Appendix

This piece is found in Cotton MS., Julius, A, V, the ninth article in the manuscript, fol. 175, r^o, (otherwise 180, r^o). It is here given nearly as printed by Mr Thomas Wright in his edition of the Chronicle of Pierre de Langtoft, II, 452. It had been previously printed in Ritson's Ancient Songs, ed. 1829, I, 40; Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 168; the Retrospective Review, Second Series, II, 326. The prophecies, omitted here, are given by all the above.

1 Als y yod on ay Mounday Bytwene Wyltinden and Walle, Me ane aftere brade waye, Ay litel man y mette withalle; The leste that ever I sathe, [sothe] to say, Oithere in boure, oithere in halle; His robe was noithere grene na gray, Bot alle yt was of riche palle.

2 On me he cald, and bad me bide; Well stille y stode ay litel space; Fra Lanchestre the parke syde Yeen he come, wel fair his pase. He hailsed me with mikel pride; Ic haved wel mykel ferly wat he was; I saide, Wel mote the bityde! That litel man with large face.

3 I biheld that litel man Bi the stretes als we gon gae; His berd was syde ay large span, And glided als the fethere of pae; His heved was wyte als any swan, His hegehen ware gret and grai alsso; Brues lange, wel I the can Merke it to five inches and mae.

4 Armes scort, for sothe I saye, Ay span seemed thaem to bee; Handes brade, vytouten nay, And fingeres lange, he scheued me. Ay stan he toke op thare it lay, And castid forth that I mothe see; Ay merke-soote of large way Bifor me strides he castid three.

5 Wel stille I stod als did the stane, To loke him on thouth me nouthe lange; His robe was alle golde bigane, Wel craftlike maked, I underestande; Botones asurd, everlke ane, Fra his elbouthe on til his hande; Eldelike man was he nane, That in myn herte icke onderestande.

6 Til him I sayde ful sone on ane, For forthirmare I wald him fraine, Glalli wild I wit thi name, And I wist wat me mouthe gaine; Thou ert so litel of flesse and bane, And so mikel of mithe and mayne; Ware vones thou, litel man, at hame? Wit of the I walde ful faine.

7 'Thoth I be litel and lith, Am y nothe wytouten wane; Fferli frained thou wat I hith, Yat thou salt noth with my name. My wonige stede ful wel es dyth, Nou sone thou salt se at hame.' Til him I sayde, For Godes mith, Lat me forth myn erand gane.

8 'The thar noth of thin errand lette, Thouth thou come ay stonde wit me; Forthere salt thou noth bisette Bi miles twa noythere bi three.' Na linger durste I for him lette, But forth ij fundid wyt that free; Stintid vs broke no becke; Ferlicke me thouth hu so mouth bee.

9 He vent forth, als ij you say, In at ay yate, ij underestande; Intil ay yate, wundouten nay; It to se thouth me nouth lange. The bankers on the binkes lay, And fair lordes sette ij fonde; In ilka ay hirn ij herd ay lay, And levedys south meloude sange.

The meeting with the little man was on Monday. We are now invited to listen to a tale told on Wednesday by "a moody barn," who is presently addressed, in language which, to be sure, fits the elf well enough, as "merry man, that is so wight:" but things do not fay at all here.

10 Lithe, bothe yonge and alde: Of ay worde ij will you saye, A litel tale that me was tald Erli on ay Wedenesdaye. A mody barn, that was ful bald, My frend that ij frained aye, Al my yerning he me tald, And yatid me als we went bi waye.

11 'Miri man, that es so wythe, Of ay thinge gif me answere: For him that mensked man wyt mith, Wat sal worth of this were?' &c.

* * * * *

The orthography of this piece, if rightly rendered, is peculiar, and it is certainly not consistent.

1^5. ~saith~ for ~saw~ occurs in 23^3.

2^4. Wright, Y cen: Retrosp. Rev., Yeen.

3^8. W., Merkes: R. R., Merke. fize.

5^5. W., everlkes: R. R., euerelke.

6^8. W., of their: R. R., of ye (þe). i. wald.

7^4. W., That thou: R. R., yat.

7^5. dygh.

9^4. south me.

9^8. me loude.

10^7. W., thering: R. R., yering.

10^8. W., y atid: R. R., yatid.

TAM LIN

#A.# 'Tam Lin,' Johnson's Museum, p. 423, 1792. Communicated by Burns.

#B.# 'Young Tom Line,' Glenriddell MS., vol. xi, No 17, 1791.

#C.# 'Kertonha, or, The Fairy Court,' Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 300.

#D.# 'Tom Linn.' #a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 532. #b.# Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, p. 54. #c.# 'Tom o Linn,' Pitcairn's MSS, III, fol. 67.

#E.# 'Young Tamlin,' Motherwell's Note-Book, fol. 13.

#F.# 'Tomaline,' Motherwell's MS., p. 64.

#G.# 'Tam-a-line, the Elfin Knight,' Buchan's MSS, I, 8; 'Tam a-Lin, or The Knight of Faerylande,' Motherwell's MS., p. 595. Dixon, Scottish Traditionary Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 11.

#H.# 'Young Tam Lane,' Campbell MSS, II, 129.

#I.# 'The Young Tamlane.' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border: #a#, II, 337, ed. 1833; #b#, II, 228, ed. 1802.

The first twenty-two stanzas of #B# differ from the corresponding ones in #A#, 1-23, omitting 16, by only a few words, and there are other agreements in the second half of these versions. Burns's intimacy with Robert Riddell would naturally lead to a communication from one to the other; but both may have derived the verses that are common from the same third party. Herd's fragment, #C#, was the earliest printed. Scott's version, #I#, as he himself states, was compounded of the Museum copy, Riddell's, Herd's, and "several recitals from tradition." #I b#, the edition of 1802, contained fragments of 'The Bromfield Hill' and of 'The Wee Wee Man,' which were dropped from the later edition; but unfortunately this later edition was corrupted with eleven new stanzas, which are not simply somewhat of a modern cast as to diction, as Scott remarks, but of a grossly modern invention, and as unlike popular verse as anything can be. #I# is given according to the later edition, with those stanzas omitted; and all that is peculiar to this version, and not taken from the Museum, Glenriddell, or Herd, is distinguished from the rest by the larger type. This, it will be immediately seen, is very little.

The copy in Tales of Wonder, II, 459, is #A#, altered by Lewis. Mr Joseph Robertson notes, Kinloch MSS, VI, 10, that his mother had communicated to him some fragments of this ballad slightly differing from Scott's version, with a substitution of the name True Tammas for Tam Lane.

The Scots Magazine for October, 1818, LXXXII, 327-29, has a "fragment" of more than sixty stanzas, composed in an abominable artificial lingo, on the subject of this ballad, and alleged to have been taken from the mouth of a good old peasant, who, not having heard the ballad for thirty years, could remember no more. Thomas the Rhymer appears in the last lines with very great distinction, but it is not clear what part he has in the story.[323]

A copy printed in Aberdeen, 1862, and said to have been edited by the Rev. John Burnett Pratt, of Cruden, Aberdeenshire, is made up from Aytoun and Scott, with a number of slight changes.[324]

'The Tayl of the ȝong Tamlene' is spoken of as told among a company of shepherds, in Vedderburn's Complaint of Scotland, 1549, p. 63 of Dr James A. H. Murray's edition for the Early English Text Society. 'Thom of Lyn' is mentioned as a dance of the same party, a little further on, Murray, p. 66, and 'Young Thomlin' is the name of an air in a medley in "Wood's MS.," inserted, as David Laing thought, between 1600 and 1620, and printed in Forbes's Cantus, 1666: Stenhouse's ed. of The Scots Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 440. "A ballett of Thomalyn" is licensed to Master John Wallye and Mistress Toye in 1558: Arber, Transcript of the Registers of the Company of Stationers, I, 22; cited by Furnivall, Captain Cox, &c., Ballad Society, p. clxiv.

Sir Walter Scott relates a tradition of an attempt to rescue a woman from fairydom which recalls the ill success of many of the efforts to disenchant White Ladies in Germany: "The wife of a farmer in Lothian had been carried off by the fairies, and, during the year of probation, repeatedly appeared on Sunday, in the midst of her children, combing their hair. On one of these occasions she was accosted by her husband; when she related to him the unfortunate event which had separated them, instructed him by what means he might win her, and exhorted him to exert all his courage, since her temporal and eternal happiness depended on the success of his attempt. The farmer, who ardently loved his wife, set out at Halloween, and, in the midst of a plot of furze, waited impatiently for the procession of the fairies. At the ringing of the fairy bridles, and the wild, unearthly sound which accompanied the cavalcade, his heart failed him, and he suffered the ghostly train to pass by without interruption. When the last had rode past, the whole troop vanished, with loud shouts of laughter and exultation, among which he plainly discovered the voice of his wife, lamenting that he had lost her forever." The same author proceeds to recount a real incident, which took place at the town of North Berwick, within memory, of a man who was prevented from undertaking, or at least meditating, a similar rescue only by shrewd and prompt practical measures on the part of his minister.[325]

This fine ballad stands by itself, and is not, as might have been expected, found in possession of any people but the Scottish. Yet it has connections, through the principal feature in the story, the retransformation of Tam Lin, with Greek popular tradition older than Homer.

Something of the successive changes of shape is met with in a Scandinavian ballad: 'Nattergalen,' Grundtvig, II, 168, No 57; 'Den förtrollade Prinsessan,' Afzelius, II, 67, No 41, Atterbom, Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 44; Dybeck, Runa, 1844, p. 94, No 2; Axelson, Vandring i Wermlands Elfdal, p. 21, No 3; Lindeman, Norske Fjeldmelodier, Tekstbilag til 1ste Bind, p. 3, No 10.

Though many copies of this ballad have been obtained from the mouth of the people, all that are known are derived from flying sheets, of which there is a Danish one dated 1721 and a Swedish of the year 1738. What is of more account, the style of the piece, as we have it, is not quite popular. Nevertheless, the story is entirely of the popular stamp, and so is the feature in it, which alone concerns us materially. A nightingale relates to a knight how she had once had a lover, but a step-mother soon upset all that, and turned her into a bird and her brother into a wolf. The curse was not to be taken off the brother till he drank of his step-dame's blood, and after seven years he caught her, when she was taking a walk in a wood, tore out her heart, and regained his human shape. The knight proposes to the bird that she shall come and pass the winter in his bower, and go back to the wood in the summer: this, the nightingale says, the step-mother had forbidden, as long as she wore feathers. The knight seizes the bird by the foot, takes her home to his bower, and fastens the windows and doors. She turns to all the marvellous beasts one ever heard of,--to a lion, a bear, a variety of small snakes, and at last to a loathsome lind-worm. The knight makes a sufficient incision for blood to come, and a maid stands on the floor as fair as a flower. He now asks after her origin, and she answers, Egypt's king was my father, and its queen my mother; my brother was doomed to rove the woods as a wolf. "If Egypt's king," he rejoins, "was your father, and its queen your mother, then for sure you are my sister's daughter, who was doomed to be a nightingale."[326]

We come much nearer, and indeed surprisingly near, to the principal event of the Scottish ballad in a Cretan fairy-tale, cited from Chourmouzis by Bernhard Schmidt.[327] A young peasant of the village Sgourokepháli, who was a good player on the rote, used to be taken by the nereids into their grotto for the sake of his music. He fell in love with one of them, and, not knowing how to help himself, had recourse to an old woman of his village. She gave him this advice: that just before cock-crow he should seize his beloved by the hair, and hold on, unterrified, till the cock crew, whatever forms she should assume. The peasant gave good heed, and the next time he was taken into the cave fell to playing, as usual, and the nereids to dancing. But as cock-crow drew nigh, he put down his instrument, sprang upon the object of his passion, and grasped her by her locks. She instantly changed shape; became a dog, a snake, a camel, fire. But he kept his courage and held on, and presently the cock crew, and the nereids vanished all but one. His love returned to her proper beauty, and went with him to his home. After the lapse of a year she bore a son, but in all this time never uttered a word. The young husband was fain to ask counsel of the old woman again, who told him to heat the oven hot, and say to his wife that if she would not speak he would throw the boy into the oven. He acted upon this prescription; the nereid cried out, Let go my child, dog! tore the infant from his arms, and vanished.

This Cretan tale, recovered from tradition even later than our ballad, repeats all the important circumstances of the forced marriage of Thetis with Peleus. Chiron, like the old woman, suggested to his protégé that he should lay hands on the nereid, and keep his hold through whatever metamorphosis she might make. He looked out for his opportunity and seized her; she turned to fire, water, and a wild beast, but he did not let go till she resumed her primitive shape. Thetis, having borne a son, wished to make him immortal; to which end she buried him in fire by night, to burn out his human elements, and anointed him with ambrosia by day. Peleus was not taken into counsel, but watched her, and saw the boy gasping in the fire, which made him call out; and Thetis, thus thwarted, abandoned the child and went back to the nereids. Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, III, 13, 5, 6.

The Cretan tale does not differ from the one repeated by Apollodorus from earlier writers a couple of thousand years ago more than two versions of a story gathered from oral tradition in these days are apt to do. Whether it has come down to our time from mouth to mouth through twenty-five centuries or more, or whether, having died out of the popular memory, it was reintroduced through literature, is a question that cannot be decided with certainty; but there will be nothing unlikely in the former supposition to those who bear in mind the tenacity of tradition among people who have never known books.[328]

#B# 34,

First dip me in a stand of milk, And then in a stand of water; Haud me fast, let me na gae, I'll be your bairnie's father,

has an occult and very important significance which has only very lately been pointed out, and which modern reciters had completely lost knowledge of, as appears by the disorder into which the stanzas have fallen.[329] Immersion in a liquid, generally water, but sometimes milk, is a process requisite for passing from a non-human shape, produced by enchantment, back into the human, and also for returning from the human to a non-human state, whether produced by enchantment or original. We have seen that the serpent which Lanzelet kisses, in Ulrich's romance, is not by that simple though essential act instantly turned into a woman. It is still necessary that she should bathe in a spring (p. 308). In an Albanian tale, 'Taubenliebe,' Hahn, No 102, II, 130, a dove flies into a princess's window, and, receiving her caresses, asks, Do you love me? The princess answering Yes, the dove says, Then have a dish of milk ready to-morrow, and you shall see what a handsome man I am. A dish of milk is ready the next morning; the dove flies into the window, dips himself in the milk, drops his feathers, and steps out a beautiful youth. When it is time to go, the youth dips in the milk, and flies off a dove. This goes on every day for two years. A Greek tale, 'Goldgerte,' Hahn, No 7, I, 97, has the same transformation, with water for milk. Our #B# 34 has well-water only.[330] Perhaps the bath of milk occurred in one earlier version of our ballad, the water-bath in another, and the two accounts became blended in time.

The end of the mutations, in #F# 11, #G# 43, is a naked man, and a mother-naked man in #B# 33, under the presumed right arrangement; meaning by right arrangement, however, not the original arrangement, but the most consistent one for the actual form of the tradition. Judging by analogy, the naked man should issue from the bath of milk or of water; into which he should have gone in one of his non-human shapes, a dove, swan, or snake (for which, too, a "stand" of milk or of water is a more practicable bath than for a man). The fragment #C# adds some slight probability to this supposition. The last change there is into "a dove but and a swan;" then Tam Lin bids the maiden to let go, for he'll "be a perfect man:" this, nevertheless, he could not well become without some further ceremony. #A# is the only version which has preserved an essentially correct process: Tam Lin, when a burning gleed, is to be thrown into well-water, from which he will step forth a naked knight.[331]

At stated periods, which the ballads make to be seven years, the fiend of hell is entitled to take his teind, tithe, or kane from the people of fairy-land: #A# 24, #B# 23, #C# 5, #D# 15, #G# 28, #H# 15. The fiend prefers those that are fair and fu o flesh, according to #A#, #G#; ane o flesh and blood, #D#. #H# makes the queen fear for herself; "the koors they hae gane round about, and I fear it will be mysel." #H# is not discordant with popular tradition elsewhere, which attributes to fairies the practice of abstracting young children to serve as substitutes for themselves in this tribute: Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 220, 1802. #D# 15 says "the last here goes to hell," which would certainly not be equitable, and #C# "we're a' dung down to hell," where "all" must be meant only of the naturalized members of the community. Poor Alison Pearson, who lost her life in 1586 for believing these things, testified that the tribute was annual. Mr William Sympson, who had been taken away by the fairies, "bidd her sign herself that she be not taken away, for the teind of them are tane to hell everie year:" Scott, as above, p. 208. The kindly queen of the fairies[332] will not allow Thomas of Erceldoune to be exposed to this peril, and hurries him back to earth the day before the fiend comes for his due. Thomas is in peculiar danger, for the reason given in #A#, #G#, #R#.

To morne of helle þe foulle fende Amange this folke will feche his fee; And þou art mekill man and hende; I trowe full wele he wolde chese the.

The elf-queen, #A# 42, #B# 40, would have taken out Tam's twa gray een, had she known he was to be borrowed, and have put in twa een of tree, #B# 41, #D# 34, #E# 21, #H# 14; she would have taken out his heart of flesh, and have put in, #B#, #D#, #E#, a heart of stane, #H# of tree. The taking out of the eyes would probably be to deprive Tam of the faculty of recognizing fairy folk thereafter. Mortals whose eyes have been touched with fairies' salve can see them when they are to others invisible, and such persons, upon distinguishing and saluting fairies, have often had not simply this power but their ordinary eyesight taken away: see Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 304, Thiele, Danmarks Folkesagn, 1843, II, 202, IV, etc. Grimm has given instances of witches, Slavic, German, Norse and Italian, taking out the heart of man (which they are wont to devour), and replacing it in some instances with straw, wood, or something of the kind; nor do the Roman witches appear to have been behind later ones in this dealing: Deutsche Mythologie, 904 f, and the note III, 312.

The fairy in the Lai de Lauval, v. 547, rides on a white palfrey, and also two damsels, her harbingers, v. 471; so the fairy princess in the English Launfal, Halliwell, Fairy Mythology, p. 30. The fairy king and all his knights and ladies ride on white steeds in King Orfeo, Halliwell, as above, p. 41. The queen of Elfland rides a milk-white steed in Thomas Rymer, #A#, #C#; in #B#, and all copies of Thomas of Erceldoune, her palfrey is dapple gray. Tam Lin, #A# 28, #B# 27, etc., is distinguished from all the rest of his "court" by being thus mounted; all the other horses are black or brown.

Tam Lane was taken by the fairies, according to #G# 26, 27, while sleeping under an apple-tree. In Sir Orfeo (ed. Zielke, v. 68) it was the queen's sleeping under an ympe-tree that led to her being carried off by the fairy king, and the ympe-tree we may suppose to be some kind of fruit tree, if not exclusively the apple. Thomas of Erceldoune is lying under a semely [derne, cumly] tree, when he sees the fairy queen. The derivation of that poem from Ogier le Danois shows that this must have been an apple-tree. Special trees are considered in Greece dangerous to lie under in summer and at noon, as exposing one to be taken by the nereids or fairies, especially plane, poplar, fig, nut, and St John's bread: Schmidt, Volksleben der Neugriechen, p. 119. The elder and the linden are favorites of the elves in Denmark.

The rencounter at the beginning between Tam Lin and Janet (in the wood, #D#, #F#, #G#) is repeated between Hind Etin [Young Akin] and Margaret in 'Hind Etin,' further on. Some Slavic ballads open in a similar way, but there is nothing noteworthy in that: see p. 41. "First they did call me Jack," etc., #D# 9, is a commonplace of frequent occurrence: see, e.g., 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.'

Some humorous verses, excellent in their way, about one Tam o Lin are very well known: as Tam o the Linn, Chambers, Scottish Songs, p. 455, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 33, ed. 1870; Sharpe's Ballads, new ed., p. 44, p. 137, No XVI; Tommy Linn, North Country Chorister, ed. Ritson, p. 3; Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 271, ed. 1849; Thomas o Linn, Kinloch MSS, III, 45, V, 81; Tam o Lin, Campbell MSS., II, 107. (Miss Joanna Baillie tried her hand at an imitation, but the jocosity of the real thing is not feminine.) A fool sings this stanza from such a song in Wager's comedy, 'The longer thou livest, the more fool thou art,' put at about 1568; see Furnivall, Captain Cox, his Ballads and Books, p. cxxvii:

Tom a Lin and his wife, and his wiues mother, They went ouer a bridge all three together; The bridge was broken, and they fell in: 'The deuil go with all!' quoth Tom a Lin.

Mr Halliwell-Phillips (as above) says that "an immense variety of songs and catches relating to Tommy Linn are known throughout the country." Brian o Lynn seems to be popular in Ireland: Lover's Legends and Stories of Ireland, p. 260 f. There is no connection between the song and the ballad beyond the name: the song is no parody, no burlesque, of the ballad, as it has been called.

"Carterhaugh is a plain at the confluence of the Ettrick with the Yarrow, scarcely an English mile above the town of Selkirk, and on this plain they show two or three rings on the ground, where, they say, the stands of milk and water stood, and upon which grass never grows." Glenriddell MS.

* * * * *

Translated, after Scott, by Schubart, p. 139, and Büsching's Wöchentliche Nachrichten, I, 247; by Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 212; after Aytoun, I, 7, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 8; by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 17, apparently after Aytoun and Allingham. The Danish 'Nattergalen' is translated by Prior, III, 118, No 116.

Johnson's Museum, p. 423, No 411. Communicated by Robert Burns.

1 O I forbid you, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lin is there.

2 There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh But they leave him a wad, Either their rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenhead.

3 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has broded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she's awa to Carterhaugh, As fast as she can hie.

4 When she came to Carterhaugh Tam Lin was at the well, And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsel.

5 She had na pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twa, Till up then started young Tam Lin, Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae.

6 Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, And why breaks thou the wand? Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh Withoutten my command?

7 'Carterhaugh, it is my ain, My daddie gave it me; I'll come and gang by Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave at thee.'

* * * * * * *

8 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has snooded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she is to her father's ha, As fast as she can hie.

9 Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba, And out then cam the fair Janet, Ance the flower amang them a'.

10 Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess, And out then cam the fair Janet, As green as onie glass.

11 Out then spak an auld grey knight, Lay oer the castle wa, And says, Alas, fair Janet, for thee But we'll be blamed a'.

12 'Haud your tongue, ye auld fac'd knight, Some ill death may ye die! Father my bairn on whom I will, I'll father nane on thee.'

13 Out then spak her father dear, And he spak meek and mild; 'And ever alas, sweet Janet,' he says, 'I think thou gaes wi child.'

14 'If that I gae wi child, father, Mysel maun bear the blame; There's neer a laird about your ha Shall get the bairn's name.

15 'If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae.

16 'The steed that my true-love rides on Is lighter than the wind; Wi siller he is shod before, Wi burning gowd behind.'

17 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has snooded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she's awa to Carterhaugh, As fast as she can hie.

18 When she cam to Carterhaugh, Tam Lin was at the well, And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsel.

19 She had na pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twa, Till up then started young Tam Lin, Says Lady, thou pu's nae mae.

20 Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, Amang the groves sae green, And a' to kill the bonie babe That we gat us between?

21 'O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,' she says, 'For's sake that died on tree, If eer ye was in holy chapel, Or christendom did see?'

22 'Roxbrugh he was my grandfather, Took me with him to bide, And ance it fell upon a day That wae did me betide.

23 'And ance it fell upon a day, A cauld day and a snell, When we were frae the hunting come, That frae my horse I fell; The Queen o Fairies she caught me, In yon green hill to dwell.

24 'And pleasant is the fairy land, But, an eerie tale to tell, Ay at the end of seven years We pay a tiend to hell; I am sae fair and fu o flesh, I'm feard it be mysel.

25 'But the night is Halloween, lady, The morn is Hallowday; Then win me, win me, an ye will, For weel I wat ye may.

26 'Just at the mirk and midnight hour The fairy folk will ride, And they that wad their true-love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide.'

27 'But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin, Or how my true-love know, Amang sae mony unco knights The like I never saw?'

28 'O first let pass the black, lady, And syne let pass the brown, But quickly run to the milk-white steed, Pu ye his rider down.

29 'For I'll ride on the milk-white steed, And ay nearest the town; Because I was an earthly knight They gie me that renown.

30 'My right hand will be glovd, lady, My left hand will be bare, Cockt up shall my bonnet be, And kaimd down shall my hair, And thae's the takens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there.

31 'They'll turn me in your arms, lady, Into an esk and adder; But hold me fast, and fear me not, I am your bairn's father.

32 'They'll turn me to a bear sae grim, And then a lion bold; But hold me fast, and fear me not, As ye shall love your child.

33 'Again they'll turn me in your arms To a red het gaud of airn; But hold me fast, and fear me not, I'll do to you nae harm.

34 'And last they'll turn me in your arms Into the burning gleed; Then throw me into well water, O throw me in wi speed.

35 'And then I'll be your ain true-love, I'll turn a naked knight; Then cover me wi your green mantle, And cover me out o sight.'

36 Gloomy, gloomy was the night, And eerie was the way, As fair Jenny in her green mantle To Miles Cross she did gae.

37 About the middle o the night She heard the bridles ring; This lady was as glad at that As any earthly thing.

38 First she let the black pass by, And syne she let the brown; But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed, And pu'd the rider down.

39 Sae weel she minded whae he did say, And young Tam Lin did win; Syne coverd him wi her green mantle, As blythe's a bird in spring.

40 Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, Out of a bush o broom: 'Them that has gotten young Tam Lin Has gotten a stately groom.'

41 Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, And an angry woman was she: 'Shame betide her ill-far'd face, And an ill death may she die, For she's taen awa the boniest knight In a' my companie.

42 'But had I kend, Tam Lin,' she says, 'What now this night I see, I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een, And put in twa een o tree.'

Glenriddell's MSS, vol. xi, No 17.

1 I forbid ye, maidens a', That wear goud on your gear, To come and gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tom Line is there.

2 There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh But they leave him a wad. Either their things or green mantles, Or else their maidenhead.

3 But Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little above her knee, And she has broded her yellow hair A little above her bree, And she has gaen for Carterhaugh, As fast as she can hie.

4 When she came to Carterhaugh Tom Line was at the well, And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsell.

5 She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae, Till up then started young Tom Line, Says, Lady, thou's pu nae mae.

6 Why pu's thou the rose, Janet? Why breaks thou the wand? Why comest thou to Carterhaugh Withouthen my command?

7 'Fair Carterhaugh it is my ain, My daddy gave it me; I'll come and gae by Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave at thee.'

* * * * * * *

8 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has snooded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she is on to her father's ha, As fast as she can hie.

9 Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba, And out then came fair Janet, The flowr amang them a'.

10 Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess, Out then came fair Janet, As green as ony glass.

11 Out spak an auld grey-headed knight, Lay owre the castle wa, And says, Alas, fair Janet, For thee we'll be blam'd a'.

12 'Had your tongue, you auld grey knight, Some ill dead may ye die! Father my bairn on whom I will, I'll father nane on thee.'

13 Out then spak her father dear, He spak baith thick and milde; 'And ever alas, sweet Janet,' he says, 'I think ye gae wi childe.'

14 'If that I gae wi child, father, Mysell bears a' the blame; There's not a laird about your ha Shall get the bairnie's name.

15 'If my lord were an earthly knight, As he's an elfish grey, I wad na gie my ain true-love For nae lord that ye hae.'

16 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has snooded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she's away to Carterhaugh, As fast as she can hie.

17 When she came to Carterhaugh, Tom Line was at the well, And there she faund his steed standing, But away was himsell.

18 She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae, Till up then started young Tom Line, Says, Lady, thou's pu na mae.

19 Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, Out owr yon groves sae green, And a' to kill your bonny babe, That we gat us between?

20 'O tell me, tell me, Tom,' she says, 'For's sake who died on tree, If eer ye were in holy chapel, Or christendom did see.'

21 'Roxburgh he was my grandfather, Took me with him to bide, And ance it fell upon a day That wae did me betide.

22 'Ance it fell upon a day, A cauld day and a snell, When we were frae the hunting come, That from my horse I fell.

23 'The Queen of Fairies she came by, Took me wi her to dwell, Evn where she has a pleasant land For those that in it dwell, But at the end o seven years, They pay their teind to hell.

24 'The night it is gude Halloween, The fairie folk do ride, And they that wad their true-love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide.'

25 'But how shall I thee ken, Thomas, Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang a pack o uncouth knights The like I never saw?'

26 'The first company that passes by, Say na, and let them gae; The next company that passes by, Say na, and do right sae; The third company that passes by, Then I'll be ane o thae.

27 'Some ride upon a black, lady, And some ride on a brown, But I ride on a milk-white steed, And ay nearest the town: Because I was an earthly knight They gae me that renown.

28 'My right hand will be glovd, lady, My left hand will be bare, And thae's the tokens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there.

29 'Then hie thee to the milk-white steed, And pu me quickly down, Cast thy green kirtle owr me, And keep me frae the rain.

30 'They'll turn me in thy arms, lady, An adder and a snake; But hold me fast, let me na gae, To be your warldly mate.

31 'They'll turn me in your arms, lady, A grey greyhound to girn; But hald me fast, let me na gae, The father o your bairn.

32 'They'll turn me in your arms, lady, A red het gad o iron; Then hand me fast, and be na feard, I'll do to you nae harm.

33 'They'll turn me in your arms, lady, A mother-naked man; Cast your green kirtle owr me, To keep me frae the rain.

34 'First dip me in a stand o milk, And then a stand o water; Haud me fast, let me na gae, I'll be your bairnie's father.'

35 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little aboon her knee, And she has snooded her yellow hair A little aboon her bree, And she is on to Miles Cross, As fast as she can hie.

36 The first company that passd by, She said na, and let them gae; The next company that passed by, She said na, and did right sae; The third company that passed by, Then he was ane o thae.

37 She hied her to the milk-white steed, And pu'd him quickly down; She cast her green kirtle owr him, To keep him frae the rain; Then she did all was orderd her, And sae recoverd him.

38 Then out then spak the Queen o Fairies, Out o a bush o broom: 'They that hae gotten young Tom Line Hae got a stately groom.'

39 Out than spak the Queen o Fairies, Out o a bush of rye: 'Them that has gotten young Tom Line Has the best knight in my company.

40 'Had I kend, Thomas,' she says, 'A lady wad hae borrowd thee, I wad hae taen out thy twa grey een, Put in twa een o tree.

41 'Had I but kend, Thomas,' she says, 'Before I came frae hame, I had taen out that heart o flesh, Put in a heart o stane.'

Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 300.

* * * * * * *

1 She's prickt hersell and prind hersell, By the ae light o the moon, And she's awa to Kertonha, As fast as she can gang.

2 'What gars ye pu the rose, Jennet? What gars ye break the tree? What gars you gang to Kertonha Without the leave of me?'

3 'Yes, I will pu the rose, Thomas, And I will break the tree; For Kertonha shoud be my ain, Nor ask I leave of thee.'

4 'Full pleasant is the fairy land, And happy there to dwell; I am a fairy, lyth and limb, Fair maiden, view me well.

5 'O pleasant is the fairy land, How happy there to dwell! But ay at every seven years end We're a' dung down to hell.

6 'The morn is good Halloween, And our court a' will ride; If ony maiden wins her man, Then she may be his bride.

7 'But first ye'll let the black gae by, And then ye'll let the brown; Then I'll ride on a milk-white steed, You'll pu me to the ground.

8 'And first, I'll grow into your arms An esk but and an edder; Had me fast, let me not gang, I'll be your bairn's father.

9 'Next, I'll grow into your arms A toad but and an eel; Had me fast, let me not gang, If you do love me leel.

10 'Last, I'll grow into your arms A dove but and a swan; Then, maiden fair, you'll let me go, I'll be a perfect man.'

* * * * * * *

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 532, a North Country version. #b.# Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, 1844, p. 54, from the recitation of an old woman. #c.# Pitcairn's MSS, 1817-25, III, p. 67: "procured by David Webster, Bookseller, from tradition."

1 O all you ladies young and gay, Who are so sweet and fair, Do not go into Chaster's wood, For Tomlin will be there.

2 Fair Margret sat in her bonny bower, Sewing her silken seam, And wished to be in Chaster's wood, Among the leaves so green.

3 She let her seam fall to her foot, The needle to her toe, And she has gone to Chaster's wood, As fast as she could go.

4 When she began to pull the flowers, She pulld both red and green; Then by did come, and by did go, Said, Fair maid, let aleene.

5 'O why pluck you the flowers, lady, Or why climb you the tree? Or why come ye to Chaster's wood Without the leave of me?'

6 'O I will pull the flowers,' she said, 'Or I will break the tree, For Chaster's wood it is my own, I'll no ask leave at thee.'

7 He took her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass green sleeve, And laid her low down on the flowers, At her he asked no leave.

8 The lady blushed, and sourly frowned, And she did think great shame; Says, 'If you are a gentleman, You will tell me your name.'

9 'First they did call me Jack,' he said, 'And then they called me John, But since I lived in the fairy court Tomlin has always been my name.

10 'So do not pluck that flower, lady, That has these pimples gray; They would destroy the bonny babe That we've got in our play.'

11 'O tell me, Tomlin,' she said, 'And tell it to me soon, Was you ever at good church-door, Or got you christendoom?'

12 'O I have been at good church-door, And aff her yetts within; I was the Laird of Foulis's son, The heir of all this land.

13 'But it fell once upon a day, As hunting I did ride, As I rode east and west yon hill There woe did me betide.

14 'O drowsy, drowsy as I was! Dead sleep upon me fell; The Queen of Fairies she was there, And took me to hersell.

15 'The Elfins is a pretty place, In which I love to dwell, But yet at every seven years' end The last here goes to hell; And as I am ane o flesh and blood, I fear the next be mysell.

16 'The morn at even is Halloween; Our fairy court will ride, Throw England and Scotland both, Throw al the world wide; And if ye would me borrow, At Rides Cross ye may bide.

17 'You may go into the Miles Moss, Between twelve hours and one; Take holy water in your hand, And cast a compass round.

18 'The first court that comes along, You'll let them all pass by; The next court that comes along, Salute them reverently.

19 'The next court that comes along Is clad in robes of green, And it's the head court of them all, For in it rides the queen.

20 'And I upon a milk-white steed, With a gold star in my crown; Because I am an earthly man I'm next to the queen in renown.

21 'Then seize upon me with a spring, Then to the ground I'll fa, And then you'll hear a rueful cry That Tomlin is awa.

22 'Then I'll grow in your arms two Like to a savage wild; But hold me fast, let me not go, I'm father of your child.

23 'I'll grow into your arms two Like an adder or a snake; But hold me fast, let me not go, I'll be your earthly maick.

24 'I'll grow into your arms two Like iron in strong fire; But hold me fast, let me not go, Then you'll have your desire.'

25 She rid down to Miles Cross, Between twelve hours and one, Took holy water in her hand, And cast a compass round.

26 The first court that came along, She let them all pass by; The next court that came along Saluted reverently.

27 The next court that came along Were clad in robes of green, When Tomlin, on a milk-white steed, She saw ride with the queen.

28 She seized him in her arms two, He to the ground did fa, And then she heard a ruefull cry 'Tomlin is now awa.'

29 He grew into her arms two Like to a savage wild; She held him fast, let him not go, The father of her child.

30 He grew into her arms two Like an adder or a snake; She held him fast, let him not go, He was her earthly maick.

31 He grew into her arms two Like iron in hot fire; She held him fast, let him not go, He was her heart's desire.

32 Then sounded out throw elphin court, With a loud shout and a cry, That the pretty maid of Chaster's wood That day had caught her prey.

33 'O stay, Tomlin,' cried Elphin Queen, 'Till I pay you your fee;' 'His father has lands and rents enough, He wants no fee from thee.'

34 'O had I known at early morn Tomlin would from me gone, I would have taken out his heart of flesh Put in a heart of stone.'

Motherwell's Note-book, p. 13.

1 Lady Margaret is over gravel green, And over gravel grey, And she's awa to Charteris ha, Lang lang three hour or day.

2 She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower, A flower but only ane, Till up and started young Tamlin, Says, Lady, let alane.

3 She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower, A flower but only twa, Till up and started young Tamlene, Atween her and the wa.

4 'How daur you pu my flower, madam? How daur ye break my tree? How daur ye come to Charter's ha, Without the leave of me?'

5 'Weel I may pu the rose,' she said, 'But I daurna break the tree; And Charter's ha is my father's, And I'm his heir to be.'

6 'If Charteris ha be thy father's, I was ance as gude mysell; But as I came in by Lady Kirk, And in by Lady Well,

7 'Deep and drowsy was the sleep On my poor body fell; By came the Queen of Faery, Made me with her to dwell.

8 'But the morn at een is Halloween, Our fairy foks a' do ride; And she that will her true-love win, At Blackstock she must bide.

9 'First let by the black,' he said, 'And syne let by the brown; But when you see the milk-white steed, You'll pull his rider down.

10 'You'll pull him into thy arms, Let his bricht bridle fa, And he'll fa low into your arms Like stone in castle's wa.

11 'They'll first shape him into your arms An adder or a snake; But hold him fast, let him not go, He'll be your world's make.

12 'They'll next shape him into your arms Like a wood black dog to bite; Hold him fast, let him not go, For he'll be your heart's delight.

13 'They'll next shape [him] into your arms Like a red-het gaud o airn; But hold him fast, let him not go, He's the father o your bairn.

14 'They'll next shape him into your arms Like the laidliest worm of Ind; But hold him fast, let him not go, And cry aye "Young Tamlin."'

* * * * * * *

15 Lady Margaret first let by the black, And syne let by the brown, But when she saw the milk-white steed She pulled the rider down.

16 She pulled him into her arms, Let his bright bridle fa', And he fell low into her arms, Like stone in castle's wa.

17 They first shaped him into arms An adder or a snake; But she held him fast, let him not go, For he'd be her warld's make.

18 They next shaped him into her arms Like a wood black dog to bite; But she held him fast, let him not go, For he'd be her heart's delight.

19 They next shaped him into her arms Like a red-het gaud o airn; But she held him fast, let him not go, He'd be father o her bairn.

20 They next shaped him into her arms Like the laidliest worm of Ind; But she held him fast, let him not go, And cried aye 'Young Tamlin.'

21 The Queen of Faery turned her horse about, Says, Adieu to thee, Tamlene! For if I had kent what I ken this night, If I had kent it yestreen, I wad hae taen out thy heart o flesh, And put in a heart o stane.

Motherwell's MS., p. 64, from the recitation of widow McCormick, February, 1825.

* * * * * * *

1 She's taen her petticoat by the band, Her mantle owre her arm, And she's awa to Chester wood, As fast as she could run.

2 She scarsely pulled a rose, a rose, She scarse pulled two or three, Till up there starts Thomas On the Lady Margaret's knee.

3 She's taen her petticoat by the band, Her mantle owre her arm, And Lady Margaret's gane hame agen, As fast as she could run.

4 Up starts Lady Margaret's sister, An angry woman was she: 'If there ever was a woman wi child, Margaret, you are wi!'

5 Up starts Lady Margaret's mother, An angry woman was she: 'There grows ane herb in yon kirk-yard That will scathe the babe away.'

6 She took her petticoats by the band, Her mantle owre her arm, And she's gane to yon kirk-yard As fast as she could run.

7 She scarcely pulled an herb, an herb, She scarse pulled two or three, Till up starts there Thomas Upon this Lady Margret's knee.

8 'How dare ye pull a rose?' he says, 'How dare ye break the tree? How dare ye pull this herb,' he says, 'To scathe my babe away?

9 'This night is Halloweve,' he said, 'Our court is going to waste, And them that loves their true-love best At Chester bridge they'll meet.

10 'First let pass the black,' he says, 'And then let pass the brown, But when ye meet the milk-white steed, Pull ye the rider down.

11 'They'll turn me to an eagle,' he says, 'And then into an ass; Come, hold me fast, and fear me not, The man that you love best.

12 'They'll turn me to a flash of fire, And then to a naked man; Come, wrap you your mantle me about, And then you'll have me won.'

13 She took her petticoats by the band, Her mantle owre her arm, And she's awa to Chester bridge, As fast as she could run.

14 And first she did let pass the black, And then let pass the brown, But when she met the milk-white steed, She pulled the rider down.

15 They turned him in her arms an eagle, And then into an ass; But she held him fast, and feared him not, The man that she loved best.

16 They turned him into a flash of fire, And then into a naked man; But she wrapped her mantle him about, And then she had him won.

17 'O wae be to ye, Lady Margaret, And an ill death may you die, For you've robbed me of the bravest knight That eer rode in our company.'

Buchan's MSS, I, 8; Motherwell's MS., p. 595.

1 Take warning, a' ye ladies fair, That wear gowd on your hair, Come never unto Charter's woods, For Tam-a-line he's there.

2 Even about that knight's middle O' siller bells are nine; Nae ane comes to Charter wood, And a maid returns again.

3 Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam; And she langd to gang to Charter woods, To pou the roses green.

4 She hadna poud a rose, a rose, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by it came him true Tam-a-line, Says, Ladye, lat alane.

5 O why pou ye the rose, the rose? Or why brake ye the tree? Or why come ye to Charter woods, Without leave askd of me?

6 'I will pou the rose, the rose, And I will brake the tree; Charter woods are a' my ain, I'll ask nae leave o thee.'

7 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve, And laid her low on gude green wood, At her he spierd nae leave.

8 When he had got his wills of her, His wills as he had taen, He's taen her by the middle sma, Set her to feet again.

9 She turnd her right and round about, To spier her true-love's name, But naething heard she, nor naething saw, As a' the woods grew dim.

10 Seven days she tarried there, Saw neither sun nor meen; At length, by a sma glimmering light, Came thro the wood her lane.

11 When she came to her father's court, As fine as ony queen; But when eight months were past and gane, Got on the gown o' green.

12 Then out it speaks an eldren knight, As he stood at the yett: 'Our king's daughter, she gaes wi bairn, And we'll get a' the wyte.'

13 'O had your tongue, ye eldren man, And bring me not to shame; Although that I do gang wi bairn, Yese naeways get the blame.

14 'Were my love but an earthly man, As he's an elfin knight, I woudna gie my ain true love For a' that's in my sight.'

15 Then out it speaks her brither dear, He meant to do her harm: 'There is an herb in Charter wood Will twine you an the bairn.'

16 She's taen her mantle her about, Her coffer by the band, And she is on to Charter wood, As fast as she coud gang.

17 She hadna poud a rose, a rose, Nor braken a branch but ane, Till by it came him Tam-a-Line, Says, Ladye, lat alane.

18 O why pou ye the pile, Margaret, The pile o the gravil green, For to destroy the bonny bairn That we got us between?

19 O why pou ye the pile, Margaret, The pile o the gravil gray, For to destroy the bonny bairn That we got in our play?

20 For if it be a knave-bairn, He's heir o a' my land; But if it be a lass-bairn, In red gowd she shall gang.

21 'If my luve were an earthly man, As he's an elfin rae, I coud gang bound, love, for your sake, A twalmonth and a day.'

22 'Indeed your love's an earthly man, The same as well as thee, And lang I've haunted Charter woods, A' for your fair bodie.'

23 'O tell me, tell me, Tam-a-Line, O tell, an tell me true, Tell me this night, an mak nae lie, What pedigree are you?'

24 'O I hae been at gude church-door, An I've got Christendom; I'm the Earl o' Forbes' eldest son, An heir ower a' his land.

25 'When I was young, o three years old, Muckle was made o me; My step-mother put on my claithes, An ill, ill sained she me.

26 'Ae fatal morning I went out, Dreading nae injury, And thinking lang, fell soun asleep, Beneath an apple tree.

27 'Then by it came the Elfin Queen, And laid her hand on me; And from that time since ever I mind, I've been in her companie.

28 'O Elfin it's a bonny place, In it fain woud I dwell; But ay at ilka seven years' end They pay a tiend to hell, And I'm sae fou o flesh an blude, I'm sair feard for mysell.'

29 'O tell me, tell me, Tam-a-Line, O tell, an tell me true; Tell me this night, an mak nae lie, What way I'll borrow you?'

30 'The morn is Halloweven night, The elfin court will ride, Through England, and thro a' Scotland, And through the world wide.

31 'O they begin at sky setting, Rides a' the evening tide; And she that will her true-love borrow, [At] Miles-corse will him bide.

32 'Ye'll do you down to Miles-corse, Between twall hours and ane, And full your hands o holy water, And cast your compass roun.

33 'Then the first an court that comes you till Is published king and queen; The next an court that comes you till, It is maidens mony ane.

34 'The next an court that comes you till Is footmen, grooms and squires; The next an court that comes you till Is knights, and I'll be there.

35 'I Tam-a-Line, on milk-white steed, A goud star on my crown; Because I was an earthly knight, Got that for a renown.

36 'And out at my steed's right nostril, He'll breathe a fiery flame; Ye'll loot you low, and sain yoursel, And ye'll be busy then.

37 'Ye'll take my horse then by the head, And lat the bridal fa; The Queen o' Elfin she'll cry out, True Tam-a-Line's awa.

38 'Then I'll appear in your arms Like the wolf that neer woud tame; Ye'll had me fast, lat me not go, Case we neer meet again.

39 'Then I'll appear in your arms Like the fire that burns sae bauld; Ye'll had me fast, lat me not go, I'll be as iron cauld.

40 'Then I'll appear in your arms Like the adder an the snake; Ye'll had me fast, lat me not go, I am your warld's make.

41 'Then I'll appear in your arms Like to the deer sae wild; Ye'll had me fast, lat me not go, And I'll father your child.

42 'And I'll appear in your arms Like to a silken string; Ye'll had me fast, lat me not go, Till ye see the fair morning.

43 'And I'll appear in your arms Like to a naked man; Ye'll had me fast, lat me not go, And wi you I'll gae hame.'

44 Then she has done her to Miles-corse, Between twall hours an ane, And filled her hands o holy water, And kiest her compass roun.

45 The first an court that came her till Was published king and queen; The niest an court that came her till Was maidens mony ane.

46 The niest an court that came her till Was footmen, grooms and squires; The niest an court that came her till Was knights, and he was there.

47 True Tam-a-Line, on milk-white steed, A gowd star on his crown; Because he was an earthly man, Got that for a renown.

48 And out at the steed's right nostril, He breathd a fiery flame; She loots her low, an sains hersell, And she was busy then.

49 She's taen the horse then by the head, And loot the bridle fa; The Queen o Elfin she cried out, 'True Tam-a-Line's awa.'

50 'Stay still, true Tam-a-Line,' she says, 'Till I pay you your fee:' 'His father wants not lands nor rents, He'll ask nae fee frae thee.'

51 'Gin I bad kent yestreen, yestreen, What I ken weel the day, I shoud taen your fu fause heart, Gien you a heart o clay.'

52 Then he appeared in her arms Like the wolf that neer woud tame; She held him fast, let him not go, Case they neer meet again.

53 Then he appeared in her arms Like the fire burning bauld; She held him fast, let him not go, He was as iron cauld.

54 And he appeared in her arms Like the adder an the snake; She held him fast, let him not go, He was her warld's make.

55 And he appeared in her arms Like to the deer sae wild; She held him fast, let him not go, He's father o her child.

56 And he appeared in her arms Like to a silken string; She held him fast, let him not go, Till she saw fair morning.

57 And he appeared in her arms Like to a naked man; She held him fast, let him not go, And wi her he's gane hame.

58 These news hae reachd thro a' Scotland, And far ayont the Tay, That Lady Margaret, our king's daughter, That night had gaind her prey.

59 She borrowed her love at mirk midnight, Bare her young son ere day, And though ye'd search the warld wide, Ye'll nae find sic a may.

Campbell MSS, II, 129.

1 I forbid ye, maidens a', That wears gowd in your hair, To come or gang by Carterhaugh, For young Tam Lane is there.

2 I forbid ye, maidens a', That wears gowd in your green, To come or gang by Carterhaugh, For fear of young Tam Lane.

3 'Go saddle for me the black,' says Janet, 'Go saddle for me the brown, And I'll away to Carterhaugh, And flower mysell the gown.

4 'Go saddle for me the brown,' says Janet, 'Go saddle for me the black, And I'll away to Carterhaugh, And flower mysel a hat.'

* * * * * * *

5 She had not pulld a flowr, a flowr, A flower but only three, Till up there startit young Tam Lane, Just at bird Janet's knee.

6 'Why pullst thou the herb, Janet, And why breaks thou the tree? Why put you back the bonny babe That's between you and me?'

7 'If my child was to an earthly man, As it is to a wild buck rae, I would wake him the length of the winter's night, And the lea lang simmer's day.'

8 'The night is Halloween, Janet, When our gude neighbours will ride, And them that would their true-love won At Blackning Cross maun bide.

9 'Many will the black ride by, And many will the brown, But I ride on a milk-white steed, And ride nearest the town: Because I was a christened knight They gie me that renown.

10 'Many will the black ride by, But far mae will the brown; But when ye see the milk-white stead, Grip fast and pull me down.

11 'Take me in yer arms, Janet, An ask, an adder lang; The grip ye get ye maun haud fast, I'll be father to your bairn.

12 'Take me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake; The grip ye get ye maun haud fast, I'll be your warld's make.'

* * * * * * *

13 Up bespak the Queen of Fairies, She spak baith loud and high: 'Had I kend the day at noon Tam Lane had been won from me,

14 'I wad hae taen out his heart o flesh, Put in a heart o tree, That a' the maids o Middle Middle Mist Should neer hae taen Tam Lane frae me.'

15 Up bespack the Queen of Fairies, And she spak wi a loud yell: 'Aye at every seven year's end We pay the kane to hell, And the koors they hae gane round about, And I fear it will be mysel.'

#a.# Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 337, ed. 1833. #b.# II, 228, ed. 1802.

1 'O I forbid ye, maidens a', That wear gowd on your hair, To come or gae by Carterhaugh, For young Tamlane is there.

2 'There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh But maun leave him a wad, Either gowd rings, or green mantles, Or else their maidenheid.

3 'Now gowd rings ye may buy, maidens, Green mantles ye may spin, But, gin ye lose your maidenheid, Ye'll neer get that agen.'

4 But up then spak her, fair Janet, The fairest o a' her kin: 'I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o him.'

5 Janet has kilted her green kirtle A little abune her knee, And she has braided her yellow hair A little abune her bree.

6 And when she came to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well, And there she fand his steed standing, But away was himsell.

7 She hadna pu'd a red red rose, A rose but barely three, Till up and starts a wee wee man, At lady Janet's knee.

8 Says, Why pu ye the rose, Janet? What gars ye break the tree? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withouten leave o me?

9 Says, Carterhaugh it is mine ain, My daddie gave it me; I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o thee.

10 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, Among the leaves sae green, And what they did I cannot tell, The green leaves were between.

11 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, Among the roses red, And what they did I cannot say, She neer returnd a maid.

12 When she cam to her father's ha, She looked pale and wan; They thought she'd dreed some sair sickness, Or been with some leman.

13 She didna comb her yellow hair Nor make meikle o her head, And ilka thing that lady took Was like to be her deid.

14 It's four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba; Janet, the wightest of them anes, Was faintest o them a'.

15 Four and twenty ladies fair Were playing at the chess; And out there came the fair Janet, As green as any grass.

16 Out and spak an auld grey-headed knight, Lay oer the castle wa: 'And ever, alas! for thee, Janet, But we'll be blamed a'!'

17 'Now haud your tongue, ye auld grey knight, And an ill deid may ye die! Father my bairn on whom I will, I'll father nane on thee.'

18 Out then spak her father dear, And he spak meik and mild: 'And ever, alas! my sweet Janet, I fear ye gae with child.'

19 'And if I be with child, father, Mysell maun bear the blame; There's neer a knight about your ha Shall hae the bairnie's name.

20 'And if I be with child, father, 'T will prove a wondrous birth, For weel I swear I'm not wi bairn To any man on earth.

21 'If my love were an earthly knight, As he's an elfin grey, I wadna gie my ain true love For nae lord that ye hae.'

22 She prinkd hersell and prinnd hersell, By the ae light of the moon, And she's away to Carterhaugh, To speak wi young Tamlane.

23 And when she cam to Carterhaugh, She gaed beside the well, And there she saw the steed standing, But away was himsell.

24 She hadna pu'd a double rose, A rose but only twae, When up and started young Tamlane, Says, Lady, thou pu's nae mae.

25 Why pu ye the rose, Janet, Within this garden grene, And a' to kill the bonny babe That we got us between?

26 'The truth ye'll tell to me, Tamlane, A word ye mauna lie; Gin eer ye was in haly chapel, Or sained in Christentie?'

27 'The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lie; A knight me got, and a lady me bore, As well as they did thee.

28 'Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire, Dunbar, Earl March, is thine; We loved when we were children small, Which yet you well may mind.

29 'When I was a boy just turnd of nine, My uncle sent for me, To hunt and hawk, and ride with him, And keep him companie.

30 'There came a wind out of the north, A sharp wind and a snell, And a deep sleep came over me, And frae my horse I fell.

31 'The Queen of Fairies keppit me In yon green hill to dwell, And I'm a fairy, lyth and limb, Fair ladye, view me well.

32 'Then would I never tire, Janet, In Elfish land to dwell, But aye, at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell; And I am sae fat and fair of flesh, I fear 't will be mysell.

33 'This night is Halloween, Janet, The morn is Hallowday, And gin ye dare your true love win, Ye hae nae time to stay.

34 'The night it is good Halloween, When fairy folk will ride, And they that wad their true-love win, At Miles Cross they maun bide.'

35 'But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane? Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang so many unearthly knights, The like I never saw?'

36 'The first company that passes by, Say na, and let them gae; The next company that passes by, Say na, and do right sae; The third company that passes by, Then I'll be ane o thae.

37 'First let pass the black, Janet, And syne let pass the brown, But grip ye to the milk-white steed, And pu the rider down.

38 'For I ride on the milk-white steed, And aye nearest the town; Because I was a christend knight, They gave me that renown.

39 'My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare; And these the tokens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there.

40 'They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake; But had me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye wad be my maik.

41 'They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask; They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale that burns fast.

42 'They'll turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gad o airn; But haud me fast, let me not pass, For I'll do you no harm.

43 'First dip me in a stand o milk, And then in a stand o water; But had me fast, let me not pass, I'll be your bairn's father.

44 'And next they'll shape me in your arms A tod but and an eel; But had me fast, nor let me gang, As you do love me weel.

45 'They'll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove but and a swan, And last they'll shape me in your arms A mother-naked man; Cast your green mantle over me, I'll be myself again.'

46 Gloomy, gloomy, was the night, And eiry was the way, As fair Janet, in her green mantle, To Miles Cross she did gae.

47 About the dead hour o the night She heard the bridles ring, And Janet was as glad o that As any earthly thing.

48 And first gaed by the black black steed, And then gaed by the brown; But fast she gript the milk-white steed, And pu'd the rider down.

49 She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed, And loot the bridle fa, And up there raise an erlish cry, 'He's won amang us a'!'

50 They shaped him in fair Janet's arms An esk but and an adder; She held him fast in every shape, To be her bairn's father.

51 They shaped him in her arms at last A mother-naked man, She wrapt him in her green mantle, And sae her true love wan.

52 Up then spake the Queen o Fairies, Out o a bush o broom: 'She that has borrowd young Tamlane Has gotten a stately groom.'

53 Up then spake the Queen o Fairies, Out o a bush o rye: 'She's taen awa the bonniest knight In a' my cumpanie.

54 'But had I kennd, Tamlane,' she says, 'A lady wad borrowd thee I wad taen out thy twa grey een, Put in twa een o tree.

55 'Had I but kennd, Tamlane,' she says, 'Before ye came frae hame, I wad taen out your heart o flesh, Put in a heart o stane.

56 'Had I but had the wit yestreen That I hae coft the day, I'd paid my kane seven times to hell Ere you'd been won away.'

* * * * *

#A.#

Divided in the Museum into 45-1/2 four-line stanzas, without heed to rhyme or reason, 3^{5,6} making a stanza with 4^{1,2}, etc.

3^1. has belted.

4^2. ~Tom~, elsewhere ~Tam~.

17^4. brie.

34^2. burning lead.

#B.#

"An Old Song called Young Tom Line." Written in twenty-six stanzas of four [three, two] long, or double, lines.

19^3. yon bonny babes.

26^2. and do right sae.

26^4. and let them gae. See 36.

_26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33 stand in MS. 31, 26, 27, 32, 28, 29, 33, 30._

#D.#

_#b# has 26 stanzas, #c# has 12. The first 12 stanzas of #a# and #b# and the 12 of #c#, and again the first 22 stanzas of #a#, and #b#, are almost verbally the same, and #a# 23==#b# 24. #b# has but 26 stanzas._

#a.# 15 stands 24 in MS.

17^1. Miles Cross: #b#, Moss.

17^3. the holy.

19^2. So(?)clad: #b#, is clad.

22^1. twa.

25^1. ride.

#b.# 4^4. let abeene.

6^4. I'll ask no.

7^8. her down.

10^4. gotten in.

11^1. to me.

11^3. at a.

12^4. his land.

15^3. and through.

16^5. if that.

16^6. Rides Cross, as in #a#.

17^8. Take holy.

20^4. next the.

After 23:

'I'll grow into your arms two Like ice on frozen lake; But hold me fast, let me not go, Or from your goupen break.'

25. And it's next night into Miles Moss Fair Margaret has gone, When lo she stands beside Rides Cross, Between twelve hours and one.

26. There's holy water in her hand, She casts a compass round, And presently a fairy band Comes riding oer the mound.

#c.# 1^3, and always, ~Chester's wood~.

3^1. the seam.

4^4. let alane.

6^1. will pluck.

6^4. ask no.

9^4. has been.

11^1. me, Tom o Lin.

12^4. his land.

#E.#

18, 19, 20 are not written out. We are directed to understand them to be "~as in preceding stanzas, making the necessary grammatical changes~."

#F.#

11^2, 15^2. ~ass~, somebody's blunder for ~ask~.

#G.#

21^2. ~elfin gray~, Motherwell, but see #H#, 7^2.

26^1. Ay.

31^1. began.

58^2. Motherwell: far's the river Tay.

58^4. Motherwell: she gained.

Motherwell, as usual, seems to have made some slight changes in copying.

