Between the sun and moon;
And she’s done on her kaims of gold,
Her gold gown and her shoon.
She’s tied her hair in three witch knots,
I wot, abune her bonny een;
And for her hair and her body,
I wot she might have been a queen.
“I wish the sickle was in the rye,
And the rye was ower my head;
And aye the next rose I shall gather,
I wish the white may be the red.”
She’s tane the keys intil her hands
Between the red sun and the moon;
The rain ran down upon the grass,
And stained in her silk shoon.
She’s tane the keys to her girdle-tie
Between the warm sun and the weet;
The rain that was between the grass and rye,
Ran down upon her feet
“O whatten a burd is yonder burd
That shines about her head?”
“It is but Helen my ae daughter
Has clad hersell wi’ red.”
“O where gat she thae stones of price,
The warst might serve a queen?”
“It is but for the summer season
She’s clad hersell wi’ green.”
Lady Helen knelt upon her knees,
She knelt upon her yellow hair;
“Hae back your keys, my dear father,
God give you weel to fare.”
Lady Helen knelt into the dust,
She knelt upon the roadway stane;
“And God you keep, madame, my mither,
As I shall be your ain.”
Out then spak the new-come bride,
I wot she spak wi’ pain and care;
“O some hae gold to weave, Helen,
And some hae gold to wear.”
Out then spak the witch-mother,
I wot she spak fu’ little worth;
“Look where my saddle sits, Helen,
Ye’ll stand against the saddle-girth.”
She’s tane the red kaims frae her hair,
The red shoon frae her feet;
She’s set her face to the saddle-stirrup,
That nane should hear her greet
And aye she ran, and weel she ran
Till her sides were waxen sair;
And the sun that was upon the ways
Had burnt her through her hair.
They hadna ridden a mile but three
When she was fain to bide;
For the blood was come upon her feet
And the pain upon her side.
And whiles she ran, and whiles she grat,
In the warm sun and the cold,
Till they came to the bonny castle
Was bigged upon with gold.
“O see ye not thae towers, Helen,
Where ye gat meat and wine?
It’s I maun ligg in the braw bride-chamber,
And ye maun ligg wi’ swine.
“O see ye not thae halls, Helen,
Where ye gat silk to wear?
It’s I shall hae the gold gowns on,
When your body is bare.”
“O ye’ll sit in the braw guest-chamber,
And ye’ll drink white and red;
But ye’ll gar them gie me the washing water,
The meats and the broken bread?”
“Ye’ll get nae chine o’ the broken loaves,
The white bread wi’ the brown;
Ye’ll drink of the rain and the puddle water
My maids shall cast ye down.”
“O ye’ll sit in the braw guest-chamber
Wi’ the gowd braids on your hair;
But ye’ll gie me a poor coat and a smock
For my body to wear?
“O I shall ligg i’ the trodden straw,
And ye in a gold bride-bed;
But ye’ll gie me a claith to hap my feet,
And a claith to hap my head?”
“Ye’ll get no claith to hap you in,
Ye’ll get no coats of me;
Ye’ll get nae mair but a riven smock
To wear on your body.”
And she’s ate of the foul swine’s meat
With her saft lips and fine;
She’s put her mouth to the rank water,
Was poured amang the swine.
Never ae word spak Lady Helen,
Never ae word but twa;
“O gin my mither had hands to help,
I wad be weel holpen awa’.”
Never ae word spak Lady Helen,
Never ae word but three;
“O gin my mither had lips to kiss,
Sae weel she wad kiss me!
“She wad kiss me on my ravelled hair,
The foul cheek and the chin;
She wad kiss me on the weary mouth,
Where the rank water gaed in.”
Out then came the witch mother:
“What ails ye now to greet?
Here’s grass to hap ye dry, Helen,
And straw to hap ye sweet.”
The rain fell frae her feet and hands,
Frae her lang hair and fine:
“What ails ye at the baked meats, Helen,
The brown wheat bread and the wine?”
She’s turned her by the waist about,
She’s turned her by the knee;
She’s witched her body to a laidley worm,
A laidley worm to be.
“The red fruit shall grow in green river water,
And green grass in the wet sea,
Ere ye shall come to a fair woman,
A fair woman to be.”
And she’s garr’d bigg her seven swine-brows,
She’s made them wide and lang;
She’s tane the kail and the meal pocks
That the foul worm might feed amang.
