^^HERMITAGE CASTLE
(traditional)

Aa four square walls o Hermitage stand stout and steep today;
wherein within the sheltered walls the wounded Bothwell lay.
The whaups will cry sae mournfully, the river runs as broon,
as when the willing slave of love, the queen, came riding doon.

To Hermitage, to Hermitage, the river laughed in glee;
the beeches tossed their crimson flags and glad at heart was she;
the hooves made music down the glen, their bits were jingling gay,
from Jedburgh to Hermitage, that bright October day.

To Hermitage, to Hermitage, what fears of robbers bold;
with buckler, sword, and Huntly's spear, the right of way to hold.
What raider on the border moss would so ungallant prove,
as crossed a shaft of beauty on the road that leads to love.

Now wave white hand to Hermitage; the watcher on the tower
shall wake the wounded warden at the rapture of the hour;
what het can burn sae bitterly? What steel can stab sae deep?
But love must bear the sting o it the watcher in the keep.

Wide wound the road to Hermitage, the jingling bits are done;
a ghostly band may cross the hill and none will see them come;
and none will see the white hand wave or from the rampart turn
with tidings o the phantom troops that ride the Braidley Burn.

[Alison McMorland, "Herd Laddie o the Glen", p.56]
Sung to the tune of "Tramps and Hawkers".
NB "whaup" = "curlew"