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    Rogers Stan »

    Rogers Stan The Witch Of The Westmoreland текст песни

    The Witch Of The Westmoreland

    Pale was the wounded Knight

    That bore the rowan shield

    Loud and cruel were the ravens’ cries

    As they feasted on the field

    Saying beck water cold and clear

    Will never clean your wound

    There’s none but the witch of the Westmoreland

    Can make thee hale and sound

    So turn, turn your stallion’s head

    Till his red mane flies in the wind

    And the rider of the moon goes by

    And the bright star falls behind

    And clear was the paley moon

    When shadow passed him by

    Below the hill were the brightest stars

    When he heard the owlet cry

    Saying Why do you ride this way

    And wherefore came you here?

    I seek the witch of the westmoreland

    Who dwells by the winding mere

    And it’s weary by the Ullswater

    And the misty brakefern way

    Till through the cleft of the Kirkstane pass

    The winding water lay

    He said Lie down my brindled hound

    And rest ye my good gray hawk

    And thee my steed may graze thy fill

    For I must dismount and walk

    But come when you hear my horn

    And answer swift the call

    For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn

    Ye will serve me best of all

    And it’s down to the water’s brim

    He’s borne the rowan shield

    And the goldenrod he has cast in

    To see what the lake might yield

    And wet rose she from the lake

    And fast and fleet went she

    One half the form of a maiden fair

    With a jet-black mare’s body

    And loud long and shrill he blew

    Till his steed was by his side

    High overhead the gray hawk flew

    And swiftly he did ride

    Saying Course well me brindled hound

    And fetch me the jet-black mare

    Stoop and strike me good gray hawk

    And bring me the maiden fair

    She said Pray sheath thy silvery sword

    Lay down thy rowan shield

    For I see by the briny blood that flows

    You’ve been wounded in the field

    And she stood in a gown of a velvet blue

    Bound round with a silver chain

    And she’s kissed his pale lips once and twice

    And three times round again

    And she’s bound his wounds with the goldenrod

    Full fast in her arms he lay

    And he has risen hale and sound

    With the sun high in the day

    She said Ride with your brindled hound at heel

    And your good gray hawk in hand

    There’s none can harm the knight who’s lain

    With the Witch of the Westmoreland

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