The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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The Powris of Moseke.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
The Powris of Moseke.
Blynde Robene sat on Bowman Lawe,
And houlit upon his horne;
And aye he bummit, and he strummit,
Quhille patience wals foreworne;
And houlit upon his horne;
And aye he bummit, and he strummit,
Quhille patience wals foreworne;
And the verye hillis in travail seemit,
Thoche noe yung hillis were borne!
For they yellit and youtit soe yirlischly
Als their bouellis hald bene torne.
Thoche noe yung hillis were borne!
For they yellit and youtit soe yirlischly
Als their bouellis hald bene torne.
And by him sat ane byzenit boi,
Ane brat of brukit breide;
His moder wals ane weirdlye witche,
Of Queen's foreste the dreide;
Ane brat of brukit breide;
His moder wals ane weirdlye witche,
Of Queen's foreste the dreide;
But whether the deuill did him bygette,
Or ane droiche of Elfinlande,
Or ane water-kelpie horrible,
I colde not understande.
Or ane droiche of Elfinlande,
Or ane water-kelpie horrible,
I colde not understande.
But he hald not tastit broz that dai,
Nor kirne-mylke, wheye, nor brede;
So hunger raif at his yung herte,
And wals like to be his dede.
Nor kirne-mylke, wheye, nor brede;
So hunger raif at his yung herte,
And wals like to be his dede.
And aye he said, “Dere maistere mine,
What spring is that you playe?
For there are listeniris gadderyng rounde,
And I wish we were awaye.”
What spring is that you playe?
For there are listeniris gadderyng rounde,
And I wish we were awaye.”
316
“Quhat doste thou se, my bonnie boi,
I pray thee tell to mee?
I won these notis frae the fairye folke
Beneth the grene wode tre;
I pray thee tell to mee?
I won these notis frae the fairye folke
Beneth the grene wode tre;
“And I weenit it wals ane charmed spring,
By its wilde melodye:
Och wo is mee that I am blynde!
Littil boi, quhat dost thou se?”
By its wilde melodye:
Och wo is mee that I am blynde!
Littil boi, quhat dost thou se?”
“I se the hartis but and the hyndis,
Stand quaking to the morne,
And wildlye snouke the westlyn wyndis,
And shaike the braken horne:
Stand quaking to the morne,
And wildlye snouke the westlyn wyndis,
And shaike the braken horne:
“And the littil wee raeis they cour betwene,
With their backis of dapplit greye;
And the gaitis they are waggyng their aulde greye berdis—
Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
With their backis of dapplit greye;
And the gaitis they are waggyng their aulde greye berdis—
Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
“Sit still, sit still, my bonnie boi;
I haif shawit you, with gode wille,
Ane littil of the Powris of Grande Moseke,
I will shaw you greater stille.
I haif shawit you, with gode wille,
Ane littil of the Powris of Grande Moseke,
I will shaw you greater stille.
“Lend me thine eire, and thou shalt heire
Some thrillyng fallis I wis,
By minstrelis maide, and eithlye playit
In oder worldis than this.”
Some thrillyng fallis I wis,
By minstrelis maide, and eithlye playit
In oder worldis than this.”
Blynde Robene liftit his stokel horne,
And brushit it all full cleine;
It wals laide with the eevorye and the goude,
And glancit with the sylver sheine;
And brushit it all full cleine;
It wals laide with the eevorye and the goude,
And glancit with the sylver sheine;
He heezit the horne intil his muthe,
And soundit the airel hole,
And the melodye that that horne spake
His herte it colde not thole;
And soundit the airel hole,
And the melodye that that horne spake
His herte it colde not thole;
For the soundis went hie and the soundis went lowe,
Sae laigh and sae hie did they spryng,
That the laigh anes bummit in the world belowe,
And the hie maide the heavinis ryng.
Sae laigh and sae hie did they spryng,
That the laigh anes bummit in the world belowe,
And the hie maide the heavinis ryng.
“Och holde thine hande, mine deire maistere!
Thou maikest mine herte to blede;
And holde that heavinly braith of thine,
Or the soundis will be mine dede.”
Thou maikest mine herte to blede;
And holde that heavinly braith of thine,
Or the soundis will be mine dede.”
“Ha! sayest thou soe, mine bonnie boi?
To me thou art still more deire!
