“Shadowlands”

A late telephone conversation with my longtime friend, Dawne Anderson, prompted me to get up this morning and finish this (which I’d done, but messed up in the previous days). Here’s the fine song for/with it……..go to:

“Pale was the wounded knight, that bore the rowan shield

Loud and cruel were the raven’s cries that 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 soond

So turn, turn your stallion’s head ’til 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 paley moon when his shadow passed him by

Below the hills 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 Westmorland that dwells by the winding mere”

And it’s weary by the Ullswater and the misty brake fern way

Til through the cleft in the Kirkstane Pass the winding water lay

He said “Lie down, Lie down, my brindled hound and rest ye, my good grey 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 born the rowan shield

And the goldenrod he has cast in to see what the lake might yield

And wet she rose 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 til his steed was by his side

High overhead the grey hawk flew and swiftly did he ride

Saying “Course well, my brindled hound, and fetch me the jet black mare

Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk, and bring me the maiden fair”

She said “Pray, sheathe 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 the 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 grey hawk in hand

For there’s none can harm the knight who’s lain with the Witch of the Westmorland. “