Stan Rogers - The Witch of the Westmorland lyrics

Pale was the wounded knight That bore the rowan shield Loud and cruel were the raven's cries As he 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 sound "So turn, turn your stallion's head Till 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 shadow pa**ed him by Below the hill 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 Westmoreland Who dwells by the winding mere" And it's weary by the Ullswater And the misty brakefern way Till through the cleft of the Kirkstane pa** The winding water lay He said, "Lie down my brindled hound And rest ye my good gray 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 borne the rowan shield And the goldenrod he has cast in To see what the lake might yield And wet rose she 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 Till his steed was by his side High overhead the gray hawk flew And swiftly he did ride Saying, "Course well, me brindled hound And fetch me the jet-black mare Stoop and strike, me good gray 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 a 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 gray hawk in hand There's none can harm the knight who's lain With the Witch of the Westmoreland"