> Folk Music > Songs > The Gay Goshawk

The Gay Goshawk

[ Roud 61 / Song Subject MAS1064 ; Child 96 ; Ballad Index C096 ; DT GAYGHAWK ; Mudcat 104912 ; trad.]

Gale Huntington, Lani Herrmann, John Moulden: Sam Henry’s Songs of the People Alexander Keith: Last Leaves of Traditional Ballads and Ballad Airs James Kinsley: The Oxford Book of Ballad Emily B. Lyle: Andrew Crawfurd’s Collection of Ballads and Songs Sigrid Rieuwerts: The Ballad Repertoire of Anna Gordon, Mrs Brown of Falkland Sir Walter Scott: Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border

The Gay Goshawk is the story of an English young woman tricking her father into her being able to marry the Scot she loves. The earliest published versions are from Anna Gordon, Mrs Brown of Falkland, Fife and are from 1783 and 1799.

Norwich group Stone Angel sang The Gay Goshawk, in 1975 on their eponymous Seashell album Stone Angel. They noted (approximately; the album cover’s low resolution scan on Discogs is hard to read):

A broadsheet ballad which, unlike many other similar songs, actually has a happy ending. The dance tune at the beginning is a 13^th century English estampie.

Pete Morton sang an anglicised version of Child 96A, The Gay Goshawk, on his 1998 Harbourtown album Trespass. This track was also included in 2002 on his anthology Another Train. He noted:

Made this one up too. Found it in a book called British Popular Ballads [by John E. Houseman, 1952] (owned by Rosie & Will of Broadoak, Dorset—both in their 90s). Never heard anyone sing it before—how popular is it exactly?

The Magpie Arc sang The Gay Goshawk in 2022 on their album Glamour in the Grey.

Alison McMorland sang The Gay Goss Hawk on her 2024 album Some Ballads of Anna Gordon, Mrs. Brown of Falkland that was released to accompany Ruth Perry’s book The Ballad World of Anna Gordon, Mrs. Brown of Falkland. William Donaldson, Geordie McIntyre and Ruth Perry noted:

A romantic tale where “love conquers all” and the gay goss hawk (who can fly, speak, sing, and read) carries messages between the English lady and her lover, a Scottish squire. Her father forbids this union but will support any other wedding plans she may have. The lady is determined to marry her Scottish lover and develops a clever, elaborate plan of feigning death followed by her funeral progress to Scotland, thus outwitting her father. In the last verse, she bids her seven brothers to return home and boasts, “Your sisters play’d you scorn”. There are seven full texts of this ballad, all from Scotland, and only one other tune, from Christie’s Traditional Ballad Airs (II:124).

Tune source: Conjectural reading by Bronson of the William Tytler–Brown MS (II:476).
On learning that Anna Gordon’s sister had a guitar shipped out to her after emigrating to America, Alison McMorland invited Alasdair Roberts to work out a discreet guitar accompaniment, heeding William Tytler’s advice in A Dissertation on the Scottish Musick (1779): “the proper accompaniment of a Scots song is a plain, thin, dropping bass, on the harpsichord or guitar. The fine breathings, these heart-felt touches … are lost in a noisy accompaniment of instruments” (Hugo Arnot, The History of Edinburgh [1779], 640). Roberts’s sympathetic arrangement serves to underpin and illuminate the ballad. The tune here follows the template of Robert Eden Scott’s notation, although McMorland drops the top F in bar six of the single-strain melody. Christie (II:124) has a two-part air of this title which in n o way resembles it.

Note that The Gay Goshawk on Mr Fox’s eponymous album Mr Fox is quite another song, written by Carole Pegg.

Lyrics

Stone Angel sings The Gay Goshawk

O well is me, my gay goshawk
That you can speak and flee,
For you can carry a love letter
To my true love from me.

O well you shall my true love know
As soon as her you see,
For of all the flowers in fair England
The fairest flower is she.

Lord William has written a love letter,
Put it under his pinion grey,
And he’s away to the southern land
As fast as his wings can gay.

O first he sang a merry song
And then he sang a grave,
And then he pecked his feathers grey,
To her the letter he gave.

