US & Canada Versions: 213A. Sir James the Ross
[According to Coffin (see full text below): "The Child Sir James the Rose ballad is not in America. The American texts are highly sophisticated and based on Sir James the Ross, a song Child, IV, 156 thought to have been composed by Michael Bruce.
The US Canada versions that are named "Sir James the Rose" are based on the Sir James the Ross, a ballad attributed to Michael Bruce. Read Coffin's assessment below.
R. Matteson 2012]
CONTENTS:
[Upcoming- some texts included below]
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An American Text of "Sir James the Rose"
by Louise Pound
American Speech, Vol. 1, No. 9 (Jun., 1926), pp. 481-483
AN AMERICAN TEXT OF "SIR JAMES THE ROSE"
THE following text has interest as illustratingt he ways of popular song. It was taken down as sung by Mr. James R. Barron of Lincoln, Nebraska. Mr. Barron learned it about the year 1882 from his mother, who learned it by oral tradition when living in the parish of Walls on the West side of the Shetland Islands. Neither knows its provenance. Mr. Barron cannot remember that his mother ever owned a book of songs.
Although it has the same name, Mr. Barron's orally learned text is not to be identified with the Child ballad Sir James the Rose. It is unmistakably the imitative "historical ballad," Sir James the Rose, by Michael Bruce (1746-1767) which is based on the older ballad story. It was printed as an "old Scottish ballad" in the Weekly Magazine or Edinburgh Amusement, September 20, I770, IX, 371-73. Logan published it in that year, with alterations and insertions (probably Logan's) in his edition of Bruce's poems.
Bruce's ballad is said to have become as popular or more popular than the ballad on which it was founded.
SIR JAMES THE ROSE
Of all our Scottish Northern chiefs
Of high and warlike name,
The bravest was Sir James the Rose,
A knight of muckle fame.
Thrice he withstood the bloody fight
Against the English king,
Ere two and twenty opening springs
His blooming youth had seen.
The fair Matilda dear he loved,
A maid of beauty rare;
Even Margaret on our Scottish throne
Could not with her compare.
Her father Buchan, cruel lord,
This passion disapproved,
And bade her wed Sir John the Graeme
And leave the youth she loved.
One night they met as they were wont
Within a shady wood,
Down at a burn beside a bank
Where a tall oak tree stood.
Concealed beneath the underwood
This crafty Donald lay,
A brother of Sir John the Graeme,
To hear what they might say.
Long he had wooed, long she denied,
With shame and scorn and pride;
And what her constant heart confessed
Her faithless lips denied.
"My father Buchan, cruel lord,
Our passion disapproves,
And bids me wed Sir John the Graeme,
And leave the youth I love."
"Is this thy love, Matilda dear?"
Sir James the Rose replied.
"And wilt thou wed Sir John the Graeme
Though sworn to be my bride?" . . .
(Verse or verses forgotten)
They parted thus, the sun was set.
Up hastily Donald flies.
"O turn thee, turn thee, beardless youth,"
With loud insulting cries.
Soon turned about this beardless youth,
And soon his sword he drew,
And Donald's blood before his breast
Has soaked his tartan through.
Staggering, reeling, falling down,
A helpless lump of clay,
"Fast fall thy foes, thou valiant Rose,"
And straightway rode away.
"I now must to the Isle of Skye
Where my two brothers dwell,
And raise the valiant of the Isle
Their master to defend."
"'O say not so," the Maid replied,
"With me till morning stay,
For dark and dreary is the road
And dangerouiss the way.
"But do thou sleep within my bower.
My trusty page I'll send,
To run and raise the Rose's clan
Their master to defend."
Quick ran the page o'er hill and dale
Till in a lowly glen,
And there he met Sir John the Graeme
And twenty of his men.
"'Whered ost thou run, my little page?
Who did thee thus so send?"
"I run to raise the Rose's clan
Their master to defend.
