No incident is more common in romantic fiction, than the employment of
some magical contrivance as a test of conjugal fidelity, or of
constancy in love. In some romances of the Round Table, and tales
founded upon them, this experiment is performed by means either of an
enchanted horn, of such properties that no dishonoured husband or
unfaithful wife can drink from it without spilling, or of a mantle
which will fit none but chaste women. The earliest known instances of
the use of these ordeals are afforded by the Lai du Corn, by Robert
Bikez, a French minstrel of the twelfth or thirteenth century, and the
Fabliau du Mantel Mautaillé, which, in the opinion of a competent
critic, dates from the second half of the thirteenth century, and is
only the older lay worked up into a new shape. (Wolf, Ueber die
Lais, 327, sq., 342, sq.) We are not to suppose, however, that either
of these pieces presents us with the primitive form of this humorous
invention. Robert Bikez tells us that he learned his story from an
abbot, and that "noble ecclesiast" stood but one further back in a
line of tradition which curiosity will never follow to its source. We
shall content ourselves with noticing the most remarkable cases of the
use of these and similar talismans in imaginative literature.
In the Roman de Tristan, a composition of unknown antiquity, the
frailty of nearly all the ladies at the court of King Marc is exposed
by their essaying a draught from the marvellous horn, (see the English
Morte Arthur, Southey's ed. i. 297.) In the Roman de Perceval, the
knights, as well as the ladies, undergo this probation. From some one
of the chivalrous romances Ariosto adopted the wonderful vessel into
his Orlando, (xlii. 102, sq., xliii. 31, sq.,) and upon his
narrative La Fontaine founded the tale and the comedy of La Coupe
Enchantée. In German, we have two versions of the same story,—one,
an episode in the Krone of Heinrich vom Türlein, thought to have
been borrowed from the Perceval of Chrétien de Troyes, (Die Sage
vom Zauberbecher, in Wolf, Ueber die Lais, 378,) and another, which
we have not seen, in Bruns, Beiträge zur kritischen Bearbeitung alter
Handschriften, ii. 139; while in English, it is represented by the
highly amusing "bowrd," which we are about to print, and which we have
called The Horn of King Arthur. The forms of the tale of the Mantle
are not so numerous. The fabliau already mentioned was reduced to
prose in the sixteenth century, and published at Lyons, (in 1577,) as
Le Manteau mal taillé, (Legrand's Fabliaux, 3d ed., i. 126,) and
under this title, or that of Le Court Mantel, is very well known. An
old fragment (Der Mantel) is given in Haupt and Hoffmann's
Altdeutsche Blätter, ii. 217, and the story is also in Bruns
Beiträge. Lastly, we find the legends of the horn and the mantle
united, as in the German ballad Die Ausgleichung, (Des Knaben
Wunderhorn, i. 389,) and in the English ballad of The Boy and The
Mantle, where a magical knife is added to the other curiosities. All
three of these, by the way, are claimed by the Welsh as a part of the
insignia of Ancient Britain, and the special property of Tegau
Eurvron, the wife of Caradog with the strong arm. (Jones, Bardic
Museum, p. 49.)
In other departments of romance, many other objects are endowed with
the same or an analogous virtue. In Indian and Persian story, the test
of innocence is a red lotus-flower; in Amadis, a garland, which
fades on the brow of the unfaithful; in Perceforest, a rose. The
Lay of the Rose in Perceforest, is the original (according to
Schmidt) of the much-praised tale of Senecé, Camille, ou la Manière
de filer le parfait Amour, (1695,)—in which a magician presents a
jealous husband with a portrait in wax, that will indicate by change
of color the infidelity of his wife,—and suggested the same device in
the twenty-first novel of Bandello, (Part First,) on the translation
of which in Painter's Palace of Pleasure, (vol. ii. No. 28,)
Massinger founded his play of The Picture. Again, in the tale of
Zeyn Alasman and the King of the Genii, in the Arabian Nights, the
means of proof is a mirror, that reflects only the image of a spotless
maiden; in that of the carpenter and the king's daughter, in the
Gesta Romanorum, (c. 69,) a shirt, which remains clean and whole as
long as both parties are true; in Palmerin of England, a cup of
tears, which becomes dark in the hands of an inconstant lover; in the
Fairy Queen, the famous girdle of Florimel; in Horn and Rimnild
(Ritson, Metrical Romances, iii. 301,) as well as in one or two
ballads in this collection, the stone of a ring; in a German ballad,
Die Krone der Königin von Afion, (Erlach, Volkslieder der
Deutschen, i. 132,) a golden crown, that will fit the head of no
incontinent husband. Without pretending to exhaust the subject, we may
add three instances of a different kind: the Valley in the romance of
Lancelot, which being entered by a faithless lover would hold him
imprisoned forever; the Cave in Amadis of Gaul, from which the
disloyal were driven by torrents of flame; and the Well in Horn and
Rimnild, (ibid.) which was to show the shadow of Horn, if he proved
false.
In conclusion, we will barely allude to the singular anecdote related
by Herodotus, (ii. 111,) of Phero, the son of Sesostris, in which the
experience of King Marc and King Arthur is so curiously anticipated.
In the early ages, as Dunlop has remarked, some experiment for
ascertaining the fidelity of women, in defect of evidence, seems
really to have been resorted to. "By the Levitical law," (Numbers v.
11-31,) continues that accurate writer, "there was prescribed a mode
of trial, which consisted in the suspected person drinking water in
the tabernacle. The mythological fable of the trial by the Stygian
fountain, which disgraced the guilty by the waters rising so as to
cover the laurel wreath of the unchaste female who dared the
examination, probably had its origin in some of the early institutions
of Greece or Egypt. Hence the notion was adopted in the Greek
romances, the heroines of which were invariably subjected to a magical
test of this nature, which is one of the few particulars in which any
similarity of incident can be traced between the Greek novels and the
romances of chivalry." See DUNLOP, History of Fiction, London, 1814,
i. 239, sq.; LEGRAND, Fabliaux, 3d ed., i. 149, sq., 161; SCHMIDT,
Jahrbücher der Literatur, xxix. 121; WOLF, Ueber die Lais,
174-177; and, above all, GRAESSE'S Sagenkreise des Mittelalters,
185, sq.
The Boy and the Mantle was "printed verbatim" from the Percy MS., in
the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, iii. 38.
In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child,
That cold much of wisdome.
5
A kirtle and a mantle
This child had uppon,
With
brouches and ringes
Full richelye bedone.
He had a sute of silke
10
About his middle drawne;
Without he cold of curtesye,
He thought itt much shame.
"God speed thee, King Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate:
15
And the goodly Queene Guéver
I cannott her forgett,
"I tell you, lords, in this hall,
I hett
you all to heede,
Except you be the more surer,
20
Is you for to dread."
He plucked out of his poterner,
And longer wold not dwell;
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
25
"Have thou here, King Arthur,
Have thou heere of mee;
Give itt to thy comely queene,
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
Itt shall never become that wiffe,
30
That hath once done amisse:
Then every knight in the kings court
Began to care for his.
Forth came dame Guénever;
To the mantle shee her hied;
35
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett shee was affrayd.
When shee had taken the mantle,
She stoode as shee had beene madd:
It was from the top to the toe,
40
As sheeres had itt shread.
One while was it gule,
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was it wadded;
Ill itt did her beseeme.
45
Another while was it blacke,
And bore the worst hue:
"By my troth," quoth King Arthur,
"I think thou be not true."
She threw down the mantle,
50
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
She curst the weaver and the walker
That clothe that had wrought,
And bade a vengeance on his crowne
55
That hither hath itt brought.
"I had rather be in a wood,
Under a greene tree,
Then in King Arthurs court
60
Shamed for to bee."
Kay called forth his ladye,
And bade her come neere;
Saies, "Madam, and thou be guiltye,
I pray thee hold thee there."
65
Forth came his ladye,
Shortlye and anon;
Boldlye to the mantle
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
70
And cast it her about,
Then was shee bare
'Before all the rout.'
Then every knight,
That was in the kings court,
75
Talked, laughed,
and showted
Full oft att that sport.
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a red rudd,
80
To her chamber can shee flee.
Forth came an old knight,
Pattering ore a creede,
And he proferred to this litle boy
Twenty markes to his meede,
And all the time of the Christmasse,
85
Willinglye to ffeede;
For why, this mantle might
Doe his wiffe some need.
When she had tane the mantle,
90
Of cloth that was made,
Shee had no more left on her,
But a tassell and a threed:
Then every knight in the kings court
Bade evill might shee speed.
95
Shee threw downe the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
And fast, with a redd rudd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
100
Craddocke called forth his ladye,
And bade her come in;
Saith, "Winne this mantle, ladye,
With a little dinne.
Winne this mantle, ladye,
And it shal be thine,
105
If thou never did amisse
Since thou wast mine."
Forth came Craddockes ladye,
Shortlye and anon;
But boldlye to the mantle
110
Then is shee gone.
When she had tane the mantle,
And cast it her about,
Upp at her great toe
It began to crinkle and crowt:
115
Shee said, "Bowe downe, mantle,
And shame me not for nought.
Once I did amisse,
I tell you certainlye,
When I kist Craddockes mouth
120
Under a greene tree;
Before he marryed mee."
When shee had her shreeven,
And her sines shee had tolde,
125
The mantle stoode about her
Right as shee wold,
Seemelye of coulour,
Glittering like gold:
Then every knight in Arthurs court
130
Did her behold.
Then spake dame Guénever
To Arthur our king;
"She hath tane yonder mantle
Not with right,
but with wronge.
135
See you not yonder woman,
That maketh her self soe 'cleane'?
I have seene tane out of her bedd
Of men fiveteene;
Priests, clarkes, and wedded men
140
From her, bydeene:
Yett shee taketh the mantle,
And maketh her self cleane."
Then spake the little boy,
That kept the mantle in hold;
145
Sayes, "King, chasten thy wiffe,
Of her words shee is to bold:
Shee is a bitch and a witch,
And a whore bold:
King, in thine owne hall
150
Thou art a cuckold."
The little boy stoode
Looking out a dore;
'And there as he was lookinge
He was ware of a wyld bore.'
155
He was ware of a wyld bore,
Wold have werryed a man:
He pulld forth a wood kniffe,
Fast thither that he ran:
He brought in the bores head,
160
And quitted him like a man.
He brought in the bores head,
And was wonderous bold:
He said there was never a cuckolds kniffe
Carve itt that cold.
165
Some rubbed their knives
Uppon a whetstone:
Some threw them under the table,
And said they had none.
King Arthur and the child
170
Stood looking them upon;
All their knives edges
Turned backe againe.
Craddocke had a little knive
Of iron and of steele;
175
He britled
the bores head
Wonderous weele,
That every knight in the kings court
Had a morssell.
The little boy had a horne,
180
Of red gold that ronge:
He said there was "noe cuckolde
Shall drinke of my horne,
But he shold it sheede,
Either behind or beforne."
185
Some shedd on their shoulder,
And some on their knee;
He that cold not hitt his mouthe,
Put it in his eye:
And he that was a cuckold
190
Every man might him see.
Craddocke wan the horne,
And the bores head:
His ladie wan the mantle
Unto her meede.
195
Everye such a lovely ladye
God send her well to speede.
This amusing piece was first published entire in Hartshorne's Ancient
Metrical Tales, p. 209, but with great inaccuracies. It is there
called The Cokwolds Daunce. A few extracts had previously been given
from the MS., in the Notes to Orfeo and Heurodis, in Laing's Early
Popular Poetry of Scotland. Mr. Wright contributed a corrected
edition to Karajan's Frühlingsgabe für Freunde älterer Literatur.
That work not being at the moment obtainable, the Editor was saved
from the necessity of reprinting or amending a faulty text, by the
kindness of J.O. Halliwell, Esq., who sent him a collation of
Hartshorne's copy with the Oxford manuscript.
All that wyll of solas lere,
Herkyns now, and ȝe schall here,
And ȝe kane vnderstond;
Off a bowrd I wyll ȝou schew,
5
That ys full gode and trew,
That fell some tyme in Ynglond.
Kynge Arthour was off grete honour,
Off castellis and of many a toure,
And full wyde iknow;
10
A gode ensample I wyll ȝou sey,
What chanse befell hym one a dey;
Herkyn to my saw!
Cokwoldes he louyd, as I ȝou plyȝt;
He honouryd them, both dey and nyght,
15
In all maner of thyng;
And as I rede in story,
He was kokwold sykerly;
Ffor sothê it is no lesyng.
Herkyne, seres, what I sey;
Her may ȝe here solas and pley,
20
Iff ȝe wyll take gode hede;
Kyng Arthour had a bugyll horn,
That ever mour stod hym be forn,
Were so that ever he ȝede.
25
Ffor when he was at the bord sete,
Anon the horne schuld be
fette,
Ther off that he myght drynk;
Ffor myche crafte he couth thereby,
And ofte tymes the treuth he sey;
30
Non other couth he thynke.
Iff any cokwold drynke of it,
Spyll he schuld, withouten lette;
Therfor thei wer not glade;
Gret dispyte thei had therby,
35
Because it dyde them vilony,
And made them oft tymes sade.
When the kyng wold hafe solas,
The bugyll was
fett into the plas,
To make solas and game;
40
And then changyd the cokwoldes chere;
The kyng them callyd ferre and nere,
Lordynges, by ther name.
Than men myght se game inowȝe,
When every cokwold on other leuȝe,
45
And ȝit thei schamyd sore:
Where euer the cokwoldes wer sought,
Befor the kyng thei were brought,
Both lesse and more.
Kyng Arthour than, verament,
50
Ordeynd, throw hys awne assent,
Ssoth as I ȝow sey,
The tabull dormounte withouten lette;
Ther at the cokwoldes wer sette,
To have solas and pley.
55
Ffor at the bord schuld be non other
Bot euery cokwold and his
brother;
To tell treuth I must nedes;
And when the cokwoldes wer sette,
Garlandes of wylos sculd be fette,
60
And sett vpon ther hedes.
Off the best mete, withoute lesyng,
That stode on bord befor the kyng,
Both ferr and nere,
To the cokwoldes he sente anon,
65
And bad them be glad euerychon,
Ffor his sake make gode chere.
And seyd, "Lordyngs, for ȝour lyues,
Be neuer the wrother with ȝour wyues,
Ffor no manner of nede:
70
Off women com duke and kyng;
I ȝow tell without lesyng,
Of them com owre manhed.
So it befell sertenly,
The duke off Glosseter com in hyȝe,
75
To the courte with full gret myȝht;
He was reseyued at the kyngs palys,
With mych honour and grete solas,
With lords that were well dygȝht.
With the kyng ther dyde he dwell,
80
Bot how long I can not tell,
Therof knaw I non name;
Off kyng Arthour a wonder case,
Frendes, herkyns how it was,
Ffor now begynes game.
85
Vppon a dey, withouten lette,
The duke with the kyng was sette,
At mete with mykill pride;
He lukyd abowte wonder faste,
Hys syght on euery syde he caste
90
To them that sate besyde.
The kyng aspyed the erle anon,
And fast he lowȝhe the erle vpon,
And bad he schuld be glad;
And yet, for all hys grete honour,
95
Cokwold was Kyng Arthour,
Ne galle non he had.
So at the last, the duke he brayd,
And to the kyng thes wordes
sayd;
He myght no longer forbere;
100
"Syr, what hath thes men don,
That syche garlondes thei were vpon?
That skyll wold I lere."
The kyng seyd the erle to,
"Syr, non hurte they haue do,
105
Ffor this was thruȝh a chans.
Sertes thei be fre men all,
Ffor non of them hath no gall;
Therfor this is ther penans.
"Ther wyves hath ben merchandabull,
110
And of ther ware compenabull;
Methinke it is non herme;
A man of lufe that wold them craue,
Hastely he schuld it haue,
Ffor thei couth not hym wern.
115
"All theyr wyves, sykerlyke,
Hath vsyd the
backefysyke,
Whyll thes men were oute;
And ofte they haue draw that draught,
To vse well the lechers craft,
120
With rubyng of ther toute.
"Syr," he seyd, "now haue I redd;
Ete we now, and make vs glad,
And euery man fle care;"
The duke seyd to hym anon,
125
"Than be thei cokwoldes, everychon;"
The kyng seyd, "hold the there."
The kyng than, after the erlys word,
Send to the cokwolds bord,
To make them mery among,
130
All manner of mynstralsy,
To glad the cokwolds by and by
With herpe, fydell, and song:
And bad them take no greffe,
Bot all with loue and with leffe,
135
Euery man ... with other;
Ffor after mete, without distans,
The cockwolds schuld together danse,
Euery man with hys brother.
Than began a nobull game:
140
The cockwolds together came
Befor the erle and the kyng;
In skerlet kyrtells over one,
The cokwoldes stodyn euerychon,
Redy vnto the dansyng.
145
Than seyd the kyng in hye,
"Go fyll my bugyll hastely,
And bryng it to my hond.
I wyll asey with a gyne
All the cokwolds that her is in;
150
To know them wyll I fond."
Than seyd the erle, "for charyte,
In what skyll, tell me,
A cokwold may I know?"
To the erle the kyng ansuerd,
155
"Syr, be myn hore berd,
Thou schall se within a throw."
The bugyll was brought the kyng to hond.
Then seyd the kyng, "I vnderstond,
Thys horne that ȝe here se,
160
Ther is no cockwold, fer ne nere,
Here of to drynke hath no power,
As wyde as Crystiante,
"Bot he schall spyll on euery syde;
Ffor any cas that may betyde,
165
Schall non therof avanse."
And ȝit, for all hys grete honour,
Hymselfe, noble kyng Arthour,
Hath forteynd syche a chans.
"Syr erle," he seyd, "take and begyn."
170
He seyd; "nay, be seynt Austyn,
That wer to me vylony;
Not for all a reme to wyn,
Befor you I schuld begyn,
Ffor honour off my curtassy."
175
Kyng Arthour ther he toke the horn,
And dyde as he was wont beforn,
Bot ther was ȝit gon a gyle:
He wend to haue dronke of the best,
Bot sone he spyllyd on hys brest,
180
Within a lytell whyle.
The cokwoldes lokyd iche on other,
And thought the kyng was their own brother,
And glad thei wer of that:
"He hath vs scornyd many a tyme,
185
And now he is a cokwold fyne,
To were a cokwoldes hate."
The quene was therof schamyd sore;
Sche changyd hyr colour lesse and more,
And wold haue ben a wey.
190
Therwith the kyng gan hyr behold,
And seyd he schuld neuer be so bold,
The soth agene to sey.
"Cokwoldes no mour I wyll repreue,
Ffor I ame ane, and aske no leue,
195
Ffor all my rentes and londys.
Lordyngs, all now may ȝe know
That I may dance in the cokwold row,
And take ȝou by the handes."
Than seyd thei all at a word,
200
That cokwoldes schuld begynne the bord,
And sytt hyest in the halle.
"Go we, lordyngs, all [and] same,
And dance to make vs gle and game,
Ffor cokwolds have no galle."
205
And after that sone anon,
The kyng causyd the cokwolds ychon
To wesch withouten les;
Ffor ought that euer may betyde,
He sett them by hys awne syde,
210
Vp at the hyȝe dese.
The kyng hymselff a gurlond fette;
Uppon hys hede he it sette,
Ffor it myght be non other,
And seyd, "Lordyngs, sykerly,
215
We be all off a freyry;
I ame ȝour awne brother.
"Be Jhesu Cryst that is aboffe,
That man aught me gode loffe
That ley by my quene:
220
I wer worthy hym to honour,
Both in castell and in towre,
With rede, skerlet and grene.
"Ffor him he helpyd, when I was forth,
To cher my wyfe and make her myrth;
225
Ffor women louys wele pley;
And therfor, serys, have ȝe no dowte
Bot many schall dance in the cokwoldes rowte,
Both by nyght and dey.
"And therefor, lordyngs, take no care;
230
Make we mery; for nothing spare;
All brether in one rowte."
Than the cokwoldes wer full blythe,
And thankyd God a hundred syth,
Ffor soth withouten dowte.
235
Every cokwold seyd to other,
"Kyng Arthour is our awne brother,
Therfor we may be blyth:"
The erle off Glowsytur verament,
Toke hys leve, and home he wente,
240
And thankyd the kyng fele sythe.
Kyng Arthour
lived at Karlyon,
With hys cokwolds euerychon,
And made both gam and gle:
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * *
A knyght ther was withouten les,
245
That seruyd at the kyngs des,
Syr Corneus hyght he;
He made this gest in hys gam,
And named it after hys awne name,
In herpyng or other gle.
250
And after, nobull kyng Arthour
Lyued and dyed with honour,
As many hath don senne,
Both cokwoldes and other mo:
God gyff vs grace that we may go
To heuyn! Amen, Amen.
243, Three lines omitted in MS.
This is one of the few ballads contained in the Percy MS., which we
have the pleasure of possessing as it is there written. Having first
submitted an improved copy, "with large conjectural supplements and
corrections," Percy added this old fragment at the end of the volume:
"literally and exactly printed, with all its defects, inaccuracies,
and errata," in order, as he triumphantly remarks, "that such austere
antiquaries as complain that the ancient copies have not been always
rigidly adhered to, may see how unfit for publication many of the
pieces would have been, if all the blunders, corruptions, and nonsense
of illiterate reciters and transcribers had been superstitiously
retained, without some attempt to correct and amend them."
"This ballad," the Editor of the Reliques goes on to say, "has most
unfortunately suffered by having half of every leaf in this part of
the MS. torn away; and, as about nine stanzas generally occur in the
half-page now remaining, it is concluded that the other half
contained nearly the same number of stanzas." The story may be seen,
unmutilated and in an older form, in Madden's Syr Gawayne, p. 298,
The Weddynge of Syr Gawen and Dame Ragnell.
The transformation on which the story turns is found also in Chaucer's
Wife of Bath's Tale, in Gower's tale of Florent and the King of
Sicily's Daughter; (Confessio Amantis, Book I.) in the ballad of
King Henry (page 147 of this volume); and in an Icelandic saga of
the Danish king Helgius, quoted by Scott in his illustrations to King
Henry, Minstrelsy, iii. 274.