I trowit not of thy taiste before,
Nor of thine blessit eire.
To me thou art still more deire!
I trowit not of thy taiste before,
Nor of thine blessit eire.
“But looke thee rounde, my bonnie boi,
And looke to holme and heathe,
And caste thine eyne to heavin above,
And to the yird benethe;
And looke to holme and heathe,
And caste thine eyne to heavin above,
And to the yird benethe;
“And note the shadowis and the shapis
That hover on hille and gaire;
And tell me trowlye, my bonnie boi,
Of all thou seest there.”
That hover on hille and gaire;
And tell me trowlye, my bonnie boi,
Of all thou seest there.”
The elfin stoode up on his feite,
And Robenis breiste he saynit;
And aye he chatterit with his tethe,
And grefously he grainit:
And Robenis breiste he saynit;
And aye he chatterit with his tethe,
And grefously he grainit:
And the sobbis that rase fra his stamocke
Wolde birste ane herte of claye;
But neuir ane worde he saide but this—
“Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
Wolde birste ane herte of claye;
But neuir ane worde he saide but this—
“Lorde, gin we were awaye!”
Blynde Robene stymit him rounde about,
And he gapit gastrouslye—
“Och, tell me, tell me, littil boi,
Of all that thou doste se.”
And he gapit gastrouslye—
“Och, tell me, tell me, littil boi,
Of all that thou doste se.”
“I se the cloudis creipe up the hille,
And down the hille like wise;
And there are spyritis gadderyng rounde
Fra baith the yird and skyis:
And down the hille like wise;
And there are spyritis gadderyng rounde
Fra baith the yird and skyis:
“The ghastis are glyming with their dede eyne
Lapperit with mist and claye,
And they are fauldyng out their windyng shetis,
And their flesche is faidyng awaye.”
Lapperit with mist and claye,
And they are fauldyng out their windyng shetis,
And their flesche is faidyng awaye.”
“If that be true, my bonnie boi,
Strainge visiteris are rife!
Well, we moste gif them ane oder spring
To sweiten their waesome life.
Strainge visiteris are rife!
Well, we moste gif them ane oder spring
To sweiten their waesome life.
“I never kennit, soe helpe me Heavin,
The ghastis had had soche skille,
Or knewe soe well ane maisteris hande,
Sothe they moste haif their fille;
The ghastis had had soche skille,
Or knewe soe well ane maisteris hande,
Sothe they moste haif their fille;
“For come they up, or come they downe,
The ghaste or the elfin greye,
Till the fairyis come and heire their spring
I cannot goe away.”
The ghaste or the elfin greye,
Till the fairyis come and heire their spring
I cannot goe away.”
“Och deire! och deire!” thochtis the littil boi,
The teire blindyng his e'e,
“We are far fra ony meite or drynk,
Quhat will become of me?
The teire blindyng his e'e,
“We are far fra ony meite or drynk,
Quhat will become of me?
“Och, holde thine hand, deire maistere mine,
For pitye's saike now stay,
Or helle will sone be about our luggis,
And deirlye we shall paye:
For pitye's saike now stay,
Or helle will sone be about our luggis,
And deirlye we shall paye:
“The bullis are booyng in the wode,
The deiris stande all abreiste;
You haif wakenit the dede out of their graifs—
Lorde! quhat shall you do neiste?”
The deiris stande all abreiste;
You haif wakenit the dede out of their graifs—
Lorde! quhat shall you do neiste?”
“Taik thou noe caris, my littil boi,
Quhateuir thou mayest vewe,
For sholde ane elf or fairye rise
From every belle of dewe,—
Quhateuir thou mayest vewe,
For sholde ane elf or fairye rise
From every belle of dewe,—
“Sholde all the fiendis that euir gowlit
Downe in the deipis for paine,
Spiele up, and stande in thousandis rounde,
I wolde playe them downe again.”
Downe in the deipis for paine,
Spiele up, and stande in thousandis rounde,
I wolde playe them downe again.”
317
“Faithe, that is strainge!” then thochtis the boi,
But yet he said no thing:
“Och, Moseke is grande, my bonnie boi,
We'll haif ane oder spring.”
But yet he said no thing:
“Och, Moseke is grande, my bonnie boi,
We'll haif ane oder spring.”
The boyis lip curlit to his noz
Als bende als ony bowe,
And syne his muthe begoude to thrawe—
Quhat colde the hurcheon doo?
