CONTENTS:
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Scottish c. 1800
http://www.chapbook.ugent.be/wp-content/uploads/2015/02/Mu52-e.16-i46-Six-songs.pdf
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Willy's rare and Willy's fair Sung by Mrs. Wrighten.
Main Author: Hook, Mr. 1746-1827.
Corporate Authors: Eighteenth Century Collections Online
Format: Online Book
Language: English
Published: [London?, 1780?]
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Palgrave's golden treasury edited by Francis Turner Palgrave 1907
WILLY DROWNED IN YARROW
Down in yon garden sweet and gay
Where bonnie grows the lily,
I heard a fair maid sighing say,
"My wish be wi' sweet Willie !|
"Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,
And Willie's wondrous bonny;
And Willie hecht to marry me
Gin e'er he married ony.
"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
From where my Love repaireth,
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth
And tell me how he fareth!
"O tell sweet Willie to come doun
And hear the mavis singing,
And see the birds on ilka bush
And leaves around them hinging.
"The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast
And gentle throat sae narrow;
There's sport eneuch for gentlemen
On Leader haughs and Yarrow.
"O Leader haughs are wide and braid
And Yarrow haughs are bonny;
There Willie hecht to marry me
If e'er he married ony.
"But Willie's gone, whom I thought on,
And does not hear me weeping;
Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e
When other maids are sleeping.
"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
The night I'll mak' it narrow,
For a' the live-lang winter night
I lie twined o' my marrow.
"O came ye by yon water-side?
Pou'd you the rose or lily?
Or came ye by yon meadow green,
Or saw you my sweet Willie?"
She sought him up, she sought him down,
She sought him braid and narrow;
Syne, in the cleaving of a craig,
She found him drown'd in Yarrow!
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The History and Poetry of the Scottish Border: Volume 2 By John Veitch; 1893
CHAPTER V.
HISTORICAL BALLADS: THE YARROW.
The ballads to which we have just referred have been found to relate to events of general historical interest, or to the details of Border raids and exploits. The interest of them lies mainly in action. But there is another class of ballads which, while they refer to incident more or less, yet derive their main interest and impressiveness from the tragic or pathetic emotion excited by the story. And, curiously enough, the ballads of this description which thrill us the most, and which have most widely and deeply stirred the souls of men in subsequent times, have their locality in one valley—that of the Yarrow— the stream of pathetic song. Eough and rude was the life there for many generations; but the blood-stains on its grassy holms have watered and nourished growths of sentiment so tender, so pure, so intense, as to be for ever a gain and a blessing to the human heart.
How the Yarrow has been the scene and the source of so much that is grand and touching in the older poetry of the Borders, is a question of great interest. That it has been so, not only through the accident of tragic and pathetic incident, but also through the peculiarities of its natural scenery, fusing with the moods of mind that sympathise with this kind of incident, I hope to be able to show. Meanwhile let us glance at its ballads and songs.
Of the ballads and songs of the Yarrow of a pathetic type, there are four principal ones. They all apparently refer to real incidents. The oldest, which was first printed in Eamsay's Tea-Table Miscellany in 1724, is Willie's Eare and Willie's Fair. Pinkerton refers it to the period between James IV. and the reign of Mary. Then there are The Douglas Tragedy, The Dowie Dens of Yarrow, and The Lament of the Border Widow. The note struck in the first of these is that regret for the promise of happiness and that monotone of sadness which runs through all the pathetic poetry of the Yarrow. The burden of the song is the old story of a lost lover—lost, not through the violence of men as in The Douglas Tragedy, but by drowning in the Yarrow. The depth of passion conveyed is as wonderful as the simplicity of the expression:—
"Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,
And Willie's wondrous bonny,
And Willie hecht[1] to marry me,
Gin e'er he married ony.
Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
This night I'll make it narrow;
For a' the live-lang winter night
I'll lye twined o' my marrow.
0 came ye by yon water-side?
Pu'd you the rose or lily
Or came ye by yon meadow green?
Or saw ye my sweet Willie?
She sought him east, she sought him west,
She sought him braid and narrow;
Syne in the cleaving of a craig,
She found him drowned in Yarrow."[2]
A ballad with a northern reference somewhat similar to this is given by Buchan,[3] and has been repeated with variations since his time. It is entitled Willie's drowned in Gamery. It has much more narrative than the Yarrow ballad—has in fact not much in common with it beyond a general scope, and seems very like an adaptation of it to a more recent incident. The remaining three were first given by Scott in the Minstrelsy (1802-1803). The Douglas Tragedy and The Dowie Dens both refer to the same kind of incident—the loss of lover or husband in mortal combat. The scene of the former is the glen of the Douglas Burn, which rises in the dark heathery heights of Blackhouse, and joins the Yarrow at the Douglas Craig. The lovers were fleeing by night from the Tower of Blackhouse, situated in this glen, whose ruins still remain, though in a painfully uncared - for and gradually vanishing condition. Blackhouse was a very old possession of the great house of Douglas. One of the family is commonly said to have sat in a Parliament of Malcolm Canmore at Forfar, as baronial lord of Douglas Burn. This Parliament is regarded as fabulous by Mr C. Innes.[4] But by charter of 1321-22, the forests of Selkirk, Ettrick, and Traquair were bestowed on the "good Sir James of Douglas." Whether or not the lady who fled from her father's tower was a Douglas, it is now impossible to say. But, if she were, this would account for the disparity in social rank between herself and her lover, at which tradition hints. The bridle-road across the hills, which the fleeing lovers are said to have followed, can still, to a certain extent, be easily traced. It is one of the main old Border roads or riding-tracks between the Yarrow and the Tweed. From Blackhouse Tower a line of hill-road passes up the Douglas Burn, then turns to the right into Brakehope, and at the Risp Syke, where "the Douglas Stones" are, it passes up the hill nearing the stones; then, keeping northwards, it follows the line of the Black Cleugh Burn, and parts into two on the east slope of Dunrig. One branch, though here much obliterated, passes along the south shoulder of the Dunrig (2435), and proceeding across the watershed of the Douglas, Glenrath, and Glensax Burns, and the ridge of the Fa' Seat —the highest of the hills in that wild district—it leads along the broad hill-tops by way of Hundleshope, or by Crookstone, to the Tweed at Peebles. The other, and here more distinctly marked, branch goes to the northwestwards, and right by the slopes of the Stake Law, at an elevation of about 1784 feet; and at the watershed, between The Glen and Glensax, it diverges into two lines — the one passing down "the Short Strands" to Glensax Burn, and thence down the valley to Peebles; the other, known as "the Drove Road," keeping along the Newbie heights till it, too, descends into the low ground and meets the Tweed at Peebles. From the Douglas Stones, after the conflict with the father and seven brothers, the knight and his lady were making their way for the home of the former, and their path might have been either along the high line of Dunrig, or the lower slopes of the Stake Law, to Glensax. From these main lines various branches of roads diverge, each traceable still to the site of some ancient peel, with which it afforded a ready connection to the mounted Borderer.
