The Honourable Baron Justinian Clarus

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The Man Who Would Not Die

The Honourable Baron Justinian Clarus

Other Songs 6.6 Witch of the Westmorland

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 cleanse your wounds.
There's none but the witch of the Westmorland can make thee hale and soon.

So turn, turn, your stallion's head, let his red mane fly in the wind
And the rider of the moon goes by, and the bright star falls behind."

And clear was the paling moon when shadows 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 withc of the Westmorland who dwells by the winding mere."

And it's merely by the Ullswater, by the misty Break-ford way,
Till through the cleft of the Kirkstane pass the winding water lay.

He said, "Lie down my brindled hound, and rest thee my good gray hawk,
And thou, 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 before this night is o'er you may 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 will 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,
And overhead the grey hawk flew, and swiftly he did ride,

Saying, "course well, my brindled hound. Fetch me the jet black mare.
Stoop and strike, my good grey 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 were wounded in the field."

And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a silver chain,
And she kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times round again.

And she's bound his wound with the golden rod. Fast in her arms he lay,
And he has risen hale and soon 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 a knight who's lain with the witch of the Westmorland."