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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519731" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Thomas the Rhymer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Part First</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ancient</div><div style="margin:10px 0">True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; <br>A ferlie he spied wi' his ee; <br>And there he saw a lady bright, <br>Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her skirt was o the grass-green silk, <br>Her mantle o the velvet fyne, <br>At ilka tett of her horse's mane <br>Hang fifty siller bells and nine. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">True Thomas he pulld aff his cap, <br>And louted low down to his knee: <br>'All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! <br>For thy peer on earth I never did see.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O no, O no, Thomas,' she said, <br>'That name does not belang to me; <br>I am but the queen of fair Elfland, <br>That am hither come to visit thee. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Harp and carp, Thomas,' she said, <br>'Harp and carp, along wi' me, <br>And if ye dare to kiss my lips, <br>Sure of your bodie I will be!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Betide me weal, betide me woe, <br>That weird sall never daunton me; <br>Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, <br>All underneath the Eildon Tree. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Now, ye maun go wi me,' she said, <br>'True Thomas, ye maun go wi me, <br>And ye maun serve me seven years, <br>Thro weal or woe as may chance to be.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She mounted on her milk-white steed, <br>She's taen True Thomas up behind, <br>And aye wheneer her bride rung, <br>The steed flew swifter than the wind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O they rade on, and farther on - <br>The steed gaed swifter than the wind - <br>Until they reached a desart wide, <br>And living land was left behind. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Light down, light down, now, True Thomas, <br>And lean your head upon my knee; <br>Abide and rest a little space, <br>And I will shew you ferlies three. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'O see ye not yon narrow road, <br>So thick beset with thorns and briers? <br>That is the path of righteousness, <br>Tho after it but few enquires. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And see ye not that braid braid road, <br>That lies across that lily leven? <br>That is the path of wickedness, <br>Tho some call it the road to heaven. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And see not ye that bonny road, <br>That winds about the fernie brae? <br>That is the road to fair Elfland, <br>Where thou and I this night maun gae. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, <br>Whatever ye may hear or see, <br>For, if you speak word in Elflyn land, <br>Ye'll neer get back to your ain countrie.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O they rade on, and farther on, <br>And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee, <br>And they saw neither sun nor moon, <br>But they heard the roaring of the sea. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, <br>And they waded thro red blude to the knee; <br>For a' the blude that's shed an earth <br>Rins thro the springs o that countrie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Syne they came on to a garden green, <br>And she pu'd an apple frae a tree: <br>'Take this for thy wages, True Thomas, <br>It will give the tongue that can never lie.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'My tongue is mine ain,' True Thomas said, <br>'A gudely gift ye wad gie me! <br>I neither dought to buy nor sell, <br>At fair or tryst where I may be. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'I dought neither speak to prince or peer, <br>Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:' <br>'Now hold thy peace,' the lady said, <br>'For as I say, so must it be.' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, <br>And a pair of shoes of velvet green, <br>And till seven years were gane and past <br>True Thomas on earth was never seen. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Part Second</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When seven years were come and gane,<br>The sun blink'd fair on pool and stream;<br>And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,<br>Like one awaken'd from a dream.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He heard the trampling of a steed,<br>He saw the flash of armour flee,<br>And he beheld a gallant knight<br>Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was a stalwart knight, and strong;<br>Of giant make he 'pear'd to be:<br>He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode,<br>Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Says - 'Well met, well met, true Thomas!<br>Some uncouth ferlies show to me.'-<br>Says - 'Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave!<br>Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave!<br>And I will show thee curses three,<br>Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane,<br>And change the green to the black livery.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A storm shall roar this very hour, <br>From Ross's hills to Solway sea.'-<br>'Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar!<br>For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lee.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He put his hand on the Earlie's head;<br>He show'd him a rock beside the sea,<br>Where a king lay stiff beneath his steed,<br>And steel-dight nobles wiped their ee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The neist curse lights on Branxton hills;<br>By Flodden's high and heathery side,<br>Shall wave a banner red as blude,<br>And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A Scottish King shall come full keen,<br>The ruddy lion beareth he;<br>A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween,<br>Shall make him wink and warre to see.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'When he is bloody, and all to bledde,<br>Thus to his men he still shall say -<br>'For God's sake, turn ye back again,<br>And give yon southern folk a fray!<br>Why should I lose, the right is mine?<br>My doom is not to die this day.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,<br>And woe and wonder ye sall see;<br>How forty thousand spearmen stand,<br>Where yon rank river meets the sea.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'There shall the lion lose the gylte,<br>And the libbards bear it clean away;<br>At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt<br>Much gentil bluid that day.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Enough, enough, of curse and ban;<br>Some blessings show thou now to me,<br>Or, by the faith o' my bodie,' Corspatrick said,<br>'Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me!'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The first of blessings I shall thee show,<br>Is by a burn, that's call'd of bread;<br>Where Saxon men shall tine the bow,<br>And find their arrows lack the head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Beside that brigg, out ower that burn,<br>Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,<br>Shall many a fallen courser spurn,<br>And knights shall die in battle keen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Beside a headless cross of stone,<br>The libbards there shall lose the gree;<br>The raven shall come, the erne shall go,<br>And drink the Saxon bluid sae free.<br>The cross of stone they shall not know,<br>So thick the corses there shall be.'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'But tell me now,' said brave Dunbar,<br>'True Thomas, tell now unto me,<br>What man shall rule the isle of Britain,<br>Even from the north to the southern sea?'