‘I watched her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone; No watchman stood by the dreary flame; It burned all alone.
‘The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came, And, by Mary’s might! an Armed Knight Stood by the lonely flame.
‘And many a word that warlike lord Did speak to my lady there; But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast And I heard not what they were.
‘The third night there the sky was fair, And the mountain-blast was still, As again I watch’d the secret pair, On the lonesome Beacon Hill.
‘And I heard her name the midnight hour, And name this holy eve; And say, "Come this night to thy lady’s bower; Ask no bold Baron’s leave.
‘“He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch; His lady is all alone; The door she’ll undo, to her knight so true, On the eve of good St. John.”
‘“I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee; On the eve of St. John I must wander alone: In thy bower I may not be.”
‘“Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight! Thou should’st not say me nay; For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet, Is worth the whole summer’s day.
‘“And I’ll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound, And rushes shall be strew’d on the stair; So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, I conjure thee, my love, to be there!”
‘“Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot, And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east, And my footstep he would know.”