—

446 JAMES HOGG.

The sweetlj'-blooming hawthorn bush, The tide of health, that swell'd my veins, That shadow'd from the summer shower, Tlie tire with which my bosom glow'd. Its bowering branches still I see: But wither'd is the hawthorn flowei-. Tho' doom'd, like these, to pass away, Some care the lingering eye detains; Wiiere are my sire and mother now? And, tho' life's latest ember burns, Sweet brothers, charming sisters, where? Fond memory of our bliss remains. Gone, gone to heaven—my heart be still

I lost them here, to find them there. Alas! 'tis all —vain is the wish. The eager hope, the ardent sigh; Youth promis'd fair at early dawn; What can the drooping heart sustain! Has man no cheering comfort nigh! Alas I what does my manhood know? That youth was but a pleasing dream.

And now I wake to find it so. Yes I tho' the heart should faint and fail,

And faint and fail I ween it will; Sweet scenes! tho' past, I still recall Faith can the sick-bed pillow smooth, The thrilling raptures you bestow'd; And, even in death, can comfort still.

JAMES HOGG

BoEN 1770 — Died 1835.

Tf his own testimony could be accepted as he tells us, of his parents being "turned out trustworthy, the peasant poet James Hogg, of doors," without "a farthing in the world." commonly called the Ettrick Shepherd, was At the early age of seven he Avas hired to herd born in Ettrick Forest, Selkirkshire, January cows, his wages being a ewe lamb and a pair 25, 1772, the same day of the same month of shoes every six months. that, thirteen years earlier, gave birth to Kobert After a year spent in tliis kind of servitude Burns: but so completely did he live out of the he was sent once more to school, where he learned world as a young man, that he never even heard to read the Bible, and write what was called of the Ayrshire Bard until the year after he "big text," every letter of which was at least died. Tlie date of his birth, as given by the an inch long. A quarter of a year spent at his poet, was probably a slip of memory, the parisli second school completed his education; for register recording his baptism as having taken whatever he subsequently acquired he Mas in- place December 9th, 1770. Hogg's ancestors debted to his own exertions. He recoi-ds with as far back as he could trace them had been pleasure the time when he was promoted from shepherds. His father, who followed the same herding cows to the more honourable employ-

Jiumble calling, had been so successful in it as ment of tending sheep. The shepherd having to save some money, which he invested in a reached the age of fourteen, he laid out the farming speculation soon after James was born. sum of five sliillings which he had saved from The young poet, the second of four sons, was his wages in the purchase of an old violin, on sent to the parish school, and would probably which he learned to play many Scotch airs; liave received the usual amount of education and often, after all the people on the place had bestowed upon the children of the Scottish gone to bed, he would be heard in his only peasantry, had it not been for his father, dormitory, which was a small stable or slied, Robert Hogg's, reverse of fortune, by which addressing the drowsy ear of night. He ever he was stripped of all his earnings. This afterwards retained his love of music, and ulti- liappened when James was six years old, and mately became a good violinist. Who can he was taken fi-om school in consequence, as read his poems and lyrics without feeling that JAMES HOGG. 447

Hogg was a musician? " Kilmeny," as illus- were committed to paper. One great advan- trative of tlie melody of language, has never tage of this slow and toilsome process was that been surpassed, if, indeed, it has been equalled. it afforded sufficient time for reflection and In his eighteenth year The Life of Sir Wil- correction; so that his manusci-ipts, however liam Wallace, modernized by Hamilton, and uncouth, were not defiled with those numerous Ramsay's popular pastoral of the Gentle Shep- alterations that disfigure the writing of many herd, fell into his hands ; and strange to men of genius. When a word was once "pit say he was disappointed that they were not doun" it was irrevocable. The habit thus written in prose. Partly from having almost formed was of great service to our author when forgotten the art of reading, which he had he acquired greater facility in penmanship, learned imperfectly, and partly from his scanty and to this, perhaps, we may attribute the reading having been hitherto limited to Eng- ready accuracy he afterwards acquired both in lish, the Scottish dialect of the books above prose and verse. mentioned was so new and difficult that he The year after Burns died Hogg heard for often lost the sense altogether. His love of the first time " Tam o' Shanter," and was so i-eading having been noticed by his employers, delighted witli it that he learned every line by books were lent him, chiefly of a theological heart, and from that time was possessed with character, and newspapers. He composed an ambition to rival the Ayrshire ploughman. verses long before he attempted to put them In any other mortal but James Hogg such a in writing; and if they were of indifferent lofty ambition would have been kept a profound merit ("bitterly bad," as he calls them), they secret, but not so with him. He uttered what were at all events voluminous and varied, as he felt, so that his best friends and admirers they consisted of epistles, comedies, pastorals, could only view him in the light of a vain- et hoc genus omne. It was an easy matter glorious and silly sliepherd. For this, how- for the young shepherd, who became known ever, he cared not, while he felt within himself throughout the district as "Jamie the poeter," the "stirrings of a gift divine."

to compose verses ; they sprang up in his mind The Ettrick Shepherd's appearance at this as rapidly as prose does with ordinary mortals; period of his cai'eer is thus described by his but to get them on paper was a serious diffi- friend William Laidlaw, well known as Sir culty. His writing at best was but laborious AValter Scott's steward, and the author of the printing letter by letter, while his model was exquisite ballad, " Lucy's Flittin':" —"Hogg the Italian alphabet, for want of a more con- was rather above the middle height, of fault- cise character; and to add to his difficulties, less synmietry of form; he was of almost un- his chief opportunities for writing were derived equalled agility and swiftness. His face was from the chance intervals that occurred in the then round and full, and of a ruddy complexion, management of his flock. with bright blue eyes that beamed with gaiety, He draws this fine picture of himself at this glee, and good humour, the effect of the most period : "With my plaid about me, best mantle exuberant animal spirits. His head was of inspiration, a beuk of auld ballants as yel- covered with a singular profusion of light low as the cowslips in my hand or bosom, and brown hair, which he was obliged to wear maybe, sir, my inkhorn dangling at a button- coiled up under his hat.. On entering church hole, a bit stump o' pen, nae bigger than an on a Sunday (where he was all his life a regular auld wife's pipe, in my mouth, and a piece o' attender) he used, on lifting his hat, to raise paper, torn out o' the hinder end of a volume, liis right hand to assist a graceful shake of his crunkling on my knee," dreaming those glori- head in laying back his long hair, which rolled ous visions which have rendered the name of down his back, and fell almost to his loins. James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, second And every female eye was upon him, as, with only to that of Robert Burns. AVhen an oppor- light step, he ascended the stair to the gallery tunity for writing occurred the young poet where he sat." would strip oft' coat and vest like one preparing In the year 1800 the poet leased a .small farm, for a desperate deed, and square his elbows for to wliich he removed with his aged parents, the struggle. In this way liis earliest poems after having lived witii Mr. Laidlaw — father of "

448 JAMES HOGG.

William—for a period of ten years. It was tish Border, and desiring to visit Ettrick and during a visit which he made to Edinburgh Yarrow, procured a letter of introduction from this year that he may be said to have first be- Dr. Leyden to young Laidlaw. To his visitor come known beyond his district as a poet, by Laidlaw commended Hogg as the best qualified the publication of his admirable song of "Don- of any person in the Forest to assist him in his ald M 'Donald." Within a few months it was researches. Scott accompanied his future stew- sung in all parts of Scotland, and for many ard to Ettrickhouse, the farm occupied by him years maintained its popularity. At a period and his parents, and was charmed with his new when there was great excitement in the land acquaintance. "He found," says Lockhart, "a owing to Napoleon's threatened invasion, it brother poet, a true son of nature and genius, was hailed as an admirable stimulus to patriot- hardly conscious of his powers. " Scott remained ism. "Donald M'Donald" holds the place of for several days, visiting many places of his- honour in a volume of songs issued by the toric interest in company with Laidlaw and " Bard, and gleaning a rich harvest Shepherd in 1831, who says : I place this song the Shepherd the first, not on account of any intrinsic merit of ballad lore from Hogg's mother and other that it possesses, —for there it ranks rather old people of the district. The friendship thus low, —but merely because it was my first song, formed continued unbroken till Sir Walter's and exceedingly popular when it first appeared. death.

1 wrote it when a barefooted lad herding lambs Our author was soon compelled to give up on the Blackhouse Heights, in utter indigna- his farm, which he regretted deeply as aflTord- tion at the threatened invasion from France. ing a comfortable home for his aged and vener-

But after it had run through the Three King- ated parents, and he then made several unsuc- doms, like fire set to heather, for ten or twelve cessful visits to the Highlands in search of a sit- years, no one ever knew or inquired who was uation as superintendent of an extensive sheep the author. It is set to the old air, ' Woo'd an' farm. Hogg being unemployed and his money married an' a'. ' " In the following year, 1801, he exhausted, Sir Walter advised him to publish a made another visit to Edinburgh, with a flock volume of poetry. The materials were at hand, of sheep for sale, and being encumbered with his collection was soon ready for the pi'inter, several days of interval, he resolved to devote and he was introduced by Scott to Constable, the time to writing out such of his compositions who published the volume under the title of as he could remember and publishing them in The Mountain Bard. From the proceeds of a book or pamphlet. Before his departure he this publication, which contained the fine gave the manuscripts to a printer, and shortly ballads of "Sir David Graeme," "Farewell to after was informed that the edition of a thou- Ettrick," &c. , and the sum of eighty-six pounds sand copies was ready for delivery. The little paid to him by Constable for the copyright of brochure, notwithstanding he had the mortifi- two treatises on sheep, he became master of cation of discovering that it was one mass of three hundred pounds. With this to him mistakes, " many of the stanzas omitted, others enormous sum he was to undertake farming misplaced, and typographical errors abounding on a large scale. He leased two places in on every page," .sold very well in his native Dumfriesshire, paying much more than their district, where he had troops of friends and value for them, and rushed into agricultural admirers. A copy is preserved in the Advocate's experiments requiring at least ten times the his Library of Edinburgh ; it consists of sixty-two amount of his capital. Of course scheme pages octavo, and is entitled, "Scottish Pas- failed, and in less than three years the Shep- torals, Poems, Sonf/s, &c. , mostly written in herd Bard, who had embarked so hopefully in tiie Dialect of the South, by James Hogg. his career of a farmer, found him.self jienniless Edinburgh: printed by John Taylor, Grass- and in debt. market. 1801. Price one shilling. After struggling on, impeded at every step It was during this year that Scott and the by the new character he had acquired of a Ettrick Shepherd met for the first time. Sir man who could win, but not keep, he cast Walter was engaged in making collections for about for some new occupation. Some idea of the tJiird volume of the Minstrels)/ of the Scot- tiie estimation in which he was held as a man JAMES HOGG. 449 of business at this time by the gentry and judgment of almost unanimous admiration, farmers, may be obtained from the reply of and it now occupies a permanent place in the editor's grandmother—the poefs "Bonnie British poetry. Christopher Xorth, who in- Jean"—to an ardent young admirer of Hogg's tended to have written Hogg's life, said in from Edinburgh, who, during a visit in Rox- reviewing "The Queen's 'Wake," " Kilmeny burghshire, full of enthusiasm for the author alone places our Shepherd among the Undying of the "Mountain Bard," inquired about him, Ones." and was answered, "He's just a poor, good-for- By its publication in the spring of 18i:? nothing body;" and from that of another lady Hogg was recognized as a poet of the highot residing in the same neighbourhood, who, order. As it rapidly passed through five edi- in answer to a similar inquiry made by my tions, he derived considerable pecuniary ad- father, said the Shepherd was " but a puir, vantage from its .sale. In 1815 the " Pilgrims drunken, leein body!" But the profanum of the Sun" appeared, but notwithstanding its vuUjus are apt to be harsh in their judgments many powerful descriptions and poetical pas- of the "eccentricities of genius." sages, it failed to receive the same cordial re- Failing in his attempts to obtain a captaincy ception extended to the "Wake," So much in the militia, and also of a place in the excise, was it admired in the United States and Ca- he proceeded to Edinburgh to enter upon the nada, that ten thousand copies Avere .sold, career of a man of letters. His first publica- which, however, was of no benefit pecuniarily tion was the Forest Minstrel, a collection of to the poet. It was soon followed bj' "Mador songs, of which two-thirds were his own. Being of the JIoor,"a poem in the Spenserian stanza. chiefly the productions of his early days they It was at this period of his career, and when acquired no popularity and brought him no in the spring-tide of his fame, that the Ettrick profit, if we except the kindness of the Countess Shepherd penned the following magnificent of Dalkeith, to whom the volume was dedicated, strain, in an unpublished letter addressed to who sent him a present of a hundred guineas. an old friend: "I rode through the whole of His next literary undertaking was the publi- Edinburgh yesterday in a barouche by myself, cation on his own account of a weekly news- having four horses and two postillions. Never paper, called the Spy, devoted to belles-lettres, was there a poet went through it before in such morals, and criticism, which departed this life style since the world began!" Asa pendant

l)efore it had existed a twelvemonth. The to this may be added Dr. Johnson's exclama- wonder was, not that it died so soon, but that tion on learning that poor Goldsmith— had died it lived so long. That a Shepherd without two thousand pounds in debt "AVas ever ;i capital, who could only read at eighteen and poet so trusted before!'' write at twenty-six, who had read very little Hogg's ne.xt litei-ary undertaking was to contemporary literature, and who, to quote his collect poems from the great living bards of own words, "knew no more of human life or Britain; but as many of them declined to l)e manners than a child," should have carried on contributors, he changed his plans, and deter- unaided such an enterprise for nearly a year, mined on the bold step of writing imitations is certainly remarkable. of all the poets. The refusal of Sir Walter

At this time, the darkest period of his life, Scott especially incensed him, and led to the Avhen his literary speculations, from which he only estrangement that ever occurred between had anticipated so much, had all failed, har- them. The Shepherd, in an angry letter which assed and disappointed, poor and comparatively he wrote on the occasion, changed tiie prefatory friendless—that hour when mediocrity sinks "dear sir," into "damned sir," and clo.-

450 JAMES HOGG.

singular!}'' illustrative of the versatility of his After a severe illness of four weeks he died,

genius, was a success, the first edition being November 21st, 1835, "departing this life," exhausted in six weeks. Dramatic Tales was writes his life-long friend Laidlaw, "as calmly,

his next work, followed by The Brownie of and, to appearance, with as little pain as if he Bodsbeck and other Tales—among the most had fallen asleep in his gray plaid on the side popular of his works. of the moorland rill." He was buried in the In 1820, having received from the Duke of churchyard of Ettrick, within a few minutes' Buccleuch a life Igase of the farm of Altrive walk of the spot where lately stood the cottage Lake in Yarrow, at a merely nominal rent, no of his birth; and after all others had retired, part of which was ever exacted, and his cir- one mourner still remained there uncovered to cumstances being otherwise improved, he mar- consecrate with his tears the new-made grave ried Margaret Phillips. Her portion and his of his friend. That man was John AVilson. literary earnings made him the possessor of He left a family of five children, and after a about a thousand pounds, so he decided to lapse of twenty years his widow received a lease the large farm of Mount Benger and pension of £100 from government, which she embark in agriculture, expending his entire enjoyed up to her death, lath November, 1870,

capital in stocking it. The adventure was of in the eighty-first year of her age. In 1824 course a failure, and the poor poet was again Christopher North predicted, in the ever memor- penniless. In 1821 he publislied the second able Nodes, that a monument would be erected

volume of his Jacobite Relics, tlie first having to his honour. "My beloved Shepherd, some appeared two years previously. When the coro- hall'-century hence your effigy will be seen on

nation of George IV. occurred, Sir Walter some bonnie green knowe in the Forest, with its Scott obtained a place for himself and Hogg honest freestone face looking across St. Mary's in tiie Hall and Abbey of Westminster, accom- Loch, and up towards the Gray Mare's Tail, panied by an invitation from Lord Sidmouth while by moonlight all your own fairies will to dine with him after the solemnity, when the weave a dance around its pedestal." His pre- two poets would meet the Duke of York and diction was verified June 28, 1860, when a other distinguished personages. Here was an handsome fi-eestone statue, executed by Andrew opportunity of princely patronage such as feAv Currie, was erected in the Vale of Yarrow, on

peasant poets have enjoyed ; and Scott accord, the hillside between St. Mary's Loch and the ingly announced the affair to Hogg, requesting Loch of the Lowes, and immediately opposite him to join him at Edinburgh, and set off with to Tibby Shiel's cottage. His works, of which hinl to the great metropolis. But poor Hogg! I have not enumerated the full amount, in —he wrote "with the tear in his eye," as he prose and poetry, have been issued, with a declared, to say that his going was impossible, memoir of his life, in two elegant 8vo volumes, because the great yearly Border fair held at by the publishers of this work. St. Boswell's in Roxburghshire happened at AVhen the songs of Scotland are sung the .same period, and he could not absent him- " self from the meeting. By cottar's ingle or in farmer's ha',"

In 1822 he published a new edition of his James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, holds l)est poems, for which he received two hundred his place there, and holds it ivell, with Eamsay, pounds, and in 1820 gave to the world his long and Burns, and Tannahill. narrative poem of "Queen Ilyude." For many In conclusion, I may add, that with two exceptions, never did years he was a contributor in prose and verse Scottish poet receive more elegies or poetical to Blackwood's Marjazlne, of wiiich lie, witli tributes to his memory. Among the number Thomas Pringle and William Blackwood the were the sul)joined extemporaneous lines from j)ublisher, were the founders. No one who has the pen of William Wordsworth: read the Nodes Avibroslance, can fail to re- member the Bttrick Shepherd's i)ortrait as " Wlien first ilescemling from the moorlands, drawn by Christopher North. Of James I saw the stream of Yarrow glide Hogg's other prose works my space forbids me A lung a bare and open vallev, to speak. Tlie Ettrick Shepherd was my guide. — , ! ! "

JAMES HOGG. 451

" Wlieu last along its banks I wamler'd, And death upon the Praes of Yarrow Through gi-oves that had begun to shed Has closed the Shepherd iwet's eyes. Their golden leaves upon the pathway, Aly steps the Border minstrel led. " Xo more of old romantic sorrows. For siaughter'd youth or love-lorn maid, "The mighty minstrel breathes no longer, With sharper grief is Yarrow smitten. 'Mid mouldering luiiis low lie lies, And Ettrick mourns v\ith her their Shepherd dead.'

