Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Scotland: Vols. VI–VIII. 1876–79.
Gordon of Brackley
By Allan Cunningham (1784–1842)D
Whistling and playing;
And called loud at Brackley gate,
Ere the day dawing,
“Come, Gordon of Brackley,
Proud Gordon, come down;
A sword ’s at your threshold,
Mair sharp than your own.”
His lady gan cry;
“Look, there is bold Inveraye
Driving your kye.”
“How can I go, ladye,
To win them agen?
I have but ae sword,
And rude Inveraye ten.”
With roke and with fan;
How blest had I been
Had I married a man!
Arise, all my maidens,
Take buckler and sword;
Go milk the ewes, Gordon,
And I shall be lord.”
Put his helm on his head;
Laid his hand on his sword,
And his thigh on his steed,
And stooped low and said,
As he kissed his young dame,
“There ’s a Gordon rides out
That will never ride hame.”
He rushed on him rude;
And the gay gallant Gordon
Lies bathed in his blude.
Frae the sources of Dee
To the mouth of the Spey,
The Highlanders mourn for him
And curse Inveraye.
And what saw ye there?
Was his young widow weeping
And tearing her hair?”
“I came in by Brackley,
I came in, and O,
There was mirth, there was feasting,
But nothing of woe.
And blithe as a bride;
Like a bridegroom bold Inveraye
Smiled at her side.
And she feasted him there,
As she ne’er feasted lord,
Though the blood of her husband
Was moist on his sword.”
And tears in the ha’,
For the gay gallant Gordon
That ’s dead and awa’.
To the bush comes the bud,
And the flower to the plain,
But the good and the brave,
They come never again.