Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led,
Up Goranberry slack;
Aye, many a wight, unmatched in fight,
Who never more came back.
And bloody set the westering sun,
And bloody rose he up;
But little thought young Branxholm's heir,
Where he that night should sup.
He shot the roe-buck on the lee,
The dun deer on the law;
The glamour[71] sure was in his e'e,
When Ringan nigh did draw.
O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge,
He sped till day was set;
And he thought it was his merrymen true,
When he the spearmen met.
Far from relief, they seized the chief;
His men were far away;
Through Hermitage slack, they sent him back,
To Soulis' castle gray;
Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower,
Where all his merry men lay.
"Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir!
"Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, "to me!
"Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair,
"My wedding guest to be?
"And lovely May deserves, per fay,
"A brideman such as thee!"
And broad and bloody rose the sun,
And on the barmkin shone;
When the page was aware of Red Ringan there,
Who came riding all alone.
To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds,
As he lighted at the wall,
Says—"Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds,
"And where do they tarry all?"
"We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir;
"We stabled them sure," quoth he:
"Before we could cross that quaking moss,
"They all were lost but me."
He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the chest,
And he heard a stifled groan;
And at the third knock, each rusty lock
Did open one by one.