 | Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy |  |
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E. A. S.
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ROMANTIC BALLADS
THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT.
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NOTE. (Michael the Scot: fl. circa 1250.) Variants of the Michael Scott legends still exist in parts of the Scottish Southlands: betwixt Tweed and Forth, mainly in the remote districts of the shires of Selkirk, Peebles, and Roxburgh, and north of the Forth here and there along the Fife coast. The most common is that which relates to the magician's power of changing into an animal anyone who crossed him; and it is upon this that Part I. of the following ballad turns. That also is current which relates how Michael the Scot could win the soul from the body of any woman whom he loved. There are several versions of this uncanny kind of wooing: sometimes Michael Scott is said to have seduced the spirit from its tranced tenement, only to find himself eluded after all; sometimes the maiden, unable to resist his spell, comes to him, but over the battlements, and so is killed; again, just as she is about to yield she calls on Christ, and only a phantasmal image of her goes forth, though in the struggle her mortal body perishes (it was upon this version that Rossetti intended to write a poem; his prose outline of it is given in his Collected Works); or, yet again, she comes at her wizard-lover's signal, but when he would embrace her a cross of fire intervenes, and, to save himself from sudden hell-flames which arise, he has perforce to bid her return in safety. I have in Part II. treated Michael Scott's allurement of Margaret's soul not wholly accordantly with any legendary account, yet in superficial conformity with that which most appealed to my imagination. Part III. is in treatment entirely imaginary, although, of course, the germinal idea—that of encountering at the point of death one's own soul—is both old and widespread. The Doppelgänger idea is a most impressive one in its crudest guise, and I have endeavoured to heighten its imaginative effect by making Michael Scott pronounce unwittingly a dreadful doom upon his own soul.
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Part I.
The wild wind moaned: fast waned the light:
Dense cloud-wrack gloomed the front of night:
The moorland cries were cries of pain:
Green, red, or broad and glaring white
The lightnings flashed athwart the main.
Dense cloud-wrack gloomed the front of night:
The moorland cries were cries of pain:
Green, red, or broad and glaring white
The lightnings flashed athwart the main.
The sound and fury of the waves,
Upon the rocks, among the caves,
Boomed inland from the thunderous strand:
Mayhap the dead heard in their graves
The tumult fill the hollow land.
Upon the rocks, among the caves,
Boomed inland from the thunderous strand:
Mayhap the dead heard in their graves
The tumult fill the hollow land.
18
With savage pebbly rush and roar
The billows swept the echoing shore
In clouds of spume and swirling spray:
The wild wings of the tempest bore
The salt rheum to the Haunted Brae.
The billows swept the echoing shore
In clouds of spume and swirling spray:
The wild wings of the tempest bore
The salt rheum to the Haunted Brae.
Upon the Haunted Brae (where none
Would linger in the noontide sun)
Michael the Wizard rode apace:
Wildly he rode where all men shun,
With madness gleaming on his face.
Would linger in the noontide sun)
Michael the Wizard rode apace:
Wildly he rode where all men shun,
With madness gleaming on his face.
Loud, loud he laugh'd whene'er he saw
The lightnings split on Lammer-Law,
“Blood, bride, and bier the auld rune saith
Hell's wind tae me ae nicht sall blaw,
The nicht I ride unto my death!”
The lightnings split on Lammer-Law,
“Blood, bride, and bier the auld rune saith
Hell's wind tae me ae nicht sall blaw,
The nicht I ride unto my death!”
Across the Haunted Brae he fled,
And mock'd and jeer'd the shuddering dead;
Wan white the horse that he bestrode,
The fire-flaughts stricken as it sped
Flashed thro' the black mirk of the road.
And mock'd and jeer'd the shuddering dead;
Wan white the horse that he bestrode,
The fire-flaughts stricken as it sped
Flashed thro' the black mirk of the road.
19
And ever as his race he ran,
A shade pursued the fleeing man,
A white and ghastly shade it was;
“Like saut sea-spray across wet san'
Or wind abune the moonlit grass!—
A shade pursued the fleeing man,
A white and ghastly shade it was;
“Like saut sea-spray across wet san'
Or wind abune the moonlit grass!—
Like saut sea-spray it follows me,
Or wind o'er grass—so fast's I flee:
In vain I shout, and laugh, and call—
The thing betwixt me and the sea
God kens it is my ain lost saul!”
Or wind o'er grass—so fast's I flee:
In vain I shout, and laugh, and call—
The thing betwixt me and the sea
God kens it is my ain lost saul!”
Down, down the Haunted Brae, and past
The verge of precipices vast
And eyries where the eagles screech;
By great pines swaying in the blast,
Through woods of moaning larch and beech;
The verge of precipices vast
And eyries where the eagles screech;
By great pines swaying in the blast,
Through woods of moaning larch and beech;
On, on by moorland glen and stream,
Past lonely lochs where ospreys scream,
Past marsh-lands where no sound is heard,
The rider and his white horse gleam,
And, aye behind, that dreadful third.
Past lonely lochs where ospreys scream,
Past marsh-lands where no sound is heard,
The rider and his white horse gleam,
And, aye behind, that dreadful third.
20
Wild and more wild the wild wind blew,
But Michael Scott the rein ne'er drew:
Loud and more loud his laughter shrill,
His wild and mocking laughter, grew,
In dreadful cries 'twixt hill and hill.
But Michael Scott the rein ne'er drew:
Loud and more loud his laughter shrill,
His wild and mocking laughter, grew,
In dreadful cries 'twixt hill and hill.
At last the great high road he gained,
And now with whip and voice he strained
To swifter flight the gleaming mare;
Afar ahead the fierce sleet rained
Upon the ruin'd House of Stair.
And now with whip and voice he strained
To swifter flight the gleaming mare;
Afar ahead the fierce sleet rained
Upon the ruin'd House of Stair.
Then Michael Scott laughed long and loud
“Whan shone the mune ahint yon cloud
I kent the Towers that saw my birth—
Lang, lang, sall wait my cauld grey shroud,
Lang cauld and weet my bed o' earth!”
“Whan shone the mune ahint yon cloud
I kent the Towers that saw my birth—
Lang, lang, sall wait my cauld grey shroud,
Lang cauld and weet my bed o' earth!”
But as by Stair he rode full speed
His horse began to pant and bleed:
“Win hame, win hame, my bonnie mare,
Win hame if thou would'st rest and feed,
Win hame, we're nigh the House of Stair!”
His horse began to pant and bleed:
“Win hame, win hame, my bonnie mare,
Win hame if thou would'st rest and feed,
Win hame, we're nigh the House of Stair!”
21
But with a shrill heart-bursten yell
The white horse stumbled, plunged, and fell,
And loud a summoning voice arose,
“Is't White-Horse Death that rides frae Hell,
Or Michael Scott that hereby goes?”
The white horse stumbled, plunged, and fell,
And loud a summoning voice arose,
“Is't White-Horse Death that rides frae Hell,
Or Michael Scott that hereby goes?”
“Ah, Lord of Stair, I ken ye weel!
Avaunt, or I your saul sall steal,
An' send ye howling through the wood
A wild man-wolf—aye, ye maun reel
An' cry upon your Holy Rood!”
Avaunt, or I your saul sall steal,
An' send ye howling through the wood
A wild man-wolf—aye, ye maun reel
An' cry upon your Holy Rood!”
Swift swept the sword within the shade,
Swift was the flash the blue steel made,
Swift was the downward stroke and rash—
But, as though levin-struck, the blade
Fell splintered earthward with a crash.
Swift was the flash the blue steel made,
Swift was the downward stroke and rash—
But, as though levin-struck, the blade
Fell splintered earthward with a crash.
With frantic eyes Lord Stair out-peered
Where Michael Scott laughed loud and jeered:—
“Forth fare ye now, ye've gat lang room!
Ah, by my saul thou'lt dree thy weird!
Begone, were-wolf, till the day o' doom!
Where Michael Scott laughed loud and jeered:—
“Forth fare ye now, ye've gat lang room!
Ah, by my saul thou'lt dree thy weird!
Begone, were-wolf, till the day o' doom!
22
A shrill scream pierced the lonely place;
A dreadful change came o'er the face;
The head, with bristled hair, swung low;
Michael the Wizard turned and fled
And laughed a mocking laugh of woe.
A dreadful change came o'er the face;
The head, with bristled hair, swung low;
Michael the Wizard turned and fled
And laughed a mocking laugh of woe.
