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Witch Of The Westmoreland
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Stan Rogers
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1
Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield
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Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field
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Saying "Beck water cold and clear will never clean your wound
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There's none but the witch of the Westmoreland can make thee hale and soond"
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So turn, turn your stallion's head 'til his red mane flies in the wind
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And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind
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And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by
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below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry
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Saying "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you here?"
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"I seek the Witch of the Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere"
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And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way
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Til throught the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay
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He said "Lie down, by brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey hawk
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And thee, my steed may graze thy fill for I must dismount and walk,
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But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call
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For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of all"
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And it's down to the water's brim he's born the rowan shield
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And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield
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And wet she rose from the lake, and fast and fleet went she
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One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body
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And loud, long and shrill he blew til his steed was by his side
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High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride
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Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare
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Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair"
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She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rown shield
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For I see by the briny blood that flows you've been wounded in the field"
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And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round withh a silver chain
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And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again
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And she's bound his wounds with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay
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And he has risen hale and sound with the sun high in the day
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She said "Ride with your brindled hound at heel, and your good grey hawk in hand
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There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the Westmorland."
Stan Rogers - Witch of the Westmoreland
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