Als bende als ony bowe,
And syne his muthe begoude to thrawe—
Quhat colde the hurcheon doo?
His fastyng spittol he swallowit downe,
With rattlyng, rhattyng dynne;
But hit hardlye wet the gyzenit throte,
For all wals toome withynne.
With rattlyng, rhattyng dynne;
But hit hardlye wet the gyzenit throte,
For all wals toome withynne.
Blynde Robene set his horne to his muthe,
And wet his airel hole;
“Tout-tout! tout-tout!” quod blynde Robene,
Quhille the very rockis did yolle.
And wet his airel hole;
“Tout-tout! tout-tout!” quod blynde Robene,
Quhille the very rockis did yolle.
But the boi he said unto himself,
Als bitterlye als colde be,
“Gin I hald but my mornyng broz,
Deuill fetche the spring and thee!”
Als bitterlye als colde be,
“Gin I hald but my mornyng broz,
Deuill fetche the spring and thee!”
He lookit to hille, he lookit to daille,
Then rose with joyous speide—
“The fairyis moste come there is noe doubte,
Or death is all my meide;
Then rose with joyous speide—
“The fairyis moste come there is noe doubte,
Or death is all my meide;
“Now holde thine hande, deire maistere mine,
And fly rychte speidilye;
There are seventy-seven belted knychtes
Comyng rankyng downe the le;
And fly rychte speidilye;
There are seventy-seven belted knychtes
Comyng rankyng downe the le;
“There are fire and furye in their lookis
Als they tredde on the wynde;
And there are seventy-seven bonnie damis
All dauncyng them behynde.
Als they tredde on the wynde;
And there are seventy-seven bonnie damis
All dauncyng them behynde.
“The fairye knychtis haif sordis and sheldis,
Like chrystal spleetis to se;
And the damis are cledde in grass-grene sylke,
And kyltit abone the kne.”
Like chrystal spleetis to se;
And the damis are cledde in grass-grene sylke,
And kyltit abone the kne.”
“Quhat's that you say, mine bonnie boi?”—
Och Robenis muthe grew wyde!
And he poukit the hurcheon with his hande,
And helde his lug asyde:
Och Robenis muthe grew wyde!
And he poukit the hurcheon with his hande,
And helde his lug asyde:
And aye he glymit him rounde about,
And strainit his dim quhyte eyne;
For he grenit to see the dapper limbis
All quidderyng on the grene.
And strainit his dim quhyte eyne;
For he grenit to see the dapper limbis
All quidderyng on the grene.
“Ochon! ochon!” quod blynde Robene,
“My blyndnesse I may rewe;
But quhat it wals to want mine sychte
Till now I neuir knewe!
“My blyndnesse I may rewe;
But quhat it wals to want mine sychte
Till now I neuir knewe!
“For ae glance of the bonnie damis
Dauncyng soe blythe on le,
Each with her sailyng grene seymar
Soe far abone the kne”—
Dauncyng soe blythe on le,
Each with her sailyng grene seymar
Soe far abone the kne”—
“Och, not soe far, mine deire maistere,
It is modeste all and meite;
And like the wynde on sunnye hillis
Shimmer their lovelye feite.
It is modeste all and meite;
And like the wynde on sunnye hillis
Shimmer their lovelye feite.
“But the knychtis are in ane awsum raige,
Raumpaugyng on the le;
For lofe of lyfe, now blynde Robene,
Come let us rise and fle.”
Raumpaugyng on the le;
For lofe of lyfe, now blynde Robene,
Come let us rise and fle.”
“And can I leife the winsum damis,
All fryskyng on the grene?
Och noe! och noe! mine littil boi,
More manneris I haif sene.
All fryskyng on the grene?
Och noe! och noe! mine littil boi,
More manneris I haif sene.
“I will gyf them ane spring will gar them skyppe,
And rise with mychte and maine,
Quhille they dyng their hedis agynst the sternis,
And bob on the yird againe.
And rise with mychte and maine,
Quhille they dyng their hedis agynst the sternis,
And bob on the yird againe.
“I will gar them jompe sae merrilye hie,
The blythsum seventy-seven;
Quhille they coole their littil bonnie brestis
Amid the cloudis of heavin.
