They ye slain-the comeliest knight they've slain--
He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high high hill,
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough,
She kissed them, till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
For a' this breeds but sorrow;

I'll wed ye to a better lord,

Than liim ye lost on Yarrow."—

"O haud your tongue, my father dear!
Ye mind me but of sorrow;
A fairer rose did never bloom'

Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."

THE GAY GOSS-HAWK.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

This Ballad is published partly from one, under this title, in Mrs. BROWN's Collection, and partly from a MS. of some antiquity, penes Edit.-The stanzas appearing to possess most merit, have been selected from each copy.

"O WALY, Waly, my gay goss-hawk,
Gin your feathering be sheen!"-
"And waly, waly, my master dear,
Gin ye look pale and lean!

"O have ye tint, at tournament,
Your sword, or yet your spear?
Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
Whom ye may not win near?"-
"I have not tint at tournament,
My sword nor yet my spear;
But sair I mourn for my true love,
Wi' mony a bitter tear.

"But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,
Ye can baith speak and flee;
Ye sall carry a letter to my love,
Bring an answer back to me.'
"But how sall I your true love find,
Or how suld I her know?

I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,
An eye that ne'er her saw."-

"O weel sall ye my true love ken,
Sae sune as ye her see;

For, of a' the flowers of fair England,
The fairest flower is she.

"The red, that's on my true love's cheek,
Is like blood-drops on the snaw ;*
The white, that is on her breast bare,
Like the down o' the white sea-maw.
"And even at my love's bour-door
There grows a flowering birk;
And ye maun sit and sing thereon
As she gangs to the kirk.

"And four-and-twenty fair ladyes
Will to the mass repair;
But weel may ye my ladye ken,
The fairest ladye there."

This simile resembles a passage in a MS. translation of an Irish Fairy tale, called The Adventures of Faravla, Princess of Scotland, and Carral O'Daly, Son of Donogho More O'Daly, Chief Bard of Ireland. "Faravla, as she entered her bower. cast her looks upon the earth, which was tinged with the blood of a bird which a raven had newly killed: Like that snow,' said Faravla, was the complexion of my beloved; his cheeks like the sanguine traces thereon; whilst the raven recalls to my memory the colour of his beautiful locks." There is also some resemblance in the conduct of the story, betwixt the ballad and the tale just quoted. The Princess Faravla, being desperately in love

Lord William has written a love-letter,
Put it under his pinion gray;
And he is awa to Southern land
As fast as wings can gae.

And even at the ladye's bour
There grew a flowering birk;
And he sat down and sung thereon
As she gaed to the kirk."

And weel he kent that ladye fair
Amang her maidens free;

For the flower, that springs in May morning,
Was not sae sweet as she.

He lighted at the ladye's yate,
And sat him on a pin;

And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love,
Till a' was cosht within.

And first he sang a low low note,
And syne he sang a clear;
And aye the o'erword o' the sang
Was-"Your love can no win here."-
"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',
The wine flows you amang,
While I gang to my shot-window,
And hear yon bonny bird's sang.

"Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,
The sang ye sung yestreen;
For weel I ken, by your sweet singing,
Ye are frae my true love sen."

O first he sang a merry sang,
And syne he sang a grave;

And syne he pick'd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.

"Have there a letter from Lord William ;

He says he's sent ye three;

He canna wait your love langer,
But for your sake he'll die."

"Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,
And brew his bridal ale;

And I shall meet him at Mary's kirk,
Lang, lang ere it be stale."

The lady's gane to her chamber,

And a moanfu' woman was she; As gin she had ta'en a sudden brash,§ And were about to die.

A boon, a boon, my father deir,

A boon I beg of thee!"

"Ask not that panghty Scottish lord,

For him you ne'er shall see.

'But, for your honest asking else, Weel granted it shall be.""Then, gin I die in Southern land,

In Scotland gar bury me.

"And the first kirk that ye come to,
Ye's gar the mass be sung;
And the next kirk that ye come to,
Ye's gar the bells be rung.

"And when ye come to St. Mary's kirk, Ye's tarry there till night."

And so her father pledg'd his word,
And so his promise plight.

She has ta'en her to her bigly bour
As fast as she could fare;
And she has drank a sleepy draught,
That she had mix'd wi' care.

And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,
That was sae bright of blee,*
And she seem'd to be as surely dead
As any one could be.

Then spak her cruel step-minnie,
"Tak ye the burning lead,
And drap a drap on her bosome,
To try if she be dead."

