YOUNG JOHNSTONE.

I MUST acknowledge that I have grave doubts of the antiquity of this ballad in its present shape. The nucleus of it is a fragment contained in Herd's collection, entitled “The Cruel Knight;" but at some period, possibly remote, this seems to have been amplified into the ballad of "Young Johnstone," of which there are various versions, and it has now become part of the Scottish Minstrelsy. The copies given by Finlay, Motherwell, and Gilchrist are almost uniform; but that of Buchan contains one or two stanzas which materially help the story, such as it is. Neither history nor tradition throw any light upon the subject-matter, which, therefore, we may safely suppose to have been invented; and there are certain discrepancies, or rather anachronisms, which convince me that a new ballad has been reared on an old foundation. The military title of "Colonel" is comparatively recent, and does not assort with the "belted knights" and "broad arrows," also specified in the ballad.

If I had any reason to suppose that the ballad, in its present shape, was of merely modern fabrication—that is, made up subsequently to the publication of Herd's volumes -I certainly should have omitted it; but the number of versions extant seems to me to forbid that supposition. But in order to afford my readers an opportunity of forming their own judgment as to its originality, I shall insert, next in order, the fragment as preserved by Herd.

YOUNG Johnstone and the young Col'nel,

Sat drinking at the wine;

"O gin ye wad marry my sister,
It's I wad marry thine."

"I wadna marry your sister,

For a' your houses and land; But I'll keep her for my leman, When I come o'er the strand.

"I wadna marry your sister,
For a' your gowd and fee;
But I'll keep her for my leman,
When I come o'er the sea."

Young Johnstone had a nut-brown sword,
Hung low down by his gair;

And he ritted it through the young Col❜nel,
That word he ne'er spak mair.

But he's awa' to his sister's bower, And he's tirled at the pin ; "Whare hae ye been, my dear brither, Sae late in coming in ?" "I hae been at the schule, sister,

Learning young clerks to sing."

"I've dreamed a dream, this night," she says, "I wish it may be for good;

They were seeking you wi' hawks and hounds, And the young Col'nel was dead."

"It's seeking me wi' hawks and hounds,
I trow that weel may be,
For I hae kill'd the young Col'nel,

And thy ain true-love was he."

"If ye hae kill'd the young Col'nel, O dule and woe is me!

I wish ye may be hang'd on a hie gallows,
And hae nae power to flee !"

And he's awa to his true-love's door,

And he's tirled at the pin;

"Whare hae ye been, my dear Johnstone, Sae late o' coming in ?"

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"O I hae been at the schule," he says, "Learning young clerks to sing.”

"I hae dream'd a dreary dream," she says, "I wish it may be for good;

They were seeking you wi' hawks and hounds, And my ae brither was dead."

"It's seeking me wi' hawks and hounds,

I trow that weel may be ;

For I hae killed the young Col'nel,

"If

And thy ae brother was he."

ye hae kill'd my ae brither,

O dule and wae is me!

But I care the less for the young Col❜nel,
If thy ain body be free.

Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone,

Come in and tak' a sleep,

And I will go to my casement,
And carefully will thee keep."

She hadna well gane up the stair,
And entered in the tower,
Till four-and-twenty belted knights
Came riding to the door.

"O did you see a bloody squire,
A bloody squire was he ;
O did you see a bloody squire
Come riding o'er the lea?"

"What colour were his hawks?" she says,
"What colour were his hounds?
What colour was the gallant steed,
That bore him frae the bounds?"

"Bloody, bloody were his hawks,
And bloody were his hounds,
But milk-white was the gallant steed,
That bore him frae the bounds."

"Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks,
And bloody were his hounds,
And milk-white was the gallant steed,
That bore him frae the bounds.

"But light ye down, now, gentlemen,
And take some bread and wine;
An the steed be swift that he rides on,
He's past the brig o' Tyne."

"We thank you for your bread, lady, We thank you for your wine;

But I wad gie thrice three thousand pounds, That bloody squire were ta'en!"

"Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone,
Lie still and tak' a sleep,

For they that sought for thee are gone,
And carefully I'll thee keep."

But Johnstone had a little wee sword, Hung low down by his gair,

And he's ritted it through his dear lady, And wounded her sae sair.

"What aileth thee now, dear Johnstone? What aileth thee at me?

When I have watch'd to save thy life, Deserved I this from thee?"

"Ohon, alas! my lady dear,
To come sae hastilie!

I thought it was my deadly foe,
Ye had trysted unto me!

"O live, O live, my dear lady,
The space o' ae half-hour !
There's no a leech in a' Scotland,
But shall be in thy bower."

"How can I live, my dear Johnstone? How can I live for thee?

O do ye na see my red heart's blood,
Run trickling down my knee?

"But go thy way, my dear Johnstone,
O go thy way and flee;
For never shall the word be said,
Ye cam' to harm for me."

He hadna weel been out o' stable,
And on his saddle set,

Till four-and-twenty broad arrows,
Were thrilling in his heart.