Ballad Book Part 30

I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, but love be bonny A little time while it is new; But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld And fades awa' like morning dew.

O wherefore should I busk my head?

Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true Love has me forsook, And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed; The sheets sall ne'er be prest by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true Love has forsaken me.

Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves aff the tree?

O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?

For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see; My Love was clad in black velvet, And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win; I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd And pinn'd it with a siller pin.

And, O! that my young babe were born, And set upon, the nurse's knee, And I mysell were dead and gane, And the green gra.s.s growing over me!

LORD RONALD.

"O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son, O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?"

"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?

Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"

"I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?

What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?"

"I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?

What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"

"O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!

O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!"

"O yes! I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down."

EDWARD, EDWARD.

'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, Edward, Edward?

Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid, And why sae sad gang yee O?'

'O I hae killed my hauke sae guid, Mither, mither, O I hae killed my hauke sae guid, And I had nae mair bot hee O.'

'Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, Edward, Edward, Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid, My deir son, I tell thee O.'

'O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, Mither, mither, O I hae killed my reid-roan steid, That erst was sae fair and frie O.'

'Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, Edward, Edward, Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair, Sum other dule ye drie O.'

'O I hae killed my fadir deir, Mither, mither, O I hae killed my fadir deir, Alas, and wae is mee O!'

'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that, Edward, Edward?

'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that?

My deir son, now tell me O.'

'He set my feit in yonder boat, Mither, mither, He set my feit in yonder boat, And He fare ovir the sea O.'

'And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha, Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha, That were sae fair to see O?'

'Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa, Mither, mither, Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa, For here nevir mair maun I bee O.'

'And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang ovir the sea O?'

'The warldis room, late them beg thrae life, Mither, mither, The warldis room, late them beg thrae life, For thame nevir mair wul I see O.'

'And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir, Edward, Edward?

And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir, My deir son, now tell me O.'

'The curse of h.e.l.l frae me sall ye beir, Mither, mither, The curse of h.e.l.l frae me sall ye beir, Sic counseils ye gave to me O.'

NOTES

THE WEE WEE MAN. Mainly after Herd. Given also by Motherwell, Buchan, and Kinloch, and in Caw's "Poetical Museum." _Shathmont_, a six inch measure. _Lap_, leaped. _Jimp_, neat.

TAMLANE. Mainly after Aytoun's collated version. Stanzas 16-19, obtained by Scott "from a gentleman residing near Langholm," are too modern in diction to harmonize well with the rest, but are retained here because of their fidelity to the ancient beliefs of the country folk about fairies. Widely varying versions are given in Johnson's "Museum," communicated by Burns, under t.i.tle of _Tam Lin_; in the Glenriddell MS. under t.i.tle of _Young Tom Line_; by Herd, under t.i.tle of _Kertonha_, corruption of Carterhaugh; by Motherwell, under t.i.tles of _Young Tamlin_ and _Tomaline_; by Buchan, under t.i.tles of _Tam-a-line_ and _Tam a-Lin_; and in the Campbell MS. under t.i.tle of _Young Tam Lane_. There are humorous Scottish songs, too, of _Tam o Lin_, _Tam o the Linn_, _Tom a Lin_, and _Tommy Linn_. The ballad is of respectable antiquity, the _Tayl of the Yong Tamlene_ and the dance of _Thom of Lyn_ being noticed in a work as old as the "Complaynt of Scotland" (1548); yet it seems to have no Continental cousins, but to be strictly of Scottish origin. It belongs to Selkirkshire, whose peasants still point out upon the plain of Carterhaugh, about a mile above Selkirk, the fairy rings in the gra.s.s. _Preen'd_, decked.

_Gars_, makes. _Bree_, brow, _Sained_, baptized, _Snell_, keen.

_Teind_, t.i.the. _Borrow_, ransom. _Cast a compa.s.s_, draw a circle.

_Elrish_, elvish. _Gin_, if. _Maik_, mate. _Aske_, lizard. _Bale_, fire. _But and_, and also. _Tree_, wood. _Coft_, bought.

TRUE THOMAS. Mainly after Scott. This is one of the ballads written down from the recital of the "good Mrs. Brown," to whose admirable memory ballad-lovers are so deeply indebted. It is given in the Brown MS. as _Thomas Rymer and Queen of Elfland_; in the Campbell MS. as _Thomas the Rhymer_. Scott obtained his excellent version from "a lady residing not far from Ercildoune." This Thomas the Rhymer, or True Thomas, or Thomas of Ercildoune, was a veritable personage, who dwelt in the village of Ercildoune situate by "Leader's silver tide" some two miles above its junction with the Tweed. Tradition has it that his date was the thirteenth century and his full name Thomas Learmont.

He was celebrated as poet and prophet, the rustics believing that his gift of soothsaying was imparted by the Fairy Queen, who kept him with her in Elfland for seven years, permitting him then to return to the upper world for a season and utter his oracles, but presently recalling him to her mysterious court. A fragmentary old poem, showing probable traces, as Jamieson suggests, of the Rhymer's own authorship, tells this famous adventure in language whose antiquated form cannot disguise its sweetness. The melancholy likelihood seems to be that True Thomas was a fibbing Thomas, after all, and invented this story of his sojourn in Elfland to gain credit for his poetical prophecies, which claim to have first proceeded from the mouth of the Fairy Queen, when

"Scho broghte hym agayne to Eldone tree, Vndir nethe that grenewode spraye; In Huntlee bannkes es mery to bee, Whare fowles synges bothe nyght and daye."

_Ferlie_, wonder. _Ilka tett_, each lock (of hair). _Louted_, bowed.

_Harp and carp_, play and talk. _Leven_, lawn. _Stern-light_, star-light. _Dought_, could.

THE ELFIN KNIGHT. After Aytoun's version framed by collation from copies given by Motherwell, Kinloch, and Buchan. These were in the main recovered by recitation, although there is a broadside copy of the ballad in the Pepysian collection at Cambridge. Fragments of the story have been handed down in tavern-songs and nursery-rhymes, and it is to be found, more or less disguised, in the literatures of many countries, European and Asiatic. It is only in our own versions, however, that the outwitted knight is a supernatural being, usually an elf, though sometimes degenerating into "the Deil." Nowhere out of canny Scotland does his ungallantry debar him from the human ranks.