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213

The Gardener Lad

THE GARDENER—B

[_]

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 187

1

All ye young men, I pray draw near,
I'll let you hear my mind
Concerning those who fickle are,
And inconstant as the wind.

2

A pretty maid who late livd here,
And sweethearts many had,
The gardener-lad he viewd them all,
Just as they came and gaed.

3

The gardener-lad he viewd them all,
But swore he had no skill:
‘If I were to go as oft to her,
Ye surely would me kill.

4

‘I'm sure she's not a proper maid,
I'm sure she is not tall;’
Another young man standing by,
He said, Slight none at all.

5

‘For we're all come of woman,’ he said,
‘If ye woud call to mind,
And to all women for her sake
Ye surely should be kind.’

6

‘The summer hours and warm showers
Make the trees yield in the ground,
And kindly words will woman win,
And this maid I'll surround.’

7

The maid then stood in her bower-door,
As straight as ony wand,
When by it came the gardener-lad,
With his hat in his hand.

8

‘Will ye live on fruit,’ he said?
‘Or will ye marry me?
And amongst the flowers in my garden
I'll shape a weed for thee.’

9

‘I will live on fruit,’ she says,
‘But I'll never marry thee;
For I can live without mankind,
And without mankind I'll die.’

10

‘Ye shall not live without mankind,
If ye'll accept of me;
For among the flowers in my garden
I'll shape a weed for thee.

11

‘The lily white to be your smock;
Becomes your body best;
And the jelly-flower to be your quill,
And the red rose in your breast.

12

‘Your gown shall be o the pingo white,
Your petticoat cammovine,
Your apron o the seel o downs;
Come smile, sweet heart o mine!

13

‘Your shoes shall be o the gude rue red —
Never did I garden ill —
Your stockings o the mary mild;
Come smile, sweet heart, your fill!

14

‘Your gloves shall be o the green clover,
Comes lockerin to your hand,
Well dropped oer wi blue blavers,
That grow among white land.’

15

‘Young man, ye've shap'd a weed for me,
In summer among your flowers;
Now I will shape another for you,
Among the winter showers.

16

‘The snow so white shall be your shirt;
It becomes your body best;
The cold bleak wind to be your coat,
And the cold wind in your breast.

17

‘The steed that you shall ride upon
Shall be o the weather snell,
Well bridled wi the northern wind,
And cold sharp showers o hail.

18

‘The hat you on your head shall wear
Shall be o the weather gray,
And aye when you come into my sight
I'll wish you were away.’
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