YOUNG CHILD DYRING. See p. 29.
Translated from the _Kj[oe]mpeviser_, in _Illustrations of Northern Antiquities_, p. 335.
It was the young Child Dyring, Wi' his mither rede did he: "I will me out ride Sir Magnus's bride to see."
_His leave the page takes to-day from his master._
"Will thou thee out ride, 5 Sir Magnus's bride to see?
Sae beg I thee by Almighty God Thou speed thee home to me."
_His leave, &c._
Syne answer'd young Child Dyre; He rode the bride to meet; 10 The silk but and the black sendell Hang down to his horse feet.
_His leave, &c._
All rode they there, the bride-folk, On row sae fair to see, Excepting Sir Svend Dyre, 15 And far about rode he.
_His leave, &c._
It was the young Child Dyre rode Alone along the strand; The bridle was of the red gold That glitter'd in his hand. 20 _His leave, &c._
'Twas then proud Lady Ellensborg, And under weed smil'd she; "And who is he, that noble child That rides sae bold and free?"
_His leave, &c._
Syne up and spak the maiden fair 25 Was next unto the bride; "It is the young Child Dyre That stately steed does ride."
_His leave, &c._
"And is't the young Child Dyre That rides sae bold and free? 30 God wot, he's dearer that rides that steed Nor a' the lave to me!"
_His leave, &c._
All rode they there, the bridal train, Each rode his steed to stall; All but Child Dyre, that look'd whare he 35 Should find his seat in the hall.
_His leave, &c._
"Sit whare ye list, my lordings; For me, whate'er betide, Here I shall sickerly sit the day, To hald the sun frae the bride." 40 _His leave, &c._
Then up spak the bride's father, And an angry man was he; "Whaever sits by my dochter the day, Ye better awa' wad be."
_His leave, &c._
"It's I have intill Paris been, 45 And well my drift can spell; And ay, whatever I have to say, I tell it best my sell."
_His leave, &c._
"Sooth thou hast intill Paris lear'd A worthless drift to spell, 50 And ay, whatever thou hast to say, A rogue's tale thou must tell."
_His leave, &c._
Ben stept he, young Child Dyre, Nor reck'd he wha might chide; And he has ta'en a chair in hand, 55 And set him by the bride.
_His leave, &c._
'Twas lang i' the night; the bride-folk Ilk ane look'd for his bed; And young Child Dyre amang the lave Speer'd whare he should be laid. 60 _His leave, &c._
"Without, afore the stair steps, Or laigh on the cawsway stane, And there may lye Sir Dyre, For ither bed we've nane."
_His leave, &c._
'Twas ate intill the evening; 65 The bride to bed maun ga; And out went he, Child Dyring, To rouse his menyie a'.
_His leave, &c._
"Now busk and d'on your harnass, But and your brynies blae, 70 And boldly to the bride-bower Full merrily we'll gae."
_His leave, &c._
Sae follow'd they to the bride-bower That bride sae young and bright, And forward stept Child Dyre, 75 And quenched the marriage light.
_His leave, &c._
The cresset they've lit up again, But and the taper clear, And followed to the bride-bower That bride without a peer. 80 _His leave, &c._
And up Child Dyre snatch'd the bride, All in his mantle blae, And swung her all so lightly Upon his ambler gray.
_His leave, &c._
They lock'd the bower, they lit the torch, 85 'Twas hurry-scurry a', While merrily ay the lovers gay Rode roundly to the shaw.
_His leave, &c._
In Rosen-wood they turn'd about To pray their bridal prayer; 90 "Good night and joy, Sir Magnus!
For us ye'll see nae mair."
_His leave, &c._
Sae rode he to the green wood, And o'er the meadow green, Till he came to his mither's bower, 95 Ere folks to bed were gane.
_His leave, &c._
Out came proud Lady Metelild, In menevair sae free; She welcom'd him, Child Dyring, And his young bride him wi'. 100 _His leave, &c._
Now joys attend Child Dyring, Sae leal but and sae bold; He's ta'en her to his ain castell, His bride-ale there to hold.
_His leave the page takes to-day frae his master._
BARBARA LIVINGSTON. See p. 38.
Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 304, from recitation.
Four-and-twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba', And out cam Barbara Livingston, The flower amang them a'.
Out cam Barbara Livingston, 5 The flower amang them a';-- The lusty Laird of Linlyon[L7]
Has stoun her clean awa'.
"The hielands is no for me, kind sir, The hielands is no for me; 10 But if you would my favour win, Ye 'll tak me to Dundee."