THE HEIR OF LINNE.

THIS well-known ballad was first published in Percy's "Reliques," with an acknowledgment of its Scottish origin. But it evidently had been for a considerable period current in England, and had received various alterations suitable to the genius and diction of the southern ballad poetry. It is to be regretted that no complete version has been recovered in Scotland, there being extant only a few stanzas commencing thus :

The bonnie heir, the weelfaur'd heir,
And the weary heir o' Linne,
Yonder he stands at his father's yett,
And naebody bids him come in.

O see where he gangs, and see where he stands,
The weary heir o' Linne,

O see where he stands on the cauld causey,
Some ane suld hae ta'en him in.

But if he had been his father's heir,
Or yet the heir o' Linne,
He wadna stand on the cauld causey,
Some ane wad hae ta'en him in.

A comparison of the two would have been instructive, as showing the changes to which oral poetry is frequently subject.

L

PART I.

ITHE and listen, gentlemen;
To sing a song I will begin :

It is of a lord of fair Scotland,

Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne.

His father was a right good lord,

His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas! were dead him fro, And he loved keeping companie.

To spend the day with merry cheer,
To drink and revel every night,
To card and dice from even to morn,
It was, I ween, his heart's delight.

To ride, to run, to rant, to roar,

To alway spend and never spare, I wot, an he were the king himsel', Of gold and fee he mot be bare.

So fares the unthrifty heir of Linne,
Till all his gold is gone and spent ;
And he maun sell his lands so broad,
His house, and lands, and all his rent.

His father had a steward keen,

And John o' Scales was called he :

But John is become a gentleman,

And John has got baith gold and fee.

Says, "Welcome, welcome, Lord of Linne;
Let nocht disturb thy heavy cheer;
If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad,
Good store of gold I'll give thee here."

"My gold is gone, my money is spent ; My land now take it unto thee; Give me the gold, good John o' Scales,

And thine for aye my land shall be."

Then John he did him to record draw,

And John he gave him a god's-pennie; But, for every pound that John agreed, The land, I wis, was weel worth three.

He told him the gold upon the board;

He was right glad the land to win : "The land is mine, the gold is thine,

And now I'll be the Lord of Linne."

Thus he hath sold his land so broad;
Both hill and holt, and moor and fen,
All but a poor and lanesome lodge,
That stood far off in a lonely glen.

For so he to his father hight:

"My son, when I am gone," said he, "Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad, And thou wilt spend thy gold so free :

"But swear to me now upon the rood,

That lanesome lodge thou'lt never spend ; For when all the world doth frown on thee, Thou there shalt find a faithful friend."

The heir of Linne is full of gold :

And, "Come with me, my friends," said he ; "Let's drink, and rant, and merry make,

And he that spares, ne'er not he thri'e."

They ranted, drank, and merry made,
Till all his gold it waxed thin ;
And then his friends they slunk away ;
They left the unthrifty heir of Linne.

He had never a penny left in his purse,
Never a penny left but three ;
The tane was brass, the tither was lead,
And tither it was white monie.

"Now well-a-way!" said the heir of Linne,
"Now well-a-way, and woe is me!
For when I was the Lord of Linne,
I never wanted gold nor fee.

"But many a trusty friend have I,

And why should I feel dule or care?
I'll borrow of them all by turns,
So need I not be ever bare."

But one, I wis, was not at home,
Another had pay'd his gold away;
Another called him thriftless loon,

And sharply bade him wend his way.

"Now well-a-way!" said the heir of Linne,
"Now well-a-way, and woe is me!
For, when I had my land so broad,
On me they lived right merrilie.

"To beg my bread from door to door, I wis, it were a burning shame : To rob and steal it were a sin:

To work my limbs I cannot frame.

"Now I'll away to the lanesome lodge,

For there my father bade me wend : When all the world should frown on me, I there should find a trusty friend."

PART II.

Away then hied the heir of Linne,
O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen,
Until he came to the lanesome lodge,
That stood so low in a lonely glen.

He looked up, he looked down,

In hope some comfort for to win, But bare and lothely were the walls: cheer!" quoth the heir of Linne.

66

Here's sorry

The little window, dim and dark,
Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew ;
No shimmering sun here ever shone;
No halesome breeze here ever blew.

No chair, no table, he mot spye,

No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed, Nocht save a rope with a running noose, That dangling hung up o'er his head.

And over it, in broad letters,

These words were written so plain to see: