Classic Poem

The huntsman's merry horn hath wound
Its call so loud and shrylle;
And manie a knyght and nymble steed
Hath met on Garvock hylle.

Pittarow's gallaunt knyght was there,
And the laird of Laurystoun;
Glenbervy with hys brothers twae
And Edzell with hys sonne.

The wycked Sheriff too was there,
Philip Melvil was hys name;
And twenty more frae the sea coast,
With gloomy Urie came.

Now up thae mount with fleet griehound
And through the forest steer —
Thae thynk nought of the goodlie syght,
But they thynk upon the deer.

Thae thynk not of the fair countrie
That ligget low and sweet;
The woodes, and streams, and parkes so green
And Conveth at their feet.

Thae thynk not of the Grampyans hygh,
That ryse upon thaer view;
Of Clachnabane wyth crowne of stane.
And Battack's head so blue.

But onne thae ryde with cheerie haste;
" Tantyvie! ho! " thae crie —
The leafie wodde shakes back the sound,
And makes the lyche replie.

Thae gallop east, thae gallop west,
And round the hylle thae chase —
The fox squats deeper in hys lair,
And maulkin quyttes her place.

The birds are fryghted from thaer nests,
The raven dull doth croak,
The owlette starteth from hys sleep,
Hys cradle the dark green oak.

But ne'er a stag that daie is seen
Y-skipping through the glade —
Albeit the menne ilk lessel beat,
Albeit the griehounds bayed.

So now 'tis time to thynk of rest,
All worn and spent with moil;
" Then blow the horn, good John of Cair
And let us cease from toil. "

He stood wythin a narrow dell,
Just eastward of the hyll;
And John of Cair has wound his horn,
That blew so loud and shrylle.

There knyght and laird, and carle also,
And panting griehound came;
They all dyd wear a woefull face —
For why? Thae caught no game.

Wythin the dell a blazing fire
Of faggots meetlie ryven,
Dyd burn around so cheerylie
And sent its smeek to heaven

And onne the fyre a dayntie potte
(Or Caldron it mote be):
Seyncte Marie's bell is not so bigge
That ryngeth in Dundee.

The fyre does burn — the potte does boil,
And " hubble, hubble, " cries;
For it was fylled wyth water fair,
And barlie grots lykewyse.

Thae squatted down uponne the ground,
Y-clad wyth plumie ferne;
But some were seated higher up,
Upon a stonie cairn.

Ne wordes this dolefull council spake;
But looked wyth eyen of yie,
Sometymes uponne the gloomie knyght —
Sometymes uponne the fyre.

Up spake the Sheriffe, and sed he —
" Syth we have found it so
That there is nought whereof to eat,
Then homeward lette us go:

" For I have there a goodlie dish,
My wyfe prepareth well;
And she dyd byd me come to eat
By chyme of Fordoun's bell. "

" Then, " quod the knyght of gloomie face
" Go home, if thet you maie;
But we have here a feaste to eat
Upon this hunting daie.

" And we have sworn an holie oath —
Before the sunne go down
We here shall taste of well-boiled flesh,
And barley-broth so brown! "

Then up the Sheriffe got in haste
To look wythin the potte:
He fain would see gyf flesh was there,
But surelie it was not.

But then, as farther to enquyre
Hys wordes he dyd begyn,
Thae turned hym o'er the cauldron's brym
And hurlit hym heddelong in.

He turned hym round wyth manie plash;
At whyche the knyghts dyd smyle.
And held hym down wyth stycks and staves,
Most horryd and most vyle.

And now that he is seethed full well,
What more had thae a-do,
But to fulfyll thaer wycked oath,
And make the King's word true?

Ilk had a horne to suppe wythal;
And thus it came to pass,
Thae took an mouthfull of the broth —
The human broth it was!

Thae looked lycke deevyls at thaer feaste
In hell's black cave below —
I would not been among thaer crew
For Barclay's land and moe.