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OLD  BALLADS, 

HISTORICAL   AND    NARRATIVE, 

WITH  SOME  OF  MODERN  DATE; 
COLLECTED  FROM  RARE  COPIES  AND  MSS. 

BY  THOxMAS  EVANS. 


A  NEW  EDITION, 

REVISED  AND  CONSIDERABLY  ENLARGED  FROM  PPBLIC  AND 
PRIVATE  COLLECTIONS,  BY  HIS  SON, 

R.   H.    EVANS. 


IN  FOUR  VOLUMES. VOL.  IV. 


LONDON: 


iUc57o7 

6>  '  fu     Dp 


PRINTED  FOR  R.  H.  EVANS,  PALL-MALL, 

BY  W.  BUI.MER  AND  CO.  CLEVELAND-ROW. 

1810. 


oavioa 


T-Vm  7jr 


T'TiiT^ 


CONTENTS  OF  THE  FOURTH  VOLUME. 


y  Page 

1  Tom  Thumb .       1 

2  Murder  of  the  two  Brothers,  Lewis  and  Edmund 

West,  by  tKe  Sons  of  the  Lord  Darsy         -         -     16 

3  The  Poor  Child  -  -        -         -         -         -    25 

4  Sympathising  Lover         .         .         -  -  -    29 
6  Amorous  Distress          -          -----     31 

6  Loyal  Lover  -  _-._--     33 

1  The  Lover's  Expostulation  -  -        -         -     35 

8  The  Lover's  Indifference         -        -         -         -        -    38 

9  Bachelor's  Plea  against  Matrimony         -        -        -    40 

10  Caveat  against  Idle  Rumours  -  .        -         -     41 

11  Sonnet  to  the  Virgin  Mary  -  -  -  -     43 

12  Balade  of  a  Shepharde  -  -  -  -         -     46 

13  Sonnet  sung  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  attributed  to 

the  Earl  of  Essex 48 

14  Sonnet  on  Elizabeth  Markhame  -  -  -     49 

15  Bishop  Thurstan  and  the  King  of  Scots  -  -     51 

16  Battle  of  Cuton  Moor 58 

IT  Murder  of  Prince  Arthur        -         -        -         -         -     77 

18  Prince  Edward  and  Adam  Gordon  -  -         -    86 

19  Curanor  Hall         -         -         -        -  -     94 

20  Arabella  Stuart       ------     99 

'21  AnnaBuUen        -        -        -        -        -        -         -       105 

22  The  Lady  and  The  Palmer         -         -        -        -       110 

23  Fair  Maniac         -        -        -        -        -        -        -117 

24  The  Bridal  Bed  -  -----       128 

25  The  LordUng  Peasant         -         -        -        -         -       134 

26  Red-Cross  Knight 148 

27  Wandering  Maid  -        -        -        -        -        -166 

28  Triumph  of  Death 176 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

99  Julia          -         -          -        -        -        -                 -  184 

30  Bitter  Fruits  of  Jealousy          -          -         -         -  1 87 

31  Death  of  Allen          -          -          -          -        -        -  192 

32  Mad  Shepherdess         - 194 

33  Athelgiva 197 

34  Sir  John  Barley-Corn 214 

35  MasMault          -          ------  220 

36  The  Devonshire  Nymph 226 

37  Venus's  Lament  for  Adonis          -         .        _        .  230 

38  Song  of  Richard,  Coeur  de  Lion         -          .        .  231 

39  Military  Song  on  the  French  Champion,  Roland  234 

40  Song  by  Thibaut,  King  of  Navarre      ...  238 

41  Laidley  Worm  of  Spindleston  Heughs         -         -  241 

42  Zayde  and  Zelindaxa          -          -         -         -        -  248 

43  The  Hermit  of  Warkworth         -          .        -        .  254 

44  Ragnar  Lodbrach        -__-_-  293 

45  Hirlas  Owain,  or  the  Drinking-Horn  of  Owen       -  307 

46  Elphin's  Consolation  -         -         -  -         -315 

47  Anglo-Norman  Drinking  Song          -          -         -  318 

48  Lord  Henry  and  Fair  Catherine          .         -          -  320 

49  Cadwallo  and  Elmira          -          -        -        -         -  323 
60  The  Prophecy  of  Queen  Emma         -          -          -  327 

51  Death  of  Earl  Oswald 333 

52  Elfrida  and  Sir  James  of  Perth          ...  336 

53  Ancient  Hunting  Song          .        .        .         -        -  343 

54  A  pleasant  new  Court  Song         .         -        .        -  345 

55  Venus's  Search  after  Cupid         .         .        .        .  350 
66  Love  and  Constancy         _         .         .         -        -  353 

57  Ungrateful  Nanny         ...-_-  355 

58  Song  by  Sir  Robert  Aytoun          ....  357 

59  The    Duke    of  Suffolk's  Address    to  Queen  Ca- 

therine          358 

60  Queen  Katherine's  Song  to  the  Duke  of  SuflFolk  -  360 

61  The  Marquis  of  Montrose's  Address  to  his  Mistress  361 


EVANSES    COLLECTION 


OF 


OLD     BALLADS. 


I. 

TOM  THUMB. 

In  Arthur's  court  Tom  Thumb  did  live, 

A  man  of  mickle  mighty 
The  best  of  all  the  Table  Round 

And  eke  a  doughty  knight. 

His  stature  but  an  inch  in  height. 

Or  quarter  of  a  span. 
Then  think  you  not  this  little  knight. 

Was  prov'd  a  valiant  man  ? 

His  father  was  a  plough-man  plain. 
His  mother  milk'd  the  cow. 

But  yet  the  way  to  get  a  son. 
This  couple  knew  not  how. 

VOL.  IV.  »      . 

■|iJ   lo     r\r.-  -.^.irtri   ;■■■     .    ,.,.,;.r. 


2  OLD  BALLADS. 

Until  such  time  this  good  old  man 

To  learned  Merlin*  goes, 
And  there  to  him  his  deep  desires 

In  secret  manner  shows. 

How  in  his  heart  he  wish'd  to  have 

A  child  in  time  to  come. 
To  be  his  heir,  though  it  might  be 

No  bigger  than  his  thumb. 

Of  which  old  Merlin  thus  foretold. 

That  he  his  wish  should  have. 
And  so  this  son  of  stature  small. 

The  charmer  to  him  gave. 

No  blood  nor  bones  in  him  should  be. 

In  shape  and  being  such. 
That  men  should  hear  him  speak,  but  not 

His  wandering  shadow  touch. 

But  so  unseen  to  go  or  come 

Whereas  it  pleased  him  still ; 
Begot  and  born  in  half  an  hour 

To  fit  his  father's  will. 

And  in  four  minutes  grew  so  fast. 

That  he  became  so  tall 
As  was  the  ploughman's  thumb  in  height. 

And  so  they  did  him  call 

♦  Mr.  Ellis  has  given  a  very  entertaining  history  of  this 
learned  personage  in  the  first  volume  of  his  Metrical 
Romances.  . 


OLD    BALLADS. 

Tom  Thumb,  the  which  the  fairy  queen 
There  gave  him  to  his  name, 

Who  with  her  train  of  goblins  grim. 
Unto  his  christning  came. 

Whereas  she  clothed  him  richly  brave, 

In  garments  fine  and  fair. 
Which  lasted  him  for  many  years 

In  seemly  sort  to  wear. 

His  hat  made  of  an  oaken  leaf. 

His  shirt  a  spider's  web. 
Both  light  and  soft  for  those  his  limbs 

That  were  so  smally  bred. 

His  hose  and  doublet  thistle  down. 

Together  weav'd  full  fine. 
His  stockings  of  an  apple  green. 

Made  of  the  outward  rind. 

His  garters  were  two  little  hairs,  j 

PuU'd  from  his  mother's  eye  ; 

His  boots  and  shoes  a  mouse's  skin, 
There  tanh'd  most  curiously. 

Thus  like  a  lusty  gallant  he 

Adventured  forth  to  go. 
With  other  children  in  the  streets        ,j  /, 

His  pretty  tricks  to  show. 


OLt)  BALLADS. 

Where  he  for  counters,  pins,  and  points^ 

And  cherry  stones  did  play, 
Till  he  amongst  those  gamesters  young 

Had  lost  his  stock  away. 

Yet  could  he  soon  renew  the  same. 

When  as  most  nimbly  he 
Would  dive  into  their  cherry  bags 

And  there  partaker  be. 

Unseen  or  felt  by  any  one. 

Until  a  scholar  shut 
This  nimble  youth  into  a  box. 

Wherein  his  pins  he  put. 

Of  whom  to  be  reveng'd,  he  took 
(In  mirth  and  pleasant  game) 

Black  pots,  and  glasses,  which  he  hung 
Upon  a  bright  sun-beam. 

The  other  boys  to  do  the  like. 

In  pieces  broke  them  quite  ; 
For  which  they  were  most  soundly  whipt. 

Whereat  he  laugh'd  outright. 

And  so  Tom  Thumb  restrained  was 
From  these  his  sports  and  play. 

And  by  his  mother  after  that 
Compell'd  at  home  to  stay» . 


OLD  BALLADS. 

Whereas  about  a  Christmas  tune. 
His  father  a  hog  had  kill'd. 

And  Tom  would  see  the  puddings  made, 
For  fear  they 'should  be  spill'd.* 

He  sat  upon  the  pudding  bowl. 

The  candle  for  to  hold, 
Of  which  there  is  unto  this  day 

A  pretty  pastime  told. 

For  Tom  fell  in,  and  could  not  be 

For  ever  after  found. 
For  in  the  blood  and  batter  he 

Was  strangely  lost  and  drown'd. 

Where  searching  long,  but  all  in  vain, 

His  mother  after  that 
Into  a  pudding  thrust  her  son. 

Instead  of  minced  fat. 

Which  pudding  of  the  largest  size. 

Into  the  kettle  thrown. 
Made  all  the  rest  to  fly  thereout. 

As  with  a  whirlwind  blown. 

For  so  it  tumbled  up  and  down 

Within  the  liquor  there. 
As  if  the  devil  had  been  boil'd. 

Such  was  his  mother's  fear. 

*  i.  e.  spoiled. 


OLD  BALLADS. 

That  up  she  took  the  pudding  straight, 

And  gave  it  at  the  door 
Unto  a  tinker  which  from  thence 

In  his  black  budget  bore. 

But  as  the  tinker  climb'd  a  stile, 

By  chance  he  let  a  crack. 
Now  gip,  old  knave,  out  cried  Tom  Thumb, 

There  hanging  at  his  back. 

At  which  the  tinker  gan  to  run. 

And  would  no  longer  stay. 
But  cast  both  bag  and  [)udding  down. 

And  thence  hied  fast  away. 

From  which  Tom  Thumb  got  loose  at  last. 

And  home  return'd  again. 
Where  he  from  following  dangers  long 

In  safety  did  remain. 

Until  such  time  his  mother  went 

A  milking  of  her  kine, 
Where  Tom  unto  a  thistle  fast 

She  linked  with  a  twine. 

A  thread  that  held  him  to  the  same. 

For  fear  the  blustring  wind 
Should  blow  him  thence,  that  so  she  might 

Her  son  in  safety  find. 


OLD  BALLADS.  7 

But  mark  the  hap — a  cow  came  by, 

And  up  the  thistle  eat. 
Poor  Tom  withal,  that,  as  a  dock. 

Was  made  the  red  cow's  meat. 

Who  being  miss'd,  his  mother  went 

Him  calling  every  where, 
Where  art  thou,  Tom  ?  where  art  thou^  Tom  ? 

Quoth  he,  here,  mother,  here  : 

Within  the  red  cow's  belly  here. 

Your  son  is  swallowed  up. 
The  which  into  her  fearful  heart 

Most  careful  dolours  put. 

Mean  while  the  cow  was  troubled  much. 

In  this  her  tumbling  womb. 
And  could  not  rest  until  that  she 

Had  backward  cast  Tom  Thumb. 

Who  all  besmeared  as  he  was, 

His  mother  took  him  up. 
To  bear  him  hence,  the  which,  pocHT  lad, 

She  in  her  pocket  put. 

Now  after  this,  in  sowing  time, 

His  father  would  him  have 
Into  the  field  to  drive  his  plough, 

And  thereupon  him  gave. 


OLD  BALLADS. 

A  whip  made  of  a  barley  straw. 

To  drive  the  cattle  on  : 
Where  in  a  furrow'd  land  new  sown 

Poor  Tom  was  lost  and  gone. 

Now  by  a  raven  of  great  strength, 

Away  he  thence  was  borne, 
And  carried  in  the  carrion's  beak 

Even  like  a  grain  of  corn. 

Unto  a  giant's  castle  top. 

In  which  he  let  him  fall. 
Where  soon  the  giant  swallowed  up 

His  body,  clothes  and  all. 

But  in  his  belly  did  Tom  Thumb 

So  great  a  rumble  make. 
That  neither  day  nor  night  he  could 

The  smallest  quiet  take. 

Until  the  giant  had  him  spued 

Three  miles  into  the  sea. 
Whereas  a  fish  soon  took  him  up, 

'And  bore  him  thence  away. 

Which  lusty  fish  was  after  caught. 

And  to  king  Arthur  sent. 
Where  Tom  was  found,  and  made  his  dwarf. 

Whereas  his  days  he  spent. 


OLD  BALLADS. 

Long  time  in  lively  jollltyj  ' 

Belov'd  of  all  the  court, 
And  none  like  Tom  was  then  esteem'd 

Among  the  noble  sort. 

Amongst  his  deeds  of  courtship  done. 

His  highness  did  command. 
That  he  should  dance  a  galliard  brave 

Upon  his  queen's  left  hand. 

The  which  he  did,  and  for  the  same 

The  king  his  signet  gave, 
Which  Tom  about  the  middlec3V.are 

Long  time  a  girdle  brave,  nsimf  ;,r  i 

Now  after  this  the  king  would  not 

Abroad  for  pleasure  go. 
But  still  Tom  Thumb  must  ride  with  him. 

Placed  on  his  saddle-bow.       ..>/  yii 

Where  on  a  time  when  as  it  rain'd, 
Tom  Thumb  most  nobly  crept  fi  aH 

In  at  a  button  hole,  where  he  '  :,;,'', 
Within  his  bosom  slept. 

And  being  liear  his  highness  heai^ri  -A ;  t 
He  crav'd  a  wealthy  boon,       s  lAl 

A  liberal  gift/  the  which  the  king  (iM) /A 
Commanded  to  be  done. 


10  OLD  BALLADS. 

For  to  relieve  his  father's  wants, 
And  mother's  being  old  ; 

Which  was  so  much  of  silver  coin 
As  well  his  arms  could  hold. 

And  so  away  goes  lusty  Tom, 
With  three  pence  on  his  back, 

A  heavy  burthen,  which  might  make 
His  wearied  limbs  to  crack. 

So  travelling  two  days  and  nights. 
With  labour  and  great  pain, 

He  came  into  the  house  whereas 
His  parents  did  remain. 

Which  was  but  half  a  mile  in  space 
From  good  king  Arthur's  court. 

The  which  in  eight  and  forty  hours 
He  went  in  weary  sort. 

But  coming  to  his  father's  door. 
He  there  such  entrance  had. 

As  made  his  parents  both  rejoice. 
And  he  thereat  was  glad. 

His  mother  in  her  apron  took 
Her  gentle  son  in  haste. 

And  by  the  fire  side,  within 
A  walnut  shell,  him  placed. 


OLD  BALLADS.  11 

Whereas  they  feasted  hrira  three  days 

Upon  a  hazle  nut, 
Whereon  he  rioted  so  long 

He  them  to  charges  put. 

And  thereupon  grew  wondrous  sick 
Through  eating  too  much  meat. 

Which  was  sufficient  for  a  month 
For  this  great  man  to  eat. 

But  now  his  business  caird  him  forth. 

King  Arthur's  court  to  see. 
Whereas  no  longer  from  the  same 

He  could  a  stranger  be. 

But  yet  a  few  small  April  drops. 

Which  settled  in  the  way. 
His  long  and  weary  journey  forth 

Did  hinder  and  so  stay. 

Until  his  careful  father  took 

A  birding  trunk  in  sport. 
And  with  one  blast  blew  this  his  son 

Into  king  Arthur's  court. 

Now  he  with  tilts  and  tournaments 

Was  entertained  so. 
That  all  the  best  of  Arthur's  knights 

Pid  him  much  pleasure  show. 


12  OLD  BALLADS. 

As  good  Sir  Launcelot  of  the  Lake,* 

Sir  Tristram,  and  Sir  Guy, 
Yet  none  compar'd  with  brave  Tom  Thumb 

For  knightly  chivalry. 

In  honour  of  which  noble  day. 

And  for  his  lady's  sake, 
A  challenge  in  king  Arthur's  court 

Tom  Tliumb  did  bravely  make. 

Gainst  whom  these  noble  knights  did  run. 

Sir  Chinon  and  the  rest, 
Yet  still  Tom  Thumb  with  matchless  might 

Did  bear  away  the  best. 

*  The  venerable  Caxton  becomes  eloquent  in  the  praise 
of  these  worthies ;  "  O  ye  knyghtes  of  Englond  where  is  the 
custome  and  vsage  of  noble  chyualry  that  was  vsed  in  tho 
dayes,  what  do  ye  now  but  go  to  the  baynes  and  play  at 
dyse.  And  some  not  well  aduysed  use  not  honest  and  good 
rule  ageyn  alle  ordre  of  knighthode.  Leue  this,  leue  it  and 
rede  the  noble  volumes  of  sayut  Gn\al,  of  Lancelot,  of 
Galaad,  of  Trystrara,  of  Perse  Forest,  of  Percyual^  of 
Gawayn,  and  many  mo.  There  shalle  ye  see  manhode  cur- 
tosye,  and  gentiencsse."  See  the  Book  of  the  Ordre  of  Chy- 
ualry, 1484.  And  again,  "  O  blessyd  Lord,  whan  I  remembre 
the  grete  and  many  volumes  of  seynt  Graal,  Ghalehot,  and 
Launcelotte  de  Lake,  Gawayne,  Perceual,  Lyouel,  and 
Tristram,  and  many  btber  of  whom  were  ouer  long  to 
reherce,  and  alA)  to  me  unknowen.  But  th'  ystorye  of  the 
sayd  Arthur  is  so  glorious  and  shyning  that'he  is  stalled  in 
the  fyrst  place  of  the  raooste  noble,  beste,  and  worth yest  of 
the  cristen  men."     See  Godefrey  of  Boloyne,  1481. 

For  the  exploits  of  some  of  the  above-mentioned  wor- 
thies, the  reader  may  consult  Way's  Fabliaux,  Ritson's 
Metrical  Romances,  Ellis's  work  on  the  same  subject,  and 
Scot's  edition  of  the  Romance  of  Sir  Tristrem. 


OLD  BALLADS.  13 

At  last  Sir  Lancelot  of  the  Lake 

In  manly  sort  came  in^ 
And  with  this  stout  and  hardy  knight 

A  battle  did  begin. 

Which  made  the  courtiers  all  aghast. 

For  there  that  valiant  man 
Through  Launcelot's  steed,  before  them  all. 

In  nimble  manner  ran. 

Yea,  horse  and  all,  with  spear  and  shield. 

As  hardly  he  was  seen. 
But  only  by  king  Arthur's  self 

And  his  admired  queen. 

Who  from  her  linger  took  a  ring. 

Through  which  Tom  Thumb  made  way. 

Not  touching  it,  in  nimble  sort. 
As  it  was  done  in  play. 

He  likewise  cleft  the  smallest  hair 

From  his  fair  lady's  head. 
Not  hurting  her  whose  even  hand 

Him  lasting  honours  bred. 

Such  were  his  deeds  and  noble  acts 

In  Arthur's  court  there  shown, 
A)B  like  in  all  the  world  beside 

Was  hardly  seen  or  known. 


14  OLD  BALLADS. 

Now  at  these  sports  he  toiled  himself 

That  he  a  sickness  took. 
Through  which  all  manly  exercise 

He  carelessly  forsook. 

Where  lying  on  his  bed  sore  sick. 
King  Arthur's  doctor  came. 

With  cunning  skill  by  physic's  art. 
To  ease  and  cure  the  same. 

His  body  being  so  slender  small. 

This  cunning  doctor  took 
A  fine  prospective  glass,  with  which 

He  did  in  secret  look. 

Into  his  sickened  body  down. 
And  therein  saw  that  death 

Stood  ready  in  his  wasted  guts 
To  seize  his  vital  breath. 

His  arms  and  legs  consum'd  as  small 

As  was  a  spider's  web. 
Through  which  his  dying  hour  grew  on. 

For  all  his  limbs  grew  dead. 

His  face  no  bigger  than  an  ant's. 
Which  hardly  could  be  seen. 

The  loss  of  which  renowned  knight 
Much  griev'd  the  king  and  queen. 


OLD  BALLADS.  15 

And  so  with  peace  and  quietness 

He  left  this  earth  below  j 
And  up  into  the  fairy  land 

His  ghost  did  fading  go. 

Whereas  the  fairy  queen  receiv'd, 

With  heavy  mourning  cheer, 
The  body  of  this  valiant  knight, 

Whom  she  esteem'd  so  dear. 

For  with  her  dancing  nymphs  in  green, 

She  fetch'd  him  from  his  bed, 
With  music  and  sweet  melody 

So  soon  as  life  was  fled. 

For  whoTii  King  Arthur  and  his  knights 

Full  forty  days  did  mourn. 
And  in  remembrance  of  his  name 

That  was  so  strangely  born. 

He  built  a  tomb  of  marble  gray. 

And  year  by  year  did  come 
To  celebrate  the  mournful  day. 

And  burial  of  Tom  Thumb. 

Whose  fame  still  lives  in  England  here, 

Amongst  the  country  sort ; 
Of  whom  our  wives  and  children  small 

Tell  tales  of  pleasant  sport. 


IG  OLD  BALLADS. 


LI. 

The  Murder  of  the  two  Brothers>  Lewis  and  Ed- 
mund Westj  by  the  Sons  of  the  Lord  Darsy. 

[From  a  raaauscript  in  the  Ashmole  Museum,  Oxford.] 

In  histories  of  old  to  read 

He  that  doth  exercise, 
Adventures  strange  may  see  indeed, 

Apparent  to  his  eyes. 

As  I  myself  have  read,  no  doubt, 
In  authors  many  one,  ...    \  . 

Wherein  the  acts  hath  been  set  out 
Of  many  dead  and  gone. 

Of  some  which  in  their  lives  have  done 

Acts  dign*  of  note  and  fame  : 
And  some  have  wrought  whereby  was  woo 

Notes  of  reproach  and  blame. 

And  as  the  worthy  to  our  sight 

Are  glasses  to  ensue. 
So  are  the  others  mirrors  right 

Of  shame  for  to  eschew. 

*  Worthy. 


OLD  BALLADS.  17 

Of  Hercules  and  Jason  strong  rfgooilrf^  SiiioJS- 
I  cannot  shew  tlie  facts^  '  oT 

Of  Hector  eke  it  were  too  lopg  '    ai<toB 

To  name  his  noble  adl:^?UBo  )«[)  djj./I  ^A 

Of  Achilles  and  Troilus  sure    .     ....       ,. 

The  deeds  worthy  and  grehi^n' ihlrf  ai&l<d 
It  passeth  far  of  me  the  cure  ^-sno  flftjrf'F 

At  this  time  to  intreat.         jifum  seodW    - 

Of  Launcelot  and  strong  Tristitm -.^  x^^o§  ^ 

I  cannot  speak  this  hour. 
Which  were  alway  where  they  became 

Of  chivalry  the  flower.  ' 

With  those  and  more  which  lil^c,  tUeoi  wi^TJ^  j 
In  worthiness  and  strength,%.<lj 'loaii.iW 

Which  at  the  last  by  envy's  siiare,./i  vtoiI  iuH 
Consumed  were  at  length.     [r.h^Jo  10 w  I 

The  cause  whereof  the  truth  to  tdi(fIol  rliaf!. 

Is  easy  for  to  name,  ■ta  eno<? 

Even  that  they  did  so  far  excel        t,  n  ,,_;    , 

In  worthiness  and  fame. 

Which  thing  in  theme  some  did  envy 

So,  for  the  truth  to  say, 
That  by  all  means  they  did  apply 

To  bring  them  out  a-the-way. 

VOL.  IV.  C 

♦Lloillad?}  tfionTt  aolim  safa  \oi.. 


■i-^-it 


18  OLD  BALLADS. 

Some  throngli  guilt  and  truthless  train 
To  death  no  douht  were  brought ; 

Some  cruelly  of  jar  were  slain, 
As  hate  the  cause  had  wrought. 

Yet  was  there  none  among  them  all 
Slain  with  more  cruel  spight, 

Than  one,  whom  now  to  mind  I  call 
Whose  name,  Lewis  West,  hight.* 

A  goodly  gentleman  and  squire, 

Ws  any  in  this  land ; 
And  dwelling  was  within  Yorkshire, 

You  shall  well  understand. 

I  know  not  well  what  the  cause  was. 
Whereof  the  hate  did  spring. 

But  how  indeed  it  came  to  pass, 
I  will  declare  the  thing. 

Both  John  and  George  by  name. 
Sons  unto  the  lord  Darsy, 

As  men  whose  hearts  ieref  did  flame. 
Void  of  all  grace  and  mercy. 

The  xvii.  day  of  April  plain, 
To  make  hereof  short  tales. 

Assaulted  him  to  have  him  slain. 
At  his  own  house  at  TFales.X 

*  WascaUed.  +  ^'^  ? 

+  In  Yorkshire,  niae  miles  from  Sheffield. 


OLD  BALLADS  iO 

Having  with  them  twelve  men  indeed. 

Their  quarrel  to  assist. 
Yet  at  that  time  they  could  not  speed. 

But  of  their  purpose  mist. 

At  Ayton  the  vii.  day  of  May 

With  seventeen  more  right  tall. 
They  did  assault  and  much  assay 

Upon  him  eke  to  fall. 

But  Lewis  West,  that  gentle  squire. 

As  evidence  is  rife. 
Did  ever  more  of  them  desire. 

Not  to  attempt  such  strife.  -l 

The  lord  Darsy  yet  made  behest. 

And  did  there  undertake. 
Between  his  sons  and  Lewis  West,  ^ 

An  unity  to  make. 

This  Lewis  West  he  meant  none  ill. 

But  thought  all  had  been  sure. 
But  they  no  doubt  went  forward  still. 

His  death  for  to  procure. 

And  at  the  fair  at  Rotherham 

Appeared  very  well. 
Which  on  the  next  Monday  then  came ; 

In  Whitsun  week  it  fell. 


so  OLD  BALLADS. 

Thither  rode  Lewis  West  full  straight. 
And  Edmund  West,  his  brother ; 

Twelve  tall  yeoraen  on  him  did  wait^ 
His  servants,  and  none  other. 

Both  John  and  George  Darsy  also 
Came  thither  with  their  band. 

And  all  that  day  about  did  go 
With  him  to  fall  in  liand. 

But  when  the  same  it  would  not  be. 
They  did  consult  full  straight, 

Ajid  soon  between  themselves  agree. 
Homeward  him  to  await. 

Which  done  they  rode  there  ways  afore 
To  Ayeton,  three  mile  thence  ; 

And  lay  in  wait  with  men  three  score. 
Armed  to  make  defence. 

With  privy  coats,  and  shirts  of  mail. 
With  weapons  of  each  kind. 

Wherewith  they  thought  them  to  assail. 
Afore  and  eke  behind. 

Thereof  nought  wist  the  brethren  twain, 

Lewis,  and  Edmund  West, 
But  rode  together  home  again. 

At  time  when  they  thought  best. 


OLD  BALLADS.  21 

But  as  they  rode  homeward  that  tide 

At  once  withouten  let. 
They  found  themselves  on  every  side 

With  enemies  beset. 

"  Good  brother/'  then  said  Lewis  West, 

"  We  are,  I  see,  betray'd, 
''  Yet  let  us  now  do  even  our  best," 

Whereto  then  Edmund  ^aid, 

"  Whilst  I,"  quoth  he,  "  may  lift  my  hand, 

"  Having  my  life  and  breath, 
"  With  thee,  my  brother,  I  will  stand 

"  Unto  the  very  death." 

The  gentle  squire  to  his  men  spake. 

Asking  of  them  that  stound. 
If  they  with  him  such  part  would  take^ 

As  he  would  on  the  ground. 

To  whom  they  answer'd  by  and  bye, 

Saying,  '^  We  are  thy  men 
"  And  with  thee  will  both  live  and  die, 

"  Though  each  of  them  were  ten." 

With  that,  John  Darsy  forth  did  break. 

And  said  to  Lewis  West, 
"  I  have  a  word  with  thee  to  speak, 

**  To  draw  thy  sword  is  best." 


22  OLD  BALLADS. 

«  I  have  no  thing  with  you  a-do," 

Then  said  that  gentle  squire, 
«  But  homewards  on  our  way  to  go, 
«  Let  us,  I  you  desire." 

John  Darsy  then  to  him  did  say, 

«  A  very  knave  thou  art, 
«  And  or  thou  pass  from  me  away      ^^ 

«  My  sword  shall  pierce  thy  heart.' 

West  said  unto  the  Darsy  then, 
"  The  match  is  nothing  like, 

«  That  ten  or  twelve  against  one  man 
^.'  At  once  should  fight  or  strike." 

«  A  gentleman  I  know  you  be, 
"  And  so  your  weight*  am  I, 

«  With  shame  therefore  morduref  not  me, 
«  But  thus  the  matter  try." 

«  Come  you,  and  four  of  your  best  men, 
«  At  once,  and  fight  with  me, 

«  And  further  more  if  you  will  then, 
«  To  each  of  my  men  three." 

«  And  if  you  chance  to  slay  me  now, 

a  \  do  you  clean  remit, 
«  And  if  I  chance  for  to  slay  you, 

«  Thereof  do  me  acquit." 

*  Weight,  i.e.  equal.  +  MurdT. 


OLD  BALLADS.  23 

The  Darsys  then  made  no  delay^ 

With  all  their  rout  y-fere^ 
But  all  at  once  did  them  assay,  ? 

To  slay  that  worthy  squire.  •?  X^di  zi.. 

Who  with  his  sword  and  buckler  strong, 

Against  them  made  defence. 
But  that,  alas  !  could  not  be  long  mn  .i:;*) 

Against  that  violence.  ■    ■  -.A  AA'X   • 

His  sword  was  broken  to  his  hand. 

Wherewith  he  manly  fought. 
Which  his  enemies  should  else  have  found,     ' 

And  haply  dear  have  bought. 

One  pierced  there  the  body  thorough. 

Of  that  right  worthy  wight. 
Unto  his  brother's  mortal  sorrow,  i3<i  boO 

Which  saw  that  doleftjl  sight.  *^^    '^ 

Yet  clasped  he  the  Darsys  twainy^  tSiiupg  silT 
,     And  cast  them  to  the  ground  j      ^-^iioh  ye  J 
And  had  them  T>oth  undoubted  slain'j^^  fh;  ^  '*. 
Had  they  not  succour  found. 

Which  him  anon  from  them  off  tost,  - 

And  threw  him  down  aside,  ""'  i<^  ^>2fi0  im* 

Who  forth  M'ithall  gave  up  the  ghost, 
And  there  amongst  them  died. 


24  OLD  BALLADS. 

Yet  Edmund  West,  his  brother  dear. 

Bestrode  him  in  that  case: 
Till  he  was  fell'd,  and  dead  right  near. 

As  they  thought  in  that  place. 

A  piper  with  the  Darsys  was, 

I  know  not  well  his  name. 
Which  cried  loud,  and  said,  "  Alas  ! 

"  This  is  too  great  a  shame." 

One  of  the  Darsys  heard  that  word. 

And  as  a  man  past  grace. 
Pierced  him  thorough  with  his  sword. 

Right  in  that  present  place. 

Which  thing  once  done,  they  fled  indeed, 
With  all  their  band  there  was, 

God  send  all  such,  ones  ill  to  speed. 
And  here  to  live  short  days. 

The  squire,  and  one  of  hLs  meif  tbefe. 

Lay  dead  upon  the  ground. 
And  all  the  rest  that  living  were, 

Had  many  a  grievous  woui^d. 

God  send  them  well  to  live  and  fare. 

And  ease  of  all  their  smarts. 
And  for  the  other  sort  prepare, 

That  which  is  their  deserts. 


OLD  BALLADS.  25 

Which  is  most  condign  punishment. 

And  death  for  their  offence. 
And  give  them  grace  for  to  repent. 

Of  their  departure  h^nce. 

A  shameful  thing  it  is  to  ken. 

And  also  most  unfit. 
That  ever  any  gentlemen. 

Such  cruel  [ty]  should  commit. 

A  warning,  lord,  grant  this  to  be 

For  them  to  flee  such  mys. 
Even  thou  that  died  upon  a  tree. 

To  bring  us  to  the  bliss. 


lU. 
THE  POOR  CHILD. 

Tusser,  the  author  of  The  Five  Hundred  Points  of  good 
Husbandry,  and  who  was  born  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII. 
relates,  that,  being  a  child,  and  having  been  sent  by  his 
father  to  a  music  school,  as  was  the  practice  in  those 
times,  he  was  removed  to  Wallingford  college,  where  he 
remained  till  he  was  seized  by  virtue  of  one  of  those  pla- 
cards which  at  that  time  were  issued  out  to  impress  boy* 


26  OLD  BALLADS. 

for  the  service  of  the  several  choirs  in  this  kingdom,  and 
that  at  last  he  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  settled  at  St. 
Paul's,  where  he  had  Redford,  a  skilful  musician,  for  his 
master.  From  St.  Paul's  he  went  to  Eton,  then  to 
Trinity-hall  in  Cambridge,  but  soon  left  the  University, 
and  at  different  times  was  resident  in  various  pacts'ofthe 
kingdom,  where  he  was  successively  a  musician,  school- 
master, serving-man,  husbandman,  grazier,  and  poet,  but 
never  throve  in  any  of  these  several  vocations.  The  Five 
Hundred  Points  of  Husbandry  is  written  in  familiar  verse, 
and  abounds  with  many  curious  particulars  that  bespeak 
the  manners,  the  customs,  and  modes  of  living  in  this 
country,  from  the  year  1520  to  abouthalf  a  century  after ; 
besides  which  it  discovers  such  a  degree  of  oeconoraical 
wisdom  in  the  author,  such  a  sedulous  attention  to  the 
honest  arts  of  thriving,  such  a  general  love  of  mankind, 
such  a  regard  to  justice,  and  a  reverence  for  religion,  that 
we  not  only  lament  his  misfortunes,  but  wonder  at  them  $ 
and  are  at  a  loss  to  account  for  his  dying  poor, who  under- 
stood so  well  the  method  to  become  rich. — See  Hawkins's 
History  of  Music,  Vol.  III. 

1 T  came  to  pass,  that  born  I  was. 
Of  linage  good  and  gentle  blood, 
In  Essex  Layer,  in  village  fair, 

that  Rivenhall  hight  :* 
Which  village  lide  by  Banktree  side, 
There  spend  did  I  mine  infancy ; 
There  then  my  name  in  honest  fame 

remained  in  sight. 

*  Was  called. 


OLD  BALLADS.  27 

I  yet  but  young,  no  speeeh  of  tongue. 

Nor  tears  withal  that  often  fall 

From  mother's  eyes  when  child  out  cries 

to  part  her  fro  ; 
Could  pity  make  good  father  take. 
But  out  I  must  to  sin^  be  thrust ; 
Say  what  I  would,  do  what  I  could, 

his  mind  was  so. 

O  painful  time  \  for  every  crime 
What  toosed  ears,  like  baited  bears  ! 
What  bobbed  lips,  what  perks,  what  nips, 

what  hellish  toys ! 
What  robes  !  how  rare  !  what  college  fare  ! 
What  bread  how  stale  !  what  penny  ale  ! 
Then  Wallingford  how  wert  thou  abhor'd 

of  silly  boys  ! 

Thence  for  my  voice,  I  must  (no  choice) 
Away  of  force  like  posting  horse. 
For  sundry  men  had  placards  then 

such  child  to  take  : 
The  better  breast,  the  lesser  rest* 
To  serve  the  queere,  now  there  now  here  ; 
For  time  so  spent  I  may  repent, 

and  soiTow  make. 

*  '  The  better  brest,  the  lesser  rest, 
la  singing,  the  sound  is  originally  produced  by  the  action 


28  OLD  BALLADS. 

But  mark  the  chance,  myself  to  Vance, 
By  friendship's  lot  to  Paul's  I  got ; 
So  found  I  grace  a  certain  space 

still  to  remain 
With  Redford*  there,  the  like  no  where 
For  cunning  such  and  virtue  much. 
By  whom  some  part  of  music  art 

so  did  I  gain. 

From  Paul's  I  went,  to  Eton  sent 
To  learn  straightways  the  Latin  phrase. 
Where  fifty  three  stripes  given  to  me 
at  once  I  had  : 

the  lungs;  which  are  are  so  essential  an  organ  in  this  re- 
spect, that  to  have  a  good  breast  was  formerly  a  common 
periphrasis  to  denote  a  good  singer.  The  Italians  make  use 
of  the  terms  t^oce  di  petto  and  voce  di  testa  to  signify  two  kinds 
of  voice,  of  which  the  first  is  the  best.  In  Shakspeare's 
comedy  of  Twelfth  Night,  after  the  clown  is  asked  to  sing, 
Sir  Andrew  Aguecheek  says, 

'  By  my  troth  the  fool  hath  an  excellent  breast.' 

And  in  the  statutes  of  Stoke  college  in  Suffolk,  founded  by 
Parker,  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  is  a  provision  in  these 
words:  'Of  which  said  queristers,  after  their  breasts  are 
changed  [i.  e.  their  voices  brokej  we  will  the  most  apt  of 
wit  and  capacity  be  helpen  with  exhibition  of  forty  shill- 
ings, &c.' — Strype's  Life  of  Parker,  p.  9. 

*  John  Redford,  organist  and  almoner  of  St.  Paul's.  Se« 
Hawkins's  Hist,  of  Music,  Vol,  II.  p.  326. 


OLD  BALLADS:  29 

For  fault  but  small  or  none  at  all. 
It  came  to  pass  thus  beat  I  was ; 
See  Udall,*  see  the  mercy  of  thee 
to  me  poor  lad. 


IV. 
THE  SYMPATHISING  LOVER. 

Written  about  iSso. 

J  o  H  N  is  sick  and  ill  at  ease, 
I  am  full  sorry  for  John's  disease  ; 
Alak  good  John  what  may  you  please  ? 
I  stall  bear  the  cost,  by  sweet  saint  Denis. 

*  This  Udali  was  Nicholas  Udall,  styled  by  Bayle,  <  Ele- 

*  gantissimus    omnium    bonarura    literarura   magister,    et 

•  earum  felicissimus  interpres;'  and  that  master  of  Eton 
school  whose  severity  made  divers  of  his  scholars  run  away 
from  the  school  for  fear  of  beating.  Roger  Ascham  tells 
the  story  in  the  preface  to  his  Schoolmaster ;  and  a  specimen 
of  Udall's  elegance  both  inverse  and  prose  may  be  seen  in 
the  appendix  to  Ascham's  works  in  quarto,  pubhshed  by 
JohaBeunet,  1761 


so  OLD  BALLADS. 

She  Is  so  pretty  in  every  degree. 
Good  lord  who  may  a  goodlier  be 
In  favour  and  in  fashion  lo  will  ye  see 
But  it  vrere  an  angel  of  the  Trinity. 

Alak,  good  John,  what  may  you  please  ? 

I  shall  bear  the  cost  by  sweet  saint  Denis, 

Her  countenance  with  her  liniation. 
To  him  that  would  of  such  recreation. 
That  God  hath  ordent  in  his  first  formation. 
Might  well  be  called  conjuration. 

Alak  good  John  what  may  you  please  ? 

I  shall  bear  the  cost  by  sweet  saint  Denis. 

She  is  my  little  pretty  one, 
What  should  I  say  ?  my  mind  is  gone. 
If  she  and  I  were  together  alone, 
I  wis  she  will  not  give  me  a  bone, 
Alas  good  John  shall  all  my  moan 
^    Be  lost  so  soon  ? 

I  am  a  fool, 
J^eave  this  array. 
Another  day 
We  shall  both  play. 
When  we  are  sole.* 

*  Together,  or  by  ourselves. 


OLD  BALLADS.  ai 


THE  AMOROUS  DISTRESS. 

Written  about  1550. 

JriAVE  I  not  cause  to  mourn,  alas  ! 

Ever  whiles  that  my  life  do  dure  ; 
Lamenting  thus  my  sorrowful  case 

In  sighs  deep  without  recure  ? 

Now  remembering  my  hard  adventure. 

Marvellously  making  my  heart  wo  : 
Alas  !  her  looks  have  pierced  me  so  ! 
Sad  is  her  cheer  with  colour  chrystyne. 
More  fairer  of  look  than  fair  Ellen, 
Eyes  gray,  clearer  than  columbyne. 
Never  a  sweeter  of  nature  feminine ; 
Goodly  in  port,  O  what  a  pastime  and  joy 
Have  I  when  I  behold  her  ! 


52  OLD  BALLADS. 

Wofully  oppressed  with  sorrow  and  pain. 
With  sighing  my  heart  and  body  in  distress, 

Grievously  tormented  through  disdain. 

Lacking  the  company  of  my  lady  and  mistress, 
Which  to  attain  is  yet  remedyless  ; 

But  God  of  his  grace  surely  me  send 

By  sorrows  importunate  joyfully  to  amend. 

Is  it  not  sure  a  deadly  pain, 

To  you  I  say  that  lovers  be. 
When  faithful  hearts  must  needs  refrain 

The  one  the  other  for  to  see  ? 

I  you  assure  ye  may  trust  me. 

Of  all  the  pains  that  ever  T  knew 

It  is  a  pain  that  most  I  riie. 


OLD  BALLADS.  83 


VI. 

THE  LOYAL  LOVER. 

Written  about  1550. 

A  s  I  lay  sleeping, 
In  dreams  fleeting, 
Ever  my  sweeting 

Is  in  my  mind  ; 
She  is  so  goodly. 
With  looks  so  lovely. 
That  no  man  truly 

Such  one  can  find. 

Her  beauty  so  pure. 
It  doth  under  lure 
My  poor  heart  full  sure 

In  governance  j 
Therefore  now  will  I 
Unto  her  apply, 
And  ever  will  cry. 

For  remembrance. 

VOL  IV.  D 


U  OLD  BALLADS. 

Her  fair  eye  piercing, 
My  poor  heart  bleeding, 
And  I  abiding, 

In  hope  of  meed ; 
But  thus  have  I  long 
Entuned  this  song, 
With  pains  full  strong. 

And  cannot  speed. 

Alas  will  not  she 
Now  shew  her  pity. 
But  thus  will  take  me 

In  such  disdain ; 
Methinketh  I  wys 
Unkind  that  she  is. 
That  bindeth  me  thus. 

In  such  hard  pain. 

Tliough  she  me  bind. 
Yet  shall  she  not  find 
My  poor  heart  unkind. 
Do  what  she  can  ; 
For  I  will  her  pray. 
Whiles  I  live  a  day. 
Me  to  take  for  aye, 
^  For  her  own  man. 


OLD  BALLADS.  35 

vn. 

THE  LOVER'S  EXPOSTULATION. 

Written  about  1550. 

vJOMPLAiN  I  may. 
And  right  well  say. 
Love  goeth  astray. 

And  waxeth  wild ; 
For  many  a  day 
Love  was  my  prey, 
It  will  alway, 

I  am  beguird. 

I  have  thankless 
Spent  my  service, 
And  can  purchase 

No  grace  at  all ; 
Wherefore  doubtless. 
Such  a  mistress. 
Dame  Pitiless 

I  may  her  call. 


86  OLD  BALLADS. 

For  sikerly. 
The  more  that  I 
On  her  do  try 

On  me  to  thmk  : 
The  less  mercy 
In  her  find  I : 
Alas  I  die. 

My  heart  doth  sink. 

Fortune,  pardy, 
Assigneth  me 
Such  cruelty, 

Withouten  guilt ; 
Ought  not  to  be, 
1  twis  pity, 

0  shame  to  see, 

A  man  so  spilt. 

That  I  should  spill 
For  my  good  will, 

1  think  great  ill. 

Against  all  right  j 
It  is  more  ill. 
She  should  me  kill, 
Whom  I  love  still. 

With  all  my  might. 


OLD  BALLADS.  sf 

But  to  express 
My  heaviness, 
Sith  my  service 

Is  thus  forsake ; 
All  comfortless. 
With  much  distress. 
In  wilderness, 

I  me  betake. 


And  thus  adieu. 
Death  doth  ensue. 
Without  rescue. 

Her     *     *     *     * 
I  trow  a  Jew 
On  me  would  rue. 
Knowing  how  true 
That  I  have  been. 


^8  OLD  BALLADS. 


VIIL 
THE  LOVER'S  INDIFFERENCE. 

If  reason  did  rule. 

And  wit  kept  school. 
Discretion  should  take  place. 

And  heave  our  heaviness. 

Which  banish'd  quietness 
And  made  him  hide  his  face. 

Sith  time  hath  tried. 

And  truth  hath  spied. 
That  fained  faith  is  flattery 

Why  should  disdain 

Thus  over  me  reign. 
And  hold  me  in  captivity  ? 

Why  should  I  cause  my  heart  to  break, 
By  favouring  foolish  fantasy. 

Why  should  despair  me  all  to-tear. 
Why  should  I  join  with  jealousy  ? 


OLD  BALLADS.  $^ 


Why  should  I  trust. 

That  never  was  just. 
Or  love  her  that  loves  many ; 

Or  to  lament 

Time  past  and  spent. 
Whereof  there  is  no  recovery. 

For  if  that  I 

Should  thus  apply. 
Myself  in  all  I  can ; 

Truth  to  take  place. 

Where  never  truth  was, 
I  were  a  foolish  man. 

Set  forth  is  by  science. 
Declare  it  doth  experience, 

By  the  fruit  to  know  the  tree  ; 
Then  if  a  faining  flatterer, 
To  gain  a  faithful  lover, 

It  may  in  no  wise  be. 

Therefore  farewel  flattery, 
Fained  faith  and  jealousy. 

Truth  my  tale  shall  tell  j 
Reason  now  shall  rule. 
Wit  shall  keep  the  school. 

And  bid  you  all  farewel. 


^bsH 


40  OLD  BALLADS. 


IX. 

THE  BACHELOR'S  PLEA  AGAINST 
MATRIMONY. 

1  H  E  bachelor  most  joyfully. 
In  pleasant  plight  doth  pass  his  days, 

Good  fellowship  and  company 

He  doth  maintain  and  keep  alway. 

With  damsels  brave  he  may  well  go. 

The  married  man  cannot  do  so. 
If  he  be  merry  and  toy  with  any. 

His  wife  will  frown,  and  words  give  many  j 

Her  yellow  hose  she  straight  will  put  on. 
So  that  the  married  man  dare  not  displease  his  wife 
Joan. 


OLD  BALLADS.  41 


X. 

CAVEAT  AGAINST  IDLE  RUMOURS. 

Written  about  the  year  1550. 

(jONSiDERiNG  this  world,  and  th'  increase  of  vice. 
Stricken  into  dump^  right  much  I  mused. 

That  no  manner  of  man  be  he  never  so  wise. 
From  all  sorts  thereof  can  be  excused. 

And  one  vice  there  is,  the  more  it  is  used. 
Mo  inconvenience  shall  grow  day  by  day, 

And  that  is  this,  let  it  be  refused. 

Give  no  sure -credence  to  every  hearsay. 

Light  women's  thoughts  will  run  at  large. 

Whether  the  tale  be  false  or  just : 
Tidings  of  alehouse  or  Gravesend  barge. 

Bear-baitings,  or  barbers  shops  is  not  to  trust. 

An  enemy's  tale  is  soon  distrust. 

Ye  shall  perceive  it  partial  alway. 
To  all  the  foresaid  refrain  we  must. 

To  give  sure  credence  to  every  hearsay, 


4i2  OLL»  BALLADS. 

Though  hearsay  be  true,  as  perchance  may  fall. 
Yet  fix  not  thy  credence  too  high, 

And  though  the  teller  seem  right  substantial. 
And  tell  but  hearsay,  why  may  he  not  lie  ? 

Then  betwixt  light  credence  and  a  tongue  hasty, 

Surely  the  guiltless  is  cast  away. 
Condemning  the  absent  that  is  unworthy. 

So  passeth  a  life  from  hearsay  to  hearsay. 

Good  Lord  !  how  some  will  with  a  loud  voice, 

Tell  a  tale  after  the  best  sort. 
And  some  hearers  how  they  will  rejoice, 

To  hear  of  their  neighbours  ill  report ! 

As  though  it  were  a  matter  of  comfort. 

Herein  our  charity  doth  decay. 
And  some  maketh  it  but  game  and  sport,    " 

To  tell  a  lie  after  the  hearsay. 

Tell  a  good  tale  of  God  or  some  saint. 

Or  of  some  miracles  lately  done ; 
Some  will  believe  it  hard  and  stent. 

And  take  it  after  a  full  light  fashion  : 

We  hear  say  Christ  suiFered  passion, 
And  man  shall  revert  to  earth  and  clay. 

The  richest  or  strongest  know  not  how  soon, 
;Pelieve  well  now  this  for  true  is  that  hearsay. 


OLD  BALLADS.  4S 


XI. 
SONNET  TO  THE  VIRGIN  MARY. 


[From  a  book  called  «  Speculum  Christiani,"  printed  by 
Macbliaia  about  1483.] 


Mary  mother  well  thou  be  ! 
Mary  mother  think  on  me  ! 
Maiden  and  mother  was  never  none, 
Together,  lady,  sare  thou  alone. 

Sweet  lady,  maiden  clean. 
Shield  me  from  ill  shame  and  tene,* 
And  out  of  sin,  lady,  shield  thou  me. 
And  out  of  dette  for  charity. 

Lady,  for  thy  joys  five. 

Get  me  grace  in  this  life. 

To  know  and  keep  over  all  thing 

Christian  faith  and  God's  bidding, 

And  truly  wynne  all  that  I  need 

To  me  and  mine  clothe  and  feed. 

»  Wrath. 


44  OLD  BALLADS. 

Help  me,  lady,  and  all  mine. 
Shield  me,  lady,  from  hell  pyne  j* 
Shield  me,  lady,  from  villainy. 
And  from  all  wicked  company. 
Shield  me,  lady,  from  all  shame, 
And  from  all  wicked  fame. 

Sweet  lady,  maiden  mild. 

From  all  fomen  thou  me  schild,  f 

That  the  fiend  me  not  deere. 

Sweet  lady,  thou  me  weere,| 

Both  by  day  and  by  night. 

Help  me,  lady,  with  all  thy  might. 

For  my  friends  I  pray  to  thee. 
That  they  may  saved  be. 
To  their  souls  and  their  life, 
Jjady,  for  thy  joys  five.   ^ 

For  my  fomen  I  pray  also. 
That  they  may  here  so  do. 
That  they  nor  I  in  wrath  die. 
Sweet  lady,  I  thee  pray. 

And  they  that  be  in  deadly  sin. 
Let  them  never  die  therein. 
But,  sweet  lady,  thou  them  rede  J 
For  to  amend  their  misdeed. 

t  Pain.        t  Shield.        +  Defend.        ^  Adrisc, 


OLD  BALLADS.  45 

Sweet  lady,  for  me  thou  pray  to  heaven  king, 
That  he  me  grant  housel,  shrift,  and  good  ending, 
Jesu  for  his  sweet  grace 
In  the  bliss  of  heaven  also  a  place. 

Lady,  as  I  trust  in  thee. 
This  prayer  that  thou  grant  me, 
And  I  shall,  lady,  here  by  life 
Greet  thee  with  Aves  five. 
Sweet  lady,  full  of  wynne,* 
Full  of  grace  and  god  within. 

As  thou  art  flower  of  all  thy  kin. 

Dot  my  follies  for  to  blin,J 

And  shield  [me]  out  of  deadly  sin 

That  I  be  never  take  therein. 

And,  noblest  lady,  grant  me 

That  my  soul  for  my  sin  ne  damned  be. 

»  Joy.  t  Cause.  i  Cease. 


46  OLD  BALLAD^. 


xn. 

«  THE  BALADE  OF  A  SHEPARDE/' 

[From  the  Kaleadar  of  Shepheardes.    Imprynted  by  Julian 
Notary.] 

"  Here  before  tyme  this  boke  was  prynted  in  Parys  into  cor- 
rupt Englysshe,  and  nat  by  no  Englysshe  man,  wherfore 
the  bokes  that  were  brought  into  Englande,  no  man  coude 
understande  them  parfytely  and  no  mervayle,  for  it  is  un- 
lykely  for  a  man  of  that  countre,  for  to  make  it  into  good 
and  parfyte  Englysshe  as  it  ihuld  be.  Therfore  newely 
nowe  it  is  drawen  out  of  French  into  Englysshe  at  the 
Instaunce,  cost,  and  charge  of  Richarde  Pynson." 

1  KNOW  that  God  hath  formed  me. 
And  made  me  to  his  own  likeness, 
I  know  tliat  he  hath  given  to  me  truly 
Soul  and  body,  wit  and  knowledge  ywis, 
I  know  that  by  right  wise  true  balance 
After  my  deeds  judged  shall  I  be. 
I  know  much,  but  I  wot  not  the  variance. 
To  imderstand  whereof  cometh  my  folly, 
I  know  full  well  that  I  shall  die. 
And  yet  my  life  amend  not  I.  - 


OLD  BALLADS.  if 

I  know  in  what  poverty 
Born  a  child  this  earth  above, 
I  know  that  God  hath  lent  to  me 
Abundance  of  goods  to  my  behoof. 
I  know  that  riches  can  me  not  save. 
And  with  me  I  shall  bear  none  away. 
I  know  the  more  good  I  have 
The  loather  I  shall  be  to  die. 
I  know  all  this  faithfully. 
And  yet  my  life  amend  not  I. 

I  know  that  I  have  passed 

Great  part  of  my  days  with  joy  and  pleasance. 

I  know  that  I  have  gathered 

Sins,  and  also  do  little  penance. 