Voltaire has employed the same idea in his Ce qui plaît aux Dames,
but whence he borrowed it we are unable to say.
Worked over by some ballad-monger of the sixteenth century, and of
course reduced to dish-water, this tale has found its way into The
Crown Garland of Golden Roses, Part I. p. 68 (Percy Society, vol.
vi.), Of a Knight and a Faire Virgin.
Kinge Arthur liues in merry Carleile,
And seemely is to see;
And there he hath with him Queene Genever,
That bride so bright of blee.
And there he hath with him Queene Genever,
5
That bride soe bright in bower;
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.
The King kept a royall Christmasse,
10
Of mirth & great honor;
...when..
[About nine stanzas wanting.]
"And bring me word what thing it is
That women most desire;
This shalbe thy ransome, Arthur," he sayes,
15
"For Ile haue no other hier."
King Arthur then held vp his hand,
According thene as was the law;
He tooke his leaue of the baron there,
And homword can he draw.
20
And when he came to merry Carlile,
To his chamber he is gone;
And ther came to him his cozen, Sir Gawaine,
As he did make his mone.
And there came to him his cozen, Sir Gawaine,
25
That was a curteous knight;
"Why sigh you soe sore, vnckle Arthur," he said,
"Or who hath done thee vnright?"
"O peace! o peace! thou gentle Gawaine,
That faire may thee beffall;
30
For if thou knew my sighing soe deepe,
Thou wold not meruaile att all.
"Ffor when I came to Tearne-wadling,
A bold barron there I fand;
With a great club vpon his backe,
35
Standing stiffe & strong.
"And he asked me wether I wold fight
Or from him I shold be gone;
Or else I must him a ransome pay,
And soe depart him from.
40
"To fight with him I saw noe cause,
Me thought it was not meet;
For he was stiffe and strong with all;
His strokes were nothing sweete.
"Therefor this is my ransome, Gawaine,
45
I ought to him to pay;
I must come againe, as I am sworne,
Vpon the Newyeers day.
"And I must bring him word what thing it is
[About nine stanzas wanting.]
Then King Arthur drest him for to ryde,
50
In one soe riche array,
Towards the foresaid Tearne-wadling,
That he might keepe his day.
And as he rode over a more,
Hee see a lady, where shee sate,
55
Betwixt an oke and a greene hollen;
She was clad in red scarlett.
Then there as shold have stood her mouth,
Then there was sett her eye;
The other was in her forhead fast,
60
The way that she might see.
Her nose was crooked, & turnd outward,
Her mouth stood foule a-wry;
A worse formed lady then shee was,
Neuer man saw with his eye.
65
To halch vpon him, King Arthur,
This lady was full faine;
But King Arthur had forgott his lesson,
What he shold say againe.
"What knight art thou," the lady sayd,
70
"That wilt not speake to me?
Of me [be] thou nothing dismayd,
Tho I be vgly to see.
"For I haue halched you curteouslye,
And you will not me againe;
75
Yett I may happen, Sir knight," shee said,
"To ease thee of thy paine."
"Giue thou ease me, lady," he said,
"Or helpe me any thing,
Thou shalt haue gentle Gawaine, my cozen,
80
And marry him with a ring."
"Why if I helpe thee not, thou noble King Arthur,
Of thy owne hearts desiringe,
Of gentle Gawaine....
[About nine stanzas wanting.]
And when he came to the Tearne-wadling,
85
The baron there cold he
finde;
With a great weapon on his backe,
Standinge stiffe and stronge.
And then he tooke King Arthurs letters in his hands,
And away he cold them fling;
90
And then he puld out a good browne sword,
And cryd himselfe a king.
And he sayd, "I haue thee, & thy land, Arthur,
To doe as it pleaseth me;
For this is not thy ransome sure,
95
Therfore yeeld thee to me."
And then bespoke him noble Arthur,
And bade him hold his
hand;
"And give me leave to speake my mind,
In defence of all my land."
100
He said, "as I came over
a more,
I see a lady, where shee sate,
Betweene an oke & a green hollen;
Shee was clad in red scarlette.
"And she says a woman will haue her will,
105
And this is all her cheef desire;
Doe me right, as thou art a baron of sckill,
This is thy ransome, & all thy hyer."
He sayes, "an early vengeance light on her!
She walkes on yonder more;
110
It was my sister, that told thee this,
She is a misshapen hore.
"But heer Ile make mine avow to God,
To do her an euill turne;
For an euer I may thate fowle theefe get,
115
In a fyer I will her burne."
[About nine stanzas wanting.]
Sir Lancelott, & Sir Steven, bold,
They rode with them that day;
And the formost of the company,
There rode the steward Kay.
120
Soe did Sir Banier, & Sir Bore,
Sir Garrett with them, soe gay;
Soe did Sir Tristeram, that gentle knight,
To the forrest, fresh & gay.
And when he came to the greene forrest,
125
Vnderneath a greene holly tree,
Their sate that lady in red scarlet,
That vnseemly was to see.
Sir Kay beheld this ladys face,
And looked vppon her suire,—
130
"Whosoeuer kisses this lady," he sayes,
"Of his kisse he stands in feare!"
Sir Kay beheld the lady againe,
And looked vpon her snout;
"Whosoeuer kisses this lady," he saies,
135
"Of his kisse he stands in doubt!"
"Peace, cozen Kay," then said Sir Gawaine,
"Amend thee of thy life;
For there is a knight amongst us all,
That must marry her to his wife."
140
"What! wedd her to wiffe," then said Sir Kay,
"In the diuells name anon,
Get me a wiffe whereere I may,
For I had rather be slaine!"
Then
some tooke vp their hawkes in hast,
145
And some tooke vp their hounds;
And some sware they wold not marry her,
For citty nor for towne.
And then bespake him noble King Arthur,
And sware there, "by this day,
150
For a litle foule sight & misliking,
[About nine stanzas wanting.]
Then shee said, "choose thee, gentle Gawaine,
Truth as I doe say;
Wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse,
In the night, or else in the day."
155
And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,
With one soe mild of moode;
Sayes, "well I know what I wold say,
God grant it may be good!
"To haue thee fowle in the night,
160
When I with thee shold play—
Yet I had rather, if I might,
Haue thee fowle in the day."
"What, when lords goe with ther
feires," shee said,
"Both to the ale and wine;
165
Alas! then I must hyde my selfe,
I must not goe withinne."
And then bespake him gentle Gawaine,
Said, "Lady, thats but a skill;
And because thou art my owne lady,
170
Thou shall haue all thy will."
Then she said, "blessed be thou, gentle Gawaine,
This day that I thee see;
For as thou see me att this time,
From hencforth I wil be.
175
"My father was an old knight,
And yett it chanced soe,
That he married a younge lady,
That brought me to this woe.
"Shee witched me, being a faire young lady,
180
To the greene forrest to dwell;
And there I must walke in womans liknesse,
Most like a feeind of hell.
"She witched my brother to a carlist b....
[About nine stanzas wanting.]
That looked soe foule, and that was wont
185
On the wild more to goe.
"Come kisse her, brother Kay," then said Sir Gawaine,
"And amend the of thy liffe;
I sweare this is the same lady
That I marryed to my wiffe."
190
Sir Kay kissed that lady bright,
Standing vpon his ffeete;
He swore, as he was trew knight,
The spice was neuer soe sweete.
"Well, cozen Gawaine," sayes Sir Kay,
195
"Thy chance is fallen arright;
For thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids,
I euer saw with my sight."
"It is my fortune," said Sir Gawaine;
"For my vnckle Arthurs sake,
200
I am glad as grasse wold be of raine,
Great joy that I may take."
Sir Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme,
Sir Kay tooke her by the tother;
They led her straight to King Arthur,
205
As they were brother and brother.
King Arthur welcomed them there all,
And soe did lady Geneuer, his queene;
With all the knights of the Round Table,
Most seemly to be seene.
210
King Arthur beheld that lady faire,
That was soe faire & bright;
He thanked Christ in Trinity
For Sir Gawaine, that gentle knight.
215
Soe did the knights, both more and lesse,
Rejoyced all that day,
For the good chance that hapened was
To Sir Gawaine and his lady gay.
"The subject of this ballad is evidently taken from the old romance
Morte Arthur, but with some variations, especially in the concluding
stanzas; in which the author seems rather to follow the traditions of
the old Welsh Bards, who 'believed that King Arthur was not dead, but
conveied awaie by the Fairies into some pleasant place, where he
should remaine for a time, and then returne againe and reign in as
great authority as ever.' (Holinshed, B. 5, c. 14.) Or, as it is
expressed in an old chronicle printed at Antwerp, 1493, by Ger. de
Leew: 'The Bretons supposen, that he [King Arthur] shall come yet and
conquere all Bretaigne, for certes this is the prophicye of Merlyn, He
sayd, that his deth shall be doubteous; and sayd soth, for men thereof
yet have doubte, and shullen for ever more,—for men wyt not whether
that he lyveth or is dede.' See more ancient testimonies in Selden's
Notes on Polyolbion, Song 3.
"This fragment, being very incorrect and imperfect in the original
MS., hath received some conjectural emendations, and even a supplement
of three or four stanzas composed from the romance of Morte Arthur."
PERCY.
On Trinitye Mondaye in the morne,
This sore battayle was doom'd to bee,
Where manye a knighte cry'd, Well-awaye!
Alacke, it was the more pittìe.
5
Ere the first crowinge of the cocke,
When as the kinge in his bed laye,
He thoughte
Sir Gawaine to him came,
And there to him these wordes did saye.
"Nowe, as you are mine unkle deare,
10
And as you prize your life, this daye
O meet not with your foe in fighte;
Putt off the battayle, if yee maye.
"For Sir Launcelot is nowe in Fraunce,
And with him many an hardye knighte:
15
Who will within this moneth be backe,
And will assiste yee in the fighte."
The kinge then call'd his nobles all,
Before the breakinge of the daye;
And tolde them howe Sir Gawaine came,
20
And there to him these wordes did saye.
His nobles all this counsayle gave,
That earlye in the morning, hee
Shold send awaye an herauld at armes,
To aske a parley faire and free.
Then twelve good knightes King Arthur chose,
25
The best of all that with him were,
To parley with the foe in field,
And make with him agreement faire.
The king he charged all his hoste,
30
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
Unlesse a sword drawne they shold see.
And Mordred, on the other parte,
Twelve of his knights did likewise bringe,
35
The beste of all his companye,
To holde the parley with the kinge.
Sir Mordred alsoe charged his hoste,
In readinesse there for to bee;
But noe man sholde noe weapon sturre,
40
But if a sworde drawne they shold see.
For he durste not his
unkle truste,
Nor he his nephewe, sothe to tell;
Alacke! it was a woefulle case,
As ere in Christentye befelle.
45
But when they were together mette,
And both to faire accordance broughte,
And a month's league betweene them sette,
Before the battayle sholde be foughte,
An addere crept forth of a bushe,
50
Stunge one o' the king's knightes on the knee;
Alacke! it was a woefulle chance,
As ever was in Christentìe.
When the knighte found him wounded sore,
And sawe the wild-worme hanginge there,
55
His sworde he from his scabberde drewe;
A piteous case, as ye shall heare.
For when the two hostes sawe the sworde,
They joyned battayle instantlye;
Till of so manye noble knightes,
60
On one side there were left but three.
For all were slaine that durst abide,
And but some fewe that fled awaye:
Ah mee! it was a bloodye fielde,
As ere was foughte on summer's daye.
65
Upon King Arthur's own partyè,
Onlye himselfe escaped there,
And Lukyn Duke of Gloster free,
And the king's butler Bedevere.
And when the king beheld his knightes
70
All dead and scattered on the molde,
The teares fast trickled downe his face;
That manlye face in fight so bolde.
"Nowe reste yee all, brave knights," he said,
"Soe true and faithful to your trust:
75
And must yee then, yee valiant hearts,
Be lefte to moulder into dust!
"Most loyal have yee been to mee,
Most true and faithful unto deathe:
And, oh! to rayse yee up againe,
80
How freelye could I yield my breathe!
"But see, the traitor's yet alive!
Lo where hee stalkes among the deade!
Nowe bitterlye he shall abye,
And vengeance fall upon his head."
85
"O staye, my liege," then sayd the duke;
"O staye for love and charitìe;
Remember what the vision spake,
Nor meete your foe, if it may bee."
"O staye mee not, thou worthye wight,
90
This debt my loyal knights I owe:
Betide me life, betide me death,
I will avenge them of their foe."
Then straite he grasp'd his trustye speare,
And on his horse then mounted hee:
95
As his butler holpe him to his horse,
His bowels gushed to his knee.
"Alas!" then sayd the noble king,
"That I should live this sight to see!
To see this good knight here be slaine,
100
All for his love in helping mee!"
He put his speare into his reste,
And to Sir Mordred loud gan crye;
"Nowe sette thyself upon thy guarde,
For, traitor, nowe thy death is nye."
105
Sir Mordred lifted up his sworde,
And fierce to meet the king ran hee:
The king his speare he through him thrust,
A fathom thorow his bodìe.
When Mordred felt the stroke of death,
110
And found that he was wounded soe,
He thruste himselfe upon the speare,
And strucke the king a deadlye blowe.
Then grimmlye dyed Sir Mordered,
Presentlye upon that tree:
115
And bloody streames ranne from the kinge,
Ere to the duke returned hee.
Sir Lukyn then he thus bespake:
"Sir knighte, thou hast been faithfulle tryde;
Nowe take my sword
Excalibar,
120
That hangs so freelye by my syde,
"O take my sword Excalibar,
And there into the river throwe:
For here, henceforth, benethe this tree,
All use of weapons I foregoe.
125
"And fare thee well, thou trustye sword,
A better neer had valiant knighte;
With thee full ofte, and many a daye
Have I withstood my foe in fighte.
"With this good fauchion in my hande,
130
Oft have I reapd the bloody feelde:
But nowe the fatalle houre is come,
That never more I may thee weelde."
The duke to the river side he went,
And there his owne sword in threwe he;
135
But he kept back Excalibar,
He kept it back in privitie.
For all of coleyne was the blade,
And all the hilte of precious stone:
140
"And ever alacke!" then sayd the knighte,
"Must such a sword awaye be throwne?"
Then backe he came unto the kinge,
Who sayd, "Sir Lukyn, what did yee see?"
"Nothing, my liege, save that the winde
Blewe oer the waters faire and free."
145
"O goe againe," then said the kinge,
"O good Sir Lukyn, goe againe:
Into the rivere throwe my sword,
Nor keepe me lingering here in paine."
The duke then to the river went,
150
And the kings scabbard in threwe hee;
But hee kept backe Excalibar,
And hid it undernethe a tree.
Then backe he came to tell the kinge,
Who sayde, "Sir Lukyn, sawe ye oughte?"
155
"Nothinge, my liege, save that the winde
Nowe with the angrye waters fought."
"O Lukyn, Lukyn," said the kinge,
"Twice haste thou dealt deceytfullye:
Alacke, whom may wee ever truste,
160
When suche a knighte soe false can bee!
"Saye, wouldst thou have thy master dead,
All for a sword that wins thine eye?
Now goe againe, and throwe it in,
Or here the one of us shall dye."
165
The duke, all shent with this rebuke,
No aunswere made unto the kinge;
But to the rivere tooke the sworde,
And threwe it far as he coulde flinge.
A hande and an arme did meete the sworde,
170
And flourishd three times in the air;
Then sunke benethe the renninge streme,
And of the duke was seene noe mair.
All sore astonied stood the duke,
He stood as still, as still mote bee;
175
Then hastend backe to tell the kinge,
But he was gone from under the tree.
But to what place, he cold not tell,
For never after hee did him see;
But hee sawe a barge goe from the land,
180
And hee heard ladyes howle and crye.
And whether the kinge were there, or not,
Hee never knewe, nor ever colde;
For from that sad and direfulle daye,
Hee never more was seene on molde.
7. Sir Gawaine had been killed at Arthur's landing on his
return from abroad. See the next ballad, ver. 73. P.
41, 42, the folio MS. reads father ... sonne.
119. More commonly called Caliburn. In the folio MS.
Escalberd. P.
"We have here a short summary of King Arthur's History as given by
Jeff. of Monmouth and the old Chronicles, with the addition of a few
circumstances from the romance Morte Arthur.—The ancient
chronicle of Ger. de Leew (quoted above in p. 40,) seems to have been
chiefly followed: upon the authority of which we have restored some of
the names which were corrupted in the MS., and have transposed one
stanza, which appeared to be misplaced: viz., that beginning at v.
49, which in the MS. followed v. 36.
"Printed from the Editor's ancient folio MS."
PERCY.
Of
Brutus' blood, in Brittaine borne,
King Arthur I am to name;
Through Christendome and Heathynesse
Well knowne is my worthy fame.
5
In Jesus Christ I doe beleeve;
I am a Christyan bore;
The Father, Sone, and Holy Gost,
One God, I doe adore.
The fellowshipp of the Table Round,
Soe famous in those dayes;
15
Whereatt a hundred noble knights
And thirty sat alwayes:
Who for their deeds and and martiall feates,
As bookes done yett record,
Amongst all other nations
20
Wer feared through the world.
And in the castle off Tyntagill
King Uther mee begate,
Of Agyana, a bewtyous ladye,
And come of
'hie' estate.
25
And when I was fifteen yeere old,
Then was I crowned kinge:
All Brittaine, that was att an upròre,
I did to quiett bringe;
And drove the Saxons from the realme,
30
Who had opprest this land;
All Scotland then, throughe manly feates,
I conquered with my hand.
Ireland, Denmarke, Norwaye,
These countryes wan I all;
35
Iseland, Gotheland, and Swetheland;
And made their kings my thrall.
I conquered all Gallya,
That now is called France;
And slew the hardye
Froll in feild,
40
My honor to advance.
And the ugly gyant
Dynabus,
Soe terrible to vewe,
That in Saint Barnards mount did lye,
By force of armes I slew.
45
And Lucyus, the emperour of Rome,
I brought to deadly wracke;
And a thousand more of noble knightes
For feare did turne their backe.
Five kinges of Pavye I did kill
50
Amidst that bloody strife;
Besides the Grecian emperour,
Who alsoe lost his liffe.
Whose carcasse I did send to Rome,
Cladd poorlye on a beere;
55
And afterward I past Mount-Joye
The next approaching yeere.
Then I came to Rome, where I was mett
Right as a conquerour,
And by all the cardinalls solempnelye
60
I was crowned an emperour.
One winter there I made abode,
Then word to mee was brought,
Howe Mordred had oppressed the crowne,
What treason he had wrought
65
Att home in Brittaine with my queene:
Therfore I came with speede
To Brittaine backe, with all my power,
To quitt that traitorous deede;
And soone at Sandwiche I arrivde,
70
Where Mordred me withstoode:
But yett at last I landed there,
With effusion of much blood.
For there my nephew Sir Gawaine dyed,
Being wounded in that sore
75
The whiche Sir Lancelot in fight
Had given him before.
Thence chased I Mordered away,
Who fledd to London right,
From London to Winchester, and
80
To Cornewalle tooke his flyght.
And still I him pursued with speed,
Till at last wee mett;
Wherby an appointed day of fight
Was there agreed and sett:
85
Where we did fight, of mortal life
Eche other to deprive,
Till of a hundred thousand men
Scarce one was left alive.
There all the noble chivalrye
90
Of Brittaine tooke their end:
O see how fickle is their state
That doe on
fates depend!
There all the traiterous men were slaine,
Not one escapte away;
95
And there dyed all my vallyant knightes
Alas! that woefull day!
Two and twenty yeere I ware the crowne
In honor and great fame,
And thus by death was suddenlye
100
Deprived of the same.
9, He began his reign A.D. 515, according to the Chronicles.
23, She is named Igerna in the old Chronicles.
39, Froland field, MS. Froll, according to the Chronicles,
was a Roman knight, governor of Gaul.
41, Danibus, MS. 49, see p. 134, v. 55.
This ballad first occurs in the Garland of Good Will, and is
attributed to Thomas Deloney, whose career as a song-writer extends
from about 1586 to 1600. It is merely a rhymed version of a passage in
the Morte D'Arthur, (Book vi. ch. 7, 8, 9, of Southey's ed.) The
first two lines are quoted in the Second Part of Henry IV., A. ii. sc. 4.
The present text is nearly that of the Garland of Good Will (Percy
Society, vol. xxx. p. 38), and differs considerably from that of
Percy, (Reliques, i. 215.) The same, with very trifling variations,
is found in Old Ballads, (1723,) ii. 21; Ritson's Ancient Songs,
ii. 188; Evans's Old Ballads, ii. 5.
When Arthur first in court began,
And was approvèd king,
By force of arms great victories won,
And conquests home did bring;
5
Then into Britain straight he came,
Where fifty good and able
Knights then repairèd unto him,
Which were of the Round Table;
And many justs and tournaments
10
Before them there were drest,
Where valiant knights did then excel,
And far surmount the rest.
But one Sir Lancelot du Lake,
Who was approvèd well,
15
He in his fights and deeds of arms,
All others did excel.
When he had rested him a while,
To play, to game, and sport,
He thought he would go try himself,
20
In some adventurous sort.
He armèd rode in forest wide,
And met a damsel fair,
Who told him of adventures great,
Whereto he gave good ear.
25
"Why should I not?" quoth Lancelot tho,
"For that cause I came hither."
"Thou seem'st," quoth she, "a goodly knight,
And I will bring thee thither
"Whereas
a mighty knight doth dwell,
30
That now is of great fame;
Therefore tell me what knight thou art,
And then what is your name."
"My name is Lancelot du Lake."
Quoth she, "it likes me than;
35
Here dwells a knight that never was
O'ermatch'd with any man;
"Who has in prison threescore knights
And four, that he has bound;
Knights of King Arthur's court they be,
40
And of his Table Round."
She brought him to a river side,
And also to a tree,
Whereon a copper bason hung,
His
fellows shields to see.