And through the wood there stole and crept,
And through the wood there raced and leapt,
A thing in semblance of a man;
An awful look its wild eyes kept
As howling through the night it ran.
And through the wood there raced and leapt,
A thing in semblance of a man;
An awful look its wild eyes kept
As howling through the night it ran.
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Part II.
Athwart the wan bleak moonlit waste,
With staring eyes, in frantic haste,
With thin locks back-blown by the wind,
A grey gaunt haggard figure raced
And moaned the thing that sped behind.
With staring eyes, in frantic haste,
With thin locks back-blown by the wind,
A grey gaunt haggard figure raced
And moaned the thing that sped behind.
It followed him, afar or near:
In wrath he curs'd; he shrieked in fear;
But ever more it followed him:
Eftsoons he'd stop, and turn, and peer
To front the following phantom grim.
In wrath he curs'd; he shrieked in fear;
But ever more it followed him:
Eftsoons he'd stop, and turn, and peer
To front the following phantom grim.
24
Naught would he see; in vain would list
For wing-like sound or feet that hissed
Like wind-blown snow upon the ice;
The grey thing vanished like a mist,
Or like the smoke of sacrifice:
For wing-like sound or feet that hissed
Like wind-blown snow upon the ice;
The grey thing vanished like a mist,
Or like the smoke of sacrifice:
“Come forth frae out the mirk,” his cry,
“For I maun live or I maun die,
But na, na mair I'll suffer baith!”
Then, with a shriek, would onward fly
And, swift behind, his following wraith.
“For I maun live or I maun die,
But na, na mair I'll suffer baith!”
Then, with a shriek, would onward fly
And, swift behind, his following wraith.
Michael the Wizard sped across
The peat and bracken o' the moss:
He heard the muir-wind rise and fall,
And laughed to see the birk-boughs toss
An' the stealthy shadows leap or crawl.
The peat and bracken o' the moss:
He heard the muir-wind rise and fall,
And laughed to see the birk-boughs toss
An' the stealthy shadows leap or crawl.
When white St. Monan's Water streamed
For leagues athwart the muir, and gleamed
With phosphorescent marish-fires,
With wild and sudden joy he screamed,
For scarce a mile was Kevan-Byres—
For leagues athwart the muir, and gleamed
With phosphorescent marish-fires,
With wild and sudden joy he screamed,
For scarce a mile was Kevan-Byres—
25
Sweet Kevan-Byres, dear Kevan-Byres,
That oft of old was thronged with squires
And joyous damsels blithe and gay:
Alas, alas for Kevan-Byres
That now is cold and grey.
That oft of old was thronged with squires
And joyous damsels blithe and gay:
Alas, alas for Kevan-Byres
That now is cold and grey.
There in her bed on linen sheet
With white soft limbs and love dreams sweet
Fair Margaret o' the Byres would be:
(Ah, when he'd lain and kissed her feet
Had she not laughed in mockery!)
With white soft limbs and love dreams sweet
Fair Margaret o' the Byres would be:
(Ah, when he'd lain and kissed her feet
Had she not laughed in mockery!)
Aye she had laughed, for what reck'd she
O' a' the powers of Wizardie!
“Win up, win up, guid Michael Scott,
For ye sall ne'er win boon o' me,
By plea, or sword, or spell, God wot!”
O' a' the powers of Wizardie!
“Win up, win up, guid Michael Scott,
For ye sall ne'er win boon o' me,
By plea, or sword, or spell, God wot!”
Aye, these the words that she had said:
These were the words that as he fled
Michael the Wizard muttered o'er—
“My Margaret, bow your bonnie head,
For ye sall never flout me more!”
These were the words that as he fled
Michael the Wizard muttered o'er—
“My Margaret, bow your bonnie head,
For ye sall never flout me more!”
26
Swiftly he raced, with gleaming eyes,
And wild, strange, sobbing, panting cries,
Dire, dire, and fell his frantic mood;
Until he gained St. Monan's Rise
Whereon the House of Kevan stood.
And wild, strange, sobbing, panting cries,
Dire, dire, and fell his frantic mood;
Until he gained St. Monan's Rise
Whereon the House of Kevan stood.
There looked he long and fixed his gaze
Upon a room where in past days
His very soul had pled love's boon:
Lit was it now with the wan rays
Flick-flickering from the cloud-girt moon.
Upon a room where in past days
His very soul had pled love's boon:
Lit was it now with the wan rays
Flick-flickering from the cloud-girt moon.
“Come forth, May Margaret, come, my heart!
For thou and I nae mair sall part—
Come forth, I bid, though Christ himsel'
My bitter love should strive to thwart,
For I have a' the powers o' hell!”
For thou and I nae mair sall part—
Come forth, I bid, though Christ himsel'
My bitter love should strive to thwart,
For I have a' the powers o' hell!”
What was the white wan thing that came
And lean'd from out the window-frame,
And waved wild arms against the sky?
What was the hollow echoing name,
What was the thin despairing cry?
And lean'd from out the window-frame,
And waved wild arms against the sky?
What was the hollow echoing name,
What was the thin despairing cry?
27
Adown the long and dusky stair,
And through the courtyard bleak and bare,
And past the gate, and out upon
The whistling, moaning, midnight air—
What is't that Michael Scott has won!
And through the courtyard bleak and bare,
And past the gate, and out upon
The whistling, moaning, midnight air—
What is't that Michael Scott has won!
Across the moat it seems to flee,
It speeds across the windy lea,
And through the ruin'd abbey-arch;
Now like a mist all waveringly
It stands beneath a lonely larch.
It speeds across the windy lea,
And through the ruin'd abbey-arch;
Now like a mist all waveringly
It stands beneath a lonely larch.
“Come Margaret, my Margaret,
Ye see my vows I ne'er forget:
Come win wi' me across the waste—
Lang lang I've wandered cauld and wet,
An' now thy sweet warm lips would taste!”
Ye see my vows I ne'er forget:
Come win wi' me across the waste—
Lang lang I've wandered cauld and wet,
An' now thy sweet warm lips would taste!”
But as a whirling drift of snow,
Or flying foam the sea-winds blow,
Or smoke swept thin before a gale
It flew across the waste—and oh
'Twas Margaret's voice in that long wail!
Or flying foam the sea-winds blow,
Or smoke swept thin before a gale
It flew across the waste—and oh
'Twas Margaret's voice in that long wail!
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Swift as the hound upon the deer,
Swift as the stag when nigh the mere,
Michael the Wizard followed fast—
What though May Margaret fled in fear,
She should be his, be his, at last!—
Swift as the stag when nigh the mere,
Michael the Wizard followed fast—
What though May Margaret fled in fear,
She should be his, be his, at last!—
O'er broom and whin and bracken high,
Where the peat bog lay gloomily,
Where sullenly the bittern boomed
And startled curlews swept the sky,
Until St. Monan's Water loomed!
Where the peat bog lay gloomily,
Where sullenly the bittern boomed
And startled curlews swept the sky,
Until St. Monan's Water loomed!
“The cauld wet water sall na be
The bride-bed for my love and me—
For now upon St. Monan's shore
May Margaret her love sall gie
To him she mocked and jeered of yore!”
The bride-bed for my love and me—
For now upon St. Monan's shore
May Margaret her love sall gie
To him she mocked and jeered of yore!”
Was that a heron in its flight?
Was that a mere-mist wan and white?
What thing from lonely kirkyard grave?
Forlorn it trails athwart the night
With arms that writhe and wring and wave!
Was that a mere-mist wan and white?
What thing from lonely kirkyard grave?
Forlorn it trails athwart the night
With arms that writhe and wring and wave!
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Deep down within the mere it sank,
Among the slimy reeds and rank,
And all the leagues-long loch was bare—
One vast, grey, moonlit, lifeless blank
Beneath a silent waste of air.
Among the slimy reeds and rank,
And all the leagues-long loch was bare—
One vast, grey, moonlit, lifeless blank
Beneath a silent waste of air.
“O God, O God! her soul it is!
Christ's saved her frae my blasting kiss!
Her soul frae out her body drawn,
The body I maun have for bliss!
O body dead and spirit gaun!”
Christ's saved her frae my blasting kiss!
Her soul frae out her body drawn,
The body I maun have for bliss!
O body dead and spirit gaun!”
Hours long o'er Monan's wave he stared;
The fire-flaughts flashed and gleamed and glared,
The death-lights o' the lonely place:
And aye, dead still, he watch'd, till flared
The sunrise on his haggard face.
