May of the Moril Glen

I Will tell you of ane wondrous tale,
As ever was told by man,
Or ever was sung by minstrel meet
Since this base world began : —
It is of ane May, and ane lovely May,
That dwelt in the Moril Glen,
The fairest flower of mortal frame,
But a devil amongst the men ;
For nine of them sticket themselves for love,
And ten louped in the main,
And seven-and-thirty brake their hearts,
And never loved women again ;
For ilk ane trowit she was in love,
And ran wodde for a while —
There was siccan language in every look,
And a speire in every smile.

And she had seventy scores of ewes,
That blett o'er dale and down,
On the bonnie braid lands of the Moril Glen,
And these were all her own ;
And she had stotts, and sturdy steers,
And blithesome kids enew,
That danced as light as gloaming flies
Out through the falling dew.

And this May she had a snow-white bull.
The dread of the hail countrye,
And three-and-thretty good milk kye,
To bear him companye ;
And she had geese and goslings too,
And ganders of muckil din,
And peacocks, with their gaudy trains,
And hearts of pride within ;
And she had cocks with curled kaims,
And hens, full crouse and glad,
That chanted in her own stick-yard,
And cackillit and laid like mad ;
But where her minnie gat all that gear
And all that lordly trim,
The Lord in Heaven he knew full well,
But nobody knew but him ;
For she never yielded to mortal man,
To prince, nor yet to king —
She never was given in holy church,
Nor wedded with ane ring.

So all men wist, and all men said ;
But the tale was in sore mistime,
For a maiden she could hardly be,
With a daughter in beauty's prime.

But this bonnie May, she never knew
A father's kindly claim ;
She never was bless'd in holy church,
Nor christen'd in holy name.

But there she lived an earthly flower
Of beauty so supreme,
Some fear'd she was of the mermaid's brood,
Come out of the salt sea faeme.

Some said she was found in a fairy ring,
And born of the fairy queen ;
For there was a rainbow behind the moon
That night she first was seen.

Some said her mother was a witch,
Come frae ane far countrye ;
Or a princess loved by a weird warlock
In a land beyond the sea !

Oh, there are doings here below
That mortal ne'er should ken ;
For there are things in this fair world
Beyond the reach of men.

Ae thing most sure and certain was —
For the bedesmen told it me —
That the knight who coft the Moril Glen
Ne'er spoke a word but three.

And the masons who biggit that wild ha' house
Ne'er spoke word good nor ill ;
They came like a dream, and pass'd away
Like shadows o'er the hill.

They came like a dream, and pass'd away
Whither no man could tell ;
But they ate their bread like Christian men,
And drank of the crystal well.

And whenever man said word to them,
They stay'd their speech full soon ;
For they shook their heads, and raised their hands,
And look'd to Heaven aboon.

And the kdy came — and there she 'bade
For mony a lonely day ;
But whether she bred her bairn to God —
To read but and to pray —
There was no man wist, though all men guess'd,
And guess'd with fear and dread ;
But oh she grew ane virgin rose,
To seemly womanheid !

And no man could look on her face,
And eyne that beam'd so clear
But felt a stang gang through his heart,
Far sharper than a spear.

It was not like ane prodde or pang
That strength could overwin,
But like ane red hot gaud of iron
Reeking his heart within.

So that around the Moril Glen
Our brave young men did lie,
With limbs as lydder, and as lythe,
As duddis hung out to dry.

And aye the tears ran down in streams
Ower cheeks right woe-begone ;
And aye they gasped, and they gratte,
And thus made piteous moan : —
" Alake that I had ever been born,
Or dandelit on the knee;
Or rockit in ane cradle bed,
Beneath a mother's ee !

" Oh ! had I died before my cheek
To woman's breast had lain,
Then had I ne'er for woman's love
Endured this burning pain !

" For love is like the fiery flame
That quivers through the rain,
And love is like the pang of death
That splits the heart in twain.