Aye she roupit and aye she croupit
And aye she soupit the mair;
And for the breath of her laidley mouth
The sweet land stank fu’ sair.
Word is come to Lady Helen’s brother,
In God’s town where he lay,
His father had gatten a braw new bride
And his sister was stown away.
Word is come to Lord Richard,
Where he was in God’s land,
There were nine men out of the north
Would fain be to his hand.
“Whatten word is this, ye good sailors,
This word ye hae to me?
Gin it be a word of the good land,
A dear word it maun be.”
“For nine mile out of Spindlestonheugh
A laidley worm to see;
It has the tongue of a maid-woman,
And a worm’s foul body.
“For nine mile out of Spindlestonheugh
Of grass and rye there is nae routh;
There is sma’ routh of the good red com,
For the breath of her rank mouth.”
“Whatten word is this, ye carlish caitives?
For this word ye hae to me,
There shall never meat come in my mouth
Till I be put to sea.”
And he’s garr’d bigg him a fu’ fair ship,
He’s biggit it a’ of the rowan tree;
It was neither hasped wi’ gowd nor aim,
To haud it frae the sea.
It was neither hasped wi’ gowd nor airn,
Nor yet wi’ siller wan;
But a’ the wood it was biggit wi’
Was of the white rowan.
And they sailed lang, and they sailed sair,
And they drave ower to south;
And a wind was in the ship’s side,
And a wind in the ship’s mouth.
And when he came by Spindlestonheugh
He’s tane the vervein in his hand;
“Now God hare heed of the fair ship,
For we must row to land.”
“Have pity of
us, O Lord Richard,
For we dare no further gang.”
“Gin I may come by a goodly gallows,
The best of ye a’ shall hang.”
But when he saw the seven swine-trows,
He weened a sair thing to have seen;
And when he saw the laidley worm,
The tears brast ower in his een.
“O gin ye’ll kiss my laidley mouth
For the love of God’s body,
I winna do ye scaith, brother,
Though I be a foul thing to see.”
He’s put his mouth to her laidley mouth,
He’s kissed her once and twice;
“I had liever lose God’s dear body
Than kiss this foul worm thrice.”
He’s put his mouth to her laidley mouth,
He’s kissed her kisses three;
The flesh fell frae her laidley mouth
And frae her rank body;
And it was but his sister Helen
Stood at Lord Richard’s knee.
She was clad all in the fair red samite,
Her mouth was red and fair;
There was nae burd in the good land
That had such yellow hair.
He’s tane him to the witch mother
That sat by her bairn’s bed;
The gold was gone in her grey hair,
Her face was heavy and red.
“O wae be wi’ you, ye ill woman,
And the young bairn at your knee;
There’s never a bairn shall die abed
That comes of your body.”
“Now God you save, my fair brother,
For his dear body that was dead;
Now God you save and maiden Mary,
That kept me of her maidenhead.”
DURIESDYKE
THE rain rains sair on Duriesdyke,
Both the winter through and the spring;
And she that will gang to get broom thereby
She shall get an ill thing.
The rain rains sair on Duriesdyke,
Both the winter and the summer day;
And he that will steek his sheep thereby
He shall go sadly away.
“Between Crossmuir and Duriesdyke
The fieldhead is full green;
The shaws are thick in the fair summer,
And three well-heads between.
“Flower of broom is a fair flower,
And heather is good to play.”
O she went merry to Duriesdyke,
But she came heavy away.
“It’s I have served you, Burd Maisry,
These three months through and mair;
And the little ae kiss I gat of you,
It pains me aye and sair.
“This is the time of heather-blowing,
And that was syne in the spring;
And the little ae leaf comes aye to red,
And the corn to harvesting.”
The first kiss there twa mouths had,
Sae fain she was to greet;
The neist kiss their twa mouths had,
I wot she laughed fu’ sweet
“Cover my head with a silken hood,
My feet with a yellow claith;
For to stain my body wi’ the dyke-water,
God wot I were fu’ laith.”
He’s happit her head about wi’ silk,
Her feet with a gowden claith;
The red sendal that was of price,
He’s laid between them baith.
The grass was low by Duriesdyke,
The high heather was red;
And between the grass and the high heather,
He’s tane her maidenhead.
They did not kiss in a noble house,
Nor yet in a lordly bed;
But their mouths kissed in the high heather,
Between the green side and the red.
