  In Bedlington there liv’d a fair, (With ruby lips, and auburn hair;) Who dearly priz’d a famous youth, For generous acts and constant truth; But she was heir to store of wealth, No fortune he, but worth himself: This when her parents understood, Hoping it would be for her good, To hinder both their loves intent, To Stokesley, to an uncle sent; At parting, many a sigh and tear, Of love, and truth, thro’ life sincere; Nor death should part; for from the grave Short time should the surviver save: She was not gone a week or more, Until this young man sicken’d sore, He sicken’d sore, and heart-broke died, Which pleas’d her parents’ greedy pride; Who to another would her wed, Forgetful what she’d sworn and said. The eve that he in grave was laid, Thus to his wife the father said, A double feed I’ll give my mare, All other things do thou prepare. Lay out thy hood and safeguard too, Ere light for Stokesley I will go; Before thou seest the morrow night, Thou’lt surely see thy daughter bright; And now no fear, he’s dead and gone, A happy bride we’ll make her soon. It was now that dread midnight hour, When restless ghosts their wrongs deplore. James rode up to her uncle’s door, With her father’s horse they drest before. O who is there? the maiden cries: O it is I, the ghost replies: The horse, hood, safeguard, come and view, You’ll find a messenger most true: Forthwith with me then instant ride, Nor fear nor ill need you betide. When all the uncle understood, Trusting it right and for her good, Help’d her to mount, but made him swear, He’d take her to her father dear. Now when she got him up behind, They travelled faster then the wind; That in two hours, or little more, They came unto her father’s door; And as they did this great haste make, He sore complain’d his head did ache; Her handkerchief she then pull’d out, And tied the same his head about: And as she bound it round his head, My dear, says she, you’re cold as lead; She saw no shadow of her dear, But only of herself and mare. He sets her at her father’s door, And says, your mare has travelled sore; So go you in, and as I’m able, I’ll feed and tend her in your stable. O who is there? the father cries, ’Tis I, the lovely maid replies: Behind young James I’ve hasted here, As order’d by my parents dear. Which made the hair stand on his head, He knowing that the man was dead. Next in the stable then could he No living shape of mankind see; But found his horse all in a sweat, Which put him in a grievous fret. According to the remainder of this old ballad, (which we have been unable to collect) the daughter sickens, takes to her bed, and dies, and is buried in the same grave; and, on opening his coffin, accordingly as the maid had said, her handkerchief was found tied round his head. |
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