The English and Scottish Popular Ballads :: :: University of Virginia Library

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93, taken from the recitation of an old woman by Professor Scott, of Aberdeen, and “somewhat improved” by a fragment communicated by the Rev. William Gray, of Lincoln.

1

Glenkindie was ance a harper gude,
He harped to the king;
And Glenkindie was ance the best harper
That ever harpd on a string.

2

He'd harpit a fish out o saut water,
Or water out o a stane,
Or milk out o a maiden's breast,
That bairn had never nane.

3

He's taen his harp intil his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
And ay as he harpit to the king,
To haud him unthought lang.

4

‘I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie,
A robe o the royal pa,
Gin ye will harp i the winter's night
Afore my nobles a'.’

[OMITTED]

5

He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He's harpit them a' asleep,
Except it was the young countess,
That love did waukin keep.

6

And first he has harpit a grave tune,
And syne he has harpit a gay,
And mony a sich atween hands
I wat the lady gae.

7

Says, Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen,
And wappit their wings sae wide,
It's ye may come to my bower-door,
And streek you by my side.

8

But look that ye tell na Gib, your man,
For naething that ye dee;
For, an ye tell him Gib, your man,
He'll beguile baith you and me.

9

He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
And he is hame to Gib, his man,
As fast as he could gang.

10

‘O mith I tell you, Gib, my man,
Gin I a man had slain?’
‘O that ye micht, my gude master,
Altho ye had slain ten.’

11

‘Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man,
My bidden for to dee;
And but an ye wauken me in time,
Ye sall be hangit hie.

12

‘Whan day has dawen, and cocks hae crawen,
And wappit their wings sae wide,
I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower,
And streek me by her side.’

13

‘Gae hame to your bed, my good master;
Ye've waukit, I fear, oer lang;
For I'll wauken you in as good time
As ony cock i the land.’

14

He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he harpit his master asleep,
Syne fast awa did gang.

15

And he is till that lady's bower,
As fast as he could rin;

140

When he cam till that lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin.

16

‘O wha is this,’ says that lady,
‘That opens nae and comes in?’
‘It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love,
O open and lat me in!’

17

She kent he was nae gentle knicht
That she had latten in,
For neither when he gaed nor cam,
Kist he her cheek or chin.

18

He neither kist her when he cam,
Nor clappit her when he gaed,
And in and at her bower window,
The moon shone like the gleed.

19

‘O ragged is your hose, Glenkindie,
And riven is your sheen,
And reaveld is your yellow hair,
That I saw late yestreen.’

20

‘The stockings they are Gib, my man's,
They came first to my hand,
And this is Gib, my man's shoon,
At my bed-feet they stand;
I've reavelld a' my yellow hair
Coming against the wind.’

21

He's taen the harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
Until he cam to his master,
As fast as he could gang.

22

‘Won up, won up, my good master,
I fear ye sleep oer lang;
There's nae a cock in a' the land
But has wappit his wings and crawn.’

23

Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand,
He harpit and he sang,
And he has reachd the lady's bower
Afore that eer he blan.

24

When he cam to the lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin:
‘O wha is that at my bower-door,
That opens na and comes in?’
‘It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love,
And in I canna win.’

[OMITTED]

25

‘Forbid it, forbid it,’ says that lady,
‘That ever sic shame betide,
That I should first be a wild loon's lass,
And than a young knight's bride.’

26

He's taen his harp intill his hand,
He harpit and he sang,
And he is hame to Gib, his man,
As fast as he could gang.

27

‘Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Till I pay you your fee;
Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Weel payit sall ye be.’

28

And he has taen him Gib, his man,
And he has hangd him hie,
And he's hangit him oer his ain yate,
As high as high could be.

29

There was nae pity for that lady,
For she lay cald and dead,
But a' was for him, Glenkindie,
In bower he must go mad.