And on the smalle greene twistis sat
The little sweete nightingale, and sung
So loud and clear, the hymnis consecrat
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among,
That all the gardens and the wallis rung
Right of their song.
-Cast I down mine eyes again
Where as I saw, walking under the Tower,
Full secretly, new comen hear to plain,
The fairest and the freshest young flower
That ever I saw, methought, before that hour,
For which sudden abate, anon astart,
The blood of all my body to my heart.
And though I stood abasit tho a lite,
No wonder was; for why? my wittis all
Were so o'ercome with pleasance and delight,
Only through letting of my eyen fall,
That suddenly my heart became her thrall,
For ever of free will-for of menace
There was no token in her sweete face.
And in my head I drew right hastily,
And eftesoons I leant it out again,
And saw her walk that very womanly
With no wight mo', but only women twain.
Then gan I study in myself, and sayn:
Ah, sweet! are ye a worldly creature,
Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature?
'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess,
And comin are to loose me out of band?
Or are ye very Nature the goddess,
That have depainted with your heavenly hand,
This garden full of flowers as they stand?
What shall I think, alas! what reverence
Shall I mister unto your excellence?
'If ye a goddess be, and that ye like
To do me pain, I may it not astart:
If ye be warldly wight, that doth me sike
Why list God make you so, my dearest heart,
To do a seely prisoner this smart,
That loves you all, and wot of nought but wo?
And therefore mercy, sweet! sin' it is so.'
Of her array the form if I shall write,
Towards her golden hair and rich attire,
In fretwise couchit with pearlis white
And great balas leaming as the fire,
With mony ane emeraut and fair sapphire;
And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue,
Of plumis parted red, and white, and blue.
Full of quaking spangis bright as gold.
Forged of shape like to the amorets,
So new, so fresh, so pleasant to behold
The plumis eke like to the flower jonets;
And other of shape, like to the flower jonets;
And above all this, there was, well I wot,
Beauty enough to make a world to dote.
About her neck, white as the fire amail,
A goodly chain of small orfevory,
Whereby there hung a ruby, without fail,
Like to ane heart shapen verily,
That as a spark of lowe so wantonly
Seemed burning upon her white throat,
Now if there was good party, God it wot.
And when she walked had, a little thraw,
Under the sweete greene boughis bent,
Her fair fresh face, as white as any snaw,
She turned has, and furth her wayis went ;
But tho began mine aches and torment,
To see her part and follow I na might;
Methought the day was turned into night.
CHRIST'S KIRK OF THE GREEN.
WAS never in Scotland heard nor seen
Sic dancing nor deray,
Nouther at Falkland on the Green,
Nor Peebliss at the Play,
As was of wooers, as I ween,
At Christ's Kirk on ane day:
There came our Kittys, washen clean,
In their new kirtles of gray,
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.
To dance thir damsellis them dight,
Thir lasses light of laits,
Their gloves were of the raffel right,
Their shoon were of the Straits,
Their kirtles were of Lincoln light,
Weel prest with many plaits,
They were so nice when men them nicht,
They squealit like ony gaits
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.
Of all thir maidens mild as mead,
Was nane so jimp as Gillie,
As ony rose her rood was red,
Her lyre was like the lily.
Fu' yellow, yellow was her head,
manners
deerskin
shoes, morocco
But she of love was silly;
Though all her kin had sworn her dead,
She would have but sweet Willie
At Christ's Kirk of the Green that day.
Of this Scottish minstrel poet little is known, but that he was blind from his earliest years, and that he gained his living by reciting and singing his compositions before company. "The Adventures of Sir William Wallace," written about 1450, is still a great favourite with the Scottish peasantry, who regard it as the trumpet-note of liberty, a modernised Scotch version having been made some time ago by Hamilton of Gilbertfield. It was the study of this work which had such an effect in kindling the genius of Burns. The poem is evidently founded on the traditions current at that time, a century and half after the times of Wallace.
WALLACE FISHING IN IRVINE WATER.
So on a time he desired to play
In Aperil the three-and-twenty day,
Till Irvine water fish to tak he went,
Sic fantasy fell in his intent.
To lead his net a child furth with him yede;
But he, or noon, was in a fellon dread.
His swerd he left, so did he never again;
It did him gude, suppose he suffered pain.
Of that labour as than he was not slie,
Happy he was, took fish abundantly.
Or of the day ten hours o'er couth pass.
Ridand there came, near by where Wallace was,
The Lord Percy, was captain than of Ayr ;
Frae then' he turned, and couth to Glasgow fare.
Part of the court had Wallace' labour seen,
Till him rade five, clad into ganand green,
And said soon: Scot, Martin's fish we wald have!'
Wallace meekly again answer him gave:
'It were reason, methink, ye should have part,
Waith should be dealt, in all place, with free heart.'
He bade his child, 'Give them of our waithing.'
The Southron said; As now of thy dealing
We will not tak; thou wald give us o'er small.'
He lighted down and frae the child took all.
Wallace said then: 'Gentlemen gif ye be,
Leave us some part, we pray for charity.
Ane aged knight serves our lady to-day :
Gude friend, leave part, and tak not all away.'
'Thou shall have leave to fish, and tak thee mae,
All this forsooth shall in our flitting gae.
We serve a lord; this fish shall till him gang.'
Wallace answered, said: 'Thou art in the wrang.'
'Wham thous thou, Scot? in faith thou 'serves a blaw.' blow
Till him he ran, and out a swerd gan draw.
William was wae he had nae wappins there
But the poutstaff, the whilk in hand he bare.
Wallace with it fast on the cheek him took,
With sae gude will, while of his feet he shook.
The swerd flew frae him a fur-breid on the land.
Wallace was glad, and hint it soon in hand;
And with the swerd awkward he him gave
Under the hat, his craig in sunder drave.
By that the lave lighted about Wallace,
He had no help, only but God's grace.
On either side full fast on him they dang,
Great peril was gif they had lasted lang.
Upon the head in great ire he strak ane;
The shearand swerd glade to the collar bane.
Ane other on the arm he hit so hardily,
While hand and swerd baith in the field gan lie.
The tother twa fled to their horse again;
He stickit him was last upon the plain.
Three slew he there, twa fled with all their might
After their lord; but he was out of sight,
Takand the muir, or he and they couth twine.
Till him they rade anon, or they wald blin,
And cryit: 'Lord abide; your men are martyred down
Right cruelly, here in this false region.
Five of our court here at the water bade,
Fish for to bring, though it nae profit made.
We are scaped, but in field slain are three.'
The lord speirit: How mony might they be?'
'We saw but ane that has discomfist us all'
Then leugh he loud, and said: 'Foul mot you fall!
Sin' ane you all has put to confusion.
Wha meins it maist the devil of hell him drown!
This day for me, in faith, he bees not sought.'
When Wallace thus this worthy wark had wrought,
Their horse he took, and gear that left was there,
Gave ower that craft, he yede to fish nae mair.
THE author of this remarkable ballad is Richard Sheale, an Englishman, but the date is unknown. This modernised version was made about 1420 to 1460.
CHEVY-CHASE.
GoD prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safeties all;
A woful hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chase befall.
To drive the deer with hound and horn
Earl Percy took his way;
The child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day.
The stout Earl of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,
His pleasure in the Scottish woods
Three summer days to take;
The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chase
To kill and bear away.
These tidings to Earl Douglas came,
In Scotland where he lay :
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