A Collection of Ballads, Andrew Lang [english love story books txt] 📗

bride, And her een they wer sae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, When Fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand, He gae it kisses three, And reaching by the nut-browne bride, Laid it on Fair Annet’s knee.

Up then spak the nut-browne bride, She spak wi meikle spite: “And whair gat ye that rose-water, That does mak yee sae white?”

“O I did get the rose-water Whair ye wull neir get nane, For I did get that very rose-water Into my mither’s wame.”

The bride she drew a long bodkin Frae out her gay head-gear, And strake Fair Annet unto the heart, That word spak nevir mair.

Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale, And marvelit what mote bee; But when he saw her dear heart’s blude, A’ wood-wroth wexed bee.

He drew his dagger that was sae sharp, That was sae sharp and meet, And drave it into the nut-browne bride, That fell deid at his feit.

“Now stay for me, dear Annet,” he sed, “Now stay, my dear,” he cry’d; Then strake the dagger untill his heart, And fell deid by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, Fair Annet within the quiere, And o the ane thair grew a birk, The other a bonny briere.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw, As they wad faine be neare; And by this ye may ken right weil They were twa luvers deare.

 

Ballad: Fair Annie

 

(Child, Part III., p. 69.)

“It’s narrow, narrow, make your bed, And learn to lie your lane: For I’m ga’n oer the sea, Fair Annie, A braw bride to bring hame. Wi her I will get gowd and gear; Wi you I neer got nane.

“But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my brisk bride, That I bring oer the dale?”

“It’s I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale.”

“But she that welcomes my brisk bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair.”

“But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child again?”

She’s taen her young son in her arms, Another in her hand, And she’s up to the highest tower, To see him come to land.

“Come up, come up, my eldest son, And look oer yon sea-strand, And see your father’s new-come bride, Before she come to land.”

“Come down, come down, my mother dear, Come frae the castle wa! I fear, if langer ye stand there, Ye’ll let yoursell down fa.”

And she gaed down, and farther down, Her love’s ship for to see, And the topmast and the mainmast Shone like the silver free.

And she’s gane down, and farther down, The bride’s ship to behold, And the topmast and the mainmast They shone just like the gold.

She’s taen her seven sons in her hand, I wot she didna fail; She met Lord Thomas and his bride, As they came oer the dale.

“You’re welcome to your house, Lord Thomas, You’re welcome to your land; You’re welcome with your fair ladye, That you lead by the hand.

“You’re welcome to your ha’s, ladye, You’re welcome to your bowers; Your welcome to your hame, ladye, For a’ that’s here is yours.”

“I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie, Sae dearly as I thank thee; You’re the likest to my sister Annie, That ever I did see.

“There came a knight out oer the sea, And steald my sister away; The shame scoup in his company, And land where’er he gae!”

She hang ae napkin at the door, Another in the ha, And a’ to wipe the trickling tears, Sae fast as they did fa.

And aye she served the lang tables With white bread and with wine, And aye she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine.

And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with brown; And aye she turned her round about, Sae fast the tears fell down.

And he’s taen down the silk napkin, Hung on a silver pin, And aye he wipes the tear trickling A’down her cheek and chin.

And aye he turn’d him round about, And smiled amang his men; Says, “Like ye best the old ladye, Or her that’s new come hame?”

When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a’ men bound to bed, Lord Thomas and his new-come bride To their chamber they were gaed.

Annie made her bed a little forbye, To hear what they might say; “And ever alas!” Fair Annie cried, “That I should see this day!

“Gin my seven sons were seven young rats, Running on the castle wa, And I were a grey cat mysell, I soon would worry them a’.

“Gin my young sons were seven young hares, Running oer yon lilly lee, And I were a grew hound mysell, Soon worried they a’ should be.”

And wae and sad Fair Annie sat, And drearie was her sang, And ever, as she sobbd and grat, “Wae to the man that did the wrang!”

“My gown is on,” said the new-come bride, “My shoes are on my feet, And I will to Fair Annie’s chamber, And see what gars her greet.

“What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie, That ye make sic a moan? Has your wine-barrels cast the girds, Or is your white bread gone?