#I.#

Scott's copy having been "~prepared from a collation of the printed copies~," namely, those in Johnson's Museum and Herd's Scottish Songs, "~with a very accurate one in Glenriddell's MS., and with several recitals from tradition~," what was not derived from tradition, but from the Museum, Glenriddell, and Herd, is printed in smaller type.

#a.# 3, 20, not in #b.#

After 31 are omitted five stanzas of the copy obtained by Scott "~from a gentleman residing near Langholm~," and others, of the same origin, after 46 and 47.

32 'But we that live in Fairy-land No sickness know nor pain; I quit my body when I will, And take to it again.

33 'I quit my body when I please, Or unto it repair; We can inhabit at our ease In either earth or air.

34 'Our shapes and size we can convert To either large or small; An old nut-shell's the same to us As is the lofty hall.

35 'We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet, We revel in the stream; We wanton lightly on the wind Or glide on a sunbeam.

36 'And all our wants are well supplied From every rich man's store, Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, And vainly grasps for more.'

40^4. ~buy me maik~, a plain misprint for the ~be my maik~ of #b# 57.

46. After this stanza are omitted:

52 The heavens were black, the night was dark, And dreary was the place, But Janet stood with eager wish Her lover to embrace.

53 Betwixt the hours of twelve and one A north wind tore the bent, And straight she heard strange elritch sounds Upon that wind which went.

47. After this stanza are omitted:

55 Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill, The hemlock small blew clear, And louder notes from hemlock large, And bog-reed, struck the ear; But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts, The fairies cannot bear.

56 They sing, inspired with love and joy, Like skylarks in the air; Of solid sense, or thought that's grave, You'll find no traces there.

57 Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved, The dreary heath upon, And louder, louder waxd the sound As they came riding on.

58 Will o Wisp before them went, Sent forth a twinkling light, And soon she saw the fairy bands All riding in her sight.

#b# _6-12 is a fragment of '~The Broomfield-Hill~,' introduced by a stanza formed on the sixth, as here given:_

5. And she's away to Carterhaugh, And gaed beside the wood, And there was sleeping young Tamlane, And his steed beside him stood.

After the fragment of '~The Broomfield-Hill~' follows:

13. Fair Janet, in her green cleiding, Returned upon the morn, And she met her father's ae brother, The laird of Abercorn.

And then these two stanzas, the first altered from Herd's fragment of '~The Broomfield Hill~,' '~I'll wager, I'll wager~,' p. 310, ed. 1769, and the second from Herd's fragment, '~Kertonha~,' or version #C# of this ballad:

14. I'll wager, I'll wager, I'll wager wi you Five hunder merk and ten, I'll maiden gang to Carterhaugh, And maiden come again.

15. She princked hersell, and prin'd hersell, By the ae light of the moon, And she's away to Carterhaugh As fast as she could win.

Instead of #a# 10, 11, #b# has:

He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve, He's led her to the fairy ground, And spierd at her nae leave.

_Instead of 14 of #a#, #b# has something nearer to #A#, #B# 9:_

23. It's four and twenty ladies fair Were in her father's ha, Whan in there came the fair Janet, The flower amang them a'.

After 21 of #a# follows in #b# a copy of '~The Wee Wee Man~,' 32-39, attached by these two stanzas, which had been "~introduced in one recital only~:"

30. 'Is it to a man of might, Janet, Or is it to a man o mean? Or is it unto young Tamlane, That 's wi the fairies gane?'

31. ''T was down by Carterhaugh, father, I walked beside the wa, And there I saw a wee, wee man, The least that eer I saw.'

_Instead of 22, which had been used before, we have in #b#:_

40. Janet's put on her green cleiding, Whan near nine months were gane, And she's awa to Carterhaugh, To speak wi young Tamlane.

#b# has in place of #a# 28-30:

46. Roxburgh was my grandfather, Took me with him to bide, And as we frae the hunting came This harm did me betide.

47. Roxburgh was a hunting knight, And loved hunting well, And on a cauld and frosty day Down frae my horse I fell.

#b# 49 has #A# 24 instead of #a# 37, #I# 32.

#b# _61^2==#a# 49^2==#I# 44^2 has ~toad~, and so has #C# 9^2, from which the stanza is taken. ~Tod~ is an improvement, but probably an editorial improvement._

[323] These are the concluding verses, coming much nearer to the language of this world than the rest. They may have a basis of tradition:

Whar they war aware o the Fairy King, A huntan wi his train.

Four an twenty gentlemen Cam by on steeds o brown; In his hand ilk bore a siller wand, On his head a siller crown.

Four an twenty beltit knichts On duiplit greys cam by; Gowden their wands an crowns, whilk scanct Like streamers in the sky.

Four an twenty noble kings Cam by on steeds o snaw, But True Thomas, the gude Rhymer, Was king outower them a'.

[324] "Tamlane: an old Scottish Border Ballad. Aberdeen, Lewis and James Smith, 1862. "I am indebted for a sight of this copy, and for the information as to the editor, to Mr Macmath.

[325] Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 221-24, ed. 1802.

[326] Restoration from enchantment is effected by drinking blood, in other ballads, as Grundtvig, No 55, II, 156, No 58, II, 174; in No 56, II, 158, by a maid in falcon shape eating of a bit of flesh which her lover had cut from his breast.

[327] Volksleben der Neugriechen, pp 115-17, "from Chourmouzis, Κρητικα, p. 69 f, Athens, 1842." Chourmouzis heard this story, about 1820 or 1830, from an old Cretan peasant, who had heard it from his grandfather.

[328] The silence of the Cretan fairy, as #B#. Schmidt has remarked, even seems to explain Sophocles calling the nuptials of Peleus and Thetis "speechless," αφθογγους γαμους. Sophocles gives the transformations as being lion, snake, fire, water: Scholia in Pindari Nemea, III, 60; Schmidt, as before, p. 116, note. That a firm grip and a fearless one would make any sea-god do your will would appear from the additional instances of Menelaus and Proteus, in Odyssey, IV, and of Hercules and Nereus, Apollodorus, II, 5, 11, 4, Scholia in Apollonii Argonaut., IV, 1396. Proteus masks as lion, snake, panther, boar, running water, tree; Nereus as water, fire, or, as Apollodorus says, in all sorts of shapes. Bacchus was accustomed to transform himself when violence was done him, but it is not recorded that he was ever brought to terms like the watery divinities. See Mannhardt, Wald- und Feldkulte, II, 60-64, who also well remarks that the tales of the White Ladies, who, to be released from a ban, must be kissed three times in various shapes, as toad, wolf, snake, etc., have relation to these Greek traditions.

[329] The significance of the immersion in water is shown by Mannhardt, Wald-u. Feldkulte, II, 64 ff. The disorder in the stanzas of #A# at this place has of course been rectified. In Scott's version, #I#, transformations are added at random from #C#, after the dipping in milk and in water, which seems indeed to have been regarded by the reciters only as a measure for cooling red-hot iron or the burning gleed, and not as the act essential for restoration to the human nature.

[330] Possibly the holy water in #D# 17, #G# 32, is a relic of the water-bath.

[331] In the MS. of #B# also the transformation into a het gad of iron comes just before the direction to dip the object into a stand of milk; but we have the turning into a mother-naked man several stanzas earlier. By reading, in 33^1, I'll turn, and putting 33 after 34, we should have the order of events which we find in #A#.

That Tam Lin should go into water or milk as a dove or snake, or in some other of his temporary forms, and come out a man, is the only disposition which is consistent with the order of the world to which he belongs. Mannhardt gives us a most curious and interesting insight into some of the laws of that world in Wald-u. Feldkulte, II, 64-70. The wife of a Cashmere king, in a story there cited from Benfey's Pantschatantra, I, 254, § 92, is delivered of a serpent, but is reported to have borne a son. Another king offers his daughter in marriage, and the Cashmere king, to keep his secret, accepts the proposal. In due time the princess claims her bridegroom, and they give her the snake. Though greatly distressed, she accepts her lot, and takes the snake about to the holy places, at the last of which she receives a command to put the snake into the water-tank. As soon as this is done the snake takes the form of a man. A woman's giving birth to a snake was by no means a rare thing in Karst in the seventeenth century, and it was the rule in one noble family that all the offspring should be in serpent form, or at least have a serpent's head; but a bath in water turned them into human shape. For elves and water nymphs who have entered into connections with men in the form of women, bathing in water is equally necessary for resuming their previous shape, as appears from an ancient version of the story of Melusina: Gervasius, ed. Liebrecht, p. 4 f, and Vincentius Bellovacensis, Speculum Naturale, 2, 127 (from Helinaudus), cited by Liebrecht, at p. 66.

A lad who had been changed into an ass by a couple of witches recovers his shape merely by jumping into water and rolling about in it: William of Malmesbury's Kings of England, c. 10, cited by Vincent of Beauvais, Speculum Naturale, iii, 109; Düntzer, Liebrecht's Dunlop, p. 538. Simple illusions of magic, such as clods and wisps made to appear swine to our eyes, are inevitably dissolved when the unrealities touch water. Liebrecht's Gervasius, p. 65.

[332] Cf. 'Allison Gross.'

THE QUEEN OF ELFAN'S NOURICE

Skene MSS, No 8, p. 25. Sharpe's Ballad Book, ed. Laing, p. 169.

We see from this pretty fragment, which, after the nature of the best popular ballad, forces you to chant and will not be read, that a woman had been carried off, four days after bearing a son, to serve as nurse in the elf-queen's family. She is promised that she shall be permitted to return home if she will tend the fairy's bairn till he has got the use of his legs. We could well have spared stanzas 10-12, which belong to 'Thomas Rymer,' to know a little more of the proper story.

That elves and water-spirits have frequently solicited the help of mortal women at lying-in time is well known: see Stewart's Popular Superstitions of the Highlands, p. 104; Grimm, Deutsche Sagen, Nos 41, 49, 68, 69, 304; Müllenhoff, Nos 443, 444; Thiele, Danmarks Folkesagen, 1843, II, 200, Nos 1-4; Asbjørnsen, Norske Huldre-Eventyr, 2d ed., I, 16; Maurer, Isländische Volkssagen, p. 6 f; Keightley's Fairy Mythology, pp 122, 261, 275, 301, 311, 388, 488.[333] They also like to have their offspring suckled by earthly women. It is said, writes Gervase of Tilbury, that nobody is more exposed to being carried off by water-sprites than a woman in milk, and that they sometimes restore such a woman, with pay for her services, after she has nursed their wretched fry seven years. He had himself seen a woman who had been abducted for this purpose, while washing clothes on the bank of the Rhone. She had to nurse the nix's son under the water for that term, and then was sent back unhurt. Otia Imperialia, III, 85, Liebrecht, p. 38. Choice is naturally made of the healthiest and handsomest mothers for this office. "A fine young woman of Nithsdale, when first made a mother, was sitting singing and rocking her child, when a pretty lady came into her cottage, covered with a fairy mantle. She carried a beautiful child in her arms, swaddled in green silk. 'Gie my bonnie thing a suck,' said the fairy. The young woman, conscious to whom the child belonged, took it kindly in her arms, and laid it to her breast. The lady instantly disappeared, saying, 'Nurse kin', an ne'er want.' The young mother nurtured the two babes, and was astonished, whenever she awoke, at finding the richest suits of apparel for both children, with meat of most delicious flavor. This food tasted, says tradition, like loaf mixed with wine and honey," etc. Cromek, Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 302.

1 I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, An a cow low down in yon glen; Lang, lang will my young son greet Or his mither bid him come ben.

2 I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, An a cow low down in yon fauld; Lang, lang will my young son greet Or his mither take him frae cauld.

* * * * * * *

3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Waken, Queen of Elfan, An hear your nourice moan.'

4 'O moan ye for your meat, Or moan ye for your fee, Or moan ye for the ither bounties That ladies are wont to gie?'

5 'I moan na for my meat, Nor moan I for my fee, Nor moan I for the ither bounties That ladies are wont to gie.

6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . But I moan for my young son I left in four nights auld.

7 'I moan na for my meat, Nor yet for my fee, But I mourn for Christen land, It's there I fain would be.'

8 'O nurse my bairn, nourice,' she says, 'Till he stan at your knee, An ye's win hame to Christen land, Whar fain it's ye wad be.

9 'O keep my bairn, nourice, Till he gang by the hauld, An ye's win hame to your young son Ye left in four nights auld.'

* * * * * * *

10 'O nourice lay your head Upo my knee: See ye na that narrow road Up by yon tree?

11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . That's the road the righteous goes, And that's the road to heaven.

12 'An see na ye that braid road, Down by yon sunny fell? Yon's the road the wicked gae, An that's the road to hell.'

* * * * * * *

1^1. an a bonnie cow low, with ~an~ crossed out.

2^2. yon fall: ~fauld~ in margin.

6^4. ~auld~ not in MS., supplied from 9^4.

7^3. Christend.

8^1. ~she says~ is probably the comment of the singer or reciter.

[333] Many of these instances are cited by Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, 1875, I, 378. In Thiele's first example the necessity of having Christian aid comes from the lying-in woman being a Christian who had been carried off by an elf. In Asbjørnsen's tale, the woman who is sent for to act as midwife finds that her own serving-maid is forced, without being aware of it, to work all night in the elfin establishment, and is very tired with double duty.

HIND ETIN

#A.# 'Young Akin,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 6. Motherwell's MS., p. 554.

#B.# 'Hynde Etin,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 228.

#C.# 'Young Hastings,' Buchan, Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 67. 'Young Hastings the Groom,' Motherwell's MS., p. 450; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 287.

It is scarcely necessary to remark that this ballad, like too many others, has suffered severely by the accidents of tradition. #A# has been not simply damaged by passing through low mouths, but has been worked over by low hands. Something considerable has been lost from the story, and fine romantic features, preserved in Norse and German ballads, have been quite effaced.

Margaret, a king's daughter, #A#, an earl's daughter, #B#, a lady of noble birth, #C#, as she sits sewing in her bower door, hears a note in Elmond's wood and wishes herself there, #A#. The wood is Amon-shaw in #C#, Mulberry in #B#: the Elmond (Amond, Elfman?) is probably significant. So far the heroine resembles Lady Isabel in No 4, who, sewing in her bower, hears an elf-horn, and cannot resist the enchanted tone. Margaret makes for the wood as fast as she can go. The note that is heard in #A# is mistaken in #B# for nuts: Margaret, as she stands in her bower door, spies some nuts growing in the wood, and wishes herself there. Arrived at the wood, Margaret, in #A# as well as #B#, immediately takes to pulling nuts.[334] The lady is carried off in #C# under cover of a magical mist, and the hero in all is no ordinary hind.

Margaret has hardly pulled a nut, when she is confronted by young Akin, #A#, otherwise, and correctly, called Etin in #B#, a hind of giant strength in both, who accuses her of trespassing, and stops her. Akin pulls up the highest tree in the wood and builds a bower, invisible to passers-by, for their habitation. #B#, which recognizes no influence of enchantment upon the lady's will, as found in #A#, and no prepossession on her part, as in #C#, makes Hind Etin pull up the biggest tree in the forest as well, but it is to scoop out a cave many fathoms deep, in which he confines Margaret till she comes to terms, and consents to go home with him, wherever that may be. Hastings, another corruption of Etin, carries off the lady on his horse to the wood, "where again their loves are sworn," and there they take up their abode in a cave of stone, #C# 9. Lady Margaret lives with the etin seven years, and bears him seven sons, #A# 9; many years, and bears seven sons, #B#; ten years, and bears seven bairns, #C# 6, 8, 9.[335]

Once upon a time the etin goes hunting, and takes his eldest boy with him. The boy asks his father why his mother is so often in tears, and the father says it is because she was born of high degree, but had been stolen by him; "is wife of Hynde Etin, wha ne'er got christendame," #B# 15. The etin, who could pull the highest tree in the wood up by the roots, adds in #A# 15 that when he stole his wife he was her father's cup-bearer! and that he caught her "on a misty night," which reminds us of the mist which Young Hastings, "the groom," cast before the lady's attendants when he carried her off.

The next time Akin goes hunting he leaves his young comrade behind, and the boy tells his mother that he heard "fine music ring" when he was coming home, on the other occasion. She wishes she had been there. He takes his mother and six brothers, and they make their way through the wood at their best speed, not knowing in what direction they are going. But luckily they come to the gate of the king, the father and grandfather of the band. The mother sends her eldest boy in with three rings, to propitiate the porter, the butler-boy, who acts as usher in this particular palace, and the minstrel who plays before the king. His majesty is so struck with the resemblance of the boy to his daughter that he is blinded with tears. The boy informs his grandfather that his mother is standing at the gates, with six more brothers, and the king orders that she be admitted. He asks her to dine, but she can touch nothing till she has seen her mother and sister. Admitted to her mother, the queen in turn says, You will dine with me; but she can touch nothing till she has seen her sister. Her sister, again, invites her to dine, but now she can touch nothing till she has seen her "dear husband." Rangers are sent into the wood to fetch Young Akin, under promise of a full pardon. He is found tearing his yellow hair. The king now asks Akin to dine with him, and there appears to have been a family dinner. While this is going on the boy expresses a wish to be christened, "to get christendoun;" in all his eight years he had never been in a church. The king promises that he shall go that very day with his mother, and all seven of the boys seem to have got their christendoun; and so, we may hope, did Hind Etin, who was, if possible, more in want of it than they; #B# 15, 19.

In this story #A# and #B# pretty nearly agree. #C# has nothing of the restoration of the lady to her parents and home. The mother, in this version, having harped her seven bairns asleep, sits down and weeps bitterly. She wishes, like Fair Annie, that they were rats, and she a cat, to eat them one and all. She has lived ten years in a stone cave, and has never had a churching. The eldest boy suggests that they shall all go to some church: they be christened and she be churched. This is accomplished without any difficulty, and, as the tale stands, we can only wonder that it had not been attempted before.

The etin of the Scottish story is in Norse and German a dwarf-king, elf-king, hill-king, or even a merman. The ballad is still sung in Scandinavia and Germany, but only the Danes have versions taken down before the present century.

#Danish.# 'Jomfruen og Dværgekongen,' Grundtvig, No 37, #A-C# from manuscripts of the sixteenth century. #A-G#, Grundtvig, II, 39-46; #H#, I, III, 806-808; #K-T#, IV, 795-800, #P-S# being short fragments. #K# previously in "Fylla," a weekly newspaper, 1870, Nos 23, 30; #L-O#, #Q#, #R#, 'Agnete i Bjærget,' in Kristensen's Jyske Folkeviser, II, 72, 77, 349, 74, I, xxxi, II, 79; #U#, a short fragment, Danske Viser, V, x, xi.

#Swedish.# 'Den Bergtagna,' #A#, #B#, Afzelius, I, 1, No 1, II, 201. #C#, 'Bergkonungen,' Afzelius, II, 22, No 35. #D#, #E#, 'Herr Elver, Bergakonungen,' Arwidsson, II, 277, No 141 B, II, 275, No 141 A. #F#, 'Jungfrun och Bergakonungen,' Arwidsson, II, 280, No 142. #G#, 'Agneta och Bergamannen,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, p. 13. #H#, 'Jungfrun och Bergamannen,' the same, p. 21. #I#, #K#, #L#, in Cavallius and Stephens' manuscript collection (#K#, #L#, fragments), given by Grundtvig, IV, 803. #M#, F. L. Borgströms Folkvisor, No 11, described by Grundtvig, IV, 802. #N#, Werner's Westergötlands Fornminnen, p. 93 f, two stanzas.

#Norwegian.# #A#, #B#,[336] #C#, 'Liti Kersti, som vart inkvervd,' Landstad, p. 431, No 42, p. 442, No 44, p. 446, No 45. #D#, 'Margit Hjuxe, som vart inkvervd,' the same, p. 451, No 46. #E#, #F#, 'Målfri,' 'Antonetta,' Grundtvig, IV, 801 f, the last evidently derived from Denmark. #G-P#, nine versions communicated to Grundtvig by Professor Sophus Bugge, and partially described in Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, III, 808-10. Lindeman gives the first stanza of #A# with airs No 214, No 262 of his Fjeldmelodier, and perhaps had different copies. Nos 323, 320 may also have been versions of this ballad. #C#, rewritten, occurs in #J#. M. Moe og Ivar Mortensen's Norske Fornkvæde og Folkevisur, p. 16. Mixed forms, in which the ballad proper is blended with another, Landstad, No 43==Swedish, Arwidsson, No 145; eight, communicated by Bugge, Grundtvig, III, 810-13; two others, IV, 483 f.[337]

#Färöe.# #A#, #B#, Grundtvig, IV, 803 f.

#Icelandic.# 'Rika álfs kvæði,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, No 4.

Danish #A#, one of the three sixteenth-century versions, tells how a knight, expressing a strong desire to obtain a king's daughter, is overheard by a dwarf, who says this shall never be. The dwarf pretends to bargain with the knight for his services in forwarding the knight's object, but consults meanwhile with his mother how he may get the lady for himself.[338] The mother tells him that the princess will go to even-song, and the dwarf writes runes on the way she must go by, which compel her to come to the hill. The dwarf holds out his hand and asks, How came ye to this strange land? to which the lady answers mournfully, I wot never how. The dwarf says, You have pledged yourself to a knight, and he has betrayed you with runes: this eve you shall be the dwarf's guest. She stayed there the night, and was taken back to her mother in the morning. Eight years went by; her hand was sought by five kings, nine counts, but no one of them could get a good answer. One day her mother asked, Why are thy cheeks so faded? Why can no one get thee? She then revealed that she had been beguiled by the dwarf, and had seven sons and a daughter in the hill, none of whom she ever saw. She thought she was alone, but the dwarf-king was listening. He strikes her with an elf-rod, and bids her hie to the hill after him. Late in the evening the poor thing dons her cloak, knocks at her father's door, and says good-night to the friends that never will see her again, then sadly turns to the hill. Her seven sons advance to meet her, and ask why she told of their father. Her tears run sore; she gives no answer; she is dead ere midnight.

With #A# agrees another of the three old Danish copies, #B#, and three modern ones, #D#, #M#, #N#, have something of the opening scene which characterizes #A#. So also Swedish #C#, #I#, and the Icelandic ballad. In Swedish #C#, Proud Margaret, who is daughter of a king of seven kingdoms, will have none of her suitors (this circumstance comes too soon). A hill-king asks his mother how he may get her. She asks in return, What will you give me to make her come of herself to the hill? He promises red gold and chestfuls of pence; and one Sunday morning Margaret, who has set out to go to church, is made--by magical operations, of course--to take the way to the hill.

A second form begins a stage later: Danish #C#, #G#, #K#, Swedish #D#, #E#, #K#, Norwegian #A#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #H#, #I# (?), #K#, #L#, #M# (?), #N# (?), Färöe #A#, #B#. We learn nothing of the device by which the maid has been entrapped. Mother and daughter are sitting in their bower, and the mother asks her child why her cheeks are pale, why milk is running from her breasts. She answers that she has been working too hard; that what is taken for milk is mead. The mother retorts that other women do not suffer from their industry; that mead is brown, and milk is white. Hereupon the daughter reveals that she has been beguiled by an elf, and, though living under her mother's roof, has had eight or nine children (seven or eight sons and a daughter; fifteen children, Färöe #A#, #B#), none of whom she ever saw, since after birth they were always transferred to the hill (see, especially, Danish #C#, #G#, also #A#; Norwegian #H#, #I#; Färöe #A#, #B#). The mother (who disowns her, Danish #C#, #G#, Swedish #D#, #E#, Norwegian #K#), in several versions, asks what gifts she got for her honor. Among these was a harp [horn, Norwegian #L#], which she was to play when she was unhappy. The mother asks for a piece, and the first tones bring the elf, who reproaches the daughter for betraying him: had she concealed their connection she might still have lived at home, #C#; but now she must go with him. She is kindly received by her children. They give her a drink which makes her forget father and mother, heaven and earth, moon and sun, and even makes her think she was born in the hill, Danish #C#, #G#, Swedish #D#, Norwegian #A#, #C#.[339]

Danish #G#, #K#, Färöe #A#, #B#, take a tragic turn: the woman dies in the first two the night she comes to the hill. Danish #C#, one of the sixteenth-century versions, goes as far as possible in the other direction. The elf-king pats Maldfred's cheek, takes her in his arms, gives her a queen's crown and name.

And this he did for the lily-wand, He had himself christened and all his land!

A third series of versions offers the probable type of the much-corrupted Scottish ballads, and under this head come Danish #E#, #F#, #H#, #I#, #L-R#, #T#; Swedish #A#, #B#, #F-I#, and also #C#, after an introduction which belongs to the first class; Norwegian #D#, #F#. The characteristic feature is that the woman has been living eight or nine years in the hill, and has there borne her children, commonly seven sons and a daughter. She sets out to go to matins, and whether under the influence of runes, or accidentally, or purposely, takes the way to the hill. In a few cases it is clear that she does not seek the hill-man or put herself in his way, e.g., Danish #N#, Swedish #G#, but Swedish #A#, #H#, #N# make her apply for admission at the hill-door. In Danish #I#, #N-R#, #T#, Norwegian #F#, it is not said that she was on her way to church; she is in a field or in the hill. In Swedish #F# she has been two years in the cave, and it seems to her as if she had come yesterday. After her eight or nine years with the hill-man the woman longs to go home, Danish #E#, #F#, #I#, Swedish #A#, #F#, #I#, Norwegian #D#; to go to church, Danish #L#, #M#, #N#, #P#, #T#, Norwegian #F#; for she had heard Denmark's bells, church bells, Danish #L-P#, #T#, Swedish #G#, Norwegian #D#, #F#. She had heard these bells as she watched the cradle, Danish #T#, #P#, Swedish #G#; sat by the cradle and sang, #T# 4; compare English #C# 7. She asks the hill-man's permission, and it is granted on certain terms: she is not to talk of him and her life in the hill, Danish #E#, #I#, Swedish #A#, #F#, #I#, is to come back, Danish #F#, must not stay longer than an hour or two, Norwegian #D#; she is not to wear her gold, her best clothes, not to let out her hair, not to go into her mother's pew at the church, not to bow when the priest pronounces the holy name, or make an offering, or go home after service, etc., Danish #I#, #L-P#, #T#, Norwegian #F#. All these last conditions she violates, nor does she in the least heed the injunction not to speak of the hill-man. The consequence is that he summarily presents himself, whether at the church or the paternal mansion, and orders her back to the hill, sometimes striking her on the ear or cheek so that blood runs, or beating her with a rod, Danish #E#, #I#, #L#, #M#, #S#, #T#, Swedish #A#, #B#, #C#, #H#, #I#, Norwegian #F#. In a few versions, the hill-man tells her that her children are crying for her, and she replies, Let them cry; I will never go back to the hill; Danish #M#, #N#, #O#, Norwegian #F#. In Danish #E#, Swedish #G#, a gold apple thrown into her lap seems to compel her to return; more commonly main force is used. She is carried dead into the hill, or dies immediately on her arrival, in Norwegian #F#, Danish #T#; she dies of grief, according to traditional comment, in Norwegian #D#. They give her a drink, and her heart breaks, Swedish #A#, #G#, #H#, #M#; but elsewhere the drink only induces forgetfulness, Danish #L#, #M#, Swedish #B#, #C#, #F#.

Much of the story of 'Jomfruen og Dværgekongen' recurs in the ballad of 'Agnete og Havmanden,' which, for our purposes, may be treated as a simple variation of the other. The Norse forms are again numerous, but all from broadsides dating, at most, a century back, or from recent tradition.

#Danish.# 'Agnete og Havmanden,' Grundtvig, No 38, #A-D#, II, 51 ff, 656 ff, III, 813 ff. Copies of #A# are numerous, and two had been previously printed; in Danske Viser, I, 313, No 50, and "in Barfod's Brage og Idun, II, 264." #E#, Rask's Morskabslæsning, III, 81, Grundtvig, II, 659. #F#, one stanza, Grundtvig, p. 660. #G#, #H#, the same, III, 816. #I#, Kristensen, II, 75, No 28 C, Grundtvig, IV, 807. #K#, Grundtvig, IV, 808.[340]

#Swedish.# #A#, #B#, #C#, in Cavallius and Stephens' unprinted collection, described by Grundtvig, II, 661. #D#, 'Agneta och Hafsmannen,' Eva Wigström's Folkdiktning, p. 9. #E#, Bergström's Afzelius, II, 308. #F#, 'Skön Anna och Hafskungen,' Aminson, Bidrag till Södermanlands äldre Kulturhistoria, III, 43. #G#, 'Helena och Hafsmannen,' the same, p. 46.

#Norwegian.# #A#, Grundtvig, III, 817, properly Danish rather than Norwegian. #B#, a version partly described at p. 818. #C#, Grundtvig, IV, 809, also more Danish than Norwegian. All these communicated by Bugge.

Danish #C#, #G#, Norwegian #A#, have a hillman instead of a merman, and might as well have been put with the other ballad. On the other hand, the Danish versions #M#, #N#, #O# of 'The Maid and the Dwarf-King' call the maid Agenet, and give the hill-man a name, Nek, Netmand, Mekmand, which implies a watery origin for him, and the fragments #P#, #Q#, #R# have similar names, Nekmand, Negen, Lækkemand, as also Agenete, and might as well have been ranked with 'Agnes and the Merman.' In 'The Maid and the Dwarf-King,' Swedish #L# (one stanza) the maid is taken by "Pel Elfven" to the sea.

Agnes goes willingly with the merman to the sea-bottom, Danish #A#, #D#, #E#, #K#, Swedish #A#, #D#, #E#, Norwegian #A#, #C#. She lives there, according to many versions, eight years, and has seven children. As she is sitting and singing by the cradle one day, she hears the bells of England, Danish #A#, #C#, #D#, #E#, #H#, #I#, #K#, Swedish #D# [church bells, bells, #F#, #G#], Norwegian #A#, #C#. She asks if she may go to church, go home, and receives permission on the same terms as in the other ballad. Her mother asks her what gifts she had received, Danish #A#, #D#, #E#, #H#, #I#, Swedish #E#, #F#, Norwegian #C#. When the merman comes into the church all the images turn their backs, Danish #A#, #D#, #K#, Swedish #D#, #F#, #G#, Norwegian #A#, #C#; and, in some cases, for Agnes, too. He tells her that the children are crying for her; she refuses to go back, Danish #A#, #C#,# D#, #I#, #K#, Swedish #D#, #F#, #G# (and apparently #A#, #B#, #C#), Norwegian #C#. In Norwegian #A# the merman strikes her on the cheek, and she returns; in Danish #I# she is taken back quietly; in Danish #C# he gives her so sore an ail that she dies presently; in Danish #H# she is taken away by force, and poisoned by her children; in Danish #K# the merman says that if she stays with her mother they must divide the children (five). He takes two, she two, and each has to take half of the odd one.

The Norse forms of 'Agnes and the Merman' are conceded to have been derived from Germany: see Grundtvig, IV, 812. Of the #German# ballad, which is somewhat nearer to the English, the following versions have been noted:

#A.# 'Die schöne Agniese,' Fiedler, Volksreime und Volkslieder in Anhalt-Dessau, p. 140, No 1==Mittler, No 553. #B.# 'Die schöne Agnese,' Parisius, Deutsche Volkslieder in der Altmark und im Magdeburgischen gesammelt, p. 29, No 8 B, from nearly the same region as #A#. #C.# Parisius, p. 28, No 8 A, Pechau on the Elbe. #D.# 'Die schöne Angnina,' Erk's Neue Sammlung, ii, 40, No 26==Mittler, No 552, from the neighborhood of Magdeburg. #E.# 'Die Schöne Agnete,' Erk's Liederhort, No 16^a, p. 47, Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 91, from the neighborhood of Guben. F. 'Die schöne Dorothea,' Liederhort, No 16^b, p. 48, Gramzow in der Ukermark. #G.# 'Die schöne Hannăle,' Liederhort, No 16, p. 44, Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 87, Silesia. #H.# 'Die schöne Hannele,' Hoffmann u. Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 3, No 1==Mittler, No 551, Böhme, No 90 A, Breslau. 'Der Wassermann,' Simrock, No 1, is a compounded copy.

A wild merman has become enamored of the King of England's daughter, #A#, #B#, #C#, #D#. He plates a bridge with gold; she often walks over the bridge; it sinks with her into the water [the merman drags her down into the water, #H#]. She stays below seven years, and bears seven sons. One day [by the cradle, #C#, #G#] she hears the bells of England, #A# 6, #B#, #C#, #D#, #F# [bells, #E#, #G#, #H#], and longs to go to church. She expresses this wish to the merman, #C#, #D#, #G#, #H#. The merman says she must take her seven sons with her, #B#, #C#, #D#; she must come back, #G#, #H#. She takes her seven sons by the hand, and goes with them to England, #A# 5, #B# 7; cf. Scottish #C# 13, 14, #A# 22, 50. When she enters the church everything in it bows, #A#, #B#, #F#. Her parents are there, #C#, #D#; her father opens the pew, her mother lays a cushion for her, #G#, #H#. As she goes out of the church, there stands the merman, #A#, #B#, #E#, #F#. Her parents take her home in #D#, #G#, #H#. They seat her at the table, and while she is eating, a gold apple falls into her lap (cf. 'The Maid and the Dwarf-King,' Danish #E#, Swedish #G#), which she begs her mother to throw into the fire; the merman appears, and asks if she wishes him burnt, #G#, #H#. The merman, when he presents himself at the church, asks whether the woman will go back with him, or die where she is, and she prefers death on the spot, #A#, #B#, #E#. In the other case, he says that if she will not return, the children must be divided,--three and three, and half of the seventh to each; the mother prefers the water to this. #D# has a peculiar and not very happy trait. The merman fastens a chain to his wife's foot before she goes up, and, having been kept long waiting, draws it in. But the people at the church have taken off the chain, and he finds nothing at the end of it. He asks whether she does not wish to live with him; she replies, I will no longer torment you, or fret myself to death.

The story of Agnes and the Merman occurs in a Wendish ballad, with an introductory scene found in the beautiful German ballad, 'Wassermanns Braut:'[341] Haupt und Schmaler, I, 62, No 34. A maid begs that she may be left to herself for a year, but her father says it is time for her to be married. She goes to her chamber, weeps and wrings her hands. The merman comes and asks, Where is my bride? They tell him that she is in her chamber, weeping and wringing her hands. The merman asks her the reason, and she answers, They all say that you are the merwoman's son. He says he will build her a bridge of pure silver and gold, and have her driven over it with thirty carriages and forty horses; but ere she has half passed the bridge it goes down to the bottom. She is seven years below, has seven sons in as many years, and is going with the eighth. She implores her husband to permit her to go to church in the upper world, and he consents, with the proviso that she shall not stay for the benediction. At church she sees her brother and sister, who receive her kindly. She tells them that she cannot stay till the benediction;[342] they beg her to come home to dine with them. She does wait till the benediction; the merman rushes frantically about. As she leaves the church and is saying good-by to her sister, she meets the merman, who snatches the youngest child from her (she appears to have all seven with her), tears it in pieces, strangles the rest, scatters their limbs on the road, and hangs himself, asking, Does not your heart grieve for your children? She answers, I grieve for none but the youngest.[343]

A Slovenian ballad has the story with modifications, Achacel and Korytko, [S,]lovénşke Péşmi krajnskiga Naróda, I, 30,[344] 'Povodnji mósh;' given in abstract by Haupt and Schmaler, I, 339, note to No. 34. Mizika goes to a dance, in spite of her mother's forbidding. Her mother, in a rage, wishes that the merman may fetch her. A young man who dances with her whirls her round so furiously that she complains, but he becomes still more violent. Mizika sees how it is, and exclaims, The merman has come for me! The merman flies out of the window with her, and plunges into the water. She bears a son, and asks leave to pay a visit to her mother; and this is allowed on conditions, one of which is that she shall not expose herself to a benediction. She does not conform, and the merman comes and says that her son is crying for her. She refuses to go with him, and he tears the boy in two, that each may have a half.

Two or three of the minuter correspondences between the Scottish and the Norse or German ballads, which have not been referred to, may be indicated in conclusion. The hillman, in several Norwegian copies, as #B#, #M#, carries off the lady on horseback, and so Hastings in #C#. In #A# 34-39, the returned sister, being invited to dine, cannot eat a bit or drink a drop. So, in 'The Maid and the Dwarf-King,' Swedish #G# 15, 16, they set before Agnes dishes four and five, dishes eight and nine, but she can take nothing:

Agneta ej smakte en endaste bit.

Young Akin, in #A# 43, is found in the wood, "tearing his yellow hair." The merman has golden hair in Danish #A# 16, Swedish #D# 2, 19, Norwegian #A# 17 (nothing very remarkable, certainly), and in Danish #D# 31 wrings his hands and is very unhappy, because Agnes refuses to return. It is much more important that in one of the Swedish copies of the merman ballad, Grundtvig, II, 661a, we find a trace of the 'christendom' which is made such an object in the Scottish ballads:

'Nay,' said the mother, 'now thou art mine,' And christened her with water and with wine.

'The Maid and the Dwarf-King,' Danish #E#, is translated by Prior, III, 338; Swedish #A# by Stephens, Foreign Quarterly Review, XXV, 35; Swedish #C# by Keightley, Fairy Mythology, p. 103. 'Agnes and the Merman,' Danish #A#, #C#, by Prior, III, 332, 335; some copy of #A# by Borrow, p. 120; Øhlenschlæger's ballad by Buchanan, p. 76.

Scottish #B# is translated, after Allingham, by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen, No 30; #A# 1-8, #C# 6-14, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 2; a compounded version by Roberts into German by Podhorszki, Acta Comparationis, etc., VIII, 69-73.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 6; Motherwell's MS., p. 554.

1 Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond's wood, And wishd she there had been.

2 She loot the seam fa frae her side, And the needle to her tae, And she is on to Elmond's wood As fast as she coud gae.

3 She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, Till by it came a young hind chiel, Says, Lady, lat alane.

4 O why pu ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree? For I am forester o this wood: Ye shoud spier leave at me.

5 'I'll ask leave at no living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king oer a' this realm, This wood belongs to me.'

6 She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but three, Till by it came him Young Akin, And gard her lat them be.

7 The highest tree in Elmond's wood, He's pu'd it by the reet, And he has built for her a bower, Near by a hallow seat.

8 He's built a bower, made it secure Wi carbuncle and stane; Tho travellers were never sae nigh, Appearance it had nane.

9 He's kept her there in Elmond's wood, For six lang years and one, Till six pretty sons to him she bear, And the seventh she's brought home.

10 It fell ance upon a day, This guid lord went from home, And he is to the hunting gane, Took wi him his eldest son.

11 And when they were on a guid way, Wi slowly pace did walk, The boy's heart being something wae, He thus began to talk:

12 'A question I woud ask, father, Gin ye woudna angry be:' 'Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrelld by me.'

13 'I see my mither's cheeks aye weet, I never can see them dry; And I wonder what aileth my mither, To mourn continually.'

14 'Your mither was a king's daughter, Sprung frae a high degree, And she might hae wed some worthy prince, Had she nae been stown by me.

15 'I was her father's cup-bearer, Just at that fatal time; I catchd her on a misty night, Whan summer was in prime.

16 'My luve to her was most sincere, Her luve was great for me, But when she hardships doth endure, Her folly she does see.'

17 'I'll shoot the buntin o the bush, The linnet o the tree, And bring them to my dear mither, See if she'll merrier be.'

18 It fell upo another day, This guid lord he thought lang, And he is to the hunting gane, Took wi him his dog and gun.

19 Wi bow and arrow by his side, He's aff, single, alane, And left his seven children to stay Wi their mither at hame.

20 'O I will tell to you, mither, Gin ye wadna angry be:' 'Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy, Ye'se nae be quarrelld by me.'

21 'As we came frae the hynd-hunting, We heard fine music ring:' 'My blessings on you, my bonny boy, I wish I'd been there my lane.'

22 He's taen his mither by the hand, His six brithers also, And they are on thro Elmond's wood, As fast as they coud go.

23 They wistna weel where they were gaen, Wi the stratlins o their feet; They wistna weel where they were gaen, Till at her father's yate.

24 'I hae nae money in my pocket, But royal rings hae three; I'll gie them you, my little young son, And ye'll walk there for me.

25 'Ye'll gie the first to the proud porter, And he will lat you in; Ye'll gie the next to the butler-boy, And he will show you ben;

26 'Ye'll gie the third to the minstrel That plays before the king; He'll play success to the bonny boy Came thro the wood him lane.'

27 He gae the first to the proud porter, And he opend an let him in; He gae the next to the butler-boy, And he has shown him ben;

28 He gae the third to the minstrel That playd before the king; And he playd success to the bonny boy Came thro the wood him lane.

29 Now when he came before the king, Fell low down on his knee; The king he turned round about, And the saut tear blinded his ee.

30 'Win up, win up, my bonny boy, Gang frae my companie; Ye look sae like my dear daughter, My heart will birst in three.'

31 'If I look like your dear daughter, A wonder it is none; If I look like your dear daughter, I am her eldest son.'

32 'Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy, Where may my Margaret be?' 'She's just now standing at your yates, And my six brithers her wi.'

33 'O where are all my porter-boys That I pay meat and fee, To open my yates baith wide and braid? Let her come in to me.'

34 When she came in before the king, Fell low down on her knee; 'Win up, win up, my daughter dear, This day ye'll dine wi me.'

35 'Ae bit I canno eat, father, Nor ae drop can I drink, Till I see my mither and sister dear, For lang for them I think.'

36 When she came before the queen, Fell low down on her knee; 'Win up, win up, my daughter dear This day ye'se dine wi me.'

37 'Ae bit I canno eat, mither, Nor ae drop can I drink, Until I see my dear sister, For lang for her I think.'

38 When that these two sisters met, She haild her courteouslie; 'Come ben, come ben, my sister dear, This day ye'se dine wi me.'

39 'Ae bit I canno eat, sister, Nor ae drop can I drink, Until I see my dear husband, For lang for him I think.'

40 'O where are all my rangers bold That I pay meat and fee, To search the forest far an wide, And bring Akin to me?'

41 Out it speaks the little wee boy: Na, na, this maunna be; Without ye grant a free pardon, I hope ye'll nae him see.

42 'O here I grant a free pardon, Well seald by my own han; Ye may make search for Young Akin, As soon as ever you can.'

43 They searchd the country wide and braid, The forests far and near, And found him into Elmond's wood, Tearing his yellow hair.

44 'Win up, win up now, Young Akin, Win up, and boun wi me; We're messengers come from the court, The king wants you to see.'

45 'O lat him take frae me my head, Or hang me on a tree; For since I've lost my dear lady, Life's no pleasure to me.'

46 'Your head will nae be touchd, Akin, Nor hangd upon a tree; Your lady's in her father's court, And all he wants is thee.'

47 When he came in before the king, Fell low down on his knee; 'Win up, win up now, Young Akin, This day ye'se dine wi me.'

48 But as they were at dinner set, The boy asked a boun: 'I wish we were in the good church, For to get christendoun.

49 'We hae lived in guid green wood This seven years and ane; But a' this time, since eer I mind, Was never a church within.'

50 'Your asking's nae sae great, my boy, But granted it shall be; This day to guid church ye shall gang, And your mither shall gang you wi.'

51 When unto the guid church she came, She at the door did stan; She was sae sair sunk down wi shame, She coudna come farer ben.

52 Then out it speaks the parish priest, And a sweet smile gae he: 'Come ben, come ben, my lily flower, Present your babes to me.'

53 Charles, Vincent, Sam and Dick, And likewise James and John; They calld the eldest Young Akin, Which was his father's name.

54 Then they staid in the royal court, And livd wi mirth and glee, And when her father was deceasd, Heir of the crown was she.

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 228.

1 May Margret stood in her bouer door, Kaiming doun her yellow hair; She spied some nuts growin in the wud, And wishd that she was there.

2 She has plaited her yellow locks A little abune her bree, And she has kilted her petticoats A little below her knee, And she's aff to Mulberry wud, As fast as she could gae.

3 She had na pu'd a nut, a nut, A nut but barely ane, Till up started the Hynde Etin, Says, Lady, let thae alane!

4 'Mulberry wuds are a' my ain; My father gied them me, To sport and play when I thought lang; And they sall na be tane by thee.'

5 And ae she pu'd the tither berrie, Na thinking o' the skaith, And said, To wrang ye, Hynde Etin, I wad be unco laith.

6 But he has tane her by the yellow locks, And tied her till a tree, And said, For slichting my commands, An ill death sall ye dree.

7 He pu'd a tree out o the wud, The biggest that was there, And he howkit a cave monie fathoms deep, And put May Margret there.

8 'Now rest ye there, ye saucie may; My wuds are free for thee; And gif I tak ye to mysell, The better ye'll like me.'

9 Na rest, na rest May Margret took, Sleep she got never nane; Her back lay on the cauld, cauld floor, Her head upon a stane.

10 'O tak me out,' May Margret cried, 'O tak me hame to thee, And I sall be your bounden page Until the day I dee.'

11 He took her out o the dungeon deep, And awa wi him she's gane; But sad was the day an earl's dochter Gaed hame wi Hynde Etin.

* * * * * * *

12 It fell out ance upon a day Hynde Etin's to the hunting gane, And he has tane wi him his eldest son, For to carry his game.

13 'O I wad ask ye something, father, An ye wadna angry be;' 'Ask on, ask on, my eldest son, Ask onie thing at me.'

14 'My mother's cheeks are aft times weet, Alas! they are seldom dry;' 'Na wonder, na wonder, my eldest son, Tho she should brast and die.

15 'For your mother was an earl's dochter, Of noble birth and fame, And now she's wife o Hynde Etin, Wha neer got christendame.

16 'But we'll shoot the laverock in the lift, The buntlin on the tree, And ye'll tak them hame to your mother, And see if she'll comforted be.'

* * * * * * *

17 'I wad ask ye something, mother, An ye wadna angry be;' 'Ask on, ask on, my eldest son, Ask onie thing at me.'

18 'Your cheeks they are aft times weet, Alas! they're seldom dry;' 'Na wonder, na wonder, my eldest son, Tho I should brast and die.

19 'For I was ance an earl's dochter, Of noble birth and fame, And now I am the wife of Hynde Etin, Wha neer got christendame.'

* * * * * * *

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 67, communicated by Mr James Nicol, of Strichen; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 287; Motherwell's MS., p. 450.

1 'O well like I to ride in a mist, And shoot in a northern win, And far better a lady to steal, That's come of a noble kin.'

2 Four an twenty fair ladies Put on this lady's sheen, And as mony young gentlemen Did lead her ower the green.

3 Yet she preferred before them all Him, young Hastings the Groom; He's coosten a mist before them all, And away this lady has taen.

4 He's taken the lady on him behind, Spared neither grass nor corn, Till they came to the wood o Amonshaw, Where again their loves were sworn.

5 And they hae lived in that wood Full mony a year and day, And were supported from time to time By what he made of prey.

6 And seven bairns, fair and fine, There she has born to him, And never was in gude church-door, Nor ever got gude kirking.

7 Ance she took harp into her hand, And harped them a' asleep, Then she sat down at their couch-side, And bitterly did weep.

8 Said, Seven bairns hae I born now To my lord in the ha; I wish they were seven greedy rats, To run upon the wa, And I mysel a great grey cat, To eat them ane and a'.

9 For ten lang years now I hae lived Within this cave of stane, And never was at gude church-door, Nor got no gude churching.

10 O then out spake her eldest child, And a fine boy was he: O hold your tongue, my mother dear; I'll tell you what to dee.

11 Take you the youngest in your lap, The next youngest by the hand, Put all the rest of us you before, As you learnt us to gang.

12 And go with us unto some kirk-- You say they are built of stane-- And let us all be christened, And you get gude kirking.

13 She took the youngest in her lap, The next youngest by the hand, Set all the rest of them her before, As she learnt them to gang.

14 And she has left the wood with them, And to the kirk has gane, Where the gude priest them christened, And gave her gude kirking.

* * * * *

#C.# Motherwell's copies exhibit five or six slight variations from Buchan.

[334] This reading, nuts, may have subsequently made its way into #A# instead of rose, which it would be more ballad-like for Margaret to be plucking, as the maid does in 'Tam Lin,' where also the passage #A# 3-6, #B# 2-4 occurs. Grimm suggests a parallel to Tam Lin in the dwarf Laurin, who does not allow trespassing in his rose-garden: Deutsche Mythologie, III, 130. But the resemblance seems not material, there being no woman in the case. The pretence of trespass in Tam Lin and Hind Etin is a simple commonplace, and we have it in some Slavic forms of No 4, as at p. 41.

[335] #B# is defective in the middle and the end. "The reciter, unfortunately, could not remember more of the ballad, although the story was strongly impressed on her memory. She related that the lady, after having been taken home by Hynde Etin, lived with him many years, and bore him seven sons, the eldest of whom, after the inquiries at his parents detailed in the ballad, determines to go in search of the earl, his grandfather. At his departure his mother instructs him how to proceed, giving him a ring to bribe the porter at her father's gate, and a silken vest, wrought by her own hand, to be worn in presence of her father. The son sets out, and arrives at the castle, where, by bribing the porter, he gets admission to the earl, who, struck with the resemblance of the youth to his lost daughter, and the similarity of the vest to one she had wrought for himself, examines the young man, from whom he discovers the fate of his daughter. He gladly receives his grandson, and goes to his daughter's residence, where he meets her and Hynde Etin, who is pardoned by the earl, through the intercession of his daughter." Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 226 f.

[336] #B#, Landstad 44 (which has only this in common with the Scottish ballad, that a hill-man carries a maid to his cave), has much resemblance at the beginning to 'Kvindemorderen,' Grundtvig, No 183, our No 4. See Grundtvig's note ** at III, 810. This is only what might be looked for, since both ballads deal with abductions.

[337] It is not necessary, for purposes of the English ballad, to notice these mixed forms.

[338] In 'Nøkkens Svig,' #C#, Grundtvig, No 39, the merman consults with his mother, and then, as also in other copies of the ballad, transforms himself into a knight. See the translation by Prior, III, 269; Jamieson, Popular Ballads, I, 210; Lewis, Tales of Wonder, I, 60.

[339] The beauty of the Norse ballads should make an Englishman's heart wring for his loss. They are particularly pretty here, where the forgetful draught is administered; as Norwegian #C#, #A#:

Forth came her daughter, as jimp as a wand, She dances a dance, with silver can in hand. 'O where wast thou bred, and where wast thou born? And where were thy maiden-garments shorn?' 'In Norway was I bred, in Norway was I born, And in Norway were my maiden-garments shorn.' The ae first drink from the silver can she drank, What stock she was come of she clean forgat. 'O where wast thou bred, and where wast thou born? And where were thy maiden-garments shorn?' 'In the hill was I bred, and there was I born, In the hill were my maiden-garments shorn.'

[340] For reasons, doubtless sufficient, but to me unknown, Grundtvig has not noticed two copies in Boisen's Nye og gamle Viser, 10th edition, p. 192, p. 194. The former of these is like #A#, with more resemblance here and there to other versions, and may be a made-up copy; the other, 'Agnete og Bjærgmanden, fra Sønderjylland,' consists of stanzas 1-5 of #C#.

[341] See five versions in Mittler, Nos 546-550. As Grundtvig remarks, what is one ballad in Wendish is two in German and three in Norse: #D#. g. #F#., IV, 810.

[342] This trait, corresponding to the prohibition in the Norse ballads of bowing when the holy name is pronounced, occurs frequently in tradition, as might be expected. In a Swedish merman-ballad, 'Necken,' Afzelius, III, 133, the nix, who has attended to church the lady whom he is about to kidnap, makes off with his best speed when the priest reads the benediction. See, further, Árnason's Íslenzkar þjóðsögur, I, 73 f; Maurer's Isländische Volksagen, 19 f; Liebrecht, Gervasius, p. 26, LVII, and p. 126, note (Grundtvig).

[343] The merfolk are apt to be ferocious, as compared with hill-people, elves, etc. See Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, I, 409 f.

[344] I 79, of a second edition, which, says Vraz, has an objectionable fantastic spelling due to the publisher.

CLERK COLVILL

#A.# 'Clark Colven,' from a transcript of No 13 of William Tytler's Brown MS.

#B.# 'Clerk Colvill, or, The Mermaid,' Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 302.

#C.# W. F. in Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, VIII, 510, from the recitation of a lady in Forfarshire.

Although, as has been already said, William Tytler's Brown manuscript is now not to be found, a copy of two of its fifteen ballads has been preserved in the Fraser Tytler family, and 'Clerk Colvill,' #A# ('Clark Colven') is one of the two.[345] This ballad is not in Jamieson's Brown manuscript. Rewritten by Lewis, #A# was published in Tales of Wonder, 1801, II, 445, No 56. #B#, 1769, is the earliest printed English copy, but a corresponding Danish ballad antedates its publication by seventy-five years. Of #C#, W. F., who communicated it to Notes and Queries, says: "I have reason to believe that it is originally from the same source as that from which Scott, and especially Jamieson, derived many of their best ballads." This source should be no other than Mrs Brown, who certainly may have known two versions of Clerk Colvill; but #C# is markedly different from #A#. An Abbotsford manuscript, entitled "Scottish Songs," has, at fol. 3, a version which appears to have been made up from Lewis's copy, its original, #A#, and Herd's, #B#.

All the English versions are deplorably imperfect, and #C# is corrupted, besides. The story which they afford is this. Clerk Colvill, newly married as we may infer, is solemnly entreated by his gay lady never to go near a well-fared may who haunts a certain spring or water. It is clear that before his marriage he had been in the habit of resorting to this mermaid, as she is afterwards called, and equally clear, from the impatient answer which he renders his dame, that he means to visit her again. His coming is hailed with pleasure by the mermaid, who, in the course of their interview, does something which gives him a strange pain in the head,--a pain only increased by a prescription which she pretends will cure it, and, as she then exultingly tells him, sure to grow worse until he is dead. He draws his sword on her, but she merrily springs into the water. He mounts his horse, rides home tristful, alights heavily, and bids his mother make his bed, for all is over with him.

#C# is at the beginning blended with verses which belong to 'Willie and May Margaret,' Jamieson, I, 135 (from Mrs Brown's recitation), or 'The Drowned Lovers,' Buchan, I, 140. In this ballad a mother adjures her son not to go wooing, under pain of her curse. He goes, nevertheless, and is drowned. It is obvious, without remark, that the band and belt in #C# 1 do not suit the mother; neither does the phrase 'love Colin' in the second stanza.[346] #C# 9-11 afford an important variation from the other versions. The mermaid appears at the foot of the young man's bed, and offers him a choice between dying then and living with her in the water. (See the Norwegian ballads at p. 377.)

Clerk Colvill is not, as his representative is or may be in other ballads, the guiltless and guileless object of the love or envy of a water-sprite or elf. His relations with the mermaid began before his marriage with his gay lady, and his death is the natural penalty of his desertion of the water-nymph; for no point is better established than the fatal consequences of inconstancy in such connections.[347] His history, were it fully told, would closely resemble that of the Knight of Staufenberg, as narrated in a German poem of about the year 1300.[348]

The already very distinguished chevalier, Peter Diemringer, of Staufenberg (in the Ortenau, Baden, four leagues from Strassburg), when riding to mass one Whitsunday, saw a lady of surpassing beauty, dressed with equal magnificence, sitting on a rock by the wayside. He became instantaneously enamored, and, greeting the lady in terms expressive of his admiration, received no discouraging reply. The lady rose; the knight sprang from his horse, took a hand which she offered, helped her from the rock, and they sat down on the grass. The knight asked how she came to be there alone. The lady replied that she had been waiting for him: ever since he could bestride a horse she had been devoted to him; she had been his help and protection in tourneys and fights, in all climes and regions, though he had never seen her. The knight wished he might ever be hers. He could have his wish, she said, and never know trouble or sickness, on one condition, and that was that he never should marry: if he did this, he would die in three days. He vowed to be hers as long as he lived; they exchanged kisses, and then she bade him mount his horse and go to mass. After the benediction he was to return home, and when he was alone in his chamber, and wished for her, she would come, and so always; that privilege God had given her: "swâ ich wil, dâ bin ich." They had their meeting when he returned from church: he redoubled his vows, she promised him all good things, and the bounties which he received from her overflowed upon all his friends and comrades.

The knight now undertook a chivalrous tour, to see such parts of the world as he had not visited before. Wherever he went, the fair lady had only to be wished for and she was by him: there was no bound to her love or her gifts. Upon his return he was beset by relatives and friends, and urged to marry. He put them off with excuses: he was too young to sacrifice his freedom, and what not. They returned to the charge before long, and set a wise man of his kindred at him to beg a boon of him. "Anything," he said, "but marrying: rather cut me into strips than that." Having silenced his advisers by this reply, he went to his closet and wished for his lady. She was full of sympathy, and thought it might make his position a little easier if he should tell his officious friends something of the real case, how he had a wife who attended him wherever he went and was the source of all his prosperity; but he must not let them persuade him, or what she had predicted would surely come to pass.

At this time a king was to be chosen at Frankfurt, and all the nobility flocked thither, and among them Staufenberg, with a splendid train. He, as usual, was first in all tourneys, and made himself remarked for his liberal gifts and his generous consideration of youthful antagonists: his praise was in everybody's mouth. The king sent for him, and offered him an orphan niece of eighteen, with a rich dowry. The knight excused himself as unworthy of such a match. The king said his niece must accept such a husband as he pleased to give, and many swore that Staufenberg was a fool. Bishops, who were there in plenty, asked him if he had a wife already. Staufenberg availed himself of the leave which had been given him, and told his whole story, not omitting that he was sure to die in three days if he married. "Let me see the woman," said one of the bishops. "She lets nobody see her but me," answered Staufenberg. "Then it is a devil," said another of the clergy, "and your soul is lost forever." Staufenberg yielded, and said he would do the king's will. He was betrothed that very hour, and set out for Ortenau, where he had appointed the celebration of the nuptials. When night came he wished for the invisible lady. She appeared, and told him with all gentleness that he must prepare for the fate of which she had forewarned him, a fate seemingly inevitable, and not the consequence of her resentment. At the wedding feast she would display her foot in sight of all the guests: when he saw that, let him send for the priest. The knight thought of what the clergy had said, and that this might be a cheat of the devil. The bride was brought to Staufenberg, the feast was held, but at the very beginning of it a foot whiter than ivory was seen through the ceiling. Staufenberg tore his hair and cried, Friends, ye have ruined yourselves and me! He begged his bride and all who had come with her to the wedding to stay for his funeral, ordered a bed to be prepared for him and a priest to be sent for. He asked his brothers to give his bride all that he had promised her. But she said no; his friends should rather have all that she had brought; she would have no other husband, and since she had been the cause of his death she would go into a cloister, where no eye should see her: which she did after she had returned to her own country.

