MINSTRELSY
OF THE
SCOTTISH BORDER:
CONSISTING OF
HISTORICAL AND ROMANTIC BALLADS,
COLLECTED
IN THE SOUTHERN COUNTIES OF SCOTLAND; WITH A FEW OF MODERN DATE, FOUNDED UPON LOCAL TRADITION.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.

The songs, to savage virtue dear,
That won of yore the public ear,
Ere Polity, sedate and sage,
Had quench'd the fires of feudal rage.—Warton.

THIRD EDITION.

EDINBURGH:

Printed by James Ballantyne and Co.

FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES AND ORME, PATERNOSTER-ROW, LONDON; AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH.

1806.

[CONTENTS]
TO
THE THIRD VOLUME.

MINSTRELSY
OF THE
SCOTTISH BORDER.
PART SECOND—CONTINUED.
ROMANTIC BALLADS.

[FAUSE FOODRAGE.]

King Easter has courted her for her lands,
King Wester for her fee;
King Honour for her comely face,
And for her fair bodie.

They had not been four months married,
As I have heard them tell,
Until the nobles of the land
Against them did rebel.

And they cast kevils[1] them amang,
And kevils them between;
And they cast kevils them amang,
Wha suld gae kill the king.

O some said yea, and some said nay,
Their words did not agree;
Till up and got him, Fause Foodrage,
And swore it suld be he.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound to bed,
King Honour and his gaye ladye
In a hie chamber were laid.

Then up and raise him, Fause Foodrage,
When a' were fast asleep,
And slew the porter in his lodge,
That watch and ward did keep.

O four and twenty silver keys
Hang hie upon a pin;
And aye, as ae door he did unlock,
He has fastened it him behind.

Then up and raise him, King Honour,
Says—"What means a' this din?
"Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage,
"Or wha has loot you in?"

"O ye my errand weel sall learn,
"Before that I depart."
Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp,
And pierced him to the heart.

Then up and got the queen hersell,
And fell low down on her knee:
"O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage!
"For I never injured thee.

"O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage,
"Until I lighter be!
"And see gin it be lad or lass,
"King Honour has left me wi'."

"O gin it be a lass," he says,
"Weel nursed it sall be;
"But gin it be a lad bairn,
"He sall be hanged hie.

"I winna spare for his tender age,
"Nor yet for his hie hie kin;
"But soon as e'er he born is,
"He sall mount the gallows pin."

O four and twenty valiant knights
Were set the queen to guard;
And four stood aye at her bour door,
To keep both watch and ward.

But when the time drew near an end,
That she suld lighter be,
She cast about to find a wile,
To set her body free.

O she has birled these merry young men
With the ale but and the wine,
Until they were as deadly drunk
As any wild wood swine.

"O narrow, narrow, is this window,
"And big, big, am I grown!"
Yet, through the might of Our Ladye,
Out at it she has gone.

She wandered up, she wandered down,
She wandered out and in;
And, at last, into the very swine's stythe,
The queen brought forth a son.

Then they cast kevils them amang,
Which suld gae seek the queen;
And the kevil fell upon Wise William,
And he sent his wife for him.

O when she saw Wise William's wife,
The queen fell on her knee;
"Win up, win up, madame!" she says:
"What needs this courtesie?"

"O out o' this I winna rise,
"Till a boon ye grant to me;
"To change your lass for this lad bairn,
"King Honour left me wi'.

"And ye maun learn my gay goss hawk
"Right weel to breast a steed;
"And I sall learn your turtle dow[2]
"As weel to write and read.

"And ye maun learn my gay goss hawk
"To wield baith bow and brand;
"And I sall learn your turtle dow
"To lay gowd[3] wi' her hand.

"At kirk and market when we meet,
"We'll dare make nae avowe,
"But—'Dame, how does my gay goss hawk?'
"Madame, how does my dow?"

When days were gane, and years came on,
Wise William he thought lang;
And he has ta'en King Honour's son
A hunting for to gang.

It sae fell out, at this hunting,
Upon a simmer's day,
That they came by a fair castell,
Stood on a sunny brae.

"O dinna ye see that bonny castell,
"Wi' halls and towers sae fair?
"Gin ilka man had back his ain,
"Of it ye suld be heir."

"How I suld be heir of that castell,
"In sooth I canna see;
"For it belangs to Fause Foodrage,
"And he is na kin to me."

"O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,
"You would do but what was right;
"For I wot he kill'd your father dear,
"Or ever ye saw the light.

"And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,
"There is no man durst you blame;
"For he keeps your mother a prisoner,
"And she darna take ye hame."

The boy stared wild like a gray goss hawk:
Says—"What may a' this mean?"
"My boy, ye are King Honour's son,
"And your mother's our lawful queen."

"O gin I be king Honour's son,
"By Our Ladye I swear,
"This night I will that traitor slay,
"And relieve my mother dear!"

He has set his bent bow to his breast,
And leaped the castell wa';
And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage,
Wha loud for help 'gan ca'.

"O haud your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage!
"Frae me ye shanna flee."
Syne pierc'd him thro' the fause fause heart,
And set his mother free.

And he has rewarded Wise William
Wi' the best half of his land;
And sae has he the turtle dow,
Wi' the truth o' his right hand.

NOTES
ON
FAUSE FOODRAGE.

King Easter has courted her for her lands,
King Wester for her fee;
King Honour, &c.—P. [4]. v. 1.

King Easter and King Wester were probably the petty princes of Northumberland and Westmoreland. In the Complaynt of Scotland, an ancient romance is mentioned, under the title, "How the king of Estmureland married the king's daughter of Westmureland," which may possibly be the original of the beautiful legend of King Estmere, in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, Vol. I. p. 62 4th edit. From this it may be conjectured, with some degree of plausibility, that the independent kingdoms of the east and west coast were, at an early period, thus denominated, according to the Saxon mode of naming districts, from their relative positions; as Essex, Wessex, Sussex. But the geography of the metrical romances sets all system at defiance; and in some of these, as Clariodus and Meliades, Estmureland undoubtedly signifies the land of the Easterlings, or the Flemish provinces at which vessels arrived in three days from England, and to which they are represented as exporting wool.—Vide Notes on the Tale of Kempion. On this subject I have, since publication of the first edition, been favoured with the following remarks by Mr Ritson, in opposition to the opinion above expressed:—

"Estmureland and Westmureland have no sort of relation to Northumberland and Westmoreland. The former was never called Eastmoreland, nor were there ever any kings of Westmoreland; unless we admit the authority of an old rhyme, cited by Usher:—

"Here the king Westmer
"Slow the king Rothinger."

"There is, likewise, a 'king Estmere, of Spain,' in one of Percy's ballads.

"In the old metrical romance of Kyng Horn, or Horn Child, we find both Westnesse and Estnesse; and it is somewhat singular, that two places, so called, actually exist in Yorkshire at this day. But ness, in that quarter, is the name given to an inlet from a river. There is, however, great confusion in this poem, as Horn is called king sometimes of one country, and sometimes of the other. In the French original, Westir is said to have been the old name of Hirland, or Ireland; which, occasionally at least, is called Westnesse, in the translation, in which Britain is named Sudene; but here, again, it is inconsistent and confused.

"It is, at any rate, highly probable, that the story, cited in the Complaynt of Scotland, was a romance of King Horn, whether prose or verse; and, consequently, that Estmureland and Westmureland should there mean England and Ireland; though it is possible that no other instance can be found of those two names occurring with the same sense."

And they cast kevils them amang.—P. [4]. v. 3.

Kevils—Lots. Both words originally meant only a portion, or share, of any thing.—Leges Burgorum, cap. 59, de lot, cut, or kavil. Statuta Gildæ, cap. 20. Nullus emat lanam, &c. nisi fuerit confrater Gildæ, &c. Neque lot neque cavil habeat cum aliquo confratre nostro. In both these laws, lot and cavil signify a share in trade.

Dame, how does my gay goss hawk?—P. [9]. v. 1.

This metaphorical language was customary among the northern nations. In 925, king Adelstein sent an embassy to Harald Harfagar, king of Norway, the chief of which presented that prince with an elegant sword, ornamented with precious stones. As it was presented by the point, the Norwegian chief, in receiving it, unwarily laid hold of the hilt. The English ambassador declared, in the name of his master, that he accepted the act as a deed of homage; for, touching the hilt of a warrior's sword was regarded as an acknowledgement of subjection. The Norwegian prince, resolving to circumvent his rival by a similar artifice, suppressed his resentment, and sent, next summer, an embassy to Adelstein, the chief of which presented Haco, the son of Harald, to the English prince; and, placing him on his knees, made the following declaration:—"Haraldus, Normannorum rex, amice te salutat; albamque hunc avem, bene institutam mittit, utque melius deinceps erudias, postulat." The king received young Haco on his knees; which the Norwegian ambassador immediately accepted, in the name of his master, as a declaration of inferiority; according to the proverb, "Is minor semper habetur, qui alterius filium educat."—Pontoppidani Vestigia Danor. Vol. II. p. 67.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Kevils—Lots.

[2] Dow—Dove.

[3] Lay gowd—To embroider in gold.

[KEMPION.]

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED

The tale of Kempion seems, from the names of the personages, and the nature of the adventure, to have been an old metrical romance, degraded into a ballad, by the lapse of time, and the corruption of reciters. The change in the structure of the last verses, from the common ballad stanza, to that which is proper to the metrical romance, adds force to this conjecture.

Such transformations, as the song narrates, are common in the annals of chivalry. In the 25th and 26th cantos of the second book of the Orlando Inamorato, the paladin, Brandimarte, after surmounting many obstacles, penetrates into the recesses of an enchanted palace. Here he finds a fair damsel, seated upon a tomb, who announces to him, that, in order to achieve her deliverance, he must raise the lid of the sepulchre, and kiss whatever being should issue forth. The knight, having pledged his faith, proceeds to open the tomb, out of which a monstrous snake issues forth, with a tremendous hiss. Brandimarte, with much reluctance, fulfils the bizarre conditions of the adventure; and the monster is instantly changed into a beautiful Fairy, who loads her deliverer with benefits. For the satisfaction of those, who may wish to compare the tale of the Italian poet with that of Kempion, a part of the original of Boiardo is given below.[4]

There is a ballad, somewhat resembling Kempion, called the Laidley Worm of Spindleston-heuch, which is very popular upon the borders; but, having been often published, it was thought unnecessary to insert it in this collection. The most common version was either entirely composed, or re-written, by the Reverend Mr Lamb, of Norham.

A similar tradition is, by Heywood and Delrio, said to have existed at Basil. A tailor, in an adventurous mood, chose to descend into an obscure cavern, in the vicinity of the city. After many windings, he came to an iron door, through which he passed into a splendid chamber. Here he found, seated upon a stately throne, a lady, whose countenance was surprisingly beautiful, but whose shape terminated in a dragon's train, which wrapped around the chair on which she was placed. Before her stood a brazen chest, trebly barred and bolted; at each end of which lay couched a huge black ban-dog, who rose up, as if to tear the intruder in pieces. But the lady appeased them; and, opening the chest, displayed an immense treasure, out of which she bestowed upon the visitor some small pieces of money, informing him, that she was enchanted by her step-dame, but should recover her natural shape, on being kissed thrice by a mortal. The tailor assayed to fulfil the conditions of the adventure; but her face assumed such an altered, wild, and grim expression, that his courage failed, and he was fain to fly from the place. A kinsman of his, some years after, penetrated into the cavern, with the purpose of repairing a desperate fortune. But, finding nothing but dead men's bones, he ran mad, and died. Sir John Mandeville tells a similar story of a Grecian island.

There are numerous traditions, upon the borders, concerning huge and destructive snakes, and also of a poisonous reptile called a man-keeper; although the common adder, and blind worm, are the only reptiles of that genus now known to haunt our wilds. Whether it be possible, that, at an early period, before the country was drained, and cleared of wood, serpents of a larger size may have existed, is a question which the editor leaves to the naturalist. But, not to mention the fabulous dragon, slain in Northumberland by Sir Bevis, the fame still survives of many a preux chevalier, supposed to have distinguished himself by similar atchievements.

The manor of Sockburne, in the bishopric of Durham, anciently the seat of the family of Conyers, or Cogniers, is held of the bishop by the service of presenting, or showing to him, upon his first entrance into his diocese, an antique sword, or faulchion. The origin of this peculiar service is thus stated in Beckwith's edition of Blount's Ancient Tenures, p. 200.

"Sir Edward Blackett (the proprietor of the manor) now represents the person of Sir John Conyers, who, as tradition says, in the fields of Sockburne, slew, with this faulchion, a monstrous creature, a dragon, a worm, or flying serpent, that devoured men, women, and children. The then owner of Sockburne, as a reward for his bravery, gave him the manor, with its appurtenances, to hold for ever, on condition that he meets the lord bishop of Durham, with this faulchion, on his first entrance into his diocese, after his election to that see.

"And, in confirmation of this tradition, there is painted, in a window of Sockburne church, the faulchion we just now spoke of: and it is also cut in marble, upon the tomb of the great ancestor of the Conyers', together with a dog, and the monstrous worm, or serpent, lying at his feet, of his own killing, of which the history of the family gives the above account.

"When the bishop first comes into his diocese, he crosses the river Tees, either at the ford at Nesham, or Croft-bridge, where the counties of York and Durham divide; at one of which places Sir Edward Blackett, either in person, or by his representative, if the bishop comes by Nesham, rides into the middle of the river Tees, with the ancient faulchion drawn in his hand, or upon the middle of Croft-bridge; and then presents the faulchion to the bishop, addressing him in the ancient form of words; upon which the bishop takes the faulchion into his hand, looks at it, and returns it back again, wishing the lord of the manor his health, and the enjoyment of his estate." The faulchion, above alluded to, has upon its hilt the arms of England, in the reign of King John, and an eagle, supposed to be the ensign of Morcar, earl of Northumberland.—Gough's Camden's Britannia, Vol. III. p. 114. Mr Gough, with great appearance of probability, conjectures, the dragon, engraved on the tomb, to be an emblematical, or heraldric ornament.

The property, called Pollard's Lands, near Bishop Auckland, is held by a similar tenure; and we are informed, in the work just quoted, that "Dr Johnson of Newcastle met the present bishop, Dr Egerton, in September, 1771, at his first arrival there, and presented a faulchion upon his knee, and addressed him in the old form of words, saying,

"My lord, in behalf of myself, as well as of the several other tenants of Pollard's Lands, I do humbly present your lordship with this faulchion, at your first coming here, wherewith, as the tradition goeth, Pollard slew of old a great and venomous serpent, which did much harm to man and beast: and, by the performance of this service, these lands are holden."—Ancient Tenures, p. 201.

Above the south entrance of the ancient parish church of Linton, in Roxburghshire, is a rude piece of sculpture, representing a knight, with a falcon on his arm, encountering with his lance, in full career, a sort of monster, which the common people call a worm, or snake. Tradition bears, that this animal inhabited a den, or hollow, at some distance from the church, whence it was wont to issue forth, and ravage the country, or, by the fascination of its eyes and breath, draw its prey into its jaws. Large rewards were in vain offered for the destruction of this monster, which had grown to so huge a bulk, that it used to twist itself, in spiral folds, round a green hillock of considerable height, still called Wormeston, and marked by a clump of trees. When sleeping in this place, with its mouth open, popular credulity affirms, that it was slain by the laird of Lariston, a man, brave even to madness, who, coming upon the snake at full gallop, thrust down its throat a peat (a piece of turf dried for fuel), dipt in scalding pitch, and fixed to the point of his lance. The aromatic quality of the peat is said to have preserved the champion from the effects of the monster's poisonous breath, while, at the same time, it clogged its jaws. In dying, the serpent contracted his folds with so much violence, that their spiral impression is still discernible round the hillock where it lay. The noble family of Somerville are said to be descended from this adventurous knight, in memory of whose atchievement, they bear a dragon as their crest.

The sculpture itself gives no countenance to this fine story; for the animal, whom the knight appears to be in the act of slaying, has no resemblance to a serpent, but rather to a wolf, or boar, with which the neighbouring Cheviot mountains must in early times have abounded;[6] and there remain vestiges of another monster, of the same species, attacking the horse of the champion. An inscription, which might have thrown light upon this exploit, is now totally defaced. The vulgar, adapting it to their own tradition, tell us that it ran thus:

The wode laird of Lariestoun
Slew the wode worm of Wormiestoune,
And wan all Linton paroschine.

It is most probable, that the animal, destroyed by the ancestor of Lord Somerville, was one of those beasts of prey, by which Caledonia was formerly infested; but which, now,

Razed out of all her woods, as trophies hung,
Grin high emblazon'd on her children's shields.

Since publishing the first edition of this work, I have found the following account of Somerville's atchievement, in a MS. of some antiquity:

"John Somerville (son to Roger de Somerville, baron of Whichenever, in Staffordshire) was made, by King William (the Lion), his principal falconer, and got from that king the lands and baronie of Linton, in Tiviotdale, for an extraordinarie and valiant action; which, according to the manuscript of the family of Drum, was thus: In the parochen of Lintoun, within the sheriffdom of Roxburgh, there happened to breed a monster, in form of a serpent, or worme; in length, three Scots yards, and somewhat bigger than an ordinarie man's leg, with a head more proportionable to its length than greatness. It had its den in a hollow piece of ground, a mile south-east from Lintoun church; it destroyed both men and beast that came in its way. Several attempts were made to destroy it, by shooting of arrows, and throwing of darts, none daring to approach so near as to make use of a sword or lance. John Somerville undertakes to kill it, and being well mounted, and attended with a stout servant, he cam, before the sun-rising, before the dragon's den, having prepared some long, small, and hard peats (bog-turf dried for fuel), be-dabbed with pitch, rosette, and brimstone, fixed with small wire upon a wheel, at the point of his lance: these, being touched with fire, would instantly break out into flames; and, there being a breath of air, that served to his purpose, about the sun-rising, the serpent, dragon, or worme, so called by tradition, appeared with her head, and some part of her body, without the den; whereupon his servant set fire to the peats upon the wheel, at the top of the lance, and John Somerville, advancing with a full gallop, thrust the same with the wheel, and a great part of the lance, directly into the serpent's mouthe, which wente down its throat, into the belly, and was left there, the lance breaking by the rebounding of the horse, and giving a deadly wound to the dragoun; for which action he was knighted by King William; and his effigies was cut in ston in the posture he performed this actione, and placed above the principal church door of Lintoun, where it is yet to be seen, with his name and sirname: and the place, where this monster was killed, is at this day called, by the common people, who have the foresaid story by tradition, the Wormes Glen. And further to perpetuate this actione, the barons of Lintoun, Cowthally, and Drum, did always carry for crest, a wheel, and thereon a dragoun." Extracted from a genealogical MS. in the Advocates' Library, written about 1680. The falcon on the champion's arm, in the monument, may be supposed to allude to his office of falconer to William of Scotland.

The ballad of Kempion is given chiefly from Mrs Brown's MS., with corrections from a recited fragment.

KEMPION.

"Cum heir, cum heir, ye freely feed,
"And lay your head low on my knee;
"The heaviest weird I will you read,
"That ever was read to gaye ladye.

"O meikle dolour sall ye dree,
"And aye the salt seas o'er ye'se swim;
"And far mair dolour sall ye dree
"On Estmere crags, when ye them climb.

"I weird ye to a fiery beast,
"And relieved sall ye never be,
"Till Kempion, the kingis son,
"Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss thee."

O meikle dolour did she dree,
And aye the salt seas o'er she swam;
And far mair dolour did she dree
On Estmere crags, e'er she them clamb.

And aye she cried for Kempion,
Gin he would but cum to her hand:
Now word has gane to Kempion,
That sicken a beast was in his land.

"Now, by my sooth," said Kempion,
"This fiery beast I'll gang and see."
"And, by my sooth," said Segramour,
"My ae brother, I'll gang wi' thee."

Then bigged hae they a bonny boat,
And they hae set her to the sea;
But a mile before they reached the shore,
Around them she gar'd the red fire flee.

"O Segramour, keep the boat afloat,
"And lat her na the land o'er near;
"For this wicked beast will sure gae mad,
"And set fire to a' the land and mair."

Syne has he bent an arblast bow,
And aim'd an arrow at her head;
And swore if she didna quit the land,
Wi' that same shaft to shoot her dead.

"O out of my stythe I winna rise,
"(And it is not for the awe o' thee)
"Till Kempion, the kingis son,
"Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."

He has louted him o'er the dizzy crag,
And gien the monster kisses ane:
Awa she gaed, and again she cam,
The fieryest beast that ever was seen.

"O out o' my stythe I winna rise,
"(And not for a' thy bow nor thee)
"Till Kempion, the kingis son,
"Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the Estmere crags,
And he has gien her kisses twa:
Awa she gaed, and again she cam,
The fieryest beast that ever you saw.

"O out of my den I winna rise,
"Nor flee it for the fear o' thee,
"Till Kempion, that courteous knight,
"Cum to the crag, and thrice kiss me."

He's louted him o'er the lofty crag,
And he has gien her kisses three:
Awa she gaed, and again she cam,
The loveliest ladye e'er could be!

"And by my sooth," says Kempion,
"My ain true love (for this is she)
"They surely had a heart o' stane,
"Could put thee to such misery.

"O was it warwolf in the wood?
"Or was it mermaid in the sea?
"Or was it man, or vile woman,
"My ain true love, that mishaped thee?"

"It was na warwolf in the wood,
"Nor was it mermaid in the sea;
"But it was my wicked step-mother,
"And wae and weary may she be!"

"O a heavier weird[7] shall light her on,
"Than ever fell on vile woman;
"Her hair shall grow rough, and her teeth grow lang,
"And on her four feet shall she gang.

"None shall take pity her upon;
"In Wormeswood she aye shall won;
"And relieved shall she never be,
"Till St Mungo[8] come over the sea."
And sighing said that weary wight,
"I doubt that day I'll never see!"

NOTES
ON
KEMPION.

On Estmere crags, when ye them climb.—P. [26]. v. 2.

If by Estmere crags we are to understand the rocky cliffs of Northumberland, in opposition to Westmoreland, we may bring our scene of action near Bamborough, and thereby almost identify the tale of Kempion with that of the Laidley Worm of Spindleston, to which it bears so strong a resemblance.

I weird ye to a fiery beast.—P. [26]. v. 3.

Our ideas of dragons and serpents are probably derived from the Scandinavians. The legends of Regnar Lodbrog, and of the huge snake in the Edda, by whose folds the world is encircled, are well known. Griffins and dragons were fabled, by the Danes, as watching over, and defending, hoards of gold.—Bartholin. de caus. cont. mortis, p. 490. Saxo Grammaticus, lib. 2. The Edda also mentions one Fafner, who, transformed into a serpent, brooded over his hidden treasures. From these authorities, and that of Herodotus, our Milton draws his simile—

As when a Gryphon, through the wilderness,
With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale,
Pursues the Arimaspian, who, by stealth,
Had from his wakeful custody purloin'd
The guarded gold.

