START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORY-TELLING BALLADS*** E-text prepared by MFR, Susan Carr, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file which includes the original illustrations in colour. See 63858-h.htm or 63858-h.zip: (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/63858/63858-h/63858-h.htm) or (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/63858/63858-h.zip) Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/storytellingball00olc Transcriberâs note: Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). STORY-TELLING BALLADS [Illustration: THE LIFT GREW DARK, AND THE WIND BLEW LOUD, AND GURLY GREW THE SEA (_page 5_)] STORY-TELLING BALLADS Selected and Arranged for Story-Telling and Reading Aloud and for the Boysâ and Girlsâ Own Reading by FRANCES JENKINS OLCOTT [Illustration: Colophon] Boston and New York Houghton Mifflin Company The Riverside Press Cambridge 1920 Copyright, 1920, by Frances Jenkins Olcott All Rights Reserved The Riverside Press Cambridge . Massachusetts U . S . A TO MY SISTER VIRGINIA OLCOTT THE FOREWORD Here are 77 story-telling ballads and narrative poems, that will make the heart beat faster and the pulse bound, of any boy or girl from twelve to fifteen years of age. They offer a feast of good things--romances, hero-tales, FaÃ«rie legends, and adventures of Knights and lovely Damsels. They sing of proud and wicked folk, of gentle and loyal ones, of Laidley Worms, Witches, Mermaids with golden combs, sad maidens, glad ones and fearless lovers, moss-troopers, border-rievers, and Kings in disguise. All their doings are related in the stirring, leaping, joyous--or at times martial and mournful-ballad measure. The ancient ballads are here presented exactly as when in days of old they were sung by minstrels and recited by gaffers and gammers. No alterations are made in the texts of the ballad-collectors and collators, except the changing of a few objectionable words. Two or three of the less well-known ballads are done into modern spelling. A number, not hitherto found in childrenâs collections, will be delightfully new to young people. Some popular ballads, like âKing John and the Abbot of Canterbury,â and âThe King and the Miller of Mansfield,â are omitted because they are in _Story-Telling Poems_. A goodly number of famous modern ballads are included; and at the end of the volume are 10 short narrative poems of âPilgrimage and Souls so Strong.â At the end of the book are a Glossary and Indexes of subjects, authors, titles, and first lines. TEACHERS, STORY-TELLERS, AND BALLADS Since great care has been taken to choose authoritative texts (see Acknowledgments, page xv and Suggestions for Teachers, page 363), the teacher will find this collection helpful when instructing classes in early English literature or in ballad structure and measure. The Glossary for classroom use is placed at the back of the book, not in footnotes, because children who are reading for enjoyment easily learn new words from the context. The collection may be used for story-hours; or, as older boys and girls prefer being read aloud to, in it may be found an abundance of material for weekly poetry hours and for memorizing. YOUTH IN THE BALLADS Ballads are the natural heritage of every boy and girl. Ballads are tuned to the very pulse of Youth. They are red-blooded: joyous with the freshness of Springtime, and robust with the early Summer of Life. They appeal with peculiar delight to growing boys and girls, satisfying, as do no other poems, their craving for emotional expression in quick, rhythmic form. Ballads not only feed the romantic spirit of young people, but teach them much homely wisdom. They are essentially democratic and human. In them Kings and tinkers, Knights and shepherds, meet, talk, and feast together like comrades. And because the vigour of Youth so animates the old ballads, young folk read them eagerly, learn them almost without effort, and recite them with gusto. The wild, free life in the good greenwood, the chivalry, mystery, pathos, heroic deeds, and thrilling experiences--in fact, Life itself running the whole gamut of human emotions--enthrall the ever eager, questioning, shifting moods of boys and girls. HOW THE BALLADS GREW The human and universal in the ancient ballads, their eternal youthful appeal, are rooted deepset in the daily life of the People. Their very meter and airs are natural growths like the sheath of a wildflower. For in those good old ballad-making days, minstrels, the welcome guests of rich and poor, wandered from castle to cot and inn, from eyrie-like retreats of Highland chiefs to fortified border-towers of the Lowland or âNorth Contraye.â And as the minstrels rested their harps or bagpipes on the earthen floors of cottages, or while they sat feasting with nobles in baronial halls, they heard peasants, working-folk, servitors, squires, ladies, and returned Crusaders, telling of their adventures on land and sea, in fights, battles, border-raids, in abductions of lovely maidens, in combats with Saracens and with Laidley monsters, in meetings with FaÃ«rie Knights and Elfin Queens all under the greenwood-shade. They heard, also, tales of changelings and visits to Fairyland; stories of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Witches; legends of the sea; and traditions of national heroes. This material, so varied, so freshly spontaneous and imaginative, the minstrels shaped into ballads, setting them to music now wild and weird, now tragic and mournful, now sweet and debonair. So they played and sang the ballads in cottage, bower, and hall, moulding them to the delight and humours of their hearers, changing them to suit time and place. Thus there grew up many versions of a single ballad. The old folk, too, the gaffers and