THE TWA CORBIES.
This poem was communicated to me by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq.
jun. of Hoddom, as written down, from tradition, by a lady. It is a singular circ.u.mstance, that it should coincide so very nearly with the ancient dirge, called _The Three Ravens_, published by Mr Ritson, in his _Ancient Songs;_ and that, at the same time, there should exist such a difference, as to make the one appear rather a counterpart than copy of the other. In order to enable the curious reader to contrast these two singular poems, and to form a judgment which may be the original, I take the liberty of copying the English ballad from Mr Ritson"s Collection, omitting only the burden and repet.i.tion of the first line. The learned editor states it to be given _"From Ravencroft"s Metismata. Musical phansies, fitting the cittie and country, humours to 3, 4, and 5 voyces,_ London, 1611, 4to. It will be obvious (continues Mr Ritson) that this ballad is much older, not only than the date of the book, but most of the other pieces contained in it." The music is given with the words, and is adapted to four voices:
There were three rauens sat on a tre, They were as blacke as they might be:
The one of them said to his mate, "Where shall we our breakfast take?"
"Downe in yonder greene field, "There lies a knight slain under his shield;
"His hounds they lie downe at his feete, "So well they their master keepe;
"His haukes they flie so eagerly, "There"s no fowle dare come him nie.
"Down there comes a fallow doe, "As great with yong as she might goe,
"She lift up his bloudy hed, "And kist his wounds that were so red.
"She got him up upon her backe, "And carried him to earthen lake.
"She buried him before the prime, "She was dead her selfe ere euen song time.
"G.o.d send euery gentleman, "Such haukes, such houndes, and such a leman.
_Ancient Songs,_ 1792, p. 155.
I have seen a copy of this dirge much modernized.
THE TWA CORBIES.
As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a mane; The tane unto the t"other say, "Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"
"In behint yon auld fail[A] d.y.k.e, "I wot there lies a new slain knight; "And nae body kens that he lies there, "But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.
"His hound is to the hunting gane, "His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, "His lady"s ta"en another mate, "So we may mak our dinner sweet.
"Ye"ll sit on his white hause bane, "And I"ll pike out his bonny blue een: "Wi" ae lock o" his gowden hair, "We"ll theek[B] our nest when it grows bare.
"Mony a one for him makes mane, "But nane sall ken whare he is gane: "O"er his white banes, when they are bare, "The wind sall blaw for evermair."
[Footnote A: _Fail_--Turf.]
[Footnote B: _Theek_--Thatch.]
THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.
The ballad of _The Douglas Tragedy_ is one of the few, to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality. The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farmhouse, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent, named Douglas-burn, which joins the Yarrow, after pa.s.sing a craggy rock, called the Douglas-craig. This wild scene, now a part of the Traquair estate, formed one of the most ancient possessions of the renowned family of Douglas; for Sir John Douglas, eldest son of William, the first Lord Douglas, is said to have sat, as baronial lord of Douglas-burn, during his father"s lifetime, in a parliament of Malcolm Canmore, held at Forfar.--G.o.dSCROFT, Vol. I. p. 20. The tower appears to have been square, with a circular turret at one angle, for carrying up the staircase, and for flanking the entrance. It is said to have derived its name of Blackhouse from the complexion of the lords of Douglas, whose swarthy hue was a family attribute. But, when the high mountains, by which it is inclosed, were covered with heather, which was the case till of late years, Blackhouse must have also merited its appellation from the appearance of the scenery.
From this ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighbouring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas-burn is averred to have been the stream, at which the lovers stopped to drink: so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event.
Many copies of this ballad are current among the vulgar, but chiefly in a state of great corruption; especially such as have been committed to the press in the shape of penny pamphlets. One of these is now before me, which, among many others, has the ridiculous error of "_blue gilded_ horn," for "_bugelet_ horn." The copy, princ.i.p.ally used in this edition of the ballad, was supplied by Mr Sharpe. The three last verses are given from the printed copy, and from tradition. The hackneyed verse, of the rose and the briar springing from the grave of the lovers, is common to most tragic ballads; but it is introduced into this with singular propriety, as the chapel of St Mary, whose vestiges may be still traced upon the lake, to which it has given name, is said to have been the burial place of Lord William and Fair Margaret. The wrath of the Black Douglas, which vented itself upon the brier, far surpa.s.ses the usual stanza:
At length came the clerk of the parish, As you the truth shall hear, And by mischance he cut them down, Or else they had still been there.
THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.
"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armour so bright; "Let it never be said, that a daughter of thine "Was married to a lord under night.
"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, "And put on your armour so bright, "And take better care of your youngest sister, "For your eldest"s awa the last night."
He"s mounted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And lightly they rode away.
Lord William lookit o"er his left shoulder, To see what he could see, And there he spy"d her seven brethren bold Come riding over the lee.
"Light down, light down, Lady Marg"ret," he said, "And hold my steed in your hand, "Until that against your seven brethren bold, "And your father, I mak a stand."
She held his steed in her milk-white hand, And never shed one tear, Until that she saw her seven brethren fa", And her father hard fighting, who lov"d her so dear.
"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said, "For your strokes they are wond"rous sair; "True lovers I can get many a ane, "But a father I can never get mair."
O she"s ta"en out her handkerchief, It was o" the holland sae fine, And ay she dighted her father"s b.l.o.o.d.y wounds, That ware redder than the wine.
"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg"ret," he said, "O whether will ye gang or bide?"
"I"ll gang, I"ll gang, Lord William," she said, "For ye have left me no other guide."
He"s lifted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey, With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And slowly they baith rade away.
O they rade on, and on they rade, And a" by the light of the moon, Until they came to yon wan water, And there they lighted down.
They lighted down to tak a drink Of the spring that ran sae clear; And down the stream ran his gude heart"s blood, And sair she gan to fear.
"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, "For I fear that you are slain!"
""Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak; "That shines in the water sae plain."
O they rade on, and on they rade, And a" by the light of the moon, Until they cam" to his mother"s ha" door, And there they lighted down.
"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, "Get up, and let me in!-- "Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, "For this night my fair lady I"ve win.
"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says, "O mak it braid and deep!