Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
IT fell about the Martinmas, | |
When the wind blew shrill and cauld, | |
Said Edom o’ Gordon to his men, | |
‘We maun draw to a hauld. | |
|
‘And what a hauld sall we draw to, | 5 |
My merry men and me? | |
We will gae to the house o’ the Rodes, | |
To see that fair ladye.’ | |
|
The lady stood on her castle wa’, | |
Beheld baith dale and down; | 10 |
There she was ware of a host of men | |
Cam riding towards the town. | |
|
‘O see ye not, my merry men a’, | |
O see ye not what I see? | |
Methinks I see a host of men; | 15 |
I marvel wha they be.’ | |
|
She ween’d it had been her lovely lord, | |
As he cam riding hame; | |
It was the traitor, Edom o’ Gordon, | |
Wha reck’d nae sin nor shame. | 20 |
|
She had nae sooner buskit hersell, | |
And putten on her gown, | |
But Edom o’ Gordon an’ his men | |
Were round about the town. | |
|
They had nae sooner supper set, | 25 |
Nae sooner said the grace, | |
But Edom o’ Gordon an’ his men | |
Were lighted about the place. | |
|
The lady ran up to her tower-head, | |
Sae fast as she could hie, | 30 |
To see if by her fair speeches | |
She could wi’ him agree. | |
|
‘Come doun to me, ye lady gay, | |
Come doun, come doun to me; | |
This night sall ye lig within mine arms, | 35 |
To-morrow my bride sall be.’ | |
|
‘I winna come down, ye fals Gordon, | |
I winna come down to thee; | |
I winna forsake my ain dear lord, | |
That is sae far frae me.’ | 40 |
|
‘Gie owre your house, ye lady fair, | |
Gie owre your house to me; | |
Or I sall brenn yoursel therein, | |
But and your babies three.’ | |
|
‘I winna gie owre, ye fals Gordon, | 45 |
To nae sic traitor as yee; | |
And if ye brenn my ain dear babes, | |
My lord sall mak ye dree. | |
|
‘Now reach my pistol, Glaud, my man, | |
And charge ye weel my gun; | 50 |
For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, | |
My babes, we been undone!’ | |
|
She stood upon her castle wa’, | |
And let twa bullets flee: | |
She miss’d that bluidy butcher’s heart, | 55 |
And only razed his knee. | |
|
‘Set fire to the house!’ quo’ fals Gordon, | |
All wud wi’ dule and ire: | |
‘Fals lady, ye sall rue this deid | |
As ye brenn in the fire!’ | 60 |
|
Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man! | |
I paid ye weel your fee; | |
Why pu’ ye out the grund-wa’ stane, | |
Lets in the reek to me? | |
|
‘And e’en wae worth ye, Jock, my man! | 65 |
I paid ye weel your hire; | |
Why pu’ ye out the grund-wa’ stane, | |
To me lets in the fire?’ | |
|
‘Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, | |
Ye paid me weel my fee: | 70 |
But now I’m Edom o’ Gordon’s man— | |
Maun either do or die.’ | |
|
O then bespake her little son, | |
Sat on the nurse’s knee: | |
Says, ‘Mither dear, gie owre this house, | 75 |
For the reek it smithers me.’ | |
|
‘I wad gie a’ my gowd, my bairn, | |
Sae wad I a’ my fee, | |
For ae blast o’ the western wind, | |
To blaw the reek frae thee.’ | 80 |
|
O then bespake her dochter dear— | |
She was baith jimp and sma’: | |
‘O row me in a pair o’ sheets, | |
And tow me owre the wa’!’ | |
|
They row’d her in a pair o’ sheets, | 85 |
And tow’d her owre the wa’; | |
But on the point o’ Gordon’s spear | |
She gat a deadly fa’. | |
|
O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, | |
And cherry were her cheiks, | 90 |
And clear, clear was her yellow hair, | |
Whereon the red blood dreips. | |
|
Then wi’ his spear he turn’d her owre; | |
O gin her face was wane! | |
He said, ‘Ye are the first that e’er | 95 |
I wish’d alive again.’ | |
|
He turn’d her owre and owre again; | |
O gin her skin was white! | |
‘I might hae spared that bonnie face | |
To hae been some man’s delight. | 100 |
|
‘Busk and boun, my merry men a’, | |
For ill dooms I do guess; | |
I canna look in that bonnie face | |
As it lies on the grass.’ | |
|
‘Wha looks to freits, my master dear, | 105 |
It ‘s freits will follow them; | |
Let it ne’er be said that Edom o’ Gordon | |
Was daunted by a dame.’ | |
|
But when the lady saw the fire | |
Come flaming owre her head, | 110 |
She wept, and kiss’d her children twain, | |
Says, ‘Bairns, we been but dead.’ | |
|
The Gordon then his bugle blew, | |
And said, ‘Awa’, awa’! | |
This house o’ the Rodes is a’ in a flame; | 115 |
I hauld it time to ga’.’ | |
|
And this way lookit her ain dear lord, | |
As he cam owre the lea; | |
He saw his castle a’ in a lowe, | |
As far as he could see. | 120 |
|
The sair, O sair, his mind misgave, | |
And all his heart was wae: | |
‘Put on, put on, my wighty men, | |
Sae fast as ye can gae. | |
|
‘Put on, put on, my wighty men, | 125 |
Sae fast as ye can drie! | |
For he that ‘s hindmost o’ the thrang | |
Sall ne’er get good o’ me.’ | |
|
Then some they rade, and some they ran, | |
Out-owre the grass and bent; | 130 |
But ere the foremost could win up, | |
Baith lady and babes were brent. | |
|
And after the Gordon he is gane, | |
Sae fast as he might drie; | |
And soon i’ the Gordon’s foul heart’s blude | 135 |
He ‘s wroken his dear ladye. | |