A Collection of Ballads Part 22

"Oh, pardon me," says Sweet Willie, "My liege, I dare no tell; An I pray you go no near that bowr, For fear they do you fell."

"Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy, For I winna be said nay; But I will gang that bowr within, Betide me weal or wae."

They've lighted off their milk-white steeds, An saftly enterd in, And there they saw her White Lilly, Nursing her bonny young son.

"Now, by the rood," the king coud say, "This is a comely sight; I trow, instead of a forrester's man, This is a lady bright!"

Then out it spake her, Rose the Red, An fell low down on her knee: "Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege, An our story I'll tell thee.

"Our father was a wealthy lord, That wond in Barnsdale; But we had a wicked step-mother, That wrought us meickle bale.

"Yet she had twa as fu fair sons As ever the sun did see, An the tane of them lood my sister dear, An the tother said he lood me."

Then out it spake him Bold Arthur, As by the king he stood: "Now, by the faith o my body, This shoud be Rose the Red!"

Then in it came him Brown Robin, Frae hunting O the deer; But whan he saw the king was there, He started back for fear.

The king has taen him by the hand, An bide him naithing dread; Says, "Ye maun leave the good greenwood, Come to the court wi speed."

Then up he took White Lilly's son, An set him on his knee; Says--"Gin ye live to wield a bran, My bowman ye sall bee."

The king he sent for robes of green, An girdles o shinning gold; He gart the ladies be arrayd Most comely to behold.

They've done them unto Mary kirk, An there gat fair wedding, An fan the news spread oer the lan, For joy the bells did ring.

Then out it spake her Rose the Red, An a hearty laugh laugh she: "I wonder what would our step-dame say, Gin she his sight did see!"

Ballad: The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version

(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition, Appendix.)

Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch, Doun by the hill of Banochie, Allangst the lands of Garioch.

Grit pitie was to heir and se The noys and dulesum hermonie, That evir that dreiry day did daw!

Cryand the corynoch on hie, Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.

I marvlit what the matter meant; All folks were in a fiery fariy: I wist nocht wha was fae or freind, Yet quietly I did me carrie.

But sen the days of auld King Hairy, Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene, And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, For bissiness in Aberdene.

Thus as I walkit on the way, To Inverury as I went, I met a man, and bad him stay, Requeisting him to mak me quaint Of the beginning and the event That happenit thair at the Harlaw; Then he entreited me to tak tent, And he the truth sould to me schaw.

Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim Unto the lands of Ross sum richt, And to the governour he came, Them for to haif, gif that he micht, Wha saw his interest was but slicht, And thairfore answerit with disdain.

He hast.i.t hame baith day and nicht, And sent nae bodward back again.

But Donald richt impatient Of that answer Duke Robert gaif, He vow'd to G.o.d Omniyotent, All the hale lands of Ross to half, Or ells be graithed in his graif: He wald not quat his richt for nocht, Nor be abusit like a slaif; That bargin sould be deirly bocht.

Then haistylie he did command That all his weir-men should convene; Ilk an well harnisit frae hand, To melt and heir what he did mein.

He waxit wrath and vowit tein; Sweirand he wald surpryse the North, Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.

Thus with the weir-men of the yles, Wha war ay at his bidding bown, With money maid, with forss and wyls, Richt far and neir, baith up and doun, Throw mount and muir, frae town to town, Allangst the lands of Ross he roars, And all obey'd at his bandown, Evin frae the North to Suthren sh.o.a.rs.

Then all the countrie men did yield; For nae resistans durst they mak, Nor offer batill in the feild, Be forss of arms to beir him bak.

Syne they resolvit all and spak, That best it was for thair behoif, They sould him for thair chiftain tak, Believing weil he did them luve.

Then he a proclamation maid, All men to meet at Inverness, Throw Murray land to mak a raid, Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.

And further mair, he sent express, To schaw his collours and ensenzie, To all and sindry, mair and less, Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.

