,
Than up she rais'd her bonnie face
Aboon the glittering streim.
'O comelie youth, gin ye will cum
'And be my leman deir,
'Ye sall ha pleasance o ilk sort,
'Bot any end or feir.
'I'll tak ye to my emraud ha
'Wi perles lichted rouud;
'Whar ye sall live wi luve and me,
'And neir by bale be found.
NOTES.
HARDYKNUTE.
PART I.
HARDYKNUTE.] This name is of
Danish
extract, and signifies
Canute the strong. Hardy
in the original implies
strong,
not
valiant;
and though used in the latter sense by the English, yet the Scots still take it in its first acceptation.
The names in Cunningham,
says Sir David Dalrymple,
are all Saxon, as is the name of the country itself.
Annals of Scotland,
an.
1160,
note.
The
Danish
and
Saxon
are both derived from the old
Gothic,
and were so similar, that a person of the one nation might understand one of the other speaking in his proper tongue. From the names and whole tenor of this poem, I am inclined to think the chief scene is laid in Cunninghamshire; where likewise the
battle of Largs,
supposed to be that so nobly described in the first part, was fought.
Ver. 5.
Britons.
] This was the common name which the Scots gave the English anciently, as may be observed in their old poets; and particularly
Blind Harry,
whose testimony indeed can only be relied on, as to the common language and manners of his time; his Life of Wallace being a tissue of the most absurd fables ever mingled.
V. 9.
Hie on a bill,
&c.] This necessary caution in those times, when strength was the only protection from violence, is well painted by a contemporary French bard:
Un chasteau scay sur roche espouvantable,
En lieu venteux, la rive perilleuse,
La vy tyrant seant à haute table,
En grand palais, en sal plantureuse, &c.
D' Alliac, Eveque de Cambray.
V. 12.
Knicht.
] These knights were only military officers attending the earls, barons, &c. as appears from the histories of the middle ages. See Selden,
Tit. Hon. P.
II.
c.
5. The name is of Saxon origin, and of remote antiquity, as is proved by the following fragment of a poem on the Spanish expedition of Charles the Great, written at that period:
Sie zeslugen ros unde man
Mit ire scarfen spiezen;
Thie gote mosen an theme plöte hinnen uliezen:
Ther site was under goten
kneghten,
Sic kunden wole vochten.
i. e.
Occiderunt equos et viros
Acutis suis hastis;
Deos opportuit sanguine fluere:
Hic mos erat inter nobiles
milites,
Poterant optime pugnare.
MS. de Bello Car. M. Hisp. apud Keysler diss. de Cultu Solis, Freji, & Othini;
Halae, 1728.
The oath which the ancient knights of Scotland gave at their investiture is preserved in a letter of Drummond of Hawthornden to Ben Jonson, and is as follows:
I shall fortifie and defend the true holy Catholique and Christian Religion, presently professed, at all my power.
I shall be loyal and true to my Sovereign Lord the King his Majesty; and do honour and reverence to all orders of chevalrie, and to the uoble office of arms.
I shall fortifie and defend justice to the uttermost of my power, but feid or favour.
I shall never flie from the King's Majesty my Lord and Master, or his lieutenant, in time of battel or medly with dishonour.
I shall defend my native country from all aliens and strangers at all my power.
I shall maintain and defend the honest adoes and quarrels of all ladies of honour, widows, orphans, and maids of good fame.
I shall do diligence, wherever I hear tell there are any traitors, murtherers, rievers, and masterful theeves and outlaws, that suppress the poor, to bring them to the law at all my power.
I shall maintain aed defend the noble and gallant state of chevalrie with horses, harneses, and other knichtly apparel to my power.
I shall be diligent to enquire, and seek to have the knowledge of all points and articles, touching or concerning my duty, contained in the book of chevalry.
All and sundry the premises I oblige me to keep and fulfill. So help me God by my own hand, and by God himself.
A curious account of the rise and progress of knighthood, and its influence on society, may be found in a learned and ingenious work lately published by Dr. Stuart, intitled,
A view of Society in Europe, or Enquiries concerning the History of Law, Government, and Manners.
V. 16.
Emergard.
] In the common copies it is Elenor, and indeed in all the recitals I have heard; but in a late edition published with other Scotish songs at Edinburgh, 1776, it is rightly read as here.
Emergard,
or
Ermengarde,
was daughter of the Viscount of Beaumont, and wife of William the Lyon. She died in 1233 As the name was uncommon, and of difficult pronunciation, the rehearsers seem to have altered it to
Elenor,
which has none of these defects.
The battle of Largs, supposed to be that meant in this poem, was fought on the first of August 1263, so that queen Emergard was dead thirty years before; yet this can amount to no error in chronology, as the verses evidently imply that the lady of Hardyknute
had
no equal in the kingdom for beauty save the queen in the prime of the youth and beauty of both, which might well be forty years, or more, before the period of action in the poem.
V. 25.
Fairly.
] This name seems likewise of Saxon origin. There is a small island and a rivulet in Cunningham still called
Fairly isle
and
Fairly Burn.
V. 43.
Twenty thousand glittering speirs,
&c.] This agrees with Buchanan's account,
Acho—viginti millia militum exposuit.
lib. 7. Torfaeus asserts this number of the Norwegians was left dead on the field; but upon what authority I know not, as the ancient relations of the battle of Largs support not his testimony. See
Johnstone's Translation of Haco's Expedition to Scotland in the year
1263,
from the Plateyan and Frisian MSS.
printed at Copenhagen 1782.
V. 49.
Page
] The Pages in the periods of chivalry were of honourable account. The young warriers were first denominated
pages,
then
valets,
or
dameiseaux,
from which degree they reached that of
ecuyer,
or
squire,
and from this that of
knight.
See
Du Cange,
voc.
Valeti,
&
Domicellus. St. Palaye,
Mem. sur l'anc. Cheval.
P.
I.
V. 61.
He has tane a horn;
&c.] The
horn,
or
bugil,
was anciently used by the Scots instead of the trumpet. They were sometimes richly ornamented, as appears from Lindsay's description of that of Sir Robert Cochran.
The horn he wore was adorned with jewels and precious stones, and tipped with fine gold at both ends.
Hist. of Scotland,
J. III.
V. 88. Westmoreland's
ferce heir.
]
Heir,
in the old Scotish acceptation, seems derived from the Latin
herus,
and signifies not
apparent successor,
but
present lord.
As in the following lines of
Blind Harry:
Of Southampton he hecht baith heir and lord.
