University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
The English and Scottish Popular Ballads

Edited by Francis James Child.

collapse sectionI. 
expand section1. 
expand section2. 
expand section3. 
expand section4. 
expand section5. 
expand section6. 
expand section7. 
expand section8. 
expand section9. 
collapse section10. 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
expand section11. 
expand section12. 
expand section13. 
expand section14. 
expand section15. 
expand section16. 
expand section17. 
expand section18. 
expand section19. 
expand section20. 
expand section21. 
expand section22. 
expand section23. 
expand section24. 
expand section25. 
expand section26. 
expand section27. 
expand section28. 
expand sectionII. 
expand sectionIII. 
expand sectionIV. 
expand sectionV. 
expand sectionVI. 
expand sectionVII. 
expand sectionVIII. 
expand sectionIX. 

Lord Travell

LORD LOVEL—C

[_]

Communicated by Mr Alexander Laing, 1873, as taken down from the recitation of Miss Fanny Walker, of Mount Pleasant, near Newburgh-on-Tay.

1

Lord Travell stands in his stable-door,
Dressing his milk-white steed,
An bye comes Lady Ounceville:
‘I wish you muckle speed.

2

‘Oh whar are ye gaun, Lord Travell?’ she says,
‘Whar are gaun frae me?’
‘I am gaun to London town,
Some strange things for to see.’

3

‘Whan will ye be back, Lord Travell?’ she says,
‘Whan will ye be back to me?’
‘I will be back in seven lang years,
To wed my gay ladie.’

4

‘Oh that is too lang for me,’ she says,
‘Oh that is too lang for me;
Oh that is too lang for me,’ she says,
‘To wed thy gay ladie.’

5

He hadna been in London town
A week but only three,
Whan a boding voice thirld in his ear,
That Scotland he maun see.

6

He rade an he rode alang the highway,
Till he cam to yon little town:
‘Oh is there ony body dead?
The bells they mak sic a sound.’

7

He rade an he rode alang the highway,
Till he cam to yon little town:
‘Oh is there ony body dead?
The folk gae mournin round.’

8

‘Oh yes indeed, there is ane dead,
Her name is Ounceville;
An she has died for a courteous knicht,
His name is Lord Travell.’

9

‘Oh hand ye aboot, ye gentlemen,
The white bread an the wine,
For the morn's nicht aboot this time
Ye'll do the same for mine!’