A Scottish Ballad.
by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq.
Originally published in Ainsworth's Magazine: A Miscellany of Romance (Chapman and Hall) vol.1 #2 (Mar 1842).
Lady Margaret was as fair a May
As won in the north countrie;
Alas! that she loved a pirate knight,
Wha wander'd o'er the sea.
And dukes cam frae the Norway shore
That lady's grace to win;
But aye, she loved the pirate more,
Wi' the talse down o'er his chin:
And earls cam baith frae east and west
That maiden bright to see;
But still she loved the pirate best
Wi' the fiend's blink in his ee.
They woo'd her long wi' brooch and ring,
And lays by minstrels sung;
But nae propine gart her decline
That sea-knight's flattering tongue!
They could na meet in lane or street,
Nor yet in hall or bower,—
But they would walk in gude green wood
At the mirk and midnight hour.
And they'd walk on the lone sea sands,
By the pale light o° the moon,
Till morn raise red o'er yonder fell,
And blush'd the waves abune.
Beware, beware, ye maidens fair,
Of chaist and kelpie sprite;
But maist beware your ain sweet love,
Gin ye stray by wan moonlight!
"Now, Willie, gin you love me weel,
As oft ye've said and sworn;
Oh, wed me in yon halie kirk,
Before my babie's born."
"Now, Margaret, gin you love me weel,
Urge no such thing to be,
Till I return frae my father's land,
That's far beyond the sea."
With flowing tide, and ship of pride,
That false knight sail'd away;
And many a tear his true-love shed,
I wot, that dreary day.
And many a langsome look she cast
Atween the sea and air;
And all to spy that stately ship,
In life she ne'er saw mair.
"I weep by day—I weep by night—
The salt tears drown my ee;
I weary for my ain sweet love,
But his face I cannot see."
When six sad months were past and gone,
Her cheek wax'd pale and lean;
* * * * * *
* * * * * *
To braid her hair she didna care,
Nor set her golden kell;
And the tears that cam frae her downcast eyne
Dried, aye, just where they fell.
She fand no rest in the green forest,
Nor yet in hall or bower;
But she was pleased wi' the lonely sands,
At the mirk and midnight hour.
There to the wave she'd fondly rave,
And answer the sea-bird's cry,—
"I see the mast—he comes at last!"
He never mair cam nigh.
"I weep by day—I weep by night—
I weep false Willie's scorn;
But ne'er shall I weep the world's spite,
When my poor babie's born."
Now up and spak her sister Anne,
in the chamber where she lay,—
"I trow I heard fair Margaret cry
On the shore, long long ere day;
"The tide cam on wi' the wild wind's moan,
An hour I couldna sleep—
I trow I heard a lady groan,
But—and a babie weep."
"Now peace, now peace, my sister Anne,
Think no such things to be;
'Twas but the seugh o' the yew-tree boughs
In the wild blast mournfullie."
It was on a night, and an eerie[1] night,
That forth would Margaret fare;
And she's gane to yon lone kirk aisle,
Her kin lay buried there.
She's wander'd up the lang kirk aisle,
Wi' a sob and a weary sigh—
And all by the moon thro' the painted pane,
She cam where her kindred lie.
Now she's gane to her father's grave,
And sained[2] the marble chest,—
"Oh, father dear, mak room for me,
I fain waed find some rest."
"Away, away, thou ill woman,
An ill death mayst thou dee—
Were my coffin all the world wide,
It holds not such as thee."
Now she's gane to her mother's tomb,
And kiss'd the feet of stone,—
"Oh mother sweet, mak room for me,
My days on earth are done."
"Away, away, dear Margaret,—
Away, and let me sleep—
Thou must not stretch thee at my side,
And I downa[3] hear thee weep."
Now she's gane to her brother's grave,
Once dear to him was she,—
"Is there any room in thy coffin, brother,
For I fain would rest with thee?"
"There's nae room in my coffin, sister,
Save for my trusty brand,
And that should smite thee to the heart,
Had I now a fleshly hand."
This lady turn'd her by the shore,
To reach her stately tower,—
And she was aware of a babie wan
As the water-lily flower.
He wore a garland o' the green sea-weed,
And a robe o' the white sea foam—
"Now fair befal thee, babie mine,
I bid thee welcome home.
"When I was in life, Lady Margaret,
Such kindness you did not keep;
The cradle you gave was a rocking wave,
And the sea-gull to sing me asleep."
"Thou sleep'st not worse beneath the brine
Than I on my silken bed;
I canna rest for those hands of thine,
That freeze my brow to lead.
"Thou sleep'st not worse beneath the sand,
Than I amid the down;
I canna rest for thy little feet
That patter my bed arown.
"My days of youth are days of ruth,
I've mickle dread o' pine;
And sorrow's cup, which I've drunk up,
Is bitterer far than brine.
"So I will take a plunge, babie—
I'll take a plunge with thee;
We'll soundlier sleep in other's arms,
For all the roaring sea."
Now Willie was sailing his good ship,
I wot, on a simmer's day;
When up there rose a cloud i' the south,
A dark and drumlie grey.
And howding saftlie o'er the waves,
Between that cloud and the sea,
Twa snow-white birds he thought cam on,
And marvell'd what they might be.
But when they nigh'd the stately ship,
Pale grew the pirate band,—
For there stood a lady clad in white,
Wi' a young boy in her hand.
"That shape is like my Margaret's,
As like as like may be;
But when I look on that blue swollen face,
I canna think it she.
"That neck is as white as Margaret's,
As lang that yellow hair;
But how gat ye that bludie wound,
Bound up with green sea-ware?"
"Leap down—leap down, thou false traitor,
Leap down, leap down, and see;
If thou leap'st not down to me and my babe,
We'll climb the ship to thee."
The lightnings flash, and the wild waves dash,
And dim grew each man's sight—
The stately ship sail'd slowly on,
Without the Pirate Knight.
1. Ghostly—inspiring a fear of spirits.
2. Marked with the sign of the cross.
3. It is difficult to explain downa in English, as Lord Hailes justly observes: here it means—I am unwilling, and it grieves me to hear thee weep.