The fire-flaughts flashed and gleamed and glared,
The death-lights o' the lonely place:
And aye, dead still, he watch'd, till flared
The sunrise on his haggard face.
Full well he knew that with its fires
Loud was the tumult 'mong the squires,
And fierce the bitter pain of all
Where stark and stiff in Kevan-Byres
May Margaret lay beneath her pall.
Loud was the tumult 'mong the squires,
And fierce the bitter pain of all
Where stark and stiff in Kevan-Byres
May Margaret lay beneath her pall.
30
Then once he laughed, and twice, and thrice,
Though deep within his hollow eyes
Dull-gleamed a light of fell despair.
Around, Earth grew a Paradise
In the sweet golden morning air.
Though deep within his hollow eyes
Dull-gleamed a light of fell despair.
Around, Earth grew a Paradise
In the sweet golden morning air.
Slowly he rose at last, and swift
One gaunt and frantic arm did lift
And curs'd God in his heav'n o'erhead:
Then, like a lonely cloud adrift,
Far from St. Monan's wave he fled.
One gaunt and frantic arm did lift
And curs'd God in his heav'n o'erhead:
Then, like a lonely cloud adrift,
Far from St. Monan's wave he fled.
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Part III.
All day the curlew wailed and screamed,
All day the cushat crooned and dreamed,
All day the sweet muir-wind blew free:
Beyond the grassy knowes far gleamed
The splendour of the singing sea.
All day the cushat crooned and dreamed,
All day the sweet muir-wind blew free:
Beyond the grassy knowes far gleamed
The splendour of the singing sea.
Above the myriad gorse and broom
And miles of golden kingcup-bloom
The larks and yellowhammers sang:
Where the scaur cast an hour-long gloom
The lintie's liquid notes out-rang.
And miles of golden kingcup-bloom
The larks and yellowhammers sang:
Where the scaur cast an hour-long gloom
The lintie's liquid notes out-rang.
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Oft as he wandered to and fro—
As idly as the foam-bells flow
Hither and thither on the deep—
Michael the Wizard's face would grow
From death to life, and he would weep—
As idly as the foam-bells flow
Hither and thither on the deep—
Michael the Wizard's face would grow
From death to life, and he would weep—
Weep, weep wild tears of bitter pain
For what might never be again:
Yet even as he wept his face
Would gleam with mockery insane
And with fierce laughter on he'd race.
For what might never be again:
Yet even as he wept his face
Would gleam with mockery insane
And with fierce laughter on he'd race.
At times he watched the white clouds sail
Across the wastes of azure pale;
Or oft would haunt some moorland pool
Fringed round with thyme and fragrant gale
And canna-tufts of snow-white wool.
Across the wastes of azure pale;
Or oft would haunt some moorland pool
Fringed round with thyme and fragrant gale
And canna-tufts of snow-white wool.
Long in its depths would Michael stare,
As though some secret thing lay there:
Mayhap the moving water made
A gloom where crouched a Kelpie fair
With death-eyes gleaming through the shade.
As though some secret thing lay there:
Mayhap the moving water made
A gloom where crouched a Kelpie fair
With death-eyes gleaming through the shade.
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Then on with weary listless feet
He fared afar, until the sweet
Cool sound of mountain brooks drew nigh,
And loud he heard the strayed lambs bleat
And the white ewes responsive cry.
He fared afar, until the sweet
Cool sound of mountain brooks drew nigh,
And loud he heard the strayed lambs bleat
And the white ewes responsive cry.
High up among the hills full clear
He heard the belling of the deer
Amid the corries where they browsed,
And, where the peaks rose gaunt and sheer,
Fierce swirling echoes eagle-roused.
He heard the belling of the deer
Amid the corries where they browsed,
And, where the peaks rose gaunt and sheer,
Fierce swirling echoes eagle-roused.
He watched the kestrel wheel and sweep,
He watched the dun fox glide and creep,
He heard the whaup's long-echoing call,
Watched in the stream the brown trout leap
And the grilse spring the waterfall.
He watched the dun fox glide and creep,
He heard the whaup's long-echoing call,
Watched in the stream the brown trout leap
And the grilse spring the waterfall.
Along the slopes the grouse-cock whirred;
The grey-blue heron scarcely stirred
Amid the mossed grey tarn-side stones:
The burns gurg-gurgled through the yird
Their sweet clear bubbling undertones.
The grey-blue heron scarcely stirred
Amid the mossed grey tarn-side stones:
The burns gurg-gurgled through the yird
Their sweet clear bubbling undertones.
34
Above the tarn the dragon-fly
Shot like a flashing arrow by;
And in a moving shifting haze
The gnat-clouds sank or soared on high
And danced their wild aërial maze.
Shot like a flashing arrow by;
And in a moving shifting haze
The gnat-clouds sank or soared on high
And danced their wild aërial maze.
As the day waned he heard afar
The hawking fern-owl's dissonant jar
Disturb the silence of the hill:
The gloaming came: star after star
He watched the skiey spaces fill.
The hawking fern-owl's dissonant jar
Disturb the silence of the hill:
The gloaming came: star after star
He watched the skiey spaces fill.
But as the darkness grew and made
Forest and mountain one vast shade,
Michael the Wizard moaned in dread—
A long white moonbeam like a blade
Swept after him where'er he fled.
Forest and mountain one vast shade,
Michael the Wizard moaned in dread—
A long white moonbeam like a blade
Swept after him where'er he fled.
Swiftly he leapt o'er rock and root,
Swift o'er the fern his flying foot,
But swifter still the white moonbeam:
Wild was the grey-owl's dismal hoot,
But wilder still his maniac scream.
Swift o'er the fern his flying foot,
But swifter still the white moonbeam:
Wild was the grey-owl's dismal hoot,
But wilder still his maniac scream.
35
Once in his flight he paused to hear
A hollow shriek that echoed near:—
The louder were his dreadful cries,
The louder rang adown the sheer
Gaunt cliffs the echoing replies.
A hollow shriek that echoed near:—
The louder were his dreadful cries,
The louder rang adown the sheer
Gaunt cliffs the echoing replies.
As though a hunted wolf, he raced
To the lone woods across the waste
Steep granite slopes of Crammond-Low—
The haunted forest where none faced
The terror that no man might know.
To the lone woods across the waste
Steep granite slopes of Crammond-Low—
The haunted forest where none faced
The terror that no man might know.
Betwixt the mountains and the sea
Dark leagues of pine stood solemnly,
Voiceful with grim and hollow song,
Save when each tempest-stricken tree
A savage tumult would prolong.
Dark leagues of pine stood solemnly,
Voiceful with grim and hollow song,
Save when each tempest-stricken tree
A savage tumult would prolong.
Beneath the dark funereal plumes,
Slow waving to and fro—death-blooms
Within the void dim wood of death—
Oft shuddering at the fearful glooms
Sped Michael Scott with failing breath.
Slow waving to and fro—death-blooms
Within the void dim wood of death—
Oft shuddering at the fearful glooms
Sped Michael Scott with failing breath.
36
Once, as he passed a dreary place,
Between two trees he saw a face—
A white face staring at his own:
A weird strange cry he gave for grace,
And heard an echoing moan.
Between two trees he saw a face—
A white face staring at his own:
A weird strange cry he gave for grace,
And heard an echoing moan.
“Whate'er you be, O thing that hides
Among the trees—O thing that bides
In yonder moving mass o' shade
Come forth tae me!”—wan Michael glides
Swift, as he speaks, athrough the glade:
Among the trees—O thing that bides
In yonder moving mass o' shade
Come forth tae me!”—wan Michael glides
Swift, as he speaks, athrough the glade:
“Whate'er you be, I fear ye nought!
Michael the Wizard has na fought
Wi' men and demons year by year
To shirk ae thing he has na sought
Or blanch wi' any mortal fear!”
Michael the Wizard has na fought
Wi' men and demons year by year
To shirk ae thing he has na sought
Or blanch wi' any mortal fear!”
But not a sound thrilled thro' the air—
Not even a she-fox in her lair
Or brooding bird made any stir—
All was as still and blank and bare
As is a vaulted sepulchre.
Not even a she-fox in her lair
Or brooding bird made any stir—
All was as still and blank and bare
As is a vaulted sepulchre.
37
Then awe, and fear, and wild dismay
O'ercame mad Michael, ashy grey,
With eyes as of one newly dead:
“If wi' my sword I canna slay,
Thou'lt dree my weird when it is said!”
