The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author |
| 2 |  |
 | I. |
| 2 | | II. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
WIZZERDE WYNKIN'S DETHE.
|
|
| 2 | |
 | The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir |  |
132
WIZZERDE WYNKIN'S DETHE.
ANE AUNCIENT BALLAD.
I
The Wizzerde's een grewe derke and dimme;Hys troubbledde mynde wals lyke the sea,
Whenne the waaves splashhe hye to the bending skye,
And wild storme wynndes howl dismallye.
II
The Wizzerde's een grewe dulle ande dimme;Hee shooke hys lokkis offe grizzledde whyte,
And summonsedde hys kynsmen toe come toe hym—
They stode by hys bedde twixt the daye ande nycht.
III
Hee lyfted uppe hys skynnye wrinkledde honde;Hollowe wals hys voice, and dredde toe hear,
As the mydnight blaste cominge flychteringe past
The kirk-yarde's throughstanes drear.
133
IV
“I maye notte praye—I daure notte praye—”'Twas thus the wytheredde oulde manne saide;
“But I must awaie, ere the glymmer offe day,
Toe the darksome landdes offe the deadde.
V
“I must now awaie—aronde the roofeArre Feeyndes uprysen from the yerde beneathe;
See, see their fierce eyne, and herke to their cryen,
And the gryndinge offe their yron teethe!
VI
“Myne houre is come, yette I shrynk fro the doome,Whilke mee deedes have deservit soe welle;
Oh! whatte wolde I give, weren itte myne toe live,
Butte toe rescue me speerit fro Helle!
VII
“The Feeyndes have come fro theire dork myrk home,Toe carrye mee doune too theire Mastere grimme;
Forre yeres thryce seven, I have mockedde atte Heavenne,
Ande payit the bloddye kaine toe hymme.
VIII
“Herke toe the stormme as itte howllis wythoutte—Toe the roaringe blastte, ande the rushinge rainne;
There arre yemmerings dire atte the chymneye toppe;
The ravene croakes at the batteredde pane.
134
IX
“Nowe hearkene mee voice, kynde kynsfolke alle,I pray you now herkene toe mee,
Orre youre lyfe belowe wyth feare ande wyth woe
Shall trobbledde ande darkenedde bee.
X
“Whenne mee eyne close deeppe, in Dethe's dredde sleepe,And styffens mee corpse wyth colde,
Inne ane Hollan sheete wrappe mee hede and feete,
Ere mydnycht belle hathe tolledde.
XI
“And keipe werde bye mee bedde, butte lette bee saideNorre requiemme, hymme, norre prayere,
Else the foulle Feeyndes theye wolde sweepe awaie
Mee corpse throe the starre-lit ayre.
XII
“Butte laye mee dounne inne ane coffinne meete,Norre wordde be spokken, norre tere be shedde;
Ande lette ane grene wythe bee tiedde toe the feete,
Ande ane grene wythe toe the hede.
XIII
“Ande carrye mee outte, ere Daie's fyrst streekeIlloominnes the mystte-cledde playne,
Forre iffe the redde cokke crowe, I am doomit toe woe,
Ande an ever ande aye offe painne!
135
XIV
“Toe the kirke offe Dumgree ye muste carrye mee,Bye the wythies grene atte hede and foote;
Boke, candle, and belle, there maye notte bee,
Ande lette all bee stylle ande mute.
XV
“Soe whenne ye come toe the ashe-treen wylde,Thatte sproutte fro the derke hille-toppe,
Putte mee coffinne doune onne the Elfinne-stone,
Ande stonde aloofe, as there ye stoppe.
XVI
“Take ane yonge raven, and caste her uppe—Iff shee perce awaie throo the ayre,
Alle welle maye bee; butte iffe onne tree
Shee foldes her wynges—bewaare!”
XVII
Thrice moanedde the Wizzerde ere hee passedde,Ande thrice hee wavit hys arm onne hie;
Loudde howlit wythoutte the fearfulle blaste,
Ande swepte the hauntedde cottage bye.
XVIII
Thenne rose loudde soundes offe woe and waile,Arounde the rooffe-tree, ande throo the skies;
Ande skryekes were herde on the moaninge gaile;
And cries—whilke were notte earthlye cries!
136
XIX
Theye lokit in drede onne the Wizzerde dede,Ane sylente horrour came o'ere themme alle;
He was chille, colde claye; alle muveless laye
The sheddowe offe hys face againste the walle.
XX
Their eyen were fixedde; their tongues were stille;Theye hymnedde noe hymn, theye praied no prayere;
The wolfe-doug alone gave ane piteous mone,
As terroure bristledde hys shaggedde haire.
XXI
Then theye shroudded the corpse inne ane wynding sheete,Ande screwedde itte the reddye coffinne withinne;
Theye fastenedde grene wythes to the hede ande feete,
Syne watchit till the paaling starres grew thinne.
XXII
Greye dawne glimmerit on banke ande brae;The starres were goinge outte one bye one;
Whenne mountinge each onne the browne ande greye,
Theye have their frychtfulle taske begunne.
XXIII
Three have mountit their steedes offe greye,Three have mountit their steedes offe browne;
Ere the fyrste strycke offe daie, theye have borne awaie
The Wizzerde's coffinne o'ere dale ande downe.
