Volume 1 / Book 1 — BOOK I. (continued 2)

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; A ferlie he spied wi' his ee; And there he saw a ladye bright, Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 5 Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, Her mantle o' the velvet fyne; At ilka tett of her horse's mane, Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap, 10 And louted low down to his knee: "All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth I never did see."— "O no, O no, Thomas," she said, "That name does not belang to me; 15 I am but the Queen of fair Elfland, That am hither come to visit thee. "Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; "Harp and carp along wi' me; And if ye dare to kiss my lips, 20 Sure of your bodie I will be." "Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never daunton me."— Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, All underneath the Eildon Tree. 25 "Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said; "True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me; And ye maun serve me seven years, Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be." She mounted on her milk-white steed; 30 She's ta'en true Thomas up behind: And aye, whene'er her bridle rung, The steed flew swifter than the wind. O they rade on, and farther on; The steed gaed swifter than the wind; 35 Until they reach'd a desert wide, And living land was left behind. "Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee; Abide and rest a little space, 40 And I will shew you ferlies three. "O see ye not yon narrow road, So thick beset with thorns and briers? That is the path of righteousness, Though after it but few enquires. 45 "And see ye not that braid braid road, That lies across that lily leven? That is the path of wickedness, Though some call it the road to heaven. "And see not ye that bonny road, 50 That winds about the fernie brae? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. "But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see; 55 For, if you speak word in Elfyn land, Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." O they rade on, and farther on, And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, And they saw neither sun nor moon, 60 But they heard the roaring of the sea. It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, And they waded through red blude to the knee; For a' the blude that's shed on earth Rins through the springs o' that countrie. 65 Syne they came on to a garden green, And she pu'd an apple frae a tree— "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; It will give thee the tongue that can never lie."— "My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said; 70 "A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! I neither dought to buy nor sell, At fair or tryst where I may be. "I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye."— 75 "Now hold thy peace!" the lady said, "For as I say, so must it be."— He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, And a pair of shoes of velvet green; And till seven years were gane and past, 80 True Thomas on earth was never seen.

"O I forbid ye, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tamlane is there. 5 "There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh, But maun leave him a wad, Either gowd rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenheid. "Now gowd rings ye may buy, maidens, 10 Green mantles ye may spin; But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, Ye'll ne'er get that agen."— But up then spak her, fair Janet, The fairest o' a' her kin; 15 "I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh; And ask nae leave o' him."— Janet has kilted her green kirtle, A little abune her knee; And she has braided her yellow hair, 20 A little abune her bree. And when she came to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well; And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsell. 25 She hadna pu'd a red red rose, A rose but barely three; Till up and starts a wee wee man, At lady Janet's knee. Says—"Why pu' ye the rose, Janet? 30 What gars ye break the tree? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withouten leave o' me?"— Says—"Carterhaugh it is mine ain; My daddie gave it me; 35 I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o' thee." He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, Among the leaves sae green; And what they did, I cannot tell— 40 The green leaves were between. He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, Among the roses red; And what they did, I cannot say— She ne'er return'd a maid. 45 When she cam to her father's ha', She looked pale and wan; They thought she'd dreed some sair sickness, Or been with some leman. She didna comb her yellow hair, 50 Nor make meikle o'er her head; And ilka thing that lady took, Was like to be her deid. It's four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba'; 55 Janet, the wightest of them anes, Was faintest o' them a'. Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess; And out there came the fair Janet, 60 As green as any grass. Out and spak an auld grey-headed knight, Lay o'er the castle wa',— "And ever, alas! for thee, Janet, But we'll be blamed a'!"— 65 "Now haud your tongue, ye auld grey knight! And an ill deid may ye die; Father my bairn on whom I will, I'll father nane on thee."— Out then spak her father dear, 70 And he spak meik and mild— "And ever, alas! my sweet Janet, I fear ye gae with child."— "And if I be with child, father, Mysell maun bear the blame; 75 There's ne'er a knight about your ha' Shall hae the bairnie's name. "And if I be with child, father, 'Twill prove a wondrous birth; For weel I swear I'm not wi' bairn 80 To any man on earth. "If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wadna gie my ain true love For nae lord that ye hae." 85 She prink'd hersell and prinn'd hersell, By the ae light of the moon, And she's away to Carterhaugh, To speak wi' young Tamlane. And when she came to Carterhaugh, 90 She gaed beside the well; And there she saw the steed standing, But away was himsell. She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae, 95 When up and started young Tamlane, Says—"Lady, thou pu's nae mae! "Why pu' ye the rose, Janet, Within this garden grene, And a' to kill the bonny babe, 100 That we got us between?" "The truth ye'll tell to me, Tamlane; A word ye mauna lie; Gin e'er ye was in haly chapel, Or sained in Christentie?" 105 "The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lie; A knight me got, and a lady me bore, As well as they did thee. "Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire, 110 Dunbar, Earl March, is thine; We loved when we were children small, Which yet you well may mind. "When I was a boy just turn'd of nine, My uncle sent for me, 115 To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, And keep him companie. "There came a wind out of the north, A sharp wind and a snell; And a deep sleep came over me, 120 And frae my horse I fell. "The Queen of Fairies keppit me, In yon green hill to dwell; And I'm a fairy, lyth and limb; Fair ladye, view me well. 125 "Then would I never tire, Janet, In Elfish land to dwell; But aye, at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell; And I am sae fat and fair of flesh, 130 I fear 'twill be mysell. "This night is Hallowe'en, Janet, The morn is Hollowday; And, gin ye dare your true love win, Ye hae nae time to stay. 135 "The night it is good Hallowe'en, When fairy folk will ride; And they that wad their true-love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide." "But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane? 140 Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang so many unearthly knights, The like I never saw?" "The first company that passes by, Say na, and let them gae; 145 The next company that passes by, Sae na, and do right sae; The third company that passes by, Then I'll be ane o' thae. "First let pass the black, Janet, 150 And syne let pass the brown; But grip ye to the milk-white steed, And pu' the rider down. "For I ride on the milk-white steed, And aye nearest the town; 155 Because I was a christen'd knight, They gave me that renown. "My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare; And these the tokens I gie thee, 160 Nae doubt I will be there. "They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake; But had me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye wad buy me maik. 165 "They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask; They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale that burns fast. "They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, 170 A red-hot gad o' airn; But haud me fast, let me not pass, For I'll do you no harm. "First dip me in a stand o' milk, And then in a stand o' water; 175 But had me fast, let me not pass— I'll be your bairn's father. "And, next, they'll shape me in your arms, A tod, but and an eel; But had me fast, nor let me gang, 180 As you do love me weel. "They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove, but and a swan; And, last, they'll shape me in your arms A mother-naked man: 185 Cast your green mantle over me— I'll be myself again."— Gloomy, gloomy, was the night, And eiry was the way, As fair Janet, in her green mantle, 190 To Miles Cross she did gae. Betwixt the hours of twelve and one, A north wind tore the bent; And straight she heard strange elritch sounds Upon that wind which went. 195 About the dead hour o' the night, She heard the bridles ring; And Janet was as glad o' that As any earthly thing. Will o' Wisp before them went, 200 Sent forth a twinkling light; And soon she saw the Fairy bands All riding in her sight. And first gaed by the black black steed, And then gaed by the brown; 205 But fast she gript the milk-white steed, And pu'd the rider down. She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed, And loot the bridle fa'; And up there raise an erlish cry— 210 "He's won amang us a'!"— They shaped him in fair Janet's arms, An esk, but and an adder; She held him fast in every shape— To be her bairn's father. 215 They shaped him in her arms at last, A mother-naked man: She wrapt him in her green mantle, And sae her true love wan! Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, 220 Out o' a bush o' broom— "She that has borrow'd young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom."— Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies, Out o' a bush o' rye— 225 "She's ta'en awa the bonniest knight In a' my cumpanie. "But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, "A lady wad borrow'd thee— I wad ta'en out thy twa grey een, 230 Put in twa een o' tree. "Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, "Before ye came frae hame— I wad ta'en out your heart o' flesh, Put in a heart o' stane. 235 "Had I but had the wit yestreen That I hae coft the day— I'd paid my kane seven times to hell Ere you'd been won away!"

