Lord Nann and the Korrigan.
Project Gutenberg EPUB3 edition
Keightley, Thomas
The Lord Nann and his bride so fair In early youth united were, In early youth divided were.
The lady lay-in yesternight Of twins, their skin as snow was white, A boy and girl, that glad his sight.
"What doth thy heart desire, loved one, For giving me so fair a son? Say, and at once it shall be done.
"A woodcock from the pool of the glyn, Or roebuck from the forest green?"
"The roebuck's flesh is savoury, But for it thou to the wood should'st hie."
Lord Nann when he these words did hear, He forthwith grasped his oaken spear,
And vaulting on his coal-black steed Unto the green-wood hied with speed.
When he unto the wood drew nigh, A fair white doe he there did spy,
And after her such chase he made, The ground it shook beneath their tread.
And after her such chase made he, From his brows the water copiously
And from his horse's sides ran down. The evening had now come on,
And he came where a streamlet flowed Fast by a Korrigan's abode;
And grassy turf spread all around. To quench his thirst he sprang to ground.
The Korrig at her fount sat there A-combing of her long fair hair.
She combed it with a comb of gold— These ladies ne'er are poor, we're told.
"Rash man," cried she, "how dost thou dare To come disturb my waters fair!
"Thou shalt unto me plight thy fay, Or seven years thou shalt waste away, Or thou shalt die ere the third day."
"To thee my faith plight will I ne'er, For I am married now a year.
"I shall not surely waste away, Nor shall I die ere the third day;
"I shall not die within three days, But when it unto God shall please."—
"Good mother, mine, if you love me, See that my bed made ready be, For I have ta'en a malady.
"Let not one word to my wife be told; In three days I shall lie in the mould, A Korrigan has thus foretold."
And when three days were past and gone, The young wife asked this question,—
"My mother-in-law, now tell me why The bells all ring thus constantly?
"And why the priests a low mass sing, All clad in white, as the bells ring?"
"Last night a poor man died whom we A lodging gave through charity."
"My mother-in-law, tell me, I pray, My Lord Nann whither is he gone away?"
"My daughter, to the town he's gone, To see thee he will come anon."
"Good mother-in-law, to church to fare, Shall I my red or blue gown wear?"
"The custom now is, daughter dear, At church always in black to appear."
As they crossed o'er the churchyard-wall, On her husband's grave her eye did fall.
"Who is now dead of our family, That thus fresh dug our ground I see?"
"Alas! my child, the truth can I Not hide: thy husband there doth lie."
On her two knees herself she cast And rose no more, she breathed her last.
It was a marvel to see, men say, The night that followed the day, The lady in earth by her lord lay,
To see two oak-trees themselves rear From the new-made grave into the air;
And on their branches two doves white, Who there were hopping gay and light;
Which sang when rose the morning-ray And then toward heaven sped away.
This ballad is very remarkable. Its similarity to that of Sir Olof, so celebrated in Scandinavia, and of which we have already given two variations out of fifteen, must strike every one; in its concluding stanzas also it resembles other Scandinavian and English ballads. On the other hand, the White Doe and the Korrigan at the fount remind us of the Lais of Marie de France. Our opinion on the whole is, that the ballad belongs to Scandinavia, whence it was brought at an early period—by the Normans, we might say only for its Christian air in both countries—and naturalised in the usual manner. It is rather strange that there is neither an English nor a Scottish version of it.
The next lay, which is entirely composed in tercets, is the story of a changeling. In order to recover her own child the mother is advised by the Virgin, to whom she has prayed, to prepare a meal for ten farm-servants in an egg-shell, which will make the Korrid speak, and she is then to whip him well till he cries, and when he does so he will be taken away. The woman does as directed: the Korr asks what she is about: she tells him: "For ten, dear mother, in an eggshell! I have seen the egg before I saw the white hen. I have seen the acorn before I saw the tree: I have seen the acorn and I have seen the shoot: I have seen the oak in the wood of Brézal, but never saw I such a thing as this." "Thou hast seen too many things, my son," replied she, and began to whip him, when one came crying, "Don't beat him, give him back to me; I have not done yours any injury. He is king in our country." When the woman went home she found her own child sleeping sweetly in the cradle. He opened his eyes and said, "Ah! mother, I have been a long time asleep!"