Binnorie, or, The Cruel Sister- (Northum) 1882 Stokoe
[No informant is named. From the "Northumbrian Minstrelsy" edited by John Collingwood Bruce, John Stokoe, 1882. Their notes follow. Clearly from the same tradition of Child C, a recreation by Scott published in 1802.
R. Matteson 2018]
The popularity of this ballad in England extends over more than a couple of centuries. Mr. Rimbault printed a version from a broadside, dated 1656. It also appeared in Wit Restored, 1658. Sir Walter Scott, Jameson, Buchan, and other Scottish collectors have also published it, with slight variations. Professor Child, of Boston, U.S.A., states that the same story is found in Icelandic, Norse, Faroish, and Estnish ballads, as well as in Swedish and Danish, and a nearly related one in many other ballads and tales– German, Polish, Lithuanian, &c. The tune is a true Northumbrian melody, never before published ; it differs from the Scottish tune, which is of modern date.
There were twa sisters sat in a bow'r,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
By the bonny mill-dams of Binnorie.
He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring,
Binmorie, &c.
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a thing.
By the bonny, doc.
He courted the eldest wi' broach and knife,
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon his life.
The eldest she was vexed sair,
And sore envied her sister fair.
The eldest said to the youngest ane :
“Will you go and see our father's ships come in.”
She's ta'en her by the lily hand,
And led her down to the river strand.
The youngest stude upon a stane,
The eldest cam' and pushed her in.
She took her by the middle sma',
And dashed her bonny back to the jaw.
“O sister, sister, reach your hand,
And ye shall be heir of half my land.”
“O sister, I’ll not reach my hand,
And I’ll be heir of all your land.
“Shame fa’ the hand that I should take,
It's twined me, and my world's make.”
“O sister, reach me but your glove,
And sweet William shall be your love.”
“Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove,
And sweet William shall better be my love.
“Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair
Garr'd me gang maiden ever mair.”
Sometimes she sunk, sometimes she swam,
Until she cam to the miller's dam.
The miller's daughter was baking bread,
And gaed for water as she had need.
“() father, father, draw your dam
There's either a mermaid or a milk-white swan.”
The miller hasted and drew his dam,
And there he found a drown'd woman.
Ye couldna see her yellow hair
For gowd and pearls that were sae rare.
Ye couldna see her middle sma',
Her gowden girdle was sae braw.
Ye couldna see her lily feet,
Her gowden fringes were sae deep.
A famous harper passing by,
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;
And when he looked that lady on,
He sighed and made a heavy moan.
“Sair will they be, whate'er they be,
The hearts that live to weep for thee.”
He made a harp o' her breast bone,
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;
The strings he framed of her yellow hair
Their notes made sad the listening ear.
He brought it to her father's ha',
There was the court assembled a'.
He laid the harp upon a stane,
And straight it began to play alane—
“O yonder sits my father, the king,
And yonder sits my mother, the queen;
“And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
And by him my William, sweet and true.”
But the last tune that the harp played then
Was—“Woe to my sister, false Helen!"