Judas Iscariot A Miracle Play. In Two Acts. With other poems. By R. H. Horne |
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THE LAST WORDIS O' THE THANE O' CAWDOR.
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 | Judas Iscariot |  |
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THE LAST WORDIS O' THE THANE O' CAWDOR.
AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH BALLAD.
My Marion loose your braid, your braid sae lang behind.
O! loose your yellow hair—cast its gold upon the wind!
For your father now maun die, and yon grave a traitor hold,
And nane beside yoursel' will bless his ashes cold.
O! loose your yellow hair—cast its gold upon the wind!
For your father now maun die, and yon grave a traitor hold,
And nane beside yoursel' will bless his ashes cold.
O nane but ye, my child, will pause beside yon grave;
They'll pass wi' sic a shudder, as though the foul fiend drave;
They'll pile their stony thoughts aboon thy father's bones,
An' curse the restless ghaist that ay maun bleat his moans,
They'll pass wi' sic a shudder, as though the foul fiend drave;
They'll pile their stony thoughts aboon thy father's bones,
An' curse the restless ghaist that ay maun bleat his moans,
When I am hid, ye'se gang unto the Norway's king;
May be he'll hold his promise for a' this news may bring:
But for thee, I'd hate him now, as I hate my treacherie;
Yet nane shall ken the secret cause why thus disgraced I die.
May be he'll hold his promise for a' this news may bring:
But for thee, I'd hate him now, as I hate my treacherie;
Yet nane shall ken the secret cause why thus disgraced I die.
Gin Sweno will na' wed thee, yet bide a gentler time,
Wi' patience o' the angels wha' bear wi' human crime,
An' pray God his soul be wrung that his false aiths to thee
Dazzled my een, an' wyled my hand to this disloyalty.
Wi' patience o' the angels wha' bear wi' human crime,
An' pray God his soul be wrung that his false aiths to thee
Dazzled my een, an' wyled my hand to this disloyalty.
Hie to the gude King Duncan, wi' a' thy winsome grace;
Tho' you love his mortal foeman, yet look up in his face:
The truth, my Marion, tell, that allbe my acts were foul,
Yet did I love my gude king wi' a' my harte and soul.
Tho' you love his mortal foeman, yet look up in his face:
The truth, my Marion, tell, that allbe my acts were foul,
Yet did I love my gude king wi' a' my harte and soul.
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I wadna' he forgave me,—I could ne'er forgie mysel':
Deep, dark down 'neath the cairn my shame doth hunger for to dwell:
Farewell, kind gentlemen! I praye ye dinna greete,
But tak my head, and lay it at gude king Duncan's feet.
Deep, dark down 'neath the cairn my shame doth hunger for to dwell:
Farewell, kind gentlemen! I praye ye dinna greete,
But tak my head, and lay it at gude king Duncan's feet.
These last wordis o' my bleedin' harte, I wad sue to have
maist humblie made knowne unto the kinge by my dochter;
for whom, in deeth, together wi' his majestie, shall my restless
spirit constantlie praye. Amen.
| Judas Iscariot | |