O was it warwolf in the wood?—P. [29]. v. 4.

Warwolf, or Lycanthropus, signifies a magician, possessing the power of transforming himself into a wolf, for the purpose of ravage and devastation. It is probable the word was first used symbolically, to distinguish those, who, by means of intoxicating herbs, could work their passions into a frantic state, and throw themselves upon their enemies with the fury and temerity of ravenous wolves. Such were the noted Berserker of the Scandinavians, who, in their fits of voluntary frenzy, were wont to perform the most astonishing exploits of strength, and to perpetrate the most horrible excesses, although, in their natural state, they neither were capable of greater crimes nor exertions than ordinary men. This quality they ascribed to Odin. "Odinus efficere valuit, ut hostes ipsius inter bellandum cæci vel surdi vel attoniti fierent, armaque illorum instar baculorum obtusa essent. Sui vero milites sine loricis incedebant, ac instar canum vel luporum furebant, scuta sua arrodentes: et robusti ut ursi vel tauri, adversarios trucidabant: ipsis vero neque ignis neque ferrum nocuit. Ea qualitas vocatur furor Berserkicus."—Snorro Sturleson, quoted by Bartholin. de causis contemptæ mortis, p. 344. For a fuller account of these frantic champions, see the Hervorar Saga published by Suhm; also the Christni Saga, and most of the ancient Norwegian histories and romances. Camden explains the tales of the Irish, concerning men transformed into wolves, upon nearly the same principle.—Gough's edition of Camden's Britannia, Vol. III. p. 520.

But, in process of time, the transformation into a wolf was believed to be real, and to affect the body as well as the mind; and to such transformations our faithful Gervase of Tilbury bears evidence, as an eye-witness. "Vidimus frequenter in Anglia per lunationes homines in lupos mutari, quod hominum genus Gerulfos Galli vocunt, Angli vero WER-WLF dicunt. Wer enim Anglice virum sonat, WLF lupum." Ot. Imp. De oculis apertis post peccatum. The learned commentators, upon the art of sorcery, differ widely concerning the manner in which the arch fiend effects this change upon the persons of his vassals; whether by surrounding their bodies with a sort of pellice of condensed air, having the form of an wolf; or whether by some delusion, affecting the eyes of the spectators; or, finally, by an actual corporeal transformation. The curious reader may consult Delrii Disquisitiones Magicæ, p. 188; and (if he pleases) Evvichius de natura Sagarum.—Fincelius, lib. 2. de Mirac.—Remigius. lib. 2. de Dæmonolat.—Binsfeld. de confession, maleficarum. Not to mention Spondanus, Bodinus, Peucerus, Philippus Camerarius, Condronchus, Petrus Thyræus, Bartholomeus Spineus, Sir George Mackenzie, and King James I., with the sapient Monsieur Oufle of Bayle. The editor presumes, it is only since the extirpation of wolves, that our British sorceresses have adopted the disguise of hares, cats, and such more familiar animals.

A wild story of a warwolf, or rather a war-bear, is told in Torfœus' History of Hrolfe Kraka. As the original is a scarce book, little known in this country, some readers may be interested by a short analysis of the tale.

Hringo, king of Upland, had an only son, called Biorno, the most beautiful and most gallant of the Norwegian youth. At an advanced period of life, the king became enamoured of a "witch lady," whom he chose for his second wife. A mutual and tender affection had, from infancy, subsisted betwixt Biorno, and Bera, the lovely daughter of an ancient warrior. But the new queen cast upon her step-son an eye of incestuous passion; to gratify which, she prevailed upon her husband, when he set out upon one of those piratical expeditions, which formed the summer campaign of a Scandinavian monarch, to leave the prince at home. In the absence of Hringo, she communicated to Biorno her impure affection, and was repulsed with disdain and violence. The rage of the weird step-mother was boundless. "Hence to the woods!" she exclaimed, striking the prince with a glove of wolf-skin; "Hence to the woods! subsist only on thy father's herds; live pursuing, and die pursued!" From this time the prince Biorno was no more seen, and the herdsmen of the king's cattle soon observed, that astonishing devastation was nightly made among their flocks, by a black bear, of immense size, and unusual ferocity. Every attempt to snare or destroy this animal was found vain; and much was the unavailing regret for the absence of Biorno, whose delight had been in extirpating beasts of prey. Bera, the faithful mistress of the young prince, added her tears to the sorrow of the people. As she was indulging her melancholy, apart from society, she was alarmed by the approach of the monstrous bear, which was the dread of the whole country. Unable to escape, she waited its approach, in expectation of instant death; when, to her astonishment, the animal fawned upon her, rolled himself at her feet, and regarded her with eyes, in which, spite of the horrible transformation, she still recognized the glances of her lost lover. Bera had the courage to follow the bear to his cavern, where, during certain hours, the spell permitted him to resume his human shape. Her love overcame her repugnance at so strange a mode of life, and she continued to inhabit the cavern of Biorno, enjoying his society during the periods of his freedom from enchantment. One day, looking sadly upon his wife, "Bera," said the prince, "the end of my life approaches. My flesh will soon serve for the repast of my father and his courtiers. But, do thou beware lest either the threats or entreaties of my diabolical step-mother induce thee to partake of the horrid banquet. So shalt thou safely bring forth three sons, who shall be the wonder of the North." The spell now operated, and the unfortunate prince sallied from his cavern to prowl among the herds. Bera followed him, weeping, and at a distance. The clamour of the chace was now heard. It was the old king, who, returned from his piratical excursion, had collected a strong force to destroy the devouring animal which ravaged his country. The poor bear defended himself gallantly, slaying many dogs, and some huntsmen. At length, wearied out, he sought protection at the feet of his father. But his supplicating gestures were in vain, and the eyes of paternal affection proved more dull than those of love. Biorno died by the lance of his father, and his flesh was prepared for the royal banquet. Bera was recognised, and hurried into the queen's presence. The sorceress, as Biorno had predicted, endeavoured to prevail upon Bera to eat of what was then esteemed a regal dainty. Entreaties and threats being in vain, force was, by the queen's command, employed for this purpose, and Bera was compelled to swallow one morsel of the bear's flesh. A second was put into her mouth, but she had an opportunity of putting it aside. She was then dismissed to her father's house. Here, in process of time, she was delivered of three sons, two of whom were affected variously, in person and disposition, by the share their mother had been compelled to take in the feast of the king. The eldest, from his middle downwards, resembled an elk, whence he derived the name of Elgfrod. He proved a man of uncommon strength, but of savage manners, and adopted the profession of a robber. Thorer, the second son of Bera, was handsome and well shaped, saving that he had the foot of a dog; from which he obtained the appellation of Houndsfoot. But Bodvar, the third son, was a model of perfection in mind and body. He revenged upon the necromantic queen the death of his father, and became the most celebrated champion of his age.

Historia Hrolfi Krakæ, Haffniæ, 1715.

FOOTNOTES:

[4]

Poich' ebbe il verso Brandimarte letto,
La lapida pesante in aria alzava:
Ecco fuor una serpe insin' al petto,
La qual, forte stridendo, zufolava,
Di spaventoso, e terribil' aspetto,
A prendo il muso gran denti mostrava,
De' quali il cavalier non si fidando,
Si trasse a dietro, et mise mano al brando.

Ma quella Donna gridava "non fate"
Col viso smorto, e grido tremebondo,
"Non far, che ci farai pericolare,
E cadrem' tutti quanti nel profondo:
A te convien quella serpe baciare,
O far pensier di non esser' al Mondo,
Accostar la tua bocca con la sua,
O perduta tener la vita tua."

"Come? non vedi, che i denti degrigna,
Che pajon fatti a posta a spiccar' nasi,
E fammi un certo viso de matrigna,"
Disse il Guerrier, "ch'io me spavento quassi."
"Anzi t' invita con faccia benigna;"
Disse la Donna, "e molti altri rimasi
Per vilta sono a questa sepolture:
Or la t' accosta, e non aver paura."

Il cavalier s' accosta, ma di passo,
Che troppo grato quel baciar non gli era,
Verso la serpe chinandosi basso,
Gli parvo tanto orrenda, e tanto fera,
Che venne in viso freddo, com' un sasso;
E disse "si fortuna vuol' ch'io pera,
Fia tanto un altra volta, quanto addeso
Ma cagion dar non me ne voglio io stesso."

"Fuss' io certo d'andare in paradiso,
Come son' certo, chinandomi un poco,
Che quella bestia mi s'avvento al viso,
E mi piglia nel naso, o altro loco:
Egli e proprio cosi, com' io m'avviso,
Ch' altri ch'io stato e colto a questo gioco,
E che costei mi da questo conforto
Per vindicarsi di colui, ch'ho morto."[5]

Cosi dicendo, a rinculare attende,
Deliberato piu non s'accostare:
La Donna si dispera, e lo reprende,
"Ah codardo," dicea, "che credi fare?
Perche tanta vilta, l'alma t'offende,
Che ti fara alla fin mal capitare?
Infinita paura e poca fede,
La salute gli mostro, e non mi crede."

Punto il Guerrier de questi agre parole,
Torna de nuovo ver la sepoltura,
Tinsegli in rose il color de viole,
In vergogna mutata la paura:
Pur stando ancor' fra due, vuole, e non vuole,
Un pensier lo spaventa, un l'assicura
Al fin tra l'animoso, e'l disperato,
A lei s'accosta, ed halle un bacio dato.

Un ghiaccio proprio gli parse a toccare
La bocca, che parea prima di foco:
La serpe se commincia a tramutare
E diventa donzella a poco a poco:
Febosilla costei si fa chiamare,
Un fata, che fece quel bel loco,
E quel giardino, e quella sepoltura,
Ove gran tempo e stato in pena dura, &c.

[5] Un cavalier occiso per Brandimarte nel entrare del palazzo incantato.

[6] An altar, dedicated to Sylvan Mars, was found in a glen in Weardale, in the bishopric of Durham. From the following votive inscription, it appears to have been erected by C. T. V. Micianus, a Roman general, upon taking an immense boar, which none of his predecessors could destroy:

"Silvano invicto sacrum. C. Tetius Veturius Micianus Præf. Alae Sebosinae ob aprum eximiæ formæ captum, quem multi antecessores ejus prædari non potuerunt, Votum solvens lubenter possuit."

Lamb's Notes on Battle of Flodden, 1774, p. 67.

[7] Weird—From the German auxiliary verb werden, "to become."

[8] St Mungo—Saint Kentigern.

[LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNIE.]

NOW

FIRST PUBLISHED IN A PERFECT STATE.

This ballad is now, for the first time, published in a perfect state. A fragment, comprehending the 2d, 4th, 5th, and 6th verses, as also the 17th, has appeared in several collections. The present copy is chiefly taken from the recitation of an old woman, residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian; the same from whom were obtained the variations in the tale of Tamlane, and the fragment of the Wife of Usher's Well, which is the next in order.

The tale is much the same with the Breton romance, called Lay le Frain, or the Song of the Ash. Indeed, the editor is convinced, that the farther our researches are extended, the more we shall see ground to believe, that the romantic ballads of later times are, for the most part, abridgments of the ancient metrical romances, narrated in a smoother stanza, and more modern language. A copy of the ancient romance, alluded to, is preserved in the invaluable collection (W. 4. 1.) of the Advocates' Library, and begins thus:

We redeth oft and findeth ywrite
And this clerkes wele it wite
Layes that ben in harping
Ben yfound of ferli thing
Sum beth of wer and sum of wo
Sum of joye and mirthe also
And sum of trecherie and of gile
Of old aventours that fel while
And sum of bourdes and ribaudy
And many ther beth of faery
Of al thinges that men seth
Maist o' love forsoth yai beth

In Breteyne bi hold time
This layes were wrought so seithe this rime
When kinges might our y here
Of ani mervailes that ther wer
They token a harp in glee and game
And maked a lay and gaf it name
Now of this aventours that weren y falle
Y can tel sum ac nought alle
Ac herkeneth Lordinges sothe to sain
I chil you tel Lay le Frain
Bifel a cas in Breteyne
Whereof was made Lay le Frain
In Ingliche for to tellen y wis
Of ane asche forsothe it is
On ane ensammple fair with alle
That sum time was bi falle &c.

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNIE.

"Its narrow, narrow, make your bed,
"And learn to lie your lane;
"For I'm ga'n o'er the sea, Fair Annie,
"A braw bride to bring hame.
"Wi' her I will get gowd and gear;
"Wi' you I ne'er got nane.

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
"Or brew my bridal ale?
"And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
"That I bring o'er the dale?"

"Its I will bake your bridal bread,
"And brew your bridal ale;
"And I will welcome your brisk bride,
"That you bring o'er the dale."

"But she that welcomes my brisk bride,
"Maun gang like maiden fair;
"She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
"And braid her yellow hair."

"But how can I gang maiden-like,
"When maiden I am nane?
"Have I not borne seven sons to thee,
"And am with child again?"

She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
Another in her hand;
And she's up to the highest tower,
To see him come to land.

"Come up, come up, my eldest son,
"And look o'er yon sea-strand,
"And see your father's new-come bride,
"Before she come to land."

"Come down, come down, my mother dear!
"Come frae the castle-wa'!
"I fear, if langer ye stand there,
"Ye'll let yoursell down fa'."

And she gaed down, and farther down,
Her love's ship for to see;
And the top-mast and the main-mast
Shone like the silver free.

And she's gane down, and farther down,
The bride's ship to behold;
And the top-mast and the main-mast
They shone just like the gold.

She's ta'en her seven sons in her hand;
I wot she didna fail!
She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
As they cam o'er the dale.

"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas;
"You're welcome to your land;
"You're welcome, with your fair ladye,
"That you lead by the hand.

"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye;
"You're welcome to your bowers;
"You're welcome to your hame, ladye:
"For a' that's here is yours."

"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie;
"Sae dearly as I thank thee;
"You're the likest to my sister, Annie,
"That ever I did see.

"There came a knight out o'er the sea,
"And steal'd my sister away;
"The shame scoup[9] in his company,
"And land where'er he gae!"

She hang ae napkin at the door,
Another in the ha';
And a' to wipe the trickling tears,
Sae fast as they did fa'.

And aye she served the lang tables,
With white bread and with wine;
And aye she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine.[10]

And aye she served the lang tables,
With white bread and with brown;
And aye she turned her round about,
Sae fast the tears fall down.

And he's ta'en down the silk napkin,
Hung on a silver pin;
And aye he wipes the tear trickling
Adown her cheik and chin.

And aye he turned him round about,
And smil'd amang his men:
Says—"Like ye best the old ladye,
"Or her that's new come hame?"

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound to bed,
Lord Thomas and his new-come bride,
To their chamber they were gaed.

Annie made her bed a little forebye,
To hear what they might say;
"And ever alas!" fair Annie cried,
"That I should see this day!

"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,
"Running on the castle-wa',
"And I were a grey cat mysell!
"I soon would worry them a'.

"Gin my seven sons were seven young hares,
"Running o'er yon lilly lee,
"And I were a grew hound mysell!
"Soon worried they a' should be."

And wae and sad fair Annie sat,
And drearie was her sang;
And ever, as she sobb'd and grat,
"Wae to the man that did the wrang!"

"My gown is on," said the new-come bride,
"My shoes are on my feet,
"And I will to fair Annie's chamber,
"And see what gars her greet.

"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,
"That ye make sic a moan?
"Has your wine barrels cast the girds,
"Or is your white bread gone?

"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
"Or wha was't was your mother?
"And had ye ony sister, Annie,
"Or had ye ony brother?"

"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
"The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
"And a' the folk about the house,
"To me were sister and brother."

"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
"I wot sae was he mine;
"And it shall not be for lack o' gowd,
"That ye your love sall tyne.

"For I have seven ships o' mine ain,
"A' loaded to the brim;
"And I will gie them a' to thee,
"Wi' four to thine eldest son.
"But thanks to a' the powers in heaven,
"That I gae maiden hame!"

FOOTNOTES:

[9] Scoup—Go, or rather fly.

[10] To keep her from changing countenance.

[THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.]

A FRAGMENT.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them o'er the sea.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
Whan word came to the carline wife,
That her three sons were gane.

They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carline wife,
That her sons she'd never see.

"I wish the wind may never cease,
"Nor fishes in the flood,
"Till my three sons come hame to me,
"In earthly flesh and blood!"

It fell about the Martinmass,
Whan nights are lang and mirk,
The carline wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o' the birk.

It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o' Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.

"Blow up the fire, my maidens!
"Bring water from the well!
"For a' my house shall feast this night,
"Since my three sons are well."

And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide;
And she's ta'en her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

then crew the red red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
"'Tis time we were away."

The cock he hadna craw'd but once,
And clapp'd his wings at a',
Whan the youngest to the eldest said,
"Brother, we must awa.

"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
"The channerin'[11] worm doth chide;
"Gin we be mist out o' our place,
"A sair pain we maun bide.

"Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
"Fareweel to barn and byre!
"And fare ye weel, the bonny lass,
"That kindles my mother's fire."

NOTES
ON
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL.

I wish the wind may never cease, &c.—P. [46]. v. 2.

The sense of this verse is obscure, owing, probably, to corruption by reciters. It would appear, that the mother had sinned in the same degree with the celebrated Lenoré.

And their hats were o' the birk.—P. [46]. v. 3.

The notion, that the souls of the blessed wear garlands, seems to be of Jewish origin. At least, in the Maase-book, there is a Rabbinical tradition, to the following effect:—

"It fell out, that a Jew, whose name was Ponim, an ancient man, whose business was altogether about the dead, coming to the door of the school, saw one standing there, who had a garland upon his head. Then was Rabbi Ponim afraid, imagining it was a spirit. Whereupon he, whom the Rabbi saw, called out to him, saying, 'Be not afraid, but pass forward. Dost thou not know me?' Then said Rabbi Ponim, 'Art not thou he whom I buried yesterday?' And he was answered, 'Yea, I am he.' Upon which Rabbi Ponim said, 'Why comest thou hither? How fareth it with thee in the other world?' And the apparition made answer, 'It goeth well with me, and I am in high esteem in paradise.' Then said the Rabbi, 'Thou wert but looked upon in the world as an insignificant Jew. What good work didst thou do, that thou art thus esteemed?' The apparition answered, 'I will tell thee: the reason of the esteem I am in, is, that I rose every morning early, and with fervency uttered my prayer, and offered the grace from the bottom of my heart: for which reason I now pronounce grace in paradise, and am well respected. If thou doubtest whether I am the person, I will show thee a token that shall convince thee of it. Yesterday, when thou didst clothe me in my funeral attire, thou didst tear my sleeve.' Then asked Rabbi Ponim, 'What is the meaning of that garland?' The apparition answered, 'I wear it, to the end the wind of the world may not have power over me; for it consists of excellent herbs of paradise.' Then did Rabbi Ponim mend the sleeve of the deceased: for the deceased had said, that if it was not mended, he should be ashamed to be seen amongst others, whose apparel was whole. And then the apparition vanished. Wherefore, let every one utter his prayer with fervency; for then it shall go well with him in the other world. And let care be taken that no rent, nor tearing, be left in the apparel in which the deceased are interred."—Jewish Traditions, abridged from Buxtorf, London, 1732, Vol. II. p. 19.

Gin we be mist out o' our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.—P. [48]. v. 1.

This will remind the German reader of the comic adieu of a heavenly apparition:—

Doch sieh! man schliesst die himmels thür
Adieu! der himmlische Portier
Ist streng und hält auf ordnung.

Blumauer.

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Channerin'—Fretting.

[COSPATRICK.]

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

A copy of this Ballad, materially different from that which follows, appeared in "Scottish Songs," 2 vols. Edinburgh, 1792, under the title of Lord Bothwell. Some stanzas have been transferred from thence to the present copy, which is taken down from the recitation of a Lady, nearly related to the Editor. Some readings have been also adopted from a third copy, in Mrs Brown's MS., under the title of Child Brenton. Cospatrick (Comes Patricius) was the designation of the Earl of Dunbar, in the days of Wallace and Bruce.

Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem;
Cospatrick brought his ladye hame;
And fourscore ships have come her wi',
The ladye by the grene-wood tree.

There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,
And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae reid,
And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,
And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour.

Sweet Willy was a widow's son,
And at her stirrup he did run;
And she was clad in the finest pall,
But aye she let the tears down fall.

"O is your saddle set awrye?
"Or rides your steed for you owre high?
"Or are you mourning, in your tide,
"That you suld be Cospatrick's bride?"

"I am not mourning, at this tide,
"That I suld be Cospatrick's bride;
"But I am sorrowing, in my mood,
"That I suld leave my mother good.

"But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
"What is the custom of thy countrie?"
"The custom thereof, my dame," he says,
"Will ill a gentle ladye please.

"Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded,
"And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded;
"But he's cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,
"And sent them mourning hame again.

"Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid,
"Ye may gae safely to his bed;
"But gif o' that ye be na sure,
"Then hire some damsell o' your bour."

The ladye's called her bour maiden,
That waiting was into her train;
"Five thousand merks I'll gie to thee,
"To sleep this night with my lord for me."

When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,
And a' men unto bed were gane,
Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
Into ae chamber they were laid.

"Now, speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
"And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;
"And speak up, my bonny brown sword, that winna lie,
"Is this a true maiden that lies by me?"

"It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
"But it is a maid that you hae bedded;
"It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,
"But not the maiden that it should be."

O wrathful he left the bed,
And wrathfully his claiths on did;
And he has ta'en him through the ha',
And on his mother he did ca'.

"I am the most unhappy man,
"That ever was in christen land!
"I courted a maiden, meik and mild,
"And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child."

"O stay, my son, into this ha',
"And sport ye wi' your merrymen a';
"And I will to the secret bour,
"To see how it fares wi' your paramour."

The carline she was stark and sture,
She aff the hinges dang the dure;
"O is your bairn to laird or loun,
"Or is it to your father's groom?"

"O! hear me, mother, on my knee,
"Till my sad story I tell thee:
"O we were sisters, sisters seven,
"We were the fairest under heaven.

"It fell on a summer's afternoon,
"When a' our toilsome task was done,
"We cast the kevils us amang,
"To see which suld to the grene-wood gang.

"O hon! alas, for I was youngest,
"And aye my weird it was the hardest!
"The kevil it on me did fa',
"Whilk was the cause of a' my woe,

"For to the grene-wood I maun gae,
"To pu' the red rose and the slae;
"To pu' the red rose and the thyme,
"To deck my mother's bour and mine.

"I hadna pu'd a flower but ane,
"When by there came a gallant hende,
"Wi' high coll'd hose and laigh coll'd shoon,
"And he seemed to be sum king's son.

"And be I maid, or be I nae,
"He kept me there till the close o' day;
"And be I maid, or be I nane,
"He kept me there till the day was done.

"He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair,
"And bade me keep it ever mair;
"He gae me a carknet[12] o' bonny beads,
"And bade me keep it against my needs.

"He gae to me a gay gold ring,
"And bade me keep it abune a' thing."
"What did ye wi' the tokens rare,
"That ye gat frae that gallant there?"

"O bring that coffer unto me,
"And a' the tokens ye sall see."
"Now stay, daughter, your bour within,
"While I gae parley wi' my son."

O she has ta'en her thro' the ha',
And on her son began to ca';
"What did you wi' the bonny beads,
"I bade ye keep against your needs?

"What did you wi' the gay gold ring,
"I bade ye keep abune a' thing?"
"I gae them to a ladye gay,
"I met in grene-wood on a day.

"But I wad gie a' my halls and tours,
"I had that ladye within my bours;
"But I wad gie my very life,
"I had that ladye to my wife."

"Now keep, my son, your ha's and tours;
"Ye have that bright burd in your bours:
"And keep, my son, your very life;
"Ye have that lady to your wife."

Now, or a month was cum and gane,
The ladye bore a bonny son;
And 'twas weel written on his breast bane,
"Cospatrick is my father's name."
O row my ladye in satin and silk,
And wash my son in the morning milk.

FOOTNOTES:

[12] Carknet—A necklace. Thus:

"She threw away her rings and carknet cleen."—Harrison's Translation of Orlando Furioso—Notes on book 37th.

[PRINCE ROBERT,]

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

FROM THE RECITATION OF A LADY, NEARLY RELATED TO THE EDITOR.

Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
He has wedded her with a ring;
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
But he darna bring her hame.

"Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear!
"Your blessing now grant to me!"
"Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse,
"And you'll get nae blessing frae me."

She has called upon her waiting maid,
To fill a glass of wine;
She has called upon her fause steward,
To put rank poison in.

She has put it to her roudes[13] lip,
And to her roudes chin;
She has put it to her fause fause mouth,
But the never a drap gaed in.

He has put it to his bonny mouth,
And to his bonny chin,
He's put it to his cherry lip,
And sae fast the rank poison ran in.

"O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
"Your ae son and your heir;
O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
"And sons you'll never hae mair.

"O where will I get a little boy,
"That will win hose and shoon,
To run sae fast to Darlinton,
"And bid fair Eleanor come?"

Then up and spake a little boy,
That wad win hose and shoon,—
"O I'll away to Darlinton,
"And bid fair Eleanor come."

O he has run to Darlinton,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell
To let the bonny boy in.

"Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour,
"She's made it baith gude and fine;
"Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour,
"And ye maun cum till her and dine."

Its twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,
The langest that ever were gane;
But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,
And she cam linkin'[14] in.

But when she cam to Sillertoun town,
And into Sillertoun ha',
The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,
And they were weeping a'.

"O where is now my wedded lord,
"And where now can he be?
"O where is now my wedded lord?
"For him I canna see."

"Your wedded lord is dead," she says,
"And just gane to be laid in the clay;
"Your wedded lord is dead," she says,
"And just gane to be buried the day.

"Ye'se get nane o' his gowd, ye'se get nane o' his gear,
"Ye'se get nae thing frae me;
"Ye'se no get an inch o' his gude broad land,
"Tho' your heart suld burst in three."

"I want nane o' his gowd, I want nane o' his gear,
"I want nae land frae thee;
"But I'll hae the ring that's on his finger,
"For them he did promise to me."

"Ye'se no get the ring that's on his finger,
"Ye'se no get them frae me;
"Ye'se no get the ring that's on his finger,
"An' your heart suld burst in three."

She's turned her back unto the wa',
And her face unto a rock;
And there, before the mother's face,
Her very heart it broke.

The tane was buried in Mary's kirk,
The tother in Marie's quair;
And out o' the tane there sprang a birk,
And out o' the tother a brier.

And thae twa met, and thae twa plat,
The birk but and the brier;
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.[15]

FOOTNOTES:

[13] Roudes—Haggard.

[14] Linkin'—Riding briskly.

[15] The last two verses are common to many ballads, and are probably derived from some old metrical romance, since we find the idea occur in the conclusion of the voluminous history of Sir Tristrem. "Ores veitil que de la tumbe Tristan yssoit une belle ronce verte et feuilleue, qui alloit par la chapelle, et descendoit le bout de la ronce sur la tumbe d'Ysseult et entroit dedans." This marvellous plant was three times cut down; but, continues Rusticien de Puise, "Le lendemain estoit aussi belle comme elle avoit cy-devant ètè, et ce miracle ètoit sur Tristan et sur Ysseult a tout jamais advenir."

[KING HENRIE.]

THE ANCIENT COPY.

This ballad is edited from the MS. of Mrs Brown, corrected by a recited fragment. A modernized copy has been published, under the title of "Courteous King Jamie."—Tales of Wonder, Vol. II. p. 451.

The legend will remind the reader of the "Marriage of Sir Gawain," in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry, and of the "Wife of Bath's Tale," in Father Chaucer. But the original, as appears from the following quotation from Torfœus, is to be found in an Icelandic Saga:

"Hellgius, Rex Daniæ, mœrore ob amissam conjugem vexatus, solus agebat, et subducens se hominum commercio, segregem domum, omnis famulitii impatiens, incolebat. Accidit autem, ut nocte concubia, lamentabilis cujusdam ante fores ejulantis sonus auribus ejus obreperet. Expergefactus igitur, recluso ostio, informe quoddam mulieris simulacrum, "habitu corporis fœdum, veste squalore obsita, pallore, macie frigorisque tyrannide prope modum peremptum, deprehendit; quod precibus obsecratus, ut qui jam miserorum ærumnas ex propria calamitate pensare didicisset, in domum intromisit; ipse lectum petit. At mulier, ne hac quidem benignitate contenta, thori consortium obnixè flagitabat, addens id tanti referre, ut nisi impetraret, omnino sibi moriendum esset. Quod, ea lege, ne ipsum attingeret, concessum est. Ideo nec complexu eam dignatus rex, avertit sese. Cum autem prima luce forte oculos ultro citroque converteret, eximiæ formæ virginem lecto receptam animadvertit; quæ statim ipsi placere cœpit: causam igitur tam repentinæ mutationis curiosius indaganti, respondit virgo, se unam e subterraneorum hominum genere diris novercalibus devotam, tam tetra et execrabili specie, quali primo comparuit, damnatam, quoad thori cujusdam principis socia fieret, multos reges hac de re sollicitasse. Jam actis pro præstito beneficio gratiis, discessum maturans, a rege formæ ejus illecebris capto comprimitur. Deinde petit, si prolem ex hoc congressu progigni contigerit, sequente hyeme, eodem anni tempore, ante fores positam in ædes reciperet, seque ejus patrem profiteri non gravaretur, secus non leve infortunium insecuturum prædixit: a quo præcepto cum rex postea exorbitasset, nec præ foribus jacentem infantem pro suo agnoscere voluisset, ad eum iterum, sed corrugata fronte, accessit, obque violatam fidem acrius objurgatum ab imminente periculo, præstiti olim beneficii gratia, exempturam pollicebatur, ita tamen ut tota ultionis rabies in filium ejus "effusa graves aliquando levitatis illius pænas exigeret. Ex hac tam dissimilium naturarum commixtione, Skulda, versuti et versatilis animi mulier, nata fuisse memoratur; quæ utramque naturam participans prodigiosorum operum effectrix perhibetur."—Hrolffi Krakii, Hist. p. 49, Hafn. 1715.

KING HENRIE.

ANCIENT COPY.

Let never a man a wooing wend,
That lacketh thingis thrie:
A rowth o' gold, an open heart,
And fu' o' courtesey.

And this was seen o' King Henrie,
For he lay burd alane;
And he has ta'en him to a haunted hunt's ha',
Was seven miles frae a toun.

He's chaced the dun deer thro' the wood,
And the roe doun by the den,
Till the fattest buck, in a' the herd,
King Henrie he has slain.

He's ta'en him to his hunting ha',
For to make burly cheir;
When loud the wind was heard to sound,
And an earthquake rocked the floor.

And darkness cover'd a' the hall,
Where they sat at their meat:
The gray dogs, youling, left their food,
And crept to Henrie's feet.

And louder houled the rising wind,
And burst the fast'ned door;
And in there came a griesly ghost,
Stood stamping on the floor.

Her head touched the roof-tree of the house;
Her middle ye weel mot span:
Each frighted huntsman fled the ha',
And left the king alone.

Her teeth were a' like tether stakes,
Her nose like club or mell;
And I ken naething she appeared to be,
But the fiend that wons in hell.

"Sum meat, sum meat, ye King Henrie!
"Sum meat ye gie to me!"
"And what meat's in this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"[16]
"O ye'se gae kill your berry-brown steed,
"And serve him up to me."

O when he killed his berry-brown steed,
Wow gin his heart was sair!
She eat him a' up, skin and bane,
Left naething but hide and hair.

"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henrie!
"Mair meat ye gie to me!"
"And what meat's i' this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"
"O ye do slay your gude gray houndes,
"And bring them a' to me."

O when he slew his gude gray houndes,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She's ate them a' up, ane by ane,
Left naething but hide and hair.

"Mair meat, mair meat, ye King Henrie!
"Mair meat ye gie to me!"
"And what meat's i' this house, ladye,
"That I hae left to gie?"
"O ye do fell your gay goss-hawks,
"And bring them a' to me."

O when he felled his gay goss-hawks,
Wow but his heart was sair!
She's ate them a' up, bane by bane,
Left naething but feathers bare.

"Some drink, some drink, ye King Henrie!
"Sum drink ye gie to me!"
"And what drink's in this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"
"O ye sew up your horse's hide,
"And bring in a drink to me."

O he has sewed up the bluidy hide,
And put in a pipe of wine;
She drank it a' up at ae draught,
Left na a drap therein.

"A bed, a bed, ye King Henrie!
"A bed ye mak to me!"
"And what's the bed i' this house, ladye,
"That ye're na wellcum tee?"
"O ye maun pu' the green heather,
"And mak a bed to me."

O pu'd has he the heather green,
And made to her a bed;
And up he has ta'en his gay mantle,
And o'er it he has spread.

"Now swear, now swear, ye King Henrie,
"To take me for your bride!"
"O God forbid," King Henrie said,
"That e'er the like betide!
"That e'er the fiend, that wons in hell,
"Should streak down by my side."

When day was come, and night was gane,
And the sun shone through the ha',
The fairest ladye, that e'er was seen,
Lay atween him and the wa'.

"O weel is me!" King Henrie said,
"How lang will this last wi' me?"
And out and spak that ladye fair,
"E'en till the day ye die.

"For I was witched to a ghastly shape,
"All by my stepdame's skill,
"Till I should meet wi' a courteous knight,
"Wad gie me a' my will."

FOOTNOTES:

[16] Tee, for to, is the Buchanshire and Gallovidian pronunciation.

[ANNAN WATER.]

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

The following verses are the original words of the tune of "Allan Water," by which name the song is mentioned in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany. The ballad is given from tradition; and it is said, that a bridge, over the Annan, was built in consequence of the melancholy catastrophe which it narrates. Two verses are added in this edition, from another copy of the ballad, in which the conclusion proves fortunate. By the Gatehope Slack, is perhaps meant the Gate Slack, a pass in Annandale. The Annan, and the Frith of Solway, into which it falls, are the frequent scenes of tragical accidents. The editor trusts he will be pardoned for inserting the following awfully impressive account of such an event, contained in a letter from Dr Currie, of Liverpool, by whose correspondence, while in the course of preparing these volumes for the press, he has been alike honoured and instructed. After stating, that he had some recollection of the ballad which follows, the biographer of Burns proceeds thus: "I once in my early days heard (for it was night, and I could not see) a traveller drowning; not in the Annan itself, but in the Frith of Solway, close by the mouth of that river. The influx of the tide had unhorsed him, in the night, as he was passing the sands from Cumberland. The west wind blew a tempest, and, according to the common expression, brought in the water, three foot a-breast. The traveller got upon a standing net, a little way from the shore. There he lashed himself to the post, shouting for half an hour for assistance—till the tide rose over his head! In the darkness of night, and amid the pauses of the hurricane, his voice, heard at intervals, was exquisitely mournful. No one could go to his assistance—no one knew where he was—the sound seemed to proceed from the spirit of the waters. But morning rose—the tide had ebbed—and the poor traveller was found lashed to the pole of the net, and bleaching in the wind."

ANNAN WATER.

"Annan water's wading deep,
"And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
"And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
"Because I love her best of ony.

"Gar saddle me the bonny black;
"Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
"For I will down the Gatehope-slack,
"And all to see my bonny ladye."

He has loupen on the bonny black,
He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
But, or he wan the Gatehope-slack,
I think the steed was wae and weary.

He has loupen on the bonny gray,
He rade the right gate and the ready;
I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
For he was seeking his bonny ladye.

O he has ridden ower field and fell,
Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
And frae her fore-feet flew the fire.

"Now, bonny gray, now play your part!
"Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
"Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
"And never spur sall make you wearie."

The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
But when she wan the Annan water,
She could na hae ridden a furlong mair,
Had a thousand merks been wadded[17] at her.

"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
"Put off your boat for gowden monie!
"I cross the drumly stream the night,
"Or never mair I see my honey."

"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
"And not by ae aith, but by many;
"And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,
"I dare na take ye through to Annie."

The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
And the bonny gray mare did sweat for fear,
For she heard the water kelpy roaring.

O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy[18] coat,
The silver buttons glanced bonny;
The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
He was sae full of melancholy.

He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;
I wot he swam both strong and steady;
But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
And he never saw his bonny ladye.

"O wae betide the frush[19] saugh wand!
"And wae betide the bush of briar!
"It brake into my true love's hand,
"When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.

"And wae betide ye, Annan water,
"This night that ye are a drumlie river!
"For over thee I'll build a bridge,
"That ye never more true love may sever."

FOOTNOTES:

[17] Wadded—Wagered.

[18] Quære—Cap-a-pee?

[19] Frush—Brittle.

[THE CRUEL SISTER.]

This ballad differs essentially from that which has been published in various collections, under the title of Binnorie. It is compiled from a copy in Mrs Brown's MSS., intermixed with a beautiful fragment, of fourteen verses, transmitted to the editor by J. C. Walker, Esq. the ingenious historian of the Irish bards. Mr Walker, at the same time, favoured the editor with the following note:—"I am indebted to my departed friend, Miss Brook, for the foregoing pathetic fragment. Her account of it was as follows: This song was transcribed, several years ago, from the memory of an old woman, who had no recollection of the concluding verses: probably the beginning may also be lost, as it seems to commence abruptly." The first verse and burden of the fragment run thus:—

O sister, sister, reach thy hand!
Hey ho, my Nanny, O;
And you shall be heir of all my land,
While the swan swims bonny, O.

The first part of this chorus seems to be corrupted from the common burden of Hey, Nonny, Nonny, alluded to in the song, beginning, "Sigh no more, ladye." The chorus, retained in this edition, is the most common and popular; but Mrs Brown's copy bears a yet different burden, beginning thus:—

There were twa sisters sat in a bour,
Edinborough, Edinborough;
There were twa sisters sat in a bour,
Stirling for aye;
There were twa sisters sat in a bour,
There cam a knight to be their wooer,
Bonny St Johnston stands upon Tay.

THE CRUEL SISTER.

There were two sisters sat in a bour;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
There came a knight to be their wooer;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

He courted the eldest with glove and ring;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

He courted the eldest with broach and knife;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
But he lo'ed the youngest abune his life;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

The eldest she was vexed sair;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And sore envied her sister fair;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

The eldest said to the youngest ane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Will ye go and see our father's ships come in?"
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

She's ta'en her by the lilly hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And led her down to the river strand;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

The youngest stude upon a stane,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The eldest came and pushed her in;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

She took her by the middle sma',
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And dashed her bonny back to the jaw,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"O sister, sister, reach your hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And ye shall be heir of half my land."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"O sister, I'll not reach my hand,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And I'll be heir of all your land;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"Shame fa' the hand that I should take,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Its twin'd me, and my world's make."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"O sister, reach me but your glove,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And sweet William shall be your love."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"Sink on, nor hope for hand or glove!
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And sweet William shall better be my love."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"Your cherry cheeks and your yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"Garr'd me gang maiden evermair."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

Sometimes she sunk, and sometimes she swam,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Until she cam to the miller's dam,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"O father, father, draw your dam!
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"There's either a mermaid, or a milk-white swan."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

The miller hasted and drew his dam,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And there he found a drowned woman,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

You could not see her yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
For gowd and pearls that were sae rare,
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

You could na see her middle sma',
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Her gowden girdle was sae bra';
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

A famous harper passing by,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
The sweet pale face he chanced to spy;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

And when he looked that lady on,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
He sighed, and made a heavy moan;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

He made a harp of her breast-bone,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Whose sounds would melt a heart of stone;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

The strings he framed of her yellow hair,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Whose notes made sad the listening ear;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

He brought it to her father's hall;
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And there was the court assembled all;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

He laid this harp upon a stone,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
And straight it began to play alone;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"O yonder sits my father, the king,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And yonder sits my mother, the queen;
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

"And yonder stands my brother Hugh,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
"And by him my William sweet and true."
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

But the last tune that the harp play'd then,
Binnorie, O Binnorie;
Was—"Woe to my sister, false Helen!"
By the bonny milldams of Binnorie.

[THE QUEEN'S MARIE.]

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

"In the very time of the General Assembly, there comes to public knowledge a haynous murther, committed in the court; yea, not far from the queen's lap: for a French woman, that served in the queen's chamber, had played the whore with the queen's own apothecary.—The woman conceived and bare a childe, whom, with common consent, the father and mother murthered; yet were the cries of a new-borne childe hearde, searche was made, the childe and the mother were both apprehended, and so was the man and the woman condemned to be hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh.—The punishment was suitable, because the crime was haynous. But yet was not the court purged of whores and whoredoms, which was the fountaine of such enormities; for it was well known that shame hasted marriage betwixt John Sempill, called the Dancer, and Mary Leringston[20], sirnamed the Lusty. What bruit the Maries, and the rest of the dancers of the court had, the ballads of that age do witnesse, which we, for modestie's sake, omit: but this was the common complaint of all godly and wise men, that, if they thought such a court could long continue, and if they looked for no better life to come, they would have wished their sonnes and daughters rather to have been brought up with fiddlers and dancers, and to have been exercised with flinging upon a floore, and in the rest that thereof followes, than to have been exercised in the company of the godly, and exercised in virtue, which, in that court was hated, and filthenesse not only maintained, but also rewarded; witnesse the abbey of Abercorne, the barony of Auchvermuchtie, and divers others, pertaining to the patrimony of the crown, given in heritage to skippers and dancers, and dalliers with dames. This was the beginning of the regiment of Mary, queen of Scots, and these were the fruits that she brought forth of France.—Lord! look on our miseries! and deliver us from the wickednesse of this corrupt court!"—Knox's History of the Reformation, p. 373-4.

Such seems to be the subject of the following ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of presbytery. It will readily strike the reader, that the tale has suffered great alterations, as handed down by tradition; the French waiting-woman being changed into Mary Hamilton,[21] and the queen's apothecary, into Henry Darnley. Yet this is less surprising, when we recollect, that one of the heaviest of the queen's complaints against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity, and that even with her personal attendants. I have been enabled to publish the following complete edition of the ballad, by copies from various quarters; that principally used, was communicated to me, in the most polite manner, by Mr Kirkpatricke Sharpe, of Hoddom, to whom I am indebted for many similar favours.

THE QUEEN'S MARIE.

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' ribbons on her hair;
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than ony that were there.

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' ribbons on her breast;
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than he listen'd to the priest.

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' gluves upon her hands;
The king thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than the queen and a' her lands.

She hadna been about the king's court
A month, but barely one,
Till she was beloved by a' the king's court,
And the king the only man.

She hadna been about the king's court
A month, but barely three,
Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton,
Marie Hamilton durst na be.

The king is to the Abbey gane,
To pu' the Abbey tree,
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
But the thing it wadna be.

O she has row'd it in her apron,
And set it on the sea,—
"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
"Ye'se get na mair o' me."

Word is to the kitchen gane,
And word is to the ha',
And word is to the noble room,
Amang the ladyes a',
That Marie Hamilton's brought-to-bed,
And the bonny babe's mist and awa.

Scarcely had she lain down again,
And scarcely fa'n asleep,
When up then started our gude queen,
Just at her bed-feet;
Saying—"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?
"For I'm sure I heard it greet."

"O no, O no, my noble queen!
"Think no such thing to be;
"'Twas but a stitch into my side,
"And sair it troubles me."

"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton;
"Get up, and follow me;
"For I am going to Edinburgh town,
"A rich wedding for to see."

O slowly, slowly, raise she up,
And slowly put she on;
And slowly rode she out the way,
Wi' mony a weary groan.

The queen was clad in scarlet,
Her merry maids all in green;
And every town that they cam to,
They took Marie for the queen.

"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
"Ride hooly now wi' me!
"For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
"Rade in your cumpanie."

But little wist Marie Hamilton,
When she rade on the brown,
That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,
And a' to be put down.

"Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,
"Why look ye so on me?
"O, I am going to Edinburgh town,
"A rich wedding for to see."

When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,
The corks frae her heels did flee;
And lang or e'er she cam down again,
She was condemned to die.

When she cam to the Netherbow port,
She laughed loud laughters three;
But when she cam to the gallows foot,
The tears blinded her e'e.

"Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
"The night she'll hae but three;
"There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,
"And Marie Carmichael, and me.

"O, often have I dress'd my queen,
"And put gold upon her hair;
"But now I've gotten for my reward,
"The gallows to be my share;

"Often have I dress'd my queen,
"And often made her bed;
"But now I've gotten for my reward
"The gallows tree to tread.

"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
"When ye sail ower the faem,
"Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
"But that I'm coming hame.

"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
"That sail upon the sea,
"Let neither my father nor mother get wit
"This dog's death I'm to die.

"For if my father and mother got wit,
"And my bold brethren three,
"O, mickle wad be the gude red blude,
"This day wad be spilt for me!

"O little did my mother ken,
"The day she cradled me,
"The lands I was to travel in,
"Or the death I was to die!"

NOTES
ON
THE QUEEN'S MARIE.

When she cam to the Netherbow port.—P. [93], v. 1.

The Netherbow port was the gate which divided the city of Edinburgh from the suburb, called the Canongate. It had towers and a spire, which formed a fine termination to the view from the Cross. The gate was pulled down, in one of those fits of rage for indiscriminate destruction, with which the magistrates of a corporation are sometimes visited.

Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
The night she'll hae but three, &c.—P. [93]. v. 2.

The queen's Maries were four young ladies of the highest families in Scotland, who were sent to France in her train, and returned with her to Scotland. They are mentioned by Knox, in the quotation introductory to this ballad. Keith gives us their names, p. 55. "The young queen, Mary, embarked at Dunbarton for France, ... and with her went ..., and four young virgins, all of the name of Mary, viz. Livingston, Fleming, Seaton, and Beatoun." The queen's Maries are mentioned again by the same author, p. 288, and 291, in the note. Neither Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad mentioned by Keith. But if this corps continued to consist of young virgins, as when originally raised, it could hardly have subsisted without occasional recruits; especially if we trust our old bard, and John Knox.

The following additional notices of the queen's Maries occur, in Monteith's Translation of Buchanan's Epigrams, &c.

Page 60. Pomp of the Gods at the Marriage of Queen Mary, 29th July, 1565, a Dialogue.

Diana.

"Great father, Maries[22] five late served me,
"Were of my quire the glorious dignitie:
"With these dear five the heaven I'd regain,
"The happiness of other gods to stain;
"At my lot, Juno, Venus, were in ire,
"And stole away one——"

P. 61. Apollo.

"Fear not, Diana, I good tidings bring,
"And unto you glad oracles I sing;
"Juno commands your Maries to be married,
"And, in all state, to marriage-bed be carried."

P. 62. Jupiter.

"Five Maries thine;
"One Marie now remains of Delia's five,
"And she at wedlock o'er shortly will arrive."

P. 64. To Mary Fleming, the king's valentyn—
65. To Mary Beton, queen by lot, the day before the coronation.

Sundry Verses.

The queen's Maries are mentioned in many ballads, and the name seems to have passed into a general denomination for female attendants:

Now bear a hand, my Maries a',
And busk me brave, and make me fine.

Old Ballad.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] The name should be Livingston. "John Semple, son of Robert, Lord Semple, (by Elizabeth Carlisle, a daughter of the Lord Torthorald) was ancestor of the Semples of Beltrees. He was married to Mary, sister to William Livingston, and one of the maids of honour to Queen Mary; by whom he had Sir James Semple of Beltrees, his son and heir," &c.; afterwards ambassador to England, for King James VI. in 1599.—Crawford's History of Renfrew, p. 101.

[21] One copy bears, "Mary Miles."

[22] The queen seems to be included in this number.

[THE BONNY HYND.]

From Mr Herd's MS., where the following Note is prefixed to it—"Copied from the mouth of a Milkmaid, 1771, by W. L."

It was originally the intention of the Editor to have omitted this ballad, on account of the disagreeable nature of the subject. Upon consideration, however, it seemed a fair sample of a certain class of songs and tales, turning upon incidents the most horrible and unnatural, with which the vulgar in Scotland are greatly delighted, and of which they have current amongst them an ample store. Such, indeed, are the subjects of composition in most nations, during the early period of society; when the feelings, rude and callous, can only be affected by the strongest stimuli, and where the mind does not, as in a more refined age, recoil, disgusted, from the means by which interest has been excited. Hence incest, parricide—crimes, in fine, the foulest and most enormous, were the early themes of the Grecian muse. Whether that delicacy, which precludes the modern bard from the choice of such impressive and dreadful themes, be favourable to the higher classes of poetic composition, may perhaps be questioned; but there can be little doubt, that the more important cause of virtue and morality is advanced by this exclusion. The knowledge, that enormities are not without precedent, may promote, and even suggest, them. Hence, the publication of the Newgate Register has been prohibited by the wisdom of the legislature; having been found to encourage those very crimes, of which it recorded the punishment. Hence, too, the wise maxim of the Romans, Facinora ostendi dum puniantur, flagitia autem abscondi debent.

The ballad has a high degree of poetical merit.

THE BONNY HYND.

COPIED

FROM THE MOUTH OF A MILKMAID,

IN 1771.

O May she comes, and May she goes,
Down by yon gardens green;
And there she spied a gallant squire,
As squire had ever been.

And May she comes, and May she goes,
Down by yon hollin tree;
And there she spied a brisk young squire,
And a brisk young squire was he.

"Give me your green manteel, fair maid;
"Give me your maidenhead!
"Gin ye winna give me your green manteel,
"Give me your maidenhead!"

"Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir;
"Perhaps there may be nane;
"But, if you be a courtier,
"You'll tell me soon your name."

"I am nae courtier, fair maid,
"But new come frae the sea;
"I am nae courtier, fair maid,
"But when I court with thee.

"They call me Jack, when I'm abroad;
"Sometimes they call me John;
"But, when I'm in my father's bower,
"Jock Randal is my name."

"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad!
"Sae loud's I hear you lee!
"For I'm Lord Randal's ae daughter,
"He has nae mair nor me."

"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny May!
"Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
"For I'm Lord Randal's ae ae son,
"Just now come o'er the sea."

She's putten her hand down by her gare,
And out she's ta'en a knife;
And she has put it in her heart's bleed,
And ta'en away her life.

And he has ta'en up his bonny sister,
With the big tear in his e'en;
And he has buried his bonny sister
Amang the hollins green.

And syne he's hyed him o'er the dale,
His father dear to see—
"Sing, Oh! and Oh! for my bonny hind,
"Beneath yon hollin tree!"

"What needs you care for your bonny hind?
"For it you needna care;
"Take you the best, gi' me the warst,
"Since plenty is to spare."

"I carena for your hinds, my lord;
"I carena for your fee;
"But, Oh! and Oh! for my bonny hind,
"Beneath the hollin tree!"

"O were ye at your sister's bower,
"Your sister fair to see,
"You'll think nae mair o' your bonny hind,
"Beneath the hollin tree."

O GIN MY LOVE WERE YON RED ROSE.

FROM MR HERD'S MS.

O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysell a drap of dew,
Down on that red rose I would fa'.
O my love's bonny, bonny, bonny;
My love's bonny and fair to see:
Whene'er I look on her weel far'd face,
She looks and smiles again to me.

O gin my love were a pickle of wheat,
And growing upon yon lily lee,
And I mysell a bonny wee bird,
Awa wi' that pickle o' wheat I wad flee.
O my love's bonny, &c.

O gin my love were a coffer o' gowd,
And I the keeper of the key,
I wad open the kist whene'er I list,
And in that coffer I wad be.
O my love's bonny, &c.

[O TELL ME HOW TO WOO THEE.]

The following verses are taken down from recitation, and are averred to be of the age of Charles I. They have, indeed, much of the romantic expression of passion, common to the poets of that period, whose lays still reflected the setting beams of chivalry; but, since their publication in the first edition of this work, the Editor has been informed, that they were composed by the late Mr Graham of Gartmore.

If doughty deeds my ladye please,
Right soon I'll mount my steed;
And strong his arm, and fast his seat,
That bears frae me the meed.
I'll wear thy colours in my cap,
Thy picture in my heart;
And he, that bends not to thine eye,
Shall rue it to his smart.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love;
O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

If gay attire delight thine eye,
I'll dight me in array;
I'll tend thy chamber door all night,
And squire thee all the day.
If sweetest sounds can win thy ear,
These sounds I'll strive to catch;
Thy voice I'll steal to woo thysell,
That voice that nane can match.
Then tell me how to woo thee, love;
O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

But if fond love thy heart can gain,
I never broke a vow;
Nae maiden lays her skaith to me,
I never loved but you.
For you alone I ride the ring,
For you I wear the blue;
For you alone I strive to sing,
O tell me how to woo.
O tell me how to woo thee, love;
O tell me how to woo thee!
For thy dear sake, nae care I'll take,
Tho' ne'er another trow me.

[THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK.]

This little lyric piece, with those which immediately follow in the collection, relates to the fatal battle of Flodden, in which the flower of the Scottish nobility fell around their sovereign, James IV.

The ancient and received tradition of the burgh of Selkirk affirms, that the citizens of that town distinguished themselves by their gallantry on that disastrous occasion. Eighty in number, and headed by their town-clerk, they joined their monarch on his entrance into England. James, pleased with the appearance of this gallant troop, knighted their leader, William Brydone, upon the field of battle, from which few of the men of Selkirk were destined to return. They distinguished themselves in the conflict, and were almost all slain. The few survivors, on their return home, found, by the side of Lady-Wood Edge, the corpse of a female, wife to one of their fallen comrades, with a child sucking at her breast. In memory of this latter event, continues the tradition, the present arms of the burgh bear, a female, holding a child in her arms, and seated on a sarcophagus, decorated with the Scottish lion; in the back-ground a wood.

A learned antiquary, whose judgment and accuracy claim respect, has made some observations upon the probability of this tradition, which the editor shall take the liberty of quoting, as an introduction to what he has to offer upon the same subject. And, if he shall have the misfortune to differ from the learned gentleman, he will at least lay candidly before the public the grounds of his opinion.

"That the souters of Selkirk should, in 1513, amount to fourscore fighting men, is a circumstance utterly incredible. It is scarcely to be supposed, that all the shoemakers in Scotland could have produced such an army, at a period when shoes must have been still less worn than they are at present. Dr Johnson, indeed, was told at Aberdeen, that the people learned the art of making shoes from Cromwell's soldiers.—'The numbers,' he adds, 'that go barefoot, are still sufficient to show that shoes may be spared: they are not yet considered as necessaries of life; for tall boys, not otherwise meanly dressed, run without them in the streets; and, in the islands, the sons of gentlemen pass several of their first years with naked feet.'—(Journey to the Western Islands, p. 55.) Away, then, with the fable of the souters of Selkirk. Mr Tytler, though he mentions it as the subject of a song, or ballad, 'does not remember ever to have seen the original genuine words,'—as he obligingly acknowledged in a letter to the editor. Mr Robertson, however, who gives the statistical account of the parish of Selkirk, seems to know something more of the matter—'Some,' says he, 'have very falsely attributed to this event (the battle of Flowden), that song,

'Up wi' the souters of Selkirk,
'And down with the Earl of Hume.'

"There was no Earl of Hume,' he adds, 'at that time, nor was this song composed till long after. It arose from a bet betwixt the Philiphaugh and Hume families; the souters (or shoemakers) of Selkirk, against the men of Hume, at a match of foot-ball, in which the souters of Selkirk completely gained, and afterwards perpetuated their victory in that song.'—This is decisive; and so much for Scottish tradition."—Note to Historical Essay on Scotish Song, prefixed to Scotish Songs in 2 vols. 1794.

It is proper to remark, that the passage of Mr Robertson's statistical account, above quoted, does not relate to the authenticity of the tradition, but to the origin of the song, which is obviously a separate and distinct question. The entire passage in the statistical account (of which a part only is quoted in the essay) runs thus:

"Here, too, the inhabitants of the town of Selkirk, who breathed the manly spirit of real freedom, justly merit particular attention. Of one hundred citizens, who followed the fortunes of James IV. on the plains of Flowden, a few returned, loaded with the spoils taken from the enemy. Some of these trophies still survive the rust of time, and the effects of negligence. The desperate valour of the citizens of Selkirk, which, on that fatal day, was eminently conspicuous to both armies, produced very opposite effects. The implacable resentment of the English reduced their defenceless town to ashes; while their grateful sovereign (James V.) showed his sense of their valour, by a grant of an extensive portion of the forest, the trees for building their houses, and the property as the reward of their heroism."—A note is added by Mr Robertson.—"A standard, the appearance of which bespeaks its antiquity, is still carried annually (on the day of riding their common) by the corporation of weavers, by a member of which it was taken from the English in the field of Flowden. It may be added, that the sword of William Brydone, the town clerk, who led the citizens to the battle (and who is said to have been knighted for his valour), is still in the possession of John Brydon, a citizen of Selkirk, his lineal descendant."—An additional note contains the passage quoted in the Essay on Scotish Song.

If the testimony of Mr Robertson is to be received as decisive of the question, the learned author of the essay will surely admit, upon re-perusal, that the passage in the statistical account contains the most positive and unequivocal declaration of his belief in the tradition.

Neither does the story itself, upon close examination, contain any thing inconsistent with probability. The towns upon the border, and especially Selkirk and Jedburgh, were inhabited by a race of citizens, who, from the necessity of their situation, and from the nature of their possessions (held by burgage tenure), were inured to the use of arms. Selkirk was a county town, and a royal burgh; and when the array of the kingdom, amounting to no less than one hundred thousand warriors, was marshalled by the royal command, eighty men seems no unreasonable proportion from a place of consequence, lying so very near the scene of action.

Neither is it necessary to suppose, literally, that the men of Selkirk were all souters. This appellation was obviously bestowed on them, because it was the trade most generally practised in the town, and therefore passed into a general epithet. Even the existence of such a craft, however, is accounted improbable by the learned essayist, who seems hardly to allow, that the Scottish nation was, at that period, acquainted with the art "of accommodating their feet with shoes." And here he attacks us with our own weapons, and wields the tradition of Aberdeen against that of Selkirk. We shall not stop to enquire, in what respect Cromwell's regiment of missionary cobblers deserves, in point of probability, to take precedence of the souters of Selkirk. But, allowing that all the shoemakers in England, with Praise-the-Lord Barebones at their head, had generously combined to instruct the men of Aberdeen in the arts of psalmody and cobbling, it by no means bears upon the present question. If instruction was at all necessary, it must have been in teaching the natives how to make shoes, properly so called, in opposition to brogues: For there were cordiners in Aberdeen long before Cromwell's visit, and several fell in the battle of the bridge of Dee, as appears from Spalding's History of the Troubles in Scotland, Vol. II. p. 140. Now, the "single-soaled shoon," made by the souters of Selkirk, were a sort of brogues, with a single thin soal; the purchaser himself performing the further operation of sewing on another of thick leather. The rude and imperfect state of this manufacture sufficiently evinces the antiquity of the craft. Thus, the profession of the citizens of Selkirk, instead of invalidating, confirms the traditional account of their valour.

The total devastation of this unfortunate burgh, after the fatal battle of Flodden, is ascertained by the charters under which the corporation hold their privileges. The first of these is granted by James V., and is dated 4th March, 1535-6. The narrative, or inductive clause of the deed, is in these words: "Sciatis quia nos considerantes et intelligentes quod Carte Evidencie et litere veteris fundacionis et infeofamenti burgi nostri de Selkirk et libertatum ejusdem burgensibus et communitati ipsius per nobilissimos progenitores nostros quorum animabus propicietur Deus dat. et concess. per guerrarum assultus pestem combustionem et alias pro majore parte vastantur et distruuntur unde mercantiarum usus inter ipsos burgenses cessavit in eorum magnam lesionem ac reipublice et libertatis Burgi nostri antedict. destruccionem et prejudicium ac ingens nobis dampnum penes nostras Custumas et firmas burgales et eodem nobis debit. si subitumin eisdem remedium minime habitum fuerit NOS igitur pietati et justicia moti ac pro policia et edificiis infra regnum nostrum habend. de novo infeodamus," &c. The charter proceeds, in common form, to erect anew the town of Selkirk into a royal burgh, with all the privileges annexed to such corporations. This mark of royal favour was confirmed by a second charter, executed by the same monarch, after he had attained the age of majority, and dated April 8, 1538. This deed of confirmation first narrates the charter, which has been already quoted, and then proceeds to mention other grants, which had been conferred upon the burgh, during the minority of James V., and which are thus expressed: "We for the gude trew and thankful service done and to be done to ws be owre lovittis the baillies burgesses and communite of our burgh of Selkirk and for certaine otheris reasonable causis and considerationis moving ws be the tennor hereof grantis and gevis license to thame and thair successors to ryfe out breke and teil yeirlie ane thousand[23] acres of thair common landis of our said burgh in what part thairof thea pleas for polecy strengthing and bigging of the samyn for the wele of ws and of liegis repairand thairto and defence againis owre auld innemyis of Ingland and other wayis and will and grantis that thai sall nocht be callit accusit nor incur ony danger or skaith thairthrow in thair personis landis nor gudis in ony wise in time cuming Nochtwithstanding ony owre actis or statutis maid or to be maid in the contrar in ony panys contenit tharein anent the quhilkis we dispens with thame be thir owre letters with power to them to occupy the saidis landis with thare awne gudis or to set theme to tenentis as thai sall think maist expedient for the wele of our said burgh with frei ische and entri and with all and sindry utheris commoditeis freedomes asiamentis and richtuis pertinentis whatsumever pertenyng or that rychtuisly may pertene thairto perpetually in tyme cuming frelie quietlie wele and in peace but ony revocatioun or agane calling whatsumever Gevin under owre signet and subscrivit with owre hand at Striveling the twenty day of Junii The yere of God ane thousand five hundreth and thretty six yeris and of our regne the twenti thre yere." Here follows another grant: "We Understanding that owre burgh of Selkirk and inhabitants thairof continualie sen the field of Flodoune hes been oppressiit heriit and owre runin be theves and traitors whairthrow the hant of merchandice has cessit amangis thame of langtyme bygane and thai heriit thairthrow and we defraudit of owre custumis and dewites Thairfor and for divers utheris resonable causis and considerationes moving us be the tenor heirof of our kinglie power fre motive and autorite ryall grantis and gevis to thame and thair successors ane fair day begynand at the feist of the Conception of owre Lady next to cum aftere the day of the date hereof and be the octavis of the sammyn perpetualy in time cuming To be usit and exercit be thame als frelie in time cuming as ony uther fair is usit or exercit be ony otheris owre burrowis within our realme payand yeirlie custumis and doweities aucht and wont as effeiris frelie quietlie wele and in pece but ony revocation obstakill impediment or agane calling whatsumever subscrivet with owre hand and gevin under owre Signet at Kirkcaldy the secund day of September The yere of God ane thousand five huudreth and threty sex yeris and of our regne the twenty three yeir." The charter of confirmation, in which all these deeds and letters of donation are engrossed, proceeds to ratify and confirm them in the most ample manner. The testing clause, as it is termed in law language, is in these words: "In cujus rei Testimonium huic presente carte nostre confirmationis magnum sigillum nostrum apponi precepimus Testibus Reverendissimo reverendisque in Christo Patribus Gawino Archiepisco Glasguen. Cancellario nostro Georgio Episcopo Dunkelden. Henrico Episcopo Candide Case nostreque Capelle regie Strivilengen. dilectis nostris consanguineis Jacobo Moravie Comite &c. Archibaldo Comite de Ergile Domino Campbell et Lorne Magistro Hospicii nostri Hugone Comite de Eglinton Domino Montgomery Malcolmo Domino Flemyng magno Camerario nostro Venerabilibus in Christo Patribus Patricio Priore Ecclesie Metropolitane Sanctiandree Alexandro Abbate Monasterii nostri de Cambuskynneth dilectis familiaribus nostris Thoma Erskin de Brechin Secretario nostro Jocobo Colville de Estwemis compotorum nostrorum rotulatore et nostre cancellarie directore militibus et Magistro Jacobo Foulis de Colintoun nostrorum rotulorum Registri et Concilii clerico apud Edinburgh octavo die mensis Aprilis Anno Domini millesimo quingentesimo trigesimo octavo et regni nostri vicesimo quinto."

From these extracts, which are accurately copied from the original charters,[24] it may be safely concluded, 1st, that Selkirk was a place of importance before it was ruined by the English; and, 2d, "that the voice of merchants had ceased in her streets," in consequence of the fatal field of Flodden. But further, it seems reasonable to infer, that so many marks of royal favour, granted within so short a time of each other, evince the gratitude, as well as the compassion, of the monarch, and were intended to reward the valour, as well as to relieve the distress, of the men of Selkirk. Thus, every circumstance of the written evidence, as far as it goes, tallies with the oral tradition of the inhabitants; and, therefore, though the latter may be exaggerated, it surely cannot be dismissed as entirely void of foundation. That William Brydone actually enjoyed the honour of knighthood, is ascertained by many of the deeds, in which his name appears as a notary public. John Brydone, lineal descendant of the gallant town-clerk, is still alive, and possessed of the reliques mentioned by Mr Robertson. The old man, though in an inferior station of life, receives considerable attention from his fellow-citizens, and claims no small merit to himself on account of his brave ancestor.

Thus far concerning the tradition of the exploits of the men of Selkirk, at Flodden field. Whether the following verses do, or do not, bear any allusion to that event, is a separate and less interesting question. The opinion of Mr Robertson, referring them to a different origin, has been already mentioned; but his authority, though highly respectable, is not absolutely decisive of the question.

The late Mr Plummer, sheriff-depute of the county of Selkirk, a faithful and accurate antiquary, entertained a very opposite opinion. He has thus expressed himself, upon the subject, in the course of his literary correspondence with Mr Herd:

"Of the Souters of Selkirk, I never heard any words but the following verse:

'Up with the Sutors of Selkirk,
'And down wi' the Earl of Home;
'And up wi' a' the bra' lads
'That sew the single-soled shoon.'

"It is evident, that these words cannot be so ancient as to come near the time when the battle was fought; as Lord Home was not created an earl till near a century after that period.

"Our clergyman, in the "Statistical Account," Vol. II. p. 48, note, says, that these words were composed upon a match at foot-ball, between the Philiphaugh and Home families. I was five years at school at Selkirk, have lived all my days within two miles of that town, and never once heard a tradition of this imaginary contest till I saw it in print.

"Although the words are not very ancient, there is every reason to believe, that they allude to the battle of Flodden, and to the different behaviour of the souters, and Lord Home, upon that occasion. At election dinners, &c. when the Selkirk folks begin to get fou', (merry) they always call for music, and for that tune in particular.[25] At such times I never heard a souter hint at the foot-ball, but many times speak of the battle of "Flodden."—Letter from Mr Plummer to Mr Herd, 13th January, 1793.

The editor has taken every opportunity, which his situation[26] has afforded him, to obtain information on this point, and has been enabled to recover two additional verses of the song.

The yellow and green, mentioned in the second verse, are the liveries of the house of Home. When the Lord Home came to attend the governor, Albany, his attendants were arrayed in Kendal-green.—Godscroft.

THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,
And down wi' the Earl of Home;
And up wi' a' the braw lads,
That sew the single-soled shoon.

Fye upon yellow and yellow,
And fye upon yellow and green;
But up with the true blue and scarlet,
And up wi' the single-soled sheen.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,
For they are baith trusty and leal;
And up wi' the men of the Forest,[27]
And down with the Merse[28] to the deil.

NOTE
ON
THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK.