The stones which are said to mark the scene of the fatal conflict are, however, obviously greatly older than any reasonable date which can be assigned to the story of the ballad; and instead of there being only seven, there are at least thirteen distinctly visible. The structure obviously belongs to the general class of stone-circles common on the Lowland hills, which might have been places of judicature, or worship, or burial, or all three. Still it is quite possible that in this, as in other instances, these ancient stones became the scene of a historical event.
To reach " the Douglas Stones," one has to go up the Douglas Burn, pass Blackhouse Tower, then follow the Brakehope Burn to the right. Into this burn on the left falls the rivulet called the Eisp Syke. Ascend this to the top, and there, within about 400 yards from the sky-line of the hills, at an elevation of some 1180 feet, are situated the grey, weird stones. At first sight the appearance is that of a semicircle, with its convex facing you as you ascend the hill, and its base to the west towards the summit. In the line of the semicircle there are eleven stones, and within this line near the east side are two — making thirteen. Of these only four are now erect, the others lying flat, but suggesting that they were originally upright. The height of the first or uppermost standing stone south is 2 feet 1 inch, of the one within the circle 3 feet 3 inches, of that on the north side, corresponding to the uppermost on the south side, 2 feet 7 inches. The longest flat stone, on the east, is 3 feet 9 inches. The length of the outer line of the semicircle is about 8 7 feet. Four of the flat lying stones are together on the southeast, suggesting that they had formed a low entrance. This is in the line of approach to the standing stone within the semicircle. Eecently a drain has been dug, unfortunately quite close to the north line of the stones, and putting them in great danger. But this opening has revealed two flat lying stones in the line, as it were, of a continuous circle stretching up the hill; and there is another flat lying stone in the soft ground a little higher up, at a point which seems to indicate that there had been originally a complete circle. The diameter from this highest stone on the west to the lowest stone of the circular line on the east is 45 feet; and the diameter right across from north to south is 48 feet. On the largest flat stone on the east or lower line, and on the upright stone within the circle, there are six and four small hollows respectively, which might pass for cup-markings. They are probably simply natural hollows, as may be seen in stones laid bare by the floods on the sides of the burns, one excellent specimen of which is to be found in the burn that comes down from the Short Strands in Glensax on the opposite side of the hills. It should be mentioned that there is a circle of smaller-sized stones— amounting in all to eight—somewhat lower down the hollow in which the Eisp Syke flows; but I cannot gather that these have any title to be regarded as the traditionary Douglas Stones. They might almost be regarded as the foundation of a dwelling in the midst of soft ground. Excavation, a few years ago, showed nothing but natural soil below. Oh! tell sweet Willie to come down,
In the Douglas Tragedy, whatever be its historical value, we have a perfect concentration of picturesque and striking incidents. The flight of the lovers by night up the heights of Black Cleugh; the combat, in which the maiden's father and seven brothers are slain; the maiden stooping to stanch her father's wounds; the struggle between regard for her family and affection for her lover; the continued flight from those dead faces pallid on the knowe, and sadly shadowed in the soft moonlight,—are crowded into a brief intensity of impression. And then there is the still more tragic close of the whole:—
"He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.
Oh they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the licht of the moon,
Until they cam to yon wan water,
And there they lichted down.
They lichted down to tak a drink
Of the spring that ran sae clear;
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blude,
And sair she 'gan to fear.
'Hold up, hold up, Lord William,' she says,
'For I fear that you are slain!'
''Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak
That shines in the water sae plain.'
Oh they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the licht of the moon,
Until they cam to his mother's ha' door,
And there they Hchted down.
Lord William was dead lang ere midnicht;
Lady Margaret lang ere day;
And all true lovers that gang thegither,
May they have mair luck than they."
The Dowie Dens is supposed to refer to a duel fought at Deuchar Swire, near Yarrow Kirk, between John Scott of Tuschielaw and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, third son of Eobert Scott of Thirlestane, in which the latter was slain.[5] According, however, to the version in the Minstrelsy, it would seem rather to be founded on the fact or tradition of Walter Scott being surprised and surrounded by a band hired by his brother-in-law to assassinate him. For brevity, directness, and graphic turn of narrative, vivid picturing, and the image of passionate devotion to the dead, there are few ballads in any language that match its strains:—
"Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
And ere they paid the lawing,[6]
They set a combat them between,
To fecht it in the dawing.[7]
'Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,
Oh, stay at hame, my marrow;[8]
My cruel brother will you betray
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.'
'Oh, fare ye weel, my ladie gay,
Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah!
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return
From the dowie banks o' Yarrow.'
She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,
As oft she had done before, 0;
She belted him with his noble brand,
And he's away to Yarrow.
As he gaed up the Tinnies Bank,
I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,
Till, down in a den[9] he spied nine armed men,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
'Oh, come ye here to part your land,
The bonnie Forest thorough?
Or come ye here to wield your brand
On the dowie houms of Yarrow?'
'I come not here to part my land,
And neither to beg nor borrow;
I come to wield my noble brand
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.'
'If I see all, ye're nine to ane,
And that's an unequal marrow;
Yet will I fight while lasts my brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.'
Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
On the bludie braes of Yarrow;
Till that stubborn knight came him behind
And ran his body thorough.
'Gae hame, gae hame, gude-brother [10] John,
And tell your sister Sarah
To come and lift her leafu' lord;
He's sleepin sound on Yarrow.'
'Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,
I fear there will be sorrow;
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,
Wi' my true love on Yarrow.
0 gentle wind that bloweth south,
From where my Love repaireth,
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth,
And tell me how he fareth!
Oh! tell sweet Willie to come down,
And hear the mavis singing,
And see the birds on ilka bush,
And leaves around them hinging.
But in the glen strove armed men;
They've wrought me dule and sorrow;
They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain—
He bleeding lies on Yarrow.'
As she sped down yon high, high hill,
She gaed wi' dule and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.
She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough;
She kissed them, till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
'Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
For a' this breeds but sorrow;
I'll wed ye to a better lord,
Than him ye lost on Yarrow.'
'Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear!
Ye mind me but of sorrow;
A fairer rose did never bloom
Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow.'"
So far as regards the version of The Dowie Dens of Yarrow given by Sir Walter Scott, and now quoted, there is really very little certainty either as to the original lines or as to the historical reference. Sir Walter tells us that "this ballad, which is a very great favourite among the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest, is universally believed to be founded on fact. I found it easy to collect a variety of copies; but very difficult indeed to select from them such a collated edition as might, in any degree, suit the taste 'of these more light and giddypaced times.'" We must therefore regard Scott's version as a " collated edition." The material he had to work on was probably the different versions preserved at Abbotsford, and recently printed by Mr Child.[11] Certain it is, he did not succeed in giving a ballad with stanzas perfectly harmonious. It would have been better to have given even one purely untouched version, as it came from the mouth of an oral reciter.
Sir Walter's view as to the historical reference is obviously not well founded. His original opinion that the ballad referred to the slaughter of a Harden by the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh he afterwards abandoned as untenable. But there can hardly be anything worse than his references to what he calls "Annan's Treat," and the unhewn stones near Yarrow Kirk. These have nothing whatever to do with the incidents of any Yarrow ballad. The stones stood there long before a single deed in Scottish story had been done—were even then grey, weird, mysterious; and "Annan's Treat" is a pure misnomer, a reading of Scott's own, which has no foundation either in tradition or fact. Nor can we say anything more favourable of Sir Walter's final view regarding the historical personages of The Dowie Dens. This was that it indicated a duel fought at Deuchar Swire, near Yarrow Kirk, between John Scott of Tuschielaw and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, whom he calls third son of Eobert Scott of Thirlestane, in which the latter was slain.[12] This Walter Scott was certainly brother of Sir Eobert Scott of Thirlestane of the time.
Mr Craig Brown, in his History of Selkirkshire,—most interesting and painstaking in its details,—disputes this reference. A duel certainly took place in 1609 between Walter Scott, brother of Sir Eobert Scott of Thirlestane, and John Scott, a member of the family of Tuschielaw, in which Walter Scott was slain. This John Scott was clearly not the laird of Tuschielaw at the time. He is described in the Presbytery Eecords as "son lawful to Walter Scott of Tushilaw." But he was not the eldest son, as Mr Craig Brown describes him. Tuschielaw had other two sons — Eobert and James — and Eobert is repeatedly referred to in the Privy Council Eecords as "eldest son and heir-apparent of Tushilaw," and mention is made of his son Walter.[13] The duel is not specially indicated in the Privy Council Records, but there is reference to a "variance having lately fallen out" between the families of Thirlestane and Tuschielaw, and to the blood-feud in consequence of this (16th February 1609). This would place the duel early in that year. We know nothing of John Scott beyond his part in the duel. The record of Walter Scott of the Thirlestane stock, who fell in the duel, shows him to have been of a turbulent type. He was implicated along with his brother Eobert of Thirlestane in an attack on the house of Adam Veitch in Fethan (called Fechene), near Traquair Church (6th June 1605), and he was one of a band who rescued a prisoner from the magistrates of Selkirk. But this John and Walter Scott do not seem to have been the personages referred to in the ballad. They were not brothers-in-law. The wife of Walter Scott of the Thirlestane stock was not a sister of John Scott of the Tuschielaw family, but a daughter of Patrick Porteous of Hawkshaw. There was a son of this marriage—Patrick Scott of Tanlawhill—who became possessor of Thirlestane in 1641, when the representative of the older line surrendered the property. Further, the duel of 1609 seems to have been fought quite fairly. At least there is no imputation in the Presbytery Eecords of inequality of numbers, unfairness, or treachery as in the ballad. John Scott, the survivor of the duel, was summoned to compear before the Presbytery of Selkirk, February 7, 1609, to answer for the slaughter; but it was not until September 22, 1615, that he made public satisfaction in the church of Melrose for the deed. But clearly the duel and the circumstances of the persons do not fit into the story of the ballad. Mr Craig Brown suggests that the reference in the ballad is to an incident that happened several years after the duel of 1609. It appears that a Walter Scott of Tuschielaw eloped with a Grisell Scott of Thirlestane, a daughter probably of Sir Eobert Scott. The elopement and marriage took place in the early summer of 1616. Walter Scott confessed it before the Presbytery, July 9 of this year. He and his wife were ordered to compear in church, and acknowledge the irregularity of their conduct. The blood-feud, originating in the duel of 1609, between Thirlestane and Tuschielaw was even yet unstanched, notwithstanding all the efforts of the Privy Council from that year onwards. The Moderator of the Presbytery was ordered to write to "the gudeman of Thirlestane, to desyr him to absent himself that day of the said Walter Scott of Tushielaw his compearance, because of the dreadful feud that is amongis them." [14]
Walter and Grisell Scott had fled across the Border evidently, for they were married at Bellingham, in Northumberland. They had thus anticipated the exploit of Jock o' Hazeldean. They had crossed the Carterhaugh and gone down the Eeidswire, straight on to the nearest point of safe matrimony,—Bellingham on the Tyne,—where they were duly married. But now comes a most ominous notice in the Presbytery Records. It looks as if their happiness had not been long lived. On October 22d of the same year (1616), Scott of Bonyntoun, his sons, and others of the name,—four in all, kinsmen and well-known allies of Thirlestane in his violent deeds, — were "summoned at the Kirk of the Forest to hear themselves excommunicat for the horrible slaughter of Walter Scott. Compeared not." [15]
Who was the Walter Scott thus horribly slaughtered? There were two Walter Scotts of note at the time. There was old Walter of Tuschielaw, and there was his grandson Walter, son of his eldest son and heir-apparent, Eobert Scott. If of the Tuschielaw stock, he must have been one or other. I was fain to suppose at first that the youthful grandson had innocently eloped with Grisell of Thirlestane, gone across the hills to Bellingham, and, in face of the difficulties of family bloodfeud, there got married happily. But then facts are too strong for this hypothesis. For we find that Walter Scott was "retoured" as heir of his father Bobert in the lands of Tuschielaw and others in 1633; clearly not killed, therefore, in 1616. Could it, then, have been the hoary old reiver, the grandfather, laird of Tuschielaw, who so carried off Grisell of Thirlestane? If so, we can understand how the affront implied in this would be intensified by the feeling arising from the blood-feud already existing between Thirlestane and Tuschielaw. Here we have the old enemy of the Thirlestanes carrying off a daughter, who could not have been even half his age, — for he had been reiving, fighting, shedding blood since at least the year 1565, and this was 1616. He had been, in fact, contemporary of Eobert Scott of Thirlestane, her father. This would strongly predispose the former family to resent the wrong implied in the carrying away of Grisell Scott by a Tuschielaw. It is curious that in Motherwell's version there is a reference to the reiving of the lady:—
"Thou took our sister to be thy wife,
And thou ne'er thocht her thy marrow;
Thou steal'd her frae her Daddy's back,
When she was the Rose of Yarrow."
