The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 1 (of 5) (part 2 of 7)

The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 1 (of 5) (part 2 of 7)

A Polish popular tale, which is, indeed, half song, Wojcicki, Klechdy, ed. 1851, II, 15 (Lewestam, p. 105), Kolberg, Pieśni ludu Polskiego, p. 292, No 40 #a#, #b#, #c#, approaches very close to the English-Norse ballad. There were three sisters, all pretty, but the youngest far surpassing the others. A young man from the far-off Ukraine fell in with them while they were making garlands. The youngest pleased him best, and he chose her for his wife. This excited the jealousy of the eldest, and a few days after, when they were gathering berries in a wood, she killed the youngest, notwithstanding the resistance of the second sister, buried her, and gave out that she had been torn to pieces by wolves. When the youth came to ask after his love, the murderess told him this tale, and so won him by her devoted consolations that he offered her his hand. A willow grew out of the grave of the youngest, and a herdsman made a pipe from one of its boughs. Blow as he would, he could get no sound from the pipe but this:

'Blow on, herdsman, blow! God shall bless thee so. The eldest was my slayer, the second tried to stay her.'

The herdsman took the pipe to the house of the murdered girl. The mother, the father, and the second sister successively tried it, and the pipe always sang a like song, Blow, mother, blow, etc. The father then put the pipe into the eldest sister's hands. She had hardly touched it, when blood spattered her cheeks, and the pipe sang:

'Blow on, sister, blow: God shall wreak me now. Thou, sister, 't was didst slay me, the younger tried to stay thee,' etc.

The murderess was torn by wild horses.

Professor Bugge reports a Norwegian tale, Grundtvig, III, 878, which resembles the ballad at the beginning. There were in a family two daughters and a son. One sister was wasteful, the other saving. The second complained of the first to her parents, and was killed and buried by the other. Foliage covered the grave, so that it could not be seen, but on the trees under which the body lay, there grew "strings." These the brother cut off and adapted to his fiddle, and when he played, the fiddle said, My sister is killed. The father, having heard the fiddle's revelation, brought his daughter to confess her act.

There is a series of tales which represent a king, or other personage, as being afflicted with a severe malady, and as promising that whichever of his children, commonly three sons, should bring him something necessary for his cure or comfort should be his heir: (1) 'La Flor del Lililá,' Fernan Caballero, Lágrimas, cap. 4; (2) 'La caña del riu de arenas,' Milá, Observaciones sobre la poesia popular, p. 178, No 3; (3) 'Es kommt doch einmal an den Tag,' Müllenhof, Sagen, u. s. w., p. 495, No 49; (4) 'Vom singenden Dudelsack,' Gonzenbach, Sicilianische Märchen, I, 329, No 51. Or the inheritance is promised to whichever of the children finds something lost, or rich and rare, a griffin's feather, a golden branch, a flower: (5) 'Die Greifenfeder,' Schneller, Märchen und Sagen aus Wälschtirol, p. 143, No 51; (6) 'La Flanuto,' Bladé, Contes et proverbes populaires recueillis en Armagnac, p. 3, No 1; (7) Wackernagel, in Haupt's Zeitschrift, III, 35, No 3, == 'Das Todtebeindli,' Colshorn, C. u. Th., Märchen u. Sagen, p. 193, No 71, == Sutermeister, Kinder-u.-Hausmärchen aus der Schweiz, p. 119, No 39. Or a king promises his daughter to the man who shall capture a dangerous wild beast, and the exploit is undertaken by three brothers [or two]: (8) 'Der singende Knochen,' Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, I, 149, No 28 (1857); (9) 'Die drei Brüder,' Curtze, Volksüberlieferungen aus dem Fürstenthum Waldeck, p. 53, No 11; (10) 'Der Rohrstengel,' Haltrich, Deutsche Volksmärchen aus dem Sachsenlande, u. s. w., p. 225, No 42. With these we may group, though divergent in some respects, (11) 'Der goldene Apfel,' Toeppen, Aberglauben aus Masuren, p. 139.[142] In all these tales the youngest child is successful, and is killed, out of envy, by the eldest or by the two elder. [There are only two children in (6), (7), (8); in (4) the second is innocent, as in the Polish tale.] Reeds grow over the spot where the body is buried (1), (2), (10), (11), or an elder bush (3), out of which a herdsman makes a pipe or flute; or a white bone is found by a herdsman, and he makes a pipe or horn of it (5-9); or a bag-pipe is made of the bones and skin of the murdered youth (4). The instrument, whenever it is played, attests the murder.

Among the tales of the South African Bechuana, there is one of a younger brother, who has been killed by an older, immediately appearing as a bird, and announcing what has occurred. The bird is twice killed, and the last time burnt and its ashes scattered to the winds, but still reappears, and proclaims that his body lies by a spring in the desert. Grimms, K. u. H. m. III, 361. Liebrecht has noted that the fundamental idea is found in a Chinese drama, 'The Talking Dish,' said to be based on a popular tale. An innkeeper and his wife kill one of their guests for his money, and burn the body. The innkeeper collects the ashes and pounds the bones, and makes a sort of mortar and a dish. This dish speaks very distinctly, and denounces the murderers. Journal Asiatique, 1851, 4th Series, vol. 18, p. 523.

* * * * *

Danish #A#, #E# are translated by Prior, I, 381, 384. English #B#, with use of #C#, is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 104, No 15; #C#, by Afzelius, III, 22. #C#, by Talvj, Versuch, u. s. w., p. 532; by Schubart, p. 133; by Gerhard, p. 143; by Doenniges, p. 81; Arndt, p. 238. #C#, with use of Aytoun's compounded version, by R. Warrens, Schottische V. L. der Vorzeit, p. 65; Allingham's version by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 180.

A

#A. a.# Broadside "printed for Francis Grove, 1656," reprinted in Notes and Queries, 1st S., V, 591. #b.# Wit Restor'd, 1658, "p. 51," p. 153 of the reprint of 1817. #c.# Wit and Drollery, ed. 1682, p. 87,== Dryden's Miscellany, Part 3, p. 316, ed. 1716. #d.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 315.

1 There were two sisters, they went playing, With a hie downe downe a downe-a To see their father's ships come sayling in. With a hy downe downe a downe-a

2 And when they came unto the sea-brym, The elder did push the younger in.

3 'O sister, O sister, take me by the gowne, And drawe me up upon the dry ground.'

4 'O sister, O sister, that may not bee, Till salt and oatmeale grow both of a tree.'

5 Somtymes she sanke, somtymes she swam, Until she came unto the mill-dam.

6 The miller runne hastily downe the cliffe, And up he betook her withouten her life.

7 What did he doe with her brest-bone? He made him a violl to play thereupon.

8 What did he doe with her fingers so small? He made him peggs to his violl withall.

9 What did he doe with her nose-ridge? Unto his violl he made him a bridge.

10 What did he doe with her veynes so blew? He made him strings to his violl thereto.

11 What did he doe with her eyes so bright? Upon his violl he played at first sight.

12 What did he doe with her tongue so rough? Unto the violl it spake enough.

13 What did he doe with her two shinnes? Unto the violl they danc'd Moll Syms.

14 Then bespake the treble string, 'O yonder is my father the king.'

15 Then bespake the second string, 'O yonder sitts my mother the queen.'

16 And then bespake the strings all three, 'O yonder is my sister that drowned mee.'

17 'Now pay the miller for his payne, And let him bee gone in the divel's name.'

B

#a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 39. #b.# Wm. Tytler's Brown MS., No 15. #c.# Abbotsford MS., "Scottish Songs," fol. 21. #d.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 48.

1 There was twa sisters in a bowr, Edinburgh, Edinburgh There was twa sisters in a bowr, Stirling for ay There was twa sisters in a bowr, There came a knight to be their wooer. Bonny Saint Johnston stands upon Tay

2 He courted the eldest wi glove an ring, But he lovd the youngest above a' thing.

3 He courted the eldest wi brotch an knife, But lovd the youngest as his life.

4 The eldest she was vexed sair, An much envi'd her sister fair.

5 Into her bowr she could not rest, Wi grief an spite she almos brast.

6 Upon a morning fair an clear, She cried upon her sister dear:

7 'O sister, come to yon sea stran, An see our father's ships come to lan.'

8 She's taen her by the milk-white han, An led her down to yon sea stran.

9 The younges[t] stood upon a stane, The eldest came an threw her in.

10 She tooke her by the middle sma, An dashd her bonny back to the jaw.

11 'O sister, sister, tak my han, An Ise mack you heir to a' my lan.

12 'O sister, sister, tak my middle, An yes get my goud and my gouden girdle.

13 'O sister, sister, save my life, An I swear Ise never be nae man's wife.'

14 'Foul fa the han that I should tacke, It twin'd me an my wardles make.

15 'Your cherry cheeks an yallow hair Gars me gae maiden for evermair.'

16 Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she swam, Till she came down yon bonny mill-dam.

17 O out it came the miller's son, An saw the fair maid swimmin in.

18 'O father, father, draw your dam, Here's either a mermaid or a swan.'

19 The miller quickly drew the dam, An there he found a drownd woman.

20 You coudna see her yallow hair For gold and pearle that were so rare.

21 You coudna see her middle sma For gouden girdle that was sae braw.

22 You coudna see her fingers white, For gouden rings that was sae gryte.

23 An by there came a harper fine, That harped to the king at dine.

24 When he did look that lady upon, He sighd and made a heavy moan.

25 He's taen three locks o her yallow hair, An wi them strung his harp sae fair.

26 The first tune he did play and sing, Was, 'Farewell to my father the king.'

27 The nextin tune that he playd syne, Was, 'Farewell to my mother the queen.'

28 The lasten tune that he playd then, Was, 'Wae to my sister, fair Ellen.'

C

Scott's Minstrelsy, 1802, II; 143. Compounded from #B b# and a fragment of fourteen stanzas transcribed from the recitation of an old woman by Miss Charlotte Brooke.

1 There were two sisters sat in a bour; Binnorie, O Binnorie There came a knight to be their wooer. By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie

2 He courted the eldest with glove and ring, But he loed the youngest aboon a' thing.

3 He courted the eldest with broach and knife, But he loed the youngest aboon his life.

4 The eldest she was vexed sair, And sore envied her sister fair.

5 The eldest said to the youngest ane, 'Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?'

6 She's taen her by the lilly hand, And led her down to the river strand.

7 The youngest stude upon a stane, The eldest came and pushed her in.

8 She took her by the middle sma, And dashed her bonnie back to the jaw.

9 'O sister, sister, reach your hand, And ye shall be heir of half my land.'

10 'O sister, I'll not reach my hand, And I'll be heir of all your land.

11 'Shame fa the hand that I should take, It's twin'd me and my world's make.'

12 'O sister, reach me but your glove, And sweet William shall be your love.'

13 'Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove, And sweet William shall better be my love.

14 'Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair Garrd me gang maiden evermair.'

15 Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam, Until she came to the miller's dam.

16 'O father, father, draw your dam, There's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.'

17 The miller hasted and drew his dam, And there he found a drowned woman.

18 You could not see her yellow hair, For gowd and pearls that were sae rare.

19 You could na see her middle sma, Her gowden girdle was sae bra.

20 A famous harper passing by, The sweet pale face he chanced to spy.

21 And when he looked that ladye on, He sighed and made a heavy moan.

22 He made a harp of her breast-bone, Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone.

23 The strings he framed of her yellow hair, Whose notes made sad the listening ear.

24 He brought it to her father's hall, And there was the court assembled all.

25 He laid this harp upon a stone, And straight it began to play alone.

26 'O yonder sits my father, the king, And yonder sits my mother, the queen.

27 'And yonder stands my brother Hugh, And by him my William, sweet and true.'

28 But the last tune that the harp playd then, Was 'Woe to my sister, false Helen!'

D

Kinloch's MSS, II, 49. From the recitation of Mrs Johnston, a North-country lady.

1 There lived three sisters in a bouer, Edinbruch, Edinbruch There lived three sisters in a bouer, Stirling for aye There lived three sisters in a bouer, The youngest was the sweetest flowr. Bonnie St Johnston stands upon Tay

2 There cam a knicht to see them a', And on the youngest his love did fa.

3 He brought the eldest ring and glove, But the youngest was his ain true-love.

4 He brought the second sheath and knife, But the youngest was to be his wife.

5 The eldest sister said to the youngest ane, 'Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?'

6 And as they walked by the linn, The eldest dang the youngest in.

7 'O sister, sister, tak my hand, And ye'll be heir to a' my land.'

8 'Foul fa the hand that I wad take, To twin me o my warld's make.'

9 'O sister, sister, tak my glove, And yese get Willie, my true-love.'

10 'Sister, sister, I'll na tak your glove, For I'll get Willie, your true-love.'

11 Aye she swittert, and aye she swam, Till she cam to yon bonnie mill-dam.

12 The miller's dochter cam out wi speed, It was for water, to bake her bread.

13 'O father, father, gae slack your dam; There's in't a lady or a milk-white swan.'

* * * * * * *

14 They could na see her coal-black eyes For her yellow locks hang oure her brees.

15 They could na see her weel-made middle For her braid gowden girdle.

* * * * * * *

16 And by there cam an auld blind fiddler, And took three tets o her bonnie yellow hair.

* * * * * * *

17 The first spring that the bonnie fiddle playd, 'Hang my cruel sister, Alison,' it said.

E

Sharpe's Ballad Book, No 10, p. 30.

1 There livd twa sisters in a bower, Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch! There lived twa sisters in a bower, Stirling for aye! The youngest o them O she was a flower! Bonny Sanct Johnstoune that stands upon Tay!

2 There cam a squire frae the west, He loed them baith, but the youngest best.

3 He gied the eldest a gay gold ring, But he loed the youngest aboon a' thing.

4 'O sister, sister, will ye go to the sea? Our father's ships sail bonnilie.'

5 The youngest sat down upon a stane; The eldest shot the youngest in.

6 'O sister, sister, lend me your hand, And you shall hae my gouden fan.

7 'O sister, sister, save my life, And ye shall be the squire's wife.'

8 First she sank, and then she swam, Untill she cam to Tweed mill-dam.

9 The millar's daughter was baking bread, She went for water, as she had need.

10 'O father, father, in our mill-dam There's either a lady, or a milk-white swan.'

11 They could nae see her fingers small, Wi diamond rings they were coverd all.

12 They could nae see her yellow hair, Sae mony knots and platts were there.

13 They could nae see her lilly feet, Her gowden fringes war sae deep.

14 Bye there cam a fiddler fair, And he's taen three taits o her yellow hair.

F

Motherwell's MS., p. 383. From the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan, 27th July, 1825.

1 There was two ladies livd in a bower, Hey with a gay and a grinding O The youngest o them was the fairest flower About a' the bonny bows o London.

2 There was two ladies livd in a bower, An wooer unto the youngest did go.

3 The oldest one to the youngest did say, 'Will ye take a walk with me today, And we'll view the bonny bows o London.

4 'Thou'll set thy foot whare I set mine, Thou'll set thy foot upon this stane.'

5 'I'll set my foot where thou sets thine:' The old sister dang the youngest in, At, etc.

6 'O sister dear, come tak my hand, Take my life safe to dry land,' At, etc.

7 'It's neer by my hand thy hand sall come in, It's neer by my hand thy hand sall come in, At, etc.

8 'It's thy cherry cheeks and thy white briest bane Gars me set a maid owre lang at hame.'

9 She clasped her hand[s] about a brume rute, But her cruel sister she lowsed them out.

10 Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam, Till she cam to the miller's dam.

11 The miller's bairns has muckle need, They were bearing in water to bake some breid.

12 Says, 'Father, dear father, in our mill-dam, It's either a fair maid or a milk-white swan.'

13 The miller he's spared nae his hose nor his shoon Till he brocht this lady till dry land.

14 I wad he saw na a bit o her feet, Her silver slippers were made so neat.

15 I wad he saw na a bit o her skin, For ribbons there was mony a ane.

16 He laid her on a brume buss to dry, To see wha was the first wad pass her by.

17 Her ain father's herd was the first man That by this lady gay did gang.

18 He's taen three links of her yellow hair, And made it a string to his fiddle there.

19 He's cut her fingers long and small To be fiddle-pins that neer might fail.

20 The very first spring that the fiddle did play, 'Hang my auld sister,' I wad it did say.

21 'For she drowned me in yonder sea, God neer let her rest till she shall die,' At the bonny bows o London.

G

Motherwell's MS., p. 104. From Mrs King, Kilbarchan.

1 There were three sisters lived in a bouir, Hech, hey, my Nannie O And the youngest was the fairest flouir. And the swan swims bonnie O

2 'O sister, sister, gang down to yon sand, And see your father's ships coming to dry land.'

3 O they have gane down to yonder sand, To see their father's ships coming to dry land.

4 'Gae set your fit on yonder stane, Till I tye up your silken goun.'

5 She set her fit on yonder stane, And the auldest drave the youngest in.

6 'O sister, sister, tak me by the hand, And ye'll get a' my father's land.

7 'O sister, sister, tak me by the gluve, An ye'll get Willy, my true luve.'

8 She had a switch into her hand, And ay she drave her frae the land.

9 O whiles she sunk, and whiles she swam, Until she swam to the miller's dam.

10 The miller's daughter gade doun to Tweed, To carry water to bake her bread.

11 'O father, O father, what's yon in the dam? It's either a maid or a milk-white swan.'

12 They have tane her out till yonder thorn, And she has lain till Monday morn.

13 She hadna, hadna twa days lain, Till by there came a harper fine.

14 He made a harp o her breast-bane, That he might play forever thereon.

H

Motherwell's MS., p. 147. From I. Goldie, March, 1825.

1 There were three sisters lived in a hall, Hey with the gay and the grandeur O And there came a lord to court them all. At the bonnie bows o London town

2 He courted the eldest with a penknife, And he vowed that he would take her life.

3 He courted the youngest with a glove, And he said that he'd be her true love.

4 'O sister, O sister, will you go and take a walk, And see our father's ships how they float?

5 'O lean your foot upon the stone, And wash your hand in that sea-foam.'

6 She leaned her foot upon the stone, But her eldest sister has tumbled her down.

7 'O sister, sister, give me your hand, And I'll make you lady of all my land.'

8 'O I'll not lend to you my hand, But I'll be lady of your land.'

9 'O sister, sister, give me your glove, And I'll make you lady of my true love.'

10 'It's I'll not lend to you my glove, But I'll be lady of your true love.'

11 Sometimes she sank, and sometimes she swam, Until she came to a miller's dam.

12 The miller's daughter was coming out wi speed, For water for to bake some bread.

13 'O father, father, stop the dam, For it's either a lady or a milk-white swan.'

14 He dragged her out unto the shore, And stripped her of all she wore.

15 By cam a fiddler, and he was fair, And he buskit his bow in her bonnie yellow hair.

16 By cam her father's harper, and he was fine, And he made a harp o her bonny breast-bone.

17 When they came to her father's court, The harp [and fiddle these words] spoke:

18 'O God bless my father the king, And I wish the same to my mother the queen.

19 'My sister Jane she tumbled me in, . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

I

Kinloch MSS, V, 425. From the recitation of M. Kinnear, 23d August, 1826.

1 There war twa sisters lived in a bouer, Binnorie and Binnorie There cam a squire to court them baith. At the bonnie mill-streams o Binnorie

2 He courted the eldest with jewels and rings, But he lovd the youngest the best of all things.

3 He courted the eldest with a penknife, He lovd the youngest as dear as his life.

4 It fell ance upon a day That these twa sisters hae gane astray.

5 It was for to meet their father's ships that had come in. . . . . . . .

6 As they walked up the linn, The eldest dang the youngest in.

7 'O sister, sister, tak my hand, And ye'll hae Lud John and aw his land.'

8 With a silver wand she pushd her in, . . . . . . .

9 'O sister, sister, tak my glove, And ye sall hae my ain true love.'

10 The miller's dochter cam out wi speed. It was for a water to bake her bread.

11 'O father, father, gae slack your dam; There's either a white fish or a swan.'

* * * * * * *

12 Bye cam a blind fiddler that way, And he took three tets o her bonnie yellow hair.

13 And the first spring that he playd, It said, 'It was my sister threw me in.'

J

Notes and Queries, 4th S., V, 23, from the north of Ireland.

1 There were two ladies playing ball, Hey, ho, my Nannie O A great lord came to court them all. The swan she does swim bonnie O

2 He gave to the first a golden ring, He gave to the second a far better thing.

* * * * * * *

3 He made a harp of her breast-bone . . . . . . .

4 He set it down upon a stone, And it began to play its lone.

K

Mr G.R. Kinloch's papers, Kinloch MSS, II, 59. From Mrs Lindores.

1 'O sister, sister, gie me your hand, Binnorie and Binnorie And I'll give the half of my fallow-land, By the bonnie mill-dams of Binnorie.'

* * * * * * *

2 The first time the bonnie fiddle played, 'Hang my sister, Alison,' it said, 'At the bonnie mill-dams of Binnorie.'

L

#a.# From oral tradition, Notes and Queries, 1st S., V, 316. #b.# The Scouring of the White Horse, p. 161. From North Wales.

1 O was it eke a pheasant cock, Or eke a pheasant hen, Or was it the bodye of a fair ladye, Come swimming down the stream?

2 O it was not a pheasant cock, Nor eke a pheasant hen, But it was the bodye of a fair ladye Came swimming down the stream.

* * * * * * *

3 And what did he do with her fair bodye? Fal the lal the lal laral lody He made it a case for his melodye. Fal, etc.

4 And what did he do with her legs so strong? He made them a stand for his violon.

5 And what did he do with her hair so fine? He made of it strings for his violine.

6 And what did he do with her arms so long? He made them bows for his violon.

7 And what did he do with her nose so thin? He made it a bridge for his violin.

8 And what did he do with her eyes so bright? He made them spectacles to put to his sight.

9 And what did he do with her petty toes? He made them a nosegay to put to his nose.

M

Taken down from recitation at Old Deir, 1876, by Mrs A.F. Murison. MS., p. 79.

1 There lived twa sisters in yonder ha, Binórie O an Binórie They hadna but ae lad atween them twa, He's the bonnie miller lad o Binórie.

2 It fell oot upon a day, The auldest ane to the youngest did say, At the bonnie mill-dams o Binórie,

3 'O sister, O sister, will ye go to the dams, To hear the blackbird thrashin oer his songs? At the,' etc.

4 'O sister, O sister, will ye go to the dams, To see oor father's fish-boats come safe to dry lan? An the bonnie miller lad o Binorie.'

5 They hadna been an oor at the dams, Till they heard the blackbird thrashin oer his tune, At the, etc.

6 They hadna been an oor at the dams Till they saw their father's fish-boats come safe to dry lan, Bat they sawna the bonnie miller laddie.

7 They stood baith up upon a stane, An the eldest ane dang the youngest in, I the, etc.

8 She swam up, an she swam doon, An she swam back to her sister again, I the, etc.

9 'O sister, O sister, len me your han, An yes be heir to my true love, He's the bonnie miller lad o Binorie.'

10 'It was not for that love at I dang you in, But ye was fair and I was din, And yes droon i the dams o Binorie.'

11 The miller's daughter she cam oot, For water to wash her father's hans, Frae the, etc.

12 'O father, O father, ye will fish your dams, An ye'll get a white fish or a swan, I the,' etc.

13 They fished up and they fished doon, But they got nothing but a droonet woman, I the, etc.

14 Some o them kent by her skin sae fair, But weel kent he by her bonnie yallow hair She's the bonnie miller's lass o Binorie.

15 Some o them kent by her goons o silk, But weel kent he by her middle sae jimp, She's the bonnie miller's lass o Binorie.

16 Mony ane was at her oot-takin, But mony ane mair at her green grave makin, At the bonny mill-dams o Binorie.

N

[Pinkerton's] Scottish Tragic Ballads, p. 72.

1 There were twa sisters livd in a bouir, Binnorie, O Binnorie Their father was a baron of pouir. By the bonnie mildams of Binnorie

2 The youngest was meek, and fair as the may Whan she springs in the east wi the gowden day.

3 The eldest austerne as the winter cauld, Ferce was her saul, and her seiming was bauld.

4 A gallant squire cam sweet Isabel to wooe; Her sister had naething to luve I trow.

5 But filld was she wi dolour and ire, To see that to her the comlie squire

6 Preferd the debonair Isabel: Their hevin of luve of spyte was her hell.

7 Till ae ein she to her sister can say, 'Sweit sister, cum let us wauk and play.'

8 They wauked up, and they wauked down, Sweit sang the birdis in the vallie loun.

9 Whan they cam to the roaring lin, She drave unweiting Isabel in.

10 'O sister, sister, tak my hand, And ye sall hae my silver fan.

11 'O sister, sister, tak my middle, And ye sall hae my gowden girdle.'

12 Sumtimes she sank, sumtimes she swam, Till she cam to the miller's dam.

13 The miller's dochtor was out that ein, And saw her rowing down the streim.

14 'O father deir, in your mil-dam There is either a lady or a milk-white swan!'

15 Twa days were gane, whan to her deir Her wraith at deid of nicht cold appeir.

16 'My luve, my deir, how can ye sleip, Whan your Isabel lyes in the deip!

17 'My deir, how can ye sleip bot pain Whan she by her cruel sister is slain!'

18 Up raise he sune, in frichtfu mude: 'Busk ye, my meiny, and seik the flude.'

19 They socht her up and they socht her doun, And spyd at last her glisterin gown.

20 They raisd her wi richt meikle care; Pale was her cheik and grein was her hair.

O

#a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 128. #b.# Traditional Ballad Airs, edited by W. Christie, I, 42.

1 There were twa sisters in a bower, Hey wi the gay and the grinding And ae king's son has courted them baith. At the bonny bonny bows o London

2 He courted the youngest wi broach and ring, He courted the eldest wi some other thing.

3 It fell ance upon a day The eldest to the youngest did say,

4 'Will ye gae to yon Tweed mill-dam, And see our father's ships come to land?'

5 They baith stood up upon a stane, The eldest dang the youngest in.

6 She swimmed up, sae did she down, Till she came to the Tweed mill-dam.

7 The miller's servant he came out, And saw the lady floating about.

8 'O master, master, set your mill, There is a fish, or a milk-white swan.'

9 They could not ken her yellow hair, [For] the scales o gowd that were laid there.

10 They could not ken her fingers sae white, The rings o gowd they were sae bright.

11 They could not ken her middle sae jimp, The stays o gowd were so well laced.

12 They could not ken her foot sae fair, The shoes o gowd they were so rare.

13 Her father's fiddler he came by, Upstarted her ghaist before his eye.

14 'Ye'll take a lock o my yellow hair, Ye'll make a string to your fiddle there.

15 'Ye'll take a lith o my little finger bane, And ye'll make a pin to your fiddle then.'

16 He's taen a lock o her yellow hair, And made a string to his fiddle there.

17 He's taen a lith o her little finger bane, And he's made a pin to his fiddle then.

18 The firstand spring the fiddle did play, Said, 'Ye'll drown my sister, as she's dune me.'

P

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 245. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, xx.

1 There were twa ladies in a bower, Hey my bonnie Nannie O The old was black and the young ane fair. And the swan swims bonnie O

2 Once it happened on a day The auld ane to the young did say,

3 The auld ane to the young did say, 'Will you gae to the green and play?'

4 'O sister, sister, I daurna gang, For fear I file my silver shoon.'

5 It was not to the green they gaed, But it was to the water of Tweed.

6 She bowed her back and she's taen her on, And she's tumbled her in Tweed mill-dam.

7 'O sister, O sister, O tak my hand, And I'll mak you heir of a' my land.'

8 'O sister, O sister, I'll no take your hand, And I'll be heir of a' your land.'

9 'O sister, O sister, O tak my thumb, And I'll give you my true-love John.'

10 'O sister, O sister, I'll no tak your thumb, And I will get your true-love John.'

11 Aye she swattered and aye she swam, Until she came to the mouth of the dam.

12 The miller's daughter went out to Tweed, To get some water to bake her bread.

13 In again she quickly ran: 'Here's a lady or a swan in our mill-dam.'

14 Out went the miller and his man And took the lady out of the dam.

15 They laid her on the brae to dry; Her father's fiddler then rode by.

16 When he this lady did come near, Her ghost to him then did appear.

17 'When you go to my father the king, You'll tell him to burn my sister Jean.

18 'When you go to my father's gate, You'll play a spring for fair Ellen's sake.

19 'You'll tak three links of my yellow hair, And play a spring for evermair.'

Q

Copied Oct. 26, 1861, by J.F. Campbell, Esq., from a collection made by Lady Caroline Murray; traced by her to an old nurse, and beyond the beginning of this century.

1 There dwelt twa sisters in a bower, Oh and ohone, and ohone and aree! And the youngest she was the fairest flower. On the banks of the Banna, ohone and aree!

2 There cam a knight to court the twa, But on the youngest his love did fa.

3 He courted the eldest with ring and wi glove, But he gave the youngest all his love.

4 He courted the eldest with brooch and wi knife, But he loved the youngest as his life.

5 'O sister, O sister, will ye come to the stream, To see our father's ships come in?'

6 The youngest stood upon a stane, Her sister came and pusht her in.

7 'O sister, O sister, come reach me your hand, And ye shall hae all our father's land.

8 'O sister, O sister, come reach me your glove, And you shall hae William to be your true love.'

9 'I did not put you in with the design Just for to pull you out again.'

10 Some time she sank, some time she swam, Until she came to a miller's dam.

11 The miller's daughter dwelt on the Tweed, She went for water to bake her bread.

12 'O faither, faither, come drag me your dam, For there's aither a lady in't, or a milk-white swan.'

13 The miller went, and he dragd his dam, And he brought her fair body to lan.

14 They couldna see her waist sae sma For the goud and silk about it a'.

15 They couldna see her yallow hair For the pearls and jewels that were there.

16 Then up and spak her ghaist sae green, 'Do ye no ken the king's dochter Jean?

17 'Tak my respects to my father the king, And likewise to my mother the queen.

18 'Tak my respects to my true love William, Tell him I deid for the love of him.

19 'Carry him a lock of my yallow hair, To bind his heart for evermair.'

R

#a.# Notes and Queries, 1st S., VI, 102, from Lancashire. #b.# Written down for J.F. Campbell, Esq., Nov. 7, 1861, at Wishaw House, Lancashire, by Lady Louisa Primrose, #c.# 'The Scouring of the White Horse,' p. 158, from Berkshire, as heard by Mr Hughes from his father.

1 There was a king of the north countree, Bow down, bow down, bow down There was a king of the north countree, And he had daughters one, two, three. I'll be true to my love, and my love'll be true to me

2 To the eldest he gave a beaver hat, And the youngest she thought much of that.

3 To the youngest he gave a gay gold chain, And the eldest she thought much of the same.

4 These sisters were walking on the bryn, And the elder pushed the younger in.

5 'Oh sister, oh sister, oh lend me your hand, And I will give you both houses and land.'

6 'I'll neither give you my hand nor glove, Unless you give me your true love.'

7 Away she sank, away she swam, Until she came to a miller's dam.

8 The miller and daughter stood at the door, And watched her floating down the shore.

9 'Oh father, oh father, I see a white swan, Or else it is a fair woman.'

10 The miller he took up his long crook, And the maiden up from the stream he took.

11 'I'll give to thee this gay gold chain, If you'll take me back to my father again.'

12 The miller he took the gay gold chain, And he pushed her into the water again.

13 The miller was hanged on his high gate For drowning our poor sister Kate.

14 The cat's behind the buttery shelf, If you want any more, you may sing it yourself.

S

Kinloch MSS, VI, 89, in Kinloch's hand.

* * * * * * *

1 'O father, father, swims a swan,' This story I'll vent to thee 'O father, father, swims a swan, Unless it be some dead woman.' I'll prove true to my true love, If my love prove true to me

2 The miller he held out his long fish hook, And hooked this fair maid from the brook.

3 She offered the miller a gold ring stane To throw her into the river again.

4 Down she sunk, and away she swam, Until she came to her father's brook.

5 The miller was hung at his mill-gate, For drowning of my sister Kate.

T

Allingham's Ballad Book, p. xxxiii. From Ireland.

'Sister, dear sister, where shall we go play?' Cold blows the wind, and the wind blows low 'We shall go to the salt sea's brim.' And the wind blows cheerily around us, high ho

U

Communicated by Mr W.W. Newell, as repeated by an ignorant woman in her dotage, who learned it at Huntington, Long Island, N.Y.

1 There was a man lived in the mist, Bow down, bow down He loved his youngest daughter best. The bow is bent to me, So you be true to your own true love, And I'll be true to thee.

2 These two sisters went out to swim; The oldest pushed the youngest in.

3 First she sank and then she swam, First she sank and then she swam.

4 The miller, with his rake and hook, He caught her by the petticoat.

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^1, went a-playing.

Burden^2. a downe-o.

#c.#

1^1. went a-playing.

Burden^{1,2}. With a hey down, down, a down, down-a.

4^2. Till oat-meal and salt grow both on a tree.

6^1. ran hastily down the clift.

6^2. And up he took her without any life.

13^2. Moll Symns.

14^1, 15^1. Then he bespake.

17^2. And let him go i the devil's name.

#d.#

1^1, went a-playing.

1^2, ships sailing in.

2^1. into.

3^2. me up on.

6^2. withouten life.

#B. a.#

26, 27, 28. An it has been written in as a conjectural emendation by Jamieson, ~he did it play, {it/he} playd~; and ~it~ is adopted by Jamieson in his printed copy: see below, #d# 26, 27, 28.

#b.#

The first stanza only, agreeing with #a# 1, is given by Anderson, Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 178.

#c.#

Evidently a copy of Mrs Brown's version, and in Scott's MS. it has the air, as all the Tytler-Brown ballads had. Still it has but twenty-three stanzas, whereas Dr Anderson gives fifty-eight lines as the extent of the Tytler-Brown copy of 'The Cruel Sister' (Nichols, Illus. Lit. Hist., VII, 178). This, counting the first stanza, with the burden, as four lines, according to the arrangement in Scott's MS., would tally exactly with the Jamieson-Brown MS., #B a#.

It would seem that #B c# had been altered by somebody in order to remove the absurd combination of sea and mill-dam; the invitation to go see the ships come to land, #B a# 7, is omitted, and "~the deep mill-dam~" substituted, in 8, for "~yon sea-stran~." Stanza 17 of #c#, "~They raisd her~," etc., cited below, occurs in Pinkerton, #N# 20, and is more likely to be his than anybody's.

2^1. brooch and ring.

2^2. abune a' thing.

3^1. wooed ... with glove and knife.

3^2. looed the second.

5^2. she well nigh brist.

7. wanting.

8^2. led her to the deep mill-dam.

9^2. Her cruel sister pushd her in.

11^2. And Ise mak ye.

12. wanting.

14^1. Shame fa the hand that I shall tak.

15^1. gowden hair.

15^2. gar ... maiden ever mair.

16. wanting.

17^1. Then out and cam.

17^2. swimming down.

18^1. O father, haste and draw.

19^1. his dam.

19^2. And then. (?)

Instead of 20-22:

They raisd her wi meikle dule and care, Pale was her cheek and green was her hair.

24^1. that corpse upon.

25^2. he's strung.

26^1, 27^1, 28^1, for ~tune~, ~line~, if the copy be right.

27^1. The next.

28^1. The last.

28^2. fause Ellen.

"Note by Ritson. 'The fragment of a very different copy of this ballad has been communicated to J.R. by a friend at Dublin.'" [J.C. Walker, no doubt.]

#d.#

Jamieson, Popular Ballads and Songs, I, 48, says that he gives his text verbatim as it was taken from the recitation of the lady in Fifeshire (Mrs Brown), to whom both he and Scott were so much indebted. That this is not to be understood with absolute strictness will appear from the variations which are subjoined. Jamieson adds that he had received another copy from Mrs Arrott of Aberbrothick, "~but as it furnished no readings by which the text could have been materially improved~," it was not used. Both Jamieson and Scott substitute the "~Binnorie~" burden, "~the most common and popular~," says Scott, for the one given by Mrs Brown, with which Mrs Arrott's agreed. It may be added that Jamieson's interpolations are stanzas 20, 21, 27, etc., and not, as he says (I, 49), 19, 20, 27, etc. These interpolations also occur as such in the manuscript.

1^1. sisters livd.

2^2. aboon.

3^2. he loved.

4^2. and sair envied.

5^1. Intill her bower she coudna.

5^2. maistly brast.

11^2. mak ye.

14^2. me o.

16^1. omits ~an~.

16^2. came to the mouth o yon mill-dam.

18^2. There's.

20^2. that was.

22^2. that were.

26^1. it did.

27^1. it playd seen.

28^1. thirden tune that it.

A copy in Motherwell's MS., p. 239, is derived from Jamieson's printed edition. It omits the interpolated stanzas, and makes a few very slight changes.