ἀμφὶ δὲ χεῖρας βάλλομεν· οὐδ' ὁ γέρων δολίης ἐπελήθετο τέχνης· ἀλλ' ἤτοι πρώτιστα λέων γένετ' ἠϋγένειος, αὐτὰρ ἔπειτα δράκων καὶ πόρδαλις ἠδὲ μέγας σῦς· γίγνετο δ' ὑγρὸν ὕδωρ καὶ δένδρεον ὑψιπέτηλον. ἡμεῖς δ' ἀστεμφέως ἔχομεν τετληότι θυμῷ.

Verum ubi correptum manibus vinclisque tenebis, Tum variæ eludent species atque ora ferarum: Fiet enim subito sus horridus atraque tigris, Squamosusque draco, et fulva cervice leæna, Aut acrem flammæ sonitum dabit, atque ita vinclis Excidet, aut in aquas tenues dilapsus abibit. Sed quanto ille magis formas se vertet in omnes, Tanto, nate, magis contende tenacia vincla.

As I was walking by my lane, Atween a water and a wa, There sune I spied a wee wee man, He was the least that eir I saw. 5 His legs were scant a shathmont's length, And sma and limber was his thie; Atween his shoulders was ae span, About his middle war but three. He has tane up a meikle stane, 10 And flang't as far as I cold see; Ein thouch I had been Wallace wicht, I dought na lift it to my knie. "O wee wee man, but ye be strang! Tell me whar may thy dwelling be?" 15 "I dwell beneth that bonnie bouir, O will ye gae wi me and see?" On we lap, and awa we rade, Till we cam to a bonny green; We lichted syne to bait our steid, 20 And out there cam a lady sheen; Wi four and twentie at her back, A' comely cled in glistering green; Thouch there the King of Scots had stude, The warst micht weil hae been his queen. 25 On syne we past wi wondering cheir, Till we cam to a bonny ha; The roof was o the beaten gowd, The flure was o the crystal a. When we cam there, wi wee wee knichts 30 War ladies dancing, jimp and sma; But in the twinkling of an eie, Baith green and ha war clein awa.

The Elfin knight sits on yon hill, Ba, ba, ba, lillie ba. He blaws his horn baith loud and shrill. The wind hath blawn my plaid awa. He blaws it east, he blaws it west, He blaws it where he liketh best. 5 "I wish that horn were in my kist, Yea, and the knight in my arms niest." She had no sooner these words said, Than the knight came to her bed. "Thou art o'er young a maid," quoth he, 10 "Married with me, that thou would'st be." "I have a sister, younger than I, And she was married yesterday." "Married with me if thou would'st be, A curtisie thou must do to me. 15 "It's ye maun mak a sark to me, Without any cut or seam," quoth he; "And ye maun shape it, knife-, sheerless, And also sew it needle-, threedless." "If that piece of courtisie I do to thee, 20 Another thou must do to me. "I have an aiker of good ley land, Which lyeth low by yon sea strand; "It's ye maun till't wi' your touting horn, And ye maun saw't wi' the pepper corn; 25 "And ye maun harrow't wi' a thorn, And hae your wark done ere the morn; "And ye maun shear it wi' your knife, And no lose a stack o't for your life; "And ye maun stack it in a mouse hole, 30 And ye maun thrash it in your shoe sole; "And ye maun dight it in your loof, And also sack it in your glove; "And ye maun bring it over the sea, Fair, and clean, and dry to me; 35 "And when that ye have done your wark, Come back to me, and ye'll get your sark." "I'll not quite my plaid for my life; It haps my seven bairnes and my wife." "My maidenhead I'll then keep still, 40 Let the Elfin knight do what he will. "My plaid awa, my plaid away, And owre the hills and far awa, And far awa to Norowa', My plaid shall not be blawn awa."

There was a knight and a lady bright, Had a true tryst at the broom; The ane ga'ed early in the morning, The other in the afternoon. 5 And aye she sat in her mother's bower door, And aye she made her mane, "O whether should I gang to the Broomfield hill, Or should I stay at hame? "For if I gang to the Broomfield hill, 10 My maidenhead is gone; And if I chance to stay at hame, My love will ca' me mansworn."— Up then spake a witch woman, Aye from the room aboon; 15 "O, ye may gang to Broomfield hill, And yet come maiden hame. "For when ye come to the Broomfield hill, Ye'll find your love asleep, With a silver belt about his head, 20 And a broom-cow at his feet. "Take ye the blossom of the broom, The blossom it smells sweet, And strew it at your true love's head, And likewise at his feet. 25 "Take ye the rings off your fingers, Put them on his right hand, To let him know, when he doth awake, His love was at his command."— She pu'd the broom flower on Hive-hill, 30 And strew'd on's white hals bane, And that was to be wittering true, That maiden she had gane. "O where were ye, my milk-white steed, That I hae coft sae dear, 35 That wadna watch and waken me, When there was maiden here?"— "I stamped wi' my foot, master, And gar'd my bridle ring; But nae kin' thing wald waken ye, 40 Till she was past and gane."— "And wae betide ye, my gay goss hawk, That I did love sae dear, That wadna watch and waken me, When there was maiden here."— 45 "I clapped wi' my wings, master, And aye my bells I rang, And aye cry'd, Waken, waken, master, Before the ladye gang."— "But haste and haste, my gude white steed, 50 To come the maiden till, Or a' the birds of gude green wood Of your flesh shall have their fill."— "Ye needna burst your gude white steed, Wi' racing o'er the howm; 55 Nae bird flies faster through the wood, Than she fled through the broom."

"I'll wager, I'll wager," says Lord John, "A hundred merks and ten, That ye winna gae to the bonnie broom-fields, And a maid return again."— 5 "But I'll lay a wager wi' you, Lord John, A' your merks oure again, That I'll gae alane to the bonnie broom-fields, And a maid return again." Then Lord John mounted his grey steed, 10 And his hound wi' his bells sae bricht, And swiftly he rade to the bonny broom-fields, Wi' his hawks, like a lord or knicht. "Now rest, now rest, my bonnie grey steed, My lady will soon be here; 15 And I'll lay my head aneath this rose sae red, And the bonnie burn sae near." But sound, sound, was the sleep he took, For he slept till it was noon; And his lady cam at day, left a taiken and away, 20 Gaed as licht as a glint o' the moon. She strawed the roses on the ground, Threw her mantle on the brier, And the belt around her middle sae jimp, As a taiken that she'd been there. 25 The rustling leaves flew round his head, And rous'd him frae his dream; He saw by the roses, and mantle sae green, That his love had been there and was gane. "O whare was ye, my gude grey steed, 30 That I coft ye sae dear; That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye ken'd that his love was here."— "I pautit wi' my foot, master, Garr'd a' my bridles ring; 35 And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time."— "Then whare was ye, my bonnie grey hound, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, 40 Whan ye kend that his love was here."— "I pautit wi' my foot, master, Garr'd a' my bells to ring; And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time."— 45 "But whare was ye, my hawks, my hawks, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye ken'd that his love was here."— "O wyte na me, now, my master dear, 50 I garr'd a' my young hawks sing, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time."— "Then be it sae, my wager gane! 'T will skaith frae meikle ill; 55 For gif I had found her in bonnie broom-fields, O' her heart's blude ye'd drunken your fill."

