Tom: C
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Pale was the wounded knight that bore the rowan shield
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Loud and cruel were the raven's cries that feasted on the field
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Saying "Beck water, cold and clear, will never clean your wound
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There's none but the maid of the winding mere can make thee hale and soond"
[Verse 2]
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"So course well, my brindled hounds, and fetch me the mountain hare
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Who's coat is as grey as the west water, or as white as the lily fair"
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Who said, "Green moss and heather bands will never staunch the flood
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There's none but the Witch of the West-Mer-Lands can save thy dear life's blood
[Verse 3]
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So turn, turn your stallion's head, 'til his red mane flies in the wind
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And the rider of the moon goes by and the bright star falls behind"
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And clear was the paley moon when his shadow passed him by
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Below the hills were the brightest stars when he heard the owlet cry
[Verse 4]
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Saying, "Why do you ride this way, and wherefore came you here?"
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"I seek the Witch of the West-Mer-Lands that dwells by the winding mere"
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"Then fly free your good grey hawk, to gather the goldenrod
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And face your horse into the clouds above yon gay green wood
[Verse 5]
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And it's weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way
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'Til through't the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass, the winding water lay"
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He said, "Lie down, my brindled hound, and rest ye, my good grey hawk
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And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill, for I must dismount and walk
[Verse 6]
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But come when you hear my horn and answer swift the call
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For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn ye will serve me best of all"
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And it's down to the water's brim, he's borne the rowan shield
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And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield
[Verse 7]
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And wet rose she from the lake, and fast and fleet went she
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One half the form of a maiden fair with a jet black mare's body
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And loud, long and shrill he blew, 'til his steed was by his side
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High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride
[Verse 8]
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Saying, "Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare
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Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair"
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She said, "Pray, sheathe thy silvery sword, lay down thy rowan shield
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For I see by the briney blood that flows, you've been wounded in the field"
[Verse 9]
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And she stood in a gown of the velvet blue, bound round with a silver chain
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And she's kissed his pale lips once and twice and three times, round again
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And she's bound his wounde with the goldenrod, full fast in her arms he lay
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And he has risen hale and soond with the sun high in the day
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And she said, "Ride with your brindled hound at heel, and your good grey hawk in hand
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There's none can harm the knight who's lain with the Witch of the West-Mer-Lands
