Classic Poem

Glenewan, he was the bonniest knight
In a' the King's companie.
Belle Margaret, she was the fairest maid
In a' the south countrie.

The King and his train have huntin' gane,
Huntin' the roe and deer,
And they lighted down at her father's yett,
And bade him make good cheer.

When a' the tables were spread and ser'd,
And they sat down to dine,
Oh, in there cam' Belle Margaret,
And a' to pour the wine.

Her heid-gear was o' the pearls white,
And o' the emeralds green,
But naebody saw the jewels she wore
For love o' her bonnie een.

Her dress was o' the silken web,
Weel broidered roond wi' lace,
But naebody saw the gown she wore,
For love o' her bonnie face.

The King looked on Belle Margaret
As low she looted doon,
— It seems to me this bonnie May
Fu' weel wad set a croon. —

The King looked after Belle Margaret
As she gaed doon the ha',
— I swear she has the fairest face
That ever a mortal saw.

— O tell me wha is yon fair ladye,
And of what kin she came? —
— She's my a'e daughter — my only bairn,
Belle Margaret is her name. —

— An askin', an askin' kindly, laird,
An askin' grant o' mine. —
— What needs an askin', sir, — he said,
— When a' I ha'e is thine? —

— I winna ask o' gowd or gear,
Nor yet o' land or fee,
But I'll ask your daughter, Belle Margaret,
To be queen o' my land and me. —

The father left the stately ha',
A joyfu' man was he,
And when he came to his daughter's bower
He looted to his knee.

— Rise up, rise up, dear father, — she said,
— What means this courtesie?
It ill befits thee, father dear,
To bend the heid to me. —

— It weel befits me, daughter, — he said,
— To do as I have seen;
This day ye are my a'e daughter,
The morn you'll be my queen.

— This day I'm but a simple laird
Wi' little land in fee,
But the morn I'll be the foremost man
In the King's brave companie. —

Oh, she grew red, and rosy red,
And she grew pale and wan;
— I little thocht my loveliness
Wad be wared on an auld grey man. —

— For shame, for shame, Belle Margaret,
Sic words o' scorn to say,
The proodest dame in a' the land
May envy ye this day.

— For where ye drank the wan water,
Ye noo shall drink the wine;
Your very horse be shod wi' gowd,
And wi' the siller fine.

— Ye shall ha'e maidens thrice three score
To be at your command;
And the greatest noble in the realm
Be prood to kiss your hand.

— Come down, come down Belle Margaret,
Amongst the companie;
This night the King makes feast and mirth,
The morn he'll wedded be. —

Belle Margaret sits and speaks nae word,
But pale and wan looks-she;
Then by there comes her foster brother,
Says, — Margaret, what ails thee? —

— There's naething ails me, Ritchie, — she said,
— There's naething wrang wi' me;
But I'm blate amang the stranger lords
And the gay, gay companie.

— Oh, tell me wha's yon stout auld knight
Sits at the King's right hand? —
— That's gude Earl Moray, — Ritchie said,
— Better ne'er bore a brand. —

— And wha is yon — yon sturdy man
That looks so black and grim? —
— Yon is the laird of Cattersha',
And weel the King lo'es him. —

— And wha is yon — yon blythe young knight
Wi' the gay, gay glancin' e'e? —
— Oh, that is young Glenewan, — he said,
— The flower o' chivalrie. —

Belle Margaret sighed. — Thanks, Ritchie dear.
Now leave and let me be,
For I've a pain into my side,
And sair it wearies me. —

Belle Margaret filled the the goblet fu',
To each she gied his share,
But when she came to Glenewan's side
She passed as nane were there.

Glenewan he frowned and bit his lip
A slighted man to be,
But when she had gane through the ha'
There was nane but slept save he.

Belle Margaret came unto his side,
She knelt upon her knee,
Says — — Gentle knight, come let us ride —
Thegither let us flee. —

— If I should steal or gowd or gear,
I'd dree the judgment pain,
Much mair gin I stole the bonnie May
The King marks for his ain.

— And daur ye venture, Belle Margaret,
An outlaw's wife to ride,
Whén ye may be fair Scotland's queen?
I counsel you to bide. —

— Aweel, aweel, Glenewan, — she said
— I'll no ask twice of ye,
I've a'e dear foster sister.
Sae weel as she lo'es me!

— I'll bid her busk her like a page
And ride alang wi' me,
I winna wed wi' the auld grey King,
Far rather wad I dee. —

He turned and swore by the mune and stars,
— It's ne'er be said o' me
That for a May sae brave and fair
I wadna daur to dee. —

And he has saddled the bonnie broon steed,
And she has saddled the grey,
And by the dim light o' the mune
The twasome rade away.

They rade and rade, and they better rade.
By the a'e licht o' the mune,
Until they came to St. Elmie's tower,
And the priest has made them ane.

And he has biggit a bonnie bower
Among the gay green heather,
And there for mony a happy year
The twasome dwelt thegither.

They sought them here, they sought them there,
They sought them far and wide,
But never mair the auld grey King
Saw either squire or bride.