MAY OF THE MORIL GLEN
PART I
I will tell you of ane wondrous tale,
As ever was told by man,
Or ever was sung by minstrel meet
Since this base world began:—
It is of ane May, and ane lovely May,
That dwelt in the Moril Glen,
The fairest flower of mortal frame,
But a devil amongst the men;
For nine of them sticket themselves for love,
And ten leaped in the main,
And seven-and-thirty brake their hearts,
And never loved women again.
But this bonnie May, she never knew
A father’s kindly claim;
She never was blessed in holy Church,
Nor christened in holy name.
But there she lived an earthly flower
Of beauty so supreme,
Some feared she was of the Mermaid’s brood,
Come out of the salt sea faeme.
Some said she was found in a Fairy Ring,
And born of the Fairy Queen;
For there was a rainbow behind the moon
That night she first was seen.
And no man could look on her face
And eyne that beamed so dear
But felt a sting go through his heart,
Far sharper than a spear.
So that around the Moril Glen
Our brave young men did lie,
With limbs as lydder and as lithe
As duddis hung out to dry.
And aye the tears ran down in streams
O’er cheeks right woe-begone;
And aye they gasped, and they gratte,
And thus made piteous moan:—
“Alack! that I had ever been born,
Or dandelit on the knee;
Or rockit in ane cradle bed,
Beneath a mother’s e’e!
“For love is like the fiery flame
That quivers through the rain,
And love is like the pang of death
That splits the heart in twain.
“If I had loved earthly thing
Of earthly blithesomeness,
I might have been beloved again,
And bathed in earthly bliss.
“But I have loved ane freakish Fay
Of frowardness and sin,
With heavenly beauty on the face,
And heart of stone within!”
PART II
But word’s gone East, and word’s gone West,
’Mong high and low degree,
While it went to the King upon the throne,
And ane wrathful man was he.
“What!” said the King, “and shall we sit
In sackcloth mourning sad,
While all mine lieges of the land
For ane young quean run mad?
“Go, saddle me my milk-white steed,
Of true Megaira brode;
I will go and see this wondrous dame,
And prove her by the Rode.
“And if I find her Elfin Queen,
Or thing of Fairy kind,
I will burn her into ashes small,
And sift them on the wind.”
The King hath chosen four-score Knights,
All busked gallantlye,
And he is away to the Moril Glen,
As fast as he can dree.
And when he came to the Moril Glen,
Ae morning fair and clear,
This lovely May on horseback rode
To hunt the fallow deer.
Her palfrey was of snowy hue,
A pale unearthly thing,
That revelled over hill and dale
Like bird upon the wing.
Her screen was like a net of gold,
That dazzled as it flew;
Her mantle was of the rainbow’s red,
Her rail of its bonny blue.
A golden comb with diamonds bright,
Her seemly virgin crown,
Shone like the new moon’s lady-light
O’er cloud of amber brown.
The lightning that shot from her eyne,
Flickered like Elfin brand;
It was sharper nor the sharpest spear
In all Northumberland.
The King he wheeled him round about,
And calleth to his men,
“Yonder she comes, this wierdly Witch,
This spirit of the glen!
“Come, rank your master up behind,
This serpent to belay;
I’ll let you hear me put her down,
In grand polemic way.”
Swift came the maid o’er strath and stron—
Nae dantonit dame was she,—
Until the King her path withstood
In might and majestye.
The virgin cast on him a look,
With gay and graceful air,
As on something below her note,
That ought not to have been there.
The King, whose belt was like to burst,
With speeches most divine,
Now felt ane throbbing of the heart,
And quaking of the spine.
And aye he gasped for his breath,
And gaped in dire dismay,
And waved his arm, and smote his breast;
But word he could not say.
The spankie grewis they scoured the dale,
The dun deer to restrain;
The virgin gave her steed the rein,
And followed, might and main.
“Go bring her back,” the King he cried;
“This reifery must not be.
Though you should bind her hands and feet,
Go, bring her back to me.”
The deer she flew, the garf and grew
They followed hard behind;
The milk-white palfrey brushed the dew
Far fleeter nor the wind.
But woe betide the Lords and Knights,
That taiglit in the dell!
For though with whip and spur they plied,
Full far behind they fell.
They looked out o’er their left shoulders,
To see what they might see,
And there the King, in fit of love,
Lay spurring on the lea.
