Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made, I wot the Kinmont's airns play'd clang. "O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, "I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; "But a rougher beast than Red Rowan I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. "And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willie, "I've prick'd a horse out oure the furs; But since the day I back'd a steed I never wore sic cumbrous spurs!"-- We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, And a thousand men, on horse and foot, Cam wi' the keen Lord Scroope along. Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden Water, Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band, And safely swam them through the stream. He turn'd him on the other side, And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he-- "If ye like na my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!" All sore astonish'd stood Lord Scroope, He stood as still as rock of stane; He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, When through the water they had gane. "He is either himsell a devil frae hell, Or else his mother a witch maun be; I wadna have ridden that wan water, For a' the gowd in Christentie." MODERN THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS Henry Wadsworth Longfellow It was the schooner _Hesperus_, That sailed the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company. Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May. The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth, And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South. Then up and spake an old sailor, Had sailed to the Spanish Main, "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. "Last night the moon had a golden ring, And tonight no moon we see!" The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he. Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the Northeast, The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast. Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow." He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar. And bound her to the mast. "O father! I hear the church-bells ring, O say, what may it be?" "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast"-- And he steered for the open sea. "O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" "O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?" But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.