cloak was of fine velvet. Her long black hair hung round her as a
veil, and her brow was adorned with gems.
By her side were seven greyhounds, other seven she led by a
leash. From her neck hung a horn and in her belt was thrust a
sheath of arrows.
It seemed as though the lady gay were on her way to the
hunting-field.
Now she would blow her horn until the echoes answered merrily,
merrily; now she would trill her songs, until the wild birds
answered gaily, gaily.
Thomas of Ercildoune gazed, and Thomas of Ercildoune listened,
and his heart gave a great bound as he said to himself, 'Now, by
my troth, the lady is none of mortal birth. She is none other
than Mary, the Queen of Heaven.'
Then up sprang Thomas from the little woodland brook and away
sped he over the mountain-side, that he might, so it were
possible, reach her as she rode by the Eildon tree, which tree
grew on the side of the Eildon hills.
'For certainly,' said Thomas, 'if I do not speak with that lady
bright, my heart will break in three.'
And in sooth, as she dismounted under the Eildon tree, Thomas met
the lady, and kneeling low beneath the greenwood, he spoke, thus
eager was he to win a benison from the Queen of Heaven.
'Lovely lady, have pity upon me, even as thou art mother of the
Child who died for me.'
'Nay now, nay now,' said the lady gay, 'no Queen of Heaven am I.
I come but from the country thou dost call Elfland, though queen
of that country in truth I am. I do but ride to the hunt with my
hounds as thou mayest hear.' And she blew on her horn merrily,
merrily.
Now Thomas did not wish to lose sight of so fair a lady.
'Go not back to Elfland; stay by my side under the Eildon tree,'
he pleaded.
'Nay,' said the Queen of Elfland, 'should I stay with thee, a
mortal, my fairness would fade as fades a leaf.'
But Thomas did not believe her, and, for he was a bold man, he
drew near and kissed the rosy lips of the Elfland Queen.
Alas, alas! no sooner had he kissed her than the lady fair
changed into a tired old woman.
She no longer wore a skirt of beautiful green, but a long robe of
hodden grey covered her from head to foot. The light, bright as
the summer sun that had shone around her, faded, and her face
grew pale and thin. Her eyes no longer danced for joy, they gazed
dull and dim before her. And on one side of her head the long
black hair had changed to grey.
[Illustration: Under the Eildon tree Thomas met the lady]
It was a sight to make one sad, and Thomas, as he gazed, cried,
as well he might, 'Alas, alas!'
'Thyself hast sealed thy doom, Thomas,' cried the lady. 'Thou
must come with me to Elfland. Haste thou therefore to bid
farewell to sun and moon, to trees and flowers, for, come weal,
come woe, thou must e'en serve me for a twelvemonth.'
Then Thomas fell upon his knees and prayed to Mary mild that she
would have pity upon him.
But when he arose the Queen of Elfland bade him mount behind her,
and Thomas could do nought save obey her command.
Her steed flew forward, the Eildon hills opened, and horse and
riders were in the caverns of the earth.
Thomas felt darkness close around him. On they rode, on and yet
on; swift as the wind they rode. Water reached to his knee, above
and around him was darkness, and ever and anon the booming of the
waves.
For three days they rode. Then Thomas grew faint with hunger and
cried, 'Woe is me, I shall die for lack of food.'
As he cried, the darkness grew less thick, and they were riding
forward into light. Bright sunlight lay around them as they rode
toward a garden. It was a garden such as Thomas had never seen on
earth.
All manner of fruit was there, apples and pears, dates and
damsons, figs and currants, all ripe, ready to be plucked. In
this beautiful garden, too, there were birds, nightingales
building their nests, gay popinjays flitting hither and thither
among the trees, thrushes singing their sweetest songs.
But these Thomas neither saw nor heard. Thomas had eyes only for
the fruit, and he thrust forth his hand to pluck it, so hungry,
so faint was he.
'Let be the fruit, Thomas,' cried the lady, 'let be the fruit.
For dost thou pluck it, thy soul will go to an evil place, nor
shall it escape until the day of doom. Leave the fruit, Thomas,
and come lay thy head upon my knee, and I will show thee a sight
fairer than ever mortal hath seen. And Thomas, being fain to
rest, lay down as he was bid, and closed his eyes.
'Now open thine eyes, Thomas,' said the lady, 'and thou shalt see
three roads before thee. Narrow and straight is the first, and
hard is it to walk there, for thorns and briars grow thick, and
spread themselves across the pathway. Straight up over the
mountain-tops on into the city of God runs this straight and
narrow road. It is named the path of Goodness. And ever will the
thorns prick and the briars spread, for few there be who tread
far on this rough and prickly road.