#C.#

Scott's account of his edition is as follows (II, 143, later ed., III, 287):

"It is compiled from a copy in Mrs Brown's MS., intermixed with a beautiful fragment, of fourteen verses, transmitted to the editor by J.C. Walker, Esq., the ingenious historian of the Irish bards. Mr Walker, at the same time, favored the editor with the following note: 'I am indebted to my departed friend, Miss Brooke, for the foregoing pathetic fragment. Her account of it was as follows: This song was transcribed, several years ago, from the memory of an old woman, who had no recollection of the concluding verses; probably the beginning may also be lost, as it seems to commence abruptly.' The first verse and burden of the fragment run thus:

"'O sister, sister, reach thy hand! Hey ho, my Nanny, O And you shall be heir of all my land. While the swan swims bonny, O'"

_Out of this stanza, or the corresponding one in Mrs Brown's copy, Scott seems to have made his 9, 10._

#E.#

"My mother used to sing this song." Sharpe's Ballad Book, ed. of 1880, note, p. 129.

#F.#

2^2. An wooer.

#G.#

2^1. ~strand~, with ~sand~ written above: ~sand~ in 3^1.

#I.#

1^2. var. in MS. There was a knicht and he loved them bath.

7. The following stanza was subsequently written on an opposite blank page,--perhaps derived from #D# 8:

Foul fa the hand that I wad take, To twin me and my warld's make.

10^2. ~a~ was, perhaps, meant to be expunged, but is only a little blotted.

11^2. var. a lady or a milk-white swan.

12, 13 were written in later than the rest; at the same time, apparently, as the stanza above (7).

#K.#

Found among Mr Kinloch's papers by Mr Macmath, and inserted by him as a note on p. 59, vol. II, of Kinloch's MSS. The order of the stanzas is there, wrongly, inverted.

1^2. var. I wad give you.

#L. a.#

These fragments were communicated to Notes and Queries, April 3, 1852, by "~G. A. C.~," who had heard '~The Miller's Melody~' sung by an old lady in his childhood, and who represents himself as probably the last survivor of those who had enjoyed the privilege of listening to her ballads. We may, therefore, assign this version to the latter part of the 18th century. The two four-line stanzas were sung to "~a slow, quaint strain~." Two others which followed were not remembered, "~but their purport was that the body 'stopped hard by a miller's mill,' and that this 'miller chanced to come by,' and took it out of the water 'to make a melodye.'~" G.A.C. goes on to say: "My venerable friend's tune here became a more lively one, and the time quicker; but I can only recollect a few of the couplets, and these not correctly nor in order of sequence, in which the transformation of the lady into a viol is described."

#b.#

Some stanzas of this four-line version, with a ludicrous modern supplement, are given in '~The Scouring of the White Horse~,' p. 161, as from the Welsh marshes. Five out of the first six verses are there said to be very old indeed, "~the rest all patchwork by different hands~." Mr Hughes has kindly informed me that he derived the ballad from his father, who had originally learned it at Ruthyn when a boy. What is material here follows:

1 O it was not a pheasant cock, Nor yet a pheasant hen, But O it was a lady fair Came swimming down the stream.

2 An ancient harper passing by Found this poor lady's body, To which his pains he did apply To make a sweet melódy.

3 To cat-gut dried he her inside, He drew out her back-bone, And made thereof a fiddle sweet All for to play upon.

4 And all her hair, so long and fair, That down her back did flow, O he did lay it up with care, To string his fiddle bow.

5 And what did he with her fingers, Which were so straight and small? O he did cut them into pegs, To screw up his fiddoll.

6 Then forth went he, as it might be, Upon a summer's day, And met a goodly company, Who asked him in to play.

| 7 | Then from her bones he drew such tones | As made their bones to ache, | They sounded so like human groans | Their hearts began to quake.

| 8 | They ordered him in ale to swim,-- | For sorrow's mighty dry,-- | And he to share their wassail fare | Essayd right willingly.

9 He laid his fiddle on a shelf In that old manor-hall, It played and sung all by itself, And thus sung this fiddoll:

| 10 | 'There sits the squire, my worthy sire, | A-drinking hisself drunk,' etc., etc.

#N.#

Pinkerton tells us, in the Preface to his ~Ancient Scottish Poems~, p. cxxxi, that "~Binnorie is one half from tradition, one half by the editor~." One fourth and three fourths would have been a more exact apportionment. The remainder of his text, which is wholly of his invention, is as follows:

'Gae saddle to me my swiftest steid; Her fere, by my fae, for her dethe sall bleid.' A page cam rinning out owr the lie: 'O heavie tydings I bring,' quoth he. 'My luvely lady is far awa gane; We weit the fairy hae her tane. Her sister gaed wood wi dule and rage; Nocht cold we do her mind to suage. "O Isabel, my sister," she wold cry, "For thee will I weip, for thee will I die." Till late yestrene, in an elric hour, She lap frae aft the hichest touir.' 'Now sleip she in peace,' quoth the gallant squire; 'Her dethe was the maist that I cold require. But I'll main for the, my Isabel deir, Full mony a dreiry day, hot weir.'

20. This stanza occurs also in #B c# (17), and was perhaps borrowed from Pinkerton by the reviser of that copy.

#O. a#.

Buchan's note, II, 320: "I have seen four or five different versions of this ballad, but none in this dress, nor with the same chorus.... The old woman from whose recitation I took it down says she had heard another way of it, quite local, whose burden runs thus:

'Ever into Buchanshire, vari vari O.'"

1^2. hae courted.

#b.#

Mr Christie has "~epitomized~" Buchan's copy (omitting stanzas 9-12), with these few slight alterations from the singing of a Banffshire woman, who died in 1860, at the age of nearly eighty:

Burden: It's hey, etc.

2^2. And he courted the eldest wi mony other thing.

3^1. But it fell.

5^2. And the eldest.

#P. b.#

This stanza only:

There livd twa sisters in a bower, Hey my bonnie Annie O There cam a lover them to woo. And the swan swims bonnie O, And the swan swims bonnie O

#Q.#

_The burden is given thus in ~Pop. Tales of the West Highlands~, IV, 125_:

Oh ochone, ochone a rie, On the banks of the Banna, ochone a rie.

#R. a.#

The title '~The Three Sisters,~' and perhaps the first stanza, belongs rather to ~No 1 #A#, #B#, p. 3f.~

#b.#

1. A farmer there lived in the north countree, Bo down And he had daughters one, two, three. And I'll be true unto my love, if he'll be true unto me

(_The burden is given as ~Bo down, bo down~, etc., in ~Popular Tales of the West Highlands~, IV, 125._)

Between 1 and 2 #b# has:

The eldest she had a lover come, And he fell in love with the younger one.

He bought the younger a ... The elder she thought ...

3. wanting.

4^1. The sisters they walkt by the river brim.

6^2. my true love.

8. The miller's daughter was at the door, As sweet as any gillyflower.

9. O father, O father, there swims a swain, And he looks like a gentleman.

10. The miller he fetcht his line and hook, And he fisht the fair maiden out of the brook.

11^1. O miller, I'll give you guineas ten,

12. The miller he took her guineas ten, And then he popt her in again.

13^1. ... behind his back gate,

13^2. the farmer's daughter Kate.

Instead of 14:

The sister she sailed over the sea, And died an old maid of a hundred and three.

The lover became a beggar man, And he drank out of a rusty tin can.

#b# _8, 11, 12, 14, 15 are cited in ~Popular Tales of the West Highlands~, IV, 127._

#c.#

1. A varmer he lived in the west countree, Hey-down, bow-down A varmer he lived in the west countree, And he had daughters one, two, and dree. And I'll be true to my love, If my love'll be true to me.

2, 3. wanting.

4^1. As thay wur walking by the river's brim.

5^1. pray gee me thy hand.

7^1. So down she sank and away she swam.

8. The miller's daughter stood by the door, As fair as any gilly-flower.

9. here swims a swan, Very much like a drownded gentlewoman.

10. The miller he fot his pole and hook, And he fished the fair maid out of the brook.

11^1. O miller, I'll gee thee guineas ten.

12^2. pushed the fair maid in again.

Between 12 and 13 #c# has,

But the crowner he cum and the justice too, With a hue and a cry and a hullaballoo.

They hanged the miller beside his own gate For drowning the varmer's daughter, Kate.

Instead of 14:

The sister she fled beyond the seas, And died an old maid among black savagees.

So I've ended my tale of the west countree, And they calls it the Barkshire Tragedee.

#S.#

1^2. MS. Or less (?).

#T.#

"Sung to a peculiar and beautiful air." Allingham, p. xxxiii.

[126] Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, IV, 126, 1862.Return to passage

[127] Jamieson, in his Popular Ballads, II, 315, prints the ballad, with five inconsiderable variations from the broadside, as from Musarum Deliciæ, 2d edition, 1656. The careful reprint of this book, and of the same edition, in "Facetiæ," etc., 1817, does not contain this piece, and the first edition, of 1655, differed in no respect as to contents, according to the editor of "Facetiæ." Still it is hardly credible that Jamieson has blundered, and we may suppose that copies, ostensibly of the same edition, varied as to contents, a thing common enough with old books.Return to passage

[128] Cunningham has re-written Scott's version, Songs of Scotland, II, 109, 'The Two Fair Sisters.' He says, "I was once deeply touched with the singing of this romantic and mournful song.... I have ventured to print it in the manner I heard it sung." There is, to be sure, no reason why he should not have heard his own song sung, once, and still less why he should not have been deeply touched with his own pathos. Cunningham adds one genuine stanza, resembling the first of #G#, #J#, #P#:Return to passage

Two fair sisters lived in a bower, Hey ho my nonnie O There came a knight to be their wooer. While the swan swims bonnie O

[129] English #M# is confused on this point. The sisters live in a hall. The burden in st. 1 makes them love a miller-lad; but in 14, 15, calls the drowned girl "the bonnie miller's-lass o Binorie."Return to passage

[130] The sisters, #D#, #I#, walk by, up, a linn; #G#, go to a sand [strand]; #Q#, go to the stream; #R a#, walk on the bryn.Return to passage

[131] Swedish #H# begins, "Dear sister, come follow me to the clapping-stone:" "Nay, I have no foul clothes." So #F# 6, 7, #G# 4, 5, Färöe #A# 6, nearly; and then follows the suggestion that they should wash themselves. Another of Rancken's copies begins, "Two sisters went to the bucking-stone, to buck their clothes snow-white," #H#; and so Rancken's #S# nearly.Return to passage

[132] There are, besides the two fishermen, in Norwegian #A#, two "twaddere," i.e., landloupers, possibly (Bugge) a corruption of the word rendered pilgrims, Färöe vallarar, Swedish vallare. The vallarar in these ballads are perhaps more respectable than those whose acquaintance we shall make through the Norse versions of 'Babylon,' and may be allowed to be harmless vagrants, but scarcely better, seeing that they are ranked with "staff-carls" in Norges Gamle Love, cited by Cleasby and Vigfusson at 'vallari.'Return to passage

[133] A harp in the Icelandic and Norwegian ballads, Färöe #A#, #B#, #C#, Swedish #A#, #B#, #D#, #G#, #H#; a harp in English #B#, #C#, #G#, #J#. A harp is not named in any of the Danish versions, but a fiddle is mentioned in #C#, #E#, #H#, is plainly meant in #A#, and may always be intended; or perhaps two fiddles in all but #H# (which has only one fiddler), and the corrupted #G#. #D# begins with two fiddlers, but concludes with only one. We have a fiddle in Swedish #C#, and in English #A#, #D#, #E#, #F#, #I#, #J#, #K#, #L#, #O#, #P#; both harp and fiddle in #H#.Return to passage

[134] Some of the unprinted Norwegian ballads are not completely described, but a departure from the rule of the major part would probably have been alluded to.Return to passage

[135] The stanza, 9, in which this is said is no doubt as to its form entirely modern, but not so the idea. #I# has "the first spring that he playd, it said," etc.Return to passage

[136] The fourth string is said to speak in Färöe #A# 30, but no utterance is recorded, and this is likely to be a mistake. In many of the versions, and in this, after the strings have spoken individually, they unite in a powerful but inarticulate concord.Return to passage

[137] #I# has lost the terminal stanzas.Return to passage

[138] Not #M#, and apparently not #D#, which ends:Return to passage

When he kissed the harp upon the mouth, his heart broke.

[139] So the traitor John pushes away Catherine's hands in 'Lady Isabel and the Elf Knight,' Polish #Q# 25 (see p. 40). In the French versions #A#, #C#, #E# of the same, the knight catches at a branch to save himself, and the lady cuts it off with his sword.Return to passage

[140] The miller begins to lose character in #H#:Return to passage

14 He dragged her out unto the shore, And stripped her of all she wore.

[141] Neus also refers to an Esthonian saga of Rögutaja's wife, and to 'Die Pfeiferin,' a tale, in Das Inland, 1846, No 48, Beilage, col. 1246 ff, 1851, No 14, col. 230 ff; and to a Slovenian ballad in Tielemann, Livona, ein historisch-poetisches Taschenbuch, 1812, p. 187.Return to passage

[142] All these are cited in Köhler's note, Gonzenbach, II, 235.Return to passage

11

THE CRUEL BROTHER

#A.# '[The] Cruel Brother, or the Bride's Testament.' #a.# Alex. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS. #b.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 66.

#B.# The Kinloch MSS, I, 21.

#C.# 'Ther waur three ladies,' Harris MS., p. 11 b.

#D. a.# Notes and Queries, 1st S., VI, 53. #b.# 2d S., V, 171.

#E.# Notes and Queries, 4th S., V, 105.

#F.# 'The Three Knights,' Gilbert's Ancient Christmas Carols, 2d ed., p. 68.

#G.# 'Fine Flowers of the Valley.' #a.# Herd's MSS, I, 41. #b.# Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 88.

#H.# Fragment appended to #G#.

#I.# The Kinloch MSS, I, 27.

#J.# As current in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.

#K.# Notes and Queries, 4th S., IV, 517.

#A a# was obtained directly from Mrs Brown of Falkland, in 1800, by Alexander Fraser Tytler. Jamieson says that he gives #b# verbatim from the recitation of Mrs Arrott; but it would seem that this must have been a slip of memory, for the two agree except in half a dozen words. #B#, #C#, #I#, #J# are now for the first time printed. #G# only was taken down earlier than the present century.

Aytoun remarks (1858): "This is, perhaps, the most popular of all the Scottish ballads, being commonly recited and sung even at the present day." The copy which he gives, I, 232, was "taken down from recitation," but is nevertheless a compound of #G# and #A b#, with a few unimportant variations, proceeding, no doubt, from imperfect recollection.[143] The copy in Dixon's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, p. 56, repeated in Bell's volume of the same title, p. 50, is Gilbert's #F#. Dixon informs us that the ballad was (in 1846) still popular amongst the peasantry in the west of England. Cunningham gives us a piece called 'The Three Ladies of Leithan Ha,' Songs of Scotland, II, 87, which he would fain have us believe that he did not know he had written himself. "The common copies of this tragic lyric," he truly says, "differ very much from this; not so much in the story itself as in the way it is told."

All versions but #K#, which has pretty nearly lost all point, agree after the opening stanzas. #A-E# have three ladies and only one knight; #F# has three knights and one lady; #G#, #I#, #J#, #K# have three ladies and three knights [lords in #G#, "bonny boys" in #I#, the first line being caught from 'Sir Hugh.'] Three knights are to no purpose; only one knight has anything to do. The reason for three ladies is, of course, that the youngest may be preferred to the others,--an intention somewhat obscured in #B#. The ladies are in colors in #B#, #C#, #I#, #J#, and this seems to be the better interpretation in the case of #G#, though a strict construction of the language would rather point to the other. The colors are transferred to the knights in #F# because there is only one lady. In #K# this is a part of the general depravation of the ballad.

'Rizzardo bello,' Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 83, seems to be the same story, with a change of relations such as we often find in ballad poetry. Rizzardo is conducting his bride home, and on the way embraces and kisses her. Her brother witnesses "questo onore," and thrusts his sword into the happy bridegroom's heart. Rizzardo tells his bride to come on slowly; he will go before to make preparation. He begs his mother to open the doors, for his bride is without, and he is wounded to death. They try to make the bride eat. She says she can neither eat nor drink: she must put her husband to bed. He gives her a ring, saying, Your brother has been the death of me; then another ring, in sign that she is to be wife of two brothers. She answers him as Guldborg answers Ribold, that she would die rather: "Rather die between two knives than be wife of two brothers." This ballad was obtained from a peasant woman of Castagnero. Another version, which unfortunately is not printed, was sung by a woman at Ostiglia on the Po.

Dr Prior remarks that the offence given by not asking a brother's assent to his sister's marriage was in ballad-times regarded as unpardonable. Other cases which show the importance of this preliminary, and the sometimes fatal consequences of omitting it, are: 'Hr. Peder og Mettelille,' Grundtvig, No 78, II, 325, sts 4, 6; 'Jomfruen i Skoven,' Danske Viser, III, 99, st. 15; 'Jomfru Ellensborg og Hr. Olof,' ib., III, 316, st. 16; 'Iver Lang og hans Søster,' ib., IV, 87, st. 116; 'Herr Helmer Blaa,' ib., IV, 251, st. 8; 'Jomfru Giselmaar,' ib., IV, 309, st. 13. See Prior's Ancient Danish Ballads, III, 112, 232 f, 416.

There is a very common German ballad, 'Graf Friedrich,' in which a bride receives a mortal wound during the bringing-home, but accidentally, and from the bridegroom's hand. The marriage train is going up a hill; the way is narrow; they are crowded; Graf Friedrich's sword shoots from its sheath and wounds the bride. The bridegroom is exceedingly distressed; he tries to stop the bleeding with his shirt; she begs that they may ride slowly. When they reach the house there is a splendid feast, and everything is set before the bride; but she can neither eat nor drink, and only wishes to lie down. She dies in the night. Her father comes in the morning, and, learning what has happened, runs Graf Friedrich through, then drags his body at a horse's heels, and buries it in a bog. Three lilies sprang from the spot, with an inscription announcing that Graf Friedrich was in heaven, and a voice came from the sky commanding that the body should be disinterred. The bridegroom was then buried with his bride, and this act of reparation was attended with other miraculous manifestations. As the ballads stand now, the kinship of 'Graf Friedrich' with 'The Cruel Brother' is not close and cannot be insisted on; still an early connection is not improbable.

The versions of 'Graf Friedrich' are somewhat numerous, and there is a general agreement as to all essentials. They are: #A#, a Nuremberg broadside "of about 1535," which has not been made accessible by a reprint. #B#, a Swiss broadside of 1647, without place, "printed in Seckendorf's Musenalmanach für 1808, p. 19;" Uhland, No 122, p. 277; Mittler, No 108; Wunderhorn, II, 293 (1857); Erk's Liederhort, No 15^a, p. 42; Böhme, No 79, p. 166: also, in Wunderhorn, 1808, II, 289, with omission of five stanzas and with many changes; Simrock, No 11, p. 28, omitting four stanzas and with changes; as written down by Goethe for Herder, Düntzer u. Herder, Briefe Goethes, u.s.w., Aus Herder's Nachlass, I, 167, with the omission of eight stanzas and with some variations. #C#, Wunderhorn (1857), II, 299, from the Schwarzwald,==Erlach, IV, 291, Mittler, No 113. #D#, Taschenbuch für Dichter, u.s.w., Theil VIII, 122, from Upper Lusatia,==Erlach, III, 448, Talvj, Charakteristik, p. 421. #E#, from the Kuhländchen, Meinert, p. 23,==Mittler, No 109. #F#, Hoffmann u. Richter, Schlesische V. L., No 19, p. 35,==Mittler, No 112, Erk's Liederhort, No 15, p. 40. #G#, Zingerle, in Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 341, from Meran. #H#, from Uckermark, Brandenburg, Mittler, No 114. #I#, Hesse, from oral tradition, Mittler, No 111. #J#, Erk u. Irmer, II, 54, No 54, from the neighborhood of Halle,==Mittler, No 110. #K#, from Estedt, district of Magdeburg, Parisius, p. 31, No 9.

A Danish ballad, 'Den saarede Jomfru,' Grundtvig, No 244, IV, 474, has this slight resemblance with 'Graf Friedrich:' While a knight is dancing with a princess, his sword glides from the scabbard and cuts her hand. To save her partner from blame, she represents to her father that she had cut herself with her brother's sword. This considerateness so touches the knight (who is, of course, her equal in rank) that he offers her his hand. The Danish story is found also in Norwegian and in Färöe ballads.

The peculiar testament made by the bride in 'The Cruel Brother,' by which she bequeaths good things to her friends, but ill things to the author of her death, is highly characteristic of ballad poetry. It will be found again in 'Lord Ronald,' 'Edward,' and their analogues. Still other ballads with this kind of testament are: 'Frillens Hævn,' Grundtvig, No 208 #C#, 16-18, IV, 207; a young man, stabbed by his leman, whom he was about to give up in order to marry, leaves his lands to his father, his bride-bed to his sister, his gilded couch to his mother, and his knife to his leman, wishing it in her body. 'Møen paa Baalet,' Grundtvig, No 109 #A#, 1821, II, 587; Ole, falsely accused by her brother, and condemned to be burned, gives her mother her silken sark, her sister her shoes, her father her horse, and her brother her knife, with the same wish. 'Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, III, 97, has a testament in #A-E# and #I#; in #I#, 14-19 (III, 912), Liden Kirsten bequeaths her knife, with the same imprecation, to the queen, who, in the other copies, is her unrelenting foe: so Lillelin to Herr Adelbrand, Danske Viser, III, 386, No 162, 16-18, Kristensen, I, 262, No 100, #A# 20-23, having been dragged at a horse's heels in resentment of a taunt. 'Hustru og Mands Moder,' Grundtvig, No. 84, II, 404, has a testament in #A#, #B#, #D#, #H#, and in the last three a bequest of shoes or sark to a cruel mother-in-law or foster-mother, with the wish that she may have no peace or much pain in the wearing. 'Catarina de Lió,' Briz y Candi, Cansons de la Terra, I, 209, has been beaten by her mother-in-law while in a delicate state. When she is at the point of death, the mother-in-law asks what doctor she will have and what will she will make. "My will," says Catherine, "will not please you much. Send back my velvet dress to my father's; my gala dress give my sister; give my working dress to the maid, my jewels to the Virgin." "And what will you leave to me?" "What I leave you will not please you much: my husband to be hanged, my mother-in-law to be quartered, and my sister-in-law to be burned." 'Le Testament de Marion,' another version of this story from the south of France, Uchaud, Gard, Poésies pop. de la France, MS., IV, fol. 283, bequeaths "my laces to my sister Marioun, my prettiest gowns to my sister Jeanneton; to my rascal of a husband three fine cords, and, if that is not enough (to hang him), the hem of his shirt." The Portuguese ballad of 'Dona Helena' rather implies than expresses the imprecation: Braga, C.P. do Archipelago Açoriano, p. 225, No 15, p. 227, No 16; Almeida-Garrett, III, 56; Hartung, I, 233-43, No 18. Helena leaves her husband's house when near childbirth, out of fear of his mother. Her husband, who does not know her reason, goes after her, and compels her to return on horseback, though she has just borne a son. The consequences are what might be expected, and Helena desires to make her shrift and her will. She leaves one thing to her oldest sister, another to her youngest. "And your boy?" "To your bitch of a mother, cause of my woes." "Rather to yours," says the husband, "for I shall have to kill mine" (so Braga; Garrett differs somewhat). 'Die Frau zur Weissenburg' (#A#), Uhland, p. 287, No 123 #B#, Scherer's Jungbrunnen, p. 94, No 29; 'Das Lied von der Löwenburg' (#B#), Simrock, p. 65, No 27; 'Hans Steutlinger' (#C#), Wunderhorn, II, 168 (1857), all one story, have a bitterly sarcastic testament. A lady instigates her paramour to kill her husband. The betrayed man is asked to whom he will leave his children [commit, #A#, bequeath, #B#, #C#]. "To God Almighty, for he knows who they are." "Your property?" "To the poor, for the rich have enough." "Your wife?" "To young Count Frederic, whom she always liked more than me (#A#)." "Your castle?" "To the flames."

In some cases there is no trace of animosity towards the person who has caused the testator's death; as in 'El testamento de Amelia' (who has been poisoned by her mother), Milá, Observaciones, p. 103, No 5, Briz y Saltó, Cansons de la Terra, II, 197 (two copies); 'Herren Båld,' Afzelius, I, 76, No 16 (new ed. I, 59, No 15); a Swedish form of 'Frillens Hævn,' Grundtvig, IV, 203; 'Renée le Glaz' and 'Ervoanik Le Lintier,' Luzel, C.P. de la Basse Bretagne, I, 405, 539, 553. There are also simple testaments where there is no occasion for an ill remembrance, as in 'Ribold og Guldborg,' Grundtvig, No 82, #I#, #K#, #L#, #U#, #X#, #Æ#, Kristensen, II, No 84 B; 'Pontplancoat;' Luzel, I, 383, 391. And, again, there are parodies of these wills. Thus the fox makes his will: Grundtvig, Gamle danske Minder, 1854, 'Mikkels Arvegods,' p. 24, and p. 25 a copy from a manuscript three hundred years old; Kristensen, Jyske Folkeviser, II, 324, No 90; 'Reven og Bjönnen,' 'Reven og Nils fiskar,' Landstad, Nos 85, 86, p. 637, 639: and the robin, 'Robin's Tesment,' Buchan, I, 273, Herd's MSS, I, 154, and Scottish Songs (1776), II, 166, Chambers' Popular Rhymes, p. 38, "new edition."

* * * * *

Translated in Grundtvig's Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 33, p. 212, #F#, with use of #A# and #G b#; Aytoun's copy, with omissions, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder der Vorzeit, No 17, p. 80; after Allingham and others, by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 5, p. 16.

A

#a.# Alex. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS. #b.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 66, purporting to be from the recitation of Mrs Arrot of Aberbrothick.

1 There was three ladies playd at the ba, With a hey ho and a lillie gay There came a knight and played oer them a'. As the primrose spreads so sweetly

2 The eldest was baith tall and fair, But the youngest was beyond compare.

3 The midmost had a graceful mien, But the youngest lookd like beautie's queen.

4 The knight bowd low to a' the three, But to the youngest he bent his knee.

5 The ladie turned her head aside, The knight he woo'd her to be his bride.

6 The ladie blushd a rosy red, And sayd, 'Sir knight, I'm too young to wed.'

7 'O ladie fair, give me your hand, And I'll make you ladie of a' my land.'

8 'Sir knight, ere ye my favor win, You maun get consent frae a' my kin.'

9 He's got consent frae her parents dear, And likewise frae her sisters fair.

10 He's got consent frae her kin each one, But forgot to spiek to her brother John.

11 Now, when the wedding day was come, The knight would take his bonny bride home.

12 And many a lord and many a knight Came to behold that ladie bright.

13 And there was nae man that did her see, But wishd himself bridegroom to be.

14 Her father dear led her down the stair, And her sisters twain they kissd her there.

15 Her mother dear led her thro the closs, And her brother John set her on her horse.

16 She leand her oer the saddle-bow, To give him a kiss ere she did go.

17 He has taen a knife, baith lang and sharp, And stabbd that bonny bride to the heart.

18 She hadno ridden half thro the town, Until her heart's blude staind her gown.

19 'Ride softly on,' says the best young man, 'For I think our bonny bride looks pale and wan.'

20 'O lead me gently up yon hill, And I'll there sit down, and make my will.'

21 'O what will you leave to your father dear?' 'The silver-shod steed that brought me here.'

22 'What will you leave to your mother dear?' 'My velvet pall and my silken gear.'

23 'What will you leave to your sister Anne?' 'My silken scarf and my gowden fan.'

24 'What will you leave to your sister Grace?' 'My bloody cloaths to wash and dress.'

25 'What will you leave to your brother John?' 'The gallows-tree to hang him on.'

26 'What will you leave to your brother John's wife?' 'The wilderness to end her life.'

27 This ladie fair in her grave was laid, And many a mass was oer her said.

28 But it would have made your heart right sair, To see the bridegroom rive his haire.

B

Kinloch's MSS, I, 21, from Mary Barr, May, 1827, Clydesdale.

1 A gentleman cam oure the sea, Fine flowers in the valley And he has courted ladies three. With the light green and the yellow

2 One o them was clad in red: He asked if she wad be his bride.

3 One o them was clad in green: He asked if she wad be his queen.

4 The last o them was clad in white: He asked if she wad be his heart's delight.

5 'Ye may ga ask my father, the king: Sae maun ye ask my mither, the queen.

6 'Sae maun ye ask my sister Anne: And dinna forget my brither John.'

7 He has asked her father, the king: And sae did he her mither, the queen.

8 And he has asked her sister Anne: But he has forgot her brother John.

9 Her father led her through the ha, Her mither danced afore them a'.

10 Her sister Anne led her through the closs, Her brither John set her on her horse.

11 It's then he drew a little penknife, And he reft the fair maid o her life.

12 'Ride up, ride up,' said the foremost man; 'I think our bride comes hooly on.'

13 'Ride up, ride up,' said the second man; 'I think our bride looks pale and wan.'

14 Up than cam the gay bridegroom, And straucht unto the bride he cam.

15 'Does your side-saddle sit awry? Or does your steed ...

16 'Or does the rain run in your glove? Or wad ye chuse anither love?'

17 'The rain runs not in my glove, Nor will I e'er chuse anither love.

18 'But O an I war at Saint Evron's well, There I wad licht, and drink my fill!

19 'Oh an I war at Saint Evron's closs, There I wad licht, and bait my horse!'

20 Whan she cam to Saint Evron's well, She dought na licht to drink her fill.

21 Whan she cam to Saint Evron's closs, The bonny bride fell aff her horse.

22 'What will ye leave to your father, the king?' 'The milk-white steed that I ride on.'

23 'What will ye leave to your mother, the queen?' 'The bluidy robes that I have on.'

24 'What will ye leave to your sister Anne?' 'My gude lord, to be wedded on.'

25 'What will ye leave to your brither John?' 'The gallows pin to hang him on.'

26 'What will ye leave to your brither's wife?' 'Grief and sorrow a' the days o her life.'

27 'What will ye leave to your brither's bairns?' 'The meal-pock to hang oure the arms.'

28 Now does she neither sigh nor groan: She lies aneath yon marble stone.

C

Harris MS., p. 11 b, No 7.

1 There waur three ladies in a ha, Hech hey an the lily gey By cam a knicht, an he wooed them a'. An the rose is aye the redder aye

2 The first ane she was cled in green; 'Will you fancy me, an be my queen?'

3 'You may seek me frae my father dear, An frae my mither, wha did me bear.

4 'You may seek me frae my sister Anne, But no, no, no frae my brither John.'

5 The niest ane she was cled in yellow; 'Will you fancy me, an be my marrow?'

6 'Ye may seek me frae my father dear, An frae my mither, wha did me bear.

7 'Ye may seek me frae my sister Anne, But no, no, no frae my brither John.'

8 The niest ane she was cled in red: 'Will ye fancy me, an be my bride?'

9 'Ye may seek me frae my father dear, An frae my mither wha did me bear.

10 'Ye may seek me frae my sister Anne, An dinna forget my brither John.'

11 He socht her frae her father, the king, An he socht her frae her mither, the queen.

12 He socht her frae her sister Anne, But he forgot her brither John.

13 Her mither she put on her goun, An her sister Anne preened the ribbons doun.

14 Her father led her doon the close, An her brither John set her on her horse.

* * * * * * *

15 Up an spak our foremost man: 'I think our bonnie bride's pale an wan.'

* * * * * * *

16 'What will ye leave to your father dear?' 'My ... an my ... chair.'

17 'What will ye leave to your mither dear?' 'My silken screen I was wont to wear.'

18 'What will ye leave to your sister Anne?' 'My silken snood an my golden fan.'

19 'What will you leave to your brither John?' 'The gallows tree to hang him on.'

D

Notes and Queries, 1st S., VI, 53, 2d S., V, 171. As sung by a lady who was a native of County Kerry, Ireland.

1 There were three ladies playing at ball, Farin-dan-dan and farin-dan-dee There came a white knight, and he wooed them all. With adieu, sweet honey, wherever you be

2 He courted the eldest with golden rings, And the others with many fine things. And adieu, etc.

E

Notes and Queries, 4th S., V, 105. From Forfarshire, W.F.

There were three sisters playin at the ba, Wi a hech hey an a lillie gay There cam a knicht an lookt ower the wa'. An the primrose springs sae sweetly. Sing Annet, an Marret, an fair Maisrie, An the dew hangs i the wood, gay ladie.

F

Gilbert's Ancient Christmas Carols, 2d ed., p. 68, as remembered by the editor. West of England.

1 There did three knights come from the west, With the high and the lily oh And these three knights courted one lady. As the rose was so sweetly blown

2 The first knight came was all in white, And asked of her, if she'd be his delight.

3 The next knight came was all in green, And asked of her, if she'd be his queen.

4 The third knight came was all in red, And asked of her, if she would wed.

5 'Then have you asked of my father dear, Likewise of her who did me bear?

6 'And have you asked of my brother John? And also of my sister Anne?'

7 'Yes, I have asked of your father dear, Likewise of her who did you bear.

8 'And I have asked of your sister Anne, But I've not asked of your brother John.'

9 Far on the road as they rode along, There did they meet with her brother John.

10 She stooped low to kiss him sweet, He to her heart did a dagger meet.

11 'Ride on, ride on,' cried the serving man, 'Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.'

12 'I wish I were on yonder stile, For there I would sit and bleed awhile.

13 'I wish I were on yonder hill, There I'd alight and make my will.'

14 'What would you give to your father dear?' 'The gallant steed which doth me bear.'

15 'What would you give to your mother dear?' 'My wedding shift which I do wear.

16 'But she must wash it very clean, For my heart's blood sticks in evry seam.'

17 'What would you give to your sister Anne?' 'My gay gold ring and my feathered fan.'

18 'What would you give to your brother John?' 'A rope and gallows to hang him on.'

19 'What would you give to your brother John's wife?' 'A widow's weeds, and a quiet life.'

G

#a.# Herd's MSS, I, 41. #b.# Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 88.

1 There was three ladys in a ha, Fine flowers i the valley There came three lords amang them a', Wi the red, green, and the yellow

2 The first of them was clad in red: 'O lady fair, will you be my bride?'

3 The second of them was clad in green: 'O lady fair, will you be my queen?'

4 The third of them was clad in yellow: 'O lady fair, will you be my marrow?'

5 'You must ask my father dear, Likewise the mother that did me bear.'

6 'You must ask my sister Ann, And not forget my brother John,'

7 'I have askt thy father dear, Likewise thy mother that did thee bear.

8 'I have askt thy sister Ann, But I forgot thy brother John.'

9 Her father led her through the ha, Her mother dancd before them a'.

10 Her sister Ann led her through the closs, Her brother John put her on her horse.

11 'You are high and I am low; Let me have a kiss before you go.'

12 She was louting down to kiss him sweet, Wi his penknife he wounded her deep.

* * * * * * *

13 'O lead me over into yon stile, That I may stop and breath a while.

14 'O lead me over to yon stair, For there I'll ly and bleed ne mair.'

15 'O what will you leave your father dear?' 'That milk-white steed that brought me here.'

16 'O what will you leave your mother dear?' 'The silken gown that I did wear.'

17 'What will you leave your sister Ann?' 'My silken snood and golden fan.'

18 'What will you leave your brother John?' 'The highest gallows to hang him on.'

19 'What will you leave your brother John's wife?' 'Grief and sorrow to end her life.'

20 'What will ye leave your brother John's bairns?' 'The world wide for them to range.'

H

Herd's MSS, I, 44, II, 75; Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 90; appended to #G#.

She louted down to gie a kiss, With a hey and a lilly gay

He stuck his penknife in her hass. And the rose it smells so sweetly

'Ride up, ride up,' cry'd the foremost man; 'I think our bride looks pale and wan.'

I

Kinloch's MSS, I, 27. From Mrs Bouchart, an old lady native of Forfarshire.

1 There war three bonnie boys playing at the ba, Hech hey and a lily gay There cam three ladies to view them a'. And the rose it smells sae sweetlie

2 The first ane was clad in red: 'O,' says he, 'ye maun be my bride.'

3 The next o them was clad in green: 'O,' says he, 'ye maun be my queen.'

4 The tither o them was clad in yellow: 'O,' says he, 'ye maun be my marrow.'

5 'Ye maun gang to my father's bouer, To see gin your bride he'll let me be.'

6 Her father led her doun the stair, Her mither at her back did bear.

7 Her sister Jess led her out the closs, Her brother John set her on the horse.

8 She loutit doun to gie him a kiss; He struck his penknife thro her breist.

9 'Ride on, ride on,' says the foremaist man; 'I think our bride looks pale and wan.'

10 'Ride on, ride on,' says the merry bridegroom; 'I think my bride's blude is rinnin doun.'

11 'O gin I war at yon bonnie hill, I wad lie doun and bleed my fill!

12 'O gin I war at yon bonnie kirk-yard, I wad mak my testament there!'

13 'What will ye leave to your father dear?' 'The milk-white steed that brocht me here.'

14 'What will ye leave to your mother dear?' 'The bluidy robes that I do wear.'

15 'What will ye leave to your sister Ann?' 'My silken snood and gowden fan.'

16 'What will ye leave to your sister Jess?' 'The bonnie lad that I loe best.'

17 'What will ye leave to your brother John?' 'The gallows pin to hang him on.'

18 'What will ye leave to your brother John's wife?' 'Sorrow and trouble a' her life.'

