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SELECT SCOTISH BALLADS.

VOLUME I.

CONTAINING BALLADS IN THE TRAGIC STYLE.

THE SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED.

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SELECT SCOTISH BALLADS.

VOLUME I.

[figure]

LONDON, PRINTED BY AND FOR J. NICHOLS.

MDCCLXXXIII.

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HARDYKNUTE, AN HEROIC BALLAD, NOW FIRST PUBLISHED COMPLETE; WITH THE OTHER MORE APPROVED SCOTISH BALLADS, AND SOME NOT HITHER TO MADE PUBLIC, IN THE TRAGIC STYLE.

TO WHICH ARE PREFIXED TO DISSERTATIONS,

  • I. ON THE ORAL TRADITION OF POETRY.
  • II. ON THE TRAGIC BALLAD.

JAMQUE SACRUM TENERIS VATEM VENERSTUR AB ANNIS.

TO HIS GRACE THE Duke of BUCCLEUGH.

[vii]
MY LORD,

IT is with much pleaſure I embrace this opportunity of teſtifying my ſincere reſpect for YOUR GRACE's exalted character, as the friend and as the ornament of your country, by addreſſing theſe volumes to a name ſo much revered and beloved by the nation [viii]whoſe poetry they are intended to preſerve and to illuſtrate.

The chief compoſitions in this volume, MY LORD, will be found to breathe the living ſpirit of the Scotiſh people, a race of men who have left monuments of their martial glory in every country. YOUR GRACE, it is hoped, will with pleaſure here recogniſe the noble ardour your example lately tended to revive, by raiſing and commanding in perſon a military force in defence of your country, at a period when her natives had not diſcernment to perceive, nor ſpirit to aſſume, the privileges of Britiſh ſubjects.

The ſecond volume, MY LORD, contains chiefly pieces deſcriptive of rural merriment, and of love and domeſtic happineſs. Even theſe, it is humbly believed, YOUR GRACE will not diſdain; for it is well known that the felicity of the poor in general, and of your numerous tenants and dependants in [ix]particular, is regarded by YOUR GRACE as eſſential to your own. In reward, YOUR GRACE enjoys a domeſtic felicity now ſeldom or never known to the great who are generally obliged to exchange the free enjoyment of true pleaſure for the gaudy ſlavery of oſtentation.

At a period when many of the Britiſh nobility are waſting their patrimonial eſtates in profligate diſſipation; men trained to arms in defence of their rights and liberties, villages beautified and rendered ſalubrious, and their inhabitants rendered happy, have been the monuments of expence of the DUKE OF BUCCLEUGH.

The ſilent gratitude of the poor will ever ſpeak YOUR GRACE's praiſes with an expreſſion unknown to the moſt exalted elocution; and it were ſurely abſurd for any writer to enlarge on what is the common ſubject [x]of converſation, and known to all; I ſhall not therefore any longer intrude on YOUR GRACE's patience.

That SCOTLAND may long conſider YOUR GRACE as one of the beſt guardians of her liberty, and the living aſſertor of her ancient ſpirit, is the earneſt wiſh of,

MY LORD, YOUR GRACE's Moſt obedient Servant, JOHN PINKERTON.

CONTENTS.

[xi]
  • DISSERTATION I. Page xv
  • DISSERTATION II. Page xxviii
  • 1. Hardyknute, Part I. Page 1
  • 1. Hardyknute, Part II. Page 16
  • 2. Child Maurice. Page 34
  • 3. Adam o Gordon. Page 44
  • 4. The Child of Elle. Page 52
  • 5. Gilderoy, Page 62
  • 6. "The Gypſies came to our good Lord's gate. Page 67
  • 7. The Cruel Knight. Page 69
  • 8. Young Waters. Page 72
  • 9. Sir Hugh, or the Jew's Daughter. Page 75
  • 10. Flodden Field, or the Flowers of the Foreſt. Page 78
  • 11. Edward. Page 80
  • 12. Sir Patrick Spence. Page 83
  • 13. Lady Bothwell's Lament. Page 86
  • 14. Earl of Murray. Page 88
  • 14. Sir James the Roſe. Page 90
  • [xii]16. Laird of Woodhouſelie. Page 94
  • 17. Lord Livingſton. Page 98
  • 18. Binnorie. Page 102
  • 19. Death of Menteith. Page 105
  • 20. Lord Airth's Complaint. Page 107
  • 21. "I wiſh I were where Helen lyes." Page 109
  • Fragments. Page 111
  • Notes. Page 115
  • Gloſſary. Page 156

DISSERTATIONS ON THE ORAL TRADITION OF POETRY, AND ON THE TRAGIC BALLAD.

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DISSERTATION I. ON THE ORAL TRADITION OF POETRY.

[xv]

IT has long been a ſubject of regret, that the inventors of the fine Arts have by oblivion been deprived of the reputation due to their memory. Of the many realms which lay claim to their birth, Egypt ſeems to poſſeſs the preference. Yet, like the Nile, which animates that country, while they have diffuſed pleaſure and utility over kingdoms, their origin remains hid in the moſt profound obſcurity.

That poetry holds a diſtinguiſhed ſuperiority over all theſe ſciences is allowed; yet the firſt practiſer of this enchanting art has loſt the renown it was deſigned to confer. We muſt either allow the conteſted claim of the Oſiris of the Egyptians, and Apollo of the Greeks, or be content to withhold from any, the fame which indeed ſeems due to as many inventors as there are diſtinct nations in the world. For poetry appears not to [xvi]require the labour of diſquiſition, or aid of chance, to invent; but is rather the original language of men in an infant ſtate of ſociety in all countries. It is the effuſion of fancy actuated by the paſſions: and that theſe are always ſtrongeſt when uncontrouled by cuſtom, and the manners which in an advanced community are termed polite, is evident. But the peculiar advantages, which a certain ſituation of extrinſic objects confers on this art, have already been ſo well illuſtrated by eminent critics *, that it is unneceſſary here to remember them. I have beſides noted a few ſuch as immediately concern the compoſitions now under view in the ſubſequent Diſſertation; and only propoſe here to give a brief account of the utility of the Oral Tradition of Poetry, in that barbarous ſtate of ſociety which neceſſarily precedes the invention of letters; and of the circumſtances that conſpired to render it eaſy and ſafe.

Among the Egyptians, probably the moſt ancient authors of the elegant, as well as uſeful ſciences, we find that verſes were originally uſed ſolely to preſerve the laws of their princes, and ſayings of their wiſe men from oblivion . Theſe were ſometimes inſcribed in their temples in their hieroglyphic character, but more [xvii]frequently only committed to the memory of the expounders of their Law, or diſciples of their ſages. Pythagoras, who was initiated in their ſecret ſcience, conveyed in like manner his dictates to his diſciples, as appears from the moral verſes which paſs under his name at this day. And though the authenticity of theſe may be queſtioned, yet that he followed this mode of bequeathing his knowledge to his followers, is proved from the conſent of all antiquity *. Nay, before him, Thales compoſed in like manner his Syſtem of Natural Philoſophy. And even ſo late as the time of Ariſtotle, the Laws of the Agathyrſi, a nation in Sarmatia, were all delivered in verſe. Not to mention the known laws of the Twelve Tables, which, from the fragments ſtill remaining of them, appear to have conſiſted of ſhort rythmic ſentences.

From laws and religion poetry made an eaſy progreſs to the celebration of the Gods and Heroes, who were their founders. Verſes in their praiſe were ſung on ſolemn occaſions by the compoſers, or bards themſelves. We meet with many before Homer, who diſtinguiſhed themſelves by ſuch productions. Fabricius has enumerated near ſeventy whoſe names have reached our times. That immortal author had the advantage of [xviii]hearing their poems repeated; and was certainly indebted to his predeceſſors for many beauties which we admire as original. That he was himſelf an ΑΟΙΔΟΣ, or Minſtrel, and ſung his own verſes to the lyre, is ſhown by the admirable author of the Enquiry into his Life and Writings *. Nor were his poems reſcued from the uncertain fame of tradition, and committed to writing till ſome time after his death .

Such was the utility of the poetic tradition among the more poliſhed nations of antiquity: and with thoſe they denominated Barbarians we find it no leſs practiſed . The Perſians had their Magi, who preſerved, as would ſeem in this way, the remarkable events of former times, and in war went before the army ſinging the praiſes of their illuſtrious men, whom the extraordinary gratitude and admiration of their countrymen had exalted into Deities. If they gained the victory, the Song of Triumph recorded the deeds of thoſe who had fallen, and by their praiſes animated the ambition of thoſe who enjoyed the conqueſt to farther acts of valour. The latter cuſtom [xix]was in uſe ſtill more anciently among the Jews, as appears from the ſongs of Moſes * and Deborah preſerved in Sacred Writ.

The Druids of Gaul and Britain afford a noted inſtance . Such firm hold did their traditions take of the memory, that ſome of them are retained in the minds of their countrymen to this very day §. The [xx]Germans, as we learn from Tacitus, had no other mode of commemorating the tranſactions of paſt times than by verſe. The brave actions of their anceſtors were always ſung as an incentive to their imitation before they entered into combat. The like we read of the ancient Goths *, thoſe deſtroyers of all literature, who yet poſſeſſed greater ſkill in the fine arts than is commonly aſcribed to them. From them this cuſtom paſſed to their deſcendants the inhabitants of the Northern regions, many animated ſpecimens of whoſe traditional poetry have been preſerved to our times and quoted by their modern hiſtorians as uncontroulable vouchers; as the Arabian hiſtorians refer for the truth of many events to the Spaniſh romanzes, ſaved in like manner by tradition for many ages, many of which are of very remote antiquity, and abound with the higher beauties of poetry . Traditional verſes are to this day a favourite amuſement of the Mahometan nations; though, inſtead of recording the illuſtrious actions of their real heroes, they chaunt the fabled exploits of [xxi]Buhalul their Orlando *, or the yet more ridiculous ones of their Prophet . From them it would appear that rime, that great help to the remembrance of traditional poetry, paſſed to the Troubadours of Provence; who from them ſeem alſo to have received the ſpirit and character of their effuſions. Like them, they compoſed amorous verſes with delicacy and nature; but when they attempted the ſublimer walk of the Heroic Song, their imagination was often bewildered, and they wandered into the contiguous regions of the incredible and abſurd .

In proportion as Literature advanced in the world, Oral Tradition diſappeared. The venerable Britiſh Bards were in time ſucceeded by the Welſh Beirdh §, [xxii]whoſe principal occupation ſeems to have been to preſerve the genealogy of their patrons, or at times to amuſe them with ſome fabulous ſtory of their predeceſſors ſung to the harp or crowd *, an inſtrument which Griffith ap Conan, King of Wales, is ſaid to have brought from Ireland, about the beginning of the twelfth century.

In like manner, among the Caledonians, as an ingenious writer acquaints us, ‘Every chief in proceſs of time had a bard in his family, and the office became hereditary. By the ſucceſſion of theſe bards the poems concerning the anceſtors of the family were handed down from generation to generation; they were repeated to the whole clan on ſolemn occaſions, and always alluded to in the new compoſitions of the bards.’ The ſucceſſors of Oſſian were at length employed chiefly in the mean office of preſerving fabulous genealogies, and flattering the pride of their chieftains at the expence of truth, without [xxiii]even fancy ſufficient to render their inventions either pleaſing or plauſible. That order of men, I believe, is now altogether extinct; yet they have left a ſpirit of poetry in the country where they flouriſhed *; and Oſſian's harp ſtill yields a dying ſound among the wilds of Morven.

Having thus given a faint view of the progreſs of the Oral Tradition of Poetry to theſe times , I proceed to ſhew what arts the ancient bards employed to make their verſes take ſuch hold of the memory of their countrymen, as to be tranſmitted ſafe and entire without the aid of writing for many ages. Theſe may be conſidered as affecting the paſſions and the ear. Their mode of expreſſion was ſimple and genuine. They of conſequence touched the paſſions truly and effectively. And when the paſſions are engaged, we liſten with avidity to the tale that ſo agreeably affects them; and remember it again with the moſt prompt facility. This may be obſerved in children, who will forget no circumſtance of an intereſting ſtory, more eſpecially if ſtriking or dreadful to the fancy; when they cannot remember a ſhort maxim which only occupies the judgement. The paſſions of men have been and will be the ſame through all ages. Poetry is the ſovereign of the paſſions, and will reign while they [xxiv]exiſt. We may laugh at Sir Iſaac Newton, as we have at Deſcartes; but we ſhall always admire a Homer, an Oſſian, or a Shakſpere.

As the ſubjects of theſe genuine painters of nature deeply intereſted the heart, and by that means were ſo agreeable and affecting, that every hearer wiſhed to remember them; ſo their mode of conſtructing their verſe was ſuch, that the remembrance was eaſy and expeditious. A few of their many arts to aid the memory I ſhall here enumerate.

I. Moſt of theſe Oral poems were ſet to muſic, as would appear, by the original authors themſelves. That this was the cuſtom ſo early as the days of Homer, may be ſeen in the excellent author formerly adduced *. How ſhould we have been affected by hearing a compoſition of Homer or Oſſian [...]ung and played by theſe immortal maſters themſelves! With the poem the air ſeems to have paſſed from one age to another; but as no muſical compoſitions of the Greeks exiſt, we are quite in the dark as to the nature of theſe. I ſuppoſe that Oſſian's poetry is ſtill recited to its original cadence and to appropriated tunes. We find, in an excellent modern writer , that this mode of ſinging poetry to the harp was reckoned an accompliſhment ſo late as among the Saxon Eccleſiaſtics. The ancient [xxv]muſic was confeſſedly infinitely ſuperior to ours in the command of the paſſions. Nay, the muſic of the moſt barbarous countries has had effects that not all the ſublime pathos of Corelli, or animated ſtrains of Handel, could produce. Have not the Welſh, Iriſh, and Scotiſh tunes, greater influence over the moſt informed mind at this day than the beſt Italian concerto? What Modern refined muſic could have the powers of the Rance de Vaches * of the Swiſs, or the melancholy ſound of the Indian Banſha ? Is not the war-muſic of the rudeſt inhabitants of the wilds of America or Scotland more terrible to the ear than that of the beſt band in the Britiſh army? Or, what is ſtill more ſurprizing, will not the ſofter paſſions be more inflamed by a [xxvi]Turkiſh air than by the moſt exquiſite effort of a polite compoſer? as we learn from an elegant writer *, whom concurring circumſtances rendered the beſt judge that could be imagined of that ſubject. The harmony therefore of the old traditional ſongs poſſeſſing ſuch influence over the paſſions, at the ſame time that it rendered every expreſſion neceſſary to the ear, muſt have greatly recommended them to the remembrance.

II. Beſides muſical cadence, many arts were uſed in the verſification to facilitate the rehearſal. Such were:

1. The frequent returns of the ſame ſentences and deſcriptions expreſſed in the very ſame words. As for inſtance, the delivery of meſſages, the deſcription of battles, &c. of which we meet with infinite examples in Homer, and ſome, if I miſtake not, in Oſſian. Good ones may be found in Hardyknute, Part I. v. 123, &c. compared with part II. v. 107, &c. and in Child Maurice, v. 31, with v. 67; and innumerable ſuch in the ancient Traditional Poetry of all nations. Theſe ſerved as land marks, in the view of which the memory travelled ſecure over the intervening ſpaces. On this head falls likewiſe to be mentioned what we call The Burden, that is, the unvaried repetition of one or more lines fixing the tone of the poem throughout the whole. That this is very ancient among the barbaric nations, may be gathered from the known Song of Regner [xxvii]Lodbrog, to be found in Olaus Wormius *; every ſtanza of which begins with one and the ſame line. So many of our ballads, both ancient and modern, have this aid to the memory, that it is unneceſſary to condeſcend on any in particular.

2. Alliteration was before the invention of rime greatly uſed, chiefly by the nations of Northern original, to aſſiſt the remembrance of their traditional poetry. Moſt of the Runic methods of verſification conſiſted in this practice. It was the only one among the Saxon poets, from whom it paſſed to the Engliſh and Scotiſh . When rime became common, this which [xxviii]was before thought to conſtitute the ſole difference between proſe and verſe, was ſtill regarded as an acceſſary [xxix]grace, and was carried to a ludicrous length by ſome poets of no mean rank in both nations. So [xxx]late as the reign of Queen Elizabeth we find the following lines in a court poet:

Princes puff'd; barons bluſtered; lords began lowr,
Knights ſtorm'd; ſquires ſtartled, like ſteeds in a ſtowr;
Pages and yeomen yelled out in the hall *.

And William Dunbar, the chief of the old Scotiſh poets, begins a copy of verſes to the King thus,

Sanct Salvator ſend ſilver ſorrow .
I aſked him wholly his intent;
Good Sir, if your will be,
Since that ye bide upon the bent,
Some uncouth tidings tell you me:
When ſhall all theſe wars be gone?
That leil men may live in lee;
Or when ſhall Faſehude go from home,
And Lawtie blow his horn on hie?
I looked from me not a mile,
And ſaw twa knights upon a lee, &c.

I imagine, however, they are all the compoſures of one hand; and, if I may uſe a conjecture, were written immediately after the viſions of Pierce Plowman, every Engliſh poem of note in thoſe days being ſoon ſucceeded by an imitation in Scotland.

[xxxi]III. But the greateſt aſſiſtance that could be found to the tradition of poetry was derived from the invention of rime; which is far more ancient than is commonly believed. One of the moſt learned men this age has produced *, has ſhewn that it is common in Scripture. All the Pſalms conſiſt of riming verſes, and many other paſſages which he names. They were uſed among the Greeks ſo early as the time of Gorgias the Sicilian, who taught the Athenians this practice. And though the ſpirit of the Greek and Latin languages did not always admit of them in poetry, yet they were uſed as occaſional beauties by their moſt celebrated writers. Homer, Heſiod, and Virgil, have a few, though apparently more from chance than deſign. The ancient Saturnine verſes were all rimes, as an old commentator informs us. And it is more than probable they were ſo conſtructed merely that the memory might the more eaſily preſerve them, their licence forbidding their being committed to writing. Thoſe who would wiſh to know more particularly the univerſality of this mode of verſifying among the other ancient nations, may conſult the Huetiana of the moſt learned and reſpectable Biſhop of Avranches . The Eaſtern poetry conſiſts altogether, if I miſtake not, of riming lines, as may be obſerved in the ſpecimens of Hafiz their moſt [xxxii]illuſtrious writer, lately publiſhed *. It appears, however, that alliteration ſupplied the place of rime with the Northern nations till within a recent period . Oſſian's poetry, I ſuppoſe, is in ſtanzas ſomething like our ballad meaſure; though it were to be wiſhed the tranſlator had favoured us with ſome information on this head evidenced by ſpecimens of the original. He indeed acquaints us that ‘Each verſe was ſo connected with thoſe which preceded, or followed it, that if one line had been remembered in a ſtanza, it was almoſt impoſſible to forget the reſt :’ but this ſtands greatly in need of explanation.

The common ballad ſtanza is ſo ſimple, that it has been uſed by moſt nations as the firſt mode of conſtructing rimes. The Spaniſh romanzes bear a great reſemblance in this, as in other reſpects, to the Scotiſh Ballads. In both, every alternate line ends with ſimilar vowels, though the conſonants are not ſo ſtrictly attended to. As for inſtance, in the former we have bana, eſpada; mala, palabra; vega, cueva; rompan, volcanos; for rimes: and in the later, m [...]dale, girdle; keep, bleed; Buleighan, tak him; &c. The Engliſh, even in the ruder pieces of their firſt minſtrels, ſeem to have [xxxiii]paid more attention to the correſpondence of their conſonants, as may be obſerved in the curious Collection publiſhed by Dr. Percy.

As the ſimplicity of this ſtanza rendered it eaſy to the compoſer, and likewiſe more natural to expreſs the paſſions, ſo it added to the facility of recollection. It's tone is ſedate and ſlow. The rimes occur ſeldom, and at equal diſtances: though when a more violent paſſion is to be painted, by doubling the rimes, they at once expreſſed the mind better, and diverſified the harmony. Of this the reader will obſerve many inſtances in this collection, as, Here maun I lie, here maun I die: Like beacon bricht at deid of nicht: Na river heir, my dame, [...] deir: &c. and, to give a very ſolemn movement to the cadence, they ſometimes tripled the rime, an inſtance of which may be obſerved in the firſt ſtanza of Child Maurice.

When all the circumſtances here hinted at are conſidered, we ſhall be leſs apt to wonder, that, by the concurrence of muſical air, retentive arts in the compoſition, and chiefly of rime, the moſt noble productions of former periods have been preſerved in the memory of a ſucceſſion of admirers, and have had the good fortune to arrive at our times pure and uncorrupted.

DISSERTATION II. ON THE TRAGIC BALLAD.

[xxxiv]

THAT ſpecies of poetry which we denominate Ballad, is peculiar to a barbarous period. In an advanced ſtate of arts, the Comic Ballad aſſumes the form of the Song or Sonnet, and the Tragic or Heroic Ballad that of the higher Ode.

The cauſe of our pleaſure in ſeeing a mournful event repreſented, or hearing it deſcribed, has been attempted to be explained by many critics *. It ſeems to ariſe from the mingled paſſions of Admiration of the art of the author, Curioſity to attend the termination, Delight ariſing from a reflection on our own ſecurity, and the Sympathetic Spirit.

[xxxv]In giving this pleaſure, perhaps the Tragic Ballad yields to no effort of human genius. When we peruſe a poliſhed Tragedy or Ode, we admire the art of the author, and are led to praiſe the invention; but when we read an unartful deſcription of a melancholy event, our paſſions are more intenſely moved. The laboured productions of the informed compoſer reſemble a Greek or Roman temple; when we enter it, we admire the art of the builder. The rude effuſions of the Gothic Muſe are like the monuments of their Architecture. We are filled with a religious reverence, and, forgetting our praiſe of the contriver, adore the preſent deity.

I believe no Tragic Ballad of renowned Antiquity has reached our times, if we deny the beautiful and pathetic CARMEN DE ATY in Catullus a title to this claſs; which, as a modern critic of note has obſerved *, ſeems a tranſlation from ſome Greek Dithyrambic , far more ancient than the times of that poet. His tranſlation of Sappho's Ode might ſhew that he took a delight in the ancient Greek compoſitions, from which indeed he ſeems to have derived in a great meaſure his peculiarly delicate vein.

[xxxvi]But it was with the nations in a ſtate of barbarity that this effuſion of the heart flouriſhed as in it's proper ſoil; their ſocieties, rude and irregular, were full of viciſſitudes, and every hour ſubject to the moſt dreadful accidents. The Miniſtrels, who only knew, and were inſpired by the preſent manners, caught the tale of mortality, and recorded it for the inſtruction and entertainment of others. It pleaſed by moving the paſſions, and, at the ſame time, afforded caution to their auditors to guard againſt ſimilar miſ-adventures.

It is amuſing to obſerve how expreſſive the poetry of every country is of its real manners. That of the Northern nations is ferocious to the higheſt degree. Nor need we wonder that thoſe, whoſe laws obliged them to decide the moſt trifling debate with the ſword *, delighted in a vein of poetry, which only painted deeds of blood, and objects horrible to the imagination. The ballad poetry of the Spaniards is tinged with the romantic gallantry of the nation. The hero is all complaiſance; and takes off his helmet in the heat of combat, when he thinks on his miſtreſs. That of the Engliſh is generous and brave. In their moſt noble ballad, Percy laments over the death of his [xxxvii]mortal foe. That of the Scots is perhaps, like the face of their country, more various than the reſt. We find in it the bravery of the Engliſh, the gallantry of the Spaniſh, and I am afraid in ſome inſtances the ferocity of the Northern.

A late writer * has remarked, that, ‘the Scottiſh tunes, whether melancholy or gay, whether amorous, martial, or paſtoral, are in a ſtyle highly original, and moſt feelingly expreſſive of all the paſſions from the ſweeteſt to the moſt terrible.’ He proceeds, ‘Who was it that threw out thoſe dreadful wild expreſſions of diſtraction and melancholy in Lady Culroſs's Dream? an old compoſition, now I am afraid loſt, perhaps becauſe it was almoſt too terrible for the ear.’

This compoſition is neither loſt, nor is it too terrible for the ear. On the contrary, a child might hear it repeated in a winter night without the ſmalleſt emotion. A copy of it now lies before me, and as ſome [xxxviii]curioſity may have been raiſed by the above remark, I ſhall here give an account of it. The dreadful and melancholy of this production are ſolely of the religious kind, and may have been deeply affecting to the enthuſiaſtic at the period in which it was written: It begins thus;

Upon a day as I did mourn full ſore,
For ſundry things wherewith my ſoul was grieved,
My grief increaſed, and grew more and more,
I comfort fled, and could not be relieved;
With heavineſs my heart was ſore miſchieved,
I loathed my life, I could not eat nor drink,
I might not ſpeak, nor look to none that lived,
But muſed alone, and diverſe things did think.
This wretched world did ſo moleſt my mind,
I thought upon this falſe and iron age,
And how our hearts are ſo to vice inclined,
That Satan ſeems moſt fearfully to rage,
Nothing on earth my ſorrow could aſwage,
I felt my ſin ſo ſtrongly to increaſe;
I grieved the ſpirit was wont to be my pledge;
My ſoul was plunged into moſt deep diſtreſs.

