Ballad Book Part 7

"I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood, Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood!"

It fell about the Martinmas, When nights are lang and mirk, The carline wife's three sons cam' hame, And their hats were o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh; But at the gates o' Paradise, That birk grew fair eneugh.

"Blow up the fire, now, maidens mine, Bring water from the well!

For a' my house shall feast this night, Sin' my three sons are well."

And she has made to them a bed, She's made it large and wide; And she's happed her mantle them about, Sat down at the bed-side.

Up then crew the red red c.o.c.k, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, "'Tis time we were away."

"The c.o.c.k doth, craw, the day doth daw, The channerin' worm doth chide; Gin we be miss'd out o' our place, A sair pain we maun bide."

"Lie still, lie still a little wee while, Lie still but if we may; Gin my mother should miss us when she wakes, She'll go mad ere it be day."

O it's they've ta'en up their mother's mantle, And they've hangd it on the pin: "O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantle, Ere ye hap us again!

'Fare-ye-weel, my mother dear!

Fareweel to barn and byre!

And fare-ye-weel, the bonny la.s.s, That kindles my mother's fire."

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Everie nighte and alle, Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thye saule.

When thou from hence away art paste, Everie nighte and alle, To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste, And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, Everie nighte and alle, Sit thee down and put them on, And Christe receive thye saule.

If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane, Everie nighte and alle, The whinnes shall p.r.i.c.ke thee to the bare bane, And Christe receive thye saule.

From Whinny-muir when thou mayst pa.s.se, Everie nighte and alle, To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at last, And Christe receive thye saule.

From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst pa.s.se, Everie nighte and alle, To Purgatory Fire thou comest at last, And Christe receive thye saule.

If ever thou gavest meate or drinke, Everie nighte and alle, The fire shall never make thee shrinke, And Christe receive thye saule.

If meate or drinke thou ne'er gav'st nane, Everie nighte and alle, The fire will burne thee to the bare bane, And Christe receive thye saule.

This ae nighte, this ae nighte, Everie nighte and alle, Fire, and sleete, and candle-lighte, And Christe receive thye saule.

PROUD LADY MARGARET.

'Twas on a night, an evening bright, When the dew began to fa', Lady Margaret was walkin' up and doun, Looking ower the castle wa'.

She lookit east, she lookit west, To see what she could spy, When a gallant knight cam' in her sight, And to the gate drew nigh.

"G.o.d mak' you safe and free, fair maid, G.o.d mak' you safe and free!"

"O sae fa' you, ye stranger knight, What is your will wi' me?"

"It's I am come to this castle, To seek the love o' thee; And if ye grant me not your love All for your sake I'll die."

"If ye should die for me, young man, There's few for ye will maen; For mony a better has died for me, Whose graves are growing green."

"O winna ye pity me, fair maid, O winna ye pity me?

Hae pity for a courteous knight, Whose love is laid on thee."

"Ye say ye are a courteous knight, But I mis...o...b.. ye sair; I think ye're but a miller lad, By the white clothes ye wear.

"But ye maun read my riddle," she said, "And answer me questions three; And but ye read them richt," she said, "Gae stretch ye out and die.

"What is the fairest flower, tell me, That grows on muir or dale?

And what is the bird, the bonnie bird, Sings next the nightingale?

And what is the finest thing," she says, "That king or queen can wale?"

"The primrose is the fairest flower, That springs on muir or dale;

The mavis is the sweetest bird Next to the nightingale; And yellow gowd's the finest thing, That king or queen can wale."

"But what is the little coin," she said, "Wad buy my castle boun'?

And what's the little boat," she said, "Can sail the warld all roun'?"

"O hey, how mony small pennies Mak' thrice three thousand poun'?

O hey, how mony small fishes Swim a' the saut sea roun'?"

"I think ye are my match," she said, "My match, an' something mair; Ye are the first ere got the grant Of love frae my father's heir.

"My father was lord o' nine castles, My mither lady o' three; My father was lord o' nine castles, And there's nane to heir but me, Unless it be Willie, my ae brither, But he's far ayont the sea."

"If your father's lord o' nine castles, Your mither lady o' three; It's I am Willie, your ae brither, Was far ayont the sea."

"If ye be my brither Willie," she said, "As I doubt sair ye be, This nicht I'll neither eat nor drink, But gae alang wi' thee."

"Ye've owre ill-washen feet, Margaret, And owre ill-washen hands, And owre coa.r.s.e robes on your body, Alang wi' me to gang.

"The worms they are my bedfellows, And the cauld clay my sheet, And the higher that the wind does blaw, The sounder do I sleep.

"My body's buried in Dunfermline, Sae far ayont the sea: But day nor night nae rest can I get, A' for the pride of thee.

"Leave aff your pride, Margaret," he says; "Use it not ony mair, Or, when ye come where I hae been, Ye will repent it sair.