It is unnecessary here to enter into a formal refutation of the popular calumny, which taxed Lord Home with being the murderer of his sovereign, and the cause of the defeat at Flodden. So far from exhibiting any marks of cowardice or disaffection, the division, headed by that unfortunate nobleman, was the only part of the Scottish army which was conducted with common prudence on that fatal day. This body formed the vanguard, and entirely routed the division of Sir Edmund Howard, to which they were opposed; but the reserve of the English cavalry rendered it impossible for Home, notwithstanding his success, to come to the aid of the king, who was irretrievably ruined by his own impetuosity of temper.—Pinkerton's History, Vol II. p. 105. The escape of James from the field of battle, has been long deservedly ranked with that of King Sebastian, and similar speciosa miracula with which the vulgar have been amused in all ages. Indeed, the Scottish nation were so very unwilling to admit any advantage on the English part, that they seem actually to have set up pretensions to the victory.[29] The same temper of mind led them eagerly to ascribe the loss of their monarch, and his army, to any cause, rather than to his own misconduct, and the superior military skill of the English. There can be no doubt, that James actually fell on the field of battle, the slaughter-place of his nobles.—Pinkerton, ibid. His dead body was interred in the monastery of Sheen, in Surrey; and Stowe mentions, with regard to it, the following degrading circumstances.

"After the battle, the bodie of the said king, being found, was closed in lead, and conveyed from thence to London, and to the monasterie of Sheyne, in Surry, where it remained for a time, in what order I am not certaine; but, since the dissolution of that house, in the reigne of Edward VI., Henry Gray, Duke of Norfolke, being lodged, and keeping house there, I have been shewed the same bodie, so lapped in lead, close to the head and bodie, throwne into a waste room, amongst the old timber, lead, and other rubble. Since the which time, workmen there, for their foolish pleasure, hewed off his head; and Lancelot Young, master glazier to Queen Elizabeth, feeling a sweet savour to come from thence, and seeing the same dried from all moisture, and yet the form remaining, with haire of the head, and beard red, brought it to London, to his house in Wood-street, where, for a time, he kept it, for its sweetness, but, in the end, caused the sexton of that church (St Michael's, Wood-street) to bury it amongst other bones taken out of their charnell."—Stowe's Survey of London, p. 539.

FOOTNOTES:

[23] It is probable that Mr Robertson had not seen this deed, when he wrote his statistical account of the parish of Selkirk; for it appears, that, instead of a grant of lands, the privilege granted to the community was a right of tilling one thousand acres of those which already belonged to the burgh. Hence it follows, that, previous to the field of Flodden, the town must have been possessed of a spacious domain, to which a thousand acres in tillage might bear a due proportion. This circumstance ascertains the antiquity and power of the burgh; for, had this large tract of land been granted during the minority of James V., the donation, to be effectual, must have been included in the charters of confirmation.

[24] The charters are preserved in the records of the burgh.

[25] A singular custom is observed at conferring the freedom of the burgh. Four or five bristles, such as are used by shoemakers, are attached to the seal of the burgess ticket. These the new-made burgess must dip in his wine, and pass through his mouth, in token of respect for the souters of Selkirk. This ceremony is on no account dispensed with.

[26] That the editor succeeded Mr Plummer in his office of sheriff-depute, and has himself the honour to be a souter of Selkirk, may perhaps form the best apology for the length of this dissertation.

[27] Selkirkshire, otherwise called Ettrick Forest.

[28] Berwickshire, otherwise called the Merse.

[29]

"Against the proud Scottes' clattering,
That never wyll leave their tratlying;
Wan they the field and lost theyr kinge?
They may well say, fie on that winning!
Lo these fond sottes and tratlying Scottes,
How they are blinde in theyr own minde,
And will not know theyr overthrow.
At Branxton moore they are so stowre,
So frantike mad, they say they had,
And wan the field with speare and shielde:
That is as true as black is blue, &c.

Skelton Laureate against the Scottes.

[THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.]
PART FIRST.

The following well known, and beautiful stanzas, were composed many years ago, by a lady of family, in Roxburghshire. The manner of the ancient minstrels is so happily imitated, that it required the most positive evidence to convince the editor that the song was of modern date. Such evidence, however, he has been able to procure; having been favoured, through the kind intervention of Dr Somerville (well known to the literary world, as the historian of King William, &c.), with the following authentic copy of the Flowers of the Forest.

From the same respectable authority, the editor is enabled to state, that the tune of the ballad is ancient, as well as the two following lines of the first stanza:

I've heard them lilting at the ewes milking,
········
········
The flowers of the forest are a' wede away.

Some years after the song was composed, a lady, who is now dead, repeated to the author another imperfect line of the original ballad, which presents a simple and affecting image to the mind:

"I ride single on my saddle,
"For the flowers of the forest are a' wede away."

The first of these trifling fragments, joined to the remembrance of the fatal battle of Flodden (in the calamities accompanying which, the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest suffered a distinguished share), and to the present solitary and desolate appearance of the country, excited, in the mind of the author, the ideas, which she has expressed in a strain of elegiac simplicity and tenderness, which has seldom been equalled.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
PART FIRST.

I've heard them lilting, at the ewe milking,
Lasses a' lilting, before dawn of day;
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning;
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blithe lads are scorning;
Lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;
Nae daffing, nae gabbing, but sighing and sabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin, and hies her awae.

In har'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jearing;
Bandsters are runkled, and lyart or gray;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks, with the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—
The flowers of the forest are weded awae.

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day;
The flowers of the forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nae mair lilting, at the ewe milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning, on ilka green loaning—
The flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.

The following explanation of provincial terms may be found useful.

Lilting—Singing cheerfully. Loaning—A broad lane. Wede awae—Weeded out. Scorning—Rallying. Dowie—Dreary. Daffing and gabbing—Joking and chatting. Leglin—Milk-pail. Har'st—Harvest. Shearing—Reaping. Bandsters—Sheaf-binders. Runkled—Wrinkled. Lyart—Inclining to grey. Fleeching—Coaxing. Gloaming—Twilight.

NOTE
ON
THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.

At fair, or at preaching, &c.—P. [127]. v. 3.

These lines have been said to contain an anachronism; the supposed date of the lamentation being about the period of the field of Flodden. The editor can see no ground for this charge. Fairs were held in Scotland from the most remote antiquity; and are, from their very nature, scenes of pleasure and gallantry. The preachings of the friars were, indeed, professedly, meetings for a graver purpose; but we have the authority of the Wife of Bath (surely most unquestionable in such a point), that they were frequently perverted to places of rendezvous:

I had the better leisur for to pleie,
And for to see, and eke for to be seie
Of lusty folk. What wist I where my grace
Was shapen for to be, or in what place?
Therefore I made my visitations
To vigilies and to processions:
To preachings eke, and to thise pilgrimages,
To plays of miracles, and marriages, &c.

Canterbury Tales.

[THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.]
PART SECOND.

The following verses, adapted to the ancient air of the Flowers of the Forest, are, like the elegy which precedes them, the production of a lady. The late Mrs Cockburn, daughter of Rutherford of Fairnalie, in Selkirkshire, and relict of Mr Cockburn of Ormiston (whose father was lord justice-clerk of Scotland), was the authoress. Mrs Cockburn has been dead but a few years. Even at an age, advanced beyond the usual bounds of humanity, she retained a play of imagination, and an activity of intellect, which must have been attractive and delightful in youth, but was almost preternatural at her period of life. Her active benevolence, keeping pace with her genius, rendered her equally an object of love and admiration. The editor, who knew her well, takes this opportunity of doing justice to his own feelings; and they are in unison with those of all who knew his regretted friend.

The verses, which follow, were written at an early period of life, and without peculiar relation to any event, unless it were the depopulation of Ettrick Forest.

THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST.
PART SECOND.

I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling,
I've tasted her favours, and felt her decay;
Sweet is her blessing, and kind her caressing,
But soon it is fled—it is fled far away.

I've seen the forest adorned of the foremost,
With flowers of the fairest, both pleasant and gay:
Full sweet was their blooming, their scent the air perfuming,
But now they are wither'd, and a' wede awae.

I've seen the morning, with gold the hills adorning,
And the red storm roaring, before the parting day;
I've seen Tweed's silver streams, glittering in the sunny beams,
Turn drumly[30] and dark, as they rolled on their way.

O fickle fortune! why this cruel sporting?
Why thus perplex us poor sons of a day?
Thy frowns cannot fear me, thy smiles cannot cheer me,
Since the flowers of the forest are a' wede awae.

FOOTNOTES:

[30] Drumly—Discoloured.

[THE LAIRD OF MUIRHEAD.]

This Ballad is a fragment from Mr Herd's MS., communicated to him by J. Grossett Muirhead, at Breadesholm, near Glasgow; who stated, that he extracted it, as relating to his own Family, from the complete Song, in which the names of twenty or thirty gentlemen were mentioned, contained in a large Collection, belonging to Mr Alexander Monro, merchant in Lisbon, supposed now to be lost.

It appears, from the Appendix to Nesbit's Heraldry, p. 264, that Muirhead of Lachop and Bullis, the person here called the Laird of Muirhead, was a man of rank, being rentaller, or perhaps feuar, of many crown lands in Galloway; and was, in truth, slain "in Campo Belli de Northumberland sub vexillo Regis," i.e. in the Field of Flodden.

Afore the king in order stude
The stout laird of Muirhead,
Wi' that sam twa-hand muckle sword
That Bartram felled stark deid.

He sware he wadna lose his right
To fight in ilka field;
Nor budge him from his liege's sight,
Till his last gasp should yield.

Twa hunder mair, of his ain name,
Frae Torwood and the Clyde,
Sware they would never gang to hame,
But a' die by his syde.

And wond'rous weil they kept their troth;
This sturdy royal band
Rush'd down the brae, wi' sic a pith,
That nane cou'd them withstand.

Mony a bludey blow they delt,
The like was never seen;
And hadna that braw leader fallen,
They ne'er had slain the king.

[ODE
ON VISITING FLODDEN.]

BY J. LEYDEN.

Green Flodden! on thy blood-stained head
Descend no rain nor vernal dew;
But still, thou charnel of the dead,
May whitening bones thy surface strew!
Soon as I tread thy rush-clad vale,
Wild fancy feels the clasping mail;
The rancour of a thousand years
Glows in my breast; again I burn
To see the bannered pomp of war return,
And mark, beneath the moon, the silver light of spears.

Lo! bursting from their common tomb,
The spirits of the ancient dead
Dimly streak the parted gloom,
With awful faces, ghastly red;
As once, around their martial king,
They closed the death-devoted ring,
With dauntless hearts, unknown to yield;
In slow procession round the pile
Of heaving corses, moves each shadowy file,
And chaunts, in solemn strain, the dirge of Flodden field.

What youth, of graceful form and mien,
Foremost leads the spectred brave,
While o'er his mantle's folds of green
His amber locks redundant wave?
When slow returns the fated day,
That viewed their chieftain's long array,
Wild to the harp's deep, plaintive string,
The virgins raise the funeral strain,
From Ord's black mountain to the northern main,
And mourn the emerald hue which paints the vest of spring.

Alas! that Scottish maid should sing
The combat where her lover fell!
That Scottish bard should wake the string,
The triumph of our foes to tell!
Yet Teviot's sons, with high disdain,
Have kindled at the thrilling strain
That mourned their martial fathers' bier;
And, at the sacred font, the priest,
Through ages left the master-hand unblest,
To urge, with keener aim, the blood-encrusted spear.

Red Flodden! when thy plaintive strain,
In early youth, rose soft and sweet,
My life-blood, through each throbbing vein,
With wild tumultuous passion beat.
And oft, in fancied might, I trod
The spear-strewn path to Fame's abode,
Encircled with a sanguine flood;
And thought I heard the mingling hum,
When, croaking hoarse, the birds of carrion come
Afar, on rustling wing, to feast on English blood.

Rude border chiefs, of mighty name,
And iron soul; who sternly tore
The blossoms from the tree of fame,
And purpled deep their tints with gore,
Rush from brown ruins, scarred with age,
That frown o'er haunted Hermitage;
Where, long by spells mysterious bound,
They pace their round, with lifeless smile,
And shake, with restless foot, the guilty pile,
Till sink the mouldering towers beneath the burdened ground.

Shades of the dead! on Alfer's plain,
Who scorned with backward step to move,
But, struggling mid the hills of slain,
Against the sacred standard strove;
Amid the lanes of war I trace
Each broad claymore and ponderous mace:
Where'er the surge of arms is tost,
Your glittering spears, in close array,
Sweep, like the spider's filmy web, away
The flower of Norman pride, and England's victor host.

But distant fleets each warrior ghost,
With surly sounds, that murmur far;
Such sounds were heard when Syria's host
Roll'd from the walls of proud Samàr
Around my solitary head
Gleam the blue lightnings of the dead,
While murmur low the shadowy band—
"Lament no more the warrior's doom!
Blood, blood alone, should dew the hero's tomb,
Who falls, 'mid circling spears, to save his native land."

NOTES
ON
THE ODE TO FLODDEN.

And mourn the emerald hue which paints the vest of spring.—P. [137]. v. 2.

Under the vigorous administration of James IV. the young Earl of Caithness incurred the penalty of outlawry and forfeiture, for revenging an ancient feud. On the evening preceding the battle of Flodden, accompanied by 300 young warriors, arrayed in green, he presented himself before the king, and submitted to his mercy. This mark of attachment was so agreeable to that warlike prince, that he granted an immunity to the Earl and all his followers. The parchment, on which this immunity was inscribed, is said to be still preserved in the archives of the earls of Caithness, and is marked with the drum-strings, having been cut out of a drum-head, as no other parchment could be found in the army. The Earl, and his gallant band, perished to a man in the battle of Flodden; since which period, it has been reckoned unlucky in Caithness to wear green, or cross the Ord on a Monday, the day of the week on which the chieftain advanced into Sutherland.

Through ages left the master-hand unblest, &c.—P. [138]. v. 1.

In the border counties of Scotland, it was formerly customary, when any rancorous enmity subsisted between two clans, to leave the right hand of male children unchristened, that it might deal the more deadly, or, according to the popular phrase, "unhallowed" blows, to their enemies. By this superstitious rite, they were devoted to bear the family feud, or enmity. The same practice subsisted in Ireland, as appears from the following passage in Campion's History of Ireland, published in 1633. "In some corners of the land they used a damnable superstition, leaving the right armes of their infants, males, unchristened (as they termed it), to the end it might give a more ungracious and deadly blow." P. [15].

Till sink the mouldering towers beneath the burdened ground.—P. [139]. v. 1.

Popular superstition in Scotland still retains so formidable an idea of the guilt of blood, that those ancient edifices, or castles, where enormous crimes have been committed, are supposed to sink gradually into the ground. With regard to the castle of Hermitage, in particular, the common people believe, that thirty feet of the walls sunk, thirty feet fell, and thirty feet remain standing.

Against the sacred standard strove, &c.—P. [139]. v. 2.

The fatal battle of the standard was fought on Cowton Moor, near Northallerton (A.S. Ealfertun), in Yorkshire, 1138. David I. commanded the Scottish army. He was opposed by Thurston, archbishop of York, who, to animate his followers, had recourse to the impressions of religious enthusiasm. The mast of a ship was fitted into the perch of a four-wheeled carriage; on its top was placed a little casket, containing a consecrated host. It also contained the banner of St Cuthbert, round which were displayed those of St Peter of York, St John of Beverly, and St Wilfred of Rippon. This was the English standard, and was stationed in the centre of the army. Prince Henry, son of David, at the head of the men of arms, chiefly from Cumberland and Teviotdale, charged, broke, and completely dispersed, the centre; but unfortunately was not supported by the other divisions of the Scottish army. The expression of Aldred (p. 345), describing this encounter, is more spirited than the general tenor of monkish historians;—"Ipsa globi australis parte, instar cassis araneæ dissipata"—that division of the phalanx was dispersed like a cobweb.

MINSTRELSY
OF THE
SCOTTISH BORDER.
PART THIRD.
IMITATIONS
OF
THE ANCIENT BALLAD.

[CHRISTIE'S WILL.]

In the reign of Charles I., when the moss-trooping practices were not entirely discontinued, the tower of Gilnockie, in the parish of Cannoby, was occupied by William Armstrong, called, for distinction's sake, Christie's Will, a lineal descendant of the famous John Armstrong, of Gilnockie, executed by James V.[31] The hereditary love of plunder had descended to this person with the family mansion; and, upon some marauding party, he was seized, and imprisoned in the tolbooth of Jedburgh. The Earl of Traquair, lord high treasurer, happening to visit Jedburgh, and knowing Christie's Will, enquired the cause of his confinement. Will replied, he was imprisoned for stealing two tethers (halters); but, upon being more closely interrogated, acknowledged, there were two delicate colts at the end of them. The joke, such as it was, amused the Earl, who exerted his interest, and succeeded in releasing Christie's Will from bondage. Some time afterwards, a law-suit, of importance to Lord Traquair, was to be decided in the Court of Session; and there was every reason to believe, that the judgment would turn upon the voice of the presiding judge, who has a casting vote, in case of an equal division among his brethren. The opinion of the president was unfavourable to Lord Traquair; and the point was, therefore, to keep him out of the way, when the question should be tried. In this dilemma, the Earl had recourse to Christie's Will; who, at once, offered his service, to kidnap the president. Upon due scrutiny, he found it was the judge's practice frequently to take the air, on horseback, on the sands of Leith, without an attendant. In one of these excursions, Christie's Will, who had long watched his opportunity, ventured to accost the president, and engage him in conversation. His address and language were so amusing, that he decoyed the president into an unfrequented and furzy common, called the Frigate Whins, where, riding suddenly up to him, he pulled him from his horse, muffled him in a large cloak, which he had provided, and rode off, with the luckless judge trussed up behind him. Will crossed the country with great expedition, by paths, only known to persons of his description, and deposited his weary and terrified burden in an old castle, in Annandale, called the Tower of Graham.[32] The judge's horse being found, it was concluded he had thrown his rider into the sea; his friends went into mourning, and a successor was appointed to his office. Meanwhile, the poor president spent a heavy time in the vault of the castle. He was imprisoned, and solitary; receiving his food through an aperture in the wall, and never hearing the sound of a human voice, save when a shepherd called his dog, by the name of Batty, and when a female domestic called upon Maudge, the cat. These, he concluded, were invocations of spirits; for he held himself to be in the dungeon of a sorcerer. At length, after three months had elapsed, the law-suit was decided in favour of Lord Traquair; and Will was directed to set the president at liberty. Accordingly, he entered the vault, at dead of night, seized the president, muffled him once more in the cloak, without speaking a single word, and, using the same mode of transportation, conveyed him to Leith sands, and set down the astonished judge on the very spot where he had taken him up. The joy of his friends, and the less agreeable surprise of his successor, may be easily conceived, when he appeared in court, to reclaim his office and honours. All embraced his own persuasion, that he had been spirited away by witchcraft; nor could he himself be convinced of the contrary, until, many years afterwards, happening to travel in Annandale, his ears were saluted, once more, with the sounds of Maudge and Batty—the only notes which had solaced his long confinement. This led to a discovery of the whole story; but, in these disorderly times, it was only laughed at, as a fair ruse de guerre.

Wild and strange as this tradition may seem, there is little doubt of its foundation in fact. The judge, upon whose person this extraordinary stratagem was practised, was Sir Alexander Gibson, Lord Durie, collector of the reports, well known in the Scottish law, under the title of Durie's Decisions. He was advanced to the station of an ordinary lord of session, 10th July, 1621, and died, at his own house of Durie, July 1646. Betwixt these periods his whimsical adventure must have happened; a date which corresponds with that of the tradition.

"We may frame," says Forbes, "a rational conjecture of his great learning and parts, not only from his collection of the decisions of the session, from July 1621 till July 1642, but also from the following circumstances: 1. In a tract of more as twenty years, he was frequently chosen vice-president, and no other lord in that time. 2. 'Tis commonly reported, that some party, in a considerable action before the session, finding, that the Lord Durie could not be persuaded to think his plea good, fell upon a stratagem to prevent the influence and weight, which his lordship might have to his prejudice, by causing some strong masked men kidnap him, in the links of Leith, at his diversion on a Saturday afternoon, and transport him to some blind and obscure room in the country, where he was detained captive, without the benefit of day-light, a matter of three months (though otherways civilly and well entertained); during which time his lady and children went in mourning for him, as dead. But, after the cause aforesaid was decided, the Lord Durie was carried back by incognitos, and dropt in the same place where he had been taken up."—Forbes's Journal of the Session, Edin. 1714. Preface, p. 28.

Tradition ascribes to Christie's Will another memorable feat, which seems worthy of being recorded. It is well known, that, during the troubles of Charles I., the Earl of Traquair continued unalterably fixed in his attachment to his unfortunate master, in whose service he hazarded his person, and impoverished his estate. It was of consequence, it is said, to the king's service, that a certain packet, containing papers of importance, should be transmitted to him from Scotland. But the task was a difficult one, as the parliamentary leaders used their utmost endeavours to prevent any communication betwixt the king and his Scottish friends. Traquair, in this strait, again had recourse to the services of Christie's Will; who undertook the commission, conveyed the papers safely to his majesty, and received an answer, to be delivered to Lord Traquair. But, in the mean time, his embassy had taken air, and Cromwell had dispatched orders to intercept him at Carlisle. Christie's Will, unconscious of his danger, halted in the town to refresh his horse, and then pursued his journey. But, as soon as he began to pass the long, high, and narrow bridge, which crosses the Eden at Carlisle, either end of the pass was occupied by a party of parliamentary soldiers, who were lying in wait for him. The borderer disdained to resign his enterprise, even in these desperate circumstances; and at once forming his resolution, spurred his horse over the parapet. The river was in high flood. Will sunk—the soldiers shouted—he emerged again, and, guiding his horse to a steep bank, called the Stanners, or Stanhouse, endeavoured to land, but ineffectually, owing to his heavy horseman's cloak, now drenched in water. Will cut the loop, and the horse, feeling himself disembarrassed, made a desperate exertion, and succeeded in gaining the bank. Our hero set off, at full speed, pursued by the troopers, who had for a time stood motionless, in astonishment at his temerity. Will, however, was well mounted; and, having got the start, he kept it, menacing, with his pistols, any pursuer, who seemed likely to gain on him—an artifice which succeeded, although the arms were wet and useless. He was chaced to the river Eske, which he swam without hesitation; and, finding himself on Scottish ground, and in the neighbourhood of friends, he turned on the northern bank, and, in the true spirit of a border rider, invited his followers to come through, and drink with him. After this taunt, he proceeded on his journey, and faithfully accomplished his mission. Such were the exploits of the very last border freebooter of any note.

The reader is not to regard the ballad as of genuine and unmixed antiquity, though some stanzas are current upon the border, in a corrupted state. They have been eked and joined together, in the rude and ludicrous manner of the original; but as it is to be considered as a modern ballad, it is transferred to this department of the work.

CHRISTIE'S WILL.

