章节正文
As I cam on, an farther on,
An doun an by Harlaw,
They fell fu close on ilka side;
Sic fun ye never saw.
They fell fu close on ilka side,
Sic fun ye never saw;
For Hielan swords gied clash for clash,
At the battle o Harlaw.
The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,
They laid on us fu sair,
An they drave back our merry men
Three acres breadth an mair.
Brave Forbes to his brither did say,
"Noo brither, dinna ye see?
They beat us back on ilka side,
An we'se be forced to flee."
"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
That thing maun never be;
Tak ye your good sword in your hand,
An come your wa's wi me."
"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
The clans they are ower strang,
An they drive back our merry men,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang."
Brave Forbes drew his men aside,
Said, "Tak your rest a while,
Until I to Drumminnor send,
To fess my coat o mail."
The servan he did ride,
An his horse it did na fail,
For in twa hours an a quarter
He brocht the coat o mail.
Then back to back the brithers twa
Gaed in amo the thrang,
An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang.
Macdonell he was young an stout,
Had on his coat o mail,
And he has gane oot throw them a'
To try his han himsell.
The first ae straik that Forbes strack,
He garrt Macdonell reel;
An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack,
The great Macdonell fell.
And siccan a lierachie,
I'm sure ye never sawe
As wis amo the Hielanmen,
When they saw Macdonell fa.
An whan they saw that he was deid,
They turnd and ran awa,
An they buried him in Legget's Den,
A large mile frae Harlaw.
They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
They were o sma record;
But Forbes and his merry men,
They slew them a' the road.
On Monanday, at mornin,
The battle it began,
On Saturday at gloamin',
Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan.
An sic a weary buryin,
I'm sure ye never saw,
As wis the Sunday after that,
On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
Gin anybody speer at ye
For them ye took awa,
Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
They're sleepin at Harlaw.
Ballad: Dickie Macphalion
(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. XIV.)
I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,
I sat me down, and cried ochone!
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
And a' to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that's slain!
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
And a' to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge
(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
When thou from hence away art paste,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
Sit thee down and put them on;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
The fire sall never make thee shrinke;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
Ballad: The Laird Of Waristoun
(Child, vol. iii. Early Edition.)
Down by yon garden green,
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
She has twa weel-made feet;
Far better is her hand;
She's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow wand.
"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
It's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see."
* * * * *
He spak a word in jest;
Her answer was na good;
He threw a plate at her face,
Made it a' gush out o' blood.
She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,
When up and at her richt hand
There stood Man's Enemy.
"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
I'll learn you a wile,
Avenged for to be."
The foul thief knotted the tether;
She lifted his head on hie;
The nourice drew the knot
That gar'd lord Waristoun die.
Then word is gane to Leith,
Also to Edinburgh town
That the lady had kill'd the laird,
The laird o' Waristoun.
* * * * *
Tak aff, tak aff my hood
But lat my petticoat be;
Pat my mantle o'er my head;
For the fire I downa see.
Now, a' ye gentle maids,
Tak warning now by me,
And never marry ane
But wha pleases your e'e.
"For he married me for love,
But I married him for fee;
And sae brak out the feud
That gar'd my dearie die."
Ballad: May Colven
(Child, Part I., p. 56.)
False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir.
He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
He wood her in the ha,
Until he got this lady's consent
To mount and ride awa.
He went down to her father's bower,
Where all the steeds did stand,
And he's taken one of the best steeds
That was in her father's land.
He's got on and she's got on,
As fast as they could flee,
Until they came to a lonesome part,
A rock by the side of the sea.
"Loup off the steed," says false Sir John,
"Your bridal bed you see;
For I have drowned seven young ladies,
The eighth one you shall be.
"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your silken gown,
For it's oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.
All and your embroiderd shoen,
For oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam."
"O turn you about, O false Sir John,
An doun an by Harlaw,
They fell fu close on ilka side;
Sic fun ye never saw.
They fell fu close on ilka side,
Sic fun ye never saw;
For Hielan swords gied clash for clash,
At the battle o Harlaw.
The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,
They laid on us fu sair,
An they drave back our merry men
Three acres breadth an mair.
Brave Forbes to his brither did say,
"Noo brither, dinna ye see?
They beat us back on ilka side,
An we'se be forced to flee."
"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
That thing maun never be;
Tak ye your good sword in your hand,
An come your wa's wi me."
"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
The clans they are ower strang,
An they drive back our merry men,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang."
Brave Forbes drew his men aside,
Said, "Tak your rest a while,
Until I to Drumminnor send,
To fess my coat o mail."
