They buried on the mountain's side
King Dunmail, where he fought and died.
But mount, and mere, and moor again
Shall see King Dunmail come to reign.
Mantled and mailed repose his bones
Twelve cubits deep beneath the stones;
But many a fathom deeper down
In Grisedale Mere lies Dunmail's crown.
Climb thou the rugged pass, and see
High midst those mighty mountains three,
How in their joint embrace they hold
The Mere that hides his crown of gold.
There in that lone and lofty dell
Keeps silent watch the sentinel.
A thousand years his lonely rounds
Have traced unseen that water's bounds.
His challenge shocks the startled waste,
Still answered from the hills with haste,
As passing pilgrims come and go
From heights above or vales below.
When waning moons have filled their year,
A stone from out that lonely Mere
Down to the rocky Raise is borne,
By martial shades with spear and horn.
As crashes on the pile the stone,
The echoes to the King make known
How still their faithful watch they hold
In Grisedale o'er his crown of gold.
And when the Raise has reached its sum,
Again will brave King Dunmail come;
And all his Warriors marching down
The dell, bear back his golden crown.
And Dunmail, mantled, crowned, and mailed,
Again shall Cumbria's King be hailed;
And o'er his hills and valleys reign
When Eildon's heights are field and plain.