Chapter VIII: Part III: 213 (8)

O see she roams the bloody field,
And wildly shrieks her husband's name;
Oh! see she stops and eyes a shield,
An heart, the symbol, wrapt in flame.

His armour broke in many a place,
A knight lay stretched that shield beside;
She raised his vizor, kist his face,
Then on his bosom sunk, and died.

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold:
'Tis here, at night, the Fairy king,
Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold,
Oft forms his light fantastic ring.

'Tis here, at eve, each village youth,
With freshest flowers the turf adorns;
'Tis here he swears eternal truth,
By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's.

And here the virgins sadly tell,
Each seated by her shepherd's side,
How brave the gallant warrior fell,
How true his lovely lady died.

Ah! gentle huntsman, pitying hear,
And mourn the gentle lovers' doom!
Oh! gentle huntsman, drop a tear,
And dew the turf of Eva's tomb!

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose;
So ne'er may grief to thee be known:
They, who can weep for others' woes,
Should ne'er have cause to weep their own.

RICH AULD WILLIE'S FAREWELL.

A FREEBOOTER, TAKEN BY THE ENGLISH IN A BORDER BATTLE, AND CONDEMNED TO BE EXECUTED.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY ANNA SEWARD.

* * * * *

Farewell my ingle, bleezing bright,
When the snell storm's begun;
My bouris casements, O! sae light,
When glints the bonnie sun!

Farewell my deep glens, speck't wi' sloes,
O' tangled hazles full!
Farewell my thymy lea, where lows
My kine, and glourin bull.

Farewell my red deer, jutting proud,
My rooks, o' murky wing!
Farewell my wee birds, lilting loud,
A' in the merry spring!

Farewell my sheep, that sprattle on
In a lang line, sae braw!
Or lie on yon cauld cliffs aboon,
Like late-left patch o' snaw!

Farewell my brook, that wimplin rins,
My clattering brig o' yew;
My scaly tribes wi' gowden fins,
Sae nimbly flickering through!

Farewell my boat, and lusty oars,
That scelp'd, wi' mickle spray!
Farewell my birks o' Teviot shores,
That cool the simmer's day!

Farewell bauld neighbours, whase swift steed
O'er Saxon bounds has scowr'd,
Swoom'd drumlie floods when moons were dead,
And ilka star was smoor'd.

Maist dear for a' ye shar'd wi' me,
When skaith and prey did goad,
And danger, like a wreath, did flee
Alang our moon-dead road.

Farewell my winsome wife, sae gay!
Fu' fain frae hame to gang,
Wi' spunkie lads to geck and play,
The flow'rie haughs amang!

Farewell my gowk, thy warning note
Then aft-times ca'd aloud,
Tho' o' the word that thrill'd thy throat,
Gude faith, I was na proud!

And, pawkie gowk, sae free that mad'st,
Or ere I hanged be,
Would I might learn if true thou said'st,
When sae thou said'st to me!

WATER KELPIE.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED--REV. DR JAMIESON.

* * * * *

The principal design of the author of this piece, was to give a specimen of Scottish writing, more nearly approaching to the classical compositions of our ancient bards, than that which has been generally followed for seventy or eighty years past. As the poem is descriptive of the superstitions of the vulgar, in the county of Angus, the scene is laid on the banks of South Esk, near the castle of Inverquharity, about five miles north from Forfar.

It is with pleasure that the editor announces to the literary world, that Dr Jamieson is about to publish a complete Dictionary of the Scottish Dialect; his intimate acquaintance with which is evinced in the following stanzas.

WATER KELPIE.

* * * * *

Aft, owre the bent, with heather blent,
And throw the forest brown,
I tread the path to yon green strath,
Quhare brae-born Esk rins down.
Its banks alang, quhilk hazels thrang,
Quhare sweet-sair'd hawthorns blow,
I lufe to stray, and view the play
Of fleckit scales below.

Ae summer e'en, upon the green,
I laid me down to gaze;
The place richt nigh, quhare Carity
His humble tribute pays:
And Prosen proud, with rippet loud,
Cums ravin' frae his glen;
As gin he might auld Esk affricht,
And drive him back agen.

An ancient tour appear't to lour
Athort the neibourin plain,
Quhais chieftain bauld, in times of auld,
The kintre callit his ain.
Its honours cowit, its now forhowit,
And left the houlat's prey;
Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude,
With gloom owrespreads the day.

A dreary shade the castle spread,
And mirker grew the lift;
The croonin' kie the byre drew nigh,
The darger left his thrift.
The levrock shill on erd was still,
The westlin wind fell loun;
The fisher's houp forgat to loup,
And aw for rest made boun.

I seemit to sloom, quhan throw the gloom
I saw the river shake,
And heard a whush alangis it rush,
Gart aw my members quake;
Syne, in a stound, the pool profound
To cleave in twain appear'd:
And huly throw the frichtsom how
His form a gaist uprear'd.

He rashes bare, and seggs, for hair,
Quhare ramper-eels entwin'd;
Of filthy gar his ee-brees war,
With esks and horse-gells lin'd.
And for his een, with dowie sheen,
Twa huge horse-mussels glar'd:
From his wide mow a torrent flew,
And soupt his reedy beard.

Twa slauky stanes seemit his spule-banes;
His briskit braid, a whin;
Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair;
Ilk arm a monstrous fin.
He frae the wame a fish became,
With shells aw coverit owre:
And for his tail, the grislie whale
Could nevir match its pow'r.

