Ballad Book by Katherine Lee Bates (ed.)

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"O what'n a maiden's that," she says,
"That welcomes you and me?
She is sae like my sister Annie,
Was stown i' the bower frae me."

O she has served the lang tables,
Wi' the white bread and the wine;
But ay she drank the wan water,
To keep her colour fine.

And as she gaed by the first table,
She leugh amang them a';
But ere she reach'd the second table,
She loot the tears doun fa'.

She's ta'en a napkin lang and white,
And hung it on a pin;
And it was a' to dry her e'en,
As she ga'ed out and in.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men boun to bed,
The bride but and the bonny bridegroom,
In ae chamber were laid.

She's ta'en her harp intill her hand,
To harp this twa asleep;
And ay as she harped and as she sang,
Full sairly did she weep.

"O seven full fair sons hae I born,
To the gude lord o' this place;
And O that they were seven young hares,
And them to rin a race,
And I mysel a gude greyhound,
And I wad gie them chase!

"O seven full fair sons hae I born
To the gude lord o' this ha';
And O that they were seven rattons
To rin frae wa' to wa',
And I mysel a gude grey cat,
And I wad worry them a'!"

"My goun is on," said the new-come bride,
"My shoon are on my feet;
And I will to fair Annie's chamber,
And see what gars her greet.

"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
And wha was't was your mither?
And had ye ony sister, Annie,
Or had ye ony brither?"

"The Earl o' Richmond was my father,
His lady was my mither,
And a' the bairns beside mysel,
Was a sister and a brither."

"O weel befa' your sang, Annie,
I wat ye hae sung in time;
Gin the Earl o' Richmond was your father,
I wat sae was he mine.

"O keep your lord, my sister dear,
Ye never were wranged by me;
I had but ae kiss o' his merry mouth,
As we cam' owre the sea.

There were five ships o' gude red gold
Cam' owre the seas wi' me,
It's twa o' them will tak' me home,
And three I'll leave wi' thee."

* * * * *

THE LAIRD O' DRUM.

The Laird o' Drum is a-hunting gane,
All in a morning early,
And he has spied a weel-faur'd May,
A-shearing at her barley.

"My bonny May, my weel-faur'd May,
O will ye fancy me, O?
Wilt gae and be the Leddy o' Drum,
And let your shearing a-be, O?"

"It's I winna fancy you, kind sir,
Nor let my shearing a-be, O;
For I'm ower low to be Leddy Drum,
And your light love I'll never be, O."

"Gin ye'll cast aff that goun o' gray,
Put on the silk for me, O,
I'll mak' a vow, and keep it true,
A light love you'll never be, O."

"My father lie is a shepherd mean,
Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,
And ye may gae and speer at him,
For I am at his will, O."

Drum is to her father gane,
Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O:
"I am come to marry your ae daughter,
If ye'll gie me your good-will, O."

"My dochter can naether read nor write,
She ne'er was brocht up at scheel, O;
But weel can she milk baith cow and ewe,
And mak' a kebbuck weel, O.

"She'll shake your barn, and win your corn,
And gang to kiln and mill, O;
She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,
And draw aff your boots hersell, O."

"I'll learn your lassie to read and write,
And I'll put her to the scheel, O;
She shall neither need to saddle my steed,
Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale, O;
And wha will welcome my bonnie bride
Is mair than I can tell, O."

Four-and-twenty gentlemen
Gaed in at the yetts of Drum, O:
But no a man has lifted his hat,
When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, O.

"Peggy Coutts is a very bonny bride,
And Drum is big and gawsy;
But he might hae chosen a higher match
Than ony shepherd's lassie!"

Then up bespak his brither John,
Says, "Ye've done us meikle wrang, O;
Ye've married ane far below our degree,
A mock to a' our kin, O."

"Now haud your tongue, my brither John;
What needs it thee offend, O?
I've married a wife to work and win,
And ye've married ane to spend, O.

"The first time that I married a wife,
She was far abune my degree, O;
She wadna hae walked thro' the yetts o' Drum,
But the pearlin' abune her bree, O,
And I durstna gang in the room where she was,
But my hat below my knee, O!"