O'ercame mad Michael, ashy grey,
With eyes as of one newly dead:
“If wi' my sword I canna slay,
Thou'lt dree my weird when it is said!”
“Whate'er you be, man, beast, or sprite,
I wind ye round wi' a sheet o' light—
Aye, round and round your burning frame
I cast by spell o' wizard might
A fierce undying sheet of flame!”
I wind ye round wi' a sheet o' light—
Aye, round and round your burning frame
I cast by spell o' wizard might
A fierce undying sheet of flame!”
Swift as he spoke a thing sprang out,
A man-like thing, all hemmed about
With blazing blasting burning fire!
The wind swoop'd wi' a demon-shout
And whirled the red flame higher and higher!
A man-like thing, all hemmed about
With blazing blasting burning fire!
The wind swoop'd wi' a demon-shout
And whirled the red flame higher and higher!
And as, appalled, wan Michael stood
The flying flaughts swift fired the wood;
And even as he shook and stared
The gaunt pines turned the hue of blood
And all the waving branches flared.
The flying flaughts swift fired the wood;
And even as he shook and stared
The gaunt pines turned the hue of blood
And all the waving branches flared.
38
Then with wild leaps the accursèd thing
Drew nigh and nigher: with a spring
Michael escaped its fiery clasp,
Although he felt the fierce flame sting
And all the horror of its grasp.
Drew nigh and nigher: with a spring
Michael escaped its fiery clasp,
Although he felt the fierce flame sting
And all the horror of its grasp.
Swift as an arrow far he fled,
But swifter still the flames o'erhead
Rushed o'er the waving sea of pines,
And hollow noises crashed and sped
Like splitting blasts in ruin'd mines.
But swifter still the flames o'erhead
Rushed o'er the waving sea of pines,
And hollow noises crashed and sped
Like splitting blasts in ruin'd mines.
A burning league—leagues, leagues of fire
Arose behind, and ever higher
The flying semi-circle came:
And aye beyond this dreadful pyre
There leapt a man-like thing in flame.
Arose behind, and ever higher
The flying semi-circle came:
And aye beyond this dreadful pyre
There leapt a man-like thing in flame.
With awful scream doom'd Michael saw
The flying furnace reach Black-Law?
“Blood, bride, and bier, the auld rune saith
Hell's wind tae me ae nicht sall blaw,
The nicht I ride unto my death!”
The flying furnace reach Black-Law?
“Blood, bride, and bier, the auld rune saith
Hell's wind tae me ae nicht sall blaw,
The nicht I ride unto my death!”
39
“The blood of Stair is round me now:
My bride can laugh to scorn my vow:
My bier, my bier, ah sall it be
Wi' a crown o' fire around my brow
Or deep within the cauld saut sea!”
My bride can laugh to scorn my vow:
My bier, my bier, ah sall it be
Wi' a crown o' fire around my brow
Or deep within the cauld saut sea!”
Like lightning, over Black-Law's slope
Michael fled swift with sudden hope:
What though the forest roared behind—
He yet might gain the cliff and grope
For where the sheep-paths twist and wind.
Michael fled swift with sudden hope:
What though the forest roared behind—
He yet might gain the cliff and grope
For where the sheep-paths twist and wind.
The air was like a furnace-blast
And all the dome of heaven one vast
Expanse of flame and fiery wings:
To the cliff's edge, ere all be past,
With shriek on shriek lost Michael springs.
And all the dome of heaven one vast
Expanse of flame and fiery wings:
To the cliff's edge, ere all be past,
With shriek on shriek lost Michael springs.
But none can hear his bitter call,
None, none can see him sway and fall—
Yea, one there is that shrills his name!
“O God, it is my ain lost saul
That I hae girt wi' deathless flame!”
None, none can see him sway and fall—
Yea, one there is that shrills his name!
“O God, it is my ain lost saul
That I hae girt wi' deathless flame!”
40
With waving arms and dreadful cries
He cowers beneath those glaring eyes—
But all in vain—in vain—in vain!
His own soul clasps him as its prize
And scorches death upon his brain.
He cowers beneath those glaring eyes—
But all in vain—in vain—in vain!
His own soul clasps him as its prize
And scorches death upon his brain.
Body and soul together swing
Adown the night until they fling
The hissing sea-spray far and wide:
At morn the fresh sea-wind will bring
A black corpse tossing on the tide.
Adown the night until they fling
The hissing sea-spray far and wide:
At morn the fresh sea-wind will bring
A black corpse tossing on the tide.
41
THE SON OF ALLAN.
42
[_]
Allan, son of Allan, Chief of the Colquhouns, had wooed and won Adair, daughter of Malcolm McDiarmid; but on the day the nuptials were to have taken place she was carried off in willing flight by MacDonald of the Isles. Allan pursued with twenty of Lord Malcolm's men, but arrived on the lonely Argyll sea-board only an hour too late, MacDonald having just sailed in triumph to his western isles. Allan for a time lost his reason, but in the autumn again regained his former vigour, and it was shortly after this time, in the first month of the New Year, that a message came at last from MacDonald offering to privily meet the man he had wronged, and fight out their quarrel alone.
The ballad opens on the eve of this duel. Allan, nigh upon the appointed meeting-place on a lonely hill-side, waits the fixt hour at the hut of one known as the Witch of Dunmore. She foresees the fatal result of the duel to her clansman as well as to his foe, and strives to dissuade him from the combat—recalling her past experiences to him and mentioning signs and portents, hoping thus to convince him of the truth of her vision.
43
“The wind soughs weird through the moaning pines,
The icy moon through the fierce frost shines,
The steel-blue stars are baleful signs,
Son of Allan!”
“The wind may blow to its last faint breath,
Ere I turn aside from the shadow of death!”
The icy moon through the fierce frost shines,
The steel-blue stars are baleful signs,
Son of Allan!”
“The wind may blow to its last faint breath,
Ere I turn aside from the shadow of death!”
“My dreams come true: thou knowest my laugh
Hath blown the ripe grain into chaff—
Son of Allan!”
“Your curse may come and your curse may go—
My soul must dree some other woe!”
Hath blown the ripe grain into chaff—
Son of Allan!”
“Your curse may come and your curse may go—
My soul must dree some other woe!”
44
“When New Year came with gusty moan
I lay forgot, accurst, alone—
But I saw the scroll of your life as my own,
Son of Allan!”
“God knows if Hell or Heaven's my life,
To-night is hoarse with the sound of strife!”
I lay forgot, accurst, alone—
But I saw the scroll of your life as my own,
Son of Allan!”
“God knows if Hell or Heaven's my life,
To-night is hoarse with the sound of strife!”
“And I saw you ride one sweet May morn,
When the missel-thrush sang on the flowering thorn—
O better if you had ne'er been born,
Son of Allan!”
“I would that God had strangled my soul—
But living, to-night I seek one goal!”
When the missel-thrush sang on the flowering thorn—
O better if you had ne'er been born,
Son of Allan!”
“I would that God had strangled my soul—
But living, to-night I seek one goal!”
“And I saw you ride by the brown-stoned burn,
And your horse's hooves the flag-flowers spurn—
O turn now, if ever you turn,
Son of Allan!”
“The fierce tides ebb from the ruthless shore,
But I turn not now till one thing's o'er!”
And your horse's hooves the flag-flowers spurn—
O turn now, if ever you turn,
Son of Allan!”
“The fierce tides ebb from the ruthless shore,
But I turn not now till one thing's o'er!”
45
“And I saw you leave the speckled stream
Where the moor-hen clucks and the plovers scream,
And ride with your eyes in a far-off dream,
Son of Allan!”
“Long weeks ago I dreamt, and now
The awakening nears my fever'd brow!”
Where the moor-hen clucks and the plovers scream,
And ride with your eyes in a far-off dream,
Son of Allan!”
“Long weeks ago I dreamt, and now
The awakening nears my fever'd brow!”
“And I saw you leave the woods apace
And seek Dunallan's grassy ways,
With a golden glory on your face,
Son of Allan!”
“A thousand years ago I sought
My love's cruel death, and knew it not!”
And seek Dunallan's grassy ways,
With a golden glory on your face,
Son of Allan!”
“A thousand years ago I sought
My love's cruel death, and knew it not!”
“And I saw you choose a ready stall,
And leave your horse by the castle wall,
And loudly for the henchman call,
Son of Allan!”
“No more on men or maids I call—
I or he this night shall fall!”
And leave your horse by the castle wall,
And loudly for the henchman call,
Son of Allan!”
