THE ENCHANTED RING

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 169. Annexed is a fragment published by Jamieson, under the title of Bonny Bee-Ho'm.

IN Lauderdale I chanc'd to walk,

And heard a lady's moan,
Lamenting for her dearest dear,

And aye she cried, ohon!

"Sure never a maid that e'er drew breath

Had harder fate than me ;

I'd never a lad but one on earth,
They forc'd him to the sea.

"The ale shall ne'er be brewin o' malt,

Neither by sea nor land,

That ever mair shall cross my hause,

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A handsome lad wi' shoulders broad,
Gold yellow was his hair;

None of our Scottish youths on earth
That with him could compare.

She thought her love was gone to sea,

And landed in Bahome;

But he was in a quiet chamber,
Hearing his lady's moan.

"Why make ye all this moan, lady?
Why make ye all this moan?
For I'm deep sworn on a book,

I must go to Bahome.

"Traitors false for to subdue,

O'er seas I'll make me boun',

That have trepan'd our kind Scotchmen,
Like dogs to ding them down."

"Weell, take this ring, this royal thing,

Whose virtue is unknown;

As lang's this ring's your body on,

Your blood shall ne'er be drawn.

"But if this ring shall fade or stain,

Or change to other hue,

Come never mair to fair Scotland,

If ye're a lover true."

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Then this couple they did part

With a sad heavy moan;

The wind was fair, the ship was rare,
They landed in Bahome.

But in that place they had not been
A month but barely one,

Till he look'd on his gay gold ring,
And riven was the stone.

Time after this was not expir'd
A month but scarcely three,
Till black and ugly was the ring,

And the stone was burst in three.

"Fight on, fight on, you merry men all,

With

you

I'll fight no more; I will gang to some holy place, Pray to the King of Glore."

Then to the chapel he is gone,

And knelt most piteouslie,

For seven days and seven nights,

Till blood ran frae his knee.

"Ye'll take my jewels that's in Bahome, And deal them liberallie,

43, they look'd.

48, And stone.

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To young that cannot, and old that mannot, The blind that does not see.

"Give maist to women in child-bed laid,

Can neither fecht nor flee:

I hope she's in the heavens high,

That died for love of me."

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The knights they wrang their white fingers, 65
The ladies tore their hair;

The women that ne'er had children born,
In swoon they down fell there.

But in what way the knight expir'd,
No tongue will e'er declare;
So this doth end my mournful song,

From me ye'll get nae mair.

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BONNY BEE-HO'M.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 184, from Mrs. Brown's MS., the interpolations of the editor being omitted.

By Arthur's dale as late I went,
I heard a heavy moan;
I heard a lady lamenting sair,
And ay she cried "ohon!"

“Ohon, alas! what shall I do,
Tormented night and day?

I never loved a love but ane,
And now he's gone away.

"But I will do for my true love
What ladies would think sair;

For seven years shall come and gae,

"There shall neither a shoe gae on my foot,

Nor a kaime gae in my hair,

Nor ever a coal or candle light

Shine in my bower nae mair."

She thought her love had been on sea,
Fast sailing to Bee-Ho'm;

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