The blythsum seventy-seven;
Quhille they coole their littil bonnie brestis
Amid the cloudis of heavin.
“Liloo—liloo”—quod blynde Robene,
(Heavinis mercye als he blewe!)
“Now I shall gar the fairye folkis
The Powris of Moseke vewe.”
(Heavinis mercye als he blewe!)
“Now I shall gar the fairye folkis
The Powris of Moseke vewe.”
But the boi he weepit rychte piteouslye,
And down ward sore did bowe,
And helde his middis with both his handis,
For feire he sholde fall through.
And down ward sore did bowe,
And helde his middis with both his handis,
For feire he sholde fall through.
Saint Bothan! als blynde Robene blewe,
Sae yirlisch and sae cleire!
And aye he turnit his stokel horne,
That fairyis all mochte heire.
Sae yirlisch and sae cleire!
And aye he turnit his stokel horne,
That fairyis all mochte heire.
And aye he glymit with his quhyte eyne,
Thoche sore the horne colde jar,
For he longit to see the lily limbe
And kyltit grene seymar.
Thoche sore the horne colde jar,
For he longit to see the lily limbe
And kyltit grene seymar.
“Looke yet againe, my bonnie boi,
At the fairye damis anewe,
And tell me how their robis appeire
In texture and in hewe!”
At the fairye damis anewe,
And tell me how their robis appeire
In texture and in hewe!”
“Och, they are lychtlye cledde, maistere,
Soe lychte I dare not showe,
For I se their lovelye tiny formis,
Als pure as mountaine snowe.
Soe lychte I dare not showe,
For I se their lovelye tiny formis,
Als pure as mountaine snowe.
“Their robis are made of the gossamere,
Wove of the misty sheine,
And dyit in the rainbowis gaudy gaire
Sae glauncyng and sae grene.”
Wove of the misty sheine,
And dyit in the rainbowis gaudy gaire
Sae glauncyng and sae grene.”
Blynde Robene clewe his tufted heide,
And raif his auld greye hayre,
And the teiris wolde haif fallen from his eyne,
Had anie eyne bene there;
And raif his auld greye hayre,
And the teiris wolde haif fallen from his eyne,
Had anie eyne bene there;
318
He turnit up his cleire face for braith,
And to eisse his crouchand backe;
And then he toutit and he blewe
Quhille bethe his luggis did cracke.
And to eisse his crouchand backe;
And then he toutit and he blewe
Quhille bethe his luggis did cracke.
“Och, holde your hande, deire maistere mine!”
Cryit the boi with yirlisch screime,
“For there is the deuill comyng on
With his eyne like fiery gleime;
Cryit the boi with yirlisch screime,
“For there is the deuill comyng on
With his eyne like fiery gleime;
“His fingeris are like lobster taeis,
And long als barrowe tramis;
His tethe are reide-hot tedderstakis,
And barkit are his hammis:
And long als barrowe tramis;
His tethe are reide-hot tedderstakis,
And barkit are his hammis:
“His tayle it is ane fierye snaike
Aye wrything far behynde,
Its fangis are two clothe yardis in length,
And it is coolyng them in the wynde.”
Aye wrything far behynde,
Its fangis are two clothe yardis in length,
And it is coolyng them in the wynde.”
Blynde Robenis face grewe lang and blanke,
And his lyppe begoude to fall;—
“That is ane gueste, my littil boi,
I like the worst of all!
And his lyppe begoude to fall;—
“That is ane gueste, my littil boi,
I like the worst of all!
“The fairyis are mine own deire folkis;
The ghastis are glydyng geire;
But the deuill is ane oder chappe!
Lorde! quhat's he sekyng here?”
The ghastis are glydyng geire;
But the deuill is ane oder chappe!
Lorde! quhat's he sekyng here?”
Blynde Robene maide als he wolde rise,
To flye als he were faine;
But the fairye damis came in his mynde,
And he crouched him downe againe.
To flye als he were faine;
But the fairye damis came in his mynde,
And he crouched him downe againe.
“Come well, come woe, I shall not goe,”
Said Robene manfullye;
“I will play to my welcome fairye folkis,
And the deuill may rayre for me!”
Said Robene manfullye;
“I will play to my welcome fairye folkis,
And the deuill may rayre for me!”