“No more on men or maids I call—
I or he this night shall fall!”
46
“And I saw you leap the deer-skinned stair,
And I saw you kiss the golden hair
And the sweet red lips of Lady Adair,
Son of Allan!”
“I kissed her lips—each kiss a coal
That burns and flames within my soul!”
And I saw you kiss the golden hair
And the sweet red lips of Lady Adair,
Son of Allan!”
“I kissed her lips—each kiss a coal
That burns and flames within my soul!”
“And I heard you say, ‘My love, my dear,
How speed the maids with the bridal gear?’
And then you whispered in her ear,
Son of Allan!”
“I whispered then—but one shall know
No whispers soon when he lies low!”
How speed the maids with the bridal gear?’
And then you whispered in her ear,
Son of Allan!”
“I whispered then—but one shall know
No whispers soon when he lies low!”
“And I saw them fill the one great room,
Where the sword-scarred pennons waved in gloom,
With a golden dish for every plume,
Son of Allan!”
“White plumes may flaunt, white plumes may wave!
White swords shall this night carve a grave!”
Where the sword-scarred pennons waved in gloom,
With a golden dish for every plume,
Son of Allan!”
“White plumes may flaunt, white plumes may wave!
White swords shall this night carve a grave!”
47
“And I saw the wine-cups filled brim-high,
And joy shine bright in your bonnie blue eye
As ‘Lady Adair’ was your toasting cry,
Son of Allan!”
“I hear no more the wine-cups clash,—
I hear the gurgling red blood splash!”
And joy shine bright in your bonnie blue eye
As ‘Lady Adair’ was your toasting cry,
Son of Allan!”
“I hear no more the wine-cups clash,—
I hear the gurgling red blood splash!”
“And I heard Lord Malcolm call out loud
For his daughter fair,—and I saw a bowed
Old henchman quake 'mid the servile crowd,
Son of Allan!”
“Let traitors sweat with sudden fright!
God's wrath disturbs the world to-night!”
For his daughter fair,—and I saw a bowed
Old henchman quake 'mid the servile crowd,
Son of Allan!”
“Let traitors sweat with sudden fright!
God's wrath disturbs the world to-night!”
“But as sleet rings fierce on a wind-beat grange,
His words fell swift, and stinging, and strange,—
Lord Malcolm's smile had an awful change,
Son of Allan!”
“God's smile was lost in a deep dark frown—
But one of twain shall this night fall down!”
His words fell swift, and stinging, and strange,—
Lord Malcolm's smile had an awful change,
Son of Allan!”
“God's smile was lost in a deep dark frown—
But one of twain shall this night fall down!”
48
“And I saw thy face wax flushed, then pale,
And thy lips grow blue like black-ice hail,
With eyes on fire with the soul's fierce bale,
Son of Allan!”
“Pale, pale I was with my soul's dread,—
But one this night shall lie full red!”
And thy lips grow blue like black-ice hail,
With eyes on fire with the soul's fierce bale,
Son of Allan!”
“Pale, pale I was with my soul's dread,—
But one this night shall lie full red!”
“And I heard Lord Malcolm cry ‘To horse!
MacDonald has swooped with the falcon's force,
But we'll catch them both ere they end their course,
Son of Allan!’”
“The hawk may swoop, and the dove may fly,
But the hawk for the dove this night shall die!”
MacDonald has swooped with the falcon's force,
But we'll catch them both ere they end their course,
Son of Allan!’”
“The hawk may swoop, and the dove may fly,
But the hawk for the dove this night shall die!”
“And I saw thee haste, and mount, and away
With twenty men by thy side that day,
And thy face was like the gloaming grey,
Son of Allan!”
“Long, long ago the sun shone bright,—
But since that day black mirk o' night!”
With twenty men by thy side that day,
And thy face was like the gloaming grey,
Son of Allan!”
“Long, long ago the sun shone bright,—
But since that day black mirk o' night!”
49
“And I saw thee ride through the brief chill dark,
Till dawn awakened each sinless lark,
And the hills re-echoed the sheep-dog's bark,
Son of Allan!”
“Ah! long ago sweet morns were fair,—
Now blood seems dropping every where!”
Till dawn awakened each sinless lark,
And the hills re-echoed the sheep-dog's bark,
Son of Allan!”
“Ah! long ago sweet morns were fair,—
Now blood seems dropping every where!”
“Till the horses tramped in the blazing noon,
And the cuckoo called farewell to June,
And the blackbird sang a blithe glad tune,
Son of Allan!”
“Ah! once I knew that sweet bird's sang—
I hear naught now but steel's harsh clang!
And the cuckoo called farewell to June,
And the blackbird sang a blithe glad tune,
Son of Allan!”
“Ah! once I knew that sweet bird's sang—
I hear naught now but steel's harsh clang!
“And, Son of Allan, ere swart night fell,
I heard Lord Malcolm's savage yell,
And saw thy face in the shadow of hell,
Son of Allan!”
“Hope died upon that cursëd strand—
But to-night we meet, each sword in hand!”
I heard Lord Malcolm's savage yell,
And saw thy face in the shadow of hell,
Son of Allan!”
“Hope died upon that cursëd strand—
But to-night we meet, each sword in hand!”
50
“For the horses plashed on the wave-washed shore,
And MacDonald had sailed an hour before:
Thy bride to his isles the chieftain bore,
Son of Allan!”
“My bride! my bride! no bride have I—
But a bridegroom this night shall fall and die!”
And MacDonald had sailed an hour before:
Thy bride to his isles the chieftain bore,
Son of Allan!”
“My bride! my bride! no bride have I—
But a bridegroom this night shall fall and die!”
“And I saw thee fall like one struck dead;
And they made for thee a pine-branch bed—
And thus-wise with thee home they sped,
Son of Allan!”
“O would to God I had met him where
He kissed and fondled his Lady Adair!”
And they made for thee a pine-branch bed—
And thus-wise with thee home they sped,
Son of Allan!”
“O would to God I had met him where
He kissed and fondled his Lady Adair!”
“And I saw the fever burn and flame
Like fire through all thy tortured frame,
And ever shrill'dst thou one fair name,
Son of Allan!”
“Of false, false heart of Lady Adair,
Whose corpse behold you cold and bare?”
Like fire through all thy tortured frame,
And ever shrill'dst thou one fair name,
Son of Allan!”
“Of false, false heart of Lady Adair,
Whose corpse behold you cold and bare?”
51
“Not till the autumn's purple days
Did thine eyes lose their empty gaze—
Then Reason came in one sharp blaze,
Son of Allan!”
“O madness comes and madness goes,
But the slain corpse no madness knows!”
Did thine eyes lose their empty gaze—
Then Reason came in one sharp blaze,
Son of Allan!”
“O madness comes and madness goes,
But the slain corpse no madness knows!”
“Then word was brought MacDonald sent—
He bade you rest no more content
With dreams of anguish impotent,
Son of Allan!”
“No dreams I dream! one thing I know,
This night a soul to hell doth go!”
He bade you rest no more content
With dreams of anguish impotent,
Son of Allan!”
“No dreams I dream! one thing I know,
This night a soul to hell doth go!”
“And now beneath the New Year moon
He rides to grant your final boon—
And neither shall see Spring wed to June,
Son of Allan!”
“Sweet Junes may bloom, and Junes may blow,
But a soul this night shall taste of woe!”
He rides to grant your final boon—
And neither shall see Spring wed to June,
Son of Allan!”
“Sweet Junes may bloom, and Junes may blow,
But a soul this night shall taste of woe!”
52
“He grasps the hilt of his waist-band knife,
And he smiles as he thinks of his laughing wife,
And his blood leaps hard as a steed's for strife,
Son of Allan!”
“Aye! loud she may laugh, and loud may he,
But his eyes shall gladden no more at the sea!”
And he smiles as he thinks of his laughing wife,
And his blood leaps hard as a steed's for strife,
Son of Allan!”
“Aye! loud she may laugh, and loud may he,
But his eyes shall gladden no more at the sea!”
“My dreams come true: upon my bed
Last night I dreamt I saw o'erhead
A darkness fold thee, and leave thee dead,
Son of Allan!”
“The mirk you saw is light to what
Will gather when he and I have fought!”
Last night I dreamt I saw o'erhead
A darkness fold thee, and leave thee dead,
Son of Allan!”
“The mirk you saw is light to what
Will gather when he and I have fought!”
