The book of British ballads . as a branch of the yew. — Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me!For that knight is cold,And low laid in the mould, All under the Eildon-tree. — Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name;And that lady bright she called the knight Sir Richard of Coldinghame. — The bold Barons brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale — The grave is deep and dark —And the corpse is stiff and stark — So I may not trust thy tale. Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain,Full three n
The book of British ballads . as a branch of the yew. — Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me!For that knight is cold,And low laid in the mould, All under the Eildon-tree. — Yet hear but my word, my noble lord! For I heard her name his name;And that lady bright she called the knight Sir Richard of Coldinghame. — The bold Barons brow then changed, I trow, From high blood-red to pale — The grave is deep and dark —And the corpse is stiff and stark — So I may not trust thy tale. Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, And Eildon slopes to the plain,Full three nights ago, by some secret foe, That gay gallant was slain. The varying light deceived thy sight,And the wild winds drownd the name; For the Dryburgh bells ring, And the white monks do sing, For Sir Richard of Coldinghame! He passd the court-gate,And he oped the tower gate, And he mounted the narrow stair,To the bartizan seat,Where, with maids that on her wait, He found his lady fair. 289 <Sbe of Sbt. 3Jo& That lady sat in mournful mood; Lookd over hill and vale ;Over Tweeds fair flood, and Mertouns wood, And all down Teviotdale. Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright! — Now hail, thou Baron true !What news, what news, from Ancram fight ? What news from the bold Buccleuch ? — The Ancram Moor is red with gore, For many a southern fell;And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore, To watch our beacons well. — The lady blushd red, but nothing she said : Nor added the Baron a word :Then she steppd down the stair to her chamber fair, And so did her moody lord. In sleep the lady mournd, And the Baron tossd and turnd, And oft to himself he said, — The worms around him creep,And his bloody grave is deep It cannot give up the dead! — It was near the ringing of matin-bell, The night was well nigh done,When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell, On the eve of good St. John. The lady lookd through the chamber fair, By the light of a dying flame ;And she was aware of a knight
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