[xxxix]Her Saviour is then ſuppoſed to appear in a dream, and lead her through many hair-breadth ſcapes into Heaven:

Through dreadful dens, which made my heart aghaſt,
He bare me up when I began to tire;
Sometimes we clamb oer cragie mountains high;
And ſometimes ſtayed on ugly braes of ſand,
They were ſo ſtay that wonder was to ſee;
But when I feared, he held me by the hand.—
Through great deſerts we wandered on our way.—
Forward we paſt on narrow bridge of tree,
Oer waters great which hideouſly did roar, &.

The moſt terrible paſſage to a ſuperſtitious ear, is that in which ſhe ſuppoſes herſelf ſuſpended over the Gulph of Perdition:

Ere I was ware, one gripped me at laſt,
And held me high above a flaming fire.
The fire was great, the heat did pierce me ſore,
My faith grew weak, my grip was very ſmall.
I trembled faſt, my fear grew more and more.
My hands did ſhake that I held him withall,
At length they looſed, then I began to fall, &c.

[xl]At length ſhe arrives in view of the Heavenly manſions in a ſtanza, which, to alter a little her own expreſſion, 'Gliſters with tinſel.'

I looked up unto that caſtle fair
Gliſtering with gold; and ſhining ſilver bright
The ſtately towers did mount above the air;
They blinded me they caſt ſo great a light,
My heart was glad to ſee that joyful ſight,
My voyage then I thought it not in vain,
I him beſought to guide me there aright,
With many vows never to tire again.

And the whole concludes with an exhortation to a pious life.

But what has the Chriſtian religion to do with poetry? In the true poetic terrible, I believe, ſome paſſages in Hardyknute yield to no attempt of a ſtrong and dark fancy. The Ballad ſtyled Edward may, I fear, be rather adduced as an evidence that this diſpleaſes, when it riſes to a degree of the horrible, which that ſingular piece certainly partakes of.

The Pathetic is the other principal walk of the Tragic Muſe: and in this the Scotiſh Ballads yield to no compoſitions whatever. What can be imagined more moving than the cataſtrophes of Oſſian's Darthula, the moſt pathetic of all poems? or of Hardyknute, [xli]Child Maurice, and indeed moſt of the pieces now collected? Were ever the feelings of a fond mother expreſſed in a language equal in ſimplicity and pathos to that of lady Bothwell?—This leads me to remark, that the dialect in which the Scotiſh Ballads are written gives them a great advantage in point of touching the paſſions. Their language is rough and unpoliſhed, and ſeems to flow immediately from the heart *. We meet with no concettos or far-fetched thoughts in them. They poſſeſs the pathetic power in the higheſt degree, becauſe they do not affect it; and are ſtriking, becauſe they do not meditate to ſtrike.

Moſt of the compoſitions now offered to the public, have already received approbation. The mutilated Fragment of Hardyknute formerly in print, was admired and celebrated by the beſt critics. As it is now, I am inclined to think, given in it's original perfection, it is certainly the moſt noble production in this ſtyle that ever appeared in the world. The manners and characters are ſtrongly marked, and well preſerved; the incidents deeply intereſting; and the cataſtrophe new and affecting. I am indebted for moſt of the ſtanzas, now recovered, to the memory of a lady in Lanarkſhire.

[xlii]A modern lyric poet of the firſt claſs * has pronounced Child Maurice a Divine Ballad. ‘Ariſtotle's beſt rules,’ ſays he, ‘are obſerved in it in a manner that ſhews the author had never read Ariſtotle.’ Indeed if any one will peruſe Ariſtotle's Art of Poetry with Dacier's Elucidations, and afterwards compare their moſt approved rules with this ſimple Ballad, he will find that they are better illuſtrated by this rude effort of the Gothic Muſe, than by the moſt exquiſite Tragedy of ancient or modern times. The Oedipus Tyrannus of Sophocles, the Athalie of Racine, the Merope of Maffei, and even the very excellent Drama, which ſeems immediately founded on it, not excepted; there being many delicate ſtrokes in this original, which the plot adopted by that author forbade his making proper uſe of. This does honour at once to the unknown compoſer of this Ballad, and to the firſt of critics. In the former the reader will admire a genius, that, probably untracked by erudition, could produce a ſtory correſponding to the intricate though natural rules of the Greek author. To the latter will be readily confirmed the applauſe of an ancient , that, he was the ſecretary of Nature, and his pen was ever dipped in good ſenſe.

[xliii]Theſe, and the other monuments of ancient Scotiſh Poetry, which have already appeared, are in this edition given much more correct; and a few are now firſt publiſhed from tradition. The Editor imagined they poſſeſſed ſome ſmall beauties, elſe they would not have been added to this Selection. Their ſeeming antiquity was only regarded as it enhanced their real graces.

MDCCLXXVI * Theſe Diſſertations, &c. were written of this date, but ſlight additions have been made to them from time to time; as the reader will obſerve from references to books publiſhed ſince that period..

[xlv]

HAVING in the Firſt of the foregoing Diſſertations mentioned with applauſe the Spaniſh Ballads, or Romanzes, contained in the HISTORIA DE LAS GUERRAS CIVILES DE GRANADA, and that book being ſeldom to be met with, and written in a language of no wide ſtudy, the Editor has been induced to give a few tranſlations from that work; the two which Dr. Percy has publiſhed having rather excited than gratified curioſity.

Before producing theſe tranſlations, it may be proper to give ſome ſhort account of the work whence they are taken. The Hiſtory of the Civil Wars of Granada is a well-written narration of thoſe diſſentions which tore that kingdom in pieces, for ſome years before the period that Ferdinand and Iſabella, king and queen of Chriſtian Spain, conquered it, down to the time of conqueſt. The chief ſources of thoſe diſſentions were the two great Vandos, or factions, of the Zegris and the Abencerrages; whoſe exploits and adventures, with thoſe of their adherents, are here diſplayed with a minute detail that ſavours very ſtrongly of romance, though the great outlines of the work are evidently founded on hiſtorical truth; which, if the [xlvi]reader pleaſes, is indeed only another name for a certain ſpecies of romance.

This Hiſtory, as we learn from the work itſelf towards the cloſe, is a tranſlation from the Arabic of an anonymous Moor, who fled to Africa with many of his countrymen, when Granada was yielded to the arms of Ferdinand. His grandſon, by name Argutaafa, found this work among his grandfather's papers, and preſented it to a Jew, called Rabbi Santo, who tranſlated it into Hebrew; and gave the Arabic Original to Don Rodrigo Ponce de Leon, Conde de Baylen. That lord being intereſted by it, as his anceſtors had been concerned in the wars there related, ordered the Jew to tranſlate it into Caſtillan Spaniſh; and afterwards gave the tranſlation to the Spaniſh editor, whoſe name from the firſt edition, Barcelona printed by Seb. Matevad, 1610, appears to be Ginez Perez.

On almoſt every occaſion the author produces ſome romanze, as the voucher of his incidents, tranſlations of a few of which ſhall now be produced. It muſt, however, be premiſed, that the firſt tranſlation is merely meant to convey to the reader an idea of the verſe in which moſt of the originals are written; for which purpoſe one of the feebleſt was choſen, as, had ſtrength of thought or incident been attempted in this way, the ſpirit would have totally evaporated in the midſt of attention to the double rimes, of which the Engliſh language is remarkably penurious.

ROMANZE I.

[xlvii]
I.
AT the pleaſant dawn of morning,
Mooriſh knights in numbers ſally,
To maintain a ſolemn turney
In Granada's verdant valley.
II.
Juſting they wheel their fleet horſes;
On his lance each warrior ſteady
Bears a rich and beauteous penon,
Wrought with art by his fair lady.
III.
The bright ſun they dazzle, ſhewing
Jupes of ſilk and golden tiſſue:
Each young hero hopes to ſoften
His proud dame by that day's iſſue.
IV.
From the towers of proud Alhambra *
Mooriſh ladies view the trial;
And among them two the faireſt
Of the court without denial.
[xlviii]V.
Fatima they and Xarifa
Love on both has play'd his quiver:
Thee, Xarifa, O that Alla
Would from jealouſy deliver!
VI.
Tho friends they, for this has ſilence
O'er them ſpread his ſullen pinion.
Fatima the heart has ſtolen
Of Xarifa's faithleſs minion.
VII.
Abendarrez call the rover;
Guiltleſs ſhe of his defection;
For of Fatima's firm paſſion
Abenamar was th' election.
VIII.
Spoke at length the wrong'd Xarifa,
As with ſcorn her rage to cover;
For ſhe thought her friend with favour
Heard the ſuit of her falſe lover.
IX.
'Love cannot be hid, my ſiſter,
'But himſelf he ſtill diſcloſes;
'Of thy tongue where is the prattle?
'Of thy cheeks where are the roſes?
[xlix]X.
'Thou art not in love, I know it!
'See the cauſe of thy condition;
'Thy knight, Abendarrez, tilting,
'Hopes the prize with fond ambition.
XI.
Beauteous Fatima her ſilence
In wiſe anſwer thus has broken:
'Never yet did Love, Xarifa,
'Of my heart receive a token.
XII.
'If my ſpeech and colour leave me
'It is not without a reaſon;
'Short time ſince my gracious father
'Died by Alabez's treaſon.
XIII.
'And if ever Love, my ſiſter,
'To his law could bring me over,
'Abendarrez ſhould not win me,
'From thy charms a cruel rover.'
XIV.
Thus the Mooriſh dames have ſpoken;
Then in ſilence clos'd their prattle,
To remark each gallant chieftain
Who maintain'd the ſeeming battle.

ROMANZE II.

[1]
I.
WHEN valiant Ferdinand beheld
Granada to his proweſs yield;
And o'er Aihambra's higheſt tower
The banner fly of Chriſtian power;
II.
Thus to the flower of Spaniſh ground,
His peers and loyal leaders round,
The mandates of his mighty breaſt,
The monarch in his pride addreſs'd.
III.
'Who when the morning ſprings, will go
'Our chief againſt the mountain foe;
'And ſpread our princely enſign tall
'O'er Alpuxarra's rebel wall *?
[li]IV.
In ſilence every troubled peer
Read in each other's face his fear:
The journey full of perils great
They knew, and doubtful the retreat.
V.
Each tremulons beard in terror ſhook,
Till from his ſeat, with frowning look,
Alonſo de Aguilar ſprung
And thus beſpoke with fearleſs tongue.
VI.
'O king, for me is this emprize,
'And ſhame or praiſe that thence may riſe;
'The queen her ſovereign promiſe gave
'No other the bright claim ſhould have.'
VII.
With joy the king the valiant heard.
Soon as the morrow's dawn appear'd,
Alonſo with his eager van
To climb Nevada's heights began.
VIII.
Five hundred horſe to battle bred,
A thouſand infantry he led;
The Moors in ſilent ambuſh lay.
In crowds to guard the rocky way.
[lii]IX.
Amid the pathleſs cliffs the cry
Of conflict echoes to the ſky:
The cavalry no footing gain,
But fall by ſtony fragments ſlain.
X.
Alonſo, and the foot-array,
Sore leſſen'd by the bloody fray,
At length attain an upland dale,
Where countleſs Moors their ranks aſſail.
XI.
Tho bleed around whole bands of foes,
Yet who ſuch numbers may oppoſe?
The chief at length beheld his hoſt,
In one unbounded ſlaughter loſt.
XII.
Tho left alone, the lion-knight
Declines not the unequal fight;
Where'er he turns his eyes of fire,
As ſtruck by lightning crowds expire.
XIII.
Freſh Moors poſſeſs the bloody field;
No longer ſtrong his ſword to wield,
The victim of a thouſand wounds,
The ſhade of death the chief ſurrounds.
[liii]XIV.
Tho bravely dead, each coward Moor
With caitiff lance his body tore;
Then to Ogixar they him brought;
Where all to ſee the warrior ſought.
XV.
Each Moor and Mooriſh dame with joy
Saw him, who wont their hopes deſtroy,
No more exert his matchleſs force,
But harmleſs ly a bleeding corſe.
XVI.
A Chriſtian captive of the crowd
Yet mov'd their tears with outcry loud:
For ſhe had nurs'd him at her breaſt,
And in the cradle footh'd his reſt.
XVII.
'Alonſo, Oh Alonſo brave!
'May heaven thy generous ſpirit have!
'The Moors of Alpuxara ſlew
'The braveſt knight that fame e'er knew.'

ROMANZE III.

[liv]
I.
EIGHT to eight, and ten to ten,
Knights of valour and renown,
Turney in Toledo fair
The glad day of peace to crown.
II.
An high feſtival the king
Gives his pleaſure to evince;
Concord reigns between his brother
And Granada's warlike prince.
III.
Others ſay the feaſt is given
Zelindaxa bright to pleaſe;
Miſtreſs of the king's affection,
She ordains him pain or eaſe.
IV.
The Zarrazins and Aliatores,
There in gallant union ride;
The Alari [...]es and Azarqués
Them oppoſe with equal pride.
[lv]V.
The Zarrazins, a noble band,
On ſorrel horſes there were ſeen;
Their mantles and their jupes diſtinguiſh'd
By the orange hue and green.
VI.
On their ſhields a cimiter,
Bent as Cupid's bow, they wore;
And the words FUEGO Y SANGRE *,
As the choſen motto bore.
VII.
Equals in the gallant ſhow
Next the Aliatores ſhone;
In carnation garbs array'd
With white foliages beſtrown.
VII.
For device, upon the ſtrength
Of Atlas ſtood a ſtable heaven;
TENDRELO HASTA QUE CANSE
For the motto there was given.
[lvi]IX.
Them enſued the Alarifés
In moſt coſtly manner clad;
Their ſleeves right curiouſly were purfled
On the yellow cloth and red.
X.
A naked Hercules they gave,
Who a ſavage monſter tore;
And above FUERCAS VALEN *
As the valiant word they wore.
XI.
Them the eight Azarqués follow'd,
And in pride exceeded all;
Straw's pale dye and browniſh gray
Were their hues of feſtival.
XII.
On each chieftain's verdant ſhield
Held two daring hands a ſphere;
EN LO VERDE TODO CABE
As the words of honour were.
[lvii]XIII.
Among this band the king beheld
The rival of his lady's love,
And jealouſy his cruel heart
To thoughts of utmoſt fury drove.
XIV.
To Selin thus, high conſtable,
The ſovereign ſpoke in frantic mood:
'The ſun that dazzles now mine eyes,
'Ere long I truſt ſhall ſet in blood.'
XV.
The graceful knight ſo ſtrongly threw *
His rods, they vaniſh'd in the air;
Nor could the power of keeneſt eye,
Their progreſs or their fall declare.
XVI.
Each lady, from the windows high,
Or ſcaffolds, that enjoy'd the ſight,
With anxious looks of fond deſire
Bent forwards to behold the knight.
[lviii]XVII.
As he advances or retires,
'May heaven thee ſave!' the vulgar cry:
While, burnt with jealouſy's fierce flames,
The king ſtill anſwers, 'Let him die!'
XVIII.
Bold Zelindaxa, ſovereign fair,
As near the royal tower he drew,
Tho 'Hold! hold!' cried the angry king,
Sprinkled the chief with fragrant dew.
XIX.
The turney ſtopp'd: in ſilence deep,
And expectation, ſtood the ring;
While, giving reaſon's rein to rage,
'Arreſt the traitor!' cried the king.
XX.
The two firſt troops their lances ſeize
The princely mandate to fulfill.
Alas! what barrier can be ſet
Againſt an amorous monarch's will!
XXI.
The other two defence prepar'd,
Had not the Azarqué to them ſaid,
'Friends, tho the king's love has no laws,
'Remember laws for your's were made.
[lix]XXII.
'Lower your lances, tho my foes
'Ye eager ſee my blood to ſpill.
'Alas, what barrier can be ſet
'Againſt an amorous monarch's will!
XXIII.
They took the noble Moor. His friends
Drop'd tears of rage his fate to ſee.
In wild diſorder ruſh'd the croud,
By force the captive knight to free.
XXIV.
They had no chief to guide their ire,
And fled before ſuperior ſkill.
Alas, what barrier can be ſet,
Againſt an amorous monarch's will!
XXV.
Fair Zelindaxa cried aloud,
'Reſcue, ye Moors, your warrior brave!'
And roſe as if ſhe meant to leap
From the high tower her knight to ſave.
XXVI.
Her mother her embrac'd, and cried,
'Ah, are you mad yourſelf to kill!
'Alas, what barrier can be ſet
'Againſt an amorous monarch's will!'
[lx]XXVII.
The furious king a meſſage ſent
The mournful damſel to convey
To a lone manſion of her friends,
In laſting durance there to ſtay.
XXVIII.
'Tell him,' ſhe ſaid, 'where'er I go,
'My firm love ſhall attend me ſtill.
'Alas, what barrier can be ſet
'Againſt an amorous monarch's will!'

ROMANZE IV *.

[lxi]
I.
ALONG San Lucar's ample ſquare
See gallant Gazul ride;
In ſnowey hue array'd, and green,
And purple's radiant pride.
To Gelves he deſigns to go,
His valiant ſkill to try;
In turnament with many a knight
Of high renown to vie.
II.
The chief a noble dame adores;
Of her farewell to take,
A thouſand anxious turns before
Yon manſion ſee him make.
Lo, from the balcony at length,
The lovely maid inclines,
As o'er a diſtant hill the morn,
In roſy radiance ſhines.
[lxii]III.
Swift from his ſteed the warrior lights,
And kneels upon the ground,
As ſtruck with awe: ſuch power has love
The valiant to confound.
'O fair,' he cries with trembling voice,
'This day muſt fame be mine:
'What chance can hurt me now that I
'Have ſeen thy charms divine?
IV.
'Yet of thy favour I beſeech
'Some badge to bear along *;
'That, with it grac'd, my haughty lance
'May as my love be ſtrong.'
In jealous rage the maid replied,
For then full well ſhe knew
That Zaida, his firſt deſire,
An elder duty drew.
V.
'If in the combat thy ſucceſs
'My heart's deſire may crown;
'No more, falſe knight, ſhalt thou return,
'But life loſe, and renown.
[lxiii]'To God I ſpeak my eager wiſh,
'Sincere as thou doſt lye,
'That in the fight by ſecret foes
'Ignobly thou mayſt die.
VI.
'O may thy enemies be ſtrong!
'Thy friends all daſtards prove!
'O be thou dead, as is thy fame,
'And not even pity move!'
The leader thinks ſhe ſpeaks in jeſt,
And thus in haſte replies;
'The Moor who would us ſet at ſtrife,
'Believe me, lady, lies.
VII.
'May all thy curſes on him light!
'My ſoul muſt now abhor
'That Zaida; tho wont, I own,
Her beauty to adore.
'After long years of ſervice, ſhe
'For a baſe Moor me left—'
The fair retired, nor more would hear,
Of patience quite bereft.
[lxiv]VIII.
A page appear'd, and gallant ſteeds
Him brought in rich array:
'Return,' the frantic warrior cried,
'We try no arms this day.'
In frenzy then againſt the wall
That hid his fair from view,
So fierce he tilted, that his ſpear
In thouſand ſplinters flew.
IX.
In anguiſh now he paus'd a while,
Now rode in furious mood,
Till madneſs fired his inmoſt ſoul,
And prompted deeds of blood.
His wandering way to Xerez far
Along the ſhore he held;
Where with her ſire his former love,
Falſe Zaida, now dwell'd.
X.
The ſtar of eve with golden light
Illumed the weſtern wave,
When near to Xerez Gazul drew,
As Rodamonte brave.
[lxv]Not he, that king of Argel high,
When for his fair he ſtrove
With Mandricardo, ſtood in praiſe
Young Gazul's name above.
XI.
Now near her manſion, with freſh rage
His dauntleſs boſom burn'd;
And thus he ſpoke, while plaintive waves
And rocks the ſound return'd.
'O Zaida, more faithleſs far
'Than that inconſtant ſea;
'Not half ſo ſavage are theſe rocks,
'Not half ſo hard as thee!
XII.
'How can'ſt thou give thy youthful hand
'To him thy ſuitor old;
'And leave the riches of the mind
'For ſordid wealth of gold?
'Oh, may ev'n he, thy ſuitor old,
'Thy falſhood learn to ſcorn!
'May never love thy anxious nights,
'Nor joy thy days adorn.
[lxvi]XIII.
'At zambra *, nor at feſtival,
'May never knight appear,
'Thy cypher on embroider'd ſleeve,
'Or ſilken badge to bear.
'May jealouſy ev'n of his age
'Thy peace ſtill violate.
'May he live long! Thy fierceſt foe
'Can wiſh no worſe a fate.'
XIV.
Thus as he ſpoke the gradual night
Deſcended all around;
And, as he near the manſion drew,
Of mirth he heard the ſound.
Sudden before a ruſhing croud
The doors were open thrown;
And thro' the gloom in bright array
A thouſand torches ſhone.
XV.
In midſt the future huſband held
Young Zaida's falſe hand.
To church they went, where ſtood the prieſt
To fix the ſacred band.
[lxvi]This cruel ſight when Gazul ſaw,
His madneſs found new flame;
A while he reſted, till at hand
The brilliant troop now came.
XVI.
Then ſpurr'd his ſteed into the midſt,
And thus his lady's choice
Addreſs'd, while all in ſudden fear
Stood trembling at his voice.
'Hope not, baſe traitor, to enjoy
'This lady, once my love;
'Defend thyſelf if e'er thy arm
'Could ſkill or valour prove.
XVII.
He ſpoke. They fought. The aged Moor
Lay dead upon the ground.
Swift to revenge his wretched fall,
His numerous friends drew round.
Againſt their force the warrior ſtood
With more than mortal might:
Then, ſlow retreating, refuge found
Amid the ſhades of night.

[1]HARDYKNUTE. AN HEROIC BALLAD.

[]
‘LA PLUPART DE CES CHANSONS SONT DE VIEILLES ROMANCES DONT LES AIRS NE SONT PAS PIQUANS; MAIS ILS ONT JE NE SAIS QUOI D'ANTIQUE ET DE DOUX QUI TOUCHE A LA LONGUE. ROUSSEAU.

PART I.

STATELY ſtept he eaſt the ha,
And ſtately ſtept he weſt;
Full ſeventy yeirs he now had ſene,
With ſcerce ſevin yeirs of reſt.
He livit whan Britons breach of faith
Wrocht Scotland meikle wae,
And ay his ſword tauld to their coſt
He was their deidly fae.
Hie on a hill his caſtle ſtude,
With halls and touris a hicht,
And gudely chambers fair to ſee,
Whar he lodgit mony a knicht.
His dame ſa peirles anes, and fair,
For chaſte, and bewtie, ſene,
Na marrow had in a the land,
Save Emergard the quene.
[2]
Full thirtein ſons to him ſhe bare,
All men of valour ſtout,
In bluidy ficht, with ſword in hand,
Nyne loſt their lives bot doubt;
Four yit remaind; lang mote they live
To ſtand by liege and land:
Hie was their fame, hie was their micht,
And hie was their command.
Greit luve they bare to Fairly fair,
Their ſiſter ſaft and deir,
Her girdle ſhawd her middle jimp,
And gowdin gliſt her hair.
What waefou wae her bewtie bred!
Waefou to young and auld,
Waefou I trow to kyth and kin,
As ſtory ever tauld.
The king of Norſe, in ſummer tide,
Puft up with pouir and micht,
Landed in fair Scotland the yle,
Wi mony a hardie knicht.
The tidings to our gude Scots king
Came as he ſat at dyne
With noble chiefs in braive aray,
Drinking the bluid red wyne.
[3]
"To horſe, to horſe, my royal liege!
"Your faes ſtand on the ſtrand;
"Full twenty thouſand glittering ſpeirs
"The cheifs of Norſe command.
"Bring me my ſteid Mage dapple gray."
Our gude king raiſe and cryd:
A truſtier beiſt in all the land,
A Scots king nevir ſeyd.
"Gae, little page, tell Hardyknute,
"Wha lives on hill ſa hie,
"To draw his ſword, the dreid of faes,
"And haſte and follow me."
The little page flew ſwift as dart,
Flung by his maſter's arm;
'Cum down, cum down, lord Hardyknute,
'And red your king frae harm.'
Then reid, reid grew his dark-brown cheiks
Sae did his dark-brown brow;
His luiks grew kene, as they were wont
In danger grit to do.
He has tane a horn as grene as graſs,
And gien five ſounds ſa ſhrill,
That tries in grene wode ſhuke thereat,
Sae loud rang ilka hill.
[4]
His ſons in manly ſport and glie
Had paſt the ſummer's morn;
Whan lo! down in a graſſy dale,
They heard their father's horn.
'That horn, quoth they, neir ſounds in peace,
'We have other ſport to bide;'
And ſune they hied them up the hill,
And ſune were at his ſide.
"Late, late yeſtrene, I weind in peace
"To end my lengthend lyfe;
"My age micht well excuſe my arm
"Frae manly feats of ſtryfe:
"But now that Norſe does proudly boaſt
"Fair Scotland to enthral,
"It's neir be ſaid of Hardyknute,
"He feird to fecht or fall.
"Robin of Rothſay bend thy bow,
"Thy arrows ſhute ſa leil,
"That mony a comely countenance
"They've turn'd to deidly pale.
"Braive Thomas taike ye but your lance,
"Ye neid na weapons mair;
"Gif ye fecht wi't, as ye did anes,
"Gainſt Weſtmoreland's ferce heir.
[5]
"And Malcolm, licht of fute as ſtag
"That runs in foreſt wilde,
"Get me my thouſands thrie of men
"Weil bred to ſword and ſhield:
"Bring me my horſe and harniſine,
"My blade of metal clere."
If faes but kend the hand it bare,
They ſune had fled for feir.
"Farewil my dame ſae peirleſs gude,"
And tuke her by the hand,
"Fairer to me in age you ſeim
"Than maids for bewtie famd:
"My youngeſt ſon ſall here remain,
"To guard theſe ſtately touirs,
"And ſhute the ſilver bolt that keips
"Sae faſt your painted bowers."
And firſt ſhe wet her comely cheiks,
And then her boddice grene;
The ſilken cords of twirtle twiſt
Were plet with ſilver ſhene;
And apron ſet with mony a dyce
Of neidle-wark ſae rare,
Wove by nae hand, as ye may gueſs,
Save that of Fairly fair.
[6]
And he has ridden our muir and moſs,
Our hills and mony a glen,
When he cam to a wounded knicht,
Making a heavy mane:
'Here maun I lye, here maun I dye
'By treacheries fauſe gyles;
'Witleſs I was that eir gave faith
'To wicked woman's ſmyles.'
"Sir knicht, gin ye were in my bouir,
"To lean on ſilken ſeat,
"My lady's kindlie care you'd pruve
"Wha neir kend deidly hate;
"Hirſell wald watch ye all the day,
"Hir maids at deid of nicht;
"And Fairly fair your heart would cheir,
"As ſhe ſtands in your ficht.
"Ariſe young knicht, and mount your ſteid,
"Bricht lows the ſhynand day;
"Chuſe frae my menie wham ye pleiſe,
"To leid ye on the way."
Wi ſmyleſs luik, and viſage wan
The wounded knicht replyd,
'Kind chieftain your intent purſue,
'For heir I maun abide.
[7]
'To me nae after day nor nicht
'Can eir be ſweit or fair;
'But ſune benethe ſum draping trie,
'Cauld dethe ſall end my care.'
Still him to win ſtrave Hardyknute,
Nor ſtrave he lang in vain;
Short pleiding eithly micht prevale,
Him to his lure to gain.
"I will return wi ſpeid to bide,
"Your plaint and mend your wae:
"But private grudge maun neir be quelled,
"Before our countries fae.
"Mordac, thy eild may beſt be ſpaird
"The fields of ſtryfe fraemang;
"Convey Sir knicht to my abode,
"And meiſe his egre pang."
Syne he has gane far hynd, out owr
Lord Chattan's land ſae wyde;
That lord a worthy wicht was ay,
Whan faes his courage ſeyd:
Of Pictiſh race, by mother's ſide:
Whan Picts ruled Caledon,
Lord Chattan claim'd the princely maid
When he ſav'd Pictiſh crown.
[]
Now with his ferce and ſtalwart train
He recht a riſing hicht,
Whar brad encampit on the dale,
Norſe army lay in ſicht;
"Yonder my valiant ſons, full ferce
"Our raging rievers wait,
"On the unconquerit Scottiſh ſwaird
"To try with us their fate.
"Mak oriſons to him that ſav'd
"Our ſauls upon the rude;
"Syne braively ſhaw your veins are filld
"Wi Caledonian bluid."
Then furth he drew his truſtie glaive,
While thouſands all around,
Drawn frae their ſheiths glanc'd in the ſun,
And loud the bugils ſound.
To join his king, adown the hill
In haſte his march he made,
While playand pibrochs minſtrals meit
Afore him ſtately ſtrade.
'Thriſe welcum, valiant ſtoup of weir,
'Thy nation's ſheild and pride,
'Thy king na reaſoun has to feir,
'Whan thou art by his ſide.
[9]
Whan bows were bent, and darts were thrawn,
For thrang ſcerce cold they flie,
The darts clave arrows as they met,
Eir faes their dint mote drie.
Lang did they rage, and fecht full ferce,
Wi little ſkaith to man;
But bluidy, bluidy was the feild
Or that lang day was done!
The king of Scots that findle bruik'd
The war that luik'd like play,
Drew his braid ſword, and brake his bow,
Sen bows ſeim'd but delay.
Quoth noble Rothſay, 'Mine I'll keep,
'I wate it's bleid a ſcore.'
"Haſte up my merrie men," cry'd the king,
As he rade on before.
The king of Norſe he ſocht to find,
Wi him to menſe the faucht;
But on his forehead there did licht
A ſharp unſonſie ſhaft:
As he his hand pat up to feil
The wound, an arrow kein,
O waefu chance! there pind his hand
In midſt atweene his eyne.
[10]
'Revenge! revenge!' cryd Rothſay's heir,
'Your mail-coat ſall nocht bide
'The ſtrenth and ſharpneſs of my dart,'
Whilk ſhared the reiver's ſide.
Anither arrow weil he mark'd
It perc'd his neck in twa;
His hands then quat the ſilver reins,
He law as eard did fa.
'Sair bleids my liege! Sair, ſair he bleids!
Again with micht he drew,
And geſture dreid his ſturdy bow;
Faſt the braid arrow flew:
Wa to the knicht he ettled at;
Lament now quene Elgreid;
Hire dames to wail your darling's fall,
His youth, and comely meid.
'Tak aff, tak aff his coſtly jupe,'
(Or gold well was it twin'd,
Knit like the fowler's net, throuch whilk
His ſteily harnes ſhynd.)
'Beir Norſe that gift frae me, and bid
'Him venge the bluid it weirs;
'Say if he face my bended bow
'He ſure nae weapon feirs.'
[11]
Proud Norſe with giant body tall,
Braid ſhoulder, and arms ſtrong;
Cryd, 'Whar is Hardyknute ſae famd,
'And feird at Britain's throne?
'Tho Britons tremble at his name,
'I ſune ſall mak him wail,
'That eir my ſword was made ſae ſharp,
'Sae ſaft his coat of mail.
That brag his ſtout heart could na bide,
It lent him youthfu micht:
"I'm Hardyknute. This day," he cryed,
"To Scotland's king I hicht
"To lay thee law as horſe's hufe;
"My word I mean to keip:"
Syne with the firſt dint eir he ſtrake
He gar'd his body bleid.
Norſe ene like grey goſehauk ſtaird wilde,
He ſich'd wi ſhame and ſpyte;
'Diſgrac'd is now my far famd arm
'That left thee pouir to ſtryke.'
Syne gied his helm a blow ſae fell,
It made him down to ſtoup,
Sae law as he to ladies us'd,
In courtly gyſe to lout.
[12]
Full ſune he rais'd his bent body;
His bou he marveld ſair,
Sen blaws till than on him but dar'd
As touch of Fairly fair.
Norſe ferlied too as ſair as he,
To ſee his ſtately luik;
Sae ſune as eir he ſtrake a fae,
Sae ſune his lyfe he tuke.
Whar, like a fyre to hether ſet,
Bauld Thomas did advance,
A ſturdy fae, with luik enrag'd,
Up towards him did prance.
He ſpurd his ſteid through thickeſt ranks
The hardy youth to quell;
Wha ſrude unmuvit at his approach
His furie to repell.
'That ſhort brown ſhaft, ſae meinly trimd,
'Lukes like poor Scotland's geir;
'But dreadfu ſeims the ruſty point!'
And loud he leuch in jeir.
"Aft Britons blude has dim'd its ſhyne
"It's point cut ſhort their vaunt."
Syne perc'd the boſter's bairded cheik
Nae time he tuke to taunt.
[13]
Short while he in his ſadil ſwang;
His ſtirrip was nae ſtay,
But feible hang his unbent knie,
Sair taken he was, fey!
Swyth on the harden'd clay he fell,
Richt far was heard the thud;
But Thomas luk'd not as he lay
All waltering in his blude.
Wi careles geſture, mind unmuv'd,
On rade he north the plain
His ſeim in peace, or ferceſt ſtryfe,
Ay reckleſs, and the ſame.
Nor yit his heart dames' dimpeld cheik
Cold meiſe ſaft luve to bruik;
Till vengefu Ann returnd his ſcorn,
Then languid grew his luke.
In thrauis of dethe, wi wallow'd cheik,
All panting on the plain,
The bleiding corps of warriours lay,
Neir to ariſe again:
Neir to return to native land;
Na mair wi blythſum ſounds
To boaſt the glories of that day,
And ſhaw their ſhynand wounds.
[14]
There on a lee, whar ſtands a croſs
Set up for monument,
Thouſands fu ferce, that ſummer's day,
Fill'd kene wars black intent.
Let Scots while Scots praiſe Hardyknute
Let Norſe the name aye dreid;
Ay how he faucht, aft how he ſpaird,
Sall lateſt ages reid.
On Norway's coaſt the widow'd dame
May waſh the rocks wi teirs,
May lang luke owr the ſhiples ſeas
Before her mate appeirs.
Ceiſe, Emma, ceiſe to hope in vain,
Thy lord lyes in the clay;
The valiant Scots na rievers thole
To carry lyfe away.
Loud and chill blew the weſtlin wind,
Sair beat the heavy ſhouir,
Mirk grew the nicht ere Hardyknute
Wan neir his ſtately touir:
His touir that us'd wi torches bleiſe
To ſhyne ſae far at nicht
Seim'd now as black as mourning weid:
Na marvel ſair he ſich'd.
[15]
"There's na licht in my lady's bouir,
"There's na licht in my ha;
"Na blynk ſhynes round my Fairly fair,
"Na ward ſtands on my wa.
"What bodes it? Robert, Thomas, ſay."
Na anſwer fits their dreid.
"Stand back my ſons I'll be your gyde."
But by they paſt wi ſpeid.
"As faſt I ha ſped owr Scotland's faes—"
There ceis'd his brag of weir,
Sair ſhamd to mind ocht but his dame,
And maiden Fairly fair.
Black feir he felt, but what to feir
He wiſt nae yit wi dreid:
Sair ſhuke his body, fair his limbs
And a the warriour flied.

PART II.

[16]
"RETURN, return, ye men of bluid,
"And bring me back my chylde!"
A dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd, wi echoes wylde.
Beſtraught wi dule and dreid, na pouir
Had Hardyknute at a;
Full thriſe he raught his ported ſpeir,
And thriſe he let it fa.
"O haly God, for his deir ſake,
"Wha ſavd us on the rude—
He tint his praier, and drew his glaive,
Yet reid wi Norland bluid.
"Brayd on, brayd on, my ſtalwart ſons,
"Grit cauſe we ha to feir;
"But ay the canny ferce contemn
"The hap they canna veir."
'Return, return, ye men of bluid,
'And bring me back my chylde!'
The dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd, wi echoes wylde.
The ſtorm grew rife, through a the lift
The rattling thunder rang,
The black rain ſhour'd, and lichtning glent
Their harniſine alang.
[17]
What feir poſſeſt their boding breeſts
Whan, by the gloomy glour,
The caſtle ditch wi deed bodies
They ſaw was filled out owr!
Quoth Hardyknute "I wold to Chryſte
"The Norſe had wan the day,
"Sae I had keipt at hame but anes,
"Thilk bluidy feats to ſtay."
Wi ſpeed they paſt, and ſyne they recht
The baſe-courts ſounding bound,
Deip groans ſith heard, and throuch the mirk
Lukd wiſtfully around.
The moon, frae hind a ſable cloud,
Wi ſudden twinkle ſhane,
Whan, on the cauldrif eard, they fand
The gude Sir Mordac layn.
Beſprent wi gore, fra helm to ſpur,
Was the trew-heartit knicht;
Swith frae his ſteid ſprang Hardyknute
Muv'd wi the heavy ſicht.
"O ſay thy maſter's ſhield in weir,
"His ſawman in the ha,
"What hatefu chance cold ha the pouir
To lay thy eild ſae law?"
[18]
To his complaint the bleiding knicht
Returnd a piteous mane,
And recht his hand, whilk Hardyknute
Claucht ſtreitly in his ain:
'Gin eir ye ſee lord Hardyknute,
'Frae Mordac ye maun ſay,
'Lord Draffan's treaſoun to confute
'He uſd his ſteddieſt fay.'
He micht na mair, for cruel dethe
Forbad him to proceid;
"I vow to God, I winna ſleip
"Till I ſee Draffan bleid.
"My ſons your ſiſter was owr fair:
"But bruik he ſall na lang
"His gude betide; my laſt forbode
"He'll trow belyve na ſang.
"Bown ye my eydent friends to kyth
"To me your luve ſae deir;
"The Norſe' defeat mote weil perſuade
"Nae riever ye neid feir."
The ſpeirmen wi a michty ſhout,
Cryd 'Save our maſter deir!
'While he dow beir the ſway bot care
'Nae reiver we ſall feir.'
[19]
'Return, return, ye men of bluid
'And bring me back my chylde!'
The dolefu voice frae mid the ha
Reculd wi echoes wylde.
"I am to wyte my valiant friends:"
And to the ha they ran,
The ſtately dore full ſtreitly ſteiked
Wi iron boltis thrie they fand.
The ſtately dore, thouch ſtreitly ſteiked
Wi waddin iron boltis thrie,
Richt ſune his micht can eithly gar
Frae aff it's hinges flie.
"Whar ha ye tane my dochter deir?
"Mair wold I ſee her deid
"Than ſee her in your bridal bed
"For a your portly meid.
"What thouch my gude and valiant lord
"Lye ſtrecht on the cauld clay?
"My ſons the dethe may ablins ſpair
"To wreak their ſiſters wae."
Sae did ſhe crune wi heavy cheir,
Hyt luiks, and bleirit eyne;
Then teirs firſt wet his manly cheik
And ſnawy baird bedeene.
[20]
'Na riever here, my dame ſae deir,
'But your leil lord you ſee;
'May hieſt harm betide his life
'Wha brocht ſic harm to thee!
'Gin anes ye may beleive my word,
'Nor am I uſd to lie,
'By day-prime he or Hardyknute
'The bluidy dethe ſhall die.'
The ha, whar late the linkis bricht
Sae gladſum ſhind at een,
Whar penants gleit a gowden bleiſe
Our knichts and ladys ſhene,
Was now ſae mirk, that, throuch the bound,
Nocht mote they wein to ſee,
Alſe throuch the ſouthern port the moon
Let fa a blinkand glie.
"Are ye in ſuith my deir luvd lord?"
Nae mair ſhe doucht to ſay,
But ſwounit on his harneſt neck
Wi joy and tender fay.
To ſee her in ſic balefu ſort
Revived his ſelcouth feirs;
But ſune ſhe raiſd her comely luik,
And ſaw his faing teirs.
[21]
"Ye are nae wont to greit wi wreuch,
"Grit cauſe ye ha I dreid;
"Hae a our ſons their lives redemd
"Frae furth the dowie feid?"
'Saif are our valiant ſons, ye ſee,
'But lack their ſiſter deir;
'When ſhe's awa, bot any doubt,
'We ha grit cauſe to feir.'
"Of a our wrangs, and her depart,
"Whan ye the ſuith ſall heir,
"Na marvel that ye ha mair cauſe,
"Than ye yit weit, to feir.
"O wharefore heir yon feignand knicht
"Wi Mordac did ye ſend?
"Ye ſuner wald ha perced his heart
"Had ye his ettling kend."
'What may ye mein my peirles d [...]me?
'That knicht did muve my ruthe
'We balefu mane; I did na dout
'His curteſie and truthe.
'He maun ha tint wi ſma renown
'His life in this fell rief;
'Richt ſair it grieves me that he heir
'Met ſic an ill relief.'
[22]
Quoth ſhe, wi teirs that down her cheiks
Ran like a ſilver ſhouir,
"May ill befa the tide that brocht
"That fauſe knicht to our touir:
"Ken'd ye na Draffan's lordly port,
"Thouch cled in knichtly graith?
"Tho hidden was his hautie luik
"The viſor black benethe?"
'Now, as I am a knicht of weir,
'I thocht his ſeeming trew;
'But, that he ſae deceived my ruthe,
'Full ſairly he ſall rue.'
"Sir Mordac to the ſounding ha
"Came wi his cative fere;"
'My fire has ſent this wounded knicht
'To pruve your kyndlie care.
'Your ſell maun watch him a the day,
'Your maids at deid of nicht;
'And Fairly fair his heart maun cheir
'As ſhe ſtands in his ſicht.'
"Nae ſuner was Sir Mordac gane,
"Than up the featour ſprang;"
The luve alſe o your dochter deir
'I feil na ither pang.
[23]
'Tho Hardyknute lord Draffan's ſuit
'Refus'd wi mickle pryde;
'By his gude dame and Fairly fair
'Let him not be deny'd.'
"Nocht muvit wi the cative's ſpeech,
"Nor wi his ſtern command;
"I treaſoun! cryd, and Kenneth's blade
"Was gliſterand in his hand.
"My ſon lord Draffan heir you ſee,
"Wha means your ſiſter's fay
"To win by guile, when Hardyknute
"Strives in the irie fray."
'Turn thee! thou riever Baron, turn!'
"Bauld Kenneth cryd aloud;
"But, ſune as Draffan ſpent his glaive,
"My ſon lay in his bluid."
'I did nocht grein that bluming face
'That dethe ſae ſune ſold pale;
'Far leſs that my trew luve, through me,
'Her brither's dethe ſold wail.
'But ſyne ye fey our force to prive,
'Our force we fall you ſhaw!'
"Syne the ſhrill-ſounding horn bedeen
"He tuik frae down the wa.
[24]
"Ere the portculie could be flung,
"His kyth the baſe-court fand;
"When ſcantly o their count a teind
"Their entrie micht gainſtand.
"Richt ſune the raging rievers ſtude
"At their fauſe maſter's ſyde,
"Wha, by the haly maiden, ſware
"Na harm ſold us betide.
"What ſyne befell ye weil may gueſs,
"Reft o our eilds delicht."
'We fall na lang be reft, by morne
'Sall Fairly glad your ſicht.
'Let us be gane, my ſons, or now
'Our meny chide our ſtay;
'Fareweil my dame; your dochter's luve
'Will ſune cheir your effray.'
Then pale pale grew her teirfu cheik;
"Let ane o my ſons thrie
"Alane gyde this emprize, your eild
"May ill ſic travel drie.
"O whar were I, were my deir lord,
"And a my ſons, to bleid!
"Better to bruik the wrang than ſae
"To wreak the hie miſdede."
[25]
The gallant Rothſay roſe bedeen
His richt of age to pleid;
And Thomas ſhawd his ſtrenthy ſpeir;
And Malcolm mein'd his ſpeid.
'My ſons your ſtryfe I gladly ſee,
'But it fall neir be ſayne,
'That Hardyknute ſat in his ha,
'And heird his ſon was ſlayne.
'My lady deir, ye neid na feir;
'The richt is on our ſyde:'
Syne riſing with richt frawart haſte
Nae parly wald he byde.
The lady ſat in heavy mude,
Their tunefu march to heir,
While, far ayont her ken, the ſound
Na mair mote roun her eir.
O ha ye ſein ſum glitterand touir,
Wi mirrie archers crownd,
Wha vaunt to ſee their trembling fae
Keipt frae their countrie's bound?
Sic auſum ſtrenth ſhawd Hardyknute;
Sic ſeimd his ſtately meid;
Sic pryde he to his meny bald,
Sic feir his faes he gied.
[26]
Wi glie they paſt our mountains rude,
Owr muirs and moſſes weit;
Sune as they ſaw the riſing ſun,
On Draffan's touirs it gleit.
O Fairly bricht I marvel fair
That featour eer ye lued,
Whaſe treaſoun wrocht your father's bale,
And ſhed your brither's blude!
The ward ran to his youthfu lord,
Wha ſleipd his bouir intill:
'Nae time for ſleuth, your raging faes
'Fare doun the weſtlin hill.
'And, by the libbard's gowden low
'In his blue banner braid,
'That Hardyknute his dochtir ſeiks,
'And Draffans dethe, I rede.'
"Say to my bands of matchleſs micht,
"Wha camp law in the dale,
"To buſk their arrows for the fecht,
"And ſtreitly gird their mail.
"Syne meit me here, and wein to find
"Nae juſt or turney play;
"Whan Hardyknute braids to the field,
"War bruiks na lang delay."
[27]
His halbrik bricht he brac'd bedeen;
Fra ilka ſkaith and harm
Securit by a warloc auld,
Wi mony a fairy charm.
A ſeimly knicht cam to the ha:
'Lord Draffan I thee braive,
'Frae Hardyknute my worthy lord,
'To fecht wi ſpeir or glaive.'
"Your hautie lord me braives in vain
"Alane his micht to prive,
"For wha, in ſingle feat of weir,
"Wi Hardyknute may ſtrive?
"But ſith he meins our ſtrenth to ſey,
"On caſe he ſune will find,
"That thouch his bands leave mine in ire,
"In force they're far behind.
"Yet cold I wete that he wald yield
"To what bruiks nae remeid,
"I for his dochter wald nae hain
"To ae half o my ſteid."
Sad Hardyknute apart frae a
Leand on his birniſt ſpeir;
And, whan he on his Fairly deimd,
He ſpar'd nae fich nor teir.
[28]
"What meins the felon cative vile?
"Bruiks this reif na remeid?
"I ſcorn his gylefu vows ein thouch
"They recht to a his ſteid."
Bownd was lord Draffan for the fecht,
Whan lo! his Fairly deir
Ran frae her hie bouir to the ha
Wi a the ſpeid of feir.
Ein as the rudie ſtar of morne
Peirs throuch a cloud of dew,
Sae did ſhe ſeim, as round his neck
Her ſnawy arms ſhe threw.
'O why, O why, did Fairly wair
'On thee her thouchtleſs luve?
'Whaſe cruel heart can ettle aye
'Her father's dethe to pruve!'
And firſt he kiſsd her bluming cheik,
And ſyne her boſom deir;
Than ſadly ſtrade athwart the ha,
And drapd ae tendir teir.
"My meiny heid my words wi care,
"Gin ony weit to ſlay
"Lord Hardyknute, by hevin I ſweir
"Wi lyfe he ſall nae gae."
[29]
'My maidens bring my bridal gowne,
'I little trewd yeſtrene,
'To riſe frae bonny Draffan's bed,
'His bluidy dethe to ſene.'
Syne up to the hie baconie
She has gane wi a her train,
And ſune ſhe ſaw her ſtalwart lord
Attein the bleiſing plain.
Owr Nethan's weily ſtreim he fared
Wi ſeeming ire and pryde;
His blaſon, gliſterand owr his helm,
Bare Allan by his ſyde.
Richt ſune the bugils blew, and lang
And bludy was the fray;
Eir hour of nune, that elric tyde,
Had hundreds tint their day.
Like beacon bricht at deid of nicht,
The michty chief muvd on;
His baſnet, bleiſing to the ſun,
Wi deidly lichtning ſhone.
Draffan he ſocht, wi him at anes
To end the cruel ſtryfe;
But aye his ſpeirmen thranging round
Forfend their leider's lyſe.
[30]
The winding Clyde wi valiant bluid
Ran reiking mony a mile;
Few ſtude the faucht, yet dethe alane
Cold end their irie toil.
'Wha flie, I vow, ſall frae my ſpeir
'Receive the dethe they dreid!'
Cryd Draffan, as alang the plain
He ſpurd his bluid-red ſteid.
Up to him ſune a knicht can prance,
A graith'd in ſilver mail:
"Lang have I ſocht thee throuch the field,
"This lance will tell my tale."
Rude was the fray, till Draffan's ſkill
Oercame his youthful micht;
Perc'd throuch the viſor to the eie
Was ſlayne the comly knicht.
The viſor on the ſpeir was deft,
And Draffan Malcolm ſpied;
'Ye ſhould your vaunted ſpeid this day,
'And not your ſtrenth, ha ſey'd.'
"Cative, awa ye maun na flie,"
Stout Rothſay cry'd bedeen,
"Till, frae my glaive, ye wi ye beir
"The wound ye fein'd yeſtrene."
[31]
'Mair o your kins bluid ha I ſpilt
'Than I docht evir grein;
'See Rothſay whar your brither lyes
'In dethe afore your eyne.'
Bold Rothſay cried wi lion's rage,
"O hatefu curſed deid!
"Sae Draffan ſeiks our fiſter's luve,
"Nor feirs far ither meid!"
Swith on the word an arrow cam
Frae ane o Rothſay's band,
And ſmote on Draffan's lifted targe,
Syne Rothſays ſplent it fand.
Perc'd throuch the knie to his ferce ſteid,
Wha pranc'd wi egre pain,
The chief was forcd to quit the ſtryfe,
And ſeik the nether plain.
His minſtrals there wi dolefu care
The bludy ſhaft withdrew;
But that he ſae was bar'd the fecht
Sair did the leider rue.
'Cheir ye my mirrie men,' Draffan cryd,
Wi meikle pryde and glie;
'The priſe is ours; nae chieftan bides
'Wi us to bate the grie.'
[32]
That hautie boaſt heard Hardyknute,
Whar he lein'd on his ſpeir,
Sair weiried wi the nune-tide heat,
And toilſum deids of weir.
The firſt ſicht, when he paſt the thrang,
Was Malcolm on the ſwaird:
"Wold hevin that dethe my eild had tane,
"And thy youtheid had ſpard!
"Draffan I ken thy ire, but now
"Thy micht I mein to ſee."
But eir he ſtrak the deidly dint
The ſyre was on his knie.
'Lord Hardyknute ſtryke gif ye may,
'I neir will ſtryve wi thee;
'Forfend your dochter ſee you ſlayne
'Frae whar ſhe ſits on hie!
'Yeſtrene the prieſt in haly band
'Me join'd wi Fairly deir;
'For her ſake let us part in peace,
'And neir meet mair in weir.'
"Oh king of hevin, what ſeimly ſpeech
"A featour's lips can ſend!
"And art thou he wha baith my ſons
"Brocht to a bluidy end?
[33]
"Haſte, mount thy ſteid, or I ſall licht
"And meit thee on the plain;
"For by my forbere's ſaul we neit
"Sall part till ane be ſlayne."
'Now mind thy aith,' ſyne Draffan ſtout
To Allan loudly cryd,
Wha drew the ſhynand blade bot dreid
And perc'd his maſters ſyde.
Law to the bleiding eard he fell,
And dethe ſune clos'd his eyne.
"Draffan, till now I did na ken
"Thy dethe cold muve my tein.
"I wold to Chryſte thou valiant youth,
"Thou wert in life again;
"May ill befa my ruthleſs wrauth
"That brocht thee to ſic pain!
"Fairly, anes a my joy and pryde,
"Now a my grief and bale,
"Ye maun wi haly maidens byde
"Your deidly faut to wail.
"To Icolm beir ye Draffan's corſe,
"And dochter anes ſae deir,
"Whar ſhe may pay his heidles luve
"Wi mony a mournf [...]teir."