A superscription to the old poem denominates Staufenberg's amphibious consort a mer-fey, sea-fairy; but that description is not to be strictly interpreted, no more than mer-fey, or fata morgana, is in some other romantic tales. There is nothing of the water-sprite in her, nor is she spoken of by any such name in the poem itself. The local legends of sixty years ago,[349] and perhaps still, make her to have been a proper water-nymph. She is first met with by the young knight near a spring or a brook, and it is in a piece of water that he finds his death, and that on the evening of his wedding day.

Clerk Colvill and the mermaid are represented by Sir Oluf and an elf in Scandinavian ballads to the number of about seventy. The oldest of these is derived from a Danish manuscript of 1550, two centuries and a half later than the Staufenberg poem, but two earlier than Clerk Colvill, the oldest ballad outside of the Scandinavian series. Five other versions are of the date 1700, or earlier, the rest from tradition of this century. No ballad has received more attention from the heroic Danish editor, whose study of 'Elveskud' presents an admirably ordered synoptic view of all the versions known up to 1881: Grundtvig, No 47, II, 109-19, 663-66; III, 824-25; IV, 835-74.[350]

The Scandinavian versions are:

#Färöe#, four: #A#, 39 sts, #B#, 24 sts, #C#, 18 sts, #D#, 23 sts, Grundtvig, IV, 849-52.

#Icelandic#, twelve, differing slightly except at the very end: #A#, 'Kvæði af Ólafi Liljurós,' 24 sts, MS. of 1665; #B#, #C#, MS. of about 1700, 20 sts, 1 st.; #D#, 18 sts; #E#, 17 sts; #F#, #G#, 16 sts; #H#, 'Ólafs kvæði,' 22 sts; #I a#, 18 sts;# I b#, 20 sts; #K#, 22 sts; #L#, 24 sts; #M#, 25 sts. These in Íslenzk fornkvæði, pp 4-10, #A a# in full, but only the variations of the other versions. #I b#, previously, 'Ólafur og álfamær,' Berggreen, Danske Folke-Sange og Melodier, 2d ed., pp 56, 57, No 20 d; and #M#, "Snót, p. 200."

#Danish#, twenty-six: 'Elveskud' #A#, 54 sts, MS. of 1550, Grundtvig, II, 112; #B#, 25 sts, Syv No 87 (1695), Danske Viser, I, 237, Grundtvig, II, 114; #C#, 29 sts, the same, II, 115; #D a#, #D b#, 31, 15 sts, II, 116, 665; #E-G#, 20, 16, 8 sts, II, 117-19; #H#, I, 32, 25 sts, II, 663-64; #K#, 29 sts, #L#, 15 sts, #M#, 27 sts, #N#, 16 sts, #O#, 33 sts, #P#, 22 sts, #Q#, 7 sts, #R#, 22 sts, #S#, 32 sts, #T#, 27 sts, #U#, 25 sts, #V#, 18 sts, #X#, 11 sts, #Y#, 11 sts, #Z#, 8 sts, #Æ#, 23 sts, IV, 835-47; #Ø#, 10 sts, Boisen, Nye og gamle Viser, 1875, p. 191, No 98.

#Swedish#, eight: #A#, 15 sts, 'Elf-Qvinnan och Herr Olof,' MS. of seventeenth century, Afzelius, III, 165; #B#, 12 sts, 'Herr Olof i Elfvornas dans,' Afzelius, III, 160; #C#, 18 sts, Afzelius, III, 162; #D#, 21 sts, 'Herr Olof och Elfvorna,' Arwidsson, II, 304; #E#, 20 sts, Arwidsson, II, 307; #F#, 19 sts, Grundtvig, IV, 848; #G#, 12 sts, 'Herr Olof och Elffrun,' Djurklou, p. 94; H, 8 sts, Afzelius, Sago-Häfder, ed. 1844, ii, 157.

#Norwegian#, eighteen: #A#, 39 sts, 'Olaf Liljukrans,' Landstad, p. 355; #B#, 15 sts, Landstad, p. 843; #C-S#, collections of Professor Bugge, used in manuscript by Grundtvig; #C#, 36 sts, partly printed in Grundtvig, III, 824; #D#, 23 sts, Grundtvig, III, 824-25, partly; #E#, 22 sts; #F#, 11 sts; #G#, 27 sts; #H#, 13 sts; #I#, 7 sts; #K#, 4 sts, two printed, ib., p. 824.[351]

Of these the Färöe versions are nearest to the English. Olaf's mother asks him whither he means to ride; his corselet is hanging in the loft; #A#, #C#, #D#. "I am going to the heath, to course the hind," he says. "You are not going to course the hind; you are going to your leman. White is your shirt, well is it washed, but bloody shall it be when it is taken off," #A#, #D#. "God grant it be not as she bodes!" exclaims Olaf, as he turns from his mother, #A#. He rides to the hills and comes to an elf-house. An elf comes out, braiding her hair, and invites him to dance. "You need not braid your hair for me; I have not come a-wooing," he says. "I must quit the company of elves, for to-morrow is my bridal." "If you will have no more to do with elves, a sick bridegroom shall you be! Would you rather lie seven years in a sick-bed, or go to the mould to-morrow?" He would rather go to the mould to-morrow. The elf brought him a drink, with an atter-corn, a poison grain, floating in it: at the first draught his belt burst #A#, #B*#. "Kiss me," she said, "before you ride." He leaned over and kissed her, though little mind had he to it: she was beguiling him, him so sick a man. His mother came out to meet him: "Why are you so pale, as if you had been in an elf-dance?" "I have been in an elf-dance," he said,[352] went to bed, turned his face to the wall, and was dead before midnight. His mother and his love (moy, vív) died thereupon.

Distinct evidence of previous converse with elves is lacking in the Icelandic versions. Olaf rides along the cliffs, and comes upon an elf-house. One elf comes out with her hair twined with gold, another with a silver tankard, a third in a silver belt, and a fourth welcomes him by name. "Come into the booth and drink with us." "I will not live with elves," says Olaf; "rather will I believe in God." The elf answers that he might do both, excuses herself for a moment, and comes back in a cloak, which hides a sword. "You shall not go without giving us a kiss," she says. Olaf leans over his saddle-bow and kisses her, with but half a heart, and she thrusts the sword under his shoulder-blade into the roots of his heart. He sees his heart's blood under his horse's feet, and spurs home to his mother. "Whence comest thou, my son, and why so pale, as if thou hadst been in an elf-dance (leik)?" "It boots not to hide it from thee: an elf has beguiled me. Make my bed, mother; bandage my side, sister." He dies presently: there was more mourning than mirth; three were borne to the grave together.

Nearly all the Danish and Swedish versions, and a good number of the Norwegian, interpose an affecting scene between the death of the hero and that of his bride and his mother. The bride, on her way to Olaf's house, and on her arrival, is disconcerted and alarmed by several ominous proceedings or circumstances. She hears bells tolling; sees people weeping; sees men come and go, but not the bridegroom. She is put off for a time with false explanations, but in the end discovers the awful fact. Such a passage occurs in the oldest Danish copy, which is also the oldest known copy of the ballad. The importance of this version is such that the story requires to be given with some detail.

Oluf rode out before dawn, but it seemed to him bright as day.[353] He rode to a hill where dwarfs were dancing. A maid stepped out from the dance, put her arm round his neck, and asked him whither he would ride. "To talk with my true-love," said he. "But first," said she, "you must dance with us." She then went on to make him great offers if he would plight himself to her: a horse that would go to Rome and back in an hour, and a gold saddle for it; a new corselet, having which he never need fly from man; a sword such, as never was used in war. Such were all her benches as if gold were laid in links, and such were all her drawbridges as the gold on his hands. "Keep your gold," he answered; "I will go home to my true-love." She struck him on the cheek, so that the blood spattered his coat; she struck him midshoulders, so that he fell to the ground: "Stand up, Oluf, and ride home; you shall not live more than a day." He turned his horse, and rode home a shattered man. His mother was at the gate: "Why comest thou home so sad?" "Dear mother, take my horse; dear brother, fetch a priest," "Say not so, Oluf; many a sick man does not die. To whom do you give your betrothed?" "Rise, my seven brothers, and ride to meet my young bride."

As the bride's train came near the town, they heard the bells going. "Why is this?" she asked, her heart already heavy with pain; "I know of no one having been sick." They told her it was a custom there to receive a bride so. But when she entered the house, all the women were weeping. "Why are these ladies weeping?" No one durst answer a word. The bride went on into the hall, and took her place on the bride-bench. "I see," she said, "knights go and come, but I see not my lord Oluf." The mother answered, Oluf is gone to the wood with hawk and hound. "Does he care more for hawk and hound than for his young bride?"

At evening they lighted the torches as if to conduct the bride to the bride-bed; but Oluf's page, who followed his lady, revealed the truth on the way. "My lord," he said, "lies on his bier above, and you are to give your troth to his brother." "Never shalt thou see that day that I shall give my troth to two brothers." She begged the ladies that she might see the dead. They opened the door; she ran to the bier, threw back the cloth, kissed the body precipitately; her heart broke in pieces; grievous was it to see.

Danish #B#, printed by Syv in 1695, is the copy by which the ballad of the Elf-shot has become so extensively known since Herder's time, through his translation and others.[354]

The principal variations of the Scandinavian ballads, so far as they have not been given, now remain to be noted.

The hero's name is mostly Oluf, Ole, or a modification of this, Wolle, Rolig, Volder; sometimes with an appendage, as Färöe Ólavur Riddararós, Rósinkrans, Icelandic Ólafur Liljurós, Norwegian Olaf Liljukrans, etc. It is Peder in Danish #H#, #I#, #O#, #P#, #Q#, #R#, #Æ#.

Excepting the Färöe ballads, Oluf is not distinctly represented as having had previous acquaintance with the elves. In Swedish #A# 5 he says, I cannot dance with you, my betrothed has forbidden me; in Danish #C#, I should be very glad if I could; to-morrow is my wedding-day.

The object of his riding out is to hunt, or the like, in Danish #D b#, #E#, #F#, #I#, #R#, #T#, #X#, #Y#; to bid guests to his wedding, Danish #B#, #C#, #D a#, #G#, #H#, #K-N#, #P#, #S#, #U#, #V#, #Ø#, Norwegian #A#, #B#.

He falls in with dwarfs, Danish #A#, #H#, Norwegian A; trolds, Danish #I#; elves and dwarfs, Norwegian #B#, and a variation of #A#: elsewhere it is elves.

There is naturally some diversity in the gifts which the elf offers Oluf in order to induce him to dance with her. He more commonly replies that the offer is a handsome one, 'kan jeg vel få,' but dance with her he cannot; sometimes that his true-love has already given him that, or two, three, seven such, Danish #D a#, #I#, #T#, #X#, #Y#.

If he will not dance with her, the elf threatens him with sore sickness, Danish #B#, #E#, #H#, #Z#, #Ø#, Norwegian #A#, Swedish #E#, #F#; a great misfortune, Danish #F#, Swedish #A#; sharp knives, Danish #P#; it shall cost him his young life, Danish #D a, b#, #T#, #Y#.

Oluf dances with the elves, obviously under compulsion, in Danish #C#, #D#, #G-N#, #S#, #T#, #U#, #X#, #Y#, Swedish #F#, and only in these. He dances till both his boots are full of blood, #D a# 15, #D b# 4, #G# 5, #I# 11, #K# 5, #L# 5, #M# 6, #N# 7, #S# 6 [shoes], #T# 10, #U# 5, #X# 8, #Y# 7; he dances so long that he is nigh dead, #I# 12.

The hard choice between dying at once or lying sick seven years is found, out of the Färöe ballads, only in Danish #H# 8, #M# 8, #O# 4, #Q# 2, #S# 8. Norwegian ballads, like English #C#, present an option between living with elves and dying, essentially a repetition of the terms under which Peter of Staufenberg weds the fairy, that he shall forfeit his life if he takes a mortal wife. So Norwegian

#A# 12 Whether wilt thou rather live with the elves, Or leave the elves, a sick man?

13 Whether wilt thou be with the elves, Or bid thy guests and be sick?

#B# 9 Whether wilt thou stay with the elves, Or, a sick man, flit [bring home] thy true-love?

10 Whether wilt thou be with elves, Or, a sick man, flit thy bride?

There is no answer.

Norwegian #C#, #E#, #G#, #I# resemble #A#. #H# is more definite.

6 Whether wilt thou go off sick, "under isle," Or wilt thou marry an elf-maid?

7 Whether wilt thou go off sick, under hill, Or wilt thou marry an elf-wife?

To which Olaf answers that he lists not to go off a sick man, and he cannot marry an elf.

The two last stanzas of English #C#, which correspond to these,

'Will ye lie there an die, Clerk Colin, Will ye lie there an die? Or will ye gang to Clyde's water, To fish in flood wi me?'

'I will lie here an die,' he said, 'I will lie here an die; In spite o a' the deils in hell, I will lie here an die,'

may originally have come in before the mermaid and the clerk parted; but her visit to him as he lies in bed is paralleled by that of the fairy to Staufenberg after he has been persuaded to give up what he had been brought to regard as an infernal liaison; and certainly Clerk Colin's language might lead us to think that some priest had been with him, too.

Upon Oluf's now seeking to make his escape through the elves' flame, ring, dance, etc., Norwegian #A#, #B#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #I#, #H#, #K#, the elf-woman strikes at him with a gold band, her wand, hand, a branch or twig; gives him a blow on the cheek, between the shoulders, over his white neck; stabs him in the heart, gives him knife-strokes five, nine; sickness follows the stroke, or blood: Danish #A#, #B#, #F#, #N#, #O#, #R#, #V#, #Z#, #Æ#, #Ø#, Swedish #D#, #G#, Norwegian #A-E#, #H#, #I#, Icelandic. The knife-stabs are delayed till the elves have put him on his horse in Danish #D#, #G#, #X#; as he sprang to his horse the knives rang after him, #H#. "Ride home," they say, "you shall not live more than a day" [five hours, two hours], Danish #A#, #C#, #K-N#, #S#, #U#, #V#. His hair fades, Danish #E#; his cheek pales, Danish #E#, Norwegian #A#; sickness follows him home, Swedish #A#, #C#, #D#, #E#; the blood is running out of the wound in his heart, Swedish #G#; when he reaches his father's house both his boots are full of blood, Danish #R#, #Æ#.

His mother [father] is standing without, and asks, Why so pale? Why runs the blood from thy saddle? Oluf, in some instances, pretends that his horse, not being sure-footed, had stumbled, and thrown him against a tree, but is told, or of himself adds, that he has been among the elves. He asks one or the other of his family to take his horse, bring a priest, make his bed, put on a bandage. He says he shall never rise from his bed, Swedish #C#, Danish #F#; fears he shall not live till the priest comes, Danish #O#, #P#.

The important passage which relates the arrival of the bride, the ominous circumstances at the bridegroom's house, the attempts to keep the bride in ignorance of his death, and her final discovery that she is widowed before marriage, occupies some thirty stanzas in Danish #A#, the oldest of all copies; in Danish #B# it is reduced to six; in other Danish versions it has a range of from fifteen to two; but, shorter or longer, it is found in all versions but #R#, #Ø#, and the fragments #G#, #L#, #Q#, #X#, #Z#. All the Swedish versions have a similar scene, extending from three to nine stanzas, with the exception of #G# and of #A#, which latter should perhaps be treated as a fragment. In Norwegian #A#, again, this part of the story fills ten stanzas; #B# lacks it, but #C-H# (which have not been published in full) have it, and probably other unpublished copies.

The bride is expected the next day, Danish #D#, #F#, #I#, #K#, #N#, #O#, #S#, #T#, #U#, Swedish #A#, #D#. In Danish #A# Oluf begs his brothers, shortly after his reaching home, to set out to meet her; he fears she may arrive that very night, Danish #Æ#. "What shall I answer your young bride?" asks the mother, Danish #B#, #C#, #D#, etc., Swedish #H#. "Tell her that I have gone to the wood, to hunt and shoot, to try my horse and my dogs," Danish #B#, #C#, #D#, #F#, #H#, #I#, #K#, #O#, #S#, #T#, #U#, Swedish #D#, #H#, Norwegian #A#, #L#; in Danish #N# only, "Say I died in the night." Oluf now makes his will; he wishes to assign his bride to his brother, Danish #L#, #O#, #R#, Norwegian #C#, #F#; he dies before the bride can come to him. (Norwegian #F# seems to have gone wrong here.)

The bride, with her train, comes in the morning, Danish #B#, #D#, #E#, #I#, #M#, #T#, Swedish #D#, Norwegian #D#; Swedish #C# makes her wait for her bridegroom several days. As she passes through the town the bells are tolling, and she anxiously asks why, Danish #A#, #K#, #O#, #S#, #U#; she is told that it is a custom there to ring when the bride comes, Danish #A#, Swedish #B#. In Danish #H#, though it is day, she sees a light burning in Oluf's chamber, and this alarms her. When she comes to the house, Oluf's mother is weeping, all the ladies are weeping, or there are other signs of grief, Danish #A#, #C#, #H#, #U#, #Æ#. When she asks the reason, no one can answer, or she is told that a woman, a fair knight, is dead, #A#, #C#, #H#. Now she asks, Where is Oluf, who should have come to meet me, should have been here to receive me? Danish #K#, #O#, #S#, #U#, #D#, #E#, #I#, #T#, etc. They conduct the bride into the hall and seat her on the bride bench; knights come and go; they pour out mead and wine. "Where is Oluf," she asks again; the mother replies, as best she can, that Oluf is gone to the wood, Danish #B#, #H#, Norwegian #A#, #D#, Swedish #H#, etc. "Does he then care more for that than for his bride?" Danish #A#, #D#, #I#, #M#, etc., Swedish #C#, #D#, Norwegian #A#, #E#, #G#.

The truth is now avowed that Oluf is dead, Danish #A#, #D#, #I#, #T#, #Y#, #Æ#, Swedish #B#, Norwegian #G#. The bride begs that she may see the dead, Danish #A#, #C#, #P#, #Æ#, Swedish #F#, Norwegian #D#, #E#, and makes her way to the room where Oluf is lying. She puts aside the cloths that cover him, or the curtains, or the flowers, Danish #A#, #B#, #K#, #V#, etc., Swedish #C#, #D#, Norwegian #C#, #D#, #E#, #G#; says a word or two to her lover, Danish #A#, #C#, #E#, #H#, Swedish #E#, #F#, Norwegian #G#; kisses him, Danish #A#, #C#, #H#; her heart breaks, Danish #A#, #C#; she swoons dead at his feet, Danish #K#, #M#, #S#, #U#. In Norwegian #A#, #C#, #D#, she kills herself with Olaf's sword; in Swedish #E#, with her own knife. In Danish #R# she dies in Oluf's mother's arms. On the morrow, when it was day, in Oluf's house three corpses lay: the first was Oluf, the second his maid, the third his mother, of grief was she dead: Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, passim.[355]

#Breton# ballads preserve the story in a form closely akin to the Scandinavian, and particularly to the oldest Danish version. I have seen the following, all from recent tradition: #A#, #C#, 'Ann Aotro ar C'hont,' 'Le Seigneur Comte,' Luzel, I, 4/5, 16/17, fifty-seven and fifty-nine two-line stanzas. #B#, 'Ann Aotro Nann,' 'Le Seigneur Nann,' Luzel, #I#, 10/11, fifty-seven stanzas.[356] #D#, 'Aotrou Nann hag ar Gorrigan,' 'Le Seigneur Nann et la Fée,' Villemarqué, p. 25, ed. 1867, thirty-nine stanzas. #E#, 'Monsieur Nann,' Poésies populaires de la France, MS., V, fol. 381, fifty-three verses. #F#, 'Sonen Gertrud guet hi Vam,' 'Chant de Gertrude et de sa Mère,' L. Kérardven [==Dufilhol], Guionvac'h, Études sur la Bretagne, 2d ed., Paris, 1835, p. 362, p. 13, eleven four-line stanzas. #G#, Rolland in Romania, XII, 117, a somewhat abridged literal translation, in French.

The count [Nann] and his wife were married at the respective ages of thirteen and twelve. The next year a son was born [a boy and girl, #D#]. The young husband asked the countess if she had a fancy for anything. She owned that she should like a bit of game, and he took his gun [lance] and went to the wood. At the entrance of the wood he met a fairy [a dwarf, #E#; a hind, #G#; saw a white hind, which he pursued hotly till evening, when he dismounted near a grotto to drink, and there was a korrigan, sitting by the spring, combing her hair with a gold comb, #D#]. The fairy [dwarf, hind] said that she had long been looking for him, #A#, #B#, #C#, #E#, #G#. "Now that I have met you, you must marry me."[357] "Marry you? Not I. I am married already." "Choose either to die in three days or to lie sick in bed seven [three] years" [and then die, #C#]. He would rather die in three days, for his wife is very young, and would suffer greatly [he would rather die that instant than wed a korrigan, #D#].

On reaching home the young man called to his mother to make his bed; he should never get up again. [His mother, in #C# 21, says, Do not weep so: it is not every sick man that dies, as in Danish #A# 22.] He recounted his meeting with the fairy, and begged that his wife might not be informed of his death.

The countess asked, What has happened to my husband, that he does not come to see me? She was told that he had gone to the wood to get her something, #A# [to Paris, #C#; to the city, #D#]. Why were the men-servants weeping? The best horse had been drowned in bathing him, #A#, #E#; had been eaten by the wolves, #B#; had broken his neck, #C#; had died, #F#. They were not to weep; others should be bought. And why were the maids weeping? Linen had been lost in washing, #A#, #C#, #E#, #F#; the best silver cover had been stolen, #F#. They must not weep; the loss would be supplied. Why were the priests chanting? [the bells tolling, #E#, #F#]. A poor person whom they had lodged had died in the night, #A-E# [a young prince had died, #F#]. What dress should she wear for her churching,--red or blue? #D#, #F#.[358] The custom had come in of wearing black [she asks for red, they give her black, #F#]. On arriving at the church, or cemetery, she saw that the earth had been disturbed; her pew was hung with black, #B#; why was this? "I can no longer conceal it," said her mother-in-law: "your husband is dead." She died upon the spot, #A#, #D#. "Take my keys, take care of my son; I will stay with his father," #B#, #C#. "Your son is dead, your daughter is dead," #F#.[359]

This ballad has spread, apparently from Brittany, over all France. No distinct trace of the fairy remains, however, except in a single case. The versions that have been made public, so far as they have come to my knowledge, are as follows, resemblance to the Breton ballad principally directing the arrangement.

#A.# 'Le fils Louis,' Vendée, pays de Retz, Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, fol. 118, printed in Romania, XI, 100, 44 verses. #B.# Normandy, 1876, communicated by Legrand to Romania, X, 372, 61 verses. #C.# "Forez, Frédéric Noëlas, Annales de la Société impériale d'agriculture, industrie, sciences, arts et belles-lettres du département de la Loire, Année 1865, p. 210, 64 verses," Grundtvig, IV, 867-70. #D.# Victor Smith, Chants populaires du Velay et du Forez, Romania, X, 583, 68 verses. #E.# The same, p. 581, 64 verses. #F.# Saint-Denis, Poés. pop. de la France, III, fol. 103, Romania, XI, 98, 74 verses, as sung by a young girl, her mother and grandmother. #G.# Poitou et Vendée, Études historiques et artistiques par B. Fillon et O. De Rochbrune, 7^e-10^e livraisons, Fontenay-le-Comte, 1865, article Nalliers, pp 17, 18, nineteen four-line stanzas and a couplet; before by B. Fillon in "L'Histoire véridique des fraudes et exécrables voleries et subtilités de Guillery, depuis sa naissance jusqu'à la juste punition de ses crimes, Fontenay, 1848," extracted in Poés, pop., III, fol. 112; other copies at fol. 108 and at fol. 116; Romania, XI, 101, 78 verses. #H.# Bourbonnais, Poés. pop. III, fol. 91, Romania, XI, 103, 38 verses, sung by a woman seventy-two years old. #I.# Bretagne, Loudéac, Poés. pop., III, fol. 121, Romania, XI, 103 f, 64 verses. #J.# Poés. pop., III, fol. 285, Romania, XII, 115 (I), 50 verses. #K.# Bretagne (?), Romania, XII, 115 f, 36 verses. #L.# V. Smith, Chants pop. du Velay et du Forez, Romania, X, 582. 57 verses. #M.# 'Le roi Renaud,' Flévy, Puymaigre, I, 39, 78 verses. #N.# Touraine, Bléré, Brachet in Revue Critique, II, 125, 60 verses. #O.# The same, variations of a later version. #P.# 'L'Arnaud l'Infant,' Limoges, Laforest, Limoges au XVII^e siècle, 1862, p. 300, Poés. pop., III, fol. 95, Romania, XI, 104, 82 verses. #Q.# Charente, Poés. pop., III, fol. 107, Romania, XI, 99, 60 verses. #R.# Cambes, Lot-et-Garonne, Romania, XII, 116, 46 verses. #S.# Jura, Revue des Deux Mondes, 1854, Août, p. 486, 50 verses. #T.# Rouen, Poés. pop. III, fol. 100, Romania, XI, 102, 60 verses, communicated by a gentleman who at the beginning of the century had learned the ballad from an aunt, who had received it from an aged nun. #U. a#, Buchon, Noëls et Chants populaires de la Franche-Comté, p. 85, 34 verses; #b#, Tarbé, Romancero de Champagne, Vol. II, Chants Populaires, p. 125, 32 verses; #c#, G. de Nerval, La Bohème Galante, ed. 1866, p. 77, Les Filles du Feu, ed. 1868, p. 130, 30 verses; #d#, 'Jean Renaud,' Bujeaud, Chants et Chansons populaires des Provinces de l'Ouest, II, 213, 32 verses. #V.# Poés. pop., III, fol. 122, Romania, XI, 100 f, 32 verses. #W.# Le Blésois, Ampère, Instructions, etc., p. 37, 36 verses. #X.# Provence, Poés. pop., III, fol. 114, Romania, XI, 105, 44 verses. #Y.# 'Lou Counte Arnaud,' Bivès, Gers, Bladé, Poés. pop. de la Gascogne, II, 134/135, 48 verses. #Z.# Vagney, Vosges, Mélusine, p. 75, 44 verses. #AA.# Cambes, Lot-et-Garonne, Romania, XII, 116 f, 40 verses. #BB.# Quercy, Sérignac, Poés. pop., Romania, XI, 106, 34 verses. #CC.# Quercy, Poés. pop., Romania, XI, 107, 26 verses. #DD.# Bretagne, Villemarqué, Barzaz-Breiz, ed. 1846, I, 46, 12 verses. #EE.# Orléans, Poés. pop., III, fol. 102, Romania, XI, 107, 10 verses. #FF.# Auvergne, Poés, pop., III, fol. 89, Romania, XI, 107 f, 6 verses. #GG.# Boulonnais, 'La Ballade du Roi Renaud,' E. Hamy, in Almanach de Boulogne-sur-Mer pour 1863, p. 110 (compounded from several versions), 16 four-line stanzas.[360]

The name of the hero in the French ballad is mostly Renaud, or some modification of Renaud: Jean Renaud, #G#, #H#, #U#; Renom, #AA#; Arnaud, #C#, #E#, #L#, #Y#, #BB#; L'Arnaud l'Infant, #P#; Louis Renaud, brother of Jean, #F#. It is Louis in #A#, #I#, #J#, #V#. He is king, or of the royal family, #F#, #M#, #N#, #O#, #Q#, #W#, #BB#, #CC#, #GG#; count, #Y#; Renaud le grand, #H#, #Z#. In #A#, while he is walking in his meadows, he meets Death, who asks him, peremptorily, Would you rather die this very night, or languish seven years? and he answers that he prefers to die at once. Here there is a very plain trace of the older fairy. He is mortally hurt, while hunting, by a wolf, #B#; by a boar, #DD#. But in more than twenty versions he returns from war, often with a horrible wound, "apportant son cœur dans sa main," #C#; "tenant ses tripes dans ses mains," #N#; "oque ses tripes on sa main, sen estoumac on sen chapea, sen cûr covert de sen mentea," #G#; etc. In #F#, #I#, #J# he comes home in a dying state from prison (to which he was consigned, according to #I#, for robbing a church!). In these versions the story is confused with that of another ballad, existing in Breton, and very likely in French, 'Komt ar Chapel,' 'Le Comte des Chapelles,' Luzel, I, 456/457, or 'Le Page de Louis XIII,' Villemarqué, Barzaz-Breiz, p. 301. A fragment of a corresponding Italian ballad is given by Nigra, Romania, XI, 397, No 9.

Renaud, as it will be convenient to call the hero, coming home triste et chagrin, #F#, #P#, #U b, c#, triste et bien malau #Y#, receives on his arriving felicitations from his mother on account of the birth of a son. He has no heart to respond to these: "Ni de ma femme, ni de mon fils, je ne saurais me réjoui." He asks that his bed may be made, with precautions against his wife's hearing. At midnight he is dead.

The wife, hearing the men-servants weeping, asks her mother-in-law the cause. The best horse [horses] has been found dead in the stable, has strayed away, etc., #B#, #D-S#, #GG#. "No matter for that," says the wife; "when Renaud comes he will bring better," #B#, #D-G#, #L-Q#, #GG#. The maids are heard weeping; why is that? They have lost, or injured, sheets in the washing, #B#, #D#, #E#, #G#, #J#. When Renaud comes we shall have better, #B#, #D#, #E#, #G#. Or a piece of plate has been lost or broken, #A#, #F#, #H#, #I#, #K#, #O#. [It is children with the toothache, #F#, #U a, b, c, d#]. "What is this chanting which I hear?" It is a procession, making the tour of the house: #B#, #D-F#, #L#, #P-X#, #GG#. "What gown shall I wear when I go to church?" Black is the color for women at their churching, #B#, #F#, #I#, #L#, #M#, #O#, #P#, #V#, #Y#; black is more becoming, plus joli, plus convenant, plus conséquent, #A#, #D#, #H#, #K#, #N#, #R#, #X#, #BB#, #DD#, #GG#; "quittez le ros', quittez le gris, prenez le noir, pour mieux choisir," etc., #Q#, #W#, #U#, #E#, #S#, #T#.

Besides these four questions, all of which occur in Breton ballads, there are two which are met with in many versions, always coming before the last. "What is this pounding (frapper, cogner, taper) which I hear?" It is carpenters, or masons, repairing some part of the house, #D#, #E#, #K#, #L#, #N#, #P-U#, #W#; #A#, #V#, #X#, #AA#; #GG#. "Why are the bells ringing?" For a procession, or because a distinguished personage has come, has died, etc., #A#, #B#, #F-L#, #Q#, #R#, #W#, #Y#, #AA#, #DD#, #GG#. On the way to church [or cemetery] herdboys or others say to one another, as the lady goes by, That is the wife of the king, the seigneur, that was buried last night, or the like; and the mother-in-law has again to put aside the lady's question as to what they were saying, #D#, #E#, #G#, #H#, #L-P#, #S#, #T#, #X#, #Y#, #FF#, #GG#.

Flambeaux or candles are burning at the church, #E#, #V#; a taper is presented to the widow, #M#, or holy water, #N#, #T#, #Z#, #GG#; the church is hung with black, #D#, #O#, #FF#; the funeral is going on, #AA#, #CC#. "Whose is this new monument?" "What a fine tomb!" #M#, #N#, #R#, #T#, #Z#, #GG#. The scene in other cases is transferred to the cemetery. "Why has the earth been disturbed?" "What new monument is this?" #A#, #DD#; #C#, #F#, #I#, #J#, #P#. In #B# the tomb is in the garden; in #L#, #S#, #X#, #BB# the place is not defined.

The young wife utters a piercing shriek, #C#, #D#, #K#, #L#, #N#. Open earth, split tomb, split tiles! #A#, #B#, #Q#, #R#, #V#, #W#, #X#, #Y#; I will stay with my husband, will die with my husband, will not go back, #A#, #C#, #D#, #M#, #N#, #Q#, #R#, #S#, #X#, #Y#, #Z#, #BB#, #CC#, #GG#. She bids her mother take her keys, #B#, #C#, #G#, #L#, #M#, #P#, #Y#, #BB#, #CC#, #GG#, and commits her son [children] to her kinsfolk, to bring up piously, #B#, #G#, #I#, #J#, #L#, #M#, #O#, #Z#, #BB#, #CC#. In #H#, #P#, #Q#, #W#, #X#, #Y# the earth opens, and in the last four it encloses her. In #K# heaven is rent by her shriek, and she sees her husband in light (who says, strangely, that his mouth smacks of rot); he bids her bring up the children as Christians. Heaven opens to her prayer in #AA#, and a voice cries, Wife, come up hither! In #GG# the voice from heaven says, Go to your child: I will keep your husband safe. There are other variations.[361]

#G#, #T#, #I# say expressly that Renaud's wife died the next day, or after hearing three masses, or soon after. #M#, #O#, by a feeble modern perversion, make her go into a convent.

#Italian# ballads cover very much the same ground as the French. The versions hitherto published are:

#A.# 'La Lavandaia,' Cento, Ferraro, Canti popolari di Ferrara, Cento e Pontelagoscuro, p. 52, 16 verses, Romania, XI, 397, amended. #B.# 'Il Cavaliere della bella Spada,' Pontelagoscuro, Ferraro, p. 107, previously in Rivista di Filologia romanza, II, 205, 28 verses, Romania, XI, 398. #C.# Piedmont, communicated by Nigra, with other versions, to Romania, XI, 394, No 4, 48 verses. #D.# Romania, XI, 393 f, No 3, 34 verses. #E.# Ib. p. 395, No 6, 42 verses. #F.# Ib. p. 392 f, No 2, 46 verses. #G.# 'Conte Anzolin,' Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, p. 61, 57 verses. #H.# Romania, XI, 396, No 7, 38 verses. #I.# Ib. p. 394 f, No 5, 26 verses. #J.# 'Il re Carlino,' Ferraro, Canti popolari monferrini, p. 34, 42 verses. #K.# Romania, XI, 392, No 1, 20 verses. #L.# 'Il Conte Angiolino,' Rovigno, Ive, Canti popolari istriani, p. 344, 34 verses. #M.# 'Il Conte Cagnolino,' Pontelagoscuro, Ferraro, as above, p. 84, Rivista di Filologia romanza, II, 196, 36 verses. All these are from recent tradition.

The name Rinaldo, Rinald, is found only in I, #C#, and the latter has also Lüis. Lüis is the name in #E#; Carlino, Carlin, in #J#, #H#; Angiolino, Anzolin, #L#, #G#; Cagnolino, #M#. The rank is king in #C#, #E#, #H-K#; prince, #D#; count, #G#, #L#, #M#.

#A# and #B#, corrupted fragments though they be, retain clear traces of the ancient form of the story, and of the English variety of that form. Under the bridge of the Rella [Diamantina] a woman is washing clothes, gh' è 'na lavandera. A knight passes, #B#, and apparently accosts the laundress. She moves into the water, and the knight after her; the knight embraces her, #A#. Dowy rade he hame, el va a cà tüto mojà, #A#. In #B# (passing over some verses which have intruded) he has many knife-stabs, and his horse many also.[362] He asks his mother to put him to bed and his horse into the stable, and gives directions about his funeral.

All of the story which precedes the hero's return home is either omitted, #D#, #F#, #J#, #K#, #L#, or abridged to a single stanza: ven da la cassa lo re Rinald, ven da la cassa, l'è tüt ferì, #C#; ven da la guerra re Rinaldo, ven da la guerra, l'è tüt ferì, #I#, #E#, #H#; save that #G#, which like #C# makes him to have been hunting (and to have been bitten by a mad dog), adds that, while he was hunting, his wife had given birth to a boy. #M# has an entirely false beginning: Count Cagnolino was disposed to marry, but wished to be secure about his wife's previous life. He had a marble statue in his garden which moved its eyes when any girl that had gone astray presented herself before it. The daughter of Captain Tartaglia having been declined, for reason, and another young woman espoused, Tartaglia killed the count while they were hunting.

The wounded man, already feeling the approach of death, #F#, #G#, #L#, asks that his bed may be made; he shall die before the morrow, #D#, #F#, #J#; let not his wife know, #F#, #G#. The wife asks why the men-servants, coachmen, are weeping, and is told that they have drowned [lost] some of the horses, #C-J#, #M# [have burned the king's carriage, #K#]. We will get others when the king comes, she answers, #C#, #D#, #H# [when I get up, #F#, as in Breton #A#]. Why are the maids weeping? The maids have lost sheets or towels in washing, #F#, #I#, #K#; have scorched the shirts in ironing, #C#, #D#, #H#. When the king comes, he will buy or bring better, #C#, #D#, #H# [when I get up, #F#, as in Breton #A#]. Why are the priests chanting? For a great feast to-morrow, #F#. Why are the carpenters at work? They are making a cradle for your boy, #C-E#, #H-K#. Why do the bells ring? A great lord is dead; in honor of somebody or something; #C#, #E-L#. Why does not Anzolin come to see me? He has gone a-hunting, #G#, #L#. What dress shall I put on to go to church? [When I get up I shall put on red, #F#, #I#.] You in black and I in gray, as in our country is the way, #C-F#, #H#, #I# [#H# moda a Paris, by corruption of dël pais]; I white, you gray, #J#; you will look well in black, #M#; put on red, or put on white, or put on black for custom's sake, #G#.

The children in the street say, That is the wife of the lord who was buried, or the people look at the lady in a marked way, #C#, #J#, #G#, #M#; and why is this? For the last time the mother-in-law puts off the question. At the church, under the family bench, there is a grave new made, and now it has to be said that the husband is buried there, #C-K#, #M#.

A conclusion is wanting in half of the ballads, and what there is is corrupted in others. The widow commends her boy to her husband's mother, #G#, #M#, and says she will die with her dear one, #D#, #E#, #J#, #M#. In #C#, as in French #V#, she wishes to speak to her husband. If the dead ever spake to the quick, she would speak once to her dear Lüis; if the quick ever spake to the dead, she would speak once to her dear husband. In #G# she bids the grave unlock, that she may come into the arms of her beloved, and then bids it close, that in his arms she may stay: cf. French #Y#, #Q#, #X#, #R#, #AA#.

The story of the Italian ballad, under the title of 'Il Conte Angiolino,' was given in epitome by Luigi Carrer, in his Prose e Poesie, Venice, 1838, IV, 81 f, before any copy had been published (omitted in later editions). According to Carrer's version, the lady, hearing bells, and seeing from her windows the church lighted up as for some office, extracts the fact from her mother-in-law on the spot, and then, going to the church and seeing her husband's tomb, prays that it would open and receive her.

A fragment of an Italian ballad given by Nigra, Romania, XI, 396, No 8, describes three card players, quarrelling over their game, as passing from words to knives, and from knives to pistols, and one of the party, the king of Spain, as being wounded in the fray. He rides home with a depressed air, and asks his mother to make his bed, for he shall be dead at midnight and his horse at dawn. There is a confusion of two stories here, as will be seen from Spanish ballads which are to be spoken of. Both stories are mixed with the original adventure of the mermaid in 'Il Cavaliere della bella spada,' already referred to as #B#. In this last the knight has a hundred and fifty stabs, and his horse ninety.[363]

Nigra has added to the valuable and beautiful ballads furnished to Romania, XI, a tale (p. 398) from the province of Turin, which preserves the earlier portion of the Breton story. A hunter comes upon a beautiful woman under a rock. She requires him to marry her, and is told by the hunter that he is already married. The beautiful woman, who is of course a fairy, presents the hunter with a box for his wife, which he is not to open. This box contains an explosive girdle, intended to be her death; and the hunter's curiosity impelling him to examine the gift, he is so much injured by a detonation which follows that he can just drag himself home to die.

#Spanish.# This ballad is very common in Catalonia, and has been found in Asturias. Since it is also known in Portugal, we may presume that it might be recovered in other parts of the peninsula. #A.# 'La bona viuda,' Briz, Cansons de la Terra, III, 155, 32 verses. #B.# 'La Viuda,' 33 verses, Milá y Fontanals, Romancerillo Catalan, 2d ed., p. 155, No 204. #C-I#. Ib. p. 156 f. #J.# Ib. p. 157 f, No 204, 36 verses. #K.# 'Romance de Doña Ana,' Asturias, the argument only, Amador de los Rios, Historia Critica de la Literatura Española, VII, 446, being No 30 of that author's unpublished collection.

The name of the husband is Don Joan de Sevilla, #D#, Don Joan, #F#, Don Olalbo, #I#, Don Francisco, #J#, Don Pedro, #K#. His wife, a princess, #A#, #G#, has given birth to a child, or is on the eve of so doing. The gentleman is away from home, or is about to leave home on a pilgrimage of a year and a day, #A#, #G#; has gone to war, #D#; to a hunt, #I#, #K#. He dies just as he returns home or is leaving home, or away from home, in other versions, but in #K# comes back in a dying condition, and begs that his state may be concealed from his wife. The lady, hearing a commotion in the house, and asking the cause, is told that it is the noisy mirth of the servants, #A-D#. There is music, chanting, tolling of bells; and this is said to be for a great person who has died, #B#, #D#, #A#. In #B#, #D#, the wife asks, Can it be for my husband? In #J# the mother-in-law explains her own sorrowful demeanor as occasioned by the death of an uncle, and we are informed that the burial was without bells, in order that the new mother might not hear. In #J# only do we have the question, Where is my husband? He has been summoned to court, says the mother-in-law, where, as a favorite, he will stay a year and ten days. When should the young mother go to mass? Peasants go after a fortnight, tradesfolk after forty days, etc.; she, as a great lady, will wait a year and a day, #A#, #D#, #I#, a year, #B#, a year and ten days, #J#. What dress should she wear, silk, gold tissue, silver? etc. Black would become her best, #A#, #J#, #K#. [Doña Ana, in #K#, like the lady in Italian #G#, resists the suggestion of mourning, as proper only for a widow, and appears in a costume de Pascua florida: in some other copies also she seems to wear a gay dress.] The people, the children, point to her, and say, There is the widow, and her mother-in-law parries the inquiry why she is the object of remark; but the truth is avowed when they see a grave digging, and the wife asks for whom it is, #A#. In #J# the lady sees a monument in the church, hung with black, reads her husband's name, and swoons. #B#, #C# make the mother's explanation follow upon the children's talk. In #K# the announcement is made first by a shepherd, then confirmed by gaping spectators and by a rejected lover. The widow commends her child to its grandmother, and says she will go to her husband in heaven, #A-D#; dies on the spot, #K#; Don Francisco dies in March, Doña Ana in May, #J#.

'Don Joan y Don Ramon' is a ballad in which a young man returns to his mother mortally wounded, and therefore would be likely to blend in the memory of reciters with any other ballad in which the same incident occurred. A version from the Balearic Islands may be put first, which has not yet taken up any characteristic part of the story of Renaud: Recuerdos y Bellezas de España, Mallorca, p. 336, 1842==Milá, 1853, p. 114, No 15, Briz, III, 172; Die Balearen in Wort und Bild geschildert, by the Archduke Ludwig Salvator, Leipzig, 1871, II, 556.[364]

Don Joan and Don Ramon are returning from the chase. Don Ramon falls from his horse; Don Joan rides off. Don Ramon's mother sees her son coming through a field, gathering plants to heal his wounds. "What is the matter?" she asks; "you are pale." "I have been bled, and they made a mistake." "Ill luck to the barber!" "Curse him not; it is the last time. Between me and my horse we have nine and twenty lance thrusts; the horse has nine and I the rest. The horse will die to-night and I in the morning. Bury him in the best place in the stable, and me in St Eulalia; lay a sword crosswise over my grave, and if it is asked who killed me, let the answer be, Don Joan de la cassada."

There are numerous Catalan versions, and most of them add something to this story: Milá, 2d ed., 'El guerrero mal herido,' p. 171, No 210, #A-F#, #A_{1}-G_{1}#, #A_{11}#; Briz, III, 171 f, two copies. These disagree considerably as to the cause of the hero's death, and the names are not constant. In #A_{1}# of Milá, as in the Balearic ballad, Don Joan and Don Ramon are coming from the chase, and have a passage at lances; Don Joan is left dead, and Don Ramon is little short of it. #A#, #B#, of Milá, tell us that Don Pedro died on the field of battle and Don Joan came home mortally wounded. #E# says that Don Joan and Don Ramon come from the chase, but Don Joan immediately says that he comes from a great battle. It is battle in #F_{1}#, in #E_{1}# (with Gastó returning), and in both the Catalan copies of Briz, the hero being Don Joan in the first of these last, and in the other nameless. The wounded man says he has been badly bled, Milá, #A#, #B#, #A_{1}#, #C_{1}#, Briz 2; he and his horse have lance wounds fifty-nine, thirty-nine, twenty-nine, etc., the horse nine and he the rest, Milá, #A#, #B#, #E#, #A_{1}#, Briz 1. His mother informs him that his wife has borne a child, "a boy like the morning star," Briz 1, and says that if he will go to the best chamber he will find her surrounded by dames and ladies. This gives him no pleasure; he does not care for wife, nor dames, nor ladies, nor boys, nor morning stars: Briz 1, Milá, #A_{1}-G_{1}#. He asks to have his bed made, Milá, #A-D#, #B_{1}#, #C_{1}#, Briz 1, 2, for he shall die at midnight and his horse at dawn, #A-D#, #A_{1}#, Briz 2, and gives directions for his burial and that of his horse. Let the bells toll when he is dead, and when people ask for whom it is, the answer will be, For Don Joan, Briz 1, Gastó, Milá, #E_{1}#, who was killed in battle. Let his arms be put over the place where his horse is buried, and when people ask whose arms they are his mother will say, My son's, who died in battle, Milá #A#, #B_{1}#. Let a drawn sword be laid across his grave, and let those that ask who killed him be told, Don Joan, at the chase, Milá, #A_{1}#.[365]

We have, probably, to do with two different ballads here, versions #A-F# of Milá's 'Guerrero mal herido,' and Briz's second, belonging with 'Don Joan y Don Ramon,' while #A_{1}-G_{1}# of Milá, and Briz's first, represent a ballad of the Renaud class. It is, however, possible that the first series may be imperfect copies of the second.

'Don Joan y Don Ramon' has agreements with Italian #B#, #A#: in #B#, particularly, we note the hundred and fifty stabs of the knight and the ninety of his horse.

#Portuguese.# A good Portuguese version, 'D. Pedro e D. Leonarda,' in fifty short verses, unfortunately lacking the conclusion, has been lately communicated to Romania (XI, 585) by Leite de Vasconcellos. Dom Pedro went hunting, to be gone a year and a day, but was compelled to return home owing to a malady which seized him. His mother greets him with the information that his wife has given birth to a son. "Comfort and cheer her," he says, "and for me make a bed, which I shall never rise from." The wife asks, Where is my husband, that he does not come to see me? "He has gone a-hunting for a year and a day," replies the mother. What is this commotion in the house? "Only visitors." But the bells are tolling! Could it be for my husband? "No, no; it is for a feast-day." When do women go to mass after child-birth? "Some in three weeks and some in two, but a lady of your rank after a year and a day." And what color do they wear? "Some light blue and some a thousand wonders, but you, as a lady of rank, will go in mourning." The ballad stops abruptly with a half-pettish, half-humorous imprecation from the daughter-in-law against the mother for keeping her shut up so long.

There is a Slavic ballad, which, like the versions that are so popular with the Romance nations, abridges the first part of the story, and makes the interest turn upon the gradual discovery of the hero's death, but in other respects agrees with northern tradition.

#Bohemian.# #A a.# Erben, p. 473, No 9, Heřman a Dornička==Waldau, Böhmische Granaten, I, 73, No 100; #b.# Čelakowsky, I, 26==Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 327. #B.# Erben, p. 475. #C.# Moravian, Sušil, p. 82, No 89 a, 'Nešt'astná svatba,' 'The Doleful Wedding.' #D.# Sušil, p. 83, No 89 b. #E.# Slovak, Čelakowsky, I, 80.

#Wendish.# #A.# Haupt und Schmaler, I, 31, No 3, 'Zrudny kwas,' 'The Doleful Wedding.' #B.# II, 131, No 182, 'Plakajuen ńeẃesta,' 'The Weeping Bride' (the last eight stanzas, the ten before being in no connection).

The hero on his wedding day is making ready his horse to fetch the bride; for he is, as in the Scandinavian ballads, not yet a married man. His mother, Bohemian #A#, ascertaining his intention, begs him not to go himself with the bridal escort. Obviously she has a premonition of misfortune. Herman will never invite guests, and not go for them. The mother, in an access of passion, exclaims, If you go, may you break your neck, and never come back! Here we are reminded of the Färöe ballad. Bohemian #C#, #D# make the forebodings to rise in Herman's mind, not in his mother's. The mother opposes the match in Bohemian #E#, and the sister wishes that he may break his neck. Wendish #A# has nothing of opposition or bodement before the start, but the crows go winging about the young men who are going for the bride, and caw a horrible song, how the bridegroom shall fall from his horse and break his neck. The train sets off with a band of trumpets, drums, and stringed instruments, or, Bohemian #D#, with a discharge of a hundred muskets, and when they come to a linden in a meadow Herman's horse "breaks his foot," and the rider his neck; Bohemian #D#, when they come to a copse in a meadow the hundred pieces are again discharged, and Herman is mortally wounded. His friends stand debating what they shall do. The dying man bids them keep on: since the bride cannot be his, she shall be his youngest brother's, Bohemian #A#, #C#; cf. Danish #L#, #O#, #R#, Norwegian #C#, #F#. The train arrives at the bride's house; the bride comes out to greet them, but, not seeing the bridegroom, inquires affrightedly what has become of him. They pretend that he has remained at home to see to the tables. The mother is reluctant to give them the bride, but finally yields. When the train comes again to the linden in the mead, Dorothy sees blood. It is Herman's! she cries; but they assure her that it is the blood of a deer that Herman had killed for the feast. They reach Herman's house, where the bride has an appalling reception, which need not be particularized.

In Bohemian #A#, while they are at supper (or at half-eve==three in the afternoon), a death-bell is heard. Dorothy turns pale. For whom are they tolling? Surely it is for Herman. They tell her that Herman is lying in his room with a bad headache, and that the bell is ringing for a child. But she guesses the truth, sinks down and dies, #a#. She wears two knives in her hair, and thrusts one of them into her heart, #b#. The two are buried in one grave. In Bohemian #B# the bell sounds for the first time as the first course is brought on, and a second time when the second course comes. The bride is told in each case that the knell is for a child. Upon the third sounding, when the third course is brought in, they tell her that it is for Herman. She seizes two knives and runs to the graveyard: with one she digs herself a grave, and with the other stabs herself. In the Wendish fragment #B#, at the first and second course (there is no bell) the bride asks where the bridegroom is, and at the third repeats the question with tears. She is told that he is ranging the woods, killing game for his wedding. In Bohemian #C# the bell tolls while they are getting the table ready. The bride asks if it is for Herman, and is told that it is for a child. When they sit down to table, the bells toll again. For whom should this be? For whom but Herman? She springs out of the window, and the catastrophe is the same as in Bohemian #B#. In #D# the bride hears the bell as the train is approaching the house, and they say it is for a child. On entering the court she asks where Herman is. He is in the cellar drawing wine for his guests. She asks again for Herman as the company sits down to table, and the answer is, In the chamber, lying in a coffin. She springs from the table and rushes to the chamber, seizing two golden knives, one of which she plunges into her heart. In Bohemian #E#, when the bride arrives at John the bridegroom's house, and asks where he is, they tell her she had better go to bed till midnight. The moment she touches John she springs out of bed, and cries, Dear people, why have ye laid a living woman with a dead man? They stand, saying, What shall we give her, a white cap or a green chaplet? "I have not deserved the white (widow's) cap," she says; "I have deserved a green chaplet." In Wendish #A#, when the bell first knolls, the bride asks, Where is the bridegroom? and they answer, In the new chamber, putting on his fine clothes. A second toll evokes a second inquiry; and they say he is in the new room, putting on his sword. The third time they conceal nothing: He fell off his horse and broke his neck. "Then tear off my fine clothes and dress me in white, that I may mourn a year and a day, and go to church in a green chaplet, and never forget him that loved me!" It will be remembered that the bride takes her own life in Norwegian #A#, #C#, #D#, and in Swedish #E#, as she does in Bohemian #A b#, #B#, #C#, #D#.

* * * * *

#B# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 305, No 48; by Doenniges, p. 25.

'Der Ritter von Staufenberg' is translated by Jamieson, from the "Romanzen" in the Wunderhorn, in Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 257. Danish #A# by Prior, II, 301; #B# by Jamieson, Popular Ballads, I, 219, and by Prior, II, 306, Buchanan, p. 52. 'The Erl-King's Daughter,' "Danish," in Lewis's Tales of Wonder, I, 53, No 10, is rendered from Herder. Swedish #A# by Keightley, Fairy Mythology, p. 84; #B# by Keightley, p. 82, and by William and Mary Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 269. There is a version from Swedish by J. H. Dixon, in Notes and Queries, 4th Series, I, 168. Breton #D# by Keightley, as above, p. 433, and by Tom Taylor, Ballads and Songs of Brittany, 'Lord Nann and the Fairy,' p. 9. Bohemian #A b# by Bowring, Cheskian Anthology, p. 69.

#A#

From a transcript from William Tytler's Brown MS.

1 Clark Colven and his gay ladie, As they walked to yon garden green, A belt about her middle gimp, Which cost Clark Colven crowns fifteen:

2 'O hearken weel now, my good lord, O hearken weel to what I say; When ye gang to the wall o Stream, O gang nae neer the well-fared may.'

3 'O haud your tongue, my gay ladie, Tak nae sic care o me; For I nae saw a fair woman I like so well as thee.'

4 He mounted on his berry-brown steed, And merry, merry rade he on, Till he came to the wall o Stream, And there he saw the mermaiden.

5 'Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny may, And ay's ye wash your sark o silk:' 'It's a' for you, ye gentle knight, My skin is whiter than the milk.'

6 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, He's taen her by the sleeve sae green, And he's forgotten his gay ladie, And away with the fair maiden.

* * * * * * *

7 'Ohon, alas!' says Clark Colven, 'And aye sae sair's I mean my head!' And merrily leugh the mermaiden, 'O win on till you be dead.

8 'But out ye tak your little pen-knife, And frae my sark ye shear a gare; Row that about your lovely head, And the pain ye'll never feel nae mair.'

9 Out he has taen his little pen-knife, And frae her sark he's shorn a gare, Rowed that about his lovely head, But the pain increased mair and mair.

10 'Ohon, alas!' says Clark Colven, 'An aye sae sair's I mean my head!' And merrily laughd the mermaiden, 'It will ay be war till ye be dead.'

11 Then out he drew his trusty blade, And thought wi it to be her dead, But she's become a fish again, And merrily sprang into the fleed.

12 He's mounted on his berry-brown steed, And dowy, dowy rade he home, And heavily, heavily lighted down When to his ladie's bower-door he came.

13 'Oh, mither, mither, mak my bed, And, gentle ladie, lay me down; Oh, brither, brither, unbend my bow, 'T will never be bent by me again.'

14 His mither she has made his bed, His gentle ladie laid him down, His brither he has unbent his bow, 'T was never bent by him again.

Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 302; ed. 1776, I, 161.

1 Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame Were walking in the garden green; The belt around her stately waist Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.

2 'O promise me now, Clerk Colvill, Or it will cost ye muckle strife, Ride never by the wells of Slane, If ye wad live and brook your life.'

3 'Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame, Now speak nae mair of that to me; Did I neer see a fair woman, But I wad sin with her body?'

4 He's taen leave o his gay lady, Nought minding what his lady said, And he's rode by the wells of Slane, Where washing was a bonny maid.

5 'Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid, That wash sae clean your sark of silk;' 'And weel fa you, fair gentleman, Your body whiter than the milk.'

* * * * * * *

6 Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill, 'O my head it pains me sair;' 'Then take, then take,' the maiden said, 'And frae my sark you'll cut a gare.'

7 Then she's gied him a little bane-knife, And frae her sark he cut a share; She's ty'd it round his whey-white face, But ay his head it aked mair.

8 Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colvill, 'O sairer, sairer akes my head;' 'And sairer, sairer ever will,' The maiden crys, 'till you be dead.'

9 Out then he drew his shining blade, Thinking to stick her where she stood, But she was vanishd to a fish, And swam far off, a fair mermaid.

10 'O mother, mother, braid my hair; My lusty lady, make my bed; O brother, take my sword and spear, For I have seen the false mermaid.'

Notes and Queries, 4th Series, VIII, 510, from the recitation of a lady in Forfarshire.

1 Clerk Colin and his mother dear Were in the garden green; The band that was about her neck Cost Colin pounds fifteen; The belt about her middle sae sma Cost twice as much again.

2 'Forbidden gin ye wad be, love Colin, Forbidden gin ye wad be, And gang nae mair to Clyde's water, To court yon gay ladie.'

3 'Forbid me frae your ha, mother, Forbid me frae your bour, But forbid me not frae yon ladie; She's fair as ony flour.

4 'Forbidden I winna be, mother, Forbidden I winna be, For I maun gang to Clyde's water, To court yon gay ladie.'

5 An he is on his saddle set, As fast as he could win, An he is on to Clyde's water, By the lee licht o the moon.

6 An when he cam to the Clyde's water He lichted lowly down, An there he saw the mermaiden, Washin silk upon a stane.

7 'Come down, come down, now, Clerk Colin, Come down an [fish] wi me; I'll row ye in my arms twa, An a foot I sanna jee.'

* * * * * * *

8 'O mother, mother, mak my bed, And, sister, lay me doun, An brother, tak my bow an shoot, For my shooting is done.'

