Page:Traditional Tales of the English and Scottish Peasantry - 1887.djvu/292

288 "Oh! had I but thy bow, my love,

And seven good arrows by me,

I'd make the fiercest of thy foes

Bleed ere they could come nigh thee.

"Oh! had I but thy sword, my love,

Thy sword so brown and ready,

I'd meet thy foes on Chatsworth bank,

Among the woodlands shady."

On high she held her white white hands

In wild and deep devotion,

And locks and lips, and lith and limb,

Were shivering with emotion.

"Nay, stay the chase," said a forester then,

"For when the lion's roaring

The hound may hide. May the raven catch

The eagle in his soaring?

"Farewell, my bow, that could send a shaft,

As the levin leaves the thunder!

A lady looks down from Haddon height

Has snapt thy strength asunder.

"A lady looks down from Haddon height,

O'er all men's hearts she's lordin';

Who harms a hair of her true love's head

Makes a foe of Geordie Gordon."

The bank was steep—down the outlaw sprung,

The greenwood wide resounded;

The wall was high—like a hunted hart

O'er it he fleetly bounded.

And when he saw his love he sunk

His dark glance in obeisance:

"Comes my love forth to charm the morn,

And bless it with her presence?

"How sweet is Haddon Hill to me,

Where silver streams are twining!

My love excels the morning star,

And shines while the sun is shining.

"She and the sun, and all that's sweet,

Smile when the grass is hoarest;

And here at her white feet I lay

The proud buck of the forest.

"Now, farewell, Chatsworth's woodlands green,

Where fallow-deer are dernan;

For dearer than the world to me

Is my love, Julia Vernon!"