"Then when she went to the green broom field, Where her love was fast asleep, With a gray goose-hawk and a green laurel bough, And a green broom under his feet. "And when he awoke from out his sleep, An angry man was he; He looked to the East, and he looked to the West, And he wept for his sweetheart to see. "Oh! where was you, my gray goose-hawk, The hawk that I loved so dear, That you did not awake me from out my sleep, When my sweetheart was so near!"

"Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely feed, And lay your head low on my knee; The heaviest weird I will you read, That ever was read to gay ladye. 5 "O meikle dolour sall ye dree, And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim; And far mair dolour sall ye dree On Estmere crags, when ye them climb. "I weird ye to a fiery beast, 10 And relieved sall ye never be, Till Kempion, the kingis son, Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."— O meikle dolour did she dree, And aye the salt seas o'er she swam; 15 And far mair dolour did she dree On Estmere crag, when she them clamb. And aye she cried for Kempion, Gin he would but come to her hand: Now word has gane to Kempion, 20 That sicken a beast was in his land. "Now, by my sooth," said Kempion, "This fiery beast I'll gang and see."— "And by my sooth," said Segramour, "My ae brother, I'll gang wi' thee." 25 Then bigged hae they a bonny boat, And they hae set her to the sea; But a mile before they reach'd the shore, Around them she gar'd the red fire flee. "O Segramour, keep the boat afloat, 30 And let her na the land o'er near; For this wicked beast will sure gae mad, And set fire to a' the land and mair."— Syne has he bent an arblast bow, And aim'd an arrow at her head; 35 And swore if she didna quit the land, Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead. "O out of my stythe I winna rise, (And it is not for the awe o' thee,) Till Kempion, the kingis son, 40 Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."— He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag, And gien the monster kisses ane; Awa she gaed, and again she cam. The fieryest beast that ever was seen. 45 "O out o' my stythe I winna rise, (And not for a' thy bow nor thee,) Till Kempion, the kingis son, Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."— He's louted him o'er the Estmere crags, 50 And he has gi'en her kisses twa: Awa she gaed, and again she cam, The fieryest beast that ever you saw. "O out of my den I winna rise, Nor flee it for the fear o' thee, 55 Till Kempion, that courteous knight, Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."— He's louted him o'er the lofty crag, And he has gi'en her kisses three: Awa she gaed, and again she cam, 60 The loveliest ladye e'er could be! "And by my sooth," says Kempion, "My ain true love, (for this is she,) They surely had a heart o' stane, Could put thee to such misery. 65 "O was it warwolf in the wood? Or was it mermaid in the sea? Or was it man or vile woman, My ain true love, that mis-shaped thee?"— "It wasna warwolf in the wood, 70 Nor was it mermaid in the sea: But it was my wicked step-mother, And wae and weary may she be!"— "O, a heavier weird shall light her on, Than ever fell on vile woman; 75 Her hair shall grow rough, and her teeth grow lang, And on her four feet shall she gang. "None shall take pity her upon; In Wormeswood she aye shall won; And relieved shall she never be, 80 Till St. Mungo come over the sea."— And sighing said that weary wight, "I doubt that day I'll never see!"

Her mother died when she was young, Which gave her cause to make great moan; Her father married the warst woman That ever lived in Christendom. 5 She served her with foot and hand, In every thing that she could dee; Till once, in an unlucky time, She threw her in ower Craigy's sea. Says, "Lie you there, dove Isabel, 10 And all my sorrows lie with thee; Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea, And borrow you with kisses three, Let all the warld do what they will, Oh borrowed shall you never be." 15 Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang, And twisted thrice about the tree, And all the people, far and near, Thought that a savage beast was she; This news did come to Kemp Owyne, 20 Where he lived far beyond the sea. He hasted him to Craigy's sea, And on the savage beast look'd he; Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted was about the tree, 25 And with a swing she came about: "Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me. "Here is a royal belt," she cried, "That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, 30 Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I vow my belt your death shall be." He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal belt he brought him wi'; 35 Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted twice about the tree, And with a swing she came about: "Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me. "Here is a royal ring," she said, 40 "That I have found in the green sea; And while your finger it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my ring your death shall be." 45 He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal ring he brought him wi'; Her breath was strang, her hair was lang, And twisted ance around the tree, And with a swing she came about: 50 "Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me. "Here is a royal brand," she said, "That I have found in the green sea; And while your body it is on, Drawn shall your blood never be; 55 But if you touch me, tail or fin, I swear my brand your death shall be." He stepped in, gave her a kiss, The royal brand he brought him wi'; Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short, 60 And twisted nane about the tree;0 And smilingly she came about, As fair a woman as fair could be.

Lat never a man a wooing wend, That lacketh thingis three; A routh o' gould, an open heart, Ay fu' o' charity. 5 As this I speak of King Henry, For he lay burd-alane; And he's doen him to a jelly hunt's ha', Was far frae ony town. He chas'd the deer now him before, 10 And the roe down by the den, Till the fattest buck in a' the flock King Henry he has slain. O he has doen him to his ha', To mak him bierly cheer; 15 And in it cam a grisly ghost, Staed stappin' i' the fleer. Her head hat the roof-tree o' the house, Her middle ye mat weel span;— He's thrown to her his gay mantle; 20 Says,—"Ladie, hap your lingcan." Her teeth was a' like leather stakes, Her nose like club or mell; And I ken nae thing she 'pear'd to be, But the fiend that wons in hell. 25 "Some meat, some meat, ye King Henry; Some meat ye gie to me." "And what meat's in this house, Ladie? And what ha'e I to gi'e?" "Its ye do kill your berry-brown steed, 30 And ye bring him here to me." O whan he slew his berry-brown steed, Wow but his heart was sair! She ate him a' up, flesh and bane, Left naething but hide and hair. 35 "Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry, Mair meat ye bring to me." "And what meat's in this house, Ladie? And what hae I to gi'e?" "O ye do kill your good grey hounds, 40 And ye bring them in to me." O whan he killed his good grey hounds, Wow but his heart was sair! She ate them a' up, flesh and bane, Left naething but hide and hair. 45 "Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henry, Mair meat ye bring to me." "And what meat's in this house, Ladie? And what hae I to gi'e?" "O ye do kill your gay goss hawks, 50 And ye bring them here to me." O whan he kill'd his gay goss hawks, Wow but his heart was sair! She ate them a' up, skin and bane, Left naething but feathers bare. 55 "Some drink, some drink, now, King Henry; Some drink ye bring to me." "O what drink's in this house, Ladie, That ye're nae welcome tee?" "O ye sew up your horse's hide, 60 And bring in a drink to me." And he's sew'd up the bloody hide, A puncheon o' wine put in; She drank it a' up at a waught, Left na ae drap ahin'. 65 "A bed, a bed, now, King Henry, A bed ye mak to me; For ye maun pu' the heather green, And mak a bed to me." And pu'd has he the heather green, 70 And made to her a bed; And up he's ta'en his gay mantle, And o'er it has he spread. "Tak aff your claiths, now, King Henry, And lye down by my side;" 75 "O God forbid," says King Henry, "That ever the like betide; That ever the fiend that wons in hell, Should streek down by my side." Whan nicht was gane, and day was come, 80 And the sun shone thro' the ha', The fairest lady that ever was seen Lay atween him and the wa'. "O weel is me!" says King Henry; "How lang'll this last wi' me?" 85 Then out it spake that fair lady,— "E'en till the day you die. "For I've met wi' mony a gentle knicht, That gae me sic a fill; But never before wi' a curteis knicht, 90 That gae me a' my will."

Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem; Cospatrick brought his ladye hame; And fourscore ships have come her wi', The ladye by the grene-wood tree. 5 There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread, And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae reid, And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour, And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour. Sweet Willy was a widow's son, 10 And at her stirrup he did run; And she was clad in the finest pall, But aye she let the tears down fall. "O is your saddle set awrye? Or rides your steed for you ower high? 15 Or are you mourning, in your tide, That you suld be Cospatrick's bride?" "I am not mourning, at this tide, That I suld be Cospatrick's bride; But I am sorrowing in my mood, 29 That I suld leave my mother good. "But, gentle boy, come tell to me, What is the custom of thy countrie?"— "The custom thereof, my dame," he says, "Will ill a gentle laydye please. 25 "Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded, And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded; But he's cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane, And sent them mourning hame again. "Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid, 30 Ye may gae safely to his bed; But gif o' that ye be na sure, Then hire some damsell o' your bour."— The ladye's call'd her bour maiden, That waiting was into her train; 35 "Five thousand merks I'll gie to thee, To sleep this night with my lord for me."— When bells were rang, and mass was sayne, And a' men unto bed were gane, Cospatrick and the bonny maid, 40 Into a chamber they were laid. "Now, speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed, And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web; And speak up, my bonny brown sword, that winna lie, Is this a true maiden that lies by me?"— 45 "It is not a maid that you hae wedded, But it is a maid that you hae bedded; It is a leal maiden that lies by thee, But not the maiden that it should be."— O wrathfully he left the bed, 50 And wrathfully his claes on did; And he has ta'en him through the ha', And on his mother he did ca'. "I am the most unhappy man, That ever was in Christen land! 55 I courted a maiden, meik and mild, And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child."— "O stay, my son, into this ha', And sport ye wi' your merry men a'; And I will to the secret bour, 60 To see how it fares wi' your paramour."— The carline she was stark and sture, She aff the hinges dang the dure; "O is your bairn to laird or loun, Or is it to your father's groom?"— 65 "O hear me, mother, on my knee, Till my sad story I tell to thee: O we were sisters, sisters seven, We were the fairest under heaven. "It fell on a summer's afternoon, 70 When a' our toilsome task was done, We cast the kevils us amang, To see which suld to the grene-wood gang. "Ohon! alas, for I was youngest, And aye my wierd it was the hardest! 75 The kevil it on me did fa', Whilk was the cause of a' my woe. "For to the grene-wood I maun gae, To pu' the red rose and the slae; To pu' the red rose and the thyme, 80 To deck my mother's bour and mine. "I hadna pu'd a flower but ane, When by there came a gallant hende, Wi' high-coll'd hose and laigh-coll'd shoon, And he seem'd to be sum kingis son. 85 "And be I a maid, or be I nae, He kept me there till the close o' day; And be I a maid, or be I nane, He kept me there till the day was done. "He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair, 90 And bade me keep it ever mair; He gae me a carknet o' bonny beads, And bade me keep it against my needs. "He gae to me a gay gold ring, And bade me keep it abune a' thing."— 95 "What did ye wi' the tokens rare, That ye gat frae that gallant there?"— "O bring that coffer unto me, And a' the tokens ye sall see."— "Now stay, daughter, your bour within, 100 While I gae parley wi' my son."— O she has ta'en her thro' the ha', And on her son began to ca'; "What did ye wi' the bonny beads I bade you keep against your needs? 105 "What did you wi' the gay gold ring I bade you keep abune a' thing?"— "I gae them to a ladye gay, I met on grene-wood on a day. "But I wad gie a' my halls and tours, 110 I had that ladye within my bours; But I wad gie my very life, I had that ladye to my wife."— "Now keep, my son, your ha's and tours, Ye have the bright burd in your bours; 115 And keep, my son, your very life, Ye have that ladye to your wife."— Now, or a month was come and gane, The ladye bare a bonny son; And 'twas weel written on his breast-bane, 120 "Cospatrick is my father's name." 120 "O row my lady in satin and silk, And wash my son in the morning milk."

As Bothwell was walking in the lowlands alane, Hey down, and a down, He met six ladies sae gallant and fine, Hey down, and a down. 5 He cast his lot amang them a', And on the youngest his lot did fa'. He's brought her frae her mother's bower, Unto his strongest castle and tower. But ay she cry'd and made great moan, 10 And ay the tear came trickling down. "Come up, come up," said the foremost man, "I think our bride comes slowly on." "O lady, sits your saddle awry, Or is your steed for you owre high?" 15 "My saddle is not set awry, Nor carries me my steed owre high; "But I am weary of my life, Since I maun be Lord Bothwell's wife." He's blawn his horn sae sharp and shrill, 20 Up start the deer on every hill; He's blawn his horn sae lang and loud, Up start the deer in gude green wood. His lady mother lookit owre the castle wa', And she saw them riding ane and a'. 25 She's called upon her maids by seven, To mak his bed baith saft and even: She's called upon her cooks by nine, To make their dinner fair and fine. When day was gane and night was come, 30 "What ails my love on me to frown? "Or does the wind blow in your glove, Or runs your mind on another love?" "Nor blows the wind within my glove, Nor runs my mind on another love;" 35 "But I not maid nor maiden am, For I'm wi' bairn to another man." "I thought I'd a maiden sae meek and sae mild, But I've nought but a woman wi' child." His mother's taen her up to a tower, 40 And lockit her in her secret bower: "Now doughter mine, come tell to me, Wha's bairn this is that you are wi'." "O mother dear, I canna learn Wha is the father of my bairn. 45 "But as I walk'd in the lowlands my lane, I met a gentleman gallant and fine; "He keepit me there sae late and sae lang, Frae the ev'ning late till the morning dawn; "And a' that he gied me to my propine, 50 Was a pair of green gloves, and a gay gold ring, "Three lauchters of his yellow hair, In case that we shou'd meet nae mair." His lady mother went down the stair: "Now son, now son, come tell to me, 55 Where's the green gloves I gave to thee?" "I gied to a lady sae fair and so fine, The green gloves and a gay gold ring: "But I wad gie my castles and towers, I had that lady within my bowers: 60 "But I wad gie my very life, I had that lady to be my wife." "Now keep, now keep your castles and towers, You have that lady within your bowers: "Now keep, now keep your very life, 65 You have that lady to be your wife." "O row my lady in sattin and silk, And wash my son in the morning milk."

