NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY CHARLES KIRKPATRICK SHARPE, ESQ.

* * * * *

The tragical event which preceded, or perhaps gave rise to, the

successful insurrection of Robert Bruce, against the tyranny of Edward

I., is well known. In the year 1304, Bruce abruptly left the court of

England, and held an interview, in the Dominical church of Dumfries,

with John, surnamed, from the colour of his hair, the Red Cuming, a

powerful chieftain, who had formerly held the regency of Scotland.

It is said, by the Scottish historians, that he upbraided Cuming

with having betrayed to the English monarch a scheme, formed betwixt

them, for asserting the independence of Scotland. The English writers

maintain, that Bruce proposed such a plan to Cuming, which he rejected

with scorn, as inconsistent with the fealty he had sworn to Edward.

The dispute, however it began, soon waxed high betwixt two fierce and

independent barons. At length, standing before the high altar of the

church, Cuming gave Bruce the lie, and Bruce retaliated by a stroke of

his poniard. Full of confusion and remorse, for a homicide committed

in a sanctuary, the future monarch of Scotland rushed out of the

church, with the bloody poniard in his hand. Kirkpatrick and Lindsay,

two barons, who faithfully adhered to him, were waiting at the gate.

To their earnest and anxious enquiries into the cause of his emotion,

Bruce answered, "I doubt I have slain the Red Cuming".--"Doubtest

thou?" exclaimed Kirkpatrick, "I make sure!"[87] Accordingly, with

Lindsay and a few followers, he rushed into the church, and dispatched

the wounded Cuming.

A homicide, in such a place, and such an age, could hardly escape

embellishment from the fertile genius of the churchmen, whose interest

was so closely connected with the inviolability of a divine sanctuary.

Accordingly, Bowmaker informs us, that the body of the slaughtered

baron was watched, during the night, by the Dominicans, with the usual

rites of the church. But, at midnight, the whole assistants fell into

a dead sleep, with the exception of one aged father, who heard, with

terror and surprise, a voice, like that of a wailing infant, exclaim,

"How long, O Lord, shall vengeance be deferred?" it was answered, in an

awful tone, "Endure with patience, until the anniversary of this day

shall return for the fifty-second time." In the year 1357, fifty-two

years after Cuming's death, James of Lindsay was hospitably feasted

in the castle of Caerlaveroc, in Dumfries-shire, belonging to Roger

Kirkpatrick. They were the sons of the murderers of the regent. In the

dead of night, for some unknown cause, Lindsay arose, and poniarded in

his bed his unsuspecting host. He then mounted his horse to fly; but

guilt and fear had so bewildered his senses, that, after riding all

night, he was taken, at break of day, not three miles from the castle,

and was afterwards executed, by order of King David II.

The story of the murder is thus told by the prior of Lochlevin:--

That ilk yhere in our kynryk

Hoge was slayne of Kilpatrik

Be schyr Jakkis the Lyndessay

In-til Karlaveroc; and away

For til have bene with all his mycht

This Lyndyssay pressyt all a nycht

Forth on hors rycht fast rydand.

Nevyrtheless yhit thai hym fand

Nocht thre myle fra that ilk place;

Thare tane and broucht agane he was

Til Karlaveroc, be thai men

That frendis war til Kirkpatrik then;

Thare was he kepyd rycht straytly.

His wyf[88] passyd till the king Dawy,

And prayid him of his realté,

Of Lauche that scho mycht serwyd be.

The kyng Dawy than also fast

Till Dumfres with his curt he past,

As Lawche wald. Quhat was thare mare?

This Lyndessay to deth he gert do thare.

WINTOWNIS _Cronykill_, B. viii. cap. 44.

THE

MURDER OF CAERLAVEROC.

* * * * *

"Now, come to me, my little page,

"Of wit sae wond'rous sly!

"Ne'er under flower, o' youthfu' age,

"Did mair destruction lie.

"I'll dance and revel wi' the rest,

"Within this castle rare;

"Yet he sall rue the drearie feast,

"Bot and his lady fair.

"For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick's wine,

"Wi' juice o' poppy flowers;

"Nae mair he'll see the morning shine

"Frae proud Caerlaveroc's towers.

"For he has twin'd my love and me,

"Ihe maid of mickle scorn--

"She'll welcome, wi' a tearfu' e'e,

"Her widowhood the morn.

"And saddle weel my milk-white steed,

"Prepare my harness bright!

"Giff I can mak my rival bleed,

"I'll ride awa this night."

"Now haste ye, master, to the ha'!

"The guests are drinking there;

"Kirkpatrick's pride sall be but sma',

"For a' his lady fair."

* * * * *

In came the merry minstrelsy;

Shrill harps wi' tinkling string,

And bag-pipes, lilting melody,

Made proud Caerlaveroc ring.

There gallant knights, and ladies bright,

Did move to measures fine,

Like frolic Fairies, jimp and light,

Wha dance in pale moonshine.

The ladies glided through the ha',

Wi' footing swift and sure--

Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a',

Whan she stood on the floor.

And some had tyres of gold sae rare,

And pendants[89] eight or nine;

And she, wi' but her gowden hair,

Did a' the rest outshine.

And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen,

Did warriors' hearts assail--

But she, wi' her twa sparkling een,

Pierc'd through the thickest mail.

Kirkpatrick led her by the hand,

With gay and courteous air:

No stately castle in the land

Could shew sae bright a pair.

O he was young--and clear the day

Of life to youth appears!

Alas! how soon his setting ray

Was dimm'd wi' showring tears!

Fell Lindsay sicken'd at the sight,

And sallow grew his cheek;

He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite,

But word he cou'dna speak.

The gorgeous banquet was brought up,

On silver and on gold:

The page chose out a crystal cup,

The sleepy juice to hold.

And whan Kirkpatrick call'd for wine,

This page the drink wou'd bear;

Nor did the knight or dame divine

Sic black deceit was near.

Then every lady sung a sang;

Some gay--some sad and sweet--

Like tunefu' birds the woods amang,

Till a' began to greet.

E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear,

Forletting malice deep--

As mermaids, wi' their warbles clear,

Can sing the waves to sleep.

And now to bed they all are dight,

Now steek they ilka door:

There's nought but stillness o' the night,

Whare was sic din before.

Fell Lindsay puts his harness on,

His steed doth ready stand;

And up the stair-case is he gone,

Wi' poniard in his hand.

The sweat did on his forehead break,

He shook wi' guilty fear;

In air he heard a joyfu' shriek--

Red Cumin's ghaist was near.

Now to the chamber doth he creep--

A lamp, of glimmering ray,

Show'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep,

In arms of lady gay.

He lay wi' bare unguarded breast,

By sleepy juice beguil'd;

And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest,

And sometimes sweetly smiled.

Unclosed her mouth o' rosy hue,

Whence issued fragrant air,

That gently, in soft motion, blew

Stray ringlets o' her hair.

"Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear!

"The dame may wake to weep--

"But that day's sun maun shine fou clear,

"That spills this warrior's sleep."

He louted down--her lips he prest--

O! kiss, foreboding woe!

Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breast

A deep and deadly blow.

Sair, sair, and mickle, did he bleed:

His lady slept till day,

But dream't the Firth[90] flow'd o'er her head,

In bride-bed as she lay.

The murderer hasted down the stair,

And back'd his courser fleet:

Than did the thunder 'gin to rair,

Than show'rd the rain and sleet.

Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain,

Whare a' was mirk before,

And glinted o'er the raging main,

That shook the sandy shore.

But mirk and mirker grew the night,

And heavier beat the rain;

And quicker Lindsay urged his flight,

Some ha' or beild to gain.

Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale,

Nor mire nor flood he fear'd:

I trow his courage 'gan to fail

When morning light appear'd.

For having hied, the live-lang night,

Through hail and heavy showers,

He fand himsel, at peep o' light,

Hard by Caerlaveroc's towers.

The castle bell was ringing out,

The ha' was all asteer;

And mony a scriech and waefu' shout

Appall'd the murderer's ear.

Now they hae bound this traitor strang,

Wi' curses and wi' blows;

And high in air they did him hang,

To feed the carrion crows.

* * * * *

"To sweet Lincluden's[91] haly cells

"Fou dowie I'll repair;

"There peace wi' gentle patience dwells,

"Nae deadly feuds are there."

"In tears I'll wither ilka charm,

"Like draps o' balefu' yew;

"And wail the beauty that cou'd harm

"A knight, sae brave and true."

FOOTNOTES:

[87] Hence the crest of Kirkpatrick is a hand, grasping a dagger,

distilling gouts of blood, proper; motto; "_I mak sicker_."

[88] That is, Kirkpatrick's wife.

[89] _Pendants_--Jewels on the forehead.

[90] Caerlaveroc stands near Solway Firth.

[91] Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, on the banks of

the river Cluden. It was founded and filled with Benedictine nuns,

in the time of Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, lord

of Galloway--these were expelled by Archibald the Grim, Earl of

Douglas.--_Vide_ PENNANT.

SIR AGILTHORN.

BY M. G. LEWIS ESQ.--NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.

* * * * *

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread,

And softly wind thy bugle-horn;

Nor rudely break the silence shed

Around the grave of Agilthorn!

Oh! gentle huntsman, if a tear

E'er dimmed for other's woe thine eyes,

Thoul't surely dew, with drops sincere,

The sod, where Lady Eva lies.

Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound,

Their hands and hearts beheld them plight,

Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned,

The beauteous dame and gallant knight.

Alas! the hour of bliss is past,

For hark! the din of discord rings;

War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast,

And trembling plies his radiant wings.

And must sad Eva lose her lord?

And must he seek the martial plain?

Oh! see, she brings his casque and sword!

Oh! hark, she pours her plaintive strain!

"Blest is the village damsel's fate,

"Though poor and low her station be;

"Safe from the cares which haunt the great,

"Safe from the cares which torture me!

"No doubting fear, no cruel pain,

"No dread suspense her breast alarms;

"No tyrant honour rules her swain,

"And tears him from her folding arms.

"She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks,

"In pleasing toil consumes the day;

"And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks,

"Or joins her rustic lover's lay.

"Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies

"The pillow which supports her head;

"She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes

"Shall wake, to mourn an husband dead.

"Hush, impious fears! the good and brave

"Heaven's arm will guard from danger free;

"When Death with thousands gluts the grave,

"His dart, my love, shall glance from thee:

"While thine shall fly direct and sure,

"This buckler every blow repell;

"This casque from wounds that face secure,

"Where all the loves and graces dwell.

