[55] The name of the shepherd to whom tradition records this circumstance to have occurred.
The following old Northumbrian ballad was taken down from the recitation of a woman eighty years of age, mother to one of the miners in Alston-moor, by an agent for the lead mines there, and communicated to the Editor by Robert Surtees, Esquire, of Mainsforth. She had not, she said, heard it for many years; but when she was a girl, it used to be sung at merry makings, “till the roof rung again.”
_N.B._ This ballad was first printed in Scott’s celebrated Poem of MARMION, with several valuable notes; for which see the notes to canto first of that Poem.
Hoot awa’, lads, hoot awa’, Ha’ ye heard how the Ridleys, and Thirwalls, and a’, Ha’ set upon Awbony[56] Featherstonhaugh, And taken his life at the Deadmanshaugh; There was Willimoteswick, And Hardriding Dick, And Hughie of Hawden, and Will of the Wa’, I canno’ tell a’, I canno’ tell a’, And mony a mair that the deil may knaw.
The auld man went down, but Nicol, his son, Ran away afore the fight was begun; And he run, and he run, And afore they were done, There was many a Featherston gat sic a stun, As never was seen since the world begun.
I canna’ tell a’, I canna’ tell a’; Some gat a skelp, and some gat a claw; But they gard the Featherstons haud their jaw,-- Nicol, and Alick, and a’. Some gat a hurt, and some gat nane; Some had harness, and some gat sta’en.
Ane gat a twist o’ the craig; Ane gat a bunch o’ the wame; Symy Haw gat lam’d of a leg, And syne ran wallowing hame.
Hoot, hoot, the auld man’s slain outright! Lay him now wi’ his face down:--he’s a sorrowful sight. Janet, thou donot, I’ll lay my best bonnet, Thou gets a new gude-man afore it be night.
Hoo away, lads, hoo away, Wi’s a’ be hangid if we stay. Tak’ up the dead man, and lay him ahint the bigging; Here’s the Bailey o’ Haltwhistle, Wi’ his great bull’s pizzle, That sup’d up the broo’, and syne--in the piggin.
_The following Lines are cut on a Tombstone in Haltwhistle Church Yard, Northumberland._
Ihon Redle that som tim did be, The laird of the Waltoun; Gon is he out of thes vale of misery, His bons lies under this ston. We must beleve be God’s mersy, Into thes world gave hes son; Then for to redem al christens, So Christ haes hes soul woon. All faithful peple may be faen, When dath coms, that non can fre: The bode kept the soul in paen, Through Christ is set at liberte. Among blesed compane to remaen, To slep in Christ nowe is he gon; Yet stil beleves to hav again, Though Christ a jouful resurrecshon. Al frends ma be glad to hear, When hes soul from paen did go: Out of this world as doeth appear, In the year of our Lord, 1562.