"In the wild wood of fair Dove dwells An Outlaw, young and handsome; A sight of him on Chatsworth bank Were worth a prince's ransom. "Now bend your bows, and choose your shafts," His string at his touch went sighing; "The Outlaw comes-now, now at his breast Let seven broad shafts be flying." The Outlaw came-with a song he came- The Outlaw came-with a song he came- The Outlaw came-at his belt, a blade See, by his shadow in the stream "Now, shall I hit him where yon gay plume Of the Chatsworth pheasant's glancing; Or shall I smite his shapely limbs That charm our maidens dancing?" "Hold! hold!" a northern forester said, "It ne'er shall be said," quoth the forester then, "That the song of a red-deer reaver Could charm the bow that my grandsire bent And a shaft he laid, as he spoke, to the string, When the Outlaw's song came falling As sweet on his ear, as the wind when it comes Through the fragrant woodlands calling. There each man stood, with his good bow bent, "Oh! bonny Chatsworth, and fair Chatsworth, Thy bucks go merrily bounding; Aneath your green oaks, as the herds flew past, "It is sweet to meet with the one we love, "One fair dame loves the cittern's sound, "She waves her hand-her lily-white hand, One glance of her eye-and I snatch my bow, "I bring the lark from the morning cloud, "There's magic in the wave of her hand, "Her locks are brown-bright berry brown, "How I have won my way to her heart 'Tis past all men's discernin'; For she is lofty, and I am low, He turned him right and round about, With a step both long and lordly; "Good morrow, good fellows!" all fearless he said, "Was your supper spread so sparely; Or is it to feast some sweet young dame, That you bend your bows so early? "I feast me now on the ptarmigan, And then I taste the pheasant; And my supper is of the Chatsworth fawn, "But to-morrow I feast on yon bonny roebuck; 'Tis time I stay'd his bounding;" He twang'd his string-like the swallow it sung, All shrilly and sharply sounding. "By my grandsire's bow," said a forester then, "Seest thou yon tree, yon lonely tree, "So short as the time this sharp shaft flies, The Outlaw laugh'd; "Good fellow," he said, "My sword's too sure a servant To suffer that tree to bear such fruit While it stands upon the Derwent. "She would scorn my might, my own true love, "I have made my way with this little brown sword, "It guarded me well in bonny Scotland, When the Scots and Graemes fought fervent; And the steel that saved me by gentle Nith, May do the same by Derwent." "Fair fall thee, Outlaw, for that word! "The roebucks run upon thy braes And the tongue that calls thee a gentle stream The Outlaw smiled, " "Tis a soldier's saye Ne'er stoop'd the plumes of their basnets bright "Now by Saint Allen, the forester said, "It shall never be told of the Gordon's name, Of a name so high and lordly, That I took a gallant Outlaw in the toil, And hanged him base and cowardly. |