Chapter VII: Part III: 213 (7)

With maiden blush she softly said,
"O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen,
"In deep Glenfinlas' moon-light glade,
"A lovely maid in vest of green:

"With her a chief in Highland pride;
"His shoulders bear the hunter's bow,
"The mountain dirk adorns his side,
"Far on the wind his tartans flow?"

"And who art thou? and who are they?"
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied:
"And why, beneath the moon's pale ray,
"Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side?"

"Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide,
"Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle,
"Our father's towers o'erhang her side,
"The castle of the bold Glengyle.

"To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,
"Our woodland course this morn we bore,
"And haply met, while wandering here,
"The son of great Macgillianore.

"O aid me, then, to seek the pair,
"Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost;
"Alone, I dare not venture there,
"Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost."

"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there;
"Then, first, my own sad vow to keep,
"Here will I pour my midnight prayer,
"Which still must rise when mortals sleep."

"O first, for pity's gentle sake,
"Guide a lone wanderer on her way!
"For I must cross the haunted brake,
"And reach my father's towers ere day."

"First, three times tell each Ave-bead,
"And thrice a Pater-noster say;
"Then kiss with me the holy reed;
"So shall we safely wind our way."

"O shame to knighthood, strange and foul!
"Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow,
"And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,
"Which best befits thy sullen vow.

"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,
"Thy heart was froze to love and joy,
"When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,
"To wanton Morna's melting eye."

Wild stared the Minstrel's eyes of flame,
And high his sable locks arose,
And quick his colour went and came,
As fear and rage alternate rose.

"And thou! when by the blazing oak
"I lay, to her and love resign'd,
"Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,
"Or sailed ye on the midnight wind!

"Not thine a race of mortal blood,
"Nor old Glengyle's pretended line;
"Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,
"Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine."

He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer;
Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,
And sternly shook his coal-black hair.

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung
His wildest witch-notes on the wind;
And loud, and high, and strange, they rung,
As many a magic change they find.

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form,
Till to the roof her stature grew;
Then, mingling with the rising storm,
With one wild yell, away she flew.

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear:
The slender hut in fragments flew;
But not a lock of Moy's loose hair
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.

Wild mingling with the howling gale,
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise;
High o'er the minstrel's head they sail,
And die amid the northern skies.

The voice of thunder shook the wood,
As ceased the more than mortal yell;
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood
Upon the hissing firebrands fell.

Next, dropp'd from high a mangled arm;
The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade:
And last, the life-blood streaming warm,
Torn from the trunk, a gasping head.

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,
Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore;
That arm the broad claymore could wield,
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore.

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills!
Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen!
There never son of Albin's hills
Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen!

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet
At noon shall shun that sheltering den,
Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet
The wayward Ladies of the Glen.

And we--behind the chieftain's shield,
No more shall we in safety dwell;
None leads the people to the field--
And we the loud lament must swell.

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'!
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

NOTES

ON

GLENFINLAS.

* * * * *

_Well can the Saxon widows tell._--P. 306. v. 2.

The term Sassenach, or Saxon, is applied by the Highlanders to their low-country neighbours.

_How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree._--P. 306. v. 3.

The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the first of May, in compliance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are termed, _The Beltane-Tree_. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales.

_The seer's prophetic spirit found, &c._--P. 307. v. 1.

I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr Johnson's definition, who calls it "An impression, either by the mind upon the eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were present." To which I would only add, that the spectral appearances, thus presented, usually presage misfortune; that the faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it; and that they usually acquire it, while themselves under the pressure of melancholy.

_Will good St Oran's rule prevail._--P. 310. v. 1.

St Oran was a friend and follower of St Columba, and was buried in Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate certain dæmons of the soil, who obstructed the attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state! He had no time to make further discoveries, for Columba caused the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost dispatch. The chapel, however, and the cemetery, was called _Reilig Ouran_; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be buried, in that place. This is the rule alluded to in the poem.

_And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer._--P. 316. v. 5.

St Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an abbot of Pittenweem, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A.D. 649. While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendour, as to afford light to that with which he wrote; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7., tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he inclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, abstracted the relique, and deposited it in some place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine, as an assurance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay.

In the Scots Magazine for July 1802, (a national periodical publication, which has lately revived with considerable energy,) there is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which James III. confirms to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a relique of St Fillan, called the Quegrich, which he, and his predecessors, are said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is, probably, the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, further observes, that additional particulars, concerning St Fillan, are to be found in _Ballenden's Boece_, Book 4. folio ccxiii., and in PENNANT's _Tour in Scotland_, 1772, pp. 11. 15.

FOOTNOTES:

[80] _Coronach_ is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan.

[81] [Transcriber: Citation from a poem by William Collins]

[82] _O hone a rie'_ signifies--"Alas for the prince, or chief."

[83] _Tartans_--The full Highland dress, made of the chequered stuff so termed.

[84] _Pibroch_--A piece of martial music, adapted to the Highland bag-pipe.

THE MERMAID.

J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The following poem is founded upon a Gaelic traditional ballad, called _Macphail of Colonsay, and the Mermaid of Corrivrekin_. The dangerous gulf of Corrivrekin lies between the islands of Jura and Scarba, and the superstition of the islanders has tenanted its shelves and eddies with all the fabulous monsters and dæmons of the ocean. Among these, according to a universal tradition, the Mermaid is the most remarkable. In her dwelling, and in her appearance, the mermaid of the northern nations resembles the syren of the ancients. The appendages of a comb and mirror are probably of Celtic invention.

The Gaelic story bears, that Macphail of Colonsay was carried off by a mermaid, while passing the gulf above mentioned: that they resided together, in a grotto beneath the sea, for several years, during which time she bore him five children: but, finally, he tired of her society, and, having prevailed upon her to carry him near the shore of Colonsay, he escaped to land.