gammers by the fireside, learned the ballads and recited or sung them to the children; who in their turn, when they became old, told them to other children. Thus the old songs were passed along by word of mouth from generation to generation, from countryside to countryside, and even from one land to another. MAKING A COLLECTION FOR CHILDREN As was natural in those coarse old times, much that was unsuitable for children was woven into the ballads; which to-day makes it a difficult task to compile a representative juvenile collection. For, as Spenser so aptly put it when writing of Irish bards, they âseldom use to choose unto themselves the doings of good men for the arguments of their poems, but whomsoever they find to be ... most bold and lawless in his doings, most dangerous and desperate in all parts of disobedience and rebellious disposition, him they set up and glorify in their rhymes, him they praise to the people, and to young men make an example to follow.â But Spenserâs criticism of the Irish bards is far too violent a stricture on all Scottish and English ballad literature. For there are Scottish and English ones, clean, merry, and nobly heroic; fine and wholesome reading for our boys and girls. For Sir Walter Scottâs romantic tastes and his interest in Highland and Border life were awakened and fired, when he was a boy, by reading ballads. And Sir Philip Sydney wrote in his _Defence of Poetry_, âCertainly, I must confess mine own barbarousness; I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet; and yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style ... In Hungary I have seen it the manner at all feasts, and all other such-like meetings, to have songs of their ancestorsâ valour, which that right soldier-like nation think one of the chiefest kindlers of brave courage.â But in making a collection of ballads for modern boys and girls, it is not enough to choose those that will arouse only the higher emotions. The interests of young people have to be consulted; while nothing in extremely difficult Scottish dialect may be included, nor in very old English. Then there are many versions of individual ballads to choose from. Of âHynd Hornâ there are eight or more; of âYoung Beichan and Susie Pye,â fourteen or more; and of other ballads many versions. Next, authoritative texts must be found, for some transcribers have made mistakes or have altered the originals. So it may be seen what a painstaking task it is to compile a collection of ballads for educational purposes as well as for the boysâ and girlsâ own reading. As for this volume, it covers so wide a range of fascinating subjects that it will surely entrance any lad or lass who, opening its pages for pleasure-reading, steps with Valentine and Ursine, Robin Hood and Clorinda, and the brave outlaw Murray, into _The gude green-wood amang the lily flower_. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My thanks are due Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company for the use of the following modern ballads, âThe Ballad of the Oysterman,â by Oliver Wendell Holmes; âThe Luck of Edenhall,â âThe Three Kings,â and âThe Skeleton in Armour,â by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; âThe Singing Leaves,â by James Russell Lowell; âBarclay of Ury,â by John Greenleaf Whittier. Among the authoritative texts from which I have taken ancient and popular ballads, are Bellâs _Early Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England_; Bishop Percyâs _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, and his _Folio Manuscript, edited by Hales and Furnivall_; _A Collection of Old Ballads_, London, 1723-25; Dixonâs _Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England_ (Percy Society); Jamiesonâs _Popular Ballads and Songs_; Monk Lewisâs _Tales of Wonder_; Motherwellâs _Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern_; Nicholsonâs _Historical and Traditional Tales ... Connected with the South of Scotland_; Ritsonâs _Robin Hood_; Sir Walter Scottâs _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_; Sheldonâs _Minstrelsy of the English Border_; also the scholarly collection of _English and Scottish Popular Ballads_, compiled and edited by Professor Francis James Child, for the use of which my acknowledgments are due its publishers, Messrs. Houghton Mifflin Company. The best texts available have been followed for the original ballads by Sir Walter Raleigh, George Herbert, Hogg, Scott, Lover, Kingsley, Tennyson, Campbell, and Keats. CONTENTS THE SALT BLUE SEAS THE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW 2 SIR PATRICK SPENS 3 THE DÃMON LOVER 7 THE MERMAID _Dr. John Leyden_ 10 A-HARROWING Oâ THE BORDER THE GALLOWAY RAID 20 THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE 21 THE BALLAD OF MEIKLE-MOUTHED MEG 32 BELTED WILL _Frederick Sheldon_ 47 BRAVE HEARTS AND PROUD EARL HALDANâS DAUGHTER _Charles Kingsley_ 58 LADY CLARE _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 59 PROUD LADY MARGARET 62 THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN 65 COCHRANEâS BONNY GRIZZY 70 THE GREETING OF KYNAST _Charles T. Brooks, from RÃ¼ckert_ 74 LAYS Oâ FAÃRIE THE FAIRY TEMPTER _Samuel Lover_ 80 ALICE BRAND _Sir Walter Scott_ 81 THE ERL-KING _Sir Walter Scott, from Goethe_ 86 THE FAIRY THORN _Samuel Ferguson_ 87 LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI _John Keats_ 91 THOMAS THE RHYMER 93 THE KELPIE OF CORRIEVRECKAN _Charles Mackay_ 97 KILMENY _The Ettrick Shepherd_ 101 LAYS Oâ WONDER THE WEE WEE MAN 114 THE EARL OF MARâS DAUGHTER 115 KEMP OWYNE 122 THE LADY OF SHALOTT _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 124 THE SINGING LEAVES _James Russell Lowell_ 131 THE LUCK OF EDENHALL _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, from Uhland_ 135 MAY