A Collection of Ballads - Andrew Lang (books like beach read TXT) 📗

rade on, and farther on, And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee, And they saw neither sun nor moon, But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, And they waded thro red blude to the knee; For a’ the blude that’s shed an earth Rins thro the springs o that countrie.

Syne they came on to a garden green, And she pu’d an apple frae a tree: “Take this for thy wages, True Thomas, It will give the tongue that can never lie.”

“My tongue is mine ain,” True Thomas said, “A gudely gift ye wad gie me! I neither dought to buy nor sell, At fair or tryst where I may be.

“I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:” “Now hold thy peace,” the lady said, “For as I say, so must it be.”

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, And a pair of shoes of velvet green, And till seven years were gane and past True Thomas on earth was never seen.

 

Ballad: “Sir Hugh; Or The Jew’s Daughter”

 

(Child, vol. v.)

Four-and-twenty bonny boys Were playing at the ba, And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh, And he playd o’er them a’.

He kickd the ba with his right foot And catchd it wi his knee, And throuch-and-thro the Jew’s window He gard the bonny ba flee.

He’s doen him to the Jew’s castell And walkd it round about; And there he saw the Jew’s daughter, At the window looking out.

“Throw down the ba, ye Jew’s daughter, Throw down the ba to me!” “Never a bit,” says the Jew’s daughter, “Till up to me come ye.”

“How will I come up? How can I come up? How can I come to thee? For as ye did to my auld father, The same ye’ll do to me.”

She’s gane till her father’s garden, And pu’d an apple red and green; ‘Twas a’ to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh, And to entice him in.

She’s led him in through ae dark door, And sae has she thro nine; She’s laid him on a dressing-table, And stickit him like a swine.

And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin; And syne came out the bonny heart’s blood; There was nae mair within.

She’s rowd him in a cake o lead, Bade him lie still and sleep; She’s thrown him in Our Lady’s draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a’ the bairns came hame, When every lady gat hame her son, The Lady Maisry gat nane.

She’s taen her mantle her about, Her coffer by the hand, And she’s gane out to seek her son, And wandered o’er the land.

She’s doen her to the Jew’s castell, Where a’ were fast asleep: “Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak.”

“Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear, Prepare my winding-sheet, And at the back o merry Lincoln The morn I will you meet.”

Now Lady Maisry is gane hame, Make him a winding-sheet, And at the back o merry Lincoln, The dead corpse did her meet.

And a the bells o merry Lincoln Without men’s hands were rung, And a’ the books o merry Lincoln Were read without man’s tongue, And neer was such a burial Sin Adam’s days begun.

 

Ballad: Son Davie! Son Davie!

 

(Mackay.)

“What bluid’s that on thy coat lap? Son Davie! Son Davie! What bluid’s that on thy coat lap? And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“It is the bluid of my great hawk, Mother lady, Mother lady! It is the bluid of my great hawk, And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”

“Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red, Son Davie! Son Davie! Hawk’s bluid was ne’er sae red, And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“It is the bluid of my grey hound, Mother lady! Mother lady! It is the bluid of my grey hound, And it wudna rin for me, O.”

“Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red, Son Davie! Son Davie! Hound’s bluid was ne’er sae red, And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“It is the bluid o’ my brother John, Mother lady! Mother lady! It is the bluid o’ my brother John, And the truth I hae tald to thee, O.”

“What about did the plea begin? Son Davie! Son Davie!” “It began about the cutting o’ a willow wand, That would never hae been a tree, O.”

“What death dost thou desire to die? Son Davie! Son Davie! What death dost thou desire to die? And the truth come tell to me, O.”

“I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship, Mother lady! mother lady! I’ll set my foot in a bottomless ship, And ye’ll never see mair o’ me, O.”

“What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife? Son Davie! Son Davie!” “Grief and sorrow all her life, And she’ll never get mair frae me, O.”

“What wilt thou leave to thy young son? Son Davie! son Davie!” “The weary warld to wander up and down, And he’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”

“What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear? Son Davie! Son Davie!” “A fire o’ coals to burn her wi’ hearty cheer, And she’ll never get mair o’ me, O.”

 

Ballad: The Wife Of Usher’s Well

 

(Child, vol. iii.)

There lived a wife at Usher’s Well, And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them oer the sea,

They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane, When word came to the carline wife That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three, Whan word came to the carlin wife That her sons she’d never see.

“I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood, Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood!”

It fell about the Martinmass, Whan nights are lang and mirk, The carline wife’s three sons came hame, And their hats were o the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh; But at the gates o Paradise That birk grew fair eneugh.

 

*

 

“Blow up the fire, my maidens! Bring water from the well; For a’ my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.”

And she has made to them a bed, She’s made it large and wide; And she’s taen her mantle her about, Sat down at the bedside.

 

*

 

Up then crew the red, red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, “‘Tis time we were away.”

The cock he hadna crawd but once, And clapp’d his wings at a’, Whan the youngest to the eldest said, “Brother, we must awa.

“The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin worm doth chide; Gin we be mist out o our place, A sair pain we maun bide.

“Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to barn and byre! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass That kindles my mother’s fire!”

 

Ballad: The Twa Corbies

 

(Child, vol. i.)

As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t’other say, “Where sall we gang and dine the day?”

“In behint yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

“His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady’s ta’en another mate, So we may make our dinner sweet.

“Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane, And I’ll pike out his bonny blue een; Wi ae lock o his gowden hair We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

“Mony a one for him makes mane, But nane sall ken whae he is gane, Oer his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.”

 

Ballad: The Bonnie Earl Moray

 

(Child, vol. vi.)

A.

Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands Oh where have you been? They have slain the Earl of Murray, And they layd him on the green.

“Now wae be to thee, Huntly! And wherefore did you sae? I bade you bring him wi you, But forbade you him to slay.”

He was a braw gallant, And he rid at the ring; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Oh he might have been a King!

He was a braw gallant, And he playd at the ba; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Was the flower amang them a’.

He was a braw gallant, And he playd at the glove; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Oh he was the Queen’s love!

Oh lang will his lady Look oer the castle Down, Eer she see the Earl of Murray Come sounding thro the town! Eer she, etc.

B.

“Open the gates and let him come in; He is my brother Huntly, he’ll do him nae harm.”

The gates they were opent, they let him come in, But fause traitor Huntly, he did him great harm.

He’s ben and ben, and ben to his bed, And with a sharp rapier he stabbed him dead.

The lady came down the stair, wringing her hands: “He has slain the Earl o Murray, the flower o Scotland.”

But Huntly lap on his horse, rade to the King: “Ye’re welcome hame, Huntly, and whare hae ye been?

“Where hae ye been? and how hae ye sped?” “I’ve killed the Earl o Murray dead in his bed.”

“Foul fa you, Huntly! and why did ye so? You might have taen the Earl o Murray, and saved his life too.”

“Her bread it’s to bake, her yill is to brew; My sister’s a widow, and sair do I rue.

“Her corn grows ripe, her meadows grow green, But in bonnie Dinnibristle I darena be seen.”

 

Ballad: Clerk Saunders

 

(Child, vol. iii.)

Clerk Saunders and may Margaret Walked ower yon garden green; And sad and heavy was the love That fell thir twa 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 frae my scabbard, And slowly lift the pin; And you may swear, and save your aith. Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.

“And take a napkin in your hand, And tie up baith your bonny e’en, And you may swear, and save 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 o’ them, “It were shame to slay a sleeping man!”

Then up and gat