[From Manx Soc vol 16]

BROWN WILLIAM.

Translated from the Manx by George Borrow, author of The Bible in Spain, Bonney Rye, etc. etc.

I.

LET no one in greatness too confident be,
Nor trust in his kindred though high their degree;
For envy and rage will lay any man low:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

II.

Thou wast the Receiver of Mona's fair state,
Thy conduct was noble-, thy wisdom was great,
And ne'er of thy rule did she weariness show:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

III.

Thy right hand was Earley, and Theah thy right eye ;
Thy state caused thy foemen with rage to swell high ;
And envy and rage will lay any man low;
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

IV.

How blest thy condition in fair Ronaldsway!
Thy mansion, how stately ! thy garden, how gay !
But oh ! what disasters from envy do flaw:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

V.

'Twas said, at thy tfig by men void of faith,
The king, by a letter, demanded thy death:
The jury was frightened, and dared. not say. " No, !"
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

VI.

The clan of wild Colead could ne'er be at rest
Whilst the race, of Christeen their own acres possessed;
And envy and spite will bring any man low:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

VII.

A band of adulterers, curst and unholy,
For Ronaldsway lust, as they did for Logh Molley;
Of Naboth the tagedy's played here anew:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

VIII.

Not one of the band but received his just need,
Who acted a part in that damnable deed;
To dwindle away the whole band was not slow:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

IX.

To Callaghyn-doo, and to Vannyster roam,
And call on the Coleael till hoarse ye become:
Gone, gone is the name so well known long ago;
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

X.

A cripple was Robin for many years long,
Who troubled and bullied the island when strong:
His own friends of tending him weary did grow:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XI.

Sly Richard took ship with thy blood on his hand;
But God can avenge on the sea as on land;
The waves would not bear him, but whelm'd him, I trow:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XII.

And now, if a few of the seed do remain,
They're vile as the thistles and briars of the plain;
They ply for their neighbours the pick and the hoe:'
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XIII.

Should you walk through all Man you'll find no one, I reckon,
To mourn for the name that was once in Beemachan
But thousands of poor who rejoice that 'tis low:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XIV.

Proceed to Creganyn and Balla-logh green,
But where's there a Colcad to bid ye walk in?
By strangers their homes and their lands are held now:
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe,

XV.

Great Scarlett, in wealth who dwelt down by the bay,
Must toil now with paupers for sixpence a-day;
And oft, as I've heard, has no morsel to chew;
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XVI

The band by whose weapons the great Caesar died,
Were hunted by foes, and all peace were denied;
Not one died the death of kind nature, O no!
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XVII.

So it fared with the band by whom Willie did die,
Their lands are a waste, their names stink to the sky;
They melted like rime in the ruddy sun's glow:
Thy murder, Brown Williani, fills Mona with woe.

XVIII.

But comfort I take, for 'tis commm report,
There are shoots of dear Will who are stting at court,
Who have punished his foes by king's mandate, although
Thy murder, Brown William, fills Mona with woe.

XIX.

O 'tis pleasantt to think when one's withered and grey,
There's race of Brown William in fair Ronaldsway,
That his foemen are crushd and their faces can't show,
While the clan of Christeen have no touble or woe.

XX.

To the counsellors false, both in church and in state,
Bear the public of Mona both loathing and hate,
Who set man against man, and the peace would break now,
As thy murder, Brown William, broke hearts long ago.

XXI.

The lord of our island, Duke Atholl the great,
They would gladly persuade, with their parle and their prate,
The comer-stones highof his house to lay low;
And to King, Duke, and Mona, are foemen, I trow.