The king of England had promised to thes_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Volume 3 (of 3) Consisting of Historical and Romantic Ballads, Collected in the Southern Counties of Scotland; with a Few of Modern Date, Founded Upon Local Tradition

of the country, which they had thus reduced to a desert; upon hearing

which, Archibald Douglas, the seventh Earl of Angus, is said to have

sworn to write the deed of investiture upon their skins, with sharp

pens and bloody ink, in resentment for their having defaced the tombs

of his ancestors, at Melrose.--_Godscroft._ In 1545, Lord Evers

and Latoun again entered Scotland, with an army consisting of 3000

mercenaries, 1500 English borderers, and 700 assured Scottish-men,

chiefly Armstrongs, Turnbulls, and other broken clans. In this second

incursion, the English generals even exceeded their former cruelty.

Evers burned the tower of Broomhouse, with its lady (a noble and aged

woman, says Lesley), and her whole family. The English penetrated as

far as Melrose, which they had destroyed last year, and which they now

again pillaged. As they returned towards Jedburgh, they were followed

by Angus, at the head of 1000 horse, who was shortly after joined by

the famous Norman Lesley, with a body of Fife-men. The English, being

probably unwilling to cross the Teviot, while the Scots hung upon their

rear, halted upon Ancram Moor, above the village of that name; and the

Scottish general was deliberating whether to advance or retire, when

Sir Walter Scott,[62] of Buccleuch, came up at full speed, with a

small, but chosen body of his retainers, the rest of whom were near

at hand. By the advice of this experienced warrior (to whose conduct

Pitscottie and Buchanan ascribe the success of the engagement), Angus

withdrew from the height which he occupied, and drew up his forces

behind it, upon a piece of low flat ground, called Panier-heugh, or

Peniel-heugh. The spare horses being sent to an eminence in their

rear, appeared to the English to be the main body of the Scots, in

the act of flight. Under this persuasion, Evers and Latoun hurried

precipitately forwards, and, having ascended the hill, which their

foes had abandoned, were no less dismayed than astonished, to find

the phalanx of Scottish Spearmen drawn up, in firm array, upon the

flat ground below. The Scots in their turn became the assailants. A

heron, roused from the marshes by the tumult, soared away betwixt the

encountering armies: "O!" exclaimed Angus, "that I had here my white

goss-hawk, that we might all yoke at once!"--_Godscroft._ The English,

breathless and fatigued, having the setting sun and wind full in their

faces, were unable to withstand the resolute and desperate charge of

the Scottish lances. No sooner had they begun to waver, than their own

allies, the assured borderers, who had been waiting the event, threw

aside their red crosses, and, joining their countrymen, made a most

merciless slaughter among the English fugitives, the pursuers calling

upon each other to "remember Broomhouse!"--_Lesley_, p. 478. In the

battle fell Lord Evers, and his son, together with Sir Brian Latoun,

and 800 Englishmen, many of whom were persons of rank. A thousand

prisoners were taken. Among these was a patriotic alderman of London,

Read by name, who, having contumaciously refused to pay his portion

of a benevolence, demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was sent by

royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at settling his

ransom, he found still more exorbitant in their exactions than the

monarch.--REDPATH's _Border History_, p. 553. Evers was much regretted

by King Henry, who swore to avenge his death upon Angus, against whom

he conceived himself to have particular grounds of resentment, on

account of favours received by the Earl at his hands. The answer of

Angus was worthy of a Douglas: "Is our brother-in-law offended,"[63]

said he, "that I, as a good Scotsman, have avenged my ravaged country,

and the defaced tombs of my ancestors, upon Ralph Evers? They were

better men than he, and I was bound to do no less--and will he take my

life for that? Little knows King Henry the skirts of Kirnetable:[64]

I can keep myself there against all his English host."--_Godscroft._

Such was the noted battle of Ancram Moor. The spot, on which it was

fought, is called Lyliard's Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of

that name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished herself

in the same manner as squire Witherington. The old people point out her

monument, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have been

legible within this century, and to have run thus:

Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane,

Little was her stature, but great was her fame;

Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps,

And, when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her stumps.

_Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose._

It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an ancestor of Lord Evers

held also a grant of Scottish lands from an English monarch. "I have

seen," says the historian, "under the broad-seale of the said King

Edward I., a manor, called Ketnes, in the countie of Ferfare, in

Scotland, and neere the furthest part of the same nation northward,

given to John Eure and his heiress, ancestor to the Lord Eure, that now

is, for his service done in these partes, with market, &c. dated at

Lanercost, the 20th day of October, anno regis, 34."--STOWE's _Annals_,

p. 210. This grant, like that of Henry, must have been dangerous to the

receiver.

_There is a nun in Dryburgh bower._--P. 239. v. 3.

The circumstance of the nun, "who never saw the day," is not entirely

imaginary. About fifty years ago, an unfortunate female-wanderer took

up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins of Dryburgh abbey,

which, during the day, she never quitted. When night fell, she issued

from this miserable habitation, and went to the house of Mr Halliburton

of Newmains, the editor's great-grandfather, or to that of Mr Erskine

of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighbourhood. From their charity,

she obtained such necessaries as she could be prevailed upon to accept.

At twelve, each night, she lighted her candle, and returned to her

vault; assuring her friendly neighbours, that, during her absence,

her habitation was arranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth

name of _Fatlips_; describing him as a little man, wearing heavy

iron shoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, to

dispel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regarded, by the

well-informed, with compassion, as deranged in her understanding; and

by the vulgar, with some degree of terror. The cause of her adopting

this extraordinary mode of life she would never explain. It was,

however, believed to have been occasioned by a vow, that, during the

absence of a man, to whom she was attached, she would never look upon

the sun. Her lover never returned. He fell during the civil-war of

1745-6, and she never more would behold the light of day.

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate woman lived and

died, passes still by the name of the supernatural being, with which

its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed imagination, and few of the

neighbouring peasants dare enter it by night.

FOOTNOTES:

[54] The following passage, in DR HENRY MORE's _Appendix to the

Antidote against Atheism_, relates to a similar phenomenon: "I confess,

that the bodies of devils may not only be warm, but sindgingly hot, as

it was in him that took one of Melanchthon's relations by the hand,

and so scorched her, that she bare the mark of it to her dying day.

But the examples of cold are more frequent; as in that famous story of

Cuntius, when he touched the arm of a certain woman of Pentoch, as she

lay in her bed, he felt as cold as ice; and so did the spirit's claw to

Anne Styles."--_Ed._ 1662. p. 135.

[55] The plate-jack is coat-armour; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace,

armour for the body; the sperthe, a battle-axe.

[56] See an account of the battle of Ancram Moor, subjoined to the

ballad.

[57] The black-rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of

superior sanctity.

[58] Dryburgh Abbey is beautifully situated on the banks of the Tweed.

After its dissolution, it became the property of the Halliburtons of

Newmains, and is now the seat of the Right Honourable the Earl of

Buchan. It belonged to the order of Premonstratenses.

[59] Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical summits,

immediately above the town of Melrose, where are the admired ruins of a

magnificent monastery. Eildon-tree is said to be the spot where Thomas

the Rhymer uttered his prophecies. See p. 173.

[60] Mertoun is the beautiful seat of Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden.

[61] _Trysting-place_--Place of rendezvous.

[62] The editor has found in no instance upon record, of this family

having taken assurance with England. Hence, they usually suffered

dreadfully from the English forays. In August, 1544 (the year

preceding the battle), the whole lands belonging to Buccleuch, in West

Teviotdale, were harried by Evers; the outworks, or barmkin, of the

tower of Branxholm, burned; eight Scotts slain, thirty made prisoners,

and an immense prey of horses, cattle, and sheep, carried off. The

lands upon Kale water, belonging to the same chieftain, were also

plundered, and much spoil obtained; 30 Scotts slain, and the Moss Tower

(a fortress near Eckford), _smoked very sore_. Thus Buccleuch had a

long account to settle at Ancram Moor.--MURDIN's _State Papers_, pp.

45, 46.

[63] Angus had married the widow of James IV., sister to King Henry

VIII.

[64] Kirnetable, now called Cairntable, is a mountainous tract at the

head of Douglasdale.

LORD SOULIS.

BY J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The subject of the following ballad is a popular tale of the Scottish

borders. It refers to transactions of a period so important, as to have

left an indelible impression on the popular mind, and almost to have

effaced the traditions of earlier times. The fame of Arthur, and the

Knights of the Round Table, always more illustrious among the Scottish

borderers, from their Welch origin, than Fin Maccoul, and Gow Macmorne,

who seem not, however, to have been totally unknown, yielded gradually

to the renown of Wallace, Bruce, Douglas, and the other patriots, who

so nobly asserted the liberty of their country.--Beyond that period,

numerous, but obscure and varying legends, refer to the marvellous

Merlin, or Myrrdin _the Wild_, and Michael Scot, both magicians

of notorious fame. In this instance the enchanters have triumphed

over the _true man_. But the charge of magic was transferred from

the ancient sorcerers to the objects of popular resentment of every

age; and the partizans of the Baliols, the abettors of the English

faction, and the enemies of the protestant, and of the presbyterian

reformation, have been indiscriminately stigmatized as necromancers and

_warlocks_. Thus, Lord Soulis, Archbishop Sharp, Grierson of Lagg,

and Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, receive from tradition

the same supernatural attributes. According to Dalrymple,[65] the

family of Soulis seem to have been powerful during the contest between

Bruce and Baliol; for adhering to the latter of whom they incurred

forfeiture. Their power extended over the south and west marches;

and near Deadrigs,[66] in the parish of Eccles, in the east marches,

their family-bearings still appear on an obelisk. William de Soulis,

Justiciarius Laodoniæ, in 1281, subscribed the famous obligation,

by which the nobility of Scotland bound themselves to acknowledge

the sovereignty of the Maid of Norway, and her descendants. RHYMER,

Tom. II. pp. 266, 279; and, in 1291, Nicholas de Soulis appears as a

competitor for the crown of Scotland, which he claimed as the heir

of Margery, a bastard daughter of Alexander II., and wife of Allan

Durward, or Chuissier.--CARTE, p. 177. DALRYMPLE'S _Annals_, Vol. I. p.

203.

But their power was not confined to the marches; for the barony of

Saltoun, in the shire of Haddington, derived its name from the family;

being designed Soulistoun, in a charter to the predecessors of Nevoy

of that ilk, seen by Dalrymple; and the same frequently appears

among those of the benefactors and witnesses in the chartularies

of abbeys, particularly in that of Newbottle. Ranulphus de Soulis

occurs as a witness, in a charter, granted by King David, of the

teindis of Stirling; and he, or one of his successors, had afterwards

the appellation of _Pincerna Regis_. The following notices of the

family and its decline, are extracted from Robertson's _Index of Lost

Charters_.[67] Various repetitions occur, as the index is copied from

different rolls, which appear to have never been accurately arranged.

Charter to the Abbacie of Melross, of that part of the barony

of Westerker, quhilk perteint to Lord Soulis--a Rob. I. in

vicecom. Melrose.

---- To the abbey of Craigelton, quhilkis perteint to Lord

Soulis--ab eodem--Candidæ Casæ.

---- To John Soullis, knight of the lands of Kirkanders and

Brettalach--ab eodem--Dumfries.

---- To John Soullis, knight of the baronie of Torthorald, ab

eodem--Dumfries.

Charter To John Soullis, of the lands of Kirkanders--ab

eodem--Dumfries.

---- To John Soullis, of the barony of Kirkanders--quæ fuit

quondam Johannis de Wak, Militis--ab eodem.

---- To James Lord Douglas, the half-lands of the barony

of Westerker, in valle de Esk, quilk William Soullis

forisfecit--ab eodem.

---- To Robert Stewart, the son and heir of Walter Stewart, the

barony of Nisbit, the barony of Longnewton, and Mertoun, and

the barony of Cavirton, invicecomitatu de Roxburgh, quhilk

William Soulis forisfecit.

---- To Murdoch Menteith, of the lands of Gilmerton, whilk was

William Soullis, in vicecom. de Edinburgh--ab eodem.

---- To Robert Bruce, of the lands of Liddesdale, whilk William

Soulis erga nos forisfecit--ab eodem.

---- To Robert Bruce, son to the king, the lands of Liddesdail,

whilk William Soullis forisfecit erga nos, ab eodem--anno

regni 16.

---- To Archibald Douglas, of the baronie of Kirkanders, quilk

were John Soullis, in vicecom. de Dumfries.

---- To Murdoch Menteith, of the lands of Gilmerton, quilk

Soullis forisfecit, in vicecom. de Edinburgh.

---- Waltero Senescallo Scotiæ of Nesbit (except and the valley

of Liddell) the barony of Langnewton and Maxtoun, the

barony of Cavertoun, in vicecom. de Roxburgh, quas Soullis

forisfecit.

Charter To James Lord Douglas, of the barony of Westerker, quam

Willielmus de Soullis forisfecit.

---- To William Lord Douglas, of the lands of Lyddal, whilkis

William Soullis forisfecit, a Davide secundo.