They took a drap o' boiling lead,
They drapp'd it on her breast;
"Alas! alas!" her father cried,

She's dead without the priest." She neither chatter'd with her teeth, Nor shiver'd with her chin; "Alas! alas!" her father cried,

་་

There is nae breath within."

Then up arose her seven brethren,
And hew'd to her a bier;
They hew'd it frae the solid aik,
Laid it o'er wi' silver clear.

Then up and gat her seven sisters,
And sewed to her a kell ;t
And every steek that they put in
Sewed to a siller bell.

The first Scots kirk that they cam to,
They garr d the bells be rung;
The next Scots kirk that they cam to,
They garr'd the mass be sung.
But when they cam to St. Mary's kirk,
There stude spearmen all on a raw;
And up and started Lord William,
The chieftane amang them a'.

"Set down, set down the bier," he said,
"Let me look her upon :"

But as soon as Lord William touch'd her hand,

Her colour began to come.

She brightened like the lily flower,

Till her pale colour was gone;

With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,

She smiled her love upon.

A morsel of your bread, my lord,

And one glass of your wine;

For I hae fasted these three lang days,

All for your sake and mine.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,

Gae hame and blaw your horn!

I trow ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,

But I've gi'en you the scorn.

Commend me to my grey father,

That wished my saul gude rest; But wae be to my cruel step-dame, Garr'd burn me on the breast."

"Ah! wo to you, you light woman! An ill death may ye die!

For we left father and sisters at hame Breaking their hearts for thee."

BROWN ADAM.

There is a copy of this Ballad in Mrs. BROWN'S Collection. The Editor has seen one, printed on a single sheet. The epithet, "Smith," implies, probably, the sirname, not the profession, of the hero, who seems to have been an outlaw. There is, however, in Mrs. BROWN's copy, a verse of little merit, here omitted, alluding to the implements of that occupation.

O WHA wad wish the wind to blaw,
Or the green leaves fa' therewith?

Or wha wad wish a lealer love

Than Brown Adam the Smith?

But they hae banished him, Brown Adam,
Frae father and frae mother;

And they hae banish'd him, Brown Adam,
Frae sister and frae brother.

And they hae banish'd him, Brown Adam,
The flower o' a' his kin;

And he's bigged a bour in gude green-wood
Atween his ladye and him.

It fell upon a summer's day,
Brown Adam he thought lang;
And, for to hunt some venison,
To green wood he wald gang.
He has ta'en his bow his arm o'er,
His bolts and arrows lang;
And he is to the gude green-wood
As fast as he could gang.

O he's shot up, and he's shot down,
The bird upon the brier;
And he sent it hame to his ladye,
Bade her be of gude cheir.

O he's shot up, and he's shot down,
The bird upon the thorn;

And sent it hame to his ladye.

Said he'd be hame the morn.

When he cam to his lady's bour door
He stude a little forbye,

And there he heard a fou fause knight
Tempting his gay ladye.

For he's ta'en out a gay goud ring,
Had cost him many a poun',
"O grant me love for love, ladye,
And this sall be thy own."

"I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she said;
"I trew sae does he me;

I wadna gie Brown Adam's love
For nae fause knight I see."-
Out has he ta'en a purse o' gowd,
Was a' fou to the string,

"O grant me love for love, ladye,
And a' this sall be thine."-

"I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she says;

"I wot sae does he me:

I wadna be your light leman,

For mair than ye could gie."

Then out he drew his lang bright brand,
And flash'd it in her een;

"Now grant me love for love, ladye,
Or thro' ye this sall gang!"-
Then, sighing, says that ladye fair,
"Brown Adam tarries lang!"-"
Then in and starts him Brown Adam,
Says-"I'm just at your hand."-
He's gar'd him leave his bonny bow,
He's gar'd him leave his brand,
He's gar'd him leave a dearer pledge-
Four fingers o' his right hand.

JELLON GRAME.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

36

O sleep ye, wake ye, Lillie Flower?
The red sun's on the rain:
Ye're bidden come to Silverwood,
But I doubt ye'll never win hame."-

She hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile but barely three,

Ere she came to a new-made grave,
Beneath a green aik tree.

O then up started Jellon Grame,

Out of a bush thereby;

"Light down, light down, now, Lillie Flower,

For it's here that ye maun lye."

She lighted aff her milk-white steed,
And kneel'd upon her knee;

"O mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame,
For I'm no prepared to die!

"Your bairn, that stirs between my sides,
Maun shortly see the light:
But to see it weltering in my blood,
Would be a piteous sight."