An intelligible motive for the slaughter of Walter Scott is thus afforded, though it should be noted that a daughter of Thirlestane in Ettrick could not appropriately be called "the Rose of Yarrow." There is here some confusion of the Thirlestane incident with the Dryhope one.
Professor Aytoun's supposition that "the dispute was regarding some lands which old Tuschielaw intended to convey, or perhaps had conveyed to his daughter," is untenable, seeing the bride was not the daughter of Tuschielaw but of Thirlestane. Then there is the superiority of numbers pitted against the victim—in the facts four, in the licence of the ballad, nine to one. There is the treachery implied in this, which is consistent with the idea of the lover or husband being run through from behind his back. There is, further, the circumstance of the husband going to Yarrow to meet his opponent, suggesting that he did not live there; and Tuschielaw is in Ettrick. Again, Bonyntoun or Bonnington, the residence of Scott, the assailant, is in Peeblesshire, on the other side of the hills from Yarrow. The Yarrow, as an intermediate valley between the Tweed and the Ettrick, would naturally be selected as the place of hostile meeting, if indeed it was not a planned conspiracy and surprise. Finally, there is the speech of the father of the bereaved wife, which distinctly suggests sympathy with the slaughter. These coincidences seem to outweigh the few minor discrepancies, as "Willie" for "Walter," and "Sarah" for "Grisell" — evidently an adaptation to the rhyme—though it is a mistake to suppose, as Professor Aytoun does, that Sarah was an exceptional name on the Borders. It is both ancient and common. Then Scott of Bonnington, though a kinsman of Thirlestane—nephew, in fact—was not his son, and therefore not brother-in-law of the slain man. It is quite likely, however, that the turbulent Bonnington was instigated to the slaughter by an incensed brotherin-law. He was the ready ally of Thirlestane in deeds of violence and bloodshed.
The only real objection I see to this view of the reference of the ballad to old Tuschielaw is the passionate grief of the bereaved wife—the implication of the youth of the slain man:—
"A fairer rose did never bloom
Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."
This is not natural in a young woman, even though bereaved of a septuagenarian, and the lines are utterly inapplicable to a hoary-headed old reiver.
The lines in Scott's version of The Dowie Dens,—
"Gae name, gae hame, good brother John,
And tell your sister Sarah,"—
would no doubt fit exactly the circumstances of the ballad, if there had been any proof of this relationship. But the facts are on the other side. The conclusion I come to is that Sir Walter Scott's version of the ballad has in itself no certain historical ground, but that the incident of the early or original ballad has been mixed up with ballads referring to the duel of 1609, and the general blood-feud relations between Thirlestanes and Tuschielaws.
It is just possible that the solution of this question may be found in the fact of another slaughter by a Scott of Tuschielaw—namely, John Scott, brother of Walter Scott, and uncle of John Scott the duellist of Deuchar Swire. This John Scott slew John (or James) Govan of Cardrona before 29th September 1601. He was denounced rebel, 29th January 1607, for not answering before the justice in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh for the cruel murder of John Govan of Cardrona, on letters of horning dated 29 th September 1601.
This John Scott was married and had a son William. We have no record of the name of his wife. John Govan also was married and had a son William. Could the wife of the latter have been a sister of John Scott of Tuschielaw? Accurate information on this point would probably settle the question of the main element of historical fact in the slaughter recorded in The Dowie Dens. It may be noted in this connection that in Principal Eobertson's version the brother-in-law is John, and in the version of the ballad given from the recitation of Tibbie Shiel, the brother and the husband of the wife are both named John.[16]
These two well-known ballads of the Yarrow—viz., Eare Willy's drowned in Yarrow and The Dowie Dens— have presented several difficulties to editors, not only in respect of historical reference but internal consistency. The incongruity in the stanzas has been sufficient to mar the complete unity of each, and suggests the need of revision and removal.[17] Perhaps some light may be thrown on both ballads by a reference to a version of The Dowie Dens, different from that of Sir Walter Scott, which I was lately fortunate enough to recover.
The former ballad—Rare Willy's drowned in Yarrow —was printed for the first time in Allan Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany (1724), where it consists of four stanzas. The first of these points distinctly to a maiden lover as the personage of the ballad, while the second stanza as clearly refers to a matron. They are as follows:—
1. "Willy's rare and Willy's fair,
And Willy's wondrous bonny,
And Willy hecht[18] to marry me,
Gin e'er he married ony.
2. Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
This night I'll make it narrow;
For a' the live-lang winter night
I'll lie twin'd [19] o' my marrow."
