“O Richard! if my brother died, ’T was but a fatal chance; For darkling was the battle tried, And fortune sped the lance. “If pall and vair no more I wear, Nor thou the crimson sheen, As warm, we’ll say, is the russet grey, As gay the forest green. “And, Richard, if our lot be hard, And lost thy native land, Still Alice has her own Richard, And he his Alice Brand.” II’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood, So blithe Lady Alice is singing; On the beech’s pride, and oak’s brown side, Lord Richard’s axe is ringing. Up spoke the moody Elfin King, Who woned within the hill,— Like wind in the porch of a ruined church, His voice was ghostly shrill. “Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle’s screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen? Or who may dare on wold to wear The Fairies’ fatal green? “Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie, For thou wert christened man; For cross or sign thou wilt not fly, For muttered word or ban. “Lay on him the curse of the withered heart, The curse of the sleepless eye; Till he wish and pray that his life would part, Nor yet find leave to die.” III’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood, Though the birds have stilled their singing; The evening blaze doth Alice raise, And Richard is fagots bringing. Up Urgan starts, that hideous Dwarf, Before Lord Richard stands, And, as he crossed and blessed himself, “I fear not sign,” quoth the grisly Elf, “That is made with bloody hands.” But out then spoke she, Alice Brand That woman void of fear,— “And if there’s blood upon his hand, ’Tis but the blood of deer.”— “Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood! It cleaves unto his hand, The stain of thine own kindly blood, The blood of Ethert Brand.” Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand, And made the holy sign: “And if there’s blood on Richard’s hand, A spotless hand is mine. “And I conjure thee, Demon Elf, By Him whom Demons fear, To show us whence thou art thyself, And what thine errand here?” “’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairyland, When Fairy Birds are singing, When the Court doth ride by their Monarch’s side, With bit and bridle ringing: “And gaily shines the Fairyland— But all is glistening show, Like the idle gleam that December’s beam Can dart on ice and snow. “And fading, like that varied gleam, Is our inconstant shape, Who now like Knight and Lady seem, And now like Dwarf and Ape. “I FEAR NOT SIGN,” QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF, “THAT IS MADE WITH BLOODY HANDS” When the Fairy King has power, That I sunk down in a sinful fray, And ’twixt life and death, was snatched away To the joyless Elfin Bower. “But wist I of a woman bold, Who thrice my brow durst sign, I might regain my mortal mould, As fair a form as thine.” She crossed him once, she crossed him twice— That Lady was so brave; The fouler grew his goblin hue, The darker grew the cave. She crossed him thrice, that Lady bold; He rose beneath her hand The fairest Knight on Scottish mould Her brother, Ethert Brand! Merry it is in good Greenwood, When the mavis and merle are singing, But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey, When all the bells were ringing. Sir Walter Scott Sir Walter Scott, from Goethe AN ULSTER BALLAD “Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel; For your father’s on the hill, and your mother is asleep: Come up above the crags, and we’ll dance a highland reel Around the Fairy Thorn on the steep.” At Anna Grace’s door’t was thus the maidens cried, Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green; And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside, The fairest of the four, I ween. They’re glancing thro’ the glimmer of the quiet eve, Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare; The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave, And the crags in the ghostly air: And linking hand in hand, and singing as they go, The maids along the hill-side have ta’en their fearless way Till they come to where the Rowan Trees in lonely beauty grow Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey. The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim, Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee; The Rowan berries cluster o’er her low head grey and dim, In ruddy kisses sweet to see. The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row, Between each lovely couple a stately Rowan stem, And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go, Oh, never carolled bird like them! But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze That drinks away their voices in echoless repose, And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes, And dreamier the gloaming grows. And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw, Are hushed the maidens’ voices as cowering down they lie In the flutter of their sudden awe. For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath And from the Mountain Ashes and the old Whitethorn between, A power of faint Enchantment doth through their beings breathe And they sink down together on the green. They sink together silent, and stealing side to side, They fling their lovely arms o’er their drooping necks so fair, Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide, For their shrinking necks again are bare. Thus clasped and prostrate all, with their heads together bowed, Soft o’er their bosoms beating—the only human sound— They hear the silky footsteps of the silent Fairy crowd, Like a river in the air, gliding round. Nor scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say, But wild, wild the terror of the speechless three— For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, By whom they dare not look to see. They feel her tresses twine with their parting locks of gold, And the curls elastic falling, as her head withdraws; They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold, But they dare not look to see the cause: For heavy on their senses the faint Enchantment lies; Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze; And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes Or their limbs from the cold ground raise. Till out of Night the Earth has rolled her dewy side, With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below; When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide, The maidens’ trance dissolveth so. Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may, And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—— They pined away and died within the year and day, And ne’er was Anna Grace seen again. Samuel Ferguson Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight, So haggard and so woe-begone? The squirrel’s granary is full, And the harvest’s done. I see a lily on thy brow, With anguish moist and fever dew; And on thy cheek a fading rose Fast withereth too. “I met a lady in the meads, Full beautiful—a Faery’s child; Her hair was long, her foot was light, And her eyes were wild. “I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long; For sideways would she lean, and sing A Faery’s song. “I made a garland for her head, And bracelets too, and fragrant zone; She looked at me as she did love, And made sweet moan. “She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna dew; And sure in language strange she said,— ‘I love thee true.’ “She took me to her Elfin grot, And there she gazed and sighed deep, And there I shut her wild sad eyes eyes— So kissed to sleep. “And there we slumbered on the moss, And there I dreamed—Ah, woe betide! The latest dream I ever dreamed On the cold hill-side. “I saw pale Kings and Princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; Who cried, ‘La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!’ “I saw their starved lips in the gloom With horrid warning gaped wide, And I awoke, and found me here On the cold hill-side. “And this is why I sojourn here, Alone and palely loitering, Though the sedge is withered from the lake, And no birds sing.” John Keats Her shirt was o the grass-green silk, Her mantle o the velvet fyne; At ilka tett of her horse’s mane, Hang fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas he pull’d aff his cap, And louted low down to his knee; “All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! For thy peer on earth I never did see.”— “O no, O no, Thomas,” she said, “That name does not belang to me; I am but the Queen of fair elfland, That am hither come to visit thee.” “Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said; “Harp and carp along wi me; And if ye dare to kiss my lips, Sure of your bodie I will be.”— “Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never daunton me.”— Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, All underneath the Eildon Tree. “Now, ye maun go wi me,” she said; “True Thomas, ye maun go wi me, And ye maun serve me seven years, Thro weal or woe as may chance to be.” She mounted on her milk-white steed, She’s ta’en True Thomas up behind: And aye, whene’er her bridle rung, The steed flew swifter than the wind. O they rade on, and farther on,— The steed gaed swifter than the wind: Until they reached a desart wide, And living land was left behind. “Light down, light down, now, True Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee; Abide and rest a little space, And I will show you ferlies three. “O see ye not yon narrow road, So thick beset with thorns and briers? That is the path of righteousness. Tho after it but few enquires. “And see not ye that braid, braid road, That lies across the lily leven? That is the path of wickedness, Tho some call it the road to heaven. “And see not ye that bonny road, That winds about the fernie brae? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where you and I this night maun gae. “But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, Whatever ye may hear or see; For if you speak word in Elfyn land, Ye’ll ne’er get back to your ain countrie.” O they rade on, and farther on, And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee, And they saw neither sun nor moon, But they heard the roaring of the sea. It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae stern-light, And they waded thro red blude to the knee; For a’ the blude that’s shed on earth Rins thro the springs o that countrie. Syne they came on to a garden green, And she pu’d an apple frae a tree: “Take this for thy wages, True Thomas; It will give the tongue that can never lie.” “My tongue is mine ain,” True Thomas said, “A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! I neither dought to buy nor sell, At fair or tryst where I may be. “I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye.” “Now hold thy peace!” the lady said, “For as I say so must it be.” He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, And a pair of shoes of velvet green; And till seven years were gane and past, True Thomas on earth was never seen. On to Loch Buy all day he rode, And reached the shore as sunset glowed, And stopped to hear the sounds of joy That rose from the hills and glens of Moy. The morrow was May, and on the green They’d lit the fire of Beltan E’en, And danced around, and piled it high With peat and heather and pine-logs dry. A piper played a lightsome reel, And timed the dance with toe and heel; While wives looked on, as lad and lass Trod it merrily o’er the grass. And Jessie (fickle and fair was she) Sat with Evan beneath a tree, And smiled with mingled love and pride, And half agreed to be his bride. The Kelpie galloped o’er the green— He seemed a Knight of noble mien, And old and young stood up to see, And wondered who the Knight could be. His flowing locks were auburn bright, His cheeks were ruddy, his eyes flashed light; And as he sprang from