She plunged in, the torrent moan'd The maid was seen no more.-But oft Her ghost is known to glide, At midnight's silent, solemn hour, [This ballad was written by James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, and is taken from his Queen's Wake,' which was first published in 1813. I was,' he tells us, in the Autobiography' prefixed to his Poetical Works, Glasgow, 1838,- forty years of age before I wrote the Queen's Wake. With regard to the origin of the ballad, or the circumstances, real or supposed, upon which it was founded. the Shepherd gives but little information. He says, indeed, that the catastrophe of this tale is founded upon popular tradition. But of the particulars of that tradition, or the locality to which it is peculiar, or any other matter connected therewith. he says nothing. And it is matter of regret that on so interesting a subject we are obliged to leave the reader in the ignorance in which we find him] "It fearis me muckil ye haif seen Quhat guid man never knew; It fearis me muckil ye haif been Quhare the gray cock never crew. "But the spell may crack, and the brydel breck, Then sherpe yer werde will be ; Ye had better sleippe in yer bed at hame, "Sit doune, sit doune, my leil auld man, I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown, "But tell nae wordis, my guid auld man, Tell never word again; Or deire shall be yer courtisye, And driche and sair yer pain. "The first leet night, quhan the new moon set, We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif, "Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit, But mine was made of ane humloke schaw, "We raide the tod doune on the hill, And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe, 'Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne? Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame, "And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide, "And quhan we cam' to the Lommond height, Se lythlye we lychtid doune ; And we drank fra the hornis that never grew, The beer that was never browin. "Then up there raise ane wee wee man, "He set ane reid-pipe til his muthe, Till the gray curlew and the black-cock flew "It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond, "It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond, That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy holis, "The corby craw cam' gledgin' near, The ern ged veeryng bye; And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch, "And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond, Ne wonder I was a weary wycht Quhan I cam' hame to you." "Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird wyfe, Qe wald better haif bein in yer bed at hame, "The second nycht, quhan the new moon set, O'er the roaryng sea we flew ; The cockle-shell our trusty bark, Our sailis of the grein sea-rue. "And the bauld windis blew, and the fire-flauchtis flew, And the sea ran to the skie; And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit, "And aye we mountit the sea-grein hillis, Quhill we brushit through the cludis of the hevin ; Than sousit dounright like the stern-shot light, "But our taickil stood, and our bark was good, "As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale, We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale, "And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan, And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the woode, And we left the shouir behynde. "Fleit is the roe on the grein Lommond, And swift is the couryng grew, The rein-deir dun can eithly run, Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue. "But nowther the roe, nor the rein-deir dun, Culde fly owr montaine, muir, and dale, "The dales war deep, and the Doffrinis steep, And we raise to the skyis ee-bree; Quhite, quhite was our rode, that was never trode, Owr the snawis of eternity! "And quhan we cam' to the Lapland lone, The fairies war all in array; For all the genii of the north "The warlock men and the weird wemyng, "And they washit us all with the witch-water, Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose, "Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womyne, Se loud as I heir ye lee! For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe |