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letra de the witch of the westmerelands - sixmilebridge

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pale was the wounded knight
that bore the rowan shield
loud and cruel were the ravens’ cries
that feasted on the field

sayin’ “beck water cold and clear
will never clean your wounds
there’s none but the maid of the winding mere
can mak thee healed and sound”

“so course well my brindled hounds
and fetch me the mountain hare
whose coat is as gray as the west water
or as white as the lily fair”

who said, “green moss and heather bands
will never staunch the flood
there’s none but the witch of the westmerelands
can save thy dear life’s blood”

“so turn, turn your stallion’s head
’til his red mane flies in the wind
and right up there the moon goes by
and the bright star falls behind”

and clear was the pale evening
when his shadow p-ssed him by
and overhead was the brightest star
when he heard the owlet cry

sayin’ “why do you ride this way?
and wha’fore come ye here?”
“i seek the witch of the westmerelands
that dwells by the winding mere”

then fly free your good grey hawk
to gather the goldenrod
and face your horse into the clouds
beyond yon g-y green wood

and it’s weary by ullswater
in the misty brake fern way
through the cleft of the kirkstone p-ss
the winding water lay

he said, “lie down my brindled hounds
and rest ye, my good grey hawk
and thee, my steed, may graze thy fill
for i must dismount and walk”

“but come when you hear my h-rn
and answer swift the call
for i fear ere the sun shall rise this morn
you may serve me best of all”

and down to the water’s brim
he’s borne the rowan shield
and the goldenrod he has cast in
to see what the lake might yield

and wet rose she from the lake
and fast and fleet rode she
one half the form of a maiden fair
with a jet-black mare’s body

and loud, long and shrill he blew
’til his steed was by his side
and over head his grey hawk flew
and swiftly he did ride

sayin’ “course well, my brindled hounds
and fetch me the jet-black mare
stoop and strike, my good grey hawk
and bring me the maiden fair”

and she said, “pray sheath thy silvery sword
lay down thy rowan shield
for i see by the briny blood that flows
you’ve been wounded in the field”

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

and she’s bound his wounds with the goldenrod
full fast in her arms he lay
and he has risen healed and sound
with the sun high in the day

and she said, “ride with your brindled hounds at heel
and your good grey hawks in hand
there’s none can harm a knight who’s lain
with the witch of the westmerelands”

- sixmilebridge

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