Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border Volume Ii Part 17

_The beautiful air of Cowdenknows is well known and popular. In Ettrick Forest the following words are uniformly adapted to the tune, and seem to be the original ballad. An edition of this pastoral tale, differing considerably from the present copy, was published by Mr_ HERD, _in 1772.

Cowdenknows is situated upon the river Leader, about four miles from Melrose, and is now the property of Dr_ HUME.

O the broom, and the bonny bonny broom, And the broom of the Cowdenknows!

And aye sae sweet as the la.s.sie sang, I' the bought, milking the ewes.

The hills were high on ilka side, An' the bought i' the lirk o' the hill, And aye, as she sang, her voice it rang Out o'er the head o' yon hill.

There was a troop o' gentlemen Came riding merrilie by, And one of them has rode out o' the way, To the bought to the bonny may.

"Weel may ye save an' see, bonny la.s.s, "An' weel may ye save an' see."

"An' sae wi' you, ye weel-bred knight,"

"And what's your will wi' me?"

"The night is misty and mirk, fair may, "And I have ridden astray, "And will ye be so kind, fair may, "As come out and point my way?"

"Ride out, ride out, ye ramp rider!

"Your steed's baith stout and strang; "For out of the bought I dare na come, "For fear 'at ye do me wrang."

"O winna ye pity me, bonny la.s.s, "O winna ye pity me?

"An' winna ye pity my poor steed, "Stands trembling at yon tree?"

"I wadna pity your poor steed, "Tho' it were tied to a thorn; "For if ye wad gain my love the night, "Ye wad slight me ere the morn.

"For I ken you by your weel-busked hat, "And your merrie twinkling e'e, "That ye're the laird o' the Oakland hills, "An' ye may weel seem for to be."

"But I am not the laird o' the Oakland hills, "Ye're far mista'en o' me; "But I'm are o' the men about his house, "An' right aft in his companie."

He's ta'en her by the middle jimp, And by the gra.s.s-green sleeve; He's lifted her over the fauld d.y.k.e, And speer'd at her sma' leave.

O he's ta'en out a purse o' gowd, And streek'd her yellow hair, "Now, take ye that, my bonnie may, "Of me till you hear mair."

O he's leapt on his berry-brown steed, An' soon he's o'erta'en his men; And ane and a' cried out to him, "O master, ye've tarry'd lang!"

"O I hae been east, and I hae been west, "An' I hae been far o'er the know, "But the bonniest la.s.s that ever I saw "Is i'the bought milking the ewes."

She set the cog[A] upon her head, An' she's gane singing hame-- "O where hae ye been, my ae daughter?

"Ye hae na been your lane."

"O nae body was wi' me, father, "O nae body has been wi' me; "The night is misty and mirk, father, "Ye may gang to the door and see.

"But wae be to your ewe-herd, father, "And an ill deed may he die; "He bug the bought at the back o' the know, "And a tod[B] has frighted me.

"There came a tod to the bought-door, "The like I never saw; "And ere he had tane the lamb he did, "I had lourd he had ta'en them a'."

O whan fifteen weeks was come and gane, Fifteen weeks and three.

That la.s.sie began to look thin and pale, An' to long for his merry twinkling e'e.

It fell on a day, on a het simmer day, She was ca'ing out her father's kye, By came a troop o' gentlemen, A' merrilie riding bye.

"Weel may ye save an' see, bonny may, "Weel may ye save and see!

"Weel I wat, ye be a very bonny may, "But whae's aught that babe ye are wi'?"

Never a word could that la.s.sie say, For never a ane could she blame, An' never a word could the la.s.sie say, But "I have a good man at hame."

"Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonny may, "Sae loud as I hear you lie; "For dinna ye mind that misty night "I was i' the bought wi' thee?

"I ken you by your middle sae jimp, "An' your merry twinkling e'e, "That ye're the bonny la.s.s i'the Cowdenknow, "An' ye may weel seem for to be."

Than he's leap'd off his berry-brown steed, An' he's set that fair may on-- "Caw out your kye, gude father, yoursell, "For she's never caw them out again.

"I am the laird of the Oakland hills, "I hae thirty plows and three; "Ah' I hae gotten the bonniest la.s.s "That's in a' the south country.

[Footnote A: _Cog_--Milking-pail.]

[Footnote B: _Tod_--Fox.]

LORD RANDAL.

There is a beautiful air to this old ballad. The hero is more generally termed _Lord Ronald;_ but I willingly follow the authority of an Ettrick Forest copy for calling him _Randal;_ because, though the circ.u.mstances are so very different, I think it not impossible, that the ballad may have originally regarded the death of Thomas Randolph, or Randal, earl of Murray, nephew to Robert Bruce, and governor of Scotland. This great warrior died at Musselburgh, 1332, at the moment when his services were most necessary to his country, already threatened by an English army.

For this sole reason, perhaps, our historians obstinately impute his death to poison. See _The Bruce_, book xx. Fordun repeats, and Boece echoes, this story, both of whom charge the murder on Edward III. But it is combated successfully by Lord Hailes, in his _Remarks on the History of Scotland_.