He has ta'en her by the milk-white hand,
And led her in himsell, O;
And in through ha's and in through bowers,--
"And ye're welcome, Leddy Drum, O."

When they had eaten and well drunken,
And a' men boun for bed, O,
The Laird of Drum and his Leddy fair,
In ae bed they were laid, O.

"Gin ye had been o' high renown,
As ye're o' low degree, O,
We might hae baith gane doun the street
Amang gude companie, O."

"I tauld ye weel ere we were wed,
Ye were far abune my degree, O;
But now I'm married, in your bed laid,
And just as gude as ye, O.

"For an I were dead, and ye were dead,
And baith in ae grave had lain, O;
Ere seven years were come and gane,
They'd no ken your dust frae mine, O."

* * * * *

LIZIE LINDSAY.

"Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
Will ye gae to the Hielands wi' me?
Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay,
And dine on fresh curds and green whey?"

Then out it spak' Lizie's mither,
An' a gude auld leddy was she:
"Gin ye say sic a word to my daughter,
I'll gar ye be hangit hie!"

"Keep weel your daughter for me, madam;
Keep weel your daughter for me.
I care as leetle for your daughter
As ye can care for me!"

Then out spak' Lizie's ain maiden,
An' a bonnie young lassie was she;
"Now gin I were heir to a kingdom,
Awa' wi' young Donald I'd be."

"O say ye sae to me, Nelly?
And does my Nelly say sae?
Maun I leave my father and mither,
Awa' wi' young Donald to gae?"

And Lizie's ta'en till her her stockings,
And Lizie's taen till her her shoon,
And kilted up her green claithing,
And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane.

The road it was lang and was weary;
The braes they were ill for to climb;
Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
A fit further couldna she win.

"O are we near hame yet, dear Donald?
O are we near hame yet, I pray?"
"We're naething near hame, bonnie Lizie,
Nor yet the half o' the way."

Sair, O sair was she sighing,
And the saut tear blindit her e'e:
"Gin this be the pleasures o' luving,
They never will do wi' me!"

"Now haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie;
Ye never sall rue for me;
Gie me but your luve for my ain luve,
It is a' that your tocher will be.

"O haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie,
Altho' that the gait seem lang;
And you's hae the wale o' gude living
When to Kincaussie we gang.

"My father he is an auld shepherd,
My mither she is an auld dey;
And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes,
And dine on fresh curds and green whey."

They cam' to a hamely puir cottage;
The auld woman 'gan for to say:
"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald,
It's yoursell has been lang away."

"Ye mustna ca' me Sir Donald,
But ca' me young Donald your son;
For I hae a bonnie young leddy
Behind me, that's coming alang.

"Come in, come in, bonnie Lizie,
Come hither, come hither," said he;
"Altho' that our cottage be leetle,
I hope we'll the better agree.

"O mak' us a supper, dear mither,
And mak' it o' curds and green whey;
And mak' us a bed o' green rashes,
And cover it o'er wi' fresh hay."

She's made them a bed o' green rashes,
And covered it o'er wi' fresh hay.
Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling,
And lay till 'twas lang o' the day.

"The sun looks in o'er the hill-head,
An' the laverock is liltin' sae gay;
Get up, get up, bonnie Lizie,
Ye've lain till it's lang o' the day.

"Ye might hae been out at the shealin',
Instead o' sae lang to lie;
And up and helping my mither
To milk her gaits and her kye."

Then sadly spak' out Lizie Lindsay,
She spak' it wi' mony a sigh:
"The leddies o' Edinbro' city
They milk neither gaits nor kye."

"Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizie,
Rise up and mak' yoursel' fine;
For we maun be at Kincaussie,
Before that the clock strikes nine."

But when they cam' to Kincaussie,
The porter he loudly doth say,
"O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald;
It's yoursell has been lang away!"

It's doun then cam' his auld mither,
Wi' a' the keys in her han';
Saying, "Tak' ye these, bonnie Lizie,
For a' is at your comman'."