With dreddour I, quhen he drew nigh,
Had maistly swarfit outricht:
Less fleyit at lenth I gatherit strenth,
And speirit quhat was this wicht.
Syne thrice he shook his fearsum bouk,
And thrice he snockerit loud;
From ilka ee the fire-flauchts flee,
And flash alangis the flude.

Quhan words he found, their elritch sound
Was like the norlan blast,
Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back,
That skeegs the dark-brown waste.
The troublit pool conveyit the gowl
Down to yon echoin rock;
And to his maik, with wilsum skraik,
Ilk bird its terror spoke.

"Vile droich," he said, "art nocht afraid
"Thy mortal life to tyne?
"How dar'st thou seik with me till speik,
"Sae far aboon thy line?
"Yet sen thou hast thai limits past,
"That sinder sprites frae men,
"Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare,
"That worms like thee may ken.

"In kintries nar, and distant far,
"Is my renoun propalit;
"As is the leid, my name ye'll reid,
"But here I'm _Kelpie_ callit.
"The strypes and burns, throw aw their turns,
"As weel's the waters wide,
"My laws obey, thair spring heads frae,
"Doun till the salt sea tide.

"Like some wild staig, I aft stravaig,
"And scamper on the wave:
"Quha with a bit my mow can fit,
"May gar me be his slave.
"To him I'll wirk baith morn and mirk
"Quhile he has wark to do;
"Gin tent he tak I do nae shak
"His bridle frae my mow.

"Quhan Murphy's laird his biggin rear'd,
"I carryit aw the stanes;
"And mony a chiell has heard me squeal
"For sair-brizz'd back and banes.
"Within flude-mark, I aft do wark
"Gudewillit, quhan I please;
"In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep,
"Greit blocks I win with ease.

"Yon bonny brig quhan folk wald big,
"To gar my stream look braw;
"A sair-toil'd wicht was I be nicht;
"I did mair than thaim aw.
"And weel thai kent quhat help I lent,
"For thai yon image framit,
"Aboon the pend quhilk I defend;
"And it thai _Kelpie_ namit.

"Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais,
"Narby yon whinny hicht,
"The sound of me their daffin lays;
"Thai dare na mudge for fricht.
"Now in the midst of them I scream,
"Quhan toozlin' on the haugh;
"Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream,
"Loud nickerin in a lauch.

"Sicklike's my fun, of wark quhan run;
"But I do meikle mair:
"In pool or ford can nane be smur'd
"Gin Kelpie be nae there.
"Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spat,
"Quhair ane sall meet his deid:
"Nor wit nor pow'r put aff the hour,
"For his wanweird decreed.

"For oulks befoir, alangis the shoir,
"Or dancin' down the stream,
"My lichts are seen to blaze at een,
"With wull wanerthly gleam.
"The hind cums in, gif haim he win,
"And cries, as he war wode;
'Sum ane sall soon be carryit down
'By that wanchancy flude.'

"The taiken leil thai ken fow weel,
"On water sides quha won;
"And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae,
"Fast frae the danger run.
"But fremmit fouk I thus provoke
"To meit the fate thai flee:
"To wilderit wichts thai're waefow lichts,
"But lichts of joy to me.

"With ruefow cries, that rend the skies,
"Thair fate I seem to mourn,
"Like crocodile, on banks of Nile;
"For I still do the turn.
"Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen;
"Thai rin as thai war heyrt,
"Despise all reid, and court their deid:
"By me are thai inspir't.

"Yestreen the water was in spate,
"The stanners aw war cur'd:
"A man, nae stranger to the gate,
"Raid up to tak the ford.
"The haill town sware it wadna ride;
"And Kelpie had been heard:
"But nae a gliffin wad he bide,
"His shroud I had prepar'd.

"The human schaip I sumtimes aip:
"As Prosenhaugh raid haim,
"Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht,
"Maist crack't his bustuous frame.
"I, in a glint, lap on ahint,
"And in my arms him fangit;
"To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik:
"The carle was sair bemangit.

"My name itsell wirks like a spell,
"And quiet the house can keep;
"Quhan greits the wean, the nurse in vain,
"Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to sleip.
"But gin scho say, 'Lie still, ye skrae,
"There's Water-Kelpie's chap;'
"It's fleyit to wink, and in a blink
"It sleips as sound's a tap."

He said, and thrice he rais't his voice,
And gaif a horrid gowl:
Thrice with his tail, as with a flail,
He struck the flying pool.
A thunderclap seem't ilka wap,
Resoundin' throw the wude:
The fire thrice flash't; syne in he plash't,
And sunk beneath the flude.

NOTES

ON

WATER KELPIE.

* * * * *

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

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

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

_All_ commonly occurs in our old writers. But _aw_ is here used, as corresponding with the general pronunciation in Scotland; especially as it has the authority of Dunbar, in his _Lament for the Deth of the Makaris_.

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

It is believed in Angus, that the spirit of the waters appears sometimes as a man, with a very frightful aspect; and, at other times, as a horse. The description, here given, must therefore be viewed as the offspring of fancy. All that can be said for it is, that such attributes are selected as are appropriate to the scenery.

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

South-Esk abounds with the fresh water oyster, vulgarly called the horse-mussel; and, in former times, a pearl fishery was carried on here to considerable extent.

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

Part of the Grampian mountains. _Catla_ appears as a promontory, jutting out from the principal ridge, towards the plain. The Esk, if I recollect right, issues from behind it.

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

The vulgar idea is, that a spirit, however frequently it appear, will not speak, unless previously addressed. It is, however, at the same time believed, that the person, who ventures to speak to a ghost, will soon forfeit his life, in consequence of his presumption.

