THE GOBLIN GROOM.

Now crows the cock in Dunse’s streets; The twittering sparrow morning greets; The braying ass his trumpet blew, For well the morning air he knew; And hies the hostler to his care, With bosom light as morning air. The ruddy streaks of infant day On Lammer’s hills and Chiviot’s play; And freshly blows the morning breeze, From Firth of Forth to German seas.

The kennelled pack, with conscious ear, Well know the huntsman to be near; Their deep-toned notes, in concert rise, As to the door each staunch hound flies; And merry were the huntsman’s cries: Full well he knew to cheer each hound, Or quell his riot, by the sound Of angry word, or cracking thong. But now the pack as round they crowd, In notes melodious, and loud, Pour forth their morning song. And, on my soul, the sound was dear, And transport to the huntsman’s ear. Out dashed the pack, a stauncher crew Ne’er snuffed the pearly morning-dew: And soon the huntsman’s sounding thong Has checked the ardour of the throng: In meet procession, quiet, slow, Behind their master’s horse they go: His two assistants after ride, To bring them all to cover side.

Meanwhile the hostled sportsmen rise, With bosoms light, but heavy eyes; For last night’s liquor still remained, And some would liked to’ve lain in bed, To ease a fevered, aching head; But manly pride such ease disdained. So all have risen, and all have dressed, In jockey cap, and scarlet vest; And now they’re met, and seated all At breakfast, in the festal hall: And question after question passed, Who saw the goblin jockey last? Disputes arise, but all agree That mortal man he could not be; And cried they, with a jovial air, Faith, but he drank his liquor fair! The hostess enters in to say, The Goblin Groom had gone away, And who his share of drink should pay. And all agree ’twas passing fair, As he had filled great D— —h’s chair, That his account for jovial cheer, Should be discharged by D— —h’s peer.

The hacks are pacing now before The Hostel’s arch projecting door; Full twelve miles off the cover lay; The hunters went at peep of day: And some, I’m told, went over night, To be in better hunting plight. Each sportsman mounts his cover steed, And through the town with fiery speed, Spurs on his ready hack: One thinks a canter gives him grace, Another thinks a trot the pace, And knowingly looks back; And pleased he looks, in sooth to find His cantering comrade left behind. Now one, now t’other takes the lead, As jockey whim directs the speed.

At Ladykirk the cover lay, Where, steep and high, a birken brae Hangs o’er the river Tweed: Hence many a fox the hounds have driven, Whose dirtied brush has oft been given, The foremost horseman’s meed. This bank, in former days, has been Sad witness of a different scene; When Norham’s border castle rang With England’s war foreboding clang; When threatened feud was heard to sound Defiance to the Scottish ground; When cannon roared from Norham’s wall, The English border clans to call: Then flew the fox this brae of birk, And far from Scottish Ladykirk; And sought he, much against his will, The safe retreat of Chiviot hill.

Hither the hounds have bent their way, And hither come the sportsmen gay: Sure such a sight was never seen, At tournament, or listed green. The neighing steeds were seen to prance, As through the copse-wood green they came: The sounding whip displaced the lance, And sport has banished feudal flame. In every face a smile of joy, From titled peer, to huntsman-boy; In every eye a flash of fire; A flash of hope, but not of ire: In every heart joy’s transport bounds, As into cover dash the hounds: And in they dash with such a clang, That Norham’s empty castle rang: And every bush in tremor shook, And every sapling waved on high; Each horseman gazed with eager look, Or listened for the joyous cry: And sideways on their steeds they sat, With side-placed cap, or side-placed hat.

But when they hear the well known hound Proclaim the rascal to be found, High beats each gallant sportsman’s heart To take the lead, or have the start. And now the banks of Ladykirk Ring with the pack’s melodious cry; And waves its head, each verdant birk, To merry notes of extacy. O! how the hounds together dash, And make the greenwood cover crash. Poor Reynard! all your hopes are vain; In vain you strive to tarry here; Go seek the fields, or plains so drear; At Ladykirk you can’t remain; To Tweed’s green banks now bid adieu, They ne’er again shall greet your view; No more her murm’ring streams shall cheer, With soothing notes, your listening ear.