KILMENY.i

(from THE QUEENS WAKE.,

Bonny Kilmeny g-aed up the glen By linn, by ford, and greenwood tree, But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, Yet you are halesome and fair to see.

Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, Where gat you that joup o' the lilly scheen ? For Kihueny was pure as pure could be. That bonny snood of the birk sae green? It was only to hear the yorlin sing, And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen? And pu' the cress-Hower round the spring; Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? The scarlet hipp and the hindberrye, And the nut that hung frae the hazel-tree; Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; But lang may her minny look o'er the wa', As still was her look, and as still was her ee, And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw; As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, Lang the laird of Duneira blame. Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame For Kilmeny had been she knew not where. And Kilmeny had seen what she could not de- When many a day had come and fled, clare ; When grief grew calm, and hope was dead. Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew. When mess for Kilmeny 's soul had been sung. Where the rain never fell, and the wind never When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead- blew. bell rung. But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung. Late, late in a gloamin when all was still. And the airs of heaven played round her tongue. When the fringe was red on the westlin hill. When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen. The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane. And a land where sin had never been; The reek o' the cot hung over the plain. A land of love, and a land of light, Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane; Withouten sini, or moon, or night: When the ingle lowed with an eiiy leme, Where the river swa'd a living stream, Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame And the light a pure celestial beam:

The land of vision it would seem, "Kilmeny, Kilmenj', where have you been? A still, an everlasting dream. Lang hae we sought baith holt and den;

In yon greenwood there is a walk, ' The story of the Fair Kilmeny, for true simplicity, And in that waik there is a wene, and graceful and oi-iginal fancy, cannot be matched in And in that wene there is a maikc. the whole compass of British song. A llan Cann inf/liam. That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane; Kilmeny has been the theme of universal admiration, And down in yon greenwood he walks his lane. and deservedly S(3, for it is what Wharton would have denominated " pure poetry." It is, for the most part, the glorious emanation of a sublime fancy, —the spon- In that green wene Kilmeny lay. taneous sprouting forth of amaranthine flowei-s of senti- Her bosom happed wi' the flowerets gay; ment, —the bubbling ont and welling over of inspira- But the au' was soft and the silence deep. tion's fountain.— ZJ)-. D. ^T. Mob: And bonny Kilmenj' fell sound asleep. The legend of Kilmeny is as Vjeantiful as anything in She kend nae mair nor opened her ee. the department of poetry. It contains a fine moral : — Till waked by the hymns of a far countrj-e. that piuity of heart makes an earthly cre.ature a welcome denizen of heaven ; and the tone and imagery are all fraught with a tenderness and grace that are as unearthly She 'wakened on couch of the silk sae slim. as the siiljject of the legend. — Wdlia,u Jlouitt. All striped wi* the bars of the rainlww's rimj ; ! ! — —! ; : :

452 JAMES HOGG.

And lovely beings roxind were rife, And tell of the signs you shall shortly see.; Who erst had travelled mortal life; Of the times that are now, and the times that And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, shall be. " " What spii-it has brought this mortal here?" They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away. " Lang have I journeyed the world wide," And she walked in the light of a sunless day A meek and reverend fere rephed; The sky was a dome of crystal bright. of vision, " Baith night and day I hae watched the fair, The fountain and fountain of light Eident a thousand years and mair. The emerald fields were of dazzling glow, flowers of everlasting Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, And the blow. Wherever blooms femenitye; Then deep in the stream her body they laid. never But sinless virgin, free of stain That her youth and beauty might fade; In mind and body, fand I nane. And they smiled on heaven when they saw her Never, since the banquet of time, lie life that bye. Found I a virgin in her prime. In the stream of wandered Till late this bonny maiden I saw And she heard a song, she heard it sung, As spotless as the moniing snaw; She kend not where; but sae sweetly it rung, Full twenty years she has lived as free It fell on her ear like a dream of the mom As the spirits that sojourn this countrye. "0! blest be the day Kilmeny was born! I have brought her away frae the snares of men, Now shall the land of the spirits see. That sin or death she never may ken." Now shall it ken what a woman may be The sun that shines on the world sae bright, They clasped her waiste and her hands sae fair. A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light; They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair, And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun. And round came many a blooming fere, Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun. Saying " Bonny Kilmeny, ye're welcome here! Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair. Women are freed of the littand scorn: And the angels shall miss them travelling the 0, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born! air. Now shall the land of the spirits see. But lang, lang after baith night and day. Now shall it ken what a woman may be When the sun and world have died away; Many a lang year in sorrow and pain. Wlien the sinner has gane to his waesome doom, Many a lang year through the world we've gane, Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom!" Commissioned to watch fair womankind. For it's they who nurice th' immortal mind. They bore her away she wist not how. We have watched their steps as the dawning For she felt not arm nor rest below; shone. But so swift they wained her through the hght, And deep in the greenwood walks alone; 'Twas like the motion of sound or sight; By lily bower and silken bed. They seemed to split the gales of air. The viewless tears have o'er them shed And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep. Unnumbered groves below them grew. Or left the couch of love to weep. They came, they past, and backward flew, We have seen! we have seen! but the time must Like floods of blossoms gliding on. come, In moment seen, in moment gone. And the angels will weep at the day of doom 0, never vales to mortal view Appeared like those o'er which they flew! " 0, would the fairest of mortal kind That land to human spirits given. Aye keep the holy truths in mind, The lowermost vales of the storied heaven 'I'liat kindred spirits their motions see. From whence they can view the world below, Who watch their ways with an.xious ee. And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow, And grieve for the guilt of humanitye! More glory yet unmeet to know. O, sweet to heaven the maiden's prayer. And the sigh that heaves a V)osom sae fair! They bore her far to a mountain green, And dear to Heaven the words of truth. To see what mortal never had seen; And the piaise of virtue frae beauty's mouth! And they seated her high on the purple sward, And dear to the viewless forms of air And bade her heed what she saw and heard, The minds that kyth as the l)ody fair! And note the changes the spirits wrought, For now she lived in the land of thought. "0, bonny Kilmeny! free frae stain, She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, If ever you seek the world again. But a crystal dome of a thousand dies. That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear, She looked, and she saw nae land aright. O, tell of the joy.-i that are waiting here; But an endless whirl of glory and light. ; :

JAMES HOGG. 453

And radiant beings went and came Kilmeny awhile her een withdrew; Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame. She looked again, and the scene was new. She hid her een frae the dazzling view; She looked again and the scene was new. She saw below her fair unf\n-led One half of all the glowing world. Slie saw a sun on a summer sky, Where oceans rolled and rivers ran. And clouds of amber sailing bye; To bound the aims of sinful man. lovely land beneath her lay, A She saw a people, fierce and fell. glens mountains gray; And that land had and Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell; valleys hoary piles, And that land had and There lilies grew, and the eagle flew, And marled seas, and a thousand isles. And she herked on her ravening crew, speckled, its forests green, Its fields were Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a blaze, its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen, And And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and tlie i Like magic muTors, where slumbering lay seas. The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray. The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran. gently Which heaved and trembled and swung. And she threatened an end to the race of man On every shore they seemed to be hinig; She never lened, nor stood in awe. For there they were seen on their downward Till claught by the lion's deadly paw. plain Oh! then the eagle swinked for life, A thousand times and a thousand again; And brainzelled up a mortal strife; In winding lake and placid firth, But flew she north, or flew she .south. Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. She met wi' the gowl of the lion's mouth.

Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve, With a mooted wing and waefu' maen. For she found her heart to that land did cleave; The eagle sought her eerie again; She saw the corn wave on the vale, But lang may she cour in her bloody nest, She saw the deer iiin down the dale; And lang, lang .sleek her wounded breast, She saw the plaid and the broad claymore, Before she sey another flight. And the brows that the badge of freedom bore To play wi' the norland lion's might. And she thought she had seen the land before.

She saw a lady sit on a throne, But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, So far surpassing nature's law. The fairest that ever the sun shone on 1 A lion licked her hand of milk. The singer's voice wad sink away. And she held him in a leish of silk; And the string of his harp would cease to play. And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye. With a silver wand and melting ee; And all was love and harmony; Till the stars of fell Her sovereign shield till love stole in, heaven calmly away. And poisoned all the fount within. Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day.

Then a gi-uff untoward bedeman came, Then Kilmeny begged again to see And hundit the lion on his dame: The friends she had left in her own countiy. And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless ee. To tell of the place where she had been. She dropped a tear, and left her knee; And the glories that lay in the land unseen; An' she saw till the queen frae the lion fled. To warn the living maidens fair, Till bonniest flower of the world lay dead. Tlie loved of Heaven, the spirit's care, A coffin was set on a distant plain. That all whose minds unmeled remain And she saw the red blood fall like rain; Shall bloom in beautj^ when time is gane. Then bonny Kilmeny's heart grew sair. And she turned away, and could look nae mair. With distant music, soft and deep. They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep; Then the gruff grim carle giined amain. And when she awakened she lay her lane. And they trampled him down, but he rose again. All happed with flowers in the greenwood wcne. And he baited the lion to deeds of weir. When seven lang j'cars had come and fled. Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear; When grief was calm, and hope was dead; And weening his head was danger-preef. When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name. When crowned with the rose and clover leaf. Late, late in gloamin' Kilmeny came hame! He gowled at the carle, and chased him away And 0, her beauty was fair to see. To feed wi' the deer on the mountain gi"ay. But still and steadfast was her ee! He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at heaven, Such beauty bard may never declare. But his mark was set and his arles given. For there was no pride nor passion there; ; ! — —

454 JAMES HOGG.

And the soft desire of maiden's een An' sair at e"en slie seemed distrest, In that mild face could never be seen. But what perplex'd lier could not tell. Her seymar was the lily flower, the shower; And her cheek the moss-rose in But aye she eoo'd wi' mournfu' croon_. voice like the distant melodye, And her An' ruffled a' her feathers fair; along the twilight sea. That floats An' lookit sad as she war boun' she loved to raike the lanely glen. But To leave the land for evermair. And keeped afar frae the haunts of men; Her holy hymns unheard to sing, The lady Avept, an' some did blame, To suck the flowers and drink the spring. But wherever her peaceful form appeared. She didna blame the bonnie dow. Sir David Graeme, The wild beasts of the hill were cheered; But sair she blamed The wolf played blythely round the field, Because the knight had broke his vow. The lordly byson lowed and kneeled; The dun-deer wooed with manner bland. For he had sworn by the starns sae briglit, And cowered aneath her lily hand. An' by their bed on the dewy green, And when at even the woodlands rung. To meet her there on St. Lambert's night, When hymns of other worlds she sung. AVhatever dangers lay between; In ecstacy of sweet devotion, O, then the glen was all in motion. To risk his fortune an' his life The wild beasts of the forest came. In bearing her frae her father's towers, their bughts and faulds the tame. Broke from To gae her a' the lands o' Dryfe,^ goved around, charmed and amazed; And An' the Enzie-holm wi' its bonnie bowers. Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed. And murmured and looked with anxious pain, The day arrived, the evening came. For something the mystei-y to explain. looked wi' Avistful ee; The buzzard came with the throstle-cock; The lady O, alas! her nol)le Graeme The corhy left her houf in the rock But, The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew; Frae e'en to morn slie didna see. The hind came tripping o'er the dew; The wolf and the kid their raike began, An' she has sat her down an' grat; And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran; Tlie warld to her like a desert seemed; The hawk and the hern attour them hung. An' she wyted this, an' she wyted that. merl and the mavis forhooyed their And the But o' the real cause never dreamed. young; And all in a peaceful ring were hurled: Tlie sun had drunk frae Keilder fell* It was like an eve in a sinless woi-ld! His beverage o' the morning dew; When a month and a day had come and gane, The deer had crouched her in the dell, Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene; The heatiier oped its bells o' blue; Thei-e laid her down on the leaves sae green. And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. repeat, but of which she knew no tradition : and from But the words that fell from her mouth. O, this introduction tlie part of the dove naturally arose. of wonder and words of truth Were words The rhyme runs thus : But all the land were in fear and dread, " 'The heron flew east, the heron flew west, For they kendna whether she was living or dead. The heron flew to the fair forest. It wasna her hame, and -she couldna lemain; For there she saw a lovely bower, She left this world of sorrow and pain. Was a' clad o'er wi' lily flower; And returned to the land of thought again. And in the bower there was a bed, AVi' silken sheets, an' well doun spread; And in the bed there lay a knight, Wlio.se wounds did bleed both day and night; SIR DAVID GR.VEME.! And by the bed there stood a stane, And there was set a leal maiden, With silver needle and silken thread, Tlio (low flew east, the dow flew wcst,^ Stemming the wounds when they did bleed.'" Tlie dow flew far avoiit the fell; 2 The river Dryfe forms the soutlieast tlistrict of Annandale; on its hanks the ruins of the tower of 1 This beautiful ballad was suggested to the author Graeme still remains in considerable \uiiformity. by the ancient one "The Twa Corbies." - Hogg remarks, "I borrowed the al)ovo line from a * Keilder Fells are those hills which lie eastward of

beaiitit'ul old itiyine which I often heard my mother the sources of North Tyue. — !

JAMES HOGG. 455

Tlie skipping on the brae, lambs were When, lo ! Sir David's trusty hound, The hiverock hielie attour tlieni sung, Wi' humbling back, an' a waefu' ee,^ All' aye she hailed the jocund day, Came crining in and lookit around, Till tlie wee, wee tabors o' lieaven rung. But his look was hopeless as could be.

The lady to her window hied, He laid his head on that lady's knee. And it opened owre the banks o" Tyne; An' he lookit as .somebody he would name, O, alak!" slie said, sighed, "An', and .\n' there was a language in his howe ce breast is blythe "Sure ilka but mine! That was stronger than a tongue could frame.

