Border Ballads
eBook - ePub

Border Ballads

A Selection

  1. 192 pages
  2. English
  3. ePUB (mobile friendly)
  4. Available on iOS & Android
eBook - ePub

Border Ballads

A Selection

About this book

The Border Ballads are rooted in the wild and beautiful lands that lie between England and Scotland, a traditionally lawless area whose inhabitants owed allegiance first to kin and laird, and only then to the authorities in London or Edinburgh. Recording a violent, clannish world of fierce hatreds and passionate loyalties, the ballads tell vivid tales of raids, feuds and betrayals, romances and acts of revenge. They celebrate ungovernable heroes and powerful women, often in laments for the murderous results of breaking tribal codes, and they evoke the presence of an older border, between the natural and the supernatural worlds. The Border Ballads were long regarded as primitive poems. This selection restores their identity within the oral tradition, setting them in the context of their time and place with the aid of maps and a glossary.

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Yes, you can access Border Ballads by James Reed in PDF and/or ePUB format, as well as other popular books in Literature & Poetry. We have over one million books available in our catalogue for you to explore.

Information

Publisher
Fyfield Books
Year
2012
Print ISBN
9781857547108
eBook ISBN
9781847776198
Subtopic
Poetry

BALLADS OF THE MIDDLE MARCHES (1)

JAMIE TELFER IN THE FAIR DODHEAD

[Child 190 add.]
Child includes this ‘unprinted copy referred to in the Border Minstrelsy, in which the Elliots take the place assigned in the other version to the Scotts’, and notes ‘Jamie Telfer in the Fair Dodhead suggests, according to Scottish usage, that Telfer was a tenant simply, whereas of would make him proprietor’ (V. 249).
Martinmas: 11 November, a prime raiding season. ‘The last moneths in the yeare are theyr chiefe time of stealing‚’ Sir Robert Carey, Warden.
Ware my dame’s calfskin: use my mother’s whip.
It fell about the Martinmas,
When steeds were fed wi’ corn and hay,
The Captain of Bewcastle said to his lads,
We’ll into Tiviotdale and seek a prey.
The first ae guide that they met with
Was high up in Hardhaugh swire,
The second guide that they met with
Was laigh down in Borthwick water.
‘What tidings, what tidings, my bonny guide?’
‘Nae tidings, nae tidings I hae to thee;
But if ye’ll gae to the Fair Dodhead
Mony a cow’s calf I’ll let ye see.’
When they came to the Fair Dodhead,
Right hastily they clam the peel,
And loos’d the nolt out, ane and a’,
And ranshakled the house right weel.
Now Jamie’s heart it was right sair,
The tear ay rowing in his eye;
He pled wi’ the Captain to hae his gear,
Or else revenged he would be.
But the Captain turned himself about,
Said, ‘Man, there’s naething in thy house
But an auld sword without a scabbard,
That scarcely now would fell a mouse.’
The moon was up and the sun was down,
’T was the gryming of a new-fa’n snaw;
Jamie Telfer has run eight miles barefoot
Between Dodhead and Branxholm Ha’.
And when he came to Branxholm Ha’
He shouted loud and cry’d well he,
Till up bespake them auld Buccleugh,
‘Wha’s this that brings the fray to me?’
‘It’s I, Jamie Telfer i’ the Fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be;
There’s naething left i’ the Fair Dodhead
But only wife and children three.’
‘Gae seek your succour frae Martin Elliot,
For succour ye’s get nane frae me;
Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
For, man, ye never paid money to me.’
Jamie he’s turned him round about,
And ay the tear blinded his eye:
‘I’se never pay mail to Scott again,
Nor the Fair Dodhead I’ll ever see.’
Now Jamie is up the water-gate,
E’en as fast as he can drie,
Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh,
And there he shouted and cried weel he.
Then up bespake him auld Jock Grieve,
‘Whae’s this that brings the fray to me?’
‘It’s I, Jamie Telfer i’ the Fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be.
‘There’s naething left i’ the Fair Dodhead
But only wife and children three,
And sax poor calves stand i’ the sta’,
A’ routing loud for their minnie.’
‘Alack, wae’s me!’ quo’ auld Jock Grieve,
‘Alack, alack, and wae is me!
For ye was married t’ the auld sister,
And I t’the youngest o’ the three.’
Then he’s ta’en out a bonny black,
It was weel fed wi’ corn and hay,
And...

Table of contents

  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Contents
  5. Introduction
  6. Maps
  7. Suggestions for Further Study
  8. BALLADS OF THE WEST MARCHES
  9. BALLADS OF THE MIDDLE MARCHES (1)
  10. BALLADS OF THE MIDDLE MARCHES (2)
  11. BALLADS OF THE SUPERNATURAL
  12. Glossary
  13. About the Author
  14. Copyright