Now peeping from the copse so green, The Fox’s cunning head is seen, His ready ears turned back: His open mouth his terror shows; For time put off, full well he knows, Will bring the eager pack. So down towards the Tweed he steels, With outstretched brush, and nimble heels; When, hark! a horseman from below Has given the welcome Tallyho! Amazement filled the listening crew; The note was strange, the voice was new: Wondered they much who it could be That shouted with such melody; For such a voice, or such a sound, Ne’er till this moment cheered a hound.

And round they gazing looked, when, lo! The Goblin Groom is seen below, Dressed as he was last night; Save that a cap, place hat, he wore, And neater looked he than before, His leathers were more tight. He strode a poney, lank and lean, That looked as if astray ’t had been: Dun was its hue, with flowing mane; The tail was black, and like a train Swept far behind the scented plain, Save, when at speed, he whisking spread It round the Goblin’s fated head; Or to the spur, the sure reply Was lashed across the Goblin’s thigh: On every side, above, below, The whisking tail was seen to flow.

Said I the Fox towards the Tweed Had urged with fear his utmost speed; And that the hounds approaching nigh Had bid the cowering ruffian fly; And that the Goblin Groom had seen Him leave his haunts of copse-wood green; Had seen him leave the bank so steep, And stem the tide so broad and deep; And that he ready staid below To give the welcome Tallyho!

No sooner had the shout been given, Than to the hilt the spurs were driven: The lank-lean poney knew full well The signal for the chace; And only those who’ve seen may tell The issue of the race. But Norham’s castle saw the start, And knows the Goblin did his part; At least she knows, if it may be That Castles are allowed to see, That first the Goblin saw the find, And left the boldest far behind.

Into the river, broad and deep, Beneath old Norham’s ruined keep, Where the descent appears most steep, The gallant pack have dashed: In likewise dashed the Elf and horse, Quite heedless of the torrent’s force; And as they stemmed the river’s course His tail the poney lashed. The Goblin Groom now screamed a scream; For Goblins hate a running stream; And, if the truth my records say, The Elfin Poney neighed a neigh.

O! ’twas a gallant sight, and brave, To see them stem the chrystal wave: But now the tide and stream have bore The Groom and pack to England’s shore: The other sportsmen, round about, With hurried speed, have ta’en their route; For well they knew th’ attempt were vain Here the English side of Tweed to gain; And so they’ve gone a mile below, Where gurgling Tweed runs on more slow; And much they marvel, all the way, How crossed that gallant daring fay.

Meanwhile the hounds round Norham’s base Have ta’en their way with eager pace; Have hurried on with ready will To where the Tweed receives the Till: Through Tillmouth’s wooded banks they fly, Whilst Echo answers to the cry;[9] And then they seek the higher lands, Where Twizel’s lordly castle stands: High on her wood surrounded mead, She views at once both Till and Tweed: Two fairer streams ne’er met, I ween, In such a grand and lovely scene; Where braes and banks, and woods combine, And swiftly gliding waters shine; Where distant hills and mountains rise, And fade beneath th’ expansive skies.

The Goblin Groom has led the van O’er hill and dale, through grove and glen; And as the breast-high scent they ran, Nor yawning ditch nor boggy fen, Nor thickset-hedge, nor strong built wall, Could stop his bold career; His Elfin Steed disdained to fall, And dashed impetuous at them all, Determined each to clear. And thus he hilter skilter flew, And distanced all the huntsmen-crew; Whilst much they wondered such a steed So well could leap and take the lead.

From lordly Twizel’s wide domain, An opener country now they gain; No longer dells obstruct the sight: The fields were large, the soil was light; The eager hounds increase their pace; The gallop now becomes a race: But vain it were for horse to try To race with one that seemed to fly: And oft the Goblin looked in rear As if he sought great D— —h’s Peer: For be it known, and it is true, The Goblin honoured bold B— —h; And had he come t’enjoy the chace, The Goblin sure had slacked his pace; For, Goblin as he was, he knew Respect to rank is always due.