I  know  that  by  ignorance 

To  excuse  me  there  is  no  art. 

I  know  that  once  shall  be 

When  my  soul  shall  depart, 

That  I  shall  wish  that  I  had  mended  me. 

I  know  there  is  no  remedy, 

And  therefore  my  life  amend  will  I. 


48  OLD  BALLADS. 


xin. 

Sonnet  sung  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  supposed  to 
have  been  written  by  tlie  Earl  of  Essex, 

Sir  William  Segar,  in  his  account  of  a  solemn  tilt  or  exercise 
of  arms  held  in  the  year  1590,  before  Queen  Elizabeth,  in 
tlie  Tilt  Yard  at  Westminster,  with  emblematical  represen- 
tations and  music,  mentions  that  Mr,  Hale  sung  the  fol- 
lowing song.  He  also  remarks  of  Mr.  Hale,  that  he  wat 
her  majesty's  servant,  a  gentleman  in  that  art  excellent, 
and  for  his  voice  both  commendable  and  admirable. — 
Treatise  of  Honour,  civil,  and  military,  lib.  HI.  cap.  54. 
And  Sir  Henry  Wotton,  in  his  parallel  between  the  Earl  of 
Essex  and  the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  says  thata  sonnet  of 
the  Earl's  was,  upon  a  certain  occasion,  sung  before  the 
Queen,  by  one  Halle,  in  whose  voice  she  took  some 
pleasure. 

JVIy  golden  locks  time  hath  to  silver  turn'd 
(O  time  too  swift,  and  swiftness  never  ceasing) 
My  youth  'gainst  age,  and  age  at  youth  hath  spurn'd. 
But  spurn'd  in  vain;  youth  waineth  by  encreasing, 
Beauty,  strength,  youth,  are  flowers  that  fading  been. 
Duty,  faith,  love,  are  roots,  and  ever  green. 


OLD  BALLADS.  4* 

My  helmet  now  shall  make  an  hive  for  bees,. 
And  lovers  songs  shall  turn  to  holy  psalms  5 
A  man  at  arms  must  now  sit  on  his  knees, 
And  feed  on  prayers  that  are  old  age's  alms  5 
And  tho'  from  court  to  cottage  I  depart. 
My  saint  is  sure  of  mine  unspotted  heart. 

And  when  I  sadly  sit  in  homely  cell, 

I'll  teach  my  swains  this  carrol  for  a  song. 

Blest  be  the  hearts  that  think  my  sovereign  wellj   ^ 

Curs'd  be  the  souls  that  think  to  do  her  wrong.  "    "^ 

Goddess,  vouchsafe  this  aged  man  his  right. 

To  be  your  beadsman  now,  that  was  your  knigh^*  • 


XIV. 

SONNET  ON  ELIZABETH  MARKHAME. 

[From  a  MS.  of  John  Harrington,  dated  1564.] 

Whence  comes  my  love,  O  heart,  disclose, 
"Twas  from  cheeks  that  shamed  the  rose  : 
From  lips  that  spoil  the  ruby's  praise  ? 
From  eyes  that  mock  the  diamond's  blaze. 
Whence  comes  my  woe,  as  freely  own, 
Ah  me  !  'twas  from  a  heart  like  stone. 

VOL.  IV.  E 


50  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  blushing  cheek  speaks  modest  mindy 
The  lips  befitting  words  most  kind  ; 
The  eye  does  tempt  to  love's  desire, 
And  seems  to  say,  'tis  Cupid's  fire ; 
Yet  all  so  fair,  but  speak  my  moan, 
Syth  nought  doth  say  the  heart  of  stone. 

Why  thus,  my  love,  so  kind  bespeak, 
Sweet  lip,  sweet  eye,  sweet  blushing  cheeky 
Yet  not  a  heart  to  save  my  pain  ? 
O  Venus,  take  thy  gifts  again : 
Make  not  so  fair  to  cause  our  moan, 
Or  make  a  heart  that's  like  our  own. 


OLD  BALLADS.  51 


XV. 


BISHOP  THURSTAN,  AND  THE  KING'  OF 
SCOTS. 

[First  priated  in  this  ColUction.] 

A.  D.  1 13T.  Soon  after  Stephen's  departure  for  Normandy, 
the  King  of  Scots  entered  England  in  an  hostile  manner. — 
Stephen's  government  -was  at  this  time  in  no  condition  to 
have  resisted  the  invasion,  and  nothing  could  have  broke 
the  storm,  but  the  venerable  Thurstan  (Archbishop  of 
York)  working  upon  the  piety  of  King  David.  Though 
this  prelate  was  now  very  old,  yet  he  prevailed  with  David 
and  his  son  to  meet  him  at  Roxburgh,  a  castle  lying  near 
"the  frontiers  of  both  the  kingdoms;  where  his  remon- 
strances had  such  an  effect,  that  the  Scottish  princes  gene- 
rously put  a  stop  to  hostilities  till  Stephen  should  return 
to  England,  and  be  once  more  applied  to  for*  a  definitive 
answer  concerning  the  investiture  of  Northumberland. 

See  Guthrie's  History  of  England. 

1  H  Ro'  the  fair  country  of  Tiviotdale, 

King  David  marched  forth ; 
King  David  and  his  princely  son. 
The  heioes  of  the  north. 


52  OLD  BALLADS. 

And  holy  Thurstan  fro'  merry  Carlisle, 

In  haste  his  way  doth  wind ; 
With  many  a  cross-bearer  going  before. 

And  many  a  knight  behind. 

And  many  did  bless  that  holy  bishop, 

As  evermore  they  may ; 
For  well  they  knew  'twas  for  holy  peace 

That  he  did  wend  that  way. 

And  at  the  castle  of  fair  Roxburgh 
The  king  and  bishop  drew  near. 

Their  horns  resounding  o'er  the  hills. 
Their  banners  shining  far. 

"  Now  welcome,  welcome  holy  Thurstan, 

"  Right  welcome  unto  me, 
**  And  erer  it  cheers  me  sooth  to  say, 

"  So  holy  a  man  to  see." 

*'  No  king  is  welcome  unto  me, 

"  Nor  for  him  will  I  pray, 
'*  Who  comes  to  ravage  a  helpless  land, 

"  When  it's  king  is  far  away." 

Oh  then  bespake  king  David, 

And  full  of  wrath  spake  he  : 
"  Now  I  swear  by  the  rood,  th'  English  king 

"  Hath  evermore  injur'd  me. 


OLD  BALLADS.  5* 

"  Fro'  my  son  he  keeps  th'  investiture 

"  Of  Northumberland,  his  right : 
*'  And  ever  I'll  harrow  that  unjust  king, 

''  By  Christ  in  heaven  his  might."        '♦• 

Oh  then  bespake  the  holy  Thurstan,  ^^  t.^r  ^^ 

And  full  of  woe  spake  he  : 
**  O  Christ,  thy  kingdom  of  heav'nly  bliss, 

**^Alas  !  when  shall  we  see  ? 

"  For  here  on  earth  is  nought  but  sin,  * 

"  E'en  kings  for  pride  do  ill ', 
"  And  when  they  with  each  other  war, 

"  The  poor  folk's  blood  must  spill. 

"  What  hath  the  husbandman  done  wrong, 

"  That  ye  must  spoil  his  grain  ?] 
"  And  what  the  poor  widow,  and  what  the  child, 

"  That  they  must  all  be  slain. 

**  And  what  is  the  simple  maid  to  blame, 

"  To  be  made  of  lust  the  prey  : 
"  And  what  the  lowly  village  priest, 

"  That  ye  so  oft  do  slay  ? 

"  Ah  !  tyrant  kings,  shall  not  the  Lord 

**  Revenge  the  poor  distrest ', 
"  The  simple  swain,  the  helpless  maid, 

**  The  widow,  and  the  priest  ? 


54  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  And  when  the  doleful  day  of  doom 

"  Shall  call  ye  fro'  the  grave ; 
"  Fro'  the  crying  blood  of  those  innocents, 

*'  What,  tyrants,  sliall  ye  save  ? 

"  Think  ye  that  Christ,  (whose  gentle  laws 

"  Aye  breathe  so  mild  a  strain,) 
"  Think  you  that  Christ  (of  mercy  king) 

"  Will  free  you  fro'  the  pain  ? 

*'  Did  he  not  die  all  on  the  rood, 
.      "  And  all  for  the  love  of  man  ? 
■"  And  will  he  then  save  their  guilty  souls, 
"  Who  so  many  men  have  slain  ? 

"  Far  sooner,  oh  king !  would  I  lay  in  mire, 

"  Than  sit  upon  a  throne  ; 
"  Far  sooner,  oh  king  1  would  I  beg  my  bread, 
^  "  Than  wear  a  golden  crown. 

^'  For  shall  not  the  judge  of  all  do  right, 

"  At  the  dolef.i1  doom's  day  ? 
"  Then  what  will  avail  your  crowns  and  thrones, 

"  And  your  states  and  courtiers  gay  ? 

"  Now  think  thee  well,  oh  mortal  king  ! 

"  And  thy  proud  misdeeds  bemoan  ; 
"  Oh  think  what  will  save  thy  hapless  soul, 

**  When  thy  pomp  shall  all  be  gone. 


OLD  BALL^S.  5S 

^'  Nor  fancy  that  alms  will  save  thy  soul, 

"  The'  bounteous  they  be  giv'n ; 
"  Nor  the  rearing  of  abbies,  all  rich  endow'd, 

"  Will  carry  thy  soul  to  heav'n. 

^'  Full  well  T  know  the  craving  monks 

"  Have  many  a  one  beguil'd  ; 
"  And  oft,  when  a  man's  laid  on  his  death  bed, 

*'  They  rob  the  widow  and  child. 

"  But  rouze  thy  reason,  oh  noble  king  ! 

"  Nor  heed  the  cloister'd  drone  ; 
"  For  nothing  there  is  a  man  can  do, 

"  For  bloodshed  shall  atone  : 

^'  Save  the  merits  of  him,  who  for  our  sins 

*^  Died  on  the  precious  rood  ; 
'*  And  ever  the  crime  that  most  he  hates, 

"  Is  shedding  of  man's  blood." 

All  woe-begone  then  spoke  the  king. 

And  the  tears  ran  fro'  his  eyne  : 
"  And  ever  I  thank  thee,  holy  Thurstan^ 

"  For  thy  counsel  so  divine. 

*^  But  heav'n  doth  know  that  from  my  heart, 

''  I  hate  to  kill  and  slay ; 
^'  And  ever  I  hinder  my  men  at  arms, 

*'  As  evermore  I  may. 


$6  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  And  fain  would  I  save  the  peasant  swain, 
"  And  tlie  widow  poor  distrest : 

*'  And  the  helpless  maid  and  simple  child, 
"  And  eke  the  lowly  priest." 

Oh  then  bespake  prince  Henry  brave  ; 

As  he  stood  by  the  king  j 
**  Father,  I  know  thy  conscience  clear 

"  As  water  fro'  the  spring, 

"  And  if,  in  avenging  of  our  wrongs 

"  Full  many  a  one  is  slain, 
"  And  the  bloody  warrior  doth  great  spoil, 

"  Art  thou,  good  king,  to  blame  ?" 

"  Too  hasty  prince,"  the  bishop  cried, 

''  To  ravage  is  a  shame  ; 
"  And  when  the  warriors  do  great  spoil, 

*'  Their  prince  is  all  to  blame. 

"  Why  not  go  meet  your  royal  foe, 

*'  Like  men  in  open  field  ; 
'^  And  if  he  will  not  right  your  wrongs, 

'*  Then  take  to  sword  and  shield  ? 

"  And  not,  when  our  king  is  far  away, 
"  To  ravage  the  country  o'er  ; 

"  To  murder  the  weak  and  the  innocent, 
"  And  cruelly  spoil  the  poor." 


OLD  BALLADS.  57 

Oh  then  hespake  the  Scottish  king. 

Like  a  noble  king  spake  he  : 
«  Oh,  I  will  wait  till  your  king  Stephen 

"  Doth  come  fro'  o'er  the  sea, 

"  Then,  reverend  Tliurstan,  if  thy  king 

"  No  more  our  right  delays, 
"  But  will  invest  my  son  in  Northumberland, 

"  Then  will  we  go  our  ways. 

«  But  if,  when  he's  come  to  merry  England, 

"  He  will  not  do  us  right, 
"  Oh  then  will  1  harrow  that  unjust  king, 

"  By  Christ  in  heaven  his  might." 

"  Now  dost  thou  speak  like  a  noble  king," 

The  holy  Thurstan  cried  ) 
"  And  now  do  I  welcome  thee,  royal  king, 

"  Of  Scotland  aye  the  pride, 

"  And  when  my  liege  shall  come  again, 

"  Then  may  he  do  thee  right !" 
''  Or  he  shall  rue,"  cried  that  valiant  king, 

"  By  Christ  in  heav'n  his  might." 

And  there,  while  the  merry  bells  did  ring. 

And  the  minstrels  blith  did  play. 
The  Scottish  princes  and  the  good  bishop 

Did  feast  for  many  a  day. 


58  OLD  BALLADS. 

Full  many  did  bless  that  holy  man, 

As  he  sat  in  the  hall, 
And  merrily  sang ;  for  well  they  knew. 

He  had  rescued  them  fro'  thrall. 

And  many  a  husbandman  was  blith 

As  he  did  reap  his  grain  ; 
*'  And  but  for  Thurstan,  that  holy  bishop, 

"  This  all  away  had  been  ta'en  ; 

"  And  I  had  been  kill'd,  and  many  beside, 
"  With  our  wives  and  children  all : 

"  And  may  heav'n  ayt;  prosper  that  holy  bishop, 
"  That  hath  rescued  us  fro'  thrall !" 


XVL 
THE  BATTLE  OF  CUTON  MOOR,  IN  11^8. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

After  Easter,  1138,  the  King  of  Scotland  again  invaded 
Northumberland  and  the  bishoprick  of  Durham : — his  de- 
sign was  probably  to  draw  Stephen  from  the  south  parts, 
and  thereby  to  favour  tlie  adherents  of  the  Empress. 
But  the  noblemen  of  the  north,  who  all  held  great  baronies 
by  military  tenures,  associated  among  themselves  to  repel 
^im : — at  the  head  of  this  association  was  Thurstan,  the 


OLD  BALLADS.  59 

brave  old  Archbishop  of  York:  the  other  barons  were, 
William  Earl  of  Albemarle,  a  young  nobleman  of  great 
spirit,  and  very  active  in  arras ;  Waller  de  Gamit,  who 
was  very  old,  but  of  great  repute,  and  at  the  head  of  a 
strong  body  of  Flemings  and  Normans ;  Robert  de  Bruce, 
and  his  brother  Adam,  who  (notwithstanding  their  personal 
attachment  to  the  Scotch  king)  brought  into  the  field  a 
numerous  body  of  brave  young  fellows,  all  completely 
armed.  Roger  de  Mowbray,  though  but  a  child,  gave 
great  sanction  to  the  expedition  by  the  greatness  of  his 
family  and  followers.  Walter  Espec  is  mentioned  like- 
wise cpon  the  occasion;  a  man  of  gigantic  strength  and 
*  stature,  and  accounted  the  best  warrior  in  the  north. — 
The  English  army  advanced  as  far  as  Thrusk  castle,  under 
the  direction  of  the  old  Archbishop  ;  but  there  that  pre- 
late resigned   his    command  to    Ralph    Bishop  of  the 

Orkneys.* Thearmyby  this  time  was  strengthened  by 

several  noblemen  of  Nottinghaip.  and  Derbyshire ;  at  last 
they  marched  as  far  as  Northallerton,  where  they  raised 
the  famous  standard  :  this  was  the  mast  of  a  small  ship, 
on  the  top  of  which  was  placed  a  silver  cross,  and  the 
machine  itself  went  upon  wheels,  and  all  around  it  hung 
the  banners  of  St.  Peter,  St,  John  of  Beverly,  and  St. 

Wilfred. The  Scots  army,  now  advancing  with  long 

marches,  passed  the  river  Tees,  and  encamped  on  an  open 
plain  called  Cuton  Moor;  within  two  miles  of  the  English. 
Early  in  the  morning  the  two  armies  drew  up  in  order 
of  battle,  when,  after  a  severe  contest,  the  Scots  were 

*  Matthew  Paris  says,  to  Ralph  B'lshoy  of  Durham  ;  and 
this  is  repeated  by  Holinshed  and  other  historians;  but  this 
must  be  a  mistake,  for  Geoffry  Rufus  was  made  Bishop  of 
Durham  in  1128,  and  held  the  Bishopric  till  1143.  See 
Beatson's  Political  Index. 


m  OLD  BALLADS. 

routed,  being^  said  to  have  lost  ten  thousand  men.  The 
king  and  his  son  were  left  to  maintain  their  ground,  at- 
tended only  by  their  own  guards,  when  they  made  a  re- 
sistance worthy  themselves,  and  at  last  retired  to  Carlisle, 
(The  Scotch  prince  Henry  is  famed  in  history  for  his 
▼alour,  humility,  and  the  beauty  of  his  person.) 

See  Guthrie's  History  of  England. 


1  HE  welkin  dark  o'er  Cuton  Moor 

With  dreary  clouds  did  low'r — 
The  woeful  carnage  of  that  day 

Shall  Scotland  aye  deplore. 

The  river  Tees  full  oft  did  sigh. 

As  she  roll'd  her  winding  flood. 
That  ever  her  silver  tide  so  clear 

Should  be  swell'd  with  human  blood  ! 

King  David  he  stood  on  the  rising  hill. 
And  the  verdant  prospect  view'd ; 

And  he  saw  that  sweet  river  that  o'er  the  moor 
Roll'd  on  her  silver  flood. 

Oh  then  bespake  that  noble  king. 
And  with  grief  his  heart  was  woo'd ; 

"  And  ever  I  mourn  that  yon  fair  stream 
"  Should  be  swell'd  with  human  blood  !" 


OLD  BALLADS.  «1 

King  David  he  saw  the  verdant  moor, 

With  wild  flow'rs  all  bestrow'd  ; 
''  And  ever  I'm  griev'd  that  so  green  a  moor 

"  Should  be  stain'd  with  human  blood  ! 

"  But  more  am  I  griev'd,  alas  !"  he  cried, 

"  And  more  my  heart  Is  woo'd, 
**  That  so  many  warriors  young  and  brave 

*'  Must  this  day  shed  their  blood  !" 

As  princely  a  host  that  king  did  lead 

As  ever  march'd  on  plain  : 
Alas  !  that  so  many  a  warrior  brave 

Should  be  so  soon  slain  ! 

And  first  march'd  forth  the  Galloway  men. 
Of  the  ancient  Picts  they  sprang  ; 

Their  spears  all  so  bright  and  bucklers  strong^ 
For  many  miles  rang. 

And  then  came  on  the  Norman  troops. 

With  English  them  among  : 
For  the  empress  Maude  they  came  to  fight, 

To  rie-ht  that  ladv's  wroner. 


To  right  that  lady's  wrong. 


And  then  march'd  forth  the  Scottish  foot. 
And  then  march'd  forth  the  horse  ; 

In  armour  strong,  all  those  warriors  came, 
A  great  and  warlike  force. 


63  OLD  BALLADS. 

King  David  look'd  athwart  the  moor. 
And  prince  Henry,  his  brave  son, 

And  they  were  aware  of  the  English  host. 
Come  merily  marching  on. 

Oh  then  call'd  forth  king  David, 

And  loudly  called  he, 
"  And  who  is  here  in  all  my  camp, 

"  Can  describe  yon  host  to  me  ?" 

Then  came  a  bearne,  beside  the  tent. 

An  Englishman  was  he  ; 
'Twas  not  long  since  from  the  English  host, 

That  traitorous  wight  did  flee. 

"  Now  tell  me  yon  hosts,"  the  king  he  cried, 
"  And  thou  shalt  have  gold  and  fee — 

'*  And  who  is  yon  chief  that  rides  along 
"  With  his  locks  so  aged  grey  ?"    ^ 

"  Oh  that  is  Sir  Walter  de  Gaunt  you  see, 
^'  And  he  hath  been  grey  full  long, 

"  But  many's  the  troop  that  he  doth  lead, 
*'  And  they  are  stout  and  strong." 

**  And  who  is  yon  chief  so  bright  of  blee, 
"  With  his  troops  that  beat  the  plain  ?" 

"  Oh  that's  the  young  earl  of  Albemarle, 
"  Leading  his  gallant  train. 


OLD  BALLADS.  65 

"  A  more  gallant  warrior  than  that  lord 

"  Is  not  yon  hosts  among ; 
"  And  the  gallant  troops  that-  he  doth  lead, 

"  Like  him,  are  stout  and  young." 

"  And  who  yon  shiny  warriors  two, 
"  With  their  troops  clad  the  same  ?" 

"  Oh  they  are  the  Bruces,  that  in  this  fight 
"  Have  come  to  acquire  them  fame." 

Oh  then  call'd  out  king  David, 

And  full  of  woe  spake  he  : 
"  And  ever  I  hold  those  Bruces  false, 

"  For  much  they  owe  to  me. 

"  And  who's  yon  chief  of  giant  height, 

"  And  of  bulk  so  huge  to  see  ?" 
"  Walter  Espec  is  that  chiefs  name, 

"  And  a  potent  chief  is  he.  -  ' 

"  His  stature's  large  as  the  mountain  oak, 

"  And  eke  as  strong  his  might : 
"  There's  ne'er  a  chief  in  all  the  north 

**  Can  dare  with  him  to  fight." 

"  And  who's  yon  youth,  yon  youth  I  see, 

"  A  galloping  o'er  the  moor  ? 
"  His  troops  that  follow  so  gallantly, 

"  Proclaim  him  a  youth  of  power." 


64  OLD  BALLADS. 

*'  Young  Roger  de  Mowbraye  is  that  youth, 
"^  And  he's  sprang  of  the  royal  line  ; 

^  His  wealth  and  his  followers,  oh  king, 
"  Are  almost  as  great  as  thine." 

"  And  who's  yon  aged  chief  I  see 

"  All  clad  in  purple  vest  ?" 
«  Oh  that's  the  Bishop  o'th'  Orkney  isles, 

"  And  he  all  the  host  hath  blest. 

«  And  all  the  rest  are  noblemen, 
"  Of  fortune  and  fame  each  one  : 

«  From  Nottingham  and  from  Derbyshire 
"Those  valiant  chieftains  come." 

"  But  what's  yon  glitt'ring  tow'r  I  see 

"  I'the  centre  o'the  host  ?" 
"  Oh  that's  the  hallow'd  standard,  of  which 

"  The  English  make  such  boast. 

"  A  mast  of  a  ship  it  is  so  high, 
«  All  bedeck'd  with  gold  so  gay ; 

«  And  on  the  top  is  a  holy  cross, 
"  That  shines  as  bright  as  the  day. 

"  Around  it  hang  the  holy  banners 

"  Of  many  a  blessed  saint ; 
«  Saint  Peter,  and  John  of  Beverly, 

«  And  Saint  Wilfred  there  they  paint. 


OLD  BALLADS.  65 

"  The  aged  folk  around  it  throng, 
"  With  their  old  hairs  all  so  gray  ; 

"  And  many  a  chieftain  there  bows  down, 
"  And  so  heart'ly  doth  he  pray." 

Oh  then  bespake  the  king  of  Scots, 

And  so  heavily  spake  he  : 
"  And  had  I  but  yon  holy  standard, 

'•  Right  gladsome  should  I  be. 

"  And  had  I  but  yon  holy  standard, 

*'  That  there  so  high  doth  tow'r, 
"  I  woidd  not  care  for  yon  English  host, 

"  Nor  all  yon  chieftains  pow'r. 

*'  O  had  I  but  yon  holy  rood, 

"  That  there  so  bright  doth  show ; 

"  I  would  not  care  for  yon  English  host, 
"  Nor  the  worst  that  they  could  do." 

Oh  then  bespake  prince  Henry, 
And  like  a  brave  prince  spake  he  : 

"  Ah  let  us  but  fight  like  valiant  men, 
"  And  we'll  make  yon  hosts  to  flee. 

"  Oh  let  us  but  fight  like  valiant  men, 

*"■'  And  to  Christ's  will  ybow, 
"  And  yon  hallow'd  standard  shall  be  ours, 

"  And  the  victory  also."  • 

VOL.  IV.  F 


66  OLD  BALLADS. 

Prince  Henry  was  as  brave  a  youth 

As  ever  fought  in  field  j 
Full  many  a  warrior  that  dread  day 

To  him  his  life  did  yield. 

Prince  Henry  was  as  fair  a  youth 

As  the  sun  did  e're  espy  ; 
Full  many  a  lady  in  Scottish  land 

For  that  young  prince  did  sigh. 

Prince  Henry  call'd  his  young  foot  page. 

And  thus  to  him  spake  he  : 
"  Oh  heed  my  words,  and  serve  me  true, 

'^  And  thou  shall  have  gold  and  fee. 

"  Stand  thou  on  yonder  rising  hill, 

"  Full  safe  I  ween  the  site  : 
"  And  from  thence  oh  mark  thee  well  my  crest 

"  In  all  the  thickest  fight. 

"  And  if,  o'ercome  with  wounds,  I  fall, 
*'  Then  take  thee  a  swift  swift  steed, 

*^  And  from  this  moor  to  Dumfries  town,. 
**  Oh  ride  thee  away  with  speed. 

"  There  to  the  lady  Alice  wend  ; 

("  You'll  know  that  lovely  fair, 
"  For  the  fairest  maid  in  all  that  town, 

"  Cannot  with  her  compare ;) 


OLD  BALLADS.  67 

"  And  tell  that  lady  of  my  woe, 

"  And  tell  her  of  my  love  ; 
"  And  give  to  her  this  golden  ring, 

"  My  tender  faith  to  prove. 

"  And  strive  to  cheer  that  lovely  maid 

"  In  all  her  grief  and  care  : 
"  For  well  I  know  her  gentle  heart 

"  Did  ever  hold  me  dear." 

And  now  the  English  host  drew  near. 

And  all  in  battle  array ; 
Their  shining  swords  and  glitt'ring  spears 

Shot  round  a  brilliant  ray. 

And  now  both  valiant  hosts  came  near. 

Each  other  for  to  slay  ; 
While  watchful  hovered  o'er  their  heads 

Full  many  a  bird  of  prey. 

The  sun  behind  the  dark  dark  clouds 

Did  hide  each  beamy  ray, 
As  fearful  to  behold  the  woe 

That  mark'd  that  doleful  day. 

The  thund'ring  winds  of  heav'n  arose. 

And  rush'd  from  pole  to  pole. 
As  striving  to  drown  the  groans  and  sighs 

Of  many  a  dying  soul. 


68  OLD  BALLADS. 

Stern  death  lie  heard  the  shouts  of  war. 

That  echoed  around  so  loud ; 
And  he  rouz'd  htm  to  th'  embattled  field. 

To  feast  on  human  blood. 

And  first  the  Pictish  race  began 

The  carnage  of  that  day  ; 
The  cries  they  made  were  like  the  storm 

That  rends  the  rocks  away. 

Those  fierce  fierce  men  of  Galloway 

Began  that  day  of  dole  ; 
And  their  shouts  were  like  the  thunder's  roar, 

That's  heard  from  pole  to  pole. 

Now  bucklers  rang  'gainst  swords  and  spears. 

And  arrows  dimm'd  the  plain  ; 
And  many  a  warrior  lay  full  low. 

And  many  a  chief  was  slain. 

Oil  woeful  woeful  was  that  day. 

To  child  and  widow  drear  ! 
For  there  fierce  death  o'er  human  race 

Did  triumph  'far  and  near. 

Drear  was  the  day — in  dark  dark  clouds 

The  welkin  all  endrown'd  ; 
But  far  more  drear  the  woeful  scene 

Of  carnage  all  around. 


OLD    BALLADS.  C9 

Drear  was  the  sound  of  warring  winds 

That  fought  along  the  skies  j 
But  far  more  drear  the  woeful  sound 

Of  dying  warriors  sighs. 

Laden  with  death's  unpitying  arm. 

Swords  fell  and  arrows  flew ; 
The  widow'd  wife  and  fatherless  child 

That  day  of  dole  shall  rue.      - 

Ten  thousand  Scots,  who  on  that  morn 

Were  marching  all  so  gay. 
By  night,  alas  !  on  that  dreary  moor 

Poor  mangled  corps  ylay. 

Weep,  dames  of  Scotland,  weep  and  wail. 

Let  your  sighs  re-echo  round  ; 
Ten  thousand  brave  Scots  that  hail'd  the  morn. 

At  night  lay  dead  on  ground. 

And  ye,  fair  dames  of  merry  England, 

As  fast  your  tears  must  pour ; 
For  many's  the  valiant  Englishman 

That  ye  shall  see  no  more. 

Sigh,  dames  of  England,  and  lament. 

And  many  a  salt  tear  shed  ; 
For  many  an  Englishman  hail'd  that  morn. 

That  ere  the  night  was  dead. 


70  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  Scots  they  fled ;  but  still  their  king, 

With  his  brave  son  by  his  side. 
Fought  long  the  foe  (brave  king  and  prince. 

Of  Scotland  aye  the  pride.) 

The  Scots  they  fled ;  but  still  the  king, 
With  his  brave  son,  fought  full  well. 

Till  o'er  the  moor  an  arrow  yflew — 
And  brave  prince  Henry  fell. 

All  this  espied  his  young  foot  page, 
From  the  hill  whereon  he  stood ; 

And  soon  hath  he  mounted  a  swift  swift  steed. 
And  soon  from  the  moor  hath  rode. 

And  he  hath  cross'd  the  Tees  fair  stream. 
Now  swell'd  with  human  blood  ; 

Th'  affrighted  page  he  never  stay'd. 
Till  to  Dumfries  he  hath  rode. 

Fair  Alice  was  gone  to  the  holy  kirk. 

With  a  sad  heart  did  she  go ; 
And  ever  so  fast  did  she  cry  to  heav'n, 

"  Prince  Henry  save  from  woe  !" 

Fair  Alice  she  hied  her  to  the  choir. 
Where  the  priests  did  chant  so  slow ; 

And  ever  she  cried,  ''  May  the  holy  saints 
"  Prince  Henry  save  from  woe  !" 


OLD  BALLADS.  71 

Fair  Alice,  with  many  a  tear  and  sigh, 

To  Mary's  shrine  did  go ; 
And  so  fast  she  cried,  "  Sweet  Mary  mild, 

"  Prince  Henry  save  from  woe  \" 

Fair  Alice  she  knelt  by  the  hallow'd  rood, 

While  fast  her  tears  did  flow  ; 
And  ever  she  cried,  "  Oh  sweet  sweet  Saviour, 

"  Prince  Henry  save  from  woe  !" 

Fair  Alice  look'd  out  at  the  kirk  door. 

And  heavy  her  heart  did  beat ; 
For  she  was  aware  of  the  prince's  page. 

Come  galloping  thro'  the  street. 

Again  fair  Alice  look'd  out  to  see. 

And  well  nigh  did  she  swoon  ; 
For  now  she  was  sure  it  was  that  page 

Come  galloping  thro'  the  town. 

*'  Now  Christ  thee  save,  thou  sweet  young  page, 

"  Now  Christ  thee  save  and  see  ! 
'^^  And  how  doth  sweet  prince  Henry  ? 

"  I  pray  thee  tell  to  me." 

The  page  he  look'd  at  the  fair  Alice, 

And  his  heart  was  full  of  woe ; 
The  page  he  look'd  at  the  fair  Alice, 

Till  his  tears  fast  'gan  to  flow^'- --i- ;    ■  * 


72  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Ah  woe  is  me  !"  sad  Alice  cried, 

And  tore  tier  golden  hair  ; 
And  so  fast  she  wrang  her  lily  hands. 

All  woo'd  with  sad  despair. 

"  The  English  keep  the  bloody  field, 

"  Pull  many  a  Scot  is  slain, 
"  But  lives  prince  Henry  ?"  the  lady  cried, 

"  All  else  to  me  is  vain. — 

"  Oh  lives  the  prince  ?  I  pray  thee  tell," 

Fair  Alice  still  did  call : 
'f  These  eyes  did  see  a  keen  arrow  fly, 

"  Did  see  prince  Henry  fall." 

Fair  Alice  she  sat  her  on  the  ground. 
And  never  a  word  she  spake  j 

But  like  the  pale  image  did  she  look,  , 
For  her  heart  was  nigh  to  break. 

The  rose  that  once  so  ting'd  her  cheek, 

Was  now,  alas  !  no  more  j 
But  the  wliiteness  of  her  lily  skin 

Was  fairer  than  before. 

«  Fair  lady,  rise,"  the  page  exclaim'd, 
"  Nor  lay  thee  here  thus  low." — 

She  answered  not,  but  heav'd  a  sigh. 
That  spoke  her  heart  felt  woe. 


OLD  BALLADS.  73 

Her  maidens  came  and  strove  to  cheer. 

But  in  vain  was  all  their  care  ; 
The  townsfolk  wept  to  see  that  lady 

§0  whelm'd  in  dread  despairv' 

They  rais'd  her  from  the  danky  ground. 

And  sprinkled  water  fair ; 
But  the  coldest  water  from  the  spring 

Was  not  so  cold  as  her. 

And  now  came  horsemen  to  the  town. 
That  the  prince  had  sent  with  speed ; 

With  tidings  to  Alice  that  he  did  live, 
To  ease  her  of  her  dread. 

For  when  that  hapless  prince  did  fall, 

The  arrow  did  not  him  slay  ; 
But  his  followers  bravely  rescued  him. 

And  convey'd  him  safe  away. 

Bravely  they  rescued  that  noble  prince, 

And  to  fair  Carlisle  him  bore  ; 
And  there  that  brave  young  prince  did  live, 

Tho'  wounded  sad  and  sore. 

Fair  Alice  the  wond'rous  tidings  heard. 

And  thrice  for  joy  she  sigh'd  : 
That  hapless  fair,  when  she  heard  the  news^ 

She  rose — she  smil'd — and  died. 


74  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  tears  that  her  fair  maidens  shed. 
Ran  free  from  their  bright  eyes  ', 

The  echoing  wind  that  then  did  blow. 
Was  burden'd  with  their  sighs. 

The  page  he  saw  the  lovely  Alice 
In  a  deep  deep  grave  let  down. 

And  at  her  head  a  green  turf  ylayd. 
And  at  her  feet  a  stone  ! 

Then  with  many  a  tear  and  many  a  sigh 
Hath  be  hied  him  on  his  way; 

And  he  hath  come  to  Carlisle  town, 
All  yclad  in  black  array. 

And  now  hath  he  come  to  the  prince's  hall. 

And  lowly  bent  his  knee  : 
"  And  how  is  the  lady  Alice  so  fair, 

"  My  page,  come  tell  to  me." 

"  Oil,  the  lady  Alice,  so  lovely  fair, 

''  Alas  !  is  dead  and  gone, 
"  And  at  her  head  is  a  green  grass  turf, 

*'  And  at  her  foot  a  stone, 

"  The  lady  Alice  Is  dead  and  gone, 
''  And  the  worms  feed  by  her  side  ; 

*'  And  all  for  the  love  of  thee,  oh  prince, 
"  That  beauteous  ]ady  died. 


OLD  BALLADS.  75 

"  And  where  she's  laid  the  green  turf  grows, 
"  And  a  cold  grave-stone  is  there  ; 

"  But  the  dew-clad  turf,  nor  the  cold  cold  stone, 
"  Is  not  so  cold  as  her."  <  ^tohhf 

Oh  then  prince  Henry  sad  did  sigh. 

His  heart  all  full  of  woe  : 
That  hapless  prince  ybeat  his  breast, 

And  fast  his  tears  'gan  flow. 

"  And  art  thou  gone,  my  sweet  Alice  ? 

"  And  art  thou  gone,  he  cried : 
'"  Ah  would  to  heav'n  that  I  with  thee, 

"  My  faithful  love,  had  died  ! 

^•'  And  have  1  lost  thee,  my  sweet  Alice  ? 

"  And  art  thou  dead  and  gone  ? 
*'  And  at  thy  dear  head  a  green  grass  turf, 

"  And  at  thy  foot  a  stone  ?     -^nr'i    >;: 

"  The  turf  that's  o'er  thy  grave,  dear  Alice, 

"  Shall  with  my  tears  be  wet ; 
"  And  the  stone  at  thy  feet  shall  melt,  love,  - 

"  Ere  I  will  thee  forget."      >>oIv  -ja    .  /^i 

And  when  the  news  came  to  merry  England 

Of  the  battle  in  the  north ; 
Oh  then  king  Stephen  and  his  nobles 

So  merrily  marched  forth. 


6  OLD  BALLADS. 

And  they  have  had  justs  and  tournaments. 
And  have  feasted  o'er  and  o'er ; 

And  merrily  merrily  have  they  rejoic'd, 
For  the  victory  of  Cuton  Moor.  ' 

But  many  a  sigh  adds  to  the  wind, 

And  many  a  tear  to  the  show'r, 
And  many  a  bleeding  heart  hath  broke. 

For  the  battle  of  Cuton  Moor. 

And  many's  the  widoAv  all  forlorn. 

And  helpless  orphan  poor. 
And  many's  the  maiden  that  shall  rue 

The  victory  of  Cuton  Moor. 

The  lady  Alice  is  laid  in  her  grave. 
And  a  cold  stone  marks  the  site  j 

And  many's  the  maid  like  her  doth  die, 
Tause  kings  and  nobles  will  fight. 

The  lady  Alice  is  laid  full  low. 

And  her  maidens  tears  do  pour. 
And  many's  the  wretch  with  them  shall  weep. 

For  the  victory  of  Cuton  Moor, 

The  holy  priest  doth  weep  as  he  sings 

His  masses  o'er  and  o'er ; 
And  all  for  the  souls  of  them  that  were  slain 

At  the  battle  of  Cuton  Moor, 


OLD  BALLADS.  77 


XVIL 


THE  MURDER  OF  PRINCE  ARTHUR, 

(Nephew  of  King  John)  in  Rouen  Castle. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

AloNG  hills  and  woodlands,  many  a  mile 

Seine  roll'd  his  murm'ring  flood ; 
And,  winding,  wash'd  the  stately  tow'rs. 
Where  Rouen's  fair  castle  stood. 

Drear  darkness,  with  her  mournful  shade. 

Had  spread  the  welkin  o'er. 
And  hid  from  view  th'  embattled  walls 

That  deckt  the  winding  shore. 

No  more  was  heard  the  voice  of  man. 

Soft  slept  each  wearied  hind  : 
No  sound save  ha[)less  Arthur's  sighs. 

That  murmur'd  with  the  wind. 

From  an  old  tow'r  of  dreary  height. 

Forlorn,  thro'  Gothic  grate. 
The  hapless  prince  look'd  o'er  the  flood, 

And  mourn'd  his  wretched  fate. 


78  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Ye  winds,  that  rove  the  forests  free, 

"  Why  roar  ye  as  ye  blow  ? 
'^  Ye  waves  that  dash  against  these  tow'rs. 

**  Why  murmur  as  ye  flow  ? 

"  Yon  winds  enjoy  the  bliss  to  rove, 
"  The  sweets  of  freedom  know  ; 

"  Ye  wand'ring  waves,  how  blest  your  fate, 
"  Where're  you  will  to  flow  1 

"  Or  is't  in  pity  to  my  sighs, 

"  That  round  these  towers  ye  roar  ? 

"  And  you,  fair  river,  dash  your  waves 
"  So  oft  against  the  shore  ? 

"  How  blest  were  I,  ye  winds  and  waves, 

*^  If  I  like  you  could  rove  ; 
"^  Like  you  could  'wind  my  cheerful  way, 

"  Thro'  forest,  hill,  and  grove  ! 

"  But  woe  is  me,  here  doora'd  to  waste 

'•'  My  life  in  hopeless  woe  ; 
'*  To  number  sighs — that  still  must  heave, 

"And  tears— that  still  must  flow  ! 

"  Full  many  a  day  liath  told  its  hours, 
"  Since  I  have  sigh'd  for  peace  ; 

*'  And  many  a  day  must  still  roll  on, 
"  Ere  my  misfortunes  cease. 


OLD  BALLADS.  70 

*^  My  sole  employ  to  count  the  woes 

"  That  fill  up  my  despair  ; 
"  A  mother's  tears  —I  cannot  wipe — 

"  A  crown — I  cannot  wear. 

"  A  lovely  sister  in  my  cause, 

"  Debarr'd  of  liberty  j 

"  A  thousand  friends,  or  captive  made, 

"  Or  slain  in  fight  for  me. 

"  My  sleep  to  me  affords  no  peace  ; 

*'  Fell  fancy  still  will  wake, 
"  And  doubles  every  pang  of  woe, 

"  My  wearied  soul  to  rack. 

"  Oh  then,  with  every  care  renew'd, 

'*  I  wake  right  full  of  woe  ; 
"  Wake — but  to  mark  the  dashing  wave, 

"  And  hear  the  rude  winds  blow. 

"  Then,  then,  distracted  at  my  fate, 

*'  And  frantic  with  my  fears, 
f*  I  load  the  tempest  with  my  sighs, 

"  The  river  with  my  tears. 

*'■  Full  many  a  sun  hath  set  in  mjst, 

"  As  wearied  with  my  sighs  ; 
**  The  same  my  misery,  when  again 

"  That  pitying  sun  did  rise. 


80  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  The  gentle  moon,  when  bright  her  beams 
"  Upon  these  towers  she  throws, 

"  Oft'  hides  her  face  behind  a  cloud, 
"  As  weeping  for  my  woes. 

"But  yet,  were  I  'mong  all  my  race 
**  Alone  o'erwhelm'd  with  cares, 

"  I'd  be  resign'd — tho'  bound  in  chains, 
^"  And  smile  amid  my  tears. 

"  But,  hapless  Constance,  mother  dear  \ 

"  Thy  pangs  too  well  I  heed ', 
'*  With  thine  my  tears  for  ever  flow, 

"  Like  thine,  my  heart  aye  bleed. 

"  Sweet  Elenor,  for  beauty  fam'd, 

"  Damsel  of  Brittany  ; 
"  I  would  not  live,  if  that  thy  woes 

"  (Dear  maid)  could  die  with  me. 

*'  Ah,  would  I  were  a  peasant  swain, 

"  Of  humble  lineage  born  ! 
"  Contented  would  I  tend  my  flock, 

'*  Norheed  the  proud  man's  scorn. 

*'  Contented  by  our  humble  cot, 

"  From  morn  to  eve  I'd  toil ; 
"  And  think  right  bounteous  my  reward, 

**  Dear  mother,  in  thy  smile. 


OLD  BALLADS.  81 

"  No  tumults  then,  no  murd'rous  war, 
"  Would  fright  thee  with  alarms  ; 

"  And,  oh  !  no  cruel  uncle  tear 
"  Thy  children  from  thy  arms. 

"  What,  tho'  no  realms  should  court  our  nod, 

"  Nor  coronets  gild  our  brows ; 
"  What  are  their  gold  but  painted  care  ? 

"  Their  gems  but  glitt'ring  woes  ? 

"  In  peace  we'd  share  the  frugal  meal, 

*'  And  bless  the  earth's  increase  3 
"  The  rising  sun  should  hail  our  joy, 

**  And  setting  gild  our  peace. 

"  And  when  in  calm  content  and  peace 

"  We'd  past  our  destin'd  hours, 
"  Some  gentle  swain  should  make  our  grave, 

"  And  strew  the  turf  with  flow'rs." 

The  hapless  prince  thus  strove  by  plaints 

To  mitigate  his  pains. 
Till,  mad  with  woe,  he  beat  his  breast. 

And  howling  clank'd  his  chains. 

The  hollow  tow'rs,  and  winding  walls. 

His  sighs  re-echo'd  round  ; 
The  distant  hills,  in  dying  notes, 

Return'd  the  plaintive  sound. 

VOL.  IV.  G 


82  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  night,  collecting  every  cloud 

That  form'd  her  darkest  train, 
Seem'd  to  lament  the  tale  of  woe 

That  broke  her  silent  reign. 

And  now,  tho'  all  around  was  dark, 

And  stormy  rain  did  fall, 
A  boat  came  rowing  down  the  stream. 

Beneath  the  castle  wall. 

The  night-birds  scream'd  a  cry  of  dread. 
The  death-bell  thrice  did  ring  ; 

And  thrice  at  Arthur's  window  bars 
A  raven  flapp'd  its  wing. 

Arthur  remark'd  th'  ill-omen'd  sound. 

And  thrice  he  trembled  sore  ; 
And  thrice  he  wip'd  the  clammy  drops 

That  from  his  brow  did  pour. 

And  soon  he  heard  the  voice  of  men 

Low  wisp'ring  at  the  wall ; 
Unhappy  Arthur,  struck  with  dread. 

To  heav'n  for  help  did  call. 

He  heard  the  gate  crack  on  its  hinge. 

That  led  to  his  abode 

"  Now,  heav'n,  befriend  me  !"  Arthur  cried, 

*'  For  this  bodes  me  no  good." 


OLD  BALLADS.  83 

Arid  now  came  in  the  tyrant  John, 

With  ruffians  all  arow; 
A  bloody  sword  was  in  his  hand, 

A  frown  upon  his  brow. 

As  dreads  the  lamb,  when  suddenly 

He  sees  the  wolf  appear ; 
So  hapless  Arthur  waxed  pale. 

To  find  his  fate  so  near. 

Then  kneeling  quick  upon  his  knee, 

And  dropping  many  a  tear. 
He  strove  to  sooth  the  tyrant's  rage. 

With  many  a  piteous  prayer. 

"  Ah,  spare  me,  royal  uncle,  spare 

"  A  youth  beneath  thy  frown ! 
"  Give  me  but  life — give  me  but  peace~— 

"  And  keep  my  cursed  crown. 

"  Oh  let  me  live  'mong  peasant  swains, 

"  Aye  lost  to  thoughts  of  state ; 
"  I'll  never  murmur  at  the  change, 

"  Nor  wish  for  to  be  great. 

"  Oh  uncle  !  change  that  cruel  frown, 

"  That  dark  determin'd  brow ; 
"  See,  see  me,  tho'  unus'd  to  kneel, 

"  Lay  at  thy  feet  thus  low. 


84  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  (Alas  !  what  words  can  I  Invent, 

*'^  His  purpose  to  a«'ert  ? 
"  Oh  teach  me,  heav'n  with  force  to  plead- 

"  To  touch  his  ruthless  heart.) 

"  And  canst  thou  kill  me,  uncle  dear, 
*^  And  canst  thou  make  me  bleed  ? 

"  And  canst  thou  slay  thy  brother's  child, 
"  That  at  thy  feet  doth  plead  ? 

"  Oh  spare  me,  spare  me,  noble  king ! 

"  Nor  thy  own  honour  stain  ; 
*  So  shall  heav'n  bless  thee  for  my  sake, 
"  And  prosper  long  thy  reign. 

"  So  shall  thy  name  for  ages  long, 
'  Shine  bright  beyond  compare; 

''  And  this  good  act,  in  honour's  roll, 
"  Be  aye  recorded  fair." 

*'  No,  Arthur,  no  !  thou  now  must  die," 

The  ruthless  tyrant  cried  : 
"  Thy  boasted  title  to  my  crown 

"  Shall  no  more  wound  my  pride." 

"  Ah,  cruel  uncle  !    tay  thy  hand — 
"  The  deed  too  late  thou'lt  moan  j 

"^For  well  I  ween  its  dread  effects 
"  Shall  shake  thee  from  thy  throne. 


OLD  BALLADS.  £S 

"  And  thiiik,  when  death  shall  end  thy  days, 

"  That  king  of  all  below, 
"  Shall  not  this  d^ed  add  to  his  darts 

"  Ten  thousand  pangs  of  woe?" 

"  Enough,"  the  angry  tyrant  cried, 

"  The  night  wears  fast  away  j 
"  Turn  thee  to  God — for  thou  must  di€^ 

^*  Before  the  dawn  of  day." 

Th'  affrighted  night-birds  scream'd  and  yell'd 

The  dreary  tow'r  around  ; 
The  river  left  its  oozy  bed, 

And  sought  the  meadow  ground. 

Well  may  ye  scream,  ye  birds  of  night. 

As  round  the  tow'rs  ye  stray ; 
For  they  have  slain  the  hapless  prince. 

Before  the  dawn  of  day. 

Well  mayst  thou,  Seine,  from  out  thy  bed 

Remove  thy  frighted  flood  ; 
For  they  have  slain  the  hapless  prince. 

And  shed  his  dear  heart's  blood,  ^i*  "'  " 

Yes,  they  have  slain  the  hapless  prince,. 

"Ere  he  had  time  to  pray,      ^  <n>!'n'    iH' 
And  thrown  his  body  in  the  flood. 

Before  the  dawn  of  day. 


86  OLD  BALLADS. 

They've  buried  the  prince  in  a  watery  grave. 

With  all  the  speed  they  may ; 
And  tyrant  John,  with  the  curse  of  heav'n. 

Hath  hied  him  on  his  way. 


XVIIL 

,      PRINCE  EDWARD  AND  ADAM  GORDON. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

The  subject  of  this  ballad  is  taken  from  the  history  of 
England,  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Henry  the  Third. 

1  o  Adam  Gordon's  gloomy  haunt 

Prince  Edward  wound  his  way : 
*^  And  could  I  meet  with  that  bold  outlaw, 
'*  In  the  wold  where  he  doth  lay  !" 

Prince  Edward  boldly  wound  his  way 

The  briars  and  bogs  among : 
^^  And  could  I  but  find  that  bold  outlaw, 

^'  His  life  should  not  be  long. 


OLD  ballads:  87 

*'  For  he  hath  harrowed  merry  Hampshire, 

"  And  many  a  spoil  possest ; 
"  A  bolder  outlaw  than  this  wight 

"  Ne'er  rod  by  east  and  west. 

"  And  now  come  on,  my  merry  men  all, 

"  Nor  heed  the  dreary  way  ; 
"  For  could  I  but  meet  that  bold  outlaw, 

"  Full  soon  I  would  him  slay. 

'^  And  when  we  meet  in  hardy  fight, 

*'  Let  no  one  come  between  ; 
"  For  Adam  ©'Gordon's  as  brave  a  man 

"  As  ever  fought  on  green." 

Then  spake  a  knight,  "  It  may  be  long 

"  Ere  Gordon  you  shall  find ; 
*^  For  he  doth  dwell  in  a  dreary  haunt, 

''  Remote  from  human  kind. 

'^  Among  the  wolds  and  deep  morass 

."His  lodging  he  hath  ta'en  ; 
"  And  never  that  wand'ring  wight  went  in, 

"  That  ere  came  out  again. 

"  So  dark,  so  narrow,  and  so  drear, 

"  The  windings  all  about, 
"  That  scarce  the  birds  that  skim  the  air 

"  Can  find  their  way  throughout." 


88  OLD  BALLADS. 

Prince  Edward  drew  his  dark  brown  sword. 

And  shook  his  shining  lance  : 
"  And  rather  I'd  fight  this  bold  outlaw, 

"  Than  all  the  peers  of  France." 

Prince  Edward  grasp'd  his  buckler  strong. 

And  proudly  marched  forth  : 
^'  And  rather  I'd  conquer  this  bold  outlaw, 

^'  Than  all  the  knights  o'the  north." 

And  then  bespake  a  valiant  knight : 
"  Now,  prince,  thy  words  make  good ; 

"  For  yonder  I  see  that  proud  outlaw, 
"  A  coming  forth  the  wood," 

Then  quick  the  prince  lit  off  his  steed. 

And  onward  wound  his  way  ; 
'^  Now  stand  ye  by,  my  merry  men  all, 

"  And  ye  shall  see  brave  play." 

Brave  Adam  o'Gordon  saw  the  prince. 

As  he  came  forth  the  wold  ; 
And  soon  he  knew  him  by  his  shield. 

And  his  banners  all  of  gold. 

"  Arouze,"  he  cried,  "  my  merry  men  all, 
"  And  stand  ye  well  your  ground  ; 

*'  For  yonder  great  prince  Edward  comes, 
"  For  valour  so  renown'd." 


OLD  BALLADS.  85 

''  Now  welcome,  welcome,  Adam  Gordon, 

"  I'm  glad  I  have  thee  found ; 
'^  For  many  a  day  I've  sought  for  thee, 

"  Thro'  all  the  country  round." 

"  Now  here  I  swear,"  brave  Adam  cried, 

"  Had  I  but  so  been  told, 
"  I  would  have  met  thee  long  ere  now, 

"  In  chy  or  in  wold." 

Oh  then  began  as  fierce  a  fight 

As  e'er  was  fought  in  field  : 
The  prince  was  stout,  the  outlaw  strong. 

Their  hearts  with  courage  steel'd. 

Full  many  an  hour  in  valiant  fight 

These  chieftains  bold  did  close  j 
Full  many  an  hour  the  hills  and  woods 

Re-echoed  with  their  blows. 

Full  many  a  warrior  stood  around 

That  marvellous  fight  to  see. 
While  from  their  wounds  the  gushing  blood 

Ran  like  the  fountain  free. 

Tlirice  they  agreed,  o'erspent  with  toil. 

To  cease  their  sturdy  blows  ; 
And  thrice  they  stopp'd  to  quench  their  thirst. 

And  wipe  their  bloody  brows. 


90  OLD  BALLADS. 

Edward  aye  lov'd  that  bravery 

Which  Adam  prov'd  in  fight. 
And,  with  congenial  virtue  fir'd, 

Resolv'd  to  do  him  rights 

"  Adam,  thy  valour  charms  my  soul, 

*'  I  ever  love  the  brave ; 
"  And  tho'  I  fear  not  thy  dread  sword, 

"  Thy  honour  I  would  save. 

"  Here,  Gordon,  do  I  plight  my  hand, 

"  My  honour  and  renown, 
"  That,  if  thou  to  my  sword  wilt  yield, 

"  And  my  allegiance  own — 

**  But  more — if  thou  wilt  be  my  friend, 

*'  And  faithful  share  my  heart, 
**  Fll  ever  prove  gentle  unto  thee — 

''  We  never  more  will  part. 

"  Thou,  in  the  raging  battle's  hour. 

Shall  aye  fight  by  my  side, 
"  And  at  my  table  and  my  court, 

"  In  times  of  peace  preside. 