" If I had loved earthly thing,
Of earthly blithesomeness,
I might have been beloved again,
And bathed in earthly bliss.

" But I have loved ane freakish fay
Of frowardness and sin,
With heavenly beauty on the face,
And heart of stone within.

" O, for the gloaming calm of death
To close my mortal day —
The last benighting heave of breath,
That rends the soul away !"

But word's gone east, and word's gone west,
'Mong high and low degree,
Quhile it went to the King upon the throne,
And ane wrothful man was he. —
" What !" said the King, " and shall we sit
In sackcloth mourning sad,
Quhille all mine lieges of the land
For ane young quean run mad ?

" Go saddle me my milk-white steed,
Of true Megaira brode ;
I will go and see this wondrous dame,
And prove her by the rode.

" And if I find her elfiii queen,
Or thing of fairy kind,
I will burn her into ashes small,
And sift them on the wind !"

The King hath chosen fourscore knights,
All busked gallantlye,
And he is away to the Moril Glen,
As fast as he can dree.

And when he came to the Moril Glen,
Ae morning fair and clear,
This lovely May on horseback rode
To hunt the fallow deer.

Her palfrey was of snowy hue,
A pale unearthly thing,
That revell'd over hill and dale
Like bird upon the wing.

Her screen was like a net of gold,
That dazzled as it flew ;
Her mantle was of the rainbow's red,
Her rail of its bonny blue.

A golden comb with diamonds bright,
Her seemly virgin crown,
Shone like the new moon's lady light
O'er cloud of amber brown.

The lightning that shot from her eyne,
Flicker 'd like elfin brand ;
It was sharper nor the sharpest spear
In all Northumberland.

The hawk that on her bridle arm
Outspread his pinions blue,
To keep him steady on the perch
As his loved mistress flew,
Although his een shone like the gleam,
Upon anc sable sea,
Yet to the twain that ower them beam'd,
Compared they could not be.

Like carry ower the morning sun
That shimmers to the wind,
So flew her locks upon the gale,
And stream'd afar behind.

The King he wheel'd him round about,
And calleth to his men,
" Yonder she comes, this wierdly witch,
This spirit of the glen !

" Come rank your master up behind,
This serpent to belay ;
I'll let you hear me put her down
In grand polemic way."

Swift came the maid ower strath and stron-
Nae dantonit dame was she —
Until the King her path withstood,
In might and majestye.

The virgin cast on him a look,
With gay and graceful air,
As on some thing below her note,
That ought not to have been there.

The King, whose belt was like to burst,
With speeches most divine,
Now felt ane throbbing of the heart,
And quaking of the spine.

And aye he gasped for his breath,
And gaped in dire dismay,
And waved his arm, and smote his breast ;
But word he could not say.

The spankie grewis they scowr'd the dale,
The dun deer to restrain ;
The virgin gave her steed the rein ,
And follow'd, might and main.

"Go bring her back," the King he cried ;
' This reifery must not be.
Though you should bind her hands and feet,
Go bring her back to me."

The deer she flew, the garf and grew
They follow'd hard behind ;
The milk-white palfrey brush 'd the dew
Far fleeter nor the wind.

But woe betide the lords and knights,
That taiglit in the dell !

For though with whip and spur they plied,
Full far behind they fell.

They look'd outowre their left shoulders,
To see what they might see,
And there the King, in fit of love,
Lay spurring on the lea.

And aye he batter'd with his feet,
And rowted with despair,
And pull'd the grass up by the roots,
And flang it on the air !

" What ails, what ails my royal liege ?

Such grief I do deplore."
" Oh I'm bewitched," the King replied,
"And gone for evermore !

" Go bring her back — go bring her back-
Go bring her back to me ;
For I must either die of love,
Or own that dear ladye !

" That god of love out through iny soul
Hath shot his arrows keen ;
And I am enchanted through the heart,
The liver, and the spleen."

The deer was slain ; the royal train
Then closed the virgin round,
And then her fair and lily hands
Behind her back were bound.

But who should bind her winsome feet ?