The other stanzas, three and four, carry out the idea of the ballad as referring to a betrothed maiden. The ballad is repeated, as Eamsay gave it, by David Herd in his Scots Songs (1759 and 1776).[20]
The first indication in print of the ballad afterwards named by Sir Walter Scott The Dowie Dens of Yarrow, is found in Herd's Scots Songs[21]. This consists of four stanzas under the heading, "To the tune of Zeaderhaughs and Yarrow." The lady who speaks throughout in those stanzas is obviously not a matron, but simply a betrothed maiden. Yet certain of the stanzas occur in Scott's ballad, first given in the Minstrelsy in 1802-3, and this ballad has clearly as its main import a reference to persons already married. In the tenth stanza, after the treacherous stroke, the dying man says :—
"Gae hame, gae hame, guid-brother John,
And tell your sister Sarah
To come and lift her leafu' lord,—
He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."
But the immediately following stanza suggests only a love relation between the two as betrothed persons:—
"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream,
I fear there will be sorrow;
I dream'd I pu'd the heather green,
Wi' my true love on Yarrow." (In Herd it is, " the birk sae green.")
And with the same bearing comes next the stanza, almost unequalled in love poetry :—
"0 gentle wind that bloweth south
From where my love repaireth,
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
And tell me how he fareth." (In Herd, "from" is "to.")
These two stanzas occur in the fragment printed by Herd, and also the next one:—
"But in the glen strive armed men,
They've wrought me dule and sorrow;
They've slain, they've slain the comeliest swain,—
He bleeding lies on Yarrow."
Scott, we may note, has changed one line here, and greatly for the worse. He writes:—
"They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain."
Possibly it may turn out that the slain man was not a knight at all, and that the word "swain" was the only appropriate one. Clearly, at least, we have here three stanzas which do not naturally refer to the relation of husband and wife, but to that of betrothed lovers. The ballad of The Dowie Dens is thus, like that of Willy's drowned in Yarrow, rendered inconsistent and incongruous.
Several attempts have been made to remove these incongruities, but not with complete success. Professor Aytoun has the merit of having seen the incongruity in Willy's drowned in Yarrow, and attempted to remedy it. He evidently holds that this ballad refers to a betrothed maiden, the death of whose lover was caused by drowning, not by violence; but he still retains in his reconstructed version the stanza beginning—
"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,"
which obviously points to a matron as the speaker. And in his version of The Dowie Dens he retains two of Herd's stanzas, already quoted, which as clearly can refer only to one in the position of a maiden lover.
It may be supposed that these two ballads refer to two different incidents,—the one, Willy's drowned in Yarrow, to a maiden deprived of her betrothed lover by the accident of drowning; the other to a wife whose husband was slain by her own kinsmen, and treacherously. But this difference of incident is far from conclusive. There is quite a possibility of uniting the two things,—death by violence, and the body being found in the stream. And little or no stress should be laid on the rhythmical ending of The Dowie Dens, in the repetition of the word Yarrow, as making it specifically different from the other ballad; for versions, especially the earliest, whether fragmentary or complete, are not at all uniform in this particular. But there is another explanation, and one which helps to remove the incongruities in the two ballads themselves. This is to be found in the fact that there was an earlier ballad of the Yarrow than either that known as Willy's drowned in Yarrow or The Dowie Dens; that the stanzas given by Bamsay under the former head, and those given by Herd " To the tune of Leaderhaughs and Yarrow," are simply portions, harmonious portions, of one, and this the earlier ballad; and further, that The Dowie Dens as given by Sir Walter Scott was a mixed, therefore incongruous, reference to the incident of the earlier ballad, and to a later incident in the relations of the families of Scott of Thirlestane and Scott of Tuschielaw.
This older ballad, now that it has been discovered, explains nearly everything. The heroine was really a maiden lover; her betrothed was slain directly by her brother in the course of an unequal combat; his body was thrown into the Yarrow, and there found by her; and any incongruity in representing her both as maiden and matron is explained by the mixing up of the later or Thirlestane incident with the earlier one. Here is the older ballad in full:—
1. "At Dryhope lived a lady fair,
The fairest flower in Yarrow;
And she refused nine noble men
For a servan' lad in Gala.
2. Her father said that he should fight
The nine lords all to-morrow;
And he that should the victor be,
Would get the Rose of Yarrow.
3. Quoth he, ' You're nine an' I'm but ane,
And in that there's no much marrow;
Yet I shall fecht ye man for man,
In the dowie dens o' Yarrow.'
4. She's kissed his lips and combed his hair,
As oft she'd done before, O,
An' set him on her milk-white steed,
Which bore him on to Yarrow.
5. When he got o'er yon high, high hill,
An1 down the dens o' Yarrow,
There did he see the nine lords all,
But there was not one his marrow.
6. 'Now here ye're nine, an' I'm but ane,
But yet I am not sorrow;
For here I'll fecht ye man for man,
For my true love in Yarrow.'
7. Then he wheel'd round and fought so fierce,
Till the seventh fell in Yarrow;
When her brother sprang from a bush behind,
And ran his body thorough.
8. He never spoke more words than these,
An' they were words o' sorrow:
'Ye may tell my true love, if ye please,
That I!m sleepin' sound in Yarrow.'
9. They've ta'en the young man by the heels,
And trailed him like a harrow,
And then they flung the comely youth
In a whirlpool o' Yarrow.
10. The lady said,' I dreamed yestreen,
I fear it bodes some sorrow,
That I was pu'in' the heather green
On the scroggy braes o' Yarrow.'
11. Her brother said,' I'll read your dream,
But it should cause nae sorrow;
Ye may go seek your lover hame,
For he's sleepin' sound in Yarrow.'
12. Then she rode o'er yon gloomy height,
An' her heart was fu' o' sorrow,
But only saw the clud o' night,
Or heard the roar o' Yarrow.
13. But she wandered east, so did she wast,
And searched the forest thorough,
Until she spied her ain true love
Lyin' deeply drowned in Yarrow.
14. His hair it was five quarters lang,
Its colour was the yellow;
She twined it round her lily hand,
And drew him out o' Yarrow.
15. She kissed his lips and combed his head,
As oft she'd done before, 0;
She laid him o'er her milk-white steed,
An' bore him home from Yarrow.
16. She washed his wounds in yon well-strand,
And dried him wi' the hollan',
And aye she sighed and said, 'Alas!
