The Lay of the Last Minstrel

The Lay of the Last Minstrel Edited by David Hill Radcliffe Facsimile of the first Edition, Woodstock Books: Oxford and New York, 1992. <seg rend="14px">THE</seg> <lb/> <lb/> <seg rend="36px">LAY</seg> <lb/> <lb/> <seg rend="14px">OF</seg> <lb/> <lb/> <seg rend="34px">THE LAST MINSTREL</seg> <lb/> <lb/> <seg rend="20px">A POEM.</seg> <lb/> <lb/> <lb/> <seg rend="14px">BY</seg> <lb/> <seg rend="small-caps">WALTER SCOTT, Esq.</seg> <lb/> <lb/> <lb/> LONDON: PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME, PATERNOSTER- ROW, AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH, By James Ballantyne, Edinburgh. 1805. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEITH THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR.

THE Poem now offered to the Public is intended to illustrate the customs and manners which anciently prevailed on the Borders of England and Scotland. The inhabitants, living in a state partly pastoral and partly warlike, and combining habits of constant depredation with the influence of a rude spirit of chivalry, were often engaged in scenes highly susceptible of poetical ornament. As the description of scenery and manners was more the object of the Author, than a combined and regular narrative, the plan of the ancient metrical romance was adopted, which allows greater latitude in this respect than would be consistent with the dignity of a regular poem. The same model offered other facilities, as it permits an occasional alteration of measure, which, in some degree, authorizes the changes of rhythm in the text. The machinery also, adopted from popular belief, would have seemed puerile in a poem which did not partake of the rudeness of the old ballad, or metrical romance.

For these reasons, the poem was put into the mouth of an ancient Minstrel, the last of the race, who, as he is supposed to have survived the Revolution, might have caught somewhat of the refinement of modern poetry, without losing the simplicity of his original model. The date of the tale itself is about the middle of the 16th century, when most of the personages actually flourished. The time adopted by the action is three nights and three days.

the LAY of THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FIRST. INTRODUCTION.

The way was long, the wind was cold, The Minstrel was infirm and old; His withered cheek and tresses gray, Seemed to have known a better day; The harp, his sole remaining joy, Was carried by an orphan boy. The last of all the Bards was he, Who sung of Border chivalry; For, well-a-day! their date was fled, His tuneful brethren all were dead; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest. No more, on prancing palfrey borne, He carolled, light as lark at morn; No longer, courted and caressed, High placed in hall, a welcome guest, He poured, to lord and lady gay, The unpremeditated lay; Old times were changed, old manners gone, A stranger filled the Stuarts’ throne; The bigots of the iron time Had called his harmless art a crime. A wandering harper, scorned and poor, He begged his bread from door to door; And tuned, to please a peasant’s ear, The harp, a King had loved to hear. He passed where Newark’s stately tower Looks out from Yarrow’s birchen bower: The Minstrel gazed with wishful eye— No humbler resting place was nigh. With hesitating step, at last, The embattled portal-arch he passed, Whose ponderous grate, and massy bar, Had oft rolled back the tide of war, But never closed the iron door Against the desolate and poor. The Duchess* marked his weary pace, His timid mien, and reverend face, And bade her page the menials tell, That they should tend the old man well: For she had known adversity, Though born in such a high degree; In pride of power, in beauty’s bloom, Had wept o’er Monmouth’s bloody tomb! When kindness had his wants supplied, And the old man was gratified, Began to rise his minstrel pride. * Anne, Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth, representative of the ancient Lords of Buccleuch, and widow of the unfortunate James, Duke of Monmouth, who was beheaded in 1685. And he began to talk, anon, Of good Earl Francis*, dead and gone, And of Earl Walter†, rest him God! A braver ne’er to battle rode: And how full many a tale he knew, Of the old warriors of Buccleuch; And, would the noble Duchess deign To listen to an old man’s strain, Though stiff his hand, his voice though weak, He thought even yet, the sooth to speak, That, if she loved the harp to hear, He could make music to her ear. The humble boon was soon obtained; The aged Minstrel audience gained. But, when he reached the room of state, Where she, with all her ladies, sate, * Francis Scot, earl of Buccleugh, father to the duchess. † Walter, earl of Buccleugh, grandfather to the duchess, and a celebrated warrior. Perchance he wished his boon denied; For, when to tune his harp he tried, His trembling hand had lost the ease, Which marks security to please; And scenes, long past, of joy and pain, Came wildering o’er his aged brain— He tried to tune his harp in vain. The pitying Duchess praised its chime, And gave him heart, and gave him time, Till every string’s according glee Was blended into harmony. And then, he said, he would full fain He could recal an ancient strain, He never thought to sing again. It was not framed for village churls, But for high dames and mighty earls; He had played it to King Charles the Good, When he kept court in Holyrood; And much he wished, yet feared, to try The long-forgotten melody. Amid the strings his fingers strayed, And an uncertain warbling made— And oft he shook his hoary head. But when he caught the measure wild, The old man raised his face, and smiled; And lightened up his faded eye, With all a poet’s extacy! In varying cadence, soft or strong, He swept the sounding chords along; The present scene, the future lot, His toils, his wants, were all forgot; Cold diffidence, and age’s frost, In the full tide of song were lost. Each blank, in faithless memory void, The poet’s glowing thought supplied; And, while his harp responsive rung, ’Twas thus the latest Minstrel sung. theLAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FIRST.

I. The feast was over in Branksome tower, And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower; Her bower, that was guarded by word and by spell, Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell— Jesu Maria, shield us well! No living wight, save the Ladye alone, Had dared to cross the threshold stone. II. The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all; Knight, and page, and household squire, Loitered through the lofty hall, Or crowded round the ample fire. The stag-hounds, weary with the chase, Lay stretched upon the rushy floor, And urged, in dreams, the forest race, From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor. III. Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome Hall; Nine-and-twenty squires of name, Brought them their steeds to bower from stall; Nine-and-twenty yeomen tall, Waited, duteous on them all: They were all knights of mettle true, Kinsmen to the bold Buccleuch. IV. Ten of them were sheathed in steel, With belted sword, and spur on heel: They quitted not their harness bright, Neither by day, nor yet by night: They lay down to rest With corslet laced, Pillowed on buckler cold and hard; They carved at the meal With gloves of steel, And they drank the red wine through the helmet barred. V. Ten squires, ten yeomen, mail-clad men, Waited the beck of the warders ten. Thirty steeds, both fleet and wight, Stood saddled in stable day and night, Barded with frontlet of steel, I trow, And with Jedwood-axe at saddle bow. A hundred more fed free in stall— Such was the custom of Branksome Hall. VI. Why do these steeds stand ready dight? Why watch these warriors, armed, by night? They watch to hear the blood-hound baying; They watch to hear the war-horn braying; To see St George’s red cross streaming, To see the midnight beacon gleaming; They watch against Southern force and guile, Lest Scroop, or Howard, or Percy’s powers, Threaten Branksome’s lordly towers, From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. VII. Such is the custom of Branksome Hall. Many a valiant knight is here; But he, the Chieftain of them all, His sword hangs rusting on the wall, Beside his broken spear. Bards long shall tell, How lord Walter fell! When startled burghers fled, afar, The furies of the Border war; When the streets of high Dunedin Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden, And heard the slogan’s* deadly yell— Then the Chief of Branksome fell. VIII. Can piety the discord heal, Or staunch the death-feud’s enmity? Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal, Can love of blessed charity? No! vainly to each holy shrine, In mutual pilgrimage, they drew; Implored, in vain, the grace divine For chiefs, their own red falchions slew. * The war-cry, or gathering word, of a Border clan. While Cessford owns the rule of Car, While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughtered chiefs, the mortal jar, The havoc of the feudal war, Shall never, never be forgot! IX. In sorrow, o’er lord Walter’s bier, The warlike foresters had bent; And many a flower, and many a tear, Old Teviot’s maids and matrons lent: But, o’er her warrior’s bloody bier, The Ladye dropped nor sigh nor tear! Variant Vengeance, deep-brooding o’er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe; And burning pride, and high disdain, Forbade the rising tear to flow; Until, amid his sorrowing clan, Her son lisped from the nurse’s knee— “And, if I live to be a man, “My father’s death revenged shall be!” Then fast the mother’s tears did seek To dew the infant’s kindling cheek. X. All loose her negligent attire, All loose her golden hair, Hung Margaret o’er her slaughtered sire, And wept in wild despair. But not alone the bitter tear Had filial grief supplied; For hopeless love, and anxious fear, Had lent their mingled tide; Nor in her mother’s altered eye Dared she to look for sympathy. Her lover, ’gainst her father’s clan, With Car in arms had stood, When Mathouse burn to Melrose ran, All purple with their blood. And well she knew, her mother dread, Before lord Cranstoun she should wed, Would see her on her dying bed. XI. Of noble race the Ladye came; Her father was a clerk of fame, Of Bethune’s line of Picardie: He learned the art, that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea. Men said he changed his mortal frame By feat of magic mystery; For when, in studious mood, he paced St Kentigern’s hall, Variant His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall! XII. And of his skill, as bards avow, He taught that Ladye fair, Till to her bidding she could bow The viewless forms of air. And now she sits in secret bower, In old Lord David’s western tower, And listens to a heavy sound, That moans the mossy turrets round. Is it the roar of Teviot’s tide, That chafes against the scaur’s* red side? Is it the wind, that swings the oaks? Is it the echo from the rocks? What may it be, the heavy sound, That moans old Branksome’s turrets round? XIII. At the sullen, moaning sound The ban-dogs bay and howl, And, from the turrets round, Loud whoops the startled owl. In the hall, both squire and knight Swore that a storm was near, And looked forth to view the night; But the night was still and clear! * Scaur, a precipitous bank of earth. XIV. From the sound of Teviot’s tide, Chafing with the mountain’s side, From the groan of the wind-swung oak, From the sullen echo of the rock, From the voice of the coming storm, The Ladye knew it well! It was the Spirit of the Flood that spoke, And he called on the Spirit of the Fell. XV. River Spirit. “Sleep’st thou, brother?” Mountain Spirit. ———“Brother, nay— On my hills the moon-beams play. From Craik-cross to Skelfhill-pen, By every rill, in every glen, Merry elves, their morrice pacing, To aerial minstrelsy, Emerald rings on brown heath tracing, Trip it deft and merrily. Up, and mark their nimble feet! Up, and list their music sweet!” XVI. River Spirit. “Tears of an imprisoned maiden Mix with my polluted stream; Margaret of Branksome, sorrow-laden, Mourns beneath the moon’s pale beam. Tell me, thou, who view’st the stars, When shall cease these feudal jars? What shall be the maiden’s fate? Who shall be the maiden’s mate?” XVII. Mountain Spirit. “Arthur’s slow wain his course doth roll, In utter darkness, round the pole; The Northern Bear lowers black and grim; Orion’s studded belt is dim; Twinkling faint; and distant far, Shimmers through mist each planet star; Ill may I read their high decree: But no kind influence deign they shower On Teviot’s tide, and Branksome’s tower, Till pride be quelled, and love be free.” XVIII. The unearthly voices ceast, And the heavy sound was still; It died on the river’s breast, It died on the side of the hill— But round Lord David’s tower The sound still floated near; For it rung in the Ladye’s bower, And it rung in the Ladye’s ear. She raised her stately head, And her heart throbbed high with pride: “Your mountains shall bend And your streams ascend, Ere Margaret be our foeman’s bride!” XIX. The Ladye sought the lofty hall, Where many a bold retainer lay, And, with jocund din, among them all, Her son pursued his infant play. A fancied moss-trooper, the boy The truncheon of a spear bestrode, And round the hall, right merrily, In mimic foray* rode. Even bearded knights, in arms grown old, Share in his frolic gambles bore, Albeit their hearts, of rugged mould, Were stubborn as the steel they wore. For the gray warriors prophesied, How the brave boy, in future war, Should tame the Unicorn’s pride, Exalt the Crescents and the Star†. * Foray, a predatory inroad.† Alluding to the armorial bearings of the Scotts and Cars. XX. The Ladye forgot her purpose high, One moment, and no more; One moment gazed with a mother’s eye, As she paused at the arched door. Then, from amid the armed train, She called to her William of Deloraine. XXI. A stark moss-trooping Scott was he As e’er couched border lance by knee. Through Solway sands, through Tarras moss, Blindfold, he knew the paths to cross; By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffled Percy’s best blood-hounds; In Eske, or Liddel, fords were none, But he would ride them one by one; Alike to him was time, or tide, December’s snow or July’s pride; Alike to him was tide, or time, Moonless midnight, or mattin prime. Steady of heart, and stout of hand, As ever drove prey from Cumberland; Five times outlawed had he been, By England’s king and Scotland’s queen. XXII. “Sir William of Deloraine, good at need, Mount thee on the wightest steed; Spare not to spur, nor stint to ride, Until thou come to fair Tweedside; And in Melrose’s holy pile Seek thou the Monk of St Mary’s isle: Greet the father well from me; Say, that the fated hour is come, And to night he shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb: For this will be St Michael’s night, And though stars be dim, the moon is bright; And the cross of bloody red Will point to the grave of the mighty dead.” XXIII. “What he gives thee, see thou keep; Stay not thou for food or sleep. Be it scroll, or be it book, Into, knight, thou must not look; If thou readest thou art lorn! Better hadst thou ne’er been born.” XXIV. “O swiftly can speed my dapple-gray steed, Who drinks of the Teviot clear; Ere break of day,” the warrior ’gan say, “Again will I be here: And safer by none may thy errand be done Than, noble dame, by me; Letter nor line know I never one, Wer’t my neck-verse at Hairibee*.” * Haribee, the place of executing the Border marauders at Carlisle. The neck-verse is the beginning of the 51st psalm, Miserere mei, &c. anciently read by criminals claiming benefit of clergy. XXV. Soon in his saddle sate he fast, And soon the steep descent he past; Soon crossed the sounding barbican*, And soon the Teviot side he won. Eastward the wooded path he rode; Green hazels o’er his basnet nod: He passed the Peel† of Goldiland, And crossed old Borthwick’s roaring strand; Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill’s mound, Where Druid shades still flitted round: In Hawick twinkled many a light; Behind him soon they set in night; And soon he spurred his courser keen Beneath the tower of Hazeldean. XXVI. The clattering hoofs the watchmen mark; “Stand, ho! thou courier of the dark.” * Barbican, the defences of the outer gate of a feudal castle. † Peel, a Border tower. “For Branksome, ho!” the knight rejoined, And left the friendly tower behind. He turned him now from Teviotside, And, guided by the tinkling rill, Northward the dark ascent did ride, And gained the moor at Horseliehill; Broad on the left before him lay, For many a mile, the Roman way*. XXVII. A moment now he slacked his speed, A moment breathed his panting steed; Drew saddle-girth and corselet-band, And loosened in the sheath his brand. On Minto-crags the moonbeams glint, Where Barnhill hewed his bed of flint; Who flung his outlawed limbs to rest, Where falcons hang their giddy nest, Mid cliffs from whence his eagle eye, For many a league, his prey could spy; * An ancient Roman road, crossing through part of Roxburghshire. Cliffs doubling, on their echoes borne, The terrors of the robber’s horn; Cliffs which, for many a later year, The warbling Doric reed shall hear, When some sad swain shall teach the grove, Ambition is no cure for love. XXVIII. Unchallenged, thence past Deloraine, To ancient Riddell’s fair domain, Where Aill, from mountains freed, Down from the lakes did raving come; Each wave was crested with tawny foam, Like the mane of a chesnut steed. In vain! no torrent, deep or broad, Might bar the bold moss-trooper’s road. XXIX. At the first plunge the horse sunk low, And the water broke o’er the saddle-bow; Above the foaming tide, I ween, Scarce half the charger’s neck was seen; For he was barded* from counter to tail, And the rider was armed complete in mail; Never heavier man and horse Stemmed a midnight torrent’s force; The warrior’s very plume, I say, Was daggled by the dashing spray; Yet through good heart, and our Ladye’s grace, At length he gained the landing place. XXX. Now Bowden Moor the march-man won, And sternly shook his plumed head, As glanced his eye o’er Halidon†; For on his soul the slaughter red, * Barded, or barbed, applied to a horse accoutred with defensive armour.† Halidon-hill, on which the battle of Melrose was fought. Of that unhallowed morn arose, When first the Scott and Car were foes; When royal James beheld the fray, Prize to the victor of the day; When Home and Douglas, in the van Bore down Buccleuch’s retiring clan, Till gallant Cessford’s heart-blood dear Reeked on dark Elliot’s Border spear. XXXI. In bitter mood he spurred fast, And soon the hated heath was past; And far beneath, in lustre wan, Old Melros’ rose, and fair Tweed ran; Like some tall rock, with lichens gray, Seemed, dimly huge, the dark Abbaye. When Hawick he passed, had curfew rung, Now midnight lauds* were in Melrose sung. * Lauds, the midnight service of the Catholic church. The sound upon the fitful gale, In solemn wise, did rise and fail, Like that wild harp, whose magic tone Is wakened by the winds alone: But when Melrose he reached ’twas silence all; He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent’s lonely wall.

Here paused the harp; and with its swell The Master’s fire and courage fell: Dejectedly, and low, he bowed, And, gazing timid on the crowd, He seemed to seek, in every eye, If they approved his minstrelsy; And, diffident of present praise, Somewhat he spoke of former days, And how old age, and wandering long, Had done his hand and harp some wrong. The Duchess, and her daughters fair, And every gentle lady there, Each after each, in due degree, Gave praises to his melody; His hand was true, his voice was clear, And much they longed the rest to hear. Encouraged thus, the Aged Man, After meet rest, again began. theLAYofTHE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO SECOND. theLAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO SECOND.

I. If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moon-light; For the gay beams of lightsome day Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray. When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light’s uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die; When distant Tweed is heard to rave, And the owlet to hoot o’er the dead man’s grave, Then go—but go alone the while— Then view St David’s ruined pile; And, home returning, soothly swear, Was never scene so sad and fair! II. Short halt did Deloraine make there; Little recked he of the scene so fair. With dagger’s hilt, on the wicket strong He struck full loud, and struck full long. The porter hurried to the gate— “Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late?” “From Branksome I,” the warrior cried; And strait the wicket opened wide: For Branksome’s chiefs had in battle stood, To fence the rights of fair Melrose; And lands and livings, many a rood, Had gifted the shrine for their souls repose. III. Bold Deloraine his errand said; The porter bent his humble head; With torch in hand, and feet unshod, And noiseless step, the path he trod; The arched cloisters, far and wide, Rang to the warrior’s clanking stride; Till, stooping low his lofty crest, He entered the cell of the ancient priest, And lifted his barred aventayle*, To hail the Monk of St Mary’s aisle. * Aventayle, visor of the helmet. IV. “The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me; Says, that the fated hour is come, And that to-night I shall watch with thee, To win the treasure of the tomb.” From sackcloth couch the Monk arose, With toil his stiffened limbs he reared; A hundred years had flung their snows On his thin locks and floating beard. V. And strangely on the knight looked he, And his blue eyes gleamed wild and wide; “And, darest thou, warrior! seek to see, What heaven and hell alike would hide? My breast, in belt of iron pent, With shirt of hair and scourge of thorn; For threescore years, in penance spent, My knees those flinty stones have worn: Yet all too little to atone For knowing what should ne’er be known. Would’st thou thy every future year In ceaseless prayer and penance drie, Yet wait thy latter end with fear— Then, daring warrior, follow me!” VI. “Penance, father, will I none; Prayer know I hardly one; For mass or prayer can I rarely tarry, Save to patter an Ave Mary, When I ride on a Border foray: Other prayer can I none; So speed me my errand, and let me begone.” VII. Again on the Knight looked the Churchman old, And again he sighed heavily; For he had himself been a warrior bold, And fought in Spain and Italy. And he thought on the days that were long since bye, When his limbs were strong, and his courage was high; Now, slow and faint, he led the way, Where, cloistered round, the garden lay; The pillared arches were over their head, And beneath their feet were the bones of the dead. VIII. Spreading herbs and flowerets bright, Glistened with the dew of night; Nor herb nor floweret glistened there But was carved in the cloister arches as fair. The Monk gazed long on the lovely moon, Then into the night he looked forth; And red and bright the streamers light Were dancing in the glowing north. So had he seen, in fair Castile, The youth in glittering squadrons start; Sudden the flying jennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart. He knew, by the streamers that shot so bright, That spirits were riding the northern light. IX. By a steel-clenched postern door, They entered now the chancel tall; The darkened roof rose high aloof On pillars lofty, and light, and small; The keystone, that locked each ribbed aisle, Was a fleur-de-lys, or a quatre-feuille; The corbells* were carved grotesque and grim; And the pillars, with clustered shafts so trim, With plinth and with capital flourished around, Variant Seemed bundles of lances which garlands had bound. X. Full many a scutcheon and banner, riven, Shook to the cold night-wind of heaven, * Corbells, the projections from which the arches spring, usually cut into a fantastic face, or mask. Around the screened altar’s pale; And there the dying lamps did burn, Before thy low and lonely urn, O gallant chief of Otterburne, And thine, dark knight of Liddesdale! O fading honours of the dead! O high ambition, lowly laid! XI. The moon on the east oriel shone, Through slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliaged tracery combined; Thou would’st have thought some fairy’s hand, ’Twixt poplars straight, the osier wand In many a freakish knot, had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow wreaths to stone. The silver light, so pale and faint, Shewed many a prophet and many a saint, Whose image on the glass was dyed; Full in the midst, his cross of red Triumphant Michael brandished, And trampled the apostate’s pride. The moon-beam kissed the holy pane, And threw on the pavement a bloody stain. XII. They sate them down on a marble stone (A Scottish monarch slept below); Thus spoke the Monk, in solemn tone— “I was not always a man of woe; For Paynim countries I have trod, And fought beneath the cross of God; Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. XIII. “In these far climes it was my lot To meet the wondrous Michael Scott; A wizard of such dreaded fame, That when, in Salamanca’s cave, Him listed his magic wand to wave, The bells would ring in Notre Dame! Some of his skill he taught to me; And, warrior, I could say to thee, The words that clove Eildon Hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within, A treble penance must be done. XIV. “When Michael lay on his dying bed, His conscience was awakened; He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed: I was in Spain when the morning rose, But I stood by his bed ere evening close. The words may not again be said, That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid; They would rend this Abbaye’s massy nave, And pile it in heaps above his grave. XV. “I swore to bury his mighty book, That never mortal might therein look; And never to tell where it was hid, Save at his chief of Branksome’s need; And when that need was past and o’er, Again the volume to restore. I buried him on St Michael’s night, When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright; And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, That his patron’s cross might over him wave, And scare the fiends from the wizard’s grave. XVI. “It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid! Strange sounds along the chancel past; The banners waved without a blast”— —Still spoke the Monk, when the bell tolled one!— I tell you, that a braver man Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Against a foe ne’er spurred a steed; Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, And his hair did bristle upon his head. XVII. “Lo, warrior! now, the cross of red Points to the grave of the mighty dead; Within it burns a wonderous light, To chase the spirits that love the night: That lamp shall burn unquenchably, Until the eternal doom shall be.” Slow moved the Monk to the broad flag-stone Which the bloody cross was traced upon: He pointed to a secret nook; A bar from thence the warrior took; Variant And the Monk made a sign with his withered hand, The grave’s huge portal to expand. XVIII. With beating heart, to the task he went; His sinewy frame o’er the grave-stone bent; With bar of iron heaved amain, Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain. It was by dint of passing strength, That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there to see, How the light broke forth so gloriously; Streamed upward to the chancel roof, And through the galleries far aloof! No earthly flame blazed e’er so bright: It shone like heaven’s own blessed light; And, issuing from the tomb, Shewed the Monk’s cowl and visage pale; Danced on the dark-browed Warrior’s mail, And kissed his waving plume. XIX. Before their eyes the wizard lay, As if he had not been dead a day; His hoary beard in silver rolled, He seemed some seventy winters old; A palmer’s amice wrapped him round, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: His left hand held his book of might; A silver cross was in his right; The lamp was placed beside his knee: High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest fiends had shook; And all unruffled was his face— They trusted his soul had gotten grace. XX. Often had William of Deloraine Rode through the battle’s bloody plain, And trampled down the warriors slain, And neither known remorse nor awe; Yet now remorse and awe he own’d; His breath came thick, his head swam round, When this strange scene of death he saw. Bewildered and unnerved, he stood, And the priest prayed fervently, and loud; With eyes averted, prayed he; He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly. XXI. And when the priest his death-prayer had prayed, Thus unto Deloraine he said— “Now speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, warrior, we may dearly rue; For those, thou mayst not look upon, Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!”— Then Deloraine, in terror, took From the cold hand the mighty book, With iron clasped, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned; But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the warrior’s sight. XXII. When the huge stone sunk o’er the tomb, The night returned, in double gloom; For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the knight and priest withdrew, With wavering steps, and dizzy brain, They hardly might the postern gain. ’Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, They heard strange noises on the blast; And through the cloister-galleries small, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, Loud sobs, and laughter louder, ran, And voices unlike the voice of man; As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to-day. I cannot tell how the truth may be; I say the tale as ’twas said to me. XXIII. “Now hie thee hence,” the father said; “And when we are on death-bed laid, O may our dear Ladye and sweet St John, Forgive our souls for the deed we have done!” The Monk returned him to his cell, And many a prayer and penance sped; When the convent met at the noontide bell— The Monk of St Mary’s aisle was dead! Before the cross was the body laid, With hands clasped fast, as if still he prayed. XXIV. The knight breathed free in the morning wind, And strove his hardihood to find: He was glad when he passed the tombstones gray, Which girdle round the fair Abbaye; For the mystic book, to his bosom prest, Felt like a load upon his breast; And his joints, with nerves of iron twined, Shook, like the aspen leaves in wind. Full fain was he when the dawn of day Began to brighten Cheviot gray; He joyed to see the cheerful light, And he said Ave Mary, as well as he might. XXV. The sun had brightened Cheviot gray, The sun had brightened the Carter’s* side; And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome towers and Teviot’s tide. * A mountain on the border of England, above Jedburgh The wild birds told their warbling tale, And wakened every flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale, And spread her breast the mountain rose: And lovelier than the rose so red, Yet paler than the violet pale, She early left her sleepless bed, The fairest maid of Teviotdale. XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake, And don her kirtle so hastilie; And the silken knots, which in hurry she would make, Why tremble her slender fingers to tie; Why does she stop, and look often around, As she glides down the secret stair; And why does she pat the shaggy blood-hound, As he rouses him up from his lair; And though she passes the postern alone, Why is not the watchman’s bugle blown? XXVII. The ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread; The ladye caresses the rough blood-hound Lest his voice should waken the castle round; The watchman’s bugle is not blown, For he was her foster-father’s son; And she glides through the greenwood at dawn of light, To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. XXVIII. The knight and ladye fair are met, And under the hawthorn’s boughs are set. A fairer pair were never seen To meet beneath the hawthorn green. He was stately, and young, and tall; Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall: And she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, Lent to her cheek a livelier red; When the half sigh her swelling breast Against the silken ribband pressed; When her blue eyes their secret told, Though shaded by her locks of gold— Where would you find the peerless fair With Margaret of Branksome might compare! XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see You listen to my minstrelsy; Your waving locks ye backward throw, And sidelong bend your necks of snow— Ye ween to hear a melting tale Of two true lovers in a dale; And how the knight, with tender fire, To paint his faithful passion, strove; Swore, he might at her feet expire, But never, never cease to love; And how she blushed, and how she sighed, And, half consenting, half denied, And said that she would die a maid— Yet, might the bloody feud be stayed, Henry of Cranstoun, and only he, Margaret of Branksome’s choice should be. XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! My harp has lost the enchanting strain; Its lightness would my age reprove: My hairs are gray, my limbs are old, My heart is dead, my veins are cold— I may not, must not, sing of love. XXXI. Beneath an oak, mossed o’er by eld, The Baron’s dwarf his courser held, And held his crested helm and spear. That dwarf was scarce an earthly man, If the tales were true that of him ran Through all the Border, far and near. ’Twas said, when the Baron a hunting rode, Through Reedsdale’s glens, but rarely trod, He heard a voice cry, “Lost! lost! lost!” And, like tennis-ball by raquet tossed, A leap, of thirty feet and three, Made from the gorse this elfin shape, Distorted like some dwarfish ape, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun’s knee. Lord Cranstoun was some whit dismayed; ’Tis said that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the dwarf ran four, And the dwarf was first at the castle door. XXXII. Use lessens marvel, it is said. This elvish dwarf with the Baron staid; Little he eat, and less he spoke, Nor mingled with the menial flock; And oft apart his arms he tossed, And often muttered, “Lost! lost! lost!” He was waspish, arch, and litherlie, But well Lord Cranstoun served he: And he of his service was full fain; For once he had been ta’en or slain, An’ it had not been for his ministry. All between Home and Hermitage, Talked of Lord Cranstoun’s goblin page. XXXIII. For the Baron went on pilgrimage, And took with him this elfish page, To Mary’s chapel of the Lowes: For there, beside our Ladye’s lake, An offering he had sworn to make, And he would pay his vows. But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band Of the best that would ride at her command; The trysting-place was Newark Lee. Wat of Harden came thither amain, And thither came John of Thirlestane, And thither came William of Deloraine; They were three hundred spears and three. Through Douglas-burn, up Yarrow stream, Their horses prance, their lances gleam. They came to St Mary’s lake ere day, But the chapel was void, and the Baron away. They burned the chapel for very rage, And cursed Lord Cranstoun’s goblin page. XXXIV. And now, in Branksome’s good green wood, As under the aged oak he stood, The Baron’s courser pricks his ears, As if a distant noise he hears. The dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, And signs to the lovers to part and fly; No time was then to vow or sigh. Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove, Flew like the startled cushat-dove*: The dwarf the stirrup held and rein; Vaulted the knight on his steed amain, And, pondering deep that morning’s scene, Rode eastward through the hawthorns green.