* * * * *

KATHARINE JANFARIE.

There was a may, and a weel-faur'd may.
Lived high up in yon glen:
Her name was Katharine Janfarie,
She was courted by mony men.

Doun cam' the Laird o' Lamington,
Doun frae the South Countrie;
And he is for this bonny lass,
Her bridegroom for to be.

He asked na her father, he asked na her mither,
He asked na ane o' her kin;
But he whispered the bonny lassie hersel',
And did her favor win.

Doun cam' an English gentleman,
Doun frae the English border;
And he is for this bonnie lass,
To keep his house in order.

He asked her father, he asked her mither,
And a' the lave o' her kin;
But he never asked the lassie hersel'
Till on her wedding-e'en.

But she has wrote a lang letter,
And sealed it wi' her han';
And sent it away to Lamington,
To gar him understan'.

The first line o' the letter he read,
He was baith fain and glad;
But or he has read the letter o'er,
He's turned baith wan and sad.

Then he has sent a messenger,
To rin through a' his land;
And four and twenty armed men
Were sune at his command.

But he has left his merry men all,
Left them on the lee;
And he's awa' to the wedding-house,
To see what he could see.

They all rase up to honor him,
For he was of high renown;
They all rase up to welcome him,
And bade him to sit down.

O meikle was the gude red wine
In silver cups did flow;
But aye she drank to Lamington,
And fain with him wad go.

"O come ye here to fight, young lord?
Or come ye here to play?
Or come ye here to drink gude wine
Upon the wedding-day?"

"I come na here to fight," he said,
"I come na here to play;
I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,
And mount and go my way."

He's caught her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He's mounted her hie behind himsel',
At her kinsfolk spier'd na leave.

It's up, it's up the Couden bank,
It's doun the Couden brae;
And aye they made the trumpet soun,
"It's a' fair play!"

Now a' ye lords and gentlemen
That be of England born,
Come ye na doun to Scotland thus,
For fear ye get the scorn!

They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words,
And play ye foul play;
They'll dress you frogs instead of fish
Upon your wedding-day!

* * * * *

GLENLOGIE.

Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha',
But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a';
Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e,
"Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"

"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he."
"O say na sae, mither, for that canna be;
Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he,
Yet if I maun lo'e him, I'll certainly dee.

"Where will I get a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon,
Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?"
"O here am I, a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon,
Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon."

When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine,"
'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine."
"O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine,
To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.

"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee."
The first line he read, a low smile ga'e he;
The next line he read, the tear blindit his e'e;
But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.

"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown;
Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae the town;"
But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green,
O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.

When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there;
Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair;
"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she
"Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."

Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben,
But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down;
She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e;
"O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."

* * * * *

GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR

It fell about the Martinmas time,
And a gay time it was than,
That our gudewife had puddings to mak'
And she boil'd them in the pan.

The wind blew cauld frae east and north,
And blew intil the floor;
Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife,
"Get up and bar the door."

"My hand is in my hussyskep,
Gudeman, as ye may see;
An it shou'dna be barr'd this hunder year,
It's ne'er be barr'd by me."

They made a paction 'tween them twa,
They made it firm and sure,
That the first word whaever spak,
Should rise and bar the door.

Than by there came twa gentlemen,
At twelve o'clock at night,
Whan they can see na ither house,
And at the door they light.

"Now whether is this a rich man's house,
Or whether is it a poor?"
But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak,
For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,
And syne they ate the black:
Muckle thought the gudewife to hersell,
Yet ne'er a word she spak.

Then ane unto the ither said,
"Here, man, tak ye my knife;
Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard,
And I'll kiss the gudewife."

"But there's na water in the house,
And what shall we do than?"
"What ails ye at the pudding bree
That boils into the pan?"

O up then started our gudeman,
An angry man was he;
"Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
And scaud me wi' pudding bree?"

O up then started our gudewife,
Gied three skips on the floor;
"Gudeman, ye've spak the foremost word;
Get up and bar the door."

* * * * *

THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND.