137
XXIV
They sparedde notte whippe, they sparedde notte spurre,Throo the dawninge theye scouredde awaie—awaie!
The breathinge broke fro their steedes like smoke,
And foame fro their flankes like oceanne spraye.
XXV
Like byrde thatte whirrs fro the pouncinge hawke,Like hare thatte scuddes fro yellinge hounde,
They turnedde notte backe fro their pantinge trakke;
Awaie and awaie did theye beare and bownde.
XXVI
Awaie and awaie, over banke ande brae,Theye fledde wythe the corpse offe the Wizzerde onne;
Untille theye made halte atte the rowande-treen,
Ande restedde itte doune onne the Elfinne-stone.
XXVII
Straighte ane sudden sounde uprose fro the grounde,And across the heathe wente boominge wide;
Eache helde bye the bitte hys startledde steede,
Lystenninge inne fere whatte mycht betyde!
XXVIII
Two fire-eyned bulles came bellowing onne,Wyth shyning horne ande tramplinge hooffe;
Their mychty cries, and their flashinge eyes,
Made the startledde watcheres stonde aloofe.
138
XXIX
Blakke was eache hyde as the starlesse nycht,Brighte as redde fyre werre their glancing eyne;
Volumes offe smokke from eache nostrille brokke,
Beneath themme scrotchedde was the grassye grene.
XXX
Huge staggeringe onne toe the corpse theye wente,Wyth lashinge tailes, and bellowinges loudde;
Throo the wythies grene their hornnes they bente,
And awaie inne wrethe, like ane thundere-cloudde.
XXXI
Echoedde the grene hills their bellowinges hershe,As wyth routte and roare they flounderit onne;
The horsemenne pursuedde throo strathe and woode,
In blude to the rowells their spurres have gone.
XXXII
Inne pursutte hollo! inne pursutte they goe,The pantinge ridere, ande foaminge steede;
Over holte ande deane, with the coffinne betweene,
The blackke bulles galloppinge leade.
XXXIII
Westlin, westlin their course theye helde—Wyth lashinge tailes toe the rysinge sunne;
The horses snortedde, the horsemenne halloedde,
Such chase onne grene sward was nevire runne!
139
XXXIV
Awaie and awaie toe ane hille toppe derke—The rydderes hurriedde toe halte themme there;
But they flounderedde awaie, withoutte stoppe orre staye,
Toe the next hille-top throo the ayre.
XXXV
Hershe echoingse fille everye Nithsdale hille;The blakke-cok crowinge forsoke the heathe;
Deepe murmuringe ranne the watere offe Branne
Their unearthly flychte beneathe.
XXXVI
Thenne the steedes were turnedde, the vale was triedde;Butte the blakke bulls lefte themme farre behinde.
Grene-swairde trampleres muste evere faile,
Whenne matchedde wyth treaderes offe winde.
XXXVII
Yette awaie and awaie, throo the strathe rode theye,O'er meadowe, and marish, ande springe, and banke;
The toil-droppes felle fro eache brenning brow,
The frothe fro eache reekinge flanke.
XXXVIII
Ande whenne the Closeburne heichtes they wonne,Ande theye saw Loch Ettrichte gleaminge wide,
Wyth roare ande yelle, thatte mycht stertle Helle,
The bulles plungedde hedelonge inne the tide!
140
XXXIX
Sanke the blakke bulles downe, the coffine sankeInne the wave, wyth ane splashinge sounde;
Thenne the wateres theye clossede, ande alle reposedde
Inne unearthlye peace arounde.
XL
Itte was soe stille thatte, afarre onne the hille,The murmure offe twinklinge leaves was hearde;
Ande the lapsinge shrille offe the mountaine rille,
Ande the hymne-nottes off earlye byrde.
XLI
Onne the moorlande dreare, forre manye an yeare,The Wizzerde's dolefulle shielinge stoode;
'Twas shunnede bye alle; ande, atte eveninge falle,
Wyth the lurridde flames off bremstone glowed.
XLII
Butte the windes offe heavene, and the rainnes offe heavene,Beatte itte downe; ande noughte is standinge nowe,
Save the molderinge rydge offe ane mosse-growne walle,
Sparedde bye the shudderinge farmere's ploughe.
XLIII
O, wandere notte neare, whenne Nychte frownes dreare;Forre, whenne travelleres hurrye past,
Wille ofte aryse loud unworldlye cries,
Offe waile ande offe woe, onne the blaste.
141
XLIV
Ande the spectre bulles tosse their hornes onne hye,Ande amidde the darknesse roare,
Ande spleshe the crestedde waves toe the skye,
Ande shaake the rockye shore.
XLV
Ande atte Wintere-tide, whenne the cold moone shinesOn the glytteringe ice ande the sperklinge snowe,
Dismalle soundes awake onne the frozzenne lake,
Ande the Wizzerde's tongue ye knowe.
XLVI
Shunne these soundes unbleste—forre that Wizzerde's reste,Norre Bedesman praied, norre belle dide tolle;
Norre gravestone prest on hys perjuredde brest:
Gramercye on his soulle!
| The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir | |