My transcription from audio. I have marked a few phrases I am uncertain of.


THE WHITE HARE OF ESKDALE
As recorded by Anna Shannon on "Horses Beasts and Fairytales" (2013)

This tale I tell concerns a hare of white.
It will chill your bones and keep you awake at night.
So remember now as I stand and sing,
For local men will not speak of such a thing.

When my eyes first fell upon this pure white hare,
My blood it froze at the very sight of her.
How my blood it froze! Cold fell my bones,
For I knew the devil to our village had come.

Each and ev'ry night she was out with force(?).
There wasn't one brave lad she could her course(?).
She ran with a pack of a hundred and more,
Through the crops and fields and stripped them bare.

Could this hare be caught with a pack of hounds,
I will bring my best ten couple(?) to run her down.
Through brier and brush, through the broom and thistledown,
She'll not get one chance to run to ground.

The hounds were brought, baying and keen.
We followed fast and furious down to Keys(?) Beck stream,
And the hare jumped in and the hounds did too,
But she vanished as does the morning dew.

On the Sunday night when the clock struck nine,
A chilling human scream rang out into the night.
Oh, my god, my god, death take me please.
My baby has been taken by some devil's beast.

Like the wind we flew to the Wilsons' cottage door,
Blood down the stairs and on the kitchen floor.
Oh, my child the white hare it has slain.
Through the wall she ran and under the farm gate.

All fifty men from the village came,
With talisman and charm the snares to lay.
How they worked by day and by the light of moon,
Loud-spoken prayers on their weary way home.

The traps were checked; not one had sprung.
The women filled with fear to old tom have run,
Wringing their hands and crossing their breasts.
Oh, give to us a spell for this devil's feast.

A silver bullet you must take.
A silver bullet your young blacksmith must make.
When four nights have passed and the moon is high,
She must be shot clean between her eyes.

Four nights they passed and the moon was high.
The hares grazed down beyond the stile.
The gun was primed and the bullet too.
The preacher gave to each man there a bunch of rue.

My wife and baby I pulled near.
In all my life I'd never felt such fear.
This thing we did not know and could not fight
Had brought us all together on this night.

The gun was raised; the white hare turned.
Into the air she flew and for the gun she lurched.
The shot rang out; our hearts were filled with dread,
For where the hare fell, a witch lay dead.