Read Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) Online
Authors: Homer,William Shakespeare
Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (66 page)
Traditional Ballads
HIE upon Hielands,
and laigh upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell
rode out on a day.
He saddled, he bridled,
5
and gallant rode he,
And hame cam his guid horse,
but never cam he.
Out cam his mother dear,
greeting fu sair,
10
And out cam his bonnie bryde,
riving her hair.
“The meadow lies green,
the corn is unshorn,
But bonnie George Campbell
15
will never return,”
Saddled and bridled
and booted rode he,
A plume in his helmet,
A sword at his knee.
20
But toom cam his saddle,
all bloody to see,
Oh, hame cam his guid horse,
but never cam he!
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Traditional Ballads
LATE at een, drinkin the wine,
Or early in a mornin,
The set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawnin.
“O stay at hame, my noble lord!
5
O stay at hame, my marrow!
My cruel brother will you betray,
On the dowy houms o Yarrow.”
“O fare ye weel, my lady gaye!
O fare ye weel, my Sarah!
10
For I maun gae, tho I neer return
Frae the dowy banks o Yarrow.”
She kissed his cheek, she kaimd his hair,
As she had done before, O;
She belted on his noble brand,
15
An he’s awa to Yarrow.
O he’s gane up yon high, high hill —
I wat he gaed wi sorrow —
And in a den spied nine armd men,
I the dowy houms o Yarrow.
20
“O ir ye come to drink the wine,
As ye hae doon before, O?
Or ir ye come to wield the brand,
On the bonny banks o Yarrow?”
“I im no come to drink the wine,
25
As I hae don before, O,
But I im come to wield the brand,
On the dowy houms o Yarrow.”
Four he hurt, and five he slew,
On the dowy houms o Yarrow,
30
Till that stubborn knight came him behind.
An ran his body thorrow.
“Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John,
And tell your sister Sarah
To come and lift her noble lord,
35
Who’s sleepin sound on Yarrow.”
“Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu dream;
I kend there wad be sorrow;
I dreamd I pu’d the heather green,
On the dowy banks o Yarrow.”
40
She gaed up yon high, high hill —
I wat she gaed wi sorrow —
An in a den spy’d nine dead men,
On the dowy houms o Yarrow.
She kissed his cheek, she kaimd his hair,
45
As oft she did before, O;
She drank the red blood frae him ran,
On the dowy houms o Yarrow.
“O haud your tongue, my douchter dear,
For what needs a’ this sorrow?
50
I’ll wed you on a better lord
Than him you lost on Yarrow.”
“O haud your tongue, my father dear,
An dinna grieve your Sarah;
A better lord was never born
55
Than him I lost on Yarrow.
“Tak hame your ousen, tak hame your kye,
For they hae bred our sorrow;
I wiss that they had a’ gane mad
Whan they cam first to Yarrow.”
60
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Traditional Ballads
WORD’S gane to the kitchen,
And word’s gane to the ha,
That Marie Hamilton has born a bairn
To the hichest Stewart of a’.
She’s tyed it in her apron
5
And she’s thrown it in the sea;
Says, ‘Sink ye, swim ye, bonny wee babe,
You’ll ne’er get mair o me.’
Down then cam the auld Queen,
Goud tassels tying her hair:
10
‘O Marie, where’s the bonny wee babe
That I heard greet sae sair?’
‘There was never a babe intill my room,
As little designs to be;
It was but a touch o my sair side,
15
Came o’er my fair bodie.’
‘O Marie, put on your robes o black,
Or else your robes o brown,
For ye maun gang wi me the night,
To see fair Edinbro town.’
20
‘I winna put on my robes o black,
Nor yet my robes o brown;
But I’ll put on my robes o white,
To shine through Edinbro town.’
When she gaed up the Cannogate,
25
She laughd loud laughters three;
But when she cam down the Cannogate
The tear blinded her ee.
When she gaed up the Parliament stair,
The heel cam aff her shee;
30
And lang or she cam down again
She was condemnd to dee.
When she came down the Cannogate,
The Cannogate sae free,
Many a ladie lookd o’er her window,
35
Weeping for this ladie.
‘Make never meen for me,’ she says,
‘Make never meen for me;
Seek never grace frae a graceless face,
For that ye’ll never see.
40
‘Bring me a bottle of wine,’ she says,
‘The best that eer ye hae,’
That I may drink to my weil-wishers,
And they may drink to me.
‘And here’s to the jolly sailor lad
45
That sails upon the faem;
And let not my father nor mother get wit
But that I shall come again.
