The book of British ballads . ed Elfrida and Sir James of Perth, printed in the fourth volume of Evanss Collection. It might be curious, writes Motherwell, to ascertain which of these mournfulditties is the senior, were it for nothing else than perfectly to enjoy the cool impudencewith which the graceless youngster has appropriated to itself, without thanks or ac-knowledgment, all the best things which occur in the other. These battlers for theveritable antique, in their anger against the plagiarist, overlook the greater ease andelegance of the modern composition; and especially the fact, that
The book of British ballads . ed Elfrida and Sir James of Perth, printed in the fourth volume of Evanss Collection. It might be curious, writes Motherwell, to ascertain which of these mournfulditties is the senior, were it for nothing else than perfectly to enjoy the cool impudencewith which the graceless youngster has appropriated to itself, without thanks or ac-knowledgment, all the best things which occur in the other. These battlers for theveritable antique, in their anger against the plagiarist, overlook the greater ease andelegance of the modern composition; and especially the fact, that in changing thecurrent of the story it is made more conformable with truth ; for the reader turnswith disgust from the records of the old chronicler, who makes of the fair Matilda afoul betrayer. The following verses will sufficiently exhibit the style and character ofthe story: we commence after Sir John the Graeme has made due inquiries of thelady as to what had become of Sir James the Kose, — The young heir o But as we speid they rade awa,She leudly cryd behind them; Gin yell gie me a worthy meid,Ill tell ye whar to find him. O tell, fair maid, and in our band Yese get his purse and brechan ; Hes on the bank aboon the mill,In the lawlands o Buleighan. Then out and spak Sir John the Graeme,Who had the charge a keiping, Its neir be said, my stalwart feres,We killd him whan a sleiping. They seizd his braid sword and his targe,And closely him surrounded ; O pardon, mercy, gentlemen,He then fu loudly sounded. Sic as ye gave sic ye shall hae, Nae grace we shaw to thee can. Donald my man wait till I fa,And ye sail hae my brechan ; Yell get my purse, thouch fou o gowd,To tak me to Loch Lagan. Syne they took out his bleiding heart, And set it on a speir ;Then hike it to the house o Mar, And shawd it to his deir. We cold nae gie Sir Jamess purse,We cold nae gie his brechan ; But ye sail hae his bleiding heart,Bot and his bleiding tartan. Then up she raise and furth she
Size: 1451px × 1722px
Photo credit: © The Reading Room / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, bookidg, bookpublisherlondonjhow