19 'What will ye leave to your brother's bairns?' 'The warld's wide, and let them beg.'

J

From Miss Margaret Reburn, as current in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.

1 There were three sisters playing ball, With the high and the lily O And there came three knights to court them all. With the rosey sweet, heigh ho

2 The eldest of them was drest in green: 'I wish I had you to be my queen.'

3 The second of them was drest in red: 'I wish I had you to grace my bed.'

4 The youngest of them was drest in white: 'I wish I had you to be my wife.'

5 'Did ye ask my father brave? Or did ye ask my mother fair?

6 'Or did ye ask my brother John? For without his will I dare not move on.'

7 'I did ask your parents dear, But I did not see your brother John.'

* * * * * * *

8 'Ride on, ride on,' said the first man, 'For I fear the bride comes slowly on.'

9 'Ride on, ride on,' said the next man, 'For lo! the bride she comes bleeding on.'

* * * * * * *

10 'What will you leave your mother dear?' 'My heart's best love for ever and aye.'

11 'What will ye leave your sister Anne?' 'This wedding garment that I have on.'

12 'What will ye leave your brother John's wife?' 'Grief and sorrow all the days of her life.'

13 'What will ye leave your brother John?' 'The highest gallows to hang him on.'

14 'What will ye leave your brother John's son?' 'The grace of God to make him a man.'

K

Notes and Queries, 4th S., IV, 517, as "sung in Cheshire amongst the people" in the last century. T. W.

1 There were three ladies playing at ball, Gilliver, Gentle, and Rosemary There came three knights and looked over the wall. Sing O the red rose and the white lilly

2 The first young knight, he was clothed in red, And he said, 'Gentle lady, with me will you wed?'

3 The second young knight, he was clothed in blue, And he said, 'To my love I shall ever be true.'

4 The third young knight, he was clothed in green, And he said, 'Fairest maiden, will you be my queen?'

5 The lady thus spoke to the knight in red, 'With you, sir knight, I never can wed.'

6 The lady then spoke to the knight in blue, And she said, 'Little faith I can have in you.'

7 The lady then spoke to the knight in green, And she said, ''T is at court you must seek for a queen.'

8 The three young knights then rode away, And the ladies they laughed, and went back to their play. Singing, etc.

* * * * *

#A. b.#

6^2. oer young.

10^2. spear at.

17^2. the bonny.

19^1. said.

23^1. And what will ye.

25^1. This fair lady.

25^2. And a mass.

_Variations of Aytoun's copy, sts. 9-13, 16, 17, 20-24: 11^1 omits ~And~; 12^1, 13^1 omit ~dear~; 13^2 omits ~And~; 16^1, ~through half~ for ~half thro~; 17^2 omits ~For, bonny~; 21^2, ~pearlin~ for ~silken~; 22^1 omits ~And~; 22^2, ~My silken gown that stands its lane~; 23^2, ~shirt~ for ~cloaths~; 24^1, ~And what~; 24^2, ~The gates o hell to let him in~._

#B.#

"I have seen a fragment of another copy in which [the burden is]

The red rose and the lily And the roses spring fu sweetly." Kinloch, p. 19.

#F.#

9^1. For on the road.

#G. a.#

1. Burden^2. ~The red, green~, etc.: afterwards, ~Wi the red~, etc.

2^2. MS. also, He askt of me if I'd be his bride.

3^2. MS. also, He askt of me if I'd be his queen.

4^2. MS. also, He askt me if I'd be his marrow.

15^2. MS. also, The gold and silver that I have here.

16^2. MS. also, The silken garment.

17^2. MS. also, My satine hat.

20^2, MS. also, The world wide, let them go beg.

#b.#

7^2. the mother.

#b.#

14^1. into yon stair.

Variations of Aytoun's copy, sts. 1-8, 14, 15, 18, 19 from Herd, 1776: 1^1, three sisters; 2^2, 3^2, 4^2 omit fair; 5^1, O ye maun; 6^1, And ye; 7^1, O I have; 8^1, And I have ask'd your sister; 8^2, your brother; 14^2, Give me a kiss; 15^2, When wi his knife.

#H.#

"I have heard this song, to a very good tune not in any collection, with the above variations--the chorus, of the whole as in the above two verses." Herd's note in his MSS.

[143] Aytoun, 1-8==Herd, 1776, 1-8: 9-13==Jamieson, 11-15: 14, 15==Herd, 11, 12: 16, 17==Jamieson, 18, 19: 18, 19==Herd, 13, 14: 20-24==Jamieson, 21-25.Return to passage

12

LORD RANDAL

#A.# From a manuscript copy, probably of the beginning of this century.

#B.# 'Lord Donald,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 110.

#C.# Motherwell's MS., p. 69.

#D.# Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803, III, 292.

#E.# Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 261.

#F.# 'Lord Ronald, my Son,' Johnson's Museum, No 327, p. 337.

#G.# Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 319.

#H.# From recitation, 1881.

#I.# 'Tiranti, my Son.' #a.# Communicated by a lady of Boston, #b.# By an aunt of the same. #c.# By a lady of New Bedford. #d.# By a lady of Cambridge. #e#, #f#, #g#. By ladies of Boston.

#J.# 'The Bonnie Wee Croodlin Dow,' Motherwell's MS., p. 238.

#K. a.# 'The Croodlin Doo,' Chambers, Scottish Ballads, p. 324. #b.# 'The Wee Croodlen Doo,' Chambers, Popular Rhymes, 1842, p. 53. #c.# Johnson's Museum, by Stenhouse and Laing, IV, 364*.

#L.# 'Willie Doo,' Buchan's MSS, II, 322, and Ballads, II, 179.

#M.# 'The Croodin Doo,' Chambers, Popular Rhymes, 1870, p. 51.

#N.# Kinloch MSS, V, 347.

#O.# 'The Croodlin Doo.' From a manuscript belonging to the Fraser-Tytler family.

The title 'Lord Randal' is selected for this ballad because that name occurs in one of the better versions, and because it has become familiar through Scott's Minstrelsy. Scott says that the hero was more generally termed Lord Ronald: but in the versions that have come down to us this is not so. None of these can be traced back further than a century. #F# and #D# were the earliest published. Jamieson remarks with respect to #G# (1814): "An English gentleman, who had never paid any attention to ballads, nor ever read a collection of such things, told me that when a child he learnt from a playmate of his own age, the daughter of a clergyman in Suffolk, the following imperfect ditty." #I#, a version current in eastern Massachusetts, may be carried as far back as any. #a#, #b# derive from Elizabeth Foster, whose parents, both natives of eastern Massachusetts, settled, after their marriage, in Maine, where she was born in 1789. Elizabeth Foster's mother is remembered to have sung the ballad, and I am informed that the daughter must have learned it not long after 1789, since she was removed in her childhood from Maine to Massachusetts, and continued there till her death. 'Tiranti' ['Taranti'] may not improbably be a corruption of Lord Randal.

The copy in Smith's Scottish Minstrel, III, 58, is Scott's altered. The first four stanzas are from the Border Minstrelsy, except the last line of the fourth, which is from Johnson's Museum. The last two stanzas are a poor modern invention.

Three stanzas which are found in #A#. Cunningham's Scottish Songs, I, 286 f, may be given for what they are worth. 'The house of Marr,' in the first, is not to be accepted on the simple ground of its appearance in his pages. The second is inserted in his beautified edition of Scott's ballad, and has its burden accordingly; but there is, besides this, no internal evidence against the second, and none against the third.

'O where have you been, Lord Ronald, my son? O where have you been, my handsome young man?' 'At the house of Marr, mother, so make my bed soon, For I'm wearied with hunting, and fain would lie down.'

'O where did she find them, Lord Randal, my son? O where did she catch them, my handsome young man?' 'Neath the bush of brown bracken, so make my bed soon, For I'm wae and I'm weary, and fain would lie down.'

'O what got your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son? O what got your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?' 'They lapt the broo, mother, so make my bed soon, I am wearied with hunting, and fain would lie down.'

A pot-pourri or quodlibet, reprinted in Wolff's Egeria, p. 53, from a Veronese broadside of the date 1629, shows that this ballad was popular in #Italy# more than 250 years ago; for the last but one of the fragments which make up the medley happens to be the first three lines of 'L'Avvelenato,' very nearly as they are sung at the present day, and these are introduced by a summary of the story:

"Io vo' finire con questa _d'un amante Tradito dall' amata._ Oh che l'è sì garbata A cantarla in ischiera: _'Dov' andastu iersera, Figliuol mio ricco, savio e gentile? Dov' andastu iersera'?_"[144]

The ballad was first recovered in 1865, by Dr G. B. Bolza, who took it down from the singing of very young girls at Loveno. Since then good copies have been found at Venice. #A#, 'L'Avvelenato,' Bolza, Canzoni popolari comasche, No 49, Sitzungsberichte of the Vienna Academy (philos. histor. class), LIII, 668, is of seventeen stanzas, of seven short lines, all of which repeat but two: the 8th and 10th stanzas are imperfect.[145] A mother inquires of her son where he has been. He has been at his mistress's, where he has eaten part of an eel; the rest was given to a dog, that died in the street. The mother declares that he has been poisoned. He bids her send for the doctor to see him, for the curate to shrive him, for the notary to make his will. He leaves his mother his palace, his brothers his carriage and horses, his sisters a dowry, his servants a free passage to mass ("la strada d'andà a messa" # nothing), a hundred and fifty masses for his soul; for his mistress the gallows to hang her. #B#, #C#, 'L'Avvelenato,' Bernoni, Nuovi Canti popolari veneziani, 1874, No 1, p. 5, p. 3, have twelve and eighteen four-line stanzas, the questions and answers in successive stanzas, and the last three lines of the first pair repeated respectively throughout.[146] #B#, which is given as a variant of #C#, agrees with #A# as to the agent in the young man's death. It is his mistress in #B#, but in #C# it is his mother. In both, as in #A#, he has eaten of an eel. The head he gave to the dogs, the tail to the cats (#C#). He leaves to his stewards (castaldi) his carriages and horses (#C#); to his herdsmen his cows and fields; to the maids his chamber furnishings; to his sister the bare privilege of going to mass (#C#, as in #A#); to his mother [wife, #C#] the keys of his treasure. "La forca per picarla" is in #B# as in #A# the bequest to his false love, instead of whom we have his mother in #C#.

The corresponding #German# ballad has been known to the English for two generations through Jamieson's translation. The several versions, all from oral tradition of this century, show the same resemblances and differences as the English.

#A#, #B#, 'Schlangenköchin,' eight stanzas of six lines, four of which are burden, #A#, Liederhort, p. 6, No 2^a, from the neighborhood of Wilsnack, Brandenburg, #B#, Peter, I, 187, No 6, from Weidenau, Austrian Silesia, run thus: Henry tells his mother that he has been at his sweetheart's (but not a-hunting); has had a speckled fish to eat, part of which was given to the dog [cat, #B#], which burst. Henry wishes his father and mother all blessings, and hell-pains to his love, #A# 6-8. His mother, #B# 8, asks where she shall make his bed: he replies, In the church-yard. #C#, 'Grossmutter Schlangenköchin,' first published in 1802, in Maria's (Clemens Brentano's) romance Godwi, II, 113, afterward in the Wunderhorn, I, 19 (ed. 1819, I, 20, ed. 1857), has fourteen two-line stanzas, or seven of four lines, one half burden. The copy in Zuccalmaglio, p. 217, No 104, "from Hesse and North Germany," is the same thing with another line of burden intercalated and two or three slight changes. Maria has been at her grandmother's, who gave her a fish to eat which she had caught in her kitchen garden; the dog ate the leavings, and his belly burst. The conclusion agrees with #B#, neither having the testament. #D#, 'Stiefmutter,' seven stanzas of four short lines, two being burden, Uhland, No 120, p. 272; excepting one slight variation, the same as Liederhort, p. 5, No 2, from the vicinity of Bückeburg, Lippe-Schaumburg. A child has been at her mother's sister's house, where she has had a well-peppered broth and a glass of red wine. The dogs [and cats] had some broth too, and died on the spot. The child wishes its father a seat in heaven, for its mother one in hell. #E#, 'Kind, wo bist du denn henne west?' Reiffenberg, p. 8, No 4, from Bökendorf, Westphalia, four stanzas of six lines, combining question and answer, two of the six burden. A child has been at its step-aunt's, and has had a bit of a fish caught in the nettles along the wall. The child gives all its goods to its brother, its clothes to its sister, but three devils to its [step-]mother. #F#, 'Das vergiftete kind,' seven four-line stanzas, two burden, Schuster, Siebenbürgisch-sächsische V. L., p. 62, No 58, from Mühlbach. A child tells its father that its heart is bursting; it has eaten of a fish, given it by its mother, which the father declares to be an adder. The child wishes its father a seat in heaven, its mother one in hell.

#A#, #B# are nearer to 'Lord Randal,' and have even the name Henry which we find in English #C#. #C-F# are like #J-O#, 'The Croodlin Doo.'

#Dutch.# 'Isabelle,' Snellaert, p. 73, No 67, seven four-line stanzas, the first and fourth lines repeated in each. Isabel has been sewing at her aunt's, and has eaten of a fish with yellow stripes that had been caught with tongs in the cellar. The broth, poured into the street, caused the dogs to burst. She wishes her aunt a red-hot furnace, herself a spade to bury her, her brother a wife like his mother.

#Swedish.# #A#, 'Den lillas Testamente,' ten five-line stanzas, three lines burden, Afzelius, III, 13, No 68; ed. Bergström, I, 291, No 55. A girl, interrogated by her step-mother, says she has been at her aunt's, and has eaten two wee striped fishes. The bones she gave the dog; the stanza which should describe the effect is wanting. She wishes heaven for her father and mother, a ship for her brother, a jewel-box and chests for her sister, and hell for her step-mother and her nurse. #B#, Arwidsson, II, 90, No 88, nine five-line stanzas, two lines burden. In the first stanza, evidently corrupt, the girl says she has been at her brother's. She has had eels cooked with pepper, and the bones, given to the dogs, made them burst. She gives her father good corn in his barns, her brother and sister a ship, etc., hell to her step-mother and nurse.

#Danish.# Communicated by Prof. Grundtvig, as obtained for the first time from tradition in 1877; five stanzas of five lines, three lines repeating. Elselille, in answer to her mother, says she has been in the meadow, where she got twelve small snakes. She wishes heavenly joy to her father, a grave to her brother, hell torment to her sister.

#Magyar.# 'Der vergiftete Knabe,' Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, 2^e Auflage, p. 127, in nine six-line stanzas, four being a burden. Johnnie, in answer to his mother, says he has been at his sister-in-law's, and has eaten a speckled toad, served on her handsomest plate, of which he is dying. He bequeaths to his father his best carriage, to his brothers his finest horses, to his sister his house furniture, to his sister-in-law everlasting damnation, to his mother pain and sorrow.

#Wendish.# 'Der vergiftete Knabe,' Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 110, No 77, twelve four-line stanzas, combining question and answer, the first and last line repeating. Henry has been at the neighbor's, has eaten part of a fish caught in the stable with a dung-fork; his dog ate the rest, and burst. There is no testament. His mother asks him where she shall make his bed; he replies, In the churchyard; turn my head westward, and cover me with green turf.

The numerous forms of this story show a general agreement, with but little difference except as to the persons who are the object and the agent of the crime. These are, according to the Italian tradition,--which is 250 years old, while no other goes back more than a hundred years, and far the larger part have been obtained in recent years,--a young man and his true-love; and in this account unite two of the three modern Italian versions, English #A-G#, German #A#, #B#. Scott suggests that the handsome young sportsman (whom we find in English #A#, #C#, #D#, #E#, #F#, #H#) may have been exchanged for a little child poisoned by a step-mother, to excite greater interest in the nursery. This seems very reasonable. What girl with a lover, singing the ballad, would not be tempted to put off the treacherous act on so popular, though most unjustly popular, an object of aversion? A mother, again, would scarcely allow "mother" to stand, as is the case in Italian #C# and German #F#, and a singer who considered that all blood relations should be treated as sacred would ascribe the wickedness to somebody beyond that pale, say a neighbor, as the Wendish ballad does, and Zuccalmaglio's reading of German #C#. The step-mother is expressly named only in English #J#, #K c#, #L#, #M#, #N#, #O#, and in four of these, #J#, #K c#, #M#, #O#, the child has a mammie,[147] which certainly proves an alibi for the step-mother, and confirms what Scott says. There is a step-aunt in German #E# and Swedish #A#, and the aunt in German #D# and the Dutch ballad, and the grandmother in English #I#, #K a#, #b#, German #C#, are perhaps meant (as the brother in Swedish #B# certainly is) to be step-relations and accommodating instruments.

The poisoning is shifted to a wife in English #H#, to an uncle in English #I d#, and to a sister-in-law in the Magyar version.

There is all but universal consent that the poisoning was done by serving up snakes for fish. The Magyar says a toad, English #M# a four-footed fish,[148] German #D# a well-peppered broth and a glass of red wine. English #L# adds a drink of hemlock stocks to the speckled trout; #F#, #H# have simply poison. The fish are distinctively eels in the Italian versions, and in English #A#, #D#, #E#, #G#, #I#, Swedish #B#. English #A#, #J#, #K#, #M#, #N#, #O#, German #A-D#, the Italian, Swedish, Dutch, Wendish versions, and by implication English #C#, #D#, #E# also, concur in saying that a part of the fish was given to a dog [dogs, cat, cats], and that death was the consequence. Bursting or swelling is characteristic of this kind of poisoning: German #A#, #B#, #C#, #F#, English #D#, #E#, and the Dutch and Wendish versions.

The dying youth or child in many cases makes a nuncupative will, or declares his last wishes, upon a suggestion proceeding from the person who is by him, commonly from the mother: English #A#, #B#, #C#, #H#, #I#: German #A#, #D#, #E#, #F#: the Italian, Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Magyar versions. The bequest to the poisoner is the gallows in English #B#, #C#, #H#, #I#, Italian #A#, #B#, #C#; hell, English #A#, German #A#, #D#, #F#, Swedish #A#, #B#, Danish; and an equivalent in German #E#, the Dutch and the Magyar copy. 'The Cruel Brother,' No 11, and 'Edward,' No 13, have a will of this same fashion.

In all the English versions the burden has the entreaty "Make my bed," and this is addressed to the mother in all but #L#, #N#. In #H#, an Irish copy, and #I#, an American one, the mother asks where the bed shall be made; and the answer is, In the churchyard. This feature is found again in German #B#, #C# and in the Wendish version.

The resemblance in the form of the stanza in all the versions deserves a word of remark. For the most part, the narrative proceeds in sections of two short lines, or rather half lines, which are a question and an answer, the rest of the stanza being regularly repeated. English #L#, #N#, as written (#L# not always), separate the question and answer; this is done, too, in Italian #B#, #C#. German #E#, on the contrary, has two questions and the answers in each stanza, and is altogether peculiar. Swedish #B# varies the burden in part, imagining father, brother, sister, etc., to ask what the little girl will give to each, and adapting the reply accordingly, "Faderen min," "Broderen min."

A Bohemian and a Catalan ballad which have two of the three principal traits of the foregoing, the poisoning and the testament, do not exhibit, perhaps have lost, the third, the employment of snakes.

The story of the first is that a mother who dislikes the wife her son has chosen attempts to poison her at the wedding feast. She sets a glass of honey before the son, a glass of poison before the bride. They exchange cups. The poison is swift. The young man leaves four horses to his brother, eight cows to his sister, his fine house to his wife. "And what to me, my son?" asks the mother. A broad mill-stone and the deep Moldau is the bequest to her. Waldau, Böhmische Granaten, II, 109, cited by Reifferscheid, p. 137 f.

The Catalan ballad seems to have been softened at the end. Here again a mother hates her daughter-in-law. She comes to the sick woman, "com qui no 'n sabès res," and asks What is the matter? The daughter says, You have poisoned me. The mother exhorts her to confess and receive the sacrament, and then make her will. She gives her castles in France to the poor and the pilgrims [and the friars], and to her brother Don Carlos [who, in one version is her husband]. Two of the versions remember the Virgin. "And to me?" "To you, my husband [my cloak, rosary], that when you go to mass you may remember me." In one version the mother asks the dying woman where she will be buried. She says At Saint Mary's. Milà, Observaciones, p. 103 f, No 5, two versions: Briz y Saltó, II, 197 f, two also, the first nearly the same as Milà's first.

Poisoning by giving a snake as food, or by infusing the venom in drink, is an incident in several other popular ballads.

Donna Lombarda attempts, at the instigation of a lover, to rid herself of her husband by pounding a serpent, or its head, in a mortar, and mixing the juice with his wine [in one version simply killing the snake and putting it in a cask]: Nigra, Canzoni del Piemonti, in Rivista Contemporanea, XII, 32 ff, four versions; Marcoaldi, p. 177, No 20; Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, p. 46, No 72; Righi, Canti popolari veronesi, p. 37, No 100*; Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 1, No 1; Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Puntata V, No 1. In three of Nigra's versions and in Ferraro's the drink is offered when the husband returns from hunting. The husband, rendered suspicious by the look of the wine, or warned of his danger, forces his wife to drink first. So in a northern ballad, a mother who attempts to destroy her sons [step-sons] with a brewage of this description is obliged to drink first, and bursts with the poison: 'Eiturbyrlunar kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkv., II, 79, No 43 A; 'Fru Gundela,' Arwidsson, II, 92, No 89; 'Signelill aa hennes synir,' Bugge, p. 95, No XX, the last half.

In one of the commonest Slavic ballads, a girl, who finds her brother an obstacle to her desires, poisons him, at the instigation and under the instruction of the man she fancies, or of her own motion, by giving him a snake to eat, or the virus in drink. The object of her passion, on being informed of what she has done, casts her off, for fear of her doing the like to him. Bohemian: 'Sestra travička,' Erben, P. n. w Čechách, 1842, I, 9, No 2, Prostonárodni české P., 1864, p. 477, No 13; Swoboda, Sbírka č. n. P., p. 19; German translations by Swoboda, by Wenzig, W. s. Märchenschatz, p. 263, I. v. Düringsfeld, Böhmische Rosen, p. 176, etc. Moravian: Sušil, p. 167, No 168. Slovak, Čelakowsky, Slowanské n. P., III, 76. Polish: Kolberg, P. L. p., I, 115, No 8, some twenty versions; Wojcicki, P. L. białochrobatow, etc., I, 71, 73, 232, 289; Pauli, P. L. polskiego, p. 81, 82: Konopka, P. L. krakowskiego, p. 125. Servian: Vuk, I, 215, No 302, translated by Talvj, II, 192, and by Kapper, Gesänge der Serben, II, 177. Russian: Čelakowsky, as above, III, 108. Etc. The attempt is made, but unsuccessfully, in Sacharof, P. russkago N., IV, 7.

A version given by De Rada, Rapsodie d'un poema albanese, p. 78, canto x, resembles the Slavic, with a touch of the Italian. A man incites a girl to poison her brother by pounding the poison out of a serpent's head and tail and mixing it with wine.

In a widely spread Romaic ballad, a mother poisons the bride whom her son has just brought home,--an orphan girl in some versions, but in one a king's daughter wedding a king's son. The cooks who are preparing the feast are made to cook for the bride the heads of three snakes [nine snakes' heads, a three-headed snake, winged snakes and two-headed adders]. In two Epirote versions the poisoned girl bursts with the effects. "Τα κακα πεθερικα," Passow, p. 335, No 456, nearly==Zambelios, p. 753, No 41; Passow, p. 337, No 457; Tommaseo, Canti popolari, III, 135; Jeannaraki, p. 127, No 130[149]; Chasiotis (Epirote), p. 51, No 40, "Ἡ βουργαροπουλα και ἡ κακη πεθερα·" p. 103, No 22, "Ὁ Διονυς και ἡ κακη πεθερα." (Liebrecht, Volkskunde, p. 214.)

An Italian mother-in-law undertakes to poison her son's wife with a snake-potion. The wife, on her husband's return from the chase, innocently proposes to share the drink with him. Her husband no sooner has tasted than he falls dead. (Kaden, Italien's Wunderhorn, p. 85).

Scott cites in his preface to 'Lord Randal' a passage from a MS. chronicle of England, in which the death of King John is described as being brought about by administering to him the venom of a toad (cf. the Magyar ballad). The symptoms--swelling and rupture--are found in the Scandinavian and Epirote ballads referred to above, besides those previously noticed (p. 155). King John had asked a monk at the abbey of Swinshed how much a loaf on the table was worth. The monk answered a half-penny. The king said that if he could bring it about, such a loaf should be worth twenty pence ere half a year. The monk thought he would rather die than that this should come to pass. "And anon the monk went unto his abbot and was shrived of him, and told the abbot all that the king said, and prayed his abbot to assoil him, for he would give the king such a wassail that all England should be glad and joyful thereof. Then went the monk into a garden, and found a toad therein, and took her up, and put her in a cup, and filled it with good ale, and pricked her in every place, in the cup, till the venom came out in every place, and brought it before the king, and kneeled, and said: 'Sir, wassail: for never in your life drank ye of such a cup.' 'Begin, monk,' said the king: and the monk drank a great draught, and took the king the cup, and the king also drank a great draught, and set down the cup. The monk anon went to the firmary, and there died anon, on whose soul God have mercy, amen. And five monks sing for his soul especially, and shall while the abbey standeth. The king was anon full evil at ease, and commanded to remove the table, and asked after the monk; and men told him that he was dead, for his womb was broke in sunder. When the king heard this tiding, he commanded for to truss: but all it was for nought, for his belly began to swell from the drink that he drank, that he died within two days, the morrow after Saint Luke's day." Minstrelsy, III, 287 f. The same story in Eulogium Historiarum, ed. Haydon, III, 109 f.

* * * * *

#B# and #K c# are translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 284, 286. #D#, by W. Grimm, 3 Altschottische Lieder, p. 3; by Schubart, p. 177; Arndt, p. 229; Doenniges, p. 79; Gerhardt, p. 83; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 174. #K a# by Fiedler, Geschichte der volksthümlichen schottischen Liederdichtung, II, 268. German #C# is translated by Jamieson, Illustrations, p. 320: Swedish #A# by W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 265.

A

From a small manuscript volume lent me by Mr William Macmath, of Edinburgh, containing four pieces written in or about 1710, and this ballad in a later hand. Charles Mackie, August, 1808, is scratched upon the binding.

1 'O where ha you been, Lord Randal, my son? And where ha you been, my handsome young man?' 'I ha been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

2 'An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son? An wha met you there, my handsome young man?' 'O I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm wearied wi huntin, an fain wad lie down.'

3 'And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son? And what did she give you, my handsome young man?' 'Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.'

4 'And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal, my son? And wha gat your leavins, my handsom young man?' 'My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

5 'And what becam of them, Lord Randal, my son? And what becam of them, my handsome young man?' 'They stretched their legs out an died; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.'

6 'O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son! I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!' 'O yes, I am poisoned; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

7 'What d' ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal, my son? What d' ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?' 'Four and twenty milk kye; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

8 'What d' ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal, my son? What d' ye leave to your sister, my handsome young man?' 'My gold and my silver; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, an I fain wad lie down.'

9 'What d' ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal, my son? What d' ye leave to your brother, my handsome young man?' 'My houses and my lands; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

10 'What d' ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal, my son? What d' ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?' 'I leave her hell and fire; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

B

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 110. From Mrs Comie, Aberdeen.

1 'O whare hae ye been a' day, Lord Donald, my son? O whare hae ye been a' day, my jollie young man?' 'I've been awa courtin; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

2 'What wad ye hae for your supper, Lord Donald, my son? What wad ye hae for your supper, my jollie young man?' 'I've gotten my supper; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

3 'What did ye get for your supper, Lord Donald, my son? What did ye get for your supper, my jollie young man?' 'A dish of sma fishes; mither mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

4 'Whare gat ye the fishes, Lord Donald, my son? Whare gat ye the fishes, my jollie young man?' 'In my father's black ditches; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

5 'What like were your fishes, Lord Donald, my son? What like were your fishes, my jollie young man?' 'Black backs and spreckld bellies; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

6 'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Donald, my son! O I fear ye are poisond, my jollie young man!' 'O yes! I am poisond; mither mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

7 'What will ye leave to your father, Lord Donald my son? What will ye leave to your father, my jollie young man?' 'Baith my houses and land; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

8 'What will ye leave to your brither, Lord Donald, my son? What will ye leave to your brither, my jollie young man?' 'My horse and the saddle; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

9 'What will ye leave to your sister, Lord Donald, my son? What will ye leave to your sister, my jollie young man?' 'Baith my gold box and rings; mither, mak my bed sune, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

10 'What will ye leave to your true-love, Lord Donald, my son? What will ye leave to your true-love, my jollie young man?' 'The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree, And lat her hang there for the poysoning o me.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 69. From the recitation of Margaret Bain, in the parish of Blackford, Perthshire.

1 'What's become of your hounds, King Henrie, my son? What's become of your hounds, my pretty little one?' 'They all died on the way; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

2 'What gat ye to your supper, King Henry, my son? What gat ye to your supper, my pretty little one?' 'I gat fish boiled in broo; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

3 'What like were the fish, King Henry, my son? What like were the fish, my pretty little one?' 'They were spreckled on the back and white on the belly; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

4 'What leave ye to your father, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your father, my pretty little one?' 'The keys of Old Ireland, and all that's therein; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

5 'What leave ye to your brother, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your brother, my pretty little one?' 'The keys of my coffers and all that's therein; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

6 'What leave ye to your sister, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your sister, my pretty little one?' 'The world's wide, she may go beg; mother, mak my bed soon, For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

7 'What leave ye to your trew-love, King Henry, my son? What leave ye to your trew-love, my pretty little one?' 'The highest hill to hang her on, for she's poisoned me and my hounds all; mother, make my bed soon, Oh I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

D

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803, III, 292.

1 'O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, 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.'

2 'Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I din'd wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

3 'What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?' 'I gat eels boild in broo; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

4 'What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son? What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?' 'O they swelld and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

5 'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son! O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!' 'O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

E

Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 261. "A version still popular in Scotland," 1849.

1 'Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son? Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?' 'I've been in the wild woods; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

2 'Oh you've been at your true love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son! Oh you've been at your true-love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!' 'I've been at my true-love's; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

3 'What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son? What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?' 'I got eels boild in brue; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

4 'What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son? What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son?' 'He died in the muirlands; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

5 'What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son? What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son?' 'They swelled and they died; mither, mak my bed soon, For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

F

Johnson's Museum, No 327, p. 337. Communicated by Burns.

1 'O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son? O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?' 'I hae been wi my sweetheart; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi the hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

2 'What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son? What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?' 'I hae got deadly poison; mother, make my bed soon, For life is a burden that soon I'll lay down.'

* * * * * * *

G

Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 319. Originally from a clergyman's daughter, in Suffolk.

1 'Where have you been today, Billy, my son? Where have you been today, my only man?' 'I've been a wooing; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at heart, and fain would lay down.'

2 'What have you ate today, Billy, my son? What have you ate today, my only man?' 'I've ate eel-pie; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at heart, and shall die before noon.'

H

Taken down by me, February, 1881, from the recitation of Ellen Healy, as repeated to her by a young girl at "Lackabairn," Kerry, Ireland, about 1868.

1 'Where was you all day, my own pretty boy? Where was you all day, my comfort and joy?' 'I was fishing and fowling; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

2 'What did you have for your breakfast, my own pretty boy? What did you have for your breakfast, my comfort and joy?' 'A cup of strong poison; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

3 'I fear you are poisoned, my own pretty boy, I fear you are poisoned, my comfort and joy!' 'O yes, I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

4 'What will you leave to your father, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your father, my comfort and joy?' 'I'll leave him my house and my property; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

5 'What will you leave to your mother, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your mother, my comfort and joy?' 'I'll leave her my coach and four horses; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

6 'What will you leave to your brother, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your brother, my comfort and joy?' 'I'll leave him my bow and my fiddle; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

7 'What will you leave to your sister, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your sister, my comfort and joy?' 'I'll leave her my gold and my silver; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

8 'What will you leave to your servant, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your servant, my comfort and joy?' 'I'll leave him the key of my small silver box; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

9 'What will you leave to your children, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your children, my comfort and joy?' 'The world is wide all round for to beg; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

10 'What will you leave to your wife, my own pretty boy? What will you leave to your wife, my comfort and joy?' 'I'll leave her the gallows, and plenty to hang her; mother, make my bed soon, There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

11 'Where shall I make it, my own pretty boy? Where shall I make it, my comfort and joy?' 'Above in the churchyard, and dig it down deep, Put a stone to my head and a flag to my feet, And leave me down easy until I'll take a long sleep.'

I

#a.# Communicated by Mrs L. F. Wesselhoeft, of Boston, as sung to her when a child by her grandmother, Elizabeth Foster, born in Maine, who appears to have learned the ballad of her mother about 1800. #b.# By a daughter of Elizabeth Foster, as learned about 1820. #c.# By Miss Ellen Marston, of New Bedford, as learned from her mother, born 1778. #d.# By Mrs Cushing, of Cambridge, Mass., as learned in 1838 from a schoolmate, who is thought to have derived it from an old nurse. #e.# By Mrs Augustus Lowell, of Boston. #f.# By Mrs Edward Atkinson, of Boston, learned of Mrs A. Lowell, in girlhood. #g.# By Mrs A. Lowell, as derived from a friend.

1 'O where have you been, Tiranti, my son? O where have you been, my sweet little one?' 'I have been to my grandmother's; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

2 'What did you have for your supper, Tiranti, my son? What did you have for your supper, my sweet little one?' 'I had eels fried in butter; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

3 'Where did the eels come from, Tiranti, my son? Where did the eels come from, my sweet little one?' 'From the corner of the haystack; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

4 'What color were the eels, Tiranti, my son? What color were the eels, my sweet little one?' 'They were streakëd and stripëd; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

5 'What'll you give to your father, Tiranti, my son? What'll you give to your father, my sweet little one?' 'All my gold and my silver; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

6 'What'll you give to your mother, Tiranti, my son? What'll you give to your mother, my sweet little one?' 'A coach and six horses; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

7 'What'll you give to your grandmother, Tiranti, my son? What'll you give to your grandmother, my sweet little one?' 'A halter to hang her; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

8 'Where'll you have your bed made, Tiranti, my son? Where'll you have your bed made, my sweet little one?' 'In the corner of the churchyard; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

J

Motherwell's MS., p. 238. From the recitation of Miss Maxwell, of Brediland.

1 'O whare hae ye been a' day, my bonnie wee croodlin dow? O whare hae ye been a' day, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?' 'I 've been at my step-mother's; oh mak my bed, mammie, now! I 've been at my step-mother's; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!'

2 'O what did ye get at your step-mother's, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?' [Twice.] 'I gat a wee wee fishie; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!' [Twice.]

3 'O whare gat she the wee fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?' 'In a dub before the door; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!'

4 'What did ye wi the wee fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?' 'I boild it in a wee pannie; oh mak my bed, mammy, now!'

5 'Wha gied ye the banes o the fishie till, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?' 'I gied them till a wee doggie; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!'

6 'O whare is the little wee doggie, my bonnie wee croodlin dow? O whare is the little wee doggie, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?' 'It shot out its fit and died, and sae maun I do too; Oh mak my bed, mammy, now, now, oh mak my bed, mammy, now!'

K

#a.# Chambers' Scottish Ballads, p. 324. #b.# Chambers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 1842, p. 53. #c.# The Stenhouse-Laing ed. of Johnson's Museum, IV, 364*, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

1 'O whaur hae ye been a' the day, my little wee croodlin doo?' 'O I 've been at my grandmother's; mak my bed, mammie, now!'

2 'O what gat ye at your grandmother's, my little wee croodlin doo?' 'I got a bonnie wee fishie; mak my bed, mammie, now!'

3 'O whaur did she catch the fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?' 'She catchd it in the gutter hole: mak my bed, mammie, now!'

4 'And what did she do wi the fish, my little wee croodlin doo?' 'She boiled it in a brass pan; O mak my bed, mammie, now!'

5 'And what did ye do wi the banes o't, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?' 'I gied them to my little dog; mak my bed, mammie, now!'

6 'And what did your little doggie do, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?' 'He stretched out his head, his feet, and deed; and so will I, mammie, now!'

L

Buchan's MSS, II, 322; Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 179.

1 'Whar hae ye been a' the day, Willie doo, Willie doo? Whar hae ye been a' the day, Willie, my doo?'

2 'I've been to see my step-mother; make my bed, lay me down; Make my bed, lay me down, die shall I now!'

3 'What got ye frae your step-mother, Willie doo, Willie doo? What got ye frae your step-mother, Willie, my doo?'

4 'She gae me a speckled trout; make my bed, lay me down; She gae me a speckled trout, die shall I now!'

5 'Whar got she the speckled trout, Willie doo, Willie doo?' 'She got it amang the heather hills; die shall I now.'

6 'What did she boil it in, Willie doo, Willie doo?' 'She boild it in the billy-pot; die shall I now!'

7 'What gaed she you for to drink, Willie doo, Willie doo? What gaed she you for to drink, Willie, my doo?'

8 'She gaed me hemlock stocks; make my bed, lay me down; Made in the brewing pot; die shall I now!'