9 He wasna weel laid in his bed, Nor yet weel fa'en asleep, When up an started the mermaiden, Just at Clerk Colin's feet.

10 'Will ye lie there an die, Clerk Colin, Will ye lie there an die? Or will ye gang to Clyde's water, To fish in flood wi me?'

11 'I will lie here an die,' he said, 'I will lie here an die; In spite o a' the deils in hell I will lie here an die.'

* * * * *

#A.#

7^3. ~laugh~; but we have ~laughd~ in 10^3.

9^3. _~Rowed~ seems to be written ~Round~, possibly ~Rowad~._

14^3. brother.

#B.#

5^4. The edition of 1776 has ~body's~.

#C.#

7. When they part he returns home, and on the way his head becomes "wondrous sair:" seemingly a comment of the reciter.

The Abbotsford copy in "~Scottish Songs~," fol. 3, has these readings, not found in Lewis, the Brown MS., or Herd.

3^2.

And dinna deave me wi your din: Lewis, And haud, my Lady gay, your din.

6^3. He's laid her on the flowery green.

[345] "From a MS. in my grandfather's writing, with the following note: Copied from an old MS. in the possession of Alexander Fraser Tytler." Note of Miss Mary Fraser Tytler. The first stanza agrees with that which is cited from the original by Dr Anderson in Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 177, and the number of stanzas is the same.

Colvill, which has become familiar from Herd's copy, is the correct form, and Colven, Colvin, a vulgarized one, which in #C# lapses into Colin.

[346] Still, though these particular verses appear to have come from 'The Drowned Lovers,' they may represent other original ones which were to the same effect. See, further on, the beginning of some Färöe versions.

[347] Hoc equidem a viris omni exceptione majoribus quotidie scimus probatum, quod quosdam hujusmodi larvarum quas fadas nominant amatores audivimus, et cum ad aliarum foeminarum matrimonia se transtulerunt, ante mortuos quam cum superinductis carnali se copula immiscuerunt. Des Gervasius von Tilbury Otia Imperialia (of about 1211), Liebrecht, p. 41.

[348] Der Ritter von Stauffenberg, from a MS. of perhaps 1437, C. M. Engelhardt, Strassburg, 1823. Edited by Oskar Jänicke, in Altdeutsche Studien von O. Jänicke, E. Steinmeyer, W. Wilmanns, Berlin, 1871. Die Legende vom Ritter Herrn Peter Diemringer von Staufenberg in der Ortenau, reprint by F. Culemann of the Strassburg edition of Martin Schott, 1480-82. The old printed copy was made over by Fischart in 1588 (Jobin, Strassburg, in that year), and this 'ernewerte Beschreibung der alten Geschicht' is rehashed in seven 'Romanzen' in Wunderhorn, I, 407-18, ed. 1806, 401-12, ed. 1853. Simrock, Die deutschen Volksbücher, III, 1-48.

[349] Engelhardt, pp 6, 13 f: Sagen aus Baden und der Umgegend, Carlsruhe, 1834, pp 107-122.

[350] Separately printed, under the title, Elveskud, dansk, svensk, norsk, færøsk, islandsk, skotsk, vendisk, bømisk, tysk, fransk, italiensk, katalonsk, spansk, bretonsk Folkevise, i overblik ved Svend Grundtvig. Kjøbenhavn, 1881.

[351] All the Norse versions are in two-line stanzas.

[352] In 'Jomfruen og Dværgekongen,' #C# 25, 26, Grundtvig, No 37, the woman who has been carried off to the hill, wishing to die, asks that atter-corns may be put into her drink. She evidently gets, however, only the villar-konn, elvar-konn, of Landstad, Nos 42-45, which are of lethean property. But in J. og D. #F#, we may infer an atter-corn, though none is mentioned, from the effect of the draughts, which is that belt, stays, and sark successively burst. See p. 363 f.

[353] So, also, Swedish #A#, #F#, Norwegian #A#, #C#. This is a cantrip sleight of the elves. The Icelandic burden supposes this illumination, "The low was burning red;" and when Olaf seeks to escape, in Norwegian #A#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #I#, #K#, he has to make his way through the elf-flame, elvelogi.

[354] Grundtvig remarks that Herder's translation, 'Erlkönigs Tochter,' Volkslieder, II, 158, took so well with the Germans that at last it came to pass for an original German ballad. The Wunderhorn, I, 261, ed. 1806, gives it with the title, 'Herr Olof,' as from a flying sheet (==Scherer's Deutsche Volkslieder, 1851, p. 371). It appears, with some little changes, in Zarnack's Deutsche Volkslieder, 1819, I, 29, whence it passed into Erlach, IV, 6, and Richter und Marschner, p. 60. Kretzschmer has the translation, again, with a variation here and there, set to a "North German" and to a "Westphalian" air, p. 8, p. 9.

[355] Owing to a close resemblance of circumstances in 'The Elf-shot,' in 'Frillens Hævn' ('The Leman's Wreak'), Grundtvig, No 208, and in 'Ribold og Guldborg,' Grundtvig, No 82, these ballads naturally have details in common. The pretence that the horse was not sure-footed and hurtled his rider against a tree; the request to mother, father, etc., to make the bed, take care of the horse, apply a bandage, send for a priest, etc.; the testament, the assignment of the bride by the dying man to his brother, and her declaration that she will never give her troth to two brothers; and the nearly simultaneous death of hero, bride, and mother, occur in many versions of both Elveskud and Ribold, and most of them in Frillens Hævn. A little Danish ballad, 'Hr. Olufs Død,' cited by Grundtvig, IV, 847, seems to be Elveskud with the elf-shot omitted.

[356] Luzel was in possession of other versions, but he assures us that every detail is contained in one or the other of these three.

[357] #B# 13, "You must marry me straightway, or give me my weight in silver;" then, "or die in three days," etc. It is not impossible that this stanza, entirely out of place in this ballad, was derived from 'Le Comte des Chapelles,' Luzel, p. 457, from which certain French versions have taken a part of their story. See Luzel, the eighth and ninth stanzas, on p. 461.

[358] #B# 50, "A white gown, or broget, or my violet petticoat?" Luzel says he does not understand broget, and in his Observations, prefixed to the volume, expresses a conjecture that it must have been altered from droged, robe d'enfant, robe de femme, but we evidently want a color. Grundtvig remarks that broget would make sense in Danish, where it means party-colored. Scotch broakit is black and white. Icelandic brók, tartan, party-colored cloth, is said to be from Gaelic breac, versicolor (Vigfusson). This points to a suitable meaning for Breton broget.

[359] #D# adds: "It was a marvel to see, the night after husband and wife had been buried, two oaks rise from the common tomb, and on their branches two white doves, which sang there at daybreak, and then took flight for the skies."

[360] It will be observed that some of the Renaud ballads in the Poésies populaires de la France were derived from earlier publications: such as were communicated by collectors appear to have been sent in in 1852 or 1853. The versions cited by Rathery, Revue Critique, II, 287 ff, are all from the MS. Poésies populaires. #BB#, #CC# have either been overlooked by me in turning over the first five volumes, or occur in vol. vi, which has not yet been received. #GG# came to hand too late to be ranked at its proper place.

[361] In #C# the mother-in-law tells her daughter, austerely:

Vous aurez plutôt trouvé un mari Que moi je n'aurai trouvé un fils.

So #E#, nearly. A mother makes a like remark to the betrothed of a dead son in the Danish ballad of 'Ebbe Tygesen,' Grundtvig, Danske Kæmpeviser og Folkesange, fornyede i gammel Stil, 1867, p. 122, st. 14. #F# and #T# conclude with these words of the wife:

'Ma mère, dites au fossoyeur Qu'il creuse une fosse pour deux; 'Et que l'espace y soit si grand Que l'on y mette aussi l'enfant.'

The burial of father, mother, and child in a common grave is found elsewhere in ballads, as in 'Redselille og Medelvold,' Grundtvig, No 271, #A# 37, #G# 20, #M# 26, #X# 27.

[362] Shutting our eyes to other Romance versions, or, we may say, opening them to Scandinavian ones, we might see in these stabs the wounds made by the elf-knives in Danish #D#, #G#, #H#, #N#, #O#, #R#, #X#, Swedish #G#, Norwegian #H#, #I#. See 'Don Joan y Don Ramon,' further on.

[363] The ballad of 'Luggieri,' published by Salvatori in the Rassegna Settimanale, Rome, June 22, 1879, and reprinted by Nigra in Romania, XI, 391 (a variety of 'Rizzardo bello,' Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, p. 62, No 83), appears to me not to belong with 'Renaud,' but with the class of 'The Cruel Brother,' as already remarked of the Venetian ballad at p. 142.

[364] The version in the Recuerdos was obtained in Majorca by Don J. M. Quadrado. The editor remarks that the employment of the articles Il and La instead of Es and Sa proves it to be as old as the sixteenth century. Die Balearen, etc., is cited after Grundtvig.

[365] I do not entirely understand Professor Milá's arrangement of those texts which he has not printed in full, and it is very likely that more of his copies than I have cited exhibit some of the traits specified.

THE BROOMFIELD HILL

#A.# 'The Broomfield Hill.' #a.# Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 271, 1803. #b.# The same, II, 229, 1802.

#B.# 'I'll wager, I'll wager,' etc., Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 310.

#C.# 'Broomfield Hills,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 291.

#D.# 'Lord John,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 195.

#E.# Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, January, 1830, p. 7.

#F.# 'The Merry Broomfield, or The West Country Wager.' #a.# Douce Ballads, III, fol. 64^b. #b.# The same, IV, fol. 10.

A song of 'Brume, brume on hil' is one of those named in The Complaint of Scotland, 1549, p. 64 of Dr J. A. H. Murray's edition. "The foot of the song" is sung, with others, by Moros in Wager's "very merry and pithy Comedy called The longer thou livest the more fool thou art," c. 1568. 'Broom, broom on hil' is also one of Captain Cox's "bunch of ballets and songs, all auncient," No 53 of the collection, 1575.[366] The lines that Moros sings are:

Brome, brome on hill, The gentle brome on hill, hill, Brome, brome on Hive hill, The gentle brome on Hive hill, The brome stands on Hive hill #a#.

"A more sanguine antiquary than the editor," says Scott, "might perhaps endeavor to identify this poem, which is of undoubted antiquity, with the 'Broom, broom on hill' mentioned ... as forming part of Captain Cox's collection." Assuredly "Broom, broom on hill," if that were all, would justify no such identification, but the occurrence of Hive hill, both in the burden which Moros sings and in the eighth stanza of Scott's ballad, is a circumstance that would embolden even a very cautious antiquary, if he had received Hive hill from tradition, and was therefore unaffected by a suspicion that this locality had been introduced by an editor from the old song.[367]

Most of the versions give no explicit account of the knight's prolonged sleep. He must needs be asleep when the lady comes to him, else there would be no story; but his heavy slumber, not broken by all the efforts of his horse and his hawk, is as a matter of course not natural; es geht nicht zu mit rechten dingen; the witch-wife of #A# 4 is at the bottom of that. And yet the broom-flowers strewed on his hals-bane in #A# 8, #B# 3, and the roses in #D# 6, are only to be a sign that the maid had been there and was gone. Considering the character of many of Buchan's versions, we cannot feel sure that #C# has not borrowed the second and third stanzas from #B#, and the witch-wife, in the sixth, from #A#; but it would be extravagant to call in question the genuineness of #C# as a whole. The eighth stanza gives us the light which we require.

'Ye'll pu the bloom frae aff the broom, Strew't at his head and feet, And aye the thicker that ye do strew, The sounder he will sleep.'

The silver belt about the knight's head in #A# 5 can hardly have to do with his sleeping, and to me seems meaningless. It is possible that roses are not used at random in #D# 6, though, like the posie of pleasant perfume in #F# 9, they serve only to prove that the lady had been there. An excrescence on the dog-rose, rosenschwamm, schlafkunz, kunz, schlafapfel, it is believed in Germany, if laid under a man's pillow, will make him sleep till it is taken away. Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, p. 1008, and Deutsches Wörterbuch (Hildebrand), V, 2753 e.

#C# makes the lady hide in the broom to hear what the knight will say when he wakes, and in this point agrees with the broadside #F#, as also in the comment made by the men on their master in stanza 24; cf. #F# 16.

Mr J. W. Dixon has reprinted an Aldermary Churchyard copy of the broadside, differing as to four or five words only from #F#, in Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 116, Percy Society, Volume XVII. The editor remarks that #A# is evidently taken from #F#; from which it is clear that the pungent buckishness of the broadside does not necessarily make an impression. #A# smells of the broom; #F# suggests the groom.[368]

The sleep which is produced in #A# by strewing the flower of the broom on a man's head and feet, according to a witch's advice, is brought about in two Norse ballads by means not simply occult, but altogether preternatural; that is, by the power of runes. One of these, 'Sömn-runorna,' Arwidsson, II, 249, No 133, is preserved in a manuscript of the end of the seventeenth, or the beginning of the eighteenth, century. The other, 'Sövnerunerne,' Grundtvig, II, 337, No 81, was taken down in 1847 from the singing of a woman seventy-five years of age.

The Swedish ballad runs thus. There is a damsel in our land who every night will sleep with a man, and dance a maid in the morning. The fame of this comes to the ears of the son of the king of England, who orders his horse, thinking to catch this damsel. When he arrives at the castle gate, there stands the lady, and asks him what is his haste. He frankly answers that he expects to get a fair maid's honor for his pains, and she bids him follow her to the upper room. She lays sheets on the bed, and writes strong runes on them. The youth sits down on the bed, and is asleep before he can stretch himself out. He sleeps through that day, and the next, and into the third. Then the lady rouses him. "Wake up; you are sleeping your two eyes out." He is still so heavy that he can hardly stir. He offers her his horse and saddle to report the matter as he wishes. "Keep your horse," she says; "shame fa such liars."

The Danish story is much the same. One of a king's five sons goes to make trial of the maid. She tells him to fasten his horse while she goes before and unlocks; calls to her maid to bring five feather-beds, feather-beds nine, and write a sleep on each of them. He sleeps through three days, and is roused the fourth, with "Wake up, wake up; you have slept away your pluck." He offers her a bribe, as before, which she scornfully rejects, assuring him that he will not be spared when she comes among maids and knights.

A sleep produced by runes or gramarye is one of the two main incidents of a tale in the Gesta Romanorum, better known through the other, which is the forfeit of flesh for money not forthcoming at the day set, as in the Merchant of Venice: Latin, Oesterley, No 195, p. 603;[369] English, Harleian MS. 7333, No 40, printed by Douce, Illustrations of Shakspere, I, 281, Madden, p. 130, Herrtage, p. 158; German, No 68, of the printed edition of 1489 (which I have not seen). A knight, who has a passion for an emperor's daughter, engages to give a thousand [hundred] marks for being once admitted to her bed. He instantly falls asleep, and has to be roused in the morning. Like terms are made for a second night, and the man's lands have to be pledged to raise the money. He sleeps as before, but stipulates for a third night at the same price. A merchant lends him the thousand marks, on condition that, if he breaks his day, his creditor may take the money's weight of flesh from his body. Feeling what a risk he is now running, the knight consults a philosopher, Virgil, in the English version. The philosopher (who in the Latin version says he ought to know, for he had helped the lady to her trick) tells the knight that between the sheet and coverlet of the bed there is a letter, which causes the sleep; this he must find, and, when found, cast far from the bed. The knight follows these directions, and gets the better of the lady, who conceives a reciprocal passion for him, and delivers him, in the sequel, from the fearful penalty of his bond by pleading that the flesh must be taken without shedding of blood.

The romance of Dolopathos, a variety of the Seven Wise Masters, written about 1185, considerably before the earliest date which has hitherto been proposed for the compilation of the Gesta, has this story, with variations, of which only these require to be noted. The lady has herself been a student in magic. She is wooed of many; all comers are received, and pay a hundred marks; any one who accomplishes his will may wed her the next day. An enchanted feather of a screech-owl, laid under the pillow, makes all who enter the bed fall asleep at once, and many have been baffled by this charm. At last a youth of high birth, but small means, tries his fortune, and, failing at the first essay, tries once more. Thinking that the softness of his couch was the cause of his falling asleep, he puts away the pillow, and in this process the feather is thrown out: Iohannis de Alta Silva Dolopathos, ed. Oesterley, pp 57-59; Herbers, Li Romans de Dolopathos, Brunet et Montaiglon, vv 7096-7498, pp 244-59; Le Roux de Lincy, in a sequel to Loiseleur-Deslongchamps's Essai sur les Fables indiennes, pp 211 ff. This form of the tale is found in German, in a fifteenth-century manuscript, from which it was printed by Haupt in Altdeutsche Blätter, I, 143-49; but here the sleep is produced by the use of both the means employed in the Gesta and in Dolopathos, letter (runes) and feather, "the wild man's feather."[370]

Magic is dropped, and a sleeping draught administered, just as the man is going to bed, in a version of the story in the Pecorone of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, Giornata, IV^a, Nov. 1_{a} (last quarter of the fourteenth century). Upon the third trial the man, warned by a friendly chambermaid not to drink, pours the medicated wine into his bosom. The account of Ser Giovanni is adopted in Les Adventures d'Abdalla fils d'Hanif, etc., La Haye, 1713, Bibliothèque de Romans, 1778, Janvier, I, 112-14, 143 f.

Ellin writes sleep-runes on the cushions on which her husband is to sleep, in the Danish ballad 'Frændehævn,' Grundtvig, No 4, #A# 33 [#C# 45].

In Icelandic tales a sleep-thorn[371] is employed, probably a thorn inscribed with runes. The thorn is stuck into the clothes or into the head (the ears, according to the popular notion, Vigfusson), and the sleep lasts till the thorn is taken out. Odin stuck such a thorn into Brynhild's garments: Fáfnismál, 43; Sigrdrífumál, 7; Völsúnga Saga, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 166. The thorn is put into the clothes also in the Icelandic fairy-tale, Mærþöll, Maurer, Isländische Volkssagen, p. 286. Ólöf, to save herself from Helgi's violence, and to punish his insolence, sticks him with a sleep-thorn after he is dead drunk: Hrólfs Saga Kraka, Forn. S. I, 18f, Torfæus, p. 32. Vilhjálmr sticks a sleep-thorn into Hrólfr, and he lies as if dead so long as the thorn is in him: Gaungu-Hrólfs Saga, Forn. S., III, 303, 306.

A pillow of soporific quality, which Kamele, by Isot's direction, puts under Kaedin's head, assures her safety though she lies all night by his side: Ulrich's continuation of Gottfried's Tristan, vv 1668-99, 1744-85; and Heinrich's continuation, omitting the last circumstance, vv 4861-4960 (J. Grimm).

The witch-woman, in the English ballad, #A# 4, represents the philosopher in the Gesta, and the wager in the other versions the fee or fine exacted by the lady in the Gesta and elsewhere.

An Italian ballad, a slight and unmeritable thing, follows the story of Ser Giovanni, or agrees with it, in respect to the sleeping-draught. A man falls in with a girl at a spring, and offers her a hundred ducats, or scudi, per una nottina. The girl says that she must consult her mother. The mother advises her to accept the offer: she will give the man a drug, and the money will serve for a dowry. The man, roused in the morning, counts out the money with one hand and wipes his eyes with the other. When asked why he is crying, he replies that the money is not the loss he weeps for, and makes a second offer of the same amount. The girl wishes to refer the matter to her mother again, but the gallant says the mother shall not take him in a second time. One version (#A#) ends somewhat more respectably: the girl declares that, having come off with her honor once, she will not again expose herself to shame. #A.# Ferraro, Canti popolari monferrini, 'La Ragazza onesta,' p. 66, No 47. #B.# Ferraro, C. p. di Ferrara, Cento e Pontelagoscuro, p. 53 (Cento) No 4, 'La Ragazza onesta.' #C.# The same, p. 94 (Pontelagoscuro) No 8, 'La Brunetta,' previously in Rivista di Filologia Romanza, II, 200. #D.# Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, p. 74, 'La Contadina alla Fonte.' #E.# Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Puntata V, No 4, p. 6, 'La bella Brunetta.' #F.# Bolza, Canzoni p. comasche, p. 677, No 57, 'L'Amante deluso.' #G.# Ive, C. p. istriani, p. 324, No 4, 'La Contadina alla Fonte.' #H.# Ginandrea, C. p. marchigiani, p. 277, No 12, 'La Madre indegna.' #I.# Ferraro, C. p. della Bassa Romagna, Rivista di Letteratura popolare, p. 57, 'La Ragazza onesta.' #J.# Casetti e Imbriani, C. p. della Provincie meridionali, p. 1, No 1 (Chieti), the first sixteen verses. #K.# Archivio per Tradizioni popolari, I, 89, No 4, 'La Fandéll e lu Cavalére,' the first thirteen lines.

'The Sleepy Merchant,' a modern ballad, in Kinloch's MSS, V, 26, was perhaps fashioned on some traditional report of the story in Il Pecorone. The girl gives the merchant a drink, and when the sun is up starts to her feet, crying, "I'm a leal maiden yet!" The merchant comes back, and gets another dram, but "tooms it a' between the bolster and the wa," and then sits up and sings.

A ballad found everywhere in Germany, but always in what appears to be an extremely defective form, must originally, one would think, have had some connection with those which we are considering. A hunter meets a girl on the heath, and takes her with him to his hut, where they pass the night. She rouses him in the morning, and proclaims herself still a maid. The hunter is so chagrined that he is of a mind to kill her, but spares her life. 'Der Jäger,' 'Der ernsthafte Jäger,' 'Des Jägers Verdruss,' 'Der Jäger und die reine Jungfrau,' 'Der verschlafene Jäger:' Meinert, p. 203; Wunderhorn, 1857, I, 274, Birlinger u. Crecelius, I, 190; Büsching u. von der Hagen, p. 134, No 51; Nicolai, Almanach, I, 77 (fragment); Erk u. Irmer, ii, 12, No 15; Meier, p. 305, No 170; Pröhle, No 54, p. 81; Fiedler, p. 175; Erk, Liederhort, pp 377 f, Nos 174, 174^a; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 202, No 176; Ditfurth, Fränkische Volkslieder, II, 26 f, Nos 30, 31; Norrenberg, Des dülkener Fiedlers Liederbuch, No 16, p. 20; J. A. E. Köhler, Volksbrauch im Voigtlande, p. 307; Jeitteles, Volkslied in Steiermark, Archiv für Lit. gesch., IX, 361, etc.; Uhland, No 104, Niederdeutsches Liederbuch, No 59, 'vermuthlich vom Eingang des 17. Jhd.' Cf. Die Mâeget, Flemish, Büsching u. von der Hagen, p. 311; Willems, p. 160, No 61.[372]

#A a# is translated by Doenniges, p. 3; by Gerhard, p. 146; by Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 226.

#a.# Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 271, ed. 1803. #b.# Sts. 8-14; the same, II, 229, ed. 1802.

1 There was a knight and a lady bright, Had a true tryste at the broom; The ane gaed early in the morning, The other in the afternoon.

2 And ay she sat in her mother's bower door, And ay she made her mane: 'O whether should I gang to the Broomfield Hill, Or should I stay at hame?

3 'For if I gang to the Broomfield Hill, My maidenhead is gone; And if I chance to stay at hame, My love will ca me mansworn.'

4 Up then spake a witch-woman, Ay from the room aboon: 'O ye may gang to the Broomfield Hill, And yet come maiden hame.

5 'For when ye gang to the Broomfield Hill, Ye'll find your love asleep, With a silver belt about his head, And a broom-cow at his feet.

6 'Take ye the blossom of the broom, The blossom it smells sweet, And strew it at your true-love's head, And likewise at his feet.

7 'Take ye the rings off your fingers, Put them on his right hand, To let him know, when he doth awake, His love was at his command.'

8 She pu'd the broom flower on Hive Hill, And strewd on 's white hals-bane, And that was to be wittering true That maiden she had gane.

9 'O where were ye, my milk-white steed, That I hae coft sae dear, That wadna watch and waken me When there was maiden here?'

10 'I stamped wi my foot, master, And gard my bridle ring, But na kin thing wald waken ye, Till she was past and gane.'

11 'And wae betide ye, my gay goss-hawk, That I did love sae dear, That wadna watch and waken me When there was maiden here.'

12 'I clapped wi my wings, master, And aye my bells I rang, And aye cry'd, Waken, waken, master, Before the ladye gang.'

13 'But haste and haste, my gude white steed, To come the maiden till, Or a' the birds of gude green wood Of your flesh shall have their fill.'

14 'Ye need na burst your gude white steed Wi racing oer the howm; Nae bird flies faster through the wood, Than she fled through the broom.'

Herd, Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 310.

1 'I'll wager, I'll wager, I'll wager with you Five hundred merks and ten, That a maid shanae go to yon bonny green wood, And a maiden return agen.'

2 'I'll wager, I'll wager, I'll wager with you Five hundred merks and ten, That a maid shall go to yon bonny green wood, And a maiden return agen.'

* * * * * * *

3 She's pu'd the blooms aff the broom-bush, And strewd them on 's white hass-bane: 'This is a sign whereby you may know That a maiden was here, but she's gane.'

4 'O where was you, my good gray steed, That I hae loed sae dear? O why did you not awaken me When my true love was here?'

5 'I stamped with my foot, master, And gard my bridle ring, But you wadnae waken from your sleep Till your love was past and gane.'

6 'Now I may sing as dreary a sang As the bird sung on the brier, For my true love is far removd, And I'll neer see her mair.'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 291.

1 There was a knight and lady bright Set trysts amo the broom, The one to come at morning ear, The other at afternoon.

2 'I'll wager a wager wi you,' he said, 'An hundred merks and ten, That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills, Return a maiden again.'

3 'I'll wager a wager wi you,' she said, 'A hundred pounds and ten, That I will gang to Broomfield Hills, A maiden return again.'

4 The lady stands in her bower door, And thus she made her mane: 'O shall I gang to Broomfield Hills, Or shall I stay at hame?

5 'If I do gang to Broomfield Hills, A maid I'll not return; But if I stay from Broomfield Hills, I'll be a maid mis-sworn.'

6 Then out it speaks an auld witch-wife, Sat in the bower aboon: 'O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills, Ye shall not stay at hame.

7 'But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills, Walk nine times round and round; Down below a bonny burn bank, Ye'll find your love sleeping sound.

8 'Ye'll pu the bloom frae aff the broom, Strew 't at his head and feet, And aye the thicker that ye do strew, The sounder he will sleep.

9 'The broach that is on your napkin, Put it on his breast bane, To let him know, when he does wake, That's true love's come and gane.

10 'The rings that are on your fingers, Lay them down on a stane, To let him know, when he does wake, That's true love's come and gane.

11 'And when ye hae your work all done, Ye'll gang to a bush o' broom, And then you'll hear what he will say, When he sees ye are gane.'

12 When she came to Broomfield Hills, She walkd it nine times round, And down below yon burn bank, She found him sleeping sound.

13 She pu'd the bloom frae aff the broom, Strew'd it at 's head and feet, And aye the thicker that she strewd, The sounder he did sleep.

14 The broach that was on her napkin, She put on his breast bane, To let him know, when he did wake, His love was come and gane.

15 The rings that were on her fingers, She laid upon a stane, To let him know, when he did wake, His love was come and gane.

16 Now when she had her work all dune, She went to a bush o broom, That she might hear what he did say, When he saw she was gane.

17 'O where were ye, my guid grey hound, That I paid for sae dear, Ye didna waken me frae my sleep When my true love was sae near?'

18 'I scraped wi my foot, master, Till a' my collars rang, But still the mair that I did scrape, Waken woud ye nane.'

19 'Where were ye, my berry-brown steed, That I paid for sae dear, That ye woudna waken me out o my sleep When my love was sae near?'

20 'I patted wi my foot, master, Till a' my bridles rang, But still the mair that I did patt, Waken woud ye nane.'

21 'O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk, That I paid for sae dear, That ye woudna waken me out o my sleep When ye saw my love near?'

22 'I flapped wi my wings, master, Till a' my bells they rang, But still the mair that I did flap, Waken woud ye nane.'

23 'O where were ye, my merry young men, That I pay meat and fee, Ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep When my love ye did see?'

24 'Ye'll sleep mair on the night, master, And wake mair on the day; Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills When ye've sic pranks to play.

25 'If I had seen any armed men Come riding over the hill-- But I saw but a fair lady Come quietly you until.'

26 'O wae mat worth you, my young men, That I pay meat and fee, That ye woudna waken me frae sleep When ye my love did see.

27 'O had I waked when she was nigh, And o her got my will, I shoudna cared upon the morn Tho sma birds o her were fill.'

28 When she went out, right bitter wept, But singing came she hame; Says, I hae been at Broomfield Hills, And maid returnd again.

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 195.

1 'I'll wager, I'll wager,' says Lord John, 'A hundred merks and ten, That ye winna gae to the bonnie broom-fields, And a maid return again.'

2 'But I'll lay a wager wi you, Lord John, A' your merks oure again, That I'll gae alane to the bonnie broom-fields, And a maid return again.'

3 Then Lord John mounted his grey steed, And his hound wi his bells sae bricht, And swiftly he rade to the bonny broom-fields, Wi his hawks, like a lord or knicht.

4 'Now rest, now rest, my bonnie grey steed, My lady will soon be here, And I'll lay my head aneath this rose sae red, And the bonnie burn sae near.'

5 But sound, sound was the sleep he took, For he slept till it was noon, And his lady cam at day, left a taiken and away, Gaed as licht as a glint o the moon.

6 She strawed the roses on the ground, Threw her mantle on the brier, And the belt around her middle sae jimp, As a taiken that she'd been there.

7 The rustling leaves flew round his head, And rousd him frae his dream; He saw by the roses, and mantle sae green, That his love had been there and was gane.

8 'O whare was ye, my gude grey steed, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye kend that his love was here?'

9 'I pautit wi my foot, master, Garrd a' my bridles ring, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time.'

10 'Then whare was ye, my bonnie grey hound, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye kend that his love was here?'

11 'I pautit wi my foot, master, Garrd a' my bells to ring, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time.'

12 'But whare was ye, my hawks, my hawks, That I coft ye sae dear, That ye didna waken your master, Whan ye kend that his love was here?'

13 'O wyte na me, now, my master dear, I garrd a' my young hawks sing, And still I cried, Waken, gude master, For now is the hour and time.'

14 'Then be it sae, my wager gane, 'T will skaith frae meikle ill, For gif I had found her in bonnie broom-fields, O her heart's blude ye'd drunken your fill.'

Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, January 1, 1830, p. 7.

1 'I'll wager, I'll wager wi you, fair maid, Five hunder punds and ten, That a maid winna gae to the bonnie green bower, An a maid return back agen.'

2 'I'll wager, I'll wager wi you, kin' sir, Five hunder punds and ten, That a maid I'll gang to the bonnie green bower, An a maid return again.'

3 But when she cam to the bonnie green bower, Her true-love was fast asleep; Sumtimes she kist his rosie, rosie lips, An his breath was wondrous sweet.

4 Sometimes she went to the crown o his head, Sometimes to the soles o his feet, Sometimes she kist his rosie, rosie lips, An his breath was wondrous sweet.

5 She's taen a ring frae her finger, Laid it upon his breast-bane; It was for a token that she had been there, That she had been there, but was gane.

6 'Where was you, where was ye, my merrymen a', That I do luve sae dear, That ye didna waken me out o my sleep When my true love was here?

7 'Where was ye, where was ye, my gay goshawk, That I do luve sae dear, That ye didna waken me out o my sleep When my true love was here?'

8 'Wi my wings I flaw, kin' sir, An wi my bill I sang, But ye woudna waken out o yer sleep Till your true love was gane.'

9 'Where was ye, my bonnie grey steed, That I do luve sae dear, That ye didna waken me out o my sleep When my true love was here?'

10 'I stampit wi my fit, maister, And made my bridle ring, But ye wadna waken out o yer sleep, Till your true love was gane.'

#a.# Douce Ballads, III, fol. 64b: Newcastle, printed and sold by John White, in Pilgrim Street. #b.# Douce Ballads, IV, fol. 10.

1 A noble young squire that livd in the west, He courted a young lady gay, And as he was merry, he put forth a jest, A wager with her he would lay.

2 'A wager with me?' the young lady reply'd, 'I pray, about what must it be? If I like the humour you shan't be deny'd; I love to be merry and free.'

3 Quoth he, 'I will lay you an hundred pounds, A hundred pounds, aye, and ten, That a maid if you go to the merry broomfield, That a maid you return not again.'

4 'I'll lay you that wager,' the lady she said, Then the money she flung down amain; 'To the merry broomfield I'll go a pure maid, The same I'll return home again.'

5 He coverd her bett in the midst of the hall With an hundred and ten jolly pounds, And then to his servant straightway he did call, For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds.

6 A ready obedience the servant did yield, And all was made ready oer night; Next morning he went to the merry broomfield, To meet with his love and delight.

7 Now when he came there, having waited a while, Among the green broom down he lies; The lady came to him, and coud not but smile, For sleep then had closed his eyes.

8 Upon his right hand a gold ring she secur'd, Down from her own finger so fair, That when he awaked he might be assur'd His lady and love had been there.

9 She left him a posie of pleasant perfume, Then stept from the place where he lay; Then hid herself close in the besom of the broom, To hear what her true-love would say.

10 He wakend and found the gold ring on his hand, Then sorrow of heart he was in: 'My love has been here, I do well understand, And this wager I now shall not win.

11 'O where was you, my goodly gawshawk, The which I have purchasd so dear? Why did you not waken me out of my sleep When the lady, my lover, was here?'

12 'O with my bells did I ring, master, And eke with my feet did I run; And still did I cry, Pray awake, master, She's here now, and soon will be gone.'

13 'O where was you, my gallant greyhound, Whose collar is flourishd with gold? Why hadst thou not wakend me out of my sleep When thou didst my lady behold?'

14 'Dear master, I barkd with my mouth when she came, And likewise my coller I shook, And told you that here was the beautiful dame, But no notice of me then you took.'

15 'O where was thou, my serving-man, Whom I have cloathed so fine? If you had wak'd me when she was here, The wager then had been mine.'

16 'In the night ye should have slept, master, And kept awake in the day; Had you not been sleeping when hither she came, Then a maid she had not gone away.'

17 Then home he returnd, when the wager was lost, With sorrow of heart, I may say; The lady she laughd to find her love crost,-- This was upon midsummer-day.

18 'O squire, I laid in the bushes conceald, And heard you when you did complain; And thus I have been to the merry broomfield, And a maid returnd back again.

19 'Be chearful, be chearful, and do not repine, For now 't is as clear as the sun, The money, the money, the money is mine, The wager I fairly have won.'

* * * * *

#A. b.#

8^1. flower frae the bush.

8^3. a witter true.

9^2. I did love.

11^1. gray goshawk.

11^2. sae well.

11^3. When my love was here hersell.

12^4. Afore your true love gang.

13^3. in good.

14^{2-4}.

By running oer the howm; Nae hare runs swifter oer the lea Nor your love ran thro the broom.

#E#

concludes with these stanzas, which do not belong to this ballad:

11 'Rise up, rise up, my bonnie grey cock, And craw when it is day, An your neck sall be o the beaten gowd, And your wings o the silver lay.'

12 But the cock provd fauss, and untrue he was, And he crew three hour ower seen, The lassie thocht it day, and sent her love away, An it was but a blink o the meen.

13 'If I had him but agen,' she says, 'O if I but had him agen, The best grey cock that ever crew at morn Should never bereave me o 's charms.'

#F. a.#

8^2. fingers.

11^1, 13^1. Oh.

15^2. I am.

#b.#

2^2. I pray you now, what.

3^1. Said he.

3^4. omits That.

4^3. omits pure.

4^4. And the ... back again.

5^2. ten good.

5^3. he strait.

5^4. omits For.

6^1. his servants.

6^2. omits made.

6^4. his joy.

7^4. sleep had fast.

8^2. finger.

9^3. in the midst.

9^4. what her lover.

10^1. Awaking he found.

10^2. of bearst.

10^3. omits do.

11^3. wake.

11^4. and lover.

12^{1,2}. I did.

12^3. wake.

12^4. here and she.

13^3. Why did you not wake.

14^1. I barked aloud when.

14^3. that there was my.

15^2. I have.

15^3. when she had been here.

15^4. had been surely mine.

16^1. omits should.

17^3. to see.

18^1. lay.

18^3. so I.

18^4. have returnd.

#b# has no imprint.

[366] Furnivall, Captain Cox, his Ballads and Books, pp cxxvii f. Ritson cited the comedy in the dissertation prefixed to his Ancient Songs, 1790, p. lx.

[367] Motherwell remarks, at page 42 of his Introduction, "The song is popular still, and is often to be met with." It was printed in a cheap American song-book, which I have not been able to recover, under the title of 'The Green Broomfield,' and with some cis-atlantic variations. Graham's Illustrated Magazine, September, 1858, gives these stanzas:

"Then when she went to the green broom field, Where her love was fast asleep, With a gray goose-hawk and a green laurel bough, And a green broom under his feet.

"And when he awoke from out his sleep, An angry man was he; He looked to the East, and he looked to the West, And he wept for his sweetheart to see.

"Oh! where was you, my gray goose-hawk, The hawk that I loved so dear, That you did not awake me from out my sleep, When my sweetheart was so near?"

[368] The broadside is also copied into Buchan's MSS, II, 197.

[369] The Anglo-Latin text in Harleian MS. 2270, No 48.

[370] Sy ... bereytte keyn abende das bette met der czöberye met der schryft und met des wylden mannes veddere, p. 145, lines 8, 10-12; das quam alles von der czoyberye, das die jungfrowe dy knaben alle beczobert hatte met schryft und met bryven, dy sy en under dy höbt leyte under dy kussen, und met den veddern von den wylden ruchen lüten, lines 1-5. Only one letter and one feather is employed in each case.

[371] Svefnþorn, Danish søvntorn, or søvnpreen: blundstafir, sleep-staves, rods (if not letters, runes) in Sigrdrífumál, 2.

[372] The first stanza of the German ballad occurs in a music-book of 1622: Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 202, who add that the ballad is extant in Dutch and Flemish.

THE TWA MAGICIANS

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 24; Motherwell's MS., p. 570.

A base-born cousin of a pretty ballad known over all Southern Europe, and elsewhere, and in especially graceful forms in France.

The French ballad generally begins with a young man's announcing that he has won a mistress, and intends to pay her a visit on Sunday, or to give her an aubade. She declines his visit, or his music. To avoid him she will turn, e. g., into a rose; then he will turn bee, and kiss her. She will turn quail; he sportsman, and bag her. She will turn carp; he angler, and catch her. She will turn hare; and he hound. She will turn nun; he priest, and confess her day and night. She will fall sick; he will watch with her, or be her doctor. She will become a star; he a cloud, and muffle her. She will die; he will turn earth, into which they will put her, or St Peter, and receive her into Paradise. In the end she says, Since you are inevitable, you may as well have me as another; or more complaisantly, Je me donnerai à toi, puisque tu m'aimes tant.

This ballad might probably be found anywhere in France, but most of the known versions are from south of the Loire. #A.# Romania, X, 390, E. Legrand, from Normandy; also known in Champagne. #B.# 'Les Transformations,' V. Smith, Vielles Chansons du Velay et du Forez, Romania, VII, 61 ff. #C.# Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, fol. 233, Vienne. #D.# The same, II, fol. 39, Guéret, Creuse. #E, F.# The same volume, fol. 41, fol. 42. #G.# 'La maitresse gagnée,' the same volume, fol. 38: "on chante cette chanson sur les confines du département de l'Ain qui le séparent de la Savoie."[373] #H.# 'J'ai fait une maitresse,' Champfleury, Chansons populaires des Provinces, p. 90, Bourbonnais. #I.# 'Adiu, Margaridoto,' Bladé, Poésies pop. de la Gascogne, II, 361. #J.# Mélusine, col. 338 f, Carcasonne. #K.# Montel et Lambert, Chansons pop. du Languedoc, p. 544-51, and Revue des Langues romanes, XII, 261-67, four copies. #L.# 'Les Transfourmatiens,' Arbaud, II, 128. The Provençal ballad is introduced by Mistral into Mirèio, Chant III, as the song of Magali. #M.# 'La Poursuite d'Amour,' Marelle, in Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen, LVI, 191. #N.# 'J'ai fait une maitresse,' Gagnon, Chansons populaires du Canada, p. 137, and Lovell, Recueil de Chansons canadiennes, 'Chanson de Voyageur,' p. 68. #O.# Gagnon, p. 78.

#Catalan.# Closely resembling the French: #A.# 'La Esquerpa,' Briz, Cansons de la Terra, I, 125. #B, C, D.# 'Las Transformaciones,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, p. 393, No 513.

#Italian.# Reduced to a rispetto, Tigri, Canti popolari toscani, ed. 1860, p. 241, No 861.

#Roumanian.# 'Cucul si Turturica,' Alecsandri, Poesiě populare ale Românilor, p. 7, No 3; French version, by the same, Ballades et Chants populaires, p. 35, No 7; Schuller, Romänische Volkslieder, p. 47. The cuckoo, or the lover under that style, asks the dove to be his mistress till Sunday. The dove, for his sake, would not say No, but because of his mother, who is a witch, if not let alone will change into a roll, and hide under the ashes. Then he will turn into a shovel, and get her out. She will turn into a reed, and hide in the pond. He will come as shepherd to find a reed for a flute, put her to his lips, and cover her with kisses. She will change to an image, and hide in the depths of the church. He will come every day in the week, as deacon or chorister, to kiss the images (a pious usage in those parts), and she will not thus escape him. Schuller refers to another version, in Schuster's unprinted collection, in which youth and maid carry on this contest in their proper persons, and not under figure.

#Ladin.# Flugi, Die Volkslieder des Engadin, p. 83, No 12. "Who is the younker that goes a-field ere dawn? Who is his love?" "A maid all too fair, with dowry small enough." "Maid, wilt give me a rose?" "No; my father has forbidden." "Wilt be my love?" "Rather a seed, and hide in the earth." "Then I will be a bird, and pick thee out," etc.

#Greek.# Tommaseo, III, 61, Passow, p. 431, No 574a. A girl tells her mother she will kill herself rather than accept the Turk: she will turn swallow, and take to the woods. The mother replies, Turn what you will, he will turn hunter, and take you from me. The same kernel of this ballad of transformations in Comparetti, Saggi dei Dialetti greci dell' Italia meridionale, p. 38, No 36, as M. Paul Meyer has remarked, Revue Critique, II, 302.

The ballad is well known to the Slavic nations.

#Moravian.# Čelakovský, p. 75, No 6, Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 72, Bibliothek slavischer Poesien, p. 92. A youth threatens to carry off a maid for his wife. She will fly to the wood as a dove. He has a rifle that will bring her down. She will jump into the water as a fish. He has a net that will take the fish. She will turn to a hare; he to a dog; she cannot escape him.

#Polish.# Very common. #A a.# Wacław z Oleska, p. 417, No 287; Konopka, p. 124. A young man says, though he should ride night and day for it, ride his horse's eyes out, the maid must be his. She will turn to a bird, and take to the thicket. But carpenters have axes which can fell a wood. Then she will be a fish, and take to the water. But fishermen have nets which will find her. Then she will become a wild duck, and swim on the lake. Sportsmen have rifles to shoot ducks. Then she will be a star in the sky, and give light to the people. He has a feeling for the poor, and will bring the star down to the earth by his prayers. "I see," she says, "it's God's ordinance; whithersoever I betake myself, you are up with me; I will be yours after all." Nearly the same mutations in other versions, with some variety of introduction and arrangement. #A b.# Kolberg, Lud, VI, 129, No 257. #A c.# "Przyjaciel ludu, 1836, rok 2, No 34;" Lipiński, p. 135; Kolberg, Lud XII, 98, No 193. #B.# Pauli, Pieśńi ludu polskiego, I, 135. #C.# The same, p. 133. #D.# Kolberg, Lud, XII, 99, No 194. #E.# Lud, IV, 19, No 137. #F.# Lud, XII, 97, No 192. #G.# Lud, II, 134, No 161. #H.# Lud, VI, 130, No 258. #I.# Woicicki, I, 141, Waldbrühl, Slawische Balalaika, p. 433. #J. a, b.# Roger, p. 147, No 285, p. 148, No 286.

#Servian.# Karadshitch, I, 434, No 602; Talvj, II, 100; Kapper, II, 208; Pellegrini, p. 37. Rather than be her lover's, the maid will turn into a gold-jug in a drinking-house; he will be mine host. She will change into a cup in a coffee-house; he will be cafetier. She will become a quail, he a sportsman; a fish, he a net. Pellegrini has still another form, 'La fanciulla assediata,' p. 93. An old man desires a maid. She will rather turn into a lamb; he will turn into a wolf. She will become a quail; he a hawk. She will change into a rose; he into a goat, and tear off the rose from the tree.

There can be little doubt that these ballads are derived, or take their hint, from popular tales, in which (1) a youth and maid, pursued by a sorcerer, fiend, giant, ogre, are transformed by the magical powers of one or the other into such shapes as enable them to elude, and finally to escape, apprehension; or (2) a young fellow, who has been apprenticed to a sorcerer, fiend, etc., and has acquired the black art by surreptitious reading in his master's books, being pursued, as before, assumes a variety of forms, and his master others, adapted to the destruction of his intended victim, until the tables are turned by the fugitive's taking on the stronger figure and despatching his adversary.

Specimens of the first kind are afforded by Gonzenbach, Sicilianische Märchen, Nos 14, 15, 54, 55; Grimms, Nos 51, 56, 113; Schneller, No 27; Pitrè, Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti siciliani, No 15; Imbriani, Novellaja milanese, No 27, N. fiorentana, No 29; Maspons y Labrós, Rondallayre, I, 85, II, 30; Cosquin, Contes lorrains, in Romania, V, 354; Ralston's Russian Folk-Tales, p. 129 f, from Afanasief V, No 23; Bechstein, Märchenbuch, p. 75, ed. 1879, which combines both. Others in Köhler's note to Gonzenbach, No 14, at II, 214.

Of the second kind, among very many, are Straparola, viii, 5, see Grimms, III, 288, Louveau et Larivey, II, 152; Grimms, Nos 68, 117; Müllenhoff, No 27, p. 466; Pröhle, Märchen für die Jugend, No 26; Asbjørnsen og Moe, No 57; Grundtvig, Gamle danske Minder, 1854, Nos 255, 256; Hahn, Griechische Märchen, No 68; the Breton tale Koadalan, Luzel, in Revue Celtique, I, 106/107; the Schotts, Walachische Mærchen, No 18;[374] Woicicki, Klechdy, II, 26, No 4; Karadshitch, No 6; Afanasief, V, 95 f, No 22, VI, 189 ff, No 45 a, b, and other Russian and Little Russian versions, VIII, 340. Köhler adds several examples of one kind or the other in a note to Koadalan, Revue Celtique, I, 132, and Wollner Slavic parallels in a note to Leskien und Brugman, Litanische Volkslieder und Märchen, p. 537 f.

The usual course of events in these last is that the prentice takes refuge in one of many pomegranate kernels, barley-corns, poppy-seeds, millet-grains, pearls; the master becomes a cock, hen, sparrow, and picks up all of these but one, which turns into a fox, dog, weasel, crow, cat, hawk, vulture, that kills the bird.

The same story occurs in the Turkish Forty Viziers, Behrnauer, p. 195 ff, the last transformations being millet, cock, man, who tears off the cock's head. Also in the introduction to Siddhi-Kür, Jülg, pp 1-3, where there are seven masters instead of one, and the final changes are worms, instead of seeds, seven hens, a man with a cane who kills the hens.[375]

The pomegranate and cock (found in Straparola) are among the metamorphoses in the contest between the afrite and the princess in the tale of the Second Calender in the Arabian Nights.

Entirely similar is the pursuit of Gwion the pigmy by the goddess Koridgwen, cited by Villemarqué, Barzaz Breiz, p. lvi, ed. 1867, from the Myvyrian Archaiology of Wales, I, 17. Gwion having, by an accident, come to the knowledge of superhuman mysteries, Koridgwen wishes to take his life. He flees, and turns successively into a hare, fish, bird; she follows, in the form of hound, otter, hawk; finally he becomes a wheaten grain, she a hen, and swallows the grain.

The ordinary tale has found its way into rhyme in a German broadside ballad, Longard, Altrheinländische Mährlein und Liedlein, p. 76, No 40, 'Von einem gottlosen Zauberer und seiner unschuldigen Kindlein wunderbarer Erlösung.' The two children of an ungodly magician, a boy and a girl, are devoted by him to the devil. The boy had read in his father's books while his father was away. They flee, and are pursued: the girl becomes a pond, the boy a fish. The wicked wizard goes for a net. The boy pronounces a spell, by which the girl is turned into a chapel, and he into an image on the altar. The wizard, unable to get at the image, goes for fire. The boy changes the girl into a threshing-floor, himself into a barley-corn. The wizard becomes a hen, and is about to swallow the grain of barley. By another spell the boy changes himself into a fox, and then twists the hen's neck.

* * * * *

Translated by Gerhard, p. 18.

* * * * *

1 The lady stands in her bower door, As straight as willow wand; The blacksmith stood a little forebye, Wi hammer in his hand.

2 'Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair, Into your robes o red; Before the morn at this same time, I'll gain your maidenhead.'

3 'Awa, awa, ye coal-black smith, Woud ye do me the wrang To think to gain my maidenhead, That I hae kept sae lang!'

4 Then she has hadden up her hand, And she sware by the mold, 'I wudna be a blacksmith's wife For the full o a chest o gold.

5 'I'd rather I were dead and gone, And my body laid in grave, Ere a rusty stock o coal-black smith My maidenhead shoud have.'

6 But he has hadden up his hand, And he sware by the mass, 'I'll cause ye be my light leman For the hauf o that and less.'

O bide, lady, bide, And aye he bade her bide; The rusty smith your leman shall be, For a' your muckle pride.

7 Then she became a turtle dow, To fly up in the air, And he became another dow, And they flew pair and pair. O bide, lady, bide, &c.

8 She turnd hersell into an eel, To swim into yon burn, And he became a speckled trout, To gie the eel a turn. O bide, lady, bide, &c.

9 Then she became a duck, a duck, To puddle in a peel, And he became a rose-kaimd drake, To gie the duck a dreel. O bide, lady, bide, &c.

10 She turnd hersell into a hare, To rin upon yon hill, And he became a gude grey-hound, And boldly he did fill. O bide, lady, bide, &c.

11 Then she became a gay grey mare, And stood in yonder slack, And he became a gilt saddle. And sat upon her back. Was she wae, he held her sae, And still he bade her bide; The rusty smith her leman was, For a' her muckle pride.

12 Then she became a het girdle, And he became a cake, And a' the ways she turnd hersell, The blacksmith was her make. Was she wae, &c.

13 She turnd hersell into a ship, To sail out ower the flood; He ca'ed a nail intill her tail, And syne the ship she stood. Was she wae, &c.

14 Then she became a silken plaid, And stretchd upon a bed, And he became a green covering, And gaind her maidenhead. Was she wae, &c.

[373] There are two other versions in this great collection besides the five cited, but either I have overlooked these, or they are in Volume VI, not yet received.

[374] The Schotts are reminded by their story that Wade puts his son Weland in apprenticeship to Mimir Smith, and to the dwarfs. They might have noted that the devil, in the Wallachian tale, wishes to keep his prentice a second year, as the dwarfs wish to do in the case of Weland. That little trait comes, no doubt, from Weland's story; but we will not, therefore, conclude that our smith is Weland Smith, and his adventure with the lady founded upon that of Weland with Nidung's daughter.

[375] See Benfey, Pantschatantra, I, 410 f, who maintains the Mongol tale to be of Indian origin, and thinks the story to have been derived from the contests in magic between Buddhist and Brahman saints, of which many are related in Buddhist legends.

KING JOHN AND THE BISHOP

#A.# 'Kinge John and Bishoppe,' Percy MS., p. 184; Hales and Furnivall, I, 508.

#B.# 'King John and the Abbot of Canterbury,' broadside printed for P. Brooksby.

The broadside #B# was printed, with trifling variations, or corrections, in Pills to purge Melancholy, IV, 29 (1719), and in Old Ballads, II, 49 (1723). It is found in several of the collections: Pepys, II, 128, No 112; Roxburghe, III, 883; Ouvry, No 47; the Bagford; and it was among Heber's ballads. Brooksby published from 1672 to 1695, and #B# was "allowed" by Roger l'Estrange, who was licenser from 1663 to 1685: Chappell, The Roxburghe Ballads, I, xviii, xxiii. The title of #B# is A new ballad of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury, to the tune of 'The King and the Lord Abbot.'[376] This older ballad seems not to have come down.

There are at least two other broadsides extant upon the same subject, both mentioned by Percy, and both inferior even to #B#, and in a far less popular style: 'The King and the Bishop,' Pepys, I, 472, No 243, Roxburghe, III, 170, Douce, fol. 110; and 'The Old Abbot and King Olfrey,' Douce, II, fol. 169, Pepys, II, 127, No 111, printed in Old Ballads, II, 55.[377] In both of these the Shepherd is the Bishop's brother, which he is not in #B#; in #A# he is half-brother. Pepys's Penny Merriments contain, I, 14, 'The pleasant History of King Henry the Eighth and the Abbot of Reading.'[378] This last may, without rashness, be assumed to be a variation of 'King John and the Abbot.'

Percy admitted 'King John and the Abbot' to his Reliques, II, 302, introducing many lines from #A# "worth reviving," and many improvements of his own,[379] and thus making undeniably a very good ballad out of a very poor one.

The story of this ballad was told in Scotland, some fifty years ago, of the Gudeman of Ballengeigh, James the V, the hero of not a few other tales. Once on a time, falling in with the priest of Markinch (near Falkland), and finding him a dullard, he gave the poor man four questions to think of till they next met, with an intimation that his benefice would be lost were they not rightly answered. The questions were those of our ballad, preceded by Where is the middle of the earth? The parson could make nothing of them, and was forced to resort to a miller of the neighborhood, who was reputed a clever fellow. When called to answer the first question, the miller put out his staff, and said, There, as your majesty will find by measuring. The others were dealt with as in the ballad. The king said that the miller should have the parson's place, but the miller begged off from this in favor of the incumbent. Small, Interesting Roman Antiquities recently discovered in Fife, p. 289 ff.

Riddle stories in which a forfeit is to be paid by a vanquished party have incidentally been referred to under No 1 and No 2. They are a very extensive class. The oldest example is that of Samson's riddle, with a stake of thirty sheets (or shirts) and thirty change of garments: Judges, xiv, 12 ff. Another from Semitic tradition is what is related of Solomon and Hiram of Tyre, in Josephus against Apion, i, 17, 18, and Antiquities, viii, 5. After the manner of Amasis and the Æthiopian king in Plutarch (see p. 13), they send one another riddles, with a heavy fine for failure,--in this case a pecuniary one. Solomon at first poses Hiram; then Hiram guesses Solomon's riddles, by the aid of Abdemon (or the son of Abdemon), and in turn poses Solomon with riddles devised by Abdemon.[380]

'Pá grönaliðheiði,' Landstad, p. 369, is a contest in riddles between two brothers (refreshingly original in some parts), introduced by three stanzas, in which it is agreed that the defeated party shall forfeit his share of their inheritance: and this the editor seems to take quite seriously.

Death is the penalty attending defeat in many of these wit-contests. Odin (Vafþrúðnismál), jealous of the giant Vafþrúðnir's wisdom, wishes to put it to test. He enters the giant's hall, assuming the name of Gagnráðr, and announces the object of his visit. The giant tells him he shall never go out again unless he prove the wiser, asks a few questions to see whether he be worth contending with, and, finding him so, proposes a decisive trial, with their heads for the stake. Odin now propounds, first, twelve questions, mostly in cosmogony, and then five relating to the future of the universe; and all these the giant is perfectly competent to answer. The very unfair question is then put, What did Odin say in his son's ear ere Balder mounted the funeral pile? Upon this Vafþrûðnir owns himself vanquished, and we may be sure he was not spared by his antagonist.

The Hervarar saga contains a story which, in its outlines, approximates to that of our ballad until we come to the conclusion, where there is no likeness. King Heiðrekr, after a long career of blood, gave up war and took to law-making. He chose his twelve wisest men for judges, and swore, with one hand on the head and the other on the bristles of a huge hog which he had reared, that no man should do such things that he should not get justice from these twelve, while any one who preferred might clear himself by giving the king riddles which he could not guess. There was a man named Gestr, and surnamed the Blind, a very bad and troublesome fellow, who had withheld from Heiðrekr tribute that was due. The king sent him word to come to him and submit to the judgment of the twelve: if he did not, the case would be tried with arms. Neither of these courses pleased Gestr, who was conscious of being very guilty: he took the resolution of making offerings to Odin for help. One night there was a knock. Gestr went to the door, and saw a man, who announced his name as Gestr. After mutual inquiries about the news, the stranger asked whether Gestr the Blind was not in trouble about something. Gestr the Blind explained his plight fully, and the stranger said, "I will go to the king and try what I can effect: we will exchange looks and clothes." The stranger, in the guise of Gestr, entered the king's hall, and said, Sire, I am come to make my peace. "Will you abide by the judgment of my men of law?" asked the king. "Are there not other ways?" inquired Gestr. "Yes: you shall give me riddles which I cannot guess, and so purchase your peace." Gestr assented, with feigned hesitation; chairs were brought, and everybody looked to hear something fine. Gestr gave, and Heiðrekr promptly answered, some thirty riddles.[381] Then said Gestr: Tell thou me this only, since thou thinkest to be wiser than all kings: What said Odin in Balder's ear before he was borne to the pile? "Shame and cowardice," exclaimed Heiðrekr, "and all manner of poltroonery, jugglery, goblinry! no one knows those words of thine save thou thyself, evil and wretched wight!" So saying, Heiðrekr drew Tyrfing, that never was bared but somebody must fall, to cut down Gestr. The disguised Odin changed to a hawk, and made for the window, but did not escape before Heiðrekr's sword had docked the bird's tail. For breaking his own truce Odin said Heiðrekr should die by the hand of a slave, which came to pass. Fornaldar Sögur, Rafn, I, 462 ff.