"This glittering scarf, with tenderest care,

"My hands in happier moments wove;

"Curst be the wretch, whose sword shall tear

"The spell-bound work of wedded love!

"Lo! on thy faulchion, keen and bright,

"I shed a trembling consort's tears;

"Oh! when their traces meet thy sight,

"Remember wretched Eva's fears!

"Think, how thy lips she fondly prest;

"Think, how she wept, compelled to part;

"Think, every wound, which scars thy breast,

"Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!"

"O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend!"

Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;

"Thy fond complaints my bosom rend,

"Thy tears my fainting soul unman:

"In pity cease, my gentle dame,

"Such sweetness and such grief to join!

"Lest I forget the voice of Fame,

"And only list to Love's and thine.

"Flow, flow, my tears! unbounded gush!

"Rise, rise, my sobs! I set ye free;

"Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush

"To own, that life is dear to me.

"The wretch, whose lips have prest the bowl,

"The bitter bowl of pain and woe,

"May careless reach his mortal goal,

"May boldly meet the final blow:

"His hopes destroyed, his comfort wreckt,

An happier life he hopes to find;

But what can I in heaven expect,

Beyond the bliss I leave behind?

"Oh, no! the joys of yonder skies

To prosperous love present no charms;

My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes,

My paradise in Eva's arms.

"Yet mark me, sweet! if Heaven's command

Hath doomed my fall in martial strife,

Oh! let not anguish tempt thy hand

To rashly break the thread of life!

"No! let our boy thy care engross,

Let him thy stay, thy comfort, be;

Supply his luckless father's loss,

And love him for thyself and me.

"So may oblivion soon efface

The grief, which clouds this fatal morn;

And soon thy cheeks afford no trace

Of tears, which fall for Agilthorn!"

He said, and couched his quivering lance;

He said, and braced his moony shield;

Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance,

Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field.

But Eva, of all joy bereft,

Stood rooted at the castle gate,

And viewed the prints his courser left,

While hurrying at the call of fate.

Forebodings sad her bosom told,

The steed, which bore him thence so light,

Her longing eyes would ne'er behold

Again bring home her own true knight.

While many a sigh her bosom heaves,

She thus addrest her orphan page--

"Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved

The sorrows of thy infant age;

"If e'er I taught thy locks to play,

Luxuriant, round thy blooming face;

If e'er I wiped thy tears away,

And bade them yield to smiles their place;

"Oh! speed thee, swift as steed can bear,

Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead,

And, o'er the combat, home repair,

And tell me how my lord has sped.

"Till thou return'st, each hour's an age,

An age employed in doubt and pain;

Oh! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page,

Oh! haste, and soon return again!"

"Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage!

Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain:

I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page,

I'll haste, and soon return again."

Then Oswy bade his courser fly;

But still, while hapless Eva wept,

Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply,

So slow the tedious moments crept.

And oft she kist her baby's cheek,

Who slumbered on her throbbing breast;

And now she bade the warder speak,

And now she lulled her child to rest.

"Good warder, say, what meets thy sight?

What see'st thou from the castle tower?"

"Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,

Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower."

"Oh! pretty babe! thy mother's joy,

Pledge of the purest, fondest flame,

To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy!

Must see thee bear an orphan's name.

"Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword

The life-blood of thy father drains;

Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gor'd,

Whose streams supplied thy little veins.

"Oh! warder, from the castle tower,

Now say, what objects meet thy sight?"

"None but the shades of Forest-Bower,

None but the rocks of Elginbright."

"Smil'st thou, my babe? so smiled thy sire,

When gazing on his Eva's face;

His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,

And joy'd such beams in mine to trace.

"Sleep, sleep, my babe! of care devoid;

Thy mother breathes this fervent vow--

Oh! never be thy soul employed

On thoughts so sad, as her's are now!

"Now warder, warder, speak again!

What see'st thou from the turret's height?"

"Oh! lady, speeding o'er the plain,

The little foot-page appears in sight."

Quick beat her heart; short grew her breath;

Close to her breast the babe she drew--

"Now, Heaven," she cried, "for life or death!"

And forth to meet the page she flew.

"And is thy lord from danger free?

And is the deadly combat o'er?"

In silence Oswy bent his knee,

And laid a scarf her feet before.

The well-known scarf with blood was stained,

And tears from Oswy's eye-lids fell;

Too truly Eva's heart explained,

What meant those silent tears to tell.

"Come, come, my babe!" she wildly cried,

"We needs must seek the field of woe;

Come, come, my babe! cast fear aside!

To dig thy father's grave we go."

"Stay, lady, stay! a storm impends;

Lo! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread;

The thunder roars, the rain descends,

And lightning streaks the heavens with red.

"Hark! hark! the winds tempestuous rave!

Oh! be thy dread intent resigned!

Or, if resolved the storm to brave,

Be this dear infant left behind!"

"No! no! with me my baby stays;

With me he lives; with me he dies!

Flash, lightnings, flash! your friendly blaze

Will shew me where my warrior lies."

O see she roams the bloody field,

And wildly shrieks her husband's name;

Oh! see she stops and eyes a shield,

An heart, the symbol, wrapt in flame.

His armour broke in many a place,

A knight lay stretched that shield beside;

She raised his vizor, kist his face,

Then on his bosom sunk, and died.

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold:

'Tis here, at night, the Fairy king,

Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold,

Oft forms his light fantastic ring.

'Tis here, at eve, each village youth,

With freshest flowers the turf adorns;

'Tis here he swears eternal truth,

By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's.

And here the virgins sadly tell,

Each seated by her shepherd's side,

How brave the gallant warrior fell,

How true his lovely lady died.

Ah! gentle huntsman, pitying hear,

And mourn the gentle lovers' doom!

Oh! gentle huntsman, drop a tear,

And dew the turf of Eva's tomb!

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose;

So ne'er may grief to thee be known:

They, who can weep for others' woes,

Should ne'er have cause to weep their own.

RICH AULD WILLIE'S FAREWELL.

A FREEBOOTER, TAKEN BY THE ENGLISH IN A BORDER BATTLE, AND CONDEMNED

TO BE EXECUTED.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY ANNA SEWARD.

* * * * *

Farewell my ingle, bleezing bright,

When the snell storm's begun;

My bouris casements, O! sae light,

When glints the bonnie sun!

Farewell my deep glens, speck't wi' sloes,

O' tangled hazles full!

Farewell my thymy lea, where lows

My kine, and glourin bull.

Farewell my red deer, jutting proud,

My rooks, o' murky wing!

Farewell my wee birds, lilting loud,

A' in the merry spring!

Farewell my sheep, that sprattle on

In a lang line, sae braw!

Or lie on yon cauld cliffs aboon,

Like late-left patch o' snaw!

Farewell my brook, that wimplin rins,

My clattering brig o' yew;

My scaly tribes wi' gowden fins,

Sae nimbly flickering through!

Farewell my boat, and lusty oars,

That scelp'd, wi' mickle spray!

Farewell my birks o' Teviot shores,

That cool the simmer's day!

Farewell bauld neighbours, whase swift steed

O'er Saxon bounds has scowr'd,

Swoom'd drumlie floods when moons were dead,

And ilka star was smoor'd.

Maist dear for a' ye shar'd wi' me,

When skaith and prey did goad,

And danger, like a wreath, did flee

Alang our moon-dead road.

Farewell my winsome wife, sae gay!

Fu' fain frae hame to gang,

Wi' spunkie lads to geck and play,

The flow'rie haughs amang!

Farewell my gowk, thy warning note

Then aft-times ca'd aloud,

Tho' o' the word that thrill'd thy throat,

Gude faith, I was na proud!

And, pawkie gowk, sae free that mad'st,

Or ere I hanged be,

Would I might learn if true thou said'st,

When sae thou said'st to me!

WATER KELPIE.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED--REV. DR JAMIESON.

* * * * *

The principal design of the author of this piece, was to give a

specimen of Scottish writing, more nearly approaching to the classical

compositions of our ancient bards, than that which has been generally

followed for seventy or eighty years past. As the poem is descriptive

of the superstitions of the vulgar, in the county of Angus, the scene

is laid on the banks of South Esk, near the castle of Inverquharity,

about five miles north from Forfar.

It is with pleasure that the editor announces to the literary world,

that Dr Jamieson is about to publish a complete Dictionary of the

Scottish Dialect; his intimate acquaintance with which is evinced in

the following stanzas.

WATER KELPIE.

* * * * *

Aft, owre the bent, with heather blent,

And throw the forest brown,

I tread the path to yon green strath,

Quhare brae-born Esk rins down.

Its banks alang, quhilk hazels thrang,

Quhare sweet-sair'd hawthorns blow,

I lufe to stray, and view the play

Of fleckit scales below.

Ae summer e'en, upon the green,

I laid me down to gaze;

The place richt nigh, quhare Carity

His humble tribute pays:

And Prosen proud, with rippet loud,

Cums ravin' frae his glen;

As gin he might auld Esk affricht,

And drive him back agen.

An ancient tour appear't to lour

Athort the neibourin plain,

Quhais chieftain bauld, in times of auld,

The kintre callit his ain.

Its honours cowit, its now forhowit,

And left the houlat's prey;

Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude,

With gloom owrespreads the day.

A dreary shade the castle spread,

And mirker grew the lift;

The croonin' kie the byre drew nigh,

The darger left his thrift.

The levrock shill on erd was still,

The westlin wind fell loun;

The fisher's houp forgat to loup,

And aw for rest made boun.

I seemit to sloom, quhan throw the gloom

I saw the river shake,

And heard a whush alangis it rush,

Gart aw my members quake;

Syne, in a stound, the pool profound

To cleave in twain appear'd:

And huly throw the frichtsom how

His form a gaist uprear'd.

He rashes bare, and seggs, for hair,

Quhare ramper-eels entwin'd;

Of filthy gar his ee-brees war,

With esks and horse-gells lin'd.

And for his een, with dowie sheen,

Twa huge horse-mussels glar'd:

From his wide mow a torrent flew,

And soupt his reedy beard.

Twa slauky stanes seemit his spule-banes;

His briskit braid, a whin;

Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair;

Ilk arm a monstrous fin.

He frae the wame a fish became,

With shells aw coverit owre:

And for his tail, the grislie whale

Could nevir match its pow'r.

