ALICE BRAND
Merryit is in the good Greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,And the hunter’s horn is ringing.“O Alice Brand, my native landIs lost for love of you;And we must hold by wood and wold,As outlaws wont to do.“O Alice, ’t was all for thy locks so bright,And ’t was all for thine eyes so blue,That on the night of our luckless flight,Thy brother bold I slew.“Now must I teach to hew the beech,The hand that held the glaive,For leaves to spread our lowly bed,And stakes to fence our cave.“And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,That wont on harp to stray,A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered deer,To keep the cold away.”—“O Richard! if my brother died,’T was but a fatal chance;For darkling was the battle tried,And fortune sped the lance.“If pall and vair no more I wear,Nor thou the crimson sheen,As warm, we’ll say, is the russet grey,As gay the forest green.“And, Richard, if our lot be hard,And lost thy native land,Still Alice has her own Richard,And he his Alice Brand.”
Merryit is in the good Greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,And the hunter’s horn is ringing.“O Alice Brand, my native landIs lost for love of you;And we must hold by wood and wold,As outlaws wont to do.“O Alice, ’t was all for thy locks so bright,And ’t was all for thine eyes so blue,That on the night of our luckless flight,Thy brother bold I slew.“Now must I teach to hew the beech,The hand that held the glaive,For leaves to spread our lowly bed,And stakes to fence our cave.“And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,That wont on harp to stray,A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered deer,To keep the cold away.”—“O Richard! if my brother died,’T was but a fatal chance;For darkling was the battle tried,And fortune sped the lance.“If pall and vair no more I wear,Nor thou the crimson sheen,As warm, we’ll say, is the russet grey,As gay the forest green.“And, Richard, if our lot be hard,And lost thy native land,Still Alice has her own Richard,And he his Alice Brand.”
Merryit is in the good Greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,And the hunter’s horn is ringing.
Merryit is in the good Greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
When the deer sweeps by, and the hounds are in cry,
And the hunter’s horn is ringing.
“O Alice Brand, my native landIs lost for love of you;And we must hold by wood and wold,As outlaws wont to do.
“O Alice Brand, my native land
Is lost for love of you;
And we must hold by wood and wold,
As outlaws wont to do.
“O Alice, ’t was all for thy locks so bright,And ’t was all for thine eyes so blue,That on the night of our luckless flight,Thy brother bold I slew.
“O Alice, ’t was all for thy locks so bright,
And ’t was all for thine eyes so blue,
That on the night of our luckless flight,
Thy brother bold I slew.
“Now must I teach to hew the beech,The hand that held the glaive,For leaves to spread our lowly bed,And stakes to fence our cave.
“Now must I teach to hew the beech,
The hand that held the glaive,
For leaves to spread our lowly bed,
And stakes to fence our cave.
“And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,That wont on harp to stray,A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered deer,To keep the cold away.”—
“And for vest of pall, thy fingers small,
That wont on harp to stray,
A cloak must sheer from the slaughtered deer,
To keep the cold away.”—
“O Richard! if my brother died,’T was but a fatal chance;For darkling was the battle tried,And fortune sped the lance.
“O Richard! if my brother died,
’T was but a fatal chance;
For darkling was the battle tried,
And fortune sped the lance.
“If pall and vair no more I wear,Nor thou the crimson sheen,As warm, we’ll say, is the russet grey,As gay the forest green.
“If pall and vair no more I wear,
Nor thou the crimson sheen,
As warm, we’ll say, is the russet grey,
As gay the forest green.
“And, Richard, if our lot be hard,And lost thy native land,Still Alice has her own Richard,And he his Alice Brand.”
“And, Richard, if our lot be hard,
And lost thy native land,
Still Alice has her own Richard,
And he his Alice Brand.”
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,So blithe Lady Alice is singing;On the beech’s pride, and oak’s brown side,Lord Richard’s axe is ringing.Up spoke the moody Elfin King,Who woned within the hill,—Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,His voice was ghostly shrill.“Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,Our moonlight circle’s screen?Or who comes here to chase the deer,Beloved of our Elfin Queen?Or who may dare on wold to wearThe Fairies’ fatal green?“Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,For thou wert christened man;For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,For muttered word or ban.“Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,The curse of the sleepless eye;Till he wish and pray that his life would part,Nor yet find leave to die.”
