 | Annie Weir and Other Poems |  |
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ROBIN O' RAPLOCH.
A BALLAD.
PART I.
Young Robin o' Raploch gaed south to the muir,
Wi' his faither's auld gun, and his dog so rare—
A leave or a licence he hadna, I wat,
But Robin o' Raploch cared naething for that.
Wi' his faither's auld gun, and his dog so rare—
A leave or a licence he hadna, I wat,
But Robin o' Raploch cared naething for that.
“What deil wi' a licence want I?” quoth he—
“The hills and the heather to all are free;
Nae leave will I beg for, yet whare is the loon
Daur claim the muir-hen that my gun shall bring down?”
“The hills and the heather to all are free;
Nae leave will I beg for, yet whare is the loon
Daur claim the muir-hen that my gun shall bring down?”
Young Robin o' Raploch had roamed a' day,
And keeper or watcher had crossed nae his way;
He ne'er frae the muir had sae laden gane hame,
For his dog had been keen, and unerring his aim.
And keeper or watcher had crossed nae his way;
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For his dog had been keen, and unerring his aim.
By a wee merry burnie he sat down to dine,
Nae roast could he boast o', nor sparkling wine;
Some cakes and a flask frae his pouches brang he,
And Robin was proud as a king could be.
Nae roast could he boast o', nor sparkling wine;
Some cakes and a flask frae his pouches brang he,
And Robin was proud as a king could be.
His table he spread on the bent sae lang,
His grace was a stave o' a hunting sang,
Nae guest had he but his dog sae rare,
But Robin o' Raploch dined cheerily there.
His grace was a stave o' a hunting sang,
Nae guest had he but his dog sae rare,
But Robin o' Raploch dined cheerily there.
But feastin' and happy they hadna been lang,
Till up frae his green couch the auld dog sprang,
And a growl deep and low let his master ken
That foes were approaching, both dogs and men.
Till up frae his green couch the auld dog sprang,
And a growl deep and low let his master ken
That foes were approaching, both dogs and men.
Robin o' Raploch sprang fast to his feet,
But he thocht nae o' fleein', though nane were sae fleet;
He grasped his gun when their four foes he spied,
And whispered to Hero—“Keep close to my side.”
But he thocht nae o' fleein', though nane were sae fleet;
He grasped his gun when their four foes he spied,
And whispered to Hero—“Keep close to my side.”
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But vain was his caution, for e'en as he spoke
There burst from the foemen one puff o' white smoke,
And Hero leapt up wi' a sharp howl o' pain,
And dropt ne'er to rise from the green bent again.
There burst from the foemen one puff o' white smoke,
And Hero leapt up wi' a sharp howl o' pain,
And dropt ne'er to rise from the green bent again.
But once at poor Hero paused Robin to look;
All fettering emotion he from his heart shook,
And quickly a ball in each barrel he thrust,
While deeply by everything evil he cursed;
All fettering emotion he from his heart shook,
And quickly a ball in each barrel he thrust,
While deeply by everything evil he cursed;
And then at the mongrels, that, fierce for the fray,
Tore straining the leash a few paces away,
An instant aimed grimly, then, hit in the head,
The brutes at the feet of the keepers fell dead.
Tore straining the leash a few paces away,
An instant aimed grimly, then, hit in the head,
The brutes at the feet of the keepers fell dead.
But careless o' that, on the keepers came fast:
“Ah, Robin!” they cried, “we hae found ye at last.
Come, march to the Sheriff, but first to the Ha'—
Yield, Robin o' Raploch, ye're but ane to twa.”
“Ah, Robin!” they cried, “we hae found ye at last.
Come, march to the Sheriff, but first to the Ha'—
Yield, Robin o' Raploch, ye're but ane to twa.”
Robin o' Raploch was six feet three,
His answer was only a glance o' his e'e;
His gun on the bent by his Hero he flang,
And slowly he faulded his arms so lang.
His answer was only a glance o' his e'e;
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And slowly he faulded his arms so lang.
But white were his cheek and his lips, I trow,
And wild was the flash o' his een sae blue:
“Gin ye were twenty—and ye are but twa—
Robin o' Raploch would scorn ye a'.”
And wild was the flash o' his een sae blue:
“Gin ye were twenty—and ye are but twa—
Robin o' Raploch would scorn ye a'.”
