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AULD   SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 


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AULD    SCOTS    BALLANTS. 


EDITED  BY 


ROBERT     FORD, 

Author  of  "  Hame-Spdn  Lays  and  Lyrics,"  "  Humorous  Scotch 

Readings  in  Prose  and  Verse,"  "  Glints  o' 

Glentoddy,"  etc. 


ALEXANDER    GARDNER, 

??ttiU8t)rr  to  "^tx  iWafrstB  ttie  ®,ttfen, 

PAISLEY;    and    PATERNOSTER    ROW,    LONDON. 


*i 


PR 

f1  5  ^ 


PREFACE. 


Notwithstanding  the  many  benefits  resulting  from  the 
immense  popularity  of  the  Scottish  daily  and  weekly  news- 
D.  papers,  the  universality  of  the  latter  has  given  an  effectual 

Q  check  to  the  circulation  of  the  rude  Old  Ballad  Literature 

•S  which,  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  years  ago,  formed  so  impor- 

"ck         tant  an  item  in  the  pack  of  every  itinerant  chapman  in  the 
W  land;   and  to-day  the  tragic  ballads  of  "Sir  James  the 

Rose,"  and   "Mill  o'  Tifty's  Annie,"  "The  Hunting  of 
^         Chevy-Chase,"  the  pathetic  tale  of  "  Gil  Morrice,"  and  the 
52         humorous  and  once  popular  story  of  "  Thrummy  Cap,"  and 
o        others  such  like,  are  known  chiefly  to  the  literary  anti- 
^        quary.     Some  of  our  rare  old  chap-ballads,  indeed,  such  as 
§        "Thrummy  Cap,"   "The  Wife  o'  Beith,"   "The  Herd's 
~~^       Ghaist,"  "  Young  Gregor's  Ghost,"  and   "The  Blaeberry 
Courtship  " — none  of  which,  strange  to  say,  has  been  in- 
(/i      corporated  in  the  Standard  Collections — are  fast  threaten- 
(^      ing  to  become  extinct,  copies  of  some  of  them  being  already 
(R      almost  unobtainable.    This  being  the  case,  and  considering 
^      that  the  custom  hitherto  has  been  to  publish  the  collections 
f-\      of  what  has  been  aptly  termed  "  the  literature  of  the  com- 
mon people  "  at  a  price  almost  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
common   purse,   it   occurred   to   me  some  time  ago  that  a 
volume  comprising  the  more  popular  and   entertaining   of 
the  old  Chap-Ballads,  together  with  the  best  of  those  pre- 
served in  the  Collections,  would,  if  published  at  a  moderate 
price,  meet  with  approval.     In  the  course  of  last  year  I 
accordingly  issued  a  little  collection  in  paper  covers,  under 
the  title  of  "Rare  Old  Scotch  Ballads."    That  pub- 


■2 


vi  PREFACE. 

lication  received  the  hearty  approval  of  the  Scottish  press, 
and  met  with  such  gratifying  success  otherwise,  thai  it  is 
already  out  of  print ;  and  the  success  of  that  earlier  volume 
is  regarded  as  a  not  unreasonable  excuse  for  this  substantial 
and  largely  augmented  collection. 

The  present,  like  the  earlier,  makes  no  claim,  of  course, 
to  being  a  Collection  in  the  popular  acceptation  of  that 
elastic  term,  but  is  merely  a  "reel-rail"  budget,  compris- 
ing a  number  of  rare  and  curious  "  blads  "  of  verse,  together 
with  the  "pick  and  wale"  of  the  more  popular  of  the 
ancient  ballads  of  Scotland.  Of  these  latter,  the  versions 
presented  will  be  found  to  have  been  chosen  for  some  good 
reason.  The  prefatory  notes — studiously  made  as  concise 
as  possible — will  be  helpful  to  the  uninitiated  reader  ;  and 
the  introduction  of  several  ballads,  copies  of  which  are  not 
to  be  found  in  any  previous  collection,  together  with  the 
interesting  particulars  which  it  contains  of  the  authors  of 
"  Thrummy  Cap"  and  "The  Piper  of  Peebles,"  ar>d  other 
pieces,  may  render  the  volume  not  unacceptable  to  even 
wrinkled  students  and  connoisseurs  in  Scottish  ballad 
poetry. 

Of  a  number  of  the  jDieces  which  follow,  it  may,  I  am 
aware,  be  argued  by  the  literary  purist  that  they  do  not, 
strictly  speaking,  belong  to  the  category  of  Ballads  at  all, 
but  are  simply  narrative  poems  ;  and  the  contention  might 
be  backed  with  much  sound  reasoning.  At  the  same  time, 
the  distinction  between  a  narrative  poem  and  a  ballad  can- 
not always  be  easily  made  out,  the  difference  being  fre- 
quently as  slight  as  that  which  distinguishes  a  ballad  froni 
a  song.  If  it  is  right  and  proper  to  term  a  narrative  song 
a  ballad,  then  there  should  be  no  great  mistake,  one  would 
think,  in  calling  a  narrative  poem  by  the  same  name. 

But  enough  here  ! 

Robert  Ford. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Thrummy  Cap,    ...            ...  ...            ...                i 

Gil  Morrice,              ...            ...  .                        14 

The  Bonnie  Banks  o'  Fordie,  ...            ...             21 

Sir  James  the  Rose,              ...  ...            ..        24 

The  Ghaist  o'  Garron  IIa',  .            ...              31 

Watty  and  Meg,       ...            ...  ...            ...      47 

Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray,  ...            ...              54 

The  Bonnie  House  o'  Airlie,  ...            ...      67 

Young  Tamlane,              ...  ...            ...             70 

Will  and  Jean,         ...            ...  ...            ...       77 

Aiken-Drum,       ...            ...  ...            ...              99 

Mill  o'  Tifty's  Annie,          ...  ...            ...     104 

Chevy  Chase,     ...            ...  ...            ...            112 

The  Blaeberry  Courtship,  ...  ...            ...     121 

The  Herd's  Ghaist,         ...  ...            ...            125 

Helen  of  Kirkcoxnell,        ...  ...            ...     129 

Captain  Wedderburn's  Courtship,  ...            131 

The  Murder  of  King  Kenneth,       ...  ...     136 

The  Wife  o'  Auchtermuchty,  ...            ...            143 

The  Weary  Coble  o'  Cargill,  ...            ...     148 

The  Piper  o'  Peebles,     ...  ...            ...            155 


viii  CONTENTS. 

The  Queen's  Marie,               ...  ...            ...     169 

Sir  Patrick  Spens,           ...  ...            ...            174 

The  Haughs  oI'  Cromdale,  ...  ...            ...     179 

Gii.DEROY,             ...            ...  ...            ...            182 

The  Broom  o'  the  Cowdenknowes,  ...  ...     186 

Barbara  Allan,...            ...  ...            ...            190 

The  Kaim  o'  Mathers,          ...  ...            ..      192 

BiNXORiE,  O  Binnorie,    ...  ...            ...            204 

The  Wife  o'  Beith,...            ...  ...            ...     208 

EnoM  o'  Gordon,              ...  ...            ...            226 

The  Twa  Corbies,     ...            ...  ...            ...     232 

Annie  o'  Lochryan,         ...  ...            ...            234 

The  Dowie  Dens  o'  Yarrow,  ...            ...     239 

Thomas  the  Rhymer,      ...  ...            ...           243 

Young  Grigor's  Ghost,          ...  ...            ...     256 

Archie  Allan,   ...            ...  ...            ...           263 

The  Witch  of  FifEj               ...  ...            ...     269 

The  MarchioiNess  of  Douglas,  ...            ...            279 

Tayis  Bank,                ...            ...  ...            ...     281 

Belle  Margaret,              ...  ...            ...            286 

The  Gay  Goss-Hawk,             ...  ...            ...     291 


^Fnnnnm^  Cap, 

(A  Legend  of  the  Castle  of  Fiddes.) 

"  Thrummy  Cap,"  here  subjoined,  though  comparatively 
few  of  those  even  who  know  the  ballad  well  are  aware  of 
the  fact,  was  written  by  a  cousin-german  of  Robert  Burns, 
the  national  poet,  namely,  John  Burnes  or  Burness,  son  of 
William  Burness,  farmer,  Bogjordan,  Glenbervie,  Kincar- 
dineshire. Robert  Burns's  father,  it  is  well  known,  belonged 
to  this  same  part  of  the  country,  and  was  wont  to  spell  his 
name  Burness.  John  Burness,  the  author  of  "Thrummy 
Cap,"  was  born  at  Bogjordan  on  the  22d  of  May,  i^Ti. 
Of  his  early  life  little  is  known,  but  partly  on  account  of  an 
injudicious  marriage,  and  partly  on  account  of  a  love  of 
intoxicating  liquor,  his  career  was  far  from  being  a  pros- 
perous one.  He  was  for  some  time  a  baker  in  Brechin, 
and  in  other  towns  in  Forfarshire,  and  entered  the  Angus 
Fencibles  in  1794.  In  1796,  whilst  stationed  with  his 
regiment  in  Dumfries,  he  wrote  his  tale  of  "Thrummy 
Cap."  At  this  time  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  his  illus- 
trious relative,  Robert  Burns,  to  whom,  shortly  before  his 
death,  the  poem  was  shown.  It  is  alleged  that  the  great 
poet  read  and  approved  of  the  production  of  his  less-gifted 
relative,  and,  apochryphal  as  the  allegation  may  be,  we 
like  to  believe  it.  John,  on  the  disbandment  of  his  regi- 
ment in  1799,  went  to  Stonehaven  and  commenced  business 
for  himself  as  a  baker,  but,  being  unsuccessful,  he  entered 
the  Forfarshire  Militia,  in  which  he  served  until  his  dis- 
charge in  1815,  when  he  once  more  returned  to  Stonehaven, 
once  more  attempted  the  baker  business,  and  was  once 
more  unsuccessful.  Subsequently  he  was  engaged  as  a 
canvasser  by  a  company  of  booksellers,  which  occupation 
he  followed  until  his  death,  either  in  January  or  March 
(authorities  differ),  1S26,  when  he  perished  in  a  snowstorm 
near  the  church  of  Portlethen,  Kincardineshire.  His  body 
was  claimed  by  a  relative  in  Aberdeen,  and  buried  in 
Spittal  Churchyard  in  that  city.  In  addition  to  "  Thrummy 
Cap,"  Burness  wrote  and  published  "  Charles  Montgomery 
— A  Tragical  Dramatic  Tale,"  Stonehaven,  1800;  "The 
Northern  Laird,"  Dublin,  1815  ;  "The  Ghaist  o' Garron 
A 


2  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

I  la',"  'in^l  "  The  Recruit,"  Montrose,  no  date.  A  sort  of 
collated  edition  of  his  little  works  was  published  in  Mon- 
trose in  1819,  in  a  volume  entitled,  "Plays,  Poems,  Tales, 
&c."  Most  of  these  had  appeared  separately  at  various 
limes,  including  the  ones  named  above. 

In  ancient  times  far  i'  the  north, 

A  hunder  miles  ayont  the  Forth, 

Upon  a  stormy  winter  day, 

Twa  men  forgather'd  o'  the  way  ; 

Ane  was  a  sturdy  bardoch  chiel, 

-Vn'  frae  the  w'eather  happit  weel, 

Wi'  a  mill'd  plaiding  Jockey  coat. 

An'  eke  he  on  his  heid  had  got 

A  thrummy  cap,  baith  large  an'  stout, 

Wi'  flaps  ahint,  as  weel's  a  snout, 

A\Tiilk  buttoned  close  aneath  his  chin, 

Tae  keep  the  cauld  frae  gettin'  in  ; 

Upon  his  legs  he  had  gammashes, 

Whilk  sodgers  term  their  spatterdashes, 

An'  on  his  hands,  instead  o'  gloues. 

Large  doddy  mittens,  whilk  he'd  roose, 

For  warmness,  an'  an  aiken  stick, 

Nae  verra  lang,  but  unco  thick, 

Intil  his  nieve — he  drave  awa', 

An'  cared  for  neither  frost  nor  snaw. 

The  ither  was  just  the  reverse, 

For  duds  upo'  him  they  were  scarce. 

An'  unco  frichtit  glow'rin'  bt)dy, 

Ve'd  ta'en  him  for  a  rin-the-wuddy. 

This  ill-met  pair  gaed  on  th'gither, 

An'  took  nae  thocht  upo'  the  weather ; 

But  a  michty  shoo'er  o'  snaw  an'  drift 

As  ever  dang  doon  frae  the  lift, 

Grew  verra  thick  upo'  the  wind, 

Whilk  to  their  wae  they  soon  did  find. 

An'  John  (that  was  the  ill-happ'd  buddy's  name), 


TliRUMMY  CAP. 

Wish't  himsel  safe  frae  harm  at  hame, 

Richt  wild  an'  boisterous  Boreas  roar'd, 

"  Preserve's,"  quo  John,  "  we'll  baith  be  smor'd, 

Oor  trystic  end  we'll  ne'er  mak'  oot." 

"  Cheer  up,"  says  Thrummy,  "  never  doot, 

I've  some  fears  we've  lost  oor  way, 

Hooever  at  the  neist  hoose  we'll  stay, 

Until  we  see  gif  it  grow  fair, 

Gin  no,  a'  nicht  we'll  tarry  there." 

"  Weel,  weel,"  says  Johnny,  "  we  will  try.'" 

Syne  they  a  mansion-hoose  did  spy 

Upo'  the  road  a  piece  afore ; 

Sae  up  they  gaed  unto  the  door, 

Whaur  Thrummy  chappit  wi'  his  stick  j 

Syne  to  the  door  cam'  very  quick 

A  meikle  dog,  wha  barkit  sair  ; 

But  Thrummy  for  him  didna  care, 

He  handled  weel  his  aiken  staff, 

In  spite  o's  teeth  he  kept  him  aff, 

Until  the  landlord  cam'  to  see. 

An'  ken  fat  micht  the  maitter  be  ; 

Then  very  soon  the  dog  did  cease, 

The  landlord  then  did  speir  the  case. 

Quo'  Thrummy,  "  Sir,  we  ha'e  gaen  rill. 

We  thocht  we'd  ne'er  a  hoose  get  till ; 

We  near  were  smo'red  amo'  the  drift, 

An'  sae  gudeman  ye'll  mak'  a  shift, 

To  gi'e  us  quarters  a'  this  nicht. 

For  noo  we  dinna  ha'e  the  licht, 

Farer  to  gang,  tho'  it  were  fair, 

Sae  gin  ye  ha'e  a  bed  to  spare, 

Whate'er  you  chairge,  we  sanna  grudge. 

But  satisfy  ye  ere  we  budge 

Tae  gang  awa' — an'  fan  'tis  day 

We'll  pack  oor  a'  an'  tak'  the  way." 

The  landlord  said — "  O'  beds  I've  nane, 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

Oor  ain  fowks  they  can  scarce  contain  ; 

But  gin  ye'U  gang  but  twa  miles  forrit, 

Aside  the  kirk  dwalls  Robbie  Dorrit, 

Wha  keeps  a  change-hoose,  sells  gude  drink  ; 

His  hoose  ye  may  mak'  oot,  I  think." 

Quo'  Thrummy — "That's  ower  far  awa', 

The  roads  are  sae  blawn  up  wi'  snaw, 

Tae  mak'  it  is  nae  in  oor  poo'er 

For,  look  j'e,  there's  a  galherin'  shoo'er 

Just  comin'  on.     Ye'U  lat  us  bide, 

Though  we  should  sit  by  the  fireside." 

The  landlord  said  to  him — "  Na,  na, 

I  canna  lat  ye  bide  ava  ; 

Chap  aff,  for  'tisna  worth  your  while 

Tae  bide,  when  ye  ha'e  jimp  twa  mile 

Tae  gang.     Sae  quickly  aff  ye'U  steer, 

For  faith  I  doot  ye'U  no'  be  here." 

"  Twa  mile  !  "  quo'  Thrummy,  "  deil  speed  me, 

If  frae  this  hoose  this  nicht  I  jee  ; 

Are  we  to  starve  in  a  Christian  land, 

As  lang's  my  stick's  intae  my  hand, 

An'  siller  plenty  in  ma  pooch  ? 

Tae  nane  aboot  your  hoose  FU  crouch. 

Landlord,  ye  needna  be  sae  rude, 

For,  faith,  we'll  mak'  oor  quarters  good. 

Come,  John,  lat's  in,  we'll  tak'  a  seat, 

Fat  sorrow  gars  ye  look  sae  blate?" 

Sae  in  he  gangs,  an'  sets  bim  doon. 

Says  he  —  "  There's  nane  aboot  your  toon 

Sail  put  me  oot  till  a  new  day 

As  lang's  Fve  sUler  here  to  pay." 

The  landlord  said — "  Ye're  raither  rash, 

To  turn  ye  oot  I  canna  fash. 

Since  ye're  sae  positive  tae  bide  ; 

But  troth  ye'se  sit  by  the  fireside. 

I  tauld  ye  else  o'  bed  Fd  nane 


THRUMMY  CAP.  5 

Unoccupied,  except  bare  ane, 

In  it  I  fear  ye  winna  lie, 

For  stootest  hearts  ha'e  aft  been  shy 

Tae  venture  in  within  the  room 

Aifter  the  nicht  begins  to  gloom  ; 

For  in  it  they  can  ne'er  get  rest, 

'Tis  haunted  by  a  fearfu'  ghaist ; 

Oorsel's  are  terrified  a'  nicht, 

Sae  ye  may  chance  tae  get  a  sicht. 

Like  that  which  some  o'  oor  fowk  saw ; 

Far  better  still  ye  gang  awa' 

Or  else  ye"ll  maybe  rue  the  day." 

"  Guid  faith,"  quo'  John,  "  I'm  thinkin'  sae  ; 

Better  intae  the  neuk  tae  sit. 

Than  fley'd,  Gude  keep's,  oot  o'  oor  wit ; 

Preserve  us  ever  frae  a'  evil, 

I  wadna  like  tae  see  the  deevil." 

"Whisht,  gowk,"  quo'  Thrummy,  "  haudyer  peace, 

That  sanna  gar  me  quit  this  place. 

Nane  great  or  sma'  I  e'er  did  ill, 

Nae  ghaist  or  de'il  my  rest  shall  spill. 

I  will  defy  the  meikle  deil, 

An'  a'  his  warks,  I  wat  fu'  weel ; 

What  sorra  then  niak's  ye  sae  eerie  ? 

Fling  by  your  fears,  an'  come,  be  cheery. 

Landlord,  gin  ye'll  mak'  up  that  bed, 

I  promise  I'll  be  verra  gled 

Within  the  same  a'  nicht  tae  lie 

If  that  the  room  be  warm  and  dry." 

The  landlord  says — "  Ye'se  get  a  fire, 

An'  candle  tae  gin  ye'll  desire. 

Wi'  beuks  tae  read,  an'  for  yer  bed 

I'll  orders  gi'e  to  get  it  made." 

John  says — "As  sure  as  I'm  a  Christian  man 

Wlia  never  likes  to  curse  nor  ban, 

I'll  sit  by  the  fireside  a'  nicht, 


AULD  SCOTS  15ALLANTS. 

An'  gang  awa'  whan  it  is  licht." 
Says  Thrunimy  till  him,  wi'  a  glower— 
'•Ye  coordly  gowk,  I'll  mak'  ye  cower  ; 
Come  up  the  stair  this  nicht  wi'  me. 
An'  I  will  caution  for  ye  be." 
Then  Johnny  faintly  gi'ed  consent, 
An'  up  stairs  to  the  room  they  went, 
Whaur  soon  they  got  baith  fire  an'  licht, 
Tae  baud  them  hearty  a'  the  nicht. 
The  landlord  likewise  gi'ed  them  meat, 
As  meikle  as  they  baith  could  eat. 
Showed  them  their  bed,  and  bade  them  gang 
Tae  it  whene'er  they  did  think  lang, 
Sae  wishin'  them  a  guid  repose. 
Straight  syne  tae  his  ain  bed  he  goes. 
Oor  travellers  now  being  left  alane, 
'Cause  that  the  frost  was  nippin'  keen, 
Cuist  aff  their  shoon,  an'  warni'd  their  feet 
An'  syne  gacd  tae  their  bed  tae  sleep. 
But  cooardly  John  wi'  fear  was  quakin', 
He  couldna  sleep  but  still  lay  waukin', 
Sae  troubled  wi'  a  panic  fricht, 
Whan  near  the  twalt  oor  o'  the  nicht, 
That  Thrummy  waukened  an'  thus  spoke— 
"  Preserve's,"  quo'  he,  "  I'm  like  tae  choke 
Wi'  thirst,  an'  I  maun  ha'e  a  drink  ; 
I  will  gang  doon  the  stair  I  think 
An'  grapple  for  the  water  pail ; 

0  for  a  waucht  o'  caller  ale  !  " 
Johnny  grips  till'm,  an'  says — "  Xa, 

1  winna  lat  ye  gang  awa'  ; 

Hoo  wid  ye  gang  an'  leave  me  here 
Alane,  to  dee  wi'  perfect  fear." 
"  Rise  an'  gae  wi'  me  then,"  quo  Thrummy, 
"  Ye  senseless,  gude-for-naething  buminy  ; 
I'm  only  gaun  to  seek  some  water, 


THRUMMY  CAP. 

I  will  be  back  jist  in  a  clatter." 

"  Na,  na,"  says  John,  "  I'll  rather  lie  ; 

But,  as  I'm  likewise  something  dry, 

■Gin  ye  can  get  a  jug  or  cap, 

Fesh  me  up  a  little  drap." 

"Ay,  ay,"  quo'  Thrummy,  "that  I  will, 

Altho'  ye  sudna  get  a  gill." 

Sae  doon  he  gaes  tae  seek  a  drink, 

While  on  his  way  he  sees  a  blink 

O'  licht,  that  shone  upo'  the  floor 

Oot  through  the  keyhole  o'  the  door, 

Which  wasna  fast  but  stood  ajee. 

Whatever's  there,  he  thinks,  I'll  see. 

So  bauldly  ower  the  threshold  ventures, 

An'  in  within  the  door  he  enters. 

But,  reader,  judge  o'  his  surprise 

\\Tian  there  he  saw,  wi'  wond'rin'  eyes, 

A  spacious  vault  weel  stored  wi'  casks 

O'  reamin'  ale,  an'  some  big  flasks  ; 

An'  stridelegs  ower  a  cask  o'  ale 

He  saw  the  likeness  o'  himsel', 

Just  in  the  dress  that  he  cuist  aff, 

A  thrummy  cap,  an'  aiken  staff, 

Gammashes,  an'  the  jockey  coat. 

An'  in  its  hand  the  ghaist  had  got 

A  big  four-leggit  timmer  bicker. 

Filled  tae  the  brim  wi'  nappy  liquor. 

Oor  hero  at  the  spectre  stared. 

But  neither  daunted  was  nor  cared, 

But  tae  the  ghaist  strecht  up  did  stap. 

An'  says — "Dear  brither,  Thrummy  Cap, 

The  warst  ye  surely  dinna  drink, 

Sae  I  wi'  you  will  taste,  I  think." 

Syne  took  a  jug,  pu'd  oot  the  pail, 

An'  filled  it  up  wi'  the  same  ale 

Frae  under  whaur  the  spectre  sat. 


AULD  SCOTS  13ALLANTS. 

An'  up  the  stair  wi"  it  he  gat, 

Took  a  gude  drink,  ga'e  John  anither, 

But  never  tauld  him  o'  his  brither 

That  he  into  the  ceHar  saw, 

Mair  than  he'd  naething  seen  ava. 

Light,  brown,  an'  nappy  was  the  beer, 

"  Whaur  did  ye  get  it  ?  "  John  did  speir. 

Says  Thrummy — "  Sure  ye  needna  care  ; 

I'll  gang  an'  try  tae  get  some  mair." 

Sae  doon  the  stair  again  he  goes 

Tae  get  o'  drink  anither  dose, 

Bein'  positive  tae  ha'e  some  mair, 

But  still  he  fand  the  ghaist  was  there, 

Noo  on  a  butt  ahint  the  door. 

Says  he — "  Ye  did  nae  ill  before, 

Dear  brither  Thrummy,  sae  I'll  try 

You  aince  again,  because  I'm  dry." 

He  fills  his  jug  stracht  oot  below. 

An'  up  the  stair  again  does  go. 

John  marvelled  sair,  but  didna  speir 

Again  whaur  he  had  got  the  beer. 

For  it  was  stronger  than  the  first, 

Sae  they  baith  drank  till  like  to  burst. 

Syne  did  compose  themsel's  tae  rest ; 

Tae  sleep  awhile  they  thought  it  best. 

An  'oor  in  bed  ihey  hadna  Ijeen, 

An'  scarcely  weel  had  closed  their  een, 

When  just  intae  the  neighbourin'  chaum'er 

They  heard  a  dreadfu'  din  and  claum'er  j 

Aneath  the  bedclaes  John  did  cower. 

But  Thrummy  jumped  upon  the  floor, 

Him  by  the  sark-tail  John  did  haud, 

"  Lie  still,"  quo'  he  ;  "fat,  are  ye  mad ?  " 

Thrummy  then  gaed  a  hasty  jump. 

An'  took  John  on  the  ribs  a  thump, 

Till  on  the  bed  he  tumbled  doun 


THRUMMY  CAP. 

In  little  better  than  a  swoon  ; 

While  Thrummy,  fast  as  he  could  rin, 

Set  aff  to  see  fat  made  the  din. 

The  chaum'er  seemed  tae  him  as  licht 

As  if  the  sun  was  shinin'  bricht ; 

The  ghaist  was  stannin'  at  the  door, 

In  the  same  dress  he  had  afore  ; 

An'  o'er  anent  it  at  the  wa' 

Were  ither  apparitions  twa. 

Thrummy  beheld  them  for  awee, 

But  deil  a  wird  as  yet  spake  he  ; 

The  speerits  seemed  tae  kick  a  ba' 

The  ghaist  against  the  ither  twa, 

Whilk  close  they  drave  baith  back  an'  fore 

Atween  the  chimney  an'  the  door. 

He  stops  awhile  an'  sees  the  play, 

Syne  rinnin'  up,  he  this  did  say — 

"  Ane  for  ane  may  weel  compare, 

But  twa  for  ane  is  raither  sair. 

The  play's  nae  equal,  sae  I  vow, 

Dear  brither  Thrummy,  I'll  help  you." 

Then  wi'  his  fit  he  kicked  the  ba', 

Gart  it  play  stot  again  the  wa'. 

Quick  then,  as  lichtnin'  frae  the  sky, 

The  spectres  wi'  a  horrid  cry 

A'  vanished  in  a  clap  o'  thunder, 

While  Thrummy  at  the  same  did  wonder. 

The  room  was  quiet  noo  and  dark. 

An'  Thrummy  strippet  tae  his  sark. 

Glauming  his  way  back  to  his  bed. 

He  thinks  he  hears  a  person  tread  : 

An'  e'er  he  gat  withoot  the  door. 

The  ghaist  agen  stood  him  before. 

An'  in  his  face  did  starin'  stand, 

Wi'  a  big  candle  in  his  hand. 

Quo'  Thrummy,  "  Friend,  I  want  to  know 


AULD  SCOTS  B ALLAN TS. 

What  brings  yc  frae  the  shades  below. 

I  in  my  Maker's  name  command 

You  tell  your  story  just  aff  hand. 

Fat  wad  ye  ha'e  ?     I'll  do  my  best 

For  you,  tae  lat  you  be  at  rest." 

Then  says  the  ghaist — "  'Tis  thirty  year 

Since  I  was  doomed  to  wander  here  ; 

In  a'  that  time  there  has  been  none 

Behaved  sae  bold  as  you  ha'e  done  ; 

Sae  if  you'll  dae  a  job  for  me, 

Disturbance  mair  I'll  never  gi'e." 

"  Say  on  your  tale,"  quo'  gentle  Thrummy 

"  To  dae  you  justice  I  will  try." 

'•Then  mark  me  weel,"  the  ghaist  replied, 

"  And  ye  shall  soon  be  satisfied. 

Frae  this  aback  near  forty  year, 

I  of  this  place  was  overseer  ; 

When  this  laird's  father  had  the  land, 

A'  thing  was  then  at  my  command, 

Wi'  pooer  tae  dae  as  I  thocht  fit. 

In  ilka  cause  I  chief  did  sit ; 

The  laird  paid  great  respect  tae  me. 

But  I  an  ill  return  did  gi'e  ; 

The  title  deeds  o'  his  estate, 

Oot  o'  the  same  I  did  him  cheat. 

An'  stole  them  frae  whaur  they  did  lie, 

Some  days  before  the  laird  did  die. 

His  son  at  that  time  was  in  France, 

An'  sae  I  thocht  I  had  a  chance 

Gif  he  should  never  come  again, 

That  the  estate  would  be  my  ain  ; 

But  scarcely  three  bare  weeks  had  passed, 

When  death  did  come  and  grip  me  fast, 

Sae  sudden  that  I  hadna  pooer. 

The  charter  back  for  to  restore, 

Soon  after  that  hame  came  the  heir, 


THRUMMY  CAP. 

An'  syne  got  up  the  reefu'  rair, 
What  sorrow  has  come  ower  the  richts  ? 
They  sought  them  several  days  an'  nichts, 
But  never  yet  ha'e  they  been  seen 
As  I  beneath  a  muckle  stane 
Did  hide  them  in  this  chaum'er  wa', 
Weel  sewed  up  in  a  leather  ba', 
But  I  was  ne'er  allowed  tae  rest, 
Until  that  I  the  same  confest  ; 
But  this  to  do  I  hadna  power, 
Frae  yon  time  to  this  verra  hour, 
That  I've  reveal'd  it  a'  to  you  ; 
An'  noo  I'll  tell  you  what  to  do. 
Till  nae  langsyne  nae  mony  kent. 
That  this  same  laird  the  richts  did  want ; 
But  noo  they  ha'e  him  at  the  law, 
And  the  neist  ook  the  laird  maun  shaw 
Afore  the  court  the  richts  o's  land ; 
This  puts  him  to  an  unco  stand, 
For  if  he  disna  show  them  there, 
O'  a'  his  lands  he'll  be  stript  bare  ; 
Nae  hopes  has  he  to  save  his  'state. 
This  makes  him  soor  and  unco  blate  : 
He  canna  think  whar's  richts  can  be, 
And  ne'er  expects  them  mair  to  see  ; 
But  noo,  my  freend,  mark  what  I  tell, 
And  ye'll  get  something  tae  yoursel', 
Tak'  oot  the  stane  there  in  the  wa', 
And  there  ye'll  get  a  leather  ba', 
'Tis  just  the  same  that  ye  did  see, 
When  you  said  that  you  would  help  me. 
The  richts  are  sewed  up  in  its  heart. 
But  see  you  dinna  wi'  them  pairt. 
Until  the  laird  shall  pay  you  doon. 
Just  fifty  guineas  and  a  croon, 
Whilk  at  my  death  was  due  to  me, 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

This  for  thy  trouble  I'll  gi'e  tae  thee  ; 

And  I'll  disturb  this  hoose  nae  mair, 

'Cause  I'll  be  free  frae  a'  my  care." 

This  Thrummy  promised  weel  tae  do, 

And  syne  the  ghaist  bade  him  adieu, 

And  vanished  wi'  a  pleasant  sound, 

Doon  through  the  laft,  and  through  the  ground. 

Thrummy  gaed  back  syne  till's  bed, 

And  cooardly  John  was  verra  gled, 

That  he  his  neighbour  saw  aince  mair. 

For  of  his  life  he  did  despair. 

Quo'  John — "  Wow,  man,  whaur  ha'e  ye  been  ? 

Come  tell  me  a'  that  ye  ha'e  seen." 

"  Na,  bide,"  says  Thrummy,  "till  day-Iicht, 

"  And  syne  I'll  tell  ye  hale  and  richt." 

Sae  baith  lay  still  and  took  a  nap, 

Until  the  ninth  oor  it  did  chap. 

Thrummy  syne  rase,  put  on  his  claes. 

And  tae  the  chau'mer  quick  he  gaes, 

Taks  oot  the  stane  intae  the  wa'. 

And  soon  he  fand  the  leather  ba', 

Took  oot  the  richts,  replaced  the  stane. 

Ere  John  did  ken  whaur  he  had  been. 

Then  baith  cam'  stappin'  doon  the  stair, 

The  mornin'  noo  was  calm  and  fair. 

"  Weel,"  quo'  the  laird,  "  ye  may  noo  gang, 

Ye  ken  the  day's  nae  verra  lang  ; 

In  the  meantime  it's  calm  and  clear. 

Ye  lose  yer  time  in  bidin'  here." 

Quo'  Thrummy — "  Sir,  mind  what  I  tell, 

I've  mair  richt  here  than  you  yersel', 

Sae  till  I  like  I  here  shall  bide." 

The  laird  at  this  began  to  chide  : 

Says  he,  "  My  friend,  ye're  turnin'  nule," 

Quo'  Thrummy,  "  I'll  my  claim  mak"  guid. 

For  here,  I  just  before  ye  a'. 


GIL  MORRICE.  13 

The  richts  o'  this  estate  can  shaw, 

And  that  is  mair  than  ye  can  do." 

"  What!  "  quo'  the  laird,  "  can  that  be  true?  " 

"  'Tis  true,"  quo'  Thrummy,  "  look  an'  see, 

Dae  ye  think  that  I  wad  tell  a  lee  ?  " 

Parchments  frae  his  pouch  then  he  drew, 

And  doon  upon  the  table  threw. 

The  laird  at  this  up  tae  him  ran, 

And  cried,  "  Whaur  did  you  get  them,  man  ?  " 

Syne  Thrummy  tauld  him  a'  the  tale. 

As  I've  tauld  you,  baith  clear  and  hale. 

The  laird  at  this  was  fidgin'  fain. 

That  he  had  got  his  richts  again  ; 

And  fifty  guineas  doon  did  tell. 

Besides  a  present  frae  himsel'. 

Thrummy  thanked  him,  and  syne  his  gowd 

Intae  a  muckle  purse  he  stowed, 

And  crammed  it  in  his  oxter  pooch, 

And  syne  socht  oot  his  aiken  crutch  : 

Said,  "  Fare  ye  weel,  I  maun  awa', 

And  see  gin  I  get  through  the  snaw." 

"Weel,  fare  ye  weel,"  replied  the  laird  ; 

"  But  hoo  comes  it  ye  hae'na  shared. 

Or  gien  your  neighbour  o'  the  money  ?  " 

"  Na'  by  my  sowl,  I,  sir,"  quo'  Thrummy, 

"  When  I  the  siller  sair  did  win, 

Tae  share  wi'  him  wad  be  a  sin, 

For  ere  that  I  the  ghaist  had  laid 

The  cooardly  brute  had  fyle't  the  bed." 

And  sae  my  tale  I  here  do  end, 
I  hope  that  nane  it  will  offend  : 
My  muse  will  nae  assist  me  langer. 
The  dorty  jaud  sometimes  does  anger, 
I  thocht  her  aince  a  gey  smart  lass. 
But  noo  she's  come  to  sicna  pass 
That  a'  my  cudgellin'  and  wheepin' 


14  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Will  hardly  wauk  her  oot  o'  sleepin', 
Tae  plague  her  mair  I  winna  try, 
But  dicht  my  pen  and  lay  it  bye. 


(5U  riDorrice. 

None  of  the  ancient  liallatls  preserved  by  the  Scottish 
peasantry  has  excited  more  interest  than  the  beautiful  and 
pathetic  narrative  of  "Gil  ilorrice,"  and  this,  as  Mother- 
well observes,  "no  less  on  account  of  its  own  intrinsic 
merits  as  a  piece  of  exquisite  poetry  than  of  its  having 
furnished  the  plot  of  the  justly  celebrated  tragedy  of 
'  Douglas.'  "  Gray  described  it  as  divine,  and  it  has  been 
a  fount  of  inspiration  to  various  poets.  It  is  believed  to  be 
founded  on  a  real  incident  which  happened  in  a  remote 
period  of  our  Scottish  history.  The  "  green  wood  "  of  the 
ballad  was  the  ancient  forest  of  Dundaff,  in  Stirlingshire, 
and  Lord  Barnard's  castle  is  said  to  have  occupied  a  pre- 
cipitous cliff,  overhanging  the  Water  of  Carron,  on  the 
lands  of  Halbertshire. 

There  are  various  readings  of  the  ballad,  imder  the 
titles,  "Chield  Morice,"  "  Childe  Maurice,"  and  "Child 
Noryce."  The  following  is  the  commoner  copy  of  the 
chapman's  wallet,  and,  in  my  opinion,  the  best. 

Gil  Morrick  was  an  Earl's  son, 

His  name  it  waxed  wide  ; 
It  was  nae  for  his  great  riches. 

Nor  yet  his  meiklc  pride. 

His  face  was  fair,  lang  was  his  hair, 

In  the  wild  woods  he  stay'd. 
But  his  fame  was  by  a  fair  lady. 

That  lived  on  Carron  side. 

"  Whare  sail  I  get  a  bonny  boy 
That  will  win  hose  and  shoon. 

That  will  go  to  Lord  Barnard's  ha', 
And  bid  his  lady  come. 


GIL  MORRICE.  15 

*'  It's  ye  maun  rin  this  errand,  Willie, 

And  ye  may  rin  wi'  pride, 
When  other  boys  gae  on  their  feet. 

On  horseback  ye  sail  ride. " 

"  O  no  !  O  no  !  my  master  dear, 

I  dare  not  for  my  life, 
I'll  no  gae  to  the  bauld  Baron's 

For  to  tryste  forth  his  wife." 

"  My  bird  Willie,  my  boy  Willie, 

My  dear  Willie,"  he  said, 
"  How  can  you  strive  against  the  stream  ? 

For  I  sail  be  obeyed." 

"  But  Oh  !  my  master  dear,"  he  cried, 

"  In  green  wood  ye're  your  lane, 
Gie  o'er  sic  thochts  I  would  ye  redd, 

For  fear  ye  should  be  ta'en." 

"  Haste,  haste,  I  say,  gae  to  the  ha', 

And  bid  her  come  wi'  sjjeed  ; 
If  ye  refuse  my  high  command, 

I'll  gar  your  body  bleed. 

"  Gae  bid  her  take  this  gay  mantle, 

'Tis  a'  gowd  but  the  hem  ; 
Bid  her  come  to  the  good  green  wood, 

And  bring  nane  but  her  lane. 

"  And  there  it  is,  a  silken  sark, 

Her  ain  hand  sewed  the  sleeve. 
And  bid  her  come  to  Gil  Morrice, 

Speir  nae  bauld  Baron's  leave. " 

"  Yes,  I  will  gae  your  black  errand. 

Though  it  be  to  your  cost. 
Sin'  ye  by  me  will  not  be  warned, 

In  it  ye  shall  find  frost. 


i6  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  The  Baron  he's  a  man  of  might, 
He  ne'er  could  bide  a  taunt, 

And  ye  sail  see  before  it's  night. 
How  sma'  ye  ha'e  to  vaunt. 

"  And  sin'  I  maun  your  errand  rin, 

Sair,  sair  against  my  will, 
I'se  make  a  vow,  and  keep  it  true, 

It  sail  be  done  for  ill." 

And  when  he  came  to  broken  brig, 
He  bent  his  bow  and  swam, 

And  when  he  came  to  grass  growing, 
Set  down  his  feet  and  ran. 

And  when  he  came  to  Barnard's  ha' 
Would  neither  chap  nor  ca', 

But  set  his  bent  bow  to  his  breast, 
And  lichtly  lap  the  wa'. 

He  would  nae  man  his  errand  tell. 
Though  twa  stood  at  the  gate. 

But  straight  into  the  ha'  he  came, 
Where  great  folks  sat  at  meat. 

"Hail  !  hail  !  my  gentle  sire  and  dame. 

My  message  winna  wait. 
Dame,  ye  maun  to  the  green  wood  gang. 

Before  that  it  be  late. 

* '  Ye're  bidden  take  this  gay  mantle. 
It's  a'  gowd  but  the  hem. 

Ye  maun  go  to  the  good  green  wood, 
E'en  by  yourself  alane. 

"  There  it  is,  a  silken  sark. 

Your  ain  hand  sewed  the  sleeve, 

You  maun  come  speak  to  Gil  Morrice, 
Speir  nae  bauld  Baron's  leave." 


GIL  MORRICE.  17 

The  lady  stamped  wi'  her  foot, 

And  winked  wi'  her  e'e, 
But  all  that  she  could  do  or  say, 

Forbidden  he  wouldna  be. 

"  It's  surely  to  my  bower-woman, 

It  ne'er  could  be  to  me  ;  " 
"  I  brought  it  to  Lord  Barnard's  Lady, 

I  trow  that  ye  be  she." 

Then  up  and  spake  the  wily  nurse, 

(The  bairn  upon  her  knee), 
"  If  it  be  come  frae  Gil  Morrice, 

'Tis  dear  welcome  to  me." 

"  Ye  lee,  ye  lee,  ye  filthy  nurse, 

Sae  loud's  I  hear  ye  lee  ; 
I  brought  it  to  Lord  Barnard's  Lady, 

I  trow  ye  be  nae  she." 

Then  up  and  spake  the  bauld  Baron, 

An  angry  man  was  he  ; 
He's  ta'en  the  table  wi'  his  foot. 

In  flinders  gart  it  flee. 

"  Gae  bring  a  robe  of  yon  cleiding, 

That  hangs  upon  the  pin, 
And  I'll  gae  to  the  good  green  wood, 

And  speak  with  your  leman." 

"  O  bide  at  hame  now.  Lord  Barnard, 

I  warn  you,  bide  at  hame  ; 
Ne'er  wyte  a  man  wi'  violence 

That  ne'er  wyte  ye  wi'  nane." 

Gil  Morrice  sat  in  yon  green  wood, 

He  whistled  and  he  sang  ; 
"Oh,  what  means  a'  thae  folk  coming? 

My  mother  tarries  lang," 
B 


i8  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

The  Baron  cam'  to  the  greenwood, 
Wi'  muckle  dule  and  care, 

And  there  he  spied  brave  Gil  INIorrice 
Kaiming  his  yellow  hair. 

His  hair  was  like  the  threads  o'  gold 
Drawn  frae  Minerva's  loom  ; 

His  lips  like  roses  drapping  dew, 
His  breath  a  sweet  perfume. 

His  brow  was  like  the  mountain  snaw 
Gilt  by  the  morning  beam  ; 

His  cheeks  like  living  roses  glowed, 
His  een  like  azure  stream. 

The  boy  was  clad  in  robes  o'  green. 
Sweet  as  the  infant  spring  ; 

And  like  the  mavis  on  the  bush, 
He  gar't  the  valleys  ring. 

"  Nae  wonder,  nae  wonder,  Gil  INIorrice, 

My  lady  lo'ed  thee  weel. 
The  fairest  part  of  my  body 

Is  blacker  than  thy  heel. 

"Yet  ne'ertheless,  now,  Gil  IMorrlce. 

For  a'  thy  great  beautie, 
Ye'se  rue  the  day  that  ye  was  born, 

Thy  head  sail  gae  with  me." 

Now  he  has  drawn  his  trusty  brand, 

And  slait  it  on  the  strae, 
And  through  Gil  Morrice'  fair  body 

He's  gar'd  cauld  iron  gae. 

And  he  has  ta'en  Gil  Morrice'  head, 

And  set  it  on  a  spear  ; 
The  meanest  man  in  a'  his  train 

Has  got  the  head  to  bear. 


GIL  MORRICE.  19 

And  he  has  ta'en  Gil  Morrice  up, 

Laid  him  across  his  steed, 
And  brought  him  to  his  painted  bower. 

And  laid  him  on  a  bed. 

The  lady  sat  on  the  castle  wa', 

Beheld  baith  dale  and  down. 
And  there  she  saw  Gil  Morrice'  -head 

Come  trailing  to  the  town. 

"  Far  mair  I  lo'e  that  bloody  head, 

But  and  that  yellow  hair, 
Than  Lord  Barnard  and  a'  his  lands. 

As  they  lie  here  and  there." 

And  she  has  ta'en  Gil  Morrice'  head. 
And  kissed  baith  mouth  and  chin  ; 

"  I  ance  was  fu'  of  Gil  Morrice, 
As  hip  is  o'  the  stane. 

"  I  got  thee  in  my  father's  house 

Wi'  muckle  grief  and  shame, 
And  brought  thee  up  in  good  green  wood. 

Under  the  heavy  rain. 

•'  Oft  have  I  by  thy  cradle  sat, 

And  seen  thee  soundly  sleep. 
But  now  I'll  go  about  thy  grave. 

The  saut,  saut  tears  to  weep." 

And  syne  she  kissed  his  bloody  cheek. 

And  syne  his  bloody  chin  ; 
"  Better  I  lo'e  my  Gil  Morrice, 

Than  a'  my  kith  and  kin." 

"  Away,  away  ye  ill  woman. 

An  ill  death  may  you  dee. 
Gin  I  had  kenn'd  he'd  been  your  son. 

He'd  ne'er  been  slain  by  me." 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Upraid  me  not,  Lord  Barnard, 

Upraid  me  not  for  shame, 
\Vi'  that  same  spear,  oh  pierce  my  heart, 

And  put  me  out  of  pain. 

"  Since  nothing  but  Gil  Morrice'  head 

Thy  jealous  rage  could  quell. 
Let  that  same  hand  now  take  her  life, 

That  ne'er  to  thee  did  ill. 

"  To  me  nae  after  days  nor  nights 

Will  e'er  be  saft  or  kind  ; 
I'll  fill  the  air  with  heavy  sighs. 

And  greet  till  I  am  blind.'' 

"  Enough  of  blood  by  me's  been  spilt, 
Seek  not  your  death  from  me  ; 

I  rather  it  had  been  mysel', 
Than  either  him  or  thee. 

"  With  heart  so  wae  I  hear  your  plaint, 

Sair,  sair  I  rue  the  deed. 
That  e'er  this  cursed  hand  o'  mine 

Did  gar  his  body  bleed. 

"  Dry  up  your  tears,  my  winsome  dame. 
Ye  ne'er  can  heal  the  wound, 

You  see  his  head  upon  my  spear, 
His  heart's  blood  on  the  ground. 

"  I  curse  the  hand  that  did  the  deed, 
The  heart  that  thought  the  ill. 

The  feet  that  bore  me  with  such  speed 
The  comely  youth  to  kill. 

"I'll  aye  lament  for  Gil  Morrice 

As  gin  he  were  my  ain  ; 
I'll  ne'er  forget  the  dreary  day 

On  which  the  youth  was  slain."' 


THE  BONNIE  BANKS  O'  FORDIE. 


Zbc  IBonnic  Banhs  o'  jforbic. 


This  old  ballad  was  long  a  popular  favourite  in  thu 
southern  parishes  of  Perthshire  ;  and,  I  believe,  is  still 
occasionally  heard  by  the  cottage  and  bothy  inglesides  of 
that  ilk.  Its  historical  bearing  (if  any)  and  exact  locality 
have  never  been  clearly  defined.  Sometimes  it  is  found 
under  the  title  of  "  Baby-Lon, "  sometimes  "  The  Duke  of 
Perth's  Three  Daughters."  But  there  is  no  tradition  in 
the  Perth  ducal  family  corresponding  with  the  story. 
There  is,  of  course,  the  burn  of  Ordie  in  Perthshire — about 
equi-distant  between  Perth  and  Dunkeld — and  no  stream 
in  Scotland  of  the  name  of  Fo7-die,  so  far  as  I  know  ;  and 
since  editors  generally  name  Perthshire  as  the  native 
locality  of  the  ballad,  may  the  original  phraseology  of  the 
oft  repeated  title  not  have  been  "  The  bonnie  banks  of 
Ordie"?  From  that  to  "The  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie" 
would  be  a  simple  and  likely  transition — probably  is  a  cleri- 
cal error. 

The  name  of  the  hero,  "  Baby-Lon,"  is  evidently  a  cor- 
ruption by  the  reciters  of  "  Burd-alane,"  signifying  ''The 
Solitary." 


There  were  three  ladies  lived  in  a  bower, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
An'  they  went  forth  to  pu'  a  flower 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 

They  hadna  pu'd  a  flower  but  ane, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
When  up  there  started  a  banish'd  man 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 

He's  taen  the  first  sister  by  the  hand, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
An'  he's  turned  her  round  and  made  her  stand 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 


AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

"  Now,  wlielhcr  will  ye  be  a  rank  robber's  wife, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  Or  will  ye  dee  by  my  wee  penknife 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie?" 

"  It's  I'll  no'  be  a  rank  rol)l)er's  wife," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  But  I'll  rather  dee  by  your  wee  penknife 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie." 

He's  killed  this  May,  an'  he's  laid  her  by, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
For  to  bear  the  red  rose  companie 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 

lie  has  ta'en  the  second  ane  by  the  hand, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
An'  he's  turned  her  round  and  made  her  stand 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 

"  It's  whether  will  ye  be  a  rank  robber's  wife," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  Or  will  ye  dee  by  my  wee  penknife 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie?" 

"  It's  I'll  no'  be  a  rank  robber's  wife," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  But  I'll  rather  dee  by  your  wee  penknife 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie." 

He's  killed  this  May,  an'  he's  laid  her  by, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
For  to  bear  the  red  rose  companie 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 

ThL-n  he's  ta'en  the  younLjcst  by  the  hand, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
An'  he's  turned  her  round  and  made  her  stand 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 


THE  BONNIE  BANKS  O'  FORDIE. 

Says  "  Will  ye  be  a  rank  robber's  wife," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  Or  will  ye  dee  by  my  wee  penknife 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie  ?  " 

*'  It's  I'll  no'  be  a  rank  robber's  wife," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  Nor  will  I  dee  by  your  wee  penknife 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie. 

*'  For  I  hae  a  brither  in  this  wood," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  An'  gin  ye  kill  me,  it's  he'll  kill  thee 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie." 

"  Now,  tell  me  what  is  thy  brother's  name  ?" 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
*'  My  brother's  name  is  Baby-Lon, 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie." 

"  O,  sister,  sister,  wae  be  to  me," 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
"  O,  have  I  done  this  ill  to  thee 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie  ? 

"  The  lift  shall  lie  on  yonder  green," 

Ech,  wow,   bonnie  ! 
"  Or  ever  I  shall  again  be  seen 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie." 

So  he's  ta'en  out  his  wee  penknife, 

Ech,  wow,  bonnie  ! 
An'  he's  twyned  himsel'  o'  his  ain  sweet  life 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Fordie." 


24  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 


Sir  3ainc6  tbc  1lv06c« 


This  old  north  country  l:)allad,  which  appears  to  be 
founded  on  fact,  is  well  known  all  over  Scotland.  There 
are  one  ancient  and  two  modern  versions  of  it.  The  fol- 
lowing— one  of  the  latter — is  perhaps  the  most  popular  of 
tlie  three.  It  is  said  to  have  lieen  written  by  Michael 
liruce,  the  author  of  the  immortal  "Ode  to  the  Cuckoo." 
ISruce  «as  a  native  of  Kinneswood,  in  Kinross-shire,  was 
born  on  the  27th  of  March,  1746,  and  died  at  the  early  age 
of  twenty-one.     The  original  copy  which  begins  : — 

Oh,  heard  ye  o'  Sir  James  the  Rose, 

The  young  heir  o'  Baleichan  : 
For  he  has  killed  a  gallant  squire, 

Whase  friends  are  out  to  take  him, 

makes  it  appear  that  the  heio  of  the  ballad  may  have  been 
the  scion  of  a  Perthshire  house — namely  Ballechan,  near 
Ballinluig  : — 

Of  all  the  Scottish  northern  chiefs, 

Of  high  and  warlike  name, 
The  bravest  was  Sir  James  the  Rose — 

A  knight  of  meikle  fame. 

His  growth  was  like  the  youthful  oak 

That  crowns  the  mountain's  brow. 
And  waving  o'er  his  shoulders  broad. 

His  locks  of  yellow  flew. 

Wide  were  his  fields,  his  herds  were  large, 

And  large  his  flocks  of  sheep. 
And  numerous  were  his  goats  and  deer. 

Upon  the  mountains  steep. 

The  chieftain  of  the  good  clan  Rose, 

A  firm  and  warlike  band. 
Five  hundred  warriors  drew  the  h.word 

Beneath  his  high  command. 


SIR  JAMES  THE  ROSE.  25 

In  bloody  fight  thrice  had  he  stood, 

Against  the  English  keen, 
Ere  two  and  twenty  opening  Springs 

The  blooming  youth  had  seen. 

The  fair  Matilda  dear  he  loved — 

A  maid  of  beauty  rare  ; 
Ev'n  Margaret  on  the  Scottish  throne 

Was  never  half  so  fair, 

Long  had  he  wooed,  long  she  refused 

With  seeming  scorn  and  pride  ; 
Yet  oft  her  eyes  confessed  the  love 

Her  fearful  words  denied. 

At  length  she  blessed  his  well-tried  love, 

Allowed  his  tender  claim  ; 
She  vowed  to  him  her  tender  heart, 

And  owned  an  equal  flame. 

Her  father,  Buchan's  cruel  lord, 

Their  passion  disapproved  ; 
He  bade  her  wed  Sir  John  the  Grreme, 

And  leave  the  youth  she  loved. 

One  night  they  met,  as  they  were  wont. 

Deep  in  a  shady  wood. 
Where  on  the  bank,  beside  the  burn, 

A  blooming  saugh  tree  stood. 

Concealed  among  the  underwood 

The  crafty  Donald  lay, 
The  brother  of  Sir  John  the  GrKme, 

To  hark  what  they  might  say. 

When  thus  the  maid  began — "  My  Sire, 

Our  passion  disapproves, 
He  bids  me  wed  Sir  John  the  Grceme, 

So  here  must  end  our  loves. 


26  AULD  SCOTS  BALLASTS. 

"  My  father's  will  must  be  obeyed, 
Nought  boots  me  to  withstand, 
Some  fairer  maid,  in  beauty's  bloom, 
Must  bless  thee  with  her  hand. 

"  Soon  will  Matilda  be  forgot, 
And  from  thy  mind  effaced  ; 
But  may  that  happiness  be  thine 
Which  I  can  never  taste." 

"  ^Yhat  do  I  hear  ?     Is  this  thy  vow  ?  " 

Sir  James  the  Rose  replied  ; 
"And  will  Matilda  wed  the  Graeme, 

Though  sworn  to  be  my  bride  ? 

"  His  sword  shall  sooner  pierce  my  heart 
Than  reave  me  of  thy  charms  ;  " 
And  clasped  her  to  his  throbbing  breast, 
Fast  locked  within  his  arms. 

"  I  spoke  to  try  thy  love,"  she  said, 
"  I'll  ne'er  wed  man  but  thee; 
The  grave  shall  be  my  bridal  bed 
Ere  Grreme  my  husband  be. 

"  Then  take,  dear  youth,  this  faithful  kiss. 
In  witness  of  my  troth  ; 
And  every  plague  become  my  lot. 
That  day  I  break  my  oath." 

They  parted  thus — the  sun  was  set — 

Up  hasty  Donald  flies. 
And,  "Turn  thee,  turn  thee,  beardless  youth  I' 

He  loud  insulting  cries. 

Soon  turned  about  the  fearless  chief, 

And  soon  his  sword  he  drew  ; 
For  Donald's  blade,  before  his  breast, 

Had  pierced  his  tartans  through. 


SIR  JAMES  THE  ROSE.  27 

"  This  for  my  brother's  slighted  love. 
His  wrongs  sit  on  my  arm  ;  " 
Three  paces  back  the  youth  retired, 
And  saved  himself  from  harm. 

Returning  swift,  his  sword  he  reared, 

Fierce  Donald's  head  above  ; 
And  through  the  brain  and  crashing  bone, 

His  furious  weapon  drove. 

Life  issued  at  the  wound — he  fell 
A  lump  of  lifeless  clay  ; 
"  So  fall  my  foes  !  "  quoth  valiant  Rose, 
And  stately  strode  away. 

Thro'  the  green  wood  in  haste  he  hied, 

Unto  Lord  Buchan's  hall. 
Beneath  Matilda's  window  stood, 

And  thus  on  her  did  call — 

"  Art  thou  asleep,  Matilda  dear  ? 
Awake,  my  love,  awake  ! 
Behold  thy  lover  waits  v\  ithout, 
A  long  farewell  to  take. 

"  For  I  have  slain  fierce  Donald  Grceme, 
His  blood  is  on  my  sword  ; 
And  far,  far  distant  are  my  men, 
Nor  can  defend  their  lord. 

-"  To  Skye  I  will  direct  my  flight, 
\^^lere  my  brave  brothers  bide. 
To  raise  the  valiant  of  the  Isles, 
To  combat  on  my  side." 

"0  do  not  so,"  the  maid  replied, 
"  With  me  till  morning  stay  ; 
For  dark  and  dreary  is  the  night, 
And  dangerous  is  the  way. 


28  AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

"  All  night  I'll  watch  thee  in  the  park, 
My  faithful  page  I'll  send 
In  haste  to  raise  the  brave  clan  Rose, 
Their  master  to  defend." 

He  laid  him  down  beneath  a  bush, 
And  wrapped  him  in  his  plaid  ; 

While,  trembling  for  her  lover's  fate, 
At  distance  stood  the  maid. 

Swift  ran  the  page  o'er  hill  and  dale, 

Till,  in  a  lonely  glen, 
He  met  the  furious  Sir  John  Grreme 

With  twenty  of  his  men. 

"  Where  goest  thou,  little  page?"  he  said, 

"  So  late,  who  did  thee  send  ?  " 
"  I  go  to  raise  the  brave  clan  Rose, 
Their  master  to  defend. 

"  For  he  has  slain  fierce  Donald  GrKme, 
His  blood  is  on  his  sword  ; 
And  far,  far  distant  are  his  men, 
Nor  can  assist  their  lord." 

"  And  has  he  slain  my  brother  dear  ?  " 

The  furious  Grreme  replies  ; 
"  Dishonour  blast  my  name,  but  he 

By  me,  ere  morning,  dies  ! 

"  Say,  page,  where  is  Sir  James  the  Rose, 

I  will  thee  well  reward." 
"  He  sleeps  into  Lord  Buchan's  park, 

Matilda  is  his  guard." 

They  spurred  their  steeds,  and  furious  flew, 

Like  lightning  o'er  the  lea  ; 
They  reached  Lord  Buchan's  lofty  towers 

By  dawning  of  the  day. 


SIR  JAMES  THE  ROSE.  29 

Matilda  stood  without  the  gate, 

Upon  a  rising  ground, 
And  watched  each  object  in  the  dawn, 

All  ear  to  every  sound. 

"  Where  sleeps  the  Rose  ?  "  began  the  Grceme, 
"  Or  has  the  felon  fled? 
This  hand  shall  lay  the  wretch  on  earth, 
By  whom  my  brother  bled." 

"  Last  day,  at  noon,"  Matilda  said, 
"Sir  James  the  Rose  passed  by, 
Well  mounted  on  his  noble  steed, 
And  onward  fast  did  hie. 

"  By  this  time  he's  at  Edinburgh  town. 

If  horse  and  man  hold  good." 
"  Your  page  then  lied,  who  said,  he  was 

Now  sleeping  in  the  wood." 

She  wrung  her  hands  and  tore  her  hair, 
*'  Brave  Rose,  thou  art  betrayed. 
And  ruined  by  those  very  means 
From  whence  I  hoped  thine  aid." 

And  now  the  valiant  knight  awoke. 

The  virgin  shrieking  heard  ; 
Straight  up  he  rose  and  drew  his  sword. 

When  the  fierce  band  appeared. 

"  Thy  sword  last  night  my  brother  slew, 
His  blood  yet  dims  its  shine  ; 
And  ere  the  sun  shall  gild  the  morn, 
Thy  blood  shall  reek  on  mine." 

"  You  word  it  well,"  the  chief  returned, 
"  But  deeds  approve  the  man, 
Set  by  your  band,  and  hand  to  hand 
We'll  try  what  valour  can. 


30 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Oft  boasting  hides  a  coward's  heart  ; 
My  weighty  sword  you  fear, 
Which  shone  in  front  of  Flodden  field, 
When  you  kept  in  the  rear." 

With  dauntless  step  he  forward  strode, 

And  dared  him  to  the  fight  ; 
The  Graeme  gave  back,  he  feared  his  arm, 

For  well  he  knew  its  might. 

Four  of  his  men,  the  bravest  four, 
Sunk  down  beneath  his  sword  ; 

But  still  he  scorned  the  poor  revenge, 
And  sought  their  haughty  lord. 

Behind  him  basely  came  the  Grseme, 
And  pierced  him  in  the  side  ; 

Out  spouting  came  the  purple  stream, 
And  all  his  tartans  dyed. 

But  yet  his  hand  dropped  not  the  sword. 

Nor  sank  he  to  the  ground. 
Till  through  his  enemy's  heart  the  steel 

Had  forced  a  mortal  wound. 

Grceme,  like  a  tree  by  wind  o'erthrown, 

Fell  breathless  on  the  clay  ; 
And  down  beside  him  sank  the  Rose, 

And  faint  and  dying  lay. 

Matilda  saw  and  fast  she  ran, 
"  O  spare  his  life  !  "  she  cried, 
"  Lord  Buchan's  daughter  begs  his  life  ; 
Let  her  not  be  denied  ! " 

Her  vvelbknown  voice  the  hero  heard, 
And  raised  his  death-closed  eyes, 

lie  fixed  them  on  the  weeping  maid. 
And  weakly  thus  replies  : 


THE  GHAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'. 

"  In  vain  Matilda  begs  a  life, 
By  death's  arrest  denied  ; 
My  race  is  run — adieu  my  love  !  " 
Tlien  closed  his  eyes  and  died. 

The  sword,  yet  warm,  from  his  left  side, 
With  frantic  hand  she  drew  : 
"  I  come.  Sir  James  the  Rose,"  she  cried, 
"  I  come  to  follow  you  !  " 

The  hilt  she  leaned  against  the  ground, 
And  bared  her  snowy  breast. 

Then  fell  upon  her  lover's  face, 
And  sunk  to  endless  rest. 


Zbc  (Bbaist  o'  (Barron  If^a'- 

This  probably  was  the  last  production  of  the  author  of 
"  Thrummy  Cap." 

Mair  than  a  hundred  years  sinsyne, 
(I'm  nae  exact  just  to  the  time)  ; 
But  ae  thing  o'  I'm  verra  sure  : 
Some  short  time  after  Shirramuir, 
Wast  in  Argyleshire,  then  there  stood 
An  ancient  Castle  in  a  wood  : 
The  name  o'  it  the  fouk  did  ca' 
The  Manor  House  o'  Garron  Ha'. 
'Twas  very  strong,  but  nae  that  big. 
The  laird  o't  was  a  true-blue  Whig, 
An'  Ranald  Campbell  was  his  name, 
An'  at  Fifteen  he  was  frae  hame, 
Out  wi'  the  Duke  at  Shirramuir, 
An'  there  did  fight,  baith  fierce  and  dour. 
For  Solemn  League  he  firmly  stood. 
Yea,  swore  he'd  freely  shed  his  blood, 


32  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Gin  that  wad  set  his  country  free 

Frae  abjur'd  Stuarts  an'  Prelacy. 

There  in  his  hip  he  gat  a  wound, 

Whili<  never  after  that  was  sound, 

But  pain'd  him  sadly  mony  a  day  ; 

Vet  aft  exulting,  he  would  say, 

He  got  it  in  a  glorious  cause, 

Fighting  for  Covenanted  laws  ; 

An'  thought  that  he  might  fairly  claim 

The  glorious  crown  o'  martyrdom. 

He'd  crack  o'  Peden  an'  Cargill, 

An'  Richard  Cameron,  wi'  good  will, 

An'  a'  wha  fell  on  Bothwell  plain, 

Or  at  the  Pentland  Hills  were  slain — 

He  rank'd  them  a'  o'  saints  the  chief; 

But  for  that  fause  loon,  traitor,  thief. 

Archbishop  Sharp,  he  said,  'twas  true, 

He  got  nae  mair  but  jnst  his  due ; 

An'  the  brave  lads  wha  had  sic  zeal 

For  truth,  an'  for  the  Church's  weal. 

As  rid  the  warld  o'  sic  a  knave, 

He  rank'd  them  far  aboon  the  lave. 

Sic  themes  as  thae  were  just  his  hobby, 

An'  aft  he'd  sit  into  the  lobby, 

Wi'  his  twa  sons,  for  sev'ral  hours. 

An'  there  hold  forth  wi'  a'  his  powers  ; 

An'  aft  he'd  twinge  an'  twist  his  lip. 

Aye  whan  the  pains  gae  him  a  grip. 

His  auldest  son,  whase  name  was  Ranal', 

His  thoughts  just  ran  i'  the  same  channel ; 

He  swallow'd  a'  his  father's  lore. 

Was  idoliz'd  by  him  therefor  ; 

An'  as  he  was  to  be  the  heir, 

His  brother  Malcolm  had  sma'  share 

Either  o's  father's  love  or  gear  ; 

Sae  he  to  Ernbro'  gaed  to  lear 


THE  GHAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'.  33 

The  law,  wi'  a  relation  there, 
Where  he  did  stay  three  years  an'  mair  ; 
Sair'd  out  his  time,  an'  gat  a  place, 
An'  fill'd  it  wi'  a  decent  grace  ; 
Was  sober,  meek,  and  verra  steady. 
An'  for  his  business  aye  was  ready  ; 
But  yet  o'  cash  he  was  but  bare, 
Clerks  hadna  then  gryte  deal  to  spare ; 
Fu'  little  did  his  father  gi'e  him  ; 
An'  seldom  ever  gade  to  see  him. 
He'd  now  been  sev'ral  years  awa. 
An'  been  but  ance  at  Garron  Ha', 
Sin'  at  the  first  that  he  gade  south. 
An'  that  was  in  his  early  youth. 
But  now  his  father  took  a  blast, 
Whilk  soon  did  bring  him  to  his  last  ; 
A  few  days  only  he  was  spar'd, 
An'  now  young  Ranald  was  the  laird. 
Malcolm  was  now  sent  for  wi'  speed. 
An'  hame  he  came  right  wae  indeed, 
'Cause  he'd  nae  seen  his  father  livin', 
Nor  his  last  blessing  to  him  given. 
The  funeral  it  now  took  place, 
An'  Malcolm,  after  some  short  space 
Of  stopping  wi'  his  brother  there. 
Was  now  about  streight  to  repair 
Back  to  his  place,  when  Ranald  said, 
'  Malcolm,  I  would  be  verra  glad, 
Gin  you  wade  bide  a  day  or  twa 
Langer,  afore  ye  gang  awa  ; 
An'  ae  day's  hunting  let  us  tak', 
Case  it  be  lang  ere  ye  win  back. 
I  at  the  chase  am  now  right  clever, 
I'll  show  ye  feats  that  ye  saw  never 
The  like,  in  a'  the  Lothians  three — 
Come,  mount  your  horse,  and  gang  wi'  me." 
C 


34  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Malcolm  directly  ga'e  consent, 

Sae  aff  the  hunting  party  went, 

An'  mony  a  hart  did  Ranald  slay — 

The  chase  did  last  the  live-long  day  ; 

An'  mony  a  ditch  an'  dyke  he  lap, 

At  five-barr'd  gates  he  wadna  stap, 

Till  he  was  in  a  soom  o'  sweat, 

Wi'  his  exertions,  an'  the  heat. 

WTien  he  came  hame  he  sair  complain'd. 

An'  o'  his  inside  sadly  maned. 

They  boot  to  put  him  till  his  bed, 

Whilst  for  a  Doctor  aff  they  rade  : 

The  Doctor  made  what  haste  he  could. 

To  see  gin  he  could  do  him  good  ; 

But,  feggs,  he  was  a  wee  o'er  late  : 

Sae  was  the  sov'rcign  will  o'  fate, 

Ranald  had  yielded  up  his  breath, 

A  prey  to  all-devouring  death  ; 

An  hour  ere  ever  he  got  there. 