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,So blithe Lady Alice is singing;On the beech’s pride, and oak’s brown side,Lord Richard’s axe is ringing.Up spoke the moody Elfin King,Who woned within the hill,—Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,His voice was ghostly shrill.“Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,Our moonlight circle’s screen?Or who comes here to chase the deer,Beloved of our Elfin Queen?Or who may dare on wold to wearThe Fairies’ fatal green?“Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,For thou wert christened man;For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,For muttered word or ban.“Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,The curse of the sleepless eye;Till he wish and pray that his life would part,Nor yet find leave to die.”
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,So blithe Lady Alice is singing;On the beech’s pride, and oak’s brown side,Lord Richard’s axe is ringing.
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,
So blithe Lady Alice is singing;
On the beech’s pride, and oak’s brown side,
Lord Richard’s axe is ringing.
Up spoke the moody Elfin King,Who woned within the hill,—Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,His voice was ghostly shrill.
Up spoke the moody Elfin King,
Who woned within the hill,—
Like wind in the porch of a ruined church,
His voice was ghostly shrill.
“Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,Our moonlight circle’s screen?Or who comes here to chase the deer,Beloved of our Elfin Queen?Or who may dare on wold to wearThe Fairies’ fatal green?
“Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak,
Our moonlight circle’s screen?
Or who comes here to chase the deer,
Beloved of our Elfin Queen?
Or who may dare on wold to wear
The Fairies’ fatal green?
“Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,For thou wert christened man;For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,For muttered word or ban.
“Up, Urgan, up! to yon mortal hie,
For thou wert christened man;
For cross or sign thou wilt not fly,
For muttered word or ban.
“Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,The curse of the sleepless eye;Till he wish and pray that his life would part,Nor yet find leave to die.”
“Lay on him the curse of the withered heart,
The curse of the sleepless eye;
Till he wish and pray that his life would part,
Nor yet find leave to die.”
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,Though the birds have stilled their singing;The evening blaze doth Alice raise,And Richard is fagots bringing.Up Urgan starts, that hideous Dwarf,Before Lord Richard stands,And, as he crossed and blessed himself,“I fear not sign,” quoth the grisly Elf,“That is made with bloody hands.”But out then spoke she, Alice BrandThat woman void of fear,—“And if there’s blood upon his hand,’Tis but the blood of deer.”—“Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!It cleaves unto his hand,The stain of thine own kindly blood,The blood of Ethert Brand.”Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,And made the holy sign:“And if there’s blood on Richard’s hand,A spotless hand is mine.“And I conjure thee, Demon Elf,By Him whom Demons fear,To show us whence thou art thyself,And what thine errand here?”“’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairyland,When Fairy Birds are singing,When the Court doth ride by their Monarch’s side,With bit and bridle ringing:“And gaily shines the Fairyland—But all is glistening show,Like the idle gleam that December’s beamCan dart on ice and snow.“And fading, like that varied gleam,Is our inconstant shape,Who now like Knight and Lady seem,And now like Dwarf and Ape.
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,Though the birds have stilled their singing;The evening blaze doth Alice raise,And Richard is fagots bringing.Up Urgan starts, that hideous Dwarf,Before Lord Richard stands,And, as he crossed and blessed himself,“I fear not sign,” quoth the grisly Elf,“That is made with bloody hands.”But out then spoke she, Alice BrandThat woman void of fear,—“And if there’s blood upon his hand,’Tis but the blood of deer.”—“Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!It cleaves unto his hand,The stain of thine own kindly blood,The blood of Ethert Brand.”Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,And made the holy sign:“And if there’s blood on Richard’s hand,A spotless hand is mine.“And I conjure thee, Demon Elf,By Him whom Demons fear,To show us whence thou art thyself,And what thine errand here?”“’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairyland,When Fairy Birds are singing,When the Court doth ride by their Monarch’s side,With bit and bridle ringing:“And gaily shines the Fairyland—But all is glistening show,Like the idle gleam that December’s beamCan dart on ice and snow.“And fading, like that varied gleam,Is our inconstant shape,Who now like Knight and Lady seem,And now like Dwarf and Ape.
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,Though the birds have stilled their singing;The evening blaze doth Alice raise,And Richard is fagots bringing.
’Tismerry, ’tis merry, in good Greenwood,
Though the birds have stilled their singing;
The evening blaze doth Alice raise,
And Richard is fagots bringing.
Up Urgan starts, that hideous Dwarf,Before Lord Richard stands,And, as he crossed and blessed himself,“I fear not sign,” quoth the grisly Elf,“That is made with bloody hands.”
Up Urgan starts, that hideous Dwarf,
Before Lord Richard stands,
And, as he crossed and blessed himself,
“I fear not sign,” quoth the grisly Elf,
“That is made with bloody hands.”
