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Lang Andrew
The Blue Poetry Book
PART V
‘Oh sleep! it is a gentle thing,
Beloved from pole to pole!
To Mary Queen the praise be given!
She sent the gentle sleep from Heaven,
That slid into my soul.
‘The silly buckets on the deck,
That had so long remain’d,
I dreamt that they were fill’d with dew;
And when I awoke, it rained.
‘My lips were wet, my throat was cold,
My garments all were dank;
Sure I had drunken in my dreams,
And still my body drank.
‘I moved, and could not feel my limbs:
I was so light – almost
I thought that I had died in sleep,
And was a blessed ghost.
‘And soon I heard a roaring wind:
It did not come anear;
But with its sound it shook the sails,
That were so thin and sere.
‘The upper air burst into life!
And a hundred fire-flags sheen,
To and fro they were hurried about!
And to and fro, and in and out,
The wan stars danced between.
‘And the coming wind did roar more loud,
And the sails did sigh like sedge;
And the rain pour’d down from one black cloud,
The Moon was at its edge.
‘The thick black cloud was cleft and still,
The Moon was at its side:
Like waters shot from some high crag,
The lightning fell with never a jag,
A river steep and wide.
‘The loud wind never reached the ship,
Yet now the ship moved on!
Beneath the lightning and the moon
The dead men gave a groan.
‘They groan’d, they stirred, they all uprose,
Nor spake, nor moved their eyes;
It had been strange, even in a dream,
To have seen those dead men rise.
‘The helmsman steered, the ship moved on,
Yet never a breeze up blew;
The mariners all ’gan work the ropes,
Where they were wont to do;
They raised their limbs like lifeless tools —
We were a ghastly crew.
‘The body of my brother’s son
Stood by me, knee to knee:
The body and I pull’d at one rope,
But he said nought to me.’
‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner!’
‘Be calm, thou Wedding-Guest!
’Twas not those souls that fled in pain,
Which to their corses came again,
But a troop of spirits blest:
For when it dawn’d – they dropp’d their arms,
And cluster’d round the mast;
Sweet sounds rose slowly through their mouths,
And from their bodies passed.
‘Around, around, flew each sweet sound,
Then darted to the Sun;
Slowly the sounds came back again,
Now mixed, now one by one.
‘Sometimes a-dropping from the sky
I heard the sky-lark sing;
Sometimes all little birds that are,
How they seem’d to fill the sea and air
With their sweet jargoning!
‘And now ’twas like all instruments,
Now like a lonely flute;
And now it is an angel’s song,
That makes the heavens be mute.
‘It ceased; yet still the sails made on
A pleasant noise till noon,
A noise like of a hidden brook
In the leafy month of June,
That to the sleeping woods all night
Singeth a quiet tune.
‘Till noon we quietly sailed on,
Yet never a breeze did breathe:
Slowly and smoothly went the ship,
Moved onward from beneath.
Under the keel nine fathom deep,
From the land of mist and snow,
The spirit slid: and it was he
That made the ship to go.
The sails at noon left off their tune
And the ship stood still also.
‘The Sun, right up above the mast,
Had fixed her to the ocean;
But in a minute she ’gan stir,
With a short uneasy motion —
Backwards and forwards half her length
With a short uneasy motion.
‘Then like a pawing horse let go,
She made a sudden bound:
It flung the blood into my head,
And I fell down in a swound.
‘How long in that same fit I lay,
I have not to declare;
But ere my living life returned,
I heard, and in my soul discerned
Two voices in the air.
‘“Is it he?” quoth one, “Is this the man?
By Him who died on cross,
With his cruel bow he laid full low
The harmless Albatross.
’“The spirit who bideth by himself
In the land of mist and snow,
He loved the bird that loved the man
Who shot him with his bow.”
‘The other was a softer voice,
As soft as honey-dew;
Quoth he, “The man hath penance done,
And penance more will do.”
PART VI
First Voice
‘“But tell me, tell me! speak again,
Thy soft response renewing —
What makes that ship drive on so fast?