Willie's ta'en him o'er the faem, He's wooed a wife, and brought her hame; He's wooed her for her yellow hair, But his mother wrought her meikle care; 5 And meikle dolour gar'd her dree, For lighter she can never be; But in her bower she sits wi' pain, And Willie mourns o'er her in vain. And to his mother he has gane, 10 That vile rank witch, o' vilest kind! He says—"My ladie has a cup, Wi' gowd and silver set about; This gudely gift sall be your ain, And let her be lighter o' her young bairn."— 15 "Of her young bairn she's never be lighter, Nor in her bour to shine the brighter: But she sall die, and turn to clay, And you sall wed another may."— "Another may I'll never wed, 20 Another may I'll never bring hame:"— But, sighing, said that weary wight— "I wish my life were at an end! "Yet gae ye to your mother again, That vile rank witch, o' vilest kind! 25 And say, your ladye has a steed, The like o' him's no in the land o' Leed. "For he is silver shod before, And he is gowden shod behind; At every tuft of that horse mane, 30 There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring. This gudely gift sall be her ain, And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."— "Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter, Nor in her bour to shine the brighter; 35 But she sall die, and turn to clay, And ye sall wed another may."— "Another may I'll never wed, Another may I'll never bring hame:"— But, sighing, said that weary wight— 40 "I wish my life were at an end!— "Yet gae ye to your mother again, That vile rank witch, o' rankest kind! And say your ladye has a girdle, It's a' red gowd to the middle; 45 "And aye, at ilka siller hem Hang fifty siller bells and ten; This gudely gift sall be her ain, And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."— "Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter, 50 Nor in your bour to shine the brighter; For she sall die, and turn to clay, And thou sall wed another may."— "Another may I'll never wed, Another may I'll never bring hame;"— 55 But, sighing, said that weary wight— "I wish my days were at an end!"— Then out and spak the Billy Blind , (He spak aye in good time:) "Yet gae ye to the market-place, 60 And there do buy a loaf of wace; Do shape it bairn and bairnly like, And in it twa glassen een you'll put; "And bid her your boy's christening to, Then notice weel what she shall do; 65 And do you stand a little away, To notice weel what she may say." He did him to the market-place, And there he bought a loaf o' wax; He shaped it bairn and bairnly like, 70 And in twa glazen een he pat; He did him till his mither then, And bade her to his boy's christnin; And he did stand a little forbye, And noticed well what she did say. 75 "O wha has loosed the nine witch knots, That were amang that ladye's locks? And wha's ta'en out the kaims o' care, That were amang that ladye's hair? "And wha has ta'en down that bush o' woodbine, 80 That hung between her bour and mine? And wha has kill'd the master kid , That ran beneath that ladye's bed? And wha has loosed her left foot shee, And let that ladye lighter be?" 85 Syne, Willy's loosed the nine witch knots, That were amang that ladye's locks; And Willie's ta'en out the kaims o' care, That were into that ladye's hair; And he's ta'en down the bush o' woodbine, 90 Hung atween her bour and the witch carline; And he has kill'd the master kid, That ran beneath that ladye's bed; And he has loosed her left foot shee, And latten that ladye lighter be; 95 And now he has gotten a bonny son, And meikle grace be him upon.

O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tower, The ugliest witch in the north countrie, Has trysted me ae day up till her bower, And mony fair speech she made to me. 5 She straiked my head, and she kembed my hair, And she set me down saftly on her knee, Says,—"Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, Sae mony braw things as I would you gi'e." She shaw'd me a mantle o' red scarlet, 10 Wi' gouden flowers and fringes fine, Says "Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, This goodly gift it sall be thine." "Awa, awa, ye ugly witch, Haud far awa, and lat me be; 15 I never will be your lemman sae true, And I wish I were out of your company." She neist brocht a sark o' the saftest silk, Weel wrought wi' pearls about the band; Says,—"Gin ye will be my ain true love, 20 This goodly gift ye sall command." She shaw'd me a cup o' the good red goud, Weel set wi' jewels sae fair to see; Says,—"Gin ye will be my lemman sae true, This goodly gift I will you gie." 25 "Awa, awa, ye ugly witch! Haud far awa, and lat me be; For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth For a' the gifts that ye cou'd gie." She's turned her richt and round about, 30 And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn; And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon, That she'd gar me rue the day I was born. Then out has she ta'en a silver wand, And she's turned her three times round and round; 35 She's mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd, And I fell down senseless on the ground. She's turn'd me into an ugly worm, And gar'd me toddle about the tree; And ay, on ilka Saturday's night, 40 My sister Maisry came to me, Wi' silver bason, and silver kemb, To kemb my headie upon her knee; But or I had kiss'd her ugly mouth, I'd rather hae toddled about the tree. 45 But as it fell out on last Hallowe'en, When the Seely Court was ridin' by, The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, Nae far frae the tree whare I wont to lye. She took me up in her milk-white hand, 50 And she straiked me three times o'er her knee; She changed me again to my ain proper shape, And I nae mair maun toddle about the tree.

It was intill a pleasant time, Upon a simmer's day; The noble Earl of Mar's daughter Went forth to sport and play. 5 As thus she did amuse hersell, Below a green aik tree, There she saw a sprightly doo Set on a tower sae hie. "O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true, 10 If ye'll come down to me, Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd Instead o' simple tree: "I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage, And siller roun' your wa'; 15 I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'." But she had nae these words well spoke, Nor yet these words well said, Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower, 20 And lighted on her head. Then she has brought this pretty bird Hame to her bowers and ha'; And made him shine as fair a bird As ony o' them a'. 25 When day was gane, and night was come, About the evening tide, This lady spied a sprightly youth Stand straight up by her side. "From whence came ye, young man?" she said, 30 "That does surprise me sair; My door was bolted right secure; What way ha'e ye come here?" "O had your tongue, ye lady fair, Lat a' your folly be; 35 Mind ye not on your turtle doo Last day ye brought wi' thee?" "O tell me mair, young man," she said, "This does surprise me now; What country ha'e ye come frae? 40 What pedigree are you?" "My mither lives on foreign isles, She has nae mair but me; She is a queen o' wealth and state, And birth and high degree; 45 "Likewise well skill'd in magic spells, As ye may plainly see; And she transform'd me to yon shape, To charm such maids as thee. "I am a doo the live lang day, 50 A sprightly youth at night; This aye gars me appear mair fair In a fair maiden's sight. "And it was but this verra day That I came ower the sea; 55 Your lovely face did me enchant,— I'll live and dee wi' thee." "O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, Nae mair frae me ye'se gae." "That's never my intent, my luve, 60 As ye said, it shall be sae." "O Cow-me-doo, my luve sae true, It's time to gae to bed." "Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow, It's be as ye ha'e said." 65 Then he has staid in bower wi' her For sax lang years and ane, Till sax young sons to him she bare, And the seventh she's brought hame. But aye as ever a child was born, 70 He carried them away, And brought them to his mither's care, As fast as he cou'd fly. Thus he has staid in bower wi' her For twenty years and three; 75 There came a lord o' high renown To court this fair ladie. But still his proffer she refused, And a' his presents too; Says, "I'm content to live alane 80 Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo." Her father sware a solemn oath Amang the nobles all, "The morn, or ere I eat or drink, This bird I will gar kill." 85 The bird was sitting in his cage, And heard what they did say; And when he found they were dismist, Says, "Waes me for this day! "Before that I do langer stay, 90 And thus to be forlorn, I'll gang unto my mither's bower, Where I was bred and born." Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea; 95 And lighted near his mither's castle On a tower o' gowd sae hie. As his mither was wauking out, To see what she coud see, And there she saw her little son 100 Set on the tower sae hie. "Get dancer here to dance," she said, "And minstrells for to play; For here's my young son, Florentine, Come here wi' me to stay." 105 "Get nae dancers to dance, mither, Nor minstrells for to play; For the mither o' my seven sons, The morn's her wedding-day." "O tell me, tell me, Florentine, 110 Tell me, and tell me true, Tell me this day without a flaw, What I will do for you." "Instead of dancers to dance, mither, Or minstrells for to play, 115 Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men, Like storks, in feathers gray; "My seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee; And I, mysell, a gay gos-hawk, 120 A bird o' high degree." Then sichin' said the queen hersell, "That thing's too high for me;" But she applied to an auld woman, Who had mair skill than she. 125 Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, Or minstrells for to play, Four-and-twenty wall-wight men Turn'd birds o' feathers gray; Her seven sons in seven swans, 130 Aboon their heads to flee; And he, himsell, a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree. This flock o' birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea; 135 And landed near the Earl Mar's castle, Took shelter in every tree. They were a flock o' pretty birds, Right comely to be seen; The people view'd them wi' surprise, 140 As they danc'd on the green. These birds ascended frae the tree, And lighted on the ha'; And at the last wi' force did flee Among the nobles a'. 145 The storks there seized some o' the men, They cou'd neither fight nor flee; The swans they bound the bride's best man, Below a green aik tree. They lighted next on maidens fair, 150 Then on the bride's own head; And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e, The bride and them were fled. There's ancient men at weddings been, For sixty years or more; 155 But sic a curious wedding-day They never saw before. For naething cou'd the companie do, Nor naething cou'd they say; But they saw a flock o' pretty birds 160 That took their bride away. When that Earl Mar he came to know Where his dochter did stay, He sign'd a bond o' unity, And visits now they pay.

