Then he has staid in bower wi' her 65 For sax lang years and ane, Till sax young sons to him she bare, And the seventh she's brought hame.
But aye as ever a child was born, He carried them away, 70 And brought them to his mither's care, As fast as he cou'd fly.
Thus he has staid in bower wi' her For twenty years and three; There came a lord o' high renown 75 To court this fair ladie.
But still his proffer she refused, And a' his presents too; Says, "I'm content to live alane Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo." 80
Her father sware a solemn oath Amang the nobles all, "The morn, or ere I eat or drink, This bird I will gar kill."
The bird was sitting in his cage, 85 And heard what they did say; And when he found they were dismist, Says, "Waes me for this day!
"Before that I do langer stay, And thus to be forlorn, 90 I'll gang unto my mither's bower, Where I was bred and born."
Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea; And lighted near his mither's castle 95 On a tower o' gowd sae hie.
As his mither was wauking out, To see what she coud see, And there she saw her little son Set on the tower sae hie. 100
"Get dancer here to dance," she said, "And minstrells for to play; For here's my young son, Florentine, Come here wi' me to stay."
"Get nae dancers to dance, mither, 105 Nor minstrells for to play; For the mither o' my seven sons, The morn's her wedding-day."
"O tell me, tell me, Florentine, Tell me, and tell me true, 110 Tell me this day without a flaw, What I will do for you."
"Instead of dancers to dance, mither, Or minstrells for to play, Turn four-and-twenty wall-wight men, 115 Like storks, in feathers gray;
"My seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee; And I, mysell, a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree." 120
Then sichin' said the queen hersell, "That thing's too high for me;"
But she applied to an auld woman, Who had mair skill than she.
Instead o' dancers to dance a dance, 125 Or minstrells for to play, Four-and-twenty wall-wight men Turn'd birds o' feathers gray;
Her seven sons in seven swans, Aboon their heads to flee; 130 And he, himsell, a gay gos-hawk, A bird o' high degree.
This flock o' birds took flight and flew Beyond the raging sea; And landed near the Earl Mar's castle, 135 Took shelter in every tree.
They were a flock o' pretty birds, Right comely to be seen; The people view'd them wi' surprise, As they danc'd on the green. 140
These birds ascended frae the tree, And lighted on the ha'; And at the last wi' force did flee Among the nobles a'.
The storks there seized some o' the men, 145 They cou'd neither fight nor flee; The swans they bound the bride's best man, Below a green aik tree.
They lighted next on maidens fair, Then on the bride's own head; 150 And wi' the twinkling o' an e'e, The bride and them were fled.
There's ancient men at weddings been, For sixty years or more; But sic a curious wedding-day 155 They never saw before.
For naething cou'd the companie do, Nor naething cou'd they say; But they saw a flock o' pretty birds That took their bride away. 160
When that Earl Mar he came to know Where his dochter did stay, He sign'd a bond o' unity, And visits now they pay.
YOUNG AKIN.
Mr. Kinloch printed a fragment of this ballad under the title of _Hynde Etin_. (See Appendix.) The story was afterwards given complete by Buchan, (_Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 6,) as here follows. Buchan had previously communicated to Motherwell a modernized version of the same tale, in which the Etin is changed to a Groom. (See _post_.)
This ancient ballad has suffered severely in the course of its transmission to our times. Still there can be no doubt that it was originally the same as _The Maid and the Dwarf King_, which is still sung in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and the Faroe Islands. Numerous copies of the Scandinavian ballad have been given to the world: seven Danish versions, more or less complete, four Norse, nine Swedish, one Faroish, and some other fragments (Grundtvig, ii. 37, and note, p.
655). One of the Swedish ballads (_Bergkonungen_, Afzelius, No.
35) is translated in Keightley's _Fairy Mythology_, 103, under the title of _Proud Margaret_. Closely related is _Agnete og Havmanden_, Grundtvig, ii. 48, 656, which is found in several forms in German (e.g.
_Die schone Hannele_ in Hoffmann von Fallersleben's _Schlesische Volkslieder_, No. 1), and two in Slavic.
Lady Margaret sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam; She heard a note in Elmond's-wood, And wish'd she there had been.
She loot the seam fa' frae her side, 5 And the needle to her tae; And she is on to Elmond-wood As fast as she coud gae.
She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but ane, 10 Till by it came a young hind chiel, Says, "Lady, lat alane.
"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut, Or why brake ye the tree?
For I am forester o' this wood: 15 Ye shou'd spier leave at me."
"I'll ask leave at no living man, Nor yet will I at thee; My father is king o'er a' this realm, This wood belongs to me." 20
She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut, Nor broken a branch but three, Till by it came him Young Akin, And gar'd her lat them be.
The highest tree in Elmond's-wood, 25 He's pu'd it by the reet; And he has built for her a bower Near by a hallow seat.
He's built a bower, made it secure Wi' carbuncle and stane; 30 Tho' travellers were never sae nigh, Appearance it had nane.
He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood, For six lang years and one; Till six pretty sons to him she bear, 35 And the seventh she's brought home.
It fell ance upon a day, This guid lord went from home; And he is to the hunting gane, Took wi' him his eldest son. 40
And when they were on a guid way, Wi' slowly pace did walk, The boy's heart being something wae, He thus began to talk:--
"A question I wou'd ask, father, 45 Gin ye wou'dna angry be?"
"Say on, say on, my bonny boy, Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."
"I see my mither's cheeks aye weet, I never can see them dry; 50 And I wonder what aileth my mither, To mourn continually."
"Your mither was a king's daughter, Sprung frae a high degree; And she might hae wed some worthy prince, 55 Had she nae been stown by me.
"I was her father's cup-bearer, Just at that fatal time; I catch'd her on a misty night, Whan summer was in prime. 60
"My luve to her was most sincere, Her luve was great for me; But when she hardships doth endure, Her folly she does see."
"I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush, 65 The linnet o' the tree, And bring them to my dear mither, See if she'll merrier be."