Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
‘O WHA will shoe my bonny foot? | |
And wha will glove my hand? | |
And wha will bind my middle jimp | |
Wi’ a lang, lang linen band? | |
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‘O wha will kame my yellow hair, | 5 |
With a haw bayberry kame? | |
And wha will be my babe’s father | |
Till Gregory come hame?’ | |
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‘They father, he will shoe thy foot, | |
Thy brother will glove thy hand, | 10 |
Thy mither will bind thy middle jimp | |
Wi’ a lang, lang linen band. | |
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‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair, | |
Wi’ a haw bayberry kame; | |
The Almighty will be thy babe’s father | 15 |
Till Gregory come hame.’ | |
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‘And wha will build a bonny ship, | |
And set it on the sea? | |
For I will go to seek my love, | |
My ain love Gregory.’ | 20 |
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Up then spak her father dear, | |
A wafu’ man was he; | |
‘And I will build a bonny ship, | |
And set her on the sea. | |
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‘And I will build a bonny ship, | 25 |
And set her on the sea, | |
And ye sal gae and seek your love, | |
Your ain love Gregory.’ | |
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Then he ‘s gart build a bonny ship, | |
And set it on the sea, | 30 |
Wi’ four-and-twenty mariners, | |
To bear her company. | |
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O he ‘s gart build a bonny ship, | |
To sail on the salt sea; | |
The mast was o’ the beaten gold, | 35 |
The sails o’ cramoisie. | |
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The sides were o’ the gude stout aik, | |
The deck o’ mountain pine, | |
The anchor o’ the silver shene, | |
The ropes o’ silken twine. | 40 |
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She hadna sail’d but twenty leagues, | |
But twenty leagues and three, | |
When she met wi’ a rank reiver, | |
And a’ his companie. | |
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‘Now are ye Queen of Heaven hie, | 45 |
Come to pardon a’ our sin? | |
Or are ye Mary Magdalane, | |
Was born at Bethlam?’ | |
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‘I’m no the Queen of Heaven hie, | |
Come to pardon ye your sin, | 50 |
Nor am I Mary Magdalane, | |
Was born in Bethlam. | |
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‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan, | |
That ‘s sailing on the sea | |
To see if I can find my love, | 55 |
My ain love Gregory.’ | |
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‘O see na ye yon bonny bower? | |
It ‘s a’ covered owre wi’ tin; | |
When thou hast sail’d it round about, | |
Lord Gregory is within.’ | 60 |
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And when she saw the stately tower, | |
Shining both clear and bright, | |
Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave, | |
Built on a rock of height, | |
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Says, ‘Row the boat, my mariners, | 65 |
And bring me to the land, | |
For yonder I see my love’s castle, | |
Close by the salt sea strand.’ | |
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She sail’d it round, and sail’d it round, | |
And loud and loud cried she, | 70 |
‘Now break, now break your fairy charms, | |
And set my true-love free.’ | |
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She ‘s ta’en her young son in her arms, | |
And to the door she ‘s gane, | |
And long she knock’d, and sair she ca’d. | 75 |
But answer got she nane. | |
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‘O open, open, Gregory! | |
O open! if ye be within; | |
For here ‘s the lass of Lochroyan, | |
Come far fra kith and kin. | 80 |
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‘O open the door, Lord Gregory! | |
O open and let me in! | |
The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory, | |
The rain drops fra my chin. | |
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‘The shoe is frozen to my foot, | 85 |
The glove unto my hand, | |
The wet drops fra my yellow hair, | |
Na langer dow I stand.’ | |
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O up then spak his ill mither, | |
—An ill death may she die! | 90 |
‘Ye’re no the lass of Lochroyan, | |
She ‘s far out-owre the sea. | |
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‘Awa’, awa’, ye ill woman, | |
Ye’re no come here for gude; | |
Ye’re but some witch or wil’ warlock, | 95 |
Or mermaid o’ the flood.’ | |
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‘I am neither witch nor wil’ warlock, | |
Nor mermaid o’ the sea, | |
But I am Annie of Lochroyan, | |
O open the door to me!’ | 100 |
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‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, | |
As I trow thou binna she, | |