The hero of tradition seems to be William, Lord Soullis, whose name

occurs so frequently in the foregoing list of forfeitures; by which

he appears to have possessed the whole district of Liddesdale, with

Westerkirk and Kirkandrews, in Dumfries-shire, the lands of Gilmertoun,

near Edinburgh, and the rich baronies of Nisbet, Longnewton, Caverton,

Maxtoun, and Mertoun, in Roxburghshire. He was of royal descent, being

the grandson of Nicholas de Soulis, who claimed the crown of Scotland,

in right of his grandmother, daughter to Alexander II.; and who, could

her legitimacy have been ascertained, must have excluded the other

competitors. The elder brother of William, was John de Soulis, a

gallant warrior, warmly attached to the interests of his country, who,

with fifty borderers, defeated and made prisoner Sir Andrew Harclay, at

the head of three hundred Englishmen; and was himself slain, fighting

in the cause of Edward the Bruce, at the battle of Dundalk, in Ireland,

1318. He had been joint-warden of the kingdom with John Cummin, after

the abdication of the immortal Wallace, in 1300; in which character

he was recognised by John Baliol, who, in a charter granted after his

dethronement, and dated at Rutherglen, in the ninth year of his reign

(1302), styles him "_Custos regni "nostri_." The treason of William,

his successor, occasioned the downfall of the family. This powerful

baron entered into a conspiracy against Robert the Bruce, in which many

persons of rank were engaged. The object, according to Barbour, was to

elevate Lord Soulis to the Scottish throne. The plot was discovered

by the Countess of Strathern. Lord Soulis was seized at Berwick,

although he was attended, says Barbour, by three hundred and sixty

squires, besides many gallant knights. Having confessed his guilt, in

full parliament, his life was spared by the king; but his domains were

forfeited, and he himself confined in the castle of Dumbarton, where he

died. Many of his accomplices were executed; among others, the gallant

David de Brechin, nephew to the king, whose sole crime was having

concealed the treason, in which he disdained to participate.[68] The

parliament, in which so much noble blood was shed, was long remembered

by the name of the _Black Parliament_. It was held in the year 1320.

From this period the family of Soulis makes no figure in our annals.

Local tradition, however, more faithful to the popular sentiment than

history, has recorded the character of their chief, and attributed

to him many actions which seem to correspond with that character.

His portrait is by no means flattering; uniting every quality which

could render strength formidable, and cruelty detestable. Combining

prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimulation,

and treachery, is it surprising that a people, who attributed every

event of life, in a great measure, to the interference of good or

evil spirits, should have added to such a character the mystical

horrors of sorcery? Thus, he is represented as a cruel tyrant and

sorcerer; constantly employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his

neighbours, and fortifying his castle of Hermitage against the king of

Scotland; for which purpose he employed all means, human and infernal:

invoking the fiends, by his incantations, and forcing his vassals to

drag materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition proceeds to relate,

that the Scottish king, irritated by reiterated complaints, peevishly

exclaimed to the petitioners, "Boil him, if you please, but let me hear

no more of him." Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with the

utmost haste to execute the commission; which they accomplished, by

boiling him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to have

been long preserved at Skelf-hill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the

Hermitage. Messengers, it is said, were immediately dispatched by the

king, to prevent the effects of such a hasty declaration; but they

only arrived in time to witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The

castle of Hermitage, unable to support the load of iniquity, which had

been long accumulating within its walls, is supposed to have partly

sunk beneath the ground; and its ruins are still regarded by the

peasants with peculiar aversion and terror. The door of the chamber,

where Lord Soulis is said to have held his conferences with the evil

spirits, is supposed to be opened once in seven years, by that dæmon,

to which, when he left the castle, never to return, he committed the

keys, by throwing them over his left shoulder, and desiring it to keep

them till his return. Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon

of the castle, the peasant is afraid to look; for such is the active

malignity of its inmate, that a willow, inserted at the chinks of

the door, is found peeled, or stripped of its bark, when drawn back.

The Nine-stane Rig, where Lord Soulis was boiled, is a declivity,

about one mile in breadth, and four in length, descending upon the

water of Hermitage, from the range of hills which separate Liddesdale

and Teviotdale. It derives its name from one of those circles of

large stones, which are termed Druidical, nine of which remained to

a late period. Five of these stones are still visible; and two are

particularly pointed out, as those which supported the iron bar, upon

which the fatal cauldron was suspended.

The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tradition,

was a work of such difficulty, that it was assigned by Michael Scot

to a number of spirits, for which it was necessary for him to find

some interminable employment. Upon discovering the futility of their

attempts to accomplish the work assigned, they petitioned their

task-master to be allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley-chaff

with the sand. On his refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted the

ropes which they had shaped. Such is the traditionary hypothesis of the

vermicular ridges of the sand on the shore of the sea.

_Redcap_ is a popular appellation of that class of spirits which haunt

old castles. Every ruined tower in the south of Scotland is supposed to

have an inhabitant of this species.

LORD SOULIS.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

* * * * *

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle,

And beside him Old Redcap sly;--

"Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of might,

"The death that I must die?"

"While thou shalt bear a charmed life,

"And hold that life of me,

"'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife,

"I shall thy warrant be.

"Nor forged steel, nor hempen band,

"Shall e'er thy limbs confine,

"Till threefold ropes, of sifted sand,

"Around thy body twine.

"If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest,

"With rusty padlocks bound;

"Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise,

"And listen to the sound."

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle,

And Redcap was not by;

And he called on a page, who was witty and sage,

To go to the barmkin high.

"And look thou east, and look thou west,

"And quickly come tell to me,

"What troopers haste along the waste,

"And what may their livery be."

He looked o'er fell, and he looked o'er flat,

But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Save a pyot on a turret that sat

Beside a corby craw.

The page he look'd at the skrieh[69] of day,

But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Till a horseman gray, in the royal array,

Rode down the Hazel-shaw.

"Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss?"

So loudly cried the page;

"I tidings bring, from Scotland's king,

"To Soulis of Hermitage.

"He bids me tell that bloody warden,

"Oppressor of low and high,

"If ever again his lieges complain,

"The cruel Soulis shall die."

By traitorous slight they seized the knight,

Before he rode or ran,

And through the key-stone of the vault,

They plunged him, horse and man.

* * * * *

O May she came, and May she gaed,

By Goranberry green;

And May she was the fairest maid,

That ever yet was seen.

O May she came, and May she gaed,

By Goranberry tower;

And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis,

That carried her from her bower?

He brought her to his castle gray,

By Hermitage's side;

Says--"Be content, my lovely May,

"For thou shalt be my bride."

With her yellow hair, that glittered fair,

She dried the trickling tear;

She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir,

The youth that loved her dear.

"Now, be content, my bonny May,

"And take it for your hame;

"Or ever and ay shall ye rue the day,

"You heard young Branxholm's name.

"O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour,

"When the lift[70] is like lead so blue;

"The smoke shall roll white on the weary night,

"And the flame shine dimly through."

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red,

A sturdy kemp was he;

From friend or foe, in border feid,

Who never a foot would flee.

Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led,

Up Goranberry slack;

Aye, many a wight, unmatched in fight,

Who never more came back.

And bloody set the westering sun,

And bloody rose he up;

But little thought young Branxholm's heir,

Where he that night should sup.

He shot the roe-buck on the lee,

The dun deer on the law;

The glamour[71] sure was in his e'e,

When Ringan nigh did draw.

O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge,

He sped till day was set;

And he thought it was his merrymen true,

When he the spearmen met.

Far from relief, they seized the chief;

His men were far away;

Through Hermitage slack, they sent him back,

To Soulis' castle gray;

Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower,

Where all his merry men lay.

"Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir!

"Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, "to me!

"Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair,

"My wedding guest to be?

"And lovely May deserves, per fay,

"A brideman such as thee!"

And broad and bloody rose the sun,

And on the barmkin shone;

When the page was aware of Red Ringan there,

Who came riding all alone.

To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds,

As he lighted at the wall,

Says--"Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds,

"And where do they tarry all?"

"We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir;

"We stabled them sure," quoth he:

"Before we could cross that quaking moss,

"They all were lost but me."

He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the chest,

And he heard a stifled groan;

And at the third knock, each rusty lock

Did open one by one.

He turned away his eyes, as the lid did rise,

And he listen'd silentlie;

And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low,

"Beware of a coming tree!"

In muttering sound the rest was drowned;

No other word heard he;

But slow as it rose the lid did close,

With the rusty padlocks three.

* * * * *

Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother,

The Teviot, high and low;

Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame,

For none could bend his bow.

O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped

The fame of his array,

And that Tiviotdale would soon assail

His towers and castle gray.

With clenched fist, he knocked on the chest,

And again he heard a groan;

And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise,

But answer heard he none.

The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke,

And it murmur'd sullenlie,--

"Shut fast the door, and for evermore,

"Commit to me the key.

"Alas! that ever thou raised'st thine eyes,

"Thine eyes to look on me!

"Till seven years are o'er, return no more,

"For here thou must not be."

Think not but Soulis was wae to yield

His warlock chamber o'er;

He took the keys from the rusty lock,

That never was ta'en before.

He threw them o'er his left shoulder,

With meikle care and pain;

And he bade it keep them, fathoms deep,

Till he returned again.

And still, when seven years are o'er,

Is heard the jarring sound;

When slowly opes the charmed door

Of the chamber under ground.

And some within the chamber door

Have cast a curious eye;

But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell,

The fearful sights they spy.

* * * * *

When Soulis thought on his merry men now,

A woeful wight was he;

Says--"Vengeance is mine, and I will not repine!

"But Branxholm's heir shall die."

Says--"What would ye do, young Branxholm,

"Gin ye had me, as I have thee?"

"I would take you to the good greenwood,

"And gar your ain hand wale[72] the tree."

"Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree,

"For all thy mirth and meikle pride;

"And May shall chuse, if my love she refuse,

"A scrog bush thee beside."

They carried him to the good greenwood,

Where the green pines grew in a row;

And they heard the cry, from the branches high,

Of the hungry carrion crow.

They carried him on from tree to tree,

The spiry boughs below;

"Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine,

"To feed the hooded crow?"

"The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall,

"When the night blast stirs the tree,

"And it shall not be mine to die on the pine,

"I loved in infancie."

Young Branxholm turned him, and oft looked back,

And aye he passed from tree to tree;

Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly[73] spake,

"O sic a death is no for me!"

And next they passed the aspin gray;

Its leaves were rustling mournfullie:

"Now, chuse thee, chuse thee, Branxholm gay!

"Say, wilt thou never chuse the tree?"

"More dear to me is the aspin gray,

"More dear than any other tree;

"For beneath the shade, that its branches made,

"Have past the vows of my love and me."

Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake,

Until he did his ain men see,

With witches' hazel in each steel cap,

In scorn of Soulis gramarye;

Then shoulder height for glee he lap,

"Methinks I spye a coming tree!"

"Aye, many may come, but few return,"

Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye;

"No warrior's hand in fair Scotland

"Shall ever dint a wound on me!"

"Now, by my sooth," quo' bauld Walter,

"If that be true we soon shall see."

His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true,

But never a wound or scar had he.

Then up bespake him, true Thomas,

He was the lord of Ersyltoun:

"The wizard's spell no steel can quell,

"Till once your lances bear him down."

They bore him down with lances bright,

But never a wound or scar had he;

With hempen bands they bound him tight,

Both hands and feet on the Nine-stane lee.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst;

They mouldered at his magic spell;

And neck and heel, in the forged steel,

They bound him against the charms of hell.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst;

No forged steel his charms could bide;

Then up bespake him, true Thomas,

"We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide."

The black spae-book from his breast he took,

Impressed with many a warlock spell:

And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott,

Who held in awe the fiends of hell.

They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep,

That mortal man might never it see:

But Thomas did save it from the grave,

When he returned from Faërie.

The black spae-book from his breast he took,

And turned the leaves with curious hand;

No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind,

But threefold ropes of sifted sand.

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn,

And shaped the ropes so curiouslie;

But the ropes would neither twist nor twine,

For Thomas true and his gramarye.

The black spae-book from his breast he took,

And again he turned it with his hand;

And he bade each lad of Teviot add

The barley chaff to the sifted sand.

The barley chaff to the sifted sand

They added still by handfulls nine;

But Redcap sly unseen was by,

And the ropes would neither twist nor twine.

And still beside the Nine-stane burn,

Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea,

The ropes, that would not twist nor turn,

Shaped of the sifted sand you see.

The black spae-book true Thomas he took;

Again its magic leaves he spread;

And he found that to quell the powerful spell,

The wizard must be boiled in lead.

On a circle of stones they placed the pot,

On a circle of stones but barely nine;

They heated it red and fiery hot,

Till the burnished brass did glimmer and shine.

They rolled him up in a sheat of lead,

A sheat of lead for a funeral pall;

They plunged him in the cauldron red,

And melted him, lead, and bones, and all.

At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still

The men of Liddesdale can shew;

And on the spot, where they boiled the pot,

The spreat[74] and the deer-hair[75] ne'er shall grow.