“Stop, stop!” (the Witch of Dunmore calls)
“I see in vision the man who falls:
A cloud of blood my sight appals,
Son of Allan!”
“I wait no more for thy blind words—
No words this night but gleaming swords!”
“I see in vision the man who falls:
A cloud of blood my sight appals,
Son of Allan!”
“I wait no more for thy blind words—
No words this night but gleaming swords!”
53
“The wind soughs weird through the moaning pines,
The icy moon through the fierce frost shines,
The steel-blue stars are baleful signs,
Son of Allan!”
“The wind may blow to its last faint breath—
Cross swords, cross swords, for life or death!”
The icy moon through the fierce frost shines,
The steel-blue stars are baleful signs,
Son of Allan!”
“The wind may blow to its last faint breath—
Cross swords, cross swords, for life or death!”
“Back bloody swords! Forbear, forbear!
Lord Allan see, thy wraith is there—
The stars gleam through its shadow-hair,
O son of Allan!”
O dripping sword, spring, lunge, and sweep!
O thirsting sword, drink deep, drink deep!”
Lord Allan see, thy wraith is there—
The stars gleam through its shadow-hair,
O son of Allan!”
O dripping sword, spring, lunge, and sweep!
O thirsting sword, drink deep, drink deep!”
55
MAD MADGE O' CREE.
57
Hither and thither, to and fro,
She wander'd o'er the bleak hill-sides;
She watch'd the wild Sound toss and flow,
And the water-kelpies lead the tides.
She wander'd o'er the bleak hill-sides;
She watch'd the wild Sound toss and flow,
And the water-kelpies lead the tides.
She heard the wind upon the hill
Or wailing wild across the muir,
And answered it with laughter shrill
And mocked its eldritch lure.
Or wailing wild across the muir,
And answered it with laughter shrill
And mocked its eldritch lure.
Within the running stream she heard
A music such as none may hear;
The voice of every beast and bird
Had meaning for her ear.
A music such as none may hear;
The voice of every beast and bird
Had meaning for her ear.
58
“What seek ye thus, fair Margery?
Ye know your Ranald's dead:
Win hame, my bonnie lass, wi' me,
Win hame to hearth and bed!”
Ye know your Ranald's dead:
Win hame, my bonnie lass, wi' me,
Win hame to hearth and bed!”
“Hark! hear ye not the corbie call—
It shrills, Come owre the glen,
For Ranald standeth fair and tall
Amid his shadow-men!”
It shrills, Come owre the glen,
For Ranald standeth fair and tall
Amid his shadow-men!”
“‘His shadow-men,’ O Margery!
'Tis of the dead ye speak:
Syne they are in the saut deep sea
What gars ye phantoms seek?”
'Tis of the dead ye speak:
Syne they are in the saut deep sea
What gars ye phantoms seek?”
“Hark, hear ye not the curlew wail
May Margery, mak haste,
For Ranald wanders sad and pale
About the lonely waste.”
May Margery, mak haste,
For Ranald wanders sad and pale
About the lonely waste.”
“O Margery, what is't ye say:
Your Ranald's dead and drowned.
Neither by night, neither by day,
Sall your fair love be found.”
Your Ranald's dead and drowned.
Neither by night, neither by day,
Sall your fair love be found.”
59
“He is not dead, for I hae seen
His bonnie gowden hair:
Within his arms I've claspit been,
An' I have dreamit there:
His bonnie gowden hair:
Within his arms I've claspit been,
An' I have dreamit there:
“Last night I stood by green Craigmore
And watch'd the foaming tide:
And there across the moonlit shore
A shadow sought my side.
And watch'd the foaming tide:
And there across the moonlit shore
A shadow sought my side.
“But when he kissed me soft and sweet,
And faintly ca'd tae me,
I rose an' took his hand an' fleet
We sought the Caves o' Cree.
And faintly ca'd tae me,
I rose an' took his hand an' fleet
We sought the Caves o' Cree.
“Ah, there we kissed, my love and I:
An' there sad songs he sang
O' how dead men drift wearily
'Mid sea-wrack lank and lang.
An' there sad songs he sang
O' how dead men drift wearily
'Mid sea-wrack lank and lang.
“And once my wan love whisper'd low
How 'mid the sea-weeds deep
As but yestreen he drifted slow
He saw me lying asleep—
How 'mid the sea-weeds deep
As but yestreen he drifted slow
He saw me lying asleep—
60
“Aye sound in sleep beneath the wave
Wi' shells an' sea-things there,
An' as the tide swept o'er my grave
It stirred like weed my hair:
Wi' shells an' sea-things there,
An' as the tide swept o'er my grave
It stirred like weed my hair:
“In vain, ah, all in vain, he tried
To reach an' clasp my hand,
To lay his body by my side
Upon that shell-strewn strand.
To reach an' clasp my hand,
To lay his body by my side
Upon that shell-strewn strand.
“But ah, within the Caves o' Cree
He kissed my lips full fain—
Ay, by the hollow booming sea
We'll meet, my love, again.”
He kissed my lips full fain—
Ay, by the hollow booming sea
We'll meet, my love, again.”
That night again fair Margery
In Cree-Caves slept full sound,
And by her side lay lovingly
The wan wraith of the drowned.
In Cree-Caves slept full sound,
And by her side lay lovingly
The wan wraith of the drowned.
O what is yon toss-tossing there
Where a' the white gulls fly:
Is yon gold weed or golden hair
The waves swirl merrily?
Where a' the white gulls fly:
Is yon gold weed or golden hair
The waves swirl merrily?
61
O what is yon white shape that slips
Among the lapsing seas:
Pale, pale the rose-red of the lips
Whereo'er the spindrift flees.
Among the lapsing seas:
Pale, pale the rose-red of the lips
Whereo'er the spindrift flees.
What bears the tide unto the strand
Where the drown'd seaman lies:
A waving arm, a hollow hand,
And face with death-dimmed eyes.
Where the drown'd seaman lies:
A waving arm, a hollow hand,
And face with death-dimmed eyes.
The tide uplifts them, leaves them where
Each first knew love beside the sea:
Bound each to each with yellow hair
Within the Caves o' Cree.
Each first knew love beside the sea:
Bound each to each with yellow hair
Within the Caves o' Cree.
63
THE DEITH-TIDE.
65
“Wi' a risin' win',
An' a flowin' tide,
There's a deith tae be;
When the win gaes back
An' the tide's at the slack,
There's a spirit free.”
—Fragment of a Highland Folksong.
An' a flowin' tide,
There's a deith tae be;
When the win gaes back
An' the tide's at the slack,
There's a spirit free.”
—Fragment of a Highland Folksong.
The weet saut wind is blawing
Upon the misty shore:
And like a stormy snawing
The deid go streaming o'er:—
Upon the misty shore:
And like a stormy snawing
The deid go streaming o'er:—
The wan drown'd deid sail wildly
Frae out each drumly wave:
It's O and O for the weary sea
And O for a quiet grave.
Frae out each drumly wave:
It's O and O for the weary sea
And O for a quiet grave.
66
“Whose voice is that is calling
Frae out the deid-wrack there,
What saut tears these aye falling
Upon my rain-weet hair?
Frae out the deid-wrack there,
What saut tears these aye falling
Upon my rain-weet hair?
“What white thing blawing, blawing
Before the moaning gale,
The grey thing 'mid the snawing,
The white thing 'mid the hail?”
Before the moaning gale,
The grey thing 'mid the snawing,
The white thing 'mid the hail?”
The wan drown'd deid sail wildly
Frae oot each drumly wave:
It's O and O for the weary sea
And O for a quiet grave.
Frae oot each drumly wave:
It's O and O for the weary sea
And O for a quiet grave.
“O wha be ye that's mournin'
Down by the saut sea-shore—
Mournin', mournin', mournin'
Alang the saut sea-shore:
Down by the saut sea-shore—
Mournin', mournin', mournin'
Alang the saut sea-shore:
“O weel I ken my dearie,
My dear love lost lang-syne:
O weep nae mair my dearie
Your tears o' bitter brine:
My dear love lost lang-syne:
O weep nae mair my dearie
Your tears o' bitter brine:
67
“The weet saut win' is falling,
An' hear ye not the tide,
The deith-tide calling, calling?
O come wi' me, my bride!
An' hear ye not the tide,
The deith-tide calling, calling?
O come wi' me, my bride!
