Читать книгу English and Scottish Ballads (Vol. 1-8) - Various Authors - Страница 50

Table of Contents

Mr. Kinloch printed a fragment of this ballad under the title of Hynde Etin. (See Appendix>.) The story was afterwards given complete by Buchan, (Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 6,) as here follows. Buchan had previously communicated to Motherwell a modernized version of the same tale, in which the Etin is changed to a Groom. (See post.)

This ancient ballad has suffered severely in the course of its transmission to our times. Still there can be no doubt that it was originally the same as The Maid and the Dwarf King, which is still sung in Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and the Faroe Islands. Numerous copies of the Scandinavian ballad have been given to the world: seven Danish versions, more or less complete, four Norse, nine Swedish, one Faroish, and some other fragments (Grundtvig, ii. 37, and note, p. 655). One of the Swedish ballads (Bergkonungen, Afzelius, No. 35) is translated in Keightley's Fairy Mythology, 103, under the title of Proud Margaret. Closely related is Agnete og Havmanden, Grundtvig, ii. 48, 656, which is found in several forms in German (e.g. Die schöne Hannele in Hoffmann von Fallersleben's Schlesische Volkslieder, No. 1), and two in Slavic.

Lady Margaret sits in her bower door,

Sewing at her silken seam;

She heard a note in Elmond's-wood,

And wish'd she there had been.

5 She loot the seam fa' frae her side,

And the needle to her tae;

And she is on to Elmond-wood

As fast as she coud gae.

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,

10 Nor broken a branch but ane,

Till by it came a young hind chiel,

Says, "Lady, lat alane.

"O why pu' ye the nut, the nut,

Or why brake ye the tree?

15 For I am forester o' this wood:

Ye shou'd spier leave at me."

"I'll ask leave at no living man,

Nor yet will I at thee;

My father is king o'er a' this realm,

20 This wood belongs to me."

She hadna pu'd a nut, a nut,

Nor broken a branch but three,

Till by it came him Young Akin,

And gar'd her lat them be.

25 The highest tree in Elmond's-wood,

He's pu'd it by the reet;

And he has built for her a bower

Near by a hallow seat.

He's built a bower, made it secure

30 Wi' carbuncle and stane;

Tho' travellers were never sae nigh,

Appearance it had nane.

He's kept her there in Elmond's-wood,

For six lang years and one;

35 Till six pretty sons to him she bear,

And the seventh she's brought home.

It fell ance upon a day,

This guid lord went from home;

And he is to the hunting gane,

40 Took wi' him his eldest son.

And when they were on a guid way,

Wi' slowly pace did walk,

The boy's heart being something wae,

He thus began to talk:—

45 "A question I wou'd ask, father,

Gin ye wou'dna angry be?"

"Say on, say on, my bonny boy,

Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."

"I see my mither's cheeks aye weet,

50 I never can see them dry;

And I wonder what aileth my mither,

To mourn continually."

"Your mither was a king's daughter,

Sprung frae a high degree;

55 And she might hae wed some worthy prince,

Had she nae been stown by me.

"I was her father's cup-bearer,

Just at that fatal time;

I catch'd her on a misty night,

60 Whan summer was in prime.

"My luve to her was most sincere,

Her luve was great for me;

But when she hardships doth endure,

Her folly she does see."

65 "I'll shoot the buntin' o' the bush,

The linnet o' the tree,

And bring them to my dear mither,

See if she'll merrier be."

It fell upo' another day,

70 This guid lord he thought lang,

And he is to the hunting gane,

Took wi' him his dog and gun.

Wi' bow and arrow by his side,

He's aff, single, alane;

75 And left his seven children to stay

Wi' their mither at hame.

"O, I will tell to you, mither,

Gin ye wadna angry be:"

"Speak on, speak on, my little wee boy,

80 Ye'se nae be quarrell'd by me."

"As we came frae the hynd hunting,

We heard fine music ring:"

"My blessings on you, my bonny boy,

I wish I'd been there my lane."

85 He's ta'en his mither by the hand,

His six brithers also,

And they are on thro' Elmond's-wood,

As fast as they coud go.

They wistna weel where they were gaen,

90 Wi' the stratlins o' their feet;

They wistna weel where they were gaen,

Till at her father's yate.