B. 7. c. 1.
Of Glocester the huge lord and heir.
B. 12. c. 1.
And in this of
Dunbar,
Befoir
Mahoun
the heir of hell.
V. 107—112.] This minute description might lead us to suspect, that a female hand had some part in this composition. But, before our minstrel, Homer has shewn himself an adept in the lady's dress. To the curious remarks on the variation of the British habit, given us by Mr. Walpole, in his
Anecdotes of Painting,
and Mr. Granger, in his
Biographical History,
might be added the following notice from a reverend minister of the church of Scotland.
About 1698 the women got a custome of wearing few garments: I myselfe have seen the young brisk ladies walking on the streets with masks on their faces, and with one onlie thin petticoat and their smoak; so thin that one would make a conscience of sweiring they were not naked.
Miscellanies, by Mr. John Bell, minister at Gladsmuir,
MS. pen. Edit.
title
Apparel.
V. 112.
Save that of Fairly fair.
] Working at the needle, &c. was reckoned an honourable employment by the greatest ladies of those times. Margaret, the queen of Malcolm III. as we learn from her life written by
Turgot
her confessor, employed the leisure hours of her ladies in this manner. See Lord Hales'
Annals of Scotland,
an. 1093.
V. 121.
Sir Knicht.
]
The addition
Sir
to the names of knights was in use before the age of Edward I. and is from
Sire,
which in old French signifies
Seignieur
or Lord. Though applicable to all knights it served properly to distinguish those of the order who were not barons.
Dr. Stuart,
View of Society,
&c. Notes
on
sect. 4. chap. ii. p. 269.
V. 123—128. The custom of the ladies tending the wounded knights was common in those romantic ages.
Lydgate,
whose story is ancient, but whose manners are those of his own times, has an instance in
The Story of Thebes,
part ii. Speaking of the daughter of Lycurgus and Tideus;
To a chamber she led him up aloft.
Full well beseine, there in a bed right soft,
Richly abouten apparrailed
With clothe of gold, all the floure irailed
Of the same both in length and brede:
And first this lady, of her womanhede,
Her women did bid, as goodly as they can,
To be attendant unto this wounded man:
And when he was unarmed to his shert,
She made first wash his woundis smert,
And serch hem well with divers instruments,
And made fet sundrie ointments, &c.
And in an excellent piece of old English poetry, styled Sir Cauline, published by Dr. Percy in the first volume of his
Reliques,
when the king is informed that knight is sick, he says,
Fetche me down my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine.
v. 29, 30.
V. 145—152.] This stanza is now first printed. It is surprising it's omission was not marked in the fragment formerly published, as without it the circumstance of the knight's complaint is altogether foreign and vague. The loss was attempted to be glossed over by many variations of the preceding four lines, but the defect was palpable to the most inattentive peruser.
V. 154.
Lord Chattan.
] This is a very ancient and honourable Scottish surname. Some genealogists derive them from the
Chatti,
an ancient German tribe; but others, with more probability, from the
Gilchattan
of Ireland. St.
Chattan
was one of the first Scotish confessors, to whom was dedicated the priory of
Ardchattan
in Lorn, founded in 1230, and some others through the kingdom. The chief of the clan
Chattan
dying in the reign of David I. without male issue, the clan assumed the ancestor of the
M'Phersons
for superior, by which means the name appears to have been lost in that of
M'Pherson.
See
Buchanan's Brief Enquiry into the Genealogy and Present State of Ancient Scottish Surnames.
Glasgow, 1723, 4 to,
p.
67.
We however find the Clan Chattan mentioned as late as 1590 in
The History of the Feuds and Conflicts of the Clans, published from a MS. of the reign of James VI.
Glasgow, 1764; where a Macintosh is called their chief.
V. 159.] Though we learn from
Buchanan's Equiry,
&c. that the clan
Chattan
are said to have come into Scotland long before the expulsion of the Picts, yet I do not find this pretty anecdote, which is much in the spirit of Homer, has any foundation in history. The empire of the Picts was demolished by Kenneth about four centuries before the apparent date of the events narrated in this poem.
V. 169.
Mak orisons,
&c.] This is perfectly in the style of knighthood. Before they entered into combat they solemly invoked the aid of God, their Saviour, or their mistress: religion and gallantry being the prime motives of all their adventures.
Les premieres leçons qu'on leur donnoit regardoient principalement l'amour de Dieu et des dames, c'est à dire la religion et la galanterie.
St. Palaye, tome i. p. 7. The poets of these times began, in like manner, the description of a savage conflict, or of their lady's graces, with religious invocation. Many examples of which appear in the
Histoire des Troubadours
of L'Abbé Milot, and the
Specimens of Welsh Poetry
published by Mr. Evans. So blind is the untutored mind to the proper discrimination of it's ideas!
V. 179.
Playand Pibrochs.
] Of the
pibroch
I cannot give a better account than in the words of an excellent author.
A pibroch is a species of tune peculiar, I think, to the Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, and differs totally from all other music. Its rythm is so irregular, and its notes, especially in the quick movement, so mixed and huddled together, that a stranger finds it almost impossible to reconcile his ear to it, so as to perceive its modulation. Some of these
pibrochs,
being intended to represent a battle, begin with a grave motion resembling a march, then gradually quicken into the onset; run off with noisy confusion, and turbulent rapidity, to imitate the conflict and pursuit; then swell into a few flourishes of triumphant joy; and perhaps close with the wild and slow wailings of a funeral procession.
Essays by Dr. Beattie,
8vo. ed. p. 422.
note.
V. 188.
Eir faes their dint mote drie.
] This is substituted in place of a line of consummate nonsense, which has stained all the former editions. Many such are corrected in this impression from comparing different rehearsals, and still more from conjecture. When an ignorant person is desired to repeat a ballad, and is at a loss for the original expression, he naturally supplies it with whatever absurdity first occurs to him, that will form a rime. These the Editor made not the smallest scruple to correct, as he always imagined that common sense might have its use even in emendatory criticism.
V. 203.
But on his forehead,
&c.] The circumstances in this description seem borrowed from those of different battles betwixt the Kings of Scotland and Norway. I find in no historian that Alexander was wounded in the battle of Largs; on the contrary, it is even doubted whether he was present; but in that near
Nairn
Malcolm II. was wounded on the head.
Rex, accepto in capite vulnere, vix a suis in propinquum nemus ablatus, ac ibi equo pofitus, mortem evasit.
Buchan. lib. VI.