"  When  prosperous  fate  shall  gild  my  throne, 

*'  Thou  shalt  partake  my  joy ; 
"  Wlien  troubles  low'r,  to  sooth  thy  prince 

Shall  be  thy  sole  employ. 


OLD  BALLADS.  91 

*'  And  I  to  thee  the  same  will  prove, 

"  A  gentle  bosom  friend  ; 
*'  In  joy  to  share  thy  happiness, 

**  In  woe  thy  cares  to  attend. 

*^  Now,  Adam,  take  thy  lasting  choice, 

"  Thy  prince  awaits  thy  word : 
**  Accept,  brave  man,  my  smile  or  frown— 

"  My  friendship  or  my  sword." — 

Brave  Adam,  struck  with  wonder,  gaz'd — 

He  sigh'd  at  every  word  ; 
Then,  falling  quick  upon  his  knee. 

He  gave  the  prince  his  sword. 

Upon  the  warrior's  dark  brown  cheek 

A  tear  was  seen  to  shine- 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart-^ 

"  Brave  Edward,  I  am  thine." 

The  pitying  prince  the  warrior  rais'd. 

And  press'd  him  to  his  heart ; 
"  Adam,  thy  prince  will  be  thy  friend, — 

"  We  never  more  will  part." 

A  shouting  from  their  followers  by 

Proclaimed  the  joyful  sound  ; 
The  hills  and  woodlands,  echoing  loud, 

Dispers'd  the  tidings  round. 


U2  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  prince  then  made  that  brave  outlaw 

On  his  pwn  steed  to  ride. 
With  banners  rich,  and  trappings  gay. 

And  he  rode  by  his  side. 

And  when  with  shouts  to  Guilford  town 

This  noble  train  came  on, 
O'erjoy'd,  our  royal  queen  came  forth. 

To  meet  her  warlike  son. 

"  Fair  son,  fair  son,  more  dear  to  me, 

"  Than  all  that  life  can  give, 
*'  Full  many  a  day  the  loss  of  thee 

"  Hath  caus'd  my  heart  ito  grieve. 

"  And  whence  that  stain  upon  thy  shield  ? 

"  That  blood  upon  thy  brow  ? 
"  Oh  !  thou  hast  had  some  desperate  fight, 

"And  didst  not  let  me  know. 

"  Was  it  among  the  rebel  host 
*'  Thy  sword  hath  got  this  stain  ? 

"  And  are  their  banners  overthrown  ? 
"  And  proud  earl  Derby  slain  ? 

"  Or  is't  where  Kenilworth's  proud  towVs 
"  O'erlook  the  neighbour  plains, 

''  That  thou  hast  rear'd  thy  conquering  arms, 
"  And  fix'd  thy  father's  reign." 


OLD  BALLADS.  aS 

"  Oh  !  I've  not  been  where  Derby's  earl 

"  The  rebel  cause  upholds ; 
"  But  I've  o'ercome  a  braver  man, 

"  'Mong  forests,  bogs,  and  wolds. 

"  Nor  have  I  seen  proud  Kenilworth, 

"  With  tow'rs  all  arow ; 
"  But  I've  o'ercome  a  braver  man 

"  Than  Kenilworth  ere  did  know. 

"  Adam  o'  Gordon  is  that  man, 

''  A  braver  ne'er  was  seen," — 
Then  took  the  warrior  by  the  hand. 

And  led  him  to  the  queen. 

And  there  the  Gordon  was  caress'd. 

With  tilts  and  reveliy  ; 
And  none  in  all  the  tournaments. 

Was  found  with  him  to  vie. 

Where'er  the  royal  Edward  fought. 

Brave  Gordon  aye  would  wend  ; 
And  Edward,  like  a  noble  prince. 

Was  ever  Gordon's  friend. 


94  OLD  BALLADS. 

XIX. 

CUMNOR  HALL. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

Cumnor  is  near  Abington,  in  Berkshire. 

The  story  of  the  unhappy  Countess  of  Leicester,  who  was 
murdered  there  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time,  may  be  seen  at 

,  large  in  Ashmole's  Antiquities  of  Berkshire,  in  whose  time 
the  ruins  of  the  hall  were  still  standing.' — It  had  been 
anciently  a  place  of  retirement  for  the  monks  of  Abington. 

1  HE  dews  of  summer  night  did  fall. 
The  moon  (sweet  regent  of  the  sky) 
Sllver'd  the  walls  of  Cumnor  Hall, 
And  many  an  oak  that  grew  thereby. 

Now  nought  was  heard  beneath  the  skies, 

(The  sounds  of  busy  life  were  still,) 
Save  an  unhappy  lady's  sighs, 
.  That  issued  from  that  lonely  pile. 

"  Leicester,"  she  cried,  "  is  this  thy  love 
"  That  thou  so  oft  has  sworn  to  me, 

**  To  leave  me  in  this  lonely  grove, 
"  Immur'd  in  shameful  privity  ? 


OLD  BALLADS;  95 

"  No  more  thou  comest  with  lover's  speed, 

'*  Thy  once-beloved  bride  to  see  j 
"  But  be  she  alive,  or  be  she  dead, 

"  I  fear,  stern  earl,  's  the  same  to  thee. 

"  Not  so  the  usage  I  receiv'd, 

"  When  happy  in  my  father's  hall ; 

"  No  fkithless  husband  then  me  griev'd, 
"  No  chilling  fears  did  me  appal. 

"  I  rose  up  with  the  cheerful  morn, 

"  No  lark  more  blithe,  no  flow'r  more  gay ; 

"  And,  like  the  bird  that  haunts  the  thorn, 
"  So  merrily  sung  the  live-long  day. 

'*  If  that  my  beauty  is  but  small, 
"  Among  court  ladies  all  despis'd ; 

"  Why  didst  thou  rend  it  from  that  hall, 
"  Where  (scornful  earl)  it  well  was  priz'd  ? 

"  And  when  you  first  to  me  made  suit, 
"  How  fair  I  was  you  oft  would  say  ! 

"  And,  proud  of  conquest—pluck'd  the  fruit, 
"  Then  left  the  blossom  to  decay. 

"  Yes,  now  neglected  and  despis'd 
"  The  rose  is  pale — the  lily's  dead — 

"  But  he  that  once  their  charms  so  priz'd, 
*  Is  sure  the  cause  those  chaims  are  fled. 


96  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  For  know,  when  sick'ning  grief  doth  prey 
^'  And  tender  love's  repaid  with  scorn, 

"  The  sweetest  beauty  will  decay — 
"  What  flow'ret  can  endure  the  storm  ? 

"  At  court  I'm  told  is  beauty's  throne, 
"  Where  every  lady's  passing  rare  ; 

"  That  eastern  flow'rs,  that  shame  the  sun, 
*^  Are  not  so  glowing,  not  so  fair. 

"  Then,  earl,  why  didst  thou  leave  the  beds 
*^  Where  roses  and  where  lilies  vie, 

''  To  seek  a  primrose,  whose  pale  shades 
*^  Must  sicken — when  those  gaudes  are  by  ? 

"  'Mong  rural  beauties  I  was  one, 

"  Among  the  fields  wild  flow'rs  are  fair; 

"  Some  country  swain  might  me  have  won, 
"  And  thought  my  beauty  passing  rare. 

"  But,  Iveicester,  (or  I  much  am  wrong) 
^'  Or  tis  not  beauty  lures  thy  vows  5 

"  Rather  ambition's  gilded  crown 

*'  Makes  thee  forget  thy  humble  spouse. 

"  Then,  Leicester,  why,  again  I  plead, 
"  (The  injur'd  surely  may  repine,) 

"  Why  didst  thou  wed  a  country  maid, 
"  Wlien  some  fair  princess  might  be  thine  > 


OLD  BALLADS.  .  97 

"  Wliy  didst  thou  praise  my  humble  charms, 
"  And,  oh  !  then  leave  them  to  decay  ? 

"  Why  didst  thou  win  me  to  thy  arms, 

"  Then  leave  me  to  mourn  the  live-long  day  ? 

**'  The  village  maidens  of  the  plain 

"  Salute  me  lowly  as  they  go  j 
"  Envious  they  mark  my  silken  train, 

"  Nor  think  a  countess  can  have  woe. 

"  The  simple  nymphs  !  they  little  know, 
"  How  far  more  happy's  their  estate — 

"  — To  smile  for  joy — than  sigh  for  woe — 
"  — To  be  content — than  to  be  great. 

"  How  far  less  blest  am  I  than  them  ? 

"  Daily  to  pine  and  waste  with  care  ! 
"  Like  the  poor  plant,  that  from  its  stem 

"  Divided — feels  the  chilling  air. 


**  Nor  (cruel  earl !)  can  I  enjoy 
"  The  humble  charms  of  solitude  ; 

"  Your  minions  proud  my  peace  destroy, 
"  By  sullen  frowns  or  pratings  rude. 


"  Last  night,  as  sad  I  chanc'd  to  stray, 
"  The  village  death-bell  smote  my  ear ; 

"  They  wink'd  aside,  and  seem'd  to  say, 
*^  Cpuntess,  prepare — thy  end  is  near. 

VOL.  IV.  H 


i 
08  OLD  BALLADS* 

'^  And  now,  while  happy  peasants  sleepy 
"  Here  I  sit  lonely  and  forlorn ; 

"  No  one  to  soothe  me  as  I  weep, 
"  Save  Philomel  on  yonder  thorn. 

"  My  spirits  flag — my  hopes  decay— 

"  Still  that  dread  death-bell  smites  my  e^ ; 

"  And  many  a  boding  seems  to  say, 
"  Countess,  prepare  —thy  end  is  near." 

Thus  sore  and  sad  that  lady  griev'd, 
In  CuiYmor  Hall  so  lone  and  drear  y 

And  many  a  heartfelt  sigh  she  heav'd. 
And  let  fall  many  a  bitter  tear. 

And  ere  the  dawti  of  day  appear'd. 
In  Cumnor  Hall  so  lone  and  drear. 

Full  many  a  piercing  scream  was  heard. 
And  many  a  cry  of  mortal  fear. 

The  death-bell  thfice  was  heard  to  ring, 
An  aerial  voice  was  heard  tO  call. 

And  thrice  the  raven  flapp'd  its  wing 
Around  the  tow'rs  of  Cumnor  Hall. 

The  mastiff  howl'd  at  village  door. 
The  oaks  were  shatter'd  on  the  green  ; 

Woe  was  the  hour— for  never  more 
That  hapless  countess  e'er  was  seen. 


OLD  BALLADS.  »9 

And  in  that  manor  now  no  more 
Is  cheerful  feast  and  sprightly  ball ; 

For  ever  since  that  dreary  hour 

Have  spirits  haunted  Cumnor  Hall. 

The  village  maids,  with  fearful  glance, 
Aroid  the  ancient  moss-grown  wall  3 

Nor  ever  lead  the  merry  dance. 
Among  the  groves  of  Cumnor  Hall. 

Full  many  a  traveller  oft  hath  sigh'd. 
And  pensive  wept  the  countess'  fall, 

As  wand'ring  onwards  they've  espied 
The  haunted  tow'rs  of  Cumnor-Hall, 


XX. 

ARABELLA  STUART. 

[First  printed  in  tins  Collection.^ 

W  HERE  London's  Tow'r  its  turrets  show, 
So  stately  by  the  Thames's  side. 

Fair  Arabella,  child  of  woe, 
For  many  a  day  had  sat  and  sigh'd. 


100  OLD  BALLADS. 

And  as  she  heard  the  waves  arise. 

And  as  she  heard  the  bleak  winds  roar. 

As  fast  did  heave  her  heartfeh  sighs. 
And  still  so  fast  her  tears  did  pour. 

The  sun  that  joy 'd  the  blijhsome  day. 

The  moon  that  cheer'd  the  night's  dull  houi", 

Still  found  the  fair  to  grief  a  prey. 
The  victim  of  tyrannic  pow'r. 

"  And  why,"  that  hapless  lady  cried, 
"  From  royal  race  am  I  deriv'd  ? 

"  Had  I  to  peasants  been  allied, 

"  Happy,  tho'  poor,  I  then  had  liv'd. 

^'  Ambition  never  won  my  mind, 

"  For  many  its  victim  I  have  known  ; 

"  Alas  !  like  me,  here  once  confin'd — 
"  Their  hours  of  peace  for  ever  flown. 

"  Because  by  birth  to  kings  allied — 
*'  Ah  me  !  how  cruel  the  pretence  ! 

"  My  name  offends  the  ear  of  pride ; 
"  My  being  botn — is  my  offence. 

"  Tom  from  my  friends,  from  all  the  joys, 
"  That  virtuous  freedom  can  afford ; 

"  But  more  my  bleeding  bosom  sighs, 
"  Torn  from  my  love — my  wedded  lord. 


OLD  BALLADS.  101 

"  Alas,  dear  youth  !  and  must  we  part, 
"  And  shall  I  see  my  love  no  more, 

**  Save  when,  to  sooth  my  wounded  heart, 
*'  Beneath  my  tow'r  thy  whispers  soar  ? 

"  When  the  still  night,  with  darksome  shade, 
"  Enwraps  these  dreary  walls  around, 

"  Anxious,  I  listen  for  thy  tread, 

*'  O'erjoy'd,  I  hear  thy  dear  voice  sound. 

"  But  who  can  tell  the  pangs  so  keen 
"  That  such  ill-fated  lovers  know, 

"  Where  tow'rs  and  bars  arise  between, 
"  Dark  spies  above  and  guards  below  ? 

"  In  vain  for  me  the  sun  doth  rise  ! 

"  In  vain  to  me  the  moon  doth  shine  ! 
"  The  smiling  earth  ne'er  cheers  my  eyes, 

*'  Here  doom'd  in  misery  to  pine. 

•'  And  as  I  hear  the  waves  arise,    . 

"  And  as  I  hear  the  bleak  winds  roar, 
"  Still  still  as  fast  will  heave  my  sighs, 

"  And  still  so  fast  my  tears  must  pour." 

Now  came  her  lord  with  lover's  speed. 
And  at  the  wall  thus  whisper'd  he  : 

"  Arise,  my  love,  nor  think  of  dread, 
"  Thy  hueband's  come  to  set  thee  free.'' 


102  OLD  BALLADS. 

'^  Th'  astonish'd  lady  rose  with  speed. 
And  saw  her  lover  stand  below ; — 

"  The  blessing  that  so  much  I  need, 
"  Oh,  how  can'st  thou  on  me  bestow  ?" 

^^  Oh,  I  have  brib'd  the  partial  fates— 
"  Descend  this  ladder,  love,  to  me — • 

"  On  yonder  stream  a  ship  awaits, 
^^  To  waft  us  o'er  the  briny  sea," 

Fair  Arabella  heard  the  tale. 

And  thrice  for  joy  she  turn'd  and  sigh'd; 
Yet  ere  she  let  fond  hope  prevail. 

Thus  to  the  hasty  youth  she  cried  : 

"  Lord  Seymour,  well  I  know  thy  heart, 
"  Thy  truth  and  constancy  to  me ; 

"  Yet  ne'er  from  hence  would  I  depart, 
"  If  aught  of  harm  should  hap  to  thee. 

"  For  know,'  should  we  in  flight  be  ta'en, 
*'  Th'  offended  crown  would  have  thy  life- 

"  Stay,  lest  thy  zeal  should  be  our  bane, — 
"  And  break  the  heart  of  thy  poor  wife.'* 

Oh  then  lord  Seymour  waxed  pale. 

And  thrice  for  grief  he  sigh'd  full  sore  ; 

"  And  now  must  all  my  projects  fail, 
<*  And  all  my  hopes  of  bliss  be  o'er  ? 


OLD  BALLADS.  105 

*^  Too  cruel  maid  !  to  let  fond  fear 

^'  Thus  dash  the  hope  that  ne'er'l  return  ! 

**  Oh  come,  my  love — nor  wanton  tea,v 

'*  The  heart  that  aye  for  thee  doth  burn.     ' 

"  Dear  wife,  no  more  our  hopes  withstand, 
"  Descend— or  we  shall  meet  no  more" — 

Then  nimbly  drew  her  lily  hand, 

And  down  the  trembling  fair  he  bore. 

And  now  adown  the  Thames'  fair  strean^,.,  j^ 

That  lady  joyful  sail'd  away. 
While  flatt'ring  hope,  with  silver  dream, 

Her  bosom  sooth'd  the  live-long  day. 

And  now  she  cried,  '^  Adieu  to  woe  ! 

*'  Smooth  as  the  gentle  stream  I  see, 
*'  My  future  hours  in  peace  shall  flow, 

"  Enrich'd  with  love  and  liberty. 

"  And  tho'  I  see  the  waves  arise, 
^'  And  tho'  I  hear  the  rude  winds  roar, 

"  Yet  still  no  more  shall  heave  my  sighs, 
"  Nor  down  my  cheeks  the  salt  tears  pour." 

jBut  now  the  storm  began  to  low'ry 
And  'frighted  hope  dissolv'd  to  air, 

(That  faithless  fantom  of  an  hour  !) 
And  left  the  lady  to  despair. 


104  OLD  BALLADS. 

In  vain  was  spread  the  swelling  sail. 
In  vain  they  steer  before  the  wind  ; 

For  tyranny  would  still  prevail, 
And  strive  to  chain  the  free-born  mind. 

The  hapless  lady  to  regain, 

Arm'd  ships  spread  all  the  ocean  o'er ; 
And  grim  despair  bestrode  the  main. 

To  seize  the  victim  of  his  pow'r. 

And  they  have  ta'en  that  hapless  fair. 
And  to  the  dreary  Tow'r  have  borne  ; 

Nor  heed  the  pangs  of  keen  despair. 
With  which  her  breaking  heart  is  torn. 

There  low  she  lies  absorb'd  in  grief ; 
And,  more  to  edge  its  poignancy, 
.    She  trembles  for  a  husband's  life. 
More  dear  to  her  than  liberty. 

There  doom'd  her  future  life  to  wear. 
No  more  the  balm  of  hope  to  know. 

She  yiefds  her  to  the  fiend  despair. 
That  points  the  barbed  dart  of  woe. 

And  as  she  hears  the  waves  arise. 

And  as  she  hears  the  bleak  Avinds  roar. 

As  fast  do  heave  her  heartfelt  sighs. 
And  still  so  fast  her  salt  tears  pour. 


OLD  BALLADS.         105 


XXI. 

ANNA  BULLEN,  AN  ELEGIAC  BALLAD, 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

Xi  I G  H  she  sat  in  regal  state. 

Lovely  Anna,  England's  queen 
(Thoughtless  tJiat  approaching  fate. 

Could  so  shortly  change  the  scene). 

Deckt  in  robes  of  loyalty. 

She  appear'd  some  form  divine ; 
Glorious  in  that  form  to  see. 

Beauty's  throne  and  virtue's  shrine. 

Lilies  so  transcendent  fair, 

Roses  of  the  Tyrian  dye. 
Could  not  with  her  hand  compare,. 

Could  not  with  her  blushes  vie. 

Round  her  knights  and  nobles  bow'd. 
Proud  to  wait  beside  her  throne — ■ 

Anna  mild,  as  Henry  proud, 

Sniil'd  on  all,  and  frown'd  on  none. 


106  OLD  BALLADS. 

Palefac'd  misery,  grref  and  woe, 

To  her  feet  did  oft  repair  -, 
Bounteous  gifts  she  did  bestow. 

Generous  queen,  as  good  as  fair. 

Pity  form'd  her  soft  and  mild. 
Apt  to  weep  at  woe  severe ; 

Mercy  claim'd  her  for  her  child. 
And  for  proof  produc'd  the  tear,    . 

Many  a  wretch,  with  joyful  breath, 
Sav'd  from  want,  her  love  proclaim  ; 

Many  a  miscreant,  snatch'd  from  death. 
Grateful  bless  her  bounteous  name. 

Superstition  long  had  feign'd. 

Long  had  rear'd  her  haggard  head ; 

When  she  heard  that  Anna  reign'd, 
Scar'd,  she  trembled,  curs'd,  and  fled. 

Calumny,  with  artful  leer. 

Strove  to  taint  her  maiden  fame  ; 

Pyide  was  pleas'd  the  tale  to  hear, 
Envy  gladly  would  proclaim. 

But  to  quell  that  dark  surmize. 
Truth  her  faithful  glass  applied ; 

Truth  the  envious  tale  denies. 

Pride  was  humbled— scandal  died, 


OLD  BALLADS.  107 

But  pale  envy,  rankling  sore. 

Came  disguis'd  in  friendship's  name  ; 

}/La\ice  in  her  breast  she  bore. 

Bent  to  bring  this  queen  to  shame. 

Hapless  Rochford,  thee  their  prey 

Thou  with  others  art  deereed — 
But  sweet  Anna,  more  than  they. 

Was  the  lamb  destin'd  to  bleed. 

Sweet  Innocence,  and  shall  thy  charms, 
And  must  thy  virtues  plead  in  vain  ? 

Torn  from  her  smiling  infant's  arms, 
Must  our  lovely  queen  be  slain  ? 

Yes,  hapless  Anna  !  thou  must  fall ; 

'Gainst  such  tyrant's  what  defence  } 
Charms  nor  virtues  can  avail, 

Nor  thy  infant's  eloquence. 

Thou  that  wast  a  friend  to  all. 
Hast  no  friend  to  plead  for  thee  ; 

Friendless  (tho'  an  empress)  fall, 
Lamb  destin'd  for  butchery. 

Hark  yon  distant  hollow  groan— 

Hark  yon  woe-fraught  murmurs  faint — 

Lo,  the  hellish  deed  is  done— 
Parewel,  Anna,  queen,  and  saint  I 


108  OLD  BALLADS. 

Be  the  deed  for  ever  mourn'd, 
Britain,  lo  !  thy  deepest  stain  ! 

Loveliest  queen,  that  tliee  adorn'd. 
Thy  heard-hearted  king  hath  slain. 

Pale  that  face  Mrhose  beauty  charm'd. 
Of  whose  smiles  a  king  was  proud  : 

Pale  those  hands  a  sceptre  arm'd, — 
Wrapped  in  a  dreary  shroud  ! 

Mangled  is  that  neck  and  breast. 
That  e'en  envy  fair  allow'd  ; 

Where  all  graces  were  express'd — 
Wrapped  in  a  dreary  shroud  ! 

Charms,  whose  lustre  bright  hath  shone. 
Now,  ala^s  !  shall  shine  no  more  ; 

Transient  charms — for  ever  flow'n — 
Pomp  and  pow'r — for  ever  o'er. 

Now  no  more  shall  those  bright  eyes 
Weep  to  hear  the  tale  of  grief ; 

Nor,  when  pale-fac'd  sorrow  cries. 
Shall  those  hands  extend  relief. 

But,  sweet  queen,  thou  still  shalt  reign 
On  a  brighter  throne  above. 

Where  no  fiend  thy  peace  shall  stain, 
J^or  ensnare  thy  monarch's  love. 


OLD  BALLADS.  109 

E'en  on  earth  thy  fame  shall  bloom 

Brighter  for  th'  opposing  shade : 
And  thy  name,  in  times  to  come. 

Pure  and  virtuous  be  display'd. 

And  thy  grave  a  hallow'd  shrine, 

Tho'  but  turf  the  spot  adorn  ; 
There  shall  many  a  form  divine. 

Guard  thy  ashes,  eve  and  morn. 

Piety  (neglected  saint  !) 

Oft  with  grief  shall  wander  near  ; 
And,  in  pangs  of  sad  despair. 

On  the  green  turf  drop  a  tear. 

There  shall  come  the  numerous  throng 
Of  the  wretched  thou'st  reliev'd. 

Tale  to  tell,  as  sweet  as  long, 

Of  the  good  works  thou'st  atchiev'd. 

Ever  shall  thy  foes  be  scorn'd. 

And,  'with  heart-felt  tears  and  sighs, 

Shall  thy  hapless  fate  be  mourn'd — 
For  with  thee  religion  dies. 

Tyrant  Henry,  bloody  king, 

Dark  thy  future  years  shall  roll : 

Conscience,  with  her  venom'd  sting. 
Long  shall  lash  thy  guilty  soul. 


no  OLD  BALLADS. 

When  more  pleasure  tliou  hast  had, 
Pall'd  with  beauty,  glut  witli  blood. 

Thou  shalt  mourn,  tho'  now  so  glad. 
Thou  shalt  die,  tho'  now  so  proud. 


XXII. 

THE  LADY  AND  THE  PALMER. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.} 

1  H  K  view  of  manors  stretch'd  afar 

"  Will  not  sooth  sorrow's  pow'r  :" 
So  sang  a  lady,  rich  and  fair. 

As  she  sat  in  her  bow'r. 
"  Tho'  foul  befall  me  for  my  meed, 

"  And  foul  be  thought  the  word  ; 
*'  Would -lieav'n  me  speed,  alive  or  dead, 

"  To  see  my  absent  lord  \" 


OLD  BALLADS.  lU 

'Twas  'bout  the  time  of  curfew  bell. 

When,  all  in  black  array/ 
With  cross  to  pray,  and  beads  to  tell, 

A  Palmer  came  that  way. 
*'  Go,  page,  and  call  thy  lady  fair  j" 

Aloud  he  did  command  ; 
"  Tell  her  a  Palmer's  waiting  here, 

"  Come  from  the  holy  land." 

The  Palmer  saw  that  foot-page  run, 

(As  he  rang  at  the  ring,) 
The  Palmer  look'd  till  the  bow'r  he  won, 

And  heard  the  lady  sing  : 
"  Tho'  foul  befall  me  for  my  meed, 

"  And  foul  be  thought  the  word, 
*'  Would  heav'n  me  speed,  alive  or  dead,         * 

"  To  see  my  absent  lord  !" 

"  Now  welcome,  holy  Palmer,  and  tefl 

"  Thy  tidings  unto  me." 
'''  Oh,  lady,  it  is  not  many  a  day, 

"  Since  I  thy  lord  did  see." 
- "  Oh  when  will  he  adone  with  the  wars  ? 

"  Sweet  Palmer  tell  to  me." 
"  Oh  lady,  he's  now  adone  with  the  warS; 

"  In  truth  I  tell  to  thee/' 


112  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Alas !  what  wounds  hath  he  got  i^th*  field  ? 

"  Dear  Palmer  tell  to  me." 
**  Ob,  he  has  had  wounds,  but  now  they're  heal'd, 

"  In  truth  I  tell  to  thee." 
"  But  is  there  no  token  that  he  hath  sent, 

"  No  token  of  love  to  me  ? 
"  No  relique  o'the  rood,  or  pearl  orient, 

"  Or  gaude  of  the  east  country  ?" 


*'  Oh,  I've  no  relique,  or  eastern  gaiide, 

"  Fair  lady,  to  bring  to  thee  j 
*'  But  I  come  to  tell  that  thy  hapless  lord — 

"  Is  dying  in  the  east  country." 
Oh  then  that  lady's  groans  and  cries 

Re-echoed  piteously ; 
The  tears  that  fell  from  her  brilliant  eyes 

Ran  like  the  fountain  free. 


"  Oh  Palmer,  ill  befall  to  thee, 

"  For  what  thou  tellest  me  ! 
"  But  now  will  I  wend  to  the  east  country, 

^*  My  dying  lord  to  see. 
"  And  tho'  foul  befall  me  for  my  meed, 

"  And  foul  be  thought  thej^word, 
"  Good  heav'n  me  speed  !  for,  alive  or  dead, 

"  I'll  see  my  dearest  lord. 


OLD  BALLADS.  H3 

"  And  now,  my  foot-page,  run,  I  pray, 

"  On  thy  lady's  last,  last  boon ; 
*i  Get  a  pilgrim's  gown  of  black  or  of  gray, 

"  With  scrip  and  sandal  shoon  : 
"  And  take  the?e  silken  gaudes  with  thee, 

''  And  take  this  kirtle  o'  green ; 
"  For  'tis  not  befitting  widows,  like  me, 

"  In  such  garb  to  be  seen. 

"  And  cut  these  wanton  locks,  I  pray, 

"  And  take  my  gold  rings  three ; 
"  For  in  pilgrim's  garb  I'll  take  my  way 

"  To  my  lord  in  the  east  country. 
"  And  now  tho'  foul  befall  my  meed, 

"  And  foul  be  thought  the  word, 
"  Good  heav'n  me  speed  !  for,  alive  or  dead, 

"  I'll  see  ray  dearest  lord." 

Then  up  arose  that  Palmer  man, 

Amaz'd  such  love  to  see ; 
For  the  lady  already  some  paces  had  ran. 

In  her  way  to  the  east  country. 
"  Lady,  stay  !  for  from  th'  holy  land 

"  Thy  lord's  last  words  I  bring  ; 
"  And  lo  !  to  my  care,  from  off  his  hand, 

"  He  pledg'd  this  golden  ring," 

VOL,  IV.  I 


114  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  lady  sprang,  and  seiz'd  the  ring. 

And  a  show'r  of  tears  she  shed ; 
"  Now  1  know  by  this  pledge,  that  thou  dost  bring, 

"  That  my  dear  lord  is  dead. 
'^  Yet  still,  tho'  foul  befall  my  meed, 

"  And  foul  be  thought  the  word, 
*'  Would  heav'n  me  speed  !  Aho  he  be  dead, 

"  I'd  see  my  dear-lov'd  lord." 

"  Oh  weep  not,  lady,  weep  not  so, 

/^  Nor  'gainst  thy  sad  fate  strive  j 
"  For  shouldst  thou  see  him,  thou  well  dost  know, 

*'  Thou  couldst  not  make  him  live. 
*^  But  calm  thy  mind,  oh  lady  fair !  > 

"  But  calm  thy  mind,  I  pray ; 
**  Nor  let  that  cursed  fiend  despair 

"  Thus  'whelm  thee  with  dismay." 

**  Oh  cruel  Palmer  !  say  not  so, 

"  Nor  think  to  comfort  me  ; 
"  And  tho'  'twould  but  increase  my  woe, 

"  My  dead  lord  I  would  see." 
*^  Alas  !  alas  !  thou  lady  fah: ! — • 

"  But  if  it  so  must  be, 
«  I  can  by  learned  lore  declare, 

"  How  thou  thy  lord  may'st  see." 


OLD  BALLADS.  115 

"  Oh  say'st  thou  so,  thou  Palmer  dear  ? 

"  Now  shalt  thou  have  gold  and  fee  : 
"  Then  tell  me,  Palmer,  tell  me,  where 

"  My  dead  lord  I  may  see  ? 
Then  quick  that  wily  Palmer  led 

The  lady  to  the  bow'r. 
And  in  a  book  full  long  he  read, 

Wliile  fast  her  tears  did  pour. 

"  Oh  I  know  well,  by  this  black  book, 

"  That  he'll  appear  this  night ; 
"  But  white  and  ghastly  he  will  look, 

"  And  will  thee  much  affright." 
"  Oh  I  care  not,"  the  lady  said ; 

"  Tho'  foul  be  thought  the  word, 
"  Would  heav'n  me  speed  !  tho'  he  be  dead, 

"  I'd  see  my  dearest  lord." 

"  On  yon  kirk-green,  at  dark  midnight, 

"  Thy  dead  lord  will  appear  : 
"  Far  ofi^  you'll  see  his  hapless  sprite — 

"  But,  lady — go  not  near. 
«  So  now  go  chaunt  full  many  a  prayer, 

"  Devout  upon  thy  knee  j 
«  And  to  the  kirk-green  at  night  repair, 

«  Thy  dead  lord  for  to  see." 


116  OLD  BALLADS. 

Now  rose  the  moon  with  solemn  pride. 

Sweet  night's  enchanting  queen. 
And  o'er  the  lonely  kirk-yard  wide 

Was  shed  her  silver  sheen. 
,  And  then  came  forth  that  lady  fair, 

And  to  the  kirk-green  went — 
Cold  blew  the  blast — and  her  sweet  hair, 

Was  all  with  dew  besprent. 

And  now  the  hours  had  gone  their  round, 

And  dreary  was  the  green. 
And  nought  was  heard  save  the  lone  sound 

Of  the  blast  that  blew  so  keen. 
Yet  still  she  sigh'd,  "  Tho*  foul  my  meed, 

"  And  foul  be  thought  the  word, 
"  Would  heav'n  me  speed  !  tho'  he  be  dead, 

"  I'd  see  my  dear-lov'd  lord." 

Scarce  had  she  spoke ;  when  from  the  east 

A  ghostly  form  did  glide — 
She  started  wild — she  smote  her  breast — 

And  on  the  kirk-green  died. 
The  Palmer  threw  aside  the  sheet. 

And  frantic  rav'd  and  cried ; 
Then  curs'd  his  avarice  indiscreet. 

And  by  the  lady  died.- 


OLD  BALLADS.  1J7 


XXIIL 
THE  FAIR  MANIAC. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

1  HE  night  was  dark,  the  blast  blew  cold, 

And  loud  the  tempest  roar'd  ; 
Blue  lightnings  flash'd  from  pole  to  pole. 

The  stormy  torrent  pour'd ; 
Mankind,  both  high  and  low,  in  bed 

Were  shelter'd  safe  and  warm ; 
Save  one  distracted  maid,  who  fled 

'Mong  all  the  thickest  storm. 

And  ever  and  anon  she  sped 

Where  most  the  tempest  pour'd. 
And  where  the  thunders  overhead 

With  loudest  terror  warr'd  : 
Thro'  lonesome  dell  or  dreary  glade, 

Or  kirk-yard  graves  among, 
She  wander'd  all  wild,  and  thus  (poor  maid) 

With  madlike  glee  she  sung : 


11(4  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Beat,  beat,  ye  winds ;  ye  torrents,  pour ; 

"  Fight,  warring  clouds  above ; 
«  Flash,  liglitnings,  flash  y  loud  thunders  roar ; 

"  But  hurt  not  my  true  love  : 
"  For  him  I  seek  both  night  and  day, 

"  For  him  bewilder'd  rove ; 
"  Ye  lightnings,  light  me  on  my  way, 

*'  In  search  of  my  true  love. 

"  For  him  I  bear  the  summer's  burn, 

*'  And  brave  the  wintry  wind ; 
*'  And  day  and  night  for  him  I  mourn, 

"  For  he  has  prov'd  unkind ; 
"  Ye  torrents,  rush  ;  ye  thunders,  roar; 

"  Flash,  flash,  thou  angry  sky; 
"  For  I  shall  see  my  love  no  more, 

"  And  I  for  him  will  die. 

**  The  cold,  cold  night  is  dark  and  drear, 

'*  And  I  cannot  find  my  love  ; 
"  Ah  me ! — I've  search'd  both  far  and  near  j 

"  Where,  wanderer,  canst  thou  rove  ? 
"  But  I'll  pursue  and  stop  thy  speed — 

"  And  oh  !  for  thy  scorn  to  me, 
**  I'll  make  thy  heart  like  mine  to  bleed, 

«  And  then  I'll  die  with  thee." 


OLD  BALLADS.  11» 

A  valiant  kniglit  was  riding  by. 

All  in  the  stormy  rain ; 
And  he  heard  the  hapless  damsel  sigh, 
-  And  bitterly  complain. 
She  frantic  o'er  the  wild  heath  sprung, 
»  And  frantic  cried  aloud  j 
Then  stopp'd  the  knight,  and  thus  she  sung,  . 
While  he  all  wondring  stood  : 

«  Oh  turn,  sir  kn^ht,  thy  milk-white  steed, 

"  And  hear  my  mournful  song  ; 
"  And  then  in  valiant  knightly  deed 

'f  Return  and  right  my  wrong  : 
"  I  lov'd  a  knight,  and  lov'd  him  true, 

"  And  constant  love  he  swore, 
"  But  he's  prov'd  false,  and  I  must  rue — 

"  And  I  must  still  deplore. 

*^  He  lives  at  yonder  glitt'ring  tow'r, 

"  He  lives  nor  thinks  of  me  ; 
"  Oh  knight,  I'd  bless  thy  valor's  pow'r, 

"  Could  I  the  traitor  see  : 
«  Then  turn,  sir  knight,  thy  milk-white  steed, 

"  The  way  it  is  not  long  ; 
"  And  may  th'  lady  you  best  love  be  thy  meed, 

"  If  thou  wilt  right  my  wrong  !" 


vM  r 

120  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Yes,  I  will  right  thy  wrong,  fair  maid," 

The  gentle  knight  replied  ; 
"  But  I  can  see  no  tovv'r  display 'd, 

"  Tlie  darksome  night  doth  hide." 
"  Oh  yes,  on  yonder  hill,"  she  cried, 

'^  That  faithless  knight  doth  dwell ; 
"  'Twas  thro*  the  lightnings  gleam  I  spied 

"  The  glitt'ring  tow'r  full  well." 

"  If  on  my  steed,  poor  maid,  thou'lt  ride, 

"  My  steed  shall  carry  thee." 
"  Yes,  knight,  I'll  go,"  the  maid  replied, 

"  The  combat  for  to  see." 
And  now  they  rode  with  hasty  speed. 

And  soon  they  reach'd  the  hill. 
And  soon  they  reach'd  the  tow'r  decreed 

Their  purpose  to  fulfill. 


OLD  BALLADS.        131 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


«  Arouse  1  arouse  1  thou  faithless  knight, 

"  Arouse  !  thou  stony  breast.' 
«  Who  dares,"  he  cried,  "  in  this  dread  night, 

"  Who  dares  disturb  my  rest  ?" 
"  It's  thy  true  love,  whom  thou  didst  slight, 

"  That  calls  thee  from  thy  bed : 
"  Arouse  !  arouse  !  thou  faithless  knight, 

"  Arouse  to  fight  or  wed !" 

The  knight  arose  and  op'd  the  gate. 
And  saw  his  love  stand  there- 


Her  face,  that  was  so  fair  of  late. 
Was  stain'd  with  many  a  tear  : 

Her  lips,  once  red  as  autumn  fruit. 
Were  pallid  now  and  coarse  ; 

Her  voice,  once  sweet  as  the  silver  lute, 
Was  now  as  the  raven's  hoarse. 


13^.  OLD  BAIXADS, 

A  faded  wreath  was  upon  her  brow. 

Her  gown  all  rude  and  rent ; 
And  her  hair^,  that  once  so  bright  did  floW), 

Was  all  with  dew  besprent. 
"  I  am  thy  own  true  love,  dear  knight, 

"  And  I  am  come  to  wed, 
"  In  my  bridal  garments  all  bedight, 

"  And  my  garland  on  my  head. 

"  To  the  holy  kirk,  love,  we'll  repair, 

^'  As  bride  and  bridegroom  gay ; 
*'  The  lightnings,  that  around  us  glare, 

*'  Shall  cheer  us  on  the  way  : 
"  Of  the  green,  green  grass,  so  soft  with  devir, 

"  We'll  make  our  bridal  bed ; 
"  And  of  hemlock  fair,  and  nightshade  blue, 

"  A  pillow  for  our  head. 

"  The  thunders,  that  so  loudly  roar, 

*'  Shall  be  our  musick,  love  ; 
"  And  we  will  sing  while  the  rain  doth  pour, 

"  So  merrily  we  will  rove  : 
"  And  when  I'm  dead,  with  my  bridal  ring  . 

"  Let  me  be  laid  full  low ; 
"  And  over  the  green  turf  dance  and  sing, 

"  For  my  heart  shall  leave  its  woe  !" 


OLD  BALLADS  12S 

The  knight  he  trembled  sad  and  sore^ 

As  he  saw  his  true  love  stand  ^ 
She  sprang  and  kist  him  o'er  and  o'er— ' 

But  he  push'd  back  her  hand. 
"  Oh  fight/'  she  cried,  "  my  stranger  knight, 

"  Oh  fight,  for  thou  art  strong  5 
"  Lo  !  he  returns  my  love  with  spite, 

"  Revenge  a  maiden's  wrong." 

^'  Go  get,"  he  cried,  "  thy  sword  and  shield, 

"  And  get  thy  helm  and  spear  ; 
"  For  I  will  make  thy  proud  heart  yield, 

"  To  revenge  this  damsel  dear." 
"  Yes,  r  will  get  my  sword  and  shield, 

"  And  I  will  get  my  spear ; 
"  For  there's  no  knight  to  whom  I'll  yield, 

"  No  knight  whom  I  will  fear." 

Then  fought  those  knights  all  in  the  fie  .9, 

They  fought  for  many  an  hour ; 
They  broke  their  spears,  they  cleav'd  their  shields. 

And  their  blood  in  streams  did  pour ; 
And  thrice  they  stopp'd,  with  toil  o'erspentj, 

To  wipe  their  bleeding  brow ; 
And  thrice  they  drank,  with  one  consent, 

Where  the  purling  stream  did  flow. 


124  OLD  BALLADS. 

And  while  they  fought  with  hardy  wroth. 

The  mad  maid  sat  and  sung  : 
"  Fight  on,  fight  on^  my  champions  both, 

^^  The  woodland  hills  among  ; 
"  And  he  that  lives  shall  have  my  tiioth, 

*^  I'll  twine  our  hearts  in  one  : 
"  Fight  on,  fight  on,  my  champions  both, 

*^  Till  the  bloody  victory  's  won. 

"  Y\\  weave  a  shroud  for  him  that's  slain, 

''  And  fast  my  tears  shall  flow  : 
"  Fight  on,  my  knights,  to  sooth  my  pain, 

'^  For  my  heart  is  sick  with  woe  ; 
**  I'll  sing  and  pray  for  him  that's  slain, 

"  And  mourn  both  day  and  night ; 
"  For  'tis  my  heart's  blood  your  shields  doth  stain, 

"  My  woes — for  which  ye  fight." 

Full  long  they  fought,  until,  o'ercome. 

The  faithless  knight  did  fall : 
"  Wrong'd  maid,"  he  cried,  "  thy  cause  hath  won, 

"  Come  hear  my  dying  call." 
Then  up  she  sprang  in  frantic  mood. 

And  kiss'd  his  pale,  pale  cheek  ; 
And,  frantic,  drank  the  smoaking  blood. 

That  from  his  wounds  did  reek. 


OLD  BALLADS.  135 

'f  O  this  flows  from  that  heart,"  she  cried, 

"  That  caused  me  so  dear ; 
"  But  now,  in  a  rushing  crimson  tide, 

"  It  pays  me  tear  for  tear." 
Then  from  the  gaping  wounded  side 

His  quiv'ring  heart  she  tore. 
And  to  the  knight,  with  frantic  pride. 

The  bloody  prize  she  bore. 


"  Oh  this  the  stony  heart,"  she  cried, 

"  That  caus'd  my  tears  to  flow, 
**  And  made  me  roam  the  land  so  wide, 

"  In  all  the  pangs  of  woe  :" 
Then  to  the  dead  knight  did  she  hie. 

And  laid  her  by  his  side ; 
She  kiss'd  the  heart,  and  with  a  sigh — 

That  hapless  mad  maid  died. 


126  OLD  BALLADS. 


XXIV. 
THE  BRIDAL  BED. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

It  was  a  maid  of  low  degree 

Sat  on  her  true  love's  grave. 
And  with  her  tears  most  piteously 

The  green  turf  she  did  lave ; 
She  strew'd  the  flow'rs,  she  pluck'd  the  weed. 

And  show'rs  of  tears  she  shed  : 
^'  Sweet  tvirf,"  she  cried,  "  by  fate  decreed 

"  To  be  my  bridal  bed ! 

"  I've  set  thee,  flow'r,  for  that  the  flow'r 

"  Of  manhood  lieth  here  ; 
"  And  water'd  thee  with  plenteous  show*r 

*^  Of  many  a  briny  tear." 
And  still  she  cried,  "  Oh  stay,  my  love, 

^^  My  true-love,  stay  for  me  j 
"  Stay  till  I've  deck'd  my  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee. 


OLD  BALLADS.  127 

"  I  pluck'd  thee,  weed,  for  that  no  weed 

*'  Did  in  his  bosom  grow  ; 
"  But  sweetest  flow'rs  from  virtue's  seed, 

"  Did  there  spontaneous  blow  : 
"  But  ah  !  their  beauteous  tints  no  mor« 

"  Their  balmy  fragrance  shed, 
"  And  I  must  strew  this  meaner  flow'r, 

"  To  deck  my  bridal  bed. 

"  Sweet  turf,  thy  green  more  green  appears, 

"  Tears  make  thy  verdure  grow, 
"  Then  still  I'll  water  thee  with  teari, 

"  That  thus  profusely  flow. 
*^  Oh  stay  for  me,  departed  youth, 

"  My  true-love,  stay  for  me  ; 
"  Stay  till  I've  deck'd  my  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee. 

"  This  is  the  flow'ry  wreath  he  wove, 

"  To  deck  his  bride,  dear  youth  ! 
**  And  this  the  ring  with  which  my  love 

"  To  me  did  plight  his  troth  ', 
"  And  this  dear  ring  I  was  to  keep, 

"  And  with  it  to  be  wed 

"  But  here,  alas  !  I  sigh  and  weep, 

«  To  deck  my  bridal  bed." 


128  OLD  BALLADS. 

A  blithsome  knight  came  riding  by. 

And,  as  the  bright  moon  shone. 
He  saw  her  on  the  green  turf  lie. 

And  heard  her  piteous  moan  ; 
For  loud  she  cried,  "  Oh  stay,  my  love, 

"  My  true-love,  stay  for  me  ; 
"  Stay  till  I've  deck'd  my  bridal  bed, 

«  And  I  will  follow  thee." 


"  Oh  say,"  he  cried,  "  fair  maiden,  say, 

"  What  cause  doth  work  thy  woe. 
"  That  on  a  cold  grave  thou  dost  lay, 

"  And  fast  thy  tears  o'erflow," 
"  Oh !  I  have  cause  to  weep  for  woe, 

"  For  my  true-love  is  dead ; 
"  And  thus,  while  fast  my  tears  o'erflow, 

*'  I  deck  my  bridal  bed." 

"  Be  calm,  fair  maid,"  the  knight  replied,^ 

"  Thou  art  too  young  to  die  ; 
*'  But  go  with  me,  and  be  my  bride, 

"  And  leave  the  old  to  sigh." — 
But  still  she  cried,  "  Oh  stay,  my  love, 

"  My  true-love  stay  for  me ; 
"  Stay  'till  I've  deckt  my  biTdal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee." 


OLD  BALLADS.  120 

*'  Oh  leave,"  he  cried,  "  this  grief  so  cold, 

"  And  leave  this  dread  despair, 
"  And  thou  shalt  flaunt  in  robes  of  gold, 

"  A  lady  rich  and  fair  : 
"  Thou  shalt  have  halls  and  castles  fair : 

"  And  when,  sw^eet  maid,  we  wed, 
"  O  thou  shalt  have  much  costly  gear, 

"  To  deck  thy  bridal  bed." 

"  Oh  hold  thy  peace,  thou  cruel  knight, 

"  Nor  urge  me  to  despair ; 
"  With  thee  my  troth  I  will  not  plight, 

"  For  all  thy  proffers  fair  : 
"  But  I  will  die  with  my  own  true-love — 

"  My  true-love,  stay  for  me  ; 
"  Stay  till  I've  deck'd  my  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee. 

"  Thy  halls  and  castles  I  despise, 

"  This  turf  is  all  I  crave  ; 
"  For  all  my  hopes,  and  all  my  joys, 

"  Lie  buried  in  this  grave  : 
«  I  want  not  gold,  nor  costly  gear, 

"  Now  my  true-love  is  dead ; 
"  But  with  fading  flow'r  and  scalding  tear 

"  I  deck  my  bridal  bed." 
ybL.  IV.  K 


ISO  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Oh  !  be  my  bride^  thou  weeping  fair, 

*^  Oh  !  be  my  bridd,  I  pray  ; 
"  And  I  will  build  a  tomb  most  rare, 

"  Where  thy  true  love  shall  lay  :" 
But  still  with  tears  she  cried,  "  My  love, 

'^  My  true-love^  stay  for  me  ; 
"  Stay  'till  I've  deck't  my  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee. 

'^  My  love  needs  not  a  tomb  so  rare, 

^'  In  a  green  grave  we  will  lie  j 
"  Our  carv'd  works —  these  flow'rets  fair, 

"  Our  canopy — the  sky. 
'^  Now  go,  sir  knight,  now  go  thy  ways — 

"  Full  soon  I  shall  be  dead — 
"  And  then  return,  in  some  few  days, 

"  And  deck  my  bridal  bed. 

*'  And  strew  the  flow'r,  and  pluck  the  thorn, 

"  And  cleanse  the  turf,  I  pray ; 
*'  So  may  some  h?ind  thy  turf  adorn, 

"  When  thou  in  grave  shalt  lay. 
**  But  stay,  oh  thou  whom  dear  I  love, 

"  My  true-love,  stay  for  me  ; 
"  Stay  till  I've  deck't  my  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee." 


OLD  BALLADS.  m 

'^  No,  maid,  I  will  not  go  my  ways, 

"  Nor  leave  thee  here  alone ; 
**  Nor,  while  despair  upon  thee  preys,  ^ 

"  Neglect  thy  woeful  moan  : 
'*  But  I  will  stay  and  share  thy  woe, 

"  My  tears  with  thine  I'll  shed ; 
"  And  help  thee  pluck  the  flow'r,  to  strew 

«  O'er  thy  sad  bridal  bed/' 

Now  from  the  church  came  forth  the  priest. 

His  midnight  chaunt  was  done. 
And  much  the  hapless  maid  he  prest 

To  cease  her  piteous  moan  : 
For  still  she  cried,  "  Oh  stay,  m^  love, 

"  My  true-love,  stay  for  me  ; 
"  Stay  till  I've  deckt  my  bridal  bed, 

«  And  I  will  follow  thee."    ,,^  ^^  -j,., , 

"  Oh  !  kneel  with  me,"  he  cried,  *'  dear  maid, 

"  Oh  !  kneel  in  holy  prayer  j 
*'  Haply  kind  heav'n  may  send  thee  aid, 

"  And  sooth  thy  dread  despair." 
"  I  blame  not  heav'n,"  the  maid  replied, 

'*  But  mourn  my  true-love  dead  ; 
"  And  on  his  green  grave  I  will  'bide, 

"  For  'tis  my  bridal  bed." 


132  OLD  BALLi\DS. 

The  hapless  maid  knelt  down,  for  fear 

That  holy  priest  should  blame  j 
But  still  with  every  hallow'd  prayer. 

She  sigh'd  her  true  love's  name. 
And  softly  cried,  "  Oh  stay,  my  love, 

^'  My  true-love  stay  for  me  ; 
'  "  Stay  'till  I've  deckt  my  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee." 

"  Eiioiigh,  enough,  thou  sore-tried"  dfeu*  !'* 

The  weeping  knight  exclaim'd ;  '■^'-'    ■■ 
**  Enough,  I've  tried  thee,  matchless  fair, 

"  And  be  the  trial  blam'd  : 
"  I  am  thy  love,  tHy  own  true-love, 

"  And  I  am-  come  to  wed  ; 
"  Nor  shall  this  turf  thy  green  grave  prove, 

'^  Nor  be  thy  bridal  bed. 

*'  I  abi  a  khight  of  noble  riatne, 

"  And  thou   of  low  degi'ee ; 
"  So  like  a  shepherd  poor  I  came, 

"  To  prove  thy  constancy." 
"  But  she,  with  woe  forlorn,  still  Cried, 

"  My  true-love  stay  for  me  * 
"  Stay  'till  I've  deck'd  my  bridal  bed) 

«  And  I  will  follow  theei"  '{"'  ^'*'  '^' 


OLD  BALLADS.  133 

Again,  "  Enough,  thou  sore-tried  maid  !" 

The  knight  in  tears  exclaim'd ; 
"  See  at  thy  feet  thy  true-love  laid, 

"  Of  all  his  guile  asham*d.         ,  i 

"  Forgive  me,  maid — my  love  now  prove — 

"  And  let  us  instant  wed ; 
"  And  thou  with  tears  of  joy,  my  love, 

"  Shall  deck  thy  bridal  bed/' 

"  And  art  thou  him  ?" — exclaim'd  the  maid, 

"  And  dost  thou  live  ?" — she  cried  : 
"  Too  cruel  love  !" — she  faintly  said — 

Then  wrung  his  hand — and  died — 
Stay,"  cried  the  knight,  all  woe-begpne, 

"  Now  stay,  my  love,  for  me; 
"  Stay  'till  I've  deckt  our  bridal  bed, 

"  And  I  will  follow  thee." 

In  vain  the  priest,  with  holy  lore. 

By  turns  did  sooth  and  chide ; 
The  knight,  distracted,  wept  full  sore. 

And  on  the  green  turf  died — 
And  underneath  (may  heav'n  them  save  !) 

The  lovers  both  were  laid ; 
And  thus,  in  truth,  the  green-turf  grave 

Became  their  bridal  bed. 


134  OLD  BALLADS.^ 


XXV. 
THE  LORDLING  PEASANT, 

[First  printed  iathis  Collection.] 

1  H  B  baron  sat  on  his  castle  wall. 
And  beheld  both  dale  and  down  j 
The  manors  that  stretch'd  so  far  around 
He  knew  to  be  all  his  own. 

The  warders  blew  their  sounding  horns. 
And  their  banners  wav'd  in  air ; 

Their  horns  resounded  o'er  the  dale. 
Their  banners  shone  afar. 

The  baron  he  sigh'd  as  he  looked  above. 
And  he  sigh'd  as  he  look'd' adown, 

Altho'  the  rich  manors  that  stretch'd  so'fer  - 
He  knew  to  be  all  his  own.  '' 

Up  then  arose  his  ancient  nurse. 
That  had  borne  him  on  her  knee  ; 

"  And  why  dost  thou  sigh,  thou  noble  youth, 
"  At  a  sight  so  fair  to  see  ?" 


OLD  BALLADS.  135 

And  again  "bespake  that  ancient  nurs^^     ^'^-^  '* 

That  had  born  him  on  her  knee  : 
"  And  why  dost  thou  sigh  ?  it's  all  thy  own 

"  That  thou  so  far  dost  see." 

Oh  then  bespake  that  noble  baron, 

"  And  heavily  spake  he  : 
"  But  I've  never  a  true  and  faithful  wife, 

*^  To  share  it  all  with  me. 

"  And  if  I  should  marry  a  courtly  dame, 

"  (Alas,  that  it  so  should  be  !) 
"  She'd  love  my  castles  and  love  my  lands, 

*^  But  she  would  not  care  for  me." 