And, aye, he battered with his feet,
And rowted with despair,
And pulled the grass up by the roots,
And flung it on the air!
“What ails, what ails my royal Liege?
Such grief I do deplore.”
“Oh, I’m bewitched,” the King replied,
“And gone forevermore!
“Go, bring her back!—go, bring her back!—
Go, bring her back to me!
For I must either die of love,
Or own that dear Ladye!”
The deer was slain; the royal train
Then closed the virgin round,
And then her fair and lily hands
Behind her back were bound.
But who should bind her winsome feet?—
That bred such strife and pain,
That sixteen brave and belted Knights
Lay gasping on the plain.
And when she came before the King,
Ane ireful carle was he;
Saith he, “Dame, you must be my love,
Or burn beneath ane tree.”
“No, I can ne’er be love to thee,
Nor any lord thou hast;
For you are married men each one,
And I a maiden chaste.
“But here I promise, and I vow
By Scotland’s King and Crown,
Who first a widower shall prove,
Shall claim me as his own.”
The King hath mounted his milk-white steed,—
One word he said not more,—
And he is away from the Moril Glen,
As ne’er rode King before.
And every Lord and every Knight
Made off his several way,
All galloping as they had been mad,
Withoutten stop or stay.
But there was never such dole and pain
In any land befel;
For there is wickedness in man,
That grieveth me to tell.
There was one eye, and one alone,
Beheld the deeds were done;
But the lovely Queen of Fair Scotland
Ne’er saw the morning sun.
And seventy-seven wedded dames,
As fair as e’er were born,
The very pride of all the land,
Were dead before the morn.
PART III
And the bonny May of the Moril Glen
Is weeping in despair,
For she saw the hills of fair Scotland,
Could be her home nae mair.
Then there were chariots came o’er night,
As silent and as soon
As shadow of ane little cloud
In the wan light of the moon.
Some said they came out of the rock,
And some out of the sea;
And some said they were sent from Hell
To bring that fair Ladye.
The fairest flower of mortal frame
Passed from the Moril Glen;
And ne’er may such a deadly eye
Shine amongst Christian men!
In seven chariots, gilded bright,
The train went o’er the fell,
All wrapt within ane shower of hail;
Whither no man could tell.
But there was a Ship in the Firth of Forth,
The like ne’er sailed the faeme,
For no man of her country knew,
Her colours, or her name.
Her mast was made of beaten gold,
Her sails of the silken twine,
And a thousand pennons streamed behind,
And trembled o’er the brine.
As she lay mirrored in the main,
It was a comely view,
So many rainbows round her played
With every breeze that blew.
And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud,
Right over ford and fen,
And swathed the flower of the Moril Glen
From eyes of sinful men.
And the hailstone shroud it wheeled and rowed,
As wan as death unshriven,
Like dead cloth of ane Angel grim,
Or winding sheet of Heaven.
It was a fearsome sight to see
Toil through the morning grey,
And whenever it reached the comely Ship,
She set sail and away.
She set her sail before the gale,
As it began to sing,
And she heaved and rocked down the tide,
Unlike an earthly thing.
The dolphins fled out of her way
Into the creeks of Fife,
And the blackguard seals, they yowlit for dread,
And swam for death and life.
But aye the Ship, the bonny Ship
Out o’er the green wave flew,
Swift as the solan on the wing,
Or terrified sea-mew.
No billow breasted on her prow,
Nor levelled on the lee;
She seemed to sail upon the air,
And never touch the sea.
And away, and away went the bonny Ship,
Which man never more did see;
But whether she went to Heaven or Hell,
Was ne’er made known to me.
The Ettrick Shepherd. (Condensed)
THE LAIDLEY WORM O’
SPINDLESTON-HEUGHS
PART I
The King is gone from Bambrough Castle,
Long may the Princess mourn;
Long may she stand on the Castle wall,
Looking for his return.
She has knotted the keys upon a string,
And with her she has them taen,
She has cast them o’er her left shoulder,
And to the gate she is gane.
She tripped out, she tripped in,
She tript into the yard;
But it was more for the King’s sake,
Than for the Queen’s regard.
It fell out on a day, the King
Brought the Queen with him home;
And all the Lords in our country,
To welcome them did come.