The same story has come down in a Färöe ballad, 'Gátu ríma,' Hammershaimb, Færöiske Kvæder, No 4, p. 26 (and previously published in the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1849-51, pp 75-78), translated by Dr Prior, I, 336 ff. Gest promises Odin twelve gold marks to take his place. The riddles are announced as thirteen in number, but the ballad is slightly defective, and among others the last question, What were Odin's words to Balder? is lost. Odin flies off in the shape of a falcon; Hejdrek and all his men are burned up.

A tale presenting the essential traits of our ballad is cited in Vincent of Beauvais's Speculum Morale, i, 4, 10, at the end. We read, he says, of a king, who, seeking a handle for wrenching money out of a wealthy and wise man, put him three questions, apparently insoluble, intending to make him pay a large sum for not answering them: 1, Where is the middle point of the earth? 2, How much water is there in the sea? 3, How great is the mercy of God? On the appointed day, having been brought from prison into the presence to ransom himself if he could, the respondent, by the advice of a certain philosopher, proceeded thus. He planted his staff where he stood, and said, Here is the centre; disprove it if you can. If you wish me to measure the sea, stop the rivers, so that nothing may flow in till I have done; then I will give you the contents. To answer your third question, I must borrow your robes and your throne. Then mounting the throne, clothed with the royal insignia, "Behold," said he, "the height of the mercy of God: but now I was a slave, now I am a king; but now poor, and now rich; but now in prison and in chains, and now at liberty," etc.

Of the same stamp is a story in the English Gesta Romanorum, Madden, p. 55, No 19. A knight was accused to the emperor by his enemies, but not so as to give a plausible ground for steps against him. The emperor could hit upon no way but to put him questions, on pain of life and death. The questions were seven; the third and the sixth will suffice: How many gallons of salt water been in the sea? Answer: Let all the outpassings of fresh water be stopped, and I shall tell thee. How many days' journey beth in the circle of the world? Answer: Only the space of one day.

Much nearer to the ballad, and earlier than either of the preceding, is the Stricker's tale of Âmîs and the Bishop, in the Pfaffe Âmîs, dated at about 1236. Âmîs, a learned and bountiful priest in England, excited the envy of his bishop, who sent for him, told him that he lived in better style than his superior, and demanded a subvention. The priest flatly refused to give the bishop anything but a good dinner. "Then you shall lose your church," said the bishop in wrath. But the priest, strong in a good conscience, felt small concern about that: he said the bishop might test his fitness with any examination he pleased. That I will do, said the bishop, and gave him five questions. "How much is there in the sea?" "One tun," answered Âmîs; "and if you think I am not right, stop all the rivers that flow in, and I will measure it and convince you." "Let the rivers run," said the bishop. "How many days from Adam to our time?" "Seven," said the parson; "for as soon as seven are gone, they begin again." The bishop, fast losing his temper, next demanded "What is the exact middle of the earth? Tell me, or lose your church." "Why, my church stands on it," replied Âmîs. "Let your men measure, and take the church if it prove not so." The bishop declined the task, and asked once more: How far is it from earth to sky? and then: What is the width of the sky? to which Âmîs replied after the same fashion.

In this tale of the Stricker the parson answers for himself, and not by deputy, and none of the questions are those of our ballad. But in a tale of Franco Sacchetti,[382] given in two forms, Novella iv^a, we have both the abbot and his humble representative, and an agreement as to one of the questions. Bernabò Visconti († 1385) was offended with a rich abbot, who had neglected some dogs that had been entrusted to his care, and was minded to make the abbot pay him a fine; but so far yielded to the abbot's protest as to promise to release him from all penalties if he could answer four questions: How far is it from here to heaven? How much water is there in the sea? What is going on in hell? What is the value of my person? A day was given to get up the answers. The abbot went home, in the depths of melancholy, and met on the way one of his millers, who inquired what was the matter, and, after receiving an explanation, offered to take the abbot's place, disguising himself as well as he could. The answers to the two first questions are not the usual ones: huge numbers are given, and the seigneur is told to measure for himself, if not willing to accept them. The answer to the fourth is twenty-nine deniers; for our Lord was sold for thirty, and you must be worth one less than he. Messer Bernabò said the miller should be abbot, and the abbot miller, from that time forth. Sacchetti says that others tell the story of a pope and an abbot, adding one question. The gardener of the monastery presents the abbot, makes the usual answer to the second question as to the water in the sea, and prizes Christ's vicar at twenty-eight deniers.

The excellent old farce, "Ein Spil von einem Kaiser und eim Apt," Fastnachtspiele aus dem 15^n Jahrhundert, I, 199, No 22, obliges the abbot to answer three questions, or pay for all the damages done in the course of a calamitous invasion. The abbot has a week's grace allowed him. The questions are three: How much water in the sea? How much is the emperor worth? Whose luck came quickest? The miller answers for the abbot: Three tubs, if they are big enough; eight and twenty pence; and he is the man whose luck came quickest, for just before he was a miller, now he is an abbot. The emperor says that, since the miller has acted for the abbot, abbot he shall be.

Very like this, as to the form of the story, is the anecdote in Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, LV, p. 46, ed. Oesterley (c. 1522). A nobleman, who is seeking an occasion to quarrel with an abbot, tells him that he must answer these questions in three days, or be deposed: What do you value me at? Where is the middle of the world? How far apart are good and bad luck? A swineherd answers for him: Since Christ was sold for thirty pence, I rate the emperor at twenty-nine and you at twenty-eight; my church is the mid-point of the world, and, if you will not believe me, measure for yourself; good and bad luck are but one night apart, for yesterday I was a swineherd, to-day I am an abbot. Then, says the nobleman, an abbot shall you stay. With this agrees, say the Grimms, the tale in Eyring's Proverbiorum Copia (1601), I, 165-168, III, 23-25.

Waldis, Esopus (1548), B. 3, Fabel 92, Kurz, I, 382, agrees in general with Pauli: but in place of the first two questions has these three: How far is to heaven? How deep is the sea? How many tubs will hold all the sea-water? The answers are: A short day's journey, for Christ ascended in the morning and was in heaven before night; a stone's cast; one tub, if large enough.

Teofilo Folengo (1491-1544), as pointed out by Köhler, has the story in the 8th canto of his Orlandino; and here we find the third question of our ballad. There are three besides: How far from earth to heaven? From the east to the west?--a modification of the second question in the ballad; How many drops of water in the seas about Italy? The abbot's cook, Marcolf, answers to the first, One leap, as proved by Satan's fall; to the second, One day's journey, if the sun is to be trusted; and insists that, for a correct count under the third, all the rivers shall first be stopped. To the fourth he makes the never-stale reply, You think I am the abbot, but I am the cook. Rainero says he shall remain abbot, and the abbot the cook. (Stanzas 38, 39, 64-69, pp 186 f, 195 ff, London edition of 1775.)

A capital Spanish story, 'Gramatica Parda, Trueba, Cuentos Populares, p. 287, has all three of the questions asked and answered as in our ballad. There is a curate who sets up to know everything, and the king, "el rey que rabió," has found him out, and gives him a month to make his three answers, with a premium and a penalty. The curate is forced to call in a despised goatherd, who also had all along seen through the shallowness of the priest. The king makes the goatherd "archipámpano" of Seville, and condemns the curate to wear the herdsman's garb and tend his goats for a month.[383]

The first and third questions of the ballad are found in the thirty-eighth tale of Le Grand Parangon des Nouvelles Nouvelles of Nicolas de Troyes, 1536 (ed. Mabille, p. 155 ff); in the Patrañuelo of Juan de Timoneda, 1576, Pat. 14, Novelistas anteriores á Cervantes, in the Rivadeneyra Biblioteca, p. 154 f; and in the Herzog Heinrich Julius von Braunschweig's comedy, Von einem Edelman welcher einem Abt drey Fragen auffgegeben, 1594, ed. Holland, p. 500 ff. The other question is as to the centre of the earth, and the usual answers are given by the abbot's miller, cook, servant, except that in Timoneda the cook is so rational as to say that the centre must be under the king's feet, seeing that the world is as round as a ball.[384] The question Where is the middle of the earth? is replaced by How many stars are there in the sky? the other two remaining, in Balthasar Schupp, Schriften, Franckfurt, 1701, I, 91 f (Köhler), and in Gottlieb Cober († 1717), Cabinet-prediger, 2^r Theil, No 65, p. 323 (Gräter, Idunna u. Hermode, 1814, No 33, p. 131, and p. 87). The abbot's miller gives a huge number, and bids the king (of France) verify it, if he wishes. This last is no doubt the version of the story referred to by the Grimms in their note to K. u. H. märchen, No 152.

We encounter a slight variation, not for the better, in L'Élite des Contes du Sieur d'Ouville († 1656 or 1657), Rouen, 1699, I, 241; à la Haye, 1703, I, 296; ed. Ristelhuber, 1876, p. 46 (Köhler); Nouveaux Contes à Rire, Cologne, 1709, p. 266; Contes à Rire, Paris, 1781, I, 184. An ignorant and violent nobleman threatens a parson, who plumes himself on a little astrology, that he will expose him as an impostor if he does not answer four questions: Where is the middle of the world? What am I worth? What am I thinking? What do I believe? The village miller answers for the curé. The reply to the third question is, You are thinking more of your own interest than of mine; the others as before. This story is retold, after tradition, by Cénac Moncaut, Contes populaires de la Gascogne, p. 50, of a marquis, archiprêtre, and miller. The query, What am I thinking of? with the answer, More of your interest than of mine (which is not exactly in the popular manner), is replaced by a logical puzzle, not found elsewhere: Quel est le nombre qui se trouve renfermé dans deux [oeufs]?

The King and the Abbot is preserved, in modern German tradition, in this form. An emperor, riding by a cloister, reads the inscription, We are two farthings poorer than the emperor, and live free of cares. Wait a bit, says the emperor, and I will give you some cares. He sends for the abbot, and says, Answer these three questions in three days, or I will depose you. The questions are, How deep is the sea? How many stars in the sky? How far from good luck to bad? The shepherd of the monastery gives the answers, and is told, as in several cases before, If you are the abbot, abbot you shall be. J. W. Wolf, Hessische Sagen, p. 166, No 262, II. 'Gustav Adolf und der Abt von Benediktbeuern,' in Sepp's Altbayerischer Sagenschatz, p. 554, No 153, is another form of the same story, with a substitution of How far is it to heaven? for the first question, and the answers are given by a kitchie-boy.[385] In 'Hans ohne Sorgen,' Meier, Deutsche Volksmärchen aus Schwaben, p. 305, the questions are, How far is it to heaven? How deep is the sea? How many leaves has a linden? and the shepherd again undertakes the answers.[386] 'Der Müller ohne Sorgen,' Müllenhoff, p. 153, 208, is a mutilated variation of these. The abbot disappears, and the questions are put to the miller, who answers for himself. The second question is How much does the moon weigh? and the answer, Four quarters; if you don't believe it, you must weigh for yourself.

We meet the miller sans souci again in a Danish tale, which otherwise agrees entirely with our ballad. The questions are answered by the rich miller's herdsman: Grundtvig, Gamle danske Minder, 1854, p. 112, No 111.

A Croatian version of the story is given by Valyavets, 'Frater i turski car,' p. 262. The Turkish tsar is disposed to expel all monks from his dominions, but determines first to send for an abbot to try his calibre. The abbot is too much frightened to go, and his cook, as in Foligno and Timoneda, takes his place. The questions are, Where is the centre of the world? What is God doing now? What am I thinking? The first and third are disposed of in the usual way. When called to answer the second, the cook said, You can't see through the ceiling: we must go out into the field. When they came to the field, the cook said again, How can I see when I am on such a small ass? Let me have your horse. The sultan consented to exchange beasts, and then the cook said, God is wondering that a sultan should be sitting on an ass and a monk on a horse. The sultan was pleased with the answers, and reasoning, If the cook is so clever, what must the abbot be, decided to let the monks alone. Afanasief, who cites this story from Valyavets (Narodnuiya russkiya Skazki, VIII, 460), says that he heard in the government of Voroneje a story of a soldier who dressed himself as a monk and presented himself before a tsar who was in the habit of puzzling people with riddles. The questions are, How many drops in the sea? How many stars in the sky? What do I think? And the answer to the last is, Thou thinkest, gosudar, that I am a monk, but I am merely a soldier.[387]

A few tales, out of many remaining, may be now briefly mentioned, on account of variations in the setting.

A prisoner is to be released if he can tell a queen how much she is worth, the centre of the world, and what she thinks. A peasant changes clothes with the prisoner, and answers pro more. Kurtzweiliger Zeitvertreiber durch C. A. M. von W., 1668, p. 70 f, in Köhler, Orient u. Occident, I, 43.

A scholar has done learning. His master says he must now answer three questions, or have his head taken off. The master's brother, a miller, comes to his aid. The questions are, How many ladders would reach to the sky? Where is the middle of the world? What is the world worth? Or, according to another tradition, the two last are, How long will it take to go round the world? What is my thought? Campbell, Popular Tales of the West Highlands, II, 391 f.

Eulenspiegel went to Prague, and advertised himself on the doors of the churches and lecture-rooms as a great master, capable of answering questions that nobody else could solve. To put him down, the rector and his colleagues summoned Eulenspiegel to an examination before the university. Five questions were given him: How much water is there in the sea? How many days from Adam to now? Where is the middle of the world? How far from earth to heaven? What is the breadth of the sky? Lappenberg, Dr Thomas Murners Ulenspiegel, p. 38, No 28; Howleglas, ed. Ouvry, p. 28.

A herdboy had a great fame for his shrewd answers. The king did not believe in him, but sent for him, and said, If you can answer three questions that I shall put, I will regard you as my own child, and you shall live in my palace. The questions are, How many drops of water are there in the ocean? How many stars in the sky? How many seconds in eternity? The Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 152, 'Das Hirtenbüblein.'

Three questions are put to a counsellor of the king's, of which the first two are, Where does the sun rise? How far from heaven to earth? The answers, by a shepherd, are extraordinarily feeble. Jüdisches Maasäbuch, cap. 126, cited from Helwigs Jüdische Historien, No 39, in the Grimms' note to Das Hirtenbüblein.

Three monks, who know everything, in the course of their travels come to a sultan's dominions, and he invites them to turn Mussulmans. This they agree to do if he will answer their questions. All the sultan's doctors are convened, but can do nothing with the monks' questions. The hodja (the court-fool) is sent for. The first question, Where is the middle of the earth? is answered as usual. The second monk asks, How many stars are there in the sky? The answer is, As many as there are hairs on my ass. Have you counted? ask the monks. Have you counted? rejoins the fool. Answer me this, says the same monk, and we shall see if your number is right: How many hairs are there in my beard? "As many as in my ass's tail." "Prove it." "My dear man, if you don't believe me, count yourself; or we will pull all the hairs out of both, count them, and settle the matter." The monks submit, and become Mussulmans. Les plaisanteries de Nasr-eddin Hodja, traduites du turc par J. A. Decourdemanche, No 70, p. 59 ff.

The Turkish emperor sends word to Kaiser Leopold that unless the emperor can answer three questions he shall come down upon him with all his Turks. The counsellors are summoned, but there is no help in them. The court-fool offers to get his master out of the difficulty, if he may have the loan of crown and sceptre. When the fool comes to Constantinople, there lies the sultan in the window, and calls out, Are you the emperor, and will you answer my questions? Where does the world end? "Here, where my horse is standing." How far is it to heaven? "One day's journey, and no inn on the road." What is God thinking of now? "He is thinking that I am one fool and you another." J. W. Wolf, Hessische Sagen, p. 165, No 262I.[388]

For the literature, see especially the Grimms' Kinder und Hausmärchen, notes to No 152; R. Köhler in Orient und Occident, I, 439-41; Oesterley's note to Pauli's Schimpf und Ernst, No 55, p. 479.

* * * * *

Translated, after Percy's Reliques, II, 302, 1765, by Bodmer, II, III; by Doenniges, p. 152; by Ritter, Archiv für das Studium der neueren Sprachen, XXII, 222. Retold by Bürger, 'Der Kaiser und der Abt,' Göttinger Musenalmanach für 1785, p. 177.

Percy MS., p. 184. Hales and Furnivall, I, 508.

1 Off an ancient story Ile tell you anon, Of a notable prince _tha_t was called K_in_g Iohn, In England was borne, with maine and with might; Hee did much wrong and mainteined litle right.

2 This noble prince was vexed in veretye, For he was angry w_i_th the Bishopp of Canterbury; Ffor his house-keeping and his good cheere, Thé rode post for him, as you shall heare.

3 They rode post for him verry hastilye; The k_in_g sayd the bishopp kept a better house then hee: A hundred men euen, as I [have heard] say, The bishopp kept in his house eu_er_ye day, And fifty gold chaines, w_i_thout any doubt, In veluett coates waited the bishopp about.

4 The bishopp, he came to the court anon, Before his prince _tha_t was called K_ing_ Iohn. As soone as the bishopp the k_ing_ did see, 'O,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'bishopp, thow art welcome to mee. There is noe man soe welcome to towne As thou _tha_t workes treason against my crowne.'

5 'My leege,' q_uo_th the bishopp, 'I wold it were knowne I spend, yo_u_r grace, nothing but _tha_t _tha_t's my owne; I trust yo_u_r grace will doe me noe deare For spending my owne trew gotten geere.'

6 'Yes,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'bishopp, thou must needs dye, Eccept thou can answere mee questions three; Thy head shalbe smitten quite from thy bodye, And all thy liuing remayne vnto mee.

7 'First,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'tell me in this steade, W_i_th this crowne of gold heere vpon my head, Amongst my nobilitye, w_i_th ioy and much mirth, Lett me know w_i_thin one pennye what I am worth.

8 'Secondlye, tell me without any dowbt How soone I may goe the whole world about; And thirdly, tell mee or eu_er_ I stinte, What is the thing, bishopp, _tha_t I doe thinke. Twenty dayes pardon thoust haue trulye, And come againe and answere mee.'

9 The bishopp bade the k_ing_ god night att a word; He rode betwixt Cambridge and Oxenford, But neu_er_ a doctor there was soe wise Cold shew him these questions or enterprise.

10 Wherew_i_th the bishopp was nothing gladd, But in his hart was heauy and sadd, And hyed him home to a house in the countrye, To ease some p_ar_t of his melanchollye.

11 His halfe-brother dwelt there, was feirce and fell, Noe better but a shepard to the bishoppe himsell; The shepard came to the bishopp anon, Saying, My Lord, you are welcome home!

12 'What ayles you,' q_uo_th the shepard,' _tha_t you are soe sadd, And had wonte to haue beene soe merry and gladd?' 'Nothing,' q_uo_th the bishopp, 'I ayle att this time; Will not thee availe to know, brother mine.'

13 'Brother,' q_uo_th the shepeard, 'you haue heard itt, _Tha_t a ffoole may teach a wisemane witt; Say me therfore whatsoeu_er_ you will, And if I doe you noe good, Ile doe you noe ill.'

14 Q_uo_th the bishop: I haue beene att the court anon, Before my prince is called K_ing_ Iohn, And there he hath charged mee Against his crowne with traitorye.

15 If I cannott answer his misterye, Three questions hee hath p_ro_pounded to mee, He will haue my land soe faire and free, And alsoe the head from my bodye.

16 The first question was, to tell him in _tha_t stead, W_i_th the crowne of gold vpon his head, Amongst his nobilitye, w_i_th ioy and much mirth, To lett him know w_i_thin one penye what hee is worth.

17 And secondlye, to tell him w_i_th-out any doubt How soone he may goe the whole world about; And thirdlye, to tell him, or ere I stint, What is the thinge _tha_t he does thinke.

18 'Brother,' q_uo_th the shepard, 'you are a man of learninge; What neede you stand in doubt of soe small a thinge? Lend me,' q_uo_th the shepard, 'yo_u_r ministers apparrell, Ile ryde to the court and answere yo_u_r quarrell.

19 'Lend me yo_u_r serving men, say me not nay, W_i_th all yo_u_r best horsses _tha_t ryd on the way; Ile to the court, this matter to stay; Ile speake w_i_th K_ing_ Iohn and heare what heele say.'

20 The bishopp w_i_th speed p_re_pared then To sett forth the shepard with horsse and man; The shepard was liuely w_i_thout any doubt; I wott a royall companye came to the court.

21 The shepard hee came to the court anon Before [his] prince _tha_t was called K_ing_ Iohn. As soone as the k_ing_ the shepard did see, 'O,' q_uo_th the king, 'bishopp, thou art welcome to me.' The shepard was soe like the bishopp his brother, The k_ing_ cold not know the one from the other.

22 Q_uo_th the k_ing_, Bishopp, thou art welcome to me If thou can answer me my questions three. Said the shepeard, If it please yo_u_r grace, Show mee what the first quest[i]on was.

23 'First,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'tell mee in this stead, W_i_th the crowne of gold vpon my head, Amongst my nobilitye, w_i_th ioy and much mirth, W_i_thin one pennye what I am worth.'

24 Q_uo_th the shepard, To make yo_u_r grace noe offence, I thinke you are worth nine and twenty pence; For our L_ord_ Iesus, _tha_t bought vs all, For thirty pence was sold into thrall Amongst the cursed Iewes, as I to you doe showe; But I know Christ was one penye better then you.

25 Then the k_ing_ laught, and swore by St Andrew He was not thought to bee of such a small value. 'Secondlye, tell mee w_i_th-out any doubt How soone I may goe the world round about.'

26 Saies the shepard, It is noe time with yo_u_r grace to scorne, But rise betime w_i_th the sun in the morne, And follow his course till his vprising, And then you may know w_i_thout any leasing.

27 And this [to] yo_u_r grace shall proue the same, You are come to the same place from whence you came; [In] twenty-four houres, w_i_th-out any doubt, Yo_u_r grace may the world goe round about; The world round about, euen as I doe say, If w_i_th the sun you can goe the next way.

28 'And thirdlye tell me or eu_er_ I stint, What is the thing, bishoppe, _tha_t I doe thinke.' '_Tha_t shall I doe,' q_uo_th the shepeard; 'for veretye, You thinke I am the bishopp of Canterburye.'

29 'Why, art not thou? the truth tell to me; For I doe thinke soe,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'by St Marye.' 'Not soe,' q_uo_th the shepeard; 'the truth shalbe knowne, I am his poore shepeard; my brother is att home.'

30 'Why,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'if itt soe bee, Ile make thee bishopp here to mee.' 'Noe, Sir,' q_uo_th the shepard, 'I pray you be still, For Ile not bee bishop but against my will; For I am not fitt for any such deede, For I can neither write nor reede.'

31 'Why then,' q_uo_th the k_ing_, 'Ile giue thee cleere A pattent of three hundred pound a yeere; _Tha_t I will giue thee franke and free; Take thee _tha_t, shepard, for coming to me.

32 'Free p_ar_don Ile giue,' the k_ing_s grace said, 'To saue the bishopp, his land and his head; W_i_th him nor thee Ile be nothing wrath; Here is the p_ar_don for him and thee both.'

33 Then the shepard he had noe more to say, But tooke the p_ar_don and rode his way: When he came to the bishopps place, The bishopp asket anon how all things was.

34 'Brother,' q_uo_th the shepard, 'I haue well sped, For I haue saued both yo_u_r land and yo_u_r head; The k_ing_ with you is nothing wrath, For heere is the p_ar_don for you and mee both.'

35 Then the bishopes hart was of a merry cheere: 'Brother, thy paines Ile quitt them cleare; For I will giue thee a patent to thee and to thine Of fifty pound a yeere, land good and fine.'

36 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'I will to thee noe longer croche nor creepe, Nor Ile serue thee noe more to keepe thy sheepe.'

37 Whereeu_er_ wist you shepard before, _Tha_t had in his head witt such store To pleasure a bishopp in such a like case, To answer three questions to the k_ing_s grace? Whereeu_er_ wist you shepard gett cleare Three hundred and fifty pound a yeere?

38 I neu_er_ hard of his fellow before, Nor I neu_er_ shall: now I need to say noe more. I neu_er_ knew shepeard _tha_t gott such a liuinge But David, the shepeard, _tha_t was a k_ing_.

Broadside, printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball in Pye-corner (1672-95).

1 I'll tell you a story, a story anon, Of a noble prince, and his name was King John; For he was a prince, and a prince of great might, He held up great wrongs, he put down great right. Derry down, down hey, derry down

2 I'll tell you a story, a story so merry, Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury, And of his house-keeping and high renown, Which made him resort to fair London town.

3 'How now, father abbot? 'T is told unto me That thou keepest a far better house than I; And for [thy] house-keeping and high renown, I fear thou has treason against my crown.'

4 'I hope, my liege, that you owe me no grudge For spending of my true-gotten goods:' 'If thou dost not answer me questions three, Thy head shall be taken from thy body.

5 'When I am set so high on my steed, With my crown of gold upon my head, Amongst all my nobility, with joy and much mirth, Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.

6 'And the next question you must not flout, How long I shall be riding the world about; And the third question thou must not shrink, But tell to me truly what I do think.'

7 'O these are hard questions for my shallow wit, For I cannot answer your grace as yet; But if you will give me but three days space, I'll do my endeavor to answer your grace.'

8 'O three days space I will thee give, For that is the longest day thou hast to live. And if thou dost not answer these questions right, Thy head shall be taken from thy body quite.'

9 And as the shepherd was going to his fold, He spy'd the old abbot come riding along: 'How now, master abbot? You'r welcome home; What news have you brought from good King John?'

10 'Sad news, sad news I have thee to give, For I have but three days space for to live; If I do not answer him questions three, My head will be taken from my body.

11 'When he is set so high on his steed, With his crown of gold upon his head, Amongst all his nobility, with joy and much mirth, I must tell him to one penny what he is worth.

12 'And the next question I must not flout, How long he shall be riding the world about; And the third question I must not shrink, But tell him truly what he does think.'

13 'O master, did you never hear it yet, That a fool may learn a wiseman wit? Lend me but your horse and your apparel, I'll ride to fair London and answer the quarrel.'

14 'Now I am set so high on my steed, With my crown of gold upon my head, Amongst all my nobility, with joy and much mirth, Now tell me to one penny what I am worth.'

15 'For thirty pence our Saviour was sold, Amongst the false Jews, as you have been told, And nine and twenty's the worth of thee, For I think thou are one penny worser than he.'

16 'And the next question thou mayst not flout; How long I shall be riding the world about.' 'You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same, Until the next morning he rises again, And then I am sure you will make no doubt But in twenty-four hours you'l ride it about.'

17 'And the third question you must not shrink, But tell me truly what I do think.' 'All that I can do, and 't will make you merry; For you think I'm the Abbot of Canterbury, But I'm his poor shepherd, as you may see, And am come to beg pardon for he and for me.'

18 The king he turned him about and did smile, Saying, Thou shalt be the abbot the other while: 'O no, my grace, there is no such need, For I can neither write nor read.'

19 'Then four pounds a week will I give unto thee For this merry jest thou hast told unto me; And tell the old abbot, when thou comest home, Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John.'

* * * * *

#A.#

Not divided into stanzas in the MS.

3^3, 3^5, 6^2, 8^5, 15^2, 22^2, 24^4, 27^3, 31^2, 37^4. Arabic numerals are expressed in letters.

14^1. thy court.

24^2. worth 29 pence.

31^2. patten.

31^4. caming.

35^4. 50_{:}^11.

37^6. 350_{:}^11.

#B.#

5^1, 11^1, 14^1. on my [his] steed so high.

7^1. my sh ow.

11^1. sat.

12^3. thou must.

19^4. K. John.

[376] A New Ballad of King John and the Abbot of Canterbury. To the Tune of The King and the Lord Abbot. With allowance. Ro. L'Estrange. Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden Ball in Pye-corner.

[377] The King and the Bishop, or,

Unlearned Men hard matters out can find When Learned Bishops Princes eyes do blind.

To the Tune of Chievy Chase. Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright (1655-80). Printed for J. Wright, Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenver.

The Old Abbot and King Olfrey. To the tune of the Shaking of the Sheets. Printed by and for A. M., and sold by the booksellers of London.

J. Wright's date is 1650-82, T. Passinger's, 1670-82. Chappell.

[378] Printed by J. M. for C. D., at the Stationers Armes within Aldgate. C. D. is, no doubt, C. Dennison, who published 1685-89. See Chappell, The Roxburghe Ballads, I, xix.

[379] Among these, St Bittel for St Andrew of #A# 26, with the note, "meaning probably St Botolph:" why "probably"?

[380] This story serves as a gloss on 2 Chronicles, ii, 13, 14, where Hiram sends Solomon a cunning Tyrian, skilful to find out every device which shall be put to him by the cunning men of Jerusalem. The Queen of Sheba's hard questions to Solomon, not specified in 1 Kings, x, 1-13, were, according to tradition, of the same general character as the Indian ones spoken of at p. 12. See Hertz, Die Rätsel der Königin von Saba, Zeitschrift für deutsches Altertum, XXVII, 1 ff.

[381] These are proper riddles, and of a kind still current in popular tradition. See, e. g., Svend Vonved, Grundtvig, I, 237 f. There are thirty-five, before the last, in the oldest text, given, with a translation, by Vigfusson and Powell, Corpus Poeticum Boreale, 'King Heidrek's Riddles,' I, 86 ff.

[382] Sacchetti's life extended beyond 1400, or perhaps beyond 1410.

[383] The form of the third question is slightly varied at first ¿Cuál es el error en que yo estoy pensando? But when put to the herdsman the question is simply ¿En qué estoy yo pensando? I was pointed to this story by Seidemann, in Archiv für Litteraturgeschichte, IX, 423. Trueba's C. P. forms vol. 19 of Brockhaus's Coleccion de Autores Españoles.

[384] The editor of the Grand Parangon, at p. xiii, cites from an older source an anecdote of a king insisting upon being told how much he ought to bring if offered for sale. While his courtiers are giving flattering replies, a fool leaps forward and says, Twenty-nine deniers, and no more; for if you were worth thirty, that would be autant que le tout-puissant Dieu valut, quant il fut vendu. The king took this answer to heart, and repented of his vanities. So an emperor is converted by this reply from a man-at-arms, Van den verwenden Keyser, Jan van Hollant, c. 1400, Willems, Belgisch Museum, X, 57; Thijm, p. 145. The like question and answer, as a riddle, in a German MS. of the fifteenth century, and in Questions énigmatiques, Lyon, 1619; Köhler, in Weimarisches Jahrbuch, V, 354 ff.

[385] In Prussia Frederick the Great plays the part of Gustavus. Sepp, p. 558.

[386] Another Swabian story, in Meier, No 28, p. 99, is a mixed form. The Duke of Swabia reads "Hans sans cares" over a miller's house-door, and says, "Bide a wee: if you have no cares, I will give you some." The duke, to give the miller a taste of what care is, says he must solve this riddle or lose his mill: Come to me neither by day nor by night, neither naked nor clothed, neither on foot nor on horseback. The miller promises his man his daughter in marriage and the mill in succession, if he will help him out of his dilemma. The man at once says, Go on Mid-week, for Mid-week is no day (Mitt-woch ist ja gar kein Tag, wie Sonn-tag, Mon-tag), neither is it night; and if you are to be neither clothed nor bare, put on a fishing-net; and if you are to go neither on foot nor on horseback, ride to him on an ass. All but the beginning of this is derived from the cycle of 'The Clever Wench:' see No 2. Haltrich, Deutsche Volksmärchen in Siebenbürgen, No 45, which is also of this cycle, has taken up a little of 'Hans ohne Sorgen.' A church has an inscription, Wir leben ohne Sorgen. This vexes the king, who says as before, Just wait, and I will give you reason for cares, p. 244, ed. 1856.

[387] These two stories were communicated to me by Mr Ralston.

[388] In the beginning there is a clear trace of the Oriental tales of 'The Clever Lass' cycle.

CAPTAIN WEDDERBURN'S COURTSHIP

#A. a.# 'I'll no ly neist the wa,' Herd's MS., I, 161. #b.# 'She'll no ly neist [the] wa,' the same, II, 100.

#B. a.# 'The Earl of Rosslyn's Daughter,' Kinloch MSS, I, 83. #b.# 'Lord Roslin's Daughter,' Lord Roslin's Daughter's Garland, p. 4. #c.# 'Lord Roslin's Daughter,' Buchan's MSS, II, 34. #d.# 'Captain Wedderburn's Courtship,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 159. #e.# Harris MS., fol. 19 b, No 14. #f.# Notes and Queries, 2d S., IV, 170.

#C.# 'The Laird of Roslin's Daughter,' Sheldon's Minstrelsy of the English Border, p. 232.

A copy of this ballad was printed in The New British Songster, a Collection of Songs, Scots and English, with Toasts and Sentiments for the Bottle, Falkirk, 1785: see Motherwell, p. lxxiv.[389] Few were more popular, says Motherwell, and Jamieson remarks that 'Captain Wedderburn' was equally in vogue in the north and the south of Scotland.

Jamieson writes to the Scots Magazine, 1803, p. 701: "Of this ballad I have got one whole copy and part of another, and I remember a good deal of it as I have heard it sung in Morayshire when I was a child." In his Popular Ballads, II, 154, 1806, he says that the copy which he prints was furnished him from Mr Herd's MS. by the editor of the Border Minstrelsy, and that he had himself supplied a few readings of small importance from his own recollection. There is some inaccuracy here. The version given by Jamieson is rather #B#, with readings from #A#.

We have had of the questions six, #A# 11, 12, What is greener than the grass? in No 1, #A# 15, #C# 13, #D# 5; What's higher than the tree? in #C# 9, #D# 1; What's war than a woman's wiss? ("than a woman was") #A# 15, #C# 13, #D# 5; What's deeper than the sea? #A# 13, #B# 8, #C# 9, #D# 1. Of the three dishes, #A# 8, 9, we have the bird without a gall in Ein Spil von den Freiheit, Fastnachtspiele aus dem 15^n Jhdt, II, 558, v. 23,[390] and the two others in the following song, from a manuscript assigned to the fifteenth century, and also preserved in several forms by oral tradition:[391] Sloane MS., No 2593, British Museum; Wright's Songs and Carols, 1836, No 8; as printed for the Warton Club, No xxix, p. 33.

I have a ȝong suster fer beȝondyn the se, Many be the drowryis that che sente me.

Che sente me the cherye, withoutyn ony ston, And so che dede [the] dowe, withoutyn ony bon.

Sche sente me the brere, withoutyn ony rynde, Sche bad me love my lemman withoute longgyng.

How xuld ony cherye be withoute ston? And how xuld ony dowe ben withoute bon?

How xuld any brere ben withoute rynde? How xuld y love myn lemman without longyng?

Quan the cherye was a flour, than hadde it non ston; Quan the dowe was an ey, than hadde it non bon.

Quan the brere was onbred, than hadde it non rynd; Quan the mayden haȝt that che lovit, che is without longyng.

'Captain Wedderburn's Courtship,' or 'Lord Roslin's Daughter,'[392] is a counterpart of the ballad in which a maid wins a husband by guessing riddles. (See Nos 1 and 2, and also the following ballad, for a lady who gives riddles.) The ingenious suitor, though not so favorite a subject as the clever maid, may boast that he is of an old and celebrated family. We find him in the Gesta Romanorum, No 70; Oesterley, p. 383, Madden's English Versions, No 35, p. 384. A king had a beautiful daughter, whom he wished to dispose of in marriage; but she had made a vow that she would accept no husband who had not achieved three tasks: to tell her how many feet long, broad, and deep were the four elements; to change the wind from the north; to take fire into his bosom, next the flesh, without harm. The king issued a proclamation in accordance with these terms. Many tried and failed, but at last there came a soldier who succeeded. To answer the first question he made his servant lie down, and measured him from head to foot. Every living being is composed of the four elements, he said, and I find not more than seven feet in them. A very easy way was hit on for performing the second task: the soldier simply turned his horse's head to the east, and, since wind is the life of every animal, maintained that he had changed the wind. The king was evidently not inclined to be strict, and said, Clear enough. Let us go on to the third. Then, by the aid of a stone which he always carried about him, the soldier put handfuls of burning coals into his bosom without injury. The king gave his daughter to the soldier.

An extraordinary ballad in Sakellarios's Κυπριακα III, 15, No 6, 'The Hundred Sayings,' subjects a lover to a severe probation of riddles. (Liebrecht has given a full abstract of the story in Gosche's Archiv, II, 29.) A youth is madly enamored of a king's daughter, but, though his devotion knows no bound, cannot for a long time get a word from her mouth, and then only disdain. She shuts herself up in a tower. He prays for a heat that may force her to come to the window, and that she may drop her spindle, and he be the only one to bring it to her. The heavens are kind: all this comes to pass, and she is fain to beg him to bring her the spindle. She asks, Can you do what I say? Shoulder a tower? make a stack of eggs? trim a date-tree, standing in a great river?[393] All this he can do. She sends him away once and again to learn various things; last of all, the hundred sayings that lovers use. He presents himself for examination. "One?" "There is one only God: may he help me!" "Two?" "Two doves with silver wings are sporting together: I saw how they kissed," etc. "Three?" "Holy Trinity, help me to love the maid!" "Four?" "There is a four-pointed cross on thy smock, and it implores God I may be thy mate:" and so he is catechised through all the units and tens.[394] Then the lady suddenly turns about, concedes everything, and proposes that they shall go to church: but the man says, If I am to marry all my loves, I have one in every town, and wife and children in Constantinople. They part with reciprocal scurrilities.

Usually when the hand of a princess is to be won by the performance of tasks, whether requiring wit, courage, the overcoming of magic arts, or what not, the loss of your head is the penalty of failure. (See the preface to the following ballad.) Apollonius of Tyre, of Greek original, but first found in a Latin form, is perhaps the oldest riddle-story of this description. Though its age has not been determined, the tale has been carried back even to the end of the third or the beginning of the fourth century, was a great favorite with the Middle Ages, and is kept only too familiar by the play of Pericles.

More deserving of perpetuation is the charming Persian story of Prince Calaf, in Pétis de La Croix's 1001 Days (45^e-82^e jour), upon which Carlo Gozzi founded his play of "La Turandot," now best known through Schiller's translation. Tourandocte's riddles are such as we should call legitimate, and are three in number. "What is the being that is found in every land, is dear to all the world, and cannot endure a fellow?" Calaf answers, The sun. "What mother swallows the children she has given birth to, as soon as they have attained their growth?" The sea, says Calaf, for the rivers that flow into it all came from it. "What is the tree that has all its leaves white on one side and black on the other?" This tree, Calaf answers, is the year, which is made up of days and nights.[395]

A third example of this hazardous wooing is the story of The Fair One of the Castle, the fourth in the Persian poem of The Seven Figures (or Beauties), by Nisami of Gendsch († 1180). A Russian princess is shut up in a castle made inaccessible by a talisman, and every suitor must satisfy four conditions: he must be a man of honor, vanquish the enchanted guards, take away the talisman, and obtain the consent of her father. Many had essayed their fortune, and their heads were now arrayed on the pinnacles of the castle.[396] A young prince had fulfilled the first three conditions, but the father would not approve his suit until he had solved the princess's riddles. These are expressed symbolically, and answered in the same way. The princess sends the prince two pearls from her earring: he at once takes her meaning,--life is like two drops of water,--and returns the pearls with three diamonds, to signify that joy--faith, hope, and love--can prolong life. The princess now sends him three jewels in a box, with sugar. The prince seizes the idea,--life is blended with sensuous desire,--and pours milk on the sugar, to intimate that as milk dissolves sugar, so sensuous desire is quenched by true love. After four such interchanges, the princess seals her consent with a device not less elegant than the others.[397]

A popular tale of this class is current in Russia, with this variation: that the hard-hearted princess requires her lovers to give her riddles, and those who cannot pose her lose their heads. Foolish Iván, the youngest of three brothers, adventures after many have failed. On his way to the trial he sees a horse in a cornfield and drives it out with a whip, and further on kills a snake with a lance, saying in each case, Here's a riddle! Confronted with the princess, he says to her, As I came to you, I saw by the roadside what was good; and in the good was good; so I set to work, and with what was good I drove the good from the good. The good fled from the good out of the good. The princess pleads a headache, and puts off her answer till the next day, when Iván gives her his second enigma: As I came to you, I saw on the way what was bad, and I struck the bad with a bad thing, and of what was bad the bad died. The princess, unable to solve these puzzles, is obliged to accept foolish Iván. (Afanasief, Skazki, II, 225 ff, No 20, in Ralston's Songs of the Russian People, p. 354 f.) Closely related to this tale, and still nearer to one another, are the Grimms' No 22, 'Das Räthsel' (see, also, the note in their third volume), and the West Highland story, 'The Ridere (Knight) of Riddles,' Campbell, No 22, II, 27. In the former, as in the Russian tale, it is the princess that must be puzzled before she will yield her hand; in the latter, an unmatchable beauty is to be had by no man who does not put a question which her father cannot solve.

Here may be put three drolleries, all clearly of the same origin, in which a fool wins a princess by nonplussing her: 'The Three Questions,' Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 32; a "schwank" of the fourteenth century, by Heinz der Kellner, von der Hagen's Gesammtabenteuer, No 63, III, 179 (there very improperly called Turandot); 'Spurningen,' Asbjørnson og Moe, Norske Folkeeventyr, No 4, Dasent, Popular Tales from the Norse, p. 148. According to the first of these, the king of the East Angles promises his clever daughter to any one who can answer three of her questions (in the other versions, more correctly, silence her). Three brothers, one of them a natural, set out for the court, and, on the way, Jack finds successively an egg, a crooked hazel-stick, and a nut, and each time explodes with laughter. When they are ushered into the presence, Jack bawls out, What a troop of fair ladies! "Yes," says the princess, "we are fair ladies, for we carry fire in our bosoms." "Then roast me an egg," says Jack, pulling out the egg from his pocket. "How will you get it out again?" asks the princess? "With a crooked stick," says Jack, producing the same. "Where did that come from?" says the princess. "From a nut," answers Jack, pulling out the nut. And so, as the princess is silenced, the fool gets her in marriage.[398]

Even nowadays riddles play a noteworthy part in the marriages of Russian peasants. In the government Pskof, as we are informed by Khudyakof, the bridegroom's party is not admitted into the bride's house until all the riddles given by the party of the bride have been answered; whence the saying or proverb, to the behoof of bridegrooms, Choose comrades that can guess riddles. In the village of Davshina, in the Yaroslav government, the bridegroom's best man presents himself at the bride's house on the wedding-day, and finding a man, called the bride-seller, sitting by the bride, asks him to surrender the bride and vacate his place. "Fair and softly," answers the seller; "you will not get the bride for nothing; make us a bid, if you will. And how will you trade? will you pay in riddles or in gold?" If the best man is prepared for the emergency, as we must suppose he always would be, he answers, I will pay in riddles. Half a dozen or more riddles are now put by the seller, of which these are favorable specimens: Give me the sea, full to the brim, and with a bottom of silver. The best man makes no answer in words, but fills a bowl with beer and lays a coin at the bottom. Tell me the thing, naked itself, which has a shift over its bosom. The best man hands the seller a candle. Finally the seller says, Give me something which the master of this house lacks. The best man then brings in the bridegroom. The seller gives up his seat, and hands the best man a plate, saying, Put in this what all pretty girls like. The best man puts in what money he thinks proper, the bridesmaids take it and quit the house, and the bridegroom's friends carry off the bride.

So, apparently in some ballad, a maid gives riddles, and will marry only the man who will guess them.

By day like a hoop, By night like a snake; Who reads my riddle, I take him for mate. (A belt.)

No 1103 of Khudyakof.[399]

In Radloff's Songs and Tales of the Turkish tribes in East Siberia, I, 60, a father, wanting a wife for his son, applies to another man, who has a marriageable daughter. The latter will not make a match unless the young man's father will come to him with pelt and sans pelt, by the road and not by the road, on a horse and yet not on a horse: see 8 ff of this volume. The young man gives his father proper instructions, and wins his wife.

A Lithuanian mother sends her daughter to the wood to fetch "winter May and summer snow." She meets a herdsman, and asks where she can find these. The herdsman offers to teach her these riddles in return for her love, and she complying with these terms, gives her the answers: The evergreen tree is winter May, and sea-foam is summer snow. Beiträge zur Kunde Preussens, I, 515 (Rhesa), and Ausland, 1839, p. 1230.

The European tales, excepting the three drolleries (and even they are perhaps to be regarded only as parodies of the others), must be of Oriental derivation; but the far north presents us with a similar story in the lay of Alvíss, in the elder Edda. The dwarf Alvíss comes to claim Freya for his bride by virtue of a promise from the gods. Thor[400] says that the bride is in his charge, and that he was from home when the promise was made: at any rate, Alvíss shall not have the maid unless he can answer all the questions that shall be put him. Thor then requires Alvíss to give him the names of earth, heaven, moon, sun, etc., ending with barley and the poor creature small beer, in all the worlds; that is, in the dialect of the gods, of mankind, giants, elves, dwarfs, etc. Alvíss does this with such completeness as to extort Thor's admiration, but is craftily detained in so doing till after sunrise, when Thor cries, You are taken in! Above ground at dawn! and the dwarf turns to stone.

* * * * *

Translated, in part, after Aytoun, by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 107.

#a.# Herd's MS., I, 161. #b.# The same, II, 100.

1 The laird of Bristoll's daughter was in the woods walking, And by came Captain Wetherbourn, a servant to the king; And he said to his livery man, Wer 't not against the law, I would tak her to mine ain bed, and lay her neist the wa.

2 'I'm into my father's woods, amongst my father's trees, O kind sir, let mee walk alane, O kind sir, if you please; The butler's bell it will be rung, and I'll be mist awa; I'll lye into mine ain bed, neither at stock nor wa.'

3 'O my bonny lady, the bed it's not be mine, For I'll command my servants for to call it thine; The hangings are silk satin, the sheets are holland sma, And we's baith lye in ae bed, but you's lye neist the wa.

4 'And so, my bonny lady,--I do not know your name,-- But my name's Captain Wetherburn, and I'm a man of fame; Tho your father and a' his men were here, I would na stand in awe To tak you to mine ain bed, and lay you neist the wa.

5 'Oh my bonny, bonny lady, if you'll gie me your hand, You shall hae drums and trumpets to sound at your command; Wi fifty men to guard you, sae weel their swords can dra, And wee's baith lye in ae bed, but you's lye neist the wa.'

6 He's mounted her upon a steid, behind his gentleman, And he himself did walk afoot, to had his lady on, With his hand about her midle sae jimp, for fear that she should fa; She man lye in his bed, but she'll not lye neist the wa.

7 He's taen her into Edinburgh, his landlady cam ben: 'And monny bonny ladys in Edinburgh hae I seen, But the like of this fine creature my eyes they never sa;' 'O dame bring ben a down-bed, for she's lye neist the wa.'

8 'Hold your tongue, young man,' she said, 'and dinna trouble me, Unless you get to my supper, and that is dishes three; Dishes three to my supper, tho I eat nane at a', Before I lye in your bed, but I winna lye neist the wa.

9 'You maun get to my supper a cherry but a stane, And you man get to my supper a capon but a bane, And you man get a gentle bird that flies wanting the ga, Before I lye in your bed, but I'll not lye neist the wa.'

10 'A cherry whan in blossom is a cherry but a stane; A capon when he's in the egg canna hae a bane; The dow it is a gentle bird that flies wanting the ga; And ye man lye in my bed, between me and the wa.'

11 'Hold your tongue, young man,' she said, 'and dinna me perplex, Unless you tell me questions, and that is questions six; Tell me them as I shall ask them, and that is twa by twa, Before I lye in your bed, but I'll not lye neist the wa.

12 'What is greener than the grass, what's higher than the tree? What's war than a woman's wiss, what's deeper than the sea? What bird sings first, and whereupon the dew down first does fa? Before I lye in your bed, but I'll not lye neist the wa.'

13 'Virgus is greener than the grass, heaven's higher than the tree; The deil's war than a woman's wish, hell's deeper than the sea; The cock sings first, on the Sugar Loaf the dew down first does fa; And ye man lye in my bed, betweest me and the wa.'

14 'Hold your tongue, young man,' she said, 'I pray you give it oer, Unless you tell me questions, and that is questions four; Tell me them as I shall ask them, and that is twa by twa, Before I lye in your bed, but I winna lye neist the wa.

15 'You man get to me a plumb that does in winter grow; And likewise a silk mantle that never waft gaed thro; A sparrow's horn, a priest unborn, this night to join us twa, Before I lye in your bed, but I winna lye neist the wa.'

16 'There is a plumb in my father's yeard that does in winter grow; Likewise he has a silk mantle that never waft gaed thro; A sparrow's horn, it may be found, there's ane in every tae, There's ane upo the mouth of him, perhaps there may be twa.

17 'The priest is standing at the door, just ready to come in; Nae man could sae that he was born, to lie it is a sin; For a wild boar bored his mother's side, he out of it did fa; And you man lye in my bed, between me and the wa.'

18 Little kent Grizey Sinclair, that morning when she raise, 'T was to be the hindermost of a' her single days; For now she's Captain Wetherburn's wife, a man she never saw, And she man lye in his bed, but she'll not lye neist the wa.

#a.# Kinloch MSS, I, 83, from Mary Barr's recitation. #b.# Lord Roslin's Daughter's Garland. #c.# Buchan's MSS, II, 34. #d.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 159. #e.# Harris MS., fol. 19 b, No 14, from Mrs Harris's recitation. #f.# Notes and Queries, 2d S., IV, 170, "as sung among the peasantry of the Mearns," 1857.

1 The Lord of Rosslyn's daughter gaed through the wud her lane, And there she met Captain Wedderburn, a servant to the king. He said unto his livery-man, Were 't na agen the law, I wad tak her to my ain bed, and lay her at the wa.

2 'I'm walking here my lane,' she says, 'amang my father's trees; And ye may lat me walk my lane, kind sir, now gin ye please. The supper-bell it will be rung, and I'll be missd awa; Sae I'll na lie in your bed, at neither stock nor wa.'

3 He said, My pretty lady, I pray lend me your hand, And ye'll hae drums and trumpets always at your command; And fifty men to guard ye wi, that weel their swords can draw; Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed, and ye'll lie at the wa.

4 'Haud awa frae me, kind sir, I pray let go my hand; The supper-bell it will be rung, nae langer maun I stand. My father he'll na supper tak, gif I be missd awa; Sae I'll na lie in your bed, at neither stock nor wa.'

5 'O my name is Captain Wedderburn, my name I'll neer deny, And I command ten thousand men, upo yon mountains high. Tho your father and his men were here, of them I'd stand na awe, But should tak ye to my ain bed, and lay ye neist the wa.'

6 Then he lap aff his milk-white steed, and set the lady on, And a' the way he walkd on foot, he held her by the hand; He held her by the middle jimp, for fear that she should fa; Saying, I'll tak ye to my ain bed, and lay thee at the wa.

7 He took her to his quartering-house, his landlady looked ben, Saying, Monie a pretty ladie in Edinbruch I've seen; But sic 'na pretty ladie is not into it a': Gae, mak for her a fine down-bed, and lay her at the wa.

8 'O haud awa frae me, kind sir, I pray ye lat me be, For I'll na lie in your bed till I get dishes three; Dishes three maun be dressd for me, gif I should eat them a', Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa.

9 ''T is I maun hae to my supper a chicken without a bane; And I maun hae to my supper a cherry without a stane; And I maun hae to my supper a bird without a gaw, Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa.'

10 'Whan the chicken's in the shell, I am sure it has na bane; And whan the cherry's in the bloom, I wat it has na stane; The dove she is a genty bird, she flees without a gaw; Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed, and ye'll be at the wa.'

11 'O haud awa frae me, kind sir, I pray ye give me owre, For I'll na lie in your bed, till I get presents four; Presents four ye maun gie me, and that is twa and twa, Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa.

12 ''T is I maun hae some winter fruit that in December grew; And I maun hae a silk mantil that waft gaed never through; A sparrow's horn, a priest unborn, this nicht to join us twa, Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa.'

13 'My father has some winter fruit that in December grew; My mither has a silk mantil the waft gaed never through; A sparrow's horn ye soon may find, there's ane on evry claw, And twa upo the gab o it, and ye shall get them a'.

14 'The priest he stands without the yett, just ready to come in; Nae man can say he eer was born, nae man without he sin; He was haill cut frae his mither's side, and frae the same let fa; Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed, and ye'se lie at the wa.'

15 'O haud awa frae me, kind sir, I pray don't me perplex, For I'll na lie in your bed till ye answer questions six: Questions six ye maun answer me, and that is four and twa, Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa.

16 'O what is greener than the gress, what's higher than thae trees? O what is worse than women's wish, what's deeper than the seas? What bird craws first, what tree buds first, what first does on them fa? Before I lie in your bed, at either stock or wa.'

17 'Death is greener than the gress, heaven higher than thae trees; The devil's waur than women's wish, hell's deeper than the seas; The cock craws first, the cedar buds first, dew first on them does fa; Sae we'll baith lie in ae bed, and ye'se lie at the wa.'

18 Little did this lady think, that morning whan she raise, That this was for to be the last o a' her maiden days. But there's na into the king's realm to be found a blither twa, And now she's Mrs. Wedderburn, and she lies at the wa.

Sheldon's Minstrelsy of the English Border, p. 232, as recited "by a lady of Berwick on Tweed, who used to sing it in her childhood, and had learnt it from her nurse."

1 The laird of Roslin's daughter walked thro the wood her lane, And by came Captain Wedderburn, a servant to the Queen; He said unto his serving man, Wer 't not agaynst the law, I would tak her to my ain house as lady o my ha.

2 He said, My pretty ladye, I pray give me your hand; You shall have drums and trumpets always at your command; With fifty men to guard you, that well their swords can draw, And I'll tak ye to my ain bed, and lay you next the wa.

3 'I'm walking in my feyther's shaws:' quo he, My charming maid, I am much better than I look, so be you not afraid; For I serve the queen of a' Scotland, and a gentil dame is she; So we'se be married ere the morn, gin ye can fancy me.

4 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'The sparrow shall toot on his horn, gif naething us befa, And I'll mak you up a down-bed, and lay you next the wa.

5 'Now hold away from me, kind sir, I pray you let me be; I wont be lady of your ha till you answer questions three: Questions three you must answer me, and that is one and twa, Before I gae to Woodland's house, and be lady o your ha.

6 'You must get me to my supper a chicken without a bone; You must get me to my supper a cherry without a stone; You must get me to my supper a bird without a ga, Before I go to Woodland's house and be lady of your ha.'

7 'When the cherry is in the bloom, I'm sure it has no stone; When the chicken's in the shell, I'm sure it has nae bone; The dove she is a gentil bird, and flies without a ga; So I've answered you your questions three, and you're lady of my ha.'

* * * * * * *

8 'Questions three you must answer me: What's higher than the trees? And what is worse than woman's voice? What's deeper than the seas?' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9 He answered then so readily: Heaven's higher than the trees; The devil's worse than woman's voice; hell's deeper than the seas; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

10 'One question still you must answer me, or you I laugh to scorn; Go seek me out an English priest, of woman never born;' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

11 'Oh then,' quo he, 'my young brother from mother's side was torn, And he's a gentil English priest, of woman never born;' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

12 Little did his lady think, that morning when she raise, It was to be the very last of all her mayden days; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * *

#A. a.#

2^4. I lye.

4^{3,4} and 5^{3,4} have been interchanged.

5^4. lye you.

#b.# lay.

7^1. teen.

17^1. priest was.

17^2. it was.

17^3. boned (?)

#b# has ~bored~.

#b# is a copy of #a#, but with the long lines broken up into two, and some slight variations.

#b.#

3^4. And we'll.

5^1. Omits if.

6^3. Omits sae jimp.

11^2. and they are questions.

12^2. wish.

13^4. betwixt.

#B.#

In stanzas of four short lines.

#a.#

16^2, 17^2. Var. women's vice.

17^1. Var. Poison is greener.

17^2. Var. There's nathing waur.

#b.#

Lord Roslin's Daughter's Garland. Containing three excellent new songs.

I. The Drunkard Reformed. II. The Devil and the Grinder. III. Lord Roslin's Daughter.

Licensed and entered according to order.

1^1, walks throw.

1^2. And by came.

1^3, servant man.

1^4, 3^4, 6^4, 7^4, 10^4, 14^4, 18^4. next the wa.

17^4. neist.

2^3, 4^3. missd you know.

3^4. And we'll ... and thou's ly next.

4^2. will I.

4^4. So I not.

5^{1,2}. Then said the pretty lady, I pray tell me your name. My name is Captain Wedderburn, a servant to the king.

5^3. of him I'd not stand in aw.

6^1. He lighted off.

6^2. And held her by the milk-white hand even as they rode along.

6^3. so jimp.

6^4. So I'll take.

7^1. lodging house.

7^3. But such a pretty face as thine in it I never saw.

7^4. make her up a down-bed.

8^2. will not go to your bed till you dress me.

8^3. three you must do to me.

9^1. O I must have ... a cherry without a stone.

9^2. a chicken without a bone.

10^{1,2}. When the cherry is into the bloom I am sure it hath no stone, And when the chicken's in the shell I'm sure it hath no bone.

10^3. it is a gentle.

11^2. I will not go till ... till you answer me questions.

11^3. Questions four you must tell me.

12^1. You must get to me.

12^2. That the wraft was neer ca'd.

12^{3,4} and 16^{3,4} (and consequently 13^{3,4}, 17^{3,4}) are wrongly interchanged in #b#, mixing up ferlies and questions.

#a# 12^{3,4}, 13^{3,4}, 14, 15, 16^{1,2}, 16^{3,4}, 17^{1,2}, 17^{3,4}==#b# 15^{3,4}, 16^{3,4}, 17, 14, 15^{1,2}, 12^{3,4}, 16^{1,2}, 13^{3,4}.

13^2. the wraft was neer ca'd throw.

13^{3,4}. A sparrow's horn you well may get, there's one on ilka pa.

14^1. standing at the door.

14^3. A hole cut in his mother's side, he from the same did fa.

16^2. And what ... women's voice.

16^3. What bird sings best, and wood buds first, that dew does on them fa.

17^1. sky is higher.

17^2. worse than women's voice.

17^3. the dew does on them fa.

