Volume 1 / Book 1 — BOOK I. (continued 3)
Reading edition
"Ice-cold and bloody, a lead-weight of sorrow, falls on my breast each tear that you shed,"
says the ghost of Helgi in the Edda to his lamenting wife (Helgak. Hundingsb. II.) The same idea is found in the German ballad, Der Vorwirth, Erk's Liederhort, No. 46, 46 a, and in various tales, as Das Todtenhemdchen, (K.u.H. Märchen, No. 109, and note), etc. In like manner Sir Aage, in a well-known Danish ballad (Grundtvig, No. 90), and the corresponding Sorgens Magt, Svenska F.V., No. 6.
"Every time thou weepest for me, Thy heart makest sad, Then all within, my coffin stands full Of clotted blood."
Rarely is the silence of the grave broken for purposes of consolation. Yet some cases there are, as in a Lithuanian ballad cited by Wackernagel, Altd. Blätter, i. 176, and a Spanish ballad noticed by Talvj, Versuch, p. 141. The present ballad seems to belong to the latter class rather than the former, but it is so imperfect that its true character cannot be determined.
Chambers maintains, we think erroneously, that this ballad is a fragment of The Clerk's Twa Sons o' Owsenford. See the second volume of this collection, page 63.
There lived a wife at Usher's Well, And a wealthy wife was she, She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them o'er the sea. 5 They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane, When word came to the carline wife, That her three sons were gane. They hadna been a week from her, 10 A week but barely three, When word came to the carline wife, That her sons she'd never see. "I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fishes in the flood, 15 Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood."— It fell about the Martinmas, When nights are lang and mirk, The carline wife's three sons came hame, 20 And their hats were o' the birk. It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh; But at the gates o' Paradise, That birk grew fair eneugh. 25 "Blow up the fire, my maidens! Bring water from the well! For a' my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well."— And she has made to them a bed, 30 She's made it large and wide; And she's ta'en her mantle her about, Sat down at the bed-side. 35 Up then crew the red red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, "'Tis time we were away."— The cock he hadna craw'd but once, 40 And clapp'd his wings at a', Whan the youngest to the eldest said, "Brother, we must awa.— "The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin' worm doth chide; 45 Gin we be mist out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide. "Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to barn and byre! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass, 50 That kindles my mother's fire."
THE SUFFOLK MIRACLE:
Or, a relation of a young man, who, a month after his death, appeared to his sweetheart, and carried her on horseback behind him for forty miles in two hours, and was never seen after but in his grave.
From A Collection of Old Ballads, i. 266. In Moore's Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry (p. 463) is a copy from a broadside in the Roxburghe collection.
The Suffolk Miracle has an external resemblance to several noble ballads, but the likeness does not extend below the surface. It is possible that we have here the residuum of an old poem, from which all the beauty and spirit have been exhaled in the course of tradition; but as the ballad now exists, it is a vulgar ghost-story, without any motive. Regarding the external form alone, we may place by its side the Breton ballad, Le Frère de Lait, in Villemarqué's Chants Populaires de la Bretagne, vol. i. No. 22 (translated by Miss Costello, Quart. Review, vol. 68, p. 75), the Romaic ballad of Constantine and Arete, in Fauriel's Chants Populaires de la Grèce Moderne, p. 406 (see Appendix), and the Servian ballad (related to the Romaic, and perhaps derived from it), Jelitza and her Brothers, Talvj, Volkslieder der Serben, i. 160, all of them among the most beautiful specimens in this kind of literature; and also Bürger's Lenore. It has been once or twice most absurdly suggested that Lenore owed its existence to this Suffolk Miracle. The difference, indeed, is not greater than between a "Chronicle History" and Macbeth; it is however certain that Bürger's ballad is all his own, except the hint of the ghostly horseman and one or two phrases, which he took from the description of a Low German ballad. The editors of the Wunderhorn claim to give this ballad, vol. ii. p. 19. An equivalent prose tradition is well known in Germany. Most of the ballads relating to the return of departed spirits are brought together in an excellent article by Wackernagel in the Altdeutsche Blätter, i. 174.