While thus he poured the lengthened tale, The Minstrel’s voice began to fail: Full slyly smiled the observant page, And gave the withered hand of age A goblet, crowned with mighty wine, The blood of Velez’ scorched vine. He raised the silver cup on high, And, while the big drop filled his eye, Prayed God to bless the Duchess long, And all who cheered a son of song. * Wood-pigeon. The attending maidens smiled to see, How long, how deep, how zealously, The precious juice the Minstrel quaffed; And he, emboldened by the draught, Looked gaily back to them, and laughed. The cordial nectar of the bowl Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Ere thus his tale again began. theLAYofTHE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO THIRD. theLAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO THIRD.

I. And said I that my limbs were old; And said I that my blood was cold, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor withered heart was dead, And that I might not sing of love?— How could I, to the dearest theme, That ever warmed a minstrel’s dream, So foul, so false, a recreant prove! How could I name love’s very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! II. In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed; In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love. III. So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, While, pondering deep the tender scene, He rode through Branksome’s hawthorn green. But the page shouted wild and shrill— And scarce his helmet could he don, When downward from the shady hill A stately knight came pricking on. That warrior’s steed, so dapple gray, Was dark with sweat, and splashed with clay; His armour red with many a stain: He seemed in such a weary plight, As if he had ridden the live-long night; For it was William of Deloraine. IV. But no whit weary did he seem, When, dancing in the sunny beam, He marked the crane on the Baron’s crest; For his ready spear was in his rest. Few were the words, and stern, and high, That marked the foemen’s feudal hate; For question fierce and proud reply, Gave signal soon of dire debate. Their very coursers seemed to know That each was other’s mortal foe; And snorted fire, when wheeled around, To give each knight his vantage ground. V. In rapid round the Baron bent; He sighed a sigh and breathed a prayer: The prayer was to his patron saint, The sigh was to his ladye fair. Stout Deloraine nor sighed, nor prayed, Nor saint, nor ladye, called to aid; But he stooped his head, and couched his spear, And spurred his steed to full career. The meeting of these champions proud Seemed like the bursting thunder-cloud. VI. Stern was the dint the Borderer lent! The stately Baron backwards bent; Bent backwards to his horse’s tail, And his plumes went scattering on the gale; The tough ash spear, so stout and true, Into a thousand flinders flew. But Cranstoun’s lance, of more avail, Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer’s mail; Through shield, and jack, and acton, past, Deep in his bosom, broke at last— Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, Down went the steed, the girthing broke, Hurled on a heap lay man and horse. The Baron onward passed his course; Nor knew—so giddy rolled his brain— His foe lay stretched upon the plain. VII. But when he reined his courser round, And saw his foeman on the ground Lie senseless as the bloody clay, He bade his page to stanch the wound, And there beside the warrior stay, And tend him in his doubtful state, And lead him to Branksome castle-gate: His noble mind was inly moved For the kinsman of the maid he loved. “This shalt thou do without delay; No longer here myself may stay: Unless the swifter I speed away, Short shrift will be at my dying day.” VIII. Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; The goblin-page behind abode: His Lord’s command he ne’er withstood, Though small his pleasure to do good. As the corslet off he took, The dwarf espied the mighty book! Much he marvelled a knight of pride Like a book-bosomed priest, should ride: He thought not to search or staunch the wound, Until the secret he had found. IX. The iron band, the iron clasp, Resisted long the elfin grasp; For when the first he had undone, It closed as he the next begun. Those iron clasps, that iron band, Would not yield to unchristened hand, Till he smeared the cover o’er With the Borderer’s curdled gore; A moment then the volume spread, And one short spell therein he read. It had much of glamour* might, Could make a ladye seem a knight; The cobwebs on a dungeon wall, Seem tapestry in lordly hall; A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, A sheeling† seem a palace large, And youth seem age, and age seem youth— All was delusion, nought was truth. X. He had not read another spell, When on his cheek a buffet fell, * Magical delusion. † A shepherd’s hut. So fierce, it stretched him on the plain, Beside the wounded Deloraine. From the ground he rose dismayed, And shook his huge and matted head; One word he muttered and no more— “Man of age, thou smitest sore!” No more the elfin page durst try Into the wonderous book to pry; The clasps, though smeared with Christian gore, Shut faster than they were before. He hid it underneath his cloak— Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, I cannot tell, so mot I thrive; It was not given by man alive. XI. Unwillingly himself he addressed, To do his master’s high behest: He lifted up the living corse, And laid it on the weary horse; He led him into Branksome hall, Before the beards of the warders all; And each did after swear and say, There only passed a load of hay. He took him to Lord David’s tower, Even to the Ladye’s secret bower; And, but that stronger spells were spread, And the door might not be opened, He had laid him on her very bed. Whate’er he did of gramarye*, Was always done maliciously. He flung the warrior on the ground, And the blood welled freshly from the wound. XII. As he repassed the outer court, He spied the fair young child at sport: He thought to train him to the wood; For, at a word, be it understood, He was always for ill, and never for good. * Magic. Seemed to the boy some comrade gay; Led him forth to the woods to play; On the draw-bridge the warders stout Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. XIII. He led the boy o’er bank and fell, Until they came to a woodland brook; The running stream dissolved the spell, And his own elvish shape he took. Could he have had his pleasure vilde, He had crippled the joints of the noble child; Or, with his fingers long and lean, Had strangled him, in fiendish spleen: But his awful mother he had in dread, And also his power was limited; So he but scowled on the startled child, And darted through the forest wild; The woodland brook he bounding crossed, And laughed and shouted, “Lost! lost! lost!” XIV. Full sore amazed at the wonderous change, And frightened, as a child might be, At the wild yell and visage strange, And the dark words of gramarye, The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lilye flower; And when at length, with trembling pace, He sought to find where Branksome lay, He feared to see that grisly face Glare from some thicket on his way. Thus, starting oft, he journeyed on, And deeper in the wood is gone; For aye the more he sought his way, The farther still he went astray, Until he heard the mountains round Ring to the baying of a hound. XV. And hark! and hark! the deep-mouthed bark Comes nigher still, and nigher; Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, His tawny muzzle tracked the ground, And his red eye shot fire. Soon as the wildered child saw he, He flew at him right furiouslie. I ween you would have seen with joy The bearing of the gallant boy, When, worthy of his noble sire, His wet cheek glowed ’twixt fear and ire! He faced the blood-hound manfully, And held his little bat on high; So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, At cautious distance hoarsely bayed, But still in act to spring; When dashed an archer through the glade, And when he saw the hound was stayed, He drew his tough bow-string; But a rough voice cried, “Shoot not, hoy! Ho! shoot not, Edward,—’tis a boy!”— XVI. The speaker issued from the wood, And checked his fellow’s surly mood, And quelled the ban-dog’s ire. He was an English yeoman good, And born in Lancashire; Well could he hit a fallow deer Five hundred feet him fro; With hand more true, and eye more clear, No archer bended bow. His coal-black hair, shorn round and close, Set off his sun-burned face; Old England’s sign, St George’s cross, His barret-cap did grace; His bugle horn hung by his side, All in a wolf-skin baldrick tied; And his short faulchion, sharp and clear, Had pierced the throat of many a deer. XVII. His kirtle, made of forest green, Reached scantly to his knee; And, at his belt, of arrows keen A furbished sheaf bore he; His buckler scarce in breadth a span, No larger fence had he; He never counted him a man, Would strike below the knee: His slackened bow was in his hand, And the leash that was his blood-hound’s band. XVIII. He would not do the fair child harm, But held him with his powerful arm, That he might neither fight nor flee; For when the red-cross spied he, The boy strove long and violently. “Now, by St George,” the archer cries, “Edward, methinks, we have a prize! This boy’s fair face and courage free Shews he is come of high degree.” XIX. “Yes! I am come of high degree, For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch; And, if thou dost not set me free, False Suthron, thou shalt dearly rue! For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, And William of Deloraine, good at need, And every Scott from Eske to Tweed; And, if thou dost not let me go, Despite thy arrows and thy bow, I’ll have thee hanged, to feed the crow!” XX. “Gramercy, for thy good will, fair boy! My mind was never set so high; But if thou art chief of such a clan, And art the son of such a man, And ever comest to thy command, Our wardens had need to keep good order: My bow of yew to a hazel wand, Thou’lt make them work upon the Border. Meantime, be pleased to come with me, For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see; I think our work is well begun, When we have taken thy father’s son.” XXI. Although the child was led away, In Branksome still he seemed to stay, For so the dwarf his part did play; And in the shape of that young boy, He wrought the castle much annoy. The comrades of the young Buccleuch He pinched, and beat, and overthrew; Nay, some of them he well-nigh slew. He tore Dame Maudlin’s silken tire; And as Sym Hall stood by the fire, He lighted the match of his bandelier*, And woefully scorched the hackbutteer†. It may be hardly thought, or said, The mischief that the urchin made, Till many of the castle guessed That the young Baron was possessed! XXII. Well I ween the charm he held The noble Ladye had soon dispelled; But she was deeply busied then To tend the wounded Deloraine. Much she wondered to find him lie, On the stone threshold stretched along; She thought some spirit of the sky Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong; Because, despite her precept dread, Perchance he in the book had read; * Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition.† Hackbutteer, musketeer. But the broken lance in his bosom stood, And it was earthly steel and wood. XXIII. She drew the splinter from the wound, And with a charm she stanched the blood; She bade the gash be cleansed and bound; No longer by his couch she stood; But she has ta’en the broken lance, And washed it from the clotted gore, And salved the splinter o’er and o’er. William of Deloraine, in trance, Whene’er she turned it round and round, Twisted, as if she galled his wound. Then to her maidens she did say, That he should be whole man and sound, Within the course of a night and day. Full long she toiled; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true. XXIV. So passed the day—the evening fell, ’Twas near the time of curfew bell; The air was mild, the wind was calm, The stream was smooth, the dew was balm; E’en the rude watchman, on the tower, Enjoyed and blessed the lovely hour. Far more fair Margaret loved and blessed The hour of silence and of rest. On the high turret, sitting lone, She waked at times the lute’s soft tone; Touched a wild note, and all between Thought of the bower of hawthorns green; Her golden hair streamed free from band, Her fair cheek rested on her hand, Her blue eyes sought the west afar, For lovers love the western star. XXV. Is yon the star o’er Penchryst-Pen, That rises slowly to her ken, And, spreading broad its wavering light, Shakes its loose tresses on the night? Is yon red glare the western star?— O, ’tis the beacon-blaze of war! Scarce could she draw her tightened breath; For well she knew the fire of death! XXVI. The warder viewed it blazing strong, And blew his war-note loud and long, Till, at the high and haughty sound, Rock, wood, and river, rung around; The blast alarmed the festal hall, And startled forth the warriors all; Far downward, in the castle-yard, Full many a torch and cresset glared; And helms and plumes, confusedly tossed, Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; And spears in wild disorder shook, Like reeds beside a frozen brook. XXVII. The Seneschal, whose silver hair Was reddened by the torches’ glare, Stood in the midst, with gesture proud, And issued forth his mandates loud— “On Penchryst glows a bale* of fire, And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire; Ride out, ride out, The foe to scout! Mount, mount for Branksome†, every man! Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, That ever are true and stout— Ye need not send to Liddesdale; For when they see the blazing bale, Elliots and Armstrongs never fail— Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life! And warn the Warden of the strife. Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze, Our kin, and clan, and friends, to raise.”— * Bale, beacon-faggot.† Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the Scotts. XXVIII. Fair Margaret, from the turret head Heard, far below, the coursers’ tread, While loud the harness rung, As to their seats, with clamour dread, The ready horsemen sprung; And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, And leaders’ voices, mingled notes, And out! and out! In hasty route, The horsemen galloped forth; Dispersing to the south to scout, And east, and west, and north, To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals and allies. XXIX. The ready page, with hurried hand, Awaked the need-fire’s* slumbering brand, * Need-fire, beacon. And ruddy blushed the heaven: For a sheet of flame from the turret high Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, All flaring and uneven; And soon a score of fires, I ween, From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen; Each with warlike tidings fraught; Each from each the signal caught; Each after each they glanced to sight, As stars arise upon the night. They gleamed on many a dusky tarn*, Haunted by the lonely earn†; On many a cairn’s‡ gray pyramid, Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid; Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, From Soltra and Dumpender Law; And Lothian heard the regent’s order, That all should bowne§ them for the Border. * Tarn, a mountain lake. † Earn, a Scottish eagle.‡ Cairn, a pile of stones. § Bowne, make ready. XXX. The livelong night in Branksome rang The ceaseless sound of steel; The castle-bell, with backward clang, Sent forth the larum peal; Was frequent heard the heavy jar, Where massy stone and iron bar Were piled on echoing keep and tower, To whelm the foe with deadly shower; Was frequent heard the changing guard, And watch-word from the sleepless ward; While, wearied by the endless din, Blood-hound and ban-dog yelled within. XXXI. The noble dame, amid the broil, Shared the gray Seneschal’s high toil, And spoke of danger with a smile; Cheered the young knights, and council sage Held with the chiefs of riper age. No tidings of the foe were brought, Nor of his numbers knew they aught, Nor what in time of truce he sought. Some said that there were thousands ten; And others weened that it was nought, But Leven clans, or Tynedale men, Who came to gather in black mail*; And Liddesdale, with small avail, Might drive them lightly back agen. So passed the anxious night away, And welcome was the peep of day.

Ceased the high sound—the listening throng Applaud the Master of the song; And marvel much, in helpless age, So hard should be his pilgrimage. * Protection-money exacted by free-booters. Had he no friend—no daughter dear, His wandering toil to share and cheer; No son, to be his father’s stay, And guide him on the rugged way?— “Aye! once he had—but he was dead!”— Upon the harp he stooped his head, And busied himself the strings withal, To hide the tear that fain would fall. In solemn measure, soft and slow, Arose a father’s notes of woe. theLAYofTHE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FOURTH. theLAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FOURTH.

I. Sweet Teviot! on thy silver tide, The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willowed shore; Where’er thou wind’st by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still, As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they rolled their way to Tweed, Variant Had only heard the shepherd’s reed, Nor startled at the bugle-horn. II. Unlike the tide of human time, Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime, Its earliest course was doomed to know; And, darker as it downward bears, Is stained with past and present tears. Low as that tide has ebbed with me, It still reflects to memory’s eye The hour, my brave, my only boy, Fell by the side of great Dundee. Why, when the volleying musket played Against the bloody Highland blade, Why was not I beside him laid!— Enough—he died the death of fame; Enough—he died with conquering Græme. III. Now over Border dale and fell, Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, The peasant left his lowly shed. The frightened flocks and herds were pent Beneath the peel’s rude battlement; And maids and matrons dropped the tear, While ready warriors seized the spear. From Branksome’s towers, the watchman’s eye Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, Which, curling in the rising sun, Shewed southern ravage was begun. IV. Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried— “Prepare ye all for blows and blood! Watt Tinlinn, from the Liddel-side, Comes wading through the flood. Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock At his lone gate, and prove the lock; It was but last St Barnabright They sieged him a whole summer night, But fled at morning; well they knew, In vain he never twanged the yew. Right sharp has been the evening shower, That drove him from his Liddel tower; And, by my faith,” the gate-ward said, “I think ’twill prove a warden-raid*.” V. While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman Entered the echoing barbican. He led a small and shaggy nag, That through a bog, from hag to hag†, Could bound like any Billhope stag. * An inroad commanded by the warden in person.† The broken ground in a bog. It bore his wife and children twain; A half-clothed serf* was all their train: His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-browed, Of silver brooch and bracelet proud, Laughed to her friends among the crowd. He was of stature passing tall, But sparely formed and lean withal: A battered marion on his brow; A leathern jack, as fence enow, On his broad shoulders loosely hung; A border-axe behind was slung; His spear, six Scottish ells in length, Seemed newly dyed with gore; His shafts and bow, of wonderous strength, His hardy partner bore. VI. Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn shew The tidings of the English foe— “Belted Will Howard is marching here, And hot Lord Dacre, with many a spear, * Bonds-man. And all the German hagbut-men, Who have long lain at Askerten: They crossed the Liddel at curfew hour, And burned my little lonely tower; The fiend receive their souls therefor! It had not been burnt this year and more. Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, Served to guide me on my flight; But I was chased the live-long night. Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Græme, Fast upon my traces came, Until I turned at Priesthaugh-Scrogg, And shot their horses in the bog, Slew Fergus with my lance outright; I had him long at high despite: He drove my cows last Fastern’s night.” VII. Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, Fast hurrying in, confirmed the tale; * Musketeers. As far as they could judge by ken, Three hours would bring to Teviot’s strand Three thousand armed Englishmen— Meanwhile, full many a warlike band, From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, Came in, their Chief’s defence to aid. Addition VIII. From fair St Mary’s silver wave, From dreary Gamescleuch’s dusky height, His ready lances Thirlestane brave Arrayed beneath a banner bright. The tressured fleur-de-luce he claims To wreathe his shield, since royal James, Encamped by Fala’s mossy wave, The proud distinction grateful gave, For faith mid feudal jars; What time, save Thirlestane alone, Of Scotland’s stubborn barons none Would march to southern wars; And hence, in fair remembrance worn, Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne; Hence his high motto shines revealed, “Ready, aye ready,” for the field. IX. An aged knight, to danger steeled, With many a moss-trooper, came on; And azure in a golden field, The stars and crescent graced his shield, Without the bend of Murdieston. Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower, And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; High over Borthwick’s mountain flood, His wood-embosomed mansion stood; In the dark glen, so deep below, The herds of plundered England low; His bold retainers’ daily food, And bought with danger, blows, and blood. Marauding chief! his sole delight The moonlight raid, the morning fight; Not even the Flower of Yarrow’s charms, In youth might tame his rage for arms; And still in age he spurned at rest, And still his brows the helmet pressed; Albeit the blanched locks below Were white as Dinlay’s spotless snow; Five stately warriors drew the sword Before their father’s band; A braver knight than Harden’s lord Ne’er belted on a brand. Addition X. Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, And warriors more than I may name; Addition And better hearts o’er Border sod To siege or rescue never rode. The Ladye marked the aids come in, And high her heart of pride arose; She bade her youthful son attend, That he might know his father’s friend, And learn to face his foes. “The boy is ripe to look on war; I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff, And his true arrow struck afar The raven’s nest upon the cliff; The red cross, on a Southern breast, Is broader than the raven’s nest: Thou, Whitslade, shall teach him his weapon to wield, And o’er him hold his father’s shield.” XI. Well may you think the wily page Cared not to face the Ladye sage. He counterfeited childish fear, And shrieked, and shed full many a tear, And moaned and plained in manner wild. The attendants to the Ladye told, Some fairy, sure, had changed the child, That wont to be so free and bold. Then wrathful was the noble dame; She blushed blood-red for very shame— “Hence! ere the clan his faintness view; Hence with the weakling to Buccleugh; Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide To Rangleburn’s lonely side. Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, That coward should e’er be son of mine!” XII. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, To guide the counterfeited lad. Soon as the palfrey felt the weight Of that ill-omen’d elvish freight, He bolted, sprung, and reared amain, Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil To drive him but a Scottish mile; But, as a shallow brook they crossed, The elf, amid the running stream, His figure changed, like form in dream, And fled, and shouted, “Lost! lost! lost!” Full fast the urchin ran and laughed, But faster still a cloth-yard shaft Whistled from startled Tinlinn’s yew, And pierced his shoulder through and through. Although the imp might not be slain, And though the wound soon healed again, Yet, as he ran, he yelled for pain; And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast, Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. XIII. Soon on the hill’s steep verge he stood, That looks o’er Branksome’s towers and wood; And martial murmurs, from below, Proclaimed the approaching southern foe. Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, Were border-pipes and bugles blown; The coursers’ neighing he could ken, A measured tread of marching men; While broke at times the solemn hum, The Almayn’s sullen kettle-drum; And banners tall, of crimson sheen, Above the copse appear; And, glistening through the hawthorns green, Shine helm, and shield, and spear. XIV. Light forayers first, to view the ground, Spurred their fleet coursers loosely round; Behind, in close array and fast, The Kendal archers, all in green, Obedient to the bugle-blast, Advancing from the wood, were seen. To back and guard the archer band, Lord Dacre’s bill-men were at hand; A hardy race, on Irthing bred, With kirtles white, and crosses red, Arrayed beneath the banner tall, That streamed o’er Acre’s conquered wall; And minstrels, as they marched in order, Played, “Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border.” XV. Behind the English bill and bow, The mercenaries, firm and slow, Moved on to fight, in dark array, By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, Who brought the band from distant Rhine, And sold their blood for foreign pay. The camp their home, their law the sword; They knew no country, owned no lord; They were not armed like England’s sons, But bore the levin-darting guns; Buff-coats, all frounced and ’broidered o’er, And morsing-horns* and scarfs they wore; Each better knee was bared, to aid The warriors in the escalade; All, as they marched, in rugged tongue, Songs of Teutonick feuds they sung. XVI. But louder still the clamour grew, And louder still the minstrels blew, When, from beneath the greenwood tree, Rode forth Lord Howard’s chivalry; His men at arms, with glaive and spear, Brought up the battle’s glittering rear. There many a youthful knight, full keen To gain his spurs, in arms was seen; With favour in his crest, or glove, Memorial of his Ladye-love. So rode they forth in fair array, Till full their lengthened lines display; * Powder flasks. Then called a halt, and made a stand, And cried, “St George, for merry England!” XVII. Now every English eye, intent On Branksome’s armed towers was bent; So near they were that they might know The straining harsh of each cross-bow; On battlement and bartizan* Gleamed axe, and spear, and partizan; Falcon and culver† on each tower Stood prompt, their deadly hail to shower; And flashing armour frequent broke From eddying whirls of sable smoke, Where, upon tower and turret head, The seething pitch and molten lead Reeked, like a witch’s cauldron red. While yet they gaze, the bridges fall, * Battlement. † Ancient pieces of artillery. The wicket opes, and from the wall Rides forth the hoary Seneschal. XVIII. Armed he rode all save the head, His white beard o’er his breast-plate spread; Unbroke by age, erect his seat, He ruled his eager courser’s gait; Forced him, with chastened fire, to prance, And, high curvetting, slow advance; In sign of truce, his better hand Displayed a peeled willow wand; His squire, attending in the rear, Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. When they espied him riding out, Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout Sped to the front of their array, To hear what this old knight should say. XIX. “Ye English warden lords, of you Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, Why, ’gainst the truce of Border-tide, In hostile guise, ye dare to ride, With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand, And all yon mercenary band, Upon the bounds of fair Scotland? My Ladye reads you swith return; And, if but one poor straw you burn, Or do our towers so much molest, As scare one swallow from her nest, St Mary! but we’ll light a brand Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland.” XX. A wrathful man was Dacre’s lord, But calmer Howard took the word— “May’t please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, To seek the castle’s outward wall; Our pursuivant-at-arms shall shew Both why we came, and when we go.” The message sped, the noble Dame To the walls’ outward circle came; Each chief around leaned on his spear, To see the pursuivant appear; All in Lord Howard’s livery dressed, The lion argent decked his breast. He led a boy of blooming hue— O sight to meet a mother’s view! It was the heir of great Buccleuch. Obeisance meet the herald made, And this his master’s will he said. XXI. “It irks, high Dame, my noble lords, ’Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords; But yet they may not tamely see, All through the western wardenry, Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, And burn and spoil the Border-side; And ill beseems your rank and birth To make your towers a flemens-firth*. We claim from thee William of Deloraine, That he may suffer march-treason pain†. It was but last St Cuthbert’s even He pricked to Stapleton on Leven, Harried‡ the lands of Richard Musgrave, And slew his brother by dint of glaive; Then since a lone and widowed Dame These restless riders may not tame, Either receive within thy towers Two hundred of my master’s powers, Or straight they sound their warison§, And storm and spoil thy garrison; And this fair boy, to London led, Shall good King Edward’s page be bred.” * An asylum for outlaws. † Border treason.‡ Plundered. § Note of assault XXII. He ceased—and loud the boy did cry, And stretched his little arms on high; Implored for aid each well-known face, And strove to seek the Dame’s embrace. A moment changed that Ladye’s cheer, Gushed to her eye the unbidden tear; She gazed upon the leaders round, And dark and sad each warrior frowned. Then, deep within her sobbing breast She locked the struggling sigh to rest; Unaltered and collected stood, And thus replied, in dauntless mood. XXIII. “Say to thy lords of high emprise Who war on women and on boys, That either William of Deloraine Will cleanse him, by oath, of march-treason stain, Or else he will the combat take ’Gainst Musgrave, for his honour’s sake. No knight in Cumberland so good, But William may count with him kin and blood; Knighthood he took of Douglas’ sword, When English blood swelled Ancram ford; And but Lord Dacre’s steed was wight, And bare him ably in the flight, Himself had seen him dubbed a knight. For the young heir of Branksome’s line, God be his aid, and God be mine; Through me no friend shall meet his doom; Here, while I live, no foe finds room. Then if thy lords their purpose urge, Take our defiance loud and high; Our slogan is their lyke-wake* dirge, Our moat the grave where they shall lie.” XXIV. Proud she looked round, applause to claim— Then lightened Thirlestane’s eye of flame; * Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to internment. His bugle Wat of Harden blew; Pensils and pennons wide were flung, To heaven the Border slogan rung, “St Mary for the young Buccleuch!” The English war-cry answered wide, And forward bent each southern spear; Each Kendale archer made a stride, And drew the bowstring to his ear; Each minstrel’s war-note loud was blown; But, e’er a gray-goose shaft had flown, A horseman galloped from the rear. XXV. “Ah! noble lords!” he breathless said, “What treason has your march betrayed? What make you here, from aid so far, Before you walls, around you war? Your foemen triumph in the thought That in the toils the lion’s caught. Already on dark Ruberslaw The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw*; The lances, waving in his train, Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; And on the Liddel’s northern strand, To bar retreat to Cumberland, Lord Maxwell ranks his merrymen good, Beneath the eagle and the rood; And Jedwood, Eske, and Teviotdale, Have to proud Angus come; And all the Merse and Lauderdale Have risen with haughty Home. An exile from Northumberland, In Liddesdale I’ve wandered long; But still my heart was with merry England, And cannot brook my country’s wrong; And hard I’ve spurred all night, to shew The mustering of the coming foe.” * Weapon-schaw, the military array of a county. XXVI. “And let them come!” fierce Dacre cried; “For soon yon crest, my father’s pride, That swept the shores of Judah’s sea, And waved in gales of Galilee, From Branksome’s highest towers displayed, Shall mock the rescue’s lingering aid— Level each harquebuss on row; Draw, merry archers, draw the bow; Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, Dacre for England, win or die!” XXVII. “Yet hear,” quoth Howard, “calmly hear, Nor deem my words the words of fear; For who in field or foray slack, Saw the blanche lion e’er fall back? But thus to risque our Border flower In strife against a kingdom’s power, Ten thousand Scots ’gainst thousands three, Certes, were desperate policy. Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, Ere conscious of the advancing aid: Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine In single fight; and if he gain, He gains for us; but if he’s crossed, ’Tis but a single warrior lost. The rest, retreating as they came, Avoid defeat, and death, and shame.” XXVIII. Ill could the haughty Dacre brook His brother-warden’s sage rebuke; And yet his forward step he stayed, And slow and sullenly obeyed: But ne’er again the Border side Did these two lords in friendship ride; And this slight discontent, men say, Cost blood upon another day. XXIX. The pursuivant-at-arms again Before the castle took his stand; His trumpet called with parleying strain, The leaders of the Scottish band; And he defied, in Musgrave’s right, Stout Deloraine to single fight; A gauntlet at their feet he laid, And thus the terms of fight he said— “If in the lists good Musgrave’s sword Vanquish the Knight of Deloraine, Your youthful chieftain, Branksome’s lord, Shall hostage for his clan remain: If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, The boy his liberty shall have. Howe’er it falls, the English band, Unharming Scots, by Scots unharmed, In peaceful march, like men unarmed, Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.” XXX. Unconscious of the near relief, The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, Though much the Ladye sage gainsaid: For though their hearts were brave and true, From Jedwood’s recent sack they knew, How tardy was the regent’s aid; And you may guess the noble Dame Durst not the secret prescience own, Sprung from the art she might not name, By which the coming help was known. Closed was the compact, and agreed That lists should be enclosed with speed. Beneath the castle, on a lawn, They fixed the morrow for the strife, On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, At the fourth hour from peep of dawn; When Deloraine, from sickness freed, Or else a champion in his stead, Should for himself and chieftain stand, Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. XXXI. I know right well that, in their lay, Full many minstrels sing and say, Such combat should be made on horse, On foaming steed, in full career, With brand to aid, when as the spear Should shiver in the course: But he, the jovial Harper, taught Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, In guise which now I say; He knew each ordinance and clause Of black Lord Archibald’s battle laws, In the old Douglas’ day. He brooked not, he, that scoffing tongue Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, Or call his song untrue: For this, when they the goblet plied, And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, The bard of Reull he slew. On Teviot’s side, in fight, they stood, And tuneful hands were stained with blood; Where still the thorn’s white branches wave, Memorial o’er his rival’s grave. XXXII. Why should I tell the rigid doom, That dragged my master to his tomb; How Ousenam’s maidens tore their hair, Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, And wrung their hands for love of him, Who died at Jedwood Air? He died!—his scholars, one by one, To the cold silent grave are gone; And I, alas! survive alone, To muse o’er rivalries of yore, And grieve that I shall hear no more The strains, with envy heard before; For, with my minstrel brethren fled, My jealousy of song is dead.