II. CHILD MAURICE

[34]
I.
CHILD MAURICE was an erle's ſon,
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor yit his meikle pride,
But it was for his mother gay
Wha livd on Carron ſide.
II.
'Whar ſall I get a bonny boy,
'That will win hoſe and ſhoen,
'That will gae to lord Barnard's ha,
'And bid his lady come?
III.
'And ye maun rin errand Willie,
'And ye maun rin wi ſpeid;
'When ither boys gang on their feet
'Ye ſall ha prancing ſteid.'
IV.
"Oh no! oh no! my maſter deir!
"I dar na for my life;
"I'll no gae to the bauld barons,
"For to trieſt furth his wife."
[35]V.
'My bird Willie, my boy Willie,
'My deir Willie,' he ſaid,
'How can ye ſtrive againſt the ſtreim?
'For I ſall be obeyd.'
VI.
"But O my maſter deir!" he cryd,
"In grenewode ye're your lane;
"Gi owr ſic thochts I wald ye red,
"For feir ye ſold be tane."
VII.
'Haſte, haſte, I ſay, gae to the ha,
'Bid her come here wi ſpeid;
'If ye refuſe my hie command,
'I'll gar your body bleid.
VIII.
'Gae bid her tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd but the hem:
'Bid her come to the gude grenewode,
'Ein by herſel alane:
IX.
'And there it is, a ſilken ſarke,
'Her ain hand ſewd the ſleeve;
'And bid her come to Child Maurice;
'Speir nae bauld baron's leive.'
[36]X.
"Yes I will gae your black errand,
"Thouch it be to your coſt;
"Sen ye will nae be warnd by me,
"In it ye ſall find froſt.
XI.
"The baron he's a man o micht,
"He neir cold bide to taunt:
"And ye will ſee before its nicht,
"Sma cauſe ye ha to vaunt.
XII.
"And ſen I maun your errand rin,
"Sae ſair againſt my will,
"I'ſe mak a vow, and ke [...]p it trow,
"It ſall be done for ill."
XIII.
Whan he cam to the broken brig,
He bent his bow and ſwam;
And whan he came to graſs growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
XIV.
And whan he cam to Barnards yeat,
Wold neither chap nor ca,
But ſet his bent bow to his breiſt,
And lichtly lap the wa.
[37]XV.
He wald na tell the man his errand
Thoch he ſtude at the yeat;
But ſtreight into the ha he cam,
Whar they were ſet at meat.
XVI.
'Hail! hail! my gentle ſire and dame!
'My meſſage winna wait,
'Dame ye maun to the grenewode gae,
'Afore that it be late.
XVII.
'Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel,
'Tis a gowd bot the hem:
'Ye maun haſte to the gude grenewode,
'Ein by yourſell alane.
XVIII.
'And there it is, a ſilken ſark,
'Your ain hand ſewd the ſleive;
'Ye maun gae ſpeik to Child Maurice;
'Speir na bauld baron's leive.'
XIX.
The lady ſtamped wi her foot,
And winked wi her eie;
But a that ſhe cold ſay or do,
Forbidden he wald nae be.
[38]XX.
"It's ſurely to my bower-woman,
"It neir cold be to me."
'I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady,
'I trow that ye be ſhe.'
XXI.
Then up and ſpak the wylie nurſe,
(The bairn upon her knie),
"If it be come from Child Maurice
"It's deir welcum to me."
XXII.
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye filthy nurſe,
'Sae loud as I heir ye lie;
'I brocht it to lord Barnard's lady
'I trow ye be nae ſhee.'
XXIII.
Then up and ſpake the bauld baron
An angry man was he:
He has tane the table wi his foot,
Sae has he wi his knie,
Till cryſtal cup and ezar diſh
In flinders he gard flie.
XXIV.
"Gae bring a robe of your cliding,
"Wi a the haſte ye can,
"And I'll gae to the gude grenewode,
"And ſpeik wi your lemman."
[39]XXV.
'O bide at hame now lord Barnard!
'I ward ye bide at hame;
'Neir wyte a man for violence,
'Wha neir wyte ye wi nane.'
XXVI.
Child Maurice ſat in the grenewode,
He whiſtled and he ſang:
"O what meins a the folk coming?
"My mother tarries lang."
XXVII.
The baron to the grenewode cam,
Wi meikle dule and care;
And there he firſt ſpyd Child Maurice,
Kaming his yellow hair.
XXVIII.
'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Child Maurice,
'My lady loes thee weil:
'The faireſt part of my body
'Is blacker than thy heil.
XXIX.
'Yet neir the leſs now, Child Maurice,
'For a thy great bewtie,
'Ye'ſe rew the day ye eir was born;
'That head ſall gae wi me.'
[40]XXX.
Now he has drawn his truſty brand,
And ſlaided owr the ſtrae;
And through Child Maurice fair body
He gar'd the cauld iron gae.
XXXI.
And he has tane Child Maurice heid,
And ſet it on a ſpeir;
The meineſt man in a his train
Has gotten that heid to beir.
XXXII.
And he has tane Child Maurice up,
Laid him acroſs his ſteid;
And brocht him to his painted bower
And laid him on a bed.
XXXIII.
The lady on the caſtle wa
Beheld baith dale and down;
And there ſhe ſaw Child Maurice heid
Cum trailing to the toun.
XXXIV.
"Better I loe that bluidy heid,
"Bot and that yellow hair,
"Than lord Barnard and a his lands
"As they lig here and there."
[41]XXXV.
And ſhe has tane Child Maurice heid,
And kiſſed baith cheik and chin;
"I was anes fow of Child Maurice.
"As the hip is o the ſtane.
XXXVI.
"I gat ye in my father's houſe
"Wi meikle ſin and ſhame;
"I brocht ye up in the grenewode
"Ken'd to myſell alane:
XXXVII.
"Aft have I by thy craddle ſitten,
"And fondly ſein thee ſleip;
"But now I maun gae 'bout thy grave
"A mother's teirs to weip."
XXXVIII.
Again ſhe kiſs'd his bluidy cheik,
Again his bluidy chin;
"O better I loed my ſon Maurice,
"Than a my kyth and kin!"
XXXIX.
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
'An ill dethe may ye die!
'Gin I had ken'd he was your ſon
'He had neir been ſlayne by me.'
[42]XL.
"Obraid me not, my lord Barnard!
"Obraid me not for ſhame!
"Wi that ſam ſpeir, O perce my heart,
"And ſave me frae my pain!
XLI.
"Since nothing but Child Maurice head
"Thy jealous rage cold quell,
"Let that ſame hand now tak her lyfe,
"That neir to thee did ill.
XLII.
"To me nae after days nor nichts
"Will eir be ſaft or kind:
"I'll fill the air wi heavy ſichs,
"And greit till I be blind."
XLIII.
'Eneuch of bluid by me's been ſpilt,
'Seek not your dethe frae me;
'I'd rather far it had been myſel,
'Than either him or thee.
XLIV.
'Wi hope'eſs wae I hear your plaint,
'Sair, ſair, I rue the deid.—
'That eir this curſed hand of mine
'Sold gar his body bleid!
[43]XLV.
'Dry up your teirs, my winſome dame,
'They neir can heal the wound;
'Ye ſee his heid upon the ſpeir,
'His heart's bluid on the ground.
XLVI.
'I curſe the hand that did the deid,
'The heart that thocht the ill,
'The feet that bare me wi ſic ſpeid,
'The comlie youth to kill.
XLVII.
'I'll aye lament for Child Maurice
'As gin he war my ain;
'I'll neir forget the dreiry day
'On which the youth was ſlain.'

III. ADAM O GORDON.

[44]
I.
IT fell about the Martinmas,
Whan the wind blew ſhrill and cauld:
Said Adam o Gordon to his men,
"We maun draw to a hauld.
II.
"And what a hauld ſall we draw to,
"My mirrie men and me?
"We will gae ſtrait to Towie houſe
"And ſee that fair ladie."
III.
The lady on her caſtle wa
Peheld baith dale and down,
When ſhe was ware of a hoſt of men
Riding toward the toun.
[45]IV.
'O ſee ye not, my mirry men a,
'O ſee ye not what I ſee?
'Methinks I ſee a hoſt of men,
'I marvel wha they be.'
V.
She wein' it had been her luvely lord,
As he came ryding hame;
It was the traitor Adam o Gordon,
Wha reck'd nae ſin or ſhame.
VI.
She had nae ſuner buſked herſel,
And putten on her gown,
Than Adam o Gordon and his men
Were round about the toun.
VII.
The lady ran to hir touir heid
Sae faſt as ſhe cold drie,
To ſee if by her ſpeiches fair
She cold wi him agree.
VIII.
But whan he ſaw the lady ſafe,
And the yates a locked faſt,
He fell into a rage of wrauth,
And his heart was all aghaſt.
[46]IX.
"Cum doun to me ye lady gay,
"Cum doun, Cum doun to me:
"This nicht ye ſall lye in my arms,
"The morrow my bride ſall be."
X.
'I winna cum doun ye fauſe Gordon,
'I winna cum doun to thee;
'I winna forſake my ain deir lord,
'Thouch he is far frae me.'
XI.
"Give owr your houſe, ye lady fair,
"Give owr your houſe to me;
"Or I ſall brin yourſel therein,
"Bot and your babies thrie."
XII.
'I winna give owr, ye fauſe Gordon,
'To nae ſic traitor as thee;
'And if ye brin me and my babes,
'My lord ſall mak ye drie.
XIII.
'But reach my piſtol, Glaud my man,
'And charge ye weil my gun,
'For, bot if I perce that bl [...]idy butcher,
'We a ſall be undone.'
[47]XIV.
She ſtude upon the caſtle wa
And let twa bullets flie;
She miſt that bluidy butchers heart,
And only razd his knie.
XV.
"Set fire to the houſe," cryd fauſe Gordon,
A wood wi dule and ire;
"Fauſe lady ye ſall rue this deid
"As ye brin in the fire."
XVI.
'Wae worth, wae worth ye Jock my man,
'I paid ye weil your fee;
'Why pow ye out the ground-wa ſtane
'Lets in the reik to me?
XVII.
'And ein wae worth ye Jock my man
'I paid ye weil your hire;
'Why pow ye out the ground wa ſtane
'To me lets in the fire?'
XVIII.
"Ye paid me weil my hire, lady,
"Ye paid me weil my fee:
"But now I'm Adam o Gordon's man;
"And maun or doe or die."
[48]XIX.
O than beſpak her little ſon
Frae aff the nource's knie,
'Oh mither deir, gi owr this houſe,
'For the reik it ſmithers me!'
XX.
"I wald gie a my gowd, my chyld,
"Sae wald I a my fee,
"For ae blaſt o the weſtlin wind,
"To blaw the reik fiae thee."
XXI.
O than beſpak her dochter deir,
She was baith jimp and ſma,
'O row me in a pair o ſheits,
'And tow me owr the wa.'
XXII.
They rowd her in a pair o ſheits,
And towd her our the wa,
But on the point o Gordon's ſpeir,
She gat a deidly fa.
XXIII.
O bonnie bonnie was her mouth,
And chirry were her cheiks;
And cleir cleir was her yellow hair,
Wharon the red bluid dreips!
[49]XXIV.
Than wi hi [...] ſpeir he turnd her owr—
O gin her face was wan!
Quoth he. "Ye are the firſt that eir
"I wiſhd alive again."
XXV.
He turnd her our and our again—
O gin her ſkin was white!
"I micht ha ſpair'd that bonny face
"To hae been ſum mans delyte.
XXVI.
"Buſk and bown, my mirry men a,
"For ill doom I do gueſs:
"I canna luik on that bonnie face,
"As it lyes on the graſs."
XXVII.
'Wha luik to freits, my maſter deir,
'Freits will ay follow them:
'Let it neir be ſaid, Adam o Gordon
'Was daunted by a dame.'
XXVIII.
But whan the lady ſaw the fire
Cum flaming our her heid,
She weip'd, and kiſt her children twain;
"My bairns we been but deid."
[50]XXIX.
The Gordon than his bugil blew,
And ſaid, 'Awa, awa:
'Sen Towie Houſe is a in a flame,
'I hauld it time to ga.'
XXX.
O than beſpied her ain deir lord,
As he cam owr the lee;
He ſaw his caſtle in a blaze
Sae far as he cold ſee.
XXXI.
Then ſair, O ſair, his mind miſgave,
And a his heart was wae;
"Put on, put on, my wichty men,
"Sae faſt as ye can gae.
XXXII.
"Put on, put on, my wichty men,
"Sae faſt as ye can drie.
"He that is hindmoſt o the thrang
"Sall neir get gude o me."
XXXIII.
Than ſum they rode, and ſum they ran,
Fu faſt outowr the bent,
But eir the formoſt could win up
Baith lady and babes were breat.
[51]XXXIV.
He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
And weipt in teinfu mude:
"Ah traitors, for this cruel deid
"Ye ſall weip teirs o bluid!"
XXXV.
And after the Gordon he has gane,
Sae faſt as he micht drie:
And ſune in his foul hartis bluid
He has wreken his deir ladie.

IV. The CHILD of ELLE.

[52]
I.
ON yonder hill a caſtle ſtandes,
With walles and towres bedight;
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.
II.
The Child of Elle to his garden wente,
And ſtood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo, he beheld fair Emmeline's page
Come tripping doune the dale.
III.
The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Y-wis he ſtoode not ſtille,
And ſoone he mette faire Emmeline's page
Come climbing up the hille.
IV.
Now Chriſte thee ſave thou little foot page,
Now Chriſte thee ſave and ſee,
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye,
And what may thy tydinges be?
[53]V.
My lady ſhe is all woe-begone,
And the teares they fall from her eyne;
And aye ſhe laments the deadly feude
Betweene her houſe and thine.
VI.
And here ſhee ſends thee a ſilken ſcarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare;
And biddes thee ſometimes think on her
Who loved thee ſo deare.
VII.
And here ſhee ſends thee a ring of gold,
The laſt boon thou mayſt have;
And biddes thee weare it for her ſake
Whan ſhe is laid in grave.
VIII.
For ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave ſoone muſt ſhee bee,
Sith her father hath choſe her a new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.
IX.
Her father hath brought her a carliſh knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
And within three dayes ſhe muſt him wedde,
Or he vowes he will her ſlaye.
[54]X.
Now hye thee backe, thou little foot page,
And greet thy ladye from mee.
And telle her that I, her owne true love,
Will dye or ſette her free.
XI.
Now hye thee backe, thou little foot page,
And let thy fair ladye know
This night will I be at her bowre-windowe,
Betide me weale or woe.
XII.
The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne,
He neither ſtint na ſtayd,
Untill he came to fair Emmeline's bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he ſayd;
XIII.
O, ladye, I've been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee;
This night will he bee at thy bowre windowe,
And die or ſett thee free.
XIV.
Now day was gone and night was come,
And all were faſt aſleepe:
All ſave the lady Emmeline,
Who ſate in her bowre to weepe.
[55]XV.
And ſune ſhe heard her true love's voice,
Lowe whiſpering at the walle;
Awake, awake, my dear ladye,
'Tis I thy true love call.
XVI.
Awake, awake my ladye deare,
Come mount this fair palfraye;
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye.
XVII.
Now naye, now naye, thou gentle knight,
Now naye this may not bee;
For aye ſhould I tine my maiden fame,
If alone I ſhould wend with thee.
XVIII.
O ladye thou with a knight ſo true
Mayſt ſafelye wend alone,
To my lady mother I will thee bring,
Where marriage ſhall make us one.
XIX.
"My father he is a baron bolde,
"Of lynage proud and hye,
"And what would he ſaye if his daughter
"Awaye with a knight ſhould fly?
[56]XX.
"Ah well I wot he never would reſt,
"Nor his meate ſhould do him no goode,
"Till he had ſlayne thee, Child of Elle,
"And ſeene thy deare heart's bloode."
XXI.
O, lady, wert thou in thy ſaddle ſet,
And a little ſpace him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worſt that he could doe.
XXII.
O, lady, wert thou in thy ſaddle ſette,
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worſt that might befalle.
XXIII.
Fair Emmeline ſigh'd, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
At lengthe he ſeizde her lilly-white hand,
And doune the ladder he drewe.
XXIV.
And thrice he claſpde her to his breſte,
And kiſt her tenderlie;
The tears that fell from her fair eyes
Ranne like the fountayne free.
[57]XXV.
He mounted himſelfe on his ſteede ſo talle,
And her on a fair palfraye,
And ſlung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye.
XXVI.
All this beheard her own damſelle,
In her bed whereas ſhe lay,
Quoth ſhee, My lord ſhall knowe of this
So I ſhall have golde and fee.
XXVII.
Awake, awake, thou baron bold!
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fledde with the Child of Elle,
To doe the deede of ſhame.
XXVIII.
The baron he woke, the baron he roſe,
And callde his merry men all;
"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte,
"The ladye is carried to thrall."
XXIX.
Fair Emmeline ſcant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When ſhe was aware of her father's men
Come galloping over the downe.
[58]XXX.
And foremoſt came the carliſh knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
"Nowe ſtop, nowe ſtop, thou falſe traitour,
"Nor carry that lady awaye.
XXXI.
"For ſhe is come of hye lynage,
"And was of a lady borne;
"And ill it beſeems thee a falſe churles's ſonne,
"To carry her hence to ſcorne."
XXXII.
Now loud thou lyeſt, Sir John the knight,
Nowe thou doeſt lye of mee;
A knight me gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.
XXXIII.
But light nowe doune, my lady faire,
Light down and hold my ſteed,
While I and this diſcourteous knighte
Do try this arduous deede.
XXXIV.
Fair Emmeline ſighd, fair Emmeline weept,
And aye her heart was woe;
While twixt her love and the carliſh knight,
Paſt many a baleful blow.
[59]XXXV.
The Child of Elle he fought ſoe well,
As his weapon he wavde amaine,
That ſoone he had ſlaine the carliſh knight,
And layd him upon the playne.
XXXVI.
And now the baron and all his men
Full faſt approached nye,
Ah what maye ladye Emmeline doe?
'Twere now no boote to flye.
XXXVII.
Her lover he put his horn to his mouth,
And blew both loud and ſhrill,
And ſoone he ſawe his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.
XXXVIII.
Now hold thy hand thou bold baron,
I pray thee hold thy hand;
Nor ruthleſs rend two gentle hearts
Faſt knit in true love's band.
XXXIX.
Thy daughter I have dearly lovde,
Full long and many a day,
But with ſuch love as holy kirke
Hath freelye ſaid wee may.
[60]XL.
O give conſent ſhe may be mine,
And bleſſe a faithful paire;
My lands and livings are not ſmall,
My houſe and lynage faire.
XLI.
My mother ſhe was an erle's daughter,
And a noble knight my ſire—
The baron he frownde, and turn'd away,
With mickle dole and ire.
XLII.
Fair Emmeline ſigh'd, fair Emmeline wept,
And did all trembling ſtand;
At lengthe ſhe ſprang upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
XLIII.
Pardon, my lord and father deare,
This faire yong knight and mee,
Truſt me, but for the carliſh knight,
I never had fled from thee.
XLIV.
Oft have you calld your Emmaline,
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harſh reſolves
Your Emmaline deſtroye.
[61]XLV.
The baron he ſtroakd his dark broun cheeke,
And turnd his heade aſyde,
To wipe awaye the ſtarting teare
He proudly ſtrave to hyde.
XLVI.
In deep revolving thought he ſtoode,
And mus'd a little ſpace;
Then rais'd fair Emmeline from the grounde,
With many a fond embrace.
XLVII.
Here take her, Child of Elle, he ſayd;
And gave her lillye hand:
Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my land.
XLVIII.
Thy father once mine honour wrong'd,
In dayes of youthful pride,
Do thou the injury repayre
In fondneſs for thy bride.
XLIX.
And as thou love her, and hold her deare,
Heaven proſper thee and thine;
And now my bleſſing wend wi' thee
My lovelye Emmeline.

V. GILDEROY.

[62]
I.
GILDEROY was a bonny boy,
Had roſes till his ſhoon;
His ſtockings were of ſilken ſoy,
Wi garters hanging doun.
It was, I ween, a comelie ſight
To ſee ſae trim a boy:
He was my joy, and heart's delight,
My handſome Gilderoy.
II.
O ſic twa charming een he had!
Breath ſweet as ony roſe:
He never ware a highland plaid,
But coſtly ſilken clothes.
He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,
Nane eer to him was coy:
Ah wae is me, I mourn the day
For my dear Gilderoy.
[63]III.
My Gilderoy and I were born
Baith in ae toun together;
We ſcant were ſeven years beforn
We gan to luve ilk ither:
Our dadies and our mamies thay
Were fill'd wi mikle joy,
To think upon the bridal day
Of me and Gilderoy.
IV.
For Gilderoy, that luve of mine
Gude faith, I freely bought
A wedding ſark of Holland ſine,
Wi dainty ruffles wrought;
And he gied me a wedding ring
Which I receiv'd wi joy:
Nae lad nor laſſie eer could ſing
Like me and Gilderoy.
V.
Wi mickle joy we ſpent our prime
Till we were baith ſixteen,
And aft we paſt the langſame time
Amang the leaves ſae green:
Aft on the banks we'd ſit us thair,
And ſweetly kiſs and toy;
While he wi garlands deck'd my hair,
My handſome Gilderoy.
[64]VI.
Ch [...]h [...]t he ſtill had been content
Wi me to lead his life!
But, ah, his manfu heart was bent
To ſtir in feats of ſtrife.
And he in many a venturous deed
His courage bauid wad try;
And now this gars my heart to bleed
For my dear Gilderoy.
VII.
And when of me his leave he tuik,
The tears they wat mine ee:
I gied him ſic a parting luik!
'My beniſon gang wi thee!
'God ſpeed thee weil mine ain dear heart,
'For gane is all my joy;
'My heart is rent, ſith we maun part,
'My handſome Gilderoy.'
VIII.
My Gilderoy, baith far and near
Was tear'd in every toun;
And bauldly bare awa the geir,
Of mony a lawland loun.
For man to man durſt meet him nane,
He was ſae brave a boy;
At length wi numbers he was tane,
My winſome Gilderoy.
[65]IX.
Wae worth the louns that made the laws
To hang a man for gear;
To reave of life for ſic a cauſe
As ſtealing horſe or mare!
Had not their laws been made ſae ſtrick
I neer had loſt my joy;
Wi ſorrow neer had wat my cheek
For my dear Gilderoy.
X.
Gif Gilderoy had done amiſs,
He mought hae baniſht been;—
Ah what fair cruelty is this,
To hang ſic handſome men!
To hang the flower o Scotiſh land,
Sae ſweet and fair a boy:—
Nae lady had ſae white a hand
As thee, my Gilderoy.
XI.
Of Gilderoy ſae fear'd they were,
Wi irons his limbs they ſtrung;
To Edinborow led him thair,
And on a gallows hung.
They hung him high aboon the reſt,
He was ſae bauld a boy;
Thair dyed the youth wham I lued beſt,
My handſome Gilderoy.
[66]XII.
Sune as he yielded up his breath
I bare his corſe away,
Wi tears, that trickled for his death,
I waſh'd his comelie clay;
And ſiker in a grave right deep
I laid the dear lued boy:
And now for ever I maun weep,
My winſome Gilderoy.