9 They made his bed, laid him down, poor Willie doo, Willie doo; He turnd his face to the wa; he 's dead now!

M

Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 1870, p. 51. "Mrs Lockhart's copy."

1 'Where hae ye been a' the day, my bonny wee croodin doo?' 'O I hae been at my stepmother's house; make my bed, mammie, now, now, now, Make my bed, mammie, now!'

2 'Where did ye get your dinner?' my, etc. 'I got it at my stepmother's;' make, etc.

3 'What did she gie ye to your dinner?' 'She gae me a little four-footed fish.'

4 'Where got she the four-footed fish?' 'She got it down in yon well strand;' O make, etc.

5 'What did she do with the banes o't?' 'She gae them to the little dog.'

6 'O what became o the little dog?' 'O it shot out its feet and died;' O make, etc.

N

Kinloch's MSS, V, 347. In Dr John Hill Burton's hand.

1 'Fare hae ye been a' day, a' day, a' day, Fare hae ye been a' day, my little wee croudlin doo?'

2 'I 've been at my step-mammie's, my step-mammie's, my step-mammie's, I 've been at my step-mammie's; come mack my beddy now!'

3 'What got ye at yer step-mammie's, My little wee croudlin doo?'

4 'She gied me a spreckled fishie; Come mack my beddy now!'

5 'What did ye wi the baenies oet, My little wee croudlin doo?'

6 'I gaed them till her little dogie; Come mack my beddy now!'

7 'What did her little dogie syne, My little wee croudlin doo?'

8 'He laid down his heed and feet; And sae shall I dee now!'

O

From a manuscript collection, copied out in 1840 or 1850, by a granddaughter of Alexander Fraser-Tytler, p. 67.

1 'O where hae ye been a' the day, my wee wee croodlin doo doo? O where hae ye been a' the day, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?' 'O I hae been to my step-mammie's; mak my bed, mammy, noo, noo, Mak my bed, mammy, noo!'

2 'O what did yere step-mammie gie to you?' etc. 'She gied to me a wee wee fish,' etc.

3 '[O] what did she boil the wee fishie in?' 'O she boiled it in a wee wee pan; it turned baith black an blue, blue, It turned baith black an blue.'

4 'An what did she gie the banes o't to?' 'O she gied them to a wee wee dog;' mak, etc.

5 'An what did the wee wee doggie do then?' 'O it put out its tongue and its feet, an it deed; an sae maun I do noo, noo, An sae maun I do noo!'

* * * * *

#C.#

4^2. your father, King Henry, my son.

#I. a.#

1^4. ~faint to~, an obvious corruption of ~fain to~, is found also in #b#, #c#; #d# has fain wad; #e#, ~faint~ or ~fain~; #f#, ~fain~; #g#, ~I faint to~. N. B. 8 stands 5 in the MS. copy, but is the last stanza in all others which have it.

#b.#

2^1. for your dinner.

After 2 follows:

Who cooked you the eels, Tiranti, my son? etc. O 't was my grandmother; mother, make my bed soon, etc.

#b# 5==#a# 3:

^1. Where did she get the, eels? etc.

^3. By the side of the haystack, etc.

#b# 6==#a# 7 : 7==#a# 8 : 8==#a# 5.

8^4. and die to lie down.

#a# is wanting in_ #b#.

#c.#

1^4. at my heart (and always).

2^1. O what did she give you? etc.

2^3. Striped eels fried, etc.

3==#a# 4.

3^1. O how did they look? etc.

3^3. Ringed, streaked, and speckled, etc.

4==#a# 3.

4^1. O where did they come from?

5^1. O what will you give your father, my son?

5^2. O what will you give him?

5^3. A coach and six horses.

6^1. O what will you give your mother, my son? as in 5.

6^3. All my gold and my silver.

7^1. O what will you give your granny? as in 5.

8^1. O where'll, etc.

#c# adds, as 9:

So this is the end of Tiranti my son, So this is the end of my sweet little one: His grandmother poisoned him with an old dead snake, And he left her a halter to hang by the neck.

#d.#

1^1, etc. Tyrante.

1^3. O I've been to my uncle's, etc.

1^4. and fain wad lie doun.

2^3. eels and fresh butter.

3==#a# 4.

3^3. black stripëd with yellow.

4==#a# 7.

4^1. What'll ye will to your mither?

4^3. My gold and my silver.

5==#a# 6.

5^1 What'll ye will to your father?

5^3. My coach and my horses.

6==#a# 8.

6^1. What'll you will to your uncle?

3, 5 of #a# are wanting.

#e.#

1^4. For I'm sick at heart, and faint [fain] to lie down.

3==#a# 7.

3^1. What will you leave your mother?

3^3. A box full of jewels.

4^1. What will you leave your sister?

4^3. A box of fine clothing.

5==#a# 8.

5^3. A rope to hang her with.

6==#a# 5.

6^1 Where shall I make it?

3, 4 of #a# are wanting.

#f.#

This copy was derived from the singing of the lady who communicated #e#, and they naturally agree closely.

1^4, fain to lie down. #f# 3==e 4 : #f# 4==e 3.

#g.#

1^4. For I'm sick at the heart, and I faint to lie down.

2^1. What did you get at your grandmother's?

2^3. I got eels stewed in butter.

3==#a# 8.

3^1. What will you leave ...

4^1. What will you leave to your brother?

4^3. A full suit of mourning.

5==#a# 7.

5^1. leave to your mother.

5^3. A carriage and fine horses.

6==#a# 5.

3, 4 of #a# are wanting.

#K.#

#a#, #b#, #c# are printed, in the publications in which they occur, in four-line stanzas._

#b.#

Omits 4.

6^1. the little doggie.

6^2. as I do, mammie, noo.

#c.#

1^1, my bonnie wee crooden doo: and always.

1^2. at my step-mither's.

2. And what did scho gie you to eat ... Scho gied to me a wee fishie....

3^1. An what did she catch the fishie in ...

4 is wanting.

#L.#

_Written in the MS., and printed by Buchan, in stanzas of 4 lines._

#M.#

Printed by Chambers in stanzas of 4 lines, the last repeated.

#N.#

_The second line of each stanza is written as two in the MS._

#O.#

The stanza, being written with short lines in the manuscript, is of seven lines, including the repetitions.

[144] Opera nuova, nella quale si contiene una incatenatura di più villanelle ed altre cose ridiculose.... Data in luce per me Camillo, detto il Bianchino, cieco Florentino. Fliegendes Blatt von Verona, 1629. Egeria, p. 53; p. 260, note 31.--With the above (Egeria, p. 59) compare especially the beginning of Italian #B#, further on.Return to passage

[145] It begins:Return to passage

"Dôve sî stâ jersira, _Figliuol mio caro, fiorito e gentil? Dôve sî stâ jersira_?" "Sôn stâ dalla mia dama; _Signóra Mama, mio core sta mal! Son stâ dalla mia dama; Ohimè! ch'io moro, ohimè_!"

[146] E.g. (#B#):Return to passage

1 "E dove xestu stà gieri sera, Figlio mio rico, sapio e gentil? E dove xestu stà gieri sera, Gentil mio cavalier?"

2 "E mi so' stato da la mia bela; Signora madre, el mio cuor stà mal! E mi so' stato da la mia bela; Oh Dio, che moro, ohimè!"

3 "E cossa t'àla dato da çena, Figlio mio?" etc.

4 "E la m'à dato 'n'anguila rostita; Signora madre," etc.

[147] Grundtvig notices this absurdity, Eng. og skotske F. v, p. 286, note **.Return to passage

[148] "The nurse or nursery maid who sung these verses (to a very plaintive air) always informed the juvenile audience that the step-mother was a rank witch, and that the fish was an ask (newt), which was in Scotland formerly deemed a most poisonous reptile." C. K. Sharpe, in the Musical Museum, Laing-Stenhouse, IV, 364*.Return to passage

[149] A golden bird, sitting on the bride's hand, sings, "You had better not go there; you will have a bad mother-in-law and a bad father-in-law." There are ill omens also in Passow, No 437.Return to passage

13

EDWARD

#A. a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 139. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 339. From recitation.

#B.# Percy's Reliques, 1765, I, 53. Communicated by Sir David Dalrymple.

#C.# MS. of A. Laing, one stanza.

#A b#, "given from the recitation of an old woman," is evidently #A a# slightly regulated by Motherwell. #B#, we are informed in the 4th edition of the Reliques, p. 61, was sent Percy by Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hailes. Motherwell thought there was reason to believe "that his lordship made a few slight verbal improvements on the copy he transmitted, and altered the hero's name to Edward,--a name which, by the bye, never occurs in a Scottish ballad, except where allusion is made to an English king."[150] Dalrymple, at least, would not be likely to change a Scotch for an English name. The Bishop might doubtless prefer Edward to Wat, or Jock, or even Davie. But as there is no evidence that any change of name was made, the point need not be discussed. As for other changes, the word "brand," in the first stanza, is possibly more literary than popular; further than this the language is entirely fit. The affectedly antique spelling[151] in Percy's copy has given rise to vague suspicions concerning the authenticity of the ballad, or of the language: but as spelling will not make an old ballad, so it will not unmake one. We have, but do not need, the later traditional copy to prove the other genuine. 'Edward' is not only unimpeachable, but has ever been regarded as one of the noblest and most sterling specimens of the popular ballad.

Motherwell seems to incline to regard 'Edward' rather as a detached portion of a ballad than as complete in itself. "The verses of which it consists," he says, "generally conclude the ballad of 'The Twa Brothers,' and also some versions of 'Lizie Wan:'" Minstrelsy, LXVII, 12. The Finnish parallel which Motherwell refers to, might have convinced him that the ballad is complete as it is; and he knew as well as anybody that one ballad is often appended to another by reciters, to lengthen the story or improve the conclusion.[152] More or less of 'Edward' will be found in four versions of 'The Twa Brothers' and two of 'Lizie Wan,' further on in this volume.

This ballad has been familiarly known to have an exact counterpart in #Swedish#. There are four versions, differing only as to length: 'Sven i Rosengård,' #A#, Afzelius, No 67, III, 4, eleven two-line stanzas, with three more lines of burden; #B#, III, 3, six stanzas (Bergström's ed., No 54, 1, 2); #C#, Arwidsson, No 87 #A#, II, 83, eighteen stanzas; #D#, No 87 B, II, 86, sixteen stanzas. The same in #Danish#: #A#, Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 175, nine stanzas; #B#, Boisen, Nye og gamle Viser, 10th ed., No 95, p. 185, 'Brodermordet.' And in #Finnish#, probably derived from the Swedish, but with traits of its own: #A#, Schröter's Finnische Runen, p. 124, 'Werinen Pojka,' The Bloodstained Son, fifteen two-line stanzas, with two lines of refrain; #B#, 'Velisurmaaja,' Brother-Murderer, Kanteletar, p. x, twenty stanzas.

All these are a dialogue between mother and son, with a question and answer in each stanza. The mother asks, Where have you been? The son replies that he has been in the stable [Danish, grove, fields; Finnish #A#, on the sea-strand]. "How is it that your foot is bloody?"[153] [clothes, shirt; Finnish, "How came your jerkin muddy?" etc.] A horse has kicked or trod on him. "How came your sword so bloody?" He then confesses that he has killed his brother. [Swedish #D# and the Danish copies have no question about the foot, etc.] Then follows a series of questions as to what the son will do with himself, and what shall become of his wife, children, etc., which are answered much as in the English ballad. Finally, in all, the mother asks when he will come back, and he replies (with some variations), When crows are white. And that will be? When swans are black. And that? When stones float. And that? When feathers sink, etc. This last feature, stupidly exaggerated in some copies, and even approaching burlesque, is one of the commonplaces of ballad poetry, and may or may not have been, from the beginning, a part of the ballads in which it occurs. Such a conclusion could not be made to adhere to 'Edward,' the last stanza of which is peculiar in implicating the mother in the guilt of the murder. Several versions of 'The Twa Brothers' preserve this trait, and 'Lizie Wan' also.

The stanza of this ballad was originally, in all probability, one of two lines--a question and an answer--with refrains, as we find it in #A# 10, 11, 12, and the corresponding Swedish and Finnish ballad; and in 'Lord Randal,' #J#, #K#, etc., and also the corresponding Swedish and German ballad. #A# 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9 are now essentially stanzas of one line, with refrains; that is, the story advances in these at that rate. #A# 4, 7 (==#C#) are entirely irregular, substituting narrative or descriptive circumstances for the last line of the refrain, and so far forth departing from primitive simplicity.[154] The stanza in #B# embraces always a question and a reply, but for what is refrain in other forms of the ballad we have epical matter in many cases. #A# 1, 2, substantially,==#B# 1; #A# 3, 4==#B# 2; #A# 5, 6==#B# 3; #A# 8, 9==#B# 4; #A# 11==6; #A# 12==7.

Testaments such as this ballad ends with have been spoken of under No 11.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 26, p. 172; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. L., No 21, p. 96; by Wolff, Halle des Völker, I, 22, and Hausschatz, p. 223. #B#, in Afzelius, III, 10; "often in Danish," Grundtvig; by Herder, Volkslieder, II, 207; by Döring, p. 217; Gerhard, p. 88; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 27. Swedish #A#, by W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 263.[155]

A

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 139. From Mrs King, Kilbarchan. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 339.

1 'What bluid's that on thy coat lap, Son Davie, son Davie? What bluid's that on thy coat lap? And the truth come tell to me.'

2 'It is the bluid of my great hawk, Mother lady, mother lady: It is the bluid of my great hawk, And the truth I have told to thee.'

3 'Hawk's bluid was neer sae red, Son Davie, son Davie: Hawk's bluid was neer sae red, And the truth come tell to me.'

4 'It is the bluid of my greyhound, Mother lady, mother lady: It is the bluid of my greyhound, And it wadna rin for me.'

5 'Hound's bluid was neer sae red, Son Davie, son Davie: Hound's bluid was neer sae red, And the truth come tell to me.'

6 'It is the bluid o my brither John, Mother lady, mother lady: It is the bluid o my brither John, And the truth I have told to thee.'

7 'What about did the plea begin, Son Davie, son Davie?' 'It began about the cutting of a willow wand That would never been a tree.'

8 'What death dost thou desire to die, Son Davie, son Davie? What death dost thou desire to die? And the truth come tell to me.'

9 'I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, Mother lady, mother lady: I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, And ye'll never see mair o me.'

10 'What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife, Son Davie, son Davie?' 'Grief and sorrow all her life, And she'll never see mair o me.'

11 'What wilt thou leave to thy old son, Son Davie, son Davie?' 'I'll leave him the weary world to wander up and down, And he'll never get mair o me.'

12 'What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear, Son Davie, son Davie?' 'A fire o coals to burn her, wi hearty cheer, And she'll never get mair o me.'

B

Percy's Reliques, 1765, I, 53. Communicated by Sir David Dalrymple.

1 '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.'

2 '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.'

3 '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!'

4 'And whatten penance wul ye drie, for that, Edward, Edward? And whatten penance will ye drie for that? My deir son, now tell me O.' 'Ile set my feit in yonder boat, Mither, mither, Ile set my feit in yonder boat, And Ile fare ovir the sea O.'

5 '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.'

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

7 '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 hell frae me sall ye beir, Mither, mither, The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir, Sic counseils ye gave to me O.'

C

MS. of Alexander Laing, 1829, p. 25.

'O what did the fray begin about? My son, come tell to me:' 'It began about the breaking o the bonny hazel wand, And a penny wad hae bought the tree.'

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^4. tell to me O. And so every fourth line.

7^4. That would never hae been a tree O.

10^4. And she'll never get mair frae me O.

11^3. The weary warld to wander up and down.

#B.#

Initial ~qu~ for ~w~ and ~z~ for ~y~ have been changed throughout to ~w~ and ~y~.

6^7. let.

[150] An eager "Englishman" might turn Motherwell's objection to the name into an argument for 'Edward' being an "English" ballad.Return to passage

[151] That is to say, initial quh and z for modern wh and y, for nothing else would have excited attention. Perhaps a transcriber thought he ought to give the language a look at least as old as Gavin Douglas, who spells quhy, dois, ȝour. The quh would serve a purpose, if understood as indicating that the aspirate was not to be dropped, as it often is in English why. The z is the successor of ȝ, and was meant to be pronounced y, as z is, or was, pronounced in gaberlunzie and other Scottish words. See Dr J. A. H. Murray's Dialect of the Southern Counties of Scotland, pp. 118, 129. Since quh and z serve rather as rocks of offence than landmarks, I have thought it best to use wh and y.Return to passage

[152] Motherwell also speaks of a ballad of the same nature as quoted in Werner's 'Twenty-Fourth of February.' The stanza cited (in Act I, Scene 1) seems to be Herder's translation of 'Edward' given from memory.Return to passage

[153] We have a similar passage in most of the copies of the third class of the German ballads corresponding to No 4. A brother asks the man who has killed his sister why his shoes [sword, hands] are bloody. See p. 36, p. 38. So in 'Herr Axel,' Arwidsson, No 46, I, 308.Return to passage

[154] These have perhaps been adapted to the stanza of 'The Twa Brothers,' with some versions of which, as already remarked, the present ballad is blended.Return to passage

[155] With regard to translations, I may say now, what I might well have said earlier, that I do not aim at making a complete list, but give such as have fallen under my notice.Return to passage

14

BABYLON; OR, THE BONNIE BANKS O FORDIE

#A. a, b.# 'Babylon; or, The Bonnie Banks o Fordie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 88. #c.# The same, Appendix, p. xxii, No XXVI.

#B. a.# Herd's MSS, I, 38, II, 76. #b.# 'The Banishd Man,' The Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 699, evidently derived from Herd.

#C.# Motherwell's MS., p. 172.

#D.# Motherwell's MS., p. 174.

#E.# 'Duke of Perth's Three Daughters,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 212.

#B a# is from tradition of the latter half of the eighteenth century; the other copies from the earlier part of this.

Three sisters go out (together, #A#, #B#, #C#, successively, #D#, #E#) to gather flowers (#A#, #B#, #E#). A banished man (outlyer bold, #D#, Loudon lord, #E#) starts up from a hiding-place, and offers them one after the other the choice of being his wife or dying by his hand.

(#A.#) 'It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, Or will ye die by my wee penknife?'

(#D.#) 'Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'

The first and the second express a simple preference for death, and are killed and laid by, "to bear the red rose company" (#A#). The youngest, in #A#, says she has a brother in the wood, who will kill him if he kills her. The outlaw asks the brother's name, finds that he himself is the man, and takes his own life with the same weapon that had shed the blood of his sisters. #B#, #C#, #D# have three brothers, the youngest of whom is the banished lord (#C#), the outlyer bold (#D#). The story is defective in #B#, #C#. In #D# the outlaw, on finding what he has done, takes a long race, and falls on his knife. The conclusion of #E# is not so finely tragic. A brother John comes riding by just as the robber is about to kill the third sister, apprehends him by the agency of his three pages, and reserves him to be hanged on a tree,

Or thrown into the poisond lake, To feed the toads and rattle-snake.

According to the account given by Herd, and repeated by Jamieson, the story of the lost conclusion of #B# made the banished man discover that he had killed his two brothers as well as his two sisters.

This ballad, with additional circumstances, is familiar to all branches of the Scandinavian race.

#Danish.# There are many versions from oral tradition, as yet unprinted, besides these two: #A#, 'Hr. Truels's Døttre,' Danske Viser, III, 392, No 164, there reprinted from Sandvig, Beskrivelse over Øen Møen, 1776: #B#, 'Herr Thors Børn,' from recent tradition of North Sleswig, Berggreen, Danske Folke-Sange, 3d ed., p. 88, No 42.

#A.# Herr Truels' three daughters oversleep their matins one morning, and are roused by their mother. If we have overslept our matins, they say, we will make up at high mass. They set out for church, and in a wood fall in with three robbers, who say:

'Whether will ye be three robbers' wives, Or will ye rather lose your lives?'

Much rather death, say they. The two elder sisters submitted to their fate without a word; the third made a hard resistance. With her last breath she adjured the robbers to seek a lodging at Herr Truels' that night. This they did. They drank so long that they drank Herr Truels to bed. Then they asked his wife to promise herself to all three. First, she said, she must look into their bags. In their bags she saw her daughters' trinkets. She excused herself for a moment, barred the door strongly, roused her husband, and made it known to him that these guests had killed his three daughters. Herr Truels called on all his men to arm. He asked the robbers who was their father. They said that they had been stolen by robbers, on their way to school, one day; had had a hard life for fourteen years; and the first crime they had committed was killing three maids yesterday. Herr Truels revealed to them that they had murdered their sisters, and offered them new clothes, in which they might go away. "Nay," they said, "not so; life for life is meet." They were taken out of the town, and their heads struck off. #B# differs from #A# in only a few points. The robbers ask lodging at Herr Thor's, as being pilgrims. When he discovers their true character, he threatens them with the wheel. They say, Shall we come to the wheel? Our father drinks Yule with the king. They tell him their story, and their father offers them saddle and horse to make their best way off. They reply, "We will give blood for blood," spread their cloaks on the floor, and let their blood run.

#Swedish.# 'Pehr Tyrsons Döttrar i Wänge.' #A#, Arwidsson, II, 413, No 166. #B#, Afzelius, III, 193, No 98: ed. Bergström, I, 380, No 84, 1. #C#, Afzelius, III, 197: ed. Bergström, I, 382, No 84, 2, as old as the last half of the seventeenth century. #D#, Afzelius, III, 202: ed. Bergström, I, 384, No 84, 3. #E#, "C. J. Wessén, De paroecia Kärna (an academical dissertation), Upsala, 1836," Arwidsson, as above, who mentions another unprinted copy in the Royal Library.

#A.# Herr Töres' daughters overslept matins, dressed themselves handsomely, and set off for mass. All on the heath they were met by three wood-robbers, who demanded, Will ye be our wives, or lose your lives? The first answered: God save us from trying either! the second, Rather let us range the world! the third, Better death with honor! But

First were they the three wood-robbers' wives, And after that they lost their young lives.

The robbers strip them; then go and ask to be taken in by Herr Töres. He serves them with mead and wine, but presently begins to wish his daughters were at home. His wife sees him to bed; then returns to her guests, who offer her a silken sark to pass the night with them. "Give me a sight of the silken sark," she cries, with prophetic soul: "God have mercy on my daughters!" She rouses her husband, and tells him that the robbers have slain his bairns. He puts on his armor and kills two of them: the third begs to be spared till he can say who were his kin; his father's name is Töres! Father and mother resolve to build a church for penance, and it shall be called Kerna. #B#, #C#, #D#. The girls meet three "vallare," strolling men, and none of them good (#C#). The robbers cut off the girls' heads on the trunk of a birch (cf. English #C# 5: "It's lean your head upon my staff," and with his pen-knife he has cutted it aff): three springs burst forth immediately. They go to the house, and ask the mother if she will buy silken sarks that nine maids have stitched (#B#). She says:

'Open your sacks, and let me see: Mayhap I shall know them all three.'

The father, in #B#, when he discovers that he has slain his own sons, goes to the smith, and has an iron band fastened round his middle. The parents vow to build a church as an expiation, and it shall be called Kerna (#B#, #C#).

#Färöe.# 'Torkilds Riim, eller St. Catharinæ Vise, 'Lyngbye, Færøiske Qvæder, p. 534/p. 535. In this form of the story, as in the Icelandic versions which follow, the robbers are not the brothers of the maids. Torkild's two daughters sleep till the sun shines on their beds. Their father wakens them, and tells Katrine she is waited for at church. Katrine dresses herself splendidly, but does not disdain to saddle her own horse.

And since no knave was ready to help, Katrine bridled the horse herself.

And since no knave was standing about, Herself put the bit in her horse's mouth.

First she came upon three strollers (vadlarar[156]), then two, then one, and the last asked her whether she would pass the night with him (vera qvöldar vujv) or die. He cut off her head, and wherever her blood ran a light kindled; where her head fell a spring welled forth: where her body lay a church was [afterwards] built. The rover came to Torkild's house, and the father asked if he had seen Katrine. He said she had been at Mary kirk the day before, and asked for a lodging, feigning to be sick. This was readily granted. He went to bed, and Aasa, the other sister, waited upon him. He offered her a silken sark to sleep with him. Aasa asked to see the sark first, and found on it her sister's mark. The fellow went on to offer her a blue cloak and gold crown successively, and on both of these she saw her sister's mark. Aasa bade him good-night, went to her father, and told him that the man they had housed had killed his daughter. Torkild ordered his swains to light a pile in the wood: early the next morning they burned the murderer on it.

#Icelandic.# Five Icelandic versions, and the first stanza of two more, are given in Íslenzk Fornkvæði, I, 108 ff, No 15, 'Vallara kvæði.'

The story is nearly the same as in the Färöe ballad. Two of Thorkell's daughters sleep till after the sun is up (#B#, #C#). They wash and dress; they set out for church (#C#). On the heath they encounter a strolling man, #A#; a tall, large man, #C#, #E#; a horseman or knight, #D#. He greets them: "Why will ye not speak? Are ye come of elves, or of kings themselves?" #A# [Are ye come of earls, or of beggar-churls? #B#]. They answer, We are not come of elves, nor of kings themselves; we are Thorkell's daughters, and serve Mary kirk. He asks, Will ye choose to lose your life, or shall I rather take you to wife? The choice, they say, is hard: they would rather die. He kills them and buries them. At night he goes to Thorkell's house, where Asa is alone. He knocks to be let in; Asa refuses; he draws the latch with his deft fingers (#A#, #C#, #D#). He offers Asa a silken sark to sleep with him [and a blue cloak to say nothing, #A#]. She asked to see the sark, and knew her sisters' work, begged him to wait a moment, went to her father, and told him that the murderer of his daughters was there. Thorkell dashed his harp to the floor [and kicked over the table, #D#, #E#]. The murderer in the morning was hanged like a dog, #A#, #B#. [Thorkell tore at his hair and cut him down with an elder-stock, #C#; they fought three days, and on the fourth the villain was hanged in a strap, #E#, the knight was hanging like a dog, #D#]. A miraculous light burned over the place where the maids had been buried, #A# 16, #C# 27, #D# 24, #E# 12. When their bodies were taken into the church, the bells rang of themselves, #D#.

#Norwegian# versions of this ballad have been obtained from tradition, but none as yet have been published.

"The mains and burn of Fordie, the banks of which are very beautiful," says Aytoun (I, 159), "lie about six miles to the east of Dunkeld." Tradition has connected the story with half a dozen localities in Sweden, and, as Professor Grundtvig informs me, with at least eight places in the different provinces of Denmark. The Kerna church of the Swedish ballads, not far from Linköping (Afzelius), has been popularly supposed to derive its name from a Catharina, Karin, or Karna, killed by her own brother, a wood-robber, near its site. See Afzelius, ed. Bergström, II, 329 ff: Danske Viser, III, 444 f.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 34, p. 216, and, with some slight use of Aytoun, I, 160, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder der Vorzeit, No 18, p. 85. Danish #A#, by Prior, III, 252.

A

#a.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 88. #b.# The same. #c.# The same, Appendix, p. xxii, No XXVI, apparently from South Perthshire.

1 There were three ladies lived in a bower, Eh vow bonnie And they went out to pull a flower. On the bonnie banks o Fordie

2 They hadna pu'ed a flower but ane, When up started to them a banisht man.

3 He's taen the first sister by her hand, And he's turned her round and made her stand.

4 'It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

5 'It's I'll not be a rank robber's wife, But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife.'

6 He's killed this may, and he's laid her by, For to bear the red rose company.

7 He's taken the second ane by the hand, And he's turned her round and made her stand.

8 'It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife, Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

9 'I'll not be a rank robber's wife, But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife.'

10 He's killed this may, and he's laid her by, For to bear the red rose company.

11 He's taken the youngest ane by the hand, And he's turned her round and made her stand.

12 Says, 'Will ye be a rank robber's wife, Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

13 'I'll not be a rank robber's wife, Nor will I die by your wee pen-knife.

14 'For I hae a brother in this wood. And gin ye kill me, it's he'll kill thee.'

15 'What's thy brother's name? come tell to me.' 'My brother's name is Baby Lon.'

16 'O sister, sister, what have I done! O have I done this ill to thee!

17 'O since I've done this evil deed, Good sall never be seen o me.'

18 He's taken out his wee pen-knife, And he's twyned himsel o his ain sweet life.

B

#a.# Herd's MSS, I, 38, II, 76. #b.# The Scots Magazine, Oct., 1803, p. 699, communicated by Jamieson, and evidently from Herd's copy.

1 There wond three ladies in a bower, Annet and Margret and Marjorie And they have gane out to pu a flower. And the dew it lyes on the wood, gay ladie

2 They had nae pu'd a flower but ane, When up has started a banished man.

3 He has taen the eldest by the hand, He has turned her about and bade her stand.

4 'Now whether will ye be a banisht man's wife, Or will ye be sticked wi my pen-knife?'

5 'I will na be ca'd a banished man's wife, I'll rather be sticked wi your pen-knife.'

6 And he has taen out his little pen-knife, And frae this lady he has taen the life.

7 He has taen the second by the hand, He has turned her about and he bad her stand.

8 'Now whether will ye be a banisht man's wife, Or will ye be sticked wi my pen-knife?'

9 'I will na be ca'd a banished man's wife; I'll rather be sticked wi your pen-knife.'

10 And he has taen out his little pen-knife, And frae this lady he has taen the life.

11 He has taen the youngest by the hand, He has turned her about and he bad her stand.

12 'Now whether will ye be a banished man's wife, Or will ye be sticked wi my pen-knife?'

13 'I winnae be called a banished man's wife, Nor yet will I be sticked wi your pen-knife.

14 'But gin my three brethren had been here, Ye had nae slain my sisters dear.'

* * * * * * *

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 172. From J. Goldie, March, 1825.

1 There were three sisters on a road, Gilly flower gentle rosemary And there they met a banished lord. And the dew it hings over the mulberry tree

2 The eldest sister was on the road, And there she met with the banished lord.

3 'O will ye consent to lose your life, Or will ye be a banished lord's wife?'

4 'I'll rather consent to lose my life Before I'll be a banished lord's wife.'

5 'It's lean your head upon my staff,' And with his pen-knife he has cutted it aff.

6 He flang her in amang the broom, Saying, 'Lye ye there till another ane come.'

7 The second sister was on the road, And there she met with the banished lord.

8 'O will ye consent to lose your life, Or will ye be a banished lord's wife?'

9 'I'll rather consent to lose my life Before I'll be a banished lord's wife.'

10 'It's lean your head upon my staff,' And with his pen-knife he has cutted it aff.

11 He flang her in amang the broom, Saying, 'Lie ye there till another ane come.'

12 The youngest sister was on the road, And there she met with the banished lord.

13 'O will ye consent to lose your life, Or will ye be a banished lord's wife?'

14 'O if my three brothers were here, Ye durstna put me in such a fear.'

15 'What are your three brothers, altho they were here, That I durstna put you in such a fear?'

16 'My eldest brother's a belted knight, The second, he's a ...

17 'My youngest brother's a banished lord, And oftentimes he walks on this road.'

* * * * * * *

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 174. From the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan, July 27, 1825.

1 There were three sisters, they lived in a bower, Sing Anna, sing Margaret, sing Marjorie The youngest o them was the fairest flower. And the dew goes thro the wood, gay ladie

2 The oldest of them she's to the wood gane, To seek a braw leaf and to bring it hame.

3 There she met with an outlyer bold, Lies many long nights in the woods so cold.

4 'Istow a maid, or istow a wife? Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'

5 'O kind sir, if I hae 't at my will, I'll twinn with my life, keep my maidenhead still.'

6 He's taen out his we pen-knife, He's twinned this young lady of her sweet life

7 He wiped his knife along the dew; But the more he wiped, the redder it grew.

8 The second of them she's to the wood gane, To seek her old sister, and to bring her hame.

9 There she met with an outlyer bold, Lies many long nights in the woods so cold.

10 'Istow a maid, or istow a wife? Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'

11 'O kind sir, if I hae 't at my will, I'll twinn with my life, keep my maidenhead still.'

12 He's taen out his we pen-knife, He's twinned this young lady of her sweet life.

13 He wiped his knife along the dew; But the more he wiped, the redder it grew.

14 The youngest of them she's to the wood gane, To seek her two sisters, and to bring them hame.

15 There she met with an outlyer bold, Lies many long nights in the woods so cold.

16 'Istow a maid, or istow a wife? Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'

17 'If my three brethren they were here, Such questions as these thou durst nae speer.'

18 'Pray, what may thy three brethren be, That I durst na mak so bold with thee? '

19 'The eldest o them is a minister bred, He teaches the people from evil to good.

20 'The second o them is a ploughman good, He ploughs the land for his livelihood.

21 'The youngest of them is an outlyer bold, Lies many a long night in the woods so cold.'

22 He stuck his knife then into the ground, He took a long race, let himself fall on.

E

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 212. From Mearnsshire.

1 The Duke o Perth had three daughters, Elizabeth, Margaret, and fair Marie; And Elizabeth's to the greenwud gane, To pu the rose and the fair lilie.

2 But she hadna pu'd a rose, a rose, A double rose, but barely three, Whan up and started a Loudon lord, Wi Loudon hose, and Loudon sheen.

3 'Will ye be called a robber's wife? Or will ye be stickit wi my bloody knife? For pu'in the rose and the fair lilie, For pu'in them sae fair and free.'

4 'Before I'll be called a robber's wife, I'll rather be stickit wi your bloody knife, For pu'in,' etc.

5 Then out he's tane his little pen-knife, And he's parted her and her sweet life, And thrown her oer a bank o brume, There never more for to be found.

6 The Duke o Perth had three daughters, Elizabeth, Margaret, and fair Marie; And Margaret's to the greenwud gane, To pu the rose and the fair lilie.

7 She hadna pu'd a rose, a rose, A double rose, but barely three, When up and started a Loudon lord, Wi Loudon hose, and Loudon sheen.

8 'Will ye be called a robber's wife? Or will ye be stickit wi my bloody knife? For pu'in,' etc.

9 'Before I'll be called a robber's wife, I'll rather be stickit wi your bloody knife, For pu'in,' etc.

10 Then out he's tane his little pen-knife, And he's parted her and her sweet life, For pu'in, etc.

11 The Duke o Perth had three daughters, Elizabeth, Margaret, and fair Marie; And Mary's to the greenwud gane, To pu the rose and the fair lilie.

12 She hadna pu'd a rose, a rose, A double rose, but barely three, When up and started a Loudon lord, Wi Loudon hose, and Loudon sheen.

13 'O will ye be called a robber's wife? Or will ye be stickit wi my bloody knife? For pu'in,' etc.

14 'Before I'll be called a robber's wife, I'll rather be stickit wi your bloody knife, For pu'in,' etc.

15 But just as he took out his knife, To tak frae her her ain sweet life, Her brother John cam ryding bye, And this bloody robber he did espy.

16 But when he saw his sister fair, He kennd her by her yellow hair; He calld upon his pages three, To find this robber speedilie.

17 'My sisters twa that are dead and gane, For whom we made a heavy maene, It's you that's twinnd them o their life, And wi your cruel bloody knife.

18 'Then for their life ye sair shall dree; Ye sail be hangit on a tree, Or thrown into the poisond lake, To feed the toads and rattle-snake.'

* * * * *

#A. a.#

"Given from two copies obtained from recitation, which differ but little from each other. Indeed, the only variation is in the verse where the outlawed brother unweetingly slays his sister." [19.] Motherwell.

#b.#

19. He's taken out his wee penknife, Hey how bonnie And he's twined her o her ain sweet life. On the, etc.

#c.#

The first stanza, only:

There were three sisters livd in a bower, Fair Annet and Margaret and Marjorie And they went out to pu a flower. And the dew draps off the hyndberry tree

#B. a.#

"To a wild melancholy old tune not in any collection."

"N.B. There are a great many other verses which I could not recover. Upon describing her brothers, the banished man finds that he has killed his two brothers and two sisters,--upon which he kills himself." Herd.

2^2. MS. Quhen.

4^1, 4^2, 5^2, 12^1, 12^2, 13^2, 14^2. ye, your, yet, MS. ze, zour, zet. 8, 9, 10 are not written out.

#b.#

"Of this I have got only 14 stanzas, but there are many more. It is a horrid story. The banished man discovers that he has killed two of his brothers and his three (?) sisters, upon which he kills himself." Jamieson.

The first two stanzas only are cited by Jamieson.

1^1. three sisters.

2^2. up there started.

#C.#

7-11 and 12^2 are not written out in the MS. "Repeat as to the second sister, mutatis mutandis." Motherwell.

#D#.

9-13 are not written out in the MS. "Same as 1st sister." Motherwell.

14^2. bring her.

15,16 are not written out. "Same as 1st and 2d sisters, but this additional, viz^t." M.

22^2. longe, or large?

[156] Lyngbye insists on translating vadlarar pilgrims, though his people understood the word to mean robbers. He refers to the Icelandic vallari, which, originally a pilgrim, came to mean a tramp. No one can fail to recognize the character who has become the terror of our rural districts, and to whom, in our preposterous regard for the rights of "man," we sacrifice the peace, and often the lives, of women.Return to passage

15

LEESOME BRAND

#A.# 'Leesome Brand.' #a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 38. #b.# Motherwell's MS., p. 626.