"O should I spare your life," he says,
"Until that bairn were born,
For weel I ken your auld father
Would hang me on the morn."-
"O spare my life, now, Jellon Grame!
My father ye needna dread:
I'll keep my babe in gude green-wood,
Or wi' it I'll beg my bread."-

He took no pity on Lillie Flower,
Though she for life did pray;
But pierced her through the fair body
As at his feet she lay.

He felt nae pity for Lillie Flower,
Where she was lying dead;
But he felt some for the bonny bairn,
That lay weltering in her bluid.
Up has he ta'en that bonnie boy,
Given him to nurses nine;
Three to sleep, and three to wake,
And three to go between.

* Silverwood, mentioned in this ballad, occurs in a medley MS. song, which seems to have been copied from the first edition of the Aberdeen cantus, penes John G. Dalyell, Esq. advocate. One line only is cited, apparently the beginning of some song :Silverwood, gin ye were mine."

And he bred up that bonny boy,
Call'd him his sister's son:
And he thought no eye could ever see
The deed that he had done.

O so it fell upon a day,

When hunting they might be,, They rested them in Silverwood, Beneath that green aik tree.

And many were the green-wood flowers
Upon the grave that grew,

And marvell'd much that bonny boy
To see their lovely hue.

"What's paler than the prymrose wan?
What's redder than the rose?
What's fairer than the lilye flower
On this wee knowt that grows?"-

O out and answer'd Jellon Grame,
And he spak hastilie-

Your mother was a fairer flower,
And lies beneath this tree.

"More pale she was, when she sought my grace, Than prymrose pale and wan;

And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood,
That down my broadsword ran."-

Wi' that the boy has bent his bow,
It was baith stout and lang;

And thro' and thro' him, Jellon Grame,
He gar'd an arrow gang.

Says, "Lie ye there, now, Jellon Grame!
My malisoun gang you wi'!

The place that my mother lies buried in
Is far too good for thee."

WILLIE'S LADYE.

ANCIENT COPY.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

MR. LEWIS, in his Tales of Wonder, has presented the public with a copy of this ballad, with additions and alterations. The Editor has also seen a copy, containing some modern stanzas, intended by Mr. Jamieson, of Macclesfield, for publication in his Collection of Scottish Poetry. Yet, under these disadvantages, the Editor cannot relinquish his purpose of publishing the old ballad, in its native simplicity, as taken from Mrs. Brown of Falkland's MS.

Those who wish to know how an incantation, or charm, of the distressing nature here described, was performed in classic days, may consult the story of Galanthis's Metamorphosis, in Ovid, or the following passage in Apuleius: Eadem (Saga scilicet quædam,) amatoris uxorem, quod in eam dicacule probrum dixerat, jam in sarcinam prægnationis, obsepto utero, et repigrato fortu, perpetua prægnatione damnarit. Et ut cuncti numerant, octo annorum onere, misella illa, velut elephantum paritura, distenditur."-APUL. Metam. lib. 1.

There is also a curious tale about a Count of Westeravia, whom a deserted concubine bewitched upon his marriage, so as to preclude all hopes of his becoming a father. The spell continued to operate for three years, till one day, the Count happening to meet with his former mistress, she maliciously asked him about the increase of his family. The Count, conceiving some suspicion from her manner, craftily answered, that God had blessed him with three fine children; on which she exclaimed, like Willie's mother in the ballad, "May Heaven confound the old hag, by whose counsel I threw an enchanted pitcher into the draw-well of your palace!" The spell being found, and destroyed, the Count became the father of a numerous family.-Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 474.

WILLIE'S LADYE.

WILLIE's ta en him o'er the faem,*
He's wooed a wife, and brought her hame;
He's wooed her for her yellow hair,
But his mother wrought her meikle care;
And meikle dolour gar'd her dree,
For lighter she can never be;
But in her bower she sits wi' pain,
And Willie mourns o'er her in vain.
And to his mother he has gane,
That vile rank witch, o' vilest kind!
He says "My ladie has a cup,
Wi' gowd and silver set about;
This gudely gift sall be your ain,

And let her be lighter o' her young bairn."-
"Of her young bairn she's never be lighter,
Nor in her bour to shine the brighter:
But she sall die and turn to clay,
And you sall wed another may.".

"Another may I'll never wed,
Another may I'll never bring hame."
But, sighing, said that weary wight-
"I wish my life were at an end!