VI.

[67]
I.
THE gypſies came to our good lord's gate;
And vow but they ſang ſweetly!
Our lady came doun the muſic to hear,
They ſang ſae very completely.
II.
And ſhe came tripping down the ſtair,
And a her maids before her;
As ſoon as they ſaw her weil-fared face,
They cooſt the glamer our her.
III.
Gae tak frae me this gay mantile,
And bring to me a plaidie;
For, if kith and kin and a had ſworn,
I'll follow the gypſie laddie.
IV.
Yeſtreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
And my good lord beſide me;
This night I'll ly in a tenant's barn,
Whatever ſhall betide me.
[68]V.
Oh come to your bed, ſays Johnie Fa,
Oh come to your bed my dearie;
For I vow and ſwear by the hilt of my ſword,
Your lord ſhall nae mair come near ye.
VI.
I'll go to bed to my Johnie Fa,
I'll go to bed to my dearie;
For I vow and ſwear by what paſt yeſtreen,
My lord ſhall nae mair come near me.
VII.
And when our lord came hame at een
And ſpeird for his fair lady,
The tane ſhe cry'd, and the ither reply'd,
She's awa wi the gypſie laddie.
VIII.
Gae ſaddle to me the black black ſteed,
Gae ſaddle and mak him ready;
Before that I either eat or ſleep
I'll gae and ſeek my fair lady.
IX.
And we were fifteen well-made men,
Of courage ſtout and ſteady;
And we were a put doun, but ane,
For a fair young wanton lady.

VII. THE CRUEL KNIGHT.

[69]
I.
THE knight ſtands in the ſtable door
As he was bownd to ride;
Whan out thair comes his fair lady,
And him deſires to bide.
II.
"How can I bide, how dare I bide,
"How can I bide wi thee?
"Have I not kill'd thy ae brother?
"Thou hadſt nae mair but he."
III.
'If thou haſt kill'd my ae brother,
'Alas and wae is me!
'But if I ſave thee from the paine,
'My luve's the mair to thee.'
IV.
She has taen him to her ſecret bower,
Steik'd wi a ſiller-pin;
And ſhe's up to the higheſt tower,
To watch that nane come in.
[70]V.
She had nae weil gane up the ſtair,
And entered in the tower,
When four and twenty armed knights
Came riding to the door.
VI.
'Now God you ſave, my fair lady,
'Declare to me I pray,
'Did you not ſee a wounded knight
'Come riding by this way?
VII.
"Yes bloody bloody was his ſword,
"And bloody were his hands;
"But, if the ſteed he rides be good,
"He's paſt fair Scotland's ſtrands."
VIII.
Then ſhe's gane to her darkſome bower,
Her huſband dear to meet;
He deem'd he heard his angry faes,
And wounded her fou deep.
IX.
'What harm my lord provokes thine ire,
'To wreak itſelf on me?
'Have I not ſav'd thy life frae faes,
'And ſav'd for ſic a fee!'
[71]X.
"Now live, now live, my fair lady,
"O live but half an hour;
"There's neer a leech in all Scotland
"But ſhall be at thy bower."
XI.
'How can I live, how ſhall I live,
'How can I live for thee?
'While running faſt oer a the floor,
'My heart's blood thou may'ſt ſee!'

VIII. YOUNG WATERS.

[72]
I.
ABOUT yule, quhen the wind blew cule,
And the round tables began,
There came to wait on our king's court,
Mony a weil-favour'd man.
II.
The Quein luik'd owr the caſtle-wa,
Beheld baith dale and doun,
And then ſhe ſaw young Waters
Cum riding to the town.
III.
His footmen they did rin before,
His horſemen rade behind:
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.
IV.
Gowden-graith'd his horſe before,
And ſiller-ſhod behind;
The horſe young Waters rode upon
Was fleeter than the wind.
[73]V.
Up then ſpak a wylie lord,
And to the Queen ſaid he,
Tell me quha is the faireſt face
Rides in the companie?
VI.
I've ſeen lords, and I've ſeen lairds,
And knichts of high degree,
But a fairer face than young Waters
Mine een did never ſee.
VII.
Out then ſpak the jealous king,
(An angry man was he,)
"And if he had been twice as fair,
"You might have excepted me."
VIII.
You're neither lord, nor laird, ſhe ſays,
Bot the king that wears the crown;
There's not a knicht in fair Scotland,
Bot to thee maun bow down.
IX.
For a that ſhe could ſay or do,
Appeas'd he wad nac be;
Bot for the words that ſhe had ſaid,
Young Waters he maun die.
[74]X.
Sune they hae taen young Waters,
Put fetters on his feet;
Sune they hae taen young Waters,
And thrown in dungeon deep.
XI.
They hae taen to the heiding-hill,
That knicht ſae fair to ſee;
And for the words the queen had ſpak
Young Waters he did die.

IX. SIR HUGH; OR, THE JEW's DAUGHTER.

[75]
I.
THE bonnie boys o merry Lincoln
War playin at the ba;
And wi them ſtude the ſweet Sir Hugh,
The flower amang them a.
II.
He kepped the ba there wi his foot,
And catchd it wi his knie,
Till in at the cruel Jew's window
Wi ſpeid he gard it flie.
III.
'Caſt out the ba to me, fair maid,
'Caſt out the ba to me:'—
"Ye neir ſall hae't my bonnie Sir Hugh,
"Till ye come up to me.
IV.
"Cum up ſweet Hugh, cum up dear Hugh
"Cum up and get the ba;"
'I winna cum up, I winna cum up
'Without my playferes a.'
[76]V.
And ſhe has gane to her father's garden
Sae faſt as ſhe cold rin;
And powd an apple red and white
To wyle the young thing in.
VI.
She wyld him ſune through ae chamber,
And wyld him ſune throuch twa;
And neiſt they cam to her ain chamber,
The faireſt o them a.
VII.
She has laid him on a dreſſin board,
Whar ſhe was usd to dine;
And ſtack a penknife to his heart,
And dreſs'd him like a ſwine.
VIII.
She row'd him in a cake o lead,
And bade him lye and ſleip;
Syne threw him in the Jew's draw-well,
Fu fifty fathom deip.
IX.
Whan bells were rung, and maſs was ſung,
And ilka lady gaed hame;
Than ilka lady had her young ſon,
But lady Helen had nane.
[77]X.
She row'd her mantel her about,
And ſair ſair can ſhe weip;
She ran wi ſpeid to the Jew's caſtel,
When a war faſt aſleip.
XI.
'My bonnie Sir Hugh, your mither calls,
'I pray thee to her ſpeik:'
"O lady rin to the deip draw-well
"Gin ye your ſon wad ſeik."
XII.
Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And kneel'd upon her knie;
'My bonnie Sir Hugh gin ye be here,
'I pray ye ſpeik to me;'
XIII.
"The lead is wondrous heavy mither,
"The well is wondrous deip;
"A kene penknife ſticks in my heart,
"A word I dounae ſpeik.
XIV.
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
"Fetch me my winding ſheet;
"For again in merry Lincoln toun
"We twa ſall never meit."

X. FLODDEN FIELD; OR, THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

[78]
I.
I Have heard o lilting at the ewes milking,
Laſſes a lilting eir the break o day;
But now I hear moaning on ilka green loaning,
Sen our bra foreſters are a wed away.
II.
At bouchts in the morning nae blyth lads are ſcorning,
The laſſes are lenely, dowie, and wae;
Nae daffin, nae gabbing, but ſiching and ſabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away.
III.
At een in the gloming nae ſwankies are roaming,
'Mang ſtacks wi the laſſes at bogle to play;
For ilk ane ſits dreary, lamenting her deary;
The Flowers o the Foreſt, wha're a wed away.
IV.
In harſt at the ſheiring na yonkers are jeiring;
The banſters are lyart, runkled, and gray;
At fairs nor at preaching, nae wooing nae fleeching,
Sen our bra foreſters are a wed away.
[79]V.
O dule for the order ſent our lads to the border!
The Engliſh for anes by gyle wan the day.
The Flowers o the Foreſt, wha ay ſhone the foremoſt,
The prime o the land lye cauld in the clay!

XI. EDWARD.

[80]
I.
WHY does your brand ſae drap wi bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand ſae drap with bluid,
And why ſae ſad gang ye O!
O I hae killd my hauk ſae gude,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killd my hauk ſae gude;
And I had nae mair but he, O!
II.
Your haukis bluid was nevir ſae reid,
Edward, Edward.
Your haukis bluid was nevir ſae reid,
My deir ſon I tell thee O!
I hae killd my reid roan ſteid,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killd my reid roan ſteid
That erſt was fair and frie O!
III.
Your ſteid was auld, and ye hae mair,
Edward, Edward:
Your ſteid was auld, and ye hae mair,
Sum ither dule ye drie, O!
O I hae killd my fadir deir,
Mither, mither:
O I hae killd my fadir deir,
Alas! and wae is me O!
[81]IV.
What penance will ye drie for that,
Edward, Edward?
What penance will ye drie for that,
My deir ſon, now tell me O!
I'll ſet my feet in yonder boat;
Mither, mither:
I'll ſet my feet in yonder boat;
And I'le fare owr the ſea, O!
V.
What will ye do wi touirs and ha,
Edward, Edward?
What will ye do wi touirs and ha,
That were ſae fair to ſee, O!
I'le let them ſtand till they doun fa,
Mither, mither:
I'le let them ſtand till they doun fa,
For heir I maunae be O!
VI.
What will ye leive to bairns and wife,
Edward, Edward?
What will ye leive to bairns and wife,
When ye gang owr the ſea O!
The warld's room to beg throuch life,
Mither, mither;
The warld's room to beg throuch life,
For them I neir maun fee, O!
[82]VII.
What will ye leive to your mither deir,
Edward, Edward?
What will ye leive to your mither deir,
My deir ſon, now tell me O!
The curſe of hell frae me ſall ye beir,
Mither, mither:
The curſe of hell frae me ſall ye beir,
Sic counſeils ye gied me, O!

XII. SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

[83]
I.
THE King ſits in Dunfermlin toun,
Drinking the bluid-red wine:
"Whar ſall I get a gude ſailor,
"To ſail this ſhip o mine?"
II.
Than up and ſpak an eldern knicht,
Wha ſat at his richt knie;
'Sir Patrick Spence is the beſt ſailor,
'That ſails upon the ſea.'
III.
The king has written a braid letter,
And ſignd it wi his hand;
And ſent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Wha walked on the ſand.
IV.
The firſt line that Sir Patrick red,
A leud lauch lauched he;
The neiſt line that Sir Patrick red
The teir blinded his eie.
[84]V.
"O wha can he be that has don
"This deid o ill to me,
"To ſend me at this time o yeir
"To ſail upo the ſea?
VI.
"Mak haſte, mak haſte, my miny men a
"Our gude ſhip ſails the morne."
'O ſay na ſae, my maſter deir,
'For I feir deidly ſtorm.
VII.
'I ſaw the new moon late yeſtrene,
'Wi the auld moon in her arm;
'And I fear, I fear, my maſter deir,
'That we will cum to harm.'
VIII.
Our Scottiſh nobles were richt laith
To weit their ſhyning ſhoen;
But lang or a the play was owr,
They wat their heids aboon.
IX.
O lang lang may their ladies fit
And luik outowr the ſand,
Or eir they ſee the bonnie ſhip
Cum ſailing to the land!
[85]X.
Mair than ha [...] owr to Aberdour—
It's fifty fathom deip—
Lyes gude Sir Patrick Spence for aye
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.

XIII. LADY BOTHWELL's LAMENT.

[86]
I.
BALOW, my babe, lye ſtill and ſleip,
It grieves me ſair to ſee thee weip;
If thou'lt be ſilent I'll be glad,
Thy maining maks my heart full ſad;
Balow my boy, thy mither's joy;
Thy father breids me great annoy.
II.
Whan he began to ſeik my luve,
And wi his ſucred words to muve;
His feining fauſe, and flattering cheir,
To me that time did nocht appeir;
But now I ſee that cruel he
Cares neither for my babe nor me.
III.
Lye ſtill, my darling, ſleip a while,
And whan thou wakeſt ſweitly ſmile;
But ſmile nae as thy father did
To cozen maids: nay, God forbid,
What yet I feir, that thou ſold leir
Thy father's heart and face to beir!
[87]IV.
Be ſtill, my ſad one: ſpare thoſe teirs,
To weip whan thou haſt wit and yeirs;
Thy griefs are gathering to a ſum,
God grant thee patience when they cum;
Born to proclaim a mother's ſhame,
A father's fall, a baſtard's name.

XIV. THE EARL OF MURRAY.

[88]
I.
YE Hielands and ye Lawlands
O whar hae ye been?
They have ſlain the Earl of Murray
And laid him on the green!
II.
'Now wae be to you Huntly!
'O wharfore did ye ſae?
'I bad you bring him wi you;
'But forbad you him to ſlay.'
III.
He was a bra galant,
And he rid at the ring;
The bonnie Earl of Murray
He micht ha been a king.
IV.
He was a bra galant,
And he playd at the ba;
The bonnie Earl of Murray
Was the flower amang them a.
[89]V.
He was a bra galant,
And he playd at the gluve;
The bonnie Earl of Murray
He was the queen's luve.
VI.
O lang will his lady
Look owr the caſtle downe,
Ere ſhe ſee the Earl of Murray
Cum ſounding throuch the toun!

XV. SIR JAMES THE ROSE.

[90]
I.
O Heard ye o Sir James the Roſe,
The young heir o Buleighan?
For he has kill'd a gallant ſquire,
Whaſe friends are out to tak him.
II.
Now he has gane to the houſe o Mar,
Whar nane might ſeik to find him;
To ſee his dear he did repair,
Weining ſhe wold befreind him.
III.
'Whar are ye gaing, Sir James,' ſhe ſaid,
'O whar awa are ye riding?'
"I maun be bound to a foreign land,
"And now I'm under hiding."
IV.
"Whar ſall I gae, whar ſall I rin,
"Whar ſall I rin to lay me?
"For I ha kill'd a gallant ſquire,
"And his friends ſeik to ſlay me."
[91]V.
'O gae ye doun to yon laigh houſe,
'I ſall pay there your lawing;
'And as I am your leman trew,
"I'll meet ye at the dawing.
VI.
He turnd him richt and round about
And rowd him in his brechan:
And laid him doun to tak a ſleip,
In the lawlands o Buleighan.
VII.
He was nae weil gane out o ſicht,
Nor was he paſt Milſtrethen,
Whan four and twenty belted knichts
Cam riding owr the Leathen.
VIII.
'O ha ye ſeen Sir James the Roſe,
'The young heir o Buleighan?
'For he has kill'd a gallant ſquire,
'And we are ſent to tak him.'
IX.
"Yea, I ha ſeen Sir James,' ſhe ſaid,
"He paſt by here on Monday;
"Gin the ſteed be ſwift than he rides on,
"He's paſt the Hichts of Lundie."
[92]X.
But as wi ſpeid they rade awa,
She loudly cryd behind them;
"Gin ye'll gie me a worthy meid,
"I'll tell ye whar to find him."
XI.
'O tell fair maid, and, on our band,
'Ye'ſe get his purſe and brechan.'
"He's in the bank aboon the mill,
"In the lawlands o Buleighan."
XII.
Than out and ſpak Sir John the Graham,
Wha had the charge a keiping,
"It's neer be ſaid, my ſtalwart feres,
"We killd him whan a ſleiping."
XIII.
They ſeized his braid ſword and his targe,
And cloſely him ſurrounded:
"O pardon! mercy! gentlemen,"
He then fou loudly founded.
XIV.
'Sic as ye gae ſic ye ſall hae
'Nae grace we ſhaw to thee can.'
"Donald my man, wait till I fa,
"And ye ſall hae my brechan;
"Ye'll get my purſe thouch fou o gowd
"To tak me to Loch Lagan."
[93]XV.
Syne they tuke out his bleiding heart,
And ſet it on a ſpeir;
Then tuke it to the houſe o Mar,
And ſhawd it to his deir.
XVI.
'We cold nae gie Sir James's purſe
'We cold nae gie his brechan,
'But ye ſall ha his bleeding heart
'Bot and his bleeding tartan.'
XVH.
"Sir James the Roſe, O for thy ſake
"My heart is now a breaking,
"Curs'd be the day, I wrocht thy wae,
"Thou brave heir of Buleighan!"
XVIII.
Then up ſhe raiſe, and furth ſhe gaes;
And, in that hour o tein,
She wanderd to the dowie glen,
And nevir mair was ſein.

XVI. THE LAIRD OF WOODHOUSELIE.

[94]

From TRADITION.

I.
SHYNING was the painted ha
Wi gladſum torches bricht;
Full twenty gowden dames ſat there,
And ilkane by a knicht:
Wi muſic cheir,
To pleaſe the eir,
Whan bewtie pleaſd the ſicht.
II.
Wi cunning ſkill his gentle meid
To chant, or warlike fame,
Ilk damſel to the minſtrels gied
Some favorit chieftan's name:
"Sing Salton's praiſe,"
The lady ſays—
In ſuith ſhe was to blame.
III.
'By my renown ye wrang me ſair,'
Quoth hautie Woodhouſelie,
'To praiſe that youth o ſma report,
'And never deim on me:
'When ilka dame
'Her fere cold name,
'In a this companie.'
[95]IV.
The morn ſhe to her nourice yeed;
"O meikle do I feir,
"My lord will ſlay me, ſin yeſtrene
"I prais'd my Salton deir!
"I'll hae nae eaſe,
"Till Hevin it pleaſe,
"That I lye on my beir."
V.
'Mair wold I lay him on his beir,'
The craftie nourice ſaid;
'My ſaw gin ye will heid but anes
'That ſall nae be delaid.'
"O nourice ſay,
"And, by my fay,
"Ye ſall be weil appaid."
VI.
'Take ye this drap o deidly drug
'And put it in his cup,
'When ye gang ot the gladſum ha,
'And ſit ye doun to ſup:
'Whan he has gied
'To bed bot dreid,
'He'll never mair riſe up.'
[96]VII.
And ſhe has tane the deidly drug
And pat it in his cup,
Whan they gaed to the gladſum ha,
And ſat them doun to ſup:
And wi ill ſpeid
To bed he gied,
And never mair raiſe up.
VIII.
The word came to his father auld
Neiſt day by hour of dyne,
That Woodhouſelie had died yeſtrene,
And his dame had held the wyne.
Quoth he "I vow
"By Mary now,
"She ſall meit ſure propine."
IX.
Syne he has flown to our gude king.
And at his feet him layne;
'O Juſtice! Juſtice! royal liege,
'My worthy ſon is ſlayne.
'His lady's feid
'Has wrocht the deid,
'Let her receive the paine.'
[97]X.
Sair muvit was our worthy king,
And an angry man was he;
'Gar bind her to the deidly ſtake,
'And birn her on the lie:
'That after her
'Na bluidy fere
'Her reckleſs lord may ſlee.'
XI.
"O wae be to ye, nourice,
"An ill dethe may ye drie!
"For ye prepar'd the deidly drug
"That gard my deiry die:
"May a the paine
"That I darraine
"In ill time, licht on thee!
XII
"O bring to me my goun o black,
"My mantel, and my pall;
"And gie five merks to the friars gray
"To pray for my poor ſaul:
"And ilka dame,
"O gentle name,
"Bewar o my ſair fall."

XVII. LORD LIVINGSTON. From TRADITION.

[98]
I.
'GRAITH my ſwifteſt ſteid,' ſaid Livingſton,
'But nane of ye gae wi me;
'For I maun awa by myſel alane
'To the foot of the grenewode tree.
II.
Up ſpak his dame wi meikle ſpeid.
"My lord I red ye bide;
"I dreimd a dreiry dreim laſt nicht:
"Nae gude ſall you betide."
III.
'What freit is this, my lady deir,
'That wald my will gainſtand?'
"I dreimd that I gaed to my bouir dore,
"And a deid man tuke my hand."
IV.
'Suith dreims are ſcant,' ſaid the proud baron,
And leuch wi jearing glie;
'But for this ſweit kiſs my winſum dame
'Neiſt time dreim better o me.'
[99]V.
'For I hecht to meit with lord Rothmar,
'To chaſe the fallow deer;
'And ſpeid we weil, by the our o nune,
'We ſall return bot feir.'
VI.
Frae his fair lady's ſicht he ſtrave
His ettling ſae to hide;
But frae the grenewode he came nae back,
Sin eir that deidly tide.
VII.
For Rothmar met him there bot fail,
And bluidy was the ſtrife;
Lang eir the nunetide meſs was rung,
They baith war twin'd o life.
VIII.
'Forgie, forgie me, Livingſton!
'That I lichtly ſet by your dame;
'For ſurely in a the warld lives not
'A lady mair free frae blame.
IX.
'Accurſed be my lawles luve
'That wrocht us baith fic tein!'
"As I forgie my freind anes deir,
"Sae may I be forgien.
[100]X.
"Thouch ye my counſeil ſold ha tane
"The gait of gyle to eſchew;
"Yet may my ſaul receive ſic grace
"As I now gie to you."
XI.
The lady in her mournfu bouir
Sat wi richt heavy cheir,
In ilka ſough that the laigh wind gied
She weind her deir lord to heir.
XII.
Whan the ſun gaed down, and mirk nicht came,
O teirfu were her eyne!
'I feir, I feir, it was na for nocht
'My dreims were ſae dowie yeſtrene!'
XIII.
Lang was the nicht, but whan the morn cam,
She ſaid to her menie ilk ane;
'Haſte, ſaddle your ſteids, and ſeik the gerenewode,
'For I feir my deir lord is ſlain.'
XIV
Richt ſune they fand their lord and Rothmar
Deid in ilk ither's arm:
'I gueſs my deir lord that luve of my name
'Alane brocht thee to ſic harm.
[101]XV.
'Neir will I forget thy ſeimly meid,
'Nor yet thy gentle luve;
'For ſevin lang yeirs my weids of black
'That I luvd thee as weil ſall pruve.'

XVIII. BINNORIE.

[701]

From TRADITION.

To preſerve the tone as well as the ſenſe of this Ballad, the burden ſhould be repeated through the whole, though it is here omitted for the ſake of conciſemeſs.

THERE were twa ſiſters liv'd in a bouir;
Binnorie, O Binnorie!
Their father was a baron of pouir,
By the bonnie mildams of Binnorie.
The youngeſt was meek, and fair as the May,
Whan ſhe ſprings in the eaſt wi the gowden day:
The eldeſt auſtern as the winter cauld,
Ferce was her ſaul, and her ſeiming was bauld.
A gallant ſquire cam ſweet Iſabel to wooe;
Her ſiſter had naething to luve I trow;
But filld was ſhe wi dolour and ire,
To ſee that to her the comlie ſquire
Preferd the debonair Iſabel:
Their hevin of luve of ſpyte was her hell.
Till ae ein ſhe to her ſiſter can ſay
"Sweit ſiſter cum let us wauk and play."
They wauked up, and they wauked down,
Sweit ſang the birdis in the vallie loun!
[203]Whan they cam to the roaring lin,
She drave unweiting Iſabel in.
'O ſiſter! ſiſter! tak my hand,
'And ye fall hae my ſilver fan;
'O ſiſter! ſiſter! tak my middle,
'And ye fall hae my gowden girdle.'
Sumtimes ſhe ſank, ſumtimes ſhe ſwam,
Till ſhe cam to the miller's dam:
The miller's dochter was out that ein
And ſaw her rowing down the ſtreim.
"O father deir! in your mill dam
"There is either a lady or a milk white ſwan!"
Twa days were gane whan to her deir
Her wraith at deid of nicht cold apeir:
'My luve, my deir, how can ye ſleip,
'Whan your Iſabel lyes in the deep?
'My deir, how can ye ſleip bot pain,
'Whan ſhe by her cruel ſiſter is ſlain?'
Up raiſe he ſune in frichtfu mude,
'Buſk ye my meiny and ſeik the flude.'
They ſocht her up and they ſocht her doun,
And ſpyd at laſt her gliſterin gown:
They rais'd her wi richt meikle care;
Pale was her cheik, and grein was her hair!
'Gae, ſaddle to me my ſwifteſt ſteid,
'Her fere, by my ſae, for her dethe fall bleid.'
A page cam rinning out owr the lie,
"O heavie tiding I bring!" quoth he,
[104]"My luvely lady is far awa gane,
"We weit the fairy hae her tane;
"Her ſiſter gaed wood wi dule and rage,
"Nocht cold we do her mind to ſuage.
"O Iſabel! my ſiſter!" ſhe wold cry,
'For thee will I weip, for thee will I die!"
"Till late yeſtreene in an elric hour
"She lap frae aft the hicheſt touir"—
'Now ſleip ſhe in peace!' quoth the gallant Squire,
'Her dethe was the maiſt that I cold require:
'But I'll main for the my Iſabel deir,
'Binnorie, O Binnorie!
'Full mony a dreiry dyy, bot weir,
'By the bonnie mildams of Binnorie.'