But out then spoke she, Alice BrandThat woman void of fear,—“And if there’s blood upon his hand,’Tis but the blood of deer.”—
But out then spoke she, Alice Brand
That woman void of fear,—
“And if there’s blood upon his hand,
’Tis but the blood of deer.”—
“Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!It cleaves unto his hand,The stain of thine own kindly blood,The blood of Ethert Brand.”
“Now loud thou liest, thou bold of mood!
It cleaves unto his hand,
The stain of thine own kindly blood,
The blood of Ethert Brand.”
Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,And made the holy sign:“And if there’s blood on Richard’s hand,A spotless hand is mine.
Then forward stepped she, Alice Brand,
And made the holy sign:
“And if there’s blood on Richard’s hand,
A spotless hand is mine.
“And I conjure thee, Demon Elf,By Him whom Demons fear,To show us whence thou art thyself,And what thine errand here?”
“And I conjure thee, Demon Elf,
By Him whom Demons fear,
To show us whence thou art thyself,
And what thine errand here?”
“’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairyland,When Fairy Birds are singing,When the Court doth ride by their Monarch’s side,With bit and bridle ringing:
“’Tis merry, ’tis merry, in Fairyland,
When Fairy Birds are singing,
When the Court doth ride by their Monarch’s side,
With bit and bridle ringing:
“And gaily shines the Fairyland—But all is glistening show,Like the idle gleam that December’s beamCan dart on ice and snow.
“And gaily shines the Fairyland—
But all is glistening show,
Like the idle gleam that December’s beam
Can dart on ice and snow.
“And fading, like that varied gleam,Is our inconstant shape,Who now like Knight and Lady seem,And now like Dwarf and Ape.
“And fading, like that varied gleam,
Is our inconstant shape,
Who now like Knight and Lady seem,
And now like Dwarf and Ape.
“I FEAR NOT SIGN,” QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF,“THAT IS MADE WITH BLOODY HANDS”
“I FEAR NOT SIGN,” QUOTH THE GRISLY ELF,“THAT IS MADE WITH BLOODY HANDS”
“It was between the night and day,When the Fairy King has power,That I sunk down in a sinful fray,And ’twixt life and death, was snatched awayTo the joyless Elfin Bower.“But wist I of a woman bold,Who thrice my brow durst sign,I might regain my mortal mould,As fair a form as thine.”She crossed him once, she crossed him twice—That Lady was so brave;The fouler grew his goblin hue,The darker grew the cave.She crossed him thrice, that Lady bold;He rose beneath her handThe fairest Knight on Scottish mouldHer brother, Ethert Brand!Merry it is in good Greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,When all the bells were ringing.
“It was between the night and day,When the Fairy King has power,That I sunk down in a sinful fray,And ’twixt life and death, was snatched awayTo the joyless Elfin Bower.“But wist I of a woman bold,Who thrice my brow durst sign,I might regain my mortal mould,As fair a form as thine.”She crossed him once, she crossed him twice—That Lady was so brave;The fouler grew his goblin hue,The darker grew the cave.She crossed him thrice, that Lady bold;He rose beneath her handThe fairest Knight on Scottish mouldHer brother, Ethert Brand!Merry it is in good Greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,When all the bells were ringing.
“It was between the night and day,When the Fairy King has power,That I sunk down in a sinful fray,And ’twixt life and death, was snatched awayTo the joyless Elfin Bower.
“It was between the night and day,
When the Fairy King has power,
That I sunk down in a sinful fray,
And ’twixt life and death, was snatched away
To the joyless Elfin Bower.
“But wist I of a woman bold,Who thrice my brow durst sign,I might regain my mortal mould,As fair a form as thine.”
“But wist I of a woman bold,
Who thrice my brow durst sign,
I might regain my mortal mould,
As fair a form as thine.”
She crossed him once, she crossed him twice—That Lady was so brave;The fouler grew his goblin hue,The darker grew the cave.
She crossed him once, she crossed him twice—
That Lady was so brave;
The fouler grew his goblin hue,
The darker grew the cave.
She crossed him thrice, that Lady bold;He rose beneath her handThe fairest Knight on Scottish mouldHer brother, Ethert Brand!
She crossed him thrice, that Lady bold;
He rose beneath her hand
The fairest Knight on Scottish mould
Her brother, Ethert Brand!
Merry it is in good Greenwood,When the mavis and merle are singing,But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,When all the bells were ringing.
Merry it is in good Greenwood,
When the mavis and merle are singing,
But merrier were they in Dunfermline grey,
When all the bells were ringing.
Sir Walter Scott