With dreddour I, quhen he drew nigh,

Had maistly swarfit outricht:

Less fleyit at lenth I gatherit strenth,

And speirit quhat was this wicht.

Syne thrice he shook his fearsum bouk,

And thrice he snockerit loud;

From ilka ee the fire-flauchts flee,

And flash alangis the flude.

Quhan words he found, their elritch sound

Was like the norlan blast,

Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back,

That skeegs the dark-brown waste.

The troublit pool conveyit the gowl

Down to yon echoin rock;

And to his maik, with wilsum skraik,

Ilk bird its terror spoke.

"Vile droich," he said, "art nocht afraid

"Thy mortal life to tyne?

"How dar'st thou seik with me till speik,

"Sae far aboon thy line?

"Yet sen thou hast thai limits past,

"That sinder sprites frae men,

"Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare,

"That worms like thee may ken.

"In kintries nar, and distant far,

"Is my renoun propalit;

"As is the leid, my name ye'll reid,

"But here I'm _Kelpie_ callit.

"The strypes and burns, throw aw their turns,

"As weel's the waters wide,

"My laws obey, thair spring heads frae,

"Doun till the salt sea tide.

"Like some wild staig, I aft stravaig,

"And scamper on the wave:

"Quha with a bit my mow can fit,

"May gar me be his slave.

"To him I'll wirk baith morn and mirk

"Quhile he has wark to do;

"Gin tent he tak I do nae shak

"His bridle frae my mow.

"Quhan Murphy's laird his biggin rear'd,

"I carryit aw the stanes;

"And mony a chiell has heard me squeal

"For sair-brizz'd back and banes.

"Within flude-mark, I aft do wark

"Gudewillit, quhan I please;

"In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep,

"Greit blocks I win with ease.

"Yon bonny brig quhan folk wald big,

"To gar my stream look braw;

"A sair-toil'd wicht was I be nicht;

"I did mair than thaim aw.

"And weel thai kent quhat help I lent,

"For thai yon image framit,

"Aboon the pend quhilk I defend;

"And it thai _Kelpie_ namit.

"Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais,

"Narby yon whinny hicht,

"The sound of me their daffin lays;

"Thai dare na mudge for fricht.

"Now in the midst of them I scream,

"Quhan toozlin' on the haugh;

"Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream,

"Loud nickerin in a lauch.

"Sicklike's my fun, of wark quhan run;

"But I do meikle mair:

"In pool or ford can nane be smur'd

"Gin Kelpie be nae there.

"Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spat,

"Quhair ane sall meet his deid:

"Nor wit nor pow'r put aff the hour,

"For his wanweird decreed.

"For oulks befoir, alangis the shoir,

"Or dancin' down the stream,

"My lichts are seen to blaze at een,

"With wull wanerthly gleam.

"The hind cums in, gif haim he win,

"And cries, as he war wode;

'Sum ane sall soon be carryit down

'By that wanchancy flude.'

"The taiken leil thai ken fow weel,

"On water sides quha won;

"And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae,

"Fast frae the danger run.

"But fremmit fouk I thus provoke

"To meit the fate thai flee:

"To wilderit wichts thai're waefow lichts,

"But lichts of joy to me.

"With ruefow cries, that rend the skies,

"Thair fate I seem to mourn,

"Like crocodile, on banks of Nile;

"For I still do the turn.

"Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen;

"Thai rin as thai war heyrt,

"Despise all reid, and court their deid:

"By me are thai inspir't.

"Yestreen the water was in spate,

"The stanners aw war cur'd:

"A man, nae stranger to the gate,

"Raid up to tak the ford.

"The haill town sware it wadna ride;

"And Kelpie had been heard:

"But nae a gliffin wad he bide,

"His shroud I had prepar'd.

"The human schaip I sumtimes aip:

"As Prosenhaugh raid haim,

"Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht,

"Maist crack't his bustuous frame.

"I, in a glint, lap on ahint,

"And in my arms him fangit;

"To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik:

"The carle was sair bemangit.

"My name itsell wirks like a spell,

"And quiet the house can keep;

"Quhan greits the wean, the nurse in vain,

"Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to sleip.

"But gin scho say, 'Lie still, ye skrae,

"There's Water-Kelpie's chap;'

"It's fleyit to wink, and in a blink

"It sleips as sound's a tap."

He said, and thrice he rais't his voice,

And gaif a horrid gowl:

Thrice with his tail, as with a flail,

He struck the flying pool.

A thunderclap seem't ilka wap,

Resoundin' throw the wude:

The fire thrice flash't; syne in he plash't,

And sunk beneath the flude.

NOTES

ON

WATER KELPIE.

* * * * *

_The fisher's houp forgat to loup._--P. 385. v. 2.

The fishes, the hope of the angler, no more rose to the fly.

_And aw for rest made boun._--P. 385. v. 2.

_All_ commonly occurs in our old writers. But _aw_ is here used, as

corresponding with the general pronunciation in Scotland; especially

as it has the authority of Dunbar, in his _Lament for the Deth of the

Makaris_.

_His form a gaist uprear'd._--P. 385. v. 8.

It is believed in Angus, that the spirit of the waters appears

sometimes as a man, with a very frightful aspect; and, at other times,

as a horse. The description, here given, must therefore be viewed as

the offspring of fancy. All that can be said for it is, that such

attributes are selected as are appropriate to the scenery.

_Twa huge horse-mussells glar'd._--P. 386. v. 1.

South-Esk abounds with the fresh water oyster, vulgarly called the

horse-mussel; and, in former times, a pearl fishery was carried on here

to considerable extent.

_Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back._--P. 387. v. 1.

Part of the Grampian mountains. _Catla_ appears as a promontory,

jutting out from the principal ridge, towards the plain. The Esk, if

I recollect right, issues from behind it.

_Thy mortal life to tyne._--P. 387. v. 2.

The vulgar idea is, that a spirit, however frequently it appear, will

not speak, unless previously addressed. It is, however, at the same

time believed, that the person, who ventures to speak to a ghost, will

soon forfeit his life, in consequence of his presumption.

_His bridle frae my mow._--P. 388. v. 1.

The popular tradition is here faithfully described; and, strange

to tell! has not yet lost all credit. In the following verses, the

principal articles of the vulgar creed in Angus, with respect to this

supposed being, are brought together and illustrated by such _facts_

as are yet appealed to by the credulous. If I mistake not, none of the

historical circumstances mentioned are older than half a century. It is

only about thirty years since the bridge referred to was built.

_For sair-brizz'd back and banes._--P. 388. v. 2.

It is pretended that _Kelpie_ celebrated this memorable event in

rhyme; and that for a long time after he was often heard to cry, with

a doleful voice,

"Sair back and sair banes,

Carryin' the laird of Murphy's stanes."

_And it thai Kelpie namit._--P. 388. v. 3.

A head, like that of a gorgon, appears above the arch of the bridge.

This was hewn in honour of Kelpie.

_His shroud I had prepar'd._--P. 390. v. 3.

A very common tale in Scotland is here alluded to by the poet. On

the banks of a rapid stream the water spirit was heard repeatedly to

exclaim, in a dismal tone, "The hour is come, but not the man;" when a

person coming up, contrary to all remonstrances, endeavoured to ford

the stream, and perished in the attempt. The original story is to be

found in Gervase of Tilbury.--In the parish of Castleton, the same

story is told, with this variation, that the by-standers prevented, by

force, the predestined individual from entering the river, and shut

him up in the church, where he was next morning found suffocated,

with his face lying immersed in the baptismal font. To a _fey_ person,

therefore, Shakespeare's words literally apply:

---- Put but a little water in a spoon,

And it shall be as all the ocean,

Enough to swallow such a being up.

GLOSSARY

OF

THE WORDS REQUIRING EXPLANATION IN THE FOREGOING POEM.

* * * * *

_Aboon._ Above.

_Ahint._ Behind.

_Aip._ Ape, imitate.

_Alangis._ Alongst.

_Bemangit._ Injured, whether in mind or body; a word much used in Angus.

_Be._ By.

_Big._ Build.

_Biggin._ Building, house.

_Blink._ Moment.

_Bonny._ Handsome, beautiful.

_Boun._ Ready.

_Bouk._ Body.

_Braw._ Fine.

_Briskit._ Breast.

_Bustuous._ Huge.

_Byre._ Cow-house.

_Chap._ Rap.

_Chiell._ Fellow.

_Cleik._ Hold.

_Cowit._ Shorn, cut off.

_Croonin._ Bellowing--most properly with a low and mournful sound.

_Cur'd._ Covered.

_Darger._ Labourer, day-worker.

_Daffin._ Sport.

_Deid._ Death.

_Do the turn._ Accomplish the fatal event.

_Dore-cheek._ Door-post.

_Dowie._ Melancholy, sad.

_Douce._ Sober, sedate.

_Dreddour._ Dread, terror.

_Droich._ Dwarf, pigmy.

_Een._ Eyes.

_Eebrees._ Eyebrows.

_Elritch._ Wild, hideous, not earthly.

_Erd._ Earth.

_Esks._ Newts, _or_ efts.

_Fey._ Affording presages of approaching death, by acting a part

directly the reverse of their proper character.

_Fire-flauchts._ Lightnings.

_Fleckit-scales._ Spotted shoals, or troops of trouts and other fishes.

_Fleyd._ Frighted.

_Forhowit._ Forsaken.

_Fow._ Full.

_Fangit._ Seized.

_Fleyit._ Affrighted.

_Frightsum._ Frightful.

_Fremmit fouk._ Strange folk.

_Gaist._ Ghost.

_Gaif._ Gave.

_Gart._ Caused, made.

_Gar._ The slimy vegetable substance in the bed of a river.

_Gate._ Road.

_Glack._ A hollow between two hills or mountains.

_Gliffin._ A moment.

_Glint._ Moment.

_Gowl._ Yell.

_Greits._ Cries, implying the idea of tears.

_Gudewillit._ Without constraint, cheerfully.

_Haill._ Whole.

_Haugh._ Low, flat ground on the side of a river.

_Heyrt._ Furious.

_Howlat._ Owl.

_Horse-gells._ Horse-leeches.

_Huly._ Slowly.

_Ilk._ Each.

_In a stound._ Suddenly.

_Ken._ Know.

_Kie._ Cows.

_Kintrie._ Country.

_Lavrock._ Lark.

_Lauch._ Laugh.

_Leid._ Language.

_Leil._ True, not delusive.

_Lift._ Sky.

