|
Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield |
|
Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field |
|
Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wounds |
|
There's none but the Maid of the Winding Mere can make thee hale and soond" |
|
"Then course well, my brindled hounds, and fetch me the mountain hare |
|
Whose coat is as grey as the Wastwater and as white as the lily fair", |
|
Who said "Green moss and heather bands will never staunch the flood |
|
There's none but the Witch of the Westmorelands can save thy dear life's blood" |
|
So turn, turn your Stallion's head 'till his grey mane flies in the wind |
|
Till the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind |
|
Clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by |
|
Below the hill was the brightest star when he heard the houlet cry, |
|
Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore cam' you here?" |
|
"I seek the Witch of the Westmorelands that dwells by the winding mere" |
|
"Then fly free your good grey hawk to gather the golden rod |
|
And face your horse intae the clouds above yon gay green wood" |
|
Weary by Ullswater and the misty brake fern way |
|
'Till through the cleft o' the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay |
|
He said "Lie down, my brindled hound and perch my good grey hawk |
|
And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk |
|
But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call |
|
For I fear e'er the sun will rise this morn you will serve me best of all" |
|
Down to the water's brim, he's borne the rowan shield |
|
And the golden rod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield |
|
And wet rose she from the lake, fast and fleet gaed she |
|
One half the form of a maiden fair and the jet black mair's body |
|
Long, loud and shrill he blew and his steed was by his side |
|
High overhead his grey hawk flew and swiftly he did ride |
|
Saying "Course well, my brindled hounds, and fetch me the jet black mair |
|
Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair" |
|
Who said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rowan shield |
|
For I see by the briny blood that flows you've been wounded in the field" |
|
She stood in the gown of the velvet blue, bound 'round with a silver chain |
|
She's kissed his pale lips aince and twice and three times 'round again |
|
She's bound his wound with the golden rod, full fast in her arms he lay |
|
And he has risen hale and soond wi' the sun high in the day |
|
She said "Ride with your brindled hounds at heel, and your good grey hawk in hand |
|
There's none can harm the knight who's kissed by the Witch of the Westmorland" |