Oh  then  bespake  that  ancient  nurse  v^-tiv?.  srfT  ' 

"  Now  take  advice  of  me ; 
*'  If  you'd  have  a  true  wife,  then  go  and  wed 

*'  Some  maiden  of  low  degree. 

"  And  be  disguis'd  in  plain  attire, 

"  Like  some  young  peasant  rove, 
**  And  let  her  not  know  thy  high  degree  5 

"  So  shalt  thou  prove  her  love." 

Then  called  the  baron  his  young  foot  page, 

Full  loudly  called  hie  j 
The  bonny  foot-page  full  swiftly  ran,j 

And  knelt  upon  his  knee. 


136  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Oh  hark  thee  well,  my  young  foot-page, 

"  To  what  I  tell  to  thee ; 
"  And  keep  thee  my  secret  faithfully, 

"  And  thou  shalt  have  gold  and  fee. 

"  Go  bring  nae  here  a  peasant's  coat, 
"  With  hose  and  shoone  also, 

"  And  artfully  disguise  my  face, 
''  That  no  one  may  me  know. 

'^  And  when  I  go,  and  when  I  come, 
"  Let  no  one  know  from  thee ; 

"  But  keep  thee  my  secret  faithfully, 
"  And  thou  shalt  have  gold  and  fee." 

The  sun-l?eams  gilt  the  distant  hills. 

And  on  the  streams  did  play. 
When,  in  a  peasant's  homely  garb. 

That  baron  took  his  way. 

The  early  pilgrim  blithe  he  hail'd. 

That  o'er  the  hills  did  stray  j 
And  many  an  early  husbandman. 

That  he  met  on  his  way. 

The  new-wak'd  birds  their  matins  sung. 

In  wildly  warbling  lay. 
While  thro'  full  many  a  lonely  path 

The  baron  took  his  way. 


OLD  BALLADS.  1S7 

And  blithe  and  merrily  did  he  wend, 

And  blithe  ^nd  merrily  hied, 
Until  he  came  tp  a  rural  cot. 

Where  a  maiden  fair  did  'bide. 

Tho'  lowly  and  unknown  to  fame, 

This  maid  was  passing  fair  ; 
Like  some  sweet  violet,  that  in  vale 

Sequester'd,  scents  tlie  air. 

Sweet  was  the  melody  of  her  voice 

The  woodland  wilds  among  ; 
So  sweet — that  woodweles*  on  the  spray 

Sat  list'ning  to  her  song. 

But,  more  than  all,  her  youthful  heart 

Was  fraught  with  virtue's  lore  ; 
More  fair,  more  tender,  and  more  true. 

Was  maiden  ne'er  before. 

The  maiden  stood  at  her  cottage  gate, 

Her  nursling  lambs  to  feed. 
And  she  saw  the  blithsome  stranger  youth 

Come  tripping  o'er  the  mead. 

The  maiden  stood  beside  her  cot. 

To  view  the  morning  scene,  ^p 

And  she  saw  the  blithsome  stranger  youth 
Come  tripping  o'er  the  green. 

*  A  species  of  thrush ;  the  ouzle. 


138  OLD  BALLADS. 

And  lo  !  with  many  a  fond  excuse. 
The  youth  would  there  remain  ; 
While  many  a  wily  tale  he  told, 
,  Her  simple  heart  to  gain. 

And  soon  her  sighs  and  hlushes  told 

She  did  the  youth  approve ; 
For  where's  the  maid  that  can  resist 

The  vows  of  faithful  love. 

"  Lo  I've  a  cottage — and  I've  a  cow — 

"  And  many  a  sheep  beside — 
*'  And  I've  a  field  of  ripening  corn— 

"  And  I'll  make  thee  my  bride  !" 

The  list'ning  damsel  heard  his  vows. 

And  thrice  for  joy  she  sigh'd; 
She  thought  the  young  peasant  passing  rich. 

And  vow'd  to  be  his  bride. 

And  oft  her  mother  heaid  the  tale. 

Nor  did  the  dame  repine  : 
"  And  if  thou  canst  keep  her,  stranger  youth, 

"  The  damsel  shall  be  thine." 

Oh  then  "  Farewell,  my  charming  fair," 

The  lordling  peasant  cried  ; 
''  For  I  must  wend  for  many  a  mile, 

**  'Ere  I  can  take  a  bride." 


OLD  BALLADS.  189 

"  Oh  say  not  so,  thou  stranger  youth, 

"  Oh  say  not  so,  I  pray; 
"  For  if  thou  dost  go,  oh  I  shall  rue 

"  That  e'er  you  came  this  way." 

"  Oh  I  must  go,  thou  charming  maid," 

The  lordling  peasant  cried  j 
'*  For  I  must ,  wend  for  many  a  mile, 

"  'Ere  I  can  take  a  bride." 

"  Oh  say  not  so,  thou  stranger  youth, 

"  Oh  say  not  so,  I  pray  ; 
'*  For  ever,  until  thou  comest  again, 

*^  Must  I  weep  the  livelong  day." 

"  Yes,  I  must  go,  thou  charming  maid, 

*'  I  can  no  longer  stay ; 
"  Tho'  ever,  until  I  here  return, 

"  Must  I  moan  the  livelong  day. 

*^  But  if  before  I  come  again, 

"  This  passing  month  shall  sUie, 
"  Oh  then  no  more  await  for  me, 

"  But  be  another's  bride  : 

"  For  death  may  meet  me  on  the  wiy, 

"  And  from  thy  arms  divide  ; 
"  Or  dire  misfortune  blast  my  joys, 

"  And  'rive  me  of  my  bride." 


140  OLD  BALLADS. 

Oh  then  fast  flow'd  tliat  maiden's  tears. 

While  tenderly  she  cried  : 
"  Believe  me,  dear  youth,  tho'  thou  shouldst  die, 

"  I'll  be  no  other's  bride." 

The  maiden's  face  with  grief  was  sad — 

Her  cheek  was  wet  with  tears — 
So  the  pale  lily,  besprent  with  rain. 

Or  dew-dropt  rose,  appears. 

And  now  for  many  a  weary  mile 

Her  lover  hied  his  way ; 
The  murmuring  winds,  that  then  did  blow, 

Did  waft  his  sighs  that  day. 

And  when  he  came  to  his  own  domain. 

And  to  his  castle  gate, 
His  foot-page  faithfully  did  wait 

To  let  him  in  thereat. 

The  warders  bbw  their  sounding  horns. 

And  their  bmners  wav'd  in  air  j 
The  horns  resounded  o'er  the  dale, 

The  banners  shone  afar. 


OLD  BALLADS.  141 


Aim  t>iU  V)': 
SECOND  PART. 


And  now  for  many  weeks  and  months 

The  baron  he  did  stay  j 
Nor  did  he  seek  his  dear-lov'd  maid 

For  many  a  livelong  day. 

And  altho'  the  tender  sigh  it  cost. 

And  heartfelt  tear  did  move. 
Full  many  a  month  he  stay'd  away>  if 

Her  constancy  to  prove. 

At  length  he  call'd  his  knights  and  squires, 

And  neighbours  of  his  degree. 
To  travel  in  all  the  pomp  of  state, 

The  lovely  maid  to  see. 

And  he  hath  call'd  his  young  foot-page. 

And  thus  full  loud  did  say : 
«  With  costly  gems,  and  with  robes  of  state, 

"  Oh  deck  me  forth  this  day  !" 

And  now  with  gay  and  gallant  train 

That  baron  took  his  way  ;     -^  ^i]  t^y  hu/. 

The  golden  sun  that  so  bright  doth  shin^; 
Did  gild  his  pomp  that  day. 


142  OLD  BALLADS. 

Bllthsome  they  blew  their  sounding  horns, 
And  their  banners  wav'd  in  air  ; 

Their  horns  resounded  o'er  the  hills. 
Their  banners  shone  afar. 

The  maiden  stood  at  her  garden  pale. 

In  hopes  her  love  t'  espy ; 
And  eveiy  peasant  that  she  saw. 

She  heav'd  a  heartfelt  sigh. 

"  Alas,  and  woe  is  me  !"  she  cried, 

"  Could  I  my  love  but  see  ! 
^  I  fear  the  stranger  youth  is  dead, 

"  Or  thinks  no  more  of  me." 

Thus  sigh'd  the  maid  as  o'er  the  plain 

She  look'd  for  her  true  love. 
When  sudden  she  saw  the  gallant  train. 

Towards  her  cottage  move. 

And  soon  the  baron  hath  cross'd  the  green, 

And  caught  her  by  the  hand. 
And  so  tender  hath  kiss'd  her  blushing  cheek. 

As  trembling  she  did  stand. 

He  sat  the  maid  upon  ^is  knee. 

And  gently  sooth'd  her  fears ;  '  * 

And  often  prest  her  gallantly. 
To  dry  her  causeless  tears. 


OLD  BALLADS.  14S 

Then  pressing  soft  her  trembling  hand, 

With  artful  smiles,  he  cried : 
"  Fair  maid,  I've  heard  thy  beauty's  fame,  ^   / 

"  And  thou  shalt  be  my  bride." 

The  maiden  sigh'd  to  hear  his  words, 
'     Nor  could  his  fpndness  move ; 
For  little  she  thought  this  baron  gay. 

Was  her  own  dear  true  love>, ,,..,,;,,  o,,^  .../^ 

«  Yet  still,"  he  cried,  "  tho'  I'm  a  lord, 

"  And  renowned  is  my  name, 
"  Yet  thou,  beauteous  maid,  if  thou  canst  love — 

"  Shalt  be  my  courtly  dame.  .,^  |f  a 

"  Rich  robes  of  state  shall  deck  thv  form, 

V 

"  And  a  coronet  gild  thy  brow  ; 
"  And  a  castle  shalt  thou  have  for  dow'r, 
'^  With  manors  high  and  low. 

"  Thy  'squires  shall  sound  their  golden  horns, 

^*  And  their  banners  wave  in  air ; 
"  Their  horns  re-echoing  many  a  mile, 

'^  Their  banners  shining  far." 

The  maiden  but  sigh'd  at  all  his  bribes. 

Her  faith  they  could  not  move  ', 
For  little  she  thought  this  baron  gay 

G)uld  be  her  own  true  love. 


lU  OLD  BALLADS. 

Thus  tho'  to  gain  the  maiden's  hand. 

This  gallant  baron  strove. 
Yet  still  his  grandeurs  she  all  despis'd. 

For  the  youth  that  she  did  love. 

And  tho'  her  angry  mother  tJ-ied, 

Her  constant  heai-t  to  movfe, 
As  vain  were  her  mother's  cruei  threats. 

As  the  baron's  golden  lOve. 

And  now  night  came  on,  and  o'er  the  plain. 
The  moon's  pale  glimm'ring  shone. 

When  the  hapless  maiden  took  her  way. 
All  friendless  and  albne. 

All  friendless  and  alone  she  sped, 

And  hapless  did  she  rove. 
O'er  liiaiiy  a  hill  and  many  a  dale. 

In  search  of  her  true  love. 

And  now  the  pale,  pale  mdoii  was  gone. 

And  stormy  clouds  did  low'r ; 
Her  sighings  added  to  the  winds. 

Her  tears  encreas'd  the  show'r. 

Yet  still  o'er  dreary  heath  and  hill 

This  hapless  maid  did  rove ; 
And  many  a  heartfelt  sigh  she  heav'd. 

As  she  sought  for  her  true  love. 


OLD  BALLADS.  US 

And  tho*  full  loud  the  thunders  roU'd, 

And  wet,  wet  pour'd  the  rain ; 
Yet  still,  in  search  of  her  dear-lov'd  youth. 

She  brav'd  the  stormy  plain.    '■  ^^«i  Jqr>J 

Rous'd  with  the  roaring  of  the  storm. 

The  baron  up  arose. 
And  soon  in  search  of  his  beauteous  maid 

With  anxious  speed  he  goes. 

But  lo  !  the  hapless  maid  was  gone, 

Thro'  desarts  wild  to  rove, 
Alas  !  all  so  friendless  and  forlorn, 

In  search  of  her  true  love. 

Oh  then  that  baron  storm'd  and  rav'd. 
And  his  foot-page  loud  call'd  he — 

"  Oh  bring  to  me  quick  my  peasant  garb,  ^  ^ 
*' As  quick  as  ye  can  flee.'' — -— 

Oh  then  rode  forth  this  young  baron 

O'er  many  a  dreary  way. 
When  alas  !  all  on  the  stormy  plain 

He  saw  the  maiden  lay — 

— O'ercome  with  toil  and  spent  with  grief. 

That  hapless  maid  had  fell — 
— The  baron  he  wip'd  his  quiv'ring  brow, 
While  his  heart  it  'gan  to  swell. 
VOL.  IV.  I. 


146  OLD  BALLADS. 

He  got  him  water  from  the  brook. 

And  sprinkled  o'er  the  maid  : 
But  many  a  tear,  that  from  him  fell. 

Lent  most  its  saving  aid. 

Right  glad  he  mark'd  her  struggling  breath. 

And  blush-reviving  face. 
While  tender  he  welcom'd  her  to  life 

With  many  a  fond  embrace. 

Then  soon  he  rais'd  her  on  his  steed, 
~     With  heart  so  blithe  and  gay  ; 
And  while  the  dear  maid  so  soft  he  sooth'd. 
To  his  castle  rode  away. 

'^  And  art  thou  found,  my  own  true  love, 
*'  And  art  thou  come  ?"  she  said  : 

''  Then  blest  be  tlie  night,  and  blest  the  hour, 
"  When  from  our  cot  I  fled !" 

Thus  spake  the  maid  as  fast  they  rode 

Thro'  many  a  lonely  way ; 
And  she  thought  to  his  humble  cot 

Her  love  would  her  convey. 

But  soon  they  rcach'd  the  castle  wall. 

And  came  to  the  castle  gate. 
When  lo  !  her  dear  youth,  without  delay. 

Rode  boldly  in  thereat. 


OLD  BALL,/U)S.       ^  147 

The  warders  blew  their  sounding  horns^ 

And  their  banners  wav'd  in  air  ; 
Their  horns  resounded  o'er  the  dale. 

Their  banners  shone  afar. 

Thrice  turn'd  the  maiden  wan  and  pale. 
And  with  fear  her  heart  was  mov'd. 

When  she  saw  the  lordly  baron  was 
The  stranger  youth  she  lov'd. 

But  blithe,  he  cried,  "  Cheer  up,  ray  fair, 

"  And  forgive  my  pride,  1  pray  ; 
"  And  lo  !  for  thy  faith  so  nobly  prov*d, 

"  Be  this  thy  bridal  day. 

"  Cheer  up,  cheer  up,  dear  constant  maid, 
*'  And  share  in  our  mirth  and  glee  ; 

"  For  until  the  woeful  hour  of  death, 
"  I'll  ever  prove  true  to  thee. 

"  Altho'  thou  wast  but  a  lowly  maid, 

"  Thou'rt  now  my  countess  gay; 
"  Then  come,  cheer  up,  my  angel  so  true, 

"  For  *tis  our  bridal  day." 

The  wardens  blew  their  sounding  horns. 

And  their  banners  wav'd  in  air ; 
Their  horns  resounded  o'er  the  dale,       ^ 

Their  banners  shone  afar. 


148  OLD  BALLADS. 


XXV. 

THE  RED-CROSS  KNIGHT. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

*  *  15  LOW,  warder,  blow  thy  sounding  horn, 

"  And  thy  banner  wave  on  high  ; 
"  For  the  Christians  have  fought  in  th*  holy  land, 

"  And  have  won  the  victory." 
Loud,  loud  the  warder  blew  his  horn. 

And  his.  banner  wav'd  on  high  : 
"  Let  the  mass  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung ; 

"  And  the  feast  eat  merrily." 

Then  bright  the  castle  banners  shorTc 

On  every  tow'r  on  high. 
And  all  the  minstrels  sang  aloud. 

For  the  Christians  victory  : 
And  loud  the.  warder  blew  his  horn. 

On  evety  tiurret  high  5 
"  Let  the  mass  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  run^, 

"  And  the  feast  eat  merrily." 


OLD  BALLADS.  149 

The  warder  look'd  from  the  tow'r  on  high, 

As  far  as  he  could  see  : 
"  I  see  a  bold  knight,  and,  by  his  red  cross, 

''  He  comes  from  the  east  country." 
Then  loud  that  warder  blew  his  horn. 

And  call'd  till  he  was  hoarse, 
"  There  comes  a  bold  knight,  and  on  his  shield  bright 

"  He  beareth  a  flaming  cross," 

Then  down  the  lord  of  the  castle  came. 

The  red-cross  knight  to  meet  | 
And  when  the  red  cross  knight  he  'spied. 

Right  loving  he  did  him  greet : 
*^  Thou'rt  welcome  here,  sir  red-cross  knight, 

"  For  thy  fame's  well  known  to  me  ;  [rung, 

*'  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall  be 

"  And  we'll  feast  right  merrily." 

*'  Oh  I  am  come  from  the  holy  land, 

*'  Where  Christ  did  live  and  die ; 
"  Behold  the  device  I  bear  on  my  shield, 

"  The  red-cross  knight  am  I : 
*'  And  we  have  fought  in  the  holy  land, 

"  And  we've  won  the  victory; 
"  For  with  valiant  might  did  the  Christiaas  fight, 

"  And  made,  the  proud  Pagans  fly." 


150  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Thou'rt  welcome  here,  dear  red-cross  knight, 

"  Come  lay  thy  armour  by  ; 
"  And  for  the  good  tidings  thou  dost  bring, 

"  We'll  feast  us  merrily : 
"  For  all  in  my  castle  shall  rejoice, 

"  That  we've  won  the  victory;  [be  rung, 

"  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall 

"  And  the  feast  eat  merrily." 

"  Oh  I  cannot  stay,"  cried  the  red-cross  knight, 

"  But  must  go  to  my  own  country, 
''  Where  manors  and  castles  will  be  my  reward, 

"  And  all  for  my  bravery." 
"  Oh  say  not  so,  thou  red-cross  knight, 

"  But  if  you'll  'bide  with  me, 
"  With  manors  so  wide,  and  castles  beside, 

"  I'll  honour  thy  bravery." 

"  I  cannot  stay,"  cried  the  red-cross  knight, 

"  Nor  can  I  bide  v;ith  thee ; 
"  But  I  must  haste  to  my  king  and  his  knights, 

"  Who're  waiting  to  feast  with  me." 
"  Oh  mind  them  not,  dear  red-cross  knight, 

"  But  stay  and  feast  with  me  ; 
"  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  And  we'll  banquet  merrily." 


OLD  BALLADS.  151 

"  I  cannot  stay,"  cried  the  red-cross  knight^^iil   ' 

"  Nor  can  I  feast  with  thee  :  •  V 

"  Bnt  I  must  haste  to  a  pleasant  bow'r, 

*'  Where  a  lady's  waiting  for  me." 
'*  Oh  say  not  so,  dear  red-cross  knight, 

"  Nor  heed  that  fond  lady  j 
"  For  she  can't  compare  with  my  daughter  so  f^ir, 

"  And  she  shall  attend  on  thee." 


"  Now  must  I  go/'  cried  the  red-cross  knight, 

"  For  that  lady  I'm  to  wed  ; 
"  And  the  feast  guests  and  bride  maids  all  are  met, 

"  And  prepared  the  bridal  bed." 
**  Now  nay,  now  nay,  thou  red-cross  knight, 

"  My  daughter  shall  wed  with  thee  ', 
"  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  ruRg, 

'^  And  we'll  feast  right  merrily." 

And  now  the  silver  lute's  sweet  sound 

Re-echo'd  thro'  the  hall  j 
And  in  that  lord's  fair  daughter  came, 

With  her  ladies  clad  in  pall. 
That  lady  was  deckt  in  costly  robes, 

And  shone  as  bright  as  day ; 
And  with  courtesy  sweet  the  knight  she  did  greet, 

And  press'd  him  for  to  stay. 


n2  OLD  BALLADS. 

*'  Right  welcome,  brave  sir  red-cross  knight, 

"  Right  welcome  unto  me, 
"  And  here  I  hope  long  time  thou'lt  stay, 

"  And  bear  us  company, 
"  And  for  thy  exploits  in  the  holy  land, 

"  That  hath  gain'd  us  the  victory, 
"  The  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  And  we'll  feast  right  merrily." 


"  Tho'  ever  thou  press  me,  lady  fair, 

'^  I  cannot  stay  with  thee." 
That  lady  frown'd  to  hear  that  knight 

60  slight  her  courtesy. 
^'  It  grieves  me  much,  thou  lady  fair, 

"  That  here  I  cannot  stay ; 
"  For  a  beauteous  lady  is  waiting  for  me, 

"  Whom  I've  not  seen  many  a  day." 


"  Now  fie  on  thee,  uncourteous  knight, 

'^  Thou  shouldst  not  say  me  nay ; 
"As  for  the  lady,  that's  waiting  for  thee, 

"  Go  see  her  another  day. 
"  So  say  no  more,  but  stay,  brave  knight, 

"  And  bear  us  company  ;  [be  rung, 

"  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall 

"  And  we'll  all  feast  merrily." 


OLD  BALJLADS.  15* 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


And  as  the  lady  press'd  the  knight. 

With  her  ladies  clad  in  pall, 
Oh  then  bespake  a  pilgrim  boy. 

As  he  stood  in  the  hall : 
«  Now  Christ  thee  save,  sir  red-cross  knight, 

"I'm  come  from  the  north  country, 
f*  Where  a  lady  is  laid  all  on  her  death  bed, 

**  And  evermore  calls  for  thee.'* 


"  Alas  !  alas  !  thou  pilgrim  boy, 

"  Sad  news  thou  tellest  me  : 
"  Now  must  I  ride  full  hastily 

"  To  comfort  that  dear  lady." 
'<  Oh  heed  him  not,"  the  lady  cried, 

"  But  send  a  page  to  see  ; 
"  While  the  mass  is  suBg,  and  the  bells  are  rung, 

"  And  we  feast  merrily." 


154  OLD  BALLADS. 

Again  bespake  the  pilgrim  boy  : 

"  Ye  need  not  send  to  see, 
"  For  know,  sir  knight,  that  lady's  dead, 

"  And  died  for  love  of  thee." 
Oh  then  the  red- cross  knight  was  pale. 

And  not  a  word  could  say  ; 
But  his  heart  did  swell,  and  his  tears  down  fell. 

And  he  almost  swoon'd  away. 

"  Now  fie  on  thee,  thou  weakly  knight, 

"  To  weep  for  a  lady  dead  : 
"  Were  I  a  noble  knight  like  thee, 

"  I'd  soon  find  another  to  wed. 
"  So  come,  cheer  up,  and  comfort  thy  heart, 

"  And  be  good  company ; 
"  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung 

"  And  we'll  feast  thee  merrily." 

In  vain  that  wily  lady  strove 

The  sorrowing  knight  to  cheer  ; 
Each  word  he  answer'd  with  a  groan. 

Each  soothing  with  a  tear  : 
''  And  now  farewel,  thou  noble  lord, 

"  And  farewel,  lady  fair  j 
"  In  pleasure  and  joy  your  hours  employ, 

*'  Nor  think  of  my  despair. 


'6> 


OLD  BALLADS.  X55 

«  And  where  is  her  grave,"  cried  the  red-cross  knight, 

"  The  grave  where  she  doth  lay  ?" 
"  Oh  I  know  well,"  cried  the  pilgrim  boy, 

"  And  I'll  show  thee  the  way." 
The  knight  was  sad— the  pilgrim  sigh'd— 

While  the  warder  loud  did  cry, 
^*  Let  the  mass  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  And  the  feast  eat  merrily," 

Meanwhile  arose  the  lord's  daughter, 

And  to  her  ladies  did  call : 
*'  Oh  what  shall  we  say  to  stay  the  knight  ? 

**  For  he  must  not  leave  the  hall." 
(For  much  that  lady  was  in  love 

With  the  gallant  red-cross  knight. 
And,  ere  many  a  day,  with  this  knight  so  gay 

Had  hop'd  her  troth  to  plight.) 


Oh  then  bespake  these  ladies  gay, 

As  they  stood  clad  in  pall : 
"  Oh  we'll  devise  hov^^  to  make  this  knight 

'^^  Stay  in  our  castle  hall." 
"  Now  that's  well  said,  my  ladies  dear  j 

"  And  if  he'll  stay  with  me, 
"  Then  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  And  we'll  feast  right  merrily." 


156  OLD  BALLADS. 

Then  softly  spake  those  ladies  fair, 

(Low  whisp'ring  at  the  wall,) 
"  Oh  we've  devis'd  how  to  keep  the  knight 

"  In  thy  fair  castle  hal). 
^'  Now,  lady,  command  the  warder  blithe 

"  To  come  from  yon  tow'r  high, 
'^  With  tidings  to  say,  to  enveigle  away 

'*  Yon  wily  pilgrim  boy." 

*'  Go  run,  go  run,  ray  foot-page  dear, 

"  To  the  warder  take  thy  way  j 
"  And  one  of  my  ladies  shall  go  with  thee, 

'"  To  tell  thee  what  to  say. 
"  And  now,  if  we  can  but  compel  the  knight 

"  To  stay  in  the  castle  with  me,  [be  rung, 

"  Then  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall 

"  And  we'll  all  feast  merrily." 

The  warder  came  and  blew  his  horn, 

And  thus  aloud  did  cry : 
*'  Oh  is  there  a  pilgrim  in  the  hall, 

"  Come  from  the  north  country  ? 
"  For  there's  a  foot-page  waits  without, 

*'  To  speak  with  him  alone." 
Thus  the  warder  did  call  till  out  of  the  hall 

Tlie  pilgrim  boy  is  gone. 


OLD  BALLADS,  157 

Meanwhile  bespake  the  ladies  gay. 

As  they  stood  clad  in  pall, 
**  Right  glad,,  brave  knight,  we  welcome  thee 

"  Unto  our  castle  hall/' 
But  the  knight  he  heeded  not  their  talk, 

Altho'  they  cried  with  glee, 
**  Let  the  mass  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  And  feast  thee  merrily." 

<■*  But  Where's  the  pilgrim  boy,"  he  cried, 

"  To  shew  me  my  lady's  grave  ?" 
That  he  should  be  sought  for  thr'out  the  place, 

The  knight  full  oft  did  crave. 
Then  loud  replied  the  ladies  gay, 

"  Now  foul  that  knave  befall ; 
**  For  lucre  he  hath  beguiled  thee, 

"  And  now  hath  ffed  the  halh 

**  And  now,  sir  knight,  do  not  give  heed 

"  To  what  he  said  to  thee  ; 
'^  But  send  a  page  to  the  nortli  country, 

"  That  lady  fair  to  see  : 
"  And  while  he's  gone  to  comfort  her, 

"  Oh  thou  shalt  share  our  glee, 
"  While  the  mass  is  sung,  and  the  bells  are  rung, 

"  And  the  feast  eat  merrily." 


158  OLD  BALLADS. 

But  while  those  ladies,  blithe  and  gay, 

Attun'd  their  lutes  to  joy. 
The  knight  was  sad,  and  search'd  around 

To  find  the  pilgrim  boy  : 
He  search'd  the  castle  all  about. 

Thro'  every  turn  and  wind ; 
But  all  in  vain  his  toil  and  pain     '  ' 

The  pilgrim  boy  to  find. 

In  vain  the  lord's  fair  daughter  sent 

'  Her  messengers  to  call ; 
The  knight  he  would  not  heed  their  words, 

Nor  enter  the  castle  hall. 
In  vain  the  wanton  ladies  sung. 

And  the  clamourous  warder  cry, 
"  Let  the  mass  be  sung,  and  the  bells  be  rung, 

**  And  the  feast  eat  merrily .'' 

Oh  tlien  bespake  those  ladies  gay. 

As  they  stood  clad  in  pall : 
"  Oh  weep  not,  weep  not,  dear  lady, 

"  Tho'  he'll  not  enter  the  hall ; 
**  But  send  to  the  warder  from  the  tow'r 

"  To  bring  the  pilgrim  boy, 
"  Whom  we'll  persuade  to  lend  his  aid 

**  This  proud  knight  to  decoy. 


OLD  BALLADS.    ^  •  159 

"  We'll  make  that  boy,  on  pain  of  death, 

"  The  red-cross  knight  deceive  ; 
"  So  that  no  more  on  his  account 

*'  That  fair  young  knight  shall  grieve  : 
"  And  then  we'll  keep  the  red-cross  knight, 

"  To  bear  us  company  j  [be  rung, 

"  And  the  mass  shall  be  sung,  and  the  bells  shall 

**  And  we  will  feast  merrily." 


PART  THE  THIRD, 


And  now  t'was  night,  all  dark  and  drear. 

And  cold,  cold  blew  the  wind ; 
While  the  red-cross  knight  sought  all  about 

1'he  pilgrim  boy  to  find. 
And  still  he  wept,  and  still  he  sigh'd. 

As  he  mourn'd  his  lady  dear  : 
"  And  Where's  the  feast,  and  where's  the  guest, 

"  Thy  bridal  day  to  cheer  ?" 


160  OLD  BALLADS. 

Again  he  sigh'd  and  wept  forlorn 

For  his  lady  that  was  dead  : 
^*  Lady,  how  sad  thy  wedding  tide  t 

"  How  cold  thy  bridal  bed  !" 
Thus  the  red-cross  knight  roam'd  sore  and  sarf. 

While  all  around  did  cry, 
"  Let  the  minstrels  sing,  and  the  bells  yrin^, 

"  And  the  feast  be  eat  merrily." 

And  now  the  gentle  moon  around 

Her  silver  lustre  shed ; 
Brighten'd  each  ancient  wall  and  tow'r. 

And  distant  mountain's  head : 
By  whose  sweet  light  the  knight  perceiv'd 

(A  sight  which  gave  him  joy) 
From  a  dungeon  dread  the  v^^arder  lead 

The  faithful  pilgrim  boy. 

'  In  vain  the  warder  strove  to  hide 

The  pilgrim  boy  from  him  ; 
The  knight  he  ran  atid  clasp'd  the  youth, 

In  spite  of  the  warder  grim. 
The  warder,  thb'  wroth,  his  banner  wav'd, 

And  still  aloud  did  cry, 
"  Let  the  minstrels  sing,  and  the  bells  yring, 

"  And  the  feast  be  eat  merrily." 


OLD  BALLADS.  1^1 

*^  I'm  glad  I've  found  thee,  pilgrim  boy, 

*'  And  thou  shalt  go  with  me ; 
"  And  thou  shalt  lead  to  ray  lady's  grave, 

^'  And  great  thy  reward  shall  be." 
Th'  aftrighted  pilgrim  wrung  his  hands, 

And  shed  full  many  a  tear  : 
"  Her  grave,"  he  cried  (and  mournful  sigh'd), 

"  I  dread's  not  far  from  here.'' 


The  knight  he  led  the  pilgrim  boy 

Into  the  castle  hall. 
Where  sat  the  lord  and  his  daughter  fair. 

And  her  ladies  clad  in  pall. 
"  I  go,"  he  cried,  "  with  the  pilgrim  boy, 

"  So  think  no  more  of  me  ; 
"  But  let  your  minstrels  sing,  and  your  bells  all  ring-, 

"  And  feast  ye  merrily." 

Up  then  arose  the  lord's  daughter. 

And  call'd  to  the  pilgrim  boy ; 
"  Oh  come  to  me,  for  I've  that  to  say, 

"  Will  give  to  thee  much  joy." 
Full  loth  the  pilgrim  was  to  go. 

Full  loth  from  the  knight  to  part — 
And  lo  !  out  of  spite,  with  a  dagger  bright. 

She  hath  stabb'd  him  to  the  heart. 

VOL.  IV.  M 


162  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Why  art  thou  pale,  thou  pilgrim  boy  ?" 

The  knight  all  wond'ring  cried  : 
'•^  Why  dost  thou  faint,  thou  pilgrim  boy, 

"  When  I  am  by  thy  side  ?" 
"  Oh  I  am  stabb'd,  dear  red-cross  knight — 

^'  Yet  grieve  not  thou  for  me ; 
"  But  let  the  minstrels  sing,  and  the  bells  yring, 

^*  And  feast  thee  merrily." 

The  knight  he  ran  aud  clasp'd  the  youth. 

And  ope'd  his  pilgrim  vest ; 
And  lo  !  it  was  his  lady  fair 

His  lady  dear  he  prest. 
Her  lovely  breast,  like  ermine  white. 

Was  panting  with  the  fright ; 
Her  dear  heart's  blood,  in  crimson  flood. 

Ran  pouring  in  his  sight. 

"  Grieve  not  for  me,  my  faithful  knight," 

The  lady  faint  did  cry  ; 
"  I'm  well  content,  my  faithful  knight, 

"  Since  in  thy  arms  I  die  : 
"  Then  comfort  thee,  my  constant  love, 

"  Nor  think  no  more  of  me — 
"  But  let  the  minstrels  sing,  and  the  bells  yring, 

"  And  feast  thee  merrily. 


OLD  BALLADS.  163 

"  Like  pilgrim  boy  I've  follow'd  thee, 

"  In  truth  full  cheerfully ; 
"  Resolv'd,  if  thou  shouldst  come  to,  ill, 

"  Dear  knight  to  die  with  thee  ; 
"  And  much  I  fear'd  some  wily  fair 

"^  Would  keep  thee  from  my  sight, 
"  And,  by  her  bright  charms,  lure  from  my  arms 

"  My  dear  lov'd  red-cross  knight." 

"  Oh  heaven  forfend,"  the  knight  replied, 

"  That  thou  shouldst  die  for  me  ! 
"  But  if  so  hapless  low'rs  thy  fate, — 

"  Thy  knight  will  die  with  thee." 
"  Oh  say  not  so  ;  for  well  my  knight 

''  Hath  prov'd  his  love  to  me  ; 
"  But  let  the  minstrels  sing,  and  the  bells  yring, 

"  And  feast  thee  Inerrily." 

The  knight  he  prest  her  to  his  heart, 

And  bitterly  he  sigh'd  : 
The  lovely  lady  strove  to  cheer — — 

'Till  in  his  arms  she  died. 
The  knight  he  laid  her  corpse  adown. 

And  his  deadly  sword  drew  forth  ; 
Then  look'd  he  around,  and  grimly  frown'd. 

All  woe-begone  with  wroth. 


164  OLD  BALLADS. 

Oh  then  bespake  the  ladies  fair. 

As  they  stood  clad  in  pall  : 
"  Oh  this  will  be  our  burial  place, 

*'  That  was  our  castle  hall  ! 
'^  No  more  to  our  silver  lutes  sweet  sound 

"  Shall  we  dance  with  revelry ; 
"  Nor  the  mass  be  sung,  nor  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  Nor  the  feast  be  eat  merrily." 

Then  up  arose  the  lord's  daughter. 

And  never  a  word  spake  she  ; 
But  quick  upon  the  knights  drawn  sword 

She  flung  her  franticly. 
The  knight  to  his  own  dear  lady  turn'd. 

And  laid  him  by  her  side  j 
With  tears  embrac'd  her  bleeding  corpse, 

Sigh'd  her  dear  name — and  died. 

Oh  then  bespake  th'  affiiglited  lord. 

And  full  of  woe  spake  he  : 
"  Foul  'fall  the  hour  this  red-cross  knight 

^'  Did  come  to  visit  me  ! 
"  For  now  no  more  will  my  daughter  fair 

"  Rejoice  my  guests  and  me  ; 
"  Nor  the  mass  be  sung,  nor  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  Nor  the  feast  held  merrily." 


OLD  BALLADS;  161 

And  then  he  spake  to  the  ladies  fair, 

As  they  stood  clad  in  pall : 
*'  Lo  !  this  thy  lady's  burial  place — 

"  That  was  her  castle  hall  ! 
"  Oh  then  be  warn'd  from  her  sad  fate, 

"  And  hate  the  wanton  love  ; 
"  But  in  him  confide  who  for  thee  died, 

"  And  now  sits  thron'd  above. 

"  Warder,  no  more  resound  thy  horn, 

"  Nor  thy  banner  wave  on  high  : 
"  Nor  the  mass  be  sung,  nor  the  bells  be  rung, 

"  Nor  the  feast  eat  merrily." 
No  more  the  warder  blows  his  horn. 

Nor  his  banner  waves  on  high  ; 
Nor  the  mass  is  sung,  nor  the  bells  are  rung 

Nor  the  feast  eat  merrily. 


166  OLD  BALLADS. 

XXVII. 
THE  WANDERING  MAID. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

1 T  was  by  a  baron's  castle  gay 

A.wand'ring  maid  did  rove; 
For  many  a  mile  had  she  took  her  way, 

In  search  of  her  true  love  ; 
For  many  a  mile,  both  day  and  night. 

Despairing  did  she  rove  ; 
Nor  blest  the  light  that  cheer'd  her  sight. 

For  she  had  lost  her  love. 

She  sat  her  down  by  the  moat  so  wide. 

And  her  tears  began  to  flow  ; 
She  sat  her  down,  and  sad  she  sigh'd, 

O'ercome  with  toil  and  woe  : 
"  But  altho'  I  shed  full  many  a  tear, 

"  And  altho'  I  set  and  sigh, 
"  Yet  ever  I'll  love  thee,  youth  so  dear 

"  And  for  thee  will  I  die." 


OLD  BALLADS.  16/ 

And  now  o'er  the  high  drawbridge  came  near, 

A  minstrel  blithe  and  gay ; 
"  And  why,"  he  cried,  "  sweet  maiden,  here 

"  Dost  thou  despairing  lay  ?        r  i'oib  j 
"  For  the  welkin  round  fe  black  with' rain,  ' 

"  And  the  water's  all  so  cold, 
"  E'en  hardy  cattle,  that  graize  the  plain, 

"  Beget  them  to  a  hold." 

"  Alas  !"  she  cried,  "  I've  lost  my  love, 

'^  And  I've  sought  him  far  and  near : 
"  Sweet  minstrel,  hast  thou  seen  him  rove, 

"  The  youth  whom  I  love  so  dear  ?" 
"  Fair  maid,  thy  love  how  should  I  know 

"  From  other  youths  I  see  ?" 
"  Oh  by  his  locks  so  fair  that  flow, 

"  And  his  mien  so  bright  of  blee. 

**  His  face  is  fraught  with  beauty's  smile, 

"  The  rose  and  lily's  there  ; 
"  His  voice  like  music  can  beguile 

"  The  wrinkled  brow  of  care  : 
"  Alas  !  it  was  that  face  that  smil'd, 

"  That  brought  my  heart  to  woe  ; 
"  That  music  voice  that  me  beguil'd, 

"  And  made  my  tears  to  flow. 


IG3  OLD  BALL.\DS. 

"  Near  these  high  tow'rs,  so  fair  to  view, 

*•  I'm  told  the  youth  hath  been  ; 
"  Then  tell  me,  minstrel,  tell  me  true, 

"  Hast  thou  my  true  love  seen  ?" 
"  No,  maid,  thy  love  I  have  not  seen, 

"  By  day  nor  yet  by  night ; 
"  Alas  !  how  hard  that  heart,  I  ween, 

"  That  could  such  beauty  slight ! 

^'  But,  lovely  maid,  do  not  thus  rove, 

"  And  break  thy  heart  with  woe  j 
"  But  go  with  me  and  be  my  love, 

"  And  I'll  not  slight  thee  so." 
Then  took  this  minstrel  his  harp  of  gold. 

And  sweetly  'gan  to  play ; 
But  the  faithful  maid  to  him  was  cold. 

For  all  that  he  could  say. 

'^  No,  minstrel,  tho'  full  sad  I  rue 

*'  That  he  from  me  is  gone, 
"  Yet  still  to  him  I'll  aye  be  true, 

"  And  true  to  him  alone ; 
"  And  o'er  the  lone  country,  day  and  night, 

"  Despairing  will  I  rove, 
"  Nor  bless  the  light  that  cheers  my  sight, 

"  'Till  I  have  found  my  love." 


OLD  BALLADS.  169 

And  now  came  forth  a  soldier  gay, 

And  his  broad  sword  he  hath  ta'en  ; 
And,  had  not  the  minstrel  fled  away. 

Full  soon  he  had  him  slain  : 
•'  Oh  maid,  heed  not  that  minstrel's  guile, 

"  But  me  take  for  thy  love ; 
"  And  then  to  the  wars,  for  gold  and  spoil, 

"  Right  merrily  we  will  rove." 

^^  No,  warrior,  no  ;  tho*  sad  I  rove, 

"  And  my  love  from  me  is  gone, 
"  Yet  still  I'll  seek  that  faithless  love, 

"  And  love  but  him  alone  : 
"  And  ever  I'll  wander  day  and  night, 

"  While  cold,  cold  blows  the  wind, 
"  Nor  bless  the  light  that  cheers  my  sight, 

"  'Till  I  my  true  love  find." 

The  soldier  was  scant  ygone,  when  lo  ! 

A  forester  came  that  way. 
And  merrily  rode  he  high  and  low, 

All  yclad  in  gfeen  so  gay : 
She  stop'd  the  gallant  on  the  green, 

"  And  tell,"  she  cried,  "  I  pray, 
"  'Mong  yonder  forests  hast  thou  seen 

"  My  wand'ring  true  love  stray  ? 


170  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  And  how  shall  I  know  the  youth  yon  seek 

*^  From  other  youths  I  see  ?" 
"  Oh  well  may  you  know  him  ere  he  doth  speak, 

"  His  mien's  so  bright  of  blee." 
"  Sweet  maiden,  tho'  'mong  the  forests  green 

"  With  early  horn  I  rove, 
"  Believe  me,  dear  maid,  I  have  not  seen 

"  The  faithless  youth  you  love. 


"  Now,  charming  maid,  do  not  thus  rove, 

"  Nor  wander  thus  forlorn  ; 
"  But  go  with  me,  and  ever  I'll  love, 

"  And  shelter  thee  from  scorn  :     . 
"  And  we  will  hunt  with  early  horn, 

"  And  sing  the  livelong  day ; 
"  And  the  cheerful  eve,  and  the  smiling  morn, 

"  Shall  ever  find  us  gay. 

*'  And  thou,  attir'd  in  robes  of  green, 

"  A  huntress  blithe  and  gay, 
"  Shall  aye  be  call'd,  wher'ere  thou'rt  seen, 

^'  The  sporting  queen  of  May. 
*'  Come,  turn  thee,  maid,  and  be  my  love, 

"  And  to  my  passion  yield  ; 
"  And  ever  delighted  will  we  rove, 

«  The  princes  of  the  field." 


OLD  Bi\LLADS.  171 

"  No,  I  will  not  be  robed  in  green, 

"  Thy  flattery  all  I  scorn  ; 
"  Nor  will  I  be  of  May  the  queen, 

"  To  hunt  with  early  horn  j 
•^  But  I  will  rove,  both  day  and  night, 

"  Thro'  stormy  hail  and  wind  ; 
"  Nor  bless  the  light  that  cheers  my  sight,  . 

"  Till  I  my  true  love  find." 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


The  forester  blithe  now  rode  away, 

And  blew  his  sounding  horn. 
While  by  the  moat  the  maiden  lay, 

iVU  desolate  and  forlorn  : 
Yet  still  she  cried,  "  Tho'  I  shed  the  tear, 

"  And  heave  full  many  a  sigh, 
"  Yet  ever  I'll  love  thee,  youth  so  dear, 

"  And  for  thee  I  will  die." 


173  OLD  BALLADS. 

All  this  beheard  the  baron  gay, 

In  the  lone  tow'r  where  he  sat. 
And  with  many  a  sigh  he  took  his  way. 

And  came  to  the  castle  gate. 
And  there  he  saw  the  maiden  lay. 

By  the  moat  side  all  forlorn  ; 
And  all  for  the  love  of  a  youth  so  gay. 

Who  had  treated  her  with  scorn. 

Her  cheek,  once  red  as  summer  rose. 

Now  pale  as  wintry  skies ; 
And  wan  her  cherry  lips  did  close. 

That  her  love  did  once  so  prize  ; 
And  cold,  cold  was  that  lily  hand. 

That  he  so  oft  had  prest — 
Full  many  a  sigh  (as  he  there  did  stand) 

The  baron's  woe  confest. 


The  maiden  told  her  piteous  tale. 

With  many  a  sigh  and  tear. 
How  she  for  her  love,  thro'  heat  and  cold 

Had  wander'd  far  and  near. 
"  Alas  !  dear  maid,"  the  baron  sigh'd, 

"  Thy  tale  is  sad  and  sore ; 
"  But,  charming  maid,"  full  loud  he  cried, 

"  Thy  sorrows  now  be  o'er. 


OLD  BALLADS.  173 

*'  Yes,  maiden,  thou  no  more  shalt  rove, 

"  No  more  unhappy  stray ; 
*^  But  thou,  dear  maid,  shalt  be  my  love, 

"  My  countess  rich  and  gay." 
The  hapless  maiden  wond'ring  heard 

The  baron  talk  of  love  ; 
Yet  still,  dltho'  that  baron  she  fear'd,  ' 

Right  faithful  did  she  prove. 

"  Come  turn  to  me,  and  be  my  love, 

"  And  be  my  lady  gay ; 
"  And  thou  no  more  for  scorn  shalt  rove, 

"  So  sad,  the  livelong  day  : 
*'  But  thou  in  robes  of  gold,  my  fair, 

"  More  bright  than  day  shalt  shine — 
*'  Come,  leave  cold  woe,  and  leave  despair, 

*^  And  to  my  suit  incline. 

^^  Fair  maidens  shall  attend  on  thee, 

"  All  fam'd  for  beauty  rare  ; 
"  Yet,  ever  sweet  maiden,  shalt  thou  be 

"  The  fairest  of  all  the  fair. 
"  Bright  gold  and  gems  from  th'  eastern  mine, 

"  Thy  grandeur  shall  proclaim  ; 
"  But  thy  bright  locks  shall  the  gold  outshine, 

"  Thy  eyes  the  jewels  shame." 


m  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Alas  !"  she  cried,  "  despise  a  maid 

'^  Destin'd  with  scorn  to  live ; 
"  What,  tho'  thy  grandeurs  thou'st  display'd, 

" — My  heart's  not  mine  to  give  : 
"  But  I  must  rove,  both  day  and  night, 

"  While  cold,  cold  blows  the  wind ; 
"  Nor  bless  the  light  that  cheers  my  sight, 

"  'Till  my  own  true  love  I  find." 

Then  up  arose  the  hapless  maid. 

And  would  fain  have  fled  away ; 
But  the  wond'ring  baron  soft  her  stay'd. 

And  thus  with  joy  did  say  : 
"  Now  heav'n  thee  bless,  thou  faithful  dame, 

''  For  thy  dear  constant  love  ! 
"  Mine  be  the  fault,  and  mine  the  blame, 

"  That  made  thee  thus  to  rove. 


"  I  am  thy  true  (but  cruel)  love, 

"  Altho'  a  baron  born ; 
*'  And  'twas  thy  faith,  dear  maid,  to  prove, 

"  I  let  thee  rove  forlorn. 
"  I  from  yon  tow'r  have  heard  thy  moan, 

"  And  it  pierc'd  me  to  the  heart : 
"  Now  take  me,  dear  maiden ;  I  am  thy  own, 

**  And  never  more  will  we  part. 


OLD  BALLADS.  175 

"  Yon  castle,  with  its  wide  domain, 

^'  Shall  be  thy  dow'r,  my  love ; 
"  And  there  like  a  princess  shalt  thou  reign, 

*^  Nor  more  in  misery  rove  : 
"  But  we  will  live  and  love  so  true, 

'^  And  with  such  constancy, 
".  That,  if  stern  death  thee  first  shall  slay, 

"  Dear  maid,  I'll  die  with  thee." 

The  maiden  blush'd  to  find  her  love 

A  baron  of  high  fame ; 
While  fond  he  cried,  "  Thy  fears  remove, 

"  Thy  faith  my  pride  doth  shame. 
"  Again  to  thee  my  troth  I  plight, 

"  And  let  thy  joys  abound ; 
"  And  bless  the  light  that  cheers  thy  sight, 

"  For  thy  true  love  is  found." 


176  OLD  BALLADS 


XXVIIL 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEATH. 

[First  printed  in  this  Colkction.] 

"  Xh  e  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  1 

Fair  Emma  sad  did  cry  ; 
«  E'en  now  perhaps  on  yon  drear  heath 

"  My  Edgar  low  doth  lie  ! 
"E'en  now  may  he  draw  his  last,  last  breath, 

"  And  unregarded  die  !" 

«  Oh  stay  thy  fears,  dejected  maid," 

The  hermit  soft  replied ; 
"  For  still  his  oft-victorious  blade 

"  May  check  th'  invader's  pride. 
«  Now  oome,  let  us  kneel  to  heav'n  for  aid, 

"  Whose  might  can  so  soon  decide." 


OLD  BALLADS.  177 

And  now  from  far  th'  embattled  field 

With  war's  dread  clangor  rang  ; 
While,  in  a  mossy  cell  conceal'd. 

The  woodland  wilds  among. 
That  maiden  fair  with  the  hermit  kneel'd. 

And  many  an  orison  sung. 

Now  nearer  still  the  battle  rung, 

And  faster  flow'd  their  tears ; 
And  now  the  woodland  wilds  among, 

A  warrior  stern  appear* 

The  maiden  to  the  hermit  clung, 

O'erwhelmed  with  her  fears. 

And  now  into  the  lowly  cell 

The  warrior  took  his  way. 
With  bloody  sword  and  visage  fell. 

That  witness'd  huge  dismay ; 
And  ever  he  could  his  tidings  tell. 

Sad  Emma  swoon'd  away. 

*'  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

The  trembling  hermit  cries  : 
"  For  sad  I  see  o'er  yon  black  heath 

"  A  scatter'd  army  flies ; 
"  And  many  a  warrior  gasps  for  breath, 

"  And  many  a  captive  sighs.  ^ 

VOL.  IV,  N 


178  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Yea,  the  swift  moment  teems  with  death  V 

The  breathless  warrior  cries  ; 
"  For  many  a  mile  o'er  yon  drear  heath 

"  Our  scatter'd  army  flies  ; 
"  And  many  a  warrior  gasps  for  breath, 

"  And  many  a  captive  sighs." 

"  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

The  wretched  Emma  cries  : 
"  Accurs'd  be  yon  blood-drenched  heath, 

"  For  there  my  Edgar  lies  I 
"  Say,  warrior,  does  my  love  yet  breathe  ? 

"  Hath  death  yet  clos'd  his  eyes  ?" 

"  Yea,  the  sad  moment  teems  with  death ! 

"  For  many  a  warrior  dies, 
"  And,  'mong  the  rest,  on  yon  black  heath, 

"  Thy  hapless  Edgar  lies ; 
"  And  still,  as  the  warrior  gasps  for  breath,, 

"  Fair  Emma's  name  he  sighs." 

Then  up  arose  that  desperate  fair. 

And  thrice  she  look'd  around ; 
And  listen'd  to  the  burden'd  air. 

That  teem'd  with  many  a  sound 
Of  hostile  rage,  and  dire  despair. 

That,  frantic,  bit  the  ground. 


OLD  BALLADS.  179 

* 
"  Hermit,"  she  cried,  "  to  me  so  good, 

*'  Now  grant  my  boon,  I  pray ; 
"  Oil  lend  to  me  thy  scrip  and  hood, 

*'  And  gown  of  russet  gray  j 
*'  And  lend  unto  me  thy  holy  rood, 

"  And  lead  me  on  my  \Yay. 

"  So  will  I  go  to  yon  drear  heath, 

"  Where  many  a  warrior  sighs ; 
**  Wliere,  gasping  in  his  last,  last  breath, 

**  My  hapless  Edgar  lies  : 
*'  I'll  cheer  him  as  he  lays  in  death, 

"  I'll  sooth  him  as  he  dies  !" 


The  hermit  sat  in  pensive  mood. 
Then,  cheer'd  with  hope,  did  say, 

"  Oh  I've  another  scrip  and  hood, 
''  And  another  gown  of  grey  ; 

"  And  I,  with  another  holy  rood, 
"  Will  wend  with  thee  my  way. 

"  For  when  thy  Edgar  to  my  care 
"  Entrusted  thee,  poor  maid, 

^'  On  holy  rood  he  made  me  swear, 
**  To  lend  thee  all  my  aid ; 

"  So  with  thee  I'll  go  withouten  fear, 
"  Thro'  seas  of  blood  to  wade." 


180  OLD  BALLADS. 


PART  THE  SECOND. 


Full  dark  and  drear  the  heath  did  seem. 

And  lonely  was  the  way ; 
Nor  did  the  affrighted  moon's  pale  beam 

Emit  her  silver  ray  : 
Full  fast  the  fair  maiden's  tears  did  stream- 

The  hermit  loud  did  pray. 

Now  nearer  still  the  battle's  sound 

Come  rushing  on  the  ear ; 
With  blood  all  drenched  was  the  ground. 

And  the  night  was  dark  and  drear  : 
The  maiden  affrighted  look'd  around — 

The  hermit  shook  with  fear. 

She  heard  a  groan,  and,  as  she  tum'd, 

A  warrior  laid  full  low  ; 
She  grasp'd  his  hand,  as  sad  he  mourn'd. 

And  wip'd  his  clammy  brow — 
Her  grasp  the  dying  hand  return'd. 

As  conscious  of  its  woe. 


OLD  BALLARS.  181 

"  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

The  woe-fraught  hermit  cried ; 
"  Glutted  with  hapless  mortals  breath, 

'^  The  grisly  king  doth  stride" — 
*'  I  find  not  my  Edgar  on  the  heath," 

The  weeping  Emma  sigh'd. 

The  thund'ring  winds  of  heaven  strove 

The  desert  heath  along ; 
While  she,  her  faithful  love  to  prove. 

With  resolution  strong, 
For  her  Edgar  sought,  her  dear  tinie-love. 

The  dying  and  dead  among. 

"  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

Again  the  hermit  cries  ; 
"  For  nought  is  heard  along  the  heath 

"  But  dying  warriors  sighs" — 
^^  Could  I  but  hear  my  Edgar  breathe  !". 

Fair  Emma  sad  replies. 