V. 223.
Hire dames to wail your darling's fall.
] This custom of employing women to mourn for the warriors who fell in battle, may be traced to the most distant antiquity. Lucilius, one of the earliest Roman poets, in a couplet preserved by Nonius, mentions this practice;
Mercede quae conductae flent alieno in fanere praeficae
Multae & capillos scindunt, & clamant magis.
Among the Northern nations it partook of their barbarity.
Inter eas autem ceremonias a barbara gente acceptas fuisse et has, ut genas roderunt mulierculae, hoc est unguibus faciem dilaniarent et
lessum
facerent, id est sanguinem e venis mitterent, doloris testandi ergo; id quod Germani patria voce dicunt,
Ein lassu thun oder baben.
Elias Schedius
de Diis Germ.
Syng. II. c. 51.
A similar mode of testifying their grief for the death of their chiefs, still obtains in the Highlands, as we are informed by Mr. Pennant in his amusing
Tour in Scotland.
V. 225.
Costly Jupe.
] This was the
Sagum,
or military vest of the Gauls and Germans. Dr. Stuart has with curious ingenuity derived the science of Blazonry from the ornaments which were in time added to them.
Ubi supra,
p. 286, 287.
Virgil has a passage remarkably similar to this, in describing the habit of the Gauls, I think in Aeneid VIII.
Aurea caesaries illis, atque aurea vestis
Virgatis lucet sagulis.
V. 229.
Beir Norse that gift,
&c.] This has been generally misunderstood: the meaning is,
Bear that gift to the King of Norway, and bid,
&c.
V. 239. 245.] These vaunts are much in Homer's manner, and are finely characteristic. The obscure metaphor which conveys them illustrates a beautiful remark of an ancient critic, That allegory has a sublime effect when applied to threatning.
. Demet. Phal. de Eloc. c. 99.
V. 265.
Whar lyke a fyre to hether set.
] This apposite simile alludes to an ancient practice of the Scots, termed
Mure burning.
The progress of the flame was so quick, that many laws appear in their Acts of Parliament, prohibiting its being used when any corn was standing on ground adjacent to the heath intended to be burnt, though at a considerable distance from the spot where the flame was kindled.
V. 285.
Sore taken he was, fey!
]
Fey
here signifies only indeed,
in fay,
or, in faith: it is commonly used by the old Scotish poets in a sarcastic or ironical sense.
V. 305.
On Norway's coast,
&c.] These verses are in the finest style of Ballad poetry. They have been well imitated by a modern writer, who seems indebted, for the best strokes of his first production, to a taste for such compositions:
Ye dames of Denmark! even for you I feel,
Who, sadly sitting on the sea-beat shore,
Long look for Lords that never shall return,
Douglas,
Act III.
I cannot conclude my observations upon the description here given of the battle, without adding, that though perhaps not the most sublime, it is the most animated and interesting to be found in any poet. It yields not to any in Ossian for lively painting, nor to any in Homer for those little anecdotes and strokes of nature, which are so deservedly admired in that master. 'Poetry and Rhetoric,' says the author of an Enquiry into the origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful,
do not succeed in exact description so well as Painting does; their business is to affect rather by sympathy than imitation; to display rather the effect of things on the mind of the speaker, or of others, than to present a clear idea of the things themselves. This is their most extensive province, and that in which they succeed the best.
Will he forgive me if I offer this rude Scotish Poem as an example sufficiently illustrative of this fine remark?
V. 321.
Loud and chill blew the Westlin wind,
&c.] This storm is artfully raised by the magic of Poetry to heighten the terrible, which is soon carried to a degree not surpassed in any production ancient or modern. It will recall to the reader the like artifice employed in the most sublime passage of
Tasso's Gierusalemme,
end of Canto 7.; and of
Homer's Iliad,
VIII. ver. 161. of Mr. Pope's Translation.
V. 327.
Seimd now as black as moruning weid.
] It was anciently the custom on any mournful event to hang the castle gates with black cloth. This is alluded to here, and more particularly mentioned in an excellent modern Ballad, entitled
The Birth of St. George,
which displays no mean knowledge of the manners of chivalry:
But when he reached his castle gate
His gate was hung with black.
Reliques,
Vol. III. p. 222.
HARDYKNUTE. Part II.
I HAVE given the stanzas now added the title of a Second Part, though I had no authority from the recital. The break formerly made here by accident seemed to call for this pause to the reader.
V. 115.
Penants.
] These were small banners charged with the arms of the owner, and sometimes borne over the helm of the ancient knight by his squire, and, as would seem, even that of the prince, Earl, or Chief Baron, by his Baneret. See ver. 331. The English word is
penon:
And by his banner borne is his
penon,
Of gold full rich; in which there was ybete
The minotaure that he wan in Crete,
Says Chaucer speaking of Theseus in
The Knight's Tale.
V. 252.
Draffan's touirs.
] The ruins of Draffancastle are in Lanarkshire.—They stand upon a vast rock hanging over the
Nethan
(see v. 329.) which a little below runs into the
Clyde.
From this a house situated very nigh the ruins is called
Craignethan.
This castle is so ancient, that the country people there say it was built by the
Pechts,
which is their common way of expressing the
Picts.
V. 273.
His halbrik.
] This term for a coat of mail occurs in
Blind Harry.
It was properly used for one composed of small rings of steel which yielded to every motion of the warrior, and was the same with the
lorica hamata
of the Romans, so picturesquely described by Claudian:
Conjuncta per artem
Flexilis inductis hamatur lamina membris,
Horribilis visu, credas simulacra moveri
Ferrea, cognatoque viros spirare metallo.
In Rufin. Lib.
II.
V. 275.
Securit by a warloc auld,
&c.] The belief that certain charms might secure the possessor from danger in combat was common in dark ages.
I know a song, by which I soften and enchant the arms of my enemies, and render their weapons of no affect,
says
Odin
in his
Magic.
Northern Antiq.
Vol.
II.
p.
217. Among the Longobards they were forbidden by a positive Law.
Nullus Campio adversus alterum pugnaturus audeat super se habere
herbas nec res ad maleficia pertinentes,
nisi tantum corona sua, quae conveniunt. Et si suspicio fuerit quod eas occulte habeat, inquiratur per Judicem, et si inventae fuerunt, rejiciantur. Post quam inquisitionem, extendet manum suam ipse in manu Patrini aut Colliberti sui, ante judicem, dicens, se nullam rem talem super se habere, deinde ad certamen prodeat
LL. Longob. apud L. Germ. J. Basil. Herold.
A similar notion obtained even in England, as appears from the oath taken in the Judicial Combat.
