Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Sydney Dobell. 18241874765. The Ballad of Keith of Ravelston
THE murmur of the mourning ghost | |
That keeps the shadowy kine, | |
‘O Keith of Ravelston, | |
The sorrows of thy line!’ | |
Ravelston, Ravelston, | 5 |
The merry path that leads | |
Down the golden morning hill, | |
And thro’ the silver meads; | |
Ravelston, Ravelston, | |
The stile beneath the tree, | 10 |
The maid that kept her mother’s kine, | |
The song that sang she! | |
She sang her song, she kept her kine, | |
She sat beneath the thorn, | |
When Andrew Keith of Ravelston | 15 |
Rode thro’ the Monday morn. | |
His henchman sing, his hawk-bells ring, | |
His belted jewels shine; | |
O Keith of Ravelston, | |
The sorrows of thy line! | 20 |
Year after year, where Andrew came, | |
Comes evening down the glade, | |
And still there sits a moonshine ghost | |
Where sat the sunshine maid. | |
Her misty hair is faint and fair, | 25 |
She keeps the shadowy kine; | |
O Keith of Ravelston, | |
The sorrows of thy line! | |
I lay my hand upon the stile, | |
The stile is lone and cold, | 30 |
The burnie that goes babbling by | |
Says naught that can be told. | |
Yet, stranger! here, from year to year, | |
She keeps her shadowy kine; | |
O Keith of Ravelston, | 35 |
The sorrows of thy line! | |
Step out three steps, where Andrew stood— | |
Why blanch thy cheeks for fear? | |
The ancient stile is not alone, | |
‘Tis not the burn I hear! | 40 |
She makes her immemorial moan, | |
She keeps her shadowy kine; | |
O Keith of Ravelston, | |
The sorrows of thy line! |