45
He struck so hard, the bason broke:
When Tarquin heard the sound,
He drove a horse before him straight,
Whereon a knight lay bound.
"Sir knight," then said Sir Lancelot,
50
"Bring me that horse-load hither,
And lay him down, and let him rest;
We'll try our force together.
"And as I understand, thou hast,
So far as thou art able,
55
Done great despite and shame unto
The knights of the Round Table."
"If thou be of the Table Round"
(Quoth Tarquin, speedilye),
"Both thee and all thy fellowship
60
I utterly defie."
"That's overmuch," quoth Lancelot tho;
"Defend thee by and by."
They put their spurs unto their steeds,
And each at other fly.
65
They coucht their spears, and horses ran
As though there had been thunder;
And each struck them amidst the shield,
Wherewith they broke in sunder.
Their horses backs brake under them.
70
The knights were both astound;
To void their horses they made great haste,
To light upon the ground.
They took them to their shields full fast,
Their swords they drew out than;
75
With mighty strokes most eagerly
Each one at other ran.
They wounded were, and bled full sore,
For breath they both did stand,
And leaning on their swords awhile,
80
Quoth Tarquin, "Hold thy hand,
"And tell to me what I shall ask;"
"Say on," quoth Lancelot tho;
"Thou art," quoth Tarquin, "the best knight
That ever I did know;
85
"And like a knight that I did hate;
So that thou be not he,
I will deliver all the rest,
And eke accord with thee."
"That is well said," quoth Lancelot then;
90
"But sith it must be so,
What is the knight thou hatest
thus?
I pray thee to me show."
"His name is Lancelot du Lake,
He slew my brother dear;
95
Him I suspect of all the rest;
I would I had him here."
"And I desire thee do thy worst."
"Ho! ho!" quoth Tarquin tho,
"One of us two shall end our lives,
Before that we do go.
105
"If thou be Lancelot du Lake,
Then welcome shalt thou be;
Wherefore see thou thyself defend,
For now defie I thee."
They buckled then together so,
110
Like two wild boars rashing,
And with their swords and shields they ran
At one another
slashing.
The ground besprinkled was with blood,
Tarquin began to faint;
115
For he gave back, and bore his shield
So low, he did repent.
This soon
espied Sir Lancelot tho;
He leapt upon him then,
He pull'd him down upon his knee,
120
And
rushed off his helm.
And then he struck his neck in two;
And when he had done so,
From prison, threescore knights and four
Lancelot delivered tho.
100, Kind Haud's son of Seuwake.
"Published from an ancient MS. copy in the Editor's old folio volume,
collated with two printed ones, one of which is in black-letter in the
Pepys collection." PERCY.
An inferior copy is printed in Ritson's Ancient Songs and Ballads,
ii. 193.
From an essay on the romance of Sir Guy, read by Mr. Wright before the
British Archæological Association during its meeting at Warwick, we
extract the following remarks in illustration of the history of the
present ballad, and other similar popular heroic traditions.
"As the Teutonic tribes progressed in their migrations, and settled in
new lands—and especially when they received a new faith, and made
advances in civilization,—the mythic romances of their
forefathers underwent remarkable modifications to adapt them to new
sentiments and new manners. Among people who had forgotten the
localities to which they referred, they received a new location and
became identified with places and objects with which people were
better acquainted, and in this manner they underwent a new historical
interpretation. It would be no uninteresting task to point out how
many romantic tales that are soberly related of individuals of
comparatively modern history, are merely new applications of these
early myths.
"Among the romances of the Anglo-Danish cycle by no means the least
celebrated is that of GUY OF WARWICK. It is one, of the few, which has
been preserved in its Anglo-Norman form, since which it has gone
through an extraordinary number of versions, and Chaucer enumerated it
among the romances of pris, or those which in the fourteenth century
were held in the highest estimation. It is doubtless one of those
stories in which an ancient mythic romance has undergone the series of
modifications I have been describing; a legend which had become
located by popular traditions in the neighbourhood we are now
visiting, in which the contests between northern chieftains are
changed into tilts and tournaments, but in which the combats with
dragons and giants are still preserved. Whatever may have been the
name of the original hero, that which he now bears, Guy, is a French
name, and could not have been given till Norman times.
"From the Anglo-Norman poem, so great was its popularity, two or three
different English metrical versions were made, which are still found
in manuscripts, and the earliest of which, that of the well-known
Auchinlech manuscript, has been printed in a very expensive form by
one of the Scottish Antiquarian clubs. It was next transformed into
French prose, and in that form was popular in the fifteenth century,
and was printed by some of the earlier printers. It was finally
reduced to a popular chap-book in prose and a broadside ballad in
verse, and in these forms was hawked about the streets until a very
recent period. Such has in general been the fate of the romantic
literature of the middle ages; a remarkable proof of the tenacity with
which it has kept its hold on the popular mind." Gentleman's
Magazine, Sept. 1847, p. 300.
Was ever knight for ladyes sake
Soe tost in love, as I, Sir Guy,
For Phelis fayre, that lady bright
As ever man beheld with eye?
5
She gave me leave myself to try,
The valiant knight with sheeld and speare,
Ere that her love she would grant me;
Which made mee venture far and neare.
Then proved I
a baron bold,
10
In deeds of armes the doughtyest knight
That in those dayes in England was,
With sworde and speare in feild to fight.
An English man I was by birthe:
In faith of Christ a christyan true:
15
The wicked lawes of infidells
I sought by prowesse to subdue.
'Nine' hundred twenty yeere and odde
After our Saviour Christ his birth,
When King Athelstone wore the crowne,
20
I lived heere upon the earth.
Sometime I was of Warwicke erle,
And, as I sayd, of very truth
A ladyes love did me constraine
To seeke strange ventures in my youth;
25
To win me fame by feates of armes
In strange and sundry heathen lands;
Where I atchieved for her sake
Right dangerous conquests with my hands.
For first I sayled to Normandye,
30
And there I stoutlye wan in fight
The emperours daughter of Almaine,
From manye a vallyant worthye knight.
Then passed I the seas to Greece,
To helpe the emperour in his right,
35
Against the mightye souldans hoaste
Of puissant Persians for to fight:
Where I did slay of Sarazens,
And heathen pagans, manye a man;
And slew the souldans cozen deere,
40
Who had to name doughtye Coldràn.
Eskeldered, a famous knight,
To death likewise I did pursue:
And Elmayne, King of Tyre, alsoe,
Most terrible in fight to viewe.
45
I went into the souldans hoast,
Being thither on embassage sent,
And brought his head awaye with mee;
I having slaine him in his tent.
There was a dragon in that land
50
Most fiercelye mett me by the waye,
As hee a lyon did pursue,
Which I myself did alsoe slay.
Then soon I past the seas from Greece,
And came to Pavye land aright;
55
Where I the duke of Pavye killed,
His hainous treason to requite.
To England then I came with speede,
To wedd faire Phelis, lady bright;
For love of whome I travelled farr
60
To try my manhood and my might.
But when I had espoused her,
I stayd with her but fortye dayes,
Ere that I left this ladye faire,
And went, from her beyond the seas.
65
All cladd in gray, in pilgrim sort,
My voyage from her I did take
Unto the blessed Holy-Land,
For Jesus Christ my Saviours sake.
Where I Erle Jonas did redeeme,
70
And all his sonnes, which were fifteene,
Who with the cruell Sarazens
In prison for long time had beene.
I slew the gyant Amarant
In battel fiercelye hand to hand,
75
And doughty Barknard killed I,
A treacherous knight of Pavye land.
Then I to England came againe,
And here with Colbronde fell I fought;
An ugly gyant, which the Danes
80
Had for their champion hither brought.
I overcame him in the feild,
And slewe him soone right valliantlye;
Wherebye this land I did redeeme
From Danish tribute utterlye.
85
And afterwards I offered upp
The use of weapons solemnlye
At Winchester, whereas I fought,
In sight of manye farr and nye.
'But first,' neare Winsor, I did slaye
90
A bore of passing might and strength;
Whose like in England never was
For hugenesse both in bredth and length.
Some of his bones in Warwicke yett
Within the castle there doth lye;
95
One of his sheeld-bones to this day
Hangs in the citye of Coventrye.
On Dunsmore heath I alsoe slewe
A monstrous wyld and cruell beast,
Calld the Dun-cow of Dunsmore heath;
100
Which manye people had opprest.
Some of her bones in Warwicke yett
Still for a monument doth lye,
And there exposed to lookers viewe,
As wondrous strange, they may espye.
105
A dragon in Northumberland
I alsoe did in fight destroye,
Which did bothe man and beast oppresse,
And all the countrye sore annoye.
At length to Warwicke I did come,
110
Like pilgrim poore, and was not knowne;
And there I lived a hermitts life
A mile and more out of the towne.
Where with my hands I hewed a house
Out of a craggy rocke of stone,
115
And lived like a palmer poore
Within that cave myself alone:
And daylye came to begg my bread
Of Phelis att my cattle gate;
Not knowne unto my loved wiffe,
120
Who dailye mourned for her mate.
Till att the last I fell sore sicke,
Yea, sicke soe sore that I must dye;
I sent to her a ring of golde,
By which shee knew me presentlye.
125
Then shee repairing to the cave,
Before that I gave up the ghost,
Herself closd up my dying eyes;
My Phelis faire, whom I lovd most.
Thus dreadful death did me arrest,
130
To bring my corpes unto the grave,
And like a palmer dyed I,
Wherby I sought my soule to save.
My body that endured this toyle,
Though now it be consumed to mold,
135
My statue, faire engraven in stone,
In Warwicke still you may behold.
9, The proud Sir Guy, PC.
17, Two hundred, MS. and PC.
The following rhymed legend, which, like several other pieces in this
Book, can be called a ballad only by an objectionable, though common,
extension of the term, was printed by Percy (with some alterations)
from two "ancient" black-letter copies in the Pepys collection.
Real popular ballads on St. George's victory over the Dragon exist in
several languages, though not in English.
[2] Such a ballad is known
to have been sung by the Swedes at the battle of Brunkeberg in 1471,
and one is still sung by the people both of Denmark and Sweden.
Grundtvig gives three copies of the Danish ballad, two of the 16th and
17th centuries, and one of the present. Four versions of the Swedish
have been published, of various ages (e.g. Svenska Folkvisor, ii.
252). A German ballad is given by Meinert, Altdeutsche Volkslieder,
p. 254; after him by Erlach, iv. 258; and Haupt and Schmaler have
printed two widely different versions of the ballad in Wendish,
Volkslieder der Wenden, vol. i. No. 285, ii. No. 195. These are
all the proper traditional ballads upon this subject which are known to
be preserved, unless we include a piece called Jürg Drachentödter
in Zuccalmaglio's Deutsche Volkslieder, No. 37, which is of
suspicious authenticity. The piece called Ritter St. Georg, in Des
Knaben Wunderhorn, i. 151, is not a proper ballad, but a rhymed
legend, like the one here printed, though intended to be sung.
The hero of these ballads, St. George of Cappadocia, is said to have
suffered martyrdom during the persecution in Syria, in the year 303.
In the 6th century he was a recognized saint both in the western and
the eastern churches, and his reputation was limited to this character
until the 13th. Reinbot von Dorn, (1231-53,) in his poem Der Heilige
Georg, (Von der Hagen and Büsching's Deutsche Gedichte des
Mittelalters,) and Vincent de Beauvais (died 1262) in his Speculum
Historiale (XII. 131-32), content themselves with recounting his
martyrdom, and appear to know nothing about his fight with the Dragon.
The first known writer who attributes this exploit to St. George is
Jacobus a Voragine (died 1298), in the Golden Legend. Of course
it does not follow that the story originated there. It is probable that
the legend of the Dragon arose at the time of the Crusades, and indeed
was partly occasioned by them, though we ought not hastily to admit,
what has been suggested, that it was founded upon some tradition which
the Crusaders heard in Syria.
The Byzantians had long before ascribed various miracles to St.
George, but it was the Normans, who, so to say, first pressed him into
active military service. It was he that commanded the heavenly host that came to the help of
the Crusaders against the Turks, under the walls of Antioch, in the
year 1098, on which occasion he was seen on his white horse, bearing
the white banner with the red cross. He manifested himself again at
the storming of Jerusalem in the following year, and a hundred years
later was seen to fight in the front rank against the Moors in Spain,
and for Frederic Barbarossa, in his crusade in 1190. But though he had
entered into the service of the German emperor, this did not prevent
his aiding the orthodox William of Holland in taking Aix-la-Chapelle
from the excommunicated Emperor Frederic in 1248.—The most various
races have contended for his protection. His feast was in 1222 ordered
to be kept as a holiday throughout all England: from the beginning of
the 14th century, or since the Mongol dominion was shaken off, he has
been one of the guardian saints of Russia: in 1468, the Emperor
Frederic III. founded the Austrian Order of St. George for the
protection of the Empire against the Turks, and a few years later, in
1471, at the momentous battle of Brunkeberg, his name was the war-cry
of both parties, Swedes and Danes.
That the subjugation of the Dragon (a symbolical mode of representing
the extinction of Evil common to all times and peoples) should be
attributed to St. George, would seem to be sufficiently explained by
his having become the Christian Hero of the Middle Ages. A special
reason may, however, be alleged for his connection with such a legend.
Long before the Crusades, he was depicted by the artists of the
Oriental Church as the Great Martyr, with the Dragon (Anti-Christ or
the Devil) at his feet, and a crowned virgin (the Church) at his side.
In like manner had Constantine the Great had himself drawn, and many
other saints are represented in the same way, as Theodore, Victor, and
Margaret. This symbolic representation would naturally lead to the
Crusaders making St. George the hero in an achievement which was well
known in connection with other names: and it would then not be too
much to assume that the Normans (who, as already said, were the first
to recognize his presence in battle),—the same Normans who were
properly the creators of the romantic poetry of the Middle Ages,—were
also the first to connect St. George with the conquest of the Dragon.
But however we may account for St. George's being introduced into such
a legend, so much is sure; that from the 14th century on, the story
and the hero have been inseparable: all the legendaries and all the
pictures of him exhibit him as the conqueror of the Dragon: his
martyrdom is nearly lost sight of, and in ballads is entirely
forgotten.—As to the place which was the scene of the fight,
there are many opinions. Some have fixed it in Cappadocia, others in
Lybia, others in Syria, and some European nations have assigned the
adventure to a locality within their own bounds. Thus the Wallachians
lay the scene at Orwoza, one of the Wendish ballads at Berlin, the
Germans at Leipsic, the Dutch at Oudenarde, and—the people of the
island of Funen at Svendborg!
Of Hector's deeds did Homer sing,
And of the sack of stately Troy,
What griefs fair Helena did bring,
Which was Sir Paris' only joy:
5
And by my pen I will recite
St. George's deeds, an English knight.
Against the Sarazens so rude
Fought he full long and many a day,
Where many gyaunts he subdu'd,
10
In honour of the Christian way;
And after many adventures past,
To Egypt land he came at last.
Now, as the story plain doth tell,
Within that countrey there did rest
15
A dreadful dragon, fierce and fell,
Whereby they were full sore opprest:
Who by his poisonous breath each day
Did many of the city slay.
The grief whereof did grow so great
20
Throughout the limits of the land,
That they their wise men did intreat
To shew their cunning out of hand;
What way they might this fiend destroy,
That did the countrey thus annoy.
25
The wise men all before the king,
This answer fram'd incontinent:
The dragon none to death might bring
By any means they could invent;
His skin more hard than brass was found,
That sword nor spear could pierce nor wound.
30
When this the people understood,
They cryed out most piteouslye,
The dragon's breath infects their blood,
That every day in heaps they dye;
35
Among them such a plague is bred,
The living scarce could bury the dead.
No means there were, as they could hear,
For to appease the dragon's rage,
But to present some virgin clear,
40
Whose blood his fury might asswage;
Each day he would a maiden eat,
For to allay his hunger great.
This thing by art the wise men found,
Which truly must observed be;
45
Wherefore, throughout the city round,
A virgin pure of good degree
Was, by the king's commission, still
Taken up to serve the dragon's will.
Thus did the dragon every day
50
Untimely crop some virgin flowr,
Till all the maids were worn away,
And none were left him to devour;
Saving the king's fair daughter bright,
Her father's only heart's delight.
55
Then came the officers to the king,
That heavy message to declare,
Which did his heart with sorrow sting;
"She is," quoth he, "my kingdom's heir:
O let us all be poisoned here,
60
Ere she should die, that is my dear."
Then rose the people presently,
And to the king in rage they went;
They said his daughter dear should dye,
The dragon's fury to prevent:
65
"Our daughters all are dead," quoth they,
"And have been made the dragon's prey;
"And by their blood we rescued were,
And thou hast sav'd thy life thereby;
And now in sooth it is but faire,
70
For us thy daughter so should die."
"O save my daughter," said the king,
"And let ME feel the dragon's sting."
Then fell fair Sabra on her knee,
And to her father dear did say,
75
"O father, strive not thus for me,
But let me be the dragon's prey;
It may be, for my sake alone
This plague upon the land was thrown.
"'Tis better I should dye," she said,
80
"Than all your subjects perish quite;
Perhaps the dragon here was laid,
For my offence to work his spite,
And after he hath suckt my gore,
Your land shall feel the grief no more."
85
"What hast thou done, my daughter dear,
For to deserve this heavy scourge?
It is my fault, as may appear,
Which makes the gods our state to purge;
Then ought I die, to stint the strife,
90
And to preserve thy happy life."
Like mad-men, all the people cried,
"Thy death to us can do no good;
Our safely only doth abide
In making her the dragon's food."
95
"Lo! here I am, I come," quoth she,
"Therefore do what you will with me."
"Nay stay, dear daughter," quoth the queen,
"And as thou art a virgin bright,
That hast for vertue famous been,
100
So let me cloath thee all in white;
And crown thy head with flowers sweet,
An ornament for virgins meet."
And when she was attired so,
According to her mother's mind,
105
Unto the stake then did she go,
To which her tender limbs they bind;
And being bound to stake a thrall,
She bade farewell unto them all.
"Farewell, my father dear," quoth she,
110
"And my sweet mother, meek and mild;
Take you no thought nor weep for me,
For you may have another child;
Since for my country's good I dye,
Death I receive most willinglye."
115
The king and queen and all their train
With weeping eyes went then their way,
And let their daughter there remain,
To be the hungry dragon's prey:
But as she did there weeping lye,
120
Behold St. George came riding by.
And seeing there a lady bright
So rudely tyed unto a stake,
As well became a valiant knight,
He straight to her his way did take:
125
"Tell me, sweet maiden," then quoth he,
"What caitif thus abuseth thee?
"And, lo! by Christ his cross I vow,
Which here is figured on my breast,
I will revenge it on his brow,
130
And break my lance upon his chest:"
And speaking thus whereas he stood,
The dragon issued from the wood.
The lady, that did first espy
The dreadful dragon coming so,
135
Unto St. George aloud did cry,
And willed him away to go;
"Here comes that cursed fiend," quoth she,
"That soon will make an end of me."
St. George then looking round about,
140
The fiery dragon soon espy'd,
And like a knight of courage stout,
Against him did most fiercely ride;
And with such blows he did him greet,
He fell beneath his horse's feet.
145
For with his launce, that was so strong,
As he came gaping in his face,
In at his mouth he thrust along;
For he could pierce no other place:
And thus within the lady's view
150
This mighty dragon straight he slew.
The savour of his poisoned breath
Could do this holy knight no harm;
Thus he the lady sav'd from death,
And home he led her by the arm;
155
Which when King Ptolemy did see,
There was great mirth and melody.
When as that valiant champion there
Had slain the dragon in the field,
To court he brought the lady fair,
160
Which to their hearts much joy did yield,
He in the court of Egypt staid
Till he most falsely was betray'd.
That lady dearly lov'd the knight,
He counted her his only joy;
165
But when their love was brought to light,
It turn'd unto their great annoy.
Th' Morocco king was in the court,
Who to the orchard did resort;
Dayly, to take the pleasant air;
170
For pleasure sake he us'd to walk;
Under a wall he oft did hear
St. George with Lady Sabra talk;
Their love he shew'd unto the king,
Which to St. George great woe did bring.
175
Those kings together did devise
To make the Christian knight away:
With letters him in curteous wise
They straightway sent to Persia,
But wrote to the sophy him to kill,
180
And treacherously his blood to spill.
Thus they for good did him reward
With evil, and most subtilly,
By such vile meanes, they had regard
To work his death most cruelly;
185
Who, as through Persia land he rode,
With zeal destroy'd each idol god.
For which offence he straight was thrown
Into a dungeon dark and deep;
Where, when he thought his wrongs upon,
190
He bitterly did wail and weep:
Yet like a knight of courage stout,
At length his way he digged out.
Three grooms of the King of Persia
By night this valiant champion slew,
195
Though he had fasted many a day,
And then away from thence he flew
On the best steed the sophy had;
Which when he knew he was full mad.
Towards Christendom he made his flight,
200
But met a gyant by the way,
With whom in combat he did fight
Most valiantly a summer's day:
Who yet, for all his bats of steel,
Was forc'd the sting of death to feel.
205
Back o'er the seas, with many bands
Of warlike souldiers soon he past,
Vowing upon those heathen lands
To work revenge; which at the last,
Ere thrice three years were gone and spent,
210
He wrought unto his heart's content.
Save onely Egypt land he spar'd,
For Sabra bright her only sake,
And, ere for her he had regard,
He meant a tryal kind to make:
215
Meanwhile the king, o'ercome in field,
Unto Saint George did quickly yield.
Then straight Morocco's king he slew,
And took fair Sabra to his wife,
But meant to try if she were true,
220
Ere with her he would lead his life;
And, tho' he had her in his train,
She did a virgin pure remain.
Toward England then that lovely dame
The brave St. George conducted strait,
225
An eunuch also with them came,
Who did upon the lady wait.
These three from Egypt went alone:
Now mark St. George's valour shown.
When as they in a forest were,
230
The lady did desire to rest:
Meanwhile St. George to kill a deer
For their repast did think it best:
Leaving her with the eunuch there,
Whilst he did go to kill the deer.