He paused—the listening dames again Applaud the hoary Minstrel’s strain; With many a word of kindly cheer, In pity half, and half sincere, Marvelled the Duchess how so well His legendary song could tell— Of ancient deeds, so long forgot; Of feuds, whose memory was not; Of forests, now laid waste and bare; Of towers, which harbour now the hare; Of manners, long since changed and gone; Of chiefs, who under their gray stone So long had slept, that fickle Fame Had blotted from her rolls their name, And twined round some new minion’s head The fading wreath for which they bled— In sooth, ’twas strange this old man’s verse Could call them from their marble hearse. The Harper smiled, well pleased; for ne’er Was flattery lost on poet’s ear: A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile; E’en when in age their flame expires, Her dulcet breath can fan its fires; Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. Smiled then, well pleased, the Aged Man, And thus his tale continued ran. theLAYofTHE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO FIFTH. theLAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO FIFTH.

I. Call it not vain—they do not err, Who say, that when the poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies; Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave. II. Not that, in sooth, o’er mortal urn Those things inanimate can mourn; But that the stream, the wood, the gale, Is vocal with the plaintive wail Of those, who, else forgotten long, Lived in the poet’s faithful song, And, with the poet’s parting breath, Whose memory feels a second death. The maid’s pale shade, who wails her lot, That love, true love, should be forgot, From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear Upon the gentle minstrel’s bier; The phantom knight, his glory fled, Mourns o’er the field he heaped with dead; Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain, And shrieks along the battle-plain; The chief, whose antique crownlet long Still sparkled in the feudal song, Now, from the mountain’s misty throne, Sees, in the thanedom once his own, His ashes undistinguished lie, His place, his power, his memory die: His groans the lonely caverns fill, His tears of rage impel the rill; All mourn the minstrel’s harp unstrung, Their name unknown, their praise unsung. III. Scarcely the hot assault was stayed, The terms of truce were scarcely made, When they could spy, from Branksome’s towers, The advancing march of martial powers; Thick clouds of dust afar appeared, And trampling steeds were faintly heard; Spear-heads, above the columns dun, Variant Glanced momentary to the sun; And feudal banners fair displayed The bands that moved to Branksome’s aid. IV. Addition Vails not to tell each hardy clan, From the fair Middle Marches came; The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, Announcing Douglas, dreaded name! Vails not to tell what hundreds more, From the rich Merse and Lammermore, And Tweed’s fair borders, to the war, Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, And Hepburn’s mingled banners, come, Down the steep mountain glittering far, And shouting still, “A Home! a Home!” V. Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent, On many a courteous message went; To every chief and lord they paid Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid; And told them how a truce was made, And how a day of fight was ta’en, ’Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine; And how the Ladye prayed them dear, That all would stay the fight to see, And deign, in love and courtesy, To taste of Branksome cheer. Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, Were England’s noble Lords forgot; Himself, the hoary Seneschal, Rode forth, in seemly terms to call Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. Accepted Howard, than whom knight Was never dubbed, more bold in fight; Nor, when from war and armour free, More famed for stately courtesy; But angry Dacre rather chose In his pavilion to repose. VI. Now, noble dame, perchance you ask, How these two hostile armies met? Deeming it were no easy task To keep the truce which here was set; Where martial spirits, all on fire, Breathed only blood and mortal ire— —By mutual inroads, mutual blows, By habit, and by nation, foes, They met on Teviot’s strand: They met, and sate them mingled down, Without a threat, without a frown, As brothers meet in foreign land. The hands, the spear that lately grasped, Still in the mailed gauntlet clasped, Were interchanged in greeting dear; Visors were raised, and faces shewn, And many a friend, to friend made known, Partook of social cheer. Some drove the jolly bowl about; With dice and draughts some chased the day; And some, with many a merry shout, In riot, revelry, and rout, Pursued the foot-ball play. VII. Yet, be it known, had bugles blown, Or sign of war been seen; Those bands, so fair together ranged, Those hands, so frankly interchanged, Had dyed with gore the green: The merry shout by Teviot-side Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, And in the groan of death; And whingers*, now in friendship bare, The social meal to part and share, Had found a bloody sheath. * A sort of knife, or poniard. ’Twixt truce and war, such sudden change. Was not unfrequent, nor held strange, In the old Border-day; But yet on Branksome’s towers and town, In peaceful merriment, sunk down The sun’s declining ray. VIII. The blithesome signs of wassell gay Decayed not with the dying day; Soon through the latticed windows tall, Of lofty Branksome’s lordly hall, Divided square by shafts of stone, Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone; Nor less the gilded rafters rang With merry harp and beakers’ clang; And frequent, on the darkening plain, Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, As bands, their stragglers to regain, Give the shrill watch-word of their clan; And revellers, o’er their bowls, proclaim Douglas’ or Dacre’s conquering name. IX. Less frequent heard, and fainter still, At length the various clamours died; And you might hear from Branksome hill, No sound but Teviot’s rushing tide; Save, when the changing centinel The challenge of his watch could tell; And save, where, through the dark profound, The clanging axe and hammer’s sound Rung from the nether lawn; For many a busy hand toiled there, Addition The list’s dread barriers to prepare Against the morrow’s dawn. X. Margaret from hall did soon retreat, Despite the Dame’s reproving eye; Nor marked she, as she left her seat, Full many a stifled sigh. For many a noble warrior strove To win the Flower of Teviot’s love, And many a bold ally. With throbbing head and anxious heart, All in her lonely bower apart, In broken sleep she lay; By times, from silken couch she rose, While yet the bannered hosts repose; She viewed the dawning day. Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, First woke the loveliest and the best. XI. She gazed upon the inner court, Which in the tower’s tall shadow lay; Where coursers’ clang, and stamp, and snort, Had rung the live-long yesterday. Now still as death—till, stalking slow— The jingling spurs announced his tread— A stately warrior passed below; But when he raised his plumed head— Blessed Mary! can it be?— Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, He walks through Branksome’s hostile towers, With fearless step, and free. She dared not sign, she dared not speak— Oh! if one page’s slumbers break, His blood the price must pay! Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, Not Margaret’s yet more precious tears, Shall buy his life a day. XII. Yet was his hazard small—for well You may bethink you of the spell Of that sly urchin page; This to his Lord he did impart, And made him seem, by glamour art, A knight from Hermitage. Unchallenged, thus, the warder’s post, The court, unchallenged, thus he crossed, For all the vassalage: But O, what magic’s quaint disguise Could blind fair Margaret’s azure eyes! She started from her seat; While with surprise and fear she strove, And both could scarcely master love— Lord Henry’s at her feet. XIII. Oft have I mused what purpose bad That foul malicious urchin had To bring this meeting round; For happy love’s a heavenly sight, And by a vile malignant sprite In such no joy is found: And oft I’ve deemed, perchance he thought Their erring passion might have wrought Sorrow, and sin, and shame; And death to Cranstoun’s gallant Knight, And to the gentle Ladye bright, Disgrace, and loss of fame. But earthly spirit could not tell The heart of them that loved so well; True love’s the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven. It is not Fantasy’s hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; It is the secret sympathy, The silver cord, the silken tie, Variant Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind. Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, To tell you of the approaching fight. XIV. Their warning blasts the bugles blew, The pipe’s shrill port* aroused each clan; In haste, the deadly strife to view, The trooping warriors eager ran. * A martial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes. Thick round the lists their lances stood, Like blasted pines in Ettricke wood; To Branksome many a look they threw, The combatants’ approach to view, And bandied many a word of boast About the knight each favoured most. XV. Meantime full anxious was the Dame; For now arose disputed claim Of who should fight for Deloraine, ’Twixt Harden and ’twixt Thirlestane. They ’gan to reckon kin and rent, And frowning brow on brow was bent; But yet not long the strife—for, lo! Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, Strong, as it seemed, and free from pain, In armour sheathed from top to toe, Appeared, and craved the combat due. The Dame her charm successful knew*, And the fierce chiefs their claims withdrew. * See p. 82. Stanza XXIII. XVI. When for the lists they sought the plain, The stately Ladye’s silken rein Did noble Howard hold; Unarmed by her side he walked, And much, in courteous phrase, they talked Of feats of arms of old. Costly his garb—his Flemish ruff Fell o’er his doublet, shaped of buff, With sattin slashed, and lined; Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, His cloak was all of Poland fur, His hose with silver twined; His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, Hung in a broad and studded belt; Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still Called noble Howard, Belted Will. XVII. Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, Whose foot-cloth swept the ground; White was her wimple and her veil, And her loose locks a chaplet pale Of whitest roses bound; The lordly Angus by her side, In courtesy to cheer her tried; Without his aid, her hand in vain Had strove to guide her broidered rein. He deemed she shuddered at the sight Of warriors met for mortal fight; But cause of terror, all unguessed, Was fluttering in her gentle breast, When in their chairs of crimson placed, The Dame and she the barriers graced. XVIII. Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, An English knight led forth to view; Scarce rued the boy his present plight, So much he longed to see the fight. Within the lists, in knightly pride, High Home and haughty Dacre ride; Their leading staffs of steel they wield, As marshals of the mortal field; Addition Then heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, In king, and queen, and wardens’ name, That none, while lasts the strife, Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, Aid to a champion to afford, On peril of his life. And not a breath the silence broke, Till thus the alternate heralds spoke. XIX. english herald. Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, Good knight, and true, and freely born, Amends from Deloraine to crave, For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. He sayeth that William of Deloraine Is traitor false by Border laws; This with his sword he will maintain, So help him God, and his good cause! XX. scottish herald. Here standeth William of Deloraine, Good knight and true, of noble strain, Who sayeth that foul treason’s stain, Since he bore arms ne’er soiled his coat, And that, so help him God above, He will on Musgrave’s body prove He lyes most foully in his throat. lord dacre. Forward, brave champions, to the fight! Sound trumpets——— lord home. ———“God defend the right!” Addition At the last word, with deadly blows, The ready warriors fiercely close. XXI. Ill would it suit your gentle ear, Ye lovely listeners, to hear How to the axe the helms did sound, And blood poured down from many a wound; For desperate was the strife, and long, And either warrior fierce and strong. But were each dame a listening knight, I well could tell how warriors fight; For I have seen war’s lightning flashing, Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing, And scorned, amid the reeling strife, To yield a step for death or life. XXII. ’Tis done, ’tis done! that fatal blow Has stretched him on the bloody plain; He strives to rise—Brave Musgrave, no! Thence never shalt thou rise again! He chokes in blood—some friendly hand Undo the visor’s barred band, Unfix the gorget’s iron clasp, And give him room for life to gasp!— In vain, in vain—haste, holy friar, Variant Haste, ere the sinner shall expire! Of all his guilt let him be shriven, And smooth his path from earth to heaven! XXIII. In haste the holy friar sped, His naked foot was dyed with red, As through the lists he ran; Unmindful of the shouts on high, That hailed the conqueror’s victory, He raised the dying man; Loose waved his silver beard and hair, As o’er him he kneeled down in prayer. And still the crucifix on high He holds before his darkening eye, And still he bends an anxious ear, His faltering penitence to hear; Still props him from the bloody sod, Still, even when soul and body part, Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, And bids him trust in God! Unheard he prays; ’tis o’er, ’tis o’er! Variant Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. XXIV. As if exhausted in the fight, Or musing o’er the piteous sight, The silent victor stands; His beaver did he not unclasp, Marked not the shouts, felt not the grasp Of gratulating hands. When lo! strange cries of wild surprise, Mingled with seeming terror, rise Among the Scottish bands; And all, amid the thronged array, In panic haste gave open way, To a half-naked ghastly man, Who downward from the castle ran; He crossed the barriers at a bound, And wild and haggard looked around, As dizzy, and in pain; And all, upon the armed ground Knew William of Deloraine! Each ladye sprung from seat with speed; Vaulted each marshal from his steed; “And who art thou,” they cried, “Who hast this battle fought and won?” His plumed helm was soon undone— “Cranstoun of Teviotside! For this fair prize I’ve fought and won,”— And to the Ladye led her son. XXV. Full oft the rescued boy she kissed, And often pressed him to her breast, For, under all her dauntless show, Her heart had throbbed at every blow; Yet not Lord Cranstoun deigned she greet, Though low he kneeled at her feet. Me lists not tell what words were made, What Douglas, Home, and Howard said— —For Howard was a generous foe— And how the clan united prayed, The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun’s Lord and Teviot’s Flower. XXVI. She looked to river, looked to hill, Thought on the spirit’s prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still, “Not you, but Fate, has vanquished me; Their influence kindly stars may shower On Teviot’s tide and Branksome’s tower, For pride is quelled, and love is free.” She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might stand; That hand to Cranstoun’s lord gave she. “As I am true to thee and thine, Do thou be true to me and mine! This clasp of love our bond shall be; For this is your betrothing day, And all these noble lords shall stay, To grace it with their company.” XXVII. All as they left the listed plain, Much of the story she did gain, How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, And of his page, and of the book, Which from the wounded knight he took; And how he sought her castle high, That morn, by help of gramarye; How, in Sir William’s armour dight, Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, He took on him the single fight. But half his tale he left unsaid, And lingered till he joined the maid. Cared not the Ladye to betray Her mystic arts in view of day; But well she thought ere midnight came, Of that strange page the pride to tame, From his foul hands the book to save, And send it back to Michael’s grave. Needs not to tell each tender word ’Twixt Margaret and ’twixt Cranstoun’s lord; Nor how she told of former woes, And how her bosom fell and rose While he and Musgrave bandied blows— Needs not these lovers’ joys to tell; One day, fair maids, you’ll know them well. XXVIII. William of Deloraine, some chance Had wakened from his deathlike trance; And taught that, in the listed plain, Another, in his arms and shield, Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, Under the name of Deloraine. Hence, to the field, unarmed, he ran, And hence his presence scared the clan, Who held him for some fleeting wraith*, And not a man of blood and breath. Not much this new ally he loved, Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, He greeted him right heartilie. He would not waken old debate, For he was void of rancorous hate, Though rude, and scant of courtesy; In raids he spilt but seldom blood, Unless when men at arms withstood, Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. He ne’er bore grudge for stalwart blow, Ta’en in fair fight from gallant foe: * The spectral apparition of a living person. And so ’twas seen of him; e’en now, When on dead Musgrave he looked down: Grief darkened on his rugged brow, Though half-disguised with a frown; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, His foeman’s epitaph he made. XXIX. “Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here! I ween my deadly enemy, For if I slew thy brother dear, Thou slewest a sister’s son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark, Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till, ransomed for a thousand mark, Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, And thou wert now alive, as I, No mortal man should us divide, Till one, or both of us, did die: Yet, rest thee God! for well I know, I ne’er shall find a nobler foe! In all the northern counties here, Whose word is Snafle, spur, and spear*, Thou wert the best to follow gear; ’Twas pleasure, as we looked behind, To see how thou the chase couldst wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray! I’d give the lands of Deloraine, Dark Musgrave were alive again.”— XXX. So mourned he, till Lord Dacre’s band Were bowning back to Cumberland. They raised brave Musgrave from the field And laid him on his bloody shield; * The lands that over Ouse to Berwick forth do bear, Have for their blazon had, the snafle, spur, and spear. Poly-albion, Song xxxiii. On levelled lances, four and four, By turns, the noble burden bore. Before, at times, upon the gale, Was heard the Minstrel’s plaintive wail; Behind, four priests, in sable stole, Sung requiem for the warrior’s soul; Around, the horsemen slowly rode; With trailing pikes the spearmen trod; And thus the gallant knight they bore, Through Liddesdale to Leven’s shore, Thence to Holme Coltrame’s lofty nave, And laid him in his father’s grave.

The harp’s wild notes, though hushed the song, The mimic march of death prolong; Now seems it far, and now a-near, Now meets, and now eludes the ear; Now seems some mountain’s side to sweep, Now faintly dies in valley deep; Seems now as if the Minstrel’s wail, Now the sad requiem loads the gale; Last, o’er the warrior’s closing grave, Rung the full choir in choral stave. After due pause, they bade him tell, Why he, who touched the harp so well, Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, Wander a poor and thankless soil, When the more generous southern land, Would well requite his skilful hand. The aged Harper, howsoe’er His only friend, his harp, was dear, Liked not to hear it ranked so high Above his flowing poesy; Less liked he still that scornful jeer Misprized the land he loved so dear; High was the sound, as thus again The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. theLAYofTHE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO SIXTH. theLAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. CANTO SIXTH.

I. Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned, As home his footsteps he hath turned From wandering on a foreign strand! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentered all in self, Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung. II. O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e’er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand! Still, as I view each well known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends, thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow’s stream still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way; Still feel the breeze down Ettricke break, Although it chill my withered cheek; Though there, forgotten and alone, Addition The Bard may draw his parting groan. III. Not scorned like me! to Branksome Hall The Minstrels came, at festive call; Trooping they came, from near and far, The jovial priests of mirth and war; Alike for feast and fight prepared, Battle and banquet both they shared. Of late, before each martial clan, They blew their death-note in the van; But now, for every merry mate Rose the Portcullis’ iron grate; They sound the pipe, they strike the string, They dance, they revel, and they sing, Till the rude turrets shake and ring. IV. Me lists not at this tide declare The splendour of the spousal rite, How mustered in the chapel fair Both maid and matron, squire and knight; Me lists not tell of owches rare, Of mantles green, and braided hair, And kirtles furred with miniver; What plumage waved the altar round, How spurs, and ringing chainlets, sound: And hard it were for bard to speak The changeful hue of Margaret’s cheek; That lovely hue, which comes and flies, As awe and shame alternate rise! V. Some bards have sung, the Ladye high Chapel or altar came not nigh; Nor durst the rites of spousal grace, So much she feared each holy place. False slanders these—I trust right well, She wrought not by forbidden spell; For, mighty words and signs have power O’er sprites in planetary hour— Yet scarce I praise their venturous part, Who tamper with such dangerous art. But this for faithful truth I say, The Ladye by the altar stood, Of sable velvet her array, And on her head a crimson hood, With pearls embroidered and entwined, Guarded with gold, with ermine lined; A merlin sat upon her wrist, Held by a leash of silken twist. VI. The spousal rites were ended soon; ’Twas now the merry hour of noon, And in the lofty-arched hall Was spread the gorgeous festival: Steward and squire, with heedful haste, Marshalled the rank of every guest; Pages, with ready blade, were there, The mighty meal to carve and share. O’er capon, heron-shew, and crane, And princely peacock’s gilded train, And o’er the boar-head, garnished brave, And cygnet from St Mary’s wave; O’er ptarmigan and venison, The priest had spoke his benison. Then rose the riot and the din, Above, beneath, without, within! For, from the lofty balcony, Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery; Their clanging bowls old warriors quaffed, Loudly they spoke, and loudly laughed; Whispered young knights, in tone more mild, To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. The hooded hawks, high perched on beam, The clamour joined with whistling scream, And flapped their wings and shook their bells, In concert with the staghounds’ yells. Round go the flasks of ruddy wine, From Bordeaux, Orleans, or the Rhine; Their tasks the busy sewers ply, And all is mirth and revelry. VII. The goblin page, omitting still No opportunity of ill, Strove now, while blood ran hot and high, To rouse debate and jealousy; Till Conrade, Lord of Wolfenstein, By nature fierce, and warm with wine, And now in humour highly crossed, About some steeds his band had lost, High words to words succeeding still, Smote with his gauntlet stout Hunthill; A hot and hardy Rutherford, Whom men called Dickon Draw-the-sword. He took it, on the page’s saye, Hunthill had driven these steeds away. Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, The kindling discord to compose; Stern Rutherford right little said, But bit his glove and shook his head— A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, Stout Conrade, cold, and drenched in blood, His bosom gored with many a wound, Was by a woodman’s lyme-dog found; Unknown the manner of his death, Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath; But ever from that time, ’twas said, That Dickon wore a Cologne blade. VIII. The dwarf, who feared his master’s eye Might his foul treachery espie, Now sought the castle buttery, Where many a yeoman, bold and free, Revelled as merrily and well, As those that sat in lordly selle. Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-braes; And he, as by his breeding bound, To Howard’s merry-men sent it round. To quit them, on the English side, Red Roland Forster loudly cried, “A deep carouse to yon fair bride!” At every pledge, from vat and pail, Foamed forth, in floods, the nut-brown ale; While shout the riders every one, Such day of mirth ne’er cheered their clan, Since old Buckleuch the name did gain, When in the cleuch the buck was ta’en. IX. The wily page, with vengeful thought, Remembered him of Tinlinn’s yew, And swore, it should be dearly bought That ever he the arrow drew. First, he the yeoman did molest, With bitter gibe and taunting jest; Told how he fled at Solway strife, And how Hob Armstrong cheered his wife; Then, shunning still his powerful arm, At unawares he wrought him harm; From trencher stole his choicest cheer, Dashed from his lips his can of beer; Then, to his knee sly creeping on, With bodkin pierced him to the bone: The venomed wound, and festering joint, Long after rued that bodkin’s point. The startled yeoman swore and spurned, And board and flagons overturned; Riot and clamour wild began; Back to the hall the urchin ran; Took, in a darkling nook, his post, And grinned, and muttered, “Lost! lost! lost!” X. By this, the Dame, lest further fray Should mar the concord of the day, Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. And first stepped forth old Albert Græme, The Minstrel of that ancient name: Was none who struck the harp so well, Within the Land Debateable; Well friended too, his hardy kin, Whoever lost, were sure to win; They sought the beeves that made their broth, In Scotland and in England both. In homely guise, as nature bade, His simple song the Borderer said. XI. albert græme. It was an English ladye bright, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all! Blithely they saw the rising sun, When he shone fair on Carlisle wall, But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all! Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, Her brother gave but a flask of wine, For ire that Love was lord of all! For she had lands, both meadow and lea, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death, ere he would see A Scottish knight be lord of all! XII. That wine she had not tasted well, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; When dead, in her true love’s arms, she fell, For Love was still the lord of all! He pierced her brother to the heart, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; So perish all would true love part, That Love may still be lord of all! And then he took the cross divine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And died for her sake in Palestine, So Love was still the lord of all! Now all ye lovers that faithful prove, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, Pray for their souls who died for love, For Love shall still be lord of all! XIII. As ended Albert’s simple lay; Arose a bard of loftier port, For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, Renowned in haughty Henry’s court: There rung thy harp, unrivalled long, Fitztraver of the silver song. The gentle Surrey loved his lyre— Who has not heard of Surrey’s fame? His was the hero’s soul of fire, And his the bard’s immortal name, And his was love exalted high, By all the glow of chivalry. XIV. They sought, together, climes afar, And oft within some olive grove, When even came, with twinkling star, They sung of Surrey’s absent love. His step the Italian peasant staid, And deemed, that spirits from on high, Round where some hermit saint was laid, Were breathing heavenly melody; So sweet their harps and voices join, Variant To praise the name of Geraldine. XV. Fitztraver! O what tongue may say The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, When Surrey of the deathless lay, Ungrateful Tudor’s sentence slew? Regardless of the tyrant’s frown, His harp called wrath and vengeance down; He left, for Naworth’s iron towers, Windsor’s green glades and courtly bowers; And faithful to his patron’s name, With Howard, still Fitztraver came; Lord William’s foremost favourite he, And chief of all his minstrelsy. XVI. Fitztraver. ’Twas All-souls’s eve, and Surrey’s heart beat high! He heard the midnight-bell with anxious start, Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, To shew to him the ladye of his heart, Albeit, betwixt them roared the ocean grim; Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, That he should see her form in life and limb, And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him. XVII. Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, To which the wizard led the gallant knight, Save that before a mirror, huge and high, A hallowed taper shed a glimmering light On mystic implements of magic might, On cross, and character, and talisman, And almagest, and altar, nothing bright: For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, As watch-light, by the bed of some departing man. XVIII. But soon within that mirror, huge and high, Was seen a self-emitted light to gleam; And forms upon its breast, the earl ’gan spy, Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream; Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem To form a lordly and a lofty room, Part lighted by a lamp, with silver beam, Placed by a couch of Agra’s silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. XIX. Fair all the pageant—but how passing fair The slender form which lay on couch of Ind! O’er her white bosom strayed her hazel hair, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; All in her night-robe loose, she lay reclined, And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine, Some strain, that seemed her inmost soul to find— That favoured strain was Surrey’s raptured line, That fair and lovely form, the Ladye Geraldine. XX. Slow rolled the clouds upon the lovely form, And swept the goodly vision all away— So royal envy rolled the murky storm O’er my beloved Master’s glorious day. Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay On thee, and on thy children’s latest line, The wild caprice of thy despotic sway, The gory bridal bed, the plundered shrine, The murdered Surrey’s blood, the tears of Geraldine! XXI. Both Scots and Southern chiefs, prolong Applauses of Fitztraver’s song; These hated Henry’s name as death, And those still held the ancient faith. Then, from his seat, with lofty air, Rose Harold, bard of brave St Clair; St Clair, who, feasting high at Home, Had with that Lord to battle come. Harold was born where restless seas Howl round the storm-swept Orcades; Where erst St Clairs held princely sway, O’er isle and islet, strait and bay; Still nods their palace to its fall, Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall! Thence oft he marked fierce Pentland rave, As if grim Odinn rode her wave; And watched, the whilst, with visage pale, And throbbing heart, the struggling sail; For all of wonderful and wild Had rapture for the lonely child. XXII. And much of wild and wonderful, In these rude isles might Fancy cull; For thither came, in times afar, Stern Lochlin’s sons of roving war, The Norsemen, trained to spoil and blood, Skilled to prepare the raven’s food, Kings of the main, their leaders brave, Their barks, the dragons of the wave; And there, in many a stormy vale, The Scald had told his wondrous tale, And many a Runic column high Had witnessed grim idolatry. And thus had Harold, in his youth Learned many a Saga’s rhime uncouth,— Of that sea-snake, tremendous curled, Whose monstrous circle girds the world; Of those dread maids, whose hideous yell Maddens the battle’s bloody swell; Of chiefs, who, guided through the gloom By the pale death-lights of the tomb, Ransacked the graves of warriors old, Their faulchions wrenched from corpses’ hold, Waked the deaf tomb with war’s alarms, And bade the dead arise to arms! With war and wonder all on flame, To Roslin’s bowers young Harold came, Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, He learned a milder minstrelsy; Yet something of the Northern spell Mixed with the softer numbers well. XXIII. harold. O listen, listen, ladies gay! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. —“Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay! Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. “The blackening wave is edged with white; To inch* and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh. “Last night the gifted seer did view A wet shroud rolled round ladye gay; Variant Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch: Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?”— —“’Tis not because Lord Lindesay’s heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my Ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. * Inch, Isle. “’Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If ’tis not filled by Rosabelle.”— O’er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; ’Twas broader than the watch-fire light, And redder than the bright moon-beam. It glared on Roslin’s castled rock, It reddened all the copse-wood glen; Variant ’Twas seen from Dryden’s groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden. Seemed all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffined lie; Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seemed all on fire within, around, Both vaulted crypt and altar’s pale; Variant Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmered all the dead-men’s mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair— So still they blaze when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St Clair. There are twenty of Roslin’s barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold— But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle! And each St Clair was buried there, With candle, with book, and with knell; But the Kelpy* rung, and the Mermaid sung, Variant The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. * Kelpy, the Water Demon. XXV. So sweet was Harold’s piteous lay, Scarce marked the guests the darkened hall, Though long before the sinking day, A wonderous shade involved them all: It was not eddying mist or fog, Drained by the sun from fen or bog; Of no eclipse had sages told; And yet, as it came on apace, Each one could scarce his neighbour’s face, Could scarce his own stretched hand, behold. A secret horror checked the feast, And chilled the soul of every guest; Even the high Dame stood half aghast, She knew some evil on the blast; The elvish page fell to the ground, And, shuddering, muttered, “Found! found! found!” XXVI. Then sudden through the darkened air A flash of lightning came; So broad, so bright, so red the glare, The castle seemed on flame; Glanced every rafter of the hall, Glanced every shield upon the wall. Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone, Were instant seen, and instant gone; Full through the guests’ bedazzled band Resistless flashed the levin-brand, And filled the hall with smouldering smoke, As on the elvish page it broke— It broke, with thunder long and loud, Dismayed the brave, appalled the proud, From sea to sea the larum rung; On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, To arms the startled warders sprung. When ended was the dreadful roar, The elvish dwarf was seen no more! XXVII. Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, Some saw a sight not seen by all; That dreadful voice was heard by some Cry with loud summons, “Gylbyn, come!” And on the spot where burst the brand, Just where the page had flung him down, Some saw an arm, and some a hand, And some the waving of a gown. The guests in silence prayed and shook, And terror dim’d each lofty look: But none of all the astonished train Was so dismayed as Deloraine; His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, ’Twas feared his mind would ne’er return; For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, Like him of whom the story ran, Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. At length, by fits, he darkly told, With broken hint, and shuddering cold— That he had seen right certainly, A shape with amice wrapped around, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea— And knew—but how it mattered not— It was the wizard, Michael Scott. XXVIII. The anxious crowd, with horror pale, All trembling, heard the wonderous tale; No sound was made, no word was spoke, Till noble Angus silence broke; And he a solemn sacred plight Did to St Bride of Douglas make, That he a pilgrimage would take To Melrose Abbey, for the sake Of Michael’s restless sprite. Then each to ease his troubled breast, To some blessed saint his prayers addressed: Some to St Modan made their vows, Some to St Mary of the Lowes, Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, Some to our Ladye of the Isle; Each did his patron witness make, That he such pilgrimage would take, And monks should sing, and bells should toll, All for the weal of Michael’s soul. While vows were ta’en, and prayers were prayed, ’Tis said the noble Dame, dismayed, Renounced for aye dark magic’s aid. XXIX. Nought of the bridal will I tell, Which after in short space befel; Nor how brave sons and daughters fair Blessed Teviot’s Flower, and Cranstoun’s heir: After such dreadful scene, ’twere vain To wake the note of mirth again; More meet it were to mark the day Of penitence and prayer divine, When pilgrim-chiefs, in sad array, Sought Melrose’ holy shrine. XXX. With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, And arms enfolded on his breast, Did every pilgrim go; The standers-bye might hear uneath, Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, Through all the lengthened row; No lordly look, nor martial stride, Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, Forgotten their renown; Silent and slow, like ghosts, they glide To the high altar’s hallowed side, And there they knelt them down: Above the suppliant chieftains wave The banners of departed brave; Beneath the lettered stones were laid The ashes of their fathers dead; From many a garnished nich around, Stern saints, and tortured martyrs, frowned. XXXI. And slow up the dim aisle afar, With sable cowl and scapular, And snow-white stoles, in order due, The holy fathers, two and two, In long procession came; Taper, and host, and book, they bare, And holy banner, flourished fair With the Redeemer’s name; Above the prostrate pilgrim band, The mitred abbot stretched his hand, And blessed them as they kneeled; With holy cross he signed them all, And prayed they might be sage in hall, And fortunate in field. Then mass was sung, and prayers were said, And solemn requiem for the dead; And bells tolled out their mighty peal, For the departed spirit’s weal; And ever in the office close The hymn of intercession rose; And far the echoing aisless prolong The awful burthen of the song, Dies iræ, dies illa, Solvet sæclum in favilla; While the pealing organ rung; Were it meet with sacred strain To close my lay so light and vain, Thus the holy fathers sung. XXXII. hymn for the dead. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner’s stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead; O! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be Thou the trembling sinner’s stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away!

Hushed is the harp—the Minstrel gone. And did he wander forth alone? Alone, in indigence and age, To linger out his pilgrimage? No—close beneath proud Newark’s tower, Arose the Minstrel’s lowly bower; A simple hut; but there was seen The little garden hedged with green, The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. There sheltered wanderers, by the blaze, Oft heard the tale of other days; For much he loved to ope his door, And give the aid he begged before. So passed the winter’s day—but still, When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, And July’s eve, with balmy breath, Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath; When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, And grain waved green on Carterhaugh, Variant And flourished, broad, Blackandro’s oak, The aged Harper’s soul awoke! Then would he sing achievements high And circumstance of Chivalry, Till the rapt traveller would stay, Forgetful of the closing day; And noble youths, the strain to hear, Forsook the hunting of the deer; And Yarrow, as he rolled along, Bore burden to the Minstrel’s song. NOTES NOTESon CANTO I.

The feast was over in Branksome tower.—St. I. p. 9.

In the reign of James I., Sir William Scott of Buccleuch, chief of the clan bearing that name, exchanged, with Sir Thomas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Murdieston, in Lanarkshire, for one half of the barony of Branksome, or Branxholm*, lying upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. He was probably induced to this transaction from the vicinity of Branksome to the extensive domain which he possessed in Ettricke forest and in Teviotdale. In the former district he held by occupancy the estate of Buccleuch†, and much of the fo- * Branxholm is the proper name of the barony; but Branksome has been adopted as suitable to the pronunciation, and more proper for poetry. † There are no vestiges of any building at Buccleugh, except the site of a chapel, where, according to a tradition current in the time of Scott of Satchells, many of the ancient barons of Buccleugh lie buried. There is also said to have been a mill near this solitary spot; an extraordinary circumstance, as little or no corn grows within several miles of Buccleugh. Satchells says it was used to grind corn for the hounds of the chieftain. rest land on the river Ettrick. In Teviotdale, he held the barony of Eckford by a grant from Robert II. to his ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkurd, for the apprehending of Gilbert Ridderford, confirmed by Robert III., 3d May, 1424. Tradition imputes the exchange betwixt Scott and Inglis to a conversation in which the latter, a man, it would appear, of a mild and forbearing nature, complained much of the injuries which he was exposed to from the English Borderers, who frequently plundered his lands of Branksome. Sir William Scott instantly offered him the estate of Murdiestone, in exchange for that which was subject to such egregious inconvenience. When the bargain was completed, he dryly remarked, that the cattle in Cumberland were as good as those of Teviotdale, and proceeded to commence a system of reprisals upon the English, which was regularly pursued by his successors. In the next reign, James II. granted to Sir Walter Scott of Branksome, and to Sir David, his son, the remaining half of the barony of Branksome, to be held in blanch for the payment of a red rose. The cause assigned for the grant is, their brave and faithful exertions in favour of the king against the house of Douglas, with whom James had been recently tugging for the throne of Scotland. This charter is dated the 2d February, 1443; and in the same month, part of the barony of Langholm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were conferred upon Sir Walter and his son by the same monarch.

After the period of the exchange with Sir Thomas Inglis, Branksome became the principal seat of the Buccleuch family. The castle was enlarged and strengthened by Sir David Scott, the grandson of Sir William, its first possessor. But, in 1570-1, the vengeance of Elizabeth, provoked by the inroads of Buc- cleuch, and his attachment to the cause of Queen Mary, destroyed the castle, and laid waste the lands of Branksome. In the same year the castle was repaired and enlarged by Sir Walter Scott, its brave possessor; but the work was not completed until after his death, in 1574, when the widow finished the building. This appears from the following inscriptions. Around a stone, bearing the arms of Scott of Buccleuch, appears the following legend: “Sir Wt. Scott of Bransheim Knyt Yoe of Sir William Scott of Kirkurd Knyt began ye work upon ye 24 of Marche 1571 zear quha Departit at God’s pleisour ye 17 April 1574“ On a similar copartment are sculptured the arms of Douglas, with this inscription, “Dame Margaret Douglas his spous completit the forsaid work in October 1576.“ Over an arched door is inscribed the following moral verse:

In . Varld . is . nocht . nature . hes . brought . yat . sal . lest . ay . tharefore . serve . god . keip . veil . ye . rod . thy . fame . sal . nocht . dekay . Sir Walter Scott of Branxholm Knight . Margaret Douglas 1571.

Branksome Castle continued to be the principal seat of the Buccleuch family, while security was any object in their choice of a mansion. It has since been the residence of the commissioners, or chamberlains of the family. From the various alterations which the building has undergone, it is not only greatly restricted in its dimensions, but retains little of the castellated form, if we except one square tower of massy thickness, being the only part of the original building which now remains. The whole forms a handsome modern residence, and is now inhabited by my respected friend, Adam Ogilvy, Esq., of Hartwoodmyres, commissioner of his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch.

The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by some vestiges of its foundation, and its strength is obvious from the situation, on a deep bank surrounded by the Teviot, and flanked by a deep ravine, formed by a precipitous brook. It was anciently surrounded by wood, as appears from the survey of Roxburghshire, made for Pont’s Atlas, and preserved in the Advocates’ Library. This wood was cut about fifty years ago, but is now replaced by the thriving plantations, which have been formed by the noble proprietor, for miles around the ancient mansion of his forefathers.

Nine-and twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome-Hall. St. III. p. 10.

The ancient Barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendour, and from their frontier situation, retained in their household, at Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their own name, who held lands from their chief, for the military service of watching and warding his castle. Satchells tells us, in his doggerel poetry,

No baron was better served into Britain; The barons of Buckleugh they kept at their call, Four and twenty gentlemen in their hall, All being of his name and kin; Each two had a servant to wait upon them; Before supper and dinner, most renowned, The bells rung and the trumpets sowned; And more than that, I do confess, They kept four and twenty pensioners. Think not I lie, nor do me blame, For the pensioners I can all name; There’s men alive elder than I, They know if I speak truth or lie. Every pensioner a room* did gain, For service done and to be done; This I’ll let the reader understand, The name both of the men and land, Which they possessed, it is of truth, Both from the Lairds and Lords of Buckleugh.

Accordingly, dismounting from his Pegasus, Satchells gives us, in prose, the names of twenty-four gentlemen, younger brothers of ancient families, who were pensioners to the house of Buccleuch, and describes the lands which each possessed for his border service. In time of war with England, the garrison was doubtless augmented. Satchells adds, “These twenty-three pensioners, all of his own name of Scott, and Walter Gladstanes of Whitelaw, a near cousin of My Lord’s, as aforesaid, were ready on all occasions when his honor pleased cause to advertise them. It is known to many of the country better than it is to me, that the rent of these lands, which the lairds and lords of Buccleuch did freely bestow upon their friends, will amount to above twelve or fourteen thousand * Room, portion of land. merks a-year.“—History of the name of Scot, p. 45. An immense sum in those times.

And with Jedwood axe at saddle-bow—St. V. p. 11.

“Of a truth,” says Froissart, “the Scottish cannot boast great skill with the bow, but rather bear axes, with which, in time of need, they give heavy strokes.” The Jedwood axe was a sort of partizan, used by horsemen, as appears from the arms of Jedburgh, which bear a cavalier mounted and armed with this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart staff.

They watch against Southern force and guile, Lest Scroope, or Howard, or Percy’s powers, Threaten Branksome’s lordly towers, From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. St. VI. p. 12.

Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of the English, both from its situation and the restless military disposition of its inhabitants, who were seldom on good terms with their neighbours. The following letter from the Earl of Northumberland to Henry VIII. in 1533, gives an account of a successful inroad of the English, in which the country was plundered up to the gates of the castle, although the invaders failed in their principal object, which was to kill, or make prisoner, the Laird of Buccleuch. It occurs in the Cotton M. S. Calig. B. VIII. f. 222.

“Pleaseth yt your most gracious highnes to be aduertised that my comptroller with Raynald Carnaby desyred licence of me to invade the realme of Scotland, for the annoysaunce of your highnes enemys, where they thought best exployt by theyme might be done, and to haue to concur withe theyme the inhabitants of Northumbreland, suche as was towards me according to theyre assembly, and as by theyre discrecions vppone the same they shulde thinke most convenient; and soo they dyd mete vppon Monday, before nyght, being the iii day of this instant monethe, at Wawhope, uppon northe Tyne water, above Tyndaill, where they were to the nombre of xv c men, and soo invadet Scotland, at the howre of viii of the clok at nyght, at a place called whele causay; and before xi of the clok dyd send forth a forrey of Tyndaill and Ryddisdaill, and laide all the resydewe in a bushment, and actyvely dyd set vppon a towne called Branxhom, where the Lord of Buclough dwellythe, and purpesed theymselves with a trayne for hym lyke to his accustommed manner, in rysynge, to all frayes; albeit, that nyght he was not at home, and soo they brynt the said Branxhom, and other townes, as to say Whichestre, Whichestre-helme, and Whelley, and haid ordered theymeself soo, that sundry of the said Lord Buclough servants whoo dyd issue fourthe of his gates, was takyn prisoners. They dyd not leve one house, one stak of corne, nor one shyef, without the gate of the said Lord Buclough vnbrynt; and thus scrymaged and frayed, supposing the Lord of Buclough to be within iii or iiii myles to have trayned him to the bushment; and soo in the breyking of the day dyd the forrey and the bushment mete, and reculed homeward, making theyr way westward from theyre invasion to be over Lyddersdaill, as intending yf the fray frome theyre furst entry by the Scotts waiches, or otherwyse by warnying shulde haue bene gyven to Gedworth and the countrey of Scotland theyreabouts of theyre invasion; whiche Gedworthe is from the wheles causay vi myles, that thereby the Scotts shulde have comen further vnto theyme, and more owte of ordre; and soo vppon sundry good consideracons, before they entered Lyddersdaill, as well accompting the inhabitants of the same to be towards your highnes, and to inforce theyme the more thereby, as alsoo to put an occasion of suspect to the kinge of Scotts and his counsaill, to be taken anenst theyme, amongs theymeselves, maid proclamacions, commaunding vppon payne of dethe, assurance to be for the said inhabitants of Lyddersdaill, without any prejudice or hurt to be done by any Inglyssman vnto theyme, and soo in good ordre abowte the howre of ten of the clok before none, vppone Tewsday, dyd pass through the said Lyddersdaill, when dyd come diverse of the said inhabitants there to my servauntes, under the said assurance, effering theymselfs with any service they couthe make; and thus, thanks be to Godde, your highnes’ subjects, abowte the howre of xii of the clok at none the same day, came into this youre highness realme, brynging wt theyme above xl Scottsmen prisoners, one of theyme named Scot, of the surname and kyn of the said Lord of Buclough, and of his howsehold; they brought also ccc nowte, and above lx horse and mares, keping in savetie frome losse or hurte all your said hignes subjects. There was alsoo a towne called Newbyggyns, by diverse fotmen of Tyndaill and Ryddesdaill takyn vp of the nyght, and spoyled, when was slayne ii Scottsmen of the said towne, and many Scotts there hurte; your highnes subjects was xiiii myles within the grounde of Scotlande, and is frome my house at Werkworthe, above lx miles of the most evill passage, where great snawes doth lye; heretofore the same townes now brynt haith not at any tyme in the mynd of man in any warrs been enterprised unto nowe; your subjects were thereto more incouraged for the better advancement of your highnes service, the said Lord of Buclough beyng alwais a mortall enemy to this your graces realme, and he dyd say, within xiiii dayes before, he wolde see who durst lye near hym, wt many other cruell words, the knowledge whereof was certainly haid to my said servaunts, before theyre enterprice maid vppon him, most humbly beseeching your majesty, that youre highnes thanks may concur vnto theyme, whose names be here inclosed, and to have in your most gracious memory, the paynfull and diligent service of my pore servaunte Wharton, and thus, as I am most bounden, shall dispose wt them that be under me f . . . . . . . . . annoysaunce of our highnes enemy’s.”

Bards long shall tell, How Lord Walter fell.—St. VIII. p. 13.

Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather, Sir David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and Warden of the west marches of Scotland. His death was the consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs, the history of which is necessary to explain repeated allusions in the romance.

In the year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, “the Earl of Angus, and the rest of the Douglasses, ruled all which they liked, and no man durst say the contrary: wherefore the King (James V., then a minor) was heavily displeased, and would fain have been out of their hands, if he might by any way: And, to that effect wrote a quiet and secret letter with his own hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buccleuch, beseeching him that he would come with his kin and friends, and all the force that he might be, and meet him at Melross, at his home-passing, and there to take him out of the Douglasses hands, and to put him to liberty, to use himself among the lave (rest) of his lords, as he thinks expedient.

“This letter was quietly directed, and sent by one of the king’s own secret servants, which was received very thankfully by the laird of Buckleuch, who was very glad thereof, to be put to such charges and familiarity with his prince, and did great diligence to perform the king’s writing, and to bring the matter to pass as the king desired: And to that effect convened all his kin and friends, and all that would do for him, to ride with him to Melross, when he knew of the king’s home-coming. And so he brought with him six hundred spears, of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and countrymen, and clans thereabout, and held themselves quiet while that the king returned out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to remain there all that night.

“But when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord, and Fernyhirst (the chiefs of the clan of Kerr), took their leave of the king, and returned home, then appeared the laird of Buckleuch in sight, and his company with him, in an arrayed battle, intending to have fulfilled the king’s petition, and therefore came stoutly forward on the back side of Halidenhill. By that the Earl of Angus, with George Douglas, his brother, and sundry other of his friends, seeing this army coming, they marvelled what the matter meant; while at last they knew the laird of Buccleuch, with a certain company of the thieves of Annandale; with him they were less affeared, and made them manfully to the field contrary them, and said to the king in this manner, “Sir, yon is Buccleuch, and thieves of Annandale with him, to unbeset your Grace from the gate (i.e. interrupt your passage). I vow to God they shall either fight or flee; and ye shall tarry here on this know, and my brother George with you, with any other company you please; and I shall pass, and put yon thieves off the ground, and rid the gate unto your Grace, or else die for it.” The king tarried still, as was devised; and George Douglas, with him and sundry other lords, such as the earl of Lennox, and the lord Erskine, and some of the king’s own servants; but all the lave (rest) past with the Earl of Angus to the field against the laird of Buccleuch, who joyned and countered cruelly both the said parties in the field of Darnelinver*, either against other, with uncertain victory. But at the last, the Lord Hume, hearing word of that matter how it stood, returned again to the king in all possible haste, with him the lairds of Cessfoord and Fernyhirst, to the number of fourscore spears, and set freshly on the lap and wing of the laird of Buccleuch’s field, and shortly bare them backward to the ground; which caused the laird of * Darnwick, near Melrose. The place of conflict is still called Skinner’s Field, from a corruption of Skirmish Field. Buccleuch, and the rest of his friends, to go back and flee, whom they followed and chased; and especially the lairds of Cessfoord and Fernyhirst followed furiouslie, till at the foot of a path the laird of Cessfoord was slain by the stroke of a spear by an Elliot, who was then servant to the laird of Buccleuch. But when the laird of Cessfoord was slain, the chase ceased. The earl of Angus returned again with great merriness and victory, and thanked God that he saved him from that chance, and passed with the king to Melross, where they remained all that night. On the morn they past to Edinburgh with the king, who was very sad and dolorous of the slaughter of the laird of Cessfoord, and many other gentlemen and yeomen slain by the laird of Buccleuch, containing the number of fourscore and fifteen, which died in defence of the King, and at the command of his writing.”

In consequence of this battle, there ensued a deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which, in spite of all means used to bring about an agreement, raged for many years upon the Borders. One of the acts of violence to which this quarrel gave rise, was, the murder of Sir Walter Scott of Buccleugh, who was slain by the Kerrs in the streets of Edinburgh, in 1552. This is the event alluded to in Stanza VII.; and the poem is supposed to open shortly after it had taken place.

No! vainly to each holy shrine, In mutual pilgrimage, they drew.—St. VIII. p. 13.

Among other expedients resorted to for staunching the feud betwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there was a bond executed, in 1529, between the heads of each clan, binding themselves to perform reciprocally the four principal pilgrimages of Scotland, for the benefit of the souls of those of the opposite name who had fallen in the quarrel. This indenture is printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Vol. I. But either it never took effect, or else the feud was renewed shortly afterward.

Such pactions were not uncommon in feudal times; and, as might be expected, they were often, as in the present case, void of the effect desired. When Sir Walter Mauny, the renowned follower of Edward III., had taken the town of Ryoll, in Gascony, he remembered to have heard that his father lay there buried, and offered a hundred crowns to any who could shew him his grave. A very old man appeared before Sir Walter, and informed him of the manner of his father’s death, and the place of his sepulture. It seems the lord of Mauny had, at a great tournament, unhorsed, and wounded to the death, a Gascon knight of the house of Mirepoix, whose kinsman was bishop of Cambray. For this deed he was held at feud by the relations of the knight, until he agreed to undertake a pilgrimage to the shrine of St James of Compostella, for the benefit of the soul of the deceased. But as he returned through the town of Ryoll, after accomplishment of his vow, he was beset, and treacherously slain by the kindred of the knight, whom he had killed. Sir Walter, guided by the old man, visited the lowly tomb of his father; and, having read the inscription, which was in Latin, he caused the body to be raised and transported to his native city of Valenciennes, where masses were, in the days of Froissart, duly said for the soul of the unfortunate pilgrim.—Cronycle of Froyssart, Vol. I. p. 123.

While Cessford owns the rule of Car.—St. VIII. p. 14.

The family of Ker, Kerr, or Car*, was very powerful on the Border. Fynes Morrison remarks, in his Travels, that their influence extended from the village of Preston-Grange, in Lothian, to the limits of England. Cessford Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the family, is situated near the village of Morebattle, within two or three miles of the Cheviot Hills. It has been a place of great strength and consequence, but is now ruinous. Tradition affirms, that it was founded by Halbert, or Habby Ker, a gigantic warrior, concerning whom many stories are current in Roxburghshire. The Duke of Roxburghe represents Ker of Cessford. A distinct and powerful branch of the same name own the marquis of Lothian as their chief: Hence the distinction betwixt Kerrs of Cessford and Fairnihirst.

* The name is spelled differently by the various families who bear it. Car is selected, not as the most correct, but as the most poetical reading. Before Lord Cranstoun she should wed.—St. X. p. 15.

The Cranstouns, Lord Cranstoun, are an ancient Border family, whose chief seat was at Crailing in Teviotdale. They were at this time at feud with the clan of Scot; for it appears that the Lady of Buccleuch, in 1557, beset the laird of Cranstoun, seeking his life. Nevertheless the same Cranstoun, or perhaps his son, was married to a daughter of the same lady.

Of Bethune’s line of Picardie.—St. XI. p. 16.