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

The popular tradition is here faithfully described; and, strange to tell! has not yet lost all credit. In the following verses, the principal articles of the vulgar creed in Angus, with respect to this supposed being, are brought together and illustrated by such _facts_ as are yet appealed to by the credulous. If I mistake not, none of the historical circumstances mentioned are older than half a century. It is only about thirty years since the bridge referred to was built.

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

It is pretended that _Kelpie_ celebrated this memorable event in rhyme; and that for a long time after he was often heard to cry, with a doleful voice,

"Sair back and sair banes,
Carryin' the laird of Murphy's stanes."

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

A head, like that of a gorgon, appears above the arch of the bridge. This was hewn in honour of Kelpie.

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

A very common tale in Scotland is here alluded to by the poet. On the banks of a rapid stream the water spirit was heard repeatedly to exclaim, in a dismal tone, "The hour is come, but not the man;" when a person coming up, contrary to all remonstrances, endeavoured to ford the stream, and perished in the attempt. The original story is to be found in Gervase of Tilbury.--In the parish of Castleton, the same story is told, with this variation, that the by-standers prevented, by force, the predestined individual from entering the river, and shut him up in the church, where he was next morning found suffocated, with his face lying immersed in the baptismal font. To a _fey_ person, therefore, Shakespeare's words literally apply:

---- Put but a little water in a spoon,
And it shall be as all the ocean,
Enough to swallow such a being up.

GLOSSARY

OF

THE WORDS REQUIRING EXPLANATION IN THE FOREGOING POEM.

* * * * *

_Aboon._ Above.

_Ahint._ Behind.

_Aip._ Ape, imitate.

_Alangis._ Alongst.

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

_Be._ By.

_Big._ Build.

_Biggin._ Building, house.

_Blink._ Moment.

_Bonny._ Handsome, beautiful.

_Boun._ Ready.

_Bouk._ Body.

_Braw._ Fine.

_Briskit._ Breast.

_Bustuous._ Huge.

_Byre._ Cow-house.

_Chap._ Rap.

_Chiell._ Fellow.

_Cleik._ Hold.

_Cowit._ Shorn, cut off.

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

_Cur'd._ Covered.

_Darger._ Labourer, day-worker.

_Daffin._ Sport.

_Deid._ Death.

_Do the turn._ Accomplish the fatal event.

_Dore-cheek._ Door-post.

_Dowie._ Melancholy, sad.

_Douce._ Sober, sedate.

_Dreddour._ Dread, terror.

_Droich._ Dwarf, pigmy.

_Een._ Eyes.

_Eebrees._ Eyebrows.

_Elritch._ Wild, hideous, not earthly.

_Erd._ Earth.

_Esks._ Newts, _or_ efts.

_Fey._ Affording presages of approaching death, by acting a part
directly the reverse of their proper character.

_Fire-flauchts._ Lightnings.

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

_Fleyd._ Frighted.

_Forhowit._ Forsaken.

_Fow._ Full.

_Fangit._ Seized.

_Fleyit._ Affrighted.

_Frightsum._ Frightful.

_Fremmit fouk._ Strange folk.

_Gaist._ Ghost.

_Gaif._ Gave.

_Gart._ Caused, made.

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

_Gate._ Road.

_Glack._ A hollow between two hills or mountains.

_Gliffin._ A moment.

_Glint._ Moment.

_Gowl._ Yell.

_Greits._ Cries, implying the idea of tears.

_Gudewillit._ Without constraint, cheerfully.

_Haill._ Whole.

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

_Heyrt._ Furious.

_Howlat._ Owl.

_Horse-gells._ Horse-leeches.

_Huly._ Slowly.

_Ilk._ Each.

_In a stound._ Suddenly.

_Ken._ Know.

_Kie._ Cows.

_Kintrie._ Country.

_Lavrock._ Lark.

_Lauch._ Laugh.

_Leid._ Language.

_Leil._ True, not delusive.

_Lift._ Sky.

_Loun'._ Calm.

_Loup._ Leap.

_Maik._ Companion, mate.

_Mirk._ During night.

_Mirker._ Darker.

_Mow._ Mouth.

_Mudge._ Budge, stir.

_Nar._ Near.

_Narby._ Near to.

_Nickerin._ Neighing.

_Nocht._ Not.

_Norlan._ Northern.

_Oulks._ Weeks.

_Pend._ Arch.

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

_Quhilk._ Which.

_Ramper-eels._ Lampreys.

_Rashes._ Rushes.

_Rede._ Council.

_Reid._ Read.

_Rippet._ Noise, uproar.

_Sair brizz'd._ Sore bruised.

_Sall._ Shall.

_Sen._ Since.

_Seggs._ Sedges.

_Sheen._ Shine.

_Shill._ Shrill.

_Sicklike._ Of this kind.

_Sinder._ Separate.

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

_Skeegs._ Lashes.

_Skrae._ Skeleton.

_Skuggin._ Overshadowing, protecting wood.

_Sloom._ Slumber.

_Slauky._ Slimy.

_Smur'd._ Smothered.

_Snockerit._ Snorted.

_Soupt._ Drenched.

_Spae._ Predict.

_Spat._ Spot.

_Spate._ Flood.

_Speirit._ Asked.

_Spule-banes._ Shoulder-blades.

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

_Staig. A_ young horse.

_Starnless._ Without stars.

_Stravaig._ Stray, roam.

_Strypes._ Rills of the smallest kind.

_Swarfit._ Fainted.

_Sweet sair'd._ Sweet savoured.

_Syne._ Then.