Wi' a fearsome shout, at the twa he sprang,
And his heavy nieves on their breasts he brang—
Twa dreadfu' thuds, and a deathlike mane,
And Robin o' Raploch stood up alane.
And his heavy nieves on their breasts he brang—
Twa dreadfu' thuds, and a deathlike mane,
And Robin o' Raploch stood up alane.
Then steevely he bound them back to back,
And syne in a tauntin' tone he spak'—
“Robin o' Raploch's a rare prize to win,
Strike boldly, and tak' him—ye're twa to ane.
And syne in a tauntin' tone he spak'—
“Robin o' Raploch's a rare prize to win,
Strike boldly, and tak' him—ye're twa to ane.
“But why should I spare ye, ye cowards,” he cried,
“That spared nae the faithfu' auld dog at my side?”
Wi' his een flashin' madly aboon them he stood,
For the Tempter was whispering—“Blood for blood.”
“That spared nae the faithfu' auld dog at my side?”
Wi' his een flashin' madly aboon them he stood,
For the Tempter was whispering—“Blood for blood.”
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“Na, na!” murmured Robin, “a taunt or a blow
Till now I ne'er had for a conquered foe;
But nane human blood at my door e'er shall lay;”
And he turned to the bank where his Hero lay.
Till now I ne'er had for a conquered foe;
But nane human blood at my door e'er shall lay;”
And he turned to the bank where his Hero lay.
Sadly he down by his faithfu' freen knelt,
And fondly the pulseless breast he felt:
He strokit its head o' the silken jet,
And his rough brown cheek wi' a tear was wet.
And fondly the pulseless breast he felt:
He strokit its head o' the silken jet,
And his rough brown cheek wi' a tear was wet.
He taen oot his knife, aye sae bright and keen,
And cut out a sod o' the bent sae green;
In the soft damp moss he a little grave made,
And soon owre his Hero the green turf laid.
And cut out a sod o' the bent sae green;
In the soft damp moss he a little grave made,
And soon owre his Hero the green turf laid.
And aye as he thought o' the dog sae dear,
The Tempter was whispering revenge in his ear:
And oft his brow darkened, his cheek grew mair wan,
And oft the keen edge o' his knife he fan'.
The Tempter was whispering revenge in his ear:
And oft his brow darkened, his cheek grew mair wan,
And oft the keen edge o' his knife he fan'.
But “Vengeance!” still “Vengeance!” the Tempter cried:
See! Robin bounds owre to his helpless foes' side,
His foot on them presses, his knife gleams in air,
When the cry of a maiden is heard on the muir.
See! Robin bounds owre to his helpless foes' side,
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When the cry of a maiden is heard on the muir.
Half bent o'er his victims stood Robin, and gazed,
His foot on the nearest, his hand o'er them raised,
He stood like a statue, grim, awful, and grand,
The “Vengeance Arrested” of some master-hand.
His foot on the nearest, his hand o'er them raised,
He stood like a statue, grim, awful, and grand,
The “Vengeance Arrested” of some master-hand.
And then looking round him, uncertain he seemed
If all that had passed was not fancied or dreamed,
Till the maiden's soft hand on his shoulder was laid,
And “Robin! oh, Robin!” she gently said.
If all that had passed was not fancied or dreamed,
Till the maiden's soft hand on his shoulder was laid,
And “Robin! oh, Robin!” she gently said.
Feebly and skaithless his arm fell down,
And the shame-flush spread owre his face sae brown,
And, blending wi' pity, love shone in her e'e,
As “Robin,” she murmured, “oh, what's this I see?”
And the shame-flush spread owre his face sae brown,
And, blending wi' pity, love shone in her e'e,
As “Robin,” she murmured, “oh, what's this I see?”
He pressed and he kissed her wee haun' sae white,
And his blue een filled wi' a safter light,
His knife through the bonds o' the keepers he drew,
Then gleaming afar frae his hand it flew.
And his blue een filled wi' a safter light,
His knife through the bonds o' the keepers he drew,
Then gleaming afar frae his hand it flew.
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His gun owre an auld oak root he bent,
In pieces asunder his game-bag he rent,
His powder-flask 'neath his heel crushed he,
And smiled on the ruin so mournfully;
In pieces asunder his game-bag he rent,
His powder-flask 'neath his heel crushed he,
And smiled on the ruin so mournfully;
And then turning round wi' a smileless despair,
“Sweet May, o' thy love I need never dream mair;
I'm ta'en, and my future a bairn may divine,
But, May, I would rather been prisoner o' thine.
