_Virgo jam serpens sinuosa volumina versat,_ _Mille trahens varios adverso sole colores,_ _Arrectis horret squamis et sibilat ore;_ _Arduaque insurgens navem de littore pulsat._ A Song about 550 Years old, made by the old Mountain-bard, Duncan Frasier, living on Cheviot, A.D. 1270. _First printed from an ancient MSS._ BY MR ROBERT LAMBE, VICAR OF NORHAM. The king is gone from Bambrough Castle, Long may the princess mourn, Long may she stand on the castle wall, Looking for his return. She has knotted the keys upon a string, And with her she has them ta’en, She has cast them o’er her left shoulder, And to the gate she is gane. She tripped out, she tripped in, She tript into the yard; But it was more for the king’s sake, Than for the queen’s regard. It fell out on a day, the king Brought the queen with him home; And all the lords, in our country, To welcome them did come. Oh! welcome father, the lady cries, Unto your halls and bowers; And so are you, my step-mother, For all that’s here is yours. A lord said, wond’ring while she spake, This princess of the North Surpasses all of female kind In beauty, and in worth. The envious queen replied, at least, You might have excepted me; In a few hours, I will her bring Down to a low degree. I will her liken to a Laidley worm, That warps about the stone, And not, till Childly Wynd comes back, Shall she again be won. The princess stood at the bower door Laughing, who could her blame? But e’er the next day’s sun went down, A long worm she became. For seven miles east, for seven miles west, And seven miles north, and south, No blade of grass or corn could grow, So venomous was her mouth. The milk of seven stately cows, It was costly her to keep, Was brought her daily, which she drank Before she went to sleep. At this day may be seen the cave, Which held her folded up, And the stone trough, the very same Out of which she did sup. Word went east, and word went west, And word is gone over the sea, That a Laidley worm in Spindleston-Heughs Would ruin the North Country. Word went east, and word went west, And over the sea did go; The Child de Wynd got wit of it, Which filled his heart with woe. He called straight his merry men all, They thirty were and three: I wish I were at Spindleston, This desperate worm to see. We have no time now here to waste, Hence quickly let us sail: My only sister Margaret, Something, I fear, doth ail. They built a ship without delay, With masts of the rown tree, With flut’ring sails of silk so fine, And set her on the sea. They went on board. The wind with speed Blew them along the deep, At length they spied an huge square tower On a rock high and steep.