Chapter XXI: Part II

But word’s gone East, and word’s gone West,
’Mong high and low degree,
While it went to the King upon the throne,
And ane wrathful man was he.

“What!” said the King, “and shall we sit
In sackcloth mourning sad,
While all mine lieges of the land
For ane young quean run mad?

“Go, saddle me my milk-white steed,
Of true Megaira brode;
I will go and see this wondrous dame,
And prove her by the Rode.

“And if I find her Elfin Queen,
Or thing of Fairy kind,
I will burn her into ashes small,
And sift them on the wind.”

The King hath chosen four-score Knights,
All busked gallantlye,
And he is away to the Moril Glen,
As fast as he can dree.

And when he came to the Moril Glen,
Ae morning fair and clear,
This lovely May on horseback rode
To hunt the fallow deer.

Her palfrey was of snowy hue,
A pale unearthly thing,
That revelled over hill and dale
Like bird upon the wing.

Her screen was like a net of gold,
That dazzled as it flew;
Her mantle was of the rainbow’s red,
Her rail of its bonny blue.

A golden comb with diamonds bright,
Her seemly virgin crown,
Shone like the new moon’s lady-light
O’er cloud of amber brown.

The lightning that shot from her eyne,
Flickered like Elfin brand;
It was sharper nor the sharpest spear
In all Northumberland.

The King he wheeled him round about,
And calleth to his men,
“Yonder she comes, this wierdly Witch,
This spirit of the glen!

“Come, rank your master up behind,
This serpent to belay;
I’ll let you hear me put her down,
In grand polemic way.”

Swift came the maid o’er strath and stron--
Nae dantonit dame was she,--
Until the King her path withstood
In might and majestye.

The virgin cast on him a look,
With gay and graceful air,
As on something below her note,
That ought not to have been there.

The King, whose belt was like to burst,
With speeches most divine,
Now felt ane throbbing of the heart,
And quaking of the spine.

And aye he gasped for his breath,
And gaped in dire dismay,
And waved his arm, and smote his breast;
But word he could not say.

The spankie grewis they scoured the dale,
The dun deer to restrain;
The virgin gave her steed the rein,
And followed, might and main.

“Go bring her back,” the King he cried;
“This reifery must not be.
Though you should bind her hands and feet,
Go, bring her back to me.”

The deer she flew, the garf and grew
They followed hard behind;
The milk-white palfrey brushed the dew
Far fleeter nor the wind.

But woe betide the Lords and Knights,
That taiglit in the dell!
For though with whip and spur they plied,
Full far behind they fell.

They looked out o’er their left shoulders,
To see what they might see,
And there the King, in fit of love,
Lay spurring on the lea.

And, aye, he battered with his feet,
And rowted with despair,
And pulled the grass up by the roots,
And flung it on the air!

“What ails, what ails my royal Liege?
Such grief I do deplore.”
“Oh, I’m bewitched,” the King replied,
“And gone forevermore!

“Go, bring her back!--go, bring her back!--
Go, bring her back to me!
For I must either die of love,
Or own that dear Ladye!”

The deer was slain; the royal train
Then closed the virgin round,
And then her fair and lily hands
Behind her back were bound.

But who should bind her winsome feet?--
That bred such strife and pain,
That sixteen brave and belted Knights
Lay gasping on the plain.

And when she came before the King,
Ane ireful carle was he;
Saith he, “Dame, you must be my love,
Or burn beneath ane tree.”

“No, I can ne’er be love to thee,
Nor any lord thou hast;
For you are married men each one,
And I a maiden chaste.

“But here I promise, and I vow
By Scotland’s King and Crown,
Who first a widower shall prove,
Shall claim me as his own.”

The King hath mounted his milk-white steed,--
One word he said not more,--
And he is away from the Moril Glen,
As ne’er rode King before.

And every Lord and every Knight
Made off his several way,
All galloping as they had been mad,
Withoutten stop or stay.

But there was never such dole and pain
In any land befel;
For there is wickedness in man,
That grieveth me to tell.

There was one eye, and one alone,
Beheld the deeds were done;
But the lovely Queen of Fair Scotland
Ne’er saw the morning sun.

And seventy-seven wedded dames,
As fair as e’er were born,
The very pride of all the land,
Were dead before the morn.