Againe the notis knellit through the ayre
Sae mychtye and sae deivin,
For ilkane burel hole wals loosit—
Ane hole wals blawn in heavin:
Sae mychtye and sae deivin,
For ilkane burel hole wals loosit—
Ane hole wals blawn in heavin:
And the soundis went in, and the soundis went ben,
Quhille the folkis abone the skie
And the angelis caperit ane braif corante
Als they went stroamyng bye.
Quhille the folkis abone the skie
And the angelis caperit ane braif corante
Als they went stroamyng bye.
The Powris of Moseke wals sae greate,
Sae mychtye and devyne,
That Robene ravit for very joi
Quhille his quhyte eyne did shyne;
Sae mychtye and devyne,
That Robene ravit for very joi
Quhille his quhyte eyne did shyne;
And his cleire countenance wals blente
With a joi and a pryde sublyme—
“There is no hope,” quod the littil boi,
“He will playe quhille the end of tyme!”
With a joi and a pryde sublyme—
“There is no hope,” quod the littil boi,
“He will playe quhille the end of tyme!”
But in the grenewode ower the hill,
There graissit ane herde of kyne,
Waidyng in grene gerse to the knes,
And grofellyng lyke to swyne;
There graissit ane herde of kyne,
Waidyng in grene gerse to the knes,
And grofellyng lyke to swyne;
For they snappit it with their muckil mouis,
Quhille sullenlye they lowit,
And aye they noddit their lang quhite hornis,
And they chumpit and they chowit.
Quhille sullenlye they lowit,
And aye they noddit their lang quhite hornis,
And they chumpit and they chowit.
Och, they were fierce! and nefer fedde
At mainger nor at stalle;
But among them there wals ane curlye bulle,
The fierceste of them all.
At mainger nor at stalle;
But among them there wals ane curlye bulle,
The fierceste of them all.
His hornis were quhyte als driven snowe,
And sharpe als poyntit pole;
But his herte wals blacker than his hyde,
Thoche that wals lyke ane cole.
And sharpe als poyntit pole;
But his herte wals blacker than his hyde,
Thoche that wals lyke ane cole.
This bulle he heirit blynde Robenis notis
Passe ower his heide abofe,
And he thochte it wals ane kindlye cowe
Rowtyng for gentil lofe.
Passe ower his heide abofe,
And he thochte it wals ane kindlye cowe
Rowtyng for gentil lofe.
And this bulle he thochtis into himselle,
How this braife courteous cowe
Might haif passit far for lofe that dai,
And travellit faustyng too:
“I will goe and meite her,” thochtis the bulle,
“Als gallante brote sholde doo.”
How this braife courteous cowe
Might haif passit far for lofe that dai,
And travellit faustyng too:
“I will goe and meite her,” thochtis the bulle,
“Als gallante brote sholde doo.”
And this bulle he thochtis into himselle,
“This dame rowtis mychtye loude!
I will sende furth ane voyce shall maike her quaile,
And she shall not be soe proude!”
“This dame rowtis mychtye loude!
I will sende furth ane voyce shall maike her quaile,
And she shall not be soe proude!”
And ower the hille and downe the hille,
The bulle came roaryng furth,
And with his hofe but and his horne
He ture the shaikyng yirth;
The bulle came roaryng furth,
And with his hofe but and his horne
He ture the shaikyng yirth;
And aye he brullyit and he bruffit,
Quhille his braith it singit the grasse;
And then he raisit his noz and squeelit
Rychte lyke ane coddye asse.
Quhille his braith it singit the grasse;
And then he raisit his noz and squeelit
Rychte lyke ane coddye asse.
But the woefulle boi he laye acrosse
And grofellit on the grounde,
And with the blare of Robenis horne
He nefer heirde the sounde:
And grofellit on the grounde,
And with the blare of Robenis horne
He nefer heirde the sounde:
But the soundis they percit blynde Robenis eire,
For ane sherpe eire had hee:
“Is that the deuill, my littil boi,
That rayris soe boysterouslye?”
For ane sherpe eire had hee:
“Is that the deuill, my littil boi,
That rayris soe boysterouslye?”
“Och, maistere, it is ane great black bulle
Comyng foamyng madlye here;
He has fleyit awaye the fairye folkis,
And the deuill has fledde for feire.
Comyng foamyng madlye here;
He has fleyit awaye the fairye folkis,
And the deuill has fledde for feire.