The servan he did ride,
An his horse it did na fail,
For in twa hours an a quarter
He brocht the coat o mail.
Then back to back the brithers twa
Gaed in amo the thrang,
An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang.
Macdonell he was young an stout,
Had on his coat o mail,
And he has gane oot throw them a'
To try his han himsell.
The first ae straik that Forbes strack,
He garrt Macdonell reel;
An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack,
The great Macdonell fell.
And siccan a lierachie,
I'm sure ye never sawe
As wis amo the Hielanmen,
When they saw Macdonell fa.
An whan they saw that he was deid,
They turnd and ran awa,
An they buried him in Legget's Den,
A large mile frae Harlaw.
They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
They were o sma record;
But Forbes and his merry men,
They slew them a' the road.
On Monanday, at mornin,
The battle it began,
On Saturday at gloamin',
Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan.
An sic a weary buryin,
I'm sure ye never saw,
As wis the Sunday after that,
On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
Gin anybody speer at ye
For them ye took awa,
Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
They're sleepin at Harlaw.
Ballad: Dickie Macphalion
(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. XIV.)
I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,
I sat me down, and cried ochone!
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
And a' to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that's slain!
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
And a' to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge
(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
When thou from hence away art paste,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
Sit thee down and put them on;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
The fire sall never make thee shrinke;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
EVERY NIGHTE AND ALLE,
Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
AND CHRISTE RECEIVE THYE SAULE.
Ballad: The Laird Of Waristoun
(Child, vol. iii. Early Edition.)
Down by yon garden green,
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
She has twa weel-made feet;
Far better is her hand;
She's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow wand.
"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
It's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see."
* * * * *
He spak a word in jest;
Her answer was na good;
He threw a plate at her face,
Made it a' gush out o' blood.
She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,
When up and at her richt hand
There stood Man's Enemy.
"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,
I'll learn you a wile,
Avenged for to be."
The foul thief knotted the tether;
She lifted his head on hie;
The nourice drew the knot
That gar'd lord Waristoun die.
Then word is gane to Leith,
Also to Edinburgh town
That the lady had kill'd the laird,
The laird o' Waristoun.
* * * * *
Tak aff, tak aff my hood
But lat my petticoat be;
Pat my mantle o'er my head;
For the fire I downa see.
Now, a' ye gentle maids,
Tak warning now by me,
And never marry ane
But wha pleases your e'e.
"For he married me for love,
But I married him for fee;
And sae brak out the feud
That gar'd my dearie die."
Ballad: May Colven
(Child, Part I., p. 56.)
False Sir John a wooing came
To a maid of beauty fair;
May Colven was this lady's name,
Her father's only heir.
He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
He wood her in the ha,
Until he got this lady's consent
To mount and ride awa.
He went down to her father's bower,
Where all the steeds did stand,
And he's taken one of the best steeds
That was in her father's land.
He's got on and she's got on,
As fast as they could flee,
Until they came to a lonesome part,
A rock by the side of the sea.
"Loup off the steed," says false Sir John,
"Your bridal bed you see;
For I have drowned seven young ladies,
The eighth one you shall be.
"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
All and your silken gown,
For it's oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam.
"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.
All and your embroiderd shoen,
For oer good and oer costly
To rot in the salt sea foam."
"O turn you about, O false Sir John,
- scarce [skeəs, skers]
a.缺乏的；稀有的 (初中英语单词) - willow [´wiləu] n.柳树 (初中英语单词)
- barely [´beəli] ad.公开地；仅仅 (初中英语单词)
- breadth [bredθ] n.宽度，幅面，广度 (高中英语单词)
- ballad [´bæləd] n.民歌，民谣 (高中英语单词)
- spinning [´spiniŋ] n.纺织 a.纺织品的 (高中英语单词)
- merrily [´merili] ad.欢乐地；愉快地 (高中英语单词)
- mantle [´mæntl] n.斗蓬 v.覆盖；笼罩 (高中英语单词)
- lonesome [´ləunsəm] a.孤独的；冷清清的 (高中英语单词)
- silken [´silkən] a.丝制的；柔软光滑的 (高中英语单词)
- miller [´milə] n.磨坊主；铣床(工) (英语四级单词)
- edinburgh [´edinbərə] n.爱丁堡 (英语四级单词)
- petticoat [´petikəut] n.裙子 a.女性的 (英语四级单词)
- warning [´wɔ:niŋ] n.警告；前兆 a.预告的 (英语四级单词)
- bridal [´braidl] a.&n.婚礼(的) (英语四级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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