"I hae nae money in my pocket,

But royal rings hae three;

95 I'll gie them you, my little young son,

And ye'll walk there for me.

"Ye'll gi'e the first to the proud porter, And he will lat you in; Ye'll gi'e the next to the butler boy, 100 And he will show you ben;

"Ye'll gi'e the third to the minstrel

That plays before the king;

He'll play success to the bonny boy

Came thro' the wood him lane."

105 He ga'e the first to the proud porter,

And he open'd an' let him in;

He ga'e the next to the butler boy,

And he has shown him ben;

He ga'e the third to the minstrel

110 That play'd before the king;

And he play'd success to the bonny boy

Came thro' the wood him lane.

Now when he came before the king,

Fell low down on his knee:

115 The king he turned round about,

And the saut tear blinded his ee.

"Win up, win up, my bonny boy,

Gang frae my companie;

Ye look sae like my dear daughter,

120 My heart will birst in three."

"If I look like your dear daughter,

A wonder it is none;

If I look like your dear daughter,

I am her eldest son."

125 "Will ye tell me, ye little wee boy,

Where may my Margaret be?"

"She's just now standing at your yates,

And my six brithers her wi'."

"O where are all my porter boys

130 That I pay meat and fee,

To open my yates baith wide and braid?

Let her come in to me."

When she came in before the king,

Fell low down on her knee:

135 "Win up, win up, my daughter dear,

This day ye'll dine wi me."

"Ae bit I canno' eat, father,

Nor ae drop can I drink,

Till I see my mither and sister dear,

140 For lang for them I think."

When she came before the queen,

Fell low down on her knee:

"Win up, win up, my daughter dear,

This day ye'se dine wi' me."

145 "Ae bit I canno' eat, mither,

Nor ae drop can I drink,

Until I see my dear sister,

For lang for her I think."

"When that these two sisters met,

150 She hail'd her courteouslie:

"Come ben, come ben, my sister dear,

This day ye'se dine wi' me."

"Ae bit I canno' eat, sister,

Nor ae drop can I drink,

155 Until I see my dear husband,

For lang for him I think."

"O where are all my rangers bold

That I pay meat and fee,

To search the forest far an' wide,

160 And bring Akin to me?"

Out it speaks the wee little boy—

"Na, na, this maunna be;

Without ye grant a free pardon,

I hope ye'll nae him see."

165 "O here I grant a free pardon,

Well seal'd by my own han';

Ye may make search for young Akin,

As soon as ever you can."

They search'd the country wide and braid,

170 The forests far and near,

And found him into Elmond's-wood,

Tearing his yellow hair.

"Win up, win up, now young Akin.

Win up, and boun wi' me;

175 We're messengers come from the court;

The king wants you to see."

"O lat him take frae me my head,

Or hang me on a tree;

For since I've lost my dear lady,

180 Life's no pleasure to me."

"Your head will nae be touch'd, Akin,

Nor hang'd upon a tree:

Your lady's in her father's court,

And all he wants is thee."

185 When he came in before the king,

Fell low down on his knee:

"Win up, win up now, young Akin,

This day ye'se dine wi' me."

But as they were at dinner set,

190 The boy asked a boun;

"I wish we were in the good church,

For to get christendoun.

"We ha'e lived in guid green wood

This seven years and ane;

195 But a' this time since e'er I mind,

Was never a church within."

"Your asking 's nae sae great, my boy,

But granted it shall be;

This day to guid church ye shall gang,

200 And your mither shall gang you wi'."

When unto the guid church she came,

She at the door did stan';

She was sae sair sunk down wi' shame,

She coudna come farer ben.

205 Then out it speaks the parish priest,

And a sweet smile gae he;—

"Come ben, come ben, my lily flower,

Present your babes to me."

Charles, Vincent, Sam, and Dick,

210 And likewise James and John;

They call'd the eldest Young Akin,

Which was his father's name.

Then they staid in the royal court,

And liv'd wi' mirth and glee;

215 And when her father was deceas'd,

Heir of the crown was she.

97. The regular propitiation for the "proud porter" of ballad poetry. See, e.g. King Arthur and the King of Cornwall, in the Appendix, v. 49: also the note to King Estmere, vol. iii. p. 172.