The  man  was  gone — sae  what  needs  niair  ? 

He  only  ae  bare  month  was  laird, 

An'  was  for  death  nae  sair  prepar'd. 

This  made  an  alteration  now 

Wi'  a'  at  Garron  Ha',  I  trow  : 

Malcolm,  of  course,  was  now  the  heir. 

An'  nane  ava  to  get  a  share. 

But  just  ae  lass,  about  the  house. 

'Tis  time  that  now  we  introduce 

This  heroine  into  our  tale, 

Because  hereafter  she'll  na  fail 

To  act  a  chief  part  in  our  story, 

An'  sae  the  reader  won't  be  sorry 

To  ken  some  little  thing  about  her, 

Our  tale  would  hardly  tell  without  her  : — 

Miss  Baby  Campbell  then,  'twas  clear. 

Had  i^ass'd  her  seven-an'-twenticih  year  ; 


THE  GHAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'. 

An  orphan  brought  up  by  the  laird, 
An'  high  in  his  affections  shar'd. 
Forby  she  was  a  near  relation, 
An'  had  a  sort  o'  upper  station, 
Like  housekeeper  at  Garron  Ha', 
Nae  faut  in  hei  the  auld  man  saw  ; 
She  was  a  hypocrite  profound, 
By  whilk  means  still  she  kept  her  ground  j 
Auld  Ranald  thought  her  quite  a  saunt. 
An'  o'  her  talents  aft  wou'd  vaunt — 
He  thought  nane  wi'  her  could  compare, 
Au'  wish'd  to  match  her  wi'  his  heir  ; 
An'  he  himsel'  had  nae  objection. 
He  followed  ay  his  sire's  direction. 
Though  she  was  aulder  far  than  he, 
He  thought  they  brawlie  wad  agree  ; 
But  Bab  for  him  cared  nae  a  spittle, 
His  understanding  was  sae  brittle  ; 
But,  as  it  fired  up  her  ambition, 
She  wadna  cared  a  single  snishin' 
^Vhae'er  she  married-  -sae  that  she 
The  lady  o'  the  land  might  be  ; 
This  was  the  point  at  whilk  she  ettl'd. 
Sae  that  affair  seemed  to  be  settl'd. 
But  when  young  Malcolm  now  she  saw 
Come  back  again  to  Garron  Ha', 
Far  mair  accomplish'd  than  his  brither. 
That  chang'd  her  notions  a'  thegether  ; 
Her  mind  was  now  right  ill  at  ease, 
Tho'  Malcolm  did  her  fancy  please. 
She  ken'd  fu'  weel  he  had  nae  siller, 
Tho'  he  paid  gryte  attention  till  her  ; 
Love  an'  ambition  rack'd  her  heart, 
She  ken'dna  how  to  act  her  part ; 
Nor  could  she  bear  the  thoughts  ava, 
O'  nae  bein'  lady  o'  the  Ha' ; 


36  AULD  SCOTS  liALLANTS. 

Vet  whiles  she  thought  wi'  a'  she'd  part, 

Cou'd  she  but  touch  young  Malcolm's  heart. 

Sae  in  condition  far  frae  easy, 

She  little  better  was  than  crazy. 

But  now  when  Ranald  was  awa'. 

An'  Malcolm  was  possessed  o'  a', 

She  thought  that  now  a'  was  her  ain. 

For  o'  her  talents  she  was  vain  ; 

Tho'  she'd  to  beauty  sma'  pretension. 

She  had  a  vcrra  keen  invention, 

Sae  when  the  funeral  was  over, 

She  set  her  cap  to  catch  her  lover  ; 

But  soon  she  fand  that  a'  her  art 

Made  nae  impression  on  his  heart  ; 

The  reason  o't  was  very  plain, 

He  had  a  sweetheart  o'  his  ain — 

A  merchant's  daughter  in  Auld  Reekie  ; 

An'  soon  he  set  aff  for  that  city. 

To  settle  his  concerns  there, 

An'  see  again  his  favourite  fair. 

He  meant  there  but  short  time  to  bide, 

Then  fetch  to  Garron  Ha'  his  bride  ; 

Now  cousin  Bab  wi'  rage"was  fiU'd, 

For  a'  her  hopes  were  fairly  kill'd — 

She  saw  she'd  fairly  lost  the  man, 

An'  whilk  was  warse — she'd  lost  the  Ian' ; 

Wad  be  flung  out  upon  the  warl', 

For  weel  she  ken'd  that  the  auld  carl, 

Expecting  that  she'd  get  it  a'. 

Left  her  nae  legacy  at  a'. 

Her  love  did  now  to  hatred  turn, 

With  fiend-like  fires  her  breast  did  burn — 

Since  she'd  been  slighted  by  the  boy, 

She  him  determined  to  destroy. 

So  now  devised  within  her  mind 

A  plot  of  a  most  hellish  kind  ; 


THE  GHAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'.  37 

WTiilk,  had  it  fairly  ta'en  effect, 

'Twould  hung  young  Malcohn  by  the  neck  ; 

But  Providence  did  interfere, 

By  whilk  means  Malcolm  did  get  clear  ; 

An'  threw  the  guilt  on  their  ain  heads, 

Wha  did  contrive  sic  shamefu'  deeds. 

Bab  ken'd  if  Malcolm  was  awa' 

She'd  heiress  be  hersel'  at  law. 

Sae  she  a  project  did  invent 

Of  diabolical  intent  : — 

Gif  she  could  but  some  way  consider 

To  lay  the  murder  o'  his  brither 

On  Malcolm's  back,  and  him  impeach. 

She  thought  that  syne  her  aim  she'd  reach  ; 

She'd  fa'  on  means  his  guilt  to  prove, 

An'  sae  revenge  her  slighted  love. 

Amang  the  servants  was  a  fallow, 

\Mia  (though  his  judgment  was  but  shallow) 

Had  o'  low  cunning  some  sma'  share. 

His  figure  it  was  thin  and  spare, 

Just  much  the  same  o'  Ranald's  mak' ; 

His  nose  was  shaped  like  his  exact, 

'Twas  nearly  what  some  fouk  ca'  Roman, 

Or  hawk-nib'd  noses  termed  in  common. 

This  man  they  ca'd  him  Duncan  Graham. 

To  him  Miss  Bab  now  thought  nae  shame 

To  mak'  her  court,  and  tell  her  tale. 

Her  scheme  was  this :  that,  without  fail, 

Duncan  young  Ranald's  ghaist  should  act. 

Because  she  ken'd  he  had  a  knack 

At  sic  odd  jobs — and  was  right  fit 

Baith  by  his  mimicry  and  wit, 

To  gar  poor  country  fowk  believe 

Whate'er  he  liked,  and  sae  deceive 

The  simple  superstitious  crew 

Wlia  at  the  castle  lived  now. 


410743 


38  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

The  parish  priest,  she  ken'd  fu'  weel, 
Was  just  a  simple  doited  chiel, 
As  superstitious  as  the  lave, 
Gif  Duncan  wad  but  right  behave ; 
They'd  gar  him  come  an'  speak  the  ghaist, 
Or  try  to  lay  him  at  the  least  ; 
Syne  he  wad  tell  a  dismal  tale, 
WTiilk  if  right  manag'd  cou'dna  fail 
Of  doing  what  they  twa  intended, 
To  get  young  Malcolm  apprehended 
For  giein'  Ranald  poison  Strang, 
Whilk  cut  him  aff  ere  it  was  lang. 
An'  gin  the  plot  should  right  succeed, 
An'  Malcolm  number'd  wi'  the  dead, 
Bab  did  a  solemn  promise  mak' 
She'd  Duncan  for  a  husband  tak'. 
An'  mak'  him  Laird  o'  Garron  lla' ; 
This  setl'd  was  atvveen  them  twa  ; 
For  Duncan  took  the  job  in  hand, 
An'  Bab  gae'  him  to  understand, 
That  night  the  job  he  boot  begin. 
When  it  was  night,  to  mak'  a  din. 
In  different  parts  thro'  a'  the  house, 
She  ken'd  the  servants  werna  crouse, 
To  come  o'er  near  to  find  him  out, 
An'  thus  there  vvark  they  set  about ; — • 
A  suit  o'  Ranald's  claise  they  got 
To  help  them  forward  i'  their  plot ; 
But,  as  that  Duncan's  hair  was  black, 
To  mak'  the  likeness  mair  exact. 
That  afternoon,  'twas  Baby's  care 
To  mak'  a  wig  o'  lang  red  hair, 
As  Ranald's  locks  were  o'  that  hue. 
An'  that  wad  make  the  figure  true. 
Sae  when  the  fowk  were  to  their  bed, 
Duncan  that  night  began  his  trade. 


THE  GIIAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'.  39 

They  soon  fand  that  their  plot  did  tak', 
For,  i'  the  morning  a'  the  crack 
Was  the  strange  noises  on  the  night, 
Whilk  did  the  inmates  sadly  fright ; 
An'  ilka  night  this  din  did  last, 
Till  a'  the  family  aghast, 
Declar'd  to  Baby  ane  an'  a', 
They'd  frae  the  Castle  gang  awa', 
'Cause  they  were  sure  it  was  the  devil 
(Or  something  that  was  full  o'  evil) 
Had  got  possession  o'  the  Ha' ; 
For  ae  chiel  sware  he  plainly  saw 
A  gruesome  spectre,  wan  as  death, 
An'  he  was  free  to  gi'e  his  aith 
That  it  had  feet  just  like  a  cow, 
An'  round  its  head  were  flames  o'  blue  ; 
It  graned  and  shook  its  bloody  pow, 
An'  a'  the  house  seemed  in  a  lowe  ; 
It  stalked  slowly  thro'  the  Ha'  ; 
The  lave  heard  din  but  naething  saw. 
Baby  heard  this  wi'  seeming  wonder  ; 
An'  Duncan  silently  did  ponder. 
At  length  he  says,  "  I  muckle  fear 
Some  murder's  been  committed  here  ; 
We  maun  get  fowk  mair  skill'd  than  we 
Ere  we  o'  this  grim  ghaist  get  free." 
Just  then  the  gard'ner  came  inby. 
For  i'  the  house  he  didna  lie. 
But  in  a  bothie  i'  the  yard, 
An'  tauld  how  he  yestreen  was  scar'd 
Wi'  din,  an'  forc'd  to  leave  his  bed  ; 
An'  whan  he  looked  forth,  he  said, 
He  saw  Young  Ranald  on  the  green 
As  plain  as  ere  in  life  he'd  seen  ; 
Just  in  his  usual  hunting  dress, 
His  lang  red  hair,  an'  thin  pale  face  ; 


40  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

He  walked  slowly  o'er  the  loan, 
Wi'  mony  a  dismal  heavy  groan  ; 
Sign'd  to  the  gard'ner  to  come  near, 
But  that  he  cudna  do  for  fear  ; 
The  spectre  vanish'd  syne  awa  ; 
A'  this  the  gard'ner  sware  he  saw. 
Baby  at  this  did  sain  hersel'. 
Said,  "  What  to  do  I  scarce  can  tell : 
This  apparition  does  portend 
That  Ranald's  got  a  violent  end, 
Or  else  he  never  wad  come  back, 
An'  sic  a  strange  disturbance  mak'  ; 
I  had  some  doubts  of  this  ere  now, 
But  what  could  a  weak  woman  do. 
'Tis  my  advice — we  tell  Mess  John, 
And  fetch  him  to  this  house  anon  ; 
What  do  we  ken,  but  Ranald  may 
Hae  something  that  he'd  wish  to  say. 
The  Minister's  the  fittest  man 
To  put  us  on  the  wisest  plan, 
To  ken  what  is  the  spectre's  will, 
For  he's  a  man  o'  real  skill ; 
Forby,  his  office  as  a  priest 
Qualifies  him  to  speak  a  ghaist." 
To  this  advice  they  a'  agreed, 
The  gard'ner  syne  set  aff  wi'  speed 
To  fetch  Mess  John — wha  didna  fail 
To  come — and  hear  the  unco  tale  ; 
He  fairlied  sair  at  what  he  heard. 
An'  ay  he  mus'd,  an'  ay  he  speir'd 
About  the  strange  and  fearfu'  sicht 
That  fleg'd  them  sae  the  bypast  night. 
Whan  he  had  chew'd  his  cud  awee  : 
*'  This  is  an  awfu'  job,"  quoth  he, 
"I'm  nae  that  fond  o'  it  ava  ; 
But  yet,  I  winna  gang  awa, 


THE  G?IAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'.  41 

This  night  at  ony  rate  I'll  stay, 
You'll  a'  attend,  whilst  I  do  pray 
That  we  may  be  endow'd  wi'  grace 
An'  strength,  this  visitant  to  face. 
The  priest  syne  gae  a  solemn  prayer, 
Whilk  being  o'er,  they  did  prepare 
Ranald's  ain  room  for  him  that  night. 
An'  put  in  it  baith  fire  and  light ; 
Back  frae  that  room  there  was  anither, 
A  thin  wa'  sep'rate  them  frae  ither. 
Thro'  whilk  there  was  a  private  door  ; 
They  plac'd  a  claiths  screen  it  before  ; 
Dunnan  at  that  door  could  come  in, 
An'  nae  mak'  verra  muckle  din  ; 
An'  out  again,  as  he  thought  fit, 
Whene'er  he  judged  it  time  to  flit. 
When  a'  their  suppers  now  were  o'er. 
An'  chapters  read — ay,  three  or  four, 
The  priest  bade  them  a'  gae  to  sleep. 
For  he  alane  the  watch  wad  keep  ; 
Though  he  was  quakin'  ilka  lith. 
And  scarcely  had  sae  mickle  pith 
As  stagger  canny  up  the  stair, 
Unto  the  room  he  did  repair. 
The  Bible  up  wi'  him  he  took. 
An'  down  he  sat  intil  the  neuk. 
An'  trembled  like  a  quakin'  ash. 
Thinking  that  now  he'd  been  o'er  rash 
To  meddle  wi'  sic  pranks  him  lane  ; 
An'  twenty  guineas  wad  he  gi'en 
That  he'd  been  thirty  miles  awa. 
Although  as  yet  he  naething  saw. 
When  Duncan  thought  the  lave  asleep 
Up  to  his  room  he  syne  did  creep, 
An'  dressed  himsel'  to  act  his  part. 
A  dram  he  took  to  cheer  his  heart. 


42  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Which  spite  o's  neck  now  fell  a  bealini^, 
But  now  for  him  was  nae  retreating — 
He  boot  gae  through  some  way  or  ilher 
To  personate  young  Malcolm's  hrither. 
He  saw  the  priest  was  vera  eery, 
An'  that  made  him  a  deal  mair  cheery. 
Sae,  as  soon's  twal  o'clock  did  chap, 
Duncan  gae  a  gentle  tap. 
The  parson,  wha  was  near  asleep, 
Hearing  the  rap,  he  did  up  peep, 
Wi'  a'  his  limbs  sae  sadly  shakin', 
Duncan  could  hardly  keep  frae  laughin'. 
He  gae  a  groan  bailh  loud  and  lang, 
The  parson  up  till's  feet  did  bang, 
An'  stood  twa-fauld  up  i'  the  neuk, 
An'  firm  he  grasped  the  haly  beuk. 
Duncan  made  his  appearance  now, 
An'  stood  close  i'  the  parson's  view, 
Wi'  his  pale  face  an'  lang  red  hair, 
Ne'er  moved  an  eye,  but  firm  did  stare 
The  frightened  parson  i'  the  face, 
Wha  never  jeed  out  o'  his  place. 
At  last,  he  says — '•  I  you  conjure 
To  speak  :  In  name  o'  that  great  Power 
Wha  made  us  baith,  come  tell  to  me 
Baith  what  you  want,  and  what  you  be." 
Duncan  gae  a  heavy  groan, 
An'  said — "  Alas  !  ohon  !  ohon  ! 
That  ever  I  should  come  to  this  ; 
But  I'm  shut  out  frae  heavenly  bliss 
Till  I  mak'  known  this  murder  fell, 
An'  yet  I'm  verra  laith  to  tell ; 
But  I  maun  do't  an'  mak  a'  plain 
Afore  that  I  my  rest  can  gain  : — 
You  see  fu'  wcel  I'm  Ranald's  spirit. 
An'  Malcolm,  wha  does  now  inherit 


THE  GHAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'.  43 

The  land  I  lately  did  possess, 
Put  arsenic  in  my  breakfast  mess  ; 
Impeach  him,  an'  revenge  my  death, 
Or  else  I'll  hunt  you  while  you've  breath." 
The  parson  now  fell  o'er  wi'  fright ; 
An'  Duncan  syne  slipt  out  o'  sight, 
Stripp'd  aff  his  claise,  an'  fause  red  hair, 
An'  to  his  chamber  did  repair — 
Right  glad  he'd  play'd  his  part  sae  weel. 
An'  nae  a  bit  remorse  did  feel. 
The  priest  a  while  lay  like  one  dead  ; 
At  length  he  lifted  up  his  head, 
An'  wildly  round  him  he  did  stare, 
To  see  gin  still  the  ghaist  was  there  ; 
But  whan  he  look'd  an  naething  saw. 
He  was  right  blyth  it  was  awa' ; 
Whan  he'd  a  wee  come  till  himsel', 
He  pou'd  the  tow,  an'  rang  the  bell  ; 
Baby  hersel'  was  soon  asteer, 
An'  Duncan  too,  ye  needna  speer  ; 
An'  ilka  ane  within  the  biggin', 
To  rise  they  needit  little  priggin', 
They  a'  thrang'd  to  the  servant's  ha', 
To  hear  what  'twas  the  parson  saw  ; 

An'  a'  appeared  extremely  sorry, 

To  hear  this  mighty  dismal  story. 

They  said  'twou'd  ne'er  come  i'  their  head 

That  Malcolm  wad  done  sic  a  deed. 

Baby  held  up  her  hands  wi'  wonder, 

Turn'd  up  her  een  like  duck's  in  thunder  ; 

As  nat'rel's  ever  play  was  acted, 

Until  the  strings  o'  them  maist  cracked  ; — 

An'  a'  the  lave  themsel's  did  bless, 

Crying,  "  O  !  wha  wad  ever  thought  o'  this? 

Poison  his  brither  !  gude  keep's  a'  ! 

The  like  o'  this  we  never  saw — 


44  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Nor  scarcely  heard  o'  sic  a  crime, 

Na,  nae  sin'  ever  Cain's  time." 

Bab  says,  "  I  kenna'  what  to  say, 

I  wiss  I'd  never  seen  this  day  ; 

Is  there  nae  way  to  hush  this  matter ; 

Speak,  reverend  sir,  for  you  ken  better 

What  sud  be  done  than  sic  as  me  ; 

Cou'd  we  na'  get  poor  Malcohn  free 

O'  comin'  till  a  shamefu'  end  ? 

Ve  ken,  he's  now  my  nearest  friend  ; 

But  I'll  be  ruled,  sir,  by  you — 

Sae  ye  maun  tell  me  what  to  do." 

Then  says  the  priest :   "As  soon's  'tis'day 

I  to  a  justice  straught  maun  gae, 

An'  there  mak  aith  o'  what  I  saw. 

Syne  let  it  tak  the  course  o'  law — 

This  I  must  do,  or  Ranald's  ghaist 

Will  never  let  me  be  at  rest ; 

Likewise,  the  servants  at  the  Ha', 

Maun  gang  an'  tell  a'  that  they  saw  ! 

I'll  do  his  bidden  ilka  hair. 

I  never  wiss  to  see  him  mair. 

Yon  was  a  fearfu'  sight  indeed  ! 

Sae  I  maun  till  mysel'  tak'  heed." 

Weel  !  whan  'twas  day  the  parson  now, 

An'  a'  the  simple  cozen'd  crew, 

Unto  his  worship  aft"  did  set, 

An'  him  at  hame  by  chance  did  get  ; 

The  justice,  it  maun  be  confess'd, 

Was  just  as  senseless  as  the  rest ; 

For  whan  the  parson  tauld  this  tale, 

He  took  his  aith — syne,  without  fail, 

Examin'd  a'  came  frae  the  Ha', 

An'  straught  to  Embro'  sent  awa. 

An'  Malcolm  now  was  laid  in  prison 

Afore  that  he  did  ken  the  reason  ; 


THE  GHAIST  O'  GARRON  HA'.  45 

But  his  surprise  ye  vveel  may  guess, 

When  he  acquainted  was  wi'  this  ; 

It  struck  the  poor  youth  perfect  dumb, 

An'  did  his  senses  sae  benumb 

He  cudna  speak,  but  hung  his  head, 

An'  look'd  like's  gin  he  had  been  dead, 

An'  they  wha  saw  him  in  that  case. 

Said,  guilt  was  printed  on  his  face. 

The  day  o'  trial  now  was  set. 

An'  a'  concern'd  did  summons  get ; 

An'  mony  ane,  baith  far  an'  near, 

Set  aff  this  unco  case  to  hear. 

Bab  and  the  priest,  frae  Garron  Ha', 

Did  in  a  post  chaise  ride  awa' ; 

The  lave  on  horseback  aff  did  ride  ; 

But  mark  ye  now,  what  did  betide 

These  guilty  wretches  at  the  last. 

When  they  thought  Malcolm  grippit  fast  :— 

Whan  Duncan  near  Linlithgow  got. 

His  horse  took  fleg  at  a  raised  stot, 

Wha  frae  some  butchers  gat  awa'. 

An'  ran  an'  puttit  a'  he  saw. 

The  fowk  out  o'  his  road  did  rin, 

An'  screich'd  an'  made  sae  muckle  din, 
That  Duncan's  horse  awa'  did  gallop. 
An'  on  the  road  gar'd  him  play  wallop. 
An'  smashed  him  a',  by  this  same  token. 
His  legs  an'  three  o's  ribs  were  broken, 
Forby  a  clink  upo'  the  head. 
An'  there  he  lay  's  gin  he'd  been  dead, 
To  the  neist  house  they  trail'd  him  in, 
An'  for  a  doctor  aff  did  rin. 
When  he'd  a  wee  come  to  himsel' 
His  state  nae  mortal  man  could  tall. 
Nor  half  describe  his  awfu'  case. 
When  death  did  stare  him  i'  th'  face. 


46  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

A  priest  he  quickly  did  require, 
An'  ane  they  brought  at  his  desire. 
There  he  confess'd  upo'  the  spot 
His  share  in  a'  the  hellish  plot. 
The  priest  did  for  the  provost  send, 
As  Duncan  seem'd  near  to  his  end, 
Wha  came,  an'  his  confession  took, 
An'  Duncan  sware  till't  on  the  book. 
Near  three  hours  langer  did  he  live, 
Prayin'  his  Maker  to  forgive 
His  foul  misdeeds,  wi'  his  last  breath, 
Syne  sunk  into  the  arms  o'  death. 
The  provost  now  for  Embro'  set. 
For  by  this  time  the  Court  was  met ; 
An'  when  the  judges  took  their  station, 
He  shaw'd  them  Duncan's  declaration, 
This  fiU'd  the  Court  wi'  gryte  surprise. 
That  any  human  could  devise, 
A  scheme  sae  horrid  an'  sae  evil. 
Then  quick  laid  hand  on  that  she-devil, 
Baby,  an'  sent  her  to  the  prison, 
To  try  her  at  convenient  season. 
This  turn'd  the  chance  wi'  her,  I  trow, 
For  Malcolm  was  acquitted  now. 
An'  she  hersel'  put  in  his  place, 
To  her  confusion  and  disgrace. 
Now  deep  despair  did  fill  her  miiul. 
An'  ere  she  was  an  hour  confin'd 
She  wi'  a  razor  nick't  her  throat. 
An'  down  she  fell  upo'  the  spot  ; 
An'  to  the  last  did  curse  and  swear, 
An'  a'  within  the  jail  did  fear. 
This  story  made  nae  little  noise, 
But  a'  gude  people  did  rejoice 
That  Malcolm's  innocence  was  clear, 
An'  wi'  loud  shouts  they  did  him  cheer. 


WATTY  AND  MEG.  47 

A  few  month  after,  Malcolm  now 
Unto  Auld  Reekie  bade  adieu, 
Took  hame  his  bride  to  Garron  I  la'. 
An'  never  after  gade  awa'  ; 
But  settled  there  wi'  his  dear  wife, 
They  liv'd  a  lang  an'  happy  life, 
An'  were  respected  mony  a  year, 
For  a'  the  neipers  lov'd  them  dear. 

Our  tale  we've  now  brought  to  an  end  ; 
We  see  that  Heaven  does  aye  defend 
The  upright,  who,  in  God  do  trust ; 
But  lays  the  guilty  in  the  dust. 
An'  sic  as  vilely  spurn  his  law. 
Witness  "  The  Ghaist  o'  Garron  Ha'." 


Matt^  anb  ODeo. 

One  of  the  most  gifted  of  Paisley's  many  gifted  sons, 
Alexander  Wilson,  the  author  of  "  Watty  and  Meg,"  was 
born  on  the  6th  of  July,  1766.  He  was  originally  designed 
for  the  ministry,  but  was  instead  brought  up  to  the  trade  of 
a  handloom  weaver.  Ultimately  he  developed  into  a  ped- 
lar—an occupation  which,  he  said,  was  niore  appropriate 
to  a  "mortal  with  legs"  than  tramping  the  treddles  of  a 
handloom.  In  his  twenty-eighth  year  he  went  to  America, 
where  in  a  short  time  he  developed  into  a  valued  ornitho- 
logist, and  prepared  a  work  on  the  American  ornithology, 
which  will  ever  be  regarded  as  his  magniun  opus.  He 
died  in  America  on  the  23rd  of  August,  1813,  the  cause  of 
his  death  being  a  cold  caught  in  swimming  a  river  while  in 
pursuit  of  a  rare  species  of  bird  of  which  he  had  long  been 
in  search. 

Wilson's  greatest  poem,  "Watty  and  Meg,"  was  first 
issued  anonymously  in  1792,  and  sprang  into  immediate 
favour,  no  less  than  one  hundred  thousand  copies  of  it 
being  disposed  of  within  a  few  weeks.     The  author  was 


48  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

much  grritihed  with  its  great  success,  but  still  more  by 
hearing  it  attributed  to  Robert  Burns,  for  whom  he  enter- 
tained the  highest  regard.  Burns  also  thought  highly  of 
the  poem.  It  is  on  record,  indeed,  in  this  connection,  that 
one  day  as  the  national  poet  was  silting  at  his  desk  by  the 
side  of  his  window,  a  well-known  hawker,  Andrew  Bishop 
by  name,  went  past  crying — "'Watty  and  Meg,' a  new 
ballad  by  Robert  Burns."  The  poet  looked  out  and  cried 
—  "That's  a  lee,  Andrew  !  but  I  wad  mak'  your  plack  a 
bawbee  if  it  were  true. " 

Keen  the  frosty  winds  were  blawin', 
Deep  the  snaw  had  wreathed  the  ploughs, 

Watty,  wearied  a'  day  sawin', 
Daunert  down  to  Mungo  Bhie's. 

Dryster  Jock  was  sitting  cracky, 

Wi'  Pate  Tamson  o'  the  Hill ; 
"  Come  awa,"  quo'  Johnny,  "  Watty — 

Haith,  we'se  hae  anither  gill  !  " 

Watty,  glad  to  see  Jock  Jabos, 

And  sae  mony  neibours  roun'  ; 
Kicket  frae  his  shoon  the  snawba's, 

Syne  ayont  the  fire  sat  down. 

Owre  a  board,  wi'  bannocks  heapit, 
Cheese,  and  stoups,  and  glasses  stood  ; 

Some  were  roaring,  ithers  sleepit, 
Ithers  quietly  chew  their  cud. 

Jock  was  selling  Pate  some  tallow, 

A'  the  rest  a  racket  hel' — 
A'  but  Watty,  wha,  poor  fallow, 

Sat  and  smoket  by  himsel'. 

IMungo  filled  him  up  a  toothfu' 

Drank  his  health  and  Meg's  in  ane  ; 

Watty,  puffing  out  a  mouthfu', 
Pledged  him  wi'  a  dreary  grane. 


\YATTY  AND  MEG.  49 

"  What's  the  matter,  Watty,  wi'  you? 

Trouth  your  chafts  are  fa'in'  in  ! 
Something's  wrang — I'm  vexed  to  see  you — 

Gudesake  !  but  ye're  desperate  thin  !  " 

"  Ay,"  quo'  Watty,  "things  are  altered, 

But  its  past  redemption  now  ; 
L — d  !  I  wish  I  had  been  haltered 

When  I  married  Maggy  Howe  ! 

"I've  been  poor,  and  vex'd,  and  ragg}'  : 

Try'd  wi'  troubles  no  that  sma' ; 
Them  I  bore— but  marrying  Maggys 

Laid  the  cap-stane  o'  them  a'. 

"  Nicht  and  day  she's  ever  yelpin', 

Wi'  the  weans  she  ne'er  can  gree  : 
When  she's  tired  wi'  perfect  skelpin', 

Then  she  flees  like  fire  on  me. 

"See  you,  Mungo  !  when  she'll  clash  on 

Wi'  her  everlasting  clack, 
Whyles  I've  had  my  nieve,  in  passion, 

Lifted  up  to  break  her  back." 

"  O,  for  gudesake,  keep  frae  cuffets  !  " 

Mungo  shook  his  head  and  said, 
"  Weel  I  ken  what  sort  o'  life  it's  ; 

Ken  ye,  Watty,  how  I  did  ? — 

"After  Bess  and  I  were  kippled, 

Soon  she  grew  like  ony  bear, 
Brak'  my  shins,  and,  when  I  tippled, 

Harl't  out  my  very  hair  ! 

"  For  a  wee  I  quietly  knuckled, 

But,  when  naething  wad  prevail, 
Up  my  claes  and  cash  I  buckled — 

'  Bess,  for  ever  fare-ye-weel  ! ' 
D 


so  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Then  her  din  grew  less  and  loss  aye, 
Haith,  I  gart  her  change  her  tune  ; 

Now  a  better  wife  than  Bessy 
Never  slept  in  leather  shoon. 

"  Try  this,  Watty — When  you  see  her 
Raging  like  a  roaring  flood, 

Swear  that  moment  that  ye'll  lea'  her— 
That's  the  way  to  keep  her  good." 

Laughing,  sangs,  and  lasses'  skirls, 
Echoed  now  out  through  the  roof, 

"Done!  "  quo'  Pate,  and  syne  his  arls 
Nailed  the  Drystcr's  wauket  loof. 

In  the  thrang  o'  stories  tellin'. 
Shaking  haun's,  and  ither  cheer, 

Swith  !  a  chap  comes  on  the  hallan, 
"  Mungo,  is  oor  Watty  here  ?  " 

Maggy's  weel  kent  tongue  and  hurry. 
Darted  through  him  like  a  knife, 

Up  the  door  flew — like  a  fury 
In  came  Watty's  scaukling  wife. 

"  Nasty,  gude-for-naething  being  ! 

O,  ye  snuffy,  drucken  sow  ! 
Bringing  wife  and  weans  to  ruin. 

Drinking  here  wi'  sic  a  crew  ! 

"  Devil  nor  your  legs  were  broken. 

Sic  a  life  nae  flesh  endures. 
Toiling  like  a  slave  to  slocken 

You,  ye  dyvor  and  your  whores ! 

"  Rise  !  ye  drucken  beast  o'  Bethel  ! 

Drink's  your  night  and  day's  desire  ; 
Rise  this  precious  hour  !  or  faith  I'll 

Fling  your  whisky  i'  the  fire," 


WATTY  AND  MEG.  51 

Watty  heard  her  tongue  unhallow'd, 

Pay'd  his  groat  wi'  little  din, 
Left  the  horse  while  Maggy  follow'd, 

Flyting  a'  the  road  behin'. 

Fowk  frae  every  door  cam'  lamping. 

Maggy  curst  them  ane  and  a', 
Clappit  wi'  her  haun's,  and  stamping, 

Lost  her  bauchles  i'  the  snaw. 

Hame,  at  length,  she  turn'd  the  gavel, 

Wi'  a  face  as  white's  a  clout, 
Raging  like  a  very  devil. 

Kicking  stools  and  chairs  about. 

"  Ye'll  sit  wi'  your  limmers  round  you  I 

Hang  you,  sir,  I'll  be  your  death  ! 
Little  hauds  my  haun's,  confound  you. 

But  I'll  cleave  you  to  the  teeth." 

Watty,  wha,  'midst  this  oration, 

Eyed  her  whyles  but  durstna  speak. 
Sat  like  patient  Resignation, 

Trem'ling  by  the  ingle-cheek. 

Sad  his  wee  drap  brose  he  suppet, 

Maggy's  tongue  gaed  like  a  bell. 
Quietly  to  his  bed  he  slippet 

Sighing  aften  to  himsel' : 

"  Nane  are  free  frae  some  vexation, 

Ilk  ane  has  his  ills  to  dree  ; 
But  through  a'  the  hale  creation 

Is  a  mortal  vex'd  like  me  ?  " 

A'  night  lang  he  row'd  and  gaunted. 

Sleep  or  rest  he  couldna'  tak'  ; 
Maggy,  aft  wi'  horror  haunted, 

Mum'lin',  started  at  his  back. 


52  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Soon  as  ere  the  morning  peepit, 
Up  rase  Watty,  waefu'  chiel', 

Kiss'd  his  weanies  while  they  sleepit, 
Wauken'd  Meg,  and  socht  fareweel. 

"  Fareweel  Meg  ! — And  O  !  may  Heaven 
Keep  you  aye  within  his  care  ; 

Watty's  heart  you've  lang  been  grievin'. 
Now  he'll  never  fash  you  niair. 

"  Happy  could  I  been  beside  you, 
Happy  baith  at  morn  and  e'en  ; 

A'  the  ills  that  e'er  betide  you, 
Watty  aye  turned  out  your  frien'. 

"  But  ye  ever  like  to  see  me 
Vex'd  and  sighin'  late  and  ear', 

Fareweel,  Meg,  I've  sworn  to  lea'  thee, 
So  thou'll  never  see  me  mair." 

Meg,  a'  sabbing,  sae  to  lose  him, 
Sic  a  change  had  never  wist, 

Held  his  haun'  close  to  her  bosom, 
^¥hile  her  heart  was  like  to  burst. 

"  O  my  Watty  !  will  ye  lea'  me, 
Frien'less,  helpless,  to  despair  ? 

O  !  for  this  ae  time  forgi'e  me. 
Never  will  I  vex  you  mair." 

"  Ay  !  ye've  aft  said  that,  and  broken 
A'  your  vows  ten  times  a-week. 

No,  no,  Meg  ! — see,  there's  a  token 
Glittering  on  my  bonnet  check. 

"  Owre  the  seas  I  march  this  morning. 
Listed,  tested,  sworn  and  a', 

Forced  by  your  confounded  girning —  ■ 
Fareweel,  Meg  !  for  I'm  awa'." 


WATTY  AND  MEG.  53 

Thea  Poor  Magg}''s  tears  and  clamour 

Gushed  afresh,  and  louder  grew, 
While  the  weans,  wi'  mournfu'  yamour, 

Round  their  sabbing  mither  flew. 

"  Through  the  yirth  I'll  waunder  wi'  you — 

Stay,  O  Watty  !  stay  at  hame  ; 
Here,  upon  my  knees,  I'll  gie  you 

Ony  vow  you  like  to  name. 

*'  See  your  poor  young  lammies  pleadin', 

Will  ye  gang  and  break  our  heart  ? 
No  a  house  to  put  our  head  in. 

No  a  friend  to  tak'  our  part !  " 

Ilka  word  came  like  a  bullet, 

Watty's  heart  begoud  to  shake, 
On  a  kist  he  laid  his  wallet, 

Dichted  baith  his  een  and  spake. 

"  If  ance  mair  I  could  by  writing. 

Lea'  the  sodgers  and  stay  still. 
Wad  you  swear  to  drap  your  flytin'  ?  " 

"Yes,  0  Watty  !  yes,  I  will." 

Then,"  quo'  Watty,  "  mind,  be  honest  ; 

Aye  to  keep  your  temper  strive ; 
Gin  ye  break  this  dreadfu'  promise, 

Never  mair  expect  to  thrive. 

"  Marg'et  Howe  !  this  hour  ye  solemn 

Swear  by  everything  that's  good. 
Ne'er  again  yoor  spouse  to  scauld  him, 

While  life  warms  your  heart  and  blood. 

"  That  ye'll  ne'er  in  Mungo's  seek  me, 

Ne'er  put  drucken  to  my  name. 
Never  out  at  e'ening  steek  me, 

Never  gloom  when  I  come  hnme. 


54  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

"That  ye'U  ne'er,  like  Bessy  Miller, 

Kick  my  shins  or  rug  my  hair, 
Lastly,  I'm  to  keep  the  siller ; 

This  upon  your  saul  you  swear  ?  "' 

"  O— h  !  "  quo'  Meg  ;  "  Aweel,"  quo'  Watty, 
"  Fareweel  !  faith  I'll  try  the  seas  ; " 

"  O  stand  still,"  quo'  Meg,  and  grat  aye  ; 
"  Ony,  ony  way  ye  please." 

Maggy  syne,  because  he  prest  her, 

Swore  to  a'  thing  owre  again  : 
Watty  lap,  and  danced,  and  kiss'd  her  ; 

Wow  !  but  he  was  wondrous  fain. 

Down  he  threw  his  staff  victorious  ; 

Afifgaed  bonnet,  claes,  and  shoon  ; 
Syne  below  the  blankets,  glorious. 

Held  anither  Hinneymoon  ! 


Bc60ie  Bell  anb  HDar^  6ra^. 

The  story  on  which  this  popular  ballad  is  founded  has 
been  often  told,  and  is  so  charged  with  tender  pathos  that 
it  never  fails  to  command  attentive  hearing.  It  belongs  to 
the  time  of  the  great  plague,  or  pestilence,  which,  down  to 
the  year  1665,  was  the  terror  of  Scotland,  and  which  at  one 
time  reduced  the  city  of  I'erth  of  about  one-sixth  of  its 
population.  The  common  tradition  is  that  Bessie  Bell  and 
Mary  Gray  were  the  daughters  of  two  country  gentlemen  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  I'erth,  and  an  intimate  friendship 
subsisted  between  them.  Bessie  Bell,  daughter  of  the 
laird  of  Kinvaid,  was  on  a  visit  to  Mary  Gray,  at  her 
father's  house  of  Lednock,  now  called  Lynedoch,  when  the 
plague  of  1666  broke  out  in  the  country.  To  avoiil  the  in- 
fection, the  two  young  ladies  built  themselves  a  bower  in  a 
very  retired  and  romantic  spot  known  as  the  Burn-braes, 
on  the  side  of  the  Brachie  Burn,  situated  about  three-quar- 


BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY.  55 

ters  of  a  mile  west  from  Lynedoch  House.  Here  they  lived 
for  some  time  ;  but  the  plague  raging  with  great  fury,  they 
caught  the  infection  from  a  young  gentleman  of  Perth  who, 
it  is  said,  was  in  love  with  the  one  or  the  other,  or  with 
them  both  ;  and  who,  having  discovered  their  rural  habita- 
tion and  the  scanty  fare  it  afforded,  had  made  it  his  daily 
duty  to  supply  them  with  provisions  from  the  "Borough 
toun."  According  to  a  traditionary  story  which  I  have  re- 
ceived at  various  times  from  the  lips  of  old  persons  in 
Perthshire,  the  provisions  were  not  the  vehicle  by  which 
the  pestilence  was  conveyed.  But  the  young  gentleman  on 
one  of  his  visits  having  brought  with  him,  among  other  pre- 
sents for  their  gratification,  a  rare  necklace  which  he  had 
purchased  of  a  Jew,  and  which  had  unhappily  been  origin- 
ally the  property  of  one  who  had  died  of  the  plague,  the  in- 
fection was  in  this  way  communicated  to  the  young  ladies, 
and  proved  fatal  to  them  both.  According  to  custom  in 
cases  of  the  plague,  they  were  not  buried  in  the  ordinary 
place  of  sepulture,  but  in  a  secluded  spot  called  the  Dron- 
achhaugh,  at  the  foot  of  the  brae  of  the  same  name,  and 
near  to  the  bank  of  the  river  Almond.  The  young  man 
having  also  died  of  the  plague,  was  laid  at  their  feet. 
Dranoch,  or  Dronoch,  in  the  Gaelic  means  sorrowful,  there- 
fore the  likelihood  is  that  this  piece  of  ground  takes  its 
name  from  the  fact  of  these  hapless  young  persons  being 
buried  in  it. 

The  earliest  authentic  information  concerning  the  grave 
of  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray  is  found  contained  in  a  letter 
dated  21st  June,  1781,  written  by  Major  Barry  of  Lednock, 
and  published  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Society  of  Anti- 
quaries of  Scotland,  Vol.  H.,  1822.  This  gentleman  ex- 
plains that  when  he  came  first  to  Lednock  he  was  shown  in 
a  part  of  the  grounds  called  the  Dronach-haugh,  a  heap  of 
stones  almost  covered  with  briers,  thorn,  and  fern,  and 
which  he  was  assured  was  the  bnrial  place  of  the  hapless 
ladies  whose  names  are  immortalised  in  the  fragment  of 
ballad  poetry  bearing  their  names  as  its  title.  Major  Barry 
caused  all  the  rubbish  to  be  removed  from  the  little  spot  of 
classic  ground,  and  inclosed  it  with  a  wall,  planted  it  round 
with  flowering  shrubs,  made  up  the  grave  double,  and 
fixed  a  stone  in  the  wall,  on  which  were  engraved  the 
names  of  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray. 

In  1787  Lynedoch  estate  passed  into  the  possession  of 
Mr.  Thomas  Graham  of  Balgowan,  afterwards  Lord  Lyne- 
doch, and  the  wall  erected  round  the  graves  in  the  Dron- 


56  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

ach-haugh  by  Major  Barry  half  a  century  before,  being  dis- 
CDved  by  this  later  proprietor,  on  his  return  from  a 
lengthened  pilgrimage  abroad,  to  have  fallen  into  a  dilapi- 
dated state,  he  had  the  remains  of  the  wall  removed  and  a 
neat  stone  parapet  and  iron  railings  five  feet  high  placed 
round  the  spot.  He  also  covered  the  graves  with  a  stone 
slab,  on  which  were  inscribed  the  words,  "  They  lived, 
they  loved,  Ihey  died."  This  railing  still  stands  ;  but  the 
stone  slab  within  the  railing  is  not  visible  to  the  eye,  being 
covered  with  stones  heapeil  up  cairn-wise,  brought  hither 
by  the  many  visitors  who  have  made  pilgrimages  to  this 
famous  Scottish  shrine. 

The  original  verses — two  in  number — were  first  printed 
by  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe,  under  the  title  of  "  The 
Tvva  Lasses  "  ;  and,  one  or  two  necessary  corrections  ex- 
cepted, are  as  follows  : — 

O,  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 

They  war  twa  bonnie  lassies  ! 
They  biggit  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae. 

And  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  rashies. 
They  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  rashies  green, 

They  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  heather, 
But  the  pest  cam'  frae  the  Borough's  toun 

And  slew  them  baith  thegether. 

They  thocht  to  lie  in  Methven  kirkyard 

Amang  their  noble  kin  ; 
But  they  maun  lie  in  Dronach-haugh 

And  beik  foment  the  sun. 
And  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray, 

They  war  twa  bonnie  lassies  ! 
They  biggit  a  bower  on  yon  burn-brae. 

And  theekit  it  o'er  wi'  rashies. 

Starting  with  the  first  four  lines  of  the  above,  Allan 
Ramsay  produced  a  song  which  is  sometimes  printed  in  the 
collections.  It  is  a  performance  not  without  merit,  but  as 
the  author  has  dared  to  transform  the  burden  of  the  verses 
from  tender  pathos  to  lively  humour,  we  give  him  credit 
for  it  with  a  grudge,  for  the  good  reason  that  in  so  far  as 
his  version  gains  popularity  a  sweetly-pathetic  historic 
romance  loses  its  hold  on  the  public  mind. 

The  subjoined  beautiful  rendering  of  the  tradition  in 
ballad  verse  will  be  welcome  to  many.  The  author,  James 
Duff,  known  as  "the  Methven  poet,"  was  a  gardener  to 
trade,  and  flourished  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, lie  was  the  author  of  the  popular  song,  "  Lassie  wi' 
the  yellow  coatie."     His  volume  of  poems,  published  at 


BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY.  57 

Perth  in  1816,  and  which  contains  the  following  ballad,  is 
now  very  scarce.  Duff,  it  will  be  seen,  does  not  adhere  to 
the  traditionary  story,  but  gives  free  rein  to  his  poetic 
fancy.  Unlike  Allan  Ramsay,  however,  he  maintains  the 
original  spirit  of  the  tender  romance. 


\Vhen  plague  and  death,  a  dreary  space, 

Pervaded  Britain's  isle ; 
When  sorrow  sat  on  many  a  face, 

And  few  were  seen  to  smile. 

On  Almond  side,  as  poets  tell, 

There  dwelt  two  ladies  gay  ; 
The  one  was  named  fair  Bessie  Bell, 

The  other  Mary  Gray. 

Fast  knit  in  close  relation's  bands, 
Their  friendship  still  increas'd  ; 

And  each  was  heiress  of  the  lands 
Her  sires  had  long  possess'd. 

Thus  Bessie  Bell  and  Mary  Gray 

To  years  of  beauty  grew  ; 
While  death  around  them  ev'ry  day 

Confirm'd  his  mission  true. 

By  fear  impress'd,  it  struck  their  mind 

To  live  recluse  from  man  ; 
And  long  they  sought  to  find  a  spot 

Convenient  for  their  plan — 

To  build  a  bower  on  Almond  side, 

Within  a  lonely  wood, 
Where  herbs  and  nuts  and  fruit  supplied 

Those  maidens  for  their  food. 


58  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Here  many  months  in  humble  guise 
They  fix'd  their  lone  abode  ; 

Unknown  or  seen  by  human  eyes, 
They  spent  their  time  with  God. 

Religion  in  their  early  youth 
Had  oft  their  mind  employ'd, 

And  trusting  now  in  sacred  truth. 
Much  comfort  they  enjoy'd. 

No  costly  table  here  was  spread 

With  dishes  rich  and  fine  ; 
Nor  humble  page,  in  liv'ry  clad, 

Pour'd  out  the  homely  wine. 

The  bramble  grajje,  the  hazel  nut, 
The  crystal  spring  that  flow'd, 

Were  all,  it  seem'd,  those  maidens  sought, 
And  all  that  heav'n  bestow'd. 

No  gaudy  weeds  those  ladies  wore. 
Nor  di'monds  had  to  boast  ; 

Nor  silk,  nor  fur,  from  foreign  shore, 
Brought  home  with  toil  and  cost. 

The  flax  that  wav'd  on  yonder  field 
Supplied  them  linen  white  : 

The  wool  which  Scotia's  mountains  yield 
Here  clad  them  day  and  night. 

Here  Nature  spread  her  beauties  wide, 
In  ev'ry  flow'r  that  springs  ; 

And  music  swell'd  on  either  side. 
From  ev'ry  bird  that  sings. 

The  lark  awak'd  them  in  the  morn. 

With  her  delightful  note  ; 
Tlie  linnet  warbled  from  the  thorn, 

Around  their  humble  cot. 


BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY,  59 

Thus  far  remov'd  from  humankind,' 

They  thought  themselves  secure  ; 
Nor  foul  infection  could  they  find, 

Nor  death  discry  their  door. 

But  ah  !  the  fire  of  ardent  love 

Conceal'd  in  Bessie's  breast, 
A\Tiich  nought  but  fate  could  disapprove, 

Bereav'd  her  mind  of  rest. 

A  neighb'ring  youth,  of  manners  mild. 

And  much  respected  birth, 
Her  near  acquaintance  from  a  child. 

And  conscious  of  her  worth. 

Who  long  had  sighed  for  Bessie  Bell, 

And  long  conceal'd  his  pain  ; 
At  length  had  told  his  tender  tale. 

Nor  was  his  suit  in  vain  ; 

For  she,  it  seems,  had  likewise  lov'd. 

Though  close  she  kept  the  same  ; 
No  wonder  then  her  heart  approv'd, 

When  he  declar'd  his  flame. 

Oft  by  sweet  Almond's  flow'ry  side, 

This  youthful  pair  had  rov'd  ; 
Where  oft  he  styl'd  fair  Bess  his  bride. 

And  told  how  much  he  lov'd. 

But  now  that  he  had  lost  his  fair. 

No  peace  on  earth  had  he  ; 
His  mind  was  fill'd  with  anxious  care. 

And  sad  perplexity. 

Both  town  and  country,  far  and  near. 

He  sought  for  Bessie  Bell  ; 
But  ah  !  no  tidings  he  could  hear, 

For  none  her  home  could  tell. 


6o  AULD  SCOTS  llALLANTS. 

Thus  did  this  youth,  day  after  day, 

His  search  for  her  renew  ; 
Nor  pass'd  the  stranger  on  his  way, 

But  ask'd  if  he  her  knew. 

"Oh  !  have  you  seen  fair  Bessie  Bell, 
The  flow'r  of  womankind  ; 

Oh  !  gentle  stranger,  can  you  tell 
Where  I  this  nymph  might  find  ? 

"  Her  hair  is  like  the  threads  of  gold, 

Tied  with  a  ribbon  blue  ; 
Her  frame  was  cast  in  beauty's  mould, 

With  Nature's  likeness  true." 

Then  would  he  to  the  winds  complain 

Of  his  hard  destiny  ; 
Or  breath'd  his  plaint  in  mournful  strain. 

Or  sad  soliloquy. 

"  Oh  !  love,  my  unrelenting  foe, 

And  cause  of  all  my  pain, 
Must  I  the  sweets  of  life  forego, 

And  waste  my  youth  in  vain. 

"Oh  !  hear  my  plaint,  ye  pow'rs  above, 

And  mitigate  my  woe  ; 
Oh  !  had  she  known  how  much  I  love. 

She  had  not  left  me  so. 

"  The  dove  may  take  a  morning  flight, 
And  leave  her  mate  to  mourn  ; 

But  long  before  the  fall  of  night 
Will  to  her  nest  return. 

"Sure  some  unhallow'd  rival's  hand 

Has  borne  my  fair  aside  ; 
Perhaps  this  night  in  wedlock's  band. 

My  Bess  becomes  his  bride. 


BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY.  6i 

"  Oh  !  would  some  angel  lead  the  way, 

Or  point  what  course  to  take  ; 
Tho'  thousand  dangers  round  her  lay, 

I'd  brave  them  for  her  sake. 

"  But  why  complain  of  Bessie  Bell, 

Or  think  of  fortune  ill  ! 
Oh  !  could  I  hope  (for  who  can  tell), 

Perhaps  she  loves  me  still. 

"  But  see  !  the  sun  has  left  the  sky, 

The  shades  of  night  draw  near ; 
The  fleecy  clouds  of  crimson  dye 

Begin  to  disappear. 

"  No  hamlet  round  me  I  can  spy, 

But  bleak  and  dreary  waste  ; 
Where  shall  a  wan'drer  safely  lye 

His  wearied  limbs  to  rest. 

•'To  Lynedock  Hall  I'll  bend  my  way, 

Where  friendship  I  shall  find  ; 
There  lives  her  uncle,  worthy  Gray, 

Of  feeling  heart  and  kind. 

*'  My  mournful  tale  of  slighted  love 

To  him  I  will  declare  ; 
A  heart  like  his,  no  doubt,  't  will  move 

To  sympathetic  care. 

"  But  see  !  from  yon  embow'ring  shade 

What  glimm'ring  taper  shines  ; 
Perhaps  some  Hermit  there  is  fled, 

And  now  in  hunger  pines. 

"  I'll  haste  me  hence  perhaps  in  time, 

Ere  death  has  closed  his  eye, 
To  succour  life  was  ne'er  a  crime, 

Though  even  doomed  to  die." 


62  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Then  straight  he  hied  him  to  the  spot, 
From  whence  this  taper  shone  ; 

At  length  he  reach'd  the  humble  cot, 
Built  of  green  sod  alone. 

The  roof  of  pyramidal  form, 

Cut  from  the  neighb'ring  bushes  ; 

And  as  a  shelter  from  the  storm, 
'Twas  thatched  o'er  with  rushes. 

He  round  it  gaz'd  with  wond'ring  eyes. 
To  think  upon  the  choice  ; 

But  who  can  paint  his  sweet  surprise. 
To  hear  a  female  voice. 

He  paus'd  to  think  what  hapless  fair 
Might  in  this  bower  dwell  ; 

But  oh  !  think  what  his  feelings  were, 
To  hear  his  Bessie  Bell  ! 

An  eager  transport  fired  his  breast, 

Regardless  of  all  harms. 
The  door  he  gently  backwards  press'd, 

And  lock'd  her  in  his  arms. 

But  who  can  paint  in  colours  fair, 
This  sweet,  this  tender  scene  ; 

Ye  fervent  lovers  now  declare. 
Nor  dare,  for  once,  to  feign. 

Her  faithful  cousin,  Mary  Gray, 

Upon  a  couch  reclin'd  ; 
The  sacred  volume  by  her  lay, 

Her  guide  and  counsel  kind. 

Alarm'd  to  find  a  youth  so  rude, 
Had  found  their  sweet  retreat ; 

And  see  a  stranger  thus  intrude, 
She  sunk  beside  her  seat. 


BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY.  63 

Her  balmy  lips  of  rosy  hue, 

Appear'd  like  lifeless  clay  ; 
Her  eyes  like  pearly  drops  of  dew, 

Their  lustre  died  away. 

At  length  she  heav'd  a  melting  sigh, 

O'ercome  with  fear  and  grief; 
The  stranger  heard  and  turn'd  his  eye. 

Then  sprung  to  her  relief. 

E'en  love,  with  all  its  boasted  charms, 

He  for  a  moment  spurn'd, 
And  held  her  friendly  in  his  arms, 

Till  life  and  sense  return'd. 

Her  eyes  resum'd  their  lustre  bright. 

Her  lips  their  scarlet  hue  ; 
Her  raven-locks  and  bosom  white. 

His  admiration  drew. 

A  sudden  stupor  seiz'd  his  thought, 

But  how,  he  could  not  tell  ; 
He,  for  a  moment,  quite  forgot 

His  peerless  Bessie  Bell. 

'Twas  but  a  moment,  and  no  more, 

This  conflict  he  endur'd  ; 
The  fair  he  long  had  lov'd  before, 

But  spake  and  he  was  cured. 

"  Oh  !  Mary  dear,  my  cousin  kind, 

And  partner  of  my  woe  ; 
Was  ruthless  fate  itself  design'd 

To  break  my  comfort  so  ? 

"  This  is  my  much-lamented  friend, 

Young  ^Villiam  is  his  name  ; 
His  love  for  me,  which  knows  no  end. 

Has  been  in  this  to  blame. 


64  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  But  now  that  fortune's  fickle  wheel 
Has  brought  my  friend  to  me, 

Come  share  with  nie  the  joy  I  feel, 
And  I'll  do  so  with  thee." 

Thus  said,  she  spread  a  towel  white, 

Upon  her  cousin's  knee  ; 
Then  brought  the  best,  that  well  she  might, 

And  served  them  cheerfully. 

No  questions  ask'd,  no  faults  were  found, 
Nor  studied  forms  were  here  ; 

'Twas  sweet  content  the  supper  crown'd, 
And  welcome  for  good  cheer. 

With  hand  and  heart  they  jointly  strove 

His  comfort  to  procure  ; 
Sure  love  alone  can  answer  love, 

And  render  bliss  secure. 

I  need  not  here  in  words  describe 
The  minutes  wing  their  way 

Unheeded,  till  the  feather'd  tribe 
Proclaim'd  approaching  day. 

The  lark,  the  linnet,  and  the  thrush. 
With  warbling  notes  and  wild. 

Began  to  chant  on  every  bush, 
While  bright  Aurora  smiled. 

When  hand  in  hand,  the  loving  pair, 

They  left  the  humble  cell, 
The  heartfelt  joys  of  love  to  share. 

And  all  its  griefs  to  tell. 

'Twas  by  sweet  Almond's  limpid  stream, 

Where  sporting  fishes  play, 
Young  William  and  his  lovely  dame, 

That  morning  took  their  way. 


BESSIE  BELL  AND  MARY  GRAY.  65 

Here  all  that  love  could  say  was  said, 

Or  virtuous  truth  invent  ; 
And  here  the  day  was  fix'd  to  wed, 

\Yith  blushing  free  consent. 

This  done,  young  \YiIliam  took  his  leave, 

And  homeward  bent  his  way  ; 
While  Bess  was  left  no  more  to  grieve. 

But  wait  the  wish'd-for  day. 

^Yith  joy  he  hied  him  home  to  tell, 

So  well's  his  journey  sped, 
And  how  he  found  his  Bessie  Bell, 

Embow'r'd  in  yonder  shade. 

He  told  his  friends  they  must  provide 

'Gainst  the  appointed  hour, 
To  welcome  home  his  lovely  bride, 

And  grace  the  nuptial  bow'r. 

But  now  it  pains  my  heart  to  speak. 

And  all  must  grieve  to  hear, 
Our  young  bridegroom  fell  soon  so  sick 

That  death  itself  seem'd  near. 

The  best  of  human  skill  was  tried. 

The  first  advice  was  given  ; 
But  all  in  vain,  young  William  died. 

He  died  in  hopes  of  heaven. 

Thus  to  disease  a  victim  fell, 

A  youth  of  spotless  fame, 
Whose  latest  words  were,  "  Bessie  Bell"; 

Life  ended  with  her  name. 

Now  let  us  turn  to  yonder  bow'r, 

Where  these  two  maidens  gay, 
Prepar'd  to  meet  the  nuptial  hour, 

Th'  appointed  marriage  day. 
E 


66  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Eut  ah  !  the  pestilential  breath, 

As  many  still  suppose, 
Of  their  late  stranger,  prov'd  their  death, 

Though  sweet  as  summer  rose. 

And  there,  unseen,  their  bodies  lay, 
Till  by  some  wand'rer  found  ; 

And  here  their  graves  are  seen  this  day, 
Denied  the  sacred  ground. 

This  simple  stone  and  ivy'd  wall. 
Directs  the  stranger's  way. 

To  let  the  tear  of  pity  fall, 
A  tribute  due  to  pay. 

This  worthy  Barry  fenced  around. 
With  many  a  shrub  and  tree  ; 

This  spot  he  styled  sequester'd  ground, 
And  still  deserves  to  be. 

Here  Almond  o'er  its  pebled  bed. 
Meanders  soft  and  sweet  ; 

There  many  a  winding  walk  and  shade, 
Where  lovers  daily  meet. 

Here  gallant  Graham,  oi  well-won  fame, 
Has  fix'd  his  mansion  seat. 

And  greatly  beautified  the  same 
With  woods  and  gardens  sweet. 

His  matchless  skill,  and  boundless  taste. 
At  Lynedock  now  to  view, 

Have  brought  him  many  a  noble  guest, 
Which  never  Scotland  knew. 

But  here  my  muse  must  quit  her  theme, 
Nor  more  the  numbers  tell  ; 

May  fortune  wait  on  worthy  Graham, 
And  peace  to  Bessie  Bell. 


THE  BONNIE  HOUSE  O'  AIRLIE.  67 


IThc  Bonnie  Ibousc  o'  Hirlie, 

There  are  various  readings  of  this  popular  Ijallad  :  but 
they  differ  only  in  detail,  the  main  incidents  being  always 
the  same.  lis  locality  and  historical  basis  are  briefly  as 
follows  : — During  the  great  civil  war  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  the  Earl  of  Airlie,  in  Forfarshire,  adhered  firmly 
to  the  Royal  cause,  and  in  consequence  rendered  himself 
particularly  obnoxious  to  the  Covenanting  party,  who, 
during  the  Earl's  absence  in  England,  attacked  his  houses 
of  Forter  and  Airlie,  and  plundered  and  burned  them  to 
the  ground.  Spalding  says: — "The  Earl  of  Airly  went 
from  home  to  England,  fearing  the  troubles  of  the  land, 
and  that  he  should  be  pressed  to  subscribe  the  Covenant, 
whether  he  would  or  not,  whilk  by  fleeing  the  land  he  re- 
solved to  eschew  as  well  as  he  could,  and  left  his  eldest 
son,  the  Lord  Ogilvie,  a  brave  young  nobleman,  behind 
him  at  home.  The  Estates  or  Tables  learning  of  his  de- 
parture, directed  the  Earls  of  Montrose  and  Kinghorne  to 
go  to  the  place  of  Airly,  and  to  take  in  the  same,  and  for 
that  effect  to  carry  cartows  [cannon]  with  them  ;  who  went 
and  summoned  the  Lord  Ogilvie  to  render  the  house  (being 
an  impregnable  strength  by  nature,  well  manned  by  all  sort 
of  munition  and  provision  necessary),  who  answered  his 
father  was  absent,  and  he  left  no  such  commission  with  him 
as  to  render  his  house  to  any  subjects,  and  that  he  would 
defend  the  samen  to  his  power,  till  his  father  returned  from 
England.  There  were  some  shots  shot  the  house,  and  some 
from  the  house  ;  but  the  assailants  finding  the  place  invul- 
nerable, by  nature  of  great  strength,  without  great  skaith, 
left  the  place  without  meikle  loss  on  either  side  ;  these  de- 
parted therefrae  in  June.  Now  the  Committee  of  Estates 
finding  no  contentment  in  this  expedition,  and  hearing  how 
their  friends  of  the  name  of  Forbes,  and  others  in  the  coun- 
try, were  daily  injured  and  oppressed  by  Highland  lymmers, 
broken  out  of  Lochaber,  Clan  Gregor  out  of  Brae  of  Athol, 
Brae  of  Mar,  and  divers  other  places  ;  therefore  they  gave 
order  to  the  Earl  of  Argyle  to  raise  men  out  of  his  own 
country,  and  first  to  go  to  Airly  and  Furtour,  two  of  the 
Earl  of  Airly's  principal  houses,  and  to  take  in  and  destroy 
the  same,  and  next  to  go  upon  their  lymmers  and  punish 
them  ;  likeas,  conform  to  his  order,  he  raises  an  army  of 
about  five  thousand  men,  and  marches  towards  Airly ;  but 


6S  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

the  Lord  Ogilvie,  hearing  of  his  coming  witli  such  irresis- 
tible force,  resolves  to  flee,  and  leave  the  house  manless  : 
and  so  for  their  own  safety  they  wisely  fled  ;  but  Argyle 
most  cruelly  and  inhumanly  enters  the  house  of  Airly,  and 
beats  the  same  to  the  ground,  and  right  sua  he  does  to 
Furtour,  syne  spoiled  all  within  both  houses,  and  such  as 
could  not  be  carried  away,  they  masterfully  brake  down 
and  destroyed."  Argyle  was  at  feud  with  the  Ogilvies  of 
Airlie,  and  is  said  to  have  heartily  enjoyed  the  commission 
to  sack  their  stronghold,  and  lost  no  time  in  putting  his 
orders  into  execution.  After  plundering  Airlie  Castle,  he 
set  it  on  fire,  and  afterwards  razed  the  walls.  In  an  account 
written  by  James  Gordon,  parson  of  Rothiemay,  it  is  said 
that  Argyle  "was  seen  taking  a  hammer  in  his  hand  and 
knocking  down  the  hewed  work  of  the  doors  and  windows 
till  he  did  sweat  with  heat  at  his  work."  From  Airlie  he 
proceeded  to  Forter — which,  by  the  way,  is  the  scene  of  the 
dialogue  of  the  ballad,  and  not  Airlie  at  all — where  Lady 
Ogilvie  was,  being  then  near  her  confinement.  Argyle  is 
said  to  have  behaved  to  her  with  much  cruelty,  turning  her 
out  of  doors,  and  even  refusing  to  grant  permission  to  her 
grandmother,  and  his  own  kinswoman,  the  Lady  Drummie, 
to  receive  her  into  her  House  of  Kelly.  The  House  of 
Forter  was  also  razed  to  the  ground,  but  not  until  the 
Campbells  had  kept  possession  of  it  for  several  months. 

The  following  version  of  the  l)allad  will  be  found  in  some 
unimportant  particulars  to  differ  from  any  other,  and  to 
compare  favourably  with  any  one  yet  published. 

It  fell  upon  a  day,  and  a  bonnic  summer  day. 
When  the  aits  grew  green  and  the  barley, 

That  there  fell  out  a  great  dispute 
Between  Argyle  and  Airlie. 

The  Duke  o'  Montrose  has  written  to  Argyle 

To  come  in  the  morning  early, 
And  he's  up  and  awa'  by  the  back  o'  Dunkcld, 

To  plunder  the  bonnie  House  o'  Airlie. 

Lady  Ogilvie  look'd  ower  frae  her  high  castle  wa', 

And  O,  but  she  sigh'd  sairly, 
When  she  saw  Argyle  wi'  a  hunder  o'  his  men, 

Come  to  plunder  the  bonnie  House  o'  Airlie. 


THE  BONNIE  HOUSE  O'  AIRLIE.  69 

"  Come  down,  come  down,  Lady  Ogilvie,"  he  says, 
"  Come  down,  and  kiss  me  fairly, 
Or  I  swear  by  the  sword  that  hangs  in  my  hand 
I  winna  leave  a  stannin'  stane  in  Airlie." 

"  I'll  no  come  down  to  thee,  proud  Argyle, 
Nor  wad  I  kiss  thee  fairly  ; 
I'll  no  come  down  thou  fause,  fause  lord, 

Tho'  thou  shouldna  leave  a  stannin'  stane  in" Airlie. 

"  But  if  my  gude  lord  had  been  at  hame, 
As  he's  awa'  wi'  Charlie,* 
There  durstna  a  Campbell  in  a'  Argyle 
Set  a  fit  upon  the  bonnie  green  o'  Airlie. 

"  If  my  gude  lord  were  here  this  nicht, 
As  he  is  wi'  King  Charlie, 
The  dearest  blude  o'  a'  thy  kin 
Wad  slocken  the  burnin'  o'  Airlie. 

"  O,  I  ha'e  borne  him  seven  bonnie  sons, 
The  youngest  ne'er  saw  his  daddie, 
And  though  I  had  as  mony  ower  again, 
I  wad  gi'e  them  a'  to  Prince  Charlie." 

Argj-le  in  a  rage  attacked  the  bonnie  ha'. 

And  he's  to  the  plundering  fairly  ; 
And  tears  tho'  he  saw,  like  dewdrops  fa', 

In  a  lowe  he  set  the  bonnie  House  o'  Airlie. 

'*  \Vhat  lowe  is  yon  ?  "  quo'  the  gude  Lochiel, 
"  That  lowps  o'er  the  hill-taps  clearly  ?  " 

•'  By  the  God  of  my  kin  !  "  cried  the  young  Ogilvie, 
"  It's  my  ain  dear  bonnie  House  o'  Airlie  ! 

*  Charles  I. 


70  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Il's  no'  the  bonnie  house,  nor  the  lands  a'  reft, 
That  grieves  my  heart  sae  sairly  ; 
But  O,  the  winsome  dame,  and  the  sweet  babes  I  left. 
They'll  be  smoor'd  in  the  black  reek  o'  Airlie." 

"  Draw  your  dirks  !  draw  your  dirks  !"  cried  the  brave 
Lochiel ; 

"  Unsheath  your  swords  !  "  cried  Charlie, 
"  And  we'll  kindle  sic  a  lowe  round  the  fause  Argyle, 

And  licht  it  wi'  a  spark  out  o'  Airlie." 


lJ)ouno  ^a  111  lane. 

The  "  Tale  of  the  Young  Tamlane,"  the  scene  of  which 
is  laid  in  Ettrick  Forest,  is  mentioned  in  "The  Complaynt 
of  Scotland,"  ]:)rinted  in  1549  ;  and  the  ballad  is  said  to  be 
a  favourite  still  with  the  rural  inhabitants  of  the  Border 
counties. 

