Says—“Why pu’ ye the rose, Janet? What gars ye break the tree? Or why come ye to Carterhaugh, Withouten leave o’ me?”— Says—“Carterhaugh it is mine ain; My daddie gave it me: I’ll come and gang to Carterhaugh, And ask nae leave o’ thee. “The truth ye’ll tell to me, Tamlane: A word ye mauna lie; Gin e’er ye was in haly chapel, Or sained in Christentie?”— “The truth I’ll tell to thee, Janet, A word I winna lee: My father’s a knight, a lady me bore, As well as they did thee. “Randolph, earl Murray, was my sire, Dunbar, earl March, is thine; We loved when we were children small, Which yet you well may mind. “When I was a boy just turn’d of nine, My uncle sent for me, To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him, And keep him cumpanie. “There came a wind out of the north, A sharp wind and a snell; And a dead sleep came over me, And frae my horse I fell. “The Queen of Fairies keppit me In yon green hill to dwell; And I’m a fairy, lyth and limb; Fair ladye, view me well. “But we, that live in Fairy-land, No sickness know nor pain, I quit my body when I will, And take to it again. “I quit my body when I please, Or unto it repair; We can inhabit at our ease, In either earth or air. “Our shapes and size we can convert To either large or small; An old nut-shell’s the same to us As is the lofty hall. “We sleep in rose-buds soft and sweet, We revel in the stream; We wanton lightly on the wind, Or glide on a sunbeam. “And all our wants are well supplied From every rich man’s store, Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, And vainly grasps for more. “Then I would never tire, Janet, In Elfish land to dwell; But aye, at every seven years, They pay the teind to hell; And I am sae fat and fair of flesh, I fear’t will be mysell. “This night is Hallowe’en, Janet, The morn is Hallowday; And, gin ye dare your true love win, Ye na hae time to stay. “The night it is good Hallowe’en, When fairy folk will ride; And they that wad their true love win At Miles Cross they maun bide.”— “But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane? Or how shall I thee knaw, Amang so many unearthly knights, The like I never saw?”— “The first company that passes by, Say na, and let them gae; The next company that passes by, Say na, and do right sae; The third company that passes by, Then I’ll be ane o’ thae. “First let pass the black, Janet, And syne let pass the brown; But grip ye to the milk-white steed, And pu’ the rider down. “For I ride on the milk-white steed, And aye nearest the town; Because I was a christen’d knight, They gave me that renown. “My right hand will be gloved, Janet, My left hand will be bare; And these the tokens I gie thee, Nae doubt I will be there. “They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and a snake; But haud me fast, let me not pass, Gin ye wad be my maik. “They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, An adder and an ask; They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, A bale that burns fast. “They’ll turn me in your arms, Janet, A red-hot gad o’ airn; But haud me fast, let me not pass, For I’ll do you no harm. “And, next, they’ll shape me in your arms, A tod, but and an eel; But haud me fast, nor let me gang, As you do love me weel. “They’ll shape me in your arms, Janet, A dove, but and a swan; And, last, they’ll shape me in your arms A mother-naked man: Cast your green mantle over me— I’ll be myself again.”— PART IIGloomy, gloomy, was the night, And eiry was the way, As fair Janet in her green mantle, To Miles Cross she did gae. The heavens were black, the night was dark, And dreary was the place; But Janet stood, with eager wish, Her lover to embrace. Betwixt the hours of twelve and one, A north wind tore the bent; And straight she heard strange elritch sounds, Upon that wind which went. About the dead hour o’ the night, She heard the bridles ring; And Janet was as glad o’ that As any earthly thing. Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill. The hemlock small blew clear; And louder notes from hemlock large, And bog-reed, struck the ear; But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts, The Fairies cannot bear. They sing, inspired with love and joy, Like skylarks in the air; Of solid sense, or thought that’s grave, You’ll find no traces there. Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved, The dreary heath upon; And louder, louder wax’d the sound, As they came riding on. Will o’ Wisp before them went, Sent forth a twinkling light; And soon she saw the fairy bands All riding in her sight. And first gaed by the black, black steed, And then gaed by the brown; But fast she gript the milk-white steed, And pu’d the rider down. She pu’d him frae the milk-white steed, And loot the bridle fa’; And up there raise an erlish cry— “He’s won amang us a’!”— They shaped him in fair Janet’s arms, A tod, but and an eel; She held him fast in every shape— As she did love him weel. They shaped him in her arms at last, A mother-naked man; She wrapt him in her green mantle, And sae her true love wan! Up then spake the queen o’ fairies, Out o’ a bush o’ broom— “She that has borrow’d young Tamlane, Has gotten a stately groom.”