Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
Narrative Poems: IX. ScotlandJock Johnstone, the Tinkler
James Hogg (1770–1835)“O,
Or down the King’s Road o’ the cleuch?
Or saw ye a knight and a lady bright,
Wha ha’e gane the gate they baith shall rue?”
Ride up the cleuch at the break of day;
The knight upon a coal-black steed,
And the dame on one of a silver-gray.
With many a clang of silver bell:
Swift as the raven’s morning flight
The two went scouring ower the fell.
And standing in St. Mary’s fane;
And the lady in the grass-green silk
A maid you will never see again.”
And that the runaway shall prove,—
Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet
As maiden charms or maiden’s love.”
Good faith some clinking there will be;
Beshrew my heart but and my sword,
If I winna turn and ride with thee!”
And doun the links o’ the Corsecleuch Burn;
And aye the Douglas swore by his sword
To win his love, or ne’er return.
And then brag after, if you may;
For the Earl of Ross is as brave a lord
As ever gave good weapon sway.
Or thirteen pennies and a bawbee,
Will tak in hand to fight you baith,
Or beat the winner, whiche’er it be.”
And I wat a loud laughter leuch he:
“Of a’ the fools I have ever met,
Man, I ha’e never met ane like thee.
Or courtly squire or warrior leal?”
“I am a tinkler,” quo’ the wight,
“But I like croun-cracking unco weel.”
The chaplain shook for very fear;
And aye he kissed the cross, and said,
“What deevil has sent that Douglas here!
But curses all without demur;
And cares nae mair for a holy man
Than I do for a worthless cur.”
And tell to me without delay
Where have you hid the lord of Ross
And the lady that came at the break of day.”
Have I beheld since break of morn;
And I never saw the lord of Ross
Since the woful day that I was born.”
And looked the Tinkler in the face;
Where he beheld a lurking smile,
And a deevil of a dour grimace.
Hast thou presumed to lie on me?”
“Faith that I have!” the Tinkler said,
“And a right good turn I have done to thee;
The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane,
Rade west away, ere the break of day;
And you ’ll never see the dear maid again;
On a wrang scent, of my own accord;
For had you met the Johnstone clan,
They wad ha’e made mince-meat of a lord.”
He wist not what to say or do;
But he strak the Tinkler o’er the croun,
Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow.
“Thou bear’st thee most ungallantlye!
If these are the manners of a lord,
They are manners that winna gang doun wi’ me.”
“And keep thy distance, Tinkler loun!”
“That will I not,” the Tinkler said,
“Though I and my mare should both go doun!”
“Cuirass and helm, as you may see.”
“The deil me care!” quo’ the Tinkler lad;
“I shall have a skelp at them and thee.”
“And no remorse this weapon brooks.”
“Mine ’s a right good yaud,” quo’ the Tinkler lad,
“And a great deal better nor she looks.
What I have taken I needs must give;
Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again,
For the langest day thou hast to live.”
Till the fire from both their weapons flew;
But the very first shock that they met with,
The Douglas his rashness ’gan to rue.
And a cuirass on his breast wore he,
With a good steel bonnet on his head,
Yet the blood ran trickling to his knee.
Aye as together their horses ran;
But the Tinkler laid on like the very deil,—
Siccan strokes were never laid on by man.
Cried the poor priest with whining din;
“If thou hurt the brave Lord James Douglas;
A curse be on thee and all thy kin!”
Than Lord James Douglas cares for me;
But I want to let his proud heart know
That a tinkler ’s a man as well as he.”
Till good Lord Douglas’ breath was gone;
And the Tinkler bore him to the ground,
With rush, with rattle, and with groan.
“That I this day should have lived to see!
For sure my honor I have lost,
And a leader again I can never be!
And where was bred thy weapon hand?
For thou art the wale of tinkler louns
That ever was born in fair Scotland.”
“I winna keep in my name frae thee;
And here, tak thou thy sword again,
And better friends we two shall be.”
That was a debt he could never owe;
He would rather die at the back of the dike
Than owe his sword to a man so low.
And bear my livery and my name,
My right-hand warrior thou shalt be
And I ’ll knight thee on the field of fame.”
To think I ’d change my trade for thine;
Far better and wiser would you be,
To live a journeyman of mine,
Or clout a goodwife’s yettlin’ pan,—
Upon my life, good Lord Douglas,
You ’d make a noble tinkler-man!
And sunkets on a Sunday morn,
And you should be a rare adept
In steel and copper, brass and horn!
Till you can act the hero’s part;
Therefore, I pray you, think of this,
And lay it seriously to heart.”
Answering with an inward curse,—
Like salmon wriggling on a spear,
That makes his deadly wound the worse.
In search of Lord Douglas they came;
And when they saw their master down,
Their spirits mounted in a flame.
Like perfect tigers on their prey:
But the Tinkler heaved his trusty sword,
And made him ready for the fray.
Come hand to hand, and steed to steed;
I would that ye were better men,
For this is glorious work indeed!”
The Tinkler’s wondrous chivalrye
Had both the squires upon the sward,
And their horses galloping o’er the lea.
And many a biting jest gave he:
“O fie, for shame!” said the Tinkler lad;
“Siccan fighters I never did see!”
O, what disgrace the conquered feels!—
And he skelpit the squires with that good tawse,
Till the blood ran off at baith their heels.
Till down his cheek the salt tear ran:
“I think the deevil be come here
In the likeness of a tinkler man!”
And he raised him kindly by the hand,
And set him on his gallant steed,
And bore him away to Henderland:
Nor writhe beneath a broken bane;
For the leech’s art will mend the part,
And your honor lost will spring again.
I ’m a right good tinkler, as you see;
For I can crack a casque betimes,
Or clout one, as my need may be.
But noble hearts are allied to me;
For I am the lord of Annandale,
And a knight and earl as well as thee.”
And took from it his sword again:
“Since thou art the lord of Annandale,
Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain.
In that disguise thou ’rt pleased to wear;
All Scotland knows thy matchless arm,
And England by experience dear.
And jealous of each other’s sway;
But little can I comprehend
Thy motive for these pranks to-day.”
’T was I that stole your love away,
And gave her to the lord of Ross
An hour before the break of day;
By all the laws of chivalrye;
And I brought with me a thousand men
To guard him to my ain countrye.
And try your lordship to waylay,
Resolved to breed some noble sport,
By leading you so far astray.
Which fancy takes me now and then,—
And settle our quarrel hand to hand,
Than each with our ten thousand men.
To Border foray sound and haill!
But never strike a tinkler again,
If he be a Johnstone of Annandale.”