“O who’s the owner of this place, O porter-boy, tell me;” “This place belongs unto a queen O birth and high degree.” She put her hand in her pocket, And gae him shillings three: “O porter, bear my message well Unto the queen frae me.” The porter’s gane before the queen, Fell low down on his knee: “Win up, win up, my porter-boy, What makes this courtesie?” “I hae been porter at your yetts, My dame, these years full three, But see a ladie at your yetts The fairest my eyes did see.” “Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid, Lat her come in to me, And I’ll know by her courtesie Lord’s daughter if she be.” When she came in before the queen, Fell low down on her knee: “Service frae you, my dame the queen, I pray you grant it me.” “If that service ye now do want, What station will ye be? Can ye card wool, or spin, fair maid, Or milk the cows to me?” “No, I can neither card nor spin, Nor cows I canno milk, But sit into a lady’s bower And sew the seams o silk.” “What is your name, ye comely dame? Pray tell this unto me:” “O Blancheflour, that is my name, Born in a strange countrie.” “O keep ye well frae Jellyflorice— My ain dear son is he— When other ladies get a gift, O that ye shall get three.” PART IIIt wasna tald into the bower Till it went thro the ha, That Jellyflorice and Blancheflour Were grown ower great witha. When the queen’s maids their visits paid, Upo the gude Yule-day, When other ladies got horse to ride, She boud take foot and gae. The queen she calld her stable-groom, To come to her right seen; Says, “Ye’ll take out yon wild waith steed And bring him to the green. “Ye’ll take the bridle frae his head, The lighters frae his een; Ere she ride three times roun the cross, Her weel-days will be dune.” Jellyflorice his true-love spy’d As she rade roun the cross, And thrice he kissd her lovely lips, And took her frae her horse. “Gang to your bower, my lily-flower, For a’ my mother’s spite; There’s nae other amang her maids, In whom I take delight. “Ye are my jewel, and only are, Nane’s do you injury; For ere this-day-month come and gang My wedded wife ye’se be.” Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,— ’Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,— “I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief; I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous Chief; On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem; Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!” In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground; And the desert revealed where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,— Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn! Thomas Campbell As shines the moon in clouded skies, She in her poor attire was seen; One praised her ankles, one her eyes, One her dark hair and lovesome mien. So sweet a face, such angel grace, In all that land had never been. Cophetua sware a royal oath: “This Beggar-maid shall be my Queen!” Alfred, Lord Tennyson So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers and all, Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword, —For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word— “Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?” “I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;— Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide— And now am I come with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine, There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.” The bride kissed the goblet; the Knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up tosigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,— “Now tread we a measure,” said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bride-maidens whispered, “’T were better by far, To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.” One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! “She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, andscaur; They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,” quoth young Lochinvar. There was mounting ’mong GrÆmes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea, But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? Sir Walter Scott “O weel sail ye my true love ken, Sae sune as ye her see; For, of a’ the flowers of fair England, The fairest flower is she. “The red that’s on my true love’s cheek, Is like blood-drops on the snaw; The white that is on her breast bare, Like the down o’ the white sea-maw. “And even at my love’s bour-door There grows a flowering birk; And ye maun sit and sing thereon As she gangs to the kirk. “And four-and-twenty fair ladyes Will to the mass repair; But weel may ye my ladye ken, The fairest ladye there.” PART IILord William has written a love-letter, Put it under his pinion gray; And he is awa to Southern land As fast as wings can gae. And even at that ladye’s bour There grew a