Macfadden And Macfee Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis

Rhyme Scheme: ABCDBEFGH IJKJ LMLM NEOE EMPM JMQM IERE ESJS METE EMUM MJEJ JJMJ JMJM EJEJ VJWJ XMAM

This ballad is of great interest and as far as we knowA
has not hitherto appeared in print It is certainly not inB
Child's Collection It was taken down from the singing of anC
aged man of years in Glen Kennaquhair InternalD
evidence would tend to show that the incidents recorded inB
the ballad occurred in the seventeenth century and that SirE
Walter Scott had heard at least one verse of it The agedF
singer now alas no more sang it to the air of BarbaraG
AllenH
-
-
It was an' aboot the Lammas timeI
In sixteen forty three sirsJ
That there fell oot the awfu' fechtK
'Twixt Macfadden an' Macfee sirsJ
-
Macfadden wha was gaun to kirkL
Upon the morn's mornM
Had washed his kilt an' cleaned his dirkL
An' combed his Sabbath sporranM
-
An' bein' for the time o' yearN
Remarkably fine weatherE
These articles o' dress were laidO
To air upon the heatherE
-
Waes me Macfee while dandrin' owreE
The bonnie braes o' LorneM
Maun gang an' pit his muckle fitP
Upon Macfadden's sporranM
-
A piece o' carelessness like thisJ
The brichtest heart would saddenM
An' when he saw the caitiff deedQ
It fair gaed owre MacfaddenM
-
For he was shavin' at the timeI
An' when the sicht he saw sirE
Wi' rage he shook an' nearly tookR
His neb aff wi' his raazorE
-
A while he swore and staunched the goreE
An' ere Macfee got ae lickS
Macfadden cursed him heid an' heelsJ
In comprehensive GaelicS
-
Syne when his breath was a' but ganeM
An' when he couldna say moreE
He lat a muckle Heelant yellT
An' at him wi' his claymoreE
-
What sweeter sound could warrior hearE
Unless it was the daddin'M
That echoed oot when'er MacfeeU
Got hame upon MacfaddenM
-
Nae sweeter soond I weel could weenM
Exceppin' it micht be sirsJ
The soond that hurtled oot when'erE
Macfadden hit Macfee sirsJ
-
An awfu' fecht it was to seeJ
A fecht baith fell an' dour sirsJ
For ere the tuilzie weel beganM
The glen was fu' o' stour sirsJ
-
An awfu' fecht again I say'tJ
And on each auld clay biggin'M
The freends o' baith like hoodie crawsJ
Were roostin' on the riggin'M
-
And aye they buckled till't wi' birrE
In combat sair an' grievousJ
They glanced like lightnin' up StrathyreE
An' thundered doon Ben NevisJ
-
Wha won the fecht or whilk ane lostV
Was hid frae mortal e'e sirsJ
Nane saw the fearsome end o' baithW
Macfadden an' Macfee sirsJ
-
But still they say at break o' dayX
Upon the braes o' LorneM
Ye'll hear the ghaistly rustlin' o'A
Macfadden's Sabbath sporranM

David Rorie



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