‘And here’s to the jolly sailor lad
That sails upon the sea;
50
But let not my father nor mother get wit
O the death that I maun dee.
‘O little did my mother think,
The day she cradled me,
What lands I was to travel through,
55
What death I was to dee.
‘O little did my father think,
The day he held up me,
What lands I was to travel through,
What death I was to dee.
60
‘Last nicht I washd the Queen’s feet,
And gently laid her down;
And a’ the thanks I’ve gotten the nicht
To be hangd in Edinbro town!
‘Last nicht there was four Maries,
65
The nicht there’ll be but three;
There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beton,
And Marie Carmichael, and me.’
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
Traditional Ballads
INVEREY cam doun Deeside, whistlin and playin,
He was at brave Braikley’s yett ere it was dawin.
He rappit fu loudly an wi a great roar,
Cried, ‘Cum doun, cum doun, Braikley, and open the door.
‘Are ye sleepin, Baronne, or are ye wakin?
5
Ther’s sharpe swords at your yett, will gar your blood spin.
‘Open the yett, Braikley, and lat us within,
Till we on the green turf gar your bluid rin.’
Up spak his ladie, at his bak where she lay,
‘Get up, get up, Braikley, an be not afraid;
10
The’r but young hir’d widifus wi belted plaids.’
‘Cum kiss me, mi Peggy, I’le nae langer stay,
For I will go out and meet Inverey.
‘But haud your tongue, Peggy, and mak nae sic din,
For yon same hir’d widifus will prove themselves men.’
15
She called on her marys, they cam to her hand;
Cries, ‘Bring me your rocks, lassies, we will them command.
‘Get up, get up, Braikley, and turn bak your ky.
Or me an mi women will them defy.
‘Cum forth then, mi maidens, and show them some play;
20
We’ll ficht them, and shortly the cowards will fly.
‘Gin I had a husband, whereas I hae nane,
He woud nae ly i his bed and see his ky taen.
‘Ther’s four-and-twenty milk-whit calves, twal o them ky,
In the woods o Glentanner, it’s ther thei a’ ly.
25
‘Ther’s goat i the Etnach, and sheep o the brae,
An a’ will be plundered by young Inverey.’
‘Now haud your tongue, Peggy, and gie me a gun,
Ye’ll see me gae furth, but I’ll never cum in.
‘Call mi brother William, mi unkl also,
30
Mi cousin James Gordon; we’ll mount and we’ll go.’
When Braikley was ready and stood i the closs,
He was the bravest baronne that eer mounted horse.
Whan all wer assembled o the castell green,
No man like brave Braikley was ther to be seen.
35
. . . . . . .
‘Turn bak, brother William, ye are a bridegroom;
‘Wi bonnie Jean Gordon, the maid o the mill;
O sichin and sobbin she’ll soon get her fill.’
‘I’m no coward, brother, ’tis kend I’m a man;
‘I’ll ficht, my dear brother, wi heart and gudewill,
40
‘I’ll ficht i your quarral as lang’s I can stand.
And so will young Harry that lives at the mill.
‘But turn, mi dear brother, and nae langer stay:
What’ll cum o your ladie, gin Braikley thei slay?
‘What’ll cum o your ladie and bonnie young son?
45
O what’ll cum o them when Braikley is gone?’
‘I never will turn: do you think I will fly?
But here I will ficht, and here I will die.’
‘Strik dogs,’ crys Inverey, ‘and ficht till ye’re slayn,
For we are four hundred, ye are but four men.
50
‘Strik, strik, ye proud boaster, your honour is gone,
Your lands we will plunder, your castell we’ll burn.’
At the head o the Etnach the battel began,
At Little Auchoilzie thei killd the first man.
First thei killd ane, and soon they killd twa,
55
Thei killd gallant Braikley, the flour o them a’,
Thei killd William Gordon, and James o the Knox,
And brave Alexander, the flour o Glenmuick.
What sichin and moaning was heard i the glen,
For the Baronne o Braikley, who basely was slayn!
60
‘Cam ye bi the castell, and was ye in there?
Saw ye pretty Peggy tearing her hair?’
‘Yes, I cam by Braikley, and I gaed in there,
And there saw his ladie braiding her hair.
‘She was rantin, and dancin, and singin for joy,
65
And vowin that nicht she woud feest Inverey.
‘She eat wi him, drank wi him, welcomd him in,
Was kind to the man that had slain her baronne.’
Up spake the son on the nourice’s knee,
‘Gin I live to be a man, revenged I’ll be.’
70
Ther’s dool i the kitchin, and mirth i the ha,
The Baronne o Braikley is dead and awa.
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
