Chapter III: Part 3

Change still--a passion changed to pity!
No other solace would he have--
A wish to see his native city,
And sit and weep o'er Marjory's grave.
To see that house, yea, buy the sheiling
In that old wynd of St. Marie,
A hermit there to live and dwell in,
Then sleep beside his Marjorie.

VI.

Blow soft, ye winds, and tender-hearted
This hermit waft to yonder shore,
From which for sordid gold he parted
Ten weary years and one before.
Ho! there's the pier where last he left her,
That dear, loved one, to weep alone,
And for that love of gold bereft her
Of all the pleasures she could own.

He's now within the ancient borough!
He sought the well-known White Horse Inn,
And there he laid him down in sorrow,
Some strengthening confidence to win;
Then up the street, with none to greet him,
He held his sad and sorrowing way,
When lo! who should be there to meet him
But Friar John?--who slunk away.

Strange thing! but lo! the sacred sheiling
In that old wynd of St. Marie--
The window where with mirthful feeling
He tap't the sign to Marjorie.
He sought the lobby dark and narrow,
Groped gently for the well-known door,
Where he might hear of his winsome marrow,
Who died there many years before.

He drew the latch, and quietly entered;
There some one spinning merrilie!
A faltering question then he ventured:
"My name, kind sir, is Marjorie."
"Great God!" he cried, in voice all trembling,
And sank upon a crazy chair,
And tried to trace a strange resembling
In her who sat beside him there.

A maiden she still young and buxom,
Nor change but what ten years may bring,
Her hair still of the glossy flaxen,
Her eyes still blue as halcyon's wing.
He traced the lines, he knew each feature
Of all her still unfaded charms;
And now this long lost, worshipped creature
Is locked fast in his loving arms.

"Look up! look up! thy fear controlling,
It is thy Willie's voice that calls:"
She oped her eyes--now wildly rolling
All o'er his face the lustrous balls--
"It is, it is---oh, powers most holy!
And I had heard that thou wert dead;
And here, in spite of melancholy,
I still spin for my daily bread."

"'Twas Friar John wrote me a letter,
He said he saw thee on thy bier;
And sore I mourned with tears, oh bitter!
For one I ever loved so dear."
"Oh, wae befa' that wicked friar,
Who sairly tried my love to gain;
Wae, wae befa' that wicked liar,
Wha brought on us sae meikle pain."

Then Willie said, with tears encumbered,
"Cheer up, cheer up, dear Marjorie,
For I have gold in sums unnumbered,
And it shall all belong to thee."
"And art thou true, and still unmarried?
And is thy bodie not a seim?
And is it true my ears have carried,
Or is it a' a lying dream?"

"All, all is true, my dearest hinny,
What thou'rt to me I am to thee,
Our years on earth may still be many,
And quickly we shall wedded be."
"Ah, weel! ah, weel!" and sighing, sobbing,
She on his breast her head hath lain;
And as he felt her bosom throbbing,
He kissed her ower and ower again.

And he has bought a noble mansion,
And stocked it with all things genteel
Of costly price--nor need we mention
The rock and reel and spinning-wheel;
And he has bought a noble carriage,
With servants in gay liverie,
I trow there was an unco marriage
In the ancient wynd of Saint Marie.

IX.

THE LEGEND OF MARY LEE.[A]

_(Another Version.)_

[Footnote A: See the strange song of the same name in the _Scottish Gallovidean Encyclopædia_, from which I borrow some of the maledictory epithets. Grotesque they may be, but they are justified by the vocabulary of our old witch-sibyls used in curses and incantations, as we find in books of diablerie.]

Though Robert was heir to broad Kildearn,
He had often with gipsies roved,
And from gipsies he came a name to earn,
Which was dear to the maid he loved.
To ladies fair he was Robert St. Clair,
When he met them in companie;
To a certain one, and to her alone,
He was only Robin-a-Ree.[2]

[Footnote 2: Kingly, or royal, in the gipsy tongue.]

Through Kildearn's woods they were wont to rove,
And they knew well the trysting tree;
The green sward was their bed of love,
And the green leaves their canopie.
But the love of the virgin heart is shy,
And hangs between hope and fear;
It is fed by the light of a lover's eye,
And it trusts thro' the willing ear.

"My Mary! I swear by yon Solway tide,
Which is true to the queen of night,
That thou shalt be my chosen bride
When I come to my lawful right:
My father is now an aged man,
And but few years more can see;
And when he dies, old Kildearn's land
Belongs to Robin-a-Ree."

"Oh Robin, oh Robin," and Mary sighed,
"Aye faithfu' to you I hae been,
As true as ever yon Solway tide
Is true to yon silvery queen.
And faithfu' and true I will ever prove
Till that happy day shall be,
When I will be in honoured love
The wife o' Robin-a-Ree."

Green be thy leaves, thou "tree of troth,"
And thy rowan berries red,
Where he has sworn that holy oath,
If he stand to what he has said.
But black and blasted may thou be,
And thy berries a yellow green,
If he prove false to Mary Lee,
Who so faithful to him has been.

For a woman's art and a woman's wile
A man may well often slight,
At the worst they are but nature's guile
To procure what is nature's right.
But a woman's wrath, when once inflamed
By a sense of fond love betrayed,
No cunning device by cunning framed
Has ever that passion laid.

II.

Passions will range and passions will change,
And they leave no mortal in peace,
There is nothing in man that to us seems strange
That to passion you may not trace.
The heart that will breathe the warmest love
Is the first oft to cease its glow,
The fairest flower in the forest grove
Is often the first to dow.