#B.# 'The Broom blooms bonnie,' etc., Motherwell's MS., p. 365.

This is one of the cases in which a remarkably fine ballad has been worse preserved in Scotland than anywhere else. Without light from abroad we cannot fully understand even so much as we have saved, and with this light comes a keen regret for what we have lost.

#A#, from Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, is found also in Motherwell's MS., but without doubt was derived from Buchan. Though injured by the commixture of foreign elements, #A# has still much of the original story. #B# has, on the contrary, so little that distinctively and exclusively belongs to this story that it might almost as well have been put with the following ballad, 'Sheath and Knife,' as here. A third ballad, 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' preserves as much of the story as #A#, but in an utterly incongruous and very modern setting, being, like 'Erlinton,' #C#, forced into an absurd Robin Hood framework.

The mixture of four-line with two-line stanzas in #A# of course comes from different ballads having been blended, but for all that, these ballads might have had the same theme. Stanzas 33-35, however, are such as we meet with in ballads of the 'Earl Brand' class, but not in those of the class to which 'Leesome Brand' belongs. In the English ballads, and nearly all the Danish, of the former class, there is at least a conversation between son and mother [father], whereas in the other the catastrophe excludes such a possibility. Again, the "unco land" in the first stanza, "where winds never blew nor cocks ever crew," is at least a reminiscence of the paradise depicted in the beginning of many of the versions of 'Ribold and Guldborg,' and stanza 4 of 'Leesome Brand' closely resembles stanza 2 of 'Earl Brand,' #A#.[157] Still, the first and fourth stanzas suit one ballad as well as the other, which is not true of 33-35.

The name Leesome Brand may possibly be a corruption of Hildebrand, as Earl Brand almost certainly is; but a more likely origin is the Gysellannd of one of the kindred Danish ballads.

The white hind, stanzas 28, 30, is met with in no other ballad of this class, and, besides this, the last four stanzas are in no kind of keeping with what goes before, for the "young son" is spoken of as having been first brought home at some previous period. Grundtvig has suggested that the hind and the blood came from a lost Scottish ballad resembling 'The Maid Transformed into a Hind,' D.g.F, No 58. In this ballad a girl begs her brother, who is going hunting, to spare the little hind that "plays before his foot." The brother nevertheless shoots the hind, though not mortally, and sets to work to flay it, in which process he discovers his sister under the hind's hide. His sister tells him that she had been successively changed into a pair of scissors, a sword, a hare, a hind, by her step-mother, and that she was not to be free of the spell until she had drunk of her brother's blood. Her brother at once cuts his fingers, gives her some of his blood, and the girl is permanently restored to her natural shape, and afterwards is happily married. Stanzas similar to 36-41 of #A# and 12-16 of #B# will be found in the ballad which follows this, to which they are especially well suited by their riddling character; and I believe that they belong there, and not here. It is worthy of remark, too, that there is a hind in another ballad, closely related to No 16 ('The Bonny Hind'), and that the hind in 'Leesome Brand' may, in some way not now explicable, have come from this. The confounding of 'Leesome Brand' with a ballad of the 'Bonny Hind' class would be paralleled in Danish, for in 'Redselille og Medelvold' #T# (and perhaps #I#, see Grundtvig's note, V, 237), the knight is the lady's brother.

The "auld son" in #B#, like the first bringing home of the young son in #A# 45, 47, shows how completely the proper story has been lost sight of. There should be no son of any description at the point at which this stanza comes in, and auld son should everywhere be young son. The best we can do, to make sense of stanza 3, is to put it after 8, with the understanding that woman and child are carried off for burial; though really there is no need to move them on that account. The shooting of the child is unintelligible in the mutilated state of the ballad. It is apparently meant to be an accident. Nothing of the kind occurs in other ballads of the class, and the divergence is probably a simple corruption.

The ballad which 'Leesome Brand' represents is preserved among the Scandinavian races under four forms.

#Danish.# I. 'Bolde Hr. Nilaus' Lön,' a single copy from a manuscript of the beginning of the 17th century: Grundtvig, V, 231, No 270. II. 'Redselille og Medelvold,' in an all but unexampled number of versions, of which some sixty are collated, and some twenty-five printed, by Grundtvig, most of them recently obtained from tradition, and the oldest a broadside of about the year 1770: Grundtvig, V, 234, No 271. III. 'Sönnens Sorg,' Grundtvig, V, 289, No 272, two versions only: #A# from the middle of the 16th century; #B# three hundred years later, previously printed in Berggreen's Danske Folkesange, I, No 83 (3d ed.). IV. 'Stalbroders Kvide,' Grundtvig, V, 301, No 273, two versions: #A# from the beginning of the 17th century, #B# from about 1570.

#Swedish.# II. #A#, broadside of 1776, reprinted in Grundtvig, No 271, V, 281, Bilag 1, and in Jamieson's Illustrations, p. 373 ff, with a translation. #B#, 'Herr Redevall,' Afzelius, II, 189, No 58, new ed. No 51. #C#, 'Krist' Lilla och Herr Tideman,' Arwidsson, I, 352, No 54 A. #D#, #E#, #F#, #G#, from Cavallius and Stephens' manuscript collection, first printed by Grundtvig, No 271, V, 282 ff, Bilag 2-5. #H#, 'Rosa lilla,' Eva Wigström, Folkvisor från Skåne, in Ur de nordiska Folkens Lif, af Artur Hazelius, p. 133, No 8. III. A single version, of date about 1650, 'Moder och Son,' Arwidsson, II, 15, No 70.

#Norwegian.# II. Six versions and a fragment, from recent tradition: #A-E#, #G#, first printed by Grundtvig, No 271, V, 284 ff, Bilag 6-11; #F#, 'Grivilja,' in Lindeman's Norske Fjeldmelodier, No 121. III. Six versions from recent tradition, #A-F#, first printed by Grundtvig, No 272, V, 297 ff, Bilag I-6.

#Icelandic.# III. 'Sonar harmur,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, I, 140 ff, No 17, three versions, #A#, #B#, #C#, the last, which is the oldest, being from late in the 17th century; also the first stanza of a fourth, #D#.

All the Scandinavian versions are in two-line stanzas save Danish 272 #B#, and #A# in part, and Icelandic 17 #C#, which are in four; the last, however, in stanzas of two couplets.

It will be most convenient to give first a summary of the story of 'Redselille og Medelvold,' and to notice the chief divergences of the other ballads afterwards. A mother and her daughter are engaged in weaving gold tissue. The mother sees milk running from the girl's breasts, and asks an explanation. After a slight attempt at evasion, the daughter confesses that she has been beguiled by a knight. The mother threatens both with punishment: he shall be hanged [burned, broken on the wheel, sent out of the country, i.e., sold into servitude], and she sent away [broiled on a gridiron, burned, drowned]. Some copies begin further back, with a stanza or two in which we are told that the knight has served in the king's court, and gained the favor of the king's daughter. Alarmed by her mother's threats, the maid goes to her lover's house at night, and after some difficulty in effecting an entrance (a commonplace, like the ill-boding milk above) informs him of the fate that awaits them. The knight is sufficiently prompt now, and bids her get her gold together while he saddles his horse. They ride away, with [or without] precautions against discovery, and come to a wood. Four Norwegian versions, #A#, #B#, #C#, #G#, and also two Icelandic versions, #A#, #B#, of 'Sønnens Sorg,' interpose a piece of water, and a difficulty in crossing, owing to the ferryman's refusing help or the want of oars; but this passage is clearly an infiltration from a different story. Arriving at the wood, the maid desires to rest a while. The customary interrogation does not fail,--whether the way is too long or the saddle too small. The knight lifts her off the horse, spreads his cloak for her on the grass, and she gives way to her anguish in such exclamations as "My mother had nine women: would that I had the worst of them!" "My mother would never have been so angry with me but she would have helped me in this strait!" Most of the Danish versions make the knight offer to bandage his eyes and render such service as a man may; but she replies that she would rather die than that man should know of woman's pangs. So Swedish #H#, nearly. Partly to secure privacy, and partly from thirst, she expresses a wish for water, and her lover goes in search of some. (This in nearly all the Danish ballads, and many of the others. But in four of the Norwegian versions of 'Sønnens Sorg' the lover is told to go and amuse himself, much as in our ballads.) When he comes to the spring or the brook, there sits a nightingale and sings. Two nightingales, a small bird, a voice from heaven, a small dwarf, an old man, replace the nightingale in certain copies, and in others there is nothing at all; but the great majority has a single nightingale, and, as Grundtvig points out, the single bird is right, for the bird is really a vehicle for the soul of the dead Redselille. The nightingale sings, "Redselille lies dead in the wood, with two sons [son and daughter] in her bosom." All that the nightingale has said is found to be true. According to Danish #O# and Swedish #C#, the knight finds the lady and a child, according to Swedish #B# and Norwegian #A#, #B#, #C#, the lady and two sons, dead. In Danish #B#, #L# (as also the Icelandic 'Sonar Harmur,' #A#, #B#, and Danish 'Stalbroders Kvide,' #A#) the knight digs a grave, and lays mother and children in it; he lays himself with them in #A# and #M#. It is not said whether the children are dead or living, and the point would hardly be raised but for what follows. In Danish #D#, #P# and Swedish #F#, it is expressly mentioned that the children are alive, and in #Q#, #R#, #S#, #T#, #U#, six copies of #V#, and #Y#, and also in 'Bolde Hr. Nilaus' Løn,' and in 'Sønnens Sorg,' Danish #A#, Norwegian #A#, #C#, #D#, #E#, the children are heard, or seem to be heard, shrieking from under the ground. Nearly all the versions make the knight run himself through with his sword, either immediately after the others are laid in the grave, or after he has ridden far and wide, because he cannot endure the cries of the children from under the earth. This would seem to be the original conclusion of the story; the horrible circumstance of the children being buried alive is much more likely to be slurred over or omitted at a later day than to be added.

We may pass over in silence the less important variations in the very numerous versions of 'Redselille and Medelvold,' nor need we be detained long by the other three Scandinavian forms of the ballad. 'Sønnens Sorg' stands in the same relation to 'Redselille and Medelvold' as 'Hildebrand and Hilde,' does to 'Ribold and Guldborg' (see p. 89 of this volume); that is, the story is told in the first person instead of the third. A father asks his son why he is so sad, Norwegian #A#, #B#, #C#, #D#, Icelandic #A#, #B#, #C#, #D#. Five years has he sat at his father's board, and never uttered a merry word. The son relates the tragedy of his life. He had lived in his early youth at the house of a nobleman, who had three daughters. He was on very familiar terms with all of them, and the youngest loved him. When the time came for him to leave the family, she proposed that he should take her with him, Danish #B#, Icelandic #A#, #B#, #C# [he makes the proposal in Norwegian #C#]. From this point the narrative is much the same as in 'Redselille and Medelvold,' and at the conclusion he falls dead in his father's arms [at the table], Norwegian #A#, #B#, #D#, Icelandic #A#. The mother takes the place of the father in Danish #B# and Swedish, and perhaps it is the mother who tells the story in English #A#, but the bad condition of the text scarcely enables us to say. Danish #B# and the Swedish copy have lost the middle and end of the proper story: there is no wood, no childbirth, no burial. The superfluous boat of some Norwegian versions of 'Redselille' reappears in these, and also in Icelandic #A#, #B#; it is overturned in a storm, and the lady is drowned.

'Stalbroders Kvide' differs from 'Sønnens Sorg' only in this: that the story is related to a comrade instead of father or mother.

'Bolde Hr. Nilaus' Løn,' which exists but in a single copy, has a peculiar beginning. Sir Nilaus has served eight years in the king's court without recompense. He has, however, gained the favor of the king's daughter, who tells him that she is suffering much on his account. If this be so, says Nilaus, I will quit the land with speed. He is told to wait till she has spoken to her mother. She goes to her mother and says: Sir Nilaus has served eight years, and had no reward; he desires the best that it is in your power to give. The queen exclaims, He shall never have my only daughter's hand! The young lady immediately bids Nilaus saddle his horse while she collects her gold, and from this point we have the story of Redselille.

#Dutch.# Willems, Oude vlaemsche Liederen, p. 482, No 231, 'De Ruiter en Mooi Elsje;' Hoffmann v. Fallersleben, Niederländische Volkslieder, 2d ed., p. 170, No 75: broadside of the date 1780.

A mother inquires into her daughter's condition, and learns that she is going with child by a trooper (he is called both 'ruiter' and 'landsknecht'). The conversation is overheard by the other party, who asks the girl whether she will ride with him or bide with her mother. She chooses to go with him, and as they ride is overtaken with pains. She asks whether there is not a house where she can rest. The soldier builds her a hut of thistles, thorns, and high stakes, and hangs his cloak over the aperture. She asks him to go away, and to come back when he hears a cry: but the maid was dead ere she cried. The trooper laid his head on a stone, and his heart brake with grief.

#German.# #A#, Simrock, No 40, p. 92, 'Von Farbe so bleich,' from Bonn and Rheindorf, repeated in Mittler, No 194. The mother, on learning her daughter's plight, imprecates a curse on her. The maid betakes herself to her lover, a trooper, who rides off with her. They come to a cool spring, and she begs for a fresh drink, but, feeling very ill, asks if there is no hamlet near, from which she could have woman's help. The aid of the trooper is rejected in the usual phrase, and he is asked to go aside, and answer when called. If there should be no call, she will be dead. There was no call, and she was found to be dead, with two sons in her bosom. The trooper wrapped the children in her apron, and dug her grave with his sword. #B#, Reifferscheid, Westfälische Volkslieder, p. 106, 'Ach Wunder über Wunder,' from Bökendorf: much the same as to the story. #C#, Mittler, No 195, p. 175, 'Von Farbe so bleich,' a fragment of a copy from Hesse; Zuccalmaglio, p. 187, No 90, 'Die Waisen,' an entire copy, ostensibly from the Lower Rhine, but clearly owing its last fourteen stanzas to the editor. The trooper, in this supplement, leaves the boys with his mother, and goes over seas. The boys grow up, and set out to find their father. In the course of their quest, they pass a night in a hut in a wood, and are overheard saying a prayer for their father and dead mother, by a person who announces herself as their maternal grandmother! After this it is not surprising that the father himself should turn up early the next morning. The same editor, under the name of Montanus, gives in Die deutschen Volksfeste, p. 45 f, a part of this ballad again, with variations which show his hand beyond a doubt. We are here informed that the ballad has above a hundred stanzas, and that the conclusion is that the grandmother repents her curse, makes her peace with the boys, and builds a convent.

#French.# Bujeaud, Chants et Chansons populaires des provinces de l'Ouest, #A#, I, 198, #B#, I, 200, 'J'entends le rossignolet.' #A#. This ballad has suffered injury at the beginning and the end, but still preserves very well the chief points of the story. A lover has promised his mistress that after returning from a long absence he would take her to see his country. While traversing a wood she is seized with her pains. The aid of her companion is declined: "Cela n'est point votre métier." She begs for water. The lover goes for some, and meets a lark, who tells him that he will find his love dead, with a child in her arms. Two stanzas follow which are to no purpose. #B#. The other copy of this ballad has a perverted instead of a meaningless conclusion, but this keeps some traits that are wanting in #A#. It is a two-line ballad, with the nightingale in the refrain: "J'entends le rossignolet." A fair maid, walking with her lover, falls ill, and lies down under a thorn. The lover asks if he shall go for her mother. "She would not come: she has a cruel heart." Shall I go for mine? "Go, like the swallow!" He comes back and finds his love dead, and says he will die with his mistress. The absurd conclusion follows that she was feigning death to test his love.

The names in the Scandinavian ballads, it is remarked by Grundtvig, V, 242, 291, are not Norse, but probably of German derivation, and, if such, would indicate a like origin for the story. The man's name, for instance, in the Danish 'Sønnens Sorg,' #A#, Gysellannd, seems to point to Gisalbrand or Gisalbald, German names of the 8th or 9th century. There is some doubt whether this Gysellannd is not due to a corruption arising in the course of tradition (see Grundtvig, V, 302); but if the name may stand, it will account for our Leesome Brand almost as satisfactorily as Hildebrand does for Earl Brand in No 7.

The passage in which the lady refuses male assistance during her travail--found as well in almost all the Danish versions of 'Redselille and Medelvold,' in the German and French, and imperfectly in Swedish #D#--occurs in several other English ballads, viz., 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' 'Rose the Red and White Lily,' 'Sweet Willie,' of Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61, 'Burd Helen,' of Buchan, II, 30, 'Bonnie Annie,' No 23. Nearly the whole of the scene in the wood is in 'Wolfdietrich.' Wolfdietrich finds a dead man and a woman naked to the girdle, who is clasping the stem of a tree. The man, who was her husband, was taking her to her mother's house, where her first child was to be born, when he was attacked by the dragon Schadesam. She was now in the third day of her travail. Wolfdietrich, having first wrapped her in his cloak, offers his help, requesting her to tear a strip from her shift and bind it round his eyes. She rejects his assistance in this form, but sends him for water, which he brings in his helmet, but only to find the woman dead, with a lifeless child at her breast. He wraps mother and child in his mantle, carries them to a chapel, and lays them on the altar; then digs a grave with his sword, goes for the body of the man, and buries all three in the grave he has made. Grimm, Altdänische Heldenlieder, p. 508; Holtzmann, Der grosse Wolfdietrich, st. 1587-1611; Amelung u. Jänicke,[158] Ortnit u. die Wolfdietriche, II, 146, #D#, st. 51-75; with differences, I, 289, B, st. 842-848; mother and child surviving, I, 146, #A#, st. 562-578; Weber's abstract of the Heldenbuch, in Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 119, 120.

'Herr Medelvold,' a mixed text of Danish II, Danske Viser, No 156, is translated by Jamieson, Illustrations, p. 377; by Borrow, Romantic Ballads, p. 28 (very ill); and by Prior, No 101. Swedish, II, #A#. is translated by Jamieson, ib., p. 373.

A

#a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 38. #b.# Motherwell's MS., p. 626.

1 My boy was scarcely ten years auld, Whan he went to an unco land, Where wind never blew, nor cocks ever crew, Ohon for my son, Leesome Brand!

2 Awa to that king's court he went, It was to serve for meat an fee; Gude red gowd it was his hire, And lang in that king's court stayd he.

3 He hadna been in that unco land But only twallmonths twa or three, Till by the glancing o his ee, He gaind the love o a gay ladye.

4 This ladye was scarce eleven years auld, When on her love she was right bauld; She was scarce up to my right knee, When oft in bed wi men I'm tauld.

5 But when nine months were come and gane, This ladye's face turnd pale and wane.

6 To Leesome Brand she then did say, 'In this place I can nae mair stay.

7 'Ye do you to my father's stable, Where steeds do stand baith wight and able.

8 'Strike ane o them upo the back, The swiftest will gie his head a wap.

9 'Ye take him out upo the green, And get him saddled and bridled seen.

10 'Get ane for you, anither for me, And lat us ride out ower the lee.

11 'Ye do you to my mother's coffer, And out of it ye'll take my tocher.

12 'Therein are sixty thousand pounds, Which all to me by right belongs.'

13 He's done him to her father's stable, Where steeds stood baith wicht and able.

14 Then he strake ane upon the back, The swiftest gae his head a wap.

15 He's taen him out upo the green, And got him saddled and bridled seen.

16 Ane for him, and another for her, To carry them baith wi might and virr.

17 He's done him to her mother's coffer, And there he 's taen his lover's tocher;

18 Wherein were sixty thousand pound, Which all to her by right belongd.

19 When they had ridden about six mile, His true love then began to fail.

20 'O wae's me,' said that gay ladye, 'I fear my back will gang in three!

21 'O gin I had but a gude midwife, Here this day to save my life,

22 'And ease me o my misery, O dear, how happy I woud be!'

23 'My love, we're far frae ony town, There is nae midwife to be foun.

24 'But if ye'll be content wi me, I'll do for you what man can dee.'

25 'For no, for no, this maunna be,' Wi a sigh, replied this gay ladye.

26 'When I endure my grief and pain, My companie ye maun refrain.

27 'Ye'll take your arrow and your bow, And ye will hunt the deer and roe.

28 'Be sure ye touch not the white hynde, For she is o the woman kind.'

29 He took sic pleasure in deer and roe, Till he forgot his gay ladye.

30 Till by it came that milk-white hynde, And then he mind on his ladye syne.

31 He hasted him to yon greenwood tree, For to relieve his gay ladye;

32 But found his ladye lying dead, Likeways her young son at her head.

33 His mother lay ower her castle wa, And she beheld baith dale and down; And she beheld young Leesome Brand, As he came riding to the town.

34 'Get minstrels for to play,' she said, 'And dancers to dance in my room; For here comes my son, Leesome Brand, And he comes merrilie to the town.'

35 'Seek nae minstrels to play, mother, Nor dancers to dance in your room; But tho your son comes, Leesome Brand, Yet he comes sorry to the town.

36 'O I hae lost my gowden knife; I rather had lost my ain sweet life!

37 'And I hae lost a better thing, The gilded sheath that it was in.'

38 'Are there nae gowdsmiths here in Fife, Can make to you anither knife?

39 'Are there nae sheath-makers in the land, Can make a sheath to Leesome Brand?'

40 'There are nae gowdsmiths here in Fife, Can make me sic a gowden knife;

41 'Nor nae sheath-makers in the land, Can make to me a sheath again.

42 'There ne'er was man in Scotland born, Ordaind to be so much forlorn.

43 'I 've lost my ladye I lovd sae dear, Likeways the son she did me bear.'

44 'Put in your hand at my bed head, There ye'll find a gude grey horn; In it three draps o' Saint Paul's ain blude, That hae been there sin he was born.

45 'Drap twa o them o your ladye, And ane upo your little young son; Then as lively they will be As the first night ye brought them hame.'

46 He put his hand at her bed head, And there he found a gude grey horn, Wi three draps o' Saint Paul's ain blude, That had been there sin he was born.

47 Then he drappd twa on his ladye, And ane o them on his young son, And now they do as lively be, As the first day he brought them hame.

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 365. From the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.

1 'There is a feast in your father's house, The broom blooms bonnie and so is it fair It becomes you and me to be very douce. And we'll never gang up to the broom nae mair

2 'You will go to yon hill so hie; Take your bow and your arrow wi thee.'

3 He's tane his lady on his back, And his auld son in his coat lap.

4 'When ye hear me give a cry, Ye'll shoot your bow and let me lye.

5 'When ye see me lying still, Throw away your bow and come running me till.'

6 When he heard her gie the cry, He shot his bow and he let her lye.

7 When he saw she was lying still, He threw away his bow and came running her till.

8 It was nae wonder his heart was sad When he shot his auld son at her head.

9 He houkit a grave, long, large and wide, He buried his auld son doun by her side.

10 It was nae wonder his heart was sair When he shooled the mools on her yellow hair.

11 'Oh,' said his father, 'son, but thou'rt sad! At our braw meeting you micht be glad.'

12 'Oh,' said he, 'Father, I've lost my knife I loved as dear almost as my own life.

13 'But I have lost a far better thing, I lost the sheath that the knife was in.'

14 'Hold thy tongue, and mak nae din; I'll buy thee a sheath and a knife therein.'

15 'A' the ships eer sailed the sea Neer'll bring such a sheath and a knife to me.

16 'A' the smiths that lives on land Will neer bring such a sheath and knife to my hand.'

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^2. he came to.

1^3. For wind ... and cock never.

4^4. bed wi him.

5^2. His lady's.

22^2. would I be.

29^1. deer and doe.

30^2. And then on his lady he did mind.

31^1. to greenwood tree.

33^1. the castle wa.

34^1. Go, minstrels.

43^1. lady I 've loved.

44^8. draps Saint Paul's.

44^4. That has.

45^2. little wee son.

#B.#

2^1. Will you.

[157] And also stanza 3 of Buchan's 'Fairy Knight,' 'The Elfin Knight,' #D#, p. 17 of this volume, which runs:Return to passage

I hae a sister eleven years auld, And she to the young men's bed has made bauld.

[158] Who suggests, II, xlv, somewhat oddly, that the passage may have been taken from Revelation, xii, 2 f, 13 f.Return to passage

16

SHEATH AND KNIFE

#A. a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 286. #b.# 'The broom blooms bonnie and says it is fair,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189.

#B.# Sharpe's Ballad Book, ed. by D. Laing, p. 159.

#C.# 'The broom blooms bonie,' Johnson's Museum, No 461.

#D.# Notes and Queries, First Series, V, 345, one stanza.

The three stanzas of this ballad which are found in the Musical Museum (#C#) were furnished, it is said, by Burns. It was first printed in full (#A b#) in Motherwell's Minstrelsy. Motherwell retouched a verse here and there slightly, to regulate the metre. #A a# is here given as it stands in his manuscript. #B# consists of some scattered verses as remembered by Sir W. Scott.

The directions in 3, 4 receive light from a passage in 'Robin Hood's Death and Burial:'

'But give me my bent bow in my hand, And a broad arrow I'll let flee, And where this arrow is taken up There shall my grave diggd be.

'Lay me a green sod under my head,' etc.

Other ballads with a like theme are 'The Bonny Hind,' further on in this volume, and the two which follow it.

* * * * *

Translated in Grundtvig's E. og s. Folkeviser, No 49, p. 308; Wolff's Halle der Völker, I, 64.

A

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 286. From the recitation of Mrs King, Kilbarchan Parish, February 9, 1825. #b.# 'The broom blooms bonnie and says it is fair,' Motberwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189.

1 It is talked the warld all over, The brume blooms bonnie and says it is fair That the king's dochter gaes wi child to her brither. And we'll never gang doun to the brume onie mair

2 He's taen his sister doun to her father's deer park, Wi his yew-tree bow and arrows fast slung to his back.

3 'Now when that ye hear me gie a loud cry, Shoot frae thy bow an arrow and there let me lye.

4 'And when that ye see I am lying dead, Then ye'll put me in a grave, wi a turf at my head.'

5 Now when he heard her gie a loud cry, His silver arrow frae his bow he suddenly let fly. Now they'll never, etc.

6 He has made a grave that was lang and was deep, And he has buried his sister, wi her babe at her feet. And they'll never, etc.

7 And when he came to his father's court hall, There was music and minstrels and dancing and all. But they'll never, etc.

8 'O Willie, O Willie, what makes thee in pain?' 'I have lost a sheath and knife that I'll never see again.' For we'll never, etc.

9 'There is ships o your father's sailing on the sea That will bring as good a sheath and a knife unto thee.'

10 'There is ships o my father's sailing on the sea, But sic a sheath and a knife they can never bring to me.' Now we'll never, etc.

B

Sharpe's Ballad Book, ed. by D. Laing, p. 159: Sir Walter Scott, from his recollection of a nursery-maid's singing.

1 Ae lady has whispered the other, The broom grows bonnie, the broom grows fair Lady Margaret's wi bairn to Sir Richard, her brother. And we daur na gae doun to the broom nae mair

* * * * * * *

2 'And when ye hear me loud, loud cry, O bend your bow, let your arrow fly. And I daur na, etc.

3 'But when ye see me lying still, O then you may come and greet your fill.'

* * * * * * *

4 'It's I hae broken my little pen-knife That I loed dearer than my life.' And I daur na, etc.

* * * * * * *

5 'It's no for the knife that my tears doun run, But it's a' for the case that my knife was kept in.'

C

Johnson's Museum, No 461.

1 It's whispered in parlour, it's whispered in ha, The broom blooms bonie, the broom blooms fair Lady Marget's wi child amang our ladies a'. And she dare na gae down to the broom nae mair

2 One lady whisperd unto another Lady Marget's wi child to Sir Richard, her brother.

* * * * * * *

3 'O when that you hear my loud loud cry, Then bend your bow and let your arrows fly. For I dare na,' etc.

D

Notes and Queries, 1st Series, V, 345, communicated by E. F. Rimbault.

1 Ae king's dochter said to anither, Broom blooms bonnie an grows sae fair We'll gae ride like sister and brither. But we'll never gae down to the broom nae mair

* * * * *

#A. b.#

Motherwell's printed copy has these variations:

1^1. It is talked, it is talked; _a variation found in the MS._

3^1. O when ... loud, loud cry.

3^2. an arrow frae thy bow.

4^1. cauld and dead.

5^1. loud, loud cry.

6^1. has houkit.

6^2. babie.

7^1. came hame.

7^2. dancing mang them a': _this variation also in the MS._

9^1, 10^1. There are.

#B.#

"I have heard the 'Broom blooms bonnie' sung by our poor old nursery-maid as often as I have teeth in my head, but after cudgelling my memory I can make no more than the following stanzas." Scott, Sharpe's Ballad Book, 1880, p. 159.

Scott makes Effie Deans, in The Heart of Mid-Lothian, vol. I, ch. 10, sing this stanza, probably of his own making:

The elfin knight sat on the brae, The broom grows bonny, the broom grows fair And by there came lilting a lady so gay. And we daurna gang down to the broom nae mair

17

HIND HORN

#A.# 'Hindhorn,' Motherwell's MS., p. 106.

#B.# 'Young Hyndhorn,' Motherwell's MS., p. 418.

#C. a.# 'Young Hyn Horn,' Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 42. #b.# Motherwell's MS., p. 413.

#D.# 'Young Hynhorn,' Cromek's Select Scotish Songs, II, 204.

#E.# 'Hynd Horn,' Motherwell's MS., p. 91.

#F.# Lowran Castle, or the Wild Boar of Curridoo: with other Tales. By R. Trotter, Dumfries, 1822.

#G.# 'Hynde Horn,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 135.

#H.# 'Hynd Horn,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 268.

A defective copy of this ballad was printed in Cromek's Select Scottish Songs, Ancient and Modern, 1810 (#D#). A fragment, comprising the first half of the story, was inserted in "Lowran Castle, or the Wild Boar of Curridoo: with other Tales," etc., by Robert Trotter, Dumfries, 1822[159] (#F#). A complete copy was first given in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, 1827 (#G#); another, described by the editor as made up from Cromek's fragment and two copies from recitation, in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 36,[160] later in the same year; and a third, closely resembling Kinloch's, in Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, in 1828 (#H#). Three versions complete, or nearly so, and a fragment of a fourth are now printed for the first time, all from Motherwell's manuscripts (#A#, #B#, #C#, #E#).

The stanza about the auger bore [wimble bore], #B# 1, #F# 3, #H# 4, is manifestly out of place. It is found in 'The Whummil Bore' (see further on), and may have slipped into 'Hind Horn' by reason of its following, in its proper place, a stanza beginning, "Seven lang years I hae served the king:" cf. #F# 2, #H# 3.

#G# 17, 18, 21, 22, which are not intelligible in their present connection, are perhaps, as well as #G# 16, #H# 18-20, borrowed from some Robin Hood ballad, in which a change is made with a beggar.

The noteworthy points in the story of Hind Horn are these. Hind Horn has served the king seven years (#D#, #F#), and has fallen in love with his daughter. She gives Hind Horn a jewelled ring: as long as the stone keeps its color, he may know that she is faithful; but if it changes hue, he may ken she loves another man. The king is angry (#D#), and Hind Horn goes to sea [is sent, #D#]. He has been gone seven years, #E#, #F# [seven years and a day, #B#], when, looking on his ring, he sees that the stone is pale and wan, #A-H#. He makes for the land at once, and, meeting an old beggar, asks him for news. No news but the king's daughter's wedding: it has lasted nine days [two and forty, #A#], and she will not go into the bride-bed till she hears of Hind Horn, #E#. Hind Horn changed cloaks and other gear with the beggar, and when he came to the king's gate asked for a drink in Horn's name,[161] #A#, #B#, #D#. The bride herself came down, and gave him a drink out of her own hand, #A#, #B#, #C#, #G#, #H#. He drank out the drink and dropped in the ring.

'O gat ye 't by sea, or gat ye 't by lan, Or gat ye 't aff a dead man's han?'

So she asked; and he answered:

'I gat na 't by sea, I gat na 't by lan, But I gat it out of your own han.' #D# 14.

'I got na 't by sea, I got na 't by land, Nor got I it aff a drownd man's hand;

'But I got it at my wooing, And I'll gie it at your wedding.' #G# 29, 30.

The bride, who had said,

'I'll go through nine fires so hot, But I'll give him a drink for Young Hynhorn's sake,' #B# 16,

is no less ready now:

'I'll tak the red gowd frae my head, And follow you and beg my bread.

'I'll tak the red gowd frae my hair, And follow you for evermair.' #H# 31, 32.

But Hind Horn let his cloutie cloak fall, #G#, #H#, and told her,

'Ye need na leave your bridal gown, For I'll make ye ladie o many a town.'

The story of Horn, of which this ballad gives little more than the catastrophe, is related at full in

I. 'King Horn,' a gest in about 1550 short verses, preserved in three manuscripts: the oldest regarded as of the second half of the 13th century, or older; the others put at 1300 and a little later. All three have been printed: (1.) By Michel, Horn et Rimenhild, p. 259 ff, Bannatyne Club, 1845; J. R. Lumby, Early English Text Society, 1866; and in editions founded on Lumby's text, by Mätzner, Altenglische Sprachproben, p. 270 ff, and later by Wissmann, Quellen u. Forschungen, No 45. (2.) By Horstmann, Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen, 1872, L, 39 ff. (3.) By Ritson, A.E. Metrical Romanceës, II, 91 ff.

II. 'Horn et Rymenhild,' a romance in about 5250 heroic verses, preserved likewise in three manuscripts; the best in the Public Library of the University of Cambridge, and of the 14th century.

III. 'Horn Childe and Maiden Rimnild,' from a manuscript of the 14th century, in not quite 100 twelve-line stanzas: Ritson, Metrical Romanceës, III, 282 ff; Michel, p. 341 ff.

Horn, in the old English gest, is son of Murry [Allof], king of Suddenne. He is a youth of extraordinary beauty, and has twelve comrades, of whom Athulf and Fikenild are his favorites. One day, as Murry was out riding, he came upon fifteen ships of Saracens, just arrived. The pagans slew the king, and insured themselves, as they thought, against Horn's future revenge by putting him and his twelve aboard a vessel without sail or rudder; but "the children" drove to shore, unhurt, on the coast of Westerness. The king, Ailmar, gave them a kind reception, and committed them to Athelbrus, his steward, to be properly brought up. Rymenhild, the king's daughter, fell in love with Horn, and having, with some difficulty, prevailed upon Athelbrus to bring him to her bower, offered herself to him as his wife. It were no fair wedding, Horn told her, between a thrall and a king,--a speech which hurt Rymenhild greatly; and Horn was so moved by her grief that he promised to do all she required, if she would induce the king to knight him. This was done the next day, and Horn at once knighted all his comrades. Rymenhild again sent for Horn, and urged him now to make her his wife. But Horn said he must first prove his knighthood: if he came back alive, he would then marry her. Upon this Rymenhild gave him a ring, set with stones of such virtue that he could never be slain if he looked on it and thought of his leman. The young knight had the good fortune to fall in immediately with a ship full of heathen hounds, and by the aid of his ring killed a hundred of the best of them. The next day he paid Rymenhild a visit, and found her drowned in grief on account of a bad dream. She had cast her net in the sea, and a great fish had broken it: she weened she should lose the fish that she would choose. Horn strove to comfort her, but could not conceal his apprehension that trouble was brewing. The fish proved to be Fikenild, Horn's much cherished friend. He told Ailmar of the intimacy with Rymenhild, and asserted that Horn meant to kill the king as well as marry the princess. Ailmar was very angry (v. 724, Wissmann), and much grieved, too. He found the youth in his daughter's bower, and ordered him to quit the land anon. Horn saddled his horse and armed himself, then went back to Rymenhild, and told her that he was going to a strange land for seven years: if, after that, he neither came nor sent word, she might take a husband. He sailed a good way eastward (v. 799) to Ireland, and, landing, met two princes, who invited him to take service with their father. The king, Thurston, welcomed him, and had soon occasion to employ him; for at Christmas came into court a giant, with a message from pagans newly arrived. They proposed that one of them should fight three Christians:

'If your three slay our one. Let all this land be your own; If our one oercomes your three, All this land then ours shall be.'

Horn scorned to fight on such terms; he alone would undertake three of the hounds; and so he did. In the course of a hard fight it came out that these were the very heathen that had slain King Murry. Horn looked on his ring and thought on Rymenhild, then fell on his foes. Not a man of them escaped; but King Thurston lost many men in the fight, among them his two sons. Having now no heir, he offered Horn his daughter Reynild and the succession. Horn replied that he had not earned such a reward yet. He would serve the king further; and when he asked for his daughter, he hoped the king would not refuse her.

