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That the bonny Lass of Lochroyan Was at the yate e'en now.

"O I hae dream'd a dream, mother, The thought o't gars me greet! 110 That fair Annie o' Lochroyan Lay cauld dead at my feet."--

"Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan That ye make a' this din, She stood a' last night at your door, 115 But I true she wan na in."--

"O wae betide ye, ill woman!

An ill deid may ye die!

That wadna open the door to her, Nor yet wad waken me." 120

O he's gane down to yon shore side As fast as he could fare; He saw fair Annie in the boat, But the wind it toss'd her sair.

"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie! 125 O Annie, winna ye bide!"

But aye the mair he cried Annie, The braider grew the tide.

"And hey, Annie, and how, Annie!

Dear Annie, speak to me!" 130 But aye the louder he cried Annie, The louder roar'd the sea.

The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, And dash'd the boat on shore; Fair Annie floated through the faem, 135 But the babie rose no more.

Lord Gregory tore his yellow hair, And made a heavy moan; Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet, Her bonny young son was gone. 140

O cherry, cherry was her cheek, And gowden was her hair; But clay-cold were her rosy lips-- Nae spark o' life was there.

And first he kiss'd her cherry cheek, 145 And syne he kiss'd her chin, And syne he kiss'd her rosy lips-- There was nae breath within.

"O wae betide my cruel mother!

An ill death may she die! 150 She turn'd my true love frae my door, Wha came sae far to me.

"O wae betide my cruel mother!

An ill death may she die!

She turn'd fair Annie frae my door, 155 Wha died for love o' me."


_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 3.

This ballad, of which more than thirty versions have been published in the Northern languages, is preserved in English in several forms, all of them more or less unsatisfactory. Of these the present copy comes nearest to the pure original, as it is found in Danish. The next best is _The Brave Earl Brand and The King of England's Daughter_, recently printed for the first time in Bell's _Ballads of the Peasantry_, and given at the end of this volume. _Erlinton_ (vol. iii. 220) is much mutilated, and has a perverted conclusion, but retains a faint trace of one characteristic trait of the ancient ballad, which really constitutes the turning point of the story, but which all the others lack. (See _Erlinton_.) A fragment exists in the Percy MS., of which we can only say that if it much resembled Percy's _Child of Elle_ (which it cannot), it might without loss be left undisturbed forever. In the only remaining copy Robin Hood appears as the hero. (See vol. v. p. 334.) It is of slight value, but considerably less insipid than the _Child of Elle_. Motherwell (_Minstrelsy_, p. 180) has given a few variations to Scott's ballad, but they are of no importance.--Of the corresponding Danish ballad, _Ribolt og Guldborg_, Grundtvig has collected more than twenty versions, some of them ancient, many obtained from recitation, and eight of the kindred _Hildebrand og Hilde_. There have also been printed of the latter, three versions in Swedish, and of the former, three in Icelandic, two in Norse, and seven in Swedish. (_Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser_, ii. 308-403, 674-81.) Jamieson has translated an inferior copy of the Danish ballad in _Illustrations of North.

Antiq._, p. 317.

"The ballad of _The Douglas Tragedy_," says Scott, "is one of the few (?) to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality.

"The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farm-house, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent named Douglas burn, which joins the Yarrow, after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas craig.... From this ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighboring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas burn is averred to have been the stream at which the lovers stopped to drink: so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event."

Were it not for Scott's concluding remark, and the obstinate credulity of most of the English and Scotch editors, we should hardly think it necessary to say that the locality of some of the incidents in _Ribolt and Guldborg_, is equally well ascertained (Grundtvig, 342, 343). "Popular tales and anecdotes of every kind,"

as Jamieson well remarks, "soon obtain locality wherever they are told; and the intelligent and attentive traveller will not be surprised to find the same story which he had learnt when a child, with every appropriate circumstance of names, time, and place, in a Glen of Morven, Lochaber, or Rannoch, equally domesticated among the mountains of Norway, Caucasus, or Thibet." _Ill. North. Ant._ p.


"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armour so bright; Let it never be said that a daughter of thine Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, 5 And put on your armour so bright, And take better care of your youngest sister, For your eldest's awa' the last night."--

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey, 10 With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And lightly they rode away.

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder, To see what he could see, And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold, 15 Come riding o'er the lee.

"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said, "And hold my steed in your hand, Until that against your seven brethren bold, And your father, I make a stand."-- 20

She held his steed in her milk-white hand, And never shed one tear, Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.

"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said, 25 "For your strokes they are wondrous sair; True lovers I can get many a ane, But a father I can never get mair."--

O she's ta'en out her handkerchief, It was o' the holland sae fine, 30 And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds, That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said, "O whether will ye gang or bide?"-- "I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, 35 "For you have left me no other guide."--

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And slowly they baith rade away. 40

O they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the light of the moon, Until they came to yon wan water, And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak a drink 45 Of the spring that ran sae clear; And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood, And sair she 'gan to fear.

"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, "For I fear that you are slain!"-- 50 "'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water sae plain."--

O they rade on, and on they rade, And a' by the light of the moon, Until they cam to his mother's ha' door, 55 And there they lighted down.

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, "Get up, and let me in!-- Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, "For this night my fair lady I've win. 60

"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says, "O mak it braid and deep!

And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back, And the sounder I will sleep."--

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, 65 Lady Marg'ret lang ere day-- And all true lovers that go thegither, May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,[L69]

Lady Marg'ret in Marie's quire; 70 Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose, And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat, And fain they wad be near; And a' the warld might ken right weel, 75 They were twa lovers dear.

But bye and rade the Black Douglas, And wow but he was rough!

For he pull'd up the bonny brier, And flang't in St. Marie's Loch. 80

69-80. This miracle is frequently witnessed over the graves of faithful lovers.--King Mark, according to the German romance, planted a rose on Tristan's grave, and a vine on that of Isold. The roots struck down into the very hearts of the dead lovers, and the stems twined lovingly together. The French account is somewhat different. An eglantine sprung from the tomb of Tristan, and twisted itself round the monument of Isold. It was cut down three times, but grew up every morning fresher than before, so that it was allowed to stand. Other examples are, in this volume, _Fair Janet_, _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_; in the third volume, _Prince Robert_, &c.

The same phenomenon is exhibited in the Swedish ballads of _Hertig Frojdenborg och Froken Adelin_, _Lilla Rosa_, _Hilla Lilla_, _Hertig Nils_, (_Svenska Folk-Visor_, i. 95, 116, Arwidsson, ii. 8, 21, 24,) in the Danish ballad of _Herr Sallemand_, (_Danske Viser_, iii.

348,) in the Breton ballad of _Lord Nann and the Korrigan_, translated in Keightley's _Fairy Mythology_, p. 433, in a Servian tale cited by Talvi, _Versuch_, &c., p. 139, and in the Afghan poem of _Audam and Doorkhaunee_, described by Elphinstone, _Account of the Kingdom of Caubul_, i. 295,--which last reference we owe to Talvi.--In the case of the Danish ballad it is certain, and in some of the other cases probable, that the idea was derived from the romance of _Tristan_.

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