A. de B. ye shall swere that ye have no
stone of virtue, nor hearb of virtue, nor charme, nor experiment, nor none othir enchauntment by you nor for you, whereby ye trust the better to overcome C. de D. your adversarie,
that shall come agens you within these lists in his defence, nor that ye trust in none othir thynge propirly bot in God, and your body, and your brave quarel. So God you help and all halowes, and the holy gospells.
Apud
Dugdale,
Orig. Juridic. & Miscell. Aulica, Lond.
1702.
p.
166.
And we find in a most acute and ingenious treatise on the point of honour, written in the middle of the sixteenth century, that this precaution was esteemed necessary so late as that period.
Il Duello del Mutio Justinopolitano,
In Vineg. 1566. lib. II. c. 9.
De i maleficii
t incante.
Et non senza ragione i moderni Padrini fanno spogliare i cavallieri, che hanno da entrare in battaglia, et iscuotere, et diligentemente essaminare i loro panni, &c.
Many instances occur in the accounts of the civil wars of France, and of the Netherlands: and more particularly in the very curious story of
Gowrie's Conspiracy,
published by James VI. at
Edinburgh,
1600, 4to.
His Majesty having before his parting out of that towne, caused to search the sayde Earle of Gowries pockets, in case any letters that might further the discovery of that conspiracie might be founde therein. But nothing was found in them, but a little close parchment bag full of magical characters, and wordes of enchantment, wherein it seemed that hee had put his confidence, thinking himself never safe without them, and therefore ever carried them about with him; being also observed, that while they were upon him, his wound, whereof he died, bled not; but incontinent, after the taking of them away, the blood gushed out in great abundance, to the great admiration of all the beholders.
See likewise
Memoirs of the Affairs of Scotland, by David Moyses,
Edin. 1755. where this piece is reprinted
verbatim.
Maister William Rynd, a servant of Lord Gowrie's, deposition in the same volume,
p.
297, has singular anecdotes with regard to these
characters.
V. 276. Fairy
charm.
] The word
fairy
seemes to have been accepted by the ancient English and Scotish poets for
supernatural,
or
enchanted.
So Chaucer speaking of
Cambuscan's
horse,
It was of fairie, as the peple semed.
Squires Tale,
p. 1.
V. 362.] It was the priviledge of the knights to hide their faces with armour, so that it was impossible to distinguish any one from another, except by his
blazon,
which seems at first to have been displayed over them, but came at length to be painted on their shields, whence
Coats of Arms.
A
villein
was obliged to have his countenance uncovered in battle. This circumstance attended to will save our wonder at Hardyknute's not knowing Draffan in the First Part, and Draffan's not perceiving Malcolm here till his spear tore off his visor: though Rothiay knows Draffan either from his wearing a
blazon
on his armour, or from his face being uncovered in order to breathe from the combat.
V. 389.
Cheir ye my
mirrie men, &c.] It should have been remarked on the first appearance of this word, P. I. v. 199, that
mirrie
was anciently used in a very different sense from its present. It signified
honest, true, faithful,
but no where
jovial.
King James VI. in his
Daemonologie
MS.
pen. Edit.
Surelie the difference vulgaire put betwixt thame is verrie
mirrie, and in a manner trew.
p. 10.
And again in p. 18.
Many
honest and mirrie
men.
In like manner Merlin's Prophecies are styled '
Mirrie words,
' in that of Beid.
Proph. of Rymer,
&c.
V. 413.
Oh King of Hevin!
] This is a common appellation of the Deity with the more ancient Scottish Poets.
By Hevins King,
is the familiar oath of
Blind Harrie's
heroes.
V. 419.
By my Forbere's saul.
] Swearing by the souls of their ancestors was another used mode in those times. The greatest thought this oath most strong and honourable; probably because it implied the souls of their forefathers were in heaven, and, as was then believed, might lend them a supernatural aid, if the intention of their oath was just and unblameable.
V. 421. '
Now mind your aith,
' &c.] This passage is obscure: the meaning I apprehend is, that Draffan had, before the combat, exacted an oath of Allan his baneret, that he would slay him, should the necessity of his affairs demand this sacrifice. More willing to lose his own life than possibly to take that of his great antagonist, he commands Allan to fulfil his engagement, which, with all the heroic faith of those times, he does without a pause. The particular expression
The
shynand blade
might lead us to imagine, that it was thought impossible to pierce the supposed enchanted armour, but with one particular weapon, likeways perhaps
charmed.
V. 437.
Icolm.
] The Nunnery at Icolm, or Icolmkill, was one of the most noted in Scotland. The Nuns were of the order of
Augustine,
and wore a white gown, and above it a rocket of fine linen.
Spotiswood's Account of the Religious Houses in Scotland,
p. 509. The ruins of this nunnery are still to be seen, with many tombs of the Princesses; one of which bears the year 1000.
Martin's Western Islands,
p. 262.
I cannot conclude my remarks on this Poem without wasting one on the story of Mrs. Wardlaw. That this lady may have indeed received a MS. of it as mentioned in Dr. Percy's introductory note, is highly probable. Many valuable MSS. prepared for the press, have had a worse fate. But that she was the author of this capital composition, so fraught with science of ancient manners as the above notes testify, I will no more credit, than that the common people in Lanarkshire, who can repeat scraps of both the parts, are the authors of the passages they rehearse. That she did not refuse the name of being the original composer is a strange argument: would not the first poet in Europe think it added to his reputation? If conjecture may be allowed where proof must ever be wanting, I suspect, if we assign the end of the fifteenth century as the date of the antique parts of this noble production, we shall not greatly err; though at the same time the language must convince us that many strokes have been bestowed by modern hands.
Since the first publication of this volume, Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hales, whose abilities have been so often, and so successfully, exerted in illustrating the antiquities of his country, to the law and the literature of which he is so great an ornament, has communicated to the Editor some notices with regard to this poem of Hardyknute, which shall here be laid before the reader, almost in his own words.
The following are extracts of a letter written by Sir John Bruce of Kinross, to Lord Binning, about the year 1719.
To perform my promise, I send you a true copy of the manuscript I found, some weeks ago, in a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a fair Gothic character; but so much defaced by time, as you'll find that the tenth part is not legible.
Sir John transcribes some stanzas, which he calls
verses.
After l. 112, P. I. he says,
here are four verses defaced,
and then he transcribes l. 113.