For my love I had him chosen.'
17. 'Go hold your tongue,' her father said,
'There's little cause for sorrow;
I'll wed ye on a better lad
Than ye ha'e lost in Yarrow.'
18. 'Haud your ain tongue, my faither dear,
I canna help my sorrow;
A fairer flower ne'er sprang in May
Than I ha'e lost in Yarrow.
19. 'I meant to make my bed fu' wide,
But you may make it narrow,
For now I've nane to be my guide,
But a deid man drowned in Yarrow.'
20. An' aye she screighed and cried, ' Alas!'
Till her heart did break wi' sorrow,
An' sank into her faither's arms,
'Mang the dowie dens o' Yarrow."
In thus producing for the first time an additional version of the ballad of the Yarrow, I may be properly asked to give my ground and authority. This I readily do. The version is due to the memory and the care of an old man in Peeblesshire, now deceased, who was a worthy type of what is best in our fast-decaying oldworld character—its simplicity, homeliness, and steady uprightness. The late William Welsh, Peeblesshire cottar and poet, as he was wont to designate himself—being the author of a volume of poems and tales relating to local topics—gave me the poem, of which the above is an exact copy. I knew the old man well. He was, when I first became personally acquainted with him, above seventy years of age, but hale, healthy, and in perfect possession of his faculties, shrewd, acute, and much above the common. For several years he paid me an annual visit. I had great pleasure in his conversation —genial, humorous, pawky. He moralised as only a Scotsman can; but his epigrammatic flashes kept his sententiousness from being prosy. He wrote out for me the version of the ballad as I have given it, stating very explicitly that it was from the recitation of his mother and grandmother. I questioned him closely on the point, but to this statement he steadily adhered. I asked him to give me answers to certain questions in writing, which he did. The ballad, he said, was recited by his mother, —his grandmother had a copy of the same in her father's handwriting, and thus the poem came down to him. As dates are of importance in a case of this sort, I got from him a statement in writing in answer to questions on those points, and also other corroborative particulars. These are to the following effect:—
Eobert Welsh—great-great-grandfather of W. Welsh —was born about 1686, died 1766. He farmed Faldonside, near Abbotsford, well known as once the property of the Ker who held the pistol to Mary's bosom on the night of Eizzio's slaughter. His son married Janet Lees, from Galashiels, who was born 1726, died 1789. Their son married Margaret Yule, who was born at Falahill, in Heriot, in 1761, and died in 1819. William Welsh himself was born at Heriot Tower, 6th May 1799, and left it in 1819. "The grandmother," William Welsh writes, "had a fine ear for music, and had a copy of the song in her father's writing (queer crooked letters), which Mr Haig, the schoolmaster of Heriot, could read fluently, and called it the Queen Anne's hand. He transcribed it into the modern style, and gave a copy to my mother (who was also very musical) for the sake of [I suppose he means in place of] the old manuscript. I kept Haig's copy till it got into pieces, and was lately burnt when cleaning the house."—(Letter, 14th February 1878.) This would take the MS. of the ballad back at least to the early part of last century. William Welsh adds the following: "An old woman, a mantuamaker, whose name was Marion Tod, and whose house I frequented often when a boy of seven years, sung it exactly the same way; and many youngsters came to hear auld Gifford, as they called her, because she came from thereabouts, sing the Dowie Dens o' Yarrow. Once, when I was a young man, I was singing it to a young lass and an old maid; and when I had done, I turned up the young one's head, which was hanging very low, and saw the tears on her cheeks; and the old one, looking serious, said, ' Poor man! I could ha'e likit him mysel'.'"—(Letter, 14th February 1878.) If these statements are even generally correct — and I see no ground to doubt them, even as to details—this version of The Dowie Dens- is older than the earliest printed fragment by Herd, and probably as early as Eare Willy's drowned in Yarrow, first printed by Eamsay in 1724. Sir Walter Scott's version is confessedly a compilation; Motherwell's, taken from the recitation of an old woman in Kilbarchan, is still later. All this points to the conclusion that we have in the version now offered the oldest, probably the original, ballad of The Dowie Dens of Yarrow. in this case was not the least likely to be the "servan' lad." He, however, accepts the unequal conditions. Then he slays seven of his opponents; and as the seventh fell he is treacherously run through "from a bush behind " by the brother of his love, who apparently was an interested spectator of the unequal contest. The lover sends a dying message to his lady-love. Then comes a stanza, not in Scott's version, but happily congruous with the whole story. The man who is now down on the field is not a knight, only a servant — one of base degree; hence he gets no knightly treatment, not even decent human regard; his lot is only shameful indignity:—
This conclusion is strengthened, if we look to internal evidence. The whole tone and frame of this ballad are from beginning to end simple, uniform, consistent—a unity of narrative feeling. The stanzas which in the other two ballads are incongruous find here their natural place. There is ample, intelligible motive for the slaughter of the lover. He is no knight or noble lord, as in Scott's ballad, but an ignoble person—" a servan' lad in Gala." This base personage has dared to fall in love with a daughter of Scott of Dryhope,—one of the most ready freebooters on the Border,—the laird of those glens of Dryhope and Kirkstead that run up through varied heather and bracken sheen to the Blacklaw and the heights of Glenrath—Hopes which now we love and prize for matchless charm, for gleam and murmur of burn, for solitary birk that drapes the seldom-visited linn pool—Hopes which the reiver cared for, because they could conveniently conceal, say, four hundred kine taken from Bewcastle Waste on the English side. More than all, this love is reciprocated: the daughter of Dryhope finds some manliness, some nobility in the "servan' lad in Gala," who may possibly never have ridden in a reiver's band. This surely was an out-of-the-way lass in those times, with some strange modern notions worthy of the evolution of the two hundred years that followed. But her brothers do not at all like this sort of arrangement —" a servan' lad in Gala" forsooth! Here is a motive for his being put out of the way at once ere he marries their sister,—tenfold more powerful in those times than any question about dower, or even hatred from blood- feud. For this latter motive did not prevent marriages between families, even while blood-feuds were unstanched. Witness Kers and Scotts, and Peeblesshire alliances many. In corroboration it may be noted that in two of the versions given by Mr Child since the above sentences were written, the hero is "a servant lad in Gala," and in one derived from Mrs Richardson (Tibbie Shiel), he is "a ploughboy lad in Yarrow."[22] These references are all from versions near the locality,— Melrose, Innerleithen, and Yarrow itself. This inequality, of rank is pointed to in one at least of the versions:—
"I'm wedded to your sister dear,
Ye coont me nae your marrow;
I stole her frae her father's back,
And made her the flower of Yarrow." [23]
Then here comes the romance part of the affair—the fitting explanation of how the incompatibility of circumstances was to be dealt with. And this is how the minstrel pictures it. The father of the lady, hopeless of breaking down her love, proposes that the "servan' lad" should fight the nine lords—that is, lairds, for lord means no more than this,—simply, at the utmost, lord of a barony—who are suitors for his daughter's hand. She is called "the Eose of Yarrow "; and while this phrase does not occur in Scott's version, it is to be found in the "West Country one—from Kilbarchan—given by Motherwell.