The inhabitants of the Isle of Man have a number of such stories, which may be found in Waldron. One bears, that a very beautiful mermaid fell in love with a young shepherd, who kept his flocks beside a creek, much frequented by these marine people. She frequently caressed him, and brought him presents of coral, fine pearls, and every valuable production of the ocean. Once upon a time, as she threw her arms eagerly round him, he suspected her of a design to draw him into the sea, and, struggling hard, disengaged himself from her embrace, and ran away. But the mermaid resented either the suspicion, or the disappointment, so highly, that she threw a stone after him, and flung herself into the sea, whence she never returned. The youth, though but slightly struck with the pebble, felt, from that moment, the most excruciating agony, and died at the end of seven days.--_Waldron's Works_, p. 176.

Another tradition of the same island affirms, that one of these amphibious damsels was caught in a net, and brought to land, by some fishers, who had spread a snare for the denizens of the ocean. She was shaped like the most beautiful female down to the waist, but below trailed a voluminous fish's tail, with spreading fins. As she would neither eat nor speak, (though they knew she had the power of language), they became apprehensive that the island would be visited with some strange calamity, if she should die for want of food; and therefore, on the third night, they left the door open, that she might escape. Accordingly, she did not fail to embrace the opportunity; but, gliding with incredible swiftness to the sea-side, she plunged herself into the waters, and was welcomed by a number of her own species, who were heard to enquire, what she had seen among the natives of the earth; "Nothing," she answered, "wonderful, except that they were silly enough to throw away the water in which they had boiled their eggs."

Collins, in his notes upon the line,

"Mona, long hid from those who sail the main,"

explains it, by a similar Celtic tradition. It seems, a mermaid had become so much charmed with a young man, who walked upon the beach, that she made love to him; and, being rejected with scorn, she excited, by enchantment, a mist, which long concealed the island from all navigators.

I must mention another Mankish tradition, because, being derived from the common source of Celtic mythology, they appear the most natural illustrations of the Hebridean tale. About fifty years before Waldron went to reside in Man (for there were living witnesses of the legend, when he was upon the island), a project was undertaken, to fish treasures up from the deep, by means of a diving-bell. A venturous fellow, accordingly, descended, and kept pulling for more rope, till all they had on board was expended. This must have been no small quantity, for a skilful mathematician, who was on board, judging from the proportion of line let down, declared, that the adventurer must have descended at least double the number of leagues which the moon is computed to be distant from the earth. At such a depth, wonders might be expected, and wonderful was the account given by the adventurer, when drawn up to the air.

"After," said he, "I had passed the region of fishes, I descended into a pure element, clear as the air in the serenest and most unclouded day, through which, as I passed, I saw the bottom of the watery world, paved with coral, and a shining kind of pebbles, which glittered like the sun-beams, reflected on a glass. I longed to tread the delightful paths, and never felt more exquisite delight, than when the machine, I was inclosed in, grazed upon it.

"On looking through the little windows of my prison, I saw large streets and squares on every side, ornamented with huge pyramids of crystal, not inferior in brightness to the finest diamonds; and the most beautiful building, not of stone, nor brick, but of mother-of-pearl, and embossed in various figures, with shells of all colours. The passage, which led to one of these magnificent apartments, being open, I endeavoured, with my whole strength, to move my enclosure towards it; which I did, though with great difficulty, and very slowly. At last, however, I got entrance into a very spacious room, in the midst of which stood a large amber table, with several chairs round, of the same. The floor of it was composed of rough diamonds, topazes, emeralds, rubies, and pearls. Here I doubted not but to make my voyage as profitable as it was pleasant; for, could I have brought with me but a few of these, they would have been of more value than all we could hope for in a thousand wrecks; but they were so closely wedged in, and so strongly cemented by time, that they were not to be unfastened. I saw several chains, carcanets, and rings, of all manner of precious stones, finely cut, and set after our manner; which I suppose had been the prize of the winds and waves: these were hanging loosely on the jasper walls, by strings made of rushes, which I might easily have taken down; but, as I had edged myself within half a foot reach of them, I was unfortunately drawn back through your want of line. In my return, I saw several comely _mermen_, and beautiful _mermaids_, the inhabitants of this blissful realm, swiftly descending towards it; but they seemed frighted at my appearance, and glided at a distance from me, taking me, no doubt, for some monstrous and new-created species."--_Waldron_, _ibidem_.

It would be very easy to enlarge this introduction, by quoting a variety of authors, concerning the supposed existence of these marine people. The reader may consult the _Telliamed_ of M. Maillet, who, in support of the Neptunist system of geology, has collected a variety of legends, respecting mermen and mermaids, p. 230, _et sequen._ Much information may also be derived from Pontoppidan's _Natural History of Norway_, who fails not to people her seas with this amphibious race.[85] An older authority is to be found in the _Kongs skugg-sio_, or Royal Mirror, written, as it is believed, about 1170. The mermen, there mentioned, are termed _hafstrambur_ (sea-giants), and are said to have the upper parts resembling the human race; but the author, with becoming diffidence, declines to state, positively, whether they are equipped with a dolphin's tail. The female monster is called _Mar-Gyga_ (sea-giantess), and is averred, certainly, to drag a fish's train. She appears, generally, in the act of devouring fish, which she has caught. According to the apparent voracity of her appetite, the sailors pretended to guess what chance they had of saving their lives in the tempests, which always followed her appearance.--_Speculum Regale_, 1768, p. 166.