"Where hae ye been, my bonnic dow. She fed him wi' the milk an" the bread, That I hae fed wi' the bread an' wine? An' ilka good thing tiiat he wad hae; roving a' the country through, As He lickit her hand, he coured his head. 0, saw ye this fause knight o' mine?" Then slowly, slowly he slunkered away.

The dow sat down on the window tree. But she has eyed her fause knight's hound. An' she carried a lock o' yellow hair; An' a' to see where he wad gae: Then she perched upon that lady's knee. He whined, an' he howled, an' lookit around, An' carefuU}' she placed it there. Then slowly, slowly he trudged away.

" What can this mean ! This lock's the same Then she's casten aft" her coal black shoon, That aince was mine. Wliate'er betide. An' her bonnie silken liose, sae glancin" an' This lock I gae to Sir David Graeme, sheen; The flower of a' the Border side. She kiltit her wilye coat an' broidered gown, An' away she has linkit over the green.

"He might hae sent it by squire or page, An' no letten the wily dow steal't awa; She followed the hound owre muirs an' rocks. 'Tis a matter for the lore and the counsels Through mony a dell and dowie glen, of age, Till frae her brow an' bonnie goud locks, But the thing I canna read at a'." The dewe dreepit down like the drops o' rain.

An' aye she said, love hid. The dow flew east, the dow flew west, "My may be An' darena come to the castle to me; The dow she flew far ayont the fell, An' back she came wi' panting breast But him I will find and dearly I'll chide, For lack o" stout heart an' courtesye. Ere the ringing o' the castle bell.

"But ae kind press to his manly breast. She lighted ahicho on the hollj--tap. An' ae kind kiss in the moorland glen, An' she cried, "cur-dow," an' fluttered her AVill weel atone for a' that is past; wing; O wae to the paukie snares o' men !" Then flew into that lady's lap. An' there she placed a diamond ring. An' aye she eyed the gray sloth hound. As he windit owre Deadwater fell. "What can this mean? This ring is the same Till he came to the den wi" the moss inbound. That aince was mine. Whate'er betide. An' 0, but it kythed a lonesome dell This ring 1 gae to Sir David Graeme, The flower of a' the Border side. An' he waggit his tail, an' he fawned about. Then he coured him down sae wcarilye; "He sends me back the love-tokens true! "Ah! yen's my love, I hae found him out. Was ever poor nraiden perplexed like me? He's lying waiting in the dell for me ! 'Twould seem he's reclaimed his faith an' his vow. "To meet a knight near the fall of night But all is fauldit in mystery." Alone in this untrodden wild,

An' she has sat her down an' grat. • It is not long ago since a shepherd's dog w.ntched The world to her a desert seemed; Ills corpse in tlie snow among the nioinitaiiis of this An' she wyted this, an' she wyted that, country, until ne.arly famished, and at last led to tlie But o' the real cause never dreamed. discovery of the body of his disfigured master — ! !

456 JAMES HOGG.

It scarcely becomes a lady bright, "My brothers they slew my comely knight, is to the brim: But I'll vow that the hound my steps be- An' his grave red blood guiled." I thought to have slept out the lang, lang night, But they've wakened me, and wakened not him !" Alack ! whatever a maiden may say, True has't been said, an' often been sung. The ee her heart's love will betray. An' the secret will sirple frae her tongue. TO THE COMET OF 1811. "What ails my love, that he looks nae roun", lady's stately step to view? A How lovely is this wildered scene. nor sboon. Ah me ! I hae neither stockings As twilight from her vaults so blue white wi' the moorland dew. An' my feet are sae Steals soft o'er Yarrow's mountains green. To sleep embalmed in midnight dew. "Sae sound as he sleeps in his hunting gear, him great pity would be; To waken All hail, ye hills, whose towering height. Deaf is the man that caresna to hear, Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky ! is he wlia wantsna to see." And blind And thou, mysterious guest of night.

Dread traveller of immensity ! Sae saftly she treads the wee green swaird, Wi' the lichens an' the ling a' fringed around: Stranger of heaven I I bid thee hail " are darkened wi' some wul-weird, My een Shred from the pall of glory riven. love he sleeps sae sound?" What ails my That flashest in celestial gale. Broad pennon of the King of Heaven! She gae ae look, she needit but ane, it left nae sweet uncertaintye; ¥ov Art thou the flag of woe and death. saw wound through his shoulder bane She a From angel's ensign-staff unfurled? An' in his brave breast two or three. Art thou tlie standard of his wrath Waved o'er a sordid sinful world? Tiiere wasna sic een on the Border green. As the piercing een o' Sir David Graeme; No, from that pure pellucid beam. She glisked wi' her ee where these een should be, That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone,* But the raven had been there afore she came. No latent evil we can deem, Brigiit herald of the eternal throne! There's a cloud that fa's darker than the night, An' darkly on that lady it came: There's a sleep as deep as the sleep outright, Whate'er portends thy front of fire, locks so lovely 'Tis without a feeling or a name; Thy streaming pale— Or peace to man, or judgments dire, 'Tis a dull and a dreamless lethargye, Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail For the spirit strays owre vale an' hill. An' tiie bosom is left a vacancy. Where hast thou roamed these thousand years! An' when it comes back it is darker still. Why sought these polar paths again. From wilderness of glowing spheres, O sliepherd lift that comely corpse. To fling thy vesture o'er the wain? Well you may see no wound is there; Tliere's a faint rose 'mid the bright dew drops. And when thou scal'st the milky way, An' tliey have not wet her glossy hair. And vanishest from human view, A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray There's lady has lived in Hosvvood tower, a Through wilds of yon empyreal blue ! 'Tis seven years past on St. Lambert's day. An' aye when comes the vesper hour 0, on thy rapid prow to glide ! Tiiesc words an' no more can siie say: To sail the boundless skies with thee. And ])lough the twinkling stars aside, "Tiiey wild swaird green. slew my love on the Like foam-bells on a tranquil sea! As he was on his way to me; the ravens picked his blue een, An' bonnie ' It was reckoned by many that this was the same An' the tongue that was formed for courtcsye. cumet "liicli aiii)eareil at the biith of our Saviour. — ! : : ;

JAMES HOGG. 457

To brush tlie embers from the sun, " Then, dear, dear Bessie, you shall be mine. lie icicles from oft" the pole Sin' a' the truth ye hae tauld me now, T ; Then f;ir to other systems run, Our hearts an' fortunes we'll entwine.

Where other moons and planets roll ! An' I'll aye come every night to woo; For 0, I canna descrive to thee feeling o' love's nature's law, Stranger of heaven ! O let thine eye The and Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream How dear this world appears to me, ; !" Eccentric as thy course on high, Wi' Bessie my ain for good an' for a'

And airy as thine ambient beam !

And long, long may thy silver ray Our northern arch at eve adorn; THE LARK. Then, wheeling to the east away, Bird the wilderness, Light the grey portals of the morn! of Blithesome and cumberless. Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness. Blest is thy dwelling-place: LASS, AN' YE LO'E ME, TELL (), to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay, and loud. ME NOW. Far in the downy cloud

Love gives it energy— love gave it birth ! " Afore the muircoek begin to craw, Where, on thy dewy wing.

Where art thou journeying ! Lass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now The bonniest thing that ever ye saw, Thy lay is in heaven—thy love is on earth.

For I canna come every night to woo." O'er fell fountain sheen, " The gowden broom is bonny to see, and O'er moor and mountain green, And sae-is the milk-white flower o' the haw, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day; The daisy's wee freenge is sweet on the lea, Over the cloudlet dim. But the bud of the rose is the bonniest of a"." Over the rainbow's rim.

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away I " Now, wae light on a' your flow'ry cliat, Then, when the gloaming comes. liass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now ; Low in the heather blooms. It's no the thing that I would be at, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! An' I canna come every night to woo Emblem of happiness. The lamb is bonny upon the brae. Blest is thy dwelling-place, The leveret friskin' o'er the knowe, to abide in the desert with thee I The bird is bonny upon the tree

But which is the dearest of a' to you ?

" The thing that I lo'e best of a', DONALD MACDONALD. I^ass, an' ye lo'e me, tell me now;

The dearest thing I that ever saw. My name it is Donald Macdonald, Though I canna come every night to woo. I leeve in the Higlilands sac grand : Is the kindly smile that beams on me I hae foUow'd our banner, and will do, Whenever a gentle hand 1 press, AVherever my master has land. And the wily blink frae the dark-blue e"e When rankit amang the blue bonnets, Of a dear, dear lassie that they ca' Bess." Nae danger can fear me ava :

I ken that my brethren around me

" Aha, young man, but I cou'dna see; Are either to conquer or fa'

What I lo'e best I'll tell you now. Brogues an' brochin an' a', The compliment that ye sought frae me, Brochin an' brogues an" a'; Though ye canna come every night to woo An' is nae her very wcel afF,

Yet I would rather hae frae you Wi' her brogues an' brochin an' a'"? A kindly look, an' a word witha'.

Than a' the flowers o' the forest pu'. What though we befriendit young Charlie!

Than a' the lads that ever I saw." To tell it I dinna think shame; ; ! ! —

458 JAMES HOGG.

barely, My mind's the aspen o' the vale, Poor lad ! he came to us but An' reckon'd our mountains his liame. In ceaseless waving motion; 'Twas true that our reason forbade us, 'Tis like a ship without a sail. But tenderness carried the day On life's unstable ocean. Had Geordie come friendless amang us, had a' gane away. Wi' him we I downa bide to see the moon Sword an' buckler an' a'. Blink owre the glen sae clearly; Buckler an' sword an' a'; Aince on a bonny face she shone we'll encounter the devil, Now for George A face that I lo'ed dearly Wi' sword an' buckler an' a' An' Avhen beside yon water clear. At e'en I'm lanely roaming, An' 0, I wad eagerly press him I sigh and think, if ane was here, The keys o' the East to retain; How sweet wad fa' the gloaming! For should he gie up the possession, We'll soon liae to force them again. Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour, When 1 think o' thy cheerfu' smile. Though it were my finishing blow, Thy words sae free an' kindly. He aye may depend on Macdonald, Thy pawkie ee's bewitching wile. Wi' his Hielanders a' in a row: The unbidden tear will blind me. Knees an' elbows an' a'. The rose's deepest blushing hue Elbows an' knees an' a'; Thy cheek could eithly borrow, Depend upon Donald Macdonald, But ae kiss o' thy cherry mou' His knees an' elbows an" a'. Was worth a year o' sorrow.

Wad Bonaparte land at Fort William,

! slippery paths of love, Auld Europe nae langer should grane: Oh in the Let prudence aye direct thee; I lauo-li when I think how we'd gall him Let virtue every step approve. \Vi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane; An' virtue will respect thee. Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny To ilka pleasure, ilka pang, AVe'd rattle him off frae our shore, Alak! I am nae stranger; Or lull him asleep in a cairny. An' he wha aince has wander'd wrang An" sing him— " Lochaber no morel" Is best aware o' danger. Stanes an' bullets an' a'. Bullets an' stanes an' a'; We'll finish the Corsican callan May still thy heart be kind an' true, Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'. A' ither maids excelling; May heaven distil its purest dew For the Gordon is good in a hurry, Around thy rural dwelling. An' Campbell is steel to the bane, May flow'rets spring an' wild birds sing- An' Grant, an' JIackenzie, an' Murray, Around thee late an' early: An' Cameron will hurkle to nane; An' oft to thy remembrance bring The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal, The lad that lov'd thee dearlv. An' sae is Macleod an' Mackay;

An' I. their gnde-brither jMacdonald,

Shall ne'er be the last in the fray ! Jirogues an' brochin an' a', Brocliin an' brogues an' a'; LOCK THE DOOR, LARISTON. An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet. The kilt an' the feather an' a". Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddisdale, Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on, The Armstrong's are fl}^ng, Their widows are crying, All, PEGGIE, SINCE THOU'RT G.\NE The Castletown's burning, and OUver's gone; AWAY. Lock the door, Lariston, —high on the weather gleam, Ah, Peggie, since thou'rt gane away, See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky, .\u' left me here to languish, Yeoman and carbineer,

I canna fend anither day Billman and halberdier;

In sic rci'rctfu' ansruish. Fijrce is the foray, and far is the crj-. — !—— ;

JAMES HOGG. 459

Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar, I've feucht in Scotland here at hame, Ridley is riding his fleet-footed gray, In France and Shennanie, man; Hedly and Howard there, An' cot tree tespurt pluddy cons, Wandale and Windermere, Beyond te 'Lantic sea, man. Lock the door, Laristou, hold them at bay. But wae lieiit on te nasty cun, Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston? Tat ever slie pe porn, man; WTiy do the joy-candles gleam in thine eye 1 Phile koot klyniore te tristle caird, Thou bold Border ranger Her leaves pe never torn, man; Beware of thy danger Thy foes ai-e relentless, determined and nigh. Ae tay I shot, and shot, and sliot, Pliane'er it Jock Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, cam my turn, man; His hand grasp'd the sword with a nervous em- Put a' te force tat I could gie, brace; Te powter wadna purn, man. "Ah, welcome, brave foemen, A filty loon cam wi' his cun, On earth there are no men Resolvt to to me harm, man; And wi' te tirk upon no.

Howard—ah ! woe to thy hopes of the day! I fleech'd an' I pray'd the dear lassie Hear the wide welkin rend, To gang to the brakens wi' me; W^hile the Scots' shouts ascend But though neither lordly nor saucy. of Elliot for — "ElUot Laiiston, aye!" Her answer was "Laith wad I be! I neither hae father nor mither, Sage counsel or caution to gie; An' prudence has whispcr'd me never THE AULD HIGHLANDMAN. To gang to tlie brakens wi' thee."

Hersell pe auclity years and twa, "Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me, Te twenty-tird o' May, man: An' try your ain love to beguile? She twell amang te Heelan Iiili.s, For ye are the richest young lady Ayont the reefer Spey, man. That ever gaed o'er the kirk-stile. Tat year tey foueht the Sherra-nuiir. Your smile that is blither tiian onv. She first peheld te licbt, man; The bend o' your cheerfu' e'cliree. Tey shot my father in tat stoure An' the sweet blinks o' love they're sae bonny, A plaguit, ve.xin' spite, man. Are five hundred thousand to me!" ! ! ! —

460 JAMES HOGG.

She turii'd her around and said, smiling, The yellow hair, the bosom fair, While the tear in her blue e'e shone clear, The lips o' coral dye, 0. " YCur welcome, kind sir, to your mailing, A bramble shade around her head, For, 0, you have valued it dear. burnie poplin' Gae make out the lease, do not linger, A by, 0; Let the parson indorse the decree; Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid, canopy the sky, 0. An' then, for a wave of your finger, Our An' here's tlie burn, an' there's the bush I'll gang to the brakens wi' thee!" Around the flowery green, 0, this the plaid, an' sure the lass Tiiere's joy in the bright blooming feature, An" Jean, When love lurks in every young line, Wad be my bonnie 0. There's joys in the beauties of nature, Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon There's joy in the dance and the wine: Ye sternies twinklin' high, 0! But there's a delight will ne'er perish, An' a' ye gentle powers aboon 'Mang pleasures all fleeting and vain, That roam athwart the sky, 0! And that is to love and to cherish Yc see me grateful for the past, The fond little heart that's our ain! Ye saw me blest yestreen, O;

An' ever till I breathe my last

Ye' 11 see me true to Jean, 0. BONNIE JEAN.i

Sing on, sing on my bonnie bird, The sang ye sang yestreen, O, FLORA MACDONALD'S FAREWELL.2 When here, aneath the hawthorn wild, Far over yon hills of the heather sae green, I met my bonnie Jean, 0. An' down hy the corrie that sings to the sea, My blude ran prinklin' through my veins, The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane, My hair began to steer, 0; The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her e'e. My heart play'd deep against my breast. She look'd at a boat wi' the breezes that swung, As I beheld my dear, 0. Away on the wave, like a bird of the main; An' aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd and she sung, O vveels me on my happy lot! Fareweal to the lad I shall ne'er see again weels me on my dearie Fareweel to my hero, the gallant and young, O weels me on the charmin' spot Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again Where a' combin'd to cheer me! The mavis liltit on the bush. The moorcock that craws on the brows of Ben- The laverock on the green, 0; Connal, The lily bloom'd, the daisy blush'd. He kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame; But a' was nought to Jean, 0. The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan-Ronald, Unawed and unhunted his eyrie can claim; Sing on, sing on my bonnie thrush. The solan can sleep on the shelve of the shore, Be neither flee'd or eerie, The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea, I'll wad your love sits in tiie bush But, ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore, That gars yc sing sae cheerie. Nor house, ha', nor hame in his covmtry has he: She may be kind, she may be sweet, The conflict is past, and our name is no more She may be neat and clean, 0, There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland ]5ut oh she's but a drysome mate and me! Compar'd with bonnie Jean, 0. The target is torn from the arm of the just. The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave. If love would open a' her stores, The claymore for ever in darkness must rust. .\n' a' her blooming treasures, But red is the sword of the stranger and slave; An' bid me rise, and turn and choose, .\n' taste her chiefest pleasures; 2 Flora Macdonald's Farewell was composed to an air My choice would be the rosy cheek. haiideil me by the late lameiited Neil Gow, junr. He modest beaming eye, The 0, said it was an ancient Skye air. but afterwards told me that it was his own. When I first heard the song sung — ' The lieroiiie of this song was Jane Cmiiiiuglinm, by Mr. Morrison, I never was so agreeably astonished wife of Joliii Sibbalil of Borthaugh, near Branksome I could liardly believe my senses th:it I had made so Castle, Iloxburglishiie. good a song without knowing it. ! —! — ! ! !