"6 Yet
gae ye to your mother again,
That vile rank witch, o' vilest kind!
And say, your ladye has a steed,

The like o' him's no in the land o' Leed.t

"For he is silver shod before,
And he is gowden shod behind;
At every tuft of that horse mane,
There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring.
This gudely gift sall be her ain,

And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."-
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
Nor in her bour to shine the brighter;
But she sall die, and turn to clay,
And ye sall wed another may."
"Another may I'll never wed,
Another may I'll never bring hame.'
But, sighing, said that weary wight-
"I wish my life were at an end!-

86 Yet
gae ye to your mother again,
That vile rank witch, o' rankest kind!
And say your ladye has a girdle,
It's a' red gowd to the middle;'

"And aye, at ilka siller hem
Hang fifty siller bells and ten;
This gudely gift sall be her ain,

And let me be lighter o' my young bairn."-
"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
Nor in your bour to shine the brighter;
For she sall die, and turn to clay,
And thou sall wed another may.'
"Another may I'll never wed,
Another may I'll never bring hame."-
But, sighing, said that weary wight-
"I wish my days were at an end!"-
Then out and spak the Billy Blind,S
(He spak aye in good time :)

Yet gae ye to the market-place,
And there do buy a loaf of wace;

*Facm-The sea foam.

+ Lando' Leed-Perhaps Lydia.

Chess-Should probably be jess, the name of a hawk's bell. § Billy Blind-A familiar genius, or propitious spirit, somewhat similar to the Brownie. He is mentioned repeatedly in Mrs. Brown's Ballads, but I have not met with him anywhere else, although he is alluded to in the rustic game of Bogle (i. e. goblin) Billy Blind. The word is, indeed, used in Sir David Lindsay's plays, but apparently in a different sense

Priests sall lead you like ane Billy Blinde."
PINKERTON'S Scottish Poems, 1792, vol. ii. p. 232.

Wace-Wax.

T[Mr. Kinloch has again separated the parts in his edition.See his Ballads, 1927, p. 240.-ED.]

**[ Two different copies of this pathetic and deeply interest ing ballad have been published: the one by the author of the Border Minstrelsy, and the other by Mr. Jamieson, which, though of inferior beauty, is not the less valuable, as illustrating the trans

Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,
And in it twa glassen een you'll put;
"And bid her your boy's christening to,
Then notice weel what she shall do;
And do you stand a little away,

To notice weel what she may say."

[A stanza seems to be wanting. Willie is supposed to follow the advice of the spirit.-His mother speaks.]

"O wha has loosed the nine witch knots,
That were amang that ladye's locks?
And wha's ta'en out the kaims o' care,
That were amang that ladye's hair?

"And wha has ta'en down that bush o' wood-
bine,

That hung between her bour and mine?
And wha has kill'd the master kid,
That ran beneath that ladye's bed?
And wha has loosed her left foot shee,
And let that ladye lighter be?"

Syne, Willy's loosed the nine witch knots,
That were amang that ladye's locks;
And Willie's ta'en out the kaims o' care,
That were into that lady's hair;

And he's ta'en down the bush o' woodbine,
Hung atween her bour and the witch carline.
And he has kill'd the master kid,
That ran beneath that ladye's bed;
And he has loosed her left foot shee,
And latten that ladye lighter be;
And now he has gotten a bonny son,
And meikle grace be him upon.

CLERK SAUNDERS.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

THIS romantic ballad is taken from Mr. Herd's MSS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy, in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas. The resemblance of the conclusion to the ballad, beginning, "There came a ghost to Margaret's door," will strike every reader. tale is uncommonly wild and beautiful, and apparently very ancient. The custom of the passing bell is still kept up in many villages in Scotland. The sexton goes through the town, ringing a small bell, and announcing the death of the departed, and the

time of the funeral.

The

"Clerk Saunders was an earl's son,
He lived upon sea sand;
May Margaret was a king's daughter,
She lived in upper land.

"Clerk Saunders was an earl's son,
Weel learned at the scheel;
May Margaret was a king's daughter,
They baith lo'ed ither weel."-

because they supply information as to the rank in society respectively held by these ill fated lovers-and, by hinting at the scholastic acquirements of Clerk Saunders, they prepare us for the casuistry by which he seeks to reconcile May Margaret's con

And sad and heavy was the love
That fell thir tv i between.

"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said,

A bed for you and me !"

"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,
"Till anes we married be;

"For in may come my seven bauld brothers,
WI' torches burning bright;
They'll say 'We hae but ae sister,
And behold she's wi' a knight!'

"Then take the sword from my scabbard,
And slowly lift the pin;

And you may swear, and safe your aith,
Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
"And take a napkin in your hand,
And tie up baith your bonny een;
And you may swear, and safe your aith,
Ye saw me na since late yestreen.".
It was about the midnight hour,
When they asleep were laid,
When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi torches burning red.