The Bethunes were of French origin, and derived their name from a small town in Artois. There were several distinguished families of the Bethunes in the neighbouring province of Picardie; they numbered among their descendants the celebrated Duc de Sully; and the name was accounted among the most noble in France, while aught noble remained in that country. The family of Bethune, or Beatoun, in Fife, produced three learned and dignified prelates; namely, Cardinal Beaton, and two successive archbishops of Glasgow, all of whom flourished about the date of the romance. Of this family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, widow of Sir Walter Scott of Branksome. She was a woman of a masculine spirit, as appeared from her riding at the head of her son’s clan after her husband’s murder. She also possessed the hereditary abilities of her family in such a degree, that the superstition of the vulgar imputed them to supernatural knowledge. With this was mingled, by faction, the foul accusation of her having influenced Queen Mary to the murder of her husband. One of the placards preserved in Buchanan’s Detection, accuses of Darnley’s murder “the Erle Bothwell, Mr. James Balfour, the persoun of Fliske Mr. David Chalmers, blak Mr. John Spens, wha was principal deviser of the murder; and the Quene, assenting thairto, throw the persuasioun of the Erle Bothwell, and the witchcraft of the Lady Buckcleuch.“

He learned the arts that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea.—St. XI. p. 16.

Padua was long supposed by the Scottish peasants to be the principal school of necromancy. The Earl of Gowrie, slain at Perth in 1600, pretended, during his studies in Italy, to have acquired some knowledge of the cabala, by which he said he could charm snakes, and work other miracles; and, in particular, could produce children without the intercourse of the sexes. See the examination of Wemys of Bogie before the Privy Council, concerning Gowrie’s conspiracy.

His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall!—St. XI. p. 16.

The shadow of a necromancer is independent of the sun. Glyeas informs us, that Simon Magus caused his shadow to go before him, making people believe it was an attendant spirit. Heywood’s Hiearchie, p. 475.—The vulgar conceive, that when a class of students have made a certain progress in their mystic studies, they are obliged to run through a subterraneous hall, where the devil literally catches the hindmost in the race, unless he crosses the hall so speedily, that the arch enemy can only apprehend his shadow. In the latter case, the person of the sage never after throws any shade; and those who have thus lost their shadow. always prove the best magicians.

The viewless forms of air.—St. XII. p. 16.

The Scottish vulgar, without having any very defined notion of their attributes, believe in the existence of an intermediate class of spirits residing in the air, or in the waters; to whose agency they ascribe floods, storms, and all such phenomena as their own philosophy cannot readily explain. They are supposed to interfere in the affairs of mortals, sometimes with a malevolent purpose, and sometimes with milder views. It is said, for example, that a gallant Baron, having returned from the Holy Land to his castle of Drummelziar, found his fair lady nursing a healthy child, whose birth did not by any means correspond to the date of his departure. Such an occurrence, to the credit of the dames of the crusaders be it spoken, was so rare, that it required a miraculous solution. The lady therefore was believed, when she averred confidently, that the Spirit of the Tweed had issued from the river while she was walking upon its bank, and compelled her to submit to his embraces; and the name of Tweedie was bestowed upon the child, who afterwards became Baron of Drummelziar, and chief of a powerful clan. To those spirits were also ascribed, in Scotland, the

—“Airy tongues, that syllable men’s names On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.“

When the workmen were engaged in erecting the ancient church of Old Deer, in Aberdeenshire, upon a small hill called Bissau, they were surprised to find that the work was impeded by supernatural obstacles. At length, the Spirit of the River was heard to say,

It is not here, it is not here, That ye shall build the kirk of Deer; But on Taptillery, Where many a corpse shall lie.

The site of the edifice was accordingly transferred to Taptillery, an eminence at some distance from the place where the building had been commenced. Macfarlain’s MSS.—I mention these popular fables, because the introduction of the River and Mountain Spirits may not, at first sight, seem to accord with the general tone of the romance, and the superstitions of the country where the scene is laid.

A fancied moss-trooper, &c.—St. XIX. p. 21.

This was the usual appellation of the marauders upon the Borders: a profession diligently pursued by the inhabitants on both sides, and by none more actively and successfully than by Buccleuch’s clan. Long after the union of the crowns, the moss-troopers, although sunk in reputation, and no longer enjoying the pretext of national hostility, continued to pursue their calling.

Fuller includes, among the wonders of Cumberland, “The moss-troopers; so strange in the condition of their living, if considered in their Original, Increase, Height, Decay, and Ruine.

1. “Original. I conceive them the same called Borderers in Mr. Cambden; and characterized by him to be, a wild and warlike people. They are called Moss-troopers, because dwelling in the mosses, and riding in troops together. They dwell in the bounds, or meeting, of the two kingdoms, but obey the laws of neither. They come to church as seldom as the 29th of February comes into the kalendar.

2. “Increase. When England and Scotland were united in Great Britain, they that formerly lived by hostile incursions, betook themselves to the robbing of their neighbours. Their sons are free of the trade by their fathers’ copy. They are like to Job, not in piety and patience, but in sudden plenty and poverty; sometimes having flocks and herds in the morning, none at night, and perchance many again next day. They may give for their mottoe, vivitur ex rapto, stealing from their honest neighbours what they sometimes require. They are a nest of hornets; strike one, and stir all of them about your ears. Indeed, if they promise safely to conduct a traveller, they will perform it with the fidelity of a Turkish Janizary; otherwise, wo be to him that falleth into their quarters!

3. “Height. Amounting forty years since to some thousands. These compelled the vicinage to purchase their security, by paying a constant rent to them. When in their greatest height, they had two great enemies, the laws of the land, and the Lord William Howard of Naworth. He sent many of them to Carlisle, to that place where the officer doth always his work by day-light. Yet these Moss-troopers, if possibly they could procure the pardon for a condemned person of their company, would advance great sums out of their common stock, who, in such a case, cast in their lots amongst themselves, and all have one purse.

4. “Decay. Caused by the wisdom, valour, and diligence, of the Right Honorable Charles Lord Howard, Earl of Carlisle, who routed these English tories with his regiment. His severity unto them will not only be excused, but commended, by the judicious, who consider how our great lawyer doth describe such persons who are solemnly outlawed. Bracton, lib. 3. trac. 2. cap. 11. ‘Ex tunc gerunt caput lupinum, ita quod sine judiciali inquisitione rite pereant, et secum suum judicium portent; et merito sine lege pereunt qui secundum legem vivere recusarunt.’ ‘Thenceforward (after that they are outlawed) they wear a woolf’s head, so that they lawfully may be destroyed, without any judicial inquisition, as who carry their own condemnation about them, and deservedly die without law, because they refused to live according to law.’

5. “Ruine. Such was the success of this worthy Lord’s severity, that he made a thorough reformation amongst them; and, the ring-leaders being destroyed, the rest are reduced to legall obedience, and so, I trust, will continue.” Fuller’s Worthies of England, 1662, p. 216.

How the brave boy, in future war, Should tame the Unicorn’s pride, Exalt the Crescents and the Star.—St. XIX. p. 21.

The arms of the Kerrs of Cessford were, Vert on a cheveron, betwixt three unicorns’ heads erased argent, three mollets sable. Crest, an unicorn’s head erased proper. The Scotts of Buccleugh bore, Or on a bend azure; a star of six points betwixt two crescents of the first.

William of Deloraine.—St. XX. p. 22.

The lands of Deloraine are joined to those of Buccleuch, in Ettricke Forest. They were immemorially possessed by the Buccleuch family, under the strong title of occupancy, although no charter was obtained from the crown until 1545. Like other possessions, the lands of Deloraine were occasionally granted by them to vassals, or kinsmen, for Border-service. Satchells mentions, among the twenty-four gentlemen-pensioners of the family, “William Scott, commonly called Cut-at-the-Black, who had the lands of Nether Deloraine for his service.” And again, “This William of Deloraine, commonly called Cut at the Black, was a brother of the ancient house of Haining, which house of Haining is descended from the ancient house of Hassendean.” The lands of Deloraine now give an Earl’s title to the descendant of Henry the second, surviving son of the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. I have endeavored to give William of Deloraine the attributes which characterized the Borderers of his day; for which I can only plead Froissart’s apology, that, “it behoveth, in a lynage, some to be folyshe and outrageous, to maynteyne and sustayne the peasable.” As a contrast to my Marchman, I beg leave to transcribe, from the same author, the speech of Amergot Marcell, a captain of the adventurous companions, a robber, and a pillager of the country of Auvergne, who had been bribed to sell his strong-holds, and to assume a more honourable military life under the banners of the Earl of Armagnac. But “when he remembered alle this, he was sorrowfull his tresour he thought he wolde not mynysshe, he was wonte dayly to serche for newe pyllages, wherbye encresed his profyte, and than he sawe that all was closed fro’ hym. Than he sayde and imagyned, that to pyll and to robbe (all thynge considered) was a good lyfe, and so repented hym of his good doing. On a tyme, he said to his old companyons, ‘Sirs, there is no sporte nor glory in this worlde amonge men of warre, but to use suche lyfe as we have done in tyme past. What a joy was it to us when we rode forth at adventure, and somtyme found by the way a ryche priour or merchaunt, or a route of mulettes of Mountpellyer, of Narbonne, of Lymens, of Fongans, of Besyers, of Tholous, or of Carcasonne, laden with cloth of Brusselles, or peltre ware comynge fro the fayres, or laden with spycery fro Bruges, fro Damas, or fro Alysaundre: whatsoever we met, alle was ours, or els ransoumed at our pleasures: dayly we gate new money, and the vyllaynes of Auvergne and of Lymosyn dayly provyded and brought to our castell whete mele, good wynes, beffes, and fatte mottons, pullayne and wylde foule: We were ever furnyshed as tho we had ben kings. When we rode forthe, all the countrey trymbled for feare: alle was ours goyng and comyng. Howe toke we Carlast I and the Bourge of Companye, and I and Perot of Bernoys took Caluset: how dyd we scale, with lytell ayde, the strong castell of Marquell, pertayning to the Earl Dolphyn; I kept it nat past fyve days, but I receyved for it, on a feyre table, fyve thousande frankes, and forgave one thousande for the love of the Erl Dolphyn’s children. By my fayth, this was a fayre and a good lyfe; wherefore I repute myselfe sore deceyved, in that I have rendered up the fortress of Aloys; for it wolde have ben kept fro alle the worlde, and the daye that I gave it up, it was fournyshed with vytaylles, to have been kepte seven yere without re-vytaylynge. This Erl of Armynake hath disceyved me: Olyve Barbe, and Perot le Bernoys, shewed to me how I shulde repente myselfe; certayne I sore repente myselfe of what I have done.”—Froissart, vol. ii. p. 195.

By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffled Percy’s best blood-hounds.—St. XXI. p. 22.

The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border-riders, were sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pursuit of blood-hounds. Barbour informs us, that Robert Bruce was repeatedly tracked by sleuth-dogs. On one occasion, he escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and thus baffled the scent. The pursuers came up:

Rycht to the burn thai passyt ware, Bot the sleuth-hund made stinting thar, And waueryt lang tyme ta and fra, That he na certain gate couth ga; Till at the last that Jhon of Lorne Perseuvit the hund the sleuth had lorne. The Bruce, Buke vii.

A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Henry the Minstrel tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this circumstance. The hero’s little band had been joined by an Irishman, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character. After a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne Side, Wallace was forced to retreat with only 16 followers. The English pursued with a Border sleuth-bratch, or blood-hound. In Gelderland there was that bratchel bred, Siker of scent, to follow them that fled; So was he used in Eske and Liddesdail, While (i.e., till) she gat blood no fleeing might avail. In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or affecting to be so, would go no farther: Wallace having in vain argued with him, in hasty anger, struck off his head, and continued the retreat. When the English came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body. The sleuth stopped at Fawdoun, still she stood Nor farther would fra time she fund the blood. The story concludes with a fine scene of Gothic terror. Wallace took refuge in the solitary tower of Gask. Here he was disturbed at midnight by the blast of a horn: he sent out his attendants by two and two, but no one returned with tidings. At length, when he was left alone, the sound was heard still louder. The champion descended, sword in hand; and at the gate of the tower was encountered by the headless spectre of Fawdoun, whom he had slain so rashly. Wallace, in great ter- ror, fled up into the tower, tore open the boards of a window, leapt down fifteen feet in height, and continued his flight up the river. Looking back to Gask, he discovered the tower on fire, and the form of Fawdoun upon the battlements, dilated to immense size, and holding in his hand a blazing rafter. The Minstrel concludes, Trust ryght wele, that all this be sooth indeed, Supposing it be no point of the creed. The Wallace, Book fifth. Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of Henry’s poetry. Specimens of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 351.

Dimly he viewed the Moat-hill’s mound.—St. XXV. p. 25.

This is a round artificial mound near Hawick, which, from its name (Mot Ang. Sax. Concilium Conventus), was probably anciently used as a place for assembling a national council of the adjacent tribe. There are many such mounds in Scotland, and they are sometimes, but rarely, of a square form.

Beneath the tower of Hazeldean—St. XXV. p. 25.

The estate of Hazeldean, corruptly Hassendean, belonged formerly to a family of Scotts thus commemorated by Satchells.

“Hassendean came without a call, The ancientest house among them all.” On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint.—St. XXVII. p. 26

A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above the vale of Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family-seat, from which Lord Minto takes his title. A small plat-form, on a projecting crag, commanding a most beautiful prospect, is termed Barnhills’ Bed. This Barnhills is said to have been a robber or outlaw. There are remains of a strong tower beneath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from which he derived his name. On the summit of the crags are the fragments of another ancient tower, in a picturesque situation. Among the houses cast down by the Earl of Hartforde, in 1545, occur the towers of Easter Barnills, and of Minto-crag, with Minto town and place. Sir Gilbert Elliot, father to the present Lord Minto, was the author of a beautiful pastoral song, of which the following is a more correct copy than is usually published. The poetical mantle of Sir Gilbert Elliot has descended to his family.

My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook: No more for Amynta fresh garlands I wove; Ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. But what had my youth with ambition to do? Why left I Amynta? why broke I my vow? Through regions remote in vain do I rove, And bid the wide world secure me from love. Ah, fool, to imagine, that aught could subdue A love so well-founded, a passion so true! Ah, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore, And I’ll wander from love and Amynta no more! Alas! ’tis too late at thy fate to repine! Poor shepherd, Amynta no more can be thine! Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, The moments neglected return not again. Ah! what had my youth with ambition to do? Why left I Amynta? why broke I my vow? Ancient Riddell’s Fair Domain. —St. XXVIII. p. 27.

The family of Riddell have been very long in possession of the barony called Riddell, or Ryedale, part of which still bears the latter name. Tradition carries their antiquity to a point extremely remote; and is in some degree sanctioned by the discovery of two stone coffins, one containing an earthen pot filled with ashes and arms, bearing a legible date, A. D. 727; the other dated 936, and filled with the bones of a man of gigantic size. These coffins were discovered in the foundations of what was, but has long ceased to be, the chapel of Riddell; and as it was argued, with plausibility, that they contained the remains of some ancestors of the family, they were deposited in the modern place of sepulture, comparative]y so termed, though built in 1110. But the following curious and authentic documents warrant most conclusively the epithet of ancient Riddell. 1st, A charter by David I. to Walter Rydale, Sheriff of Roxburgh, confirming all the estates of Liliesclive, &c., of which his father, Gervasius de Rydale died possessed. 2dly, A bull of Pope Adrian IV. confirming the will of Walter de Ridale, knight, in favour of his brother Anschittil de Ridale, dated 8th April, 1155. 3dly, A bull of Pope Alexander III., confirming the said will of Walter de Ridale, bequeathing to his brother Anschittil the lands of Liliesclive, Whettunes, &c., and ratifying the bargain betwixt Anschittil and Huctredus, concerning the church of Liliesclive, in consequence of the mediation of Malcolm II., and confirmed by a charter from that monarch. This bull is dated 17th June, 1160. 4thly, A bull of the same Pope, confirming the will of Sir Anschittil de Ridale, in favour of his son Walter, conveying the said lands of Liliesclive and others, dated 10th March, 1120. It is remarkable, that Liliesclive, otherwise Rydale, or Riddel, and the Whittunes, have descended, through a long train of ancestors, without ever passing into a collateral line, to the person of Sir John Buchanan Riddell, bart. of Riddell, the lineal descendant and representative of Sir Anschittil. These circumstances appeared worthy of notice in a Border work.

As glanced his eye o’er Halidon.—St. XXX. p. 28.

Halidon was an ancient seat of the Kerrs of Cessford, now demolished. About a quarter of a mile to the northward lay the field of battle betwixt Buccleugh and Angus, which is called to this day the Skirmish Field. See the fourth note on this Canto.

Old Melros’ rose and fair Tweed ran.—St. XXXI. p. 29.

The ancient and beautiful monastery of Melrose was founded by King David I. Its ruins afford the finest specimen of Gothic architecture and Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast. The stone, of which it is built, though it has resisted the weather for so many ages, retains perfect sharpness, so that even the most minute ornaments seem as entire as when newly wrought. In some of the cloisters, as is hinted in the next Canto, there are representations of flowers, vegetables, &c., carved in stone, with accuracy and precision so delicate, that we almost distrust our senses when we consider the difficulty of subjecting so hard a substance to such intricate and exquisite modulation. This superb convent was dedicated to St Mary, and the monks were of the Cistercian order. At the time of the Reformation, they shared in the general reproach of sensuality and irregularity thrown upon the Roman churchmen. The old words of Galashiels, a favourite Scottish air, ran thus:

O the monks of Melrose made gude kale* On Fridays when they fasted; They never wanted beef nor ale As long as their neighbour’s lasted. * Kale, Broth. NOTESon CANTO II.

When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die. St. I. p. 36.

The buttresses ranged along the sides of the ruins of Melrose, are, according to the Gothic stile, richly carved and fretted, containing niches for the statues of saints, and labelled with scrolls, bearing appropriate texts of Scripture. Most of these statues have been demolished.

—St David’s ruined pile.—St. I. p. 36.

David the first of Scotland purchased the reputation of sanctity, by founding, and liberally endowing, not only the monastery of Melrose, but those of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others, which led to the well-known observation of his successor, that he was a sore saint for the crown.

—Lands and livings, many a rood, Had gifted the shrine for their souls repose.—St. II. p. 37.

The Buccleuch family were great benefactors to the abbey of Melrose. As early as the reign of Robert II., Robert Scott, baron of Murdieston and Rankelburn (now Buccleuch), gave to the monks the lands of Hinkery, in Ettricke forest, pro salute animæ suæ.—Cartulary of Melrose, 28th May, 1415.

Beneath their feet were the bones of the dead.—St. VII. p. 40.

The cloisters were frequently used as places of sepulture. An instance occurs in Dryburgh abbey, where the cloister has an inscription bearing, Hic jacet frater Archibaldus.

Prayer know I hardly one; * * * * * * * * Save to patter an Ave Mary, When I ride on a Border foray.—St. VI. p. 39.

The Borderers were, as may be supposed, very ignorant about religious matters. Colville, in his Paranesis, or Admonition, states, that the reformed divines were so far from undertaking distant journies to convert the Heathen, “as I wold wis at God that ye wold only go bot to the Hielands and Borders of our own realm, to gain our awin countreymen, who for lack of preching and ministration of the sacraments, must, with tyme, becum either infedells, or atheists.” But we learn, from Lesley, that, however deficient in real religion, they regularly told their beads, and never with more zeal than when going on a plundering expedition.

So had he seen, in fair Castile, The youth in glittering squadrons start; Sudden the flying jennet wheel, And hurl the unexpected dart.—St. VIII. p. 40.

“By my fayth,” sayd the Duke of Lancaster (to a Portuguese squire), “of all the feates of armes that the Castellyans and they of your countrey doth use, the castynge of their dartes best pleaseth me, and gladly I wolde se it; for as I here say, if they strike one aryght, without he be wel armed, the dart will perce him thrughe.” “By my fayth, Sir,” sayd the squyer, “ye say trouth; for I have seen many a grete stroke given with them, which at one tyme cost us derely, and was to us great displeasure; for at the said skyrmishe, Sir John Laurence of Coygne was striken with a dart in such wise, that the head perced all the plates of his cote of mayle, and a sacke stopped with sylke, and passed thrughe his body, so that he fell down dead.” Froyssart, vol. ii. ch. 44.—This mode of fighting with darts was imitated in the military game called Juego de las canas, which the Spaniards borrowed from their Moorish invaders. A Saracen champion is thus described by Froissart: “Among the Sarazyns, there was a yonge knight calld Agadinger Dolyferne; he was always wel mounted on a redy and a lyght horse; it seemed, whan the horse ranne, that he did flye in the ayre. The knighte semed to be a good man of armes by his dedes, he bare always of usage three fethered dartes, and rychte well he coulde handle them; and according to their, custome, he was clene armed with a long white towel! aboute his heed. His apparell was blacke, and his own colour browne, and a good horseman. The Crysten men saye, they thoughte he dyd such dedes of armes for the love of some yonge ladye of his countrey. And true it was, that he loved entirely the king of Thunes’ daughter, named the Lady Azala; she was enherytour to the realme of Thunes, after the discease of the kyng, her father. This Agadinger was sone to the Duke of Olyferne. I can nat telle if they were married together after or nat; but it was shewed me that this knyght, for love of the sayd ladye, during the siege, did many feats of armes. The knyghtes of Fraunce wolde fayne have taken hym; but they colde never attrape nor inclose him, his horse was so swyft, and so redy to his hand, that alwaies he scaped.” Vol. ii. ch. 71.

Thy low and lonely urn, O gallant chief of Otterburne.—St. X. p. 42.

The famous and desperate battle of Otterburne was fought 15th August, 1388, betwixt Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and James Earl of Douglas. Both these renowned champions were at the head of a chosen body of troops, and they were rivals in military fame; so that Froissart affirms, “Of all the bataylles and encountrynges that I have made mencion of here before in all this hystory, great or smalle, this batayle that I treat of nowe was one of the sorest and best foughten, without cowardes or faynte hertes; for there was neyther knyghte nor squyer but that dyde his devoyre, and fought hande to hande. This batayle was lyke the batayle of Becherell, the which was valiauntlye fought and endured.” The issue of the conflict is well known: Percy was made prisoner, and the Scots won the day, dearly purchased by the death of their gallant general, the Earl of Douglas, who was slain in the action. He was buried at Melrose beneath the high altar. “His obsequye was done reverently, and on his body layde a tombe of stone, and his baner hangyng over hym.”—Froyssart, Vol. II. p. 161.

—Dark knight of Liddesdale.—St. X. p. 42.

William Douglas, called the knight of Liddesdale, flourished during the reign of David II.; and was so distinguished by his valour, that he was called the Flower of Chivalry. Nevertheless, he tarnished his renown by the cruel murder of Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, originally his friend and brother in arms. The king had conferred upon Ramsay the sheriffdom of Teviotdale, to which Douglas pretended some claim. In revenge of this preference, the knight of Liddesdale came down upon Ramsay, while he was administering justice at Hawick, seized, and carried him off to his remote and inaccessible castle of Hermitage, where he threw his unfortunate prisoner, horse and man, into a dungeon, and left him to perish of hunger. It is said, the miserable captive prolonged his existence for several days by the corn which fell from a granary above the vault in which he was confined*. So weak was the royal authority, that David, though highly incensed at this atrocious murder, found himself obliged to appoint the * There is something affecting in the manner in which the old Prior of knight of Liddesdale successor to his victim, as sheriff of Teviotdale. But he was soon after slain, while hunting in Ettrick Forest, by his own godson and chieftain, William Earl of Douglas, in revenge, according to some authors, of Ramsay’s murder; although a popular tradition, preserved in a ballad quoted by Godscroft, and some parts of which are still preserved, ascribes the resentment of the Earl to jealousy. The place where the knight of Liddisdale was killed, is called, from his name, Williams-Cross, upon the ridge of a hill called William-hope, betwixt Tweed and Yarrow. His body, according to Godscroft, was carried to Lindean church the first night after his death, and thence to Melrose, where he was interred with great pomp, and where his tomb is still shewn.

Lochlevin turns from describing the death of the gallant Ramsay, to the general sorrow which it excited: To tell you thare of the manere, It is bot sorow for til here; He wes the grettast menyd man That ony cowth have thowcht of than, Of his state, or of mare be fare; All menyt him, bath bettyr and war; The ryche and pure him menyde bath, For of his dede was mekil skath. Some years ago, a person digging for stones, about the old castle of Hermitage, broke into a vault, containing a quantity of chaff, some bones, and pieces of iron; amongst others, the curb of an ancient bridle, which the author has since given to the Earl of Dalhousie, under the impression, that it possibly may be a relique of his brave ancestor. The worthy clergyman of the parish has mentioned this discovery, in his statistical account of the parish of Castleton. The moon on the east oriel shone.—St. XI. p. 42.

It is impossible to conceive a more beautiful specimen of the lightness and elegance of Gothic architecture, when in its purity, than the eastern window of Melrose abbey. Sir James Hall of Dunglas, bart. has, with great ingenuity and plausibility, traced the Gothic order through its various forms, and seemingly eccentric ornaments, to an architectural imitation of wicker-work; of which, as we learn from some of the legends, the earliest Christian churches were constructed. In such an edifice, the original of the clustered pillars is traced to a set of round posts, begirt with slender rods of willow, whose loose summits were brought to meet from all quarters, and bound together artificially, so as to produce the frame-work of the roof; and the tracery of our Gothic windows is displayed in the meeting and interlacing of rods and hoops, affording an inexhaustible variety of beautiful forms of open work. This ingenious system is alluded to in the romance. Sir James Hall’s essay on Gothic architecture is published in the Edinburgh Philosophical Transactions.

They sat them down on a marble stone, A Scottish monarch slept below.—St. XII. p. 43.

A large marble stone, in the chancel of Melrose, is pointed out as the monument of Alexander II., one of the greatest of our early kings; others say, it is the resting place of Waldeve, one of the early abbots, who died in the odour of sanctity.

The wondrous Michael Scott.—St. XIII. p. 43.

Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished during the 13th century; and was one of the embassadors sent to bring the Maid of Norway to Scotland upon the death of Alexander III. By a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later æra. He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in foreign countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at Venice in 1496; and several treatises upon natural philosophy, from which he appears to have been addicted to the abstruse studies of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, and chiromancy. Hence he passed among his contemporaries for a skilful magician. Dempster informs us, that he remembers to have heard in his youth, that the magic books of Michael Scott were still in existence, but could not be opened without danger, on account of the fiends who were thereby invoked. Dempsteri Historia Ecciesiastica, 1627, lib. xii. p. 495. Lesly characterises Michael Scott as “singulari philosophiæ, astronomiæ, ac medicinæ laude prestans; dicebatur penitissimos magiæ recussus indagasse.” A personage, thus spoken of by biographers and historians, loses little of his mystical fame in vulgar tradition. Accordingly, the memory of Sir Michael Scott survives in many a legend; and in the south of Scotland, any work of great labour and antiquity is ascribed, either to the agency of Auld Michael, of Sir William Wallace, or of the devil. Tradition varies concerning the place of his burial: some contend for Holme Coltrame, in Cumberland; others for Melrose abbey. But all agree, that his books of magic were interred in his grave, or preserved in the convent where he died. Satchells, wishing to give some authority for his account of the origin of the name of Scott, pretends, that, in 1629, he chanced to be at Burgh, under Bowness, in Cumberland, where a person, named Lancelot Scott, shewed him an extract from Michael Scott’s works, containing that story.