Mermaids were sometimes supposed to be possessed of supernatural powers. Resenius, in his life of Frederick II., gives us an account of a syren, who not only prophesied future events, but, as might have been expected from the element in which she dwelt, preached vehemently against the sin of drunkenness.

The mermaid of Corrivrekin possessed the power of occasionally resigning her scaly train; and the Celtic tradition bears, that when, from choice or necessity, she was invested with that appendage, her manners were more stern and savage than when her form was entirely human. Of course, she warned her lover not to come into her presence, when she was thus transformed. This belief is alluded to in the following ballad.

The beauty of the syrens is celebrated in the old romances of chivalry. Doolin, upon beholding, for the first time in his life, a beautiful female, exclaims, "_Par sainte Marie, si belle creature ne vis je oncque en ma vie! Je crois que c'est un ange du ciel, ou une seraine de mer; Je crois que homme n'engendra oncque si belle creature._"--La Fleur de Battailles.

TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL,

WITH

_THE MERMAID_.

* * * * *

To brighter charms depart, my simple lay,
Than graced of old the maid of Colonsay,
When her fond lover, lessening from her view,
With eyes reverted, o'er the surge withdrew!
But, happier still, should lovely Campbell sing
Thy plaintive numbers to the trembling string,
The mermaid's melting strains would yield to thee,
Though poured diffusive o'er the silver sea.

Go boldly forth--but ah! the listening throng,
Rapt by the syren, would forget the song!
Lo! while they pause, nor dare to gaze around,
Afraid to break the soft enchanting sound,
While swells to sympathy each fluttering heart,
'Tis not the poet's, but the syren's art.

Go forth, devoid of fear, my simple lay!
First heard, returning from Iona's bay,
When round our bark the shades of evening drew,
And broken slumbers prest our weary crew;
While round the prow the sea-fire, flashing bright,
Shed a strange lustre o'er the waste of night;
While harsh and dismal screamed the diving gull,
Round the dark rocks that wall the coast of Mull;
As through black reefs we held our venturous way,
I caught the wild traditionary lay.
A wreath, no more in black Iona's isle
To bloom--but graced by high-born Beauty's smile.

THE MERMAID.

* * * * *

On Jura's heath how sweetly swell
The murmurs of the mountain bee,
How softly mourns the writhed shell
Of Jura's shore, its parent sea!

But softer, floating o'er the deep,
The mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay,
That charmed the dancing waves to sleep,
Before the bark of Colonsay.

Aloft the purple pennons wave,
As parting gay from Crinan's shore,
From Morven's wars the seamen brave
Their gallant chieftain homeward bore.

In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail
Still blamed the lingering bark's delay;
For her he chid the flagging sail,
The lovely maid of Colonsay.

"And raise," he cried, "the song of love,
"The maiden sung with tearful smile,
"When first, o'er Jura's hills to rove,
"We left afar the lonely isle!

'When on this ring of ruby red
'Shall die,' she said, 'the crimson hue,
'Know that thy favourite fair is dead,
'Or proves to thee and love untrue.'

Now, lightly poised, the rising oar
Disperses wide the foamy spray,
And, echoing far o'er Crinan's shore,
Resounds the song of Colonsay.

"Softly blow, thou western breeze,
"Softly rustle through the sail,
"Sooth to rest the furrowy seas,
"Before my love, sweet western gale!

"Where the wave is tinged with red,
"And the russet sea-leaves grow,
"Mariners, with prudent dread,
"Shun the shelving reefs below.

"As you pass through Jura's sound,
"Bend your course by Scarba's shore,
"Shun, O shun, the gulf profound,
"Where Corrivrekin's surges roar!

"If, from that unbottomed deep,
"With wrinkled form and writhed train,
"O'er the verge of Scarba's steep,
"The sea-snake heave his snowy mane,

"Unwarp, unwind his oozy coils,
"Sea-green sisters of the main,
"And in the gulf, where ocean boils,
"The unwieldy wallowing monster chain.

"Softly blow, thou western breeze,
"Softly rustle through the sail,
"Sooth to rest the furrowed seas,
"Before my love, sweet western gale!"

Thus, all to sooth the chieftain's woe,
Far from the maid he loved so dear,
The song arose, so soft and slow,
He seemed her parting sigh to hear.

The lonely deck he paces o'er,
Impatient for the rising day,
And still, from Crinan's moonlight shore,
He turns his eyes to Colonsay.

The moonbeams crisp the curling surge,
That streaks with foam the ocean green;
While forward still the rowers urge
Their course, a female form was seen.

That sea-maid's form, of pearly light,
Was whiter than the downy spray,
And round her bosom, heaving bright,
Her glossy, yellow ringlets play.

Borne on a foamy-crested wave,
She reached amain the bounding prow,
Then, clasping fast the chieftain brave,
She, plunging, sought the deep below.

Ah! long beside thy feigned bier,
The monks the prayers of death shall say,
And long for thee, the fruitless tear
Shall weep the maid of Colonsay!

But downwards, like a powerless corse,
The eddying waves the chieftain bear;
He only heard the moaning hoarse
Of waters, murmuring in his ear.

The murmurs sink, by slow degrees;
No more the surges round him rave;
Lulled by the music of the seas,
He lies within a coral cave.

In dreamy mood reclines he long,
Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose,
Till, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song,
Far in the crystal cavern, rose;

Soft as that harp's unseen controul,
In morning dreams that lovers hear,
Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul,
But never reach the waking ear.

As sunbeams, through the tepid air,
When clouds dissolve in dews unseen,
Smile on the flowers, that bloom more fair,
And fields, that glow with livelier green--

So melting soft the music fell;
It seemed to soothe the fluttering spray--
"Say, heardst thou not these wild notes swell?"
"Ah! 'tis the song of Colonsay."