OF THE MORIL GLEN _The Ettrick Shepherd_ 138 THE LAIDLEY WORM Oâ SPINDLESTON-HEUGHS 148 MERRY GESTES A TRAGIC STORY _William Makepeace Thackeray, from Chamisso_ 158 LITTLE BILLEE _William Makepeace Thackeray_ 159 BRIAN OâLINN 160 DICKY OF BALLYMAN 162 THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 164 THE CINDER KING _Modern, anon._ 167 THE FROLICKSOME DUKE; OR, THE TINKERâS GOOD FORTUNE 169 KING JAMES THE FIRST AND THE TINKLER 173 KING ALFRED AND THE SHEPHERD 176 SAD GESTES THE SANDS OF DEE _Charles Kingsley_ 190 FAIR ANNY OF ROCH-ROYAL 191 THE CRUEL SISTER 196 BARBARA ALLENâS CRUELTY 201 SONG: EARL MARCH LOOKED ON HIS DYING CHILD _Thomas Campbell_ 203 LORD LOVEL 204 PRETTY MAYS AND KNIGHTS SO BOLD THE NOBLE RIDDLE 208 BLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLORICE 209 GLENARA _Thomas Campbell_ 212 THE BEGGAR-MAID _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 214 LOCHINVAR _Sir Waller Scott_ 215 THE GAY GOSS-HAWK 218 BONNY BABY LIVINGSTON 224 HYND HORN 231 YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE PYE 237 THE CHILD OF ELLE 244 FOR HALLOWEEN AND MIDSUMMER EVE THE SPELL _John Gay_ 254 THE YOUNG TAMLANE 255 THE WIFE OF USHERâS WELL 263 SIR ROLAND 265 THE SKELETON IN ARMOUR _H. W. Longfellow_ 270 SWEET WILLIAMâS GHOST 276 THE EVE OF ST. JOHN _Sir Walter Scott_ 279 ALL UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE THE BIRTH Oâ ROBIN HOOD 290 ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN 291 ROBIN HOOD AND CLORINDA 297 SONG OF THE OUTLAW MURRAY 301 VALENTINE AND URSINE 314 Oâ PILGRIMAGE AND SOULS SO STRONG THE PILGRIM _John Bunyan_ 332 THE HEART OF THE BRUCE _William Edmondstoune Aytoun_ 333 BARCLAY OF URY _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 341 THE TOUCHSTONE _William Allingham_ 347 SIR GALAHAD _Alfred, Lord Tennyson_ 348 PILGRIMAGE _Sir Walter Raleigh_ 351 THE ROYAL COURT _Modern, anon._ 353 TRUE VALOUR _John Bunyan_ 355 PEACE _George Herbert_ 356 THE THREE KINGS _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 357 APPENDIX SUGGESTIONS FOR TEACHERS 363 PROGRAMME FOR A YEAR OF BALLAD-READING AND STUDY 366 GLOSSARY 373 SUBJECT INDEX 385 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 390 INDEX OF TITLES AND AUTHORS 392 ILLUSTRATIONS THE LIFT GREW DARK, AND THE WIND BLEW LOUD, AND GURLY GREW THE SEA _Frontispiece_ âI FEAR NOT SIGN,â QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF, âTHAT IS MADE WITH BLOODY HANDSâ 84 HE TURNED HIM ROUND; BUT STILL IT HUNG BEHIND HIM 158 BUT SPRINGING UP, HE RAISED HIS CLUB, AND AIMED A DREADFUL BLOW 318 THE SALT BLUE SEAS THE STORMY WINDS DO BLOW _One Friday morn when we set sail, Not very far from land, We there did espy a fair pretty maid With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand, With a comb and a glass in her hand._ _While the raging seas did roar, And the stormy winds did blow, While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top, And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below, And the land-lubbers lying down below._ _Then up starts the captain of our gallant ship, And a brave young man was he: âIâve a wife and a child in fair Bristol town, But a widow I fear she will be.â_ _Then up starts the mate of our gallant ship, And a bold young man was he: âOh! I have a wife in fair Portsmouth town, But a widow I fear she will be.â_ _Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship, And a gruff old soul was he: âOh! I have a wife in fair Plymouth town, But a widow I fear she will be.â_ _And then up spoke the little cabin-boy, And a pretty little boy was he: âOh! I am more grievd for my daddy and my mammy, Than you for your wives all three.â_ _Then three times round went our gallant ship, And three times round went she: For the want of a life-boat they all went down, And she sank to the bottom of the sea._ _While the raging seas did roar, And the stormy winds did blow, While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top, And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below, And the land-lubbers lying down below._ SIR PATRICK SPENS The king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine; âO whare will I get a skeely skipper, To sail this new ship of mine?â O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the kingâs right knee,-- âSir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, That ever sailed the sea.â-- Our king has written a braid letter, And sealâd it with his hand, And sent it to sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. âTo Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway oâer the faem; The kingâs daughter of Noroway, âTis thou maun bring her hame.â The first word that sir Patrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he; The neist word that sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his ee. âO wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king oâ me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea? âBe it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem; The kingâs daughter of Noroway, âTis we must fetch her hame.â-- They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wiâ aâ the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords oâ Noroway Began aloud to say,-- âYe Scottishmen spend aâ our kingâs goud, And aâ our queenis fee.â-- âYe lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fuâ loud I hear ye lie: âFor I brought as much white monie, As gane my men and me, And I brought a half-fou oâ gude red goud, Out oâer the sea wiâ me. âMake ready, make ready, my merrymen aâ! Our gude ship sails the morn,â-- âNow, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm! âI saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wiâ the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear weâll come to harm.