When the owlet shrill called from the hill,
And night was dark and deep,
One came and knocked at her cottage door
And roused her from her sleep.
“Oh, the clink I hear of a gallant’s gear,
And the tread of steelèd shoon!
And he that knocks at my door so late
Is neither knave nor loon!”
“Come forth, come forth, thou witless wife,
And earn a goodly wage!
There’s a rune to read, and a spell to speed,
In the hold of Hermitage!”
“Now nay, now nay, thou black Bothwèll!
I dare not for deadly sin!
There’s a heavy spell on that cursed cell
That none may enter in.”
“Oh, the walls are rent, and the roof is riven,
And gone is the sealing stone;
And the night is deep, and all men sleep,
Save thou and I alone.”
“There’s an echo aloof in the riven roof
Of grisly grammarye!
And one that doth sleep where the dust lies deep
That brooks not a mortal’s eye!”
Black, black, I ween, grew Bothwell’s mien;
“If thou dost not my will
Thine ending shall be a nine-days’ tale
To the crowd on the Castle Hill!
“Faggot and fire, a goodly pyre,
Shall pay the witch her fee!
The leaping lowe shall send a glow
To the ships far out at sea!”
The witch-wife goes with shaking head—
Black Bothwell goes before—
To the secret cell where a heavy spell
Was laid by a lord of yore.
No light was there in earth or air,
No light in all the land,
Save the red torch, like an evil eye,
That glimmered in his hand.