Thoch he was wicht he was nae wyss I'm slain this day At Christ's Kirk on the green. Quhen that he saw his blude sae reid He weind it had been for auld feid; Throw speid that day At Christ's Kirk on the green. The toun soutar in grief was bowdin, Hir glitterand hair that was sae gowden That for her sak he was nae youden Seven myle that he was chaist, And mair that day At Christ's Kirk on the green. The miller was of manly mak, To meit him was no mows; There durst not ten cum him to tak, The buschment hale about him brak, And bikkert him wi' bows: Syne trayterly, behint his back, Behind that day At Christ's Kirk on the green. Twa that war herdmen of the herd, Then followit feymen richt unaffeird, But quhair thair gobs thay were ungeird Quhyl bludy barkit war their bairds, Maist lyk that day At Christ's Kirk on the green. The wyves keist up a hideous yell For reird that day Be this Tam Tailor was in's gear, When he heard the common bell; Said he wald mak them all asteir When he came there himsell, He went to fecht with sic a fear While to the erd he fell; A wife, that hit him to the grund, Fel'd him that day When they had beirt like baited bulls, And branewod brynt in bales; They war as meik as ony mulis For faintness thae forfochtin fulis Fresh men cam in and hail'd the dulis, Bedeen that day At Christ's Kirk on the green. The bridegroom broucht a pint of aile, The bride her maidens stood near by, And Bartagasie, the bride sae gay, Full soon that day When a' was dune Dik with an aix He turn'd and gaif them baith their paiks, For feir that day At Christ's Kirk on the green. The two preceding Ballads are, perhaps, the most perfect delineations of the manners of the Scottish peasantry, that ever were executed; and they demonstrate most forcibly how difficult it is to change the general character and manners of a people. Since the publication of these poems many causes have been in operation, which, one would be ready to suppose, should have effected a total change of character among the mass of our population, yet they are at this moment as perfectly descriptive of rustic life, as they could possibly be at the moment they were composed. There is not one country fair (throughout the south and west of Scotland) among a thousand that does not exhiblt the whole scene in the utmost perfection, only that the stocks have disappeared, and in many places have had nothing substituted in their place, so that violence is a little more II. G 11 lawless, and vicious habits subject to less restraint than formerly. Whoever is curious in these matters, and chooses to make the experiment, will find, that, after all the happy effects of parish schools, with all the addenda that modern times has brought in aid of them, our rustic youth, are, when their heads are heated by whisky, and their heels lightened by the powerful tones of the fiddle, most immoderately given to swearing and brawling; and the winklotis, he will find, are still coarse, coquetish, and shameless. The author of these Poems, has been pretty generally assumed to be James I. of Scotland, but who ever will be at the trouble to inquire, will find that this is mere assumption, without even the shadow of proof. Nay, all the evidence of a presumptive kind, is directly the contrary way, and goes in my opinion to establish it as a fact, that James I. could not be the author of these Poems. The reader, who is interested in such inquiries, will find the question pretty largely discussed by Dr. Gibson, the earliest editor of any of these Poems, by Mr. Callander of Craigforth, by Mr. Tytler, in his Poetical remains of James I. as also in the works of Dr. Tanner, Bishop Percy, Dr. Warton, Mr. Ritson, &c. &c. I shall content myself with stating a few simple facts, which require the reader only to turn to the life of James I. in order to verify them, and if, after thinking them over, he can really believe that James could be the author of the Poems in question, he is welcome to possess his faith, and may do so forever, without any disturbance from me. James I. was born in 1393, carried prisoner into England 1405, being then at most in his 12th year, was not restored to his country till 1424, when he behoved to be above 30 years of age. The remainder of his days, only 13 years, were spent in fruitless endeavours to bless his country, by the exercise of that superior discernment which a better education, aided perhaps by the misfortunes of his early life, had conferred upon him. I would only after this, wish to know how it was possible for him to acquire either that perfect knowledge of the language, or that intimate acquaintance with the manners of his rude countrymen, which the author of these Poems evidently possessed. We have moreover an undoubted production of James's, The King's Quair, (or Book,) the stile and manner of which is as unlike these Poems as any thing of the kind can well be supposed to be. The reader may take the following extract, which is an address to the nightingale, in the garden of Windsor, where the object of his love, the Lady Jane, daughter of the Earl of Sommerset, is represented as walking. An othir quhile the Iytill nyghtingale, And say, rycht thus, Quhare are thy notis smale, Seis thou not hir that sittis the besyde? For Venus' sake, the blissfull goddesse clere, And eke I pray, for all the paynes grete, That, for the love of Proigne, thy sister dere, Lift up thyne hert, and sing with gude entent, Was kythit by hir husband false and fell, Chide thir husbandis that are false, I say, O lytill wreich, allace! maist thou not se Opyn thy throte; hastow no lest to sing? Now, swete bird, say ones to me pepe. Hastow no mynde of lufe? quhare is thy make? Sluggart, for schame! lo here thy golden houre Gif thou suld sing wele ever in thy lyve, Here is, in fay, the time, and eke the space: I thoucht eke thus gif I my handis clap, This is rather a favourable specimen of the Poem, which like the other productions of that age, is quaint in the contrivance, wiredrawn in the sentiments, and perplexed throughout with mythological conceits, and will not certainly, with any impartial reader, tend any thing to establish the authors' claim to the Poems in question. I am indeed inclined to think that these Poems are not the work of the same hand, nor of any known author. "Peblis to the Play" I suppose to be the original, and "Christ's Kirk" a still happier imitation of the same easy and natural manner, a manner exemplified by no poet of that day, if we except the author of Robene and Makyne, which is said, but upon very doubtful authority, to be Henryson's. It is not difficult to conceive that by the despensers of fame, these natural and simple effusions would at first be but coldly received, perhaps, among their more gorgeous compcers, they were for a time wholly overlooked, and being found preserved in the cabinets of the curious, without any owner, when their merit began to be appreciated, they were without enquiry given to the name, at the time possessed of the greatest celebrity. |