O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, Wi’ their fans into their hand, Before they see sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, With their goud kaims in their hair, A’waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they’ll see nae mair. O forty miles off Aberdeen, ’Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude sir Patrick Spens, Wi’ the Scots lords at his feet. “I might hae had a king’s daughter, Far, far beyond the sea; I might have had a king’s daughter, Had it not been for love o thee.” “If ye might have had a king’s daughter, Yer sel ye had to blame; Ye might have taken the king’s daughter, For ye kend that I was nane. “If I was to leave my husband dear, And my two babes also, O what have you to take me to, If with you I should go?” “I hae seven ships upon the sea— The eighth brought me to land— With four-and-twenty bold mariners, And music on every hand.” She has taken up her two little babes, Kissd them baith cheek and chin: “O fair ye weel, my ain two babes, For I’ll never see you again.” She set her foot upon the ship, No mariners could she behold; But the sails were o the taffetie, And the masts o the beaten gold. She had not sailed a league, a league, A league but barely three, When dismal grew his countenance, And drumlie grew his ee. They had not saild a league, a league, A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterlie. “O hold your tongue of your weeping,” says he, “Of your weeping now let me be; I will shew you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy.” “O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, That the sun shines sweetly on?” “O yon are the hills of heaven,” he said, “Where you will never win.” “O whaten a mountain is yon,” she said, “All so dreary wi frost and snow?” “O yon is the mountain of hell,” he cried, “Where you and I will go.” He strack the tap-mast wi his hand, The fore-mast wi his knee, And he brake that gallant ship in twain, And sank her in the sea. “‘When on this ring of ruby red Shall die,’ she said, ‘the crimson hue, Know that thy favourite fair is dead, Or proves to thee and love untrue.’” Now, lightly poised, the rising oar Disperses wide the foamy spray, And, echoing far o’er Crinan’s shore, Resounds the song of Colonsay. “Softly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail! Soothe to rest the furrowy seas, Before my Love, sweet western gale!” Thus, all to soothe the Chieftain’s woe, Far from the maid he loved so dear, The song arose, so soft and slow, He seemed her parting sigh to hear. The lonely deck he paces o’er, Impatient for the rising day, And still, from Crinan’s moonlight shore, He turns his eyes to Colonsay. The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, That streaks with foam the ocean green: While forward still the rowers urge Their course, a female form was seen. That Sea-maid’s form, of pearly light, Was whiter than the downy spray, And round her bosom, heaving bright, Her glossy, yellow ringlets play. Borne on a foamy-crested wave, She reached amain the bounding prow, Then clasping fast the Chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below. Ah! long beside thy feigned bier, The monks the prayers of death shall say, And long, for thee, the fruitless tear Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay! PART IIBut downwards, like a powerless corse; The eddying waves the Chieftain bear; He only heard the moaning hoarse Of waters, murmuring in his ear. The murmurs sink, by slow degrees; No more the surges round him rave; Lulled by the music of the seas, He lies within a coral cave. In dreamy mood reclines he long, Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose, Till, warbling wild, the Sea-maid’s song, Far in the crystal cavern, rose; “This yellow sand, this sparry cave, Shall bend thy soul to beauty’s sway; Canst thou the maiden of the wave Compare to her of Colonsay?” Roused by that voice, of silver sound, From the paved floor he lightly sprung, And, glancing wild his eyes around, Where the fair Nymph her tresses wrung, No form he saw of mortal mould; It shone like ocean’s snowy foam; Her ringlets waved in living gold, Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb. Her pearly comb the Siren took, And careless bound her tresses wild; Still o’er the mirror stole her look, As on the wondering youth she smiled. Like music from the greenwood tree, Again she raised the melting lay; “Fair Warrior, wilt thou dwell with me, And leave the Maid of Colonsay? “Fair is the crystal hall for me, With rubies and with emeralds set, And sweet the music of the sea Shall sing, when we for love are met. “How sweet to dance, with gliding feet, Along the level tide so green, Responsive to the cadence sweet, That breathes along the moonlight scene! “And soft the music of the main Rings from the motley tortoise-shell, While moonbeams, o’er the watery plain, Seem trembling in its fitful swell. “Through the green meads beneath the sea, Enamoured, we shall fondly stray— Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me, And leave the Maid of Colonsay!”— “Though bright thy locks of glistening gold, Fair maiden of the foamy main! Thy life-blood is the water cold, While mine beats high in every vein. “Though all the splendour of the sea Around thy faultless beauty shine, That heart, that riots wild and free, Can hold no sympathy with mine. “These sparkling eyes, so wild and gay, They swim not in the light of love: The beauteous Maid of Colonsay, Her eyes are milder than the dove! “Even now, within the lonely isle, Her eyes are dim with tears for me; And canst thou think that siren smile Can lure my soul to dwell with thee?” An oozy film her limbs o’erspread; Unfolds in length her scaly train: She tossed, in proud disdain, her head, And lashed, with webbed fin, the main. “Dwell here, alone!” the Mermaid cried, “And view far off the Sea-nymphs play; Thy prison-wall, the azure tide, Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay. “Whene’er, like Ocean’s scaly brood, I cleave, with rapid fin, the wave, Far from the daughter of the flood, Conceal thee in this coral cave. “I feel my former soul return; It kindles at thy cold disdain: And has a mortal dared to spurn A daughter of the foamy main!”— She fled; around the crystal cave The rolling waves resume their road On the broad portal idly rave, But enter not the Nymph’s abode. And many a weary night went by, As in the lonely cave he lay; And many a sun rolled through the sky, And poured its beams on Colonsay; And oft, beneath the silver moon, He heard afar the Mermaid sing, And oft, to many a melting tune, The shell-formed lyres of ocean ring: And when the moon went down the sky, Still rose, in dreams, his native plain, And oft he thought his love was by, And charmed him with some tender strain; And heart-sick, oft he waked to weep, When ceased that voice of silver sound, And thought to plunge him in the deep, That walled his crystal cavern round. But still the ring, of ruby red, Retained its vivid crimson hue, And each despairing accent fled, To find his gentle Love so true. PART IIIWhen seven long lonely months were gone, The Mermaid to his cavern came, No more misshapen from the zone, But like a maid of mortal frame. “O give to me that ruby ring, That on thy finger glances gay, And thou shalt hear the Mermaid sing The song, thou lovest, of Colonsay.”— “This ruby ring, of crimson grain, Shall on thy finger glitter gay, If thou wilt bear me through the main, Again to visit Colonsay.”— “Except thou quit thy former Love, Content to dwell for aye with me, Thy scorn my finny frame might move, To tear thy limbs amid the sea.”— “Then bear me swift along the main, The lonely isle again to see, And, when I here return again, I plight my faith to dwell with thee.”— An oozy film her limbs o’erspread, While slow unfolds her scaly train. With gluey fangs her hands were clad, She lashed, with webbed fin, the main. He grasps the Mermaid’s scaly sides, As, with broad fin, she oars her way; Beneath the silent moon she glides, That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay. Proud swells her heart! she deems, at last, To lure him with her silver tongue, And, as the shelving rocks she past, She raised her voice, and sweetly sung. In softer, sweeter strains she sung, Slow gliding o’er the moonlight bay, When light to land the Chieftain sprung, To hail the Maid of Colonsay. Oh! sad the Mermaid’s gay notes fell, And sadly sink remote at sea! So sadly mourns the writhed shell Of Jura’s shore, its parent sea. And ever as the year returns, The charm-bound sailors know the day, For sadly still the Mermaid mourns The lovely Chief of Colonsay. Dr. John Leyden. (Condensed) |
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