NOTES

LORD SOULIS.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

The tradition regarding the death of Lord Soulis, however singular,

is not without a parallel in the real history of Scotland. The same

extraordinary mode of cookery was actually practised (_horresco

referens_) upon the body of a sheriff of the Mearns. This person, whose

name was Melville of Glenbervie, bore his faculties so harshly, that

he became detested by the barons of the country. Reiterated complaints

of his conduct having been made to James I. (or, as others say, to

the Duke of Albany), the monarch answered, in a moment of unguarded

impatience, "Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, and supped in broo'!"

The complainers retired, perfectly satisfied. Shortly after, the lairds

of Arbuthnot, Mather, Laurestoun, and Pittaraw, decoyed Melville to

the top of the hill of Garvock, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence of

a grand hunting party. Upon this place (still called the _Sheriff's

Pot_), the barons had prepared a fire and a boiling cauldron, into

which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. After he was _sodden_ (as

the king termed it), for a sufficient time, the savages, that they

might literally observe the royal mandate, concluded the scene of

abomination, by actually partaking of the hell-broth.

The three lairds were outlawed for this offence; and Barclay, one of

their number, to screen himself from justice, erected the kaim (_i.e._

the camp, or fortress) of Mathers, which stands upon a rocky, and

almost inaccessible peninsula, overhanging the German ocean. The laird

of Arbuthnot is said to have eluded the royal vengeance, by claiming

the benefit of the law of clan Macduff, concerning which the curious

reader will find some particulars subjoined. A pardon, or perhaps a

deed of replegiation, founded upon that law, is said to be still extant

among the records of the viscount of Arbuthnot.

Pellow narrates a similar instance of atrocity, perpetrated after

the death of Muley Ismael, emperor of Morocco, in 1727, when the

inhabitants of Old Fez, throwing off all allegiance to his successor,

slew "Alchyde Boel le Rosea, their old governor, boiling his flesh, and

many, through spite, eating thereof, and throwing what they could not

eat of it to the dogs."--See PELLOW'S _Travels in South Barbary_. And

we may add, to such tales, the oriental tyranny of Zenghis Khan, who

immersed seventy Tartar Khans in as many boiling cauldrons.

The punishment of boiling seems to have been in use among the English

at a very late period, as appears from the following passage in STOWE'S

_Chronicle_:--"The 17th of March (1524), Margaret Davy, a maid, was

boiled at Smithfield, for poisoning of three households that she had

dwelled in." But unquestionably the usual practice of Smithfield

cookery, about that period, was by a different application of fire.

LAW OF CLAN MACDUFF.

Though it is rather foreign to the proper subject of this work, many

readers may not be displeased to have some account of the curious

privilege enjoyed by the descendants of the famous Macduff, thane of

Fife, and thence called the Law of the Clan, or family, bearing his

name.

When the revolution was accomplished, in which Macbeth was dethroned

and slain, Malcolm, sensible of the high services of the thane of Fife,

is said, by our historians, to have promised to grant the first three

requests he should make. Macduff accordingly demanded, and obtained,

first, that he and his successors, lords of Fife, should place the

crown on the king's head at his coronation; secondly, that they should

lead the vanguard of the army, whenever the royal banner was displayed;

and, lastly, this privilege of clan Macduff, whereby any person, being

related to Macduff within the ninth degree, and having committed

homicide in _chaude melle_ (without premeditation), should, upon flying

to Macduff's Cross, and paying a certain fine, obtain remission of

their guilt. Such, at least, is the account given of the law by all

our historians. Nevertheless, there seems ground to suspect, that

the privilege did not amount to an actual and total remission of the

crime, but only to a right of being exempted from all other courts of

jurisdiction, except that of the lord of Fife. The reader is presented

with an old document, in which the law of clan Macduff is pleaded

on behalf of one of the ancestors of Moray of Abercairny; and it is

remarkable that he does not claim any immunity, but solely a right of

being re-pledged, because his cause had already been tried by Robert

earl of Fife, the sole competent judge. But the privilege of being

answerable only to the chief of their own clan, was, to the descendants

of Macduff, almost equivalent to an absolute indemnity.

Macduff's Cross was situated near Lindores, on the march dividing Fife

from Strathern. The form of this venerable monument unfortunately

offended the zeal of the reformer, Knox, and it was totally demolished

by his followers. The pedestal, a solid block of stone, alone escaped

the besom of destruction. It bore an inscription, which, according to

the apocryphal account of Sir Robert Sibbald, was a mixture of Latin,

Saxon, Danish, and old French. Skene has preserved two lines:--

Propter Makgridim et hoc oblatum,

Accipe Smeleridem super lampade limpidæ labrum

_Skene, de verb. sig. voce Clan Macduff._

The full inscription, real or pretended, may be found in Sir Robert

Sibbald's _History of Fife_, and in James Cunninghame's _Essay upon

Macduff's Cross_, together with what is called a translation, or rather

paraphrase, of the piebald jargon which composes it. In Gough's edition

of Camden's Britannia, a different and more intelligible version is

given, on the authority of a Mr Douglas of Newburgh. The cross was

dedicated to a St Macgider. Around the pedestal are tumuli, said to

be the graves of those, who, having claimed the privilege of the law,

failed in proving their consanguinity to the thane of Fife. Such

persons were instantly executed. The people of Newburgh believe, that

the spectres of these criminals still haunt the ruined cross, and claim

that mercy for their souls, which they had failed to obtain for their

mortal existence.

The late Lord Hailes gives it as his opinion, that the indulgence was

only to last till the tenth generation from Macduff.

Fordun and Wintoun state, that the fine, to be paid by the person

taking sanctuary, was twenty-four merks for a gentleman, and twelve

merks for a yeoman. Skene affirms it to be nine cows, and a colpindach

(_i.e._ a quey, or cow of one or two years old).--_Fordun_, lib. 5,

cap. 9.; _Wintoun's Cronykel_, b. 6, ch. 19.; _Skene, ut supra._ The

last cited author avers, that he has seen an old evident, bearing, that

Spens of Wormestoun, being of Macduff's kin, enjoyed this privilege for

the slaughter of one Kinnermonth. The following deed, of a like nature,

is published from a copy, accurately transcribed from an original deed,

in the hands of the late Mr Cuming, of the Herald-Office, Edinburgh,

by Messrs Brown and Gibb, librarians to the Faculty of Advocates. The

blanks are occasioned by some parts of the deed having been obliterated.

"In nomine domini amen. Per presens publicum instrumentum, cunctis

pateat evidenter quod anno ejusdem domini mo. cco. nonagesimo primo,

indictione quinta decima Pontificatus sanctissimi in Christo Patris,

ac domini nostri Clementis divina providentia Papæ septimi anno quarto

decimo mensis Decembris die septimo. In mei notarii publici et testium

subscriptorum presentia personaliter constitutus, nobilis et potens

vir dominus Alexander de Moravia, miles, cum prolucutoribus suis,

domino Bernardo de Howden, milite, et Johanne de Logie, vocatus per

rotulos indictamentorum super interfectione Willielmi de Spalden coram

Justiciariis; viz. Johanne de Drummond milite, Mauricio de Drummond.

"Filium Willielmi in judicio sedentibus apud Foulis et potestatus

erat, quod ex quo semel pro interfectione dicti hominis antea fuit per

indictamentum judicio vocatus et replegiatus ad legem

de clan Macduff, per dominum Robertum comitem de Fyfe non tenebatur

coram quocunque alio de dicta interfectione judiciari,

quosque dicta lex de clan Macduff suo intemerata privilegio de ipso ut

prædicitur ad ipsam legem atto. Petens ipsum legaliter

deliberari, et per ipsos vel eorum indictamentis sic indebite ulterius

non vexari. Quiquidem judicis nolle dictum dominum

Alexandrum deliberarie si ipsum bene vellent respectuare

eousque quod dominus de Brochepen justiciarius capitalis

dicta actione ordinaverunt quod sibi et suo concilio

expedientius videretur, quiquidem dominus Alexander et sui prolucutores

eorum petitione et prestatione et predictorum judicum responsione,

petierunt a me notario publico infra scripto præsentium

acta fuerunt hæc apud Foulis in itinere justiciario ibidem tento anno

mense die et pontificatu prescriptis per nobilibus et discretis viris

dominis Mauricio archidiacono Dumblan, Willielmo de Grame, Vinfrido

de Cunyngham, David de Militibus, Moritio de Drummond,

Waltero de Drummond, Walter de Moravia, Scutiferis testibus ad

præmissa vocatis specialiter et rogatis.

"Et ego Johannes Symonis Clericus Dunkeldensis publicus imperial

notarius prædicti domini Alexandri comparitione ipsius petitione et

protestatione desuper justiciariorum responsione omnibusque aliis et

singulis dum sic ut priusquam et agerentur una cum

prenominatis testibus presens interfui eaque sic fieri vidi

et in hanc forman publicam, redegi manuque mea propria scripsi

requisitus et roga om omnium premissorum signo meo

consueto signavi."

_Alas! that e'er thou raised'st thine eyes,_

_Thine eyes to look on me._--P. 261. v. 5.

The idea of Lord Soulis' familiar seems to be derived from the curious

story of the spirit Orthone and the lord of Corasse, which, I think,

the reader will be pleased to see, in all its Gothic simplicity, as

translated from Froissart, by the lord of Berners.

"It is great marveyle to consyder one thynge, the whiche was shewed

to me in the earl of Foix house at Ortayse, of hym that enfourmed me

of the busynesse at Juberothe (Aljubarota, where the Spaniards, with

their French allies, were defeated by the Portugueze, A.D. 1385). He

showed me one thyng that I have oftentymes thought on sithe, and shall

do as longe as I live. As thys squyer told me that of trouthe the next

day after the battayl was thus fought, at Juberoth, the erle of Foiz

knewe it, whereof I had gret marveyle; for the said Sonday, Monday,

and Tuesday, the erle was very pensyf, and so sadde of chere, that no

man could have a worde of hym. And all the same three days he wold

nat issue out of his chambre, nor speke to any man, though they were

never so nere about hym. And, on the Tuesday night, he called to him

his brother Arnault Guyllyam, and sayd to hym, with a soft voice, 'Our

men hath had to do, whereof I am sorrie; for it is come of them, by

their voyage, as I sayd or they departed.' Arnault Guyllyam, who was

a sage knight, and knewe right well his brother's condicions (_i.e._

temper), stode still and gave none answere. And than the erle, who

thought to declare his mind more plainlye, for long he had borne the

trouble thereof in his herte, spake agayn more higher than he dyd

before, and sayd, 'By God, Sir Arnault, it is as I saye, and shortely

ye shall here tidynges thereof; but the countrey of Byerne, this

hundred yere, never lost such a losse, at no journey, as they have

done now in Portugal.'--Dyvers knyghtes and squyers, that were there

present, and herde hym say so, stode styll, and durst nat speke, but

they remembered his wordes. And within a ten days after, they knewe

the trouthe thereof, by such as had been at the busynesse, and there

they shewed every thinge as it was fortuned at Juberoth. Than the erle

renewed agayn his dolour, and all the countreye were in sorrowe, for

they had lost their parentes, brethren, chyldren, and frendes. 'Saint

Mary!' quod I to the squyer that shewed me thys tale, 'how is it, that

the earl of Foiz could know, on one daye, what was done, within a day

or two before, beyng so farre off?'--'By my faythe, Sir,' quod he, 'as

it appeared well, he knewe it.'--Than he is a diviner,' quod I, 'or els

he hath messangers, that flyethe with the wynde, or he must needs have

some craft.' The squyer began to laugh, and sayd, "Surely he must know

it, by some art of negromansye or otherwyse. To saye the trouthe, we

cannot tell how it is, but by our ymaginacions.'--'Sir,' quod I, 'suche

ymaginacions as ye have therein, if it please you to shew me, I wold

be gladde therof; and if it be suche a thynge as ought to be secrete,

I shall nat publysshe it, nor as long as I am in thys countrey I shall

never speke worde thereof.'--'I praye you therof,' quod the squyer,

'for I wolde nat it shulde be knowen, that I shulde speke thereof.