That bred such strife and pain,
That sixteen brave and belted knights
Lay gasping on the plain.

And when she came before the King,
Ane ireful carle was he ;
Saith he, " Dame, you must be my love,
Or burn beneath ane tree.

" For I am so sore in love with thee,
I cannot go nor stand ;
And thinks thou nothing to put down
The King of fair Scotland ?"

" No, I can ne'er be love to thee,
Nor any lord thou hast ;
For you are married men each one,
And I a maiden chaste.

" But here I promise, and I vow
By Scotland's King and crown,
Who first a widower shall prove,
Shall claim me as his own."

The King hath mounted his milk-white steed, —
One word he said not more, —
And he is away from the Moril Glen,
As ne'er rode king before.

He sank his rowels to the naife,
And scour'd the muir and dale,
He held his bonnet on his head,
And louted to the gale,
Till wives ran skreighing to the door,
Holding their hands on high ;
They never saw king in love before,
In such extremitye.

And every lord and every knight
Made off his several way,
All galloping as they had been mad,
Withoutten stop or stay.

But there was never such dool and pain
In any land befel ;
For there is wickedness in man,
That grieveth me to tell.

There was one eye, and one alone,
Beheld the deeds were done ;
But the lovely Queen of Fair Scotland
Ne'er saw the morning sun ;
And seventy-seven wedded dames,
As fair as e'er were born,
The very pride of all the land,
Were dead before the morn.

Then there was nought but mourning weeds,
And sorrow, and dismay ;
While burial met with burial still,
And jostled by the way.

And graves were howkit in green kirkyards,
And howkit deep and wide ;
While bedlars swairfit for very toil,
The comely corps to hide.

The graves, with their unseemly jaws,
Stood gaping day and night
To swallow up the fair and young ; —
It was ane grievous sight !

And the bonny May of the Moril Glen
Is weeping in despair,
For she saw the hills of fair Scotland
Could be her home nae mair.

Then there were chariots came o'er night,
As silent and as soon
As shadow of ane little cloud
In the wan light of the moon.

Some said they came out of the rock,
And some out of the sea ;
And some said they were sent from hell.

To bring that fair lad ye.

When the day sky began to frame
The grizly eastern fell,
And the little wee bat was bound to seek
His dark and eery cell,
The fairest flower of mortal frame
Pass'd from the Moril Glen ;
And ne'er may such a deadly eye
Shine amongst Christian men !

In seven chariots, gilded bright,
The train went o'er the fell,
All wrapt within ane shower of hail ;
Whither no man could tell ;
But there was a ship in the Firth of Forth,
The like ne'er sail'd the faeme,
For no man of her country knew,
Her colours, or her name.

Her mast was made of beaten gold,
Her sails of the silken twine,
And a thousand pennons stream "d behind,
And trembled o'er the brine.

As she lay mirror'd in the main,
It was a comely view,
So many rainbows round her play'd
With every breeze that blew.

And the hailstone shroud it rattled loud,
Right over ford and fen,
And swathed the flower of the Moril Glen
From eyes of sinful men.

And the hailstone shroud it wheel'd and row'd,
As wan as death unshriven,
Like dead cloth of ane angel grim,
Or winding sheet of heaven.

It was a fearsome sight to see
Toil through the morning gray,
And whenever it reach'd the comely ship,
She set sail and away.

She set her sail before the gale,
As it began to sing,
And she heaved and rocked down the tide,
Unlike an earthly thing.

Tne dolphins fled out of her way
Into the creeks of Fife,
And the blackguard seals they yowlit for dread,
And swam for death and life.

But aye the ship, the bonny ship,
Outowre the green wave flew,
Swift as the solan on the wing,
Or terrified sea-mew.

No billow breasted on her prow,
Nor levell'd on the lee ;
She seem'd to sail upon the air
And never touch the sea.

And away, and away went the bonny ship,
Which man never more did see ;
But whether she went to heaven or hell,
Was ne'er made known to me.