WALTER SCOTT. 461

The hoof of the horse, and the foot of tlie proud, Have trod o'er the phimesou the bunnet of blue, BONNY PRINCE CHARLIE. Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud, When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true'? Cam ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good! Down by the Tummel or banks o' the Garry, The crown of tliy fathers is torn from thy bi-ow Saw ye our lads wi' their bonnets and white cockades. Leaving their mountains to follow Prince

Charlie .' Follow thee! follow thee! whawadna follow thee? CALEDONIA. Lang hast thou loved and tiiistod us fairly I Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee.

! thou land of the mountain and rock, Caledonia King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind Charlie '( Thou land of the torrent, the pine, and the oak. the hind; Of tlie roebuck, the hart, and I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald; Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren But if I had ten they should follow Glengarry ! thy glens, Health to M'Doiiell and gallant Clan-Ronald - appear. Though bleak thy dim islands For these are the men that will die for tlieii' Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans, Charlie That roam on these mountains so dear Follow thee ! follow thee I &c.

A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home. ril to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to tliem, Could never thy ardour restrain; Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie; The marshall'd array of imperial Rome, Brave M'Intosh, he shall tty to the field with them, Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain! These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie I Firm seat of religion, of valour, of truth, Follow thee ! follow thee ! &c. Of genius unshackled and free, The muses have left all the vales of the south. Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the My loved Caledonia, for thee Whigamore Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely! Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps, Ronald and Donald, drive on, wi' the broad claj'- Where loveliness slumbers at even. more,

While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps Over the necks o' the foes o' Prince Charlie ! A calm little motionless heaven! Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna followtliee?

Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill, Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly I Of the storm, and the proud-rolling wave Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,

Yes, thou art tlie land of fair liberty still. King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince

And the land of my forefathers' grave! Charlie ?

WALTEE SCOTT.

BoKN 1771 — Died 1832.

Sir Walter Scott, Bart., was born Aug. 15, life, the unformed strength of an infant having 1771, in one of the duskiest parts of Edinburgli, been stricken by a malady of old age. He, then called the College Wynd, and now known however, attained a good stature and great as Chambers' Street. His father, the first of strength, and either at walking with the aid the race who was not either sailor or soldier, of a stick, or on horseback, he found few supe- was a highl}' respectable Writer to the Signet riors. The Ettrick Sheplicrd, in his "Familiar — his mother, a worthy woman Avho was well Anecdotes of Sir Walter Scott," says, he "was acquainted with the poetry of her day, particu- tlie best formed man I ever saw, and, laying ills larly that of Burns and Ramsay. In infancy, weak limb out of the question, a perfect model by a sudden illness Walter Scott was lamed for of a man for strength. The muscles of his — —

462 WALTER SCOTT. arms were prodigious. " After various remedies spere, and the solemn majesty of Milton. had been tried witiiout any good result, he was An interesting evidence of Scott's early read- sent from Edinburgh to Sandy-knowe, the ings and remarkable memory may be illustrated residence of a relative, Avhere the country air by a pleasant anecdote. When Robert Burns which invigorated his tottering frame wrought paid his first visit to Edinburgh, Walter Scott manifestly on his genius. Here his education was a tall lad of fifteen, and was j^resent on began, his first teacher being an illiterate one occasion when the peasant bard was enter- shepherd, and his school the rough ground of tained by the literary magnates of that city. a Scottish sheepfold. When the old man with There happened to be a print in the room his shepherd dog went forth to tend his flocks, representing a soldier lying dead on the snow, the lame child accompanied him, and found his widow with a child in her arms on one side, delight in rolling "the lee lang day" among on the other his faithful dog ; underneath was the herbage and heather of the hill sides. The written these lines : fellowship he thus formed with dogs and with /'Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden"s plain, sheep impressed his mind with an attachment Perhaps that parent wept her soldier slain; towards them which was a strong characteristic Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, The big drops, mingling with the milk he drew. through life. Scott says that his consciousness Gave the sad presage of his future years of existence dated from Sandy-knowe, and how The child of misery baptized in tears." deep and indelible were its impressions we need not remind the reader of " Marmion," nor of his Burns was deeply affected by the print, and "Eveof St. John." On the summit of the crags inquired after the author of the inscription. which overhang the farmhouse stands the None could tell, when Scott whispered to a ruined tower of Smaylho'me, the scene of the friend that they were written by Langhorne, fine balladjust alluded to, and the Avenel Castle and occurred in a neglected poem called the of The 3Ionastery. At a short distance is IMer- "Justice of Peace." Burns rewarded the toun, the principal seat of the Scottsof Harden, future minstrel of Scotland "with a look and celebrated in a hundred Border ballads; across a word," which in after days of glory and the Tweed, Dryburgh Abbej% surrounded with renown were remembered and cherished with yew-trees as ancient as itself, and containing pride. within its hallowed walls the remains of the After an education at various schools, in Great Minstrel and his gifted son-in-law which, among other things, he acquired a con- Lockhart; the purple peaks of the Eildon Hills; siderable amount of classical information, he the bleak wilderness of Lammermoor; the entered his father's office as an apprentice, and broom of the Cowdenknowes ; Melrose, clasped led the life common at that time among young amid the windings of the Tweed ; Hume men of his age and rank. Soon after attaining Castle, in its desolate grandeur; and in the his majoritj', Scott was called to the bar, back-ground the hills of the Gala, Ettrick, and where he made no great figure; for although he Yarrow, and many other scenes celebrated in could speak fluentlj% his intellect was not of a Border song and story, —such were the objects forensic cast. He failed to win his first love, that painted the earliest images on the eye and whom he has celebrated as Matilda in his in the heart of Walter Scott. poem of "Eokeby," and who married his At a proper age he was sent to school, where friend Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo. Soon he did not attain a very high grade, occupying, after her marriage Scott met Charlotte Char- notwithstanding his lameness, a much higher pentier, the daughter of a French royalist who position among his fellows in the playground. had died in the beginning of the Eevolution, During his vacations he resided with an uncle and whose wife escaped to England with her —a farmer on the Tweed — where he devoted son and daughter. Scott was in his twenty- himself to reading everything that came in his sixth year when they were married. They way, peopling his mind with old romances and spent their winters in the polished circles of legendary poetry—with the fantastic creations Edinburgh — their summers in a beautiful of oriental fiction, the gorgeous gallery of the cottage at Lasswade on the banks of the Esk, "Fairie Queen," the miniature world of Shak- near the famous abbey and castle of Koslyn. WALTER SCOTT. 463

HisappointmentasSlieriffof Selkirkshire, with gallant warriors, and combined a faithful tran- a salary of £300, together with ^Irs. Scott's in- script of the natural beauties of the scenery with come, compensated for his want of practice at a romantic tale, gave an interest to this part of the bar, and enabled him to devote his time to Scotland which otherwise it would probably more congenial pursuits. Intheir littlecottage, never have attained. Thousands and tens of surrounded by a beautiful garden, in which thousands visited Scotland, before unknown to Scott delighted to cultivate shrubs and flowers, the greater part of Europe and America, and with its rustic archway overgrown with ivy, made pilgrimages to the wild and picturesque they spent many summers, receiving the visits Trossachs. Kocks and caves were pointed out of their chosen friends from the neighbouring as the spots described by the poet, pathways city, and wandering at will among some of tlie identified as those traversed by the chivalrous most romantic scenes of Scotland. Fitz James, and "fair Ellen's i.sle " almost It had long been Scott's delight to collect denuded of flowers and ferns by enthusiastic the ancient ballads of his native land as they tourists. fell from the lips of his companions and In 1806 Scott was appointed a clerk of the acquaintances, or from persons whom he sought Court of Session, which sat at Edinburgli out for that purpose. This harvest, which he about six montiis in the year ; it was an gleaned at first without any ulterior object, honourable position, which he could hold con- was storing his imagination with the wealth jointly with .the sherifTdom, and was worth wliich, at a future day, he was to pay back a about £800 per annum. After the publication thousand-fold increased. The accumulation of tlie " Lady of the Lake," a poem unequal in of these relics at length led to the conception many respects to " ^Marmion," but far dearer to of the Minstrelsii of the Scottish Border, and the great mass of youthful readers, Scott found the success of that work decided his future his popularity as a poet waning. This dis- career. In January, 1802, the first two volumes covery set him to work upon an old unfinished of the Minstrelsy appeared, which may be .said manu.script which had lain for years in one of to have first introduced Walter Scott to the his drawers. That ^MS. was the first volume

' world as an author. Three years later the ' Lay of Waverley. of the Last Minstrel," which naturally grew There is nothing finer in literary biograiihy from the Minstrelsy, was published, and at than the composure, the magnanimity with once placed its author in the front rank of the wiiich the last of the Border minstrels, aware poets of the nineteenth century. AVith its pub- that he was being supplanted in popular favour lication began a career of prolific and prosperous by Byron, tranquilly turned his genius into authorship unexampled in the annals of liter- another channel, in which he reigned supreme. ature. In the history of British poetry perhaps The novel which had been thrown aside as nothing has ever equalled the demand for the a failure was completed, the last two volumes "Lay of the Last Minstrel." The circulation of being written in twenty-six summer afternoons, the work in Great Britain in its first flush of and published. Its success was M'onderful. success was nearly thirty thousand copies. It There never had been such a sensation book must be remembered that at that day the read- since literature began. Although, except from ing community was not one-half what it is at a few, he preserved a strict incognito, there present— that books were expensive, and that were not many persons among the literary the great mass of readers resorted to public circles of Edinburgh who did not at once libraries, unable to indulge in so costly a recognize the hand of Walter Scott. Pro- luxury. fessor Wilson asked if people had forgotten Next came " Marmion," which met with the the prose of the Minstrelsy, and the Ettrick .same kind reception that greeted his first poem, Shepherd had his copy rebound and lettered and a few years after the " Lady of the Lake" Wave.rley, by Walter Srott. A month after was published. This charming story, the the publication of Gny Mannei'ing, the second mo.st successful of Scott's poetical works, in of the .series, written in six weeks, he made which he peopled the glades and islands of the his .second visit to London. " Make up Perthsliire lakes with blue eyed maidens and your mind to be stared at only a little less 464 WALTER SCOTT. tlian the Czar of Muscov}' or old Bliicher," In 1820 he was created a baronet, and in wrote his friend Joanna Baillie, a few daya the same year his eldest daughter Sophia was before he left Scotland. Her prophecy was married to John Gibson Lockhart, whose name fulfilled—all classes, from the Prince Regent will ever be as.sociated Avith that of Sir Walter down, vied with each other in doing him Scott in the pages of that splendid biography, honour. During this visit Scott and Byron the most enduring monument to both. In met for the first time. Half-yearly letters 1825, the last year of unclouded prosperity, his passed between them ever afterwards, although eldest son was married to the niece of one of they met but once again. his greatest friends, on which occasion the halls It was while correcting the proof-sheets of of Abbotsford were displayed in all their splen- theAniiquarij, the third of the series, published dour for the first time and the last. The whole in 1816, that he first began to equip his chap- range of apartments were never opened again ters with mottoes of his own fabrication. He for the reception of company, but once— on happened to ask John Ballantyne, his printer, the day of Sir Walter's funeral. The great to hunt for a particular passage in Beaumont author was at this time at the climax of earthly and Fletcher. He did as requested, but failed happiness, surrounded by his family and to find the lines. " Hang it, Johnnie," cried "troops of friends," with wealth apparently

Scott, " I believe I can make a motto sooner inexhaustible, and fame unembittered by a than you can find one." He accordingly did single hostile voice. But before the end of so, and from that time, whenever memory the year the terrible blow fell —he was a failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph, he bankrupt, and his halls no longer resounded had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of with the merriment of the great and gay. "old play," or "old ballad." These were, Upon the investigation of the affairs of Con- indeed, happy and prosperous days with the stable and the Ballantynes, with whom he was great author. His writings were everywhere connected in the publishing and printing trade, read with delight, and afforded him an income, it appeared that they owed the enormous sum with his salary as Sheriff" and Clerk of Session, of one hundred and seventeen thousand pounds. of at least £10,000 per annum. Acre after Had Sir Walter been willing to go into the acre was added to Abbotsford — blooming Gazette, his aflTairs could have been arranged in a daughters and stalwart sons spread sunshine short time by the surrender of the existing copy- under his roof, and princely hospitality was rights and his life interest in Abbotsford, but he dispensed to all sorts of people. No eminent felt that his honour was engaged in seeing every foreigner visited Scotland without seeing Scott. man receive the full amount of his claim. To those who met him under his own roof it Full of courage and hope he set to work with seemed utterly impossible that he could be the wonderful industry, almost beyond the power author of the Waverley Novels, which appeared of nature, to pay this enormous debt by the at the rate of three or four each year, for he fruits of his pen. The world has never seen a devoted all but a hardly perceptible portion of grander spectacle tiian that old man, nearly his mornings to visitors, or to out-of-door oc- threescore years of age, resolutely sitting down cupations—with his factotum, Tom Purdie, to cancel that debt. He went into humble planting trees, making roads, or removing lodgings in Edinburgh, and tasked his brain fences —watching stone upon stone added to and body ten, twelve, and even fourteen his baronial mansion, and now listening to hours a day, in writing reviews and carrying some neighbouring squire's account of parochial on his great works. Why did he submit plans or grievances, and devoting the whole of to this terrible toil and drudgery? That his his evenings to the entertainment of !iis guests. name might go down to posterity untarnished, But the secret was this: he Avas an early riser. and that a fantastic mansion and the broad

.V private passage conducted him from his acres that surrounded it might be transmitted cliamber to his study, and there, with his door to a long line of Scotts of Abbotsford. locked, with no other witness but his favourite On September 21, 1832, surrounded by all stag-hound, he wrote page after page of those his children, the noble Scotchman breathed his niatciilcss novels with marvellous rapidity. last. " It was a beautiful day, so warm that : ; •

WALTER SCOTT. 4().j every window was wide open, and so perfectly country hung with rapture over his 'Lady of still that the .sound of all others most delicious the Lake.' I need not enumerate his other to his ear, the gentle ripple of the Tweed over poems, but this I will say of them all, that no its pebbles, was distinctly audible as we knelt other metrical narratives in our language seem round his bed, and his eldest son kissed and to me to possess an equal power of enchaining closed his eyes." He was buried within the the attention of the reader, and carrying him picturesque ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, the on from incident to incident with such entire tomb of his ancestors. Near him rest the re- freedom from weariness. These works, printed mains of several members of his family, and in cheap editions, were dispersed all over our his son-in-law Lockhart, who, with au over- country; tiiey found their way to almost every worked brain and sorrow-laden heart, sought fireside, and their popularity rai.sed up both out Abbotsford—to die, similar causes pro- here and in Great Britain a multitude of imi- ducing the same disease that brought Sir tators now forgotten."