“He said the book which he gave me, Was of Sir Michael Scot’s historie; Which historie was never yet read through, Nor never will, for no man dare it do. Young scholars have pick’d out something From the contents, that dare not read within. He carried me along into the castle then, And shew’d his written book hanging on an iron pin. His writing pen did seem to me to be Of harden’d metal, like steel, or accumie; The volume of it did seem so large to me, As the book of martyrs and Turks historie. Then in the church he let me see A stone where Mr Michael Scot did lie; I asked at him how that could appear, Mr Michael had been dead above five hundred year? * * * * * * * He shew’d me none durst bury under that stone, More than he had been dead a few years agone; For Mr Michael’s name does terrifie each one.” History of the Right Honourable name of Scot. Salamanca’s cave.—St. XIII. p. 44.

Spain, from the reliques, doubtless, of Arabian learning and superstition, was accounted a favourite residence of magicians. Pope Sylvester, who actually imported from Spain the use of the Arabian numerals, was supposed to have learned there the magic for which he was stigmaised by the ignorance of his age. William of Malmesbury, lib. ii. cap. 10.—There were public schools, where magic, or rather the sciences supposed to involve its mysteries, were regularly taught, at Toledo, Seville, and Salamanca. In the latter city, they were held in a deep cavern; the mouth of which was walled up by Queen Isabella, wife of King Ferdinand. D’Autun on learned Incredulity, p. 45.—The celebrated magician Maugis, cousin to Rinaldo of Montalban, called by Ariosto, Malagigi, studied the black art at Toledo, as we learn from L’Histoire de Maugis D’Aygremont. He even held a professor’s chair in the necromantic university; for so I interpret the passage, “qu’en tous les sept ars d’enchantement, des charmes et conjurations il n’y avoit meilleur maistre que lui; et en tel renom qu’on le laissoit en chaise, et l’appelloit en maistre Maugis.” This Salamancan Domdaniel is said to have been founded by Hercules. If the classic reader enquires where Hercules himself learned magic, he may consult, “Les faicts et processes du noble et vaillant Hercules,” where he will learn, that the fable of his aiding Atlas to support the heavens, arose from the said Atlas having taught Hercules, the noble knight errant, the seven liberal sciences, and, in particular, that of judicial astrology. Such, according to the idea of the middle ages, were the studies, “maximus quæ docuit Atlas.”—In a romantic history of Roderic, the last Gothic king of Spain, he is said to have entered one of those enchanted caverns. It was situated beneath an ancient tower near Toledo; and, when the iron gates, which secured the entrance, were unfolded, there rushed forth so dreadful a whirlwind, that hitherto no one had dared to penetrate into its recesses. But Roderic, threatened with an invasion of the Moors, resolved to enter the cavern, where he expected to find some prophetic intimation of the event of the war. Accordingly, his train being furnished with torches so artificially composed, that the tempest could not extinguish them, the king, with great difficulty, penetrated into a square hall, inscribed all over with Arabian characters. In the midst stood a colossal statue of brass, representing a Saracen wielding a Moorish mace, with which it discharged furious blows on all sides, and seemed thus to excite the tempest which raged around. Being conjured by Roderic, it ceased from striking until he read, inscribed on its right hand, “Wretched monarch, for thy evil hast thou come hither;” on the left hand, “Thou shalt be dispossessed by a strange people;” on one shoulder, “I invoke the sons of Hagar;” on the other, “I do mine office.” When the king had decyphered these ominous inscriptions, the statue returned to its exercise, the tempest commenced anew, and Roderic retired, to mourn over the predicted evils which approached his throne. He caused the gates of the cavern to be locked and barricaded; but, in the course of the night, the tower fell with a tremendous noise, and under its ruins concealed for ever the entrance to the mystic cavern. The conquest of Spain by the Saracens, and the death of the unfortunate Don Roderic, fulfilled the prophecy of the brazen statue.—Historia verdadera del Rey Don Rodrigo por el sabio Alcayde Abulcacim, traduzeda de la lengua Arabiga por Miquel de Luna, 1654, cap. vi.

The bells would ring in Notre Dame.—St. XIII. p. 44.

“Tantamne rem tam negligenter?” says Tyrwhitt, of his predecessor Speght; who, in his commentary on Chaucer, had omitted, as trivial and fabulous, the story of Wade and his boat Guingelot, to the great prejudice of posterity; the memory of the hero, and the boat, being now entirely lost. That future antiquaries may lay no such omission to my charge, I have noted one or two of the most current traditions concerning Michael Scott. He was chosen, it is said, to go upon an embassy, to obtain from time king of France satisfaction for certain piracies committed by his subjects upon those of Scotland. Instead of preparing anew equipage and splendid retinue, the embassador retreated to his study, opened his book, and evoked a fiend in the shape of a huge black horse, mounted upon his back, and forced him to fly through the air towards France. As they crossed the sea, the devil insidiously asked his rider, What it was that the old women of Scotland muttered at bed-time? A less experienced wizard might have answered, that it was the Pater Noster, which would have licensed the devil to precipitate him from his back. But Michael sternly replied, “What is that to thee? Mount, Diabolus, and fly!” When he arrived at Paris, he tied his horse to the gate of the palace, entered, and boldly delivered his message. An embassador, with so little of the pomp and circumstance of diplomacy, was not received with much respect; and the king was about to return a contemptuous refusal to his demand, when Michael besought him to suspend his resolution till he had seen his horse stamp three times. The first stamp shook every steeple in Paris, and caused all the bells to ring; the second threw down three of the towers of the palace; and the infernal steed had lifted his hoof to give the third stamp, when the king rather chose to dismiss Michael with the most ample concessions, than to stand to the probable consequences. Upon another occasion, the magician, having studied so long in the mountains that he became faint for want of food, sent his servant to procure some from the nearest farm-house. The attendant received a churlish denial from the farmer. Michael commanded him to return to this rustic Nabal, and lay before him his cap, or bonnet, repeating these words,

Maister Michael Scott’s man Sought meat, and gat nane.

When this was done and said, the enchanted bonnet became suddenly inflated, and began to run round the house with great speed, pursued by the farmer, his wife, his servants, and the reapers, who were on the neighbouring har’st rigg. No one had the power to resist the fascination, or refrain from joining in pursuit of the bonnet, until they were totally exhausted with their ludicrous exercise. A similar charm occurs in Huon de Bourdeaux, and in the ingenious Oriental tale, called the Caliph Vathek.

Michael, like his predecessor Merlin, fell at last a victim to female art. His wife, or concubine, elicited out of him the secret, that his art could ward off any danger except the poisonous qualities of broth, made of the flesh of a breme sow. Such a mess she accordingly administered to the wizard, who died in consequence of eating it.

The words that clove Eildon hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone. St. XIII. p. 44.

Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed by a spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding constant employment. He commanded him to build a cauld, or dam-head, across the Tweed at Kelso: it was accomplished in one night, and still does honour to the infernal architect. Michael next ordered, that Eildon hill, which was then a uniform cone, should be divided into three. Another night was sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaks which it now bears. At length the enchanter conquered this indefatigable dæmon, by employing him in the hopeless and endless task of making ropes out of sea sand.

That lamp shall burn unquenchably.—St. XIV. p. 45.

Baptista Porta, and other authors who treat of natural magic, talk much of eternal lamps, pretended to have been found burning in ancient sepulchres. Fortunius Licetus investigates the subject in a treatise, De Lucernis antiquorum reconditis, published at Venice 1621. One of these perpetual lamps is said to have been discovered in the tomb of Tulliola, the daughter of Cicero. The wick was supposed to be composed of asbestos. Kircher enumerates three different receipts for constructing such lamps; and wisely concludes, that the thing is nevertheless impossible. Mundus Subterraneus, p. 72.—Delrio imputes the fabrication of such lights to magical skill. Disquisitiones Magicæ, p. 58.—In a very rare romance, which “treateth of the lyfe of Virgilius, and of his deth, and many marvayles that he dyd in his lyfe-time, by whyche-crafte and nygramancye, thoroughe the helpe of the devyls of hell,” mention is made of a very extraordinary process, in which one of these mystical lamps was employed. It seems, that Virgil, as he advanced in years, became desirous of renovating his youth by his magical art. For this purpose he constructed a solitary tower, having only one narrow portal, in which he placed twenty-four copper figures, armed with iron flails, twelve on each side of the porch. These enchanted statues struck with their flails incessantly, and rendered all entrance impossible unless when Virgil touched the spring, which stopped their motion. To this tower he repaired privately, attended by one trusty servant, to whom he communicated the secret of the entrance, and hither they conveyed all the magician’s treasure. “Then sayde Virgilius, my dere beloved frende, and he that I above alle men truste and knowe mooste of my secret;” and then he led the man into the cellar, where he had made a fayer lampe at all seasons burnynge. And than sayd Virgilius to the man, “Se you the barell that standeth here?” and he sayd, yea: “therin must thou put me: fyrste ye must slee me, and hewe me smalle to peces, and cut my hed in iiii peces, and salte the heed under in the bottum, and then the peces there after, and my herte in the myddel, and then set the barell under the lampe, that nyghte and day the fat therin may droppe and leake; and ye shall, ix dayes longe, ones in the daye, fyll the lampe, and fayle nat. And when this is alle done, than shall I be renued, and made yonge agen.” At this extraordinary proposal, the confidant was sore abashed, and made some scruple of obeying his master’s commands. At length, however, he complied, and Virgil was slain, pickled, and barrelled up, in all respects according to his own direction. The servant then left the tower, taking care to put the copper threshers in motion at his departure. He continued daily to visit the tower with the same precaution. Meanwhile, the emperor, with whom Virgil was a great favourite, missed him from the court, and demanded of his servant where he was. The domestic pretended ignorance, till the emperor threatened him with death, when at length he conveyed him to the enchanted tower. The same threat extorted a discovery of the mode of stopping the statues from wielding their flails. “And then the Emperour entered into the castle with all his folke, and soughte all aboute in every corner after Virgilius; and at the last they soughte so longe, that they came into the seller, where they sawe the lampe hang over the barell, where Virgilius lay in deed. Then asked the Emperour the man who had made hym so herdey to put his mayster Virgilius so to dethe; and the man answered no worde to the Emperour. And than the Emperour, with great anger, drewe oute his swerde, and slewe he there Virgilius’ man. And when all this was done, than sawe the Emperour, and all his folke, a naked chylde iii tymes rennynge aboute the barell, saynge these wordes, ‘cursed be the tyme that ye ever came here!’ And with those wordes vanysshed the chylde awaye, and was never sene ageyn; and thus abyd Virgilius in the barell deed.” Virgilius, bl. let, printed at Antwerpe by John Doesborcke. This curious volume is in the valuable library of Mr Douce; and is supposed to be a translation from the French, printed in Flanders for the English market. See Goujet Biblioth. Franc. ix. 225. Catalogue de la Bibliotheque Nationale, tom. ii. p. 5. De Bure, No. 3857.

He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned. St. XXI. p. 50.

William of Deloraine might be strengthened in this belief by the well-known story of the Cid Ruy Diaz. When the body of that famous Christian champion was lying in state, a certain malicious Jew stole into the chamber to pull him by the beard; but he had no sooner touched the formidable whiskers, than the corpse started up, and half unsheathed his sword. The Israelite fled; and so permanent was the effect of his terror, that he became Christian. Heywood’s Hierarchie, p. 480. quoted from Sebastian Cobarruvias Crozce.

The Baron’s dwarf his courser held.—St. XXXI. p. 56.

The idea of Lord Cranstoun’s goblin page is taken from a being called Gilpin Homer, who appeared, and made some stay, at a farm-house among the Border-mountains. A gen-tleman of that country has noted down the following particulars concerning his appearance.

“The only certain, at least most probable, account, that ever I heard of Gilpin Homer, was from an old man of the name of Anderson, who was born, and lived all his life, at Todshawhill, in Eskdale-muir, the place where Gilpin appeared and staid for some time. He said there were two men, late in the evening, when it was growing dark, employed in fastening the horses upon the uttermost part of their ground (that is, tying their fore-feet together, to hinder them from travelling far in the night), when they heard a voice, at some distance, crying, ‘tint! tint! tint!’* One of the men, named Moffat, called out, ‘What de’il has tint you? Come here.’ Immediately a creature of something like a human form appeared. It was surprisingly little, distorted in features, and mis-shapen in limbs. As soon as the two men could see it plainly, they run home in a great fright, imagining they had met with some goblin. By the way Moffat fell, and it run over him, and was home at the house as soon as any of them, and staid there a long time; but I cannot say how long. It was real flesh and blood, and ate and drank, was fond of cream, and when it could get at it, would destroy a great deal. It seemed a mischievous creature; and any of the children whom it could master, it would beat and scratch without mercy. It was once abusing a child belonging to the same Moffat, who had been so frightened by its first appearance; and he, in * Tint signifies lost. a passion, struck it so violent a blow upon the side of the head, that it tumbled upon the ground: but it was not stunned; for it set up its head directly, and exclaimed, ‘Ah hah, Will o’ Moffat, you strike sair!’ (viz. sore). After it had staid there long, one evening, when the women were milking the cows in the loan, it was playing among the children near by them, when suddenly they heard a loud shrill voice cry, three times, Gilpin Horner! It started, and said, ‘That is me, I must away;’ and instantly disappeared, and was never heard of more. Old Anderson did not remember it, but said he had often heard his father, and other old men in the place, who were there at the time, speak about it; and in my younger years I have often heard it mentioned, and never met with any who had the remotest doubt as to the truth of the story; although, I must own, I cannot help thinking there must be some misrepresentation in it.” To this account I have to add the following particulars, from the most respectable authority. Besides constantly repeating the word tint! tint! Gilpin Homer was often heard to call upon Peter Bertram, or Be-te-ram, as he pronounced the word; and when the shrill voice called Gilpin Homer, he immediately acknowledged it as the summons of the said Peter Bertram, who seems therefore to have been the devil who had tint, or lost, the little imp.

But the Ladye of Branksome gathered a band Of the best that would ride at her command. St. XXXII. p. 58.

“Upon 25th June, 1557, Dame Janet Beatoune, Lady Buccleugh, and a great number of the name of Scott, delaitit (accused) for coming to the kirk of St Mary of the Lowes, to the number of two hundred persons, bodin in feir of weire (arranged in armour), and breaking open the doors of the said kirk, in order to apprehend the laird of Cranstoune for his destruction.” On the 20th July, a warrant from the Queen is presented, discharging the justice to proceed against the Lady Buccleugh while new calling. Abridgement of Books of Adjournal in Advocates’ Library.—The following proceedings upon this case appear on the record of the Court of Justiciary: On the 25th of June, 1557, Robert Scott, in Bowhill parish, priest of the kirk of St Mary’s, accused of the convocation of the Queen’s lieges, to the number of 200 persons, in warlike array, with jacks, helmets, and other weapons, and marching to the chapel of St Mary of the Lowes, for the slaughter of Sir Peter Cranstoun, out of ancient feud and malice prepense, and of breaking the doors of the said kirk, is repledged by the Archbishop of Glasgow. The bail given by Robert Scott of Allanhaugh, Adam Scott of Burnefute, Robert Scott in Howfurde, Walter Scott in Todshawhaugh, Walter Scott younger of Synton, Thomas Scott of Haynyng, Robert Scott, William Scott, and James Scott, brothers of the said Walter Scott, Walter Scott in the Woll, and Walter Scott, son of William Scott of Harden, and James Wemys in Eckford, all accused of the same crime, is decla-red to be forfeited. On the same day, Walter Scott of Synton, and Walter Chisholme of Chisholme, and William Scott of Harden, become bound, jointly and severally, that Sir Peter Cranstoun, and his kindred and servants, should receive no injury from them in future. At the same time, Patrick Murray of Fallohill, Alexander Stuart, uncle to the laird of Trakwhare, John Murray of Newhall, John Fairlye, residing in Selkirk, George Tait younger of Pirn, John Pennycuke of Pennycuke, James Ramsay of Cokpen, the laird of Fassyde, and the laird of Henderstoune, were all severally fined for not attending as jurors. Upon the 20th of July following, Scott of Synton, Chisholme of Chisholme, Scott of Harden, Scott of Howpaslie, Scott of Burnfute, with many others, are ordered to appear at next calling, under the pains of treason. But no farther procedure seems to have taken place. It is said, that, upon this rising, the kirk of St Mary was burned by the Scotts.

NOTESon CANTO III.

When, dancing in the sunny beam, He marked the crane on the Baron’s crest.—St. IV. p. 67.

The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to their name, is a crane dormant, holding a stone in his foot, with an emphatic Border motto, Thou shall want ere I want.

Much he marvelled a knight of pride, Like a book-bosomed priest, should ride.—St. VIII. p. 70.

“At Unthank, two miles N. E. from the church (of Ewes), there are the ruins of a chapple for divine service, in time of popery. There is a tradition, that friars were wont to come from Mellrose, or Jedburgh, to baptize and marry in this parish; and, from being in use to carry the mass-book in their bosomes, they were called by the inhabitants Book-a-bosomes. There is a man yet alive, who knew old men who had been baptized by these Book-a-bosomes, and who says one of them, called Hair, used this parish for a very long time.”—Account of Parish of Ewes, apud Macfarlane’s MSS.

It had much of glamour might.—St. IX. p. 71.

Glamour, in the legends of Scottish superstition, means the magic power of imposing on the eye-sight of spectators, so that the appearance of an object shall be totally different from the reality. To such a charm the ballad of Johnie Fa’ imputes the fascination of the lovely Countess, who eloped with that gypsey leader.

Sae soon as they saw her weel fa’rd face, They cast the glamour ower her.

It was formerly used even in war. In 1381, when the Duke of Anjou lay before a strong castle, upon the coast of Naples, a necromancer offered to “make the ayre so thycke, that they within shal thynke that there is a great bridge on the see (by which the castle was surrounded), for ten men to go a front; and whan they within the castell se this bridge, they will be so afrayde, that they shall yelde them to your mercy. The Duke demanded—Fayre Mayster, on this bridge that ye speke of, may our people assuredly go thereon to the castell to assayle it? Syr, quod the enchantour, I dare not assure you that; for if any that passeth on the bridge make the signe of the crosse on hym, all shall go to noughte, and they that be on the bridge shall fall into the see. Then the Duke began to laugh; and a certayn of yong knightes, that were there present, said, Syr, for godsake, let the mayster assay his cunning; we shal leve making of any signe of the crosse on us for that tyme.” The Earl of Savoy, shortly after, entered the tent, and recognized, in the enchanter, the same person who had put the castle into the power of Syr Charles de la Payx, who then held it, by persuading the garrison of the Queen of Naples, through magical deception, that the sea was coming over the walls. The sage avowed himself to be the same person, and added, that he was the man in the world most dreaded by Sir Charles de la Payx. “By my fayth, quod the Erl of Savoy, ye say well; and I will that Sir Charles de la Payx shall know that he hath gret wronge to fear you. But I shall assure hym of you; for ye shall never do enchauntment to disceyve hym, nor yet none other. I wolde nat that in tyme to come we shulde be reproached that in so hygh an enterprise as we be in, wherein there be so many noble knyghtes and squyers assembled, that we shulde do any thyng be enchauntement, nor that we shulde wyn our enemyes by suche crafte. Than he called to hym a servaunt, and sayd, go and get a hangman, and let hym stryke of this mayster’s heed without delay; and as sone as the Erle had commaunded it, incontynent it was done, for his heed was stryken of before the Erle’s tent.”—Froissart, vol. i. ch. 391, 392.

The art of glamour, or ocular fascination, was anciently a principal part of the skill of the jongleur, or juggler, whose tricks formed much of the amusement of a Gothic castle. Some instances of this art may be found in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol. iii. p. 119. In a strange allegorical poem, called the Houlat, written by a dependant of the house of Douglas about 1452-3, the jay, in an assembly of birds, plays the part of the juggler. His feats of glamour are thus described.

He gart theme see, as it semyt, in samin houre, Hunting at herdis in holtis so hair; Soune sailand on the see schippis of toure, Bernis batalland on burd brim as a bare; He could carye the coup of the kingis des, Syne leve in the stede, Bot a blak bunwede; He could of a henis hede, Mak a man mes. He gart the Emproure trow, and trewlye behald, That the corncraike, the pundare at hand, Had poyndit all his pris hors in a poynd fald, Because thai eite of the corn in the kirkland. He could wirk windaris, quhat way that he wald; Mak a gray gus a gold garland, A lang spere of a bittile for a berne bald, Nobillis of nutschelles, and silver of sand. Thus joukit with juxters the janglane ja, Fair ladyes in ringis, Knychtis in caralyngis, Bayth dansis and singis, It semyt as sa. Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, I cannot tell, so mot I thrive; It was not given by man alive.—St. X. p. 72.

Some writer, upon Dæmonology, tells us of a person, who was very desirous to establish a connection with the invisible world; and failing in all his conjurations, began to entertain doubts of the existence of spirits. While this thought was passing through his mind, he received, from an unseen hand, a very violent blow. He had immediately recourse to his magical arts; but was unsuccessful in evoking the spirit, who had made his existence so sensibly felt. A learned priest told him, long after, that the being who had so chastised his incredulity, would be the first whom he should see after his death.

The running stream dissolved the spell.—St. XIII. p. 74.

It is a firm article of popular faith, that no enchantment can subsist in a living stream. Nay, if you can interpose a brook betwixt you, and witches, spectres, or even fiends, you are in perfect safety. Burns’s inimitable Tam o’ Shanter turns entirely upon such a circumstance. The belief seems to be of antiquity. Brompton informs us, that certain Irish wizards could, by spells, convert earthen clods, or stones, into fat pigs, which they sold in the market; but which always reassumed their proper form, when driven by the deceived purchaser across a running stream. But Brompton is severe on the Irish, for a very good reason: “Gens ista spurcissima non solvunt decimas.” Chronicon Johannis Brompton apud decem Scriptores, p. 1076.

His buckler scarce in breadth a span, No larger fence had he; He never counted him a man, Would strike below the knee.—St. XVII. p. 78.

Imitated from Drayton’s account of Robin Hood and his followers.

A hundred valiant men had this brave Robin Hood, Still ready at his call, that bowmen were right good; All clad in Lincoln green, with caps of red and blue, His fellow’s winded horn not one of them but knew. When setting to their lips there little bugles shrill, The warbling echoes waked from every dale and hill; Their bauldrics set with studs athwart their shoulders cast, To which under their arms their sheafs were buckled fast. A short sword at their belt, a buckler scarce a span, Who struck below the knee not counted then a man. All made of Spanish yew, their bows were wondrous strong, They not an arrow drew but was a clothyard long; Of archery they had the very perfect craft, With broad arrow, or but, or prick, or roving shaft. Poly-Olbion, Song 26.

To wound an antagonist in the thigh, or leg, was reckoned contrary to the law of arms. In a tilt betwixt Gawain Michael, an English squire, and Joachim Cathore, a Frenchman, “they met at the speare poyntes rudely: the French squyer justed right plesantly; the Englyshman ran too lowe, for he strake the Frenchman depe into the thygh. Wherwith the Erle of Buckingham was ryght sore displeased, and so were all the other lordes, and sayde how it was shamefully rone.” Froyssart, vol. i. ch. 366.—Upon a similar occasion, “the two knights came a fote eche agaynst other rudely, with their speares lowe couched, to stryke eche other within the foure quarters. Johan of Castell-Morante strake the Englysh squyer on the brest in such wyse, that Sir Wyllyam Fermeton stombled and bowed, for his fote a lytell fayled him. He helde his speare lowe with bothe his handes, and coude nat amende it, and strake Sir Johan of the Castell-Morant in the thyghe, so that the speare went clene throughe, that the heed was sene a handfull on the other syde. And Syre Johan with the stroke reled, but he fell nat. Than the Englyshe knyghtes and squyers were ryghte sore displeased, and sayde howe it was a foule stroke. Syr Wyllyam Fermytone excused himselfe, and sayde howe he was sorie of that adventure, and howe that yf he had knowen that it shulde have bene so, he wolde never have begon it; sayenge howe he coude nat amende it, by cause of glaunsing of his fote by constraynt of the great stroke that Syr John of the Castell-Morant had given him.” Ibid. ch. 373.

And with a charm she stanched the blood. St. XXIII. p. 82.

See several charms for this purpose in Reginald Scot’s Discoverie of Witchcraft, p. 273.

Tom Pots was but a serving man, But yet he was a doctor good; He bound his handkerchief on the wound, And with some kinds of words he staunched the blood. Pieces of ancient popular Poetry, London, 1791, p. 131. But she has ta’en the broken lance, And washed it from the clotted gore, And salved the splinter o’er and o’er.—St. XXIII. p. 82.

Sir Kenelm Digby, in a discourse upon the cure by sympathy, pronounced at Montpelier, before an assembly of nobles and learned men, translated into English by R. White, gentleman, and published in 1658, gives us the following curious surgical case.

“Mr James Howel (well known in France for his public works, and particularly for his Dendrologie, translated into French by Mons. Baudouin) coming by chance, as two of his best friends were fighting in duel, he did his endeavour to part them; and putting himselfe between them, seized, with his left hand, upon the hilt of the sword of one of the combatants, while, with his right hand, he laid hold of the blade of the other. They, being transported with fury one against the other, strugled to rid themselves of the hindrance their friend made that they should not kill one another; and one of them roughly drawing the blade of his sword, cuts to the very bone the nerves and muscles of Mr Howel’s hand; and then the other disengaged his hilts, and gave a crosse blow on his adversarie’s head, which glanced towards his friend, who heaving up his sore hand to save the blow, he was wounded on the back of his hand as he had been before within. It seems some strange constellation raigned then against him, that he should lose so much bloud by parting two such dear friends, who, had they been themselves, would have hazarded both their lives to have preserved his: but this unvoluntary effusion of bloud by them, prevented that which they should have drawn one from the other. For they, seeing Mr Howel’s face besmeared with blood, by heaving up his wounded hand, they both run to embrace him; and having searched his hurts, they bound up his hand, with one of his garters, to close the veins which were cut, and bled abundantly. They brought him home, and sent for a surgeon. But this being heard at court, the king sent one of his own surgeons; for his majesty much affected the said Mr Howel.

“It was my chance to he lodged hard by him; and four or five dayes after, as I was making myself ready, he came to my house, and prayed me to view his wounds; ‘for I understand,’ said he, ‘that you have extraordinary remedies on such occasions, and my surgeons apprehend some fear that it may grow to a gangrene, and so the hand must be cut off.’ In effect, his countenance discovered that he was in much pain, which he said was insupportable, in regard of the extream inflammation. I told him I would willingly serve him; but if haply he knew the manner how I would cure him, without touching or seeing him, it may be he would not expose himself to my manner of curing, because he would think it, peradventure, either ineffectual, or superstitious. He replied, “The wonderfull things which many have related unto me of your way of medecinement, makes me nothing doubt at all of its efficacy; and all that I have to say unto you is comprehended in the Spanish proverb, Hagase el milagro y hagalo Mahoma, let the miracle be done though Mahomet do it.”