Like one that from a fearful dream
Awakes, the morning light to view,
And joys to see the purple beam,
Yet fears to find the vision true.

He heard that strain, so wildly sweet,
Which bade his torpid languor fly;
He feared some spell had bound his feet,
And hardly dared his limbs to try.

"This yellow sand, this sparry cave,
"Shall bend thy soul to beauty's sway;
"Can'st thou the maiden of the wave
"Compare to her of Colonsay?"

Roused by that voice, of silver sound,
From the paved floor he lightly sprung,
And, glancing wild his eyes around,
Where the fair nymph her tresses wrung,

No form he saw of mortal mould;
It shone like ocean's snowy foam;
Her ringlets waved in living gold,
Her mirror crystal, pearl her comb.

Her pearly comb the syren took,
And careless bound her tresses wild;
Still o'er the mirror stole her look,
As on the wondering youth she smiled.

Like music from the greenwood tree,
Again she raised the melting lay;
--"Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me,
"And leave the maid of Colonsay?

"Fair is the crystal hall for me,
"With rubies and with emeralds set,
"And sweet the music of the sea
"Shall sing, when we for love are met.

"How sweet to dance, with gliding feet,
"Along the level tide so green,
"Responsive to the cadence sweet,
"That breathes along the moonlight scene!

"And soft the music of the main
"Rings from the motley tortoise-shell,
"While moonbeams, o'er the watery plain,
"Seem trembling in its fitful swell.

"How sweet, when billows heave their head,
"And shake their snowy crests on high,
"Serene in Ocean's sapphire bed,
"Beneath the tumbling surge, to lie;

"To trace, with tranquil step, the deep,
"Where pearly drops of frozen dew
"In concave shells, unconscious, sleep,
"Or shine with lustre, silvery blue!

"Then shall the summer sun, from far,
"Pour through the wave a softer ray,
"While diamonds, in a bower of spar,
"At eve shall shed a brighter day.

"Nor stormy wind, nor wintery gale,
"That o'er the angry ocean sweep,
"Shall e'er our coral groves assail,
"Calm in the bosom of the deep.

"Through the green meads beneath the sea,
"Enamoured, we shall fondly stray--
"Then, gentle warrior, dwell with me,
"And leave the maid of Colonsay!"--

"Though bright thy locks of glistering gold,
"Fair maiden of the foamy main!
"Thy life-blood is the water cold,
"While mine beats high in every vein.

"If I, beneath thy sparry cave,
"Should in thy snowy arms recline,
"Inconstant as the restless wave,
"My heart would grow as cold as thine."

As cygnet down, proud swelled her breast;
Her eye confest the pearly tear;
His hand she to her bosom prest--
"Is there no heart for rapture here?

"These limbs, sprung from the lucid sea,
"Does no warm blood their currents fill,
"No heart-pulse riot, wild and free,
"To joy, to love's delirious thrill?"

"Though all the splendour of the sea
"Around thy faultless beauty shine,
"That heart, that riots wild and free,
"Can hold no sympathy with mine.

"These sparkling eyes, so wild and gay,
"They swim not in the light of love:
"The beauteous maid of Colonsay,
"Her eyes are milder than the dove!

"Even now, within the lonely isle,
"Her eyes are dim with tears for me;
"And canst thou think that syren smile
"Can lure my soul to dwell with thee?"

An oozy film her limbs o'erspread;
Unfolds in length her scaly train;
She tossed, in proud disdain, her head,
And lashed, with webbed fin, the main.

"Dwell here, alone!" the mermaid cried,
"And view far off the sea-nymphs play;
"Thy prison-wall, the azure tide,
"Shall bar thy steps from Colonsay.

"Whene'er, like ocean's scaly brood,
"I cleave, with rapid fin, the wave,
"Far from the daughter of the flood,
"Conceal thee in this coral cave.

"I feel my former soul return;
"It kindles at thy cold disdain:
"And has a mortal dared to spurn
"A daughter of the foamy main?"

She fled; around the crystal cave
The rolling waves resume their road,
On the broad portal idly rave,
But enter not the nymph's abode.

And many a weary night went by,
As in the lonely cave he lay,
And many a sun rolled through the sky,
And poured its beams on Colonsay;

And oft, beneath the silver moon,
He heard afar the mermaid sing,
And oft, to many a melting tune,
The shell-formed lyres of ocean ring;

And when the moon went down the sky,
Still rose, in dreams, his native plain,
And oft he thought his love was by,
And charmed him with some tender strain;

And, heart-sick, oft he waked to weep,
When ceased that voice of silver sound,
And thought to plunge him in the deep,
That walled his crystal cavern round.

But still the ring, of ruby red,
Retained its vivid crimson hue,
And each despairing accent fled,
To find his gentle love so true.

When seven long lonely months were gone,
The mermaid to his cavern came,
No more mishapen from the zone,
But like a maid of mortal frame.

"O give to me that ruby ring,
"That on thy finger glances gay,
"And thou shalt hear the mermaid sing
"The song, thou lovest, of Colonsay."

"This ruby ring, of crimson grain,
"Shall on thy finger glitter gay,
"If thou wilt bear me through the main,
"Again to visit Colonsay."

"Except thou quit thy former love,
"Content to dwell, for ay, with me,
"Thy scorn my finny frame might move,
"To tear thy limbs amid the sea."

"Then bear me swift along the main,
"The lonely isle again to see,
"And, when I here return again,
"I plight my faith to dwell with thee."

An oozy film her limbs o'erspread,
While slow unfolds her scaly train,
With gluey fangs her hands were clad,
She lashed with webbed fin the main.

He grasps the mermaid's scaly sides,
As, with broad fin, she oars her way;
Beneath the silent moon she glides,
That sweetly sleeps on Colonsay.