Walter to the grave. As I stood a few From among several passages of acute criti- summers since amid those venerable ruins, cism on Walter Scott as a poet, by the most where the Great Minstrel, who shall strike the eminent critics of the past fifty yeai-s, our lyre no more, is mouldering to dust, I could limits prevent us from introducing more than not but recall his own beautiful lines, which the following vigorous passage from the pen seemed strikingly appropriate to the scene:— of Professor John Wilson. "Though greatly

" inferior," he writes, "in many things to his ' Ciill it not vaiu ; they do not err illustrious brethren (Byron and Wordsworth) Who say that when the poet dies Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, Scott is, perhaps, after all, the most unetpiivo- And celebrates liis obsequies; cally original. We do not know of any model Who sny tall elitf and cavern lone after which the form of his principal poems For the departed bard nitike moan ; has been moulded. They bear no resemblance, That mountains weep in crystal rill. That flowers in tears of balm distil and, we must allow, are far inferior to the heroic Tlirough his loved groves that breezes sigli. poems of Greece; nor do they, though he has been And oaks in deeper groan reply ; called the Ariosto of the North, seem to me to And rivers teach their rushing wave

' resemble, in any way whatever, any of the To murmur dirges round his grave.' great poems of modern Italy. He has given At the unveiling of Steel's bronze statue of a most intensely real representation of the Sir Walter, in the Central Park, New York, living spirit of the chivalrous age of his coun- November, 1872, the venerable American poet try. He has not shrouded the figures or the Bryant, in the course of an address delivered characters of his heroes in high poetical lustre, on the occasion, i-emarked so as to dazzle us by resplendent fictitious beings

"As I look round on this assembly I perceive shining through the scenes and events of a half few persons of my own age—few who can re- imaginary world. They are as much real member, as I can, the rising and setting of this men in his poetry as the 'mighty earls' of old brilliant luminary of modern literature. I well are in our histories and annals. The incidents, recollect the time when Scott, then thirty-four too, and events are all wonderfully like those years of age, gave to the world his ' Lay of the of real life; and when Ave add to this, that

Last Minstrel,' the first of his works which all the most interesting and impressive super- awakened the enthusiastic admiration that stitions and fancies of the times are in his afterwards attached to all he wrote. In that poetry incorporated and intertwined with the poem the spirit of the old Scottish ballads— ordinary tissue of mere human existence, we the most beautiful of their class— lived again. feel ourselves hurried from this our civilized In it we had all their fire, their rapid narrative, age back into tlie troubled bosom of semi-bar- their unlaboured graces, their pathos, animat- barous life, and made keen partakers in all its ing a story to which he had given a certain impassioned and poetical credulities. epic breadth and unity. We read with scarcely "His poems are historical narrations, true less delight his poem of 'Marmion,' and soon in all things to the spirit of history, but afterwards the vouths and maidens of our evervwhcrc overspread with those bright and 30 466 WALTER SCOTT. breathing colours which only genius can be- but magnificent ages, and connects us, in the stow on reality: and when it is remembered midst of philosophy, science, and refinement, that the times in wjiich the scenes are laid with our turbulent but high-minded ances- and his heroes act were distinguished by many tors, of whom we have no cause to be ashamed, of the most energetic virtues that can grace whether looked at in the fields of war or in the or dignity the character of a free peoi^le, and halls of peace. He is a true knight in all marked by the operation of great passions and things,—free, courteous, and brave. War, important events, every one must feel that as he describes it, is a noble game, a kingly the poetry of Walter Scott is, in the noblest pastime. He is the greatest of all war-poets. sense of the word, national; that it breathes His poetry might make a very coward fear- upon us the bold and heroic spirit of perturbed less."

A BRIDAL IN BRANKSOME.

(from the lay of the last minstrel.')

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead. Though there, forgotten and alono. Who never to himself hath said. The bard may draw his parting groan.

This is my own, my native land 1

AViiose heart hath ne'er within him burned. Not scorn'd like me ! to Branksome hall As home his footsteps lie hath turned, The minstrels came at festive call:

From wandering on a foreign strand I Trooping they came, from near and far, If such there breathe, go, mark him well; The jovial priests of mirth and war: For him no minstrel raptures swell; Alike for feast and fight prepared. High though his titles, proud his name, Battle and banquet both tiiey shared. Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Of late, before each martial clan. Despite those titles, power, and pelf, They blew their death-note in the van, Tiie wretch, concentered all in self. But now, for every merry mate, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, Kose the portcullis' iron grate: And, doubly dying, shall go down They sound the pipe, they strike the string, To the vile dust from whence he sprung, They dance, they revel, and they sing. Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. Till the rude turrets shake and ring.

Caledonia ! stern and wild. Me lists not at this tide declare Meet nurse foi- a poetic child! The splendour of the spousal rite. Land of brown heath and shaggy wood. How muster'd in the chapel fair Land of the mountain and the flood, Both maid and matron, squire and knight: Land of my sires! wliat mortal hand ]Me lists not tell of owches rare, (Jan e'er untie the filial band Uf mantles green, and braided hair.

'I'liat knits me to thy rugged strand? And kirtles furred with miniver;

Still, as 1 view each well-known scene, What plumage waved the altar round. Tiiink what is now, and what hath been, How spurs, and ringing chainlets, sound: Seems, as to me, of all bereft. .\nd hard it were for bard to speak Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; The changeful hue of Margaret's cheek,

And thus I love them better still. That lovely hue which comes and flies, Even in extremity of ill. As awe and shame alternate rise! By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way; Some bards have sung, the Ladye high Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, Chapel or altar came not nigh; rites of grace, Although it chill my wither'd cheek; Nor durst the spousal Still lay my head by Teviot stone, So much she feared each fioly place. Fal.sc .slanders these: I trust right well She wrought not by forbidden spell; ' Byron preferred tin's poem to any other of Scott's iiieiricil loiiiancep. — Ed. For mighty Avords and signs have power —

WALTER SCOTT. 4V,-

O'er sprites in planetary liour; Redeem — my pennon—charge again I Yet scarce I praise their venturous part, Cry 'Marniion to the rescue!' — A'ain! AViio tamper with such dangerous art. Last of my race, on battle plain But this tor faitliful truth, I say, That shout shall ne'er be heard again! Tiie Ladye by the altar stood, Yet my la.st thought is England's: — fly; (Jf sable velvet her array. To Dacre bear my signet ring; And on her head a crimson hood, Tell him his .squadrons up to bring. With pearls embroidered and entwined. Fitz-Eustace, to Lord Surrey hie: Guarded with gold, with ermine lined; Tunstall lies dead upon the field; A merlin sat upon her wrist, His life-blood stains the spotless .shield: Held by a leash of silken twist. Jldmund is down—my life is reft; The admiral alone is left.

The spousal rites were ended soon, Let Stanley charge with spur of fire 'Twas now the merry hour of noon, With Chester charge, and Lancashire, And in the lofty arched hall, Full upon Scotland's central host. AVas spread the gorgeous festival. Or victory and England's lost. Steward and squire, with heedful haste, Must I bid twice? Hence, varlets! fly! Marshall'd the rank of every guest; Leave Marmion here alone— to die!" Pages, with ready blade, were there. They parted, and alone he lay; The mighty meal to carve and share; Clare drew her from the sight away O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane. Till pain wrung forth a lowly moan. And princely peacock's gilded train. And half he murmured: "Is there none And o'er the boar-head, garnish'd brave, Of all my halls have nurst. And cygnet from St. Jlary's wave. Page, squire, or groom, one cup to bring O'er ptarmigan and veni.son, Of ble.ssed water from the spring. The priest had spoke his benison. To slake my dying thirst!'' Then ro.se the riot and the din.

Above, beneath, without, within ! 0, woman! in our hours of ease. For, from the lofty balcony, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, Ivung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery; And variable as the shade

Their clanging bowls old warriors quaff' d, By the light quivering aspen made; Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh'd: When pain and anguish wring the brow, Whisper'd young knights, in tone more mild. A ministering angel thou! To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. Scarce were the piteous accents .said, The hooded hawks, high perch'd on beam. When, with the baron's casque, the maid The clamour join'd witii whistling scream, To the nigh streamlet ran: And flapp'd their wings, and .shook their bells. Forgot were hatred, wrongs, and fears; In concert with the stag-hounds' yells. The plaintive voice alone she hears. Ilound go the flasks of ruddy wine, Sees but the dying man. From Bourdeau.x, Orleans, or the Rhine; She stoop'd her by the runnel's side. Their tasks the busy sewers ply, But in abhorrence backward drew; And all is mirth and revelrv. For, oozing from the mountain side, AVhere raged the war, a dark red tide Was curdling in the streamlet blue. AVhere shall she turn?— behold her mark THE DEATH OF MARMION.i A little fountain-cell. Where water, clear as diamond spark. (from marmio.v.) In a stone basin fell. Above, some half- worn letters say, When, doffed his casque, he felt free air, DRINK. WEARY. PILGRIM. DRINK. AND. PRAY. Ai'ound 'gan ^larmion wildly stare: FOR. THE. KIND. SOUL. OF. SYBIL. GREY. "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz-Eu.stace where? WHO. BUILT. THIS. CROSS. AND. WELL. Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare! She filled the helm, and back she hied. And with surprise and joy espied ' Marmiou is generally conceded to be the most power- A monk supporting Marmion's head; ful of all Scott's jwems. "Koone,"sa5s Allan Cunning- pious duty brought ham, 'since the days of Homev, has sung with such an A man, whom impetuous and burning breath the muster, the marcli, To dubious verge of battle fought. the onset, and all the fiery vicissitudes of battle."— Ed. To shrieve the dying, bless the dead. ——• — :

468 WALTER SCOTT.

Deep drank Lord Marmion of the wave, He shook the fragment of liis blade, And, as she stooped his brow to lave And shouted "Victory! 'Is it the hand of Clare," he said, Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!" "Or injured Constance, bathes my head?" Were the last words of .Marmion. Then, as remembrance rose— "Speak not to me of shrift or prayer! I must redress her woes. CHRISTMAS IN THE TIME. Short space, few words, are mine to spare; OLDEN " Forgive and listen, gentle Clare! (FROM MAKMION.) "Alasl" she said, "the while— think of your immortal weal! Heap on more wood! — the wind is chill; In vain for Constance is your zeal; But let it whistle as it will. She died at Holy Isle." We'll keep our Christmas merry still. Lord Marmion started from the ground. Each age has deein'd the new-born year As light as if he felt no wound; The fittest time for festal cheer; Though in the action burst the tide, Even, lieathen yet, the savage Dane In torrents, from his wounded side.— Xi lol more deep the mead did drain; "Then it was truth!"—he said "I knew High on the beach his galleys drew. That the dark presage must be true. And feasted all his pirate crew; 1 would the fiend, to whom belongs Then in his low and pine-built hall. The vengeance due to all her wrongs. Where shields and axes deck'd the wall, Would spare me but a day! They gorged upon the half-dressed steer. For wasting fire, and dying groan. Caroused in seas of sable beer; And priests slain on the altar stone, While round in brutal jest were thrown Might bribe him for delay. The lialf-gnaAv'd rib and marrow-bone. It may not be! — this dizzy trance Or listen'd all in grim delight Curse on yon base marauder's lance. While scalds yell'd out the joys of fight. And doubly cursed my failing brand! Then forth, in frenzy, would they hie. A sinful heart makes feeble hand!" While wildly loose their red locks fly. Then, fainting, down on earth he sunk, And dancing round the blazing pile, Supported by the trembling monk. They make such barbarous mirth the while, As best might to the mind recall With fruitless labour Clara bound, The boisterous joys of Odin's hall. And strove to staunch the gushing wound: The monk, with unavailing cares, And well our Christian sires of old Exhausted all the church's prayers; Loved when the year its course had roll'd, Ever, he said, that, close and near, And bi'ought blithe Christmas back again. A lady's voice was in his ear, With all his hospitable ti'ain. And that the priest he could not liear. Domestic and religious rite For that she ever sung, Gave honour to the holy night

"In the lost battle, home, down hy tlte flying, On Christmas eve the bells were rung ; Where mingles wars rattle with groans of the On Christmas eve the mass was sung; dying!" That only night in all the year. So the notes rung; Saw the stoled priest the chalice rear. "Avoid thee. Fiend !— with cruel hand, The damsel donn'd her kirtle sheen; Shake not the dying sinner's sand! The hall was dress'd with holly green; <) look, my sou, u[)on yon sign Forth to the wood did merry men go, Of the IJedeemer's grace divine; To gather in the mistletoe. O think on faith and bliss! Then open'd wide the baron's hall By many a death-l)ed I have been, To vassal, tenant, serf, and all; And many a sinner's parting seen, Power laid his rod of rule aside. IJut never aught like this." And Ceremony doff'd his pride. Tiie war, that for a space did fail, The heir, with roses in his shoes, Now trebly thundering, swelled the gale, That night might village partner choose. -Vnd— Stanley! was the cry; Tlie Lord, underogating, share \ light on iMarmion's visage spread. The vulgar game of "post and pair." And fired his glazing eye: All hail'd, with uncontroH'd delight, Witii dying hand above his iiead And general voice, the happy night, ! ; ; ;! ; —

WALTER SCOTT. 469

Tliat to the cottage, as tlie crown, He went not with the bold Buccleuch, IJrought tidings of salvation down. His banner broad to rear He went not 'gainst the EngUsh yew, To lift the Scottish sjjcar. Tiie fire, with well-dried logs sufiplied, Went roaring up the chimney wide; Yet his plate-jack^ was braced, and his helmet The huge hall-table's oaken face, was laced, Scrubh'd till it shone, the day to grace, And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore Bore then upon its massive board At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sporthe, No mark to part the squire and lord. Full ten pound weight and more. Then was brought in the lusty brawn By old blue-coated serving-man; The Baron retum'd in three days space Then the grim boar's head frown'd on high. And his looks were sad and sour; Crested with bays and rosemary. And weary was his courser's pace, Well can the green-garb'd ranger tell, As he reached his rocky tower. JIow, when, and where the monster fell; What dogs before his death he tore, He came not from where Ancram Moor Ran red with English And all the baiting of the boar. blood ; The wassail round, in good brown bowls, Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, Garnish'd with ribbons, blithely trowls. 'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood. There the huge sirloin reek'd; hard by Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd, Plum-j)orridge stood, and Christmas-pie; His acton pierced and tore, Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce, His a.xe and his dagger with l)lood imbrued, At such high tide, her savoury goose. But it was not English gore. Then came the merry masquers in. And carols roar'd with blithesome din; He lighted at the Chapellage, If unmelodious was the song, He held him clo.se and still It was a hearty note, and strong. And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page, Who lists may in their mumming see His name was English Will. Traces of ancient mystery; "Come thou hither, little foot-page. AVhite shirts supplied the masquerade, my Come hither to my knee And smutted cheeks the visors made ; Though thou art young, and tender of age, But, (J ! what masquers, richly dight, I think thou art true to me. Can boast of bosoms half so light

England was merrj- England, when "Come, tell me all that thou hast seen, Old Christmas brought his sports again. And look thou tell me true 'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale; Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been, 'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale; What did thy lady do?"— A Chi'istmas gambol oft could cheer The poor man's heart through half the year. "My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, That burns on the wild Watchfold; For, from height to height, the beacons bright Of the English foemen told.

stair; on the roof are two bartizans or platfoinie for THE EVE OF ST. JOHN.i defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer, an iron gate; the distance between The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day, tliem being nine feet, tlie thickness, namely, of the spurr'd his courser on. He wall. From the elevated situation of Smaylho'me Without stop or stay, down the rocky way, Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among That leads to Brotherstone. the ciags by which it is surrounded, one. more eminent, is called the Watshfold, and is said to have been the 1 Smaylho'me or Smallholm Tower, the scene of this station of a beacon in the times of war with England. ballad, is situated on the northern boundarj' of Rox- Without the tower court is a ruined chapel. Brother- burghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks called stone is a heath in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Sandikow Crags. The tower is a high square build- Tower. ing surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. Tlie This ballad was firet printed in Mr. Lewis's TaUn of circuit of the outer court, being defended on three Wonder. The catastrophe of the tale is founded upon sides by a precipice and morass, is accessible only a well-known Irish tradition. from the west, by a steep and rocky j.ath. The apart- 2 The plate jack is coat armour; the vaunt brace ments, as is usual in a Border keep or fortress, are or wam brace, armour for the body; the sperthe, a j>laced one above anotlier, and cunimuiiicate by a narrow battle-axe. ; —; ——; —; —! ———— —" —

470 WALTER SCOTT.

moss, "He tuni'd him around, and grimly he frown'd "The bittern clamour'd from the ; The wind blew loud and shrill Then he laugh'd right scornfully Yet the craggy pathway she did cross ' He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that To the eiry Beacon Hill. knight. May as well say mass for me: "I watch'd her steps, and silent came Where she sat her on a stone ; "'At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits No watchman stood by the dreary flame. have power. It bunied aU alone. In thy chamber will I be.' With that he was gone, and my lady left alone. "The second night I kept her in sight. And no more did I see." Till to the fire she came. I trow, bold And, by Mary's might ! an armed knight Then changed, was that Baron's brow. Stood by the lonely flame. From the dark to the blood-red high; "Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast "And many a word that warlike lord seen. Did sjieak to my lady there For, by Mary, he shall die ! " But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast.

