The Black Bull of Norroway

THE BLACK BULL OF NORROWAY

 And many a hunting song they sung,

   And song of game and glee;

 Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,

   “Of Scotland’s luve and lee.”

  To wilder measures next they turn

   “The Black, Black Bull of Norroway!”

  Sudden the tapers cease to burn,

   The minstrels cease to play.



        “The Cout of Keeldar,” by J. Leyden.

In Norroway, langsyne, there lived a certain lady, and she had three

dochters. The auldest o’ them said to her mither: “Mither, bake me a

bannock, and roast me a collop, for I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.”

Her mither did sae; and the dochter gaed awa’ to an auld witch

washerwife and telled her purpose. The auld wife bade her stay that day,

and gang and look out o’ her back door, and see what she could see. She

saw nocht the first day. The second day she did the same, and saw nocht.

On the third day she looked again, and saw a coach-and-six coming along

the road. She ran in and telled the auld wife what she saw. “Aweel,”

quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for you.” Sae they took her into the coach,

and galloped aff.

The second dochter next says to her mither: “Mither, bake me a bannock,

and roast me a collop, fur I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.” Her mither

did sae; and awa’ she gaed to the auld wife, as her sister had dune. On

the third day she looked out o’ the back door, and saw a coach-and-four

coming along the road. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for you.” Sae

they took her in, and aff they set.

The third dochter says to her mither: “Mither, bake me a bannock, and

roast me a collop, for I’m gaun awa’ to seek my fortune.” Her mither did

sae; and awa’ she gaed to the auld witch-wife. She bade her look out

o’ her back door, and see what she could see. She did sae; and when she

came back said she saw nocht. The second day she did the same, and saw

nocht. The third day she looked again, and on coming back said to the

auld wife she saw nocht but a muckle Black Bull coming roaring alang the

road. “Aweel,” quo’ the auld wife, “yon’s for you.” On hearing this she

was next to distracted wi’ grief and terror; but she was lifted up and

set on his back, and awa’ they went.

Aye they traveled, and on they traveled, till the lady grew faint wi’

hunger. “Eat out o’ my right lug,” says the Black Bull, “and drink out

o’ my left lug, and set by your leavings.” Sae she did as he said, and

was wonderfully refreshed. And lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till

they came in sight o’ a very big and bonny castle. “Yonder we maun be

this night,” quo’ the bull; “for my auld brither lives yonder”; and

presently they were at the place. They lifted her aff his back, and took

her in, and sent him away to a park for the night. In the morning,

when they brought the bull hame, they took the lady into a fine shining

parlor, and gave her a beautiful apple, telling her no to break it till

she was in the greatest strait ever mortal was in in the world, and that

wad bring her o’t. Again she was lifted on the bull’s back, and after

she had ridden far, and farer than I can tell, they came in sight o’ a

far bonnier castle, and far farther awa’ than the last. Says the bull

till her: “Yonder we maun be the night, for my second brither lives

yonder”; and they were at the place directly. They lifted her down

and took her in, and sent the bull to the field for the night. In the

morning they took the lady into a fine and rich room, and gave her the

finest pear she had ever seen, bidding her no to break it till she was

in the greatest strait ever mortal could be in, and that wad get her out

o’t. Again she was lifted and set on his back, and awa’ they went. And

lang they gaed, and sair they rade, till they came in sight o’ the far

biggest castle, and far farthest aff, they had yet seen. “We maun be

yonder the night,” says the bull, “for my young brither lives yonder”;

and they were there directly. They lifted her down, took her in, and

sent the bull to the field for the night. In the morning they took her

into a room, the finest of a’, and gied her a plum, telling her no to

break it till she was in the greatest strait mortal could be in, and

that wad get her out o’t. Presently they brought hame the bull, set the

lady on his back, and awa’ they went.

And aye they gaed, and on they rade, till they came to a dark and ugsome

glen, where they stopped, and the lady lighted down. Says the bull to

her: “Here ye maun stay till I gang and fight the deil. Ye maun seat

yoursel’ on that stane, and move neither hand nor fit till I come back,

else I’ll never find ye again. And if everything round about ye turns

blue I hae beated the deil; but should a’ things turn red he’ll hae

conquered me.” She set hersel’ down on the stane, and by-and-by a’ round

her turned blue. O’ercome wi’ joy, she lifted the ae fit and crossed it

owre the ither, sae glad was she that her companion was victorious. The

bull returned and sought for but never could find her.

Lang she sat, and aye she grat, till she wearied. At last she rase and

gaed awa’, she kedna whaur till. On she wandered till she came to a

great hill o’ glass, that she tried a’ she could to climb, bat wasna

able. Round the bottom o’ the hill she gaed, sabbing and seeking a

passage owre, till at last she came to a smith’s house; and the smith

promised, if she wad serve him seven years, he wad make her iron shoon,

wherewi’ she could climb owre the glassy hill. At seven years’ end she

got her iron shoon, clamb the glassy hill, and chanced to come to the

auld washerwife’s habitation. There she was telled of a gallant young

knight that had given in some bluidy sarks to wash, and whaever washed

thae sarks was to be his wife. The auld wife had washed till she was

tired, and then she set to her dochter, and baith washed, and they

washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young knight;

but a’ they could do they couldna bring out a stain. At length they set

the stranger damosel to wark; and whenever she began the stains came

out pure and clean, but the auld wife made the knight believe it was her

dochter had washed the sarks. So the knight and the eldest dochter were

to be married, and the stranger damosel was distracted at the thought

of it, for she was deeply in love wi’ him. So she bethought her of her

apple, and breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious jewelry,

the richest she had ever seen. “All these,” she said to the eldest

dochter, “I will give you, on condition that you put off your marriage

for ae day, and allow me to go into his room alone at night.” So

the lady consented; but meanwhile the auld wife had prepared a

sleeping-drink, and given it to the knight, wha drank it, and never

wakened till next morning. The lee-lang night ther damosel sabbed and

sang:

“Seven lang years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I clamb for thee,

The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;

And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”

Next day she kentna what to do for grief. She then brak the pear, and

found it filled wi’ jewelry far richer than the contents o’ the apple.

Wi’ thae jewels she bargained for permission to be a second night in

the young knight’s chamber; but the auld wife gied him anither

sleeping-drink, and he again sleepit till morning. A’ night she kept

sighing and singing as before:

“Seven lang years I served for thee,” &c. Still he sleepit, and she

nearly lost hope a’thegither. But that day when he was out at the

hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was yon they heard

all last night in his bedchamber. He said he heardna ony noise. But they

assured him there was sae; and he resolved to keep waking that night

to try what he could hear. That being the third night, and the damosel

being between hope and despair, she brak her plum, and it held far the

richest jewelry of the three. She bargained as before; and the auld

wife, as before, took in the sleeping-drink to the young knight’s

chamber; but he telled her he couldna drink it that night without

sweetening. And when she gaed awa’ for some honey to sweeten it wi’, he

poured out the drink, and sae made the auld wife think he had drunk it.

They a’ went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing:

“Seven lang years I served for thee,

The glassy hill I clamb for thee,

The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;

And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”

He heard, and turned to her. And she telled him a’ that had befa’en her,

and he telled her a’ that had happened to him. And he caused the auld

washerwife and her dochter to be burned. And they were married, and he

and she are living happy till this day, for aught I ken.(1)

(1) Chambers, Popular Traditions of Scotland.