— Up then spake the queen o’ Fairies, Out o’ a bush o’ rye— “She’s ta’en awa the bonniest knight In a’ my cumpanie. “But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says, “A ladye wad borrow’d thee— I wad ta’en out thy twa grey een, Put in twa een o’ tree. “Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says, “Before ye came frae hame— I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh, Put in a heart o’ stane.” “Had I but had the wit yestreen That I hae coft the day— I’d paid my kane seven times to hell Ere you’d been won away!” (Condensed) They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three, When word came to the carline wife, That her sons she’d never see. “I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood, Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood!”— It fell about the Martinmas, When nights are lang and mirk, The carline wife’s three sons cam hame, And their hats were o’ the birk. It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh; But at the gates o’ Paradise, That birk grew fair eneuch. “Blow up the fire, my maidens! Bring water from the well! For a’ my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.”— And she has made to them a bed, She’s made it large and wide; And she’s ta’en her mantle her about, Sat down at the bedside. And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, “’Tis time we were away.”— The cock he hadna craw’d but ance, And clapp’d his wings at a’, When the youngest to the eldest said, “Brother, we must awa.— “The cock doth craw, the day doth daw The channerin’ worm doth chide; Gin we be mist out o’ our place, A sair pain we maun bide. “Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to barn and byre! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass, That kindles my mother’s fire.” She hadna ridden a mile o’ gate, Never a mile but ane, Whan she was aware of a tall young man, Slow riding o’er the plain. She turned her to the right about, Then to the left turned she; But aye ’tween her and the wan moonlight That tall Knight did she see. And he was riding burd alane, On a horse as black as jet; But tho’ she followed him fast and fell, No nearer could she get. “Oh stop! Oh stop! young man,” she said; “For I in dule am dight; Oh stop, and win a fair lady’s luve, If you be a leal true Knight.” But nothing did the tall Knight say, And nothing did he blin; Still slowly rode he on before And fast she rade behind. She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, Till his breast was all a foam; But nearer unto that tall young Knight, The Lady, she could not come. “Oh, if you be a gay young Knight, As well I trow you be, Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay Till I come up to thee.” But nothing did that tall Knight say, And no whit did he blin, Until he reached a broad river’s side And there he drew his rein. “Oh, is this water deep?” he said, “As it is wondrous dun? Or is it sic as a saikless maid And a leal true Knight may swim?” “The water it is deep,” she said, “As it is wondrous dun; But it is sic as a saikless maid And a leal true Knight may swim.” The Knight spurred on his tall black steed; The Lady spurred on her brown; And fast they rade into the flood, And fast they baith swam down. “The water weets my tae,” she said; “The water weets my knee; And hold up my bridle reins, Sir Knight, For the sake of Our Ladye.” “If I would help thee now,” he said, “It were a deadly sin; For I’ve sworn neir to trust a fair may’s word, Till the water weets her chin.” “Oh! the water weets my waist,” she said; “Sae does it weet my skin; And my aching heart rins round about, The burn maks sic a din. “The water is waxing deeper still, Sae does it wax mair wide; And aye the farther that we ride on, Farther off is the other side. “Oh, help me now, thou fause fause Knight! Have pity on my youth; For now the water jawes owre my head, And it gurgles in my mouth.” The Knight turned right and round about, All in the middle stream; And he stretched out his head to that Ladie But loudly she did scream! “Oh, this is Hallow-morn,” he said, “And it is your bridal day; But sad would be that gay wedding, If bridegroom and bride were away. “And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret! Till the water comes o’er your bree; For the bride maun ride deep and deeper yet, Wha rides this ford wi’ me! “Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret! Turn ye round, and look on me! Thou hast killed a true Knight under trust, And his Ghost now links on with thee.” “I was a Viking old! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man’s curse; For this I sought thee. “Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic’s strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on. “Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf’s bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow. “But when I older grew, Joining a corsair’s crew, O’er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders. “Many a wassail-bout Wore the long Winter out; Often our midnight shout Set the cocks crowing, As we the Berserk’s tale Measured in cups of ale, Draining the oaken pail, Filled to o’erflowing. “Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendour. “I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid. And in the forest shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted. “Bright in her father’s hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter’s hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story. “While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed, And as the wind-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly. “She was a Prince’s child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew’s flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded? “Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen! When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen. “Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us. “And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, ‘Death!’ was the helmsman’s hail, ‘Death without quarter!’ Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water! “As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden,— So toward the open main, Beating to sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden. “Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o’er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward; There for my lady’s bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward. “There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden’s tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne’er shall the sun arise On such another! “Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, Oh, death was grateful! “Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior’s soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!” Thus the tale ended. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow “Tis not thy father Philip, Nor yet thy brother John; But tis thy true-love, Willy, From Scotland new come home. “O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, I pray thee speak to me; Give me my faith and troth, Margret, As I gave it to thee.” “Thy faith and troth thou’s never get, Nor yet will I thee lend, Till that thou come within my bower, And kiss my cheek and chin.” “If I shoud come within thy bower, I am no earthly man; And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips, Thy days will not be lang. “O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, I pray thee speak to me; Give me my faith and troth, Margret, As I gave it to thee.” “Thy faith and troth thou’s never get, Nor yet will I thee lend, Till you take me to yon kirk, And wed me with a ring.” “My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard, Afar beyond the sea, And it is but my spirit, Margret, That’s now speaking to thee.” She stretchd out her lilly-white hand, And, for to do her best, “Hae, there’s your faith and troth, Willy, God send your soul good rest.” Now she has kilted her robes of green A piece below her knee, And a’ the live-lang winter night The dead corp followed she. “Is there any room at your head, Willy? Or any room at your feet? Or any room at your side, Willy, Wherein that I may creep?” “There’s no room at my head, Margret, There’s no room at my feet; There’s no room at my side, Margret, My coffin’s made so meet.” Then up and crew the red, red cock, And up then crew the gray: “Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, That you were going away.” No more the ghost to Margret said, But, with a grievous groan, Evanishd in a cloud of mist, And left her all alone. “O stay, my only true-love, stay,” The constant Margret cry’d; Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een, Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy’d. The Baron returned in three days’ space, And his looks were sad and sour; And weary was his courser’s pace, As he reached his rocky tower. He came not from where Ancram Moor Ran red with English blood; Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, ’Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. Yet was his helmet hacked and hewed, His acton pierced and tore, His axe and his dagger with blood imbrued,— But it was not English gore. He lighted at the Chapellage, He held him close and still; And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, His name was English Will. “Come thou hither, my little foot-page, Come hither to my knee; Though thou art young, and tender of age, I think thou art true to me. “Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, And look thou tell me true! Since I from Smaylho’me tower have been, What did thy Lady do?”— “My Lady, each night, sought the lonely light, That burns on the wild Watchfold; For, from height to height, the beacons bright Of the English foemen told. “The bittern clamoured from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill; Yet the craggy pathway she did cross, To the eiry Beacon Hill. “I watched her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone;— No watchman stood by the dreary flame, It burned all alone. “The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came, And, by Mary’s might! an armed Knight Stood by the lonely flame. “And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my Lady there; But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast, And I heard not what they were. “The third night there the sky was fair, And the mountain blast was still, As again I watched the secret pair, On the lonesome Beacon Hill. “And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve; And say, ‘Come this night to thy Lady’s bower; Ask no bold Baron’s leave. “‘He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch; His Lady is all alone; The door she’ll undo, to her Knight so true, On the Eve of good St. John.’