_Loun'._ Calm.

_Loup._ Leap.

_Maik._ Companion, mate.

_Mirk._ During night.

_Mirker._ Darker.

_Mow._ Mouth.

_Mudge._ Budge, stir.

_Nar._ Near.

_Narby._ Near to.

_Nickerin._ Neighing.

_Nocht._ Not.

_Norlan._ Northern.

_Oulks._ Weeks.

_Pend._ Arch.

_Quhihher._ The idea is nearly expressed by _whiz._

_Quhilk._ Which.

_Ramper-eels._ Lampreys.

_Rashes._ Rushes.

_Rede._ Council.

_Reid._ Read.

_Rippet._ Noise, uproar.

_Sair brizz'd._ Sore bruised.

_Sall._ Shall.

_Sen._ Since.

_Seggs._ Sedges.

_Sheen._ Shine.

_Shill._ Shrill.

_Sicklike._ Of this kind.

_Sinder._ Separate.

_Skelvy skair._ A rock presenting the appearance of a variety of

_lamina._

_Skeegs._ Lashes.

_Skrae._ Skeleton.

_Skuggin._ Overshadowing, protecting wood.

_Sloom._ Slumber.

_Slauky._ Slimy.

_Smur'd._ Smothered.

_Snockerit._ Snorted.

_Soupt._ Drenched.

_Spae._ Predict.

_Spat._ Spot.

_Spate._ Flood.

_Speirit._ Asked.

_Spule-banes._ Shoulder-blades.

_Stanners._ Gravel on the margin of a river, or any body of water.

_Staig. A_ young horse.

_Starnless._ Without stars.

_Stravaig._ Stray, roam.

_Strypes._ Rills of the smallest kind.

_Swarfit._ Fainted.

_Sweet sair'd._ Sweet savoured.

_Syne._ Then.

_Taiken._ Token.

_Tap._ A child's top.

_Tent._ Take care, be attentive.

_Thai._ These.

_Than._ Then.

_Toozlin._ Toying, properly putting any thing in disorder.

_Tyke-tyrit._ Tired as a dog after coursing.

_Tyne._ Lose.

_Waefou._ Fatal, causing woe.

_Wald._ Would.

_Wanweirid._ Unhappy fate.

_Wanchancy._ Unlucky, causing misfortune.

_Wanerthly._ Preternatural.

_Wap._ Stroke, flap.

_War._ Were.

_Wauk the claes._ Watch the clothes.

_Wean._ Child.

_Weird._ Fate.

_Whush._ A rustling sound.

_Wilsum skraik._ Wild shriek.

_Wirk._ Work.

_Wode._ Deprived of reason.

_Win._ Dig from a quarry.

_Wull._ Wild.

_Yestreen._ Yesternight.

ELLANDONAN CASTLE.

A HIGHLAND TALE.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.--- COLIN MACKENZIE, ESQ.

* * * * *

Ellandonan Castle stands on a small rocky isle, situated in Loch

Duich (on the west coast of Ross), near the point where the western

sea divides itself into two branches, forming Loch Duich and Loch

Loung. The magnificence of the castle itself, now a roofless ruin,

covered with ivy, the beauty of the bay, and the variety of hills and

valleys that surround it, and particularly the fine range of hills,

between which lie the pastures of Glensheal, with the lofty summit of

Skooroora, overtopping the rest, and forming a grand back-ground to the

picture; all contribute to make this a piece of very romantic Highland

scenery.[92]

The castle is the manor-place of the estate of Kintail, which is

denominated the barony of Ellandonan. That estate is the property

of Francis, Lord Seaforth. It has descended to him, through a long

line of gallant ancestors; having been originally conferred on Colin

Fitzgerald, son to the Earl of Desmond and Kildare, in the kingdom

of Ireland, by a charter, dated 9th January, 1266, granted by

King Alexander the third, "_Colino Hybernio_," and bearing, as its

inductive cause, "_pro bono et fideli servitio, tam in bello, quam in

pace_." He had performed a very recent service in war, having greatly

distinguished himself in the battle of Largs, in 1263, in which the

invading army of Haco, King of Norway, was defeated. Being pursued in

his flight, the king was overtaken in the narrow passage which divides

the island of Skye from the coasts of Inverness and Ross, and, along

with many of his followers, he himself was killed, in attempting his

escape through the channel dividing Skye from Lochalsh. These straits,

or _kyles_, bear to this day appellations, commemorating the events by

which they were thus distinguished, the former being called Kyle Rhee,

or the King's Kyle, and the latter Kyle Haken.

The attack on Ellandonan Castle, which forms the subject of the

following poem, lives in the tradition of the country, where it is, at

this day, a familiar tale, repeated to every stranger, who, in sailing

past, is struck with admiration at the sight of that venerable monument

of antiquity. But the authenticity of the fact rests not solely on

tradition. It is recorded, by Crawford, in his account of the family

of Macdonald, Lord of the Isles, and reference is there made to a

genealogy of Slate, in the possession of the family, as a warrant for

the assertion. The incident took place in 1537.

The power of the Lord of the Isles was at that time sufficiently great

to give alarm to the crown. It covered not only the whole of the

Western Isles, from Bute northwards, but also many extensive districts

on the main-land, in the shires of Ayr, Argyle, and Inverness.

Accordingly, in 1535, on the failure of heirs-male of the body of

John, Lord of the Isles, and Earl of Ross, as well as of two of his

natural sons, in whose favour a particular substitution had been made,

King James the fifth assumed the lordship of the Isles. The right

was, however, claimed by Donald, fifth baron of Slate, descended from

the immediate younger brother of John, Lord of the Isles. This bold

and high-spirited chieftain lost his life in the attack on Ellandonan

Castle, and was buried by his followers on the lands of Ardelve, on the

opposite side of Loch Loung.

The barony of Ellandonan then belonged to John Mackenzie, ninth baron

of Kintail. Kenneth, third baron, who was son to Kenneth, the son

of Colin Fitzgerald, received the patronimic appellation of _Mac_

Kenneth, or Mac Kennye, which descended from him to his posterity, as

the sirname of the family. John, baron of Kintail, took a very active

part in the general affairs of the kingdom. He fought gallantly at the

battle of Flodden, under the banners of King James the fourth, was

a member of the privy council in the reign of his son, and, at an

advanced age, supported the standard of the unfortunate Mary, at the

battle of Pinkie.

In the sixth generation from John, baron of Kintail, the clan was,

by his lineal descendant, William, fifth earl of Seaforth, summoned,

in 1715, to take up arms in the cause of the house of Stuart. On the

failure of that spirited, but ill-fated enterprize, the earl made

his escape to the continent, where he lived for about eleven years.

Meantime his estate and honours were forfeited to the crown, and his

castle was burnt. A steward was appointed to levy the rents of Kintail,

on the king's behalf; but the vassals spurned at his demands, and,

while they carried on a successful defensive war, against a body of

troops sent to subdue their obstinacy, in the course of which the

unlucky steward had the misfortune to be slain, one of their number

made a faithful collection of what was due, and carried the money to

the earl himself, who was at that time in Spain. The descendants of the

man, to whom it was entrusted to convey to his lord this unequivocal

proof of the honour, fidelity, and attachment of his people, are at

this day distinguished by the designation of _Spaniard_; as Duncan,

_the Spaniard_, &c. The estate was, a few years after the forfeiture,

purchased from government, for behoof of the family, and re-invested in

the person of his son.

ELLANDONAN CASTLE.

A HIGHLAND TALE.

* * * * *

O wot ye, ye men of the island of Skye,

That your lord lies a corpse on Ardelve's rocky shore?

The Lord of the Isles, once so proud and so high,

His lands and his vassals shall never see more.

None else but the Lord of Kintail was so great;

To that lord the green banks of Loch Duich belong,

Ellandonan's fair castle and noble estate,

And the hills of Glensheal and the coasts of Loch Loung.

His vassals are many, and trusty, and brave,

Descended from heroes, and worthy their sires;

His castle is wash'd by the salt-water wave,

And his bosom the ardour of valour inspires.

M'Donald, by restless ambition impell'd

To extend to the shores of Loch Duich his sway,

With awe Ellandonan's strong turrets beheld,

And waited occasion to make them his prey.

And the moment was come; for M'Kenneth, afar,

To the Saxon opposed his victorious arm;

Few and old were the vassals, but dauntless in war,

Whose courage and skill freed his towers from alarm.

M'Donald has chosen the best of his power;

On the green plains of Slate were his warriors arrayed;

Every Islander came before midnight an hour,

With the sword in his hand, and the belt on his plaid.

The boats they are ready, in number a score;

In each boat twenty men, for the war of Kintail;

Iron hooks they all carry, to grapple the shore,

And ladders, the walls of the fortress to scale.

They have pass'd the strait kyle, thro' whose billowy flood,

From the arms of Kintail-men, fled Haco of yore,

Whose waves were dyed deep with Norwegian blood,

Which was shed by M'Kenneth's resistless claymore.

They have enter'd Loch Duich--all silent their course,

Save the splash of the oar on the dark-bosom'd wave,

Which mingled with murmurs, low, hollow, and hoarse,

That issued from many a coralline cave.

Either coast they avoid, and right eastward they steer;

Nor star, nor the moon, on their passage has shone;

Unexpecting assault, and unconscious of fear,

All Kintail was asleep, save the watchman alone.

"What, ho! my companions! arise, and behold

"Where Duich's deep waters with flashes are bright!

"Hark! the sound of the oars! rise, my friends, and be bold!

"For some foe comes, perhaps, under shadow of night."

At the first of the dawn, when the boats reach'd the shore,

The sharp ridge of Skooroora with dark mist was crown'd,

And the rays, that broke thro' it, seem'd spotted with gore,

As M'Donald's bold currach first struck on the ground.

Of all the assailants, that sprung on the coast,

One of stature and aspect superior was seen;

Whatever a lord or a chieftain could boast,

Of valour undaunted, appear'd in his mien.

His plaid o'er his shoulder was gracefully flung;

Its foldings a buckle of silver restrain'd;

A massy broad sword on his manly thigh hung,

Which defeat or disaster had never sustain'd.

Then, under a bonnet of tartan and blue,

Whose plumage was toss'd to and fro by the gale,

Their glances of lightning his eagle-eyes threw,

Which were met by the frowns of the sons of Kintail.

