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    Rogers Stan »

    Rogers Stan Witch Of The Westmoreland текст песни

    Witch Of The Westmoreland

    Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield

    Loud and cruel were the raven’s cries that 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 soond"

    So turn, turn your stallion’s head ’til 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 his shadow passed him by

    below the hills 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 Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere"

    And it’s weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way

    Til throught the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay

    He said "Lie down, by brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey 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 born the rowan shield

    And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield

    And wet she rose 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 til his steed was by his side

    High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride

    Saying "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare

    Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair"

    She said "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword. Lay down thy rown shield

    For I see by the briny blood that flows you’ve been wounded in the field"

    And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round withh 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 grey hawk in hand

    There’s none can harm the knight who’s lain with the Witch of the Westmorland."



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