I-N-R-I.
WITH bleeding brows beneath a thorn-meshed crown,
With swollen hands fast bound in leathern thong,
I saw One stand amid a surging throng
That spat on Him and strove to drag Him down.
On His bowed back the ridg’d welts scarlet lay
Traced long with bloody dew. His haggard face
Was streaked with sweat and blood, as in that place
He silent stood and silent gazed away.
Once more that One I saw, still garlanded
With mocking thorns. Through either bleeding hand
And through both patient feet a mangling nail
Was driven deep. Some cursed, some laughed, cried “Hail,
God crucified!...” And some crouched low in dread
And wept, and thunderous darkness filled the land...
Fayre Robyn.[B]
FAYRE ROBYN he rad owre the brae,
Hys steede he was a wighty browne;
The countrie a’ lay at hys back,
Hys eyen were to the toune.
Bauld Robyn owre the brae did ride,
Nor yet a Horde nor yerle was he,
But mae than ony nobleman
Hys fayreness was to see.
And Robyn rad adoun the brae,
And cam yth High Strete;
A gentil pace hys horse hadde
Whych was baith goode and meete.
The Shyreff’s dauter sate yth wane
And luikt out o’ the window round,
Therebye Robyn rad and sang,
A braw and pleasant sound.
She luikt upon hys goodely forme
He luikt a’ in hir deepe blue yee;
Robyn doft hys bonnet; a rose to hym
She dropit for replye.
Leeve may o meete me bye the yett,
And a’ taegither we will flie.
I’ll meete thee when the nyghte be com,
So ryde again soone bye.
She’s met hym when the nyghte was com,
And a’ taegither they hae fled,
Now gin the Shyreff com, most sure
They maun baith be dead.
The hae na gane a league, a league,
A league nor barely ane,
When Robyn saith now by my bloode
They’re reasin a’ the toon.
They hae na gane anither league,
A league nor barely twa,
When they do heare a not ffar off
Some bernes that them pursue.
The be com unto a great roke;
Ye faith it was baith deepe and wide.
The Shyreff’s bernes byn sonygh
The maun plunge them in the tyde.
They’ve plunged them in the cauld water,
The spait was ful swift bye;
Now byr Ladye, quoth the may,
Methinks we baith maun dee.
They’ve plunged them into the cauld roke;
The hors they rade sank doun.
A’ yth black water then
The baith were neere to droune.
He bare hir firme in hys left arme
And swam a’ wi’ his right:
When the cam to yearth againe
The bernes byn in sight.
The bernes rad the roke along
And saw Robyn’s bonnet on the tide.
Now be the baith to bottom gane,
Ther may the bide!
The Shyreff turned him home again,
Turned back and went awaie,
But Robyn and His Ladye ffayre
Were wed the nextin daye.