_Taiken._ Token.

_Tap._ A child's top.

_Tent._ Take care, be attentive.

_Thai._ These.

_Than._ Then.

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

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

_Tyne._ Lose.

_Waefou._ Fatal, causing woe.

_Wald._ Would.

_Wanweirid._ Unhappy fate.

_Wanchancy._ Unlucky, causing misfortune.

_Wanerthly._ Preternatural.

_Wap._ Stroke, flap.

_War._ Were.

_Wauk the claes._ Watch the clothes.

_Wean._ Child.

_Weird._ Fate.

_Whush._ A rustling sound.

_Wilsum skraik._ Wild shriek.

_Wirk._ Work.

_Wode._ Deprived of reason.

_Win._ Dig from a quarry.

_Wull._ Wild.

_Yestreen._ Yesternight.

ELLANDONAN CASTLE.

A HIGHLAND TALE.

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

* * * * *

Ellandonan Castle stands on a small rocky isle, situated in Loch Duich (on the west coast of Ross), near the point where the western sea divides itself into two branches, forming Loch Duich and Loch Loung. The magnificence of the castle itself, now a roofless ruin, covered with ivy, the beauty of the bay, and the variety of hills and valleys that surround it, and particularly the fine range of hills, between which lie the pastures of Glensheal, with the lofty summit of Skooroora, overtopping the rest, and forming a grand back-ground to the picture; all contribute to make this a piece of very romantic Highland scenery.[92]

The castle is the manor-place of the estate of Kintail, which is denominated the barony of Ellandonan. That estate is the property of Francis, Lord Seaforth. It has descended to him, through a long line of gallant ancestors; having been originally conferred on Colin Fitzgerald, son to the Earl of Desmond and Kildare, in the kingdom of Ireland, by a charter, dated 9th January, 1266, granted by King Alexander the third, "_Colino Hybernio_," and bearing, as its inductive cause, "_pro bono et fideli servitio, tam in bello, quam in pace_." He had performed a very recent service in war, having greatly distinguished himself in the battle of Largs, in 1263, in which the invading army of Haco, King of Norway, was defeated. Being pursued in his flight, the king was overtaken in the narrow passage which divides the island of Skye from the coasts of Inverness and Ross, and, along with many of his followers, he himself was killed, in attempting his escape through the channel dividing Skye from Lochalsh. These straits, or _kyles_, bear to this day appellations, commemorating the events by which they were thus distinguished, the former being called Kyle Rhee, or the King's Kyle, and the latter Kyle Haken.

The attack on Ellandonan Castle, which forms the subject of the following poem, lives in the tradition of the country, where it is, at this day, a familiar tale, repeated to every stranger, who, in sailing past, is struck with admiration at the sight of that venerable monument of antiquity. But the authenticity of the fact rests not solely on tradition. It is recorded, by Crawford, in his account of the family of Macdonald, Lord of the Isles, and reference is there made to a genealogy of Slate, in the possession of the family, as a warrant for the assertion. The incident took place in 1537.

The power of the Lord of the Isles was at that time sufficiently great to give alarm to the crown. It covered not only the whole of the Western Isles, from Bute northwards, but also many extensive districts on the main-land, in the shires of Ayr, Argyle, and Inverness. Accordingly, in 1535, on the failure of heirs-male of the body of John, Lord of the Isles, and Earl of Ross, as well as of two of his natural sons, in whose favour a particular substitution had been made, King James the fifth assumed the lordship of the Isles. The right was, however, claimed by Donald, fifth baron of Slate, descended from the immediate younger brother of John, Lord of the Isles. This bold and high-spirited chieftain lost his life in the attack on Ellandonan Castle, and was buried by his followers on the lands of Ardelve, on the opposite side of Loch Loung.

The barony of Ellandonan then belonged to John Mackenzie, ninth baron of Kintail. Kenneth, third baron, who was son to Kenneth, the son of Colin Fitzgerald, received the patronimic appellation of _Mac_ Kenneth, or Mac Kennye, which descended from him to his posterity, as the sirname of the family. John, baron of Kintail, took a very active part in the general affairs of the kingdom. He fought gallantly at the battle of Flodden, under the banners of King James the fourth, was a member of the privy council in the reign of his son, and, at an advanced age, supported the standard of the unfortunate Mary, at the battle of Pinkie.

In the sixth generation from John, baron of Kintail, the clan was, by his lineal descendant, William, fifth earl of Seaforth, summoned, in 1715, to take up arms in the cause of the house of Stuart. On the failure of that spirited, but ill-fated enterprize, the earl made his escape to the continent, where he lived for about eleven years. Meantime his estate and honours were forfeited to the crown, and his castle was burnt. A steward was appointed to levy the rents of Kintail, on the king's behalf; but the vassals spurned at his demands, and, while they carried on a successful defensive war, against a body of troops sent to subdue their obstinacy, in the course of which the unlucky steward had the misfortune to be slain, one of their number made a faithful collection of what was due, and carried the money to the earl himself, who was at that time in Spain. The descendants of the man, to whom it was entrusted to convey to his lord this unequivocal proof of the honour, fidelity, and attachment of his people, are at this day distinguished by the designation of _Spaniard_; as Duncan, _the Spaniard_, &c. The estate was, a few years after the forfeiture, purchased from government, for behoof of the family, and re-invested in the person of his son.

ELLANDONAN CASTLE.

A HIGHLAND TALE.

* * * * *

O wot ye, ye men of the island of Skye,
That your lord lies a corpse on Ardelve's rocky shore?
The Lord of the Isles, once so proud and so high,
His lands and his vassals shall never see more.