'Look yet again, Thomas,' said the lady. And Thomas saw
stretching before him a long white road. It ran smooth and broad
across a grassy plain, and roses blossomed, and lilies bloomed by
the wayside. 'That,' said the lady, 'is named the path of Evil,
and many there be who saunter along its broad and easy surface.'
Thomas said no word, but lay looking at the third pathway as it
twisted and twined in and out amid the cool, green nooks of the
woodland. Tiny rills caught the sunlight and tossed it back to
the cold, grey rock down which they trickled; tiny ferns waved a
welcome from their sheltered crevices. 'This,' said the lady,
'this is the fair road to Elfland, and along its beauteous way
must thou and I ride this very night. But speak thou to none,
Thomas, when thou comest to Elfland. Though strange the sights
you see, the sounds you hear, speak thou to none, for never
mortal returns to his own country does he speak one word in the
land of Elfs.'
Then once again Thomas mounted behind the lady, and hard and fast
did they ride until they saw before them a castle. It stood on a
high hill, fair and strong, and as it came in sight the lady
reined in her white steed.
'See, Thomas, see!' she cried, 'here is the castle that is mine
and his who is king of this country. None like it is there, for
beauty or for strength, in the land from which thou comest. My
lord is waited on by knights, of whom there are thirty in this
castle. A noble lord is mine, nor would he wish to hear how thou
wert bold and kissed me under the Eildon tree. Bear thou in mind,
Thomas, that thou speak no word, nay, not though thou art
commanded to tell thy tale. I will say to my courtiers that I
took from thee the power of speech ere ever we crossed the sea.'
Thomas listened, and dared not speak. Thomas stood still, still
as a stone, and gazed upon the lady, and lo! a great wonder came
to pass.
Once more the lady shone bright as the sun upon a summer's morn,
once more she wore her skirt of green, green as the leaves of
spring, and her velvet cloak hung around her shoulders. Her eyes
flashed and her long hair waved once more black in the breeze.
And Thomas, looking at his own garments, started to see that they
too were changed. For he was now clothed in a suit of beautiful
soft cloth, and on his feet were a pair of green velvet shoes.
Clear and loud the lady fair blew her horn, clear and loud, and
forward she rode toward the castle gate.
Then down to welcome their queen trooped all the fairy court, and
kneeling low before her, they did her reverence.
Into the hall she stepped, Thomas following close at her side,
silent as one who had no power to speak.
They crowded around him, the knights and squires; they asked him
questions about his own country, yet no word dared Thomas answer.
Then arose great revelry and feasting in the castle of the Elfin
Queen.
Harps and fiddles played their wildest and most gladsome tunes,
knights and ladies danced, and all went merry as a marriage bell.
Across the hall Thomas looked, and there a strange sight met his
glance. Thirty harts and as many deer lay on the oaken floor, and
bending over them, their knives in their hands, were elfin cooks,
making ready for the feast. Thomas wondered if it were but a
dream, so strange seemed the sights he saw.
Gaily passed the days, and Thomas had no wish to leave the
strange Elfland. But a day came when the queen said to Thomas,
'Now must thou begone from Elfland, Thomas, and I, myself, will
ride with you back to your own country.'
'Nay now, but three days have I dwelt in thy realm,' said Thomas,
'with but little cheer. Give me leave to linger yet a little
while.'
'Indeed, indeed, Thomas,' cried the Queen of Elfland, 'thou hast
been with me for seven long years and more, but now thou must
away ere the dawn of another day. To-morrow there comes an evil
spirit from the land of darkness to our fair realm. He comes each
year to claim our most favoured and most courteous guest, and it
will be thou, Thomas, thou, whom he will wish to carry to his
dark abode. But we tarry not his coming. By the light of the moon
we ride to-night to the land of thy birth.'
Once again the lady fair mounted her white palfrey, and Thomas
rode behind until she brought him safe back to the Eildon tree.
There, under the leaves of the greenwood, while the little birds
sang their lays, the Queen of Elfland said farewell to Thomas.
'Farewell, Thomas, farewell, I may no longer stay with thee.'
'Give me a token,' pleaded Thomas, 'a token ere thou leavest me,
that mortals may know that I have in truth been with thee in
Elfland.'