235
But lo! all in his absence came
Two hungry lyons, fierce and fell,
And tore the eunuch on the same
In pieces small, the truth to tell;
Down by the lady then they laid,
240
Whereby they shew'd she was a maid.
But when he came from hunting back,
And did behold this heavy chance,
Then for his lovely virgin's sake
His courage strait he did advance,
245
And came into the lions sight,
Who ran at him with all their might.
Their rage did him no whit dismay,
Who, like a stout and valiant knight,
Did both the hungry lyons slay
250
Within the Lady Sabra's sight:
Who all this while, sad and demure,
There stood most like a virgin pure.
Now when St. George did surely know
This lady was a virgin true,
255
His heart was glad, that erst was woe,
And all his love did soon renew:
He set her on a palfrey steed,
And towards England came with speed.
Where being in short space arriv'd
260
Unto his native dwelling place,
Therein with his dear love he liv'd,
And fortune did his nuptials grace:
They many years of joy did see,
And led their lives at Coventry.
The Famous Historie of the Seven Champions of Christendom, is the
work of Richard Johnson, a ballad maker of some note at the end of the
16th and beginning of the 17th century. All that is known of him may
be seen in Chappel's Introduction to the Crown Garland of Golden
Roses, of which Johnson was the compiler or the author. (Percy
Society, vol. vi.) "The Story of St. George and the Fair Sabra," says
Percy, "is taken almost verbatim from the old poetical legend of Sir
Bevis of Hampton."
The Seven Champions is twice entered on the Stationers' Registers
in the year 1596. It is here reprinted from A Collection of Old
Ballads, 1723, vol. i. 28. The same copy is in Evans's collection,
i. 372.
Now of the Seven Champions here
My purpose is to write,
To show how they with sword and spear
Put many foes to flight;
5
Distressed ladies to release,
And captives bound in chains,
That Christian glory to increase
Which evermore remains.
First, I give you to understand
10
That great Saint George by name,
Was the true champion of our land;
And of his birth and fame,
And of his noble mother's dream,
Before that he was born,
15
The which to her did clearly seem
Her days would be forlorn.
This was her dream; that she did bear
A dragon in her womb;
Which griev'd this noble lady fair,
20
'Cause death must be her doom.
This sorrow she could not conceal,
So dismal was her fear,
So that she did the same reveal
Unto her husband dear;
25
Who went for to inquire straight
Of an enchanteress;
When, knocking at her iron gate,
Her answer it was this:
"The lady shall bring forth a son,
30
By whom, in tract of time,
Great noble actions shall be done;
He will to honour climb.
"For he shall be in banners wore;
This truth I will maintain;
35
Your lady, she shall die before
You see her face again."
His leave he took, and home he went;
His wife departed lay;
But that which did his grief augment,
40
The child was stole away.
Then did he travel in despair,
Where soon with grief he died;
While the young child, his son and heir,
Did constantly abide
45
With the wise lady of the grove,
In her enchanted cell;
Amongst the woods he oft did rove,
His beauty pleased her well.
Blinded with love, she did impart,
50
Upon a certain day,
To him her cunning magic art,
And where six Champions lay
Within a brazen castle strong,
By an enchanted sleep,
55
And where they had continued long;
She did the castle keep.
She taught and show'd him every thing
Through being free and fond;
Which did her fatal ruin bring;
60
For with a silver wand
He clos'd her up into a rock,
By giving one small stroke;
So took possession of her stock,
And the enchantment broke.
65
Those Christian Champions being freed
From their enchanted state,
Each mounted on his prancing steed,
And took to travel straight;
Where we will leave them to pursue
70
Kind fortune's favours still,
To treat of our own champion, who
Did courts with wonders fill.
For as he came to understand,
At an old hermit's cell,
75
How, in the vast Egyptian land,
A dragon fierce and fell
Threatened the ruin of them all,
By his devouring jaws,
His sword releas'd them from that thrall,
80
And soon remov'd the cause.
This dreadful dragon must destroy
A virgin every day,
Or else with stinks he'll them annoy,
And many thousands slay.
85
At length the king's own daughter dear,
For whom the court did mourn,
Was brought to be devoured here,
For she must take her turn.
The king by proclamation said,
90
If any hardy knight
Could free this fair young royal maid,
And slay the dragon quite,
Then should he have her for his bride,
And, after death, likewise
95
His crown and kingdom too beside:
Saint George he won the prize.
When many hardy strokes he'd dealt,
And could not pierce his hide,
He run his sword up to the hilt
100
In at the dragon's side;
By which he did his life destroy,
Which cheer'd the drooping king;
This caused an universal joy,
Sweet peals of bells did ring.
105
The daughter of a king, for pride
Transformed into a tree
Of mulberries,
Saint Denis spied,
And being hungery,
Of that fair fruit he ate a part,
110
And was transformed likewise
Into the fashion of a hart,
For seven years precise.
At which he long bewail'd the loss
Of manly shape: then goes
115
To him his true and trusty horse,
And brings a blushing rose,
By which the magic spell was broke,
And both were fairly freed
From the enchanted heavy yoke:
120
They then in love agreed.
Now we come to Saint James of Spain,
Who slew a mighty boar,
In hopes that he might honour gain,
But he must die therefore:
125
Who was allow'd his death to choose,
Which was by virgins' darts,
But they the same did all refuse,
So tender were their hearts.
The king's daughter at length, by lot,
130
Was doomed to work his woe;
From her fair hands a fatal shot,
Out of a golden bow,
Must put a period to the strife;
At which grief did her seize.
135
She of her father begg'd his life
Upon her bended knees;
Saying, "my gracious sovereign Lord,
And honoured father dear,
He well deserves a large reward;
140
Then be not so severe.
Give me his life!" He grants the boon,
And then without delay,
This Spanish champion, ere 'twas noon,
Rid with her quite away.
145
Now come we to Saint Anthony,
A man with valour fraught,
The champion of fair Italy,
Who many wonders wrought.
First, he a mighty giant slew,
150
The terror of mankind:
Young ladies fair, pure virgins too,
This giant kept confined
Within his castle walls of stone,
And gates of solid brass,
155
Where seven ladies made their moan,
But out they could not pass.
Many brave lords, and knights likewise,
To free them did engage,
Who fell a bleeding sacrifice
160
To this fierce giant's rage.
Fair daughters to a royal king!
Yet fortune, after all,
Did our renowned champion bring
To free them from their thrall.
165
Assisted by the hand of heaven,
He ventured life and limb:
Behold the fairest of the seven,
She fell in love with him.
That champion good, bold Saint Andrew,
170
The famous Scottish knight,
Dark gloomy deserts travelled through,
Where Phoebus gave no light.
Haunted with spirits, for a while
His weary course he steers,
175
Till fortune blessed him with a smile,
And shook off all his fears.
This Christian champion travell'd long,
Till at the length he came
Unto the giant's castle strong,
180
Great Blanderon by name,
Where the king's daughters were transform'd
Into the shape of swans:
Though them he freed, their father storm'd,
But he his malice shuns.
185
For though five hundred armed knights
Did straight beset him round,
Our Christian champion with them fights,
Till on the heathen ground
Most of those Pagans bleeding lay;
190
Which much perplexed the king;
The Scottish champion clears the way,
Which was a glorious thing.
Saint Patrick too, of Ireland,
That noble knight of fame,
195
He travelled, as we understand,
Till at the length he came
Into a grove where satyrs dwelt,
Where ladies he beheld,
Who had their raged fury felt,
200
And were with sorrow fill'd.
He drew his sword, and did maintain
A sharp and bloody fray,
Till the ring-leader he had slain;
The rest soon fled away.
205
This done, he asked the ladies fair,
Who were in silks array'd,
From whence they came, and who they were.
They answered him and said:
"We are all daughters to a king,
210
Whom a brave Scottish knight
Did out of tribulation bring:
He having took his flight,
Now after him we are in quest."
Saint Patrick then replies,
215
"He is my friend, I cannot rest
Till I find him likewise.
"So, ladies, if you do intend
To take your lot with me,
This sword of mine shall you defend
220
From savage cruelty."
The ladies freely gave consent
To travel many miles;
Through shady groves and woods they went,
In search of fortune's smiles.
225
The Christian champion David, went
To the Tartarian court,
Where at their tilt and tournament,
And such like royal sport,
He overthrew the only son
230
Of the Count Palatine;
This noble action being done
His fame began to shine.
The young Count's sad and sudden death
Turn'd all their joys to grief;
235
He bleeding lay, bereaved of breath,
The father's son in chief;
But lords and ladies blazed the fame
Of our brave champion bold;
Saying, they ought to write his name
240
In characters of gold.
Here have I writ a fair account
Of each heroic deed,
Done by these knights, which will surmount
All those that shall succeed.
245
The ancient chronicles of kings,
Ere since the world begun,
Can't boast of such renowned things
As these brave knights have done.
Saint George he was for England,
250
Saint Dennis was for France,
Saint James for Spain, whose valiant hand
Did Christian fame advance:
Saint Anthony for Italy,
Andrew for Scots ne'er fails,
255
Patrick too stands for Ireland,
Saint David was for Wales.
Thus have you those stout champions names
In this renowned song:
Young captive ladies bound in chains,
260
Confined in castles strong,
They did by knightly prowess free,
True honour to maintain:
Then let their lasting memory
From age to age remain.
This beautiful tale is transferred to these pages from Mr. Laing's
Select Remains of the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland. The
two "fytts" of prophecies which accompany it in the manuscripts, are
omitted here, as being probably the work of another, and an inferior,
hand. From the exordium by which the story is introduced, it might be
concluded that the author was an Englishman. Indeed, all the poems and
prophecies attributed to Thomas the Rhimer which remain to us, are
preserved in English manuscripts and an English dress; but, in the
judgment of Mr. Jamieson, the internal evidence still almost amounts
to proof that the romance itself was of Scottish origin, although no
indubitably Scottish copy is now known to be in existence.
The hero of this legend is believed to have lived through nearly the
whole of the 13th century. He derived his territorial appellation from
the village of Erceldoune, in the county of Berwick, lying on the
river Leader, about two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The
Huntly bank on which the meeting of Thomas with the Queen of Fairy
took place, is situated, according to Mr. Laing, on one of the Eldoun
hills, but the same distinction is claimed for another place of like
name, which, together with an adjoining ravine, called from time
immemorial the Rymer's Glen, was included in the domain of
Abbotsford. (See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iv. 110. v. 1.)
"During the 14th, 15th, and 16th centuries, to get up a prophecy in
the name of Thomas the Rhymer appears to have been found a good stroke
of policy on many occasions. Thus was his authority employed to
countenance the views of Edward III. against Scottish independence, to
favor the ambitious views of the Duke of Albany in the minority of
James V., and to sustain the spirits of the nation under the harassing
invasions of Henry VIII. A small volume containing a collection of the
rhymes thus put into circulation was published by Andro Hart in
Edinburgh, in 1615."—CHAMBERS, Pop. Rhymes of Scotland, p. 6.
"This poem," says Mr. Laing, "is preserved in three ancient
manuscripts, each of them in a state more or less mutilated, and
varying in no inconsiderable degree from the others. A portion of it
was first printed in the Border Minstrelsy, [iv. 122,] from the
fragment in the British Museum, among the Cotton MSS.; and the one
which Mr. Jamieson adopted in his collection of Popular Ballads and
Songs [ii. 11,] was carefully deciphered from a volume of no ordinary
curiosity, in the University Library, Cambridge, written in a very
illegible hand, about the middle of the 15th century. It is now
printed from the other copy, as it occurs in a volume, compiled at a
still earlier period, which is preserved in the Cathedral Library of
Lincoln. On comparison, it will be readily perceived, that the text is
in every respect preferable to that of either of the other
manuscripts.... An endeavor has been made to fill up the defective
parts from the Cambridge copy, though in some instances, as will be
seen, without success."—Mr. Halliwell has republished the Cambridge
text in his Fairy Mythology, (p. 58,) and he cites a fourth
manuscript, which, however, appears to be of slight importance.
Lystnys, lordyngs, bothe grete and smale,
And takis gude tente what I will say:
I sall yow telle als trewe a tale,
Als euer was herde by nyghte or daye:
5
And the maste meruelle fforowttyn naye,
That euer was herde byfore or syen,
And therfore pristly I yow praye,
That ye will of youre talkyng blyn.
It es an harde thyng for to saye,
10
Of doghety dedis that hase bene done;
Of felle feghtyngs and batells sere;
And how that knyghtis hase wonne thair schone.
Bot Jhesu Christ, that syttis in trone,
Safe Ynglysche men bothe ferre and nere;
15
And I sall telle yow tyte and sone,
Of battells done sythen many a yere;
And of batells that done sall bee;
In whate place, and howe and whare;
And wha sall hafe the heghere gree;
20
And whethir partye sall hafe the werre;
[Transcriber's note: there appears to be a stanza missing here, lines 21-24.
A line note refers to the missing line 22.]
25
Wha sall take the flyghte and flee;
And wha sall dye and byleue thare:
Bot Jhesu Christ, that dyed on tre,
Saue Inglysche men whare so thay fare.
Als I me wente this endres-daye,
Full faste in mynd makane my mone,
In a mery mornynge of May,
By Huntle bankkes my selfe allone,
5
I herde the jaye, and the
'
throstelle,'
The mawys menyde of hir songe,
The wodewale beryde als a belle,
That all the wode abowte me ronge.
Allone in longynge, thus als I laye,
10
Vndre nethe a semely tre,
'Saw I' whare a lady gaye,
'Came ridand' ouer a longe lee.
If I suld sytt to Domesdaye,
With my tonge, to wrebbe and wrye,
15
Certanely that lady gaye,
Neuer bese scho askryede for mee.
Hir palfraye was a dappill graye;
Swilke one I saghe ne neuer none:
Als dose the sonne, on someres daye,
20
That faire lady hir selfe scho schone.
Hir
selle it was of reele bone,
Full semely was that syghte to see!
Stefly sett with precyous stones,
And compaste all with crapotee,
25
Stones of Oryence, grete plente.
Hir hare abowte hir hede it hange;
Scho rode ouer that lange lee;
A whylle scho blewe, a nother scho sange.
Hir garthes of nobyll sylke they were;
30
The bukylls were of berelle stone;
Hir steraps were of crystalle clere,
And all with perelle ouer bygone.
Hir payetrelle was of iralle fyne;
Hir cropoure was of orfaré;
35
And als clere golde hir brydill it schone;
One aythir syde hange bellys three.
'Scho led seuen grew houndis in a leeshe;'
And seuen raches by hir they rone;
Scho bare a horne abowte hir halse;
40
And vnder hir belte full many a flone.
Thomas laye and sawe that syghte,
Vnder nethe ane semly tree;
He sayd, "yone es Marye most of myghte,
That bare that childe that dyede for mee.
45
"But if I speke with yone lady bryghte,
I hope myn herte will bryste in three;
Now sall I go with all my myghte,
Hir for to mete at Eldoun tree."
Thomas rathely vpe he rase,
50
And he rane ouer that mountayne hye;
Gyff it be als the storye sayes,
He hir mette at Eldone tree.
He knelyde down appon his knee,
Vndir nethe that grenwode spraye:—
55
And sayd, "lufly ladye! rewe one mee;
Qwene of heuen, als thu wele maye!"
Then spake that lady milde of thoghte:—
"Thomas, late swylke wordes bee;
Qwene of heuenne, am I noghte,
60
For I tuke neuer so heghe degre.
"Bot I ame of ane other contree,
If I be payrelde moste of prysse;
I ryde aftyre this wylde fee;
My raches rynnys at my devyse."
65
"If thu be parelde moste of prysse,
And here rydis thus in thy folye,
Of lufe, lady, als thu art wysse,
Thou gyffe me leue to lye the bye."
Scho sayde, "thu man, that ware folye;
70
I praye the, Thomas, thu lat me bee;
Ffor I saye the full sekirlye,
That syne will fordoo all my beaute."
"Now lufly ladye rewe on mee,
And I will euer more with the duelle;
75
Here my trouthe I 'plyghte to thee,'
Wethir thu will in heuen or helle."
"Mane of molde, thu will me marre,
But yitt thu sall hafe all thy will;
And trowe it wele, thu chewys the werre,
80
Ffor alle my beaute will thu spylle."
Down than lyghte that lady bryghte,
Vndir nethe that grene wode spraye;
And, als the storye tellis full ryghte,
Seuen sythis by hir he laye.
85
Scho sayd, "man, the lykes thi playe:
What byrde in boure maye delle with the?
Thou merrys me all this longe daye;
I pray the, Thomas, late me bee."
Thomas stode wpe in that stede,
90
And he byhelde that lady gaye;
Hir hare it hange all ouer hir hede,
Hir eghne semede owte, that are were graye.
And all the riche clothynge was awaye,
That he byfore sawe in that stede;
95
Hir a schanke blake, hir other graye,
And all hir body lyke the lede;
Thomas laye, and sawe that syghte,
Vndir nethe that grenewod tree.
Than sayd Thomas, "allas! allas!
100
In faythe this es a dullfull syghte;
How arte thu fadyde thus in the face,
That schane byfore als the sonne so bryght!"
Scho sayd, "Thomas, take leve at sone and mone,
And als at lefe that grewes on tree;
105
This twelmoneth sall thu with me gone,
And medill-erthe thu sall non see."
He knelyd downe appon his knee,
Vndir nethe that grenewod spraye;
And sayd, "
Lufly lady! rewe on mee,
110
Mylde qwene of heuen, als thu beste maye."
"Allas!" he sayd, "and wa es mee,
I trewe my dedis will wirke me care;
My saulle, Jhesu, byteche I the,
Whedir come that euer my banes sall fare."
115
Scho ledde hym in at Eldone hill,
Vndir nethe a derne lee;
Whare it was dirk as mydnyght myrke,
And euer the water till his knee.
The montenans of dayes three,
120
He herd bot swoghyne of the flode;
At the laste, he sayde, "full wa es mee!
Almaste I dye, for fawte of fude."
Scho lede hym in till a faire herbere,
Whare frwte was 'growyng in gret plentee;'
125
Pers and appill, bothe rype thay were,
The date, and als the damasee;
The fygge, and als so the wyne-berye;
The nyghtyngales lyggande on thair neste;
The papeioyes faste abowte gan flye;
130
And throstylls sange, wolde hafe no reste.
He pressede to pulle frowte with his hande,
Als man for fude that was nere faynt;
Scho sayd, "Thomas, thu late tham stande,
Or ells the fende the will atteynt.
135
"If thu it plokk, sothely to say,
Thi saule gose to the fyre of helle;
It comes neuer owte or Domesdaye,
Bot ther in payne ay for to duelle.
"Thomas, sothely, I the hyghte,
140
Come lygge thyn hede down on my knee,
And 'thou' sall se the fayreste syghte,
That euer sawe man of thi contree."
He did in hye als scho hym badde;
Appone hir knee his hede he layde,
145
Ffor hir to paye he was full glade,
And than that lady to him sayde—
"Seese thu nowe yone faire waye,
That lyggis ouer yone heghe montayne?—
Yone es the waye to heuen for aye,
150
When synfull sawles are passed ther payne.
"Seese thu nowe yone other waye,
That lygges lawe by nethe yone rysse?
Yone es the waye, the sothe to saye,
Vnto the joye of paradyse.
155
"Seese thu yitt yone third waye,
That ligges vnder yone grene playne?
Yone es the waye, with tene and traye,
Whare synfull saulis suffiris thare payne.
"Bot seese thu nowe yone forthe waye,
160
That lygges ouer yone depe delle?
Yone es the way, so waylawaye,
Vnto the byrnande fyre of hell.
"Seese thu yitt yone faire castelle,
That standes vpone yone heghe hill?
165
Of towne and towre, it beris the belle;
In erthe es none lyk it vntill.
"Ffor sothe, Thomas, yone es myn awenn,
And the kynges of this countree;
Bot me ware leuer hanged and drawen,
170
Or that he wyste thou laye me by.
"When thu commes to yone castelle gay,
I pray the curtase man to bee;
And whate so any man to the saye,
Luke thu answere none bott mee.
175
"My lorde es seruede at ylk a mese,
With thritty knyghttis faire and free;
I sail saye, syttande at the dasse,
I tuke thi speche byyonde the see."
Thomas still als stane he stude.
180
And he byhelde that lady gaye;
Scho come agayne als faire and gude,
And al so ryche one hir palfraye.
Hir grewe hundis fillide with dere blode;
Hir rachis couplede, by my faye;
185
Scho blewe hir horne with mayne and mode,
Vnto the castelle scho tuk the waye.
In to the haulle sothely scho went;
Thomas foloued at hir hande;
Than ladyes come, bothe faire and gent,
190
With curtassye to hit knelande.
Harpe and fethill bothe thay fande,
Getterne, and als so the sawtrye;
Lutte and rybybe, bothe gangande,
And all manere of mynstralsye.
195
The most meruelle that Thomas thoghte,
When that he stode appon the flore;
Ffor feftty hertes in were broghte,
That were bothe 'largely' grete and store.
Raches laye lapande in the blode,
200
Cokes come with dryssynge knyfe;
They brittened tham als thay were wode;
Reuelle amanges thame was full ryfe.
Knyghtis dawnsede by three and three,
Thare was revelle, gamen, and playe,
205
Lufly ladyes, faire and free,
That satte and sange one riche araye.
Thomas duellide in that solace
More than I yowe save, perde;
Till one a daye, so hafe I grace,
210
My lufly lady sayde to mee:
"Do busk the, Thomas,—the
busk agayne,
Ffor thu may here no lengare be;
Hye the faste, with myghte and mayne;
I sall the brynge till Eldone tree."
215
Thomas sayde than with heuy chere;
"Lufly lady, nowe late me bee;
Ffor certis, lady, I hafe bene here
Noghte bot the space of dayes three.
"Ffor sothe, Thomas, als I the telle,
220
Thou hase bene here thre yere and more;
Bot langere here thu may noghte dwelle;
The skylle I sall the telle wherefore.
"To morne, of helle the foulle fende
Amange this folke will feche his fee;
225
And thu arte mekill man and hende,
I trowe full wele he wolde chese the.
"Ffor all the gold that euer may bee,
Ffro hethyn unto the worldis ende,
Thou bese neuer betrayede for mee;
230
Therefore with me I rede thou wende."
Scho broghte hym agayne to Eldone tree,
Vndir nethe that grenewode spraye;
In Huntlee bannkes es mery to bee,
Whare fowles synges bothe nyght and daye.
235
"Fferre owtt in yone mountane graye,
Thomas, my fawkon byggis a neste;—
A fawcoun is an eglis praye;
Fforthi in na place may he reste.
"Ffare well, Thomas; I wend my waye;
240
Ffor me byhouys ouer thir benttis brown."
—Loo here a fytt: more es to saye,
All of Thomas of Erselldown.—
22, Laing, by tene.[refers to line 22, missing]
5, Linc. MS. throstylle cokke.
109, Lufly lady, i.e. Mary.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, (iv. 117.) "Given from a copy
obtained from a lady residing not far from Ercildoune, corrected and
enlarged by one in Mrs. Brown's MSS."
True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his ee;
And there he saw a ladye bright,
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.
5
Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane,
Hung fifty siller bells and nine.
True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap,
10
And louted low down to his knee:
"All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
For thy peer on earth I never did see."—
"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,
"That name does not belang to me;
15
I am but the Queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.
"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said;
"Harp and carp along wi' me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
20
Sure of your bodie I will be."
"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
That weird shall never daunton me."—
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.
25
"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said;
"True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;
And ye maun serve me seven years,
Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be."
She mounted on her milk-white steed;
30
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind:
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.
O they rade on, and farther on;
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
35
Until they reach'd a desert wide,
And living land was left behind.
"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas,
And lean your head upon my knee;
Abide and rest a little space,
40
And I will shew you ferlies three.
"O see ye not yon narrow road,
So thick beset with thorns and briers?
That is the path of righteousness,
Though after it but few enquires.
45
"And see ye not that braid braid road,
That lies across that lily leven?
That is the path of wickedness,
Though some call it the road to heaven.
"And see not ye that bonny road,
50
That winds about the fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.
"But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
Whatever ye may hear or see;
55
For, if you speak word in Elfyn land,
Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie."
O they rade on, and farther on,
And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
60
But they heard the roaring of the sea.
It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
And they waded through red blude to the knee;
For a' the blude that's shed on earth
Rins through the springs o' that countrie.
65
Syne they came on to a garden green,
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree—
"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas;
It will give thee the tongue that can never lie."—
"I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye."—
75
"Now hold thy peace!" the lady said,
"For as I say, so must it be."—
He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green;
And till seven years were gane and past,
80
True Thomas on earth was never seen.
70. The traditional commentary upon this ballad informs us,
that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of Knowledge, and
that the garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repugnance of Thomas
to be debarred the use of falsehood, when he might find it convenient,
has a comic effect. SCOTT.
The Tayl of the Yong Tamlene is mentioned in the Complaynt of
Scotland, (1548,) and the dance of Thom of Lyn is noticed in
the same work. A considerable fragment of this ballad was printed by
Herd, (vol. i. 215,) under the title of Kertonha', a corruption of
Carterhaugh; another is furnished in Maidment's New Book of Old
Ballads, (p. 54,) and a nearly complete version in Johnson's
Museum, (p. 423,) which, with some alterations, was inserted in the
Tales of Wonder, (No. 58.) The present edition, prepared by Sir
Walter Scott from a collation of various copies, is longer than any
other, but was originally disfigured by several supposititious stanzas
here omitted. Another version, with Maidment's fragment, will be found
in the Appendix to this volume.
"Carterhaugh is a plain, at the conflux of the Ettrick and Yarrow in
Selkirkshire, about a mile above Selkirk, and two miles below Newark
Castle; a romantic ruin which overhangs the Yarrow, and which is said
to have been the habitation of our heroine's father, though others
place his residence in the tower of Oakwood. The peasants point out,
upon the plain, those electrical rings, which vulgar credulity
supposes to be traces of the Fairy revels. Here, they say, were
placed the stands of milk, and of water, in which Tamlane was
dipped, in order to effect the disenchantment; and upon these spots,
according to their mode of expressing themselves, the grass will never
grow. Miles Cross, (perhaps a corruption of Mary's Cross,) where fair
Janet awaited the arrival of the Fairy train, is said to have stood
near the Duke of Buccleuch's seat of Bow-hill, about half a mile from
Carterhaugh."—(SCOTT'S Minstrelsy, ii. 334, at the end of a
most interesting essay, introductory to this tale, on the Fairies of
Popular Superstition.)
"O I forbid ye, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tamlane is there.
5
"There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh,
But maun leave him a wad,
Either gowd rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenheid.
"Now gowd rings ye may buy, maidens,
10
Green mantles ye may spin;
But, gin ye lose your maidenheid,
Ye'll ne'er get that agen."—
But up then spak her, fair Janet,
The fairest o' a' her kin;
15
"I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh;
And ask nae leave o' him."—
Janet has kilted her green kirtle,
A little abune her knee;
And she has braided her yellow hair,
20
A little abune her bree.
And when she came to Carterhaugh,
She gaed beside the well;
And there she fand his steed standing,
But away was himsell.
25
She hadna pu'd a red red rose,
A rose but barely three;
Till up and starts a wee wee man,
At lady Janet's knee.
Says—"Why pu' ye the rose, Janet?
30
What gars ye break the tree?
Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,
Withouten leave o' me?"—
Says—"Carterhaugh it is mine ain;
My daddie gave it me;
35
I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave o' thee."
He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the leaves sae green;
And what they did, I cannot tell—
40
The green leaves were between.
He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
Among the roses red;
And what they did, I cannot say—
She ne'er return'd a maid.
45
When she cam to her father's ha',
She looked pale and wan;
They thought she'd dreed some sair sickness,
Or been with some leman.
She didna comb her yellow hair,
50
Nor make meikle o'er her head;
And ilka thing that lady took,
Was like to be her deid.
It's four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the ba';
55
Janet, the wightest of them anes,
Was faintest o' them a'.
Four and twenty ladies fair
Were playing at the chess;
And out there came the fair Janet,
60
As green as any grass.
Out and spak an auld grey-headed knight,
Lay o'er the castle wa',—
"And ever, alas! for thee, Janet,
But we'll be blamed a'!"—
65
"Now haud your tongue, ye auld grey knight!
And an ill deid may ye die;
Father my bairn on whom I will,
I'll father nane on thee."—
Out then spak her father dear,
70
And he spak meik and mild—
"And ever, alas! my sweet Janet,
I fear ye gae with child."—
"And if I be with child, father,
Mysell maun bear the blame;
75
There's ne'er a knight about your ha'
Shall hae the bairnie's name.
"And if I be with child, father,
'Twill prove a wondrous birth;
For weel I swear I'm not wi' bairn
80
To any man on earth.
"If my love were an earthly knight,
As he's an elfin grey,
I wadna gie my ain true love
For nae lord that ye hae."
85
She prink'd hersell and prinn'd hersell,
By the ae light of the moon,
And she's away to Carterhaugh,
To speak wi' young Tamlane.
And when she came to Carterhaugh,
90
She gaed beside the well;
And there she saw the steed standing,
But away was himsell.
She hadna pu'd a double rose,
A rose but only twae,
95
When up and started young Tamlane,
Says—"Lady, thou pu's nae mae!
"Why pu' ye the rose, Janet,
Within this garden grene,
And a' to kill the bonny babe,
100
That we got us between?"
"The truth ye'll tell to me, Tamlane;
A word ye mauna lie;
Gin e'er ye was in haly chapel,
Or sained in Christentie?"
105
"The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet,
A word I winna lie;
A knight me got, and a lady me bore,
As well as they did thee.
"Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,
110
Dunbar, Earl March, is thine;
We loved when we were children small,
Which yet you well may mind.
"When I was a boy just turn'd of nine,
My uncle sent for me,
115
To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
And keep him companie.
"There came a wind out of the north,
A sharp wind and a snell;
And a deep sleep came over me,
120
And frae my horse I fell.
"The Queen of Fairies keppit me,
In yon green hill to dwell;
And I'm a fairy, lyth and limb;
Fair ladye, view me well.
125
"Then would I never tire, Janet,
In Elfish land to dwell;
But aye, at every seven years,
They pay the teind to hell;
And I am sae fat and fair of flesh,
130
I fear 'twill be mysell.
"This night is Hallowe'en, Janet,
The morn is Hollowday;
And, gin ye dare your true love win,
Ye hae nae time to stay.
135
"The night it is good Hallowe'en,
When fairy folk will ride;
And they that wad their true-love win,
At Miles Cross they maun bide."
"But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane?
140
Or how shall I thee knaw,
Amang so many unearthly knights,
The like I never saw?"
"The first company that passes by,
Say na, and let them gae;
145
The next company that passes by,
Sae na, and do right sae;
The third company that passes by,
Then I'll be ane o' thae.
"First let pass the black, Janet,
150
And syne let pass the brown;
But grip ye to the milk-white steed,
And pu' the rider down.
"For I ride on the milk-white steed,
And aye nearest the town;
155
Because I was a christen'd knight,
They gave me that renown.
"My right hand will be gloved, Janet,
My left hand will be bare;
And these the tokens I gie thee,
160
Nae doubt I will be there.
"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and a snake;
But had me fast, let me not pass,
Gin ye wad buy me maik.
165
"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
An adder and an ask;
They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
A bale that burns fast.
"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,
170
A red-hot gad o' airn;
But haud me fast, let me not pass,
For I'll do you no harm.
"First dip me in a stand o' milk,
And then in a stand o' water;
175
But had me fast, let me not pass—
I'll be your bairn's father.
"And, next, they'll shape me in your arms,
A tod, but and an eel;
But had me fast, nor let me gang,
180
As you do love me weel.
"They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,
A dove, but and a swan;
And, last, they'll shape me in your arms
A mother-naked man:
185
Cast your green mantle over me—
I'll be myself again."—
Gloomy, gloomy, was the night,
And eiry was the way,
As fair Janet, in her green mantle,
190
To Miles Cross she did gae.
Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,
A north wind tore the bent;
And straight she heard strange elritch sounds
Upon that wind which went.
195
About the dead hour o' the night,
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o' that
As any earthly thing.
Will o' Wisp before them went,
200
Sent forth a twinkling light;
And soon she saw the Fairy bands
All riding in her sight.
And first gaed by the black black steed,
And then gaed by the brown;
205
But fast she gript the milk-white steed,
And pu'd the rider down.
She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed,
And loot the bridle fa';
And up there raise an erlish cry—
210
"He's won amang us a'!"—
They shaped him in fair Janet's arms,
An esk, but and an adder;
She held him fast in every shape—
To be her bairn's father.
215
They shaped him in her arms at last,
A mother-naked man:
She wrapt him in her green mantle,
And sae her true love wan!
Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
220
Out o' a bush o' broom—
"She that has borrow'd young Tamlane,
Has gotten a stately groom."—
Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,
Out o' a bush o' rye—
225
"She's ta'en awa the bonniest knight
In a' my cumpanie.
"But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says,
"A lady wad borrow'd thee—
I wad ta'en out thy twa grey een,
230
Put in twa een o' tree.
"Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says,
"Before ye came frae hame—
I wad ta'en out your heart o' flesh,
Put in a heart o' stane.
235
"Had I but had the wit yestreen
That I hae coft the day—
I'd paid my kane seven times to hell
Ere you'd been won away!"
130. See Thomas of Ersseldoune, (p. 107,) v. 225, 226.
V. 157-168, v. 208-214. The same process of disenchantment is found in
the Danish ballad Nattergalen, st. 20-22, Grundtvig, No. 57 (also
Svenska Folk-visor, No. 41). The comparison with the
transformations of Proteus is curious.
ἀμφὶ δὲ χεῖρας
βάλλομεν· οὐδ' ὁ γέρων δολίης ἐπελήθετο τέχνης·
ἀλλ' ἤτοι πρώτιστα λέων γένετ' ἠϋγένειος,
αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα δράκων καὶ πόρδαλις ἠδὲ μέγας σῦς·
γίγνετο δ' ὑγρὸν ὕδωρ καὶ δένδρεον ὑψιπέτηλον.
ἡμεῖς δ' ἀστεμφέως ἔχομεν τετληότι θυμῷ.
Odyssey, iv. 454-59.
Verum ubi correptum manibus vinclisque tenebis,
Tum variæ eludent species atque ora ferarum:
Fiet enim subito sus horridus atraque tigris,
Squamosusque draco, et fulva cervice leæna,
Aut acrem flammæ sonitum dabit, atque ita vinclis
Excidet, aut in aquas tenues dilapsus abibit.
Sed quanto ille magis formas se vertet in omnes,
Tanto, nate, magis contende tenacia vincla.
Georgics, iv. 405-12.
This ballad will be found, in forms slightly varying, in Herd, (i.
156;) Caw's Poetical Museum, (p. 348;) Motherwell's Minstrelsy,
(p. 343;) and Buchan's Ancient Ballads, (i. 263.) It bears some
resemblance to the beginning of the remarkable poem, Als Y Yod on ay
Mounday, (see Appendix). The present version is from the Poetical
Museum.
As I was walking by my lane,
Atween a water and a wa,
There sune I spied a wee wee man,
He was the least that eir I saw.
He has tane up a meikle stane,
10
And flang't as far as I cold see;
Ein thouch I had been Wallace wicht,
I dought na lift it to my knie.
"O wee wee man, but ye be strang!
Tell me whar may thy dwelling be?"
15
"I dwell beneth that bonnie bouir,
O will ye gae wi me and see?"
On we lap, and awa we rade,
Till we cam to a bonny green;
We lichted syne to bait our steid,
20
And out there cam a lady sheen;
Wi four and twentie at her back,
A' comely cled in glistering green;
Thouch there the King of Scots had stude,
The warst micht weil hae been his queen.
25
On syne we past wi wondering cheir,
Till we cam to a bonny ha;
The roof was o the beaten gowd,
The flure was o the crystal a.
7. Much better in Motherwell.
Between his een there was a span
Betwixt his shoulders there were ells three
29-32.
There were pipers playing in every neuk,
And ladies dancing, jimp and sma';
And aye the owreturn o' their tune
Was, "Our wee wee man has been lang awa!"—
Motherwell.
Reprinted from A Collection of Curious Old Ballads and Miscellaneous
Poetry, Edinburgh. David Webster, 1824.
Other versions are given in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, (see the
Appendix to this volume;)
Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, (p.145;) Buchan's
Ancient Ballads, (ii. 296.)
Similar collections of impossibilities in The Trooper and Fair Maid,
Buchan, i. 230; Robin's Tesment, id., i. 273, or Aytoun, 2d ed. ii.
197; As I was walking under a grove, Pills to purge Melancholy, v.
370. See also post, vol. ii. 224, 352, vol. iv. 132, 287; and in
German, Von eitel unmöglichen Dingen, Erk's Liederhort, p. 334-37;
Uhland, Eitle Dinge, No. 4, A, B; Wunderhorn, ii. 410.
The Elfin knight sits on yon hill,
Ba, ba, ba, lillie ba.
He blaws his horn baith loud and shrill.
The wind hath blawn my plaid awa.
He blaws it east, he blaws it west,
He blaws it where he liketh best.
5
"I wish that horn were in my kist,
Yea, and the knight in my arms niest."
She had no sooner these words said,
Than the knight came to her bed.
"Thou art o'er young a maid," quoth he,
10
"Married with me, that thou would'st be."
"I have a sister, younger than I,
And she was married yesterday."
"Married with me if thou would'st be,
A curtisie thou must do to me.
15
"It's ye maun mak a sark to me,
Without any cut or seam," quoth he;
"And ye maun shape it, knife-, sheerless,
And also sew it needle-, threedless."
"If that piece of courtisie I do to thee,
20
Another thou must do to me.
"I have an aiker of good ley land,
Which lyeth low by yon sea strand;
"It's ye maun till't wi' your touting horn,
And ye maun saw't wi' the pepper corn;
25
"And ye maun harrow't wi' a thorn,
And hae your wark done ere the morn;
"And ye maun shear it wi' your knife,
And no lose a stack o't for your life;
"And ye maun stack it in a mouse hole,
30
And ye maun thrash it in your shoe sole;
"And ye maun dight it in your loof,
And also sack it in your glove;
"And
ye maun bring it over the sea,
Fair, and clean, and dry to me;
35
"And when that ye have done your wark,
Come back to me, and ye'll get your sark."
"I'll not quite my plaid for my life;
It haps my seven bairnes and my wife."
"My maidenhead I'll then keep still,
40
Let the Elfin knight do what he will.
"My plaid awa, my plaid away,
And owre the hills and far awa,
And far awa to Norowa',
My plaid shall not be blawn awa."
A fragment of this ballad was printed in Herd's Collection, ("I'll
wager, I'll wager," i. 226.) The present version is from the Border
Minstrelsy, (iii. 28,) and we have added another from Kinloch's
Ancient Scottish Ballads. A somewhat longer copy is given in
Buchan's Ballads, (ii. 291,) and a modernized English one, of no
value, (The West Country Wager,) in Ancient Poems, &c.,
Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 116.
Brume, brume on hil, is mentioned in the Complaynt of
Scotland, and formed part of Captain Cox's well-known collection.
A Danish ballad exhibits the same theme, though differently treated:
Sövnerunerne, Grundtvig, No. 81.
There was a knight and a lady bright,
Had a true tryst at the broom;
The ane ga'ed early in the morning,
The other in the afternoon.
5
And aye she sat in her mother's bower door,
And aye she made her mane,
"O whether should I gang to the Broomfield hill,
Or should I stay at hame?
"For if I gang to the Broomfield hill,
10
My maidenhead is gone;
And if I chance to stay at hame,
My love will ca' me mansworn."—
Up then spake a witch woman,
Aye from the room aboon;
15
"O, ye may gang to Broomfield hill,
And yet come maiden hame.
"For when ye come to the Broomfield hill,
Ye'll find your love asleep,
With a silver belt about his head,
20
And a broom-cow at his feet.
"Take ye the blossom of the broom,
The blossom it smells sweet,
And strew it at your true love's head,
And likewise at his feet.
25
"Take ye the rings off your fingers,
Put them on his right hand,
To let him know, when he doth awake,
His love was at his command."—
She pu'd the broom flower on Hive-hill,
30
And strew'd on's white hals bane,
And that was to be wittering true,
That maiden she had gane.
"O where were ye, my milk-white steed,
That I hae coft sae dear,
35
That wadna watch and waken me,
When there was maiden here?"—
"I stamped wi' my foot, master,
And gar'd my bridle ring;
But nae kin' thing wald waken ye,
40
Till she was past and gane."—
"And wae betide ye, my gay goss hawk,
That I did love sae dear,
That wadna watch and waken me,
When there was maiden here."—
45
"I clapped wi' my wings, master,
And aye my bells I rang,
And aye cry'd, Waken, waken, master,
Before the ladye gang."—
"But haste and haste, my gude white steed,
50
To come the maiden till,
Or a' the birds of gude green wood
Of your flesh shall have their fill."—
"Ye needna burst your gude white steed,
Wi' racing o'er the howm;
55
Nae bird flies faster through the wood,
Than she fled through the broom."
"I'll wager, I'll wager," says Lord John,
"A hundred merks and ten,
That ye winna gae to the bonnie broom-fields,
And a maid return again."—
5
"But I'll lay a wager wi' you, Lord John,
A' your merks oure again,
That I'll gae alane to the bonnie broom-fields,
And a maid return again."
Then Lord John mounted his grey steed,
10
And his hound wi' his bells sae bricht,
And swiftly he rade to the bonny broom-fields,
Wi' his hawks, like a lord or knicht.
"Now rest, now rest, my bonnie grey steed,
My lady will soon be here;
15
And I'll lay my head aneath this rose sae red,
And the bonnie burn sae near."
But sound, sound, was the sleep he took,
For he slept till it was noon;
And his lady cam at day, left a taiken and away,
20
Gaed as licht as a glint o' the moon.
She strawed the roses on the ground,
Threw her mantle on the brier,
And the belt around her middle sae jimp,
As a taiken that she'd been there.
25
The rustling leaves flew round his head,
And rous'd him frae his dream;
He saw by the roses, and mantle sae green,
That his love had been there and was gane.
"O whare was ye, my gude grey steed,
30
That I coft ye sae dear;
That ye didna waken your master,
Whan ye ken'd that his love was here."—
"I pautit wi' my foot, master,
Garr'd a' my bridles ring;
35
And still I cried, Waken, gude master,
For now is the hour and time."—
"Then whare was ye, my bonnie grey hound,
That I coft ye sae dear,
That ye didna waken your master,
40
Whan ye kend that his love was here."—
"I pautit wi' my foot, master,
Garr'd a' my bells to ring;
And still I cried, Waken, gude master,
For now is the hour and time."—
45
"But whare was ye, my hawks, my hawks,
That I coft ye sae dear,
That ye didna waken your master,
Whan ye ken'd that his love was here."—
"O wyte na me, now, my master dear,
50
I garr'd a' my young hawks sing,
And still I cried, Waken, gude master,
For now is the hour and time."—
"Then be it sae, my wager gane!
'T will skaith frae meikle ill;
55
For gif I had found her in bonnie broom-fields,
O' her heart's blude ye'd drunken your fill."
The stanzas below are from an American version of this ballad called
The Green Broomfield, printed in a cheap song-book. (Graham's
Illustrated Magazine, Sept. 1858.)
"Then when she went to the green broom field,
Where her love was fast asleep,
With a gray goose-hawk and a green laurel bough,
And a green broom under his feet.
"And when he awoke from out his sleep,
An angry man was he;
He looked to the East, and he looked to the West,
And he wept for his sweetheart to see.
"Oh! where was you, my gray goose-hawk,
The hawk that I loved so dear,
That you did not awake me from out my sleep,
When my sweetheart was so near!"