'Twas the Lord of the Isles; whom the chamberlain saw,

While a trusty long bow on his bosom reclin'd--

Of stiff yew it was made, which few sinews could draw;

Its arrows flew straight, and as swift as the wind.

With a just aim he drew--the shaft pierced the bold chief:

Indignant he started, nor heeding the smart,

While his clan pour'd around him, in clamorous grief,

From the wound tore away the deep-rivetted dart.

The red stream flowed fast, and his cheek became white:

His knees, with a tremor unknown to him, shook,

And his once-piercing eyes scarce directed his sight,

As he turn'd towards Skye the last lingering look.

Surrounded by terror, disgrace, and defeat,

From the rocks of Kintail the M'Donalds recoil'd;

No order was seen in their hasty retreat,

And their looks with dismay and confusion were wild.

While thine eyes wander oft from the green plains of Slate,

In pursuit of thy lord, O M'Donald's fair dame,

Ah! little thou know'st 'tis the hour, mark'd by Fate,

To close his ambition, and tarnish his fame.

On the shore of Ardelve, far from home, is his grave,

And the news of his death swiftly fly o'er the sea--

Thy grief, O fair dame! melts the hearts of the brave,

Even the bard of Kintail wafts his pity to thee.

And thou, Ellandonan! shall thy tow'rs ere again

Be insulted by any adventurous foe,

While the tale of the band, whom thy heroes have slain,

Excites in their sons an inherited glow?

Alas! thou fair isle! my soul's darling and pride!

Too sure is the presage, that tells me thy doom,

Tho' now thy proud towers all invasion deride,

And thy fate lies far hid in futurity's gloom.

A time shall arrive, after ages are past,

When thy turrets, dismantled, in ruins shall fall,

When, alas! thro' thy chambers shall howl the sea-blast,

And the thistle shall shake his red head in thy hall.

Shall this desolation strike thy towers alone?

No, fair Ellandonan! such ruin 'twill bring,

That the whirl shall have power to unsettle the throne,

And thy fate shall be link'd with the fate of thy king.

And great shall thy pride be, amid thy despair;

To their chief, and their prince, still thy sons shall be true;

The fruits of Kintail never victor shall share,

Nor its vales ever gladden an enemy's view.

And lovely thou shalt be, even after thy wreck;

Thy battlements never shall cease to be grand;

Their brown rusty hue the green ivy shall deck,

And as long as Skooroora's high top shall they stand.

FOOTNOTES:

[92] We learn from Wintoun, that, in 1331, this fortress witnessed the

severe justice of Randolph, Earl of Murray, then warden of Scotland.

Fifty delinquents were there executed, by his orders, and, according

to the prior of Lochlevin, the earl had as much pleasure in seeing

their ghastly heads encircle the walls of the castle, as if it had been

surrounded by a chaplet of roses.

CADYOW CASTLE.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial residence

of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous banks of

the river Evan, about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. It

was dismantled, in the conclusion of the civil wars, during the reign

of the unfortunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamilton devoted

themselves with a generous zeal, which occasioned their temporary

obscurity, and, very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the

ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and

overhanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in the highest degree.

In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the

remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the

south of Scotland, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of

these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circumference;

and the state of decay, in which they now appear, shews, that they may

have witnessed the rites of the Druids.--The whole scenery is included

in the magnificent and extensive park of the Duke of Hamilton. There

was long preserved in this forest the breed of the Scottish wild

cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their being extirpated, about

forty years ago. Their appearance was beautiful, being milk-white, with

black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient

authors, as having white manes; but those of latter days had lost that

peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed.[93]

In detailing the death of the regent Murray, which is made the subject

of the following ballad, it would be injustice to my reader to use

other words than those of Dr Robertson, whose account of that memorable

event forms a beautiful piece of historical painting.

"Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed this barbarous

action. He had been condemned to death soon after the battle of

Langside, as we have already related, and owed his life to the regent's

clemency. But part of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the

regent's favourites,[94] who seized his house, and turned out his

wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open fields, where, before

next morning, she became furiously mad. This injury made a deeper

impression on him than the benefit he had received, and from that

moment he vowed to be revenged of the regent. Party rage strengthened

and inflamed his private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons,

applauded the enterprize. The maxims of that age justified the most

desperate course he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed the

regent for some time, and watched for an opportunity to strike the

blow. He resolved, at last, to wait till his enemy should arrive at

Linlithgow, through which he was to pass, in his way from Stirling

to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden gallery,[95] which had a

window towards the street; spread a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder

the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up a black cloth behind

him, that his shadow might not be observed from without; and, after

all this preparation, calmly expected the regent's approach, who had

lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. Some indistinct

information of the danger which threatened him had been conveyed to the

regent, and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved to return

by the same gate through which he had entered, and to fetch a compass

round the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he

himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street;

and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave the

assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a single

bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the horse

of a gentleman, who rode on his other side. His followers instantly

endeavoured to break into the house, whence the blow had come; but they

found the door strongly barricaded, and, before it could be forced

open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,[96] which stood ready for him

at a back-passage, and was got far beyond their reach. The regent died

the same night of his wound."--_History of Scotland_, book v.

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where he was received in

triumph; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been

burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking; and party prejudice, the

habits of the age, and the enormity of the provocation, seemed, to

his kinsmen, to justify his deed. After a short abode at Hamilton,

this fierce and determined man left Scotland, and served in France,

under the patronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was doubtless

recommended by having avenged the cause of their niece, Queen Mary,

upon her ungrateful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was

made to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, the famous admiral

of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the character of

Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, and

rejected the offer with contempt and indignation. He had no authority,

he said, from Scotland, to commit murders in France; he had avenged his

own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge

that of another man.--_Thaunus_, cap. 46.

The regent's death happened 23d January, 1569. It is applauded or

stigmatized, by contemporary historians, according to their religious

or party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is unbounded. He not

only extols the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, "who," he observes,

"satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrilegious

avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of St Andrew's of its

covering;" but he ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and the

escape of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous interference of

the Deity.--_Jebb_, Vol. II. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by

others, made the ground of a general national reflection; for, when

Mather urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted the examples

of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator answered, "that

neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, without

some reason or consideration to lead them to it; as the one, by hyre,

and promise of preferment or rewarde; the other, upon desperate mind

of revenge, for a lytle wrong done unto him, as the report goethe,

accordinge to the vyle trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of

the Scottes."--_Murdin's State Papers_, Vol. I. p. 197.

CADYOW CASTLE.

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON.

* * * * *

When princely Hamilton's abode

Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers,

The song went round, the goblet flowed,

And revel sped the laughing hours.

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound,

So sweetly rung each vaulted wall,

And echoed light the dancer's bound,

As mirth and music cheer'd the hall.

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid,

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er,

Thrill to the music of the shade,

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar.

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame,

You bid me tell a minstrel tale,

And tune my harp, of Border frame,

On the wild banks of Evandale.

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride,

From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn,

To draw oblivion's pall aside,

And mark the long forgotten urn.

Then, noble maid! at thy command,

Again the crumbled halls shall rise;

Lo! as on Evan's banks we stand,

The past returns--the present flies.--

Where with the rock's wood-cover'd side

Were blended late the ruins green,

Rise turrets in fantastic pride,

And feudal banners flaunt between:

Where the rude torrent's brawling course

Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe,

The ashler buttress braves its force,

And ramparts frown in battled row.

'Tis night--the shade of keep and spire

Obscurely dance on Evan's stream,

And on the wave the warder's fire

Is chequering the moon-light beam.

Fades slow their light; the east is grey;

The weary warder leaves his tower;

Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay,

And merry hunters quit the bower.

The draw-bridge falls--they hurry out--

Clatters each plank and swinging chain,

As, dashing o'er, the jovial route

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein.

First of his troop, the chief rode on;

His shouting merry-men throng behind;

The steed of princely Hamilton

Was fleeter than the mountain wind.

From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound,

The startling red-deer scuds the plain,

For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound

Has rouzed their mountain haunts again.

Through the huge oaks of Evandale,

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,

What sullen roar comes down the gale,

And drowns the hunter's pealing horn?

Mightiest of all the beasts of chace,

That roam in woody Caledon,

Crashing the forest in his race,

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on.

Fierce, on the hunters' quiver'd band,

He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,

Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand,

And tosses high his mane of snow.

Aim'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown;

Struggling, in blood the savage lies;

His roar is sunk in hollow groan--

Sound, merry huntsmen! sound the _pryse_![97]

'Tis noon--against the knotted oak

The hunters rest the idle spear;

Curls through the trees the slender smoke,

Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer.

Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan,

On greenwood lap all careless thrown,

Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man,

That bore the name of Hamilton.

"Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place,

"Still wont our weal and woe to share?

"Why comes he not our sport to grace?

"Why shares he not our hunter's fare?"

Stern Claud replied, with darkening face,

(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he)

"At merry feast, or buxom chace,

"No more the warrior shalt thou see.

"Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee

"Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam,

"When to his hearths, in social glee,

"The war-worn soldier turn'd him home.

"There, wan from her maternal throes,

"His Margaret, beautiful and mild,

"Sate in her bower, a pallid rose,

"And peaceful nursed her new-born child.

"O change accurs'd! past are those days;

"False Murray's ruthless spoilers came,

"And, for the hearth's domestic blaze,

"Ascends destruction's volumed flame.

"What sheeted phantom wanders wild,

"Where mountain Eske through woodland flows,

"Her arms enfold a shadowy child--

"Oh is it she, the pallid rose?

"The wildered traveller sees her glide,

"And hears her feeble voice with awe--

'Revenge,' she cries, 'on Murray's pride!

'And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh!'

He ceased--and cries of rage and grief

Burst mingling from the kindred band,

And half arose the kindling chief,

And half unsheath'd his Arran brand.

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock,

Rides headlong, with resistless speed,

Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke

Drives to the leap his jaded steed;

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-balls glare,

As one, some visioned sight that saw,

Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair?--

--'Tis he! 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh.

From gory selle,[98] and reeling steed,

Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound,

And, reeking from the recent deed,

He dashed his carbine on the ground.

Sternly he spoke--"'Tis sweet to hear

In good greenwood the bugle blown,

But sweeter to Revenge's ear,

To drink a tyrant's dying groan.

"Your slaughtered quarry proudly trod,

At dawning morn, o'er dale and down,

But prouder base-born Murray rode

Thro' old Linlithgow's crowded town.

"From the wild Border's humbled side,

"In haughty triumph, marched he,

"While Knox relaxed his bigot pride,

"And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see.