A woman's eye is aye quick to see
The love of a lover decay:
And why from the trusty trysting tree
Does Robin now stay away?
There are other trees in the wood as green,
With as smooth a sward below,
Where lovers may lie in the balmy e'en,
And their love to each other show.

'Twas when the moon in an autumn night
Threw shadows throughout the wood,
She heard some sounds; and with footsteps light,
Where no one could see, she stood.
She listened, and with an anxious ear,
To know who these there might be:
A youth was there with his mistress dear,
And the youth was Robin-a-Ree.

Silent and gloomy she wandered home,
And went to her bed apart,
No softening tear to her eye would come,
No sigh from her aching heart.
The balmy milk of a woman's breast
Waxed curdled green and sour,
And Mary Lee was by all confessed
As changed from that fatal hour.

At times, when the moon gave little light,
She sat by the Solway side,
And thought, as she sat, of that happy night
When he swore by the Solway tide.
Far sweeter to her the roaring wind,
Than when it was solemn and low,
For the waters he swore by seemed to her mind
As resenting that broken vow.

Still darker and darker the cloud on her brow,
Yet paler her tearless cheek;
But no one her sorrow would ever know,
Nor word would she ever speak.
'Tis the story old, old, so often told,
To be told while time shall be,
Fair Catherine, the heiress of Ravenswold,
Is the wife of Robin-a-Ree.

III.

It was on an angry winter night,
When Mary sat in her gloom,
There came to her door an ill-doing wight---
Kildearn's drunken groom:
He placed in her hand a gold-filled purse,
And spoke of love's sacred flame;
And well she knew the unholy source
Whence the man and the money came.

"Awa and awa, thou crawling worm,
On whom thy horse will tread
Awa and awa, and tell Kildearn,
I accept his noble meed."
She placed the purse in a cabinet old,
And locked it right carefullie,
"Lie there, lie there, thou ill-won gold.
Till needed thou shalt be."

IV.

The years roll on, nor Robin-a-Ree
Can their onward progress stay,
The years roll on, and children three,
Have blessed his bridal day.
And Mary Lee is there to see,
As she sat in her lonely home,
Two of Kildearn's children three,
Borne away to Kildearn's tomb.

But none of these years work change on her:
As she seeks the lone greenwood,
She sees a man lying bleeding there,
While his horse beside him stood.
He called for help, where help there was none,
Tho' Mary was standing near,
Who spoke in a solemn eldritch tone,
Words strange to the human ear:

"The hairy adder I dinna like,
When I the fell creature meet,
Neither like I the moon-baying tyke.
Nor the Meg-o'-moniefeet.
I canna thole the yellow-wamed ask,
Sae fearful a thing to see;
But mair than a', and ower them a',
I hate fause Robin-a-Ree."

V.

Time puts in the sack that behind him hangs
Of things both old and new,
And every hour brings stranger things
Than those we have bidden adieu.
The last one of those children three,
Young Hector, Kildearn's pride,
Has gone, in his childish mirth and glee,
To play by the Solway tide.

That tide by which his father swore
As true to the silvery queen--
That tide is breaking with sullen roar,
And Hector no more is seen.
They may search, they may drag--the search is vain,
No Hector they'll ever find;
A lugger is yonder, away to the main,
Borne on an eastern wind.

And there is a woman who stands in the bay,
And she holds out both her hands,
As if she would wave that lugger away
To some of the distant lands.
And if you will trace her to her hold,
Where a purse of gold was laid,
You will find the drawer, but not the gold,
For the purse and gold are fled.

VI.

Time flies, but sin breeds in-and-in,
And a father's grief is stern;
Robin is dead, and a distant kin
Now calls himself Kildearn.
The moon's pale light falls on yonder tomb,
By which sits a woman grey,
And sings in the blast a revengeful doom,
In a woman's weird way.

"Chirk! whutthroats in yon auld taff dyke,
Hoot! grey owl in yon shaw,
Howl out! ye auld moon-baying tyke,
Ye winds mair keenly blaw,
Till ye rouse to the rage o' a wintry storm
The waves of the Solway sea,
And wauken the brawnit connach worm
On the grave o' Robin-a-Ree."

VII.

More years passed on. Ho! near by the cove
Is a ship with a pirate crew,
All bound in honour and fear and love,
To their captain, Hector Drew;
Who looked through his glass at old Kildearn,
As thoughts through his memory ran,
And fain of that house he would something learn.
But he is an outlawed man.

Nor venture could he to come upon land,
Except under cloud of night,
And he and all his pirate band
Lie hidden there out of sight;
That he might plunder Kildearn House
Of its gold and its jewelrie,
Then away, and away, again to cruise
Where rovers aye love to be.

But there is one who stands on the shore,
Who knew that pirate hoy,
Whose captain she bribed many years before
To steal away Kildearn's boy.
She has sent the bloodhounds to the wood,
They have seized them every loon,
And sent them to answer for deeds of blood,
To Edwin's old castled toun.

The Admiral High of old Scotland
Has them tried for deeds so dark,
And they are decreed by his high command
To be hanged within high-water mark.
On the sands of Leith, as St. Giles struck two,
And within the hem of the sea,
There Captain Drew and all his crew
Were hanged for piracie.

And so it is true that a woman's wile
A man may with safety slight,
At worst it may be but nature's guile
To procure what is nature's right.
But a woman's wrath, if once inflamed
By a sense of fond love betrayed,
No cunning device by cunning framed
Has ever that passion laid.

THE BALLAD OF AGE AND YOUTH.

I left yon stately castle on the height,
The ancient halls of lordly Ravenslee,
Wherein was met, in grandeur all bedight,
Of knights and dames a gallant companie;
For I was in a misanthropic mood,
And deemed that gay galaverie false and vain,
And wished to lie or loiter in some wood,
And give my fancy her unbridled rein.

