English and Scottish Ballads Volume IV Part 30

YOUNG CHILD DYRING. See p. 29.

Translated from the _Kj[oe]mpeviser_, in _Ill.u.s.trations of Northern Antiquities_, p. 335.

It was the young Child Dyring, Wi' his mither rede did he: "I will me out ride Sir Magnus's bride to see."

_His leave the page takes to-day from his master._

"Will thou thee out ride, 5 Sir Magnus's bride to see?

Sae beg I thee by Almighty G.o.d Thou speed thee home to me."

_His leave, &c._

Syne answer'd young Child Dyre; He rode the bride to meet; 10 The silk but and the black sendell Hang down to his horse feet.

_His leave, &c._

All rode they there, the bride-folk, On row sae fair to see, Excepting Sir Svend Dyre, 15 And far about rode he.

_His leave, &c._

It was the young Child Dyre rode Alone along the strand; The bridle was of the red gold That glitter'd in his hand. 20 _His leave, &c._

'Twas then proud Lady Ellensborg, And under weed smil'd she; "And who is he, that n.o.ble child That rides sae bold and free?"

_His leave, &c._

Syne up and spak the maiden fair 25 Was next unto the bride; "It is the young Child Dyre That stately steed does ride."

_His leave, &c._

"And is't the young Child Dyre That rides sae bold and free? 30 G.o.d wot, he's dearer that rides that steed Nor a' the lave to me!"

_His leave, &c._

All rode they there, the bridal train, Each rode his steed to stall; All but Child Dyre, that look'd whare he 35 Should find his seat in the hall.

_His leave, &c._

"Sit whare ye list, my lordings; For me, whate'er betide, Here I shall sickerly sit the day, To hald the sun frae the bride." 40 _His leave, &c._

Then up spak the bride's father, And an angry man was he; "Whaever sits by my dochter the day, Ye better awa' wad be."

_His leave, &c._

"It's I have intill Paris been, 45 And well my drift can spell; And ay, whatever I have to say, I tell it best my sell."

_His leave, &c._

"Sooth thou hast intill Paris lear'd A worthless drift to spell, 50 And ay, whatever thou hast to say, A rogue's tale thou must tell."

_His leave, &c._

Ben stept he, young Child Dyre, Nor reck'd he wha might chide; And he has ta'en a chair in hand, 55 And set him by the bride.

_His leave, &c._

'Twas lang i' the night; the bride-folk Ilk ane look'd for his bed; And young Child Dyre amang the lave Speer'd whare he should be laid. 60 _His leave, &c._

"Without, afore the stair steps, Or laigh on the cawsway stane, And there may lye Sir Dyre, For ither bed we've nane."

_His leave, &c._

'Twas ate intill the evening; 65 The bride to bed maun ga; And out went he, Child Dyring, To rouse his menyie a'.

_His leave, &c._

"Now busk and d'on your harna.s.s, But and your brynies blae, 70 And boldly to the bride-bower Full merrily we'll gae."

_His leave, &c._

Sae follow'd they to the bride-bower That bride sae young and bright, And forward stept Child Dyre, 75 And quenched the marriage light.

_His leave, &c._

The cresset they've lit up again, But and the taper clear, And followed to the bride-bower That bride without a peer. 80 _His leave, &c._

And up Child Dyre s.n.a.t.c.h'd the bride, All in his mantle blae, And swung her all so lightly Upon his ambler gray.

_His leave, &c._

They lock'd the bower, they lit the torch, 85 'Twas hurry-scurry a', While merrily ay the lovers gay Rode roundly to the shaw.

_His leave, &c._

In Rosen-wood they turn'd about To pray their bridal prayer; 90 "Good night and joy, Sir Magnus!

For us ye'll see nae mair."

_His leave, &c._

Sae rode he to the green wood, And o'er the meadow green, Till he came to his mither's bower, 95 Ere folks to bed were gane.

_His leave, &c._

Out came proud Lady Metelild, In menevair sae free; She welcom'd him, Child Dyring, And his young bride him wi'. 100 _His leave, &c._

Now joys attend Child Dyring, Sae leal but and sae bold; He's ta'en her to his ain castell, His bride-ale there to hold.

_His leave the page takes to-day frae his master._

BARBARA LIVINGSTON. See p. 38.

Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 304, from recitation.

Four-and-twenty ladies fair Were playing at the ba', And out cam Barbara Livingston, The flower amang them a'.

Out cam Barbara Livingston, 5 The flower amang them a';-- The l.u.s.ty Laird of Linlyon[L7]

Has stoun her clean awa'.

"The hielands is no for me, kind sir, The hielands is no for me; 10 But if you would my favour win, Ye 'll tak me to Dundee."