Witch of the Westmorland
Archie Fisher
Pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield
Loud and cruel were the ravens’ cries that feasted on the field
Saying beck water, cold and clear, will never heal your wound
There’s none but the Witch of the Westmorland can make thee hale and sound
So turn, turn your stallion’s head till his red mane flies in the wind
And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind
And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by
Below the hill was the brightest star when he heard the owlet cry
Saying “Why do you ride this way? Wherefore came ye here?”
“I seek the Witch of the Westmoreland who dwells by the winding mere”
“Then fly free your good grey hawk to gather the goldenrod
Face your horse into the clouds above yon gay green wood
And he’s weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way
Till through the cleft in the Kirkstane pass the winding water lay
He said, “Lie down, my brindled hound, rest ye my good grey hawk
And thee my steed may graze thy fill, for I must dismount and walk”
But come when you hear my horn, answer swift the call
For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn you will serve me best of all
And it’s down to the water’s brim he’s borne the rowan shield
And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield
And wet rose she from the lake, fast and fleet went she
One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet-black mare’s body
And loud, long and shrill he blew till his steed was by his side
High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly he did ride
Saying “Course well, my brindled hound; fetch me the jet black mare
Stoop and strike me good grey hawk and bring me the maiden fair”
She said, “Pray sheath thy silvery sword, lay down thy rowan shield
For I see by the briny blood that flows you’ve been wounded in the field”
And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue bound ‘round with a silver chain
And she’s kissed his pale lips once and twice, and three times ‘round again
And she’s bound his wound with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay
And he has risen, hale and sound, with the sun high in the day
She said, “Ride with you brindled hound at heel and your good grey hawk in hand
There’s none can harm the knight who’s lain with the Witch of the Westmorland”