The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/The Slayne Menstrel
The Slayne Menstrel.
Ane harper there was—ane harper gude—
Cam' harpin' at the gloamin fa'—
And he has won to the bonnie bield
Quhilk callit is the Newtoun Ha'.
'Brume, brume on hil'—the harper sang—
'And rose on brier are blythe to see—
I would I saw the brume sae lang,
Quhilk cleidis the braes o' my ain countree!'
'Out on ye, out, ye prydefu' loan,
Wi' me ye winna lig the nicht—
Hie to some bordel in borrowe toun:
Of harpand craft I haud but licht!
'Out on ye, out, ye menstrel lewde'—
Sayd the crewel Laird o' the Newtoun Ha'—
'Ye'll nae bide here, by blessit Rude,
Gif harpe or lyf ye reck ava'!'
'I care na for mie lyf ane plack'—
Quoth that auld harper sturdilie—
'But this gude harpe upon mie back
Sal ne'er be fylit by ane lyk thee!'
'Thou liest there, thou menstrel wicht!'
Outspak the Laird o' the Newtoun Ha'—
'For ye to death bedene art dicht,
Haif at thee here and mend thy saw!'
Alace, Alace, the harper gude
Was borne back aganis the wa',
And wi' the best o' his auld hertis blude,
They weetit hae the Newtoun Ha'!
Yet did he die wi' harpe in han',
Maist lyk ane menstrel o' degree—
There was na ane in a' the land
Might matche wi' him o' the North countree!
Erie Douglas chauncit to ryde therebye—
Ane gallant gentleman was he—
Wi' four score o' weel harnessit men,
To harrie in the South countree.
He haltit at the Newtoun Ha'—
'Quhat novelles now, bauld Laird, hae ye?'
'It's I haif slayne a worthlesse wicht,
Ane menstrel lewde, as you may see!'
'Now schaw to me the harper's heid,
And schaw to me the harper's hand,
For sair I fear you've causeless spilt
As gentil blude as in a' Scotland!'
'Kep then his heid, thou black Douglas'—
Sayd boastfullie fase Newtoun Ha'—
'And kep his hand, thou black Douglas,
His fingers slim his craft may schaw!'
The stout Erie vysit first the heid,
Then neist he lukit on the hand—
'It's foul befa' ye, Newtoun Ha',
Ye've slayne the pryde o' gude Scotland
'Now stir ye, stir, my merrie men,
The faggot licht, and bete the flame,
A fire sal rise o'er this buirdly bield,
And its saulless Laird in the lowe we'll tame! '
The bleeze blew up, the bleeze dipt roun'
The bonnie towers o' the Newtoun Ha',
And evir as armit men ran out,
Black Douglas slewe them ane and a'.
The bleeze it roarit and wantonit roun'
The weel-pilet wawis o' the Newtoun Ha5
And ruif and rafter, bank and beam,
Aneath the bauld fyris doun did fa'!
Now waly for the crewel Laird—
As he cam loupin' through the lowe,
Erie Douglas swappit aff his heid
And swung it at his saddil bowe!