Border Ballads...
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The Scottish Border Ballads are essentially short stories in verse - swift, impersonal, terse and dramatic, turning the daily lives of the borderers into poetry that still ranks among the glories of English literature.
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"Little Jock Elliot"
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Wha daur meddle wi' me?
Wha daur meddle wi' me?
My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me?
I ride on my fleet-footed grey,
My sword hangind doun by my knee,
My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me?
In raids I ride always the foremost,
My straik is the first in melee,
My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me?
I ne'er was afraid of a foe,
Or yield I liefer wad die;
My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me?
I've vanquished the Queen's Lieutenant,
And garr'd her troopers flee;
My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me?
Wha daur meddle wi' me?
Wha daur meddle wi' me?
My name is little Jock Elliot,
And wha daur meddle wi' me?
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"The Lament of a Border Widow"
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My Love he built me a bonny bower
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour;
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see
Than my true love he built for me.
There came a man by middle day,
He spied his sport and went away,
And brought the king, that very night,
Who brake my bower and slew my knight.
He slew my knight to me sae dear,
He slew my knight and poin'd his gear;
My servants all for life did flee
And left me in extremitie.
I sew'd his sheet, making my mane,
I watched the corpse myself alane,
I watched his body night and day;
No living creature came that way.
I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sate;
I digg'd a grave and laid him in,
And happ'd him with the sod sae green.
But think na ye my heart was sair
When I laid the moul on his yellow hair?
O think na ye my heart was wae
When I turn'd about, away to gae?
Nae living man I'll love again
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi ae lock of his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for evermair.
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"Johnie Armstrang"
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Sum speikis of lords, sum speikis of lairds,
And sic lyke men of hie degrie;
Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
Sum tyme call'd Laird of Gilnockie.
The King he wrytes a luving letter,
With his ain hand sae tenderly,
And he hath sent it to Johnie Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speedily.
The Eliots and Armstrangs did convene;
They were a gallant cumpanie -
'We'll ride and meit our lawful King,
And bring him safe to Gilnockie.
'Make kinnen and capon ready, then,
And venison in great plentie;
We'll welcum here our royal King;
I hope he'll dine at Gilnockie!'
They ran their horse on the Langholme howm,
And brak their spears wi' mickle main;
The ladies lukit frae loft windows -
'God bring our men weel back agen!'
When Johnie cam before the King,
Wi' a' his men sae brave to see,
The King he movit his bonnet to him;
He ween'd he was a King as weel as he.
'May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
Grace for my loyal men and me?
For my name it is Johnie Armstrang,
And subject of yours, my liege,' said he.
'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be!
I grantit nevir a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin wi' thee.'
'Grant me my life, my liege, my King!
And a bonny gift I'll gie to thee -
Full four-and-twenty milk-white steids,
Were a' foaled in ae yeir to me.
'I'll gie thee a' these milk-white steids,
That prance and nicker at a speir;
And as mickle gude Inglish gilt,
As four of their braid backs dow bear.'
'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be!
I grantit nevir a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin wi' thee.'
'Grant me my life, my liege, my King!
And a bonny gift I'll gie to thee -
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills,
That gang thro' a' yeir to me.
'These four-and-twenty mills complete,
Sall gang for thee thro' a' the yeir;
And as mickle of gude reid wheit,
As a' their happers dow to bear.'
'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be!
I grantit nevir a traitor's life,
And now I'll not begin wi' thee.'
'Grant me my life, my liege, my King!
And a great gift I'll gie to thee -
Bauld four-and-twenty sisters' sons,
Sall for thee fecht, tho' a' should flee!'
'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be!
I grantit nevir a traitor's life,
And now I'll no begin wi' thee.'
'Grant me my life, my liege, my King!
And a brave gift I'll gie to thee -
All between heir and Newcastle town
Sall pay their yearly rent to thee.'
'Away, away, thou traitor strang!
Out o' my sight soon mayst thou be!
I grantit nevir a traitor's life,
And now I'll no begin wi' thee.'
'Ye lied, ye lied, now, King,' he says,
'Altho' a King and Prince ye be!
For I've luved naething in my life,
I weel dare say it, but honesty -
'Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bonny dogs to kill a deir;
But England suld have found me meal and mault,
Gif I had lived this hundred yeir!
'She suld have found me meal and mault,
And beif and mutton in a' plentie;
But nevir a Scots wyfe could have said,
That e'er I skaith'd her a pure flee.
'To seik het water beneith cauld ice,
Surely it is a greit folie -
I have asked grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me!
'But, had I kenn'd ere I cam frae hame,
How thou unkind wadst been to me!
I wad have keepit the Border syde,
In spite of all thy force and thee.
'Wist England's King that I was ta'en,
O gin a blythe man he wad be!
For anes I slew his sister's son,
And on his breist bane brak a trie.'
John wore a girdle about his middle,
Imbroidered ower wi' burning gold,
Bespangled wi' the same metal;
Maist beautiful was to behold.
