Classic Poem

Gude Lord Graeme is to Carlisle gane,
Sir Robert Bewick there met he;
And arm in arm to the wine they did go
And they drank till they were baith merrie.

Gude Lord Graeme has ta'en up the cup:
Sir Robert Bewick, and here's to thee;
And here 's to our twa sons at hame;
For they like us best in our ain countrie.

O were your son a lad like mine
And learn'd some books that he could read,
They might hae been twa brethren bauld
And they might hae bragg'd the Border side.

But your son's a lad, and he's but bad,
And billie to my son he canna be;
[For my son Bewick can baith write and read,
And sure I am that cannot he.]

Ye sent him to the schools and he wadna learn,
Ye bought him books and he wadna read. —
But my blessing shall he never earn
Till I see how his arm can defend his head.

Gude Lord Graeme has a reckoning call'd,
A reckoning then called he;
And he paid a crown and it went roun' —
It was all for the gude wine and free.

And he has to the stable gane
Where there stude thirty steeds and three;
He 's ta'en his ain horse amang them a'
And hame he rade sae manfullie.

Welcome, my auld father, said Christie Graeme,
But where sae lang frae hame were ye?
It's I hae been at Carlisle town,
And a baffled man by thee I be.

I hae been at Carlisle town
Where Sir Robert Bewick he met me;
He says ye're a lad, and ye are but bad,
And billie to his son ye canna be.

I sent ye to the schools and ye wadna learn,
I bought ye books and ye wadna read;
Therefore my blessing ye shall never earn
Till I see with Bewick thou save thy head.

Now God forbid, my auld father,
That ever sic a thing suld be;
Billie Bewick was my master and I was his scholar,
And aye sae weel as he learned me.

O hald thy tongue, thou limmer loon,
And of thy talking let me be;
If thou disna end me this quarrel soon
There is my glove, I'll fight wi' thee.

Then Christie Graeme he stooped low,
Unto the ground you shall understand:
O father put on your glove again,
The wind has blown it from your hand.

What 's that thou says, thou limmer loon,
How dares thou stand to speak to me?
If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
There 's my right hand, thou shalt fight with me.

Then Christie Graeme 's to his chamber gane
To consider weel what then should be:
Whether he should fight with his auld father
Or with his billie Bewick he.

If I suld kill my billie dear
God's blessing I shall never win;
But if I strike at my auld father
I think 'twould be a mortal sin.

But if I kill my billie dear
It is God's will, so let it be;
But I make a vow ere I gang frae hame
That I shall be the next man's dee.

Then he 's put on his back a gude auld jack
And on his head a cap of steel,
And sword and buckler by his side;
O gin he did not become them weel!

We'll leave off talking of Christie Graeme
And talk of him again belyve;
And we will talk of bonnie Bewick
Where he was teaching his scholars five.

When he had taught them well to fence
And handle swords without any doubt,
He took his sword under his arm
And he walk'd his father's close about.

He looked atween him and the sun,
And a' to see what there might be,
Till he spied a man in armour bright
Was riding that way most hastilie.

O wha is yon that cam this way,
Sae hastilie that hither came?
I think it be my brother dear —
I think it be young Christie Graeme.

Ye're welcome here, my billie dear,
And thrice ye're welcome unto me. —
But I'm wae to say I've seen the day
When I am come to fight wi' thee;

My father's gane to Carlisle town,
Wi' your father Bewick there met he;
He says I'm a lad and I am but bad,
And a baffled man I trow I be.

He sent me to schools and I wadna learn,
He gae me books and I wadna read;
Sae my father's blessing I'll never earn
Till he see how my arm can guard my head.

O God forbid, my billie dear,
That ever such a thing suld be;
We'll take three men on either side
And see if we can our fathers agree.

Oh haud thy tongue now, billie Bewick,
And of thy talking let me be;
But if thou 'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art,
Come o'er the dyke and fight wi' me.

But I hae nae harness, billie, on my back,
As weel I see there is on thine. —
But as little harness as is on thy back,
As little, billie, shall be on mine.

Then he 's thrown off his coat o' mail,
His cap o' steel awa flung he;
He stuck his spear into the ground
And he tied his horse unto a tree.

Then Bewick has thrawn aff his cloak,
And 's psalter-book frae 's hand flung he;
He laid his hand upon the dyke,
And ower he lap most manfullie.

O they hae fought for twa lang hours;
When twa lang hours were come and gane
The sweat drapp'd fast frae aff them baith,
But a drop o' blude could not be seen.

Till Graeme ga'e Bewick an akward stroke,
An akward stroke strucken sickerlie;
He has hit him under the left breast,
And dead-wounded to the ground fell he.

Rise up, rise up now, billie dear,
Arise and speak three words to me;
Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound,
Or if God and good leeching may succour thee?

O horse, O horse now, billie Graeme,
And get thee far from hence with speed,
And get thee out of this country
That none may know who has done the deed.

O I have slain thee, billie Bewick,
If this be true thou tellest to me;
But I made a vow ere I came frae hame
That aye the next man I wad be.

He has pitched his sword in a moodie hill,
And he has leap'd twenty lang feet and three,
And on his ain sword's point he lap,
And dead upon the ground fell he.

'T was then came up Sir Robert Bewick,
And his brave son alive saw he.
Rise up, rise up, my son, he said,
For I think ye hae gotten the victorie.

O haud your tongue, my father dear;
Of your pridefu' talking let me be;
Ye might hae drunken your wine in peace
And let me and my billie be.

Gae dig a grave baith wide and deep,
And a grave to haud baith him and me;
But lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side
For I'm sure he wan the victorie.

Alack, a wae, auld Bewick cried,
Alack, was I not much to blame?
I'm sure I've lost the liveliest lad
That e'er was born unto my name.

Alack, a wae, quo' gude Lord Graeme,
I'm sure I hae lost the deeper lack;
I durst hae ridden the Border through
Had Christie Graeme been at my back.

Had I been led through Liddesdale,
And thirty horsemen guarding me,
And Christie Graeme been at my back,
Sae soon as he had set me free.

I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,
I've lost the key but and the lock;
I durst hae ridden the world around
Had Christie Graeme been at my back.