And then throw fair Strathbogie land His purpose was for to pursew, And whatsoevir durst gainstand, That race they should full sairly rew.

Then he bad all his men be trew, And him defend by forss and slicht, And promist them rewardis anew, And mak them men of mekle micht.

Without resistans, as he said, Throw all these parts he stoutly past, Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid, But Garioch was all agast.

Throw all these feilds be sped him fast, For sic a sicht was never sene; And then, forsuith, he langd at last To se the bruch of Aberdene.

To hinder this prowd enterprise, The stout and michty Erl of Marr With all his men in arms did ryse, Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar: And down the syde of Don richt far, Angus and Mearns did all convene To fecht, or Donald came sae nar The ryall bruch of Aberdene.

And thus the martial Erle of Marr Marcht with his men in richt array; Befoir his enemis was aware, His banner bauldly did display.

For weil enewch they kent the way, And all their semblance well they saw: Without all dangir or delay, Come haistily to the Harlaw.

With him the braif Lord Ogilvy, Of Angus sheriff princ.i.p.all, The constable of gude Dunde, The vanguard led before them all.

Suppose in number they war small, Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, And maid thair faes befor them fall, Wha then that race did sairly rew.

And then the worthy Lord Salton, The strong undoubted Laird of Drum, The stalwart Laird of Lawristone, With ilk thair forces all and sum.

Panmuir with all his men, did c.u.m, The provost of braif Aberdene, With trumpets and with tuick of drum, Came schortly in thair armour schene.

These with the Earle of Marr came on, In the reir-ward richt orderlie, Thair enemies to sett upon; In awfull manner hardilie, Togither vowit to live and die, Since they had marchit mony mylis, For to suppress the tyrannie Of douted Donald of the Ysles.

But he, in number ten to ane, Right subtile alang did ryde, With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean, With all thair power at thair syde; Presumeand on their strenth and pryde, Without all feir or ony aw, Richt bauldie battil did abyde, Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.

The armies met, the trumpet sounds, The dandring drums alloud did touk, Baith armies byding on the bounds, Till ane of them the feild sould bruik.

Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk, Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde, And on the ground lay mony a bouk Of them that thair did battil byd.

With doutsum victorie they dealt, The bludy battil last.i.t lang; Each man fits nibours forss thair felt, The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang: Thair was nae mowis thair them amang, Naithing was hard but heavy knocks, That eccho mad a dulefull sang, Thairto resounding frae the rocks.

But Donalds men at last gaif back, For they war all out of array: The Earl of Marris men throw them brak, Pursewing shairply in thair way, Thair enemys to tak or slay, Be dynt of forss to gar them yield; Wha war richt blyth to win away, And sae for feirdness tint the feild.

Then Donald fled, and that full fast, To mountains hich for all his micht; For he and his war all agast, And ran till they war out of sicht; And sae of Ross he lost his richt, Thocht mony men with hem he brocht; Towards the yles fled day and nicht, And all he wan was deirlie bocht.

This is (quod he) the richt report Of all that I did heir and knaw; Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort, Tak this to be a richt suthe saw: Contrairie G.o.d and the kings law, Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude, Into the battil of Harlaw: This is the sum, sae I conclude.

But yet a bonnie while abide, And I sall mak thee cleirly ken What slaughter was on ilkay syde, Of Lowland and of Highland men, Wha for thair awin haif evir bene; These lazie lowns micht weil be spared, Chased like deers into their dens, And gat their wages for reward.

Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif, Macklean with his grit hauchty heid, With all thair succour and relief, War dulefully dung to the deid; And now we are freid of thair feid, They will not lang to c.u.m again; Thousands with them, without remeid, On Donald's syd, that day war slain.

And on the uther syde war lost, Into the feild that dismal day, Chief men of worth, of mekle cost, To be lament.i.t sair for ay.

The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay, A man of micht and mekle main; Grit dolour was for his decay, That sae unhappylie was slain.