At l. 128 he adds,
hiatus in MS.
and then he transcribes l. 153. At l. 320 he says,
Here are ten verses (stanzas) so spoilt that I can only guess by the many proper names, that they contain the order of battle of the Scots army, as they stood ranged under their different chieftains.
In conclusion Sir John says,
there's a vast deal more of it, but all defaced.
The reader is left to judge whether this story of the manuscript on vellum, &c. has most the appearance of a true narrative, or of a
jeu d' esprit
addressed to a familiar friend.
Lord Hales has a copy of the original edition of Hardyknute, with MS. alterations, in the hand writing of Dr. John Clerk, Physician in Edinburgh. At l. 85, it has '
brade
Thomas;' Sir John Bruce has
bred
Malcolm.
At l. 98, Sir John Bruce's MS. has 'Walter' instead of 'Malcolm.' At l. 103, 'brazen' for 'silver;' and at l. 104, 'iron doors,' for
painted bowers.
In Dr. Clerk's MS. lines, 176—180 run thus;
To join his king adown the hill,
In hast his strides he bent;
While minstrels playand pibrochs fine,
Afore him stately went.
In Dr. Clerk's MS. the stanza
On Norway's coast,
&c. comes in after the stanza
There on a lee
with much propriety: that reading is therefore followed in this edition.
At l. 337. for 'owr' the MS. has 'oy'.
The last line in the MS. was originally,
He feared a coud be feared;
but has been changed into that which occurs in later editions.
CHILD MAURICE.
THIS is undoubtedly the true title of this incomparable Ballad, though corrupted into Gil Morrice by the nurses and old women, from whose mouths it was originally published.
Child
seems to have been of equal importance with
Damoiseau
(See note on P. I. v. 49. of Hardyknute) and applicable to a young nobleman when about the age of fifteen. It occurs in Shakspeare's Lear, in the following line, probably borrowed from some old romance or ballad,
Child Roland to the dark tower came.
Act III. S. 7.
And in Chaucer's
Rime of Sir Topas, Child
is evidently used to denote a young and noble knight. Many instances might likewise be brought from Spenser for this signification.
Gil Morrice is only the northern pronunciation of the true name of this ballad:
Gil
about Aberdeen, &c, still signifies
Child,
as it does in Galic; witness the name
Gilchrist,
the child of Christ, &c.
V. 52.
He bent his bow.
] Archery was enjoined the Scotish warrior at a very early age, as appears from many special laws to that effect, and particularly the following one of James I.
Item, That all men busk them to be Archeres fra they be
twelfe yeir of age,
and that in ilk ten pundis worthe of lande their be maid bowmarkis, and speciallie neir to Paroche kirkis, quhairin upon haly daies men may cum, and at the leist schutte thrise about, and have usage of archerie: and quha sa usis not the said archerie, the Laird of the lande sall raise of him a wedder; and giff the Laird raises not the said payne, the King's schireffe or his ministers, shall raise it to the King.
Parl.
I. § 18.
V. 95.
ezar.
] This word is perhaps the same with
mazer,
as used by the English poets,
A mighty mazer bowl of wine was set.
Spenser, F. Q. II. 12. 49.
A mazer ywrought of the maple ware,
Spenser's Calendar, August.
So golden mazer wont suspicion breed
Of deadly hemlocks poison'd potion:
says Hall in the prologue to his admirable Satires.
Ezar cup
will then mean a large bowl of any material.
V. 107, 8.
O what means a the folk coming? My mother tarries lang.
] This stroke of nature is delicate. It paints the very thought of youth and innocence. In such happy
tenuity
of phrase, this exquisite composition is only rivalled by the
Merope
of
Maffei,
the most finished Tragedy in the world. Some lines fancifully interpolated by a modern and very inferior hand are here omitted.
V. 122.
And slaided owr the strae.
] The meaning is,
He went bastily over the rank grass.
V. 144.
As the hip is o the stean.
] This would appear the corruption of some nurse; but taking it as it stands, the simile, though none of the most delicate, has a parallel in the Father of English Poetry:
But he was chaste and no lechoure
And sweet as is the bramble floure
That bearethe the red hip.
Chaucer, Sir Topas.
ADAM O GORDON.
THE genuine subject of this Ballad has long remained in obscurity, though it must have been noted to every peruser of
Crawford's Memoirs.
'But to return to Gordon,'
(viz.
Sir Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother to the Earl of Huntly)
as these two actions against Forbes, or, to speak more properly, against the rebels, gained him a vast reputation—his next exploit was attended with an equal portion of infamy; and he was as much decryed for this unlucky action (though at the same time he had no immediate hand in the matter) as for his former ones he had been applauded. He had sent one
Captain Ker
with a party of foot to summon the Castle of
Towie
in the Queen's name. The owner Alexander Forbes was not then at home, and his lady confiding too much in her sex, not only refused to surrender, but gave Ker very injurious language; upon which, unreasonably transported with fury, he ordered his men to fire the castle, and barbarously burnt the unfortunate gentlewoman with her whole family, amounting to thirty-seven persons. Nor was he ever so much as cashiered for this inhuman action, which made Gordon share both in the scandal and the guilt.
An.
1571.
p.
240.
edit.
1706.
In this narrative is immediately perceived every leading circumstance in the Ballad. The
Captain Car,
by which name it was distinguished in Dr. Percy's Manuscript, is evidently the
Ker
of Crawford. The House of
Rodes
I have corrected, according to the truth of story,
Towie.
Of which name, I find in
Gordon of Straloch's
map of Aberdeenshire, there were two gentlemen's seats, or castles, in his time, one upon the
Don,
and another upon the
Ythan.
The nearest seat to the latter is that of
Rothy,
which from wrong information may have originally stood in the Ballad, the mistake rising naturally from the vicinity of their situation, and from this have been corrupted to
Rodes.
The courage of this lady, as represented in the Ballad, was equalled by that of the famous Countess of Salisbury, at the siege of Roxborough; and of Ladies Arundel and Banks, in the last civil wars of England. See particularly the
Mercurius Rusticus,
&c. Lond. 1647. Sections V. and XI.
V. 129.
Freits.
] This word signifies
ill omens;
and sometimes as here
Accidents supernaturally unlucky.
King James VI. in his
Daemonologie, MS. pen. Edit.
B. I.
cb.
III.
p.
13.
