English and Scottish Ballads - BestLightNovel.com
You’re reading novel English and Scottish Ballads Volume III Part 35 online at BestLightNovel.com. Please use the follow button to get notification about the latest chapter next time when you visit BestLightNovel.com. Use F11 button to read novel in full-screen(PC only). Drop by anytime you want to read free – fast – latest novel. It’s great if you could leave a comment, share your opinion about the new chapters, new novel with others on the internet. We’ll do our best to bring you the finest, latest novel everyday. Enjoy
"They booted him and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride; 130 A hunting horn tied round his neck, A sharp sword by his side.
"The deepest pot o' Clyde's water, There they flang him in, Laid a turf on his breast bane, 135 To had young Hunting down."
Now they left aff their day diving, And they dived on the night; The pot that young Hunting lay in, The candles were burning bright. 140
The king he call'd his hewers all, To hew down wood and thorn, For to put up a strong bale-fire, These ladies for to burn.
And they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Katharine, 145 And they ha'e pitten her in; But it wadna light upon her cheek, Nor wou'd it on her chin, But sang the points o' her yellow hair, For healing the deadly sin. 150
Then they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Maisry, And they ha'e put her in: First it lighted on her cheek, And syne upon her chin, And sang the points o' her yellow hair, 155 And she burnt like keckle-pin.
65, And the.
66, And there. See 133, 134.
YOUNG WATERS.--See p. 88.
From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. p. 15.
It fell about the gude Yule time, When caps and stoups gaed roun', Down it came him young Waters, To welcome James, our king.
The great, the great, rade a' together, 5 The sma' came a' behin'; But wi' young Waters, that brave knight, There came a gay gatherin'.
The horse young Waters rade upon, It cost him hunders nine; 10 For he was siller shod before, And gowd graith had behin'.
At ilka tippit o' his horse mane There hang a siller bell; The wind was loud, the steed was proud, 15 And they gae a sindry knell.
The king he lay ower's castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down; And he beheld him, young Waters, Come riding to the town. 20
He turn'd him right and round about, And to the queen said he,-- "Who is the bravest man, my dame, That ever your een did see?"
"I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords, 25 And knights o' high degree; But a braver man than young Waters My e'en did never see."
He turn'd him right and roun' about, And ane angry man was he; 30 "O wae to you, my dame, the queen; Ye might ha'e excepted me!"
"Ye are nae laird, ye are nae lord, Ye are the king that wears the crown; There's nae a lord in fair Scotland, 35 But unto you maun a' bow down."
"O lady, for your love choicing, Ye shall win to your will; The morn, or I eat or drink, Young Waters I'll gar kill." 40
And nevertheless, the king cou'd say, "Ye might ha'e excepted me; Yea for yea," the king cou'd say, "Young Waters he shall die.
"Likewise for your ill-wyled words 45 Ye sall ha'e cause to mourn; Gin ye hadna been sae big wi' child, Ye on a hill su'd burn."
Young Waters came before the King, Fell low down on his knee; 50 "Win up, win up, young Waters, What's this I hear o' thee?"
"What ails the king at me," he said, "What ails the king at me?"
"It is tauld me the day, sir knight, 55 Ye've done me treasonie."
"Liars will lie on sell gude men, Sae will they do on me; I wudna wish to be the man That liars on wudna lie." 60
Nevertheless, the king cou'd say, "In prison strang gang ye; O yea for yea," the king cou'd say, "Young Waters, ye shall die."
Syne they ha'e ta'en him, young Waters, 65 Laid him in prison strang, And left him there wi' fetters boun', Making a heavy mane.
"Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town Thro' heavy wind and weet; 70 But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town Wi' fetters on my feet.
"Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town, Thro' heavy wind and rain; But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town 75 But thought to ridden't again."
They brought him to the heading-hill, His horse, bot and his saddle; And they brought to the heading-hill His young son in his cradle. 80
And they brought to the heading-hill, His hounds intill a leish; And they brought till the heading-hill, His gos-hawk in a jess.
King James he then rade up the hill, 85 And mony a man him wi', And called on his trusty page, To come right speedilie.
"Ye'll do' ye to the Earl o' Mar, For he sits on yon hill; 90 Bid him loose the brand frae his bodie, Young Waters for to kill."
"O gude forbid," the Earl he said, "The like su'd e'er fa' me, My bodie e'er su'd wear the brand 95 That gars young Waters die."
Then he has loos'd his trusty brand, And casten't in the sea; Says, "Never lat them get a brand, Till it come back to me." 100
The scaffold it prepared was, And he did mount it hie; And a' spectators that were there, The saut tears blint their e'e.
"O had your tongues, my brethren dear, 105 And mourn nae mair for me; Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face, For there is nane to gie.
"Ye'll tak' a bit o' canvas claith, And pit it ower my ee; 110 And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand, The hour that I su'd die.
"Syne aff ye'll tak' my bluidy sark, Gie it fair Margaret Grahame; For she may curse the dowie dell 115 That brought King James him hame.
"Ye'll bid her mak' her bed narrow, And mak' it naeways wide; For a brawer man than young Waters Will ne'er streek by her side. 120
"Bid her do weel to my young son, And gie him nurses three; For gin he live to be a man, King James will gar him die."
He call'd upon the headsman then, 125 A purse o' gowd him gae; Says, "Do your office, headsman, boy, And mak' nae mair delay."
"O head me soon, O head me clean, And pit me out o' pine; 130 For it is by the king's command; Gang head me till his min'.
"Tho' by him I'm condemn'd to die, I'm lieve to his ain kin; And for the truth, I'll plainly tell, 135 I am his sister's son."
"Gin ye're my sister's son," he said, "It is unkent to me."
"O mindna ye on your sister Bess, That lives in the French countrie?" 140
"Gin Bess then be your mither dear, As I trust well she be, Gae hame, gae hame, young Waters, Ye'se ne'er be slain by me."
But he lay by his napkin fine, 145 Was saft as ony silk, And on the block he laid his neck, Was whiter than the milk.