None else but the Lord of Kintail was so great;
To that lord the green banks of Loch Duich belong,
Ellandonan's fair castle and noble estate,
And the hills of Glensheal and the coasts of Loch Loung.

His vassals are many, and trusty, and brave,
Descended from heroes, and worthy their sires;
His castle is wash'd by the salt-water wave,
And his bosom the ardour of valour inspires.

M'Donald, by restless ambition impell'd
To extend to the shores of Loch Duich his sway,
With awe Ellandonan's strong turrets beheld,
And waited occasion to make them his prey.

And the moment was come; for M'Kenneth, afar,
To the Saxon opposed his victorious arm;
Few and old were the vassals, but dauntless in war,
Whose courage and skill freed his towers from alarm.

M'Donald has chosen the best of his power;
On the green plains of Slate were his warriors arrayed;
Every Islander came before midnight an hour,
With the sword in his hand, and the belt on his plaid.

The boats they are ready, in number a score;
In each boat twenty men, for the war of Kintail;
Iron hooks they all carry, to grapple the shore,
And ladders, the walls of the fortress to scale.

They have pass'd the strait kyle, thro' whose billowy flood,
From the arms of Kintail-men, fled Haco of yore,
Whose waves were dyed deep with Norwegian blood,
Which was shed by M'Kenneth's resistless claymore.

They have enter'd Loch Duich--all silent their course,
Save the splash of the oar on the dark-bosom'd wave,
Which mingled with murmurs, low, hollow, and hoarse,
That issued from many a coralline cave.

Either coast they avoid, and right eastward they steer;
Nor star, nor the moon, on their passage has shone;
Unexpecting assault, and unconscious of fear,
All Kintail was asleep, save the watchman alone.

"What, ho! my companions! arise, and behold
"Where Duich's deep waters with flashes are bright!
"Hark! the sound of the oars! rise, my friends, and be bold!
"For some foe comes, perhaps, under shadow of night."

At the first of the dawn, when the boats reach'd the shore,
The sharp ridge of Skooroora with dark mist was crown'd,
And the rays, that broke thro' it, seem'd spotted with gore,
As M'Donald's bold currach first struck on the ground.

Of all the assailants, that sprung on the coast,
One of stature and aspect superior was seen;
Whatever a lord or a chieftain could boast,
Of valour undaunted, appear'd in his mien.

His plaid o'er his shoulder was gracefully flung;
Its foldings a buckle of silver restrain'd;
A massy broad sword on his manly thigh hung,
Which defeat or disaster had never sustain'd.

Then, under a bonnet of tartan and blue,
Whose plumage was toss'd to and fro by the gale,
Their glances of lightning his eagle-eyes threw,
Which were met by the frowns of the sons of Kintail.

'Twas the Lord of the Isles; whom the chamberlain saw,
While a trusty long bow on his bosom reclin'd--
Of stiff yew it was made, which few sinews could draw;
Its arrows flew straight, and as swift as the wind.

With a just aim he drew--the shaft pierced the bold chief:
Indignant he started, nor heeding the smart,
While his clan pour'd around him, in clamorous grief,
From the wound tore away the deep-rivetted dart.

The red stream flowed fast, and his cheek became white:
His knees, with a tremor unknown to him, shook,
And his once-piercing eyes scarce directed his sight,
As he turn'd towards Skye the last lingering look.

Surrounded by terror, disgrace, and defeat,
From the rocks of Kintail the M'Donalds recoil'd;
No order was seen in their hasty retreat,
And their looks with dismay and confusion were wild.

While thine eyes wander oft from the green plains of Slate,
In pursuit of thy lord, O M'Donald's fair dame,
Ah! little thou know'st 'tis the hour, mark'd by Fate,
To close his ambition, and tarnish his fame.

On the shore of Ardelve, far from home, is his grave,
And the news of his death swiftly fly o'er the sea--
Thy grief, O fair dame! melts the hearts of the brave,
Even the bard of Kintail wafts his pity to thee.

And thou, Ellandonan! shall thy tow'rs ere again
Be insulted by any adventurous foe,
While the tale of the band, whom thy heroes have slain,
Excites in their sons an inherited glow?

Alas! thou fair isle! my soul's darling and pride!
Too sure is the presage, that tells me thy doom,
Tho' now thy proud towers all invasion deride,
And thy fate lies far hid in futurity's gloom.

A time shall arrive, after ages are past,
When thy turrets, dismantled, in ruins shall fall,
When, alas! thro' thy chambers shall howl the sea-blast,
And the thistle shall shake his red head in thy hall.

Shall this desolation strike thy towers alone?
No, fair Ellandonan! such ruin 'twill bring,
That the whirl shall have power to unsettle the throne,
And thy fate shall be link'd with the fate of thy king.

And great shall thy pride be, amid thy despair;
To their chief, and their prince, still thy sons shall be true;
The fruits of Kintail never victor shall share,
Nor its vales ever gladden an enemy's view.

And lovely thou shalt be, even after thy wreck;
Thy battlements never shall cease to be grand;
Their brown rusty hue the green ivy shall deck,
And as long as Skooroora's high top shall they stand.

FOOTNOTES:

[92] We learn from Wintoun, that, in 1331, this fortress witnessed the severe justice of Randolph, Earl of Murray, then warden of Scotland. Fifty delinquents were there executed, by his orders, and, according to the prior of Lochlevin, the earl had as much pleasure in seeing their ghastly heads encircle the walls of the castle, as if it had been surrounded by a chaplet of roses.