“I asked him then for any thing that had the blood upon it; so he presently sent for his garter, wherewith his hand was first bound; and as I called for a bason of water, as if I would wash my hands, I took a handfull of powder of vitriol, which I had in my study, and presently dissolved it. As soon as the bloudy garter was brought me, I put it within the bason, observing, in the interim, what Mr Howel did, who stood talking with a gentleman in a corner of my chamber, not regarding at all what I was doing; but he started suddenly, as if he had found some strange alteration in himself. I asked him what he ailed? “I know not what ailes me; but I finde that I feel no more pain. Methinks that a pleasing kinde of freshnesse, as it were a wet cold napkin, did spread over my hand, which hath taken away the inflammation that tormented me before.” I replyed, “Since then that you feel already so good effect of my medicament, I advise you to cast away all your playsters; only keep the wound clean, and in a moderate temper betwixt heat and cold.” This was presently reported to the Duke of Buckingham, and a little after to the king, who were both very curious to know the circumstance of the businesse, which was, that after dinner I took the garter out of the water, and put it to dry before a great fire. It was scarce dry, but Mr Howel’s servant came running, that his master felt as much burning as ever he had done, if not more; for the heat was such as if his hand were twixt coles of fire. I answered, although that had happened at present, yet he should find ease in a short time; for I knew the reason of this new accident, and would provide accordingly; for his master should be free from that inflammation, it may be before he could possibly return to him: but in case he found no ease, I wished him to come presently back again;, if not, he might forbear coming. Thereupon he went; and at the instant I did put again the garter into the water, thereupon he found his master without any pain at all. To be brief, there was no sense of pain afterward; but within five or six dayes the woundes were cicatrized, and entirely healed.” p. 6.

The king (James VI.) obtained from Sir Kenelm the discovery of his secret, which he pretended had been taught him by a Carmelite friar, who had learnt it in Armenia or Persia. Let not the age of animal magnetism and metallic tractors smile at the sympathetic powder of Sir Kenelm Digby. Reginald Scot mentions the same mode of cure in these terms: “And that which is more strange ... they can remedie anie stranger with that verie sword wherewith they are wounded. Yea, and that which is beyond all admiration, if they stroke the sword upwards with their fingers, the partie shall feele no pain; whereas, if they draw their fingers downwards, thereupon the partie wounded shall feele intolerable pain.” I presume that the success ascribed to the sympathetic mode of treatment might arise from the pains bestowed in washing the wound, and excluding the air, thus bringing on a cure by the first intention. It is introduced by Dryden in the Enchanted Island, a (very unnecessary) alteration of the Tempest.

Ariel. Anoint the sword which pierced him with this Weapon-salve, and wrap it close from air, Till I have time to visit him again.—Act v. sc. 2.

Again, in scene 4th, Miranda enters with Hippolito’s sword wrapt up.

Hip. O my wound pains me. [She unwraps the sword. Mir. I am come to ease you. Hip. Alas, I feel the cold air come to me; My wound shoots worse than ever. Mir. Does it still grieve you? [She wipes and anoints the sword. Hip. Now, methinks, there’s something laid just upon it. Mir. Do you find no ease? Hip. Yes, yes; upon the sudden all this pain Is leaving me. Sweet heaven, how I am eased! On Pencryst glows a bale of fire, And three are kindling on Priesthaughswire. St. XXVI. p. 85.

The border beacons, from their number and position, formed a sort of telegraphic communication with Edinburgh. The act of parliament 1455, c. 48, directs that one bale or faggot shall be warning of the approach of the English in any manner; two bales that they are coming indeed; four bales, blazing beside each other, that the enemy are in great force. “The same taikenings to be watched and maid at Eggerhope Castle, fra they se the fire of Hume, that they fire richt swa. And in like manner on Sowtra edge, sall se the fire of Eggerhope Castell, and mak taikening in like maner: And then may all Louthiane be warned, and in special the Castel of Edinburgh; and their four fires to be maid in like maner, that they in Fife, and fra Striviling east, and the east part of Louthiane, and to Dumbar, all may se them, and come to the defense of the realme.” These beacons (at least in later times) were “a long and strong tree set up with a long iron pole across the head of it, and an iron brander fixed on a stalk in the middle of it, for holding a tar-barrel.” Stevenson’s History, v. II. p. 701.

Our kin and clan and friends to raise. St. XXVI. p. 85.

The speed with which the borderers collected great bodies of horse, may be judged of from the following extract, when the subject of the rising was much less important than that supposed in the romance. It is taken from Carey’s Memoirs.

“Upon the death of the old Lord Scroope, the queen gave the west wardenry to his son, that had married my sister. He, having received that office, came to me with great earnestness, and desired me to be his deputy, offering me that I should live with him in his house; that he would allow me half a dozen men, and as many horses, to be kept at his charge; and his fee being 1000 marks yearly, he would part it with me, and I should have the half. This his noble offer I accepted of, and went with him to Carlisle; where I was no sooner come, but I entered into my office. We had a stirring time of it; and few days past over my head but I was on horseback, either to prevent mischief, or to take malefactors, and to bring the border in better quiet than it had been in times past. One memorable thing of God’s mercy shewed unto me was such, as I have good cause still to remember it.

“I had private intelligence given me, that there were two Scottish men, that had killed a churchman in Scotland, and were by one of the Grames relieved. This Grame dwelt within five miles of Carlisle. He had a pretty house, and close by it a strong tower, for his own defence in time of need. About two o’clock in the morning, I took horse in Carlisle, and not above 25 in my company, thinking to surprise the house on a sudden. Before I could surround the house, the two Scotts were gotten in the strong tower, and I could see a boy riding from the house as fast as his horse could carry him; I little suspecting what it meant. But Thomas Carleton came to me presently, and told me, that if I did not presently prevent it, both myself and all my company would be either slain, or taken prisoners. It was strange to me to hear this language. He then said to me, ‘Do you see that boy that rideth away so fast? He will be in Scotland within this half hour; and he is gone to let them know, that you are here, and to what end you are come, and the small number you have with you; and that if they will make haste, on a sudden they may surprise us, and do with us what they please.’ Hereupon we took advice what was best to be done. We sent notice presently to all parts to raise the country, and to come to us with all the speed they could; and withal we sent to Carlisle to raise the townsmen; for without foot we could do no good against the tower. There we staid some hours, expecting more company; and within short time after the country came in on all sides, so that we were quickly between three and four hundred horse; and after some longer stay, the foot of Carlisle came to us, to the number of three or four hundred men; whom we set presently at work, to get up to the top of the tower, and to uncover the roof; and then some twenty of them to fall down together, and by that means to win the tower. The Scots seeing their present danger, offered to parley, and yielded themselves to my mercy. They had no sooner opened the iron gate, and yielded themselves my prisoners, but we might see 400 horse within a quarter of a mile coming to their rescue, and to surprise me and my small company; but of a sudden they stayed, and stood at gaze. Then had I more to do than ever; for all our Borderers came crying with full mouths, ‘Sir, give us leave to set upon them; for these are they that have killed our fathers, our brothers, and uncles, and our cousins; and they are come thinking to surprise you, upon weak grass nags, such as they could get on a sudden; and God hath put them into your hands, that we may take revenge of them for much blood that they have spilt of ours.’ I desired they would be patient a while, and bethought myself, if I should give them their will, there would be few or none of the Scots that would escape unkilled (there were so many deadly feuds among them); and therefore I resolved with myself to give them a fair answer, but not to give them their desire. So I told them, that if I were not there myself, they might then do what pleased themselves; but being present, if I should give them leave, the blood that should be spilt that day would lie very hard upon my conscience. And therefore I desired them, for my sake, to forbear; and if the Scots did not presently make away with all the speed they could, upon my sending to them, they should then have their wills to do what they pleased. They were ill satisfied with my answer, but durst not disobey. I sent with speed to the Scots, and bade them pack away with all the speed they could; for if they stayed the messenger’s return, they should few of them return to their own home. They made no stay; but they were turned homewards before the messenger had made an end of his message. Thus, by God’s mercy, I escaped a great danger; and, by my means, there were a great many men’s lives saved that day.”

On many a cairn’s grey pyramid, Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid. St. XXVIII. p. 87.

The cairns, or piles, of loose stone, which crown the summit of most of our Scottish hills, and are found in other remarkable situations, seem usually, though not universally, to have been sepulchral monuments. Six flat stones are commonly found in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or smaller dimensions, in which an urn is often placed. The author is possessed of one discovered beneath an immense cairn at Roughlee, in Liddesdale. It is of the most barbarous construction; the middle of the substance alone having been subjected to the fire, over which, when hardened, the artist had laid an inner and outer coat of unbaked clay, etched with some very rude ornaments; his skill apparently being inadequate to baking the vase when completely finished. The contents were bones and ashes, and a quantity of beads made of coal. This seems to have been a barbarous imitation of the Roman fashion of sepulture.

NOTESon CANTO IV.

Great Dundee.—St. II. p. 94.

The viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of Killycrankie.

For sheltering marsh and caverned cell, The peasant leaves his lowly shed.—St. III. p. 95.

The morasses were the usual refuge of the Border herdsmen, on the approach of an English army. (Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Vol. I. p. 49.) Caves hewed in the most dangerous and inaccessible places also afforded an occasional retreat. Such caverns may be seen in the precipitous banks of the Teviot at Sunlaws and Ancram, upon the Jed at Hundalee, and in many other places upon the Border. The banks of the Eske, at Gorton and Hawthornden, are hollowed into similar recesses. But even these dreary dens were not always secure places of con- cealment. “In the way as we came, not far from this place (Long Niddry) George Ferrers, a gentleman of my Lord Protector’s ... happened upon a cave in the ground, the mouth whereof was so worne with the fresh printe of steps, that he seemed to be certayne thear wear sum folke within; and gone doune to trie, he was redily receyved with a hakebut or two. He left them not yet, till he had knowen whyther thei would be content to yelde and cum out, whiche they fondly refusyng, he went to my lorde’s grace, and upon utteraunce of the thynge, gat lisence to deale with them as he coulde; and so returned to them, with a skore or two of pioners. Three ventes had their cave, that we wear ware of, wherof he first stopt up on; anoother he fil’d ful of strawe, and set it a fyer, wherat they within cast water apace; but it was so wel maynteyned without, that the fyer prevayled, and thei within fayn to get them belyke into anoother parler. Then devised we (for I hapt to be with hym) to stop the same up, whereby we should eyther smoother them, or fynd out their ventes, if thei hadde any moe: as this was doon at another issue, about a xii score of, we moughte see the fume of their smoke to come out; the which continued with so great a force, and so long a while, that we could not but thinke they must needs get them out, or smoother within; and forasmuch as we found not that they dyd the tone, we thought it for certain thei wear sure of the toother.” Patten’s Account of Somerset’s Expedition into Scotland, apud Dalzel’s Fragments.

Southern ravage.—St. III. p. 95.

From the following fragment of a letter from the earl of Northumberland to King Henry VIII. preserved among the Cotton MSS. Calig. B. vii. 179, the reader may estimate the nature of the dreadful war which was occasionally waged upon the borders, sharpened by mutual cruelties, and the personal hatred of the wardens or leaders.

Some Scottish barons, says the earl, had threatened to come within “thre miles of my pore house of Werkworthe, wher I lye, and gif me light to put on my clothes at mydnyght; and alsoo the said Marke Carr said there opynly, that seyng they had a governor on the marches of Scotland, as well as they haid in Ingland, he shulde kepe your highnes instructions, gyffyn unto your garyson, for making of any day-forrey; for he and his friends wolde burne enough on the nyght, lettyng your counsaill, here defyne a notable acte at theyre pleasures. Upon whiche, in your highnes’ name, I comaundet dewe watche to be kepte on your marchies, for comyng in of any Scotts. Neutheless, upon Thursday at nyght last, came thyrty light horsemen unto a litill village of myne, called Whitell, having not past sex howses, lying toward Ryddisdaill, upon Shilbotell more, and ther wold have fyred the said howses, but ther was noo fyre to get ther, and they forgate to brynge any withe theyme; and toke a wyf, being great with chylde, in the said towne, and said to hyr, Wher we can not gyve the lard lyght, yet we shall doo this in spyte of hym; and gave hyr iii mortall wounds upon the heid, and another in the right side, with a dagger: wheruppon the said wyf is dede, and the childe in hyr bely is loste. Beseching your most gracious highness to reduce unto your gracious memory this wylfull and shamefull murder, done within this your highnes’ realme, notwithstanding all the inhabitants thereabout rose unto the said fray, and gave warnyge by becons unto the contrey afore theyme, and yet the Scottsmen dyde escape. And uppon certeyne knowledge to my brother Clyfforthe and me, had by credable persons of Scotland, this abomynable act not only to be done by dyverse of the Mershe, but also the afore named persons of Tyvidaill, and consented to, as by apparaunce, by the erle of Murey, upon Friday at nyght last, let slyp C of the best horsemen of Glendaill; with a part of your highnes’ subjects of Berwyke, together with George Dowglas, whoo came into Ingland agayne, in the dawing of the day; but afore theyre retorne, they dyd mar the erle of Murrei’s provisions at Coldingham; for they dyd not only burne the said towne of Coldingham, with all the corne therunto belonging, which is estemed wurthe cii marke Sterling; but alsoo burned twa townes nye adionig therunto, called Branerdergest and the Black Hill, and toke xxiiii persons, lx horse, with cc hed of cataill, whiche nowe, as I am informed, hathe not only bene a staye of the said Erle of Murrei’s not comyng to the bordur as yet, but alsoo, that none inlande man will adventure theyre selfs uppon the marches. And as for the tax that shulde have bene grauntyd for fynding of the said iii hundred men, is utterly denyed. Upon whiche the king of Scottland departed from Edynburgh to Stirling, and as yet ther doth rernayn. And alsoo I, by the advice of my brother Clyfforthe, have devysed that within this iiii nyghts, Godde wylling, Kelsey, in lyke case, shal be brent, with all the corne in the said town; and then they shall have noo place to lye any garyson in, nygh unto the borderes. And as I shall atteigne further knawledge, I shall not faill to satisfye your highness, according to my most bounden dutie. And for this burnyng of Kelsey is devysed to he done secretly, by Tyndaill and Ryddisdale. And thus the holy Trynite and * * * your most royal estate, with long lyf and as moche increase of honour as your most noble heart can desire. At Werkworth, the xxiith day of October. (1522.)

Wat Tinlinn.—St. IV. p. 95.

This person was, in my younger days, the theme of many a fireside tale. He was a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and held for his Border service a small tower on the frontiers of Liddesdale. Wat was by profession a sutor, but by inclination and practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one occasion, the Captain of Bewcastle, military governor of that wild district of Cumberland, is said to have made an incursion into Scotland, in which he was defeated, and forced to fly. Wat Tinlinn pursued him closely through a dangerous morass: the captain, however, gained the firm ground; and seeing Tinlinn dismounted, and floundering in the bog, used these words of insult, “Sutor Wat, ye cannot sew your boots; the heels risp, and the seams rive*.” “If I cannot sew,” retorted Tinlinn, * Risp, creak. Rive, tear. discharging a shaft which nailed the captain’s thigh to his saddle, “If I cannot sew, I can yerk*.”

Bilhope Stag.—St. V. p. 96.

There is an old rhime which thus celebrates the places in Liddesdale, remarkable for game.

Bilhope braes for bucks and raes, And Carit haughs for swine, And Tarras for the good bull-trout, If he be ta’en in time.

The bucks and roes, as well as the wild swine, are now extinct; but the good bull-trout is still famous.

Of silver broach and bracelet proud.—St. V. p. 97.

As the Borderers were indifferent about the furniture of their habitations, so much exposed to be burned and plundered, they were proportionally anxious to display splendour in decorating and ornamenting their females. See Lesly de Moribus Limitaneorum.

Belted Will Howard.—St. VI. p. 97.

Lord William Howard, third son of Thomas, duke of Norfolk, succeeded to Naworth Castle, and a large domain annexed to it, in right of his wife Elizabeth, sister of George Lord Dacre, who died without heirs male, in the 11th of Queen Elizabeth. By a poetical anachronism, he is introdu-* Yerk—to twitch, as shoemakers do, in securing the stitches of their work.ced into the romance a few years earlier than he actually flourished. He was warden of the Western Marches; and from the rigour with which he repressed the Border excesses, the name of Belted Will Howard is still famous in our traditions. In the castle of Naworth, his apartments, containing a bedroom, oratory, and library, are still shewn. They impress us with an unpleasing idea of the life of a lord warden of the marches. Three or four strong doors, separating these rooms from the rest of the castle, indicate apprehensions of treachery from his garrison; and the secret winding passages through which he could privately descend into the guard-room, or even into the dungeons, imply the necessity of no small degree of secret superintendance on the part of the governor. As the ancient books and furniture have remained undisturbed, the venerable appearance of these apartments, and the armour scattered around the chamber, almost lead us to expect the arrival of the warden in person. Naworth castle is situated near Brampton, in Cumberland. Lord William Howard is ancestor of the earls of Carlisle.

Lord Dacre.——St. VI. p. 97.

The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits of one of their ancestors at the siege of Acre or Ptolemais, under Richard Cœur de Lion. There were two powerful branches of that name. The first family, called Lord Dacres of the south, held the castle of the same name, and are ancestors to the present Lord Dacre. The other family, descended from the same stock, were called Lord Dacres of the north, and were barons of Gilsland and Graystock. A chieftain of the latter branch was warden of the west marches during the reign of Edward VI. He was a man of a hot and obstinate character, as appears from some particulars of Lord Surrey’s letter to Henry VIII. giving an account of his behaviour at the siege and storm of Jedburgh. It is printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Appendix to the Introduction.

The German hagbut-men.—St. VI. p. 98.

In the wars with Scotland, Henry VIII. and his successors employed numerous bands of mercenary troops. At the battle of Pinky, there were in the English army six hundred hackbutters on foot, and two hundred on horseback, composed chiefly of foreigners. On the 27th September, 1549, the duke of Somerset, Lord Protector, writes to the Lord Dacre, warden of the west marches: “The Almains, in number two thousand, very valiant soldiers, shall be sent to you shortly from Newcastle, together with Sir Thomas Holcroft, and with the force of your wardenry (which we would were advanced to the most strength of horsemen that might be), shall make the attempt to Loughmaben, being of no such strength but that it may be skailed with ladders, whereof, beforehand, we would you caused secretly some number to be provided; or else undermined with the pyke-axe, and so taken: either to be kept for the king’s majesty, or otherwise to be defaced, and taken from the profits of the enemy. And in like manner the house of Carlaverok to be used.” Repeated mention occurs of the Almains, in the subsequent correspondence; and the enterprize seems finally to have been abandoned from the difficulty of providing these strangers with the necessary “victuals and carriages” in so poor a country as Dumfries-shire. History of Cumberland, Vol. I. Introd. p. lxi. From the battle-pieces of the ancient Flemish painters, we learn that the Low Country and German soldiers marched to an assault with their right knees bared. And we may also observe, in such pictures, the extravagance to which they carried the fashion of ornamenting their dress with knots of ribband. This custom of the Germans is alluded to in the Mirrour for Magistrates, p. 121.

Their pleited garments therewith well accord, All jagde and frounst, with divers colours deckt. His ready lances Thirlestane brave Arrayed beneath a banner bright.—St. VIII. p. 99.

Sir John Scott of Thirlestaine flourished in the reign of James V. and possessed the estates of Thirlestaine, Gamescleugh, &c. lying upon the river of Ettricke, and extending to St Mary’s Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It appears that when James had assembled his nobility, and their feudal followers, at Fala, with the purpose of invading England, and was, as is well known, disappointed by the obstinate refusal of his peers, this baron alone declared himself ready to follow the king wherever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, James granted to his family a charter of arms, entitling them to bear a border of fleurs-de-luce similar to the tressure in the royal arms, with a bundle of spears for the crest; motto, Ready, aye Ready. The charter itself is printed by Nisbet; but his work being scarce, I insert the following accurate transcript from the original, in the possession of the Right Honourable Lord Napier, the representative of John of Thirlestaine.

“James Rex.

“We James, be the grace of God king of Scottis, considerand the ffaith and guid servis of of of* right traist freind John Scott of Thirlestane, quha cummand to our hoste at Sautra Edge, with three score and ten launcieres on horsback of his freinds and followers, and beand willing to gang with ws into England, when all our nobles and others refuised, he was readdy to stake all at our bidding; ffor the quhilk cause, it is our will, and we doe straitlie command and charg our lion herauld, and his deputis for the time beand, to give and to graunt to the said John Scott, ane Border of ffleure de lises about his coatte of armes, sik as is on our royal banner, and alsua ane bundell of launces above his helmet, with thir words, Readdy, ay Readdy, that he and all his aftercummers may bruik the samine, as a pledge and taiken of our guid will and kyndnes for his treue worthines; and thir our letters seen, ye nae wayes failzie to doe. Given at Ffalla Muire, under our hand and privy cashet, the xxvii day of Jully, mc and xxxxii zeires. By the King’s graces speciall ordinance.

“Jo. Arskine.

On the back of the charter is written,

“Edin. 14. January, 1713. Registred, conform to the act of * Sic. in orig. parliament made anent probative writs, per M’Kaile, pror. and produced by Alexander Borthwick, servant to Sir William Scott of Thirlestane. M. L. J.”

An aged knight, to danger steeled, With many a moss-trooper, came on; And azure in a golden field, The stars and crescent graced his shield, Without the bend of Murdieston.—St. IX. p. 100.

The family of Harden are descended from a younger son of the laird of Buccleuch who flourished before the estate of Murdieston was acquired by the marriage of one of those chieftains with the heiress in 1296. Hence they bear the cognizance of the Scotts upon the field; whereas those of the Buccleuch are disposed upon a bend dexter, assumed in consequence of that marriage. See Gladstaine of Whitelaws MSS. and Scott of Stokoes Pedigree, Newcastle, 1783.

Walter Scott of Harden, who flourished during the reign of Queen Mary, was a renowned Border free-booter, concerning whom tradition has preserved a variety of anecdotes, some of which have been published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, and others in Leyden’s Scenes of Infancy. The bugle horn, said to have been used by this formidable leader, is preserved by his descendant, the present Mr Scott of Harden. His castle was situated upon the very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borthwick. In the recess of this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which served for the daily maintenance of his retainers, until the production of a pair of clean spurs, in a covered dish, announced to the hungry band, that they must ride for a supply of provisions. He was married to Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and called in song the Flower of Yarrow. He possessed a very extensive estate, which was divided among his five sons. There are numerous descendants of this old marauding Baron. The following beautiful passage of Leyden’s Scenes of Infancy is founded on a tradition respecting an infant captive, whom Walter of Harden carried off in a predatory incursion, and who is said to have become the author of some of our most beautiful pastoral songs.

Where Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with sand, Rolls her red tide to Teviot’s western strand, Through slaty hills, whose sides are shagged with thorn, Where springs, in scattered tufts, the dark green corn, Towers wood-girt Harden, far above the vale, And clouds of ravens o’er the turrets sail; A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar, Here fixed his mountain-home;—a wide domain, And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain; But, what the niggard ground of wealth denied, From fields more blessed his fearless arm supplied. The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright; The warder’s horn was heard at dead of night; And, as the massy portals wide were flung, With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung. What fair, half-veiled, leans from her latticed hall, Where red the wavering gleams of torch-light fall ’Tis Yarrow’s fairest Flower, who, through the gloom, Looks, wistful, for her lover’s dancing plume. Amid the piles of spoil, that strewed the ground, Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound; With trembling haste the youthful matron flew, And from the hurried heaps an infant drew: Scared at the light, his little hands he flung Around her neck, and to her bosom clung; While beauteous Mary soothed, in accents mild, His fluttering soul, and clasped her foster child. Of milder mood the gentle captive grew, Nor loved the scenes that scared his infant view. In vales remote, from camps and castles far, He shunned the fearful shuddering joy of war; Content the loves of simple swains to sing, Or wake to fame the harp’s heroic string. His are the strains, whose wandering echoes thrill The shepherd, lingering on the twilight hill, When evening brings the merry folding-hours, And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. He lived, o’er Yarrow’s Flower to shed the tear, To strew the holly’s leaves o’er Harden’s bier; But none was found above the minstrel’s tomb, Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom: He, nameless as the race from which he sprung, Saved other names, and left his own unsung. The camp their home, their law the sword, They knew no country, owned no lord.—St. XV. p. 106.

The mercenary adventurers, whom, in 1380, the Earl of Cambridge carried to the assistance of the king of Portugal against the Spaniards, mutinied for want of regular pay. At an assembly of their leaders, Sir John Soltier, a natural son of Edward the Black Prince, thus addressed them: “I counsayle, let us be alle of one alliaunce, and of one accorde, and let us among ourselves reyse up the baner of St George, and let us be frendes to God, and enemyes to alle the worlde; for without we make ourselfe to be feared, we gette nothynge.” “By my fayth,” quod Sir William Helmon, “ye saye ryght well, and so lette us do.” They alle agreed with one voyce, and so regarded among them who shulde be their capitayne. Then they advysed in the case how they coude nat have a better capitayne than Sir John Soltier. For they sulde than have good leyser to do yvell, and they thought he was more metelyer therto than any other. Than they reysed up the penon of St George, and cried, “A Soltier! a Soltier! the valyaunt bastarde! frendes to God, and enemies to alle the worlde!” — Froyssart, vol. i. ch. 393.

A gauntlet on a spear—St. XVIII. p. 109.

A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the ancient Borderers, who were wont, when any one broke his word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless villain at the first Border meeting. This ceremony was much dreaded. See Lesley.

We claim from thee William of Deloraine, That he may suffer march-treason pain.—St. XXI. p. 112.

Several species of offences, peculiar to the Border, constituted what was called march-treason. Among others, was the crime of riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite coun-try during the time of truce. Thus, in an indenture made at the water of Eske, beside Salom, the 25th day of March, 1384, betwixt noble Lords and mighty, Sirs Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and Archibald of Douglas, Lord of Galoway, a truce is agreed upon until the 1st day of July; and it is expressly accorded, “Gif ony stellis authir on the ta part, or on the tothyr, that he shall be henget or heofdit; and gif ony cumpany stellis any gudes wthin the trieux beforesayd, ane of that company sall be henget or heofdit, and the remanent sall restore the gudys stollen in the double.”—History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, Introd. p. xxxix.

———William of Deloraine Will cleanse him by oath of march-treason stain. St. XXIII. p. 113.

In dubious cases, the innocence of Border-criminals was occasionally referred to their own oath. The form of excusing bills or indictments, by Border-oath, ran thus: “You shall swear by heaven above you, hell beneath you, by your part of Paradise, by all that God made in six days and seven nights, and by God himself, you are whart out sackless of art, part, way, witting, ridd, kenning, having, or recetting of any of the goods and cattells named in this bill. So help you God.”—History of Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv.

Knighthood he took of Douglas’ sword.—St. XXIII. p. 114.

The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institution, had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from the mo-narch, but could be conferred by one who himself possessed it, upon any squire who, after due probation, was found to merit the honour of chivalry. Latterly, this power was confined to generals, who were wont to create knights bannerets after or before an engagement. Even so late as the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Essex highly offended his jealous sovereign by the indiscriminate exertion of this privilege. Amongst others, he knighted the witty Sir John Harrington, whose favour at court was by no means enhanced by his new honours. See the Nugæ Antiquæ, edited by Mr Park. But probably the latest instance of knighthood, conferred by a subject, was in the case of Thomas Ker, knighted by the Earl of Huntley, after the defeat of the Earl of Argyle in the battle of Belrinnes. The fact is attested, both by a poetical and prose account of the engagement, contained in a MS. in the Advocates’ Library, and lately edited by Mr Dalyell, in Godly Sangs and Ballets, Edin. 1802.