There hang nine targats at Johnie's hat,
And ilk ane worth three hundred pound -
'What wants that knave that a King suld have,
But the sword of honour and the crown!
'O whair got thou these targats, Johnie,
That blink sae brawly abune thy brie?'
'I gat them in the field fetching,
Where, cruel King, thou durst not be.
'Had I my horse, and harness gude,
And riding as I wont to be,
It suld have been tauld this hundred yeir,
The meeting of my King and me!
'God be with thee, Kirsty, my brother!
Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun!
Lang mayst thou live on the Border syde,
Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!
'And God be with thee, Kirsty, my son,
Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee!
But and thou live this hundred yeir,
Thy father's better thou'lt nevir be.
'Farewell! my bonny Gilnock hall,
Where on Esk side thou standest stout!
Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair,
I wad hae gilt thee round about.'
Joh murdered was at Carlinrigg,
And all his gallant cumpanie;
But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die -
The trees on which the Armstrangs deed
Wi' summer leaves were gay,
But lang afore the harvest tide,
They wither'd a' away.
Because they saved their countrey deir
Frae Englishmen! Nane were sae bauld,
While Johnie lived on the Border syde,
Nane of them durst cum neir his hauld.
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"Hughie the Graeme"
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Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane,
He has ridden o'er moss and muir;
And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme,
For stealing o' the Bishop's mare.
'Now, gude Lord Scroope, this may not be!
Here hangs a broadsword by my side;
And if that thou canst conquer me,
The matter it may soon be tryed.'
'I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;
Although thy name by Hughie the Graeme,
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,
If God but grant me life and time.'
'Then do your worst now, gude Lord Scroope,
And deal your blows as hard as you can!
It shall be tried within an hour,
Which of us two is the better man.'
But as they were dealing their blows so free,
And both so bloody at the time,
Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme.
Then they hae grippit Hughie the Graeme,
And brought him up through Carlisle town;
The lasses and lads stood on the walls,
Crying, 'Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down!'
Then they hae chosen a jury of men,
The best that were in Carlisle town;
And twelve of them cried out at once,
'Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down!'
Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume,
As he sat by the judge's knee, -
'Twenty white owsen, my gude lord,
If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'
'O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume!
Forsooth and sae it mauna be;
For, were there but three Graemes of the name,
They suld be hanged a' for me.'
'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,
As she sate by the judge's knee, -
'A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge,
If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me.'
'O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume!
Forsooth and sae it must na be;
Were he but one Graeme of the name,
He suld be hanged high for me.'
'If I be guilty,' said Hughie the Graeme,
'Of me my friends shall hae small talk' -
And he has loup'd fifteen feet and three,
Though his hands they were tied behind his back.
He looked over his left shoulder,
And for to see what he might see;
There was he aware of his auld father,
Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.
'O hald your tongue, my father,' he says,
'And see that ye dinna weep for me!
For they may ravish me o' my life,
But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie.
'Fare ye weel, Maggie my wife!
The last time we came ower the muir,
'Twas thou bereft me of my life,
And wi' the Bishop thou play'd the whore.
'Here Johnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,
That is made o' the metal sae fine;
And when thou comest to the English side,
Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme.'
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"The Death of Parcy Reed"
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God send the land deliverance
Frae every reaving, riding Scot;
We'll sune hae neither cow nor ewe,
We'll sune hae neither staig nor stot.
The outlaws come frae Liddesdale,
They herry Redesdale far and near;
The rich man's gelding it maun gang,
They canna pass the puir man's mear.
Sure it were weel, had ilka thief
Around his nect a halter strang;
And curses heavy may they light
On traitors vile oursels amang!
Now Parcy Reed has Crosier ta'en,
He has deliverd him to the law;
But Crosier says he'll do waur than that,
He'll make the tower o' Troughend fa'.
And Crosier says he will do waur,
He will do waur if waur can be;
He'll make the bairns a' fatherless,
And then, the land it may lie lee.
'To the hunting, ho!' cried Parcy Reed,
'The morning sun is on the dew;
The cauler breeze frae off the fells
Will lead the dogs to the quarry true.
'To the hunting, ho!' cried Parcy Reed,
And to the hunting he has gane;
And the three fause Ha's o' Girsonfield
Alang wi' him he has them ta'en.
They hunted high, they hunted low,
By heathery hill and birken shaw;
They rasied a buck on Roken Edge,
And blew the mort at fair Ealylawe.
They hunted high, they hunted low,
They made the echoes ring amain;
With music sweet o' horn and hound,
They merry made fair Redesdale glen.
They hunted high, they hunted low,
The hunted up, they hunted down,
Until the day was past the prime,
And it grew late in the afternoon.
They hunted high in Batinghope,
When as the sun was sinking low;
Says Parcy then, 'Ca' off the dogs,
We'll bait our steeds and homeward go.'