Traquair has ridden up Chapelhope,
And sae has he down by the Gray Mare's Tail;[33]
He never stinted the light gallop,
Untill he speer'd for Christie's Will.

Now Christie's Will peep'd frae the tower,
And out at the shot-hole keeked he;
"And ever unlucky," quo' he, "is the hour,
"That the warden comes to speer for me!"

"Good Christie's Will, now, have na fear!
"Nae harm, good Will, shall hap to thee:
"I saved thy life at the Jeddart air,
"At the Jeddart air frae the justice tree.

"Bethink how ye sware, by the salt and the bread,[34]
"By the lightning, the wind, and the rain,
"That if ever of Christie's Will I had need,
"He would pay me my service again."

"Gramercy, my lord," quo' Christie's Will,
"Gramercy, my lord, for your grace to me!
"When I turn my cheek, and claw my neck,
"I think of Traquair, and the Jeddart tree."

And he has opened the fair tower yate,
To Traquair and a' his companie;
The spule o' the deer on the board he has set,
The fattest that ran on the Hutton Lee.

"Now, wherefore sit ye sad, my lord?
"And wherefore sit ye mournfullie?
"And why eat ye not of the venison I shot,
"At the dead of night, on Hutton Lee?"

"O weel may I stint of feast and sport,
"And in my mind be vexed sair!
"A vote of the canker'd Session Court,
"Of land and living will make me bair.

"But if auld Durie to heaven were flown,
"Or if auld Durie to hell were gane,
"Or ... if he could be but ten days stown....
"My bonny braid lands would still be my ain."

"O mony a time, my lord," he said,
"I've stown the horse frae the sleeping loun;
"But for you I'll steal a beast as braid,
"For I'll steal Lord Durie frae Edinburgh town.

"O mony a time, my lord," he said,
"I've stown a kiss frae a sleeping wench;
"But for you I'll do as kittle a deed,
"For I'll steal an auld lurdane aff the bench."

And Christie's Will is to Edinburgh gane;
At the Borough Muir then entered he;
And as he pass'd the gallow-stane,
He cross'd his brow, and he bent his knee.

He lighted at Lord Durie's door,
And there he knocked most manfullie;
And up and spake Lord Durie, sae stoor,
"What tidings, thou stalward groom, to me?"

"The fairest lady in Teviotdale,
"Has sent, maist reverent Sir, for thee;
"She pleas at the session for her land, a' haill,
"And fain she wad plead her cause to thee."

"But how can I to that lady ride,
"With saving of my dignitie?"
"O a curch and mantle ye may wear,
"And in my cloak ye sall muffled be."

Wi' curch on head, and cloak ower face,
He mounted the judge on a palfrey fyne;
He rode away, a right round pace,
And Christie's Will held the bridle reyn.

The Lothian Edge they were not o'er,
When they heard bugles bauldly ring,
And, hunting over Middleton Moor,
They met, I ween, our noble king.

When Willie look'd upon our king,
I wot a frightened man was he!
But ever auld Durie was startled more,
For tyning of his dignitie.

The king he cross'd himself, I wis,
When as the pair came riding bye—
"An uglier crone, and a sturdier lown,
"I think, were never seen with eye!"

Willie has hied to the tower of Græme,
He took auld Durie on his back,
He shot him down to the dungeon deep,
Which garr'd his auld banes gie mony a crack.

For nineteen days, and nineteen nights,
Of sun, or moon, or midnight stern,
Auld Durie never saw a blink,
The lodging was sae dark and dern.

He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cross
Had fang'd him in their nets sae fast;
Or that the gypsies' glamour'd gang,
Had lair'd[35] his learning at the last.

"Hey! Batty, lad! far yaud! far yaud!"[36]
These were the morning sounds heard he;
And "ever alack!" auld Durie cried,
"The deil is hounding his tykes on me!"

And whiles a voice on Baudrons cried,
With sound uncouth, and sharp, and hie;
"I have tar-barrell'd mony a witch,
"But now, I think, they'll clear scores wi' me!"

The king has caused a bill be wrote,
And he has set it on the Tron,—
"He that will bring Lord Durie back,
"Shall have five hundred merks and one."

Traquair has written a braid letter,
And he has seal'd it wi' his seal,—
"Ye may let the auld brock[37] out o' the poke;
"The land's my ain, and a's gane weel."

O Will has mounted his bonny black,
And to the tower of Græme did trudge,
And once again, on his sturdy back,
Has he hente up the weary judge.

He brought him to the council stairs,
And there full loudly shouted he,
"Gie me my guerdon, my sovereign liege,
"And take ye back your auld Durie!"

NOTES
ON
CHRISTIE'S WILL.

He thought the warlocks o' the rosy cross.—P. [158]. v. 4.

"As for the rencounter betwixt Mr Williamson, schoolmaster at Cowper (who has wrote a grammar), and the Rosicrucians, I never trusted it, till I heard it from his own son, who is present minister of Kirkaldy. He tells, that a stranger came to Cowper, and called for him: after they had drank a little, and the reckoning came to be paid, he whistled for spirits; one, in the shape of a boy, came, and gave him gold in abundance; no servant was seen riding with him to the town, nor enter with him into the inn. He caused his spirits, against next day, bring him noble Greek wine, from the Pope's cellar, and tell the freshest news then at Rome; then trysted Mr Williamson at London, who met the same man, in a coach, near to London bridge, and who called on him by his name; he marvelled to see any know him there; at last he found it was his Rosicrucian. He pointed to a tavern, and desired Mr Williamson to do him the favour to dine with him at that house; whither he came at twelve o'clock, and found him, and many others of good fashion there, and a most splendid and magnificent table, furnished with all the varieties of delicate meats, where they are all served by spirits. At dinner, they debated upon the excellency of being attended by spirits; and, after dinner, they proposed to him to assume him into their society, and make him participant of their happy life; but, among the other conditions and qualifications requisite, this was one, that they demanded his abstracting his spirit from all materiality, and renouncing his baptismal engagements. Being amazed at this proposal, he falls a praying; whereat they all disappear, and leave him alone. Then he began to forethink what would become of him, if he were left to pay that vast reckoning; not having as much on him as would defray it. He calls the boy, and asks, what was become of these gentlemen, and what was to pay? He answered, there was nothing to pay, for they had done it, and were gone about their affairs in the city."—Fountainhall's Decisions, Vol. I. p. 15. With great deference to the learned reporter, this story has all the appearance of a joke upon the poor schoolmaster, calculated at once to operate upon his credulity, and upon his fears of being left in pawn for the reckoning.

Or that the gypsies' glamour'd gang, &c.—P. [158]. v. 4.

Besides the prophetic powers, ascribed to the gypsies in most European countries, the Scottish peasants believe them possessed of the power of throwing upon by-standers a spell, to fascinate their eyes, and cause them to see the thing that is not. Thus, in the old ballad of Johnie Faa, the elopement of the countess of Cassillis, with a gypsey leader, is imputed to fascination:

As sune as they saw her weel-far'd face,
They cast the glamour ower her.

Saxo Grammaticus mentions a particular sect of Mathematicians, as he is pleased to call them, who "per summam ludificandorum oculorum peritiam, proprios alienosque vultus, variis rerum imaginibus, adumbrare callebant; illicibusque formis veros obscurare conspectus." Merlin, the son of Ambrose, was particularly skilled in this art, and displays it often in the old metrical romance of Arthour and Merlin:

Tho' thai com the kinges neighe
Merlin hef his heued on heighe
And kest on hem enchauntement
That he hem alle allmest blent
That non other sen no might
A gret while y you plight &c.

The jongleurs were also great professors of this mystery, which has in some degree descended, with their name, on the modern jugglers. But durst Breslaw, the Sieur Boaz, or Katterfelto himself, have encountered, in magical slight, the tregetoures of father Chaucer, who

---- within a hall large
Have made come in a water and a barge,
And in the halle rowen up and down;
Somtime hath semed come a grim leoun,
And somtime flowres spring as in a mede;
Somtime a vine and grapes white and rede,
Somtime a castel al of lime and ston;
And when hem liketh voideth it anon.
Thus seemeth it to every mannes sight.—

Frankeleene's Tale.

And, again, the prodigies exhibited by the clerk of Orleans to Aurelius:—

He shewd him or they went to soupere
Forestes, parkes, ful of wilde dere;
Ther saw he hartes with hir hornes hie,
The gretest that were ever seen with eie:
He saw of hem an hundred slain with houndes,
And some with arwes blede of bitter woundes:
He saw, when voided were the wilde dere,
Thise fauconers upon a fair rivere,
That with hir haukes han the heron slain:
Tho saw he knightes justen on a plain;
And after this he did him swiche plesance,
That he him shewd his lady on a dance,
On which himselven danced, as him thought:
And whan this maister that this magike wrought,
Saw it was time, he clapt his handes two,
And farewell! all the revel is ago.
And yet remued they never out of the house,
While they saw all thise sights merveillous:
But in his studie ther his bookes be,
They saten still and no wight but this three.

Ibidem.

Our modern professors of the magic natural would likewise have been sorely put down by the Jogulours and Enchantours of the Grete Chan; "for they maken to come in the air the sone and the mone, beseminge to every mannes sight; and aftre, they maken the nyght so dirke, that no man may se no thing; and aftre, they maken the day to come agen, fair and plesant, with bright sone to every mannes sight; and than, they bringin in daunces of the fairest damyselles of the world, and richest arrayed; and after, they maken to comen in other damyselles, bringing coupes of gold, fulle of mylke of diverse bestes; and geven drinke to lordes and to ladyes; and than they maken knyghtes to justen in arms fulle lustyly; and they rennen togidre a gret randoun, and they frusschen togidere full fiercely, and they broken her speres so rudely, that the trenchouns flen in sprotis and pieces alle aboute the halle; and than they make to come in hunting for the hert and for the boor, with houndes renning with open mouthe: and many other things they dow of her enchauntements, that it is marveyle for to se."—Sir John Mandeville's Travels, p. 285. I question much, also, if the most artful illuminatus of Germany could have matched the prodigies exhibited by Pacolet and Adramain. "Adonc Adramain leva une cappe par dessus une pillier, et en telle sort, qu'il sembla a ceux qui furent presens, que parmi la place couroit, une riviere fort grande et terrible. Et en icelle riviere sembloit avoir poissons en grand abondance, grands et petits. Et quand ceux de palaís virent l'eau si grande, ils commencerent tous a lever leur robes et a crier fort, comme sils eussent eu peur d'estre noye; et Pacolet, qui l'enchantement regarda, commenca a chanter, et fit un sort si subtil en son chant qui sembla a tous ceux de lieu que parmy la riviere couroit un cerf grand et cornu, qui jettoit et abbatoit a terre tout ce que devant lui trouvoit, puis leur fut advis que voyoyent chasseurs et veneurs courir apris le Cerf, avec grande puissance de levriers et des chiens. Lors y eut plusieurs de la compagnie qui saillirent au devant pour le Cerf attraper et cuyder prendre; mais Pacolet fist tost le Cerf sailler. "Bien avez joué," dit Orson, "et bien scavez vostre art user."—L'Histoire des Valentin et Orson, a Rouen, 1631. The receipt, to prevent the operation of these deceptions, was, to use a sprig of four-leaved clover. I remember to have heard (certainly very long ago, for, at the time, I believed the legend), that a gypsey exercised his glamour over a number of people at Haddington, to whom he exhibited a common dung-hill cock, trailing, what appeared to the spectators, a massy oaken trunk. An old man passed with a cart of clover; he stopped, and picked out a four-leaved blade; the eyes of the spectators were opened, and the oaken trunk appeared to be a bulrush.

I have tar-barrell'd mony a witch.—P. [159]. v. 1.

Human nature shrinks from the brutal scenes, produced by the belief in witchcraft. Under the idea, that the devil imprinted upon the body of his miserable vassals a mark, which was insensible to pain, persons were employed to run needles into the bodies of the old women who were suspected of witchcraft. In the dawning of common sense upon this subject, a complaint was made before the Privy Council of Scotland, 11th September, 1678, by Catherine Liddell, a poor woman, against the baron-bailie of Preston-Grange, and David Cowan (a professed pricker), for having imprisoned, and most cruelly tortured her. They answered, 1st, She was searched by her own consent, et volenti non fit injuria; 2d, The pricker had learned his trade from Kincaid, a famed pricker; 3d, He never acted, but when called upon by magistrates or clergymen, so what he did was auctore prætore; 4th, His trade was lawful; 5th, Perkins, Delrio, and all divines and lawyers, who treat of witchcraft, assert the existence of the marks, or stigmata sagarum; and, 6thly, Were it otherwise, Error communis facit jus.—Answered, 1st, Denies consent; 2d, Nobody can validly consent to their own torture; for, Nemo est dominus membrorum suorum; 3d, The pricker was a common cheat. The last arguments prevailed; and it was found, that inferior judges "might not use any torture, by pricking, or by with-holding them from sleep;" the council reserving all that to themselves, the justices, and those acting by commission from them. But Lord Durie, a lord of session, could have no share in these inflictions.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] For his pedigree, the reader may consult the Appendix to the ballad of Johnie Armstrong, Vol. I.

[32] It stands upon the water of Dryfe, not far from Moffat.

[33] Gray Mare's Tail—A cataract above Moffat, so called.

[34] "He took bread and salt by this light, that he would never open his lips." The Honest Whore, act 5, scene 12.

[35] Lair'd—Bogged.

[36] Far yaud. The signal made by a shepherd to his dog, when he is to drive away some sheep at a distance. From Yoden, to go. Ang. Sax.

[37] Brock—Badger.

[THOMAS THE RHYMER.]

IN THREE PARTS.

PART FIRST.—ANCIENT.

Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Erceldoune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, or supposed to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical composition, and of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain history of this remarkable man, would be indeed difficult; but the curious may derive some satisfaction from the particulars here brought together.

It is agreed, on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birth-place, of this ancient bard, was Erceldoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform tradition bears, that his sirname was Lermont, or Learmont; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred on him in consequence of his poetical compositions. There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon this subject. In a charter, which is subjoined at length,[38] the son of our poet designs himself "Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun," which seems to imply, that the father did not bear the hereditary name of Learmont; or, at least, was better known and distinguished by the epithet, which he had acquired by his personal accomplishments. I must, however, remark, that, down to a very late period, the practice of distinguishing the parties, even in formal writings, by the epithets which had been bestowed on them from personal circumstances, instead of the proper sirnames of their families, was common, and indeed necessary, among the border clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth century, when sirnames were hardly introduced in Scotland, this custom must have been universal. There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in supposing our poet's name to have been actually Learmont, although, in this charter, he is distinguished by the popular appellation of The Rhymer.

We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of Ercildoune lived, being the latter end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to place his death a little farther back than Mr Pinkerton, who supposes that he was alive in 1300 (List of Scottish Poets); which is hardly, I think, consistent with the charter already quoted, by which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, conveys to the convent of the Trinity of Soltre, the tenement which he possessed by inheritance (hereditarie) in Ercildoun, with all claim which he, or his predecessors, could pretend thereto. From this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead; since we find his son disposing of the family property. Still, however, the argument of the learned historian will remain unimpeached, as to the time of the poet's birth. For if, as we learn from Barbour, his prophecies were held in reputation[39] as early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Cummin, the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr Pinkerton's words) the uncertainty of antiquity, must have already involved his character and writings. In a charter of Peter de Haga de Bemersyde, which unfortunately wants a date, the Rhymer, a near neighbour, and, if we may trust tradition, a friend of the family, appears as a witness.—Cartulary of Melrose.

It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercildoun was a remarkable and important person in his own time, since, very shortly after his death, we find him celebrated as a prophet, and as a poet. Whether he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe Mackenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun, of a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems not to be the most distant proof. On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted by himself. Thus, in Wintown's Chronicle,

Of this fycht quilum spak Thomas
Of Ersyldoune, that sayd in Derne,
Thare suld meit stalwartly, starke and sterne.
He sayd it in his prophecy;
But how he wist it was ferly.

Book VIII. chap. 32.

There could have been no ferly (marvel) in Wintown's eyes, at least, how Thomas came by his knowledge of future events, had he ever heard of the inspired nun of Haddington; which, it cannot be doubted, would have been a solution of the mystery, much to the taste of the prior of Lochleven.[40]

Whatever doubts, however, the learned might have, as to the source of the Rhymer's prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the whole to the intercourse between the bard and the queen of Faëry. The popular tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, which made him afterwards so famous. After seven years residence, he was permitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his countrymen by his prophetic powers; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her pleasure.[41] Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry with his friends, in the tower of Ercildoun, a person came running in, and told, with marks of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, parading the street of the village.[42] The prophet instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. According to the popular belief, he still "drees his weird" in Fairy Land, and is one day expected to revisit earth. In the meanwhile, his memory is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, now no longer exists; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. A neighbouring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn (Goblin Brook) from the Rhymer's supernatural visitants. The veneration paid to his dwelling place, even attached itself in some degree to a person, who, within the memory of man, chose to set up his residence in the ruins of Learmont's tower. The name of this man was Murray, a kind of herbalist; who, by dint of some knowledge in simples, the possession of a musical clock, an electrical machine, and a stuffed aligator, added to a supposed communication with Thomas the Rhymer, lived for many years in very good credit as a wizard.

It seemed to the editor unpardonable to dismiss a person, so important in border tradition as the Rhymer, without some farther notice than a simple commentary upon the following ballad. It is given from a copy, obtained from a lady, residing not far from Ercildoun, corrected and enlarged by one in Mrs Brown's MSS. The former copy, however, as might be expected, is far more minute as to local description. To this old tale the editor has ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a kind of Cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer; and a Third Part, entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his having returned with the hart and hind, to the land of Faërie. To make his peace with the more severe antiquaries, the editor has prefixed to the second part some remarks on Learmont's prophecies.

THOMAS THE RHYMER.
PART FIRST.
ANCIENT.

True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
And there he saw a ladye bright,
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane,
Hang fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pull'd aff his cap,
And louted low down to his knee,
"All hail, thou mighty queen of heav'n!
"For thy peer on earth I never did see."

"O no, O no, Thomas," she said;
"That name does not belang to me;
"I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
"That am hither come to visit thee.

"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said;
"Harp and carp along wi' me;
"And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
"Sure of your bodie I will be."

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
"That weird[43] shall never danton me."
Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said;
"True Thomas ye maun go wi' me;
"And ye maun serve me seven years,
"Thro' weal or woe as may chance to be."

She mounted on her milk-white steed;
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on;
The steed gaed swifter than the wind;
Until they reached a desart wide,
And living land was left behind.

"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas,
"And lean your head upon my knee:
"Abide and rest a little space,
"And I will shew you ferlies three.

"O see ye not yon narrow road,
"So thick beset with thorns and briers?
"That is the path of righteousness,
"Though after it but few enquires.

"And see not ye that braid braid road,
"That lies across that lily leven?
"That is the path of wickedness,
"Though some call it the road to heaven.

"And see not ye that bonny road,
"That winds about the fernie brae?
"That is the road to fair Elfland,
"Where thou and I this night maun gae.

"But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
"Whatever ye may hear or see;
"For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,
"Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie."

O they rade on, and farther on,
And they waded through rivers aboon the knee,
And they saw neither sun nor moon,
But they heard the roaring of the sea.

It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
And they waded through red blude to the knee;
For a' the blude, that's shed on earth,
Rins through the springs o' that countrie.

Syne they came on to a garden green,
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree—
"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas;
"It will give thee the tongue that can never lie."

"My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said;
"A gudely gift ye wad gie to me!
"I neither dought to buy nor sell,
"At fair or tryst where I may be.

"I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
"Nor ask of grace from fair ladye."
"Now hold thy peace!" the lady said,
"For, as I say, so must it be."

He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green;
And, till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

NOTE AND APPENDIX
TO
THOMAS THE RHYMER.
PART FIRST.

She pu'd an apple frae a tree, &c.—P. [176]. v. 5.

The traditional commentary upon this ballad informs us, that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of Knowledge, and that the garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repugnance of Thomas to be debarred the use of falsehood, when he might find it convenient, has a comic effect.

The reader is here presented, from an old, and unfortunately an imperfect MS., with the undoubted original of Thomas the Rhymer's intrigue with the queen of Faëry. It will afford great amusement to those who would study the nature of traditional poetry, and the changes effected by oral tradition, to compare this ancient romance with the foregoing ballad. The same incidents are narrated, even the expression is often the same; yet the poems are as different in appearance, as if the older tale had been regularly and systematically modernized by a poet of the present day.

Incipit Prophesia Thomæ de Erseldoun.