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A French Queen shall bear the son,<br>Shall rule all Britain to the sea;<br>He of the Bruce's blood shall come,<br>As near as in the ninth degree.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'The waters worship shall his race;<br>Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;<br>For they shall ride over ocean wide,<br>With hempen bridles, and horse of tree.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Part Third.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When seven years more were come and gone,<br>Was war through Scotland spread,<br>And Ruberslaw show'd high Dunyon<br>His beacon blazing red.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then all by bonny Coldingknow,<br>Pitch'd palliouns took their room,<br>And crested helms, and spears a-rowe,<br>Glanced gaily through the broom.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,<br>Resounds the ensenzie;<br>They roused the deer from Caddenhead,<br>To distant Torwoodlee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The feast was spread in Ercildoune,<br>In Learmont's high and ancient hall:<br>And there were knights of great renown,<br>And ladies, laced in pall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,<br>The music nor the tale,<br>Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,<br>Nor mantling quaighs of ale. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,<br>When as the feast was done:<br>(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,<br>The elfin harp he won).</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue,<br>And harpers for envy pale;<br>And arm'd lords lean'd on their swords,<br>And hearken'd to the tale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In numbers high, the witching tale<br>The prophet pour'd along;<br>No after bard might e'er avail<br>Those numbers to prolong.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yet fragments of the lofty strain<br>Float down the tide of years,<br>As, buoyant on the stormy main,<br>A parted wreck appears.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He sung King Arthur's Table Round:<br>The Warrior of the Lake;<br>How courteous Gawaine met the wound,<br>And bled for ladies' sake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,<br>The notes melodious swell;<br>Was none excell'd in Arthur's days,<br>The knight of Lionelle.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right <br>A venom'd wound he bore;<br>When fierce Morholde he slew in fight,<br>Upon the Irish shore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No art the poison might withstand;<br>No medicine could be found,<br>Till lovely Isolde's lily hand<br>Had probed the rankling wound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">With gentle hand and soothing tongue<br>She bore the leech's part;<br>And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,<br>He paid her with his heart.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O fatal was the gift, I ween!<br>For, doom'd in evil tide,<br>The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,<br>His cowardly uncle's bride.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard<br>In fairy tissue wove;<br>Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,<br>In gay confusion strove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,<br>High rear'd its glittering head;<br>And Avalon's enchanted vale<br>In all its wonders spread.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Brangwain was there, and Segramore,<br>And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye;<br>Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,<br>O who could sing but he?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through many a maze the winning song<br>In changeful passion led,<br>Till bent at length the listening throng<br>O'er Tristrem's dying bed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His ancient wounds their scars expand,<br>With agony his heart is wrung:<br>O where is Isolde's lilye hand,<br>And where her soothing tongue?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She comes! she comes! - like flash of flame<br>Can lovers' footsteps fly:<br>She comes! she comes! - she only came<br>To see her Tristrem die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She saw him die; her latest sigh<br>Join'd in a kiss his parting breath,<br>The gentlest pair that Britain bare,<br>United are in death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There paused the harp: its lingering sound<br>Died slowly on the ear;<br>The silent guests still bent around,<br>For still they seem'd to hear.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak:<br>Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh;<br>But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek<br>Did many a gauntlet dry.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,<br>The mists of evening close;<br>In camp, in castle, or in bower,<br>Each warrior sought repose.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,<br>Dreamed o'er the woeful tale;<br>When footsteps light, across the bent,<br>The warrior's ears assail.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He starts, he wakes; - 'What, Richard, ho!<br>Arise, my page, arise!<br>What venturous wight, at dead of night,<br>Dare step where Douglas lies!'-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then forth they rush'd: by Leader's tide,<br>A selcouth sight they see-<br>A hart and hind pace side by side,<br>As white as snow on Fairnalie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,<br>They stately move, and slow;<br>Nor scare they at gathering crowd,<br>Who marvel as they go. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">To Learmont's tower a message sped,<br>As fast as page might run;<br>And Thomas startled from his bed,<br>And soon his clothes did on.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;<br>Never a word he spake but three;-<br>'My sand is run; my thread is spun;<br>This sign regardeth me.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The elfin harp his neck around,<br>In minstrel guise, he hung;<br>And on the wind, in doleful sound,<br>Its dying accents rung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then forth he went; yet turn'd him oft <br>To view his ancient hall:<br>On the grey tower, in lustre soft,<br>The autumn moonbeams fall;</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Leader's waves, like silver sheen,<br>Danced shimmering in the ray;<br>In deepening mass, at distance seen,<br>Broad Soltra's mountains lay.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Farewell, my fathers' ancient tower!<br>A long farewell,' said he:<br>'The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,<br>Thou never more shalt be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'To Learmont's name no foot of earth<br>Shall here again belong,<br>And, on thy hospitable hearth,<br>The hare shall leave her young.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Adieu! adieu!' again he cried,<br>All as he turn'd him roun'-<br>'Farewell to Leader's silver tide!<br>Farewell to Ercildoune!'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hart and hind approach'd the place,<br>As lingering yet he stood;<br>And there, before Lord Douglas' face<br>With them he cross'd the flood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed,<br>And spurr'd him the Leader o'er;<br>But, though he rode with lightning speed,<br>He never saw them more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Soem said to hill, and some to glen,<br>Their wondrous course had been;<br>But ne'er in haunts of living men<br>Again was Thomas seen.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519731" data-title="Thomas the Rhymer de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="Part First

Ancient

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; 
A ferlie he spied wi' his ee; 
And there he saw a lady bright, 
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. 

Her skirt was o the grass-green silk, 
Her mantle o the velvet fyne, 
At ilka tett of her..."></div>
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