"Then loose thy shafts, and slay a buck,
Fit for a monarch's larders;

And carry him free from Chatsworth park,
In spite of seven warders.

"Do this and live, and I do vow

By the white hand of my mother,

I'll smite him low who runs ere thou shout,
Were he Saint Andrew's brother."

The Outlaw smiled; “Good Gordon,” he said, 'I'll shout both high and gaily;

And smite a buck, and carry him off;

'Tis the work I'm bowne to daily."

The Outlaw stood upon Chatsworth rock,
Like light his looks did gladden;
The sun was shining on Bakewell-Edge,
And on the heights of Haddon.

The Outlaw stood upon Chatsworth rock,
He look'd to vale and mountain,
And gave a shout so shrill, the swans
Sprung up from stream and fountain.

The Outlaw stood upon Chatsworth rock,
And shouted shrill and gaily;

Till the dun deer leap'd from brake and bower,
Two miles down Derwent valley.

The Outlaw stood upon Chatsworth rock,
Looking o'er the vale so narrow;

And his voice flew fleet as away from the string
Starts off the thirsty arrow.

And loudly it rung in Haddon-wood,
Where the deer in pairs were dernan:
And loudly it rung in Haddon-hall,
And up rose Julia Vernon.

"If ever I heard my true love's voice,
'Tis now through my bowers ringing;
His voice is sweet as the wild bird's note,
When the buds bloom to its singing.

"For well I know my true love's voice,
It sounds so gay and clearly:
An angel's voice in a maiden's ear
Would ne'er drop down so dearly.”

She took her green robe in a hand
White as the opening lily,

And the morning sun and the lovely maid
Look'd down on Chatsworth valley.

Around the brow of the high green hill
The sun's fair beams were twining,
And bend and fall of the Derwent stream
In golden light were shining.

The silver smoke from Chatsworth tower
Like a pennon broad went streaming,
And gush'd against the morning sky,
And all the vale was gleaming.

She gave one look on the broad green land,
And back her tresses sheddin',

With her snowy neck, and her bonnie blue eyes,
Came down from the hill of Haddon.

She saw the wild dove start from its bower,
And heard the green boughs crashing;
And saw the wild deer leap from its lair,
And heard the deep stream dashing.

And then she saw her own true love
Bound past by bush and hollow;
And after him seven armed men
With many a shout and hollo.

"Oh! had I but my bow, my love,
And seven good arrows by me,
I'd make the fiercest of thy foes

Bleed ere they could come nigh thee.

"Oh! had I but thy sword, my love,
Thy sword so brown and ready,
I'd meet thy foes on Chatsworth bank,
Among the woodlands shady."

On high she held her white, white hands,
In wild and deep devotion,

And locks and lips, and lith and limb,
Were shivering with emotion.

"Nay, stay the chase," said a forester then,
"For when the lion's roaring

The hound may hide :-May the raven catch
The eagle in his soaring?

"Farewell, my bow, that could send a shaft,
As the levin leaves the thunder!

A lady looks down from Haddon height
Has snapt thy strength asunder.

"A lady looks down from Haddon height,
O'er all men's hearts she's lordin';
Who harms a hair of her true love's head
Makes a foe of Geordie Gordon."

The bank was steep,-down the Outlaw sprung,
The greenwood wide resounded;

The wall was high,-like a hunted hart

O'er it he fleetly bounded.

And when he saw his love, he sunk

His dark glance in obeisance :

"Comes my love forth to charm the morn, And bless it with her presence?

"How sweet is Haddon hill to me, Where silver streams are twining!

My love excels the morning star,

And shines while the sun is shining.

"She and the sun, and all that's sweet, Smile when the grass is hoarest;

And here at her white feet I lay

The proud buck of the forest.

"Now farewell, Chatsworth's woodlands green,

Where fallow-deer are dernan;

For dearer than the world to me

Is my love, Julia Vernon!"

"Twelve months are gone and over,
And nine long tedious days:
Why didst thou, venturous lover,
Why didst thou trust the seas?
Cease, cease, thou cruel ocean,
And let my lover rest:
Ah! what's thy troubled motion
To that within my breast?

"The merchant, robb'd of pleasure,
Sees tempests in despair;
But what's the loss of treasure
To losing of my dear?

Should you some coast be laid on
Where gold and diamonds grow,

You'd find a richer maiden,

But none that loves you so.

"How can they say that nature
Has nothing made in vain ;
Why then beneath the water
Should hideous rocks remain ?
No eyes the rocks discover

That lurk beneath the deep,
To wreck the wandering lover,
And leave the maid to weep."

All melancholy lying,

Thus wail'd she for her dear; Repay'd each blast with sighing, Each billow with a tear; When o'er the white wave stooping, His floating corpse she spied;

Then, like a lily drooping,

She bow'd her head and died.