Of the best men amang them was The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy, The sheriff-princ.i.p.al of Angus, Renownit for truth and equitie, For faith and magnanimitie; He had few fallows in the field, Yet fell by fatall destinie, For he naeways wad grant to yield.
Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht, Grit constabill of fair Dunde, Unto the dulefull deith was dicht; The kingis cheif bannerman was he, A valiant man of chevalrie, Whose predecessors wan that place At Spey, with gude King William frie "Gainst Murray, and Macduncan"s race.
Gude Sir Allexander Irving, The much renowit laird of Drum, Nane in his days was bettir sene When they war semblit all and sum.
To praise him we sould not be dumm, For valour, witt, and worthyness; To end his days he ther did c.u.m Whose ransom is remeidyless.
And thair the knicht of Lawriston Was slain into his armour schene, And gude Sir Robert Davidson, Wha provost was of Aberdene: The knicht of Panmure, as was sene, A mortall man in armour bricht, Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene, Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.
Thair was not sen King Keneths days Sic strange intestine crewel stryf In Scotland sene, as ilk man says, Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe; Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, And mony childrene fatherless, Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe: Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress.
In July, on Saint James his even, That four and twenty dismall day, Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say, Men will remember, as they may, When thus the ventie they knaw, And mony a ane may murn for ay, The brim battil of the Harlaw.
Ballad: Traditionary Version
(Child, Part VI.)
As I came in by Dunidier, An doun by Netherha, There was fifty thousand Hielanmen A marching to Harlaw.
(Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.
As I cam on, an farther on, An doun an by Balquhain, Oh there I met Sir James the Rose, Wi him Sir John the Gryme.
"O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?
And cam ye a" the wey?
Saw ye Macdonell an his men, As they cam frae the Skee?"
"Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man, An me cam a ta wey, An she saw Macdonell an his men, As they cam frae ta Skee."
"Oh, was ye near Macdonell"s men?
Did ye their numbers see?
Come, tell to me, John Hielanman, What micht their numbers be?"
"Yes, me was near, an near eneuch, An me their numbers saw; There was fifty thousand Hielanmen A marching to Harlaw."
"Gin that be true," says James the Rose, "We"ll no come meikle speed; We"ll cry upo our merry men, And lichtly mount our steed."
"Oh no, oh no!" quo" John the Gryme, "That thing maun never be; The gallant Grymes were never bate, We"ll try what we can dee."
As I cam on, an farther on, An doun an by Harlaw, They fell fu close on ilka side; Sic fun ye never saw.
They fell fu close on ilka side, Sic fun ye never saw; For Hielan swords gied clash for clash, At the battle o Harlaw.
The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords, They laid on us fu sair, An they drave back our merry men Three acres breadth an mair.
Brave Forbes to his brither did say, "Noo brither, dinna ye see?
They beat us back on ilka side, An we"se be forced to flee."
"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, That thing maun never be; Tak ye your good sword in your hand, An come your wa"s wi me."
"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, The clans they are ower strang, An they drive back our merry men, Wi swords baith sharp an lang."
Brave Forbes drew his men aside, Said, "Tak your rest a while, Until I to Drumminnor send, To fess my coat o mail."
The servan he did ride, An his horse it did na fail, For in twa hours an a quarter He brocht the coat o mail.
Then back to back the brithers twa Gaed in amo the thrang, An they hewed doun the Hielanmen, Wi swords baith sharp an lang.
Macdonell he was young an stout, Had on his coat o mail, And he has gane oot throw them a"
To try his han himsell.
The first ae straik that Forbes strack, He garrt Macdonell reel; An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack, The great Macdonell fell.
And siccan a lierachie, I"m sure ye never sawe As wis amo the Hielanmen, When they saw Macdonell fa.
An whan they saw that he was deid, They turnd and ran awa, An they buried him in Legget"s Den, A large mile frae Harlaw.
They rade, they ran, an some did gang, They were o sma record; But Forbes and his merry men, They slew them a" the road.
On Monanday, at mornin, The battle it began, On Sat.u.r.day at gloamin", Ye"d scarce kent wha had wan.
An sic a weary buryin, I"m sure ye never saw, As wis the Sunday after that, On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
Gin anybody speer at ye For them ye took awa, Ye may tell their wives and bairnies, They"re sleepin at Harlaw.
Ballad: d.i.c.kie Macphalion
(Sharpe"s Ballad Book, No. XIV.)
I went to the mill, but the miller was gone, I sat me down, and cried ochone!
To think on the days that are past and gone, Of d.i.c.kie Macphalion that"s slain.
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo, To think on the days that are past and gone, Of d.i.c.kie Macphalion that"s slain.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel, And sae hae I my spinning wheel, And a" to buy a cap of steel For d.i.c.kie Macphalion that"s slain!
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo, And a" to buy a cap of steel For d.i.c.kie Macphalion that"s slain.
Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge
(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)