CADYOW CASTLE.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous banks of the river Evan, about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. It was dismantled, in the conclusion of the civil wars, during the reign of the unfortunate Mary, to whose cause the house of Hamilton devoted themselves with a generous zeal, which occasioned their temporary obscurity, and, very nearly, their total ruin. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the south of Scotland, from the eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circumference; and the state of decay, in which they now appear, shews, that they may have witnessed the rites of the Druids.--The whole scenery is included in the magnificent and extensive park of the Duke of Hamilton. There was long preserved in this forest the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity occasioned their being extirpated, about forty years ago. Their appearance was beautiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient authors, as having white manes; but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed.[93]

In detailing the death of the regent Murray, which is made the subject of the following ballad, it would be injustice to my reader to use other words than those of Dr Robertson, whose account of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of historical painting.

"Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon after the battle of Langside, as we have already related, and owed his life to the regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the regent's favourites,[94] who seized his house, and turned out his wife, naked, in a cold night, into the open fields, where, before next morning, she became furiously mad. This injury made a deeper impression on him than the benefit he had received, and from that moment he vowed to be revenged of the regent. Party rage strengthened and inflamed his private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enterprize. The maxims of that age justified the most desperate course he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed the regent for some time, and watched for an opportunity to strike the blow. He resolved, at last, to wait till his enemy should arrive at Linlithgow, through which he was to pass, in his way from Stirling to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden gallery,[95] which had a window towards the street; spread a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up a black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be observed from without; and, after all this preparation, calmly expected the regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. Some indistinct information of the danger which threatened him had been conveyed to the regent, and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate through which he had entered, and to fetch a compass round the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street; and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a single bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman, who rode on his other side. His followers instantly endeavoured to break into the house, whence the blow had come; but they found the door strongly barricaded, and, before it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse,[96] which stood ready for him at a back-passage, and was got far beyond their reach. The regent died the same night of his wound."--_History of Scotland_, book v.

Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where he was received in triumph; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking; and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of the provocation, seemed, to his kinsmen, to justify his deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left Scotland, and served in France, under the patronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recommended by having avenged the cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, the famous admiral of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the offer with contempt and indignation. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland, to commit murders in France; he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of another man.--_Thaunus_, cap. 46.

The regent's death happened 23d January, 1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contemporary historians, according to their religious or party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, "who," he observes, "satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrilegious avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of St Andrew's of its covering;" but he ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous interference of the Deity.--_Jebb_, Vol. II. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by others, made the ground of a general national reflection; for, when Mather urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator answered, "that neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, without some reason or consideration to lead them to it; as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or rewarde; the other, upon desperate mind of revenge, for a lytle wrong done unto him, as the report goethe, accordinge to the vyle trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes."--_Murdin's State Papers_, Vol. I. p. 197.

CADYOW CASTLE.

ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON.

* * * * *

When princely Hamilton's abode
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers,
The song went round, the goblet flowed,
And revel sped the laughing hours.

Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound,
So sweetly rung each vaulted wall,
And echoed light the dancer's bound,
As mirth and music cheer'd the hall.

But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid,
And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er,
Thrill to the music of the shade,
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar.

Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame,
You bid me tell a minstrel tale,
And tune my harp, of Border frame,
On the wild banks of Evandale.

For thou, from scenes of courtly pride,
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn,
To draw oblivion's pall aside,
And mark the long forgotten urn.

Then, noble maid! at thy command,
Again the crumbled halls shall rise;
Lo! as on Evan's banks we stand,
The past returns--the present flies.--

Where with the rock's wood-cover'd side
Were blended late the ruins green,
Rise turrets in fantastic pride,
And feudal banners flaunt between:

Where the rude torrent's brawling course
Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe,
The ashler buttress braves its force,
And ramparts frown in battled row.

'Tis night--the shade of keep and spire
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream,
And on the wave the warder's fire
Is chequering the moon-light beam.

Fades slow their light; the east is grey;
The weary warder leaves his tower;
Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay,
And merry hunters quit the bower.

The draw-bridge falls--they hurry out--
Clatters each plank and swinging chain,
As, dashing o'er, the jovial route
Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein.

First of his troop, the chief rode on;
His shouting merry-men throng behind;
The steed of princely Hamilton
Was fleeter than the mountain wind.

From the thick copse the roe-bucks bound,
The startling red-deer scuds the plain,
For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound
Has rouzed their mountain haunts again.

Through the huge oaks of Evandale,
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,
What sullen roar comes down the gale,
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn?

Mightiest of all the beasts of chace,
That roam in woody Caledon,
Crashing the forest in his race,
The Mountain Bull comes thundering on.

Fierce, on the hunters' quiver'd band,
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,
Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand,
And tosses high his mane of snow.

Aim'd well, the chieftain's lance has flown;
Struggling, in blood the savage lies;
His roar is sunk in hollow groan--
Sound, merry huntsmen! sound the _pryse_![97]

'Tis noon--against the knotted oak
The hunters rest the idle spear;
Curls through the trees the slender smoke,
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer.

Proudly the chieftain mark'd his clan,
On greenwood lap all careless thrown,
Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man,
That bore the name of Hamilton.

"Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place,
"Still wont our weal and woe to share?
"Why comes he not our sport to grace?
"Why shares he not our hunter's fare?"

Stern Claud replied, with darkening face,
(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he)
"At merry feast, or buxom chace,
"No more the warrior shalt thou see.

"Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee
"Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam,
"When to his hearths, in social glee,
"The war-worn soldier turn'd him home.