"But, can stern Power, with all his vaunt,

"Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare,

"The settled heart of Vengeance daunt,

"Or change the purpose of Despair?

"With hackbut bent[99], my secret stand,

"Dark as the purposed deed, I chose,

"And marked, where, mingling in his band,

"Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows.

"Dark Morton, girt with many a spear,

"Murder's foul minion, led the van;

"And clashed their broad-swords in the rear,

"The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan.

"Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,

"Obsequious at their regent's rein,

"And haggard Lindesay's iron eye,

"That saw fair Mary weep in vain.

"Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove,

"Proud Murray's plumage floated high;

"Scarce could his trampling charger move,

"So close the minions crowded nigh.

"From the raised vizor's shade, his eye,

"Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along,

"And his steel truncheon, waved on high,

"Seem'd marshalling the iron throng.

"But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd

"A passing shade of doubt and awe;

"Some fiend was whispering in his breast,

'Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!'

"The death-shot parts--the charger springs--

"Wild rises tumult's startling roar!--

"And Murray's plumy helmet rings--

"--Rings on the ground, to rise no more.

"What joy the raptured youth can feel,

"To hear her love the loved one tell,

"Or he, who broaches on his steel

"The wolf, by whom his infant fell!

"But dearer, to my injured eye,

"To see in dust proud Murray roll;

"And mine was ten times trebled joy,

"To hear him groan his felon soul.

"My Margaret's spectre glided near;

"With pride her bleeding victim saw;

"And shrieked in his death-deafen'd ear,

'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!'

"Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault!

"Spread to the wind thy bannered tree!

"Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow!--

"Murray is fallen, and Scotland free."

Vaults every warrior to his steed;

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim--

"Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed!

"Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame!"

But, see! the minstrel vision fails--

The glimmering spears are seen no more;

The shouts of war die on the gales,

Or sink in Evan's lonely roar.

For the loud bugle, pealing high,

The blackbird whistles down the vale,

And sunk in ivied ruins lie

The banner'd towers of Evandale.

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed,

And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain,

Lo! high-born Beauty rules the steed,

Or graceful guides the silken rein.

And long may Peace and Pleasure own

The maids, who list the minstrel's tale;

Nor e'er a ruder guest be known

On the fair banks of Evandale!

NOTES ON CADYOW CASTLE.

* * * * *

_First of his troop, the chief rode on._--P. 418. v. 5.

The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was James, Earl of

Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and first peer of the Scottish

realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen Mary her lieutenant-general

in Scotland, under the singular title of her adopted father.

_The Mountain Bull comes thundering on._--P. 419. v. 3.

_In Caledonia olim frequens erat sylvestris quidam bos, nunc vero

rarior, qui colore candissimo, jubam densam et demissam instar leonis

gestat, truculentus ac ferus ab humano genere abhorrens, ut quæcunque

homines vel manibus contrectarint, vel halitu perflaverunt, ab iis

multos post dies omnino abstinuerunt. Ad hoc tanta audacia huic bovi

indita erat, ut non solum irritatus equites furenter prosterneret,

sed ne tantillum lacessitus omnes promiscue homines cornibus, ac

ungulis peteret; ac canum, qui apud nos ferocissimi sunt impetus plane

contemneret. Ejus carnes cartilaginosæ sed saporis suavissimi. Erat

is olim per illam vastissimam Caledoniæ sylvam frequens, sed humana

ingluvie jam assumptus tribus tantum locis est reliquus, Strivilingii

Cumbernaldiæ et Kincarniæ._--Leslæus Scotiæ Descriptio, p. 13.

_Stern Claud replied, with darkening face,_

_(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he)._--P. 420. v. 4.

Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the Duke of Chatelherault, and

commendator of the abbey of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during

the troubles of Queen Mary's reign, and remained unalterably attached

to the cause of that unfortunate princess. He led the van of her army

at the fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the commanders at the

Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success to the

queen's faction. He was ancestor of the present Marquis of Abercorn.

_Few suns have set since Woodhouselee._--P. 420. v. 5.

This barony, stretching along the banks of the Esk, near Auchindinny,

belonged to Bothwellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruins of the

mansion, from whence she was expelled in the brutal manner which

occasioned her death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the

river. Popular report tenants them with the restless ghost of the lady

Bothwellhaugh; whom, however, it confounds with Lady Anne Bothwell,

whose _Lament_ is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious of her

rights, that, a part of the stones of the ancient edifice having been

employed in building or repairing the present Woodhouselee, she has

deemed it a part of her privilege to haunt that house also; and, even

of very late years, has excited considerable disturbance and terror

among the domestics. This is a more remarkable vindication of the

_rights of ghosts_, as the present Woodhouselee, which gives his title

to the honourable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the college of

justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland hills, distant at

least four miles from her proper abode. She always appears in white,

and with her child in her arms.

_Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke_

_Drives to the leap his jaded steed._--P. 422. v. 1.

Birrell informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely pursued, "after

that spur and wand had fail'd him, he drew forth his dagger, and

strocke his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap a verey brode

stanke (_i.e._ ditch), by whilk means he escaipit, and gat away from

all the rest of the horses."--BIRREL'S _Diary_, p. 18.

_From the wild Border's humbled side,_

_In haughty triumph, marched he._--P. 423. v. 1.

Murray's death took place shortly after an expedition to the borders;

which is thus commemorated by the author of his elegy:

"So having stablischt all thing in this sort,

"To Liddisdaill agane he did resort,

"Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and all the daills rode he,

"And also lay three nights in Cannabie,

"Whair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before.

"Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir so sair;

"And, that thay suld na mair thair thift allege,

"Threescore and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge,

"Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordour,

"Than mycht the rasch-bus keep ky on the bordour."

_Scottish Poems, 16th century_, p. 232.

_With hackbut bent, my secret stand._--P. 423, v. 3.

The carbine, with which the regent was shot, is preserved at Hamilton

palace. It is a brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the

bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been rifled

or indented in the barrel. It had a matchlock, for which a modern

fire-lock has been injudiciously substituted.

_Dark Morton, girt with many a spear._--P. 423. v. 4.

Of this noted person it is enough to say, that he was active in the

murder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley.

_The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan._--P. 423. v. 4.

This clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to the regent Murray.

Holinshed, speaking of the battle of Langsyde, says, "in this batayle

the valiancie of an hieland gentleman, named Macfarlane, stood the

regent's part in great steede; for, in the hottest brunte of the

fighte, he came up with two hundred of his friendes and countrymen,

and so manfully gave in upon the flankes of the queen's people, that

he was a great cause of the disordering of them. This Macfarlane

had been lately before, as I have heard, condemned to die, for some

outrage by him committed, and obtayning pardon through suyte of the

Countesse of Murray, he recompenced that clemencie by this piece of

service now at this batayle." Calderwood's account is less favourable

to the Macfarlanes. He states that "Macfarlane, with his highlandmen,

fled from the wing where they were set. The Lord Lindsay, who stood

nearest to them in the regent's battle, said 'Let them go! I shall

fill their place better:' and so, stepping forward, with a company of

fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears were now spent, with long

weapons, so that they were driven back by force, being before almost

overthrown by the avaunt-guard and harquebusiers, and so were turned to

flight."--CALDERWOOD'S _MS._ _apud_ KEITH, p. 480. Melville mentions

the flight of the vanguard, but states it to have been commanded by

Morton, and composed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Renfrew.

_Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,_

_Obsequious at their regent's rein._--P. 423. v. 5.

The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the regent. George

Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl of Morton, whose

horse was killed by the same ball, by which Murray fell.

_And haggard Lindesay's iron eye,_

_That saw fair Mary weep in vain._--P. 423. v. 5.

Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and brutal of the

regent's faction, and, as such, was employed to extort Mary's signature

to the deed of resignation, presented to her in Lochleven castle. He

discharged his commission with the most savage rigour; and it is even

said, that when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her

eyes from the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron

glove.

_Scarce could his trampling charger move,_

_So close the minions crowded nigh.--P. 424._ v. 1.

Not only had the regent notice of the intended attempt upon his life,

but even of the very house from which it was threatened.--With that

infatuation, at which men wonder, after such events have happened,

he deemed it would be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past

the dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by the crowd: so that

Bothwellhaugh had time to take a deliberate aim.--SPOTTISWOODE, p. 233.

BUCHANAN.

FOOTNOTES:

[93] They were formerly kept in the park at Drumlanrig, and are still

to be seen at Chillingham Castle in Northumberland. For their nature

and ferocity, see Notes.

[94] This was Sir James Ballenden, lord justice-clerk, whose

shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the catastrophe in the text.

SPOTTISWOODE.

[95] This projecting gallery is still shown. The house, to which it was

attached, was the property of the archbishop of St Andrews, a natural

brother of the Duke of Chatelherault, and uncle to Bothwellhaugh.

This, among many other circumstances, seems to evince the aid which

Bothwellhaugh received from his clan in effecting his purpose.

[96] The gift of Lord John Hamilton, Commendator of Arbroath.

[97] _Pryse_--The note blown at the death of the game.

[98] _Selle_--Saddle. A word used by Spenser, and other ancient authors.

[99] _Hackbut bent_--Gun cock'd.

THE GRAY BROTHER,

A FRAGMENT.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.--WALTER SCOTT.

* * * * *

The imperfect state of this ballad, which was written several years

ago, is not a circumstance affected for the purpose of giving it that

peculiar interest, which is often found to arise from ungratified

curiosity. On the contrary, it was the editor's intention to have

completed the tale, if he had found himself able to succeed to his own

satisfaction. Yielding to the opinion of persons, whose judgment, if

not biassed by the partiality of friendship, is entitled to deference,

the editor has preferred inserting these verses, as a fragment, to his

intention of entirely suppressing them.

The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house, upon

the barony of Gilmerton, near Laswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building,

now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally named Burndale, from the

following tragic adventure. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore,

to a gentleman, named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This

young lady was seduced by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly endowed

abbey, upon the banks of the south Esk, now a seat of the marquis of

Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned

also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the

connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton

Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance,

undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by

the stronger claims of natural affection. Chusing, therefore, a dark

and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance were engaged in a

stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, and other

combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house,

and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its

inmates.[100]

The scene, with which the ballad opens, was suggested by the following

curious passage, extracted from the life of Alexander Peden, one of the

wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during

the reign of Charles II. and his successor, James. This person was

supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed himself, to

be possessed of supernatural gifts; for the wild scenes, which they

frequented, and the constant dangers, which were incurred through their

proscription, deepened upon their minds the gloom of superstition, so

general in that age.