Bleak  was  the  blast,  and  chill  the  air,  r 

And  awful  was  the  scene  j 
Yet  still  this  faithful  liapless  pair, 

O'erwhelm'd  with  anguish  keen, 
Rov'd  o'er  the  bloody  heath  so  drear 

Until  the  morning  gleam. 


182  OLD  BALLADS. 

Now  slowly  to  tbe  list'ning  ear 

The  sounds  of  woe  did  fade, 
While  thro'  the  carnage  far  and  near. 

Right  careful  they  did  wade  ; 
But  they  found  not  their  Edgar  dear, 

'Mong  living  or  'mong  dead. 

"   To  many  a  warrior  in  his  woe 

They  lent  their  holy  aid. 
And  ghostly  comfort  did  bestow, 

Tho'  weary  and  dismay'd  ; 
But  their  Edgar's  form  they  could  not  know, 

'Mong  living  or  'mong  dead. 

"  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  ! 

Each  blast's  a  funeral  knell," 
Sad  Emma  cried  ;— then  on  the  heath, 

O'ercome  with  toil,  she  fell : 
The  hapless  maiden  had  not  breath 

To  jeach  the  hermit's  cell. 

«  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  1" 

Th'  affrighted  hermit  cried  : 
"  Alas  !  she's  fell  on  this  dread  heath, 

«  Sweet  flow'r  of  beauty's  pride, 
«  Oh  grisly  tyrant,  spare,  spare  her  breath, 

"Or  slay  me  by  her  side  !" 


OLD  BALLADS.  183 

A  dying  warrior  heard  him  cry, 

And  rais'd  his  languid  liead. 
And  saw  the  hapless  maiden  lie, 

O'ercome  with  toil  and  dread,  ♦ 

And  the  faithful  hermit  standing  by. 

With  terror  all  dismay'd. 

"  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

Sad  Edgar  cried  dismay'd  ; 
"  Behold  !  on  this  blood-drenched  heath 

"  My  lovely  Emma  laid, 
"  With  blood  of  warriors  beneath, 

"  Dark  tempests  overhead." 

"  Yea,  the  swift  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

The  hermit  loud  did  cry  ; 
"  For  lo  !  on  this  dark  dreary  heath 

"  Thy  faithful  bride  doth  lie  : 
"  She  came  to  sooth  thee  while  thou  didst  breathe, 

"  And  then  with  thee  to  die." 

"  Tlie  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  V* 

The  dying  warrior  cried  : 
"  Come  speak  to  me  while  still  I've  breath, 

"  My  too,  too  faithful  bride  !" 
She  wrang  his  hand — —and  on  that  heath 

Those  hapless  lovers  died. 


184,  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  The  fleeting  moment  teems  with  death  !" 

The  fainting  hermit  cried : 
^'  The  grisly  tyrant  o'er  the  heath, 

"  With  merc'less  steps  doth  stride." 
His  spirits  sunk short  grew  his  breath— 

With  woe  the  hermit  died. .. 


XXIX. 
JULIA. 

[First  printed  in  this  Collection.] 

1  o  the  graves  where  sleep  the  dead. 

Hapless  Julia  took  her  way ; 
Sighs  to  heave,  and  tears  to  shed 

O'er  the  spot  where  Damon  lay. 
Many  a  blooming  flower  she  bore 

O'er  the  green  grass  turf  to  throw 
And  while  fast  her  tears  did  pour. 

Thus  she  sang  to  sooth  her  woe. 


OLD  BALLADS.  185 

"  Soft  and  safe  tho'  lowly  grave, 

^'  Fast  o'er  tliee  my  tears  shall  flow  j 
**  Only  hope  the  hapless  have, 

"  Only  refuge  left  for  woe. 
'*  Constant  love  and  grief  sincere 

*'  Shall  thy  hallow'd  turf  pervade ; 
"  And  many  a  heartfelt  sigh  and  tear, 

"  Hapless  youth^  shall  sooth  thy  shade. 

*'  Lighted  by  the  moon's  pale  shine, 

"  See  me,  to  thy  mem'ry  true, 
"  Lowly  bending  at  thy  shrine, 

*'  Many  a  votive  flow'r  to  strew. 
"  But  how  little  do  these  flow'rs 

"  Prove  my  love  and  constancy  ! 
"  Yet  a  few  sad  fleeting  hours, 

"  And,  dear  youth,  I'll  follow  thee. 

^'  Rose  replete  with  scent  and  hue, 

"  Sweetest  flow'r  that  nature  blows, 
"  Damon  flourish 'd  once  like  you ; 

"  Now  o'er  him  the  green  grass  grows, 
"  Rose,  go  deck  his  hallow'd  grave, 

"  Lily,  o'er  the  green  turf  twine ; 
"  Honour  meet  that  turf  should  have, 

"  Beauty's  bed,  and  virtue's  shrine. 


iB6  OLD  BALLADS. 

"  Primrose  pale,  and  violet  blue, 

"  Jess'min  sweet,  and  eglantine, 
"  Nightly  here  thy  sweets  I  strew, 

"  Proud  to  deck  my  true-love's  shrine. 
"  Like  you,  my  Damon  bloom'd  a  day, 

"  He  did  die  and  so  must  you — 
"  But  such  charms  can  you  display, 

**  Half  so  virtuous,  half  so  true  ? 

''  No,  sweet  flow'rets,  no  such  charms, 

*'  No  such  virtues  can  you  boast ; 
"  Yet  he's  torn  from  my  fond  arms, 

''  Yet  my  faithful  love  is  crost. 
"  But  a  radiant  morn  shall  rise, 

"  (Loit'ring  moments,  faster  flow,) 
"  When  with  him  I'll  tread  the  skies, 

"  Smile  at  death,  and  laugh  at  woe." 

Thus  she  sung,  and  strew'd  the  flow'r. 

Beat  her  breast,  and  wept,  and  sigh'd ; 
And,  wlien  toll'd  the  midnight  hour. 

On  the  green  turf  grave  she  died. 
Many  a  nightingale  forlorn. 

Sung  her  knell,  while  breezes  sigh'd  : 
Haughty  grandeur  heard  with  scorn, 

IJow  so  poor  a  maiden  died. 


OLD  BALLADS.  187 


XXX. 

THE  BITTER  FRUITS  OF  JEALOUSY: 

* '   (jro,  shut  the  door,  my  Edward  dear 

*'  Shut  close  the  door,  I  prayj 
'^  Let  nae  keen  search  my  treading  trace, 

"  Ne  listen  what  I  saie ; 

*'  Let  nane  my  subtle  entrance  know, 

"  My  troubled  motion  spie, 
"  Ne  smallest  sun-beam  penetrate 

"  Tlie  tell-tale  of  mine  eye." 

So  Allen  spake,  as,  guilt-bestain'd. 

Some  nook  he  did  explore. 
When  instinct  led  his  pathless  foot 

To  Edward's  friendly  door. 

'Tween  horrid  dread,  and  conscious  shame, 

Fu'  mighty  was  the  strife, 
While  from  his  now-enfeebled  hands 

Down  dropp'd  a  reeking  knife. 


188  OLD  BALLADS. 

What  means  that  steel  ?  What  means  that  glow, 

Wherewith  thy  visage  burns  ? 
Now  ghastly  pale,  alack,  succeeds. 

And  now  the  red  returns. 

'^  Say,  will  ye  plight  your  promise  dear, 

"  And  will  ye  plight  your  fay, 
*^  That  what  I  now  entrust  to  ye 

*^  Your  tongue  shall  ne'er  betray  ?'* 

Yea,  I  will  plight  my  promise  dear. 

And  I  will  plight  my  fay. 
That  what  ye  shall  entrust  to  me 

My  tongue  shall  ne'er  betray. 

*'  Ah  !  was  she  not  the  fairest  fair, 

"  More  dear  than  life  to  me  ? 
"  Yet  ne'er  again  shall  I  behold 

"  My  Lucy  sweet  to  see." 

Yea,  she  was  fairest  of  the  fair. 

Dear  as  thy  life  to  thee — 
And  hast  thou  scath'd  with  deadly  stroke 

Thy  Lucy  sweet  to  see  ? 

*'  Wae  worth  the  day  ! — That  very  wreath, 

"  Which  with  a  loving  vow 
*f  This  morn  I  gave  her,  1  beheld, 

''  Ere  noon,  on  Edwin's  brow. 


OLD  BALLADS.  189 

"  When  as  she  took  it  sweet  she  smil'd, 

"  Yet  could  she  from  it  part  ? 
"  Sae  proud,  methought,  he  taunted  me, 

"  Fu'  deep  it  irk'd  my  heart. 

"  And  irk'd  be  still  this  cruel  heart ! — 

"  Oh  !  had  ye  seen  the  wound, 
"  And  had  ye  seen  the  streaming  blude, 

"  How  fast  it  stain'd  the  ground  ! 

"  And  had  ye  seen  her  sickning  eye, 

"  How  sore  it  sought  relief ! 
"  And  had  ye  seen  her  body  sink, 

"  You  would  have  died  for  grief ! 

"  And  irk'd  be  still  this  cruel  heart, 

"  When  as  she  there  did  lie, 
"  That  could  not  with  my  Lucy  dear 

"  A  moment  stay,  and  die  !" 

Allen,  my  friend,  ye  grieve  my  soul, 

Your  flight,  I  ween,  was  just. 
Sine  she  is  gone,  that  fairest  fair. 

And  sunken  into  dust. 

But  who  along  yon  cypress-path 

Is  led  sae  heavily  ?  ^ 

Ah  !  me  !  my  Allen  dear,  it  is — 

How  sad  she  eyeth  thee  I 


190  OLD  BALLADS. 

And,  ah  I  how  sad  yon  virgins  look. 
Who  lead  her  to  my.  bower  ? 

Appear  they  not  as  drizling  dews, 
Freshning  some  faded  flower  ? 

With  such  a  look  as  mothers  aft 

Rebuke  a  darling  child, 
Sae  eyed  she  her  Allen  dear, 

Sae  ruth,  sae  sweet,  sae  mild  1 


*  I  marvel  not,"  she  faintly  cried, 
"  Ye  seem  a  man  of  stone  ! — 

*  The  well  of  life  is  nae  yet  dry, 
"  My  days  are  nae  yet  done. 

*  Set,  set  your  troubled  mind  at  ease, 
"  My  heart  ye  did  nae  touch ; 

•<  Ye  strook  too  short  to  reach  my  life, 
*'  Whereat  I  gladden  much. 

'  Could  ye  such  vows  as  I  have  vow'd, 
"  Deem  I  could  faithless  be  ? — 

*  The  blossom  to  the  breath  of  spring 
"  Was  scant  sae  true  as  me. 

*  That  wreath,  which  ye  this  morn  did  see 
"  Sae  trim  on  Edwin's  brow, 

^  Edwin's  ain  spitefu'  hand  had  wrought, 
"  And  Edwin  wears  it  now. 


OLD  BALLADS  191 

*'  When  love  ye  breathe,  ye  fickle  men 

"  Be  smooth  as  summer-wave  ; 
"  But  when  with  jealousy  ye  swell, 

"  As  winter-storm  ye  rave. 

**  Rash  man  !  ah  !  how  by  jealousy 

"  Have  ye  your  fortunes  crost ! 
**  As  true  a  maid  as  ever  lov'd 

"  Ye  have  for  ever  lost. 

"  To  hie  to  this  your  friend's  abode, 
*'  Here  breathe  my  prayers  for  ye, 

**  For  life,  for  health,  for  ease  of  mind, 
"  Was  a'  was  left  for  me." 

Can  ye  not  pardon  the  high  fault 

Which  love  did  gar  me  do  ? 
"  Yes,  I  can  pardon  a'  the  fault, 

"  And  still  to  love  be  true." 

And  shall  the  bridal  knot  be  tied. 

And  shall  we  happy  be  ? 
"  The  bridal-knot  can  ne'er  be  tied, 

"  Ne  can  I  stay  with  thee  ; 

^  For  I  to  Christ  a  vow  have  made, 

"  And  kept  that  vow  shall  be, 
■*'  That  man  naie  mair  shall  vex  my  heart, 

**  Nae  mair  shall  trouble  me. 


192  OLD  BALLADS. 


tt 


(( 


That  straight  I  will  myself  betake 
*'  Unto  a  nunnery. 
In  fast  and  prayer  to  end  ray  days 
*'  And  kept  that  vow  shall  be. 


"  Go  ye,  and  seek  a  fairer  bride, 

"  And  live  in  pleasance  gay, 
"  While  to  the  house  of  godliness 

"  I  take  myself  away." 

Nay,  do  nae  wend  ye  quite  away, 

List,  list,  my  piercing  ca' ! 
Return  !  and  for  your  broken  vow. 

On  me  the  pain  be  a  ! 

"  She's  gane." — He  heav'd  a  deep-drawn  sigh, 

As  brast  his  heart  in  twain. 
Sine  to  the  gr5und  fast-failed  he. 

And  never  rose  again. 


OLD  BALLADS.  1£>3 


XXXL 
THE  DEATH  OF  ALLEN. .    - 

1  H  B  bells  they  rang  all  in  the  morn, 

And  Allen  he  rose  full  soon, 
Sad  tidings  w^e  heard  for  Allen  to  hear. 
That  Mary  would  wed  ere  noon. 

Then  Allen  he  call'd  on  Thomas's  name, 

And  Thomas  came  at  his  call  : 
"  Make  ready  a  coffin  and  winding  shroud, 

"  For  Mary  shall  see  my  fall. 

"  When  last  we  parted  with  brimful  eye, 
"  Right-loving  she  made  a  vow  ; 

^'  But  Richard  has  twice  as  many  sheep, 
"  And  Mary  forgets  me  now. 

*^  Then  bear  me  to  the  green-grass-bank, 

"  Where  we  did  kiss  and  play, 
'*  And  tell  her,  the  rain,  that  made  it  so  green, 

"  Has  wash'd  my  kisses  away." 

VOL.  IV,  O 


194  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  bridegroom  led  the  bride  so  fair. 

The  priest  he  came  anon  ; 
But  Thomas  he  brought  his  dear  friend's  corse, 

Or  ere  the  wedding  was  done.      ^ 

He  laid  him  on  the  green-grass  bank, 

Where  they  did  kiss  and  play, 
And  told  her,  the  rain,  that  made  it  so  green, 

Had  wash'd  his  kisses  away. 

When  she  beheld  poor  Allen's  dead  corse. 

Her  maiden  blush  was  lost. 
She  faded,  as  tho'  on  April  morn 

A  primrose  nipt  by  a  frost. 

Then  ^11  beneath  one  fatal  stone 

Together  they  buried  were. 
False  maidens,  who  break  your  plighted  vow, 

Take  heed  ye  come  not  there  ! 


OLD  BALLADS.  195 


xxxn. 

THE  MAD  SHEPHERDESS. 


The  following  ballad  was  originally  sung  by  Miss  Davis  in 
Davenant's  play  called  the  Rivals.  Charles  the  Second 
hearing  her,  was  so  pleased,  that  he  took  her  off  the  stage, 
and  had  a  daughter  by  her,  who  was  named  Mary  Tudor, 
and  was  married  to  Francis  Lord  Radcliife,  afterwards 
Earl  of  Derwentwater. 


JMy  lodging  it  is  on  the  cold  ground. 

And  very  hard  is  my  fare  ; 
But  that  which  troubles  me  most  is 

The  unkindness  of  my  dear  j 
Yet  still  I  cry,  O  turn  love. 

And  I  prithee  love,  turn  to  me. 
For  thou  art  the  man  that  I  long  for, 

And  alack,  what  remedy  ? 


VJ6  OLD  BALLADS. 

I'll  crown  thee  with  a  garland  of  straw  then. 

And  I'll  marry  thee  with  a  rush  ring, 
My  frozen  hopes  shall  thaw  then. 

And  merrily  we  will  sing  ; 
O  turn  to  me,  my  dear  love. 

And  I  prithee  love,  turn  to  me. 
For  thou  art  the  man  that  alone  canst 

Procure  my  liberty. 

But  if  thou  wilt  harden  thy  heart  still. 

And  be  deaf  to  my  pitiful  moan. 
Then  I  must  endure  the  smart  still. 

And  tumble  in  straw  all  alone  ; 
Yet  still  I  cry,  O  turn  love. 

And  I  prithee  love,  turn  to  me. 
For  thou  art  the  man  that  alone  art 

The  cause  of  my  misery. 


OLD  BALLADS.  197 


XXXIIL 

A  T  H  E  L  G  I  V  A, 

Ry  Watkias. 

There  is  a  tradition,  tliat  the  abbey  of  Whitby,  on  the  north 
coast  of  Yorkshire,  was  ruined  during  the  depredations  of 
the  Danes  in  thati district,  by  those  plunderers,  under  the 
command  of  Inguar  and  Hubba,  who  brought  with  them 
that  famoa»  standard  on  which  was  embroidered  a  golden 
raven,  the  Work  of  tlieir  sisters,  and  revered  by  all  the 
Danes  as  the  Palladium  of  their  security.  About  this 
period  the  story  is  supposed  to  commence ;  the  succeed- 
ing incidents  are  all  fictitious,  and  were  dictated  to  the 
author,  in  some  meastire,  by  the  romantic  situation  of  the 
abbey  (magnificent  in  rqin),  which  seemed  exceedingly 
proper  for  such  events.  It  may  perhaps,  be  necessary  to 
add,  that  EdeltJeda  (mtyitioned  in  the  first  stanza)  is  said 
by  Camden,  to  have  been  the  daughter  of  Oswin,  King  of 
Northumberland,  and  to  have  resided  in  the  abbey  of 
Whitby,  after  enlarging  and  farther  endowing  it.  Its  first 
foundation  was  laid  by  St.  Hilda,  the  sister  of  King  Edwin, 
mentioned  m  the  same  verse. 

'  iri  B  R  B  mayst  thou  restj  my  sister  dear, 

'  Securely  here  abide ; 
'  Here  royal  Edelfleda  liv'd, 

'  Mere  pious  Hilda  died. 


1^8  OLD  BALLADS. 

'  Here  peace  and  quiet  ever  dwell : 

*  Here  fear  no  rude  alarms  ; 

*  Nor  here  is  heard  the  trumpet's  sound, 

*  Nor  here  the  din  of  arms.' 

With  voice  composed  and  look  serene, 
(Whilst  her  soft  hand  he  press'd) 

The  maid  who  trembled  on  his  arm. 
Young  Edwy  thus  address'd. 

Blue  gleam'd  the  steel  in  Edwy's  hand. 

The  warrior's  vest  he  bore  : 
for  now  the  Danes,  by  Hubba  led. 

Had  ravag'd  half  the  shore. 

His  summons  at  the  abbey  gate. 

The  ready  porter  hears  ; 
And  soon  in  veil  and  holy  garb, 

The  abbess  kind  appears. 

^  O  take  this  virgin  to  thy  care, 
'  Good  angels  be  your  guard  ; 

*  And  may  the  saints  in  heaven  above, 

♦  That  pious  care  reward, 

*  For  we  by  fierce  barbarian  hands, 

♦  Are  driven  from  our  home  ; 

f  And  three  long  days  and  nights  forlorn, 

♦  The  dreary  waste  we  roam. 


OLD  BALLADS.  19» 

'  But  I  must  go — these  tow'rs  to  save  3 

'  Beneath  the  evening  shade, 
*  I  haste  to  seek  earl  Osrick's  pow'r, 

'  And  call  lord  Redwald's  aid.' 

He  said — and  turn'd  his  ready  foot ; 

The  abbess  nought  replies  ; 
But  with  a  look  that  spoke  her  grief, 

To  heaven  upcast  her  eyes. 

Then  turning  to  the  stranger  dame, 

*  O  welcome  to  this  place  ; 

'  For  never  Whitby's  holy  fane 

*  Did  fairer  maiden  grace.' 

And  true  she  said — for  on  her  cheek. 

Was  seen  young  beauty's  bloom, 
Tlio'  grief  with  slow  and  wasting  stealth, 

Did  then  her  prime  consume. 

Her  shape  was  all  that  thought  can  frame, 

Of  elegance  and  grace  ; 
And  heav'n  the  beauties  of  her  mind 

Reflected  in  her  face, 

'  My  daughter,  lay  aside  thy  fears,* 

Again  the  matron  cried  : 
<  No  Danish  ravishers  come  here — ' 

— Again  the  virgin  sigh'd. 


200  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  abbess  saw,  the  abbess  knew, 
'Twas  love  that  shook  her  breast ; 

And  thus,  in  accents  soft  and  mild. 
The  mo\irnful  maid  addrest. 

'  My  daughter  dear,  as  to  thy  friend 
'  Be  all  thy  cares  confest ; 

*  I  see  'tis  love  disturbs  thy  mind, 

^  And  wish  to  give  thee  rest. 

'  But  hark  !  I  hear  the  vesper  bell, 
*  Now  summons  us  to  prayer ; 

*  That  duty  done,  with  needful  food 

^  Thy  wasted  strength  repair.' 

But  now  the  pitying  mournful  muse 
Of  Edwy's  hap  shall  tell ; 

And  what  amid  his  nightly  walk 
That  gallant  youth  befel. 

For  journeying  by  the  bank  of  Esk 

He  took  his  lonely  way  ; 
And  now  thro'  showers  of  driving  rain 

His  en'ing  footsteps  stray. 

At  length  from  far,  a  glimm'ring  light 
Trembled  among  the  trees ; 

And  ent'ring  soon  a  moss-built  hut, 
An  holy  man  he  sees. 


OLD  BALLADS.  ^01 

'  O  father,  deign  a  luckless  youth 

'  This  niglit  vvitli  thee  to  shield ; 
^  I  am  no  robber,  tho'  my  arm 

*  This  deadly  weapon  wield.' 

'  I  fear  no  robber,  stranger,  here, 

'  For  I  have  nought  to  lose  j 
'And  thou  may'st  safely  thro'  the  night, 

'■  In  this  poor  cell  repose, 

'  And  thou  art  welconie  to  my  hut,' 
The  holy  man  replied  j 

*  Still  welcome  here  is  he,  whom  fate 

'  Has  left  without  a  guide. 

*  Whence  and  what  art  thou,  gentle  youth  ?'  ' 

The  noble  Edwy  said, 
'  I  go  to  rouse  earl  Osrick's  power, 
'  And  seek  lord  Redwald's  aid. 

*  My  father  is  a  wealthy  lord, 

'  Who  now  with  Alfred  stays  : 
'  And  me  he  left  to  guard  his  seat, 

*  Whilst  he  his  duty  pays. 

'  But  vain  the  hope — in  dead  of  night 

'  The  cruel  spoiler  came ; 
'  And  o'er  each  neighb'ring  castle  threw 

*  The  wide-devouring  flame. 


202  OLD  BALLADS. 

*  To  shun  its^  rage,  at  early  dawn, 

*  I  with  my  sister  fled ; 

*  And  Whitby's  abbey  now  affords 

^  A  shelter  to  her  head. 

'  Whilst  I  to  hasten  promis'd  aids, 

'  Range  wildly  thro'  the  night, 
'  And,  with  impatient  mind,  expect 

*  The  morning's  friendly  light.' 

Thus  Edwy  spoke  5  and  wond'ring,  gaz'd 

Upon  his  hermit  host. 
For  in  his  form  beam'd  manly  grace, 

Untouch'd  by  age's  frost. 

The  hermit  sigh'd,  and  thus  he  said  j 
'  Know,  there  was  once  a  day, 

'  This  tale  of  thine  would  fire  my  heart, 
'  And  bid  me  join  thy  way. 

'  But  luckless  love  dejects  my  soul, 

*  And  casts  my  spirits  down  j 

^  Thou  seest  the  wretch  of  woman's  pride, 

*  Of  follies  not  my  own. 


I  once  amid  my  sovereign's  train 
f  Was  a  distinguish'd  youth, 

But  blighted  is  my  fprmer  fame 
♦  By  Sorrow's  cank 'ring  tooth. 


OLD  BALLADS.  20S 

f  When  Ethelred  the  crown  did  hold, 

'  I  to  this  district  came  ; 
f  And  then  a  fair  and  matchless  maid 

*  First  rais'd  in  me  a  flame. 

^  Her  father  was  a  noble  lord 

*  Of  an  illustrious  race, 

(  Who  join'd  to  rustic  honesty 
'  The  courtier's  gentle  grace. 

f  'Twas  then  I  told  my  artless  tale, 

'  By  love  alone  inspir'd ; 
f  For  never  was  my  honest  speech 

*  In  flatt'ring  guise  attir'd. 

f  At  first  she  heard,  or  seem'd  to  hear 

*  The  voice  of  tender  love ; 

f  But  soon,  the  ficklest  of  her  sex, 

*  Did  she  deceitful  prove. 

*  She  drove  me  scornful  from  her  sight, 

*  Rejected  and  disdain'd; 

^  In  vain  did  words  for  pity  pleadj 


In  vain  my  looks  complained. 


'  How  could  that  breast  which  pity  fiU'd, 

*  Ever  relentless  be  ? 

*  How  could  that  face  which  smil'd  on  all, 

*  Have  ever  frowns  for  me  ? 


204  OLD  BALLADS. 

^  Since  that  fell  hour,  I  in  this  cell 

'  Have  liv'd  recluse  from  man  ; 
'  xlnd  twice  ten  months  have  pass'd^  since  I 

*  The  hermit's  life  began.' 

^  O  stain  to  honour  !'  Edvvy  cried  ; 

*  O  foul  disgrace  to  arms   , 

*  What,  when  thy  country  claims  thy  aid^ 

*  And  shakes  with  war's  alarms  ! 

'  Canst  thou,  inglorious,  here  remain, 
'  And  strive  thyself  to  hide ; 
,  *  Assume  the  monkish  coward  life, 

*  All  for  a  woman's  pride  }* 

With  louder  voice  and  warmer  look, 
His  hermit  host  rejoin'd  : 

*  Think 'st  thou,  vain  youth,  the  cliains  of  fear 

*  Could  here  a  warrior  bind  ?  / 

*  Know,  boy,  thou  seest  Hermanrick  here ; 

*  Weil  vers'd  in  .war's  alarms  ; 

*  A  name  once  not  unknown  to  fame, 

*  Nor  unreuown'd  in  arms. 

«  Q,  Athelgiva  !   (yet  too  dear) 

*  Did  I  thy  danger  know  : 

<  Yet  would  I  iiy  to  thy  relief, 
'  And  crush  th'  invading  foe.' 


OLD  BALLADS.  205 

With  fluster'd  cheek,  young  Edwy  turn'd. 

At  Athelgiva's  name ; 
And,  '  Gracious  powers  !  it  must  be  he  !' 

He  cries,  *  it  is  the  same  ! 

*  I  know  full  well,  1  have  not  now 

'  More  of  thy  tale  to  learn ; 
'  I  heard  this  morn,  ere  from  the  wave 

*  You  could  the  sun  discern. 

*  My  sister  loves  thee,  gallant  youth, 

^  By  all  the  saints  on  high  ! 
'  She  wept  last  night,  when  thy  hard  fate 
'  She  told  with  many  a  sigh. 

*  Forgive  her,  then,  and  in  her  cause 

'  Thy  limbs  with  steel  infold  : 

*  Was  it  not  Ardolph's  daughter,  say, 

*  Who  late  thy  heart  did  hold  ?' 

*  It  was,  it  was  !'  Hermanrick  cried  ; 

*  I  heard  her  brother's  name  : 

*  'Tis  said  he  was  a  gallant  youth, 

'  Who  sought  abroad  for  fame.' 

Then  Edwy  sprang  to  his  embrace. 

And  clasp'd  him  to  his  breast  5 
'  And  thou  shalt  be  my  brother  too,' 

He  said,  and  look'd  the  rest. 


206  OLD  BALLADS. 

*  But  now  let  honour  fill  thy  mind, 

'  Be  love's  soft  laws  obey'd  ; 
'  'Tis  Athelgiva  claims  thy  sword, 

*  'Tis  she  demands  thy  aid. 

'  She  with  impatient  anxious  heart, 
'  Expects  my  quick  return  ; 

'  And  till  again  she  sees  me  safe, 
'  The  hapless  maid  \fill  mourn. 

'  Then  let  us  fly  to  seek  these  chiefs, 

'  Who  promis'd  aid  to  send ; 
'  Earl  Osrick  was  my  father's  guest, 

*  Lord  Redwald  is  my  friend.* 

Hermanrick  said,  *  First  let  us  go 
'  To  chear  yon  drooping  maid  ; 
'  Again  I'll  wear  my  canker'd  arms, 

*  Again  I'll  draw  my  blade.* 

Then  from  a  corner  of  the  cell  « 

His  clashing  arms  appear ; 
But  when  he  mark'd  the  growiog  rust. 

The  warrior  dropt  a  tear. 

Then  forth  they  went — Hermanrick  knew 

Each  pathway  of  the  wood ; 
And  safe  before  the  abbey  gate 

At  break  of  dav  they  stood. 


OLD  BALLADS.  207 

Now  sleep  the  wearied  maiden's  eyes 

At  length  had  kindly  seal'd. 
When  at  the  gate  the  wand'ring  knights 

Returning  day  reveal'd. 

'  Quick  call  the  abbess/  Edwy  said. 

To  him  who  kept  the  door. 
Who  watch'd  and  pray'd  the  live-long  night, 

A  pious  priest  and  poor. 

The  abbess  came,  with  instant  haste  j 

Th'  alarming  bell  was  rung  ; 
And  from  their  matted  homely  beds 

The  sainted  virgins  sprung. 

Fair  Athelgiva  first  the  dame. 
Soft  speaking  thus  addrest ; 

*  My  daughter,  an  important  call 

*  Commands  me  break  thy  rest. 

'  Thy  brother  at  the  abbey  gate, 
^  Appears  with  features  glad  ; 

*  And  with  him  comes  a  stranger  knight, 

'  In  war-worn  armour  clad,' 

With  falt'ring  step  and  bloodless  cheek, 

Young  Athelgiva  went : 
Confusion,  shame,  surprise  and  joy 

At  once  her  bosom  rent. 


20»  OLD  BALLADS. 

When  in  the  stranger  knight  she  saw 
Hermanriek's  much-lov'd  face  ; 

Whilst  he,  by  gen'rous  love  impell'd, 
Rush'd  to  her  fond  embrace. 

Vain  would  the  muse  attempt  to  paint 
What  joy  the  lover  knew, 

Who  found  his  long-disdainful  maid 
At  once  fair,  kind,  and  true. 

Then  Edwy,  while  entranc'd  in  bliss 
The  happy  pair  remain'd. 

Recounted  o'er  the  tale,  how  he 
Hermanrick  lost  regain'd. 

But  soon,  alas  !  too  soon,  was  heard. 
To  damp  their  new-form'd  joys. 

The  groan  of  death,  the  shout  of  war. 
And  battle's  mingled  noise. 

For  up  the  hill,  with  eager  haste, 
A  breathless  courier  came ; 

He  cries,  *  Prepare  for  dire  alarms, 
«  And  shun  th'  approaching  flame. 

«  Fierce  Hubba  landing  on  the  beach, 
<  Now  drives  our  feeble  band ; 
Who,  far  too  few  to  stop  his  force, 
Fly  o'er  the  crimson'd  sand.' 


i 


OLD  BALLADS.  209 

What  anguish  fiU'd  the  maiden's  breast,      ^ 

What  rage  the  lover  knew. 
When  looking  down  the  steepy  hill. 

They  found  the  tale  was  true. 

Each  warlike  youth  then  grasp'd  his  spear. 
The  trembling  damsel  said, 

*  O  where  is  now  Earl  Osrick's  power, 

*  O  where  Lord  Redwald's  aid  ? 

'  Alas,  alas  !'  the  abbess  cries, 

'  Far  as  my  sight  is  borne, 
'  I  cannot  see  the  ruddy  cross, 

'  Nor  hear  Earl  Osrick's  horn.' 

Stern  Hubba  now  to  direful  deeds 
Impell'd  his  savage  crew ;  a 

And  o'er  the  blood-empurled  strand  ^'n^^'^'' 
The  golden  raven  flew.  '« 

'  Behold,'  he  cries,  and  waves  his  lance, 
'  Where  yon  proud  turrets  rise  ^ 

*  Of  those  who  prove  war's  glorious  toil, 

*  Let  beauty  be  the  prize. 

«  There  gold  and  beauty  both  are  found, 

'  Then  follow  where  I  lead ; 
«  And  quickly  know  you  have  not  fought 

«  For  honour's  empty  mee^d.' 

VOL,  IV.  P 


210  OLD  BALLADS. 

^    He  said  :  and  press'd  to  gain  the  hill. 
His  shouting  train  pursue ; 
And,  fir'd  by  hopes  of  brutal  joys. 
Behold  the  prize  in  view. 

Young  Edwy  mark'd  their  near  approach. 
And  rush'd  t'oppose  their  way ; 

Nor  did,  with  equal  ardour  fir'd. 
Behind  Hermanrick  stay. 

Like  mountain  boars,  the  brother  chiefs 
On  Denmark's  warriors  flew  5 

And  those  who  held  the  foremost  ranks. 
Their  fury  overthrew. 

Soon,  pierc'd  by  Edwy's  fatal  lance. 

Lay  valiant  Turkil  here ; 
There  Hardicanute  bit  the  dust. 

Beneath  Hermanrick's  spear. 

But  vain  is  courage,  strength,  or  skill, 

When  two  oppose  an  host ; 
A  dart,  with  sure  and  deadly  aim. 

At  Edwy  Hubba  tost. 

His  sister,  who,  o'erpower'd  by  grief. 

Had  fainted  on  the  floor, 
Recover'd  by  the  matron's  care. 

Now  sought  the  abbey  door. 


OLD  BALLADS.  211 

When  on  the  fated  cainag'd  spot 

She  cast  her  weeping  eyes ; 
'  O  blessed  Mary  ! '  cries  the  maid, 

'  My  brother  bleeds  and  dies/ 

Then  forth  she  ran  and  gain'd  the  place. 
Where,  press'd  by  crowds  of  foes, 

Hermanrick  stood — the  shades  of  death 
Her  brother's  eyelids  close. 

The  furious  Dane  nor  pity  knew. 

Nor  stay'd  his  vengeful  arm  ; 
Nor  aught  avails  that  heav'nly  face. 

Which  might  a  tiger  charm. 

First  on  th'  unguarded  chief  he  rush'd. 

And  bore  him  to  the  ground; 
The  helpless  damsel's  plaint  of  woe 

In  war's  loud  shout  is  drown'd. 

She  saw  Hermanrick's  quiv'ring  lip. 

She  mark'd  his  rolling  eye ; 
She  faints,  she  falls;  before  her  sight 

Death's  visions  dimly  fly. 

*  And,  O  thou  dear  and  much-lov'd  youth," 

The  dying  virgin  cried ; 
^  However  in  life  I  wrong'd  thy  truth, 

'  Yet  true  with  thee  I  died.' 


212  OLD  BALLADS. 

She  spoke  no  more — E'en  Hubba  felt 

The  force  of  love  sincere ; 
Then  first  his  breast  confess'd  the  sigh, 

Then  first  his  cheek  the  tear. 

^  And,  O  my  friends,  the  rage  of  war,' 

He  cries,  '  awhile  forbear ; 
*  And  to  their  weeping  kindred  straight 

These  breathless  bodies  bear. 

'  Or  fear  the  wrath  of  Powers  Divine—' 

Nor  could  he  further  say  j 
But  quickly,  with  disorder'd  march. 

Bent  to  his  ships  his  way  : 

For  now  was  heard  Earl  Osrick's  horn. 
Shrill  sounding  thro'  the  dale ; 

And  now  Lord  Redwald's  ruddy  cross 
Was  waving  to  the  gale. 

His  tardy  aid  Earl  Osrick  brought 

Too  late^  alas  !  to  save ; 
And  far  beyond  th'  avenging  sword 

The  Dane  now  rode  the  wave. 

Grief  seiz'd  the  warrior's  heart,  to  see 

In  dust  young  Edwy  laid} 
And  stretch'd  by  brave  Herraanrick's  side 

Fair  Athelgiva  dead. 


OLD  BALLADS.  2%$ 

But  on  the  holy  cross  he  swore, 

A  brave  revenge  to  take, 
On  Denmark's  proud  and  bloody  sons, 

For  Athelgiva's  sake. 

This  vow  in  Kenworth's  glorious  field 

The  gallant  earl  did  pay  j 
When  Alfred's  better  star  prevail'd. 

And  England  had  her  day. 


A  ■>'^ 


That  day  the  Dane  full  dearly  paid 

The  price  of  lovers'  blood : 
That  day  in  Hubba's  cloven  helm 

The  Saxon  javelin  stood. 

The  bodies  of  the  hapless  three  '^v 

A  single  grave  contains , 
And  in  the  choir  with  dirges  due. 

Are  laid  their  cold  remains. 

Lord  Ardolph  on  his  children's  tomb'i  iinA 
Inscrib'd  th'  applauding  verse ; 

And  long  the  monks  in  Gothic  rhime, 
Their  story  did  rehearse.   iaodyfihiW 

And  often  pointing  to  the  skies,     -^iui  gjH 
The  cloister' d  maids  would  cry ; 

**  To  those  bright  realms  in  bloom  of  youth 
"DidAthelgivafly.'V   ... 


214  OLD  BALLADS. 


XXXIV. 

SIR  JOHN  BARLEY-CORN, 

*'  A  pleasant  new  Ballad  to  sing  even  and  morne^ 
"  Of  the  bloody  murder  of  Sir  John  Barley-corn.' 

[Printed  for  John  Wright.]         ^^^ . 

As  1  went  through  the  north  country, 

I  heard  a  merry  meeting ; 
A  pleasant  toy  and  full  of  joy; 

Two  noblemen  were  greeting. 

And  as  they  walked  forth  to  sport. 

Upon  a  summer's  day, 
They  met  another  nobleman, 

With  whom  they  had  a  fray. 

His  name  was  Sir  John  Barley-corn  ; 

He  dwelt  down  in  a  dale. 
Who  had  a  kinsman  dwelt  him  nigh. 

They  call'd  him  Thomas  Good-ale. 


OLD  BALLADS.  115 

Another  named  Richard  Beer, 

Was  ready  at  that  time. 
Another  worthy  knight  was  there, 

Caird  Sir  Wilh'am  White-wine. 

Some  of  thern  fought  in  a  black  jack, 

Some  of  them  in  a  can ; 
But  the  chiefest  in  a  black  pot, 

Like  a  worthy  nobleman. 

Sir  Barley-corn  fought  in  a  bowl. 

Who  won  the  victory ; 
Which  made  them  all  to  fume  and  swear. 

That  Barley-corn  should  die. 

Some  said  "  kill  him,"  some  said  "  drown," 
Others  wish'd  to  hang  him  high. 

For  as  many  as  follow  Barley-corn, 
Shall  surely  beggars  die. 

Then  with  a  plough  they  plough'd  him  up, 

And  thus  they  did  devise. 
To  bury  him  quick  within  the  earth. 

And  swore  he  should  not  rise. 

With  harrows  strong  they  combed  him, 

And  burst  clods  on  his  head, 

A  joyful  banquet  then  was  made, 

When  Barley-corn  was  dead. 


216  OLD  BALLADS. 

He  rested  still  within  the  earth. 
Till  rain  from  skies  did  fall, 

Then  he  grew  up  in  branches  green. 
Which  sore  amaz'd  them  all. 

And  so  grew  up  till  midsummer. 
He  made  them  all  afraid. 

For  he  was  sprouted  up  on  high. 
And  got  a  goodly  beard. 

Then  he  grew  till  St.  James's  tide. 
His  countenance  was  wan. 

For  he  was  grown  unto  his  strength. 
And  thus  became  a  man. 

With  hooks  and  sickles  keen. 
Unto  the  fields  they  hied. 

They  cut  his  legs  off  by  the  knees. 
And  made  him  wounds  full  wide. 

Thus  bloodily  they  cut  him  down. 
From  place  where  he  did  stand. 

And  like  a  thief  for  treachery. 
They  bound  him  in  a  band. 

So  then  they  took  him  up  again. 

According  to  this  kind. 
And  packed  him  up  in  several  stacks, 

To  wither  with  the  wind. 


OLD  BALLADS.  217 

And  with  a  pitchfork  that  was  sharp. 

They  rent  him  to  the  heart, 
And  like  a  thief  for  treason  vile. 

They  hound  him  in  a  cart. 

And  tending  him  with  weapons  strong. 

Unto  the  town  they  hie. 
And  straight  they  mow'd  him  in  a  mow,    - 

And  there  they  let  him  lie. 

Then  he  lay  groaning  by  the  walls, 

Till  all  his  wounds  were  sore. 
At  length  they  took  him  up  again, 

And  cast  him  on  the  floor. 

They  hired  two  with  holly  clubs. 

To  beat  at  him  at  once. 
They  thwacked  so  hard  on  Barley-corn, 

That  flesh  fell  from  his  bones. 

And  then  they  took  him  up  again. 

To  fulfil  women's  mind. 
They  dusted  and  they  sifted  him. 

Till  he  was  almost  blind. 

And  then  they  knit  him  in  a  sack. 
Which  grieved  him  full  sore,  " 

They  steeped  him  in  a  fat,  God  wot,;,;,'/ 
For  three  days  space  and  more.      'V 


218  OLD  BALLADS. 

Then  they  took  him  up  again. 

And  laid  him  for  to  dry. 
They  cast  him  on  a  chamber  floor. 

And  swore  that  he  should  die. 

They  rubbed  him  and  stirred  him. 

And  oft  did  toil  and  turn. 
The  mault-man  likewise  vows  his  death. 

His  body  he  would  burn. 

Tliey  puU'd  and  haul'd  him  up  in  spite, 

And  threw  him  on  a  kiln. 
Yea  dried  him  o'er  a  fire  bright. 

The  more  to  work  their  will. 

Then  to  the  mill  they  forc'd  him  straight. 
Whereas  they  bruis'd  his  bones. 

The  miller  swore  to  murder  him 
Betwixt  a  pair  of  stones. 

The  last  time  when  they  took  him  up. 
They  served  him  worse  than  that. 

For  with  hot  scalding  liquor  store 
They  wash'd  him  in  a  fat. 

But  not  content  with  this,  God  wot. 
They  wrought  him  so  much  harm. 

With  cruel  threat  they  promise  next 
To  beat  him  into  barm. 


OLD  BALLADS.  219 

And  lying  in  this  danger  deep. 

For  fear  that  he  should  quarrel. 
They  took  him  straight  out  of  the  fat. 

And  tunn'd  him  in  a  barrel. 

And  then  they  set  a  tap  to  him. 

Even  thus  his  death  begun. 
They  drew  out  every  drop  of  blood, 

Whilst  any  drop  would  run. 

Some  brought  jacks  upon  their  backs, 

Some  brought  bill  and  bow. 
And  every  man  his  weapon  had 

Barley-corn  to  overthrow. 

When  Sir  John  Good-ale  heard  of  this 

He  came  with  mickle  might. 
And  there  he  took  their  tongues  away. 

Their  legs,  or  else  their  sight. 

Sir  John  at  last  in  each  respect 

So  paid  them  all  their  hire. 
That  some  lay  sleeping  by  the  walls. 

Some  tumbling  in  the  mire. 

Some  lay  groaning  by  the  walls. 
Some  fell  in  the  street  down  right. 

The  best  of  them  did  scarcely  know 
What  he  had  done  o'er  night. 


220  OLD  BALLADS. 

All  you  good  wives  that  brew  good  ale, 
God  keep  you  all  from  teen. 

But  if  you  put  too  much  water  in. 
The  devil  put  out  your  eyne  ! 


XXXV. 

"  A  new  Ballad  for  you  to  look  on. 
How  Mault  doth  deale  with  every  one." 

To  the  tune  of — Triumphand  Joy. 

AlAS  Mault  he  is  a  gentleman. 
And  hath  been  since  the  world  began, 
I  never  knew  yet  any  man 

That  could  match  with  Master  Mault,  sir. 
I  never  knew  any  match  Mault  but  once. 
The  miller  with  his  grinding  stones 
He  laid  them  so  close  that  he  crusht  his  bonet ; 

You  never  knew  the  like,  sir. 


OLD  BALLADS.  221 

Mault,  Mault,  thou  art  a  flower. 

Thou  art  beloved  in  every  bower. 

Thou  canst  not  be  missing  one  half  hour ; 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
For  laying  of  his  stones  so  close, 
Mault  gave  the  miller  a  copper  nose. 
Saying,  "  thou  and  I  will  never  be  foes/' 

But  unto  thee  1  stick,  sir. 


9f 


h  .>T' 


Mault  gave  the  miller  such  a  blow. 

That  from  his  horse  he  fell  full  low  : 

He  taught  him  his  master,  Mault,  for  to  know. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
Our  hostess'  maid  she  was  to  blame. 
She  stole  Master  Mault  away  froni  her  dame. 
And  in  her  belly  she  hid  the  same. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 

So  when  the  Mault  did  work  in  her  head, 
Twice  a  day  she  would  be  sped. 
At  night  she  could  not  get  to  bed. 

Nor  scarce  can  stand  on  her  feet,  sir. 
Then  came  in  the  Master  Smith,  • ' 

And  said  that  Mault  he  was  a  thief; 
But  Mault  gave  him  such  a  dash  in  the  teeth 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 


222  OLD  BALLADS. 

For  when  his  iron  was  hot  and  red. 
He  had  such  an  ache  in  all  his  head, 
The  smith  was  fain  to  get  him  to  bed. 

For  then  he  was  very  sick,  sir. 
The  carpenter  came  a  piece  to  square. 
He  bad  Mault  come  out  if  he  dare, 
He  would  empty  his  belly  and  beat  his  sides  bare. 

That  he  knew  not  where  to  sit,  sir. 

To  the  fire  he  went,  with  an  arm  full  of  chips, 
Mault  hit  him  right  between  his  Kps, 
And  made  him  lame  in  both  his  hips  j 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
The  shoemaker  sitting  upon  his  seat, 
With  Master  Mault  he  began  to  fret. 
He  said  he  would  the  knave  so  beat. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 

Mault  peept  his  head  out  of  a  hall, 

The  shoemaker  said  he  would  drink  him  up  all, 

They  tumbled  together  till  down  they  did  fall, 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
The  weaver  being  in  his  loom. 
He  threatened  Master  Mault  to  bum. 
When  he  had  knit  on  to  the  thrum. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 


OLD  BALLADS.  223 

And  such  a  court  some  weavers  held, 

Tliey  would  pay  our  hostess  when  they  had  fill'd. 

But  when  every  one  had  his  part  and  deal'd 

They  knew  not  where  to  sit,  sir. 
The  tinker  he  took  the  weaver's  part. 
Because  he  is  touching  unto  his  art. 
He  took  the  pot  and  drank  a  quart. 

The  world  was  very  quick,  sir. 

Mault  had  of  him  his  own  desire. 
He  made  him  tumble  into  the  fire. 
And  there  he  lost  his  burling  ire. 

He  hath  not  found  it  yet,  sir. 
The  tailor  he  came  to  grind  his  shears, 
Mault  and  he  were  together  by  the  ears. 
Great  is  the  company  Mault  still  rears. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 

For  when  his  pressing  iron  was  hot. 
He  pressed  a  board  instead  of  a  coat. 
And  sailed  home  in  a  feather  bed  boat. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
So  then  the  tinker  did  sound  his  pan. 
Then  said  Master  Mault,  I  must  be  gone, 
I  am  the  good  fellow  that  helpeth  each  one. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 


S24  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  tinker  then  that  he  was  fain 
With  Mault  to  have  a  bout  or  twain, 
Mault  hit  liim  sore  in  every  vein ; 

You  never  saw  the  like^  sir. 
Then  bespake  the  tinker  anon. 
He  said  he  would  prove  himself  a  man. 
He  laid  on  Mault  till  the  house  was  gone 

The  bung  and  the  tinker  fell  sick,  su'. 


The  sailor  he  did  curse  and  ban. 
He  bad  the  boy  go  tap  the  can, 
I'll  have  a  bout  with  Mault  anon. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
Aboard  they  went  to  try  their  match, 
And  there  they  play'd  at  hop  and  catch, 
Mault  bestowed  him  under  the  hatch, 

And  made  him  keep  the  ship,  sir. 

Then  came  the  chapman  travelling  by, 
And  said,  my  masters  I'll  be  with  ye. 
Indeed  Master  Mault  my  mouth  is  dry, 

I  will  gnaw  you  with  my  teeth,  sir. 
The  chapman  be  laid  on  apace 
Till  store  of  blood  came  in  his  face. 
But  Mault  brought  him  in  such  a  case. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 


OLD  BALLADS.  225 

The  mason  came  an  oven  to  make, 
The  bricklayer  he  his  part  did  take. 
They  bound  Mault  to  the  good  ale-stake. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
Then  Mault  began  to  tell  his  mind. 
And  plied  them  with  ale,  beer,  and  wine. 
They  left  brick,  axe,  and  trowel  behind. 

They  could  not  lay  a  brick,  sir. 

Then  came  the  labourer  out  with  his  hood. 
And  saw  his  two  masters  how  they  stood. 
He  took  Master  Mault  by  the  hood. 

And  swore  he  would  him  strike,  sir. 
Mault  he  ran,  and  for  fear  did  weep. 
The  labourer,  he  did  skip  and  leap. 
But  Mault  cast  him  into  the  mortar  heap. 

And  there  he  fell  asleep,  sir. 


The  butcher  came  to  buy  a  sheep. 

He  said  he  would  make  Mault  to  creep. 

But  Mault  made  him  the  cat  to  whip. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
The  glover  came  to  buy  a  skin, 
Mault  hit  him  right  above  the  chin. 
The  pewter  John  came  doubling  in, 
You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 

VOL.  IV.  Q 


:•(■{ 


226  OLD  BALLADS. 

And  laid  on  head,  arms,  and  joints. 

Took  away  his  gloves,  and  a  gross  of  points. 

And  swore  they  had  pay'd  him  in  quarts  and  pints. 

You  never  saw  the  like,  sir. 
Thus  of  my  song  I  will  make  an  end. 
And  pray  my  hostess  to  be  my  friend. 
To  give  me  some  drink  now  my  money  is  spent. 

Then  Mault  and  I  am  quits,  sir. 


XXXVI. 
THE  DEVONSHIRE  NYMPH 


OB, 


The  Knights  happy  choice.  Shewing  how  a  young 
rick  Knight  fell  in  love  with  the  Daughter  of  a 
poor  Weaver  of  Devonshire,  and  for  her  beauty 
and  virtue,  married  her. 

I N  the  West  of  Devonshire 
Liv'd  a  maid  of  beauty  rare. 

Pretty  Peggy  was  her  name  j 
Ev'ry  creature  lov'd  her  nature, 

Peggy  there  had  all  the  fame. 


.  OLD  BALLADS.  227 

Wheresoever  I  am  walking. 
Or  of  whatsoever  talking. 

Pretty  Peggy  must  come  in. 
She  has  so  much  duty  and  so  much  beauty, 

Not  to  worship  were  a  sin. 

Fame,  that  oftentimes  doth  flatter. 
Told  the  truth  of  all  the  matter. 

To  a  young  and  worthy  knight. 
One  lov'd  pleasure,  more  than  treasure,  1 

Beauty  was  his  sole  delight. 

Straight  in  love  he  was  involved. 
And  to  try  he  was  resolved. 

Whether  Peggy  would  be  kind. 
But  he  did  never  meet  with  ever 

Such  a  face,  and  such  a  mind. 

When  he  first  beheld  the  creature. 
All  her  charms  were  bent  by  nature. 

Neither  spots  nor  tower  she  wore, 
But  she  was  singing,  and  a  spinning, 

At  her  poor  old  father's  door. 

When  she  saw  him  she  retired. 
But  his  senses  all  were  fired 

At  the  little  interview  : 
Oh,  stay,  he  s^id,  thou  lovely  maid. 

For  now  I  swear  report  is  true. 


228  OLD  BALLADS. 

Straightway  then  he  did  pursue  her. 
And  with  all  his  art  did  woo  her, 

Kiss'd  her  hands  and  bless'd  her  eyes, 
ProiFer'd  treasure  for  his  pleasure. 

But,  alas,  she  all  denies. 

Golden  promises  he  made  her. 
And  with  vows  he  did  persuade  her, 

But  her  virtue  was  so  strong, 
That  all  his  art  ne'er  touch'd  her  heart, 

Altho'  poor  Peggy  was  but  young. 

Dearest  charmer  be  not  cruel. 
To  yourself  and  me,  my  jewel. 

Leave  your  homely  rural  sport. 
And  be  but  mine,  and  thou  shalt  shine 

Amongst  the  glorious  stars  at  court. 

All  the  pride  of  London  city. 
That  can  make  young  ladies  pretty. 

And  what  change  affords  that's  rare. 
All  shall  be,  my  dear,  for  thee. 

And  none  with  Peggy  shall  compare. 

Sir;  said  she,  do  not  endeavour. 
The  poor  daughter  of  a  weaver 

Has  i  heart  of  virtuous  mould. 
Which  no  pride  can  draw  aside. 

To  be  corrupted  by  your  gold. 


OLD  BALLADS.  229 

Then,  said  he,  dear  Peggy,  may  be 
You'll  deny  to  be  a  lady, 

How  does  that  now  suit  your  mind  ? 
Sir,  said  she,  my  low  degree 

Is  still  to  humble  thoughts  confin'd. 

For  that,  says  he,  I  ne'er  will  fault  thee. 
But  for  humbleness  exalt  thee. 

Thou  this  day  my  bride  shall  be. 
No  longer  they  tarried,  but  were  married. 

And  lady  Margaret  was  she. 

You  may  think  her  friends  consented. 
And  that  she  was  well  contented. 

And  I  am  sure  so  was  the  knight. 
For  all  the  day  they  sport  and  play. 

But  what  they  did,  God  knows,  at  night. 


2S0  OLD  BALLADS. 


xxxvn. 

VENUS'S  LAMENT  FOR  ADONIS. 
[From  Browne's  Britannia's  Pastorals,  1625.] 

Venus  by  Adonis'  side 
Crying  kist,  and  kissing  cried, 
Wrung  her  hands  and  tore  her  hair. 
For  Adonis  dying  there. 

Stay  (quoth  she)  O  stay  and  live  ! 
Nature  surely  doth  not  give 
To  the  earth  her  sweetest  flowers. 
To  be  seen  but  some  fgw  hours. 

