Classic Poem

There was a knight and a lady bright
Had a true tryste at the broom;
The ane gaed early in the morning,
The other in the afternoon.

And ay she sat in her mother's bower door
And ay she made her mane:
O whether should I gang to the Broomfield Hill
Or should I stay at hame?

For if I gang to the Broomfield Hill
My maidenhead is gone;
And if I chance to stay at hame
My love will ca' me mansworn.

Up then spake a witch woman,
Ay from the room aboon:
O ye may gang to the Broomfield Hill
And yet come maiden hame.

For when ye gang to the Broomfield Hill
Ye'll find your love asleep
With a silver belt about his head
And a broom-cow at his feet.

Take ye the blossom of the broom,
The blossom it smells sweet,
And strew it at your true love's head
And likewise at his feet.

Take ye the rings off your fingers,
Put them on his right hand,
To let him know, when he doth awake,
His love was at his command.

She pu'd the broom flower on Hive Hill
And strew'd on 's white hals bane,
And that was to be wittering true
That maiden she had gane.

O where were ye, my milk-white steed,
That I hae coft sae dear,
That wadna watch and waken me
When there was maiden here?

I stamped wi' my foot, master,
And gar'd my bridle ring,
But na kin thing wald waken ye
Till she was past and gane.

And wae betide ye, my gay goss hawk,
That I did love sae dear,
That wadna watch and waken me
When there was maiden here.

I clapped wi' my wings, master,
And ay my bells I rang,
And aye cry'd, Waken, waken, master,
Before the ladye gang.

But haste and haste, my gude white steed,
To come the maiden till,
Or a' the birds of gude green wood
Of your flesh shall have their fill.

Ye need na burst your gude white steed
Wi' racing o'er the howm;
Nae bird flies faster through the wood
Than she fled through the broom.