‘Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!’ he cried;
‘I’ll pay you for my lodging mail[1181],
When first we meet on the Border side.’—
XXXIX
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 airns play’d clang!
XL
‘O mony a time,’ quo’ Kinmont Willie,
‘I have ridden horse baith wild and wood[1182];
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan
I ween my legs have ne’er bestrode.
XLI
‘And mony a time,’ quo’ Kinmont Willie,
‘I’ve prick’d a horse out oure the furs[1183];
But since the day I back’d a steed,
I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!’
XLII
We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank
When a’ the Carlisle bells were rung,
And a thousand men on horse and foot
Cam wi’ the keen Lord Scroope along.