his good grey steed, He looked a gallant youth indeed. And Jessie’s fickle heart beat high, As she caught the stranger’s glancing eye: And when he smiled, “Ah, well,” thought she, “I wish this Knight came courting me!” He took two steps towards her seat— “Wilt thou be mine, O Maiden sweet?” He took her lily-white hand, and sighed, “Maiden, Maiden, be my bride!” And Jessie blushed, and whispered soft— “Meet me to-night when the moon’s aloft; I’ve dreamed, fair Knight, long time of thee— I thought thou earnest courting me.” PART IIWhen the moon her yellow horn displayed, Alone to the trysting went the maid; When all the stars were shining bright, Alone to the trysting went the Knight. “I have loved thee long, I have loved thee well, Maiden, oh more than words can tell! Maiden, thine eyes like diamonds shine; Maiden, Maiden, be thou mine!” “Fair Sir, thy suit I’ll ne’er deny— Though poor my lot, my hopes are high; I scorn a lover of low degree— None but a Knight shall marry me.” He took her by the hand so white, And gave her a ring of the gold so bright; “Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine— Maiden, Maiden, now thou’rt mine!” He lifted her up on his steed of grey, And they rode till morning away, away— Over the mountain and over the moor, And over the rocks, to the dark sea-shore. “We have ridden East, we have ridden West— I’m weary, fair Knight, and I fain would rest, Say, is thy dwelling beyond the sea? Hast thou a good ship waiting for me?” “I have no dwelling beyond the sea, I have no good ship waiting for thee; Thou shalt sleep with me on a couch of foam, And the depths of the ocean shall be thy home.” The grey steed plunged in the billows clear, And the maiden’s shrieks were sad to hear. “Maiden, whose eyes like diamonds shine— Maiden, Maiden, now thou’rt mine!” Loud the cold sea-blast did blow, As they sank ’mid the angry waves below— Down to the rocks where the serpents creep, Twice five hundred fathoms deep. At morn a fisherman, sailing by, Saw her pale corse floating high; He knew the maid by her yellow hair And her lily skin so soft and fair. Under a rock on Scarba’s shore, Where the wild winds sigh and the breakers roar, They dug her a grave by the water clear, Among the sea-weed salt and seer. And every year at Beltan E’en, The Kelpie gallops across the green, On a steed as fleet as the wintry wind, With Jessie’s mournful ghost behind. I warn you, maids, whoever you be, Beware of pride and vanity; And ere on change of love you reckon, Beware the Kelpie of Corrievreckan. Charles Mackay Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny’s face; As still was her look, and as still was her e’e, As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare; Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew; But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, And a land where sin had never been; A land of love, and a land of light, Withouten sun, or moon, or night; Where the river swa’d a living stream, And the light a pure celestial beam: The land of vision it would seem, A still, an everlasting dream. In yon green-wood there is a waik, And in that waik there is a wene, And in that wene there is a maik That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane; And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane. In that green wene Kilmeny lay, Her bosom happed wi’ the flowerets gay; But the air was soft and the silence deep, And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep. She kend nae mair, nor opened her e’e, Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. She ’wakened on a couch of the silk sae slim, All striped wi’ the bars of the rainbow’s rim; And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life; And aye they smiled, and ’gan to speer, “What spirit has brought this mortal here!” “Lang have I journeyed the world wide,” A meek and reverend Fere replied; “Baith night and day I have watched the fair, Eident a thousand years and mair. Yes, I have watched o’er ilk degree, Wherever blooms femenitye; But sinless virgin, free of stain In mind and body, fand I nane. Never, since the banquet of time, Found I a virgin in her prime, Till late this bonny maiden I saw As spotless as the morning snaw: Full twenty years she has lived as free As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye: I have brought her away frae the snares of men, That sin or death she never may ken.”— They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair, They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair, And round came many a blooming Fere, Saying, “Bonny Kilmeny, ye’re welcome here! Women are freed of the littand scorn: O, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born! Now shall the land of the spirits see, Now shall it ken what a woman may be! Many a lang year in sorrow and pain, Many a lang year through the world we’ve gane, Commissioned to watch fair womankind, For it’s they who nurice the immortal mind. We have watched their steps as the dawning shone, And deep in the green-wood walks alone; By lily bower and silken bed, The viewless tears have o’er them shed; Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep, Or left the couch of love to weep. We have seen! we have seen! but the time must come, And the Angels will weep at the day of doom! “O, would the fairest of mortal kind Aye keep the holy truths in mind, That kindred spirits their motions see, Who watch their ways with anxious e’e, And grieve for the guilt of humanitye! O, sweet to Heaven the maiden’s prayer, And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair! And dear to Heaven the words of truth, And the praise of virtue frae beauty’s mouth! And dear to the viewless forms of air, The minds that kythe as the body fair! “O, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain, If ever you seek the world again, That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear, O, tell