' And I heard not what they were. ' His amis shone full bright, in the beacon's red light: "The third night there the sky was fair. His plume it was scarlet and blue; And the mountain-blast was still. On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, As again I watch'd the secret pair, And his crest was a branch of the yew." On the lonesome Beacon Hill. "Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot- page,

"And I heard her name the midnight hour. Loud dost thou he to me ! And name this holy eve For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould. ; And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower; All under the Eildon-tree." Ask no bold Baron's leave.

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord ! "'He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch; For I heard her name his name; His lady is all alone And that lady bright, she called the knight The door she'll undo, to her knight so true, Sir Richard of Coldinghame." On the eve of good St. John.' The bold Baron's brow then changed, I trow, " 'I cannot come; I must not come; From high blood-red to pale

' I dare not come to thee; ' The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is On the eve of St. John I must wander alone: stiff and stark — In thy bower I may not be.' So I may not trast thy tale.

" ' Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight "Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose, Thou shouldst not say me nay; And Eildon slopes to the plain. Vov the eve is sweet, and Vv-hen lovers meet, Full three nights ago, by some secret foe. Is worth the whole summer's day. That gay gallant was slain.

" ' And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder "The varying light deceived thy sight, shall not sound. And the wild winds drown'd the name; And iiishes shall be strew'd on the stair; For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white So, by the black rood-stone, and by holy St. John, monks do sing.

! ' I conjure thee, my love, to be there For Sir Richard of Coldinghame I

'"Though the blood-hound be mute, and the He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower- rush beneath my foot. gate, And the warder his bugle should not blow. And he mounted the narrow stair. Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on * cast. her wait. And my footstep he would know.' — He found his lady fair.

" ' fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east. That lady sat in mournful mood ;

For to Diyburgh the way he has ta'en Look'd over hill and vale ; .\nrl there to say mass, till three days do pass, Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's wood. For the soul of a knight that is slayne.' And all down Tcviotdale. ; ; ———— — —; —; — — : ;

WALTER SCOTT. 471

!" "Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright He laid his left palm on an oaken beam

' ' Now hail, thou Baron true ! His right upon her hand ;

What news, what news, from Ancrani fight ? The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk, What news from the bold Buccleuch?" For it scorch'd like a fiery brand.

"The Ancram Moor is red with gore, The sable score, of fingers four. For many a southern fell Remains on that board impress'd ; And Buccleuch has charged us, evennore. And for evermore that lady wore To watch our beacons well." A covering on her wrist.

The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said: There is a nun in Dryburgh bower

Nor added the Baron a word : Ne'er looks upon the sun; Then she stepp'd down the stau* to her chamber There is a monk in Melrose tower. fair. He speaketh word to none. And so did her moody lord. That nun, who ne'er beholds the day, In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd That monk, who speaks to none and tum'd, That nun was Smaylho'mc's Lady gay, And oft to himself he said, That monk the bold Barou. "The woims around him creep, and his bloody

grave is deep. . . . It cannot give up the dead !" THE BATTLE OF BANNOCKBUnN. It was near the ringing of matin-bell, The night was well-nigh done. (from the lord of the isles.') When a hea%'y sleep on that Baron fell. On the eve of good St. John. Tlie King had deem'd the maiden liriglit Sliould reacli him long before tlic figlit, The lady look'd tloi-ough the chamber fair. But storms and fate lier course delay By the light of a dying flame ; It was on eve of battle-day. And she was aware of a knight stood there When o'er the Giilie's-iiill .sjie rode.

Sir Richard of Coldinghame ! The landscape like a furnace glow'd, And far as e'er tlie eye was borne. "Alas! away, away!" she cried, The lances waved like autumn-corn. " For the holy Virgin's sake ! "

' In battles four beneath their eye, ' Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side The forces of King Robert lie. But, lady, he will not awake. And one below the hill was laid,

"By Eildon-tree, for long nights three, Reserved for rescue and for aid: line, In bloody grave have I lain And three, advanced, forni'd vaward ; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me. . 'Twixt Bannock's brook and Ninian's slirinc. But, lady, they are said in vain. Detacli'd was each, yet eacli so nigii As well might mutual aid supply. "By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand. Beyond, the Southern host appears, Most foully slain, I fell A boundless wilderness of spears, And my restless sprite on the beacon's height. Whose verge or rear the an.xious eye For a space is doom'd to dwell. Strove far, but strove in vain, to spy. Thick flashing in the evening beam. "At our trysting-place, for a certain space, Glaives, lances, bills, and banners gleam: I must wander to and fro; .\nd where the lieaven join'd with the hill. But I had not had power to come to thy bower, Was distant armour flashing still. Had'st thou not conjured me so." So wide, so far, the boundless host Love master'd fear—her brow she cross'd Seem'd in the blue horizon lost. "How, Richard, hast thou sped? And art thou saved, or art thou lost?" Down from the hill flic maiden pass'd,

The vision shook his head ! At tlie wild show of war aghast;

"Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life; ' Tfie poem is now, I believe, about as popnliir m So bid thy lord believe: " Rokeby," but it has never reacIieJ tlie simie stJifioii That lawless love is guilt above. in Eenerai favour with the "Lay," "Marinion," or the This awful sign receive." ' Lady of the Lake."— yo/oj Gibson Lockhart. — — —— ———

472 WALTER SCOTT.

And traversed first the rearward host, The JFonarch rode along the van, Keserved for aid where needed most. The foe's approaching force to scan, The men of Carrick and of Ayr, His line to marshal and to range, Lennox and Lanark, too, were there, And ranks to square, and fronts to change. And all the western land: .\lone he rode— from head to heel AVith these the valiant of the Isles Sheathed in his ready arms of steel; Beneath their chieftains rank'd their files, Nor mounted yet on war-horse wight, In man}' a plaided band. But, till more near the shock of tight, There, in the centre, proudly raised, Reining a palfrey low and light. The Bruce's royal standard blazed, A diadem of gold was set And there Lord Ronald's banner bore Above his bright steel basinet, A galley driven by sail and oar. .\nd clasp'd within its glittering twine A wild, yet pleasing contrast, made ^Vas seen the glove of Argentine; "Warriors in mail and plate array'd, Truncheon or leading staflThe lacks, With the plumed bonnet and the plaid Bearing, instead, a battle-axe. By these Hebrideans worn; He ranged his soldiers for the fight, But 0! unseen for three long years. Accoutred thus, in open sight Dear was the garb of mountaineers Of either host. —Three bowshots far. the deep front of England's war, To the fair JIaid of Lorn ! Paused For one she look'd — but he was far And rested on their arms awhile. Busied amid the ranks of war To close and rank their warlike tile, Yet with affection's troubled eye And hold high council, if that night She mark'd his banner boldly fly, Should view the strife, or dawning light. Gave on the countless foe a glance, gay, yet fearful to behold. And thought on battle's desperate chance. Flashing with steel and rough with gold. And bristled o'er with bills and spears. To centre of the vaward-line With plumes and pennons waving fail-. Fitz-Louis guided Amadine. Was that bright battle-front! for tliere all on foot, that host appears Arm'd Rode England's King and peers: serried mass of glimmering spears. A And who, that saw that monarch ride. There stood the Marchers' warlike band, His kingdom battled by his side. The warriors there of Lodon's land; Could then his direful doom foretell I Ettrick and Liddell bent the yew, Fair was his seat in knightly selle, band of archers tierce, though few; A And in his sprightly eye was set The men of Nith and Annan's vale. Some spark of the Plantagenet. And the bold Spears of Teviotdale; Though light and wandering was his glance, The dauntless Douglas these obey, It flash'd at sight of shield and lance. And the young Stuart's gentle sway. " Know'st thou," he said, "De Argentine, North-eastward by Saint Ninian's shrine, Yon knight who marshals thus their line?" lieneath fierce Randolph's charge, combine " The tokens on his helmet tell The warriors whom the hardy North The Bruce, my Liege: I know him well." From Tay to Sutherland sent forth. " And shall the audacious traitor brave The rest of Scotland's war-array The presence where our banners wave?" "Witii Edward Bruce to westward lay. "So please my Liege," said Argentine, Where Bannock, with liis broken bank " Were he but horsed on steed like mine. And deep ravine, protects their flank. To give him fair and knightly chance, liehind tlicm, screen'd by sheltering wood. 1 would adventure forth my lance." The gallant Keith, Lord Marshal, stood: " In battle-day," the King replied, Jlis men-at-arms bear mace and lance. " Nice tourney rules are set aside. And plumes that wave, and helms that glance. — Still must the rebel dare our wrath? Thus fair divided by the King, Set on him— sweep him from our path!" Centre, and right, and left-ward wing. And. at King Edward's signal, soon Composed his front ; nor distant far Dash'd from the ranks Sir Henry Bonne. Was strong reserve to aid the war. And 'twas to front of this array. Of Hereford's high blood he came, Her guide and Edith made their way. A race renown'd for knightly fame. Here must they pause: for, in advance He i)iirn'd before his IMonarch's eye As far as one might pitch a lance, To do some deed of chivalry. — — —— ————————

WALTER SCOTT. 473

He spurr'd his steed, he couch'd his lance, Fate plays her wonted fantasy, And darted on the Bruce at once. Kind Amadine, with thee and me, —As motionless as rocks, that bide And sends thee here in doubtful hour. The wrath of the advancing tide, But soon we are beyond her power; The Bruce stood fast. —Each breast beat high. For on this cho.sen battle-plain, And dazzled was each gazing eye Victor or vanquish'd, I remain. The heart had hardly time to tliink, Do thou to yonder hill repair; The eyelid scarce had time to wink, The followers of our host are there. AVhile on the King, like flash of flame, And all who may not weapons bear. Spurr'd to full speed the war-horse came! Fitz-Louis, have him in thy care. The partridge may the falcon mock, Joyful we meet, if all go well; If that sliglit palfrey stand tiie shock If not, in Arran's holy cell But, swerving from the Knight's career. Thou must take part with Isabel; Just as they met, Bruce shunn'd the spear. For brave Lord Konald, too, hath sworn, Onward the baffled Avarrior bore Not to regain the JIaid of Lorn,

His course—but soon his course was o'er I (The bliss on earth he covets most,) High in iiis stirrups stood tlie King, Would he forsake his battle-post. And gave his battle-axe tlie swing. Or shun the fortune that may fall Right on De Bonne, the wiiilos he pass'd, To Bruce, to Scotland, and to all. Fell tliat stern dint— the first—the last! But, hark! some news these trumpets tell; 1" Such strength upon the blow was put. Forgive my haste— farewell ! —farewell The helmet crash'd like hazel nut; And in a lower voice he said, " "- The axe-siiaft, with its brazen clasp. Be of good cheer-^farewell, sweet maid ! Was shiver'd to the gauntlet grasp. Springs from tiie blow the startled horse. " What train of dust, with trumpet-sound Drops to the plain the lifeless corse; And glimmering spears, is wheeling round — First of tiiat fatal field, how soon, Our leftward flank?"—the ^Monarch cried. Howsudden, fell the fierce De Bonne! To iloray's Earl who rode beside. " Lo! round thy station pass the foes! One pitying glance the Monarch sped, IJandolph, thy wreath has lost a rose." Wliere on the field his foe lay dead; The Earl his visor clo.sed, and said, Then gently turn'd iiis palfrey's head. " My wreath shall bloom, or life shall fade.- And, pacing back his sober way, Follow, my household !" —And they go Slowly he gain'd his own array. Like lightning on the advancing foe. There round their King the leaders crowd. " ily Liege," said noble Douglas then, And blame his recklessness aloud. " Earl Randolph has but one to ten: That risk'd 'gainst each adventurous spear Let me go forth his band to aid !" A life so valued and so dear. — " Stir not. The error he hath made. His broken weapon's shaft survey 'd Let him amend it as he may; The King, and careless answer made, — I will not weaken mine array." " My loss may pay my folly's tax; Then loudly ro.se the conflict-cry, I've broke my trusty battle-axe." And Douglas's brave heart swell'd high, 'Twas then Fitz-Louis. bending low. " My Liege," he said, "with patient ear

Did Isabel's commission show; I must not Jloray's death-knell hear!"— Edith, disguised at distance stands, " Then go— but speed thee back again." And hides her blushes witii her hands. Forth sprung the Douglas with his train: The Monarch's brow has changed its hue. But, Avhen they won a rising hill, Away the gory axe he tiirew, He bade his followers hold them still. " While to the seeming page he drew, See, see ! tiie routed Soutiicrn fly! Clearing war's terrors from his eye. The Earl hath Avon the victory. Her hand with gentle ease he took. Lo! Avhere yon steeds run mastcrless. With such a kind protecting look, His banner towers above the press. As to a weak and timid boy Rein up; our presence Avould impair Might speak, that elder brother's care The fame we come too late to share." And elder brother's love were there. Back to the host the Douglas rode. And soon glad tidings are abroad, '• Fear not," he said, "young Amadine !" That, Dayncourt by stout Randolph slain, Then whisper d, "Still that name be thine. His foUoAvers fled Avith loosen'd rein. • — ! —! ———

474 WALTER SCOTT.

Tlmt skirmish closed the bus}' day, Beside him many a war-horse fumes, And coiieh'd in battle's prompt array, Around him waves a sea of plumes. Each army on their weapons lay. Where many a knight in battle known, And some who spurs had first braced on. It was a night of lovely June, And deem'd that fight should see them «on, High rode in cloudless blue the moon, King Edward's bests obey. Deniayet smiled beneath her ray De Argentine attends his side, ; Old Stirling's towers arose in light, AVith stout De Valence, Pembroke's pride. And. twined in links of silver bright, Selected champions from the train. Her winding river lay. To wait upon his bridle-rein. the Scottish foe Ah. gentle planet ! other sight Upon he gazed Shall greet thee next returning night, — At once, before his sight amazed, Of broken arms and banners tore. Sunk banner, spear, and shield; And marshes dark with human gore. Each weapon-point is downward sent. And piles of slaughter'd men and horse. Each warrior to the ground is bent. And Forth that floats the frequent corse, "The rebels, Argentine, repent! And many a wounded wretch to plain For pardon they have kneel'd." Beneath tiiy silver light in vain! '•'Aye! — but they bend to other powers.

But now, from England's host, the cry And other pardon sue than ours ! Thou hear'st of wassail revelry, See where yon bare-foot Abbot stands,

AVhile from the Scottish legions pas.s And blesses them with lifted hands! .