“Sweet May, o' thy love I need never dream mair;
I'm ta'en, and my future a bairn may divine,
But, May, I would rather been prisoner o' thine.
“A prison, a trial, a trip owre the sea,
Or maybe the gallows, sweet May, waits on me,
For but for thy comin' my haun' would been red,
And the heather been tinted wi' murdered men's bluid.
Or maybe the gallows, sweet May, waits on me,
For but for thy comin' my haun' would been red,
And the heather been tinted wi' murdered men's bluid.
“As life dear was freedom ae short hour sin syne,
Now life I wi' freedom would careless resign.
Lead on to the Sheriff, since sae it maun be;
Dear May, never mair shall I wander wi' thee.”
Now life I wi' freedom would careless resign.
Lead on to the Sheriff, since sae it maun be;
Dear May, never mair shall I wander wi' thee.”
“Lead on to the Sheriff?” the keepers replied;
“Na, Robin, we'll lea' ye at bonny May's side,
We'll dare the laird's wrath, and ill-luck may he hae
That seeks a rude haun' on your shouther to lay.”
“Na, Robin, we'll lea' ye at bonny May's side,
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That seeks a rude haun' on your shouther to lay.”
Then frae the stained heather their dead lifted they,
And slowly and silent and sad marched away,
And by Hero's green grave lingered Robin and May,
Till the thin gloamin' mist o'er the muir gathered grey.
And slowly and silent and sad marched away,
And by Hero's green grave lingered Robin and May,
Till the thin gloamin' mist o'er the muir gathered grey.
PART II.
Whare Clyde like a crescent gleamed round a green haugh,
Wi' dark woodlands skirted, and bounded wi' saugh,
Whare a rill through the haugh ran wi' saft ceaseless sang,
And the grass, green and plenty, thrave a' the year lang,
Wi' dark woodlands skirted, and bounded wi' saugh,
Whare a rill through the haugh ran wi' saft ceaseless sang,
And the grass, green and plenty, thrave a' the year lang,
There close by the wood a trig cottage was seen,
Its roof thatched wi' heather, its wa's ivied green,
And there wi' her grannie 'bade bonny May Lee—
Her grey reverend grannie o' sixty-and-three.
Its roof thatched wi' heather, its wa's ivied green,
And there wi' her grannie 'bade bonny May Lee—
Her grey reverend grannie o' sixty-and-three.
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And near the Haugh cottage stood Robin and May:
“Fareweel, May,” said Robin, “and maybe for aye;
The laird will be wild when he hears I'm yet free,
And I for my madness maun answer or flee:
“Fareweel, May,” said Robin, “and maybe for aye;
The laird will be wild when he hears I'm yet free,
And I for my madness maun answer or flee:
“Thy love is the ae sunny spot in my fate,
But how for my comin' can I bid ye wait?
Fareweel, May, my angel, sin sae it maun be,
I'll face nae the scorn o' your grannie's grey e'e.”
But how for my comin' can I bid ye wait?
Fareweel, May, my angel, sin sae it maun be,
I'll face nae the scorn o' your grannie's grey e'e.”
“Come in wi' me, Robin; my grannie is kin',
And never says nay to a wise wish o' mine;
I'll tell how you're changed, ye shall plead at my side,
And, Robin, we little ken what may betide.”
And never says nay to a wise wish o' mine;
I'll tell how you're changed, ye shall plead at my side,
And, Robin, we little ken what may betide.”
They reached the Haugh cottage and softly stepped ben.
“Wha's this wi' ye, lassie? I surely should ken.”
“It's Robin,” said May; “he was owre on the muir,
And cam' at my seekin' to see how you fare.”
“Wha's this wi' ye, lassie? I surely should ken.”
“It's Robin,” said May; “he was owre on the muir,
And cam' at my seekin' to see how you fare.”
Up rose the grey grannie o' sixty-and-three,
And stood like a queen wi' command in her e'e.
“Come owre to my side, thoughtless hizzie,” said she;
“What wants Poacher Robin wi' auld Grannie Lee?”
And stood like a queen wi' command in her e'e.
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“What wants Poacher Robin wi' auld Grannie Lee?”
“I've come, Grannie Lee, e'en to plead my ain cause,
And tell ye I'm weary o' breakin' the laws;
The Robin ye kent has departed for aye,
Unworthy was he o' yer ain peerless May.
