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Derwentwater

[ Roud 3158 ; Ballad Index StoR128 ; trad.]

J. Collingwood Bruce, John Stokoe: Northumbrian Minstrelsy John Stokoe: Songs and Ballads of Northern England

Carolyn Robson sang both Derwentwater and Derwentwater’s Farewell (Roud 2616) in 1981 on her Dingle’s album Banks of Tyne. She noted:

Derwentwater’s Farewell is thought to have been written by Robert Surtees round about the turn of the last century. The same James Radcliffe as in Derwentwater is awaiting his execution in the Tower of London, lamenting that he cannot die in his beloved homeland. Dilston Hall, his ancestral home, is between Hexham and Corbridge and also happens to be my birthplace, though I hasten to add I was born the Maternity Hospital later built in the grounds of the ruined castle. The tune is older than the ballad by about 100 years.

Graham Pirt sang Derwentwater in 2008 on his and his son Sam Pirt’s Fellside album Dance ti’ Thee Daddy. He noted:

There is no historical evidence that James, Earl of Derwentwater had any liaison with the wife of one of his compatriots. A popular lord in Northumberland he lived at Dilston Hall near Corbridge. When beheaded on Tower Hill in 1716 the Aurora Borealis were so bright that they became known as Derwentwater’s Lights. The song first appeared in Allan Cunningham’s Songs of Scotland in 1825. I got this version from Bruce and Stokoe’s Northumbrian Minstrelsy

See also the Child ballad Lord Derwentwater (Roud 89; Child 208) and Derwentwater’s Farewell (Roud 2616).

Lyrics

Derwentwater in Northumbrian Minstrelsy

Oh! Derwentwater’s a bonny lord,
And goolden is his hair,
And glintin’ is his hawkin’ e’e,
Wi’ kind love dwelling there.

Yestreen he cam to our lord’s yett,
And loud, loud, did he ca’,
“Rise up, rise up, for good King James,
And buckle and come awa’.”

Our ladie held by our good lord,
Wi’ weel love-locket hands,
But when young Derwentwater came,
She loos’d the snawy bands.

And when young Derwentwater kneeled—
“My gentle, fair ladie,”
The tears gave way to the glow o’ love
In our gude ladie’s e’e.

“I will think,” he said, “on those e’en o’ blue,
And on this snawy hand,
When on the helmy ridge o’ war
Comes down my burly brand.”

O never a word our ladie spake,
As he pressed her snawy hand,
“But O, my Derwentwater!” she sighed,
When his glowing lips she fand.

He has drapp’d frae his hand his tassel o’ gowd
Which knots his gude weir-glove,
And he has drapp’d a spark frae his e’en,
Which gars our ladie love.

“Come down, come down,” our gude lord says,
“Come down, my fair ladie,
O dinna young Lord Derwent stop,
The morning sun is hie.”

And hie, hie, rose the morning sun,
Wi’ front o’ ruddie blude—
Thy harlot front, frae the white curtain,
Betokens naething gude.

Our ladie look’d frae the turret top,
As long as she could see,
And for every sigh for her gude lord,
For Derwent there were three.