"The Rose of Yarrow" was to fall to the victor, who
"They've ta'en the young man by the heels,
And trailed him like a harrow,
And then they Hung the comely youth
In a whirlpool o' Yarrow."
Then the lady has the ominous dream about
"Pu'in' the heather green
On the scroggy braes o' Yarrow."
"Scroggy braes "—quite true, not on the " dowie houms." There is no heather there, — only the waesome bent which, bowing to the autumn winds, makes them dowie; but on the "scroggy braes" there it is now, as any one may see. But "scroggy" is better than all. This expresses exactly the look of the stunted trees and bushes on the braes of Yarrow—two and a half or three centuries ago, when the forest was decaying—such as only a native minstrel could have seen or felt. "The scroggy braes,"—this was never said before in Scottish ballad or minstrel song,—yet it is so true and so ancient! Her brother reads her dream for her,—tells her bluntly enough, not sympathising with her, or caring for her feelings, to
"Go seek your lover hame,
For he's sleepin' sound in Yarrow."
There is surely a touch of the direst irony here,— the dead man - -beloved,—" sleepin' sound." She sets out in search of him, and then there comes a stanza which, supposing this ballad to have been known in the early part of last century, as it probably was, obviously suggested to Logan the verse in his ballad of Yarrow which Scott prized so highly, and which sets Logan higher than any other thing he is known to have written. The stanzas in the original, as now for the first time printed, are—
"Then she rode o'er yon gloomy height,
An' her heart was fu' o' sorrow,
But only saw the clud o' night,
Or heard the roar o' Yarrow.
But she wandered east, so did she wast,
And searched the forest thorough,
Until she spied her ain true love
Lyin' deeply drowned in Yarrow."
In Logan's poem, which appeared in 1770, we have these lines, which are simply those of the old ballad, and which must be regarded as a mere copy, supposing the ballad to have been floating on the memories of people so early as I represent it:—
"The}' sought him east, they sought him west,
They sought him all the forest thorough;
They only saw the cloud of night,
They only heard the roar of Yarrow."
That Logan was a plagiarist there is, I fear, other proof.
The maiden, searching, finds her dead lover in the water. He had been violently slain, and then brutally thrown into the stream. This is the reconciliation of the denouement of the two ballads, Willy's drowned in Yarrow and the modern Dowie Dens. The stricken man lay in the
"Cleavin' o' the craig,
She fand him drowned in Yarrow."
Then there comes a stanza not found in Scott's version —picturesque, touching, complete in itself—such as painter might limn, and, doing it well, make himself immortal :—
"His hair it was five quarters lang,
Its colour was the yellow;
She twined it round her lily hand,
And drew him out o' Yarrow."
What a picture !—the lass wading, it may be, into the water, grasping the floating yellow hair, twining it round her lily hand,—how despairingly, yet how fervently,— clasping it, the last tie amid the moving stream, and drawing him tenderly out of the water flow to the river bauk, where at least he would unmoved lie,—be, though dead, her own.
Though there is nothing in Scott's version corresponding to this, there is a stanza in Motherwell's, but it is a bad version. It is not his but her own hair which is spoken of, and she manages to draw him out of the stream by this!—
"Her hair it was five quarters lang,
'Twas like the gold for yellow;
She twisted it round his milk-white hand,
And she's drawn him hame frae Yarrow."
There can hardly be a question that the original version is much more natural and appropriate, as referring to the hair of the dead lover, lying in the water. "The milkwhite hand" is certainly that of the lady, not the man. Then the simple drawing him out of the stream by the hair, the putting him on her milk-white steed, and bearing him home from Yarrow, is a representation infinitely superior to the coarse idea of "drawing him hame frae Yarrow" by his locks, aa pictured in Motherwell's version.
Then there is the solution of another incongruity. Stanza 19 is obviously the original of the second stanza in Willy's drowned in Yarrow, where as it stands it has no relevancy whatever. Here it is in a form that is perfectly natural and appropriate. "I meant," says the maiden lover,—
"I meant to make my bed fu' wide,
But you may make it narrow,
For now I've nane to be my guide,
But a deid man drowned in Yarrow."
How thoroughly superior to the incongruous stanza of Willy's drowned in Yarrow! Not— "Yestreen I made my bed fu' wide," but—
"I meant to make my bed fu' wide,
And you may make it narrow."
You, if not the slayer of my lover, yet the sympathiser with the assassins!—do as you choose with me. The guide of my life is gone; the light is cast out with the "deid man drowned in Yarrow."
The stanza (16) which contains a reference to the "well-strand"—the rivulet flowing from the spring— her washing his wounds therein, and drying them "wi' the hollan',"—is very true, natural, and touching. It is thoroughly Scottish in feeling, fact, and diction. Has one not heard of " the well-strand,"—" the meadow wellstrand,"—from one's boyhood? And " the hollan'" we know well. All through those old times, down to the middle of the eighteenth century, the brown linen made out of the flax in Scotland, and made largely, was sent across to Holland—Haarlem especially—to be bleached. There it was dipped in lye and buttermilk; and after six months, from March to October, returned to this country, pure, clean, and white. The damsel wished to honour her dead lover, as best she might, with the purest in her gift. It was what she wore in her joy:—
"Her kurchy was of Holland clear,
Tyed on her bonny brow."