I left them all in flush of pleasure's sport,
Some knights with damoiselles gone forth to woo,
Some listing gleemen in the ballion court,
Some deep in ombre, some at lanterloo,
Some gone a-hawking with the merlyon,
Some at their noon-meat sipping Spanish wine,
Some conning old romances on the lawn,
And all to meet in hall at hour of dine.

II.

Down in Dalmossie dell I sought a nook Beneath a thick and widely-spreading tree, And there I sat to con my little book, My book of old black-letter grammarie. All stillness in that deep and lonely dell Save hum of bumble-bee on nimble wing, Or zephyr sporting round the wild blue bell, While fancy feigned some tiny tinkle-ring.

Lo! come from yonder sheiling by the burn
An aged pair whom Time claimed as his own--
Their clothes all brown, and sere and sadly worn,
But brushed and clean, and tentily put on.
I noted well the signs of their great eild,
Their shrunken limbs, their locks of snowy hair,
The wobbling walk, the bowing, bending bield,
The wrinkled cheeks, and looks of dule and care.

I thought on hapless man--with changing face,
Each day more furrowed as he wears along.
He looks into the glass to cry Alace!
Alace for that spring time that's past and gone!
He looks askance, and sees young eyes that lour
On him, so comely once, unsightly grown:
The faded roses make a scented bower,
But aged man seems spurned by man alone.

Yet happy he who, changing with advance,
Has bright and golden hopes beyond the sun;
He can give back their saucy, pitying glance,
Who set such wondrous price their youth upon.
_Their_ night will come in turn, yea, comes apace,
Without, mayhap, the hope of brighter day,
When age-worn looks will don their native grace,
And feel no more this world's despised decay.

III.

That aged pair sat down upon the green,
While each the other helped to softest seat,
I watched their ways, myself by them unseen,
And heard their quivering words, so kindly sweet,
As still of golden days when they were young,
Of youth's green summer time they spoke and wept,
And soft in wailing song there came along
These words, which I in memory long have kept:

THE SONG OF AGE.[A]

"The trees they are high, John, the leaves they are green, The days are awa that you and I have seen; The days are awa that we have seen; And oh! for youth's bonnie green summer again, Summer again, summer again, And oh! for youth's bonnie green summer again.

"There was joy at our marriage--a dance on the green, They a' roosed the light of my bonnie blue een, My bonnie blue een, where tears may now be seen; And oh! that we were to be married again, Married again, married again, And oh! that we were to be married again.

"The grass it is wet, John, the wind it is keen, Our claes they are worn, and our shune they are thin; Our shune they are thin, and the waters come in; And oh! for youth's bonnie green summer again, Summer again, summer again, And oh! for youth's bonnie green summer again.

"There was joy in our youth, John, at wish's command, We danced and we sang, and we ilka gate ran, But now dule and sorrow's on ilka hand; And oh! for youth's bonnie green summer again, Summer again, summer again, And oh! for youth's bonnie green summer again.

"There's graves in yon howf, John, and hillocks o' green, Where our bairns lie sleeping that left us alane, And they're waiting for us till we gae to creep in; And alas! for youth's bonnie green summer again, Summer again, summer again, And alas! for youth's bonnie green summer again."

When _she_ had crooned her chant, I heard _him_ say,
With sobbing voice and deep heart-heaving sigh,
"Dry up thae tears, my Jean, for things away,
Time's but a watch-tick in eternity;
We darena sing of earth, but lift our prayer
To Him whose promises are never vain,
That we may dwell in yonder Eden fair,
And see youth's summer blooming green again."

Then rose a prayer to Bethel's Lord and King
That He would lead them through this vale of woe,
And to the promised land his children bring,
Where Babel's streams in living waters flow.
They left: again all silence in the dell
Save hum of bumble-bee on nimble wing,
Or zephyr sporting round the wild blue bell,
While fancy feigned some tiny tinkle-ring.

[Footnote A: Some readers may recognise in the old woman's song portions of an ancient ditty that used to be chanted in a wailing cadence in several parts of Scotland. I suspect the song as a whole is lost--the more to be regretted for its sweet simplicity and melodious wail (so far as judged in the fragments), which in a modern song would be viewed as weakness or affectation. Indeed, the modes of thought and feeling that belong to what is called advanced civilisation are impatient of these things except as rude relics of yet untutored minds; and the pleasure with which they are accepted has in it perhaps a grain of pity for those that didn't know better than produce them. Yet, as regards mere poetical feeling at least, the nearer the fountainhead the purer the water.]

IV.

And is not youth, thought I, a vulgar thing,
When lording over WISDOM'S ancient reign?
What may avail the brilliancy of spring
If autumn yields no hoards of garnered grain?
Experience is the daughter of old Time,
Mother of Wisdom, last and noblest born,
Who comes as Faith to help our waning prime,
To cheer the night of age and light the morn.

I sought at eve the castle on the height, The ancient halls of lordly Ravenslee, Oh! contrast great! gay scene of youth's delight-- The spinette, galliard, mirth's galaverie! I thought upon the couple in the wood, And how that singing, dancing, laughing train Would one day sigh in Time's avenging mood, "Alas! for youth's green summer time again."

XI.

THE LEGEND OF CRAIGULLAN.[A]

[Footnote A: This legend has been referred to several Scotch families--one in Fife in particular, the name of which it would be imprudent to mention.]

Yonder the halls of old Craigullan!
To weird doom for ever true;
The moaning winds are sad and sullen,
The screech-owl hoots too-hoo! too-hoo!
The lazy burn-clock drones around,
The wing-mouse flaps the choking air,
The croaking frog hops on the ground,
For weird fate is working there.

