Northumberland Yesterday And To Day by Jean F. Terry (best novel books to read .txt) 📕

Country Was Moved By It; And Presents Of All Kinds, Money, And Offers Of

Marriage Poured In Upon Grace, Who Remained Quite Unmoved By It All, And

Was Still The Gentle Unassuming Girl That She Had Always Been. She

Refused To Leave Her Home, Though She Was Offered Twenty Pounds A Night

At The Adelphi If She Would Consent Merely To Sit In A Boat For London

Audiences To Gaze Upon Her. Sad To Say, She Died Of Consumption About

Two Years Afterwards, After Having Tried In Vain To Arrest The Course Of

Her Sickness By Change Of Air At Wooler And Alnwick; And She Sleeps In

Bamburgh Churchyard, Within Sound Of The Sea By Which She Had Spent Her

Short Life.

  "East And West And South Acclaim Her Queen Of England's Maids.

  Star More Sweet Than All Their Stars, And Flower Than All Their Flowers."

The Actual Boat In Which The Gallant Deed Was Performed Was Long

Preserved At Newton Hall, Stocksfield; But The Owners Have Lately

Presented It To The Marine Laboratory At Cullercoats.

The Ballads Of Northumberland, As All True Ballads Should Do, Partake Of

The Characteristics Of The District Which Is Their Home. As We Should

Expect, They Treat Chiefly Of Warlike Themes, Of The Chieftain's Doughty

Deeds, The Moss-Trooper's Daring And Skill, Of The Knight's Courtesies

And Gallant Feats Of Arms, And The Feuds Of Rival Clans; In Fact, They

Portray For Us Vividly The Time Of Which They Treat, And In A Few

Graphic Touches Bring Before Us The Very Spirit Of The Period. In Direct

And Simple Phrases The Narrative Proceeds, Giving With Rare Power Just

The Necessary Expression To The Tale.

These Ballads Fall Naturally Into Three Main Divisions. The Historical

Ballad Is At Its Best In The Famous "Chevy-Chase," Which Has Been The

Delight Of Gentle And Simple For Centuries; And The Oft-Quoted

Declaration Of Sir Philip Sidney Concerning It Still Finds An Echo In

Our Own Day.

Of The Two Best Known Versions Of The Ballad, The One Here Given Is The

More Poetical By Far; The Other, However, Contains The Account Of The

Courage Of Hugh Widdrington Which Has Made The Gallant Squire Immortal.

The Latter Version Is As Evidently English As The Former Is Scottish; Or

Rather, Each Has Grown To Its Present Form As The Reciters Exercised

Their Art To Please An English Or A Scottish Audience. In The One

Version It Is Douglas Who Takes The Offensive, And Challenges Percy,

Waiting For Him At Otterbourne; In The Other We Are Told That

  "The Stout Erle Of Northumberland

  A Vow To God Did Make,

  His Pleasure In The Scottish Woods

  Three Summer Days To Take."

On The Death Of Douglas--

  "Erle Percy Took

  The Dead Man By The Hand,

  And Said, 'Erle Douglas, For Thy Life

  Would I Had Lost My Land!'"

When The Battle Is Over,

  "Next Day Did Many Widdowes Come

  Their Husbands To Bewayle;

  Their Bodyes Bathed In Purple Blood

  They Bore With Them Away;

  They Kist Them Dead A Thousand Times

  Ere They Were Cladd In Clay."

It Was Neither Of These Versions, However, That So Moved The Heart Of

Gallant Sidney, But A Much Older One, Beginning

  "The Perse Owt Off Northomberlande

    And A Vow To God Made He,

  That He Wold Hunt In The Mountayns

    Off Chyviat Within Days Iii."

Other Historical Ballads Are "The Rising Of The North," "The Raid Of The

Reidswire," "Flodden Field," "Homildon Hill" And "Hedgeley Moor."

The Next Division May Be Termed Semi-Historical; That Is, They Treat Of

Events Which Actually Happened, But Which Have Chiefly A Local Interest;

And These May Therefore Be Said To Be More Truly Northumbrian Than Any

Others. Such Are "Jock O' The Side," "Johnnie Armstrong," "Hobbie Noble"

And "The Death Of Parcy Reed."

Of The Third Class, The Romantic Ballads, We Have Not So Rich A Store;

Yet "The Gay Goss-Hawk," The "Nut-Browne Mayde" And The Touchingly

Beautiful "Barthram's Dirge" May Stand Amongst The Best Of Their Kind.

