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    "The Witch Of The Westmoreland" Lyrics

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    Pale was the wounded knight
    That bore the rowan shield,
    Loud and cruel were the ravens' cries
    As they feasted on the field,

    Saying, "Beck water, cold and clear,
    Will never clean your wound.
    There's none but the Witch of the Westmoreland
    Can make thee hale and sound.

    "So turn, turn your stallion's head
    Till his red mane flies in the wind
    And the rider of the moon goes by
    And the bright star falls behind."

    And clear was the paling moon
    When a shadow passed him by;
    Below the hill were the brightest stars
    When he heard the owlet cry.

    Saying, "Why do you ride this way
    And wherefore came you here?"
    "I seek the Witch of the Westmoreland
    Who dwells by the Winding Mere."

    And it's weary by the Ullswater
    And the misty brake fern way
    Till through the cleft of the Kirkstane Pass
    The winding water lay.

    He said, "Lie down my brindled hound
    And rest ye, my good gray hawk,
    And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill
    For I must dismount and walk.

    "But 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 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 went she,
    One half the form of a maiden fair
    With a jet-black mare's body.

    And loud, long, and shrill he blew,
    Till his steed was by his side;
    High overhead the gray hawk flew
    And swiftly he did ride.

    Saying, "Course well me brindled hound
    And fetch me the jet-black mare!
    Stoop and strike, me good gray hawk,
    And bring me the maiden fair!"

    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 a gown of a 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 hale and sound,
    With the sun high in the day.

    She said, "Ride with your brindled hound at heel
    And your good gray hawk in hand.
    There's none can harm the knight who's lain
    With the Witch of the Westmoreland."
    • submitted by RAS
    • corrected by WolfOfFate on October 9th, 2014

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