Each wing had once a goodly tower
Of stately beild, both broad and high;
In every tower a lady's bower,
Bedecked with silken tapestry;
In every bower a lovely maid,
Her youth and beauty all in vain;
And with each maid a keeper staid
To watch the wanderings of her brain.

'Twas said that those who went that way
Would hear some shrill and piercing wail
Come from these towers, and die away
As borne upon the passing gale;
Yet none could say from whom it came,
Far less divine the reason why;
And Superstition, with her dream,
Could only whisper mystery--
Unholy spirits haunting nigh,
And screaming in the midnight hour,
Presage of vengeance from on high
For deeds done in Craigullan's tower.

If Superstition has her dream,
She also has her waking hour;
Nor ever man, howe'er supreme,
Can free him from her mystic power.
And it was told, in whispering way,
That once Craigullan led his hounds
Out forth upon a Sabbath day
Within the church bells' sacred sounds;
And as he rode, by fury fired,
A woman, pregnant, overthrown
Beneath his horse's hoofs, expired,
And, dying, shrieked this malison:
_From this day forth, till time shall cease,
May madness haunt Craigullan's race_!

The words struck on a sceptic's ear:
Would woman's curse his pleasure stay?
He blew his horn both loud and clear,
And with his hounds he hied away.
He conned no more the weird reve
Which all conspired to prove untrue,
For he had healthy daughters five,
Who up in maiden beauty grew--
Clorinda, Isobel, and Jane--
Such was the order of their birth--
And Florabel and Clementine,
All lovely, gay, and full of mirth.

But man is blind, with all his power,
And gropes through life his darksome way;
Nor ever thinks the evil hour
May come within the brightest day.

As custom went, a noble throng
Hath filled Craigullan's ancient hall,
Amidst th' inspiring dance and song,
Clorinda is admired of all.
The sun with his enlivening light
Brings out the viper and the rose,
And joy that cheers will oft excite
Dark Mania from her long repose.
Amidst the dance and music there--
The dance which she so proudly led--
A maniac shriek has rent the air--
Clorinda falls, her reason fled.

In vain shall passing time essay
To soothe the dire domestic pain;
Fair Isobel becomes the prey
Of that same demon of the brain.
When autumn winds were sighing low,
When birds were singing on the tree,
Amidst their song she met the foe,
And sank beneath the fell decree.

Nor yet the sibyl leaf all read,
Dark Nemesis is grim and sullen;
She bends again her vengeful head--
Woe! woe! to old Craigullan.
The next by fatal count of Time,
The next by her foreboding fears---
Jane falls, like those in early prime--
She falls amidst a mother's tears.

Nor finished yet the weird spell,
Wrought out by some high powers divine.
The victim next is Florabel,
The fairest of Craigullan's line.
The shadow fell upon her bloom,
Grew darker as the period neared,
As if the terror of her doom
Wrought out the issue which it feared.

If Superstition has her dreams,
Proud reason has her mystic day;
And who shall harmonize the themes
In this world's dark and dreary way?
If Clementine is yet forgot,
Is the relief to her a gain?
She fears the demon in each thought,
In every fancy of the brain.
If once a cheerful thought shall rise,
The dreaded enemy is near;
If once her heaving bosom sighs,
The vengeful demon will appear.
In vain she seeks the greenwood grove,
In vain she hears the merlin sing,
In vain she seeks her flower alcove,
In vain for her the roses spring.
If holy peace she tries to seek,
She hears Clorinda's maniac song,
Or Florabel's ecstatic shriek,
Sounding the stilly woods among.

What though Sir Walter seeks her bower,
And pleads his suit on bended knee
With all a lover's magic power,
That she his lady-love shall be?
He does not know her secret pain;
She dare not whisper in his ear;
She dare not trust that she is sane;
She loves him, but she loves with fear.

This is _her_ madness. Who shall know
If she with reason, _they_ without,
Which have the greater load of woe?
Her sisters have not sense to doubt.
This is the world's madness too:
We seek for truth, and seek in vain.
While madly we the false pursue,
Who shall decide that he is sane?

And still the halls of old Craigullan
To weird doom are ever true;
The moaning winds are sad and sullen,
The grey owl hoots too-hoo! too-hoo!

XII.

THE HERMIT OF THE HILLS.

"Intruder, thou shalt hear my tale," the solitary said, While far adown beneath our feet the fiery levin played; The thunder-clouds our carpet were--we gazed upon the storm, Which swept along the mountain sides in many a fearful form.

I sat beside the lonely man, on Cheviot's cloudless height; Above our heads was glory, but beneath more glorious night; For the sun was shining over us, but lightnings flashed below, Like the felt and burning darkness of unutterable woe.

"I love, in such a place as this," the desolate began, "To gaze upon the tempests wild that separate me from man; To muse upon the passing things that agitate the world-- View myself as by a whirlwind to hopeless ruin hurled.

"My heart was avaricious once, like yours the slave of feeling-- Perish such hearts! vile dens of crime! man's selfishness concealing; For self! damned self's creation's lord!--man's idol and his god! Twas torn from me, a blasted, bruised, a cast off, worthless load.

"Some say there's wildness in my eyes, and others deem me crazed, They, trembling, turn and shun my path--for which let Heaven be praised! They say my words are blasphemy--they marvel at my fate, When 'tis my happiness to know they _pity_ not, but _hate_.

"My father fell from peace and wealth the day that I was born-- My mother died, and he became his fellow-gambler's scorn; I know not where he lived or died--I never heard his name-- An orphan in a workhouse, I was thought a child of shame.