Have here a letter from Lord William,
He says he sent you three.
He cannot wait your love longer
But for your sake he’ll die.

I sent him the heart that’s in my breast,
What would my love have more?
And at Mary’s kirk in fair Scotland
You’ll bid him, Wait for me there.

The lady has gone to her father
And asking, Grant you me
That if I die in fair England,
In Scotland bury me.

At the first kirk of fair Scotland
You cause the bells be rung,
At the second kirk of fair Scotland
You cause the mass be sung.

But when you come to St. Mary’s kirk
You’ll tarry there till night,
And so her father pledged his word
And so his promise plight.

The lady’s gone to her bower
As fast as she could fare,
And she has drunk a sleeping draft
That she had mixed with care.

And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,
And pale and cold was she.
She seemed to be as surely dead
As any corpse could be.

Then up arose her brothers seven
And hewed to her a bier,
They hewed it from the solid oak,
Laid it o’er with silver clear.

At the first Scot’s kirk that they came to
They caused the bells be rung,
At the next Scot’s kirk that they came to
They caused the mass be sung.

But when they came to St. Mary’s kirk
There stood spearmen in a row,
And up and startled Lord William,
The chieftain among them all.

He rent the sheet upon her face
A little above her chin,
With rosy cheek and ruby lip
She looked and laughed at him.

A morsel of your bread, my Lord,
And one glass of your wine,
For I have fasted these three long days,
All for your sake and mine.

Pete Morton sings The Gay Goshawk

“O well is me with my gay goshawk,
Cause he can speak and flee;
He’ll carry a letter to my love,
He’ll bring one home to me.”

“O how will I your true love recognise,
How will I know?
When from her mouth I’ve never heard a word,
What will my old eyes show?”

“O you will my true love know
As soon as you see;
Of the fairest flowers in England
The fairest flower is she.

“And down there by her bower door
There grows a birch,
I want you to go down there and sit there and sing
As she comes out of church.

“There’ll be four and twenty ladies
All going to the church,
Ah but you will my true love know
For she wears gold in her skirt.

“There’ll be four and twenty ladies
All to the mass repair,
Ah but you will my true love know
For she wears gold in her hair.”

So he has flown to her bower door
Where grows the birch,
And the gay goshawk he starts to sing
As she’s coming out of church.

“O eat and drink, my Marys all,
The wine it flows among,
I’m going over to the bay window
To hear my bonny bird’s song.

“Sing to me, sing to me, my bonny bird
The song you sing so long,
Cause I can tell by your sweet singing
From my true love you come.”

The first song he sang was merry,
Then he sang one sad and grave;
And then he pulled back his feathers grey
And to her a letter gave.

“Here’s a letter from your love,
He says he sent you three;
He cannot wait your love any longer,
He says for your sake he’s gonna die.

“He bids you write him a letter,
He says he’s sent you five;
He cannot wait your love any lanker,
He thinks you’re the fairest woman alive.”

“Tell him to bake the bridal bread
And tell him to brew the wine,
Tell him I’ll be up in fair Scotland
Through a journey of [tine?].”

Then she’s gone down to he father’s house
And fallen down at his knee,
“One favour, one favour, my father dear,
I pray, grant it to me.”

“Ask me, ask me, my daughter,
And granted it shall be;
Anything except a meeting with that so-called squire in Scotland,
Him you’ll never see.”

“The only favour, my father dear,
That I do crave from thee,
If I die in these southern lands,
In Scotland bury me.

“And at the first church you come to
There the bells must be rung,
And the next church you come to
The mess must be sung.

“The third church that you come to
You deal in gold for my sake,
And the fourth church just o’er the border
Is where my body you will take.”

There she’s run back to her bower
As fast as she could fare,
And she has taken a sleeping drink,
She’s mixed it with care.

She’s laid down upon the bed
And soon she’s fallen asleep,
And soon over every tender limb
A numbness and whiteness did creep.

When night was flown, and day was come,
And no one did her see,
They thought that she was surely dead
As any lady could be.

Her father weeped, her father grieved,
He called all her brothers to his assist;
“Take her body o’er the border
Just as she wished.”