The subst.i.tution of some venomous reptile for food, or putting it into liquor, was anciently supposed to be a common mode of administering poison; as appears from the following curious account of the death of King John, extracted from a MS. Chronicle of England, _penes_ John Clerk, esq. advocate. "And, in the same tyme, the pope sente into Englond a legate, that men cald Swals, and he was prest cardinal of Rome, for to mayntene King Johnes cause agens the barons of Englond; but the barons had so much pte (_poustie_, i.e. power) through Lewys, the kinges sone of Fraunce, that King Johne wist not wher for to wend ne gone: and so hitt fell, that he wold have gone to Suchold; and as he went thedurward, he come by the abbey of Swinshed, and ther he abode II dayes. And, as he sate at meat, he askyd a monke of the house, how moche a lofe was worth, that was before hym sete at the table? and the monke sayd that loffe was worthe bot ane halfpenny. 'O!' quod the kyng, 'this is a grette cheppe of brede; now,' said the king, 'and yff I may, such a loffe shalle be worth xxd. or half a yer be gone:' and when he said the word, muche he thought, and ofte tymes sighed, and nome and ete of the bred, and said, 'By G.o.de, the word that I have spokyn shall be sothe.'

The monke, that stode befor the kyng, was ful sory in his hert; and thought rather he wold himself suffer peteous deth; and thought yff he myght ordeyn therfore sum remedy. And anon the monke went unto his abbott, and was schryvyd of him, and told the abbott all that the kyng said, and prayed his abbott to a.s.soyl him, for he wold gyffe the kyng such a wa.s.sayle, that all Englond shuld be glad and joyful therof. Tho went the monke into a gardene, and fond a tode therin; and toke her upp, and put hyr in a cuppe, and filled it with good ale, and pryked hyr in every place, in the cuppe, till the venome come out in every place; an brought hitt befor the kyng, and knelyd, and said, 'Sir, wa.s.sayle; for never in your lyfe drancke ye of such a cuppe,' 'Begyne, monke,' quod the king; and the monke dranke a gret draute, and toke the kyng the cuppe, and the kyng also drank a grett draute, and set downe the cuppe.--The monke anon went to the Farmarye, and ther dyed anon, on whose soule G.o.d have mercy, Amen. And v monkes syng for his soule especially, and shall while the abbey stondith. The kyng was anon ful evil at ese, and comaunded to remove the table, and askyd after the monke; and men told him that he was ded, for his wombe was broke in sondur. When the king herd this tidyng, he comaunded for to trusse; but all hit was for nought, for his bely began to swelle for the drink that he dranke, that he dyed within II dayes, the moro aftur Seynt Luke's day."

A different account of the poisoning of King John is given in a MS.

Chronicle of England, written in the minority of Edward III., and contained in the Auchinleck MS. of Edinburgh. Though not exactly to our present purpose, the pa.s.sage is curious, and I shall quote it without apology. The author has mentioned the interdict laid on John's kingdom by the pope, and continues thus:

He was ful wroth and grim, For no prest wald sing for him He made tho his parlement, And swore his _croy de verament_, That he shuld make such a.s.saut, To fede all Inglonde with a spand.

And eke with a white lof, Therefore I hope[A] he was G.o.d-loth.

A monk it herd of Swines-heued, And of this wordes he was adred, He went hym to his fere, And seyd to hem in this manner; "The king has made a sori oth, That he schal with a white lof Fede al Inglonde, and with a spand, Y wis it were a sori saut; And better is that we die to, Than al Inglond be so wo.

Ye schul for me belles ring, And after wordes rede and sing; So helpe you G.o.d, heven king, Granteth me alle now mill asking, And Ichim wil with puseoun slo, Ne schal he never Inglond do wo."

His brethren him graunt alle his bone.

He let him shrive swithe sone, To make his soule fair and cleue, To for our leuedi heven queen, That sche schuld for him be, To for her son in trinite.

Dansimond zede and gadred frut, For sothe were plommes white, The steles[B] he puld out everichon, Puisoun he dede therin anon, And sett the steles al ogen, That the gile schuld nought be sen.

He dede hem in a coupe of gold, And went to the kinges bord; On knes he him sett, The king full fair he grett; "Sir," he said, "by Seynt Austin, This is front of our garden, And gif that your wil be, a.s.sayet herof after me."

Dansimoud ete frut, on and on, And al tho other ete King Jon; The monke aros, and went his way, G.o.d gif his soule wel G.o.de day; He gaf King Jon ther his puisoun, Himself had that ilk doun, He dede, it is nouther for mirthe ne ond, Bot for to save al Iuglond.

The King Jon sate at mete, His wombe to wex grete; He swore his oth, _per la croyde_, His wombe wald brest a thre; He wald have risen fram the bord, Ac he spake never more word; Thus ended his time, Y wis he had an evel fine.

[Footnote A: _Hope, for think._]

[Footnote B: _Steles_--Stalks.]