Lairde Rowlande- Philodice (Perth) 1805; Child App. 1
[‘Lairde Rowlande, or Ronalde,’ The Sporting Magazine, XXV, 209, January, 1805. This is the source of Child E. Also printed in The Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure, 1804, which may be the earliest extant publication.
R. Matteson 2011, 2018]
‘Lairde Rowlande, or Ronalde,’ Same report in Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure, 1804; also The Sporting Magazine, XXV, 209, January, 1805 as communicated by Philodice, as recited by a “peasant’s girl” at Randcallas, Perthshire. (Reprinted by Mr Edward Peacock in The Athenæum, August 27, 1892, p. 288.)
1 ‘Ah, where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?
Ah, where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?’
‘I’ve been in the wild woods; mither, mak my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi hunting and faine would lie down.’
2 Oh, you’ve been at your true-love’s,
Lairde Rowlande, my son,’ etc.
‘I’ve been at my true-love’s; mither,’ etc.
3 ‘What got you to dinner?’ etc.
‘I got eels boild in brue; mither,’ etc.
4 ‘What’s become of your warden?’ etc.
‘He died in the muirlands; mither,’ etc.
5 ‘What’s become of your stag-hounds?’ etc.
‘They swelled and they died; mither,’ etc.
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The Universal Magazine of Knowledge and Pleasure, 1804
Lairde Rowlands or Ronalde.
MR. Editor,
THE following beautiful and pathetic old ballad, I found in my peregrinations through Scotland: I believe I may presume to affirm that it has never yet been published; at least, neither I, nor any of the various literary characters that I have consulted, had ever seen it before last winter but two, I met with it as I was sojourning a short time at the village of Randcallas, in Perthshire. A peasant's girl was singing it to a very simple and very ancient Scotch tune; and so much was I struck with the dreadful ambiguity, the mournful pathos, and solemn simplicity that pervades the ditty, that I immediately requested the girl to dictate to me the words, whilst I copied them." Ah : where have you been, Lairde Rowlande: my son! Ah! where have, Ac.
I've been in the wild-woods.
Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting,
And faine would lie down.
Oh I you've been at your true love's, Lairde Rowlande I my son!
Oh! you've been, &c.
I've been at my true love's.
Mitber, mak my bed soon.
For I'm weary wi' hunting,
And faine would lie down.
What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande! my son I
What got you, &c.
I got eels boil'd in brue.
Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting,
And faine would lie down.
What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande! my son!
What's become of, &c.
He died in the muirlands.
Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting.
And faine would lie down.
What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande! my son!
What's become of, &c.
They swelled and they died!
Mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi' hunting,
And faine would lie down.
The fable or plot of this seems to be, that Lord Rowlande, upon a visit at the castle of his mistress, has been poisoned by the drugged viands at the table of her father, who was averse to her marriage with the lord. Finding himself weary, and conscious that he is poisoned, he returns to his home, and wishes to retire to his chamber without raising in his mother any suspicions of the state of his body and mind. This may be gathered from his short and evasive answers, and the importunate entreaties with which he requests his mother to prepare his chamber.
Philodice