What is the Ocean doing?”
Second Voice
‘“Still as a slave before his lord,
The Ocean hath no blast;
His great bright eye most silently
Up to the Moon is cast —
‘“If he may know which way to go;
For she guides him smooth or grim.
See, brother, see! how graciously
She looketh down on him.”
First Voice
‘“But why drives on that ship so fast,
Without or wave or wind?”
Second Voice
‘“The air is cut away before,
And closes from behind.
‘“Fly, brother, fly! more high, more high!
Or we shall be belated
For slow and slow that ship will go,
When the Mariner’s trance is abated.”
‘I woke, and we were sailing on
As in a gentle weather:
‘Twas night, calm night, the Moon was high;
The dead men stood together.
‘All stood together on the deck,
For a charnel-dungeon fitter:
All fixed on me their stony eyes,
That in the Moon did glitter.
‘The pang, the curse, with which they died,
Had never passed away:
I could not draw my eyes from theirs,
Nor turn them up to pray.
‘And now this spell was snapt: once more
I view’d the ocean green,
And look’d far forth, yet little saw
Of what had else been seen —
‘Like one that on a lonesome road
Doth walk in fear and dread,
And having once turned round walks on,
And turns no more his head;
Because he knows, a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.
‘But soon there breathed a wind on me
Nor sound nor motion made:
Its path was not upon the sea,
In ripple or in shade.
‘It raised my hair, it fann’d my cheek
Like a meadow-gale of spring —
It mingled strangely with my fears,
Yet it felt like a welcoming.
‘Swiftly, swiftly flew the ship,
Yet she sail’d softly too:
Sweetly, sweetly blew the breeze —
On me alone it blew.
‘Oh! dream of joy! is this indeed
The light-house top I see?
Is this the hill? is this the kirk?
Is this mine own countree?
‘We drifted o’er the harbour-bar,
And I with sobs did pray —
“O let me be awake, my God!
Or let me sleep alway.”
‘The harbour bay was clear as glass,
So smoothly it was strewn!
And on the bay the moonlight lay,
And the shadow of the moon.
‘The rock shone bright, the kirk no less,
That stands above the rock:
The moonlight steeped in silentness,
The steady weathercock.
‘And the bay was white with silent light
Till, rising from the same,
Full many shapes, that shadows were,
In crimson colours came.
‘A little distance from the prow
Those crimson shadows were:
I turned my eyes upon the deck —
Oh, Christ! what saw I there!
‘Each corse lay flat, lifeless and flat,
And by the holy rood!
A man all light, a seraph-man,
On every corse there stood.
‘This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
It was a heavenly sight!
They stood as signals to the land,
Each one a lovely light;
‘This seraph-band, each waved his hand,
No voice did they impart —
No voice; but oh! the silence sank
Like music on my heart.
‘But soon I heard the dash of oars,
I heard the Pilot’s cheer;
My head was turn’d perforce away,
And I saw a boat appear.
‘The Pilot, and the Pilot’s boy,
I heard them coming fast:
Dear Lord in Heaven! it was a joy
The dead men could not blast.
‘I saw a third – I heard his voice:
It is the Hermit good!
He singeth loud his godly hymns
That he makes in the wood.
He’ll shrieve my soul, he’ll wash away
The Albatross’s blood.’
PART VII
‘This Hermit good lives in that wood
Which slopes down to the sea.
How loudly his sweet voice he rears!
He loves to talk with marineres
That come from a far countree.
‘He kneels at morn, and noon, and eve —
He hath a cushion plump:
It is the moss that wholly hides
The rotted old oak stump.
‘The skiff-boat near’d: I heard them talk,
“Why, this is strange, I trow!
Where are those lights so many and fair,
That signal made but now?”
‘“Strange, by my faith!” the Hermit said —
“And they answer’d not our cheer!
The planks look warp’d! and see those sails,
How thin they are and sere!
I never saw aught like to them,
Unless perchance it were
‘“Brown skeletons of leaves that lag
My forest-brook along;
When the ivy-tod is heavy with snow,
And the owlet whoops to the wolf below,
That eats the she-wolf’s young.”
