Bid thy brisk viol warble measures gay!

For see! recall'd by thy resistless lay, Once more the Brownie shews his honest face.

Hail, from thy wanderings long, my much lov'd sprite!

Thou friend, thou lover of the lowly, hail!

Tell, in what realms thou sport'st thy merry night, Trail'st the long mop, or whirl'st the mimic flail.

Where dost thou deck the much-disordered hall, While the tired damsel in Elysium sleeps, With early voice to drowsy workman call, Or lull the dame, while mirth his vigils keeps?

'Twas thus in Caledonia's domes, 'tis said, Thou ply'dst the kindly task in years of yore: At last, in luckless hour, some erring maid Spread in thy nightly cell of viands store: Ne'er was thy form beheld among their mountains more.[74]

[Footnote 74: See Introduction, p. ci.]

Then wake (for well thou can'st) that wond'rous lay, How, while around the thoughtless matrons sleep, Soft o'er the floor the treacherous fairies creep, And bear the smiling infant far away: How starts the nurse, when, for her lovely child, She sees at dawn a gaping idiot stare!

O s.n.a.t.c.h the innocent from demons vilde, And save the parents fond from fell despair!

In a deep cave the trusty menials wait, When from their hilly dens, at midnight's hour, Forth rush the airy elves in mimic state, And o'er the moon-light heath with swiftness scour: In glittering arms the little hors.e.m.e.n shine; Last, on a milk-white steed, with targe of gold, A fay of might appears, whose arms entwine The lost, lamented child! the shepherds bold[75]

The unconscious infant tear from his unhallowed hold.

[Footnote 75: For an account of the Fairy superst.i.tion, see _Introduction to the Tale of Tamlane_.]

MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER.

PART FIRST.

_HISTORICAL BALLADS_.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

One edition of the present ballad is well known; having appeared in the _Reliques of Ancient Poetry_, and having been inserted in almost every subsequent collection of Scottish songs. But it seems to have occurred to no editor, that a more complete copy of the song might be procured. That, with which the public is now presented, is taken from two MS. copies,[76] collated with several verses recited by the editor's friend, Robert Hamilton, Esq. advocate, being the 16th, and the four which follow. But, even with the a.s.sistance of the common copy, the ballad seems still to be a fragment. The cause of Sir Patrick Spens' voyage is, however, pointed out distinctly; and it shews, that the song has claim to high antiquity, as referring to a very remote period in Scottish history.

[Footnote 76: That the public might possess this carious fragment as entire as possible, the editor gave one of these copies, which seems the most perfect, to Mr. Robert Jamieson, to be inserted in his Collection.]

Alexander III. of Scotland died in 1285; and, for the misfortune of his country, as well as his own, he had been bereaved of all his children before his decease. The crown of Scotland descended upon his grand-daughter, Margaret, termed, by our historians, the _Maid of Norway_. She was the only offspring of a marriage betwixt Eric, king of Norway, and Margaret, daughter of Alexander III. The kingdom had been secured to her by the parliament of Scotland, held at Scone, the year preceding her grandfather's death. The regency of Scotland entered into a congress with the ministers of the king of Norway and with those of England, for the establishment of good order in the kingdom of the infant princess. Shortly afterwards, Edward I.

conceived the idea of matching his eldest son, Edward, Prince of Wales, with the young queen of Scotland. The plan was eagerly embraced by the Scottish n.o.bles; for, at that time, there was little of the national animosity, which afterwards blazed betwixt the countries, and they patriotically looked forward to the important advantage, of uniting the island of Britain into one kingdom. But Eric of Norway seems to have been unwilling to deliver up his daughter; and, while the negociations were thus protracted, the death of the Maid of Norway effectually crushed a scheme, the consequences of which might have been, that the distinction betwixt England and Scotland would, in our day, have been as obscure and uninteresting as that of the realms of the heptarchy.--_Hailes' Annals. Fordun, &c._

The unfortunate voyage of Sir Patrick Spens may really have taken place, for the purpose of bringing back the Maid of Norway to her own kingdom; a purpose, which was probably defeated by the jealousy of the Norwegians, and the reluctance of King Eric. I find no traces of the disaster in Scottish history; but, when we consider the meagre materials, whence Scottish history is drawn, this is no conclusive argument against the truth of the tradition. That a Scottish vessel, sent upon such an emba.s.sy, must, as represented in the ballad, have been freighted with the n.o.blest youth in the kingdom, is sufficiently probable; and, having been delayed in Norway, till the tempestuous season was come on, its fate can be no matter of surprise. The amba.s.sadors, finally sent by the Scottish nation to receive their queen, were Sir David Wemyss, of Wemyss, and Sir Michael Scot of Balwearie; the same, whose knowledge, surpa.s.sing that of his age, procured him the reputation of a wizard. But, perhaps, the expedition of Sir Patrick Spens was previous to their emba.s.sy. The introduction of the king into the ballad seems a deviation from history; unless we suppose, that Alexander was, before his death, desirous to see his grand-child and heir.

The Scottish monarchs were much addicted to "sit in Dumfermline town,"

previous to the accession of the Bruce dynasty. It was a favourite abode of Alexander himself, who was killed by a fall from his horse, in the vicinity, and was buried in the abbey of Dumfermline.

There is a beautiful German translation of this ballad, as it appeared in the _Reliques_, in the Volk-Lieder of Professor Herder; an elegant work, in which it is only to be regretted, that the actual popular songs of the Germans form so trifling a proportion.

The tune of Mr. Hamilton's copy of _Sir Patrick Spens_ is different from that, to which the words are commonly sung; being less plaintive, and having a bold nautical turn in the close.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

The king sits in Dumfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine; "O[77] whare will I get a skeely skippe[78], "To sail this new ship of mine?"

O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee,-- "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, "That ever sail'd the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter.

And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway, "To Noroway o'er the faem; "The king's daughter of Noroway, "'Tis thou maun bring her hame."

The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his e'e.

"O wha is this has done this deed, "And tauld the king o' me, "To send us out, at this time of the year, "To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, "Our ship must sail the faem; "The king's daughter of Noroway, "'Tis we must fetch her hame,"

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may; They hae landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say,--

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, "And a' our queenis fee."

"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!

"Fu' loud I hear ye lie."

"For I brought as much white monie, "As gane[79] my men and me, "And I brought a half-fou[80] o' gude red goud, "Out o'er the sea wi' me."

"Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'!

"Our gude ship sails the morn."

"Now, ever alake, my master dear, "I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen, "Wi' the auld moon in her arm; "And if we gang to sea, master, "I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,[81]

It was sik a deadly storm; And the waves came o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.

"O where will I get a gude sailor, "To take my helm in hand, "Till I get up to the tall top-mast, "To see if I can spy land?"

"O here am I, a sailor gude, "To take the helm in hand, "Till you go up to the tall top-mast; "But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."