The Haunted Hill

Auld Nancy Breen, her skinny hand
Laid cold on Donald's shoulder ;
"A seen yer doom yestreen," she cried,
"Whaur turf an' cinders smoulder;
A seen yer doom, young Donald Greer,
Wi'in the fire, tae warn me;
For aye an' aye ye 've luved tae weel
Tae mock my years an' scorn me.

“Then, dinnae crass Ardkeen at night
Whun winter 's murk and dreary ;
'Mang a' the lanesome nuiks in Airds
By night there 's nane sae eerie.
Thon Castle Hill is haunted groun’;
By elves an' ghaists it's guarded;
There spectre Chieftains pace the fiel's
Ower which lang syne they lorded;

“Sir Rowlan' frae his grave upleps,
A helm'd and soorded shadda ;
Dark Raymon' mounts his spectral steed
An' scours the circlin' meadda ;
Frum whaur on high the Castle stud,
There comes a soun' o' revel,
An' peals o' ghaistly laughter ring
Aroon' the stormy level.

“An’ if ye see nor hear nae these,
Ye 'll see the Kirkyard glowin',
Each grave wi' gruesome lights wull glame,
Its dismal shape oot-showin' ;
Ye 'll hear the spectral bugle blaw,
Tae direfu' battle cheerin' ; *
Ye 'll see the spectral huntsman's ban'
Aroon' the Dorn careerin'."

Young Donald laughed with cruel scorn,
“Gang hame til Portavogie !
A 'm nae the lad tae cower wi' fear
At curse uv witch or bogie.
This night the auld Kirk's ruin'd wa'
A 'll climb athoot a lather,
An' whaur the conies root the graves
A deed mon's banes A 'll gather ! "

And midnight came, and Donald rose,
And through the gloom he wended.
The moon was gone; the rueful wind
Wailed like a babe untended.
But never back to friends or home
Came Donald on the morrow.
His parents searched with straining sight,
And wept in hopeless sorrow;

The Castle Hill they searched in vain,
Dry moat and ditch and dingle,
And stranded hulk and stunted thorn,
And Dorn-shore's weedy shingle ;
Till last the old Kirk-door they broke,
And there, a corpse, they found him.
Cold as the dead men's bones that lay
In mouldering dust around him.

George Francis Savage Armstong (1845-1906)