“Oh welcome, Father!” the Lady cries,
“Unto your halls and bowers;
And so are you, my Stepmother,
For all that is here is yours.”
A Lord said, wondering while she spake,
“This Princess of the North
Surpasses all of female kind
In beauty and in worth.”
The envious Queen replied, “At least,
You might have excepted me:
In a few hours I will her bring
Down to a low degree.
“I will her liken to a Laidley Worm,
That warps about the stone,
And not till Childy Wynd comes back,
Shall she again be won.”
PART II
The Princess stood at the bower-door,
Laughing, who could her blame?
But e’er the next day’s sun went down,
A long Worm she became.
For seven miles East, and seven miles West,
And seven miles North, and South,
No blade of grass or corn could grow,
So venomous was her mouth.
The milk of seven stately cows—
It was costly her to keep—
Was brought her daily, which she drank
Before she went to sleep.
At this day may be seen the cave
Which held her folded up,
And the stone trough—the very same—
Out of which she did sup.
Word went East, and word went West,
And word is gone over the sea,
That a Laidley Worm in Spindleston-Heughs,
Would ruin the North Countrie.
Word went East, and word went West,
And over the sea did go;
The Child of Wynd got wit of it,
Which filled his heart with woe.
He called straight his merry men all,
They thirty were and three:
“I wish I were at Spindleston,
This desperate Worm to see.
“We have no time now here to waste,
Hence quickly let us sail:
My only sister Margaret
Something, I fear, doth ail.”
They built a ship without delay,
With masts of the Rowan-Tree,
With fluttering sails of silk so fine,
And set her on the sea.
They went aboard; the wind with speed,
Blew them along the deep;
At length they spied an huge square tower
On a rock high and steep.
The sea was smooth, the weather clear;
When they approached nigher,
King Ida’s Castle they well knew,
And the banks of Bambroughshire.
PART III
The Queen looked out at her bower-window,
To see what she could see;
There she espied a gallant ship
Sailing upon the sea.
When she beheld the silken sails,
Full glancing in the sun,
To sink the ship she sent away
Her Witch Wives every one.
Their spells were vain; the Hags returned
To the Queen in sorrowful mood,
Crying, that Witches have no power
Where there is Rowan-Tree wood.
Her last effort, she sent a boat,
Which in the haven lay,
With armed men to board the ship,
But they were driven away.
The Worm leapt up, the Worm leapt down,
She plaited round the stane;
And aye, as the ship came to the land,
She banged it off again.
The Child then ran out of her reach
The ship on Budle-sand;
And jumping into the shallow sea,
Securely got to land.
And now he drew his berry-brown sword,
And laid it on her head;
And swore, if she did harm to him,
That he would strike her dead.
“Oh! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow,
And give me kisses three;
For though I am a poisonous Worm,
No hurt I will do to thee.
“Oh! quit thy sword, and bend thy bow,
And give me kisses three;
If I am not won e’er the sun go down,
Won I shall never be.”
He quitted his sword, he bent his bow,
He gave her kisses three:
She crept into a hole a Worm,
But stept out a Lady.
No clothing had this Lady fine,
To keep her from the cold;
He took his mantle from him about,
And round her did it fold.
He has taken his mantle from him about,
And it he wrapt her in,
And they are up to Bambrough Castle,
As fast as they can win.
PART IV
His absence and her serpent-shape,
The King had long deplored;
He now rejoiced to see them both
Again to him restored.
The Queen they wanted, whom they found
All pale and sore afraid,
Because she knew her power must yield
To Childy Wynd’s, who said:—
“Woe be to thee, thou wicked Witch,
An ill death mayest thou dee;
As thou my sister hast likened,
So likened shalt thou be.
“I will turn you into a Toad,
That on the ground doth wend;
And won, won, shalt thou never be,
Till this world hath an end.”
Now on the sand near Ida’s tower,
She crawls a loathsome Toad,
And venom spits on every maid
She meets upon her road.
The virgins all of Bambrough town,
Will swear that they have seen
This spiteful Toad, of monstrous size,
Whilst walking they have been.
All folks believe within the shire,
This story to be true;
And they all run to Spindleston,
The cave and trough to view.
This fact now Duncan Frasier,
Of Cheviot, sings in rhyme,
Lest Bambroughshire men should forget
Some part of it in time.