The Witch Of The Westmereland

Pale was the wounded knight
 Who bore the rowen shield,
 Loud and cruel were the ravens cries
 That feasted on the fields,
 Saying "Beck water cold and clear,
 Will never clean your wounds.
 There's none but the witch of the westmereland
 Can make thee hale and sound."
 "So turn, turn your stallions head
 Till his red mane flies in the wind,
 And the rider of the moon goes by
 And the bright star falls behind."
 Clear was the paley moon
 When a shadow passed him by;
 Below the hill were the brightest stars
 When he heard the owlet cry.
 Singing, "Why do you ride this way
 And wherefore came you here?"
 "I seek the Witch of the westmereland
 Who dwells by the winding mere."
 And it's weary by the Ullswater
 And the misty brake fern way
 Till through the cut of the kirkstane pass
 The winding water lay.
 He said, "Lie down my brindled hound
 And rest ye my good grey hawk,
 And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill
 For I must dismount and walk."
 "Come when you hear my horn
 And answer swift the call,
 For I fear ere the sun will rise this morn
 Ye will serve me best of all."
 And it's down to the water's brim
 He's borne the rowen shield,
 And the Goldenrod he has cast in
 To see what the lake might yield.
 Wet rose she from the lake
 And fast and fleet went she,
 One half the form of a maiden fair
 With a jet-black mares body.
 Loud, long and shrill he blew,
 Till his steed was by his side;
 High overhead the grey hawk flew
 And swiftly he did ride.
 "Course well, my brindled hound,
 And fetch me the jet-black mare!
 Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk,
 And bring me the maiden fair!"
 She said, "Pray sheath thy silvery sword,
 Lay down the rowen shield.
 For I see by the briny blood that flows
 You've been wounded in the field."
 She stood in a gown of 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 she lay,
 And he has risen, hale and sound,
 With the sun high in the day.
 "So ride with your brindled hound at heel
 And your good grey hawk in hand.
 There's none can harm the knight who's lain
 With the witch of the westmereland."