Then up the Wee Brown Man he rose,
By Soulis of Liddesdale;
"In vain," he said, "a thousand blows
"Assail the charmed mail.
"In vain by land your arrows glide,
"In vain your faulchions gleam—
"No spell can stay the living tide,
"Or charm the rushing stream."
And now, young Keeldar reached the stream,
Above the foamy lin;
The border lances round him gleam,
And force the warrior in.
The holly floated to the side,
And the leaf of the rowan pale:
Alas! no spell could charm the tide,
Nor the lance of Liddesdale.
Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course,
Along the lily lee;
But home came never hound nor horse,
And never home came he.
Where weeps the birch with branches green,
Without the holy ground,
Between two old gray stones is seen
The warrior's ridgy mound.
And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train,
Within yon castle's wall,
In a deadly sleep must ay remain,
Till the ruined towers down fall.
Each in his hunter's garb array'd,
Each holds his bugle horn;
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid,
That ne'er shall wake the morn.