"About the same time he (Peden) came to Andrew Normand's house, in the

parish of Alloway, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in his

barn. After he came in, he halted a little, leaning upon a chair-back,

with his face covered; when he lifted up his head, he said, 'There are

in this house that I have not one word of salvation unto;' he halted

a little again, saying, 'This is strange, that the devil will not go

out, that we may begin our work!' Then there was a woman went out,

ill-looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying hour, for a

witch, with many presumptions of the same. It escaped me, in the former

passages, that John Muirhead (whom I have often mentioned) told me,

that when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family-worship,

and giving some notes upon the Scripture, when a very ill-looking

man came, and sate down within the door, at the back of the _hallan_

(partition of the cottage): immediately he halted, and said, 'There is

some unhappy body just now come into this house. I charge him to go

out, and not stop my mouth!' The person went out, and he _insisted_

(went on), yet he saw him neither come in nor go out."--_The Life and

Prophecies of Mr Alexander Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at New

Glenluce, in Galloway_, Part II. § 26.

THE GRAY BROTHER.

* * * * *

The Pope he was saying the high, high mass,

All on saint Peter's day,

With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven,

To wash men's sins away.

The pope he was saying the blessed mass,

And the people kneel'd around,

And from each man's soul his sins did pass,

As he kiss'd the holy ground.

And all, among the crowded throng,

Was still, both limb and tongue,

While thro' vaulted roof, and aisles aloof,

The holy accents rung.

At the holiest word, he quiver'd for fear,

And faulter'd in the sound--

And, when he would the chalice rear,

He dropp'd it on the ground.

"The breath of one of evil deed

"Pollutes our sacred day;

"He has no portion in our creed,

"No part in what I say.

"A being, whom no blessed word

"To ghostly peace can bring;

"A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd,

"Recoils each holy thing.

"Up! up! unhappy! haste, arise!

"My adjuration fear!

"I charge thee not to stop my voice,

"Nor longer tarry here!"

Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd,

In gown of sackcloth gray;

Far journeying from his native field,

He first saw Rome that day.

For forty days and nights, so drear,

I ween, he had not spoke,

And, save with bread and water clear,

His fast he ne'er had broke.

Amid the penitential flock,

Seem'd none more bent to pray;

But, when the Holy Father spoke,

He rose, and went his way.

Again unto his native land,

His weary course he drew,

To Lothian's fair and fertile strand,

And Pentland's mountains blue.

His unblest feet his native seat,

Mid Eske's fair woods, regain;

Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet

Rolls to the eastern main.

And lords to meet the Pilgrim came,

And vassals bent the knee;

For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame,

Was none more famed than he.

And boldly for his country, still,

In battle he had stood,

Aye, even when, on the banks of Till,

Her noblest pour'd their blood.

Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet!

By Eske's fair streams that run,

O'er airy steep, thro' copsewood deep,

Impervious to the sun.

There the rapt poet's step may rove,

And yield the muse the day;

There Beauty, led by timid Love,

May shun the tell-tale ray;

From that fair dome, where suit is paid,

By blast of bugle free,

To Auchendinny's hazel glade,

And haunted Woodhouselee.

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,

And Roslin's rocky glen,

Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,

And classic Hawthornden?

Yet never a path, from day to day,

The pilgrim's footsteps range,

Save but the solitary way

To Burndale's ruin'd Grange.

A woeful place was that, I ween,

As sorrow could desire;

For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall,

And the roof was scathed with fire.

It fell upon a summer's eve,

While on Carnethy's head,

The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams

Had streak'd the gray with red;

And the convent-bell did vespers tell,

Newbottle's oaks among,

And mingled with the solemn knell

Our Ladye's evening song:

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell,

Came slowly down the wind,

And on the pilgrim's ear they fell,

As his wonted path he did find.

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was,

Nor ever rais'd his eye,

Untill he came to that dreary place,

Which did all in ruins lie.

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire,

With many a bitter groan--

And there was aware of a Gray Friar,

Resting him on a stone.

"Now, Christ thee save!" said the Gray Brother;

"Some pilgrim thou seemest to be."

But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze,

Nor answer again made he.

"O come ye from east, or come ye from west,

"Or bring reliques from over the sea,

"Or come ye from the shrine of St James the divine,

"Or St John of Beverly?"

"I come not from the shrine of St James the divine,

"Nor bring reliques from over the sea;

"I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope,

"Which for ever will cling to me."

"Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so!

"But kneel thee down by me,

"And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin,

"That absolved thou mayst be."

"And who art thou, thou Gray Brother,

"That I should shrive to thee,

"When he, to whom are giv'n the keys of earth and heav'n,

"Has no power to pardon me?"

"O I am sent from a distant clime,

"Five thousand miles away,

"And all to absolve a foul, foul crime,

"Done _here_ 'twixt night and day."

The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand,

And thus began his saye--

When on his neck an ice-cold hand

Did that Gray Brother laye.

NOTES ON THE GRAY BROTHER.

* * * * *

_From that fair dome, where suit is paid,_

_By blast of bugle free._--P. 439. v. 4.

The barony of Pennycuik, the property of Sir George Clerk, Bart. is

held by a singular tenure; the proprietor being bound to sit upon a

large rocky fragment, called the Buckstane, and wind three blasts

of a horn, when the king shall come to hunt on the Borough Muir,

near Edinburgh. Hence, the family have adopted, as their crest, a

demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the motto, _Free for a

Blast_. The beautiful mansion-house of Pennycuik is much admired, both

on account of the architecture and surrounding scenery.

To Auchendinny's hazel glade.--P. 439. v. 4.

Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuik, the present

residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq., author of the _Man of

Feeling_, &c.

_And haunted Woodhouselee._--P. 439. v. 4.

For the traditions connected with this ruinous mansion, see the Ballad

of _Cadyow Castle_, p. 410.

_Who knows not Melville's beechy grove._--P. 439. v. 5.

Melville Castle, the seat of the honourable Robert Dundas, member for

the county of Mid-Lothian, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near

Laswade. It gives the title of viscount to his father, Lord Melville.

_And Roslin's rocky glen._--P. 439. v. 5.

The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the ancient

family of St Clair, the Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful

preservation, with the romantic and woody dell in which they are

situated, belong to the Right Honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the

representative of the former lords of Roslin.

_Dalkeith, which all the virtues love._--P. 439. v. 5.

The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged, of old, to the famous Earl

of Morton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch.

The park extends along the Esk, which is there joined by its sister

stream, of the same name.

_And classic Hawthornden._--P. 439. v. 5.

Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A house, of more

modern date, is inclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient

castle, and overhangs a tremendous precipice, upon the banks of the

Eske, perforated by winding caves, which, in former times, formed a

refuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. Here Drummond received

Ben Jonson, who journeyed from London, on foot, in order to visit him.

The beauty of this striking scene has been much injured, of late years,

by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in vain

for the leafy bower,

"Where Jonson sate in Drummond's social shade."

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source, till it joins the

sea, at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied

succession of the most interesting objects, as well as of the most

romantic and beautiful scenery.

FOOTNOTES:

[100] This tradition was communicated to me by John Clerk, Esq. of

Eldin, author of an _Essay upon Naval Tactics_, who will be remembered

by posterity, as having taught the Genius of Britain to concentrate her

thunders, and to launch them against her foes with an unerring aim.

WAR-SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

"_Nennius._ Is not peace the end of arms?

_Caratach._ Not where the cause implies a general conquest.

Had we a difference with some petty isle,

Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks,

The taking in of some rebellious lord,

Or making head against a slight commotion,

After a day of blood, peace might be argued:

But where we grapple for the land we live on,

The liberty we hold more dear than life,

The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours,

And, with those, swords, that know no end of battle--

Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,

Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance,

And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest,

And, where they march, but measure out more ground

To add to Rome----

It must not be.--No! as they are our foes,

Let's use the peace of honour--that's fair dealing;

But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman,

That thinks to graft himself into my stock,

Must first begin his kindred under ground,

And be allied in ashes."----

BONDUCA.

The following War-Song was written during the apprehension of an

invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was

raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own

expence. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian

Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas.

The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of

their own rights, was no where more successful than in Edinburgh, which

furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including

a Regiment of Cavalry, from the city and county, and two Corps of

Artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above

all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation

of our ancient Galgacus: "_Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros

et posteros cogitate._"

WAR-SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

* * * * *

To horse! to horse! the standard flies,

The bugles sound the call;

The Gallic navy stems the seas,

The voice of battle's on the breeze,

Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,

A band of brothers true;

Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,

With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;

We boast the red and blue.[101]

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown,

Dull Holland's tardy train;

Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn,

Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,

And, foaming, gnaw the chain;

O! had they mark'd the avenging call

Their brethren's murder gave,

Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown,

Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,

Sought freedom in the grave!

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,

In Freedom's temple born,

Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,

To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn?

No! though destruction o'er the land

Come pouring as a flood,

The sun, that sees our falling day,

Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway,

And set that night in blood.

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,

Or plunder's bloody gain;

Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,

To guard our King, to fence our Law,

Nor shall their edge be vain.

If ever breath of British gale

Shall fan the tri-color,

Or footstep of invader rude,

With rapine foul, and red with blood,

Pollute our happy shore,--

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!

Adieu each tender tie!

Resolved, we mingle in the tide,

Where charging squadrons furious ride,

To conquer, or to die.

To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;

High sounds our bugle call;

Combined by honour's sacred tie,

Our word is _Laws and Liberty!_

March forward, one and all!

NOTE ON THE WAR-SONG.

* * * * *

_O! had they mark'd the avenging call_

_Their brethren's murder gave._--P. 449. v. 2.

The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on the fatal

10th August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that

the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their

bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty,

encouraged and authorized the progressive injustice, by which the Alps,

once the seat of the most virtuous and free people upon the continent,

have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and

military despot. A state degraded is half enslaved.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] The Royal Colours.

THE FEAST OF SPURS.

BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

* * * * *

_In the account of_ WALTER SCOTT _of Harden's way of living, it is

mentioned, that "when the last Bullock was killed and devoured, it

was the Lady's custom to place on the table a dish, which, on being

uncovered, was found to contain a pair of clean Spurs; a hint to the

Riders, that they must shift for their next meal."_ See Introduction,

p. 88.