â They hadna sailâd a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves cam oâer the broken ship, Till aâ her sides were torn. âO where will I get a gude sailor, To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall top-mast; To see if I can spy land?â-- âO here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall top-mast; But I fear youâll neâer spy land.â He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a bout flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it cam in. âGae, fetch a web oâ the silken claith, Another oâ the twine, And wap them into our shipâs side, And letna the sea come in.â-- They fetchâd a web oâ the silken claith, Another oâ the twine, And they wappâd them round that gude shipâs side, But still the sea cam in. O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heelâd shoon! But lang or aâ the play was playâd, They wat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather bed, That flatterâd on the faem; And mony was the gude lordâs son, That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, Aâ for the sake of their true loves; For them theyâll see na mair. O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, Wiâ their fans into their hand, Before they see sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, With their goud kaims in their hair, Aâwaiting for their ain dear loves! For them theyâll see nae mair. O forty miles off Aberdeen, âTis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude sir Patrick Spens, Wiâ the Scots lords at his feet. THE DÃMON LOVER âO where have you been, my long, long love, This long seven years and mair?â âO Iâm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before.â âO hold your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife; O hold your tongue of your former vows, For I am become a wife.â He turned him right and round about, And the tear blinded his ee: âI wad never hae trodden on Irish ground, If it had not been for thee. âI might hae had a kingâs daughter, Far, far beyond the sea; I might have had a kingâs daughter, Had it not been for love o thee.â âIf ye might have had a kingâs daughter, Yer sel ye had to blame; Ye might have taken the kingâs daughter, For ye kend that I was nane. âIf I was to leave my husband dear, And my two babes also, O what have you to take me to, If with you I should go?â âI hae seven ships upon the sea-- The eighth brought me to land-- With four-and-twenty bold mariners, And music on every hand.â She has taken up her two little babes, Kissd them baith cheek and chin: âO fair ye weel, my ain two babes, For Iâll never see you again.â She set her foot upon the ship, No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o the taffetie, And the masts o the beaten gold. She had not sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When dismal grew his countenance, And drumlie grew his ee. They had not saild a league, a league, A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterlie. âO hold your tongue of your weeping,â says he, âOf your weeping now let me be; I will shew you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy.â âO what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, That the sun shines sweetly on?â âO yon are the hills of heaven,â he said, âWhere you will never win.â âO whaten a mountain is yon,â she said, âAll so dreary wi frost and snow?â âO yon is the mountain of hell,â he cried, âWhere you and I will go.â He strack the tap-mast wi his hand, The fore-mast wi his knee, And he brake that gallant ship in twain, And sank her in the sea. THE MERMAID PART I On Juraâs heath how sweetly swell The murmurs of the mountain bee! How softly mourns the writhed shell Of Juraâs shore, its parent sea! But softer, floating oâer the deep, The Mermaidâs sweet sea-soothing lay, That charmed the dancing waves to sleep, Before the bark of Colonsay. Aloft the purple pennons wave, As parting gay from Crinanâs shore, From Morvenâs wars the seamen brave Their gallant Chieftain homeward bore. In youthâs gay bloom, the brave Macphail Still blamed the lingering barkâs delay; For her he chid the flagging sail, The lovely Maid of Colonsay. âAnd raise,â he cried, âthe song of love, The maiden sung with tearful smile, When first, oâer Juraâs hills to rove, We left afar the lonely isle!-- ââWhen on this ring of ruby red Shall die,â she said, âthe crimson hue, Know that thy favourite fair is dead, Or proves to thee and love untrue.ââ Now, lightly poised, the rising oar Disperses wide the foamy spray, And, echoing far oâer Crinanâs shore, Resounds the song of Colonsay. âSoftly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail! Soothe to rest the furrowy seas, Before my Love, sweet western gale!â Thus, all to soothe the Chieftainâs woe, Far from the maid he loved so dear, The song arose, so soft and slow, He seemed her parting sigh to hear. The lonely deck he paces oâer, Impatient for the rising day, And still, from Crinanâs moonlight shore, He turns his eyes to Colonsay. The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, That streaks with foam the ocean green: While forward still the rowers urge Their course, a female form was seen. That Sea-maidâs form, of pearly light, Was whiter than the downy spray, And round her bosom, heaving bright, Her glossy, yellow ringlets play. Borne on a foamy-crested wave, She reached amain the bounding prow, Then clasping fast the Chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below. Ah! long beside thy feigned bier, The monks the prayers of death shall say, And long, for thee, the fruitless tear Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay! PART II But downwards, like a powerless corse; The eddying waves the Chieftain bear; He only heard the moaning hoarse Of waters, murmuring in his ear. The murmurs sink, by slow degrees; No more the surges round him rave; Lulled by the music of the seas, He lies within a coral cave. In dreamy mood reclines he long, Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose, Till, warbling wild, the Sea-maidâs song, Far in the crystal cavern, rose; âThis yellow sand, this sparry cave, Shall bend thy soul to beautyâs sway; Canst thou the maiden of the wave Compare to her of Colonsay?