'Take with thee, then,' said the lady, 'take with thee the gift
of harp and song, and likewise the power to tell that which will
come to pass in future days. Nor ever shall thy tales be false,
Thomas, for I have taken from thee the power to speak aught save
only what is true.'
She turned to ride away, away to Elfland. Then Thomas was sad,
and tears streamed from his grey eyes, and he cried, 'Tell me,
lady fair, shall I never meet thee more?'
'Yea,' said the Elf Queen, 'we shall meet again, Thomas. When
thou art in thy castle of Ercildoune and hearest of a hart and
hind that come out of the forest and pace unafraid through the
village, then come thou down to seek for me here, under the
Eildon tree.'
Then loud and clear blew she her horn and rode away. Thus Thomas
parted from the Elfin Queen.
On earth seven slow long years had passed away since Thomas had
been seen in the little village of Ercildoune, and the villagers
rubbed their eyes and stared with open mouth as they saw him once
again in their midst.
Ofttimes now Thomas was to be seen wandering down from his grim
old castle down to the bonny greenwood. Ofttimes was he to be
found lying on the bank of the little brook that babbled to
itself as it ran through the forest, or under the Eildon tree,
where he had met the Elf Queen so long before.
He would be dreaming as he lay there of the songs he would sing
to the country folk. So beautiful were these songs that people
hearing them knew that Thomas the Rhymer had a gift that had
been given to him by no mortal hand.
He would be thinking, too, as he lay by the babbling brook, of
the wars and dangers that in years to come would fall upon his
country. And those who hearkened to the woes he uttered found
that the words of True Thomas never failed to come to pass.
Seven long years passed away since Thomas had parted from the
Elfland Queen, and yet another seven.
War had raged here and there throughout the land, when on a time
it chanced that the Scottish army encamped close to the castle of
Ercildoune where Thomas the Rhymer dwelt.
It was a time of truce, and Thomas wished to give a feast to the
gallant soldiers who had been fighting for their country.
Thus it was that the doors of the old castle were flung wide, and
noise and laughter filled the banquet-hall. Merry were the tales,
loud the jests, bright the minstrel strains that night in the
castle of Ercildoune.
But when the feast was over Thomas himself arose, the harp he had
brought from Elfland in his hand, and a hush fell upon the
throng, upon lords and ladies, and upon rough armed men.
The cheeks of rugged warriors that day were wet ere ever Thomas
ceased to sing. Nor ever in the years to come did those who heard
forget the magic of his song.
Night fell, those who had feasted had gone to rest, when in the
bright moonlight a strange sight was seen by the village folk.
Along the banks of the Leader there paced side by side a hart and
a hind, each white, white as newly fallen snow.
Slowly and with stately steps they moved, nor were they
affrighted by the crowd which gathered to gaze at them.
Then, for True Thomas would know the meaning of so strange a
sight, then a messenger was sent in haste to the castle of
Ercildoune.
As he listened to the tale the messenger brought, Thomas started
up out of bed and in haste he put on his clothes. Pale and red
did he grow in turn as he listened to the tale, yet all he said
was this: 'My sand is run, my thread is spun, this token is for
me.'
Thomas hung his elfin harp around his neck, his minstrel cloak
across his shoulders, and out into the pale moonlight he walked.
And as he walked the wind touched the strings of the elfin harp
and drew forth a wail so full of dole that those who heard it
whispered: 'It is a note of death.'
On walked Thomas, slow and sad, and oft he turned to look again
at the grim walls of the castle, which he knew he would never see
again.
And the moonbeams fell upon the grey tower, and in the soft light
the walls grew less grim, less stern, so thought Thomas.
'Farewell,' he cried, 'farewell. Nor song nor dance shall
evermore find place within thy walls. On thy hearthstone shall
the wild hare seek a refuge for her young. Farewell to Leader,
the stream I love, farewell to Ercildoune, my home.'
As Thomas tarried for a last look, the hart and the hind drew
near. Onward then he went with them toward the banks of the
Leader, and there, before the astonished folk, he crossed the
stream with his strange companions, and nevermore was Thomas the
Rhymer seen again.
For many a day among the hills and through the glens was Thomas
sought, but never was he found. There be some who say that he is
living yet in Elfland, and that one day he will come again to
earth.
Meanwhile he is not forgotten. The Eildon tree no longer waves
its branches in the breeze, but a large stone named the
Eildon-tree stone marks the spot where once it grew. And near to
the stone flows a little river which has been named the Goblin
Brook, for by its banks it was believed that Thomas the Rhymer
used to talk with little men from the land of Elf.