XIX. THE DEATH OF MENTEITH.

[105]

From TRADITION.

I.
SHRILLY ſhriek'd the raging wind,
And rudelie blew the blaſt;
Wi awſum blink, throuch the dark ha,
The ſpeidy lichtning paſt.
II.
'O hear ye nae, frae mid the loch,
'Ariſe a deidly grane?
'Sae evir does the ſpirit warn,
'Whan we ſum dethe maun mane.
III.
'I feir, I feir me, gude Sir John,
'Ye are nae ſafe wi me:
'What wae wald fill my heart gin ye
'Sold in my caſtle drie!'
IV.
"Ye neid nae feir, my leman deir,
"I'm ay ſafe when wi thee;
"And gin I maun nae wi thee live,
"I here wad wiſh to die."
[106]V.
His man cam rinning to the ha
Wi wallow cheik belyve:
'Sir John Menteith, your faes are neir,
'And ye maun flie or ſtrive.
VI.
"What count ſyne leads the cruel knicht?"
'Thrie ſpeirmen to your ane:
'I red ye flie, my maſter deir,
'Wi ſpeid, or ye'll be ſlain.'
VII.
"Tak ye this gown, my deir Sir John,
"To hide your ſhyning mail:
"A boat waits at the hinder port
"Owr the braid loch to ſail."
VIII.
"O whatten a piteous ſhriek was you
"That ſough'd upo my eir?"
'Nae piteous ſhriek I trow, ladie,
'Bot the rouch blaſt ye heir.'
IX.
They ſocht the caſtle, till the morn,
Whan they were bown'd to gae,
They ſaw the boat turn'd on the loch,
Sir John's corſe on the brae.

XX. LORD AIRTH's COMPLAINT.

[107]

From a MANUSCRIPT.

I.
IF theſe ſad thoughts could be expreſs'd,
Wharwith my mind is now poſſeſs'd,
My paſſion micht, diſclos'd, have reſt,
My griefs reveal'd micht flie:
But ſtill that mind which dothe forbere
To yield a groan, a ſich, or teire,
May by its prudence, much I fear,
Encreaſe it's miſerie.
II.
My heart which ceaſes now to plaine,
To ſpeke it's griefs in mournful ſtraine,
And by ſad accents eaſe my paine,
Is ſtupefied with woe.
For leſſer cares doe murne and crie,
While greater cares are mute and die;
As iſſues run a fountain drie,
Which ſtop'd wold overflow.
[108]III.
My ſichs are fled; no teirs now rin,
But ſwell to whelm my ſoul within,
How pitieful the caſe I'm in,
Admire but doe not trie.
My croſſes I micht juſtly pruve,
Are common forrows far abuve;
My griefs ay in a circle muve,
And will doe till I die.

XXI.

[109]

From TRADITION.

I.
I WISH I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me ſhe cries
To bear her company.
O would that in her darkſome bed
My weary frame to reſt were laid
From love and anguiſh free!
II.
I hear, I hear the welcome ſound
Break ſlowly from the trembling mound
That ever calls on me:
Oh bleſſed virgin! could my power
Vye with my wiſh, this very hour
I'd ſleep death's ſleep with thee.
III.
A lover's ſigh, a lover's tear,
Attended on thy timeleſs bier:
What more can fate require?
I hear, I hear the welcome ſound—
Yes, I will ſeek the ſacred ground,
And on thy grave expire.
[110]IV.
The worm now taſtes that roſy mouth,
Where glowed, ſhort time, the ſmiles of youth;
And in my heart's dear home,
Her ſnowey boſom, loves to lye.—
I hear, I hear the welcome cry!
I come, my love! I come.
V.
O life begone! thy irkſome ſcene
Can bring no comfort to my pain:
Thy ſcenes my pain recall!
My joy is grief, my life is dead,
Since ſhe for whom I lived is fled;
My love, my hope, my all.
VI.
Take, take me to thy lovely ſide,
Of my loſt youth thou only bride!
O take me to thy tomb!
I hear, I hear the welcome ſound!
Yes life can fly at ſorrow's wound.
I come, I come, I come.

FRAGMENTS.

[iii]
I.
EARL Douglas then wham nevir knicht
Had valour mair nae courteſie,
Is now ſair blam'd by a the land
For lichtlying o his gay ladie.
'Gae little page, and tell my lord,
'Gin he will cum and dyne wi me,
'I'll ſet him on a ſeat o gowd,
'And ſerve him on my bended knie.'
'Now wae betide ye black Faſtneſs,
'Bot and an ill deid may ye die!
'Ye was the firſt and formoſt man
'Wha pairted my true lord and me.'
[112]II.
She has called to her her bouir maidens,
She has called them ane by ane:
"There lyes a deid man in my bouir,
"I wiſh that he war gane."
They ha booted him and ſpurred him,
As he was wont to ryde,
A hunting horn ty'd round his waiſt,
A ſharp ſword by his ſyde.
Then up and ſpak a bonnie bird,
That ſat upo the trie;
'What hae ye done wi Earl Richard,
'Ye was his gay ladie?'
"Cum doun, cum doun, my bonnie bird,
"And licht upo my hand;
"And ye ſhall hae a cage o gowd,
"Whar ye hae but the wand."
'Awa, awa, ye ill woman!
'Nae cage o gowd for me;
'As ye hae done to Earl Richard,
'Sae wad ye doe to me.'
[113]III.
See ye the caſtle's lonelie wa,
That riſes in yon yle?
There Angus mourns that eir he did
His ſovereign's luve begyle.
'O will ye gae wi me fair maid?
'O will ye gae wi me?
'I'll ſet you in a bouir o gowd
'Nae haly cell ye'ſe drie.'
"O meikle lever wald I gang
"To bide for ay wi thee,
"Then heid the king my father's will,
"The haly cell to drie.
"Sin I maun nevir ſee nor ſpeke
"Wi him I luve ſae deir,
"Ye are the firſt man in the land
"I wald cheis for my fere."
[114]IV.
Whar yon cleir burn frae down the loch,
Rins ſaftlie to the ſea,
There latelie bath'd in hete o nune
A ſquire of valour hie.
He kend nae that the fauſe mermaid
There us'd to beik and play,
Or he had neir gane to the bathe,
I trow, that dreirie day.
Nae ſuner had he deft his claiths,
Nae ſuner gan to ſwim,
Than up ſhe rais'd her bonnie face
Aboon the glittering ſtreim.
'O comelie youth, gin ye will cum
'And be my leman deir,
'Ye ſall ha pleaſance o ilk ſort,
'Bot any end or feir.
'I'll tak ye to my emraud ha
'Wi perles lichted rouud;
'Whar ye ſall live wi luve and me,
'And neir by bale be found.

Appendix A NOTES.

[115]

Appendix A.1 HARDYKNUTE.

Appendix A.1.1 PART I.

HARDYKNUTE.] This name is of Daniſh extract, and ſignifies Canute the ſtrong. Hardy in the original implies ſtrong, not valiant; and though uſed in the latter ſenſe by the Engliſh, yet the Scots ſtill take it in its firſt acceptation. ‘The names in Cunningham,’ ſays Sir David Dalrymple, ‘are all Saxon, as is the name of the country itſelf.’ Annals of Scotland, an. 1160, note. The Daniſh and Saxon are both derived from the old Gothic, and were ſo ſimilar, that a perſon of the one nation might underſtand one of the other ſpeaking in his proper tongue. From the names and whole tenor of [116]this poem, I am inclined to think the chief ſcene is laid in Cunninghamſhire; where likewiſe the battle of Largs, ſuppoſed to be that ſo nobly deſcribed in the firſt part, was fought.

Ver. 5. Britons.] This was the common name which the Scots gave the Engliſh anciently, as may be obſerved in their old poets; and particularly Blind Harry, whoſe teſtimony indeed can only be relied on, as to the common language and manners of his time; his Life of Wallace being a tiſſue of the moſt abſurd fables ever mingled.

V. 9. Hie on a bill, &c.] This neceſſary caution in thoſe times, when ſtrength was the only protection from violence, is well painted by a contemporary French bard:

Un chaſteau ſcay ſur roche eſpouvantable,
En lieu venteux, la rive perilleuſe,
La vy tyrant ſeant à haute table,
En grand palais, en ſal plantureuſe, &c.
D' Alliac, Eveque de Cambray.

V. 12. Knicht.] Theſe knights were only military officers attending the earls, barons, &c. as appears from the hiſtories of the middle ages. See Selden, Tit. Hon. P. II. c. 5. The name is of Saxon origin, and of remote antiquity, as is proved by the following fragment of a poem on the Spaniſh expedition of Charles the Great, written at that period: [117]

Sie zeſlugen ros unde man
Mit ire ſcarfen ſpiezen;
Thie gote moſen an theme plöte hinnen uliezen:
Ther ſite was under goten kneghten,
Sic kunden wole vochten.
i. e.

Occiderunt equos et viros
Acutis ſuis haſtis;
Deos opportuit ſanguine fluere:
Hic mos erat inter nobiles milites,
Poterant optime pugnare.
MS. de Bello Car. M. Hiſp. apud Keyſler diſſ. de Cultu Solis, Freji, & Othini; Halae, 1728.

The oath which the ancient knights of Scotland gave at their inveſtiture is preſerved in a letter of Drummond of Hawthornden to Ben Jonſon, and is as follows:

I ſhall fortifie and defend the true holy Catholique and Chriſtian Religion, preſently profeſſed, at all my power.

I ſhall be loyal and true to my Sovereign Lord the King his Majeſty; and do honour and reverence to all orders of chevalrie, and to the uoble office of arms.

I ſhall fortifie and defend juſtice to the uttermoſt of my power, but feid or favour.

I ſhall never flie from the King's Majeſty my Lord and Maſter, or his lieutenant, in time of battel or medly with diſhonour.

[118] I ſhall defend my native country from all aliens and ſtrangers at all my power.

I ſhall maintain and defend the honeſt adoes and quarrels of all ladies of honour, widows, orphans, and maids of good fame.

I ſhall do diligence, wherever I hear tell there are any traitors, murtherers, rievers, and maſterful theeves and outlaws, that ſuppreſs the poor, to bring them to the law at all my power.

I ſhall maintain aed defend the noble and gallant ſtate of chevalrie with horſes, harneſes, and other knichtly apparel to my power.

I ſhall be diligent to enquire, and ſeek to have the knowledge of all points and articles, touching or concerning my duty, contained in the book of chevalry.

All and ſundry the premiſes I oblige me to keep and fulfill. So help me God by my own hand, and by God himſelf.

A curious account of the riſe and progreſs of knighthood, and its influence on ſociety, may be found in a learned and ingenious work lately publiſhed by Dr. Stuart, intitled, A view of Society in Europe, or Enquiries concerning the Hiſtory of Law, Government, and Manners.

V. 16. Emergard.] In the common copies it is Elenor, and indeed in all the recitals I have heard; but in a late edition publiſhed with other Scotiſh ſongs at Edinburgh, 1776, it is rightly read as here. Emergard, or Ermengarde, was daughter of the Viſcount of Beaumont, [119]and wife of William the Lyon. She died in 1233 As the name was uncommon, and of difficult pronunciation, the rehearſers ſeem to have altered it to Elenor, which has none of theſe defects.

The battle of Largs, ſuppoſed to be that meant in this poem, was fought on the firſt of Auguſt 1263, ſo that queen Emergard was dead thirty years before; yet this can amount to no error in chronology, as the verſes evidently imply that the lady of Hardyknute had no equal in the kingdom for beauty ſave the queen in the prime of the youth and beauty of both, which might well be forty years, or more, before the period of action in the poem.

V. 25. Fairly.] This name ſeems likewiſe of Saxon origin. There is a ſmall iſland and a rivulet in Cunningham ſtill called Fairly iſle and Fairly Burn.

V. 43. Twenty thouſand glittering ſpeirs, &c.] This agrees with Buchanan's account, Acho—viginti millia militum expoſuit. lib. 7. Torfaeus aſſerts this number of the Norwegians was left dead on the field; but upon what authority I know not, as the ancient relations of the battle of Largs ſupport not his teſtimony. See Johnſtone's Tranſlation of Haco's Expedition to Scotland in the year 1263, from the Plateyan and Friſian MSS. printed at Copenhagen 1782.

V. 49. Page] The Pages in the periods of chivalry were of honourable account. The young warriers [120]were firſt denominated pages, then valets, or dameiſeaux, from which degree they reached that of ecuyer, or ſquire, and from this that of knight. See Du Cange, voc. Valeti, & Domicellus. St. Palaye, Mem. ſur l'anc. Cheval. P. I.

V. 61. He has tane a horn; &c.] The horn, or bugil, was anciently uſed by the Scots inſtead of the trumpet. They were ſometimes richly ornamented, as appears from Lindſay's deſcription of that of Sir Robert Cochran. ‘The horn he wore was adorned with jewels and precious ſtones, and tipped with fine gold at both ends. Hiſt. of Scotland, J. III.

V. 88. Weſtmoreland's ferce heir.] Heir, in the old Scotiſh acceptation, ſeems derived from the Latin herus, and ſignifies not apparent ſucceſſor, but preſent lord. As in the following lines of Blind Harry:

Of Southampton he hecht baith heir and lord.
B. 7. c. 1.

Of Gloceſter the huge lord and heir.
B. 12. c. 1.

And in this of Dunbar, ‘Befoir Mahoun the heir of hell.’

V. 107—112.] This minute deſcription might lead us to ſuſpect, that a female hand had ſome part in this compoſition. But, before our minſtrel, Homer has ſhewn [121]himſelf an adept in the lady's dreſs. To the curious remarks on the variation of the Britiſh habit, given us by Mr. Walpole, in his Anecdotes of Painting, and Mr. Granger, in his Biographical Hiſtory, might be added the following notice from a reverend miniſter of the church of Scotland. ‘About 1698 the women got a cuſtome of wearing few garments: I myſelfe have ſeen the young briſk ladies walking on the ſtreets with maſks on their faces, and with one onlie thin petticoat and their ſmoak; ſo thin that one would make a conſcience of ſweiring they were not naked.’ Miſcellanies, by Mr. John Bell, miniſter at Gladſmuir, MS. pen. Edit. title Apparel.

V. 112. Save that of Fairly fair.] Working at the needle, &c. was reckoned an honourable employment by the greateſt ladies of thoſe times. Margaret, the queen of Malcolm III. as we learn from her life written by Turgot her confeſſor, employed the leiſure hours of her ladies in this manner. See Lord Hales' Annals of Scotland, an. 1093.

V. 121. Sir Knicht.] ‘The addition Sir to the names of knights was in uſe before the age of Edward I. and is from Sire, which in old French ſignifies Seignieur or Lord. Though applicable to all knights it ſerved properly to diſtinguiſh thoſe of the order who were not barons. Dr. Stuart, View of Society, &c. Notes on ſect. 4. chap. ii. p. 269.

[122]V. 123—128. The cuſtom of the ladies tending the wounded knights was common in thoſe romantic ages. Lydgate, whoſe ſtory is ancient, but whoſe manners are thoſe of his own times, has an inſtance in The Story of Thebes, part ii. Speaking of the daughter of Lycurgus and Tideus;

To a chamber ſhe led him up aloft.
Full well beſeine, there in a bed right ſoft,
Richly abouten apparrailed
With clothe of gold, all the floure irailed
Of the ſame both in length and brede:
And firſt this lady, of her womanhede,
Her women did bid, as goodly as they can,
To be attendant unto this wounded man:
And when he was unarmed to his ſhert,
She made firſt waſh his woundis ſmert,
And ſerch hem well with divers inſtruments,
And made fet ſundrie ointments, &c.

And in an excellent piece of old Engliſh poetry, ſtyled Sir Cauline, publiſhed by Dr. Percy in the firſt volume of his Reliques, when the king is informed that knight is ſick, he ſays,

Fetche me down my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine.
v. 29, 30.

[123]V. 145—152.] This ſtanza is now firſt printed. It is ſurpriſing it's omiſſion was not marked in the fragment formerly publiſhed, as without it the circumſtance of the knight's complaint is altogether foreign and vague. The loſs was attempted to be gloſſed over by many variations of the preceding four lines, but the defect was palpable to the moſt inattentive peruſer.

V. 154. Lord Chattan.] This is a very ancient and honourable Scottiſh ſurname. Some genealogiſts derive them from the Chatti, an ancient German tribe; but others, with more probability, from the Gilchattan of Ireland. St. Chattan was one of the firſt Scotiſh confeſſors, to whom was dedicated the priory of Ardchattan in Lorn, founded in 1230, and ſome others through the kingdom. The chief of the clan Chattan dying in the reign of David I. without male iſſue, the clan aſſumed the anceſtor of the M'Pherſons for ſuperior, by which means the name appears to have been loſt in that of M'Pherſon. See Buchanan's Brief Enquiry into the Genealogy and Preſent State of Ancient Scottiſh Surnames. Glaſgow, 1723, 4 to, p. 67.

We however find the Clan Chattan mentioned as late as 1590 in The Hiſtory of the Feuds and Conflicts of the Clans, publiſhed from a MS. of the reign of James VI. Glaſgow, 1764; where a Macintoſh is called their chief.

[124]V. 159.] Though we learn from Buchanan's Equiry, &c. that the clan Chattan are ſaid to have come into Scotland long before the expulſion of the Picts, yet I do not find this pretty anecdote, which is much in the ſpirit of Homer, has any foundation in hiſtory. The empire of the Picts was demoliſhed by Kenneth about four centuries before the apparent date of the events narrated in this poem.

V. 169. Mak oriſons, &c.] This is perfectly in the ſtyle of knighthood. Before they entered into combat they ſolemly invoked the aid of God, their Saviour, or their miſtreſs: religion and gallantry being the prime motives of all their adventures. Les premieres leçons qu'on leur donnoit regardoient principalement l'amour de Dieu et des dames, c'eſt à dire la religion et la galanterie. St. Palaye, tome i. p. 7. The poets of theſe times began, in like manner, the deſcription of a ſavage conflict, or of their lady's graces, with religious invocation. Many examples of which appear in the Hiſtoire des Troubadours of L'Abbé Milot, and the Specimens of Welſh Poetry publiſhed by Mr. Evans. So blind is the untutored mind to the proper diſcrimination of it's ideas!

V. 179. Playand Pibrochs.] Of the pibroch I cannot give a better account than in the words of an excellent author. ‘A pibroch is a ſpecies of tune peculiar, I think, to the Highlands and Weſtern Iſles of Scotland. It is performed on a bagpipe, and differs totally from all other muſic. Its rythm is ſo irregular, [125]and its notes, eſpecially in the quick movement, ſo mixed and huddled together, that a ſtranger finds it almoſt impoſſible to reconcile his ear to it, ſo as to perceive its modulation. Some of theſe pibrochs, being intended to repreſent a battle, begin with a grave motion reſembling a march, then gradually quicken into the onſet; run off with noiſy confuſion, and turbulent rapidity, to imitate the conflict and purſuit; then ſwell into a few flouriſhes of triumphant joy; and perhaps cloſe with the wild and ſlow wailings of a funeral proceſſion. Eſſays by Dr. Beattie, 8vo. ed. p. 422. note.

V. 188. Eir faes their dint mote drie.] This is ſubſtituted in place of a line of conſummate nonſenſe, which has ſtained all the former editions. Many ſuch are corrected in this impreſſion from comparing different rehearſals, and ſtill more from conjecture. When an ignorant perſon is deſired to repeat a ballad, and is at a loſs for the original expreſſion, he naturally ſupplies it with whatever abſurdity firſt occurs to him, that will form a rime. Theſe the Editor made not the ſmalleſt ſcruple to correct, as he always imagined that common ſenſe might have its uſe even in emendatory criticiſm.

V. 203. But on his forehead, &c.] The circumſtances in this deſcription ſeem borrowed from thoſe of different battles betwixt the Kings of Scotland and Norway. I find in no hiſtorian that Alexander was wounded in the battle of Largs; on the contrary, it is even doubted [126]whether he was preſent; but in that near Nairn Malcolm II. was wounded on the head. Rex, accepto in capite vulnere, vix a ſuis in propinquum nemus ablatus, ac ibi equo pofitus, mortem evaſit. Buchan. lib. VI.

V. 223. Hire dames to wail your darling's fall.] This cuſtom of employing women to mourn for the warriors who fell in battle, may be traced to the moſt diſtant antiquity. Lucilius, one of the earlieſt Roman poets, in a couplet preſerved by Nonius, mentions this practice;

Mercede quae conductae flent alieno in fanere praeficae
Multae & capillos ſcindunt, & clamant magis.

Among the Northern nations it partook of their barbarity. ‘Inter eas autem ceremonias a barbara gente acceptas fuiſſe et has, ut genas roderunt mulierculae, hoc eſt unguibus faciem dilaniarent et leſſum facerent, id eſt ſanguinem e venis mitterent, doloris teſtandi ergo; id quod Germani patria voce dicunt, Ein laſſu thun oder baben. Elias Schedius de Diis Germ. Syng. II. c. 51. A ſimilar mode of teſtifying their grief for the death of their chiefs, ſtill obtains in the Highlands, as we are informed by Mr. Pennant in his amuſing Tour in Scotland.

V. 225. Coſtly Jupe.] This was the Sagum, or military veſt of the Gauls and Germans. Dr. Stuart has with curious ingenuity derived the ſcience of Blazonry from the ornaments which were in time added to them. Ubi ſupra, p. 286, 287.

[127]Virgil has a paſſage remarkably ſimilar to this, in deſcribing the habit of the Gauls, I think in Aeneid VIII.

Aurea caeſaries illis, atque aurea veſtis
Virgatis lucet ſagulis.

V. 229. Beir Norſe that gift, &c.] This has been generally miſunderſtood: the meaning is, Bear that gift to the King of Norway, and bid, &c.

V. 239. 245.] Theſe vaunts are much in Homer's manner, and are finely characteriſtic. The obſcure metaphor which conveys them illuſtrates a beautiful remark of an ancient critic, That allegory has a ſublime effect when applied to threatning. [...]. Demet. Phal. de Eloc. c. 99.

V. 265. Whar lyke a fyre to hether ſet.] This appoſite ſimile alludes to an ancient practice of the Scots, termed Mure burning. The progreſs of the flame was ſo quick, that many laws appear in their Acts of Parliament, prohibiting its being uſed when any corn was ſtanding on ground adjacent to the heath intended to be burnt, though at a conſiderable diſtance from the ſpot where the flame was kindled.

V. 285. Sore taken he was, fey!] Fey here ſignifies only indeed, in fay, or, in faith: it is commonly uſed by the old Scotiſh poets in a ſarcaſtic or ironical ſenſe.

[128]V. 305. On Norway's coaſt, &c.] Theſe verſes are in the fineſt ſtyle of Ballad poetry. They have been well imitated by a modern writer, who ſeems indebted, for the beſt ſtrokes of his firſt production, to a taſte for ſuch compoſitions:

Ye dames of Denmark! even for you I feel,
Who, ſadly ſitting on the ſea-beat ſhore,
Long look for Lords that never ſhall return,
Douglas, Act III.

I cannot conclude my obſervations upon the deſcription here given of the battle, without adding, that though perhaps not the moſt ſublime, it is the moſt animated and intereſting to be found in any poet. It yields not to any in Oſſian for lively painting, nor to any in Homer for thoſe little anecdotes and ſtrokes of nature, which are ſo deſervedly admired in that maſter. 'Poetry and Rhetoric,' ſays the author of an Enquiry into the origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and Beautiful, ‘do not ſucceed in exact deſcription ſo well as Painting does; their buſineſs is to affect rather by ſympathy than imitation; to diſplay rather the effect of things on the mind of the ſpeaker, or of others, than to preſent a clear idea of the things themſelves. This is their moſt extenſive province, and that in which they ſucceed the beſt.’ Will he forgive me if I offer this rude Scotiſh Poem as an example ſufficiently illuſtrative of this fine remark?

[129]V. 321. Loud and chill blew the Weſtlin wind, &c.] This ſtorm is artfully raiſed by the magic of Poetry to heighten the terrible, which is ſoon carried to a degree not ſurpaſſed in any production ancient or modern. It will recall to the reader the like artifice employed in the moſt ſublime paſſage of Taſſo's Gieruſalemme, end of Canto 7.; and of Homer's Iliad, VIII. ver. 161. of Mr. Pope's Tranſlation.

V. 327. Seimd now as black as moruning weid.] It was anciently the cuſtom on any mournful event to hang the caſtle gates with black cloth. This is alluded to here, and more particularly mentioned in an excellent modern Ballad, entitled The Birth of St. George, which diſplays no mean knowledge of the manners of chivalry:

But when he reached his caſtle gate
His gate was hung with black.
Reliques, Vol. III. p. 222.

Appendix A.1.2 HARDYKNUTE. Part II.

[130]

I HAVE given the ſtanzas now added the title of a Second Part, though I had no authority from the recital. The break formerly made here by accident ſeemed to call for this pauſe to the reader.