They lighted high in Batinghope,
Atween the brown and benty ground;
They had but rested a little while
Till Parcy Reed was sleeping sound.
There's nane may lean on a rotten staff,
But him that risks to get a fa';
There's nane may in a traitor trust,
And traitors black were every Ha'.
They've stown the bridle off his steed,
And they've put water in his lang gun;
They've fixed his sword within the sheath
That out again it winna come.
'Awaken ye, waken ye, Parcy Reed,
Or by your enemies be ta'en;
For yonder are the five Crosiers
A-coming owre the Hingin-stane!'
'If they be five, and we be four,
Sae that ye stand alang wi' me,
Then every man ye will take one,
And only leave but two to me:
We will them meet as brave men ought,
And make them either fight or flee.'
'We mayna stand, we canna stand,
We daurna stand alang wi' thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and we.'
'O turn thee, turn thee, Johnie Ha',
O turn thee, man, and fight wi' me;
When ye come to Troughend again,
My gude black naig I will gie thee;
He cost full twenty pound o' gowd,
Atween my brother John and me.'
'I mayna turn, I canna turn,
I daurna turn and fight wi' thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and me.'
'O turn thee, turn thee, Willie Ha',
O turn thee, man, and fight wi' me;
When ye come to Troughend again,
A yoke o' owsen I'll gie thee.'
'I mayna turn, I canna turn,
I daurna turn and fight wi' thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and me.'
'O turn thee, turn thee, Tommy Ha',
O turn now, man, and fight wi' me;
If ever we come to Troughend again,
My daughter Jean I'll gie to thee.'
'I mayna turn, I canna turn,
I daurna turn and fight wi' thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and me.'
'O shame upon ye, traitors a'!
I wish your hames ye may never see;
Ye've stown the bridle off my naig,
And I can neither fight nor flee.
'Ye've stown the bridle off my naig,
And ye've put water i' my lang gun;
Ye've fixed my sword within the sheath
That out again it winna come.'
He had but time to cross himsel',
A prayer he hadna time to say,
Till round him came the Crosiers keen,
All riding graith'd and in array.
'Weel met, weel met, now Parcy Reed,
Thou art the very man we sought;
Owre lang hae we been in your debt,
Now will we pay you as we ought.
'We'll pay thee at the nearest tree,
Where we shall hang thee like a hound;'
Brave Parcy rais'd his fankit sword,
And fell'd the foremost to the ground.
Alake, and wae for Parcy Reed!
Alake, he was an unarmed man!
Four weapons pierced him all at once,
As they assail'd him there and than.
They fell upon him all at once,
They mangled him most cruellie,
The slightest wound might caused is deid,
And they hae gi'en him thirty-three;
They hackit off his hands and feet,
And left him lying on the lee.
'Now, Parcy Reed, we've paid our debt,
Ye canna weel dispute the tale,'
The Crosiers said, and off they rade
They rade the airt o' Liddesdale.
It was the hour o' gloaming gray,
When herds come in frae fauld and pen.
A herd he saw a huntsman lie,
Says he, 'Can this be Laird Troughen?'
'There's some will ca' me Parcy Reed,
And some will ca' me Laird Troughen;
It's little matter what they ca' me,
My faes hae made me ill to ken.
'There's some will ca' me Parcy Reed,
And speak my praise in tower and town;
It's little matter what they do now,
My life-blood rudds the heather brown.
'There's some will ca' me Parcy Reed,
And a' my virtues say and sing;
I would much rather have just now
A draught o' water frae the spring'
The herd flung off his clouted shoon
And to the nearest fountain ran;
He made his bonnet serve a cup,
And wan the blessing o' the dying man.
'Now, honest herd, ye maun do mair,
Ye maun do mair, as I you tell;
Ye maun bear tidings to Troughend,
And bear likewise my last farewell.
'A farewell to my wedded wife,
A farewell to my brother John,
Wha sits into the Troughend tower
Wi' heart as black as any stone.
'A farewell to my daughter Jean,
A farewell to my young sons five;
Had they been at their father's hand,
I had this night been man alive.
'A farewell to my followers a',
And a' my neighbors gude at need;
Bid them think how the treacherous Ha's
Betrayed the life o' Parcy Reed.
'The laird o' Clennel bears my bow,
The laird o' Brandon bears my brand;
When'er they ride i' the Border-side,
They'll mind the fate o' the laird Troughend.'
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"O Flower of Scotland"
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O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see your like again
That fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen.
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's army,
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
The hills are bare now,
And autumn leaves lie thick and still
O'er land that is lost now,
Which those so dearly held
That stood against him,
Proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
Those days are past now
And in the past they must remain
But we can still rise now
And be the nation again!
That stood against him
Proud Edward's army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see your like again
That fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen.
And stood against him,
Proud Edward's army,
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
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Whilst not strictly a Border Ballad, no compilation of Scottish verse would be complete without what has become Scotland's de facto national anthem
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