The Lord of Corstorphine, a drunken philanderer
neglected the family estates,
flew into a rage and attacked his love
with a sword that she wrested from him.
She killed him and fled
but was caught and hung
dressed in a hood of white.
White Lady wailing, haunted Corstorphine’s sycamore,
blood on the blade of the sword
with which she had slain her lord.
She wailed with the wind on Boxing Day Night,
the night of the terrible storm.
Four hundred years of tree and ghost
brought to a splintering end.
There was no treasure at the roots of the tree
but the wood was dried and preserved.
In the hands of a craftsman, the legend restored
took the shape of a violin.
On moonlit nights, when the fiddler plays
the white lady wails once more
and the sycamore lives again.
This is wonderful, and so unique! I'm glad that you shared it for the festival!
ReplyDeleteHI there jlb, thanks for visitng and leaving your comments on a few of my posts here! I was so happy to find the Festival and glad i had something to share!
ReplyDeleteLovely poem! Enjoyed my visit here.
ReplyDeleteHI Laura, thanks for visiting - I enjoyed visiting your blog too!
ReplyDeleteI'm reposting this poem from four years ago!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful!
ReplyDeleteOn moonlit nights, when the fiddler plays
the white lady wails once more
and the sycamore lives again.
Loved it!
ReplyDeleteDid you invent this myth?! I love the craziness (but logic!) of it...
ReplyDeleteOn moonlit nights, when the fiddler plays
ReplyDeletethe white lady wails once more
and the sycamore lives again.
I love those lines especially - how the music rouses the ghosts of the lady and the tree.
Oh, I love this. It reminds me of one of my favorite poems, "The Highwayman," by Alfred Noyes, but much more concise.
ReplyDeleteSpooky!
ReplyDeletewow - an amazing header. reminds me of the book i am reading: apples and oranges. have you read it?
ReplyDeleteHannah - it's all true, well the ghost may not really be so ....
ReplyDeleteLove it - great rhythmic poem and tale Crafty Green Poet - gave me a shiver up the spine.
ReplyDeletewhat a wonderful tale. i was going to ask if there was some historical truth to this before I saw your comment that it was all true except the ghost, maybe. nicely done. hope all is well.
ReplyDeleteI think almost every county in GB must have a white lady. I wonder what the attraction is between myths and white ladies?
ReplyDeleteOh, wow. I love this.
ReplyDeleteClever! That's quite the tale and I wonder if it's true or made up.
ReplyDeleteThis is lovely, Juliet! What a great start to the day. Really like the new site design, too. Hope you are having a lovely late summer. thanks for your comments on our blog, as always.
ReplyDeleteClaire
Beautiful poem Juliet. It is very emotive and I could just imagine everything that happened when reading your words.
ReplyDeleteHello Juliet! I am the Webmaster for the Clan Forrester Society Web site (http://clanforrester.org). I found this beautiful poem and would love to be able to share it on our Web site. The Forresters have significant history in and around Corstorphine. The Corstorphine Parish Church is ours. I think this poem would be a fantastic highlight on our Web site. Of course, I would add credits and thanks. Please let me know!
ReplyDeleteLovely, atmospheric
ReplyDeleteThanks Ray!
ReplyDelete