of the joys that are waiting here; And tell of the signs you shall shortly see; Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be.” They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, And she walked in the light of a sunless day: The sky was a dome of crystal bright, The fountain of vision, and fountain of light: The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, And the flowers of everlasting blow. Then deep in the stream her body they laid, That her youth and beauty never might fade; And they smiled on Heaven, when they saw her lie In the stream of life that wandered bye. And she heard a song, she heard it sung, She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung, It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn— “O, blest be the day Kilmeny was born! Now shall the land of the spirits see, Now shall it ken what a woman may be! The sun that shines on the world sae bright, A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light; And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun, Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair, And the Angels shall miss them travelling the air. But lang, lang after baith night and day, When the sun and the world have elyed away; When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom, Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!” They bore her away, she wist not how, For she felt not arm nor rest below; But so swift they wained her through the light, ’T was like the motion of sound or sight; They seemed to split the gales of air, And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. Unnumbered groves below them grew, They came, they past, and backward flew, like floods of blossoms gliding on, In moment seen, in moment gone. O, never vales to mortal view Appeared like those o’er which they flew! That land to human spirits given, The lowermost vales of the storied Heaven; From thence they can view the world below, And Heaven’s blue gates with sapphires glow, More glory yet unmeet to know. They bore her far to a mountain green, To see what mortal never had seen; And they seated her high on a purple sward, And bade her heed what she saw and heard, And note the changes the spirits wrought, For now she lived in the Land of Thought. She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, But a crystal dome of a thousand dies: She looked, and she saw nae land aright, But an endless whirl of glory and light: And radiant beings went and came Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame. She hid her e’en frae the dazzling view; She looked again, and the scene was new. But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, So far surpassing nature’s law, The singer’s voice wad sink away, And the string of his harp wad cease to play. But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye, And all was love and harmony; Till the stars of Heaven fell calmly away, Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day. Then Kilmeny begged again to see The friends she had left in her own countrye, To tell of the place where she had been, And the glories that lay in the land unseen; To warn the living maidens fair, The loved of Heaven, the spirits’ care, That all whose minds unmeled remain Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. With distant music, soft and deep, They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; And when she awakened, she lay her lane, All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene. When seven lang years had come and fled; When grief was calm, and hope was dead; When scarce was remembered Kilmeny’s name, Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame! And O, her beauty was fair to see, But still and steadfast was her e’e! Such beauty bard may never declare, For there was no pride nor passion there; And the soft desire of maiden’s e’en In that mild face could never be seen. Her seymar was the lily flower, And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower; And her voice like the distant melodye, That floats along the twilight sea. But she loved to raike the lanely glen, And keeped afar frae the haunts of men; Her holy hymns unheard to sing, To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. But wherever her peaceful form appeared, The wild beasts of the hill were cheered; The wolf played blythely round the field, The lordly byson lowed and kneeled; The dun deer wooed with manner bland, And cowered aneath her lily hand. And when at even the woodlands rung, When hymns of other worlds she sung, In ecstasy of sweet devotion, O, then the glen was all in motion! The wild beasts of the forest came, Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, And goved around, charmed and amazed; Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, And murmured and looked with anxious pain For something the mystery to explain. The buzzard came with the throstle-cock; The corby left her houf in the rock; The blackbird alang wi’ the eagle flew; The hind came tripping o’er the dew; The wolf and the kid their raike began, And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; The hawk and the hern attour them hung, And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young; And all in a peaceful ring were hurled: It was like an eve in a sinless world! When a month and a day had come and gane, Kilmeny sought the green-wood wene; There laid her down on the leaves sae green, And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. But, O, the words that fell from her mouth, Were words of wonder and words of truth! But all the land were in fear and dread, For they kendna whether she was living or dead. It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain; She left this world of sorrow and pain, And returned to the Land of Thought again. The Ettrick Shepherd. (Condensed) |
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