18^2. the last night.

18^3. now they both lie in one bed.

#c# closely resembling #b#, the variations from #b# are given.

#c.#

1. came omitted, v. 2; unto, v. 3.

2. into your bed, v. 4.

3. guard you ... who well, v. 3; into ... thou'lt, v. 4.

5^{1,2}. Then says, v. 1.

6. lighted from ... this lady, v. 1; middle jimp, v. 3.

7. pretty fair, v. 2; as this, v. 3.

8. dress me, v. 3.

9. unto, vv 1,2; O I must, v. 2.

10. in the bloom, v. 1; we both shall ly in, v. 4.

11. will give oer, v. 1; to your ... you tell me, v. 2.

12. You must get to me ... that waft, v. 2; bird sings first ... on them does, v. 3.

13. sings first, v. 3.

14. in your ... you tell me, v. 2; I'll ly in, v. 4.

15. What is ... woman's, v. 2; I'll ly in, v. 4.

16.

Death's greener than the grass, hell's deeper than the seas, The devil's worse than woman's voice, sky's higher than the trees, vv 1,2; every paw, v. 3; thou shalt, v. 4.

18. the lady ... rose, v. 1; It was to be the very last, v. 2; they ly in ae, v. 4.

#d.#

Follows the broadside (#b#, #c#) through the first nine stanzas, with changes from Jamieson's "~own recollection,~" or invention, and one from #A#. 10 has certainly arbitrary alterations. The remaining eight stanzas are the corresponding ones of #A# treated freely. The comparison here is with #b#, readings from #A# in 11-18 not being noticed.

1^3, serving men.

2^3. _~mist awa~, from #A#; so in 4^3, a stanza not in #A#._

5^3. I'd have nae awe.

6^1. He lighted aff ... this lady.

6^3. middle jimp.

6^4. To tak her to his ain.

7^3. sic a lovely face as thine.

7^4. Gae mak her down.

8^3. maun dress to me.

9^1. It's ye maun get.

9^{2,3}. And ye maun get.

10^1. It's whan the cherry is in the flirry.

10^2. in the egg.

10^3. And sin the flood o Noah the dow she had nae ga.

#A, B d#, 11, 12^{1,2}, 13^{1,2}, 14, 15^{1,2}, 16^{1,2}==#B b, c#, 14, 15^{1,2}, 16^{1,2}, 11, 12^{1,2}, 13^{1,2}.

11^1. and gie your fleechin oer.

11^2. Unless you'll find me ferlies, and that is ferlies four.

11^3. Ferlies four ye maun find me.

11^4. Or I'll never lie.

12^2. And get to me.

12^3. doth first down.

12^4. Ye sall tell afore I lay me down between you and the wa.

13^2. has an Indian gown that waft.

13^3. on cedar top the dew.

14^2. that gait me perplex.

14^3. three times twa.

15^1. the greenest grass.

15^2. war nor an ill woman's wish.

16^3. horn is quickly found ... on every claw.

16^4. There's ane upon the neb of him.

17^3. A wild bore tore his mither's side.

18^3. now there's nae within the realm, I think.

#e#

has stanzas 1, 5 (?), 9, 12, 10, 13, 14 of #a#, the first two imperfect. The last line of each stanza is changed, no doubt for delicacy's sake, to ~I will tak you wi me, I tell you, aye or na~, or the like.

1. The Earl o Roslin's dochter gaed out to tak the air; She met a gallant gentleman, as hame she did repair; . . . . . . . I will tak you wi me, I tell you, aye or no.

5(?). I am Captain Wedderburn, a servant to the king. . . . . . . . I will tak you wi me, I tell you, aye or no.

9^1. I maun hae to my supper a bird without a bone.

9^3. An I maun hae a gentle bird that flies.

9^4. Before that I gae with you, I tell you, aye or na.

10^1. When the bird is in the egg.

10^2. in the bud ... I'm sure.

10^3. it is a gentle bird.

12^2, 13^2. a gey mantle ... neer ca'ed.

13^3. sune sall get.

14^1. is standing at.

14^2. say that he was ... a sin.

#f.#

Stanzas 9, 10 only.

9^1. 'T is I maun hae to my supper a bird without a bone.

9^2. withouten stone.

9^3. withouten ga.

10^1. When the bird is in the shell, I'm sure.

10^2. I'm sure.

10^3. a gentle ... withouten ga.

#C.#

Printed in stanzas of four short lines.

[389] This book has been pursued by me for years, with the coöperation of many friends and agents, but in vain.

[390] Followed by Virgil's riddle, Ecl. iii, 104-5, Where is the sky but three spans broad?

[391] Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 150; Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes, No 375; Notes and Queries, 3d Ser., IX, 401; 4th Ser., III, 501, 604; Macmillan's Magazine, V, 248, by T. Hughes. The first of these runs:

I have four sisters beyond the sea, Para-mara, dictum, domine And they did send four presents to me. Partum, quartum, paradise, tempum, Para-mara, dictum, domine

The first it was a bird without eer a bone, The second was a cherry without eer a stone.

The third it was a blanket without eer a thread, The fourth it was a book which no man could read.

How can there be a bird without eer a bone? How can there be a cherry without eer a stone?

How can there be a blanket without eer a thread? How can there be a book which no man can read?

When the bird's in the shell, there is no bone; When the cherry's in the bud, there is no stone.

When the blanket's in the fleece, there is no thread; When the book's in the press, no man can read.

The Minnesinger dames went far beyond our laird's daughter in the way of requiring "ferlies" from their lovers. Der Tanhuser and Boppe represent that their ladies would be satisfied with nothing short of their turning the course of rivers; bringing them the salamander, the basilisk, the graal, Paris's apple; giving them a sight of Enoch and Elijah in the body, a hearing of the sirens, etc. Von der Hagen, Minnesinger, II, 91 f, 385 f.

[392] There were, no doubt, Grissels enough in the very distinguished family of the Sinclairs of Roslin to furnish one for this ballad. I see two mentioned among the Sinclairs of Herdmanstoun. Even a Wedderburn connection, as I am informed, is not absolutely lacking. George Home of Wedderburn († 1497), married the eldest daughter of John Sinclair of Herdmanstoun: Douglas's Peerage of Scotland, ed. Wood, 1813, II, 174.

[393] The difficulty here is the want of a που στω, from which to climb the tree.

[394] These number-riddles or songs are known to every nation of Europe. E. g., Chambers' Popular Rhymes of Scotland, p. 44, ed. 1870, from Buchan's MSS, I, 280:

O what will be our ane, boys? O what will be our ane, boys? My only ane, she walks alane, And evermair has dune, boys, etc.

See Köhler in Orient u. Occident, II, 558-9. A dragon, in Hahn's Griechische u. Albanesische Märchen, II, 210, gives Penteklimas ten of these number-riddles: if he answers them he is to have a fine castle; if not, he is to be eaten. An old woman answers for him: "One is God, two are the righteous, etc.; ten is your own word, and now burst, dragon!" The dragon bursts, and Penteklimas inherits his possessions.

[395] Gozzi retains the first and third riddles, Schiller only the third. By a happy idea, new riddles were introduced at the successive performances of Schiller's play. Turandot appears as a traditional tale in Schneller's Märchen u. Sagen aus Wälschtirol, No 49, p. 132, "I tre Indovinelli."

[396] The castle with walls and gate thus equipped, or a palisade of stakes each crowned with a head, is all but a commonplace in such adventures. This grim stroke of fancy is best in 'La mule sanz frain,' where there are four hundred stakes, all but one surmounted with a bloody head: Méon, Nouveau Recueil, 1, 15, vv 429-37. For these parlous princesses, of all sorts, see Grundtvig, 'Den farlige Jomfru,' IV, 43 ff, No 184.

[397] Von Hammer, Geschichte der schönen Redekünste Persiens, p. 116, previously cited by von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, III, lxii.

[398] The German schwank affixes the forfeit of the head to failure. In the Norwegian the unsuccessful brothers get off with a thrashing. The fire in the English, found also in the German, recalls the third task in the Gesta Romanorum.

[399] Khudyakof, in the Ethnographical Collection of the Russian Geographical Society, Etnografitcheskiy Sbornik, etc., VI, 9, 10, 8. Ralston, The Songs of the Russian People, p. 353.

[400] Vigfusson objects to Thor being the interlocutor, though that is the name in the MS., because cunning does not suit Thor's blunt character, and proposes Odin instead. "May be the dwarf first met Thor (Wingthor), whereupon Woden (Wingi) came up." Corpus Poeticum Boreale, I, 81.

PROUD LADY MARGARET

#A.# 'Proud Lady Margaret,' Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 275, ed. 1803.

#B. a.# 'The Courteous Knight,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 91; Motherwell's MS., p. 591. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxxi.

#C.# 'The Jolly Hind Squire,' Buchan's MSS, II, 95.

#D.# 'The Knicht o Archerdale,' Harris MS., fol. 7, No 3.

#E.# 'Fair Margret,' A. Laing, Ancient Ballads and Songs, MS., 1829, p. 6.

#A# was communicated to Scott "by Mr Hamilton, music-seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had been a favorite." Two stanzas and one line were wanting, and were supplied by Scott "from a different ballad, having a plot somewhat similar." The stanzas were 6 and 9. #C# was printed from the MS., with a few changes, under the title of 'The Bonny Hind Squire,' by Dixon, in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 42, and from Dixon in Bell's Early Ballads, p. 183. Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 28, says the ballad was called 'Jolly Janet' by the old people in Aberdeenshire.

#A-D# are plainly compounded of two ballads, the conclusion being derived from #E#. The lady's looking oer her castle wa, her putting riddles, and her having gard so mony die, make the supposition far from incredible that the Proud Lady Margaret of the first part of the ballad may originally have been one of the cruel princesses spoken of in the preface to 'Captain Wedderburn's Courtship,' p. 417. But the corrupt condition of the texts of #A-D# forbids any confident opinion.

A dead mistress similarly admonishes her lover, in a ballad from Brittany, given in Ampère, Instructions relatives aux Poésies populaires de la France, p. 36.

"Non, je ne dors ni ne soumeille, Je sis dans l'enfer à brûler.

"Auprès de moi reste une place, C'est pour vous, Piar', qu'on l'a gardée."

"Ha! dites-moi plustot, ma Jeanne, Comment fair' pour n'y point aller?"

"Il faut aller à la grand-messe, Et aux vêpres, sans y manquer.

"Faut point aller aux fileries, Comm' vous aviez d'accoutumé.

"Ne faut point embrasser les filles Sur l' bout du coffre au pied du lect."

So Beaurepaire, Étude, p. 53; Puymaigre, 'La Damnée,' Chants populaires, I, 115; V. Smith, Chants du Velay et du Forez, Romania, IV, 449 f, 'La Concubine;' and Luzel, "Celui qui alla voir sa maitresse en enfer," I, 44, 45. In this last, a lover, whose mistress has died, goes into a monastery, where he prays continually that he may see her again. The devil presents himself in the likeness of a young man, and on condition of being something gently considered takes him to hell. He sees his mistress sitting in a fiery chair (cf. #B#, 30, 31), devoured by serpents night and day, and is informed that fasts and masses on his part will only make things worse. Like Dives, she sends word to her sister not to do as she has done. Some of these traits are found also in one or another of the French versions.

* * * * *

Translated by Doenniges, p. 6, after Scott, and by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 1, after Aytoun, II, 62.

Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 275, ed. 1803. Communicated "by Mr Hamilton, music-seller, Edinburgh, with whose mother it had been a favorite."

1 'T was on a night, an evening bright, When the dew began to fa, Lady Margaret was walking up and down, Looking oer her castle wa.

2 She looked east and she looked west, To see what she could spy, When a gallant knight came in her sight, And to the gate drew nigh.

3 'You seem to be no gentleman, You wear your boots so wide; But you seem to be some cunning hunter, You wear the horn so syde.'

4 'I am no cunning hunter,' he said, 'Nor neer intend to be; But I am come to this castle To seek the love of thee. And if you do not grant me love, This night for thee I'll die.'

5 'If you should die for me, sir knight, There's few for you will meane; For mony a better has died for me, Whose graves are growing green.

6 ['But ye maun read my riddle,' she said, 'And answer my questions three; And but ye read them right,' she said, 'Gae stretch ye out and die.]

7 'Now what is the flower, the ae first flower, Springs either on moor or dale? And what is the bird, the bonnie bonnie bird, Sings on the evening gale?'

8 'The primrose is the ae first flower Springs either on moor or dale, And the thristlecock is the bonniest bird Sings on the evening gale.'

9 ['But what's the little coin,' she said, 'Wald buy my castle bound? And what's the little boat,' she said, 'Can sail the world all round?']

10 'O hey, how mony small pennies Make thrice three thousand pound? Or hey, how mony salt fishes Swim a' the salt sea round?'

11 'I think you maun be my match,' she said, 'My match and something mair; You are the first eer got the grant Of love frae my father's heir.

12 'My father was lord of nine castles, My mother lady of three; My father was lord of nine castles, And there's nane to heir but me.

13 'And round about a' thae castles You may baith plow and saw, And on the fifteenth day of May The meadows they will maw.'

14 'O hald your tongue, Lady Margaret,' he said, 'For loud I hear you lie; Your father was lord of nine castles, Your mother was lady of three; Your father was lord of nine castles, But ye fa heir to but three.

15 'And round about a' thae castles You may baith plow and saw, But on the fifteenth day of May The meadows will not maw.

16 'I am your brother Willie,' he said, 'I trow ye ken na me; I came to humble your haughty heart, Has gard sae mony die.'

17 'If ye be my brother Willie,' she said, 'As I trow weel ye be, This night I'll neither eat nor drink, But gae alang wi thee.'

18 'O hold your tongue, Lady Margaret,' he said, 'Again I hear you lie; For ye've unwashen hands and ye've unwashen feet, To gae to clay wi me.

19 'For the wee worms are my bedfellows, And cauld clay is my sheets, And when the stormy winds do blow, My body lies and sleeps.'

#a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, 1, 91; Motherwell's MS., p. 591. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxxi.

1 There was a knight, in a summer's night, Appeard in a lady's hall, As she was walking up and down, Looking oer her castle wall.

2 'God make you safe and free, fair maid, God make you safe and free!' 'O sae fa you, ye courteous knight, What are your wills wi me?'

3 'My wills wi you are not sma, lady, My wills wi you nae sma, And since there's nane your bower within, Ye'se hae my secrets a'.

4 'For here am I a courtier, A courtier come to thee, And if ye winna grant your love, All for your sake I'll dee.'

5 'If that ye dee for me, sir knight, Few for you will make meen; For mony gude lord's done the same, Their graves are growing green.'

6 'O winna ye pity me, fair maid, O winna ye pity me? O winna ye pity a courteous knight, Whose love is laid on thee?'

7 'Ye say ye are a courteous knight, But I think ye are nane; I think ye're but a millar bred, By the colour o your claithing.

8 'You seem to be some false young man, You wear your hat sae wide; You seem to be some false young man, You wear your boots sae side.'

9 'Indeed I am a courteous knight, And of great pedigree; Nae knight did mair for a lady bright Than I will do for thee.

10 'O I'll put smiths in your smithy, To shoe for you a steed, And I'll put tailors in your bower, To make for you a weed.

11 'I will put cooks in your kitchen, And butlers in your ha, And on the tap o your father's castle I'll big gude corn and saw.'

12 'If ye be a courteous knight, As I trust not ye be, Ye'll answer some o the sma questions That I will ask at thee.

13 'What is the fairest flower, tell me, That grows in mire or dale? Likewise, which is the sweetest bird Sings next the nightingale? Or what's the finest thing,' she says, 'That king or queen can wile?'

14 'The primrose is the fairest flower That grows in mire or dale; The mavis is the sweetest bird Next to the nightingale; And yellow gowd's the finest thing That king or queen can wale.

15 'Ye hae asked many questions, lady, I've you as many told;' 'But how many pennies round Make a hundred pounds in gold?

16 'How many of the small fishes Do swim the salt seas round? Or what's the seemliest sight you'll see Into a May morning?'

* * * * * * *

17 'Berry-brown ale and a birken speal, And wine in a horn green; A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress Looks gay in a May morning.'

18 'Mony's the questions I've askd at thee, And ye've answerd them a'; Ye are mine, and I am thine, Amo the sheets sae sma.

19 'You may be my match, kind sir, You may be my match and more; There neer was ane came sic a length Wi my father's heir before.

20 'My father's lord o nine castles, My mother she's lady ower three, And there is nane to heir them all, No never a ane but me; Unless it be Willie, my ae brother, But he's far ayont the sea.'

21 'If your father's laird o nine castles, Your mother lady ower three, I am Willie your ae brother, Was far beyond the sea.'

22 'If ye be Willie, my ae brother, As I doubt sair ye be, But if it's true ye tell me now, This night I'll gang wi thee.'

23 'Ye've ower ill washen feet, Janet, And ower ill washen hands, And ower coarse robes on your body, Alang wi me to gang.

24 'The worms they are my bed-fellows, And the cauld clay my sheet, And the higher that the wind does blaw, The sounder I do sleep.

25 'My body's buried in Dumfermline, And far beyond the sea, But day nor night nae rest coud get, All for the pride o thee.

26 'Leave aff your pride, jelly Janet,' he says, 'Use it not ony mair; Or when ye come where I hae been You will repent it sair.

27 'Cast aff, cast aff, sister,' he says, 'The gowd lace frae your crown; For if ye gang where I hae been, Ye'll wear it laigher down.

28 'When ye're in the gude church set, The gowd pins in your hair, Ye take mair delight in your feckless dress Than ye do in your morning prayer.

29 'And when ye walk in the church-yard, And in your dress are seen, There is nae lady that sees your face But wishes your grave were green.

30 'You're straight and tall, handsome withall, But your pride owergoes your wit, But if ye do not your ways refrain, In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.

31 'In Pirie's chair you'll sit, I say, The lowest seat o hell; If ye do not amend your ways, It's there that ye must dwell.'

32 Wi that he vanishd frae her sight, Wi the twinkling o an eye; Naething mair the lady saw But the gloomy clouds and sky.

Buchan's MSS, II, 95.

1 Once there was a jolly hind squire Appeard in a lady's ha, And aye she walked up and down, Looking oer her castle wa.

2 'What is your wills wi me, kind sir? What is your wills wi me?' 'My wills are [not] sma wi thee, lady, My wills are [not] sma wi thee.

3 'For here I stand a courtier, And a courtier come to thee, And if ye will not grant me your love, For your sake I will die.'

4 'If you die for my sake,' she says, 'Few for you will make moan; Many better's died for my sake, Their graves are growing green.

5 'You appear to be some false young man, You wear your hat so wide; You appear to be some false young man, You wear your boots so side.

6 'An asking, asking, sir,' she said, 'An asking ye'll grant me:' 'Ask on, ask on, lady,' he said, 'What may your asking be?'

7 'What's the first thing in flower,' she said, 'That springs in mire or dale? What's the next bird that sings,' she says, 'Unto the nightingale? Or what is the finest thing,' she says, 'That king or queen can wile?'

8 'The primrose is the first in flower That springs in mire or dale; The thristle-throat is the next that sings Unto the nightingale; And yellow gold is the finest thing That king or queen can wile.

9 'You have asked many questions, lady, I've you as many told;' 'But how many pennies round Make a hundred pounds in gold?

10 'How many small fishes Do swim the salt seas round? Or what's the seemliest sight you'll see Into a May morning?

* * * * * * *

11 'There's ale into the birken scale, Wine in the horn green; There's gold in the king's banner When he is fighting keen.'

12 'You may be my match, kind sir,' she said, 'You may be my match and more; There neer was one came such a length With my father's heir before.

13 'My father's lord of nine castles, No body heir but me.' 'Your father's lord of nine castles, Your mother's lady of three;

14 'Your father's heir of nine castles, And you are heir to three; For I am William, thy ae brother, That died beyond the sea.'

15 'If ye be William, my ae brother, This night, O well is me! If ye be William, my ae brother, This night I'll go with thee.'

16 'For no, for no, jelly Janet,' he says, 'For no, that cannot be; You've oer foul feet and ill washen hands To be in my company.

17 'For the wee wee worms are my bedfellows, And the cold clay is my sheet, And the higher that the winds do blow, The sounder I do sleep.

18 'Leave off your pride, jelly Janet,' he says, 'Use it not any more; Or when you come where I have been You will repent it sore.

19 'When you go in at yon church door, The red gold on your hair, More will look at your yellow locks Than look on the Lord's prayer.

20 'When you go in at yon church door, The red gold on your crown; When you come where I have been, You'll wear it laigher down.'

21 The jolly hind squire, he went away In the twinkling of an eye, Left the lady sorrowful behind, With many bitter cry.

Harris's MS., fol. 7, No 3. From Mrs Harris's recitation.

1 There cam a knicht to Archerdale, His steed was winder sma, An there he spied a lady bricht, Luikin owre her castle wa.

2 'Ye dinna seem a gentle knicht, Though on horseback ye do ride; Ye seem to be some sutor's son, Your butes they are sae wide.'

3 'Ye dinna seem a lady gay, Though ye be bound wi pride; Else I'd gane bye your father's gate But either taunt or gibe.'

4 He turned aboot his hie horse head, An awa he was boun to ride, But neatly wi her mouth she spak: Oh bide, fine squire, oh bide.

5 'Bide, oh bide, ye hindy squire, Tell me mair o your tale; Tell me some o that wondrous lied Ye've learnt in Archerdale.

6 'What gaes in a speal?' she said, 'What in a horn green? An what gaes on a lady's head, Whan it is washen clean?'

7 'Ale gaes in a speal,' he said, 'Wine in a horn green; An silk gaes on a lady's head, Whan it is washen clean.'

8 Aboot he turned his hie horse head, An awa he was boun to ride, When neatly wi her mouth she spak: Oh bide, fine squire, oh bide.

9 'Bide, oh bide, ye hindy squire, Tell me mair o your tale; Tell me some o that unco lied You've learnt in Archerdale.

10 'Ye are as like my ae brither As ever I did see; But he's been buried in yon kirkyaird It's mair than years is three.'

11 'I am as like your ae brither As ever ye did see; But I canna get peace into my grave, A' for the pride o thee.

12 'Leave pride, Janet, leave pride, Janet, Leave pride an vanitie; If ye come the roads that I hae come, Sair warned will ye be.

13 'Ye come in by yonder kirk Wi the goud preens in your sleeve; When you're bracht hame to yon kirkyaird, You'll gie them a' thier leave.

14 'Ye come in to yonder kirk Wi the goud plaits in your hair; When you're bracht hame to yon kirkyaird, You will them a' forbear.'

15 He got her in her mither's bour, Puttin goud plaits in her hair; He left her in her father's gairden, Mournin her sins sae sair.

Alex. Laing, Ancient Ballads and Songs, etc., etc., from the recitation of old people. Never published. 1829. P. 6.

1 Fair Margret was a young ladye, An come of high degree; Fair Margret was a young ladye, An proud as proud coud be.

2 Fair Margret was a rich ladye, The king's cousin was she; Fair Margaret was a rich ladye, An vain as vain coud be.

3 She war'd her wealth on the gay cleedin That comes frae yont the sea, She spent her time frae morning till night Adorning her fair bodye.

4 Ae night she sate in her stately ha, Kaimin her yellow hair, When in there cum like a gentle knight, An a white scarf he did wear.

5 'O what's your will wi me, sir knight, O what's your will wi me? You're the likest to my ae brother That ever I did see.

6 'You're the likest to my ae brother That ever I hae seen, But he's buried in Dunfermline kirk, A month an mair bygane.'

7 'I'm the likest to your ae brother That ever ye did see, But I canna get rest into my grave, A' for the pride of thee.

8 'Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret, Leave pride an vanity; Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen, Sair altered ye maun be.

9 'O ye come in at the kirk-door Wi the gowd plaits in your hair; But wud ye see what I hae seen, Ye maun them a' forbear.

10 'O ye come in at the kirk-door Wi the gowd prins i your sleeve; But wad ye see what I hae seen, Ye maun gie them a' their leave.

11 'Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret, Leave pride an vanity; Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen, Sair altered ye maun be.'

12 He got her in her stately ha, Kaimin her yellow hair, He left her on her sick sick bed, Sheding the saut saut tear.

* * * * *

#B#

15^{3,4}, 16^{1,2}, #C# 9^{3,4}, 10^{1,2} are rightly answers, not questions: cf. #A# 9, 10. #D# 6 furnishes the question answered in #B# 17.

#B. b.#

Motherwell begins at st. 25.

27^2. gowd band.

28^1, 29^1. kirk.

30^2. owergangs.

32^2. In the.

32^3. And naething.

#C.#

~Kind Squire~ in the title, and ~kind~ in 1^1, 21^1; I suppose by mistake of my copyist.

16^3. You're (?).

17^2. the clay cold.

#E.#

8^3, 11^3. E'er.

YOUNG ANDREW

Percy MS., p. 292. Hales and Furnivall, II, 328.

'Young Andrew' is known only from the Percy manuscript. The story recalls both 'Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight,' No 4, and 'The Fair Flower of Northumberland,' No 9. The lady, Helen, 25^3, is bidden to take, and does take, gold with her in stanzas 5-7, as in No 4, English #E# 2, 3, #D# 7, Danish #A# 12, #E# 7, 9, #I# 5, #L# 5, 6, and nearly all the Polish copies, and again in No 9, #A# 14. She is stripped of her clothes and head-gear in 8-17, as in No 4, English #C-E#, German #G#, #H#, and many of the Polish versions. These are destined by Young Andrew for his lady ("that dwells so far in a strange country") in 10, 12, 14, as by Ulinger for his sister, and by Adelger for his mother, in German #G# 18, #H# 15. In 15 the lady entreats Young Andrew to leave her her smock; so in No 4, Polish #L# 8, "You brought me from home in a green gown; take me back in a shift of tow," and #R# 13, "You took me away in red satin; let me go back at least in a smock." 18 has the choice between dying and going home again which is presented in 'Lady Isabel,' Polish #AA# 4, #H# 10, #R# 11, and implied in 'The Fair Flower of Northumberland,' #D# 2-5; in #A# 25 of this last the choice is between dying and being a paramour. In 20, 21, the lady says, "If my father ever catches you, you're sure to flower a gallows-tree," etc.; in No 4, Polish #J# 5, "If God would grant me to reach the other bank, you know, wretch, what death you would die." The father is unrelenting in this ballad, v. 26, and receives his daughter with severity in 'The Fair Flower of Northumberland,' #B# 13, #C# 13. The conclusion of 'Young Andrew' is mutilated and hard to make out. He seems to have been pursued and caught, as John is in the Polish ballads, #O#, #P#, #T#, etc., of No 4. Why he was not promptly disposed of, and how the wolf comes into the story, will probably never be known.

1 As I was cast in my ffirst sleepe, A dreadffull draught in my mind I drew, Ffor I was dreamed of a yong man, Some men called him yonge Andrew.

2 The moone shone bright, and itt cast a ffayre light, Sayes shee, Welcome, my honey, my hart, and my sweete! For I haue loued thee this seuen long yeere, And our chance itt was wee cold neuer meete.

3 Then he tooke her in his armes two, And kissed her both cheeke and chin, And twise or thrise he pleased this may Before they tow did p_ar_t in twinn.

4 Saies, Now, good s_i_r, you haue had yo_u_r will, You can demand no more of mee; Good s_i_r, remember what you said before, And goe to the church and marry mee.

5 'Ffaire maid, I cannott doe as I wold; . . . . . . . Goe home and fett thy fathers redd gold, And I'le goe to the church and marry thee.

6 This ladye is gone to her ffathers hall, And well she knew where his red gold lay, And counted fforth five hundred pound, Besides all other iuells and chaines:

7 And brought itt all to younge Andrew, Itt was well counted vpon his knee; Then he tooke her by the lillye white hand, And led her vp to an hill soe hye.

8 Shee had vpon a gowne of blacke veluett, (A pittyffull sight after yee shall see:) 'Put of thy clothes, bonny wenche,' he sayes, 'For noe ffoote further thoust gang w_i_th mee.'

9 But then shee put of her gowne of veluett, W_i_th many a salt teare from her eye, And in a kirtle of ffine breaden silke Shee stood beffore young Andrews eye.

10 Sais, O put off thy kirtle of silke, Ffor some and all shall goe with mee; And to my owne lady I must itt beare, Who I must needs loue better then thee.

11 Then shee put of her kirtle of silke, W_i_th many a salt teare still ffrom her eye; In a peticoate of scarlett redd Shee stood before young Andrewes eye.

12 Saies, O put of thy peticoate, For some and all of itt shall goe w_i_th mee; And to my owne lady I will itt beare, W_hi_ch dwells soe ffarr in a strange countrye.

13 But then shee put of her peticoate, W_i_th many a salt teare still from her eye, And in a smocke of braue white silke Shee stood before young Andrews eye.

14 Saies, O put of thy smocke of silke, For some and all shall goe w_i_th mee; Vnto my owne ladye I will itt beare, _Tha_t dwells soe ffarr in a strange countrye.

15 Sayes, O remember, young Andrew, Once of a woman you were borne; And ffor _tha_t birth _tha_t Marye bore, I pray you let my smocke be vpon!

16 'Yes, ffayre ladye, I know itt well, Once of a woman I was borne; Yett ffor noe birth _tha_t Mary bore, Thy smocke shall not be left here vpon.'

17 But then shee put of her head-geere ffine; Shee hadd billaments worth a hundred pound; The hayre _tha_t was vpon this bony wench head Couered her bodye downe to the ground.

18 Then he pulled forth a Scottish brand, And held itt there in his owne right hand; Saies, Whether wilt thou dye vpon my swords point, ladye, Or thow wilt goe naked home againe?

19 'Liffe is sweet,' then, 's_i_r,' said shee, 'Therfore I pray you leaue mee w_i_th mine; Before I wold dye on yo_u_r swords point, I had rather goe naked home againe.

20 'My ffather,' shee sayes, 'is a right good erle As any remaines in his countrye; If euer he doe yo_u_r body take, Yo_u_'r sure to fflower a gallow tree.

21 'And I haue seuen brethren,' shee sayes, 'And they are all hardy men and bold; Giff euer thé doe yo_u_r body take, You must neuer gang quicke ou_er_ the mold.'

22 'If yo_u_r ffather be a right good erle As any remaines in his owne countrye, Tush! he shall neuer my body take, I'le gang soe ffast ouer the sea.

23 'If you haue seuen brethren,' he sayes, 'If they be neu_er_ soe hardy or bold, Tush! they shall neu_er_ my body take, I'le gang soe ffast into the Scottish mold.'

24 Now this ladye is gone to her fathers hall, When euery body their rest did take; But the Erle w_hi_ch was her ffather Lay waken for his deere daughters sake.

25 'But who is _tha_t,' her ffather can say, '_Tha_t soe priuilye knowes the pinn?' 'It's Hellen, yo_u_r owne deere daughter, ffather, I pray you rise and lett me in.'

26 . . . . . . . 'Noe, by my hood!' q_uo_th her ffather then, 'My [house] thoust neuer come w_i_thin, W_i_thout I had my red gold againe.'

27 'Nay, yo_u_r gold is gone, ffather!' said shee, . . . . . . . 'Then naked thou came into this world, And naked thou shalt returne againe.'

28 'Nay! God fforgaue his death, father,' shee sayes, 'And soe I hope you will doe mee;' 'Away, away, thou cursed woman, I pray God an ill death thou may dye!'

29 Shee stood soe long quacking on the ground Till her hart itt burst in three; And then shee ffell dead downe in a swoond, And this was the end of this bonny ladye.

30 Ithe morning, when her ffather gott vpp, A pittyffull sight there he might see; His owne deere daughter was dead, w_i_thout clothes, The teares they trickeled fast ffrom his eye.

31 . . . . . . . Sais, Fye of gold, and ffye of ffee! For I sett soe much by my red gold _Tha_t now itt hath lost both my daughter and mee!'

32 . . . . . . . But after this time he neere dought good day, But as flowers doth fade in the frost, Soe he did wast and weare away.

33 But let vs leaue talking of this ladye, And talke some more of young Andrew; Ffor ffalse he was to this bonny ladye, More pitty _tha_t he had not beene true.

34 He was not gone a mile into the wild forrest, Or halfe a mile into the hart of Wales, But there they cought him by such a braue wyle _Tha_t hee must come to tell noe more tales.

* * * * * * *

35 . . . . . . . Ffull soone a wolfe did of him smell, And shee came roaring like a beare, And gaping like a ffeend of hell.

36 Soe they ffought together like two lyons, And fire betweene them two glashet out; Thé raught eche other such a great rappe, _Tha_t there young Andrew was slaine, well I wott.

37 But now young Andrew he is dead, But he was neuer buryed vnder mold, For ther as the wolfe devoured him, There lyes all this great erles gold.

* * * * *

1^3. of one.

3^3. 2.^{se}, 3.^{se}.

7^4. to one. 17^2. 100_{:}^li.

19^1. My liffe.

25^2. _tha_t pinn.

30^3. ~any~ follows ~without~, but is crossed out.

30^4. they teares.

33^4. itt had.

Arabic numbers are in several cases expressed in letters.

THE TWA BROTHERS

#A.# Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 56, No 19.

#B.# 'The Cruel Brother,' Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From the recitation of Mrs McCormick.

#C.# 'The Twa Brithers,' Motherwell's MS., p. 649. From the recitation of Mrs Cunningham.

#D.# 'The Twa Brothers, or, The Wood o Warslin,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of Mrs Arrott.

#E.# 'The Twa Brothers,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 60.

#F.# 'The Two Brothers,' Buchan's MSS, I, 57; Motherwell's MS., p. 662.

#G. a.# 'John and William,' taken down from the singing of little girls in South Boston. #b.# From a child in New York. Both communicated by Mr W. W. Newell.

All the Scottish versions were obtained within the first third of this century, and since then no others have been heard of. It is interesting to find the ballad still in the mouths of children in American cities,--in the mouths of the poorest, whose heritage these old things are.[401] The American versions, though greatly damaged, preserve the names John and William, which all the other copies have.

#B# and #C# are considerably corrupted. It need hardly be mentioned that the age of the boys in the first two stanzas of #B# does not suit the story. According to #C# 8, 15, the mother had cursed John, before he left home, with a wish that he might never return; and in #C# 9, John sends word to his true-love that he is in his grave for her dear sake alone. These points seem to have been taken from some copy of 'Willie and May Margaret,' or 'The Drowned Lovers.' The conclusion of both #B# and #C# belongs to 'Sweet William's Ghost.' #C# 18 may be corrected by #B# 10, though there is an absurd jumble of pipes and harp in the latter. The harp, in a deft hand, effects like wonders in many a ballad: e. g., 'Harpens Kraft,' Grundtvig, II, 65, No 40; even a pipe in #C# 14-16 of the same.

#D#, #E#, #F#, #G# supplement the story with more or less of the ballad of 'Edward:' see p. 168.

Jamieson inquires for this ballad in the Scots Magazine for October, 1803, p. 701, at which time he had only the first stanza and the first half of the third. He fills out the imperfect stanza nearly as in the copy which he afterwards printed:

But out an Willie's taen his knife, And did his brother slay.

Of the five other Scottish versions, all except #B# make the deadly wound to be the result of accident, and this is, in Motherwell's view, a point essential. The other reading, he says, is at variance with the rest of the story, and "sweeps away the deep impression this simple ballad would otherwise have made upon the feelings: for it is almost unnecessary to mention that its touching interest is made to centre in the boundless sorrow and cureless remorse of him who had been the unintentional cause of his brother's death, and in the solicitude which that high-minded and generous spirit expresses, even in the last agonies of nature, for the safety and fortunes of the truly wretched and unhappy survivor." But the generosity of the dying man is plainly greater if his brother has killed him in an outburst of passion; and what is gained this way will fully offset the loss, if any, which comes from the fratricide having cause for "cureless remorse" as well as boundless sorrow. Motherwell's criticism, in fact, is not quite intelligible. (Minstrelsy, p. 61.)

The variation in the story is the same as that between the English 'Cruel Brother' and the German 'Graf Friedrich:' in the former the bride is killed by her offended brother; in the latter it is the bridegroom's sword slipping from its sheath that inflicts the mortal hurt.

Motherwell was inclined to believe, and Kirkpatrick Sharpe was convinced, that this ballad was founded upon an event that happened near Edinburgh as late as 1589, that of one of the Somervilles having been killed by his brother's pistol accidentally going off. Sharpe afterward found a case of a boy of thirteen killing a young brother in anger at having his hair pulled. This most melancholy story, the particulars of which are given in the last edition of the Ballad Book, p. 130, note xix, dates nearly a hundred years later, 1682. Only the briefest mention need be made of these unusually gratuitous surmises.

Kirkland, in #D#, was probably suggested by the kirkyard of other versions, assisted, possibly, by a reminiscence of the Kirkley in 'Robin Hood's Death and Burial;' for it will be observed that stanzas 8, 9 of #D# come pretty near to those in which Robin Hood gives direction for his grave; #F# 9, 10, #B# 5, 6 less near.[402]

Cunningham has entitled a romance of his, upon the theme of 'The Two Brothers' (which, once more, he ventures to print nearly in the state in which he once had the pleasure of hearing it sung), 'Fair Annie of Kirkland:' Songs of Scotland, II, 16.

The very pathetic passage in which the dying youth directs that father, mother, and sister shall be kept in ignorance of his death, and then, feeling how vain the attempt to conceal the fact from his true-love will be, bids that she be informed that he is in his grave and will never come back, is too truly a touch of nature to be found only here. Something similar occurs in 'Mary Hamilton,' where, however, the circumstances are very different:

'And here's to the jolly sailor lad That sails upon the faeme! And let not my father nor mother get wit But that I shall come again.

'And here's to the jolly sailor lad That sails upon the sea! But let not my father nor mother get wit O the death that I maun dee.'

In a fine Norse ballad (see 'Brown Robyn's Confession,' further on) a man who is to be thrown overboard to save a ship takes his leave of the world with these words:

'If any of you should get back to land, And my foster-mother ask for me, Tell her I'm serving in the king's court, And living right merrily.

'If any of you should get back to land, And my true-love ask for me, Bid her to marry another man, For I am under the sea.'

A baron, who has been mortally wounded in a duel, gives this charge to his servant:

'Faites mes compliments à ma femme, Mais ne lui dites pas que j'ai été tué; Mais dites lui que je serai allé à Paris, Pour saluer le roi Louis.

'Dites que je serai allé à Paris, Pour saluer le roi Louis, Et que j'ai acheté un nouveau cheval, Le petit cœur de mon cheval était trop gai.'

(Le Seigneur de Rosmadec, Luzel, I, 368/369, 374/375.)

In like manner a dying klepht: "If our comrades ask about me, tell them not that I have died: say only that I have married in strange lands; have taken the flat stone for mother-in-law, the black earth for my wife, the black worms for brothers-in-law." Zambelios, p. 606, No 11, Fauriel, I, 51, Passow, p. 118, No 152; and again, Zambelios, p. 672, No 94, Passow, p. 113, No 146. In the Danish 'Elveskud,' Grundtvig, II, 115, No 47, B* 18, Ole would simply have the tragic truth kept from his bride:

'Hearken, Sir Ole, of mickle pride, How shall I answer thy young bride?'

'You must say I am gone to the wood, To prove horse and hounds, if they be good.'

Such questions and answers as we have in #D# 20, #E# 17, #F# 24, are of the commonest occurrence in popular poetry, and not unknown to the poetry of art. Ballads of the 'Edward' class end generally or always in this way: see p. 168. We have again the particular question and answer which occur here in 'Lizie Wan' and in one version of 'The Trooper and Fair Maid,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 158. The question may be: When will you come back? When shall you cease to love me? When shall we be married? etc.; and the answer: When apple-trees grow in the seas; when fishes fly and seas gang dry; when all streams run together; when all swift streams are still; when it snows roses and rains wine; when all grass is rue; when the nightingale sings on the sea and the cuckoo is heard in winter; when poplars bear cherries and oaks roses; when feathers sink and stones swim; when sand sown on a stone germinates, etc., etc. See Virgil, Ecl. i, 59-63; Ovid, Met. xiii, 324-27; Wolf, Ueber die Lais, p. 433; 'Svend Vonved,' Grundtvig, I, 240, No 18, #A#, #D#; Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, 'Lord Jamie Douglas,' I, 232 f, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. vii, Kinloch, Finlay, etc.; Pills to Purge Melancholy, V, 37; 'Der verwundete Knabe,' 'Die verwundete Dame,' Mittler, Nos 49-53, Erk's Liederhort, pp 111-115, Wunderhorn, IV, 358-63, Longard, p. 39, No 18, Pröhle, Welt. u. geist. Volkslieder, p. 12, No 6; Meinert, pp 28, 60, 73; Uhland, p. 127, No 65; Wunderhorn (1857), II, 223, Reifferscheid, p. 23, Liederhort, p. 345, Erk, Neue Sammlung, ii, 39, Kretzschmer, I, 143; Zuccalmaglio, pp 103, 153, 595; Peter, Volksthümliches aus Öst.-schlesien, I, 274; Ditfurth, II, 9, No 10; Fiedler, p. 187; Des Turcken Vassnachtspiel, Tieck's Deutsches Theater, I, 8; Uhland, Zur Geschichte der Dichtung, III, 216 ff; Tigri, Canti popolari toscani (1860), pp 230-242, Nos 820, 822, 823, 832, 836-40, 857, 858, 862, 868; Visconti, Saggio dei Canti p. della Provincia di Marritima e Campagna, p. 21, No 18; Nino, Saggio di Canti p. sabinesi, p. 28 f, p. 30 f; Pitrè, Saggi di Critica letteraria, p. 25; Braga, Cantos p. do Archipelago açoriano, p. 220; Möckesch, Romänische Dichtungen, p. 6 f, No 2; Passow, p. 273 f, Nos 387, 388; B. Schmidt, Griechische Märchen, etc., p. 154, No 10, and note, p. 253; Morosi, Studi sui Dialetti greci della Terra d'Otranto, p. 30, lxxv, p. 32, lxxix; Pellegrini, Canti p. dei Greci di Cargese, p. 21; De Rada, Rapsodie d'un Poema albanese, p. 29; Haupt u. Schmaler, Volkslieder der Wenden, I, 76, No 47, I, 182, No 158, I, 299, No 300; Altmann, Balalaika, Russische Volkslieder, p. 233, No 184; Golovatsky, Narodnyya Piesni galitzskoy i ugorskoy Rusi, II, 585, No 18, III, i, 12, No 9; Maximovitch, Sbornik ukrainskikh Pyesen, p. 7, No 1, p. 107, No 30; Dozon, Chansons p. bulgares, p. 283, No 57; Bodenstedt, Die poetische Ukraine, p. 46, No 14; Jordan, Ueber kleinrussische Volkspoesie, Blätter für lit. Unterhaltung, 1840, No 252, p. 1014 (Uhland); Rhesa, Ueber litthauische Volkspoesie, in Beiträge zur Kunde Preussens, I, 523; Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, pp 147, 149: etc.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 168; Afzelius, III, 7; Grimm, Drei altschottische Lieder, p. 5; Talvi, Charakteristik, p. 567; Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. L. der Vorzeit, p. 91. Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 4, translates Aytoun, I, 193.

Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 56, No 19.

1 There were twa brethren in the north, They went to the school thegither; The one unto the other said, Will you try a warsle afore?

2 They warsled up, they warsled down, Till Sir John fell to the ground, And there was a knife in Sir Willie's pouch, Gied him a deadlie wound.

3 'Oh brither dear, take me on your back, Carry me to yon burn clear, And wash the blood from off my wound, And it will bleed nae mair.'

4 He took him up upon his back, Carried him to yon burn clear, And washd the blood from off his wound, But aye it bled the mair.

5 'Oh brither dear, take me on your back, Carry me to yon kirk-yard, And dig a grave baith wide and deep, And lay my body there.'

6 He's taen him up upon his back, Carried him to yon kirk-yard, And dug a grave baith deep and wide, And laid his body there.

7 'But what will I say to my father dear, Gin he chance to say, Willie, whar's John?' 'Oh say that he's to England gone, To buy him a cask of wine.'

8 'And what will I say to my mother dear, Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?' 'Oh say that he's to England gone, To buy her a new silk gown.'

9 'And what will I say to my sister dear, Gin she chance to say, Willie, whar's John?' 'Oh say that he's to England gone, To buy her a wedding ring.'

10 'But what will I say to her you loe dear, Gin she cry, Why tarries my John?' 'Oh tell her I lie in Kirk-land fair, And home again will never come.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From Widow McCormick, January 19, 1825.

1 There was two little boys going to the school, And twa little boys they be, They met three brothers playing at the ba, And ladies dansing hey.

2 'It's whether will ye play at the ba, brither, Or else throw at the stone?' 'I am too little, I am too young, O brother let me alone.'

3 He pulled out a little penknife, That was baith sharp and sma, He gave his brother a deadly wound That was deep, long and sair.

4 He took the holland sark off his back, He tore it frae breast to gare, He laid it to the bloody wound, That still bled mair and mair.

5 'It's take me on your back, brother,' he says, 'And carry me to yon kirk-yard, And make me there a very fine grave, That will be long and large.

6 'Lay my bible at my head,' he says, 'My chaunter at my feet, My bow and arrows by my side, And soundly I will sleep.

7 'When you go home, brother,' he says, 'My father will ask for me; You may tell him I am in Saussif town, Learning my lesson free.

8 'When you go home, brother,' he says, 'My mother will ask for me; You may tell her I am in Sausaf town, And I'll come home merrily.

9 'When you go home, brother,' he says, 'Lady Margaret will ask for me; You may tell her I'm dead and in grave laid, And buried in Sausaff toun.'

10 She put the small pipes to her mouth, And she harped both far and near, Till she harped the small birds off the briers, And her true love out of the grave.

11 'What's this? what's this, lady Margaret?' he says, 'What's this you want of me?' 'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips, That's all I want of thee.'

12 'My lips they are so bitter,' he says, 'My breath it is so strong, If you get one kiss of my ruby lips, Your days will not be long.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 649. From the recitation of Mrs Cunningham, Ayr.

1 There were twa brithers at ae scule; As they were coming hame, Then said the ane until the other 'John, will ye throw the stane?'

2 'I will not throw the stane, brither, I will not play at the ba; But gin ye come to yonder wood I'll warsle you a fa.'

3 The firsten fa young Johnie got, It brought him to the ground; The wee pen-knife in Willie's pocket Gied him a deadly wound.

4 'Tak aff, tak aff my holland sark, And rive it frae gore to gore, And stap it in my bleeding wounds, They'll aiblins bleed noe more.'

5 He pouit aff his holland sark, And rave it frae gore to gore, And stapt it in his bleeding wounds, But ay they bled the more.

6 'O brither, tak me on your back, And bear me hence away, And carry me to Chester kirk, And lay me in the clay.'

7 'What will I say to your father, This night when I return?' 'Tell him I'm gane to Chester scule, And tell him no to murn.'

8 'What will I say to your mother, This nicht whan I gae hame?' 'She wishd afore I cam awa That I might neer gae hame.'

9 'What will I say to your true-love, This nicht when I gae hame?' 'Tell her I'm dead and in my grave, For her dear sake alane.'

10 He took him upon his back And bore him hence away, And carried him to Chester kirk, And laid him in the clay.

11 He laid him in the cauld cauld clay, And he cuirt him wi a stane, And he's awa to his fathers ha, Sae dowilie alane.

12 'You're welcome, dear son,' he said, 'You're welcome hame to me; But what's come o your brither John, That gade awa wi thee?'

13 'Oh he's awa to Chester scule, A scholar he'll return; He bade me tell his father dear About him no to murn.'

14 'You're welcome hame, dear son,' she said, 'You're welcome hame to me; But what's come o your brither John, That gade awa wi thee?'

15 'He bade me tell his mother dear, This nicht when I cam hame, Ye wisht before he gade awa, That he might neer return.'

16 Then next came up his true-love dear, And heavy was her moan; 'You're welcome hame, dear Will,' she said, 'But whare's your brither John?'

17 'O lady, cease your trouble now, O cease your heavy moan; He's dead and in the cauld cauld clay, For your dear sake alone.'

18 She ran distraught, she wept, she sicht, She wept the sma brids frae the tree, She wept the starns adoun frae the lift, She wept the fish out o the sea.

19 'O cease your weeping, my ain true-love, Ye but disturb my rest;' 'Is that my ain true lover John, The man that I loe best?'

20 ''T is naething but my ghaist,' he said, 'That's sent to comfort thee; O cease your weeping, my true-love, And 't will gie peace to me.'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of Mrs W. Arrott, of Aberbrothick.

1 'O will ye gae to the school, brother? Or will ye gae to the ba? Or will ye gae to the wood a-warslin, To see whilk o's maun fa?'

2 'It's I winna gae to the school, brother, Nor will I gae to the ba; But I will gae to the wood a-warslin, And it is you maun fa.'

3 They warstled up, they warstled down, The lee-lang simmer's day; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

4 'O lift me up upon your back, Tak me to yon wall fair; You'll wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer, And syne they'll bleed nae mair.

5 'And ye'll tak aff my hollin sark, And riv 't frae gair to gair; Ye'll stap it in my bluidy wounds, And syne they'll bleed nae mair.'

6 He's liftit his brother upon his back, Taen him to yon wall fair; He's washed his bluidy wounds oer and oer, But ay they bled mair and mair.

7 And he's taen aff his hollin sark, And riven 't frae gair to gair; He's stappit it in his bluidy wounds, But ay they bled mair and mair.

8 'Ye'll lift me up upon your back, Tak me to Kirkland fair; Ye'll mak my greaf baith braid and lang, And lay my body there.

9 'Ye'll lay my arrows at my head, My bent bow at my feet, My sword and buckler at my side, As I was wont to sleep.

10 'Whan ye gae hame to your father, He'll speer for his son John: Say, ye left him into Kirkland fair, Learning the school alone.

11 'When ye gae hame to my sister, She'll speer for her brother John: Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair, The green grass growin aboon.

12 'Whan ye gae hame to my true-love, She'll speer for her lord John: Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair, But hame ye fear he'll never come.'

13 He's gane hame to his father; He speered for his son John: 'It's I left him into Kirkland fair, Learning the school alone.'

14 And whan he gaed hame to his sister, She speered for her brother John: 'It's I left him into Kirkland fair, The green grass growin aboon.'

15 And whan he gaed home to his true-love, She speerd for her lord John: 'It's I left him into Kirkland fair, And hame I fear he'll never come.'

16 'But whaten bluid's that on your sword, Willie? Sweet Willie, tell to me;' 'O it is the bluid o my grey hounds, They wadna rin for me.'

17 'It's nae the bluid o your hounds, Willie, Their bluid was never so red; But it is the bluid o my true-love, That ye hae slain indeed.'

18 That fair may wept, that fair may mournd, That fair may mournd and pin'd: 'When every lady looks for her love, I neer need look for mine.'

19 'O whaten a death will ye die, Willie? Now, Willie, tell to me;' 'Ye'll put me in a bottomless boat, And I'll gae sail the sea.'

20 'Whan will ye come hame again, Willie? Now, Willie, tell to me;' 'Whan the sun and moon dances on the green, And that will never be.'

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 60.

1 There were twa brothers at the scule, And when they got awa, 'It's will ye play at the stane-chucking, Or will ye play at the ba, Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, And there we'll warsel a fa?'

2 'I winna play at the stane-chucking, Nor will I play at the ba; But I'll gae up to yon bonnie green hill, And there we'll warsel a fa.'

3 They warsled up, they warsled down, Till John fell to the ground; A dirk fell out of William's pouch, And gave John a deadly wound.

4 'O lift me upon your back, Take me to yon well fair, And wash my bluidy wounds oer and oer, And they'll neer bleed nae mair.'

5 He's lifted his brother upon his back, Taen him to yon well fair; He's wash'd his bluidy wounds oer and oer, But they bleed ay mair and mair.

6 'Tak ye aff my holland sark, And rive it gair by gair, And row it in my bluidy wounds, And they'll neer bleed nae mair.'

7 He's taken aff his holland sark, And torn it gair by gair; He's rowit it in his bluidy wounds, But they bleed ay mair and mair.

8 'Tak now aff my green cleiding, And row me saftly in, And tak me up to yon kirk-style, Whare the grass grows fair and green.'

9 He's taken aff the green cleiding, And rowed him saftly in; He's laid him down by yon kirk-style, Whare the grass grows fair and green.

10 'What will ye say to your father dear, When ye gae hame at een?' 'I'll say ye're lying at yon kirk-style, Whare the grass grows fair and green.'

11 'O no, O no, my brother dear, O you must not say so; But say that I'm gane to a foreign land, Whare nae man does me know.'

12 When he sat in his father's chair, He grew baith pale and wan: 'O what blude's that upon your brow? O dear son, tell to me;' 'It is the blude o my gude gray steed, He wadna ride wi me.'

13 'O thy steed's blude was neer sae red, Nor eer sae dear to me: O what blude's this upon your cheek? O dear son, tell to me;' 'It is the blude of my greyhound, He wadna hunt for me.'

14 'O thy hound's blude was neer sae red, Nor eer sae dear to me: O what blude's this upon your hand? O dear son, tell to me;' 'It is the blude of my gay goss-hawk, He wadna flee for me.'

15 'O thy hawk's blude was neer sae red, Nor eer sae dear to me: O what blude's this upon your dirk? Dear Willie, tell to me;' 'It is the blude of my ae brother, O dule and wae is me!'

16 'O what will ye say to your father? Dear Willie, tell to me;' 'I'll saddle my steed, and awa I'll ride, To dwell in some far countrie.'

17 'O when will ye come hame again? Dear Willie, tell to me;' 'When sun and mune leap on yon hill, And that will never be.'

18 She turnd hersel right round about, And her heart burst into three: 'My ae best son is deid and gane, And my tother ane I'll neer see.'

Buchan's MSS, I, 57; Motherwell's MS., p. 662.

1 There were twa brothers in the east, Went to the school o Ayr; The one unto the other did say, Come let us wrestle here.

2 They wrestled up and wrestled down, Till John fell to the ground; There being a knife in Willie's pocket, Gae John his deadly wound.

3 'O is it for my gold, brother? Or for my white monie? Or is it for my lands sae braid, That ye hae killed me?'

4 'It is not for your gold,' he said, 'Nor for your white monie; It is by the hand o accident That I hae killed thee.'

5 'Ye'll take the shirt that's on my back, Rive it frae gair to gair, And try to stop my bloody wounds, For they bleed wonderous sair.'

6 He's taen the shirt was on his back, Reave it frae gare to gare, And tried to stop his bleeding wounds, But still they bled the mair.

7 'Ye'll take me up upon your back, Carry me to yon water clear, And try to stop my bloody wounds, For they run wonderous sair.'

8 He's taen him up upon his back, Carried him to yon water clear, And tried to stop his bleeding wounds, But still they bled the mair.

9 'Ye'll take me up upon your back, Carry me to yon church-yard; Ye'll dig a grave baith wide and deep, And then ye'll lay me there.

10 'Ye'll put a head-stane at my head, Another at my feet, Likewise a sod on my breast-bane, The souner I may sleep.

11 'Whenever my father asks of thee, Saying, What's become of John? Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea, For a cargo of good wine.

12 'And when my sweetheart asks of thee, Saying, What's become of John? Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea, To buy a wedding gown.

13 'And when my sister asks of thee, Saying, William, where is John? Ye'll tell frae me, I'm ower the sea, To learn some merry sang.

14 'And when my mother asks of thee, Saying, William, where is John? Tell her I'm buried in green Fordland, The grass growing ower my tomb.'

15 He's taen him up upon his back, Carried him to yon church-yard, And dug a grave baith wide and deep, And he was buried there.

16 He laid a head-stane at his head, Another at his feet, And laid a green sod on his breast, The souner he might sleep.

17 His father asked when he came hame, Saying, 'William, where is John?' Then John said, 'He is ower the sea, To bring you hame some wine.'

18 'What blood is this upon you, William, And looks sae red on thee?' 'It is the blood o my grey-hound, He woudna run for me.'

19 'O that's nae like your grey-hound's blude, William, that I do see; I fear it is your own brother's blood That looks sae red on thee.'

20 'That is not my own brother's blude, Father, that ye do see; It is the blood o my good grey steed, He woudna carry me.'

21 'O that is nae your grey steed's blude, William, that I do see; It is the blood o your brother John, That looks sae red on thee.'

22 'It's nae the blood o my brother John, Father, that ye do see; It is the blude o my good grey hawk, Because he woudna flee.'

23 'O that is nae your grey hawk's blood, William, that I do see:' 'Well, it's the blude o my brother, This country I maun flee.'

24 'O when will ye come back again, My dear son, tell to me?' 'When sun and moon gae three times round, And this will never be.'

25 'Ohon, alas! now William, my son, This is bad news to me; Your brother's death I'll aye bewail, And the absence o thee.'

#a.# Taken down lately from the singing of little girls in South Boston. #b.# Two stanzas, from a child in New York, 1880. Communicated by Mr W. W. Newell.

1 As John and William were coming home one day, One Saturday afternoon, Says John to William, Come and try a fight, Or will you throw a stone? Or will you come down to yonder, yonder town Where the maids are all playing ball, ball, ball, Where the maids are all playing ball?

2 Says William to John, I will not try a fight, Nor will I throw a stone, Nor will I come down to yonder town, Where the maids are all playing ball.

3 So John took out of his pocket A knife both long and sharp, And stuck it through his brother's heart, And the blood came pouring down.

4 Says John to William, Take off thy shirt, And tear it from gore to gore, And wrap it round your bleeding heart, And the blood will pour no more.'

5 So John took off his shirt, And tore it from gore to gore, And wrapped it round his bleeding heart, And the blood came pouring more.

6 'What shall I tell your dear father, When I go home to-night?' 'You'll tell him I'm dead and in my grave, For the truth must be told.'

7 'What shall I tell your dear mother, When I go home to-night?' 'You'll tell her I'm dead and in my grave, For the truth must be told.'

8 'How came this blood upon your knife? My son, come tell to me;' 'It is the blood of a rabbit I have killed, O mother, pardon me.'

9 'The blood of a rabbit couldnt be so pure, My son, come tell to me:' 'It is the blood of a squirrel I have killed, O mother, pardon me.'