But I pray you forget not likeways to tell what are the Devill's rudimentis. E. His rudimentis I call first in generall all that quhilk is called vulgairelie the vertu of woode, herbe, and staine; quhilk is used by unlawfull charmis without naturall causis. As lykeways all kynd of prattiques,
freitis, or uther lyk extraordinair actions, quhilk cannot abyde the tre
twiche of naturall raison.
It occurs again in the same sense in
p.
14.
marg. note;
and in
p.
41. speaking of
Sorcerers.
And in generall that naime was gevin thaime for using of sic chairmis and
freitis,
as that craft teachis thame.
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
THIS ballad is admitted into this collection, as being supposed, from many minute marks, to be a Scotish ballad in an English dress.
Whan
for
when, kirk
for
church,
&c. are some of these marks.
Though it is published by Dr. Percy, and of consequence in every body's hands; yet it was necessary to give it here, else this digest of such Scotish tragic ballads as deserve preservation could not have been called complete.
VI.
John Faw was king of the gypsies in Scotland in the reign of James IV. who, about the year 1495, issued a proclamation, ordaining all sheriffs, &c. to assist John Faw in seizing and securing fugitive gypsies; and that they should lend him their prisons, stocks, fetters, &c. for that purpose: charging the lieges, that none of them molest, vex, unquiet, or trouble the said Faw and his company in doing their
lawful business
within the realm; and in their passing, remaining, or going forth of the same, under penalty: and charging skippers, masters of ships, and mariners, within the realm, at all ports and havens, to receive said John and his company, upon their expences, for furthering them furth of the realm to parts beyond sea. See
Mr. Maclaurin's Remarkable Cases,
&c.
p.
774.
V. 8.
Glamour.
] The
glamour
was believed to be a kind of magical mist raised by sorcerers, which deluded their spectators with visions of things which had no real existence, altered the appearance of these which really did exist, &c. The Eastern nations have a similar superstition, as we may learn from Mr. Galland's
Mille et un nuit,
and other translations of works of Oriental fiction.
SIR HUGH, OR THE JEW's DAUGHTER, is composed of two copies, one published by Dr. Percy, the other in a collection of Scotish Songs, &c.
Edin.
1776. The
Mirryland toun
of the former, and
Mirry Linkin
of the latter, evidently shew that the noted story of Hugh of Lincoln is here expressed.
FLODDEN FIELD.
THE stanzas here given form a complete copy of this exquisite Dirge. The inimitable beauty of the original induced a variety of versifiers to mingle stanzas of their own composure. But it is the painful, though most necessary duty of an Editor, by the touchstone of truth, to discriminate such dross from the gold of antiquity.
SIR PATRICK SPENCE is given from Dr. Percy's Edition, which indeed agrees with the stall copies, and the common recitals. I have, however, lent it a few corrections, where palpable absurdity seemed to require them. The phrase in v. 25. of seeing the old moon
in the arms
of the new is still familiar in Scotland. It means that the opaque part of the moon's disk casts a glimmering light, while the illuminated part is waxing; and is to this hour esteemed to prognosticate a storm.
LADY BOTHWELL's LAMENT.
THESE four stanzas appeared to the Editor to be all that are genuine in this elegy. Many additional ones are to be found in the common copies, which are rejected as of meaner execution. In a quarto manuscript in the Editor's possession, containing a collection of Poems by different hands from the reign of Queen Elizabeth to the middle of the last century, when it was apparently written (
pp.
132.) there are two
Balowes
as they are there styled, the first
The Balow, Allan,
the second
Palmer's Balow;
this last is that commonly called Lady Bothwell's Lament, and the three first stanzas in this edition are taken from it, as is the last from
Allan's Balow.
They are injudiciously mingled in Ramsay's Edition, and several stanzas of his own added; a liberty he used much too often in printing ancient Scotish poems.
EARL OF MURRAY.
V. last.
Toun.
] This word is often used in Scotland to denote only, perhaps, a farm-house and office-houses, or a number of hovels scattered here and there; and on which the English would not bestow the name of a village.
A very eminent Scotish antiquary informs me, that in Saxon
ton
signifies an habitation: and that
castle downe
in the last stanza of this ballad ought to be read
Castle Downe,
the seat of Lord Murray in his own right.
SIR JAMES THE ROSE is given from a modern edition in one sheet 12mo. after the old copy. A renovation of this Ballad, composed of new and improbable circumstances, decked out with scraps of tragedies, may be found in the Annual Register for 1774, and other collections.
Rose
is an ancient and honourable name in Scotland:
Johannes de Rose
is a witness to the famous Charter of
Robert
II. testifying his marriage with
Elizabeth More,
as appears in the rare edition of it printed at Paris, 1695, 4to.
p.
15.
V. 27.
Belted Knichts.
] The
belt
was one of the chief marks which distinguished the ancient knight.
To be girt with the belt of knighthood
often implied the whole attending ceremonies which constituted that order. That of the common knight was of white leather.
LAIRD OF WOODHOUSELIE.
THIS Ballad is now first published. Whether it has any real foundation, the Editor cannot be positive, though it is very likely. There is a
Woodhouselie
nigh Edinburgh, which may possibly be that here meant.
LORD LIVINGSTON
probably an ancestor of Livingston Earl of Linlith
, attainted in 1715. This affecting piece likewise, with the four following, now appears for the first time.
V. 13.
Saith dreims are scant
] This seems a proverbiai expression: King James in his
Daemonologie,
That is
a suith dream
(as they say) sence thay see it walking.
MS. p.
100.
BINNORIE.
V. 32.
Her wraith.
]
And what meanis then these kyndis of spreitis when they appeare in the shaddow of a personne newlie dead, or to die, to his friend? E. When thay appeare upon that occasion, they are called
wraithis
in our langage.
Ib. p.
81.
The following larger extract relating to the Fairies, another creation of superstition, is given by way of specimen of this singular MS. Book III. Ch. 5.
ARGUMENT.
The description of the fourth kynde of Spreitis, called the
Pharie.
What is possible chairin, and what is but illusions. Whow far this dialogue entreates of all thir thingis: and to what ende.
P.
Now I pray you come on to that fourt kynd of spreittis.
E.
