Mudcat Café message #762646 The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #30923   Message #762646
Posted By: GUEST,MCP
09-Aug-02 - 01:07 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Req: Legend of Roseberry (Vin Garbutt)
Subject: Lyr Add: THE LEGEND OF ROSEBERRY TOPPING
Here is the Halliwell version, of which (following an introduction) he says "The Editor is indebted for the above observations, and for a copy of the ballad, to the obliging kindness of Dr. Rooke of Scarborough".

The name Ottenberg is explained at the start of the introduction with: "ROSEBERRY, or Rosebury, Topping, originally, it is said, called "Ottenbery"...".

Mick


THE LEGEND OF ROSEBERRY TOPPING

Ah! why do the walls of the castle to day,
No longer resound with the strains of delight?
And why does the harp of the minstrel so gay,
Now rest in the gloom and the stillness of night?

But late as I travers'd these vallies along
How high 'mid the air streamed the banners of joy!
While the birth of Prince Oswin, the boast of the song,
Gave mirth to each heart, as it beamed in each eye.

What stranger art thou, who, in Cleveland so fair,
Of the fate of Prince Oswin canst yet be untold?
How an old hoary sage had foreshown the young heir
By water should die when but half a year old!

His mother, all eager her offspring to save,
To Ottenberg high, with the morn did repair,
Still hoping to rescue her son from the grave,
For well did she know that no water was there.

But how powerless and vain is a mortal's design,
Opposed to that will which can never recede;
Who shall pull down the bright orb of Heaven divine,
And raise up a meteor his rays to exceed!

Fatigued, and by ceaseless exertion opprest,
At length they arrive near the brow of the hill,
In whose shades on the moss they resign them to rest,
Now fearless of fate, as unconscious of ill.

Not long in soft slumbers the fond mother lay,
Ere arous'd by a dream which dire horrors betide;
But, O God, who can paint her wild grief and dismay,
When she saw her lov'd baby lie drown'd by her side!

On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found,
That spring which arose his sad doom to complete:
And oft on its verge sit the villagers round,
In wonder recording the fiat of fate.

For this do the walls of the castle to-day,
No longer resound with the strains of delight;
And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay,
Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.


Source:The Yorkshire Anthology - A collection of ancient and modern ballads, poems and songs relating to the county of Yorkshire, edited James O. Halliwell, first published 1851.