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HELP AND HOLD - A LEGEND OF THE HOUSE OF ST.CLAIR

(BY G.J. WHYTE-MELVILLE)

"Now fie ! now lie !" quoth Robert the king;
And the red blood flew to his brow,
And the weight of his hand bade the beakers ring -
"I am shamed this day, I trow !

"In stable and hall I have steeds and men,
I have hounds both staunch and free;
But the white faunch deer of the hawthorn glen
Makes light of my woodcraft and me!

And I vow to St.Hubert as I sit here.
To St.Andrew, St.Rule, and St.Bride,
Till I've sounded 'the mort' o'er the white faunch deer,
No more in the woodland to ride !

Then up and spake the bold St.Clair,
Was drinking the red wine free,
"The lands of thy vassal are scant and bare,
My liege, as they should not be.

"But had I the space by wood and wold,
To hreathe them a summer's day,
I'll ask but my two hounds, Help and Hold,
While I brought the white deer to bay!"

"Ye are stout," quoth the King - " ye are stout, my lord,
As behoves a St.Clair to be,
But there's many a brag at the evening hoard
Winna stand in the morn on the lea.

The lands of the Strath, both far and near,
Shall be yours if her flight ye can turn,
And bring me to grips with the white faunch deer,
Ere she win through the black march burn.

But a man dare not take if he dare not lose,
And the venture is yet to be said:
Should your good hounds fail, then ye shall not choose,
My lord, but to forfeit your head"

"A wager! a wager!" cried bold St.Clair;
"See, bring me both hound and horn;
Go saddle the bonny black Barbary mare,
The fleetest that feeds on corn.

A wager ! a wager! on Help and Hold!
Was never a lord of my line
But would wager his life against lands and gold;
My liege, the broad Strath shall he mine !"

They saddled their steeds at mirk o' night,
They mounted when dawn was near,
And they slipped the good hounds with the dim grey light,
On the track of the white faunch deer.

The white faunch deer like an arrow flew,
The good hounds followed fast;
I trow they drove her from slot to view,
Ere noon was fairly past.

Still first in the chase rode bold St.Clair,
The Bruce spurred hard in his track,
And the foam stood white on the Barbary mare,
And the King's bonny bay grew slack.

"She fails," quoth St.Clair, "and the good hounds gain,
St.Katherine speed their flight!
Now cote her! and turn her across the plain,
For the black march burn is in sight !"

The black march burn falls steep at the bank,
To the pitch of a horseman's chin,
But Hold's grey muzzle is hot on her flank,
And, the white faunch deer leaps in.

Light down! light down! thou St.Clair bold!
Or never go hunting more;
Now have at her, Help! now hang to her, Hold !
And they turn her back to the shore.

The King's bonny bay a good bow-shot mark
Stopped short of the Barbary mare;
And the hounds stood grim and the deer lay stark
At the feet of bold St.Clair.

"My liege! My liege! will ye take the knife ?"
The St.Clair bent his knee:
"By St.Katherines aid, both lands and life
Have my good hounds won for me.

And I vow to St.Katherine I'll build a shrine
In 'the Hopes' by the western wave,
And I vow to St.Hubert these hounds of mine
Shall be carven in stone on my grave !"

The hold St.Clair he sleeps in Spain,
For with good Lord James he had part,
When they hewed a red path through a host of slain,
To follow the Bruce's heart.

But Help and Hold, as I've been told,
May be seen in St.Katherine's chapelle;
And scion and heir of the house of St.Clair
Still love a good hound well.

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