The Gyre Caryl

There wals ane auld caryl wonit in yon howe,
Lemedon ! lemedon ! ayden littelu !
His face was the geire, and his hayre was the woo,
Sing Ho ! Ro ! GiUan of Allanhu !
But och ! quhan the mure getis his cuerlet gray, Sfc.
Quhan the gloamyng hes flauchtit the nychte and the day, S?c.

Quhan the crawis haif flowin to the greinwode schaw,
And the kydde hes blet owr the Lamraer Law ;
Quhan the dewe hes layde the klaiver asteep,
And the gowin hes fauldit hir buddis to sleep j
Quhan nochte is herde but the merlinis mene —
Och ! than that gyre caryl is neuir his lene !

Ane bonnye baby, se meike and mylde,
Aye walkis wythe him the dowie wylde :
The gowlin getis of sturt and stryffe,
And wearie wailis of mortyl lyffe,
Wald all be hushit till endless pece
At ane blynke of that babyis fece !

Hir browe se fayre, and bir ee se raeike,
And the damysk roz that blumis on hir cheike ;
Hir lockis, and the bend of hir bonnye bree,
And hir smyle mochte waukin the deide to see !

Hir snoode, befryngit with mony a geme,
Wals stouin fra the raynbowe's brychtest beme ;
And hir raile, mair quhyte than snawye dryfte,
Was neuir woven anethe the lyfte ;
It keust sikn lychte on hill and gaire,
It shawit the wylde deer til hir laire ;
And the fayries wakinit fra their beddis of dewe,
And they sang ane hyme, and the hyme was new !
List, lordyngs, list ! for neuir agayne
Shalt' heire sikn wylde wanyirdlye strayne.
For they sang the nychte-gale in ane swoone,
And they sang the goud lockes fra the moone ;
They sang the reidbreiste fra the wud,
And the laueroke out of the merlit clud ;
And sum wee feres of bludeless byrthe
Cam out of the wurmholes of the yirthe,
And swoofit se lychtlye round the lee,
That they waldna kythe to mortyl ee ;
But their erlisch sang it rase se shill,
That the waesum tod youlit on the hill !
O lordyngs, list the cronach blande !
The flycherynge songe of Fayrie-land !

Sing Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Bonnye bairn c, we sing to you !

Up the Quhyte, and doune the Blak,
No ane leuer, no ane lak,
No ane shado at ouir bak ;
No ane stokyng, no ane schue,
No ane bendit blever blue,
No ane traissel in the dewe !
Bonnye bairne, we sing to you,
Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu ! &c.

Speile ! speile !
The moone-rak speile !
Warre the rowan, warre the steile,
Throu the rok and throu the reile,
Round about lyke ane spynning wheile ;
Throu the libbert, throu the le,
Rounde the yirde and rounde the se,
Bonnye bairne, we sing to thee,
Rounde the blumis and bellis of dewe,
Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Speide ! speide !
Lyving or deide !
Faster than the fyirie gleide,
Biz throu Laplin's tyrling dryfte !
Round the moone, and round the lyfte,
Aye we ring, and aye we sing
Our hune ! hune !
And ante-tune !
Neuir ! neuir ! neuir dune !
Up the Leider and doune the Dye
Aye we sing our lullabye !

Bonnye bairne, we sing to you,
Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Ryng! ryng!
Daunce and sing !

Hiche on the brume yer garlandis hyng !
For the bairnis sleipe is sweite and sure,
And the maydenis reste is blest and pure
Throu all the lynkis of Lammer-mure ;
Sen our bonnye baby was sent fra heven.
Scho comis owr-nychte withe the dewe of even,
And quhan the sone keikes out of the maine,
Scho swawis withe the dewe to heven again.
But the lychte shall dawne and the houlat flee,
The deide shall ake, and the day shall be
Quhan scho shall smyle in the gladsum noone,
And sleipe and sleipe in the lychte of the moone !
Than shall our luias weke anewe,
With herpe and vele and ayril too,
To Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Hyde ! hyde !
Quhateuir betyde,
Elfe and dowle that ergh to byde
The littil wee burdie mai cheipe in the wa,
The plevir mai sing, and the coke mai craw ;
For neiur ane spyrit derke and doure
Dar raike the creukis of Lammer-mure ;
And everilke gaiste of gysand hue
Shall melt in the breize our baby drew !
But we ar left in the grein-wud glen,
Bekaus we luf the chylder of men
Sweitlye to sing our flawmand new ;
Bonnye bairne, we sing to you,
Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Pace ! pace !
Spyritis of grace !

Sweite is the srayle of our babyis face !
The kelpye dernis, in dreide, and dule,
Deipe in the howe of his eirye pule ;
Gil-Moules frehynde the hallen mene fle,
Throu the dor-threshil, and throu the dor-ke,
And the mer-mayde mootes in the saifrone se.
But we ar left in the grein-wud glen,
Bekaus we luf the chylder of men,
Sweitlye to sing and neuir to rue,
Sweitlye to sing ouir last adue ;
Bonnye bairne, we sing to you,
Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Sing ! sing !
How shall we sing
Rounde the bairne of the spyritis Kyng !
Lillelu ! lillelu ! mount in a ryng !
Fayries away ! away on the wyng !
We too maune flytt to ane land of blisse !
To ane land of holy silentnesse !
To ane land quhair the nychte-wynd neuir blewe !
But thy fayre spryng shall euir be newe !
Quhan the moone shall waik ne mayre to wane,
And the clud and the raynbowe baithe ar gane,
In bowirs aboone the brik of the day
We'll sing to our baby for ever and aye !

Than the caryl he saw them swoof alang,
And he herde the wordis of thair leifu sang ;
They seemit to lyng asklent the wynde,
And left ane streamourie trak behynde ;
But he heirit them singyng as they flewe,
Ayden ! Ayden ! Lillelu !

Than the caryl liftit the babe se yung,
And nemit hir with ane tremilous tung ;
And the lychte of God strak on his face
As he nelit on the dewe, and callit her Grace :
And he barrit the day of sorrowe and reuth
To flee fra the bairne of Hevenly Truthe ;
And he barrit the deidis that nurice paine
Euir to thrall the worild again.
Than he claspit his handis, and wepit ful sair,
Quhan he bade hir adue for evirmaire.
O neuir wals babyis smyle se meike
Quhan scho fand the teir drap on her cheike !
And neuir wals babyis leuke se wae
Quhan scho saw the leal auld caryl gae !
But all his eiless ouphen trayne,
And all his gaistis and gyis war gane ;
The gleides that gleimit in the derksome schaw,
And his fayries had flown the last of a':
Than the puir auld caryl was blyth to fle
Away fra the emerant isle of the se,
And neuir mayre seikis the walkis of men,
Unless in the diske of the gloamyng glen.