Ye cannot wash this red right hand
Free from its deadly stain,
Ye cannot cool the burning ban
That lies within my brain.
O be ye still, ye blithesome birds,
Within the woodland spray,
And keep your songs within your hearts
Until another day:
And cease to fill the blooming brae
With warblings light and clear,
For there's a sweeter song than yours
That I maun never hear.
It was upon the Magus Muir
Within the lanesome glen,
That in the gloaming hour I met
Wi' Burley and his men.
Our hearts were hard as was the steel
We bore within the hand;
But harder was the heart of him
That led that bluidy band.
Dark lay the clouds upon the west
Like mountains huge and still:
And fast the summer lightning leaped
Behind the distant hill.
It shone on grim Rathillet's brow
With pale and ghastly glare:
I caught the glimpse of his cold gray eye—
There was MURDER glittering there!
* * * * *
Away, away! o'er bent and hill,
Through moss and muir we sped:
Around us roared the midnight storm,
Behind us lay the dead.