"  Carterhaugh  is  a  plain,  at  the  conflux  of  the  Ettrick 
and  Yarrow,  in  Selkirkshire,  about  a  mile  above  Selkirk, 
and  two  miles  below  Newark  Castle,  a  romantic  ruin  which 
overhangs  the  Yarrow,  and  which  is  said  to  have  been  the 
habitation  of  our  heroine's  father,  though  others  place  his 
residence  in  the  Tower  of  Oakwood.  The  peasants  point 
out,  upon  the  plain,  those  curious  rings,  which  vulgar 
credulity  supposes  to  be  traces  of  the  Fairy  revels.  Here 
they  say,  were  placed  tlie  stands  o{  milk  and  of  water,  in 
which  '  Tamlane  '  was  dipped,  in  order  to  effect  the  dis- 
enchantment ;  and  upon  these  spots,  according  to  their 
mode  of  expressing  themselves,  the  grass  will  never  grow. 
Miles  Cross  (perhaps  a  corruption  of  Mary's  Cross,)  where 
fair  Janet  is  said  to  have  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  Fairy 
train,  is  said  to  have  stood  near  the  Duke  of  Buccleuch's 
seat  of  Bowhill,  about  half  a  mile  from  Carterhaugh.  In 
no  part  of  Scotland,  indeed,  has  the  belief  in  Fairies  main- 
tained its  ground  with  more  pertinacity  than  in  Selkirk- 
shire. The  most  sceptical  among  the  lower  ranks  only 
venture  to  assert  that  their  appearances  and  mischevious 


YOUNG  TAMLANE.  71 

exploits  have  ceased,  or  at  least  become  infrequent  since  the 
light  of  the  Gospel  was  diffused  in  its  purity." — JVhiielaw. 
The  following  version  is  derived  mainly  from  the  "Border 
Minstrelsy,"  a  good  many  verses,  for  various  reasons,  being 
deleted. 

"  O  I  forbid  ye,  maidens  a', 

That  wear  gowd  in  your  hair. 
To  come  or  gae  by  Carterhaugh, 

For  young  Tamlane  is  there." 

But  up  and  spak  her,  fair  Janet, 

The  fairest  o'  her  kin, 
"  I'll  come  and  gae  to  Carterhaugh 

And  ask  nae  leave  o'  him." 

She  has  kilted  her  green  kirtle 

A  little  abune  her  knee  ; 
And  she  has  braided  her  yellow  hair 

A  little  abune  her  bree. 

She  has  prink'd  hersel',  and  preen'd  hersel', 

By  the  ae  light  o'  the  moon, 
And  she's  awa'  to  Carterhaugh, 

To  speak  wi'  young  Tamlane. 

And  when  she  cam'  to  Carterhaugh, 

She  gaed  beside  the  well. 
And  there  she  fand  his  steed  standing, 

But  he  wasna  there  himsel'. 

She  hadna  pu'd  a  red  red  rose, 

A  rose  but  barely  three, 
When  up  and  starts  a  wee,  wee  man 

At  Lady  Janet's  knee  ! 

Says,  "  Why  pu'  ye  the  rose,  Janet  ? 

What  gars  ye  break  the  tree  ? 
Or  why  come  ye  to  Carterhaugh, 

Withouten  leave  o'  me?" 


72  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Says,  "Carterhaugh  it  is  mine  ain  ; 

My  daddie  gave  it  me  ; 
I'll  come  and  gang  to  Carterhaugh, 

And  ask  nae  leave  o'  thee." 

lie's  ta'en  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 
Amang  the  leaves  sae  green  ; 

And  sair  and  meikle  was  the  love 
That  fell  the  twa  between. 

He's  ta'en  her  by  the  milk-white  hand, 

Amang  the  roses  red  ; 
And  they  hae  vovv'd  a  solemn  vow 

Ilk  ither  for  to  wed. 

"  The  truth  ye'll  tell  to  me,  Tamlane, 

A  word  ye  maunna  lee  ; 
Gin  e'er  ye  was  in  haly  chapel. 

Or  sained*  in  Christentie  !" 

"  The  truth  I'll  tell  to  thee,  Janet, 

A  word  I  winna  lee  ; 
I  was  ta'en  to  the  good  church-door, 

And  sained  as  well  as  thee. 

"  Randolph,  Earl  Murray,  was  my  sire, 
Dunbar,  Earl  March,  is  thine  ; 

We  loved  when  we  were  children  small, 
WTiich  yet  you  well  may  mind. 

"When  I  was  a  boy  just  turn'd  of  niiie. 

My  uncle  sent  for  me, 
To  hunt,  and  hawk,  and  ride  wi'  him, 

And  keep  him  companie. 

*  Hallowed. 


YOUNG  TAMLANE. 

"  There  came  a  wind  out  of  the  north, 

A  sharp  wind  and  a  snell, 
And  a  dead  sleep  came  over  me, 

And  frae  my  horse  I  fell ; 

"  The  Queen  o'  Fairies  keppit  me, 

In  yon  green  hill  to  dwell. 
I  am  a  fairy,  lyth  and  limb  ; 

Fair  lady,  view  me  well. 

"  But  we  that  live  in  Fairy-land 

No  sickness  know  nor  pain, 
I  quit  my  body  when  I  will 

And  take  to  it  again. 

"  We  sleep  in  rose-buds,  soft  and  sweet, 

We  revel  in  the  stream, 
We  wanton  lightly  on  the  wind, 

Or  glide  on  a  sun-beam. 

"And  I  would  never  tire,  Janet, 

In  fairy-land  to  dwell  ; 
But  aye,  at  ilka  seven  years, 

They  pay  the  teind  to  hell  ; 
But  I'm  sae  fat  and  fair  o'  flesh, 

I  fear  'twill  be  mysel'  ! 

"  This  night  is  Hallowe'en,  Janet, 

The  morn  is  Hallowday, 
And  gin  ye  dare  your  true  love  win. 

Ye  hae  nae  time  to  stay. 

"  The  night  it  is  good  Hallowe'en, 

When  fairy  folk  will  ride. 
And  she  that  wad  her  true  love  win. 

At  Miles  Cross  she  maun  bide. 


74  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  And  ye  maun  gae  to  the  Miles  Cross, 
Between  twal  hours  and  one, 

Tak'  haly  water  in  your  hand. 
And  cast  a  compass  roun'." 

"  And  how  shall  I  thee  ken,  Tanilane? 

And  how  shall  I  thee  knaw, 
Amang  sae  many  unearthly  knights, 

The  like  I  never  saw  ?  " 

"  The  first  company  that  passes  by, 
Say  na,  and  let  them  gae  ; 

The  neist  company  that  passes  by, 
Say  na,  and  do  right  sae  ; 

The  third  company  that  passes  by. 
Then  I'll  be  ane  o'  thae. 

"  For  I  ride  on  the  milk-white  steed, 
Wi'  a  gold  star  in  my  crown  ; 

Because  I  was  a  christen'd  knight. 
They  gie  me  that  renown. 

"  First  let  pass  the  black,  Janet, 
And  syne  let  pass  the  brown. 

But  grip  ye  to  the  milk-white  steed, 
And  pu'  the  rider  doun. 

"  My  right  hand  will  be  gloved,  Janet, 
]\Iy  left  hand  will  be  bare  ; 

And  these  the  tokens  I  gie  thee, 
Nae  doubt  I  will  be  there. 

"  They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janei, 

An  adder  and  a  snake  ; 
But  baud  me  fast,  let  me  not  pass, 

Gin  ye  would  be  my  maik. 


YOUNG  TAMLANE.  75 

"  They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

An  adder  and  an  ask  ; 
They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

A  bale  that  burns  fast. 

"  They'll  turn  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

A  red-hot  gad  o'  aim ; 
But  haud  me  fast,  let  me  not  pass, 

For  I'll  do  you  nae  harm. 

"  First  dip  me  in  a  stand  o'  milk, 

Then  in  a  stand  o'  water ; 
But  haud  me  fast,  let  me  not  pass  ; 

I'll  be  your  bairn's  father. 

■"  They'll  shape  me  in  your  arms,  Janet, 

A  dove,  but  and  a  swan  : 
And  last  they'll  shape  me  in  your  arms 

A  mother-naked  man  : 
Cast  your  green  mantle  over  me — 

I'll  be  mysel'  again." 

■Gloomy,  gloomy  was  the  night. 

And  eerie  was  the  way. 
As  fair  Janet,  in  her  green  mantle, 

To  Miles  Cross  she  did  gae. 

About  the  dead  hour  o'  the  night. 

She  heard  the  bridles  ring. 
And  Janet  was  as  glad  o'  that. 

As  ony  earthly  thing. 

There's  haly  water  in  her  hand, 

She's  cast  a  compass  round  ; 
And  straight  she  sees  a  fairy  band 

Come  riding  o'er  the  mound. 


76  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Fair  Janet  stood  with  mind  unmoved, 

The  dreary  heath  upon, 
And  louder,  louder  waxed  the  sound 

As  they  came  riding  on. 

And  first  gaed  by  the  black,  black  steed. 
And  then  gaed  by  the  brown  ; 

But  fast  she  gript  the  milk-white  steed, 
And  pu'd  the  rider  down. 

She  pu'd  him  frae  the  milk-white  steed, 

And  loot  the  bridle  fa'  ; 
And  up  there  raise  an  elrish  cry  ; 

"  He's  won  amang  us  a'  !  " 

They  shaped  him  in  fair  Janet's  arms 

An  ask,  but  and  an  adder  ; 
She  held  him  fast  in  every  shape, 

To  be  her  ain  true  lover. 

They  shaped  him  in  her  arms  at  last 

A  mother-naked  man, 
She  cuist  her  mantle  over  him, 

And  sae  her  true  love  wan. 

Up  then  spak'  the  Queen  o'  Fairies, 

Out  o'  a  bush  o'  broom  : 
"  She  that  has  borrow'd  young  Tamlane, 

Has  gotten  a  stately  groom  !  " 

Up  then  spak'  the  Queen  o'  Fairies, 

Out  o'  a  bush  o'  rye  : 
*'  She's  ta'en  away  the  bonniest  knight 

In  a'  my  companie  ! 

"  l!ut  had  I  kenn'd,  Tamlane,"  she  says, 
"  A  lady  wad  borrow  thee, 

I  wad  hae  ta'en  out  thy  twa  grey  een, 
Put  in  twa  een  o'  tree  ! 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  77 

"  Had  I  but  kenn'd,  Tamlane,"  she  says, 

"  Before  ye  came  frae  hame, 
I  wad  tane  out  yer  heart  o'  flesh, 

Put  in  a  heart  o'  stane. 

•'  Had  I  but  had  the  wit  yestreen, 

That  I  ha'e  coft  the  day — 
I'd  paid  my  kane  seven  times  to  hell, 

Ere  you'd  been  won  away  !  " 


Mill  anb  3can. 

"  Scotland's  Scaith  :  or  the  History  of  Will  and  Jean," 
was  written  by  Hector  Macneill,  a  lyric  poet  of  fine  taste 
and  fancy,  the  author  of  "  Jeanie's  Black  E'e,"  "Come 
under  my  Plaidie,"  "  My  Boy  Tammy,"  and  other  popular 
songs  and  poems.  He  was  born  at  Rosebank,  on  the  Esk, 
near  Roslin,  on  the  22nd  of  October,  1746,  adopted  a  com- 
mercial profession,  and  spent  about  twenty-five  years  of  his 
life  in  the  West  Indies.  On  his  return  to  his  native  land, 
about  1788,  he  took  up  his  residence  in  Stirling,  and 
entered  upon  a  literary  career.  He  wrote  several  novels, 
and  was  editor  for  a  time  of  the  Scots  Magazine.  The 
latter  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  Edinburgh,  where  he 
died  on  the  15th  of  March,  1818,  in  his  72nd  year. 
Macneill's  reputation  rests  chiefly  on  his  lyrical  history  of 
•'  Will  and  Jean,"  an  ower  true  tale.  Resembling  Wilson's 
ballad  of  "  W^atty  and  Meg  "  in  subject,  its  popularity  was 
also  somewhat  similar,  10,000  copies  of  "Will  and  Jean  " 
having  been  sold  in  a  single  month.  The  poem,  were  it 
more  widely  diffused,  would  be  popular  still. 

PART  I. 

Wha  was  ance  like  Willie  Gairlace — 
Wha  in  neighbouring  town  or  farm  ? 

Beauty's  bloom  shone  in  his  fair  face. 
Deadly  strength  was  in  his  arm. 


78  AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

Wha  vvi'  Will  could  rin  or  wrastle, 
Throw  the  sledge,  or  toss  the  bar  ? 

Hap  what  would,  he  stood  a  castle, 
Or  for  safety,  or  for  war. 

Warm  his  heart,  and  mild  as  manfu', 
With  the  bauld  he  l)auld  could  be  ; 

But  to  friends  wha  had  their  handfu'. 
Purse  and  service  aye  were  free. 

When  he  first  saw  Jeanie  Miller, 
Wha  wi'  Jeanie  could  compare  ? 

Thousands  had  mair  braws  and  siller. 
But  were  ony  half  sae  fair  ? 

Saft  her  smile  raise  like  May  morning. 
Glinting  ower  Demait's  *  brow  ; 

Sweet  !  wi'  opening  charms  adorning 
Strevlin'st  lovely  plains  below. 

Kind  and  gentle  was  her  nature  ; 

At  ilk  place  she  bore  the  bell  ; 
Sic  a  bloom,  and  shape,  and  stature  ! 

But  her  look  nae  tongue  can  tell  ! 

Such  was  Jean  when  Will  first,  mawing, 
Spied  her  on  a  thrawart  beast  ; 

Flew  like  fire,  and,  just  when  fa'ing, 
Kcpp'd  her  on  his  manly  breast. 

Light  he  bare  her,  pale  as  ashes, 
'Cross  the  meadow,  fragrant,  green  ; 

Placed  her  on  the  new-mawn  rashes, 
Watching  sad  her  opening  een. 


*  One  of  the  Ochil  Hills,  near  Stirling.     Dun-ma-chit  (Gaelic),  the 
hill  of  the  good  prospect.     It  is  pronounced  Demyit. 
t  The  ancient  name  of  Stirling. 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  79 

Such  was  Will,  when  poor  Jean,  fainting, 

Drapt  into  a  lover's  arms  ; 
Waken'd  to  his  saft  lamenting, 

Sighed,  and  blushed  a  thousand  charms. 

Soon  they  lo'ed,  and  soon  they  buckled  ; 

Nane  took  time  to  think  and  rue  ; 
Youth,  and  worth,  and  beauty  coupled — 

Love  had  never  less  to  do. 

Three  short  years  flew  by  fu'  canty 
Jean  and  Will  thought  them  but  ane  ; 

Ilka  day  brought  joy  and  plenty. 
Ilka  year  a  dainty  wean. 

Will  wrought  sair,  but  aye  wi'  pleasure, 

Jean,  the  hale  day,  spun  and  sang — 
Will  and  weans,  her  constant  treasure, 

Blest  wi'  them,  nae  day  seem'd  lang. 

Trig  her  house,  and,  oh  !  to  busk  aye 

Ilk  sweet  bairn  was  a'  her  pride  ! 
But  at  this  time  news  and  whisky 

Sprang  na  up  at  ilk  roadside. 

Luckless  was  the  hour  when  Willie, 

Hame  returning  frae  the  fair, 
Owertook  Tam,  a  neighbour  billie, 

Sax  miles  frae  their  hame  and  mair. 

Simmer's  heat  had  lost  its  fury, 

Calmly  smiled  the  sober  e'en  ; 
Lasses  on  the  bleachfield  hurry, 

Skelping  barefoot  ower  the  green. 

Labour  rang  wi'  laugh  and  clatter. 

Canty  hairst  was  just  begun. 
And  on  movintain,  tree,  and  water, 

Glinted  saft  the  setting  sun. 


So  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Will  and  Tam,  \vi'  hearts  a'  louping, 
Mark'd  the  hale,  but  couldna'  bide  ; 

Far  frae  hame,  nae  time  for  stopping, 
Baith  wish'd  for  their  ain  fireside. 

On  they  travell'd,  warm  and  drouthy, 
Cracking  ower  the  news  in  town  ; 

The  mair  they  crack'd  the  mair  ilk  youthy 
Pray'd  for  drink  to  wash  news  down. 

Fortune,  wha  but  seldom  listens 
To  poor  merit's  modest  prayer, 

And  on  fools  heaps  needless  blessin's, 
Ilarken'd  to  our  drouthy  pair. 

In  a  howm,  whase  bonnie  burnie 
Whimpering  row'd  its  crystal  flood. 

Near  the  road,  where  travelers  turn  aye, 
Neat  and  bield,  a  cot-house  stood. 

White  the  wa's,  wi'  roof  new  theekit, 
W^indow  brods  just  painted  red  ; 

Lown  'mang  trees  and  braes  it  reekit, 
Ilaflins  seen  and  haflins  hid. 

Up  the  gavel  end,  thick  spreadin'. 
Crap  the  clasping  ivy  green  ; 

Back  ower,  firs  the  high  craigs  cleadin'. 
Raised  a'  round  a  cozie  screen. 

Down  below,  a  flowery  meadow 
Join'd  the  burnie's  rambling  line  ; — 

Here  it  was  Meg  Howe,  the  widow. 
This  same  day  set  up  her  sign. 

Brattling  down  the  brae,  and  near  its 
Bottom,  Will  first  marv'ling  sees— 

''Porter,  Ale,  and  British  Spirits," 
Painted  bright  between  twa  trees. 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  S 

*'  Goodsake  !  Tarn,  here's  walth  for  drinking  ; 

(Wha  can  this  new  comer  be  ?") 
"  Hoot  !"  quo'  Tam,  "  there's  drouth  in  tliinking- 

Let's  in,  Will,  and  syne  we'll  see." 

Nae  mair  time  they  took  to  speak  or 

Think  of  ought  but  reaming  jugs, 
Till  three  times  in  humming  liquor 

Ilk  lad  deeply  laid  his  lugs. 

Sloken'd  now,  refresh'd  and  talking, 
In  cam'  Meg  (weel  skill'd  to  please) — 

"  Sirs,  ye're  surely  tired  wi'  walking — 
Ye  maun  taste  my  bread  and  cheese." 

"Thanks,"  quo'  Will,  "  I  canna  tarry. 

Pick  mirk  night  is  setting  in  : 
Jean,  poor  thing  !  's  her  lane,  and  eerie — 

I  maun  to  the  road  and  rin." 

"  Hoot  !"  quo'  Tam,  "  what's  a'  the  hurry  ? 

Haine's  now  scarce  a  mile  o'  gate — 
Come  !  sit  down — Jean  winna  weary  : 

Dear  me,  man,  it's  no  sae  late  !" 

Will,  owercome  wi'  Tam's  oration, 

Baith  fell  to,  and  ate  their  fill  ; 
"  Tam,"  quo'  Will,  "  in  mere  discretion, 

We  maun  hae  the  widow's  gill." 

After  ae  gill  cam'  anither — 

Meg  sat  cracking  'tween  them  twa  ; 

Bang  !  cam'  in  Mat  Smith  and's  brither, 
Geordie  Brown,  and  Sandie  Shaw. 

Neibours,  wha  ne'er  thought  to  meet  here, 

Now  sat  down  wi'  double  glee  ; 
Ilka  gill  grew  sweet  and  sweeter — 

Will  got  hame  'tween  twa  and  three. 
F 


82  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Jean,  poor  thing,  had  lang  been  greetin'  ; 

Will,  next  morning,  blamed  Tarn  Lowes  ; 
But,  ere  lang,  a  weekly  meetin' 

Was  set  up  at  Maggy  Howe's. 


PART  II. 

Maist  things  hae  a  sma'  beginning, 
But  wha  kens  how  things  will  end  ? 

Weekly  clubs  are  nae  great  sinning. 
If  folk  hae  enough  to  spend. 

But  nae  man  o'  sober  thinking 

E'er  will  say  that  things  can  thrive, 

;  r  there's  spent  in  weekly  drinking 
What  keeps  wife  and  weans  alive. 

Drink  maun  aye  hae  conversation. 

Ilka  social  soul  allows  ; 
But  in  this  reforming  nation, 

Wha  can  speak  without  the  news? 

News,  first  meant  for  state  physicians, 
Deeply  skill'd  in  courtly  drugs  ; 

Now,  when  a'  are  politicians, 
Just  to  set  folks  by  the  lugs. 

Maggie's  club,  wha  could  get  nae  light 
On  some  things  that  should  be  clear. 

Found  ere  lang  the  fault,  and  ae  night 
Clubb'd,  and  got  the  Gazetteer* 


*  The  Edinburgh  Gazetteer,  a  violent  opposition  paper,  published 
in  1793-4- 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  83 

Twice  a-week  to  Maggie's  cot-house, 

Swift  by  post  the  papers  fled  ; 
Thoughts  spring  up,  like  plants  in  hot-house, 

Every  time  the  news  are  read. 

Ilk  ane's  wiser  than  anither — 

"  Things  are  no  gaun  right,"  quo'  Tam  ; 
"  Let  us  aftener  meet  thegither — 

Twice  a-week's  no  worth  a  d — n." 

See  them  now  in  grave  convention. 
To  mak  a'  things  "  square  and  even  ; " 

Or  at  least  wi'  firm  intention 

To  drink  sax  nights  out  o'  seven. 

'Mid  this  sitting  up  and  drinking. 

Gathering  a'  the  news  that  fell, 
Will,  wha  wasna  yet  past  thinking. 

Had  some  battles  wi'  himsel'. 

On  a'e  hand,  drink's  deadly  poison 

Bore  ilk  firm  resolve  awa'  ; 
On  the  ither,  Jean's  condition 

Rave  his  very  heart  in  twa. 

Weel  he  saw  her  smother'd  sorrow, 

Weel  he  saw  her  bleaching  cheek  ! 
Mark'd  the  smile  she  strave  to  borrow. 

When,  puir  thing,  she  couldna  speak  I 

Jean,  at  first,  took  little  heed  o' 

Weekly  clubs  'mang  three  or  four  ; 
Thought,  kind  soul  !  that  Will  had  need  o' 

Heartsome  hours  when  wark  was  ower. 

But  when  now  that  nightly  meetings 

Sat  and  drank  frae  sax  till  twa — 
When  she  found  that  hard-earn'd  gettings 

Now  on  drink  were  thrown  awa  ; 


84  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Saw  her  Will,  wha  ance  sae  cheerie 
Raise  ilk  morning  wi'  the  lark, 

Now  grown  mauchless,  dowf,  and  sweer  aye 
To  look  near  his  farm  or  wark  ; 

Saw  him  tync  his  manly  spirit. 

Healthy  bloom,  and  sprightly  e'e  ; 

And  o'  love  and  hame  grown  wearit ; 
Nightly  frae  his  family  flee  ; — 

Wha  could  blame  her  heart's  complaining  ? 

Wha  condemn  her  sorrows  meek  ? 
Or  the  tears  that  now  ilk  e'ening 

Bleach'd  her  lately  crimson'd  cheek  ? 

Will,  wha  lang  had  rued  and  swither'd, 
(Aye  ashamed  o'  past  disgrace) 

Mark'd  the  roses  as  they  wither'd 
Fast  on  Jeanie's  lovely  face. 

Mark'd — and  felt  wi'  inward  racking, 

A'  the  wyte  lay  wi'  himsel'  ; 
Swore  next  night  he'd  mak  a  breaking — 

D — d  the  club  and  news  to  hell. 

But,  alas  !  when  habit's  rooted. 
Few  hae  pith  the  root  to  pu' ; 

Will's  resolves  were  aye  non-suited — 
Promised  aye,  but  aye  got  fou  ; 

Aye  at  first  at  the  couveiii)ig. 
Moralised  on  what  was  right ; 

Yet  over  clavers  entertaining. 

Dozed  and  drank  till  braid  daylight. 

Things  at  length  draw  near  an  ending — 
Cash  runs  out  ;  Jean,  quite  unhappy, 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  8$ 

Sees  that  Will  is  now  past  mending, 
Tynes  a'  heart,  and  taks  a — drappy  !  * 

Ilka  drink  deserves  a  posey — 

Port  makes  men  rude,  claret  civil  ; 
Beer  maks  Britons  stout  and  rosy. 

Whisky  maks  ilk  wife — a  devil. 

Jean,  wha  lately  bore  affliction 

Wi'  sae  meek  and  mild  an  air, 
School'd  by  whisky,  learns  new  tricks  soon, 

Flytes,  and  storms,  and  rugs  Will's  hair. 

Jean,  sae  late  the  tenderest  mither, 

Fond  of  ilk  dear  dawted  wean  : 
Now,  heart-harden'd  a'  thegither, 

Skelps  them  round  frae  morn  till  e'en. 

Jean,  wha  vogie,  loed  to  busk  aye 

In  her  hame-spun,  thrifty  wark, 
Now  sells  a'  her  braws  for  whisky. 

To  her  last  gown,  coat,  and  sark  ! 

Robin  Burns,  in  mony  a  ditty, 

Loudly  sings  in  whisky's  praise  ; 
Sweet  his  sang  ! — the  mair's  the  pity 

E're  on  it  he  wared  sic  lays. 

O'  a'  the  ills  poor  Caledonia 

E'er  yet  pree'd,  or  e'er  will  taste, 
Brew'd  in  hell's  black  Pandemonia, 

Whisky's  ill  will  scaith  her  maist  ! 

*  The  author  cannot  refrain  from  seizing  the  last  opportunity  he  may 
ever  have,  to  caution  his  female  readers  against  the  vice  here  inten- 
tionally introduced.  Women  are  not  sufficiently  aware  of  the  dangers 
annexed  to  the  siiiallest  indulgence  in  spirituous  liquors.  _A  delicate 
frame  or  a  susceptible  mind  experiencing  a  temporary  relief  frorn  a 
pernicious  stimulus,  has  recourse  to  it  at  a  time  when  the  best  cordials 
are  fortitude  and  resignation.  Hence  the  deplorable  habit  of  dram- 
drinking — a  habit  the  most  disgusting — the  most  degrading  to  the 
female  character. 


86  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Wha  was  ance  like  Willie  Gairlace? 

Wha  in  neighbouring  town  or  farm  ? 
Beauty's  bloom  shone  in  his  fair  face, 

Deadly  strength  was  in  his  arm  ! 

When  he  first  saw  Jeanie  Miller, 
Wha  wi'  Jeanie  could  compare  ? 

Thousands  had  mair  braws  and  siller, 
But  were  ony  half  sae  fair  ? 

See  them  7ioiv — how  changed  wi'  drinkin'  ! 

A'  their  youthfu'  beauty  gane  ? — 
Daver'd,  doited,  dazed,  and  blinkin'. 

Worn  to  perfect  skin  and  bane  ! 

In  the  cauld  month  o'  November, 
(Claise,  and  cash,  and  credit  out) 

Cow'ring  ower  a  dying  ember, 
Wi'  ilk  face  as  white's  a  clout  ; 

Bond  and  bill,  and  debts  a'  stopped. 

Ilka  sheaf  sell  on  the  bent ! 
Cattle,  beds,  and  blankets  rouped. 

Now  to  pay  the  laird  his  rent. 

No  another  night  to  lodge  here, 
No  a  friend  their  cause  to  plead  ! 

He  taen  on  to  be  a  sodger. 

She,  wi'  weans,  to  beg  her  bread  ! 

O'  a'  the  ills  poor  Caledonia 

E'er  yet  pree'd,  or  e'er  will  taste, 

Brew'd  in  hell's  black  Pandemonia 
Whisky's  ill  will  scailh  her  maist  ! 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  87 


PART  in. 

Oh  !  that  folk  wad  weel  consider 

What  it  is  to  tyne  a — name. 
What  this  vvarld  is  a'  thegither, 

If  bereft  o'  honest  fame  ! 

Pooitith  ne'er  can  bring  dishonour, 
Plardships  ne'er  breed  sorrow's  smart, 

If  bright  Conscieiice  taks  upon  her 
To  shed  sunshine  round  the  heart. 

But  wi'  a'  that  wealth  can  borrow, 
Guilty  shame  will  aye  look  down  ; 

What  maun  then  shame,  want,  and  sorrow, 
Wandering  sad  frae  town  to  town  ! 

Jeanie  Miller,  ance  sae  cheerie, 
Ance  sae  happy,  good,  and  fair, 

Left  by  Will,  next  morning,  drearie, 
Taks  the  road  o'  black  Despair  ! 

Cauld  the  blast — the  day  was  sleeting  ; 

Pouch  and  purse  without  a  plack  ! 
In  ilk  hand  a  bairnie  greeting. 

And  the  third  tied  on  her  back. 

Wan  her  face,  and  lean  and  haggard, 
Ance  sae  sonsy — ance  sae  sweet ; 

What  a  change  ! — unhoused  and  beggar'd. 
Starving,  without  claise  or  meat  ! 

Far  frae  ilk  kent  spot  she  wander'd. 

Skulking  like  a  guilty  thief ; 
Here  and  there  uncertain  daunder'd, 

Stupified  wi'  shame  and  grief ; 


AULD  SCOTS  llALLANTS. 

But  soon  shame  for  bygane  errors 
Fled  ower  fast  for  e'e  to  trace, 

When  grim  death  wi'  a'  his  terrors 
Cam'  ower  ilk  sweet  bairnie's  face. 

Spent  wi'  toil,  and  cauld,  and  hunger, 
Ijaith  down  drapt,  and  down  Jean  sat 

Dazed  and  doited  now  nae  longer, 

Thought — and  felt — and  bursting  grat. 

Cloamin'  fast,  wi'  mirky  shadow. 
Crap  ower  distant  hill  and  plain  ; 

Darken'd  wood,  and  glen,  and  meadow, 
Adding  fearfu'  thoughts  to  pain. 

Round  and  round,  in  wild  distraction, 
Jeanie  turn'd  her  tearfu'  e'e  ; 

Round  and  round  for  some  protection — 
Face  nor  house  she  coudna  see  ! 

Dark  and  darker  grew  the  night  aye  ; 

Loud  and  sair  the  cauld  winds  thud  ! 
Jean  now  spied  a  sma'  bit  lichtie 

Blinkin'  through  a  distant  wood. 

Up  wi'  frantic  haste  she  started  : 
Cauld  nor  fear  she  felt  nae  mair  ; 

Hope  for  ae  bright  moment  darted 
Through  the  gloom  o'  dark  Despair. 

I'ast  ower  fallow'il  lea  she  brattled, 
Deep  she  wade  through  bog  and  burn 

Sair  wi'  steep  and  craig  she  battled. 
Till  she  rcach'd  the  hoped  sojourn. 

Proud,  'mang  scenes  o'  simple  nature. 
Stately  auld,  a  mansion  stood 

On  a  bank,  whase  sylvan  feature 
Smiled  out  ower  the  roaring  Hood. 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  89 

Summer  here,  in  varied  beauty, 

Late  her  flowery  mantle  spread, 
Where  auld  chestnut,  aik,  and  yew  tree, 

Mingling,  lent  their  friendly  shade. 

Blasted  now  wi'  winter's  ravage, 

A'  their  gaudy  livery  cast, 
Wood  and  glen,  in  wailings  savage, 

Howl  and  murmur  to  the  blast  ! 

Darkness  stalk'd  wi'  Fancy's  terror — - 
Mountains  moved,  and  castle  rock'd  ! 

Jean,  half  dead  wi'  toil  and  horror, 

Reach'd  the  door,  and  loudly  knock'd. 

"  Wha  thus  rudely  wakes  the  sleeping  ?  " 

Cried  a  voice  wi'  angry  grane  ; 
"  Help  !  oh  help  !  "  quo'  Jeanie,  weeping — 

"  Help  my  infants,  or  they're  gane  ! 

"  Nipp'd  wi'  cauld — wi'  hunger  faintin' — 

Baith  lie  speechless  on  the  lea  ! 
Help  !  "  quo'  Jeanie,  loud  lamentin', 

"  Help  my  lammies,  or  they'll  dee  !  " 

"  Wha  thus  travels,  cauld  and  hungry, 

Wi'  young  bairns  sae  late  at  een  ? 
Beggars  !  "  cried  the  voice,  mair  angry, 

"Beggars  !  wi'  their  brats,  I  ween." 

"  Beggars  nozu,  alas  !  wha  lately 

Help'd  the  beggar  and  the  poor  !  " 
"  Fy  !  gudeman,"  cried  ane  discreetly, 

"  Taunt  nae  poortith  at  our  door. 

"  Sic  a  night  and  tale  thegither 

Plead  for  mair  than  anger's  din  ; 
Rise,  Jock,"  cried  the  pitying  mither — 

"  Rise,  and  let  the  wretched  in." 


90  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Beggars,  now,  alas  !  wha  lately 
Ilelp'd  the  beggar  and  the  poor  !  " 

"  Enter  !  "  quo'  the  youth,  fu'  sweetly, 
While  up  flew  the  open  door. 

"  Beggar,  or  what  else,  sad  mourner  ! 

Enter  without  fear  or  dread  ; 
Here,  thank  God  !  there's  aye  a  corner 

To  defend  the  houseless  head. 

"  For  your  bairnies  cease  repining  ; 

If  in  life,  ye'll  see  them  soon." 
Aff  he  flew  ;  and,  brightly  shining, 

Through  the  dark  clouds  brak  the  moon. 


PART  IV. 

Here,  for  ae  night's  kind  protection, 
Leave  we  Jean  and  weans  a  while  ; 

Tracing  Will  in  ilk  direction, 
Far  frae  Britain's  fostering  isle. 

Far  frae  scenes  o'  saft'ning  pleasure, 
Love's  delights  and  beauty's  charms  ! 

Far  frae  friends  and  social  leisure — 
Plunged  in  murdering  War's  alarms  ! 

Is  it  nature,  vice,  or  folly. 

Or  ambition's  feverish  brain. 
That  sae  aft  wi'  melancholy 

Turns,  sweet  Peace,  thy  joys  to  pain  ?- 

Strips  thee  of  thy  robes  of  ermine, 
(Emblems  of  thy  spotless  life), 

And  in  War's  grim  look  alarming. 

Arms  thee  with  the  murderer's  knife  ?- 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  91 

A'  thy  gentle  mind  upharrovvs — 

Hate,  revenge,  and  rage  uprears  ; 
And  for  hope  and  joy  (twin  marrows). 

Leaves  the  mourner  drown'd  in  tears? 

Willie  Gairlace,  without  siller, 

Credit,  claise,  or  ought  beside, 
Leaves  his  ance-loved  Jeanie  Miller, 

And  sweet  bairns,  to  warld  wide  ! — 

Leaves  his  native  cozie  dwelling, 

Shelter'd  haughs,  and  birken  braes, 
Greenswaird  howes,  and  dainty  mailing, 

Ance  his  profit,  pride,  and  praise. 

Deck'd  wi'  scarlet,  sword,  and  musket, 

Drunk  wi'  dreams  as  fause  as  vain  ; 
Fleech'd  and  flatter'd,  roosed  and  buskit, 

Wow  !  but  Will  was  wond'rous  fain  : 

Rattling,  roaring,  swearing,  drinking — 
How  could  Thought  her  station  keep  ? 

Drams  and  drumming  (faes  to  thinking) 
Dozed  reflection  fast  asleep. 

But  in  midst  o'  toils  and  dangers, 

Wi'  the  cauld  ground  for  his  bed, 
Compass'd  round  wi'  faes  and  strangers, 

Soon  Will's  dreams  o'  fancy  fled. 

Led  to  battle's  blood-dyed  banners 

Waving  to  the  widow's  moan. 
Will  saw  glory's  boasted  honours 

End  in  life's  expiring  groan  ! 

Round  Valenciennes'  strong-wa'd  city, 

Thick  ower  Dunkirk's  fatal  plain. 
Will  (though  dauntless)  saw  wi'  pity 

Britain's  valiant  sons  lie  slain. 


92  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Fired  by  Freedom's  burning  fever, 

Gallia  strack  death's  slaughtering  knell  ; 

Frae  the  Schelde  to  Rhine's  deep  river, 
Britons  fought— but  Britons  fell  ! 

Fell  unaided  !  though  cemented 
By  the  faith  o'  Friendship's  laws  ; 

Fell  unpitied — unlamented, 

Bleeding  in  a  thankless  cause  !  * 

In  the  thrang  o'  comrades  deeing, 
Fighting  foremost  o'  them  a', 

Swift  fate's  w^inged  ball  cam'  fleeing, 
And  took  Willie's  leg  awa'  ; 

Thrice  frae  aff  the  ground  he  started, 
Thrice  to  stand  he  strave  in  vain  ; 

Thrice,  as  fainting  strength  departed, 
Sigh'd — and  sank  'mang  hundreds  slain. 

On  a  cart,  wi'  comrades  bleeding, 
Stiff  wi'  gore,  and  cauld  as  clay, 

Without  cover,  bed,  or  bedding, 
Five  lang  nights  Will  Gairlace  lay 

In  a  sick  house,  damp  and  narrow, 
(Left  behind  wi'  mony  mair). 

See  Will  next,  in  pain  and  sorrow, 
Wasting  on  a  bed  o'  care. 

Wounds,  and  pain,  and  burning  fever, 
Doctors  cured  wi'  healing  art — 

Cured,  alas  !  but  never,  never 
Cool'd  the  fever  at  his  heart. 


Alluding  to  the  conduct  of  the  Dutch. 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  93 

For  when  a'  were  sound  and  sleeping, 

Still  and  on,  baith  ear'  and  late. 
Will  in  briny  grief  lay  steeping, 

Mourning  o'er  his  hapless  fate. 

A'  his  gowden  prospects  vanish'd, 

A'  his  dreams  o'  warlike  fame, 
A'  his  glittering  phantoms  banish'd, 

Will  could  think  o'  nought  but — hame  ! 

Think  o'  nought  but  rural  quiet, 

Rural  labour,  rural  ploys, 
Far  frae  carnage,  blood,  and  riot, 

War,  and  a'  its  murdering  joys. 


PART  V. 

Back  to  Britain's  fertile  garden 

Will's  return'd  (exchanged  for  faes), 

Wi'  ae  leg,  and  no  ae  farden. 

Friend,  or  credit,  meat,  or  claise. 

Lang  through  county,  burgh,  city, 
Crippling  on  a  wooden  leg, 

Gathering  alms  frae  melting  pity- 
See  poor  Gairlace  forced  to  beg  ! 

Placed  at  length  on  Chelsea's  bounty. 
Now  to  langer  beg  thinks  shame  ; 

Dreams  ance  mair  o'  smiling  plenty — 
Dreams  o'  former  joys  and  hame. 

Hame  !  and  a'  its  fond  attractions 
Fast  to  Wills  warm  bosom  flee  ; 

While  the  thoughts  o'  dear  connexions 
Swell  his  heart  and  blind  his  e'e. 


94  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Monster  !  wha  could  leave  neglected 
Three  sma'  infants  and  a  wife, 

Naked — starving — unprotected  ! 
Them,  too,  dearer  ance  than  life. 

Villain  !  wha  wi'  graceless  folly 
Ruin'd  her  he  ought  to  save. 

Changed  her  joys  to  melancholy. 
Beggary,  and — perhaps  a  grave  !  " 

Starting,  wi'  remorse  distracted, 
Crush'd  wi'  Grief's  increasing  load, 

Up  he  bang'd  ;  and,  sair  afflicted, 
Sad  and  silent  took  the  road. 

Sometimes  briskly,  sometimes  flaggin', 
Sometimes  hclpit,  Will  got  forth  ; 

On  a  cart,  or  in  a  waggon, 

Hirplin'  aye  towards  the  north. 

Tired  ac  e'enin',  stepping  hooly. 
Pondering  on  his  thrawart  fate. 

In  the  bonny  month  o'  July, 
Willie,  heedless,  tint  his  gate. 

Saft  the  southlan'  breeze  was  blawin', 
Sweetly  sugh'd  the  green  aik  wood  ; 

Loud  the  din  o'  streams  fast  fa'in', 
Strak  the  ear  wi'  thundering  thud. 

Ewes  and  lambs  on  braes  ran  bleeling, 
Linties  chirp'd  on  ilka  tree  ; 

Frae  the  west,  the  sun,  near  setting. 
Flamed  on  Roslin's  *  towers  sae  hie. 


Roslin  Castle. 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  95 

Roslin's  towers,  and  braes  sae  bonnie, 

Craigs  and  water,  woods  and  glen — 
Roslin's  banks,  unpeer'd  by  ony, 

Save  the  Muses'  Hawthornden  !* 

Ilka  sound  and  charm  delighting, 

Will  (though  hardly  fit  to  gang) 
Wander'd  on  through  scenes  inviting, 

List'ning  to  the  mavis'  sang. 

Faint  at  length,  the  day  fast  closing, 

On  a  fragrant  strawberry  steep, 
Esk's  sweet  stream  to  rest  composing. 

Wearied  nature  drapp'd  asleep. 

"  Soldier,  rise  ! — the  dews  o'  e'ening 

Gathering,  fa'  wi'  deadly  scaith  ; 
Wounded  soldier,  if  complaining. 

Sleep  na  here  and  catch  your  death. 

"Traveller,  waken! — night  advancing, 
Cleads  wi'  grey  the  neighbouring  hill  ; 

Lambs  nae  mair  on  knowes  are  dancing — 
A'  the  woods  are  mute  and  still." 

"What  hae  I,"  cried  Willie,  waking, 

"  What  hae  I  frae  nicht  to  dree  ? 
Morn,  through  clouds  in  splendour  breaking. 

Lights  nae  bright'ning  hope  to  me. 

"  House,  nor  hame,  nor  farm,  nor  steading, 

Wife  nor  bairns  hae  I  to  see  ; 
House,  nor  hame,  nor  bed,  nor  bedding — 

What  hae  I  frae  nicht  to  dree  ?  " 


*  The  ancient  seat  of  the  celebrated  poet,  William  Drummond,  who 
flourished  in  1585. 


96  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"Sair,  alas  !  and  sad  and  many 
Are  the  ills  poor  mortals  share  ; 

Yet,  though  hame  nor  bed  ye  hae  na, 
Yield  na,  soldier,  to  despair. 

"What's  this  life,  sae  wae  and  wearic, 
If  Hope's  bright'ning  beams  should  fail  ? 

See  !  though  night  comes  dark  and  eerie, 
Yon  sma'  cot-light  cheers  the  dale. 

"There,  though  wealth  and  waste  ne'er  riot, 
Humbler  joys  their  comforts  shed — 

Labour,  health,  content,  and  quiet  ; 
Mourner,  there  yc'll  find  a  bed. 

"  Wife,  tis'  true,  wi'  bairnies  smiling. 
There,  alas  !  ye  needna  seek — 

Yet  there  bairns,  ilk  wae  beguiling, 
Paint  wi'  smiles  a  mother's  cheek. 

"  A"  her  earthly  pride  and  pleasure 
Left  to  cheer  her  widow'd  lot  ; 

A'  her  warldly  wealth  and  treasure 
To  adorn  her  lancly  cot. 

"Cheer,  then,  soldier!  'midst  aflliction 
Bright'ning  joys  will  aften  shine  ; 

Yirtue  aye  claims  Heaven's  protection- 
Trust  to  Providence  divine  !  " 


PART  YL 

Sweet  as  Rosebank's*  woods  and  river. 
Cool  when  summer's  sunbeams  dart. 

Came  ilk  word,  and  cool'd  the  fever 
That  lang  burn'd  at  Willie's  heart. 

Rosebank,  near  Roslin,  the  author's  place  of  nativity. 


WILL  AND  JEAN.  97 

Silent  stepp'd  he  on,  puir  fallow  ! 

Listening  to  his  guide  before, 
Ower  green  knowe  and  flowery  hallow, 

Till  they  reach 'd  the  cot-house  door. 

Laigh  it  was,  yet  sweet  though  humble, 

Deck'd  wi'  honeysuckle  round  ; 
Clear  below  Esk's  waters  rumble, 

Deep  glens  murmuring  back  the  sound. 

Melville's  towers,*  sae  white  and  stately, 

Dim  by  gloamin'  glint  to  view  ; 
Through  Lasswade's  dark  woods  keek  sweetly 

Skies  sae  red,  and  lift  sae  blue. 

Entering  now,  in  transport  mingle, 

INIither  fond  and  happy  wean, 
Smiling  round  a  canty  ingle, 

Bleezin'  on  a  clean  hearthstane. 

"  Soldier,  welcome  !  come,  be  cheerie. 

Here  ye'se  rest  and  tak'  your  bed  ; 
Faint,  waes  me  !  ye  seem,  and  weary. 

Pale's  your  cheek  sae  lately  red  !  " 

"  Changed  I  am,"  sigh'd  Willie  till  her  ; 

"Changed  nae  doubt,  as  changed  can  be  ! 
Yet,  alas  !  does  Jeanie  Miller 

Nought  o'  Willie  Gairlace  see  ?  " 

Hae  ye  mark'd  the  dews  o'  morning 

Glittering  in  the  sunny  ray. 
Quickly  fa',  when,  without  warning, 

Rough  blasts  came  and  shook  the  spray  ? 

*  Melville  Castle,  the  seat  of  the  Right  Honourable  Henry  Dundas 
[afterwards  Viscount  Melville.] 

G 


98  AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

Hae  ye  seen  the  bird,  fast  deein', 

Drap,  when  pierced  by  death  mair  fleet  ? 

Then,  see  Jean,  wi'  colour  deein', 
Senseless  drap  at  Willie's  feet  ! 

After  three  lang  years'  affliction, 
(A'  their  waes  now  hush'd  to  rest), 

Jean  ance  mair,  in  fond  affection. 
Clasps  her  Willie  to  her  breast ; 

Tells  him  a'  her  sad — sad  sufferings  ! 

How  she  wander'd,  starving,  poor, 
Gleaning  pity's  scanty  offerings, 

Wi'  three  bairns,  frae  door  to  door. 

How  she  served,  and  toil'd,  and  fever'd, 
Lost  her  health,  and  syne  her  bread  ; 

How  that  grief,  when  scarce  recover'd, 
Took  her  brain,  and  tuin'd  her  head. 

How  she  wander'd  round  the  county 
Mony  a  live-lang  night  her  lane  ; 

Till  at  last  an  angel's  bounty 
Brought  her  senses  back  again  : 

Gae  her  meat,  and  claise,  and  siller, 
Gae  her  bairnies  wark  and  lear  ; 

Lastly,  gae  this  cot-house  till  her, 
Wi'  four  sterling  pounds  a  year. 

Willie,  hearkening,  wiped  his  een  aye  ; 

"  Oh  !  what  sins  hae  I  to  rue  ! 
But  say,  wha's  this  angel,  Jeannie  ?  " 

"  Wha,"  quo'  Jeannie,  "but  Buccleuch  ?  * 


*  The  Duchess  of  IJuccleuch,  the  unwearied  patroness  and  supporter 
of  the  afflicted  and  the  poor. 


AIKEN-DRUM.  99 

"  Here,  supported,  cheer'd,  and  cherish'd. 
Nine  blest  months  I've  lived,  and  mair ; 

Seen  these  infants  clad  and  nourish'd, 
Dried  my  tears,  and  tint  despair  : 

"  Sometimes  sewin',  sometimes  spinnin', 
Light  the  lanesome  hours  gae  round  ; 

Lightly,  too,  ilk  quarter  rinnin' 
Brings  yon  angel's  helping  pound." 

"  Eight  pounds  mair,"  cried  Willie,  fondly — 
"  Eight  pounds  mair  will  do  nae  harm  ; 

And,  oh  Jean  !  gin  friends  were  kindly, 
Twall  pounds  soon  might  stock  a  farm. 

"There,  ance  mair,  to  thrive  by  pleughin', 

Freed  frae  a'  that  peace  destroys — 
Idle  waste  and  drucken  ruin. 

War,  and  a'  its  murdering  joys  !  " 

Thrice  he  kiss'd  his  lang-lost  treasure — 
Thrice  ilk  bairn  :  but  couldna  speak  : 

Tears  of  love,  and  hope,  and  pleasure 
Stream'd  in  silence  down  his  cheek  ! 


Bif^en*«2)rum. 


Commonly  printed  under  the  title  of  "The  Brownie  of 
Blednoch,"  the  ballad  of  "  Aikendrum  "  has  wakened  the 
drowsy  wits  of  many  a  rural  Scot.  The  author,  William 
Nicholson,  was  a  native  of  the  parish  of  Borgue,  in  Gallo- 
way, and  was  born  in  August,  17S2.  In  his  youth  weak 
eyesight  prevented  his  progress  at  school,  and  afterwards 
unfitted  him  for  the  occupations  of  shepherd  or  ploughman. 
Consequently  he  began  life  as  a  pedlar,  and  wandered  up 
and  down  in  his  native  district  for  thirty  years  singing  his^ 


loo  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

own  songs,  and  reciting  his  own  tales  and  Iwllads.  Under 
the  title  of  "Tales  in  Verse,  and  Miscellaneous  Poems, 
descriptive  of  Rural  Life  and  Manners,"  he  issued  in  1814 
a  collection  of  his  rhymed  wares,  by  which  it  has  been  said 
he  cleared  the  handsome  sum  of  ^{^lOO.  In  1828  a  second 
edition  of  his  poems  appeared,  with  a  memoir  of  the  author 
from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Macdiarmid  of  Dumfries.  Latterly 
Nicholson  fell  into  sadly  dissipated  hal)its,  and  became  a 
wandering  gaberhmzie.  He  died  at  Kildarroch,  in  Borgue, 
in  May  1849.  "We  would  rather  have  written  these 
lines,"  said  the  late  Dr.  John  Brown,  "than  any  amount 
of  Aurora  Leighs,  Festuses,  or  such  like,  with  all  their 
mighty  '  somethingness,'  as  Mr.  Bailey  would  say.  For 
they,  are  they  not  the  '  native  vvoodnotes  wild '  of  one  of 
nature's  darlings  ?  Here  is  the  indescribable,  inestimable, 
immistakable  impress  of  genius.  Chaucer,  had  he  been  a 
Galloway  man,  might  have  written  it,  only  he  would  have 
been  more  garrulous,  and  less  compact  and  stern.  It  is 
like  '  Tam  o'  Shanter  '  in  its  living  union  of  the  comic,  the 
pathetic,  and  the  terrible.  Shrewdness,  tenderness,  imagina- 
tion, fancy,  humour,  word-music,  dramatic  power,  even 
wit — all  are  here.  I  have  often  read  it  aloud  to  children, 
and  it  is  worth  anyone's  while  to  do  it.  Vou  will  find 
them  repeating  all  over  the  house  for  days  such  lines  as 
take  their  heart  and  tonsjue." 


There  cam'  a  strange  wight  to  our  town  en', 
An'  the  fient  a  body  did  him  ken  ; 
He  tirled  na  lang,  but  he  glided  ben, 
Wi'  a  weary,  dreary  hum. 

His  face  did  glow  like  the  glow  o'  the  west, 
When  the  drumly  cloud  has  it  half  o'ercast  ; 
Or  the  struggling  moon  when  she's  sair  distrest, 
O,  sirs  !  'twas  Aiken-drum. 

I  trow  the  bauldest  stood  aback, 
Wi'  a  gape  an'  a  glower  till  their  lugs  did  crack. 
As  the  shapeless  phantom  mumblin'  spak' — 
"  liae  ye  wark  for  Aiken-drum  ?  " 


AIKEN-DRUM.  loi 

O  !  had  ye  seen  the  bairns'  fright 
As  they  stared  at  the  wild  and  unearthly  wight  : 
As  they  skulkit  in  'tween  the  dark  an'  the  light, 
And  graned  out  "  Aiken-drum  !  " 

"  Sauf  us  ! "  quoth  Jock,  "  d'ye  see  sic  een  ?  " 

Cries  Kate,  "  There's  a  hole  where  a  nose  should  ha' 

been  : 
An'  the  mouth's  like  a  gash  that  a  horn  had  riVn  ; 
Wow  !  keep  's  frae  Aiken-drum  !  " 

The  black  dog  growlin'  cowered  his  tail, 
The  lassie  swarfed,  loot  fa'  the  pail  ; 
Rob's  lingle  brak  as  he  nien't  the  flail, 
At  the  sight  o'  Aiken-drum. 

His  matted  head  on  his  breast  did  rest, 
A  lang  blue  beard  wander'd  down  like  a  vest ; 
But  the  glare  o'  his  e'e  hath  nae  bard  exprest. 
Nor  the  skimes  o'  Aiken-drum. 

Round  his  hairy  form  there  was  naething  seen, 
But  a  philabeg  o'  the  rashes  green, 
An'  his  knotted  knees  played  aye  knoit  between — 
What  a  sight  was  Aiken-drum  ! 

On  his  wauchie  airms  three  claws  did  meet, 
As  they  trailed  on  the  grun'  by  his  taeless  feet ; 
E'en  the  auld  gudeman  himsel'  did  sweat. 
To  look  at  Aiken-drum. 

But  he  drew  a  score,  himsel'  did  sain, 
The  auld  wife  tried,  but  her  tongue  was  gane  ; 
While  the  young  ane  closer  clasped  her  wean. 
An'  turned  frae  Aiken-drum. 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

But  the  cantie  auld  wife  cam'  till  her  breath, 
An'  she  thocht  the  Bible  might  ward  aff  scaith, 
Be  it  banshee,  bogle,  ghaist,  or  wraith — 
But  it  feared  na  Aiken-drum. 

"His  presence  protect  us  !"  quoth  the  auld  gudeman; 
• '  What  wad  ye,  whare  won  ye,  by  sea  or  Ian'  ? 
I  conjure  ye— speak— by  the  beuk  in  my  han'  ! " 
What  a  grane  ga'e  Aiken-drum  ! 

"  I  lived  in  a  land  whare  we  saw  nae  sky, 
I  dwalt  in  a  spot  whare  a  burn  rins  na  by  ; 
But  I'se  dwall  now  wi'  you  gin  ye  like  to  try — 
Ilae  ye  wark  for  Aiken-drum  ? 

"  I'll  shiel  a'  your  sheep  i'  the  mornin'  sune, 
I'll  berry  your  crap  by  the  light  o'  the  mune, 
An'  ba'  the  bairns  wi'  an  unkent  tune, 
If  ye'll  keep  puir  Aiken-drum. 

"  I'll  lowp  the  linn  when  ye  canna  wade, 
I'll  kirn  the  kirn,  an'  I'll  turn  the  bread, 
An'  the  wildest  filly  that  ever  ran  rede, 
I'se  tame  't,"  quoth  Aiken-drum. 

"  To  wear  the  tod  frae  the  flock  on  the  fell, 
To  gather  the  dew  frae  the  heather  bell. 
An'  to  look  at  my  face  in  your  clear  chrystal  well, 
Might  gi'e  pleasure  to  Aiken-drum. 

"  I'se  seek  nae  guids,  gear,  bond,  nor  mark  ; 
I  use  nae  beddin',  shoon,  nor  sark  ; 
But  a  cogfu'  o'  brose  'tween  the  light  an'  the  dark. 
Is  the  wage  o'  Aiken-drum." 

Quoth  the  wily  auld  wife,  "  The  thing  speaks  weel ; 
Our  workers  are  scant — we  hae  routh  o'  meal  ; 
Gif  he'll  do  as  he  says— be  he  man,  be  he  deil — 
Wow  !  we'll  try  this  Aiken-drum." 


AIKEN-DRUM.  103 

But  the  wenches  skirl'd,  "  He's  no  be  here  ! 
His  eldrich  look  gars  us  swarf  wi'  fear  ; 
An'  the  fient  a  ane  will  the  house  come  near, 
If  they  think  but  o'  Aiken-drum. 

"  For  a  foul  an'  a  stalwart  ghaist  is  he, 
Despair  sits  broodin'  abune  his  e'e-bree, 
And  unchancie  to  light  on  a  maiden's  e'e. 
Is  the  glower  o'  Aiken-drum." 

"  Puir  clipmalabors  !  ye  hae  little  wit  ; 
Is'tna  Hallowmas  now,  an'  the  crap  out  yet?" 
Sae  she  silenced  them  a'  wi'  a  stamp  o'  her  fit — 
"  Sit  yer  wa's  down,  Aiken-drum  !  " 

Round  a'  that  side  what  wark  was  dune 
By  the  streamer's  gleam,  or  the  glance  o'  the  mune  ; 
A  word,  or  a  wish,  an'  the  brownie  cam'  sune, 
Sae  helpfu'  was  Aiken-drum. 

But  he  slade  aye  awa  or  the  sun  was  up, 
He  ne'er  could  look  straught  on  Macmillan's  cup  ;  * 
They  watch'd — but  nane  saw  him  his  brose  ever  sup. 
Nor  a  spune  sought  Aiken-drum. 

On  Blednoch  banks,  an'  on  chrystal  Cree, 
For  mony  a  day  a  toiled  wight  was  he  ; 
And  the  bairns  they  played  harmless  roun'  his  knee, 
Sae  social  was  Aiken-drum. 

But  a  new-made  wife,  fu'  o'  frippish  freaks, 
Fond  o'  a'  things  feat  for  the  five  first  weeks. 
Laid  a  mouldy  pair  o'  her  ain  man's  breeks 
By  the  brose  o'  Aiken-drum. 


*  A  communion  cup  belonging  to  a  minister  of  the  name  of  Mac- 
millan,  long  preserved  in  the  parish  of  Kirkcowan,  and  employed  as  a 
lest  by  which  to  ascertain  the  orthodoxy  of  suspected  persons. 


104  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Let  the  learned  decide  when  they  convene, 
What  spell  was  him  an'  the  breeks  between  ; 
For  frae  that  day  forth  he  was  nae  mair  seen, 
An'  sair  miss'd  was  Aiken-drum. 

He  was  heard  by  a  herd  gaun  by  the  Thrieve, 
Crying,  "  Lang,  lang  now  may  I  greet  an'  grieve  y. 
For,  alas  !  I  ha'e  gotten  baith  fee  an'  leave — ■ 
O  !  luckless  Aiken-drum  !  " 

Aw  a',  ye  wrangling  sceptic  tribe, 
\Vi'  your  pros  an'  your  cons  wad  ye  decide 
'Gain  the  sponsible  voice  o'  a  hale  countryside, 
On  the  facts  'bout  Aiken-drum  ? 

Though  the  Brownie  o'  Blednoch  lang  be  gane, 
The  mark  o'  his  feet's  left  on  mony  a  stane  ; 
An'  mony  a  wife  an'  mony  a  wean 
Tell  the  feats  o'  Aiken-drum. 

E'en  now,  light  loons  that  jibe  an'  sneer 
At  spiritual  guests  an'  a'  sic  gear, 
At  the  Glashnoch  Mill  hae  swat  wi'  fear, 
An'  look'd  roun'  for  Aiken-drum. 

An'  gudely  folks  hae  gotten  a  fright. 
When  the  mune  was  set,  an'  the  stars  gied  nae  light  ;. 
At  the  roarin'  linn,  in  the  howe  o'  the  night, 
Wi'  sughs  like  Aiken-drum. 


nom  0'  ^ift\>'6  Bnnte. 

This  ballad  is  founded  on  real  circumstances,  the  hero- 
ine being  the  daughter  of  the  Miller  of  Tifty,  near  Fyvie, 
in  Aberdeenshire,  and  the  hero  the  Trumpeter  of  the  Laird 
of  Fyvie.     Both  parlies  are  said  to  have  been  remarkable 


MILL  O'  TIFTV'S  ANNIE.  105 

for  their  good  looks.  They  had  met,  they  had  looked, 
they  had  been  conquered,  each  by  the  beauty  of  the  other. 
Andrew  Lammie  wished  to  make  Annie  (or  rather  Agnes, 
for  such  it  appears  was  her  real  name)  Smith  his  happy  bride, 
and  Annie  as  ardently  wished  to  become  so  ;  but  the  ob- 
durate parent  stepped  in  in  the  shape  and  character  of  the 
Miller  of  Tifty,  who  esteemed  the  match  beneath  his  dig- 
nity, and  would  have  none  of  the  Trumpeter.  The  un- 
happy result  of  the  affair  was  that  both  lovers  died  of  a 
broken  heart.  Annie's  death,  according  to  her  gravestone 
in  Fyvie  Churchyard,  took  place  on  the  19th  January,  1631. 
Andrew,  however,  it  would  appear,  did  not  die  as  related 
in  the  ballad.  It  is  asserted  that  several  years  afterwards 
the  melancholy  fate  of  Tifty's  Annie  being  mentioned,  and 
the  ballad  being  sung  in  a  company  in  Edinburgh  where 
he  was  present,  he  remained  silent  and  motionless,  till  at 
length  he  was  discovered  by  a  groan  suddenly  bursting 
from  him,  and  several  of  the  buttons  flying  from  his  waist- 
coat. 

"  The  beauty,  gallantry,  and  amiable  qualities  of  Bonnie 
Andrew  Lammie  seem,"  says  Mr.  Jamieson,  "to  have 
been  proverbial  wherever  he  went  ;  and  the  good  old 
'  Cummer '  in  Allan  Ramsay  as  the  best  evidence  of  the 
power  of  her  own  youthful  charms,  and  the  best  apology 
for  having  '  cast  a  leggen  girth  hersel',  says  : — 

I'se  warrant  ye  have  a'  heard  tell 

O'  bonnie  Andrew  Lammie  ; 
Stiffly  in  luve  wi'  me  he  fell. 

As  soon  as  e'er  he  saw  me. 

That  was  a  day." 

It  is  an  extremely  pathetic  and  affecting  story. 


At  Mill  o'  Tifty  lived  a  man, 
In  the  neighbourhood  of  Fyvie  ; 

He  had  a  lovely  daughter  fair, 
Was  called  bonnie  Annie. 

Her  bloom  was  like  the  springing  flower 
That  salutes  the  rosy  morning  ; 

With  innocence,  and  graceful  mien, 
Her  beauteous  form  adorning. 


io6  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Lord  Fyvie  had  a  Trumpeter, 

Whose  name  was  Andrew  Lammie  ; 

He  had  the  art  to  gain  the  heart 
Of  Mill  o'  Tifly's  Annie. 

Troper  he  was,  both  young  and  gaj'. 
His  like  was  not  in  Fyvie  ; 

No  one  was  there  that  could  compare 
With  this  same  Andrew  Lammie. 

Lord  Fyvie  he  rode  by  the  door 
Where  lived  Tifty's  Annie  ; 

His  Trumpeter  rode  him  before, 
Even  this  same  Andrew  Lammie. 

Her  mother  call'd  her  to  the  door — 
"  Come  hear  to  me,  my  Annie  ; 

Did  you  ever  see  a  prettier  man 
Than  the  Trumpeter  of  Fyvie  ?  " 

She  sighed  sore,  but  said  no  more  ; 

Alas  for  bonnie  Annie  ! 
She  durst  not  own  her  heart  was  won 

By  the  Trumpeter  of  Fyvie. 

At  night,  when  they  went  to  their  beds, 
All  slept  full  sound  but  Annie  ; 

Love  so  opprest  her  tender  breast. 
Thinking  on  Andrew  Lammie. 

"  Love  comes  in  at  my  bedside. 
And  love  lies  down  beyond  me  ; 

Love  has  possess'd  my  tender  breast, 
And  love  will  waste  my  body. 

*'  The  first  time  I  and  my  love  met, 
Was  in  the  woods  of  Fyvie  ; 

His  lovely  form  and  speech  so  sweet 
Soon  gain'd  the  heart  of  Annie, 


MILL  O'  TIFTY'S  ANNIE.  107 

"  He  called  me  mistress  ;  I  said,  No — 

I'm  Tifty's  bonnie  Annie  ; 
With  apples  sweet  he  did  me  treat, 

And  kisses  soft  and  many. 

*'  It's  up  and  down  in  Tifty's  den, 

Where  the  burn  runs  clear  and  bonnie, 

I've  often  gone  to  meet  my  love, 
My  bonnie  Andrew  Lammie." 

But  now,  alas  !  her  father  heard 

That  the  Trumpeter  of  Fyvie 
Had  had  the  art  to  gain  the  heart 

Of  Tifty's  bonnie  Annie. 

Her  father  soon  a  letter  wrote. 

And  sent  it  on  to  Fyvie, 
To  tell  his  daughter  was  bewitched 

By  his  servant  Andrew  Lammie. 

When  Lord  Fyvie  this  letter  read, 

Oh,  dear  !  but  he  was  sorry  ; 
"  The  bonniest  lass  in  Fyvie's  land 

Is  bewitched  by  Andrew  Lammie." 

Then  up  the  stair  his  Trumpeter 

He  called  soon  and  shortly— 
"Pray,  tell  me  soon,  what's  this  you've  done 

To  Tifty's  bonnie  Annie  ?  " 

"  In  wicked  art  I  had  no  part, 

Nor  therein  am  I  cannie  ; 
True  love  alone  the  heart  has  won 

Of  Tifty's  bonnie  Annie. 

■*'  But  woe  betide  Mill  o'  Tifty's  pride, 

For  it  has  ruin'd  many  ; 
He'll  no  ha'e  't  said  that  she  should  wed 

The  Trumpeter  of  Fyvie. 


loS  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Where  will  I  find  a  boy  so  kind, 

That'll  carry  a  letter  cannie  : 
Who  will  run  on  to  Tifty's  town, 

Give  it  to  my  love  Annie  ?  " 

"  Here  you  shall  find  a  boy  so  kind. 

Who'll  carry  a  letter  cannie  : 
Who  will  run  on  to  Tifty's  town, 

And  gi'e  't  to  thy  love  Annie." 

"It's  Tifty  he  has  daughters  three, 
Who  all  are  wond'rous  bonnie  ; 

But  ye'U  ken  her  o'er  a'  the  lave, — 
Gi'e  that  to  bonnie  Annie." 

"  It's  up  and  down  in  Tifty's  den, 
Where  the  burn  rins  clear  and  bonnie. 

There  wilt  thou  come  and  meet  thy  love, 
Thy  bonnie  Andrew  Lammie. 

"When  wilt  thou  come,  and  I'll  attend. 
My  love,  I  long  to  greet  thee  ?  " 

"Thou  may'st  come  to  the  Bridge  of  Sleugh, 
And  there  I'll  come  and  meet  thee." 

"  My  love  I  go  to  Edinbro', 

And  for  a  while  must  leave  thee." 

She  sighed  sore,  and  said  no  more, 
But  "  I  wish  that  I  were  with  thee." 

"  I'll  buy  to  thee  a  bridal  gown. 

My  love,  I'll  buy  it  bonnie." 
"  But  I'll  be  dead  ere  you  come  back 

To  see  your  bonnie  Annie." 

"  If  you'll  be  true  and  constant  too, 
As  my  name's  Andrew  Lammie, 

I  shall  thee  wed  when  I  come  back 
To  see  the  lands  of  Fyvie." 


MILL  O'  TIFTY'S  ANNIE.  109 

"  I  will  be  true,  and  constant  too, 

To  thee,  my  Andrew  Lammie  ; 
But  my  bridal  bed  will  ere  then  be  made 

In  the  green  churchyard  of  Fyvie." 

"  Our  time  is  gone  and  now  comes  on, 

My  dear,  that  I  must  leave  thee  ; 
If  longer  here  I  should  appear, 

AJill  o'  Tifly  he  would  see  me." 

"  I  now  for  ever  bid  adieu 

To  thee,  my  Andrew  Lammie  ; 
Ere  ye  come  back,  I  will  be  laid 

In  the  green  churchyard  of  Fyvie." 

He  hied  him  to  the  head  of  the  house. 

To  the  housetop  of  Fyvie  ; 
He  blew  his  trumpet  loud  and  shrill, 

'Twas  heard  at  Mill  o'  Tifty. 

Her  father  locked  the  door  at  night. 

Laid  by  the  keys  fu'  cannie  ; 
And  when  he  heard  the  trumpet  sound. 

Said — "  Your  cow  is  lowing,  Annie." 

"My  father  dear,  I  pray  forbear, 

And  reproach  no  more  your  Annie  ; 
For  I'd  rather  hear  that  cow  to  low, 

Than  hae  a'  the  kye  in  Fyvie. 

"  I  would  not  for  my  braw  new  gown, 

And  a'  your  gifts  sae  many, 
That  it  were  told  in  Fyvie's  land. 