And tell ye I'm weary o' breakin' the laws;
The Robin ye kent has departed for aye,
Unworthy was he o' yer ain peerless May.
“But I, Grannie Lee, hae nae dog and nae gun,
And the angel he lo'ed I hae courted and won.
Forget him, he'll ne'er cross your hallan again,
And tell me ye'll gie me your May for my ain.”
And the angel he lo'ed I hae courted and won.
Forget him, he'll ne'er cross your hallan again,
And tell me ye'll gie me your May for my ain.”
“The Robin I kent had your face and your e'e,
A braw buirdly chiel, but a worthless, was he;
Wi' ane that's sae like him my bairn ill would fare—
Let that be your answer, and fash me nae mair.”
A braw buirdly chiel, but a worthless, was he;
Wi' ane that's sae like him my bairn ill would fare—
Let that be your answer, and fash me nae mair.”
“Oh, Grannie,” pled May, “when the lang nichts hae come,
And the storm, loud and eerie, roars down the spence lum,
If Robin were wi' us nae bogles we'd fear,
And the black-maskit thieves would nae mair venture here.”
And the storm, loud and eerie, roars down the spence lum,
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And the black-maskit thieves would nae mair venture here.”
“Alack! pleads the lamb for the vile reivin' tod!
'Twere better, my bairn, to be laid 'neath the sod.
The lark wi' the starling may mate on the lea,
But Robin o' Raploch is nae mate for thee.
'Twere better, my bairn, to be laid 'neath the sod.
The lark wi' the starling may mate on the lea,
But Robin o' Raploch is nae mate for thee.
“Fie, Robin! nae wonder your cheek blushing burns:
Nae wonder your e'e frae an auld woman's turns!
O' a' but my Marian's ae bairn I'm bereft,
Why seek ye to blight the ae flower I hae left?”
Nae wonder your e'e frae an auld woman's turns!
O' a' but my Marian's ae bairn I'm bereft,
Why seek ye to blight the ae flower I hae left?”
“I seek nae to blight your ae flower, Grannie Lee,
But would to her aye as the summer sun be.
Lang, lang I hae lo'ed her—oh, Grannie, be kin',
Fu' little ye wist o' the sorrow that's mine.
But would to her aye as the summer sun be.
Lang, lang I hae lo'ed her—oh, Grannie, be kin',
Fu' little ye wist o' the sorrow that's mine.
“My Hero lies cauld 'neath the bent on the muir,
My gun and my flask bow'd and broken lie there;
I'm nae mair a poacher—I've sworn't, and I swear—
And peacefu' and thrifty I fain would bide here.”
My gun and my flask bow'd and broken lie there;
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And peacefu' and thrifty I fain would bide here.”
“This house, Robin Raploch, yon cow and kail-yard,
Yon green rentless haugh, are the gift o' the laird;
But frae me a' this would his angry haun' sweep,
Should Robin o' Raploch ance 'neath my roof sleep.
Yon green rentless haugh, are the gift o' the laird;
But frae me a' this would his angry haun' sweep,
Should Robin o' Raploch ance 'neath my roof sleep.
“And, Robin, ye ken I am feeble and auld,
And canna weel warstle wi' hunger and cauld,
And sae, if ye hae nae a heart o' the airn,
Ye'll lea' me in peace wi' my bairn's only bairn.”
And canna weel warstle wi' hunger and cauld,
And sae, if ye hae nae a heart o' the airn,
Ye'll lea' me in peace wi' my bairn's only bairn.”
Sad Robin o' Raploch turned roun' on his heel:
“Fareweel, May, my angel—and, Grannie, fareweel;
I'll steal away saftly, the laird ne'er shall ken”—
When wha but the laird, wi' a smile, steppit ben?
“Fareweel, May, my angel—and, Grannie, fareweel;
I'll steal away saftly, the laird ne'er shall ken”—
When wha but the laird, wi' a smile, steppit ben?
“The laird kens already, bold Robin,” quoth he,
“But fear nae. I'll plead for him too, Grannie Lee.
He shall work at the ha'—I've a cow yet to spare,
And May will be surety he'll never poach mair.”
“But fear nae. I'll plead for him too, Grannie Lee.
He shall work at the ha'—I've a cow yet to spare,
And May will be surety he'll never poach mair.”
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