â Roused by that voice, of silver sound, From the paved floor he lightly sprung, And, glancing wild his eyes around, Where the fair Nymph her tresses wrung, No form he saw of mortal mould; It shone like oceanâs snowy foam; Her ringlets waved in living gold, Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb. Her pearly comb the Siren took, And careless bound her tresses wild; Still oâer the mirror stole her look, As on the wondering youth she smiled. Like music from the greenwood tree, Again she raised the melting lay; âFair Warrior, wilt thou dwell with me, And leave the Maid of Colonsay? âFair is the crystal hall for me, With rubies and with emeralds set, And sweet the music of the sea Shall sing, when we for love are met. âHow sweet to dance, with gliding feet, Along the level tide so green, Responsive to the cadence sweet, That breathes along the moonlight scene! âAnd soft the music of the main Rings from the motley tortoise-shell, While moonbeams, oâer the watery plain, Seem trembling in its fitful swell. âThrough the green meads beneath the sea, Enamoured, we shall fondly stray-- Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me, And leave the Maid of Colonsay!â-- âThough bright thy locks of glistening gold, Fair maiden of the foamy main! Thy life-blood is the water cold, While mine beats high in every vein. âThough all the splendour of the sea Around thy faultless beauty shine, That heart, that riots wild and free, Can hold no sympathy with mine. âThese sparkling eyes, so wild and gay, They swim not in the light of love: The beauteous Maid of Colonsay, Her eyes are milder than the dove! âEven now, within the lonely isle, Her eyes are dim with tears for me; And canst thou think that siren smile Can lure my soul to dwell with thee?â An oozy film her limbs oâerspread; Unfolds in length her scaly train: She tossed, in proud disdain, her head, And lashed, with webbed fin, the main. âDwell here, alone!â the Mermaid cried, âAnd view far off the Sea-nymphs play; Thy prison-wall, the azure tide, Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay. âWheneâer, like Oceanâs scaly brood, I cleave, with rapid fin, the wave, Far from the daughter of the flood, Conceal thee in this coral cave. âI feel my former soul return; It kindles at thy cold disdain: And has a mortal dared to spurn A daughter of the foamy main!â-- She fled; around the crystal cave The rolling waves resume their road On the broad portal idly rave, But enter not the Nymphâs abode. And many a weary night went by, As in the lonely cave he lay; And many a sun rolled through the sky, And poured its beams on Colonsay; And oft, beneath the silver moon, He heard afar the Mermaid sing, And oft, to many a melting tune, The shell-formed lyres of ocean ring: And when the moon went down the sky, Still rose, in dreams, his native plain, And oft he thought his love was by, And charmed him with some tender strain; And heart-sick, oft he waked to weep, When ceased that voice of silver sound, And thought to plunge him in the deep, That walled his crystal cavern round. But still the ring, of ruby red, Retained its vivid crimson hue, And each despairing accent fled, To find his gentle Love so true. PART III When seven long lonely months were gone, The Mermaid to his cavern came, No more misshapen from the zone, But like a maid of mortal frame. âO give to me that ruby ring, That on thy finger glances gay, And thou shalt hear the Mermaid sing The song, thou lovest, of Colonsay.â-- âThis ruby ring, of crimson grain, Shall on thy finger glitter gay, If thou wilt bear me through the main, Again to visit Colonsay.â-- âExcept thou quit thy former Love, Content to dwell for aye with me, Thy scorn my finny frame might move, To tear thy limbs amid the sea.â-- âThen bear me swift along the main, The lonely isle again to see, And, when I here return again, I plight my faith to dwell with thee.â-- An oozy film her limbs oâerspread, While slow unfolds her scaly train. With gluey fangs her hands were clad, She lashed, with webbed fin, the main. He grasps the Mermaidâs scaly sides, As, with broad fin, she oars her way; Beneath the silent moon she glides, That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay. Proud swells her heart! she deems, at last, To lure him with her silver tongue, And, as the shelving rocks she past, She raised her voice, and sweetly sung. In softer, sweeter strains she sung, Slow gliding oâer the moonlight bay, When light to land the Chieftain sprung, To hail the Maid of Colonsay. Oh! sad the Mermaidâs gay notes fell, And sadly sink remote at sea! So sadly mourns the writhed shell Of Juraâs shore, its parent sea. And ever as the year returns, The charm-bound sailors know the day, For sadly still the Mermaid mourns The lovely Chief of Colonsay. _Dr. John Leyden. (Condensed)_ A-HARROWING Oâ THE BORDER THE GALLOWAY RAID _The reavers of Eskdale were mounted for weir, And Annandale moss-troopers grasped the spear; And the blades that they bore in the sun glittered bright; And breast-plate and helmet reflected the light._ _They spurred the fleet charger throâ bog and throâ brake; To the yell of their slogan the echoes awake; The Johnstones and Jardines cry, âLads, weâll away, And weâll foray the pastures of Fair Galloway!