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'.'
* * * * * |
| 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;
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 was 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.'
* * * * * |
| 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. |