“With his hornis sherper than ane speire
The hillis grene breste is rift,
And his tayle is curlyng up the cloudis,
And swooping on the lyfte.
The hillis grene breste is rift,
And his tayle is curlyng up the cloudis,
And swooping on the lyfte.
“His eyne are two reide colis of fire,
You heire his horryde crie;
The mountaine is quakyng like ane deire,
Quhen the houndis are yowting bye.”
You heire his horryde crie;
The mountaine is quakyng like ane deire,
Quhen the houndis are yowting bye.”
319
Blynde Robene raisit his face and smylit,
And shoke his lockis of snow;
“Och! great is the Powir of Moseke, boi—
Greater nor ouchtis belowe!
And shoke his lockis of snow;
“Och! great is the Powir of Moseke, boi—
Greater nor ouchtis belowe!
“I haif playit the spyritis fra the deipe,
And playit them downe againe;
And that is the Bulle of Norrowaye
I haif brochte outower the maine.
And playit them downe againe;
And that is the Bulle of Norrowaye
I haif brochte outower the maine.
“He is something, I haif heirde them saye,
Betwene ane gode and beiste;
But sit thou still, my bonnie boi,
I will charme him to the eiste.”
Betwene ane gode and beiste;
But sit thou still, my bonnie boi,
I will charme him to the eiste.”
The bulle now lookit eiste and weste,
And he lookit unto the northe;
But he colde not se the kyndlye dame
For quham he hald comit furth.
And he lookit unto the northe;
But he colde not se the kyndlye dame
For quham he hald comit furth.
“Too—too! tee—too!” quod blynde Robene,
Quhille hee raif the herkenyng ayre;
Then the bulle he gallopit lyke ane fiende,
For he thochte his cowe wals there.
Quhille hee raif the herkenyng ayre;
Then the bulle he gallopit lyke ane fiende,
For he thochte his cowe wals there.
But quhan he came nere to the plaisse,
Thochtyng his lofe to fynde,
And saw nochtis but ane auld mynstrelle,
He wals nouther to houlde nor bynde!
Thochtyng his lofe to fynde,
And saw nochtis but ane auld mynstrelle,
He wals nouther to houlde nor bynde!
He ryppit the grounde with hofe and horne,
And maide the rockis to yelle;
For every rore that the black bulle gae
Wals lyke ane burst of helle.
And maide the rockis to yelle;
For every rore that the black bulle gae
Wals lyke ane burst of helle.
Blynde Robenis braith begoude to cut,
His notis begoude to shaike;
These burstis of raige he colde not stande,
They maide his herte to aike.
His notis begoude to shaike;
These burstis of raige he colde not stande,
They maide his herte to aike.
“Och, maistere, maistere!” cryit the boi,
Squeikyng with yirlisch dynne,
“It is but ane bowshote to the wode
That overhingis the lynne.
Squeikyng with yirlisch dynne,
“It is but ane bowshote to the wode
That overhingis the lynne.
“Let us haiste and won the Bowman Lynne,
And hyde in boshe or tre;
Or, by Saint Fillanis sholder-bone,
Charme als you lyke for me!”
And hyde in boshe or tre;
Or, by Saint Fillanis sholder-bone,
Charme als you lyke for me!”
Blynde Robene bangit him to his feite,
Alane he dorste not staye,
For he thochte als well als the littil boi,
It wals tyme he were awaye.
Alane he dorste not staye,
For he thochte als well als the littil boi,
It wals tyme he were awaye.
He helde out his lang necke and ranne,
Quhille low his back did bowe;
And he turnit up his cleire quhyte face,
Als blynde men wonte to doo.
Quhille low his back did bowe;
And he turnit up his cleire quhyte face,
Als blynde men wonte to doo.
And ower rocke, and ower rone,
He lyftit his feite full hie;
And ower stocke, and ower stone,
Blynde Robene he did flie!
He lyftit his feite full hie;
And ower stocke, and ower stone,
Blynde Robene he did flie!
But Robenis braith is all forespente,
He gaspit sore anone;
The bulle is thonderyng at his backe;
Blynde Robene he is gone!
He gaspit sore anone;
The bulle is thonderyng at his backe;
Blynde Robene he is gone!
For his haiste grewe greatir than his speide,
His bodie it pressit on
Faster than feite colde followe up,
And on the grounde he is prone!
