Stan Rogers Lyrics
"The Witch Of The Westmoreland"

Pale was the wounded knight
That bore the rowan shield,
Loud and cruel were the ravens' cries
As they 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 paling moon
When a shadow passed 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 brake fern way
Till through the cleft of the Kirkstane Pass
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 sheath 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."