A wonder stranger ne'er was known Than what I now shall treat upon. In Suffolk there did lately dwell A farmer rich and known full well. 5 He had a daughter fair and bright, On whom he placed his chief delight; Her beauty was beyond compare, She was both virtuous and fair. There was a young man living by, 10 Who was so charmed with her eye, That he could never be at rest; He was by love so much possest. He made address to her, and she Did grant him love immediately; 15 But when her father came to hear, He parted her and her poor dear. Forty miles distant was she sent, Unto his brother's, with intent That she should there so long remain, 20 Till she had changed her mind again. Hereat this young man sadly grieved, But knew not how to be relieved; He sighed and sobbed continually That his true love he could not see. 25 She by no means could to him send, Who was her heart's espoused friend; He sighed, he grieved, but all in vain, For she confined must still remain. He mourned so much, that doctor's art 30 Could give no ease unto his heart, Who was so strangely terrified, That in short time for love he died. She that from him was sent away Knew nothing of his dying day, 35 But constant still she did remain, And loved the dead, although in vain. After he had in grave been laid A month or more, unto this maid He came in middle of the night, 40 Who joyed to see her heart's delight. Her father's horse, which well she knew, Her mother's hood and safe-guard too, He brought with him to testify Her parents order he came by. 45 Which when her uncle understood, He hoped it would be for her good, And gave consent to her straightway, That with him she should come away. When she was got her love behind, 50 They passed as swift as any wind, That in two hours, or little more, He brought her to her father's door. But as they did this great haste make, He did complain his head did ake; 55 Her handkerchief she then took out, And tied the same his head about. And unto him she thus did say: "Thou art as cold as any clay; When we come home a fire we'll have;" 60 But little dreamed he went to grave. Soon were they at her father's door, And after she ne'er saw him more; "I'll set the horse up," then he said, And there he left this harmless maid. 65 She knocked, and straight a man he cried, "Who's there?" "'Tis I," she then replied; Who wondred much her voice to hear, And was possessed with dread and fear. Her father he did tell, and then 70 He stared like an affrighted man: Down stairs he ran, and when he see her, Cried out, "My child, how cam'st thou here?" "Pray, sir, did you not send for me, By such a messenger?" said she: 75 Which made his hair stare on his head, As knowing well that he was dead. "Where is he?" then to her he said; "He's in the stable," quoth the maid. "Go in," said he, "and go to bed; 80 I'll see the horse well littered." He stared about, and there could he No shape of any mankind see, But found his horse all on a sweat; Which made him in a deadly fret. 85 His daughter he said nothing to, Nor none else, (though full well they knew That he was dead a month before,) For fear of grieving her full sore. Her father to the father went 90 Of the deceased, with full intent To tell him what his daughter said; So both came back unto this maid. They ask'd her, and she still did say 'Twas he that then brought her away; 95 Which when they heard they were amazed, And on each other strangely gazed. A handkerchief she said she tied About his head, and that they tried; The sexton they did speak unto, 100 That he the grave would then undo. Affrighted then they did behold His body turning into mould, And though he had a month been dead, This handkerchief was about his head. 105 This thing unto her then they told, And the whole truth they did unfold; She was thereat so terrified And grieved, that she quickly died. Part not true love, you rich men, then; 110 But, if they be right honest men Your daughters love, give them their way, For force oft breeds their lives decay.
SIR ROLAND.
From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 124.
This fragment, Motherwell tells us, was communicated to him by an ingenious friend, who remembered having heard it sung in his youth. He does not vouch for its antiquity, and we have little or no hesitation in pronouncing it a modern composition.
Whan he cam to his ain luve's bouir, He tirled at the pin, And sae ready was his fair fause luve To rise and let him in. 5 "O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, "Thrice welcome thou art to me; For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir, And to-morrow we'll wedded be." "This night is hallow-eve," he said, 10 "And to-morrow is hallow-day; And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, That has made my heart fu' wae. "I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, And I wish it may cum to gude: 15 I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, And gied me his lappered blude." "Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said, "And set you safely down." "O your chamber is very dark, fair maid, 20 And the night is wondrous lown." "Yes, dark, dark is my secret bowir, And lown the midnight may be; For there is none waking in a' this tower, But thou, my true love, and me." 25 She has mounted on her true love's steed, By the ae light o' the moon; She has whipped him and spurred him, And roundly she rade frae the toun. She hadna ridden a mile o' gate, 30 Never a mile but ane, Whan she was aware of a tall young man, Slow riding o'er the plain. She turned her to the right about, Then to the left turn'd she; 35 But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight, That tall knight did she see. And he was riding burd alane, On a horse as black as jet; But tho' she followed him fast and fell, 40 No nearer could she get. "O stop! O stop! young man," she said, "For I in dule am dight; O stop, and win a fair lady's luve, If you be a leal true knight." 45 But nothing did the tall knight say, And nothing did he blin; Still slowly rode he on before, And fast she rade behind. She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, 50 Till his breast was all a foam; But nearer unto that tall young knight, By Our Ladye, she could not come. "O if you be a gay young knight, As well I trow you be, 55 Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay Till I come up to thee." But nothing did that tall knight say, And no whit did he blin, Until he reached a broad river's side, 60 And there he drew his rein. "O is this water deep," he said, "As it is wondrous dun? Or it is sic as a saikless maid And a leal true knight may swim?" 65 "The water it is deep," she said, "As it is wondrous dun; But it is sic as a saikless maid And a leal true knight may swim." The knight spurred on his tall black steed, 70 The lady spurred on her brown; And fast they rade unto the flood, And fast they baith swam down. "The water weets my tae," she said, "The water weets my knee; 75 And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight, For the sake of Our Ladye." "If I would help thee now," he said, "It were a deadly sin; For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word, 80 Till the water weets her chin." "O the water weets my waist," she said, "Sae does it weet my skin; And my aching heart rins round about, The burn maks sic a din. 85 "The water is waxing deeper still, Sae does it wax mair wide; And aye the farther that we ride on, Farther off is the other side. "O help me now, thou false, false knight, 90 Have pity on my youth; For now the water jawes owre my head, And it gurgles in my mouth." The knight turned right and round about, All in the middle stream, 95 And he stretched out his head to that lady, But loudly she did scream. "O this is hallow-morn," he said, "And it is your bridal day; But sad would be that gay wedding, 100 If bridegroom and bride were away. "And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret! Till the water comes o'er your bree; For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet, Wha rides this ford wi' me. 105 "Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret! Turn ye round, and look on me; Thou hast killed a true knight under trust, And his ghost now links on with thee."