“O come wi' me, my marrow,
Ye'll sleep love's sleep at last,
No in a cauld bed narrow
But swirlin' on the blast—
Ye'll sleep love's sleep at last,
No in a cauld bed narrow
But swirlin' on the blast—
“O come wi' me my ain ain Jean—
What gars ye grow sae chill?”
“O I fear your hollow burnin' een,
An' your voice sae thin an' shrill!”
What gars ye grow sae chill?”
“O I fear your hollow burnin' een,
An' your voice sae thin an' shrill!”
“O come wi' me my marrow,
Sae sweet sall be your sleep,
No in a cauld bed narrow
But in the swayin' deep.”
Sae sweet sall be your sleep,
No in a cauld bed narrow
But in the swayin' deep.”
The wan drown'd deid sail wildly
Frae back the weary land:
It's O and O for the saut deep sea
Ayont the barren strand.
Frae back the weary land:
It's O and O for the saut deep sea
Ayont the barren strand.
68
“O weel my soul is flying
Abune the faem wi' thee:
My bodie white cauld cauld is lying
Beside the gurly sea:
Abune the faem wi' thee:
My bodie white cauld cauld is lying
Beside the gurly sea:
“O gie tae me your shadowy han'
An' swift your phantom-kiss,
It's drear, sae drear, within the mirk
Here where the white waves hiss!”
An' swift your phantom-kiss,
It's drear, sae drear, within the mirk
Here where the white waves hiss!”
The wan drown'd deid sail wildly
Frae back the weary land;
It's O and O for the saut deep sea
Ayont the barren strand.
Frae back the weary land;
It's O and O for the saut deep sea
Ayont the barren strand.
69
Poems of Phantasy.
71
Phantasy.
Riding o'er a lonely plain
I came unto a wood—
And there I met, in dreamful mood,
A damsel singing a low strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
I came unto a wood—
And there I met, in dreamful mood,
A damsel singing a low strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
Her song it seemëd far away,
But oh her kiss was sweet:
She led me to some green retreat,
And there within her arms I lay
The livelong day.
But oh her kiss was sweet:
She led me to some green retreat,
And there within her arms I lay
The livelong day.
72
All ye who love me love in vain—
I kissed her wistful face
But found a leaf-strewn space
Alone, and far I heard her strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
I kissed her wistful face
But found a leaf-strewn space
Alone, and far I heard her strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
I seek the wood in twilit hours—
At times I hear her sing;
At times her white arms round me cling:
She leads me into magic bow'rs
And sings and wreathes me wilding flow'rs.
At times I hear her sing;
At times her white arms round me cling:
She leads me into magic bow'rs
And sings and wreathes me wilding flow'rs.
Her eyes are tears, and pain
Is in her kiss, but wildly gay
She laughs, and fades away,
And through the dim wood floats the strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
Is in her kiss, but wildly gay
She laughs, and fades away,
And through the dim wood floats the strain,
All ye who love me love in vain!
73
The Willis-Dancers.
The moonlight floods the hollow dell:—
The dell where all the city's dead
Were laid, when oft the loud plague-bell
Filled wayfarers with sudden dread:
The accursëd plague it was that swept
The young from life, and spared the old—
Who wept and lived, and lived and wept
And mourned the silent sleepers in the dell's chill fold.
The dell where all the city's dead
Were laid, when oft the loud plague-bell
Filled wayfarers with sudden dread:
The accursëd plague it was that swept
The young from life, and spared the old—
Who wept and lived, and lived and wept
And mourned the silent sleepers in the dell's chill fold.
The hollow dell is fill'd with light,
The frosty radiance of the moon;
Yet gleams there are, more weirdly bright—
And what is that slow swelling tune?
It is not any wind that blows,
For not a wafted leaf doth fall;
What is the rustling sound that grows,
As if a low wind stirred amid the poplars tall?
The frosty radiance of the moon;
Yet gleams there are, more weirdly bright—
And what is that slow swelling tune?
It is not any wind that blows,
For not a wafted leaf doth fall;
What is the rustling sound that grows,
As if a low wind stirred amid the poplars tall?
74
Yon white, yon pale green hues that shine—
Are they but fungus-growths that beam:
What moves by yon funereal pine—
What haunts the pool where marsh-fires gleam?
From out the shadow-haunted trees,
Along the nested hedgerows dumb,
And o'er the moonlit sloping leas
Singing a thin strange song the Willis-dancers come.
Are they but fungus-growths that beam:
What moves by yon funereal pine—
What haunts the pool where marsh-fires gleam?
From out the shadow-haunted trees,
Along the nested hedgerows dumb,
And o'er the moonlit sloping leas
Singing a thin strange song the Willis-dancers come.
In hurrying scores, with silent feet,
In weird processional array
They pass, with motions wild and fleet:
And now they gain the common way.
Adown the long white road they flit,
Slow-singing their unechoing song,
Till, where the Calvary, moonlit,
Crowns the low hill—round whose white base the dancers throng.
In weird processional array
They pass, with motions wild and fleet:
And now they gain the common way.
Adown the long white road they flit,
Slow-singing their unechoing song,
Till, where the Calvary, moonlit,
Crowns the low hill—round whose white base the dancers throng.
75
Fair, fair, unutterably fair,
With wild and gleaming eyes they pray
O for the breath of mortal air,
O for the joys grown faint and gray!
But never the carven god commands;
The frozen eyes nor gleam nor glance—
The Willis-folk ring phantom-hands,
Then laugh and mock and whirl away in frantic dance.
With wild and gleaming eyes they pray
O for the breath of mortal air,
O for the joys grown faint and gray!
But never the carven god commands;
The frozen eyes nor gleam nor glance—
The Willis-folk ring phantom-hands,
Then laugh and mock and whirl away in frantic dance.
Wild, wild the dance, with blazing eyes,
With flowing hair, and faun-like leaps,
With thrilling shouts, and ecstasies.
Now one withdraws, and wails, and weeps:
Her grave-blanch'd hair around her thrown,
Her white hands claspt, she doth not hear
A voice that claims her for his own,
Nor hearkens her dead Lover call in awful fear.
With flowing hair, and faun-like leaps,
With thrilling shouts, and ecstasies.
Now one withdraws, and wails, and weeps:
Her grave-blanch'd hair around her thrown,
Her white hands claspt, she doth not hear
A voice that claims her for his own,
Nor hearkens her dead Lover call in awful fear.
76
For oft when from the grave they've fled
To gain phantasmal joys on earth—
Fair youths and maids who ne'er were wed
But died within their spring-time mirth—
A fearful thing hath happ'd to some:
A joyous dancer hath withdrawn,
Hath wailed and wept, and then grown dumb,
And paled, and pass'd away ev'n as the stars at dawn.
To gain phantasmal joys on earth—
Fair youths and maids who ne'er were wed
But died within their spring-time mirth—
A fearful thing hath happ'd to some:
A joyous dancer hath withdrawn,
Hath wailed and wept, and then grown dumb,
And paled, and pass'd away ev'n as the stars at dawn.
The wan soul, with its burning gaze
From hollow eyes with anguish fill'd,
Would fain the lapsing maiden raise:
One moment all her being is thrilled
With one wild passionate desire—
Then, as a flame that is blown out,
Or as a mist in the sun's fire
She fades into the silence round the whirling rout.
From hollow eyes with anguish fill'd,
Would fain the lapsing maiden raise:
One moment all her being is thrilled
With one wild passionate desire—
Then, as a flame that is blown out,
Or as a mist in the sun's fire
She fades into the silence round the whirling rout.
77
Still wilder, swifter grows the fray:
Youths who on earth had lived in vain,
Maids who had yearned the livelong day
For ease to love's imperious pain,
All whose high hopes had come to nought,
All who for life's delights had striven,
All who had suffered, dreamt, or wrought
To make of our common Earth a glowing Heaven—
Youths who on earth had lived in vain,
Maids who had yearned the livelong day
For ease to love's imperious pain,
All whose high hopes had come to nought,
All who for life's delights had striven,
All who had suffered, dreamt, or wrought
To make of our common Earth a glowing Heaven—
All, all, with eager, frantic haste
Swift dart and glide and dance and spring—
As gnats above a stagnant waste
Will interweave in a mazy ring—
With locks that once were living gold
Tossed wildly in the moonlit air,
With panting breasts that ne'er were cold
In the dear vanish'd days ere death came unaware:
Swift dart and glide and dance and spring—
As gnats above a stagnant waste
Will interweave in a mazy ring—
With locks that once were living gold
Tossed wildly in the moonlit air,
With panting breasts that ne'er were cold
In the dear vanish'd days ere death came unaware:
78
Lovers who knew no joy of love
In the old barren years of life,
Together now enraptured move—
Claspt each to each with rapture rife:
Bosom to panting bosom pressed,
Hot lips athirst on thirsting lips,
Strange joys and languors doubly blest—
Snatch'd from the sombre grave, yea even from Death's eclipse!