‘“Dear Lord! it hath a fiendish look” —
(The Pilot made reply)
“I am a-fear’d” – “Push on, push on!”
Said the Hermit cheerily.
‘The boat came closer to the ship,
But I nor spake nor stirred;
The boat came close beneath the ship,
And straight a sound was heard.
‘Under the water it rumbled on,
Still louder and more dread:
It reach’d the ship, it split the bay:
The ship went down like lead.
‘Stunn’d by that loud and dreadful sound,
Which sky and ocean smote,
Like one that hath been seven days drowned
My body lay afloat;
But swift as dreams, myself I found
Within the Pilot’s boat.
‘Upon the whirl, where sank the ship,
The boat spun round and round;
And all was still, save that the hill
Was telling of the sound.
‘I moved my lips – the Pilot shriek’d
And fell down in a fit;
The holy Hermit raised his eyes,
And prayed where he did sit.
‘I took the oars: the Pilot’s boy,
Who now doth crazy go,
Laugh’d loud and long, and all the while
His eyes went to and fro.
“Ha! ha!” quoth he, “full plain I see
The Devil knows how to row.’
‘And now, all in my own countree,
I stood on the firm land!
The Hermit stepped forth from the boat,
And scarcely he could stand.
‘“O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!”
The Hermit crossed his brow.
“Say quick,” quoth he, “I bid thee say —
What manner of man art thou?”
‘Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched
With a woful agony,
Which forced me to begin my tale;
And then it left me free.
‘Since then, at an uncertain hour,
That agony returns;
And till my ghastly tale is told,
This heart within me burns.
‘I pass, like night, from land to land;
I have strange power of speech;
The moment that his face I see,
I know the man that must hear me:
To him my tale I teach.
‘What loud uproar bursts from that door!
The wedding-guests are there:
But in the garden-bower the bride
And bride-maids singing are:
And hark the little vesper bell,
Which biddeth me to prayer!
‘O Wedding-Guest! this soul hath been
Alone on a wide, wide sea:
So lonely ’twas, that God himself
Scarce seemèd there to be.
‘O sweeter than the marriage-feast,
’Tis sweeter far to me,
To walk together to the kirk
With a goodly company! —
‘To walk together to the kirk,
And all together pray,
While each to his great Father bends,
Old men, and babes, and loving friends,
And youths and maidens gay!
‘Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
‘He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.’
The Mariner, whose eye is bright,
Whose beard with age is hoar,
Is gone: and now the Wedding-Guest
Turned from the bridegroom’s door.
He went like one that hath been stunned,
And is of sense forlorn:
A sadder and a wiser man
He rose the morrow morn.
S. T. Coleridge.
THE HAUNTED PALACE
I
In the greenest of our valleys,
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace,
Radiant palace, reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion,
It stood there;
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
II
Banners – yellow, glorious, golden —
On its roof did float and flow
(This, all this, was in the olden
Time, long ago);
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A wingèd odour went away.
III
Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
(Porphyrogene!)
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.
IV
And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace-door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.
V
But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn! – for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate;)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
VI
And travellers now within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out for ever
And laugh – but smile no more.
E. A. Poe.
THE BARD
PINDARIC ODE
‘Ruin seize thee, ruthless King!
Confusion on thy banners wait,
Tho’ fann’d by Conquest’s crimson wing
They mock the air with idle state.
Helm, nor Hauberk’s twisted mail,
Nor e’en thy virtues, Tyrant, shall avail
To save thy secret soul from nightly fears,
From Cambria’s curse, from Cambria’s tears!’
– Such were the sounds, that o’er the crested pride
Of the first Edward scatter’d wild dismay,
As down the steep of Snowdon’s shaggy side
He wound with toilsome march his long array.
Stout Glo’ster stood aghast in speechless trance:
‘To arms!’ cried Mortimer, and couch’d his quivering lance.