But I shall shewe you, as dyvers men speketh secretelye, whan they

be togyder as frendes.' Than he drew me aparte into a corner of the

chapell at Ortayse, and then began his tale, and sayd:

"It is well a twenty yeares paste, that there was, in this countre, a

barone, called Raymond, lorde of Corasse, whyche is a sevyn leagues

from this towne of Ortayse. Thys lord of Corasse had that same tyme,

a plee at Avygnon before the Pope, for the dysmes (_i.e._ tithes) of

his churche, against a clerk, curate there; the whiche priest was of

Catelogne. He was a grete clerk, and claymed to have ryghte of the

dysmes, in the towne of Corasse, which was valued to a hundred florens

by the yere, and the ryghte that he had, he shewed and proved it; and,

by sentence diffynitive, Pope Urbane the fythe, in consistory generall,

condempned the knighte, and gave judgement wyth the preest, and of

this last judgment he had letters of the Pope, for his possession,

and so rode tyll he came into Berne, and there shewed his letters and

bulles of the Popes for his possession of his dysmes. The lord of

Corasse had gret indignacion at this preest, and came to hym, and said,

'Maister Pers, or Maister Martin (as his name was) thinkest thou, that

by reason of thy letters I will lose mine herytage--be nat so hardy,

that thou take any thynge that is myne; if thou do, it shall cost thee

thy life. Go thy waye into some other place to get thee a benefyce,

for of myne herytage thou gettest no parte, and ones for alwayes, I

defende thee.' The clerk douted the knight, for he was a cruell man,

therefore he durst nat parceyver.--Than he thoughte to return to

Avignon, as he dyde; but, whan he departed, he came to the knight,

the lord of Corasse, and sayd, 'Sir, by force, and nat by ryght, ye

take away from me the ryght of my churche, wherein you greatly hurt

your conscience.--I am not so strong in this countrey as ye be; but,

sir, knowe, for trouthe, that as soon as I maye, I shall sende to you

suche a champyon, whom ye shall doubte more than me.' The knight, who

doubted nothyng his thretynges, said, 'God be with thee; do what thou

mayst; I doute no more dethe than lyfe; for all thy wordes, I wyll

not lese mine herytage.' Thus, the clerk departed from the lord of

Corasse, and went I cannot tell wheder to Avygnon or into Catalogne,

and forgat nat the promise that he had made to the lord of Corasse or

he departed. For whan the knight thoughte leest on hym, about a three

monethes after, as the knyght laye on a nyght a-bedde in his castelle

of Corasse, with the lady, there came to hym messangers invisible, and

made a marvellous tempest and noise in the castell, that it seemed as

thoughe the castell shulde have fallen downe, and strak gret strokes at

his chambre dore, that the goode ladye, his wife, was soore afrayde.

The knight herd alle, but he spoke no word thereof; bycause he wolde

shewe no abasshed corage, for he was hardy to abyde all adventures.

Thys noyse and tempest was in sundry places of the castell, and dured

a long space, and, at length, cessed for that nyght. Than the nexte

mornyng, all the servants of the house came to the lord, whan he was

risen, and sayd, 'Sir, have you nat herde this night, that we have

done?' The lord dissembled, and sayd, 'No! I herd nothyng--what have

you herde?' Than they shewed him what noyse they hadde herde, and howe

alle the vessel in the kechyn was overtowrned. Than the lord began

to laugh, and sayd, 'Yea, sirs! ye dremed, it was nothynge but the

wynde.'--'In the name of God!' quod the ladye, 'I herde it well.' The

next nyght there was as great noyse and greatter, and suche strokes

gyven at his chambre dore and windows, as alle shulde have broken in

pieces. The knyghte starte up out of his bedde, and wolde not lette, to

demaunde who was at his chambre dore that tyme of the nyght; and anone

he was answered by a voyce that sayd, 'I am here.' Quod the knyght,

'Who sent thee hyder?'--'The clerk of Catelogne sent me hyder,' quod

the voice, 'to whom thou dost gret wronge, for thou hast taken from

hym the ryghtes of his benefyce; I will nat leave thee in rest tylle

thou haste made hym a good accompte, so that he be pleased.' Quod the

knight, 'What is thy name, that thou art so good a messangere?' Quod

he, 'I am called Orthone.'--'Orthone!' quod the knight, 'the servyce

of a clerke is lytell profyte for thee. He will putte thee to moche

payne if thou beleve hym. I pray thee leave hym, and come and serve me;

and I shall give thee goode thanke.' Orthone was redy to aunswere, for

he was inamours with the knyghte, and sayde, 'Woldest thou fayne have

my servyce?'--'Yea, truly,' quod the knyghte, 'so thou do no hurte to

any persone in this house.'--'No more I will do,' quod Orthone, 'for

I have no power to do any other yvell, but to awake thee out of thy

slepe, or some other.'--'Well,' quod the knyght, 'do as I telle thee,

and we shall soone agree, and leave the yvill clerke, for there is

no good thyng in him, but to put thee to payne; therefore, come and

serve me.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'and sythe thou wilt have me, we are

agreed.'

"So this spyrite Orthone loved so the knight, that oftentymes he wold

come and vysyte hym, while he lay in his bedde aslepe, and outher

pull him by the eare, or els stryke at his chambre dore or windowe.

And, whan the knyght awoke, than he wolde saye, 'Orthone, lat me

slepe.'--'Nay,' quod Orthone, 'that will I nat do, tyll I have shewed

thee such tydinges as are fallen a-late.' The ladye, the knyghtes wyfe,

wolde be sore afrayed, that her heer wald stand up, and hyde herself

under the clothes. Than the knyght wolde saye, 'Why, what tidynges

hast thou brought me?'--Quod Orthone, 'I am come out of England, or

out of Hungry, or some other place, and yesterday I came hens, and

such things are fallen, or such other.' So thus the lord of Corasse

knewe, by Orthone, every thing that was done in any part of the worlde.

And in this case he contynued a fyve yere, and could not kepe his own

counsayle, but at last discovered it to the Erle of Foiz. I shall shewe

you howe.

"The firste yere, the lord of Corasse came on a day to Ortayse, to the

Erle of Foiz, and sayd to him, 'Sir, such things are done in England,

or in Scotland, or in Almagne, or in any other countrey.' And ever the

Erle of Foiz found his sayeing true, and had great marveyle how he

shulde knowe such things so shortly. And, on a tyme the Erle of Foiz

examined him so straitly, that the lord of Corasse shewed hym alle

toguyder howe he knewe it, and howe he came to hym firste. When the

Erle of Foiz hard that, he was joyfull, and said, Sir of Corasse, kepe

him well in your love; I wolde I hadd suche an messanger; he costeth

you nothyng, and ye knowe by him every thynge that is done in the

worlde.' The knyght answered, and sayd, 'Sir, that is true.' Thus, the

lord of Corasse was served with Orthone a long season. I can nat saye

if this Orthone hadde any more masters or nat; but every weke, twise or

thrisse, he wolde come and vysite the lord of Corasse, and wolde shewe

hym such tidyngs of any thing that was fallen fro whens he came. And

ever the lord of Corasse, when he knewe any thynge, he wrote thereof to

the Erle of Foiz, who had great joy thereof; for he was the lord, of

all the worlde, that most desyred to here news out of straunge places.

And, on a tyme, the lord of Corasse was wyth the Erle of Foiz, and the

erle demaunded of hym, and sayd, 'Sir of Corasse, dyd ye ever as yet se

your messengere?'--'Nay, surely, sir,' quod the knyghte, 'nor I never

desyred it.'--'That is marveyle,' quod the erle; 'if I were as well

acquainted with him as ye be, I wolde have desyred to have sene hym;

wherefore, I pray you, desyre it of hym, and then telle me what form

and facyon he is of. I have herd you say howe he speketh as good Gascon

as outher you or I.'--'Truely, sir,' quod the knyght, 'so it is: he

speketh as well, and as fayr, as any of us both do. And surely, sir,

sithe ye counsayle me, I shall do my payne to see him as I can.' And

so, on a night, as he lay in his bedde, with the ladye his wife, who

was so inured to here Orthone, that she was no longer afrayd of him;

than cam Orthone, and pulled the lord by the eare, who was fast asleep,

and therewith he awoke, and asked who was there? 'I am here,' quod

Orthone. Then he demaunded, 'From whens comest thou nowe?'--'I come,'

quod Orthone, 'from Prague, in Eoesme.'--'How farre is that hens?' quod

the knyght. 'A threescore days journey,' quod Orthone. 'And art thou

come hens so soon?' quod the knyght. 'Yea truely,' quod Orthone, 'I

come as fast as the wynde, or faster.'--'Hast thou than winges?' quod

the knyght. 'Nay, truely,' quod he. 'How canst thou than flye so fast?'

quod the knyght. 'Ye have nothing to do to knowe that,' quod Orthone.

'No?' quod the knyght, 'I wolde gladly se thee, to know what forme

thou art of.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'ye have nothing to do to knowe:

it sufficeth you to here me, and to shewe you tidynges.'--'In faythe,'

quod the knyght, 'I wolde love the moche better an I myght se thee

ones.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'sir, sithe ye have so gret desyre to se

me, the first thynge that ye se to-morrowe, whan ye ryse out of your

bedde, the same shall be I.'--'That is sufficient,' quod the lorde. 'Go

thy way; I gyve thee leave to departe for this nyght.' And the next

mornynge the lord rose, and the ladye his wyfe was so afrayd, that she

durst not ryse, but fayned herself sicke, and sayd she wolde not ryse.

Her husband wolde have had her to have rysen. 'Sir,' quod she, 'than

shall I se Orthone, and I wolde not se him by my gode wille.'--'Well,'

quod the knyght, 'I wolde gladly se hym.' And so he arose, fayre and

easily, out of his bedde, and sat down on his bedde-syde, wenying to

have sene Orthone in his owne proper form; but he sawe nothynge wherbye

he myght saye, 'Lo, yonder is Orthone.' So that day past, and the next

night came, and when the knyght was in his bedde, Orthone came, and

began to speke, as he was accustomed. 'Go thy waye,' quod the knyght,

'thou arte but a lyer; thou promysest that I shuld have sene the, and

it was not so.'--'No?' quod he, 'and I shewed myself to the.'--'That

is not so,' quod the lord. 'Why,' quod Orthone, 'whan ye rose out of

your bedde, sawe ye nothynge?' Than the lorde studyed a lytell, and

advysed himself well. 'Yes, truely,' quod the knyght, 'now I remember

me, as I sate on my bedde-syde, thynking on thee, I sawe two strawes

upon the pavement, tumblynge one upon another.'--'That same was I,'

quod Orthone, 'into that fourme I dyd putte myself as than.'--'That

is not enough to me,' quod the lord; 'I pray thee putte thyselfe into

same other fourme, that I may better se and knowe thee.'--'Well,'

quod Orthone, 'ye will do so muche, that ye will lose me, and I to

go fro you, for ye desyre to moch of me.'--'Nay,' quod the knyght,

'thou shalt not go fro me, let me se thee ones, and I will desyre no

more.'--'Well,' quod Orthone, 'ye shall se me to-morrowe; take hede,

the first thyng that ye se after ye be out of your chamber, it shall be

I.'--'Well,' quod the knyght, 'I am then content. Go thy way, lette me

slepe.' And so Orthone departed, and the next mornyng the lord arose,

and yssued oute of his chambre, and wente to a windowe, and looked

downe into the courte of the castell, and cast about his eyen. And the

firste thyng he sawe was a sowe, the greattest that ever he sawe; and

she seemed to be so leane and yvell-favoured, that there was nothyng on

her but the skynne, and the bones, with long eares, and a long leane

snout. The lord of Corasse had marveyle of that leane sowe, and was

wery of the sighte of her, and comaunded his men to fetch his houndes,

and sayd, 'Let the dogges hunt her to dethe, and devour her.' His

servaunts opened the kenells, and lette oute his houndes, and dyd sette

them on this sowe. And, at the last, the sowe made a great crye, and

looked up to the lord of Corasse as he looked out at a windowe, and so

sodaynely vanyshed awaye, no man wyste howe. Than the lord of Corasse

entred into his chambre, right pensyve, and than he remembered hym of

Orthone, his messangere, and sayd, 'I repent me that I set my houndes

on him. It is an adventure, an I here any more of hym; for he sayd to

me oftentymes, that if I displeased hym, I shulde lose hym.' The lord

sayd trouthe, for never after he came into the castell of Corasse, and

also the knyght dyed the same yere next followinge."

"So, sir," said the squyer, "thus have I shewed you the lyfe of

Orthone, and howe, for a season, he served the lord of Corasse

with newe tidynges."--"It is true, sir," sayd I, "but nowe, as

to your firste purpose. Is the Earl of Foiz served with suche an

messangere?"--"Surely," quod the squyer, it is the ymaginacion of

many, that he hath such messengers, for ther is nothynge done in any

place, but and he sette his mynde thereto, he will knowe it, and whan

men thynke leest thereof. And so dyd he, when the goode knightes and

squyers of this country were slayne in Portugale at Juberothe. Some

saythe, the knowledge of such thynges hath done hym moche profyte,

for and there be but the value of a spone lost in his house, anone he

will know where it is.' So, thus, then I toke leave of the squyer, and

went to other company; but I bare well away his tale."--BOURCHIER'S

_Translation of Froissart's Chronycle_, Vol. II. chap. 37.

_He took the keys from the rusty lock,_

_That never was ta'en before._

_He threw them o'er his left shoulder,_

_With mickle care and pain;_

_And he bade it keep them, fathoms deep,_

_Till he returned again._--P. 262, v. 1. 2.