LIZZIE LINDSAY
In the fair city of Edinburgh there lived many many years ago a
beautiful maiden named Lizzie Lindsay. Her home was in the
Canongate, which is now one of the poorest parts of the city.
But in the days when Lizzie danced and sang, and made her
father's and mother's heart rejoice, the Canongate was the home
of all the richest lords and ladies.
For close to the Canongate was Holyrood, the palace where the
king held his court. And it was well, thought the lords and
ladies of long ago, to live near the palace where there were many
gay sights to be seen.
Lizzie had been a bonny wee girl, and as she grew up she grew
bonnier still, until, not only in Edinburgh, but far and wide
throughout the country, people would speak of her beauty. Even
the folk who dwelt away over the hills in the Highlands heard of
the beauty of Lizzie Lindsay.
Dame Lindsay loved her daughter well, and gave her beautiful
gowns of silk and velvet. Her father, too, would bring her home
many a sparkling jewel, many a brilliant gem. It seemed as though
Lizzie Lindsay had all that her heart could wish.
Certainly she did not wish to leave her home in the Canongate,
for though lord after lord, noble after noble begged for her
hand, Lizzie but tossed her beautiful head high in the air as she
said them nay.
But though it was well known that the lovely maiden had kind
looks and gentle words to spare for none save only her dear
father and her doting mother, yet still the lords and nobles
would dance more gladly with Lizzie than with any other maiden.
And a ball, even a ball given by the court at the palace of
Holyrood, seemed to be less gladsome were it known that the fair
maiden would not be there.
Now, as I have told you, the fame of Lizzie Lindsay's beauty had
spread even to the Highlands. And Donald, the young laird of
Kingcaussie, heard that she was fairer than any other maiden in
the land, and that she was haughtier and more wilful as well. For
she would have nought to say, to any of the rich suitors who
surrounded her.
Then Donald, who was tall and handsome, and who was used to have
his own way, smiled as he heard of Lizzie's wilful spirit and her
great beauty. He made up his mind that he would go to Edinburgh
and try to win as his bride the bonnie lassie who would have
nought to do with noble or with lord.
The young laird lived with his father and mother in a castle
built high amid the heather-covered hills, and little until now
had Donald cared for city ways or city walls. To hunt the deer,
to chase the roe, to spend the long hours from early morn until
even among the heathery moors which were all his own, had been
happiness enough for him.
But now, now the glory faded from the heather, and the hunt and
chase lost their delight. Sir Donald's heart was in the fair city
of Edinburgh with beautiful Lizzie Lindsay, whom, though he had
not seen, he loved.
At length one day the young laird went to his lady mother and,
kissing her hand right courteously, he begged her to grant him a
boon. For Donald had been well trained, and, though he was no
longer a boy, he did not dream of leaving his home among the
hills until he had gained his mother's consent.
'Grant me a boon, lady mother,' said the young laird. 'Send me
away to the fair city of Edinburgh, for it is there that my true
love dwells. And if ye will do this I will bring you home a
daughter more beautiful than any other maiden in the land.'
Now the young laird's mother had heard of Lizzie Lindsay, and it
may be that she was glad that her son should wish to bring to the
castle so beautiful a bride. Yet she had no wish for the maiden
to be won by aught save by love for her dear son alone.
Lizzie had refused to wed with lord or noble, it was true, yet
the broad lands, the ancient castle of the MacDonalds, might
please her fancy. But the Lady of Kingcaussie determined that
neither for land nor for castle should bonnie Lizzie Lindsay come
to the Highlands.
When she saw young Donald at her side, and heard him begging
leave to go to the fair city of Edinburgh, she smiled as she
looked into his eager face, and answered slowly, 'My son, ye
shall go to Edinburgh an it please you, and so ye are able ye
shall bring back with you Lizzie Lindsay as your bride. A fairer
maiden, I can well believe, has never graced these walls. Yet, if
ye go, it shall not be as Sir Donald MacDonald, the heir to broad
lands and ancient castles, but as a simple stranger, without
riches and without rank. Then, if ye do win your bride, it will
be through love alone,' said his mother gravely. But her eyes
shone bright and glad, for she thought that there was not a
maiden in all the land who would not be proud to wed her son,
though he had neither riches nor lands.
As for the old laird, he laughed when he heard why his son had
grown weary at the hunt and listless at the chase. He laughed and
cried, 'Let the lad go to the city; before a year has passed away
he will be home again and the beautiful Lizzie Lindsay with him.'