With regard to the historical reference of the original ballad, I confess I can say very little. If it really concerns a daughter of the house of Dryhope, as it seems to do, this would bring the date not further back than the middle of the sixteenth century, when the forest-stead of Dryhope was given to a Scott. It is quite probable, of course, that the same family might have been there long before, simply as keepers for the Crown of the foreststead. In the alleged residence of the lady at Dryhope, —in the phrases, "the fairest flower in Yarrow," "the Eose of Yarrow,"—we have a distinct suggestion of "the Flower of Yarrow "—that is, Mary, rather Marion Scott, daughter of John Scott of Dryhope, not Philip, as Sir Walter Scott puts it, who was married to "Wat of Harden in 1576. It seems to me possible, even indeed probable, from those references—the first, the oldest yet ascertained —that the ballad may actually refer to Mary Scott, the "Flower of Yarrow." This incident may have been an episode in her life that took place previously to her marriage with Scott of Harden. There must have been associations with this woman of quite a special kind, apart simply from the ordinary occurrence of her marriage with a neighbouring Border laird and reiver, which led to the intense, widespread, and persistent memory of her that has come down to our own day. This of course would imply that the falling into the father's arms, which fitly concludes the ballad, did not mean the conclusion of her career. The terminations of ballads of this class are usually in the same conventional style. And probably "the Flower of Yarrow " was no exception to the run of her sex in having more than one love experience.
The probability of the view now given seems to me to be strengthened by the unsatisfactory nature of the historical references adduced by Sir Walter Scott in illustration of the ballad, and of other suggestions made since his time. The duel on Deuchar Swire must be set aside as having no direct bearing on the circumstances; and certain important particulars of the narrative cannot be explained by supposing the ballad to refer to the " Walter Scott of Tuschielaw" who eloped with Grisell Scott of Thirlestane in 1616, and who is assumed to be the Walter Scott slaughtered shortly afterwards by Scott of Bonnington and his accomplices. I think it probable, however, that these later incidents may have come to be mixed up with the earlier in popular tradition and song, and thus with the story and the fate of the "servan' lad in Gala." Hence the double reference in Scott's ballad, confessedly a compilation from different versions.
The Lament of the Border Widow, and the circumstances in which it originated, have already been noticed in connection with the social life of the district. [24] There is no more touching wail of grief in all our Scottish poetry. Some doubt has been raised regarding its genuineness as an old ballad. Parallel lines, even similar stanzas of other songs, have been quoted, and it has been supposed by some to be a composite or cento of different ballads. On this I wish simply to say that we know so little of the way in which these old strains have been transmitted to us, and oral transmission is so peculiar, that not much importance is to be attached to coincidences in lines and stanzas. Although, moreover, those other ballads were even the first printed, it does not at all follow that they were the older or the sources of the borrowing. The story of The Lament is in itself a complete thing, and quite different from the story of those other ballads referred to. And this at least is true, that no parallels can be found for the three most touching stanzas — four, five, and six, or for the exquisite line—
"And happ'd him wi' the sod sae green."
This certainly may be allowed, that the song does not refer to the death of Piers Cockburn, whose tomb is by the burn that breaks down over the Dhu Linn, beside the ruins of the old tower of Henderland. This tomb is as old as the early part of the fifteenth century. Possibly the song touches the fate of some later member of that family of Cockburn, once so powerful and so turbulent on the Borders. It may even refer to William, the fifth laird, who, however, was not executed at his own door, but beheaded in Edinburgh (1530).[25] Cockburn is a name which, like so many others that dominated the Borders, has now disappeared from the roll of Border landed men, and is only to be met with, and that rarely, on solitary tombstones in deserted graveyards. The romantic ballad of the Yarrow, The Gay Goss Hawk,[26] and the very remarkable historical one, The Sang of the Outlaw Hurray,[27] have also been noticed in their places. Some doubt has been sought to be thrown on the historical character and reference of the incidents in The Sang of the Outlaw Murray. It may, however, very fairly be taken as referring to John Murray, eighth laird of Philiphaugh, who obtained a royal charter of the sheriffship of Selkirkshire in 1509 from James IV., after having exercised the functions without royal mandate.[28] James Murray, tenth of Philiphaugh, was Keeper of the Forest, and resided at Newark, the custodier's castle. It was this James, or his son Patrick, who fell at a later period under the hand of Buccleuch, or his henchman Scott of Haining. Buccleuch thus got possession of Newark and the Wardenship of the Forest.
The power of these old strains lies mainly in this— that they indicate in the simplest, readiest words the realism, the power, the pathos of our primary human emotions, — deepest love, saddest sorrow, unflinching courage, and noble self-sacrifice. This was what touched the heart of Scott, purified and inspired him, and made him ashamed of eighteenth-century conventionalism.
"And pity sanctifies the verse
That paints by strength of sorrow,
The unconquerable strength of love,
Bear witness, rueful Yarrow."
Footnotes:
1 Promised, or engaged.
2. Mr Palgrave prints a version with several additional stanzas. One of these, the finest, belongs to The Dowie Dent. The others, from their somewhat full references to the 6cenery, betray their comparatively modern origin.
3. Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 245.
4. Sketches, 328.
5 Minstrelsy, ii. 370.
6 Dawning.
7 Reckoning, bilL.
8 Match, mate.
9. hollow
10. brother-in-law
11 Ballads, Part vii., No. 214.
12. "Minstrelsy, ii. 370.
13 See Privy Council Records under March and April 1610.
14 Quoted in History of Selkirkshire, i. 313.
15 History of Selkirkshire, i. 314.
16 Child, viii. 522.
17 This and what follows on these two ballads appeared in substance in Blackwood's Magazine, June 1890.
18 Hecht is promised.
19 Twin'd is, of course, parted or separated from.
20. I. 82.
21 I. 145.
22 Child, vii. 172, 173 ; viii. 522.
23 Ihid., vii. 165. Murison MS.
24. See Supra ii, 19, 20
25 See supra, ii. 19.
26 See supra, ii. 126.
27 See supra, ii. 14.
28 The other alternative is William de Moravia, an earlier personage. See above, i. 295.