His bodie it pressit on
Faster than feite colde followe up,
And on the grounde he is prone!
But yet to profe blynde Robenis speide
Quhen he felle on his face before,
He plowit ane furrowe with his noz
For two clothe yardis and more.
Quhen he felle on his face before,
He plowit ane furrowe with his noz
For two clothe yardis and more.
Ah! laik-a-day! now, blynde Robene,
Thy moseke moste depairte;
That cursit Bulle of Norrowaye
Is fomyng ower thine herte.
Thy moseke moste depairte;
That cursit Bulle of Norrowaye
Is fomyng ower thine herte.
Och, woe betyde that wicked boi
Als he sat up on hychte!
I wat he leuch quhille neirlye dede,
To se blynde Robenis plychte.
Als he sat up on hychte!
I wat he leuch quhille neirlye dede,
To se blynde Robenis plychte.
For the bulle gaed rounde, and the bulle gaed rounde
Blynde Robene with horryde dynne;
He hald neuir bene usit to stycke ane man,
And he knowit not how to begynne.
Blynde Robene with horryde dynne;
He hald neuir bene usit to stycke ane man,
And he knowit not how to begynne.
And he scraipit ane graif with his fore fute,
With many ane rowte and rayre;
And he borit the truff a thousand tymis
Arounde blynde Robenis layre.
With many ane rowte and rayre;
And he borit the truff a thousand tymis
Arounde blynde Robenis layre.
Poor Robene hald but ane remeide,
Ane trembilyng houpe hald he;
He set his stokel horne to his muthe
And blewe yblastis thre.
“Quhat worme is this,” then thochtis the bulle,
“That mockis my lofe and me?”
Ane trembilyng houpe hald he;
He set his stokel horne to his muthe
And blewe yblastis thre.
“Quhat worme is this,” then thochtis the bulle,
“That mockis my lofe and me?”
He shoke his heide, and he gaif ane prodde,
Quhille his hornis ranne to the brymme,
“I shall bore your bodie,” thochtis the bulle,
“Throu the life-bloode and the limbe.”
Quhille his hornis ranne to the brymme,
“I shall bore your bodie,” thochtis the bulle,
“Throu the life-bloode and the limbe.”
And out-throu, and out-throu blynde Robene
He hes maide his quhite hornis gae;
But they nouther touchit his skynne nor his bone,
But his coate and mantil greye.
He hes maide his quhite hornis gae;
But they nouther touchit his skynne nor his bone,
But his coate and mantil greye.
And he has heivit up blynde Robene,
And tossit him lyke ane reide;
And aye he shoke his curlye powe,
To drive him from his heide.
And tossit him lyke ane reide;
And aye he shoke his curlye powe,
To drive him from his heide.
And he wals in ane grefous frychte,
Yet wist not quhat to feire;
But he laye acrosse lyke ane ousen yoke,
Mervillyng quhat wals asteer.
Yet wist not quhat to feire;
But he laye acrosse lyke ane ousen yoke,
Mervillyng quhat wals asteer.
But hald you sene the devilisch boi;
Ane ill deide mot he de!
He leuch until he tint all powris
Als he sat on his tre.
Ane ill deide mot he de!
He leuch until he tint all powris
Als he sat on his tre.
320
Then the bulle he gaif Robene ane toss
By some unchancie fling;
And ower the verge of the Bowman Lynne
He made the auld man to swing.
By some unchancie fling;
And ower the verge of the Bowman Lynne
He made the auld man to swing.
At firste he flew across the voyde,
Then downward sank lyke lede,
Till he fell into ane hazil boshe
Saft als ane fedder bedde.
Then downward sank lyke lede,
Till he fell into ane hazil boshe
Saft als ane fedder bedde.
And there he laye, and there he swung,
Als lychte als lefe on tre;
He knewe nochtis of his great daingere,
Nor yet of his safetye.
Als lychte als lefe on tre;
He knewe nochtis of his great daingere,
Nor yet of his safetye.
And the bulle he brullyit and he brooit,
Outower the Bowman Lynne,
And sore he yernit for life-bloode,
But dorste not venter in.
Outower the Bowman Lynne,
And sore he yernit for life-bloode,
But dorste not venter in.
Poor Robene heirde the defenyng noisse,
And laye full sore aghast;
At length he raisit his forlorne houpe,
To charme him with ane blaste.