Seven years Horn stayed with King Thurston, and to Rymenhild neither sent nor went. A sorry time it was for her, and worst at the end, for King Modi of Reynis asked her in marriage, and her father consented. The wedding was to be in a few days. Rymenhild despatched messengers to every land, but Horn heard nothing, till one day, when he was going out to shoot, he encountered one of these, and learned how things stood. He sent word to his love not to be troubled; he would be there betimes. But, alas, the messenger was drowned on his way back, and Rymenhild, peering out of her door for a ray of hope, saw his body washed up by the waves. Horn now made a clean breast to Thurston, and asked for help. This was generously accorded, and Horn set sail for Westerness. He arrived not too early on the day of the wedding,--"ne might he come no later!"--left his men in a wood, and set off for Ailmar's court alone. He met a palmer, and asked his news. The palmer had come from a bridal; a wedding of maid Rymenhild, who wept and would not be married, because she had a husband, though he was out of the land. Horn changed clothes with the palmer, put on the sclavin, took scrip and staff, blackened his skin and twisted his lip, and presented himself at the king's gate. The porter would not let him in; Horn kicked open the wicket, threw the porter over the bridge, made his way into the hall, and sat down in the beggars' row. Rymenhild was weeping as if she were out of her wits, but after meat she rose to give all the knights and squires drink from a horn which she bare: such was the custom. Horn called to her:

'Skink us with the first, The beggars ben athirst.'

She laid down her horn and filled him a gallon bowl; but Horn would not drink of that. He said, mysteriously, "Thou thinkest I am a beggar, but I am a fisher, come far from the East, to fish at thy feast. My net lies near at hand, and hath full seven year. I am come to see if it has taken any fish.

'I am come to fish; Drink to me from thy dish, Drink to Horn from horn!'"

Rymenhild looked at him, a chill creeping over her heart. What he meant by his fishing she did not see. She filled her horn and drank to him, handed it to the pilgrim, and said, "Drink thy fill, and tell me if ever thou saw Horn." Horn drank, and threw the ring into the vessel. When the princess went to bower, she found the ring she had given Horn. She feared he was dead, and sent for the palmer. The palmer said Horn had died on the voyage to Westerness, and had begged him to go with the ring to Rymenhild. Rymenhild could bear no more. She threw herself on her bed, where she had hid a knife, to kill both King Modi and herself if Horn should not come; she set the knife to her heart, and there Horn stopped her. He wiped off the black, and cried, "I am Horn!" Great was their bliss, but it was not a time to indulge themselves fully.

Horn sprang out of hall, And let his sclavin fall, (1246)

and went to summon his knights. Rymenhild sent after him the faithful Athulf, who all the while had been watching for Horn in the tower. They slew all that were in the castle, except King Ailmar and Horn's old comrades. Horn spared even Fikenild, taking an oath of fidelity from him and the rest. Then he made himself known to Ailmar, denied what he had been charged with, and would not marry Rymenhild even now, not till he had won back Suddenne. This he went immediately about; but while he was engaged in clearing the land of Saracens and rebuilding churches, the false Fikenild bribed young and old to side with him, built a strong castle, "married" Rymenhild, carried her into his fortress, and began a feast. Horn, warned in a dream, again set sail for Westerness, and came in by Fikenild's new castle. Athulf's cousin was on the shore, to tell him what had happened; how Fikenild had wedded Rymenhild that very day; he had beguiled Horn twice. Force would not avail now. Horn disguised himself and some of his knights as harpers and fiddlers, and their music gained them admittance. Horn began a lay which threw Rymenhild into a swoon. This smote him to the heart; he looked on his ring and thought of her. Fikenhild and his men were soon disposed of. Horn was in a condition to reward all his faithful adherents. He married Athulf to Thurston's daughter, and made Rymenhild queen of Suddenne.

The French romance contains very nearly the same story, extended, by expansions of various sorts, to about six times the length of King Horn. It would be out of place to notice other variations than those which relate to the story preserved in the ballads. Rimild offers Horn a ring when she first avows her love. He will not take it then, but accepts a second tender, after his first fight. When he is accused to the king, he offers to clear himself by combat with heavy odds, but will not submit, king's son as he is, to purgation by oath. The king says, then he may quit the land and go--to Norway, if he will. Horn begs Rimild to maintain her love for him seven years. If he does not come then, he will send her word to act thereafter at her pleasure. Rimild exchanges the ring she had previously given him for one set with a sapphire, wearing which faithfully he need not fear death by water nor fire, battle nor tourney (vv 2051-8). He looks at this ring when he fights with the pagan that had killed his father, and it fires his heart to extraordinary exploits (3166 ff). Having learned through a friend, who had long been seeking him, that Rimild's father is about to marry her to a young king (Modun), Horn returns to Brittany with a large force. He leaves his men in a woody place, and goes out alone on horseback for news; meets a palmer, who tells him that the marriage is to take place that very day; gives the palmer his fine clothes in exchange for sclavin, staff and scrip, forces his way into the city, and is admitted to the banquet hall with the beggars. After the guests had eaten (4152 ff), Rimild filled a splendid cup with piment, presented it first a sun dru, and then, with her maids, served the whole company. As she was making her fifth round, Horn pulled her by the sleeve, and reproached her with attending only to the rich. "Your credit would be greater should you serve us." She set a handsome cup before him, but he would not drink. "Corn apelent Horn li Engleis," he said. "If, for the love of him who bore that name, you would give me the same horn that you offered your ami, I would share it with you." All but fainting, Rimild gave him the horn. He threw in his ring, even that which she had given him at parting, drank out half, and begged her to drink by the love of him whom he had named. In drinking, she sipped the ring into her mouth, and she saw at once what it was (4234). "I have found a ring," said she. "If it is yours, take it. Blest be he to whom I gave it: if you know aught of him, conceal it not. If you are Horn, it were a great sin not to reveal yourself." Horn owned that the ring was his, but denied knowledge of the man she spake of. For himself, he had been reared in that land, and by service had come into possession of a hawk, which, before taming it, he had put in a cage: that was nigh seven years since: he had come now to see what it amounted to. If it should prove to be as good as when he left it, he would carry it away with him; but if its feathers were ruffled and broken, he would have nothing to do with it. At this, Rimild broke into a laugh, and cried, "Horn, 't is you, and your hawk has been safely kept!"[162] She would go with him or kill herself. Horn saw that she had spoken truth, but, to try her yet further, said he was indeed Horn, whom she had loved, but he had come back with nothing: why should she follow a poor wretch who could not give her a gown to her back? "Little do you know me," was her reply. "I can bear what you bear, and there is no king in the East for whom I would quit you."

'Horn Childe and Maiden Rimnild,' with many diversities of its own as to details, is more like the French than the English romance as to the story, and, on the other hand, has one or two resemblances to the ballads which they both lack. Rimnild's father, maddened by the traitor Wikel's false information, beats her till she bleeds, and threatens to slay Horn. Rimnild, expecting her lover to be at least exiled, assures Horn that she will marry no other man for seven years. The king, who had shut himself up till his first wrath was past, tells Horn, when he next comes into his presence, that if he is found in the land on the morrow, he shall be drawn with horses and hanged. Rimnild, at parting, gives him a ring, with these words:

'Loke thou forsake it for no thing, It schal ben our tokening; The ston it is wele trewe. When the ston wexeth wan, Than chaungeth the thouȝt of thi leman, Take than a newe; When the ston wexeth rede, Than have Y lorn mi maidenhed, Oȝaines the untrewe.'

(Michel, st. 48.)

Horn, for his part, bids her every day look into a spring in her arbor: should she see his shadow, then he is about to marry another; till then his thought will not have changed (sts 48, 49). Though loved, as before, by another princess, Horn kept his faith; but when seven years were gone, on looking at the stone he saw that its hue was changed (st. 71). He immediately gathered a force, and set sail for Rimnild. On landing he saw a beggar, who turned out to be one of his old friends, and had been looking for him a long time. That day Moging the king was to marry Rimnild. They changed weeds (76); Horn forced his way into the castle. While Rimnild was serving the guests, Horn, who had tried to pass for a fool, called to her to attend to God's men. She fetched him drink, and he said, "For Horn's love, if ever he was dear to thee, go not ere this be drunk." He threw the ring into the cup: she brought him another drink (something is wrong here, for nothing is said of her seeing and recognizing the ring), and asked if Horn were there. She fainted when she learned that he was, but on recovering sent Hatherof (==Athulf) to bid the king make merry, and then to gather periwinkle and ivy, "grasses that ben of main" (to stain her face with, no doubt), and then to tell Horn to wait for her under a woodside.

'When al this folk is gon to play, He and Y schal steal oway, Bituene the day and the niȝt.' (87)

Hatherof did his message. Of true love Horn was sure. He said he would come into the field with a hundred knights. A tournament follows, as in the French romance; the royal bridegroom is unhorsed, but spared; treachery is punished and forced to confession.

Now is Rimnild tuiis wedde, Horn brouȝt hir to his bedde. (94)

That the lay or gest of King Horn is a far more primitive poem than the French romance, and could not possibly be derived from it, will probably be plain to any one who will make even a hasty comparison of the two; and that the contrary opinion should have been held by such men as Warton and Tyrwhitt must have been the result of a general theory, not of a particular examination.[163] There is, on the other hand, no sufficient reason for supposing that the English lay is the source of the other two poems. Nor do the special approximations of the ballads to the romance of Horn Child oblige us to conclude that these, or any of them, are derived from that poem. The particular resemblances are the discoloration of the ring, the elopement with the bride, in #C#, #G#, #H# (which is only prepared for, but not carried out, in Horn Child), and the agreement between the couplet just cited from Horn Child,

Now is Rimnild tuiis wedde, Horn brouȝt hir to his bedde,

and the last stanza of #A#, #B#, #C#:

The bridegroom he had wedded the bride, But Young Hind Horn he took her to bed. (#A#)

The bridegroom thought he had the bonnie bride wed, But Young Hyn Horn took the bride to bed. (#B#)

Her ain bridegroom had her first wed, But Young Hyn Horn had her first to bed. (#C#)

The likeness evinces a closer affinity of the oral traditions with the later English romance than with the earlier English or the French, but no filiation. And were filiation to be accepted, there would remain the question of priority. It is often assumed, without a misgiving, that oral tradition must needs be younger than anything that was committed to writing some centuries ago; but this requires in each case to be made out; there is certainly no antecedent probability of that kind.[164]

Two Scandinavian ballads, as Dr Prior has remarked, seem to have been at least suggested by the romances of Horn.

(1.) 'Unge Hr. Tor og Jomfru Tore,' Grundtvig, No 72, II, 263, translated by Prior, III, 151. Of this there are two traditional versions: #A# from a manuscript of the sixteenth century, #B# from one of the seventeenth. They agree in story. In #A#, Tor asks Sølffuermord how long she will wait for him. Nine years, she answers, if she can do so without angering her friends. He will be satisfied with eight. Eight have passed: a family council is held, and it is decided that she shall not have Young Tor, but a certain rich count. Her father "gives her away" that same day. The lady goes up to a balcony and looks seaward. Everybody seems to be coming home but her lover. She begs her brother to ride down to the shore for her. Tor is just coming in, hails the horseman, and eagerly asks how are the maids in the isle. The brother tells him that his maid has waited eight years, and is even now drinking her bridal, but with tears. Tor takes his harp and chess-board, and plays outside the bridal hall till the bride hears and knows him. He then enters the hall, and asks if there is anybody that can win a game of chess. The father replies, Nobody but Sølffuermord, and she sits a bride at the board. The mother indulgently suggests that the midsummer day is long, and the bride might well try a game. The bride seeks an express sanction of her father, who lessons her the livelong day, being suspicious of Tor, but towards evening consents to her playing a little while,--not long. Tor wins the first game, and must needs unpack his heart in a gibing parable, ending

'Full hard is gold to win, And so is a trothless quean.'

She wins the next game, takes up the parable, and says

'Many were glad their faith to hold, Were their lot to be controlled.'

They are soon at one, and resolve to fly. They slip away, go aboard Tor's ship, and put off. The bride's parents get information, and the mother, who is a professor of the black art, raises a storm which she means shall sink them both. No one can steer the ship but the bride. She stands at the helm, with her gold crown on, while her lover is lying seasick on the deck, and she brings the craft safe into Norway, where a second wedding is celebrated.

(2.) The other ballad is 'Herr Lovmand og Herr Thor,' Syv, iv, No 68, Danske Viser, IV, 180, No 199, translated by Prior, II, 442. Lovmand, having betrothed Ingelil, asks how long she will be his maid. "Eight years, if I may," she says. This term has elapsed; her brothers consult, and give her to rich Herr Thor. They drink the bridal for five days; for nine days; she will not go to bed. On the evening of the tenth, they begin to use force. She begs that she may first go to the look-out up-stairs. From there she sees ships, great and small, and the sails which her own hands have made for her lover. Her brother goes down to the sea, as in the other ballad, and has a similar interview. Lovmand has the excuse of having been sick seven years. He borrows the brother's horse, flies faster than a bird, and the torch is burning at the door of the bride's house when he arrives. Thor is reasonable enough to give up the bride, and to accept Lovmand's sister.

The ballad is extremely common in Sweden, and at least six versions have been published. #A#, 'Herr Lagman och Herr Thor,' from a manuscript of the end of the sixteenth century, Arwidsson, I, 165, No 24; #B#, from a manuscript, ib., p. 168; #C#, from oral tradition, p. 171; #D#, 'Lageman och hans Brud,' Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning samlad och upptecknad i Skåne, p. 29, No 12; #E#, 'Stolt Ingrid,' Folkvisor fråu Skåne, upptecknade af E. Wigström, in Hazelius, Ur de nordiska Folkens Lif, p. 121, No 3; #F#, 'Deielill och Lageman,' Fagerlund, Anteckningar om Korpo och Houtskärs Socknar, p. 192, No 3. In #A#, #D# the bride goes off in her lover's ship; in #C# he carries her off on his horse, when the dancing is at its best, and subsequently, upon the king's requisition, settles matters with his rival by killing him in single fight. The stolid bridegroom, in the others, consents to a peaceable arrangement.

Certain points in the story of Horn--the long absence, the sudden return, the appearance under disguise at the wedding feast, and the dropping of the ring into a cup of wine obtained from the bride--repeat themselves in a great number of romantic tales. More commonly it is a husband who leaves his wife for seven years, is miraculously informed on the last day that she is to be remarried on the morrow, and is restored to his home in the nick of time, also by superhuman means. Horn is warned to go back, in the ballads and in Horn Child, by the discoloration of his ring, but gets home as he can; this part of the story is slurred over in a way that indicates a purpose to avoid a supernatural expedient.

Very prominent among the stories referred to is that of Henry of Brunswick [Henry the Lion, Reinfrid of Brunswick], and this may well be put first, because it is preserved in Scandinavian popular ballads.[165]

(1.) The latest of these, a Swedish ballad, from a collection made at the end of the last century, 'Hertig Henrik,' Arwidsson, No 168, II, 422, represents Duke Henry as telling his wife that he is minded to go off for seven years (he says not whither, but it is of course to the East); should he stay eight or nine, she may marry the man she fancies. He cuts a ring in two; gives her one half and keeps the other. He is made captive, and serves a heathen lord and lady seven years, drawing half the plough, "like another horse." His liberation is not accounted for, but he was probably set free by his mistress, as in the ballad which follows. He gets possession of an excellent sword, and uses it on an elephant who is fighting with a lion. The grateful lion transports the duke to his own country while he is asleep. A herdsman, of whom he asks food, recommends him to go to the Brunswick mansion, where there is a wedding, and Duke Henry's former spouse is the bride. When Henry comes to the house, his daughter is standing without; he asks food for a poor pilgrim. She replies that she has never heard of a pilgrim taking a lion about with him. But they give him drink, and the bride, pro more, drinks out of the same bowl, and finds the half ring in the bottom. The bride feels in her pocket and finds her half,[166] and the two, when thrown upon a table, run together and make one ring.

(2.) The Danish ballad[167] (Grundtvig, No 114, #B#, from a 17th century manuscript), relates that Duke Henry, in consequence of a dream, took leave of his wife, enjoining her to wait to the eighth year, and, if then he did not return, marry whom she liked. In the course of his fights with the heathen, Henry was made captive, and had to draw the harrow and plough, like a beast. One day (during his lord's absence, as we learn from #A#) the heathen lady whom he served set him free. He had many adventures, and in one of them killed a panther who was pressing a lion hard, for which service the lion followed him like a dog. The duke then happened upon a hermit, who told him that his wife was to be married the next day, but he was to go to sleep, and not be concerned. He laid his head on a stone in the heathen land, and woke in a trice to hear German speech from a herdsman's mouth. The herdsman confirmed what the hermit had said: the duchess was to be married on the morrow. The duke went to the kitchen as a pilgrim, and sent word to the lady that he wished to drink to her. The duchess, surprised at this freedom, summoned him into her presence. The verses are lost in which the cup should be given the pilgrim and returned to the lady. When she drank off the wine that was left, a half ring lay in the glass.

Danish #A#, though of the 16th century, does not mention the ring.

(3.) A Flemish broadside, which may originally have been of the 15th century, relates the adventures of the Duke of Brunswick in sixty-five stanzas of four long lines: reprinted in von der Hagen's Germania, VIII, 359, and Hoffmann's Niederländische Volkslieder, No 2, p. 6; Coussemaker, No 47, p. 152; abridged and made over, in Willems, O. v. L., p. 251, No 107. The duke, going to war, tells his wife to marry again if he stays away seven years. She gives him half of her ring. Seven years pass, and the duke, being then in desperate plight in a wilderness, is taken off by a ship; by providential direction, no doubt, though at first it does not so appear. For the fiend is aboard, who tells him that his wife is to be married to-morrow, and offers, for his soul, to carry him to his palace in his sleep before day. The duke, relying on heaven and his lion, professes to accept the terms: he is to be taken to his palace in his sleep. The lion rouses his master at the right time, and the fiend is baffled. The duke goes to the marriage feast, and sends a message to the bride that he desires a drink from her in memory of her lord. They take him for a beggar, but the lady orders him wine in a gold cup. The cup goes back to her with the duke's half ring in it. She cries, "It is my husband!" joins her half to the one in the cup, and the two adhere firmly.

(4.) A German poem of the 15th century, by Michel Wyssenhere, in ninety-eight stanzas of seven lines, first printed by Massmann, Denkmæler deutscher Sprache und Literatur, p. 122, and afterwards by Erlach, II, 290, and elsewhere. The Lord of Brunswick receives an impression in a dream that he ought to go to the Holy Sepulchre. He cuts a ring in two, and gives his wife one half for a souvenir, but fixes no time for his absence, and so naturally says nothing about her taking another husband. He has the adventures which are usual in other versions of the story, and at last finds himself among the Wild Hunt (das wöden her), and obliges one of the company, by conjurations, to tell him how it is with his wife and children. The spirit informs him that his wife is about to marry another man. He then constrains the spirit to transport him and his lion to his castle. This is done on the same terms as in the Flemish poem, and the lion wakes his master. His wife offers him drink; he lets his half ring drop in the glass, and, upon the glass being returned to the lady, she takes out the token, finds it like her half, and cries out that she has recovered her dear husband and lord.

(5.) Henry the Lion, a chap-book printed in the 16th century, in one hundred and four stanzas of eight short verses; reprinted in Büsching's Volkssagen, Märchen und Legenden, p. 213 ff, and (modernized) by Simrock in the first volume of Die deutschen Volksbücher. The hero goes out simply in quest of adventures, and, having lost his ship and all his companions, is floating on a raft with his lion, when the devil comes to him and tells him that his wife is to remarry. A compact is made, and the devil balked, as before. Though we were not so informed at the beginning, it now turns out that the duke had given a half ring to the duchess seven years before, and had bidden her take a second husband if he did not come back in that time. The duke sends a servant to beg a drink of wine of his wife, and returns the cup, as in (3), (4).

(6.) A ballad in nine seven-line stanzas, supposed to be by a Meistersinger, preserved in broadsides of about 1550 and 1603, Böhme, No 5, p. 30, Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 111. (7.) Hans Sachs's 'Historia,' 1562, in two hundred and four verses, Works, ed. 1578, Buch iv, Theil ii, Blatt lvii^b-lviii^b.[168] (8.) A Meistersingerlied of the end of the 16th century, in three twenty-line stanzas, printed in Idunna u. Hermode for March 27, 1813 (appended to p. 64), and after this, with changes, in Kretzschmer, II, 17, No 5.--These three agree with the foregoing as to the ring.

(9.) Reinfrid von Braunschweig, c. 1300, ed. Bartsch, 1871. Reinfrid is promised by the Virgin, who appears to him thrice in vision, that he shall have issue if he will go over sea to fight the heathen. He breaks a ring which his wife had given him, and gives her one half, vv. 14,906-11. If he dies, she is to marry, for public reasons, vv. 14,398-407; but she is not to believe a report of his death unless she receives his half of the ring back, vv. 14,782-816, 15,040-049. The latter part of the romance not being extant, we do not know the conclusion, but a variation as to the use made of the ring is probable.[169]

The story of Reinfrit is also preserved in a Bohemian prose chap-book printed before 1565. This prose is clearly a poem broken up, and it is believed that the original should be placed in the first half of the 14th century, or possibly at the end of the 13th. The hero returns, in pilgrim's garb, after seven years' absence, to find his wife about to be handed over by her father to another prince. He lets his ring fall into a cup, and goes away; his wife recognizes the ring, and is reunited to him. The story has passed from the Bohemian into Russian and Magyar. Feifalik, Sitzungsberichte der phil.-hist. Classe der Wiener Akademie, XXIX, 83 ff, the ring at p. 92; XXXII, 322 ff.

Similar use is made of the ring in other German romances. (1.) 'Der edle Moringer' (MS. of 14th century) asks his wife to wait seven years for him, while he visits the land of St Thomas. He is warned by an angel, at the expiration of that period, that he will lose her if he does not go back, bewails himself to his patron, and is conveyed home in a sleep. He begs an alms at his castle-gate in the name of God, St Thomas, and the noble Moringer; is admitted to his wife's presence; sings a lay describing his own case, which moves the lady much; throws into a beaker of wine, which she sets before him, the ring by which she was married to him, sends the cup back to her, and is recognized. Böhme, No 6, p. 32; Uhland, No 298, p. 773. (2.) In the older Hildebrandslied, which is of the 14th century, or earlier, the hero, returning after an absence of thirty-two years, drops his ring into a cup of wine presented to him by his wife. Böhme, No 1, p. 1; Uhland, No 132, p. 330. (3.) Wolfdietrich drops Ortnit's ring into a cup of wine sent him by Liebgart, who has been adjudged to the Graf von Biterne in consideration of his having, as he pretended, slain the dragon. The cup is returned to the empress, the ring identified, the pretension refuted, and Liebgart given to Ortnit's avenger. Wolfdietrich B, ed. Jänicke, I, 280 ff, stanzas 767-785. (4.) King Rother (whose history has passages of the strongest resemblance to Horn's), coming to retrieve his wife, who has been kidnapped and carried back to her father, lands below Constantinople, at a woody and hilly place, and assumes a pilgrim's disguise. On his way to the city he meets a man who tells him that Ymelot of Babylon has invaded Greece, and taken Constantin, his wife's father, prisoner; and that Constantin, to save his life, has consented to give his daughter to the heathen king's son. Rother steals into the hall, and even under the table at which the royal party are sitting, and contrives to slip his ring into the hand of his distressed young queen, who, thus assured of his presence, immediately recovers her spirits. Massmann, Deutsche Gedichte des zwœlften Jahrhunderts, Theil ii, p. 213, vv. 3687-3878.

One of the best and oldest stories of the kind we are engaged with is transmitted by Cæsarius of Heisterbach in his Dialogus Miraculorum, of the first quarter of the 13th century. Gerard, a soldier living in Holenbach ("his grandchildren are still alive, and there is hardly a man in the town who does not know about this"), being, like Moringer, devoted to St Thomas of India, was impelled to visit his shrine. He broke a ring and gave one half to his wife, saying, Expect me back in five years, and marry whom you wish if I do not come then. The journey, which would be long enough any way, was providentially protracted. He reached the shrine at last, and said his prayers, and then remembered that that was the last day of his fifth year. Alas, my wife will marry again, he thought; and quite right he was, for the wedding was even then preparing. A devil, acting under the orders of St Thomas, set Gerard down at his own door. He found his wife supping with her second partner, and dropped his half ring into her cup. She took it out, fitted it to the half which had been given her, rushed into his arms, and bade good-by to the new bridegroom. Ed. Strange, II, 131.

A tradition closely resembling this has been found in Switzerland, Gerard and St Thomas being exchanged for Wernhart von Strättlingen and St Michael. Menzel's Odin, p. 96.

Another of the most remarkable tales of this class is exquisitely told by Boccaccio in the Decamerone, G. x, N. ix. Messer Torello, going to the crusade, begs his wife to wait a year, a month, and a day before she marries again. The lady assures him that she will never be another man's wife; but he replies that a woman young, beautiful, and of high family, as she is, will not be allowed to have her way. With her parting embrace she gives him a ring from her finger, saying, If I die before I see you again, remember me when you look on this. The Christians were wasted by an excessive mortality, and those who escaped the ravages of disease fell into the hands of Saladin, and were imprisoned by him in various cities, Torello in Alexandria. Here he was recognized by Saladin, whom he had entertained with the most delicate and splendid hospitality a few months before, when the soldan was travelling through Italy in disguise. Saladin's return for this courtesy was so magnificent as almost to put Lombardy out of Torello's head,[170] and besides he trusted that his wife had been informed of his safety by a letter which he had sent. This was not so, however, and the death of another Torello was reported in Italy as his, in consequence of which his supposed widow was solicited in marriage, and was obliged to consent to take another husband after the time should have expired which she had promised to wait. A week before the last day, Torello learned that the ship which carried his letter had been wrecked, and the thought that his wife would now marry again drove him almost mad. Saladin extracted from him the cause of his distress, and promised that he should yet be at home before the time was out, which Torello, who had heard that such things had often been done, was ready to believe. And in fact, by means of one of his necromancers, Saladin caused Torello to be transported to Pavia in one night--the night before the new nuptials. Torello appeared at the banquet the next day in the guise of a Saracen, under the escort of an uncle of his, a churchman, and at the right moment sent word to the lady that it was a custom in his country for a bride to send her cup filled with wine to any stranger who might be present, and for him to drink half and cover the cup, and for her to drink the rest. To this the lady graciously assented. Torello drank out most of the wine, dropped in the ring which his wife had given him when they parted, and covered the cup. The lady, upon lifting the cover, saw the ring, knew her husband, and, upsetting the table in her ecstasy, threw herself into Torello's arms.

Tales of this description still maintain themselves in popular tradition. 'Der Ring ehelicher Treue,' Gottschalk, Deutsche Volksmärchen, II, 135, relates how Kuno von Falkenstein, going on a crusade, breaks his ring and gives one half to his wife, begging her to wait seven years before she marries again. He has the adventures of Henry of Brunswick, with differences, and, like Moringer, sings a lay describing his own case. The new bridegroom hands him a cup; he drops in his half ring, and passes the cup to the bride. The two halves join of themselves.[171] Other examples, not without variations and deficiencies, in details, are afforded by 'Der getheilte Trauring,' Schmitz, Sagen u. Legenden des Eifler Volkes, p. 82; 'Bodman,' Uhland, in Pfeiffer's Germania, IV, 73-76; 'Graf Hubert von Kalw,' Meier, Deutsche Sagen, u.s.w., aus Schwaben, p. 332, No 369, Grimms, Deutsche Sagen, No 524; 'Der Bärenhäuter,' Grimms, K.u.H. märchen, No 101; 'Berthold von Neuhaus,' in Kern's Schlesische Sagen-Chronik, p. 93.

A story of the same kind is interwoven with an exceedingly impressive adventure related of Richard Sans-Peur in Les Chroniques de Normandie, Rouen, 1487, chap. lvii, cited in Michel, Chronique des Ducs de Normandie par Benoit, II, 336 ff. A second is told of Guillaume Martel, seigneur de Bacqueville; still others of a seigneur Gilbert de Lomblon, a comrade of St. Louis in his first crusade. Amélie de Bosquet, La Normandie romanesque et merveilleuse, pp. 465-68, 470.

A Picard ballad, existing in two versions, partly cited by Rathery in the Moniteur Universel for August 26, 1853, tells of a Sire de Créqui, who, going beyond seas with, his sovereign, breaks his ring and gives half to his young wife; is gone ten years, and made captive by the Turks, who condemn him to death on account of his adhesion to Christ; and is transported to his château on the eve of the day of his doom. This very day his wife is to take another husband, sorely against her will. Créqui appears in the rags of a beggar, and legitimates himself by producing his half of the ring (which, in a way not explained by Rathery, has been brought back by a swan).

'Le Retour du Mari,' Puymaigre, Chants populaires messins, p. 20, has also some traits of ballads of this class. A bridegroom has to go on a campaign the very day of his nuptials. The campaign lasts seven years, and the day of his return his wife is about to remarry. He is invited to the wedding supper, and towards the close of it proposes to play cards to see who shall have the bride. The guests are surprised. The soldier says he will have the bride without winning her at cards or dice, and, turning to the lady, asks, Where are the rings I gave you at your wedding seven years ago? She will go for them; and here the story breaks off.[172]

The same hard fortune is that of Costantino, a young Albanian, who is called to the service of his king three days after his marriage. He gives back her ring to his wife, and tells her he must go to the wars for nine years. Should he not return in nine years and nine days, he bids her marry. The young wife says nothing, waits her nine years and nine days, and then, since she is much sought for, her father wishes her to marry. She says nothing, again, and they prepare for the bridal. Costantino, sleeping in the king's palace, has a bad dream, which makes him heave a sigh that comes to his sovereign's ear. The king summons all his soldiers, and inquires who heaved that sigh. Costantino confesses it was he, and says it was because his wife was marrying. The king orders him to take the swiftest horse and make for his home. Costantino meets his father, and learns that his dream is true, presses on to the church, arrives at the door at the same time as the bridal procession, and offers himself for a bride's-man. When they come to the exchange of rings, Costantino contrives that his ring shall remain on the bride's finger. She knows the ring; her tears burst forth. Costantino declares himself as having been already crowned with the lady.[173] Camarda, Appendice al Saggio di Grammatologia, etc., 90-97, a Calabrian-Albanese copy. There is a Sicilian, but incomplete, in Vigo, Canti popolari siciliani, p. 342 ff, ed. 1857, p. 695 ff, ed. 1870-74.

With this belongs a ballad, very common in Greece, which, however, has for the most part lost even more of what was in all probability the original catastrophe. 'Αναγνωρισμος,' Chasiotis, Popular Songs of Epirus, p. 88, No 27, comes nearer the common story than other versions.[174] A man who had been twelve years a slave after being a bridegroom of three days, dreams that his wife is marrying, runs to the cellar, and begins to sing dirges. The king hears, and is moved. "If it is one of the servants, increase his pay; if a slave, set him free." The slave tells his story (in three lines); the king bids him take a swift gray. The slave asks the horses, which is a swift gray. Only one answers, an old steed with forty wounds. "I am a swift gray; tie two or three handkerchiefs around your head, and tie yourself to my back!"[175] He comes upon his father pruning the vineyard. "Whose sheep are those feeding in the meadows?" "My lost son's." He comes to his mother. "What bride are they marrying?" "My lost son's." "Shall I get to them in church while they are crowning?" "If you have a fast horse, you will find them crowning; if you have a bad horse, you will find them at table." He finds them at church, and calls out, A bad way ye have: why do ye not bring out the bride, so that strangers may give her the cup? A good way we have, they answer, we who bring out the bride, and strangers give her the cup. Then he takes out his ring, while he is about to present the cup to the bride. The bride can read; she stands and reads (his name), and bids the company begone, for her mate has come, the first crowned.

In other cases we find the hero in prison. He was put in for thirty days; the keys are lost, and he stays thirty years. Legrand, p. 326, No 145; Νεοελληνικα Αναλεκτα, I, 85, No 19. More frequently he is a galley slave: Zambelios, p. 678, No 103==Passow, No 448; Tommaseo, III, 152==Passow, No 449; Sakellarios, Κυπριακα, III, 37, No 13: Νεοελληνικα Αναλεκτα, I, 86, No 20; Jeannaraki, Ασματα κρητικα, p. 203, No 265. His bad dream [a letter from home] makes him heave a sigh which shakes the prison, or stops [splits] the galley.[176] In Tommaseo, III, 152, on reaching the church, he cries, "Stand aside, gentlemen, stand aside, my masters; let the bride pour for me." She pours him one cup and two, and exclaims (the ring which was dropped into the cup having dropped out of the story), My John has come back! Then they both "go out like candles." In Sakellarios they embrace and fall dead, and when laid in the grave come up as a cypress and a citron tree. In the Cretan ballad John does not dismount, but takes the bride on to the horse and is off with her; so in the beautiful ballad in Fauriel, II, 140, No 11, 'Ἡ Ἁρπαγη,' "peut-être la plus distinguée de ce recueil," which belongs with this group, but seems to be later at the beginning and the end. Even here the bride takes a cup to pour a draught for the horseman.

In Russia the ring story is told of Dobrynya and Nastasya. Dobrynya, sent out shortly after his marriage to collect tribute for Vladimir, requests Nastasya to wait for him twelve years: then she may wed again, so it be not with Alesha. Twelve years pass. Alesha avows that he has seen Dobrynya's corpse lying on the steppe, and sues for her hand. Vladimir supports the suit, and Nastasya is constrained to accept this prohibited husband. Dobrynya's horse [two doves, a pilgrim] reveals to his master what is going on, and carries him home with marvellous speed. Dobrynya gains admittance to the wedding-feast in the guise of a merry-maker, and so pleases Vladimir with his singing that he is allowed to sit where he likes. He places himself opposite Nastasya, drops his ring in a cup, and asks her to drink to him. She finds the ring in the bottom, falls at his feet and implores pardon.[177] Wollner, Volksepik der Grossrussen, p. 122 f; Rambaud, La Russie Épique, p. 86 f.

We have the ring employed somewhat after the fashion of these western tales in Somadeva's story of Vidúshaka. The Vidyúdhárí Bhadrá, having to part for a while with Vidúshaka, for whom she had conceived a passion, gives him her ring. Subsequently, Vidúshaka obliges a rakshas whom he has subdued to convey him to the foot of a mountain on which Bhadrá had taken refuge. Many beautiful girls come to fetch water in golden pitchers from a lake, and, on inquiring, Vidúshaka finds that the water is for Bhadrá. One of the girls asks him to lift her pitcher on to her shoulder, and while doing this he drops into the pitcher Bhadrá's ring. When the water is poured on Bhadrá's hands, the ring falls out. Bhadrá asks her maids if they have seen a stranger. They say they have seen a mortal, and that he had helped one of them with her pitcher. They are ordered to go for the youth at once, for he is Bhadrá's consort.[178]

According to the letter of the ballads, should the ring given Horn by his lady turn wan or blue, this would signify that she loved another man: but though accuracy would be very desirable in such a case, these words are rather loose, since she never faltered in her love, and submitted to marry another, so far as she submitted, only under constraint. 'Horn Child,' sts 48, 71, agrees with the ballads as to this point. We meet a ring of similar virtue in 'Bonny Bee-Hom,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 187, and Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 169.

'But gin this ring should fade or fail, Or the stone should change its hue, Be sure your love is dead and gone, Or she has proved untrue.'

Jamieson, p. 191.

In the Roumanian ballad, 'Ring and Handkerchief,' a prince going to war gives his wife a ring: if it should rust, he is dead. She gives him a gold-embroidered handkerchief: if the gold melts, she is dead. Alecsandri, Poesiĭ pop. ale Românilor, p. 20, No 7; Stanley, Rouman Anthology, p. 16, p. 193. In Gonzenbach's Sicilianische Märchen, I, 39, No 7, a prince, on parting with his sister, gives her a ring, saying, So long as the stone is clear, I am well: if it is dimmed, that is a sign that I am dead. So No 5, at p. 23. A young man, in a Silesian story, receives a ring from his sweetheart, with the assurance that he can count upon her faith as long as the ring holds; and after twenty years' detention in the mines of Siberia, is warned of trouble by the ring's breaking: Goedsche, Schlesischer Sagen- Historien- u. Legendenschatz, I, 37, No 16. So in some copies of 'Lamkin,' the lord has a foreboding that some ill has happened to his lady from the rings on his fingers bursting in twain: Motherwell, p. 291, st. 23; Finlay, II, 47, st. 30.[179]

* * * * *

Hind Horn is translated by Grundtvig, Eng. og sk. Folkeviser, p. 274, No 42, mainly after the copy in Motherwell's Minstrelsy; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. l. der Vorzeit, p. 161, No 37, after Buchan (#H#); by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 184, No 52, after Allingham.

A

Motherwell's MS., p. 106. From Mrs King, Kilbarchan.

1 In Scotland there was a babie born, Lill lal, etc. And his name it was called young Hind Horn. With a fal lal, etc.

2 He sent a letter to our king That he was in love with his daughter Jean.

3 He's gien to her a silver wand, With seven living lavrocks sitting thereon.

4 She's gien to him a diamond ring, With seven bright diamonds set therein.

5 'When this ring grows pale and wan, You may know by it my love is gane.'

6 One day as he looked his ring upon, He saw the diamonds pale and wan.

7 He left the sea and came to land, And the first that he met was an old beggar man.

8 'What news, what news?' said young Hind Horn; 'No news, no news,' said the old beggar man.

9 'No news,' said the beggar, 'no news at a', But there is a wedding in the king's ha.