â_ _The men were determined--their steeds they were strong, And eager for plunder they pranced along; The clang of their weapons rung loud on the dale, And their helmet-plumes waving aloft an the gale._ * * * * * _Beholdst thou the beacon-light gleaming afar, On misty Glenbennan, the signal of war? Bengairn and Caerlochan their blazes display, And they warn the bold spearmen of Fair Galloway._ _But the damsels of Esk and of Annan may mourn, And in vain may they look for their loversâ return; On the green dale of Dryburgh they rest in their grave, And oâer them the hemlock and rank nettles wave._ _And few have escaped from the Galloway spear, That followed the flying and glanced in their rear, And the moss-troopersâ widows are ruing the day Their husbands departed for Fair Galloway._ (_Condensed_) THE MORE MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY-CHASE PART I God prosper long our noble King, Our liffes and saftyes all! A woefull hunting once there was In Chevy-Chase befall. To drive the deere with hound and horne, Erle Percy took the way; The child may rue that is unborne The hunting of that day! The stout Erle of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three sommers days to take; The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chase To kill and beare away. These tydings to Erle Douglas came, In Scottland where he lay, Who sent Erle Percy present word, He wold prevent his sport, The English Erle, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort, With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew ffull well in time of neede To ayme their shafts arright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran To chase the fallow deere; On Munday they began to hunt Ere daylight did appeare; And long before high noone they had A hundred fat buckes slaine. Then having dined, the drovyers went To rouze the deare againe; The bowmen mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; Theire backsids all with speciall care, That day were guarded sure. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods The nimble deere to take, That with their cryes the hills and dales An eccho shrill did make. Lord Percy to the quarry went To view the tender deere; Quoth he, âErle Douglas promised once This day to meete me heere; But if I thought he wold not come, Noe longer wold I stay.â With that, a brave younge gentlman Thus to the Erle did say, âLoe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come, His men in armour bright, Full twenty hundred Scottish speres All marching in our sight, âAll men of pleasant Tivydale, Fast by the river Tweede:â âO ceaze your sportts!â Erle Percy said, âAnd take your bowes with speede. âAnd now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance! For there was never champion yett In Scottland nor in France, âThat ever did on horsbacke come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to breake a spere.â Erle Douglas on his milke white steede, Most like a Baron bold, Rode formost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold. âShew me,â sayd hee, âwhose men you bee, That hunt soe boldly heere, That without my consent doe chase And kill my fallow deere.â The first man that did answer make Was noble Percy hee, Who sayd, âWee list not to declare, Nor shew whose men wee bee. âYett wee will spend our deerest blood Thy cheefest harts to slay.â Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe, And thus in rage did say; âEre thus I will outbraved bee, One of us tow shall dye! I know thee well! an Erle thou art, Lord Percy! Soe am I; âBut trust me, Percye, pittye it were, And great offence, to kill Then any of these our guiltlesse men, For they have done none ill; âLet thou and I the battell trye, And set our men aside.â âAccurst bee he!â Erle Percy sayd, âBy whome it is denyed.â Then stept a gallant Squire forth,-- Witherington was his name,-- Who said, âI wold not have it told To Henery our King, for shame, âThat ere my captaine fought on foote, And I stand looking on: You bee two Erles,â quoth Witherington, âAnd I a Squier alone, âIle doe the best that doe I may, While I have power to stand! While I have power to weeld my sword, Ile fight with hart and hand!â Our English archers bend their bowes-- Their harts were good and trew,-- Att the first flight of arrowes sent, Full foure score Scotts they slew. To drive the deere with hound and horne, Douglas bade on the bent; Two captaines moved with mickle might Their speres to shivers went. They closed full fast on everye side, Noe slacknes there was found, But many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground. O Christ! it was great greeve to see How eche man chose his spere, And how the blood out of their brests Did gush like water cleare! At last these two stout Erles did meet Like captaines of great might; Like Lyons wood they layd on lode, They made a cruell fight. They fought untill they both did sweat, With swords of tempered steele, Till blood a-downe their cheekes like raine They trickling downe did feele. âO yeeld thee, Percye!â Douglas sayd, And infaith I will thee bringe Where thou shall high advanced bee By James our Scottish King; âThy ransome I will freely give, And this report of thee, Thou art the most couragious Knight That ever I did see.â âNoe, Douglas!â quoth Erle Percy then, âThy profer I doe scorne; I will not yeelde to any Scott That ever yett was borne!â With that there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow, Who scorke Erle Douglas on the brest A deepe and deadlye blow; Who never sayd more words then these, âFight on my merrymen all! For why, my life is att an end, Lord Percy sees my fall.â Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke The dead man by the hand; And said, âErle Douglas! for thy sake Wold I had lost my land! âO Christ! my verry hart doth bleed For sorrow for thy sake! For sure, a more redoubted Knight, Mischance cold never take!