On a rock, whose haughty brow
Frowns o’er old Conway’s foaming flood,
Robed in the sable garb of woe,
With haggard eyes the Poet stood;
(Loose his beard and hoary hair
Stream’d like a meteor to the troubled air)
And with a Master’s hand and Prophet’s fire
Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
‘Hark, how each giant-oak and desert cave
Sigh’s to the torrent’s aweful voice beneath!
O’er thee, oh King! their hundred arms they wave,
Revenge on thee in hoarser murmurs breathe;
Vocal no more, since Cambria’s fatal day,
To high-born Hoel’s harp, or soft Llewellyn’s lay,
‘Cold is Cadwallo’s tongue,
That hush’d the stormy main:
Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:
Mountains, ye mourn in vain
Modred, whose magic song
Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloud-topp’d head.
On dreary Arvon’s shore they lie,
Smear’d with gore, and ghastly pale:
Far, far aloof th’ affrighted ravens sail;
The famish’d Eagle screams, and passes by.
Dear lost companions of my tuneful art,
Dear, as the light that visits these sad eyes,
Dear, as the ruddy drops that warm my heart,
Ye died amidst your dying country’s cries —
No more I weep. They do not sleep.
On yonder cliffs, a griesly band,
I see them sit, they linger yet,
Avengers of their native land:
With me in dreadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
‘Weave the warp, and weave the woof
The winding-sheet of Edward’s race.
Give ample room, and verge enough
The characters of hell to trace.
Mark the year, and mark the night,
When Severn shall re-echo with affright
The shrieks of death, thro’ Berkley’s roofs that ring,
Shrieks of an agonising king!
She-wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs,
That tear’st the bowels of thy mangled Mate,
From thee be born, who o’er thy country hangs
The scourge of Heaven! What terrors round him wait!
Amazement in his van, with Flight combined,
And Sorrow’s faded form, and Solitude behind.
‘Mighty victor, mighty Lord!
Low on his funeral couch he lies
No pitying heart, no eye, afford
A tear to grace his obsequies.
Is the sable warriour fled?
Thy son is gone. He rests among the Dead.
The Swarm that in thy noon-tide beam were born?
Gone to salute the rising Morn.
Fair laughs the Morn, and soft the Zephyr blows,
While proudly riding o’er the azure realm
In gallant trim the gilded Vessel goes;
Youth on the prow, and Pleasure at the helm;
Regardless of the sweeping Whirlwind’s sway,
That hush’d in grim repose expects his evening-prey.
‘Fill high the sparkling bowl,
The rich repast prepare,
Reft of a crown, he yet may share the feast:
Close by the regal chair
Fell Thirst and Famine scowl
A baleful smile upon their baffled Guest.
Heard ye the din of battle bray,
Lance to lance, and horse to horse?
Long years of havock urge their destined course,
And thro’ the kindred squadrons mow their way.
Ye towers of Julius, London’s lasting shame,
With many a foul and midnight murther fed,
Revere his Consort’s faith, his Father’s fame,
And spare the meek Usurper’s holy head.
Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled Boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath the thorny shade.
Now, Brothers, bending o’er the accursèd loom,
Stamp we our vengeance deep, and ratify his doom.
‘Edward, lo! to sudden fate
(Weave we the woof. The thread is spun.)
Half of thy heart we consecrate.
(The web is wove. The work is done.)
Stay, O stay! nor thus forlorn
Leave me unbless’d, unpitied, here to mourn:
In yon bright track, that fires the western skies,
They melt, they vanish from my eyes.
But oh! what solemn scenes on Snowdon’s height
Descending slow their glitt’ring skirts unroll?
Visions of glory, spare my aching sight,
Ye unborn Ages, crowd not on my soul!
No more our long-lost Arthur we bewail:
All hail, ye genuine kings! Britannia’s issue, hail!
‘Girt with many a baron bold
Sublime their starry fronts they rear;
And gorgeous Dames, and Statesmen old
In bearded majesty, appear.
In the midst a form divine!
Her eye proclaims her of the Briton-Line:
Her lyon-port, her awe-commanding face
Attemper’d sweet to virgin-grace.