10 'But there is a wedding in the king's ha, That has halden these forty days and twa.'

11 'Will ye lend me your begging coat? And I'll lend you my scarlet cloak.

12 'Will you lend me your beggar's rung? And I'll gie you my steed to ride upon.

13 'Will you lend me your wig o hair, To cover mine, because it is fair?'

14 The auld beggar man was bound for the mill, But young Hind Horn for the king's hall.

15 The auld beggar man was bound for to ride, But young Hind Horn was bound for the bride.

16 When he came to the king's gate, He sought a drink for Hind Horn's sake.

17 The bride came down with a glass of wine, When he drank out the glass, and dropt in the ring.

18 'O got ye this by sea or land? Or got ye it off a dead man's hand?'

19 'I got not it by sea, I got it by land, And I got it, madam, out of your own hand.'

20 'O I'll cast off my gowns of brown, And beg wi you frae town to town.

21 'O I'll cast off my gowns of red, And I'll beg wi you to win my bread.'

22 'Ye needna cast off your gowns of brown, For I'll make you lady o many a town.

23 'Ye needna cast off your gowns of red, It's only a sham, the begging o my bread.'

24 The bridegroom he had wedded the bride, But young Hind Horn he took her to bed.

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 418. From the singing of a servant-girl at Halkhead.

1 I never saw my love before, With a hey lillelu and a ho lo lan Till I saw her thro an oger bore. With a hey down and a hey diddle downie

2 She gave to me a gay gold ring, With three shining diamonds set therein.

3 And I gave to her a silver wand, With three singing lavrocks set thereon.

4 'What if these diamonds lose their hue, Just when your love begins for to rew?'

5 He's left the land, and he's gone to sea, And he's stayd there seven years and a day.

6 But when he looked this ring upon, The shining diamonds were both pale and wan.

7 He's left the seas and he's come to the land, And there he met with an auld beggar man.

8 'What news, what news, thou auld beggar man For it is seven years sin I've seen lan.'

9 'No news,' said the old beggar man, 'at all, But there is a wedding in the king's hall.'

10 'Wilt thou give to me thy begging coat? And I'll give to thee my scarlet cloak.

11 'Wilt thou give to me thy begging staff? And I'll give to thee my good gray steed.'

12 The old beggar man was bound for to ride, But Young Hynd Horn was bound for the bride.

13 When he came to the king's gate, He asked a drink for Young Hynd Horn's sake.

14 The news unto the bonnie bride came That at the yett there stands an auld man.

15 'There stands an auld man at the king's gate; He asketh a drink for young Hyn Horn's sake.'

16 'I'll go thro nine fires so hot, But I'll give him a drink for Young Hyn Horn's sake.'

17 She gave him a drink out of her own hand; He drank out the drink and he dropt in the ring.

18 'Got thou't by sea, or got thou't by land? Or got thou't out of any dead man's hand?'

19 'I got it not by sea, but I got it by land, For I got it out of thine own hand.'

20 'I'll cast off my gowns of brown, And I'll follow thee from town to town.

21 'I'll cast off my gowns of red, And along with thee I'll beg my bread.'

22 'Thou need not cast off thy gowns of brown, For I can make thee lady of many a town.

23 'Thou need not cast off thy gowns of red, For I can maintain thee with both wine and bread.'

24 The bridegroom thought he had the bonnie bride wed, But Young Hyn Horn took the bride to bed.

C

#a.# Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 42: from Agnes Lyle. #b.# Motherwell's MS., p. 413: from the singing of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.

1 Young Hyn Horn's to the king's court gone, Hoch hey and an ney O He's fallen in love with his little daughter Jean. Let my love alone, I pray you

2 He's bocht to her a little gown, With seven broad flowers spread it along.

3 She's given to him a gay gold ring. The posie upon it was richt plain.

4 'When you see it losing its comely hue, So will I my love to you.'

5 Then within a little wee, Hyn Horn left land and went to sea.

6 When he lookt his ring upon, He saw it growing pale and wan.

7 Then within a little [wee] again, Hyn Horn left sea and came to the land.

8 As he was riding along the way, There he met with a jovial beggar.

9 'What news, what news, old man?' he did say: 'This is the king's young dochter's wedding day.'

10 'If this be true you tell to me, You must niffer clothes with me.

11 'You'll gie me your cloutit coat, I'll gie you my fine velvet coat.

12 'You'll gie me your cloutit pock, I'll gie you my purse; it'll be no joke.'

13 'Perhaps there['s] nothing in it, not one bawbee;' 'Yes, there's gold and silver both,' said he.

14 'You'll gie me your bags of bread, And I'll gie you my milk-white steed.'

15 When they had niffered all, he said, 'You maun learn me how I'll beg.'

16 'When you come before the gate, You'll ask for a drink for the highman's sake.'

17 When that he came before the gate, He calld for a drink for the highman's sake.

18 The bride cam tripping down the stair, To see whaten a bold beggar was there.

19 She gave him a drink with her own hand; He loot the ring drop in the can.

20 'Got ye this by sea or land? Or took ye't aff a dead man's hand?'

21 'I got na it by sea nor land, But I got it aff your own hand.'

22 The bridegroom cam tripping down the stair, But there was neither bride nor beggar there.

23 Her ain bridegroom had her first wed, But Young Hyn Horn had her first to bed.

D

Cromek's Select Scotish Songs, II, 204.

1 Near Edinburgh was a young son born, Hey lilelu an a how low lan An his name it was called young Hyn Horn. An it's hey down down deedle airo

2 Seven long years he served the king, An it's a' for the sake of his daughter Jean.

3 The king an angry man was he; He send young Hyn Horn to the sea.

* * * * * * *

4 An on his finger she put a ring. . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

5 'When your ring turns pale and wan, Then I'm in love wi another man.'

* * * * * * *

6 Upon a day he lookd at his ring, It was as pale as anything.

7 He's left the sea, an he's come to the lan, An there he met an auld beggar man.

8 'What news, what news, my auld beggar man? What news, what news, by sea or by lan?'

9 'Nae news, nae news,' the auld beggar said, 'But the king's dochter Jean is going to be wed.'

10 'Cast off, cast off thy auld beggar-weed, An I'll gie thee my gude gray steed.'

* * * * * * *

11 When he cam to our guid king's yet, He sought a glass o wine for young Hyn Horn's sake.

12 He drank out the wine, an he put in the ring, An he bade them carry't to the king's dochter Jean.

* * * * * * *

13 'O gat ye't by sea, or gat ye't by lan? Or gat ye't aff a dead man's han?'

14 'I gat na't by sea, I gat na't by lan, But I gat it out of your own han.'

* * * * * * *

15 'Go take away my bridal gown, For I'll follow him frae town to town.'

16 'Ye need na leave your bridal gown, For I'll make ye ladie o' mony a town.'

E

Motherwell's MS., p. 91. From the recitation of Mrs Wilson.

* * * * * * *

1 Hynd Horn he has lookt on his ring, Hey ninny ninny, how ninny nanny And it was baith black and blue, And she is either dead or she's married. And the barck and the broom blooms bonnie

2 Hynd Horn he has shuped to land, And the first he met was an auld beggar man.

3 'What news, what news, my silly auld man? For it is seven years syne I have seen land.

4 'What news, what news, my auld beggar man? What news, what news, by sea or by land?'

5 'There is a king's dochter in the east, And she has been marryed these nine nights past.

6 'Intil the bride's bed she winna gang Till she hears tell of her Hynd Horn.'

7 'Cast aff, cast aff thy auld beggar weed, And I will gie thee my gude gray steed.'

F

Lowran Castle, or the Wild Boar of Curridoo: with other Tales. By Robert Trotter, Dumfries, 1822, p. 6. From the recitation of a young friend.

1 In Newport town this knight was born, Hey lily loo, hey loo lan And they've called him Young Hynd Horn. Fal lal la, fal the dal the dady

2 Seven long years he served the king, For the love of his daughter Jean.

3 He courted her through a wimble bore, The way never woman was courted before.

4 He gave her through a silver wand, With three singing laverocks there upon.

5 She gave him back a gay gold ring, With three bright diamonds glittering.

6 'When this ring grows pale and blue, Fair Jeanie's love is lost to you.'

7 Young Hynd Horn is gone to sea, And there seven long years staid he.

8 When he lookd his ring upon, It grew pale and it grew wan.

9 Young Hynd Horn is come to land, When he met an old beggar man.

10 'What news, what news doth thee betide?' 'No news, but Princess Jeanie's a bride.'

11 'Will ye give me your old brown cap? And I'll give you my gold-laced hat.

12 'Will ye give me your begging weed? And I'll give you my good grey steed.'

13 The beggar has got on to ride, But Young Hynd Horn's bound for the bride.

* * * * * * *

G

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 135. "From the recitation of my niece, M. Kinnear, 23 Aug^t, 1826:" the north of Scotland.

1 'Hynde Horn's bound love, and Hynde Horn's free, Whare was ye born, or in what countrie?'

2 'In gude greenwud whare I was born, And all my friends left me forlorn.

3 'I gave my love a silver wand; That was to rule oure all Scotland.

4 'My love gave me a gay gowd ring; That was to rule abune a' thing.'

5 'As lang as that ring keeps new in hue, Ye may ken that your love loves you.

6 'But whan that ring turns pale and wan, Ye may ken that your love loves anither man.'

7 He hoisted up his sails, and away sailed he, Till that he cam to a foreign countrie.

8 He looked at his ring; it was turnd pale and wan; He said, 'I wish I war at hame again.'

9 He hoisted up his sails, and hame sailed he, Until that he came to his ain countrie.

10 The first ane that he met wi Was wi a puir auld beggar man.

11 'What news, what news, my silly old man? What news hae ye got to tell to me?'

12 'Na news, na news,' the puir man did say, 'But this is our queen's wedding day.'

13 'Ye'll lend me your begging weed, And I'll gie you my riding steed.'

14 'My begging weed is na for thee, Your riding steed is na for me.'

15 But he has changed wi the beggar man, . . . . . . .

16 'Which is the gate that ye used to gae? And what are the words ye beg wi?'

17 'Whan ye come to yon high hill, Ye'll draw your bent bow nigh until.

18 'Whan ye come to yonder town, Ye'll let your bent bow low fall down.

19 'Ye'll seek meat for St Peter, ask for St Paul, And seek for the sake of Hynde Horn all.

20 'But tak ye frae nane of them a', Till ye get frae the bonnie bride hersel O.'

21 Whan he cam to yon high hill, He drew his bent bow nigh until.

22 And whan he cam to yonder town, He lute his bent bow low fall down.

23 He saught meat for St Peter, he askd for St Paul, And he sought for the sake of Hynde Horn all.

24 But he would tak frae nane o them a', Till he got frae the bonnie bride hersel O.

25 The bride cam tripping doun the stair, Wi the scales o red gowd on her hair.

26 Wi a glass of red wine in her hand, To gie to the puir auld beggar man.

27 It's out he drank the glass o wine, And into the glass he dropt the ring.

28 'Got ye't by sea, or got ye't by land, Or got ye't aff a drownd man's hand?'

29 'I got na't by sea, I got na't by land, Nor got I it aff a drownd man's hand.

30 'But I got it at my wooing, And I'll gie it at your wedding.'

31 'I'll tak the scales o gowd frae my head, I'll follow you, and beg my bread.

32 'I'll tak the scales of gowd frae my hair, I'll follow you for evermair.'

33 She has tane the scales o gowd frae her head, She has followed him to beg her bread.

34 She has tane the scales o gowd frae her hair, And she has followed him for evermair.

35 But atween the kitchen and the ha, There he lute his cloutie cloak fa.

36 And the red gowd shined oure him a', And the bride frae the bridegroom was stown awa.

H

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 268.

1 'Hynd Horn fair, and Hynd Horn free, O where were you born, in what countrie?'

2 'In gude greenwood, there I was born, And all my forbears me beforn.

3 'O seven years I served the king, And as for wages, I never gat nane;

4 'But ae sight o his ae daughter, And that was thro an augre bore.

5 'My love gae me a siller wand, 'Twas to rule ower a' Scotland.

6 'And she gae me a gay gowd ring, The virtue o't was above a' thing.'

7 'As lang's this ring it keeps the hue, Ye'll know I am a lover true:

8 'But when the ring turns pale and wan, Ye'll know I love another man.'

9 He hoist up sails, and awa saild he, And saild into a far countrie.

10 And when he lookd upon his ring, He knew she loved another man.

11 He hoist up sails and home came he, Home unto his ain countrie.

12 The first he met on his own land, It chancd to be a beggar man.

13 'What news, what news, my gude auld man? What news, what news, hae ye to me?'

14 'Nae news, nae news,' said the auld man, 'The morn's our queen's wedding day.'

15 'Will ye lend me your begging weed? And I'll lend you my riding steed.'

16 'My begging weed will ill suit thee, And your riding steed will ill suit me.'

17 But part be right, and part be wrang, Frae the beggar man the cloak he wan.

18 'Auld man, come tell to me your leed; What news ye gie when ye beg your bread.'

19 'As ye walk up unto the hill, Your pike staff ye lend ye till.

20 'But whan ye come near by the yett, Straight to them ye will upstep.

21 'Take nane frae Peter, nor frae Paul, None frae high or low o them all.

22 'And frae them all ye will take nane, Until it comes frae the bride's ain hand.'

23 He took nane frae Peter nor frae Paul, Nane frae the high nor low o them all.

24 And frae them all he would take nane, Until it came frae the bride's ain hand.

25 The bride came tripping down the stair, The combs o red gowd in her hair.

26 A cup o red wine in her hand, And that she gae to the beggar man.

27 Out o the cup he drank the wine, And into the cup he dropt the ring.

28 'O got ye't by sea, or got ye't by land, Or got ye't on a drownd man's hand?'

29 'I got it not by sea, nor got it by land, Nor got I it on a drownd man's hand.

30 'But I got it at my wooing gay, And I'll gie't you on your wedding day.'

31 'I'll take the red gowd frae my head, And follow you, and beg my bread.

32 'I'll take the red gowd frae my hair, And follow you for evermair.'

33 Atween the kitchen and the ha, He loot his cloutie cloak down fa.

34 And wi red gowd shone ower them a', And frae the bridegroom the bride he sta.

* * * * *

#A.#

1^2, 8^1, 14^2, 15^2, 16^2, 24^2. Hindhorn.

#B.#

The burden is given in Motherwell, Appendix, p. xviii, thus:

With a hey lilloo and a how lo lan And the birk and the brume blooms bonnie.

12^2, 13^2. Hyndhorn.

15^2, 16^2, 24^2. Hynhorn.

#C. a.#

5^2. to see.

5^2, 7^2. Hynhorn.

23^2. H. horn.

11^1. clouted.

11^1, 14^1. give.

14^2. white milk. #b.# milk-white.

16^2. hymen's. #b.# highman's.

22^1. can.

#b.#

5^2, 7^2, 23^2. Hynhorn.

7^1. little wee.

13^1. there's.

#D.#

1^2, 3^2, 11^2. Hynhorn.

#E.#

The second line of the burden stands after st. 2 in MS.

2^1. The MS reading may be ~sheeped~.

2^1, 6^2. Hyndhorn.

#G.#

_After ~my niece, M. Kinnear, etc.~, stands in pencil ~Christy Smith~._

15. On the opposite page, over against this stanza, is written:

But part by richt, or part be wrang, The auldman's duddie cloak he's on.

#G# and #H# are printed by Kinloch and by Buchan in four-line stanzas.

The stanzas printed by Motherwell, which have not been found in his manuscripts, are:

10 Seven lang years he has been on the sea, And Hynd Horn has looked how his ring may be.

21 The auld beggar man cast off his coat, And he's taen up the scarlet cloak.

22 The auld beggar man threw down his staff, And he has mounted the good gray steed.

29 She went to the gate where the auld man did stand, And she gave him a drink out of her own hand.

[159] This I should have missed but for the kindness of Mr W. Macmath.Return to passage

[160] Motherwell's printed copy, Minstrelsy, p. 36, is thus made up: stanzas 1, 2, 3, 8, 15, from Cromek (#D#); 4-7, 9, 11, 13, 14, 16, 19, 20, 24-28, 30-37, from #B#; 12, 17, 18 from #E#. 23 # #A# 14. 10, 21, 22, 29, have not been found in his manuscripts. The first line of the burden is from #B#, the second from #E#. Motherwell alters his texts slightly, now and then.Return to passage

[161] #C# 16, 17 are corrupted, and also #F# 19, 23, #G# 21; all three in a way which allows of easy emendation. Hymon [high, man] in #C# should of course be Hyn Horn. The injunction in #G#, #H# should be to ask nothing for Peter or Paul's sake, but all for Horn's.Return to passage

[162] When Horn was near the city, he stopped to see how things would go. King Modun passed, with Wikel, in gay discourse of the charms of Rimild. Horn called out to them insultingly, and Modun asked who he was. Horn said he had formerly served a man of consequence as his fisherman: he had thrown a net almost seven years ago, and had now come to give it a look. If it had taken any fish, he would love it no more; if it should still be as he left it, he would carry it away. Modun thinks him a fool. (3984-4057, and nearly the same in 'Horn Childe and Maiden Rimild,' 77-79). This is part of a story in the Gesta Romanorum, of a soldier who loved the emperor's daughter, and went to the holy land for seven years, after a mutual exchange of fidelity for that time. A king comes to woo the princess, but is put off for seven years, upon her alleging that she has made a vow of virginity for so long. At the expiration of this term, the king and the soldier meet as they are on the way to the princess. The king, from certain passages between them, thinks the soldier a fool. The soldier takes leave of the king under pretence of looking after a net which he had laid in a certain place seven years before, rides on ahead, and slips away with the princess. Gest. Rom., Oesterley, p. 597, No 193; Grässe, II, 159; Madden, p. 32; Swan, I, p. lxv. A similar story in Campbell's Tales of the West Highlands, I, 281, 'Baillie Lunnain.' (Simrock, Deutsche Märchen, No 47, is apparently a translation from the Gesta.) The riddle of the hawk, slightly varied, is met with in the romance of Blonde of Oxford and Jehan of Dammartin, v. 2811 ff, 3143 ff, 3288 ff (ed. Le Roux de Lincy, pp. 98, 109, 114), and, still further modified, in Le Romant de Jehan de Paris, ed. Montaiglon, pp. 55, 63, 111. (Le Roux de Lincy, Köhler, Mussafia, G. Paris). 'Horn et Rimenhild,' it will be observed, has both riddles, and that of the net is introduced under circumstances entirely like those in the Gesta Romanorum. The French romance is certainly independent of the English in this passage.Return to passage

[163] See the excellent studies of King Horn by Wissmann, in Quellen und Forschungen, No 16, and Anglia, IV, 342 ff.Return to passage

[164] #A#, #B#, and #E#, which had not been printed at the time of his writing, will convince Professor Stimming, whose valuable review in Englische Studien, I, 351 ff, supplements, and in the matter of derivation, I think, rectifies, Wissmann's Untersuchungen, that the king's daughter in the ballads was faithful to Horn, and that they were marrying her against her will, as in the romances. This contingency seems not to have been foreseen when the ring was given: but it must be admitted that it was better for the ring to change, to the temporary clouding of the lady's character, than to have Horn stay away and the forced marriage go on.Return to passage

[165] See the ample introduction to 'Henrik af Brunsvig,' in Grundtvig, No 114, II, 608 ff.Return to passage

[166] It appears that these half rings are often dug up. "Neuere Ausgrabungen haben vielfach auf solche Ringstücke geführt, die, als Zeichen unverbrüchlicher Treue, einst mit dem Geliebten gebrochen, ja wie der Augenschein beweist, entzwei geschnitten, und so ins Grab mitgenommen wurden, zum Zeichen dass die Liebe über den Tod hinaus daure." Rochholz, Schweizersagen aus dem Aargau, II, 116.Return to passage

[167] Translated, with introduction of verses from #A#, by Prior, Ancient Danish Ballads, II, 71.Return to passage

[168] I have not seen this, and depend upon others here.Return to passage

[169] Gödeke, 'Reinfrît von Braunschweig,' p. 89, conjectures that the half ring was, or would have been, employed in the sequel by some impostor (the story may never have been finished) as evidence of Brunswick's death. A ring is so used in a Silesian tradition, of the general character of that of Henry the Lion, with the difference that the knight is awakened by a cock's crowing: 'Die Hahnkrähe bei Breslau,' in Kern's Schlesische Sagen-Chronik, p. 151. There is a variation of this last, without the deception by means of the ring, in Goedsche's Schlesischer Sagenschatz, p. 37, No 16.Return to passage

[170] There are marked correspondences between Boccaccio's story and the veritable history of Henry the Lion as given by Bartsch, Herzog Ernst, cxxvi f: e. g., the presents of clothes by the empress (transferred to Torello's wife), and the handsome behavior of two soldens, here attributed to Saladin.Return to passage

[171] Without the conclusion, also in Binder's Schwäbische Volkssagen, II, 173. These Volksmärchen, by the way, are "erzählt" by Gottschalk. It is not made quite so clear as could be wished, whether they are merely re-told.Return to passage

[172] Germaine's husband, after an absence of seven years, overcomes his wife's doubts of his identity by exhibiting half of her ring, which happened to break the day of their wedding, or the day after: Puymaigre, p. 11, Champfleury, Chansons des Provinces, p. 77. The conclusion to Sir Tristrem, which Scott supplied, "abridged from the French metrical romance, in the style of Tomas of Erceldoune," makes Ganhardin lay a ring in a cup which Brengwain hands Ysonde, who recognizes the ring as Tristrem's token. The cup was one of the presents made to King Mark by Tristrem's envoy, and is transferred to Ysonde by Scott. The passage has been cited as ancient and genuine.Return to passage

[173] In the Greek rite, rings are used in the betrothal, which as a rule immediately precedes the marriage. The rings are exchanged by the priest and sponsors (Camarda says three times). Crowns, of vine twigs, etc., are the emblems in the nuptial ceremony, and these are also changed from one head to the other.Return to passage

[174] I was guided to nearly all these Greek ballads by Professor Liebrecht's notes, Zur Volkskunde, p. 207.Return to passage

[175] This high-mettled horse is a capital figure in most of the versions. In one of them the caution is given, "Do not feel safe in spurring him: he will scatter thy brains ten ells below the ground." The gray (otherwise the black) is of the same breed as the Russian Dobrynya's, a little way on; or the foal that took Charles the Great, under similar circumstances, from Passau to Aachen between morn and eve, ('Karl der Grosse,' from Enenkels Weltbuch, c. 1250, in von der Hagen's Gesammtabenteuer, II, 619 ff); or the black in the poem and tale of Thedel von Walmoden.Return to passage

[176] In Jeannaraki the bey says, "My slave, give us a song, and I will free you." John sings of his love, whom he was to lose that day. So Zambelios, as above, Tommaseo, p. 152, and Νεο. Αναλ. No. 20. Compare Brunswick, in Wyssenhere, and Moringer.Return to passage

[177] Otherwise: Nastasya waits six years, as desired; is told that Dobrynya is dead and is urged to marry Alesha; will not hear of marriage for six years more; Vladimir then interposes. Dobrynya is furious, as these absentees are sometimes pleased to be. He complains that women have long hair and short wits, and so does Brunswick in Wyssenhere's poem, st. 89. Numerous as are the instances of these long absences, the woman is rarely, if ever, represented as in the least to blame. The behavior of the man, on the other hand, is in some cases trying. Thus, the Conde Dirlos tells his young wife to wait for him seven years, and if he does not come in eight to marry the ninth. He accomplishes the object of his expedition in three years, but stays fifteen, never writes,--he had taken an unnecessary oath not to do that before he started,--and forbids anybody else to write, on pain of death. Such is his humor; but he is very much provoked at being reported dead. Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera y Flor de Romances, II, 129, No 164.Return to passage

[178] Kathá Sarit Ságara (of the early part of the 12th century), Tawney's translation, I, 136 ff. The story is cited by Rajna, in Romania, VI, 359. Herr v. Bodman leaves his marriage ring in a wash-bowl! Meier, Deutsche V. m. aus Schwaben, 214 f.Return to passage

[179] The ring given Horn by Rymenbild, in 'King Horn,' 579 ff (Wissmann), and in the French romance, 2056 ff, protects him against material harm or mishap, or assures him superiority in fight, as long as he is faithful. So in Buchan's version of 'Bonny Bee-Ho'm,' st. 8:Return to passage

'As lang's this ring's your body on, Your blood shall neer be drawn.'

"The king's daughter of Linne" gives her champion two rings, one of which renders him invulnerable, and the other will staunch the blood of any of his men who may be wounded: Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lvii. Eglamore's ring, Percy MS., II, 363, st. 51, will preserve his life on water or land. A ring given Wolfdietrich by the empress, #D# VIII, st. 42, ed. Jänicke, doubles his strength and makes him fire-proof in his fight with the dragon. The ring lent Ywaine by his lady will keep him from prison, sickness, loss of blood, or being made captive in battle, and give him superiority to all antagonists, so long as he is true in love: Ritson, Met. Rom. I, 65, vv 1533 ff. But an Indian ring which Reinfrît receives from his wife before he departs for the crusade, 15,066 ff, has no equal, after all; for, besides doing as much as the best of these, it imparts perpetual good spirits. It is interesting to know that this matchless jewel had once been the property of a Scottish king, and was given by him to his daughter when she was sent to Norway to be married: under convoy of Sir Patrick Spens?

18

SIR LIONEL.

#A.# 'Sir Lionell,' Percy MS., p. 32, Hales and Furnivall, I, 75.

#B.# 'Isaac-a-Bell and Hugh the Græme,' Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 110.

#C. a.# 'The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove,' Allies, The British, Roman and Saxon Antiquities and Folk-Lore of Worcestershire, 2d ed., p. 116. #b.# Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 124.

#D.# Allies, as above, p. 118.

#E. a.# 'The Old Man and his Three Sons,' Bell, as above, p. 250. #b.# Mr Robert White's papers.

#F.# Allies, as above, p. 120.

#B# can be traced in Banffshire, according to Christie, for more than a hundred years, through the old woman that sang it, and her forbears. #C a#, #D# were originally published by Allies in the year 1845, in a pamphlet bearing the title The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove, Horne the Hunter, and Robin Hood. No intimation as to the source of his copy, #C b#, is given by Bell, i. e., Dixon. Apparently all the variations from Allies, #C a#, are of the nature of editorial improvements. #E a# is said (1857) to be current in the north of England as a nursery song.

One half of #A#, the oldest and fullest copy of this ballad (the second and fourth quarters), is wanting in the Percy MS. What we can gather of the story is this. A knight finds a lady sitting in a tree, #A#, #C#, #D# [under a tree, #E#], who tells him that a wild boar has slain Sir Broning, #A# [killed her lord and thirty of his men, #C#; worried her lord and wounded thirty, #E#]. The knight kills the boar, #B-D#, and seems to have received bad wounds in the process, #A#, #B#; the boar belonged to a giant, #B#; or a wild woman, #C#, #D#. The knight is required to forfeit his hawks and leash, and the little finger of his right hand, #A# [his horse, his hound, and his lady, #C#]. He refuses to submit to such disgrace, though in no condition to resist, #A#; the giant allows him time to heal his wounds, forty days, #A#; thirty-three, #B#; and he is to leave his lady as security for his return, #A#. At the end of this time the knight comes back sound and well, #A#, #B#, and kills the giant as he had killed the boar, #B#. #C# and #D# say nothing of the knight having been wounded. The wild woman, to revenge her "pretty spotted pig," flies fiercely at him, and he cleaves her in two. The last quarter of the Percy copy would, no doubt, reveal what became of the lady who was sitting in the tree, as to which the traditional copies give no light.

Our ballad has much in common with the romance of 'Sir Eglamour of Artois,' Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, II, 338; Thornton Romances, Camden Society, ed. Halliwell, p. 121; Ellis, Metrical Romances, from an early printed copy, Bohn's ed., p. 527. Eglamour, simple knight, loving Christabel, an earl's daughter, is required by the father, who does not wish him well, to do three deeds of arms, the second being to kill a boar in the kingdom of Sattin or Sydon, which had been known to slay forty armed knights in one day (Percy, st. 37). This Eglamour does, after a very severe fight. The boar belonged to a giant, who had kept him fifteen years to slay Christian men (Thornton, st. 42, Percy, 40). This giant had demanded the king of Sydon's daughter's hand, and comes to carry her off, by force, if necessary, the day following the boar-fight. Eglamour, who had been found by the king in the forest, in a state of exhaustion, after a contest which had lasted to the third or fourth day, and had been taken home by him and kindly cared for, is now ready for action again. He goes to the castle walls with a squire, who carries the boar's head on a spear. The giant, seeing the head, exclaims,

'Alas, art thou dead! My trust was all in thee! Now by the law that I lieve in, My little speckled hoglin, Dear bought shall thy death be.'

Percy, st. 44.

Eglamour kills the giant, and returns to Artois with both heads. The earl has another adventure ready for him, and hopes the third chance may quit all. Eglamour asks for twelve weeks to rest his weary body.

#B# comes nearest the romance, and possibly even the wood of Tore is a reminiscence of Artois. The colloquy with the giant in #B# is also, perhaps, suggested by one which had previously taken place between Eglamour and another giant, brother of this, after the knight had killed one of his harts (Percy, st. 25). #C# 11, #D# 9 strikingly resemble the passage of the romance cited above (Percy, 44, Thornton, 47).

The ballad has also taken up something from the romance of 'Eger and Grime,' Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 341; Laing, Early Metrical Tales, p. 1; 'Sir Eger, Sir Grahame, and Sir Gray-Steel,' Ellis's Specimens, p. 546. Sir Egrabell (Rackabello, Isaac-a-Bell), Lionel's father, recalls Sir Eger, and Hugh the Græme in #B# is of course the Grahame or Grime of the romance, the Hugh being derived from a later ballad. Gray-Steel, a man of proof, although not quite a giant, cuts off the little finger of Eger's right hand, as the giant proposes to do to Lionel in #A# 21.

The friar in #E# 1^3, 4^1, may be a corruption of Ryalas, or some like name, as the first line of the burden of #E#, 'Wind well, Lion, good hunter,' seems to be a perversion of 'Wind well thy horn, good hunter,' in #C#, #D#.[180] This part of the burden, especially as it occurs in #A#, is found, nearly, in a fragment of a song of the time of Henry VIII, given by Mr Chappell in his Popular Music of the Olden Time, I, 58, as copied from "MSS Reg., Append. 58."

'Blow thy horne, hunter, Cum, blow thy horne on hye! In yonder wode there lyeth a doo, In fayth she woll not dye. Cum, blow thy horne, hunter, Cum, blow thy horne, joly hunter!'

A terrible swine is a somewhat favorite figure in romantic tales. A worthy peer of the boar of Sydon is killed by King Arthur in 'The Avowynge of King Arthur,' etc., Robson, Three Early English Metrical Romances (see st. xii). But both of these, and even the Erymanthian, must lower their bristles before the boar in 'Kilhwch and Olwen,' Mabinogion, Part iv, pp. 309-16. Compared with any of these, the "felon sow" presented by Ralph Rokeby to the friars of Richmond (Evans, Old Ballads, II, 270, ed. 1810, Scott, Appendix to Rokeby, note M) is a tame villatic pig: the old mettle is bred out.

Professor Grundtvig has communicated to me a curious Danish ballad of this class, 'Limgrises Vise,' from a manuscript of the latter part of the 16th century. A very intractable damsel, after rejecting a multitude of aspirants, at last marries, with the boast that her progeny shall be fairer than Christ in heaven. She has a litter of nine pups, a pig, and a boy. The pig grows to be a monster, and a scourge to the whole region.

He drank up the water from dike and from dam, And ate up, besides, both goose, gris and lamb.

The beast is at last disposed of by baiting him with the nine congenerate dogs, who jump down his throat, rend liver and lights, and find their death there, too. This ballad smacks of the broadside, and is assigned to the 16th century. A fragment of a Swedish swine-ballad, in the popular tone, is given by Dybeck, Runa, 1845, p. 23; another, very similar, in Axelson's Vesterdalarne, p. 179, 'Koloregris,' and Professor Sophus Bugge has recovered some Norwegian verses. The Danish story of the monstrous birth of the pig has become localized: the Liimfiord is related to have been made by the grubbing of the Limgris: Thiele, Danmarks Folkesagn, II. 19, two forms.

There can hardly be anything but the name in common between the Lionel of this ballad and Lancelot's cousin-german.

A

Percy MS., p. 32, Hales and Furnivall, I, 75.

1 Sir Egrabell had sonnes three, Blow thy horne, good hunter Sir Lyonell was one of these. As I am a gentle hunter

2 S_ir_ Lyonell wold on hunting ryde, Vntill the forrest him beside.

3 And as he rode thorrow the wood, Where trees and harts and all were good,

4 And as he rode over the plaine, There he saw a knight lay slaine.

5 And as he rode still on the plaine, He saw a lady sitt in a graine.

6 'Say thou, lady, and tell thou me, What blood shedd heere has bee.'

7 'Of this blood shedd we may all rew, Both wife and childe and man alsoe.

8 'For it is not past 3 days right Since S_ir_ Broninge was mad a k_nigh_t.

9 'Nor it is not more than 3 dayes agoe Since the wild bore did him sloe.'

10 'Say thou, lady, and tell thou mee, How long thou wilt sitt in _tha_t tree.'

11 She said, 'I will sitt in this tree Till my friends doe feitch me.'

12 'Tell me, lady, and doe not misse, Where that y_ou_r friends dwellings is.'

13 'Downe,' shee said, 'in yonder towne, There dwells my freinds of great renowne.'

14 Says, 'Lady, Ile ryde into yonder towne And see wether y_ou_r friends beene bowne.

15 'I my self wilbe the formost man That shall come, lady, to feitch you home.'

16 But as he rode then by the way, He thought it shame to goe away;

17 And vmbethought him of a wile, How he might that wilde bore beguile.

18 'S_i_r Egrabell,' he said, 'my father was; He neuer left lady in such a case;

19 'Noe more will I' ... . . . . . . .

20 'And a[fter] that thou shalt doe mee Thy hawkes and thy lease alsoe.

21 'Soe shalt thou doe at my com_m_and The litle fingar on thy right hand.'

22 'Ere I wold leaue all this with thee, Vpoon this ground I rather dyee.'

23 The gyant gaue S_i_r Lyon_el_l such a blow, The fyer out of his eyen did throw.

24 He said then, 'if I were saffe and sound, As with-in this hower I was in this ground,

25 'It shold be in the next towne told How deare thy buffett it was sold;

26 'And it shold haue beene in the next towne _sai_d How well thy buffett it were paid.'

27 'Take 40 daies into spite, To heale thy wounds that beene soe wide.

28 'When 40 dayes beene at an end, Heere meete thou me both safe and sound.

29 'And till thou come to me againe, With me thoust leaue thy lady alone.

30 When 40 dayes was at an end, Sir Lyon_el_l of his wounds was healed sound.

31 He tooke with him a litle page, He gaue to him good yeomans wage.

32 And as he rode by one hawthorne, Even there did hang his hunting horne.

33 He sett his bugle to his mouth, And blew his bugle still full south.

34 He blew his bugle lowde and shrill; The lady heard, and came him till.

35 Sayes, 'the gyant lyes vnder yond low, And well he heares yo_u_r bugle blow.

36 'And bidds me of good cheere be, This night heele supp with you and me.'

37 Hee sett that lady vppon a steede, And a litle boy before her yeede.

38 And said, 'lady, if you see that I must dye, As euer you loued me, from me flye.

39 'But, lady, if you see _tha_t I must liue,' . . . . . . .

B

Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 110. From the singing of an old woman in Buckie, Enzie, Banffshire.

1 A knicht had two sons o sma fame, Hey nien nanny Isaac-a-Bell and Hugh the Graeme. And the norlan flowers spring bonny

2 And to the youngest he did say, 'What occupation will you hae? When the, etc.

3 'Will you gae fee to pick a mill? Or will you keep hogs on yon hill?' While the, etc.

4 'I winna fee to pick a mill, Nor will I keep hogs on yon hill. While the, etc.

5 'But it is said, as I do hear, That war will last for seven year, And the, etc.

6 'With a giant and a boar That range into the wood o Tore. And the, etc.

7 'You'll horse and armour to me provide, That through Tore wood I may safely ride.' When the, etc.

8 The knicht did horse and armour provide, That through Tore wood Graeme micht safely ride. When the, etc.

9 Then he rode through the wood o Tore, And up it started the grisly boar. When the, etc.

10 The firsten bout that he did ride, The boar he wounded in the left side. When the, etc.

11 The nexten bout at the boar he gaed, He from the boar took aff his head. And the, etc.

12 As he rode back through the wood o Tore, Up started the giant him before. And the, etc.

13 'O cam you through the wood o Tore, Or did you see my good wild boar?' And the, etc.

14 'I cam now through the wood o Tore, But woe be to your grisly boar. And the, etc.

15 'The firsten bout that I did ride, I wounded your wild boar in the side. And the, etc.

16 'The nexten bout at him I gaed, From your wild boar I took aff his head.' And the, etc.

17 'Gin you have cut aff the head o my boar, It's your head shall be taen therfore. And the, etc.

