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And thro' and thro' him, Jellon Græme,
He gar'd an arrow gang.

Says "Lie ye there, now, Jellon Græme
"My malison gang you wi'!

The place that my mother lies buried in
Is far too good for thee."

VOL. II.

M

KEMP OWAIN.

THIS very singular ballad differs in many respects from "Kempion," which was printed by Sir Walter Scott in the Border Minstrelsy, from the manuscripts of Mrs Brown, with corrections from a recited fragment. It appears in the collections of Messrs Buchan and Motherwell, without any distinct statement of the source from which it was recovered; but I conjecture that we owe it to the industry of Mr Buchan, as the phraseology indicates a north-country recital. In point of poetical merit, I am inclined to rank it above Kempion."

66

There is an English ballad called "The Laidley Worm of Spindelston Heugh," which has a close resemblance to this, at least as regards the story, and which has been attributed to one Duncan Fraser of Cheviot, a bard of the fourteenth century. But the language clearly shows that it is a modern production-indeed, I believe it was always admitted to have been at least re-written by the Rev. Robert Lambe, vicar of Norham; and if that gentleman had any ancient material before him, he has effectually succeeded in disguising it.

Mr Motherwell conjectures that the hero of the ballad was "the same Ewein, or Owain ap Urien, the king of Reged, who is celebrated by the bards Taliessin and Llywarch-Hen, as well as in the Welsh Historical Triades." I must needs confess that I have not sufficient erudition to enable me to form a judgment on such matters, but I may observe that the word Kemp (meaning champion) is of Gothic origin, and does not belong to Wales.

ER mother died when she was young,

HER

Which gave her cause to make great moan;

Her father married the worst woman,

That ever lived in Christendom.

She served her with foot and hand,
In every thing that she could dee,
Till once in an unlucky time,

She threw her in ower Craigy's sea.

Says, "Lie you there, dove Isabel,
And all my sorrows lie with thee ;
Till Kemp Owain come ower the sea,
And borrow you wi' kisses three,
Let all the warld do what they will,
O borrowed shall you never be !"

Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang,
And twisted twice about the tree;
And all the people, far and near,

Thought that a savage beast was she:
That news did come to Kemp Owain,
Where he lived far beyond the sea.

He hasted him to Craigy's sea,

And on the savage beast look'd he,
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,

And twisted was about the tree;

And with a swing she cam' about,

"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me!

"Here is a royal belt," she cried,

"That I hae found in the green sea,

And while your body it is on,
Drawn shall your blood never be;
But if you touch me, tail or fin,

I vow my belt your death shall be !"

He stepped in, gied her a kiss,

The royal belt he brought him wi',
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted twice about the tree;

And with a swing she cam' about,

"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me!

"Here is a royal ring," she said,

"That I have found in the green sea;

And while your finger it is on,

Drawn shall your blood never be ; But if you touch me, tail or fin,

I vow my ring your death shall be !"

He stepped in, gave her a kiss,

The royal ring he brought him wi',
Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,
And twisted ance around the tree;

And with a swing she cam' about,

"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me!

"Here is a royal brand," she said,

"That I have found in the green sea;

And while your body it is on,

Drawn shall your blood never be ;

But if you touch me, tail or fin,

I swear my brand your death shall be !"

He stepped in, gave her a kiss,

The royal brand he brought him wi',

Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,
And twisted nane about the tree
And smilingly she cam' about,

As fair a woman as fair could be.

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