POPULAR BRITISH BALLADS
ANCIENT AND MODERN
By Various
Chosen and edited by R. Brimley Johnson
Illustrated By W. C. Cooke
In Four Volumes
Volume III
1894
Original
Original
CONTENTS
THE HERMIT
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY
THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN
THE WHISTLE
LAST MAY A BRAW WOOER
JOHN BARLEYCORN
LADY MARY ANN
THE LAIRD O' COCKPEN
THE LIDDEL BOWER
ELLEN IRWIN; OR, THE BRAES OF KIRTLE
THE SEVEN SISTERS; OR, THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE
THE FORCE OF PRAYER or, THE FOUNDING OF BOLTON'S PRIORY.
ALBERT GRÆME'S SONG
HAROLD'S SONG
ALICE BRAND
JOCK OF HAZELDEAN
DAVIE GELLATLEY'S SONG
ELSPETH'S BALLAD
THE EVE OF ST. JOHN
THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER
THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE
ALONZO THE BRAVE AND FAIR IMOGINE
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER
THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC - 1809
THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWR
THE CAULDRON OF CERIDWEN
LLYN-Y-DREIDDIAD-VRAWD
WILLY AND HELEN
SIR ARTHUR AND LADY ANN
THE FUGITIVES
LA BELLE DAME SANS MERCI
THE ROSE AND THE FAIR LILY
FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN
FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY
THE VOYAGE WITH THE NAUTILUS
THE DOOM-WELL OF ST MADRON
THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE
THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST
THE THREE SAILORS
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX
COUNT GISMOND
A LOWLAND WITCH BALLAD
THE WEIRD LADY
THE SANDS OF DEE
BALLAD OF EARL HALDAN'S DAUGHTER
A BALLAD FOR A BOY
KEITH OF RAVELSTON
DAFT JEAN
THE YERL O' WATERYDECK
OLD SIR WALTER
SISTER HELEN
THE BLACKBIRD'S SONG
MAIDEN SONG
LOVE FROM THE NORTH
MAUDE CLARE
THE SEVEN FIDDLERS
SIR NICHOLAS AT MARSTON MOOR
THE HERMIT
Original
Turn, gentle hermit of the dale,
And guide my lonely way
To where yon taper cheers the vale
With hospitable ray.
"For here forlorn and lost I tread,
With fainting steps and slow,
Where wilds, immeasurably spread,
Seem length'ning as I go."
"Forbear, my son," the hermit cries,
"To tempt the dangerous gloom;
For yonder faithless phantom flies
To lure thee to thy doom.
Here to the houseless child of want
My door is open still;
And though my portion is but scant,
I give it with good will.
"Then turn to-night, and freely share
Whateer my cell bestows;
My rushy couch and frugal fare,
My blessing and repose.
"No flocks that range the valley free
To slaughter I condemn;
Taught by that Power that pities me,
I learn to pity them:
"But from the mountain's grassy side
A guiltless feast I bring;
A scrip with herbs and fruits supplied,
And water from the spring.
"Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego;
All earth-born cares are wrong:
Man wants but little here below,
Nor wants that little long."
Soft as the dew from heaven descends,
His gentle accents fell:
The modest stranger lowly bends,
And follows to the cell.
Far in a wilderness obscure
The lonely mansion lay—
A refuge to the neighbouring poor,
And strangers led astray.
No stores beneath its humble thatch
Required a master's care;
The wicket, opening with a latch,
Received the harmless pair.
And now, when busy crowds retire
To take their evening rest,
The hermit trimmed his little fire,
And cheered his pensive guest:
And spread his vegetable store,
And gaily pressed and smiled;
And, skilled in legendary lore,
The ling'ring hours beguiled.
Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries,
The cricket chirrups on the hearth,
The crackling faggot flies.
But nothing could a charm impart
To soothe the stranger's woe;
For grief was heavy at his heart,
And tears began to flow.
His rising cares the hermit spied,
With answering care
And "Whence, unhappy youth," he cried,
"The sorrows of thy breast?
"From better habitations spurn'd,
Reluctant dost thou rove?
Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd,
Or unregarded love?
"Alas! the joys that fortune brings,
Are trifling, and decay;
And those who prize the paltry things,
More trifling still than they.
"And what is friendship but a name,
A charm that lulls to sleep,
A shade that follows wealth or fame,
But leaves the wretch to weep?
"And love is still an emptier sound,
The modern fair one's jest;
On earth unseen, or only found
To warm the turtle's nest.
"For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush,
And spurn the sex," he said;
But while he spoke, a rising blush
His love-lorn guest betray'd.
Surprised he sees new beauties rise,
Swift mantling to the view:
Like colours o er the morning skies,
As bright, as transient too.
The bashful look, the rising breast,
Alternate spread alarms:
The lovely stranger stands confest
A maid in all her charms.
Original
And, "Ah! forgive a stranger rude—
A wretch forlorn," she cried;
"Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude
Where Heaven and you reside.