What strings symphonious tremble in the air,
What strains of vocal transport round her play.
Hear from the grave, great Taliessin, hear;
They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.
Bright Rapture calls, and soaring, as she sings,
Waves in the eye of Heav’n her many-colour’d wings.
‘The verse adorn again
Fierce War, and faithful Love,
And Truth severe, by fairy Fiction drest.
In buskin’d measures move
Pale Grief, and pleasing Pain,
With Horrour, Tyrant of the throbbing breast.
A voice as of the Cherub-Choir
Gales from blooming Eden bear;
And distant warblings lessen on my ear,
That lost in long futurity expire.
Fond impious Man, think’st thou, yon sanguine cloud
Raised by thy breath, has quench’d the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.
Enough for me: with joy I see
The different doom our fates assign:
Be thine Despair and sceptred Care,
To triumph, and to die, are mine.’
– He spoke, and headlong from the mountain’s height
Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
T. Gray.
SONG
Where shall the lover rest,
Whom the fates sever
From his true maiden’s breast,
Parted for ever?
Where, through groves deep and high,
Sounds the far billow,
Where early violets die,
Under the willow.
CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. Soft shall be his pillow
There, through the summer day,
Cool streams are laving;
There, while the tempests sway,
Scarce are boughs waving;
There, thy rest shalt thou take,
Parted for ever,
Never again to wake,
Never, O never!
CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!
Where shall the traitor rest,
He, the deceiver,
Who could win maiden’s breast,
Ruin, and leave her?
In the lost battle,
Borne down by the flying,
Where mingles war’s rattle
With groans of the dying.
CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. There shall he be lying
Her wing shall the eagle flap
O’er the false-hearted;
His warm blood the wolf shall lap,
Ere life be parted.
Shame and dishonour sit
By his grave ever;
Blessing shall hallow it, —
Never, O never!
CHORUS
Eleu loro, &c. Never, O never!
Sir W. Scott.
KINMONT WILLIE
O have ye na heard o’ the fause Sakelde?
O have ye na heard o’ the keen Lord Scroope?
How they hae ta’en bauld Kinmont Willie,
On Hairibee to hang him up?
Had Willie had but twenty men,
But twenty men as stout as he,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta’en,
Wi’ eight score in his cumpanie.
They band his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back;
They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
They led him thro’ the Liddel-rack,
And also thro’ the Carlisle sands;
They brought him on to Carlisle castell,
To be at my Lord Scroope’s commands.
‘My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,
And whae will dare this deed avow?
Or answer by the Border law?
Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?’
‘Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
There’s never a Scot shall set ye free:
Before ye cross my castle yate,
I trow ye shall take farewell o’ me.’
‘Fear na ye that, my lord,’ quo’ Willie:
‘By the faith o’ my body, Lord Scroope,’ he said,
I never yet lodged in a hostelrie,
But I paid my lawing before I gaed.’
Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,
In Branksome Ha’ where that he lay,
That Lord Scroope has ta’en the Kinmont Willie,
Between the hours of night and day.
He has ta’en the table wi’ his hand,
He garr’d the red wine spring on hie —
‘Now Christ’s curse on my head,’ he said,
‘But avenged of Lord Scroope I’ll be!
‘O is my basnet a widow’s curch?
Or my lance a wand of the willow tree?
Or my arm a lady’s lilye hand,
That an English lord should lightly me!
‘And have they ta’en him, Kinmont Willie,
Against the truce of Border tide?
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch
Is Keeper here on the Scottish side?
‘And have they e’en ta’en him, Kinmont Willie,
Withouten either dread or fear?
And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch
Can back a steed, or shake a spear?
‘O were there war between the lands,
As well I wot that there is none,
I would slight Carlisle castell high,
Tho’ it were builded of marble stone.
‘I would set that castell in a low,
And sloken it with English blood!
There’s nevir a man in Cumberland
Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.
‘But since nae war’s between the lands,
And there is peace, and peace should be;
I’ll neither harm English lad or lass,
And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!’
