Bliss Carman, et al., eds. The World’s Best Poetry. 1904.
III. WarThe Douglas Tragedy
Anonymous
“R
“And put on your armor so bright;
Let it never be said, that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.
And put on your armor so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest ’s awa the last night.”
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rade away.
To see what he could see,
And there he spyed her seven brethren bold,
Come riding over the lea.
“And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brothers bold,
And your father, I mak a stand.”
And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa’,
And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.
“For your strokes they are wond’rous sair;
True lovers I can get many a ane,
But a father I can never get mair.”
It was o’ the holland sae fine,
And aye she dighted her father’s bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.
“O whether will ye gang or bide?”
“I ’ll gang, I ’ll gang, Lord William,” she said,
“For ye have left me no other guide.”
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.
And a’ by the light of the moon,
Until they cam to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.
Of the spring that ran sae clear;
And down the stream ran his gude heart’s blood,
And sair she gan to fear.
“For I fear that you are slain!”
“’T is naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,
That shines in the water sae plain.”
And a’ by the light of the moon,
Until they cam to his mother’s ha’ door,
And there they lighted down.
“Get up, and let me in!—
Get up, get up, lady mother,” he says,
“For this night my fair ladye I ’ve win.
“O mak it braid and deep!
And lay Lady Marg’ret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep.”
Lady Marg’ret lang ere day—
And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have mair luck than they!
Lady Margaret in Mary’s quire;
Out o’ the lady’s grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o’ the knight’s a brier.
And fain they wad be near;
And a’ the warld might ken right weel,
They were twa lovers dear.
And wow but he was rough!
For he pulled up the bonny brier,
And flang ’t in St. Mary’s loch.