Proud swells her heart! she deems, at last,
To lure him with her silver tongue,
And, as the shelving rocks she past,
She raised her voice, and sweetly sung.

In softer, sweeter strains she sung,
Slow gliding o'er the moonlight bay,
When light to land the chieftain sprung,
To hail the maid of Colonsay.

O sad the mermaid's gay notes fell,
And sadly sink, remote at sea!
So sadly mourns the writhed shell
Of Jura's shore, its parent sea.

And ever as the year returns,
The charm-bound sailors know the day;
For sadly still the mermaid mourns
The lovely chief of Colonsay.

NOTE

ON

THE MERMAID.

* * * * *

_The sea-snake heave his snowy mane._--P. 334. v. 3.

"They, who, in works of navigation, on the coasts of Norway, employ themselves in fishing or merchandize, do all agree in this strange story, that there is a serpent there, which is of a vast magnitude, namely, two hundred feet long, and moreover twenty feet thick; and is wont to live in rocks and caves, toward the sea-coast about Berge; which will go alone from his holes, in a clear night in summer, and devours calves, lambs, and hogs; or else he goes into the sea to feed on polypus, locusts, and all sorts of sea-crabs. He hath commonly hair hanging from his neck a cubit long, and sharp scales, and is black, and he hath flaming shining eyes. This snake disquiets the skippers, and he puts up his head on high, like a pillar, and catcheth away men, and he devours them; and this hapneth not but it signifies some wonderful change of the kingdom near at hand; namely, that the princes shall die, or be banished; or some tumultuous wars shall presentlie follow."--_Olaus Magnus_, London, 1558, rendered into English by J. S. Much more of the sea-snake may be learned from the credible witnesses cited by Pontoppidan, who saw it raise itself from the sea, twice as high as the mast of their vessel. The tradition probably originates in the immense snake of the Edda, whose folds were supposed to girdle the earth.

FOOTNOTES:

[85] I believe something to the same purpose may be found in the school editions of Guthrie's _Geographical Grammar_; a work, which, though, in general, as sober and dull as could be desired by the gravest preceptor, becomes of a sudden uncommonly lively, upon the subject of the seas of Norway; the author having thought meet to adopt the Right Reverend Erick Pontopiddon's account of mermen, sea-snakes, and krakens.

THE LORD HERRIES HIS COMPLAINT,

A FRAGMENT.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY CHARLES KIRKPATRICK SHARPE, ESQ. OF HODDOM.

* * * * *

Hoddom castle is delightfully situated on the banks of the river Annan. It is an ancient structure, said to have been built betwixt the years 1437 and 1484, by John Lord Herries, of Herries, a powerful border baron, who possessed extensive domains in Dumfries-shire. This family continued to flourish until the death of William, Lord Herries, in the middle of the 16th century, when it merged in heirs female. Agnes, the eldest of the daughters of Lord William, was married to John, master of Maxwell, afterwards created Lord Herries, and a strenuous partizan of Queen Mary. The castle and barony of Hoddom were sold, about 1630, and were then, or soon afterwards, acquired by John Sharpe, Esq., in whose family they have ever since continued. Before the accession of James VI. to the English crown, Hoddom castle was appointed to be kept "with ane wise stout man, and to have with him four well-horsed men, and there to have two stark footmen, servants, to keep their horses, and the principal to have ane stout footman."--_Border Laws, Appendix._

On the top of a small, but conspicuous hill, near to Hoddom castle, there is a square tower, built of hewn stone, over the door of which are carved the figures of a dove and a serpent, and betwixt them the word _Repentance_. Hence the building, though its proper name is Trailtrow, is more frequently called the Tower of Repentance. It was anciently used as a beacon, and the border laws direct a watch to be maintained there, with a fire-pan and bell, to give the alarm when the English crossed, or approached, the river Annan. This man was to have a husband-land for his service.--SPOTTISWOODE, p. 306.

Various accounts are given of the cause of erecting the Tower of Repentance. The following has been adopted by my ingenious correspondent, as most susceptible of poetical decoration. A certain Lord Herries--about the date of the transaction, tradition is silent--was famous among those who used to rob and steal (_convey_, the wise it call). This lord, returning from England, with many prisoners, whom he had unlawfully enthralled, was overtaken by a storm, while passing the Solway Firth, and, in order to relieve his boat, he cut all their throats, and threw them into the sea. Feeling great qualms of conscience, he built this square tower, carving over the door, which is about half way up the building, and had formerly no stair to it, the figures above mentioned, of a dove and a serpent, emblems of remorse and grace, and the motto--"_Repentance._"

I have only to add, that the marauding baron is said, from his rapacity, to have been surnamed John the Reif; probably in allusion to a popular romance; and that another account says, the sin, of which he repented, was the destruction of a church, or chapel, called Trailtrow, with the stones of which he had built the castle of Hoddom.--MACFARLANE's MSS.

It is said, that Sir Richard Steele, while riding near this place, saw a shepherd boy reading his Bible, and asked him, what he learned from it? "The way to heaven," answered the boy. "And can you show it to me?" said Sir Richard, in banter. "You must go by that tower," replied the shepherd; and he pointed to the tower of "_Repentance_."

THE

LORD HERRIES HIS COMPLAINT,

A FRAGMENT.

* * * * *

Bright shone the moon on Hoddom's wall,
Bright on Repentance Tower;
Mirk was the lord of Hoddom's saul,
That chief sae sad and sour.

He sat him on Repentance hicht,
And glowr'd upon the sea;
And sair and heavily he sicht,
But nae drap eased his bree.

"The night is fair, and calm the air,
"No blasts disturb the tree;
"Baith men and beast now tak their rest,
"And a's at peace but me.