When in and came her seven brothers,
Wi' torches burning bright;
They said, "We hae but ae sister,

And behold her lying with a knight!"
Then out and spake the first o' them,
"I bear the sword shall gar him die !"
And out and spake the second o' them,
"His father has nae mair than he!"
And out and spake the third o' them,
"I wot that they are lovers dear!"
And out and spake the fourth o'them,

'They hae been in love this mony a year!" Then out and spake the fifth o' them,

"It were great sin true love to twain!" And out and spake the sixth of them,

"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!"

Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
And never a word spake he;

But he has stripedt his bright brown brand
Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.

Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turn'dt
Into his arms as asleep she lay;
And sad and silent was the night
That was atween thir twae.

And they lay still and sleeped sound,
Until the day began to daw;
And kindly to him she did say,

"It is time, true love, you were awa."

But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
Albeit the sun began to sheen;
She looked atween her and the wa',
And dull and drowsie were his een.

science to a most jesuitical oath."-MOTHERWELL's Minstrelay, p. 147-8.

A third copy has since been published by Buchan, under the title of Clerk Sandy;" but his various readings are mere housemaid's corruptions. A fourth and more valuable set has also been given by Mr. Kinloch-ED.]

[In the north-country version of this ballad, published by Mr. Kinloch, we have an additional stanza here. --

-"Ye'll tak me in your arms twa,

Ye'll carry me into your bed,

And ye may swear, and save your aith,
That in your bour floor I ne'er gre'd,"

Striped-Thrust.

KINLOCH, p. 235.-ED.

I Nothing could have been better imagined," says Mr. Jamieson, "than the circumstance, in Mr. Scott's copy, of killing Clerk Saunders while his mistress was asleep; nor can any thing be more natural or pathetic than the three stanzas that follow, beginning with,.

Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned,' &c. They might have charmed a whole volume of bad poetry against the ravages of time. In Mr. Scott's work, they shine but like pearls among diamonds."--Jamieson's Ballads, vol. i. p. 81.]

Traivelling-Child-birth.

From whatever source the popular ideas of heaven be derived,

T

Then in and came her father dear,

Said-"Let a' your mourning be:
I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
And I'll come back and comfort thee."-
"Comfort weel your seven sons,

For comforted will I never be:

I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
Was in the bower last night wi' me."—
The clinking bell gaed through the town,
To carry the dead corse to the clay;
And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's
window,

I wot, an hour before the day.
"Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says,
"Or are ye waking presentlie?
Give me my faith and troth again,
I wot, true love, I gied to thee."
"Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
Nor our true love sall never twin,
Until ye come within my bower,
And kiss me cheik and chin."-

"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,

It has the smell now of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,

Thy days of life will not be lang.
"O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wildfowls are boding day;
Give me my faith and troth again,

And let me fare me on my way."-
"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
And our true love shall never twin,
Until ye tell what comes of women,

I wot, who die in strong traivelling?"§

Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee. Weel set about wi' gillyflowers ;ll

I wot sweet company for to see.
"O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
I wot the wild fowl are boding day;
The psalms of heaven will soon be sung
And I, ere now, will be miss'd away.'

Then she has ta'en a crystal wand,

And she has stroken her troth thereon; She has given it him out at the shot-window, Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.

"I thank ye, Margret; I thank ye, Marg❜ret: And aye I thank ye heartilie;

Gin ever the dead come for the quick,

Be sure, Marg' ret, I'll come for thee."It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone, She climb'd the wall, and follow'd him, Until she came to the green forest,

86

And there she lost the sight o' him.

Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
Is there ony room at your feet?

the mention of gillyflowers is not uncommon. Thus, in the Dead Men's Song

"The fields about this city faire
Were all with roses set;
Gillyflovers, and carnations faire,
Which canker could not fret."

RITSON'S Ancient Songs, p. 283. The description given in the legend of Sir Owain, of the ter restrial paradise, at which the blessed arrive after passing through purgatory, omits gilly flowers, though it mentions many others.As the passage is curious, and the legend has never been published, many persons may not be displeased to see it extracted

"Fair were her erbers with flowres,
Rose and lili divers colours,

Primros and parvink:
Mint, feverfoy, and eglenterre,
Colombin, and mother wer

Than ani man mai bithenke.
It berth erbes of other maner,
Than ani in erth groweth here,
Tho that is lest of priis;
Evermore thai grene springeth,
For winter no somer it no clingeth,
And sweeter than licorice."