Now tell me of some love-tokens | |
That pass’d ‘tween thee and me.’ | |
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‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory, | 105 |
As we sat at the wine, | |
We changed the rings frae our fingers? | |
And I can shew thee thine. | |
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‘O yours was gude, and gude enough, | |
But ay the best was mine, | 110 |
For yours was o’ the gude red gowd, | |
But mine o’ the diamond fine. | |
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‘Yours was o’ the gude red gowd, | |
Mine o’ the diamond fine; | |
Mine was o’ the purest troth, | 115 |
But thine was false within.’ | |
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‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan, | |
As I kenna thou be, | |
Tell me some mair o’ the love-tokens | |
Pass’d between thee and me.’ | 120 |
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‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory! | |
As we sat on the hill, | |
Thou twin’d me o’ my maidenheid, | |
Right sair against my will? | |
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‘Now open the door, love Gregory! | 125 |
Open the door! I pray; | |
For thy young son is in my arms, | |
And will be dead ere day.’ | |
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‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman, | |
So loud I hear ye lie; | 130 |
For Annie of the Lochroyan | |
Is far out-owre the sea.’ | |
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Fair Annie turn’d her round about: | |
‘Weel, sine that it be sae, | |
May ne’er woman that has borne a son | 135 |
Hae a heart sae fu’ o’ wae! | |
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‘Tak down, tak down that mast o’ gowd, | |
Set up a mast of tree; | |
It disna become a forsaken lady | |
To sail sae royallie.’ | 140 |
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When the cock has crawn, and the day did dawn, | |
And the sun began to peep, | |
Up than raise Lord Gregory, | |
And sair, sair did he weep. | |
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‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither, | 145 |
I wish it may bring good! | |
That the bonny lass of Lochroyan | |
At my bower window stood. | |
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‘O I hae dream’d a dream, mither, | |
The thought o’t gars me greet! | 150 |
That fair Annie of Lochroyan | |
Lay dead at my bed-feet.’ | |
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‘Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan | |
That ye mak a’ this mane, | |
She stood last night at your bower-door, | 155 |
But I hae sent her hame.’ | |
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‘O wae betide ye, ill woman, | |
An ill death may ye die! | |
That wadna open the door yoursell | |
Nor yet wad waken me.’ | 160 |
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O he ‘s gane down to yon shore-side, | |
As fast as he could dree, | |
And there he saw fair Annie’s bark | |
A rowing owre the sea. | |
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‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried, | 165 |
‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’ | |
But ay the mair he cried ‘Annie,’ | |
The braider grew the tide. | |
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‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie, | |
Dear Annie, speak to me!’ | 170 |
But ay the louder he gan call, | |
The louder roar’d the sea. | |
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The wind blew loud, the waves rose hie | |
And dash’d the boat on shore; | |
Fair Annie’s corpse was in the faem, | 175 |
The babe rose never more. | |
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Lord Gregory tore his gowden locks | |
And made a wafu’ moan; | |
Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet, | |
His bonny son was gone. | 180 |
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‘O cherry, cherry was her cheek, | |
And gowden was her hair, | |
And coral, coral was her lips, | |
Nane might with her compare.’ | |
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Then first he kiss’d her pale, pale cheek, | 185 |
And syne he kiss’d her chin, | |
And syne he kiss’d her wane, wane lips, | |
There was na breath within. | |
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‘O wae betide my ill mither, | |
An ill death may she die! | 190 |
She turn’d my true-love frae my door, | |
Who cam so far to me. | |
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‘O wae betide my ill mither, | |
An ill death may she die! | |
She has no been the deid o’ ane, | 195 |
But she ‘s been the deid of three.’ | |
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Then he ‘s ta’en out a little dart, | |
Hung low down by his gore, | |
He thrust it through and through his heart, | |
And words spak never more. | 200 |