Part II
Gloomy, gloomy, was the night,
And eiry was the way,
As fair Janet in her green mantle,
To Miles Cross she did gae.
The heavens were black, the night was dark,
And dreary was the place;
But Janet stood, with eager wish,
Her lover to embrace.
Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,
A north wind tore the bent;
And straight she heard strange elritch sounds,
Upon that wind which went.
About the dead hour o’ the night,
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o’ that
As any earthly thing.
Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill.
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear;
But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,
The Fairies cannot bear.
They sing, inspired with love and joy,
Like skylarks in the air;
Of solid sense, or thought that’s grave,
You’ll find no traces there.
Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,
The dreary heath upon;
And louder, louder wax’d the sound,
As they came riding on.
Will o’ Wisp before them went,
Sent forth a twinkling light;
And soon she saw the fairy bands
All riding in her sight.
And first gaed by the black, black steed,
And then gaed by the brown;
But fast she gript the milk-white steed,
And pu’d the rider down.
She pu’d him frae the milk-white steed,
And loot the bridle fa’;
And up there raise an erlish cry—
“He’s won amang us a’!”—
They shaped him in fair Janet’s arms,
A tod, but and an eel;
She held him fast in every shape—
As she did love him weel.
They shaped him in her arms at last,
A mother-naked man;
She wrapt him in her green mantle,
And sae her true love wan!
Up then spake the queen o’ fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ broom—
“She that has borrow’d young Tamlane,
Has gotten a stately groom.”—
Up then spake the queen o’ Fairies,
Out o’ a bush o’ rye—
“She’s ta’en awa the bonniest knight
In a’ my cumpanie.
“But had I kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“A ladye wad borrow’d thee—
I wad ta’en out thy twa grey een,
Put in twa een o’ tree.
“Had I but kenn’d, Tamlane,” she says,
“Before ye came frae hame—
I wad ta’en out your heart o’ flesh,
Put in a heart o’ stane.”
“Had I but had the wit yestreen
That I hae coft the day—
I’d paid my kane seven times to hell
Ere you’d been won away!”
(Condensed)