V. 115. Penants.] Theſe were ſmall banners charged with the arms of the owner, and ſometimes borne over the helm of the ancient knight by his ſquire, and, as would ſeem, even that of the prince, Earl, or Chief Baron, by his Baneret. See ver. 331. The Engliſh word is penon:

And by his banner borne is his penon,
Of gold full rich; in which there was ybete
The minotaure that he wan in Crete,

Says Chaucer ſpeaking of Theſeus in The Knight's Tale.

V. 252. Draffan's touirs.] The ruins of Draffancaſtle are in Lanarkſhire.—They ſtand upon a vaſt rock hanging over the Nethan (ſee v. 329.) which a little below runs into the Clyde. From this a houſe ſituated very nigh the ruins is called Craignethan. This caſtle is ſo ancient, that the country people there ſay it was built by the Pechts, which is their common way of expreſſing the Picts.

[131]V. 273. His halbrik.] This term for a coat of mail occurs in Blind Harry. It was properly uſed for one compoſed of ſmall rings of ſteel which yielded to every motion of the warrior, and was the ſame with the lorica hamata of the Romans, ſo pictureſquely deſcribed by Claudian:

Conjuncta per artem
Flexilis inductis hamatur lamina membris,
Horribilis viſu, credas ſimulacra moveri
Ferrea, cognatoque viros ſpirare metallo.
In Rufin. Lib. II.

V. 275. Securit by a warloc auld, &c.] The belief that certain charms might ſecure the poſſeſſor from danger in combat was common in dark ages. ‘I know a ſong, by which I ſoften and enchant the arms of my enemies, and render their weapons of no affect,’ ſays Odin in his Magic. Northern Antiq. Vol. II. p. 217. Among the Longobards they were forbidden by a poſitive Law. ‘Nullus Campio adverſus alterum pugnaturus audeat ſuper ſe habere herbas nec res ad maleficia pertinentes, niſi tantum corona ſua, quae conveniunt. Et ſi ſuſpicio fuerit quod eas occulte habeat, inquiratur per Judicem, et ſi inventae fuerunt, rejiciantur. Poſt quam inquiſitionem, extendet manum ſuam ipſe in manu Patrini aut Colliberti ſui, ante judicem, dicens, ſe nullam rem talem ſuper ſe habere, deinde ad certamen prodeat LL. Longob. apud L. Germ. J. Baſil. Herold. A ſimilar notion obtained even in England, [132]as appears from the oath taken in the Judicial Combat. ‘A. de B. ye ſhall ſwere that ye have no ſtone of virtue, nor hearb of virtue, nor charme, nor experiment, nor none othir enchauntment by you nor for you, whereby ye truſt the better to overcome C. de D. your adverſarie, that ſhall come agens you within theſe liſts in his defence, nor that ye truſt in none othir thynge propirly bot in God, and your body, and your brave quarel. So God you help and all halowes, and the holy goſpells. Apud Dugdale, Orig. Juridic. & Miſcell. Aulica, Lond. 1702. p. 166. And we find in a moſt acute and ingenious treatiſe on the point of honour, written in the middle of the ſixteenth century, that this precaution was eſteemed neceſſary ſo late as that period. Il Duello del Mutio Juſtinopolitano, In Vineg. 1566. lib. II. c. 9. De i maleficii [...]t incante. ‘Et non ſenza ragione i moderni Padrini fanno ſpogliare i cavallieri, che hanno da entrare in battaglia, et iſcuotere, et diligentemente eſſaminare i loro panni, &c.’ Many inſtances occur in the accounts of the civil wars of France, and of the Netherlands: and more particularly in the very curious ſtory of Gowrie's Conſpiracy, publiſhed by James VI. at Edinburgh, 1600, 4to. ‘His Majeſty having before his parting out of that towne, cauſed to ſearch the ſayde Earle of Gowries pockets, in caſe any letters that might further the diſcovery of that conſpiracie might be founde therein. But nothing was found in them, but a little cloſe parchment bag full of magical [133]characters, and wordes of enchantment, wherein it ſeemed that hee had put his confidence, thinking himſelf never ſafe without them, and therefore ever carried them about with him; being alſo obſerved, that while they were upon him, his wound, whereof he died, bled not; but incontinent, after the taking of them away, the blood guſhed out in great abundance, to the great admiration of all the beholders.’ See likewiſe Memoirs of the Affairs of Scotland, by David Moyſes, Edin. 1755. where this piece is reprinted verbatim. Maiſter William Rynd, a ſervant of Lord Gowrie's, depoſition in the ſame volume, p. 297, has ſingular anecdotes with regard to theſe characters.

V. 276. Fairy charm.] The word fairy ſeemes to have been accepted by the ancient Engliſh and Scotiſh poets for ſupernatural, or enchanted. So Chaucer ſpeaking of Cambuſcan's horſe, ‘It was of fairie, as the peple ſemed. Squires Tale, p. 1.

V. 362.] It was the priviledge of the knights to hide their faces with armour, ſo that it was impoſſible to diſtinguiſh any one from another, except by his blazon, which ſeems at firſt to have been diſplayed over them, but came at length to be painted on their ſhields, whence Coats of Arms. A villein was obliged to have his countenance uncovered in battle. This circumſtance attended to will ſave our wonder at Hardyknute's not [134]knowing Draffan in the Firſt Part, and Draffan's not perceiving Malcolm here till his ſpear tore off his viſor: though Rothiay knows Draffan either from his wearing a blazon on his armour, or from his face being uncovered in order to breathe from the combat.

V. 389. Cheir ye my mirrie men, &c.] It ſhould have been remarked on the firſt appearance of this word, P. I. v. 199, that mirrie was anciently uſed in a very different ſenſe from its preſent. It ſignified honeſt, true, faithful, but no where jovial. King James VI. in his Daemonologie MS. pen. Edit. ‘Surelie the difference vulgaire put betwixt thame is verrie mirrie, and in a manner trew. p. 10. And again in p. 18. ‘Many honeſt and mirrie men.’ In like manner Merlin's Prophecies are ſtyled 'Mirrie words,' in that of Beid. Proph. of Rymer, &c.

V. 413. Oh King of Hevin!] This is a common appellation of the Deity with the more ancient Scottiſh Poets. By Hevins King, is the familiar oath of Blind Harrie's heroes.

V. 419. By my Forbere's ſaul.] Swearing by the ſouls of their anceſtors was another uſed mode in thoſe times. The greateſt thought this oath moſt ſtrong and honourable; probably becauſe it implied the ſouls of their forefathers were in heaven, and, as was then believed, might lend them a ſupernatural aid, if the intention of their oath was juſt and unblameable.

V. 421. 'Now mind your aith,' &c.] This paſſage is obſcure: the meaning I apprehend is, that Draffan [135]had, before the combat, exacted an oath of Allan his baneret, that he would ſlay him, ſhould the neceſſity of his affairs demand this ſacrifice. More willing to loſe his own life than poſſibly to take that of his great antagoniſt, he commands Allan to fulfil his engagement, which, with all the heroic faith of thoſe times, he does without a pauſe. The particular expreſſion The ſhynand blade’ might lead us to imagine, that it was thought impoſſible to pierce the ſuppoſed enchanted armour, but with one particular weapon, likeways perhaps charmed.

V. 437. Icolm.] The Nunnery at Icolm, or Icolmkill, was one of the moſt noted in Scotland. The Nuns were of the order of Auguſtine, and wore a white gown, and above it a rocket of fine linen. Spotiſwood's Account of the Religious Houſes in Scotland, p. 509. The ruins of this nunnery are ſtill to be ſeen, with many tombs of the Princeſſes; one of which bears the year 1000. Martin's Weſtern Iſlands, p. 262.

I cannot conclude my remarks on this Poem without waſting one on the ſtory of Mrs. Wardlaw. That this lady may have indeed received a MS. of it as mentioned in Dr. Percy's introductory note, is highly probable. Many valuable MSS. prepared for the preſs, have had a worſe fate. But that ſhe was the author of this capital compoſition, ſo fraught with ſcience of ancient manners as the above notes teſtify, I will no more credit, than that the common people in Lanarkſhire, [136]who can repeat ſcraps of both the parts, are the authors of the paſſages they rehearſe. That ſhe did not refuſe the name of being the original compoſer is a ſtrange argument: would not the firſt poet in Europe think it added to his reputation? If conjecture may be allowed where proof muſt ever be wanting, I ſuſpect, if we aſſign the end of the fifteenth century as the date of the antique parts of this noble production, we ſhall not greatly err; though at the ſame time the language muſt convince us that many ſtrokes have been beſtowed by modern hands.

Since the firſt publication of this volume, Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hales, whoſe abilities have been ſo often, and ſo ſucceſsfully, exerted in illuſtrating the antiquities of his country, to the law and the literature of which he is ſo great an ornament, has communicated to the Editor ſome notices with regard to this poem of Hardyknute, which ſhall here be laid before the reader, almoſt in his own words.

The following are extracts of a letter written by Sir John Bruce of Kinroſs, to Lord Binning, about the year 1719.

‘To perform my promiſe, I ſend you a true copy of the manuſcript I found, ſome weeks ago, in a vault at Dumferline. It is written on vellum in a fair Gothic character; but ſo much defaced by time, as you'll find that the tenth part is not legible.’

[137]Sir John tranſcribes ſome ſtanzas, which he calls verſes. After l. 112, P. I. he ſays, ‘here are four verſes defaced,’ and then he tranſcribes l. 113.

At l. 128 he adds, hiatus in MS. and then he tranſcribes l. 153. At l. 320 he ſays, ‘Here are ten verſes (ſtanzas) ſo ſpoilt that I can only gueſs by the many proper names, that they contain the order of battle of the Scots army, as they ſtood ranged under their different chieftains.’

In concluſion Sir John ſays, ‘there's a vaſt deal more of it, but all defaced.’

The reader is left to judge whether this ſtory of the manuſcript on vellum, &c. has moſt the appearance of a true narrative, or of a jeu d' eſprit addreſſed to a familiar friend.

Lord Hales has a copy of the original edition of Hardyknute, with MS. alterations, in the hand writing of Dr. John Clerk, Phyſician in Edinburgh. At l. 85, it has 'brade Thomas;' Sir John Bruce has bred Malcolm.’ At l. 98, Sir John Bruce's MS. has 'Walter' inſtead of 'Malcolm.' At l. 103, 'brazen' for 'ſilver;' and at l. 104, 'iron doors,' for ‘painted bowers.’

In Dr. Clerk's MS. lines, 176—180 run thus;

To join his king adown the hill,
In haſt his ſtrides he bent;
While minſtrels playand pibrochs fine,
Afore him ſtately went.

[138]In Dr. Clerk's MS. the ſtanza On Norway's coaſt, &c. comes in after the ſtanza There on a lee with much propriety: that reading is therefore followed in this edition.

At l. 337. for 'owr' the MS. has 'oy'.
The laſt line in the MS. was originally,
He feared a coud be feared;

but has been changed into that which occurs in later editions.

Appendix A.2 CHILD MAURICE.

THIS is undoubtedly the true title of this incomparable Ballad, though corrupted into Gil Morrice by the nurſes and old women, from whoſe mouths it was originally publiſhed. Child ſeems to have been of equal importance with Damoiſeau (See note on P. I. v. 49. of Hardyknute) and applicable to a young nobleman when about the age of fifteen. It occurs in Shakſpeare's Lear, in the following line, probably borrowed from ſome old romance or ballad,

Child Roland to the dark tower came.
Act III. S. 7.

[139]And in Chaucer's Rime of Sir Topas, Child is evidently uſed to denote a young and noble knight. Many inſtances might likewiſe be brought from Spenſer for this ſignification.

Gil Morrice is only the northern pronunciation of the true name of this ballad: Gil about Aberdeen, &c, ſtill ſignifies Child, as it does in Galic; witneſs the name Gilchriſt, the child of Chriſt, &c.

V. 52. He bent his bow.] Archery was enjoined the Scotiſh warrior at a very early age, as appears from many ſpecial laws to that effect, and particularly the following one of James I. ‘Item, That all men buſk them to be Archeres fra they be twelfe yeir of age, and that in ilk ten pundis worthe of lande their be maid bowmarkis, and ſpeciallie neir to Paroche kirkis, quhairin upon haly daies men may cum, and at the leiſt ſchutte thriſe about, and have uſage of archerie: and quha ſa uſis not the ſaid archerie, the Laird of the lande ſall raiſe of him a wedder; and giff the Laird raiſes not the ſaid payne, the King's ſchireffe or his miniſters, ſhall raiſe it to the King. Parl. I. § 18.

V. 95. ezar.] This word is perhaps the ſame with mazer, as uſed by the Engliſh poets,

A mighty mazer bowl of wine was ſet.
Spenſer, F. Q. II. 12. 49.

[140]
A mazer ywrought of the maple ware,
Spenſer's Calendar, Auguſt.

So golden mazer wont ſuſpicion breed
Of deadly hemlocks poiſon'd potion:

ſays Hall in the prologue to his admirable Satires. Ezar cup will then mean a large bowl of any material.

V. 107, 8. O what means a the folk coming? My mother tarries lang.] This ſtroke of nature is delicate. It paints the very thought of youth and innocence. In ſuch happy tenuity of phraſe, this exquiſite compoſition is only rivalled by the Merope of Maffei, the moſt finiſhed Tragedy in the world. Some lines fancifully interpolated by a modern and very inferior hand are here omitted.

V. 122. And ſlaided owr the ſtrae.] The meaning is, He went baſtily over the rank graſs.

V. 144. As the hip is o the ſtean.] This would appear the corruption of ſome nurſe; but taking it as it ſtands, the ſimile, though none of the moſt delicate, has a parallel in the Father of Engliſh Poetry:

But he was chaſte and no lechoure
And ſweet as is the bramble floure
That bearethe the red hip.
Chaucer, Sir Topas.

Appendix A.3 ADAM O GORDON.

[141]

THE genuine ſubject of this Ballad has long remained in obſcurity, though it muſt have been noted to every peruſer of Crawford's Memoirs.

'But to return to Gordon,' (viz. Sir Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother to the Earl of Huntly) ‘as theſe two actions againſt Forbes, or, to ſpeak more properly, againſt the rebels, gained him a vaſt reputation—his next exploit was attended with an equal portion of infamy; and he was as much decryed for this unlucky action (though at the ſame time he had no immediate hand in the matter) as for his former ones he had been applauded. He had ſent one Captain Ker with a party of foot to ſummon the Caſtle of Towie in the Queen's name. The owner Alexander Forbes was not then at home, and his lady confiding too much in her ſex, not only refuſed to ſurrender, but gave Ker very injurious language; upon which, unreaſonably tranſported with fury, he ordered his men to fire the caſtle, and barbarouſly burnt the unfortunate gentlewoman with her whole family, amounting to thirty-ſeven perſons. Nor was he ever ſo much as caſhiered for this inhuman action, which made Gordon ſhare both in the ſcandal and the guilt. An. 1571. p. 240. edit. 1706.

[142]In this narrative is immediately perceived every leading circumſtance in the Ballad. The Captain Car, by which name it was diſtinguiſhed in Dr. Percy's Manuſcript, is evidently the Ker of Crawford. The Houſe of Rodes I have corrected, according to the truth of ſtory, Towie. Of which name, I find in Gordon of Straloch's map of Aberdeenſhire, there were two gentlemen's ſeats, or caſtles, in his time, one upon the Don, and another upon the Ythan. The neareſt ſeat to the latter is that of Rothy, which from wrong information may have originally ſtood in the Ballad, the miſtake riſing naturally from the vicinity of their ſituation, and from this have been corrupted to Rodes. The courage of this lady, as repreſented in the Ballad, was equalled by that of the famous Counteſs of Saliſbury, at the ſiege of Roxborough; and of Ladies Arundel and Banks, in the laſt civil wars of England. See particularly the Mercurius Ruſticus, &c. Lond. 1647. Sections V. and XI.

V. 129. Freits.] This word ſignifies ill omens; and ſometimes as here Accidents ſupernaturally unlucky. King James VI. in his Daemonologie, MS. pen. Edit. B. I. cb. III. p. 13. ‘But I pray you forget not likeways to tell what are the Devill's rudimentis. E. His rudimentis I call firſt in generall all that quhilk is called vulgairelie the vertu of woode, herbe, and ſtaine; quhilk is uſed by unlawfull charmis without naturall cauſis. As lykeways all kynd of prattiques, freitis, or [143]uther lyk extraordinair actions, quhilk cannot abyde the tre [...] twiche of naturall raiſon. It occurs again in the ſame ſenſe in p. 14. marg. note; and in p. 41. ſpeaking of Sorcerers. ‘And in generall that naime was gevin thaime for uſing of ſic chairmis and freitis, as that craft teachis thame.’

Appendix A.4 THE CHILD OF ELLE.

THIS ballad is admitted into this collection, as being ſuppoſed, from many minute marks, to be a Scotiſh ballad in an Engliſh dreſs. Whan for when, kirk for church, &c. are ſome of theſe marks.

Though it is publiſhed by Dr. Percy, and of conſequence in every body's hands; yet it was neceſſary to give it here, elſe this digeſt of ſuch Scotiſh tragic ballads as deſerve preſervation could not have been called complete.

Appendix A.5 VI.

John Faw was king of the gypſies in Scotland in the reign of James IV. who, about the year 1495, iſſued a proclamation, ordaining all ſheriffs, &c. to aſſiſt John Faw in ſeizing and ſecuring fugitive gypſies; and that they ſhould lend him their priſons, ſtocks, fetters, &c. for that purpoſe: charging the lieges, that none of them moleſt, vex, unquiet, or trouble the ſaid Faw [144]and his company in doing their lawful buſineſs within the realm; and in their paſſing, remaining, or going forth of the ſame, under penalty: and charging ſkippers, maſters of ſhips, and mariners, within the realm, at all ports and havens, to receive ſaid John and his company, upon their expences, for furthering them furth of the realm to parts beyond ſea. See Mr. Maclaurin's Remarkable Caſes, &c. p. 774.

V. 8. Glamour.] The glamour was believed to be a kind of magical miſt raiſed by ſorcerers, which deluded their ſpectators with viſions of things which had no real exiſtence, altered the appearance of theſe which really did exiſt, &c. The Eaſtern nations have a ſimilar ſuperſtition, as we may learn from Mr. Galland's Mille et un nuit, and other tranſlations of works of Oriental fiction.

SIR HUGH, OR THE JEW's DAUGHTER, is compoſed of two copies, one publiſhed by Dr. Percy, the other in a collection of Scotiſh Songs, &c. Edin. 1776. The Mirryland toun of the former, and Mirry Linkin of the latter, evidently ſhew that the noted ſtory of Hugh of Lincoln is here expreſſed.

Appendix A.6 FLODDEN FIELD.

[145]

THE ſtanzas here given form a complete copy of this exquiſite Dirge. The inimitable beauty of the original induced a variety of verſifiers to mingle ſtanzas of their own compoſure. But it is the painful, though moſt neceſſary duty of an Editor, by the touchſtone of truth, to diſcriminate ſuch droſs from the gold of antiquity.

SIR PATRICK SPENCE is given from Dr. Percy's Edition, which indeed agrees with the ſtall copies, and the common recitals. I have, however, lent it a few corrections, where palpable abſurdity ſeemed to require them. The phraſe in v. 25. of ſeeing the old moon in the arms of the new is ſtill familiar in Scotland. It means that the opaque part of the moon's diſk caſts a glimmering light, while the illuminated part is waxing; and is to this hour eſteemed to prognoſticate a ſtorm.

Appendix A.7 LADY BOTHWELL's LAMENT.

[146]

THESE four ſtanzas appeared to the Editor to be all that are genuine in this elegy. Many additional ones are to be found in the common copies, which are rejected as of meaner execution. In a quarto manuſcript in the Editor's poſſeſſion, containing a collection of Poems by different hands from the reign of Queen Elizabeth to the middle of the laſt century, when it was apparently written (pp. 132.) there are two Balowes as they are there ſtyled, the firſt The Balow, Allan, the ſecond Palmer's Balow; this laſt is that commonly called Lady Bothwell's Lament, and the three firſt ſtanzas in this edition are taken from it, as is the laſt from Allan's Balow. They are injudiciouſly mingled in Ramſay's Edition, and ſeveral ſtanzas of his own added; a liberty he uſed much too often in printing ancient Scotiſh poems.

Appendix A.8 EARL OF MURRAY.

V. laſt. Toun.] This word is often uſed in Scotland to denote only, perhaps, a farm-houſe and office-houſes, or a number of hovels ſcattered here and there; and on which the Engliſh would not beſtow the name of a village.

[147]A very eminent Scotiſh antiquary informs me, that in Saxon ton ſignifies an habitation: and that caſtle downe in the laſt ſtanza of this ballad ought to be read Caſtle Downe, the ſeat of Lord Murray in his own right.

SIR JAMES THE ROSE is given from a modern edition in one ſheet 12mo. after the old copy. A renovation of this Ballad, compoſed of new and improbable circumſtances, decked out with ſcraps of tragedies, may be found in the Annual Regiſter for 1774, and other collections. Roſe is an ancient and honourable name in Scotland: Johannes de Roſe is a witneſs to the famous Charter of Robert II. teſtifying his marriage with Elizabeth More, as appears in the rare edition of it printed at Paris, 1695, 4to. p. 15.

V. 27. Belted Knichts.] The belt was one of the chief marks which diſtinguiſhed the ancient knight. To be girt with the belt of knighthood often implied the whole attending ceremonies which conſtituted that order. That of the common knight was of white leather.

Appendix A.9 LAIRD OF WOODHOUSELIE.

[148]

THIS Ballad is now firſt publiſhed. Whether it has any real foundation, the Editor cannot be poſitive, though it is very likely. There is a Woodhouſelie nigh Edinburgh, which may poſſibly be that here meant.

Appendix A.10 LORD LIVINGSTON

[...] probably an anceſtor of Livingſton Earl of Linlith [...], attainted in 1715. This affecting piece likewiſe, with the four following, now appears for the firſt time.

V. 13. Saith dreims are ſcant] This ſeems a proverbiai expreſſion: King James in his Daemonologie, ‘That is a ſuith dream (as they ſay) ſence thay ſee it walking. MS. p. 100.

Appendix A.11 BINNORIE.

V. 32. Her wraith.] ‘And what meanis then theſe kyndis of ſpreitis when they appeare in the ſhaddow of a perſonne newlie dead, or to die, to his friend? E. When thay appeare upon that occaſion, they are called wraithis in our langage. Ib. p. 81.

The following larger extract relating to the Fairies, another creation of ſuperſtition, is given by way of ſpecimen of this ſingular MS. Book III. Ch. 5.

Appendix A.11.1 ARGUMENT.

[149]

‘The deſcription of the fourth kynde of Spreitis, called the Pharie. What is poſſible chairin, and what is but illuſions. Whow far this dialogue entreates of all thir thingis: and to what ende.’

P. Now I pray you come on to that fourt kynd of ſpreittis. E. That fourt kynde of Spreitis, quhilk be the gentiles was called Diana and her wandring court, and amongs us was called the Pharie (as I tolde you) or our guid neighbouris’ (the King has added on the margin 'or ſillie wightis') ‘was ane of the ſortis of alluſions that was ryfeſt in tyme of Papiſtrie; for allthough it was holdin odious to propheſie be the devill, yet whome theſe kynd of ſpreittis caried away, and informed, thay wer thought to be ſoncieſt, and of beſt lyfe. To ſpeak of the manie vaine tratlis foundit upon that illuſion; how thair was ane king and queine of Pharie, of ſic a jolie court and traine as thay had; how thay had a teind and a dewtie, as it wer, of all guidis: how thay naturallie raid and yeld, eat and drank, and did all other actions lyke naturall men and wemen; I think it is lyker Virgilis Campi Eliſei, nor any thing that aught to be beleived be Chriſtianis.’

This Manuſcript is written in a beautiful Italic hand, ſo nearly reſembling copper-plate engraving, as to have been taken for ſuch even after accurate examination. It is bound in gilded vellum, ſtamped with the King's eypher beneath the crown; and is in all probability the [150]original copy of this royal monument of ſuperſtition. Many additions are inſerted on the margin, as would ſeem, of the hand-writing of James VI. and ſome notes for his own private uſe. As for inſtance on B. II. ch. 1. ſpeaking of the Magicians of his time, over againſt the words ‘Thay are ſume of thame riche and worldlie wyſe,’ he has noted F. M. ‘ſum of tham fat or corpulent in their bodies,’ R. G. ‘and maiſt pairt of thame altogethir gevin ouer to the pleaſours of the fleſche,’ B. N.

We need not wonder at the ſeverity with which the imaginary crime of withcraft was puniſhed in his reign, when we remark his ſentiment expreſſed on this head, in B. III. ch. 6. of this ſingular tract. P. Then to make ane ende of our conference ſence I ſee it drawis leatt, what forme of puniſhment think ye merites thir Magiciens and Witches? For I ſee that ye account thame to be all alyke giltie. E. (The King) Thay aught to be put to deathe, according to the law of God, the civill and imperiall law, and the municipal law of all Chriſtiane nations. P. But what kynde of death I pray you? E. It is commonly uſed be fyre, but that is ane indifferent thing to be uſed in every countrey according to the law or cuſtume thairof. P. But aught no ſexe, aage, nor rank, to be eximed? E. NONE AT ALL.’

