2373122Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835 — Long Lonkin1834Letitia Elizabeth Landon
The country in this part is filled with traditions that record, and ballads that celebrate anecdotes of the predatory warfare then so general. The following ballad was communicated to me by a friend, who has the usual vivid memory of childhood on subjects connected with its early impressions. Not only has it never been published, but it is so curious and quaint, that I cannot resist its insertion here. At least, it is illustrative of the wild scenery haunted by yet wilder memories.
LONG LONKIN.
The lord said to his ladie,
As he mounted his horse,
Beware of Long Lonkin
That lies in the moss.
The lord said to his ladie
As he rode away,
Beware of Long Lonkin,
That lies in the clay.
What care I for Lonkin,
Or any of his gang,
My doors are all shut,
And my windows penn'd in?
There were six little windows,
And they were all shut,
But one little window,
And that was forgot.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
And at that little window
Long Lonkin crept in.
Where's the lord of the hall?
Says the Lonkin;
He's gone up to London,
Says Orange to him.
Where are the men of the hall?
Says the Lonkin;
They are at the field ploughing,
Says Orange to him.
Where are the maids of the hall?
Says the Lonkin;
They are at the well, washing,
Says Orange to him.
Where are the ladies of the hall?
Says the Lonkin;
They are up in their chambers,
Says Orange to him.
How shall we get them down?
Says the Lonkin;
Prick the babe in the cradle,
Says Orange to him.
Rock well my cradle,
And be-ba my son;
You shall have a new gown
When the lord he comes home.
Still she did prick it,
And be-ba she cried;
Come down, dearest mistress,
And still your own child.
Oh! still my child Orange,
Still him with a bell;
I can’t still him, ladie,
Till you come down yoursell.
Hold the gold bason
For your heart’s blood to run in; * * * * * * * * * * * *
To hold the gold bason,
It grieves me full sore;
Oh, kill me, dear Lonkin,
And let my mother go.