The circumstance of Lord Soulis having thrown the key over his left

shoulder, and bid the fiend keep it till his return, is noted in the

introduction, as a part of his traditionary history. In the course

of this autumn (1806), the Earl of Dalkeith being encamped near the

Hermitage Castle, for the amusement of shooting, directed some workmen

to clear away the rubbish from the door of the dungeon, in order

to ascertain its ancient dimensions and architecture. To the great

astonishment of the labourers, and of the country people who were

watching their proceedings, a rusty iron key, of considerable size,

was found among the ruins, a little way from the dungeon door. The

well-known tradition instantly passed from one to another; and it was

generally agreed, that the malevolent dæmon, who had so long retained

possession of the key of the castle, now found himself obliged to

resign it to the heir-apparent of the domain. In the course of their

researches, a large iron ladle, somewhat resembling that used by

plumbers, was also discovered; and both the reliques are now in Lord

Dalkeith's possession.

In the summer of 1805, another discovery was made in the haunted

ruins of Hermitage. In a recess of the wall of the castle, intended

apparently for receiving the end of a beam or joist, a boy, seeking

for birds nests, found a very curious antique silver-ring, embossed

with hearts, the well-known cognisance of the Douglas family, placed

interchangeably with quatre-foils all round the circle. The workmanship

has an uncommonly rude and ancient appearance, and warrants our

believing that it may have belonged to one of the Earls of Angus, who

carried the heart and quatre-foils[76] in their arms. They parted

with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in exchange for that of

Bothwell, in the beginning of the 16th century. This ring is now in the

editor's possession, by the obliging gift of Mr John Ballantyne, of the

house of Ballantyne and Company, so distinguished for typography.

FOOTNOTES:

[65] Dalrymple's Collections concerning the Scottish History, p. 395.

[66] Transactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland, Vol. I, p.

269.

[67] Index of many records of charters granted between 1309 and 1413,

published by W. Robertson, Esq.

[68] As the people thronged to the execution of the gallant youth,

they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfraville, an English

or Norman knight, then a favourite follower of Robert Bruce. "Why

press you," said he, "to see the dismal catastrophe of so generous

a knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to share his

bounty, as now to behold his death." With these words he turned from

the scene of blood, and, repairing to the king, craved leave to sell

his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. "My heart,"

said Umfraville, "will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to

dwell any longer, where I have seen such a knight die by the hands of

the executioner." With the king's leave, he interred the body of David

de Brechin, sold his lands, and left Scotland for ever. The story is

beautifully told by Barbour, book 19th.

[69] _Skrieh_--Peep.

[70] _Lift_--Sky.

[71] _Glamour_--Magical delusion.

[72] _Wale_--Chuse.

[73] _Puirly_--Softly.

[74] _Spreat_--The spreat is a species of water-rush.

[75] _Deer-hair_--The deer-hair is a coarse species of pointed grass,

which, in May, bears a very minute, but beautiful yellow flower.

[76] Some heralds say, that they carried cinque-foils, others trefoils;

but all agree they bore some such distinction to mark their cadency

from the elder branch of Douglas.

THE COUT OF KEELDAR.

BY J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The tradition on which the following ballad is founded, derives

considerable illustration from the argument of the preceding. It is

necessary to add, that the most redoubted adversary of Lord Soulis was

the Chief of Keeldar, a Northumbrian district, adjacent to Cumberland,

who perished in a sudden encounter on the banks of the Hermitage. Being

arrayed in armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the combat; but

stumbling in retreating across the river, the hostile party held him

down below water with their lances till he died; and the eddy, in which

he perished, is still called the Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of

gigantic size, is pointed out on the banks of the Hermitage, at the

western corner of a wall, surrounding the burial-ground of a ruined

chapel. As an enemy of Lord Soulis, his memory is revered; and the

popular epithet of _Cout_, _i.e._ Colt, is expressive of his strength,

stature, and activity. Tradition likewise relates, that the young chief

of Mangerton, to whose protection Lord Soulis had, in some eminent

jeopardy, been indebted for his life, was decoyed by that faithless

tyrant into his castle of Hermitage, and insidiously murdered at a

feast.

The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northumbrian chief passed in his

incursion, is still pointed out, as a boundary mark, on the confines

of Jed forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough insulated mass,

of considerable dimensions, and it is held unlucky to ride thrice

_withershins_[77] around it. Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat,

belonging to the Duke of Northumberland.

The _Brown Man of the Muirs_ is a Fairy of the most malignant order,

the genuine _duergar_. Walsingham mentions a story of an unfortunate

youth, whose brains were extracted from his skull, during his sleep, by

this malicious being. Owing to this operation, he remained insane many

years, till the virgin Mary courteously restored his brains to their

station.

THE COUT OF KEELDAR.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED--J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The eiry blood-hound howled by night,

The streamers[78] flaunted red,

Till broken streaks of flaky light

O'er Keeldar's mountains spread.

The lady sigh'd as Keeldar rose:

"Come tell me, dear love mine,

"Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows,

"Or on the banks of Tyne?"

"The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows,

"By Tyne the primrose pale;

"But now we ride on the Scottish side,

"To hunt in Liddesdale."

"Gin you will ride on the Scottish side,

"Sore must thy Margaret mourn;

"For Soulis abhorred is Lyddall's lord,

"And I fear you'll ne'er return.

"The axe he bears, it hacks and tears;

"'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint;

"No armour of knight, tho' ever so wight,

"Can bear its deadly dint.

"No danger he fears, for a charm'd sword he wears;

"Of adderstone the hilt;

"No Tynedale knight had ever such might,

"But his heart-blood was spilt."

"In my plume is seen the holly green,

"With the leaves of the rowan tree;

"And my casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand,

"Was formed beneath the sea.

"Then, Margaret dear, have thou no fear!

"That bodes no ill to me,

"Though never a knight, by mortal might,

"Could match his gramarye."--

Then forward bound both horse and hound,

And rattle o'er the vale;

As the wintry breeze, through leafless trees,

Drives on the pattering hail.

Behind their course the English fells

In deepening blue retire;

Till soon before them boldly swells

The muir of dun Redswire.

And when they reached the Redswire high,

Soft beam'd the rising sun;

But formless shadows seemed to fly

Along the muir-land dun.

And when he reached the Redswire high,

His bugle Keeldar blew;

And round did float, with clamorous note

And scream, the hoarse curlew.

The next blast that young Keeldar blew,

The wind grew deadly still;

But the sleek fern, with fingery leaves,

Waved wildly o'er the hill.

The third blast that young Keeldar blew,

Still stood the limber fern;

And a wee man, of swarthy hue,

Up started by a cairn.

His russet weeds were brown as heath,

That clothes the upland fell;

And the hair of his head was frizzly red,

As the purple heather bell.

An urchin,[79] clad in prickles red,

Clung cowring to his arm;

The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled,

As struck by Fairy charm.

"Why rises high the stag-hound's cry,

"Where stag-hound ne'er should be?

"Why wakes that horn the silent morn,

"Without the leave of me?"

"Brown dwarf, that o'er the muir-land strays,

"Thy name to Keeldar tell!"--

"The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays

"Beneath the heather bell.

"'Tis sweet, beneath the heather-bell,

"To live in autumn brown;

"And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell

"Far far from tower and town.

"But woe betide the shrilling horn,

"The chace's surly cheer!

"And ever that hunter is forlorn,

"Whom first at morn I hear."

Says, "Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe,

"In thee we hope nor dread."

But, ere the bugles green could blow,

The Wee Brown Man had fled.

And onward, onward, hound and horse,

Young Keeldar's band have gone;

And soon they wheel, in rapid course,

Around the Keeldar Stone.

Green vervain round its base did creep,

A powerful seed that bore;

And oft, of yore, its channels deep

Were stained with human gore.

And still, when blood-drops, clotted thin,

Hang the grey moss upon,

The spirit murmurs from within,

And shakes the rocking stone.

Around, around, young Keeldar wound,

And called, in scornful tone,

With him to pass the barrier ground,

The Spirit of the Stone.

The rude crag rocked; "I come for death!

"I come to work thy woe!"

And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath,

That murmured from below.

But onward, onward, Keeldar past,

Swift as the winter wind,

When, hovering on the driving blast,

The snow-flakes fall behind.

They passed the muir of berries blae,

The stone cross on the lee;

They reached the green, the bonny brae,

Beneath the birchen tree.

This is the bonny brae, the green,

Yet sacred to the brave,

Where still, of ancient size, is seen

Gigantic Keeldar's grave.

The lonely shepherd loves to mark

The daisy springing fair,

Where weeps the birch of silver bark,

With long dishevelled hair.

The grave is green, and round is spread

The curling lady-fern;

That fatal day the mould was red,

No moss was on the cairn.

And next they passed the chapel there;

The holy ground was by,

Where many a stone is sculptured fair,

To mark where warriors lie.

And here, beside the mountain flood,

A massy castle frown'd,

Since first the Pictish race in blood

The haunted pile did found.

The restless stream its rocky base

Assails with ceaseless din;

And many a troubled spirit strays

The dungeons dark within.

Soon from the lofty tower there hied

A knight across the vale;

"I greet your master well," he cried,

"From Soulis of Liddesdale.

"He heard your bugle's echoing call,

"In his green garden bower;

"And bids you to his festive hall,

"Within his ancient tower."

Young Keeldar called his hunter train;

"For doubtful cheer prepare!

"And, as you open force disdain,

"Of secret guile beware.

"'Twas here for Mangerton's brave lord

"A bloody feast was set;

"Who, weetless, at the festal board,

"The bull's broad frontlet met.

"Then ever, at uncourteous feast,

"Keep every man his brand;

"And, as you mid his friends are placed,

"Range on the better hand.

"And, if the bull's ill-omened head

"Appear to grace the feast,

"Your whingers, with unerring speed,

"Plunge in each neighbour's breast."

In Hermitage they sat at dine,

In pomp and proud array;

And oft they filled the blood-red wine,

While merry minstrels play.

And many a hunting song they sung,

And song of game and glee;

Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,

"Of Scotland's luve and lee."

To wilder measures next they turn:

"The Black Black Bull of Noroway!"

Sudden the tapers cease to burn,

The minstrels cease to play.

Each hunter bold, of Keeldar's train,

Sat an enchanted man;

For cold as ice, through every vein,

The freezing life-blood ran.

Each rigid hand the whinger wrung,

Each gazed with glaring eye;

But Keeldar from the table sprung,

Unharmed by gramarye.

He burst the door; the roofs resound;

With yells the castle rung;

Before him, with a sudden bound,

His favourite blood-hound sprung.

Ere he could pass, the door was barr'd;

And, grating harsh from under,

With creaking, jarring noise, was heard

A sound like distant thunder.

The iron clash, the grinding sound,

Announce the dire sword-mill;

The piteous howlings of the hound

The dreadful dungeon fill.

With breath drawn in, the murderous crew

Stood listening to the yell;

And greater still their wonder grew,

As on their ear it fell.

They listen'd for a human shriek

Amid the jarring sound;

They only heard, in echoes weak,

The murmurs of the hound.

The death-bell rung, and wide were flung

The castle gates amain;

While hurry out the armed rout,

And marshal on the plain.

Ah! ne'er before in border feud

Was seen so dire a fray!

Through glittering lances Keeldar hewed

A red corse-paven way.

His helmet, formed of mermaid sand,

No lethal brand could dint;

No other arms could e'er withstand

The axe of earth-fast flint.

In Keeldar's plume the holly green,

And rowan leaves, nod on,

And vain Lord Soulis's sword was seen,

Though the hilt was adderstone.

Then up the Wee Brown Man he rose,

By Soulis of Liddesdale;

"In vain," he said, "a thousand blows

"Assail the charmed mail.

"In vain by land your arrows glide,

"In vain your faulchions gleam--

"No spell can stay the living tide,

"Or charm the rushing stream."

And now, young Keeldar reached the stream,

Above the foamy lin;

The border lances round him gleam,

And force the warrior in.

The holly floated to the side,

And the leaf of the rowan pale:

Alas! no spell could charm the tide,

Nor the lance of Liddesdale.

Swift was the Cout o' Keeldar's course,

Along the lily lee;

But home came never hound nor horse,

And never home came he.

Where weeps the birch with branches green,

Without the holy ground,

Between two old gray stones is seen

The warrior's ridgy mound.

And the hunters bold, of Keeldar's train,

Within yon castle's wall,

In a deadly sleep must ay remain,

Till the ruined towers down fall.

Each in his hunter's garb array'd,

Each holds his bugle horn;

Their keen hounds at their feet are laid,

That ne'er shall wake the morn.

NOTES

THE COUT OF KEELDAR.

* * * * *

_'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint._--P. 287. v. 2.

An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone, inclosed in a bed of earth,

is supposed to possess peculiar properties. It is frequently applied to

sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swellings; but its blow is

reckoned uncommonly severe.

_Of adderstone the hilt._--P. 287. v. 3.

The adderstone, among the Scottish peasantry, is held in almost as

high veneration, as, among the Gauls, the _ovum anguinum_, described

by Pliny.--_Natural History_, l. xxix. c. 3. The name is applied to

celts, and other round perforated stones. The vulgar suppose them to be

perforated by the stings of adders.

_With the leaves of the rowan tree._--P. 287. v. 4.

