"Ye'll plough it wi' your blawing horn, (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) And ye will sow it wi' pepper corn,

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

"And ye maun harrow't wi' a single tyne, (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)

And shear it wi' a sheep's shank bane ;
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

And bigg a cart o' lime and stane,
(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)
And Robin Redbreast maun trail it hame,
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

And ye maun barn it in a mouse-hole,

(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,)

And ye maun thresh it in your shoe sole;
(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

"And ye maun winnow it wi' your loof, (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) And ye maun sack it in your glove;

66

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

And ye maun dry it, but candle or coal,

(Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) And ye maun grind it, but quern or mill;

(And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

66 When ye hae done, and finish'd your wark, (Blaw, blaw, blaw winds, blaw,) Then come to me, and ye'se get your sark!" (And the wind has blawn my plaid awa'.)

VOL. II.

B

EDWARD.

THIS ballad was first printed in Percy's "Reliques," from a manuscript transmitted by Lord Hailes. In that copy the spelling is so peculiar as to have excited suspicion in certain quarters that the ballad was not genuine, but was, like 'Hardyknute," an ingenious modern invention. This is,

however, by far too slender a ground to justify such an impugnment. Most of the Scottish ballads in the "Reliques" are given with the same kind of orthography; and it was in order to make it conformable to ancient practice, that the spelling of "Hardyknute" is so elaborately antique. But speculation on this point is unnecessary, because there is a ruder version of the same ballad still current in Scotland, which has been given by Mr Motherwell under the title of "Son Davie." It commences thus :

"What bluid's that on thy coat-lap?

Son Davie ! son Davie !

What bluid's that on thy coat-lap?
And the truth come tell to me 0."

"It is the bluid of my great hawk,
Mother lady mother lady!

It is the bluid of my great hawk,

And the truth I hae tauld to thee O."

It is not at all improbable that Mr Motherwell's version is the true one, and that "Edward" was altered by Lord Hailes, before it was transmitted to Percy. But as that is

merely conjectural, I adhere to the version first printed, more especially because it was afterwards adopted by Herd in his collection, with a reasonable change of orthography.

"WHY

HY does your brand sae drap wi' blude,
Edward, Edward?

Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude,

And why sae sad gang ye, O?"

"O, I hae killed my hawk sae gude,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my hawk sae gude :
And I hae nae mair but he, O."

"Your hawk's blude was never sae red,

Edward, Edward:

Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
My dear son, I tell thee, O."

"O, I hae killed my red-roan steed,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae killed my red-roan steed,
That erst was fair and free, O."

"Your steed was auld, and ye hae gat mair,

Edward, Edward :

Your steed was auld, and ye hae gat mair;
Some other dule ye drie, O."

"O, I hae killed my father dear,

Mither, mither :

O, I hae killed my father dear,

Alas! and wae is me, O."

"And whatten penance will ye drie for that, Edward, Edward ?

And whatten penance will ye drie for that?
My dear son, now tell me, O."

Mither, mither:

"I'll set my feet in yonder boat,

I'll set my feet in yonder boat,

And I'll fare over the sea, O."

"And what will ye do wi' your touirs and your ha', Edward, Edward?

And what will ye do wi' your touirs and your ha', That were sae fair to see, O?"

"I'll let them stand till they doun fa',

Mither, mither:

I'll let them stand till they doun fa';

For here never mair maun I be, O."

"And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, Edward, Edward ?

And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, When ye gang over the sea, O ?”

"The warld's room : let them beg through life,
Mither, mither :

The warld's room : let them beg through life;
For them never mair will I see, O."

"And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear?
My dear son, now tell me, O."

"The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear,

Mither, mither:

The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear,

Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!"

LORD BEICHAN.

Ir would, I apprehend, be a waste of time to inquire whether the hero of this ancient and very curious ballad, can be identified with any individual belonging to the families of a'Becket, Buchan, or Bateman. Even if that enigma could be satisfactorily solved, a more difficult one yet remains; for what oriental or Saracenic female name can be found, bearing even a faint resemblance to that of Susie Pye? I conjecture that this was originally an English ballad, introduced, possibly at a remote period, into Scotland, and handed over to the tender mercies of the reciters, who have made wild work of it; there being at least half-a-dozen versions extant, from some of which this copy is compiled. The best are to be found in the publications of Messrs Jamieson and Kinloch; and I charge myself with the guilt of inserting two stanzas, for the sake of connecting parts of the story.

In Mr Jamieson's collection there is a ballad called "Young Bekie," which that gentleman considers to be a variation of the following ditty. The incidents certainly are similar, but the language is different; and I am inclined to think that we have here another instance of the appropriation of a theme, without any kind of attempt to take possession of the words. As this is a matter of some interest, I shall insert the ballad of "Young Bekie" in the present volume.

YOUNG

PART I.

Beichan was in London born;
He was a man of high degree;

He pass'd through mony kingdoms great,

Until he came to Grand Turkie.