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And many a hunting song they sung,
And song of
game and glee;
Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,
“Of
Scotland’s luve and lee.”
To wilder measures next they turn
“The Black,
Black Bull of Norroway!”
Sudden the tapers cease to burn,
The
minstrels cease to play.
“The
Cout of Keeldar,” by J. Leyden.
IN Norroway, langsyne, there lived a certain lady,
and she had three dochters. The auldest o’ them said to her mither: “Mither,
bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, for I’m gaun awa’ to seek my
fortune.” Her mither did sae; and the dochter gaed awa’ to an auld witch
washerwife and telled her purpose. The auld wife bade her stay that day, and
gang and look out o’ her back door, and see what she could see. She saw nocht
the first day. The second day she did the same, and saw nocht. On the third day
she looked again, and saw a coach-and-six coming along the road. She ran in and
telled the auld wife what she saw. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for
you.” Sae they took her into the coach, and galloped aff.
The second dochter next says to her mither: “Mither,
bake me a bannock, and roast me a collop, fur I’m gaun awa’ to seek my
fortune.” Her mither did sae; and awa’ she gaed to the auld wife, as her sister
had dune. On the third day she looked out o’ the back door, and saw a
coach-and-four coming along the road. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for
you.” Sae they took her in, and aff they set.
The third dochter says to her mither: “Mither, bake
me a bannock, and roast me a collop, for I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.” Her
mither did sae; and awa’ she gaed to the auld witch-wife. She bade her look out
o’ her back door, and see what she could see. She did sae; and when she came
back said she saw nocht. The second day she did the same, and saw nocht. The
third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the auld wife she saw
nocht but a muckle Black Bull coming roaring alang the road. “Aweel,” quo’ the
auld wife, “yon’s for you.” On hearing this she was next to distracted wi’
grief and terror; but she was lifted up and set on his back, and awa’ they
went.
Aye they traveled, and on they traveled, till the
lady grew faint wi’ hunger. “Eat out o’ my right lug,” says the Black Bull,
“and drink out o’ my left lug, and set by your leavings.” Sae she did as he
said, and was wonderfully refreshed. And lang they gaed, and sair they rade,
till they came in sight o’ a very big and bonny castle. “Yonder we maun be this
night,” quo’ the bull; “for my auld brither lives yonder”; and presently they
were at the place. They lifted her aff his back, and took her in, and sent him
away to a park for the night. In the morning, when they brought the bull hame,
they took the lady into a fine shining parlor, and gave her a beautiful apple,
telling her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was
in in the world, and that wad bring her o’t. Again she was lifted on the bull’s
back, and after she had ridden far, and farer than I can tell, they came in
sight o’ a far bonnier castle, and far farther awa’ than the last. Says the
bull till her: “Yonder we maun be the night, for my second brither lives
yonder”; and they were at the place directly. They lifted her down and took her
in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took the
lady into a fine and rich room, and gave her the finest pear she had ever seen,
bidding her no to break it till she was in the greatest strait ever mortal
could be in, and that wad get her out o’t. Again she was lifted and set on his
back, and awa’ they went. And lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they
came in sight o’ the far biggest castle, and far farthest aff, they had yet seen.
“We maun be yonder the night,” says the bull, “for my young brither lives
yonder”; and they were there directly. They lifted her down, took her in, and
sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took her into a
room, the finest of a’, and gied her a plum, telling her no to break it till
she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and that wad get her out
o’t. Presently they brought hame the bull, set the lady on his back, and awa’
they went.
And aye they gaed, and on they rade, till they came
to a dark and ugsome glen, where they stopped, and the lady lighted down. Says
the bull to her: “Here ye maun stay till I gang and fight the deil. Ye maun
seat yoursel’ on that stane, and move neither hand nor fit till I come back,
else I’ll never find ye again. And if everything round about ye turns blue I
hae beated the deil; but should a’ things turn red he’ll hae conquered me.” She
set hersel’ down on the stane, and by-and-by a’ round her turned blue. O’ercome
wi’ joy, she lifted the ae fit and crossed it owre the ither, sae glad was she
that her companion was victorious. The bull returned and sought for but never
could find her.
Lang she sat, and aye she grat, till she wearied. At
last she rase and gaed awa’, she kedna whaur till. On she wandered till she
came to a great hill o’ glass, that she tried a’ she could to climb, bat wasna
able. Round the bottom o’ the hill she gaed, sabbing and seeking a passage
owre, till at last she came to a smith’s house; and the smith promised, if she
wad serve him seven years, he wad make her iron shoon, wherewi’ she could climb
owre the glassy hill. At seven years’ end she got her iron shoon, clamb the
glassy hill, and chanced to come to the auld washerwife’s habitation. There she
was telled of a gallant young knight that had given in some bluidy sarks to
wash, and whaever washed thae sarks was to be his wife. The auld wife had
washed till she was tired, and then she set to her dochter, and baith washed,
and they washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young knight;
but a’ they could do they couldna bring out a stain. At length they set the
stranger damosel to wark; and whenever she began the stains came out pure and
clean, but the auld wife made the knight believe it was her dochter had washed
the sarks. So the knight and the eldest dochter were to be married, and the
stranger damosel was distracted at the thought of it, for she was deeply in
love wi’ him. So she bethought her of her apple, and breaking it, found it
filled with gold and precious jewelry, the richest she had ever seen. “All
these,” she said to the eldest dochter, “I will give you, on condition that you
put off your marriage for ae day, and allow me to go into his room alone at
night.” So the lady consented; but meanwhile the auld wife had prepared a
sleeping-drink, and given it to the knight, wha drank it, and never wakened
till next morning. The lee-lang night ther damosel sabbed and sang:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I clamb for thee,
The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”
Next day she kentna what to do for grief. She then
brak the pear, and found it filled wi’ jewelry far richer than the contents o’
the apple. Wi’ thae jewels she bargained for permission to be a second night in
the young knight’s chamber; but the auld wife gied him anither sleeping-drink,
and he again sleepit till morning. A’ night she kept sighing and singing as
before:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,” &c. Still
he sleepit, and she nearly lost hope a’thegither. But that day when he was out
at the hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was yon they heard
all last night in his bedchamber. He said he heardna ony noise. But they
assured him there was sae; and he resolved to keep waking that night to try
what he could hear. That being the third night, and the damosel being between
hope and despair, she brak her plum, and it held far the richest jewelry of the
three. She bargained as before; and the auld wife, as before, took in the sleeping-drink
to the young knight’s chamber; but he telled her he couldna drink it that night
without sweetening. And when she gaed awa’ for some honey to sweeten it wi’, he
poured out the drink, and sae made the auld wife think he had drunk it. They a’
went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I clamb for thee,
The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”
He heard, and turned to her. And she telled him a’
that had befa’en her, and he telled her a’ that had happened to him. And he
caused the auld washerwife and her dochter to be burned. And they were married,
and he and she are living happy till this day, for aught I ken.[1]
[1] Chambers, Popular Traditions of Scotland.
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