"For he has slain fierce Donald Graeme,
His blood is on his sword,
And far far distant are those men
That must protect their lord."
"And has he slain my brother dear?"
The furious Graeme replied,
"Dishonor blast my name but he
By me ere morning dies.
"Tell me where is Sir James the Rose?
I will thee well reward."
"He sleepeth in Lord Buchan's wood.
Matilda is his guard."
They pricked their steeds in furious mood,
And scoured along the way;
And came unto Lord Buchan's hall
By the dawning of the day.
Matilda stood without the gate,
To whom the Graeme did say,
"O have you seen Sir James the Rose,
Or did he pass this way?"
"Last night at e'en I heard them say
Sir James the Rose passed by.,
He pricked his steed in furious mood
And scoured along the lea.
"By now he is in Edinborough,
If man and horse hold good."
"Your page then lied who told me that
He sleepeth in your wood."
She wrung her hands and tore her hair,
"Brave Rose thou art betrayed,
And ruined by those very plans
I for thy safety laid."
By this time the valiant knight awoke,
The virgin's shrieks he heard.
Up he rose and drew his sword
Ere the fierce band appeared.
Five of his men, the bravest five,
Sank down beneath his sword,
And still he scorned to slay these men
And sought their haughty lord.
Behind him basely came the Graeme,
And wounded him in the side;
Out spouting came the crimson flood
And all his garments dyed . . .
[The last stanzas of the ballad could not be recalled by Mr. Barron. It proceeds, he says, to tell how the Graeme is mortally wounded and sinks down beside the Rose. Matilda, seeing her lover's fate, because of the miscarriage of her plans, kills herself. Last of all, the little page, overcome with grief when he realizes what he has brought on, runs a sword through his body and sinks in death beside his mistress.]
When the Nebraska text, taken down in 1920, is compared with Bruce's ballad, published in 1770, it is seen that twenty-seven stanzas remain of the original fifty-eight. One new stanza, the seventh, has been inserted. The sequence of stanzas is but slightly disordered. The omissions from the original narrative are in the direction of concreteness. Mostly it is descriptive or elaborating stanzas which are lost; there is never loss of dramatic passages. If it were to be preserved orally somewhat longer, or to pass through many hands, the ballad would probably wholly lose its eighteenth-century literary touches and become consistently concrete, simple, and dramatic, much as the Child ballads lose some of their mediaeval touches in later versions and in New World versions. The Mid-Western text deriving from Bruce's Sir James the Rose affords the opportunity to register with certainty some of the changes arising in oral transmission.' Its departures from the original fall in line with those pointed out by Dr. John Robert Moore in his paper, the Influence of Transmission on the English Ballads. So far as I know, a version of the Child ballad, Sir James the Rose, has never been recovered in America.
LOUISE POUND.
University of Nebraska.
Excerpt from The British Traditional Ballad in North America
by Tristram Coffin 1950, from the section A Critical Biographical Study of the Traditional Ballads of North America
213. SIR JAMES THE ROSE
Texts: American Speech, I, 481 / Barry, Brit Bids Me, 284 / MacKenzie, Bids Sea Sgs NSct 48.
Local Titles: Sir James the Rose, Sir James the Ross.
Story Types: A: The Ross Story: James the Ross learns at a meeting in the woods with his true love Matilda that she must marry the hated John Grames on her father's orders. Donald Grames overhears the conversation between the lovers and, after the girl departs, makes himself known to Ross. Ross kills the eavesdropper. Fearful of revenge by the Grames clan, Ross then sets out to get aid from his kinsman, stopping en route to awaken Matilda and tell her what he has done. She detains him and hides him, saying that a page will rouse his clansmen. The page, however, meets John Grames on the way, tells him what has taken place, and is bribed into revealing James' whereabouts. When the Grames come to Matilda's house, they find Ross sleeping in the wood much to the dismay of the girl. Ross is able to kill four (or fifteen) of his attackers before John Grames stabs him from behind. Matilda then kills herself, and the page follows suit.