For his old father, too, thought that no maiden could refuse to
love his bonny self-willed son.
Well, young Donald was too anxious to be off and away to
Edinburgh to be grieved to go as a simple Highlander. Before the
day was over he had said farewell to his light-hearted old father
and to his gentle lady mother, and clad in a rough tartan kilt
and without a servant to follow him, the young laird was off to
the fair city of Edinburgh.
When Donald reached Edinburgh he wondered how he would see the
maiden of whose beauty and of whose cleverness he had so often
heard.
He had not long to wait, for he had scarce been a day in the city
when he heard that a great ball was to be given and to be graced
by the presence of the fair maiden whom he hoped to win as his
bride.
Donald made up his mind that he too would go to the ball, and it
was easy for him to do this, as there were many in the city who
knew the young laird.
When he entered the ballroom he saw that the lords and nobles
were dressed in suits of velvet or silk and satins, while he wore
only his kilt of rough tartan.
The lords and ladies too stared at the tall handsome young
Highlander in his strange garments, and some, who did not know
him, forgot their good manners and smiled and nudged each other
as he passed down the room.
But the young laird had no thought to spare for the crowd. He was
making his way to the circle, in the midst of which stood Lizzie
Lindsay. He had heard too often of the beautiful maiden not to be
sure it was she as soon as his eyes fell upon her face.
Young Donald, in his homespun tartan, stood on the outskirt of
the little crowd that surrounded her, listening. The lords in
their gay suits were doing their utmost to win the goodwill of
the maiden, but their flattery and foolish words seemed to give
her little pleasure. Indeed she was too used to them to find them
aught but a weariness.
Soon Donald was bowing before the maiden he had left his home to
win, and begging her to dance with him. And something in the
bright eyes and gallant bearing of young Donald pleased the
petted maiden, and, despite his rough suit, she had nought but
smiles for the young stranger from the Highlands.
The lords, in their silks and velvets, opened their eyes wide in
astonishment as Lizzie glided past them with young Donald; the
ladies smiled and flouted her, but the maiden paid no heed to
their words or looks.
Donald was not flattering her as she was used to be flattered, he
was telling her of the country in which he dwelt. And Lizzie as
she listened heard the hum of the bees, smelt the fragrance of
the heather. Nay, she even forgot the ballroom, and she was out
on the silent moorland or climbing the steep mountains side by
side with the young stranger whose face was so eager, whose eyes
were so bright. She was stooping to pluck the wildflowers that
grew in the nooks of some sheltered glen, or she was kilting her
dainty gown and crossing the mountain streamlets, and ever the
tall, young stranger was by her side.
Before the ball was over Donald knew that Lizzie Lindsay's home
was in the Canongate, and he had begged to be allowed to see her
there.
Lizzie had no wish to lose sight of the bright young Highlander,
and she told him gaily that if he came to the Canongate to see
her he should be welcome, both to her and her dear father and
mother.
When the dance ended the young laird went to his lodgings, and
his heart was light and his dreams glad. His old father had
thought he might be in Edinburgh a year ere he won his bride. But
young Donald murmured to himself that it would scarce be twelve
long months before he was back again to the Highlands with his
bonny Lizzie Lindsay.
The next day Donald was at the Canongate betimes, and Lizzie
welcomed him merrily, and her father and mother looked in kindly
fashion at the young stranger, for indeed Donald had the gift of
winning hearts.
But neither father nor mother dreamed that the country clad
youth would win their beautiful daughter's hand, for had she not
refused it to many a lordly earl and noble knight.
Yet the more Lizzie heard about the Highlands, the more she
longed to be there with young Donald by her side.
At length a day came when Donald, with little fear and much hope
in his heart, asked the maiden if she would go with him to the
Highlands.
'We will feed on curds and whey,' cried the daring young Donald;
'your cheeks will grow more pink, and your brow more white with
our simple fare. Your bed shall be made on the fresh green
bracken and my plaid shall wrap you round. Will ye come to the
Highlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?'
Now Lizzie had listened to young Donald's words with joy, but
also with some fear. Her food had been of the daintiest, her bed
of the softest down, and the young stranger, who was indeed
scarce a stranger now, had, it seemed, but little to offer her
save his love. Yet Lizzie still wished to go to the Highlands.
[Illustration: 'Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie
Lindsay?']
But when Dame Lindsay heard what young Donald had said she
hardened her heart against the bonny young Highlander.