"The Gay Gross-Hawk" Is One Of Those Delightful And Imaginative

Productions Of Which There Are So Many Examples, In Which Birds And

Hounds Share Their Lords' And Ladies' Secrets, And Serve Them Staunchly

In Hours Of Peril; They Belong To The Times When Fairies Were Still Seen

Holding Their Moonlight Revels, When Witches Exercised Their Baleful

Arts, And Fearsome Dragons Wore Still To Be Met And Conquered--"And If

You Do Not Believe It," Said Dr. Spence Watson, "I Am Sorry For You!"

The "Nut-Browne Mayde" Is Supposed To Have Been A Lady Margaret Percy,

Who Lived In The Reign Of Henry Viii.; And The Lover To Whom She Was So

Faithful, Notwithstanding His Trial Of Her Love By Declaring That He Was

An Outlaw, And "Must To The Greenwood Go, Alone, A Banished Man," Was

Henry Clifford, Son Of The Earl Of Westmoreland. The Inordinate Length

Of This Ballad Forbade Its Inclusion In The Present Selection; I Am

Sensible That That Selection May Appear Somewhat Meagre, But Only Want

Of Space Has Prevented The Inclusion Of Others That Many Of My Readers

Would Doubtless Have Been Glad To See.

Of Songs In Dialect, Joe Wilson's "Aw Wish Yor Muthor Wad Cum!" Stands

Easily First; And The Other, "Sair Feyl'd, Hinny!" Is Given As An

Example Of The Northumbrian Muse In Another Mood.

In Conclusion, Let Me Say That Of The Modern Verse Every Example Is From

The Pen Of A Northumbrian.

  Chevy Chase I.

  It Fell About The Lammas Tide,

  When Muir-Men Win Their Hay,

  The Doughty Douglas Bound Him To Ride

  Into England To Drive A Prey.

  He Chose The Gordons And The Graemes,

  With Them The Lindsays, Light And Gay;

  But The Jardines Would Not With Them Ride,

  And They Rue It To This Day.

  And He Has Burned The Dales O' Tyne,

  And Part O' Bamburghshire;

  And Three Good Towers On Reidswire Fells

  He Left Them All On Fire.

  And He Marched Up To New Castel,

  And Rode It Round About;

  "O Wha's The Lord Of This Castel?

  Or Wha's The Lady O't?"

  And Up Spake Proud Lord Percy Then,

  And O! But He Spake Hie!

  "O I'm The Lord Of This Castel,

  My Wife's The Lady Gay."

  "If Thou Art The Lord Of This Castel,

  Sae Weel It Pleases Me!

  For Ere I Cross The Border Fells,

  The Tane Of Us Sall Die."

  He Took A Lang Spere In His Hand

  Shod Wi' The Metal Free,

  And For To Meet The Douglas There

  He Rode Right Furiouslie!

  But Oh! How Pale His Lady Looked

  Frae Off The Castle Wa',

  When Down Before The Scottish Speare

  She Saw Proud Percy Fa'!

  "Had We Twa Been Upon The Green,

  And Never An Eye To See,

  I Wad Hae Had You, Flesh And Fell,

  But Your Sword Shall Gae Wi' Me."

  "But Gae Ye Up To Otterbourne

  And Wait There Dayis Three,

  And If I Come Not Ere Three Dayis End,

  A Fause Knight Ca' Ye Me."

  "The Otterbourne's A Bonnie Burn,

  'Tis Pleasant There To Be;

  But There Is Naught At Otterbourne

  To Feed My Men And Me.

  "The Deer Rins Wild On Hill And Dale,

  The Birds Fly Wild Frae Tree To Tree,

  But There Is Neither Bread Nor Kale

  To Feed My Men And Me.

  "Yet I Will Stay At Otterbourne

  Where You Sall Welcome Be;

  And If Ye Come Not At Three Dayis End

  A Fause Lord I'll Call Thee."

  "Thither Will I Come," Proud Percy Said,

  "By The Might Of Our Ladye!"

  "Thither Will I Bide Thee," Said The Douglas,

  "My Troth I Plight To Thee."

  They Lighted High On Otterbourne,

  Upon The Bent Sae Brown;

  They Lighted High On Otterbourne

  And Threw Their Pallions Down.

  And He That Had A Bonnie Boy,

  Sent Out His Horse To Grass;

  And He That Had Not A Bonnie Boy,

  His Ain Servant He Was.

