Letra de Witch Of The Westmerlands - Barbara Dickson

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 winding were
Can make thee hale and soond'

So course well my brindled hounds
And fetch me the mountain hare,
Whose coat is as grey as the Wastwater
Or as white as the lily fair.

Who said, 'Green moss and heather bands
Will never staunch the flood
There's none but the Witch of the Westmerlands
Can save thy dear life's blood.

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 his shadow passed him by
Below the hill was the brightest star
When he heard the houlet cry

Saying 'Why do you ride this way,
And wherefore cam you here?'
'I seek the witch of the Westmoreland
That dwells by the winding mere'

"Then fly free your guid grey hawk
To gather the golden rod
And face your horse into the clouds
Above yon gay green wood'

And it's weary by Ullswater
And the misty brake fern way,
'till through the cleft of the Kirkstone Pass,
The winding water lay

He said 'Lie down, my brindled hounds
And rest ye, my good grey hawk,
And thee, my steed, may graze thy fill,
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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 arise 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 golden rod he has cast in
To see what the lake might yield

And wet rose she from the lake,
And fast and fleet gaed she,
One half the form of a maiden fair,
With a jet black mare's body.

And long, loud and shrill he blew,
'til his steed was by his side,
High overhead his grey hawk flew
And swiftly he did ride

Saying, 'Course well, my brindled hounds,
And fetch me the jet black mare
Stoop and strike, my good grey hawk,
Ad bring me the maiden fair'

Who 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.'

She stood in a gown of the velvet blue,
Bound round with a silver chain,
She's kissed his pale lips one and twice
And three times 'round again.

And she's bound his wounds with the golden rod,
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 hounds at heel,
And your good grey hawk in hand,
There's none can harm the knight who's lain
With the Witch of the Westmerlands'.