“O wha was’t was your father, Annie, Or wha was’t was your mother? And had ye ony sister, Annie, Or had ye ony brother?”

“The Earl of Wemyss was my father, The Countess of Wemyss my mother; And a’ the folk about the house To me were sister and brother.”

“If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, I wot sae was he mine; And it shall not be for lack o gowd That ye your love sall fyne.

“For I have seven ships o mine ain, A’ loaded to the brim, And I will gie them a’ to thee Wi four to thine eldest son: But thanks to a’ the powers in heaven That I gae maiden hame!”

 

Ballad: The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow

 

(Child, Part III. Early Edition.)

Late at e’en, drinking the wine, And ere they paid the lawing, They set a combat them between, To fight it in the dawing.

“Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord, Oh, stay at hame, my marrow! My cruel brother will you betray On the dowie houms of Yarrow.”

“Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye! Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah! For I maun gae, though I ne’er return, Frae the dowie banks of Yarrow.”

She kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair, As oft she had done before, O; She belted him with his noble brand, And he’s away to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank, I wot he gaed wi’ sorrow, Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm’d men, On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

“Oh, come ye here to part your land, The bonnie Forest thorough? Or come ye here to wield your brand, On the dowie houms of Yarrow?”

“I come not here to part my land, And neither to beg nor borrow; I come to wield my noble brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

“If I see all, ye’re nine to ane; An that’s an unequal marrow: Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.”

Four has he hurt, and five has slain, On the bloody braes of Yarrow; Till that stubborn knight came him behind, And ran his body thorough.

“Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John, And tell your sister Sarah, To come and lift her leafu’ lord; He’s sleepin’ sound on Yarrow.”

“Yestreen I dream’d a dolefu’ dream; I fear there will be sorrow! I dream’d I pu’d the heather green, Wi’ my true love, on Yarrow.

“O gentle wind, that bloweth south, From where my love repaireth, Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, And tell me how he fareth!

“But in the glen strive armed men; They’ve wrought me dole and sorrow; They’ve 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 kiss’d his cheek, she kaim’d his hair, She search’d his wounds all thorough, She kiss’d 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 him ye lost on Yarrow.”

“Oh, 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.”

 

Ballad: Sir Roland

 

(Child, vol. i. Early Edition.)

Whan he cam to his ain luve’s bouir He tirled at the pin, And sae ready was his fair fause luve To rise and let him in.

“O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,” she says, “Thrice welcome thou art to me; For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir, And to-morrow we’ll wedded be.”

“This night is hallow-eve,” he said, “And to-morrow is hallow-day; And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, That has made my heart fu’ wae.

“I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, And I wish it may cum to gude: I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, And gied me his lappered blude.”

 

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“Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,” she said, And set you safely down.” O your chamber is very dark, fair maid, And the night is wondrous lown.”

“Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir, And lown the midnight may be; For there is none waking in a’ this tower But thou, my true love, and me.”

 

*

 

She has mounted on her true love’s steed, By the ae light o’ the moon; She has whipped him and spurred him, And roundly she rade frae the toun.

She hadna ridden a mile o’ gate, Never a mile but ane, When she was aware of a tall young man, Slow riding o’er the plain,

She turned her to the right about, Then to the left turn’d she; But aye, ‘tween her and the wan moonlight, That tall knight did she see.

And he was riding burd alane, On a horse as black as jet, But tho’ she followed him fast and fell, No nearer could she get.

“O stop! O stop! young man,” she said; “For I in dule am dight; O stop, and win a fair lady’s luve, If you be a leal true knight.”

But nothing did the tall knight say, And nothing did he blin; Still slowly ride he on before And fast she rade behind.

She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, Till his breast was all a foam; But nearer unto that tall young knight, By Our Ladye she could not come.

“O if you be a gay young knight, As well I trow you be, Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay Till I come up to thee.”

But nothing did that tall knight say, And no whit did he blin, Until he reached a broad river’s side And there he drew his rein.

“O is this water deep?” he said, “As it is wondrous dun? Or is it sic as a saikless maid, And a leal true knight may swim?”

“The water it is deep,” she said, “As it is wondrous dun; But it is sic as a saikless maid, And a leal true