flowering birk; And he sat down and sung thereon As she gaed to the kirk. And weel he kent that ladye fair Amang her maidens free; For the flower, that springs in May morning, Was not sae sweet as she. He lighted at the ladye’s yate, And sat him on a pin; And sang fu’ sweet the notes o’ love, Till a’ was cosh within. And first he sang a low low note, And syne he sang a clear; And aye the o’erword o’ the sang Was—“Your love can no win here.” “Feast on, feast on, my maidens a’, The wine flows you amang, While I gang to my shot-window, And hear yon bonny bird’s sang. “Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird, The sang ye sung yestreen; For weel I ken, by your sweet singing, Ye are frae my true love sen.” O first he sang a merry sang, And syne he sang a grave; And syne he pecked his feathers gray, To her the letter gave. “Have there a letter from lord William; He says he’s sent ye three; He canna wait your love langer, But for your sake he’ll dee.”— “Gae bid him bake his bridal bread, And brew his bridal ale; And I shall meet him at Mary’s kirk, Lang, lang ere it be stale.” The lady’s gane to her chamber, And a moanfu’ woman was she; As gin she had ta’en a sudden brash, And were about to dee. “A boon, a boon, my father dear, A boon I beg of thee!”— “Ask not that paughty Scottish lord, For him you ne’er shall see. “But, for your honest asking else, Weel granted it shall be.”— “Then, gin I die in Southern land, In Scotland gar bury me. “And the first kirk that ye come to, Ye’s gar the mass be sung; And the next kirk that ye come to, Ye’s gar the bells be rung. “And when ye come to St. Mary’s kirk, Ye’s tarry there till night.” And so her father pledg’d his word, And so his promise plight. PART IIIShe has ta’en her to her bigly bour As fast as she could fare; And she has drank a sleepy draught, That she had mix’d wi’ care. And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek, That was sae bright of blee, And she seem’d to be as surely dead As any one could be. Then spak her cruel step-minnie, “Tak ye the burning lead, And drap a drap on her bosome, To try if she be dead.” They took a drap o’ boiling lead, They drapp’d it on her breast; “Alas! alas!” her father cried, “She’s dead without the priest.” She neither chatter’d with her teeth, Nor shiver’d with her chin; “Alas! alas!” her father cried, “There is nae breath within.” Then up arose her seven brethren. And hew’d to her a bier; They hew’d it frae the solid aik, Laid it o’er wi’ silver clear. Then up and gat her seven sisters, And sewed to her a kell; And every steek that they put in Sewed to a siller bell. The first Scots kirk that they cam to, They garr’d the bells be rung; The next Scots kirk that they cam to, They garr’d the mass be sung. But when they cam to St. Mary’s kirk, There stude spearmen all on a raw; And up and started lord William, The chieftane amang them a’. “Set down, set down the bier,” he said, “Let me look her upon:” But as soon as lord William touch’d her hand, Her colour began to come. She brightened like the lily flower, Till her pale colour was gone; With rosy cheik, and ruby lip, She smiled her love upon. “A morsel of your bread, my lord, And one glass of your wine; For I hae fasted these three lang days, All for your sake and mine.— “Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers, Gae hame and blaw your horn! I trow ye wad hae gi’en me the skaith, But I’ve gi’en you the scorn. “Commend me to my gray father, That wished my saul gude rest; But wae be to my cruel step-dame, Garr’d burn me on the breast.”— “Ah! woe to you, you light woman! An ill death may you dee! For we left father and sisters at hame Breaking their hearts for thee.” O first he’s taen her silken coat, And neest her satten gown, Syne rowd her in a tartan plaid, And hapd her round and rown, He has set her upon his steed And roundly rode away, And neer loot her look back again The live-long summer’s day. He’s carried her oer hills and muirs Till they came to a Highland glen, And there he’s met his brother John, With twenty armed men. O there were cows, and there were ewes, And lasses milking there, But Baby neer anse lookd about, Her heart was filld wi care. Glenlion took her in his arms, And kissd her, cheek and chin; Says, “I’d gie a’ these cows and ewes But ae kind look to win.” “O ae kind look ye neer shall get, Nor win a smile frae me, Unless to me you’ll favour shew, And take me to Dundee.” “Dundee, Baby? Dundee, Baby? Dundee you neer shall see Till I’ve carried you to Glenlion And have my bride made thee. “We’ll stay a while at Auchingour, And get sweet milk and cheese, And syne we’ll gang to Glenlion, And there live at our ease.” “I winna stay at Auchingour, Nor eat sweet milk and cheese, Nor go with thee to Glenlion, For there I’ll neer find ease.” Than out it spake his brother John, “O were I in your place, I’d take that