The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still used by the peasantry, to

avert the effects of charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree of the

same influence is supposed to reside in many evergreens; as the holly,

and the bay. With the leaves of the bay, the English and Welch peasants

were lately accustomed to adorn their doors at midsummer.--Vide BRAND's

_Vulgar Antiquities_.

_And shakes the rocking stone._--P. 291. v. 1.

The rocking stone, commonly reckoned a Druidical monument, has always

been held in superstitious veneration by the people. The popular

opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by a spirit, coincides

with that of the ancient Icelanders, who worshipped the dæmons, which

they believed to inhabit great stones. It is related in the _Kristni

Saga_, chap. 2, that the first Icelandic bishop, by chaunting a hymn

over one of these sacred stones, immediately after his arrival in the

island, split it, expelled the spirit, and converted its worshippers

to Christianity. The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was also

reckoned a powerful charm by the common people; and the author

recollects a popular rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young woman

by the devil, who attempted to seduce her in the shape of a handsome

young man:

Gin ye wish to be leman mine,

Lay off the St John's wort, and the vervine.

By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his mistress discovered the

cloven foot.

_Since first the Pictish race in blood._--P. 292. v. 5.

Castles, remarkable for size, strength, and antiquity, are, by the

common people, commonly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who are

not supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in masonry, in

constructing these edifices, but are believed to have bathed the

foundation-stone with human blood, in order to propitiate the spirit

of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic tradition, according to

which St Columba is supposed to have been forced to bury St Oran alive,

beneath the foundation of his monastery, in order to propitiate the

spirits of the soil, who demolished by night what was built during the

day.

_And, if the bull's ill-omened head, &c._--P. 294. v. 2.

To present a bull's head before a person at a feast, was, in the

ancient turbulent times of Scotland, a common signal for his

assassination. Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his History, p.

17, that "efter the dinner was endit, once alle the delicate courses

taken away, the chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the bullis

head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in signe and toaken of condemnation

to the death."

_Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,_

_"Of Scotland's luve and lee."_--P. 294. v. 4.

The most ancient Scottish song known is that which is here alluded to,

and is thus given by Wintoun, in his Chronykil, Vol. I. p. 401.

Quhen Alysandyr our kyng wes dede,

That Scotland led in luve and le,

Away wes sons of ale and brede,

Of wyne and wax, of gamyn and gle:

Oure gold wes changyd into lede,

Cryst, borne into virgynyte,

Succour Scotland and remede,

That stad is in perplexyte.

That alluded to in the following verse, is a wild fanciful popular

tale of enchantment, termed "_The Black Bull of Noroway_." The author

is inclined to believe it the same story with the romance of the

"_Three Futtit Dog of Noroway_," the title of which is mentioned in the

_Complaynt of Scotland_.

_The iron clash, the grinding sound,_

_Announce the dire sword-mill._--P. 295. v. 5.

The author is unable to produce any authority, that the execrable

machine, the sword-mill, so well known on the continent, was ever

employed in Scotland; but he believes the vestiges of something very

similar have been discovered in the ruins of old castles.

_No spell can stay the living tide._--P. 297. v. 3.

That no species of magic had any effect over a running stream, was

a common opinion among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns's

admirable tale of _Tam o' Shanter_.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] _Withershins._--German, _widdersins_. A direction contrary to the

course of the sun; from left, namely, to right.

[78] _Streamers_--Northern lights.

[79] _Urchin_--Hedge-hog.

GLENFINLAS,

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.[80]

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded,

runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a

solitary _bathy_ (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting), and making

merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that

they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely

uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the

hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren,

who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other

remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play

upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin

Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the

forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn

to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen.

The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women.

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of

Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a

royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as

well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore,

chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of

Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the

Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same

district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith

passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near

Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is

the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is

a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine

scenery.

This ballad first appeared in the _Tales of Wonder_.

GLENFINLAS,

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.

* * * * *

"For them the viewless forms of air obey,

"Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair;

"They know what spirit brews the stormful day,

"And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare,

"To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare."[81]

* * * * *

"O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'![82]

"The pride of Albin's line is o'er,

"And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;

"We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

O, sprung from great Macgillianore,

The chief that never feared a foe,

How matchless was thy broad claymore,

How deadly thine unerring bow!

Well can the Saxon widows tell,

How, on the Teith's resounding shore,

The boldest Lowland warriors fell,

As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

But o'er his hills, on festal day,

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree;

While youths and maids the light strathspey

So nimbly danced with Highland glee.

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell,

E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;

But now the loud lament we swell,

O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!

From distant isles a Chieftain came,

The joys of Ronald's halls to find,

And chase with him the dark-brown game,

That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind.

'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's isle

The seer's prophetic spirit found,

As, with a minstrel's fire the while,

He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known,

Which wandering spirits shrink to hear;

And many a lay of potent tone,

Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,

High converse with the dead they hold,

And oft espy the fated shroud,

That shall the future corpse enfold.

O so it fell, that on a day,

To rouse the red deer from their den,

The chiefs have ta'en their distant way,

And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait their sports to aid,

To watch their safety, deck their board?

Their simple dress, the Highland plaid,

Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.

Three summer days, through brake and dell,

Their whistling shafts successful flew;

And still, when dewy evening fell,

The quarry to their hut they drew.

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook

The solitary cabin stood,

Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,

Which murmurs through that lonely wood.

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,

When three successive days had flown;

And summer mist in dewy balm

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone.

The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes,

Afar her dubious radiance shed,

Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,

And resting on Benledi's head.

Now in their hut, in social guise,

Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy;

And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes,

As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.

--"What lack we here to crown our bliss,

"While thus the pulse of joy beats high?

"What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,

"Her panting breath, and melting eye?

"To chase the deer of yonder shades,

"This morning left their father's pile

"The fairest of our mountain maids,

"The daughters of the proud Glengyle.

"Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart,

"And dropp'd the tear, and heav'd the sigh;

"But vain the lover's wily art,

"Beneath a sister's watchful eye.

"But thou may'st teach that guardian fair,

"While far with Mary I am flown,

"Of other hearts to cease her care,

"And find it hard to guard her own.

"Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see

"The lovely Flora of Glengyle,

"Unmindful of her charge and me,

"Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.

"Or, if she chuse a melting tale,

"All underneath the greenwood bough,

"Will good St Oran's rule prevail,

"Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?"--

--"Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death,

"No more on me shall rapture rise,

"Responsive to the panting breath,

"Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.

"E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe,

"Where sunk my hopes of love and fame,

"I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,

"On me the Seer's sad spirit came.

"The last dread curse of angry heaven,

"With ghastly sights and sounds of woe,

"To dash each glimpse of joy, was given--

"The gift, the future ill to know.

"The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn,

"So gaily part from Oban's bay,

"My eye beheld her dash'd and torn,

"Far on the rocky Colonsay.

"Thy Fergus too--thy sister's son,

"Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power,

"As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe,

"He left the skirts of huge Benmore.

"Thou only saw'st their tartans[83] wave,

"As down Benvoirlich's side they wound,

"Heard'st but the pibroch[84], answering brave

"To many a target clanking round.

"I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears,

"I saw the wound his bosom bore,

"When on the serried Saxon spears

"He pour'd his clan's resistless roar.

"And thou, who bidst me think of bliss,

"And bidst my heart awake to glee,

"And court, like thee, the wanton kiss--

"That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee!

"I see the death damps chill thy brow;

"I hear thy Warning Spirit cry;

"The corpse-lights dance--they're gone, and now....

"No more is given to gifted eye!"----

----"Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams,

"Sad prophet of the evil hour!

"Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams,

"Because to-morrow's storm may lour?

"Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,

"Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear;

"His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,

"Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear.

"E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,

"My Mary's buskins brush the dew;"

He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell,

But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew.

Within an hour return'd each hound;

In rush'd the rouzers of the deer;

They howl'd in melancholy sound,

Then closely couch beside the seer.

No Ronald yet; though midnight came,

And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams,

As, bending o'er the dying flame,

He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams.

Sudden the hounds erect their ears,

And sudden cease their moaning howl;

Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears

By shivering limbs, and stifled growl.

Untouch'd, the harp began to ring,

As softly, slowly, oped the door;

And shook responsive every string,

As light a footstep press'd the floor.

And, by the watch-fire's glimmering light,

Close by the minstrel's side was seen

An huntress maid, in beauty bright,

All dropping wet her robes of green.

All dropping wet her garments seem;

Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare,

As, bending o'er the dying gleam,

She wrung the moisture from her hair.

With maiden blush she softly said,

"O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen,

"In deep Glenfinlas' moon-light glade,

"A lovely maid in vest of green:

"With her a chief in Highland pride;

"His shoulders bear the hunter's bow,

"The mountain dirk adorns his side,

"Far on the wind his tartans flow?"

"And who art thou? and who are they?"

All ghastly gazing, Moy replied:

"And why, beneath the moon's pale ray,

"Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side?"

"Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide,

"Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle,

"Our father's towers o'erhang her side,

"The castle of the bold Glengyle.

"To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,

"Our woodland course this morn we bore,

"And haply met, while wandering here,

"The son of great Macgillianore.

"O aid me, then, to seek the pair,

"Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost;

"Alone, I dare not venture there,

"Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost."

"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there;

"Then, first, my own sad vow to keep,

"Here will I pour my midnight prayer,

"Which still must rise when mortals sleep."

"O first, for pity's gentle sake,

"Guide a lone wanderer on her way!

"For I must cross the haunted brake,

"And reach my father's towers ere day."

"First, three times tell each Ave-bead,

"And thrice a Pater-noster say;

"Then kiss with me the holy reed;

"So shall we safely wind our way."

"O shame to knighthood, strange and foul!

"Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow,

"And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,

"Which best befits thy sullen vow.

"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,

"Thy heart was froze to love and joy,

"When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,

"To wanton Morna's melting eye."

Wild stared the Minstrel's eyes of flame,

And high his sable locks arose,

And quick his colour went and came,

As fear and rage alternate rose.

"And thou! when by the blazing oak

"I lay, to her and love resign'd,

"Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,

"Or sailed ye on the midnight wind!

"Not thine a race of mortal blood,

"Nor old Glengyle's pretended line;

"Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,

"Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine."

He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme,

And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer;

Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,

And sternly shook his coal-black hair.

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung

His wildest witch-notes on the wind;

And loud, and high, and strange, they rung,

As many a magic change they find.

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form,

Till to the roof her stature grew;

Then, mingling with the rising storm,

With one wild yell, away she flew.

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear:

The slender hut in fragments flew;

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair

Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.

Wild mingling with the howling gale,

Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise;

High o'er the minstrel's head they sail,

And die amid the northern skies.

The voice of thunder shook the wood,

As ceased the more than mortal yell;

And, spattering foul, a shower of blood

Upon the hissing firebrands fell.

Next, dropp'd from high a mangled arm;

The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade:

And last, the life-blood streaming warm,

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head.

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,

Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore;

That arm the broad claymore could wield,

Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore.

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills!

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen!

There never son of Albin's hills

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen!

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet

At noon shall shun that sheltering den,

Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet

The wayward Ladies of the Glen.

And we--behind the chieftain's shield,

No more shall we in safety dwell;

None leads the people to the field--

And we the loud lament must swell.

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'!

The pride of Albin's line is o'er,

And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

NOTES

GLENFINLAS.

* * * * *

_Well can the Saxon widows tell._--P. 306. v. 2.

The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to their

low-country neighbours.

_How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree._--P. 306. v. 3.

The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the first of May, in compliance

with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are termed, _The

Beltane-Tree_. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitious

rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales.

_The seer's prophetic spirit found, &c._--P. 307. v. 1.

I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr Johnson's

definition, who calls it "An impression, either by the mind upon the

eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant and future

are perceived and seen as if they were present." To which I would only

add, that the spectral appearances, thus presented, usually presage

misfortune; that the faculty is painful to those who suppose they

possess it; and that they usually acquire it, while themselves under

the pressure of melancholy.

_Will good St Oran's rule prevail._--P. 310. v. 1.

St Oran was a friend and follower of St Columba, and was buried in

Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According

to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate

certain dæmons of the soil, who obstructed the attempts of Columba to

build a chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up,

after three days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of

the assistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor

a future state! He had no time to make further discoveries, for Columba

caused the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost

dispatch. The chapel, however, and the cemetery, was called _Reilig

Ouran_; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted

to pay her devotions, or be buried, in that place. This is the rule

alluded to in the poem.

_And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer._--P. 316. v. 5.

St Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in

Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an abbot of Pittenweem, in

Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds

of Glenurchy, A.D. 649. While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures,

his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendour, as to

afford light to that with which he wrote; a miracle which saved many

candles to the convent, as St Fillan used to spend whole nights in that

exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave

his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St Phillans, or Forgend, in

Fife. Lesley, lib. 7., tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed

of Fillan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he inclosed in a silver

shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the

battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith,

abstracted the relique, and deposited it in some place of security,

lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while

Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed

to open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found

to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine, as an assurance of

victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed

that the arm of St Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to him,

in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay.