Past Duddo’s black and ruined tower The hard pressed Fox has bent his way; Past Etal’s town and Etal’s bower, Which in the neighb’ring valley lay: Climbed they the hills so steep and fair, Which over Ford’s proud castle stare; And pleased was every eye, I ween, Whilst glanced along the princely scene. The castle first attracts the eye, In all her ancient majesty: Meandering Till’s impetuous flow, Runs wildly in the vale below; And mountains bleak, and hills of green, Diversify the giant scene. Such is the wide domain and hall Of John the Peer of Delaval.

And now the country bleaker grew, As to the upland grounds they drew; A barren waste, so bleak and drear, Is seen on every side: No objects to the sight appear The eye to glad, or heart to cheer, In all the desert wide. The ocean blue, with clustered isles,[10] The only feature here that smiles; Here glouring[11] o’er the German flood, Bare Barmoor’s baby castle stood, With pallid face of new built woe, Sad contrast to the moor below. The owner saw the hounds run by, And, from a tower, joined in the cry; Wondered he much who it could be That led the joyous revelry: To right, or left, the leading hound, The Goblin Groom was always found. “Oh!” cried the squire of Barmoor bare, “Oh! like yon Elf, that I were there!” Amazement seized his soul to find The others were a mile behind.

From Barmoor’s bare and shrubless hill, The hounds have doubled back to Till, And seem to make for Chiviot hill. Ah! hapless Fox, and dost thou know, That fated Flodden lies below; And does not dark foreboding fear Warn thee that fated Flodden’s near; And art thou doomed so soon to yield Thy life on Flodden’s fated field.

And now old Milfield’s town they gain, And reach dark Flodden’s dreary plain, Where, in full cry, and all abreast, The hounds the wily villain pressed: The Goblin Groom still keeps his place, And glories in the varying chace; No demi volte, nor demi air; No high curvett, nor terre-a-terre; No hand to guide the gay croupade, Nor heel to aid the balotade; No capriole his skill to shew; He these disdained, with pas et saut.[12] Stiff on his stirrups, standing now, He scorns to touch the saddle bow; His elbows squared, and head awry, As if he rode a race; But none might know, for none might spy, The Goblin’s spell-bound face: For were he sprite, or were he fay, He only shewed his back that day.

And now the Fox is losing ground; Now strains his speed each eager hound; Now at his brush the foremost prest; Now at his side, now at his breast; And now despair o’ercoming fright, The crafty Fox turns round to fight; But soon by numbers overthrown, He yields his life without a groan. Thus fell the Fox, and, hate aside, We’ll say, at least, he nobly died.

Down from his Poney jumped the Elf, When, lo! the Poney disappeared; And now the Goblin Groom himself Has ta’en the brush, the hounds has cheered; Has bowed his head to Chiviot gray, And vanished from the light of day: And when the distanced horsemen neared The bloody scene on Flodden’s plain, No vestige of the Elf appeared; The Poney too, was sought in vain. Loud howled each hound; I will presume They howled at loss of Goblin Groom; And well they might, for such a fay Ne’er rode before on hunting day; And hounds, like ladies fair, I’m told, Dote on the daring and the bold; And than the Goblin, we’ll agree, A bolder there could never be.

On Flodden’s field there stands a bush, A willow bush where sedges grow, The fav’rite haunt of Friar Rush:[13] This bush the neighb’ring shepherds know: ’Twas here the hounds had killed their prey, And vanished here the Goblin fay; And, even to this very day, The passing shepherd calls the bush, The Winning-Post of Friar Rush; And, therefore, I may well presume, That Friar Rush was Goblin Groom.

I do not rhyme to that dull clown That has no fancy of his own; Who thinks on Flodden’s dreary plain The wearied hunters still remain, Because not mentioned in my strain; Who cannot figure in his mind, That they returned to Dunse and dined; That flowing bumpers then went round To every horse, to every hound; That e’en midst jokes, and converse hot. The Goblin Groom was not forgot; And that they sat ’twixt hope and fear, To see his Elfin form appear; And that they drank, with honours due, In three times three, the bold B— —h; And midst the wassel-wine and cheer, They thought on D— —h’s noble Peer; And crowned in bowls of rosy wine, The whole of that illustrious line.