On  his  face  still  as  he  bled 
For  each  drop  a  tear  she  shed. 
Which  she  kist  or  wipt  away. 
Else  had  drown'd  him  where  he  lay. 

Fair  Proserpina,  quoth  she. 
Shall  not  have  thee  yet  from  me ; 
Nor  thy  soul  to  fly  begin. 
While  my  lips  can  keep  it  in. 


OLD  BALLADS.  231 

Here  she  clos'd  again  :  and  some 
Say,  Apollo  would  have  come 
To  have  cured  his  wounded  limb. 
But  that  she  had  smotlier'd  him. 


xxxvin. 


Song  by  Richard  the  First,  Coeur  de  Lion,  written 
during  liis  imprisonment  in  the  Tenebreuse,  or 
Black  Tower. 


[Translated  by  Dr.  Barney. — 'From  the  second  v^jlume  of 
Dr.  Barney's  General  History  of  Music] 


IN  o  wretched  captive  of  his  prison  speaks. 
Unless  with  pain,  and  bitterness  of  soul ; 
Yet  consolation  from  the  Muse  he  seeks. 
Whose  voice  alone  misfortune  can  controul.. 
Where  now  is  each  ally,  each  baron,  friend. 
Whose  face  I  ne'er  beheld  without  a  smile  ? 
Will  none,  his  sov'reign  to  redeem,  expend 
The  smallest  portion  of  his  treasures  vile  ? 


232  OLD  BALLADS. 

Though  none  may  blush  that  near  two  tedious  years, 
Witliout  relief,  my  bondage  has  endur'd, 
Yet  know,  my  English,  Norman,  Gascon  peers. 
Not  one  of  you  should  thus  remain  immur'd  ; 
The  meanest  subject  of  my  wide  domains. 
Had  I  been  free,  a  ransom  should  have  found  j 
I  mean  not  to  reproach  you  with  my  chains. 
Yet  still  I  wear  them  on  a  foreign  ground ! 

Too  true  it  is,  so  selfish  human  race  ! 
''  Nor  dead,  nor  captive,  friend  or  kindred  find," 
Since  here  I  pine  in  bondage  and  disgrace. 
For  lack  of  gold,  my  fetters  to  unbind. 
Much  for  myself  I  feel,  yet  ah  !  still  more 
That  no  compassion  from  my  subjects  flows  ; 
What  can  from  infamy  their  names  restore. 
If,  while  a  pris'ner,  death  my  eyes  should  close. 

But  small  is  my  surprise,  though  great  my  grief. 
To  find,  in  spite  of  all  his  alft^mn  vows. 
My  lands  are  ravag'd  by  the  Gallic  chief. 
While  none  my  cause  has  courage  to  espouse. 
Though  lofty  tow'rs  obscure  the  chearful  day, 
Yet,  through  the  dungeon's  melancholy  gloom. 
Kind  Hope,  in  gentle  whisper's,  seems  to  say, 
"  Perpetual  thraldom  is  not  yet  thy  doom." 


OLD  BALLADS.  2S3 

Ye  dear  companions  of  my  happy  days. 
Oh  Chail  and  Pensavin  aloud  declare. 
Throughout  the  earth  in  everlasting  lays. 
My  foes  against  me  wage  inglorious  war. 
Oh  tell  them  too,  that  ne'er  among  my  crimes 
Did  breach  of  faitli,  deceit,  or  fraud  appear  ; 
That  infamy  will  brand  to  latest  times 
The  insults  I  receive  while  captive  here. 

Know  all  ye  men,  of  Anjou  and  Touraine, 

And  ev'ry  bach'lor  knight,  robust  and  brave. 

That  diaty  now  and  love  alike  are  vain. 

From  bonds  your  sov'reign  and  your  friend  to  save. 

Remote  from  consolation  here  I  lie. 

The  wretched  captive  of  a  pow'ful  foe. 

Who  all  your  zeal  and  ardour  can  defy. 

Nor  leaves  you  aught  but  pity  to  bestow  ! 


234  OLD  BALLADS. 


XXXIX. 

MILITARY  SONG  ON  THE  FRENCH 
CHAMPION  ROLAND. 

The  following  song  in  praise  of  Roland  was  translated  from 
the  French  of  the  Marquis  de  Paulmy,  by  Dr.  Burney,  and 
inserted  in  the  second  volume  of  his  History  of  Music. 

Few  heroes  have  been  so  fortunate  as  Roland : 
Vixere  fortes  ante  Agaraemnona  ; 
but  their  very  names  have  ingloriously  perished.  The 
military  renown  and  amorous  adventures  of  Roland  have 
been  consecrated  to  fame,  by  the  immortal  poems  of 
Ariosto  and  Berni.  His  daring  courage  in  battle,  his 
gentleness  and  courtesy  after  victory,  and  his  enthusiastic 
love,  are  still  familiar  to  every  reader ;  and  we  have  only 
to  regret  the  loss  of  his  Chanson,  or  military  song,  which 
formerly  inspirited  whole  armies  to  the  most  perilous 
exploits.  This  song  would  have  been  a  singular  curiosity 
to  Englishmen,  as  it  was  sung  to  animate  the  invading 
Normans  at  the  battle  of  Hastings,  by  Taillefer,  one  of  their 
Minstrels,  riding  on  horseback  at  the  head  of  their  army. 

LjEt  ev'ry  valiant  son  of  Gaul 
Sing  Roland's  deeds,  her  greatest  glory. 
Whose  name  will  stoutest  foes  appal, 
And  feats  inspire  for  future  story. 


OLD  BALLADS.  235 

Roland  in  childhood  had  no  fears. 
Was  full  of  tricks,  nor  knew  a  letter. 
Which,  though  it  cost  his  mother  tears. 
His  father  cried,  '^  So  much  the  better: 
"  We'll  have  him  for  a  soldier  bred, 
"  His  strength  and  courage  let  us  nourish, 
"  If  bold  the  heart,  though  wild  the  head, 
**  In  war  he'll  but  the  better  flourish.'* 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

Roland  arriv'd  at  man's  estate 
Prov'd  that  his  father  well  admonish'd, 
For  then  his  prowess  was  so  great 
That  all  the  world  became  astonish'd. 
Battalions,  squadrons,  he  could  break. 
And  singly  give  them  such  a  beating. 
That,  seeing  him,  whole  armies  quake. 
And  nothing  think  of  but  retreating. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

In  single  combat  'twas  the  same: 
To  him  all  foes  were  on  a  level. 
For  ev'ry  one  he^overcame. 
If  giant,  sorc'rer,  monster,  devil. 
His  arm  no  danger  e'er  could  stay. 
Nor  was  the  goddess  Fortune  fickle. 
For  if  his  foe  he  did  not  slay. 
He  left  him  in  a  rueful  pickle, 
L<et  ev'ry,  &c. 


23G  OLD  BALLADS. 

In  scaling  walls  with  highest  glee. 
He  first  the  ladder  fixt,  then  mounted; 
Let  him,  my  boys,  our  model  be. 
Who  men  or  perils  never  counted. 
At  night,  with  scouts  he  watch  would  keep. 
With  heart  more  gay  than  one  in  million. 
Or  else  on  knapsack  sounder  sleep 
Than  general  in  his  proud  pavilion. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

On  stubborn  foes  he  vengeance  wreak'd. 
And  laid  about  him  like  a  Tartar, 
But  if  for  mercy  once  they  squeak'd. 
He  was  the  first  to  grant  them  quarter. 
The  battle  won,  of  Roland's  soul 
Each  milder  virtue  took  possession ; 
To  vanquish'd  foes  he  o'er  a  bowl 
His  heart  surrender'd  at  discretion. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

When  ask'd  why  Frenchmen  wield  the  brand. 
And  dangers  new  each  day  solicit. 
He  said,  'tis  Charlemagne's  command. 
To  whom  our  duty  is  implicit : 
His  ministers,  and  chosen  few. 
No  doubt  have  weigh'd  these  things  in  private. 
Let  us  his  enemies  subdue, 
'Tis  all  that  soldiers  e'er  should  drive  at. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 


OLD  BALLADS.  237 

Roland  like  Christian  true  would  live, 
Was  seen  at  mass,  and  in  procession ; 
And  freely  to  the  poor  would  give. 
Nor  did  he  always  shun  confession. 
But  bishop  Turpin  had  decreed 
(His  counsel  in  each  weighty  matter) 
That  'twas  a  good  and  pious  deed 
His  country's  foes  to  drub  and  scatter. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

At  table  Roland  ever  gay, 

Would  eat,  and  drink,  and  laugh,  and  rattle,      ^ 
But  all  was  in  a  prudent  way. 
On  days  of  guard,  or  eve  of  battle. 
For  still  to  king  and  country  true 
He  held  himself  their  constant  debtor. 
And  only  drank  in  season  due. 
When  to  transact  he'd  nothing  better. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

To  captious  blades  he  ne'er  would  bend. 
Who  quarrels  sought  on  slight  pretences; 
Though  he,  to  social  joys  a  friend. 
Was  hlow  to  give  or  take  offences. 
None  e'er  had  cause  his  arm  to  dread 
But  those  who  wrong'd  his  prince,  or  nation. 
On  whom  whene'er  to  combat  led. 
He  dealt  out  death  and  devastation. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 


238  OLD  BALLADS. 

Roland  too  much  adored  the  fair, 
From  whom  e'en  heroes  arc  defenceless, 
And  by  a  queen  of  beauty  rare 
He  all  at  once  was  render'd  senseless. 
One  hapless  morn  she  left  the  knight, 
Who,  when  he  miss'd  her,  grew  quite  frantic. 
Our  pattern  let  Him  be  in  fight : 
His  love  was  somewhat  too  romantic. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

His  mighty  uncle,  Charles  the  Great, 
Who  Rome's  imperial  sceptre  wielded. 
Both  early  dignity  and  state 
With  high  command  to  Roland  yielded. 
Yet  though  a  Gen'ral,  Count,  and  Peer, 
Roland's  kind  heart  all  pride  could  smother, 
For  each  brave  man  from  van  to  rear 
He  treated  like  a  friend  and  brother. 
Let  ev'ry,  &c. 

XL. 
SONG  FROM  THIBAUT,  KING  OF  NAVARRE. 

[Translated  by  Dr.  Burney. — From  the  second  volume  of 
Dr.  Burney's  General  History  of  Music] 

I  THOUGHT  I'd  vanquish'd  mighty  love, 
But  find  myself  deceiv'd ; 
For  ev'ry  hour,  alas !  I  prove 
The  conquest  unachiev'd. 


OLD  BALLADS.  23> 

By  day  I  seek  for  ease  in  vain. 

Or  call  on  sleep  by  night ; 

Sighs,  tears,  complaints,  increase  my  pain, 

Nor  does  a  hope,  ye  pow'rs  !  remain. 

That  she  will  e'er  my  love  requite. 

The  libertine  alone  betrays 

The  kind  and  constant  heart. 

But  I  would  die  ten  thousand  ways 

Ere  pain  to  her  impart. 

No  thought  my  throbbing  breast  can  cheer 

But  her  in  bliss  to  see  : 

Yet  in  her  coy  and  wild  career 

Could  I  but  catch  this  flying  deer 

How  happy  then  would  Theobald  be  ! 

This  lovely  deer,  more  white  than  snow, 
With  locks  like  burnish'd  gold 
Which  o'er  her  polish'd  shoulders  flow, 
Courageous  is  and  bold. 
In  peril  oft  she  stands  at  bay. 
Where  wolves  with  cunning  fraught 
Are  on  the  watch  by  night  and  day 
To  seize  the  courteous  as  their  prey 
Who  set  their  wicked  wiles  at  naught. 

A  brave  accomplish 'd  knight  o'ercome 
And  stript  of  arms  and  fame, 
While  barn  and  vineyard,  house  and  home 
Are  food  for  fire  and  flame; 


240  OLD  BALLADS. 

Than  me  less  torture  feels  and  pain 

While  rigour  thus  I  prove. 

For  never  did  I  yet  attain 

The  gift  seraphic  of  a  swain 

Who  could  without  a  premium  love. 

The  slightest,  smallest  boon  to  share 

Is  all  I  humbly  crave. 

To  drive  away  the  fiend  Despair, 

And  snatch  me  from  the  grave. 

And  is  it  then  no  crime  to  wound 

A  faithful  lover's  heart? 

To  hear  his  sad  complaints  resound. 

Then  dash  him  to  the  abyss  profound. 

Nor  at  his  cruel  sufF 'rings  start. 

Pronounce,  my  fair,  a  milder  doom 
Before  you've  kill'd  me  quite, 
For  pity  then  too  late  will  come 
When  plung'd  in  endless  night. 
A  little  love  while  yet  I  live 
Is  worth  a  world  in  grave. 
And  'tis  economy  to  give 
When  by  a  trivial  donative 
A  heavy  future  charge  we  save. 

"  The  last  stanza,  which  is  not  entire  in  the  ori- 
ginal, has  been  amplified  in  the  English,  to  supply 
a  sufficient  number  of  lines,  for  the  melody." 


OLD  BALLADS.  241 


XLL 

The  Laidley*  Worm  of  Spindleston  Heughs,  a 
Ballad,  five  hundred  years  old,  made  by  the  old 
mountain  bard,DuncanFrasier,  living  in  Cheviot. 
A.  D.  1270. 

This  Ballad  was  printed  In  Hutchinson's  History  of  Northum- 
berland, from  a  communication  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Lambe, 
of  Norham,  (editor  of  the  old  Poem,  entitled  Flodden 
Field),  who  pretended  to  have  transcribed  it  from  a  very 
ancient  Manuscript.  Both  the  historian  and  the  commu- 
nicator gravely  maintain  its  antiquity,  and  assign  its  com- 
position to  the  period  mentioned  in  the  title.  It  is  almost 
superfluous  to  observe  that  it  is  a  modern  forgery,  and  it 
is  singular  that  so  impudent  a  fraud  should  have  been 
successfully  practised  on  Hutchinson. 

I  am  informed  by  Mr.  Turner,  to  whose  suggestions  I  am 
much  indebted,  that  a  lady  now  upwards  of  70  had  heard 
her  mother  repeat  an  older,  and  nearly  similar  ballad.  If 
the  verses  resembled  these,  they  could  not  be  much  earlier 
than  her  mother's  birth.  These  are  undoubtedly  more 
recent.  Those  who  practise  these  deceptions,  usually 
buikl  their  story  on  some  fragment  or  tradition, and  when 
exposed,  appeal  to  elderly  persons  if  they  have  not  heard 
it,  or  something  resembling  it,  in  their  youth. 

1  H  E  king  is  gone  from  Bamborough  castle : 

Long  may  the  princess  mourn, 
hong  may  slie  stand  on  the  castle  wall. 
Looking  for  his  retuFn. 

*  This  is  a  northern  corruption  for  loathly,  i.  e.  loathsome. 
VOL.  IV.  R 


.242  OLD  BALLADS. 

She  has  knotted  the  keys  upon  a  string. 
And  with  her  she  has  them  ta'en ; 

She  has  cast  them  o'er  her  left  shoulder, 
And  to  the  gate  she  is  gane. 

She  tripped  out,  she  tripped  in, 

She  tript  into  the  yard  j 
But  it  was  more  for  the  king's  sake, 

Than  for  the  queen's  regard. 

It  fell  out  on  a  day  the  king 

Brought  the  queen  with  him  homej 

And  all  the  lords  in  our  country 
To  welcome  them  did  come. 

Oh !  welcome  father,  the  lady  cries. 
Unto  your  halls  and  bowers ; 

And  so  are  you,  my  step-mother. 
For  all  that  is  here  is  yours. 

A  lord  said,  wond'ring  while  she  spake. 

This  princess  of  the  north 
Surpasses  all  of  female  kind. 

In  beauty  and  in  worth. 

The  envious  queen  replied,  at  least 
You  might  have  excepted  me  j 

In  a  few  liours  I  will  her  bring 
Down  to  a  low  degree. 


OLi)  BALLADS.  248 

I  will  liken  her  to  a  laidley  worm. 

That  warps  about  the  stone. 
And  not,  till  Childy  Wynd  *  comes  back, 

Shall  she  again  be  won. 

The  princess  stood  at  her  bower  door. 
Laughing :  who  could  her  blame  ? 

But  e'er  the  next  day's  sun  went  down, 
A  long  worm  she  became. 

For  seven  miles  east,  and  seven  miles  west. 
And  seven  miles  north  and  south. 

No  blade  of  grass  or  corn  could  grow, 
So  venomous  was  her  mouth. 

The  milk  of  seven  stately  bows, 

It  was  costly  her  to  keep. 
Was  brought  her  daily,  which  she  drank 

Before  she  went  to  sleep. 

At  this  day  may  be  seen  the  the  cave. 

Which  held  her  folded  up, 
And  the  stone  trough,  the  very  same 

Out  of  which  she  did  sup. 

Word  went  east,  and  word  went  west. 
And  word  is  gone  over  the  sea  :    ^ 

That  a  laidley  worm  in  Spindleston  Heughs 
Would  ruin  the  north  country. 

*  There  is  now  a  itreet  called  the  Wynd,  at  Bamborough. 


244  OLD  BALLADS. 

Word  went  east,  and  word  went  west, 

And  over  the  sea  did  go  ; 
The  child  of  Wynd  got  wit  of  it. 

Which  filled  his  heart  with  woe. 

He  called  straight  his  merry  men  all. 
They  thirty  were  and  three ; 

I  wish  I  were  at  Spindleston, 
This  desperate  worm  to  see. 

We  have  no  time  now  here  to  waste. 

Hence  quickly  let  us  sail ; 
My  only  sister  Margaret 

Something  I  fear  doth  ail. 

They  built  a  ship  without  delay. 
With  masts  of  the  rown-tree,* 

With  fluttering  sails  of  silk  so  fine. 
And  sei  her  on  the  sea. 

They  went  aboard.     The  wind  with  speed 

Blew  them  along  the  deep  j 
At  length  they  spied  an  huge  square  tower 

On  a  rock  high  and  steep. 

The  sea  was  smooth,  the  weather  clear. 

When  they  approached  nigher ; 
-King  Ida's  castle  they  well  knew. 
And  the  banks  of  Bamboroughshire. 

. ,  *  •  Mountain  asht 


OLD  BALLADS.  245 

The  queen  look'd  out  at  a  bower  window. 

To  see  what  she  could  see ; 
There  she  espied  a  gallant  ship 

Sailing  upon  the  sea. 

When  she  beheld  the  silken  sails 

Full  glancing  in  the  sun. 
To  sink  the  ship  she  sent  away 

Her  witch  wives  every  one. 

Their  spells  were  vain.     The  hags  return'd 
To  the  queen  in  sorrowful  mood. 

Crying,  that  witches  have  no  power 
Where  there  is  rown-tree  wood. 

Her  last  effort — she  sent  a  boat. 

Which  in  the  haven  lay. 
With  armed  men  to  board  the  ship ; 

But  they  were  driven  away. 

The  worm  leapt  up,  the  worm  leapt  down. 

She  plaited  round  the  stone ; 
And  as  tlie  ship  came  to  the  land. 

She  bang'd  it  off  again 

The  child  then  ran,  out  of  her  reach. 

The  ship  on  Budle*  sand. 
And,  jumping  into  the  shallow  sea. 

Securely  got  to  land 

*  Budle  is  a  small  village  aud  port  at  a  little  distance 
from  Baraborough. 


248  OLD  BAIXADS 

And  now  he  drew  his  bonny  brown  sword. 

And  laid  it  on  her  head. 
And  swore  if  slie  did  hasten  to  him. 

That  he  wou'd  strike  her  dead. 

Oh  !  quit  thy  sword,  and  bend  thy  bow, 
^    And  give  me  kisses  three ; 
For  though  I  am  a  pois'nous  worm, 
P       No  hurt  will  I  do  to  thee. 

Oh !  quit  thy  sword,  and  bend  thy  bow. 

And  give  me  kisses  three; 
If  I  am  not  won  e'er  the  sun  go  down. 

Won  I  shall  never  be. 

He  quitted  his  sword,  he  bent  his  bow. 

He  gave  her  kisses  three ; 
She  crept  into  a  hole  a  worm. 

But  stept  out  a  lady. 

No  cloathing  had  this  lady  fine 

To  keep  her  from  the  cold ; 
He  took  his  mantle  from  him  about. 

And  round  her  did  it  fold. 

He  has  his  mantle  from  him  about 

And  it  he  wrapt  her  in ; 
And  they  are  up  to  Bamborough  castle 

As  fast  as  they  can  win. 


OLD  BALLADS.  247 

His  absence  and  her  serpent  shape 

The  king  had  long  deplor'd. 
He  now  rejoic'd  to  see  them  both 

Again  to  him  restor'd. ' 

The  queen  they  wanted,  whom  they  found. 

Ail  pale  and  sore  afraid ; 
Because  she  knew  her  power  must  yield 

To  Childy  Wynd's  3  who  said. 

Woe  be  to  thee,  thou  wicked  witch. 

An  ill  death  may'st  thou  dee : 
As  thou  my  sister  hast  likened, 
;  ilSiOOiSo  likened  shalt  thou  be. 

I  will  turn  thee  Into  a  toad. 

That  on  the  ground  doth  wend; 

And  won  and  won  shalt  thou  never  be. 
Till  this  world  hath  an  end. 

Now  on  the  sands  near  Ida's  tower. 

She  crawls  a  loathsome  toad  3 
And  venom  spits  on  every  maid 

She  meets  upon  the  road ; 

The  virgins  all  of  Bamborough  town 
Will  swear  that  they  have  seen 

This  spiteful  toad  of  monstrous  size. 
Whilst  walking  they  have  been. 


248  OLD  BALLADS. 

All  folks  believe,  within  the  shire. 

This  story  to  be  true ; 
And  they  all  run  to  Spindleston, 

The  cave  and  trough  to  view. 

This  fact  now  Duncan  Frasier 

Of  Cheviot  sings  in  rhyme ; 
Lest  Bamboroughshire  men  should  forget. 

Some  part  of  it  in  time. 


XLIL 

KING  ZAYDE  AND  ZELINDAXA,  A  MOORISH 
TALE. 

From  the  Spanish. 

From  among  other  romances  of  the  most  famous  feasts  and 
tournaments  of  the  Moors,  I  have  selected  one,  the  origi- 
nal of  which  must  have  been  very- ancient,  as  it  relates  the 
catastroplie  of  a  Moorish  knightin  the  court  ofoneof  the 
kings  of  Toledo,  which  city  was  re-conquered  by  tlie 
Christians  -in  the  year  1085.  In  my  translation  of  it,  my 
only  care  has  been  to  preserve  the  literal  sense  and  spirit 
of  the  Spanish  version. — Carter's  Journey  from  Gibraltar 

'    to  Malaga. 

1 N  troops  of  eight,  and  troops  of  ten. 
The  Alitarian  race,  ' 

With  many  a  Saracinian  chief, 

Toledo's  circus  grace :  » 


OLD  BALLADS.  249 

To  throw  the  cane,  and  prove  their  strength. 

With  the  Azarques  bold. 
With  Adalife's  comely  men. 

The  tournament  to  hold. 

These  royal  sports  the  king  proclaims 

For  peace  then  lately  made 
Between  Granada's  prince  Atarfe 

And  Belchite's  king  Zayde, 

But  Fame  reports,  the  monarch's  love 

For  a  fair  Moorish  dame 
Was  the  true  cause  of  all  these  feasts  : 

Zelindaxa  her  name. 

First  to  the  field,  on  fiery  steeds. 

The  Saracini  flew. 
Their  cloaks  and  jackets  richly  shoncj 

Of  green  and  orange  hue. 

Sharp  scy meters,  embost  with  gold, 

Each  shining  target  shows  ; 
And  letters  which  defiance  bore 

Against  their  country's  foes. 

Swiftly  the  Alitares  next 

Enter  the  listed  field 
A  goodly  sight  their  scarlet  coats 

With  snow-white  flow'rets  yield. 


250  OLD  BALLADS. 

Their  targets,  for  device  the  sky, 

By  Atlas  propt,  did  show. 
And  a  motto  fair,  which  said, 

"  Until  fatigued  I  grow." 

Next  Adalife's  gallant  knights 

O'er  the  field  stately  ride. 
With  coats  of  red  and  yellow  clad, 

A  veil*  to  each  arm  tied. 

A  double  knot  was  their  device. 

By  a  wild  man  undone. 
On  whose  enormous  club  was  writ, 

"  This  through  our  valour  won." 

The  last,  but  bravest  troop,  the  Moor 

Azarque  most  portly  leads  : 
Their  vests  were  purple  mixt  with  blue, 

And  plumes  adorn  their  heads. 

On  their  green  shields,f  with  azure  ground. 

Two  joined  hands  are  seen. 
And  the  letters  there  inscribed, 

'*  Surrounded  by  tlie  green." 

*  Almayzal  is  the  Arabic  name  of  a  striped  silken  veil,  or 
head-dress,  worn  by  the  Moorish  women.  It  was  the  usual 
favour,  in  the  days  of  knight-errantry,  for  the  ladies  to  give 
them  to  their  knights,  who  tied  them  as  a  signal  on  their 
arms,  as  being  the  most  conspicuous  place. 

+  Green  was  the  peculiar  colour  affected  by  Mahomet, 
his  descendants,  and  the  princes  of  the  Mahometan  faith : 
this  device  shews,  that  ZeUndaxa  was  of  royal  blood. 


OLD  BALLADS.  251 

The  furious  king  this  emblem  read, 

And,  jealous,  could  not  bear 
That  Zelindaxa's  heart  with  him 

Another  man  should  share. 

To  Selim,  his  Alcayde,  he  said, 

"  This  Sun,  which  shines  so  bright, 

**  And  dares,  in  my  despite,  to  blaze, 
"  Shall  quenched  be  this  night," 

With  matchless  art,  resistless  force, 

Azarque  now  throws  his  cane, 
*  And  as  his  courser  measures  back 

With  speed  the  dusty  plain. 


*  The  chief  art  in  the  Jiiego  de  Cauas  is,  to  ride  full- 
speed,  throw  the  cane  at  a  certain  mark,  and  then  suddenly 
turn  the  horse  back  with  equal  swiftness.  It  was  surely  in- 
vented to  train  their  horses  to  the  Arabian  manner  of  riding 
up  to  their  enemy,  and,  after  casting  javelins,  retreating  with 
expedition  before  the  adversary  could  return  their  stroke. 
This  custom,  as  old  as  the  Parthian  empire  in  the  east,  is,  to 
this  day,  practised  in  Arabia.  Niehbuhr,  in  his  description 
of  that  country,  has  given  us  a  plate  wherein  the  dola  or 
governor  and  principal  Arabs  of  Loheia  in  Yemen  are  repre- 
.  seated  in  quadrilles,  throwing  canes  at  each  other. 

This  sport  was  revived  on  the  marriage  of  the  prince  of 
Asturias,  at  Madrid,  where  the  quadrilles  were  composed  of 
the  noblest  youth  in  the  kingdom,  headed  each  by  a  prince 
of  the  blood. 


252  OLD  BALLADS. 

Tlie  admiring  croud  tumultuous  shout, 

"  Alha  thee  save  !"  they  crj^: 
The  ladies,  from  the  royal  seats. 

Applaud  him  passing  by. 

Transported  Zelindaxa  throws 

*  Perfumes  nipon  het  knight. 
The  king,  with  bitter  grief  and  rage. 

At  this  heart-breaking  sight. 

Calls  to  the  cavaliers  to  cast 

Their  slender  canes  away, 
And  the  presumptuous  Azarque 

To  seize  without  delay. 

Two  of  the  four  quadrilles,  with  haste. 

Take  lances  in  their  hands  -, 
For  who  shall  venture  to  resist 

An  angry  king's  commands  ? 

The  other  two  would  fain  have  fought. 

Their  utmost  aid  to  lend  ; 
But  Azarque  cries,  "  In  vain  you  try 

"  To  save  your  wretched  friend. 

*  The  Spanish  ladies  have  retained  from  the  Moors  their 
gallant  wa)'  of  throwing  rose-water,  perfumes,  flowers,  &c. 
on  their  lovers  and  favourites,  as  they  pass  under  their  bal 
conies  during  the  carnival;  a  liberty  allowed  at  no  other 
ssason.  Many  a  lady  waits  the  return  of  the  carnival,  to 
saake  this  tacit  declaration  of  her  sentiments. 


OLD  BALLADS:  253 

"  Put  down  your  lances ;  let  them  come 

"  And  strike  the  deadly  blow  j 
**  That  I  a  lover  true  expire, 

"  This  fatal  day  shall  show." 

Azarque,  at  length,  o'ercome  and  seiz'd, 

With  grief  the  pftople  see. 
And  take  up  arms  to  give  him  help'. 

So  well  belov'd  was  he. 

From  her  balcony  Zelindaxa 

Exclaims,  with  all  her  might, 
"  Save  him,  ye  Moors,  O  save  him  now, 

'^  Preserve  my  faithful  knight." 

Then  headlong  down  she  strives  to  throw 

Herself  in  fell  despair  ; 
Her  inother  holds  her  in  her  arms. 

And  soothes  her  frantic  care. 

"  Dost  thou  not  see,  my  daughter  dear, 

"  That  nothing  can  withstand 
"  What  a  stern,  royal  lover's  rage 

"  Shall  cruelly  command  ?'^ 

A  message  from  the  monarch  came, 

Enjoining  her  to  choose. 
In  some  relation's  secret  house. 

Her  liberty  to  lose. 


254  OLD  BALLADS. 

Fair  Zelindaxa  to  the  king 
Made  straightway  this  reply : 

"  The  memory  of  Azarque  shall  be 
"  My  prison  till  I  die. 

"  And  thou  shalt  see  that  I  will  dare 
"  Resist  with  constancy, 

^'  Whate'er  a  savage,  bloedy  king 
"  May  impiously  decree." 


XLDL 
THE  HERMIT  OF  WARKWORTH, 

By  Percy. 

FIT  THE  FIR^T. 

jUa  r  k  was  the  night,  and  wild  the  storm. 

And  loud  the  torrent's  roar ; 
And  loud  the  sea  was  heard  to  dash 

Against  the  distant  shore. 


OLD  BALLADS.  25& 

Musing  on  man's  weak  hapless  state, 

The  lonely  Hermit  lay  : 
When,  lo  !  he  heard  a  female  voice 

Lament  in  sore  dismay. 

With  hospitable  haste  he  rose. 

And  wak'd  his  sleeping  lire ; 
And,  snatching  up  a  lighted  brand. 

Forth  hied  the  rev'rend  sire.     , 

All  sad  beneath  a  neighbouring  tree 

A  beauteous  maid  he  found. 
Who  beat  her  breast,  and  with  her  tears 

Bedew'd  the  mossy  ground. 

O  !  weep  not,  lady,  weep  not  so ; 

Nor  let  vain  fears  alarm ; 
My  little  cell  shall  shelter  thee. 

And  keep  the  safe  from  harm. 

It  is  not  for  myself  I  weep,  ib  iaS   • 

Nor  for  myself  I  fear :  • ' 

But  for  my  dear  and  only  friend. 
Who  lately  left  me  here  ; 

And  while  some  sheltering  bower  he  sought. 

Within  this  lonely  wood. 
Ah  !  sore  I  fear  his  wandering  feet  '^- 

Have  slipt  in  yonder  flood. 


256  OLD  BALLADS. 

O  !  trust  In  heaven,  the  Hermit  said. 

And  to  my  cell  repair ; 
Doubt  not  but  I  shall  find  thy  friend. 

And  ease  thee  of  thy  care. 

0       Then  climbing  up  his  rocky  stairs. 
He  scales  the  cliff  so  high  ; 
And  calls  aloud,  and  waves  his  light 
To  guide  the  stranger's  eye. 

Among  the  thickets  long  he  winds 
With  careful  steps  and  slow  : 

At  length  a  voice  return'd  his  call. 
Quick  answering  from  below : 

O  !  tell  me,  father,  tell  me  true. 

If  you  have  chanc'd  to  see 
A  gentle  maid,  I  lately  left 

Beneath  some  neighbouring  tree  ; 

But  either  I  have  lost  the  place. 

Or  she  hath  gone  astray : 
And  much  I  fear  this  fatal  stream 

Hath  snatch'd  her  hence  away. 

Praise  heaven,  my  son,  the  Hermit  said  ; 

The  lady's  safe  and  well  : 
And  soon  he  join 'd  the  wandering  youths 

And  brought  him  to  his  cell. 


OliD  BALLADS.  257 


Then  well  was  seen,  these  gentle  friends 
They  lov'd  each  other  dear : 

The  youth  he  press'd  her  to  his  heart ; 
The  maid  let  fall  a  tear. 

Ah  !  seldom  had  their  Jiost,  I  ween. 

Beheld  so  sweet  a  pair  : 
The  youth  was  tall,  with  manly  bloom ; 

She  slender,  soft,  and  fair. 

The  youth  was  clad  in  forest  green. 
With  bugle-horn  so  bright : 

She  in  a  silken  robe  and  scarf 
Snatch 'd  up  in  hasty  flight. 

Sit  down,  my  children,  says  the  Sage  ; 

Sweet  rest  your  limbs  require  : 
Then  heaps  fresh  fuel  on  the  hearth, 

And  mends  his  little  fire. 

Partake,  he  said,  my  simple  store. 
Dried  fruits,  and  milk,  and  curds  ; 

And  spreading  all  upon  the  board. 
Invites  with  kindly  words. 

Thanks,  father,  for  thy  bounteous  fare. 
The  youthful  couple  say : 
^      Then  freely  ate,  and^  made  goqd  cheer. 
And  talk'd  their  cares  away. 

YOL.  IV.  S 


258  OLD  BALLADS. 

Now  say,  my  children,  (for  perchance 

My  counsel  may  avail) 
What  strange  adventure  brought  you  here 

Within  this  lonely  dale  ? 

First  tell  me,  father,  said  the  youth, 
(Nor  blame  mine  eager  tongue) 

What  town  is  here  ?  What  lands  are  these  ? 
And  to  what  lord  belong  ? 

Alas  !  my  son,  the  Hermit  said. 

Why  do  I  live  to  say. 
The  rightful  lord  of  these  domains 

Is  banish'd  far  away  ? 

Ten  winters  now  have  shed  their  snows, 

On  this  my  lowly  hall. 
Since  valiant  Hotspur  (so  the  North 

Our  youthful  lord  did  call.) 

Against  Fourth  Henry  Bolingbroke 

Led  up  his  northern  powers. 
And  stoutly  fighting,  lost  his  life 

Near  proud  Salopia's  towers. 

One  son  he  left,  a  lovely  bo)^. 
His  country's  hope  and  heir ; 
-         And,  oh  !  to  save  him  from  his  foes 
k  was  his  grandsireV  care. 


OLD  BALLADS.  259 

In  Scotland  safe  he  placed  the  child 

Beyond  the  reach  of  strife, 
Nor  long  before  the  brave  old  earl 

At  Bramham  lost  his  life. 

And  now  the  Percy  name,  so  long 

Our  northern  pride  and  boast, 
Lies  hid,  alas  !  beneath  a  cloud  ; 

Their  honours  reft  and  lost. 

No  chieftain  of  that  noble  house 

Now  leads  our  youth  to  arms  ; 
The  bordering  Scots  despoil  our  field*. 

And  ravage  all  our  farms. 

Their  halls  and  castles,  once  so  fair. 

Now  mouldpr  in  decay  ; 
Proud  strangers  now  usurp  their  lands, 

And  bear  their  wealth  away. 

Nor  far  from  hence,  where  yon  full  stream 

Runs  winding  down  the  lea. 
Fair  Warkworth  lifts  her  lofty  towers. 

And  overlooks  the  sea. 

Those  towers,  alas  !  now  stand  forlorn. 

With  noisome  weeds  o'erspread. 
Where  feasted  lords,  and  courtly  damcSj 

And  where  the  poor  were  fed. 


260  OLD  BALLADS. 

Meantime  far  off,  mid  Scottish  hills. 
The  Percy  lives  unknown  : 

On  stranger's  bounty  he  depends. 
And  may  not  claim  his  own. 

O  might  I  with  these  aged  eyes 

But  live  to  see  him  here. 
Then  should  my  soul  depart  in  bliss  ! 

He  said,  and  dropt  a  tear. 

And  is  the  Percy  still  so  lov'd 
Of  all  his  friends  and  thee  ? 

Then  bless  me,  father,  said  the  youth. 
For  I  thy  guest  am  He. 

Silent  he  gaz'd,  then  turn'd  aside 

To  wipe  the  tears  he  shed  ; 
And  lifting  up  his  hands  and  eyes, 
'     Pour'd  blessings  on  his  head. 

Welcome,  our  dear  and  much-lov'd  lord. 
Thy  country's  hope  and  care  : 

But  who  may  this  young  lady  be. 
That  is  sowondrou's  feir  ? 

Now,  father,  listen  to  ray  tale. 
And  thou  shalt  know  the  truth  : 

And  let  thy  sage  advice  direct 
My  unexperienc'd  youth. 


OLD  BALLADS.  i261 

In  Scotland  I've  been  nobly  bred 

Beneath  the  Regent's*  hand. 
In  feats  of  arms^  and  every  lore, 

To  fit  me  for  command. 

With  fond  impatience  long  I  burn'd, 

My  native  land  to  see  : 
At  length  I  won  my  guardian  friend. 

To  yield  that  boon  to  me.     * 

Then  up  and  down  in  hunter's  garb 

I  wandered  as  in  chace, 
Till  in  the  noble  Neville'sf  house 

I  gain'd  a  hunter's  place. 

Some  time  with  him  I  liv'd  unknown. 

Till  I'd  the  hap  so  rare. 
To  pleasQ  this  young  and  gentle  dame. 

That  baron's  daughter  fair. 

Now,  Percy,  said  the  blushing  maid. 

The  truth  I  must  reveal ; 
Souls  great  and  generous,  like  to  thine. 

Their  noble  deeds  conceal. 

*  Robert  Stuart,  duke  of  Albany.  See  the  'continuator 
of  Fordun's  Scoti-Cbronicon,  cap.  18,  cap.  23,  &c. 

+  Ralph  Neville,  first  carl  of  Westmoreland,  who  chiefly 
resided  at  his  two  Castles  of  Brancepeth,  and  Raby,  both  in 
the  bishoprick  of  Durham.  , '    '  ■}  ■  ■ 


262  OLD  BALLADS. 

It  happeh'd  on  a  summer's  day, 
Led  by  the  fragrant  breeze, 

I  wander'd  forth  to  takt;  the  air 
Amongj  the  green-wood  trees. 

Sudden  a  band  of  rugged  Scots, 

That  near  in  ambush  lay. 
Moss-troopers  from  the  border-side, 

There  seiz'd  me  for  their  prey. 

My  shrieks  had  all  been  spent  in  vain, 
J^ut  heaven,  that  saw  my  grief. 

Brought  this  brave  youth  within  my  call. 
Who  flew  to  my  relief. 

With  nothing  but  his  hunting  spear, 

~  And  dagger  in  his  hand. 
He  sprung  like  lightning  on  my  foes. 
And  caus'd  them  soon  to  stand. 

He  fought,  till  more  assistance  came  j 
The  Scots  were  overthrown  ; 

Thus  freed  me,  captive,  from  their  bands. 
To  make  me  more  his  own, 

O  happy  day  !  the  youth  replied : 
Blest  were  the  wounds  I  bare  ! 

From  that  fond  hour  she  deign'd  to  smile. 
And  listen  to  my  prayer. 


OLD  BALLADS.  2G8 

And  when  she  knew  my  name  and  birth, 

She  vowed  to  be  my  bride ; 
But  oh  !  we  fear'd,  (alas,  the  while  !) 

Her  princely  mother's  pride  : 

Sister  of  haughty  Bolingbroke,* 

Our  house's  ancient  foe, 
To  me  I  thought  a  banish'd  wight 

Could  ne'er  such  favor  show,  • 

Despairing  then  to  gain  consent ; 

At  length  to  fly  with  me 
I  won  this  lovely  timorous  iliaid  5 

To  Scotland  bound  are  we. 

This  evening,  as  the  night  drew  on. 

Fearing  we  were  pursu'd. 
We  turn'd  adown  the  right-hand  path. 

And  gain'd  this  lonely  Wood  : 

Then  lighting  from  our  weary  steeds 

To  shun  the  pelting  shower. 
We  met  thy  kind  conducting  hand. 

And  reach'd  this  friendly  bower. 


*  Joan,  Countess  of  Westmoreland,  mother  of  the  youn"- 
lady,  was  daughter  of  John  of  Gaunt,  and  half-sister  of  King 
Henry  IV. 


iG4  OLD  BALLAIXS. 

Now  rest  ye  both,  the  Hermit  said ; 

Awhile  your  cares  forego  : 
Nor,  lady,  scorn  my  humble  bed ; 

We'll  pass  the  night  below.  * 


FIT  THE  SECOND. 


Lovely  smiled  the  blushing  morn, 
And^every  storm  was  fled : 

But  lovelier  far,  with  sweeter  smile. 
Fair  Elkanor  left  her  bed. 

She  found  her  Henry  all  alone. 
And  cheer'd  him  with  her  sight ; 

The  youth  consulting  with  his  friend 
Had  watch'd  the  livelong  night. 


*  Adjoining  to  the  clifF,  which  contains  the  Chapel  of  the 
Hermitage,  are  the  remains  of  a  small  building,  in  which 
the  Hermit  dwelt.  This  consisted  of  one  lower  apartment, 
with  a  little  bedchamber  over  it,  and  is  now  in  ruins: 
whereas  the  Chapel,  cut  in  the  solid  rock,  is  still  very  intire 
and  perfect. 


OLD  BALLADS.  265 

What  sweet  surprize  o'erpowered  her  breast ! 

Her  cheek  what  blushes  dyed  ! 
When  fondly  he  besought  her  there  i 

To  yield  to  be  his  bride. 

Within  this  Iqnely  hermitage 

There  is  a  chapel  meet : 
Then  grant,  dear  maid,  my  fond  request. 

And  make  my  bliss  complete. 

O  Henry  !  when  thou  deign'st  to  sue. 

Can  I  thy  suit  withstand  ? 
When  thou,  lov'd  youth,  hast  won  my  heart. 

Can  I  refuse  my  hand  ? 

For  thee  I  left  a  father's  smiles. 

And  mother's  tender  care  ; 
And  whether  weal  or  woe  betide. 

Thy  lot  I  mean  to  share. 

And  wilt  thou  then,  O  generous  maid. 

Such  matchless  favour  show. 
To  share  with  me,  a  banish'd  wight,       . 

My  peril,  pain,  or  woe  ? 

Now  heaven,  I  trust,  hath  joys  in  store    * 

To  crown  thy  constant  breast ; 
For,  know,  fond  hope  assures  my  heart 

That  we  shall  soon  be  blest. 


266  OLD  BALLADS. 

Not  far  from  hence  stands  Coquet  Isle,* 

Surrounded  by  the  sea  ; 
There  dwells  a  holy  friar,  well  known 

To  all  thy  friends  and  thee  : 

*Tis  father  Bernard,  so  rever'd 

For  every  worthy  deed  ; 
To  Raby  castle  he  shall  go. 

And  for  us  kindly  plead. 

To  fetch  this  good  and  holy  man 

Our  reverend  host  is  gone  ; 
And  soon,  I  trust,  his  pious  hands 

Will  join  us  both  in  one. 

Thus  they  in  sweet  and  tender  talk 

The  lingering  hours  beguile  : 
At  length  they  see  the  hoary  sage 

Come  from  the  neighbouring  isle. 

With  pious  joy  and  wonder  mix'd 

He  greets  the  noble  pair. 
And  glad  consents  to  join  their  hands 

With  many  a  fervent  prayer 

*  In  the  little  Island  of  Coquet,  near  Warkworth,  are  still 
seen  the  ruins  of  a  CelJ,  which  belonged  to  the  Benedictine 
monks  of  Ttnemouth-Abbey. 


OLD  BALLADS.  267 

Then  straight  to  Raby's  distant  walls 

He  kindly  wends  his  way ; 
Mean-time  in  love  and  dalliance  sweet 

They  spend  the  livelong  day. 

And  now  attended  by  their  host, 

The  Hermitage  they  view'd. 
Deep-hewn  within  a  cfaggy  cliff. 

And  over-hung  with  wood. 

And  near  a  flight  of  shapely  steps,' 

All  cut  with  nicest  skill, 
And  piercing  thro'  a  stony  arch 

Ran  winding  up  the  hill. 

There  deck'd  with  many  a  flower  and  herb 

His  little  garden  stands  ; 
With  fruitful  trees  in  shady  rows. 

All  planted  by  his  hands. 

Then,  scoop'd  within  the  solid  rock, 

Three  sacred  vaults  he  shows  ; 
The  chief,  a  chapel  neatly  arch'd. 

On  branching  columns  rose. 

Each  proper  ornament  was  there. 

That  should  a  chapel  grace  ; 
The  lattice  for  confession  fram'd 

And  holy-water  vase. 


268  OLD  BALLADS. 

O'er  either  door  a  sacred  text 

Invites  to  godly  fear  -, 
And  in  a  little  scutchon  hun^ 

The  cross,  and  crown,  and  spear. 

\Jp  to  the  altar's  ample  breadth 

Two  easy  steps  ascend  ; ' 
And  near  a  glimmering  solemn  light 

Two  well-wrought  windows  lend. 

Beside  the  altar  rose  a  tomb 

All  in  the  living  stone  ; 
On  which  a  young  and  beauteous  maid 

In  goodly  sculpture  shone. 

A  kneeling  Angel  fairly  carv'd 
Lean'd  hovering  o'er  her  breast  j 

A  weeping  warrior  at  her  feet ; 
And  near  to  these  her  crest.* 

The  cliiF,  the  vault,  but  chief  the  tomb. 
Attract  the  wondering  pair : 

Eager  they  ask.  What  hapless  dame 
Lies  sculptur'd  here  so  fair  ? 


*  This  is  a  Bull's  Head,  the  crest  of  the  WiddringtoR 
family.  All  the  Figures,  &c.  here  described  are  still  visible, 
only  somewhat  effaced  with  length  of  time. 


OLD  BALLADS.  2GJ) 

The  Hermit  sigh'd,  the  Hermit  wept. 

For  sorrow  scarce  could  speak : 
At  length  he  wip'd  the  trickling  tears 

That  all  bedew'd  his  cheek  : 

Alas  !  my  children,  human  life 

Is  but  a  vale  of  woe ; 
And  very  mournful  is  the  tale. 

Which  ye  so  fain  would  know. 


THE  HERMIT'S  TAtE. 

Young  lord,  thy  grandsire  had  a  friend 
In  days  of  youthful  fame  ; 

Yon  distant  hills  were  his  domains ; 
Sir  Bertram  was  his  name. 

Where'er  the  noble  Percy  fought 
His  friend  was  at  his  side  ; 
/  And  many  a  skirmish  with  the  Scots 

Their  early  valor  tried. 

Young  Bertram  lov'd  a  beauteous  maid. 

As  fair  as  fair  might  be ; 
The  dew-drop  on  the  lily's  cheek 

Was  not  so  fair  as  she. 


370  OLD  BALLADS. 

Fair  WIddrington  the  maiden's  name. 
Yon  tow'rs  her  dwelling  place  ;* 

Her  sire  an  old  Northumbrian  chief 
Devoted  to  thy  race. 

Many  a  lord,  and  many  a  knight. 

To  this  fair  damsel  came  ; 
But  Bertram  was  her  only  choice  y 

For  him  she  felt  a  flame. 

Lord  Percy  pleaded  for  his  friend. 

Her  father  soon  consents  ; 
None  but  the  beauteous  maid  herself 

His  wishes  now  prevents. 

But  she  with  studied  fond  delays 

Defers  the  blissful  hour; 
And  loves  to  try  his  constancy, 

And  prove  her  maiden  power. 

That  heart,  she  said,  is  lightly  priz'd. 

Which  is  too  lightly  won ; 
And  long  shall  rue  that  easy  maid 

Who  yields  her  love  too  soon. 

Lord- Percy  made  a  solemn  feast 

In  Alnwick's  princely  hall : 
And  there  came  lords,  and  there  came  knights. 

His  chiefs  and  barons  all. 

*  Widdrington  castle  is  about  five  miles  south  of  Wark- 
•worth. 


OLD  BALLADS.  271 

With  wassel,  mirth,  and  revelry 

The  castle  rung  around  : 
Lord  Percy  call'd  for  song  and  harp, 

And  pipes  of  martial  sound. 

The  minstrels  of  thy  noble  house  , 

All  clad  in  robes  of  blue. 
With  silver  crescents  on  their  arms 

Attend  in  order  due. 

The  great  achievements  of  thy  race 
They  sung  :  their  high  command  : 

•^^  How  v^aliant  Mainfred  o'er  the  seas  .. 
"  First  led  his  northern  band.* 

"  Brave  Galfred  next  to  Normandy 

"  With  venturous  RoUo  came ; 
"  And  from  his  Norman  castles  won, 

"  Assum'd  the  Percy  name,  f 

They  sung,  how  in  the  Conqueror's  fleet 
"  Lord  William  shipp'd  his  powers, 

"  And  gain'd  a  fair  young  Saxon  bride, 
*'  With  all  her  lands  and  towers.J 

*  See  Dugdale's  Baronetage,  page  269,  &c. 

+  In  Lower  Normandy  are  three  Places  of  the  name  of 
Percy :  whence  the  family  took  the  surname  of  De  Percy 

+  William  de  Percy,  (fifth  in  descent  from  Galfred, 
©r    GefFery  de    Percy,  son   of  Mainfred)  assisted  ia  the 


272  OLD  BALLADS. 

**  Then  journeying  to  the  Holy  Land, 
''  There  bravely  fought  and  died  : 

"  But  first  the  silver  Crescent  wan, 
*'  Some  Paynini  Soldan's  pride, 

"  They  sung,  how  Agnes,  beauteous  heir, 
'*  The  queen's  own  brother  wed, 

"  Lord  Josceline,  sprung  from  Charlemagne, 
"  In  princely  Brabant  bred.* 

**  How  he  the  Percy  name  reviv'd, 

"  And  how  his  noble  line 
'^  Still  foremost  in  their  country's  cause, 

"  With  godlike  ardour  shine." 

conquest  of  England,  and  had  given  him  the  large  posses- 
sions in  Yorkshire,  of  Emma  de  Porte,  (so  the  Norman 
writers  name  her)  whose  father,  a  great  Saxon  lord,  had 
been  slain  fighting  along  with  Harold.  This  young  lady, 
William,  from  a  principle  of  honour  and  generosity,  mar- 
ried: for  having  had  all  her  lands  bestowed  upon  him  by 
the  Conqueror,  "  he,  (to  use  the  words  of  the  old  Whitby 
"  Chronicle)  wedded  hyr  that  was  very  heire  to  them,  in 
"  discharging  of  his  conscience."  See  Harl.  MSS.  692.  (26.) 
— He  died  at  Mountjoy,near  Jerusalem,  in  the  first  Crusade. 
*  Agnes  de  Percy,  sole  heiress  of  her  house,  married 
Josceline  de  Louvaine,  youngest  son  of  Godfrey  Barbatus, 
duke  of  Brabant,  and  brother  of  queen  Adeliza,  second  wife 
of  king  Henry  I.  He  took  the  name  of- Percy,  and  was 
ancestor  of  the  earls  of  Northumberland.  His  son,  lord 
Richard  de  Percy,  was  one  of  the  twenty-six  barons, 
chosen  to  see  the  Magna  Charta  duly  observed. 


OLD  BALLADS.  273 

With  loud  acclaims  the  listening  crowd 

Applaud  the  master's  song. 
And  deeds  of  arms  and  war  became 

The  theme  of  every  tongue. 

Now  high  heroic  acts  they  tell. 

Their  perils  past  recall : 
When,  lo  !  a  damsel,  young  and  fair, 

Stepp'd  forward  thro'  the  hall. 

She  Bertram  courteously  address'd  ; 

And  kneeling  on  her  knee 
Sir  knight,  the  lady  of  thy  love 

Hath  sent  this  gift  to  thee. 

Then  forth  she  drew  a  glittering  helm. 

Well-plated  many  a  fold, 
The  casque  was  wrought  of  temper'd  steel, 

The  crest  of  burnish'd  gold. 

Sir  knight,  thy  lady  sends  thee  this. 

And  yields  to  be  thy  bride. 
When  thou  hast  prov'd  this  maiden  gift 

Where  sharpest  blows  are  tried. 

Young  Bertram  took  the  shining  helm 

And  thrice  he  kiss'd  the  same  : 
Trust  me,  I'll  prove  this  precious  casque 

With  deeds  of  noblest  fame. 

VOL,  IV.  T 


274  OLD  BALLADS. 

Lord  Percy  and  his  barons  bold. 

Then  fix  upon  a  day 
To  scour  the  marches,  late  opprest, 

And  Scottish  wrongs  repay. 

The  knights  assembled  on  the  hills 
A  thousand  horse  or  more : 

Brave  Widdrington,  tho'  sunk  in  years. 
The  Percy-standard  bore. 

Tweed's  limpid  current  soon  they  pass. 
And  range  the  borders  round  : 

Down  the  green  slopes  of  Tiviotdale 
Their  bugle-horns  resound. 

As  when  a  lion  in  his  den 

Hath  heard  the  hunter's  cries. 

And  rushes  forth  to  meet  his  foes. 
So  did  the  Douglas  rise. 

Attendant  on  their  chiefs  command 
A  thousand  warriors  wait : 

And  now  the  fatal  hour  diew  on 
Of  cruel  keen  debate. 

A  chosen  troop  of  Scottish  youths 

Advance  before  the  rest  j 
Lord  Percy  mark'd  their  gallant  mein, 

And  thus  his  friend  address'd : 


OLD  BALLADS.  275 

Now,  Bertram,  prove  thy  Lady's  helm, 

Attack  yon  forward  band ; 
Dead  or  alive,  I'll  rescue  thee. 

Or  perish  by  their  hand. 

Young  Bertram  bow'd,  with  glad  assent, 

And  spurr'd  his  eager  steed, 
And  calling  on  his  Lady's  name, 

Rush'd  forth  with  whirlwind  speed. 