[151]The language of this pedantic Monarch is particular; it is that of a Scotiſh ſchool-boy beginning to read Engliſh.

In the printed copies the ſtyle is much altered and improved. It was printed at Edinburgh, and reprinted at London in the ſame year, 1603, 4to.

Appendix A.12 LORD AIRTH's COMPLAINT.

THESE verſes, though ſomewhat uncouth, are moving, as they ſeem to flow from the heart. They are now firſt publiſhed from the Editor's quarto Manuſcript, p. 16. corrected in ſome lines, which appeared too inaccurate for the publick eye. Two entire ſtanzas are rejected from the ſame cauſe. I know nothing of the nobleman to whom they are aſcribed.

In the ſame Manuſcript (p. 17. and 116) are to be found the two following Poems, which I believe have never been in print. They are here added, with a few corrections. They were both written by Sir Robert Aytoun, who bore ſome office under government in the reign of James VI. if I miſtake not. His Latin poems are in the Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum.

[152]

Appendix A.12.1 SONNET.

WILT thou, remorſeleſs fair, ſtill laugh while I lament?
Shall ſtill thy chief contentment be to ſee me malcontent?
Shall I, Narciſſus like, a flying ſhadow chaſe?
Or, like Pygmalion, love a ſtone crown'd with a winning face?
No, know my blind Love now ſhall follow Reaſon's eyes;
And as thy fairneſs made me fond, thy temper make me wiſe.
My loyalty diſdains to love a loveleſs dame,
The ſpirit ſtill of Cupid's fire conſiſts in mutual flame.
Hadſt thou but given one look, or hadſt thou given one ſmile,
Or hadſt thou lent but one poor ſigh my ſorrows to beguile,
My captive Thoughts perchance had been redeem'd from Pain,
And theſe my mutinous Diſcontents made friends with Hope again.
But thou I know at length art careleſs of my good;
And wouldſt ambitiouſly embrew thy beauty in my blood:
A great diſgrace to thee, to me a monſtrous wrong,
Which time may teach thee to repent ere haply it be long:
But to prevent thy ſhame, and to abridge my woe,
Becauſe thou canſt not love thy friend, I'll ceaſe to love my foe.

Appendix A.12.2 SONG.

[153]
WHAT means this ſtrangeneſs now of late,
Since Time muſt Truth approve?
This diſtance may conſiſt with ſtate,
It cannot ſtand with love.
'Tis either cunning or diſtruſt
That may ſuch ways allow:
The firſt is baſe, the laſt unjuſt;
Let neither blemiſh you.
For if you mean to draw me on,
There needs not half this art:
And if you mean to have me gone,
You over-act your part.
If kindneſs croſs your wiſh'd content,
Diſmiſs me with a frown;
I'll give you all the love that's ſpent,
The reſt ſhall be my own.

Appendix A.13 FRAGMENTS.

The two firſt of theſe are given from a Collection, Edinburgh, 1776, but poliſhed by the preſent Editor; the two others from recital.

Appendix B GLOSSARY.

[154]
A
  • Ablins, perhaps.
  • Aboon, above.
  • Ae. ane, one.
  • Aff, off.
  • Aft, oft.
  • Aith, oath.
  • Ain, own.
  • Alſe, except.
  • Anes, once.
  • Auld, old.
  • Auſterne, ſtern.
  • Ayont, beyond.
B
  • Ba, ball, tennis.
  • Baird, beard.
  • Baith both.
  • Bairn, child.
  • Bale, miſery.
  • Balow, buſh.
  • Band, ſolemn oath.
  • Baſe-court, bas court, French, the lower court of a caſtle.
  • Baſnet, helmet.
  • Begyle, beguile.
  • Beſtraught, diſtracted.
  • Banſters, bluſterers.
  • Beik, baſk.
  • Belyve, immediately.
  • Beſprent, covered.
  • Betide, n. fortune.
  • Bedeen, preſently,
  • Bleiſe, blaze.
  • Bleirit, dim with tears.
  • Blink, glimpſe of light.
  • Blinking, twinkling.
  • Blude, blood.
  • Blythſum, ſprightly.
  • Boughts, ſheepfolds.
  • Boiſt, boaſt.
  • Bonny, pretty.
  • Botand, likeways.
  • Bown, make ready.
  • Bogle, hobgoblin.
  • Bot, without.
  • Bouir, a room arched in the Gothic manner.
  • Bouir woman, chamber-maid.
  • Bra, bravely dreſſed.
  • Brae, ſide of a hill.
  • Braid, broad.
  • Brand, Iſl. a ſword.
  • Brawe, brave.
  • Brayd, haſten.
  • Bruik, enjoy.
  • Brin, burn.
  • [155]Brig, bridge.
  • Buſk, prepare.
  • Brechan, plaid; cloke ſtriped with various colours.
C
  • Cauld, cold.
  • Cauldrif, chill, damp.
  • Canny, prudent.
  • Cheis, chuſe.
  • Claught, graſped.
  • Cliding, wardrobe.
D
  • Daffin, waggery.
  • Dar'd, lighted, hit.
  • Darrain, ſuffer, encounter.
  • Deft, taken off haſtily.
  • Dint, blow, ſtroke.
  • Dawning, dawn of day.
  • Dought, could.
  • Doughty, valiant, ſtrong.
  • Dowie, dreadful, melancholy.
  • Drie, ſuffer, endure.
  • Dule, grief.
E
  • Eard, earth.
  • Eild, eld, old age.
  • Eine, eyes.
  • Eithly, eaſily.
  • Eydent, ayding, aſſiſting.
  • Elric, diſmal.
  • Eldern, ancient, venerable.
  • Egre, eager, keen, ſharp.
  • Effray, affright.
  • Emraud, Emerald.
  • Ettle, aim.
F
  • Fae, foe.
  • Fay, faith, ſincerity.
  • Fere, companion.
  • Ferly, wonder.
  • Feid, enmity.
  • Fey, in ſooth.
  • Flinders, ſplinters.
  • Fleeching, flattering.
  • Forbere, forefather, anceſtor.
  • Forbode, denial.
  • Frae, fro, from.
  • Frawart, froward.
G
  • Ga, gae, gang, go.
  • Gabbing, prattle.
  • Gait, way, path.
  • Gar, cauſe.
  • Gie, give.
  • Gin, gif, if.
  • Glaive, ſword.
  • Gleit, glittered.
  • Glie, mirth. In H. P. II, 120. it ſeems to ſignify a faint light.
  • Glent, glanced.
  • Gliſt, gliſtered.
  • Gloming, dusk.
  • Glowr, glare, diſmal light.
  • Grein, deſire.
  • Greit, weep.
  • [156]Graith, dreſs, v. and n.
  • Gouſty, ghaſtly.
  • Grie, prize, victory.
  • Gude, good.
  • Gurly, bitter, cold; applied to weather.
  • Gyle, guile.
  • Gyſe, manner, faſhion.
H
  • Harſt, harveſt.
  • Hauld, hold, abode.
  • Hain, ſpare, ſave.
  • Hap cover.
  • Hecht, promiſed.
  • Hip, the berry of the wild roſe.
  • Hyt, frantic.
  • Hyn [...], hence.
I
  • Jimp, delicate, ſlender.
  • Ilk, ilka; each.
  • Irie, terrible.
K
  • Kaming, combing.
  • Kin, kindred.
  • Kyth, v. to ſhow or make appear.
  • Kyth, n. acquaintance, friends, companions.
L
  • Laigh, low.
  • Lane, alone.
  • Lap. leaped.
  • Law, low.
  • Lave, the reſt.
  • Leil, true, faithful.
  • Leir, learn
  • Leglen, a milking pail.
  • Leman, lover, miſtreſs.
  • Leugh, laughed.
  • Lawing, reckoning.
  • Lever, [...]ather.
  • Leech, phyſician.
  • Lift, the firmament.
  • Lig, lye ſcatteredly.
  • Lilting, merry making with muſic, &c.
  • Lin, a fall of water.
  • Linkis, lamps or other artificial lights.
  • Loaning, a common green near a village.
  • Loch, lake.
  • Low, v. and n. flame.
  • Lown, ſheltered, calm.
  • Lout, to bow.
  • Lue, love.
  • Lure, cunning device, ſnare.
  • Lyart, hoary.
M
  • Makleſs, matchleſs.
  • Maun, muſt.
  • Mair, more, f. rather.
  • Mahoun, Mahomet, and by abuſe the devil.
  • Mane, moan, lament.
  • Meikle, much.
  • [157]Meiny, train, army.
  • Menſe, to meaſure, to try.
  • Mede, reward.
  • Meid, port, appearance.
  • Meiſe, ſoften, mollify.
  • Mirk, dark.
  • Mony, many.
  • Mote, might.
N
  • Na, nae, no, none.
  • Neiſt, [...]
  • Norſe, often the King of Norway, ſo France [...]s often uſed by Sha [...]ſpere for the king of that country.
O
  • On caſe, perhaps.
  • Ony, any.
  • Or, f. ere, before, f. elſe.
  • Owr, Over.
  • Outowr, Over above.
  • Oriſon, Fr. prayer.
P
  • Pall, robe of ſtate.
  • Payne, penalty.
  • Perle, pearl.
  • Pleaſance, pleaſure.
  • Pou, pull.
  • Pratique, experiment.
  • Preaſs, to preſs, to paſs with difficulty.
  • Prime of day, dawn.
  • Prive, pruve, prove.
  • Propine, reward.
Q
  • Qu, is uſed in old S [...]ſh ſpelling for W. as Qunat, What, &c.
  • Quat, quitted.
  • Quell, ſubdue.
R
  • Raught, recht, reached.
  • Recule, recoil.
  • Rede, warn.
  • Reiking, ſmoking.
  • Rief, robbery.
  • Riever, robber,
  • Reid, red.
  • Roun, ſound ſoftly, whiſper.
  • Rue, repent.
  • Ruth, pity.
  • Rude, croſs.
  • Runkled, wrinkled.
S
  • Sark, ſhirt.
  • Saw, a wiſe ſaying.
  • Sawman, counſellor.
  • Sabbing, ſobbing.
  • Scant, ſcarce.
  • Scorning (F [...]od. v. 5.) jeſting ironica [...]y.
  • Sey [...]ſſ [...]y, try.
  • Seen, to ſee.
  • Seim, appearance.
  • [158]Selcouth, uncommon as a prodigy.
  • Share, to cleave, pierce.
  • Sic, ſuch.
  • Sindle, ſeldom.
  • Skaith, hurt.
  • Slaid, to move ſpeedily.
  • Slee, v. ſlay.
  • Sen, ſeeing.
  • Sin, ſith, ſince.
  • Soncie, lucky.
  • Stalwarth, ſtout, valiant.
  • Steik, to ſhut.
  • Sleuth, ſloth.
  • Strecht, ſtretched.
  • Swankies, merry fellows.
  • Swaird, turf, graſſy ground.
  • Swith, quickly.
  • Steid, eſtate.
  • Spent, drew.
  • Splent, armour for the thighs and legs.
  • Speir, aſk.
  • Stoup, pillar.
  • Sucred, ſugared.
  • Syre, lord.
T
  • Tane, taken.
  • Targe, ſhield.
  • Tein, ſorrow.
  • Teind, tyth, tenth part.
  • Thilk, thir. theſe.
  • Thole, ſuffer, permit.
  • Thud, ſadden noiſe.
  • Tide, time, ſeaſon.
  • Tint, loſt.
  • Trieſt, make an aſſignation.
  • Twin'd, parted, ſeparated.
V U
  • Veir, avoid, or perhaps alter.
  • Unmuſit, without wonder; to muſe often means to wonder in Shakſpere.
  • Unſonlie, unlucky.
W
  • Waddin, ſtrong, firm.
  • Wad, wald, wold; would.
  • Warloc, wizard.
  • Wallow, withered, and fig. pale.
  • Ward, ſentinel.
  • Wate, warrand.
  • Wax, to ſpread, to become famous.
  • Wee, little.
  • Weit, wet, rain.
  • Wete, hope.
  • Weſtlin, weſtern.
  • Wae worth ye, woe befall you.
  • War, aware.
  • Whilk, which.
  • Wighty, ſtrong.
  • Wicht, from Wiga Sax. a hero, or great man.
  • Winſum, agreeable, winning.
  • Whyle, until.
  • [159]Weir, war.
  • Weily, full of whirlpools; a weil is ſtill uſed for a whirlpool in the weſt of Scotland.
  • Wraith, a ſpirit or ghoſt.
  • Wyte, blame.
  • Wreak, revenge.
  • Wreken, avenged.
  • Wreuch, grief, miſery.
Y
  • Yeſtreen, the evening of yeſterday.
  • Yet, gate,
  • Yied, went.
  • Youthheid, ſtate of youth,
THE END.
Notes
*
Particularly Dr. Blackwell, in his Enquiry into the Life and Writings of Homer; and Dr. Blair, in his elegant Diſſertation on the Poems of Oſſian.
Herodot. Diodor. Sicul. &c.
*
Jamblichus de vita Pythag. paſſim; and particularly lib. I. cap. 15. and 25.
In Bibliotheca Graeca, tom. I.
*
Sect. VIII.
Aelian. Var. Hiſt. lib. xiii. c. 14.
The reader, who would deſire more intelligence on this head, may conſult a curious Diſſertation on the Monuments which ſupplied the Defect of Writing among the firſt Hiſtorians, by the Abbé Anſeſm, in Les Memoires de l'Academie des Inſcriptions, &c.
*
Exod XV.
Judges V.
Et Bardi quidem fortia virorum illuſtrium facta heroicis compoſita verſibus, cum dulcibus lyrae modulis cantitarunt. Ammian. Marcell. lib. xvi.
§
Atque horum (Bardorum ſeu Druidarum) cantiones, aut ad ſimilitudinem potius earundem fictae etiamnum aliquae extant die Moiſter Geſänge, ſed recentiores pleraeque, nec vel quingentos annos excedentes. Beſſel. in notis ad Eginbart. Traject. 1711, p. 130. Nonnulli eruditi viri obſervarunt veterem illam Gallorum conſuetudinem (ſcil. viſci ſaerum uſum apud druidas) etiam nunc multis Galliae loeis retineri, cum anni initio clamitant, Au guy l'an nouf. i. e. Ad viſcum; annus novus. Hotoman. ad Caeſ. l. 6. Druydes vero Heduorum, qui tunc habitabant in quodam loco, hodiernis temporibus Mons druidum dictus, diſtans a noſtra civitate Heduenſi per unum milliare ubi adhuc reſtant veſtigia loci habitationis eorum, utebantur pro eorum armis anguibus in campo azureo; habebant etiam in parte ſuperiore ramum viſci quercinei (ung rameaul de guyg de chaſne) et in parte inferiore unum cumulum parvorum anguium ſeu ſerpentium argenteorum quaſi tunc naſcentium, qui vulgo dicitur, coubee de ſerpens d'argent. Chaſſeneuz Catalogi Gloriae mundi, 1529, folio verſo 26.
*
Jornand. See Warton's Hiſt. of Engliſh Poetry.
See the Hiſtories of Saxo Grammat. Jo Magnus, Torfaeus, &c. paſſim; and Dr. Percy's Five Pieces of Runic Poetry.
Hiſt. de las guerras civiles de Granada. A moſt beautiful imitation of their manner may be found among the Poems of Voiture. The Spaniſh word Romanze ſeems now applied to any ſhort lyric tale on whatever ſubject. We find in Gongora, their moſt eminent poet, Romances Amoroſos, y Burleſcos.
*
Huet, Lettre à Monſieur Segrais, ſur l'origine des Romans, p. LXVII. edit. d'Amſt. 1715.

Hiſtoriale deſcription de l'Afrique, eſcrite de notre temps par Jean Leon, African, premierement en langue Arabeſque, puis en Toſcane, et à preſent miſe en François—En Anvers, 1556. lib. III. p. 175.

A curious ſpecimen of the Eaſtern religious poetry may be ſeen in Sir John Chardin's Voyage to Perſia, vol. I.

Huet, ubi ſupra, p. LXX. Ermengarde vicomteſſe de Narbonne—L'accueil favorable qu'elle fit aux Poetes Provençeaux, a fait croire qu'elle tenoit cour d'amour dans ſon Palais, mourut 1194. Almanach Hiſtorique de Languedoc, à Toulouſe, 1752, p. 277. See Hiſt. Liter. des Troub. Paris, 1774. Tranſlations of Provenzal Sirventes, and an imitation of the Provenzal Heroic Romanze, may be found in a volume lately publiſhed by Mr. Dilly, intituled, RIMES. Odes, Book II. Odes, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13.16.
§
Hiſtory of Wales, by Caradoc of Lhancarvan, &c. 1702. p. 159
*

This is the inſtrument meant in the following verſes of Ven. Fortunatus, lib. vii.

Romanuſque lyra plaudat tibi, barbarus harpa,
Graecus Achilliaca, Crotta Britanna canat.

See more of the Harp in War. Antiq. Hibern. cap. 22. And Mr. Evans, Diſſert. de Bardis, p. 80.

Mr. Macpherſon, in his Diſſertation on the Era of Oſſian, p. 228. ed. 1773.
*
See Martin's, and other Deſcriptions of the Weſtern Iſles, paſſim.
For an account of the more modern minſtrels ſee Dr. Percy's Diſſertation, which is ſo complete that it leaves nothing to add:
*
Enquiry, &c. Sect. VIII.
Mr. Warton, in his Hiſtory of Engliſh Poetry.
*
See Rouſſeau, Dict. de Muſique, ſur cette article. Though the Swiſs are a brave nation, yet their dance, which correſponds to the Rance des Vaches, is, like their others, rather expreſſive of an effeminate ſpirit. ‘Les dances des Suiſſes conſiſtent en un continuel trainement de Jambe, ces pas repondoient mal au courage ferme de cette nation. Coquillart en ſon Blazon des armes, et des dames.’
Les Eſcoſſoys font les repliques,
Pragois et Bretons bretonnans,
Les Suiſſes dancent leurs Moreſques,
A touts leurs tabourins ſonnants.
Monſ. L. D. Notes à Rabelais, Tom. IV. p. 164. 1725.
See Grainger's Proſo-poetic Account of the Culture of the Sugar-cane, Book IV.
*
Letters of Lady M. W. Montague, XXXIII.
*
Regner Lodbrog, King of Denmark, flouriſhed in the Ninth Century.

See Hickes, Ling. Vet. Sept. Theſ. c. 23. From the Saxons he obſerves, that the author of Pierce Plowman drew this practice, c. 21. This poem was written about 1350. There is a remarkable ſimilarity in its ſtyle and manner with thoſe very curious pieces of ancient Scotiſh poetry, ſtyled The Prophecies of Thomas Rymer, Marvellous Merling, Beid, Berlington, Waldhave, Eltraine, Baniſter, and Sybilla, printed at Edinburgh in 1615, and reprinted from that edition, 1742, 8vo. It is very ſurpriſing that the reſpectable editor of Ancient Scottiſh Poems, from the MS. of George Bannatyne, 1568. Edin. 1770, ſeems to regard theſe as not more ancient than the time of Queen Mary. His reaſons are only founded on the modern appearance of ſome particular paſſages. That they have been modernized and corrupted, I will readily allow; but that they are on the main nearly as ancient as Rymer's time, who died about the beginning of the 14th Century, I believe the learned muſt confeſs from intrinſic evidence, in ſuch caſes the ſureſt of all. Not to mention that Sir David Lindſay, who wrote in the reign of James V. is an undoubted witneſs that they muſt be more ancient than this eminent Antiquary would infer. For in enumerating the methods he took to divert that prince while under his care in his infancy, after condeſcending on ſome riſible circumſtances, as

Whan thou waſt young I bare thee in my arm
Full tenderly till thou began to gang;
And in thy bed oft happed thee full warm,
With lute in hand than ſweetly to thee ſang,
Sometime in dancing fiercefully I flang,
And ſometimes playing fairſes on the flure,
And ſometimes of mine office taking cure.
And ſometimes like a feind transfigurate,
And ſometimes like a greeſy ghoſt of gay,
In divers forms oft times disfigurate, &c.

He adds,

The Propheſies of Rymer, Bede, and Merlin,
And many other pleaſant hiſtory
Of the red Erin, and Gyre Carlin,
Comforting thee when that I ſaw thee ſory.
Epiſile to the King, prefixed to his Dream.

They begin thus:

Merling ſays in his book, who will read right,
Althouch his ſayings be uncouth, they ſhall be true found,
In the ſeventh chapter read who ſo will,
One thouſand and more after Chriſt's birth.
Then the Chalnalider of Cornwall is called,
And the wolf out of Wales is vanquiſhed for aye,
Then many ferlies ſhall fall, and many folk ſhall die.

This exordium is evidently retouched by a modern hand.—But very many of the paſſages ſeem to ſtand in their original form, as the following lines, which are all in the Saxon manner, will teſtify:

And derfly dung down without any doome—
A proud prince in the preis lordly ſhall light,
With bold Barons in buſhment to battle ſhall wend.—
There ſhall a galyart goat with a golden horn.—

And many ſimilar. That prophecy which bears the name of Thomas Rymer is not deſtitute of poetic graces. It opens with the following lines:

Still on my ways as I went
Out throuch a land beſide a lee,
I met a bairn upon the bent *,
Methought him ſeemly for to ſee,
I aſked him wholly his intent;
Good Sir, if your will be,
Since that ye bide upon the bent,
Some uncouth tidings tell you me:
When ſhall all theſe wars be gone?
That leil men may live in lee;
Or when ſhall Faſehude go from home,
And Lawtie blow his horn on hie?
I looked from me not a mile,
And ſaw twa knights upon a lee, &c.

I imagine, however, they are all the compoſures of one hand; and, if I may uſe a conjecture, were written immediately after the viſions of Pierce Plowman, every Engliſh poem of note in thoſe days being ſoon ſucceeded by an imitation in Scotland.

*
Modernized way, though againſt the rime.
*
King Ryence's Challenge, in the Reliques of Ancient Engliſh Poetry. Vol. III. p. 27.
Bannatyne's Scottiſh Poems, p. 68.
*
Le Clerc, Biolioth. Univerſelle, tom. IX.
Servius ad Georg. II. ver. 386.
Sect. 78.
*
Jones, Comment. Poeſeos Aſiaticae—Richardſon's Specimen of Perſian Poetry.
Ol. Worm. Lit. Run. p. 165 & 176.
Diſſert. on the Era of Oſſian, p. 228, ed. 1773.
*
Ariſtotle, Scaliger, Dubos, Trapp in his Praelections, Hume, Eſſay on Tragedy; but, above all, Mr. Burke in his Enquiry into the Sublime and Beautiful.
*
Eſſay on the writings and genius of Pope, p. 324. 3d ed.
The Dithyrambics were Heroic Songs, written with the higheſt glow of poetic fancy in honour of the ancient deities. Ariſtotle informs us, that the Greek Tragedy originated from them; as their Comedy did from their Paſtoral Love Songs.
*
Frotho etiam III. Danorum rex, quemadmodum Saxo, lib. V. refert, de qualibet controverſia ferre decerni ſanxit: ſpecioſius viribus quam verbis, confligendum exiſtimans. Schedius de diis Ger. Syng. II. c. 46.
*
Miſcellanies by John Armſtrong, M.D. vol. II. p. 254.

It is intituled, ‘A Godly Dream compiled by Elizabeth Melvil, Lady Culroſs younger, at the requeſt of a friend.’ Edinburgh, 1737, 12mo. p. 20. It is either reprinted from ſome former edition, or from a MS. It was written, I conjecture, about the end of the Sixteenth Century; but in this edition I ſuſpect ſeveral expreſſions are modernized and altered to accommodate it to the common capacity.

The lady Culroſs here meant was Elizabeth daughter of Sir James Melvil of Halhill, and wife of John Colvil Commendator of Culroſs. She is believed to have been the mother of Samuel Colvil the ſatyrical poet, author of the Scots Hudibras, &c.

*
[...].
*
Mr. Gray. See his Letters publiſhed by Mr. Maſon. Sect. IV. Let. XXV.
Apud Suidam.
*
The celebrated palace of the Mooriſh kings of Granada.
*
When Ferdinand was occupied with the arquiſition of Granada, Alp [...]xa [...]ra, and ſome other Mooriſh towns newly conquered, took the opportunity to revolt.
*
Fire and blood.
He will ſupport it till be is weary.
*
Strength is powerful.
In the green every thing is comprehended.
*
It was anciently the cuſtom for the Spaniſh gentry to amuſe themſelves while on horſeback with throwing ſmall rods, or canes, into the air; on darting of which with ſuch force and ſkill as to delude the eye, they much valued themſelves.
*
This ballad is compoſed of three different ones on the ſame ſubject; the firſt beginning, Por la plaça de San Lucar; the ſecond, Sale la eſtrella de Venus; and the third, No de tal braveza lleno.
*
It was the cuſtom for ladies to preſent their lovers with the penon or fireamer they were to wear on their lance in combat or turney. The penon was commonly richly inwoven with the lady's cypher. See Stanza XIII.
*
A moreſque dance.
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Zitationsvorschlag für dieses Objekt
TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4289 Select Scotish ballads pt 1. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-61AE-3