Sir Walter Scott


Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning,

Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning,

Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning,

Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning.

Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale!

And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale.

The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride,

And he views his domains upon Arkindale side;

The mere for his net, and the land for his game;

The chase for the wild and the park for the tame;

Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale,

Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight,

Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright;

Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord,

Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word,

And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail

Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale!

Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come;

The mother, she ask'd of his household and home;

"Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill,

My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still;

'T is the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale,

And with all its bright spangles," said Allen-a-Dale.

The father was steel, and the mother was stone;

They lifted the latch, and they bade him begone;

But loud on the morrow, their wail and their cry;

He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye,

And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale,

And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!