Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume XXIV Part 13

On a felled tree lying a woman sits sighing, Rocking a child both to and fro; Her gown it is torn, her shoes they are worn-- She looks like a creature of woe, of woe; Her eyes are glowing, her hair is flowing, She's all over white with the snow, the snow; She rocks the child with a gesture wild, All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The child is crying, and she is trying To lull it asleep--balow! balow!

And while she is singing, the snowflakes are winging And whirling in eddies all through, all through.

I listed the rening and wondered the meaning: Was it the tale of her woe, her woe-- A truthful crooning or a maniac mooning-- All in the forest of Rumbollow?

[Footnote A: The old song called "Rumbollow Fair" is said by Pinkerton to have been lost. I have heard a refrain, "All in the Forest of Rumbollow," but whether this has any relation to the old song I do not know. I fear I am altogether responsible for this rhapsodical effusion.]

THE SONG OF THE BETRAYED.

"Balow! balow! my bonnie bairn-- Nae father to care for you; As your mother has sinned so shall she earn, And to her the world is hard and stern, Who has loved and lived to rue, Balow!

Who has loved and lived to rue.

"On Rumbollow green my love lies slain, As he cam' frae Rumbollow Fair; His bodie lies deep amang rushes green, Where corbies pike at his bonnie blue een, And taeds sleep in his hair, Balow!

And taeds sleep in his hair.

"The grey owl sits on yon willow tree, Whose branches o'er him weep, And sends its scream far o'er the lea, Where night winds whisper mournfullie, And through the rashes sweep, Balow!

And through the rashes sweep.

"When first I met wi' Hab o' the Howe I had scarce twice nine years seen, And he swore by our Ladye o' Rumbollow I had set a' his heart in a holy lowe Wi' the fire o' my twa black een, Balow!

Wi' the fire o' my twa black een.

"Of a' the fair maidens on Rumbollow green There was nane sae fair as me, Wi' my kilted kirtle o' mazarine, And buckles as bright as the siller sheen, And my coatie o' cramosie, Balow!

And my coatie o' cramosie.

"I was proud that he stood tall men abune, Sae stalwart, sae bald and free; But he cozened my heart and left me undune, Wi' tatters for claes and bachels for shune, And a sin-wean on my knee, Balow!

And a sin-wean on my knee.

"Last night, when the mune was in the wane, And the winds were moaning low, I wandered by his dead bodie alane, And looked at the hole in his white hause bane, And the gash on his bonnie brow, Balow!

And the gash on his bonnie brow.

"Did I wail to the mune, and tear my hair, And weep o'er his bodie? Na!

I leugh at the fause are wha left me to care, And fought for Bess c.u.mmock at Rumbollow Fair, And there lies dead, ha! ha!

Balow!

And there lies dead, ha! ha!"

She is up and going, no look bestowing Through the dark forest, tra-la! tra-la!

The roundelay still sounds away, The wail and the wild ha, ha, ha, ha!

Some wretched maiden with grief o'erladen, Victim of man, ever so, ever so.

The world needs mending and some G.o.d-sending, All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The mill is yonder where she may wander; The wheels they merrily row, they row; The lade is gushing, the water's rushing On to the ocean below, below.

The song is ending, or scattered and blending In the wild winds as they blow, they blow; She moves still faster with wilder gesture, All in the forest of Rumbollow.

It is no seeming, hark! comes a screaming The moaning forest all through, all through; The miller is running, no danger shunning, The foaming waters down flow, down, flow: Too late his braving, there is no saving-- Down the mill lade they go, they go, Mother and child 'midst the waters wild; All in the forest of Rumbollow!

XIV.

THE LEGEND OF THE BURNING OF MISTRESS JAMPHRAY.

I.

From the dark old times that have gone before, We have got in our day some little relief; We don't think of doing what they did of yore, To saw a man through for a point of belief; We do not believe in old women's dreams, And devils and ghosts we can do without; Nor do we now set an old woman in flames, But rather endeavour to put them out.

She has ta'en her lang staff in her shaky hand, And gaen up the stair of Will Mudie's land; She has looked in the face of Will Mudie's wean, And the wean it was dead that very same e'en.

Next day she has gane to the Nethergate, And looked ower the top of Rob Rorison's yett, Where she and his wife having got into brangles, Rob's grey mare Bess that night took the strangles.

It was clear when she went to Broughty Ferry, She sailed in an egg-sh.e.l.l in place of a wherry; And when she had pa.s.s'd by the tower of Claypots, John Fairweather's gelding was seized with the bots, And his black horse Billy was seized the same even, Not by the bots, but the "spanking spavin."

And as she went on to Monifieth, She met an auld man with the wind in his teeth-- "Are you the witch o' Bonnie Dundee?"

"You may ask the wind, and then you will see!"

And, such was the wickedness of her spite, The man took the toothache that very night.

With John Thow's wife she was at drawing of daggers, And twenty of John's sheep took the staggers.

With old Joe Baxter she long had striven,-- Joe set his sponge, but it never would leaven; And as for Gib Jenkinson's cow that gaed yeld, It was very well known that Crummie was spelled.

When Luckie Macrobie's sweet milk wouldna erne, The reason was clear--she bewitched the concern.

True! no man could swear that he ever saw Her flee on a broomstick over North Berwick Law; But as for the fact, where was she that night When the heavens were blue with the levin-light?

The broom wasna seen ahint the door; It had better to do than to sweep the floor.

Then, sure there was something far worse than a frolic, When the half of Dundee was seized with the cholic.

True! n.o.body knew that she gaed to the howf For dead men's fat to bring home in her loof, To brew from the mixture of henbane and savin, Her h.e.l.l-broth for those who were thirsting for heaven.

For the s.e.xton, John Cant, could be prudent and still-- He knew she would send him good grist to his mill.

Ere good Provost Syme was ta'en by a tremor, It was known that the provost had called her a limmer; And when Bailie Nicholson broke his heugh-bane, Had she not been seen that day in the lane?

It was certain, because c.u.mmer Gibbieson swore That the bairn she had with the whummel-bore Leapt quick in her womb one day the witch pa.s.sed her, And she was the cause of the bairn's disaster.

When the ferry-boat sank in crossing the Tay, She was on the Craig pier the very same day.

It was vain to conceal it, and vain to deny it, She kept in her house an auld he-pyet: That bird was the devil, and she fed him each day With the brimstone she bought from Luckie Glenday.

In truth, the old pyet was daintily treated, Because her black soul was impignorated.

And these were the reasons--enough, I trow-- Why she should be set in a lunting lowe.

II.

The barrels are brought from Noraway, Well seasoned with plenty of Noraway pitch; All dried and split for that jubilee day, The day of the holocaust of a witch.

The p.r.i.c.kers are chosen--hang-daddy and brother-- And fixed were the fees of their work of love; To p.r.i.c.k an old woman who was a mother, And felt still the yearnings of motherly love For she had a son, a n.o.ble young fellow, Who sailed in a ship of his own the sea, And who was away on the distant billow For a cargo of wine to this bonnie Dundee.

Some said she was bonnie when she was a la.s.sie, Ah! fair the young blossom upon the young tree; But winter will come, and summer will pa.s.s aye, And youth is not always to you or to me.

A true loving daughter, with G.o.d to fear, A dutiful wife, and a mother dear; With a heart to feel and a bosom to sigh, She had tears to weep, she had tears to dry.

III.