This ballad was first printed in the Border Minstrelsy, (vol. iii.
p. 230,) "chiefly from Mrs. Brown's MS. with corrections from a
recited fragment." Motherwell furnishes a different version, from
recitation, (Minstrelsy, p. 374,) which is subjoined to the
present, and the well-known ditty of the Laidley Worm of
Spindleston-Heugh, upon the same theme, will be found in the Appendix
to this volume.
"Such transformations as the song narrates," remarks Sir Walter Scott,
"are common in the annals of chivalry. In the 25th and 26th cantos of
the second book of the Orlando Inamorato, the Paladin, Brandimarte,
after surmounting many obstacles, penetrates into the recesses of an
enchanted palace. Here he finds a fair damsel, seated upon a tomb, who
announces to him, that, in order to achieve her deliverance, he must
raise the lid of the sepulchre, and kiss whatever being should issue
forth. The knight, having pledged his faith, proceeds to open the
tomb, out of which a monstrous snake issues forth, with a tremendous
hiss. Brandimarte, with much reluctance, fulfils the bizarre
conditions of the adventure; and the monster is instantly changed into
a beautiful Fairy, who loads her deliverer with benefits."
Jomfruen i Ormeham, in Grundtvig's Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser, ii.
177, is essentially the same ballad as Kempion. The characteristic
incident of the story (a maiden who has been transformed by her
step-mother into a snake or other monster, being restored to her
proper shape by the kiss of a knight) is as common in the popular
fiction of the North as Scott asserts it to be in chivalrous romance.
For instances, see Grundtvig, l.l., and under the closely related
Lindormen, ii. 211.
The name Kempion is itself a monument of the relation of our ballads
to the Kæmpeviser. Pollard of Pollard Hall, who slew "a venomous
serpent which did much harm to man and beast," is called in the modern
legend a Champion Knight.
"Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely feed,
And lay your head low on my knee;
The heaviest weird I will you read,
That ever was read to gay ladye.
5
"O meikle dolour sall ye dree,
And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim;
And far mair dolour sall ye dree
On
Estmere crags, when ye them climb.
"I weird ye to a fiery beast,
10
And relieved sall ye never be,
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."—
O meikle dolour did she dree,
And aye the salt seas o'er she swam;
15
And far mair dolour did she dree
On Estmere crag, when she them clamb.
And aye she cried for Kempion,
Gin he would but come to her hand:
Now word has gane to Kempion,
20
That sicken a beast was in his land.
"Now, by my sooth," said Kempion,
"This fiery beast I'll gang and see."—
"And by my sooth," said Segramour,
"My ae brother, I'll gang wi' thee."
25
Then bigged hae they a bonny boat,
And they hae set her to the sea;
But a mile before they reach'd the shore,
Around them she gar'd the red fire flee.
"O Segramour, keep the boat afloat,
30
And let her na the land o'er near;
For this wicked beast will sure gae mad,
And set fire to a' the land and mair."—
Syne has he bent an arblast bow,
And aim'd an arrow at her head;
35
And swore if she didna quit the land,
Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.
"O out of my stythe I winna rise,
(And it is not for the awe o' thee,)
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
40
Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."—
He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag,
And gien the monster kisses ane;
Awa she gaed, and again she cam.
The fieryest beast that ever was seen.
45
"O out o' my stythe I winna rise,
(And not for a' thy bow nor thee,)
Till Kempion, the kingis son,
Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."—
He's louted him o'er the Estmere crags,
50
And he has gi'en her kisses twa:
Awa she gaed, and again she cam,
The fieryest beast that ever you saw.
"O out of my den I winna rise,
Nor flee it for the fear o' thee,
55
Till Kempion, that courteous knight,
Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."—
He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,
And he has gi'en her kisses three:
Awa she gaed, and again she cam,
60
The loveliest ladye e'er could be!
"And by my sooth," says Kempion,
"My ain true love, (for this is she,)
They surely had a heart o' stane,
Could put thee to such misery.
65
"O was it warwolf in the wood?
Or was it mermaid in the sea?
Or was it man or vile woman,
My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee?"—
"It wasna warwolf in the wood,
70
Nor was it mermaid in the sea:
But it was my wicked step-mother,
And wae and weary may she be!"—
"O, a heavier weird shall light her on,
Than ever fell on vile woman;
75
Her hair shall grow rough, and her teeth grow lang,
And on her four feet shall she gang.
"None shall take pity her upon;
In Wormeswood she aye shall won;
And relieved shall she never be,
80
Till St. Mungo come over the sea."—
And sighing said that weary wight,
"I doubt that day I'll never see!"
8. If by Estmere Crags we are to understand the rocky cliffs of
Northumberland, in opposition to Westmoreland, we may bring our scene
of action near Bamborough, and thereby almost identify the tale of
Kempion with that of the Laidley Worm of Spindleston, to which it
bears so strong a resemblance.—SCOTT. But why should we seek to
do this?
Kemp Owyne, says Motherwell, "was, no doubt, the same Ewein or Owain,
ap Urien the king of Reged, who is celebrated by the bards, Taliessin
and Llywarch-Hen, as well as in the Welsh historical Triads. In a poem
of Gruffyd Llwyd, A.D. 1400, addressed to Owain Glyndwr, is the
following allusion to this warrior. 'Thou hast travelled by land and
by sea in the conduct of thine affairs, like Owain ap Urien in days of
yore, when with activity he encountered the black knight of the
water.'
[3]
His mistress had a ring esteemed one of the thirteen
rarities of Britain, which, (like the wondrous ring of Gyges) would
render the wearer invisible." Minstrelsy, p. lxxxiii.
The copy of Kemp Owyne printed in Buchan's Ancient Ballads, (ii.
78,) is the same as the following.
Her mother died when she was young,
Which gave her cause to make great moan;
Her father married the warst woman
That ever lived in Christendom.
5
She served her with foot and hand,
In every thing that she could dee;
Till once, in an unlucky time,
She threw her in ower Craigy's sea.
Says, "Lie you there, dove Isabel,
10
And all my sorrows lie with thee;
Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea,
And borrow you with kisses three,
Let all the warld do what they will,
Oh borrowed shall you never be."
15
Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang,
And twisted thrice about the tree,
And all the people, far and near,
Thought that a savage beast was she;
This news did come to Kemp Owyne,
20
Where he lived far beyond the sea.
He hasted him to Craigy's sea,
And on the savage beast look'd he;
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted was about the tree,
25
And with a swing she came about:
"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.
"Here is a royal belt," she cried,
"That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
30
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I vow my belt your death shall be."
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal belt he brought him wi';
35
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted twice about the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.
"Here is a royal ring," she said,
40
"That I have found in the green sea;
And while your finger it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my ring your death shall be."
45
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal ring he brought him wi';
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted ance around the tree,
And with a swing she came about:
50
"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me.
"Here is a royal brand," she said,
"That I have found in the green sea;
And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
55
But if you touch me, tail or fin,
I swear my brand your death shall be."
He stepped in, gave her a kiss,
The royal brand he brought him wi';
Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,
60
And twisted nane about the tree;0
And smilingly she came about,
As fair a woman as fair could be.
A modernized copy of King Henry was published in the Tales of
Wonder, (No 57,) under the title of Courteous King Jamie. It first
appeared in an ancient dress in the Border Minstrelsy, (iii. 274,}
but a version preferable in some respects was given by Jamieson in his
Popular Ballads, (ii. 194,) which is here printed, without the
editor's interpolations. For a notice of similar legends, see the
Marriage of Sir Gawaine, at page 28 of this volume.
Lat never a man a wooing wend,
That lacketh thingis three;
A routh o' gould, an open heart,
Ay fu' o' charity.
5
As this I speak of King Henry,
For he lay burd-alane;
And he's doen him to a jelly hunt's ha',
Was far frae ony town.
He chas'd the deer now him before,
10
And the roe down by the den,
Till the fattest buck in a' the flock
King Henry he has slain.
O he has doen him to his ha',
To mak him bierly cheer;
15
And in it cam a grisly ghost,
Staed stappin' i' the fleer.
Her head hat the roof-tree o' the house,
Her middle ye mat weel span;—
He's thrown to her his gay mantle;
20
Says,—"Ladie, hap your lingcan."
Her teeth was a' like leather stakes,
Her nose like club or mell;
And I ken nae thing she 'pear'd to be,
But the fiend that wons in hell.
25
"Some meat, some meat, ye King Henry;
Some meat ye gie to me."
"And what meat's in this house, Ladie?
And what ha'e I to gi'e?"
"Its ye do kill your berry-brown steed,
30
And ye bring him here to me."
O whan he slew his berry-brown steed,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She ate him a' up, flesh and bane,
Left naething but hide and hair.
35
"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry,
Mair meat ye bring to me."
"And what meat's in this house, Ladie?
And what hae I to gi'e?"
"O ye do kill your good grey hounds,
40
And ye bring them in to me."
O whan he killed his good grey hounds,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She ate them a' up, flesh and bane,
Left naething but hide and hair.
45
"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry,
Mair meat ye bring to me."
"And what meat's in this house, Ladie?
And what hae I to gi'e?"
"O ye do kill your gay goss hawks,
50
And ye bring them here to me."
O whan he kill'd his gay goss hawks,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She ate them a' up, skin and bane,
Left naething but feathers bare.
55
"Some drink, some drink, now, King Henry;
Some drink ye bring to me."
"O what drink's in this house, Ladie,
That ye're nae welcome tee?"
"O ye sew up your horse's hide,
60
And bring in a drink to me."
And he's sew'd up the bloody hide,
A puncheon o' wine put in;
She drank it a' up at a waught,
Left na ae drap ahin'.
65
"A bed, a bed, now, King Henry,
A bed ye mak to me;
For ye maun pu' the heather green,
And mak a bed to me."
And pu'd has he the heather green,
70
And made to her a bed;
And up he's ta'en his gay mantle,
And o'er it has he spread.
"Tak aff your claiths, now, King Henry,
And lye down by my side;"
75
"O God forbid," says King Henry,
"That ever the like betide;
That ever the fiend that wons in hell,
Should streek down by my side."
Whan nicht was gane, and day was come,
80
And the sun shone thro' the ha',
The fairest lady that ever was seen
Lay atween him and the wa'.
"O weel is me!" says King Henry;
"How lang'll this last wi' me?"
85
Then out it spake that fair lady,—
"E'en till the day you die.
"For I've met wi' mony a gentle knicht,
That gae me sic a fill;
But never before wi' a curteis knicht,
90
That gae me a' my will."
This ballad, which is still very popular, is known under various other
names, as Bothwell, Child Brenton, Lord Dingwall, We were Sisters, We
were Seven, &c. Scott's version was derived principally from
recitation, but some of the concluding stanzas were taken from Herd's.
Herd's copy, which must be regarded as a fragment, is given in
connection with the present, and Buchan's in the Appendix to this
volume. Another edition, of a suspicious character, may be seen in
Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, (p. 205.) All the
principal incidents of the story are found in Ingefred og Gudrune,
Danske Viser, No. 194, translated by Jamieson, Illustrations p.
340. More or less imperfect versions of the same are Riddar Olle,
Svenska Folk-Visor, ii. p. 217, 59, 56, 215, and Herr Äster och
Fröken Sissa, p. 50. The substitution of the maid-servant for the
bride, occurs also in Torkild Trundesön, Danske V., No. 200, or
Thorkil Troneson, Arwidsson, No. 36. This idea was perhaps derived
from Tristan and Isold: see Scott's Sir Tristrem, II. 54, 55.
Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem;
Cospatrick brought his ladye hame;
And fourscore ships have come her wi',
The ladye by the grene-wood tree.
5
There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,
And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae reid,
And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,
And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour.
Sweet Willy was a widow's son,
10
And at her stirrup he did run;
And she was clad in the finest pall,
But aye she let the tears down fall.
"O is your saddle set awrye?
Or rides your steed for you ower high?
15
Or are you mourning, in your tide,
That you suld be Cospatrick's bride?"
"I am not mourning, at this tide,
That I suld be Cospatrick's bride;
But I am sorrowing in my mood,
29
That I suld leave my mother good.
"But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
What is the custom of thy countrie?"—
"The custom thereof, my dame," he says,
"Will ill a gentle laydye please.
25
"Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded,
And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded;
But he's cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,
And sent them mourning hame again.
"Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid,
30
Ye may gae safely to his bed;
But gif o' that ye be na sure,
Then hire some damsell o' your bour."—
The ladye's call'd her bour maiden,
That waiting was into her train;
35
"Five thousand merks I'll gie to thee,
To sleep this night with my lord for me."—
When bells were rang, and mass was sayne,
And a' men unto bed were gane,
Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
40
Into a chamber they were laid.
"Now, speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;
And speak up, my bonny brown sword, that winna lie,
Is this a true maiden that lies by me?"—
45
"It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
But it is a maid that you hae bedded;
It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,
But not the maiden that it should be."—
O wrathfully he left the bed,
50
And wrathfully his claes on did;
And he has ta'en him through the ha',
And on his mother he did ca'.
"I am the most unhappy man,
That ever was in Christen land!
55
I courted a maiden, meik and mild,
And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child."—
"O stay, my son, into this ha',
And sport ye wi' your merry men a';
And I will to the secret bour,
60
To see how it fares wi' your paramour."—
The carline she was stark and sture,
She aff the hinges dang the dure;
"O is your bairn to laird or loun,
Or is it to your father's groom?"—
65
"O hear me, mother, on my knee,
Till my sad story I tell to thee:
O we were sisters, sisters seven,
We were the fairest under heaven.
"It fell on a summer's afternoon,
70
When a' our toilsome task was done,
We cast the kevils us amang,
To see which suld to the grene-wood gang.
"Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,
And aye my wierd it was the hardest!
75
The kevil it on me did fa',
Whilk was the cause of a' my woe.
"For to the grene-wood I maun gae,
To pu' the red rose and the slae;
To pu' the red rose and the thyme,
80
To deck my mother's bour and mine.
"I hadna pu'd a flower but ane,
When by there came a gallant hende,
Wi' high-coll'd hose and laigh-coll'd shoon,
And he seem'd to be sum kingis son.
85
"And be I a maid, or be I nae,
He kept me there till the close o' day;
And be I a maid, or be I nane,
He kept me there till the day was done.
"He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair,
90
And bade me keep it ever mair;
He gae me a carknet o' bonny beads,
And bade me keep it against my needs.
"He gae to me a gay gold ring,
And bade me keep it abune a' thing."—
95
"What did ye wi' the tokens rare,
That ye gat frae that gallant there?"—
"O bring that coffer unto me,
And a' the tokens ye sall see."—
"Now stay, daughter, your bour within,
100
While I gae parley wi' my son."—
O she has ta'en her thro' the ha',
And on her son began to ca';
"What did ye wi' the bonny beads
I bade you keep against your needs?
105
"What did you wi' the gay gold ring
I bade you keep abune a' thing?"—
"I gae them to a ladye gay,
I met on grene-wood on a day.
"But I wad gie a' my halls and tours,
110
I had that ladye within my bours;
But I wad gie my very life,
I had that ladye to my wife."—
"Now keep, my son, your ha's and tours,
Ye have the bright burd in your bours;
115
And keep, my son, your very life,
Ye have that ladye to your wife."—
Now, or a month was come and gane,
The ladye bare a bonny son;
And 'twas weel written on his breast-bane,
120
"
Cospatrick is my father's name."
120
"O row my lady in satin and silk,
And wash my son in the morning milk."
120, Cospatrick, Comes Patricius, was the designation of
the Earl of Dunbar, in the days of Wallace and Bruce.—SCOTT.
As Bothwell was walking in the lowlands alane,
Hey down, and a down,
He met six ladies sae gallant and fine,
Hey down, and a down.
5
He cast his lot amang them a',
And on the youngest his lot did fa'.
He's brought her frae her mother's bower,
Unto his strongest castle and tower.
But ay she cry'd and made great moan,
10
And ay the tear came trickling down.
"Come up, come up," said the foremost man,
"I think our bride comes slowly on."
"O lady, sits your saddle awry,
Or is your steed for you owre high?"
15
"My saddle is not set awry,
Nor carries me my steed owre high;
"But I am weary of my life,
Since I maun be Lord Bothwell's wife."
He's blawn his horn sae sharp and shrill,
20
Up start the deer on every hill;
He's blawn his horn sae lang and loud,
Up start the deer in gude green wood.
His lady mother lookit owre the castle wa',
And she saw them riding ane and a'.
25
She's called upon her maids by seven,
To mak his bed baith saft and even:
She's called upon her cooks by nine,
To make their dinner fair and fine.
When day was gane and night was come,
30
"What ails my love on me to frown?
"Or does the wind blow in your glove,
Or runs your mind on another love?"
"Nor blows the wind within my glove,
Nor runs my mind on another love;"
35
"But I not maid nor maiden am,
For I'm wi' bairn to another man."
"I thought I'd a maiden sae meek and sae mild,
But I've nought but a woman wi' child."
His mother's taen her up to a tower,
40
And lockit her in her secret bower:
"Now doughter mine, come tell to me,
Wha's bairn this is that you are wi'."
"O mother dear, I canna learn
Wha is the father of my bairn.
45
"But as I walk'd in the lowlands my lane,
I met a gentleman gallant and fine;
"He keepit me there sae late and sae lang,
Frae the ev'ning late till the morning dawn;
"And a' that he gied me to my propine,
50
Was a pair of green gloves, and a gay gold ring,
"Three lauchters of his yellow hair,
In case that we shou'd meet nae mair."
His lady mother went down the stair:
"Now son, now son, come tell to me,
55
Where's the green gloves I gave to thee?"
"I gied to a lady sae fair and so fine,
The green gloves and a gay gold ring:
"But I wad gie my castles and towers,
I had that lady within my bowers:
60
"But I wad gie my very life,
I had that lady to be my wife."
"Now keep, now keep your castles and towers,
You have that lady within your bowers:
"Now keep, now keep your very life,
65
You have that lady to be your wife."
"O row my lady in sattin and silk,
And wash my son in the morning milk."
Printed from Mrs. Brown's MS., in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. iii.
p. 170. Another copy is given in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, (ii.
367,) and versions, enlarged and altered from the ancient, in the same
work, (ii. 179,) and in Tales of Wonder, No. 56. This ballad bears
a striking resemblance to Sir Stig and Lady Torelild, translated
from the Danish by Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities,
p. 344. This is the eighth (marked H) of nine Danish ballads given by
Grundtvig, under the title Hustru og Mands Moder, vol. ii. 404.
Three Swedish versions have been printed: two in Arwidsson's
Fornsånger, Liten Kerstins Förtrollning, ii. 252, and another
(Grundtvig) in Cavallius and Stephens's Svenska Folksagor.
"Those who wish to know how an incantation, or charm, of the
distressing nature here described, was performed in classic days, may
consult the story of Galanthis's Metamorphosis, in Ovid, or the
following passage in Apuleius: 'Eadem (saga, scilicet, quædam)
amatoris uxorem, quod in eam dicacule probrum dixerat, jam in sarcinam
prægnationis, obsepto utero, et repigrato fœtu, perpetua prægnatione
damnavit. Et ut cuncti numerant, octo annorum onere, misella illa,
velut elephantum paritura, distenditur.' APUL. Metam. lib. i.
"There is a curious tale about a Count of Westeravia, whom a deserted
concubine bewitched upon his marriage, so as to preclude all hopes of
his becoming a father. The spell continued to operate for three years,
till one day, the Count happening to meet with his former mistress,
she maliciously asked him about the increase of his family. The Count,
conceiving some suspicion from her manner, craftily answered, that God
had blessed him with three fine children; on which she exclaimed, like
Willie's mother in the ballad, "May heaven confound the old hag, by
whose counsel I threw an enchanted pitcher into the draw-well of your
palace!" The spell being found, and destroyed, the Count became the
father of a numerous family. Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p.
474." SCOTT.
Willie's ta'en him o'er the faem,
He's wooed a wife, and brought her hame;
He's wooed her for her yellow hair,
But his mother wrought her meikle care;
5
And meikle dolour gar'd her dree,
For lighter she can never be;
But in her bower she sits wi' pain,
And Willie mourns o'er her in vain.
And to his mother he has gane,
10
That vile rank witch, o' vilest kind!
He says—"My ladie has a cup,
Wi' gowd and silver set about;
This gudely gift sall be your ain,
And let her be lighter o' her young bairn."—
15
"Of her young bairn she's never be lighter,
Nor in her bour to shine the brighter:
But she sall die, and turn to clay,
And you sall wed another may."—
"Another may I'll never wed,
20
Another may I'll never bring hame:"—
But, sighing, said that weary wight—
"I wish my life were at an end!
"Yet gae ye to your mother again,
That vile rank witch, o' vilest kind!
25
And say, your ladye has a steed,
The like o' him's no in the land o' Leed.
"For he is silver shod before,
And he is gowden shod behind;
At every tuft of that horse mane,
30
There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring.
This gudely gift sall be her ain,
And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."—
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
Nor in her bour to shine the brighter;
35
But she sall die, and turn to clay,
And ye sall wed another may."—
"Another may I'll never wed,
Another may I'll never bring hame:"—
But, sighing, said that weary wight—
40
"I wish my life were at an end!—
"Yet gae ye to your mother again,
That vile rank witch, o' rankest kind!
And say your ladye has a girdle,
It's a' red gowd to the middle;
45
"And aye, at ilka siller hem
Hang fifty siller bells and ten;
This gudely gift sall be her ain,
And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."—
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
50
Nor in your bour to shine the brighter;
For she sall die, and turn to clay,
And thou sall wed another may."—
"Another may I'll never wed,
Another may I'll never bring hame;"—
55
But, sighing, said that weary wight—
"I wish my days were at an end!"—
Then out and spak the Billy Blind
,
(He spak aye in good time:)
"Yet gae ye to the market-place,
60
And there do buy a loaf of wace;
Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,
And in it twa glassen een you'll put;
"And bid her your boy's christening to,
Then notice weel what she shall do;
65
And do you stand a little away,
To notice weel what she may say."
He did him till his mither then,
And bade her to his boy's christnin;
And he did stand a little forbye,
And noticed well what she did say.