"The luve that I hae chosen,
I'll therewith be content;
The saut sea sail be frozen
Before that I repent.
Repent it sall I never
Until the day I dee;
But the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinned my luve and me.

"My luve he built a bonny ship,
And set her to the main,
Wi' twenty-four brave mariners
To sail her out and hame.
But the weary wind began to rise,
The sea began to rout,
And my luve and his bonny ship
Turned withershins about.

"There sall nae mantle cross my back,
No kaim gae in my hair,
Sall neither coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower mair;
Nor sall I choose anither luve
Until the day I dee,
Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland
Hae twinned my luve and me."

"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear,
Be still, and bide content;
There are mair lads in Galloway;
Ye needna sair lament."
"O there is nane in Galloway,
There's nane at a' for me.
I never lo'ed a lad but ane,
And he's drowned i' the sea."

* * * * *

THE TWA CORBIES.

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a maen;
The tane into the t'ither did say,
"Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"

"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
Nae living kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair,

"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wildfowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.

"O we'll sit on his white hause bane,
And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en,
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,
We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.

"Mony a ane for him makes maen,
But nane shall ken whaur he is gane;
Over his banes when they are bare,
The wind shall blaw for evermair."

* * * * *

HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.

I wad I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirconnell lea!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died to succor me!

O think na but my heart was sair
When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair!
I laid her down wi' meikle care
On fair Kirconnell lea.

As I went down the water-side,
Nane but my foe to be my guide,
Nane but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell lea;

I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hackéd him in pieces sma',
I hackéd him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart for evermair
Until the day I dee.

O that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "Haste and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wad my grave were growing green,
A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell lea.

I wad I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
Since my Love died for me.

* * * * *

WALY WALY.

O waly waly up the bank,
And waly waly down the brae,
And waly waly yon burn-side
Where I and my Love wont to gae!
I leant my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true Love did lichtly me.

O waly waly, but love be bonny
A little time while it is new;
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld
And fades awa' like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true Love has me forsook,
And says he'll never loe me mair.

Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed;
The sheets sall ne'er be prest by me:
Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
Since my true Love has forsaken me.
Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am wearie.

'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my Love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town
We were a comely sight to see;
My Love was clad in black velvet,
And I mysell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kist,
That love had been sae ill to win;
I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd
And pinn'd it with a siller pin.
And, O! that my young babe were born,
And set upon, the nurse's knee,
And I mysell were dead and gane,
And the green grass growing over me!

* * * * *

LORD RONALD.

"O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son,
O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?"
"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"
"I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Ronald, my son?
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?"
"I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Ronald, my son?
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"
"O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Ronald, my son!
O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!"
"O yes! I am poison'd! mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down."

* * * * *

EDWARD, EDWARD.

'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
Edward, Edward?
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
And why sae sad gang yee O?'
'O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
And I had nae mair bot hee O.'

'Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward,
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son, I tell thee O.'
'O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and frie O.'

'Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward,
Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ye drie O.'
'O I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas, and wae is mee O!'

'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that,
Edward, Edward?
'And whatten penance wul ye drie for that?
My deir son, now tell me O.'
'He set my feit in yonder boat,
Mither, mither,
He set my feit in yonder boat,
And He fare ovir the sea O.'

'And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
Edward, Edward?
And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
That were sae fair to see O?'
'Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
Mither, mither,
Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
For here nevir mair maun I bee O.'

'And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
When ye gang ovir the sea O?'
'The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
Mither, mither,
The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see O.'

'And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
Edward, Edward?
And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
My deir son, now tell me O.'
'The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither,
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gave to me O.'

* * * * *

NOTES

THE WEE WEE MAN. Mainly after Herd. Given also by Motherwell, Buchan,
and Kinloch, and in Caw's "Poetical Museum." _Shathmont_, a six inch
measure. _Lap_, leaped. _Jimp_, neat.