In a lande as I was lent,
In the gryking of the day,
Ay alone as I went,
In Huntle bankys me for to play:
I saw the throstyl, and the jay,
Ye mawes movyde of her song,
Ye wodwale sange notes gay,
That al the wod about range.
In that longyng as I lay,
Undir nethe a dern tre,
I was war of a lady gay,
Come rydyng ouyr a fair le;
Zogh I suld sitt to domysday,
With my tong to wrabbe and wry,
Certenly all hyr aray,
It beth neuyr discryuyd for me.
Hyr palfra was dappyll gray,
Sycke on say neuer none,
As the son in somers day,
All abowte that lady shone;
Hyr sadyl was of a rewel bone,
A semly syght it was to se,
Bryht with many a precyous stone,
And compasyd all with crapste;
Stones of oryens gret plente,
Her hair about her hede it hang,
She rode ouer the farnyle.
A while she blew a while she sang,
Her girths of nobil silke they were,
Her boculs were of beryl stone,
Sadyll and brydil war——:
With sylk and sendel about bedone,
Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne,
And hyr croper of the arase,
Hyr brydil was of gold fyne,
On euery syde forsothe hong bells thre,
Hyr brydil reynes—-
A semly syzt——
Crop and patyrel—-
In every joynt——
She led thre grew houndes in a leash,
And ratches cowpled by her ran;
She bar an horn about her halse,
And undir her gyrdil mene flene.
Thomas lay and sa—-
In the bankes of——
He sayd yonder is Mary of Might,
That bar the child that died for me,
Certes bot I may speke with that lady bright,
Myd my hert will breke in three;
I schal me hye with all my might,
Hyr to mete at Eldyn Tree.
Thomas rathly up he rase,
And ran ouer mountayn hye,
If it be sothe the story says,
He met her euyn at Eldyn Tre.
Thomas knelyd down on his kne
Undir nethe the grenewood spray,
And sayd, lovely lady thou rue on me,
Queen of heaven as you well may be;
But I am a lady of another countrie,
If I be pareld most of prise,
I ride after the wild fee,
My ratches rinnen at my devys.
If thou be pareld most of prise,
And rides a lady in strang foly,
Lovely lady as thou art wise,
Giue you me leue to lige ye by.
Do way Thomas, that wert foly,
I pray ye Thomas late me be,
That sin will forde all my bewtie:
Lovely ladye rewe on me,
And euer more I shall with ye dwell,
Here my trowth I plyght to thee,
Where you beleues in heuin or hell.
Thomas, and you myght lyge me by,
Undir nethe this grene wode spray,
Thou would tell full hastely,
That thou had layn by a lady gay.
Lady I mote lyg by the,
Under nethe the grene wode tre,
For all the gold in chrystenty,
Suld you neuer be wryede for me.
Man on molde you will me marre,
And yet bot you may haf you will,
Trow you well Thomas, you cheuyst ye warre;
For all my bewtie wilt you spill.
Down lyghtyd that lady bryzt,
Undir nethe the grene wode spray,
And as ye story sayth full ryzt,
Seuyn tymes by her he lay.
She seyd, man you lyste thi play,
What berde in bouyr may dele with thee,
That maries me all this long day;
I pray ye Thomas lat me be.
Thomas stode up in the stede,
And behelde the lady gay,
Her heyre hang down about hyr hede,
The tone was blak, the other gray.
Her eyn semyt onte before was gray,
Her gay clethyng was all away,
That he before had sene in that stede;
Hyr body as blow as ony bede.
Thomas sighede, and sayd allas,
Me thynke this a dullfull syght,
That thou art fadyd in the face,
Before you shone as son so bryzt.
Tak thy leue Thomas, at son and mone,
At gresse, and at euery tre.
This twelmonth sall you with me gone,
Medyl erth you sall not se.
Alas he seyd, ful wo is me,
I trow my dedes will werke me care,
Jesu my sole tak to ye,
Whedir so euyr my body sal fare.
She rode furth with all her myzt,
Undir nethe the derne lee,
It was as derke as at mydnizt,
And euyr in water unto the kne;
Through the space of days thre,
He herde but swowyng of a flode;
Thomas sayd, ful wo is me,
Nowe I spyll for fawte of fode;
To a garden she lede him tyte,
There was fruyte in grete plente,
Peyres and appless ther were rype,
The date and the damese,
The figge and als fylbert tre;
The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste,
The papigaye about gan fle,
The throstylcok sang wold hafe no rest.
He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand
As man for faute that was faynt;
She seyd, Thomas lat al stand,
Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt.
Sche said, Thomas I the hyzt,
To lay thi hede upon my kne,
And thou shalt see fayrer syght,
Than euyr sawe man in their kintre.
Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way,
That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn?
Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay,
Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne.
Sees thou, Thomas, yon secund way,
That lygges lawe undir the ryse?
Streight is the way sothly to say,
To the joyes of paradyce.
Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way,
That ligges ouyr yone how?
Wide is the way sothly to say,
To the brynyng fyres of hell.
Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castell,
That standes ouyr yone fayr hill?
Of town and tower it beereth the belle,
In middell erth is non like theretill.
Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye,
I pray thu curteis man to be;
What so any man to you say,
Soke thu answer non but me.
My lord is servyd at yche messe,
With xxx kniztes feir and fre;
I sall say syttyng on the dese,
I toke thy speche beyonde the le.
Thomas stode as still as stone,
And behelde that ladye gaye;
Than was sche fayr and ryche anone,
And also ryal on hir palfreye.
The grewhoundes had fylde them on the dere,
The raches coupled, by my fay,
She blewe her horn Thomas to chere,
To the castell she went her way.
The ladye into the hall went,
Thomas folowyd at her hand;
Thar kept hyr mony a lady gent,
With curtasy and lawe.
Harp and fedyl both he fande,
The getern and the sawtry,
Lut and rybid ther gon gan,
Thair was al maner of mynstralsy.
The most fertly that Thomas thoght,
When he com emyddes the flore,
Fourty hertes to quarry were broght,
That had ben befor both long and store.
Lymors lay lappyng blode,
And kokes standyng with dressyng knyfe,
And dressyd dere as thai wer wode,
And rewell was thair wonder
Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre,
All that leue long day.
Ladyes that wer gret of gre,
Sat and sang of rych aray.
Thomas sawe much more in that place,
Than I can descryve,
Til on a day alas, alas,
My lovelye ladye sayd to me,
Busk ye Thomas you must agayn,
Here you may no longer be:
Hy then zerne that you were at hame,
I sal ye bryng to Eldyn Tre.
Thomas answerd with heuy cher,
And sayd, lowely ladye lat me be,
For I say ye certenly here
Haf I be bot the space of dayes three.
Sothely Thomas as I telle ye,
You hath ben here thre yeres,
And here you may no longer be;
And I sal tele ye a skele,
To-morowe of helle ye foule fende
Amang our folke shall chuse his fee;
For you art a larg man and an hende,
Trowe you wele he will chuse thee.
Fore all the golde that may be,
Fro hens unto the worldes ende,
Sall you not be betrayed for me,
And thairfor sall you hens wend.
She broght hym euyn to Eldon Tre,
Undir nethe the grene wode spray,
In Huntle bankes was fayr to be,
Ther breddes syng both nyzt and day.
Ferre ouyr yon montayns gray,
Ther hathe my facon;
Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way.

[The elfin queen, after restoring Thomas to earth, pours forth a string of prophecies, in which we distinguish references to the events and personages of the Scottish wars of Edward III. The battles of Duplin and Halidon are mentioned, and also Black Agnes, Countess of Dunbar. There is a copy of this poem in the museum in the cathedral of Lincoln, another in the collection in Peterborough, but unfortunately they are all in an imperfect state. Mr Jamieson, in his curious Collection of Scottish Ballads and Songs, has an entire copy of this ancient poem, with all the collations, which is now in the press, and will be soon given to the public. The lacunæ of the former edition have been supplied from his copy.]

FOOTNOTES:

[38] From the Chartulary of the Trinity House of Soltra, Advocates' Library, W. 4. 14.

ERSYLTON.

Omnibus has literas visuris vel audituris Thomas de Ercildoun filius et heres Thomæ Rymour de Ercildoun salutem in Domino.—Noveritis me per fustem et baculum in pleno judicio resignasse ac per presentes quietem clamasse pro me et heredibus meis Magistro domus Sanctæ Trinitatis de Soltre et fratribus ejusdem domus totam terram meam cum omnibus pertinentibus suis quam in tenemento de Ercildoun hereditarie tenui renunciando de toto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure et clameo que ego seu antecessores mei in eadem terra alioque tempore de perpetua habuimus sive de futuro habere possumus. In cujus rei testimonio presentibus his sigillum meum apposui data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post festum Sanctorum Apostolorum Symonis et Jude Anno Domini Millessimo cc. Nonagesimo Nono.

[39] The lines alluded to are these:—

I hope that Tomas's prophesie,
Of Erceldoun, shall truly be.
In him, &c.

[40] Henry the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into the history of Wallace, expresses the same doubt as to the source of his prophetic knowledge:

Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than
With the minister, which was a worthy man.
He used oft to that religious place;
The people deemed of wit he meikle can,
And so he told, though that they bless or ban,
Which happened sooth in many divers case;
I cannot say by wrong or righteousness.
In rule of war whether they tint or wan:
It may be deemed by division of grace, &c.

History of Wallace, Book II.

[41] See the Dissertation on Fairies, prefixed to Tamlane, Vol. II. p. 109.

[42] There is a singular resemblance betwixt this tradition, and an incident occurring in the life of Merlin Caledonius, which, the reader will find a few pages onward.

[43] That weird, &c.—That destiny shall never frighten me.

[THOMAS THE RHYMER.]
PART SECOND.

ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES.

The prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Ercildoune, have been the principal means of securing to him remembrance "amongst the sons of his people." The author of Sir Tristrem would long ago have joined, in the vale of oblivion, Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventure of "Schir Gawain," if, by good hap, the same current of ideas respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to be regarded as a magician by the Lazaroni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the prophetic character. Perhaps, indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We know at least, for certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge was current soon after his death. His prophecies are alluded to by Barbour, by Wintoun, and by Henry the Minstrel, or Blind Harry, as he is usually termed. None of these authors, however, give the words of any of the Rhymer's vaticinations, but merely narrate, historically, his having predicted the events of which they speak. The earliest of the prophecies ascribed to him, which is now extant, is quoted by Mr Pinkerton from a MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas of Ercildoune, to a question from the heroic Countess of March, renowned for the defence of the castle of Dunbar against the English, and termed, in the familiar dialect of her time, Black Agnes of Dunbar. This prophecy is remarkable, in so far as it bears very little resemblance to any verses published in the printed copy of the Rhymer's supposed prophecies. The verses are as follows:

"La Countesse de Donbar demande a Thomas de Essedoune quant la guerre d'Escoce prendreit fyn. E yl l'a repoundy et dyt,

"When man is mad a kyng of a capped man;
"When man is lever other mones thyng than is owen;
"When londe thouys forest, ant forest is felde;
"When hares kendles o' the her'ston;
"When Wyt and Wille weres togedere:
"When mon makes stables of kyrkes; and steles castels with styes;
"When Rokesboroughe nys no burgh ant market is at Forwyleye:
"When Bambourne is donged with dede men;
"When men ledes men in ropes to buyen and to sellen;
"When a quarter of whaty whete is chaunged for a colt of ten markes;
"When prude (pride) prikes and pees is leyd in prisoun;
"When a Scot ne me hym hude ase hare in forme that the English ne shall hym fynde;
"When rycht ant wronge astente the togedere;
"When laddes weddeth lovedies;
"When Scottes flen so faste, that for faute of shep, hy drowneth hemselve;
"When shall this be?
"Nouther in thine tyme ne in mine;
"Ah comen ant gone
"Withinne twenty winter ant one."

Pinkerton's Poems, from Maitland's MSS. quoting from Harl. Lib. 2253. F. 127.

As I have never seen the MS. from which Mr Pinkerton makes this extract, and as the date of it is fixed by him (certainly one of the most able antiquaries of our age), to the reign of Edward I. or II., it is with great diffidence that I hazard a contrary opinion. There can, however, I believe, be little doubt, that these prophetic verses are a forgery, and not the production of our Thomas the Rhymer. But I am inclined to believe them of a later date than the reign of Edward I. or II.

The gallant defence of the castle of Dunbar, by Black Agnes, took place in the year 1337. The Rhymer died previous to the year 1299 (see the charter, by his son, in the introduction to the foregoing ballad). It seems, therefore, very improbable, that the Countess of Dunbar could ever have an opportunity of consulting Thomas the Rhymer, since that would infer that she was married, or at least engaged in state matters, previous to 1299; whereas she is described as a young, or a middle-aged, woman, at the period of her being besieged in the fortress, which she so well defended. If the editor might indulge a conjecture, he would suppose, that the prophecy was contrived for the encouragement of the English invaders, during the Scottish wars; and that the names of the Countess of Dunbar, and of Thomas of Ercildoune, were used for the greater credit of the forgery. According to this hypothesis, it seems likely to have been composed after the siege of Dunbar, which had made the name of the Countess well known, and consequently in the reign of Edward III. The whole tendency of the prophecy is to aver, "that there shall be no end of the Scottish war (concerning which the question was proposed), till a final conquest of the country by England, attended by all the usual severities of war. When the cultivated country shall become forest—says the prophecy;—when the wild animals shall inhabit the abode of men;—when Scots shall not be able to escape the English, should they crouch as hares in their form—all these denunciations seem to refer to the time of Edward III., upon whose victories the prediction was probably founded." The mention of the exchange betwixt a colt worth ten markes, and a quarter of "whaty (indifferent) wheat," seems to allude to the dreadful famine, about the year 1388. The independence of Scotland was, however, as impregnable to the mines of superstition, as to the steel of our more powerful and more wealthy neighbours. The war of Scotland is, thank God, at an end; but it is ended without her people having either crouched, like hares, in their form, or being drowned in their flight "for faute of ships,"—thank God for that too. The prophecy, quoted in p. 179., is probably of the same date, and intended for the same purpose. A minute search of the records of the time would, probably, throw additional light upon the allusions contained in these ancient legends. Among various rhymes of prophetic import, which are at this day current amongst the people of Teviotdale, is one, supposed to be pronounced by Thomas the Rhymer, presaging the destruction of his habitation and family:

The hare sall kittle (litter) on my hearth stane,
And there will never be a laird Learmont again.

The first of these lines is obviously borrowed from that in the MS, of the Harl. Library.—"When hares kendles o' the her'stane"—an emphatic image of desolation. It is also inaccurately quoted in the prophecy of Waldhave, published by Andro Hart, 1613:

"This is a true talking that Thomas of tells,
The hare shall hirple on the hard (hearth) stane."

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous historian, seems to have been a firm believer in the authenticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name of Thomas of Ercildoun. "The prophecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon he was commonly called Thomas the Rhymer, may justly be admired; having foretold, so many ages before, the union of England and Scotland in the ninth degree of the Bruce's blood, with the succession of Bruce himself to the crown, being yet a child, and other divers particulars, which the event hath ratified and made good. Boethius, in his story, relateth his prediction of King Alexander's death, and that he did foretell the same to the Earl of March, the day before it fell out; saying, 'That before the next day at noon, such a tempest should blow, as Scotland had not felt for many years before.' The next morning, the day being clear, and no change appearing in the air, the nobleman did challenge Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. He replied, that noon was not yet passed. About which time, a post came to advertise the earl, of the king his sudden death. 'Then,' said Thomas, 'this is the tempest I foretold; and so it shall prove to Scotland.' Whence, or how, he had this knowledge, can hardly be affirmed; but sure it is, that he did divine and answer truly of many things to come."—Spottiswoode, p. 47. Besides that notable voucher, master Hector Boece, the good archbishop might, had he been so minded, have referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King Alexander's death. That historian calls our bard "ruralis ille vates."—Fordun, lib. x. cap. 40.

What Spottiswoode calls "the prophecies extant in "Scottish rhyme," are the metrical predictions ascribed to the prophet of Ercildoun, which, with many other compositions of the same nature, bearing the names of Bede, Merlin, Gildas, and other approved soothsayers, are contained in one small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edinburgh, 1615. The late excellent Lord Hailes made these compositions the subject of a dissertation, published in his Remarks on the History of Scotland. His attention is chiefly directed to the celebrated prophecy of our bard, mentioned by Bishop Spottiswoode, bearing, that the crowns of England and Scotland should be united in the person of a king, son of a French queen, and related to Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord Hailes plainly proves, that this prophecy is perverted from its original purpose, in order to apply it to the succession of James VI. The ground-work of the forgery is to be found in the prophecies of Berlington, contained in the same collection, and runs thus:

Of Bruce's left side shall spring out as a leafe,
As neere as the ninth degree;
And shall be fleemed of faire Scotland,
In France farre beyond the sea.
And then shall come againe ryding,
With eyes that many men may see.
At Aberladie he shall light,
With hempen helteres and horse of tre.
········
However it happen for to fall,
The lyon shall be lord of all;
The French quen shal bearre the sonne,
Shal rule all Britainne to the sea;
Ane from the Bruce's blood shal come also,
As neere as the ninth degree.
········
Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea,
A keene man of courage and bold man of armes;
A duke's son dowbled (i.e. dubbed), a borne mon in France,
That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmes;
After the date of our Lord 1513, and thrice three thereafter;
Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself,
Between 13 and thrice three the threip shal be ended,
The Saxons sall never recover after.

There cannot be any doubt, that this prophecy was intended to excite the confidence of the Scottish nation in the Duke of Albany, regent of Scotland, who arrived from France in 1515, two years after the death of James IV. in the fatal field of Flodden. The regent was descended of Bruce by the left, i.e. by the female side, within the ninth degree. His mother was daughter of the Earl of Boulogne, his father banished from his country—"fleemit of fair Scotland." His arrival must necessarily be by sea, and his landing was expected at Aberlady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a duke's son, dubbed knight; and nine years, from 1513, are allowed him, by the pretended prophet, for the accomplishment of the salvation of his country, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister and rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence and spirit of the country.

The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to a later period. The narrator meets the Rhymer upon a land beside a lee, who shows him many emblematical visions, described in no mean strain of poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flodden and Pinkie, to the national distress which followed these defeats, and to future halcyon days, which are promised to Scotland. One quotation or two will be sufficient to establish this fully:

Our Scottish king sal come ful keene,
The red lyon beareth he;
A feddered arrow sharp, I weene,
Shall make him winke and warre to see.
Out of the field he shall be led,
When he is bludie and woe for blood;
Yet to his men shall he say,
"For God's luve, turn you againe,
"And give yon sutherne folk a frey!
"Why should I lose the right is mine?
"My date is not to die this day."—

Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular reports concerning the doubtful fate of James IV.? Allusion is immediately afterwards made to the death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, who fought and fell with his sovereign:

The sternes three that day shall die,
That bears the harte in silver sheen.

The well-known arms of the Douglas family are the heart and three stars. In another place, the battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by name:

At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt,
Much gentle blood that day;
There shall the bear lose the guilt,
And the eagill bear it away.

To the end of all this allegorical and mystical rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by Andro Hart, a new edition of Berlington's verses, before quoted, altered and manufactured so as to bear reference to the accession of James VI., which had just then taken place. The insertion is made with a peculiar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a question, put by the narrator, concerning the name and abode of the person who shewed him these strange matters, and the answer of the prophet to that question:

"Then to the Bairne could I say,
"Where dwells thou, or in what countrie?
"[Or who shall rule the isle of Britane,
"From the north to the south sey?
"A French queene shall beare the sonne,
"Shall rule all Britaine to the sea;
"Which of the Bruce's blood shall come,
"As neere as the nint degree:
"I frained fast what was his name,
"Where that he came, from what country.]
"In Erslingtoun I dwell at hame,
"Thomas Rymour men cals me."

There is surely no one, who will not conclude, with Lord Hailes, that the eight lines, inclosed in brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrowed from Berlington, with such alterations as might render the supposed prophecy applicable to the union of the crowns.

While we are on this subject, it may be proper briefly to notice the scope of some of the other predictions, in Hart's Collection. As the prophecy of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits of the nation, during the regency of Albany, so those of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the Earl of Arran, afterwards Duke of Chatelherault, during the minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity. This is obvious from the following verses:

Take a thousand in calculation,
And the longest of the lyon,
Four crescents under one crowne,
With Saint Andrew's croce thrise,
Then threescore and thrise three:
Take tent to Merling truely,
Then shall the warres ended be,
And never againe rise.
In that yere there shall a king,
A duke, and no crowned king;
Becaus the prince shall be yong,
And tender of yeares.

The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, when the Scottish regent, by means of some succours derived from France, was endeavouring to repair the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie. Allusion is made to the supply given to the "Moldwarte" (England) by the fained "hart" (the Earl of Angus). The regent is described by his bearing the antelope; large supplies are promised from France, and complete conquest predicted to Scotland and her allies. Thus was the same hackneyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The regent was not, indeed, till after this period, created Duke of Chatelherault; but that honour was the object of his hopes and expectations.

The name of our renowned soothsayer is liberally used as an authority, throughout all the prophecies published by Andro Hart. Besides those expressly put in his name, Gildas, another assumed personage, is supposed to derive his knowledge from him; for he concludes thus:

"True Thomas me told in a troublesome time,
"In a harvest morn at Eldoun hills."

The Prophecy of Gildas.

In the prophecy of Berlington, already quoted, we are told,

"Marvellous Merlin, that many men of tells,
"And Thomas's sayings comes all at once."

While I am upon the subject of these prophecies, may I be permitted to call the attention of antiquaries to Merdwynn Wyllt, or Merlin the Wild, in whose name, and by no means in that of Ambrose Merlin, the friend of Arthur, the Scottish prophecies are issued. That this personage resided at Drummelziar, and roamed, like a second Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweeddale, in remorse for the death of his nephew, we learn from Fordun. In the Scotichronicon, lib. 3, cap. 31. is an account of an interview betwixt St Kentigern and Merlin, then in this distracted and miserable state. He is said to have been called Lailoken, from his mode of life. On being commanded by the saint to give an account of himself, he says, that the penance, which he performs, was imposed on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody contest betwixt Lidel and Carwanolow, of which battle he had been the cause. According to his own prediction, he perished at once by wood, earth, and water; for, being pursued with stones by the rustics, he fell from a rock into the river Tweed, and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there for the purpose of extending a fishing-net:

Sude perfossus, lapide percussus et unda
Haec tria Merlinum fertur inire necem.
Sicque ruit, mersusque fuit lignoque perpendi,
Et fecit vatem per terna pericula verum.

But, in a metrical history of Merlin of Caledonia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from the traditions of the Welch bards, this mode of death is attributed to a page, whom Merlin's sister, desirous to convict the prophet of falsehood, because he had betrayed her intrigues, introduced to him, under three various disguises, enquiring each time in what manner the person should die. To the first demand Merlin answered, the party should perish by a fall from a rock; to the second, that he should die by a tree; and to the third, that he should be drowned. The youth perished, while hunting, in the mode imputed by Fordun to Merlin himself.

Fordun, contrary to the Welch authorities, confounds this person with the Merlin of Arthur; but concludes by informing us, that many believed him to be a different person. The grave of Merlin is pointed out at Drummelziar, in Tweeddale, beneath an aged thorn-tree. On the east side of the church-yard, the brook, called Pausayl, falls into the Tweed; and the following prophecy is said to have been current concerning their union:

When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's grave,
Scotland and England shall one monarch have.

On the day of the coronation of James VI. the Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the Pausayl at the prophet's grave.—Pennycuick's History of Tweeddale, p. 26. These circumstances would seem to infer a communication betwixt the south-west of Scotland and Wales, of a nature peculiarly intimate; for I presume that Merlin would retain sense enough to chuse, for the scene of his wanderings, a country, having a language and manners similar to his own.

Be this as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylvester, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots during the reign of James V. Waldhave,[44] under whose name a set of prophecies was published, describes himself as lying upon Lomond Law; he hears a voice, which bids him stand to his defence; he looks around, and beholds a flock of hares and foxes[45] pursued over the mountain by a savage figure, to whom he can hardly give the name of man. At the sight of Waldhave, the apparition leaves the objects of his pursuit, and assaults him with a club. Waldhave defends himself with his sword, throws the savage to the earth, and refuses to let him arise till he swear, by the law and lead he lives upon, "to do him no harm." This done, he permits him to arise, and marvels at his strange appearance:

"He was formed like a freike (man) all his four quarters;
"And then his chin and his face haired so thick,
"With haire growing so grime, fearful to see."

He answers briefly to Waldhave's enquiry, concerning his name and nature, that he "drees his weird," i.e. does penance, in that wood; and, having hinted that questions as to his own state are offensive, he pours forth an obscure rhapsody concerning futurity, and concludes,

"Go musing upon Merlin if thou wilt;
"For I mean no more man at this time."