That fourt kynde of Spreitis, quhilk be the gentiles was called Diana and her wandring court, and amongs us was called the
Pharie
(as I tolde you) or our guid neighbouris
(the King has added on the margin 'or sillie wightis')
was ane of the sortis of allusions that was ryfest in tyme of Papistrie; for allthough it was holdin odious to prophesie be the devill, yet whome these kynd of spreittis caried away, and informed, thay wer thought to be sonciest, and of best lyfe. To speak of the manie vaine tratlis foundit upon that illusion; how thair was ane king and queine of
Pharie,
of sic a jolie court and traine as thay had; how thay had a teind and a dewtie, as it wer, of all guidis: how thay naturallie raid and yeld, eat and drank, and did all other actions lyke naturall men and wemen; I think it is lyker Virgilis
Campi Elisei,
nor any thing that aught to be beleived be Christianis.
This Manuscript is written in a beautiful Italic hand, so nearly resembling copper-plate engraving, as to have been taken for such even after accurate examination. It is bound in gilded vellum, stamped with the King's eypher beneath the crown; and is in all probability the original copy of this royal monument of superstition. Many additions are inserted on the margin, as would seem, of the hand-writing of James VI. and some notes for his own private use. As for instance on
B.
II.
ch.
1. speaking of the Magicians of his time, over against the words
Thay are sume of thame riche and worldlie wyse,
he has noted
F. M.
sum of tham fat or corpulent in their bodies,
R. G.
and maist pairt of thame altogethir gevin ouer to the pleasours of the flesche,
B. N.
We need not wonder at the severity with which the imaginary crime of withcraft was punished in his reign, when we remark his sentiment expressed on this head, in
B.
III.
ch.
6. of this singular tract.
P.
Then to make ane ende of our conference sence I see it drawis leatt, what forme of punishment think ye merites thir Magiciens and Witches? For I see that ye account thame to be all alyke giltie. E.
(The King) Thay aught to be put to deathe,
according to the law of God, the civill and imperiall law, and the municipal law of all Christiane nations.
P.
But what kynde of death I pray you?
E.
It is commonly used be fyre, but that is ane indifferent thing to be used in every countrey according to the law or custume thairof.
P. But aught no sexe, aage, nor rank, to be eximed?
E. NONE AT ALL.
The language of this pedantic Monarch is particular; it is that of a Scotish school-boy beginning to read English.
In the printed copies the style is much altered and improved. It was printed at Edinburgh, and reprinted at London in the same year, 1603, 4to.
LORD AIRTH's COMPLAINT.
THESE verses, though somewhat uncouth, are moving, as they seem to flow from the heart. They are now first published from the Editor's quarto Manuscript,
p.
16. corrected in some lines, which appeared too inaccurate for the publick eye. Two entire stanzas are rejected from the same cause. I know nothing of the nobleman to whom they are ascribed.
In the same Manuscript
(p.
17. and 116) are to be found the two following Poems, which I believe have never been in print. They are here added, with a few corrections. They were both written by Sir Robert Aytoun, who bore some office under government in the reign of James VI. if I mistake not. His Latin poems are in the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum.
SONNET.
WILT thou, remorseless fair, still laugh while I lament?
Shall still thy chief contentment be to see me malcontent?
Shall I, Narcissus like, a flying shadow chase?
Or, like Pygmalion, love a stone crown'd with a winning face?
No, know my blind Love now shall follow Reason's eyes;
And as thy fairness made me fond, thy temper make me wise.
My loyalty disdains to love a loveless dame,
The spirit still of Cupid's fire consists in mutual flame.
Hadst thou but given one look, or hadst thou given one smile,
Or hadst thou lent but one poor sigh my sorrows to beguile,
My captive Thoughts perchance had been redeem'd from Pain,
And these my mutinous Discontents made friends with Hope again.
But thou I know at length art careless of my good;
And wouldst ambitiously embrew thy beauty in my blood:
A great disgrace to thee, to me a monstrous wrong,
Which time may teach thee to repent ere haply it be long:
But to prevent thy shame, and to abridge my woe,
Because thou canst not love thy friend, I'll cease to love my foe.
SONG.
WHAT means this strangeness now of late,
Since Time must Truth approve?
This distance may consist with state,
It cannot stand with love.
'Tis either cunning or distrust
That may such ways allow:
The first is base, the last unjust;
Let neither blemish you.
For if you mean to draw me on,
There needs not half this art:
And if you mean to have me gone,
You over-act your part.
If kindness cross your wish'd content,
Dismiss me with a frown;
I'll give you all the love that's spent,
The rest shall be my own.
FRAGMENTS.
The two first of these are given from a Collection, Edinburgh, 1776, but polished by the present Editor; the two others from recital.
GLOSSARY.
A
Ablins,
perhaps.
Aboon,
above.
Ae. ane,
one.
Aff,
off.
Aft,
oft.
Aith,
oath.
Ain,
own.
Alse,
except.
Anes,
once.
Auld,
old.
Austerne,
stern.
Ayont,
beyond.
B
Ba,
ball, tennis.
Baird,
beard.
Baith
both.
Bairn,
child.
Bale,
misery.
Balow,
bush.
Band,
solemn oath.
Base-court,
bas court,
French,
the lower court of a castle.
Basnet,
helmet.
Begyle,
beguile.
Bestraught,
distracted.
Bansters,
blusterers.
Beik,
bask.
Belyve,
immediately.
Besprent,
covered.
Betide, n.
fortune.
Bedeen,
presently,
Bleise,
blaze.
Bleirit,
dim with tears.
Blink,
glimpse of light.
Blinking,
twinkling.
Blude,
blood.
Blythsum,
sprightly.
Boughts,
sheepfolds.
Boist,
boast.
Bonny,
pretty.
Botand,
likeways.
Bown,
make ready.
Bogle,
hobgoblin.
Bot,
without.
Bouir,
a room arched in the Gothic manner.
Bouir woman,
chamber-maid.
Bra,
bravely dressed.
Brae,
side of a hill.
Braid,
broad.
Brand, Isl.
a sword.
Brawe,
brave.
Brayd,
hasten.
Bruik,
enjoy.
Brin,
burn.
Brig,
bridge.
Busk,
prepare.
Brechan,
plaid; cloke striped with various colours.
C
Cauld,
cold.
Cauldrif,
chill, damp.
Canny,
prudent.
Cheis,
chuse.
Claught,
grasped.
Cliding,
wardrobe.
D
Daffin,
waggery.
Dar'd,
lighted, hit.
Darrain,
suffer, encounter.
Deft,
taken off hastily.
Dint,
blow, stroke.
Dawning,
dawn of day.
Dought,
could.
Doughty,
valiant, strong.
Dowie,
dreadful, melancholy.
Drie,
suffer, endure.
Dule,
grief.
E
Eard,
earth.
Eild,
eld, old age.
