THE PRIDE OF LOCKERBIE
Ballads and Poems: 3d ser
Glasgow Ballad Club
W. Blackwood, 1908
It was Fotheringham of Cumberland that rode the northern way,
With a band of brother rievers to the foray and the fray;
And they passed the walls of Carlisle and the cots of Gretna Green,
And went riding ever northward until Lockerbie was seen.
There was store of well fed cattle that went browsing o’er the lea,
And the sheep within the pastures were a pleasing sight to see;
“Have at them then,” cried Fotheringham, “Have at them work your wills,
They ll grow fatter o’er the Border fast among our Cumbrian hills.”
But beside the grazing cattle, by the wayside sat a maid,
And she boldly faced the raiders as she stood up unafraid:
“Get back,” she cried, “ye English thieves, get back into your den,
Afore I fetch, to chase ye back, our honest Scottish men.”
Then she turned and bounded lightly as to Lockerbie she sped,
But behind her came the thunder of the riever’s horse’s tread.
“Oh my hinny,” quoth the riever, “it’s no Lockerbie you’ll see,
But you’ll spend the night in riding o’er the Border-side with me.”
And although the maid ran lightly, like down blown by the wind,
Oh swifter was the horseman that came thundering on behind;
He leaned down o’er his holster where he kept his hunting-cup
And with a mighty effort hove the flying maiden up.
Then he headed for the Border, just as hard as he could ride.
“You will be my bonny leman if you will na be my bride.”
Then he waved a henchman backward who had rode with him a mile-
“Back, and drive the beasties s’uthward, I will meet ye at Carlisle.”
And s’uthward ever s’uthward fled the riever and the maid,
Across the sunlit meadows and adown the forest glade,
Till the setting sunbeam’s radiance seemed her misery to flout,
And the cold and pitying moonbeams from their canopy peeped out.
And the Border still grew nearer and her home grew farther off,
While the raider plied his captive with remorseless jeer and scoff,
Till her soul turned cold and hopeless and her heart was like to burst,
And the riever and his comrades full bitterly she cursed.
Then a joy sprang up within her when her hope had nearly died,
For she saw a glittering dagger that was hanging by his side,-
It had worked round to his rearward as they sped their wild career,
And was hanging there within her grasp beneath the moonbeams clear.
She drew it paused an instant as a silent prayer she gave,
Then right into his brawny back the glittering blade she drave;
He gave an awful shudder and a gasping gurgling groan,
And from the horse went crashing like a mighty plummet-stone.
Then she quickly cut the lashings that had bound her to the steed,
And lightly leaped from off his back upon the flowery mead;
She took the riever’s bonnet and his targe of tough bull-hide,
And turned the charger northward on her lonely homeward ride.
Back across the moonlit meadows and adown the moon-lit glade
Rushed the mighty red roan charger and the clinging Scottish maid,
Till, as the dawn came breaking and the sun fought through the haze,
The sloping roofs of Lockerbie were lying fore her gaze.
Oh blithe and welcome was the sight her childhood’s happy home,
And as they hear the horse’s hoofs the wondering neighbours come,
And looking up with shaded eyes they see come o’er the lea
The riever’s red roan charger and “The Pride of Lockerbie.”
She rode into the township and the folks came flocking round;
Then lightly leaped the maiden from the charger to the ground:
“I’ve brocht back the raider’s bonnet and the targe hell want no more,
For he’s lyin cauld and stiffenin by the Eden’s pebbly shore.”
“Then they plied their wondering questions, and she told her wondrous tale,
And the maiden’s fame went spreading o’er hill and over dale;
And tis still told how the raider though a mighty man was he,
Went down beneath the dagger of “The Pride of Lockerbie.”
John F. Fergus
1/16/2019 MSE