"Can wealth and power in princely bower,
"Can beauty's rolling e'e,
"Can friendship dear, wi' kindly tear,
"Bring back my peace to me?

"No! lang lang maun the mourner pine,
"And meikle penance dree,
"Wha has a heavy heart like mine,
"Ere light that heart can be.

"Under yon silver skimmering waves,
"That saftly rise and fa',
"Lie mouldering banes in sandy graves,
"That fley my peace awa.

* * * * *

"To help my boat I pierc'd the throat
"Of him whom ane lo'ed dear;
"Nought did I spare his yellow hair,
"And ee'n sae bricht and clear.

"She sits her lane, and makith mane,
"And sings a waefu sang,--
'Scotch rievers hae my darling ta'en;
'O Willie tarries lang!'

"I plunged an auld man in the sea,
"Whase locks were like the snaw;
"His hairs sall serve for rapes to me,
"In hell my saul to draw.

"Soon did thy smile, sweet baby, stint,
"Torn frae the nurse's knee,
"That smile, that might hae saften'd flint,
"And still'd the raging sea.

"Alas! twelve precious lives were spilt,
"My worthless spark to save;
"Bet[86] had I fallen, withouten guilt,
"Frae cradle to the grave.

"Repentance! signal of my bale,
"Built of the lasting stane,
"Ye lang shall tell the bluidy tale,
"Whan I am dead and gane.

"How Hoddom's lord, ye lang sall tell,
"By conscience stricken sair,
"In life sustain'd the pains of hell,
"And perish'd in despair.

FOOTNOTES:

[86] _Bet_--better.

THE MURDER OF CAERLAVEROC.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY CHARLES KIRKPATRICK SHARPE, ESQ.

* * * * *

The tragical event which preceded, or perhaps gave rise to, the successful insurrection of Robert Bruce, against the tyranny of Edward I., is well known. In the year 1304, Bruce abruptly left the court of England, and held an interview, in the Dominical church of Dumfries, with John, surnamed, from the colour of his hair, the Red Cuming, a powerful chieftain, who had formerly held the regency of Scotland. It is said, by the Scottish historians, that he upbraided Cuming with having betrayed to the English monarch a scheme, formed betwixt them, for asserting the independence of Scotland. The English writers maintain, that Bruce proposed such a plan to Cuming, which he rejected with scorn, as inconsistent with the fealty he had sworn to Edward. The dispute, however it began, soon waxed high betwixt two fierce and independent barons. At length, standing before the high altar of the church, Cuming gave Bruce the lie, and Bruce retaliated by a stroke of his poniard. Full of confusion and remorse, for a homicide committed in a sanctuary, the future monarch of Scotland rushed out of the church, with the bloody poniard in his hand. Kirkpatrick and Lindsay, two barons, who faithfully adhered to him, were waiting at the gate. To their earnest and anxious enquiries into the cause of his emotion, Bruce answered, "I doubt I have slain the Red Cuming".--"Doubtest thou?" exclaimed Kirkpatrick, "I make sure!"[87] Accordingly, with Lindsay and a few followers, he rushed into the church, and dispatched the wounded Cuming.

A homicide, in such a place, and such an age, could hardly escape embellishment from the fertile genius of the churchmen, whose interest was so closely connected with the inviolability of a divine sanctuary. Accordingly, Bowmaker informs us, that the body of the slaughtered baron was watched, during the night, by the Dominicans, with the usual rites of the church. But, at midnight, the whole assistants fell into a dead sleep, with the exception of one aged father, who heard, with terror and surprise, a voice, like that of a wailing infant, exclaim, "How long, O Lord, shall vengeance be deferred?" it was answered, in an awful tone, "Endure with patience, until the anniversary of this day shall return for the fifty-second time." In the year 1357, fifty-two years after Cuming's death, James of Lindsay was hospitably feasted in the castle of Caerlaveroc, in Dumfries-shire, belonging to Roger Kirkpatrick. They were the sons of the murderers of the regent. In the dead of night, for some unknown cause, Lindsay arose, and poniarded in his bed his unsuspecting host. He then mounted his horse to fly; but guilt and fear had so bewildered his senses, that, after riding all night, he was taken, at break of day, not three miles from the castle, and was afterwards executed, by order of King David II.

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

That ilk yhere in our kynryk
Hoge was slayne of Kilpatrik
Be schyr Jakkis the Lyndessay
In-til Karlaveroc; and away
For til have bene with all his mycht
This Lyndyssay pressyt all a nycht
Forth on hors rycht fast rydand.
Nevyrtheless yhit thai hym fand
Nocht thre myle fra that ilk place;
Thare tane and broucht agane he was
Til Karlaveroc, be thai men
That frendis war til Kirkpatrik then;
Thare was he kepyd rycht straytly.
His wyf[88] passyd till the king Dawy,

And prayid him of his realté,
Of Lauche that scho mycht serwyd be.
The kyng Dawy than also fast
Till Dumfres with his curt he past,
As Lawche wald. Quhat was thare mare?
This Lyndessay to deth he gert do thare.

WINTOWNIS _Cronykill_, B. viii. cap. 44.

THE

MURDER OF CAERLAVEROC.

* * * * *

"Now, come to me, my little page,
"Of wit sae wond'rous sly!
"Ne'er under flower, o' youthfu' age,
"Did mair destruction lie.

"I'll dance and revel wi' the rest,
"Within this castle rare;
"Yet he sall rue the drearie feast,
"Bot and his lady fair.

"For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick's wine,
"Wi' juice o' poppy flowers;
"Nae mair he'll see the morning shine
"Frae proud Caerlaveroc's towers.