How  cruel  you  are  to  Annie. 

"But  if  you  strike  me,  I  will  cry, 

And  gentlemen  will  hear  me  ; 
Lord  Fyvie  will  be  riding  by. 

And  he'll  come  in  and  see  me." 


AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

At  this  same  time  my  lord  came  in  ; 

He  said—"  What  ails  thee,  Annie  ?  " 
"  'Tis  all  for  love  now  I  must  die, 

For  bonnie  Andrew  Lammie." 

"  Pray,  Mill  o'  Tifty,  gi'e  consent, 
And  let  your  daughter  marry." 

"  It  will  be  with  some  higher  match 
Than  the  Trumpeter  of  Fyvie." 

"  If  she  were  conic  of  as  high  a  kind 
As  she's  adorn'd  with  beauty, 

I  would  take  her  unto  myself, 

And  make  her  mine  own  Ladyc." 

"  It's  Fyvie's  lands  are  fair  and  wide, 
And  they  are  rich  and  bonnie  ; 

But  I  would  not  leave  my  own  true  love, 
For  all  the  lands  of  Fyvie." 

Her  father  struck  her  wond'rous  sore. 
As  also  did  her  mother  ; 

Her  sisters  both  they  did  her  scorn- 
But  woe  be  to  her  brother  ! 

Her  brother  struck  her  wond'rous  sore, 
With  cruel  strokes  and  many  ; 

He  brake  her  back  in  the  hall  door. 
For  liking  Andrew  Lammie. 

"  Alas  !  my  father  and  mother  dear, 
Why  so  cruel  to  your  Annie  ? 

My  heart  was  broken  first  by  love— 
My  brother  has  broken  my  body. 

"  Oh,  mother  dear,  make  ye  my  bed, 

And  lay  my  face  to  Fyvie  ; 
Thus  will  I  lie,  and  thus  will  die, 

For  my  love  Andrew  Lammie  ! 


MILL  O'  TIFTY'S  ANNIE. 

"Ye  neighbours  dear,  both  far  and  near, 

Ye'll  pity  Tifty's  Annie  ; 
Wlio  dies  for  love  of  one  poor  lad, 

For  bonnie  Andrew  Lammie. 

"  No  kind  of  vice  e'er  stained  my  life. 

Nor  hurt  my  virgin  honour  ; 
jNIy  youthful  heart  was  won  by  love. 

But  death  will  me  exoner." 

Her  mother  then  she  made  her  bed, 

And  laid  her  face  to  Fy  vie  ; 
Her  tender  heart  it  soon  did  break  ; 

She  ne'er  saw  Andrew  Lammie, 

But  the  tidings  soon  went  up  and  down, 
Through  all  the  lands  of  Fyvie  ; 

That  she  was  dead  and  buried, 
Even  Tifty's  bonnie  Annie. 

Lord  Fyvie  he  did  wring  his  hands  ; — 

"  Alas  !  for  Tifty's  Annie  ! 
The  fairest  flow'r's  cut  down  by  love, 

That  e'er  sprung  up  in  Fyvie. 

"  Oh,  woe  betide  Mill  o'  Tifty's  pride  ! 

He  might  have  let  them  marry  ; 
I  should  have  gi'en  them  both  to  live 

Into  the  lands  of  Fyvie." 

Her  father  sorely  now  laments 

The  loss  of  his  dear  Annie, 
And  wishes  he  had  gi'en  consent 

To  wed  with  Andrew  Lammie. 

Her  mother  grieves  both  ear'  and  late. 
Her  sisters,  'cause  they  scorn'd  her  ; 

Sorely  her  brother  doth  mourn  and  grieve, 
For  the  cruel  usage  gi'en  her. 


AULD  SCOTS  r.ALLANTS. 

But  now,  alas  !  it  was  too  late, 
For  they  could  not  recall  her  ; 

Through  life  unhappy  is  their  fate, 
Because  they  did  control  her. 

When  Andrew  hame  from  Edinbro'  came, 
With  meikle  grief  and  sorrow  ; 

"  My  love  has  died  for  me  to-day, 
I'll  die  for  her  to-morrow. 

"  Now  I  will  on  to  Tifty's  den, 

Where  the  burn  runs  clear  and  bonnie  ; 
With  tears  I'll  view  the  Bridge  of  Sleugh, 

Where  I  parted  last  with  Annie. 

"Then  will  I  speed  to  the  churchyard. 
To  the  green  churchyard  of  Fyvie  ; 

With  tears  I'll  water  my  love's  grave. 
Till  I  follow  Tifty's  Annie." 

Ye  parents  grave,  who  children  have, 

Irr  crushing  them  be  canny. 
Lest,  when  too  late,  you  do  repent  ; 

Remember  Tifty's  Annie. 


This  rude,  but  graphic,  old  heroic  ballad  has  commanded 
alike  the  admiration  of  the  illiterate  and  the  learned.  Ben 
Jonson  envied  its  author,  and  Sir  Philip  Sidney  confessed 
how  his  own  soul  was  moved  by  its  vigorous  strains.  "  I 
never  heard  the  old  song  of  Percy  and  Douglas,"  said  Sir 
Philii:>,  "  that  I  found  not  my  heart  moved  more  than  with 
a  trumpet  ;  and  yet  it  is  sung  by  some  blind  crowder,  with 
no  rougher  voice  than  rude  style,  which  l)eing  so  evil 
apparelled  in  the  dirt  and  cobweb  of  that  uncivil  age,  what 


CIIEVV   CHASE.  113 

would  it  be  trimmed  in  the  gorgeous  eloquence  of  Pin- 
dar ?  " 

Many  authorities  affirm  that  the  ballad  has  no  historical 
foundation  whatever,  and  that  its  incidents  have  been 
borrowed  from  the  older  ballad  which  celebrates  the 
"  Battle  of  Otterbourne,"  fought  by  Percy  and  Douglas  in 
the  year  13S8.  This  may  be  quite  true  ;  and  if  so,  it  just 
proves  that,  if  fact  is  sometimes  stranger  than  fiction,  fiction 
is  sometimes  more  enduring  than  fact. 

There  are  two  versions  of  "  Chevy  Chase"  extant — an 
ancient  and  a  modern  one.  The  older  copy  is  in  antique 
orthography,  and  chiefly  for  that  reason  I  have  printed  the 
modern  one,  which  is  described  in  the  advertisement  as 
"The  Hunting  of  Chevy-Chase,  a  bloody  battle  fought  by 
Earls  Douglas  and  Percy,  where  above  fourteen  hundred 
Scotsmen  and  near  two  thousand  Englishmen  were  slain  in 
one  day," 

In  English  copies  of  the  ballad,  the  position  of  parties, 
of  course,  are  just  reversed. 


God  prosper  long  our  noble  King, 

Our  lives  and  safeties  all — 
A  woeful  hunting  once  there  did 

In  Chevy  Chase  befall. 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  hoin 

Earl  Percy  took  the  way. 
The  child  may  rue  that  is  unborn, 

The  hunting  of  that  day. 

The  stout  Earl  of  Northumberland 

A  vow  to  God  did  make. 
His  pleasure  in  the  Scottish  woods, 

Three  summer  days  to  take — 

The  choicest  harts  in  Chevy  Chase 

To  kill  and  bear  away  ; 
These  tidings  to  Earl  Douglas  came. 

In  Scotland  where  he  lay, 
H 


114  AULD  SCOTS  ]!ALLANTS. 

Who  sent  Earl  Percy  present  word, 
He  would  prevent  the  sport ; 

The  English  Earl  not  fearing  him, 
Did  to  the  woods  resort, 

With  twenty  hundred  bowmen  bold, 

All  chosen  men  of  might — 
Who  knew  full  well  in  time  of  need 

To  aim  their  shafts  aright. 

The  gallant  greyhounds  swiftly  ran, 

To  chase  the  fallow  deer  ; 
On  Monday  they  began  to  hunt, 

When  daylight  did  appear. 

And  long  before  high  noon  they  had 

An  hundred  fat  bucks  slain, 
Then  having  dined,  the  rovers  went 

To  rouse  them  up  again. 

Earl  Percy  to  the  quarry  went, 

To  view  the  fallow  dear, 
Quoth  he,  "  Earl  Douglas  promised 

This  day  to  meet  me  here  ; 

"But  if  I  thought  he  would  not  come, 

No  longer  would  I  stay." 
With  that  a  brave  young  gentleman, 

Thus  to  the  Earl  did  say — 

"  Lo  !  yonder  doth  Earl  Douglas  come. 

His  men  in  armour  bright ; 
Full  fifteen  hundred  Scottish  spears, 

All  marching  in  our  sight  ; 

"  All  pleasant  men  of  Teviotdale, 
Dwell  on  the  river  Tweed," 

"  Then  cease  your  sport,"  Earl  Percy  said, 
"And  take  your  arms  with  speed. 


CHEVY  CHASE.  115 

"  And  now  with  me,  my  countrymen, 

Your  courage  forth  advance  ; 
For  there  was  ne'er  a  champion  yet, 

In  Scotland  or  in  France, 

"  That  ever  did  on  liorseback  come. 

But,  if  my  hap  it  were, 
I  durst  encounter  man  for  man, 

With  him  to  break  a  spear." 

Lord  Douglas  on  a  milk-white  steed, 

Most  like  a  baron  bold. 
Rode  foremost  of  his  company. 

His  armour  shone  like  gold. 

"  Show  me,"  he  said,  "Whose  men  ye  be. 

That  hunt  so  boldly  here  ; 
That  without  my  consent  do  chase 

And  kill  my  fallow  deer." 

The  first  man  that  did  answer  make 

Was  noble  Percy,  he. 
Who  said,  "  We  list  not  to  declare 

Nor  show  whose  men  we  be, 

"  Yet  we  will  spend  our  dearest  blood,. 

Thy  choicest  harts  to  slay," 
Then  Douglas  swore  a  solemn  oath, 

And  thus  in  rage  did  say — 

"  E'er  thus  I  will  out-braved  be, 

One  of  us  two  shall  die  ; 
I  know  thee  well,  an  Earl  thou  art, 

Lord  Percy—  so  am  L 

"  But  trust  me,  Percy,  pity  it  were. 

And  great  offence,  to  kill 
Any  of  these  our  harmless  men, 

For  they  have  done  no  ill. 


ii6  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Let  thou  and  I  the  battle  try, 

And  set  our  men  aside  ;  " 
•' Accurs'd  be  he,"  said  Earl  Percy, 

"  By  whom  this  is  denied." 

Then  slept  a  gallant  squire  forth, 

Witherington  by  name  ; 
Who  said  he  would  not  have  it  told 

To  Henry  his  King  for  shame, 

"  That  e'er  my  captain  fought  on  foot, 

And  I  stood  looking  on  ; 
Ye  be  two  Earls,"  said  Witherington, 

"  And  I  a  squire  alone. 

"  I'll  do  the  best  that  I  may  do, 
Whilst  I  have  power  to  stand— 

WTiilst  I  have  power  to  wield  my  sword, 
I'll  fight  with  heart  and  hand." 

Our  Scottish  archers  bent  their  bows. 
Their  hearts  were  good  and  true  ; 

At  the  first  flight  of  arrows  sent, 
They  fourscore  English  slew. 

To  drive  the  deer  with  hound  and  horn, 
Douglas  bade  on  the  bent, 

A  captain  mov'd  with  meikle  pride. 
The  spears  in  shivers  went. 

They  closed  full  fast  on  every  side. 
No  slackness  there  was  found, 

And  many  a  gallant  gentleman 
Lay  gasping  on  the  ground. 

Oh,  but  it  was  a  grief  to  see, 
And  likewise  for  to  hear. 

The  cries  of  men  lying  in  their  gore, 
All  scattered  here  and  there. 


CHEVY   CHASE.  117 

At  last  these  two  stout  Earls  did  meet, 

Like  chieftains  of  great  might  ; 
Like  lions  mov'd,  they  feared  no  lord, 

They  made  a  cruel  tight. 

They  fought  until  they  both  did  sweat. 

With  swords  of  temper'd  steel — 
Until  the  blood  like  drops  of  rain, 

They  trickling  down  did  feel. 

"Yield  thee,  Percy,"  Douglas  said, 

"  In  faith,  I  will  thee  bring 
Where  thou  shalt  high  advanced  be 

By  James  our  Scottish  King. 

"Thy  ransom  I  will  freely  give. 

And  this  report  of  thee — 
Thou  art  the  most  courageous  knight 

That  ever  I  did  see." 

"Nay,  Douglas,"  quoth  Lord  Percy  then, 

' '  Thy  proffer  I  do  scorn  ; 
I  will  not  yield  to  any  Scot 

That  ever  yet  was  born." 

With  that  there  came  an  arrow  keen, 

Out  of  an  English  bow, 
Which  struck  Lord  Douglas  to  the  heart, 

A  deep  and  deadly  blow. 

Who  never  spoke  more  words  than  these — 

"Fight  on,  my  merry  men  all  ! 
For  why,  my  life  is  at  an  end. 

Lord  Percy  sees  my  fall." 

Then  leaving  off.  Lord  Percy  took 

The  dead  man  by  the  hand. 
And  said,  "  Lord  Douglas,  for  thy  life 

I  would  have  lost  my  land. 


Ii8  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  O  !  but  my  very  heart  cloth  bleed 
With  sorrow  for  thy  sake, 

For  sure  a  more  renowned  knight 
Mischance  did  never  take." 

A  knight  among  the  Scots  there  was, 
Who  saw  Earl  Douglas  die, 

Who  straight  in  wrath  did  vow  reven£;e 
Upon  the  Earl  Percy. 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery  was  he  callM, 
\\Tio,  with  a  spear  full  bright. 

Well  mounted  on  a  gallant  steed, 
Rode  fiercely  through  the  fight. 

He  pass'd  the  English  archers  all. 
Without  e'er  dread  or  fear. 

And  through  Earl  Percy's  body  then 
He  thrust  his  hateful  spear. 

With  such  a  vehement  force  and  niis^ht 

He  did  his  body  gore. 
The  spear  went  through  the  other  side, 

A  long  cloth  yard  and  more. 

So  thus  did  these  two  nobles  die. 
Whose  courage  none  could  stain. 

An  English  archer  then  perceived 
His  noble  lord  was  slain. 

He  had  a  bow  bent  in  his  hand, 

Made  of  a  trusty  tree, 
An  arrow  of  a  cloth  yard's  length, 

Unto  the  head  drew  he. 

Against  Sir  Hugh  Montgomery  then 

So  right  his  shaft  he  set, 
The  grey  goose  wing  that  was  therein 

In  his  heart's  blood  was  wet. 


CHEVY   CHASE.  119 

The  fight  did  last  from  break  of  day 

Till  setting  of  the  sun  ; 
For  when  they  rung  the  evening  bell, 

The  battle  scarce  was  done. 

With  Earl  Percy  there  was  slain, 

Sir  John  of  Ogerton  ; 
Sir  Robert  Ratcliffe,  and  Sir  John, 

Sir  James,  the  bold  baron  ; 

Sir  George,  and  also  good  Sir  Hugh, 

Both  Knights  of  good  account, 
■Good  Sir  Ralph  Raby  there  was  slain. 

Whose  prowess  did  surmount. 

For  Witherington  I  needs  must  wail. 

As  one  in  doleful  dumps — 
For  when  his  legs  were  smitten  off, 

He  fought  upon  his  stumps. 

And  with  Earl  Douglas  there  was  slain, 

Sir  Hugh  Montgomery ; 
Sir  Charles  Murray,  that  from  the  field 

One  foot  would  never  fly  ; 

Sir  Charles  Murray  of  Ratcliffe  too, 

His  sister's  son  was  he  : 
Sir  David  Lamb,  so  well  esteemed. 

Yet  saved  he  could  not  be. 

And  Lord  Maxwell  e'en  likewise 

Did  with  Earl  Douglas  die. 
Of  fifteen  hundred  Scottish  men. 

Went  home  but  fifty-three. 

Of  twenty-hundred  Englishmen, 

Scarce  fifty-five  did  flee  ; 
The  rest  were  slain  at  Chevy  Chase, 

Under  the  greenwood  tree. 


AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

Next  day  did  many  widows  come 

Their  husbands  to  bewail  ; 
They  washed  their  wounds  with  brinishcl  tears, 

15ut  all  could  not  prevail. 

Their  bodies,  bathed  in  purple  blood, 

They  carried  them  away  ; 
Tliey  kissed  them  dead  a  thousand  times, 

When  they  were  cold  as  clay. 

The  news  was  brought  to  Edinburgh, 

Where  Scotland's  King  did  reign, 
The  brave  Earl  Douglas  suddenly, 

^Vas  by  an  arrow  slain. 

"  Now  God  be  with  him  !  "  said  the  King, 

"Sith  'twill  no  better  be  ; 
I  trust  I  have  within  my  realm 

Five  hundred  good  as  he." 

Like  tidings  to  King  Henry  came, 

Within  as  short  a  space. 
That  Percy  of  Northumberland, 

Was  slain  at  Chevy  Chase. 

"  O  heavy  news  !  "  King  Henry  said, 

"  England  can  witness  be — 
I  have  not  any  captain  more 

Of  such  account  as  he." 

Now  of  the  rest,  of  small  account. 

Did  many  hundreds  die  ; 
Thus  ends  the  Battle  of  Chevy  Chase, 

Made  by  the  Earl  Percy. 


THE  BLAEBERRY  COURTSHIP. 


Zbc  Blacberrp  Courtship, 

This  ballad  was  long  a  popular  favourite  with  the 
peasantry  of  the  northern  counties  of  Scotland,  and  copies 
of  it  are  occasionally  asked  for  even  yet.  As  a  literary 
effort  it  is  much  below  mediocrity,  but  there  is  a  charm 
about  the  story  which  has  made  it  dear  to  the  heart  of  the 
rural  Scot.  In  Whitelaw's  "Book  of  Scottish  Ballads" 
there  is  a  modern  and  verbally  improved  version  given, 
but  I  prefer  to  print  here  the  old  Chapman's  copy  in  all 
its  rude  simplicity  : — 

"  Will  ye  go  to  the  Highlands,  my  jewel,  with  me  ? 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Highlands,  my  flocks  for  to  see  ? 
It  is  health  to  my  jewel  to  breathe  the  sweet  air, 
And  to  pull  the  blaeberries  in  the  forest  so  fair." 

"  To  the  Highlands,  my  love,  I  will  not  go  with  thee, 
For  the  road  it  is  long,  and  the  hills  they  are  high  ; 
I  love  this  green  valley  and  sweet  corn  field 
More  than  all   the   blaeberries  your   wild   mountains 
yield." 

"Our   hills    they  are   bonnie   when   the   heather's    in 

bloom, 
It  would  cheer  a  fine   fancy  in  the    sweet   month  of 

June 
To  pull  the  blaeberries  and  carry  them  home. 
And  set  them  on  your  table  when  December  comes 

on." 

Out  spake  her  father,  that  saucy  old  man, 
"Why  choose  not  a  mistress  among  your  own  clan  ? 
It's  but  poor  entertainment  to  our  Lowland  dames 
To  promise  them  berries  and  blue  heather  blooms. 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Kilt  up  your  green  plaidie,  walk  over  yon  hill, 
For  the  sight  of  your  Highland  face  does  me  much  ill ; 
I'll  wed  my  own  daughter,  and  spare  pennies  too, 
To  whom  my  heart  jjleases,  and  what's  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  My  plaid  it  is  broad,  it  has  colours  anew, 
Goodman,  for  your  kindness,  I'll  leave  it  with  you  ; 
I  have  got  a  warm  cordial  keeps  the  cold  from  me — 
The  blythe  blinks  of  love  from  your  fair  daughter's  e'e. 

"  My  flocks  they  are  thin,  and  my  lodgings  but  l:>are, 
And  you  that  has  meikle  the  more  you  can  spare  ; 
Some  of  your  spare  pennies  with  me  you  will  share, 
And  you  winna  send  your  lassie  o'er  the  hills  bare." 

He  went  to  his  daughter  to  give  her  advice. 
Said,  "  If  you  go  with  him  I'm  sure  you're  not  wise  ; 
He's  a  rude  Highland  fellow,  as  poor  as  a  crow. 
He's  of  the  clan  Caithness  for  aught  that  I  know. 

"  But  if  you  go  with  him,  I'm  sure  you'll  go  bare. 
You'll  have  nothing  your  father  or  mother  can  spare  ; 
Of  all  I  possess  I'll  deprive  you  for  aye. 
If  o'er  the  hills,  lassie,  you  do  go  away." 

"It's  father  keep  what  you're  not  willing  to  give, 
For  I  will  go  with  him  as  sure  as  I  live  ; 
What  signifies  gold  or  treasure  or  fee. 
If  the  hills  are  between  my  true  love  and  me  ?  " 

Now  she  is  gone  with  him  in  spite  of  them  a', 

Away  to  a  place  where  her  eyes  never  saw  ; 

He  had  no  gallant  steed  for  to  carry  her  on. 

But  still  he  said,  "  Lassie,  think  not  the  road  long." 

In  a  warm  summer's  evening  they  came  to  a  glen. 
Being  wearied  with  travel,  the  lassie  sat  down  ; 
*'  Get  up,  my  brave  lassie,  and  let  us  step  on, 
For  the  sun  will  go  down  before  we  get  home." 


THE  BLAEBERRY  COURTSHIP.  123 

"  My  feet  are  all  torn,  my  shoes  are  all  rent, 
I'm  wearied  with  travel  and  just  like  to  faint  ; 
Were  it  not  for  the  sake  of  your  kind  companie, 
I  would  lay  myself  down  in  the  desert  and  die." 

"The  day  is  far  spent  and  the  night's  coming  on. 
So  step  you  aside  to  yon  lonely  mill-town, 
And  there  ask  lodgings  for  thee  and  for  me, 
For  glad  would  I  be  in  a  barn  for  to  lie." 

"  The  place  it  looks  pleasant  and  bonnie  indeed, 
But  the  folks  are  hard-hearted  to  them  that's  in  need  ; 
Perhaps  they'll  not  grant  us  their  barn  nor  byre. 
But  I  will  go  and  ask,  as  it  is  your  desire." 

The  lassie  went  foremost.     "  Sure  I  was  to  blame, 
To  ask  for  a  lodging  myself  I  thought  shame  ; " 
The  lassie  replied,  with  tears  not  a  few — 
"  It's  ill  ale,"  said  she,  "  that's  sour  when  it's  new." 

In  a  short  time  thereafter  they  came  to  a  grove. 
Where  the  flocks  they  were  feeding,  a  numberless  drove, 
Allan  stood  musing  the  flocks  for  to  see, 
"Step  on,"  says  the  lady,  "that's  no  pleasure  to  me." 

A  beautiful  laddie,  with  green  tartan  trews, 
And  twa  bonnie  lassies  were  buchting  in  ewes, 
They  said — "Honoured  master,  you're  welcome  again, 
Lang,  lang  have  we  look'd  for  your  coming  hame." 

"Bucht  in  your  ewes,  lassies,  and  gang  your  way  hame, 
I've  brought  a  swan  frae  the  south,  I  have  her  to  tame. 
Her  feathers  are  fallen,  say  where  can  she  lie  ?  " 
"  The  best  bed  in  the  house  her  bed  it  shall  be." 

The  lady's  heart  was  far  down,  it  couldna  well  rise 
Till  many  a  lad  and  lass  came  in  with  a  phrase 
To  welcome  the  lady,  to  welcome  her  home — 
Such  a  hall  in  the  Highlands  she  never  thought  on. 


124  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

The  laddies  did  whistle,  and  the  lassies  did  sint;, 
They  made  her  a  supper  might  served  a  king, 
Long  life  and  happiness  they  wished  her  all  round, 
And  they  made  to  the  lady  a  Ijraw  bed  of  down. 

Early  next  morning  he  led  her  outbye, 
He  bade  her  look  round  her  as  far's  she  could  spy, 
"  These  lands  and  possessions  are  yours,  love,  for  aye, 
Ye  winna  gae  round  them  in  a  lang  simmer  day." 

"  O  Allan  !  O  Allan  !  I'm  indebted  to  thee, 
It's  a  debt,  my  dear  Allan,  I  never  can  pay  ; 

0  Allan  !  O  Allan  !  how  came  you  for  me  ? 
Sure  I'm  not  worthy  your  bride  for  to  be." 

"  How  call  you  me  Allan,  when  Sandy's  my  name  ? 
Why  call  you  me  Allan  ?    Sure  you  are  to  blame  ; 
For  don't  you  remember  when  at  the  school  with  thee, 

1  was  hated  by  all,  but  loved  aye  by  thee  ? 

"  How  oft  have  I  fed  on  your  bread  and  your  cheese, 
Likewise  when  you  had  but  a  handful  of  peas  ; 
Your  cruel-hearted  father  hound  at  me  his  dogs, 
They  tore  my  bare  heels,  and  rave  all  my  rags." 

"  Is  this  my  dear  Sandy  whom  I  loved  so  dear  ? 
I  have  not  heard  of  you  this  many  a  year ; 
When  all  the  rest  went  to  bed,  sleep  was  frae  me. 
For  thinking  what  fate  had  been  doled  out  to  thee." 

"  My  parents  were  born  lang,  lang  before  me. 
Perhaps  by  this  time  they  are  drowned  in  the  sea, 
These  lands  and  possessions  they  left  them  to  me, 
And  I  came  for  thee,  love,  to  share  them  with  thee. 

"  In  love  we  began  and  in  love  we  will  end. 
And  in  joy  and  delight  our  days  we  will  spend  ; 
On  a  voyage  to  your  father  once  more  we  will  go, 
And  relieve  the  old  man  from  his  trouble  and  woe." 


THE  HERD'S  GHAIST.  125 

With  men  and  maid  servants  to  wait  them  upon, 
Away  to  her  father  in  a  chaise  they  are  gone  ; 
The  laddie  went  foremost — the  brave  Highland  loon — 
Till  they  came  to  the  road  that  leads  into  the  town. 

When  he  came  to  the  gate  he  gave  a  loud  roar — 

"  Come  down,  gentle  farmer — see  who's  at  your  door," 

When  he  looked  from  the  window  and  saw  his  child's 

face, 
With  his  hat  in  his  hand  he  made  a  great  phrase. 

"  Keep  on  your  hat,  farmer,  and  don't  let  it  fa', 
For  it  sets  not  the  peacock  to  bow  to  the  craw," 
"  It's  hold  your  tongue,  Sandy,  and  do  not  taunt  me, 
For  my  daughter's  not  worthy  your  bride  for  to  be." 

Now  he  held  his  bridle  reins  till  he  came  down. 
And  then  he  conveyed  him  to  a  fine  room  ; 
With  rejoicing  and  feasting  the  time  flew  away, 
And  the  father  and  son  lived  in  friendship  for  aye. 


G:be  lbcrb'0  (Bbaist 

This  old  ballad,  the  full  title  of  which,  in  the  Chapman's 
copy  in  my  possession,  is — "The  Herd's  Ghaist,  or  the 
Perjured  Laird's  Doom  ;  a  Legend  of  the  Auld  Kirk  o' 
Pert,"  has,  so  far  as  I  have  seen,  not  found  a  place  in  any 
of  the  collections,  and,  like  some  of  the  others  introduced 
here,  is  in  imminent  danger  of  passing  out  of  memory.  By 
some  of  the  older  folks  in  the  district  to  which  it  belongs  - 
the  parish  of  Pert,  now  united  to  that  of  Logic,  in  the  north- 
eastern part  of  Forfarshire — the  tale  on  which  it  is  founded 
is  thus  narrated  :— A  simple  herd  boy  having  excited  the 
ire  of  the  laird  of  Pert,  the  latter,  a  powerful  man,  flung  the 
unconscious  victim  of  his  anger  among  a  cairn  of  stones, 
and  thereby  killed  him  on  the  spot.    The  circumstances  hav- 


126  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

ing  caused  judicial  inquiry,  the  laird,  to  exculpate  himself, 
charged  one  of  his  own  hinds  with  the  perpetration  of  the 
murder,  for  which,  in  those  days  when  "  might  was  right," 
the  poor  man  was  hanged.  The  fact  was,  however,  tra- 
ditionally transmitted,  and  the  particulars,  as  related  in 
the  ballad,  obtained  a  general  belief  among  the  peasantry, 
viz.,  that,  till  the  conjurations  of  the  miller,  the  sprite  had 
wandered  under  the  murky  cloud  of  night,  between  the 
kirk  of  Pert  and  an  old  ford  in  the  river  below  the  North 
Water  Bridge. 

The  old  kirk  of  Pert,  so  prominent  in  the  ballad,  is  now 
a  pictures([ue  ruin  on  the  banks  of  the  North  Esk,  some- 
what similar  in  ap]iearance  to  Kirk  Alloway  on  the  Doon, 
immortalised  by  Burns  in  his  tale  of  "Tarn  o'  Shanter." 


Whene'er  the  gowdcn  sun  gaed  doun. 

An'  gloomie  ev'nin'  fell, 
Frae  a  fireless  flame  o'  azure  hue, 

By  foot  o'  Pert's  kirke  bell, 

Ane  winsome  boy  there  wont  to  come, 
With  slae  black  eyne  an'  hair  ; 

His  cheiks  an'  lips  were  deadlie  pale, 
An'  head  an'  feet  w'ere  bare. 

Though  lang  atween  the  kirke  and  furde 

This  sprite  a-wanderin'  went, 
Nae  livin'  either  heard  its  tale, 

Or  cause  o'  mourning  kent. 

But  ae  dark  nicht  ane  miller  chiel' 

Had  langst  the  road  to  gae, 
The  lad  kept  rinnin'  by  his  side, 

Lamentin'  o'er  his  wae. 

An'  when  they  reach'd  the  kirkeyarde  style, 

He  cry'd — "  O  list  to  me  ; 
An'  set  ane  harmless  murdert  boy, 

Frae  lanelie  wand'rin'  free  !  " 


THE  HERD'S  GHAIST.  127 

The  sturdie  miller  aft  heard  tell 

That  sic  a  sprite  was  seen  ; 
Though  laith  to  bide  ane  ghastlie  ca', 

At  last  he's  courage  ta'en. 

An'  'bout  himsell  wi'  hazel  staff, 

He  made  ane  roundlie  score  ; 
Then  said — "  My  lad,  in  name  o'  Gude,  * 

What  do  ye  wander  for  ?  " 

The  laddie  ga'e  ane  eldritch  screech  — 

Ane  wulsome  look  an'  bauld  ; 
An'  aye's  he  spak  the  thunder  roll'd, 

An'  fire  flauchts  ne'er  devaul'd. 

"  There,  there's  the  cairn  !  "  the  laddie  scrcam'd, 

"  Whare  life  was  ta'en  frae  me  ; 
For  whilk  ane  guiltless  hireman  died 

Hie  on  yon  wither'd  tree — 
Whase  life  the  murd'rer  swore  awa', 

To  save's  ain  infamie  : 

"  But,  ho  !  "  mair  shrillie  cried  the  boy, 

With  eye  on  lordlie  grave  ; 
"Come  forth  thou  perjur'd  laird  o'  Pert, 

Thy  name  it  winna  save  ! 

"  Not  all  thy  gifts  to  hallie  kirke, 

Or  alms  thou  didst  bestow. 
Will  lay  the  clouds  o'  sin  an'  shame 

That  round  thy  mem'rie  flow  !  " 


*  In  the  art  of  "laying  ghaists,"  this  is  ever  an  important  precau- 
tionary proceeding,  because  it  is  superstitiously  believed,  that  if  the 
conjurer  describes  the  circle  in  the  name  of  the  Deity,  no  spirit  can 
enter  it  :  but,  if  that  particular  be  neglected,  the  circle  is  made  in 
vain,  and  there  are  then  a  thousand  to  one  chances  of  his  being 
attacked  by  the  spirit,  and  deprived  of  life. 


,28  AULD  SCOTS  P.ALLANTS. 

On  Ihis  ane  grizzlie  form  appear'd, 
An'  frae  the  kirke  wa'  hied — 

"  Ah  !  there's  the  murd'rous  laird  o'  Pert  ! 
The  laddie  tremblin'  cried. 

The  hoary  sprite  was  mute,  an'  fain 
Wad  flown  to  whence  it  came ; 

But  aye's  it  near'd  the  darksome  grave, 
There  rose  a  smoth'rin'  flame  ; 

An'  by  that  flame,  frae  bailie  kirke 
The  laird's  rich  gifts  were  thrown  ; 

^Yhile  sprites  of  ancient  kith  an'  kin, 
Thus  sang  in  waefu'  tone — 

"  Sin'  Ileav'n  denies  thee  an'  thy  wealih, 

Sae  surelie  too  shall  we  ; 
For  though  thou  be  our  ain  brither, 

We  hate  all  perjurie  ! 

"  An'  frae  our  fam'lie  tomb  for  aye, 
Thy  name  it  shall  be  ta'en  : 

An'  but  in  page  of  blude  an'  shame, 
Nae  trace  o'  thee'll  be  seen  ! " 


Bereft  of  friends,  an'  hopes  of  peace, 
With  grief  the  laird  was  pained  ; 

His  sprite  flew  here,  an'  then  flew  there. 
But  peace  it  ne'er  obtained  ; 

Till  frae  the  Esk  ane  frichtsome  fiend. 

With  joyful  clamour  flies, 
An'  fondly  graspt  the  Laird,  as  gin, 

He'd  been  it's  weddit  prize  ! 


HELEN  OF  KIRKCONNELL.  129 

An'  just's  they  fleil,  a  siller  cloud 

Drew  round  the  guiltless  boy, 
That  bore  him  frae  this  land  of  woe 

To  shades  of  heav'nlie  joy  ! 


Ibcleti  of  Hxirl^connclL 


This  beautiful  ballad  is  founded  on  a  traditionary  event, 
the  date  of  which  cannot  be  satisfactorily  ascertained.  The 
locality  is  in  the  parish  of  Kirkpatrick-Fleming,  Dumfries- 
shire, and  the  characters  of  the  story  are  said  to  have  been 
Helen  Irving  or  Bell,  daughter  of  a  laird  of  Kirkconnell, 
Adam  Fleming  of  Kirkpatrick,  her  accepted  suitor,  and  a 
rival  admirer  of  the  heroine,  whose  name  has  escaped  tra- 
dition, but  who  is  alleged  to  have  been  a  Bell  of  Blacket 
House.  According  to  the  narration  of  Pennant,  the  dis- 
favoured lover,  whose  suit  was  approved  by  the  young 
lady's  family,  vowed  to  sacrifice  the  successful  suitor  to  his 
resentment,  and  watched  an  opportunity  while  the  happy 
pair  were  sitting  on  the  banks  of  the  Kirtle,  that  washes 
these  grounds.  Helen  perceived  the  desperate  lover  on  the 
opposite  side,  and  fondly  thinking  to  save  her  favourite, 
interposed  ;  and,  receiving  the  wound  intended  for  her 
beloved,  she  fell  and  expired  in  his  arms.  He  instantly 
avenged  her  death  ;  then  fled  into  Spain,  and  served  for 
some  time  against  the  Infidels.  On  his  return,  he  visited 
the  grave  of  his  unfortunate  mistress,  stretched  himself  on 
it,  and,  expiring  on  the  spot,  was  interred  by  her  side. 
They  rest  in  the  burial-ground  of  Kirkconnell.  A  cross 
and  a  sword  are  engraven  on  the  tombstone,  together  with 
these  words — '■'■  Hie  Jacet  Adanius  Fleming.^''  There  are 
various  readings  of  the  ballad,  all  of  them  possessing  rare 
lyrical  beauty.  The  original,  printed  by  Sir  Walter  Scott, 
consists  of  two  parts  :  the  first  being  so  much  superior  to 
the  second  as  to  create  doubts  in  Scott's  mind  regarding 
their  original  connection. 

The  following  I  consider  is  the  best  copy  of  the  modern 
version  : 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

I  WISH  I  were  where  Helen  lies  ! 
For  night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 
I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
On  fair  Kirkconncll  lee  ! 

Curs'd  he  the  heart  that  thought  the  thought, 
And  curs'd  the  hand  that  fired  the  shot, 
When  in  my  arms  burd  Helen  dropt. 
And  died  to  succour  me. 

0  think  ye  na  my  heart  was  sair, 

When  my  love  dropt  down  and  spake  nac  mair 
When  she  did  swoon  wi'  meikle  care, 
On  fair  Kirkconncll  lee. 

As  I  went  down  the  water  side. 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide  ; 
None  but  my  foe  to  be  my  guide, 
On  fair  Kirkconncll  lee. 

1  lighted  down,  my  sword  did  draw, 
I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma'  ; 

I  hacked  him  in  pieces  sma', 

For  her  sake  that  died  for  me. 

O  Helen  fair,  beyond  compare  ! 
Fll  weave  a  garland  o'  thy  hair. 
And  wear  the  same  for  evermair, 
Until  the  day  I  dee. 

Oh,  that  I  were  where  Helen  lies  ! 
For  night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 
Out  of  my  bed  she  bids  me  rise. 

Says  "  Haste,  and  come  to  me  !  " 

Oh,  Helen  fair  !  oh,  Helen  chaste  ! 
Were  I  with  thee  I  would  be  blest. 
Where  thou  lies  low  and  takes  thy  rest 
Oil  fair  Kirkconncll  lee. 


WEDDERBURN'S  COURTSHIP. 

I  wish  my  grave  were  growing  green  ; 
A  winding-sheet  drawn  o'er  my  een, 
And  I  in  Helen's  arms  lying 
On  fair  Kirkconnell  lee. 

I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies  ! 
For  night  and  day  on  me  she  cries  ; 
I  wish  I  were  where  Helen  lies, 
On  fair  Kirkconnell  lee  ! 


Captain  Mc^^crbunV6  Courtship* 

This  popular  and  amusing  ballad  is  reprinted  from  Mr. 
Jamieson's  text,  with  a  few  variations  supplied  by  Mr. 
Kinloch. 

The  Laird  o'  Roslin's  daughter, 

Walked  thro'  the  woods  her  lane  ; 
And  by  cam'  Captain  Wedderburn, 

A  servant  to  the  King. 
He  said  unto  his  serving  man, 

"  Were't  not  against  the  law, 
I  wad  tak'  her  to  my  ain  bed, 

And  lay  her  neist  the  wa'." 

"I  am  walking  here  alane,"  she  says, 

"  Amang  my  father's  trees  ; 
And  you  must  let  me  walk  alane, 

Kind  sir,  now,  if  you  please  : 
The  supper  bell  it  will  be  rung. 

And  I'll  be  mist  awa ; 
.Sae  I  winna  lie  in  your  bed. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 


AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

ITe  says,  "  My  pretty  lady, 

I  pray  lend  me  your  hand, 
And  ye'll  hae  drums  and  trumpets 

Always  at  your  command  ; 
And  fifty  men  to  guard  you  \vi', 

That  well  their  swords  can  draw  ; 
Sae  we'se  baith  lie  in  ae  bed, 

And  ye'se  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

"  I  laud  awa  frae  me,"  she  said, 

"  And  pray  let  gae  my  hand  : 
The  supper  bell  it  will  be  rung  ; 

I  can  nae  langer  stand  ; 
My  father  he  will  angry  be, 

Gin  I  be  mist  awa  ; 
Sae  I'll  nae  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  wa"." 

Then  said  the  pretty  lady, 

"  I  pray  tell  me  your  name  ?" 
"  My  name  is  Captain  Wedderburn, 

A  servant  to  the  king  : 
Though  thy  father  and  his  men  were  here, 

O'  them  I'd  have  nae  awe  ; 
But  wad  tak'  you  to  my  ain  bed, 

And  lay  you  neist  tlie  wa'." 

Me  lichtil  aff  his  berry-brown  steed. 

And  set  this  lady  on  ; 
And  held  her  by  the  milk-white  hand. 

Even  as  they  rade  along  ; 
He  held  her  by  the  middle  jimp, 

For  fear  that  she  should  fa'. 
To  tak'  her  to  his  ain  bed, 

And  lay  her  neist  the  wa'. 


WEDDERBURN'S  COURTSHIP.  133 

He  took  her  to  his  lodging-house  ; 

His  landlady  look'd  ben  ; 
Says,  "  Mony  a  pretty  lady, 

In  Edinbruch  I've  seen  ; 
But  sic  a  lovely  face  as  thine 

In  it  I  never  saw  ; 
Gae  mak'  her  down  a  down-bed, 

And  lay  her  neist  the  wa'. 

"  O  haud  away  frae  me,"  she  says  ; 

"  I  pray  you  let  me  be  ; 
I  winna  gang  into  your  bed, 

Till  ye  dress  me  dishes  three  : 
Dishes  three  ye  maun  dress  me, 

Gin  I  should  eat  them  a', 
Afore  that  I  lie  in  your  bed. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'. 

"  It's  ye  maun  get  to  my  supper 

A  cherry  without  a  stane  ; 
And  ye  maun  get  to  my  supper 

A  chicken  without  a  bane  ; 
And  ye  maun  get  to  my  supper 

A  bird  without  a  ga'  ;  * 
Or  I  winna  lie  in  your  bed. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

"  It's  when  the  cherry  is  in  the  blume, 

I'm  sure  it  has  nae  stane  ; 
And  when  the  chicken's  in  the  egg, 

I  wat  it  has  nae  bane  ; 


*  Gall.  It  is  a  popular  notion  in  Scotland  that  the  dove  sent  from 
the  ark  by  Noah  flew  until  it  burst  its  gall,  and  transmitted  this 
physical  peculiarity  to  its  descendants. — Avtoi;n. 


134  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

And,  sin'  the  flood  o'  Noah, 

The  doo  she  has  nae  ga'  ; 
Sae  we'll  baith  lie  in  ae  bed, 

And  ye'se  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

"  O  haud  your  tongue,  young  man,"  s-hc  says, 

"  Nor  that  gale  me  perplex  ; 
For  ye  maun  tell  me  fpiestions  yet. 

And  that  is  questions  six  : 
Questions  six  ye'll  tell  to  me, 

And  that  is  three  times  twa, 
Afore  I  lie  in  your  bed. 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'. 

"  What's  greener  than  the  greenest  grass  ? 

What's  higher  than  the  trees  ? 
What's  waur  nor  an  ill  woman's  wish  ? 

W' hat's  deeper  than  the  seas  ? 
What  bird  sings  first  ?     And  whereupon 

First  doth  the  dew  down  fa'  ? 
Ye  sail  tell  afore  I  lay  me  down. 

Between  you  and  the  wa'." 

"  Vergris  *  is  greener  than  the  grass  ; 

Heaven's  higher  than  the  trees  ; 
The  deil's  waur  nor  a  woman's  wish  ; 

Hell's  deeper  than  the  seas  ; 
The  cock  craws  first  ;  on  cedar  tap 

The  dew  down  first  doth  fa' ; 
Sae  we'll  baith  lie  in  ae  bed. 

And  ye'se  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

"O  haud  your  tongue,  young  man,"  she  says, 
"  And  gie  your  tlecchin  ower, 

Unless  ye  find  me  ferlies. 
And  that  is  ferlies  four ; 

''  Verdiijris. 


WEDDERBURN'S  COURTSHIP.  135 

Ferlies  four  ye  maun  find  me, 

And  that  is  twa  and  twa  ; 
Or  I'll  never  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  \va'. 

"  It's  ye  maun  get  to  me  a  plum, 

That  in  December  grew  ; 
And  ye  maun  get  a  silk  mantel. 

That  waft  was  ne'er  ca'd  through  ; 
A  sparrow's  horn  ;  a  priest  unborn, 

This  night  to  join  us  twa  ; 
Or  I'll  no  lie  in  your  bed, 

Either  at  stock  or  wa'." 

*'  My  father  he  has  winter  fruit, 

That  in  December  grew  ; 
My  mother  has  an  Indian  gown. 

That  waft  was  ne'er  ca'd  through  ; 
A  sparrow's  horn  is  quickly  found  ; 

There's  ane  on  every  claw. 
And  twa  upon  the  neb  o'  him  ; 

And  ye  shall  get  them  a'. 

■"  The  priest,  he's  standing  at  the  door. 

Just  ready  to  come  in  ; 
Nae  man  can  say  that  he  was  born, 

Nae  man,  unless  he  sin  ; 
A  wild  boar  tore  his  mother's  side. 

He  out  o'  it  did  fa' ; 
Sae  we'll  baith  lie  in  ae  bed, 

And  ye'll  lie  neist  the  wa'." 

Little  kenn'd  Girzie  Sinclair, 

That  morning  when  she  raise, 
That  this  would  be  the  hindermost 

O'  a'  her  maiden  days. 


136  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

But  now  there's  no  within  the  realm, 
I  think,  a  biyther  twa  ; 

And  they  baith  lie  in  ae  bed, 
And  she  lies  neist  the  wa'. 


ITbc  riDurbcr  of  Ikino  Ikcnncth, 

This  ballad,  which  is  evidently  a  production  of  the  pre- 
sent century,  is  founded  upon  the  account  of  Kenneth's 
reign  as  given  by  liollinshed  in  his  somewhat  mythical 
Chronicle  of  Scotland. 

The  best  authorities  state  that  Kenneth  succeeded  Culen 
about  A.I).  971,  and  that  his  career  was  honourable  and 
brilliant  until  near  its  close,  when  it  was  darkened  by  the 
murder  either  of  a  cousin  or  a  brother.  Hollinshed  says  it 
was  a  cousin  ;  and  St,  Berchan  calls  Kenneth  "  Fiitgalach," 
or  the  fratricide. 

It  is  agreed  by  all  our  historians  that  Kenneth  was 
killed  by  stratagem,  somewhere  near  Fettercairn,  about 
A.I).  994-5.  Tradition  points  to  Lady  I''inella  as  the  con- 
triver, and  to  the  castle  of  Greencairn  as  the  scene  of  his 
death.  The  figures  upon  the  well-known  sculptured  stone 
which  stands  within  the  chapel  of  St.  Palladius  at  Fordoun, 
are  (as  noticed  in  the  ballad)  popularly  associated  with  the 
murder  of  the  King. 

It  is  interesting  to  remember  that  King  Malcolm, 
ICcnneth's  father,  was  killetl  at  no  great  distance  from  For- 
doun, viz.,  at  Fetteresso,  where  his  burial  place  is  [lointed 
out  near  the  Kailway  Station  of  Stonehaven. 

One  fine  summer's  eve,  whilst  wand'ring  alone, 

I  came  to  a  sweet  bubbling  well, 
Where  sat  an  old  man,  in  a  deep  pensive  mood, 

'Neath  the  wide  spreading  trees  of  a  dell. 

I  softly  stept  forward,  and  greeted  the  sage. 

Who  gave  me  a  kind  look  and  smile — 
"  What  a  nice  lonely  spot  thou  hast  chosen  to  rest, 

And  the  long  summer  eve  to  beguile." 


THE  MURDER  OF  KING  KENNETH.       137 

"  'Tis  a  sweet  spot,  indeed  ! "  he  frankly  replied, 
"  And  hath  beauties  that's  known  but  to  few  ; 

Of  this  well  and  dell,  and  the  hills  that's  around, 
We  have  many  a  legend,  I  trew. 

"  But  pray  thee,"  he  said,  "taste  the  water :  thou'lt  find, 

It  is  wond'rously  pleasing  and  cool." 
I  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  worthy  old  man. 

And  drank  from  the  time-honour'd  pool. 

"But,  stay,  stay,  my  friend  !  "  he  cried  in  much  haste, 

"  Of  its  virtues,  I  fear,  thou  can'st  tell  : 
For  unless  thou  believ'st  in  our  great  Mother  Church 

No  charm  hath  this  little  well." 

"  The  water's  as  sweet  to  my  taste,  worthy  sire. 

As  tho'  I  to  thy  Church  did'st  belong." 
"Aye  ! — but  never  a  blessing  thou  ask'd  from  Above, 

So  to  God,  and  our  Saint,  thou'st  done  wrong." 

"And  what  is  the  name  of  thy  Saint  ?  "  I  enquired, 

"  For  a  stranger  I  am  to  this  place." 
He  cross'd  his  old  breast,  and  with  rev'rence  replied, 

"  Palladius — whose  Soul  is  in  Peace  !  " 

"  Oh,  tell  me,  I  pray,  what  Palladius  did  here, 

For  he  flourish'd  in  ages  bygone  ;  " 
In  silence  again  he  sought  aid  from  Above, 

Then  spake  in  a  grave  hollow  tone — 

"  Palladius,"  he  said,  "  came  here  from  afar — 

From  the  Great  Holy  City  of  Rome  ; 
And  crush'd  on  his  way  the  Pelagians'  creed. 

And  near  to  this  well  was  his  home. 

"  'Twas  here  he  proclaimed  the  glad  tidings  of  Life, 

And  first  gave  us  Bishops,  they  say  ; 
But  after  a  long  and  a  holy  career. 

He  sank  to  his  cold  bed  of  clay. 


I3S  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  And  within  yonder  chapel,  just  over  our  heads, 

We  are  told  that  his  relics  do  lie ; 
And  that  the  poor  pilgrims  with  long  staves  and  gowns. 

Came  here  from  all  airts  of  the  sky  ; 

•'  There  knelt  they  and  worshipp'd  for  days  upon  end. 

And  fared  from  but  barely  stored  scrips  ; 
Nor  had  they  a  measure  of  wine — but  alone 

This  water  to  moisten  their  lips. 

"  And  this  crystal  stream — thou  may'st  smile,  but  it's  true — 

Was  long  thought  so  wondrous  pure. 
That  the  deadliest  wounds  of  body  or  soul. 

From  its  virtues  received  a  cure  ! 

"  But  the  mightiest  pilgrim  that  ever  came  here, 

Was  a  monarch  both  famous  and  wise  ; 
But,  alas  for  his  fate  !  "  the  sage  bent  his  head, 

And  tears  gather'd  fast  in  his  eyes. 

"  Why  griev'st  thou,  my  friend?"  I  enquir'd  from  my  heart, 

"  Was  the  stranger  of  thy  kin  or  race  ?  " 
"Ah,  no  !  but  I  grieve  as  all  Christians  should  do, 

When  Religion  cloaks  deeds  of  disgrace, 

"  When  teachers  and  patterns  of  Virtue  are  first 

To  stain  their  own  creeds  by  a  crime. 
They  stagger  weak  minds,  and  enforce  a  belief 

That  Faith's  but  a  creature  of  Time. 

"  The  beggar  that  does  as  he  would  be  done  to, 

Is  a  gem  for  the  Crown  that's  on  high  ; 
But  those  who  do  not— whether  king,  peer,  or  priest — 

Have  minds  that  I  dare  not  envy  ! 

"  ]!ut  within  yon  old  chapel,  if  with  me  thou'll  go, 

ril  show  thee  a  trophy  most  fine." 
lie  rose  slowly  up,  and  with  help  climb'd  the  brae, 

For  his  age  it  was  four  score  and  nine. 


THE  MURDER  OF  KING  KENNETH.       139 

"  I  thank  thee,"  he  smilingly  said  as  he  leant 

'Gainst  the  trunk  of  a  shadowy  tree — 
*'  If  thou  livest  as  long  in  the  world  as  I, 

Thou'U  be  glad  of  assistance,  like  me  !  " 

We  enter'd  the  building— a  small  dingy  place, 

With  an  arch  in  the  eastermost  end — 
*'  'Tis  there,"  he  said  gravely,  "  Palladius  was  laid, 

And  on  him  may  Our  Lady  attend  ! 

"  But  here  is  the  relic,"  he  softly  observ'd. 

As  he  touched  a  rudely  carv'd  stone. 
*'  To  what,"  I  enquir'd,  "  do  those  horsemen  refer, 

For  they  seem  as  of  ages  bygone  ? " 

"  So  truly  they  do,  my  young  friend,"  he  said, 
"And  none  their  real  meaning  doth  know  ; 

Some  say  they  relate  to  a  treacherous  deed 
Wliich  threw  the  whole  nation  in  woe  ! " 

"  And  what  was  the  nature  of  that  woeful  deed  ? 

For  in  tales  of  the  past  I  delight." 
"  I'll  tell  it,"  he  said,  "  tho'  the  story  be  long', 

If  thou'st  got  the  patience  to  wait." 

I  gladly  consented,  and  thus  he  began — 

"  WTien  Kenneth  the  bold  ruled  our  isle. 
When  his  wars  with  the  Danes  were  almost  forgot, 

And  the  pleasures  of  peace  'gsn  to  smile. 

^*  'Twas  then  that  young  Malcolm,  a  good  holy  prince. 

And  Kenneth's  successor  in  sway, 
Fell  dang'rously  ill,  and  suddenly  died, 

To  Scotia's  great  grief  and  dismay. 

"  'Twas  certain  he  died  from  a  poisonous  draught, 

But  given  by  whom  was  unknown. 
Till  suspicion  arose  from  Kenneth's  great  zeal 

For  his  son  to  succeed  to  the  throne. 


I40  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  And  the  more  to  disguise  his  great  sin  and  shame, 

Sly  Kenneth  assumed  meikle  grief ; 
And  so  craftily  played  he  the  wolf  and  the  lamb, 

That  his  falsity  gained  belief. 

"  But  with  all  the  cunning  and  skill  he  possess'd. 

Wild  visions  he  could  not  allay  ; 
And  the  form  of  Malcolm,  the  young  and  the  good, 

It  met  him  by  night  and  by  day. 

"  Did  he  sit  on  the  throne,  or  mix  in  the  dance, 

Or  join  in  the  sports  of  the  chase, 
The  sweet  guileless  form  of  Malcolm  aye  rose 

And  constantly  harrow'd  his  peace. 

"And  once  as  he  lay  on  his  tapestried  couch, 
He  was  roused  by  this  dire  warning  call — 

'  O  Kenneth,  prepare  ;  for  the  vengeance  of  God 
On  thee  and  thy  kinsmen  shall  fall  ! ' 

"  He  hastily  sprang  from  his  soft  downy  bed, 

And  called  on  the  Church  for  his  sake, 
To  pray  for  his  soul — but  good  fathers  deem'd 

That  Kenneth  some  penance  should  make — 

"  That  to  the  lov'd  relics  of  saints  and  of  priests. 

He  humbly  and  quickly  should  go  ; 
There  kneel  and  confess,  and  crave  strength  to  withstand 

The  power  of  his  deadliest  foe. 

"  In  those  pious  wand'rings  King  Kenneth  came  here, 

And  knelt  at  Palladius'  shrine  ; 
And  crav'd  him  to  plead  for  his  pardon  and  peace, 

That  he  'mongst  the  holy  might  shine. 

"  But  as  he  repair'd  with  his  suite  by  yon  hill, 

Greencairn's  proud  turrets  were  seen  ; 
And  their  high-born  Lady  perceiving  the  train, 

Came  forth  with  the  grace  of  a  queen. 


THE  MURDER  OF  KING  KENNETH.       141 

"  ♦  O  mightiest  monarch  ! '  she  said,  as  she  knelt, 

'  Pray  honour  this  dwelling  of  mine  ; 
I  am  fain  that  your  Highness  and  courtiers  so  loyal 

Should  partake  of  a  goblet  of  wine  ! ' 

"  They  enter'd  the  hall,  and  quaft'd  oft"  the  wine- 
Such  splendour  was  ne'er  before  shown — 

The  walls  gleam'd  with  em'ralds,  and  under  their  feet 
Choice  grasses  and  rashes  were  strewn. 

"  Finella  beholding  the  courtiers'  surprise, 

As  well  as  the  King's  wistful  gaze. 
Said  cunningly  and  sweetly—'  My  sire,  take  thy  choice 

Of  aught,  from  the  casket  to  vase  ! 

•' «  But  here,  if  your  Highness  will  step  to  this  room, 

I'll  show  thee  an  object  more  rare.' 
The  King  and  Finella  pass'd  out  from  the  hall, 

And  enter'd  a  grand  spiral  stair  ; 

"  And  there  to  the  monarch  she  showed  a  great  tower, 

With  curtains  from  roof  to  the  floor, 
All  finely  embroider'd  with  costlier  gems 

Than  royalty  had  e'er  seen  before. 

"  And  there  he  beheld  a  Knight  made  of  brass, 

Of  form  both  handsome  and  bold  ; 
One  hand  held  a  sword  of  the  richest  device— 

The  other  an  apple  of  gold. 

"  '  Where  got  you  this  figure,  my  Lady?'  he  said, 

'  For  its  beauty  outvies  all  I've  seen,' 
'  O  take  thou  the  apple,  my  Sire,'  she  replied, 

'  A  present  from  me  to  thy  queen  ! ' 

"  Suspecting  no  harm,  the  King  seized  the  prize. 

Which  he  straight  from  the  effigy  bore  ; 
But,  alas  !  'twas  the  charm  to  some  hidden  spring, 

For  the  figure  ope'd  wide  like  a  door, 


142  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

And  from  its  false  body  wild  poisoned  darts  flew, 
Which  pierced  the  king  to  the  core  ! 

"  So  'mongst  those  grand  trophies  he  weltered  in  blood, 

And  powerless  had  felt  the  just  sting. 
For  Finella's  own  son  and  kinsmen  were  slain 

])y  order  of  this  very  king  ! 

"  Such,  then,  was  the  wonderful  way  she  reveng'd 
The  wounds  her  proud  heart  had  sustained  ; 

And  won  for  her  friend,  Constantinus,  the  throne, 
Altho'  but  a  short  time  he  reign'd. 

"  But  some  say  the  King  niix'd  in  a  great  hunt. 

That  Finella  had  thrown  in  his  way  ; 
And  two  of  these  horsemen  are  thought  to  be  those 

That  murder'd  the  King  on  that  day. 
While  the  one  in  the  middle,  as  I  have  been  told, 

Is  the  King  in  his  princely  array. 

"And  that  pointed  weapon  just  over  those  spheres, 

\\'hich  are  joined  by  a  crown,  some  aver. 
Show  the  sceptre,  the  crown,  and  shields  that  were  used 

In  Scotland  when  Kenneth  rul'd  there. 

"  Tho'  all  this,  no  doubt,  is  mere  matter  of  guess, 

'Tis  certain,  ere  letters  were  known, 
Our  fathers  recorded  great  deeds  in  the  way 

Which  we  see  upon  this  very  stone." 

"  But  how  died  Finella?  "  I  ask'd  of  the  sage, 

He  answer'd — "  Real  records  are  lost  ; 
But  tradition  hath  told  that  she  took  her  own  life 

In  a  deep  rocky  den  near  the  coast — 
That  she  leapt  from  the  cliffs  to  a  wild  boiling  pool, 

Where  her  body  was  torn  and  toss'd  !  * 

*  Den  Finella,  a  singularly  romantic  spot,  upon  the  estate  of  Lauris- 
ton,  in  the  parish  of  St.  Cyrus,  Kincardineshire,  is  the  supposed  scene 
of  Lady  Finella's  death. 


THE  WIFE  O'  AUCHTERAIUCIITV.         14: 

"  AikI  'tis  written,"  he  added,  "  that  proofs  were  beheld 

Of  Heaven's  dread  %'engeance  and  ire  ; 
That  it  rained  mighty  showers,  and  blew  mighty  winds, 

And  the  sun  and  the  moon  were  like  fire  ! 

"  That  Finella's  fine  castle  was  razed  to  the  ground, 

And  left,  as  is  yet  to  be  seen, 
A  mass  of  extensive,  but  unshapely  ruins, 

On  the  top  of  a  hillock  so  green.  * 

"  But  this  tragic  story  thou  surely  had'st  known, 

And  of  our  Apostle  heard  tell  ; 
For  many  more  tales,  unsung  and  imwrote. 

Could  be  told  of  Palladius'  Well  !  " 


ZTbe  mite  0'  Hucbtcrmucbti>. 

This  is  one  of  the  very  best  of  our  old  Scottish  humorous 
ballads,  and  comes  down  to  us  in  an  uncorrupted  state  in 
consequence  of  its  preservation  in  the  manuscript  collection 
made  by  Mr.  George  Bannatyne  in  1568.  It  is  supposed 
to  be  the  composition  of  a  Sir  John  Moffat,  a  priest  (one  of 
the  Pope's  knights),  who  flourished  in  the  early  part  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  was  the  author  of  a  fine  serious  poem 
beginning  "  Brother,  be  wise,  I  rede  you  now."  which  has 
been  printed  in  Lord  Hailes's  collection.  "  The  Wife  o' 
Auchtermuchty  "  was  first  printed  by  Allan  Ramsay  in  his 
Evergrem,  with  some  alterations  and  additions  by  the 
editor  ;  and  this  version  has  been  often  reprinted.  The 
present  copy  is  from  the  Bannatyne  manuscript,  modernised 

*  Ruins  of  Greencairn  Castle,  the  reputed  residence  of  Lady  Finella, 
are  still  to  be  seen  upon  a  knoll,  about  a  mile  to  the  west  of  the  village 
of  Fettercairn.  The  hill  of  Strathfinla,  or  Finella,  between  Fordoun 
and  Fettercairn,  is  said  to  have  its  name  from  Lady  Finella. 


144  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

only  as  respects  spelling,  and  supplemented  by  twenty-four 
lines  which  do  not  occur  in  Mr.  Bannatyne's  version. 

The  story  is  so  humorous,  and  the  troubles  the  unfortu- 
nate gudeman  gets  into  on  turning  housewife  are  dcscribeil 
with  such  graphic  detail,  that  one  could  have  wished  to 
believe  that  it  chronicled  an  actual  experience  in  an 
Auchtermuchty  household  over  three  hundred  years  ago, 
but,  as  Mr.  David  Laing  pointed  out,  the  siory  is  not 
original  ;  a  tale  strongly  resembling  it  in  incident  and  turn  of 
humour  occurring  in  "  Silva  Sermonum  Jucundissiinorum," 
published  at  Basle  in  1568,  and  into  which,  in  all  proba- 
bility, it  was  copied  from  some  earlier  collection  of  kindred 
native  matter. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add  that  the  popular  song  of 
"John  Grumlie"  is  based  on  "The  Wife  o'  Auchter- 
muchty." 

In  Auchtermuchty  there  dwelt  ane  man, 

Ane  husband,  as  I  heard  it  tauld, 
Wha  weel  could  tipple  out  a  can. 

And  neither  loved  hunger  nor  cauld. 
While  ance  it  fell  upon  a  day. 

He  yokit  his  pleugh  upon  the  plain, 
Gif  it  be  true  as  I  heard  say  ; 

The  day  was  foul  for  wind  and  rain. 

He  lows't  the  pleugh  at  the  land's  end, 

And  drave  his  oxen  hame  at  e'en  ; 
When  he  cam'  in  he  lookit  ben, 

And  saw  his  wife  baith  trig  and  clean. 
Sitting  at  the  fire,  full  biek  and  bauld, 

With  ane  fat  soup,  as  I  heard  say  ; 
The  man  being  very  weet  and  cauld, 

Between  thae  twa  it  was  nae  play. 

<>uoth  he  "  Where  is  my  horses'  corn  ? 

My  ox  has  neither  hay  nor  strae  ; 
Dame,  ye  maun  to  the  pleugh  the  morn, 

I  sail  be  housewife,  gif  I  may. 


THE  WIFE  O'  AUCIITERMUCHTV.         145 

The  seed  time  it  proves  cauld  and  bad, 

And  ye  sit  warm,  nae  troubles  see  ; 
The  morn  ye  sail  gae  wi'  the  lad. 

And  syne  ye'll  ken  what  husbands  dree." 

"  Husband,"  quoth  she,  "  content  am  I 

To  tak'  the  pleugh  my  day  about, 
Sae  ye  will  rule  baith  calves  and  kye, 

And  all  the  house  baith  in  and  out. 
And  now  sin'  ye  hae  made  the  law, 

Then  guide  a'  richt,  and  dinna  break  ; 
They  siccar  ride  that  never  fa', 

We'll  see  gif  naething  ye  neglect. 

*'  But  sin'  that  ye  will  hoose-life  ken, 

First  ye  sail  sift,  and  syne  sail  kneed  ; 
And  aye  as  ye  gang  but  and  ben. 

Look  that  the  bairns  fyle  not  the  bed. 
Ye'se  lay  ane  saft  wisp  to  the  kiln, 

(We  have  ane  dear  farm  on  our  head), 
And  aye  as  ye  gang  furth  and  till. 

Keep  weel  the  goslings  frae  the  gled." 

The  wife  was  up  right  late  at  e'en, 

(I  pray  God  give  her  ill  to  fare  !) 
She  kirn'd  the  kirn,  and  skimm'd  it  clean. 

Left  the  gudeman  but  bleddoch  bare. 
Then  in  the  morning  up  she  gat, 

And  on  her  heart  laid  her  disjune  ; 
Syne  put  as  muckle  in  her  lap. 

As  micht  hae  served  them  baith  at  noon. 

Says,  "Jock,  be  thou  the  maister  of  wark, 

And  thou  sail  haud  and  I  sail  ca', 
I'se  promise  thee  ane  gude  new  sark 

Either  of  round  claith  or  of  sma'." 
K 


146  AULD  SCOTS  F.ALLANTS. 

She  lows't  the  oxen  audit  or  nine, 
And  took  ane  gad-staff  in  her  hand  ; 

Up  the  gudeman  raise  after-syne, 

And  saw  the  wife  had  done  command  ; 

He  ca'd  the  goslings  forth  to  feed, 

There  was  but  sevensome  o'  them  a' ; 
And  by  there  comes  the  greedy  gled, 

And  lickt  up  five,  left  him  but  twa, 
Then  oot  he  ran  in  all  his  mane, 

How  soon  he  heard  the  goslings  cry  ; 
But  than,  or  he  cam'  in  again, 

The  calves  biak  lovvse  and  sookit  the  kye. 

The  calves  and  kye  met  in  the  loan. 

The  man  ran  with  ane  rung  to  redd. 
When  by  there  comes  an  ill-willy  cow, 

And  brodit  his  buttock  so  that  it  bled. 
Then  hame  he  ran  to  ane  rock  of  tow, 

And  he  sat  down  to  try  the  spinning  ; 
I  trow  he  loutit  ower  near  the  lowe, 

Quoth  he  "  This  wark  has  ane  ill  beginning." 

Hynd  to  the  kirn  then  did  he  stour, 

And  jummilt  at  it  while  he  swat  ; 
When  he  had  jummilt  a  full  lang  hour, 

The  sorrow  a  scrap  of  butter  he  gat. 
Albeit  nae  butter  he  could  get, 

Vet  he  was  cummerit  with  the  kirn. 
And  syne  he  het  the  milk  ower  het. 

And  sorrow  a  spark  of  it  would  yini. 

Then  ben  there  cam'  ane  greedy  sow, 
I  trow  he  cunn'd  her  little  thank, 

For  in  she  shot  her  greedy  mou'. 

And  aye  she  winkit  and  aye  she  drank. 


THE  WIFE  O'  AUCIITERMUCIITV.         147 

He  cleikit  up  ane  crookit  club, 

And  thought  to  hit  the  sow  ane  rout, 

The  twa  goslings  the  gled  had  left, 
That  straik  dang  baith  their  harns  out. 

He  gat  his  foot  upon  the  spyre, 

To  get  the  bavvcon  for  the  pat  ; 
He  backwards  fell  into  the  fire, 

And  brak'  his  head  on  the  kaiming  stock  ; 
On  the  fire  he  set  the  meikle  pat, 

And  gat  twa  cans  and  ran  to  the  spout. 
Ere  he  cam'  in,  what  think  ye  o'  that  ? 

The  fire  had  burnt  the  bottom  oot. 

The  leam  up  through  the  lum  did  fiow, 

The  soot  took  fire,  and  fyled  him  than  ; 
A  lie  lump  fell  down  and  burnt  his  pow, 

I  wat  he  was  a  sorra  man. 
Swith  he  gat  water  in  a  pan, 

Wi'  whilk  he  slocken'd  out  the  fire  ; 
To  sweep  the  house  he  syne  began, 

To  haud  a'  richt  was  his  desire. 

Then  he  bore  kindling  to  the  kiln. 

But  it  stert  up  all  in  ane  lowe  ; 
Whatever  he  heard,  whatever  he  saw. 