lady hame again, For a’ her bonny face. “Commend me to the lass that’s kind, Tho na so gently born; And, gin her heart I coudna gain, To take her hand I’d scorn.” “O had your tongue now, John,” he says, “You wis na what you say; For I’ve lood that bonny face This twelve month and a day. “And tho I’ve lood her lang and sair A smile I neer coud win; Yet what I’ve got anse in my power To keep I think nae sin.” PART IIWhen they came to Glenlion castle, They lighted at the yate, And out it came his sisters three, Wha did them kindly greet. O they’ve taen Baby by the hands And led her oer the green, And ilka lady spake a word, But bonny Baby spake nane. Then out it spake her bonny Jean, The youngest o the three, “O lady, dinna look sae sad, But tell your grief to me.” “O wherefore should I tell my grief, Since lax I canna find? I’m stown frae a’ my kin and friends, And my love I left behind. “But had I paper, pen, and ink, Before that it were day, I yet might get a letter sent In time to Johny Hay.” O she’s got paper, pen, and ink, And candle that she might see, And she has written a broad letter To Johny at Dundee. And she has gotten a bonny boy, That was baith swift and strang, Wi philabeg and bonnet blue, Her errand for to gang. “O boy, gin ye’d my blessing win And help me in my need, Run wi this letter to my love, And bid him come wi speed. “And here’s a chain of good red gowd, And gowdn guineas three, And when you’ve well your errand done, You’ll get them for your fee.” The boy he ran oer hill and dale, Fast as a bird coud flee, And eer the sun was twa hours height The boy was at Dundee. And when he came to Johny’s door He knocked loud and sair; Then Johny to the window came, And loudly cry’d, “Wha’s there?” “O here’s a letter I have brought, Which ye maun quickly read, And, gin ye woud your lady save, Gang back wi me wi speed.” O when he had the letter read, An angry man was he; He says, “Glenlion, thou shalt rue This deed of villany! “O saddle to me the black, the black, O saddle to me the brown, O saddle to me the swiftest steed That eer rade frae the town. “And arm ye well, my merry men a’, And follow me to the glen, For I vow I’ll neither eat nor sleep Till I get my love again.” He’s mounted on a milk-white steed, The boy upon a gray, And they got to Glenlion’s castle About the close of day. As Baby at her window stood, The west wind salt did bla; She heard her Johny’s well-kent voice Beneath the castle wa. “O Baby, haste, the window jump! I’ll kep you in my arm; My merry men a’ are at the yate, To rescue you frae harm.” She to the window fixt her sheets And slipped safely down, And Johny catchd her in his arms, Neer loot her touch the ground. When mounted on her Johny’s horse, Fou blithely did she say, “Glenlion, you hae lost your bride! She’s aff wi Johny Hay.” PART IIIGlenlion and his brother John Were birling in the ha, When they heard Johny’s bridle ring, As first he rade awa. “Rise, Jock, gang out and meet the priest, I hear his bridle ring; My Baby now shall be my wife Before the laverocks sing.” “O brother, this is not the priest; I fear he’ll come oer late; For armed men with shining brands Stand at the castle-yate.” “Haste Donald, Duncan, Dugald, Hugh! Haste, take your sword and spier! We’ll gar these traytors rue the hour That eer they ventured here.” The Highland men drew their claymores, And gae a warlike shout, But Johny’s merry men kept the yate, Nae are durst venture out. The lovers rade the live-lang night, And safe gat on their way, And bonny Baby Livingston Has gotten Johny Hay. “Awa, Glenlion! fy for shame! Gae hide ye in some den! You’ve lettn your bride be stown frae you, For a’ your armed men.” The King an angry man was he, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; He sent Young Hynd Horn to the sea, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. Oh! his Love gave him a gay gold ring, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; With three shining diamonds set therein, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “As lang as these diamonds keep their hue, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, Ye’ll know I am a lover true, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “But when your ring turns pale and wan, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, Then I’m in love with another man, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” He’s gone to the sea and far away, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And he’s stayed for seven lang years and a day, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie: Seven lang years by land and sea, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And he’s aften looked how his ring may be, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. One day when he looked this ring upon, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, The shining