# The Poetical Works of William Motherwell/The Ettin o' Sillarwood

The Ettin o' Sillarwood.
'O, Sillarwood! sweet Sillarwood, Gin Sillarwood were mine, I'd big a bouir in Sillarwood And theik it ower wi' thyme; At ilka door, and ilka bore, The red, red rose, wud shine!'
It's up and sang the bonnie bird, Upon her milk-white hand— 'I wudna lig in Sillarwood, For all a gude Earl's land; I wudna sing in Sillarwood, Tho' gowden glist ilk wand!
'The wild boar rakes in Sillarwood, The buck drives thro' the shaw, And simmer woos the Southern wind Thro' Sillarwood to blaw.
'Thro' Sillarwood, sweet Sillarwood, The deer hounds run so free; But the hunter stark of Sillarwood An Ettin lang is he!'
'O, Sillarwood! sweet Sillarwood,' Fair Marjorie did sing, 'On the tallest tree in Sillarwood, That Ettin lang will hing!'
The Southern wind it blaws fu' saft, And Sillarwood is near; Fair Marjorie's sang in Sillarwood, The stark hunter did hear.
He band his deer hounds in their leash, Set his bow against a tree, And three blasts on his horn has brocht The wood elf to his knee.
'Gae bring to me a shapely weed, Of silver and of gold, Gae bring to me as stark a steed, As ever stepped on mold; For I maun ride frae Sillarwood This fair maid to behold!'
The wood elf twisted sun-beams red Into a shapely weed, And the tallest birk in Sillarwood He hewed into a steed; And shod it wi' the burning gold To glance like ony glede.
The Ettin shook his bridle reins And merrily they rung, For four and twenty sillar bells On ilka side were hung.
The Ettin rade, and better rade, Some thretty miles and three, A bugle horn hung at his breast, A lang sword at his knee; 'I wud I met,' said the Ettin lang, 'The maiden Marjorie!'
The Ettin rade and better rade Till he has reached her bouir, And there he saw fair Marjorie As bricht as lily flouir.
'O Sillarwood!—Sweet Sillarwood!— Gin Sillarwood were mine,
The sleuthest hawk o' Sillarwood On dainty flesh wud dine! '
'Weel met, weel met,' the Ettin said, 'For ae kiss o' that hand, I wud na grudge my kist o' gold And forty fees o' land!
'Weel met, weel met,' the Ettin said, 'For ae kiss o' that cheek, I'll big a bower wi' precious stanes, The red gold sal it theik:
'Weel met, weel met,' the Ettin said, 'For ae kiss o' thy chin, I'll welcome thee to Sillarwood And a' that grows therein!'
'If ye may leese me Sillarwood Wi' a' that grows therein, Ye're free to kiss my cheek,' she said, 'Ye're free to kiss my chin— The Knicht that hechts me Sillarwood My maiden thocht sal win!
'My luve I've laid on Sillarwood— Its bonnie aiken tree—
And gin that I hae Sillarwood I'll link alang wi' thee!'
Then on she put her green mantel Weel furred wi' minivere: Then on she put her velvet shoon, The silver shining clear.
She proudly vaulted on the black— He bounded on the bay— The stateliest pair that ever took To Sillarwood their way!
It's up and sang the gentil bird On Marjorie's fair hand— 'I wudna wend to Sillarwood For a' its timbered land— Nor wud I lig in Sillarwood Tho' gowden glist ilk wand!
'The Hunters chace thro' Sillarwood The playfu' herte and rae; Nae maiden that socht Sillarwood E'er back was seen to gae!'
The Ettin leuch, the Ettin sang, He whistled merrilie,
'If sic a bird,' he said, 'were mine, I'd hing it on a tree.'
'Were I the Lady Marjorie, Thou hunter fair but free, My horse's head I'd turn about, And think nae mair o' thee!'
It's on they rade, and better rade— They shimmered in the sun— 'Twas sick and sair grew Marjorie Lang e'er that ride was done!
Yet on they rade, and better rade, They neared the Cross o' stane— The tall Knicht when he passed it by Felt cauld in every bane.
But on they rade, and better rade, It evir grew mair mirk, O loud, loud nichered the bay steed As they passed Mary's Kirk!
'I'm wearie o' this eerie road,' Maid Marjorie did say— 'We canna weel greet Sillarwood Afore the set o' day!'
'It's no the sinkin' o' the sun That gloamins sae the ground, The heicht it is o' Sillarwood That shadows a' around.'
'Methocht, Sir Knicht, broad Sillarwood A pleasant bield wud be, With nuts on ilka hazel bush, And birds on ilka tree— But oh! the dimness o' this wood Is terrible to me!'
'The trees, ye see, seem wondrous big, The branches wondrous braid, Then marvel nae if sad suld be The path we hae to tread!'
Thick grew the air, thick grew the trees, Thick hung the leaves around, And deeper did the Ettin's voice In the dread dimness sound— 'I think,' said Maiden Mag one, 'hear a horn and hound!'
'Ye weel may hear the hound,' he said, 'Ye weel may hear the horn,
For I can hear the wild halloo That freichts the face o' Morn!
'The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood Hae packs full fifty-three: They hunt all day, they hunt all nicht, They never bow an ee:
'The Hunters fell o' Sillarwood Hae steeds but blude or bane: They bear fiert maidens to a weird Where mercy there is nane!
'And I the Laird o' Sillarwood Hae beds baith deep and wide, (Of clay-cauld earth) whereon to streik A proud and dainty bride!
'Ho! look beside yon bonny birk— The latest blink of day Is gleamin' on a comely heap Of freshly dug red clay;
'Richt cunning hands they were that digged Forenent the birken tree
Where every leaf that draps, frore maid, Will piece a shroud for thee— It's they can lie on lily breist As they can lie on lea!
'And they will hap thy lily breist Till flesh fa's aff the bane— Nor tell thy freres how Marjorie To Sillarwood hath gane!
'The bed is strewed, Maid Marjorie, Wi' bracken and wi' brier, And ne'er will gray cock clarion wind For ane that slumbers here— Ye wedded have the Ettin stark— He rules the Realms of Fear!'