In the old barren years of life,
Together now enraptured move—
Claspt each to each with rapture rife:
Bosom to panting bosom pressed,
Hot lips athirst on thirsting lips,
Strange joys and languors doubly blest—
Snatch'd from the sombre grave, yea even from Death's eclipse!
Swift, swifter grows the mystic dance
More wild, more wild, each fierce embrace:
The woe of death's inheritance
Gleams ghastly on each wildered face;
A wan grey light illumes the head
Of the carv'd god to whom they prayed:
A halt—a hush—among the dead!
A long-drawn sigh—and lo, the Willis-dancers fade!
More wild, more wild, each fierce embrace:
The woe of death's inheritance
Gleams ghastly on each wildered face;
A wan grey light illumes the head
Of the carv'd god to whom they prayed:
A halt—a hush—among the dead!
A long-drawn sigh—and lo, the Willis-dancers fade!
The Willi or Willis-Dancers are the spirits of those who have died untimely, youths and maidens who on earth had no fulfilment of their desires. On certain nights they hold wild phantasmal revelry on earth.
79
A Dream.
Last night thro' a haunted land I went,
Upon whose margins Ocean leant
Waveless and soundless save for sighs
That with the twilight airs were blent.
Upon whose margins Ocean leant
Waveless and soundless save for sighs
That with the twilight airs were blent.
And passing, hearing never stir
Of footfall, or the startled whirr
Of birds, I said, “In this land lies
Sleep's home, the secret haunt of her.”
Of footfall, or the startled whirr
Of birds, I said, “In this land lies
Sleep's home, the secret haunt of her.”
And then I came upon a stone
Whereon these words were writ alone,
The soul who reads, its body dies
Far hence that moment without moan.
Whereon these words were writ alone,
The soul who reads, its body dies
Far hence that moment without moan.
And then I knew that I was dead,
And that the shadow overhead
Was not the darkness of the skies
But that from which my soul had fled.
And that the shadow overhead
Was not the darkness of the skies
But that from which my soul had fled.
80
The Wandering Voice.
They hear it in the sunless dale,
It moans beside the stream,
They hear it when the woodlands wail,
And when the storm-winds scream.
It moans beside the stream,
They hear it when the woodlands wail,
And when the storm-winds scream.
They hear it,—going from the fields
Through twilight-shadows home,—
It sighs across the silent wealds
And far and wide doth roam.
Through twilight-shadows home,—
It sighs across the silent wealds
And far and wide doth roam.
It moans upon the wind No more
The House of Torquil stands
It comes at dusk, and o'er and
Haunts Torquil's lands.
The House of Torquil stands
It comes at dusk, and o'er and
Haunts Torquil's lands.
He rides down by the foaming linn—
But hark! what is it calls
With faint far voice, so shrill and thin,
The House of Torquil falls.
But hark! what is it calls
With faint far voice, so shrill and thin,
The House of Torquil falls.
81
He lifts the revel-cup at night—
What makes him start and stare,
What makes his face blanch deadly white,
What makes him spring from where
What makes him start and stare,
What makes his face blanch deadly white,
What makes him spring from where
His comrades feast within the room,
And through the darkness go—
What is that wailing cry of doom,
That scream of woe!
And through the darkness go—
What is that wailing cry of doom,
That scream of woe!
No more in sunless dells, or high
On moorland ways is heard the moan
Of the long-wandering prophecy:—
In moonlit nights alone
On moorland ways is heard the moan
Of the long-wandering prophecy:—
In moonlit nights alone
A shadowy shape is seen to stand
Beside a ruin'd place:
It waves a wildly threatening hand,
It hath a dreadful face.
Beside a ruin'd place:
It waves a wildly threatening hand,
It hath a dreadful face.
82
The Twin-Soul.
In the dead of the night a spirit came:
Her moonwhite face and her eyes of flame
Were known to me:—I called her name—
The name that shall not be spoken at all
Till Death hath this body of mine in thrall!
Her moonwhite face and her eyes of flame
Were known to me:—I called her name—
The name that shall not be spoken at all
Till Death hath this body of mine in thrall!
And she laughed to see me lying there,
Wrapped in the living-corpse bloody and fair,
And my soul 'mid its thin films shining bare—
And I rose and followed her glance so sweet
And passed from the house with noiseless feet.
Wrapped in the living-corpse bloody and fair,
And my soul 'mid its thin films shining bare—
And I rose and followed her glance so sweet
And passed from the house with noiseless feet.
83
I know not myself what I knew, what I saw:
I know that it filled me with trouble and awe,
With pain that still at my heart doth gnaw:
That she with her wild eyes witched my soul
And whispered the name of the Unknown Goal.
I know that it filled me with trouble and awe,
With pain that still at my heart doth gnaw:
That she with her wild eyes witched my soul
And whispered the name of the Unknown Goal.
O wild was her laugh, and wild was my cry
When with one long flash and a weary sigh
I awoke as from sleep bewilderingly:
Her voice, her eyes, they are with me still,
O Spirit-Enchantress, O Demon Will!
When with one long flash and a weary sigh
I awoke as from sleep bewilderingly:
Her voice, her eyes, they are with me still,
O Spirit-Enchantress, O Demon Will!
84
The Isle of Lost Dreams.
There is an isle beyond our ken,Haunted by Dreams of weary men.
Grey Hopes enshadow it with wings
Weary with burdens of old things:
There the insatiate water-springs
Rise with the tears of all who weep:
And deep within it, deep, oh deep
The furtive voice of Sorrow sings.
There evermore,
Till Time be o'er,
Sad, oh so sad, the Dreams of men
Drift through the isle beyond our ken.
85
The Death-Child.
She sits beneath the elder-tree
And sings her song so sweet,
And dreams o'er the burn that darksomely
Runs by her moonwhite feet.
And sings her song so sweet,
And dreams o'er the burn that darksomely
Runs by her moonwhite feet.
Her hair is dark as starless night,
Her flower-crown'd face is pale,
But O her eyes are lit with light
Of dread ancestral bale.
Her flower-crown'd face is pale,
But O her eyes are lit with light
Of dread ancestral bale.
She sings an eerie song, so wild
With immemorial dule—
Though young and fair Death's mortal child
That sits by that dark pool.
With immemorial dule—
Though young and fair Death's mortal child
That sits by that dark pool.
86
And oft she cries an eldritch scream
When red with human blood
The burn becomes a crimson stream,
A wild, red, surging flood:
When red with human blood
The burn becomes a crimson stream,
A wild, red, surging flood:
Or shrinks, when some swift tide of tears—
The weeping of the world—
Dark eddying 'neath man's phantom-fears
Is o'er the red stream hurl'd.
The weeping of the world—
Dark eddying 'neath man's phantom-fears
Is o'er the red stream hurl'd.
For hours beneath the elder-tree
She broods beside the stream;
Her dark eyes filled with mystery,
Her dark soul rapt in dream.
She broods beside the stream;
Her dark eyes filled with mystery,
Her dark soul rapt in dream.
The lapsing flow she heedeth not
Though deepest depths she scans:
Life is the shade that clouds her thought,
As Death's the eclipse of man's.
Though deepest depths she scans:
Life is the shade that clouds her thought,
As Death's the eclipse of man's.
Time seems but as a bitter thing
Remember'd from of yore:
Yet ah (she thinks) her song she'll sing
When Time's long reign is o'er.
Remember'd from of yore:
Yet ah (she thinks) her song she'll sing
When Time's long reign is o'er.
87
Erstwhiles she bends alow to hear
What the swift water sings,
The torrent running darkly clear
With secrets of all things.
What the swift water sings,
The torrent running darkly clear
With secrets of all things.
And then she smiles a strange sad smile,
And lets her harp lie long;
The death-waves oft may rise the while,
She greets them with no song.
And lets her harp lie long;
The death-waves oft may rise the while,
She greets them with no song.
Few ever cross that dreary moor,
Few see that flower-crown'd head;
But whoso knows that wild song's lure
Knoweth that he is dead.
Few see that flower-crown'd head;
But whoso knows that wild song's lure
Knoweth that he is dead.
| Romantic Ballads and Poems of Phantasy | |