"Some _friend_ by blood had lodged me there, and bought my keeper too, Who pledged his oath he would conceal what of my tale he knew. Death came to him--he called on me the secret to unfold, But died while he was uttering the little I have told.

"My soul was proud, nor brooked restraint--was proud, and I was young; And with an eager joyancy I heard his flattering tongue Proclaim me not of beggars born--yea, as he speaking died, I--greedy--mad to know the rest--stood cursing by his side.

"I looked upon the homely garb that told my dwelling-place-- It hung upon me heavily--a token of disgrace! I fled the house--I went to sea--was by a wretch impressed, The stamp of whose brutality is printed on my breast.

"Like vilest slave he fettered me, my flesh the irons tore-- Scourged, mocked, and worse than buried me upon a lifeless shore, Where human foot had never trod--upon a barren rock, Whose caves ne'er echoed to a sound save billows as they broke.

"'Twas midnight; but the morning came. I looked upon the sea, And a melancholy wilderness its waters were to me; The heavens were black as yonder cloud that rolls beneath our feet, While neither land nor living thing my eager eyes could meet.

"I naked sat upon the rock; I trembled--strove to pray; Thrice did I see a distant sail, and thrice they bore away. My brain with hunger maddening, as the steed the battle braves, Headlong I plunged from the bare rock and buffeted the waves.

"Methought I saw a vessel near, and bitter were my screams, But they died within me echoless as voices in our dreams; For the winds were howling round me, and the suffocating gush Of briny horrors rioted, the cry of death to crush.

"My senses fled. I lifelessly upon the ocean slept; And when to consciousness I woke, a form before me wept. Her face was beautiful as night; but by her side there stood A group, whose savage glances were more dismal than the flood.

"They stood around exultingly; they snatched me from the wave-- Stole me from death--to torture me, to sell me as a slave. She who stood o'er me weeping was a partner of my chains. We were sold, and separation bled my heart with deeper pains.

"I knew not what her birth had been, but loved her with a love Which nor our tyrant's cruelty nor mockery could move. I saw her offered to a Moor--another purchased me; But, Heavens! my arms once fetterless, ere midnight I was free!

"Memory, with eager eye, had marked her master's hated door-- I grasped a sabre, reached the house, and slew the opposing Moor. I bore her rapidly away; a boat was on the beach-- We put to sea--saw morning dawn 'yond our pursuers' reach

"I gazed upon her silently--I saw her sink to sleep, As darkness gathered over us upon the cheerless deep; I saw her in her slumber start--unconsciously she spoke-- Oh death!--she called upon _his_ name who left me on the rock!

"Then there was madness in my breast and fury in my brain-- She never heard _that name_ from me, yet uttered it again! I started forth and grasped her hand--'Are we pursued?' she cried-- I trembled in my agony, and speechless o'er her sighed.

"I ventured not to speak of love in such an awful hour, For hunger glistened in our eyes, and grated to devour The very rags that covered us! My pangs I cannot tell, But in that little hour I felt the eternity of hell.

"For the transport of its tortures did in that hour surround Two beings on the bosom of a shoreless ocean found; As we gazed upon each other, with a dismal longing look, And jealousy, but not from love, our tortured bosoms shook.

"I need but add that we were saved, and by a vessel borne Again toward our native land to be asunder torn. The maiden of my love was rich--was rich--and I was poor; A soulless menial shut on me her wealthy guardian's door.

"She knew it not, nor would I tell--tell! by the host of heaven, My tongue became the sepulchre of sound!--my heart was riven. I fled society and hope; the prison of my mind A world of inexpressible and guilty thoughts confined.

"She was not wed--my hope returned; ambition my soul, Sweeping round me like a fury, while the beacon and the goal Of desire, ever turbulent and sleepless, was to have The hand that mine had rescued from the fetters of a slave.

"I was an outcast on the earth, but braved my hapless lot; And while I groaned impatiently, weak mortals heard it not. A host of drear, unholy dreams did round my pillow haunt, While my days spent in loneliness were darkened o'er with want.

"At length blind fortune favoured me--my breast to joy awoke; And then he who had left me on the isolated rock, I met within a distant land; nor need I further tell, But that we _met_ as equals there, and my antag'nist fell.

"Awhile I brooded on his death; and gloomily it brought A desolateness round me, stamping guilt on every thought. I trembling found how bloodily my vengeance was appeased, At what vile price my bosom was of _jealousy_ released.

"For still the breathing of his name by her I lov'd had rung In remembrance, like the latest sound that falleth from the tongue Of those best loved and cherished, when upon the bed of death They bequeath to us their injuries to visit in our wrath.

"But soon these griefs evanished, like a passing summer storm, And a gush of hope like sunshine flashed around me, to deform The image of repentance, while the darkness of remorse Retreated from its presence with a blacker with'ring curse.

"I hurried home in eagerness---the leaden moments fled; My burning tale of love was told--was told--and we were wed. A tumult of delightfulness had rapt my soul in flame, But on that day--my wedding day--a mourning letter came.

"Joy died on ev'ry countenance--she, trembling, broke the seal-- Screamed--glanced on me! and lifeless fell, unable to reveal The horrid tale of death that told her new-made husband's guilt-- The hand which she that day had wed, her brother's blood had spilt.

"That brother in his mother's right another name did bear: Twas him I slew--all shrank from me in horror and in fear; They seized me in my bridal dress--my bride still senseless lay-- I spoke not while they pinioned me and hurried me away.

"They lodged me in a criminal cell, by iron gratings barred, And there the third day heavily a funeral bell I heard. A sable crowd my prison passed--they gazed on it with gloom: It was my bride--my beautiful--they followed to the tomb!