diamonds were pale and wan, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. He hoisted sails, and hame cam’ he, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; Hame unto his ain countrie, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. He’s left the sea and he’s come to land, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And the first he met was an auld beggar-man, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “What news, what news, my silly auld man? With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; For it’s seven lang years since I saw this land, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” “No news, no news,” doth the beggar-man say, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; “But our King’s ae daughter she’s wedded to-day, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” “Wilt thou give to me thy begging coat? With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And I’ll give to thee my scarlet cloak, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “Give me your auld pike-staff, and hat, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And ye sall be right weel paid for that, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” The auld beggar-man cast off his coat, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, And he’s ta’en up the scarlet cloak, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. He’s gi’en him his auld pike-staff and hat, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And he was right weel paid for that, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. The auld beggar-man was bound for the mill, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; But Young Hynd Horn for the King’s ain hall, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. When he came to the King’s ain gate, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, He asked a drink for Young Hynd Horn’s sake, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. These news unto the bonny bride cam’, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, That at the gate there stands an auld man, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. There stands an auld man at the King’s gate, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; He asketh a drink for Young Hynd Horn’s sake, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. The Bride cam’ tripping down the stair, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; The combs o’ fine goud in her hair, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie; A cup o’ the red wine in her hand, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And that she gave to the beggar-man, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. Out o’ the cup he drank the wine, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And into the cup he dropt the ring, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “O gat thou this by sea or by land? With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan. Or gat thou it aff a dead man’s hand? And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” “I gat it neither by sea nor land, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, Nor gat I it from a dead man’s hand, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “But I gat it at my wooing gay, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; And I gie it to you on your wedding-day, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” “I’ll cast aside my satin goun, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan. And I’ll follow you frae toun to toun, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. “I’ll tak’ the fine goud frae my hair, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan, And follow you forevermair, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie.” He let his cloutie cloak doun fa’, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; Young Hynd Horn shone above them a’, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie, The bridegroom thought he had her wed, With a hey lillelu and a how lo lan; But she is Young Hynd Horn’s instead, And the birk and the broom blooms bonnie. Arranged by William Allingham “Give me the truth of your right hand, The truth of it give unto me, That for seven years ye’ll no lady wed, Unless it be along with me.” “I’ll give thee the truth of my right hand, The truth of it I’ll freely gie, That for seven years I’ll stay unwed, For the kindness thou dost show to me.” She’s gi’en him to eat the good spice-cake, She’s gi’en him to drink the blood-red wine; She’s bidden him sometimes think on her, That sae kindly freed him out of pine. She’s broken a ring from her finger, And to Beichan half of it gave she: “Keep it, to mind you of that love The lady bore that set you free. “And set your foot on good ship-board, And haste ye back to your own countrie; And before that seven