"For he has twin'd my love and me,
"Ihe maid of mickle scorn--
"She'll welcome, wi' a tearfu' e'e,
"Her widowhood the morn.

"And saddle weel my milk-white steed,
"Prepare my harness bright!
"Giff I can mak my rival bleed,
"I'll ride awa this night."

"Now haste ye, master, to the ha'!
"The guests are drinking there;
"Kirkpatrick's pride sall be but sma',
"For a' his lady fair."

* * * * *

In came the merry minstrelsy;
Shrill harps wi' tinkling string,
And bag-pipes, lilting melody,
Made proud Caerlaveroc ring.

There gallant knights, and ladies bright,
Did move to measures fine,
Like frolic Fairies, jimp and light,
Wha dance in pale moonshine.

The ladies glided through the ha',
Wi' footing swift and sure--
Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a',
Whan she stood on the floor.

And some had tyres of gold sae rare,
And pendants[89] eight or nine;
And she, wi' but her gowden hair,
Did a' the rest outshine.

And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen,
Did warriors' hearts assail--
But she, wi' her twa sparkling een,
Pierc'd through the thickest mail.

Kirkpatrick led her by the hand,
With gay and courteous air:
No stately castle in the land
Could shew sae bright a pair.

O he was young--and clear the day
Of life to youth appears!
Alas! how soon his setting ray
Was dimm'd wi' showring tears!

Fell Lindsay sicken'd at the sight,
And sallow grew his cheek;
He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite,
But word he cou'dna speak.

The gorgeous banquet was brought up,
On silver and on gold:
The page chose out a crystal cup,
The sleepy juice to hold.

And whan Kirkpatrick call'd for wine,
This page the drink wou'd bear;
Nor did the knight or dame divine
Sic black deceit was near.

Then every lady sung a sang;
Some gay--some sad and sweet--
Like tunefu' birds the woods amang,
Till a' began to greet.

E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear,
Forletting malice deep--
As mermaids, wi' their warbles clear,
Can sing the waves to sleep.

And now to bed they all are dight,
Now steek they ilka door:
There's nought but stillness o' the night,
Whare was sic din before.

Fell Lindsay puts his harness on,
His steed doth ready stand;
And up the stair-case is he gone,
Wi' poniard in his hand.

The sweat did on his forehead break,
He shook wi' guilty fear;
In air he heard a joyfu' shriek--
Red Cumin's ghaist was near.

Now to the chamber doth he creep--
A lamp, of glimmering ray,
Show'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep,
In arms of lady gay.

He lay wi' bare unguarded breast,
By sleepy juice beguil'd;
And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest,
And sometimes sweetly smiled.

Unclosed her mouth o' rosy hue,
Whence issued fragrant air,
That gently, in soft motion, blew
Stray ringlets o' her hair.

"Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear!
"The dame may wake to weep--
"But that day's sun maun shine fou clear,
"That spills this warrior's sleep."

He louted down--her lips he prest--
O! kiss, foreboding woe!
Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breast
A deep and deadly blow.

Sair, sair, and mickle, did he bleed:
His lady slept till day,
But dream't the Firth[90] flow'd o'er her head,
In bride-bed as she lay.

The murderer hasted down the stair,
And back'd his courser fleet:
Than did the thunder 'gin to rair,
Than show'rd the rain and sleet.

Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain,
Whare a' was mirk before,
And glinted o'er the raging main,
That shook the sandy shore.

But mirk and mirker grew the night,
And heavier beat the rain;
And quicker Lindsay urged his flight,
Some ha' or beild to gain.

Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale,
Nor mire nor flood he fear'd:
I trow his courage 'gan to fail
When morning light appear'd.

For having hied, the live-lang night,
Through hail and heavy showers,
He fand himsel, at peep o' light,
Hard by Caerlaveroc's towers.

The castle bell was ringing out,
The ha' was all asteer;
And mony a scriech and waefu' shout
Appall'd the murderer's ear.

Now they hae bound this traitor strang,
Wi' curses and wi' blows;
And high in air they did him hang,
To feed the carrion crows.

* * * * *

"To sweet Lincluden's[91] haly cells
"Fou dowie I'll repair;
"There peace wi' gentle patience dwells,
"Nae deadly feuds are there."

"In tears I'll wither ilka charm,
"Like draps o' balefu' yew;
"And wail the beauty that cou'd harm
"A knight, sae brave and true."

FOOTNOTES:

[87] Hence the crest of Kirkpatrick is a hand, grasping a dagger, distilling gouts of blood, proper; motto; "_I mak sicker_."

[88] That is, Kirkpatrick's wife.

[89] _Pendants_--Jewels on the forehead.

[90] Caerlaveroc stands near Solway Firth.

[91] Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded and filled with Benedictine nuns, in the time of Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, lord of Galloway--these were expelled by Archibald the Grim, Earl of Douglas.--_Vide_ PENNANT.

SIR AGILTHORN.

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

* * * * *

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread,
And softly wind thy bugle-horn;
Nor rudely break the silence shed
Around the grave of Agilthorn!

Oh! gentle huntsman, if a tear
E'er dimmed for other's woe thine eyes,
Thoul't surely dew, with drops sincere,
The sod, where Lady Eva lies.

Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound,
Their hands and hearts beheld them plight,
Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned,
The beauteous dame and gallant knight.

Alas! the hour of bliss is past,
For hark! the din of discord rings;
War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast,
And trembling plies his radiant wings.

And must sad Eva lose her lord?
And must he seek the martial plain?
Oh! see, she brings his casque and sword!
Oh! hark, she pours her plaintive strain!

"Blest is the village damsel's fate,
"Though poor and low her station be;
"Safe from the cares which haunt the great,
"Safe from the cares which torture me!