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond's-wood, And wish'd she there had been. 5 She loot the seam fa' frae her side, And the needle to her tae; And she is on to Elmond-wood As fast as she coud gae. She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, 10 Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by it came a young hind chiel, Says, "Lady, lat alane. "O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree? 15 For I am forester o' this wood: Ye shou'd spier leave at me." "I'll ask leave at no living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king o'er a' this realm, 20 This wood belongs to me." She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but three, Till by it came him Young Akin, And gar'd her lat them be. 25 The highest tree in Elmond's-wood, He's pu'd it by the reet; And he has built for her a bower Near by a hallow seat. He's built a bower, made it secure 30 Wi' carbuncle and stane; Tho' travellers were never sae nigh, Appearance it had nane. He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood, For six lang years and one; 35 Till six pretty sons to him she bear, And the seventh she's brought home. It fell ance upon a day, This guid lord went from home; And he is to the hunting gane, 40 Took wi' him his eldest son. And when they were on a guid way, Wi' slowly pace did walk, The boy's heart being something wae, He thus began to talk:— 45 "A question I wou'd ask, father, Gin ye wou'dna angry be?" "Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." "I see my mither's cheeks aye weet, 50 I never can see them dry; And I wonder what aileth my mither, To mourn continually." "Your mither was a king's daughter, Sprung frae a high degree; 55 And she might hae wed some worthy prince, Had she nae been stown by me. "I was her father's cup-bearer, Just at that fatal time; I catch'd her on a misty night, 60 Whan summer was in prime. "My luve to her was most sincere, Her luve was great for me; But when she hardships doth endure, Her folly she does see." 65 "I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush, The linnet o' the tree, And bring them to my dear mither, See if she'll merrier be." It fell upo' another day, 70 This guid lord he thought lang, And he is to the hunting gane, Took wi' him his dog and gun. Wi' bow and arrow by his side, He's aff, single, alane; 75 And left his seven children to stay Wi' their mither at hame. "O, I will tell to you, mither, Gin ye wadna angry be:" "Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy, 80 Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me." "As we came frae the hynd hunting, We heard fine music ring:" "My blessings on you, my bonny boy, I wish I'd been there my lane." 85 He's ta'en his mither by the hand, His six brithers also, And they are on thro' Elmond's-wood, As fast as they coud go. They wistna weel where they were gaen, 90 Wi' the stratlins o' their feet; They wistna weel where they were gaen, Till at her father's yate. "I hae nae money in my pocket, But royal rings hae three; 95 I'll gie them you, my little young son, And ye'll walk there for me. "Ye'll gi'e the first to the proud porter, And he will lat you in; Ye'll gi'e the next to the butler boy, 100 And he will show you ben; "Ye'll gi'e the third to the minstrel That plays before the king; He'll play success to the bonny boy Came thro' the wood him lane." 105 He ga'e the first to the proud porter, And he open'd an' let him in; He ga'e the next to the butler boy, And he has shown him ben; He ga'e the third to the minstrel 110 That play'd before the king; And he play'd success to the bonny boy Came thro' the wood him lane. Now when he came before the king, Fell low down on his knee: 115 The king he turned round about, And the saut tear blinded his ee. "Win up, win up, my bonny boy, Gang frae my companie; Ye look sae like my dear daughter, 120 My heart will birst in three." "If I look like your dear daughter, A wonder it is none; If I look like your dear daughter, I am her eldest son." 125 "Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy, Where may my Margaret be?" "She's just now standing at your yates, And my six brithers her wi'." "O where are all my porter boys 130 That I pay meat and fee, To open my yates baith wide and braid? Let her come in to me." When she came in before the king, Fell low down on her knee: 135 "Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye'll dine wi me." "Ae bit I canno' eat, father, Nor ae drop can I drink, Till I see my mither and sister dear, 140 For lang for them I think." When she came before the queen, Fell low down on her knee: "Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye'se dine wi' me." 145 "Ae bit I canno' eat, mither, Nor ae drop can I drink, Until I see my dear sister, For lang for her I think." "When that these two sisters met, 150 She hail'd her courteouslie: "Come ben, come ben, my sister dear, This day ye'se dine wi' me." "Ae bit I canno' eat, sister, Nor ae drop can I drink, 155 Until I see my dear husband, For lang for him I think." "O where are all my rangers bold That I pay meat and fee, To search the forest far an' wide, 160 And bring Akin to me?" Out it speaks the wee little boy,— "Na, na, this maunna be; Without ye grant a free pardon, I hope ye'll nae him see." 165 "O here I grant a free pardon, Well seal'd by my own han'; Ye may make search for young Akin, As soon as ever you can." They search'd the country wide and braid, 170 The forests far and near, And found him into Elmond's-wood, Tearing his yellow hair. "Win up, win up, now young Akin. Win up, and boun wi' me; 175 We're messengers come from the court; The king wants you to see." "O lat him take frae me my head, Or hang me on a tree; For since I've lost my dear lady, 180 Life's no pleasure to me." "Your head will nae be touch'd, Akin, Nor hang'd upon a tree: Your lady's in her father's court, And all he wants is thee." 185 When he came in before the king, Fell low down on his knee: "Win up, win up now, young Akin, This day ye'se dine wi' me." But as they were at dinner set, 190 The boy asked a boun; "I wish we were in the good church, For to get christendoun. "We ha'e lived in guid green wood This seven years and ane; 195 But a' this time since e'er I mind, Was never a church within." "Your asking 's nae sae great, my boy, But granted it shall be; This day to guid church ye shall gang, 200 And your mither shall gang you wi'." When unto the guid church she came, She at the door did stan'; She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame, She coudna come farer ben. 205 Then out it speaks the parish priest, And a sweet smile gae he;—- "Come ben, come ben, my lily flower, Present your babes to me." Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick, 210 And likewise James and John; They call'd the eldest Young Akin, Which was his father's name. Then they staid in the royal court, And liv'd wi' mirth and glee; 215 And when her father was deceas'd, Heir of the crown was she.

