A Collection of Ballads by Andrew Lang (little red riding hood read aloud .txt) 📕

o’er ditch, o’er stark, She flang amang them a’, man; The butter-box got many knocks, Their riggings paid for a’ then. They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks, Which to their grief they saw, man: Wi clinkum, clankum o’er their crowns, The lads began to fa’ then.

Hur skipt about, hur leapt about, And flang amang them a’, man; The English blades got broken beads, Their crowns were cleav’d in twa then. The durk and door made their last hour, And prov’d their final fa’, man; They thought the devil had been there, That play’d them sic a paw then.

The Solemn League and Covenant Came whigging up the hills, man; Thought Highland trews durst not refuse For to subscribe their bills then. In Willie’s name, they thought nag ane Durst stop their course at a’, man, But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock, Cry’d, “Furich—Whigs awa’,” man.

Sir Evan Du, and his men true, Came linking up the brink, man; The Hogan Dutch they feared such, They bred a horrid stink then. The true Maclean and his fierce men Came in amang them a’, man; Nane durst withstand his heavy hand. All fled and ran awa’ then.

Oh’ on a ri, Oh’ on a ri, Why should she lose King Shames, man? Oh’ rig in di, Oh’ rig in di, She shall break a’ her banes then; With furichinish, an’ stay a while, And speak a word or twa, man, She’s gi’ a straike, out o’er the neck, Before ye win awa’ then.

Oh fy for shame, ye’re three for ane, Hur-nane-sell’s won the day, man; King Shames’ red-coats should be hung up, Because they ran awa’ then. Had bent their brows, like Highland trows, And made as lang a stay, man, They’d sav’d their king, that sacred thing, And Willie’d ran awa’ then.

 

Ballad: Annan Water

 

(Child, vol. ii. Early Edition.)

“Annan water’s wading deep, And my love Annie’s wondrous bonny; And I am laith she suld weet her feet, Because I love her best of ony.

“Gar saddle me the bonny black,— Gar saddle sune, and make him ready: For I will down the Gatehope-Slack, And all to see my bonny ladye.”—

He has loupen on the bonny black, He stirr’d him wi’ the spur right sairly; But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack, I think the steed was wae and weary.

He has loupen on the bonny gray, He rade the right gate and the ready; I trow he would neither stint nor stay, For he was seeking his bonny ladye.

O he has ridden o’er field and fell, Through muir and moss, and mony a mire; His spurs o’ steel were sair to bide, And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.

“Now, bonny grey, now play your part! Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, Wi’ corn and hay ye’se be fed for aye, And never spur sall make you wearie.”

The gray was a mare, and a right good mare; But when she wan the Annan water, She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair, Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.

“O boatman, boatman, put off your boat! Put off your boat for gowden monie! I cross the drumly stream the night, Or never mair I see my honey.”—

“O I was sworn sae late yestreen, And not by ae aith, but by many; And for a’ the gowd in fair Scotland, I dare na take ye through to Annie.”

The side was stey, and the bottom deep, Frae bank to brae the water pouring; And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear, For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.

O he has pou’d aff his dapperpy coat, The silver buttons glanced bonny; The waistcoat bursted aff his breast, He was sae full of melancholy.

He has ta’en the ford at that stream tail; I wot he swam both strong and steady; But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail, And he never saw his bonny ladye.

“O wae betide the frush saugh wand! And wae betide the bush of brier! It brake into my true love’s hand, When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.

“And wae betide ye, Annan water, This night that ye are a drumlie river! For over thee I’ll build a bridge, That ye never more true love may sever.”—

 

Ballad: The Elphin Nourrice

 

(C. K. Sharpe.)

I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, An’ a cow low down in yon glen; Lang, lang will my young son greet, Or his mither bid him come ben.

I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, An’ a cow low down in yon fauld; Lang, lang will my young son greet, Or is mither take him frae cauld.

Waken, Queen of Elfan, An hear your Nourrice moan. O moan ye for your meat, Or moan ye for your fee, Or moan ye for the ither bounties That ladies are wont to gie?

I moan na for my meat, Nor yet for my fee, But I mourn for Christened land— It’s there I fain would be.

O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says, Till he stan’ at your knee, An’ ye’s win hame to Christen land, Whar fain it’s ye wad be.

O keep my bairn, Nourice, Till he gang by the hauld, An’ ye’s win hame to your young son, Ye left in four nights auld.

 

Ballad: Cospatrick

 

(Mackay.)

Cospatrick has sent o’er the faem; Cospatrick brought his ladye hame; And fourscore ships have come her wi’, The ladye by the greenwood tree.

There were twal’ and twal’ wi’ baken bread, And twal’ and twal’ wi’ gowd sae red, And twal’ and twal’ wi’ bouted flour, And twal’ and twal’ wi’ the paramour.