The first church that they came to,
There the bells were rung,
The next church that they came to
There the mess was sung.

The third church that they came to
They dealt in gold for her sake,
The fourth church just o’er the border
Is where her body they did take.

Then they heard a voice say,
“Let me look there in.”
With cheery cheeks and ruby lips
She laid a smile on him.

“Oh, we can have the bread, my love, now,
We can have the wine;
For you have fasted for our sake
Through your journey of [tine?].”

“Go hame, go hame, my bold brothers,
Go hame and sound your horn;
You can boast in the southern lands,
By your sister you were scorned.”

“O well is me with my gay goshawk,
Cause he can speak and flee;
He carried a letter to my true love,
And brought her home to me.”

Alison McMorland sings The Gay Goshawk

O wells me o my gay goss hawk
That he can speak and flee
Hell carry a letter to my love
Bring another back to me

O how can I your true love ken
Or how can I her know
When frae her mooth I ne’er heard couth
Nor wi my eyes her saw

O well sall ye my true love ken
As soon as you her see
For of a the flowrs in fair England
The fairest flowr is she

An even at my loves bow’r door
There grows a bowing birk
An sit ye doon and sing thereon
As she gaes tae the kirk

An four and twenty Ladies fair
Will wash & go to kirk
But well shall ye my true love ken
For she wears goud on her skirt

An four and twenty gay ladies
Will to the mass repair
But well shall ye my true love ken
For she wears goud on her hair

O even at that ladys bow’r door
There grows a bowin birk
An he sat doon & sang thereon
As she gaed tae the kirk

And even at that Lady’s window
There was a silver pin
An aye he sat and sang thereon
As she gaed out an in

O eet & drink my Marys a
The wine flows you among
Till I gang to my shot window
And hear yon bonny birds song

Sing on sing on my bonny bird
The song ye sang the streen
For I ken you by your sweet singin
Your frae my true love sent

O first he sang a merry song
And then he sang a grave
An then he peck’d his feathers gray
To her the letter gave

Ha theres a letter frae your love
He says he sent you three
He canna wait your love langer
But for your sake he will dee

Ye bid him bake his bridal bread
And brew his bridal ale
An I’ll meet him in fair Scotland
Lang lang or it be stale

Shes done her tae her father dear
Fa’n low doon on her knee
A boon a boon my father dear
I pray you grant it to me

Ask on ask on my daughter dear
An granted it sal be
Except ae squire in fair Scotland
And him you sall never see

The only boon my father dear
Which I do crave o thee
Is gin I dee in southing lands
In Scotland to bury me

An the firstin kirk ‘at ye come till
Ye gar the Bells be rung
An the nextin kirk ‘at ye come till
Ye gar the mass be sung

An the thirdin kirk ‘at ye come till
You deal gold for my sake
An the fourthin kirk ‘at ye come till
Ye tarry there till night

Shes ta’en her till her bigly bow’r
As fast as she could fare
An she has drunken a sleepy draught
That she had mix’d wi care

Shes laid her doon upon her bed
As soon shes fa’n asleep
And soon oer every tender limb
Cauld death began to creep

When night was flown & day was come
Nae yin that did her see
But thought she was as surely dead
As ony lady cou’d be

Her father & her brother dear
Gard mak for her a bier
The tae half was o guid red goud
The tither o silver clear

Her mither & her sister fair
Gard work for her a sark
The tae half was o cambrick fine
The tither o needle wark

The firstin kirk that they cam till
They gard the bells be rung
The nextin kirk ‘at they cam till
They gard the mass be sung

The thirdin kirk that they cam till
They dealt gold for her sake
An the fourthin kirk ‘at they cam till
Lo! there they met her make

Lay down lay down the bigly bier
Let me the dead look on
Wi cherry cheeks & ruby lips
She lay an smil’d on him upon

O ae sheave o your bread true love
An ae glass o your wine
For I have fasted for your sake
For these fully days nine

Gae hame gae hame my seven bold brothers
Gae hame & sound your horn
An ye may boast in Southing land
Your sisters play’d you scorn