Ballad Book Part 22

"O stay at home, my son Willie!

The wind blaws cold and stour; The night will be baith mirk and late, Before ye reach her bower."

"O tho' the night were ever sae dark, O the wind blew never sae cauld, I will be in May Margaret's bower Before twa hours be tauld."

"O bide this night wi' me, Willie, O bide this night wi' me!

The bestan fowl in a' the roost At your supper, my son, shall be."

"A' your fowls, and a' your roosts, I value not a pin; I only care for May Margaret; And ere night to her bower I'll win."

"O an ye gang to May Margaret Sae sair against my will, In the deepest pot o' Clyde's water My malison ye's feel!"

He mounted on his coal-black steed, And fast he rade awa'; But ere he came to Clyde's water Fu' loud the wind did blaw.

As he rade over yon hie hie hill, And doun yon dowie den, There was a roar in Clyde's water Wad feared a hundred men.

But Willie has swam through Clyde's water, Though it was wide and deep; And he came to May Margaret's door When a' were fast asleep.

O he's gane round and round about, And tirled at the pin, But doors were steeked and windows barred, And nane to let him in.

"O open the door to me, Margaret!

O open and let me in!

For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water, And frozen to the brim."

"I daurna open the door to you, I daurna let you in; For my mither she is fast asleep, And I maun mak' nae din."

"O gin ye winna open the door, Nor be sae kind to me, Now tell me o' some out-chamber, Where I this night may be."

"Ye canna win in this night, Willie, Nor here ye canna be; For I've nae chambers out nor in, Nae ane but barely three.

"The tane is fu' to the roof wi' corn, The t.i.ther is fu' wi' hay; The third is fu' o' merry young men, They winna remove till day."

"O fare ye weel, then, May Margaret, Sin' better it mauna be.

I have won my mither's malison, Coming this night to thee."

He's mounted on his coal-black steed, O but his heart was wae!

But e'er he came to Clyde's water, 'Twas half-way up the brae.

When down he rade to the river-flood, 'Twas fast flowing ower the brim; The rushing that was in Clyde's water Took Willie's rod frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow To catch his rod again; The rushing that was in Clyde's water Took Willie's hat frae him.

He leaned him ower his saddle-bow To catch his hat by force; The rushing that was in Clyde's water Took Willie frae his horse.

O I canna turn my horse's head; I canna strive to sowm; I've gotten my mither's malison, And it's here that I maun drown!"

The very hour this young man sank Into the pot sae deep, Up wakened his love, May Margaret, Out of her heavy sleep.

"Come hither, come hither, my minnie dear, Come hither read my dream; I dreamed my love Willie was at our gates, And nane wad let him in."

"Lie still, lie still, dear Margaret, Lie still and tak' your rest; Your lover Willie was at the gates, 'Tis but two quarters past."

Nimbly, nimbly rase she up, And quickly put she on; While ever against her window The louder blew the win'.

Out she ran into the night, And down the dowie den; The strength that was in Clyde's water Wad drown five hundred men.

She stepped in to her ankle, She stepped free and bold; "Ohone, alas!" said that ladye, "This water is wondrous cold."

The second step that she waded, She waded to the knee; Says she, "I'd fain wade farther in, If I my love could see."

The neistan step that she waded, She waded to the chin; 'Twas a whirlin' pot o' Clyde's water She got sweet Willie in.

"O ye've had a cruel mither, Willie!

And I have had anither; But we shall sleep in Clyde's water Like sister and like brither."

YOUNG BEICHAN.

In London was young Beichan born, He longed strange countries for to see, But he was ta'en by a savage Moor, Who handled him right cruellie.

For he viewed the fashions of that land, Their way of worship viewed he, But to Mahound or Termagant Would Beichan never bend a knee.

So in every shoulder they've putten a bore, In every bore they've putten a tree, And they have made him trail the wine And spices on his fair bodie.

They've casten him in a dungeon deep, Where he could neither hear nor see, For seven years they've kept him there, Till he for hunger's like to dee.

This Moor he had but ae daughter, Her name was called Susie Pye, And every day as she took the air, Near Beichan's prison she pa.s.sed by.

And so it fell upon a day, About the middle time of Spring, As she was pa.s.sing by that way, She heard young Beichan sadly sing.

All night long no rest she got, Young Beichan's song for thinking on; She's stown the keys from her father's head, And to the prison strang is gone.

And she has opened the prison doors, I wot she opened two or three, Ere she could come young Beichan at, He was locked up so curiouslie.

But when she cam' young Beichan till, Sore wondered he that may to see; He took her for some fair captive: "Fair lady, I pray, of what countrie?"

"O have ye any lands," she said, "Or castles in your own countrie, That ye could give to a lady fair, From prison strang to set you free?"

"Near London town I have a hall, And other castles two or three; I'll give them all to the lady fair That out of prison will set me free."

"Give me the truth of your right hand, The truth of it give unto me, That for seven years ye'll no lady wed, Unless it be alang with me."

"I'll give thee the truth of my right hand, The truth of it I'll freely gie, That for seven years I'll stay unwed, For the kindness thou dost show to me."

And she has brib'd the proud warder, Wi' mickle gold and white monie, She's gotten the keys of the prison strang, And she has set young Beichan free.

She's gi'en him to eat the good spice-cake, She's gi'en him to drink the blude-red wine, She's bidden him sometimes think on her, That sae kindly freed him out o' pine.