â PART II A Knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erle Douglas dye, Who streight in hart did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percye. Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he called, Who, with a spere full bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran feircly through the fight, And past the English archers all, Without all dread or feare, And through Erle Percyes body then He thrust his hatfull spere, With such a vehement force and might, That his body he did gore, The staff ran through the other side A large cloth yard and more. Thus did both those nobles dye, Whose courage none cold staine, An English archer then perceived The noble Erle was slaine, He had a good bow in his hand Made of a trusty tree; An arrow of a cloth yard long To the hard head haled hee, Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye His shaft full right he sett; The grey goose winge that was there-on, In his harts bloode was wett. This fight from breake of day did last Till setting of the sun, For when they rung the Evening bell The battele scarse was done. With stout Erle Percy there was slaine Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Harcliffe and Sir William, Sir James that bold barron; And with Sir George and Sir James, Both Knights of good account; And good Sir Raphe Rebbye there was slaine, Whose prowesse did surmount. For Witherington needs must I wayle As one in doleful dumpes, For when his leggs were smitten of, He fought upon his stumpes. And with Erle Douglas there was slaine Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, And Sir Charles Morrell that from feelde One foote wold never flee; Sir Roger Hever of Harcliffe tow,-- His sisters sonne was hee,-- Sir David Lamb so well esteemed But saved he cold not bee; And the Lord Maxwell in like case With Douglas he did dye; Of twenty hundred Scottish speeres, Scarce fifty five did flye; Of fifteen hundred Englishmen Went home but fifty three; The rest in Chevy-Chase were slaine, Under the greenwoode tree. Next day did many widdowes come Their husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, But all wold not prevayle. Theyr bodyes bathed in purple blood, They bore with them away, They kist them dead a thousand times Ere they were cladd in clay. The newes was brought to Eddenborrow Where Scottlandâs King did rayne, That brave Erle Douglas soddainlye Was with an arrow slaine. âO heavy newes!â King James can say, âScottland may wittenesse bee I have not any captaine more Of such account as hee!â Like tydings to King Henery came Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slaine in Chevy-Chase. âNow God be with him!â said our King, âSith it will noe better bee, I trust I have within my realme Five hundred as good as hee! âYett shall not Scotts nor Scottland say But I will vengeance take, And be revenged on them all For brave Erle Percyes sake.â This vow the King did well performe After on Humble Downe; In one day fifty Knights were slayne, With Lords of great renowne, And of the rest of small account, Did many hundreds dye: Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chase Made by the Erle Percye. God save our King, and blesse this land With plentye, joy, and peace; And grant hencforth that foule debate Twixt noble men may ceaze! ffins. THE BALLAD OF MEIKLE-MOUTHED MEG BOLD WILLIE SCOTT The moonbeam glints on tower and hill, Itâs hey! for the bonny moonlight! âGo saddle my steed, Iâll ride betimes, The English Border to-night.â âTake tent, good lad, the Warderâs men Are riding over the land.â âTuts! six Scotts lads will keep two score Of such feckless loons at a stand!â Oh! they were twenty stout and bold, Mounted on active naigs; Some armed wiâ guns and Jeddart staves, Wiâ iron round their craigs. Young Scott oâ Harden, led them on To the lands oâ Elibank; âGood faith, I wat Sir Gideon Will no his kindness thank.â He left his towers by Ettrickâs stream, His minnieâs proverb scorning; When Scotts set foot in the stirrup-ring, The blood will flow ere morning. Sir Gideon and young Willie Scott Were ever deadly foes; Ere they shall clasp each otherâs hand, The Gowan shall grow on the Rose. THE RAID They gained the lands oâ Elibank, And gathered the gear together; They counted tens, and came to scores, And drove them out the heather. There was not a Murray on the lea, Young Scott his heart was light; âThereâll be a dry breakfast at Elibank, At Oakwood, a meal to-night.â They got half way to Ettrick stream, When they heard a sleuth-hound yell, And Scott well kenned his mortal foe, Pursued him oâer the fell. Sir Gideon was a doure fierce man, A terror to a foe; He had a wife and daughters three, Well dowered they were I trow. He let young Harden steal his cows, And, oh! his arm was slack; But the grim old Knight was looking on Wiâ fifty men at his back. âI have thee now like a thief in a mill,â Sir Gideon oâ Elibank said; He gave the word to loose the hounds; And the hot pursuit he led. âYoung Scott, yield quietly to me,â Sir Gideon loudly cried, âOr a thiefâs death shall ye die, If ye the onset bide. âYeâve driven off my cows and sheep, And byre and fold are toom, The corbies and ye shall be acquaint, For what this night yeâve done.â âBrag on! brag on! ye old greybeard! While Scott oâ Harden stands, No power on earth shall make him yield To any oâ Murrayâs bands. âSo do your best, and do your worst, Hereâs a hand and sword to fight; I trow a Scott neâer turned his back Whilst a Murray was in sight.â âSmall mercy after what yeâve stolân, I had designed for thee; But, callant, after what yeâve said, Iâll prove your enemy.â âThou old man, measure weapons then, And I would have ye leave Your well-faured daughters to the world, For your loss must they grieve.â âBefore sunrise,â quoth Gideon, âYouâll speak less vauntingly; Say what ye like of me, you dog, But leave my bairnies be.