"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[1] 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!"
- ↑ Lith, joint. Anglo-Saxon, lith.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO.
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