The murmur'd prayer, the early mass I Upon the spot where they have kneel'd, Here, numbers had presumption given; —The.se men will die, or win the field." There, l)ands o'er-match'd sought aid from " Then prove we if they die or win ! Heaven. Bid Gloster's Earl the fight begin."

On Gillie's-hill, whose height commands Earl Gilbert waved his truncheon high. The battle-field, fair Edith stands. Just as the Northern ranks aro.se. With serf and page unfit for war. Signal for England's archery To eye the conflict from afar. To halt and bend their bows. Then stepp'd each yeoman forth a pace. O ! with what doubtful agony She sees the dawning tint the skyl— Glanced at the intervening space. Now on the Ochils gleams the sun, And rai.sed his left hand high; And glLstens now Demayet dun; To the right ear the cords they bring Is it the lark that carols shrill. — At once ten thousand bow-strings ring,

Is it the bittern's early hum? Ten thousand arrows fly No!— distant, but increasing still. Nor paused on the devoted Scot The trumpet's sound swells up the hill. The ceaseless fury of their shot; With the deep murmur of the tlruin. As fiercely and as fast, I'esponsive from the Scottish host, Forth whistling came the gray-goose wing Pipe-clang and bugle sound were toss'd. As the wild hailstones pelt and ring His breast and brow each soldier cross'd. Adown December's blast. And started from the ground: Nor mountain targe of tough bull-hide, Arm'd and array 'd for instant fight, Nor lowland mail, that storm may bide; Iiose archer, spearman, squire and knight, Woe, woe to Scotland's banner'd pride, last And in the pomp of battle bright 1 f the fell shower may The dread battalia frown'd. Upon the right, behind the wood, Each by his steed dismounted, stood Now onward, and in open view. The Scottish chivalry;— The countless ranks of England drew, With foot in stirrup, hand on mane. D.irk rolling like the ocean-tide. Fierce I^dward Bruce can scarce restrain When the rough west hath chafed his pride, His own keen heart, his eager train, .\iid his deep roar sends ciiallenge wide Until the archers gain'd the plain; To all that bars his way! Then, "Mount, ye gallants free!" In front the gallant archers trode. He cried; and, vaulting from the ground, The men-at-arms behind them rode, His saddle every horseman found. And midmost of the phalanx broad On high their glittering crests they toss, The Monarch held his sway. As springs the wild-fire from the moss; "——— —

WALTER SCOTT. 475

Tlie sliielJ hangs down on every breast. As far as Stirling rock. Each ready lance is in tlie rest, Down! down: in headlong overthrow, And loud shouts Edward Bruce, Horseman ami hor.se, the foremost go. " Forth, Marshal ! on the peasant foe ! Wild floundering on the field! We'll tame the terrors of their bow, The first are in destruction's gorge.

And cut the bow-string loose I Their followers wildly o'er them urge; — The knightly helm and shield, Then spurs were dash'd in chargers' flanks. The mail, the acton, and the spear. They rush'd among the archer ranks. Strong hand, high heart, are u.-^ele-ss here I No spears were there the shock to let. Loud from the mass confused the cry No stakes to turn the charge were set; Of dying warriors swells on high. And how shall yeoman's armour slight steeds And that shriek in agony ! Stand tlie long lance and mace of might? They came like mountain-torrent red. Or what may their short swords avail. That thunders o'er its rocky bed; 'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail? They broke like that same torrent's wave Amid their ranks the chargers sprung. When swallow'd by a darksome cave. High o'er their heads the weapons swung, Billows on billows burst and boil, And shriek and groan and vengeful shout Maintaining still the stern turmoil.

Give note of triumph and of rout I And to their wild and tortured groan Awhile, with stubborn hardihood. Each adds new terrors of his own ! Their English hearts the strife made good. Jiorne down at length on every side, Too strong in courage and in might Compell'd to flight, they scatter wide. Was England yet, to yield the fight. ]jet stags of Sherwood leap for glee. Her noblest all are here ;

And bound the deer of Dallom-Lee ! Names that to fear were never known. The broken bows of Bannock's shore Bold Norfolk's Earl De Brotherton,

Shall in the greenwood ring no more ! And Oxford's famed De Vere. liouud Wakefield's merry May-pole now, There Gloster plied the bloody sword, The maids may twine the summer bough, And Berkley, Grey, and Hereford, May northward look with longing glance. Bottetourt and Sanzavere, For those that wont to lead the dance, Ross. Montague, and Mauley, came,

¥ov the blithe arciiers look in vain ! And Courtenay's pride, and Percy's fame Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en, Names known too well in Scotland's war. I'ierced through, trode down, by thousands At Falkirk, Methven, and Dunbar, slain, Blazed broader yet in after years, They cumber Bannock's bloody plain. At Cressy red and fell Poitiers. Pembroke with these, and Argentine, Tlie King with .scorn beheld their flight. Brought up the rearward battle-line. '•-Vre these," he said, "our yeomen wight? With caution o'er the ground they tread. Each braggart churl could boast before. Slippery with blood and piled with dead, Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore! Till hand to hand in battle set. Fitter to plunder chase or park, The bills with spears and axes met. Than make a manly foe their mark. And, closing dark on every side. Forward, eacli gentleman and knightl Paged the full contest far and wide. Let gentle blood show generous might. Then was the strength of Douglas tried. And chivalry redeem tlie fightl" Then proved was Pandolph's generous priile, To rightward of the wild affray. And well did Stewart's actions grace The field show'd fair and level way; The sire of Scotland's royal race! But, in mid-space, the Bruce's care Firmly they kept their ground; Had bored the ground with many a pit. As firmly England onward press'd, With turf and brushwood hidden yet, And down went many a noble crest, That form'd a ghastly snare. And rent was many a valiant breast. Ensiling, ten thousand horsemen came. And Slaughter revell'd round. With .'ipears in rest, and hearts on flame.

That panted for the shock ! Unflinching foot 'gainst foot was set,

With blazing crests and banners spread, Unceasing blow by blow was met ; And trumpet-clang and clamour dread. The groans of those who fell The wide plain thunder'd to their tread, Were drown'd amid the shriller clang ; ! — ! ! — ——

476 WALTER SCOTT.

That from the blades and liariiess rang, Leaving their noblest in their gore. And in the battle-j'ell. Alone, De Argentine Yet fast they fell, unheard, forgot, Yet bears on high his red-cross shield. Both Southern fierce and hardy Scot; Gathers the relics of the field,

And ! amid that waste of life. Renews the ranks where they have reel'd.

What various motives fired the strife ! And still makes good the line. The aspiring Noble bled for fame, Brief strife, but fierce, —his efforts raise The Patriot for his country's claim; A bright but momentary blaze. This Knight his youthful strength to pi'ove, Fair Edith heard the Southron shout, And that to win his lady's love; Beheld them turning from the rout. Some fought from rufiian thirst of blood, Heard the wild call their trumpets sent, From habit some, or hardihood. In notes 'twixt triumph and lament. But ruflian stern, and soldier good, That rallying force, combined anew, The noble and the slave. Appear'd in her distracted view,

From various cause the same wild road, To hem the Islesmen round ; " On tlie same bloody morning, trode. God ! the combat they renew.

To that dark inn, the grave ! And is no rescue found ! And ye that look thus tamely on. The tug of strife to flag begins, And see your native land o'erthrown,

Though neither loses yet nor wins. ! are your hearts of flesh or stone?" High rides the sun, thick rolls the dust, And feebler speeds the blow and thrust. The multitude that watch'd afar, Douglas leans on his war-sword now. Rejected from the ranks of war, And Randolph wipes his bloody brow: Had not unmoved beheld the fight. Nor less had toil'd each Southern kniglit. When strove the Bruce for Scotland's right; From morn till mid-day in the fight. Each heart had caught the patriot spark. Strong Egremont for air must gasp, Old man and stripling, priest and clerk. Beauchamp undoes his visor-clasp, Bondsman and serf; even female hand And Montague must quit his spear. Stretch'd to the hatchet or the brand; And sinks thy falchion, bold De Vere But, when mute Amadine they heard The blows of Berkley fall less fast. Give to their zeal his signal-word, And gallant Pembroke's bugle-blast A frenzy fired the throng ; Hath lost its lively tone; " Portents and miracles impeach Sinks, Argentine, thy battle-word, Our sloth —the dumb our duties teach And Percy's shout was fainter heard, And he that gives the mute his speech, " My merry-men, fight on !" Can bid the weak be strong. To us, as to our lords, are given ]5ruce, with the pilot's wary eye. A native earth, a promised heaven; The slackening of the storm could spy. To us, as to our lords, belongs " One effort more, and Scotland's free! The vengeance for our nation's wrongs; Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee The choice, 'twixt death or freedom, warms Is firm as Ailsa Rock Our breasts as theirs— To arms, to arms!" Rush on with Highland sword and targe, To arms they flew, —axe, club, or spear, I, with my Carrick spearmen, charge; And mimic ensigns high they rear. !" Now, forward to tlie shock And, like a banner'd host afar. At once the spears were forward thrown, Bear down ou England's wearied war. Against the sun the broadswords shone; Tiie jiibroch lent its maddening tone, .VIready scatter'd o'er the plain. And loud King Robert's voice was known- Reproof, command, and counsel vain. " Carrick, press on —they fail, they fail The rearward squadrons fled amain. Press on, brave sons of Innisgail, Or made but doubtful stay: The foe is fainting fast But when they mark'd the seeming show Each strike for parent, child, and wife, Of fresh and fierce and marsiiall'd foe. For Scotland, liberty, and life, The boldest broke array. !" The battle cannot last give tlieir hapless prince his due. In vain the royal Edward threw Tiie fresh and desperate onset bore Ills person 'mid the sjiears, The foes tiiree furlongs back and more. Cried, " Fight!" to terror and despair. —— " — ! —: ———

WALTER SCOTT. 477

Menaced, and wept, and tore his hair, He raised his red-cross shield no more, And cursed tlieir caitift' fears; Helm, cuish, and brea.stplate stream'd with Till Pembroke tiiru'd his bridle-rein, gore, And forced him from the fatal plain. Yet, as he saw the king advance. With them rode Argentine, until He strove even then to couch his lance They gain'd the summit of the hill, The effort was in vain ! ]5ut quitted there the train: The spur-stroke fail'd to rouse the horse; " In yonder field a gage I left, Wounded and weary, in mid course I must not live of fame bereft; He stumbled on the plain. I needs must turn again. Then foremost was the generous Bruce Speed hence, my Liege, for on your trace To raise his head, his helm to loose;— The fiery Douglas takes the chase, " Lord Earl, the day is thine! I know his banner well. My Sovereign's charge, and adverse fate. God send my sovereign joy and bliss. Have made our meeting all too late:

And many a happier field than this ! Yet this may Argentine, Once more, my Liege, farewell." As boon from ancient comrade, crave A Christian's mass, a soldier's grave." Again he faced the battle-field, Wildly they fly, are slain, or yield. Bruce press'd his dying hand — its grasp "Now then," he said, and couch'd his .spear, Kindly replied; but, in his clasp. It stiffen'd " My cour.se is run, the goal is near; and grew cold " " One efl'brt more, one brave career, And, farewell ! the victor cried, ' " Must close this race of mine. Of chivalry the flower and pride, Then in his stirrups rising higli. The arm in battle bold, He shouted loud his battle-cry, The courteous mien, the noble race, The stainless faith, the manly face! — "Saint James for Argentine I And, of the bold pursuers, four Bid Ninian's convent light their shrine. The gallant knight from saddle bore; For late-wake of De Argentine. O'er better knight But not unharm'd— a lance's point on death-bier laid. Has found his breastplate's loosen'd joint. Torch never gleam'd nor mass was said!" An axe has razed his crest: Nor for De Argentine alone. Yet .still on Colonsay's fierce lord. Through Kinian's church these torches shone, Who press'd the chase with gory sword. And rose the death-prayer's awful tone. He I'ode with spear in rest. That yellow lustre glimmer'd pale. And through his bloody tartans bored. On broken plate and bloodied mail, And through his gallant breast. Eent crest and shatter'd coronet, Xail'd to the earth, the mountaineer 0/ Baron, Earl, and Banneret Yet writhed him up against the spear. And the be.st names that England knew, And swung hi,s broadsword round! Claim'd in the death-prayer dismal due. — Stirrup, .steel-boot, and cuish gave way, Yet mourn not, Land of Fame I Beneath that blow's tremendous sway. Though ne'er the leopards on thy shield The blood giish'd from the wound: Retreated from so sad a field, And the grim of Lord Colonsay Since Norman William came. Hath turn'd him on the ground. Oft may thine annals justly boast And laugh'd in death-pang, that his blade Of battles stern by Scotland lost; The mortal thrust so well repaid. Grudge not her victory, AVhen for her freeborn rights she strove; Kow toll'd the Bruce, the battle done, Rights dear to all who freedom love, To use his conquest boldly won; To none so dear as thee And gave command for horse and spear To press the Southron's scatter'd rear, Turn we to Bruce, Avho.se curious ear Nor let his broken force combine, Must from FitzLouis tidings hear; —When the war-cry of Argentine AVith him, a hundred voices tell Fell faintly on his ear; Of prodigy and miracle, "Save, .save his life," he cried, "0 .save "For the mute page had spoke." The kind, the noble, and the brave!" " Page! " said Fitz- Louis, " rather say, The squadrons round free passage gave, An angel .sent from realms of day, The wounded knight drew near; To burst the Enslish voke. — — — — ———————! —; !

478 WALTER SCOTT.

Anld England held him lang and fast; I saw his plume and bonnet drop, AVhen hurrying from the mountain top; And Ireland had a joyfu' cast; Scotland's turn is come at last A lovely brow, dark locks that wave, But

Carle, now the King's come I To his bright eyes new lustre gave, A step as light upon the green, 1" .\uld Reekie, in her rokelay gray. As if his pinions waved unseen ''Spoke he with none?"— "With none—one Thought never to have seen the day; word He's been a weary time away Burst when he saw the Island Lord, But, Carle, now the King's come ! Eeturning from the battle-field." "What answer made the Chief?"— "Hekncel'd, She's .skirling frae the Castle-hill; Durst not look up, but mutter'd low, The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill, Some mingled sounds that none might know, Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill And greeted him 'twixt joy and fear, Carle, now the King's come! As being of superior sphere." " Up, bairns!" she cries, baith grit and sma', Even upon Bannock's bloody plain, And busk ye for the weapon-shaw! lleap"d then with thousands of the slain, Stand by me, and we'll bang them a' '.Mid victor monarch's musings high. Carle, now the King's come! Mirth laugh'd in good King Robert's eye. "And bore he such angelic air, " Come from Newbattle's ancient .spires, Such noble front, such waving hair? Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squire.s, Hath Ronald kneel'd to him?" he said, And match the mettle of your sires " to aid Then must we call the church Carle, now the King's come ! Our will be to the Abbot known, Ere tliese strange news are Avider blown. " You're welcome hame, my Montagu! To Cambuskenneth straight ye pass, Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch; And deck the church for solemn mass, I'm missing some that I may rue given, To pay for high deliverance Carle, now the King's come ! A nation's thanks to gracious Heaven. Let him array, besides, such state. " Come, Haddington, the kind and gay, As should on princes' nuptials wait. You've graced my causeway mony a day; Ourself the cause, through fortune's spite, I'll weep the cause if you should stay

Tiiat once broke short tliat spousal rite, Carle, now the King's come ! Ourself will grace, with early morn. The bridal of the Maid of I^orn." "Come, premier Duke, and carry doun Frae yonder craig his ancient croun; It's had a lang sleep and a soun' But, Carle, now the King'.? come CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME.i "Come, Atliole, from the hill and wood, BEING NEW WORDS TO AX AULD SPRING. Bring down your clansmen like a clud; Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood, PART FIRST.

Carle, now the King's come ! The news has flown frae mouth to mouth. The North for ance has bang'd the South; " Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath; Tiie deil a Scotsman's die o' drouth. Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death your bugle breath; Carle, now the King's come ! Come, Clerk, and give Carle, now the King's come CHORUS. Carle, now the King's come! " Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids; Carle, now the King's come! Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades; Tiiou shalt dance, and I will sing. lireadalbane, bring your belted plaids;

Carle, now the King's come! Carle, now the King's come !

