with a higher civilization, they gradually give up their splendid ballads for songs of a very inferior kind. Thus, in our own country, the cowboys and the negroes are giving up such ballads as "Joe Bowser" and "Frankie was a Good Woman" for worthless songs from the vaudeville stage. In the same way some of the finest of the old British ballads have been irrecoverably lost. In England there was little interest in ballad-collecting until Bishop Percy published in 1765 his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. Percy's collection enormously stimulated the interest of scholars and poets in this poetry of the people. Since his time many of the great English poets, among them Scott, Wordsworth, Keats, Rossetti, and Kipling,— have found in the old ballads inspiration for literary ballads of great merit.

The popular ballad tells its story with the smallest possible amount of description and characterization. As in the drama, the characters reveal themselves by what they say and do. In the following ballad, "Lord Randal," none of the three characters is described, and the sweetheart is not even present ;yet mother, son, and sweetheart all stand clearly revealed in the dialogue between mother and son. The mother's-and the reader's-suspicions are gradually aroused, but not until the last stanza is the tragic event made clear. With this climax the poem closes, at just the right moment and with exactly the right emphasis. This ballad, though it seems to have originated in England or Scotland, has also been found in various parts of America. The word down is here pronounced so as to rime with soon. The ballad is written in anapestic tetrameter couplets.

LORD RANDAL

"O where ha'e ye been, Lord Randal, my son?

O where ha'e ye been, my handsome young man?”

"I ha'e been to the wildwood; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."

"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?" "I dined wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."

"What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?" "I gat eels boiled in brew; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."

"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal my son? What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?" "O they swelled and they died; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down."

“O I fear ye are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!
O I fear ye are poisoned, my handsome young man n!"
"O yes, I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down."

This ballad is in some respects so crude as to seem ridiculous, but it was not meant to be humorous. A better ballad is the old Scotch ballad of "The Twa Corbies," or the two ravens. A great poet would find it difficult to give more effectively the impression of complete desertion in which the knight dies. The reader will bear in mind that Scottish a, ai, and au generally represent English o. Tane means the one; t'ither, the other;

theek, thatch or line; gowden, golden; gang, go; sall,

shall; ae, a or one.

THE TWA CORBIES

As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'ither say,
"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"

"In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair

We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

"Mony a one for him makes mane,

But nane sall ken where he is gane;

O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."

Perhaps the best of all the British popular ballads is the one which Coleridge referred to as "The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence." The poem is written in what is known as the ballad stanza, although extra unaccented syllables are often found. Yestreen means yes

terday evening; shoon, shoes; aboon, above; kems, combs; half owre, halfway over. It should be noted that in the Scottish dialect the relative pronoun is frequently omitted when it cannot be dropped in English.

SIR PATRICK SPENS

The king sits in Dumferling town,
Drinking the blood-red wine:
"O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this ship of mine?"

Up and spak' an eldern knicht,
Sat at the king's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
That sails upon the sea."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signed it wi' his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he;

The next line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his e'e.

"O wha is this has done this deed,
This ill deed done to me,

To send me out this time o' the year,

To sail upon the sea!

"Mak' haste, mak' haste, my merry men all,

Our guid ship sails the morn:"

"O say na sae, my master dear,

For I fear a deadly storm.

"Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm,
And I fear, I fear, my dear master,
That we will come to harm.”

O our Scots nobles were right laith
To wet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang ere a' the play were played,
Their hats they swam aboon.

O lang, lang may their ladies sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the land.

O lang, lang may their ladies stand,
Wi' their gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for their ain dear lords,
For they'll see them na mair.

Haf owre, half owre to Aberdour,

It's fifty fadom deep,

And there lies guid Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

The popular ballad and the folk-song are very closely akin. "Fair Helen" has been classed both as a folk-song and as a popular ballad. Perhaps it is best classed as a lyrical ballad though not in the sense of Wordsworth's Lyrical Ballads. It is one of the exceedingly few folkpoems which Palgrave included in The Golden Treasury. Burd means maiden; meikle, great.