"O well love I to ride in a mist, And shoot in a northern wind; And far better a lady to steal, That's come of a noble kind." 5 Four-and-twenty fair ladies Put on that lady's sheen; And as many young gentlemen Did lead her o'er the green. Yet she preferred before them all 10 Him, young Hastings the Groom; He's coosten a mist before them all, And away this lady has ta'en. He's taken the lady on him behind, Spared neither the grass nor corn, 15 Till they came to the wood of Amonshaw, Where again their loves were sworn. And they have lived in that wood Full many a year and day, And were supported from time to time, 20 By what he made of prey. And seven bairns, fair and fine, There she has born to him, And never was in good church door, Nor never gat good kirking. 25 Once she took harp into her hand, And harped them asleep; Then she sat down at their couch side, And bitterly did weep. Said, "Seven bairns have I born now 30 To my lord in the ha'; I wish they were seven greedy rats, To run upon the wa', And I mysel' a great grey cat, To eat them ane an' a'. 35 "For ten long years now I have lived Within this cave of stane, And never was at good church door, Nor got no good churching." O then outspak her eldest child, 40 And a fine boy was he,— "O hold your tongue, my mother dear; I'll tell you what to dee. "Take you the youngest in your lap, The next youngest by the hand; 45 Put all the rest of us you before, As you learnt us to gang. "And go with us into some good kirk,— You say they are built of stane,— And let us all be christened, 50 And you get good kirking." She took the youngest in her lap, The next youngest by the hand; Set all the rest of them her before, As she learnt them to gang. 55 And she has left the wood with them, And to a kirk has gane; Where the good priest them christened, And gave her good kirking.

Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame Were walking in the garden green; The belt around her stately waist Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen. 5 "O promise me now, Clerk Colvill, Or it will cost ye muckle strife, Ride never by the wells of Slane, If ye wad live and brook your life." "Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame, 10 Now speak nae mair of that to me: Did I ne'er see a fair woman, But I wad sin with her fair body?" He's ta'en leave o' his gay lady, Nought minding what his lady said, 15 And he's rode by the wells of Slane, Where washing was a bonny maid. "Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid, That wash sae clean your sark of silk;" "And weel fa' you, fair gentleman, 20 Your body's whiter than the milk." Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill, "O my head it pains me sair;" "Then take, then take," the maiden said, 25 "And frae my sark you'll cut a gare." Then she's gi'ed him a little bane-knife, And frae her sark he cut a share; She's ty'd it round his whey-white face, But ay his head it aked mair. 30 Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colvill, "O sairer, sairer akes my head;" "And sairer, sairer ever will," The maiden crys, "till you be dead." Out then he drew his shining blade, 35 Thinking to stick her where she stood; But she was vanish'd to a fish, And swam far off, a fair mermaid. "O mother, mother, braid my hair; My lusty lady, make my bed; 40 O brother, take my sword and spear, For I have seen the false mermaid."

Fair lady Isabel sits in her bower sewing, Aye as the gowans grow gay; There she heard an elf-knight blawing his horn, The first morning in May. 5 "If I had yon horn that I hear blawing," Aye as the gowans grow gay; "And yon elf-knight to sleep in my bosom," The first morning in May. This maiden had scarcely these words spoken, 10 Aye as the gowans grow gay; Till in at her window the elf-knight has luppen, The first morning in May. "Its a very strange matter, fair maiden," said he, Aye as the gowans grow gay, 15 "I canna' blaw my horn, but ye call on me," The first morning in May. "But will ye go to yon greenwood side," Aye as the gowans grow gay? "If ye canna' gang, I will cause you to ride," 20 The first morning in May. He leapt on a horse, and she on another, Aye as the gowans grow gay; And they rode on to the greenwood together, The first morning in May. 25 "Light down, light down, lady Isabel," said he, Aye as the gowans grow gay; "We are come to the place where ye are to die," The first morning in May. "Ha'e mercy, ha'e mercy, kind sir, on me," 30 Aye as the gowans grow gay; "Till ance my dear father and mother I see," The first morning in May. "Seven king's-daughters here hae I slain," Aye as the gowans grow gay; 35 "And ye shall be the eight o' them," The first morning in May. "O sit down a while, lay your head on my knee," Aye as the gowans grow gay; "That we may hae some rest before that I die," 40 The first morning in May. She stroak'd him sae fast, the nearer he did creep, Aye as the gowans grow gay; Wi' a sma' charm she lull'd him fast asleep, The first morning in May. 45 "Wi' his ain sword belt sae fast as she ban' him, Aye as the gowans grow gay; With his ain dag-durk sae sair as she dang him, The first morning in May. "If seven kings' daughters here ye ha'e slain," 50 Aye as the gowans grow gay, "Lye ye here, a husband to them a'," The first morning in May.

There came a bird out o' a bush, On water for to dine; And sighing sair, says the king's daughter, "O waes this heart o' mine!" 5 He's taen a harp into his hand, He's harped them all asleep; Except it was the king's daughter, Who ae wink cou'dna get. He's luppen on his berry-brown steed, 10 Taen her on behind himsell; Then baith rade down to that water, That they ca' Wearie's well. "Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, Nae harm shall thee befall; 15 Aft times hae I water'd my steed, Wi' the water o' Wearie's well." The first step that she stepped in, She stepped to the knee; And sighing sair, says this lady fair, 20 "This water's nae for me." "Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, Nae harm shall thee befall; Aft times hae I water'd my steed, Wi' the water o' Wearie's well." 25 The next step that she stepped in, She stepped to the middle; And sighing, says, this lady fair, "I've wat my gowden girdle." "Wide in, wide in, my lady fair, 30 Nae harm shall thee befall; Aft times hae I water'd my steed, Wi' the water o' Wearie's well." The niest step that she stepped in, She stepped to the chin; 35 And sighing, says, this lady fair, "They shou'd gar twa loves twine." "Seven king's-daughters I've drown'd there, In the water o' Wearie's well; And I'll make you the eight o' them, 40 And ring the common bell." "Sin' I am standing here," she says, "This dowie death to die; Ae kiss o' your comely mouth I'm sure wou'd comfort me." 45 He louted him ower his saddle bow, To kiss her cheek and chin; She's taen him in her arms twa, And thrown him headlang in. "Sin' seven king's daughters ye've drown'd there, 50 In the water o' Wearie's well, I'll make you bridegroom to them a', An' ring the bell mysell." And aye she warsled, and aye she swam, Till she swam to dry land; 55 Then thanked God most cheerfully, The dangers she'd ower came.