That  day  he  had  nae  will  to  mou'. 
Then  he  gaed  to  tak'  up  the  bairns. 

Thought  to  have  found  them  fair  and  clean^ 
The  first  that  he  gat  in  his  arms, 

Was  all  bedirten  to  the  een. 

The  first  that  he  gat  in  his  arms, 

It  was  all  dirt  up  to  the  een  ; 
"The  deil  cut  off  her  hands,"  quoth  he, 

"  That  filled  ye  a'  sae  fou'  yestreen  !  " 


i4^  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

He  trail'd  the  foul  sheets  down  the  gate, 

Thought  to  have  washed  them  on  ane  stane ; 

The  burn  was  risen  great  of  spate, 
Away  frae  him  the  sheets  were  ta'cn. 

Then  up  he  gat  on  ane  knowe-head, 

On  her  to  cry,  on  her  to  shout  ; 
She  heard  him,  as  she  heard  him  not, 

But  stoutly  steer'd  the  stots  about. 
She  drave  the  day  unto  the  night. 

She  lows'd  the  pleugh,  and  syne  cam'  hamc 
She  fand  all  wrang  that  should  been  right  ; 

I  trow  the  man  thought  right  great  shame. 

Quoth  he,  "This  office  I  forsake, 

For  all  the  dayis  of  my  life. 
For  I  wald  put  ane  house  to  wrack, 

Had  I  been  twenty  days  guidwife." 
Quoth  she,  "  Weel  mot  ye  brook  your  ].lace, 

For  truly  I  will  ne'er  accep'  it  ; " 
Quoth  he,  "  Fiend  fall  the  limmer"s  face, 

But  yet  ye  may  be  blythe  to  get  it." 

Then  up  she  gat  ane  muckle  rung. 

And  the  guidman  made  to  the  door  ; 
Quoth  he,  "  Dame,  I  sail  hald  my  tongue. 

For  an  we  fecht,  I'll  get  the  waur." 
Quoth  he,  "  When  I  forsook  my  plough, 

I  trow,  I  but  forsook  mysel'  ; 
And  I  will  to  my  j^leugh  again. 

For  I  and  this  house  will  ne'er  do  well." 


^be  TOearv  Coble  o'  CaniilL 

This  fine  old  ballad — probably  the  comix>sition  of  some 
local  bard  who  lived  contemporary  with  the  event  which  it 


THE  WEARY  COBLE  O'  CARGILL.         149 

narrates — has  received  a  considerable  amount  of  attention 
from  the  students  of  ballad  lore.  It  was  first  printed  by 
William  Motherwell  in  his  "  Minstrelsy,  Ancient  and 
Modern,"  who  had  it  from  the  recitation  of  an  old  woman 
then  residing  in  the  neiy;hbourhood  of  Cambus  Michael,  in 
Perthshire.  In  Motherwell's  opinion  it  possesses  the 
elements  of  good  poetry,  and  he  adds  that,  had  it  fallen 
into  the  hands  of  those  who  make  no  scruple  of  interpolat- 
ing and  corrupting  the  text  of  oral  song,  it  miyht  have  been 
made,  with  little  trouble,  a  very  interesting  and  pathetic 
composition.  According  to  tradition,  the  ill-fated  hero  of 
the  ballad,  who  was  a  butler  to  Chancellor  Drummond  of 
Stobhall,  had  a  leman,  or  sweetheart,  in  each  of  the  two 
villages  of  Kercock  and  Ballathie,  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  Tay,  and  it  was  on  the  occasion  of  his  paying  a  visit  to 
his  Kercock  love  that  she  of  Ballathie,  in  a  frenzy  ot 
jealousy  and  revenge,  scuttled  the  boat  in  which  he  was  to 
recross  the  Tay  to  8tobhall.  There  are  two  versions  of  the 
ballad  ;  the  original,  recovered  by  Motherwell,  and  a 
modern  improved  version  which  has  not  hitherto  appeared 
in  any  collection.  A  serious  defect  of  the  older  version  is 
seen  in  the  fact  that  it  gives  no  reason  why  "the  lass  o' 
Balathy  toun  "  should  have  scuttled  the  boat  in  which  her 
lover  was  to  recross  the  river.  It  says  "  his  bed  was  made 
in  Kercock  ha',  o'  gude  clean  sheets  and  o'  the  hay  ; "  but 
that  can  scarcely  be  regarded  as  sufficient  cause  for  jealousy 
when  it  is  immediately  followed  by  the  assurance  that  "  he 
wadna  rest  a'e  nicht  therein,  but  on  the  proud  waters  he 
wad  gae."  The  modern  version  wisely  provides  a  causns 
belli. 

David  Drummond,  the  hero  of  the  ballad,  was,  tradition 
says,  the  son  of  a  certain  John  Drummond  in  Kercock,  and 
that  the  heroine  was  named  Jeanie  Low  or  Gow,  and  was 
daughter  of  the  joiner  of  the  tlicn  laird  of  Ballathie — hence 
her  acquaintance  with  the  fatal  augur.  Tradition  further 
tells  that  the  "  lass  of  Ballathie  toun  "  had  no  sooner 
"bored  the  coble  in  seven  parts"  than  she  relented  the 
cruel  deed,  and  hastened  to  fashion  seven  pins  wherewith 
to  plug  the  fatal  holes  ;  but  before  her  return  with  these  her 
tickle  lover  had  "  put  his  feet  into  the  boat  "  and  left  the 
shore,  and  she  reached  the  bank  of  the  river  just  in  time 
to  hear  his  cries  for  help,  and  witness  the  coble  sinking  in 
mid  waters.  She  went  out  of  her  reason  ;  and  the  terrible 
cause  of  her  mental  derangement  continuing  to  pull  at  the 
tangled  ends  of  her  ravelled  memory,  she  persistently  made 


I50  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

pins  to  ihc  end  of  her  days.  Since  her  demise  lier  patient 
ghost  has  "kept  on  the  business;"  and  tiicre  are  people 
living  who  aver  that  "  when  winter  nights  are  dark  and 
drear  "  the  ghost  of  "  I'innie  "  may  still  he  heard  on  the 
banks  of  the  Tay. 


(old  version.) 

David  Drummond's  destinie, 

Gude  man  o'  appearance  o'  Cargill, 

I  wat  this  bluid  rins  in  the  flude 
Sae  sair  against  his  parcnls'  will. 

She  was  the  lass  o'  Ballathy  toun, 
And  he  the  butler  o'  Stobhall, 

And  mony  a  time  she  wauked  late 
To  bore  the  Coble  o'  Cargill. 

His  bed  was  made  in  Kercock  ha', 
O'  gude  clean  sheets  and  o'  the  hn}-, 

He  wadna  rest  a'e  nicht  therein 

But  on  the  proud  waters  lie  wad  gac. 

His  bed  was  made  in  Ballalliy  toun, 
O'  gude  clean  sheets  and  o'  the  slrae, 

But  I  wat  it  was  far  better  made 
Into  the  bottom  o'  bonnie  Tay. 

She  bored  the  Coble  in  seven  parts, 
I  wat  her  heart  micht  hae  been  sair. 

For  there  she  got  the  bonnie  lad  lost, 
Wi'  the  curly  locks  and  the  yellow  hair. 

He  put  his  foot  into  the  boat, 

He  little  thocht  o'  ony  ill ; 
Put  before  that  he  was  mid  waters. 

The  weary  Coble  begin  to  fill. 


THE  WEARY  COBLE  O'  CARGILL.         151 

"  Wae  be  to  the  lass  o'  Ballathy  toun, 

I  wat  an  ill  death  may  she  dee, 
For  she  bored  the  Coble  in  seven  parts, 

And  let  the  waters  perish  me  ! 

"  Help  !  oh  help  !  I  can  get  nane, 

Nae  help  o'  man  can  to  me  come," 
This  was  about  his  dying  words, 

When  he  was  chok'd  up  to  the  chin. 

"  Gae  tell  my  father  and  my  mother. 

It  was  naebody  did  me  this  ill, 
I  was  a-going  my  ain  errands 

Lost  at  the  Coble  o'  bonnie  Cargill." 

She  bored  the  boat  in  seven  parts, 

I  wat  she  bored  it  wi'  gude  will. 
And  there  they  got  the  bonnie  lad's  corpse 

In  the  kirk  shot  o'  bonnie  Cargill. 

Oh,  a'  the  keys  o'  bonnie  Stobhall, 

I  wat  they  at  his  belt  did  hing  ; 
But  a'  the  keys  o'  bonnie  Stobhall 

They  now  lie  low  into  the  stream. 

A  braver  page  unto  his  age 

Ne'er  set  a  foot  upon  the  plain  ; 
His  father  to  his  mother  said, 

"Oh,  sae  sune's  we've  wanted  him  !  " 

I  wat  they  had  mair  love  than  this 

When  they  were  young  and  at  the  scule. 

But  for  his  sake  she  wauked  late 

And  bored  the  Coble  o'  bonnie  Cargill. 

"  There's  ne'er  a  clean  sark  gae  on  my  back, 

Nor  yet  a  kame  gae  in  my  hair  ; 
There's  neither  coal  nor  candle  licht 

Shine  in  my  bower  for  evermair. 


152  AULD  SCOTS  LALLANTS. 

"  At  kirk  or  market  I'se  ne'er  be  at, 
Nor  yet  a  biythe  blink  in  my  e'e  ; 

There's  ne'er  a  ana  shall  say  to  anilher, 
That's  the  lassie  gar'd  the  young  man  dee. 

Between  the  yetts  o'  bonnie  Stobhall 
And  the  Kirkstyle  o'  bonnie  Cargill, 

There  is  mony  a  man  and  mother's  son, 
That  was  at  my  luve's  burial. 


{modern  version.) 

The  course  o'  true  love  ne'er  runs  smooth, 

So  say  the  sages  o'  langsyne, 
My  waefu'  tale  upbears  the  truth — 

This  weary,  waefu'  tale  o'  mine. 

A  youthfu'  pair  wha  offer'd  fair 
O'  nuptial  joy  to  drink  their  fill, 

But  ither  drink  for  them  was  brewed 
Within  the  Coble  o'  Cargill. 

The  lad  was  Chanc'llor  Drummond's  page, 
When  gude  Earl  James  was  wi'  the  King, 

And  a'  the  keys  o'  bonnie  Stobha', 
I  wat  they  at  his  belt  did  hing. 

She  was  the  belle  o'  Ballathie  toun, 
O'  lovers  she  had  wile  and  will ; 

But  sad  her  fate — she  waukit  late. 
And  bor'd  the  Coble  o'  Cargill. 

She  bor'd  the  Coble  in  seven  parts, 
Na  doot  her  heart  was  sick  and  sair. 

When  there  she  sealed  the  laddie's  fate, 
Wi'  the  curly  locks  and  the  yellow  hair. 


THE  WEARY  COBLE  O'  CARC;iLL.         15: 

His  bed  was  made  in  Kercock  ha', 
O'  gude  clean  sheets  and  o'  the  strae, 

But  he  wadna'  sleep  a'e  nicht  therein, 
For  a'  a  mither's  lips  could  say. 

He  would  across  the  flooded  Tay, 

He  widna  bruik  o'  ony  ill, 
And  wi'  wary  step  he  bent  his  gaet, 

To  the  weary  Coble  o'  Cargill. 

Wi'  youthfu'  airm  he  grasped  the  oar, 

I  trow  he  grasp'd  it  wi'  gude  will, 
But  e'er  he  was  mid  waters  through 

The  weary  Coble  began  to  fill. 

He  baled  the  boat  wi'  baith  his  hands, 

Forsooth  he  bailed  it  heartily, 
But  the  augur's  skaith  soon  stopped  his  breath, 

And  gart  the  bonnie  laddie  dee. 

"Oh,  help,  oh,  help,  I  can  get  nane, 

Nae  help  o'  man  can  come  to  me, 
For  the  rollin'  flow  o'  the  burden'd  stream 

Is  hastenin'  on  my  destiny. 

"  My  bed  was  made  in  Kercock  ha', 
O'  gude  clean  sheets  and  o'  the  hay, 

But  gentler  hands  ha'e  smooth'd  the  sands. 
And  I  maun  sleep  beneath  the  Tay. 

"  Gae  hame  and  tell  my  parents  baith 

I  blame  mysel'  for  a'  this  ill ; 
When  waukin'  late  I  met  my  fate 

By  the  weary  Coble  o'  Cargill." 

Deceitfu'  barge,  thy  helpless  charge, 

Is  laid  behind  yon  sacred  fane. 
Where  vesper  bell  and  native  song 

Shall  ne'er  be  heard  by  him  again. 


154  AULI)  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

And  a'  within  the  barony 

Were  present  at  his  funeral, 
And  bore  him  from  his  master's  ha' 

To  the  lonely  kirkyard  o'  Cargill. 

Alas,  for  Jean  !  when  a'  was  dune, 

Her  conscience  work'd  and  wadna  still, 

Confessed  the  fate  that  drove  her  late 
To  bore  the  Coble  o'  Cargill. 

"  On  Beltane  e'en  upon  the  Green 
He  danced  wi'  Bess  o'  Bishopha', 

Her  witchin'  glance  and  winnin'  een 
I  thocht  had  w  iled  his  heart  awa'. 

"  A  fearfu'  frame  crept  o'er  me  then. 
And  held  o'  me  the  mastery, 

And  my  wither'd  heart  was  blawn  in  tlame 
By  that  dread  demon,  jealousy. 

"Our  early  vows  made  fause  by  him, 
The  very  thocht  my  heart  did  kill. 

And  spell-bound,  driven  by  that  dream, 
I  bor'd  the  Coble  o'  Cargill. 

"  Oh,  wha  could  guess  'twad  come  to  this 
When  we  were  young  and  at  the  schule, 

And  pu'd  the  slaes  on  Ballathie  Braes, 
And  broke  the  weirdly  cake  at  Yule. 

"  There's  ne'er  a  sark  gae  on  my  back, 
Nor  yet  a  kame  gae  in  my  hair, 

Nor  will  there  coal  or  candle  licht 
Shine  in  my  bower  for  evcrmair. 

"At  kirk  or  fair  I'se  ne'er  be  seen, 
Nor  yet  a  blythe  blink  in  my  e'e, 

Nae  finger's  end  shall  point  to  Jean 
And  say  I  gart  my  laddie  dee. 


THE  PIPER  O'  PEEBLES.  155 

"  Yon  ruin'd  walls  shall  be  my  hame, 
Where  ghaists  and  howlets  nightly  cry  ; 

And  the  sadd'nin'  sound  o'  the  rollin'  stream 
Shall  nichtly  sing  my  lullaby. 

"  This  bracken  bush  shall  be  my  bower, 

Where  aften  by  the  moon  I  see 
Yon  spectre  boat  wi'  my  love  afloat, 

Wha  wags  his  windin'-sheet  at  me." 


^be  pipcy  o'  ipccblce. 

This  is  a  tale  quite  as  graphic  and  much  more  gruesome 
than  "  Thrummy  Cap,"  to  which,  by  the  bye,  it  bears  quite 
a  family  resemblance.  The  author,  William  Anderson, 
was  born  in  the  parish  of  Kingoldrum,  where  his  father 
was  for  many  years  the  respected  schoolmaster.  He  was 
educated  with  a  view  to  succeeding  his  father,  but  had  to 
settle  instead  as  a  private  teacher  in  the  neighbouring  town 
of  Kirriemuir.  "  The  Piper  o'  Peebles  "  he  published,  l)y 
subscription,  in  1793.  In  a  short  preface  to  the  little  work 
he  maintains  that  "  the  subsequent  essay  is  a  real  original," 
and  not  even  the  most  distant  imitation  of  anything  he  had 
ever  seen.  Besides  the  "  Piper,"  which  has  been  often  re- 
printed, Anderson  wrote  and  published  a  curious  poem 
entitled  "Vulcan,  St.  Patrick,  the  Smith,  and  the  Devil." 
He  also  wrote  a  volume  of  "  Humorous  Essays  in  Verse," 
which  was  never  printed.  He  died  about  the  end  of  last 
century. 

Fan  common  fouk  had  scrimper  skill. 
An'  gentles  scarce  had  wealth  at  will ; 
Twa  hunder  year  or  mair  sin'  syne — 
When  fashions  werena  near  sae  fine, 
Fan  hodden-grey,  undy'd  or  drest. 
Was  sonsy  weeds  to  busk  the  best 
That  yokit  plows,  an'  paid  the  lairds 
Sae  mony  marks,  for  fine  cornyards — 


156  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Fan  barefoot  horse,  like  pedlars'  packs, 
Boot  bear  the  middens  on  their  backs, 
To  muck  the  rigj^s  in  ilka  field, 
In  the  barseed,  e'er  they  were  till'd — 
An'  carry  fire  to  rich  an'  poor, 
Baith  peats  an'  truffs,  frae  moss  an'  niuir ; 
An'  cadge  the  craps,  fan  cuttit  down 
In  hairst,  hame  o'er  unto  the  town — 
Fan  coops  an'  carts  were  unco  rare. 
An'  creels  an'  corrocks  boot  to  sair — 
P"an  knockit  bear  made  Sunday's  kail. 
An'  fouk  in  pots  brew'd  Braithel  ale. 
Fan  nane  but  meadow  girse  was  mawn, 
An'  nane  but  hamit  linjet  sawn — 
Fan  lint  was  beaten  wi'  the  mell. 
An'  ilk  ane  sungled  to  themsel'. 
Fan  wives  wi'  rocks  an'  spindles  span, 
An'  brawest  lasses  us'd  nae  lawn- 
Fan  stiffen  wasna  sought,  nor  blue 
To  mutches — fan  the  sarks  were  few, 
An'  very  stark,  but  no  that  saft. 
An'  cenil  worn  wi'  washing  aft- 
Some  had  but  ane,  an'  some  had  twa, 
An'  mony  mae  had  nane  ava. 
Fan  lasses,  wi'  their  rocks  set  out 
To  ane  anither  night  about — 
Wad  gane  a  mile  o'  ground  an'  mair, 
Sometimes  no'  very  free  o'  fear. 
To  hear  auld  stories  ilka  night 
In  winter  fan  there  was  moonlight, 
Upo'  their  sp'ndles,  near  the  tap. 
They  biggit  ay  a  bulgy  knap 
O'  thread,  cross-bralh'd,  firm  to  defend 
The  rest  frae  reav'ling  o'er  the  end. 
Sometimes  they  strave,  an'  them  that  wan,. 
Aye  thought  they  first  deserv'd  a  man. 


THE  PIPER  O'  PEEBLES.  157 

To  save  their  plaiden  coats,  some  had 

Upo'  the  hench  a  bonnet  braid 

Of  an  auld  wecht,  or  kairding  skin, 

To  rub  an'  gaur  the  spindle  rin 

Down  to  the  ground  wi'  whirling  speed, 

An'  twine  upo'  the  floor  the  thread  ; 

An'  some  their  right  side  cleas  row'd  up, 

An'  snooved  upo'  the  nakit  hip — 

Lang  ainna  nights  they  counted  half 

Done,  fan  they  coost  their  whorles  aff. 

They  row'd  their  yarn  upon  hand  reels, 

Afore  the  use  o'  spinning  wheels ; 

Tell'd  ilka  cut  that  they  ty'd  up, 

By  double — down  comes  jig  an'  whup, 

An'  scores,  and  so  forth,  as  exact 

As  reels  can  count,  that's  made  to  chack. 

Fan  fouk  grey-hair'd,  play'd  burly-bracks, 

Wi'  youngsters  round  about  the  stacks, 

Mixt  men,  wives,  lads  and  lasses  too. 

An'  hirds  that  hadna  hose  or  shoe. 

Fan  cummers  sled,  an'  hurl'd  as  weel 

On  ice  as  ony  vady  chiel'  ; 

Fan  very  few  cud  write  or  read, 

An'  commons  took  on  trust  their  creed, 

An'  sought  nae  reasons,  ivhy  nor  -loliat 

They  sud  believe — do  this  or  that. 

An'  mony  wont-to-be's  nae  doubt, 

An'  customs  we  ken  nought  about 

Were  then  in  vogue,  that's  now  forgotten. 

An'  them  that  used  them  lang  syne  rotten. 

A  time's  for  a'  thing  we  can  name  ; 

A  time  too  for  the  rippling  kame  ; — 

A  time  to  flourish,  time  to  fail, 

Sae  to  the  tenor  of  our  tale. 

About  thae  times,  besouth  Kinghorn, 

A  country  laird  became  forlorn 


158  AULD  SCOTS  F.ALLANTS. 

Wi'  bags  o'  debt — a  burden  sair 
For  ony  honest  mind  to  bear. 
If  in  his  youth  he  had  been  rash, 
An'  prodigally  spent  his  cash  ; 
Or  if  misfortunes  unforeseen 
Had  multiplied  against  him  been, 
We  dinna  ken — it  matters  not. 
Death  accidental — drown'd  or  shot ; 
But  daily  dogg'd,  an'  dunn'd,  an'  deaved 
Wi'  creditors,  that  clnm'ring  crav'd. 
He  tint  the  heart,  an'  cudna  eat 
Wi'  melancholy,  half  his  meat. 
He  dream'd  o'  gloomy  prisons  grim. 
An'  dreary  dungeons  dark  and  dim, 
With  iron  doors,  padlocks,  and  bars, 
As  stark  as  mith  out-wear  the  stars. 
Where  he  was  trail'd  to  lie  on  strae  ; 
An',  starting  waken'd— sobbing  wae  ! 
The  large  estate  that  his  forbears 
Possess'd,  for  some  three  hundred  years. 
Free  as  the  water  i'  the  well. 
He  saw,  he  shortly  boot  to  sell  ; 
With  all  his  chattels,  goods,  an'  gear, — 
An'  be,  alas  !  a  laird  nae  mair. 
His  friends  forsook  him,  fan  they  saw 
His  wealth  on  wings  had  flown  awa'  ; 
An'  want,  that  formidable  fae. 
Gat  grips  an'  wadna  let  him  gae. 
Sad  sorrow  aye  maun  light  on  some  ; 
An'  wha  can  flee  frae  ills  to  come  ? 
Crushed  down  with  agonizing  care. 
His  mind  was  brooding  dark  despair — 
But  blest  Religion  bade  him  try 
To  fix  his  heart  on  things  on  high 
That  wad  endure,  when  earth  an'  sea. 
An'  sun  an'  moon  sud  cease  to  be. 


THE  riPER  O'  PEEBLES.  159 

Then  with  submission  he  began 
To  bear  his  trouble  like  a  man. 
A'e  gloamin',  fan  the  sun  was  set, 
An'  fields  wi'  falling  clew  were  wet  ; 
In's  avenues,  as  at  the  air. 
Where  aft  he  gaed,  fan  it  was  fair 
To  shed  his  sorrows,  out  o'  sight, 
Upo'  the  wind — a  waefu'  wicht  : — 
A  man  came  riding,  mighty  braw, 
Upon  a  beast  as  black's  a  craw  ; 
Clear  siller  bells  in  bunches  hang 
At  his  horse  mane,  an'  sweetly  rang  ; 
An'  yet  for  a'  his  princely  pride, 
He  had  nae  servant  for  a  guide. 
With  ceremony  most  discreet, 
He  paid  his  complements  complete  ; 
Speer'd  how  he  was,  an'  said  that  he 
On  purpose  came  express  to  see, 
An'  on  condition,  help  him  too, 
In  ony  thing  that  he  cud  do. 
The  poor  insolvent  laird  seemed  shy — 
The  stranger  smiling,  answer'd  why  ? 
"  The  troubles  that  distract  your  mind 
Are  printed  in  your  face,  I  find. 
Out  with  your  wants,  nor  hod  afraid 
Your  straits,  frae  ane  that  ofters  aid  ; 
I'll  prove  your  fiiend,  fan  far  awa', 
The  best  on  earth  ye  ever  saw  ; 
I  understand,  wi'  debt  ye're  drown'd. 
An'  I  have  hail  ten  thousand  pound 
That  nane  alive  kens  aught  about. 
An'  I  intend  to  lay  it  out. 
Ye's  get  it  on  your  single  bond, 
As  I  frae  Scotland  maun  abscond 
To  France,  or  in  a  woody  swing 
For  lies  a  neighbour  tauld  the  king  ; 


i6o  AULD  SCOTS  LALLANTS. 

An'  saiil  I  meant  to  tak'  his  life, 

To  lat  a  gallant  get  his  wife. 

Afore  forefaultcd  by  the  law, 

Frae  court  the  streen,  I  cam'  awa', 

Bespake  a  ship,  an'  canna  stay 

At  hame,  aboon  anither  clay. 

To-morrow  night,  if  ye  incline, 

I'se  bring  the  bag,  an'  bond  to  sign, 

At  twal  o'clock.     Be  sure  let  nane 

Be  in  the  room,  but  you  your  lane  ; 

Nae  witnesses  sail  syne  the  deed, 

Or  see  you  write,  or  hear  me  read. 

Fan  we  get  matters  settled  then 

I'se  tell  you  a'  my  story  plain  ; 

An'  ere  the  sun  be  up,  I'se  be 

Frae  a'  their  fingers,  on  the  sea  ; 

An'  if  I  never  come  again. 

The  siller,  sir,  is  a'  your  ain. 

Wha'  wadna  write  their  name  wi'  bhule, 

For  sic  a  lusty  gift,  an'  gude?  " 

The  Laird  replied — "  I  maun  confess, 

I  hinna  words  that  can  express 

My  obligations— hech  ! — indeed  ! 

Of  money  I  hae  muckle  need. 

Pray,  Sir,  what  is  your  name?— are  ye 

By  bluid  relation  sib  to  me  ?  " 

The  stranger  said,  "  Ye  needna  speir 

Particulars  at  present  here  ; 

Neist  fan  we  meet,  I'se  lat  you  see 

I'm  near  as  sib  as  sib  can  be. 

Meantime  I  cannot  stay,  Adieu  !  " 

An'  at  a  gallop  aff  he  flew. 

The  Laird  took  to  the  house,  an'  read 

A  chapter,  ere  he  gade  to  bed, 

In  pray'r  implored  Messiah's  peace 

To  guide  him  in  the  ways  of  grace. 


THE  riPER  O'  PEEBLES.  i6i 

Then  cam'  the  hour,  that  dreary  hour, 
Fan  spectres  grim  begin  their  tour, 
An'  stalk  in  frightfu'  forms  abroad. 
Performing  feats  amazing  odd  ! 
That  hour  foul  hags  broomsticks  bestride, 
An'  thro'  the  air  exulting  ride 
To  their  nocturnal  revels  rude. 
An'  actions  damn'd,  debauch'd,  and  lewd, 
With  Satan's  self,  their  hellish  head  ! 
An'  cast  their  cantrips  o'er  the  dead, 
Till  coffins  frae  the  grave  arise  ! 
An'  corpse  frae  coffins  in  surprise  ! 
With  gogling  een,  an'  wither'd  hands, 
Start  up  at  their  obscene  commands  ! 
In  winding  sheets,  lang  lodg'd  in  dust  : 
If  tales  be  true,  the  simple  trust. 
That  hour  fan  fairies  in  a  ring 
Trip  round  the  green,  an'  dance,  an'  sing, 
Before  to  banquet  they  retreat. 
To  some  waste  house  to  sit  in  state  ; 
Frae  golden  goblets  drink  the  wine. 
An'  feast  on  delicacies  fine  : 
That  hour  fan  ghaists  on  burial  stanes, 
Play  o'er  the  knowes  wi'  dead  fowk's  banes  ; 
Or  stroll  wi'  sullen  strides  alang. 
Where  they  ha'e  gi'en  or  gotten  wrang  ; 
An'  grane  wi'  grief,  as  some  pretend, 
Whare  they'll  be  conjured  afteihend. 
That  hour,  the  dullest  in  the  night, 
The  Laird,  alane,  with  candle-light, 
In  expectation  waited  keen 
The  issue  of  his  tryst  the  streen. 
The  stranger  at  the  hour  exact 
Brought  up  the  stair  upo'  his  back 
As  muckle  gowd,  an'  rather  mair. 
That  wad  outweigh  twal  pecks  o'  bere. 
L 


1 62  AULD  SCOTS  T.ALLANTS. 

Upon  a  table  large  an'  stout 
He  toom'd  the  yellow  metal  out, 
An'  said  he  hadna  time  to  bide 
Till  it  was  counted — he  boot  ride 
Within  an  hour— the  Laird  might  trust 
The  sum  was  there,  exact  an'  just. 
He  then  drew  out  the  bond  an'  read, 
An'  i'  the  tail  it  plainly  said 
That  after  fifteen  years,  in  fine. 
The  Laird  sud  be  his  servant  syne, 
Frae  that  aback,  an'  wi'  his  blude 
Subscribe  to  mak'  the  bargain  gude. 
As  upright  fouk  abhor  mischief ; 
As  honest  men  despise  a  thief; 
As  dogs  detest  a  grunting  sow, 
So  laigh  the  Laird  disdain'd  to  bow  ! 
The  article,  for  evermair 
Of  servitude,  displeas'd  him  sair. 
To  write  wi'  blude  he  wadna  fash. 
An'  yet  he  fain  wad  keep  the  cash. 
He  bang'd  his  arms  about  it  round, 
An'  sternly  on  the  stranger  frown'd  : 
Exclaimed—"  Thou  subtle  source  of  sin, 
The  earth's  the  Lord's,  an'  all  therein  ; 
Hence,  Satan  !  to  your  black  abode. 
In  name  of  my  Almighty  God  ! " 
Fierce  as  the  lightning  darts  on  high, 
Rude  as  the  thunder  rends  the  sky, 
As  fierce,  an'  with  as  loud  a  roar. 
The  Devil  made  himself  a  door 
Thro'  the  house-head,  a  flame  he  flew. 
Of  stinking  brimstane,  burning  blue  ! 
Of  force  infernal— mighty  proof- 
He  seemed  to  carry  aff  the  roof ! 
The  Laird  looked  up  in  sad  surprise, 
An'  thought  he  saw  the  sable  skies. 


THE  riPER  O'  PEEBLES.  163 

The  candle  trembled,  as  with  fright, 

An'  glimmer'd  dim,  a  dowy  light"; 

The  house  frae  tap  to  bottom  shook. 

An'  as  a  wanrest  wagg'd  the  crook  ; 

The  tott'ring  chairs  on  ither  clink  ; 

The  looms,  they  rattled  i'  the  bink  ; 

The  cock  was  vvaken'd,  clapt  an'  crew 

An  hour  o'er  soon,  fan  Satan  flew. 

The  shaking  syne  began  to  cease, 

An'  in  a  minute  a'  was  peace. 

Again  the  candle  burnt  fu'  bright  ; 

The  house  was  hale,  an'  a'  thing  right. 

He  lock't  the  door,  laid  up  the  gowd. 

An'  blest  the  Being  that  bestow'd 

Upon  him  pow'r  to  countermine 

An'  baffle  Satan's  black  design. 

He  paid  his  debt  ere  very  lang, 

An'  thrave  as  fast  as  he  gaed  wrang  ; 

His  friends  came  flocking  back  wi'  speed, 

Wad  help  him  fan  he  hadna  need  ; 

So  cowards  that  flee  the  hostile  plain, 

When  foes  retreat,  can  fight  the  slain. 

Sedate,  he  circumspectly  spent 

His  time  at  hame,  in  calm  content, 

A  votary  of  virtue  white. 

An'  in  devotion  took  delight, 

Belov'd  by  young,  an'  auld,  an'  a' 

That  ken'd  him,  either  gryte  or  sma'. 

Saxteen  year  after,  he  was  at 

A  braithel  where  the  broth  was  fat. 

In  ancient  times,  a  taiken  sure. 

The  bridegroom  wasna'  reckon'd  poor. 

A  vast  o'  fouk  a'  round  about 

Came  to  the  feast,  they  dined  the-rout, 

Twa  pair  o'  pipers  playing  gaed 

About  the  table  as  they  fed. 


l64  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

Mirth  spread  her  mantle  o'er  them  a', 

15ut  sorrow  vvasna'  far  awa'. 

While  suppin'  at  the  sav'ry  skink, 

An'  takin'  whiles  a  waught  o'  drink, 

A  gentleman,  in  decent  dress, 

Came  riding  up,  as  on  express, 

An'  order'd  ane  o'  them  that  saired 

The  company  to  tell  the  Laird 

To  speak  a  word.     He  came  in  haste  ; 

The  gentleman  upo'  the  beast 

Held  doon  his  head  to  hark  or  spcir 

Some  secrets  ithers  sudna  hear. 

As,  seemingly,  they  thus  consort, 

A  pistol  loot  a  loud  report, 

An'  at  the  Laird's  feet,  frae  his  horse, 

The  stranger  fell  a  blacken'd  corse. 

The  fouk  at  table  start,  an'  saw 

Him  from  the  saddle  flound'ring  fa'. 

The  steed  in  fury  took  the  flight, 

An'  soon  ran  backward  out  o'  sight. 

Confus'd  frae  dinner,  fast  they  ran. 

To  see  the  murder'd  gentleman. 

As  on  the  ground  he  lifeless  lay 

Afore  the  Laird  that  luckless  day. 

The  short  pouch  pistol  that  had  shot 

Him  dead,  outbye  a  bit  they  got. 

Awhile  in  silence  scowl'd  the  crt)\vd. 

An'  syne  a  kebby-lebby  loud 

Gat  up,  an'  twenty  at  a  time 

Gae  their  opinions  of  the  crime. 

Some  curs'd,  an'  cry'd,  "  be  sure  to  gur.rd. 

An'  ithers  socht  to  grip  the  Laird  ; 

An'  some  said  ''  let  him  rin  awa'," 

An'  some  cry'd  "  that's  against  the  law, 

For  malefactors,  man  or  wife, 

An'  murderers  sud  loss  the  life." 


THE  rirER  O'  PEEBLES.  165 

The  Laird  stood  staring,  till  his  een 

Thocht  everything  was  blue  an'  green. 

As  criminal  they  seiz'd  him  soon, 

An'  took  him  aff  that  afternoon 

Into  Auld  Reekie,  corpse  an'  a', 

An'  gie  them  up  unto  the  law, 

Produced  the  pistol  did  the  deed, 

An'  proof  to  swear  fan  there  was  need. 

The  Laird  was  fairly  in  a  fang, 

An'  naething  fc)r  him  now  l)ut  hang. 

He's  prison'd  an'  examined  too, 

But  a'  that  they  cud  say  or  do, 

He  still  deny'd  the  guilt,  an'  said — 

"  To  suffer  death  I'm  no'  afraid  ; 

But  of  the  murder  I  am  free, 

An'  innocent  as  ane  can  be. 

If  he  be  shot  he  shot  himsel'  ; 

Or  it  was  me  he  meant  to  fell. 

Gar  surgeons  search  the  body  round. 

If  they  can  find  the  fatal  wound  ; 

Tho'  he  be  dead,  there  hasna  been 

Nae  blude  that  onybody's  seen  ; 

An'  dinna  bury  him  afore 

Somebody  ken  him,  I  implore. 

His  friends  will  seek  him  soon  nae  doubt  ; 

The  horse  gaun  hame  will  set  them  out  ; 

Fan  they  come  here,  perhaps  ye'll  find 

What  drift  wi'  me  he  had  design'd." 

The  Court  conceived  thae  cautions  right, 

An'  gar'd  inspect  the  corpse  that  night. 

Some  doctors  came  to  seek  the  hole. 

That  thro'  his  body  sent  the  soul ; 

But  fan  they  lows'd  his  breast,  they  swore 

He  had  been  dead  ten  days  afore. 

They  cudna  touch  him  for  a  stink, 

An'  ken'dna  what  to  say  or  think. 


i66  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

With  odours,  an'  the  hkc,  belyve, 

They  drown'd  the  dreadfu'  smelling  dyve, 

Syne  gribbled  him,  but  gat  nae  wound  ; 

His  hyde,  they  said,  was  heal  and  sound. 

The  doctors  said  he  cudna  be 

A  gentleman  o'  nae  degree  ; 

His  hands  were  thick  an'  hard — his  skin. 

Fan  he  was  living,  had  been  din  ; 

An'  tho'  his  coat  an'  vest  were  bra', 

His  sark  an'  gravat  wasna  sma'. 

A  notice  was  sent  thro'  the  town, 

To  a'  the  strangers  up  an'  down. 

To  come  an'  see  him  ;  mony  ran. 

But  nane  kenn'd  aught  about  the  man. 

For  near  an  ook,  day  after  day, 

Perfum'd  in  public  view  he  lay. 

An'  country  fouk  to  see  him  sent, 

But  nane  o'  a'  the  crowds  that  went 

Ken'd  aught  about  him,  name,  or  place. 

Nor  ever  living  saw  his  face. 

The  town  o'  him  was  weary'd  sair, 

An'  wadna  keep  him  muckle  mair. 

As  nae  relations  came  to  look 

Or  spier  about  him  a'  the  ouk. 

That  day  there  had  come  in  a  crew 

Of  cairds,  wha  drank  till  they  were  fou, 

An'  on  the  street,  the  strolling  gang, 

Fell  out,  an'  faught,  an'  grat,  an'  sang. 

Amo'  the  rest,  a  muckle  wife, 

To  save  her  skin,  forsook  the  strife. 

Observed  the  dead  man — gaed  to  sec, 

Wi'  twa  three  mac,  what  he  might  be. 

But  fan  his  visage  she  survey'd — 

"  Preserve's  !  "  in  sad  surprise  she  cried — 

"That's  the  Piper  of  Peebles  !     Wha 

Has  buskit  him,  fan  dead,  sae  bra'  ? 


THE  PIPER  O'  PEEBLES.  167 

I  saw  him  yerdit,  I  can  swear  ; 

Frae  his  lang  hame,  fou  cam'  he  there  ? 

The  living  may  repent  wi'  speed 

Fan  fouk  are  flittin'  frae  the  dead  !  " 

She  blest  hersel',  an'  brought  the  crew 

To  prove  her  testimony  true. 

They  look't  at's  face,  syne  at  his  hands, 

And  felt  his  sark,  it  hadna  bands  ; 

An'  positively  a'  protest 

It  was  the  Piper,  better  drest 

Than  fan  he  liv'd,  for  he  was  poor. 

An'  loo'd  a  drink  to  drake  the  stour. 

The  cairds  were  brought  before  the  Court 

An'  Magistrates,  to  mak'  report 

Of  the  defunct.     A  fortnight  back, 

As  far  as  they  cud  prove  for  fact. 

Just  this  day  fortnight,  they  replied, 

In's  bed  at  hame  the  Piper  dy'd  ; 

Neist  afternoon  he  was  inter'd 
Amang  poor  fouk  in  the  kirk-yard. 

' '  We  saw  him  buried  ;  but  we  have 

Nae  notion  how  he  left  the  grave." 
A  carl,  as  crooked  as  a  creel, 

Said,  "  Twenty  years  I  kenn'd  him  weel, 

In  Peebles  piper,  pawkie  loon. 

He  had  a  clunker  on  his  crown, 

Like  half  an  errack's  egg,  an'  yon 

Undoubtedly  is  Duncan  Drone." 

Anither  wife,  too,  made  remark, 

She  sauld  his  wife  the  burial  sark  ; 

She  kend  it  brawly  by  the  sleeve. 

An'  on  the  breast  they  might  believe 

There  was  a  cross  o'  oo'en  thread. 

Of  twa  ply  twisted  blue  an'  red. 

Thae  marks  mith  sair  to  prove  the  man 

Tho'  fouk  the  cause  sud  never  scan. 


t68  AULD  scots  EALLAXTS. 

Foosh  him  the  living  there  to  fleg, 
An'  bring  the  town  to  cost  an'  plague." 
The  doctors  there,  declar'd  they  saw 
The  clunker,  an'  the  cross  an'  a'. 
They  loot  them  see  the  pistol  syne  ; 
A  carl  exclaimed — "  That  pistol's  mine  ! 
Just  this  day-aught-days  thro'  the  night 
I  watna  fou  it  took  the  flight. 
I  thought  my  wife  had  stown't,  in  short, 
An'  pay'd  her  on  suspicion  for't. 
I  had  new  cramm'd  it  near  the  mou  ; 
It's  no'  been  fir'd— I  find  it  fu', 
Weel  calfin'd  wi'  a  clout  o'  green, 
As  at  this  minute  may  be  seen." 
They  drew  the  shot,  to  their  surprise— 
"Lat  wark  bear  witness,  there,"  he  cries, 
*'  Is  documents  ye  needna  doubt, 
Baith  find  an'  see  the  forrage  clout." 
That  made  them  marvel  maist  as  sair 
As  how  the  dead  man  had  come  there. 
The  vouchers  of  the  vagrant  crew. 
The'  vastly  strange,  prov'd  very  true  ; 
Clear'd  up  the  main  point,  seem'd  so  dark 
Tho'  mystery  still  involv'd  the  mark. 
The  Court  were  a'  convinced  in  mind 
The  prisoner  was  wrang  confin'd  ; 
The  doctors  with  the  cairds  agreed 
That  of  the  murder  he  was  free'd. 
An'  from  the  prison  an'  the  cause 
He  was  assuUied  with  applause. 
The  Laird  saw  syne  it  had  been  Nick 
Contriv'd  an'  carried  on  the  trick. 
Had  pu'd  the  Piper  frae  the  mould. 
That  was  in  Peebles  on  him  shool'd  ; 
An'  cabbaged  cleading  by  the  road, 
An'  buskit  him  fu'  braw  an'  snod  ; 


THE  QUEEN'S  MARIE.  169 

An'  stown  the  pistol,  bred  the  strife 

Atween  the  tinkler  an'  his  wife  ; 

An'  brought  him  to  the  braithel,  where 

He  left  him  dead  wi'  sic  a  rair 

That  fouk  wad  sworn  they  saw  him  shot 

That  very  instant  on  the  spot. 

Auld  Horny  thought  to  gar  him  howd 

Upo'  the  gallows  for  the  gowd 

He  gat  langsyne,  an'  wadna'  set 

His  signature  to  show  the  debt. 

But  in  his  drift  the  Devil  failed, 

The  second  time  the  Laird  prevailed, 

Liv'd  lang  at  hame,  in  wealth  an'  ease. 

An'  dy'd  at  last  of  nae  disease 

But  mere  auld  age.     Renown'd,  his  race 

Unto  this  day  possess  his  place. 


This  ballad,  of  which  there  are  various  readings,  has 
often  excited  the  curiosity  of  antiquarians,  who  have  ran- 
sacked history  and  biography  for  the  discovery  of  some 
incident  to  which  it  may  be  referred.  The  special  mention 
of  the  Queen's  Maries  identifies  the  reign  of  Mary  Stuart 
with  the  period  of  the  ballad,  and  the  character  of  Darnley 
was  such  that  an  intrigue  on  his  part  with  one  of  the  Maids 
of  Honour,  was  an  occurrence  very  likely  to  have  taken 
place.  But  there  is  no  record  of  any  such  scandal.  How- 
ever, John  Knox,  in  his  "History  of  the  Reformation," 
states  that  a  Frenchwoman  who  served  in  the  Queen's 
Chamber  had  given  birth  to  and  murdered  an  illegitimate 
child,  for  which  crime  she  was,  together  with  her  partner 
in  guilt,  condemned,  and  was  hanged  in  the  public  street  in 
Edinburgh.  Both  Sir  Walter  Scott  and  Professor  Aytoun 
were  of  opinion  that  the  ballad  was  founded  on  that  event, 
and  that  many  alterations  had  been  made  in  the  course  of 
tradition.     The  father  of  the  child,  according  to  Knox,  was 


I70  AULD  SCOTS  13ALLANTS. 

the  Queen's  own  apothecary  ;  but  it  is  easy  enough  to 
account  for  this  humble  personage  being  changed  into  Lord 
Darnley,  and  the  French  chamber-maid  into  Marie  Hamil- 
ton. The  Queen's  Maries  were  four  young  ladies  chosen 
from  the  highest  families  in  Scotland,  who  were  sent  to 
France  in  her  train,  and  returned  with  her  to  Scotland. 
Keith  gives  their  names  as  Marys  Livingston,  Fleming, 
Seton,  and  Beatoun.  Neither  Mary  Livingston  nor  Mary 
Fleming  are  mentioned  in  the  ballad  ;  nor  are  the  Mary 
FLimilton  and  Mary  Carmichael  of  the  ballad  mentioned 
by  Keith.  But  the  discrepancy  may  be  accounted  for  in 
this  way.  The  Queen's  Maries  are  mentioned  in  so  many 
ballads,  in  all  probability  there  was  a  continued  corps  of 
maidens  in  the  royal  household,  known  under  the  designa- 
tion, and,  if  so,  it  could  hardly  have  subsisted  without  occa- 
sional recruits. 

A  song,  under  the  title  of  "The  Four  Maries,"  was  a 
few  years  ago  extracted  from  the  body  of  this  ballad,  the 
last  stanza  only  being  original — 

But  what  care  I  for  a  nameless  grave, 

If  I've  hope  for  eternitie? 
And  I  pray  that  the  faith  of  the  dying  thief, 

May  be  granted  through  grace  unto  me. 

A  very  beautiful  verse  it  is,  and  fitly  concludes  a  very 
beautiful  and  affecting  song. 


TiiERK  lived  a  lord  into  the  West, 

And  he  had  daughters  three. 
And  the  youngest  has  gane  to  Ilolyrood, 

To  be  a  Queen's  Marie. 

Marie  Hamilton  to  the  kirk  has  gane, 

\Vi'  ribbons  in  her  hair  ; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  ony  that  were  there. 

Marie  Hamilton  to  the  kirk  has  gane, 

Wi'  ribbons  on  her  breist  ; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  he  listened  to  the  priest. 


THE  QUEEN'S  MARIE.  171 

Marie  Hamilton  to  the  Kirk  has  gane, 

Wi'  gloves  upon  her  hands  ; 
The  King  thought  mair  o'  Marie  Hamilton, 

Than  the  Queen  and  a'  her  lands. 

She  hadna  been  in  the  King's  Court, 

A  twelvemonth  and  a  day. 
Till  she  could  neither  sit  nor  gang, 

Wi'  the  gaining  o'  some  play. 

The  King  has  gane  to  the  Abbey  garden, 

And  pu'd  the  savin'  tree, 
To  scale  the  babe  frae  Marie's  heart, 

But  the  thing  it  wadna  be. 

Word's  gane  up,  and  word's  gane  doun, 

And  word's  gane  to  the  ha'. 
That  Marie  Hamilton's  brought  to  bed, 

And  the  bonnie  babe's  awa'. 

Then  in  and  cam'  the  Queen  hersel', 

Wi'  the  gowd  strings  in  her  hair. 
Saying  "  Marie  Hamilton,  where  is  the  babe 

That  I  heard  greet  sae  sair  ?  " 

"  There  is  nae  babe  within  my  bower, 

And  I  hope  there  ne'er  will  be  ; 
It  was  mysel'  wi'  a  stitch  in  my  side, 

I  was  sick — ^just  like  to  dee  ! " 

"O  baud  your  tongue,  Marie  Hamilton  ! 

Let  a'  thae  words  gae  free. 
And  tell  me  where  is  the  little  babe 

That  I  heard  greet  by  thee  ?  " 

"  I  rowed  it  in  my  handkerchief, 

And  threw  it  in  the  sea ; 
I  bade  it  sink,  I  bade  it  swim. 

It  wad  get  nae  mair  o'  me." 


172  AULD  SCOTS  BAI.LANTS. 

"  O  wae  lic  to  thee,  Marie  Hamilton  ! 

An  ill  death  may  you  dee  ! 
For  if  ye  had  saved  the  babie's  life, 

It  might  have  honoured  thee. 

"  But  rise,  rise  up,  Marie  Hamilton, 

Rise  up,  and  follow  me  ; 
For  I  am  going  to  Edinburgh  town, 

A  gay  wedding  to  see." 

O  slowly,  slowly,  rase  she  up, 

And  slowly  put  she  on. 
And  slowly  rode  she  out  the  way 

Wi'  mony  a  weary  groan. 

The  Queen  was  clad  in  scarlet. 
Her  merry  maids  all  in  green  ; 

And  every  town  that  they  cam'  to, 
They  took  Marie  for  the  queen. 

But  little  wist  Marie  Hamilton, 
When  she  rode  on  the  brown, 

That  she  was  gaun  to  Edinburgh, 
And  a'  to  be  put  down. 

"  Ride  hooly,  ride  hooly  now,  gentlemen, 

Ride  hooly  now  wi'  me, 
For  never  I'm  sure  a  wearier  bird 

Rode  in  your  companie." 

As  she  gaed  up  the  Cannongate, 

The  Cannongate  sae  free, 
Monie  a  lady  bok'd  owre  her  window, 

Weeping  for  sweet  Marie. 

As  she  gaed  up  the  Parliament  Close, 

A-riding  on  her  horse. 
There  was  many  a  burgess  lady 

Sat  weeping  at  the  Cross. 


THE  QUEEN'S  MARIE.  i73 

"  O  what  means  a'  this  grectuii:;  ? 

I'm  sure  it's  no  for  me  ; 
For  I  am  come  to  Edinburgh  town 

A  gay  wedding  to  see. " 

As  she  gaed  up  the  Tolbooth  stairs 

She  laughed  loud  laughters  three  ; 
But  or  ever  she  cam'  doon  again 

She  was  condemned  to  dee. 

"  O  dinna  weep  for  me,  ladies  ! 

Ye  needna  weep  for  me  ; 
Had  not  I  killed  my  ain  dear  bairn 

This  death  I  wad'na  dee. 

"  Cast  aff,  cast  aff  my  gown,"  she  said, 

"  But  let  my  petticoat  be  ; 
And  tie  a  napkin  ower  my  face, 

That  the  gallows  I  may  na  see. 

"  Yestreen  the  Queen  had  four  Maries  ; 

The  nicht  she'll  hae  but  three  ; 
There  was  Marie  Beatoun,  and  Marie  Seton, 

And  Marie  Carmichael,  and  me. 

«'  O  aft,  aft  hae  1  dressed  the  Queen, 

And  put  gowd  in  her  hair  ; 
But  now  I've  gotten  for  my  doom, 

The  gallows  tree  to  share. 

"  O  afteu  hae  I  dressed  my  queen. 

And  aften  made  her  bed  ; 
But  now  I've  gotten  for  my  reward, 

The  gallows  tree  to  tread. 

"  O  happy,  happy,  is  the  maid, 

That's  born  o'  beauty  free  ; 
It  was  my  dimpling  rosie  cheeks 

That's  been  the  dule  o'  me. 


174  AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

"  I  charge  ye  all,  ye  mariners, 
When  ye  sail  ower  the  faem. 

That  ye  lat  na  my  father  or  milher  ken, 
But  that  I'm  coming  hame. 

"  Ye  mariners,  ye  mariners, 
When  ye  sail  ower  the  sea, 

O  let  na  my  father  or  mither  ken, 
I  hung  on  the  gallows  tree. 

"  O  little  did  my  mither  think. 
That  day  she  cradled  me. 

What  lands  I  was  to  travel  ower. 
What  death  I  was  to  dee. 

"  O  little  did  my  father  think. 

That  day  he  held  up  me. 
That  I,  his  last  and  dearest  hope. 

Should  hang  upon  a  tree. 

"  But  weep  nae  mair  for  me,  ladies, 

W^eep  nae  mair  for  me  ; 
The  mither  that  kills  her  ain  bairn, 

Deserves  weel  for  to  dee. " 


Siy  Patrick  Spens. 

"The  grand  old  ballad  of  Sir  Patrick  Spens,"  as 
Coleridge  describes  it  in  one  of  his  odes,  is  one  of  the  most 
graphic  and  vigorous  in  the  language.  The  historical  event 
on  which  it  is  founded  has  been  the  subject  of  considerable 
discussion  among  the  editors  of  the  collections,  some  main- 
taining that  it  refers  to  the  marriage  of  James  IIL  with  the 
Princess  of  Norway  and  Denmark  ;  others  believing  it  to 
refer  to  the  expedition  sent  in  1290  to  bring  home  INLirgaret, 
the  Maid  oi  Norway,  after  the  death  of  her  ialher,  Alex- 


SIR  TATRICK  SPENS.  175 

ander  III.  But  the  weight  of  testimony  is  in  favour  of  its 
bearing  reference  to  the  fate  of  the  Scottish  nobles,  who  in 
12S1,  conveyed  Margaret,  daughter  of  Alexander  III.,  to 
Norway,  on  the  occasion  of  her  nuptials  with  King  Eric.  In 
their  returning  home  from  the  marriage  ceremony,  accord- 
ing to  Fordoun,  the  Abbot  of  Balmerinoch,  Bernard  of 
Monte-Alto,  and  many  other  persons  were  drowned. 

"  The  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  toun,"  says  the  ballad, 
and  it  may  not  be  altogether  unnecessary  to  explain  that 
from  the  time  of  Malcolm  Canmore  to  that  of  Alexander 
III.  Dunfermline  was  a  favourite  residence  of  the  Scottish 
sovereigns. 

The  phrase  in  the  last  verse — "  Half  owre,  half  owre  to 
Aberdour," — evidently  means  that  Sir  Patrick's  ship  was 
half  way  across  the  German  Ocean  when  she  foundered  and 
sank. 

The  authorship  has  been  ascribed  to  Lady  Wardlaw,  the 
authoress  of  "  Hardyknute,"  but  without  sufficient  reason. 

The  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  toun, 

Drinking  the  blude-red  wine  ; 
"  O  whaur  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper,  * 

To  sail  this  ship  o'  mine  ?  " 

Up  and  spake  an  eldern  knight 

Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee  : 
"  Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor 

That  ever  sail'd  the  sea. 

The  king  has  written  a  braid  letter 

And  seal'd  it  wi'  his  hand, 
And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Was  walking  on  the  strand. 

"  To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 

To  Noroway  owre  the  faem  ; 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

'Tis  thou  maun  tak'  her  hame." 


*  Skilful  Captain. 


176  AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

The  first  line  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

A  loud  laugh  laughed  he  ; 
The  neist  line  that  Sir  Tatrick  read, 

The  tear  blindit  his  ee. 

"  O  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

lias  tauld  the  king  o'  me, 
To  send  us  out  this  time  o'  year 

To  sail  upon  the  sea  ? 

"  Be  't  wind  or  weet,  be  't  hail  or  sleet, 
Our  ship  maun  sail  the  faem  ; 

The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 
'Tis  we  maun  tak'  her  hame." 

They  hois'd  their  sails  on  Mononday  morn, 

Wi'  a'  the  speed  they  may  ; 
And  they  hae  landed  in  Noroway 

Upon  a  Wednesday. 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week, 

In  Noroway  but  twae, 
When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say — 

"  Ye  Scotsmen  spend  a'  our  king's  gowd, 

And  eke  a'  our  queen's  fee." 
"  Ve  lee,  ye  lee,  ye  leears  loud, 

Sac  loud's  I  hear  ye  lee  ! 

"  For  I  brought  as  much  o'  the  white  monie 

As  ser'd  my  men  and  me. 
And  a  half-fou  *  o'  the  gude  red  gowd, 

Out  owre  the  sea  with  me. 


The  eighth  of  a  peck. 


SIR  PATRICK  SPENS.  I77 

*'  Mak'  haste,  mak'  haste,  my  merry  men  a', 

Our  glide  ship  sails  the  morn," 
"  Now  ever  alake,  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deidly  storm. 

*'  I  saw  the  new  moon  late  yestreen, 

Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm  ; 
And  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master, 

I  fear  we'll  come  to  harm  ! " 

They  hadna  sail'd  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league,  but  barely  three, 
When  the  lift  grew  dark  and  the  wind  blew  loud, 

And  gurly  grew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  tap-masts  lap. 

It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm, 
And  the  waves  cam'  owre  the  broken  ship, 

Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

"  O  whaur  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor 

Will  tak'  the  helm  in  hand, 
Till  I  gang  up  the  tall  tap-mast, 

And  see  gif  I  spy  land  ?  " 

"  O  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude. 

To  tak'  the  helm  in  hand, 
Till  ye  get  up  the  tall  tap-mast — 

But  I  fear  ye'U  ne'er  spy  land." 

He  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step  but  barely  ane, 
Wlien  a  bolt  flew  out  o'  the  gude  ship's  side, 

And  the  saut  sea  it  cam'  in. 

"  Gae  fetch  a  wab  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Anither  o'  the  twme. 
And  wap  them  into  our  gude  ship's  side, 

And  let  na  the  sea  come  in." 
M 


178  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

They  fetch'd  a  wab  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Anither  o'  the  twine, 
And  they  wapp'd  them  into  the  gude  ship's  side 

But  aye  the  sea  cam'  in. 

"  Ve'll  pick  her  vveel,  an' span  her  weel, 

And  mak'  her  hale  and  soun'," 
But  ere  he  had  the  words  weel  spoke 

The  bonnie  ship  was  doun. 

O  laith,  laith,  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 

To  weet  their  coal-black  shoon, 
But  lang  ere  a'  the  play  was  play'd 

They  wat  their  hats  abune. 

And  mony  was  the  feather  bed 

That  floated  on  the  faem, 
And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son 

That  never  mair  cam'  hame. 

The  ladyes  wrang  their  fingers  white, 

The  maidens  tore  their  hair ; 
A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves, 

For  them  they'll  see  nae  mair. 

O  lang,  lang  may  the  ladyes  sit, 

\Vi'  their  fans  into  their  hand. 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Come  sailing  to  the  strand. 

And  lang,  lang  may  the  maidens  sit, 
\Vi'  the  gowd  kaims  in  their  hair, 

A'  waiting  for  their  ain  dear  loves. 
For  them  they'll  see  nae  mair. 

Half  owre,  half  owre  to  Aberdour, 

It's  fifty  faddoms  deep. 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 


THE  HAUGHS  OF  CROMDALE.  179 


Zhc  1!:)auob6  of  (Trombalc, 

"This  is  the  worst  specimen  of  the  truth  of  Scottish  song 
that  is  to  be  met  with,"  says  Hogg  in  his  Jacobite  Relics, 
"  two  events  being  jumbled  together  in  it  that  happened 
at  the  distance  of  many  years  from  each  other.  These 
seem  to  be  the  battle  of  Auldearn,  won  by  Montrose  and 
the  Clans  ;  and  that  on  the  plains  of  Cromdale,  in  Strath- 
spey, where  the  two  Colonels,  Buchan  and  Cameron, 
suffered  themselves  to  be  surprised  in  their  beds  by  Sir 
Thomas  Livingston,  and  though  at  the  head  of  1500  brave 
Highlanders,  utterly  defeated  and  scattered.  This  latter  is 
the  only  battle  on  record  that  ever  was  really  fought  at 
Cromdale.  It  appears,  therefore,  more  than  probable  that 
on  that  action  the  original  song  has  been  founded  ;  for  the 
first  twenty  lines  contain  an  exact  and  true  description  of 
that  shameful  defeat,  and  these  twenty  lines  may  be  con- 
sidered as  either  the  whole  or  part  of  the  original  song  ; 
and  as  they  are  middling  good,  and  the  air  most  beautiful, 
they  had  of  course  become  popular.  Some  bard  who  had 
been  partial  to  the  clans,  fired  with  indignation  at  hearing 
the  disgrace  of  his  countrymen  sung  all  over  the  land,  had 
added  to  the  original  verses  an  overcharged  account  of  the 
battle  of  Auldearn,  won  by  Montrose,  then  favourite  leader 
against  the  Whigs  ;  but,  by  a  vile  anachronism,  he  has 
made  it  to  happen  on  the  day  following  the  action  at 
Cromdale,  whereas  it  happened  just  forty-five  years  before 
it.  Although,  therefore,  I  have  placed  the  ballad  among 
the  songs  of  this  early  period,  I  am  persuaded  it  had  its 
origin  at  a  much  later  date  ;  but  it  would  have  been 
ridiculous  to  have  placed  a  song  that  treated  wholly  of 
Montrose  subsequent  to  events  that  happened  long  after  his 
death.  Yet  the  part  of  the  ballad  that  describes  the  victory 
won  by  that  hero  cannot  be  the  original  part  of  it,  else  the 
writer  would  never  have  placed  the  action  at  Cromdale, 
which  is  almost  a  day's  journey  from  Auldearn,  and  in  no 
way  connected  with  the  scene  of  that  engagement.  It 
would  never  do  now  to  separate  this  old  and  popular  song 
into  two  parts  ;  but  nothing  can  be  more  evident  than  that 
one  part  of  the  song  describes  the  battle  won  by  Montrose 
and  the  clans,  on  the  4th  of  May,  1645,  and  the  other  part, 
that  won  by  Livingston  over  the  clans,  on  the  first  of  May, 


iSo  AULD  SCOTS  IJALLANTS. 

1690.  The  names  of  the  clans  mentioned  in  the  song  are 
those  that  were  present  with  Montrose  at  Auldearn  ;  the 
route  that  the  defeated  army  took,  together  with  the  num- 
ber of  them  that  reached  Aberdeen,  all  accord  with  the 
truth  of  history  ;  so  that  at  whatever  period  the  song  was 
made,  it  evidently  alludes  to  that  action."  James 
Maidment,  in  his  Scottish  Ballads  and  Songs,  Historical 
and  Traditionary,  prints  a  version  of  the  "  Haughs  of 
Cromdale  "  differing  in  many  respects  from  the  copy  here 
appended,  but  what  is,  'on  the  face  of  it  clearly  evident, 
only  a  further  corrupt  version  of  a  corrupted  body.  Auld- 
earn is  in  the  county  of  Nairn,  within  a  few  miles  of  the 
county  town.     Cromdale  is  a  village  in  Inverness  shire. 


As  I  came  in  by  Auchindoun, 
A  little  wee  bit  frae  the  toun, 
Where  to  the  Highlands  I  was  bound, 
To  view  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

I  met  a  man  in  tartan  trews, 
I  speer'd  at  him  what  was  the  news. 
Quo'  he,  "  The  Highland  army  rues 
That  e'er  we  came  to  Cromdale. 

"  We  were  in  Ijed,  sir,  every  man, 
W^hen  the  English  host  upon  us  came  ; 
A  bloody  battle  then  bgan, 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

"  The  English  horse  they  were  so  rude. 
They  bathed  their  hoofs  in  Highland  blood 
But  our  brave  clans  they  boldly  stood. 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

"  But,  alas  !  we  could  no  longer  stay, 
For  o'er  the  hills  we  came  away, 
And  sore  we  do  lament  the  day 
That  e'er  we  came  to  Cromdale." 


THE  HAUGHS  OF  CROMDALE.  iSi 

Thus  the  great  Montrose  did  say, 
"  Can  you  direct  the  nearest  way, 
For  I  will  o'er  the  hills  this  day. 
And  view  the  haughs  of  Cromdale." 

"Alas,  my  lord,  you're  not  so  strong, 

You  scarcely  have  two  thousand  men  ; 

There's  twenty  thousand  on  the  plain, 

Stand  rank  and  file  on  Cromdale." 

Thus  the  great  Montrose  did  say, 
"  I  say,  direct  the  nearest  way, 
For  I  will  o'er  the  hills  this  day. 
And  see  the  haughs  of  Cromdale." 

They  were  at  dinner  every  man. 
When  great  Montrose  upon  them  came  ; 
A  second  battle  then  began. 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

The  Grant,  Mackenzie,  and  M'Kay, 
Soon  as  Montrose  they  did  espy, 
O  then,  they  fought  most  valiantly. 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

The  M 'Donalds  they  returned  again. 
The  Camerons  did  their  standard  join, 
M'Intosh  play'd  a  bloody  game 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

The  M'Gregors  fought  like  lions  bold, 
M'Phersons  none  could  them  control, 
M'Lauchlans  fought  like  royal  souls. 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

M 'Leans,  M'Dougals,  and  M 'Neils, 
So  boldly  as  they  took  the  field. 
And  made  their  enemies  to  yield. 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 


i82  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

The  Gordon  boldly  did  advance, 
The  Frasers  fought  with  sword  and  lance, 
The  Grahams  they  made  their  heads  to  dance, 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

The  loyal  Stewarts,  with  Montrose, 
So  boldly  set  upon  their  foes, 
And  brought  them  down  with  Highland  blows, 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 

Of  twenty  thousand  Englishmen, 
Five  hundred  fled  to  Aberdeen, 
The  rest  of  them  lie  on  the  plain 
Upon  the  haughs  of  Cromdale. 


6  il  <)  c  r  0  v> . 

The  subject  of  this  old  song,  which  has  yet  a  certain 
popularity  in  most  country  districts  in  Scotland,  was  a  man 
named  I'atrick  Macgregor,  but  more  familiarly  Gillieroy 
(the  red-haired  lad),  whose  life  and  morals  were,  like  those 
of  his  more  illustrious  namesake,  framed  on 
"The  good  old  rule,  the  simple  plan, 
That  they  should  take  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can." 
Gilderoy  was,  in  fact,  a  notorious  freebootei,  or  cattle- 
lifter,  who  flourished  in  the  early  part  of  the  seventeenth 
century,  and  was  the  leader  of  a  numerous  gang  of  caterans, 
who  practised  stoulhricf  and  robljery  with  violence  far  and 
wide,  but  chiefly  in  the  Highlands  of  Perthshire  and 
Aberdeenshire.  In  February,  1636,  seven  of  his  accom- 
plices were  taken,  tried,  condemned,  and  executed  at  Edin- 
burgh. They  were  apprehended,  chiefly  through  the 
exertions  of  the  Stewarts  of  Athole,  and  in  revenge 
Gilderoy  burned  several  houses  belonging  to  the  Stewarts, 
which  act  proved  his  speedy  ruin.  A  reward  of  a  thousand 
pounds  was  offered  for  his  apprehension  ;  and  he  was  soon 
taken,  along  with  live  more  accomplices  (some  accounts 
say  ten),  and  the  whole  gang  were  executed  at  the  Cross  of 


GILDEROY.  183 

Edinburgh  on  the  27th  July,  1636,  the  leader,  as  a  mark  of 
unenviable  distinction,  receiving  a  higher  gibbet  than  the 
others — a  circumstance  which  is  alluded  to  in  the  ballad. 
Some  wonderful  stories  are  told  of  this  wild  cateran,  such 
as  his  having  picked  the  pocket  of  Cardinal  Richelieu  while 
he  was  celebrating  high  mass  in  the  church  of  St.  Dennis, 
Paris  ;  his  having  carried  off  with  consummate  assurance  a 
trunk  of  plate  from  the  house  of  the  Duke  Medina-Celi  at 
Madrid  ;  and  his  having  attacked  Oliver  Cromwell  and  two 
servants  while  travelling  from  Portpatrick  to  Glasgow,  and 
shooting  the  Protector's  horse,  which  fell  upon  him  and 
broke  his  leg,  whereupon  he  placed  Oliver  on  an  ass,  tied 
his  legs  under  its  belly,  and  dismissed  the  pair  to  seek  their 
fortune.  The  ballad  itself  is  said  to  have  been  originally 
composed  by  the  hero's  mistress,  a  young  woman  belonging 
to  the  higher  ranks  of  life,  who  had  become  attached  to  the 
noted  cateran,  and  was  induced  to  live  with  him.  It  is  to 
be  found  in  black  letter  broadsides  as  far  back  as  1650. 
The  present  improved  version  was  first  printed  in  Durfey's 
Pills  to  Purge  Alelaiiclioly,  volume  v.,  1719,  and  is  said  to 
have  been  re-set  by  Lady  Wardlaw,  authoress  of  the  well- 
known  ballad  of  "  Hardyknute."  The  original,  according 
to  Percy,  contained  "  some  indecent  luxuriances  that 
required  the  pruning  hook." 

O  GiLDEROY  was  a  bonny  boy  ; 

Had  roses  till  his  shoon  ; 
His  stockings  were  of  silken  soy, 

Wi'  garters  hanging  doon, 
It  was,  I  ween,  a  comely  sicht, 

To  see  sae  trim  a  boy  ; 
He  was  my  joy,  my  heart's  delicht, 

My  handsome  Gilderoy. 