_The speakers in the following stanzas are_ WALTER SCOTT _of Harden,

and his wife,_ MARY SCOTT, _the Flower of Yarrow._

* * * * *

"Haste, ho! my dame, what cheer the night?

"I look to see your table dight,

"For I ha'e been up since peep o' light,

"Driving the dun deer merrilie.

"Wow! but the bonnie harts and raes

Are fleet o' foot on Ettricke braes;

My gude dogs ne'er, in a' their days,

Forfoughten were sae wearilie.

"Frae Shaws to Rankelburn we ran

A score, that neither stint nor blan;

And now ahint the breckans[102] stan',

And laugh at a' our company.

"We've passed through monie a tangled cleugh,

We've rade fu' fast o'er haugh and heugh;

I trust ye've got gude cheer eneugh

To feast us a' right lustilie."--

"Are ye sae keen-set, Wat? 'tis weel;

Ye winna find a dainty meal;

It's a' o' the gude Rippon steel,

Ye maun digest it manfullie.

"Nae ky are left in Harden Glen;

Ye maun be stirring wi' your men;

Gin ye soud bring me less than ten,

I winna roose[103] your braverie."--

"Are ye sae modest ten to name?

"Syne, an I bring na twenty hame,

"I'll freely gi'e ye leave to blame

"Baith me, and a' my chyvalrie.

"I coud ha'e relished better cheer,

"After the chace o' sic-like deer;

"But, trust me, rowth o' Southern gear

"Shall deck your lard'ner speedilie.

"When Stanegirthside I last came by,

"A bassened bull allured mine eye,

"Feeding amang a herd o' kye;

"O gin I looked na wistfullie!

"To horse! young Jock shall lead the way;

"And soud the warden tak the fray

"To mar our riding, I winna say,

"But he mote be in jeopardie.

"The siller moon now glimmers pale;

"But ere we've crossed fair Liddesdale,

"She'll shine as brightlie as the bale[104]

"That warns the water hastilie.

"O leeze me on her bonnie light!

"There's nought sae dear to Harden's sight,

"Troth, gin she shone but ilka night,

"Our clan might live right royallie.

"Haste, bring your nagies frae the sta',

"And lightlie louping, ane and a',

"Intull your saddles, scour awa',

"And ranshakle[105] the Southronie.

"Let ilka ane his knapscap[106] lace;

"Let ilka ane his steil-jack brace;

"And deil bless him that sall disgrace

"Walter o' Harden's liverie!"--

NOTES ON THE FEAST OF SPURS.

* * * * *

_Harden Glen._--P. 453. v. 5.

"Harden's castle was situated upon the very brink of a dark and

precipitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet steals to meet the

Borthwick. In the recess of this glen he is said to have kept his

spoil, which served for the daily maintenance of his retainers." Notes

on the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," Canto IV. stanza 9.

_Warns the water._--P. 454. v. 5.

This expression signified formerly the giving the alarm to the

inhabitants of a district; each district taking its name from the river

that flowed through it.

_O leeze me,_ &c.--P. 455. v. 1.

The esteem in which the moon was held in the Harden family may be

traced in the motto they still bear: "_Reparabit cornua Phoebe."_

FOOTNOTES:

[102] _Breckans_--Fern.

[103] _Roose_--Praise.

[104] _Bale_--Beacon-fire.

[105] _Ranshakle_--Plunder.

[106] _Knapscap_--Helmet.

ON A VISIT PAID TO THE RUINS OF MELROSE ABBEY

BY THE COUNTESS OF DALKEITH, AND HER SON, LORD SCOTT.

BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

* * * * *

Abbots of Melrose, wont of yore

The dire anathema to pour

On England's hated name;

See, to appease your injured shades,

And expiate her Border raids,

She sends her fairest Dame.

Her fairest Dame those shrines has graced,

That once her boldest Lords defaced;

Then let your hatred cease;

The prayer of import dread revoke,

Which erst indignant fury spoke,

And pray for England's peace.

If, as it seems to Fancy's eye,

Your sainted spirits hover nigh,

And haunt this once-loved spot;

That Youth's fair open front behold,

His step of strength, his visage bold,

And hail a genuine Scott.

Yet think that England claims a part

In the rich blood that warms his heart,

And let your hatred cease;

The prayer of import dread revoke,

Which erst indignant fury spoke,

And pray for England's peace.

Pray, that no proud insulting foe

May ever lay her temples low,

Or violate her fanes;

No moody fanatic deface

The works of wondrous art, that grace

Antiquity's remains.

NOTE ON A VISIT PAID TO THE RUINS OF MELROSE ABBEY.

* * * * *

Melrose Abbey was reduced to its present ruinous state, partly by the

English barons in their hostile inroads, and partly by John Knox and

his followers. For a reason why its abbots should be supposed to take

an interest in the Buccleuch family, see the Notes to the "Lay of the

Last Minstrel," octavo edition, p. 238.

ARCHIE ARMSTRONG'S AITH.

BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

* * * * *

As Archie passed the Brockwood-leys,

He cursed the blinkan moon,

For shouts were borne upo' the breeze

Frae a' the hills aboon.

A herd had marked his lingering pace

That e'enin near the fauld,

And warned his fellows to the chace,

For he kenn'd him stout and bauld.

A light shone frae Gilnockie tower;

He thought, as he ran past,--

"O Johnie ance was stiff in stour,

"But hangit at the last!"--

His load was heavy, and the way

Was rough, and ill to find;

But ere he reached the Stubholm brae,

His faes were far behind.

He clamb the brae, and frae his brow

The draps fell fast and free;

And when he heard a loud halloo,

A waefu' man was he.

O'er his left shouther, towards the muir,

An anxious e'e he cast;

And oh! when he stepped o'er the door,

His wife she looked aghast.

"Ah wherefore, Archie, wad ye slight

"Ilk word o' timely warning?

"I trow ye will be ta'en the night,

"And hangit i' the morning."--

"Now haud your tongue, ye prating wife,

"And help me as ye dow;

"I wad be laith to lose my life

"For ae poor silly yowe."--

They stript awa the skin aff-hand,

Wi' a' the woo' aboon;

There's ne'er a flesher[107] i' the land

Had done it half sae soon.

They took the _haggis-bag_ and heart,

The heart, but and the liver;

Alake, that siccan a noble part

Should win intull the river!

But Archie he has ta'en them a',

And wrapt them i' the skin;

And he has thrown them o'er the wa',

And sicht whan they fell in.

The cradle stans by the ingle[108] toom,[109]

The bairn wi' auntie stays;

They clapt the carcase in its room,

And smoored it wi' the claes.

And down sate Archie daintilie,

And rocked it wi' his hand;

Siccan a rough nourice as he

Was not in a' the land.

And saftlie he began to croon,[110]

"Hush, hushabye, my dear."--

He had na sang to sic a tune,

I trow, for monie a year.

Now frae the hills they cam in haste,

A' rinning out o' breath;--

"Ah, Archie, we ha' got ye fast,

"And ye maun die the death!

"Aft ha' ye thinned our master's herds,

"And elsewhere cast the blame;

"Now ye may spare your wilie words,

"For we have traced ye hame."--

"Your sheep for warlds I wad na take;

"Deil ha' me if I'm lying;

"But haud your tongues for mercie's sake,

"The bairn's just at the dying.

"If e'er I did sae fause a feat,

"As thin my neebor's faulds,

"May I be doomed the flesh to eat

"This vera cradle halds!

"But gin ye reck na what I swear,

"Go search the biggin[111] thorow,

"And if ye find ae trotter there,

"Then hang me up the morrow."--

They thought to find the stolen gear,

They searched baith but and ben;

But a' was clean, and a' was clear,

And naething could they ken.

And what to think they could na tell,

They glowred at ane anither;--

"Sure, Patie, 'twas the deil himsel

"That ye saw rinning hither.

"Or aiblins Maggie's ta'en the yowe,

"And thus beguiled your e'e."--

"Hey, Robie, man, and like enowe,

"For I ha'e nae rowan-tree."--

Awa' they went wi' muckle haste,

Convinced 'twas Maggie Brown;

And Maggie, ere eight days were past,

Got mair nor ae new gown.

Then Archie turned him on his heel,

And gamesomelie did say,--

"I did na think that half sae weel

"The nourice I could play."

And Archie didna break his aith,

He ate the cradled sheep;

I trow he was na vera laith

Siccan a vow to keep.

And aft sinsyne to England's king

The story he has told;

And aye when he gan rock and sing,

Charlie his sides wad hold.

NOTES ON ARCHIE ARMSTRONG'S AITH.

* * * * *

The hero of this ballad was a native of Eskdale, and contributed not a

little towards the raising his clan to that pre-eminence which it long

maintained amongst the Border thieves, and which none indeed but the

Elliots could dispute. He lived at the Stubholm, immediately below the

junction of the Wauchope and the Esk; and there distinguished himself

so much by zeal and assiduity in his professional duties, that at

length he found it expedient to emigrate, his neighbours not having

learned from Sir John Falstaff, that "it is no sin for a man to labour

in his vocation." He afterwards became a celebrated jester in the

English court. In more modern times, he might have found a court in

which his virtues would have entitled him to a higher station. He was

dismissed in disgrace in the year 1737, for his insolent wit, of which

the following may serve as a specimen. One day when Archbishop Laud

was just about to say grace before dinner, Archie begged permission of

the king to perform that office in his stead; and having received it,

said, "All _praise_ to God, and little _Laud_ to the deil." The exploit

detailed in this ballad has been preserved, with many others of the

same kind, by tradition, and is at this time current in Eskdale.

_Or aiblin's Maggie's ta'en the yowe._--P. 464. v. 4.

There is no district wherein witches seem to have maintained a more

extensive, or more recent influence than in Eskdale. It is not

long since the system of bribery, alluded to in the next stanza,

was carried on in that part of the country. The rowan-tree, or

mountain-ash, is well known to be a sure preservative against the power

of witchcraft.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[107] _A Flesher_--A Butcher.

[108] _Ingle_--Fire.

[109] _Toom_--Empty.

[110] _Croon_--To hum over a song.

[111] _Biggin_--Building.

* * * * *

EDINBURGH:

Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a

predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they

were not changed.

Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.

Italics words are denoted by _underscores_.

Bold words are denoted by =equals=.

P. 310 added footnote attributing unidentified poem to William

Collins.