consanguinity. Kristín is summoned to come instantly to her brother, and obeys the message, though she is weak with childbirth, and knows that the journey will cost her her life. She goes to the court on horseback (in the Danish ballads falling from the saddle once or twice on the way), and on her arrival is put to various tests to ascertain her condition, concluding with a long dance with the king, to which, having held out for a considerable time, she at last succumbs, and falls dead in her brother's arms.

The incidents of the journey on horseback, and the cruel probation by the dance, are found in the ballad which follows the present (Fair Janet), and these coincidences Grundtvig considers sufficient to establish its derivation from the Danish. The general similarity of Lady Maisry to King Waldemar and his Sister is, however, much more striking. For our part, we are inclined to believe that both the English ballads had this origin, but the difference in their actual form is so great, that, notwithstanding this conviction, we have not felt warranted in putting them together.

THE young lords o' the north country

Have all a-wooing gane,

To win the love of lady Maisry,

But o' them she wou'd hae nane.

O thae hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Wi' broaches, and wi' rings;
And they hae courted her, lady Maisry,
Wi' a' kin kind of things.

5

And they hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Frae father and frae mither;

And they hae sought her, lady Maisry,
Frae sister and frae brither.

And they hae follow'd her, lady Maisry,
Thro' chamber, and through ha';
But a' that they could say to her,
Her answer still was "Na."

10

"O haud your tongues, young men," she said, "And think nae mair on me ;

For I've gi'en my love to an English lord,

Sae think nae mair on me."

Her father's kitchey-boy heard that,

(An ill death mot he die !)

And he is in to her brother,

As fast as gang cou'd he.

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"O is my father and my mother weel,
But and my brothers three?

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Gin my sister lady Maisry be weel,
There's naething can ail me.”

“Your father and your mother is weel,

But and your brothers three;
Your sister, lady Maisry's, weel,
Sae big wi' bairn is she."

80

"A malison light on the tongue,

Sic tidings tells to me !— But gin it be a lie you tell, You shall be hanged hie."

He's doen him to his sister's bower,
Wi' mickle dool and care;

And there he saw her, lady Maisry,

Kembing her yellow hair.

"O wha is aucht that bairn,” he says, “That ye sae big are wi'?

And gin ye winna own the truth,

This moment ye sall die."

She's turned her richt and round about,
And the kembe fell frae her han';
A trembling seized her fair bodie,
And her rosy cheek grew wan.

"O pardon me, my brother dear,
And the truth I'll tell to thee;
My bairn it is to Lord William,
And he is betrothed to me."

"O cou'dna ye gotten dukes, or lords,
Intill your ain countrie,

That ye drew up wi' an English dog,
To bring this shame on me?

v. 41. See preface to Clerk Saunders, p. 319.

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"But ye maun gi'e up your English lord, Whan your young babe is born ;

For, gin ye keep by him an hour langer,
Your life shall be forlorn.”

"I will gi'e up this English lord,
Till my young babe be born;
But the never a day nor hour langer,
Though my life should be forlorn."

"O whare is a' my merry young men, Wham I gi'e meat and fee,

To pu' the bracken and the thorn,

To burn this vile whore wi'?”

"O whare will I get a bonny boy,

To help me in my need,

To rin wi' haste to Lord William,
And bid him come wi' speed?”

O out it spak a bonny boy,

Stood by her brother's side; "It's I wad rin your errand, lady,

O'er a' the warld wide.

"Aft ha'e I run your errands, lady, When blawin baith wind and weet; But now I'll rin your errand, lady,

With saut tears on my cheek.”

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O whan he came to broken briggs,

He bent his bow and swam;

And whan he came to the green grass growin', He slack'd his shoon and ran.

And when he came to Lord William's yeats, ∞5 He badena to chap or ca';

But set his bent bow to his breast,

And lightly lap the wa';

And, or the porter was at the yeat,

The boy was in the ha'.

"O is my biggins broken, boy?

Or is my towers won?

Or is my lady lighter yet,

O' a dear daughter or son?"

"Your biggin isna broken, sir,
Nor is your towers won;
But the fairest lady in a' the land
This day for you maun burn.”

"O saddle to me the black, the black, Or saddle to me the brown;

Or saddle to me the swiftest steed

That ever rade frae a town.”

Or he was near a mile awa',

She heard his weir-horse sneeze;

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