10 'The blood of a squirrel couldnt be so pure, My son, come tell to me:' 'It is the blood of a brother I have killed, O mother, pardon me.'

* * * * *

#A.#

1^2. Var. to the chase.

10^3. "As to Kirk-land, my copy has only kirk-yard, till the last verse, where land has been added from conjecture." Sharpe's Ballad-Book, p. 56.

#D.#

1^3, 2^3. o Warslin.

#F.#

13^3. tell me free.

Motherwell has Scotticised the spelling.

9^4. Motherwell has leave.

11^1, 12^1, 13^1, 14^1. Motherwell, speirs at thee.

23^3. Motherwell has my ae brother.

#G. b.#

1. Jack and William was gone to school, One fine afternoon; Jack says to William, Will you try a fight? Do not throw no stones.

2. Jack took out his little penknife, The end of it was sharp, He stuck it through his brother's heart, And the blood was teeming down.

[401] Mr Newell says: "I have heard it sung at a picnic, by a whole carful of little girls. The melody is pretty. These children were of the poorest class."

[402] "The house of Inchmurry, formerly called Kirkland, was built of old by the abbot of Holyrood-house for his accommodation when he came to that country, and was formerly the minister's manse." Statistical Account of Scotland, XIII, 506, cited by Jamieson, I, 62. There are still three or four Kirklands in Scotland and the north of England.

THE BONNY HIND

'The Bonny Hyn,' Herd's MSS, I, 224; II, fol. 65, fol. 83.

This piece is transcribed three times in Herd's manuscripts, with a note prefixed in each instance that it was copied from the mouth of a milkmaid in 1771. An endorsement to the same effect on the last transcript gives the date as 1787, no doubt by mistake. Scott had only MS. I in his hands, which accidentally omits two stanzas (13, 14), and he printed this defective copy with the omission of still another (4): Minstrelsy, II, 298, ed. 1802; III, 309, ed. 1833. Motherwell supplies these omitted stanzas, almost in Herd's very words, in the Introduction to his collection, p. lxxxiv, note 99. He remarks, p. 189, that tales of this kind abound in the traditionary poetry of Scotland. The two ballads which follow, Nos 51, 52, are of the same general description.

In the first half of the story 'The Bonny Hind' comes very near to the fine Scandinavian ballad of 'Margaret,' as yet known to be preserved only in Färöe and Icelandic. The conclusions differ altogether. Margaret in the Färöe ballad, 'Margretu kvæði,' Færöiske Kvæder, Hammershaimb, No 18, is the only daughter of the Norwegian king Magnus, and has been put in a convent. After two or three months she longs to see her father's house again. On her way thither she is assaulted by a young noble with extreme violence: to whom she says,

Now you have torn off all my clothes, and done me sin and shame, I beg you, before God most high, tell me what is your name.

Magnus, he answers, is his father, and Gertrude his mother, and he himself is Olaf, and was brought up in the woods. By this she recognizes that he is her own brother. Olaf begs her to go back to the convent, and say nothing, bearing her sorrow as she may. This she does. But every autumn the king makes a feast, and invites to it all the nuns in the cloister. Margaret is missed, and asked for. Is she sick or dead? Why does she not come to the feast, like other merry dames? The wicked abbess answers, Your daughter is neither sick nor dead; she goes with child, like other merry dames. The king rides off to the cloister, encounters his daughter, and demands who is the father of her child. She replies that she will sooner die than tell. The king leaves her in wrath, but returns presently, resolved to burn the convent, and Margaret in it, Olaf comes from the wood, tired and weary, sees the cloister burning, and quenches the flames with his heart's blood.

The Icelandic ballad, 'Margrètar kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, Grundtvig and Sigurðsson, No 14, has the same story. It is, however, the man who brings on the discovery by asking the woman's parentage. The editors inform us that the same subject is treated in an unprinted Icelandic ballad, less popular as to style and stanza, in the Arne Magnussen collection, 154.

The story of Kullervo, incorporated in what is called the national epic of the Finns, the Kalevala, has striking resemblances with the ballads of the Bonny Hind class. While returning home in his sledge from a somewhat distant errand, Kullervo met three times a girl who was travelling on snow-shoes, and invited her to get in with him. She rejected his invitation with fierceness, and the third time he pulled her into the sledge by force. She angrily bade him let her go, or she would dash the sledge to pieces; but he won her over by showing her rich things. The next morning she asked what was his race and family; for it seemed to her that he must come of a great line. "No," he said, "neither of great nor small. I am Kalervo's unhappy son. Tell me of what stock art thou." "Of neither great nor small," she answered. "I am Kalervo's unhappy daughter." She was, in fact, a long-lost sister of Kullervo's, who, when a child, had gone to the wood for berries, and had never found her way home. She had wept the first day and the second; the third and fourth, the fifth and sixth, she had tried every way to kill herself. She broke out in heart-piercing lamentations:

'O that I had died then, wretched! O that I had perished, weak one! Had not lived to hear these horrors, Had not lived this shame to suffer!'

So saying she sprang from the sledge into the river, and found relief under the waters.

Kullervo, mad with anguish, went home to his mother, and told her what had happened. He asked only how he might die,--by wolf or bear, by whale or sea-pike. His mother vainly sought to soothe him. He consented to live only till the wrongs of his parents had been revenged. His mother tried to dissuade him even from seeking a hero's death in fight.

'If thou die in battle, tell me, What protection shall remain then For the old age of thy father?' 'Let him die in any alley, Lay his life down in the house-yard.' 'What protection shall remain then For the old age of thy mother?' 'Let her die on any straw-truss; Let her stifle in the stable.' 'Who shall then be left thy brother, Who stand by him in mischances?' 'Let him pine away in the forest, Let him drop down on the common.' 'Who shall then be left thy sister, Who stand by her in mischances?' 'When she goes to the well for water, Or to the washing, let her stumble.'

Kullervo had his fill of revenge. Meanwhile father, brother, sister, and mother died, and he came back to his home to find it empty and cold. A voice from his mother's grave seemed to direct him to go to the wood for food: obeying it, he came again to the polluted spot, where grass or flowers would not grow any more. He asked his sword would it like to feed on guilty flesh and drink wicked blood. The sword said, Why should I not like to feed on guilty flesh and drink wicked blood, I that feed on the flesh of the good and drink the blood of the sinless? Kullervo set the sword hilt in the earth, and threw himself on the point. (Kalewala, übertragen von Schiefner, runes 35, 36.)

The dialogue between Kullervo and his mother is very like a passage in another Finnish rune, 'Werinen Pojka,' 'The Bloody Son,' Schröter, Finnische Runen, 124, ed. 1819; 150, ed. 1834. This last is a form of the ballad known in Scottish as 'Edward,' No 13, or of 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49. Something similar is found in 'Lizie Wan,' No 51.

The passage 5-7 is a commonplace that may be expected to recur under the same or analogous circumstances, as it does in 'Tam Lin,' #D#, 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter,' 'The Maid and the Magpie,' and in one version of 'The Broom of Cowdenknows.' These are much less serious ballads, and the tone of stanza 5, which so ill befits the distressful situation, is perhaps owing to that stanza's having been transferred from some copy of one of these. It might well change places with this, from 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter,' #A#:

Sith you have had your will of me, And put me to open shame, Now, if you are a courteous knight, Tell me what is your name.

Much better with the solemn adjuration in the Färöe 'Margaret,' or even this in 'Ebbe Galt,' Danske Viser, No 63, 8:

Now you have had your will of me, To both of us small gain, By the God that is above all things, I beg you tell your name.

Herd's MSS, II, fol. 65. "Copied from the mouth of a milkmaid, by W. L. in 1771."

1 O may she comes, and may she goes, Down by yon gardens green, And there she spied a gallant squire As squire had ever been.

2 And may she comes, and may she goes, Down by yon hollin tree, And there she spied a brisk young squire, And a brisk young squire was he.

3 'Give me your green manteel, fair maid, Give me your maidenhead; Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel, Gi me your maidenhead.'

4 He has taen her by the milk-white hand, And softly laid her down, And when he's lifted her up again Given her a silver kaim.

5 'Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir, Perhaps there may be nane; But if you be a courtier, You'll tell to me your name.'

6 'I am nae courtier, fair maid, But new come frae the sea; I am nae courtier, fair maid, But when I court 'ith thee.

7 'They call me Jack when I'm abroad, Sometimes they call me John; But when I'm in my father's bower Jock Randal is my name.'

8 'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad, Sae loud's I hear ye lee! Ffor I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter, He has nae mair nor me.'

9 'Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may, Sae loud's I hear ye lee! For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son, Just now come oer the sea.'

10 She's putten her hand down by her spare, And out she's taen a knife, And she has putn't in her heart's bluid, And taen away her life.

11 And he's taen up his bonny sister, With the big tear in his een, And he has buried his bonny sister Amang the hollins green.

12 And syne he's hyed him oer the dale, His father dear to see: 'Sing O and O for my bonny hind, Beneath yon hollin tree!'

13 'What needs you care for your bonny hyn? For it you needna care; There's aught score hyns in yonder park, And five score hyns to spare.

14 'Four score of them are siller-shod, Of thae ye may get three;' 'But O and O for my bonny hyn, Beneath yon hollin tree!'

15 'What needs you care for your bonny hyn? For it you need na care; Take you the best, gi me the warst, Since plenty is to spare.'

16 'I care na for your hyns, my lord, I care na for your fee; But O and O for my bonny hyn, Beneath the hollin tree!'

17 'O were ye at your sister's bower, Your sister fair to see, Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn Beneath the hollin tree.'

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

'The Bonny Heyn,' I, 224.

3^2. Should be ~It's not for you a weed~. Motherwell.

4^3. The third copy omits ~when~.

4^{3, 4}. he lifted, He gae her. Motherwell.

5^{1, 2}. The second copy has ~they~.

6^4. All have ~courteth~. Scott prints ~wi' thee, with thee~.

7^3. The third copy has ~tower~.

10^{3, 4}. She's soakt it in her red heart's blood, And twin'd herself of life. Motherwell.

13, 14. The first copy omits these stanzas.

LIZIE WAN

#A. a.# 'Lizie Wan,' Herd's MSS, I, 151; II, 78. #b.# Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.

#B.# 'Rosie Ann,' Motherwell's MS., p. 398.

#A#, first printed in Herd's Scottish Songs, ed. 1776, is here given from his manuscript copy. #B# is now printed for the first time.

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og Skotske Folkeviser, No 50, who subjoins a Danish ballad, 'Liden Ellen og hendes Broder,' of similar character. Of this the editor had three versions, differing but little, and all of slight poetical value, and he prints one which was committed to writing some sixty or seventy years ago, with some readings from the others. Liden Jensen, having killed Liden Ellen in a wood, pretends to his mother that she has gone off with some knights. He is betrayed by blood on his clothes, confesses the truth, and is condemned to be burned. 'Herr Axel,' Arwidsson's Swedish collection, No 46, I, 308, under similar circumstances, kills Stolts Kirstin's two children, is asked by his mother why his hands are bloody, pretends to have slain a hind in the wood, and has his head struck off by order of his father.

'Herr Peder og hans Söster,' an unpublished Danish ballad, of which Grundtvig obtained a single traditional version, has also a slight resemblance to 'Lizie Wan.' Kirsten invites Sir Peter to her bed. He declines for various reasons, which she refutes. She discovers him to be her brother by her needle-work in his shirt. He draws his knife and stabs her. "This was also a pitiful sight, the twin children playing in the mother's bosom." Compare Kristensen, II, No 74 #A#, #D#, #E#, at the end.

The conclusion, #A# 11-12, #B# 10-17, resembles that of 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49, but is poetically much inferior.

Herd's MSS, I, 151; stanzas 1-6, II, p. 78. Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 91.

1 Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door, Weeping and making a mane, And by there came her father dear: 'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'

2 'I ail, and I ail, dear father,' she said, 'And I'll tell you a reason for why; There is a child between my twa sides, Between my dear billy and I.'

3 Now Lizie Wan sits at her father's bower-door, Sighing and making a mane, And by there came her brother dear: 'What ails thee, Lizie Wan?'

4 'I ail, I ail, dear brither,' she said, 'And I'll tell you a reason for why; There is a child between my twa sides, Between you, dear billy, and I.'

5 'And hast thou tald father and mother o that? And hast thou tald sae o me?' And he has drawn his gude braid sword, That hang down by his knee.

6 And he has cutted aff Lizie Wan's head, And her fair body in three, And he's awa to his mothers bower, And sair aghast was he.

7 'What ails thee, what ails thee, Geordy Wan? What ails thee sae fast to rin? For I see by thy ill colour Some fallow's deed thou hast done.'

8 'Some fallow's deed I have done, mother, And I pray you pardon me; For I've cutted aff my greyhound's head; He wadna rin for me.'

9 'Thy greyhound's bluid was never sae red, O my son Geordy Wan! For I see by thy ill colour Some fallow's deed thou hast done.'

10 'Some fallow's deed I hae done, mother, And I pray you pardon me; For I hae cutted aff Lizie Wan's head And her fair body in three.'

11 'O what wilt thou do when thy father comes hame, O my son Geordy Wan?' 'I'll set my foot in a bottomless boat, And swim to the sea-ground.'

12 'And when will thou come hame again, O my son Geordy Wan?' 'The sun and the moon shall dance on the green That night when I come hame.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 398. From the recitation of Mrs Storie, Lochwinnich.

1 Rosie she sat in her simmer bower, Greitin and making grit mane, When down by cam her father, saying, What ails thee Rosie Ann?

2 'A deal, a deal, dear father,' she said, 'Great reason hae I to mane, For there lyes a little babe in my side, Between me and my brither John.'

3 Rosie she sat in her simmer bower, Weeping and making great mane, And wha cam doun but her mither dear, Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

4 'A deal, a deal, dear mither,' she said, 'Great reason hae I to mane, For there lyes a little babe in my side, Between me and my brither John.'

5 Rosie she sat in her simmer bower, Greiting and making great mane, And wha came doun but her sister dear, Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

6 'A deal, a deal, dear sister,' she said, 'Great reason hae I to mane, For there lyes a little babe in my side, Between me and my brither John.'

7 Rosie she sat in her simmer bower, Weeping and making great mane, And wha cam doun but her fause, fause brither, Saying, What ails thee, Rosie Ann?

8 'A deal, a deal, dear brither,' she said, 'Great reason hae I to cry, For there lyes a little babe in my side, Between yoursell and I.'

9 'Weel ye hae tauld father, and ye hae tauld mither, And ye hae tauld sister, a' three;' Syne he pulled out his wee penknife, And he cut her fair bodie in three.

10 'O what blude is that on the point o your knife, Dear son, come tell to me?' 'It is my horse's, that I did kill, Dear mother and fair ladie.'

11 'The blude o your horse was neer sae red, Dear son, come tell to me:' 'It is my grandfather's, that I hae killed, Dear mother and fair ladie.'

12 'The blude o your grandfather was neer sae fresh, Dear son, come tell to me:' 'It is my sister's, that I did kill, Dear mother and fair ladie.'

13 'What will ye do when your father comes hame, Dear son, come tell to me?' 'I'll set my foot on yon shipboard, And I hope she'll sail wi me.'

14 'What will ye do wi your bonny bonny young wife, Dear son, come tell to me?' 'I'll set her foot on some other ship, And I hope she'll follow me.'

15 'And what will ye do wi your wee son, Dear son, come tell to me?' 'I'll leave him wi you, my dear mother, To keep in remembrance of me.'

16 'What will ye do wi your houses and lands, Dear son, come tell to me?' 'I'll leave them wi you, my dear mother, To keep my own babie.'

17 'And whan will you return again, Dear son, come tell to me?' 'When the sun and the mune meet on yon hill, And I hope that'll neer be.'

* * * * *

#B.#

Written without division into stanzas.

THE KING'S DOCHTER LADY JEAN

#A. a.# 'The King's Dochter Lady Jean,' Motherwell's MS., p. 657. #b.# 'Lady Jean,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi.

#B.# Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189 f.

#C.# 'Castle Ha's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 241.

#D.# 'Bold Burnet's Daughter.' #a.# Buchan's MSS, I, 120. #b.# The same, II, 141.

#B# is the ballad referred to, and partly cited, in Motherwell's preface to 'The Broom blooms bonnie and says it is fair,' Minstrelsy, p. 189. This copy has been extremely injured by tradition; so much so as not to be intelligible in places except by comparison with #A#. The act described in stanza 9 should be done by the king's daughter's own hand; stanza 12 should be addressed by her to her sister; stanza 13 is composed of fragments of two. #C# and #D# have suffered worse, for they have been corrupted and vulgarized.

At the beginning there is resemblance to 'Tam Lin' and to 'Hind Etin.'

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 657. From the recitation of Mrs Storie, Lochwinnich. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxi, No XXIII, one stanza.

1 The king's young dochter was sitting in her window, Sewing at her silken seam; She lookt out o the bow-window, And she saw the leaves growing green, my luve, And she saw the leaves growing green.

2 She stuck her needle into her sleeve, Her seam down by her tae, And she is awa to the merrie green-wood, To pu the nit and slae.

3 She hadna pu't a nit at a', A nit but scarcely three, Till out and spak a braw young man, Saying, How daur ye bow the tree?

4 'It's I will pu the nit,' she said, 'And I will bow the tree, And I will come to the merrie green wud, And na ax leive o thee.'

5 He took her by the middle sae sma, And laid her on the gerss sae green, And he has taen his will o her, And he loot her up agen.

6 'Now syn ye hae got your will o me, Pray tell to me your name; For I am the king's young dochter,' she said, 'And this nicht I daurna gang hame.'

7 'Gif ye be the king's young dochter,' he said, 'I am his auldest son; I wish I had died on some frem isle, And never had come hame!

8 'The first time I came hame, Jeanie, Thou was na here nor born; I wish my pretty ship had sunk, And I had been forlorn!

9 'The neist time I came hame, Jeanie, Thou was sittin on the nourice knee; And I wish my pretty ship had sunk, And I had never seen thee!

10 'And the neist time I came hame, Jeanie, I met thee here alane; I wish my pretty ship had sunk, And I had neer come hame!'

11 She put her hand down by her side, And doun into her spare, And she pou't out a wee pen-knife, And she wounded hersell fu sair.

12 Hooly, hooly rase she up, And hooly she gade hame, Until she came to her father's parlour, And there she did sick and mane.

13 'O sister, sister, mak my bed, O the clean sheets and strae, O sister, sister, mak my bed, Down in the parlour below.'

14 Her father he came tripping down the stair, His steps they were fu slow; 'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' he said, 'Ye're lying far ower low.'

15 'O late yestreen, as I came hame, Down by yon castil wa, O heavy, heavy was the stane That on my briest did fa!'

16 Her mother she came tripping doun the stair, Her steps they were fu slow; 'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said, 'Ye're lying far ower low.'

17 'O late yestreen, as I cam hame, Down by yon castil wa, O heavy, heavy was the stane That on my breast did fa!'

18 Her sister came tripping doun the stair, Her steps they were fu slow; 'I think, I think, Lady Jean,' she said, 'Ye're lying far ower low.'

19 'O late yestreen, as I cam hame, Doun by yon castil wa, O heavy, heavy was the stane That on my breast did fa!'

20 Her brither he cam trippin doun the stair, His steps they were fu slow; He sank into his sister's arms, And they died as white as snaw.

Motherwell's MS., p. 275; the first six lines in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 189. From Margery Johnston.

1 Lady Margaret sits in her bow-window, Sewing her silken seam; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

2 She's drapt the thimble at her tae, And her scissars at her heel, And she's awa to the merry green-wood, To see the leaves grow green.

3 She had scarsely bowed a branch, Or plucked a nut frae the tree, Till up and starts a fair young man, And a fair young man was he.

4 'How dare ye shake the leaves?' he said, 'How dare ye break the tree? How dare ye pluck the nuts,' he said, 'Without the leave of me?'

5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'Oh I know the merry green wood's my ain, And I'll ask the leave of nane.'

6 He gript her by the middle sae sma, He gently sat her down, While the grass grew up on every side, And the apple trees hang down.

7 She says, Young man, what is your name? For ye've brought me to meikle shame; For I am the king's youngest daughter, And how shall I gae hame?

8 'If you're the king's youngest daughter, It's I'm his auldest son, And heavy heavy is the deed, sister, That you and I have done.'

9 He had a penknife in his hand, Hang low down by his gair, And between the long rib and the short one He woundit her deep and sair.

10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And fast and fast her ruddy bright blood Fell drapping on the ground.

11 She took the glove off her right hand, And slowly slipt it in the wound, And slowly has she risen up, And slowly slipped home.

* * * * * * *

12 'O sister dear, when thou gaes hame Unto thy father's ha, It's make my bed baith braid and lang, Wi the sheets as white as snaw.'

* * * * * * *

13 'When I came by the high church-yard Heavy was the stain that bruised my heel, ... that bruised my heart, I'm afraid it shall neer heal.'

* * * * * * *

Buchan's Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, I, 241.

1 As Annie sat into her bower, A thought came in her head, That she would gang to gude greenwood, Across the flowery mead.

2 She hadna pu'd a flower, a flower, Nor broken a branch but twa, Till by it came a gentle squire, Says, Lady, come awa.

3 There's nane that comes to gude greenwood But pays to me a tein, And I maun hae your maidenhead, Or than your mantle green.

4 'My mantle's o the finest silk, Anither I can spin; But gin you take my maidenhead, The like I'll never fin.'

5 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve, There laid her low in gude greenwood, And at her spierd nae leave.

6 When he had got his wills o her, His wills as he had taen, She said, If you rightly knew my birth, Ye'd better letten alane.

7 'Is your father a lord o might? Or baron o high degree? Or what race are ye sprung frae, That I should lat ye be?'

8 'O I am Castle Ha's daughter, O birth and high degree, And if he knows what ye hae done, He'll hang you on a tree.'

9 'If ye be Castle Ha's daughter, This day I am undone; If ye be Castle Ha's daughter, I am his only son.'

10 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jelly hind squire, Sae loud as I hear you lie, Castle Ha, he has but ae dear son, And he is far beyond the sea.'

11 'O I am Castle Ha's dear son, A word I dinna lie; Yes, I am Castle Ha's dear son, And new come oer the sea.

12 ''Twas yesterday, that fatal day, That I did cross the faem; I wish my bonny ship had sunk, And I had neer come hame.'

13 Then dowie, dowie, raise she up, And dowie came she hame, And stripped aff her silk mantle, And then to bed she's gane.

14 Then in it came her mother dear, And she steps in the fleer: 'Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here?'

15 'This morning fair, as I went out, Near by yon castle wa, Great and heavy was the stane That on my foot did fa.'

16 'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers, Towers, or mony a town? Will not these cure your bonny foot, Gar you gae hale and soun?'

17 'Ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers, And towers, and mony a town, But nought will cure my bonny foot, Gar me gang hale and soun.'

18 Then in it came her father dear, And he trips in the fleer: 'Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here?'

19 'This morning fair, as I went out, Near by yon castle wa, Great and heavy was the stane That on my foot did fa.'

20 'Hae I nae ha's, hae I nae bowers, And towers, and mony a town? Will not these cure your bonny foot, Gar you gang hale and soun?'

21 'O ye hae ha's, and ye hae bowers, And towers, and mony a town, But nought will cure my bonny foot, Gar me gang hale and soun.'

22 Then in it came her sister Grace; As she steps in the fleer, 'Win up, win up, now fair Annie, What makes your lying here?

23 'Win up, and see your ae brother, That's new come ower the sea;' 'Ohon, alas!' says fair Annie, 'He spake ower soon wi me.'

24 To her room her brother's gane, Stroked back her yellow hair, To her lips his ain did press, But words spake never mair.

#a.# Buchan's MSS, I, 120. #b.# The same, II, 141.

1 The lady's taen her mantle her middle about, Into the woods she's gane, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

2 She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood, O never a flower but ane, Till by he comes, an by he gangs, Says, Lady, lat alane.

3 For I am forester o this wood, And I hae power to pine Your mantle or your maidenhead, Which o the twa ye'll twine.

4 'My mantle is o gude green silk, Another I can card an spin; But gin ye tak my maidenhead, The like I'll never fin.'

5 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve, And laid her low at the foot o a tree, At her high kin spierd nae leave.

6 'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter, You might hae lat me be:' 'And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son, Then dear! how can this dee?'

7 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire, So loud's I hear you lie! Bold Burnet has but ae dear son, He's sailing on the sea.'

8 'Yesterday, about this same time, My bonny ship came to land; I wish she'd sunken in the sea, And never seen the strand!

9 'Heal well this deed on me, lady, Heal well this deed on me!' 'Although I would heal it neer sae well, Our God above does see.'

10 She's taen her mantle her middle about, And mourning went she hame, And a' the way she sighd full sair, Crying, Am I to blame!

11 Ben it came her father dear, Stout stepping on the flear: 'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet, And welcome your brother here.'

12 Up she's taen her milk-white hand, Streakd by his yellow hair, Then turnd about her bonny face, And word spake never mair.

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^2. fine silken.

1^3. She luikit out at her braw bower window.

#B.#

1^{1,2} and 2 are joined in the MS.

5^{1,4} joined with 4. 5^4. ~no leave of thee~, an emendation by Motherwell, for rhyme.

9^4. He struck: an emendation.

10^{3,4} are joined with 9.

13^3. That bruised by heart.

After 13 is written A stanza wanting.

#D.#

The first three stanzas are not properly divided in #a#, and in #b# the first fourteen lines not divided at all.

#a.#

11^2. An stepping.

7^1. ~kind squire~ in both copies.

#b.#

5^4. kin's.

9^1. Heal well, heal well on me, Lady Janet.

11^2. Stout stepping.

12^3. She turned.

YOUNG BEICHAN

#A.# 'Young Bicham,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13, c. 1783.

#B.# 'Young Brechin,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80, 1791.

#C.# 'Young Bekie.' #a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 11, c. 1783. #b.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.

#D.# 'Young Beachen,' Skene MSS, p. 70, 1802-1803.

#E.# 'Young Beichan and Susie Pye,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 117.

#F.# 'Susan Pye and Lord Beichan,' Pitcairn's MSS, III, 159.

#G.# Communicated by Mr Alex. Laing, of Newburgh-on-Tay.

#H.# 'Lord Beichan and Susie Pye,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.

#I.# Communicated by Mr David Loudon, Morham, Haddington.

#J.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 85.

#K.# Communicated by Mr David Loudon.

#L.# The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by George Cruikshank, 1839.

#M.# 'Young Bondwell,' Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J. H. Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.

#N.# 'Susan Py, or Young Bichen's Garland.' #a.# Falkirk, printed by T. Johnston, 1815. #b.# Stirling, M. Randall.

#A#, #B#, #D#, #F#, and the fragment #G# now appear for the first time in print, and the same is true of #I#, #J#, #K#, which are of less account. #C a# is here given according to the manuscript, without Jamieson's "collations." Of #E# and #C b# Jamieson says: This ballad and that which succeeds it are given from copies taken from Mrs Brown's recitation,[403] collated with two other copies procured from Scotland; one in MS.; another, very good, one printed for the stalls; a third, in the possession of the late Reverend Jonathan Boucher, of Epsom, taken from recitation in the north of England; and a fourth, about one third as long as the others, which the editor picked off an old wall in Piccadilly. #L#, the only English copy, was derived from the singing of a London vagrant. It is, says Dixon, the common English broadsheet "turned into the dialect of Cockaigne."[404] #M# was probably a broadside or stall copy, and is certainly of that quality, but preserves a very ancient traditional feature.

#D# and #M#, besides the name Linne, have in common a repetition of the song, a trait which we also find in one version of 'The Heir of Linne;'[405] see Dixon's Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 30, stanzas 2-6, Percy Society, vol. XVII.

In Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 68, it is remarked that #L#, "the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print," is one of the publications mentioned in one of Thackeray's catalogues of broadsides. The 'Bateman,' in Thackeray's list, is the title of an entirely different ballad, 'A Warning for Maidens, or Young Bateman,' reprinted from the Roxburghe collection by W. Chappell, III, 193.

"Young Beichan" is a favorite ballad, and most deservedly. There are beautiful repetitions of the story in the ballads of other nations, and it has secondary affinities with the extensive cycle of 'Hind Horn,' the parts of the principal actors in the one being inverted in the other.

The hero's name is mostly Beichan, with slight modifications like Bekie, #C#, Bicham, #A#, Brechin, #B#; in #L#, Bateman; in #M#, Bondwell. The heroine is Susan Pye in ten of the fourteen versions; Isbel in #C#; Essels, evidently a variety of Isbel, in #M#, which has peculiar relations with #C#; Sophia in #K#, #L#.

Beichan is London born in #A#, #D#, [#E#], #H#, #I#, #N#, English born in #B#; London city is his own, #A# 6, #B# 7, #F# 7, or he has a hall there, #I# 7, #N# 27 f.; half Northumberland belongs to him, #L#; he is lord of the towers of Line, #D# 9, #C# 5, #M# 5, which are in London, #D# 15 f, but are transferred by reciters to the water of Tay, #M# 29, and to Glasgow, or the vicinity, #H# 20. #H#, though it starts with calling him London born, speaks of him thereafter as a Scottish lord, 12, 18, 31.[406]

Beichan has an Englishman's desire strange countries for to see, #A#, #D#, [#E#], #I#, #L#, #N#. In #C#, #M# he goes abroad, Quentin Durward fashion, not to gratify his taste for travel, but to serve for meat and fee. #F# makes him go to the Holy Land, without specifying his motive, but we may fairly suppose it religious. #C# sends him no further than France, and #M# to an unnamed foreign land. He becomes the slave of a Moor or Turk, #A#, #B#, #D#, #H#, #I#, #L#, #N#, or a "Prudent," #F#, who treats him cruelly. They bore his shoulders and put in a "tree," and make him draw carts, like horse or ox, #A#, #B#, #D#, [#E#], #H#; draw plough and harrow, #F#, plough and cart, #N#; or tread the wine-press, #I#. This is because he is a staunch Christian, and would never bend a knee to Mahound or Termagant, #E#, or onie of their stocks, #H#, or gods, #I#. They cast him into a dungeon, where he can neither hear nor see, and he is nigh perishing with hunger. This, also, is done in #H# 5, on account of his perseverance in Christianity; but in #C#, #M# he is imprisoned for falling in love with the king's daughter, or other lovely may.

From his prison Beichan makes his moan (not to a stock or a stone, but to the Queen of Heaven, #D# 4). His hounds go masterless, his hawks flee from tree to tree, his younger brother will heir his lands, and he shall never see home again, #E#, #H#. If a lady [earl] would borrow him, he would run at her stirrup; if a widow [auld wife] would borrow him, he would become her son; and if a maid would borrow him, he would wed her with a ring, #C#, #D#, #M#, #B#.[407] The only daughter of the Moor, Turk, or king (of a 'Savoyen,' #B# 5, perhaps a corruption of Saracen), already interested in the captive, or immediately becoming so upon hearing Beichan's song, asks him if he has lands and means at home to maintain a lady that should set him free, and is told that he has ample estates, all of which he would bestow on such a lady, #A#, #B#, #E#, #F#, #H#, #L#, #N#. She steals the keys and delivers the prisoner, #C#, #D#, #E#, #I#, #J#, #L#, #M#, #N#; refreshes him with bread and wine [wine], #A#, #D#, #E#, #F#, #J# 4, #K# 3, #B#, #H#, #L#; supplies him with money, #C# 9, #H# 15, #M# 12, #N# 14, and with a ship, #F# 9, #H# 18, #L# 9; to which #C#, #M# add a horse and hounds [and hawks, #M#]. She bids him mind on the lady's love that freed him out of pine, #A# 8, #D# 12, [#E# 13], #M# 14, #N# 15, and in #E# 16 breaks a ring from her finger, and gives half of it to Beichan to assist his memory. There is a solemn vow, or at least a clear understanding, that they are to marry within seven years, #A# 9, #B# 9, #E# 12 f., #H# 17, 19, #L# 8, #N# 11 [three years, #C# 11].

When seven years are at an end, or even before, Susan Pye feels a longing, or a misgiving, which impels her to go in search of the object of her affections, and she sets her foot on good shipboard, and turns her back on her own country, #A# 10, #B# 10, #D# 15, #L# 10, #N# 23.[408] #C# and #M# preserve here a highly important feature which is wanting in the other versions. Isbel, or Essels, is roused from her sleep by the Billy Blin, #C# 14, by a woman in green, a fairy, #M# 15, who makes known to her that that very day, or the morn, is Bekie's [Bondwell's] wedding day. She is directed to attire herself and her maids very splendidly, and go to the strand; a vessel will come sailing to her, and they are to go on board. The Billy Blin will row her over the sea, #C# 19; she will stroke the ship with a wand, and take God to be her pilot, #M# 19. Thus, by miraculous intervention, she arrives at the nick of time.

Beichan's fickleness is not accounted for in most of the versions. He soon forgot his deliverer and courted another, he was young, and thought not upon Susan Pye, say #H#, #N#. #C#, on the contrary, tells us that Beichan had not been a twelvemonth in his own country, when he was forced to marry a duke's daughter or lose all his land. #E# and #K# intimate that he acts under constraint; the wedding has lasted three and thirty days, and he will not bed with his bride for love of one beyond the sea, #E# 21, #K# 1.[409]

On landing, Susan Pye falls in with a shepherd feeding his flock, #E#, #K# [a boy watering his steeds, #M#]. She asks, Whose are these sheep, these kye, these castles? and is told they are Lord Beichan's, #G#. She asks the news, and is informed that there is a wedding in yonder hall that has lasted thirty days and three, #E#, #K#, or that there is to be a wedding on the morn, #M#; it seems to be a matter generally known, #N#. In other versions she comes directly to Young Beichan's hall, and is first informed by the porter, #A#, #B#, #F#, #H#, #L#, or the fact is confirmed by the porter, #E#, #M#, #N#; she hears the music within, and divines, #C#. She bribes the porter to bid the bridegroom come and speak to her, #A#, #B#, #C#, #D#, #J#, #N#; send her down bread and wine, and not forget the lady who brought him out of prison, #B#, #F#, #H#, #J#, #K#, #L#. In #E# 26 she sends up her half ring to the bridegroom [a ring in #N# 40, but not till Beichan has declined to come down].

The porter falls on his knee and informs his master that the fairest and richest lady that eyes ever saw is at the gate [ladies, #C#, #M#]. The bride, or the bride's mother more commonly, reproves the porter for his graceless speech; he might have excepted the bride, or her mother, or both: "Gin she be braw without, we's be as braw within." But the porter is compelled by truth to persist in his allegation; fair as they may be, they were never to compare with yon lady, #B#, #D#, #E#, #H#, #M#. Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes the cups and cans to flee, #B# 18, #D# 23, #F# 28, #G# 3, #H# 47, #J# 5, #N# 42;[410] he exclaims that it can be none but Susie Pye, #A#, #B#, #D#, #G#, #H#, #I# [Burd Isbel, #C#], and clears the stair, fifteen steps, thirty steps, in three bounds, #A# 19, #D# 24, #N# 43. His old love reproaches him for his forgetfulness, #A#, #C#, #D#, #M#, #N#;[411] she asks back her faith and troth, #B# 21. Beichan bids the forenoon bride's mother take back her daughter: he will double her dowry, #A# 22, #D# 27, #E# 39; she came on horseback, she shall go back in chariots, coaches, three, #B# 22, #D# 27[412] [#H# 49, in chariot free]. He marries Susie Pye, having her baptized by the name of Lady Jean, #A#, #B#, #D#, [#E#], #F#, #I#, #J#.[413]

This story of Beichan, or Bekie, agrees in the general outline, and also in some details, with a well-known legend about Gilbert Beket, father of St Thomas. The earlier and more authentic biographies lack this particular bit of romance, but the legend nevertheless goes back to a date not much later than a century after the death of the saint, being found in a poetical narrative preserved in a manuscript of about 1300.[414]

We learn from this legend that Gilbert Beket, in his youth, assumed the cross and went to the Holy Land, accompanied only by one Richard, his servant. They "did their pilgrimage" in holy places, and at last, with other Christians, were made captive by the Saracens and put in strong prison. They suffered great hardship and ignominy in the service of the Saracen prince Admiraud. But Gilbert found more grace than the rest; he was promoted to serve the prince at meat (in his chains), and the prince often would ask him about England and the English faith. Admiraud's only daughter fell in love with Gilbert, and when she saw her time, in turn asked him the like questions. Gilbert told her that he was born in London; told her of the belief of Christians, and of the endless bliss that should be their meed. The maid asked him if he was ready to die for his Lord's love, and Gilbert declared that he would, joyfully. When the maid saw that he was so steadfast, she stood long in thought, and then said, I will quit all for love of thee, and become Christian, if thou wilt marry me. Gilbert feared that this might be a wile; he replied that he was at her disposition, but he must bethink himself. She went on loving him, the longer the more. After this Gilbert and the rest broke prison and made their way to the Christians. The prince's daughter, reduced to desperation by love and grief, left her heritage and her kin, sparing for no sorrow, peril, or contempt that might come to her, not knowing whither to go or whether he would marry her when found, and went in quest of Gilbert. She asked the way to England, and when she had come there had no word but London to assist her further. She roamed through the streets, followed by a noisy and jeering crowd of wild boys and what not, until one day by chance she stopped by the house in which Gilbert lived. The man Richard, hearing a tumult, came out to see what was the matter, recognized the princess, and ran to tell his master.[415] Gilbert bade Richard take the lady to the house of a respectable woman near by, and presently went to see her. She swooned when she saw him. Gilbert was nothing if not discreet: he "held him still," as if he had nothing in mind. But there was a conference of six bishops just then at St. Paul's, and he went and told them his story and asked advice. One of the six prophetically saw a divine indication that the two were meant to be married, and all finally recommended this if the lady would become Christian. Brought before the bishops, she said, Most gladly, if he will espouse me; else I had not left my kin. She was baptized[416] with great ceremony, and the marriage followed.

The very day after the wedding Gilbert was seized with such an overmastering desire to go back to the Holy Land that he wist not what to do. But his wife was thoroughly converted, and after a struggle with herself she consented, on condition that Beket should leave with her the man Richard, who knew her language. Gilbert was gone three years and a half, and when he came back Thomas was a fine boy.

That our ballad has been affected by the legend of Gilbert Beket is altogether likely. The name Bekie is very close to Beket, and several versions, #A#, #D#, #H#, #I#, #N#, set out rather formally with the announcement that Bekie was London born, like the Latin biographies and the versified one of Garnier de Pont Sainte Maxence. Our ballad, also, in some versions, has the Moor's daughter baptized, a point which of course could not fail in the legend. More important still is it that the hero of the English ballad goes home and forgets the woman he has left in a foreign land, instead of going away from home and forgetting the love he has left there. But the ballad, for all that, is not derived from the legend. Stories and ballads of the general cast of 'Young Beichan' are extremely frequent.[417] The legend lacks some of the main points of these stories, and the ballad, in one version or another, has them, as will be seen by referring to what has been said under 'Hind Horn,' pp 194 ff. Bekie and Beket go to the East, like Henry and Reinfrit of Brunswick, the Noble Moringer, the good Gerhard, Messer Torello, the Sire de Créqui, Alexander of Metz, and others. Like the larger part of these, they are made prisoners by the Saracens. He will not bow the knee to Mahound; neither will the Sire de Créqui, though he die for it.[418] Beichan is made to draw cart, plough, harrow, like a beast. So Henry of Brunswick in a Swedish and a Danish ballad,[419] and Alexander von Metz, or the Graf von Rom, in his most beautiful and touching story.[420] Henry of Brunswick is set free by a "heathen" lady in the Danish ballad. In one version of Beichan, #E#, the lady on parting with her love breaks her ring and gives him one half, as Henry, or his wife, Reinfrit, Gerhard, Créqui, and others do. At this point in the story the woman pursues the man, and parts are inverted. Susan Pye is warned that Beichan is to be married the next day, in #C# by a Billy-Blin, in #M# by a woman in green, or fairy, and is conveyed to Beichan's castle or hall with miraculous despatch, just as Henry and others are warned, and are transported to their homes by devil, angel, or necromancer. In #E# and #N# the old love is identified by a half ring or ring, as in so many of the stories of the class of Henry the Lion.

Norse, Spanish, and Italian ballads preserve a story essentially the same as that of 'Young Beichan.'

#Scandinavian.#

#Danish.# 'Stolt Ellensborg,' Grundtvig, IV, 238, No 218, nine versions, #A-G#, from manuscripts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, #H#, #I#, from recent tradition. #B# is previously printed (with alterations) in Levninger, 'Jomfrue Ellensborg,' I, 66, No 12, Danske Viser, III, 268, No 213; I, 'Stalt Ellen henter sin Fæstemand' is in Kristensen, I, 89, No 36. Of the older texts, #A#, #B#, #C# are absolutely pure and true to tradition, #D-G# retouched or made over.

#Icelandic#, of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, as above, p. 259, #M#.

#Swedish#, from Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, p. 255, #K#.

#Färöe#, taken down in 1827, Grundtvig, p. 256, #L#.

#Norwegian#, 'Herre Per i Riki,' Landstad, p. 596, No 76, #N#.

The variations of these twelve versions are insignificant. The names Herr Peder den Rige and Ellensborg [Ellen] are found in nearly all. It comes into Sir Peter's mind that he ought to go to Jerusalem to expiate his sins, and he asks his betrothed, Ellensborg, how long she will wait for him. She will wait eight years, and marry no other, though the king should woo her [seven, #L#; nine, #M#, "If I do not come then, break the engagement;" eight, and not more, #N#]. The time passes and Peter does not come back. Ellensborg goes to the strand. Traders come steering in, and she is asked to buy of their ware,--sendal, linen, and silk green as leek. She cares not for these things; have they not seen her sister's son [brother], for whom she is grieving to death? They know nothing of her sister's son, but well they know Sir Peter the rich: he has betrothed a lady in the Øster-king's realm;[421] a heathen woman, "and you never came into his mind," #E# 13; he is to be married to-morrow, #K# 6. A wee swain tells her, #M# 14, 16, that he sits in Austurríki drinking the ale of forgetfulness, and will never come home; he shall not drink long, says she. Ellensborg asks her brother to undertake a voyage for her; he will go with her if she will wait till summer; rather than wait till summer she will go alone, #A#, #D#, #G#. She asks fraternal advice about going in search of her lover, #A#, #E#, the advice of her uncles, #I#; asks the loan of a ship, #B#, #C#, #F#, #H#, #N#. She is told that such a thing would be a shame; she had better take another lover; the object is not worth the trouble; the voyage is bad for a man and worse for a woman. Her maids give her advice that is more to her mind, #E#, but are as prudent as the rest in the later #I#. She attires herself like a knight, clips her maids' hair, #B#, #H#, #I#, #L#, #M#, and puts them into men's clothes, #D#, #L#; sets herself to steer and the maids to row, #A-G#, #L#.[422]

The voyage is less than two months, #B#, #C#, #E#; less than three months, #I#; quite three months, #L#. It is the first day of the bridal when she lands, #B# 22, #E# 24, #N# 14; in #B# Ellensborg learns this from a boy who is walking on the sand. Sword at side, she enters the hall where Peter is drinking his bridal. Peter, can in hand, rises and says, Bless your eyes, my sister's son; welcome to this strange land. In #B# he asks, How are my father and mother? and she tells him that his father lies dead on his bier, his mother in sick-bed. In #L#, waiting for no greeting, she says, Well you sit at the board with your wife! Are all lords wont thus to keep their faith? The bride's mother, #D#, #G#, the heathen bride, #E#, an unnamed person, probably the bride, #A#, #B#, #F#, #N#, says, That is not your sister's son, but much more like a woman; her hair is like spun gold, and braided up under a silk cap.

#A# tells us, and so #F#, #G#, that it was two months before Ellensborg could speak to Peter privately. Then, on a Yule day, when he was going to church, she said, It does not occur to you that you gave me your troth. Sir Peter stood as if women had shorn his hair, and recollected all as if it had been yesterday. In #B-E#, #H#, #I#, #L#, #M#, #N#, this incident has, perhaps, dropped out. In these immediately, as in #A#, #F#, #G#, after this interview, Sir Peter, recalled to his senses or to his fidelity, conceives the purpose of flying with Ellensborg. Good people, he says, knights and swains, ladies and maids, follow my bride to bed, while I take my sister's son over the meads, through the wood, #B-E#, #H#, #I#, #N#. In #A#, #F#, Sir Peter asks the bride how long she will bide while he takes his nephew across the kingdom; in #G# begs the boon that, since his sister's son is going, he may ride with him, just accompany him to the strand and take leave of him; in #L#, #M#, hopes she will not be angry if he convoys his nephew three days on his way. (It is at this point in #C#, #H#, #I#, #L#, that the bride says it is no sister's son, but a woman.) The bride remarks that there are knights and swains enow to escort his sister's son, and that he might more fitly stay where he is, but Sir Peter persists that he will see his nephew off in person.

Sir Peter and Ellensborg go aboard the ship, he crying, You will see me no more! When they are at sea Ellensborg lets out her hair, #A#, #B#, #C#, #H#; she wishes that the abandoned bride may now feel the grief which she herself had borne for years. The proceeding is less covert in #I#, #L#, #M# than in the other versions.

As Ellensborg and Peter are making for the ship in #D# 30, 31 (and #G# 36, 37, borrowed from #D#), she says, Tell me, Sir Peter, why would you deceive me so? Sir Peter answers that he never meant to deceive her; it was the lady of Østerland that did it; she had changed his mind. A magical change is meant. This agrees with what is said in #A# 24, 25 (also #F#, #G#), that when Ellensborg got Peter alone to herself, and said, You do not remember that you plighted your troth to me, everything came back to him as if it had happened yesterday. And again in the Färöe copy, #L# 49, Ellensborg, from the prow, cries to Ingibjörg on the strand, Farewell to thee with thy elf-ways, við títt elvargangi! I have taken to myself my true love that I lent thee so long; implying that Sir Peter had been detained by Circean arts, by a sleepy drench of óminnis öl, or ale of forgetfulness, Icelandic #M# 14, which, in the light of the other ballads, is to be understood literally, and not figuratively. The feature of a man being made, by magical or other means, to forget a first love who had done and suffered much for him, and being suddenly restored to consciousness and his original predilection, is of the commonest occurrence in traditional tales.[423]

Our English ballad affords no other positive trace of external interference with the hero's will than the far-fetched allegation in #C# that the choice before him was to accept a duke's daughter or forfeit his lands. The explanation of his inconstancy in #H#, #N#, that young men ever were fickle found, is vulgar, and also insufficient, for Beichan returns to his old love per saltum, like one from whose eyes scales have fallen and from whose back a weight has been taken, not tamely, like a facile youth that has swerved. #E# and #K#, as already said, distinctly recognize that Beichan was not acting with free mind, and, for myself, I have little doubt that, if we could go back far enough, we should find that he had all along been faithful at heart.

#Spanish.# #A.# 'El Conde Sol,' Duran, Romancero, I, 180, No 327, from tradition in Andalusia, by the editor; Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, II, 48, No 135. In this most beautiful romance the County Sol, named general in great wars between Spain and Portugal, and leaving a young wife dissolved in tears, tells her that she is free to marry if he does not come back in six years. Six pass, and eight, and more than ten, yet the county does not return, nor does there come news of him. His wife implores and obtains leave of her father to go in search of her husband. She traverses France and Italy, land and sea, and is on the point of giving up hope, when one day she sees a herdsman pasturing cows. Whose are these cows? she asks. The County Sol's, is the answer. And whose these wheat-fields, these ewes, these gardens, and that palace? whose the horses I hear neigh? The County Sol's, is the answer in each case.[424] And who that lady that a man folds in his arms? The lady is betrothed to him and the county is to marry her. The countess changes her silken robe for the herdsman's sackcloth, and goes to ask an alms at the county's gate. Beyond all hope, the county comes out himself to bring it. "Whence comest thou, pilgrim?" he asks. She was born in Spain. "How didst thou make thy way hither?" She came to seek her husband, footing the thorns by land, risking the perils of the sea; and when she found him he was about to marry, he had forgotten his faithful wife. "Pilgrim, thou art surely the devil, come to try me." "No devil," she said, "but thy wife indeed, and therefore come to seek thee." Upon this, without a moment's tarrying, the county ordered his horse, took up his wife, and made his best speed to his native castle. The bride he would have taken remained unmarried, for those that put on others' robes are sure to be stripped naked.

#B.# 'Gerineldo,' taken down in Asturias by Amador de los Rios, Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, III, 290, 1861, and the same year (Nigra) in Revista Iberica, I, 51; a version far inferior to #A#, and differing in no important respect as to the story.

#C.# 'La boda interrumpida,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, p. 221, No 244, seven copies, A-G, none good. A, which is about one third Castilian, relates that war is declared between France and Portugal, and the son of Conde Burgos made general. The countess his wife does nothing but weep. The husband tells her to marry again if he does not come back in seven years. More than seven years are gone, and the lady's father asks why she does not marry. "How can I," she replies, "if the count is living? Give me your blessing, and let me go in search of him." She goes a hundred leagues on foot, in the disguise of a pilgrim. Arrived at a palace she sees pages pass, and asks them for whom a horse is intended. It is for Count Burgos's son, who marries that night. She asks to be directed to the young count, is told that she will find him in the hall, enters, and begs an alms, as coming from Italy and without a penny. The young man says, If you come from Italy, what is the news? Is Conde Bueso's wife living? The pilgrim desires some description of the lady. It seems that she wore a very costly petticoat on her wedding-day. The pilgrim takes off her glove and shows her ring; she also takes off and shows the expensive petticoat. There is great weeping in that palace, for first wives never can be forgotten. Don Bueso and the pilgrim clap hands and go home.

#Italian: Piedmontese.# #A.# 'Moran d'Inghilterra,' communicated to Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 3, 1862, by Nigra, who gives the variations of four other versions. The daughter of the sultan is so handsome that they know not whom to give her to, but decide upon Moran of England. The first day of his marriage he did nothing but kiss her, the second he wished to leave her, and the third he went off to the war. "When shall you return?" asked his wife. "If not in seven years, marry." She waited seven years, but Moran did not come. His wife went all over England on horseback, and came upon a cowherd. "Whose cows are these?" she asked. They were Moran's. "Has Moran a wife?" This is the day when he is to marry, and if she makes haste she will be in time for the wedding. She spurs her horse, and arrives in season. They offer her to drink in a gold cup. She will drink from no cup that is not her own; she will not drink while another woman is there; she will not drink till she is mistress. Moran throws his arms round her neck, saying, Mistress you ever have been and still shall be.

#B.# 'Morando,' Ferraro, Canti popolari monferrini, p. 42, No 32, from Alessandria. Murando d'Inghilterra, of the king's household, fell in love with the princess, for which the king sent him off. The lady knocked at his door, and asked when he would come back. In seven years, was the answer, and if not she was to marry. The princess stole a hundred scudi from her father, frizzled her hair French fashion, bought a fashionable suit, and rode three days and nights without touching ground, eating, or drinking. She came upon a laundryman, and asked who was in command there. Murando. She knocked at the door, and Murando asked, Have you come to our wedding? She would come to the dance. At the dance she was recognized by the servants. Murando asked, How came you here? "I rode three days and three nights without touching ground, eating, or drinking." This is my wife, said Murando; and the other lady he bade return to her father.

It is possible that this ballad may formerly have been known in France. Nothing is left and known that shows this conclusively, but there is an approach to the Norse form in a fragment which occurs in several widely separated localities. A lover goes off in November, promising his love to return in December, but does not. A messenger comes to bid the lady, in his name, seek another lover, for he has another love. "Is she fairer than I, or more powerful?" She is not fairer, but more powerful: she makes rosemary flower on the edge of her sleeve, changes the sea into wine and fish into flesh. Bujeaud, I, 203. In 'La Femme Abandonnée,' Puymaigre, I, 72, the lover is married to a Fleming:

Elle fait venir le soleil A minuit dans sa chambre, Elle fait bouiller la marmite Sans feu et sans rente.

In a Canadian version, 'Entre Paris et Saint-Denis,' Gagnon, p. 303, the deserted woman is a king's daughter, and the new love,

Ell' fait neiger, ell' fait grêler, Ell' fait le vent qui vente. Ell' fait reluire le soleil A minuit dans sa chambre. Ell' fait pousser le romarin Sur le bord de la manche.

Puymaigre notes that there is a version very near to the Canadian in the sixth volume of Poésies populaires de la France, cinquième recueil, Ardennes, No 2.[425]

A broadside ballad, 'The Turkish Lady,' 'The Turkish Lady and the English Slave,' printed in Logan's Pedlar's Pack, p. 16, Christie, I, 247, from singing, and preserved also in the Kinloch MSS, V, 53, I, 263, from Elizabeth Beattie's recitation, simply relates how a Turkish pirate's daughter fell in love with an Englishman, her slave, offered to release him if he would turn Turk, but chose the better part of flying with him to Bristol, and becoming herself a Christian brave.

Sir William Stanley, passing through Constantinople, is condemned to die for his religion. A lady, walking under the prison walls, hears his lament, and begs his life of the Turk. She would make him her husband, and bring him to adore Mahomet. She offers to set the prisoner free if he will marry her, but he has a wife and children on English ground. The lady is sorry, but generously gives Stanley five hundred pounds to carry him to his own country. Sir William Stanley's Garland, Halliwell's Palatine Anthology, pp 277 f.

Two Magyars have been shut up in a dungeon by the sultan, and have not seen sun, moon, or stars for seven years. The sultan's daughter hears their moan, and offers to free them if they will take her to Hungary. This they promise to do. She gets the keys, takes money, opens the doors, and the three make off. They are followed; one of the Magyars kills all the pursuers but one, who is left to carry back the news. It is now proposed that there shall be a duel to determine who shall have the lady. She begs them rather to cut off her head than to fight about her. Szilágyi Niklas says he has a love at home, and leaves the sultan's daughter to his comrade, Hagymási László. Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, p. 93: see p. 107 of this volume.

* * * * *

#C b# is translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 330; #E# by Cesare Cantù, Documenti alla Storia Universale, Torino, 1858, Tomo V^o, Parte III^a, p. 796; #E#, as retouched by Allingham, by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 18.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 13.

1 In London city was Bicham born, He longd strange countries for to see, But he was taen by a savage Moor, Who handld him right cruely.

2 For thro his shoulder he put a bore, An thro the bore has pitten a tree, An he's gard him draw the carts o wine, Where horse and oxen had wont to be.

3 He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep, Where he coud neither hear nor see; He's shut him up in a prison strong, An he's handld him right cruely.

4 O this Moor he had but ae daughter, I wot her name was Shusy Pye; She's doen her to the prison-house, And she's calld Young Bicham one word by.

5 'O hae ye ony lands or rents, Or citys in your ain country, Coud free you out of prison strong, An coud mantain a lady free?'

6 'O London city is my own, An other citys twa or three, Coud loose me out o prison strong, An coud mantain a lady free.'

7 O she has bribed her father's men Wi meikle goud and white money, She's gotten the key o the prison doors, An she has set Young Bicham free.

8 She's gi'n him a loaf o good white bread, But an a flask o Spanish wine, An she bad him mind on the ladie's love That sae kindly freed him out o pine.

9 'Go set your foot on good ship-board, An haste you back to your ain country, An before that seven years has an end, Come back again, love, and marry me.'

10 It was long or seven years had an end She longd fu sair her love to see; She's set her foot on good ship-board, An turnd her back on her ain country.

11 She's saild up, so has she doun, Till she came to the other side; She's landed at Young Bicham's gates, An I hop this day she sal be his bride.

12 'Is this Young Bicham's gates?' says she, 'Or is that noble prince within?' 'He's up the stairs wi his bonny bride, An monny a lord and lady wi him.'

13 'O has he taen a bonny bride, An has he clean forgotten me!' An sighing said that gay lady, I wish I were in my ain country!

14 But she's pitten her han in her pocket, An gin the porter guineas three; Says, Take ye that, ye proud porter, An bid the bridegroom speak to me.

15 O whan the porter came up the stair, He's fa'n low down upon his knee: 'Won up, won up, ye proud porter, An what makes a' this courtesy?'

16 'O I've been porter at your gates This mair nor seven years an three, But there is a lady at them now The like of whom I never did see.

17 'For on every finger she has a ring, An on the mid-finger she has three, An there's as meikle goud aboon her brow As woud buy an earldome o lan to me.'

18 Then up it started Young Bicham, An sware so loud by Our Lady, 'It can be nane but Shusy Pye, That has come oer the sea to me.'

19 O quickly ran he down the stair, O fifteen steps he has made but three; He's tane his bonny love in his arms, An a wot he kissd her tenderly.

20 'O hae you tane a bonny bride? An hae you quite forsaken me? An hae ye quite forgotten her That gae you life an liberty?'

21 She's lookit oer her left shoulder To hide the tears stood in her ee; 'Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,' she says, 'I'll strive to think nae mair on thee.'

22 'Take back your daughter, madam,' he says, 'An a double dowry I'll gi her wi; For I maun marry my first true love, That's done and suffered so much for me.'

23 He's take his bonny love by the han, And led her to yon fountain stane; He's changd her name frae Shusy Pye, An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.

Glenriddell MSS, XI, 80.

1 In England was Young Brechin born, Of parents of a high degree; The selld him to the savage Moor, Where they abused him maist cruellie.

2 Thro evry shoulder they bord a bore, And thro evry bore they pat a tree; They made him draw the carts o wine, Which horse and owsn were wont to drie.

3 The pat him into prison strong, Where he could neither hear nor see; They pat him in a dark dungeon, Where he was sick and like to die.

4 'Is there neer an auld wife in this town That'll borrow me to be her son? Is there neer a young maid in this town Will take me for her chiefest one?'

5 A Savoyen has an only daughter, I wat she's called Young Brichen by; 'O sleepst thou, wakest thou, Brichen?' she says, 'Or who is't that does on me cry?

6 'O hast thou any house or lands, Or hast thou any castles free, That thou wadst gi to a lady fair That out o prison wad bring thee?'

7 'O lady, Lundin it is mine, And other castles twa or three; These I wad gie to a lady fair That out of prison wad set me free.'