In the Scots Magazine for July 1802, (a national periodical

publication, which has lately revived with considerable energy,)

there is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July,

1487, by which James III. confirms to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of

Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment

of a relique of St Fillan, called the Quegrich, which he, and his

predecessors, are said to have possessed since the days of Robert

Bruce. As the Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is,

probably, the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine.

The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, further observes,

that additional particulars, concerning St Fillan, are to be found in

_Ballenden's Boece_, Book 4. folio ccxiii., and in PENNANT's _Tour in

Scotland_, 1772, pp. 11. 15.

FOOTNOTES:

[80] _Coronach_ is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the

aged of the clan.

[81] [Transcriber: Citation from a poem by William Collins]

[82] _O hone a rie'_ signifies--"Alas for the prince, or chief."

[83] _Tartans_--The full Highland dress, made of the chequered stuff so

termed.

[84] _Pibroch_--A piece of martial music, adapted to the Highland

bag-pipe.

THE MERMAID.

J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The following poem is founded upon a Gaelic traditional ballad, called

_Macphail of Colonsay, and the Mermaid of Corrivrekin_. The dangerous

gulf of Corrivrekin lies between the islands of Jura and Scarba, and

the superstition of the islanders has tenanted its shelves and eddies

with all the fabulous monsters and dæmons of the ocean. Among these,

according to a universal tradition, the Mermaid is the most remarkable.

In her dwelling, and in her appearance, the mermaid of the northern

nations resembles the syren of the ancients. The appendages of a comb

and mirror are probably of Celtic invention.

The Gaelic story bears, that Macphail of Colonsay was carried off by

a mermaid, while passing the gulf above mentioned: that they resided

together, in a grotto beneath the sea, for several years, during which

time she bore him five children: but, finally, he tired of her society,

and, having prevailed upon her to carry him near the shore of Colonsay,

he escaped to land.

The inhabitants of the Isle of Man have a number of such stories, which

may be found in Waldron. One bears, that a very beautiful mermaid fell

in love with a young shepherd, who kept his flocks beside a creek,

much frequented by these marine people. She frequently caressed him,

and brought him presents of coral, fine pearls, and every valuable

production of the ocean. Once upon a time, as she threw her arms

eagerly round him, he suspected her of a design to draw him into

the sea, and, struggling hard, disengaged himself from her embrace,

and ran away. But the mermaid resented either the suspicion, or the

disappointment, so highly, that she threw a stone after him, and flung

herself into the sea, whence she never returned. The youth, though

but slightly struck with the pebble, felt, from that moment, the most

excruciating agony, and died at the end of seven days.--_Waldron's

Works_, p. 176.

Another tradition of the same island affirms, that one of these

amphibious damsels was caught in a net, and brought to land, by some

fishers, who had spread a snare for the denizens of the ocean. She

was shaped like the most beautiful female down to the waist, but

below trailed a voluminous fish's tail, with spreading fins. As she

would neither eat nor speak, (though they knew she had the power of

language), they became apprehensive that the island would be visited

with some strange calamity, if she should die for want of food; and

therefore, on the third night, they left the door open, that she might

escape. Accordingly, she did not fail to embrace the opportunity; but,

gliding with incredible swiftness to the sea-side, she plunged herself

into the waters, and was welcomed by a number of her own species, who

were heard to enquire, what she had seen among the natives of the

earth; "Nothing," she answered, "wonderful, except that they were

silly enough to throw away the water in which they had boiled their

eggs."

Collins, in his notes upon the line,

"Mona, long hid from those who sail the main,"

explains it, by a similar Celtic tradition. It seems, a mermaid had

become so much charmed with a young man, who walked upon the beach,

that she made love to him; and, being rejected with scorn, she excited,

by enchantment, a mist, which long concealed the island from all

navigators.

I must mention another Mankish tradition, because, being derived from

the common source of Celtic mythology, they appear the most natural

illustrations of the Hebridean tale. About fifty years before Waldron

went to reside in Man (for there were living witnesses of the legend,

when he was upon the island), a project was undertaken, to fish

treasures up from the deep, by means of a diving-bell. A venturous

fellow, accordingly, descended, and kept pulling for more rope, till

all they had on board was expended. This must have been no small

quantity, for a skilful mathematician, who was on board, judging from

the proportion of line let down, declared, that the adventurer must

have descended at least double the number of leagues which the moon is

computed to be distant from the earth. At such a depth, wonders might

be expected, and wonderful was the account given by the adventurer,

when drawn up to the air.

"After," said he, "I had passed the region of fishes, I descended into

a pure element, clear as the air in the serenest and most unclouded

day, through which, as I passed, I saw the bottom of the watery world,

paved with coral, and a shining kind of pebbles, which glittered like

the sun-beams, reflected on a glass. I longed to tread the delightful

paths, and never felt more exquisite delight, than when the machine, I

was inclosed in, grazed upon it.

"On looking through the little windows of my prison, I saw large

streets and squares on every side, ornamented with huge pyramids

of crystal, not inferior in brightness to the finest diamonds;

and the most beautiful building, not of stone, nor brick, but of

mother-of-pearl, and embossed in various figures, with shells of all

colours. The passage, which led to one of these magnificent apartments,

being open, I endeavoured, with my whole strength, to move my enclosure

towards it; which I did, though with great difficulty, and very slowly.

At last, however, I got entrance into a very spacious room, in the

midst of which stood a large amber table, with several chairs round,

of the same. The floor of it was composed of rough diamonds, topazes,

emeralds, rubies, and pearls. Here I doubted not but to make my voyage

as profitable as it was pleasant; for, could I have brought with me but

a few of these, they would have been of more value than all we could

hope for in a thousand wrecks; but they were so closely wedged in, and

so strongly cemented by time, that they were not to be unfastened. I

saw several chains, carcanets, and rings, of all manner of precious

stones, finely cut, and set after our manner; which I suppose had been

the prize of the winds and waves: these were hanging loosely on the

jasper walls, by strings made of rushes, which I might easily have

taken down; but, as I had edged myself within half a foot reach of

them, I was unfortunately drawn back through your want of line. In my

return, I saw several comely _mermen_, and beautiful _mermaids_, the

inhabitants of this blissful realm, swiftly descending towards it;

but they seemed frighted at my appearance, and glided at a distance

from me, taking me, no doubt, for some monstrous and new-created

species."--_Waldron_, _ibidem_.

It would be very easy to enlarge this introduction, by quoting a

variety of authors, concerning the supposed existence of these marine

people. The reader may consult the _Telliamed_ of M. Maillet, who, in

support of the Neptunist system of geology, has collected a variety

of legends, respecting mermen and mermaids, p. 230, _et sequen._ Much

information may also be derived from Pontoppidan's _Natural History

of Norway_, who fails not to people her seas with this amphibious

race.[85] An older authority is to be found in the _Kongs skugg-sio_,

or Royal Mirror, written, as it is believed, about 1170. The mermen,

there mentioned, are termed _hafstrambur_ (sea-giants), and are said to

have the upper parts resembling the human race; but the author, with

becoming diffidence, declines to state, positively, whether they are

equipped with a dolphin's tail. The female monster is called _Mar-Gyga_

(sea-giantess), and is averred, certainly, to drag a fish's train.

She appears, generally, in the act of devouring fish, which she has

caught. According to the apparent voracity of her appetite, the sailors

pretended to guess what chance they had of saving their lives in the

tempests, which always followed her appearance.--_Speculum Regale_,

1768, p. 166.

Mermaids were sometimes supposed to be possessed of supernatural

powers. Resenius, in his life of Frederick II., gives us an account of

a syren, who not only prophesied future events, but, as might have been

expected from the element in which she dwelt, preached vehemently

against the sin of drunkenness.

The mermaid of Corrivrekin possessed the power of occasionally

resigning her scaly train; and the Celtic tradition bears, that when,

from choice or necessity, she was invested with that appendage, her

manners were more stern and savage than when her form was entirely

human. Of course, she warned her lover not to come into her presence,

when she was thus transformed. This belief is alluded to in the

following ballad.

The beauty of the syrens is celebrated in the old romances of chivalry.

Doolin, upon beholding, for the first time in his life, a beautiful

female, exclaims, "_Par sainte Marie, si belle creature ne vis je

oncque en ma vie! Je crois que c'est un ange du ciel, ou une seraine

de mer; Je crois que homme n'engendra oncque si belle creature._"--La

Fleur de Battailles.

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL,

WITH

_THE MERMAID_.

* * * * *

To brighter charms depart, my simple lay,

Than graced of old the maid of Colonsay,

When her fond lover, lessening from her view,

With eyes reverted, o'er the surge withdrew!

But, happier still, should lovely Campbell sing

Thy plaintive numbers to the trembling string,

The mermaid's melting strains would yield to thee,

Though poured diffusive o'er the silver sea.

Go boldly forth--but ah! the listening throng,

Rapt by the syren, would forget the song!

Lo! while they pause, nor dare to gaze around,

Afraid to break the soft enchanting sound,

While swells to sympathy each fluttering heart,

'Tis not the poet's, but the syren's art.

Go forth, devoid of fear, my simple lay!

First heard, returning from Iona's bay,

When round our bark the shades of evening drew,

And broken slumbers prest our weary crew;

While round the prow the sea-fire, flashing bright,

Shed a strange lustre o'er the waste of night;

While harsh and dismal screamed the diving gull,

Round the dark rocks that wall the coast of Mull;

As through black reefs we held our venturous way,

I caught the wild traditionary lay.

A wreath, no more in black Iona's isle

To bloom--but graced by high-born Beauty's smile.

THE MERMAID.

* * * * *

On Jura's heath how sweetly swell

The murmurs of the mountain bee,

How softly mourns the writhed shell

Of Jura's shore, its parent sea!

But softer, floating o'er the deep,

The mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay,

That charmed the dancing waves to sleep,

Before the bark of Colonsay.

Aloft the purple pennons wave,

As parting gay from Crinan's shore,

From Morven's wars the seamen brave

Their gallant chieftain homeward bore.

In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail

Still blamed the lingering bark's delay;

For her he chid the flagging sail,

The lovely maid of Colonsay.

"And raise," he cried, "the song of love,

"The maiden sung with tearful smile,

"When first, o'er Jura's hills to rove,

"We left afar the lonely isle!

'When on this ring of ruby red

'Shall die,' she said, 'the crimson hue,

'Know that thy favourite fair is dead,

'Or proves to thee and love untrue.'

Now, lightly poised, the rising oar

Disperses wide the foamy spray,

And, echoing far o'er Crinan's shore,

Resounds the song of Colonsay.

"Softly blow, thou western breeze,

"Softly rustle through the sail,

"Sooth to rest the furrowy seas,

"Before my love, sweet western gale!

"Where the wave is tinged with red,

"And the russet sea-leaves grow,

"Mariners, with prudent dread,

"Shun the shelving reefs below.

"As you pass through Jura's sound,

"Bend your course by Scarba's shore,

"Shun, O shun, the gulf profound,

"Where Corrivrekin's surges roar!

"If, from that unbottomed deep,

"With wrinkled form and writhed train,

"O'er the verge of Scarba's steep,

"The sea-snake heave his snowy mane,

"Unwarp, unwind his oozy coils,

"Sea-green sisters of the main,

"And in the gulf, where ocean boils,

"The unwieldy wallowing monster chain.

"Softly blow, thou western breeze,

"Softly rustle through the sail,

"Sooth to rest the furrowed seas,

"Before my love, sweet western gale!"

Thus, all to sooth the chieftain's woe,

Far from the maid he loved so dear,

The song arose, so soft and slow,

He seemed her parting sigh to hear.

The lonely deck he paces o'er,

Impatient for the rising day,

And still, from Crinan's moonlight shore,

He turns his eyes to Colonsay.

The moonbeams crisp the curling surge,

That streaks with foam the ocean green;

While forward still the rowers urge

Their course, a female form was seen.

That sea-maid's form, of pearly light,

Was whiter than the downy spray,

And round her bosom, heaving bright,

Her glossy, yellow ringlets play.

Borne on a foamy-crested wave,

She reached amain the bounding prow,

Then, clasping fast the chieftain brave,

She, plunging, sought the deep below.

Ah! long beside thy feigned bier,

The monks the prayers of death shall say,

And long for thee, the fruitless tear

Shall weep the maid of Colonsay!

But downwards, like a powerless corse,

The eddying waves the chieftain bear;

He only heard the moaning hoarse

Of waters, murmuring in his ear.

The murmurs sink, by slow degrees;

No more the surges round him rave;

Lulled by the music of the seas,

He lies within a coral cave.

In dreamy mood reclines he long,

Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose,

Till, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song,

Far in the crystal cavern, rose;

Soft as that harp's unseen controul,

In morning dreams that lovers hear,

Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul,

But never reach the waking ear.

As sunbeams, through the tepid air,

When clouds dissolve in dews unseen,

Smile on the flowers, that bloom more fair,

And fields, that glow with livelier green--

So melting soft the music fell;

It seemed to soothe the fluttering spray--

"Say, heardst thou not these wild notes swell?"

"Ah! 'tis the song of Colonsay."