As  when  a  grove  of  sapling  oaks 

The  livid  lightning  rends ; 
So  fiercely  ^mid  the  opposing  ranks 

Sir  Bertram's  sword  descends. 

This  way  and  that  he  drives  the  steel, 

And  keenly  pierces  thro* ; 
And  many  a  tall  and  comely  knight 

With  furious  force  he  slew. 

Now  closing  fast  on  every  side 

They  hem  Sir  Bertram  round  5 
But  dauntless  he  repels  their  rage. 

And  deals  forth  many  a  wound. 

The  vigour  of  his  single  arm 

Had  well-nigh  won  the  field  5 
When  ponderous  fell  a  Scottish  axe,f)nA  , 

And  clove  his  lifted  shield. 


276"  OLD  BALLADS. 

Another  blow  his  temple  took. 
And  reft  his  helm  in  twain ; 

That  beauteous  helm,  his  Lady's  gift ! 
His  blood  bedew'd  the  plain. 

Lord  Percy  saw  his  champion  fall 

Amid  the  unequal  fight ; 
And  now,  my  noble  friends,  he  said. 

Let's  save  this  gallant  knight. 

Then  rushing  in  with  stretch'd-out  shield 

He  o'er  the  warrior  hung  j 
As  some  fierce  eagle  spreads  her  wing 

To  guard  her  callow  young. 

Three  times  they  strove  to  seize  their  prey. 
Three  times  they  quick  retire  : 

What  force  could  stand  his  furious  strokes, 
Or  meet  his  martial  fire  ? 

Now  gathering  round  on  every  part. 

The  battle  rag'd  amain  ', 
And  many  a  lady  wept  her  lord 

That  hour  untimely  slain. 

P^rcy  and  Douglas,  great  in  arms, 
There  all  their  courage  show'd  j 

And  all  the  field  was  strew'd  with  dead. 
And  all  with  crimson  flow'd. 


OLD  BALLADS.  277 

At  length  the  gloi^y  of  the  day 

The  Scots  reluctant  yield. 
And,  after  wondrous  valour  shewn, 

They  slowly  quit  the  field. 

All  pale  extended  on  their  shields. 

And  weltering  in  his  gore. 
Lord  Percey's  knights  their  bleeding  friend 

To  Wark's  fair  castle  *  bore. 

Well  hast  thou  earn'd  my  daughter's  love. 

Her  father  kindly  said ; 
And  she  herself  shall  dress  thy  wounds. 

And  tend  thee  in  thy  bed. 

A  message  went,  no  daughter  came  ; 

Fair  Isabel  ne'er  appears  :  » 

Beshrew  me,  said  the  aged  chief. 

Young  maidens  have  their  fears. 

Cheer  up,  my  son,  thou  shalt  her  see 

So  soon  as  thou  cans't  ride  ; 
And  she  shall  nurse  thee  in  her  bower. 

And  she  shall  be  thy  bride. 

Sir  Bertram  at  her  name  reviv'd. 

He  bless'd  the  soothing  sound  ; 
Fond  hope  supplied  the  Nurse's  care. 

And  heal'd  his  ghastly  wound. 

*  Wark  castle,  a  fortress  belonging  to  the  English, 
and  of  great  note  in  ancient  times,  stood  on  the  southern 
banks  of  the  River  Tweed,  a  little  to  the  east  of  Tiviotdale, 
and  not  far  from  Kelso.     It  i»  now  entirely  destroyed. 


278  OLD  BALLADS. 


FIT  THE  THIRD. 

One  early  morn^  while  dewy  drops 
Hung  trembling  on  the  tree, 

Sir  Bertram  from  his  sick-bed  rose. 
His  bride  he  would  go  see. 

A  brother  he  had  in  prime  of  youth. 

Of  courage  firm  and  keen. 
And  he  would  tend  him  on  the  way 

Because  his  wounds  were  green. 

All  day  o'er  moss  and  moor  they  rode. 

By  many  a  lonely  tower  ; 
And.  'twas  tllie  dew-fall  of  the  night 

Ere  they  drew  near  her  bower. 

Most  drear  and  dark  the  castle  seera'd. 
That  wont  to  shine  so  bright ; 

And  long  and  loud  Sir  Bertram  call'd 
Ere  he  beheld  a  light. 

At  length  her  aged  nurse  arose. 
With  voice  so  shrill  and  clear ; 

What  wight  is  this,  that  calls  so  loud, 
And  knocks  so  boldly  here  ? 


OLD  BALLADS.  279       • 

'Tis  Bertram  calls^  thy  Lady's  love. 

Come  from  his  bed  of  care ; 
All  day  I've  ridden  o'er  moor  and  moss. 

To  see  thy  Lady  fair. 

Now  out,  alas  !  (she  loudly  shriek'd) 

Alas  !  how  may  this  be  ? 
For  six  long  days  are  gone  and  past,  ^X 

Since  she  set  out  to  thee. 

Sad  terror  seiz'd  Sir  Bertram's  heart. 

And  ready  was  he  to  fall ; 
When  now  the  draw-bridge  was  let  down, 

And  gates  were  open'd  all. 

Six  ^ays,  young  knight,  are  past  and  gone. 

Since  she  set  out  to  tliee ; 
And  sure  if  no  sad  harm  had  happ'd 

Long  since  thou  would'st  her  see. 

For  when  she  heard  thy  grievous  chance. 

She  tore  her  hair,  and  cried, 
Alas  !  I've  slain  the  comeliest  knight. 

All  thro'  my  folly  and  pride  ! 

And  now  to  atone  for  my  sad  fault. 

And  his  dear  health  rSgain,  ' 

I'll  go  myself,  and  nurse  my  love, 
And  soothe  his  bed  of  pain. 


280  OLD  BALLADS. 

Then  mounted  she  her  milk-white  steed 
One  morn  at  break  of  day; 

And  two  tall  yeomen  went  with  her, 
To  guard  her  on  the  way. 

Sad  terror  smote  Sir  Bertram's  breast. 
And  grief  o'erwhelm'd  his  mind  : 

Trust  me^  said  he,  I  ne'er  will  rest 
'Till  I  thy  lady  find. 

That  night  he  spent  in  sorrow  and  care ; 

And  with  sad  boding  heart. 
Or  ever  the  dawning  of  the  day 

His  brother  and  he  depart. 

Now,  brother,  we'll  our  ways  divide. 
O'er  Scottish  hills  to  range  : 

Do  thou  go  north,  and  I'll  go  west ; 
And  all  our  dress  we'll  change. 

Some  Scottish  carle  hath  seiz'd  my  love. 

And  borne  her  to  his  den  ; 
And  ne'er  will  I  tread  English  ground 

'Till  she  is  restored  again. 

The  brothers  straight  their  paths  divide. 
O'er  Scottish  hills  to  range  j 

And  hide  themselves  in  quaint  disguise. 
And  oft  their  dress  they  change. 


OLD  BALLADS.  281 

Sir  Bertram  clad  in  gown  of  gray, 

Most  like  a  Palmer  poor. 
To  halls  and  casiles  wanders  round. 

And  begs  from  door  to  door. 

Sometimes  a  Minstrel's  garb  he  wears 

With  pipes  so  sweet  and  shrill ; 
And  wends  to  every  tower  and  town, 

O'er  every  dale  and  hill. 

One  day  as  he  sate  under  a  thorn. 

All  sunk  in  deep  despair, 
An  aged  pilgrim  pass'd  him  by, 

Who  mark'd  his  face  of  care. 

All  Minstrels  yet  that  e'er  I  saw. 

Are  full  of  game  and  glee  ; 
But  thou  art  sad  and  woe-begone  !  - 

I  marvel  whence  it  be  ! 

Father,  I  serve  an  aged  lord 

Whose  grief  afflicts  my  mind ; 
His  only  child  is  stol'n  away, 

And  fain  I  would  her  find. 

Cheer  up,  my  son ;  perchance  (he  said) 

Some  tidings  I  may  bear : 
For  oft  when  human  hopes  have  fail'd. 

Then  heavenly  comfort's  near. 


2S2  OLD  BALLADS. 

Behind  yon  hills,  so  steep  and  high, 

Down  in  a  lowly  glen, 
There  stands  a  castle  fair  and  strong. 

Far  from  th'  abode  of  men. 

As  late  I  chane'd  to  crave  an  alms 

About  this  evening  hour, 
Methought  I  heard  a  Lady's  voice 

Lamenting  in  the  tower. 

And  when  I  ask'd  what  harm  had  happ'd. 

What  Lady  sick  there  lay  ? 
They  rudely  drove  me  from  the  gate. 

And  bade  me  wend  away. 

Xhese  tidings  caught  Sir  Bertram's  ear. 
He  thank'd  him  for  his  tale ; 

And  soon  he  hasted  o'er  the  hills. 
And  soon  he  reach'd  the  vale. 

Then  drawing  near  those  lonely  towers. 
Which  stood  in  dale  so  low. 

And  sitting  down  beside  the  gate, 
His  pipes  he  'gan  to  blow. 

Sir  Porter,  is  thy  lord  at  home 

To  hear  a  Minstrel's  song  ? 
Or  jnay  I  crave  a  lodging  here. 

Without  offence  or  wrong  ? 


OLD  BALLADS.  283 

My  lord,  he  said,  is  not  at  home 

To  hear  a  Minstrel's  song  : 
And  should  I  lend  thee  lodging  here, 

My  life  would  not  he  long. 

He  pky'd  again  so  soft  a  strain. 
Such  power  sweet  sounds  impart. 

He  won  the  churlish  Porter's  ear. 
And  mov'd  his  stubborn  heart. 

Minstrel,  he  said,  thou  play'st  so  sweet, 
Fair  entrance  thou  should'st  win  j 

But,  alas  I  I'm  sworn  upon  the  rood 
To  let  no  stranger  in. 

Yet,  Minstrel,  in  yon  rising  cliff 

Thou'lt  find  a  sheltering  cave  ; 
And  here  thou  shalt  my  supper  share,  ' 

And  there  thy  lodging  have, 

All  day  he  sits  beside  the  gate. 
And  pipes  both  loud  and  clear  : 

All  night  he  watches  round  the  walls^   . . 
In  hopes  his  love  to  hear. 

The  first  night,  as  he  silent  watch'd,,-r,i  t 
All  at  the  midnight  hour,         ,,  i.^T 

He  plainly  heard  his  Lady's  voice. 
Lamenting  in  tjie  tower,  .  ,  . 


284  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  second  night  the  moon  shone  clear. 
And  gilt  the  spangled  dew  ; 

He  saw  his  Lady  thro'  the  grate. 
But  'twas  a  transient  view. 

The  third  night  wearied  out  he  slept 
'Till  near  the  morning  tide ; 

When,  starting  up,  he  seiz'd  his  sword. 
And  to  the  castle  hied. 

When,  lo  !  he  saw  a  ladder  of  ropes 

Depending  from  the  wall ; 
And  o'er  the  mote  was  newly  laid 

A  poplar  strong  and  tall. 

And  soon  he  saw  his  love  descend. 

Wrapt  in  a  tartan  plaid  ; 
Assisted  by  a  sturdy  youth 

In  highland  garb  y-clad, 

Amaz'd,  confounded  at  the  sight, 
-     He  lay  unseen  and  still ; 
And  soon  he  saw  them  cross  the  stream. 
And  mount  the  neighbouring  bill. 

Unheard,  unknown  of  all  within. 

The  youthful  couple  fly. 
But  what  can  'scape  the  lover's  ken  ? 

Or  shun  his  piercing  eye  ? 


OLD  BALLADS.  285 

With  silent  step  he  foUows'close 

Behind  the  flying  pair. 
And  saw  her  hang  upon  his  arm 

With  fond  familiar  air. 

Thanks,  gentle  youth,  she  often  said  j 

My  thanks  thou  well  hast  won : 
For  me  what  wiles  hast  thou  contriv'd  ? 

For  me  what  dangers  run  ? 

And  ever  shall  my  grateful  heart 

Thy  services  repay : — 
Sir  Bertram  would  no  farther  hear, 

But  cried.  Vile  traitor,  stay  ! 

Vile  traitor,  yield  that  lady  up  ! 

And  quick  his  sword  he  drew : 
The  stranger  turn'd  in  sudden  rage. 

And  at  Sir  Bertram  flew. 

With  mortal  hate  their  vigourous  arms 

Gave  many  a  vengeful  blow  : 
But  Bertram's  stronger  hand  prevail'd, 

And  laid  the  stranger  low. 

Die,  traitor,  die  !  —A  deadly  thrust 

Attends  each  furious  word. 
Ah  !  then  fair  Isabel  knew  his  voice. 

And  rush'd  beneath  his  sword. 


286  OLD  BALLADS. 

O  stop,  she  cried,  O  stop  thy  arm ! 

Thou  dost  thy  brother  slay  ! — 
And  here  the  Hermit  paus'd,  and  wept } 

His  tongue  no  more  could  say. 

At  length  he  cried.  Ye  lovely  pair. 

How  shall  I  tell  the  rest  ?  — 
Ere  I  could  stop  my  piercing  sword. 

It  fell,  and  stabb'd  her  breast. 

Wert  thou  thyself  that  hapless  youth  ? 

Ah  !  cruel  fate  !  they  said. 
The  Hermit  wept,  and  so  did  they  : 

They  sigh'd  ;  he  hung  his  head. 

0  blind  and  jealous  rage,  he  cried. 
What  evils  from  thee  flow  ! 

The  Hermit  paus'd  -,  they  silent  mourn'd : 
He  wept,  and  they  were  woe. 

Ah  !  when  I  heard  my  brother's  name. 
And  saw  my  lady  bleed, 

1  nw'd,  I  wept,  I  curst  my  arm. 

That  wrought  the  fatal  deed. 

In  vain  I  clasp'd  her  to  my  breast^ 
And  clos'd  the  ghastly  wound ; 

In  vain  I  press'd  his  bleeding  corpse. 
And  rais'd  it  from  the  ground. 


OLD  BALLADS:  287 

My  Brother,  alas  !  spake  never  more ;    ( 

His  precious  life  was  flown. 
She  kindly  strove  to  soothe  my  pain. 

Regardless  of  her  own. 

Bertram,  she  said,  be  comforted,     'n  -.TT 

And  live  to  think  on  me  : 
May  we  in  heaven  that  union  prove,!  jA 

Which  here  was  not  to  be  !  yiX 

Bertram,  she  said,  I  still  was  true  ; 

Thou  only  hadst  my  heart  : 
May  we  hereafter  meet  in  bliss  ! 

We  now,  alas  !  must  part. 

For  thee  I  left  my  Father's  hall. 

And  flew  to  thy  relief  5 
When,  lo  !  near  Cheviot's  fatal  hills, 

r  met  a  Scottish  chief. 

Lord  Malcolm's  son,  whose  profi^er'd  love 

I  had  refus'd  with  scorn ; 
He  slew  my  guards,  and  seiz'd  on  me,  J' 

Upon  that  fatal  morn  : 

And  in  these  dreary  hated  walls. 

He  kept  me  close  confin'd  ; 
And  fondly  sued,  and  warmly  press'd 

To  win  me  to  his  mind. 


?88  OLD  BALLADS. 

Each  rising  mom  increas'd  my  pain. 
Each  night  increas'd  my  fearj 

When  wandering  in  this  northern  garb, 
Thy  brother  found  me  here. 

He  quickly  form'd  this  brave  design 

To  set  me,  captive,  free ; 
And  on  the  moor  his  horses  wait. 

Tied  to  a  neighbouring  tree. 

Then  haste,  my  love,  escape  away. 

And  for  thyself  provide ; 
And  sometimes  fondly  think  on  her 

Who  should  have  been  thy  bride. 

Thus  pouring  comfort  on  my  soul. 
Even  with  her  latest  breath. 

She  gave  one  parting  fond  embrace, 
And  clos'd  her  eyes  in  death. 

In  wild  amaze,  in  speechless  woe, 

Devoid  of  sense  I  lay : 
Then  sudden  all  in  frantic  mood 

I  meant  myself  to  slay  : 

And  rising  up  in  furious  haste 
I  seiz'd  the  bloody  brand  :* 

A  sturdy  arm  here  interpos'd. 
And  wrench'd  it  from  my  hand. 

•  i.  e.  iword. 


OLD  BALLADS.  2$9 

A  crowd,  that  from  the  castle  came, 

Had  miss'd  their  lovely  ward  j 
And  seizing  me  to  prison  bore. 

And  deep  in  dungeon  barr'd. 

It  chanc'd  that  on  that  very  mom 

Their  chief  was  prisoner  ta'en  : 
Lord  Percy  had  us  soon  exchang'd. 

And  strove  to  soothe  my  pain. 

And  soon  those  honoured  dear  remains 

To  England  were  convey'd  j 
And  there  within  their  silent  tombs. 

With  holy  rites  were  laid. 

For  me,  I  loath'd  my  wretched  life. 

And  long  to  end  it  thought ; 
'Till  time,  and  books,  and  holy  men 

Had  better  counsels  taught. 

They  rais'd  my  heart  to  that  pure  source, 
Whence  heavenly  comfort  flows: 

They  taught  me  to  despise  the  world, 
And  calmly  bear  its  woes. 

No  more  the  slave  of  human  pride. 

Vain  hope,  and  sordid  care 
I  meekly  vow'd  to  spend  my  life  ' 

In  peniteuce  zxA  prayef . 

VOL,  IV.  Xt 


290  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  bold  Sir  Bertram  now  no  more, 
Impetuous,  haughty,  wild  ; 

But  poor  and  humble  Benedict, 
Now  lowly,  patient,  mild  ; 

My  lands  1  gave  to  feed  the  poor. 

And  sacred  altars  raise  ; 
And  here  a  lonely  Anchoret 

I  came  to  end  my  days. 

This  sweet  sequester'd  vale  I  chose. 
These  rocks,  and  hanging  grove  ; 

For  oft  beside  that  murmuring  stream 
My  love  was  wont  to  rove. 

My  noble  Friend  approv'd  my  choice ; 

This  blest  retreat  he  gave  ; 
And  here  I  carv'd  her  beauteous  form, 

And  scoop'd  this  holy  cave. 

Full  fifty  winters,  all  forlorn. 
My  life  I've  linger'd  here  j 

And  daily  o'er  this  sculptur'd  saint, 
I  drop  the  pensive  tear. 

And  thou,  dear  brother  of  my  heart, 

So  faithful  and  so  true. 
The  sad  remembrance  of  thy  fate 

Still  makes  my  bosom  rue. 


OLD  BALLADS.  391 

Yet  not  unpitled  pass'd  my  life. 

Forsaken,  or  forgot. 
The  Percy  and  his  noble  sons 

Would  grace  my  lowly  cot. 

Oft  the  great  Earl  from  toils  of  state, 

And  cumb'rous  pomp  of  power, 
Would  gladly  seek  my  little  cell. 

To  spend  the  tranquil  hour. 

But  length  of  life  is  length  of  woe, 

I  liv'd  to  mourn  his  fall : 
I  liv'd  to  mourn  his  godlike  sons. 

And  friends  and  followers  all. 

But  thou  the  honours  of  thy  race, 

Lov'd  youth,  shalt  now  restore  ; 
And  raise  again  the  Percy  name 

More  glorious  than  before. 

He  ceas'd,  and  on  the  lovely  pair 

His  choicest  blessings  laid  : 
While  they  with  thanks  and  pitying  tears 

His  mournful  tale  repaid. 

And  now  what  present  course  to  take. 

They  ask  the  good  old  sire ;  - 
And  guided  by  his  sage  advice, 

To  Scotland  they  retire. 


232  OLD  BALLADS. 

Mean-time  their  suit  such  favour  found 

At  Raby's  stately  hall. 
Earl  Neville,  and  his  princely  spouse, 

Now^  gladly  pardon  all. 

She  suppliant  at  her  nephew's*  throne, 
The  royal  grace  implor'd  : 

To  all  the  honours  of  his  race 
The  Percy  was  restor'd. 

The  youthful  Earl  still  more  and  more 
Admir'd  his  beauteous  dame  : 

Nine  noble  sons  to  him  she  bore. 
All  worthy  of  their  name. 

*  King  Henry  V.    Anno  1414. 


OLD  BALLADS.  29S 


XLIV. 

THE  DEATH-SONG  OF  RAGNAR  LODBRACH, 

or  Lodbrog,  king  of  Denmark ; 

Translated  from  the  Latin  of  Olaus  Wormius,by  Hugh 
Downman. 

[Bp.  Percy  published  the  original  aud  a  prose  translation  of 
this  Song  in  1763.     See  his  Five  Pieces  of  Rnnic  Poetry.] 

Ragnar  Lodbrach  flourished  in  the  eighth  century,  and 
by  his  naval  expeditions  rendered  himself  the  terror  of 
the  northern  parts  of  Europe.  After  having  carried  on 
his  depredations  with  success  for  many  years,  he  was  at 
length  taken  prisoner  by  Ella,  king  of  Northumberland, 
whose  coasts  he  had  invaded,  and  put  to  death  by  him, 
being  (as  was  reported)  cast  into  a  dungeon  full  of  ser- 
pents. His  melancholy  fate  stimulated  his  son  Ivar  to 
revenge  it ;  and  on  this  occasion  the  famous  standard  of 
the  Raven  is  said  to  have  been  embroidered  by  his  sisters, 
and  consecrated  with  such  magic  rites  as  insured  victory 
to  those  before  whom  it  was  borne.  Under  this  standard 
Ivar  made  a  descent  on  the  territories  of  Ella,  fought 
with,  vanquished,  and  put  him  to  death  in  his  turn. 

This  poem  is  p  eserved  by  Olaus  Wonnius,  in  his  treatise  De 
Literature,  Runicft.  While  the  frequent  return  of  the 
same  images  and  expressions  shews  the  author's  ignorance 
of  the  nicer  rules  of  composition,  he  exhibits  a  species  of 
savage  greatness,  a  fierce  and  wild  kind  of  sublimity,  and 
a  noble  contempt  of  danger  and  death. 


294  OLD  BALLADS. 

An  account  of  the  original  Runic,  and  particular  construc- 
tion of  the  verse,  the  harmony  of  which  did  not  depend 
on  rhime,  but  on  the  number  of  corresponding  syllables, 
and  disposition  of  letters,  may  be  seen  in  Olaus  Worraiu»'» 
Appendix.  The  reader  is  referred,  likewise,  to  Dr.  Blair's 
Critical  Dissertation  on  the  Poems  of  Ossian.  If  for  no 
other  reason,  this  Epicediura  is  valuable,  as  it,  doubtless, 
affords  a  lively  picture  of  the  manners  and  sentiments  of 
the  northern  nations. 

W I TH  our  sword's  resistless  might. 
We  have  thitin'd  the  ranks  of  fight. 
In  early  life,  his  volum'd  train 
The  crested  serpent  roU'd  in  vain. 
Thora's  charms,  the  matchless  prize ; 
Gothland  saw  my  fame  arise. 
Thronging  crowds  the  monster  scan. 
Shouts  applausive  hail  me  Man. 
All  his  fierceness  prompt  to  try. 
The  shaggy  vestment  cloth'd  my  thigh  : 
Soon  transpierced,  in  death  he  lay. 
My  falchion  smote  for  splendid  pay. 

Still  a  youth,  we  steer  our  course,* 
T'ward  the  morning's  distant  source  ; 

*  From  this  exploit,  Ragnar  obtained  his  surname  of  Lod- 
brach,  or  Hairy-breeches.  For  the  king  of  Gothland  having 
promised  his  daughter  Thora  to  the  man  who  should  kill  a 
vast  serpent  which  wasted  the  country,  Ragnar  undertook 


OLD  BALLADS.  «95 

Through  the  vast  Oreonic  flood 
Torrents  run  of  crimson  blood. 
The  yellow-footed  bird  we  feast. 
Plenty  fills  the  ravenous  beast. 

the  enterprise,  and  dressing  himself  in  the  skins  of  beasts, 
with  the  hairy  side  outernaost, threw  water  over  them;  the 
cold,  to  which  he  purposely  exposed  himself,  forming  round 
him  a  suit  (as  it  were)  of  frozen  armour.  He  met  the  ser- 
pent, whose  teeth  had  no  eflFect  on  this  impenetrable  mail, 
fixed  him  to  the  ground  with  his  spear,  and  ripping  him  up 
with  his  sword,  tore  out  his  heart.  After  the  victory  the 
king  presented  him  his  daughter,  and,  on  account  of  his 
rough  dress,  gave  him  the  name  above  mentioned,  by  which 
he  was  from  that  time  distinguished. 

Olaus  Magnus  relates  this  adventure,  but  says,  he  fought 
with,  and  killed  two  snakes.  That  the  king  had  taken  them, 
when  young,  and  bred  them  up  as  a  guard  for  his  daughter} 
but  as  they  increased  in  size  they  became  a  public  terror, 
and  poisoned  the  country. 

Such  is  the  fabulous  beginning  attributed  by  bards  and 
historians  to  the  actions  of  Ragnar  Lodbrach.  Such  a  hero 
could  not  first  appear  on  the  stage  in  the  common  way.  St. 
George  and  the  Dragon,  and  Hercules  strangling  two  snakes, 
while  in  his  cradle,  naturally  arise  in  the  mind.  In  more 
obscure  and  early  ages,  the  romantic  hath  always  been  mixed 
with  the  true. — The  subsequentadventures  of  Ragnar  seem, 
however,  better  founded,  and  carry  no  marks  of  fable  till 
we  come  to  the  last  scene,  when  the  manner  of  his  death  is 
as  wonderful  and  incredible  as  his  first  appearance. 
According  to  Olaus  Wormius,  every  stanza  began  with  the 
word» 

Pugnavimus  ensibus 
'-     '  "^      We  have  fought  with  swords. 


296  . '       OLD  BALLADS. 

Our  steel-struck  helms  sublime  resound. 
The  sea  is  all  one  bleeding  wound. 
Our  foes  lie  weltering  on  the  shore. 
Deep  the  raven  wades  in  gore. 

Crown'd  with  twenty  rolling  years. 
High  we  raise  our  glittering  spears, 
And  deeds  of  glorious  worth  display, 
Wherever  shines  the  lamp  of  day. 
Still  we  the  trembling  east  appal, 
Eight  mighty  chiefs  at  Dimen  fall. 
We  scorn  with  mean  and  niggard  food. 
To  treat  the  generous  eagle  brood. 
The  wound  its  ruddv  sweat  distils. 
The  gaping  ocean  carnage  fills. 
Their  host  is  struck  with  dire  dismay, 
Its  strength  of  years  dissolves  away. 

War  and  death  terrific  lower 
When  th'  Helsingians  brave  our  power  : 
We  urge  them  down  the  gloomy  road. 
They  throng  t'ward  Odin's  dark  abode. 
The  Vistula  beheld  our  course. 
Our  navy  stem  its  rapid  force. 
The  biting  sword  descended  steep. 
One  wound  extensive  glow'd  the  deep  : 
Its  shores  the  reeking  current  died. 
Our  falchions  raock'd  their  armour's  pride 
With  echoing  voices  roar'd  amain, 
And  cleft  their  stubborn  shields  in  twain. 


OLD  BALLADS.  297 

No  warrior  droop'd,  no  warrior  fled. 
Till  on  the  deck  Heraudus  bled. 
A  braver  chief,  to  distant  lands 
Ne'er  guided  his  victorious  bands 
Ne'er  beheld  a  chief  more  brave 
His  ships  of  battle  plough  the  wave. 
His  art  impell'd  by  conscious  might. 
With  eager  transport  fought  the  fight. 

Their  shields  aside  each  warrior  threw ; 

The  spear  on  rapid  pinion  flew 

Heroes  its  deadly  speed  confest. 

It  quiver'd  in  the  dauntless  breast. 

With  hunger  keen  the  trenchant  sword 

Wide  the  Scarfian  rocks  engor'd. 

His  shield  became  of  purple  grain 

E'er  Rafno  fell,  the  king  of  men. 

From  every  helm-encircled  crown. 

The  blood  warm  sweat  in  streams  ran  down. 

Round  th'  Indirian  isles  that  day 
The  crows  were  surfeited  with  prey. 
There  the  wild  beast  inglutted  stood. 
For  plenteous  was  the  feast  of  blood. 
All  fought  as  one,  no  single  name 
Claim'd  the  distinguish'd  mark  of  fame. 
When  first  appcar'd  day's  flaming  star, 
I  saw  the  piercing  darts  of  war, 
The  barbed  arrows  took  their  flight 
When  first  he  streak'd  the  east  with  light. 


298  OLD  BALLADS. 

Our  swords  loud-bellow'd  o'er  tbe  slain 
Till  Eislin  fell  on  Laneo's  plain. 
Thence  cnrich'd  with  golden  spoil. 
War  to  our  routed  foemen's  soil 
We  bring  :  where  helmets  throng'd  the  field 
The  falchion  cut  the  pictured  shield  ; 
Their  necks  deep-pierc'd,  with  must  abound. 
It  flows  their  cloven  brains  around. 

Drench'd  in  blood  our  shields  we  rear. 
The  oil  of  blood  anoints  our  spear. 
In  the  Boringholmian  bay 
Making  its  quick  tempestuous  way. 
The  cloud  of  darts  was  onward  borne. 
Our  targets  were  in  sunder  torn. 
The  bows  their  iron  shower  expel. 
In  the  fierce  conflict  Volnir  fell. 
No  king  on  earth  could  him  exceed. 
In  valour  and  heroic  deed. 
Wide  o'er  the  land  the  slaughter'd  lay, 
The  howling  beasts  embrac'd  their  prey. 

The  battle  rag'd  with  heighten 'd  lust. 
E'er  princely  Freyer  bit  the  dust. 
His  breast  plate's  golden  mail  of  yore 
The  hard  blue  sword,  insteep'd  in  gore, 
Conflicting  with  our  warrior  host, 
Had  hewn  upon  the  Flandrian  coast. 
The  virgin  struck  with  woe  appears 
When  she  that  morning's  carnage  hears. 


OLD  BALLADS.  209 

A  copious  banquet  we  had  given 

To  the  fierce  wolf,  and  birds  of  heaven.. 

Gasping  in  death  these  eyes  survey'd. 
An  hundred  times  an  hundred  laid. 
In  haste  we  sail'd,  a  dreadful  band. 
To  combat  on  ^nglane's  land : 
JSix  following  days  the  rising  sun 
Beheld  the  strife  of  swords  begun. 
And  six  succeeding  evenings  close. 
Till  prostrate  fall  our  vanqulsh'd  foes, 
Urg'd  by  our  steel  to  sink  in  sight, 
Valdiofur  confess'd  its  might. 

The  rain  of  blood  our  falchions  pour. 
It  smokes  on  Bardafyrdea's  shore. 
Doom'd  to  the  hawks  a  pallid  crowd. 
The  murmuring  string  was  twang'd  aloud. 
Then  where  in  Odin's  deathful  fight 
The  greedy  sword,  with  eager  bite, 
D&vour'd  the  cuirass,  there  the  bow. 
The  casque,  the  morion,  swiftly  flow,         * 
The  bow  with  poison  sharp  to  wound. 
With  sanguine  sweat  besprinkled  round. 

The  sport  of  war  intent  to  try. 
We  rear  our  magic  shields  on  high. 
In  Hiadningia's  echoing  bay 
First  began  th'  heroic  play. 


500  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  vengeful  swords  whirl'd  o'er  the  mail) 
Their  strong-knit  bucklers  tear  in  twain  ; 
With  mingled  clash  our  arms  resound, 
The  helms  of  men  to  dust  are  ground. 
Not  with  more  transport  by  his  side 
The  lover  clasps  his  beauteous  bride. 

The  thick-rais'd  storm  our  shields  defy ; 
In  Northumbria's  land  they  lie. 
Their  gory  carcases  bestrew 
The  soil,  and  taint  the  morning  dew. 
Routed  they  fled  with  wild  dismay. 
Their  boasted  warriors  dar'd  nor  stay, 
Where  the  sword  with  grim  delight 
Their  helmets  polish'd  plains  would  bite. 
The  genial  bed  such  rapture  warms. 
Blest  with  the  youthful  widow's  cliarms. 

Herthiofe  escap'd  our  force, 

And  widely  sped  hi§  prosperous  course. 

Where  with  rude  rocks  against  the  skies 

The  southern  Orcades  arise. 

While  he  who  gave  us,  to  display. 

And  shine  in  victory's  bright  array, 

Rogvald,  our  glory  and  our  pride, 

Compell'd  by  fate's  stern  mandate,  died. 

Plung'd  in  the  storm  of  arms  he  fell ; 

Then  mourn'd  the  hawks  with  shrieking  yell. 


OLD  BALLADS.  301 

For  dreadful  in  the  sport  of  war, 
The  darts  of  blood  he  hurl'd  afar  ; 
The  darts  of  blood  he  well  could  wield. 
The  shatter'd  helms  bestrew'd  the  field. 

Heaps  pil'd  on  heaps  the  warriors  lie, 
The  hawk  looks  down  with  joyous  eye, 
The  pastime  sees,  and  clotted  gore. 
Envying  the  eagle,  nor  the  boar. 
Together  rush  the  shield  and  sword. 
Then  fell  Irlandia's  haughty  lord, 
Marstan  ;  he  floats  in  Vedra's  bay. 
The  hungry  raven's  destined  prey. 

Amid  the  weapons  strifeful  scorn. 

Many  a  hero,  in  the  morn 

Of  life  and  glory,  press'd  the  plain. 

My  son,  mature  in  fame,  was  slain, 

Ripe  in  renown  the  dust  he  press'd. 

The  griding  falchion  rived  his  breast, 

By  Egill,  dauntless  Agner  dies. 

He  rends  his  arms,  the  victor'^s  prize. 

In  Hamdus'  corselet  sounds  the  lance. 

Red  lightnings  from  the  standards  glance. 

Sparing  of  words,  the  brave  I  view ; 
Their  foes  they  prodigally  slew, 


302  OLD  BALLADS. 

Thrown  to  the  wolves  ;  th'  Endillan  flood 
For  seven  whole  days  was  stain'd  with  blood. 
So  looks  the  wine  our  handmaids  bear. 
Died  deep  the  impurpled  ships  appear. 
The  falchion  raging  mid  th'  alarms. 
And  hoarse  tumultuous  din  of  arms, 
Gash'd  many  a  mailed  cuirass  bright. 
In  Scioldungia's  fatal  fight. 

I  saw  the  widow's  darling  joy, 
I  saw  the  virgin's  fair-hair'd  boy. 
Saw  them  in  morning  beauty  gay, 
Saw  set  in  death  their  youthful  ray. 
Warm  with  many  a  glowing  stream, 
Ila's  ruddy  billows  gleam, 
As  by  circling  nymphs  supplied. 
The  fervid  bath,  in  copious  tide. 
From  the  vine's  nectareous  hoard. 
Floats  around  the  social  board. 
E'er  Orn  expir'd,  with  frequent  stroke, 
I  saw  his  blood-stain'd  buckler  broke ; 
By  strong  necessity  control'd. 
Inverted  life  forsakes  the  bold. 

The  game  of  slaughtering  swords,  we  haste. 
Where  Lind  frowns  o'er  the  watery  waste. 
With  three  contending  kings  to  try  ; 
How  few  escape  !  rejoic'd  to  fly  ! 


OLD  BALLADS.  SOS 

The  wild  beasts  gnarrin^  throng  the  strand. 
The  hawk  and  wolf  commingled  stand. 
Tear  them  with  goading  hunger's  fire, 
Nor  till,  with  carnage  cramm'd,  retire. 
While  fierce  we  smote,  th'  Hybernian's  blood, 
With  copious  torrents  swell'd  the  flood. 

The  steel's  sharp  fang,  and  bite  severe 
The  buckler  prov'd  ;  the  whizzing  spear. 
Speeding  to  its  direction  true, 
The  breast-plate  chased  of  golden  hue. 
On  ugs  will  mark  for  many  an  age 
The  traces  of  that  battle's  rage. 
There  march'd  the  kings  with  eager  feet 
Intent  the  sport  of  swords  to  meet. 
The  crimson'd  isle,  on  all  its  coast 
Saw  the  red  foaming  billows  tost. 
Or  from  the  desperate  fight  rebounds, 
A  flying  dragon  full  of  wounds. 

The  brave  with  ardour  yield  their  breath, 

Nor  heed  the  sure  approach  of  death  ; 

The  thought  of  death  their  bosom  warms. 

They  meet  it  in  the  storm  of  arms, 

He  oft  deplores  this  fickle  state. 

Who  never  dar'd  the  frowns  of  fate. 

Lur'd  by  the  cheek  of  pallid  fear 

The  joyful  eagle  hovers  near,  ' 


S04  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  cowardj  to  himself  a  pest. 
Forbids  the  shield  to  guard  his  breast. 

This  I  establish  just  and  right, 
That  hurrying  on  to  closest  fight, 
Youth  against  youth,  with  fervent  heat. 
Should  rush,  nor  man  from  man  retreat. 
Long  time  was  this  the  hero's  pride  j 
And  all  who  by  the  virgin's  side 
Aspire  to  lie,  and  taste  her  charms. 
Should  nobly  stem  the  roar  of  arms. 

Doubtless  the  fates  our  actions  lead. 
Beyond  their  limits  none  can  tread. 
Little  of  yore  did  I  foresee. 
That  Ella  would  my  death  foresee. 
When  half-expiring  with  my  wound, 
Anxious  I  threw  my  garb  around  ; 
Conceal'd  it  from  the  warrior  train. 
And  launch'd  my  vessels  on  the  main  : 
Then  over  all  the  Scotian  flood 
We  gave  the  beiists  of  prey  their  food. 

Hence  springing  in  my  thoughtful  mind, 
A  never  failing  joy  I  find  ', 
For  well  I  know  superbly  graced, 
For  me  the  lofry  seat  is  placed, 


OLD  BALLADS.  505 

For  me  the  gen'rous  mead  shall  foam 
In  father  Balder's  festal  dome  : 
From  goblets  pour'd  its  copious  tide 
By  skulls  of  recreant  foes  supplied. 
The  brave  shall  ne'er  lament  their  death 
In  Odin's  splendid  courts  beneath  j 
No  clamours  vain  I  thither  bear. 
No  sickly  murmurs  of  despair. 

Aslanga's  son*  would  soon  draw  nigh. 

With  utmost  swiftness  hither  fly. 

And  arm'd  with  falchions  gleaming  bright 

Prepare  the  bitter  deeds  of  fight. 

If  told,  or  could  they  but  divine 

What  woe,  what  dire  mischance  is  mine. 

How  many  serpents  round  me  hang. 

And  tear  my  flesh  with  poisonous  fang  5 

A  mother  to  my  sons  I  gave. 

With  native  worth  who  stamp'd  them  brave. 

Fast  to  th*  hereditary  end. 
To  my  allotted  goal  I  tend. 
Fix'd  is  the  viper's  mortal  harm ; 
Within  my  heart,  his  mansion  warm. 
In  the  recesses  of  my  breast 
The  writhing  snake  hath  form'd  his  nest. 
Yet  Odin  may  in  vengeance  spread 
The  bloody  scourge  o'er  Ella's  head, 

VOL.  lY,  X 


8CH?  OLD  BALLADS. 

My  son's  fierce  anger^  at  the  tale. 
Shall  cliange  to  red,  from  deadly  pale. 
The  fiery  youths,  at  my  decease. 
Shall  starting  shun  the  seat  of  peace. 

Full  fifty  times  I  trod  the  field. 

My  standard  rear'd,  and  poised  my  shield^ 

War's  willing  guest  -,  nor  deem'd  the  force 

Of  human  hand  would  check  my  course. 

Panting  to  gain  a  matchless  name. 

And  soar  o'er  every  king,  in  fame. 

For  well  in  earliest  years  I  taught 

My  sword  to  drink  the  crimson  draught. 

The  sisters  now  my  steps  invite ; 

Unmoved  I  quit  the  realms  of  light. 

Warn'd  from  within hreak  off  the  lay  I 

Th'  inviting  Sisters  chide  my  stay. 

By  Odin  sent,  I  hear  their  call. 

They  bid  me  to  his  fatal  hall. 

With  them  high-throned,  the  circling  bowl 

Of  foaming  mead  shall  chear  my  soul. 

With  joy  I  yield  my  vital  breath. 

And  laugh  in  the  last  pangs  of  deatliv 


OLD  BALLADS.  307 

XLV. 
HIRLAS   OWAIN, 

OR, 

The  Drinking-Horn  of  Owen. 

'fhc  following  ballad  was  composed  by  Owain  Cyveilioc 
Prince  of  Powys,  entitled  by  him  Hirlas,  from  a  Drink- 
ing-Horn  so  called,  used  at  feasts  in  his  palace. — This 
ballad  was  composed  on  account  of  a  battle  fought 
with  the  English  at  Maelor,  which  is  a  part  of  the  coun- 
ties of  Denbigh  and  Flint,  according  to  the  modern 
division,  Owain  was  driven  out  of  his  country  byOwain 
Gwynedd,  Prince  of  North  Wales,  and  Rhys-ap-Griffith«^ 
ap-Rhys-ap-Tewdwr,  Prince  of  South  Wales,  A.  D.  1167, 
and  recovered  it  by  the  help  of  the  Normans  and  English 
under  Henry  the  Second. — He  flourished  about  A.  D. 
1 160,  in  the  time  of  Owen  Gwynedd  and  his  son  David.* 

This  translation  is  published  from  Mr.  Pennant's  Tour  to 
Wales,  who  says  he  owes  it  to  the  elegant  pen  of  a  gen- 
tleman who  has  frequently  obliged  him. — Mr.  Pennant 
has  given  a  particular  account  of  the  Drinking-Horns. 

Another  translation  of  the  Hirlas  Owain  is  inserted  in  the 
second  volume  of  Hoare's  Giraldus,  p.  217. 

Uprose  the  ruddy  dawn  of  day ; 
The  armies  met  in  dread  array 
On  Maelor  Drefred's  field  : 
Loud  the  British  clarions  sound. 
The  Saxons,  gasping  on  the  ground, 
The  bloody  contest  yield. 

*  See  £vans's  Specimens  of  the  Welch  Poetry,  Edit.  1774. 


S08  OLD  BALLADS. 

By  Owen's  arm  the  valiant  bled ; 
From  Owen's  arm  the  coward  fled 

Aghast  with  wild  affright : 
Let  then  their  haughty  lords  beware 
How  Owen's  just  revenge  they  dare. 

And  tremble  at  his  sight. 

Fill  the  Hirlas  horn,  my  boy. 
Nor  let  the  tuneful  lips  be  dry 

That  warble  Owen's  praise ; 
Whose  walls  with  warlike  spoils  are  hun^ 
And  open  wide  his  gates  are  flung 

In  Cambria's  peaceful  days. . 

This  hour  we  dedicate  to  joy  j 
Then  fill  the  Hirlas  horn,  my  boy. 

That  shineth  like  the  sea  ; 
Whose  azure  handles,  tip'd  with  gold. 
Invite  the  grasp  of  Britons  bold, 

The  sons  of  liberty. 

Fill  it  higher  still,  and  higher. 
Mead  will  noblest  deeds  inspire. 
Now  the  battle's  lost  and  won. 
Give  the  horn  to  Gronwy's  son 
Put  it  into  Gwgan's  hand. 
Bulwark  of  his  native  land. 
Guardian  of  Sabrina's  flood. 
Who  oft  has  dy'd  his  spear  in  blood. 


OLD  BALLADS.  J09 

When  they  hear  their  chieftain's  voice. 

Then  his  gallant  friends  rejoice  ; 

But  when  to  fight  he  goes,  no  more 

The  festal  shout  resounds  on  Severn's  winding  shore. 

Fill  the  gold-tlp'd  horn  with  speed, 
(We  must  drink,  it  is  decreed.) 
Badge  of  honour,  badge  of  mirth. 
That  calls  the  soul  of  music  forth  ! 
As  thou  wilt  thy  life  prolong. 
Fill  it  with  metheglin  strong. 
Gruffudd  thirsts,  to  Gruffudd  fill  j 
Whose  bloody  lance  is  us'd  to  kill ; 
Matchless  in  the  field  of  strife. 
His  glory  .ends  not  with  his  life ; 
Dragon-son  of  Cynvyn's  race, 
Owen's  shield,  Arwystli's  grace. 
To  purchase  fame  the  warriors  flew. 
Dire,  and  more  dire,  the  conflict  grevr : 
When  flush'd  with  mead,  they  bravely  fought. 
Like  Belyn's  warlike  sons,  that  Edwin's  downfal 
wrought. 

Fill  the  horn  with  foaming  liquor. 
Fill  it  up  my  boy,  be  quicker  ; 
Hence  away,  despair  and  sorrow  ! 
Time  enough  to  sigh  to-morrow. 
Let  the  brimming  goblet  smile. 
And  Ednyfed's  cares  beguile  5 


310  OLD  BALLADS. 

Gallant  youth,  unus'd  to  fear. 
Master  of  the  broken  spear, 
And  the  arrow-pierced  shield. 
Brought  with  honour  from  the  field, 
Like  an  hurricane  is  he. 
Bursting  on  the  troubled  sea. 
See  their  spears  distain'd  with  gore  ! 
Hear  the  din  of  battle  roar  ! 
Bucklers,  swords,  together  clashing, 
Sparkles  from  their  helmets  flashing  ! 
Hear  ye  not  their  loud  alarms  ? 
Hark  !  they  shout — to  arms  !  to  arms ! 
Thus  were  Garthen's  plains  defended, 
,  "Maelor  fight  began  and  ended. 
There  two  princes  fought,  and  there  [fear. 

Was  Morach  Vorvran's  feast  exchanged  for  rout  an4 

Fill  the  horn  :  'tis  my  delight. 

When  my  friends  return  from  fight. 

Champions  of  their  country's  glory. 

To  record  each  gallant  story — 

To  Ynyr's  comely  offspring  fill, 

Foremost  in  the  battle  still ; 

Two  blooming  youths,  in  counsel  sage, 

As  heroes  of  maturer  age ; 

In  peace,  and  war,  alike  renown'd, 

Be  their  brows  with  garlands  crown 'd ; 

Deck'd  with  glory  let  them  shine, 

f  he  ornament  and  pride  of  Ynyi's  ancient  line  4 


OLD  BALLADS.  811 

To  Selyf  fill,  of  eagle-heart, 

Skill'd  to  hurl  the  fatal  dart : 

With  the  Wolf's  impetuous  force 

He  urgeth  on  his  headlong  course. 

To  Tudor  next,  great  Madoc's  son,    . 

They  the  race  of  honour  run 

Together  in  the  tented  field. 

And  both  alike  disdain  to  yield. 

Like  a  lion  in  the  fray, 

Tudor  darts  upon  his  prey. 

Rivals  in  the  feats  of  war. 

Where  danger  call'd,  they  rush'd  from  far ; 

Till  shatter'd  by  some  hostile  stroke. 

With  horrid  clang  their  shields  were  broke ; 

Loud  as  the  foaming  billows  roar. 

Or  fierce  contending  winds  on  Talgath's  stormy  shore. 

Fill  the  horn  with  rosy  wine. 

Brave  Moreiddig  claims  it  now. 
Chieftain  of  an  ancient  line, 

Dauntless  heart,  and  open  brow. 

To  the  warrior  it  belongs. 
Prince  of  battles,  theme  of  songs  ! 
Pride  of  Powys,  Mochn  ant's  boast ! 
Guardian  of  his  native  coast ! — 
But  ah  !  his  short-liv'd  triumph's  o'«r. 
Brave  Moreiddig  is  no  more ! 


SI2  OLD  BALLADS. 

To  his  pensive  ghost  we'll  give 

Due  remembrance,  while  we  live 

And  in  fairy  fiction  dress'd. 

Flowing  hair,  and  sable  vest. 

The  tragic  Muse  shall  grace  our  songs,     [prolongs. 

While  brave  Moreiddig's  name  the  mournful  strain 

Pour  out  the  horn,  (tho'  he  desire  it  not) 
And  heave  a  sigh  on  Morgan's  early  grave ; 

Doom'd  in  his  clay-cold  tenement  to  rot. 
While  we  revere  the  memory  of  the  brave. 

Fill  again  the  Hirlas  horn. 
On  that  ever-glorious  morn. 
The  Britons  and  their  foes  between. 
What  prodigies  of  might  were  seen  ! 
On  Gwestyn's  plain  the  fight  began ; 
But  Gronwy  sure  was  more  than  man  ! 
Him  to  resist,  on  Gwestyn's  plain, 
A  hundred  Saxons  strove  in  vain. 
To  set  the  noble  Meyric  free. 
And  change  his  bonds  to  liberty. 
The  warriors  vovv'd.     The  God  of  day 
Scarce  darted  his  meridian  ray, 
When  he  beheld  the  conquerors  steep'd  in  gore. 
And  Gwestyn's  bloody  fight,  e'er  highest,  noon  was 
o'er. 


OLD  BALLADS.  SIS 

Now  a  due  Hbatlon  pour 

To  the  spirits  of  the  dead. 
Who,  that  memorable  hour. 

Made  the  hostile  plain  their  bed. 
There  the  glitt'ring  steel  was  seen. 

There  the  twanging  bow  was  heard ; 
There  the  mighty  press'd  the  green. 

Recorded  by  the  faithful  Bard. 
Madoc  there,  and  Meilir  brave. 
Sent  many  a  Saxon  to  his  grave. 
Their  drink  was  mead;  their  hearts  were  true; 
And  to  the  head  their  shafts  they  drew; 
But  Owen's  guards,  in  terrible  array. 
Resistless  march  along,  and  make  the  world  give  way. 

Pour  the  sweet  transparent  mead, 
(The  spear  is  red  in  time  of  need) 
And  give  to  each  departed  spirit 
The  honour  and  reward  of  merit. 
What  cares  surround  the  regal  state. 
What  anxious  thoughts  molest  the  great. 
None  but  a  prince  himself  can  know. 
And  Heav'n,  that  ruleth  kings,  and  lays  the  mightj 
low. 

For  Daniel  fill  the  horn  so  green. 
Of  haughty  brow,  and  angry  mien ; 
While  the  less'ning  tapers  shine. 
Fill  it  up  with  generous  wine. 


«14    ,  OLD  BALLADS. 

He  no  quarter  takes,  nor  gives. 
Bat  by  spoils  and  rapine  Jives. 
Comely  is  the  youth,  and  brave  ; 
But  obdurate  as  the  grave. 
Hadst  thou  seen,  in  Maelor  fight. 
How  we  put  the  foe  to  flight ! 
Hadst  thou  seen  the  chiefs  in  arms. 
When  the  foe  rush'd  on  in  in  swarms  ! 
Round  about  their  prince  they  stood. 
And  stain'd  their  swords  with  hostile  blood. 
Glorious  bulwarks !     To  their  praise 
Their  prince  devotes  his  latest  lays. — 
Now,  my  boy,  thy  task  is  o'er ; 
Thou  shalt  fill  the  horn  no  more. 
Long  may  the  King  of  kings  protect, 
And  crown  with  bliss,  my  friends  elect ; 
Where  liberty  and  truth  reside. 
And  virtue,  truth's  immortal  bride ! 
There  may  we  all  together  meet. 
And  former  times  renew  in  heav'nly  converse  sweet ! 

R.  W. 


OLD  BALLADS.       Si^ 


XLVL 
.  ELPHIN'S  CONSOLATION : 

From  the  Welch  of  Taliesin,        ^ 
[Translated  by  a  Lady.] 

Taliesin,  chief  of  the  bards,  flourished  in  the  sixth  century. 
His  works  are  still  preserved,  and  his  memory  held  ia 
high  veneration  among  his  countrymen. — Taliesin,  when 
an  infant,  was  found  exposed  on  the  water,  wrapped  in  sl 
leather  bag,  in  a  wear  which  had  been  granted  to  Elphin, 
son  of  Gwyddno,  for  his  support.  The  young  prince, 
reduced  by  his  extravagance,  burst  into  tears,  at  finding, 
as  he  imagined,  so  Unprofitable  a  booty.  However,  he 
took  pity  on  the  infant,  and  caused  proper  care  to  be 
taken  of  him.  After  this,  Elphin  prospered ;  and  Taliesin, 
when  he  grew  up,  wrote  the  following  moral  Ode,  sup^ 
posed  to  have  been  addressed  to  the  prince  by  the  infant 
|)ard,  on  the  night  in  which  he  was  found, 

[From  Mr.  Pennant's  Journeyto  Snowdon.] 

JcjL  p  H  I N !  fair  as  roseate  morn. 
Cease,  O  lovely  youth  !  to  mourn ;^        ^/ 
Mortals  never  should  presume  -^ 

To  dispute  their  Maker's  doom. 


S16  OLD  BALLADS. 

Feeble  race !  too  blind  to  scan 

What  th'  Almighty  deigns  for  manj 

Humble  hope  be  still  thy  guide. 

Steady  faith  thy  only  pride. 

Then  despair  will  fade  away. 

Like  demons  at  th'  approach  of  day, 

Cunllo's  prayers  acceptance  gain, 

Goodness  never  sues  in  vain  ; 

He,  who  form'd  the  sky  is  just. 

In  him  alone,  O  Elphin !  trust. 

See  glist'ning  spoils  in  shoals  appear. 

Fate  smiles  this  hour  on  Gwyddon's  wear. 

Elphin  fair !  the  clouds  dispel 
That  on  thy  lovely  visage  dwell  | 
Wipe,  ah !  wipe  the  pearly  tear. 
Nor  let  thy  manly  bosom  fear; 
What  good  can  melancholy  give  ? 
*Tis  bondage  in  her  train  to  live. 
Pungent  sorrows  doubts  proclaim, 
111  suits  those  doubts  a  Christian's  name; 
Thy  great  Creator's  wonders  trace. 
His  love,  divine  to  mortal  race. 
Then  doubt,  and  fear,  and  pain  will  fly. 
And  hope  beam  radiant  in  thine  eye. 
Behold  me,  least  of  human  kind. 
Yet  heav'n  illumes  my  soaring  mind. 
Lo!  from  the  yawning  deep  I  came. 
Friend  to  thy  lineage  and  thy  fame. 


OLD  BALLADS.  317 

To  point  thee  out  the  paths  of  truth. 
To  guard  from  hidden  rocks  thy  youth  ; 
From  seas,  from  mountains,  far  and  wide, 
God  will  the  good  and  virtuous  guide. 