"No doubting fear, no cruel pain,
"No dread suspense her breast alarms;
"No tyrant honour rules her swain,
"And tears him from her folding arms.

"She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks,
"In pleasing toil consumes the day;
"And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks,
"Or joins her rustic lover's lay.

"Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies
"The pillow which supports her head;
"She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes
"Shall wake, to mourn an husband dead.

"Hush, impious fears! the good and brave
"Heaven's arm will guard from danger free;
"When Death with thousands gluts the grave,
"His dart, my love, shall glance from thee:

"While thine shall fly direct and sure,
"This buckler every blow repell;
"This casque from wounds that face secure,
"Where all the loves and graces dwell.

"This glittering scarf, with tenderest care,
"My hands in happier moments wove;
"Curst be the wretch, whose sword shall tear
"The spell-bound work of wedded love!

"Lo! on thy faulchion, keen and bright,
"I shed a trembling consort's tears;
"Oh! when their traces meet thy sight,
"Remember wretched Eva's fears!

"Think, how thy lips she fondly prest;
"Think, how she wept, compelled to part;
"Think, every wound, which scars thy breast,
"Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!"

"O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend!"
Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;
"Thy fond complaints my bosom rend,
"Thy tears my fainting soul unman:

"In pity cease, my gentle dame,
"Such sweetness and such grief to join!
"Lest I forget the voice of Fame,
"And only list to Love's and thine.

"Flow, flow, my tears! unbounded gush!
"Rise, rise, my sobs! I set ye free;
"Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush
"To own, that life is dear to me.

"The wretch, whose lips have prest the bowl,
"The bitter bowl of pain and woe,
"May careless reach his mortal goal,
"May boldly meet the final blow:

"His hopes destroyed, his comfort wreckt,
An happier life he hopes to find;
But what can I in heaven expect,
Beyond the bliss I leave behind?

"Oh, no! the joys of yonder skies
To prosperous love present no charms;
My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes,
My paradise in Eva's arms.

"Yet mark me, sweet! if Heaven's command
Hath doomed my fall in martial strife,
Oh! let not anguish tempt thy hand
To rashly break the thread of life!

"No! let our boy thy care engross,
Let him thy stay, thy comfort, be;
Supply his luckless father's loss,
And love him for thyself and me.

"So may oblivion soon efface
The grief, which clouds this fatal morn;
And soon thy cheeks afford no trace
Of tears, which fall for Agilthorn!"

He said, and couched his quivering lance;
He said, and braced his moony shield;
Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance,
Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field.

But Eva, of all joy bereft,
Stood rooted at the castle gate,
And viewed the prints his courser left,
While hurrying at the call of fate.

Forebodings sad her bosom told,
The steed, which bore him thence so light,
Her longing eyes would ne'er behold
Again bring home her own true knight.

While many a sigh her bosom heaves,
She thus addrest her orphan page--
"Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved
The sorrows of thy infant age;

"If e'er I taught thy locks to play,
Luxuriant, round thy blooming face;
If e'er I wiped thy tears away,
And bade them yield to smiles their place;

"Oh! speed thee, swift as steed can bear,
Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead,
And, o'er the combat, home repair,
And tell me how my lord has sped.

"Till thou return'st, each hour's an age,
An age employed in doubt and pain;
Oh! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page,
Oh! haste, and soon return again!"

"Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage!
Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain:
I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page,
I'll haste, and soon return again."

Then Oswy bade his courser fly;
But still, while hapless Eva wept,
Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply,
So slow the tedious moments crept.

And oft she kist her baby's cheek,
Who slumbered on her throbbing breast;
And now she bade the warder speak,
And now she lulled her child to rest.

"Good warder, say, what meets thy sight?
What see'st thou from the castle tower?"
"Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,
Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower."

"Oh! pretty babe! thy mother's joy,
Pledge of the purest, fondest flame,
To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy!
Must see thee bear an orphan's name.

"Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword
The life-blood of thy father drains;
Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gor'd,
Whose streams supplied thy little veins.

"Oh! warder, from the castle tower,
Now say, what objects meet thy sight?"
"None but the shades of Forest-Bower,
None but the rocks of Elginbright."

"Smil'st thou, my babe? so smiled thy sire,
When gazing on his Eva's face;
His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,
And joy'd such beams in mine to trace.

"Sleep, sleep, my babe! of care devoid;
Thy mother breathes this fervent vow--
Oh! never be thy soul employed
On thoughts so sad, as her's are now!

"Now warder, warder, speak again!
What see'st thou from the turret's height?"
"Oh! lady, speeding o'er the plain,
The little foot-page appears in sight."

Quick beat her heart; short grew her breath;
Close to her breast the babe she drew--
"Now, Heaven," she cried, "for life or death!"
And forth to meet the page she flew.

"And is thy lord from danger free?
And is the deadly combat o'er?"
In silence Oswy bent his knee,
And laid a scarf her feet before.

The well-known scarf with blood was stained,
And tears from Oswy's eye-lids fell;
Too truly Eva's heart explained,
What meant those silent tears to tell.

"Come, come, my babe!" she wildly cried,
"We needs must seek the field of woe;
Come, come, my babe! cast fear aside!
To dig thy father's grave we go."

"Stay, lady, stay! a storm impends;
Lo! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread;
The thunder roars, the rain descends,
And lightning streaks the heavens with red.

"Hark! hark! the winds tempestuous rave!
Oh! be thy dread intent resigned!
Or, if resolved the storm to brave,
Be this dear infant left behind!"

"No! no! with me my baby stays;
With me he lives; with me he dies!
Flash, lightnings, flash! your friendly blaze
Will shew me where my warrior lies."