Lyric Help? The Eskdale Hermit
Twas in and about the May Day time when the white flowers sweetly lie
When the primrose [ ] and the [green ] copse and the larks [salute] the sky
That Piercy, Bruce, and [ Allatson ] and Herberts light and Gay
From their proud mountain homes went forth to spend a hunting day
And they have left fair ?Kildaire's? halls, Skelton's castle fair
The stately walls of Gisborough, to seek the wild boar's lair
Theve lighted nigh on Eskdaleside upon the fen so brown
They lighted where the wild boar lay, the dread of ?Whittenby? town
The boar, the boar, the brindled boar, Lord Piercy loudly cried
theres a silver dirk to him who's spears the boar of Eskdaleside
And in that ancient forest green beside the gnarled oak
The hermit meek of Eskdaleside, his lone communings took
Twas there the boar, all red with gore burst into through open stead
Wounded and torn, it staggered on, and fell before him dead
Back to your home, proud Piercy back, where hence your footsteps trace/place ? "Herbert deBruce" how dare you thus pollute the sacred place
Thou shaven priest how dare you halt the heir to Piercy's hall
How dare you stop my [fleet ] stag hounds, and keep my prey in thrall
Then piercy him with his good broad sword that [good ] so sharply honed
He smote the hermit on the brow into a deathly wound
[ ] [ ] [ ] horrid outrage spread
That the holy monk of Eskdaleside of his wounds was nigh well dead
quickly the abbot did command the youths of Eskdaleside
you bide my holy mother church, what may this deed betide
What e're this pious hermit asks your punishment shall be
E'en by my soul, though he should ask your doom o'the gallows tree
Alas my lord, the hermit cried, revenge is not of mine
To extend our holy church's bound is a nobler aim [ of ] thine
I charge these youths on the [ on ascension ] eve, in penance for their crime [ of twigs within ] this forest take, and at early morning time
To raise up [ with ] these ? yellow shore a hedge that still must stand
Sea tides nor oceans' mighty wave shall wash it from the sand
The hunting horn that from this day their deed of shame shall sound
And all their heirs this tribute give 'til times' remotest bound
His eyes grew dim, his voice voice grew faint, farewell thou smiling shores Sweet Esk', my Esk', I look at thee well, one cry and all is o'er
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