75
"O wha has loosed the nine witch knots,
That were amang that ladye's locks?
And wha's ta'en out the kaims o' care,
That were amang that ladye's hair?
"And wha has ta'en down that bush o' woodbine,
80
That hung between her bour and mine?
And wha has kill'd the master kid
,
That ran beneath that ladye's bed?
And wha has loosed her left foot shee,
And let that ladye lighter be?"
85
Syne, Willy's loosed the nine witch knots,
That were amang that ladye's locks;
And Willie's ta'en out the kaims o' care,
That were into that ladye's hair;
And he's ta'en down the bush o' woodbine,
90
Hung atween her bour and the witch carline;
And he has kill'd the master kid,
That ran beneath that ladye's bed;
And he has loosed her left foot shee,
And latten that ladye lighter be;
95
And now he has gotten a bonny son,
And meikle grace be him upon.
57. Billy Blind—A familiar genius, or propitious
spirit, somewhat similar to the Brownie.
67-74. Inserted from Jamieson's copy.
81. The witch's chief familiar, placed in the chamber of the
sick woman in the form of a kid.
The beginning is to be compared with Lindormen, the whole ballad
with Jomfruen i Ormeham, Grundtvig's Folkeviser, ii. 213, 177.
O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower,
The ugliest witch in the north countrie,
Has trysted me ae day up till her bower,
And mony fair speech she made to me.
5
She straiked my head, and she kembed my hair,
And she set me down saftly on her knee,
Says,—"Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
Sae mony braw things as I would you gi'e."
She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet,
10
Wi' gouden flowers and fringes fine,
Says "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
This goodly gift it sall be thine."
"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
Haud far awa, and lat me be;
15
I never will be your lemman sae true,
And I wish I were out of your company."
She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk,
Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band;
Says,—"Gin ye will be my ain true love,
20
This goodly gift ye sall command."
She shaw'd me a cup o' the good red goud,
Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see;
Says,—"Gin ye will be my lemman sae true,
This goodly gift I will you gie."
25
"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch!
Haud far awa, and lat me be;
For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth
For a' the gifts that ye cou'd gie."
She's turned her richt and round about,
30
And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.
Then out has she ta'en a silver wand,
And she's turned her three times round and round;
35
She's mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd,
And I fell down senseless on the ground.
She's turn'd me into an ugly worm,
And gar'd me toddle about the tree;
And ay, on ilka Saturday's night,
40
My sister Maisry came to me,
Wi' silver bason, and silver kemb,
To kemb my headie upon her knee;
But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth,
I'd rather hae toddled about the tree.
45
But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en,
When the
Seely Court was ridin' by,
The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
Nae far frae the tree whare I wont to lye.
She took me up in her milk-white hand,
50
And she straiked me three times o'er her knee;
She changed me again to my ain proper shape,
And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree.
46. Seely Court, i.e. "pleasant or happy court," or
"court of the pleasant and happy people." This agrees with the ancient
and more legitimate idea of Fairies. JAMIESON. See p. 120, v. 131,
et seq.
It is much to be regretted that this piece has not come down to us in
a purer and more ancient form. Similar ballads are found in Danish,
Swedish, and Faroish. Several forms of the Danish are given by
Grundtvig (Ridderen i Fugleham, No. 68), who also cites many
popular tales which have the same basis, e.g. the Countess d'Aulnoy's
fairy story of The Blue Bird.
It was intill a pleasant time,
Upon a simmer's day;
The noble Earl of Mar's daughter
Went forth to sport and play.
5
As thus she did amuse hersell,
Below a green aik tree,
There she saw a sprightly doo
Set on a tower sae hie.
"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,
10
If ye'll come down to me,
Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd
Instead o' simple tree:
"I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage,
And siller roun' your wa';
15
I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a'."
But she had nae these words well spoke,
Nor yet these words well said,
Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower,
20
And lighted on her head.
Then she has brought this pretty bird
Hame to her bowers and ha';
And made him shine as fair a bird
As ony o' them a'.
25
When day was gane, and night was come,
About the evening tide,
This lady spied a sprightly youth
Stand straight up by her side.
"From whence came ye, young man?" she said,
30
"That does surprise me sair;
My door was bolted right secure;
What way ha'e ye come here?"
"O had your tongue, ye lady fair,
Lat a' your folly be;
35
Mind ye not on your turtle doo
Last day ye brought wi' thee?"
"O tell me mair, young man," she said,
"This does surprise me now;
What country ha'e ye come frae?
40
What pedigree are you?"
"My mither lives on foreign isles,
She has nae mair but me;
She is a queen o' wealth and state,
And birth and high degree;
45
"Likewise well skill'd in magic spells,
As ye may plainly see;
And she transform'd me to yon shape,
To charm such maids as thee.
"I am a doo the live lang day,
50
A sprightly youth at night;
This aye gars me appear mair fair
In a fair maiden's sight.
"And it was but this verra day
That I came ower the sea;
55
Your lovely face did me enchant,—
I'll live and dee wi' thee."
"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,
Nae mair frae me ye'se gae."
"That's never my intent, my luve,
60
As ye said, it shall be sae."
"O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true,
It's time to gae to bed."
"Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow,
It's be as ye ha'e said."
65
Then he has staid in bower wi' her
For sax lang years and ane,
Till sax young sons to him she bare,
And the seventh she's brought hame.
But aye as ever a child was born,
70
He carried them away,
And brought them to his mither's care,
As fast as he cou'd fly.
Thus he has staid in bower wi' her
For twenty years and three;
75
There came a lord o' high renown
To court this fair ladie.
But still his proffer she refused,
And a' his presents too;
Says, "I'm content to live alane
80
Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo."
Her father sware a solemn oath
Amang the nobles all,
"The morn, or ere I eat or drink,
This bird I will gar kill."
85
The bird was sitting in his cage,
And heard what they did say;
And when he found they were dismist,
Says, "Waes me for this day!
"Before that I do langer stay,
90
And thus to be forlorn,
I'll gang unto my mither's bower,
Where I was bred and born."
Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea;
95
And lighted near his mither's castle
On a tower o' gowd sae hie.
As his mither was wauking out,
To see what she coud see,
And there she saw her little son
100
Set on the tower sae hie.
"Get dancer here to dance," she said,
"And minstrells for to play;
For here's my young son, Florentine,
Come here wi' me to stay."
105
"Get nae dancers to dance, mither,
Nor minstrells for to play;
For the mither o' my seven sons,
The morn's her wedding-day."
"O tell me, tell me, Florentine,
110
Tell me, and tell me true,
Tell me this day without a flaw,
What I will do for you."
"Instead of dancers to dance, mither,
Or minstrells for to play,
115
Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men,
Like storks, in feathers gray;
"My seven sons in seven swans,
Aboon their heads to flee;
And I, mysell, a gay gos-hawk,
120
A bird o' high degree."
Then sichin' said the queen hersell,
"That thing's too high for me;"
But she applied to an auld woman,
Who had mair skill than she.
125
Instead o' dancers to dance a dance,
Or minstrells for to play,
Four-and-twenty wall-wight men
Turn'd birds o' feathers gray;
Her seven sons in seven swans,
130
Aboon their heads to flee;
And he, himsell, a gay gos-hawk,
A bird o' high degree.
This flock o' birds took flight and flew
Beyond the raging sea;
135
And landed near the Earl Mar's castle,
Took shelter in every tree.
They were a flock o' pretty birds,
Right comely to be seen;
The people view'd them wi' surprise,
140
As they danc'd on the green.
These birds ascended frae the tree,
And lighted on the ha';
And at the last wi' force did flee
Among the nobles a'.
145
The storks there seized some o' the men,
They cou'd neither fight nor flee;
The swans they bound the bride's best man,
Below a green aik tree.
They lighted next on maidens fair,
150
Then on the bride's own head;
And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e,
The bride and them were fled.
There's ancient men at weddings been,
For sixty years or more;
155
But sic a curious wedding-day
They never saw before.
For naething cou'd the companie do,
Nor naething cou'd they say;
But they saw a flock o' pretty birds
160
That took their bride away.
When that Earl Mar he came to know
Where his dochter did stay,
He sign'd a bond o' unity,
And visits now they pay.
Mr. Kinloch printed a fragment of this ballad under the title of
Hynde Etin. (See Appendix.) The story was afterwards given
complete by Buchan, (Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 6,)
as here follows. Buchan had previously communicated to Motherwell a
modernized version of the same tale, in which the Etin is changed to
a Groom. (See post.)
This ancient ballad has suffered severely in the course of its
transmission to our times. Still there can be no doubt that it was
originally the same as The Maid and the Dwarf King, which is
still sung in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and the Faroe Islands. Numerous
copies of the Scandinavian ballad have been given to the world: seven
Danish versions, more or less complete, four Norse, nine Swedish, one
Faroish, and some other fragments (Grundtvig, ii. 37, and note, p.
655). One of the Swedish ballads (Bergkonungen, Afzelius, No.
35) is translated in Keightley's Fairy Mythology, 103, under the
title of Proud Margaret. Closely related is Agnete og Havmanden,
Grundtvig, ii. 48, 656, which is found in several forms in German (e.g.
Die schöne Hannele in Hoffmann von Fallersleben's Schlesische
Volkslieder, No. 1), and two in Slavic.
Lady Margaret sits in her bower door,
Sewing at her silken seam;
She heard a note in Elmond's-wood,
And wish'd she there had been.
5
She loot the seam fa' frae her side,
And the needle to her tae;
And she is on to Elmond-wood
As fast as she coud gae.
She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
10
Nor broken a branch but ane,
Till by it came a young hind chiel,
Says, "Lady, lat alane.
"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut,
Or why brake ye the tree?
15
For I am forester o' this wood:
Ye shou'd spier leave at me."
"I'll ask leave at no living man,
Nor yet will I at thee;
My father is king o'er a' this realm,
20
This wood belongs to me."
She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,
Nor broken a branch but three,
Till by it came him Young Akin,
And gar'd her lat them be.
25
The highest tree in Elmond's-wood,
He's pu'd it by the reet;
And he has built for her a bower
Near by a hallow seat.
He's built a bower, made it secure
30
Wi' carbuncle and stane;
Tho' travellers were never sae nigh,
Appearance it had nane.
He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood,
For six lang years and one;
35
Till six pretty sons to him she bear,
And the seventh she's brought home.
It fell ance upon a day,
This guid lord went from home;
And he is to the hunting gane,
40
Took wi' him his eldest son.
And when they were on a guid way,
Wi' slowly pace did walk,
The boy's heart being something wae,
He thus began to talk:—
45
"A question I wou'd ask, father,
Gin ye wou'dna angry be?"
"Say on, say on, my bonny boy,
Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."
"I see my mither's cheeks aye weet,
50
I never can see them dry;
And I wonder what aileth my mither,
To mourn continually."
"Your mither was a king's daughter,
Sprung frae a high degree;
55
And she might hae wed some worthy prince,
Had she nae been stown by me.
"I was her father's cup-bearer,
Just at that fatal time;
I catch'd her on a misty night,
60
Whan summer was in prime.
"My luve to her was most sincere,
Her luve was great for me;
But when she hardships doth endure,
Her folly she does see."
65
"I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush,
The linnet o' the tree,
And bring them to my dear mither,
See if she'll merrier be."
It fell upo' another day,
70
This guid lord he thought lang,
And he is to the hunting gane,
Took wi' him his dog and gun.
Wi' bow and arrow by his side,
He's aff, single, alane;
75
And left his seven children to stay
Wi' their mither at hame.
"O, I will tell to you, mither,
Gin ye wadna angry be:"
"Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy,
80
Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."
"As we came frae the hynd hunting,
We heard fine music ring:"
"My blessings on you, my bonny boy,
I wish I'd been there my lane."
85
He's ta'en his mither by the hand,
His six brithers also,
And they are on thro' Elmond's-wood,
As fast as they coud go.
They wistna weel where they were gaen,
90
Wi' the stratlins o' their feet;
They wistna weel where they were gaen,
Till at her father's yate.
"I hae nae money in my pocket,
But royal rings hae three;
95
I'll gie them you, my little young son,
And ye'll walk there for me.
"Ye'll gi'e the first to the
proud porter,
And he will lat you in;
Ye'll gi'e the next to the butler boy,
100
And he will show you ben;
"Ye'll gi'e the third to the minstrel
That plays before the king;
He'll play success to the bonny boy
Came thro' the wood him lane."
105
He ga'e the first to the proud porter,
And he open'd an' let him in;
He ga'e the next to the butler boy,
And he has shown him ben;
He ga'e the third to the minstrel
110
That play'd before the king;
And he play'd success to the bonny boy
Came thro' the wood him lane.
Now when he came before the king,
Fell low down on his knee:
115
The king he turned round about,
And the saut tear blinded his ee.
"Win up, win up, my bonny boy,
Gang frae my companie;
Ye look sae like my dear daughter,
120
My heart will birst in three."
"If I look like your dear daughter,
A wonder it is none;
If I look like your dear daughter,
I am her eldest son."
125
"Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy,
Where may my Margaret be?"
"She's just now standing at your yates,
And my six brithers her wi'."
"O where are all my porter boys
130
That I pay meat and fee,
To open my yates baith wide and braid?
Let her come in to me."
When she came in before the king,
Fell low down on her knee:
135
"Win up, win up, my daughter dear,
This day ye'll dine wi me."
"Ae bit I canno' eat, father,
Nor ae drop can I drink,
Till I see my mither and sister dear,
140
For lang for them I think."
When she came before the queen,
Fell low down on her knee:
"Win up, win up, my daughter dear,
This day ye'se dine wi' me."
145
"Ae bit I canno' eat, mither,
Nor ae drop can I drink,
Until I see my dear sister,
For lang for her I think."
"When that these two sisters met,
150
She hail'd her courteouslie:
"Come ben, come ben, my sister dear,
This day ye'se dine wi' me."
"Ae bit I canno' eat, sister,
Nor ae drop can I drink,
155
Until I see my dear husband,
For lang for him I think."
"O where are all my rangers bold
That I pay meat and fee,
To search the forest far an' wide,
160
And bring Akin to me?"
Out it speaks the wee little boy,—
"Na, na, this maunna be;
Without ye grant a free pardon,
I hope ye'll nae him see."
165
"O here I grant a free pardon,
Well seal'd by my own han';
Ye may make search for young Akin,
As soon as ever you can."
They search'd the country wide and braid,
170
The forests far and near,
And found him into Elmond's-wood,
Tearing his yellow hair.
"Win up, win up, now young Akin.
Win up, and boun wi' me;
175
We're messengers come from the court;
The king wants you to see."
"O lat him take frae me my head,
Or hang me on a tree;
For since I've lost my dear lady,
180
Life's no pleasure to me."
"Your head will nae be touch'd, Akin,
Nor hang'd upon a tree:
Your lady's in her father's court,
And all he wants is thee."
185
When he came in before the king,
Fell low down on his knee:
"Win up, win up now, young Akin,
This day ye'se dine wi' me."
But as they were at dinner set,
190
The boy asked a boun;
"I wish we were in the good church,
For to get christendoun.
"We ha'e lived in guid green wood
This seven years and ane;
195
But a' this time since e'er I mind,
Was never a church within."
"Your asking 's nae sae great, my boy,
But granted it shall be;
This day to guid church ye shall gang,
200
And your mither shall gang you wi'."
When unto the guid church she came,
She at the door did stan';
She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame,
She coudna come farer ben.
205
Then out it speaks the parish priest,
And a sweet smile gae he;—-
"Come ben, come ben, my lily flower,
Present your babes to me."
Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick,
210
And likewise James and John;
They call'd the eldest Young Akin,
Which was his father's name.
Then they staid in the royal court,
And liv'd wi' mirth and glee;
215
And when her father was deceas'd,
Heir of the crown was she.
97. The regular propitiation for the "proud porter" of
ballad poetry. See, e.g. King Arthur and the King of Cornwall,
in the Appendix, v. 49: also the note to King Estmere, vol.
iii. p. 172.
"O well love I to ride in a mist,
And shoot in a northern wind;
And far better a lady to steal,
That's come of a noble kind."
5
Four-and-twenty fair ladies
Put on that lady's sheen;
And as many young gentlemen
Did lead her o'er the green.
Yet she preferred before them all
10
Him, young Hastings the Groom;
He's coosten a mist before them all,
And away this lady has ta'en.
He's taken the lady on him behind,
Spared neither the grass nor corn,
15
Till they came to the wood of Amonshaw,
Where again their loves were sworn.
And they have lived in that wood
Full many a year and day,
And were supported from time to time,
20
By what he made of prey.
And seven bairns, fair and fine,
There she has born to him,
And never was in good church door,
Nor never gat good kirking.
25
Once she took harp into her hand,
And harped them asleep;
Then she sat down at their couch side,
And bitterly did weep.
Said, "Seven bairns have I born now
30
To my lord in the ha';
I wish they were seven greedy rats,
To run upon the wa',
And I mysel' a great grey cat,
To eat them ane an' a'.
35
"For ten long years now I have lived
Within this cave of stane,
And never was at good church door,
Nor got no good churching."
O then outspak her eldest child,
40
And a fine boy was he,—
"O hold your tongue, my mother dear;
I'll tell you what to dee.
"Take you the youngest in your lap,
The next youngest by the hand;
45
Put all the rest of us you before,
As you learnt us to gang.
"And go with us into some good kirk,—
You say they are built of stane,—
And let us all be christened,
50
And you get good kirking."
She took the youngest in her lap,
The next youngest by the hand;
Set all the rest of them her before,
As she learnt them to gang.
55
And she has left the wood with them,
And to a kirk has gane;
Where the good priest them christened,
And gave her good kirking.
This ballad exemplifies a superstition deeply rooted
in the belief of all the northern nations,—the desire of
the Elves and Water-spirits for the love of Christians,
and the danger of being exposed to their fascination.
The object of their fatal passion is generally a bridegroom,
or a bride, on the eve of marriage. See, in the
Appendix, Sir Oluf and the Elf-King's Daughter, for
further illustrations; also the two succeeding pieces.
Clerk Colvill was first printed in Herd's Scottish Songs,
(i. 217,) and was inserted, in an altered shape, in Lewis's Tales of
Wonder, (No. 56.)
Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame
Were walking in the garden green;
The belt around her stately waist
Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.
5
"O promise me now, Clerk Colvill,
Or it will cost ye muckle strife,
Ride never by the wells of Slane,
If ye wad live and brook your life."
"Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame,
10
Now speak nae mair of that to me:
Did I ne'er see a fair woman,
But I wad sin with her fair body?"
He's ta'en leave o' his gay lady,
Nought minding what his lady said,
15
And he's rode by the wells of Slane,
Where washing was a bonny maid.
"Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid,
That wash sae clean your sark of silk;"
"And weel fa' you, fair gentleman,
20
Your body's whiter than the milk."
Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill,
"O my head it pains me sair;"
"Then take, then take," the maiden said,
25
"And frae my sark you'll cut a gare."
Then she's gi'ed him a little bane-knife,
And frae her
sark he cut a share;
She's ty'd it round his whey-white face,
But ay his head it aked mair.
30
Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colvill,
"O sairer, sairer akes my head;"
"And sairer, sairer ever will,"
The maiden crys, "till you be dead."
Out then he drew his shining blade,
35
Thinking to stick her where she stood;
But she was vanish'd to a fish,
And swam far off, a fair mermaid.
"O mother, mother, braid my hair;
My lusty lady, make my bed;
40
O brother, take my sword and spear,
For I have seen the false mermaid."
The hero of the first of the two following ballads would seem to be an
Elf, that of the second a Nix, or Merman, though the punishment
awarded to each of them in the catastrophe, as the ballads now exist,
is not consistent with their supernatural character. It is possible
that in both instances two independent stories have been blended: but
it is curious that the same intermixture should occur in Norse and
German also. See Grundtvig's preface to Noekkens Svig, ii. p. 57.
The conclusion in all these cases is derived from a ballad resembling
May Colvin, vol. ii. p. 272.
We have had the Elf-Knight introduced under the same circumstances at
page 128; indeed, the first three or four stanzas are common to both
pieces.
Fair lady Isabel sits in her bower sewing,
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
There she heard an elf-knight blawing his horn,
The first morning in May.
5
"If I had yon horn that I hear blawing,"
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
"And yon elf-knight to sleep in my bosom,"
The first morning in May.
This maiden had scarcely these words spoken,
10
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
Till in at her window the elf-knight has luppen,
The first morning in May.
"Its a very strange matter, fair maiden," said he,
Aye as the gowans grow gay,
15
"I canna' blaw my horn, but ye call on me,"
The first morning in May.
"But will ye go to yon greenwood side,"
Aye as the gowans grow gay?
"If ye canna' gang, I will cause you to ride,"
20
The first morning in May.
He leapt on a horse, and she on another,
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
And they rode on to the greenwood together,
The first morning in May.
25
"Light down, light down, lady Isabel," said he,
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
"We are come to the place where ye are to die,"
The first morning in May.
"Ha'e mercy, ha'e mercy, kind sir, on me,"
30
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
"Till ance my dear father and mother I see,"
The first morning in May.
"Seven king's-daughters here hae I slain,"
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
35
"And ye shall be the eight o' them,"
The first morning in May.
"O sit down a while, lay your head on my knee,"
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
"That we may hae some rest before that I die,"
40
The first morning in May.
She stroak'd him sae fast, the nearer he did creep,
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
Wi' a sma' charm she lull'd him fast asleep,
The first morning in May.
45
"Wi' his ain sword belt sae fast as she ban' him,
Aye as the gowans grow gay;
With his ain dag-durk sae sair as she dang him,
The first morning in May.
"If seven kings' daughters here ye ha'e slain,"
50
Aye as the gowans grow gay,
"Lye ye here, a husband to them a',"
The first morning in May.
From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 201. Repeated
in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society,
xvii. 63.