TAMLANE. Mainly after Aytoun's collated version. Stanzas 16-19,
obtained by Scott "from a gentleman residing near Langholm," are too
modern in diction to harmonize well with the rest, but are retained
here because of their fidelity to the ancient beliefs of the country
folk about fairies. Widely varying versions are given in Johnson's
"Museum," communicated by Burns, under title of _Tam Lin_; in the
Glenriddell MS. under title of _Young Tom Line_; by Herd, under title
of _Kertonha_, corruption of Carterhaugh; by Motherwell, under titles
of _Young Tamlin_ and _Tomaline_; by Buchan, under titles of
_Tam-a-line_ and _Tam a-Lin_; and in the Campbell MS. under title of
_Young Tam Lane_. There are humorous Scottish songs, too, of _Tam o
Lin_, _Tam o the Linn_, _Tom a Lin_, and _Tommy Linn_. The ballad is
of respectable antiquity, the _Tayl of the Yong Tamlene_ and the dance
of _Thom of Lyn_ being noticed in a work as old as the "Complaynt of
Scotland" (1548); yet it seems to have no Continental cousins, but to
be strictly of Scottish origin. It belongs to Selkirkshire, whose
peasants still point out upon the plain of Carterhaugh, about a mile
above Selkirk, the fairy rings in the grass. _Preen'd_, decked.
_Gars_, makes. _Bree_, brow, _Sained_, baptized, _Snell_, keen.
_Teind_, tithe. _Borrow_, ransom. _Cast a compass_, draw a circle.
_Elrish_, elvish. _Gin_, if. _Maik_, mate. _Aske_, lizard. _Bale_,
fire. _But and_, and also. _Tree_, wood. _Coft_, bought.

TRUE THOMAS. Mainly after Scott. This is one of the ballads written
down from the recital of the "good Mrs. Brown," to whose admirable
memory ballad-lovers are so deeply indebted. It is given in the Brown
MS. as _Thomas Rymer and Queen of Elfland_; in the Campbell MS. as
_Thomas the Rhymer_. Scott obtained his excellent version from "a lady
residing not far from Ercildoune." This Thomas the Rhymer, or True
Thomas, or Thomas of Ercildoune, was a veritable personage, who dwelt
in the village of Ercildoune situate by "Leader's silver tide" some
two miles above its junction with the Tweed. Tradition has it that
his date was the thirteenth century and his full name Thomas Learmont.
He was celebrated as poet and prophet, the rustics believing that his
gift of soothsaying was imparted by the Fairy Queen, who kept him with
her in Elfland for seven years, permitting him then to return to the
upper world for a season and utter his oracles, but presently
recalling him to her mysterious court. A fragmentary old poem, showing
probable traces, as Jamieson suggests, of the Rhymer's own authorship,
tells this famous adventure in language whose antiquated form cannot
disguise its sweetness. The melancholy likelihood seems to be that
True Thomas was a fibbing Thomas, after all, and invented this story
of his sojourn in Elfland to gain credit for his poetical prophecies,
which claim to have first proceeded from the mouth of the Fairy Queen,
when

"Scho broghte hym agayne to Eldone tree,
Vndir nethe that grenewode spraye;
In Huntlee bannkes es mery to bee,
Whare fowles synges bothe nyght and daye."

_Ferlie_, wonder. _Ilka tett_, each lock (of hair). _Louted_, bowed.
_Harp and carp_, play and talk. _Leven_, lawn. _Stern-light_,
star-light. _Dought_, could.

THE ELFIN KNIGHT. After Aytoun's version framed by collation from
copies given by Motherwell, Kinloch, and Buchan. These were in the
main recovered by recitation, although there is a broadside copy of
the ballad in the Pepysian collection at Cambridge. Fragments of the
story have been handed down in tavern-songs and nursery-rhymes, and it
is to be found, more or less disguised, in the literatures of many
countries, European and Asiatic. It is only in our own versions,
however, that the outwitted knight is a supernatural being, usually an
elf, though sometimes degenerating into "the Deil." Nowhere out of
canny Scotland does his ungallantry debar him from the human ranks.
_Sark_, shirt. _Gin_, if. _Tyne_, prong. _Shear_, reap. _Bigg_,
build. _Loof_, hollow of the hand. _But_ (candle, etc.), without
(candle, etc.)

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