He has call’d him forty marchmen bauld,
I trow they were of his ain name,
Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, call’d
The laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
He has call’d him forty marchmen bauld,
Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch;
With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.
There were five and five before them a’,
Wi’ hunting-horns and bugles bright;
And five and five came wi’ Buccleuch,
Like warden’s men, arrayed for fight.
And five and five, like a mason gang,
That carried the ladders lang and hie;
And five and five, like broken men;
And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
And as we cross’d the Bateable Land,
When to the English side we held,
The first o’ men that we met wi’,
Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde?
‘Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?’
Quo’ fause Sakelde; ’come tell to me!’
‘We go to hunt an English stag,
Has trespass’d on the Scots countrie.
‘Where be ye gaun, ye marshal men?’
Quo’ fause Sakelde; ‘come tell me true!
‘We go to catch a rank reiver,
Has broken faith wi’ the bauld Buccleuch.’
‘Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
Wi’ a’ your ladders, lang and hie?’
‘We gang to herry a corbie’s nest,
That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.’
‘Where be ye gaun ye broken men?’
Quo’ fause Sakelde; ‘come tell to me!’
Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
And the never a word o’ lear had he.
‘Why trespass ye on the English side?
Row-footed outlaws, stand!’ quo’ he;
The nevir a word had Dickie to say,
Sae he thrust the lance through his fause bodie.
Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we cross’d;
The water was great and meikle of spait,
But the niver a horse nor man we lost.
And when we reach’d the Staneshaw-bank,
The wind was rising loud and hie;
And there the laird garr’d leave our steeds,
For fear that they should stamp and nie.
And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
The wind began full loud to blaw;
But ’twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
When we came beneath the castle wa’.
We crept on knees, and held our breath,
Till we placed the ladders against the wa’;
And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
To mount the first, before us a’.
He has ta’en the watchman by the throat,
He flung him down upon the lead —
‘Had there not been peace between our lands,
Upon the other side thou hadst gaed!
‘Now sound out, trumpets!’ quo’ Buccleuch;
‘Let’s waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!’
Then loud the warden’s trumpet blew —
‘O wha dare meddle wi’ me?’
Then speedilie to work we gaed,
And raised the slogan ane and a’,
And cut a hole thro’ a sheet of lead,
And so we wan to the castle ha’.
They thought King James and a’ his men
Had won the house wi’ bow and spear;
It was but twenty Scots and ten,
That put a thousand in sic a stear!
Wi’ coulters, and wi’ fore-hammers,
We garr’d the bars bang merrilie,
Until we cam to the inner prison,
Where Willie o’ Kinmont he did lie.
And when we cam to the lower prison,
Where Willie o’ Kinmont he did lie —
‘O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
Upon the morn that thou’s to die?’
‘O I sleep saft, and I wake aft;
It’s lang since sleeping was fley’d frae me;
Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
And a’ gude fellows that spier for me.’
Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
The starkest man in Teviotdale —
‘Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
‘Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!’ he cried —
‘I’ll pay you for my lodging maill,
When first we meet on the Border side.’
Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
We bore him down the ladder lang;
At every stride Red Rowan made,
I wot the Kinmont’s airns played clang!
‘O mony a time,’ quo’ Kinmont Willie,
‘I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,
I ween my legs have ne’er bestrode.
‘And mony a time,’ quo’ Kinmont Willie,
‘I’ve pricked a horse out oure the furs;
But since the day I backed a steed,
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!’
We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
When a’ the Carlisle bells were rung,
And a thousand men, in horse and foot,
Cam’ wi’ the keen Lord Scroope along.
Buccleuch has turned to Eden water,
Even where it flow’d frae bank to brim,
And he has plunged in wi’ a’ his band,
And safely swam them thro’ the stream.
He turned him on the other side,
And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he —
‘If ye like na my visit in merry England,
In fair Scotland come visit me!’
All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
He stood as still as rock of stane;
He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
When thro’ the water they had gane.
‘He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
Or else his mother a witch maun be;
I wadna have ridden that wan water
For a’ the gowd in Christentie.’
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.
