Old Reimkennar, to thy art
Mother Hertha sends her part;
She, whose gracious bounty gives
Needful food for all that lives.
From the deep mine of the North,
Came the mystic metal forth,
Doomed amidst disjointed stones,
Long to cere a champion's bones,
Disinhumed my charms to aid:
Mother earth, my thanks are paid.

Girdle of our islands dear,
Element of Water, hear!
Thou whose power can overwhelm
Broken mounds and ruined realm

On the lowly Belgian strand;
All thy fiercest rage can never
Of our soil a furlong sever

From our rock-defended land; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Norna's art.

Elements, each other greeting,
Gifts and powers attend your meeting!

Thou, that over billows dark
Safely send'st the fisher's bark:
Giving him a path and motion
Through the wilderness of ocean;
Thou, that when the billows brave ye,
O'er the shelves canst drive the navy:
Didst thou chafe as one neglected,
While thy brethren were respected?
To appease thee, see, I tear
This full grasp of grizzled hair;
Oft thy breath hath through it sung,
Softening to my magic tongue;
Now, 't is thine to bid it fly
Through the wide expanse of sky,
'Mid the countless swarms to sail
Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale;
Take thy portion and rejoice:
Spirit, thou hast heard my voice!

She who sits by haunted well, Is subject to the Nixie's spell; She who walks on lonely beach,

To the Mermaid's charmed speech;
She who walks round ring of green,
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen;
And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie's
cave,

A weary weird of woe shall have.

By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more; And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill

A source that's more deep and more mys tical still.

Thou art within a demon's hold,
More wise than Heims, more strong than
Trolld;

No siren sings so sweet as he:
No fay springs lighter on the lea;
No elfin power hath half the art
To soothe, to move, to wring the heart:
Life-blood from the cheek to drain,
Drench the eye, and dry the vein.
Maiden, ere we farther go,
Dost thou note me, ay or no?

In fear of mishap
From a shoulder-tap;
And dreading a claw
From the talons of law,

That are sharper than briars;
His freedom to sue
And rescue by you:
Through weapon and wit,
From warrant and writ,
From bailiff's hand,
From tipstaff's wand,

Is come hither to Whitefriars.

By spigot and barrel,

By bilboe and buff; Thou art sworn to the quarrel Of the blades of the Huff. For Whitefriars and its claims To be champion or martyr, And to fight for its dames Like a Knight of the Garter.

From the touch of the tip,

From the blight of the warrant, From the watchmen who skip

On the Harman Beck's errand, From the bailiff's cramp speech, That makes man a thrall,

I charm thee from each,

And I charm thee from all. Thy freedom's complete

As a blade of the Huff,
To be cheated and cheat,

To be cuffed and to cuff;
To stride, swear, and swagger,
To drink till you stagger,

To stare and to stab,
And to brandish your dagger
In the cause of your drab;
To walk wool-ward in winter,
Drink brandy, and smoke,
And go fresco in summer

For want of a cloak;
To eke out your living

By the wag of your elbow,
By fulham and gourd,
And by baring of bilboe;
To live by your shifts,

And to swear by your honor
Are the freedom and gifts
Of which I am the donor.

'Cock of the North, my Huntly bra', Where are you with the Forty-twa ? Ah! waes my heart that ye 're awa':

Carle, now the King's come!

'But yonder come my canty Celts, With durk and pistols at their belts, Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts:

Carle, now the King's come!

'Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell! Macdonell 's ta'en the field himsell, Macleod comes branking o'er the fell: Carle, now the King 's come!

'Bend
up your bow each Archer spark,
For you 're to guard him light and dark;
Faith, lads, for ance ye 've hit the mark:
Carle, now the King's come!

'Young Errol, take the sword of state,
The Sceptre, Pane-Morarchate;
Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the gate:
Carle, now the King's come!

'Kind cummer, Leith, ye 've been mis set,

But dinna be upon the fret:
Ye 'se hae the handsel of him yet,

Carle, now the King's come!

'My daughters, come with een sae blue, Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew; He ne'er saw fairer flowers than you:

Carle, now the King's come!

'What shall we do for the propine:
We used to offer something fine,
But ne'er a groat 's in pouch of mine:
Carle, now the King's come!

'Deil care- for that I'se never start, We'll welcome him with Highland heart; Whate'er we have he 's get a part:

Carle, now the King's come!

'I'll show him mason-work this day:
Nane of your bricks of Babel clay,
But towers shall stand till Time 's away:
Carle, now the King's come!

'I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair,
And gallant lads and lasses fair,
And what wad kind heart wish for mair?
Carle, now the King's come!