18 'I'll gie you thirty days and three, To heal your wounds, then come to me.' While the, etc.

19 'It's after thirty days and three, When my wounds heal, I'll come to thee.' When the, etc.

20 So Graeme is back to the wood o Tore, And he's killd the giant, as he killd the boar. And the, etc.

C

#a.# Allies, The British, Roman, and Saxon Antiquities and Folk-Lore of Worcestershire, 2d ed., p. 116. From the recitation of Benjamin Brown, of Upper Wick, about 1845. #b.# Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, edited by Robert Bell, p. 124.

1 Sir Robert Bolton had three sons, Wind well thy horn, good hunter And one of them was called Sir Ryalas. For he was a jovial hunter

2 He rang'd all round down by the woodside, Till up in the top of a tree a gay lady he spy'd. For he was, etc.

3 'O what dost thou mean, fair lady?' said he; 'O the wild boar has killed my lord and his men thirty.' As thou beest, etc.

4 'O what shall I do this wild boar to see?' 'O thee blow a blast, and he'll come unto thee.' As thou beest, etc.

5 [Then he put his horn unto his mouth], Then he blowd a blast full north, east, west and south. As he was, etc.

6 And the wild boar heard him full into his den; Then he made the best of his speed unto him. To Sir Ryalas, etc.

7 Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong, He thrashd down the trees as he came along. To Sir Ryalas, etc.

8 'O what dost thou want of me?' the wild boar said he; 'O I think in my heart I can do enough for thee.' For I am, etc.

9 Then they fought four hours in a long summer's day, Till the wild boar fain would have gotten away. From Sir Ryalas, etc.

10 Then Sir Ryalas drawd his broad sword with might, And he fairly cut his head off quite. For he was, etc.

11 Then out of the wood the wild woman flew: 'Oh thou hast killed my pretty spotted pig! As thou beest, etc.

12 'There are three things I do demand of thee, It's thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady.' As thou beest, etc.

13 'If these three things thou dost demand of me, It's just as my sword and thy neck can agree.' For I am, etc.

14 Then into his locks the wild woman flew, Till she thought in her heart she had torn him through. As he was, etc.

15 Then Sir Ryalas drawd his broad sword again, And he fairly split her head in twain. For he was, etc.

16 In Bromsgrove church they both do lie; There the wild boar's head is picturd by Sir Ryalas, etc.

D

Allies, Antiquities and Folk-Lore of Worcestershire, p. 118. From the recitation of ---- Oseman, Hartlebury.

1 As I went up one brook, one brook, Well wind the horn, good hunter I saw a fair maiden sit on a tree top. As thou art the jovial hunter

2 I said, 'Fair maiden, what brings you here?' 'It is the wild boar that has drove me here.' As thou art, etc.

3 'I wish I could that wild boar see;' Well wind the horn, good hunter, And the wild boar soon will come to thee.' As thou art, etc.

4 Then he put his horn unto his mouth, And he blowd both east, west, north and south. As he was, etc.

5 The wild boar hearing it into his den, [Then he made the best of his speed unto him].

6 He whetted his tusks for to make them strong, And he cut down the oak and the ash as he came along. For to meet with, etc.

7 They fought five hours one long summer's day, Till the wild boar he yelld, and he'd fain run away. And away from, etc.

8 O then he cut his head clean off, . . . . . . .

9 Then there came an old lady running out of the wood, Saying, 'You have killed my pretty, my pretty spotted pig.' As thou art, etc.

10 Then at him this old lady she did go, And he clove her from the top of her head to her toe. As he was, etc.

11 In Bromsgrove churchyard this old lady lies, And the face of the boar's head there is drawn by, That was killed by, etc.

E

#a.# Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, edited by Robert Bell, p. 250. #b.# Mr Robert White's papers.

1 There was an old man and sons he had three; Wind well, Lion, good hunter A friar he being one of the three, With pleasure he ranged the north country. For he was a jovial hunter

2 As he went to the woods some pastime to see, He spied a fair lady under a tree, Sighing and moaning mournfully. He was, etc.

3 'What are you doing, my fair lady?' 'I'm frightened the wild boar he will kill me; He has worried my lord and wounded thirty.' As thou art, etc.

4 Then the friar he put his horn to his mouth, And he blew a blast, east, west, north and south, And the wild boar from his den he came forth. Unto the, etc.

* * * * * * *

F

Allies, Antiquities of Worcestershire, p. 120.

1 Sir Rackabello had three sons, Wind well your horn, brave hunter Sir Ryalash was one of these. And he was a jovial hunter

* * * * *

#A.#

3^1. MS. And as thé.

6^2. MS. had bee.

11^1. MS. I wilt.

12^1. MS. miste.

16^2. MS. awaw.

17^1. MS. vnbethought ... while.

19. Between 19 and 20 half a page of the MS. is wanting.

20^1. a[fter]: MS. blotted.

36^1. MS. bidds eue.

39. Half a page of the MS. is wanting.

#B.#

The stanzas are doubled in Christie, to suit the air.

#C#.

#a.# 3^1, 4^2, 7^2. #D.# 2^1, 3^2, 6. _John Cole, who had heard an old man sing the ballad fifty years before (Allies, p. 115), could recollect only so much:_

'Oh! lady, Oh! lady, what bringst thou here?' Wind went his horn, as a hunter 'Thee blow another blast, and he'll soon come to thee.' As thou art a jovial hunter

He whetted his tusks as he came along, Wind went his horn, as a hunter

#a# 5, 6 stand thus in Allies:

V Then he blowd a blast full north, east, west and south, For he was, etc. And the wild boar heard him full into his den, As he was, etc.

VI Then he made the best of his speed unto him. (Two lines wrongly supplied from another source.) To Sir Ryalas, etc.

5 has been completed from the corresponding stanza in #D#, and the two verses of 6, separated above, are put together.

#b.#

1^1. Old Sir Robert.

1^2. was Sir Ryalas.

2^2. Till in a tree-top.

3^1. dost thee.

3^2. The wild boar's killed my lord and has thirty men gored.

Burden^2. And thou beest.

4^1. for to see.

5^1. As in Allies (see above), except ~full~ in his den.

5^2. then heard him full in his den.

6^1. As in Allies (see above), but 6^2 supplied by Bell.

7^2. Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along.

8^1. 'Oh, what dost thee want of me, wild boar.'

Burden^2. the jovial.

9^1. summer.

9^2. have got him.

10^2. cut the boar's head off quite.

11^2. Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew.

Burden^2. for thou beest.

12^1. I demand them of thee.

13^1. dost ask.

14^1. long locks.

14^2. to tear him through.

Burden^2. Though he was.

15^2. into twain.

16^1. the knight he doth lie.

16^2. And the wild boar's head is pictured thereby.

#D#.

5, 6. In Allies thus:

V The wild boar hearing it into his den, Well wind, etc. He whetted his tusks, for to make them strong, And he cut down the oak and the ash as he came along. For to meet with, etc.

Stanza 5 has been completed from stanza vi of Allies' other ballad, and 6 duly separated from the first line of 5.

8^2, 9. In Allies' copy thus:

VII Oh! then he cut his head clean off! Well wind, etc. Then there came an old lady running out of the wood Saying, 'You have killed my pretty, my pretty spotted pig.' As thou art, etc.

What stanza 8 should be is easily seen from #C# 10.

#C# 16, #D# 11. _As imperfectly remembered by Allies (p. 114):_

In Bromsgrove church his corpse doth lie, Why winded his horn the hunter? Because there was a wild boar nigh, And as he was a jovial hunter.

#E.#

#b.# "Fragment found on the fly-leaf of an old book." _Mr R. White's papers._

1^2, one of these three.

1^3. wide countrie.

Burden^2. He was.

2^1. was in woods.

2^3. With a bloody river running near she.

3^1. He said, 'Fair lady what are you doing there?'

3^3. killed my lord.

4. wanting.

[180] The friar might also be borrowed from 'The Felon Sow and the Friars of Richmond,' but this piece does not appear to have been extensively known.Return to passage

19

KING ORFEO

The Leisure Hour, February 14, 1880, No 1468: Folk-Lore from Unst, Shetland, by Mrs Saxby, p. 109.

Mr Edmondston, from whose memory this ballad was derived, notes that though stanzas are probably lost after the first which would give some account of the king in the east wooing the lady in the west, no such verses were sung to him. He had forgotten some stanzas after the fourth, of which the substance was that the lady was carried off by fairies; that the king went in quest of her, and one day saw a company passing along a hill-side, among whom he recognized his lost wife. The troop went to what seemed a great "ha-house," or castle, on the hillside. Stanzas after the eighth were also forgotten, the purport being that a messenger from behind the grey stane appeared and invited the king in.

We have here in traditional song the story of the justly admired mediæval romance of Orpheus, in which fairy-land supplants Tartarus, faithful love is rewarded, and Eurydice (Heurodis, Erodys, Eroudys) is retrieved. This tale has come down to us in three versions: #A#, in the Auchinleck MS., dating from the beginning of the fourteenth century, Advocates Library, Edinburgh, printed in Laing's Select Remains of the Ancient Popular Poetry of Scotland, 'Orfeo and Heurodis,' No 3; #B#, Ashmole MS., 61, Bodleian Library, of the first half of the fifteenth century, printed in Halliwell's Illustrations of Fairy Mythology, 'Kyng Orfew,' p. 37; #C#, Harleian MS., 3810, British Museum, printed by Ritson, Metrical Romancëes, II, 248, 'Sir Orpheo.' At the end of the Auchinleck copy we are told that harpers in Britain heard this marvel, and made a lay thereof, which they called, after the king, 'Lay Orfeo.' The other two copies also, but in verses which are a repetition of the introduction to 'Lay le Freine,' call this a Breton lay.

The story is this (#A#). Orfeo was a king [and so good a harper never none was, #B#]. One day in May his queen went out to a garden with two maidens, and fell asleep under an "ympe" tree. When she waked she shrieked, tore her clothes, and acted very wildly. Her maidens ran to the palace and called for help, for the queen would go mad. Knights and ladies went to the queen, took her away, and put her to bed; but still the excitement continued. The king, in great affliction, besought her to tell him what was the matter, and what he could do. Alas! she said, I have loved thee as my life, and thou me, but now we must part. As she slept knights had come to her and had bidden her come speak with their king. Upon her refusal, the king himself came, with a company of knights and damsels, all on snow-white steeds, and made her ride on a palfrey by his side, and, after he had shown her his palace, brought her back and said: Look thou be under this ympe tree tomorrow, to go with us; and if thou makest us any let, we will take thee by force, wherever thou be. The next day Orfeo took the queen to the tree under guard of a thousand knights, all resolved to die before they would give her up: but she was spirited away right from the midst of them, no one knew whither.

The king all but died of grief, but it was no boot. He gave his kingdom in charge to his high steward, told his barons to choose a new king when they should learn that he was dead, put on a sclavin and nothing else, took his harp, and went barefoot out at the gate. Ten years he lived in the woods and on the heath; his body wasted away, his beard grew to his girdle. His only solace was in his harp, and, when the weather was bright, he would play, and all the beasts and birds would flock to him. Often at hot noon-day he would see the king of fairy hunting with his rout, or an armed host would go by him with banners displayed, or knights and ladies would come dancing; but whither they went he could not tell. One day he descried sixty ladies who were hawking. He went towards them and saw that one of them was Heurodis. He looked at her wistfully, and she at him; neither spoke a word, but tears fell from her eyes, and the ladies hurried her away. He followed, and spared neither stub nor stem. They went in at a rock, and he after. They alighted at a superb castle; he knocked at the gate, told the porter he was a minstrel, and was let in. There he saw Heurodis, sleeping under an ympe tree.

Orfeo went into the hall, and saw a king and queen, sitting in a tabernacle. He kneeled down before the king. What man art thou? said the king. I never sent for thee, and never found I man so bold as to come here unbidden. Lord, quoth Orfeo, I am but a poor minstrel, and it is a way of ours to seek many a lord's house, though we be not welcome. Without more words he took his harp and began to play. All the palace came to listen, and lay down at his feet. The king sat still and was glad to hear, and, when the harping was done, said, Minstrel, ask of me whatever it be; I will pay thee largely. "Sir," said Orfeo, "I beseech thee give me the lady that sleepeth under the ympe tree." "Nay," quoth the king, "ye were a sorry couple; for thou art lean and rough and black, and she is lovely and has no lack. A lothly thing were it to see her in thy company." "Gentle king," replied the harper, it were a fouler thing to hear a lie from thy mouth." "Take her, then, and be blithe of her," said the king.

Orfeo now turned homewards, but first presented himself to the steward alone, and in beggar's clothes, as a harper from heathendom, to see if he were a true man. The loyal steward was ready to welcome every good harper for love of his lord. King Orfeo made himself known; the steward threw over the table, and fell down at his feet, and so did all the lords. They brought the queen to the town. Orfeo and Heurodis were crowned anew, and lived long afterward.

The Scandinavian burden was, perhaps, no more intelligible to the singer than "Hey non nonny" is to us. The first line seems to be Unst for Danish

Skoven årle grön (Early green's the wood).

The sense of the other line is not so obvious. Professor Grundtvig has suggested to me,

Hvor hjorten han går årlig (Where the hart goes yearly).

A

The Leisure Hour, February 14, 1880, No 1468, p. 109. Obtained from the singing of Andrew Coutts, an old man in Unst, Shetland, by Mr Biot Edmondston.

1 Der lived a king inta da aste, Scowan ürla grün Der lived a lady in da wast. Whar giorten han grün oarlac

2 Dis king he has a huntin gaen, He's left his Lady Isabel alane.

3 'Oh I wis ye'd never gaen away, For at your hame is döl an wae.

4 'For da king o Ferrie we his daert, Has pierced your lady to da hert.'

* * * * * * *

5 And aifter dem da king has gaen, But whan he cam it was a grey stane.

6 Dan he took oot his pipes ta play, Bit sair his hert wi döl an wae.

7 And first he played da notes o noy, An dan he played da notes o joy.

8 An dan he played da göd gabber reel, Dat meicht ha made a sick hert hale.

* * * * * * *

9 'Noo come ye in inta wir ha, An come ye in among wis a'.'

10 Now he's gaen in inta der ha, An he's gaen in among dem a'.

11 Dan he took out his pipes to play, Bit sair his hert wi döl an wae.

12 An first he played da notes o noy, An dan he played da notes o joy.

13 An dan he played da göd gabber reel, Dat meicht ha made a sick hert hale.

14 'Noo tell to us what ye will hae: What sall we gie you for your play?

15 'What I will hae I will you tell, An dat's me Lady Isabel.'

16 'Yees tak your lady, an yees gaeng hame, An yees be king ower a' your ain.'

17 He's taen his lady, an he's gaen hame, An noo he's king ower a' his ain.

20

THE CRUEL MOTHER.

#A.# Herd's MSS, I, 132, II, 191. Herd's Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 237.

#B. a.# 'Fine Flowers in the Valley,' Johnson's Museum, p. 331. #b.# Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 259 (1803).

#C#. 'The Cruel Mother,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 161.

#D. a.# Kinloch MSS, V, 103. #b.# 'The Cruel Mother,' Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 46.

#E.# 'The Cruel Mother.' #a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 390. #b.# Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 33.

#F.# 'The Cruel Mother.' #a.# Buchan's MSS, II, 98. #b.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 222.

#G.# Notes and Queries, 1st S., VIII, 358.

#H.# 'The Cruel Mother,' Motherwell's MS., p. 402.

#I.# 'The Minister's Daughter of New York.' #a.# Buchan's MSS, II, 111. #b.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 217. #c.# 'Hey wi the rose and the lindie O,' Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 106.

#J. a.# 'The Rose o Malindie O,' Harris MS., f. 10. #b.# Fragment communicated by Dr T. Davidson.

#K.# Motherwell's MS., p. 186.

#L.# 'Fine Flowers in the Valley,' Smith's Scottish Minstrel, IV, 33.

#M.# From Miss M. Reburn, as learned in County Meath, Ireland, one stanza.

Two fragments of this ballad, #A#, #B#, were printed in the last quarter of the eighteenth century; #C-L# were committed to writing after 1800; and, of these, #E#, #H#, #J#, #K# are now printed for the first time.

#A-H# differ only slightly, but several of these versions are very imperfect. A young woman, who passes for a leal maiden, gives birth to two babes [#A#, #B#, one, #H#, three], puts them to death with a penknife, #B-F#, and buries them, or, #H#, ties them hand and feet and buries them alive. She afterwards sees two pretty boys, and exclaims that if they were hers she would treat them most tenderly. They make answer that when they were hers they were very differently treated, rehearse what she had done, and inform or threaten her that hell shall be her portion, #C#, #D#, #E#, #F#, #H#. In #I# the children are buried alive, as in #H#, in #J a# strangled, in #J b# and #L# killed with the penknife, but the story is the same down to the termination, where, instead of simple hell-fire, there are various seven-year penances, properly belonging to the ballad of 'The Maid and the Palmer,' which follows this.

All the English ballads are in two-line stanzas.[181]

Until 1870 no corresponding ballad had been found in Denmark, though none was more likely to occur in #Danish#. That year Kristensen, in the course of his very remarkable ballad-quest in Jutland, recovered two versions which approach surprisingly near to Scottish tradition, and especially to #E#: Jydske Folkeviser, I, 329, No 121 #A#, #B#, 'Barnemordersken.' Two other Danish versions have been obtained since then, but have not been published. #A# and #B# are much the same, and a close translation of #A# will not take much more space than would be required for a sufficient abstract.

Little Kirsten took with her the bower-women five, And with them she went to the wood belive.

She spread her cloak down on the earth, And on it to two little twins gave birth.

She laid them under a turf so green, Nor suffered for them a sorrow unseen.

She laid them under so broad a stone, Suffered sorrow nor harm for what she had done.

Eight years it was, and the children twain Would fain go home to their mother again.

They went and before Our Lord they stood: 'Might we go home to our mother, we would.'

'Ye may go to your mother, if ye will, But ye may not contrive any ill.'

They knocked at the door, they made no din: 'Rise up, our mother, and let us in.'

By life and by death hath she cursed and sworn, That never a child in the world had she borne.

'Stop, stop, dear mother, and swear not so fast, We shall recount to you what has passed.

'You took with you the bower-women five, And with them went to the wood belive.

'You spread your cloak down on the earth, And on it to two little twins gave birth.

'You laid us under a turf so green, Nor suffered for us a sorrow unseen.

'You laid us under so broad a stone, Suffered sorrow nor harm for what you had done.'

'Nay my dear bairns, but stay with me; And four barrels of gold shall be your fee.'

'You may give us four, or five, if you choose, But not for all that, heaven will we lose.

'You may give us eight, you may give us nine, But not for all these, heaven will we tine.

'Our seat is made ready in heavenly light, But for you a seat in hell is dight.'

A ballad is spread all over #Germany# which is probably a variation of 'The Cruel Mother,' though the resemblance is rather in the general character than in the details. #A#, 'Höllisches Recht,' Wunderhorn, II, 202, ed. of 1808, II, 205, ed. 1857. Mittler, No 489, p. 383, seems to be this regulated and filled out. #B#, Erlach, 'Die Rabenmutter,' IV, 148; repeated, with the addition of one stanza, by Zuccalmaglio, p. 203, No 97. #C#, 'Die Kindsmörderinn,' Meinert, p. 164, from the Kuhländchen; turned into current German, Erk's Liederhort, p. 144, No 41^c. #D#, Simrock, p. 87, No 37^a, from the Aargau. #E#, 'Das falsche Mutterherz,' Erk u. Irmer, Heft 5, No 7, and 'Die Kindesmörderin,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 140, No 41, Brandenburg. #F#, Liederhort, p. 142, No 41^a, Silesia. #G#, Liederhort, p. 143, 41^b, from the Rhein, very near to #B#. #H#, Hoffmann u. Richter, No 31, p. 54, and #I#, No 32, p. 57, Silesia. #J#, Ditfurth, Fränkische V. 1., II, 12, No 13. #K#, 'Die Rabenmutter,' Peter, Volksthümliches aus Österreichisch-Schlesien, I, 210, No 21. #L#, 'Der Teufel u. die Müllerstochter,' Pröhle, Weltliche u. geistliche V. 1., p. 15, No 9, Hanoverian Harz. Repetitions and compounded copies are not noticed.

The story is nearly this in all. A herdsman, passing through a wood, hears the cry of a child, but cannot make out whence the sound comes. The child announces that it is hidden in a hollow tree, and asks to be taken to the house where its mother is to be married that day. There arrived, the child proclaims before all the company that the bride is its mother. The bride, or some one of the party, calls attention to the fact that she is still wearing her maiden-wreath. Nevertheless, says the child, she has had three children: one she drowned, one she buried in a dung-heap [the sand], and one she hid in a hollow tree. The bride wishes that the devil may come for her if this is true, and, upon the word, Satan appears and takes her off; in #B#, #G#, #J#, with words like these:

'Komm her, komm her, meine schönste Braut, Dein Sessel ist dir in der Hölle gebaut.' #J# 9.

A #Wendish# version, 'Der Höllentanz,' in Haupt and Schmaler, I, 290, No 292, differs from the German ballads only in this, that the bride has already borne nine children, and is going with the tenth.

A combination of #B#, #C#, #D#, #F# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 43, p. 279, and #I#, from the eighth stanza on, p. 282. #C# is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 11, and Hauschatz, p. 223; Allingham's version (nearly #B a#) by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 178, No 48.

A

Herd's MSS, I, 132, II, 191: Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 237.

* * * * * * *

1 And there she's leand her back to a thorn, Oh and alelladay, oh and alelladay And there she has her baby born. Ten thousand times good night and be wi thee

2 She has houked a grave ayont the sun, And there she has buried the sweet babe in.

3 And she's gane back to her father's ha, She's counted the leelest maid o them a'.

* * * * * * *

4 'O look not sae sweet, my bonie babe, Gin ye smyle sae, ye'll smyle me dead.'

* * * * * * *

B

#a.# Johnson's Museum, p. 331. #b.# Scott's Minstrelsy, 1803, III, 259, preface.

1 She sat down below a thorn, Fine flowers in the valley And there she has her sweet babe born. And the green leaves they grow rarely

2 'Smile na sae sweet, my bonie babe, And ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead.'

3 She's taen out her little pen-knife, And twinnd the sweet babe o its life.

4 She's howket a grave by the light o the moon, And there she's buried her sweet babe in.

5 As she was going to the church, She saw a sweet babe in the porch.

6 'O sweet babe, and thou were mine, I wad cleed thee in the silk so fine.'

7 'O mother dear, when I was thine, You did na prove to me sae kind.'

* * * * * * *

C

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 161.

1 She leaned her back unto a thorn, Three, three, and three by three And there she has her two babes born. Three, three, and thirty-three

2 She took frae 'bout her ribbon-belt, And there she bound them hand and foot.

3 She has taen out her wee pen-knife, And there she ended baith their life.

4 She has howked a hole baith deep and wide, She has put them in baith side by side.

5 She has covered them oer wi a marble stane, Thinking she would gang maiden hame.

6 As she was walking by her father's castle wa, She saw twa pretty babes playing at the ba.

7 'O bonnie babes, gin ye were mine, I would dress you up in satin fine.

8 'O I would dress you in the silk, And wash you ay in morning milk.'

9 'O cruel mother, we were thine, And thou made us to wear the twine.

10 'O cursed mother, heaven's high, And that's where thou will neer win nigh.

11 'O cursed mother, hell is deep, And there thou'll enter step by step.'

D

#a.# Kinloch's MSS, V, 103, in the handwriting of James Beattie. #b.# Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 46: from the recitation of Miss C. Beattie.

1 There lives a lady in London, All alone and alone ee She's gane wi bairn to the clerk's son. Down by the green wood sae bonnie

2 She's taen her mantle her about, She's gane aff to the gude green wood.

3 She's set her back untill an oak, First it bowed and then it broke.

4 She's set her back untill a tree, Bonny were the twa boys she did bear.

5 But she took out a little pen-knife, And she parted them and their sweet life.

6 She's aff untill her father's ha; She was the lealest maiden that was amang them a'.

7 As she lookit oure the castle wa, She spied twa bonnie boys playing at the ba.

8 'O if these two babes were mine, They should wear the silk and the sabelline!'

9 'O mother dear, when we were thine, We neither wore the silks nor the sabelline.

10 'But out ye took a little pen-knife, And ye parted us and our sweet life.

11 'But now we're in the heavens hie, And ye've the pains o hell to drie.'

E

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 390. #b.# Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 33. From the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.

1 There was a lady, she lived in Lurk, Sing hey alone and alonie O She fell in love with her father's clerk. Down by yon greenwood sidie O

2 She loved him seven years and a day, Till her big belly did her betray.

3 She leaned her back unto a tree, And there began her sad misery.

4 She set her foot unto a thorn, And there she got her two babes born.

5 She took out her wee pen-knife, She twind them both of their sweet life.

6 She took the sattins was on her head, She rolled them in both when they were dead.

7 She howkit a grave forenent the sun, And there she buried her twa babes in.

8 As she was walking thro her father's ha, She spied twa boys playing at the ba.

9 'O pretty boys, if ye were mine, I would dress ye both in the silks so fine.'

10 'O mother dear, when we were thine, Thou neer dressed us in silks so fine.

11 'For thou was a lady, thou livd in Lurk, And thou fell in love with thy father's clerk.

12 'Thou loved him seven years and a day, Till thy big belly did thee betray.

13 'Thou leaned thy back unto a tree, And there began thy sad misery.

14 'Thou set thy foot unto a thorn, And there thou got thy two babes born.

15 'Thou took out thy wee pen-knife, And twind us both of our sweet life.

16 'Thou took the sattins was on thy head, Thou rolled us both in when we were dead.

17 'Thou howkit a grave forenent the sun, And there thou buried thy twa babes in.

18 'But now we're both in [the] heavens hie, There is pardon for us, but none for thee.'

19 'My pretty boys, beg pardon for me!' 'There is pardon for us, but none for thee.'

F

#a.# Buchan's MSS, II, 98. #b.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 222.

1 It fell ance upon a day, Edinburgh, Edinburgh It fell ance upon a day, Stirling for aye It fell ance upon a day The clerk and lady went to play. So proper Saint Johnston stands fair upon Tay

2 'If my baby be a son, I'll make him a lord of high renown.'

3 She's leand her back to the wa, Prayd that her pains might fa.

4 She's leand her back to the thorn, There was her baby born.

5 'O bonny baby, if ye suck sair, You'll never suck by my side mair.'

6 She's riven the muslin frae her head, Tied the baby hand and feet.

7 Out she took her little pen-knife, Twind the young thing o its sweet life.

8 She's howked a hole anent the meen, There laid her sweet baby in.

9 She had her to her father's ha, She was the meekest maid amang them a'.

10 It fell ance upon a day, She saw twa babies at their play.

11 'O bonny babies, gin ye were mine, I'd cleathe you in the silks sae fine.'

12 'O wild mother, when we were thine, You cleathd us not in silks so fine.

13 'But now we're in the heavens high, And you've the pains o hell to try.'

14 She threw hersell oer the castle-wa, There I wat she got a fa.

G

Notes and Queries, 1st S., VIII, 358. From Warwickshire, communicated by C. Clifton Barry.

1 There was a lady lived on [a] lea, All alone, alone O Down by the greenwood side went she. Down the greenwood side O

2 She set her foot all on a thorn, There she had two babies born.

3 O she had nothing to lap them in, But a white appurn, and that was thin.

H

Motherwell's MS., p. 402. From Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.

1 There was a lady brisk and smart, All in a lone and a lonie O And she goes with child to her father's clark. Down by the greenwood sidie O

2 Big, big oh she went away, And then she set her foot to a tree.

3 Big she set her foot to a stone, Till her three bonnie babes were borne.

4 She took the ribbons off her head, She tied the little babes hand and feet.

5 She howkit a hole before the sun, She's laid these three bonnie babes in.

6 She covered them over with marble stone, For dukes and lords to walk upon.

7 She lookit over her father's castle wa, She saw three bonnie boys playing at the ba.

8 The first o them was clad in red, To shew the innocence of their blood.

9 The neist o them was clad in green, To shew that death they had been in.

10 The next was naked to the skin, To shew they were murderd when they were born.

11 'O bonnie babes, an ye were mine, I wad dress you in the satins so fine.'

12 'O mother dear, when we were thine, Thou did not use us half so kind.'

13 'O bonnie babes, an ye be mine, Whare hae ye been a' this time?'

14 'We were at our father's house, Preparing a place for thee and us.'

15 'Whaten a place hae ye prepar'd for me?' 'Heaven's for us, but hell's for thee.

16 'O mother dear, but heaven's high; That is the place thou'll ne'er come nigh.

17 'O mother dear, but hell is deep; 'T will cause thee bitterlie to weep.'

I

#a.# Buchan's MS., II, 111. #b.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 217. #c.# Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 106.

1 The minister's daughter of New York, Hey wi the rose and the lindie, O Has faen in love wi her father's clerk. Alone by the green burn sidie, O

2 She courted him six years and a day, At length her belly did her betray.

3 She did her down to the greenwood gang, To spend awa a while o her time.

4 She lent her back unto a thorn, And she's got her twa bonny boys born.

5 She 's taen the ribbons frae her hair, Bound their bodyes fast and sair.

6 She 's put them aneath a marble stane, Thinking a maiden to gae hame.

7 Looking oer her castle wa, She spied her bonny boys at the ba.

8 'O bonny babies, if ye were mine, I woud feed you with the white bread and wine.

9 'I woud feed you wi the ferra cow's milk, And dress you in the finest silk.'

10 'O cruel mother, when we were thine, We saw none of your bread and wine.

11 'We saw none of your ferra cow's milk, Nor wore we of your finest silk.'

12 'O bonny babies, can ye tell me, What sort of death for you I must die?'

13 'Yes, cruel mother, we'll tell to thee, What sort of death for us you must die.

14 'Seven years a fowl in the woods, Seven years a fish in the floods.

15 'Seven years to be a church bell, Seven years a porter in hell.'

16 'Welcome, welcome, fowl in the wood[s], Welcome, welcome, fish in the flood[s].

17 'Welcome, welcome, to be a church bell, But heavens keep me out of hell.'

J

#a.# Harris MS., fol. 10, "Mrs Harris and others." #b.# Fragment communicated by Dr T. Davidson.

1 She leant her back against a thorn, Hey for the Rose o' Malindie O And there she has twa bonnie babes born. Adoon by the green wood sidie O

2 She's taen the ribbon frae her head, An hankit their necks till they waur dead.

3 She luikit outowre her castle wa, An saw twa nakit boys, playin at the ba.

4 'O bonnie boys, waur ye but mine, I wald feed ye wi flour-bread an wine.'

5 'O fause mother, whan we waur thine, Ye didna feed us wi flour-bread an wine.'

6 'O bonnie boys, gif ye waur mine, I wald clied ye wi silk sae fine.'

7 'O fause mother, whan we waur thine, You didna clied us in silk sae fine.

8 'Ye tuik the ribbon aff your head, An' hankit our necks till we waur dead.

* * * * * * *

9 'Ye sall be seven years bird on the tree, Ye sall be seven years fish i the sea.

10 'Ye sall be seven years eel i the pule, An ye sail be seven years doon into hell.'

11 'Welcome, welcome, bird on the tree, Welcome, welcome, fish i the sea.

12 'Welcome, welcome, eel i the pule, But oh for gudesake, keep me frae hell!'

K

Motherwell's MS., p. 186.

1 Lady Margaret looked oer the castle wa, Hey and a lo and a lilly O And she saw twa bonnie babes playing at the ba. Down by the green wood sidy O

2 'O pretty babes, an ye were mine, I would dress you in the silks so fine.'

3 'O false mother, when we were thine, Ye did not dress us in silks so fine.'

4 'O bonnie babes, an ye were mine, I would feed you on the bread and wine.'

5 'O false mother, when we were thine, Ye did not feed us on the bread and the wine.'

* * * * * * *

6 'Seven years a fish in the sea, And seven years a bird in the tree.

7 'Seven years to ring a bell, And seven years porter in hell.'

L

Smith's Scottish Minstrel, IV, 33, 2d ed.

1 A lady lookd out at a castle wa, Fine flowers in the valley She saw twa bonnie babes playing at the ba. And the green leaves they grow rarely

2 'O my bonnie babes, an ye were mine, I would cleed ye i the scarlet sae fine.

3 'I 'd lay ye saft in beds o down, And watch ye morning, night and noon.'

4 'O mither dear, when we were thine, Ye didna cleed us i the scarlet sae fine.

5 'But ye took out yere little pen-knife, And parted us frae our sweet life.

6 'Ye howkit a hole aneath the moon, And there ye laid our bodies down.

7 'Ye happit the hole wi mossy stanes, And there ye left our wee bit banes.

8 'But ye ken weel, O mither dear, Ye never cam that gate for fear.'

* * * * * * *

9 'Seven lang years ye'll ring the bell, And see sic sights as ye darna tell.'

M

Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as learned in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.

'O mother dear, when we were thine, All a lee and aloney O You neither dressed us in coarse or fine.' Down by the greenwood sidy O

* * * * *

#A.#

Superscribed, "Fragment to its own tune. Melancholy." Against the first line of the burden is written in the margin, "~perhaps alas-a-day~," and this change is adopted in Herd's printed copy. Scott suggested ~well-a-day~.

4^2. MSS and ed. 1776 have ~ze ... ze'll~.

#B. b.#

"A fragment [of 5 stanzas] containing the following verses, which I have often heard sung in my childhood." Scott, III. 259. No burden is given.

1^1. She set her back against.

1^2. young son born.

2^1. O smile nae sae.

3, 4, wanting.

5^1. An when that lady went.

5^2. She spied a naked boy.

6^1. O bonnie boy, an ye.

6^2. I'd cleed ye in the silks.

7^2. To me ye were na half.

Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, I, 340, says: "I remember a verse, and but a verse, of an old ballad which records a horrible instance of barbarity," and quotes the first two stanzas of Scott's fragment literally; from which we may infer that it was Scott's fragment that he partly remembered. But he goes on: "At this moment a hunter came--one whose suit the lady had long rejected with scorn--the brother of her lover:

He took the babe on his spear point, And threw it upon a thorn: 'Let the wind blow east, the wind blow west, The cradle will rock alone.'"

Cunningham's recollection was evidently much confused. This last stanza, which is not in the metre of the others, is perhaps from some copy of '~Edom o Gordon~.'

#D. a.#

6^2. I was.

#b.#

Kinloch makes slight changes in his printed copy, as usual.

4^1. until a brier.

5^1. out she 's tane.

6^2. She seemd the lealest maiden amang.

8^1. O an thae.

#E.#

1^1, 11^1. Lurk may be a corruption of ~York~, which is written in pencil (by way of suggestion?) in the MSS.

#a.#

16^1. on your.

#b.#

4^1, 14^1. upon a thorn.

5^2. twind wanting.

6^1. sattins wanting.

13, 14, 15, 16, 17 are not written out in the note-book.

18^1. the heavens.

19^2. but there is none.

#F. a.#

9 stands last but one in the MS.

14^2. Here.

#b.#

4^2. has her.

7^2. sweet is omitted.

_Printed as from the MS. in Dixon's Scottish Traditional Versions, etc., p. 46. Dixon has changed ~baby~ to ~babies~ in 4, 5, 6, 8, and indulges in other variations._

#H.#

The ballad had been heard with two different burdens; besides the one given in the text, this:

Three and three, and three by three Ah me, some forty three

7 'Lady Mary Ann,' Johnson's Museum, No 377, begins:

O Lady Mary Ann looks oer the castle wa, She saw three bonie boys playing at the ba.

#I. a, b.#

14^1, 16^1. ~fool~, i.e. ~fowl~ spelt phonetically.

#a.#

3^1. greenwoods

#b.#

2^2. it did.

8^2. with white.

11^2. wear'd.

13^2. maun die.

#c.#

"Epitomized" from Buchan, II, 217, "and somewhat changed for this work, some of the changes being made according to the way the Editor has heard it sung." Note by Christie, p. 106.

Burden, It 's hey with the rose, etc.

7^1. As a lady was looking.

7^2. She spied twa.

11^2. Nor wore we a.

12^2. What sort of pain for you I must drie.

13^2. What sort of pain for us you must drie.

14^2. And seven.

_Printed as from the MS. in Dixon's Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 50, '~The Minister's Dochter o Newarke~,' with a few arbitrary changes._

#J. a.#

9^1. You.

#b.# _has stanzas corresponding to a 1, 3, 4, 6, and, in place of 2_,

She 's taen oot a little pen-knife, And she 's robbit them o their sweet life.

Burden^1. Hey i the rose o Mylindsay O.

1^1, until a thorn.

1^2. An syne her twa bonnie boys was born.

3^1. As she leukit oer her father's.

3^2. bonnie boys.

4^1. an ye were mine.

4^2. bread.

6^2. claithe ye in.

#L.#

8 looks like an interpolation, and very probably the ballad was docked at the beginning in order to suit the parlor better.

[181] All the genuine ones. 'Lady Anne,' in Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 259, 1803, is on the face of it a modern composition, with extensive variations, on the theme of the popular ballad. It is here given in an Appendix, with a companion piece from Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song.Return to passage