KINMONT WILLIE.
O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde,
O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scrope,
How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie
On Hairibee to hang him up?
Had Willie had but twenty men—
But twenty men as stout as he,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en
Wi' eight score in his company.
They bound his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back,
They guarded him, five score on each side,
And brought him over the Liddel-rack.
They led him through the Liddel-rack,
And also through the Carlisle sands,
They brought him to Carlisle Castell
To be at my Lord Scrope's commands.
Now word is gone to the bold keeper
In Branksome hall where that he lay,
That Lord Scrope had taken Kinmont Willie
Between the hours of night and day.
He struck the table with his hand,
He made the red wine spring on hie—
"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said,
"But avenged on Lord Scrope I will be.
"O is my helmet a widow's cap,
Or my lance a wand of the willow tree?
Or my arm a lady's lily hand,
That an English Lord should lightly me?
"And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie,
Against the truce of Border tide?
And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh
Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
"And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie,
Withouten either dread or fear,
And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh,
Can back a steed and shake a spear?
"O were there war between the lands,
As well as I wot that there is none,
I would slight Carlisle Castell high,
Though it were builded of marble stone.
"I would set that Castell in a low,
And sloken it with English blood,
There's never a man in Cumberland
Should tell where Carlisle Castell stood.
"But since nae war's between the lands
And there is peace and peace should be;
I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
And yet the Kinmont shall go free."
Then on we held for Carlisle town
And at Staneshaw bank the Eden we crossed,
The water was great and mickle of spait
But there never a man nor horse we lost.
And when we reached the Staneshaw bank,
The wind was rising loud and hie,
And there the laird gar'd leave our steeds
For fear that they should stamp and nie.
And when we left the Staneshaw bank,
The wind began full loud to blaw,
But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
When we came beneath the castle wa'.
We crept on knees and held our breath,
Till we placed the ladders against the wa',
And ready was bold Buccleugh himself
To mount the first before us a'.
He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
He flung him down upon the lead;
"Had there not been peace between our land,
Upon the other side thou hadst gaed."
"Now sound our trumpet," quoth Buccleugh,
Let's waken Lord Scrope, right merrilie;
Then loud the Warder's trumpet blew,
"Wha daur meddle wi' me?"
Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers
We garred the bars bang merrilie,
Until we came to the inner prison,
Where Kinmont Willie he did lie.
And when we came to the lower prison,
Where Kinmont Willie he did lie.
"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
Upon the morn that thou's to die?"
"O, I sleep saft, and I wake aft,
It's long since sleeping was fley'd frae me!
Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
And a' gude fellows that speir for me!"
The Red Rowan has lifted him up
The starkest man in Teviotdale;
"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of Lord Scrope I take farewell.
"Farewell, farewell, my good Lord Scrope,
My good Lord Scrope, farewell," he cried,
"I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
When first we meet on the border side."
Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
We bore him down the ladder lang,
At every stride Red Rowan made
I wot the Kinmont's airms played clang.
"O, mony a time," quoth Kinmont Willie,
"I have ridden horse both wild and woad,
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,
I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode!"
We scarce had reached the Haneshaw bank,
When all the Carlisle hills were rung,
And a thousand men on horse and foot
Came wi' the keen Lord Scrope along.
Buccleugh has turned to Eden water,
Even where it flowed from bank to brim,
And he has plunged in wi' a' his band
And safely swam them thro' the stream.
He turned him on the other side,
And at Lord Scrope his glove flung he,
"If ye like na' my visit in merry England,
In fair Scotland come visit me!"
This was a daring exploit, and has been gallantly sung. The words seem to come out of the mouth of one of the very moss troopers who had acted a part in the achievement, and the whole composition is rough but finely flavoured; and strongly dramatic. Queen Elizabeth, when she heard of it, was highly indignant, and "stormed not a little." Two years afterwards, the "bold Buccleugh" was in England, and Elizabeth was anxious to see so doughty a chieftain. He was presented accordingly, and Elizabeth, in a rough and peremptory manner, demanded of him how he had dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous!
"What is it," replied the undaunted Scot, "that a man dare not do?"
Elizabeth, struck with his boldness, turned to a lord in waiting, and said, "with ten thousand men such as this, our brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne in Europe."
There is another ballad relating to the same Lord Scrope, and the execution of a noted reiver, named "Hughie the Græme," who had made woeful havoc in his time among the farmsteads of the Marches, and the cattle of "merry England." Hughie did not escape Hairibee. The actual offence for which he suffered was his stealing the Bishop of Carlisle's mare. The following is the ballad:—