Examples: Am Speech, I, 481; Barry; MacKenzie (A, B).
Discussion: The Child Sir James the Rose ballad is not in America. The American texts are highly sophisticated and based on Sir James the Ross, a song Child, IV, 156 thought to have been composed by Michael Bruce. Barry, Brit Bids M?, 290 i, citing Alexander Keith (editor) in Greig's Last Leaves of Traditional Bids, points out that both the Ross (not in Child's collection) and Rose (which Child printed) ballads are derived from eighteenth century broadsides and stall copies and that Michael Bruce is mistakenly considered the composer of the former. He also points out on Keith's authority that the Ross version has ousted the Rose in Scotland and that his American copy of Ross is identical with the 1768 and oldest known Scottish (150 Scots Songs, London, 1768) text of the story. His version being that old and well established in oral tradition, Barry therefore rates the Ross texts as a primary, rather than a secondary, form of the story in America. Also see MacKenzie, Bids Sea Sgs N Sc, 48. MacKenzie's A version is particularly sophisticated. The Pound, American Speech, Nebraska version does not differ materially from the northern texts.
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Sir James
Of all the Scottish northern chiefs
Of high and warlike fame,
The bravest was Sir James the Ross,
A knight of mighty fame.
Source: Journal of the English Folk Dance and Song Society, Dec 1936
Notes: Collected by Maud Karpeles from Mr. Jas. Walsh at Ferryland, Newfoundland, August 1, 1930. One of five versions given in edition of the Journal.
The notes say "The text is very similar to the 1768 version printed in Last Leaves and the versions noted in Nova Scotia and Maine."
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Sir James the Rose
Of all the Scottish northern chiefs
Of high and warlike fame,
The bravest was Sir James the Ross,
A knight of mighty fame.
Of all the northern Scottish Chiefs
That live as warlike men,
The bravest was Sir James, the Rose,
A knight of muckle fame.
His growth was like the thrifty fir
That crowns the mountain's brow
And wavering o'er his shoulders broad
Bright locks of yellow flow.
Three years he fought on bloody fields
Against their English king.
Scarce two and twenty summers yet
This fearless youth had seen.
It was fair Mathildy that he loved
That girl with beauty rare,
And Margaret on the Scottish throne
With her could not compare.
Long he had wooed, long she'd refused
It seemed, with scorn and pride
But after all confessed her love;
Her faithful words, denied.
My father was born a cruel lord.
This passion does approve.
He bids me wed Sir John a Grame
And leave the one I love.
My father's will I must fulfill,
Which puts me to a stand
Some fair maid in her beauty bloom
May bless you with her hand.
"Are those the vows, Mathildy dear,"
Sir James, the Rose, did say,
"And would Mathildy wed the Grame
When she's sworn to be my bride?"
"I only spoke to try thy love.
I'll ne'er wed man but thee.
The grave shall be my bridal bed
Ere Grames my husband be."
"You take this kiss, fair youth," she said,
"In witness of my love,
May every plague down on me fall
The day I break my vows."
Ere they had met and there embraced,
Down by a shady grove,
It was on a bank beside a burn
A blooming shelltree stood.
Concealed beneath the undie wood
To hear what they might say,
A brother to Sir John the Grame
And there concealed he lay.
Ere they did part the sun was set.
At haste he then replied,
"Return, return, you beardless youth"
He loud insulting cries.
"O it's of my brother's slight love
Rests softly on your arm."
Three paces back the youth retired
To save himself from harm.
Then turned around the beardless youth
And quick his sword he drew
And through his enemy's crashing blows
His sharp-edged weapon drew.
Grame staggered back. He reeled and fell
A lifeless lump of clay.
"So falls my foes," said valiant Rose,
And straightly walked away.
Through the green woods he then did go
Till he reached Lord Bohan's Hall
And at Mathildy's window stood
And thus began to call:
"Art thou asleep, Mathildy dear?
Awake, my love, awake.
Your own true lover calls on you
A long farewell to take."
"For I have slain fair Donald Grame.
His blood is on my sword
And distant are my faithful men.
They can't assist their lord."
"To the Isle of Skye, I must awa'
Where my twa brothers abide.
I'll raise the gallyants of that Isle.
They'll combat on my side."
"Don't do so," the maid replied,
"With me 'til morning stay,
For dark and rainy is the night
And dangerous is the way."
"All night I'll watch you in my park.
My little page I'll send
He'll run and raise the Rose's clan
Their master to defend."
She laid him down beneath the bush
And rolled him in his plaid.
At a distance stood the weeping maid;
A-weeping for her love.
O'er hills and dales, the page he ran,
Till lonely in the Glen,
'Twas there he met Sir John the Grame
And twenty of his men.
"Where art thou going, my little page?
What tidings dost thou bring?"
"I'm running to raise the Rose's clan
Their master to defend."
"For he has slain fair Donald Grame.
His blood is on his sword,
And distant are his faithful men
They can't assist their lord."
"Tell me where he is, my little page,
And I will thee well reward."
"He sleeps now in Lord Bohan's Hall.
Mathildy, she's his guard."
He spurred his horse at a furious gait
And galloped o'er the lea
Until he reached Lord Bohan's Hall
At the dawning of the day.
Without the gate, Mathildy stood
To whom the Grame replied,
"Saw ye Sir James, the Rose, last night,
Or did he pass this way?"
"Last day at noon fair James, the Rose,
I seen him passing by.
He was mounted on a milk-white steed
And forward fast did fly.
"He's in Edinborotown now by this time
If man and horse proves good."
"Your page now lies who said he was
A-sleeping in the wood."
She wrung her hands and tore her hair
Saying, "Rose, thou art betrayed,
Thou art betrayed all by those means
I was sure you would be saved."
The hero heard a well-known voice;
This valiant knight awoke,
Oh, he awoke and drew his sword
As this brave band appeared.
"So you have slain my brother dear;
His blood as dew did shine
And by the rising of the sun
Your blood shall flow or mine."
"You speak the truth," the youth replies,
"That deeds can prove the man.
Stand by your men and hand to hand
You'll see our valiant stand."
"If boasting words a coward hide,
It is my sword you fear,
It's seen the day on FIodden's Field
When you sneaked in the rear."
"Oh, at him, men, and cut him down
Oh, cut him down in twain.
Five thousand pounds onto the man
Who leaves him on the plain."
Four of his men ---the bravest four---
Fell down before that sword,
But still they scorned that mean revenge
And sought the cowardly Lord.
Till cowardly behind him stole the Grame
And wound him in the side.
Out gushing came his purple gore
And all his garments dyed.
But ne'er of his sword did he quit the grip
Nor fell he to the ground
Till through his enemy's heart his steel
Had pierced a fatal wound.
Grame staggered back. He reeled and fell
A lifeless lump of clay
Whilst down beside him sank the Rose
That fainting, dying lay.
O when Mathildy seen him fall,
"O spare his life," she cried,
"Lord Bohan's daughter begs his life.
She shall not be denied."
The hero heard a well-known voice
And raised his death-closed eyes
And fixed them on the weeping maid,
And faintly this replies,
"In vain, Mathildy, you beg my life.
By death's, it's been denied ;
My race is run. Good-bye, my love,"
He closed his eyes and died.
She drew his sword from his left side
With frantic hands, she drew.
"I come, I come, brave Rose," she cried,
"I'm going to follow you."
She leaned the hilt upon the ground
And pressed her snow-white breast;
Laid down upon her lover's face
And endless went to rest.
So come all indulging parents,
By this warning take
And never encourage your children dear
Their sacred vows to break.
From Ballads Migrant in New England, Flanders
Collected from Hanford Hayes, Staceyville, ME 1940