"I was acquitted; but what more had I with life to do? I cursed my fate--my heart--the world--and from its creatures flew. Intruder, thou hast heard my tale of wretchedness and guilt-- Go, mingle with a viler world, and tell it if thou wilt."

XIII.

THE BALLAD OF RUMBOLLOW.

The clouds are flying, the trees are sighing, The birds are hopping from bough to bough; The winds are blowing, the snowflakes throwing O'er the green earth below, below; The storm is coming while I am roaming The thick dark forest all through, all through; The air is nipping, my clothes are dripping, All in the forest of Rumbollow.[A]

On a felled tree lying a woman sits sighing, Rocking a child both to and fro; Her gown it is torn, her shoes they are worn-- She looks like a creature of woe, of woe; Her eyes are glowing, her hair is flowing, She's all over white with the snow, the snow; She rocks the child with a gesture wild, All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The child is crying, and she is trying To lull it asleep--balow! balow! And while she is singing, the snowflakes are winging And whirling in eddies all through, all through. I listed the rening and wondered the meaning: Was it the tale of her woe, her woe-- A truthful crooning or a maniac mooning-- All in the forest of Rumbollow?

[Footnote A: The old song called "Rumbollow Fair" is said by Pinkerton to have been lost. I have heard a refrain, "All in the Forest of Rumbollow," but whether this has any relation to the old song I do not know. I fear I am altogether responsible for this rhapsodical effusion.]

THE SONG OF THE BETRAYED.

"Balow! balow! my bonnie bairn-- Nae father to care for you; As your mother has sinned so shall she earn, And to her the world is hard and stern, Who has loved and lived to rue, Balow! Who has loved and lived to rue.

"On Rumbollow green my love lies slain, As he cam' frae Rumbollow Fair; His bodie lies deep amang rushes green, Where corbies pike at his bonnie blue een, And taeds sleep in his hair, Balow! And taeds sleep in his hair.

"The grey owl sits on yon willow tree, Whose branches o'er him weep, And sends its scream far o'er the lea, Where night winds whisper mournfullie, And through the rashes sweep, Balow! And through the rashes sweep.

"When first I met wi' Hab o' the Howe I had scarce twice nine years seen, And he swore by our Ladye o' Rumbollow I had set a' his heart in a holy lowe Wi' the fire o' my twa black een, Balow! Wi' the fire o' my twa black een.

"Of a' the fair maidens on Rumbollow green There was nane sae fair as me, Wi' my kilted kirtle o' mazarine, And buckles as bright as the siller sheen, And my coatie o' cramosie, Balow! And my coatie o' cramosie.

"I was proud that he stood tall men abune, Sae stalwart, sae bald and free; But he cozened my heart and left me undune, Wi' tatters for claes and bachels for shune, And a sin-wean on my knee, Balow! And a sin-wean on my knee.

"Last night, when the mune was in the wane, And the winds were moaning low, I wandered by his dead bodie alane, And looked at the hole in his white hause bane, And the gash on his bonnie brow, Balow! And the gash on his bonnie brow.

"Did I wail to the mune, and tear my hair, And weep o'er his bodie? Na! I leugh at the fause are wha left me to care, And fought for Bess Cummock at Rumbollow Fair, And there lies dead, ha! ha! Balow! And there lies dead, ha! ha!"

She is up and going, no look bestowing Through the dark forest, tra-la! tra-la! The roundelay still sounds away, The wail and the wild ha, ha, ha, ha! Some wretched maiden with grief o'erladen, Victim of man, ever so, ever so. The world needs mending and some God-sending, All in the forest of Rumbollow.

The mill is yonder where she may wander; The wheels they merrily row, they row; The lade is gushing, the water's rushing On to the ocean below, below. The song is ending, or scattered and blending In the wild winds as they blow, they blow; She moves still faster with wilder gesture, All in the forest of Rumbollow.

It is no seeming, hark! comes a screaming The moaning forest all through, all through; The miller is running, no danger shunning, The foaming waters down flow, down, flow: Too late his braving, there is no saving-- Down the mill lade they go, they go, Mother and child 'midst the waters wild; All in the forest of Rumbollow!

XIV.

THE LEGEND OF THE BURNING OF MISTRESS JAMPHRAY.

I.

From the dark old times that have gone before, We have got in our day some little relief; We don't think of doing what they did of yore, To saw a man through for a point of belief; We do not believe in old women's dreams, And devils and ghosts we can do without; Nor do we now set an old woman in flames, But rather endeavour to put them out.

