The following very popular ballad has been handed down by tradition in
its present imperfect state. The affecting incident, on which it is
founded, is well known. A lady, of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell, [A]
(for this is disputed by the two clans) daughter of the laird of
Kirconnell, in Dumfries-shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was
beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured
suitor was Adam Fleming, of Kirkpatrick; that of the other has escaped
tradition; though it has been alleged, that he was a Bell, of Blacket
House. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the
friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in
secret, and by night, in the church-yard of Kirconnell, a romantic spot,
surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of those private interviews,
the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of
the stream, and levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen
threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and
died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming
and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts
say, that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the
streets of Madrid.
[A]
This dispute is owing to the uncertain date of the ballad;
for, although the last proprietors if Kirconnell were Irvings, when
deprived of their possession by Robert Maxwell in 1600, yet Kirconnell
is termed in old chronicles The Bell's Tower; and a stone, with the
arms of that family, has been found among its ruins. Fair Helen's
sirname, therefore, depends upon the period at which she lived, which it
is now impossible to ascertain.
The ballad, as now published, consists of two parts. The first seems to
be an address, either by Fleming or his rival, to the lady; if, indeed,
it constituted any portion of the original poem. For the editor cannot
help suspecting, that these verses have been the production of a
different and inferior bard, and only adapted to the original measure
and tune. But this suspicion, being unwarranted by any copy he has been
able to procure, he does not venture to do more than intimate his own
opinion. The second part, by far the most beautiful, and which is
unquestionably original, forms the lament of Fleming over the grave of
fair Helen.
The ballad is here given, without alteration or improvement, from the
most accurate copy which could be recovered. The fate of Helen has not,
however, remained unsung by modern bards. A lament, of great poetical
merit, by the learned historian Mr Pinkerton, with several other poems
on this subject, have been printed in various forms.
The grave of the lovers is yet shewn in the church-yard of Kirconnell,
near Springkell. Upon the tomb-stone can still be read—Hie jacet
Adamus Fleming; a cross and sword are sculptured on the stone. The
former is called, by the country people, the gun with which Helen was
murdered; and the latter, the avenging sword of her lover. Sit illis
terra levis! A heap of stones is raised on the spot where the murder
was committed; a token of abhorrence common to most nations. [A]
[A]
This practice has only very lately become obsolete in
Scotland. The editor remembers, that, a few years ago, a cairn was
pointed out to him in the King's Park of Edinburgh, which had been
raised in detestation of a cruel murder, perpetrated by one Nicol
Muschet, on the body of his wife, in that place, in the year 1720.
FAIR HELEN.
PART FIRST.
O! sweetest sweet, and fairest fair,
Of birth and worth beyond compare,
Thou art the causer of my care,
Since first I loved thee.
Yet God hath given to me a mind,
The which to thee shall prove as kind
As any one that thou shalt find,
Of high or low degree.
The shallowest water makes maist din,
The deadest pool the deepest linn.
The richest man least truth within,
Though he preferred be.
Yet, nevertheless, I am content,
And never a whit my love repent,
But think the time was a' weel spent,
Though I disdained be.
O! Helen sweet, and maist complete,
My captive spirit's at thy feet!
Thinks thou still fit thus for to treat
Thy captive cruelly?
O! Helen brave! but this I crave,
Of thy poor slave some pity have,
And do him save that's near his grave,
And dies for love of thee.
PART SECOND.
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirconnell Lee!
Curst be the heart, that thought the thought,
And curst the hand, that fired the shot,
When in my arms burd [A] Helen dropt,
And died to succour me!
O think na ye my heart was sair,
When my love dropt down and spak nae mair!
There did she swoon wi' meikle care,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
As I went down the water side,
None but my foe to be my guide.
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I lighted down, my sword did draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma,
I hacked him in pieces sma,
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair, beyond compare!
I'll make a garland of thy hair,
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Untill the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "haste, and come to me!"
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee I were blest,
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish my grave were growing green,
A winding sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms lying,
On fair Kirconnell Lee.
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries;
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me.
[A]
Burd Helen—Maid Helen.
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