O,  sic  twa  charming  een  he  had  ; 

His  breath  as  sweet's  a  rose  ; 
He  never  wore  a  Highland  plaid. 

But  costly  silken  clothes  ; 
He  gained  the  love  of  ladies  gay, 

Nane  e'er  to  him  was  coy  ; 
Ah,  wae's  me  !  I  mourn  the  day, 

For  my  dear  Gilderoy. 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

My  Gilderoy  and  I  were  born 

Baith  in  a'e  town  thegether  : 
We  scant  were  seven  years  before, 

\Ve  'gan  to  love  each  other, 
Our  daddies  and  our  mammies,  they 

Were  fiU'd  with  meikle  joy, 
To  think  upon  the  bridal  day 

'Twixt  me  and  Gilderoy. 

For  Gilderoy,  that  love  of  mine, 

Gude  faith,  I  freely  bought 
A  wedding  sark  of  holland  fine, 

Wi'  silken  flowers  wrought. 
And  he  gied  me  a  wedding  ring, 

Which  I  received  with  joy  ; 
Nae  lad  and  lassie  e'er  could  sing 

Like  me  and  Gilderoy. 

Wi'  meikle  joy  we  spent  our  prime. 

Till  we  were  baith  sixteen  ; 
And  aft  we  pass'd  the  langsome  time 

Amang  the  leaves  sae  green  ; 
Aft  on  the  banks  we'd  sit  us  there, 

And  sweetly  kiss  and  toy  ; 
Wi'  garlands  gay  wad  deck  my  hair. 

My  handsome  Gilderoy. 

O,  that  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  bald  wad  try, 
And  now  this  gars  my  heart  to  bleed 

For  my  dear  Gilderoy. 


GILDEROY.  1S5 

And  when  of  me  his  leave  he  took, 

The  tears  they  wat  mine  e'e, 
I  gave  him  a  love-parting  look, 

My  benison  gang  wi'  thee  ! 
"  God  speed  thee  weel,  mine  ain  dear'heart. 

For  gane  is  all  my  joy  ; 
My  heart  is  rent  sith  we  maun  part. 

My  handsome  Gilderoy," 

My  Gilderoy  baith  far  and  near 

Was  fear'd  in  ilka  toun. 
And  bauldly  bear  away  the  gear 

Of  mony  a  lowland  loun  ; 
Nana  e'er  durst  meet  him  hand  to  hand, 

He  was  say  brave  a  boy  ; 
At  length  wi'  numbers  he  was  ta'en 

My  handsome  Gilderoy. 

The  Queen  of  Scots  possessit  noucht. 

That  my  love  lat  me  want ; 
For  cow  and  ewe  he  to  me  brought. 

And  e'en  when  they  were  scant  ; 
All  those  did  honestly  possess. 

He  never  did  annoy. 
Who  never  failed  to  pay  their  cess 

To  my  love  Gilderoy. 

Wae  worth  the  loun  that  made  the  laws 

To  hang  a  man  for  gear  ! 
To  reave  of  life,  for  ox  or  ass, 

For  sheep,  or  horse,  or  mear. 
Had  not  their  laws  been  made  so  strict 

I  ne'er  had  lost  my  joy  ; 
Wi'  sorrow  ne'er  had  wat  my  cheek, 

For  my  dear  Gilderoy. 


i86  AULD  SCOTS  EALLANTS. 

Gif  Gilderoy  had  done  amiss, 

He  micht  have  banish'd  been  ; 
Ah,  what  sair  cruelty  is  this, 

To  hang  sic  handsome  men  ! 
To  hang  the  flokver  o'  Scottish  land, 

Sae  sweet  and  fair  a  boy  ! 
Nae  lady  had  sae  white  a  hand 

As  thee,  my  Gilderoy  ! 

Of  Gilderoy  sae  fear'd  they  were, 

They  bound  him  meikle  strong  ; 
Till  Edinburgh  they  led  him  there. 

And  on  a  gallows  hung  ; 
They  hung  him  high  abune  the  rest. 

He  was  sae  trim  a  boy  ; 
There  died  the  youth  whom  I  loved  best,. 

My  handsome  Gilderoy. 

Thus  having  yielded  up  his  breath, 

I  bore  his  corpse  away  ; 
\Vi'  tears  that  trickled  for  his  death, 

I  washed  his  comely  clay  ; 
And  siccar  in  a  grave  sae  deep, 

I  laid  the  dear  loved  boy  ; 
And  now  for  ever  maun  I  weep 

For  winsome  Gilderoy, 


CTbc  ISrooin  o*  Cowbenhnowcs, 

Many  poets  have  sung  of  the  Broom  of  the  Cowden- 
knowes,  and  the  first  ballad — probably  the  subjoined — 
having  these  words  for  its  title  is  said  to  have  been  the 
production  of  a  Mellerstane  maid,  whose  name  was  Crosbie; 
and  that  the  words  of  her  song  were  set  to  music  by  David 
Rizzio,  the  ill-fated  musician  of  Mary  Stuart.  "The 
beautiful  air  of  Cowdenknowes,"  says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in 


THE  BROOM  O'  COWDENKNOWES.         187 

his  Minstrelsy  of  the  Scottish  Border,  "is  well  known 
nnd  popular.  In  Ettrick  Forest  the  following  words  are 
uniformly  adapted  to  the  tune,  and  seem  to  be  the  original 
ballad."  Cowdenknowes  is  situated  upon  the  River  Leader, 
about  four  miles  from  Melrose. 

O  THE  broom,  and  the  bonnie,  bonnie  broom, 
And  the  broom  o'  the  Cowdenknowes  ! 

And  aye  sae  sweet  as  the  lassie  sang 
I'  the  ewe-bucht,  milking  the  ewes. 

The  hills  were  high  on  ilka  side, 
And  the  bucht  i'  the  lirk  o'  the  hill. 

And  aye,  as  she  sang,  her  voice  it  rang, 
Out  ower  the  head  o'  yon  hill. 

There  was  a  troop  o'  gentlemen 

Cam'  riding  merrilie  by. 
And  ane  o'  them  has  rade  out  o'  the  way, 

To  the  bucht  to  the  bonnie  May. 

"  Weel  may  ye  save  an'  see,  bonnie  lass. 

An'  weel  may  ye  save  an'  see." 
*'  An'  sae  wi'  you,  ye  weel-bred  knicht. 

An'  what's  your  will  wi'  me  ?" 

"  The  nicht  is  misty  and  mirk,  fair  May, 

And  I  hae  ridden  astray. 
And  will  ye  be  sae  kind,  fair  May, 

As  come  out  and  point  my  way  ?" 

"  Ride  on,  ride  on,  ye  ramp  rider. 
Your  steed's  baith  stout  and  Strang  ; 

For  out  of  the  bucht  I  daurna  come. 
For  fear  that  ye  do  me  wrang. " 

"  O  winna  ye  pity  me,  bonnie  lass? 

O  winna  ye  pity  me  ? 
And  winna  ye  pity  my  poor  steed. 

Stands  trembling  at  yon  tree  ? " 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

*'  I  wadna  pity  your  poor  steed, 

The'  it  were  tied  to  a  thorn  ; 
For  if  you  would  gain  my  love  the  nicht, 

Ye  wad  slicht  me  ere  the  morn. 

"  For  I  ken  ye  by  your  weel-buskit  hat, 

And  your  merry  twinkling  e'e. 
That  ye're  the  laird  o'  the  Oakland  hills. 

An'  ye  may  weel  seem  for  to  be." 

"  O  I'm  not  the  laird  o'  the  Oakland  hills, 

Ye're  far  mista'en  o'  me  ; 
But  I'm  ane  o'  the  men  about  his  house, 

And  richt  aft  in  his  conipanie." 

He's  ta'en  her  by  the  milk-white  hand. 

And  by  the  grass-green  sleeve  ; 
He's  laid  her  doun  by  the  ewe-bucht  wa', 

And  speired  at  her  sma'  leave, 

O  he's  ta'en  out  a  purse  o'  gowd, 

And  streeked  her  yellow  hair  ; 
"  Now,  tak'  ye  that,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  May, 

O'  me  till  ye  hear  mair." 

Then  he  lap  on  his  berry  brown  steed 

And  he  rade  after  his  men, 
And  ane  an'  a'  cried  out  to  him, 

"  O,  master,  ye've  tarried  lang  !  " 

"  O  I've  been  east,  an'  I've  been  west, 
And  I've  been  far  ower  the  knowes, 

But  the  bonniest  lass  that  ever  I  saw, 
Is  i'  the  bucht  milking  the  ewes." 

She's  ta'en  her  niilk-pail  on  her  head. 

And  she's  gane  singing  hame  ; 
"  O  whaur  hae  ye  been,  my  a'e  dochter  ? 

Ye  hae  na  been  your  lane." 


THE  BROOM  O'  COWDENKNOWES.         1S9 

"  O  naebody  was  wi'  me,  father, 

0  naebody  has  been  wi'  me  ; 
The  nicht  is  misty  and  mirk,  father, 

Ye  may  gang  to  the  door  an'  see. 

"  But  wae  be  to  your  ewe-herd,  father, 

And  an  ill  death  may  ye  dee  ; 
He  loves  the  bucht  at  the  back  o'  the  knowe. 

And  a  tod  has  frichted  me. 

"  There  cam'  a  tod  to  the  ewe-bucht  door, 

The  like  I  never  saw, 
And  ere  he  had  taken  the  lamb  he  did, 

1  had  loured*  he  had  ta'en  them  a'." 

When  twenty  weeks  were  come  an'  gane, 

Twenty  weeks  an'  three, 
The  lassie  begoud  to  look  thin  an'  pale. 

And  thought  lang  for  his  twinkling  e'e. 

It  fell  on  a  day,  on  a  het  summer  day. 

She  was  ca'in'  out  her  kye, 
She  spied  a  troop  o'  gentlemen, 

A'  merrillie  riding  bye. 

"  Weel  may  ye  save  an'  see,  bonnie  May, 

Weel  may  ye  save  an'  see, 
I  wat  ye  be  a  very  bonnie  May, 

But  wha's  aucht  that  babe  ye  are  wi'  ? " 

Never  a  word  did  the  lassie  say, 

For  never  a  ane  could  she  blame. 
And  never  a  word  did  the  lassie  say, 

But,  "  I  hae  a  gudeman  at  hame." 


Rather. 


190  AULD  SCOTS  P.ALLANTS. 

"  Ve  lee,  ye  lee,  my  weel-faured  May, 

Sae  loud  as  I  hear  ye  lee  ; 
For  dinna  you  mind  yon  misty  nicht 

I  was  in  the  bucht  \vi'  thee. 

"  I  ken  you  by  your  middle  sae  jimp, 
And  your  merrie  twinkling  e'e, 

Ye're  the  bonnie  lass  o'  the  Cowdenknowes, 
And  ye  may  weel  seem  to  be." 

He's  lichted  aff  his  berry  brown  steed, 
And  he's  set  that  fair  May  on  : 

"  Ca'  out  your  kye,  gude  father,  yoursel', 
I'll  ne'er  ca'  them  out  again." 

"  It's  I  am  the  laird  o'  the  Oakland  hills, 
I  hae  thirty  ploughs  an'  three. 

And  I  hae  gotten  the  bonniest  May 
That's  in  a'  the  south  countrie. " 


Barbara   Hllaiu 

This — one  of  the  simplest  and  most  affecting  of  ballads — 
contains  perhaps  less  superfluous  language  than  almost  any 
like  composition  in  our  literature.  Still,  the  few  simple 
verses  tell  the  love-tragedy  of  Sir  John  Grahame  and 
Barbara  Allan  so  completely  as  to  leave  nothing  untold 
that  the  reader  would  care  to  know.  The  composition  is 
of  great  antiquity,  and  there  is  literally  nothing  known  of 
its  history.  Mr.  Charles  Kirkpatrick  Sharpe  supposes 
Annan,  in  Dumfriesshire,  to  have  been  the  scene  of  the 
story,  and  says  that  the  ])eananiry  of  Annandale  sang  more 
verses  of  the  ballad  than  have  appeared  in  print.  It  may 
be  mentioned  that  Bishop  Percy  in  his  Ancient  Songs  and 
Ballads  gives  an  extended  version  of  the  same  story  under 
the  extended  title  of  "Barbara  Allan's  Cruelty;  or,  the 
Young  Man's  Tragedy."      In  this   arrangement  '*  Scarlet 


BARBARA  ALLAN.  191 

Town  "  is  named  as  the  residence  of  the  heroine,  and 
"  Jemmye  Grove  "  is  substituted  for  Sir  John  Grahame,  but 
the  whole  seems  a  fabrication  on  the  briefer  and  older  set. 
The  air  to  which  the  ballad  is  sung  is  beautiful  and  expres- 
sive, and  is  considered  to  be  of  an  age  equal  to  the  poetry. 
Read  or  sung,  the  second  last  verse  of  this  ballad  never  fails 
in  the  purpose  of  rare  effect — 

"  She  hadna  gane  a  mile  but  twa, 

When  she  heard  the  deid-bell  knellin', 

And  every  jow  that  the  deid-bell  gi'ed, 
It  cried  '  Woe  to  Barbara  Allan  ! '  " 

There  is  an  eerieness  expressed  in  the  last  two  lines  that 
fastens  itself  in  the  mind  of  the  hearer,  and  will  scarcely 
pass  away. 

It  was  in  and  about  the  Martinmas  time. 

When  the  green  leaves  were  a-fallin', 
That  Sir  John  Grahame,  in  the  west  countrie, 

Fell  in  love  wi'  Barbara  Allan. 

He  sent  his  man  down  through  the  town. 

To  the  place  where  she  was  dwallin'. 
"  O,  haste  and  come  to  my  master,  dear, 

Gin  ye  be  Barbara  Allan." 

O,  hooly,  hooly  rose  she  up 

To  the  place  where  he  was  lyin'. 
And  when  she  drew  the  curtain  by, 

"  Young  man,  I  think  ye're  dyin'. " 

"  It's  oh,  I'm  sick,  I'm  very,  very  sick. 

And  it's  a'  for  Barbara  Allan  ;  " 
"  O,  the  better  for  me  ye'se  never  be, 

Though  your  heart's  bluid  were  a-spillin'.' 

"  O,  dinna  ye  mind,  young  man,"  she  said, 

"  When  ye  the  cups  were  fiUin', 
That  ye  made  the  healths  gae  round  and  round, 

And  slichtit  Barbara  Allan  ?  " 


192  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

lie  turned  his  face  unto  the  wa', 
And  death  was  with  him  dealin' — 

"  Adieu,  adieu,  my  dear  friends  a'. 
And  be  kind  to  Barbara  Allan." 

And  slowly,  slowly  raise  she  up, 
And  slowly,  slowly  left  him  ; 

And  sighin',  said  she  could  not  stay 
Since  death  of  life  had  reft  him. 

She  haclna  gane  a  mile  but  twa, 

When  she  heard  the  deid-bell  knellin' ; 

And  every  jow  that  the  deid-bell  gi'ed. 
It  cried  "  Woe  to  Barbara  Allan  !  " 

"  O,  mother,  mother,  mak'  my  bed. 
And  mak'  it  saft  and  narrow  ; 

Since  my  love  died  for  me  to-day, 
I'll  die  for  him  to-morrow." 


Zhc  1I(aim  o'  fiDathercn 

This  graphic  and  gruesome  ballad  depicts  an  incident 
which  is  happily  almost  without  a  parallel  in  Scottish  his- 
tory. The  story  is  briefly  this.  About  the  middle  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  the  Sheriff  of  Mearns,  Melvil  of  Glen- 
bcrvie,  exercised  his  authority  with  so  high  a  hand  that  the 
gentlemen  of  the  county  complained  of  his  conduct  to  the 
King,  James  I.  of  Scotland.  Baron  Barclay  of  Mathers,  in 
particular,  made  frequent  complaint,  tired  of  which,  in  a 
moment  of  unguarded  impatience  the  King  said  to  him, 
"  Sorra  care  gif  that  Shirra  were  sodden  an'  suppit  in 
broo  !  "  "  As  your  Majesty  pleases,"  replied  Barclay,  and 
instantly  withdrew  from  the  royal  i^resence.  Coming  home 
in  haste  he  convened  a  meeting  of  those  gentlemen  of  the 
county — Straiton  of  Laurieston,  Wishart  of  Pilarrow,  and 
Arbuthnot,  and  others — who  were  as  much  dissatisfied  with 
the  conduct  of  the  Sheriff  as  he  was  himself,  and,  met  in 


THE  KAIM  O'  MATHERS.  193 

solemn  conclave,  the  aggrieved  Barons  resolved  to  adhere 
literally  to  the  King's  word.  They  simulated  friendship  for 
the  unfortunate  Sheriff,  and  organised  a  hunting  party  to 
the  forest  of  Garvock,  and  invited  him  to  make  one  of 
their  number.  During  the  hunt  the  Barons  gradually  led 
the  party  to  a  place  in  the  midst  of  the  forest  known  to 
this  day  as  "Brownie's  Kettle,"  and  "  Shirra's  Pot."  Here 
they  had  privately  caused  a  fire  to  be  built,  and  a  large 
cauldron  full  of  water  to  be  boiled  upon  it,  on  coming 
to  which  great  surprise  was  expressed.  The  whole 
party  alighted  from  their  horses  to  examine  the  cauldron, 
whereupon  the  luckless  and  unsuspecting  Sheriff  was 
seized  and  unceremoniously  tumbled  into  the  boiling  pot. 
After  he  was  boiled  for  some  time,  the  Barons  then  fully 
completed  their  barbarous  act  by  taking  each  a  spoonful  of 
the  gruesome  soup.  The  Sheriff  was  thus,  according  to  the 
King's  expression,  literally  "sodden  and  suppit  in  broo." 
When  the  King  learned  of  the  tragical  event  he  was  greatly 
incensed  against  the  Barons  of  the  Mearns,  four  of  whom 
were  forthwith  outlawed,  and  had  their  estates  forfeited  to 
the  Crown  for  their  share  in  the  diabolical  act.  Barclay, 
to  screen  himself  against  His  Majesty's  vengeance,  fled  to 
the  Kaim  of  Mathers,  a  tower  which  he  had  erected  upon  a 
cliff  which  overhangs  the  sea,  in  the  parish  of  St.  Cyrus, 
about  six  miles  to  the  north  of  Montrose,  the  only  access  to 
which  was  by  a  narrow  and  almost  impassable  isthmus,  and 
here  he  remained  until  opportunity  favoured  his  escape  to 
France.  In  course  of  time  his  estates  were  restored  to  him, 
and  he  returned  to  his  native  land.  The  famous  Barclays 
of  Ury,  in  Aberdeenshire,  were  lineal  descendants  of  this 
infamous  Barclay  of  Mathers.  The  ballad  is,  I  suspect,  not 
so  ancient  as  its  style  of  orthography  might  lead  one  to 
infer, 

PART  I. 

'Twas  all  within  Redcastle's  towers. 
So  merry  was  the  nyght ; 

Kyng  James,  our  sov'reign  liege  was  there 
Wyth  peers  of  stalwart  myght. 

And  they  did  quaffe  the  gude  brown  ale 

In  cuppes  of  gold  so  sheen  ; 
And  they  did  sing  the  minstrelle's  song 

Of  deeds  that  erst  had  been. 

N 


194  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Up  spake  the  kyng  with  kyndlie  hearte, 
Ami  eke  with  meikle  grace  ; 

"  Whae'er  hath  oughte  of  grief  to  tell, 
Now  tell  it  to  mie  face. 

"  for  whilome  in  mie  prison  pent 

Bie  Henrle's  *  yron  hand, 
I  heard  the  tales  of  lethal  strife 

Wythin  mie  Scottish  land. 

"  Now  woe  betyde  the  man  wha  strives 

In  angry  raid  and  feud  ! 
Hym  shall  we  hang  on  gallows  tree 

Wha  scaiths  hys  neyghbour's  gude." 

"  Mie  liege,"  quod  ane  of  gloomy  speeche 
(Wliich  struck  them  alle  wyth  awe) 

"  I  claim  the  freedom  whych  ye  gyve, 
And  bryng  the  loon  to  lawe. 

"  The  Sheriffe  of  our  Heme's  land 

Is  ane  of  wycked  hearte, 
And  many  a  wyfe  bye  his  misdeeds, 

Hath  borne  a  wydowe's  parte  : 

"  For  he  hath  ta'en  the  laird's  best  steed, 
And  the  ladie's  golden  ryng  : 

And  all  he  saith,  in  guerdon  due 
To  James  our  sovereign  kyng." 

"  Now,"  quod  the  kyng,  in  wrathful  haste 

And  choler  hotte  as  flame, 
"  What  manne  is  he  wha  synneth  so. 

And  in  hys  sovereign's  name  ? 


*  Henry  IV.  of  England. 


THE  KALM  O'  MATHERS.  I95 

"  It  bootes  me  not  to  speer  hys  kyn — 

A  traytour  false  is  he  : — 
I  care  ne  though  the  loon  was  seethed, 

And  suppit  wytli  the  brie." 

Ne  mair  the  knyght  did  staie  to  hear, 

But  up  he  got  wyth  speed, 
And.  calling  to  his  ser vaunt,  sed, 

"  Make  haste  and  bryng  mie  steed." 

Hys  coal-black  steed  he  vaulted  onne, 

And  prycked  hys  flanks  full  sore, 
Untyll  thae  were  liesprent  and  wet 

So  grievous  all  wyth  gore. 

And  now  he  came  besyde  the  Eske— 

Ane  ryver  deepe  and  wyde  ; 
He  plunged  hym  in  and  rode  the  streame, 

Dysdaining  wynd  and  tyde. 

And  now  he  came  to  Merne's  land 

And  faster  does  he  scoure, 
Untyll  behind  the  green-clad  woddes 

He  marketh  Mathers  tower. 

Hys  ladye  sate  within  her  room, 

So  gaudie  and  so  gaie  ; 
She  waited  for  her  dear  husbande, 

And  marvelled  at  hys  staie. 

"  Oh  tell  me  now,  mie  ?>Iarian  lass." 

Unto  her  maid  quod  she, 
"  Where  dost  thou  think  mie  husband  is  ? 

He  Cometh  not  to  me." 

But  when  that  she  had  spoken  so, 

Certes  thae  both  dyd  hear 
Ane  horsemanne  gallop  on  the  waie, 

WTio  now  approaches  near. 


196  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

'Tvvas  Luath  first  that  made  a  growl 
When  he  the  sound  dyd  markc  ; 

And  then  to  meet  his  maister  dear 
lie  ran,  and  eke  dyd  liark. 

The  knyght  stops  at  the  castle  doore — 

The  ladie  runs  to  hym  ; 
"  Gyve  me  a  juge  of  wyne,"  quod  he  ; 

"  Mie  head  begyns  to  swym." 

"  O  where,  O  where  ! "  the  ladye  cryed, 
"  Hath  mie  true  husband  been  ? 

I  trow  'twas  at  the  Maison  Dieu,* 
Or  at  Seyncte  Magdalene.t 

"And  sure  the  Freers  have  started  thee 
Wyth  tales  of  dool  and  woe  ; 

I  never  saw  thee  look  so  wyld, 
It  therefore  must  be  so." 

"  Ladie,"  quod  he,  "  I  hate  the  Freers. 

And  all  the  tales  thae  tell ; 
Thaer  Kirkzard  sprites  confound  me  not, 

I  fear  nae  ghaist  frae  hell. 

"  Thae  call  me  aye  the  gloomy  knyght  ; 

I  was  not  born  to  laugh. 
Gyn  I  have  frowned  ihys  parte  of  life, 

I'll  frown  th«  other  half." 

Now,  he  hath  told  hys  servying-nianne 
To  wake  hyni  from  his  bedde, 

Soon  as  Dan  Sol  upon  the  sea 
Should  shew  hys  golden  hedde. 


*  A  religious  house  in  I'rechiu. 

t  A    Chapel    on   the   ruad   between    I'.rechin   and    Montrose.      The 
burial  ground  is  still  used. 


THE  KAIM  O'  MATHERS.  I97 

But  ne'er  a  word  dyd  he  reveal 

Unto  hys  ladie  dear 
Of  what  he  was  to  do  next  morn — 

Though  you  shall  quickly  hear. 

PART  II. 

The  huntsman's  merry  horn  hath  wound 

Its  call  so  loud  and  shrylle  ; 
And  manie  a  knyght  and  nymble  steed 

Hath  met  on  Garvock  hylle. 

Pittarow's  gallaunt  knyyht  was  there, 

And  the  laird  of  Laurystoun  ; 
Glenbervy  with  hys  brothers  twae 

And  Edzell  with  hys  sonne. 

The  wycked  Sheriff  too  was  there, 

Philip  Melvil  was  hys  name  ; 
And  twenty  more  frae  the  sea  coast. 

With  gloomy  Urie  came. 

Now  up  thae  mount  with  fleet  griehound 

And  through  the  forest  steer — 
Thae  thynk  nought  of  the  goodlie  syght, 

But  they  thynk  upon  the  deer. 

Thae  thynk  not  of  the  fair  countrie 

That  ligget  low  and  sweet ; 
The  woodes,  and  streams,  and  parkes  so  green 

And  Conveth*  at  their  feet. 

Thae  thynk  not  of  the  Grampyans  hygh, 

That  ryse  upon  thaer  view  ; 
Of  Clachnabane  wyih  crowne  of  stane. 

And  Battack's  head  so  blue. 


'  The  ancient  name  of  Laurencekirk. 


198  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

But  onnc  thae  ryde  with  cheerie  haste  ; 

"Tanlyvie  !  ho  !  "  thae  crie — 
The  leafic  wodde  shakes  back  the  sound. 

And  makes  the  lyche  replie. 

Thae  gallop  east,  thae  gallop  west, 
And^round  the  hylle  thae  chase — 

The  fox  squats  deeper  in  hys  lair, 
And  maulkin  quytlcs  her  place. 

The^birds  are  fryghted  from  thaer  nests, 

The  raven  dull  doth  croak, 
The  owlette  starteth  from  hys  sleep, 

Hys  cradle  the  dark  green  oak. 

But  ne'er  a  stag  that  daie  is  seen 
Y-skipping  through  the  glade — 

Albeit  the  menne  ilk  lessel  beat, 
Albeit  the  griehounds  bayed. 

So  now  'tis  time  to  thynk  of  rest, 
All  worn  and  spent   with  moil  ; 

"  Then  blow  the  horn,  good  John  of  Cair 
And  let  us  cease  from  toil." 

He  stood  wythin  a  narrow  dell. 

Just  eastward  of  the  hyll  ; 
And  John  of  Cair  has  wound  his  horn. 

That  blew  so  luud  and  shrylle. 

There  knyght  and  laird,  and  carle  ?lso, 
And  panting  griehound  came  ; 

They  all  dyd  wear  a  woefull  face — 
For  why  ?  Thae  caught  no  game. 

Wythin  the  dell  a  blazing  fire 

Of  faggots  meellie  ryven, 
Dyd  burn  around  so  chccrylie 

And  sent  its  smeek  to  heaven 


THE  KAIM  O'  MATHERS.  I99 

And  onne  the  fyre  a  dayntie  potte 

(Or  Caldron  it  mote  be)  : 
Seyncte  Marie's  bell  is  not  so  bigge 

That  ryngeth  in  Dundee. 

The  fyre  does  burn— the  potte  does  boil, 

And  "  hubble,  hubble,"  cries  ; 
For  it  was  fylled  wyth  water  fair, 

And  barlie  grots  lykewyse. 

Thae  squatted  down  uponne  the  ground, 

Y-clad  wyth  plumie  feme  ; 
But  some  were  seated  higher  up, 

Upon  a  stonie  cairn. 

Ne  wordes  this  dolefull  council  spake  ; 

But  looked  wyth  eyen  of  yie, 
Sometymes  uponne  the  gloomie  knyght— 

Sometymes  uponne  the  fyre. 

Up  spake  the  Sheriffe,  and  sed  he— 

"  Syth  we  have  found  it  so 
That  there  is  nought  whereof  to  eat, 

Then  homeward  lette  us  go  : 

"  For  I  have  there  a  goodlie  dish, 

My  wyfe  prepareth  well  ; 
And  she  dyd  byd  me  come  to  eat 

By  chyme  of  Fordoun's  bell."  * 

"  Then,"  quod  the  knyght  of  gloomie  face 

"  Go  home,  if  thet  you  male  ; 
But  we  have  here  a  feaste  to  eat 

Upon  this  hunting  dale. 


^  His  residence  was  at  Kincardine,  then  the  county  town. 


AULD  SCOTS  liALLANTS. 

"  And  we  have  sworn  an  holic  oath — 

Before  the  sunne  go  down 
We  here  shall  taste  of  well-boiled  flesh, 

And  barley-broth  so  brown  !  " 

Then  up  the  Sheriffs  got  in  haste 

To  look  wythin  the  potte  : 
He  fain  would  see  gyf  flesh  was  there, 

But  surelie  it  was  not. 

But  then,  as  farther  to  enquyre 

Ilys  wordes  he  dyd  begyn, 
Thae  turned  hym  o'er  the  cauldron's  brym 

And  hurlit  hym  heddelong  in. 

He  turned  hym  round  w^th  manie  plash  ; 

At  whyche  the  knyghts  dyd  smyle. 
And  held  hym  down  wyth  stycks  and  staves, 

Most  horryd  and  most  vyle. 

And  now  that  he  is  seethed  full  well. 

What  more  had  thae  a-do, 
But  to  fulfyll  thaer  wycked  oath. 

And  make  the  King's  \vord  true  ? 

Ilk  had  a  home  to  suppe  wythal ; 

And  thus  it  came  to  pass, 
Thae  took  an  mouthfull  of  the  broth — 

The  human  broth  it  was  ! 

Thae  looked  lycke  deevyls  at  thaer  feaste 

In  hell's  black  cave  below — 
I  would  not  been  among  thaer  crew 

For  Barclay's  land  and  moe. 


THE  KAIM  O'  MATHERS. 


PART  ni. 

The  knyght  has  sent  hys  servyng  menne 

In  secret  haste  awaie, 
To  spie  some  place  besyde  the  sea 

Where  he  mote  safelie  staie. 

The  land  of  Mathers  all  was  hys, 

And  on  the  steejjie  shore 
A  fearfull  rocke  *  looks  o'er  the  waves, 

A-lystening  to  their  roar. 

So  there  thae  buyld  a  lordlie  kaim 

All  onne  the  stonie  rock, 
Which  mole  defie  the  sovereign's  arms, 

And  eke  the  tempest's  shock. 

It  mounted  even  from  the  clyffe, 

Most  fryghtfuU  to  be  seen  : 
Twae  yron  yettes  dyd  stand  before 

And  a  deepe  fosse  between. 

Now  comes  the  gloomie  murtherer 
Up  from  the  murkie  ground, 

Whereyn  hys  ladie  hyd  him  safe 
From  danger  all  around. 

For  sure  the  kyng  sent  forth  hys  lawes, 
Wyth  manie  menne  abroad, 

And  horses,  all  caparysoned, 
To  meet  hym  on  the  road. 


*  There  are  two  rocks — the  deep  rent  between  them  being  about  a 
yard  wide.  A  portion  of  one  of  the  towers  still  remains  on  the  most 
westerly  rock :  and  on  the  other  (which  communicates  with  the  land 
and  by  which  alone  one  can  descend)  are  the  ruins  of  battlements 


)2  AULD  SCOTS  liALLANTS. 

'Twas  "  noon  of  nyght" — which  lime  he  choose 

To  speed  hym  on  the  waie — 
Ne  honest  manne  would  shun  the  lyght 

That  beamcth  in  the  daic. 

Hys  ladye  on  the  palfrie  rode, 

And  eke  hys  lyttle  one  ;  * 
And  all  so  near  unto  the  Kaim 

As  you  mote  caste  a  stone. 

And  there  thae  met  the  horscmenne,  who 

Informed  were  bie  spyes — 
Now  all  hys  guyltless  famylie 

Sent  forth  most  pyteous  crycs. 

"  Stand  back  !"  sed  he,  "  or  bie  the  Godde 

Who  thys  strong  arm  dyd  make,t 
I'll  cleave  thie  helmet  to  thie  beard  ; 

Whereat  youre  troppe  shall  quake." 

"  O  knave  !  "  quod  then  tlic  horsenianne  bold, 

"  What  man  would  yield  to  thee, 
Sith  thou  wouldst  boyl  hys  bodie  all, 

And  sup  hym  wyth  the  brie  ? 

"  But  yield  thiself,  thou  man-eater  ! 

Thie  wife  and  menials  all ; 
And  sue  for  pardonne  to  the  kyng, 

Wha  syttes  at  Sterlyng's  hall." 

Ne  nioe  of  parlic  dyd  thae  holde 

And  broyl  of  scofhng  words. 
But  forth  thae  drew  the  sheenying  steel 

And  clashed  thaer  fyerie  swordes. 

'  Afterwards  Colonel  David  I3arclay,  who  purchased  Ury. 

t  The  Barclays  of  Ury  were  remarkable  for  their  size  and  strength. 


THE  KAIM  O'  MATHERS.  203 

Lycke  terryer  dog  wyth  furyous  brock 

Thae  grippet  each  other  round, 
Tyll  Urie  wrung  the  horsemanne's  neck, 

And  flung  him  onne  the  ground.* 

But  now  the  sudden  raid  is  o'er  ; 

And  who  hath  wonne  the  daie  ? 
The  knyght  hath  slayne  the  leader  l>okl  ; 

But  the  ladye  is  borne  awaie. 

And  Urie  heard  her  dolefull  cries, 

But  could  ne  helpe  hys  dame— 
For  why  ?     The  horsemenne  followed  fast 

As  he  ran  to  the  Kaim. 

Now  see  hym  there,  a  woefuU  wretch 

In  drearie  prison  pent, 
No  tears,  nor  sighs,  nor  wordes  had  he 

To  give  hys  sorrow  vent. 

But  sometimes  mopyng  bie  himself, 

All  mournfuU  and  alone. 
Ye  would  have  heard  hym  strike  tlic  tioor 

And  utter  forth  a  groan. 

Hys  food  was  aye  the  aiten  cake, 
Hys  drink  the  lympyd  well  ; 

Ne  could  he  look  on  sodden  flesh- 
He  shuddered  at  the  smell. 

All  long  and  yrksome  was  hys  nyght 

As  he  did  watch  to  see 
The  moonbeams  dancing  on  the  waves 

So  sheen  and  merrylie  : 


*  About  the  place  here  described,  viz.,  a  stone-cast  from  the  Kaim 
there  were  dug  up  several  human  bones  by  the  tenants  ot  West 
Mathers,  while  improving  that  part  of  the  farm. 


204  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

He  heard  the  hawk  whoop  round  the  tower, 
He  heard  the  sea-mew  screamc  ; 

And  the  roaring  waves  that  shook  the  rock 
Would  shake  hyni  from  hys  dream. 

All  long  and  yrksome  was  the  daie, 

As  he  dyd  sytte  and  spie 
The  seals  dysporting  in  the  sea, 

Tossing  the  waters  hygh. 

He  saw  the  salmon  spryng  at  even, 
The  coote  and  wylde-ducks  swym  ; 

But  though  thae  all  were  verie  glad, 
Ne  gladness  was  for  hym. 

Thys  was  the  lyfe  of  the  gloomie  knyght, 

Untill  the  daie  dyd  come 
When  good  Kyng  James  hys  pardon  made. 

And  called  hym  to  hys  home.* 

Now  woe  betyde  the  cruel  deed  ! 

And  woe  betyde  the  pain  ! 
And  grant  good  Godde  that  never  more 

The  lycke  may  come  again  ! 


Biunoric,  Q  Biunorie. 

There  are  various  versions  of  this  rarely  beautiful  and 
affecting  ballad.  Pinkerton,  Scott,  and  Jamieson  have  all 
given  renilerings  of  it.  The  present  copy  is  somewhat 
different  from  any  of  these.  Whether  or  not  the  ballad  is 
based  on  any  real  incident  it  is  impossible  to  say.  The 
main  idea  may  not  even  have  been  originally  Scotch,  as  a 
similar  story  exists  in  other  literatures  besides  our  own. 

*  He  was  pardoned  by  James  II.,  because  he  was  a  distant  relation 
of  the  Arbuthnott  family,  i.e.,  he  claimed  the  privilege  of  Clan 
Macduff,  and  paid  the  fine  for  homicide  and  obtained  pardon. 


BINNORIE,  O  BINNORIE.  205 

There  were  twa  sisters  lived  in  a  bower, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
There  cam'  a  knight  to  be  their  wooer, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

He  courted  the  eldest  wi'  glove  and  ring, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
But  he  lo'ed  the  youngest  abune  a'  thing, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

The  eldest  she  was  vexed  sair, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
And  sair  envied  her  sister  fair, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

The  eldest  said  to  the  youngest  ane, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"Will  ye  see  our  father's  ships  come  in. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie  ?  " 

She's  ta'en  her  by  the  lily  hand  ; 

Binnorie,  O'  Binnorie  ! 
And  led  her  down  to  the  river  strand, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

The  youngest  stood  upon  a  stane  ; 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
The  eldest  cam'  and  pushed  her  in, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

"  O  sister,  sister,  reach  your  hand." 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  And  ye  shall  be  the  heir  o'  half  my  land, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 

"  O  sister,  I'll  not  reach  my  hand." 

Binnorie,  o'  Binnorie  ! 
•'  And  I'll  be  the  heir  o'  all  your  land, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 


2o6  AULD  SCOTS  liALLAXTS. 

"  Shame  fa'  the  hand  that  I  should  take," 

Binnorie,  o'  Ijinno-rie  ! 
"  It  has  twined  me  and  my  world's  make, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 

"  O  sister,  sister,  reach  your  glove," 

Binnorie,  o'  Binnorie  ! 
"  And  sweet  William  shall  be  your  love. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 

"  Sink  on,  nor  hope  for  hand  or  glove," 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  And  sweet  William  shall  better  be  my  love, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

"  Your  cherry  cheeks,  and  yellow  hair," 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  Had  garr'd  me  gang  maiden  evermair. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 

Sometimes  she  sank,  sometimes  she  swam, 

Binnorie,  o'  Binnorie  ! 
Until  she  cam'  to  the  miller's  dam  ; 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

The  miller's  daughter  was  baking  bread, 

Binnorie,  O  JSinnorie  ! 
And  gaed  for  water  as  she  had  need, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

"  O  father,  father,  draw  your  dam  i  " 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  There's  a  mermaid  or  a  milk-white  swan, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 

The  miller  hasted  and  drew  his  dam, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnoiie  ! 
And  there  he  found  a  drown'd  woman. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 


BINNORIE,  O  BINNORIE.  207 

Upon  her  fingers,  lily  white, — 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
The  jewel-rings  were  shining  bright, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

Ye  couldna  see  her  yellow  hair, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
For  gowd  and  pearls,  a'  sae  rare. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

Ye  couldna  see  her  middle  sma', 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
Her  gowden  girdle  was  sae  braw, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

Ye  couldna  see  her  lily  feet, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
Her  gowden  fringes  were  sae  deep, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

"  Sair  will  they  be,  whae'er  they  be," 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  The  hearts  that  live  to  weep  for  thee. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 

Its  by  there  come  a  harper  fine, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
Wha  harp'd  to  nobles  when  they  dine. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

And  when  he  looked  that  lady  on, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
He  sighed,  and  made  a  heavy  moan, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

He  made  a  harp  o'  her  breast  bane, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
Whase  sounds  would  melt  a  heart  o'  stane, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 


2o8  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

He's  ta'en  three  locks  o'  her  yellow  hair, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
And  \vi'  them  strung  his  harp  sae  rare, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

He  went  into  her  father's  ha', 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
And  played  his  harp  before  them  a', 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie, 

He  laid  the  harp  upon  a  stane, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
It  straight  began  to  play  alane, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

And  first  the  harp  sung  loud  and  clear, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  Farewell,  my  father  and  mother  dear," 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

Neist  when  the  harp  began  to  sing, 

]5innorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
'Twas  "Farewell,  William,"  said  the  string. 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie. 

And  then  as  plain  as  plain  could  be, 

Binnorie,  O  Binnorie  ! 
"  There  sits  my  sister,  wha  drowned  me, 

By  the  bonnie  mill-dams  o'  Binnorie." 


^be  mate  0'  Bcitb. 

Copies  of  this  curious  old  rhyme  are  now  very  rare  indeed, 
although  in  the  not  very  remote  period  of  "John  Cheap, 
the  Chapman,"  it  circulated  in  thousands  in  the  east  and 
north-east,  and  in  tens  of  thousands  in  the  west  and  south- 
west of  Scotland.      Its  subject  is  a  daring  one,  and  many 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  209 

will  esteem  the  treatment  as  irreverent,  but  it  was  not  so 
regarded  in  the  day  of  its  popularity,  and  is  therefore  an 
interesting  relic  of  a  time  when  plain  speaking  was  fashion- 
able— when  the  oratory  of  the  pulpit  was  frequently  as 
homely  in  expression  and  rude  in  design  as  the  wicked 
"Wife  o'  Beith;  an  allegorical  dialogue,  containing  nothing 
but  what  is  recorded  in  Scripture." 

In  Beith  once  dwelt  a  worthy  wife, 

Of  whom  brave  Chaucer  mention  makes. 

She  lived  a  licentious  life. 

And  namely  in  venereal  acts. 

But  death  did  come  for  all  her  cracks  ; 

When  years  were  spent  and  days  out  driven, 

Then  suddenly  she  sickness  takes, 

Deceased  forthwith,  and  went  to  heaven. 

But  as  she  went  upon  the  way, 
There  followed  her  a  certain  guide. 
And  kindly  to  her  he  did  say, 
"  Where  mean  you,  dame,  for  to  abide? 
I  know  you  are  the  Wife  of  Beith, 
And  would  not  then  that  you  go  wrong, 
For  I'm  your  friend,  and  will  be  leath 
That  you  go  through  that  narrow  throng  ; 
This  way  is  broader,  go  with  me. 
And  very  pleasant  is  the  way  ; 
I'll  bring  you  there,  where  you  should  be. 
Go  with  me,  friend — say  me  not  nay." 

She  looked  on  him,  then  did  speer, 
"  I  pray  you,  sir,  what  is  your  name  ? 
Shew  me  the  way  how  you  came  here  ? 
To  tell  to  me  it  is  no  shame. 
Is  that  a  favour  'bout  your  neck  ? 
And  what  is  that  upon  your  side  ? 

I  knew  you  by  your  colours  first. 
Is  it  a  bag  or  silver  sack  ? 
What  are  you  then  ?  where  do  you  bide  ?  " 
O 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  I  was  a  servant  unto  Christ, 
And  Judas  likewise  is  my  name." 

"  Forsooth,  indeed,  you  are  to  blame  ; 
Your  Master  did  you  not  betray  ? 
And  hang  yourself  when  you  had  done  ? 
Where'er  you  bide  I  will  not  stay  ; 
Go  then,  you  knave,  let  me  alone." 

"  Whate'er  I  be,  I'll  be  your  guide, 
Because  you  know  not  well  the  way." 

"  What  would  you  me,  where  do  you  dwell 
I  have  no  will  to  go  with  thee  ; 
I  fear  it  is  some  lower  cell, 
I  pray  thee  therefore  let  me  be  ; 
I  know  your  way  it  is  to  hell. 
For  you  are  none  of  the  eleven  ; 
Go  haste  you  then  unto  your  cell. 
My  way  is  only  unto  heaven." 

"  That  way  is  by  the  gates  of  hell, 
If  you  intend  there  for  to  go. 
Go,  dame,  I  will  not  you  compel, 
But  I  with  you  will  go  also." 

Where  smoke  and  darkness  did  abound, 
And  pitch  and  sulphur  burned  still. 
With  yells  and  cries  hills  did  resound  ; 
The  Fiend  himself  came  to  the  gate, 
And  asked  him  where  he  had  been. 

"  Do  you  not  know  ?     Have  you  forgot  ? 
Seeking  this  wife  could  not  be  seen." 

"  Good  dame,"  he  said,  "  would  you  be  here 
I  pray  you  then  tell  me  your  name." 

"  The  Wife  of  Beith,  since  that  you  speer, 
But  to  come  in  I  were  to  blame. " 

"  I  will  not  have  you  here,  good  dame, 
For  you  were  mistress  of  the  fiyting  ; 
If  once  within  this  gate  you  came, 
I  would  be  troubled  with  your  biting. 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH. 

Cummer,  go  back,  and  let  me  be, 
Here  are  too  many  of  your  rout  ; 
Fur  women  lewd  like  unto  thee, 
I  cannot  turn  my  foot  about." 

'•  Sir  thief,  I  say  I  shall  bide  out, 
But  gossip  thou  wast  ne'er  to  me  ; 
For  to  come  in,  I'm  not  so  stout. 
And  of  my  biting  thou'st  be  free  : 
But,  Lucifer,  what's  that  on  thee? 
Hast  thou  no  water  in  this  place  ? 
Thou  look'st  so  black,  it  seems  to  me 
Thou  ne'er  dost  wash  thy  ugly  face." 

*'  If  we  had  water  for  to  drink, 
We  should  not  care  for  washing  then  ; 
Into  these  flames  and  filthy  stink, 
We  burn  with  fire  unto  the  doom  ; 
Upbraid  me  then,  good  wife,  no  more, 
For  first  when  I  heard  of  thy  name, 
I  knew  thou  hadst  such  words  in  store 
Would  make  the  Devil  to  think  shame." 

"  Forsooth,  sir  thief,  thou  art  to  blame. 
If  I  had  time  now  for  to  bide. 
Once  you  were  well,  but  may  think  shame. 
That  lost  heaven  for  rebellious  pride  ; 
Who  traitor-like  fell  with  the  rest, 
Because  you  would  not  be  content, 
And  now  of  bliss  art  dispossest. 
Without  all  grace  for  to  repent  ; 
Thou  mad'st  poor  Eve  for  to  consent 
To  eat  of  the  forbidden  tree 
(WTiich  we  poor  daughters  may  relent). 
And  made  us  almost  like  to  thee  ; 
But  God  be  blest,  who  passed  thee  by. 
And  did  a  Saviour  provide 
For  Adam's  whole  posterity. 
All  those  who  do  in  him  confide. 


AULD  SCOTS  IIALLANTS. 

Adieu,  false  friend,  I  may  not  bide, 
With  thee  I  may  no  longer  stay  ; 
My  God  in  death  He  was  my  guide, 
O'er  hell  I'll  get  the  victory." 

Then  up  the  hill  the  poor  wife  went, 
Oppressed  with  stinking  flames  and  fear. 
Weeping  right  sore  with  great  relent, 
For  to  go  else  she  wist  not  where — 
A  narrow  way  with  thorns  and  briers, 
And  full  of  mires  was  her  before  ; 
Sighed  oft  with  sobs  and  tears. 
The  poor  wife's  heart  was  wondrous  sore, 
Tired  and  torn  she  went  on  still, 
Sometimes  she  sat,  and  sometimes  fell. 
Until  she  came  to  a  high  hill. 
And  then  she  looked  back  to  hell. 
When  that  she  had  climbed  up  the  hill, 
Defore  her  was  a  goodly  plain  ; 
\\liere  she  did  rest  and  weep  her  fill, 
Then  she  rose  to  her  feet  again  ; 
Her  heart  was  glad,  the  way  was  good, 
Up  to  the  hill  she  hy'd  with  haste, 
The  flowers  were  fair  where  that  she  stood. 
The  fields  were  pleasant  to  her  taste. 

Then  she  espied  Jerusalem, 
On  Sion's  mount  where  that  it  stood. 
Shining  with  gold  light  as  the  sun, 
Her  silly  soul  was  then  right  glad  ; 
The  ])orts  were  pearls  shining  bright, 
Glorious  it  was  for  to  behold. 
The  precious  stones  gave  such  a  light. 
The  walls  were  of  transparent  gold. 
High  were  the  walls,  the  gates  were  shut. 
And  long  she  thought  for  to  be  in  ; 
But  then  for  fear  of  biding  out, 
She  knocked  haril  and  made  some  din. 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  213 

To  knock  and  cry  she  did  not  spare, 
Till  father  Adam  did  her  hear. 

"  Who  is't  that  raps  so  rudely  there  ? 
Heaven  cannot  well  be  won  by  weir." 

"  The  Wife  of  Beith,  since  that  you  speer, 
Hath  stood  these  two  hours  at  the  gate." 

•'  Go  back,"  saith  he,  "you  must  forbear, 
Here  may  no  sinners  entrance  get." 

"Adam,"  quoth  she,  "  I  shall  be  in, 
In  spite  of  all  such  churls  as  thee — 
Thou'rt  the  original  of  all  sin. 
For  eating  of  the  forbidden  tree — 
For  which  thou  art  not  flyting  free, 
But  for  thy  foul  offences  fled. " 

Adam  went  back,  and  let  her  be, 
Looking  as  if  his  nose  had  bled. 

Then  Mother  Eve  did  at  him  speer 
"  Who  was  it  that  made  such  a  din  ?" 
He  said  "  A  woman  would  be  here. 
For  me,  I  durst  not  let  her  in." 
"  I'll  go,"  said  she,  "  and  ask  her  will, 
Her  company  I  would  have  fain." 
But  aye  she  cried  and  knocked  still. 
And  in  no  ways  she  would  refrain. 

"  Daughter,"  said  Eve,  "you  will  do  well. 
And  come  again  another  time  ; 
Heaven  is  not  won  by  sword  or  steel, 
Nor  one  that's  guilty  of  a  crime.'' 

"  Mother,"  said  she,  "  the  fault  is  thine, 
That  knocking  here  so  long  I  stand  : 
The  guilt  is  more  than  that  of  mine. 
If  thou  wilt  rightly  understand  ; 
Our  misery  thou  didst  begin. 
By  thee  thy  husband  was  deceived." 

Eve  went  back  where  Noah  was. 
And  told  him  all  how  she  was  blam'd. 


214  AULD  SCOTS  I'.AI.LANTS. 

Of  her  great  sin  and  first  trespass, 
Whereof  she  was  so  much  ashamed. 

Then  Noah  said,  "  I  will  go  down, 
And  will  forbid  her  that  she  knock." 
'■  Go  back,"  he  said,  '"  ye  drunken  knvn. 
You're  none  of  the  celestial  flock." 

"  Noah,"  she  said,  "  hold  thou  thy  pence  ; 
Where  I  drank  ale,  thou  didst  drink  wine, 
Discovered  was  to  thy  disgrace. 
When  thou  wast  full  like  to  a  swine  : 
If  I  was  drunk  I  learned  at  thee. 
For  thou'rt  the  father  and  the  first. 
That  others  taught,  and  likewise  me. 
To  drink  when  we  have  had  no  thirst." 

Then  Noah  turned  back  with  speed, 
And  told  the  Patriarch  Abraham  then 
How  that  the  carlin  made  him  dread. 
And  how  she  all  his  deeds  did  ken. 
Abraham  then  said,  "  Now  get  you  gone  ! 
Let  us  no  more  hear  of  your  din  ! 
No  lying  wife,  as  I  suppose. 
May  enter  in  these  gates  witliin." 

"  Abraham,"  she  said,  "  will  you  but  sjiare? 
I  hope  you  are  not  flyting  free. 
You  of  yourself  had  such  a  care, 
Denied  your  wife  and  made  a  lee. 
O  then  I  pray  you  let  mc  be, 
For  I  repent  of  all  my  sin, 
Do  thou  but  ope  the  gates  to  me, 
And  let  me  quietly  come  in." 

Abraham  went  back  to  Jacob  then. 
And  told  his  nephew  how  he  sped, 
IIow  that  of  her  he  nothing  wan, 
And  that  he  thought  the  carlin  mad. 

Then  down  came  Jacob  throu'  the  close. 
And  said,  "  Go  backward  down  to  hell  !  " 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  215 

"Jacob,"  quoth  she,  "  I  know  thy  voice, 
That  gate  pertaineth  to  thysel' 
Of  thy  old  trumperies  I  can  tell — 
"With  two  sisters  thou  led'st  thy  life 
And  the  third  part  of  these  tribes  twelve 
Thou  got  with  maids  besides  thy  wife  : 
And  stole  thy  father's  benison, 
Only  by  fraud  thy  father  frae  ; 
Gave  thou  not  him  for  venison 
A  kid,  instead  of  baked  rae  ?  " 
Jacob  himself  was  tickled  so, 
He  went  to  Lot  where  he  was  lying. 
And  to  the  gate  pray'd  him  to  go, 
To  staunch  the  carlin  of  her  crying. 

Lot  says,  "  Fair  dame,  make  less  ado, 
And  come  again  another  day." 

"  Old  harlot  carle,  and  drunkard  too, 
Thou  with  thine  own  two  daughters  lay. 
Of  thine  untimely  seed  I  say. 

Proceeded  never  good,  but  ill." 

Poor  Lot  for  shame  then  stole  away, 
And  left  the  wife  to  knock  her  fill. 
Meek  Moses  he  went  down  at  last, 

To  pacify  the  carlin  then — 

"  Now,  dame,"  said  he,  "  knock  not  so  fast, 

Your  knocking  will  not  let  you  ben." 
"  Good  Sir,"  said  she,  "I  am  aghast, 

When  that  I  look  you  in  the  face  ; 

If  that  your  law  till  now  did  last. 

Then  surely  I  had  ne'er  got  grace  : 

But,  Moses,  sir,  now  by  your  leave, 

Although  of  heaven  thou  be  possesst, 

For  all  you  saw  did  not  believe. 

But  you  in  Horeb  there  transgresst 

Wherefore  by  all  it  is  confesst, 

You  got  but  once  the  land  to  see, 


2i6  AULD  SCOTS  LALLANTS. 

And  in  the  mount  was  put  to  rest, 
Vea  buried  there,  where  you  did  dee." 

Then  Aaron  said,  "You  whorish  wife, 
Go  !  get  you  gone,  and  rap  no  more ! 
With  idols  you  have  led  your  life  ; 
Or  then  you  shall  repent  it  sore." 

"  Good  Aaron  Priest,  I  know  you  well. 
The  golden  calf  you  may  rememher, 
Who  made  the  people  plagues  to  see. 
This  is  of  you  recorded  ever  ; 
Your  priesthood  now  is  nothing  worth, 
Christ  is  my  only  priest,  and  he, 
My  Lord,  who  will  not  keep  me  forth, 
So  I'll  get  in,  in  spite  of  thee." 

Up  started  Samson  at  the  length, 
Unto  the  gate  apace  came  he, 
To  drive  away  the  wife  with's  strength, 
But  all  in  vain — it  would  not  be. 

"  Samson,"  says  she,  "the  world  may  see. 
Thou  wast  a  Judge  who  proved  unjust, 
Those  gracious  gifts  which  God  gave  thee, 
Thou  lost  them  by  licentious  lust, 
P'rom  Daliia,  thy  wicked  wife. 
The  secrets  chief  couldst  not  refrain. 
She  daily  sought  to  take  thy  life, 
Thou  lost  thy  locks  and  then  was  slain  ; 
Tho'  thou  wast  strong  it  was  in  vain 
Haunting  with  harlots  here  and  there." 

Then  Samson  turned  back  again. 
And  with  the  wife  could  mell  nae  mair. 

Then  said  K'ng  David  "Knock  no  more. 
Wc  are  all  troubled  with  your  cry." 

"  David,"  quoth  she,  "how  cam'st  thou  tliere? 
Thou  might'st  bide  out  as  well  as  I — 
Thy  deeds  no  ways  thou  can'st  deny. 
Was  not  thy  sin  far  worse  than  mine  ? 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  217 

Who  with  Uriah's  wife  did  lie, 

And  caused  him  to  be  murdered  syne  ?  " 

Then  Jonas  said,  "  Fair  dame,  content  you, 
If  you  intend  to  come  to  grace, 
You  must  dree  penance  and  repent  you. 
Ere  you  can  come  within  this  place. " 

"Jonas,"  quoth  she,  "  how  stands  the  case? 
How  came  you  here  to  be  with  Christ  ? 
How  dare  you  look  Him  in  the  face, 
Considering  how  you  broke  your  tryst  ?  " 

So  Jonas  then  he  was  ashamed. 
Because  he  was  not  flyting  free. 
Of  all  his  faults  she  had  him  blamed, 
He  left  the  wife  and  let  her  be. 

"  Saint  Thomas,  then,  I  counsel  thee 
Go  speak  unto  yon  wicked  wife. 
She  shames  us  all,  and  as  for  me, 

Her  like  I  never  heard  in  life." 

Thomas  then  said,  "You  make  such  strife. 

When  you  are  out,  and  meikle  din, 

If  ye  were  here,  I'll  lay  my  life, 

No  peace  the  saints  would  get  within  ; 

It  is  your  trade  for  to  be  flyting. 

Still  in  a  fever  as  one  raves, 

No  marvel  though  you  wives  be  biting. 

Your  tongues  are  made  of  aspen  leaves." 

"  Thomas,"  quoth  she,  "  let  be  your  taunts, 

You  play  the  pick-thank,  I  perceive, 

Tho'  you  be  brother'd  'mong  the  saints, 

An  unbelieving  heart  you  have. 

Thou  brought'st  the  Lord  unto  the  grave. 

But  would'st  no  more  with  him  remain. 

And  wast  the  last  of  all  the  lave 

That  did  believe  he  rose  again. 

There  might  no  doctrine  do  thee  good, 

No  miracles  made  thee  confide, 


2i8  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Till  thou  beheld  Christ's  wounds  and  blood, 
And  putt'st  thy  hands  into  his  side  ; 
Didst  thou  not  daily  with  him  bide, 
And  see  the  wonders  which  he  wrought  ? 
But  blest  are  they  that  do  confide, 
And  do  believe,  yet  saw  him  not. 
Thomas,"  she  says,  "  will  ye  but  speer, 
If  that  my  sister,  Magdalene, 
Will  come  to  me,  if  she  be  here, 
For  comfort  sure  you  give  me  nane." 

He  was  so  blythe  and  turned  back. 
And  thanked  God  that  she  was  gane  ; 
He  had  no  will  to  hear  her  crack. 
But  told  it  Mary  Magdalene. 

When  that  she  heard  her  sister's  mocks, 
She  went  unto  the  gate  with  speed  ; 
And  asked  her   "  Who's  there  that  knocks  ?" 

"  'Tis  I,  the  Wife  of  Beith,  indeed." 

She  said,    "  Good  mistress,  you  must  stand 
Till  you  be  tried  by  tribulation." 

"  Sister,"  quoth  she,  "give  me  your  hand  ; 
Are  we  not  bcHh  of  one  vocation  ? 
It  is  not  through  your  occupation 
That  you  are  placed  so  divine  ; 
My  faith  is  fixed  on  Christ's  passion, 
My  soul  shall  be  as  safe  as  thine." 

Then  Mary  went  away  in  haste, 
The  carlin  made  her  so  ashamed. 
She  had  no  will  of  such  a  guest, 
To  lose  her  pains  and  be  so  blamed. 

"  Now,  good  Saint  Paul,"  said  Magdalene, 
"  For  that  you  are  a  learned  man. 
Go  and  convince  this  woman  then. 
For  I  have  done  all  that  I  can  ; 
Sure  if  she  were  in  hell,  I  doubt 
They  would  not  keep  her  long  e'en  there. 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  219 

But  to  the  gate  would  put  her  out, 
And  send  her  back  to  be  elsewhere." 
Then  went  the  good  apostle  Paul; 
To  put  the  wife  in  better  tune — 

"  Wash  off  that  filth  that  files  thy  soul, 
Then  shall  heaven's  gates  be  opened  soon." 
"  Remember,  Paul,  what  thou  hast  done. 
For  all  the  epistles  thou  didst  compile. 
Though  now  thou  sittest  up  above, 
Thou  persecuted'st  Christ  a  while." 

"  Woman,"  he  said,  "thou  art  not  right  ; 
That  which  I  did,  I  did  not  know  ; 
But  thou  didst  sin  with  all  thy  might, 
Although  the  preachers  did  thee  show." 
"  Saint  Paul,"  she  said,  "it  is  not  so  : 
I  did  not  know  so  well  as  ye, 
But  I  will  to  my  Saviour  go, 
Who  will  his  favour  shew  to  me  ; 
You  think  you  are  of  flyting  free, 
Because  you  was  wrapt  up  above, 
But  yet  it  was  Christ's  grace  to  thee, 
And  matchlessness  of  his  dear  love." 

"  Then,  Paul,"  says  she,  "  let  Peter  come  ; 
If  he  be  lying  let  him  rise. 
To  him  I  will  confess  my  sin. 
And  let  him  quickly  bring  the  keys  ; 
Too  long  I  stand,  he'll  let  me  in. 
For  why  I  cannot  longer  tarry. 
Then  shall  ye  all  be  quit  of  din. 
For  I  must  speak  with  good  Saint  Mary." 

"  Peter,"  said  she,  "let  Christ  arise, 
And  grant  me  mercy  in  my  need  ; 
For  why,  I  ne'er  deny'd  him  thrice, 
As  thou  thyself  hast  done  indeed." 

"Thou  carlin  bold,  what's  that  to  thee? 
I  got  remission  for  my  sin  ; 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

It  cost  many  sad  tears  to  me 

Before  I  entered  here  within. 

It  will  not  be  thy  meikle  din 

Will  cause  heaven's  gates  opened  be, 

Thou  must  be  purified  of  sin, 

And  of  all  sins  must  be  made  free." 

"  Saint  Peter,  then,  no  thanks  to  you 
That  so  you  were  rid  of  your  fears  ; 
It  was  Christ's  gracious  look,  I  trow. 
That  made  you  weep  those  bitter  tears. 
The  door  of  mercy  is  not  closed, 
I  may  get  grace  as  well  as  ye. 
It  is  not  so  as  ye  supposed — 
I  will  be  in  in  spite  of  thee." 

"  But,  wicked  wife,  it  is  too  late. 
Thou  should'st  have  mourn'd  when  on  earth. 
Repentance  now  is  out  of  date  : 
It  should  have  been  before  thy  death, 
Thou  mightest  well  have  turned  wrath 
To  mercy  then,  and  mercy  great, 
But  now  the  Lord  is  very  loth. 
And  all  thy  cries  not  worth  a  jot." 

"  Ah  !  Peter,  then,  what  shall  I  do  ! 
He  will  not  hear  me  as  I  hear. 
Shall  I  despair  of  mercy  too  ? 
No,  no,  I'll  trust  in  mercy  dear  ; 
And  if  I  perish,  here  I'll  stay 
And  never  go  from  heaven  bright 
I'll  ever  hope  and  always  pray, 
Until  I  get  my  Saviour's  sight." 

"  I  think  indeed  you  are  not  right, 
If  you  had  faith  you  could  win  in  ; 
Importune  then  with  all  your  might. 
Faith  is  the  feet  wherewith  ye  come  : 
It  is  the  hands  will  hold  him  fast, 
But  weak  faith  may  not  presume ; 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  22i 

'Twill  let  you  sink,  and  be  aghast — 
Strongly  believe,  or  you're  undone." 

"  But,  good  Saint  Peter,  let  me  be, 
Had  you  such  faith,  did  it  abound  ? 
When  you  did  walk  upon  the  sea. 
Was  you  not  like  for  to  be  drown'd, 
Had  not  our  Saviour  helped  thee, 
Who  came  and  took  thee  by  the  hand 
So  can  my  Lord  do  unto  me. 
And  bring  me  to  the  promised  land. 
Is  my  faith  weak,  yet  He  is  still 
The  same,  and  ever  shall  remain  ; 
His  mercies  last,  and  His  good  will. 
To  bring  me  to  His  flock  again, 
He  will  me  help  and  me  relieve, 
And  will'increase  my  faith  also, 
If  weakly,  I  can  but  believe. 
For  from  this  place  I'll  never  go." 

But  Peter  said,  "  How  can  that  be? 
How  durst  thou  look  Him  in  the  face  ? 
Such  horrid  sinners  like  to  thee 
Can  have  no  courage  to  get  grace  ; 
Here  none  comes  in  but  they  that's  stout. 
And  suffered  have  for  the  good  cause  ; 
Like  unto  thee  are  keeped  out. 
For  thou  hast  broke  all  Moses'  laws." 

"  Peter,"  said  she,  "  I  do  appeal, 
From  Moses,  and  from  thee  also. 
With  him  and  you  I'll  not  prevail. 
But  to  my  Saviour  I  will  go  ; 
Indeed  of  old  you  were  right  stout, 
When  you  did  cut  off  Malchus'  ear  ; 
But  after  that  you  went  about. 
And  a  poor  maid  then  did  you  fear. 
Wherefore,  Saint  Peter,  do  forbear. 
A  comforter  indeed  you're  not ; 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Let  me  alone,  I  do  not  fear, 
Take  home  the  whistle  of  your  groat  : 
Was  it  your  own,  or  Paul's  good  sword, 
When  that  your  courage  was  so  keen  ? 
Vou  were  right  stout,  upon  my  word — 
Then  would  you  fain  at  fishing  been — 
For  at  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 
You  did  deny  your  master  thrice. 
For  all  your  stoutness  turned  a  block, 
Now  flyte  no  more  if  ye  be  wise." 

Yet  at  the  last  the  Lord  arose. 
Environed  with  angels  bright. 
And  to  the  wife  in  haste  He  goes, 
Desired  her  soon  pass  out  of  sight. 

"  O  Lord,"  quoth  she,  "cause  do  me  right, 
But  not  according  to  my  sin  ; 
Have  you  not  promised  day  and  night, 
When  sinners  knock  to  let  them  in  ?  " 

He  said,  "  Thou  wrests  the  Scriptures  wiong- 
The  night  is  come  ;  thou  spent  the  day  ; 
In  whoredom  thou  hast  lived  long, 
And  to  repent  thou  didst  delay  ; 
Still  my  commandments  thou  abus'dst, 
And  vice  committedst  busily, 
Since  now  my  mercy  thou  refus'dst, 
Go  down  to  hell  eternally  !  " 

"  O  Lord,  my  soul  doth  testify 
That  I  have  spent  my  life  in  vain  ; 
Ah  !  make  a  wand'ring  sheep  of  me, 
And  bring  me  to  thy  flock  again." 

"  Think'st  thou  there  is  no  count  to  crave 
Of  all  these  gifts  in  thee  was  planted  ? 
I  gave  thee  beauty,  'bove  the  lave, 
A  pregnant  wit  thou  never  wanted." 

"  Master,"  quoth  she,  "  it  must  be  granted, 
My  sin  is  great  ;  give  me  contrition — 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  223 

The  forlorn  son,  when  he  repented, 
Obtained  his  father's  full  remission." 

"  I  spared  my  judgments  many  times, 
And  spiritual  pastors  did  thee  send  ; 
But  thou  renewd'st  thy  former  crimes, 
Aye  more  and  more  me  to  offend." 

"  My  Lord,"  quoth  she,  "  I  do  amend. 
Lamenting  for  my  former  vice — 
The  poor  thief  at  the  latter  end 
For  one  word  went  to  Paradise." 

"  The  thief  heard  never  of  my  teaching. 
My  heavenly  precepts  and  my  laws, 
But  thou  wast  daily  at  my  preachings 
Both  heard  and  saw,  and  yet  miscaws." 

"  Master,"  quoth  she,  "  the  Scripture  shows, 
The  Jewish  woman  which  play'd  the  lown. 
Conform  unto  the  Hebrew  laws, 
Was  brought  to  thee  to  be  put  down, 
But  nevertheless  thou  let  her  go, 
And  made  the  Pharisees  afraid." 

"  Indeed,"  says  Christ,  "it  was  right  so. 
And  that  my  bidding  was  obey'd. 

Woman,"  he  said,  "  I  may  not  cast 

The  children's  bread  to  dogs  like  ihee 
Although  my  mercies  yet  do  last. 

There's  mercy  here,  but  none  for  thee." 

"  But,  loving  Lord,  may  I  presume, 

Poor  worm,  that  I  may  speak  again  ? 

The  dogs  for  hunger  were  undone. 

And  of  the  crumbs  they  were  right  fain — 

Grant  me  one  crumb  then  that  doth  fall 

From  thy  best  children's  table,  Lord, 

That  I  may  be  refreshed  withal, 

It  will  me  help  enough  afford." 