years have an end, Come back again, love, and marry me.” PART IIBut long ere seven years had an end, She longd full sore her love to see; For ever a voice within her breast Said, “Beichan has broke his vow to thee.” So she’s set her foot on good ship-board, And turnd her back on her own countrie. She sailed east, she sailed west, Till to fair England’s shore she came; Where a bonny shepherd she espied, Feeding his sheep upon the plain. “What news, what news, thou bonny shepherd? What news hast thou to tell to me?” “Such news I hear, ladie,” he says, “The like was never in this countrie. “There is a wedding in yonder hall, Has lasted these thirty days and three; Young Beichan will not wed his bride, For love of one that’s yond the sea.” She’s put her hand in her pocket, Gi’en him the gold and white monie; “Hae, take ye that, my bonny boy, For the good news thou tell’st to me.” When she came to young Beichan’s gate, She tirled softly at the pin; So ready was the proud porter To open and let this lady in. “Is this young Beichan’s hall,” she said, “Or is that noble lord within?” “Yea, he’s in the hall among them all, And this is the day o’ his weddin.” “And has he wed anither love? And has he clean forgotten me?” And sighin’ said that gay ladie, “I wish I were in my own countrie!” And she has taen her gay gold ring, That with her love she break so free; Says, “Gie him that, ye proud porter, And bid the bridegroom speak to me.” When the porter came his lord before, He kneeled down low on his knee: “What aileth thee, my proud porter, Thou art so full of courtesie?” “I’ve been porter at your gates, It’s thirty long years now and three; But there stands a lady at them now, The like o’ her did I never see; “For on every finger she has a ring, And on her mid-finger she has three, And as meickle gold aboon her brow As would buy an earldom to me.” Its out then spak the bride’s mother, Aye, and an angry woman was shee; “Ye might have excepted our bonny bride, And twa or three of our companie.” “O hold your tongue, thou bride’s mother, Of all your folly let me be; She’s ten times fairer nor the bride, And all that’s in your companie. “She begs one sheave of your white bread, But and a cup of your red wine; And to remember the lady’s love, That last reliev’d you out of pine.” “O well-a-day!” said Beichan then, “That I so soon have married thee; For it can be none but Susie Pye, That sailed the sea for love of me.” And quickly hied he down the stair; Of fifteen steps he made but three; He’s taen his bonny love in his arms, And kist and kist her tenderlie. “O hae ye taen anither bride? And hae ye quite forgotten me? And hae ye quite forgotten her, That gave you life and libertie?” She looked o’er her left shoulder, To hide the tears stood in her e’e: “Now fare thee well, young Beichan,” she says, “I’ll try to think no more on thee.” “O never, never, Susie Pye, For surely this can never be; Nor ever shall I wed but her That’s done and dree’d so much for me.” Then out and spak the forenoon bride, “My lord, your love it changeth soon; This morning I was made your bride, And another chose ere it be noon.” “O hold thy tongue, thou forenoon bride, My true love, thou canst never be; And whan ye return to your own countrie, A double dower I’ll send with thee.” He’s taen Susie Pye by the white hand, And gently led her up and down; And ay as he kist her red rosy lips, “Ye’re welcome, jewel, to your own.” He’s taen her by the milk-white hand, And led her to yon fountain stane; He’s changed her name from Susie Pye, And he’s call’d her his bonny love, Lady Jane. (Condensed) “And here she sends thee a silken scarf, Bedewed with many a tear, And bids thee sometimes think on her, Who loved thee so dear. “And here she sends thee a ring of gold, The last boon thou mayst have, And bids thee wear it for her sake, When she is laid in grave. “For, ah! her gentle heart is broke, And in grave soon must she be, Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love, And forbid her to think of thee. “Her father hath brought her a carlish Knight, Sir John of the North Countraye, And within three days she must him wed, Or he vows he will her slay.” “Now, hie thee back, thou little foot-page, And greet thy Lady from me, And tell her that I, her own true love, Will die or set her free. “Now, hie thee back, thou little foot-page, And let thy fair Lady know, This night will I be at her bower-window Betide me weal or woe!” The boy he tripped, the boy he ran, He neither stint nor stayed Until he came to Fair Emmeline’s bower, When kneeling down he said:— “O Lady, I’ve been with thy own true love, And he greets thee well by me; This night will he be at thy bower-window, And die or set thee free.” PART IINow day was gone, and night was come, And all were fast asleep, All save the Lady Emmeline, Who sate in her bower to weep: And soon she heard her