"There, wan from her maternal throes,
"His Margaret, beautiful and mild,
"Sate in her bower, a pallid rose,
"And peaceful nursed her new-born child.

"O change accurs'd! past are those days;
"False Murray's ruthless spoilers came,
"And, for the hearth's domestic blaze,
"Ascends destruction's volumed flame.

"What sheeted phantom wanders wild,
"Where mountain Eske through woodland flows,
"Her arms enfold a shadowy child--
"Oh is it she, the pallid rose?

"The wildered traveller sees her glide,
"And hears her feeble voice with awe--
'Revenge,' she cries, 'on Murray's pride!
'And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh!'

He ceased--and cries of rage and grief
Burst mingling from the kindred band,
And half arose the kindling chief,
And half unsheath'd his Arran brand.

But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock,
Rides headlong, with resistless speed,
Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke
Drives to the leap his jaded steed;

Whose cheek is pale, whose eye-balls glare,
As one, some visioned sight that saw,
Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair?--
--'Tis he! 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh.

From gory selle,[98] and reeling steed,
Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound,
And, reeking from the recent deed,
He dashed his carbine on the ground.

Sternly he spoke--"'Tis sweet to hear
In good greenwood the bugle blown,
But sweeter to Revenge's ear,
To drink a tyrant's dying groan.

"Your slaughtered quarry proudly trod,
At dawning morn, o'er dale and down,
But prouder base-born Murray rode
Thro' old Linlithgow's crowded town.

"From the wild Border's humbled side,
"In haughty triumph, marched he,
"While Knox relaxed his bigot pride,
"And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see.

"But, can stern Power, with all his vaunt,
"Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare,
"The settled heart of Vengeance daunt,
"Or change the purpose of Despair?

"With hackbut bent[99], my secret stand,
"Dark as the purposed deed, I chose,
"And marked, where, mingling in his band,
"Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows.

"Dark Morton, girt with many a spear,
"Murder's foul minion, led the van;
"And clashed their broad-swords in the rear,
"The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan.

"Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,
"Obsequious at their regent's rein,
"And haggard Lindesay's iron eye,
"That saw fair Mary weep in vain.

"Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove,
"Proud Murray's plumage floated high;
"Scarce could his trampling charger move,
"So close the minions crowded nigh.

"From the raised vizor's shade, his eye,
"Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along,
"And his steel truncheon, waved on high,
"Seem'd marshalling the iron throng.

"But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd
"A passing shade of doubt and awe;
"Some fiend was whispering in his breast,
'Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!'

"The death-shot parts--the charger springs--
"Wild rises tumult's startling roar!--
"And Murray's plumy helmet rings--
"--Rings on the ground, to rise no more.

"What joy the raptured youth can feel,
"To hear her love the loved one tell,
"Or he, who broaches on his steel
"The wolf, by whom his infant fell!

"But dearer, to my injured eye,
"To see in dust proud Murray roll;
"And mine was ten times trebled joy,
"To hear him groan his felon soul.

"My Margaret's spectre glided near;
"With pride her bleeding victim saw;
"And shrieked in his death-deafen'd ear,
'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!'

"Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault!
"Spread to the wind thy bannered tree!
"Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow!--
"Murray is fallen, and Scotland free."

Vaults every warrior to his steed;
Loud bugles join their wild acclaim--
"Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed!
"Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame!"

But, see! the minstrel vision fails--
The glimmering spears are seen no more;
The shouts of war die on the gales,
Or sink in Evan's lonely roar.

For the loud bugle, pealing high,
The blackbird whistles down the vale,
And sunk in ivied ruins lie
The banner'd towers of Evandale.

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed,
And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain,
Lo! high-born Beauty rules the steed,
Or graceful guides the silken rein.

And long may Peace and Pleasure own
The maids, who list the minstrel's tale;
Nor e'er a ruder guest be known
On the fair banks of Evandale!

NOTES ON CADYOW CASTLE.

* * * * *

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

The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was James, Earl of Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and first peer of the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, under the singular title of her adopted father.

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

_In Caledonia olim frequens erat sylvestris quidam bos, nunc vero rarior, qui colore candissimo, jubam densam et demissam instar leonis gestat, truculentus ac ferus ab humano genere abhorrens, ut quæcunque homines vel manibus contrectarint, vel halitu perflaverunt, ab iis multos post dies omnino abstinuerunt. Ad hoc tanta audacia huic bovi indita erat, ut non solum irritatus equites furenter prosterneret, sed ne tantillum lacessitus omnes promiscue homines cornibus, ac ungulis peteret; ac canum, qui apud nos ferocissimi sunt impetus plane contemneret. Ejus carnes cartilaginosæ sed saporis suavissimi. Erat is olim per illam vastissimam Caledoniæ sylvam frequens, sed humana ingluvie jam assumptus tribus tantum locis est reliquus, Strivilingii Cumbernaldiæ et Kincarniæ._--Leslæus Scotiæ Descriptio, p. 13.

_Stern Claud replied, with darkening face,_
_(Grey Pasley's haughty lord was he)._--P. 420. v. 4.

Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the Duke of Chatelherault, and commendator of the abbey of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during the troubles of Queen Mary's reign, and remained unalterably attached to the cause of that unfortunate princess. He led the van of her army at the fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the commanders at the Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success to the queen's faction. He was ancestor of the present Marquis of Abercorn.

