Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border Volume I Part 22

_There is another ballad, under the same t.i.tle as the following, in which nearly the same incidents are narrated, with little difference, except that the honour of rescuing the cattle is attributed to the Liddesdale Elliots, headed by a chief, there called Martin Elliot of the Preakin Tower, whose son, Simon, is said to have fallen in the action. It is very possible, that both the Tiviotdale Scotts, and the Elliots were engaged in the affair, and that each claimed the honour of the victory_.

_The editor presumes, that the Willie Scott, here mentioned must have been a natural son of the laird of Buccleuch_.

It fell about the Martinmas tyde, When our border steeds get corn and hay, The captain, of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde, And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.

The first ae guide that they met wi', It was high up in Hardhaughswire; The second guide that they met wi', It was laigh down in Borthwick water.

"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?"

"Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee; But, gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead, Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see."

And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead, Right hastily they clam the peel; They loosed the kye out, are and a', And ranshackled[132] the house right weel.

Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair, The tear aye rowing in his e'e; He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear, Or else revenged he wad be.

The captain turned him round, and leugh; Said--"Man, there's naething in thy house, But ae auld sword without a sheath, That hardly now wad fell a mouse!"

The sun was na up, but the moon was down, It was the gryming[133] of a new fa'n snaw, Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot, Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha'.

And whan he cam to the fair tower yate, He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot-- "Whae's this that brings the fraye to me?"

"Its I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be!

There's naething left at the fair Dodhead, But a waefu' wife and bairnies three."

"Gar seek your succour at Branksome Ha', For succour ye'se get nane frae me!

Gae seek your succour where ye paid black mail, For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me."

Jamie has turned him round about, I wat the tear blinded his e'e-- "I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again, And the fair Dodhead I'll never see!

"My hounds may a' rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, My lord may grip my va.s.sal lands, For there again maun I never be!"

He has turned him to the Tiviot side, E'en as fast as he could drie, Till he cam to the Coultart Cleugh, And there he shouted baith loud and hie.

Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve-- "Whae's this that bring's the fray to me?"

"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, A harried man I trew I be.

"There's naething left in the fair Dodhead, But a greeting wife and bairnies three, And sax poor ca's[134] stand in the sta', A' routing loud for their minnie."[135]

"Alack a wae!" quo' auld Jock Grieve, "Alack! my heart is sair for thee!

For I was married on the elder sister, And you on the youngest of a' the three,"

Then he has ta'en out a bonny black, Was right weel fed wi' corn and hay, And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back, To the Catslockhill to tak the fraye.

And whan he cam to the Catslockhill, He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, Till out and spak him William's Wat-- "O whae's this brings the fraye to me?"

"Its I, Jamie Telfer of the fair Dodhead, A harried man I think I be!

The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear; For G.o.d's sake rise, and succour me!"

"Alas for wae!" quo' William's Wat, Alack, for thee my heart is sair!

I never cam bye the fair Dodhead, That ever I fand thy basket bare."

He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds, Himsel' upon a freckled gray, And they are on wi' Jamie Telfer, To Branksome Ha' to tak the fraye.

And whan they cam to Branksome Ha', They shouted a' baith loud and hie, Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch, Said--"Whae's this brings the fraye to me?"

"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be!

There's nought left in the fair Dodhead, But a greeting wife, and bairnies three."

"Alack for wae!" quoth the gude auld lord, "And ever my heart is wae for thee!

But fye gar cry on Willie, my son, And see that he come to me speedilie!

"Gar warn the water, braid and wide, Gar warn it sune and hastilie!

They that winna ride for Telfer's kye, Let them never look in the face o' me!

"Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons, Wi' them will Borthwick water ride; Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh, And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.

"Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire, And warn the Currors o' the Lee; As ye c.u.m down the Hermitage Slack, Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinberry."

The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie!

And aye the ower-word o' the thrang Was--"Rise for Branksome readilie!"

The gear was driven the Frostylee up, Frae the Frostylee unto the plain, Whan Willie has looked his men before, And saw the kye right fast driving.

"Whae drives thir kye?" can Willie say, To mak an outspeckle[136] o' me?"

"Its I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie; I winna layne my name for thee."

"O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back?

Or will ye do aught for regard o' me?

Or, by the faith of my body," quo' Willie Scott, "I'se ware my dame's cauf's skin on thee!"

"I winna let the kye gae back, Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear; But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye, In spite of every Scot that's here."

"Set on them, lads!" quo' Willie than; Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!

For ere they win to the Ritterford, Mony a toom[137] saddle there sall be!"

Then till't they gaed, wi' heart and hand; The blows fell thick as bickering hail; And mony a horse ran masterless, And mony a comely cheek was pale!

But Willie was stricken ower the head, And thro' the knapscap[138] the sword has gane; And Harden grat for very rage, Whan Willie on the grund lay slane.

But he's tane aff his gude steel cap, And thrice he's wav'd it in the air-- The Dinlay[139] snaw was ne'er mair white, Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.

"Revenge! revenge!" auld Wat can cry; "Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!

We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again, Or Willie's death revenged sall be."

O mony a horse ran masterless, The splintered lances flew on hie; But or they wan to the Kershope ford, The Scots had gotten the victory.

John o' Brigham there was slane, And John o' Barlow, as I hear say; And thirty mae o' the captain's men, Lay bleeding on the grund that day.