true love’s voice Low whispering at the wall, “Awake! awake! my dear Lady, ’Tis I, thy true love call. “Awake! awake! my Lady dear, Come, mount this fair palfray; This ladder of ropes will let thee down, I’ll carry thee hence away.” “Now nay, now nay, thou gentle Knight, Now nay, this may not be, For aye should I tint my maiden fame, If alone I should wend with thee.” “O Lady, thou with a Knight so true, Mayst safely wend alone; To my lady-mother I will thee bring, Where marriage shall make us one.” “My father he is a Baron bold, Of lineage proud and high; And what would he say, if his daughter Away with a Knight should fly? “Ah! well I wot, he never would rest, Nor his meat should do him no good, Till he had slain thee, Child of Elle, And seen thy dear heart’s blood!”. “O Lady, wert thou in thy saddle set, And a little space him fro, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that he could do. “O Lady, wert thou in thy saddle set, And once without this wall, I would not care for thy cruel father, Nor the worst that might befall.” Fair Emmeline sighed, Fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe: At length he seized her lily-white hand, And down the ladder he drew. And thrice he clasped her to his breast, And kissed her tenderly, The tears that fell from her fair eyes, Ran like the fountain free. He mounted himself on his steed so tall, And her on a fair palfray, And slung his bugle about his neck, And roundly they rode away. All this beheard her own damsel, In her bed whereas she lay, Quoth she, “My Lord shall know of this, So I shall have gold and fee!” “Awake! awake! thou Baron bold! Awake! my noble Dame! Your daughter is fled with the Child of Elle To do the deed of shame!” The Baron he woke, the Baron he rose, And called his merry men all: “And come thou forth, Sir John the Knight, The Lady is carried to thrall!” PART IIIFair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile, A mile forth of the town, When she was aware of her father’s men Come galloping over the down. And foremost came the carlish Knight, Sir John of the North Countraye, “Now stop! now stop! thou false traitor, Nor carry that Lady away! “For she is come of high lineage, And was of a Lady born, And ill it beseems thee, a false churl’s son, To carry her hence to scorn!” “Now loud thou liest, Sir John the Knight, Now thou dost lie of me, My father’s a Knight, a Lady me bore, So never did none by thee! “But light now down, my Lady fair, Light down, and hold my steed; While I and this discourteous Knight Do try this arduous deed. “But light now down, my dear Lady, Light down, and hold my horse; While I and this discourteous Knight Do try our valour’s force.” Fair Emmeline sighed, Fair Emmeline wept, And aye her heart was woe, While twixt her love and the carlish Knight Passed many a baleful blow. The Child of Elle, he fought so well, As his weapon he waved amain, That soon he had slain the carlish Knight, And laid him upon the plain. And now the Baron and all his men Full fast approached nigh: Ah! what may Lady Emmeline do? ’Twere now no boot to fly! Her lover, he put his horn to his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill, And soon he saw his own merry men Come riding over the hill. “Now hold thy hand, thou bold Baron, I pray thee, hold thy hand, Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts Fast knit in true love’s band. “Thy daughter I have dearly loved, Full long and many a day; But with such love as holy Kirk Hath freely said we may. “Oh! give consent she may be mine, And bless a faithful pair; My lands and livings are not small, My house and lineage fair. “My mother she was an Earl’s daughter, And a noble Knight my sire—” The Baron he frowned, and turned away With mickle dole and ire. Fair Emmeline sighed, Fair Emmeline wept, And did all trembling stand; At length she sprang upon her knee, And held his lifted hand. “Pardon, my Lord and Father dear, This fair young Knight and me! Trust me, but for the carlish Knight, I never had fled from thee. “Oft have you called your Emmeline, Your darling and your joy; Oh! let not then your harsh resolves Your Emmeline destroy.” The Baron he stroked his dark-brown cheek, And turned his head aside To wipe away the starting tear, He proudly strave to hide. In deep revolving thought he stood, And mused a little space: Then raised Fair Emmeline from the ground, With many a fond embrace. “Here, take her, Child of Elle,” he said And gave her lily hand: “Here, take my dear and only child, And with her half my land. “Thy father once mine honour wronged In days of youthful pride; Do thou the injury repair In fondness for thy bride. “And as thou love her, and hold her dear, Heaven prosper thee and thine; And now my blessing wend wi’ thee, My lovely Emmeline.” Attributed in part to Bishop Percy |
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