"But let a maid thy pity share,
Whom love has taught to stray;
Who seeks for rest, but finds despair
Companion of her way.
"My father lived beside the Tyne,
A wealthy lord was he;
And all his wealth was mark'd as mine—
He had but only me.
"To win me from his tender arms,
Unnumber'd suitors came,
Who praised me for imputed charms,
And felt, or feigned, a flame.
"Each hour a mercenary crowd
With richest proffers strove;
Amongst the rest, young Edwin bowed,
But never talked of love.
"In humble, simplest habit clad,
No wealth nor power had he;
Wisdom and worth were all he had,
But these were all to me.
"And when beside me in the dale,
He carolled lays of love,
His breath lent fragrance to the gale,
And music to the grove.
"The blossom opening to the day,
The dews of heaven refined,
Could nought of purity display
To emulate his mind.
"The dew, the blossom on the tree,
With charms inconstant shine:
Their charms were his, but, woe to me,
Their constancy was mine.
"For still I tried each fickle art,
Importunate and vain;
And, while his passion touch'd my heart,
I triumphed in his pain:
"Till, quite dejected with my scorn,
He left me to my pride,
And sought a solitude forlorn,
In secret, where he died.
"But mine the sorrow, mine the fault,
And well my life shall pay;
I'll seek the solitude he sought,
And stretch me where he lay.
"And there, forlorn, despairing, hid,
I'll lay me down and die;
'Twas so for me that Edwin did,
And so for him will I."
"Forbid it, Heaven!" the hermit cried,
And clasp'd her to his breast:
The wondering fair one turn'd to chide—
'Twas Edwin's self that prest!
"Turn, Angelina, ever dear,
My charmer, turn to see
Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here,
Restored to love and thee.
"Thus let me hold thee to my heart,
And every care resign:
And shall we never, never part,
My life,—my all that's mine?
"No, never from this hour to part,
We'll live and love so true—
The sigh that rends thy constant heart
Shall break thy Edwin's too."
——O. Goldsmith.
Original
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,—
It cannot hold you long.
ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran,—
Whene'er he went to pray.
Original
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,—
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad, and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied;
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
——O. Goldsmith.
THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY
It was a friar of orders gray
Walkt forth to tell his beades;
And he met with a lady faire
Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.
"Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar,
I pray thee tell to me,
If ever at yon holy shrine
My true love thou didst see,"
"And
From many another one?"
"O, by his cockle hat, and staff,
And by his sandal shoone.
"But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view;
His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd,
And eyne of lovely blue."
"O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
And at his head a green grass turfe,
And at his heels a stone.
"Within these holy cloysters long
He languisht, and he dyed,
Lamenting of a ladyes love,
And playing of her pride.
"Here bore him barefac'd on his bier
Six proper youths and tall,
And many a tear bedew'd his grave
Within yon kirk-yard wall."
"And art thou dead, thou gentle youth!
And art thou dead and gone!
And didst thou die for love of me!
Break, cruel heart of stone!"
"O weep not, lady, weep not soe:
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Ne teares bedew thy cheek."
"O do not, do not, holy friar,
My sorrow now reprove;
For I have lost the sweetest youth,
That e'er wan ladyes love.
"And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse,
I'll evermore weep and sigh:
For thee I only wisht to live,
For thee I wish to dye."
"Weep no more, lady, weep no more,
Thy sorrowe is in vaine:
For violets pluckt the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow againe.
"Our joys as winged dreams doe flye,
Why then should sorrow last?
Since grief but aggravates thy losse,
Grieve not for what is past."
"O say not soe, thou holy friar;
I pray thee, say not soe:
For since my true-love dyed for mee,
'Tis meet my tears should flow.
"And will he never come again?
Will he ne'er come again?
Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave,
For ever to remain.
"His cheek was redder than the rose;
The comeliest youth was he?
But he is dead and laid in his grave:
Alas, and woe is me!"
"Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever:
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never.
"Hadst thou been fond, he had been false,
And left thee sad and heavy;
For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy."
"Now say not soe, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not soe;
My love he had the truest heart:
O he was ever true!
"And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth,
And didst thou dye for mee?
Then farewell home; for ever-more
A pilgrim I will bee.
"But first upon my true-love s grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,
And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf,
That wraps his breathless clay."
"Yet stay, fair lady: rest awhile
Beneath this cloyster wall:
See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind,
And drizzly rain doth fall."
"O stay me not, thou holy friar;
O stay me not, I pray;
No drizzly rain that falls on me,
Can wash my fault away."
"Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see beneath this gown of gray
Thy owne true-love appears.
"Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought;
And here amid these lonely walls
To end my days I thought.
"But haply for my year of grace
Is not yet past away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay."
"Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;
For since I have found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part."
——T. Percy.
THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN
Original
John Gilpin was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he,
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
"Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.
"To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the ( Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.
"My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after me."
He soon replied, "I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.
"I am a linen-draper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."
Quoth Mrs Gilpin, "That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnished with our own,
Which is both bright and clear."
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife;
O'erjoyed was he to find,
That though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allowed