Читать книгу Story-Telling Ballads - Various - Страница 15

Lady Murray came forth at noon,

To welcome her husband home;

And there she spied young Scott o’ Harden,

All bounden and his lone.

They thrust the Scott in a darksome room,

And left him to his thought;

But neither bread nor yet red wine

Unto the youth they brought.

“And what, Lord Gideon,” said his dame,

“Will ye do wi’ young Scott?”

“Do ye see yonder branch o’ the elm,

For that shall be his lot.”

“O goodman,” quo’ his pitying dame,

“Ye could not do this thing;

For lifting a pickle o’ your nowt,

So brave a lad to hing!”

“What mercy did ever a Scott o’ them

E’er show to me or mine?

The reaving Scotts shall surely weep,

The last of all their line.”

She said, “But we have daughters three,

And they are no well-faured,

When ye’ve a husband to your hand,

To hang him would be hard.”

“Sooth, goodwife, faith, but ye are right!

There’s wisdom in your say;

This birkie Scott shall have his choice,

To wed what one he may.

“We’ll give him respite to the morn,

Nor hang him ’gainst all law;

To marry our daughter Meikle-Mouthed Meg,

Or choke with the death-thraw.”

Quo’ she, “To marry our daughter Meg

More wiselike would it be,

Than kill the hope of an old, old House

And strap him to the tree.”

Quo’ he, “If I were in his place,

I would refuse I ween,

And die a death upon the tree,

Than wed what I’d ne’er seen.

“Go ye, and tell our daughter Meg,

That she’s be wived the morn;

And I will to this young gallant,

And see what he perform.”

She went unto her daughter Meg,

Who had a meikle mouth;

But her teeth were pearls, and her honey breath

Was like the wind from the South.

The mother sat by her daughter’s side;

“Sweet Meg, come tell me this,

Wouldst thou the rather be a bride,

Then live in singleness?

“Before I was your age, I trow,

I was in a bride her place.”

“Aye, mother,” quo’ Meg, and sighed full sore,

“But ye had a well-faured face.

“But you shall see the Ettrick stream

Run thro’ the dells o’ Yarrow,

Before ye hear o’ an offer to me,

Or a man to be my marrow.

“My face is foul, my heart is large,

A kinder none there is;

And must I pass away my days,

In sullen loneliness?”

The mother told her of young Scott,

And waited her reply;

“O Mother, I’d rather marry him

Than ever he should die!”

But the tears rose welling from their spring,

And filled her cushat eyes;

“But, Mother, how if when we’re wed,

He should my heart despise?”

“Oh, marriage,” quo’ the wily dame,

“Is not that hard to snoove,

If ye should marry Willie Scott,

Ye’ll be like hand and glove.”

Sir Gideon entered young Scott’s dungeon;

“Thy death is at my hand,

Ye came as a thief in the dead o’ night,

And stole my cows from my land.

“But I’ll give ye a chance for life,

For all ye have said of me,

Either to marry my daughter Meg,

Or hang upon yonder tree.

“And the boldest Scott on the Border March,

Shall never take ye down,

Until your skeleton is seen

And ye drop away bone by bone.”

“And ye would spare my life,” he said,

“For all ye come so gleg,

If I would stoop and give my hand

To your bonny daughter Meg?

“Ye are the Murray of Elibank,

I Scott of Oakwood Tower,

I would not marry your daughter Meg,

Tho’ a kingdom were her dower;

“But little I fear to meet my death,

As I do to tell you this;

An ye had fallen in my hands,

Such were your fate, I wiss.

“Ye think that your winsome daughter Meg,”

Oh! he spoke so scornfully,—

“Will get a husband at the last,

But, faith, my lad, ye lie,

“I rather choose upon the gallows

To render up my breath;

I trow there will be Scots enough

Left to revenge my death.”

“There is my thumb, thou young braggart,”

Sir Gideon chafing cried,

“I wouldn’t hinder ye your choice

For death shall be your bride.

“And let the Scots o’ a’ the Border

Revenge your death that dare.”

He left young Scott unto himself,

And quit his dungeon stair.