Читать книгу The Oxford Book of Ballads - Various Authors - Страница 106
ОглавлениеI
Clerk Colven, and his gay ladie,
As they walk’d in yon garden green,
The belt about her middle jimp224 It cost Clerk Colven crowns fifteen.
II
‘O hearken weel now, my good lord,
O hearken weel to what I say;
When ye gang to the wall225 o’ Stream O gang nae near the weel-faur’d may226.’
III
‘O haud your tongue, my gay ladie,
Now speak nae mair of that to me;
For I nae saw a fair woman
That I cou’d] like so well as thee.’
IV
He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,
And merry, merry rade he on,
Till that he came to the wall o’ Stream,
And there he saw the mermaiden.
V
‘Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny may,
And ay’s ye wash your sark o’ silk.’—
‘It’s a’ for ye, you gentle knight,
My skin is whiter than the milk.’
VI
He’s ta’en her by the milk-white hand,
He’s ta’en her by the sleeve sae green,
And he’s forgotten his gay ladie,
And he’s awa’ wi’ the mermaiden.
VII
—‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven,
‘And aye so sair as akes my head!’
And merrily leugh227 the mermaiden, ‘O ’twill win on228 till you be dead.
VIII
‘But out ye tak’ your little pen-knife,
And frae my sark ye shear a gare229; Row230 that about your lovely head, And the pain ye’ll never feel nae mair.’
IX
Out he has ta’en his little pen-knife,
And frae her sark he’s shorn a gare;
She’s ty’d it round his whey-white face,
But and ay his head it akèd mair.
X
‘Ohone, alas!’ says Clerk Colven,
‘O sairer, sairer akes my head!’—
‘And sairer, sairer ever will,
And aye be war’231 till ye be dead.’
XI
Then out he drew his shining blade
And thought wi’ it to be her deid232, But she’s become a fish again, And merrily sprang into the fleed233.
XII
He’s mounted on his berry-brown steed,
And dowie234, dowie rade he hame, And heavily, heavily lighted down When to his ladie’s bower he came.
XIII
‘O mither, mither, mak’ my bed,
And, gentle ladie, lay me down;
O brither, brither, unbend my bow,
’Twill never be bent by me again!’
XIV
His mither she has made his bed,
His gentle ladie laid him down,
His brither he has unbent his bow,
—’Twas never bent by him again.