"  The  gales  of  mercy  now  are  closed. 

And  thou  canst  hardly  enter  in — 


224  AULD  SCOTS  I'.ALLANTS. 

It  is  not  so  as  thovi  supposed, 
For  thou  art  deadly  sick  in  sin." 

"  'Tis  true  indeed,  my  Lord  most  meek — 
My  sore  and  sickness  I  do  feel — 
Yet  thou  the  lame  didst  truly  seek, 
Who  lay  long  at  Bethsaida's  pool, 
Of  many  that  thee  never  sought — 
Like  to  the  poor  Samaritan, 
Whom  thou  unto  thy  fold  hast  brought, 
Even  as  thou  didst  the  widow  of  Nain. 
Most  gracious  God,  didst  thou  not  l)id 
All  that  were  weary  come  to  thee? 
Behold,  I  come  !  even  overload 
With  sin  ;  have  mercy  upon  me  ! " 

"  The  issues  of  thy  soul  are  great, 
Thou  art  both  leprous  and  unclean, 
To  be  with  me  thou  art  not  fit, 
Go  from  me  then,  let  me  alone." 

"  Let  me  thy  garments  once  but  touch. 
My  bloody  issue  shall  be  whole, 
It  will  not  cost  thee  very  much 
To  save  a  poor  distressed  soul. 
Speak  thou  the  word,  I  shall  lie  whole. 
One  look  of  thee  shall  do  me  good. 
Save  now,  good  Lord,  my  silly  soul, 
Bought  with  thine  own  most  precious  blood- 
Sweet  Lord,  my  God,  say  me  not  nay, 
For  if  I  perish  here  I'll  die." 

"  Poor  silly  wretch,  then  speak  no  more 
Thy  faith,  poor  soul,  hath  saved  thee  ; 
Enter  thou  into  my  glore, 
And  rest  throu'  all  eternity  ! " 

How  soon  our  Saviour  these  words  said, 
A  long  white  robe  to  her  was  given  ; 
And  then  the  angels  did  her  lead. 
Forthwith  within  the  gates  of  heaven  ; 


THE  WIFE  O'  BEITH.  225 

A  laurel  crown  set  on  her  head, 
Spangled  with  rubies  and  with  gold  ; 
A  bright  white  palm  she  also  had, 
Glorious  it  was  for  to  behold  ; 
Her  face  did  shine  like  to  the  sun, 
Like  threads  of  gold  her  hair  hang  down  ; 
Her  eyes  like  lamps  unto  the  moon, 
Of  precious  stones  rich  was  her  crown. 
Angels  and  Saints  did  welcome  her, 
The  heavenly  choir  did  sing,  rejoice  ; 
King  David  with  his  harp  was  there  ; 
The  silver  bells  gave  a  great  noise. 
Such  music  and  such  melody 
Was  never  either  heard  or  seen, 
When  this  poor  saint  was  placed  so  high. 
And  of  all  sins  made  freeLy  clean  ; 
But  then  when  thus  she  was  possest, 
And  looked  back  on  all  her  fears  ; 
And  that  she  was  come  to  her  rest, 
Free'd  from  all  sins,  and  all  her  tears, 
She  from  her  head  did  take  the  crown, 
Giving  all  praise  to  Christ  on  high, 
And  at  his  feet  she  laid  it  down. 
For  that  the  Lamb  had  made  her  free. 
Now  doth  she  sing  triumphantly, 
And  shall  rejoice  for  evermore. 
O'er  death  and  hell  victoriously 
With  lasting  pleasures  laid  in  store. 

Of  Wife  of  Beith  I  make  an  end. 
And  do  these  lines  with  this  conclude — 
Let  none  their  lives  in  sin  now  spend. 
But  watch  and  pray,  be  doing  good  ; 
Despondent  souls,  do  not  despair — 
Repent,  and  still  believe  in  Christ ; 
His  mercies,  which  last  for  evermore, 
Will  save  the  souls  that  in  Him  trust. 
P 


226  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 


lE^om  0'  (Borbon. 


Many  versions  are  extant  of  this  graphic  and  melancholy 
ballad,  which  is  founded  on  a  real  event  which  took  place 
in  the  north  of  Scotland  in  the  year  157 1,  during  the 
struggles  between  the  party  who  held  out  for  the  imprisoned 
Queen  Mary,  and  those  who  maintained  the  authority  of 
her  infant  son,  James  VI.  The  person  here  designated 
"  Edom  o'  Gordon,"  was  Adam  Gordon  of  Auchindown, 
brother  and  deputy  of  the  Marquis  of  Huntly.  Gordon 
committed  many  acts  of  oppression  on  the  Clan  Forbes, 
under  colour  of  the  Queen's  authority  ;  and,  in  one  collision 
with  that  family,  killed  Arthur,  brother  to  Lord  P'orbes. 
He  gained  also  several  successes  over  the  neighbours  and 
feudal  enemies  of  the  Gordons,  but  the  chronicler  of  the 
history  of  King  James  VI.  remarks  of  him  that,  "  what 
glory  and  renown  he  obtained  by  these  victories  were  all 
casten  down  by  the  infamy  of  his  next  attempt  ;  for 
immediately  after  his  last  conflict  he  directed  his  soldiers  to 
the  Castle  of  Towie,  desiring  the  house  to  be  rendered  to 
him  in  the  Queen's  name,  which  was  obstinately  refused  by 
the  lady,  and  she  burst  forth  with  certain  injurious  words, 
and  the  soldiers  being  impatient,  by  command  of  their 
leader.  Captain  Ker,  fire  was  put  to  the  house,  wherein  she 
and  the  number  of  twenty-seven  persons  were  cruelly  burnt 
to  the  death."  The  ballad  was  first  printed  by  Lord  Ilailes 
in  1755  from  the  recitation  of  a  lady  at  Glasgow.  It  was 
afterwards  given  by  Percy  in  his  Reliques  w  ilh  some  altera- 
tions from  his  old  M.S.  "  The  author  of  '  Edom  o'  Gordon  ' 
had  no  theories  of  art,"  says  a  recent  writer.  "  He  uttered 
only  what  he  saw  and  felt,  but  what  words  could  add  to 
that  picture  of  the  burning  tower,  the  unutterable  sigh  of 
the  mother  for  'a'e  blast  o'  the  western  wind,'  and  the 
mute  reproach  of  the  face  on  the  grass,  more  terrible  to  the 
marauder  than  the  gleam  of  hostile  spears?" 


It  fell  about  the  Martimas, 

\Yhen  the  wind  blew  shrill  and  cauhl, 
Said  Edom  o'  Gordon  to  his  men, 

"We  maun  draw  till  a  hauld. 


EDOM   O'  GORDON.  227 

•'  And  whatna  hauld  shall  we  draw  till, 

My  merrie  men  and  me  ? 
We  will  gae  to  the  house  o'  the  Rodes 

To  see  that  fair  ladye." 

The  ladye  stude  on  her  castle  wa', 

Beheld  baith  dale  and  doun  ; 
There  she  was  ware  o'  a  host  o'  men 

Cam'  riding  towards  the  toun.* 

"  O  see  ye  not  my  merrie  men  a', 

0  see  ye  not  what  I  see  ? 
Methinks  I  see  a  host  o'  men — 

1  marvel  wha  they  be." 

She  ween'd  it  had  been  her  ain  dear  lord 

As  he  cam'  riding  hame  ; 
It  was  the  traitor,  Edom  o'  Gordon, 

Wha  reck'd  nae  sin  nor  shame. 

She  had  nae  suner  buskit  hersel', 

And  putten  on  her  gown, 
Till  Edom  o'  Gordon  and  his  men 

Were  round  about  the  town. 

They  had  nae  suner  supper  set, 

Nae  suner  said  the  grace. 
Till  Edom  o'  Gordon  and  his  men 

Were  closed  about  the  place. 

The  ladye  ran  to  her  tower  head, 

As  fast  as  she  could  hie. 
To  see  if,  by  her  fair  speeches. 

She  could  wi'  him  agree. 


*  This  word  in   Scotland  signifies  not  only  a  city  or  town,   but  a 
farm  steading  or  residence. 


228  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

But  when  he  saw  the  ladye  safe, 

And  her  yells  a'  lockit  fast, 
He  lell  into  a  rage  o  wrath, 

And  his  look  was  all  aghast. 

"  Come  doun  to  me,  ye  ladye  gay, 

Come  doun,  come  doun  to  me  ; 
This  nicht  ye'll  lie  within  my  arms, 

The  morn  my  bride  shall  be." 

"  I  winna  come  doun,  ye  fause  Gordon, 

I  winna  come  doun  to  thee  ; 
I  winna  forsake  my  ain  dear  lord. 

That  is  sae  far  frae  me." 

"  Gi'e  owre  your  house,  ye  ladye  fair, 

Gi'e  owre  your  house  to  me  ; 
Or  I  sail  burn  yoursel'  therein, 

But  and  your  babies  three." 

"  I  winna  gi'e  owre,  ye  fause  Gordon, 

To  nae  sic  traitor  as  ye  ; 
And  if  ye  burn  my  ain  dear  babes, 

My  lord  shall  mak'  ye  dree. 

"  But  reach  my  pistol,  Glaud,  my  man, 

And  charge  ye  weel  my  gun  ; 
For,  but  if  I  pierce  that  bloody  butcher, 

My  babes  may  live  undone." 

She  stude  upon  her  caslle  wa'. 

And  let  twa  bullets  flee  ; 
She  mist  the  bloody  butcher's  heart. 

And  only  razed  his  knee. 

"  Set  fire  to  ihe  house  !  "  quo'  the  fause  Gordon, 

All  wud  wi'  dule  and  ire  ; 
"  Fause  ladye  !  ye  shall  rue  that  shot, 

As  ye  birsle  in  the  fire." 


EDOM   O'  GORDON,  229 

•'  Wae  worth,  wae  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man, 

I  paid  ye  weel  your  fee  ; 
Why  pu'  ye  out  the  grund-wa-stane, 

Lets  in  the  reek  to  me  ? 

"  And  e'en  wae  worth  ye,  Jock,  my  man, 

I  paid  you  weel  your  hire  ; 
Why  pu'  ye  out  the  grund-wa-stane, 

To  me  lets  in  the  fire  ?  " 

"  Ye  paid  me  weel  my  hire,  ladye. 

Ye  paid  me  weel  my  fee  ; 
But  noo  I'm  Edom  o'  Gordon's  man, 

Maun  either  do  or  dee." 

'Twas  then  outspak  her  youngest  son, 

Sat  on  the  nurse's  knee  ; 
Says,  "Mither  dear,  gi"e  owre  the  house, 

For  the  reek  it  smothers  me." 

"  I  wad  gie  a'  my  gowd,  my  bairn, 

Sae  wad  I  a'  my  fee, 
For  a'e  blast  o'  the  wastlin'  wind. 

To  blaw  the  reek  frae  thee  ! " 

'Twas  then  outspak  her  dochter  dear — 

She  was  baith  jimp  and  sma' — 
"O  row  me  in  a  pair  o'  sheets, 

And  tow  me  owre  the  wa'." 

They  row'd  her  in  a  pair  o'  sheets, 

And  tow'd  her  owre  the  wa'  ; 
But  on  the  point  o'  Gordon's  spear 

She  got  a  deadly  fa'. 

O  bonnie,  bonnie  was  her  mouth, 

And  cheery  were  her  cheeks  ; 
And  clear,  clear  was  her  yellow  hair. 

Whereon  the  red  bluid  dreeps. 


230  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Then  wi'  his  spear  he  turnM  her  owre, 

0  but  her  face  was  wan  ! 

He  said,  "  You  are  the  first  that  e'er 

1  vvish'd  alive  again." 

He  turn'd  lier  owre  and  owre  again, 

0  but  her  skin  was  white  ! 

"  I  might  hae  spared  that  bonnie  face, 
To  hae  been  some  man's  delight." 

"  Back  and  boun,  my  merrie  men  a'. 

For  ill  dooms  I  do  guess  ; 
I  canna  look  on  that  bonnie  face, 

As  it  lies  on  the  grass  ! 

"  Wha  looks  to  freits,*  my  master  dear, 

It's  freits  will  follow  him  ; 
Let  it  ne'er  be  said  brave  Edom  o'  Gordon 

Was  daunted  by  a  dame." 

But  when  the  ladye  saw  the  fire 
Come  flaming  owre  her  head. 

She  wept,  and  kiss'd  her  children  twain. 
Said,  "Bairns,  we  be  but  dead." 

The  Gordon  then  his  bugle  blew. 

And  cried,  "  Awa'  !  awa'  ! 
The  house  o'  the  Rodes  is  a'  in  a  flame, 

1  hauld  it  time  to  ga." 

O  then  she  spied  her  ain  dear  lord 

As  he  cam'  owre  the  lea  ; 
He  saw  his  castle  a'  in  a  lowe, 

Sae  far  as  he  could  see. 

*  Omens. 


EDOM  O'  GORDON. 

'Twas  sair,  O  sair  his  mind  misgave, 

And  O,  his  heart  was  wae  ; 
"  Put  on,  put  on,  my  michty  men, 

As  fast  as  ye  can  gae. 

"  Put  on,  put  on,  my  michty  men, 

As  fast  as  she  can  drie  ; 
For  he  that  is  hindmost  o'  the  thrang 

Sail  ne'er  get  gude  o'  me  !  " 

Then  some  they  rade,  and  some  they  ran, 

Fu'  fast  out  ower  the  bent  ; 
But  ere  the  foremost  could  win  up, 

Baith  ladye  and  babes  were  brent. 

He  wrang  his  hands,  he  rent  his  hair, 

And  wept  in  waefu'  mood  ; 
"Ah,  traitors  !  for  this  cruel  deed. 

Ye  sail  weep  tear?  o'  bluid." 

And  after  the  Gordon  he  has  gane, 

Sae  fast  as  he  might  drie. 
And  soon  i'  the  Gordon's  foul  heart's  bluid. 

He's  wroken  *  his  dear  ladye. 

And  mony  were  the  buirdly  men 

Lay  gasping  on  the  green  ; 
And  mony  were  the  fair  ladies 

Lay  lemanless  at  hame. 

And  mony  were  the  buirdly  inen 

Lay  gasping  on  the  green  ; 
For  o'  fifty  men  the  Gordon  brocht. 

There  were  but  five  gaed  hame. 

'  Revenged. 


AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

O  round  and  round  the  wa's  he  went, 

Their  ashes  for  to  view  ; 
At  last  into  the  flames  he  ran 

And  bade  the  world  adieu. 


Zbc  Zwn  Corbies, 


This  brief  but  striking  ballad  is  from  Scott's  Border 
Minstrelsy ;  and  the  fuller  version  subjoined,  evidently  a 
more  modern  composition,  is  from  Motherwell's  collection. 
There  is  an  English  copy  printed  by  Ritson  entitled  "The 
Three  Ravens,"  but  the  Scotch  versions  have  the  advantage 
of  the  English  in  point  of  graphic  force  and  reahslic  horror. 

As  I  was  walking  all  alane 

I  heard  twa  corbies  making  a  mane  ; 

The  tane  unto  the  tither  did  say, 

"  Where  sail  we  gang  and  dine  to-day  ? " 

"  In  behint  yon  auld  fael  dyke 
I  wot  there  lies  a  new-slain  knight ; 
And  naebody  kens  that  he  lies  there, 
But  his  hawk,  his  hound,  and  lady  fair. 

"  His  hound  is  to  the  hunting  gane, 
His  hawk  to  fetch  the  wildfowl  hame, 
His  lady's  ta'en  another  mate, 
So  we  may  mak'  our  dinner  sweet. 

"  Ve'll  sit  on  his  white  hause-bane, 
And  I'll  pick  out  his  bonny  blue  e'en  ; 
Wi'  a'e  lock  o'  his  gowden  hair 
We'll  theck  our  nest  when  it  grows  bare. 


THE  TWA  CORBIES. 

"  Mony  a  ane  for  him  makes  mane, 
But  nane  sail  ken  where  he  is  gane  ; 
O'er  his  white-banes,  when  they  are  bare, 
The  wind  sail  blaw  for  evermair." 


MOTHERIVELVS  COPY. 

There  were  twa  corbies  sat  on  a  tree, 
Large  and  black  as  black  might  be. 
And  one  until  the  other  gan  say, 
"  Where  shall  we  gang  and  dine  to-day  ? 
Shall  we  dine  by  the  wild  saut  sea  ? 
Shall  we  dine  'neath  the  greenwood  tree  ? 

"  As  I  sat  on  the  deep  sea  sand, 

I  saw  a  fair  ship  nigh  at  land  ; 

I  waved  my  wings,  I  beat  my  beak, 

The  ship  sunk,  and  I  heard  a  shriek  ; 

There  they  lie — one,  two,  and  three  ; — 

I  shall  dine  by  the  wild  saut  sea." 

"  Come,  I  will  show  ye  a  sweeter  sight, 

A  lonesome  glen,  and  a  new-slain  knight  ; 

His  blood  yet  on  the  grass  is  hot, 

His  sword  half  drawn,  his  shafts  unshot,— 

And  no  one  knows  that  he  lies  there. 

But  his  hawk,  his  hound,  and  his  lady  fair. 

"  His  hound  is  to  the  hunting  gane, 
His  hawk  to  fetch  the  wild-fowl  hame. 
His  lady's  away  with  another  mate, 
So  we  shall  make  our  dinner  sweet ; 
Our  dinner's  sure,  our  feasting  free, 
Come,  and  dine  'neath  the  greenwood  tree. 


2j4  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

"  Ye  shall  sit  on  his  white  hause-bane, 
I  will  pick  out  his  bonny  blue  een  ; 
Ye'll  take  a  tress  of  his  yellow  hair, 
To  theek  your  nest  when  it  grows  bare  ; 
The  gowclen  clown  on  his  young  chin 
Will  do  to  row  my  young  ones  in  ! 

"  O  !  cauld  and  bare  his  bed  will  be, 
When  winter's  storms  sing  in  the  tree  ; 
At  his  head  a  turf,  at  his  feet  a  stone. 
He  will  sleep,  nor  hear  the  maiden's  moan 
O'er  his  white  bones  the  birds  shall  fly, 
The  wild  deer  bound,  and  foxes  cry  !  " 


aunie  0*  Xocbr^an. 

There  are  various  versions  of  this  beautiful  and  affecting 
ballad,  which  appear  in  the  collections  under  the  headings 
of  "The  Lass  of  Lochryan,"  "  P'air  Annie  of  Lochryan," 
"  Lord  Gregory,"  and  the  one  here  adopted.  It  was  first 
printed,  in  an  imperfect  state,  by  Herd,  afterwards  it 
appeared  in  a  more  complete  form  in  Scott's  iMiiistrelsy 
of  the  Scottish  Border.  Sir  Walter's  rendering  represents 
Lord  Gregory  as  conhned  by  fairy  charms  in  an  enchanted 
castle ;  but  Jamieson  states  that  he  heard  the  ballad 
chanted  in  Morayshire,  and  that  no  mention  was  made  of 
enchantment  or  fairy  charms.  Burns  and  Dr.  Wolcot  (the 
well-known  Peter  Pindar),  wrote  each  a  song  for  Thomson's 
collection,  entitled  "  Lord  Gregory,"  founded  on  the 
subject  of  the  present  ballad.  Lochryan  is  a  beautiful  but 
wild  and  secluded  bay,  which  projects  from  the  Irish 
Channel  into  Wigtonshire,  in  Galloway  ;  and  along  the 
coast  may  been  seen  the  ruins  of  various  castles,  such  as  the 
one  described  in  the  ballad.  The  following  is  Jamieson's 
version,  slightly  altered  and  amended  : — 

"O  WHA  will  shoe  my  bonnie  foot? 

And  wha  will  glove  my  hand  ? 
And  wha  will  lace  my  middle  jimp 

Wi'  a  new-made  London  band  ? 


ANNIE  O'  LOCHRYAN.  235 

"  And  wha  will  kame  my  yellow  hair 

Wi'  a  new-made  siller  kame  ; 
And  wha  will  be  father  to  my  young  bairn 

Till  love  Gregory  come  hame." 

"  Your  father'U  shoe  your  bonnie  foot, 

Your  mother  glove  your  hand  ; 
Your  sister  lace  your  middle  jimp 

Wi'  a  new-made  London  band. 

•'  Your  brother  will  kame  your  yellow  hair, 

Wi'  a  new-made  siller  kame  ; 
And  the  King  o'  Heaven  will  father  your  bairn 

Till  Lord  Gregory  come  hame." 

"  O  gin  I  had  a  bonny  ship, 

And  men  to  sail  wi'  me, 
It's  I  wad  gang  to  my  true  love. 

Sin'  he  winna  come  to  me  ! " 

Her  father's  gi'en  her  a  bonny  ship, 

And  sent  her  to  the  strand  ; 
She's  ta'en  her  young  son  in  her  arms, 

And  turned  her  back  to  land. 

She  hadna  been  on  the  sea  sailing, 

Abune  a  month  or  more, 
Till  landed  has  her  bonny  ship. 

Near  to  her  true  love's  door. 

The  nicht  was  dark,  the  wind  blew  cauld, 

And  her  love  was  fast  asleep, 
And  the  bairn  that  was  in  her  twa  arms 

Fu'  sair  began  to  greet. 

Lang  stood  she  at  her  true  love's  door, 

And  lang  tirled  at  the  pin  ; 
At  length  up  gat  his  fause  mother, 

Says,  "  Wha's  that  wad  be  in  ?  " 


236  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  O  it  is  Annie  of  Lochryan, 

Your  love  come  ower  the  sea, 
But  and  your  young  son  in  her  arms, 

Sae  open  the  door  to  me  ! " 

"Awa',  awa',  ye  ill  woman, 

Ve're  no  come  here  for  gude  ; 
Ye're  but  a  witch,  or  a  vile  warlock. 

Or  mermaid  o'  the  flude  !  " 

"  I'm  nae  a  witch,  nor  vile  warlock, 

Nor  mermaid  o'  the  sea  ; 
But  I  am  Annie  o'  Lochryan, 

0  open  the  door  to  me  ! " 

"  Gin  ye  be  Annie  o'  Lochryan, 

As  I  trow  nae  you  be, 
What  token  can  you  gie  that  e'er 

1  kept  your  conipanie?  " 

"0  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 

When  we  sate  at  the  wine. 
How  we  changed  the  napkins  frae  our  necks. 

It's  no  sae  lang  sin'syne  ? 

"  And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  enough. 

But  nae  sae  gude  as  mine  ; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  cambric  clean, 

But  mine  o'  the  silk  sae  fine. 

"And  dinna  ye  mind,  love  Gregory, 

As  we  twa  sate  at  dine, 
How  we  changed  the  rings  frae  our  fingers. 

And  I  can  show  thee  thine? 

"And  yours  was  gude,  and  gude  eneugh. 

Yet  nae  sae  gude  as  mine  ; 
For  yours  was  o'  the  gude  red  gowd, 

But  mine  o'  the  diamond  fine. 


ANNIE  O'  LOCHRVAN.  237 

"Sae  open  the  door,  love  Gregory, 

Open  the  door,  I  pray, 
For  thy  young  son  is  in  my  arms, 

And  he'll  be  dead  ere  day  !  " 

"  Awa',  awa',  ye  ill  woman, 

Gae  frae  my  door  for  shame  ; 
For  I  hae  gotten  anither  fair  love, 

So  ye  may  hie  ye  hame  !  " 

"  O  hae  ye  gotten  anither  fair  love, 

For  a'  the  oaths  ye  sware  ? 
Then  fare  ye  weel,  Lord  Gregory, 

For  me  ye'se  ne'er  see  mair  !  " 

O  hooly,  hooly,  gaed  she  back, 

As  the  day  began  to  peep  ; 
She  set  her  foot  on  gude  ship  board, 

And  sair,  sair  did  she  weep. 

*•  Tak'  doun,  tak'  doun  the  mast  o'  gowd, 

Set  up  the  mast  o'  tree  ; 
It  ill  sets  a  forsaken  lady, 

To  sail  sae  gallantlie  ! 

"Tak'  doun,  tak'  doun  the  sails  o'  silk, 

Set  up  the  sails  o'  skin  ; 
111  sets  the  outside  to  be  gay. 

When  there's  sic  grief  within." 

Lord  Gregory  started  frae  his  sleep. 

And  to  his  mother  did  say  : 
"  I  dreamt  a  dream  this  nicht,  mither, 

That  maks  my  heart  richt  wae. 

"I  dreamt  that  Annie  o'  Lochryan, 

The  flower  o'  a'  her  kin, 
Was  standing  mournin'  at  my  door. 

And  nane  would  let  her  in." 


J38  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Gin  it  be  for  Annie  o'  Lochryan, 

That  ye  mak'  a'  this  din  ; 
She  stood  a'  last  nicht  at  your  door, 

But  I  trow  she  wan  na  in  !  " 

"  O  wae  betide  ye,  ill  woman  ! 

An  ill  death  may  ye  dee, 
That  wadna  open  the  door  to  her, 

Nor  yet  wad  wauken  me." 

And  he's  gane  down  to  yon  shore  side 

As  fast  as  he  could  fare, 
He  saw  fair  Annie  in  the  boat, 

And  the  wind  it  tossed  her  sair. 

"  It's  "  Iley  Annie  !  "  and  "  IIo  Annie  ! 

O  Annie,  winna  ye  bide  ?  " 
But  aye  the  mair  that  he  cried  "  Annie  !  " 

The  faster  row'd  the  tide. 

It's  "  Hey  Annie  !  "  and  "  Ho  Annie  ! 

O  Annie  speak  to  me  !" 
But  aye  the  louder  he  cried  "Annie  !  " 

The  louder  roared  the  sea. 

The  wind  blew  loud,  the  sea  grew  rough, 
And  the  ship  was  rent  in  twain  ; 

And  soon  he  saw  his  fair  Annie, 
Come  floating  owre  the  main. 

He  saw  his  young  son  in  her  arms  ; 

Baith  tossed  abune  the  tide  ; 
He  wrang  his  hands,  and  fast  he  ran, 

And  plunged  in  the  sea  sae  wide. 

He  clutched  her  by  the  yellow  hair. 

He  drew  her  to  the  strand  ; 
But  cauld  and  stiff  was  every  limb. 

Afore  he  reached  the  land. 


THE  DOWIE  DENS  O'  YARROW. 

O  first  he  kissed  her  cheery  cheek, 

And  syne  he  kissed  her  chin, 
And  lang  he  kissed  her  ruby  lips, 

But  there  was  nae  breath  within. 

"  O  wae  betide  my  cruel  niither. 

An  ill  death  may  she  dee, 
She  turned  my  true  love  frae  my  door, 

Wha  cam'  sae  far  to  me  ! 

' '  O  wae  betide  my  cruel  mither, 

An  ill  death  may  she  dee. 
She  turned  my  fair  Annie  frae  my  door, 

Wha  died  for  love  o'  me  !  " 

O  he  has  mourn'd  fair  Annie, 

Till  the  sun  was  gangin'  down, 
Syne  wi'  a  sech  his  heart  it  burst, 

And  his  soul  to  heaven  has  flown. 


Zbc  'Borne  Bene  o'  IPayrovo. 

This  beautiful  and  pathetic  ballad  is  founded  on  a  real 
incident,  and  refers  to  a  duel  fought  at  Deucharswyre,  of 
which  Annan's  Treat  is  a  part,  between  John  Scott  of 
Tushielaw,  and  his  brother-in-law,  Walter  Scott,  third  son 
of  Robert  of  Thirlestane,  in  which  the  latter  was  slain. 
The  brothers-in-law  had  quarrelled  about  some  lands,  it  is 
supposed,  which  the  elder  Scott  of  Tushielaw,  had  con- 
veyed to  his  daughter  on  the  occasion  of  her  marriage. 
The  unfortunate  hero,  a  knight  of  great  bravery,  termed  in 
tradition  the  Baron  of  Oakwood,  was  the  main  ancestor  of 
Lord  Napier.  There  are  several  versions  of  the  ballad, 
Buchan,  Motherwell,  Herd,  Chambers,  Scott  and  others, 
having  each  included  versions  or  variations  of  it  in  their 
collections.  The  present  will  be  found  to  differ  materially 
from  any  copy  previously  printed.  Hamilton  of  Bangour's 
well-known    ballad,    beginning,    "  Busk  ye,  busk  ye,   my 


240  AULD  SCOTS  UALLANTS. 

l)onnie,  bonnie  bride,"  as  well  as  the  Rev.  John  Logan's 
poem  "The  Braes  of  Yarrow,"  was  clearly  suggested  by 
this  ruder,  but  not  less  graphic  and  affecting  performance. 

Late  at  e'en,  drinking  the  wine, 

And  ere  they  paid  the  lawing, 
They  set  a  combat  them  between 

To  fight  it  in  the  dawing. 

"  You  took  our  sister  to  be  your  wife, 
And  thought  her  not  your  marrow  ; 

You  stole  her  frae  her  father's  back, 
^Vhen  she  was  the  Rose  o'  Yarrow." 

'•  I  took  your  sister  to  be  my  wife, 

And  I  made  her  my  marrow  ; 
I  stole  her  frae  her  father's  back, 

And  she's  still  the  Rose  o'  Yarrow." 

He  has  hame  to  his  lady  gane, 

As  he  had  done  before,  O  ; 
Says,  "  Madam,  I  maun  keep  a  tryst. 

In  the  dowie  dens  o'  Yarrow." 

"  O  stay  at  hame,  my  noble  Lord, 

O  stay  at  hame,  my  marrow  ; 
My  cruel  brother  will  you  betray 

In  the  dowie  dens  o'  Yarrow." 

"  O  fare  ye  wecl,  my  ladie  fair, 

O  fare  ye  weel,  my  Sarah  ; 
For  I  maun  gae,  though  I  ne'er  return 

Frae  the  dowie  dens  o'  Yarrow." 

She  kiss'd  his  cheek,  she  kaim'd  his  hair, 

As  oft  she'd  done  before,  O  ; 
She  belted  him  wi'  his  noble  brand, 

And  he's  awa'  to  Yarrow. 


THE  DOWIE  DENS  O'  YARROW.  241 

As  he  gaed  up  the  Tennies  bank, 

I  wot  he  gaed  vvi'  sorrow  ; 
For  in  a  glen  nine  armed  men, 

Were  waiting  him  in  Yarrow. 

"  O  come  ye  here  to  hunt  or  hawk. 

The  bonnie  forest  thorough  ? 
Or  come  ye  here  to  part  your  land. 

In  the  dowie  dens  o'  Yarrow." 

"  I  come  not  here  to  hunt  or  hawk, 

The  bonnie  forest  thorough  ; 
Nor  come  I  here  to  part  my  land, 

But  I'll  fight  wi'  you  on  Yarrow. 

*'  If  I  see  all,  ye're  nine  to  ane. 

And  that's  unequal  marrow  ; 
Yet  I  will  fight  while  lasts  my  brand, 

On  the  bonnie  banks  o'  Yarrow." 

Four  has  he  hurt,  and  five  has  slain. 

On  the  bloody  braes  o'  Yarrow, 
Till  that  stubborn  knight  came  him  behind, 

And  ran  his  body  thorough. 

"  Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  gude-brother  John, 

And  tell  your  sister,  Sarah, 
To  come  and  lift  her  leafu'  lord, 

He's  sleeping  sound  on  Yarrow." 

As  he  gaed  owre  yon  high  high  hill. 

As  he  had  done  before,  O  ; 
There  he  met  his  sister  dear. 

Was  coming  fast  to  Yarrow. 

"  O  gentle  wind  that  bloweth  south. 

From  where  my  love  repaireth, 
Convey  a  kiss  from  his  dear  mouth, 

And  tell  me  how  he  fareth  ! 


242  AULU  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

"  Vestreen  I  dream'd  a  dreary  dream. 

God  keep  us  a'  frae  sorrow  ! 
I  dream'd  I  pu'd  the  birk  sac  green, 

Wi'  my  true  love,  on  Yarrow." 

"  I'll  read  your  dream,  my  sister  dear, 

I'll  tell  you  a'  your  sorrow  ; 
You  pu'd  the  birk  wi'  your  true  love  ; 

lie's  killed,  he's  killed  on  Yarrow." 

She's  torn  the  ribbons  frae  her  hair. 
That  were  baith  braid  and  narrow  ; 

She's  kilted  up  her  green  claithing, 
And  she's  awa'  to  Yarrow. 

Sometimes  she  walk'd,  sometimes  she  ran, 

As  oft  she'd  done  before,  O  ! 
And  a'  between  fell  in  a  swoon, 

Lang  ere  she  came  to  Yarrow. 

As  she  sped  down  yon  high,  high  hill. 
She  gaed  wi'  dule  and  sorrow  ; 

And  in  the  glen  spied  ten  slain  men, 
On  the  dowie  banks  o'  Yarrow. 

She's  ta'en  him  in  her  twa  white  arms. 
She's  searched  his  wounds  all  thorough  ; 

And  kiss'd  them  till  her  lips  grew  red, 
On  the  dowie  houms  o'  Yarrow. 

"Now  haud  your  tongue,  my  daughter  dear, 
For  a'  this  breeds  but  sorrow  ; 

I'll  wed  you  to  a  better  lord 

Than  him  you've  lost  on  Yarrow." 

"O  haud  your  tongue,  my  father  dear, 

Nor  lichtly  sae  my  sorrow  ; 
A  fairer  rose  did  never  bloom, 

Than's  pu'd  this  day  on  Yarrow." 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER.  243 

She  kissed  his  lips,  she  kaiinei.1  his  hair, 

As  oft  she'd  done  before,  O  ! 
Syne  \vi'  a  sigh  her  heart  did  break, 

On  the  dowie  braes  o'  Yarrow. 


IThomas  tbe  1Rbv^mci\ 

Few  personages,  says  Sir  Walter  Scott,  are  so  renowned 
in  tradition  as  Thomas  of  Ercildoune,  known  by  the  ap- 
pellation of  The  Rhymer.     Uniting,  or  supposed  to  unite, 
in  his  person  the  powers  of  poetical   composition  and  of 
vaticination,    his    memory,    even    after    the    lapse    of    five 
hundred  years,  is  regarded  with  veneration  by  his  country- 
men.    The  residence,  and  probably  the  birth-place,  of  this 
ancient  bard  was  Ercildoune  (Earlston),  a  village  situated 
upon  the  Leader,  two  miles  above  its  junction  with  the 
Tweed,  and  where  the  ruins  of  an  ancient  tower  are  still 
pointed  out  as  the  Rhymer's  Castle.    The  uniform  tradition 
bears  that  his  surname  was  Lermont  or  Learmont,  and  that 
the  appellation  was  conferred  on  him  in  consequence  of  his 
poetical   compositions.       He   is   supposed   to   have   lived 
towards   the   latter   end   of  the   thirteenth   century ;   and 
shortly  after  his  death  we  find  him  celebrated  as  a  prophet 
and  as  a  poet.     \Yhatever  doubts  the  learned  might  have 
as  to  the  source  of  the  Rhymer's  prophetic  skill,  the  vulgar 
mind  had  no  hesitation  in  ascribing  the  whole  to  inter- 
course between  the  bard  and  the  Queen  of  Fairies.     The 
popular  tale  bears  that  Thomas  was  carried  off  at  an  early 
age   to    Fairyland,    where  he  acquired  all   the  knowledge 
which  made  him  afterwards  so  famous.     After  seven  years' 
residence  he  was  permitted  to  return  to  the  earth  to  en- 
lighten   and    astonish    his    countrymen    by    his    prophetic 
powers  ;  still,  however,  remaining  bound  to  return  to  his 
royal   mistress   when   she   should   intimate    her   pleasure. 
Accordingly,   while   Thomas  was  making  merry  with  his 
friends  in  the  tower  of  Ercildoune,  a  person  came  running 
in,  and  told  with  marks  of  fear  and  astonishment  that  a 
hart  and  hind  had  left  the  neighbouring  forest,  ancl  were 
composedly  and  slowly  parading  the  streets  of  the  village. 
The  prophet  instantly  arose,  left  his  habitation,  and  fol- 
lowed the  wonderful  animals  to  the  forest,  whence  he  was 


244  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

never  seen  to  return.  According  to  the  popular  belief,  he 
still  "drees  his  weird"  in  Fairyland,  and  is  one  day  ex- 
pected to  revisit  earth.  The  Eildon  Tree,  from  beneath 
the  shade  of  which  he  delivered  his  prophecies,  now  no 
longer  exists,  but  the  spot  is  marked  by  a  large  stone, 
called  Eildon  Tree  Stone.  The  prophecies  ascribed  to 
Thomas  of  Ercildoune  have  been  the  principal  means  of 
securing  to  him  remembrance  amongst  the  sons  of  his 
people.  These  are  alluded  to  by  Harbour,  by  Wyntoun, 
and  by  Henry  the  Minstrel,  or  Blind  Harry,  as  he  is 
usually  termed.  None  of  these  authors,  however,  give  the 
words  of  any  of  the  Rhymer's  vaticinations,  but  merely 
narrate  historically  his  having  predicted  the  events  of  which 
they  speak.  The  ballad  is  in  three  parts.  The  first  and 
second  are  old,  the  third  is  modern,  and  was  written  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott  to  commemorate  the  Rhymer's  poetical 
fame,  and  the  traditional  account  of  his  marvellous  return 
to  Fairyland. 

PART  I. 


True  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank  ; 

A  fcrlie  he  spied  wi'  his  e'e  ; 
And  there  he  saw  a  ladye  bright, 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

Her  shirt  was  o'  the  grass-green  silk, 
Her  mantle  o'  the  velvet  fyne  ; 

At  ilka  tett  of  her  horse's  mane 
Hang  fifty  siller  bells  and  nine. 

True  Thomas,  he  pull'd  off  his  cap. 
And  louted  low  down  to  his  knee, 

"All  hail,  thou  mighty  queen  of  heaven  ! 
For  thy  peer  on  earth  I  never  did  see." 

"O  no,  O  no,  Thomas,"  she  said  ; 

"That  name  does  not  belang  to  me  ; 
1  am  but  the  queen  of  fair  Elfland, 

That  am  hither  come  to  visit  thee. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER.  245 

"  Havp  and  carp,  Thomas,"  she  said  ; 

"  Harp  and  carp  along  wi'  me  ; 
And  if  you  dare  to  kiss  my  lips. 

Sure  of  your  bodie  I  will  be." 

"  Betide  me  weal,  betide  me  woe, 
That  weird*  shall  never  danton  me," 

b}  ne  he  has  kissed  her  rosy  lips. 
All  underneath  the  Eildon  Tree. 

"  Xow,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me,"  she  said  ; 

"True  Thomas,  ye  maun  go  wi'  me ; 
And  ye  maun  serve  me  seven  years. 

Thro'  weal  or  woe  as  may  chance  to  be." 

She  mounted  on  her  milk-white  steed, 

She's  ta'en  true  Thomas  up  behind  ; 
And  aye,  whene'er  her  bridle  rung, 

The  steed  flew  swifter  than  the  wind. 

O  they  rade  on,  and  farther  on. 

The  steed  gaed  swifter  than  the  wind, 

Until  they  reached  a  desert  wide. 
And  living  land  was  left  behind. 

"  Light  down,  light  down,  now,  true  Thomas, 

And  lean  your  head  upon  my  knee  ; 
Abide  and  rest  a  little  space. 

And  I  will  show  you  ferlies  three. 

"  O  see  you  not  yon  narrow  road. 

So  thick  beset  with  thorns  and  briers  ? 

That  is  the  path  of  righteousness. 
Though  after  it  but  few  enquires. 


That  weird,  etc. — That  destiny  shall  never  frighten  me. — Scott. 


246  AULD  SCOTS  EALLAXTS. 

"  And  see  not  ye  that  braid  braid  road, 

That  lies  across  that  Hly  leven  ? 
That  is  the  path  of  wickedness, 

Though  some  call  it  the  road  to  heaven. 

"And  see  not  ye  that  bonnie  road. 

That  winds  about  the  fernie  brae  ? 
That  is  the  road  to  fair  Elfland, 

Where  thou  and  I  this  night  maun  gae. 

"But,  Thomas,  ye  maun  hold  your  tongue. 

Whatever  ye  may  hear  or  see  ; 
For,  if  you  speak  word  in  Elflyn  land, 

Ye'U  ne'er  get  back  to  your  ain  countrie. " 

0  they  radc  on,  and  farther  on, 

And  they  waded  through  rivers  aboon  the  knee. 
And  they  saw  neither  sun  nor  moon. 
But  they  heard  the  roaring  of  the  sea. 

It  was  mirk  mirk  night,  and  there  was  nae  stern  light, 
And  they  waded  through  red  blude  to  the  knee  ; 

For  a'  the  blude  that's  shed  on  earth, 

Rins  through  the  springs  o'  that  countrie. 

Syne  they  came  on  to  a  garden  green. 
And  she  pu'd  an  apple  frae  a  tree — * 

"Take  this  for  thy  wages,  true  Thomas  ; 

It  will  give  thee  the  tongue  that  can  never  lee." 

"  My  tongue  is  mine  ain,"  true  Thomas  said  ; 
"A  gudely  gift  ye  wad  gie  to  me  ! 

1  neither  dought  to  buy  nor  sell, 
At  fair  or  tryst  where  I  may  be. 


*  The  tradition,!!  commentary  upon  this  ballad  informs  us  that  the 
apple  was  the  produce  of  the  fatal  Tree  of  Knowledge,  and  that  the 
garden  was  the  terrestrial  paradise.  The  repugnance  of  Thomas  to  be 
debarred  the  use  of  falsehood,  when  he  might  find  it  convenient,  has  a 
comic  eflfect. — Scott. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER.  247 

"  I  dought  neither  speak  to  prince  or  peer, 

Nor  ask  of  grace  from  fair  ladye," 
"  Now  hold  thy  peace  !  "  the  Lady  said, 

"  For  as  I  say,  so  must  it  be." 

He  has  gotten  a  coat  of  the  even  cloth, 

And  a  pair  of  shoes  of  velvet  green  ; 
And,  till  seven  years  were  gane  and  past. 

True  Thomas  on  earth  was  never  seen.  * 


PART  n. 

When  seven  years  were  come  and  gane, 
The  sun  blinked  fair  on  pool  and  stream  ; 

And  Thomas  lay  on  Huntlie  bank. 
Like  one  awakened  from  a  dream. 

He  heard  the  trampling  of  a  steed. 

He  saw  the  Hash  of  armour  flee, 
And  he  beheld  a  gallant  knight 

Come  riding  down  by  the  Eildon  Tree. 

He  was  a  stalwart  knight,  and  strong  ; 

Of  giant  make  he  'peared  to  be  ; 
He  stirr'd  his  horse,  as  he  were  wode, 

Wi'  gilded  spurs,  of  faushion  free. 

*  The  above  ballad  is  given  in  the  "Border  Minstrelsy"  from  a 
copy  obtained  from  a  lady,  residing  not  far  from  Ercildoun_,  corrected 
and  enlarged  by  one  in  INIrs.  Brown's  MSS.  In  Mr.  Jamieson's  col- 
lection of  "Popular  Ballads  and  Songs,"  the  original^  old  romance 
upon  which  this  ballad  is  founded  is  given  from  a  MS.  said  to  be  of  the 
fifteenth  century,  in  the  public  library  at  Cambridge,  collated  with  a 
MS.  in  the  library  of  the  Cathedral  of  Lincoln,  and  another  MS.  in  the 
Cotton  Library.  Sir  Walter,  in  an  appendix  to  the  present  ballad,  also 
quotes  a  portion  of  the  original  romance.  "  The  same  incidents  are 
narrated,"  he  says,  "even  the  expression  is  often  the  same,  yet  the 
poems  are  as  different  in  appearance  as  if  the  older  tale  had  been  re- 
gularly and  systematically  modernised  by  a  poet  of  the  present  day.'_| 
The  copy,  as  given  by  Mr.  Jamieson,  is  divided  into  three  "  Fyttes," 
or  cantos,  the  second  and  third  being  devoted  mainly  to  "  prophecies." 
The  length  of  the  production,  and  its  antiquated  dictioii,  not  to  speak 
of  other  objections  which  certain  details  in  the  narrative  might  call 
forth,  make  us  lefrain  from  quoting  it. — Wliitelam. 


248  AULD  SCOTS  BALL  ANTS. 

Says— "Well  met,  well  met,  true  Thomas  ! 

Some  uncouth  ferlies  show  to  me." 
Says— "  Christ  thee  save,  Corspatrick  brave  ! 

Thrice  welcome,  good  Dunbar,  to  me  ! 

"Light  down,  light  down,  Corspatrick  brave. 
And  I  will  show  thee  curses  three. 

Shall  gar  fair  Scotland  greet  and  grane. 
And  change  the  green  to  the  black  livery. 

"A  storm  shall  roar  this  very  hour, 
From  Rosse's  Hills  to  Sol  way  sea." 

"  Ve  lied,  ye  lied,  ye  warlock  hoar  ! 

For  the  sun  shines  sweet  on  fauld  and  lea." 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  earlie's  head ; 

He  showed  him  a  rock,  beside  the  sea. 
Where  a  king  lay  stiff,  beneath  his  steed,* 

And  steel-dight  nobles  wiped  their  e'e. 

"The  neist  curse  lights  on  Ihanxton  hills  ; 

By  Flodden's  high  and  heathery  side 
Shall  wave  a  banner  red  as  blude, 

And  chieftains  throng  wi'  meilvle  pride. 

"A  Scottish  king  shall  come  full  keen  ; 

The  ruddy  lion  beareth  he — 
A  feather'd  arrow  sharp,  I  ween. 

Shall  make  him  wink  and  warre  to  see. 

"When  he  is  bloody,  and  all  to  bledde. 
Thus  to  his  men  he  still  shall  say — 

'  For  God's  sake,  turn  ye  back  again, 
And  give  yon  southern  fulk  a  fray  ! 


*  King  Alexander,  killed  by  a  fall  from  his  horse,  near  Kinghorn. 
Scott. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYINIER.  249 

Why  should  I  lose,  the  right  is  mine  ? 
My  doom  is  not  to  die  this  day.'  * 

"Yet  turn  ye  to  the  eastern  hand, 

And  woe  and  wonder  ye  shall  see  ; 
How  forty  thousand  spearmen  stand, 

Where  yon  rank  river  meets  the  sea. 

"  There  shall  the  lion  lose  the  gylte. 
And  the  libbards  bear  it  clean  away  ; 

At  Pinkyn  Cleuch  there  shall  be  spilt 
Much  gentill  blude  that  day." 

"  Enough,  enough  of  curse  and  ban  ; 

Some  blessings  show  thou  now  to  me, 
Or,  by  the  faith  o'  my  bodie,"  Corspatrick  said, 

"Ye  shall  rue  the  day  ye  e'er  saw  me  ! " 

"  The  first  of  blessings  I  shall  thee  show, 
Is  by  a  burn,  that's  called  of  bread  ;  + 

Where  Saxon  men  shall  tine  the  bow, 
And  find  their  arrows  lack  the  head. 

"  Beside  that  brigg,  out  ower  that  burn. 
Where  the  water  bickereth  bright  and  sheen. 

Shall  many  a  falling  courser  spurn, 
And  knights  shall  die  in  battle  keen, 

"  Beside  a  headless  cross  of  stone, 
The  libbards  there  shall  lose  the  gree  ; 

The  raven  shall  come,  the  erne  shall  go. 
And  drink  the  Saxon  blude  sae  free. 


*  The  uncertainty  which  long  prevailed  in  Scotland  concerning  the 
fate  of  James  IV.  is  well  known. — Scott. 

t  One  of  Thomas's  rhymes,  preserved  by  tradition,  runs  thus  : — 
"  The  burn  of  breid 
Shall  run  fou  reid.  " 
Bannock-burn  is  the  brook  here  meant.      The  Scots  give  the  name  of 
bannock  to  a  thick  round  cake  of  unleavened  bread. — Scott. 


250  AULD  SCOTS  lULLANTS. 

The  cross  of  stone  they  shall  not  know, 
So  thick  the  corses  there  shall  be." 

"  But  tell  me  now,"  said  brave  Dunbar, 
"True  Thomas,  tell  now  unto  me. 

What  man  shall  rule  the  isle  Britain, 

Even  from  the  north  to  the  southern  sea  ?  ' 

"A  French  queen  shall  bear  the  son, 
Shall  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea ; 

He  of  the  Bruce's  blude  shall  come. 
As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree. 

"The  waters  worship  shall  his  race  ; 

Likewise  the  waves  of  the  farthest  sea  ; 
For  they  shall  ride  ower  ocean  wide. 

With  hempen  bridles,  and  horse  of  tree." 


PART  III. 

When  seven  years  more  had  come  and  gone 
Was  war  through  Scotland  spread, 

And  Ruberslaw  show'd  high  Dunyon* 
His  beacon  blazing  red. 

Then  all  by  bonnie  Coldingknow,t 
Pitched  palliouns  took  their  room, 

And  crested  helms,  and  spears  a  rowe. 
Glanced  gaily  through  the  broom. 


*  Ruberslaw  and  Dunyon  are  two  hills  above  Jedburgh. — Scott. 
t  An  ancient  town  near  Ercildoune,  belonging  to  a_  family  of  the 
name  of  Home.     One  of  Thomas's  prophecies  is  said  to  have  run 
thus : — 

Vengeance  !  vengeance  !  when  and  where  ? 
On  tnc  house  of  Coldingknow,  now  and  ever  mair  ! 
The  spot  is  rendered  classical  by  its  having  given  name   to  the 
beautiful  melody  called  the  "  Broom  o'  the  Cowdenknowes. "— i'coi'/. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER.  251 

The  Leader,  rolling  to  the  Tweed, 

Resounds  the  ensenzie  ;  * 
They  roused  the  deer  from  Caddenhead 

To  distant  Torwoodlee.t 

The  feast  was  spread  in  Ercildoune, 
In  Learmont's  high  and  ancient  hall. 

And  there  were  knights  of  great  renown, 
And  ladies,  laced  in  pall. 

Nor  lacked  they,  while  they  sat  at  dyne, 

The  music,  nor  the  tale, 
Nor  goblets  of  the  blood  red  wine. 

Nor  mantling  quaighs  J  of  ale 

True  Thomas  rose,  with  harp  in  hand, 

When  as  the  feast  was  done  ; 
(In  minstrel  strife,  in  Fairy  Land, 

The  elfin  harp  he  won.) 

Hush'd  were  the  throng,  both  limb  and  tongue, 

And  harpers  for  envy  pale  ; 
And  armed  lords  lean'd  nn  their  swords. 

And  harken'd  to  the  tale. 

In  numbers  high  the  witching  tale 

The  prophet  pour'd  along  ; 
No  after  bard  might  e'er  avail 

Those  numbers  to  prolong. 

Yet  fragments  of  the  lofty  strain 

Float  down  the  tide  of  years, 
As  buoyant  on  the  stormy  main, 

A  parted  wreck  appears. 


*  Ensenzie — War-cry,  or  gathering  word. 

t  Torwoodlee  and  Caddenhead  are  places  in  Selkirkshire. — Scott. 

X  Quaighs — Wooden  cups,  composed  of  staves  hooped  together. 


252  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

lie  sung  King  Arthur's  Table  Round  ; 

The  Warrior  of  the  Lake  ; 
How  courteous  Gawaine  met  the  wound, 

And  bled  for  ladies'  sake.  * 

But  chief,  in  gentle  Tristrcni's  praise, t 
The  notes  melodious  swell  ; 

Was  none  excell'd,  in  Arthur's  days. 
The  knight  of  Lionclle. 

For  Marke,  his  cowardly  uncle's  right, 
A  venomed  wound  he  bore  ; 

When  fierce  Morholde  he  slew  in  fight, 
Upon  the  Irish  shore. 

No  art  the  poison  might  withstand  ; 

No  medicine  could  be  found, 
Till  lovely  Isolde's  lily  hand 

Had  probed  the  rankling  wound. 

Witli  gentle  hand  and  soothing  tongue 

She  bore  the  leech's  part  ; 
And,  while  she  o'er  his  sick-bed  hung, 

He  paid  her  with  his  heart. 

O  fatal  was  the  gift,  I  ween. 

For,  doom'd  in  evil  tide, 
The  maid  must  be  rude  Cornwall's  queen. 

His  cowardly  uncle's  bride. 


**  See,  in  the  F''ahUaux  of  Monsieur  le  Grand,  elegantly  translated 
by  the  late  Gregory  Way,  Esq.,  the  tale  of  the  "Knight  and  the 
Sword." — Scott. 

t  Thomas  the  Rhymer  is  the  reputed  author  of  the  celebrated 
romance  of  "  Sir  Tristrem,"  the  earliest  specimen  of  Scottish  poetry 
extant,  an  edition  of  which  was  published  by  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in 
1804,  from  a  MS.  copy  in  the  Advocate's  Library,  Edinburgh,  with  a 
copious  historical  and  critical  introduction,  and  also  a  very  happy 
imitative  continuation  of  the  romance  by  the  editor. 


THOMAS  THE  RHYMER.  253 

Their  loves,  their  woes,  the  gifted  bard 

In  fairy  tissue  wove 
Where  lords,  and  knights,  and  ladies  bright, 

In  gay  confusion  strove. 

The  Garde  Joyeuse,  amid  the  tale. 

High  rear'd  its  glittering  head  ; 
And  Avalon's  enchanted  vale 

In  all  its  wonders  spread. 

Brangwain  was  there,  and  Segramore, 

And  fiend-born  Merlin's  gramarye  ; 
Of  that  famed  wizard's  mighty  lore, 

O  who  could  sing  but  he  ? 

Through  many  a  maze  the  winning  song 

In  changeful  passion  led. 
Till  bent  at  length  the  listening  throng 

O'er  Tristrem's  dying  bed. 

His  ancient  wounds  their  scars  expand. 

With  agony  his  heart  is  wrung ; 
O  where  is  Isolde's  lilye  hand, 

And  where  her  soothing  tongue  ? 

She  comes  !  she  comes  ! — like  flash  of  flame 

Can  lovers'  footsteps  fly  ; 
She  comes  !  she  comes  !— she  only  came 

To  see  her  Tristrem  die. 

She  saw  him  die  :  her  latest  sigh 

Joined  in  a  kiss  his  parting  breath  ; 
The  gentlest  pair  that  Britain  bare, 

United  are  in  death. 

There  paused  the  harp  ;  its  lingering  sound 

Died  slowly  on  the  ear  ; 
The  silent  guests  still  bent  around, 

For  still  they  seem'd  to  hear. 


254  AULD  SCOTS  liALLAXTS. 

Then  woe  broke  forth  in  murmurs  weak  ; 

Nor  ladies  heav'd  alone  the  sigh  ; 
But,  half  ashamed,  the  rugged  cheek 

Did  many  a  gauntlet  dry. 

On  Leader's  stream,  and  Learmont's  tower, 

The  mists  of  evening  close  ; 
In  camp,  in  castle,  or  in  bower, 

Each  warrior  sought  repose. 

Lord  Douglas  in  his  lofty  tent, 
Dream'd  o'er  the  woeful  tale  ; 

When  footsteps  light,  across  the  bent, 
The  warrior's  ears  assail. 

He  starts,  he  wakes  ; — "  What,  Richard,  ho 

Arise,  my  page,  arise  ! 
What  venturous  wight,  at  dead  of  night. 

Dare  step  where  Douglas  lies  ?  " 

Then  forth  they  rush'd  ;  by  Leader's  tide, 

A  selcouth  *  sight  they  see — 
A  hart  and  hind  pace  side  by  side, 

As  white  as  snow  on  Fairnalie.  t 

Beneath  the  moon,  with  gesture  proud, 

They  stately  move  and  slow  ; 
Nor  scare  they  at  the  gathering  crowd, 

Who  marvel  as  they  go. 


*  Selcouth — wondrous. 

t  An  ancient  seat  upon  the  Tweed,  in  Selkirkshire.  In  a  popular 
edition  of  the  first  part  of  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  the  Fairy  Queen  thus 
addresses  him  : — 

"  Gin  ye  meet  wad  wi'  me  again, 

Gang  to  the  bonnie  banks  of  Fairnalie." — Scott. 


THOMAS   THE  RHYMER.  255 

To  Learmont's  tower  a  message  sped, 

As  fast  as  page  might  run  ; 
And  Thomas  started  from  his  bed, 

And  soon  his  cloaths  did  on. 

First  he  woxe  pale,  and  then  woxe  red  ; 

Never  a  word  he  spoke  but  three  ; 
"  My  sand  is  run  ;  my  thread  is  spun  ; 

This  sign  regardeth  me." 

The  elfin  harp  his  neck  around. 

In  minstrel  guise,  he  hung  ; 
And  on  the  wind,  in  doleful  sound, 

Its  dying  accents  rung. 

Then  forth  he  went ;  yet  turned  him  oft 

To  view  his  ancient  hall ; 
On  the  grey  tower,  in  lustre  soft, 

The  autumn  moon-beams  fall. 

And  Leader's  waves,  like  silver  sheen. 

Danced  shimmering  in  the  ray  ; 
In  deepening  mass,  at  distance  seen, 

Broad  Soltra's  mountains  lay. 

"  Farewell,  my  father's  ancient  tower  ; 

A  long  farewell,"  said  he  ; 
"The  scene  of  pleasure,  pomp,  or  power, 

Thou  never  more  shalt  be. 

"  To  Learmont's  name  no  foot  of  earth 

Shall  here  again  belong, 
And,  on  thy  hospitable  hearth, 

The  hare  shall  leave  her  young. 

"  Adieu  !  Adieu  ! "  again  he  cried, 

All  as  he  turned  him  roun' — 
"  Farewell  to  Leader's  silver  tide  ! 

Farewell  to  Ercildoune  !  " 


256  AULD  SCOTS  LALLAXTS. 

The  hart  and  hind  approach'd  the  place, 

As  lingering  yet  he  stood  ; 
And  there,  Ijefore  Lord  Douglas's  face, 

\Vith  them  he  cross'd  the  Hood. 

Lord  Douglas  leap'd  on  his  berry-brown  steed, 
And  spurr'd  him  the  Leader  o'er  ; 

But,  though  he  rode  with  lightning  speed, 
He  never  saw  them  more. 

Some  sayd  to  hill,  and  some  to  glen, 
Their  wondrous  course  had  been  ; 

But  ne'er  in  haunts  of  living  men 
Again  was  Thomas  seen. 


lJ)ouno  (Brioor'5  (Bbost. 

This  is  the  very  poorest,  from  a  literary  point  of  view,  of 
all  the  old  chap  ballads.  That  fact  notwithstanding,  few 
of  its  order  in  their  day  enjoyed  greater  popularity. 
Certainly  the  story  is  affecting,  and  therein,  doubtless,  lay 
all  the  charm. 

PART  I. 

All  ye  young  lovers  in  Scotland  draw  near. 
Unto  the  sad  story  which  now  ye  shall  hear, 
Concerning  two  lovers  that  lived  in  the  north. 
Amongst  the  high  mountains  that  stand  beyond  Forth. 
The  maid  was  the  daughter  of  a  gentleman 
Of  the  name  of  M'Farlane,  and  of  the  same  clan  ; 
But  G rigor  was  born  in  a  Highland  isle. 
And  by  blood  relation  her  cousin  we  style. 

But  where  riches  are  wanting  we  oftentimes  see 
Few  men  are  esteemed  for  their  pedigree. 


YOUNG  GRIGOR'S  GHOST.  257 

His  father  was  forced,  when  he  was  a  child, 
To  leave  his  own  realm  ;  and,  when  he  was  exiled, 
His  lands  they  were  forfeit,  I  here  let  you  know, 
Because  of  rebellion,  the  truth  for  to  show. 
Both  gold  and  vast  riches  he  with  him  did  give 
For  his  education,  and  how  he  might  live. 

And  solely  he  to  the  care  of  his  friend. 
Was  left  by  his  father  to  be  maintained  ; 
He  learned  him,  indeed,  to  read  and  to  write, 
In  all  rules  of  arithmetic  he  made  him  perfite, 
In  Latin  and  French  he  taught  him  also, 
That  he  through  the  world  was  fit  for  to  go. 
The  king  was  recruiting,  all  hands  did  employ, 
While  her  father  as  a  servant  used  this  young  boy. 

In  all  kinds  of  drudgery  he  made  him  to  serve, 
And  still  did  keep  him  as  a  corps  of  reserve  ; 
Such  a  beuutiful  young  man  was  not  in  the  place, 
None  could  compare  with  him  in  stature  and  grace. 
The  charming  Miss  Katie  was  oft  in  the  way, 
One  day  in  love's  passion  she  to  him  did  say — 
"  My  dear  cousin  Grigor,  I've  something  to  tell. 
Which  now  from  my  bosom  this  day  I  reveal. 

"You  know  that  with  lovers  I'm  plagued  to  the 

heart, 
But  you  are  the  object  that  makes  me  to  smart ; 
If  you  do  but  love  me,  dear  cousin,  said  she, 
I'm  happy  for  ever,  so  therefore  be  free." 
Then,  said  he,  "  Dear  Katie,  I'm  all  in  a  stun, 
I  suppose  your  intentions  are  nothing  but  fun  ; 
But  had  I  a  subject  to  balance  with  you, 
I'd  think  myself  happy  your  suit  I  might  trow." 

"  O,"  said  she,  "  Dear  Grigor,  I'm  no  way  in  jest, 
And  if  you  deny  me  then  death's  my  request ; 
R 


•58  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

You  know  well  the  substance  and  wealth  that  I  have, 
'Tis  enough  to  uphold  us  both  gallant  and  brave. 
I  know  that  my  parents  for  more  riches  are  bent, 
But  a  few  years  by  nature  will  make  them  extinct. 
Till  which  time,  my  Grigor,  I  do  make  this  vow, 
That  I  never  will  marry  another  but  you." 

O,  then  he  consented  and  flew  to  her  arms, 
And  said,  "  My  dear  Katie,  I'm  killed  by  your 

charms  ; 
But  if  your  parents  this  fond  love  should  know, 
They  soon  will  contrive  for  our  sad  overthrow." 
"Of  that  my  dear  Grigor,  be  silent  I  pray, 
This  night  we  will  part,  and  will  meet  the  next  day, 
Under  the  broad  oak  by  the  cave  in  the  glen, 
Where  more  of  my  mind  to  you  I'll  explain." 


PART  11. 

Her  mother  next  morning,  by  the  blink  of  her  eye. 
Betwixt  her  and  Grigor  great  love  did  espy. 
And  she  to  her  husband  the  same  soon  revealed, 
Giving  orders  to  watch  them  when  down  in  the  field. 
All  day  then  her  father  went  looking  about. 
Anil  after  her  he  still  kept  a  look  out. 
Till  hard  on  the  evening  she  went  to  the  glen, 
Where  Grigor  was  waiting  to  hear  her  explain 
The  way  they  would  manage  and  make  matters  go. 
Her  lather  did  follow  and  heard  them  also. 
He  stej^ped  in  softly,  stood  over  the  cave. 
Hearing  their  discourses,  how  they  would  behave. 
At  length  he  advanced,  cried,  "Grigor,  what  now? 
Is  this  my  reward  from  an  orphan  like  you  ? 
Vou  know  I've  maintained  you  since  seven  years  old. 
And  now  your  intentions  they  seem  very  bold." 


YOUNG  GRIGOR'S  GHOST.  259 

Then  Grigor  ask'd  pardon,  and  thus  he  did  say, 
"  Sir,  I'm  at  your  mercy,  then  do  as  you  may." 
The  old  man  in  a  passion  there  chiding  did  stand, 
Till  Katie  took  courage  and  speech  into  hand. 
"  Why  mean  ye,  dear  father,  on  us  for  to  frown? 
Was  this  man  a  beggar  ?     I'm  sure  he's  our  own  ; 
He's  of  our  kindred,  our  flesh,  and  our  blood. 
And  you  know  very  well  his  behaviour  is  good. 

"  'Tis  him  that  I  chose  for  my  husband,  and  shall ; 
Go,  give  all  your  riches  to  whom  that  you  will. 
Do  you  think  I'm  a  hog  or  a  horse  to  be  sold, 
Away  to  some  num-skuU  that  has  nought  but  gold  !  " 
The  father  in  a  rage  to  the  mother  did  go, 
And  told  their  proceedings  ivith  sorrow  and  woe  ; 
He  seem'd  that  night  as  his  anger  had  been  gene, 
Lest  that  young  Grigor  from  the  place  should 
abscond. 

But  he  sent  a  messenger  into  Inverness, 

Wliich  brought  out  a  party  young  Grigor  to  press, 

And  for  to  make  ready  gave  no  time,  we  hear  ; 

He  ask'd  but  one  favour,  a  word  of  his  dear. 

When  being  denied,  the  old  man,  with  a  frown, 

Said,  "  Soldiers  can  have  sweethearts  in  every  town." 

At  this  the  young  lady  cried  bitterly, 

"  May  the  heavens  requite  you  for  your  cruelty  !  " 

Young  Grigor  took  courage  and  marched  away, 
When  the  captain  viewed  him  'twas  this  he  did  say, 
"  For  the  lady  that  lov'd  you,  sir,  I  pity  her  case. 
Who's  lost  such  a  beautiful,  sweet,  blooming  face." 
His  lady  cried  out,  "  What  a  wretch  can  he  be, 
Caus'd  press  this  young  man  for  no  perjury. 
His  long  yellow  hair  to  his  middle  hangs  down, 
O'er  his  broad  shoulders  so  fine  round  and  round." 


26o  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Now  Grigor  considering  his  pitiful  case, 
Received  the  bounty,  and  swore  to  the  peace  ; 
His  captain  unto  him  a  furlough  he  gave, 
To  see  his  dear  Katie  he  once  more  did  crave. 
Two  lines  he  then  sent  her  by  a  trustworthy  hand, 
That  he  under  the  oak  at  midnight  would  stand. 
For  to  wait  upon  her,  and  hear  her  complaint. 
And  there  for  to  meet  him  she  was  well  content. 

Her  vows  she  renewed,  and  with  tears  not  a  few. 
And  a  gold  ring  on's  finger  as  a  token  she  drew. 
Which  was  not  to  move,  come  death  or  come  life, 
Till  that  happy  moment  he  made  her  his  wife. 
She  fain  would  go  with  him  but  he  answered  "  No, 
For  your  parents  would  follow  and  cause  us  more  woe. 
i\Iy  Maker  be  witness,  and  this  green  oak,"  said  he, 
"  That  I  never  shall  love  a  woman  but  thee  !  " 

And  there  then  he  left  her  a-weeping  full  sore. 
Poor  creature,  she  never  got  sight  of  him  more. 
In  a  short  time  thereafter  he  went  to  the  sea. 
And  left  sight  of  Britain  with  the  tear  in  his  eye. 
And  went  to  America,  their  orders  being  so. 
There  proved  a  gallant  soldier,  and  valour  did  show  ; 
For  his  good  behaviour  they  ne'er  could  him  blame. 
From  a  corporal  to  a  sergeant  he  very  soon  became. 


PART  HI. 

Being  near  Fort  Niagara  in  the  year  fifty-nine. 
On  the  thirtieth  of  July,  as  he  always  did  incline 
To  frequent  the  green-wood,  at  some  distant  place, 
To  breathe  out  his  sorrows  his  mind  to  solace. 
Among  the  savage  Indians,  alas  !  there  he  fell, 
But  how  he  was  nuirdcred  we  cannot  well  tell. 


YOUNG  GRIGOR'S  GHOST.  261 

For  on  the  next  morning  they  found  him  there  dead. 
Two  Indians  lay  by  him,  each  wanting  his  head. 

Cut  off  with  his  broadsword,  as  is  understood, 
As  there  all  about  him  was  nothing  but  blood  ; 
Five  wounds  on  his  body,  his  hair  scalped  away, 
His  clothes,  sword,  and  pistol,  all  made  a  prey. 
And  one  of  his  fingers  from  his  hand  they  had  cut, 
On  which  was  the  ring  from  his  lover  he  got. 
In  that  very  moment  in  Scotland  we  hear, 
A  dreadful  spectre  to  his  love  did  appear. 