8 She's taen him by the milk-white hand, And led him to a towr sae hie, She's made him drink the wine sae reid, And sung to him like a mavosie.

9 O these two luvers made a bond, For seven years, and that is lang, That he was to marry no other wife, And she's to marry no other man.

10 When seven years were past and gane, This young lady began to lang, And she's awa to Lundin gane, To see if Brechin's got safe to land.

11 When she came to Young Brechin's yett, She chappit gently at the gin; 'Is this Young Brechin's yett?' she says, 'Or is this lusty lord within?' 'O yes, this is Lord Brechin's yett, And I wat this be his bridal een.'

12 She's put her hand in her pocket, And thrawin the porter guineas three; 'Gang up the stair, young man,' she says, 'And bid your master come down to me.

13 'Bid him bring a bite o his ae best bread, And a bottle o his ae best wine, And neer forget that lady fair That did him out o prison bring.'

14 The porter tripped up the stair, And fell low down upon his knee: 'Rise up, rise up, ye proud porter, What mean you by this courtesie?'

15 'O I hae been porter at your yett This thirty years and a' but three; There stands the fairest lady thereat That ever my twa een did see.

16 'On evry finger she has a ring, On her mid-finger she has three; She's as much gold on her horse's neck As wad by a earldom o land to me.

17 'She bids you send o your ae best bread, And a bottle o your ae best wine, And neer forget the lady fair That out o prison did you bring.'

18 He's taen the table wi his foot, And made the cups and cans to flee: 'I'll wager a' the lands I hae That Susan Pye's come oer the sea.'

* * * * * * *

19 Then up and spak the bride's mother: 'And O an ill deid may ye die! If ye didna except the bonny bride, Ye might hae ay excepted me.'

20 'O ye are fair, and fair, madam, And ay the fairer may ye be! But the fairest day that eer ye saw, Ye were neer sae fair as yon lady.'

21 O when these lovers two did meet, The tear it blinded baith their ee; 'Gie me my faith and troth,' she says, 'For now fain hame wad I be.'

22 'Tak hame your daughter, madam,' he says, 'She's neer a bit the war o me; Except a kiss o her bonny lips, Of her body I am free; She came to me on a single horse, Now I'll send her hame in chariots three.

23 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, And he's led her to a yard o stane; He's changed her name frae Susan Pye, And calld her lusty Lady Jane.

#a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. II. #b.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 127.

1 Young Bekie was as brave a knight As ever saild the sea; An he's doen him to the court of France, To serve for meat and fee.

2 He had nae been i the court of France A twelvemonth nor sae long, Til he fell in love with the king's daughter, An was thrown in prison strong.

3 The king he had but ae daughter, Burd Isbel was her name; An she has to the prison-house gane, To hear the prisoner's mane.

4 'O gin a lady woud borrow me, At her stirrup-foot I woud rin; Or gin a widow wad borrow me, I woud swear to be her son.

5 'Or gin a virgin woud borrow me, I woud wed her wi a ring; I'd gi her ha's, I'd gie her bowers, The bonny towrs o Linne.'

6 O barefoot, barefoot gaed she but, An barefoot came she ben; It was no for want o hose an shoone, Nor time to put them on.

7 But a' for fear that her father dear Had heard her making din: She's stown the keys o the prison-house dor An latten the prisoner gang.

8 O whan she saw him, Young Bekie, Her heart was wondrous sair! For the mice but an the bold rottons Had eaten his yallow hair.

9 She's gien him a shaver for his beard, A comber till his hair, Five hunder pound in his pocket, To spen, an nae to spair.

10 She's gien him a steed was good in need, An a saddle o royal bone, A leash o hounds o ae litter, An Hector called one.

11 Atween this twa a vow was made, 'Twas made full solemnly, That or three years was come an gane, Well married they shoud be.

12 He had nae been in 's ain country A twelvemonth till an end, Till he's forcd to marry a duke's daughter, Or than lose a' his land.

13 'Ohon, alas!' says Young Beckie, 'I know not what to dee; For I canno win to Burd Isbel, And she kensnae to come to me.'

14 O it fell once upon a day Burd Isbel fell asleep, An up it starts the Belly Blin, An stood at her bed-feet.

15 'O waken, waken, Burd Isbel, How [can] you sleep so soun, Whan this is Bekie's wedding day, An the marriage gain on?

16 'Ye do ye to your mither's bowr, Think neither sin nor shame; An ye tak twa o your mither's marys, To keep ye frae thinking lang.

17 'Ye dress yoursel in the red scarlet, An your marys in dainty green, An ye pit girdles about your middles Woud buy an earldome.

18 'O ye gang down by yon sea-side, An down by yon sea-stran; Sae bonny will the Hollans boats Come rowin till your han.

19 'Ye set your milk-white foot abord, Cry, Hail ye, Domine! An I shal be the steerer o 't, To row you oer the sea.'

20 She's tane her till her mither's bowr, Thought neither sin nor shame, An she took twa o her mither's marys, To keep her frae thinking lang.

21 She dressd hersel i the red scarlet, Her marys i dainty green, And they pat girdles about their middles Woud buy an earldome.

22 An they gid down by yon sea-side, An down by yon sea-stran; Sae bonny did the Hollan boats Come rowin to their han.

23 She set her milk-white foot on board, Cried, Hail ye, Domine! An the Belly Blin was the steerer o 't, To row her oer the sea.

24 Whan she came to Young Bekie's gate, She heard the music play; Sae well she kent frae a' she heard, It was his wedding day.

25 She's pitten her han in her pocket, Gin the porter guineas three; 'Hae, tak ye that, ye proud porter, Bid the bride-groom speake to me.'

26 O whan that he cam up the stair, He fell low down on his knee: He haild the king, an he haild the queen, An he haild him, Young Bekie.

27 'O I've been porter at your gates This thirty years an three; But there's three ladies at them now, Their like I never did see.

28 'There's ane o them dressd in red scarlet, And twa in dainty green, An they hae girdles about their middles Woud buy an earldome.'

29 Then out it spake the bierly bride, Was a' goud to the chin; 'Gin she be braw without,' she says, 'We's be as braw within.'

30 Then up it starts him, Young Bekie, An the tears was in his ee: 'I'll lay my life it's Burd Isbel, Come oer the sea to me.'

31 O quickly ran he down the stair, An whan he saw 't was shee, He kindly took her in his arms, And kissd her tenderly.

32 'O hae ye forgotten, Young Bekie, The vow ye made to me, Whan I took you out o the prison strong, Whan ye was condemnd to die?

33 'I gae you a steed was good in need, An a saddle o royal bone, A leash o hounds o ae litter, An Hector called one.'

34 It was well kent what the lady said, That it wasnae a lee, For at ilka word the lady spake, The hound fell at her knee.

35 'Tak hame, tak hame your daughter dear, A blessing gae her wi, For I maun marry my Burd Isbel, That's come oer the sea to me.'

36 'Is this the custom o your house, Or the fashion o your lan, To marry a maid in a May mornin, An send her back at even?'

Skene MSS, p. 70. North of Scotland, 1802-3.

1 Young Beachen was born in fair London, And foreign lands he langed to see; He was taen by the savage Moor, An the used him most cruellie.

2 Through his showlder they pat a bore, And through the bore the pat a tree; They made him trail their ousen carts, And they used him most cruellie.

3 The savage Moor had ae daughter, I wat her name was Susan Pay; An she is to the prison house, To hear the prisoner's moan.

4 He made na his moan to a stocke, He made na it to a stone, But it was to the Queen of Heaven That he made his moan.

5 'Gin a lady wad borrow me, I at her foot wad run; An a widdow wad borrow me, I wad become her son.

6 'But an a maid wad borrow me, I wad wed her wi a ring; I wad make her lady of haas and bowers, An of the high towers of Line.'

7 'Sing oer yer sang, Young Beachen,' she says, 'Sing oer yer sang to me;' 'I never sang that sang, lady, But I wad sing to thee.

8 'Gin a lady wad borrow me, I at her foot wad run; An a widdow wad borrow me, I wad become her son.

9 'But an a maid wad borrow me, I wad wed her wi a ring; I wad make her lady of haas and bowers, An of the high towers of Line.'

10 Saftly, [saftly] gaed she but, An saftlly gaed she ben, It was na for want of hose nor shoon, Nor time to pet them on.

11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . An she has staen the keys of the prison, An latten Young Beachen gang.

12 She gae him a leaf of her white bread, An a bottle of her wine, She bad him mind on the lady's love That freed him out of pine.

13 She gae him a steed was guid in need, A saddle of the bane, Five hundred pown in his pocket, Bad him gae speeding hame.

14 An a leash of guid grayhounds, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

15 Whan seven lang years were come and gane, Shusie Pay thought lang, An she is on to fair London, As fast as she could gang.

16 Whan she cam to Young Beachen's gate, . . . . . . . 'Is Young Beachan at hame, Or is he in this countrie?'

17 'He is at hame, is hear,' they said, . . . . . . . An sighan says her Susie Pay, Has he quite forgotten me?

18 On every finger she had a ring, On the middle finger three; She gae the porter ane of them: 'Get a word o your lord to me.'

19 He gaed up the stair, Fell low down on his knee: 'Win up, my proud porter, What is your will wi me?'

20 'I hae been porter at yer gate This thirty year and three; The fairst lady is at yer gate Mine eyes did ever see.'

21 Out spak the bride's mither, An a haghty woman was she: 'If ye had na eccepted the bonny bride, Ye might well ha eccepted me.'

22 'No disparagement to you, madam, Nor none unto her Grace; The sole of your lady's foot Is fairer than her face.'

23 He's gaen the table wi his foot, And couped it wi his knee: 'I wad my head and a' my land 'T is Susie Pay, come oer the sea.'

24 The stair was thirty steps, I wat he made them three; He took her in his arms twa: 'Susie Pay, ye'r welcome to me.'

25 'Gie me a shive of your white bread, An a bottle of your wine; Dinna ye mind on the lady's love That freed ye out of pine?'

26 He took her ... Down to yon garden green, An changed her name fra Susie Pay, An called her bonny Lady Jean.

27 'Yer daughter came here on high horse-back, She sal gae hame in coaches three, An I sall double her tocher our, She's nane the war o me.'

28 'It's na the fashion o our countrie, Nor yet o yer nane, To wed a maid in the morning, An send her hame at een.'

29 'It's na the fashion o my countrie, Nor is it of my nane, But I man mind on the lady's love That freed me out of pine.'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 117, compounded from #A#, a manuscript and a stall copy from Scotland, a recited copy from the north of England, and a short version picked off a wall in London. (The parts which repeat #A# are in smaller type.)

2 For he viewed the fashions of that land, Their way of worship viewed he, But to Mahound or Termagant Would Beichan never bend a knee.

6 O so it fell upon a day She heard Young Beichan sadly sing: 'My hounds they all go masterless, My hawks they flee from tree to tree, My younger brother will heir my land, Fair England again I'll never see!'

7 All night long no rest she got, Young Beichan's song for thinking on; She's stown the keys from her father's head, And to the prison strong is gone.

8 And she has opend the prison doors, I wot she opend two or three, Ere she could come Young Beichan at, He was locked up so curiouslie.

9 But when she came Young Beichan before, Sore wonderd he that may to see; He took her for some fair captive: 'Fair Lady, I pray, of what countrie?'

10 'O have ye any lands,' she said, 'Or castles in your own countrie, That ye could give to a lady fair, From prison strong to set you free?'

11 'Near London town I have a hall, With other castles two or three; I'll give them all to the lady fair That out of prison will set me free.'

12 'Give me the truth of your right hand, The truth of it give unto me, That for seven years ye'll no lady wed, Unless it be along with me.'

13 'I'll give thee the truth of my right hand, The truth of it I'll freely gie, That for seven years I'll stay unwed, For the kindness thou dost show to me.'

16 She's broken a ring from her finger, And to Beichan half of it gave she: 'Keep it, to mind you of that love The lady bore that set you free.

| 18 | But long ere seven years had an end, | She longd full sore her love to see, For ever a voice within her breast Said, 'Beichan has broke his vow to thee:' | So she's set her foot on good ship-board, | And turnd her back on her own countrie.

19 She sailed east, she sailed west, Till to fair England's shore she came, Where a bonny shepherd she espied, Feeding his sheep upon the plain.

20 'What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd? What news hast thou to tell to me?' 'Such news I hear, ladie,' he says, 'The like was never in this countrie.

21 'There is a wedding in yonder hall, Has lasted these thirty days and three; Young Beichan will not bed with his bride, For love of one that's yond the sea.'

22 She's put her hand in her pocket, Gien him the gold and white monie: 'Hae, take ye that, my bonny boy, For the good news thou tellst to me.'

23 When she came to Young Beichan's gate, She tirled softly at the pin; So ready was the proud porter To open and let this lady in.

30 It's out then spak the bride's mother, Aye and an angry woman was shee: 'Ye might have excepted our bonny bride, And twa or three of our companie.'

31 'O hold your tongue, thou bride's mother, Of all your folly let me be; She's ten times fairer nor the bride, And all that's in your companie.

32 'She begs one sheave of your white bread, But and a cup of your red wine, And to remember the lady's love That last relievd you out of pine.'

33 'O well-a-day!' said Beichan then, 'That I so soon have married thee! | For it can be none but Susie Pye, | That sailed the sea for love of me.'

36 She looked oer her left shoulder, To hide the tears stood in her ee: 'Now fare thee well, Young Beichan,' she says, 'I'll try to think no more on thee.'

37 'O never, never, Susie Pye, For surely this can never be, Nor ever shall I wed but her That's done and dreed so much for me.'

38 Then out and spak the forenoon bride: 'My lord, your love it changeth soon; This morning I was made your bride, And another chose ere it be noon.'

39 O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride, Ye're neer a whit the worse for me, And whan ye return to your own countrie, A double dower I'll send with thee.'

40 He's taen Susie Pye by the white hand, And gently led her up and down, And ay as he kist her red rosy lips, 'Ye're welcome, jewel, to your own.'

Pitcairn's MSS, III, 159, 1817-25. From the recitation of Widow Stevenson, aged seventy-three: "East Country."

1 In the lands where Lord Beichan was born, Amang the stately steps of stane, He wore the goud at his left shoulder, But to the Holy Land he's gane.

2 He was na lang in the Holy Land, Amang the Prudents that was black, He was na lang in the Holy Land, Till the Prudent did Lord Beichan tak.

3 The gard him draw baith pleugh and harrow, And horse and oxen twa or three; They cast him in a dark dungeon, Whare he coud neither hear nor see.

4 The Prudent had a fair daughter, I wot they ca'd her Susy Pye, And all the keys in that city Hang at that lady by and bye.

5 It once fell out upon a day That into the prison she did gae, And whan she cam to the prison door, She kneeled low down on her knee.

6 'O hae ye ony lands, Beichan, Or hae ye ony castles hie, Whar ye wad tak a young thing to, If out of prison I wad let thee?'

7 'Fair London's mine, dear lady,' he said, 'And other places twa or three, Whar I wad tak a young thing to, If out of prison ye wad let me.'

8 O she has opened the prison door, And other places twa or three, And gien him bread, and wine to drink, In her own chamber privately.

9 O then she built a bonny ship, And she has set it on the main, And she has built a bonny ship, It's for to tak Lord Beichan hame.

10 O she's gaen murning up and down, And she's gaen murnin to the sea, Then to her father she has gane in, Wha spak to her right angrily.

11 'O do ye mourn for the goud, daughter, Or do ye mourn for the whyte monie? Or do ye mourn for the English squire? I wat I will gar hang him hie.'

12 'I neither mourn for the goud, father, Nor do I for the whyte monie, Nor do I for the English squire; And I care na tho ye hang him hie.

13 'But I hae promised an errand to go, Seven lang miles ayont the sea, And blythe and merry I never will be Untill that errand you let me.'

14 'That errand, daughter, you may gang, Seven long miles beyond the sea, Since blythe and merry you'll neer be Untill that errand I'll let thee.'

15 O she has built a bonny ship, And she has set it in the sea, And she has built a bonny ship, It's all for to tak her a long journie.

16 And she's sailed a' the summer day, I wat the wind blew wondrous fair; In sight of fair London she has come, And till Lord Beichan's yett she walked.

17 Whan she cam till Lord Beichan's yett, She rappit loudly at the pin: 'Is Beichan lord of this bonny place? I pray ye open and let me in.

18 'And O is this Lord Beichan's yett, And is the noble lord within?' 'O yes, it is Lord Beichan's yett, He's wi his bride and mony a ane.'

19 'If you'll gang up to Lord Beichan, Tell him the words that I tell thee; It will put him in mind of Susy Pye, And the Holy Land, whareer he be.

20 'Tell him to send one bite of bread, It's and a glass of his gude red wine, Nor to forget the lady's love That loosed him out of prison strong.'

* * * * * * *

21 'I hae been porter at your yett, I'm sure this therty lang years and three, But the fairest lady stands thereat That evir my twa eyes did see.

22 'On ilka finger she has a ring, And on the foremost she has three; As muckle goud is on her head As wad buy an earldom of land to thee.

23 'She bids you send a bite of bread, It's and a glass of your gude red wine, Nor to forget the lady's love That let you out of prison strong.'

24 It's up and spak the bride's mother, A weight of goud hung at her chin: 'There is no one so fair without But there are, I wat, as fair within.'

25 It's up and spak the bride hersel, As she sat by the gude lord's knee: 'Awa, awa, ye proud porter, This day ye might hae excepted me.'

* * * * * * *

26 'Tak hence, tak hence your fair daughter, Tak hame your daughter fair frae me; For saving one kiss of her bonny lips, I'm sure of her body I am free.

27 'Awa, awa, ye proud mither, It's tak your daughter fair frae me; For I brought her home with chariots six, And I'll send her back wi coaches three.'

28 It's he's taen the table wi his fit, And syne he took it wi his knee; He gard the glasses and wine so red, He gard them all in flinders flee.

29 O he's gane down the steps of stairs, And a' the stately steps of stane, Until he cam to Susy Pye; I wat the tears blinded baith their eyne.

30 He led her up the steps of stairs, And a' the stately steps of stane, And changed her name from Susy Pye, And ca'd her lusty Lady Jane.

31 'O fye, gar cooks mak ready meat, O fye, gar cooks the pots supply, That it may be talked of in fair London, I've been twice married in ae day.'

Communicated by Mr Alexander Laing, of Newburg-on-Tay, as derived from the recitation of Miss Walker.

* * * * * * *

1 'O wha's aught a' yon flock o sheep, An wha's aught a' yon flock o kye? An wha's aught a' yon pretty castles, That you sae often do pass bye?'

2 'They're a' Lord Beekin's sheep, They're a' Lord Beekin's kye; They're a' Lord Beekin's castles, That you sae often do pass bye.'

* * * * * * *

3 He's tane [the] table wi his feet, Made cups an candlesticks to flee: 'I'll lay my life 't is Susy Pie, Come owr the seas to marry me.'

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 260.

1 Young Beichan was in London born, He was a man of hie degree; He past thro monie kingdoms great, Until he cam unto Grand Turkie.

2 He viewd the fashions of that land, Their way of worship viewed he, But unto onie of their stocks He wadna sae much as bow a knee:

3 Which made him to be taken straight, And brought afore their hie jurie; The savage Moor did speak upricht, And made him meikle ill to dree.

4 In ilka shoulder they've bord a hole, And in ilka hole they've put a tree; They've made him to draw carts and wains, Till he was sick and like to dee.

5 But Young Beichan was a Christian born, And still a Christian was he; Which made them put him in prison strang, And cauld and hunger sair to dree, And fed on nocht but bread and water, Until the day that he mot dee.

6 In this prison there grew a tree, And it was unco stout and strang, Where he was chained by the middle, Until his life was almaist gane.

7 The savage Moor had but ae dochter, And her name it was Susie Pye, And ilka day as she took the air, The prison door she passed bye.

8 But it fell ance upon a day, As she was walking, she heard him sing; She listend to his tale of woe, A happy day for Young Beichan!

9 'My hounds they all go masterless, My hawks they flee frae tree to tree, My youngest brother will heir my lands, My native land I'll never see.'

10 'O were I but the prison-keeper, As I'm a ladie o hie degree, I soon wad set this youth at large, And send him to his ain countrie.'

11 She went away into her chamber, All nicht she never closd her ee; And when the morning begoud to dawn, At the prison door alane was she.

12 She gied the keeper a piece of gowd, And monie pieces o white monie, To tak her thro the bolts and bars, The lord frae Scotland she langd to see; She saw young Beichan at the stake, Which made her weep maist bitterlie.

13 'O hae ye got onie lands,' she says, 'Or castles in your ain countrie? It's what wad ye gie to the ladie fair Wha out o prison wad set you free?'

14 'It's I hae houses, and I hae lands, Wi monie castles fair to see, And I wad gie a' to that ladie gay, Wha out o prison wad set me free.'

15 The keeper syne brak aff his chains, And set Lord Beichan at libertie; She filld his pockets baith wi gowd, To tak him till his ain countrie.

16 She took him frae her father's prison, And gied to him the best o wine, And a brave health she drank to him: 'I wish, Lord Beichan, ye were mine!

17 'It's seven lang years I'll mak a vow, And seven lang years I'll keep it true; If ye'll wed wi na ither woman, It's I will wed na man but you.'

18 She's tane him to her father's port, And gien to him a ship o fame: 'Farewell, farewell, my Scottish lord, I fear I'll neer see you again.'

19 Lord Beichan turnd him round about, And lowly, lowly loutit he: 'Ere seven lang years come to an end, I'll tak you to mine ain countrie.'

* * * * * * *

20 Then whan he cam to Glasgow town, A happy, happy man was he; The ladies a' around him thrangd, To see him come frae slaverie.

21 His mother she had died o sorrow, And a' his brothers were dead but he; His lands they a' were lying waste, In ruins were his castles free.

22 Na porter there stood at his yett, Na human creature he could see, Except the screeching owls and bats, Had he to bear him companie.

23 But gowd will gar the castles grow, And he had gowd and jewels free, And soon the pages around him thrangd, To serve him on their bended knee.

24 His hall was hung wi silk and satin, His table rung wi mirth and glee, He soon forgot the lady fair That lowsd him out o slaverie.

25 Lord Beichan courted a lady gay, To heir wi him his lands sae free, Neer thinking that a lady fair Was on her way frae Grand Turkie.

26 For Susie Pye could get na rest, Nor day nor nicht could happy be, Still thinking on the Scottish lord, Till she was sick and like to dee.

27 But she has builded a bonnie ship, Weel mannd wi seamen o hie degree, And secretly she stept on board, And bid adieu to her ain countrie.

28 But whan she cam to the Scottish shore, The bells were ringing sae merrilie; It was Lord Beichan's wedding day, Wi a lady fair o hie degree.

29 But sic a vessel was never seen; The very masts were tappd wi gold, Her sails were made o the satin fine, Maist beautiful for to behold.

30 But whan the lady cam on shore, Attended wi her pages three, Her shoon were of the beaten gowd, And she a lady of great beautie.

31 Then to the skipper she did say, 'Can ye this answer gie to me? Where are Lord Beichan's lands sae braid? He surely lives in this countrie.'

32 Then up bespak the skipper bold, For he could speak the Turkish tongue: 'Lord Beichan lives not far away; This is the day of his wedding.'

33 'If ye will guide me to Beichan's yetts, I will ye well reward,' said she; Then she and all her pages went, A very gallant companie.

34 When she cam to Lord Beichan's yetts, She tirld gently at the pin; Sae ready was the proud porter To let the wedding guests come in.

35 'Is this Lord Beichan's house,' she says, 'Or is that noble lord within?' 'Yes, he is gane into the hall, With his brave bride and monie ane.'

36 'Ye'll bid him send me a piece of bread, Bot and a cup of his best wine; And bid him mind the lady's love That ance did lowse him out o pyne.'

37 Then in and cam the porter bold, I wat he gae three shouts and three: 'The fairest lady stands at your yetts That ever my twa een did see.'

38 Then up bespak the bride's mither, I wat an angry woman was she: 'You micht hae excepted our bonnie bride, Tho she'd been three times as fair as she.'

39 'My dame, your daughter's fair enough, And aye the fairer mot she be! But the fairest time that eer she was, She'll na compare wi this ladie.

40 'She has a gowd ring on ilka finger, And on her mid-finger she has three; She has as meikle gowd upon her head As wad buy an earldom o land to thee.

41 'My lord, she begs some o your bread, Bot and a cup o your best wine, And bids you mind the lady's love That ance did lowse ye out o pyne.'

42 Then up and started Lord Beichan, I wat he made the table flee: 'I wad gie a' my yearlie rent 'T were Susie Pye come owre the sea.'

43 Syne up bespak the bride's mother, She was never heard to speak sae free: 'Ye'll no forsake my ae dochter, Tho Susie Pye has crossd the sea?'

44 'Tak hame, tak hame, your dochter, madam, For she is neer the waur o me; She cam to me on horseback riding, And she sall gang hame in chariot free.'

45 He's tane Susie Pye by the milk-white hand, And led her thro his halls sae hie: 'Ye're now Lord Beichan's lawful wife, And thrice ye're welcome unto me.'

46 Lord Beichan prepard for another wedding, Wi baith their hearts sae fu o glee; Says, 'I'll range na mair in foreign lands, Sin Susie Pye has crossd the sea.

47 'Fy! gar a' our cooks mak ready, And fy! gar a' our pipers play, And fy! gar trumpets gae thro the toun, That Lord Beichan's wedded twice in a day!'

Communicated by Mr David Louden, as recited by Mrs Dodds, Morham, Haddington, the reciter being above seventy in 1873.

1 In London was Young Bechin born, Foreign nations he longed to see; He passed through many kingdoms great, At length he came unto Turkie.

2 He viewed the fashions of that land, The ways of worship viewed he, But unto any of their gods He would not so much as bow the knee.

3 On every shoulder they made a bore, In every bore they put a tree, Then they made him the winepress tread, And all in spite of his fair bodie.

4 They put him into a deep dungeon, Where he could neither hear nor see, And for seven years they kept him there, Till for hunger he was like to die.

5 Stephen, their king, had a daughter fair, Yet never a man to her came nigh; And every day she took the air, Near to his prison she passed by.

6 One day she heard Young Bechin sing A song that pleased her so well, No rest she got till she came to him, All in his lonely prison cell.

7 'I have a hall in London town, With other buildings two or three, And I'll give them all to the ladye fair That from this dungeon shall set me free.'

8 She stole the keys from her dad's head, And if she oped one door ay she opened three, Till she Young Bechin could find out, He was locked up so curiouslie.

* * * * * * *

9 'I've been a porter at your gate This thirty years now, ay and three; There stands a ladye at your gate, The like of her I neer did see.

10 'On every finger she has a ring, On the mid-finger she has three; She's as much gold about her brow As would an earldom buy to me.'

* * * * * * *

11 He's taen her by the milk-white hand, He gently led her through the green; He changed her name from Susie Pie, An he's called her lovely Ladye Jean.

Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 85. From tradition.

* * * * * * *

1 She's taen the keys frae her fadder's coffer, Tho he keeps them most sacredlie, And she has opend the prison strong, And set Young Beichan at libertie.

* * * * * * *

2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'Gae up the countrie, my chile,' she says, 'Till your fadder's wrath be turned from thee.'

* * * * * * *

3 She's put her han intill her purse, And gave the porter guineas three; Says, 'Tak ye that, ye proud porter, And tell your master to speak wi me.

4 'Ye'll bid him bring a shower o his best love, But and a bottle o his wine, And do to me as I did to him in time past, And brought him out o muckle pine.'

5 He's taen the table wi his foot, And he has keppit it wi his knee: 'I'll wager my life and a' my lan, It's Susan Pie come ower the sea.

6 'Rise up, rise up, my bonnie bride, Ye're neither better nor waur for me; Ye cam to me on a horse and saddle, But ye may gang back in a coach and three.'

Communicated by Mr David Louden, as obtained from Mrs Dickson, Rentonhall.

* * * * * * *

1 'There is a marriage in yonder hall, Has lasted thirty days and three; The bridegroom winna bed the bride, For the sake of one that's owre the sea.'

* * * * * * *

2 'What news, what news, my brave young porter? What news, what news have ye for me?' 'As beautiful a ladye stands at your gate As eer my two eyes yet did see.'

3 'A slice of bread to her get ready, And a bottle of the best of wine; Not to forget that fair young ladye Who did release thee out of close confine.'

4 Lord Bechin in a passion flew, And rent himself like a sword in three, Saying, 'I would give all my father's riches If my Sophia was 'cross the sea.'

5 Up spoke the young bride's mother, Who never was heard to speak so free, Saying, 'I hope you'll not forget my only daughter, Though your Sophia be 'cross the sea.'

6 'I own a bride I've wed your daughter, She's nothing else the worse of me; She came to me on a horse and saddle, She may go back in a coach and three.'

The Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. Illustrated by George Cruikshank. 1839.

1 Lord Bateman was a noble lord, A noble lord of high degree; He shipped himself all aboard of a ship, Some foreign country for to see.

2 He sailed east, he sailed west, Until he came to famed Turkey, Where he was taken and put to prison, Until his life was quite weary.

3 All in this prison there grew a tree, O there it grew so stout and strong! Where he was chained all by the middle, Until his life was almost gone.

4 This Turk he had one only daughter, The fairest my two eyes eer see; She steel the keys of her father's prison, And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.

5 O she took him to her father's cellar, And gave to him the best of wine; And every health she drank unto him Was, 'I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine.'

6 'O have you got houses, have you got land, And does Northumberland belong to thee? And what would you give to the fair young lady As out of prison would let you go free?'

7 'O I've got houses and I've got land, And half Northumberland belongs to me; And I will give it all to the fair young lady As out of prison would let me go free.'

8 'O in seven long years, I'll make a vow For seven long years, and keep it strong, That if you'll wed no other woman, O I will wed no other man.'

9 O she took him to her father's harbor, And gave to him a ship of fame, Saying, Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman, I fear I never shall see you again.

10 Now seven long years is gone and past, And fourteen days, well known to me; She packed up all her gay clothing, And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.

11 O when she arrived at Lord Bateman's castle, How boldly then she rang the bell! 'Who's there? who's there?' cries the proud young porter, 'O come unto me pray quickly tell.'

12 'O is this here Lord Bateman's castle, And is his lordship here within?' 'O yes, O yes,' cries the proud young porter, 'He's just now taking his young bride in.'

13 'O bid him to send me a slice of bread, And a bottle of the very best wine, And not forgetting the fair young lady As did release him when close confine.'

14 O away and away went this proud young porter, O away and away and away went he, Until he come to Lord Bateman's chamber, When he went down on his bended knee.

15 'What news, what news, my proud young porter? What news, what news? Come tell to me:' 'O there is the fairest young lady As ever my two eyes did see.

16 'She has got rings on every finger, And on one finger she has got three; With as much gay gold about her middle As would buy half Northumberlee.

17 'O she bids you to send her a slice of bread, And a bottle of the very best wine, And not forgetting the fair young lady As did release you when close confine.'

18 Lord Bateman then in passion flew, And broke his sword in splinters three, Saying, I will give half of my father's land, If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.

19 Then up and spoke this young bride's mother, Who never was heard to speak so free; Saying, You'll not forget my only daughter, If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.

20 'O it's true I made a bride of your daughter, But she's neither the better nor the worse for me; She came to me with a horse and saddle, But she may go home in a coach and three.'

21 Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage, With both their hearts so full of glee, Saying, I will roam no more to foreign countries, Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.

Buchan's MSS, I, 18. J.H. Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 1.

#a.# Falkirk, printed by T. Johnston, 1815. #b.# Stirling, M. Randall.

* * * * *

#B.#

17^1. bids me.

22^{5, 6}. Connected with 23 in MS.

22^6. send he.

#C. a.#

15^2. How y you.

#b.#

3^3. omits house.

4^2. omits foot.

7^1. omits dear.

7^3. For she's ... of the prison.

7^4. And gane the dungeon within.

8^1. And when.

8^2. Wow but her heart was sair.

9^1. She's gotten.

11^1. thir twa.

13^2. I kenna.

13^4. kensnae.

14^1. fell out.

15^2. How y you.

16^1. till.

16^2. As fast as ye can gang.

16^3. tak three.

16^4. To haud ye unthocht lang.

18^1. Syne ye.

18^3. And bonny.

19^3. And I will.

20^2. As fast as she could gang.

20^3. she's taen.

20^4. To haud her unthocht lang.

22^3. And sae bonny did.

22^4. till.

24^3. And her mind misgae by.

24^4. That 't was.

25^2. markis three.

25^4. Bid your master.

27^4. did never.

29^1. and spak.

29^3. be fine.

29^4. as fine.

32^3. out of.

34^3. at the first.

35^2. gang.

36^4. Send her back a maid.

#D.#

Written throughout without division into stanzas.

7. _A like repetition occurs again in the Skene MSS: see No 36, p. 316._

10^{1, 2}. One line in the MS. The metre, in several places where it is incomplete, was doubtless made full by repetition: see 19^{1, 3}.

14^1. This line thus: (~an a Leash of guid gray hounds~). The reciter evidently could remember only this point in the stanza.

16, 17. Whan she cam to Young Beachens gate Is Young Beachen at hame Or is he in this countrie He is at hame is hearly (?) said Him an sigh an says her Susie Pay Has he quite forgotten me

19^{1, 3}. Probably sung, the stair, the stair; win up, win up.

22^{3, 4}. The latter half of the stanza must be supposed to be addressed to ~Young Beachen~.

26^{1, 2}. He took her down to yon gouden green.

27^4. Sh's.

29^2. my name.

After 29 a stanza belonging apparently to some other ballad:

Courtess kind, an generous mind, An winna ye answer me? An whan the hard their lady's word, Well answered was she.

#E.#

6^{4-6} was introduced, with other metrical passages, into a long tale of '~Young Beichan and Susy Pye~,' which Motherwell had heard related, and of which he gives a specimen at p. xv. of his Introduction: "Well, ye must know that in the Moor's castle there was a massymore, which is a dark dungeon for keeping prisoners. It was twenty feet below the ground, and into this hole they closed poor Beichan. There he stood, night and day, up to his waist in puddle water; but night or day it was all one to him, for no ae styme of light ever got in. So he lay there a lang and weary while, and thinking on his heavy weird, he made a murnfu sang to pass the time, and this was the sang that he made, and grat when he sang it, for he never thought of ever escaping from the massymore, or of seeing his ain country again:

'My hounds they all run masterless, My hawks they flee from tree to tree; My youngest brother will heir my lands, And fair England again I'll never see.

'Oh were I free as I hae been, And my ship swimming once more on sea, I'd turn my face to fair England, And sail no more to a strange countrie.'

"Now the cruel Moor had a beautiful daughter, called Susy Pye, who was accustomed to take a walk every morning in her garden, and as she was walking ae day she heard the sough o Beichan's sang, coming as it were from below the ground," etc., etc.

#F.#

3^3. dungeon (donjon).

6^1. only lands.

6^2. only castles.

8^1. Oh.

10^3. ha she has gane in: originally has she gane in.

13^2. _~Many~, with ~Seven~ written over: ~Seven~ in 14^2._

20. After this stanza: Then the porter gaed up the stair and said.

25. After this stanza: Then Lord Beichan gat up, and was in a great wrath, and said.

31. ~ae~: indistinct, but seems to have been ~one~ changed to ~ae~ or #a#.

#H.#

4^3. ~carts and wains~ for ~carts o wine~ of #A# 2^3, #B# 2^3. We have ~wine~ in #H# 4^3, #I# 3^3, and ~wine~ is in all likelihood original.

Christie, #I#, 31, abridges this version, making "~a few slight alterations from the way he had heard it sung~:" these, and one or two more.

2^4. wadna bend nor bow.

7^1. The Moor he had.

25^1. But Beichan courted.

#I.#

1^1. ~Bechin~ was pronounced ~Beekin~.

#K.#

1. Before this, as gloss, or remnant of a preceding stanza: She came to a shepherd, and he replied.

2. After this, in explanation: She gave Lord Bechin a slice of bread and a bottle of wine when she released him from prison, hence the following.

3^1. to him.

4. After this: He had married another lady, not having heard from his Sophia for seven long years.

#L.#

"This affecting legend is given ... precisely as I have frequently heard it sung on Saturday nights, outside a house of general refreshment (familiarly termed a wine-vaults) at Battle-bridge. The singer is a young gentleman who can scarcely have numbered nineteen summers.... I have taken down the words from his own mouth at different periods, and have been careful to preserve his pronunciation." [Attributed to Charles Dickens.] As there is no reason for indicating pronunciation here, in this more than in other cases, the phonetic spelling is replaced by common orthography. Forms of speech have, however, been preserved, excepting two, with regard to which I may have been too nice.

1^3. his-self.

5^2, 9^2. guv.

#M.#

10^3. ~in~ for ~wi~ (?): ~wi~ in 5^3.

12^2, 46^2. bend. Possibly, however, understood to be ~bend==leather~, instead of ~ben==bane, bone~.

13^4, 47^4. on thought.

#N. a.#

Susan Py, or Young Bichens Garland. Shewing how he went to a far country, and was taken by a savage Moor and cast into prison, and delivered by the Moor's daughter, on promise of marriage; and how he came to England, and was going to be wedded to another bride; with the happy arrival of Susan Py on the wedding day. Falkirk, Printed by T. Johnston, 1815.

#b.#

3^4. his own.

4^2. A week, a week, but only.

7^3. own land.

7^4. And foreign lands no more.

11^1. young man.

13^2. he lay.

24^3. her trunks.

25^4. was the.

28^2. that stood hard by.

28^4. thou shalt.

29^2. She knocked.

31^4. waiting-maid.

32^2. For this is his.

34^1. up the stairs.

34^3. will you.

36^4. Ye might.

37^2. Sae loud as I hear ye lie.

39^4. And a sight of him you cannot see.

40^4. To bring.

42^3. I'll lay.

44^2. way that you've used me.

47^4. wedding of.

[403] Mr Macmath has ascertained that Mrs Brown was born in 1747. She learned most of her ballads before she was twelve years old, or before 1759. 1783, or a little earlier, is the date when these copies were taken down from her singing or recitation.

[404] The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 21. Dixon says, a little before, that the Stirling broadside of 'Lord Bateman' varies but slightly from the English printed by Hoggett, Durham, and Pitts, Catnach, and others, London. This is not true of the Stirling broadside of 'Young Bichen:' see #N b#. I did not notice, until too late, that I had not furnished myself with the broadside 'Lord Bateman,' and have been obliged to turn back the Cruikshank copy into ordinary orthography.

[405] We have this repetition in two other ballads of the Skene MSS besides #D#; see p. 316 of this volume, sts 1-9; also in 'The Lord of Learne,' Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 192 f, vv 269-304.

[406] "An old woman who died in Errol, Carse of Gowrie, about twenty years ago, aged nearly ninety years, was wont invariably to sing this ballad: 'Young Lundie was in Brechin born.' Lundie is an estate now belonging to the Earl of Camperdoun, north from Dundee." A. Laing, note to #G#. That is to say, the old woman's world was Forfarshire.

Mr Logan had heard in Scotland a version in which the hero was called Lord Bangol: A Pedlar's Pack, p. 15.

[407] Cf. 'The Fair Flower of Northumberland,' #B# 2, #E# 2, pp 115 f.

[408] She does not get away without exciting the solicitude or wrath of her father, #F#, #M#, #J#, #N#, and in the first two has to use artifice.

[409] A point borrowed, it well may be, from 'Hind Horn,' #E# 5 f, #A# 10.

[410] So Torello's wife upsets the table, in Boccaccio's story: see p. 198. One of her Slavic kinswomen jumps over four tables and lights on a fifth.

[411] In #C# 34, #M# 49, she is recognized by one of the hounds which she had given him. So Bos, seigneur de Bénac, who breaks a ring with his wife, goes to the East, and is prisoner among the Saracens seven years, on coming back is recognized only by his greyhound: Magasin Pittoresque, VI, 56 b. It is scarcely necessary to scent the Odyssey here.

[412] Ridiculously changed in #J# 6, #K# 6, #L# 20, to a coach and three, reminding us of that master-stroke in Thackeray's ballad of 'Little Billee,' "a captain of a seventy-three." 'Little Billee,' by the way, is really like an old ballad, fallen on evil days and evil tongues; whereas the serious imitations of traditional ballads are not the least like, and yet, in their way, are often not less ludicrous.

[413] In #M#, to make everything pleasant, Bondwell offers the bride five hundred pounds to marry his cousin John. She says, Keep your money; John was my first love. So Bondwell is married at early morn, and John in the afternoon.

[414] Harleian MS. 2277, from which the life of Beket, in long couplets, was printed by Mr W. H. Black for the Percy Society, in 1845. The story of Gilbert Beket is contained in the first 150 vv. The style of this composition entirely resembles that of Robert of Gloucester, and portions of the life of Beket are identical with the Chronicle; whence Mr Black plausibly argues that both are by the same hand. The account of Beket's parentage is interpolated into Edward Grim's Life, in Cotton MS. Vitellius, C, XII, from which it is printed by Robertson, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, II, 453 ff. It is found in Bromton's Chronicle, Twysden, Scriptores X, columns 1052-55, and in the First Quadrilogus, Paris, 1495, from which it is reprinted by Migne, Patrologiæ Cursus Completus, CXC, cols 346 ff. The tale has been accepted by many writers who would have been better historians for a little reading of romances. Angustin Thierry sees in Thomas Beket a Saxon contending in high place, for the interests and with the natural hatred of his race, against Norman Henry, just as he finds in the yeoman Robin Hood a leader of Saxon serfs engaged in irregular war with Norman Richard. But both of St Thomas's parents were Norman; the father of Rouen, the mother of Caen. The legend was introduced by Lawrence Wade, following John of Exeter, into a metrical life of Beket of about the year 1500: see the poem in Englische Studien, III, 417, edited by Horstmann.

[415] Richard, the proud porter of the ballads, is perhaps most like himself in #M# 32 ff.

[416] Neither her old name nor her Christian name is told us in this legend. Gilbert Beket's wife was Matilda, according to most authorities, but Roësa according to one: see Robertson, as above, IV, 81; Migne, cols 278 f. Fox has made Roësa into Rose, Acts and Monuments, I, 267, ed. 1641.

Gilbert and Rose (but Roësa is not Rose) recall to Hippeau, Vie de St Thomas par Garnier de Pont Sainte Maxence, p. xxiii, Elie de Saint Gille and Rosamonde, whose adventures have thus much resemblance with those of Beket and of Bekie. Elie de Saint Gille, after performing astounding feats of valor in fight with a horde of Saracens who have made a descent on Brittany, is carried off to their land. The amiral Macabré requires Elie to adore Mahomet; Elie refuses in the most insolent terms, and is condemned to the gallows. He effects his escape, and finds himself before Macabré's castle. Here, in another fight, he is desperately wounded, but is restored by the skill of Rosamonde, the amiral's daughter, who is Christian at heart, and loves the Frank. To save her from being forced to marry the king of Bagdad, Elie fights as her champion. In the end she is baptized, as a preparation for her union with Elie, but he, having been present at the ceremony, is adjudged by the archbishop to be gossip to her, and Elie and Rosamonde are otherwise disposed of. So the French romance, but in the Norse, which, as Kölbing maintains, is likely to preserve the original story here, there is no such splitting of cumin, and hero and heroine are united.

[417] There is one in the Gesta Romanorum, cap. 5, Österley, p. 278, of about the same age as the Beket legend. It is not particularly important. A young man is captured by a pirate, and his father will not send his ransom. The pirate's daughter often visits the captive, who appeals to her to exert herself for his liberation. She promises to effect his freedom if he will marry her. This he agrees to. She releases him from his chains without her father's knowledge, and flies with him to his native land.

[418] Nor Guarinos in the Spanish ballad, Duran, No 402, I, 265; Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, II, 321. Guarinos is very cruelly treated, but it is his horse, not he, that has to draw carts. For the Sire de Créqui see also Dinaux, Trouvères, III, 161 ff (Köhler).

[419] And in 'Der Herr von Falkenstein,' a variety of the story, Meier, Deutsche Sagen aus Schwaben, p. 319, No 362. A Christian undergoes the same hardship in Schöppner, Sagenbuch, III, 127, No 1076. For other cases of the wonderful deliverance of captive knights, not previously mentioned by me, see Hocker, in Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 306.

[420] A meisterlied of Alexander von Metz, of the second half of the fifteenth century, Körner, Historische Volkslieder, p. 49; the ballad 'Der Graf von Rom,' or 'Der Graf im Pfluge,' Uhland, p. 784, No 299, printed as early as 1493; De Historie van Florentina, Huysvrouwe van Alexander van Mets, 1621, van den Bergh, De nederlandsche Volksromans, p. 52. And see Goedeke, Deutsche Dichtung im Mittelalter, pp 569, 574; Uhland, Schriften zur Geschichte der Dichtung, IV, 297-309; Danske Viser, V, 67.

[421] Øster-kongens rige, Østerige, Østerland, Austrríki, understood by Grundtvig as Garðaríki, the Scandinavian-Russian kingdom of the tenth and eleventh centuries. Austrríki is used vaguely, but especially of the east of Europe, Russia, Austria, sometimes including Turkey (Vigfusson).

[422] In Swedish #K#, as she pushes off from land, she exclaims:

'Gud Fader i Himmelens rike Skall vara min styresman!'

Cf. #M# 28:

And she's tuen God her pilot to be.

[423] See 'The Red Bull of Norroway,' Chambers, Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 1870, p. 99; 'Mestermø,' Asbjørnsen og Moe, No 46; 'Hass-Fru,' Cavallius och Stephens, No 14; Powell, Icelandic Legends, Second Series, p. 377; the Grimms, Nos 56, 113, 186, 193; Pentamerone, II, 7, III, 9; Gonzenbach, Nos 14, 54, 55, and Köhler's note; Hahn, Griechische u. Albanesische Märchen, No 54; Carleton, Traits and Stories of the Irish Peasantry, 10th ed., I, 23; Campbell, West Highland Tales, I, 25, No 2, and Köhler's notes in Orient u. Occident, II, 103-114, etc., etc.

[424] This passage leads the editors of Primavera to remark, II, 52, that 'El Conde Sol' shows distinct traits of 'Le Chat Botté.' Similar questions are asked in English #G#, the other Spanish versions, and the Italian, and in nearly all the Greek ballads referred to on pp 199, 200; always under the same circumstances, and to bring about the discovery which gives the turn to the story. The questions in 'Le Chat Botté' are introduced for an entirely different purpose, and cannot rationally suggest a borrowing on either side. The hasty note would certainly have been erased by the very distinguished editors upon a moment's consideration.

[425] Puymaigre finds also some resemblance in his 'Petite Rosalie,' I, 74: see his note.

ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS

1. Riddles Wisely Expounded.

P. 1 b. #A.# Add: Mündel, Elsässische Volkslieder, p. 27, No 24. Second line from the bottom, for seven read ten.

2 a. Add: #H.# J. H. Schmitz, Sitten u. s. w. des Eifler Volkes, I, 159; five pairs of riddles and no conclusion. (Köhler.) #I.# Alfred Müller, Volkslieder aus dem Erzgebirge, p. 69; four pairs of riddles, and no conclusion. #J.# Lemke, Volksthümliches in Ostpreussen, p. 152; seven riddles guessed, "nun bin ich Deine Frau."

2 b. (The Russian riddle-ballad.) So a Kosak: "I give thee this riddle: if thou guess it, thou shalt be mine; if thou guess it not, ill shall it go with thee." The riddle, seven-fold, is guessed. Metlinskiy, Narodnyya yuzhnorusskiya Pyesni, pp 363 f. Cf. Snegiref, Russkie prostonarodnye Prazdniki, II, 101 f.

2 b, note. For Kaden substitute Casetti e Imbriani, C. p. delle Provincie meridionali, I, 197 f. (Köhler.)

2. The Elfin Knight.

#P.# 6 b. #J.# Read: Central New York; and again in #J#, p. 19 a. Add: #M.# Notes and Queries, 4th Series, III, 605.

7 a, note. Another ballad with a burden-stem is a version of 'Klosterrovet,' #C#, MSS of 1610, and later, communicated to me by Svend Grundtvig.

7 b. Add: #O.# 'Ehestandsaussichten' [Norrenberg], Des Dülkener Fiedlers Liederbuch, 1875, p. 88, No 99. (Köhler.)

8-12. Jagić, in Archiv für slavische Philologie, 'Aus dem südslavischen Märchenschatz,' V, 47-50, adds five Slavic stories of the wench whose ready wit helps her to a good marriage, and Köhler, in notes to Jagić, pp 50 ff, cites, in addition to nearly all those which I have mentioned, one Slavic, one German, five Italian, one French, one Irish, one Norwegian, besides very numerous tales in which there is a partial agreement. Wollner, in Leskien and Brugman's Litauische Volkslieder und Märchen, p. 573, cites Slavic parallels to No 34, of which the following, not previously noted, and no doubt others, are apposite to this ballad: Afanasief, VI, 177, No 42, a, b; Trudy, II, 611-614, No 84, 614-616, No 85; Dragomanof, p. 347, No 29; Sadok Baracz, p. 33; Kolberg, Lud, VIII, 206; Kulda, II, 68.

14 a, line 4. The Baba-Yaga, a malignant female spirit, has the ways of the Rusalka and the Vila, and so the Wendish Pšezpolnica, the 'Mittagsfrau,' and the Serpolnica: Afanasief, II, 333; Veckenstedt, Wendische Sagen, p. 107, No 14, p. 108 f, No 19, p. 109 f, No 4. The Red Etin puts questions, too, in the Scottish tale, Chambers, Popular Rhymes, 1870, p. 92. There is certainly no occasion to scruple about elf or elf-knight. Line 16 f. The same in Snegiref, IV. 8.

14 b. For the legend of St Andrew, etc., see, further, Gering, Íslendzk Æventyri, I, 95, No 24, 'Af biskupi ok puka,' and Köhler's references, II, 80 f. (Köhler.)

15 a. #A, B.# Dr Davidson informs me that the introductory stanza, or burden-stem, exists in the form:

Her plaidie awa, her plaidie awa, The win blew the bonnie lassie's plaidie awa.

16 a. #C.# This version is in Kinloch MSS, VII, 163. 3 is wanting.

6. Married ye sall never get nane Till ye mak a shirt without a seam.

7. And ye maun sew it seamless, And ye maun do it wi needle, threedless.

10. wanting.

12^1. I hae a bit o land to be corn.

14 is wanting.

16. loof--glove.

17 is wanting.

3, 10, 14, 17, are evidently supplied from some form of #B#.

20.

Similar to #F-H#: Notes and Queries, 4th Series, III, 605, communicated by W. F., Glasgow, from a manuscript collection.

1 As I went up to the top o yon hill, Every rose springs merry in' t' time I met a fair maid, an her name it was Nell. An she langed to be a true lover o mine

2 'Ye'll get to me a cambric sark, An sew it all over without thread or needle. Before that ye be, etc.

3 'Ye'll wash it doun in yonder well, Where water neer ran an dew never fell.

4 'Ye'll bleach it doun by yonder green, Where grass never grew an wind never blew.

5 'Ye'll dry it doun on yonder thorn, That never bore blossom sin Adam was born.'

6 'Four questions ye have asked at me, An as mony mair ye'll answer me.

7 'Ye'll get to me an acre o land Atween the saut water an the sea sand.

8 'Ye'll plow it wi a ram's horn, An sow it all over wi one peppercorn.

9 'Ye'll shear it wi a peacock's feather, An bind it all up wi the sting o an adder.

10 'Ye'll stook it in yonder saut sea, An bring the dry sheaves a' back to me.

11 'An when ye've done and finished your wark, Ye'll come to me, an ye'se get your sark.' An then shall ye be true lover o mine

3. The Fause Knight upon the Road.

#P.# 20 a. Add: #C.# 'The False Knight,' communicated by Mr Macmath, of Edinburgh.

For the fool getting the last word of the princess, see, further, Köhler, Germania, XIV, 271; Leskien u. Brugman, Litauische Volkslieder u. Märchen, p. 469, No 33, and Wollner's note, p. 573.

21, note. I must retract the doubly hasty remark that the Shetland belief that witches may be baffled by fliting with them is a modern misunderstanding.

Mr George Lyman Kittredge has called my attention to Apollonius of Tyana's encounter with an empusa between the Caucasus and the Indus. Knowing what the spectre was, Apollonius began to revile it, and told his attendants to do the same, for that was the resource, in such cases, against an attack. The empusa went off with a shriek. Philostratus's Life of Apollonius, II, 4. Mr Kittredge referred me later to what is said by Col. Yule (who also cites Philostratus), Marco Polo, I, 183, that the wise, according to Mas'udi, revile ghúls, and the ghúls vanish. Mr Kittredge also cites Luther's experience: how, when he could not be rid of the Devil by the use of holy writ and serious words, "so hätte er ihn oft mit spitzigen Worten und lächerlichen Possen vertrieben; ... quia est superbus spiritus, et non potest ferre contemptum sui." Tischreden, in Auswahl, Berlin, 1877, pp 152-154.

Sprites of the more respectable orders will quit the company of men if scolded: Walter Mapes, De Nugis Curialium, ed. Wright, p. 81, Alpenburg, Deutsche Alpensagen, p. 312, No 330. So Thetis, according to Sophocles, left Peleus when he reviled her: Scholia in Apollonii Argonautica, IV, 816. (Mannhardt, Wald- und Feldkulte, II, 60, 68.) 22.

Obtained by Mr Macmath from the recitation of his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, formerly of Airds of Kells, Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, Galloway, who learned it many years ago from the wife of Peter McGuire, then cotman at Airds.

1 'O whare are ye gaun?' Says the false knight upon the road: 'I am gaun to the schule,' Says the wee boy, and still he stood.

2 'Wha's aught the sheep on yonder hill?' 'They are my papa's and mine.'

3 'How many of them's mine?' 'A' them that has blue tails.'

4 'I wish you were in yonder well:' 'And you were down in hell.'

4. Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight.

#P.# 22 b. #D.# Add: #d.# 'The historical ballad of May Culzean,' an undated stall-copy.

26 b. Another Dutch version (Frisian), spirited, but with gaps, is given by Dykstra and van der Meulen, In Doaze fol alde Snypsnaren, Frjentsjer, 1882, p. 118, 'Jan Alberts,' 66 vv. (Köhler.)

#D.# Jan Alberts sings a song, and those that hear it know it not. It is heard by a king's daughter, who asks her mother's leave to go out for a walk, and is told that it is all one where she goes or stays, if she keeps her honor. Her father says the same, when she applies for his leave. She goes to her bedroom and dresses herself finely, dons a gold crown, puts her head out of the window, and cries, Now am I Jan Alberts' bride. Jan Alberts takes her on his horse; they ride fast and long, with nothing to eat or drink for three days. She then asks Jan why he gives her nothing, and he answers that he shall ride to the high tree where hang fourteen fair maids. Arrived there, he gives her the choice of tree, sword, or water. She chooses the sword, bids him spare his coat, for a pure maid's blood goes far, and before his coat is half off his head lies behind him. The head cries, Behind the bush is a pot of grease; smear my neck with it. She will not smear from a murderer's pot, nor blow in a murderer's horn. She mounts his horse, and rides far and long. Jan Alberts' mother comes to meet her, and asks after him. She says he is not far off, and is sporting with fourteen maids. Had you told me this before, I would have laid you in the water, says the mother. The maid rides on till she comes to her father's gate. Then she cries to her father to open, for his youngest daughter is without. The father not bestirring himself, she swims the moat, and, the door not being open, goes through the glass. The next day she dries her clothes.

30 a, 37 a. There is a Low German version of the first class, #A-F#, in Spee, Volksthümliches vom Niederrhein, Köln, 1875, Zweites Heft, p. 3, 'Schöndili,' 50 vv. (Köhler.)

#AA.# Schöndili's parents died when she was a child. Schön-Albert, knowing this, rides to her. She attires herself in silk, with a gold crown on her hair, and he swings her on to his horse. They ride three days and nights, with nothing to eat or drink. She asks whether it is not meal-time; he replies that they are coming to a linden, where they will eat and drink. Seven women are hanging on the tree. He gives her the wale of tree, river, and sword. She chooses the sword; would be loath to spot his coat; whips off his head before the coat is half off. The head says there is a pipe in the saddle; she thinks no good can come of playing a murderer's pipe. She meets first the father, then the mother; they think that must be Schön-Albert's horse. That may be, she says; I have not seen him since yesterday. She sets the pipe to her mouth, when she reaches her father's gate, and the murderers come like hares on the wind.

#BB.# Alfred Müller, Volkslieder aus dem Erzgebirge, p. 92, 'Schön Ulrich' [und Trautendelein], 36 vv. (Köhler.) Like #T#, without the song.

#CC.# A. Schlosser, Deutsche Volkslieder aus Steiermark, 1881, p. 338, No 309, 'Der Ritter und die Maid.' (Köhler: not yet seen by me.)

#DD.# Curt Mündel, Elsässische Volkslieder, p. 12, No 10, a fragment of fifteen verses. As Anna sits by the Rhine combing her hair, Heinrich comes along on his horse, sees her weep, and asks why. It is not for gold and not for goods, but because she is to die that day. Heinrich draws his sword, runs her through, and rides home. He is asked why his sword is red, and says he has killed two doves. They say the dove must be Anna.

32 b. #H#, line 10. Read: umbrunnen.

39 a, line 1. Read: contributed by Hoffmann.

39 a, third paragraph. Kozlowski, Lud, p. 54, No 15, furnishes a second and inferior but still important form of #A# (Masovian).

#A b.# Ligar (afterwards Jasia, Golo) bids Kasia take all she has. She has already done this, and is ready to range the world with him. Suddenly she asks, after they have been some time on their way, What is that yonder so green? Jasia replies, Our house, to which we are going. They go on further, and Kasia again inquires abruptly, What is that yonder so white? "That is my eight wives, and you shall be the ninth: you are to die, and will be the tenth." "Where is the gold, the maidens' gold?" "In the linden, Kasia, in the linden; plenty of it." "Let me not die so wretchedly; let me draw your sword for once." She drew the sword, and with one stroke Jasia's head was off.

The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 1 (of 5) (part 6 of 7)

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