Sweet Willy was a widow’s son, And at her stirrup he did run; And she was clad in the finest pall, But aye she loot the tears down fall.

“O is your saddle set awrye? Or rides your steed for you owre high? Or are you mourning, in your tide, That you suld be Cospatrick’s bride?”

“I am not mourning, at this tide, That I suld he Cospatrick’s bride; But I am sorrowing in my mood, That I suld leave my mother good.”

“But, gentle boy, come tell to me, What is the custom of thy countrie?” “The custom thereof, my dame,” he says, “Will ill a gentle ladye please.

“Seven king’s daughters has our lord wedded, And seven king’s daughters has our lord bedded; But he’s cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane, And sent them mourning hame again.

“Yet, gin you’re sure that you’re a maid, Ye may gae safely to his bed; But gif o’ that ye be na sure, Then hire some damsel o’ your bour.”

The ladye’s called her bour-maiden, That waiting was unto her train. “Five thousand marks I’ll gie to thee, To sleep this night with my lord for me.”

When bells were rung, and mass was sayne, And a’ men unto bed were gane, Cospatrick and the bonny maid, Into ae chamber they were laid.

“Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed, And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web; And speak, my sword, that winna lie, Is this a true maiden that lies by me?”

“It is not a maid that you hae wedded, But it is a maid that you hae bedded; It is a leal maiden that lies by thee, But not the maiden that it should be.”

O wrathfully he left the bed, And wrathfully his claes on did; And he has ta’en him through the ha’, And on his mother he did ca’.

“I am the most unhappy man, That ever was in Christen land? I courted a maiden, meik and mild, And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi’ child.”

“O stay, my son, into this ha’, And sport ye wi’ your merry men a’; And I will to the secret bour, To see how it fares wi’ your paramour.”

The carline she was stark and stare, She aff the hinges dang the dure. “O is your bairn to laird or loun, Or is it to your father’s groom?”

“O hear me, mother, on my knee, Till my sad story I tell to thee: O we were sisters, sisters seven, We were the fairest under heaven.

“It fell on a summer’s afternoon, When a’ our toilsome work was done, We coost the kevils us amang, To see which suld to the greenwood gang.

“Ohon! alas, for I was youngest, And aye my weird it was the strongest! The kevil it on me did fa’, Whilk was the cause of a’ my woe.

“For to the greenwood I maun gae, To pu’ the red rose and the slae; To pu’ the red rose and the thyme, To deck my mother’s bour and mine.

“I hadna pu’d a flower but ane, When by there came a gallant hinde, Wi’ high colled hose and laigh colled shoon, And he seemed to be some king’s son.

“And be I maid, or be I nae, He kept me there till the close o’ day; And be I maid, or be I nane, He kept me there till the day was done.

“He gae me a lock o’ his yellow hair, And bade me keep it ever mair; He gae me a carknet o’ bonny beads, And bade me keep it against my needs.

“He gae to me a gay gold ring, And bade me keep it abune a’ thing.” “What did ye wi’ the tokens rare, That ye gat frae that gallant there?”

“O bring that coffer unto me, And a’ the tokens ye sall see.” “Now stay, daughter, your bour within, While I gae parley wi’ my son.”

O she has ta’en her thro’ the ha’, And on her son began to ca’: “What did ye wi’ the bonny beads, I bade ye keep against your needs?

“What did you wi’ the gay gold ring, I bade you keep abune a’ thing?” “I gae them to a ladye gay, I met in greenwood on a day.

“But I wad gie a’ my halls and tours, I had that ladye within my bours, But I wad gie my very life, I had that ladye to my wife.”

“Now keep, my son, your ha’s and tours; Ye have that bright burd in your bours; And keep, my son, your very life; Ye have that ladye to your wife.”

Now, or a month was come and gane, The ladye bore a bonny son; And ‘twas written on his breast-bane, “Cospatrick is my father’s name.”

 

Ballad: Johnnie Armstrang

 

Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds, And sic like men of high degree; Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Some time call’d Laird of Gilnockie.

The king he writes a loving letter, With his ain hand sae tenderlie, And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang, To come and speak with him speedilie.

The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene, They were a gallant companie: “We’ll ride and meet our lawful king, And bring him safe to Gilnockie.

“Make kinnen {3} and capon ready, then, And venison in great plentie; We’ll welcome here our royal king; I hope he’ll dine at Gilnockie!”

They ran their horse on the Langholm howm, And brake their spears with meikle main; The ladies lookit frae their loft windows— “God bring our men weel hame again!”

When Johnnie came before the king, With all his men sae brave to see, The king he moved his bonnet to him; He ween’d he was a king as well as he.

“May I find grace, my sovereign liege, Grace for my loyal men and me? For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang, And a subject of yours, my liege,” said he.

“Away, away, thou traitor strang! Out of my sight soon may’st thou be! I granted never a traitor’s life, And now I’ll