An’ aye the sang, an’ the bridles rang,
As they rode lightly rank an’ file;
It was like the sound of ane maydenis voice
Heard through the greene-wood many a mile.
“Hey, Gil-Mouly! Ho, Gil-Mouly!
On we fly o’er steep and stile!
Hey, Gil-Mouly! Ho, Gil-Mouly!
Hunt the hare another mile.
“Over fen and over fountain,
Over downe and dusky lea;
Over moss, and moore, and mountain,
We will follow, follow thee!
“O’er the dewy vales of even,
Over tower and over tree;
O’er the clouds and clefts of heaven,
We will follow, follow thee!
“Nae mair the dame shall young son rock,
And sing her lilli-lu the while;
Hey, Gil-Mouly! Ho, Gil-Mouly!
Hunt the hare another mile!”
The phantom huntsmen scaled the steep,
“Ycho! ycho! for Keylan’s fame.”
The Fairy barbs were light and fleet;
The chirling echoes went and cam.
The roe fled into the greine-woode,
The dun deire boundit far away;
But nought wald serve the hunteris rude,
But the little wee hare o’ Eildon-Brae.
She heard, she knew, an’ sped alone,
Away, away, with panting breiste;
The fairy houndis are lilting on,
Like Redwings wheepling through the mist.
Around, around the Eildons greine,
Dashit the wild huntsmen furiouslye!
Och! sic ane night was never seine,
Sin’ Michael cleft these hills in three!
The sky was bright, and the dame beheld
The brattling chace o’er moonlight brow;
Then in the darksome shade they rushit,
With yelp, and yowle, and loud halloo.