The three ballads which follow, diverse as they may now appear, after
undergoing successive corruptions, were primarily of the same type. In
the first (which may be a compound of two ballads, like the preceding,
the conclusion being taken from a story of the character of May
Colvin in the next volume) the Merman or Nix may be easily
recognized: in the second he is metamorphosed into the Devil; and in
the third, into a ghost. Full details upon the corresponding
Scandinavian, German, and Slavic legends, are given by Grundtvig, in
the preface to Noekkens Svig, Danmarks G. Folkeviser, ii. 57:
translated by Jamieson, i. 210, and by Monk Lewis, Tales of Wonder,
No. 11.
There came a bird out o' a bush,
On water for to dine;
And sighing sair, says the king's daughter,
"O waes this heart o' mine!"
5
He's taen a harp into his hand,
He's harped them all asleep;
Except it was the king's daughter,
Who ae wink cou'dna get.
He's luppen on his berry-brown steed,
10
Taen her on behind himsell;
Then baith rade down to that water,
That they ca' Wearie's well.
"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
Nae harm shall thee befall;
15
Aft times hae I water'd my steed,
Wi' the water o' Wearie's well."
The first step that she stepped in,
She stepped to the knee;
And sighing sair, says this lady fair,
20
"This water's nae for me."
"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
Nae harm shall thee befall;
Aft times hae I water'd my steed,
Wi' the water o' Wearie's well."
25
The next step that she stepped in,
She stepped to the middle;
And sighing, says, this lady fair,
"I've wat my gowden girdle."
"Wide in, wide in, my lady fair,
30
Nae harm shall thee befall;
Aft times hae I water'd my steed,
Wi' the water o' Wearie's well."
The niest step that she stepped in,
She stepped to the chin;
35
And sighing, says, this lady fair,
"They shou'd gar twa loves twine."
"Seven king's-daughters I've drown'd there,
In the water o' Wearie's well;
And I'll make you the eight o' them,
40
And ring the common bell."
"Sin' I am standing here," she says,
"This dowie death to die;
Ae kiss o' your comely mouth
I'm sure wou'd comfort me."
45
He louted him ower his saddle bow,
To kiss her cheek and chin;
She's taen him in her arms twa,
And thrown him headlang in.
"Sin' seven king's daughters ye've drown'd there,
50
In the water o' Wearie's well,
I'll make you bridegroom to them a',
An' ring the bell mysell."
And aye she warsled, and aye she swam,
Till she swam to dry land;
55
Then thanked God most cheerfully,
The dangers she'd ower came.
This ballad was communicated to Sir Walter Scott, (Minstrelsy, iii.
195,) by Mr. William Laidlaw, who took it down from recitation. A
fragment of the same legend, recovered by Motherwell, is given in the
Appendix to this volume, and another version, in which the hero is not
a dæmon, but the ghost of an injured lover, is placed directly after
the present.
The Devil (Auld Nick) here takes the place of the Merman (Nix) of
the ancient ballad. See p. 198, and the same natural substitution
noted in K.u.H.—Märchen, 3d ed. iii. 253.
"O where have you been, my long, long love,
This long seven years and more?"—
"O I'm come to seek my former vows
Ye granted me before."—
5
"O hold your tongue of your former vows,
For they will breed sad strife;
O hold your tongue of your former vows,
For I am become a wife."
He turn'd him right and round about,
10
And the tear blinded his ee;
"I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground,
If it had not been for thee.
"I might hae had a king's daughter,
Far, far beyond the sea;
15
I might have had a king's daughter,
Had it not been for love o' thee."—
"If ye might have had a king's daughter,
Yer sell ye had to blame;
Ye might have taken the king's daughter,
20
For ye kend that I was nane."—
"O faulse are the vows of womankind,
But fair is their faulse bodie;
I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground,
Had it not been for love o' thee."—
25
"If I was to leave my husband dear,
And my two babes also,
O what have you to take me to,
If with you I should go?"—
"I hae seven ships upon the sea,
30
The eighth brought me to land;
With four-and-twenty bold mariners,
And music on every hand."
She has taken up her two little babes,
Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin;
35
"O fair ye weel, my ain two babes,
For I'll never see you again."
She set her foot upon the ship,
No mariners could she behold;
But the sails were o' the taffetie,
40
And the masts o' the beaten gold.
She had not sail'd a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When dismal grew his countenance,
And drumlie grew his ee.
45
The masts that were like the beaten gold,
Bent not on the heaving seas;
But the sails, that were o' the taffetie,
Fill'd not in the east land breeze.—
They had not sailed a league, a league,
50
A league but barely three,
Until she espied his cloven foot,
And she wept right bitterlie.
"O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he,
"Of your weeping now let me be;
55
I will show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy."—
"O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills,
That the sun shines sweetly on?"—
"O yon are the hills of heaven," he said,
60
"Where you will never win."—
"O whaten a mountain is yon," she said,
"All so dreary wi' frost and snow?"—
"O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried,
"Where you and I will go."
65
And aye when she turn'd her round about,
Aye taller he seem'd for to be;
Until that the tops o' that gallant ship
Nae taller were than he.
The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud,
70
And the levin fill'd her ee;
And waesome wail'd the snaw-white sprites
Upon the gurlie sea.
He strack the tap-mast wi' his hand,
The fore-mast wi' his knee;
75
And he brake that gallant ship in twain,
And sank her in the sea.
"O are ye my father, or are ye my mother?
Or are ye my brother John?
Or are ye James Herries, my first true love,
Come back to Scotland again?"
5
"I am not your father, I am not your mother,
Nor am I your brother John;
But I'm James Herries, your first true love,
Come back to Scotland again."
"Awa', awa', ye former lovers,
10
Had far awa' frae me;
For now I am another man's wife,
Ye'll ne'er see joy o' me."
"Had I kent that ere I came here,
I ne'er had come to thee;
15
For I might hae married the king's daughter,
Sae fain she wou'd had me.
"I despised the crown o' gold,
The yellow silk also;
And I am come to my true love,
20
But with me she'll not go."
"My husband he is a carpenter,
Makes his bread on dry land,
And I hae born him a young son,—
Wi' you I will not gang."
25
"You must forsake your dear husband,
Your little young son also,
Wi' me to sail the raging seas,
Where the stormy winds do blow."
"O what hae you to keep me wi',
30
If I should with you go?
If I'd forsake my dear husband,
My little young son also?"
"See ye not yon seven pretty ships,
The eighth brought me to land;
35
With merchandize and mariners,
And wealth in every hand?"
She turn'd her round upon the shore,
Her love's ships to behold;
Their topmasts and their mainyards
40
Were cover'd o'er wi' gold.
Then she's gane to her little young son,
And kiss'd him cheek and chin;
Sae has she to her sleeping husband,
And dune the same to him.
45
"O sleep ye, wake ye, my husband,
I wish ye wake in time;
I woudna for ten thousand pounds,
This night ye knew my mind."
She's drawn the slippers on her feet,
50
Were cover'd o'er wi' gold;
Well lined within wi' velvet fine,
To had her frae the cold.
She hadna sailed upon the sea
A league but barely three,
55
Till she minded on her dear husband,
Her little young son tee.
"O gin I were at land again,
At land where I wou'd be,
The woman ne'er shou'd bear the son,
60
Shou'd gar me sail the sea."
"O hold your tongue, my sprightly flower,
Let a' your mourning be;
I'll show you how the lilies grow
On the banks o' Italy."
65
She hadna sailed on the sea
A day but barely ane,
Till the thoughts o' grief came in her mind,
And she lang'd for to be hame.
"O gentle death, come cut my breath,
70
I may be dead ere morn;
I may be buried in Scottish ground,
Where I was bred and born."
"O hold your tongue, my lily leesome thing,
Let a' your mourning be;
75
But for a while we'll stay at Rose Isle,
Then see a far countrie.
"Ye'se ne'er be buried in Scottish ground,
Nor land ye's nae mair see;
I brought you away to punish you,
80
For the breaking your vows to me.
"I said ye shou'd see the lilies grow
On the banks o' Italy;
But I'll let you see the fishes swim,
In the bottom o' the sea."
85
He reached his band to the topmast,
Made a' the sails gae down;
And in the twinkling o' an e'e,
Baith ship and crew did drown.
The fatal flight o' this wretched maid
90
Did reach her ain countrie;
Her husband then distracted ran,
And this lament made he:—
"O wae be to the ship, the ship,
And wae be to the sea,
95
And wae be to the mariners,
Took Jeanie Douglas frae me!
"O bonny, bonny was my love,
A pleasure to behold;
The very hair o' my love's head
100
Was like the threads o' gold.
"O bonny was her cheek, her cheek,
And bonny was her chin;
And bonny was the bride she was,
The day she was made mine!"
*** The following stanzas from a version of this ballad printed at
Philadelphia (and called The House Carpenter) are given in Graham's
Illustrated Magazine, Sept. 1858.
"I might have married the king's daughter dear;"
"You might have married her," cried she,
"For I am married to a House Carpenter,
And a fine young man is he."
"Oh dry up your tears, my own true love,
And cease your weeping," cried he;
"For soon you'll see your own happy home,
On the banks of old Tennessee."
"There is a fashion in this land,
And even come to this country,
That every lady should meet her lord,
When he is newly come frae sea:
5
"Some wi' hawks, and some wi' hounds,
And other some wi' gay monie;
But I will gae myself alone,
And set his young son on his knee."
She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
10
And nimbly walk'd by yon sea strand;
And there she spy'd her father's ship,
As she was sailing to dry land.
"Where hae ye put my ain gude lord,
This day he stays sae far frae me?"
15
"If ye be wanting your ain gude lord,
A sight o' him ye'll never see."
"Was he brunt, or was he shot?
Or was he drowned in the sea?
Or what's become o' my ain gude lord,
20
That he will ne'er appear to me?"
"He wasna brunt, nor was he shot,
Nor was he drowned in the sea;
He was slain in Dumfermling,
A fatal day to you and me."
25
"Come in, come in, my merry young men,
Come in and drink the wine wi' me;
And a' the better ye shall fare,
For this gude news ye tell to me."
She's brought them down to yon cellar,
30
She brought them fifty steps and three;
She birled wi' them the beer and wine,
Till they were as drunk as drunk could be.
Then she has lock'd her cellar door,
For there were fifty steps and three;
35
"Lie there wi' my sad malison,
For this bad news ye've tauld to me."
She's ta'en the keys intill her hand,
And threw them deep, deep in the sea;
"Lie there wi' my sad malison,
40
Till my gude lord return to me."
Then she sat down in her own room,
And sorrow lull'd her fast asleep;
And up it starts her own gude lord,
And even at that lady's feet.
45
"Take here the keys, Janet," he says,
"That ye threw deep, deep in the sea;
And ye'll relieve my merry young men,
For they've nane o' the swick o' me.
"They shot the shot, and drew the stroke,
50
And wad in red bluid to the knee;
Nae sailors mair for their lord coud do,
Nor my young men they did for me."
"I hae a question at you to ask,
Before that ye depart frae me;
55
You'll tell to me what day I'll die,
And what day will my burial be?"
"I hae nae mair o' God's power
Than he has granted unto me;
But come to heaven when ye will,
60
There porter to you I will be.
"But ye'll be wed to a finer knight
Than ever was in my degree;
Unto him ye'll hae children nine,
And six o' them will be ladies free.
65
"The other three will be bold young men,
To fight for king and countrie;
The ane a duke, the second a knight,
And third a laird o' lands sae free."
That the repose of the dead is disturbed by the immoderate grief of
those they have left behind them, is a belief which finds frequent
expression in popular ballads. Obstinate sorrow rouses them from their
grateful slumber; every tear that is shed for them wets their shroud;
they can get no rest, and are compelled to revisit the world they
would fain forget, to rebuke and forbid the mourning that destroys
their peace.
"Ice-cold and bloody, a lead-weight of sorrow, falls on my
breast each tear that you shed,"
says the ghost of Helgi in the Edda to his lamenting wife (Helgak.
Hundingsb. II.) The same idea is found in the German ballad, Der
Vorwirth, Erk's Liederhort, No. 46, 46 a, and in various tales, as
Das Todtenhemdchen, (K.u.H. Märchen, No. 109, and note), etc. In
like manner Sir Aage, in a well-known Danish ballad (Grundtvig, No.
90), and the corresponding Sorgens Magt, Svenska F.V., No. 6.
"Every time thou weepest for me,
Thy heart makest sad,
Then all within, my coffin stands full
Of clotted blood."
Rarely is the silence of the grave broken for purposes of consolation.
Yet some cases there are, as in a Lithuanian ballad cited by
Wackernagel, Altd. Blätter, i. 176, and a Spanish ballad noticed by
Talvj, Versuch, p. 141. The present ballad seems to belong to the
latter class rather than the former, but it is so imperfect that its
true character cannot be determined.
Chambers maintains, we think erroneously, that this ballad is a
fragment of The Clerk's Twa Sons o' Owsenford. See the second volume
of this collection, page 63.
There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she,
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.
5
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
When word came to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.
They hadna been a week from her,
10
A week but barely three,
When word came to the carline wife,
That her sons she'd never see.
"I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor
fishes in the flood,
15
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood."—
It fell about the Martinmas,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
20
And their hats were o' the birk.
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.
25
"Blow up the fire, my maidens!
Bring water from the well!
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well."—
And she has made to them a bed,
30
She's made it large and wide;
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.
35
Up then crew the red red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
"'Tis time we were away."—
The cock he hadna craw'd but once,
40
And clapp'd his wings at a',
Whan the youngest to the eldest said,
"Brother, we must awa.—
"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin' worm doth chide;
45
Gin we be mist out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.
"Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass,
50
That kindles my mother's fire."
14. Should we not read, for fishes here, fashes— i. e.
troubles?—Lockhart.
Or, a relation of a young man, who, a month after his death, appeared
to his sweetheart, and carried her on horseback behind him for forty
miles in two hours, and was never seen after but in his grave.
From A Collection of Old Ballads, i. 266. In Moore's Pictorial Book
of Ancient Ballad Poetry (p. 463) is a copy from a broadside in the
Roxburghe collection.
The Suffolk Miracle has an external resemblance to several noble
ballads, but the likeness does not extend below the surface. It is
possible that we have here the residuum of an old poem, from which all
the beauty and spirit have been exhaled in the course of tradition;
but as the ballad now exists, it is a vulgar ghost-story, without any
motive. Regarding the external form alone, we may place by its side
the Breton ballad, Le Frère de Lait, in Villemarqué's Chants
Populaires de la Bretagne, vol. i. No. 22 (translated by Miss
Costello, Quart. Review, vol. 68, p. 75), the Romaic ballad of
Constantine and Arete, in Fauriel's Chants Populaires de la Grèce
Moderne, p. 406 (see Appendix), and the Servian ballad (related to
the Romaic, and perhaps derived from it), Jelitza and her Brothers,
Talvj, Volkslieder der Serben, i. 160, all of them among the most
beautiful specimens in this kind of literature; and also Bürger's
Lenore. It has been once or twice most absurdly suggested that
Lenore owed its existence to this Suffolk Miracle. The difference,
indeed, is not greater than between a "Chronicle History" and
Macbeth; it is however certain that Bürger's ballad is all his own,
except the hint of the ghostly horseman and one or two phrases, which
he took from the description of a Low German ballad. The editors of
the Wunderhorn claim to give this ballad, vol. ii. p. 19. An
equivalent prose tradition is well known in Germany. Most of the
ballads relating to the return of departed spirits are brought
together in an excellent article by Wackernagel in the Altdeutsche
Blätter, i. 174.
A wonder stranger ne'er was known
Than what I now shall treat upon.
In Suffolk there did lately dwell
A farmer rich and known full well.
5
He had a daughter fair and bright,
On whom he placed his chief delight;
Her beauty was beyond compare,
She was both virtuous and fair.
There was a young man living by,
10
Who was so charmed with her eye,
That he could never be at rest;
He was by love so much possest.
He made address to her, and she
Did grant him love immediately;
15
But when her father came to hear,
He parted her and her poor dear.
Forty miles distant was she sent,
Unto his brother's, with intent
That she should there so long remain,
20
Till she had changed her mind again.
Hereat this young man sadly grieved,
But knew not how to be relieved;
He sighed and sobbed continually
That his true love he could not see.
25
She by no means could to him send,
Who was her heart's espoused friend;
He sighed, he grieved, but all in vain,
For she confined must still remain.
He mourned so much, that doctor's art
30
Could give no ease unto his heart,
Who was so strangely terrified,
That in short time for love he died.
She that from him was sent away
Knew nothing of his dying day,
35
But constant still she did remain,
And loved the dead, although in vain.
After he had in grave been laid
A month or more, unto this maid
He came in middle of the night,
40
Who joyed to see her heart's delight.
Her father's horse, which well she knew,
Her mother's hood and safe-guard too,
He brought with him to testify
Her parents order he came by.
45
Which when her uncle understood,
He hoped it would be for her good,
And gave consent to her straightway,
That with him she should come away.
When she was got her love behind,
50
They passed as swift as any wind,
That in two hours, or little more,
He brought her to her father's door.
But as they did this great haste make,
He did complain his head did ake;
55
Her handkerchief she then took out,
And tied the same his head about.
And unto him she thus did say:
"Thou art as cold as any clay;
When we come home a fire we'll have;"
60
But little dreamed he went to grave.
Soon were they at her father's door,
And after she ne'er saw him more;
"I'll set the horse up," then he said,
And there he left this harmless maid.
65
She knocked, and straight a man he cried,
"Who's there?" "'Tis I," she then replied;
Who wondred much her voice to hear,
And was possessed with dread and fear.
Her father he did tell, and then
70
He stared like an affrighted man:
Down stairs he ran, and when he see her,
Cried out, "My child, how cam'st thou here?"
"Pray, sir, did you not send for me,
By such a messenger?" said she:
75
Which made his hair stare on his head,
As knowing well that he was dead.
"Where is he?" then to her he said;
"He's in the stable," quoth the maid.
"Go in," said he, "and go to bed;
80
I'll see the horse well littered."
He stared about, and there could he
No shape of any mankind see,
But found his horse all on a sweat;
Which made him in a deadly fret.
85
His daughter he said nothing to,
Nor none else, (though full well they knew
That he was dead a month before,)
For fear of grieving her full sore.
Her father to the father went
90
Of the deceased, with full intent
To tell him what his daughter said;
So both came back unto this maid.
They ask'd her, and she still did say
'Twas he that then brought her away;
95
Which when they heard they were amazed,
And on each other strangely gazed.
A handkerchief she said she tied
About his head, and that they tried;
The sexton they did speak unto,
100
That he the grave would then undo.
Affrighted then they did behold
His body turning into mould,
And though he had a month been dead,
This handkerchief was about his head.
105
This thing unto her then they told,
And the whole truth they did unfold;
She was thereat so terrified
And grieved, that she quickly died.
Part not true love, you rich men, then;
110
But, if they be right honest men
Your daughters love, give them their way,
For force oft breeds their lives decay.
This fragment, Motherwell tells us, was communicated to him by an
ingenious friend, who remembered having heard it sung in his youth. He
does not vouch for its antiquity, and we have little or no hesitation
in pronouncing it a modern composition.
Whan he cam to his ain luve's bouir,
He tirled at the pin,
And sae ready was his fair fause luve
To rise and let him in.
5
"O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says,
"Thrice welcome thou art to me;
For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir,
And to-morrow we'll wedded be."
"This night is hallow-eve," he said,
10
"And to-morrow is hallow-day;
And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
That has made my heart fu' wae.
"I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
And I wish it may cum to gude:
15
I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,
And gied me his lappered blude."
"Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said,
"And set you safely down."
"O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,
20
And the night is wondrous lown."
"Yes, dark, dark is my secret bowir,
And lown the midnight may be;
For there is none waking in a' this tower,
But thou, my true love, and me."
25
She has mounted on her true love's steed,
By the ae light o' the moon;
She has whipped him and spurred him,
And roundly she rade frae the toun.
She hadna ridden a mile o' gate,
30
Never a mile but ane,
Whan she was aware of a tall young man,
Slow riding o'er the plain.
She turned her to the right about,
Then to the left turn'd she;
35
But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight,
That tall knight did she see.
And he was riding burd alane,
On a horse as black as jet;
But tho' she followed him fast and fell,
40
No nearer could she get.
"O stop! O stop! young man," she said,
"For I in dule am dight;
O stop, and win a fair lady's luve,
If you be a leal true knight."
45
But nothing did the tall knight say,
And nothing did he blin;
Still slowly rode he on before,
And fast she rade behind.
She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,
50
Till his breast was all a foam;
But nearer unto that tall young knight,
By Our Ladye, she could not come.
"O if you be a gay young knight,
As well I trow you be,
55
Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay
Till I come up to thee."
But nothing did that tall knight say,
And no whit did he blin,
Until he reached a broad river's side,
60
And there he drew his rein.
"O is this water deep," he said,
"As it is wondrous dun?
Or it is sic as a saikless maid
And a leal true knight may swim?"
65
"The water it is deep," she said,
"As it is wondrous dun;
But it is sic as a saikless maid
And a leal true knight may swim."
The knight spurred on his tall black steed,
70
The lady spurred on her brown;
And fast they rade unto the flood,
And fast they baith swam down.
"The water weets my tae," she said,
"The water weets my knee;
75
And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight,
For the sake of Our Ladye."
"If I would help thee now," he said,
"It were a deadly sin;
For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word,
80
Till the water weets her chin."
"O the water weets my waist," she said,
"Sae does it weet my skin;
And my aching heart rins round about,
The burn maks sic a din.
85
"The water is waxing deeper still,
Sae does it wax mair wide;
And aye the farther that we ride on,
Farther off is the other side.
"O help me now, thou false, false knight,
90
Have pity on my youth;
For now the water jawes owre my head,
And it gurgles in my mouth."
The knight turned right and round about,
All in the middle stream,
95
And he stretched out his head to that lady,
But loudly she did scream.
"O this is hallow-morn," he said,
"And it is your bridal day;
But sad would be that gay wedding,
100
If bridegroom and bride were away.
"And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!
Till the water comes o'er your bree;
For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet,
Wha rides this ford wi' me.
105
"Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret!
Turn ye round, and look on me;
Thou hast killed a true knight under trust,
And his ghost now links on with thee."