“I have three sailing ships, Maisry,
For red wheat and for wine;
The maintopmast is a bonny mast,
Three furlongs off to shine.
“The foremast shines like new lammer,
The mizzenmast like steel:
Gin ye wad sail wi’ me, Maisry,
The warst should carry ye weel.”
“Gin I should sail wi’ you, Lord John,
Out under the rocks red,
It’s wha wad be my mither’s bower-maiden
To hap saft her feet in bed?
“Gin I should sail wi’ you, Lord John,
Out under the rocks white,
There’s nane wad do her a very little ease
To hap her left and right.”
It fell upon the midwinter,
She gat mickle scaith and blame;
She’s bowed hersell by the white water
To see his ships come hame.
She’s leaned hersell against the wind,
To see upon the middle tide;
The faem was fallen in the running wind,
The wind was fallen in the waves wide.
“There’s nae moon by the white water
To do me ony good the day;
And but this wind a little slacken,
They shall have a sair seaway.
“O stir not for this nied, baby,
O stir not at my side;
Ye’ll have the better birth, baby,
Gin ye wad but a little abide.”
WESTLAND WELL
YE maun mak’ me a scarlet gown, Lord John,
A scarlet gown to the knee;
It maun be sewn wi’ a gowd needle,
To mak’ fit wear to me.
It maun be sewn wi’ a gowd needle,
And spun o’ silk for thread;
And ye maun gie me a band of silk,
To tie upon my head.
And ye maun gie me a sheet of silk
To put into my bed.
O wha was’t made ye proud, Janet,
Or ever ye were born?
There’s nae gowd in the land, Janet,
Is redder than the corn.
O wha was’t taught you words, Janet,
Or wha was’t learned you pride?
There’s mony a better face than yours
Would fain lie neist my side.
O haud your tongue, Lord John o’ the Mains,
I doubt ye hae drunken wine;
There is not a maid that wons in heaven
Wi’ sic a face as mine.
Gin I were set in the high heaven,
And God’s mother were set below,
I wad be queen of the high heaven,
And she wad be let go.
When she cam in Lord John’s bower,
She never had kissed man:
When she cam frae Lord John’s bower
She was but his leman.
O ye’ll gar make me a bonny bed,
Ye’ll make it warm and sweet,
Ye’ll set a pillow to my head, mither,
And a pillow to my feet
It fell about the middle May time
When the apple flowers wax red,
Her mither began to chide with her
She kept sae lang abed.
Yestreen my maids took off the sheet
To wash i’ the Westland Well,
And lest the bonny web suld ravel,
I set a hand mysel.
We washed the blue thread and the brown,
The white thread and the black;
And sae cam ben your fause bloodhound,
And bit me in the back.
Sae sair it rent and bit, mither,
Sae sair it bit and clang,
And ever I hope in God, mither,
Ye’ll gar that bloodhound hang.
What’s this o’t now, maiden Janet?
What’s this o’t now? quo’ she;
There’s nae such hound that bites women,
There’s nae such langs to me.
Tell me now, Janet, she says,
And I winna gar ye
lee,
Is this a hound’s tooth or a child’s shaping
That mars your straight body?
O where your cheek was red, Janet,
Your cheek is sick and wan;
And where your back was right and flat,
It bows like a loaden man.
O where your throat was round, Janet,
It’s lean and loose by this;
And where your lip was sweet, Janet,
It’s grown too thin to kiss.
The blood sprang in her cheek, fair Janet,
The blood sprang in her chin;
I doubt there’s ane wad kiss me, mither,
Though I be sick and thin.
About the time of moon-rising
They set her saft in bed,
About the time of star-setting
They streekit her for dead.
O ill be in your meat, Lord John,
And ill be in your wine;
Gin the bairn be none of your getting,
I’m sure it’s none of mine.
Ill be in your bed, Lord John,
And ill be in your way,
Gin ye had been hangit a year agone,
I had been the merrier May.
EARL ROBERT
O SOME ride east and some ride north,
And some ride west and south;
But the ae best gate that ever I rade
Was a’ for her red mouth.
O some wear blue and bonny scarlet,
And some wear green and red;
And it’s a’ for love of her yellow hair
I’ll wear but golden thread.
Gin this be Annie of Waterswa’
That gars ye speak sae hie,
Delphi Complete Poetical Works of Algernon Charles Swinburne (Illustrated) (Delphi Poets Series) Page 159