Elphin  fair  ?  with  virtue  blest» 

Let  not  that  virtue  idly  rest ; 

If  rous'd,  'twill  yield  thee  sure  relief. 

And  banish  far  unmanly  grief :  *      ^ 

Think  on  that  pow'r  whose  arm  can  save. 

Who  e'en  can  snatch  thee  from  the  grave ; 

He  bade  my  harp  for  thee  be  strung. 

Prophetic  lays  he  taught  my  tongue. 

Though  like  a  slender  reed  I  grow, 

Toss'd  by  the  the  billows  to  and  fro'. 

Yet  still,  by  him  inspir'd,  my  song 

The  weak  can  raise,  confound  the  strong; 

Am  not  I  better,  Elphin,  say. 

Than  thousands  of  thy  scaly  prey  ? 

Elphin !  fair  as  roseate  morn. 
Cease,  O  lovely  youth !  to  mourn, 
Weak  on  my  leathern  couch  I  lie, 
Yet  heav'nly  lore  I  can  descry; 
Gifts  divine  my  tongue  inspire. 
My  bosom  glows  celestial  fire; 
Mark !  how  it  mounts !  my  lips  disclose 
The  certain  fate  of  Elphin's  foes. 


SJ8  OLD  BALLADS}. 

Fix  thy  hopes  on  him  alone, 
Who  is  th'  eternal  Three  in  Onej 
There  thy  ardent  vows  be  given, 
Prayer  acceptance  meets  from  Heaven  i 
Tlien  thou  shalt  adverse  fate  defy. 
And  Elphin  glorious  live  and  die. 

XLvn. 

AN  ANGLO-NORMAN  DRINKING  SONG^ 

Translated  by  F.  Douce,  Esq.  and  inserted  in  his 
Illustrations  of  Shakspeare. 

Mr.  Douce  (whose  knowledge  of  Anglo-Norman  literature 
is  perhaps  unrivalled),  esteems  the  original  "  the  most 
"  ancient  drinking  Song,  composed  in  England,  that  i» 
"  extant."  The  translation  is  executed  with  exemplary 
fidelity,  and  yet  breathes  the  spirit  of  an  original.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  the  Public  may  be  gratified  with  future 
favours  from  the  same  pen.  The  Illustrations  of  Shak- 
speare abound  with  curious  and  recondite  information.. 

JLo  R  D I N  G  s,  from  a  distant  home. 
To  seek  old  Christmas  we  are  come. 

Who  loves  our  minstrelsy  : 
And  here,  unless  report  mis-say, 
The  grey-beard  dwells;  and  on  this  day 
Keeps  yearly  wassel,  ever  gay. 

With  festive  mirth  and  glee.  [lays. 

To  all  who  honour  Christmas,  and  commend  our 
Love  will  his  blessings  send,  and  crown  with  joy  their 

[days. 


OLD  BALLADS.  319 

Lordings  list,  for  we  tell  you  true; 
Christmas  loves  the  jolly  crew 

That  cloudy  care  defy : 
His  liberal  board  is  deftly  spread^ 
With  manchet  loaves  and  Wastel-bread; 
His  guests  with  fish  and  flesh  are  fed. 

Nor  lack  the  stately  pye. 

Lordings,  you  know  that  far  and  near. 
The  saying  is  "  who  gives  good  cheer  j 

And  freely  spends  his  treasure; 
On  him  will  bounteous  heav'n  bestow. 
Twice  treble  blessings  here  below. 
His  happy  hours  shall  sweetly  flow 

In  never-ceasing  pleasure." 

Lordings  believe  us,  knaves  abound 
In  every  place  are  flatterers  found ; 

May  all  their  arts  be  vain  ! 
But  chiefly  from  these  scenes  of  joy. 
Chase  sordid  «ouls  that  mirth  annoy. 
And  all  who  with  their  base  alloy. 

Turn  pleasure  into  pain. 

Christmas  quaffs  our  English  wines. 
Nor  Gascoigne  juice,  nor  French  declines. 

Nor  liquor  of  Anjou  : 
He  puts  the  insidious  goblet  round. 
Till  all  the  guests  in  sleep  are  drown'd, 
Then  wakes  'em  with  the  tabor's  sound. 

And  plays  the  prank  anew. 


320  OLD  BALLADS. 

Lordings,  it  is  our  host's  command. 
And  Christmas  joins  him  hand  in  hand. 

To  drain  the  brimming  bowl : 
And  I'll  be  foremost  to  obey, 
Then  pledge  me,  sirs,  and  drink  away. 
For  Christmas  revels  here  to  day, 
'    And  sways  without  control. 
Now  Wassel  to  you  all !  and  merry  may  ye  be  ! 
But  foul  that  wight  befall,  who  Drinks  not 

Health  to  me  I 


XLVin. 
LORD  HENRY  AND  FAIR  CATHERINE ; 

OB, 

The  secret  discovered  too  late. 

In  ancient  times,  in  Britan's  isle. 

Lord  Henry  was  well  known. 
No  knight  in  all  the  land  more  fam'd 

Or  more  deserv'd  renown. 
His  thoughts  on  honour  always  ran. 

He  never  bow'd  to  love. 
No  lady  in  all  the  land  had  charms. 

His  frozen  heart  to  move. 


OLD  BALLADS.  321 

Midst  all  the  nymphs  where  Catherine  went, 

Thf  fairest  face  slie  shows  ; 
She  was  as  bright  as  m(/rning  sun  ; 

And  sweet  as  any  rose. 
Altiio'  she  was  of  io  v  degree. 

She  still  did  conqucsls  gain ; 
For  scarce  a  youth  who  her  beheld, 

Escap'd  her  pow'rful  chain  : 

But  soon  her  eyes  their  lustre  lost. 

Her  checks  grew  pale  and  wan ; 
For  pining  seiz'd  her  beauteous  face. 

And  every  grace  was  gone  : 
This  sickness  was  to  all  unknown ; 

Thus  did  the  fair  one  waste 
Her  time  in  sighs,  and  floods  of  tears. 

Or  broken  slumbers  past. 

Once  in  a  dream  she  call'd  aloud, 

*'  O  !  Henry  !  I'm  undone  ! 
"  O  cruel  fate  !  O  helpless  maid  ? 

"  My  love  can  ne'er  be  known. 
"  But  'tis  the  fate  of  woman  kind 

"  The  truth  we  must  conceal ; 
"  I'll  die  ten  thousand  thousand  deaths, 

**  Ere  I  my  love  reveal." 
VOL.  IV.  y 


322  OLD  BALLADS. 

A  tender  friend,  who  watch'd  the  fair. 

To  Henry  hied  away  : 
"  My  lord,  she  cries,  we've  found  the  cause 

"  Of  Catherine's  quick  decay. 
"  She  in  a  dream  the  secret  told, 

"  Till  now  no  mortal  knew ; 
"  Alas  !  she  now  expiring  lies, 

"  And  dies  for  love  of  you." 

The  gentle  Henry's  soul  was  struck. 

His  heart  began  to  flame  : 
"  O  !  poor  unhappy  maid,"  he  cried ! 

"  Yet  am  I  not  to  blame. 
"  O  !  Catherine  !  too,  too  modest  maid  ; 

"  Thy  love  I  never  knew, 
""  "  I'll  ease  thy  pain." — As  swift  as  wind. 

To  her  bedside  he  flew. 

"  Awake,  he  cried,  thou  lovely  maid, 

"  Awake,  awake,  my  dear  ! 
'•  If  I  had  only  guess'd  thy  love, 

«  Thou  hadst  not  shed  a  tear. 
"  'Tis  Henry  calls ;  despair  no  more  ; 

"  Renew  thy  wonted  charms  : 
"  I'm  come  to  call  thee  back  from  death, 

«  And  take  thee  to  my  arms." 


OLD  BALLADS.  323 


His  words  revived  the  dying  fair. 

She  rais'd  her  drooping  head, 
And  gazing  on  the  long-lov'd  youth 

She  started  from  her  bed. 
Around  his  neck  her  arm  she  flung 

In  extacy,  and  cried. 
Will  you  be  kind  !  will  you  indeed. 

My  love  !  and  so  she  died. 


XLIX. 
CADWALLO  AND  ELMIRA. 

1  H  E  thorn,  still  springing  with  the  flow*r, 

Is  seen  in  blithest  May ; 
And  oft,  too  oft,  a  gloomy  hour 

O'ercasts  the  brightest  day. 

Sweet  was  Elmira,  peerless  maid ! 

As  opening  spring  that  blows ; 
And  on  her  cheek  were  bright  display'd 

The  lily  and  the  rose. 


824  OLD  BALLADS. 

Of  mighty  chiefs,  of  noble  race. 
Full  many  a  love  had  she  ; 

But,  till  she  view'd  Cadwallo's  face. 
Her  virgin  heart  was  free. 

Fairest  of  all  the  Saxon  train, 
The  nymphs  Elmira  crown'd  ; 

And  first  of  Britain's  valiant  strain 
Was  fara'd  Cadwallo  found. 

Twas  in  a  sad  and  luckless  hour 
That  dire  contention  rose. 

And  call'd  to  arms  the  British  pow'r, 
And  made  the  Saxons  foes. 

With  steely  squadrons  shining  bright. 
While  Medway's  shore  appears, 

Cadwallo  thro'  the  shades  of  night 
His  lov'd  Elmira  bears. 

When  as  a  cruel  hostile  band 
Their  bootless  flight  pursu'd ; 

Resign'd  to  heav'n's  almighty  hand. 
They  plung'd  into  the  flood. 

The  billows  rose,  the  winds  blew  high. 
And  chang'd  its  peaceful  form ; 

WTiile  hover'd  o'er  with  dismal  cry. 
The  spirit  of  the  storm. 


OLD  BALLADS.  825 

Far  off  the  elemental  strife 

The  weak  Eimira  bore  : 
And  cast  Cadwallo,  loathing  life. 

Upon  the  naked  shore. 

The  Britons  these  afford  relief. 

But  soothe  the  youth  in  vain  ; 
A  prey  to  heart-corroding  grief, 

H§  quits  the  friendly  train. 

Nor  arms  amongst  the  martial  host. 

The  mourning  chieftain  bears ; 
But  sighing  for  Eimira  lost, 

To  gloomy  shades  repairs. 

No  hermit  of  the  lonely  cell 

From  lofty  thoughts  more  free. 
Nor  saints  with  solitude  who  dwell. 

Were  more  recluse  than  he. 

And  oft  times  by  the  babbling  brook 

Contemplative  he  lay. 
And  por'd  upon  some  ancient  book. 

Or  sigh'd  the  hours  away. 

Now  twice  six  times  her  blunted  horns 

The  waning  moon  renew'd, 
And  the  glad  earth  the  sweet  returns 

Of  varying  seasons  view'd 


826  OLD  BALLADS. 

When,  as  at  noon,  the  sun  blaz'd  high, 

Close  standing  by  his  side. 
With  pensive  air,  and  down-cast  eye, 

A  comely  youth  he  spy'd. 

And  though  he  wont  from  human  face 

To  fly  with  wild  amaze, 
Charm'd  with  some  strange  and  unknown  grace. 

He  stopp'd  a  while  to  gaze. 

"  What  mak'st  thou  here,  O  youth,"  he  said, 

"  Where  sorrow  seeks  repose  ? 
"  Art  thou  by  faithless  friends  betray 'd, 

**  Or  fly'st  from  foreign  foes  ? 

"  Or  for  some  maid  with  love  and  truth, 

**  Say,  dost  thou  sigh  in  vain  ?" 
While  thus  he  spoke,  the  fainting  youth 

Sunk  prostrate  on  the  plain. 

His  needful  aid  he  hastes  to  give. 

And  opes  the  tighten'd  vest ; 
When  Zephyr  bade  the  fair  revive, 

Elmira  rose  confest. 

"Twas  she  !  in  more  than  wonted  charms. 

By  rip'ning  time  array'd. 
And  sinking  in  his  circling  arms, 

Cadwallo  clasps  the  maid. 


OLD  BALLADS.  327 

Sav'd  from  the  storm  by  cruel  friends, 

Foes  to  the  man  she  lov'd, 
Her  course  thro'  circling  guards  she  bends, 

And  thus  her  faith  approv'd. 

To-day  she  stands  in  man's  attire. 

Fast  by  Cadwallo's  side  ; 
To-morrow,  with  a  lover's  fire. 

He  clasps  his  blooming  bride. 


L. 
THE  PROPHECY  OF  QUEEN  EMMA, 

[Attributed  to  Mickle.] 

\J '  E  R  the  hills  of  Cheviot  beaming, 
Rose  the  silver  dawn  of  May  ; 

Hostile  spears,  and  helmets  gleaming, 
Swell'd  along  the  mountains  gray. 

Edwin's  warlike  horn  resounded 
Thro'  the  winding  dales  below. 

And  the  echoing  hills  rebounded 
The  defiance  of  the  foe. 


328  OLD  BALLADS. 

O'er  the  downs  like  torrents  pouring, 
Edwin's  horseman  rush'd  along  ; 

From  the  hills  like  tempests  lowering,. 
Slowly  mareh'd  stern  Edgar's  throng. 

Spear  to  spear  was  now  portended. 
And  the  yew  bows  half  were  drawn. 

When  the  female  scream  ascended. 
Shrilling  o'er  the  crowded  lawn. 

While  her  virgins  round  her  weeping, 
Wav'd  aloft  their  snowy  hands. 

From  the  wood  queen  Emma  shrieking. 
Ran  between  the  dreadful  bands. 

Oh,  my  sons,  what  rage  infernal 

Bids  you  grasp  th*  unhallow'd  spear ; 

Heav'n  detests  the  war  fraternal ; 
Oh,  the  impious  strife  forbear  ! 

Ah,  how  mild  and  sweetly  tender 
Flow'd  your  peaceful  early  days  ! 

Each  was  then  of  each  defender. 
Each  of  each  the  pride  and  praise. 

O  my  first-born  Edwin,  soften. 
Nor  invade  thy  brother's  right ; 

O,  my  Edgar,  think  how  often 
Edwin  dar'd  for  thee  the  fight. 


OLD  BALLADS.  S29 

Edgar,  shall  tliy  impious  fury 

Dare  thy  guardian  to  the  field  ! 
O,  my  sons,  let  peace  allure  ye ; 

Thy  stern  claims,  O  Edwin,  yield. 

Hah,  what  sight  of  hoiTor  waving. 

Sullen  Edgar,  clouds  thy  rear  ! 
Bring'st  thou  Denmark's  banners,  braving 

Thy  insulted  brother's  spear  ? 

Ah,  bethink  how  thro'  thy  regions 

Midnight  horror  fearful  howl'd ; 
When,  like  wolves,  the  Danish  legions 

Thro'  thy  trembling  forests  prowl'd. 

When,  unable  of  resistance, 

Denmark's  lance  thy  bosom  gor'd — 

And  shall  Edwin's  brave  assistance 
Be  repaid  with  Denmark's  sword  ! 

With  that  sword  shalt  thou  assail  him. 
From  whose  point  he  set  thee  free. 

While  his  warlike  sinews  fail  him, 
Weak  with  loss  of  blood  for  thee  ! 

Oh,  my  Edwin,  timely  hearken. 

And  thy  stern  resolves  forbear  ! 
Shall  revenge  thy  councils  darken. 

Oh,  Hiy  Edgar,  drop  the  spear  ! 


«S0  OLD  BALLADS 

Wisdom  tells,  and  Justice  offers. 

How  each  wound  may  yet  be  balm'd ; 

O,  revere  these  holy  proffers. 
Let  the  storms  of  hell  be  calmM. 

Oh,  my  sons — But  all  her  sorrows 
Fir'd  their  impious  rage  the  more ; 

From  the  bow-strings  sprung  the  arrows  ; 
Soon  the  valleys  reek'd  with  gore. 

Shrieking  wild,  with  horror  shivering. 
Fled  the  queen  all  stain'd  with  blood. 

In  her  purpled  bosom  quivering, 
Deep  a  feather'd  arrow  stood. 

Up  the  mountain  she  ascended. 
Fierce  as  mounts  the  flame  in  air ; 

And  her  hands,  to  heav'n  extended, 
Scatter'd  her  uprooted  hair. 

Ah,  my  sons,  how  Impious,  cover'd 
With  each  other's  blood,  she  cried : 

While  the  eagles  round  her  hover'd, 
And  wild  scream  for  scream  replied — 

From  that  blood  around  you  streaming, 
Turn,  my  sons,  your  vengeful  eyes ; 

See  what  horrors  o'er  you  streaming. 
Muster  round  th'  offended  skies. 


OLD  BALLADS.  331 

See  what  burping  spears  portended, 
Couch'd  by  fire-ey'd  spectres  glare, 

Circling  round  you  both,  suspended 
On  the  trembling  threads  of  air  ! 

O'er  you  both  heav'n's  lightning  vollies, 
Wither'd  is  your  strength  ev'n  now  j 

Idly  weeping  o'er  your  follies. 
Soon  your  heads  shall  lowly  bow. 

Soon  the  Dane,  the  Scot,  and  Norman 
O'er  your  dales  shall  havoc  pour. 

Every  hold  and  city  storming, 
Every  herd  and  field  devour. 

Ha,  what  signal  new  arising 

Thro'  the  dreadful  group  prevails  ! 

'Tis  the  hand  of  Justice  poising 
High  aloft  th'  eternal  scales. 

Loaded  with  thy  base  alliance. 

Rage  and  rancour  all  extreme. 
Faith  and  honour's  foul  defiance. 

Thine,  O  Edgar,  kicks  the  beam ! 

Opening  mild  and  blue,  reversing 

O'er  thy  brother's  wasted  hills. 
See  the  murky  clouds  dispersing, 

And  the  fertile  show'r  distils. 


332  OLD  BALLADS. 

But  o'er  thy  devoted  valleys 
Blacker  spreads  the  angry  sky ; 

Thro'  the  gloom  pale  lightning  sallies. 
Distant  thunders  groan  and  die. 

O'er  thy  proudest  castles  waving, 
Fed  by  hell  and  magic  pow'r, 

Denmark  tow'rs  on  high  her  raven, 
Hatch'd  in  freedom's  mortal  hour. 

''  Cursed  be  the  day  detested, 
'^  Cursed  be  the  fraud  profound, 

"  When  on  Denmark's  spear  we  rested," 
Thro'  thy  streets  shall  loud  resound. 

To  thy  brother  sad  imploring, 
Now  I  see  thee  turn  thine  eyes — 

Hah,  in  settled  darkness  louring. 
Now  no  more  the  visions  rise  ! 

But  thy  ranc'rous  soul  descending 

To  thy  sons  from  age  to  age. 
Province  then  from  province  rending, 
,     War  on  war  shall  bleed  and  rage. 

This  thy  freedom  proudly  boasted. 
Hapless  Edgar,  loud  she  cried — 

With  her  wounds  and  woes  exhausted, 
Down  on  earth  she  sunk  and  died. 


OLD  BALLADS.        333 


LL 


THE  DEATH  OF  EARL  OSWALD. 

r  A  R  shelter'd  in  a  woody  vale. 

Close  by  a  babbling  flood, 
For  heav'nly  contemplation  meet, 

A  lonely  cottage  stood. 

Brave  Oswald,  Scotia's  warlike  lord, 

Unvanquish'd  in  defeat. 
From  all  the  horrid  pomp  of  war. 

There  whilom  sougiit  retieat. 

Not  love  of  philosophic  lore 

Restrain'd  the  hero's  rage; 
Nor  yet  on  want,  or  secret  dread. 

Or  impotential  age. 

'Twas  Lydia's  matchless  charms  that  found 

With  passion  meek  to  move ; 
His  breast,  which  dar'd  full  well  to  fight. 

Yet  knew  as  well  to  love. 


834  OLD  BALLADS. 

Such  beauteous  bloom  as  crowns  the  May, 
When  vernal  mornings  break, 

Suftusing  spread  its  orient  blush. 
To  tinge  her  damask  cheek. 

Long  had  the  neighb'ring  hamlets  rung 

With  praises  of  the  fair ; 
Her  charms  had  fill'd  each  swain  with  love, 

Each  maiden  with  despair. 

Earl  Oswald  long  had  caught  each  tale. 

The  love-lorn  lover  he ; 
At  length  in  admiration  vow'd 

The  lovely  maid  to  see. 

The  maid,  in  whoni  the  Graces  vied. 

The  lily  and  the  rose ; 
And  from  whose  mind  benignly  bright 

Shone  forth  serene  repose. 

leaving  the  soldier's  rugged  life. 

He  secret  sought  the  vale ; 
Where  center' d  all  his  future  views 

Of  happiness  or  wail. 

Ijet  not  th*  impetuous  warrior  spurn. 

Or  deem  the  earl  to  blame ; 
The  hope  that  makes  their  fury  blaze. 

Gave  ardour  to  his  flame. 


OLD  BALLADS.  335 

His  pilgrim  feet  with  weary  tread. 
Now  reach'd  the  long-sought  place ; 

Where,  in  a  shepherd's  friendly  guise. 
He  veil'd  his  royal  race. 

Tending  his  flock  with  ceaseless  care, 

Beneath  th'  umbrageous  grove ; 
JBy  kindly  acts  he  often  found 

To  recommend  his  love. 

His  kindly  acts  bespoke  him  well, 

To  please  the  gentle  maid; 
Who  in  a  virgin's  sole-fraught  sigh. 

His  manly  warmth  repaid. 

But  sure  a  virgin's  sighs  too  dear, 

When  bliss  in  love  was  woe ; 
Too  dear  th'  extatic  joy  is  bought. 

When  fortune  proves  a  foe. 

As  to  th'  accustom'd  place  they  roam'd, 

All  on  a  fatal  day, 
Northumbria's  troops,  a  warlike  band, 

Swift  came  a  crossing  way. 

With  savage  rage  they  strove  to  tear 

The  maiden  from  his  breast : 
His  warlike  arm  thrice  forc'd  the  band. 

He  sunk  in  endless  rest. 

J 


3S6  OLD  BALLADS. 

She  scream'd  aloud  —the  damps  of  death 
Quick  mantling  o'er  her  cheek; 

I  come,  my  long-lov'd  friend,  I  come. 
Nor  more  could  ever  speak. 


LU. 
ELFRIDA,  AND  SIR  JAMES  OF  PERTH. 

Where  Scone  displays  its  moss-crown 'd  tow'rs. 

That  rise  in  solemn  pride ; 
Where  Tay  in  many  a  winding  maze. 

Conducts  his  limpid  tide. 

There  liv'd  a  valiant  hardy  knight, 

A  knight  of  mickle  fame. 
The  bravest  of  the  northern  chiefs. 

Sir  James  of  Perth  his  name. 

Scarce  twenty  years  had  pour'd  their  bloom 

Upon  his  youthful  face ; 
His  person  was  full  meet  to  view, 

Adorn'd  with  ev'ry  grace. 


OLD  BALLADS.  337 

Whene'er  he  led  his  dauntless  clan, 

Some  rebel  to  confound. 
His  glitt'ring  blade  mow'd  down  whole  ranks, 

And  dealt  destruction  round. 

Each  valiant  chief,  and  wealthy  laird 

To  gain  his  friendship  strove  ; 
Each  tyrant  trembled  at  his  name, 

Except  that  tyrant  love. 

For  long  he  woo'd  a  tender  lass, 

Elfrida  of  the  vale. 
An  equal  flame  the  lass  betray'd, 

And  heard  his  am'rous  tale. 

A  piercing  glance  her  eyes  did  shoot. 

And  ev'ry  heart  engross  ; 
Full  many  a  lover  hopeless  sigh'd. 

And  eke  Sir  John  of  Ross. 

His  mind  by  sordid  av'rice  rul'd. 

No  virtue  e'er  confess'd. 
Whilst  ev'ry  vice  that  blackens  man, 

Reign'd  lawless  in  his  breast. 

Oft  did  Sir  John  his  passion  urge, 

But  fix'd  the  maid  remained ; 
For  Perth  she  kept  her  maiden  vow, 

And  plighted  troth  maintaiii*d. 

VOL.  lY.  Z 


3S8  OLD  BALLADS. 

Fir'd  with  disdain  his  bosom  glow'd. 
His  eyes  with  choler  bright 

Darted  revenge  ;  his  soul  employ'd 
To  slay  the  rival  knight. 

Elfrida's  page,  by  money  lur'd. 

Her  secrets  to  unfold. 
In  haste  repair'd  to  John  of  Ross, 

And  joyful  tidings  told, 

"  That  young  Elfrida,  longing  maid. 

Appoints  to  meet  her  love. 
When  night  begins  to  hold  her  sway, 

And  splendid  stars  to  roye. 

Where  yonder  tuft  of  fir-trees  rise. 

And  lord  it  in  the  air, 
Sir  James  of  Perth,  with  many  a  vow, 

Expects  his  blooming  fair." 

'^  And  will  they  meet  (then  Ross  abrupt) 

This  meeting  is  their  last ; 
If  by  my  sword  Perth  doth  not  bleed, 

May  heav'n  my  body  blast." 

Ten  of  his  hardy  clan  he  chose. 
Then  plac'd  them  In  the  shade ; 

And  he  himself  with  purpose  vile. 
In  secret  ambush  laid. 


OLD  BALLADS.  339 

*Twas  night :  each  whispring  breeze  was  hush'd, 

The  moon  in  argent  robe. 
Diffusing  glory  on  her  throne, 

Illum'd  the  glowing  globe. 

Around  the  vast  etherial  lamp, 

Unnumber'd  lustres  shine ; 
The  planets,  tides  of  glory,  blaz'd. 

And  stamp'd  the  hand  divine. 


When  lo  !  the  wish'd-for  chief  advanc'd, 

Elate  with  joy  his  mind, 
His  soul  in  tender  thoughts  dissolv'd. 

And  all  to  love  resign'd. 

Impatient  of  delay.  Sir  John 
Rush'd  forward  from  the  shade ; 

"  Yield  to  our  arms,  thou  dog  of  Perth, 
Renounce  the  peerless  maid.'* 

Swift  from  the  sheath  out  flew  the  sword. 

That  glitter'd  at  his  side, 
"  Perdition  seize  me  if  I  do." 

The  knight  of  Perth  replied. 

"  I  know  thy  voice.  Sir  John  of  Ross, 
And  you  my  wondrous  might. 

When  in  the  van  at  Floddon-field, 
I  dar'd  the  bleeding  fight. 


$40  OLD  BALLADS. 

Now  hand  to  hiand  let's  here  engage, 

My  single  arm  to  thine. 
Or  I  shall  own  thy  hardy  force. 

Or  thou  shalt  bow  to  mine. 

Think  not,  Elfrida,  I'll  resign 

Or  tamely  yield  the  prize, 
Vanish  the  thought ;  for  while  I  breathe, 

I'll  live  but  in  her  eyes." 

Struck  with  his  speech,  the  knight  of  Ross 
His  temper'd  falchion  drew ; 

To  aid  their  laird  against  the  youth 
Sprung  forth  his  servile  crew. 

But  valiant  Perth,  by  rage  inspir'd. 

His  blows  with  fury  dealt. 
Till  three,  the  bravest  of  his  foes, 

The  deadly  weapon  felt. 

Two  more  unlucky  gallant  wights 
With  crimson  dy'd  his  sword ; 

But  still  he  scorn'd  ignoble  blood. 
And  thirsted  for  their  lord. 

Whilst  valour,  dancing  on  his  blade, 

United  force  defied. 
Behind  him  vilely  stepp'd  Sir  John, 

And  piere'd  him  in  the  side. 


OLD  BALLADS.  S4l 

Fir'd  with  the  base  unmanly  deed, 

Tho*  rack'd  with  deadly  pain. 
The  youth  attack'd  the  chief  of  Ross, 

And  stretch'd  him  on  the  plain. 

The  purple  gore  rush'd  out  apace. 

And  Ross  extended  fell ; 
His  men,  by  favour  of  the  night, 

Escap'd  the  hostile  steel. 

The  victor,  faint  with  loss  of  blood. 

His  knees  no  more  sustain  ; 
He  dimly  eyes  the  varied  light. 

Then  sinks  upon  the  plain. 

Now  arm'd  with  smiles,  Elfrida  parts, 

To  meet  her  inmost  soiil. 
Her  passions  bum,  her  tender  flames 

With  rapid  fvuy  roll. 

The  scene  of  death  at  length  she  reach'd^ 

And  trembled  at  the  view. 
She  shudder'd  at  the  streams  of  blood. 

And  pale  with  horror  grew. 

Too  soon  she  kenn'd  the  dismal  news, 

Too  soon  pereeiv'd  the  fray ; 
Her  soul  with  inward  horror  bled. 

And  all  dissolv'd  away. 


342  OLD  BALLADS. 

Each  lifeless  corps  she  duly  scann'd. 

At  each  she  sorely  sigh'd ; 
At  last  she  saw  Sir  James  of  Perth, 

And  Ross  adorn'd  his  side. 

.        "  One  parting  look,  ere  veil'd  in  clouds 
You  fill  the  arms  of  death ; 
Your  lov'd,  once-lov'd  Elfrida  calls  ; 
Regard  her  suppliant  breath." 

The  well-known  voice  awak'd  the  chief, 

Just  wing'd  for  endless  night ; 
The  sound  he  heard  with  dawning  glee. 

And  breath'd  with  new  delight. 

He  op'd  his  eyes,  which  faintly  shone. 
And  sigh'd ;  he  could  no  more  : 

Whilst  fair  Elfrida  beat  her  breast. 
And  plaited  garments  tore. 

Her  dismal  plaints,  from  woods  and  caves. 

And  hills  and  rocks  rebound. 
Whilst  Perth,  the  lost,  lamented  Perth, 

All  nature's  works  resound. 

Baring  her  bosom,>  white  as  snow, 

Elysium  heav'd  confest. 
Then  snatch'd  his  sword,  yet  warm  with  gore. 

And  plung'd  it  in  her  breast. 


OLD  BALLADS.   -  848 

«  And  is  it  thus  !"  with  many  a  tear, 

Exclaim'd  the  fair  divine  ; 
"  Not  death  shall  tear  thee  from  my  arms  :     ~ 

Sir  James,  I  will  be  thine." 

Thus  fell  Elfrida,  fairest  flow'r  ■ 

That  nature  e'er  brought  forth  ; 
Thus  fell  the  Wallace  of  the  age. 

The  brave  Sir  James  of  Perth. 


LIII. 

,H„UNTINa  SONG. 

[From  "  Hunting,  Hawking,  &c.  by  Bennet  Piers  and 
Ravenscroft,  4to.] 

1  H  E  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up. 
Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up, 

The  birds  they  sing. 

The  deer  they  fling. 

Hey  nonny,  nony-no : 

Tiie  hounds  they  cry. 

The  hunters  fly. 

Hey  trolilo,  trololilo. 

The  hunt  is  up,  &c. 


344  OLD  BALLADS. 

The  wood  resounds 
To  hear  the  hounds. 
Hey,  nony  nony  no  : 
The  rocks  report 
This  merry  sport. 
Hey  trolilo,  trololilo 
The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up, 
Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up. 

Then  hie  apace 
Unto  the  chace 

Hey  nony,  nony-no 
Whilst  every  thing 
Doth  sweetly  sing 
Hey  trolilo,  trololilo 
The  hunt  is  up,  the  hunt  is  up 
Sing  merrily  we,  the  hunt  is  up. 


!r  :-.  >n!> 


OLD  BALLADS.  345 


LIV. 

«  A  PLEASANT  NEW  COURT  SONG, 
Betweene  a  youpg  Courtier  and  a  Countrey  Lasse." 

To  a  new  court  tune. 

[From  a  black  letter  copy,  printed  by  the  Assigns  of  Thomas 
Symcockc] 

Upon  a  summer  s  time 

In  the  middle  of  the  morn, 
A  honny  lass  I  spied. 

The  fairest  ere  was  born, 
Fast  by  a  standing  pool 

Within  a  meadow  green. 
She  laid  herself  to  cool. 

Not  thinking  to  be  seen. 


346  OLD  BALLADS. 

She  gather'd  lovely  flowers, 

And  spent  her  time  in  sport. 
As  if  to  Cupid's  bowers 

She  daily  did  resort 
The  fields  afford  content 

Unto  this  maiden  kind. 
Much  time  and  pain  she  spent 

To  satisfy  her  mind. 

The  cowslip  there  she  cropt. 

The  daffodil  and  daisy. 
The  primrose  look'd  so  trim 

She  scorned  to  be  lazy. 
And  ever  as  she  did 

These  pretty  posies  pull. 
She  rose  and  fetch'd  a  sigh. 

And  wish'd  her  apron  full. 
♦ 

I  hearing  of  her  wish. 

Made  bold  to  step  unto  her : 
Thinking  her  love  to  win 

I  thus  began  to  woo  her. 
Fair  maid,  be  not  so  coy. 

To  kiss  thee  I  am  bent : 
O  fy,  she  cried,  away  ! 

Yet  smiling  gave  consent. 


OLD  BALLADS.     ,  347 

Then  did  I  help  to  pluck 

Of  every  flower  that  grew. 
No  herb  nor  flower  I  miss. 

But  only  thyme  and  rue,    ^ 
Both  she  and  I  took  pains 

To  gather  flowers  store. 
Until  this  maiden  said. 

Kind  Sir,  I'll  have  no  more. 

Yet  still  my  loving  heart  '-°'  ^""^  " 

Did  profl«r  more  to  pull, 
No,  Sir,  quoth  she,  I'll  part, 

Because  mine  apron's  full.  - 

No,  Sir,  I'll  take  ray  leave   ^  ''°^J 

Till  next  we  meet  againj  ^''^^ 
Rewards  me  with  a  kiss. 

And  thanks  me  for  my  pain.  ^ 

'[9t3  1 

1  xsH 


im 


S48  OLD  BALLADS. 


SECOND  PART. 


It  was  my  chance  of  late 

To  walk  the  pleasant  fields, 
Where  sweet-tun'd  chirping  birds 

Harmonious  music  yields, 
I  lent  a  listening  ear 

Unto  their  musick  rare  : 
At  last  mine  eye  did  glance 

Upon  a  damsel  fair. 

I  stept  me  close  aside 

Under  a  hawthorn  briar : 
Her  passions  laid  her  down 

O'er-rul'd  with  fond  desire. 
Alack,  fond  maid,  she  cried. 

And  straightway  fell  a  weeping. 
Why  sufFerest  thou  thy  heart 

Within  a  false  one's  keeping. 


OLD  BALLADS.  349 

Wherefore  is  Venus  queen, 

Whom  maids  adore  in  mind^ 
Obdurate  to  our  prayei*s. 

Or,  like  her  fondling,  blind : 
When  we  so  spend  our  loves. 

Whose  fond  expense  is  vain : 
For  men  are  grown  so  false. 

They  cannot  love  again. 

The  queen  of  love  doth  know 

Best  how  the  matter  stands, 
And  Hymen  knows  I  long 

To  come  within  his  bands. 
My  love  best  knows  my  love. 

And  love  repays  with  hate. 
Was  ever  Virgin's  love 

So  much  unfortunate. 


Did  my  love  fickle  prove. 

Then  had  he  cause  to  fly. 
But  I'll  be  judged  by  love, 

I  lov'd  him  constantly. 
I  hearing  of  her  rows 

Set  bashfulness  apart. 
And  striv'd  with  all  ray  skill 

To  cheer  this  maiden's  heart. 


350  OLD  BALLADS. 

I  did  instruct  her  love. 

Where  love  might  be  repaid  : 
Could  I,  quoth  she,  find  love, 

I  virere  an  happy  maid ; 
I  straight  in  love  replied. 

In  me  thou  love  shalt  find. 
So  made  the  bargain  sure. 

And  eas'd  the  maiden's  mind. 


LV. 
VENUS'S  SEARCH  AFTER  CUPID. 

[From  La-wes's  Ayres,  1663.] 

Jdbauties,  have  ye  seen  a  toy. 
Called  Lqve,  a  little  boy  ? 
Almost  naked,  wanton,  blind, 
Cniel  now,  and  then  as  kind  : 
If  he  be  amongst  you,  say. 
He  is  Venus'  run-away. 


OLD  BALLADS.  351 

She  that  will  but  now  discover 
Wliere  this  winged  wag  doth  hover. 
Shall  to  night  receive  n  kiss. 
How  or  where  herself  should  wish ; 
But  who  brings  hira  to  his  mother. 
Shall  have  that  kiss  and  another. 


Marks  he  hath  about  him  plenty, 

You  shall  know  him  among  twenty. 

All  his  body  is  a  fire. 

And  his  breath  a  flame  entire. 

That  brings  shot  (like  lightning)  in,  ; , 

Wounds  the  heart,  but  not  the  skin» 

Wings  he  hath  which  though  "he  clip, 

He  will  leap  from  lip  to  lip. 

Over  liver,  lips,  and  heart. 

But  ne'er  stay  in  any  part : 

And  if  by  chance  his  arrow  misses. 

He  will  shoot  himself  in  kisses. 

He  doth  bear  a  golden  bow. 
And  a  quiver  hanging  low. 
Full  of  arrows  that  outbrave 
Dian's  shafts;  what  if  he  have 
Any  head  more  sharp  than  other  ? 
With  that  kiss  he  strikes  his  mother. 


S52  OLD  BALLADS. 

Still  the  fairest  are  his  fuel. 
When  his  days  are  to  be  cruel, 
Lovers'  hearts  are  all  his  food. 
And  his  baths  their  warmest  blood, 
Nought  but  wounds  his  hands  doth  season. 
And  he  hates  none  like  to  reason. 

Trust  him  not,  his  words  though  sweet, 

Seldom  with  his  heart  do  meet. 

All  his  practice  is  deceit 

Every  gift  it  is  a  bait. 

Not  a  kiss  but  poison  bears. 

And  most  treason  in  his  tears. 

Idle  minutes  are  his  reign. 

Then  the  straggler  makes  his  gain, 

By  presenting  maids  with  toys. 

And  would  have  you  think  *em  joys  j 

'Tis  the  ambition  of  the  elf. 

To  have  all  childish  as  himself. 

If  by  these  ye  please  to  know  him. 
Beauties,  be  not  nice,  but  show  him. 
Though  ye  had  a  will  to  hide  him. 
Now  I  hope  ye'U  not  abide  him, 
Since  ye  hear  his  falser  play. 
And  that  he's  Venus'  run-away. 


OLD  BALLADS.  363 


LVL 

LOVE  AND  CONSTANCY, 
A  new  Play-song. 

[From  a  Royal  Garland  of  new  Songs,  12mo.  black  Idler, 
in  the  Pepys  Collection.] 

1  NEVER  saw  her  face  till  now. 

That  could  my  fancy  move, 
I  liked  and  ventured  many  a  vow. 

But  durst  not  think  of  love. 
Till  beauty  charming  every  sense. 

An  easy,  conquest  made. 
And  shew'd  the  vainness  of  defence 

When  Phillis  doth  invade. 

But  ah,  her  colder  heart  denies 

The  thoughts  her  looks  inspire. 
And  while  in  ice  that  frozen  lies. 

Her  eyes  dart  only  fire. 
Between  extremes  I  am  undone. 

Like  plants  to  northwards  set. 
Burnt  by  too  violent  a  sun. 

Or  cold  for  want  of  heat. 
VOL.  IV.  Aft 


354  OLD  BALLADS. 

Twixt  hope  and  fear  I  tortured  am. 

And  vainly  wish  for  ease. 
The  more  I  struggle  with  my  flame, 

The  more  it  doth  encrease. 
I  woo'd  and  woo'd  to  be  released 

From  these  soft  chains  I  made. 
But  if  I  strive  I'm  more  opprest 

When  Phillis  does  invade, 

O  cruel  love,  why  dost  thou  deign 

To  wound  me  with  such  smart. 
And  not  an  equal  shaft  retain 

To  melt  her  frozen  heart. 
Or  does  she  struggle  with  the  flame 

Victorious  to  be  said  ! 
For  if  she  does,  my  hopes  are  vain 

Though  Phillis  does  invade. 


OLD  BALLADS.  |9t^ 

LVIL 
UNGRATEFUL  NANNY. 

[By  Charles  Hamilton,  Lord  Binning.] 

U I D  ever  swain  a  nymph  adore. 

As  I  ungrateful  Nanny  do  ) 
Was  ever  shepherd's  heart  so  sore  ? 

Was  ever  broken  heart  so  true  ? 
My  cheeks  are  swell'd  with  tears,  but  she 
Has  never  shed  a  tear  for  me. 

If  Nanny  call'd,  did  Robin  stay  ? 

Or  linger  when  she  bid  me  run  ? 
She  only  had  the  word  to  say, 

And  all  she  ask'd  was  quickly  done  : 
I  always  thought  on  her,  but  she 
Would  ne'er  bestow  a  thought  on  me. 


To  let  her  cows  my  clover  taste. 

Have  I  not  rose  by  break  of  day  ?    ■ 

When  did  her  heifers  ever  fast,      '"^'*^  ^ 
If  Robin  in  his  yard  had  hay  ? 

Though  to  my  fields  they  welcome  were, 

I  never  welcome  was  to  her. 


556  OLD  BALLADS. 

If  Nanny  ever  lost  a  sheep, 
I  cheerfully  did  give  her  two  : 

Did  not  her  lambs  in  safety  sleep 
Within  my  folds  in  frost  and  snow  ? 

Have  they  not' there  from  cold  been  free  ? 

But  Nanny  still  is  cold  to  me. 

Whene'er  I  climb'd  our  orchard  trees. 
The  ripest  fruit  was  kept  for  Nan  : 

Oh,  how  those  hands  that  drown'ri  her  bees 
Were  stung  !  I'll  ne'er  forget  the  pain  ; 

Sweet  were  the  combs,  as  sweet  could  be. 

But  Nanny  ne'er  look'd  sweet  on  me. 

If  Nanny  to  the  well  did  come, 
Twas  I  that  did  her  pitchers  fill  j 

Full  as  they  "were  I  brought  them  home. 
Her  corn  I  carried  to  the  mill : 

My  back  did  bear  her  sacks,  but  she 

Would  never  bear  the  sight  of  me, 

To  Nanny's  poultry,  oats  I  gave, 
I'm  sure  they  always  had  the  best : 

Within  this  week  her  pigeons  have 
Eat  up  a  peck  of  peas  at  least : 

Her  little  pigeons  kiss,  but  she 

Would  never  take  a  kiss  from  me. 


OLD  BALLADS.  S57 

Must  Robin  always  Nanny  woo  ? 

And  Nanny  still  on  Robin  frown  ? 
Alas  !  poor  wretcb,  whkt  shall  I  do 

If  Nanny  does  not  love  me  soon  ? 
■If  no  relief  to  me,  she'll  bring 
I'll  hang  me  in  her  apron  string. 


LVIII. 

SONG. 

[By  Sir  Robert  Aytoun,  Secretary  of  State  during  part  of 
the  reigns  of  William  and  Mary,  and  Queen.  Ann.] 

VY  H  AT   means  this  strangeness  now  of  late. 

Since  time  must  truth  approve  ? 
This  distance  may  consist  with  state. 

It  cannot  stand  with  love. 

Tis  either  cunning  or  distrust 

That  may  such  ways  allow  : 
The  first  is  base,  the  last  unjust  j 

Let  neither  blemish  vou. 


358  OLD  BALLADS. 

For  if  you  mean  to  draw  me  on, 
There  needs  not  half  this  art : 

And  if  you  mean  to  have  me  gone. 
You  over-act  your  part. 

If  kindness  cross  your  wish'd  content. 
Dismiss  me  with  a  frown, 

I'll  give  you  all  the  love  that's  spent, 
The  rest  shall  be  my  own. 


LIX. 

THE  DUKE  OF  SUFFOLK'S  ADDRESS  TO 
aUEEN  KATHERINE. 

[From  the  scarce  Romaaee  of  "  Albion's  Queene,"  4to.  1601.] 

**  The  Duke  of  Suffolke  on  tiie  oilier  side,  as  well. furnished 
in  all  respects,  nothing  doubted  the  good  su'ccesse  of  his 
adventure^  being  borne  of  a  noble  famelife-  vaJiant,  and 
well  exercised  in  the  feates  of  armes,  i;epul)edl  for  the  _ 
goodlyest  gentleman  in  the  nniversall  countrey  of  Eng- 
land:  so  laying  aside  his  courtly  delightes  used  in  the 
blooming  time  of  his  youth,  and  putting  on  ii^vincible. 
firme  and  approved  magnantmitie  of  body,  Tie  came  the 
uyght  before  the  combat  should  be  tryed  to  <iuertre  Ka- 
thcrines  chamber  window,  being  both  prisoners  in  one 


OLD  BALLADS.  969 

Tower,  nothing  but  a  -wall  betweene  their  severall  lodg- 
inges,  where  as  the  Duke  of  SufFoIke  sung  these  verses 
following." 

Hevenge,  ring  out  thy  knell,  let  truth  appear 
To  change  my  bitter  springs  to  waters  clear : 
Go  pack,  Despair,  thy  sight  I  do  disdain. 
My  knightly  deeds  bright  honour  shall  obtain. 

Faint  Fear,  dislodge  thee  from  my  noble  breast. 
Thou  art  no  friend  of  mine,  nor  wished  guest : 
For  Coward  Captain  wins  no  stately  forts. 
Nor  rotten  bark  arrives  in  pleasant  ports. 

Assurance  tells  the  secrets  of  my  heart. 
That  Falsehood  shall  receive  his  due  desert. 
Proud  Envy  then  shall  not  obscure  the  light 
Of  Honour's  brightness  with  his  hateful  spite. 

Oh  sacred  heavens,  accomplish  my  desire  ! 
That  I  may  quench  the  heat  of  Envy's  fire  ; 
Whereby  my  sad  and  discontented  mind 
May  gentle  solace  aad  sweet  comfort  find. 


360  OLD  BALLADS. 


LX. 

QUEEN  i^ATHERINE'S  SONG  TO  THE 
DUKE  OF  SUFFOLK. 

VjooD  luck  conduct  thy  mind  unto  coiit^htj  ' 
To  conquer  him  that  is  so  lewdly  bent, 
To  set  derision  'twixt  my  lord  and  me, 
In  spoiling  of  my  blooming  chastity. 

Stay  stately  pride,  climb  up  thy  steps  no  higher. 
But  soon  disgorge  thy  hot  ambitious  fire. 
For  if  queeTi  Katherine  ever  lived  so, 
Let  gravelled  grave  be  cradle  for  her  woe. 

Suspicion  leave  to  vex  such  worthy  wights' 
Which  spend  their  days  in  virtue's  sweet  delights. 
Nor  let  the  cruelty  of  spiteful  foes 
Plant  up  a  dock,  unroot  a  smelling  rose. 

Victorious  pomp  will  shortly  seek  to  crown 
Thy  princely  brows  with  garlands  of  renown. 
Which  evermore  shall  spring  and  flourish  green. 
For  thus  defending  of  a  wronged  queen. 


OLD  BALLADS.  3^;i 

.      LXI.     ' 

THE  MARQUIS  OF  MONTROSE'S 

Address  to  his  Mistress. 

[James  Graham,  Marquis  of  Montrose,  was  born  in  1612, 
and  executed  by  order  of  the  Republican  Goyernraent, 
for  treason  against  the  state,  in  1650.  Clarendon  says  he 
well  deserved  to  have  his  memory  preserved  and  cele- 
brated amongst  the  most  illustrious  persons  of  the  age  in 
which  he  lived.  The  following  poem  is  taken  from 
Watson's  scarce  collection  of  Scotch  Poems,  part  3, 
1711.] 

jMy  dear,  and  only  love,  I  pray 

This  noble  world  of  thee. 
Be  govern'd  by  no  other  sway. 

But  purest  monarchy. 
For  if  confusion  have  a  part. 

Which  virtuous  souls  abhor. 
And  hold  a  synod  in  thy  heart, 

I'll  never  love  thee  more. 


Like  Alexander  I  will  reign. 

And  I  will  reign  alone, 
My  thoughts  shall  evermore  disdain 

A  rival  on  ray  throne. 
He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much. 

Or  his  deserts  are  small. 
That  puts  it  not  unto  the  touch, 

To  win  or  lose  it  all. 


^2  Oil)  BALL.\DS. 

But  I  must  rule  and  govern  still,       ' 

And  always  give  the  law ; 
And  have  each  subject  at  ray  will, 

And  all  to  stand  in  awe. 
JBut  'gainst  my  battery  if  I  find 

Thou  shun'st  the  prize  so  sore, 
As  that  thou  set'st  me  up  a  blind, 

ril  never  love  thee  more. 

I- 

Or  in  the  einpire  of  thy  heart. 

Where  I  should  solely  be. 
Another  do  pretend  a  part. 

And  dares  to  vie  with  me. 
Or  if  committees  thou  erect 

And  goes  on  such  a  score, 
I'll  sing  and  laugh  at  thy  neglect. 

And  never  love  thee  more. 

But  if  thou  wilt  be  constant  then. 

And  faithful  of  my  word, 
I'll  make  thee  glonous  by  my  pen. 

And  famous  by  my  sword. 
I'll  serve  thee  in  such  noble  ways 

Was  never  heard  before  : 
I'll  crown  and  deck  thee  all  with  bays. 

And  love  thee  evermore. 


OLD  BALLADS.  863 


SECOND  PART. 


My  dear  and  only  Love,  take  heed 

Lest  thou  thyself  expose. 
And  let  all  longing  lorers  ifeed 

Upon  such  looks  as  those. 
A  marble  wall  then  build  about. 

Beset  without  a  door. 
But  if  thou  let  thy  heart  fly  out, 

I'll  never  love  thee  more. 

Let  not  their  oaths,  like  vollies  shot. 

Make  any  breach  at  all ; 
Nor  smoothness  of  their  language  plot 

Which  way  to  scale  the  wall ; 
Nor  balls  of  wild  fire.  Love,  consume 

The  shrine  which  I  adore  : 
For  if  such  smoke  about  thee  fume, 

I'll  never  love  thee  more. 


M4  OLD  BALLADS. 

I  think  thy  virtues  be  too  strong 

To  suffer  by  surprise : 
Which  victuall'd  by  my  love  so  long. 

The  siege  at  length  must  rise. 
And  leave  thee  ruled  in  that  health. 

And  state  thou  was  before. 
But  if  thou  turn  a  common- wealth, 

I'll  never  love  thee  more. 


But  if  by  fraud,  or  by  consent. 

Thy  heart  to  ruin  come, 
I'll  sound  no  trumpet  as  I  wont. 

Nor  march  by  tuck  of  drum ; 
But  hold  my  arms  like  ensigns,  up. 

Thy  falshood  to  deplore, 
And  bitterly  will  sigh  and  weep, 

And  never  love  thee  more. 

I'll  do  with  thee  as  Nero  did. 

When  Rome  was  set  on  fire,,;.j^y^ 
Not  only  all  relief  forbid,  , .  j,,/ 

But  to  a  hill  retire ; 
And  scorn  to  shed  a  tear  to  see 

Thy  spirit  grown  so  poor, 
But  smiling  sing  until  I  die, 

I'll  never  love  thee  raor«. 


OLD  BALLADSr  065 

Yet  for  the  love  I  bare  thee  once,  >'*'f  yM- 

Lest  that  thy  name  sho'ild  die,    "'  ^ 
A  monument  of  marble  stone. 

The  truth  shall  testify  ;      -ji^d^iia* » 
That  every  pilgrim  passing  by. 

May  pity  and  deplore 
My  case,  and  read  the  reason  why'>'^^^  f 

I  can  love  thee  no  more.      •  IjIuqo  1 

The  golden  laws  of  love  shall  be''"    '""'  ^ 

Upon  this  pillar  hung, 
A  simple  heart,  a  single  eye, 

A  true  and  constant  tongue,        * 

Let  no  man  for  more  love  preten4^^     ■'- 

Than  he  has  hearts  in  storCr*  ^"^^  ^ 
True  love  begun  shall  never  end. 

Love  one  and  love  no  more. 

Then  shall  thy  heart  be  set  by  mine,     '' 

But  in  far  different  case  :     .'   '  ^"" 
For  mine  was  true,  so  was  not  thine,""'' 

But  look'd  like  Janus'  face. 
For  as  the  waves  with  every  wind,'*"*'*  ^*^ 

So  sails  thou  every  shore. 
And  leaves  my  constant  heart  behiirt^^ '  ^ 

JIow  can  I  love  thee  more  ['     ^^^' ' 


366  OLD  BALLADS. 

My  heart  shall  with  the  sun  be  fix'd. 

For  constancy  most  strange. 
And  thine  shall  with  the  moon  be  mix'd. 

Delighting  age  in  change. 
Thy  beauty  shin'd  at  first  most  bright. 

And  woe  is  me  therefore. 
That  ever  I  found  thy  love  so  light, 

1  could  love  thee  no  more. 

The  misty  mountains,  smoky  lakes, 

The  rocks  resounding  echo. 
The  whistling  wind  that  murmurs  makes, 

Shall  with  me  sing  hey  ho. 
The  tossing  seas,  the  tumbling  boats. 

Tears  dropping  from  each  shore, 
Shall  tune  with  me  their  turtle  notes, 

rU  never  love  thee  more. 

As  doth  the  turtle  chaste  and  true 

Her  fellow's  death  regret. 
And  daily  mourns  for  his  adieu. 

And  ne'er  renews  her  mate  j 
So  though  thy  faith  was  never  fast. 

Which  grieves  me  wondrous  sore. 
Yet  I  shall  live  in  love  so  chaste. 

That  I  shall  love  no  more. 


OLD  BALLADS.  iGf 

And  when  all  gallants  ride  about. 

These  monuments  to  view. 
Whereon  is  written  in  and  out. 

Thou  traitorous  and  untrue. 
Then  in  a  passion  they  shall  pause. 

And  thus  say,  sighing  sore, 
Alas  !  he  had  too  just  a  cause. 

Never  to  love  thee  more. 

And  when  that  tracing  goddess  fame. 

From  east  to  west  shall  flee. 
She  shall  record  it  to  thy  shame. 

How  thou  hast  loved  me  : 
And  how  in  odds  our  love  was  such. 

As  few  has  been  before. 
Thou  loved  too  many  and  I  too  much. 

That  I  can  love  no  more. 


THE  END. 


Lomlon  :  Printed  by  W.  Bulmer  and  Co. 
Clcvcland-Row,  St.  James's. 


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