This is exactly similar to the meeting betwixt Merlin and Kentigern in Fordun. These prophecies of Merlin seem to have been in request in the minority of James V.; for, among the amusements, with which Sir David Lindsay diverted that prince during his infancy, are,

The prophecies of Rymer, Bede, and Merlin.

Sir David Lindsay's Epistle to the King.

And we find, in Waldhave, at least one allusion to the very ancient prophecy, addressed to the countess of Dunbar:

This is a true token that Thomas of tells,
When a ladde with a ladye shall go over the fields.

The original stands thus:

When laddes weddeth lovedies.

Another prophecy of Merlin seems to have been current about the time of the regent Morton's execution.—When that nobleman was committed to the charge of his accuser, captain James Stewart, newly created Earl of Arran, to be conducted to his trial at Edinburgh, Spottiswoode says, that he asked, "Who was earl of Arran?" "and being answered that Captain James was the man, after a short pause he said, 'And is it so? I know then what I may look for!' meaning, as was thought, that the old prophecy of the 'Falling of the heart[46] by the mouth of Arran,' should then be fulfilled. Whether this was his mind or not, it is not known; but some spared not, at the time when the Hamiltons were banished, in which business he was held too earnest, to say, that he stood in fear of that prediction, and went that course only to disappoint it. But, if so it was, he did find himself now deluded; for he fell by the mouth of another Arran than he imagined."—Spottiswoode, 313. The fatal words, alluded to, seem to be these in the prophecy of Merlin:

"In the mouth of Arrane a selcouth shall fall,
"Two bloodie hearts shall be taken with a false traine,
"And derfly dung down without any dome."

To return from these desultory remarks, into which the editor has been led by the celebrated name of Merlin, the style of all these prophecies, published by Hart, is very much the same. The measure is alliterative, and somewhat similar to that of Pierce Plowman's Visions; a circumstance, which might entitle us to ascribe to some of them an earlier date than the reign of James V., did we not know that Sir Galloran of Galloway, and Gawaine and Gologras, two romances rendered almost unintelligible by the extremity of affected alliteration, are perhaps not prior to that period. Indeed, although we may allow, that, during much earlier times, prophecies, under the names of those celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scotland, yet those published by Hart have obviously been so often vamped and re-vamped, to serve the political purposes of different periods, that it may be shrewdly suspected, that, as in the case of Sir John Cutler's transmigrated stockings, very little of the original materials now remains. I cannot refrain from indulging my readers with the publisher's title to the last prophecy; as it contains certain curious information concerning the queen of Sheba, who is identified with the Cumæan Sybil: "Here followeth a prophecie, pronounced by a noble queene and matron, called Sybilla, Regina Austri, that came to Solomon. Through the which she compiled four bookes, at the instance and request of the said king Sol. and others divers: and the fourth book was directed to a noble king, called Baldwine, king of the broad isle of Britain; in the which she maketh mention of two noble princes and emperours, the which is called Leones. How these two shall subdue, and overcome all earthlie princes to their diademe and crowne, and also be glorified and crowned in the heaven among saints. The first of these two is Constantinus Magnus; that was Leprosus, the son of Saint Helene, that found the croce. The second is the sixty king of the name of Steward of Scotland, the which is our most noble king." With such editors and commentators, what wonder that the text became unintelligible, even beyond the usual oracular obscurity of prediction?

If there still remain, therefore, among these predictions, any verses having a claim to real antiquity, it seems now impossible to discover them from those which are comparatively modern. Nevertheless, as there are to be found, in these compositions, some uncommonly wild and masculine expressions, the editor has been induced to throw a few passages together, into the sort of ballad to which this disquisition is prefixed. It would, indeed, have been no difficult matter for him, by a judicious selection, to have excited, in favour of Thomas of Erceldoune, a share of the admiration, bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Robert Fleming. For example:

"But then the lilye shal be loused when they least think;
Then clear king's blood shal quake for fear of death;
For churls shal chop off heads of their chief beirns,
And carfe of the crowns that Christ hath appointed.
········
Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise;
The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken;
Seculars shal sit in spiritual seats,
Occupying offices anointed as they were."

Taking the lilye for the emblem of France, can there be a more plain prophecy of the murder of her monarch, the destruction of her nobility, and the desolation of her hierarchy?

But, without looking farther into the signs of the times, the editor, though the least of all the prophets, cannot help thinking, that every true Briton will approve of his application of the last prophecy quoted in the ballad.

Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently reprinted during the last century, probably to favour the pretensions of the unfortunate family of Stewart. For the prophetic renown of Gildas and Bede, see Fordun, lib. 3.

Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predictions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, passing for his prophetic effusions, are still current among the vulgar. Thus, he is said to have prophecied of the very ancient family of Haig of Bemerside,

Betide, betide, whate'er betide,
Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside.

The grandfather of the present proprietor of Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady brought him a male heir. The common people trembled for the credit of their favourite soothsayer. The late Mr Haig was at length born, and their belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond a shadow of doubt.

Another memorable prophecy bore, that the Old Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the abbey, should fall when "at the fullest." At a very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a piece of lime fell from the roof of the church. The alarm, for the fulfilment of the words of the seer, became universal; and happy were they, who were nearest the door of the predestined edifice. The church was in consequence deserted, and has never since had an opportunity of tumbling upon a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a beautiful specimen of Saxo-Gothick architecture, that the accomplishment of this prophecy is far distant.

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, seems to have been founded on that sort of insight into futurity, possessed by most men of a sound and combining judgement. It runs thus:

At Eildon Tree if you shall be,
A brigg ower Tweed you there may see.

The spot in question commands an extensive prospect of the course of the river; and it was easy to foresee, that, when the country should become in the least degree improved, a bridge would be somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, you now see no less than three bridges from that elevated situation.

Corspatrick (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but more commonly taking his title from his castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Erceldoune is said to have delivered to him his famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the editor has chosen to introduce him into the following ballad. All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's publication.

THOMAS THE RHYMER.
PART SECOND.

When seven years were come and gane,
The sun blinked fair on pool and stream;
And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,
Like one awakened from a dream.

He heard the trampling of a steed,
He saw the flash of armour flee,
And he beheld a gallant knight,
Come riding down by the Eildon-tree.

He was a stalwart knight, and strong;
Of giant make he 'peared to be:
He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode,
Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free.

Says—"Well met, well met, true Thomas!
Some uncouth ferlies shew to me."
Says—"Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave!
Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!

"Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave,
"And I will shew thee curses three,
"Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane,
"And change the green to the black livery.

"A storm shall roar, this very hour,
"From Rosse's Hills to Solway sea.
"Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar!
"For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea."

He put his hand on the earlie's head;
He shewed him a rock, beside the sea,
Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,[47]
And steel-dight nobles wiped their e'e.

"The neist curse lights on Branxton hills:
"By Flodden's high and heathery side,
"Shall wave a banner, red as blude,
"And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride.

"A Scottish king shall come full keen;
"The ruddy lion beareth he:
"A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween,
"Shall make him wink and warre to see.

"When he is bloody, and all to bledde,
"Thus to his men he still shall say—
'For God's sake, turn ye back again,
'And give yon southern folk a fray!
'Why should I lose the right is mine?
'My doom is not to die this day.'[48]

"Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,
"And woe and wonder ye sall see;
"How forty thousand spearmen stand,
"Where yon rank river meets the sea.

"There shall the lion lose the gylte,
"And the libbards bear it clean away;
"At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt
"Much gentil blude that day."

"Enough, enough, of curse and ban;
"Some blessing shew thou now to me,
"Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said,
"Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me!"

"The first of blessings I shall thee shew,
"Is by a burn, that's call'd of bread;[49]
"Where Saxon men shall tine the bow,
"And find their arrows lack the head.

"Beside that brigg, out ower that burn,
"Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,
"Shall many a falling courser spurn,
"And knights shall die in battle keen.

"Beside a headless cross of stone,
"The libbards there shall lose the gree;
"The raven shall come, the erne shall go,
"And drink the Saxon blude sae free.
"The cross of stone they shall not know,
"So thick the corses there shall be."

"But tell me now," said brave Dunbar,
"True Thomas, tell now unto me,
"What man shall rule the isle Britain,
"Even from the north to the southern sea?"

"A French queen shall bear the son,
"Shall rule all Britain to the sea:
"He of the Bruce's blude shall come,
"As near as in the ninth degree.

"The waters worship shall his race;
"Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;
"For they shall ride ower ocean wide,
"With hempen bridles, and horse of tree."

FOOTNOTES:

[44] I do not know, whether the person here meant be Waldhave, an abbot of Melrose, who died in the odour of sanctity, about 1160.

[45] The strange occupation, in which Waldhave beholds Merlin engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage in Geoffrey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. The poem, after narrating, that the prophet had fled to the forests in a state of distraction, proceeds to mention, that, looking upon the stars one clear evening, he discerned, from his astrological knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, upon the next morning, to take another husband. As he had presaged to her that this would happen, and had promised her a nuptial gift (cautioning her, however, to keep the bridegroom out of his sight), he now resolved to make good his word. Accordingly, he collected all the stags and lesser game in his neighbourhood; and, having seated himself upon a buck, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cumberland, where Guendolen resided. But her lover's curiosity leading him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade, Merlin's rage was awakened, and he slew him with the stroke of an antler of the stag. The original runs thus:

Dixerat: et silvas et saltus circuit omnes,
Cervorumque greges agmen collegit in unum,
Et damas, capreasque simul, cervoque resedit;
Et veniente die, compellens agmina præ se,
Festinans vadit quo nubit Guendolna.
Postquam venit eo, pacienter coegit
Cervos ante fores, proclamans, "Guendolna,
"Guendolna, veni, te talia munera spectant."
Ocius ergo venit subridens Guendolna
Gestarique virum cervo miratur, et illum
Sic parere viro, tantum quoque posse ferarum
Uniri numerum quas præ se solus agebat,
Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas.
Stabat ab excelsa, sponsus spectando fenestra
In solio mirans equitem risumque movebat.
Ast ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis esset,
Calluit, extemplo divulsit cornua cervo
Quo gestabatur, vibrataque jecit in illum
Et caput illius penitus contrivit, eumque
Reddidit exanimem, vitamque fugavit in auras;
Ocius inde suum, talorum verbere, cervum
Diffugiens egit, silvasque redire paravit.

For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr Ritson. There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertaining Specimens of Early English Romances, lately published by Mr Ellis.

[46] The heart was the cognizance of Morton.

[47] King Alexander; killed by a fall from his horse, near Kinghorn.

[48] The uncertainty which long prevailed in Scotland, concerning the fate of James IV., is well known.

[49] One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus:

The burn of breid
Shall run fow reid."

Bannockburn is the brook here meant. The Scots give the name of bannock to a thick round cake of unleavened bread.

[THOMAS THE RHYMER.]
PART THIRD—MODERN.

BY THE EDITOR.

Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among his contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated romance of Sir Tristrem. Of this once admired poem only one copy is now known to exist, which is in the Advocates' Library. The editor, in 1804, published a small edition of this curious work; which, if it does not revive the reputation of the bard of Ercildoune, will be at least the earliest specimen of Scottish poetry, hitherto published. Some account of this romance has already been given to the world in Mr Ellis's Specimens of Ancient Poetry, Vol. I. p. 165, 3d. p. 410; a work, to which our predecessors and our posterity are alike obliged; the former, for the preservation of the best selected examples of their poetical taste; and the latter, for a history of the English language, which will only cease to be interesting with the existence of our mother-tongue, and all that genius and learning have recorded in it. It is sufficient here to mention, that, so great was the reputation of the romance of Sir Tristrem, that few were thought capable of reciting it after the manner of the author—a circumstance alluded to by Robert de Brunne, the annalist:

I see in song, in sedgeyng tale,
Of Erceldoun, and of Kendale.
Now thame says as they thame wroght,
And in thare saying it semes nocht.
That thou may here in Sir Tristrem,
Over gestes it has the steme,
Over all that is or was;
If men it said as made Thomas, &c.

It appears, from a very curious MS. of the thirteenth century, penes Mr Douce, of London, containing a French metrical romance of Sir Tristrem, that the work of our Thomas the Rhymer was known, and referred to, by the minstrels of Normandy and Bretagne. Having arrived at a part of the romance, where reciters were wont to differ in the mode of telling the story, the French bard expressly cites the authority of the poet of Erceldoune:

Plusurs de nos granter ne volent,
Co que del naim dire se solent,
Ki femme Kaherdin dut aimer,
Li naim redut Tristram narrer,
E entusché par grant engin,
Quant il afole Kaherdin;

Pur cest plaie e pur cest mal,
Enveiad Tristran Guvernal,
En Engleterre pur Ysolt
Thomas ico granter ne volt,
Et si volt par raisun mostrer,
Qu' ico ne put pas esteer, &c.

The tale of Sir Tristrem, as narrated in the Edinburgh MS., is totally different from the voluminous romance in prose, originally compiled on the same subject by Rusticien de Puise, and analysed by M. de Tressan; but agrees in every essential particular with the metrical performance, just quoted, which is a work of much higher antiquity.

The following attempt to commemorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional account of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, being entirely modern, would have been placed with greater propriety among the class of Modern Ballads, had it not been for its immediate connection with the first and second parts of the same story.

THOMAS THE RHYMER.
PART THIRD.

When seven years more were come and gone,
Was war through Scotland spread,
And Ruberslaw shew'd high Dunyon,
His beacon blazing red.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,
Pitched palliouns took their room,
And crested helms, and spears a rowe,
Glanced gaily through the broom.

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,
Resounds the ensenzie;[50]
They roused the deer from Caddenhead,
To distant Torwoodlee.

The feast was spread in Ercildoune,
In Learmont's high and ancient hall;
And there were knights of great renown,
And ladies, laced in pall.

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,
The music, nor the tale,
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,
Nor mantling quaighs[51] of ale.

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,
When as the feast was done;
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,
The elfin harp he won.)

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue,
And harpers for envy pale;
And armed lords lean'd on their swords,
And hearken'd to the tale.

In numbers high, the witching tale
The prophet pour'd along;
No after bard might e'er avail[52]
Those numbers to prolong.

Yet fragments of the lofty strain
Float down the tide of years,
As, buoyant on the stormy main,
A parted wreck appears.

He sung King Arthur's table round:
The warrior of the lake;
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,
And bled for ladies' sake.

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,
The notes melodious swell;
Was none excelled, in Arthur's days,
The knight of Lionelle.

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right,
A venomed wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight,
Upon the Irish shore.

No art the poison might withstand;
No medicine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde's lilye hand
Had probed the rankling wound.

With gentle hand and soothing tongue,
She bore the leech's part;
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,
He paid her with his heart.

O fatal was the gift, I ween!
For, doom'd in evil tide,
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,
His cowardly uncle's bride.

Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard
In fairy tissue wove;
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,
In gay confusion strove.

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High rear'd its glittering head;
And Avalon's enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.

Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye;
Of that fam'd wizard's mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?

Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,
Till bent at length the listening throng
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.

His ancient wounds their scars expand,
With agony his heart is wrung:
O where is Isolde's lilye hand,
And where her soothing tongue?

She comes! she comes!—like flash of flame
Can lovers' footsteps fly:
She comes! she comes!—she only came
To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die: her latest sigh
Joined in a kiss his parting breath:
The gentlest pair, that Britain bare,
United are in death.

There paused the harp: its lingering sound
Died slowly on the ear;
The silent guests still bent around,
For still they seem'd to hear.

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak;
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh;
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,
The mists of evening close;
In camp, in castle, or in bower,
Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,
Dream'd o'er the woeful tale;
When footsteps light, across the bent,
The warrior's ears assail.

He starts, he wakes:—"What, Richard, ho!
"Arise, my page, arise!
"What venturous wight, at dead of night,
"Dare step where Douglas lies!"

Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide,
A selcouth[53] sight they see—
A hart and hind pace side by side.
As white as snow on Fairnalie.

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,
They stately move and slow;
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd,
Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont's tower a message sped,
As fast as page might run;
And Thomas started from his bed,
And soon his cloaths did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;
Never a word he spake but three;—
"My sand is run; my thread is spun;
"This sign regardeth me."

The elfin harp his neck around,
In minstrel guise, he hung;
And on the wind, in doleful sound,
Its dying accents rung.

Then forth he went; yet turned him oft
To view his ancient hall;
On the grey tower, in lustre soft,
The autumn moon-beams fall.

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen,
Danced shimmering in the ray:
In deepening mass, at distance seen,
Broad Soltra's mountains lay.

"Farewell, my father's ancient tower!
"A long farewell," said he:
"The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,
"Thou never more shalt be.

"To Learmont's name no foot of earth
"Shall here again belong,
"And, on thy hospitable hearth,
"The hare shall leave her young.

"Adieu! Adieu!" again he cried,
All as he turned him roun'—
"Farewell to Leader's silver tide!
"Farewell to Ercildoune!"—

The hart and hind approached the place,
As lingering yet he stood;
And there, before Lord Douglas' face,
With them he cross'd the flood.

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed,
And spurr'd him the Leader o'er;
But, though he rode with lightning speed,
He never saw them more.

Some sayd to hill, and some to glen,
Their wondrous course had been;
But ne'er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

NOTES
ON
THOMAS THE RHYMER.
PART THIRD.

And Ruberslaw shew'd high Dunyon.—P. [216]. v. 1.

Ruberslaw and Dunyon are two hills above Jedburgh.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow.—P. [216]. v. 2.

An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belonging to a family of the name of Home: One of Thomas's prophecies is said to have run thus:

Vengeance! vengeance! when and where?
On the house of Coldingknow, now and ever mair!

The spot is rendered classical by its having given name to the beautiful melody, called the Broom o' the Cowdenknows.

They roused the deer from Caddenhead,
To distant Torwoodlee.—P. [216]. v. 3.

Torwoodlee and Caddenhead are places in Selkirkshire.

How courteous Gawaine met the wound.—P. [218]. v. 2.

See, in the Fabliaux of Monsieur le Grand, elegantly translated by the late Gregory Way, Esq. the tale of the Knight and the Sword.

As white as snow on Fairnalie.—P. [221]. v. 5.

An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire. In a popular edition of the first part of Thomas the Rhymer, the Fairy Queen thus addresses him:

"Gin ye wad meet wi' me again,
Gang to the bonny banks of Fairnalie."

FOOTNOTES:

[50] Ensenzie—War-cry, or gathering word.

[51] Quaighs—Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped together.

[52] See introduction to this ballad.

[53] Selcouth—Wondrous.

[THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN.]

BY THE EDITOR.

Smaylho'me, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Crags, the property of Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden. The tower is a high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, being defended, on three sides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only from the west, by a steep and rocky path. The apartments, as is usual in a border-keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair; on the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate; the distance between them being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the elevated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among the crags, by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the Watchfold, and is said to have been the station of a beacon, in the times of war with England. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower.

This ballad was first printed in Mr Lewis's Tales of Wonder. It is here published, with some additional illustrations, particularly an account of the battle of Ancram Moor; which seemed proper in a work upon border antiquities. The catastrophe of the tale is founded upon a well-known Irish tradition.[54] This ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene of the editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this attempt to celebrate them in a Border Tale.

THE EVE OF ST JOHN.

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,
He spurr'd his courser on,
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,
That leads to Brotherstone.

He went not with the bold Buccleuch,
His banner broad to rear;
He went not 'gainst the English yew,
To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack[55] was braced, and his helmet was laced,
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore;
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,
Full ten pound weight and more.

The Baron return'd in three days space,
And his looks were sad and sour;
And weary was his courser's pace,
As he reached his rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancram Moor[56]
Ran red with English blood;
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch,
'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd,
His acton pierc'd and tore;
His axe and his dagger with blood embrued,
But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,
He held him close and still;
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,
His name was English Will.

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page;
"Come hither to my knee;
"Though thou art young, and tender of age,
"I think thou art true to me.

"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,
"And look thou tell me true!
"Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been,
"What did thy lady do?"

"My lady, each night, sought the lonely light,
"That burns on the wild Watchfold;
"For, from height to height, the beacons bright
"Of the English foemen told.

"The bittern clamour'd from the moss,
"The wind blew loud and shrill;
"Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,
"To the eiry Beacon Hill.

"I watched her steps, and silent came
"Where she sat her on a stone;
"No watchman stood by the dreary flame;
"It burned all alone.

"The second night I kept her in sight,
"Till to the fire she came,
"And, by Mary's might! an armed Knight
"Stood by the lonely flame.

"And many a word that warlike lord
"Did speak to my lady there;
"But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,
"And I heard not what they were.

"The third night there the sky was fair,
"And the mountain-blast was still,
"As again I watched the secret pair,
"On the lonesome Beacon Hill.

"And I heard her name the midnight hour,
"And name this holy eve;
"And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower;
"Ask no bold Baron's leave.

'He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch;
'His lady is all alone;
'The door she'll undo, to her knight so true,
'On the eve of good St John.'

'I cannot come; I must not come;
'I dare not come to thee;
'On the eve of St John I must wander alone:
'In thy bower I may not be.'

'Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!
'Thou should'st not say me nay;
'For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,
'Is worth the whole summer's day.'

'And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound,
'And rushes shall be strewed on the stair;
"So, by the black rood-stone,[57] and by holy St John,
'I conjure thee, my love, to be there!'

'Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,
'And the warder his bugle should not blow,
'Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,
'And my foot-step he would know.'

'O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!
"For to Dryburgh[58] the way he has ta'en;
'And there to say mass, till three days do pass,
"For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'

"He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd;
"Then he laughed right scornfully—
'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight,
'May as well say mass for me.

'At the lone midnight-hour, when bad spirits have power,
'In thy chamber will I be.'
"With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,
"And no more did I see."—

Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow,
From the dark to the blood-red high;
"Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen,
"For, by Mary, he shall die!"

"His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light;
"His plume it was scarlet and blue;
"On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,
"And his crest was a branch of the yew."

"Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,
"Loud dost thou lie to me!
"For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,
"All under the Eildon-tree."[59]

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord!
"For I heard her name his name;
"And that lady bright, she called the knight,
"Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

The bold Baron's brow then chang'd, I trow,
From high blood-red to pale—
"The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is stiff and stark—
"So I may not trust thy tale."

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,
"And Eildon slopes to the plain,
"Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,
"That gay gallant was slain."

"The varying light deceived thy sight,
"And the wild winds drown'd the name;
"For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing,
"For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!"

He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate,
And he mounted the narrow stair,
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait,
He found his lady fair.

That lady sat in mournful mood;
Look'd over hill and vale;
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's[60] wood,
And all down Tiviotdale.

"Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!"
"Now hail, thou Baron true!
"What news, what news, from Ancram fight?
"What news from the bold Buccleuch?"

"The Ancram Moor is red with gore,
"For many a southern fell;
"And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,
"To watch our beacons well."