â The strife went high and bloodily, They grappled at the throat; And many was the Elibank, The reavers deadly smote. The guns banged off, the sleuth-hounds yelled, The cattle rowted sore; And many wights lay on the ground, That up rose never more. The fray went hard wiâ Willie Scott, His horse fell wiâ a bound, And many Murrays wiâ their swords Bore him unto the ground. THE GALLOWS OR MARRIAGE Lady Murray came forth at noon, To welcome her husband home; And there she spied young Scott oâ Harden, All bounden and his lone. They thrust the Scott in a darksome room, And left him to his thought; But neither bread nor yet red wine Unto the youth they brought. âAnd what, Lord Gideon,â said his dame, âWill ye do wiâ young Scott?â âDo ye see yonder branch oâ the elm, For that shall be his lot.â âO goodman,â quoâ his pitying dame, âYe could not do this thing; For lifting a pickle oâ your nowt, So brave a lad to hing!â âWhat mercy did ever a Scott oâ them Eâer show to me or mine? The reaving Scotts shall surely weep, The last of all their line.â She said, âBut we have daughters three, And they are no well-faured, When yeâve a husband to your hand, To hang him would be hard.â âSooth, goodwife, faith, but ye are right! Thereâs wisdom in your say; This birkie Scott shall have his choice, To wed what one he may. âWeâll give him respite to the morn, Nor hang him âgainst all law; To marry our daughter Meikle-Mouthed Meg, Or choke with the death-thraw.â Quoâ she, âTo marry our daughter Meg More wiselike would it be, Than kill the hope of an old, old House And strap him to the tree.â Quoâ he, âIf I were in his place, I would refuse I ween, And die a death upon the tree, Than wed what Iâd neâer seen. âGo ye, and tell our daughter Meg, That sheâs be wived the morn; And I will to this young gallant, And see what he perform.â * * * * * She went unto her daughter Meg, Who had a meikle mouth; But her teeth were pearls, and her honey breath Was like the wind from the South. The mother sat by her daughterâs side; âSweet Meg, come tell me this, Wouldst thou the rather be a bride, Then live in singleness? âBefore I was your age, I trow, I was in a bride her place.â âAye, mother,â quoâ Meg, and sighed full sore, âBut ye had a well-faured face. âBut you shall see the Ettrick stream Run throâ the dells oâ Yarrow, Before ye hear oâ an offer to me, Or a man to be my marrow. âMy face is foul, my heart is large, A kinder none there is; And must I pass away my days, In sullen loneliness?â The mother told her of young Scott, And waited her reply; âO Mother, Iâd rather marry him Than ever he should die!â But the tears rose welling from their spring, And filled her cushat eyes; âBut, Mother, how if when weâre wed, He should my heart despise?â âOh, marriage,â quoâ the wily dame, âIs not that hard to snoove, If ye should marry Willie Scott, Yeâll be like hand and glove.â * * * * * Sir Gideon entered young Scottâs dungeon; âThy death is at my hand, Ye came as a thief in the dead oâ night, And stole my cows from my land. âBut Iâll give ye a chance for life, For all ye have said of me, Either to marry my daughter Meg, Or hang upon yonder tree. âAnd the boldest Scott on the Border March, Shall never take ye down, Until your skeleton is seen And ye drop away bone by bone.â âAnd ye would spare my life,â he said, âFor all ye come so gleg, If I would stoop and give my hand To your bonny daughter Meg? âYe are the Murray of Elibank, I Scott of Oakwood Tower, I would not marry your daughter Meg, Thoâ a kingdom were her dower; âBut little I fear to meet my death, As I do to tell you this; An ye had fallen in my hands, Such were your fate, I wiss. âYe think that your winsome daughter Meg,â Oh! he spoke so scornfully,-- âWill get a husband at the last, But, faith, my lad, ye lie, âI rather choose upon the gallows To render up my breath; I trow there will be Scots enough Left to revenge my death.â âThere is my thumb, thou young braggart,â Sir Gideon chafing cried, âI wouldnât hinder ye your choice For death shall be your bride. âAnd let the Scots oâ aâ the Border Revenge your death that dare.â He left young Scott unto himself, And quit his dungeon stair. YOUNG WILLIEâS MESSENGER It was about the midnight time, When his dungeon door gaâed back; And the sentinel who guarded it Let in a woman in black. âWhat want ye wiâ me, fair Maiden?â The Scott oâ Harden said. âI come to ask if thy dying wish Can be by me obeyed? âI am a lassie oâ the house, And wait on Sir Gideonâs dame; And thoâ ye have refused poor Meg, Her prayers will be the same.â âWhy has Dame Murray sent thee here?â-- âShe has a womanâs heart. Ye have a mother and sisters twain, From whom full soon ye part. âIf ye have anything to say, Ye would have carried there, I swear by all thatâs good on earth, To be your messenger.â âMaiden,â quoâ he, and his voice was low, âOf my mother do not speak; I wish to die as my fatherâs son, And yet her heart I break.â âIt cannot be,â then said the girl, âYe have rejected Meg, Without the looking on her face? Iâm sure your life sheâd beg.â âI have not seen, but I have heard Her face described to me; And, by my faith, between the two, Iâll chose the gallows-tree.â The tears fell from that poor girlâs eyes, In anger or in spleen?-- And ever and anon she sighed, And deep sobs came between. âBelike,â quoâ she, âtheyâve painted her Far worse than she may look; Many a man has an ugly wife, That the gallows could not brook.â âI have no wish to see her face, Far less to marry her; But ye seem oâ a kindly heart, And aiblins are as fair. âSo let me see your face, my joy, And by your countenance, Iâll see
{'title': 'Story-Telling Ballads by Frances Jenkins Olcott and Milo Winter', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}