"O where have you been, my long, long love, This long seven years and more?"— "O I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before."— 5 "O hold your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife; O hold your tongue of your former vows, For I am become a wife." He turn'd him right and round about, 10 And the tear blinded his ee; "I wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, If it had not been for thee. "I might hae had a king's daughter, Far, far beyond the sea; 15 I might have had a king's daughter, Had it not been for love o' thee."— "If ye might have had a king's daughter, Yer sell ye had to blame; Ye might have taken the king's daughter, 20 For ye kend that I was nane."— "O faulse are the vows of womankind, But fair is their faulse bodie; I never wad hae trodden on Irish ground, Had it not been for love o' thee."— 25 "If I was to leave my husband dear, And my two babes also, O what have you to take me to, If with you I should go?"— "I hae seven ships upon the sea, 30 The eighth brought me to land; With four-and-twenty bold mariners, And music on every hand." She has taken up her two little babes, Kiss'd them baith cheek and chin; 35 "O fair ye weel, my ain two babes, For I'll never see you again." She set her foot upon the ship, No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o' the taffetie, 40 And the masts o' the beaten gold. She had not sail'd a league, a league, A league but barely three, When dismal grew his countenance, And drumlie grew his ee. 45 The masts that were like the beaten gold, Bent not on the heaving seas; But the sails, that were o' the taffetie, Fill'd not in the east land breeze.— They had not sailed a league, a league, 50 A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterlie. "O hold your tongue of your weeping," says he, "Of your weeping now let me be; 55 I will show you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy."— "O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, That the sun shines sweetly on?"— "O yon are the hills of heaven," he said, 60 "Where you will never win."— "O whaten a mountain is yon," she said, "All so dreary wi' frost and snow?"— "O yon is the mountain of hell," he cried, "Where you and I will go." 65 And aye when she turn'd her round about, Aye taller he seem'd for to be; Until that the tops o' that gallant ship Nae taller were than he. The clouds grew dark, and the wind grew loud, 70 And the levin fill'd her ee; And waesome wail'd the snaw-white sprites Upon the gurlie sea. He strack the tap-mast wi' his hand, The fore-mast wi' his knee; 75 And he brake that gallant ship in twain, And sank her in the sea.

"O are ye my father, or are ye my mother? Or are ye my brother John? Or are ye James Herries, my first true love, Come back to Scotland again?" 5 "I am not your father, I am not your mother, Nor am I your brother John; But I'm James Herries, your first true love, Come back to Scotland again." "Awa', awa', ye former lovers, 10 Had far awa' frae me; For now I am another man's wife, Ye'll ne'er see joy o' me." "Had I kent that ere I came here, I ne'er had come to thee; 15 For I might hae married the king's daughter, Sae fain she wou'd had me. "I despised the crown o' gold, The yellow silk also; And I am come to my true love, 20 But with me she'll not go." "My husband he is a carpenter, Makes his bread on dry land, And I hae born him a young son,— Wi' you I will not gang." 25 "You must forsake your dear husband, Your little young son also, Wi' me to sail the raging seas, Where the stormy winds do blow." "O what hae you to keep me wi', 30 If I should with you go? If I'd forsake my dear husband, My little young son also?" "See ye not yon seven pretty ships, The eighth brought me to land; 35 With merchandize and mariners, And wealth in every hand?" She turn'd her round upon the shore, Her love's ships to behold; Their topmasts and their mainyards 40 Were cover'd o'er wi' gold. Then she's gane to her little young son, And kiss'd him cheek and chin; Sae has she to her sleeping husband, And dune the same to him. 45 "O sleep ye, wake ye, my husband, I wish ye wake in time; I woudna for ten thousand pounds, This night ye knew my mind." She's drawn the slippers on her feet, 50 Were cover'd o'er wi' gold; Well lined within wi' velvet fine, To had her frae the cold. She hadna sailed upon the sea A league but barely three, 55 Till she minded on her dear husband, Her little young son tee. "O gin I were at land again, At land where I wou'd be, The woman ne'er shou'd bear the son, 60 Shou'd gar me sail the sea." "O hold your tongue, my sprightly flower, Let a' your mourning be; I'll show you how the lilies grow On the banks o' Italy." 65 She hadna sailed on the sea A day but barely ane, Till the thoughts o' grief came in her mind, And she lang'd for to be hame. "O gentle death, come cut my breath, 70 I may be dead ere morn; I may be buried in Scottish ground, Where I was bred and born." "O hold your tongue, my lily leesome thing, Let a' your mourning be; 75 But for a while we'll stay at Rose Isle, Then see a far countrie. "Ye'se ne'er be buried in Scottish ground, Nor land ye's nae mair see; I brought you away to punish you, 80 For the breaking your vows to me. "I said ye shou'd see the lilies grow On the banks o' Italy; But I'll let you see the fishes swim, In the bottom o' the sea." 85 He reached his band to the topmast, Made a' the sails gae down; And in the twinkling o' an e'e, Baith ship and crew did drown. The fatal flight o' this wretched maid 90 Did reach her ain countrie; Her husband then distracted ran, And this lament made he:— "O wae be to the ship, the ship, And wae be to the sea, 95 And wae be to the mariners, Took Jeanie Douglas frae me! "O bonny, bonny was my love, A pleasure to behold; The very hair o' my love's head 100 Was like the threads o' gold. "O bonny was her cheek, her cheek, And bonny was her chin; And bonny was the bride she was, The day she was made mine!" *** The following stanzas from a version of this ballad printed at Philadelphia (and called The House Carpenter) are given in Graham's Illustrated Magazine, Sept. 1858. "I might have married the king's daughter dear;" "You might have married her," cried she, "For I am married to a House Carpenter, And a fine young man is he." "Oh dry up your tears, my own true love, And cease your weeping," cried he; "For soon you'll see your own happy home, On the banks of old Tennessee."

"There is a fashion in this land, And even come to this country, That every lady should meet her lord, When he is newly come frae sea: 5 "Some wi' hawks, and some wi' hounds, And other some wi' gay monie; But I will gae myself alone, And set his young son on his knee." She's ta'en her young son in her arms, 10 And nimbly walk'd by yon sea strand; And there she spy'd her father's ship, As she was sailing to dry land. "Where hae ye put my ain gude lord, This day he stays sae far frae me?" 15 "If ye be wanting your ain gude lord, A sight o' him ye'll never see." "Was he brunt, or was he shot? Or was he drowned in the sea? Or what's become o' my ain gude lord, 20 That he will ne'er appear to me?" "He wasna brunt, nor was he shot, Nor was he drowned in the sea; He was slain in Dumfermling, A fatal day to you and me." 25 "Come in, come in, my merry young men, Come in and drink the wine wi' me; And a' the better ye shall fare, For this gude news ye tell to me." She's brought them down to yon cellar, 30 She brought them fifty steps and three; She birled wi' them the beer and wine, Till they were as drunk as drunk could be. Then she has lock'd her cellar door, For there were fifty steps and three; 35 "Lie there wi' my sad malison, For this bad news ye've tauld to me." She's ta'en the keys intill her hand, And threw them deep, deep in the sea; "Lie there wi' my sad malison, 40 Till my gude lord return to me." Then she sat down in her own room, And sorrow lull'd her fast asleep; And up it starts her own gude lord, And even at that lady's feet. 45 "Take here the keys, Janet," he says, "That ye threw deep, deep in the sea; And ye'll relieve my merry young men, For they've nane o' the swick o' me. "They shot the shot, and drew the stroke, 50 And wad in red bluid to the knee; Nae sailors mair for their lord coud do, Nor my young men they did for me." "I hae a question at you to ask, Before that ye depart frae me; 55 You'll tell to me what day I'll die, And what day will my burial be?" "I hae nae mair o' God's power Than he has granted unto me; But come to heaven when ye will, 60 There porter to you I will be. "But ye'll be wed to a finer knight Than ever was in my degree; Unto him ye'll hae children nine, And six o' them will be ladies free. 65 "The other three will be bold young men, To fight for king and countrie; The ane a duke, the second a knight, And third a laird o' lands sae free."