Eine,
eyes.
Eithly,
easily.
Eydent,
ayding, assisting.
Elric,
dismal.
Eldern,
ancient, venerable.
Egre,
eager, keen, sharp.
Effray,
affright.
Emraud,
Emerald.
Ettle,
aim.
F
Fae,
foe.
Fay,
faith, sincerity.
Fere,
companion.
Ferly,
wonder.
Feid,
enmity.
Fey,
in sooth.
Flinders,
splinters.
Fleeching,
flattering.
Forbere,
forefather, ancestor.
Forbode,
denial.
Frae,
fro, from.
Frawart,
froward.
G
Ga, gae, gang,
go.
Gabbing,
prattle.
Gait,
way, path.
Gar,
cause.
Gie,
give.
Gin, gif,
if.
Glaive,
sword.
Gleit,
glittered.
Glie,
mirth. In
H. P. II, 120.
it seems to signify a faint light.
Glent,
glanced.
Glist,
glistered.
Gloming,
dusk.
Glowr,
glare, dismal light.
Grein,
desire.
Greit,
weep.
Graith,
dress,
v.
and
n.
Gousty,
ghastly.
Grie,
prize, victory.
Gude,
good.
Gurly,
bitter, cold; applied to weather.
Gyle,
guile.
Gyse,
manner, fashion.
H
Harst,
harvest.
Hauld,
hold, abode.
Hain,
spare, save.
Hap
cover.
Hecht,
promised.
Hip,
the berry of the wild rose.
Hyt,
frantic.
Hyn
,
hence.
I
Jimp,
delicate, slender.
Ilk, ilka;
each.
Irie,
terrible.
K
Kaming,
combing.
Kin,
kindred.
Kyth, v.
to show or make appear.
Kyth, n.
acquaintance, friends, companions.
L
Laigh,
low.
Lane,
alone.
Lap.
leaped.
Law,
low.
Lave,
the rest.
Leil,
true, faithful.
Leir,
learn
Leglen,
a milking pail.
Leman,
lover, mistress.
Leugh,
laughed.
Lawing,
reckoning.
Lever,
ather.
Leech,
physician.
Lift,
the firmament.
Lig,
lye scatteredly.
Lilting,
merry making with music,
&c.
Lin,
a fall of water.
Linkis,
lamps or other artificial lights.
Loaning,
a common green near a village.
Loch,
lake.
Low, v.
and
n.
flame.
Lown,
sheltered, calm.
Lout,
to bow.
Lue,
love.
Lure,
cunning device, snare.
Lyart,
hoary.
M
Makless,
matchless.
Maun,
must.
Mair,
more,
f.
rather.
Mahoun,
Mahomet, and by abuse the devil.
Mane,
moan, lament.
Meikle,
much.
Meiny,
train, army.
Mense,
to measure, to try.
Mede,
reward.
Meid,
port, appearance.
Meise,
soften, mollify.
Mirk,
dark.
Mony,
many.
Mote,
might.
N
Na, nae,
no, none.
Neist,
Norse,
often
the King of Norway,
so
France
s often used by Sha
spere for the king of that country.
O
On case,
perhaps.
Ony,
any.
Or, f.
ere, before,
f.
else.
Owr,
Over.
Outowr,
Over above.
Orison, Fr.
prayer.
P
Pall,
robe of state.
Payne,
penalty.
Perle,
pearl.
Pleasance,
pleasure.
Pou,
pull.
Pratique,
experiment.
Preass,
to press, to pass with difficulty.
Prime of day,
dawn.
Prive, pruve,
prove.
Propine,
reward.
Q
Qu,
is used in old S
sh spelling for
W.
as
Qunat,
What,
&c.
Quat,
quitted.
Quell,
subdue.
R
Raught, recht,
reached.
Recule,
recoil.
Rede,
warn.
Reiking,
smoking.
Rief,
robbery.
Riever,
robber,
Reid,
red.
Roun,
sound softly, whisper.
Rue,
repent.
Ruth,
pity.
Rude,
cross.
Runkled,
wrinkled.
S
Sark,
shirt.
Saw,
a wise saying.
Sawman,
counsellor.
Sabbing,
sobbing.
Scant,
scarce.
Scorning (
F
od.
v. 5.)
jesting ironica
y.
Sey
ss
y, try.
Seen,
to see.
Seim,
appearance.
Selcouth,
uncommon as a prodigy.
Share,
to cleave, pierce.
Sic,
such.
Sindle,
seldom.
Skaith,
hurt.
Slaid,
to move speedily.
Slee, v.
slay.
Sen,
seeing.
Sin, sith,
since.
Soncie,
lucky.
Stalwarth,
stout, valiant.
Steik,
to shut.
Sleuth,
sloth.
Strecht,
stretched.
Swankies,
merry fellows.
Swaird,
turf, grassy ground.
Swith,
quickly.
Steid,
estate.
Spent,
drew.
Splent,
armour for the thighs and legs.
Speir,
ask.
Stoup,
pillar.
Sucred,
sugared.
Syre,
lord.
T
Tane,
taken.
Targe,
shield.
Tein,
sorrow.
Teind,
tyth, tenth part.
Thilk, thir.
these.
Thole,
suffer, permit.
Thud,
sadden noise.
Tide,
time, season.
Tint,
lost.
Triest,
make an assignation.
Twin'd,
parted, separated.
V U
Veir,
avoid,
or perhaps
alter.
Unmusit,
without wonder;
to muse
often means
to wonder
in Shakspere.
Unsonlie,
unlucky.
W
Waddin,
strong, firm.
Wad, wald, wold;
would.
Warloc,
wizard.
Wallow,
withered,
and fig.
pale.
Ward,
sentinel.
Wate,
warrand.
Wax,
to spread, to become famous.
Wee,
little.
Weit,
wet, rain.
Wete,
hope.
Westlin,
western.
Wae worth ye,
woe befall you.
War,
aware.
Whilk,
which.
Wighty,
strong.
Wicht,
from
Wiga
Sax. a hero, or great man.
Winsum,
agreeable, winning.
Whyle,
until.
Weir,
war.
Weily,
full of whirlpools;
a weil
is still used for a whirlpool in the west of Scotland.
Wraith,
a spirit or ghost.
Wyte,
blame.
Wreak,
revenge.
Wreken,
avenged.
Wreuch,
grief, misery.
Y
Yestreen,
the evening of yesterday.
Yet,
gate,
Yied,
went.
Youthheid,
state of youth,
THE END.