— “‘I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee; On the Eve of St. John I must wander alone: In thy bower I may not be.’— “‘Now, out on thee, faint-hearted Knight! Thou shouldst not say me nay; For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, Is worth the whole summer’s day. “‘And I’ll chain the bloodhound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strewed on the stair; So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, I conjure thee, my Love, to be there!’— “‘Though the bloodhound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the East, And my footstep he would know.’— “‘O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the East! For to Dryburgh the way he has ta’en; And there to say mass, till three days do pass, For the soul of a Knight that is slain.’— “He turned him around, and grimly he frowned; Then he laughed right scornfully— ‘He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that Knight, May as well say mass for me: “‘At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have power, In thy chamber will I be.’— With that he was gone, and my Lady left alone, And no more did I see.” Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron’s brow, From the dark to the blood-red high, “Now, tell me the mien of the Knight thou hast seen, For, by Mary, he shall die!”— “His arms shone full bright, in the beacon’s red light; His plume it was scarlet and blue; On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, And his crest was a branch of the yew.” “Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me! For that Knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, All under the Eildon Tree.”— “Yet hear but my word, my noble Lord! For I heard her name his name; And that Lady bright, she called the Knight Sir Richard of Coldinghame.”— The bold Baron’s brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale— “The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is stiff and stark— So I may not trust thy tale. “Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain. “The varying light deceived thy sight, And the wild winds drowned the name; For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing, For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!” PART IIHe passed the court-gate, and he oped the tower-grate, And he mounted the narrow stair, To the bartizan seat, where, with maids that on her wait, He found his Lady fair. That Lady sat in mournful mood; Looked over hill and vale; Over Tweed’s fair flood, and Mertoun’s wood, And all down Teviotdale. “Now hail, now hail, thou Lady bright!”— “Now hail, thou Baron true! What news, what news, from Ancram fight? What news from the bold Buccleuch?”— “The Ancram Moor is red with gore, For many a Southern fell; And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, To watch our beacons well.”— The Lady blushed red, but nothing she said: Nor added the Baron a word: Then she stepped down the stair to her chamber fair, And so did her moody lord. In sleep the Lady mourned, and the Baron tossed and turned, And oft to himself he said,— “The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep, It cannot give up the dead!”— PART IIIIt was near the ringing of matin-bell, The night was wellnigh done, When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, On the Eve of good St. John. The Lady looked through the chamber fair, By the light of a dying flame; And she was aware of a Knight stood there— Sir Richard of Coldinghame! “Alas! away, away!” she cried, “For the holy Virgin’s sake!”— “Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side; But, Lady, he will not awake. “By Eildon Tree, for long nights three, In bloody grave have I lain; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me, But, Lady, they are said in vain. “By the Baron’s brand, near Tweed’s fair strand, Most foully slain, I fell; And my restless sprite on the beacon’s height, For a space is doomed to dwell. “At our trysting-place, for a certain space, I must wander to and fro; But I had not had power to come to thy bower, Hadst thou not conjured me so.”— Love mastered fear—her brow she crossed; “How, Richard, hast thou sped? And art thou saved, or art thou lost?” The vision shook his head! “Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life; So bid thy lord believe: That lawless love is guilt above, This awful sign receive.” He laid his left palm on an oaken beam: His right upon her hand; The Lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, For it scorched like a fiery brand. The sable score, of fingers four, Remains on that board impressed; And for evermore that Lady wore A covering on her wrist. There is a nun in Dryburgh bower, Ne’er looks upon the sun; There is a monk in Melrose tower, He speaketh word to none. That nun, who ne’er beholds the day, That monk, who speaks to none— That nun was Smaylho’me’s Lady gay, That monk the bold Baron. Sir Walter Scott |
|