I Tliis imitation of an old .Jacobite ditty was written "Come, stately Niddrie, auld and trne, on tlie ajipearance, in the Frith of Forth, of tlie fleet Girt with the sword that Minden knew; which conveyed his Majesty King George IV. to Scot- o'er few such lairds as you land, in August, 1822; and was imblislied as a bioad- AVe have Bide. Ed. Curie, now the King's come ! ———————!! — ———!!——!

WALTER SCOTT. 47D

" King Arthur's grown a common crier. We'll keep the cau.?eway firm and brave

He's heard in Fife and far Cantire, Carle, now the King's come ! !' ' Fie, lads, beliold my crest of tire Carle, now the King's come! "Sir Thomas, thunder from your rock. Till Pentland dinnles wi' the shock, " ' Saint Abb roars out, I see liim pass, And lace wi' fire my snood o' smoke — Ketween Tantallon and the Bass!' Carle, now the King's come Calton, get out your keeking-glass Carle, the King's come!" now " Melville, bring out your bands of blue, A' Louden lads, baith stout and true. Tlie Carline stopp'd; and, sure I am, With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, too For very glee had ta'en a duam, Carle, now the King's come But Oman help'd her to a dram. Cogie, now the King's come! "And you, who on yon bluidy braes Compell'd the vanquish'd despot's praise. Cogie, now the King's come! Hank out—rank out — gallant Grey's— Cogie, now the King's come! my Carle, now the King's come ! I'se be fou' and ye's be tooni, Cogie, now the King's come! "Cock o' the North, my Huntly bra', Where are you with the Forty-twa? PART SECOND. Ah! wae's my heart that ye're awa'

A Hawick gill of mountain dew, Carle, now the King's come !

Heised up Auld Reekie's heart, I trow, It minded her of Waterloo " But yonder come my canty Celts, Carle, now the King's come! With durk and pistols at their belts, Thank God, we've still some plaids and kilts- I heard her swell. Again summons Carle, now the King's come ! For, sic a dirdum and a yell, It Saint Giles's jowing bell — drown'd " Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell Carle, now the King's come Macdonnell's ta'en the field himsell, Macleod comes branking o'er the fell " trusty Provost, tried and tight. My Carle, now the King's come! Stand forward for the Good Town's right. There's waur than you been made a knight- " Bend up your bow each archer spark.

Carle, the King's come ! now For you're to guard him ligiit and dark; Faith, lads, for ance ye've hit the mark " My reverend Clergy, look ye say Carle, now the King's come ! The best of thanksgivings ye ha'e. warstle for day And a sunny " Young Errol, take the sword of state, Carle, the King's come now The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate; Knight Mareschal, see ye dear the gate " My Doctors, look that you agree, Carle, now the King's come Cure a' the town without a fee; Jly Lawyers, dinna pike a plea " Kind cummer, Leith, yc'vc been mis-sct, Carle, now the King's come! But dinna be upon the fret Ye'se hae the hand.sel of him yet, " Come forth each sturdy Burgher's bairn. Carle, now the King's come ! That dints on Avood or clanks on airn. That fires the o'en, or winds the pirn daughters, come with ccn sae blue, Carle, now the King's come "My Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew; you — " Come forward with the Blanket Blue, He ne'er saw fairer flowers than the King's come! Your sires were loyal men and true. Carle, now As Scotland's foemen oft might rue — " What shall we do for the propine Carle, now the King's come ! We used to offer something fine. "Scots downa loup, and rin, and rave. But ne'er a groat's in pouch of mine We're steadv folks and something grave. Carle, now the King's come! — —! —- — ; : —;

480 WALTER SCOTT.

'•' Deil care—for that I'se never start. "Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, We'll welcome him with Highland heart; Nor infancy's unpitied plain, AVhate'er we have he's get a part More than the Avarrior's groan, could gain

Carle, now the King's come Respite from ruthless butchery ! The winter wind that whistled shrill, " I'll show him mason-work this day Tiic snows that night that cloked the hill. Nane of your bricks of Babel clay, Though wild and pitiless, had still But towers shall stand till Time's away Far more than Southern clemency.

Carle, now the King's come !

" Long have my harp's he.st notes been gone. " I'll show him wit, I'll show him lair, Few are its strings, and faint their lone, And gallant lads and lasses fair, They can but sound in desert lone And what wad kind heart wish for niair? Their gray-hair'd master's misery. Carle, now the King's come ! Were each gray hair a minstrel string,

" Step out. Sir John, of projects rife, Each chord should imprecations fling. Come win the thanks of an auld wife, Till startled Scotland loud should ring, !'" And bring him health and length of life- 'lievenge for blood and treachery " Carle, now the King's come!

THE MASSACKE OF GLENCOE. LOCHINVAR. LADY heron's SONG (FROM MARMION). "0 tell me, Harper, wherefore flow Thy wayward notes of wail and woe, 0, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Far down the desert of Glencoe, Througli all the wide border his steed was the best Where none may list their melody? And save his good broad-sword he weapons had mists that fly. Say, harp'st thou to the none, to the dun-deer glancing by, Or He rode all nnarm'd, and he rode all alone. Or to the eagle, that from high So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?" There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

"No, not to these, for tiiey have rest, — He staid not for brake, and he stopp'd not for The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, stone. The stag his lair, the erne her nest. He swam the Eske river where ford there was Abode of lone security. none But those for whom I pour the lay, But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain gray. The bride had consented, the gallant came late: Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Could screen from treach'rous cruelty. Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

"Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall, The very household dogs were dumb, Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, Unwont to bay at guests that come and all In guise of hospitality. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his His blithest notes the piper plied, sword, Her gayest snood the maiden tied, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a The dame her distaff flung aside. word,) To tend her kindly housewifery. " come ye in peace here, or come ye in war. Or to dance at om- bridal, J^oung Lord Lochinvar?" "The hand that mingled in the meal, .\t drew the felon steel, midnight "I long woo'd your daughter, my suit yon denied; host's breast to foci And gave the kind Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide

for his hospitality ! Meed And now am I come, with this lost love of mine. The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, To lend but one measure, drink one cup of wine, At niiflnight arm'd it with the brand. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far. That bade destruction's flames expand That would gladly bo bride to the young Loch- " Their red and fearful blazonry. invar. ; ; : ; —! — ! —

WALTER SCOTT. 481

The bride kiss'd the goblet : the knight took There ro.se the choral hymn of praise, it up, And tramp and timbrel an.swer'd keen, tlie He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down And Zion's daughters pour'd tiicir lay.s, cup. AVitli priest's and warrior's voice between, blush, she look'd to She look'd down to and up No portents now our foes amaze, sigh, Forsaken Lsrael wanders lone: With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. Our fatlier.s would not know Thv wavs. He took her soft hand, ere hermothercould bai-, And Thou hast left them to their own. " Now tread we a measure !" said young Loch- invar. But present still, though nov unseen! When briglitly shines the prosjierous day, So stately his form, and .so lovely her face, Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen That never a hall such a galliard did grace; To temper the deceitful ray. While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And oh, when stoops on Judah's jiath And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet In shade and storm the frequent night. and plume; Be Thou, long-suffering, slow to wratii, And the bride-maidens whisper'd, " 'Twere A burning and a shining light better by far. To have match'd our fair cousin with young Our harps Ave left by Babel's .streams, Lochinvar." The tyrant's jest, the Geutile's scorn; No cen.ser round our altar beams, One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear. And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. When they reach'd the hall-door, and the charger But Thou hast .said. The blood of goat,

stood near The flesh of rams I will not prize; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swimg, \ contrite heart, a humlile thought, light before So to the saddle her he sprung Are mine accepted sacrifice. " She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur They'll have fleet steeds that follow,'' quotli young Lochinvar. THE SUN UPON THE WEIEDLAW

There was mounting 'mong Grtemes of tlie HILL. Netherby elan Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgi'aves, they rode The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill, and they ran In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet; There was racuig and chasing, on Cannobie Lee, The westland wind is hush and still, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. The lake lies sleeping at my feet. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war. Yet not the landscape to mine eye Have ye e'er heai'd of gallant like young Loch- Beai'S those bright hues that once it bore;

invar ! Though evening, with her richest dye. Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.

With listless look along the plain, HYMN OF THE HEBREW MAID.i I see Tweed's silver current glide. And coldly mark the holy fane When Israel, of the Lord beloved, Of Melro.se ri.se in ruin'd pride. Out from the land of bondage came, The (juiet lake, the balmy air. hill, thestream, the tower, the tree, Her fatliei''s God before her moved, The were? An awful guide in smoke and flame. Are they still such as once they By day, along the astonish'd lands Or is the dreary change in me? The cloudy pillar glided slow; Alas, the warp'd and broken board. By night, Arabia's crimson'd .sands How can it bear the painter's dyel Eeturn'd the fiery column's glow. The harp of straiu'd and tuneless chord.

How to the minstrel's skill reply I 1 This song of Rebecca's, from " Ivanlioe," was a great To aching eyes each landscape lowers, favourite with the American poet Fitz-Greene Halleck, To feverish pul.se each gale blows chill; and with Professor Wilson, who considered it a perfect bowers gem. in which disnitv, patlios, and a religions spirit, And Araby's or Eden's at once pure and fervid, are admiiab'y combined. Ed. Were barren as this moorland hill. 31 —: —— ; ! ; ! ! ! ; !;!!

482 WALTER SCOTT.

We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach JOCK 0' HAZELDEAN.i Landless, landless, landless, &c.

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, 'Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword AVhy weep ye by the tide?

Then courage, courage, courage" Grigalach ! I'll wed ye to my younge.st son, Courage, courage, courage, &c. And ye sail be his bride And ye sail be his bride, ladie, If they rob us of name, and pursue us jvith beagles, Sae comely to be seen" Give then- roofs to the flame, and their flesh to she loot the tears fa' But aye down the eagles For Jock o' Hazeldean. Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gri-

galach ! 'Xow let this wilfu' grief be done. Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, kc. And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington, While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on And lord of Langley-dale: the river, His step is first in peaceful ha'. Macgi-egor, despite them, shall flourish for ever His sword in battle keen" Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach! then, then, then, &c. But aye she loot the tears down fa' Come come come For Jock o' Hazeldean. Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career. 'A chain of gold ye sail not lack, O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer. Xor braid to bind your hair; And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt. Xor mettled hound, nor managed hawk. Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt Nor palfrey fresh and fair; Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach And you, the foremost o' a', them Gather, gather, gather, &c. " Shall ride our foi'est queen But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock o' Hazeldean. HAIL TO THE CHIEF. The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, The tapers glimmer'd fair; (from the lady of the lake.) The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there, Hail to the chief who in triumph advances They sought iier baith by bower and ha'; Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green pine Long may the tree, in his banner that glances. The ladie was not seen !

Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line ! She's o'er the Border, and awa' Heaven send it happy dew. Wi' Jock o" Hazeldean. Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back agen, MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. " " Roderighi Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, the And clan has a name that is nameless by day; Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach, When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on Gather, gather, gather, &c. the mountain. The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Our signal for fight, that from monarclis we drew, Moor'd in the rifted rock. Must be heard but V)y night in our vengeful haloo! Proof to the tempest's shock.

Then haloo, ! Grigalach haloo, Grigalach ! Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach ! kc. Menteith and Breadalbane, then. Echo his praise agen, Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Conlchuirn and " " Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe ! her towers,

(ilenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fi-uin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied ' The flret stanza of this ballad is ancient, The iitliers were written fur AlOi/n's Aitl/iolor/i/. ' Black Roderick, tlie de ceudant of Alpine. ! ! ; !

WALTER SCOTT. 4Ki

Glen Luss and Ross-dliu, they are smoking in ruin, Sleep I the deer is in his den And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her Sleep : thy hounds are by thee lying : side. Sleep I nor dream in yonder glen. Widow and Saxon maid How tin- gallant steed lay dying. Long shall lament our raid, Huntsman, restl thy chase is done, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe; Tliink not of the rising sun, Lennox and Leven-Glen For at dawning to assail ye, Shake when they hear agen, " " Here uo bugle.s sound reveillii. Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands I

ever-green ! Stretch to your oars, for the pine SONG. ! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine (from the pirate.) O that some seedling gem. Worthy such noble stem, Love wakes and weeps Honour'd and bless'd in then- shadow might While Beauty sleeps I

grow ! for music's softest numbers, Loud should Glen-Alpine then To prompt a theme. Ring from her deepmost glen, " " For Beauty's dream. Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho I ieroe ! Soft as the pillow of her slumbers

Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm, SOLDIER, EEST: Fire-flies on the air are wiieeling; While through the gloom (fkom the lady of the lake.) Conies soft perfume. The distant beds of flowers revealing.

Soldier, rest I thy warfare o'er. wake and live Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Xo dream can give Dream of battle fields no more, shadow'd bliss the real excelling; Days of danger, nights of waking. A Xo longer sleep, In our isle's enchanted hall. From lattice peep, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, And list the tale that love is telling ! Fair}' strains of music fall. Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er. Dream of fighting fields uo more: Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, THE HEATH THIS XIGHT. Morn of toil, nor night of waking. (from the lady of the lake.)

sound shall reach thine ear, Xo rude The heath this night must be my bed. clang, .\rmour's or war-steed champing, The bracken curtain for my head, Trump nor pibroch here summon My lullaby the warder's tread. Clustering clan, or scjuadron tramping. Far, far, from love and thee, ilary the lark's shrill fife come Yet may To-morrow eve, more stilly laid. At the daybreak from the fallow. My coucli may be my bloody plaid. And the bittern sound his drum. My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid I Booming from the sedgy shallow. It will not waken me, Mary I Ruder sounds shall none be near,

Guards nor warders challenge here. I may not, dare not, fancy now Here's no war-steed's neigli and champing, The grief tliat clouds thy lovely brow, Sliouting clans, or squadrons' stamping. I dare not tiiink upon thy vow. And all it promised me, Mary. Huntsman, restl thy chase is done. Xo fond regret must Xorman know; While our slumbrous spells assail ye, When bursts Clan Alpine on tiie foe. Dream not, with the rising sun. His heart must be like bended bow. Bugles here shall sound reveille. His foot like arrow free, Mary. : ! ! ! ! ; ;! :

484 WALTER SCOTT.

A time will come with feeling fraught. Wide waves the eagle plume. For, if I fall iu battle fought, Blended with heather. Thy hapless lover's dying thought Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. Forward each man set And if return'd from conquer'd foes. Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, How blithely will the evening close, Knell for the onset How sweet the linnet sing repose,

To my young bride and me, Mary !

ALLEN-A-DALE.

PIBROCH OF DONITIL DHU. (from kokeby.)

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for bmniing, Pibroch of Donuil, Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, Wake thy wild voice anew, Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Clan-Couuil. Summon Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the winning. away, come away. Come Come, read me my riddle! come, hearken my tale! to the Hark summons And tell rne the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. Come in your war array, Gentles and commons. The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride, And he views his domains upon Arkindale side. Come from deep glen, and The mere for his net, and the land for his game. From mountain so rocky, The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame; The war-pipe and pennon Yet the fish of the lake, and the deer of the vale, Are at Inverlocky, Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Allen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Come every steel blade, and Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as Strong hand that bears one. bright; Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord, Leave untended the herd. Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word The flock without shelter: And the best of our nobles his bonnet will vail, Leave the corpse uninterr'd. Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a- The bride at the altar; Dale. Leave the deer, leave the steer, Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come Leave nets and barges: The mother, she ask'd of his household and home: Come with your fighting gear, "Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on Broadswords and targes. the hill, My hall," quoth bold Allen, " shows gallanter still; Come as the winds come, when 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent Forests are rended; so pale, Come as the waves come, when And with all its bright spangles !" said Allen-a-Dale. Navies are stranded Faster come, faster come, The father was steel, and the mother was stone, Faster faster, and They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone; Chief, vassal, page and groom. But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their ci-y Tenant and master. He had laugh'd on the lass with his bonny black eye. Fast they come, fast they come; And she fled to the forest to hear a love-tale, See how they gather And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale!