Bold Burnet's Daughter- Buchan c. 1820s Child D
Buchan mentions this ballad in the notes to Castle Ha's Daughter found in Ballads and Songs of the North of Scotland, I, p. 310.
Notes: CASTLE HA'S DAUGHTER Page 235.
Another ballad of a similar description, called Bold Burnett's Daughter, I took down about the same time as the present one, from a different person; but as it is so much alike in manner and incident, I have, for the present, withheld it. There are various ballads to be met with of the same nature, which rather than please, shock humanity. Every thing of a preposterous and absurd imagination served as food for the Doric muse, and inspired it with antediluvian vigour.]
Bold Burnet's Daughter- Version D; The King's Dochter Lady Jean; Child 52
a. Buchan's Manuscripts, I, 120.
b. The same, II, 141.
1 The lady's taen her mantle her middle about,
Into the woods she's gane,
. . . . . .
. . . . .
2 She hadna poud a flower o gude green-wood,
O never a flower but ane,
Till by he comes, an by he gangs,
Says, Lady, lat alane.
3 For I am forester o this wood,
And I hae power to pine
Your mantle or your maidenhead,
Which o the twa ye'll twine.
4 'My mantle is o gude green silk,
Another I can card an spin;
But gin ye tak my maidenhead,
The like I'll never fin.'
5 He's taen her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve,
And laid her low at the foot o a tree,
At her high kin spierd nae leave.
6 'I am bold Burnet's ae daughter,
You might hae lat me be:'
'And I'm bold Burnet's ae dear son,
Then dear! how can this dee?'
7 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye jolly hind squire,
So loud's I hear you lie!
Bold Burnet has but ae dear son,
He's sailing on the sea.'
8 'Yesterday, about this same time,
My bonny ship came to land;
I wish she'd sunken in the sea,
And never seen the strand!
9 'Heal well this deed on me, lady,
Heal well this deed on me!'
'Although I would heal it neer sae well,
Our God above does see.'
10 She's taen her mantle her middle about,
And mourning went she hame,
And a' the way she sighd full sair,
Crying, Am I to blame!
11 Ben it came her father dear,
Stout stepping on the flear:
'Win up, win up, my daughter Janet,
And welcome your brother here.'
12 Up she's taen her milk-white hand,
Streakd by his yellow hair,
Then turnd about her bonny face,
And word spake never mair.