She has ta'en her lang staff in her shaky hand, And gaen up the stair of Will Mudie's land; She has looked in the face of Will Mudie's wean, And the wean it was dead that very same e'en. Next day she has gane to the Nethergate, And looked ower the top of Rob Rorison's yett, Where she and his wife having got into brangles, Rob's grey mare Bess that night took the strangles. It was clear when she went to Broughty Ferry, She sailed in an egg-shell in place of a wherry; And when she had pass'd by the tower of Claypots, John Fairweather's gelding was seized with the bots, And his black horse Billy was seized the same even, Not by the bots, but the "spanking spavin." And as she went on to Monifieth, She met an auld man with the wind in his teeth-- "Are you the witch o' Bonnie Dundee?" "You may ask the wind, and then you will see!" And, such was the wickedness of her spite, The man took the toothache that very night. With John Thow's wife she was at drawing of daggers, And twenty of John's sheep took the staggers. With old Joe Baxter she long had striven,-- Joe set his sponge, but it never would leaven; And as for Gib Jenkinson's cow that gaed yeld, It was very well known that Crummie was spelled. When Luckie Macrobie's sweet milk wouldna erne, The reason was clear--she bewitched the concern. True! no man could swear that he ever saw Her flee on a broomstick over North Berwick Law; But as for the fact, where was she that night When the heavens were blue with the levin-light? The broom wasna seen ahint the door; It had better to do than to sweep the floor. Then, sure there was something far worse than a frolic, When the half of Dundee was seized with the cholic. True! nobody knew that she gaed to the howf For dead men's fat to bring home in her loof, To brew from the mixture of henbane and savin, Her hell-broth for those who were thirsting for heaven. For the sexton, John Cant, could be prudent and still-- He knew she would send him good grist to his mill. Ere good Provost Syme was ta'en by a tremor, It was known that the provost had called her a limmer; And when Bailie Nicholson broke his heugh-bane, Had she not been seen that day in the lane? It was certain, because Cummer Gibbieson swore That the bairn she had with the whummel-bore Leapt quick in her womb one day the witch passed her, And she was the cause of the bairn's disaster. When the ferry-boat sank in crossing the Tay, She was on the Craig pier the very same day. It was vain to conceal it, and vain to deny it, She kept in her house an auld he-pyet: That bird was the devil, and she fed him each day With the brimstone she bought from Luckie Glenday. In truth, the old pyet was daintily treated, Because her black soul was impignorated. And these were the reasons--enough, I trow-- Why she should be set in a lunting lowe.

II.

The barrels are brought from Noraway, Well seasoned with plenty of Noraway pitch; All dried and split for that jubilee day, The day of the holocaust of a witch. The prickers are chosen--hang-daddy and brother-- And fixed were the fees of their work of love; To prick an old woman who was a mother, And felt still the yearnings of motherly love For she had a son, a noble young fellow, Who sailed in a ship of his own the sea, And who was away on the distant billow For a cargo of wine to this bonnie Dundee. Some said she was bonnie when she was a lassie, Ah! fair the young blossom upon the young tree; But winter will come, and summer will pass aye, And youth is not always to you or to me. A true loving daughter, with God to fear, A dutiful wife, and a mother dear; With a heart to feel and a bosom to sigh, She had tears to weep, she had tears to dry.

III.

All was joyful--all delectation, In creatures who prayed to their Maker each morn, That there was to be a grand incremation Of a poor fellow-creature, old, weary, and worn. All pity is drowned in a wild devotion, A grim savage joy within every breast; The streets are all in a buzzing commotion, Expectant of this worse than cannibal feast. From the provost down to the gaberlunzie, From fat Mess John to half-fed Bill, From hoary grand-dad to larking loonie, From silken-clad dame to scullion Nell; The oldest, the youngest, the richest, the poorest, The milky-breasted, the barren, the yeld, The hardest, the softest, the blithest, the dourest, Are all by the same wild passion impelled. If her skin it is wrinkled--ah, God forefend her! The wild lapping flame will soon make it shrink; If her eyes are dim and rheumy and tender, The adder-tongued flames will soon make her wink. If brown now her breasts--once globes of beauty! The roasting will char them into a black heap; If trembling her limbs, the prickers' loved duty Will be to compel her to dance and to leap. The harlequin Man has doffed his jacket, No pity to feel--he has none to give; The Bible has said it, and so thou must take it, "Thou shalt not allow a witch to live."

IV.

On the long red sands of old Dundee, Out at the hem of the ebbing sea, They have fixed a long pole deep in the sand, And around it have piled with deftly hand The rosined staves of the Noraway wood, Four feet high and four feet broad, To burn, amidst flames of burning pitch, So rare a chimera yclept a witch-- Born of a fancy wild and camstary, Like ghost or ghoul, brownie or fairy. The prickers are there, each with long-pronged fork, Yearning and yape for their hellish work, And the priests and friars, black, white, or grey, All ready to preach the black devil away. Yea, devils are there, more than they opine. Even one under every gabardine; And there is a crowd of every degree: The urchins, all laughing with mirth and glee; And pipers and jangleurs might there be seen, And cummers and mummers in red and green, All cheery and merry and void of care, As if they were going to Rumbollow Fair.

V.

Ho! yonder comes from the emptying town A crowd of five thousand all rushing down; They hurry, they scurry, they buzz, they brize, And all to see this witch in a blaze. Deep in the midst of the jubilant throng A harmless woman is hurried along,-- She is weary, and wheezing for lack of breath, And o'er all her face is the pallor of death; And she says, as they push her, in grim despair, "Ye needna hurry yoursel's sae sair-- Nae sport there will be till I am there."[A]

[Footnote A: These words are the old tradition which has been handed down in Dundee for generations.]

VI.

They have doffed her clothes till all but stark; They have tied her with ropes in her cutty sark; They have torn the snood from her silvery hair, And her locks they fall on her shoulders bare, Or stream in the cold and piercing breeze Blowing muggy and moist from the eastern seas. Hush! silence is over all that crowd, Then an echoing shout both long and loud; The fagots flare up with a lurid glare-- In the middle shines bright that white figure there, Like those sad spirits of endless woe 'Midst eternal fires in the shades below! There lances and glances each long-pronged fork,[A] As through the wild flames it is quick at work, Till the red blood squirts and seethes and sings, As through the red flame each squirtlet springs, The flames lap round her like forkèd levin; The priests send up their prayers to heaven; But what these prayers are to do when there, It is likely they could not themselves declare Yet all this while, in her agony, She made no murmur, she uttered no cry, As if she would show by a silent ban Her scorn of the great wise creature Man. Lo! the pole breaks over with creaking crash, The body falls down in the flaming mass; Up a cloud of sparks with a flesh-burnt smell Rises and swirls like vomit of hell.