  And Up Then Spake A Little Foot-Page,

  Before The Peep O' Dawn--

  "O Waken, Waken Ye, My Good Lord,

  The Percy Is Hard At Hand!"

  "Ye Lee, Ye Lee, Ye Leear Loud!

  Sae Loud I Hear Ye Lee!

  For Percy Had Not Men Yestreen

  To Dight My Men And Me!"

  "But I Hae Dreamed A Dreary Dream,

  Beyond The Isle Of Skye;

  I Saw A Dead Man Win A Fight,

  An' I Think That Man Was I."

  He Belted On His Gude Braid-Sword,

  And To The Field He Ran;

  But He Forgot His Helmet Good,

  That Should Have Kept His Brain.

  When Percy Wi' The Douglas Met

  I Wat He Was Fu' Fain!

  They Swakked Their Swords Till Sair They Swat,

  The Blude Ran Down Like Rain.

  But Percy, With His Gude Braid-Sword,

  That Could Sae Sharply Wound,

  Has Stricken Douglas On The Brow,

  Till He Fell To The Ground.

  Then He Called On His Little Foot-Page

  And Said, "Run Speedilie,

  And Fetch My Ain Dear Sister's Son,

  Sir Hugh Montgomerie."

  "My Nephew Good," The Douglas Said,

  "What Recks The Death Of Ane?

  Last Night I Dreamed A Dreary Dream,

  And I Ken The Day's Thy Ain.

  "My Wound Is Deep, I Fain Wad Sleep;

  Take Thou The Vanguard Of The Three,

  And Hide Me By The Bracken Bush

  That Grows On Yonder Lilye Lea.

  "O Bury Me By The Bracken Bush,

  Beneath The Bloomin' Brier;

  Let Never A Living Mortal Ken

  That Ever A Kindly Scot Lies Here."

  He Lifted Up That Noble Lord,

  Wi' The Saut Tear In His E'e;

  He Hid Him In The Bracken Bush

  That His Merrie Men Might Not See.

  The Moon Was Clear, The Day Drew Near,

  The Speres In Flinders Flew,

  And Mony A Gallant Englishman

  Ere Day The Scotsmen Slew.

  The Gordons Gude, In English Blude

  They Steeped Their Hose And Shoon;

  The Lindsays Flew Like Fire About

  Till A' The Fray Was Dune.

  The Percy And Montgomerie Met,

  And Either Of Other Was Fain;

  They Swakkèd Swords, And Sair They Swat,

  And The Blude Ran Doun Like Rain.

  "Now Yield Thee, Yield Thee, Percy!" He Cried;

  "Or Else Will I Lay Thee Low."

  "To Whom Sall I Yield?" Quoth Erle Percy,

  "Sin I See It Maun Be So."

  "Thou Shalt Not Yield To Lord Or Loon,

  Nor Yet Shalt Thou Yield To Me,

  But Thou Shalt Yield To The Bracken Bush

  That Grows On Yon Lilye Lea."

  "I Will Not Yield To A Bracken Bush;

  Nor Yet Will I Yield To A Brier;

  But I Would Yield To Erle Douglas,

  Or Hugh Montgomerie If He Were Here."

  As Soon As He Knew It Was Montgomerie

  He Stuck His Sword's-Point In The Gronde;

  The Montgomerie Was A Courteous Knight,

  And Quickly Took Him By The Honde.

  This Deed Was Done At The Otterbourne,

  About The Breaking Of The Day;

  Erle Douglas Was Buried At The Bracken Bush.

  And The Percy Led Captive Away.

  Jock O' The Side.

  Now Liddesdale Has Ridden A Raid,

  But I Wat They Had Better Hae Staid At Hame;

  For Michael O' Winfield He Is Dead,

  And Jock O' The Side Is Prisoner Ta'en.

  For Mangerton House Lady Downie Has Gane,

  Her Coats She Has Kilted Up To Her Knee;

  And Down The Water Wi' Speed She Rins,

  While Tears In Spates Fa' Fast Frae Her E'e.

  Then Up And Spoke Our Guid Auld Laird--

  "What News, What News, Sister Downie, To Me?"

  "Bad News, Bad News, For Michael Is Killed,

  And They Hae Taken My Son Johnnie."

  "Ne'er Fear, Sister Downie," Quo' Mangerton,

  "I Have Yokes Of Owsen, Twenty And Three,

  My Barns, My Byres, And My Faulds A' Weel Filled,

  I'll Part Wi' Them