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

This barony, stretching along the banks of the Esk, near Auchindinny, belonged to Bothwellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruins of the mansion, from whence she was expelled in the brutal manner which occasioned her death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular report tenants them with the restless ghost of the lady Bothwellhaugh; whom, however, it confounds with Lady Anne Bothwell, whose _Lament_ is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious of her rights, that, a part of the stones of the ancient edifice having been employed in building or repairing the present Woodhouselee, she has deemed it a part of her privilege to haunt that house also; and, even of very late years, has excited considerable disturbance and terror among the domestics. This is a more remarkable vindication of the _rights of ghosts_, as the present Woodhouselee, which gives his title to the honourable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the college of justice, is situated on the slope of the Pentland hills, distant at least four miles from her proper abode. She always appears in white, and with her child in her arms.

_Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke_
_Drives to the leap his jaded steed._--P. 422. v. 1.

Birrell informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely pursued, "after that spur and wand had fail'd him, he drew forth his dagger, and strocke his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap a verey brode stanke (_i.e._ ditch), by whilk means he escaipit, and gat away from all the rest of the horses."--BIRREL'S _Diary_, p. 18.

_From the wild Border's humbled side,_
_In haughty triumph, marched he._--P. 423. v. 1.

Murray's death took place shortly after an expedition to the borders; which is thus commemorated by the author of his elegy:

"So having stablischt all thing in this sort,
"To Liddisdaill agane he did resort,
"Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and all the daills rode he,
"And also lay three nights in Cannabie,
"Whair na prince lay thir hundred yeiris before.
"Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir so sair;
"And, that thay suld na mair thair thift allege,
"Threescore and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge,
"Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordour,
"Than mycht the rasch-bus keep ky on the bordour."

_Scottish Poems, 16th century_, p. 232.

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

The carbine, with which the regent was shot, is preserved at Hamilton palace. It is a brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been rifled or indented in the barrel. It had a matchlock, for which a modern fire-lock has been injudiciously substituted.

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

Of this noted person it is enough to say, that he was active in the murder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley.

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

This clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to the regent Murray. Holinshed, speaking of the battle of Langsyde, says, "in this batayle the valiancie of an hieland gentleman, named Macfarlane, stood the regent's part in great steede; for, in the hottest brunte of the fighte, he came up with two hundred of his friendes and countrymen, and so manfully gave in upon the flankes of the queen's people, that he was a great cause of the disordering of them. This Macfarlane had been lately before, as I have heard, condemned to die, for some outrage by him committed, and obtayning pardon through suyte of the Countesse of Murray, he recompenced that clemencie by this piece of service now at this batayle." Calderwood's account is less favourable to the Macfarlanes. He states that "Macfarlane, with his highlandmen, fled from the wing where they were set. The Lord Lindsay, who stood nearest to them in the regent's battle, said 'Let them go! I shall fill their place better:' and so, stepping forward, with a company of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears were now spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by force, being before almost overthrown by the avaunt-guard and harquebusiers, and so were turned to flight."--CALDERWOOD'S _MS._ _apud_ KEITH, p. 480. Melville mentions the flight of the vanguard, but states it to have been commanded by Morton, and composed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Renfrew.

_Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,_
_Obsequious at their regent's rein._--P. 423. v. 5.

The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl of Morton, whose horse was killed by the same ball, by which Murray fell.

_And haggard Lindesay's iron eye,_
_That saw fair Mary weep in vain._--P. 423. v. 5.

Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and brutal of the regent's faction, and, as such, was employed to extort Mary's signature to the deed of resignation, presented to her in Lochleven castle. He discharged his commission with the most savage rigour; and it is even said, that when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes from the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron glove.

_Scarce could his trampling charger move,_
_So close the minions crowded nigh.--P. 424._ v. 1.

Not only had the regent notice of the intended attempt upon his life, but even of the very house from which it was threatened.--With that infatuation, at which men wonder, after such events have happened, he deemed it would be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by the crowd: so that Bothwellhaugh had time to take a deliberate aim.--SPOTTISWOODE, p. 233. BUCHANAN.

FOOTNOTES:

[93] They were formerly kept in the park at Drumlanrig, and are still to be seen at Chillingham Castle in Northumberland. For their nature and ferocity, see Notes.

[94] This was Sir James Ballenden, lord justice-clerk, whose shameful and inhuman rapacity occasioned the catastrophe in the text. SPOTTISWOODE.

[95] This projecting gallery is still shown. The house, to which it was attached, was the property of the archbishop of St Andrews, a natural brother of the Duke of Chatelherault, and uncle to Bothwellhaugh. This, among many other circumstances, seems to evince the aid which Bothwellhaugh received from his clan in effecting his purpose.

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

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

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

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

THE GRAY BROTHER,

A FRAGMENT.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.--WALTER SCOTT.

* * * * *

The imperfect state of this ballad, which was written several years ago, is not a circumstance affected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar interest, which is often found to arise from ungratified curiosity. On the contrary, it was the editor's intention to have completed the tale, if he had found himself able to succeed to his own satisfaction. Yielding to the opinion of persons, whose judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friendship, is entitled to deference, the editor has preferred inserting these verses, as a fragment, to his intention of entirely suppressing them.

The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house, upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Laswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally named Burndale, from the following tragic adventure. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman, named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly endowed abbey, upon the banks of the south Esk, now a seat of the marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural affection. Chusing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its inmates.[100]

The scene, with which the ballad opens, was suggested by the following curious passage, extracted from the life of Alexander Peden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II. and his successor, James. This person was supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed himself, to be possessed of supernatural gifts; for the wild scenes, which they frequented, and the constant dangers, which were incurred through their proscription, deepened upon their minds the gloom of superstition, so general in that age.