As  she  was  a-weeping  under  the  green  oak, 

He  quickly  passed  by  her  and  not  a  word  spoke, 

Yet  shaking  his  left  hand,  where  the  ring  he  did  wear, 

It  wanted  a  finger,  and  blood  dropped  there. 

Whereat  the  young  lady  was  struck  with  amaze, 

And  rose  to  run  after  and  on  him  to  gaze. 

She  knew  it  was  Grigor,  but  how  in  that  place. 

It  made  her  to  wonder  and  dread  the  sad  case. 

^Vith  terror  and  grief  home  she  did  repair. 
And  spent  the  whole  night  in  weeping  and  prayer  ; 
So  early  next  morning  she  rose  with  the  sun. 
And  went  back  to  the  green  oak  to  weep  all  alone. 
For  always  she  esteemed  that  place  as  we  hear. 
As  on  it  she  got  the  last  sight  of  her  dear  ; 
As  there  she  sat  weeping  and  tearing  her  hair  ; 
Again  the  pale  spectre  to  her  did  appear. 

And  with  a  wild  aspect  it  stared  in  her  face. 
Then  said,  "O  dear  Katie,  do  not  me  embrace. 
For  I'm  but  a  spirit  though  shining  in  blood, 
My  body  lies  murdered  in  yon  foreign  wood. 
There's  two  wounds  in  my  body  and  three  in  my  side, 
"With  hatchets  and  arrows,  and  all  deep  and  wide  ; 
My  scalp  and  fine  hair  for  a  premium  are  sold, 
And  also  my  finger  with  the  ring  of  pure  gold. 


262  AULD  SCOTS  DALLAXTS. 

Which  you  drew  upon  it  as  a  mark  of  true  love. 
Love's  stronger  than  death,  for  it  does  remove, 
But  my  earnest  desire  it  is  for  you,  my  dear, 
And  till  you  are  with  me  I'll  still  wander  here. 
This  world's  but  vanity,  all's  a  vain  show, 
'Tis  nought  to  the  pleasures  where  we  are  to  go." 
She  went  to  embrace  him,  being  void  of  all  fright. 
But  he  in  a  moment  went  out  of  her  sight. 

Then  home  in  great  horror  to  her  father  did  run, 
Crying  "  O  !  cruel  father,  now  what  have  you  done? 
Grigor,  lov'd  Grigor,  came  to  me  in  blood. 
And  his  body  lies  slain  in  an  American  wood. 
He  showed  me  his  wounds,  and  each  bleeding  sore, 
And  therefore  my  pleasures  on  earth  are  no  more, 
Her  father  looked  at  her  as  one  being  amazed, 
Then  said,  "  My  dear  Katie,  your  brains  they  are 
craz'd." 

But  still  she  maintained  it,  and  cried  like  a  child, 
Never  after  was  seen  for  to  laugh  or  to  smile  ; 
Brought  to  her  all  doctors,  whose  skill  was  in  vain, 
But  still  gave  opinion  she  was  sound  in  the  brain. 
Her  body  decayed,  her  face  grew  wan  and  pale, 
.She  soared  to  her  true  love,  beyond  death's  ilark 

vale, 
First  her,  then  her  mother,  in  one  night  expired, 
I  hope  she  enjoys  the  bliss  she  desired. 

Xow  the  old  father  cries,  bereft  of  all  joys, 
He  has  plenty  of  gold,  but  no  girls  or  boys. 
Let  all  cruel  jinrents  to  this  take  great  heed. 
His  pretty  young  daughter  is  now  with  the  dead. 


ARCHIE  ALLAN.  263 


Hvcbie    HUan. 

Of  the  same  class,  "  Archie  Allan"  is  a  picture  of  Scottish 
rural  life  not  less  graphic  and  true  to  nature  than  "Watty  and 
Meg"  and  "  Will  and  Jean,"  and,  like  these  more  popular 
poems,  will  never  cease  to  find  admirers.  Its  author,  Alex- 
ander Laing,  a  lyric  poet  of  luxuriant  fancy  and  correct 
taste — the  author  of  "The  Braes  o'  Mar,"  "  Pawky  Adam 
Glen,"  "My  Ain  Wife,"  and  other  well-known  songs 
— was  a  native  of  Brechin,  and  was  born  on  the  14th  of 
May,  1787.  He  died  on  the  14th  of  October,  1S57,  and 
was  buried  in  the  Old  Churchyard  of  his  native  city. 
"Archie  Allan"  was  first  published  in  1827,  and  very  soon 
ran  into  several  editions,  as  it  well  deserved  to  do.  It  is  a 
tale  of  a  healthy  character,  related  with  no  ordinary  powers 
of  Doric  grace,  sweetness,  and  simplicity.  In  remarkably 
brief  compass  there  is  furnished  the  history  of  a  peasant 
from  youth  to  extreme  old  age,  and  from  rural  happiness  to 
mendicity  and  wretchedness  ;  the  felicity  of  a  first  marriage, 
and  the  misery  resulting  from  a  second  imprudent  matri- 
monial connection. 

Ay  !  poor  Archie  Allan — I  hope  he's  nae  poor  ! 
A  mair  dainty  neebour  ne'er  entered  ane's  door — 
An'  he's  worn  awa  frae  an  ill-doin'  kin, 
Frae  a  warld  o'  trouble,  o'  sorrow,  an'  sin. 
Wad  ye  hear  o'  the  hardships  that  Archie  liefel  ? 
Then  listen  a  wee  an'  his  story  I'll  tell. 

Now  twice  twenty  towmonts,  an'  twenty  are  gane, 
Sin'  Archie  an'  I  could  hae  ranket  as  men — 
Sin'  we  could  hae  left  ony  twa  o'  our  eild. 
At  a'  kinds  o'  farm-wark,  at  hame,  or  a-field  ; 
Sin'  we  could  hae  carried  the  best  bow  o'  bear, 
An'  thrown  the  fore-hammer  out-owre  ony  pair. 
Ah  !  then  we  ware  forward,  an'  flinty  an'  young, 
An'  never  ance  ken'd  what  it  was  to  be  dung  ; 
We  ware  lang  fellow  servants,  an'  neebours  fu'  dear, 
Fouk  didna  flit  than  about  ilka  hauf-year  ! 


264  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Whan  he  was  the  bridegroom,  an'  Mary  his  bride, 
Mysel',  an'  my  Jeanie,  ware  best  nian  an'  maid, 
'Twas  a  promise  atween  us— they  could  na  refuse, 
Had  our  liridal  been  first,  tliey  had  gotten  tlie  glo'es. 

Aweel,  they  ware  married,  an'  mony  ware  there, 
An'  Luve  never  low'd  on  a  happier  pair ; 
For  Archie  had  nae  woman's  skaith  he  could  rue, 
An'  Mary  was  sakeless  o'  breakin'  her  vow. 
They  had  lo'ed  ither  lang,  an'  the  day  was  to  be, 
^^'han  their  ain  gather'd  pennie  wad  set  them  up 

free ; 
Sac,  clear  o'  the  warld,  an'  cantie,  an'  weel  ; 
They  thrave  out  an'  in  like  the  buss  i'  the  beil' ; 
Their  wants  ware  na  monie,  their  family  was  sma', 
Themsel's,  an'  but  a'e  lassie  bairn,  was  a' ; 
Sae,  wi'  workin'  an'  winnin',  wi'  savin'  an'  care, 
They  gather'd  an'  gather'd  nae  that  little  gear. 

Vet  nae  narrow  bodies — nae  niggards  were  they — 
Nae  slaves  to  the  warld,  to  want — an'  to  hae  ; 
Tho'  they  ken'd  weel  eneuch  a'  the  bouk  o'  their  ain, 
They  wad  tak',  they  wad  gi'e,  they  wad  borrow  or 

len '  ; 
Wlian  a  friend  or  a  neeliour  gaed  speerin'  their  weel. 
They  had  meal  i'  the  bannock,  an'  maut  i'  the  yill ; 
They  had  hearts  that  cou'd  part,  they  had  hands 

that  ware  free, 
An'  leuks  that  bade  welcome,  an'  warm  as  cou"d  be  ; 
Gaed  ye  in— came  ye  out,  they  ware  aye,  aye  the 

same. 
There's  few  now  a  days  'niang  our  neebours  like 

them  ! 

Thus,  blythesome  an'  happy,  time  hasten'd  awa', 
Till  their  dochter  was  twenty,  or  twenty  an'  twa ; 


ARCHIE  ALLAN.  265 

Whan  she,  a'  the  comfort  an'  hope  o'  their  days, 
Fell  into  some  dowie,  some  ling'rin'  disease  ; 
She  was  lang  ill  the  lassie,  an'  muckle  she  bore. 
An'  monie  cures  they  gie'd  her,  but  de.-th  winna  cure  ; 
She  dwyn'd  like  a  flower  'mang  the  new  maw'n  grass, 
Some  luve  disappointment  they  said  was  the  cause — 
Ay  !  happen  what  may,  there  maun  aye  be  a  mean. 
Her  grave  was  na  sad,  an'  her  truff  was  na  green, 
Whan  Mary,  hir  mither,  a'  broken  an'  pin'd, 
W^i'  trachle  o'  body — wi'  trouble  o'  mind- 
Was  reliev'd  frae  her  sorrows — was  also  weel  sair'd. 
An'  laid  by  her  bairn  i'  the  silent  kirk  yaird  ! 

Oh,  sirs  !  sic  a  change — it  was  waesome  to  see, 
But  life's  like  a  journey,  an'  changes  maun  be, 
Whan  the  day  o'  Prosperity  seems  but  at  noon, 
The  night  o'  Adversity  aften  comes  down  ; 
I've  liv'd  till  my  locks  they  are  white  as  the  snaw 
Till  the  freends  of  my  youth  they  are  dead  an'  awa' ; 
At  deathbed  an'  burial  nae  stranger  I've  been, 
But  sorrow  like  Archie's  I've  never  yet  seen. 
The  death  o'  his  lassie  I  ken'd  it  was  sair. 
But  the  death  o'  her  mither  was  harder  to  bear  ; 
For  a'  that  was  lovely,  an'  a'  that  was  leal. 
He  had  lost  i'  the  death  o'  his  Mary  Macneill  ! 

Whan  the  buryin'  was  bye,  whan  relations  were  gane, 
Whan  left  i'  the  house,  wae  an'  wearie,  his  lane. 
As  a  neebour  wad  do,  I  gaed  yont  the  gate-end, 
An  hour  i'  the  gloamin's  wi'  Archie  to  spend  ; 
For  the  fate  o'  our  neebour  may  sune  be  our  fa'. 
An'  neebours  are  near  us  whan  kindred's  awa'. 
We  spak'  o'  the  changes  that  time  ever  brings, 
O'  the  frail  fadin'  nature  o'  a'  earthlie  things  ; 
O'  life  an  it's  blessings — that  we  hae  them  in  len'. 
That  the  Giver  whan  He  wills  has  a  right  to  his  ain  ; 


266  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

That  here  tho'  we  hae  nae  continuin'  hame, 

How  the  promise  is  sure  i'  the  Peacemaker's  name, 

To  them  that  wi'  patience,  wi'  firmness  an'  faith. 

Believe  in  His  merits  an'  trust  in  His  death  ; 

To  them — the'  the  coffin  an'  pale  windin'-sheet, 

Tho'  the  cauld  grave  divide  them,  in  hcav'n  they  shall 

meet — 
Shall  yet  hae  a  blythe  and  a  blest  meetin'  there. 
To  ken  separation  an'  sorrow  nae  mair. 

Thus  kindly  conversin',  we  aften  beguil'd 
The  hours  o'  the  gloamin'  till  three  summers  smil'd  ; 
Till  time  in  its  progress  had  yielded  relief. 
Had  dealt  wi'  his  mem'ry  and  lessen'd  his  grief — 
Tho'  nae  like  the  man  I  had  seen  him,  'tis  true, 
Yet  fell  knief  an'  cantie  my  auld  neebour  grew. 
Sometime  than-about  as  it  happen'd  to  be, 
I  had  na  seen  Archie  for  twa  weeks  or  three  ; 
When  a'e  night  a  near  neebour  woman  came  ben. 
An'  says,  "  Ha'e  ye  heard  o'  the  news  that's  a-gain  ? 
It's  been  tell'd  me  sin'  mornin'  by  mae  fouk  na  ane, 
That  our  friend  Archie  Allan  was  beuket  yestreen." 
"  Aweel,  weel,"  quo  I,  "It  may  even  be  sae. 
There's  aye  heart  wi'  auld  fouk,  we'll  a'  get  a  day  ;  " 
But  whan  it  was  tell'd  wha  the  bride  was  to  be, 
I  heard  an'  said  naething — I  thought  it  a  lee  ! 

'Twas  a'  very  gude  he  shou'd  marry  again — 

A  man  in  a  house  is  but  drearie  his  lane  ; 

But  to  think  he  wad  ever  tak  ane  for  a  wife, 

Wha  had  lived  sic  a  loose  an'  a  throwilher  life — 

Wha  had  been  far  an'  near  whar  it  ccu'd  na  be  nam'd, 

An'  was  come  o'  a  family  but  little  esteem'd — 

To  think  he  wad  tak  her  !  I  cou'd  na  l)cliovM. 

But  me  an'  monie  ilhers  were  sairly  deceiv'd, 

For  the  Sunday  thereafter,  wha  think  ye  was  cry'd. 

But  Archibald  Allan  and  Marg'ret  Muresyde  ? 


ARCHIE  ALLAN.  267 

Weel,  how  they  foregather'd,  an'  a'  what  befel, 
Tho'  it's  painful  to  speak  o't,  ye'U  wish  me  to  tell. 
She  came  in  about  here  as  it  happen'd  to  fa', 
An'  was  nearest  door  neebour  to  him  that's  awa'  ; 
An'  seein'  a  fu'  house,  an'  a  free-hearted  man, 
That  ken'd  na  the  warkl,  \vi'  her  wiles  she  1  egan— 
Seem'd  sober  an'  decent  as  ony  ye'll  see, 
An'  quiet  an'  prudent  as  woman  cou'd  be — 
Was  aye  brawly  busket,  an'  tidy,  an'  clean, 
An'  aye  at  the  kirk  on  the  Sabbath  was  seen — 
Was  better  na  monie,  an'  marrow't  by  few. 
Till  a'  came  about  as  she'd  wish'd  it  to  do  ; 
But  scarcely  her  hand  an'  her  troth  he  had  tane. 
Till  she  kyth'd  in  her  ain  dowie  colours  again — 
Their  courtship  was  short,  an'  short  their  honeymune — 
It's  aye  rue'd  at  leisure  what's  owre  rashly  dune. 

We've  a'  our  ain  fau'ts  an'  our  failin's  atweel, 
But  Maggy  Muresyde  ! — she's  a  Never-do-weel — 
An'  the  warst  o'  it  was,  in  an  unlucky  hour. 
She  had  got  ilka  plack  o'  the  purse  in  her  pow'r ; 
An'  sune  did  she  lift  it,  an'  sune,  sune  it  gaed — 
In  pennies  'twas  gather'd — in  pounds  it  was  spread. 
Her  worthless  relations,  an'  ithers  siclike, 
Came  in  about  swarmin',  as  bees  till  a  bike  ; 
An'  they  feasted,  an'  drank,  an'  profan'd  the  Blest 

Name. 
An'  Sunday  an'  Saturday—  a'  was  lliC  same— 
Waes  me  !  it  was  sair  upon  Archie  to  see 
The  walth  he  had  won,  an'  had  lyin'  sae  free. 
To  comfort  an'  keep  him,  whan  ailin'  or  auld, 
Sae  squander'd  by  creatures  sae  worthless  an'  bauld — 
An'  sair  was  he  troubl'd  to  think  o'  their  sin. 
An'  the  awfu'  account  they  wad  hae  to  gi'e  in  ; 
Yet  griev'd  as  he  was  at  the  rash  lives  they  led. 
He  durst  na  ance  say  it  was  ill  that  they  did  ! 


268  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Bill  time  nn'  your  patience  wad  fail  mc  to  tell, 

How  she  spent  an'  abus'd  baith  his  means  an'  himseP, 

For  constant  an'  on  as  the  rin  o'  the  burn, 

Her  hand  it  was  aye  i'  the  unhappy  turn — 

Till  siller,  an'  gear,  an'  a'  credit  was  gane. 

Till  he  had  na  a  pennie  or  aught  o'  his  ain  ; 

Till  age  an'  vexation  had  wrinkl'd  his  brow, 

Till  he  had  na  a  morsel  to  gang  in  his  mou'  ! 

Aweel  !  neither  able  to  want  nor  to  win, 

A'e  mornin'  last  week,  ere  the  daylight  came  in — 

Thro'  the  lang  eerie  muirs,  an'  the  cauld  plashy  snaw, 

Wi'  his  staff  in  his  hand  he  had  wander'd  awa' — 

To  seek  a  fa'n  bit  for  his  daily  supply. 

An'  to  thole  the  down-leuk  o'  the  proud  an'  the  high. 

0  !  had  I  but  seen  him  whan  he  gaed  a-ficld, 

1  wad  ta'en  him  in-with  to  my  ain  couthie  beild  ; 
An'  wi'  my  auld  ncebour  shar'd  frankly  an'  free. 
My  bannock,  my  bed,  an'  my  hinmost  bawbee. 

How  far  he  had  gane — how  he'd  far'd  thro'  the  day, 
What  trials  he  had  met  wi',  I  canna  weel  say  ; 
But  whan  the  grey  hour  o'  the  gloamin'  fell  down, 
He  sought  the  fireside  o'  some  distant  farm-town — 
AVi'  the  door  hauflin's  up,  an'  the  sneck  in  his  han' 
He  faintly  inquired — wad  they  lodge  a  poor  man  ? 
The  mistress  gaz'd  on  him,  an'  drylie  she  spak', 
"We  may  lodge  you  the  night,  Init  ye  maunna  come 

back" — 
Said  beggars  an'  gang'rcls  ware  grown  unco  rife, 
Speer'd  what  place  he  came  frae — gin  he  had  a  wife  ? — 
Ay  !  that  was  a  question  ! — O,  sirs,  it  was  sair, 
Had  na  he  ha'en  a  JVife  ! — he  wad  never  been  there  ! 
Cauld,  cauld  at  their  backs  thro'  the  evenin'  he  sat, 
An'  cauld  was  the  bed,  an'  the  beddin'  he  gat. 
The  floor  an'  the  rooftree  was  a'  they  could  spare. 
An'  he  lay  down,  alas  !  to  rise  up  never  mair ; — 


THE  WITCH  OF  FIFE.  269 

Was  he  lang  or  sair  ill,  there  was  naebody  saw, 

Gin  the  daylight  came  in — he  had  worn  awa'  ! 

Wha  ance  wad  ha'e  thought  it,  that  Archie  wad  been 

A  beggar — an'  dee't  in  a  barn  his  lane  ! 

But  we  need  na  think  this  will,  or  that  winna  be, 

For  the  langer  we  live  the  mae  uncos  we  see. 


n:be  Mitcb  of  ffifc. 

Few  poets  of  any  country  or  time  have  rivalled  James 
Hogg,  our  own  delightful  "  Ettrick  Shepherd,"  in  the  de- 
lineation of  the  mysterious  and  uncanny.  His  "Kilmeny" 
is  a  fairy  tale  for  beauty  of  conception  and  grace  of  diction 
perhaps  without  a  peer  in  literature;  and  "The  Witch  of 
Fife  "  is  dashed  with  an  eerie  humour  scarcely  less  potent 
to  fascinate,  horrify,  and  amuse  than  the  immortal  tale  of 
"  Tam  o'  Shanter. "  With  "Kilmeny,"  it  forms  one  of  the 
tales  in  "  The  Queen's  Wake." 

"  Quhare  haif  ye  been,  ye  ill  womyne. 

These  three  lang  nightis  fra  hame  ? 
Quhat  garris  the  sweit  drap  frae  yer  brow. 

Like  clotis  of  the  saut  sea  faem  ? 

"  It  fearis  me  muckil  ye  haif  seen, 

Quhat  guid  man  never  knew  ; 
It  fearis  me  muckil  ye  haif  been 

Quhare  the  gray  cock  never  crew. 

"But  the  spell  may  crack,  and  the  brydel  breck. 

Then  sherpe  yer  werde  will  be  ; 
Ye  had  better  sleippe  in  yer  bed  at  hame, 

Wi'  yer  deire  littil  bairnis  and  me." — 

"Sit  doune,  sit  doune,  my  leil  auld  man, 

Sit  doune,  and  listen  to  me  ; 
I'll  gar  the  hayre  stand  on  yer  crown, 

And  the  cauld  sweit  blind  yer  e'e. 


270  AULD  SCOTS  BALLASTS. 

"  But  tell  nae  wonlis,  my  guid  aiild  man, 

Tell  never  word  again  ; 
Or  deire  shall  be  ycr  courtisye, 

And  driche  and  sair  yer  pain. 

"  The  first  lect  night,  quhan  the  new  moon  set, 

Quhan  all  was  douffe  and  mirk, 
We  saddled  ouir  naigis  wi'  the  moon-fern  leif, 

And  rode  fra  Kilmerrin  kirk. 

"  Some  horses  ware  of  the  Ijriime-cow  franiit, 

And  some  of  the  grein  bay  tree  ; 
But  mine  was  made  of  ane  humloke  schaw, 

And  a  stout  stailion  was  he. 

"  We  raide  the  tod  doune  on  the  hill, 

The  martin  on  the  law  ; 
And  we  huntyd  the  hoolet  out  of  brethe. 

And  forcit  him  doune  to  fa'." — 

"  Quhat  guid  was  that,  ye  ill  womyne  ? 

Quhat  guid  was  that  to  thee  ? 
Ye  wald  better  haif  been  in  yer  bed  at  hame, 

Wi'  yer  deire  littil  bairnis  and  me." — 

"  And  aye  we  raide,  and  se  merrily  we  raide, 
Throw  the  merkist  gloffis  of  the  night  ; 

And  we  swam  the  floode,  and  we  darnit  the  woode, 
Till  we  cam'  to  the  Lommond  height. 

"And  quhan  we  cam'  to  the  Lommond  height, 

Se  lythlye  we  lychtid  doune  ; 
And  we  drank  fra  the  hornis  that  never  grew 

The  beer  that  was  never  browin. 

"  Then  up  there  raise  ane  wee,  wee  man, 

Fra  nethe  the  moss-gray  stane  ; 
His  fece  was  wan  like  the  collifloure, 

For  he  nouthir  had  blude  nor  bane. 


THE  WITCH  OF  FIFE.  271 

'•  He  set  ane  reid-pipe  till  his  mulhe, 

And  he  playit  se  bonnilye, 
Till  the  gray  curlew  and  the  black-cock  flew 

To  listen  his  melodye. 

"  It  rang  se  sweit  through  the  grein  Lommond, 

That  the  nychte-winde  lowner  blew  ; 
And  it  soupit  alang  the  Loch  Leven, 

And  wakinit  the  white  sea-mew. 

"  It  rang  se  sweit  through  the  grein  Lommond, 

Se  sweitly  butt  and  se  shill, 
That  the  wezilis  laup  out  of  their  mouldy  holis, 

And  dancit  on  the  mydnycht  hill. 

"  The  corby  craw  cam'  gledgin'  near. 

The  em  ged  veeiyng  bye  ; 
And  the  troutis  laup  out  of  the  Leven  Loch, 

Charmit  with  the  melodj'e. 

"And  aye  we  dancit  on  the  green  Lommond, 

Till  the  dawn  on  the  ocean  grew  ; 
Ne  wonder  I  was  a  weary  wycht 

Quhan  I  cam'  hame  to  you." 

"  Quhat  guid,  quhat  guid,  my  weird,  weird  wyfe, 

Quhat  guid  was  that  to  thee  ? 
Ye  wald  better  half  bein  in  yer  bed  at  hame, 

Wi'  yer  deir  littil  bairnis  and  me." 

"  The  second  nycht,  quhan  the  new  moon  set, 

O'er  the  roaryng  sea  we  flew  ; 
The  cockle-shell  our  trusty  bark, 

Our  sailis  of  the  grein  sea-rue. 

"And  the  bauld  windis  blew,  and  the  fire-flauchtis  flew. 

And  the  sea  ran  to  the  skie  ; 
And  the  thunner  it  growlit,  and  the  sea-dogs  howlit. 

As  we  gaed  scouryng  bj-e. 


72  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"And  aye  we  mountit  the  sea  grein  liillis, 

Quhill  we  brushit  through  the  cloudis  of  the  hevin  ; 

Than  sousit  dounright  like  the  stern-shot  light, 
Fra  the  liftis  bhie  casement  driven. 

"  Hut  our  talckil  stood,  and  our  bark  was  good, 

And  se  pang  was  our  pearily  prowe  ; 
Quhan  we  cnldna  speil  the  brow  of  the  wavis, 

We  needilit  them  throu'  belowe. 

"  As  fast  as  the  hail,  as  fast  as  the  gale, 

As  fast  as  the  mydnycht  leme, 
"We  borit  the  breiste  of  the  burstyng  swale, 

Or  duffit  i'  the  fiotyng  faem. 

"And  quhan  to  the  Norraway  shore  we  wan. 

We  muntyd  our  steedis  of  the  wynde, 
And  we  splashit  the  floods,  and  we  darnit  the  woode, 

And  we  left  the  shouir  behynde. 

"  Fleit  is  the  roe  on  the  grein  Lommond, 

And  swift  is  the  couryng  grew. 
The  rein-deir  dun  can  eithly  run, 

Quhan  the  houndis  and  the  hornis  pursue. 

"  IjuI  nowther  the  roe  nor  the  rein-deir  dun. 

The  hinde  nor  the  couryng  grew, 
Culde  fly  owr  montaine,  muir,  and  dale, 

As  our  braw  steedis  they  flew. 

"  The  dales  were  deep,  and  the  doffrinis  steep, 

And  we  raise  to  the  skyis  ee-bree  ; 
Quhite,  quhite  was  our  rode,  that  was  never  trode, 

Owr  the  snawis  of  eternity  ! 

"  And  quhan  we  cam'  to  the  Lapland  lone. 

The  fairies  war  all  in  array  ; 
For  all  the  genii  of  the  north 

War  keipyng  their  holeday. 


THE  WITCH  OF  FIFE.  273 

"The  warlock  men  and  the  weird  wemyng, 

And  th®  fays  of  the  wood  and  the  steip, 
And  the  phantom  hunteris  all  war  there, 

And  the  mermaidis  of  the  deip. 

"And  they  washit  us  all  with  the  witch-water, 

Distillit  frae  the  muirland  dew, 
Quhill  onr  beauty  blumit  like  the  Lapland  rose. 

That  wylde  in  the  foreste  grew. " — 

"Ye  lee,  ye  lee,  ye  ill  womyne, 

Se  loud  as  I  heir  ye  lee  ! 
For  the  warst-faured  wyfe  on  the  shoris  of  Fyfe 

Is  cumlye  comparit  wi'  thee."" — 

"  Then  the  mermaili^  sang  an  I  the  woodlandis  rang, 

Se  sweitly  swellit  the  quire  ; 
On  every  cliff  a  herpe  th^y  hang, 

On  every  tree  a  lyre. 

"And  aye  they  ;.ang,  and  the  wojdlandis  rang, 

And  we  drank,  and  we  drank  se  deip  ; 
Then  saft  in  the  armis  of  the  wailock  men 

"We  laid  us  doune  to  sleep." — 

"Away,  away,  ye  ill  womyne, 

An  ill  deide  met  ye  dee  ! 
Quhan  ye  hae  pruvit  se  false  to  yer  God 

Ye  can  never  pruve  true  to  me."' — ■ 

"  And  there  we  learnit  fra  the  fairy  foke, 

And  fra  our  master  true, 
The  wordis  that  can  beire  us  throu'  the  air, 

And  lokkis  and  barris  undo. 

"  Last  nycht  we  met  at  Maisry's  cot — 

Richt  well  the  wordis  we  knew — 
And  we  set  a  foot  on  the  black  cruik-shell. 

And  out  at  the  lum  we  flew. 
S 


>74  AULD  SCOTS  BALLA^•TS. 

"And  wc  flew  owr  hill,  and  we  flew  owr  dale, 

And  we  flew  owr  firth  and  sea, 
Until  we  cam'  to  merry  Carlisle, 

Quhare  we  lightit  on  the  len. 

"  We  gaed  to  the  vault  beyound  the  towir, 

Quhare  we  enterit  free  as  ayr  ; 
And  we  drank,  and  we  drank  of  the  bishopis  wine 

Quhill  we  culdc  drynk  nae  mair." — 

"  Gin  that  be  true,  my  guid  auld  wyfe, 

Whilk  thou  hast  tauld  to  me. 
Betide  my  death,  betide  my  ly(e, 

I'll  beire  thee  companye. 

"  Neist  tyme  ye  gaung  to  merry  Carlisle 

To  drynk  of  the  blude-reide  wyne, 
Beshrew  my  heart,  I'll  fly  with  thee. 

If  the  deil  should  fly  bchynde." 

"  Ah  !  little  do  ye  ken,  my  silly  auld  man, 

The  daingeris  we  maun  dree  ; 
Last  nycht  we  drank  of  the  bishopis  wyne, 

Quhill  near,  near  ta'en  war  sve. 

"  Afore  we  wan  to  the  Sandy  Ford 

The  gor-cockis  nichering  flew  ; 
The  lofty  crest  of  Ettrick  Pen 

Was  wavit  about  with  blue , 
And,  flichtering  throu'  the  ayr,  we  fand 

The  chill  chill  mornying  dew. 

"  As  we  flew  owr  the  hillis  of  Braid 

The  sun  raise  fair  and  cleir  ; 
There  gurly  James,  and  his  baronis  braw, 

War  out  to  hunt  the  deir. 


THE  WITCH  OF  FIFE.  275 

"  Their  bowis  they  drew,  iheir  arrovvis  flew, 

And  piercit  the  ayr  with  speide, 
Quhill  purpil  fell  the  mornyng  dew 

Wi'  witch-blude  rank  and  reide. 

"  Littil  do  you  ken,  my  silly  auld  man, 

The  dangeris  we  maun  dree  ; 
Ne  wonder  I  am  a  weary  wycht, 

Quhan  I  come  hame  to  thee." — 

"  But  tell  me  the  word,  my  guid  auld  wyfe. 

Come  tell  it  speedilye  ; 
For  I  lang  to  drynk  of  the  guid  reide  wyne, 

And  to  wyng  the  air  with  thee, 

"  Yer  hellish  horse  I  wilna  ryde, 

Nor  sail  the  seas  in  the  wynde  ; 
But  I  can  flee  as  weil  as  thee. 

And  I'll  drynk  quhill  ye  be  blynd." — 

"O  fy  !  O  fy  !  my  leil  auld  man. 

That  word  I  darena  tell ; 
It  wald  turn  this  warld  all  upside  down, 

And  make  it  warse  than  hell. 

"  For  all  the  lasses  in  the  land 

Wald  munt  the  wynde  and  fly  ; 
And  the  men  wald  doff"  their  doublets  syde. 

And  after  them  wald  ply." — 

Bmt  the  auld  guidman  was  ane  cunnyng  auld  man. 

And  ane  cunnyng  auld  man  was  he  ; 
And  he  watchit,  and  he  watchit  for  mony  a  nycht, 

The  witches'  flychte  to  see, 

Ane  nycht  he  darnit  in  Maisry's  cot ; 

The  fearless  haggs  cam'  in  ; 
And  he  heard  the  word  of  awsome  weird, 

And  he  saw  their  deidis  of  synn. 


276  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Then  ane  by  ane  they  said  that  word, 

As  fast  to  the  fire  they  drew  ; 
Then  set  a  foot  on  the  black  cruik-shcll, 

And  out  at  the  lum  they  flew. 

The  auld  guidman  cam'  frae  his  hole 

With  feire  and  muckil  dreide, 
But  yet  he  cudna  think  to  nie, 

For  the  wyne  cam'  in  his  head. 

He  set  his  fool  on  the  black  cruik-shell, 
With  ane  fixit  and  ane  wawlying  e'e  ; 

And  he  said  the  word  that  I  darcna  say, 
And  out  at  the  lum  flew  he. 

The  witches  skalit  the  moon-beam  pale  ; 

Deep  groanit  the  trembling  wynde  ; 
But  they  never  wist  till  our  auld  guidman 

Was  hoverynd  them  behynde. 

They  flew  to  the  vaultis  of  merry  Carlisle, 

Quhare  they  enterit  free  as  ayr  ; 
And  they  drank  and  they  drank  of  the  bishopis  wyne 

Quhill  they  culde  drynk  ne  mair. 

The  auld  guidmau  he  grew  se  crouse, 

He  dauncit  on  the  mouldy  ground, 
And  he  sang  the  bonniest  sangs  of  Fyfe, 

And  he  tuzzlit  the  kerlyngs  round. 

And  aye  he  piercit  the  tither  butt, 

And  he  suckit,  and  he  suckit  sac  lang, 

Ouhill  his  een  they  closit,  and  his  voice  grew  low, 
And  his  tongue  wald  hardly  gang. 

The  kerlyngs  drank  of  the  bishopis  wyne 
(Quhill  they  scentit  the  morning  wynde  ; 

Then  clove  again  the  yielding  ayr. 
And  left  the  auld  man  behynde. 


THE  WITCH  OF  FIFE.  277 

And  aye  he  sleipit  on  the  damp  damp  floor, 

He  sleipit  and  he  snorit  amain  ; 
He  never  dreamit  he  was  far  fra  hame, 

Or  that  the  auld  wyvis  war  gane. 

And  aye  he  sleipit  on  the  damp  damp  floor, 

Quhill  past  the  mid-day  highte, 
Quhan  wakenit  by  five  rough  Englishmen 

That  trallit  him  to  the  lychte. 

"  Now  quha  are  ye,  ye  silly  auld  man, 

That  sleipis  se  sound  and  se  weil  ? 
Or  how  gat  ye  into  the  bishopis  vault 

Throu'  lokkis  and  barris  of  steel  ?  " 

The  auld  guidman  he  tryit  to  speak, 

But  ane  word  he  culdna  fynde  ; 
He  tryit  to  think,  but  his  head  whirlit  round, 

And  ane  thing  he  culdna  mynde  : — 
"  I  cam'  fra  Fyfe,"  the  auld  man  cryit, 

"And  I  cam'  on  the  mydnicht  wynde." 

They  nickit  the  auld  man,  and  they  prickit  the  auld 
man, 

And  they  yerkit  his  limbis  with  twyne, 
Quhill  the  reid  blude  ran  in  his  hose  and  shoon. 

But  some  cryit  it  was  wyne." 

They  lickit  the  auld  man,  and  they  prickit  the  auld  man 

And  they  tyit  him  till  ane  stane  ; 
And  they  set  ane  bele-fire  him  about, 

To  burn  him  skin  and  bane. 

"  O  wae  to  me  !  "  said  the  puir  auld  man, 

"That  ever  I  saw  the  day  ! 
And  wae  be  to  all  the  ill  wemyng 

That  lead  puir  men  astray  ! 


r8  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  Let  nevir  ane  auld  man  after  this 

To  lawless  grcicle  inclyne  ; 
Let  nevir  ane  auld  man  after  this 

Rin  post  to  the  deil  for  wyne." 

The  reik  flew  up  in  the  auld  man  is  face, 

And  chouckit  him  bitterlye  ; 
And  the  lowe  cam'  up  with  ane  angry  blese 

And  it  syngit  his  auld  breek-knee. 

He  lukit  to  the  land  fra  whence  he  cam', 

For  lukis  he  culde  get  nae  mae ; 
And  he  thochte  of  his  deire  little  bairnis  at-hame 

And  O  the  auld  man  was  wae  ! 

But  they  turnit  their  faces  to  the  sun, 

With  gloffe  and  wonderous  glair, 
For  they  saw  ane  thing  beth  large  and  dun, 

Comin'  swaipin  down  the  ayr. 

That  burd  it  cam'  fra  the  landis  o'  Fyfe, 

And  it  cam'  rycht  tymeouslye, 
For  quha  was  it  l)ut  the  auld  manis  wife. 

Just  comit  his  dethe  to  see. 

Scho  put  ane  reide  cap  on  his  hclde, 

And  the  auld  guidman  lookit  fain. 
Then  whisperit  ane  word  intil  his  lug. 

And  tovit  to  the  ayr  again. 

The  auld  guidman  he  ga'e  ane  bob, 

I'  the  mids  o'  the  burnyng  lowe  ; 
And  the  shekils  that  band  him  to  the  ring. 

They  fell  frae  his  armis  like  towe. 

lie  drew  his  breath,  and  he  said  the  word. 

And  he  said  it  with  muckil  glee. 
Then  set  his  fit  on  the  burnyng  pile, 

And  away  to  the  ayr  flew  he. 


THE  MARCHIONESS  OF  DOUGLAS.         279 

Till  aince  he  cleirit  the  swirlyng  reike, 

He  lukit  beth  ferit  and  sad  ; 
But  whan  he  wan  to  the  lycht  blue  ayr. 

He  lauchit  as  he'd  been  mad. 

His  armis  war  spred,  and  his  heid  was  hiche, 

And  his  feit  stack  out  behynde  ; 
And  the  laibies  of  the  auld  manis  cote 

War  wauffing  in  the  wynde. 

And  aye  he  neicherit,  and  aye  he  flew, 

For  he  thochte  the  ploy  se  rare  ; 
It  was  like  the  voice  of  the  gainder  blue, 

Quhan  he  flees  through  the  ayr. 

He  lukit  back  to  the  Carlisle  men 

As  he  borit  the  norlan  sky  ; 
He  noddit  his  heid,  and  ga'e  ane  girn. 

But  he  nevir  said  guid-bye. 

They  vanisht  far  i'  the  liftis  blue  wale, 

Ne  mair  the  English  saw, 
But  the  auld  manis  lauche  cam'  on  the  gale, 

With  a  lang  and  a  loud  gaff"a. 

May  evir  ilke  man  in  the  land  of  Fyfe, 

Read  what  the  drinkeris  dree  ; 
And  nevir  curse  his  puir  auld  wife, 

Rychte  wicked  altho'  scho  be. 


Zbc  (lDavcbiouc65  of  Doucjlae, 

Than  the  following  verses,  which  form  the  initial  portion 
of  the  somewhat  lengthy  ballad  commonly  found  in  the 
collections  under  the  above  title,  there  is  nothing  more 
beautiful  and  pathetic  in  the  whole  range  of  Scottish  ballad 
poetry.     But  these  verses  are  so  much  superior  to  those 


28o  AULD  SCOTS  BALLAXTS. 

that    follow  them,   that   one  may    reasonably  doubt    their 
original  connection. 

The  marriage  of  James,  second  Marquis  of  Douglas,  in 
1670,  to  Lady  Barbara  Erskine,  eldest  daughter  of  John, 
ninth  Earl  of  Mar,  proved  a  most  unfortunate  one.  By  a 
train  of  proceedings  somewhat  similar  to  those  of  lago, 
a  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Lowrie,  a  discarded  lover  of 
the  heroine,  succeeded  in  completely  breaking  up  the 
affections  of  the  previously  loving  couple  ;  and  the  verses 
form  the  plaint  of  the  abandoned  and  heart-broken  lady. 

0  waly,  waly  up  yon  bank. 

And  waly,  waly  doim  yon  brae  ; 
And  waly  by  yon  bonnie  burnside 
Where  I  anil  my  love  wont  to  gae. 

Hey,  nonnie,  nonnie,  love  is  bonnie, 

A  little  while,  when  it  is  new  ; 
But  when  it's  auld  its  waxes  cauld, 

And  fades  away  like  morning  dew. 

1  leant  my  back  unto  an  aik, 

I  thought  it  was  a  trusty  tree  ; 
But  first  it  bowed,  and  syne  it  brake, 
And  sae  did  my  fause  love  to  me. 

O  wherefore  should  I  busk  my  head, 
Or  wherefore  should  I  kaim  my  hair, 

Since  my  true  love  has  me  forsook, 
And  says  he'll  never  love  me  mair  ! 

O  had  I  wist  before  I  kissed 

That  love  had  been  sae  ill  to  win, 
I'd  locked  my  heart  wi'  a  key  o'  gold, 

And  pinned  it  wi'  a  siller  pin. 

As  we  came  in  by  (j]a>gow  toun. 

We  were  a  comely  sicht  to  see  ; 
My  love  was  clad  in  the  black  velvet, 

And  I  mysel'  in  Cramasie. 


TAYIS  BANK.  281 

Now  Arthur's  Seat  shall  be  my  bed, 

The  sheets  shall  ne'er  be  pressed  by  me  ; 

St.  Anton's  Well  shall  be  my  drink, 
Since  my  love  has  forsaken  me. 

O  Martinmas  wind,  when  wilt  thou  blaw 
And  shake  the  green  leaves  aff  the  tree  ; 

O  gentle  death  when  wilt  thou  come 
And  take  a  life  that  wearies  me  ? 

It's  no  the  frost  that  freezes  fell, 

Nor  driftin'  snaw's  inclemencie  ; 
It's  no  sic  cauld  that  makes  me  cry. 

But  my  love's  heart  grown  cauld  to  me. 

It's  O,  if  my  young  babe  were  born, 

And  set  upon  the  nurse's  knee, 
And  I  mysel'  were  dead  and  gone, 

And  the  green  grass  growing  over  me. 


This  is  one  of  the  oldest  of  our  "Scots  ballants,"  and,  like 
the  minstrelsy  of  the  olden  time  generally,  it  is  probably 
more  a  thing  of  actual  history  than  a  creature  of  the  poet's 
imagination.  It  belongs  to  the  latter  end  of  the  fifteenth 
or  the  early  years  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  is  one  of 
the  most  perfect  lyrical  specimens  of  its  time  extant.  This 
is  its  first  appearance  in  any  ballad  collection.  Its  author- 
ship has  been  attributed  to  King  James  IV.,  and  the 
ascription  is  backed  by  some  show  of  probability  ;  the 
poetic  fire  was  in  his  blood — the  verses  contain  evidence  of 
a  high  paternity — aud  whether  himself  the  "makkar"  or 
not,  his  Majesty  is  obviously  the  first  person  in  the  ballad. 
The  ill-fated  "  Bonnie  Margaret  Drummond  "  is  as  obviously 
the  heroine  of  the  verses  ;  and  the  beautiful  banks  of  the 
river  Tay  in  the  vicinity  of  Stobhall  will  henceforth  possess 
an  additional  attraction  for  all  who  may  here  meet  with  the 


282  AULD  SCOTS  KALLANTS. 

ballad  for  the  first  time.  Our  royal  wooer,  we  can  well 
imagine,  while  a  gues-t  at  Stobhall,  had  stolen  unobserved 
from  the  Castle  to  keep  tryst  with  his  fair  inamorata  in  the 
sweet,  inviting  seclusion  afforded  by  the  wooded  bank  of 
the  river,  and  imj^atient  to  enjoy  unfettered  admiration  of 
his  "  dyament  of  delyt,"  as  he  calls  her,  within  "that 
semely  schaw,"  he  had  gone  early,  and  wiled  away  the 
laggard  moments  inditing  verses  to  his  mistress's  eyebrows. 
The  antiquated  orthography  of  the  effusion  will  prove  a 
bar  of  difficulty  to  many  a  one  in  reading  and  understanding 
it  ;  and  that  the  writer's  drift  might  be  more  readily 
perceived  by  the  general  nineteenth  century  reader.  I  had 
once  thought  of  modernizing  the  spelling,  but  a  trial  at  once 
showed  that  when  rigged  out  in  modern  orthography  very 
much  of  the  native  charm  of  the  verses  had  evaporated. 
Consequently  I  resolved  to  "  lat  weel-dune  alane,  lest  ill- 
dune  micht  follow." 

Quhen  Tayis  bank  was  blumyt  brycht, 

With  blosumes  brycht  and  bred, 
By  that  river  that  ran  doun  rycht 

Vndir  the  ryss  I  red  ; 
The  merle  meltit  with  all  her  mycht 

And  mirth  in  mornying  maid. 
Throw  solace,  sound,  and  semely  sicht, 

Alswth  a  sang  I  said. 

Vndir  that  bank,  quhair  bliss  had  bene, 

I  bownit  me  to  abyde  ; 
Ane  holene,  hevinly  hewit  grene, 

Rycht  heyndly  did  me  hyd  ; 
The  sone  schyne  our  the  schawls  schene 

Full  semely  me  besyd  ; 
In  bed  of  blumes  bricht  besene 

A  sleip  cowth  me  ourslyd. 

About  all  blumet  was  my  bour 

With  blosumes  broun  and  blew, 
Orfret  with  mony  fair  fresch  flour, 

Helsum  of  hevinly  hew  ; 


TAYIS  BANK.  283 

With  shakeris  of  the  schene  clew  schour 

Schynnyng  my  courtenis  schew, 
Arrayit  with  a  rich  vardour 

Of  natouris  werkis  new. 

Rasing  the  birdis  fra  thair  rest, 

The  reid  sun  raiss  with  rawis  ; 
The  lark  sang  loud,  quhiil,  liycht  nycht  lest 

A  lay  of  luvis  lawis  ; 
The  nythingall  woik  of  hir  nest 

Singing  the  day  vpdawis  ; 
The  mirthful!  maveiss  merriest 

Schill  schowttit  throw  the  schawiss. 

All  flouris  grew  that  firth  within, 

That  cowth  haif  in  mynd  ; 
And  in  that  fiud  all  fische  with  fyn. 

That  creat  wer  be  kynd  ; 
Vnder  the  rise  the  ra  did  ryn, 

Our  ron,  our  rute,  our  rynd, 
The  dvn  deir  dansit  with  a  dyn, 

And  herdis  of  hairt  and  hynd. 

Wod  winter  with  his  wallow  and  wynd, 

But  weir,  away  wes  went  ; 
Brasit  about  with  wyld  wodbynd 

Wer  bewis  on  the  bent  ; 
AUone  vndar  the  lusty  lynd 

I  saw  ane  lusum  lent 
That  fairly  war  so  fare  to  fynd 

Vnder  the  firmament. 

Scho  wes  the  lustiest  on  lyve, 

Allone  lent  on  a  land. 
And  fairest  figuor,  be  set,  Syve, 

That  evir  in  firth  I  fand. 


284  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Her  comely  culloiir  to  discryve 

I  dar  nocht  tak  on  hand  ; 
Moir  womanly  borne  of  a  wyfe 

Wes  neuer,  I  dar  warrand. 

To  creatur  that  wes  in  cair, 

Or  cauld  of  creweUy, 
A  blicht  blank  of  her  vesage  bair 

Of  baill  his  bute  mycht  be  ; 
Hir  hyd,  hir  hew,  hir  hevinly  hair 

Mycht  havy  hairtis  uphie  ; 
So  angelik  vnder  the  air 

Neuir  wicht  I  saw  with  E. 

The  blosumes  that  were  biycht  and  brycht 

By  hir  wer  blacht  and  blew  ; 
Scho  gladit  all  the  foull  of  flicht 

That  in  the  forrest  flew  ; 
Scho  mycht  haif  comfort  king  or  knicht 

That  ever  in  cuntre  I  knew, 
As  waill,  and  well  of  warldly  wicht 

In  womanly  vertew. 

Hir  cullour  cleir,  hir  countinance, 

Hir  cumly  cristall  ene, 
Hir  portratour  of  most  plesance, 

All  pictour  did  prevene. 
Off  every  vertew  to  avance 

Quhen  ladeis  prasit  bene, 
Rychtest  in  my  remembrance 

That  rose  is  rutit  grene. 

This  myld,  meik  mensuet  Mergrite, 
This  perle  polist  most  quhyte, 

Dame  Natouris  deir  dochter  discreit, 
The  dyament  of  delyt ; 


TAYIS  BANK.  285 

Never  formit  was  to  found  on  feit 

Ane  figour  more  perfyte. 
Nor  non  on  mold  that  did  hir  meit, 

Mycht  mend  hir  wirth  a  myte. 

This  myrthfull  maid  to  meit  I  went, 

And  merkit  furth  on  mold  ; 
Bot  sone  within  a  wane  sho  went, 

Most  hevinly  to  behold  ; 
The  bricht  sone  with  his  bemys  blent 

Vpoun  the  bertis  bold, 
Farest  vnder  the  firmament 

That  formit  wes  on  fold. 

A  paradyce  that  place  but  peir 

Wes  plesant  to  my  sicht ; 
Of  forrest,  and  of  fresch  reveir, 

Of  firth,  and  fowll  of  flicht, 
Of  birdis,  bath  on  bonk  and  breir, 

^Yith  blumes  breck  and  bricht 
As  hevin  in  to  this  erd  doun  heir, 

Hertis  to  hald  on  hicht, 

So  went  this  womanly  away 

Amang  thir  woddis  wyd, 
And  I  to  heir  thir  birdis  gay 

Did  in  a  bonk  abyd  ; 
Quhair  ron  and  ryss  raiss  in  aray 

Endlang  the  reuer  syd  ; 
This  hapnit  me  in  a  time  in  May 

In  till  a  morning  tyd. 

The  reuer  throw  the  ryse  cowth  rowt. 

And  roseris  raiss  on  raw  ; 
The  schene  birdis  full  schill  cowth  schowt 

Into  that  semely  schaw  ; 


286  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

Joy  was  within  antl  joy  without, 
Vnder  that  viilenkest  waw, 

Quhair  Tay  ran  down  with  stremis  stout 
Full  slrccht  vnder  Stobschaw. 


BcUc  nDa}:c3aret. 

Thejsubjoined  meritorious  ballad  has  not,  so  far  as  I  am 
aware,  appeared  in  any  previous  collection — certainly  in 
no  previous  collection  of  any  importance.  It  is  evidently  a 
modern  imitation  of  the  old  romantic  style.  It  came  to  my 
hand  sometime  ago  in  MS.  from  a  Border  correspondent, 
who  had  kept  it  for  some  time  and  could  not  remember 
how  it  came  into  his  possession  or  anything  about  it. 

Glenewan,  he  was  the  bonniest  knight 

In  a'  the  King's  companie. 
Belle  Margaret,  she  was  the  fairest  maid 

In  a'  the  south  countrie. 

The  King  and  his  train  have  huntin'  gane, 

Huntin'  the  roe  and  deer. 
And  they  lighted  down  at  her  father's  yett. 

And  batle  him  make  good  cheer. 

When  a'  the  tables  were  spread  and  ser'd. 

And  they  sat  down  to  dine. 
Oh,  in  there  cam'  J5elle  Margaret, 

And  a'  to  pour  the  wine. 

Her  heid-gear  was  o'  the  pearls  white, 

And  o'  the  emeralds  green, 
But  naebody  saw  the  jewels  she  wore 

For  love  o'  her  bonnie  een. 


BELLE  MARGARET.  287 

Her  dress  was  o'  the  silken  web, 

Weel  broiclered  roond  \\i'  lace, 
But  naebody  saw  the  gown  she  wore, 

For  love  o'  her  bonnie  face. 

The  King  looked  on  Belle  Margaret 

As  low  she  looted  doon, 
"  It  seems  to  me  this  bonnie  May 

Fu'  weel  wad  set  a  croon." 

The  King  looked  after  Belle  Margaret 

As  she  gaed  doon  the  ha', 
"  I  swear  she  has  the  fairest  face 

That  ever  a  mortal  saw. 

•'  O  tell  me^wha  is  yon  fair  ladye. 

And  of  what  kin  she  came  ?  " 
"She's  my  a'e  daughter — my  only  bairn, 

Belle  Margaret  is  her  name." 

"An  askin',  an  askin'  kindly,  laird, 

An  askin'  grant  o'  mine." 
"  What  needs  an  askin',  sir,"  he  said, 

"  When  a'  I  ha'e  is  thine  ?  " 

"  I  winna  ask  o'  gowd  or  gear, 

Nor  yet  o'  land  or  fee, 
But  I'll  ask  your  daughter.  Belle  Margaret, 

To  be  queen  o'  my  land  and  me." 

The  father  left  the  stately  ha', 

A  joyfu'  man  was  he. 
And  when  he  came  to  his  daughter's  bower 

He  looted  to  his  knee. 

"  Rise  up,  rise  up,  dear  father,"  she  said, 

"  What  means  this  courtesie  ? 
It  ill  befits  thee,  father  dear. 

To  bend  the  heid  to  me." 


2SS  AULD  SCOTS  IIALLAXTS. 

"  It  weel  befits  me,  daughter,"  he  said, 

"  To  do  as  I  have  seen  ; 
This  day  ye  are  my  a'e  daughter. 

The  morn  you'll  be  my  queen. 

"This  day  I'm  but  a  simple  laird 

Wi'  little  land  in  fee, 
But  the  morn  I'll  be  the  foremost  man 

In  the  King's  brave  companie." 

Oh,  she  grew  red,  and  rosy  red, 
And  she  grew  pale  and  wan  ; 

"  I  little  ihocht  my  loveliness 

Wad  be  wared  on  an  auld  grey  man." 

"  For  shame,  for  shame.  Belle  Margaret, 

Sic  words  o'  scorn  to  say. 
The  proodest  dame  in  a'  the  land 

May  envy  ye  this  day. 

"  For  where  ye  drank  the  wan  water, 
Ve  noo  shall  drink  the  wine  ; 

Your  very  horse  be  shod  wi'  gowd. 
And  wi'  the  siller  fine. 

"  Ye  shall  ha'e  maidens  thrice  three  .score 

To  be  at  your  command  ; 
And  the  greatest  noble  in  the  realm 

Be  prood  to  kiss  your  hand. 

"Come  down,  come  down  Belle  Margaret, 

Amongst  the  companie  ; 
This  night  the  King  makes  feast  and  mirth. 

The  morn  he'll  wedded  be/' 

Belle  Margaret  sits  and  speaks  nae  word, 
But  pale  and  wan  looks  she  ; 

Then  by  there  comes  her  foster  brother, 
Says,  "  Margaret,  what  ails  thee?" 


BELLE  MARGARET.  289 

"  There's  naething  ails  me,  Ritchie,"  she  said, 

"There's  naething  wrang  wi'  me  ; 
But  I'm  blate  amang  the  stranger  lords 

And  the  gay,  gay  companie. 

"Oh,  tell  me  wha's  yon  stout  auld  knight 

Sits  at  the  King's  right  hand  ?  " 
"  That's  gude  Earl  Moray,"  Ritchie  said, 

"  Better  ne'er  bore  a  brand." 

"And  wha  is  yon — yon  sturdy  man 

That  looks  so  black  and  grim  ?  " 
"  Yon  is  the  laird  of  Cattersha', 

And  weel  the  King  lo'es  him." 

"  And  wha  is  yon — yon  blythe  young  knight 

Wi'  the  gay,  gay  glancin'  e'e  ?  " 
"  Oh,  that  is  young  Glenewan,"  he  said, 

"The  flower  o'  chivalrie." 

Belle  Margaret  sighed.      "  Thanks,  Ritchie  dear. 

Now  leave  and  let  me  be. 
For  I've  a  pain  into  my  side, 

And  sair  it  wearies  me." 

Belle  Margaret  filled  the  the  goblet  fu', 

To  each  she  gied  his  share, 
But  when  she  came  to  Glenewan's  side 

She  passed  as  nane  were  there. 

Glenewan  he  frowned  and  bit  his  lip 

A  slighted  man  to  be, 
But  when  she  had  gane  through  the  ha' 

There  was  nane  but  slept  save  he. 

Belle  Margaret  came  unto  his  side. 

She  knelt  upon  her  knee. 
Says — "  Gentle  knight,  come  let  us  ride — 

Thegither  let  us  flee." 

T 


290  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"  If  I  should  steal  or  govvd  or  gear, 

I'd  dree  the  judgment  pain, 
Much  mair  gin  I  stole  the  bonnie  May 

The  King  marks  for  his  ain. 

"  And  daur  ye  venture,  Belle  Margaret, 

An  outlaw's  wife  to  ride, 
When  ye  may  be  fair  Scotland's  queen  ? 

I  counsel  you  to  bide." 

"  Aweel,  aweel,  Glenewan,"  she  said 

"I'll  no  ask  twice  of  ye, 
I've  a'e  dear  foster  sister. 

Sae  weel  as  she  lo'es  me  ! 

"  I'll  bid  her  busk  her  like  a  page 

And  ride  alang  wi'  me, 
I  winna  wed  wi'  the  auld  grey  King, 

Far  rather  wad  I  dee." 

He  turned  and  swore  by  the  mune  and  stars, 

"  It's  ne'er  be  said  o'  me 
That  for  a  May  sae  brave  and  fair 

I  wadna  daur  to  dee." 

And  he  has  saddled  the  bonnie  broon  steed, 
And  she  has  saddled  the  grey. 

And  by  the  dim  light  o'  the  mune 
The  twasome  rade  away. 

They  raile  and  rade,  and  they  better  rade. 

By  the  a'e  licht  o'  the  mune, 
Until  they  came  to  St.  Elmie's  tower, 

And  the  priest  has  made  them  ane. 

And  he  has  biggit  a  bonnie  bower 
Among  the  gay  green  heather, 

And  there  for  mony  a  happy  year 
The  twasome  dwelt  thegither. 


THE  GAY  GOSS-HAWK.  291 

They  sought  them  here,  they  sought  them  there, 

They  sought  them  far  and  wide, 
But  never  mair  the  auld  grey  King 

Saw  either  squire  or  bride. 


Zbc  (5a^  (5o60^1bawl^. 

There  are  three  distinct  versions  of  this  fascinating  old 
ballad — that  printed  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  the  "  Border 
Minstrelsy,"  under  the  above  title  ;  that  by  Motherwell  in 
his  "Minstrelsy  Ancient  and  Modern,"  entitled  "The 
Jolly  Goss-Hawk  ;  "  and  another  version  given  by  Buchan 
in  his  "Ancient  Ballads,"  under  the  title  of  "  The  Scottish 
Squire."  Some  difference  of  opinion  has  existed  as  to 
whether  Scott's  or  Motherwell's  copy  is  the  best.  Dr. 
Robert  Chambers  awarded  the  palm  to  the  former,  and  I 
think  with  good  reason.  At  the  same  time  it  deserves  to 
be  noted  that  so  good  a  judge  as  Professor  Aytoun  asserted 
a  preference  for  the  latter,  and  himself  furnished,  by 
collation  and  excision,  a  version  shorter  than  any  previous 
one.  Dr.  Chambers  has  attempted  to  prove  that  the 
ballad  was  the  production  of  Lady  Wardlaw,  the  reputed 
authoress  of  "  Hardyknute,"  but  although  his  theorising 
is  ingenious  it  cannot  be  regarded  as  conclusive.  He 
notes  the  style  of  luxurious  description,  so  different  from 
the  bold  style  of  the  ballads  of  the  people,  and  the  circum- 
stance that  it  is  st'Vc^n  brothers  that  hew  the  heroine's  bier, 
and  seve/i  sisters  that  sew  her  shroud — seveji  being  the 
number  of  the  brothers  of  the  heroine  in  "  Clerk  Saunders," 
who  discover  the  sleeping  lovers,  and  seven  being  the 
number  of  the  brothers  of  Lord  William's  mistress  in  the 
"Douglas  Tragedy" — and  would  fain  make  out  that 
"Hardyknute,"  "Sir  Patrick  Spens,"  "Gil  Morrice," 
"Clerk  Saunders,"  "Johnie  o'  Bradislee,"  and  the 
"  Douglas  Tragedy,"  and  others,  had  a  common  feminine 
origin.  But  his  contentions  in  the  connection  take  largely 
the  form  of  special  pleading,  and  are  not  at  all  reliable. 
Why,  seven  is  a  conventional  number  in  ballad  literature, 
and  cannot  on  any  account  be  taken  as  evidence  that 
compositions  in  which  it  occurs  have  a  common  origin. 
In  Buchan's  version,  which  possesses  considerable  merit, 


292  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

a  parrot,  it  may  be  remarked,  takes  the  place  of  tlie  goss- 
haw  k  as  the  messenger  of  peace. 

The  subjoined  is  Sir  Walter  Scott's  version  : — 

"  O  waly,  waly,  my  gay  goss-hawk, 

Gin  your  feathering  be  sheen  ;  " 
"And  waly,  waly,  my  master  dear, 

Gin  ye  look  |:iale  and  lean. 

"  O  have  ye  tint  at  tournament. 

Your  sword,  or  yet  your  spear  ? 
Or  mourn  ye  for  the  Southern  lass, 

\Miom  you  may  not  win  near  ?  " 

"  I  have  na  tint  at  tournament 

My  sword  nor  yet  my  spear  ; 
But  sair  I  mourn  for  my  true  love 

Wi'  mony  a  bitter  tear. 

"But  weel's  me  on  ye,  my  gay  goss-ha\vl<, 

^'e  can  baith  speak  and  flee  ; 
Ve  sail  carry  a  letter  to  my  love. 

Bring  an  answer  back  to  me." 

"  But  how  sail  I  your  true  love  find, 

Or  how  should  I  her  knaw? 
I  bear  a  tongue  ne'er  wi'  her  spak', 

An  eye  that  ne'er  her  saw." 

"  O  wecl  sail  ye  my  true  love  ken, 

Sae  sune  as  ye  her  see  ; 
For  o'  a'  the  flowers  o'  fair  England 

The  fairest  flower  is  she. 

"The  red  that's  on  my  true  love's  cheek 

Is  like  blood-draps  on  the  snaw  ; 
The  white  that  is  on  her  bare  breast, 

Like  the  down  o'  the  while  sea-maw. 


THE  GAY  GOSS-HAWK.  293 

"  And  even  at  my  love's  bower  door 

There  grows  a  flowering  birk  ; 
And  ye  maun  sit  and  sing  thereon 

As  she  gangs  to  the  kirk. 

*'  And  four-and-twenty  fair  ladies 

Will  to  the  mass  repair  ; 
But  vreel  may  ye  my  ladye  ken, 

The  fairest  ladye  there." 

Lord  William  has  written  a  love  letter, 

Put  it  under  his  pinion  grey  ; 
And  the  bird  is  awa'  to  Southern  lands, 

As  fast  as  wings  can  gae. 

And  even  at  that  ladye's  bower 

There  grew  a  flowering  birk  ; 
And  he  sat  down  and  sung  thereon 

As  she  gaed  to  the  kirk. 

And  weel  he  kent  that  ladye  fair 

Amang  her  maidens  free  ; 
For  the  flower  that  springs  in  May  morning 

Was  nae  sae  sweet  as  she. 

He  lighted  at  the  ladye's  yett. 

And  sat  him  on  a  pin  ; 
And  sang  fu'  sweet  the  notes  o'  love, 

Till  a'  was  cosh  within. 

And  first  he  sang  a  low  low  note, 

And  syne  he  sang  a  clear  ; 
And  aye  the  o'erword  o'  the  sang 

Was — "  Your  love  can  no'  win  here." 

"  Feast  on,  feast  on,  my  maidens  a', 

The  wine  flows  you  amang  ; 
While  I  gang  to  my  shot-window, 

And  hear  yon  bonny  bird's  sang. 


294  AULD  SCOTS  BALLANTS. 

"Sing  on,  sing  on,  my  bonnie  bird, 
The  sang  ye  sung  yestreen  ; 

For  weel  I  ken  by  your  sweet  singing 
Ye  ha'e  my  true  love  seen." 

O  tirst  he  sang  a  merry  sang, 

And  syne  he  sang  a  grave  ; 
And  syne  he  peck'd  his  feathers  grey, 

To  her  the  letter  gave. 

"Have  there  a  letter  from  Lord  William, 

He  says  he's  sent  ye  three ; 
He  canna  wait  your  love  langer, 

But  for  your  sake  he"ll  dee." 

"  Gae  bid  him  bake  his  bridal  bread, 

And  brew  his  bridal  ale  ; 
And  I  shall  meet  him  at  Mary's  kirk, 

Lang,  langere  it  be  stale." 

The  ladye's  gane  to  her  chamber. 
And  a  moanfu'  woman  was  she. 

As  gin  she  had  ta'en  a  sudden  brash, 
And  were  about  to  dee. 

"A  boon,  a  boon,  my  father  dear, 

A  boon  I  beg  o'  thee  ! " 
"  Ask  not  that  haughty  Scottish  lord, 

For  him  ye  ne'er  shall  see. 

"  But  for  your  honest  asking  else, 

Weel  granted  it  shall  be." 
"  Then  gin  I  dee  in  Southern  land, 

In  Scotland  gar  bury  me. 

"And  the  first  kirk  that  ye  come  to, 
Ye's  gar  the  mass  be  sung  ; 

And  the  neist  kirk  that  ye  come  to, 
Ve's  gar  the  bells  be  rung. 


THE  GAY  GOSS-HAWK.  295 

"And  when  ye  come  to  St.  Mary's  kirk, 

Ye's  tarry  there  till  night." 
And  so  her  father  pledged  his  word, 

And  so  his  promise  plight. 

She  has  ta'en  her  to  her  bigly  bower. 

As  fast  as  she  could  fare  ; 
And  she  has  drank  a  sleepy  draught, 

That  she  had  mixed  wi'  care. 

And  pale,  pale  grew  her  rosy  cheek, 

That  was  sae  bright  o'  blee  ; 
And  she  seemed  to  be  as  surely  dead 

As  any  one  could  be. 

Then  spak'  her  cruel  step-minnie, 

"  Tak'  ye  the  boiling  lead 
And  drap  a  drap  on  her  besome, 

To  try  if  she  be  dead." 

They  took  a  drap  o'  boiling  lead, 

They  drapp'd  it  on  her  breist  ; 
"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  her  father  cried, 

"  She's  dead  without  the  priest  !  " 

She  neither  chattered  wi'  her  teeth, 

Nor  chivered  wi'  her  chin  ; 
"  Alas  !  alas  !  "  her  father  cried, 

"  There  is  nae  breath  within." 

Then  up  arose  her  seven  brothers. 

And  hew'd  to  her  a  bier  ; 
They  hew'd  it  frae  the  solid  oak, 

Laid  it  o'er  wi'  silver  clear. 

Then  up  and  gat  her  seven  sisters. 

And  sewed  to  her  a  kell ; 
And  every  steek  that  they  put  in, 

Sewed  to  a  siller  bell. 


296  AULU  SCOTS  DALLANTS. 

The  first  Scots  kirk  that  they  cam'  to, 

They  garr'd  the  mass  be  sung ; 
The  neist  Scots  kirk  that  they  cam'  to, 

They  garr'd  the  bells  be  rung. 

But  when  they  cam'  to  St,  Mary's  kirk, 
There  stood  spearmen  all  in  a  raw  ; 

And  up  and  started  Lord  William, 
The  chieftain  amang  them  a'. 

"  Set  down,  set  down  the  bier,"  he  said, 

"  Let  me  look  her  upon  ; " 
But  as  soon  as  Lord  William  touched  her  hand, 

Her  colour  began  to  come. 

She  brightened  like  the  lily  (lower, 

Till  her  pale  colour  was  gone  ; 
With  rosy  cheek  and  ruby  lip. 

She  smiled  her  love  upon. 

"  A  morsel  o'  your  bread,  my  Lord, 

And  one  glass  o'  your  wine  ; 
For  I  hae  fasted  these  three  lang  days, 

All  for  your  sake  and  mine. 

"  Gae  hame,  gae  hame,  my  seven  bauld  brollK;rs 

Gae  hame  and  blaw  your  horn  ! 
I  trow  ye  wad  ha'e  gi'en  me  the  skaith, 

But  I've  gi'en  you  the  scorn. 

"  Commend  me  to  my  grey  father, 

That  wished  my  saul  gude  rest  ; 
But  wae  be  to  my  cruel  step-dame, 

Garr'd  burn  me  on  the  breast." 

"Ah,  woe  to  you,  you  light  woman  ! 

An  ill  death  may  you  dee  ! 
For  we  left  father  and  sisters  at  hame 

Breaking  their  hearts  for  thee." 


^ 


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