Like one that from a fearful dream

Awakes, the morning light to view,

And joys to see the purple beam,

Yet fears to find the vision true.

He heard that strain, so wildly sweet,

Which bade his torpid languor fly;

He feared some spell had bound his feet,

And hardly dared his limbs to try.

"This yellow sand, this sparry cave,

"Shall bend thy soul to beauty's sway;

"Can'st thou the maiden of the wave

"Compare to her of Colonsay?"

Roused by that voice, of silver sound,

From the paved floor he lightly sprung,

And, glancing wild his eyes around,

Where the fair nymph her tresses wrung,

No form he saw of mortal mould;

It shone like ocean's snowy foam;

Her ringlets waved in living gold,

Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb.

Her pearly comb the syren took,

And careless bound her tresses wild;

Still o'er the mirror stole her look,

As on the wondering youth she smiled.

Like music from the greenwood tree,

Again she raised the melting lay;

--"Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me,

"And leave the maid of Colonsay?

"Fair is the crystal hall for me,

"With rubies and with emeralds set,

"And sweet the music of the sea

"Shall sing, when we for love are met.

"How sweet to dance, with gliding feet,

"Along the level tide so green,

"Responsive to the cadence sweet,

"That breathes along the moonlight scene!

"And soft the music of the main

"Rings from the motley tortoise-shell,

"While moonbeams, o'er the watery plain,

"Seem trembling in its fitful swell.

"How sweet, when billows heave their head,

"And shake their snowy crests on high,

"Serene in Ocean's sapphire bed,

"Beneath the tumbling surge, to lie;

"To trace, with tranquil step, the deep,

"Where pearly drops of frozen dew

"In concave shells, unconscious, sleep,

"Or shine with lustre, silvery blue!

"Then shall the summer sun, from far,

"Pour through the wave a softer ray,

"While diamonds, in a bower of spar,

"At eve shall shed a brighter day.

"Nor stormy wind, nor wintery gale,

"That o'er the angry ocean sweep,

"Shall e'er our coral groves assail,

"Calm in the bosom of the deep.

"Through the green meads beneath the sea,

"Enamoured, we shall fondly stray--

"Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me,

"And leave the maid of Colonsay!"--

"Though bright thy locks of glistering gold,

"Fair maiden of the foamy main!

"Thy life-blood is the water cold,

"While mine beats high in every vein.

"If I, beneath thy sparry cave,

"Should in thy snowy arms recline,

"Inconstant as the restless wave,

"My heart would grow as cold as thine."

As cygnet down, proud swelled her breast;

Her eye confest the pearly tear;

His hand she to her bosom prest--

"Is there no heart for rapture here?

"These limbs, sprung from the lucid sea,

"Does no warm blood their currents fill,

"No heart-pulse riot, wild and free,

"To joy, to love's delirious thrill?"

"Though all the splendour of the sea

"Around thy faultless beauty shine,

"That heart, that riots wild and free,

"Can hold no sympathy with mine.

"These sparkling eyes, so wild and gay,

"They swim not in the light of love:

"The beauteous maid of Colonsay,

"Her eyes are milder than the dove!

"Even now, within the lonely isle,

"Her eyes are dim with tears for me;

"And canst thou think that syren smile

"Can lure my soul to dwell with thee?"

An oozy film her limbs o'erspread;

Unfolds in length her scaly train;

She tossed, in proud disdain, her head,

And lashed, with webbed fin, the main.

"Dwell here, alone!" the mermaid cried,

"And view far off the sea-nymphs play;

"Thy prison-wall, the azure tide,

"Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay.

"Whene'er, like ocean's scaly brood,

"I cleave, with rapid fin, the wave,

"Far from the daughter of the flood,

"Conceal thee in this coral cave.

"I feel my former soul return;

"It kindles at thy cold disdain:

"And has a mortal dared to spurn

"A daughter of the foamy main?"

She fled; around the crystal cave

The rolling waves resume their road,

On the broad portal idly rave,

But enter not the nymph's abode.

And many a weary night went by,

As in the lonely cave he lay,

And many a sun rolled through the sky,

And poured its beams on Colonsay;

And oft, beneath the silver moon,

He heard afar the mermaid sing,

And oft, to many a melting tune,

The shell-formed lyres of ocean ring;

And when the moon went down the sky,

Still rose, in dreams, his native plain,

And oft he thought his love was by,

And charmed him with some tender strain;

And, heart-sick, oft he waked to weep,

When ceased that voice of silver sound,

And thought to plunge him in the deep,

That walled his crystal cavern round.

But still the ring, of ruby red,

Retained its vivid crimson hue,

And each despairing accent fled,

To find his gentle love so true.

When seven long lonely months were gone,

The mermaid to his cavern came,

No more mishapen from the zone,

But like a maid of mortal frame.

"O give to me that ruby ring,

"That on thy finger glances gay,

"And thou shalt hear the mermaid sing

"The song, thou lovest, of Colonsay."

"This ruby ring, of crimson grain,

"Shall on thy finger glitter gay,

"If thou wilt bear me through the main,

"Again to visit Colonsay."

"Except thou quit thy former love,

"Content to dwell, for ay, with me,

"Thy scorn my finny frame might move,

"To tear thy limbs amid the sea."

"Then bear me swift along the main,

"The lonely isle again to see,

"And, when I here return again,

"I plight my faith to dwell with thee."

An oozy film her limbs o'erspread,

While slow unfolds her scaly train,

With gluey fangs her hands were clad,

She lashed with webbed fin the main.

He grasps the mermaid's scaly sides,

As, with broad fin, she oars her way;

Beneath the silent moon she glides,

That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay.

Proud swells her heart! she deems, at last,

To lure him with her silver tongue,

And, as the shelving rocks she past,

She raised her voice, and sweetly sung.

In softer, sweeter strains she sung,

Slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay,

When light to land the chieftain sprung,

To hail the maid of Colonsay.

O sad the mermaid's gay notes fell,

And sadly sink, remote at sea!

So sadly mourns the writhed shell

Of Jura's shore, its parent sea.

And ever as the year returns,

The charm-bound sailors know the day;

For sadly still the mermaid mourns

The lovely chief of Colonsay.

NOTE

THE MERMAID.

* * * * *

_The sea-snake heave his snowy mane._--P. 334. v. 3.

"They, who, in works of navigation, on the coasts of Norway, employ

themselves in fishing or merchandize, do all agree in this strange

story, that there is a serpent there, which is of a vast magnitude,

namely, two hundred feet long, and moreover twenty feet thick; and is

wont to live in rocks and caves, toward the sea-coast about Berge;

which will go alone from his holes, in a clear night in summer, and

devours calves, lambs, and hogs; or else he goes into the sea to feed

on polypus, locusts, and all sorts of sea-crabs. He hath commonly hair

hanging from his neck a cubit long, and sharp scales, and is black,

and he hath flaming shining eyes. This snake disquiets the skippers,

and he puts up his head on high, like a pillar, and catcheth away

men, and he devours them; and this hapneth not but it signifies some

wonderful change of the kingdom near at hand; namely, that the princes

shall die, or be banished; or some tumultuous wars shall presentlie

follow."--_Olaus Magnus_, London, 1558, rendered into English by J. S.

Much more of the sea-snake may be learned from the credible witnesses

cited by Pontoppidan, who saw it raise itself from the sea, twice as

high as the mast of their vessel. The tradition probably originates in

the immense snake of the Edda, whose folds were supposed to girdle the

earth.

FOOTNOTES:

[85] I believe something to the same purpose may be found in the school

editions of Guthrie's _Geographical Grammar_; a work, which, though,

in general, as sober and dull as could be desired by the gravest

preceptor, becomes of a sudden uncommonly lively, upon the subject of

the seas of Norway; the author having thought meet to adopt the Right

Reverend Erick Pontopiddon's account of mermen, sea-snakes, and krakens.

THE LORD HERRIES HIS COMPLAINT,

A FRAGMENT.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY CHARLES KIRKPATRICK SHARPE, ESQ. OF HODDOM.

* * * * *

Hoddom castle is delightfully situated on the banks of the river Annan.

It is an ancient structure, said to have been built betwixt the years

1437 and 1484, by John Lord Herries, of Herries, a powerful border

baron, who possessed extensive domains in Dumfries-shire. This family

continued to flourish until the death of William, Lord Herries, in the

middle of the 16th century, when it merged in heirs female. Agnes, the

eldest of the daughters of Lord William, was married to John, master

of Maxwell, afterwards created Lord Herries, and a strenuous partizan

of Queen Mary. The castle and barony of Hoddom were sold, about 1630,

and were then, or soon afterwards, acquired by John Sharpe, Esq., in

whose family they have ever since continued. Before the accession of

James VI. to the English crown, Hoddom castle was appointed to be kept

"with ane wise stout man, and to have with him four well-horsed men,

and there to have two stark footmen, servants, to keep their horses,

and the principal to have ane stout footman."--_Border Laws, Appendix._

On the top of a small, but conspicuous hill, near to Hoddom castle,

there is a square tower, built of hewn stone, over the door of which

are carved the figures of a dove and a serpent, and betwixt them the

word _Repentance_. Hence the building, though its proper name is

Trailtrow, is more frequently called the Tower of Repentance. It was

anciently used as a beacon, and the border laws direct a watch to be

maintained there, with a fire-pan and bell, to give the alarm when the

English crossed, or approached, the river Annan. This man was to have

a husband-land for his service.--SPOTTISWOODE, p. 306.

Various accounts are given of the cause of erecting the Tower

of Repentance. The following has been adopted by my ingenious

correspondent, as most susceptible of poetical decoration. A certain

Lord Herries--about the date of the transaction, tradition is

silent--was famous among those who used to rob and steal (_convey_, the

wise it call). This lord, returning from England, with many prisoners,

whom he had unlawfully enthralled, was overtaken by a storm, while

passing the Solway Firth, and, in order to relieve his boat, he cut all

their throats, and threw them into the sea. Feeling great qualms of

conscience, he built this square tower, carving over the door, which is

about half way up the building, and had formerly no stair to it, the

figures above mentioned, of a dove and a serpent, emblems of remorse

and grace, and the motto--"_Repentance._"

I have only to add, that the marauding baron is said, from his

rapacity, to have been surnamed John the Reif; probably in allusion

to a popular romance; and that another account says, the sin, of

which he repented, was the destruction of a church, or chapel, called

Trailtrow, with the stones of which he had built the castle of

Hoddom.--MACFARLANE's MSS.

It is said, that Sir Richard Steele, while riding near this place, saw

a shepherd boy reading his Bible, and asked him, what he learned from

it? "The way to heaven," answered the boy. "And can you show it to me?"

said Sir Richard, in banter. "You must go by that tower," replied the

shepherd; and he pointed to the tower of "_Repentance_."

THE

LORD HERRIES HIS COMPLAINT,

A FRAGMENT.

* * * * *

Bright shone the moon on Hoddom's wall,

Bright on Repentance Tower;

Mirk was the lord of Hoddom's saul,

That chief sae sad and sour.

He sat him on Repentance hicht,

And glowr'd upon the sea;

And sair and heavily he sicht,

But nae drap eased his bree.

"The night is fair, and calm the air,

"No blasts disturb the tree;

"Baith men and beast now tak their rest,

"And a's at peace but me.

"Can wealth and power in princely bower,

"Can beauty's rolling e'e,

"Can friendship dear, wi' kindly tear,

"Bring back my peace to me?

"No! lang lang maun the mourner pine,

"And meikle penance dree,

"Wha has a heavy heart like mine,

"Ere light that heart can be.

"Under yon silver skimmering waves,

"That saftly rise and fa',

"Lie mouldering banes in sandy graves,

"That fley my peace awa.

* * * * *

"To help my boat I pierc'd the throat

"Of him whom ane lo'ed dear;

"Nought did I spare his yellow hair,

"And ee'n sae bricht and clear.

"She sits her lane, and makith mane,

"And sings a waefu sang,--

'Scotch rievers hae my darling ta'en;

'O Willie tarries lang!'

"I plunged an auld man in the sea,

"Whase locks were like the snaw;

"His hairs sall serve for rapes to me,

"In hell my saul to draw.

"Soon did thy smile, sweet baby, stint,

"Torn frae the nurse's knee,

"That smile, that might hae saften'd flint,

"And still'd the raging sea.

"Alas! twelve precious lives were spilt,

"My worthless spark to save;

"Bet[86] had I fallen, withouten guilt,

"Frae cradle to the grave.

"Repentance! signal of my bale,

"Built of the lasting stane,

"Ye lang shall tell the bluidy tale,

"Whan I am dead and gane.

"How Hoddom's lord, ye lang sall tell,

"By conscience stricken sair,

"In life sustain'd the pains of hell,

"And perish'd in despair.

FOOTNOTES:

[86] _Bet_--better.

THE MURDER OF CAERLAVEROC.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Volume 3 (of 3) Consisting of Historical and Romantic Ballads, Collected in the Southern Counties of Scotland; with a Few of Modern Date, Founded Upon Local Tradition · 第 5 / 6 章

The king of England had promised to these two barons a feudal grant