And laye full sore aghast;
At length he raisit his forlorne houpe,
To charme him with ane blaste.
Quheneuir the bulle he heirde the soundis,
His aunger byrnit lyke helle,
And rounde the rock he raschit in raige,
But missit his fute and felle.
His aunger byrnit lyke helle,
And rounde the rock he raschit in raige,
But missit his fute and felle.
And downe the bank and downe the brae
He bumpit and he blewe;
And aye he stoattit fra the stonis,
And flapperit as he flewe.
He bumpit and he blewe;
And aye he stoattit fra the stonis,
And flapperit as he flewe.
He wals lyke ane mychtie terre barelle
Gawn bombyng down the steipe,
Quhille he plungit in the howe of the Bowman Lynne,
Full fiftie faddom deipe.
Gawn bombyng down the steipe,
Quhille he plungit in the howe of the Bowman Lynne,
Full fiftie faddom deipe.
And the ekois claumb fra rocke to rocke,
Roryng the dark wode under,
And yollerit, yollerit, fra the hillis,
Lyke ane ryvyng clappe of thunder.
Roryng the dark wode under,
And yollerit, yollerit, fra the hillis,
Lyke ane ryvyng clappe of thunder.
“Holloa! quhat's that?” cryit blynde Robene,
“Is there anie here to telle?”
“It is the bulle,” the littil boi,
“You haif charmit him down to helle.
“Is there anie here to telle?”
“It is the bulle,” the littil boi,
“You haif charmit him down to helle.
The mychtie featis that you haif done,
This beatis them all to-daye!
Rise up, rise up, deire maistere mine,
I will guide you on your waye.”
This beatis them all to-daye!
Rise up, rise up, deire maistere mine,
I will guide you on your waye.”
“Och Robene wals ane braife proude man
That day on Bowman brae,
And he braggit of that mornyngis featis
Until his dying dai.
That day on Bowman brae,
And he braggit of that mornyngis featis
Until his dying dai.
And aye his quhite face glowit sublyme,
And aye his brente browe shone;
And thoche he tould ane store of les,
To helpe it there wals none.
And aye his brente browe shone;
And thoche he tould ane store of les,
To helpe it there wals none.
He saide that he drewe the dapplit raeis
Fra out the dingillye delle,
The nut-browne hart, but and the hynde,
Downe fra the hedder belle;
Fra out the dingillye delle,
The nut-browne hart, but and the hynde,
Downe fra the hedder belle;
And brochte the gaitis with their greye berdis,
Far fra the rockie glenne,
And the fairyis fra some plesaunt lande
That Robene did not kenne:
Far fra the rockie glenne,
And the fairyis fra some plesaunt lande
That Robene did not kenne:
And then he tauld how he raisit the dede,
In their windyng shetis soe quhite,
And how the deuill came from his denne,
And lystenit with delyte:
In their windyng shetis soe quhite,
And how the deuill came from his denne,
And lystenit with delyte:
How he brochte the Bulle of Norrowaye
Out-ower the sea-waife grene,
And charmit him downe to the pytte of helle,
Quhare he nefer more wals sene.
Out-ower the sea-waife grene,
And charmit him downe to the pytte of helle,
Quhare he nefer more wals sene.
But then the false and wicked boi,
He nefer wolde allowe
That he charmit ouchtis but ane wicked bulle,
Quha tooke him for ane cowe.
He nefer wolde allowe
That he charmit ouchtis but ane wicked bulle,
Quha tooke him for ane cowe.
Maye nefer poore mynstrelle wante the worde
That drawis the graitefulle teire,
Nor ane waywarde brat his morning broz,
For both are harde to beire.
That drawis the graitefulle teire,
Nor ane waywarde brat his morning broz,
For both are harde to beire.
Moralitas.
Och, nefer bydde ane bad mynstrelle playe,
Nor seye his mynstrelsye,
Onlesse your wyne be in your hande,
And your ladye in your e'e.
Nor seye his mynstrelsye,
Onlesse your wyne be in your hande,
And your ladye in your e'e.
Ane singil say will set him on,
And simpil is the spelle;
But he nefer will gif ofer againe,
Not for the deuill himselle.
And simpil is the spelle;
But he nefer will gif ofer againe,
Not for the deuill himselle.
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