[Footnote A: There is in the records of the town the account of the expenses attending the execution, and the sums in Scots money paid for the tar barrels, and for prickers' fees, etc.]

VII.

There's a ship in the Tay on the rising tide-- She has come that day from a distant land; The captain stands there the helm beside, A telescope holding in his left hand. "What, ho! my lads," he loudly exclaims, "Yonder's a fire on the hem of the sea-- It is some good ship that is there in flames: Good faith! and it blazes right merrily." And there is a boat comes from the pier, And it comes and comes still nigher and nigher-- "What is the ship that is burning there?" "No ship, sir, it is that is yonder on fire, But a pile of burning barrels of pitch, On which all, amidst a deafening cheer, They are burning an old woman for a witch; _And the woman she is thy mother dear_." Then Captain Jamphray silent stood, And a sad and sorrowful man was he; He turned the helm in a gloomy mood-- "Farewell for ever to Bonnie Dundee." And away and away to the Spanish Main, Where he turned a jolly buccaneer; And he has ta'en "Yeaman," his mother's name-- A name which he held for ever dear.

VIII.

When twenty long years had come and gone, He was laden with Spanish golden prey; And he yearned and sighed for his native home, Then turned his prow for the rolling Tay; And he has bought all, for a handsome fee, On its bonnie banks where the trees are tall-- The lordly lands of old Murie,[A] Where he built for himself a noble hall; And long, long down till a recent time, There dwelt the Yeaman's honoured line.

[Footnote A: This tradition has always been in the Yeaman family, and very likely to be true, for the reason that an origin not gratifying to the pride of an old house would not have been accepted on the dubious authority of hearsay.]

XV.

THE BALLAD OF BALLOGIE'S DAUGHTERS.

There were four fair maids in Ballogie Hall,
Not all so sweet as honey;
But Lillyfair was the flower of them all--
So gentle, so kind, and so bonnie.

And why was it that Ballogie's dame
Was so fond of her Lillyfair?
It was not by reason she bore her name,
Nor yet for her love and care.

It was that she long had cherished a dream
Of a face which she once held dear,
Ere yet she had bent to Ballogie's claim,
Whom she married through force and fear.

That image unsought--all by fancy wrought--
Had been fixed upon Lillyfair,
And to her had gi'en her bonnie blue een,
As well as her golden hair.

Yet the dame was true to her bridal vow,
Though sairly she would mourn,
As she wandered in moods through Ballogie woods,
And down by Ballogie Burn.

And why did these three sisters all
Hate their kind sister so sair?
When gallants came to Ballogie Hall
They sought aye Lilly fair.

But Ballogie swore by the heavens so hie,
And eke by the Holy Rood,
There was not in all Lillyfair's bodie
Ane drap of Ballogie's blood.

And he whispered words into Sibyl's ear,
Which sweetly unto her came,
That he wouldna care tho' Lillyfair
Were dooked in Ballogie dam.

And Sibyl she whispered to Christobel,
And she into Mildred's ear;
But what that was no tongue might tell,
For there was none to hear.

"What makes ye laugh?" cries Lillyfair,
As she comes tripping ben;
"Oh do come tell, dear Christobel,
For I am fidging fain."

"Oh this is the night, my sister dear.
When the wind is low and loun,
That we are to go in a merry row
To see the eclipse of the moon.

"And thou'lt go with us, Lillyfair,
And see this goodly show--
The moon in the meer reflected clear,
With the shadow upon her brow."

"Oh yes, I will go," Lillyfair rejoined;
And glad in her heart was she,
For seldom before had her sisters deigned
To give her their companie.

'Twas the hour o' twell by Ballogie's bell,
When each with her mantle and hood,
They all sallied out in a merry rout,
Away through the still greenwood.

Shine out, shine out, thou silvery maid,
And light them to the place;
But long ere all this play be played,
In sorrow thou'lt hide thy face.

No shadow of this earth ever can
A murkier darkness throw,
Than what from the sin of cruel man
May be cast on thy silvery brow.

The greenwood through, the greenwood through,
Ho! there is Ballogie's meer;
And deep within its breast they view
The moon's face shining clear.

And down they bent, and forward leant--
Loud laughed the sisters three,
As Lillyfair threw back her hair,
Yet could no shadow see.

But is not this an old, old dream--
Some nightmare of the brain?
A splash! and, oh! a wild, wild scream,
And all is still again.

This was the eclipse which the sisters meant
When they would the maid beguile;
For sin has the greater a relish in't
When lurking beneath a smile.

And now the pale-faced moon serene
Shines down on the waters clear,
Where deep, deep among the seggs so green
Lies Ballogie's Lillyfair.

On Ballogie's dam there sails a swan
With wings of snowy white,
But never is seen by the eye of man
Save in the pale moonlight.

And the miller he looks with upright hair
Upon that weird-like thing,
And as he peers he thinks he hears
It sing as swans can sing.

XVI.

THE LEGEND OF DOWIELEE.

I.

There still is shown at Dowielee, Within the ancient corbeiled tower, A chamber once right fair to see, And called the Ladye Olive's bower. Right o'er the old carved mantelpiece A portrait hung in frame of gold, O'er which was spread by strange caprice A pall of crape in double fold; And it was said, as still they say, 'Twas spread by good Sir Gregory, And that when it was ta'en away, The Ladye Olive thou might'st see, With eyne of blue so softly bright, Like those we feign in fairie dreams, Where love shines like that lambent light That in the opal softly swims. But they could carry maddening fires, As when they inspired Sir Evan's breast, And roused therein those wild desires That stole from Dowielee his rest. And led to that, oh, fatal night! When, less beguiling than beguiled, She fled, and left in her maddened flight The good Sir Gregory and her child.

II.