When English blood swelled Ancram ford.—St. XXIII. p. 114.

The battle of Ancram Moor, or Peniel-heuch, was fought A. D. 1545. The English, commanded by Sir Ralph Evers and Sir Brian Latoun, were totally routed, and both their leaders slain in the action. The Scottish army was commanded by Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the laird of Buccleuch and Norman Lesly.

The blanche lion.—St. XXVII. p. 117.

This was the cognisance of the noble house of Howard in all its branches. The crest, or bearing, of a warrior was often used as a nomme de guerre. Thus Richard III. acquired his well-known epithet, the Boar of York. In the violent satire on Cardinal Wolsey, commonly, but erroneously, imputed to Dr Bull, the Duke of Buckingham is called the Beautiful Swan, and the Duke of Norfolk, or Earl of Surrey, the White Lion. As the book is extremely rare, and the whole passage relates to the emblematical interpretation of heraldry, it shall be here given at length.

The description of the armes. Of the proude Cardinall this is the shelde, Borne up betwene two angels of Sathan; The sixe blouddy axes in a bare felde, Sheweth the cruelte of the red man, Which hath devoured the beautifull swan, Mortall enmy unto the whyte lion, Carter of Yorcke, the vyle butcher’s sonne. The sixe bulles heddes in a felde blacke, Betokeneth hys stordy furiousnes, Wherfore the godly lyght to put abacke, He bryngeth in his dyvlisshe darcnes; The bandog in the middes doth expresse The mastif curre bred in Ypswitch towne, Gnawynge with his teth a kinges crowne. The cloubbe signifieth playne hys tiranny, Covered over with a Cardinal’s hatt, Wherin shal be fulfilled the prophecy, Aryse up Jacke, and put on thy salatt, For the tyme is come of bagge and walatt. The temporall chevalry thus throwen doune, Wherfor prest take hede, and beware thy crowne.

There are two copies of this very scarce satire in the library of the late Duke of Roxburghe.

Let Musgrave meet stout Deloraine In single fight.———St. XXVII. p. 118.

It may easily be supposed, that trial by single combat, so peculiar to the feudal system, was common on the Borders. The following indenture will shew at how late a period it was there resorted to, as a proof of guilt or innocence.

“It is agreed between Thomas Musgrave and Lancelot Carleton, for the true trial of such controversies as are betwixt them, to have it openly tried, by way of combat, before God and the face of the world, to try it in Canonby-holme, before England and Scotland, upon Thursday in Easter-week, being the eight day of April next ensuing, A. D. 1602, betwixt nine of the clock, and one of the same day, to fight on foot, to be armed with jack, steel cap, plaite sleeves, plaite breeches, plaite sockes, two baslaerd swords, the blades to be one yard and half a quarter of length, two Scotch daggers or dorks at their girdles, and either of them to provide armour and weapons for themselves, according to this indenture. Two gentlemen to be appointed on the held to view both the parties, to see that they both be equal in arms and weapons, according to this indenture; and being so viewed by the gentlemen, the gentlemen to ride to the rest of the company, and to leave them but two boys viewed by the gentlemen, to be under 16 years of age, to hold their horses. In testimony of this our agreement, we have both set our hands to this indenture, of in-tent all matters shall be made so plain, as there shall be no question to stick upon that day. Which indenture, as a witness, shall be delivered to two gentlemen. And for that it is convenient the world should be privy to every particular of the grounds of the quarrel, we have agreed to set it down in this indenture betwixt us, that knowing the quarrel, their eyes may be witness of the trial.

The Grounds of the Quarrel.

“1. Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas Musgrave before the lords of her majesty’s privy council, that Lancelot Carleton was told by a gentleman, one of her majesty’s sworn servants, that Thomas Musgrave had offered to deliver her majesty’s castle of Bewcastle to the king of Scots; and to witness the same, Lancelot Carleton had a letter under the gentleman’s own hand for his discharge.

“2. He chargeth him, that, whereas her majesty doth yearly bestow a great fee upon him, as captain of Bewcastle, to aid and defend her majesty’s subjects therein; Thomas Musgrave hath neglected his duty, for that her majesty’s castle of Bewcastle was by him made a den of thieves, and an harbour and receipt for murderers, felons, and all sorts of misdemeanors. The precedent was Quinten Whitehead and Runion Blackburne.

“3. He chargeth him, that his office of Bewcastle is open for the Scotch to ride in and through, and small resistance made by him to the contrary.

“Thomas Musgrave doth deny all this charge; and saith, that he will prove that Lancelot Carleton doth falsely bely him, and will prove the same by way of combat, according to this indenture. Lancelot Carleton hath entertained the challenge; and so, by God’s permission, will prove it true as before, and hath set his hand to the same.

(Signed) Thomas Musgrave. Lancelot Carleton.” He, the jovial Harper.—St. XXXI. p. 121.

The person, here alluded to, is one of our ancient Border minstrels, called Rattling Roaring Willie. This soubriquet was probably derived from his bullying disposition; being, it would seem, such a roaring boy as is frequently mentioned in old plays. While drinking at Newmill, upon Teviot, about five miles above Hawick, Willie chanced to quarrel with one of his own profession, who was usually distinguished by the odd name of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule-water so called. They retired to a meadow on the opposite side of the Teviot, to decide the contest with their swords, and Sweet Milk was killed on the spot. A thorn-tree marks the scene of the murder, which is still called Sweet Milk Thorn. Willie was taken and executed at Jedburgh, bequeathing his name to the beautiful Scottish air, called “Rattling Roaring Willie.” Ramsay, who set no value on traditionary lore, published a few verses of this song in the Tea Table Miscellany, carefully suppressing all which had any connection with the history of the author, and origin of the piece. In this case,however, honest Allan is in some degree justified, by the extreme worthlessness of the poetry. A verse or two may be taken as illustrative of the history of Roaring Willie, alluded to in the text.

Now Willie’s gane to Jeddart, And he is for the rude-day*; But Stobs and young Falnash†, They followed him a’ the way; They followed him a’ the way, They sought him up and down, In the links of Ousenam water They fand him sleeping sound. Stobs lighted aff his horse, And never a word he spak, Till he tie’d Willie’s hands Fu’ fast behind his back; Fu’ fast behind his back, And down beneath his knee, And drink will be dear to Willie, When sweet milk‡ gars him die. Ah wae light on ye, Stobs! An ill death mot ye die! Ye’re the first and foremost man That e’er laid hands on me; That e’er laid hands on me, And took my mare me frae; Wae to ye, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Ye are my mortal fae! * The day of the Rood-fair at Jedburgh. † Sir Gilbert Elliot of Stobs, and Scott of Falnash. ‡ A wretched pun on his antagonist’s name. The lasses of Ousenam water Are rugging and riving their hair, And a’ for the sake of Willie, His beauty was sae fair; His beauty was sae fair, And comely for to see, And drink will be dear to Willie, When sweet milk gars him die. Black Lord Archibald’s battle laws, In the old Douglas’ day.—St. XXXI. p. 121.

The title to the most ancient collection of Border regulations runs thus:

“Be it remembered, that on the 18th day of December, 1468, Earl William Douglas assembled the whole lords, freeholders, and eldest Borderers, that best knowledge had, at the college of Linclouden; and there he caused those lords and Borderers bodily to be sworn, the Holy Gospel touched, that they justly and truly, after their cunning, should decrete, decern, deliver, and put in order and writing, the statutes, ordinances, and uses of marche, that were ordained in Black Archibald of Douglas’s days, and Archibald his son’s days, in time of warfare; and they came again to him advisedly with these statutes and ordinances, which were in time of warfare before. The said Earl William, seeing the statutes in writing decreed and delivered by the said lords and Borderers, thought them right speedful and profitable to the Borderers; the which statutes, ordinances, and points of warfare, he took, and the whole lords and Borderers he caused bodily to be sworn, that they should maintain and supply him, at their goodly power, to do the law upon those that should break the statutes underwritten. Also the said Earl William, and lords and eldest Borderers, made certain points to be treason in time of warfare to be used, which were no treason before his time, but to be treason in his time, and in all time coming.”

NOTESon CANTO V.

The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, Announcing Douglas, dreaded name!—St. IV. p. 130.

The chief of this potent race of heroes, about the date of the poem, was Archibald Douglas, seventh Earl of Angus, a man of great courage and activity. The bloody heart was the well-known cognizance of the house of Douglas, assumed from the time of Good Lord James, to whose care Robert Bruce committed his heart, to be carried to the Holy Land.

Beneath the crest of old Dunbar, And Hepburn’s mingled banners, come, Down the steep mountain glittering far, And shouting still, “a Home! a Home!”—St. IV. p. 130.

The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient Earls of March, carried a lion rampant, argent; but, as a diffe-rence, changed the colour of the shield from gules to vert, in allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient possession. The slogan, or war-cry of this powerful family, was, “a Home! a Home!” It was anciently placed in an escroll above the crest. The helmet is armed with a lion’s head erased gules, with a cap of state gules, turned up ermine.

The Hepburns, a powerful family in East Lothian, are usually in close alliance with the Homes. The chief of this clan was Hepburn, Lord of Hailes; a family which terminated in the too famous Earl of Bothwell.

Pursued the foot-ball play.—St. VI. p. 133.

The foot-ball was anciently a very favourite sport all through Scotland, but especially upon the Borders. Sir John Carmichael of Carmichael, warden of the middle marches, was killed in 1600 by a band of the Armstrongs, returning from a foot-ball match. Sir Robert Carey, in his Memoirs, mentions a great meeting appointed by the Scottish riders, to be held at Kelso, for the purpose of playing at foot-ball, but which terminated in an incursion upon England. At present the football is often played by the inhabitants of adjacent parishes, or of the opposite banks of a stream. The victory is contested with the utmost fury, and very serious accidents have sometimes taken place in the struggle.

‘Twixt truce and war such sudden change Was nor unfrequent, nor held strange, In the old Border day.—St. VII. p. 134.

Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borders, and the occasional cruelties which marked the mutual inroads, the inhabitants on either side do not appear to have regarded each other with that violent and personal animosity which might have been expected. On the contrary, like the outposts of hostile armies, they often carried on something resembling friendly intercourse, even in the middle of hostilities; and it is evident, from various ordinances against trade and intermarriages between English and Scottish Borderers, that the governments of both countries were jealous of their cherishing too intimate a connection. Froissart says of both nations, that “Englyshemen on the one party, and Scottes on the other party, are good men of warre; for when they meet, there is a harde fight without sparynge. There is no hoo (truce) between them as longe as spears, swords, axes, or daggers, will endure, but lay on eche upon other; and whan they be well beaten, and that the one partye bath obtayned the victory, they than gloryfye so in theyre dedes of armes, and are so joyfull, that such as be taken they shall be ransomed, or that they go out of the felde; so that shortly eche of them is so content with other, that at their departynge, curtyslye they will say, God thank you.” Berner’s Froyssart, vol. ii. p. 153. The Border meetings of truce, which, although places of merchandize and merriment, often witnessed the most bloody scenes, may serve to illustrate the description in the text. They are vividly pourtrayed in the old ballad of the Reidsquair. Both parties came armed to a meeting of the wardens, yet they intermixed fearlessly and peaceably with each other in mutual sports and familiar intercourse, until a casual fray arose.

Then was there nought but bow and spear, And every man pulled out a brand.

In the 29th stanza of this canto, there is an attempt to express some of the mixed feelings, with which the Borderers on each side were led to regard their neighbours.

And frequent on the darkening plain, Loud hollo, whoop, and whistle ran; As bands, their stragglers to regain, Give the shrill watch-word of their clan.—St. VIII. p. 134.

Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disorderly conduct of the English Borderers, who attended the Protector Somerset on his expedition against Scotland. “As we wear then a setling, and the tents a setting up, among all things els commendable in oure hole jorney, one thing semed to me an intollerable disorder and abuse; that whearas allweys, both in all tounes of war, and in all campes of armies, quietnes and stilnes, without nois, is principally in the night, after the watch is set, observed (I nede not reason why), our northern prikkers, the Borderers, notwithandyng, with great enormitie (as thought me), and not unlike (to be playn) unto a masterles hounde howlyng in a hie wey when he hath lost him he waited upon, sum hoopynge, sum whistlyng, and most with crying, A Berwyke, a Berwyke! A Fenwyke, a Fenwyke! A Bulmer, a Bulmer! or so otherwise as theyr captains names wear, never lin’de these troublous and dangerous noyses all the nighte longe. They said they did to finde their captain and fellows; but if the souldiours of our other countreys and sheres had used the same manner, in that case we shoold have oft tymes had the state of our camp more like the outrage of a dissolute huntyng, than the quiet of a well ordred armye. It is a feat of war, in mine opinion, that might right well be left. I could reherse causes (but yf I take it, they ar better unspoken than uttred, unless the faut wear sure to be amended) that might shew thei move aiweis more peral to our armie, but in their one night’s so doynge, than thei shew good service (as sum sey) in a hoole vyage.”—Apud Dalzell’s Fragments, p. 75.

Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray.—St. XXIX. p. 154.

The pursuit of Border marauders was followed by the injured party and his friends with blood-hounds and bugle-horn, and was called the hot-trod. He was entitled, if his dog could trace the scent, to follow the invaders into the opposite kingdom; a privilege which often occasioned blood-shed. In addition to what has been said of the blood-hound, I may add, that the breed was kept up by the Buccleuch family on their border estates till within the 18th century. A person was alive in the memory of man, who remembered a blood-hound being kept at Eldinhope, in Ettricke Forest, for whose maintenance the tenant had an allowance of meal. At that time the sheep were always watched at night. Upon one occasion, when the duty had fallen on the narrator, then a lad, he became exhausted with fatigue, and fell asleep upon a bank near sun-rising. Suddenly he was awakened by the tread of horses, and saw five men well mounted and armed, ride briskly over the edge of the hill. They stopped and looked at the flock; but the day was too far broken to admit the chance of their carrying any of them off. One of them, in spite, leaped from his horse, and coming to the shepherd, seized him by the belt he wore round his waist; and setting his foot upon his body, pulled it till it broke, and carried it away with him. They rode off at the gallop; and the shepherd giving the alarm, the blood-hound was turned loose, and the people in the neighbourhood alarmed. The marauders, however, escaped, notwithstanding a sharp pursuit. This circumstance serves to shew, how very long the license of the Borderers continued in some degree to manifest itself.

NOTESon CANTO VI.

She wrought not by forbidden spell.—St. V. p. 165.

Popular belief, though contrary to the doctrines of the church, made a favourable distinction betwixt magicians, and necromancers or wizards; the former were supposed to command the evil spirits, and the latter to serve, or at least to be in league and compact with, those enemies of mankind. The arts of subjecting the dæmons were manifold; sometimes the fiends were actually swindled by the magicians, as in the case of the bargain betwixt one of their number and the poet Virgil. The classic reader will doubtless be curious to peruse this anecdote.

“Virgilius was at scole at Tolenton, where he stodyed dyligently, for he was of great understandynge. Upon a tyme, the scolers had lycense to go to play and sporte them in the fyldes, after the usaunce of the holde tyme. And there was also Virgilius therbye, also walkynge amonge the hylles alle about. It fortuned he spyed a great hole in the syde of a great hyll, wherein he went so depe, that he culde not see no more lyght; and then he went a lytell farther therin, and than he saw some lyght agayne, and than he went fourth streyghte, and within a lytyll wyle after he harde a voyce that called “Virgilius! Virgilius!” and loked aboute, and he colde nat see no body. Than sayd he (i. e. the voice), “Virgilius, see ye not the lyttyll bourde lyinge bysyde you there markd with that word?” Than answerd Virgilius, “I see that borde well anough.” The voyce sayd, “Doo awaye that borde, and lette me out there atte.” Than answered Virgilius to the voyce that was under the lytell borde, and sayd, “Who art thou that calles me so?” Than answered the Devyll, “I am a devyll conjured out of the body of a certeyne man, and banysshed here tyll the day of judgemend, without that I be delyvered by the handes of men. Thus, Virgilius, I pray the, delyvere me out of this payn, and I shall shewe unto the many bokes of nygromancy, and how thou shalt come by it lyghtly, and know the practise therein, that no man in the scyence of negromancye shall passe the. And moreover, I shall shewe and enforme the so, that thou shalt have alle thy desyre, wherby mythinke it is a great gyfte for so lytyil a doynge. For ye may also thus all your power frendys helpe, and make ryche your ennemyes.”—Thorough that great promyse was Virgilius tempted; he badde the fynd show the bokes to him,that he might have and occupy them at his wyll, and so the fynde shewed hym. And than Virgilius pulled open a bourde, and there was a lytell hole, and therat wrang the devyll out lyke a yeel, and cam and stode byfore Virgilius lyke a bygge man; wherof Virgilius was astonied and marveyled greatly therof, that so great a man myght come out at so lytell a hole. Than sayd Virgilius, “Shulde ye well passe into the hole that ye cam out of?” “Yea, I shall well,” sayd the devyll. “I holde the best plegge that I have that ye shall not do it.” “Well,” sayd the devyll, “therto I consent.” And than the devyll wrange himselfe into the lytell hole ageyne; and as he was therein, Virgilius kyverd the hole ageyn with the bourde close, and so was the devyll begyled, and myght nat there come out agen, but abydeth shytte styll therin. Than called the devyll dredefully to Virgilius, and sayd, “What have ye done, Virgilius?” Virgilius answerd, “Abyde there styll to your day apoynted;” and fro thens forth abydeth he there. And so Virgilius became very connynge in the practyse of the blacke scyence.”

This story may remind the reader of the Arabian tale of the Fisherman and the imprisoned Genie; and it is more than probable that many of the marvels narrated in the life of Virgil are of oriental extraction. Among such I am disposed to reckon the following whimsical account of the foundation of Naples, containing a curious theory concerning the origin of the earthquakes with which it is afflicted. Virgil, who was a person of gallantry, had, it seems, carried off the daughter of a certain Soldan, and was anxious to secure his prize.

“Than he thought in his mynde how he myghte mareye hyr, and thought in his mynde to founde in the middes of the see a fayer towne, with great landes belongynge to it; and so he dyd by his cunnynge, and called it Napells. And the fandacyon of it was of egges, and in that towne of Napells he made a tower with iiii corners, and in the toppe he set a nappell upon an yron yarde, and no man culde pull awaye that apell without he brake it; and thoroughe that yren set he a bolte, and in that bolte set he a egge. And he henge the apell by the stauke apon a cheyne, and so hangeth it styll. And when the egge styrreth, so shulde the towne of Napells quake; and whan the egge brake, than shulde the towne sinke. Whan he had made an ende, he lette call it Napels.”

A merlin sat upon her wrist.—St. V. p. 165.

A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was usually carried by ladies of rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, the constant attendant of a knight or baron. See Latham on Falconry.— Godscroft relates, that when Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed the Earl of Angus to admit a royal garrison into his castle of Tantallon. To this he returned no direct answer; but, as if apostrophising a goss-hawk which sat on his wrist, and which he was feeding during the Queen’s speech, he exclaimed, “The devil’s in this greedy glade, she will never be full.” Hume’s History of the House of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii. p. 131. Barclay complains of the common and indecent practice of bringing hawks and hounds into churches.

And princely peacock’s gilded train.—St. VI. p. 166.

The peacock, it is well known, was considered, during the times of chivalry, not merely as an exquisite delicacy, but as a dish of peculiar solemnity. After being roasted, it was again decorated with its plumage, and a spunge, dipt in lighted spirits of wine, was placed in its bill. When it was introduced on days of grand festival, it was the signal for the adventurous knights to take upon them vows to do some deed of chivalry “before the peacock and the ladies.”

And o’er the boar-head, garnished brave.—St. VI. p. 166.

The boar’s head was also a usual dish or feudal splendour. In Scotland it was sometimes surrounded with little banners, displaying the colours and achievements of the baron, at whose board it was served. Pinkerton’s History, Vol. I. p. 432.

And cygnet from St Mary’s wave.—St. VI. p. 166.

There are often flights of wild swans upon St Mary’s Lake, at the head of the river Yarrow.

Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthiill.—St. VII. p. 168.

The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient race of Border lairds, whose names occur in history, sometimes as defending the frontier against the English, sometimes as disturbing the peace of the country. Dickon Draw-the-sword was son to the ancient warrior, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill.

But bit his glove, and shook his head.—St. VII. p. 163.

To bite the thumb, or the glove, seems not to have been considered, upon the Border, as a gesture of contempt, though so used by Shakespeare, but as a pledge of mortal revenge. It is yet remembered, that a young gentleman of Teviotdale, on the morning after a hard drinking bout, observed, that he had bitten his glove. He instantly demanded of his companion, with whom he had quarrelled? and learning that he had had words with one of the party, insisted on instant satisfaction, asserting, that though he remembered nothing of the dispute, yet he never would have bit his glove unless he had received some unpardonable insult. He fell in the duel, which was fought near Selkirk, in 1721.

———Arthur Fire-the-braes.—St. VIII. p. 169.

The person bearing this redoubtable nomme de guerre was an Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale. He occurs in the list of Border riders, in 1597.

Since old Buckleuch the name did gain, When in the cleuch the buck was ta’en.—St. VIII. p. 170.

A tradition, preserved by Scott of Satchells, who published, in 1688, A true History of the Right Honourable name of Scott, gives the following romantic origin of that name. Two brethren, natives of Galloway, having been banished from that country for a riot, or insurrection, came to Rankelburn, in Ettricke Forest, where the keeper, whose name was Brydone, received them joyfully, on account of their skill in winding the horn, and in the other mysteries of the chace. Kenneth Mac-Alpin, then king of Scotland, came soon after to hunt in the royal forest, and pursued a buck from Ettricke-heuch to the glen now called Buckleuch, about two miles above the junction of Rankelburn with the river Ettricke. Here the stag stood at bay; and the king and his attendants, who followed on horseback, were thrown out by the steepness of the hill and the morass. John, one of the brethren from Galloway, had followed the chace on foot; and now coming in, seized the buck by the horns, and, being a man of great strength and activity, threw him on his back, and run with this burden about a mile up the steep hill to a place called Cracra-Cross, where Kenneth had halted, and laid the buck at the sovereign’s feet*.

The deer being cureé’d in that place, At his Majesty’s demand, Then John of Galloway ran apace, And fetched water to his hand. The King did wash into a dish, And Galloway John he wot; He said, “thy name now after this Shall ever be called John Scot. * Froissart relates, that a knight of the household of the Compte de Foix exhibited a similar feat of strength. The hall-fire had waxed low, and wood was wanted to mend it. This knight went down to the court-yard, where stood an ass laden with faggots, seized on the animal and his burden, and, carrying him up to the hall on his shoulders, tumbled him into the chimney with his heels uppermost; a humane pleasantry, much applauded by the Count and all the spectators. The forest, and the deer therein, We commit to thy hand For thou shalt sure the ranger be, If thou obey command: And for the Buck thou stoutly brought To us up that steep heuch, Thy designation ever shall Be John Scot in Buckscleugh.” * * * * * In Scotland no Buckcleuch was then, Before the buck in the cleugh was slain; Nights-men* at first they did appear, Because moon and stars to their arm they bear. Their crest, supporters, and hunting horn, Shows their beginning from hunting came; Their name and stile, the book doth say, John gained them both into one day. Watt’s Bellanden.

The Buccleuch arms have been altered, and now allude less pointedly to this hunting, whether real or fabulous. The family now bear Or upon a bend azure, a mullet betwixt two crescents of the field; in addition to which they formerly bore * “Minions of the moon,” as Falstaff would have said. The vocation pursued by our ancient Borderers may be justified on the authority of the most polished of the ancient nations. “For the Grecians in old time, and such barbarians as in the continent, lived neere unto the sea, or else inhabited the islands, after once they began to crosse over one to another in ships, became theeves, and went abroad under the conduct of their more puissant men, both to enrich themselves and to fetch in maintenance for the weak: and falling upon towns unfortified or scatteringly inhabited, rifled them, and made this the best meanes of their living; being a matter at that time no where in in the field a hunting horn. The supporters, now two ladies, were formerly a hound and buck, or, according to the old terms, a hart of leash and a hart of greece. The family of Scott of Howpasley and Thirlestaine long retained the bugle-horn: they also carried a bent bow and arrow in the sinister cantle, perhaps as a difference. It is said the old motto was Best riding by moonlight, in allusion to the crescents on the shield, and perhaps to the habits of those who bore it. The motto now given is Amo, applying to the female supporters.

———Good Fergus Græme, The Harper of that ancient name.—St. X. p. 171.

“John Grahme, second son of Malice, Earl of Monteith, commonly surnamed John with the Bright Sword, upon some displeasure risen against him at court, retired with many of his clan and kindred into the English Borders in the reign of king Henry the Fourth, where they seated themselves; and many disgrace, but rather carrying with it something of glory. This is manifest by some that dwell upon the continent, amongst whom, so it be performed nobly, it is still esteemed as an ornament. The same also is prooved by some of the ancient poets, who introduce men questioning of such as sail by, on all coasts alike, whether they bee theeves or not; as a thing neyther scorned by such as were asked, nor upbraided by those that were desirous to know. They also robbed one another within the main land: and much of Greece useth that old custome, as the Locrians, the Acarnanians, and those of the continent in that quarter unto this day. Moreover, the fashion of wearing iron remaineth yet with the people of that continent, from their old trade of theeving.” Hobbes’ Thucydides, p. 4. Lond. 1629. of their posterity have continued there ever since. Mr Sandford, speaking of them, says (which indeed was applicable to most of the Borderers on both sides), “They were all stark moss-troopers, and arrant thieves: Both to England and Scotland outlawed; yet sometimes connived at, because they gave intelligence forth of Scotland, and would rise 400 horse at any time upon a raid of the English into Scotland. A saying is recorded of a mother to her son (which is now become proverbial) Ride, Rowley, hough’s i’ the pot: that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, and therefore it was high time for him to go and fetch more.” Introduction to History of Cumberland.

The residence of the Græmes being chiefly in the Debateable Land, so called because it was claimed by both kingdoms, their depredations extended both to England and Scotland, with impunity; for as both wardens accounted them the proper subjects of their own prince, neither inclined to demand reparation for their excesses from the opposite officer, which would have been an acknowledgment of his jurisdiction over them. See a long correspondence on this subject betwixt Lord Dacre and the English Privy Council, in Introduction to History of Cumberland. The Debateable Land was finally divided betwixt England and Scotland by commissioners appointed by both nations.

The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall.—St. XI. p. 172.

This burden is adopted, with some alteration, from an old Scottish song, beginning thus:

She leaned her back against a thorn, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wa’; And there she has her young babe born, And the lyon sall be lord of a’. Who has not heard of Surrey’s fame.—St. XIII. p. 174.

The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was unquestionably the most accomplished cavalier of his time; and his sonnets display beauties which would do honour to a more polished age. He was beheaded on Towerhill in 1546; a victim to the mean jealousy of Henry VIII., who could not bear so brilliant a character near his throne.

The song of the supposed bard is founded on an incident said to have happened to the Earl in his travels. Cornelius Agrippa, the celebrated alchemist, shewed him, in a looking-glass, the lovely Geraldine, to whose service he had devoted his pen and his sword. The vision represented her as indisposed, and reclined upon a couch, reading her lover’s verses by the light of a waxen taper.

———The storm-swept Orcades; Where erst St Clairs held princely sway, O’er isle and islet, strait and bay.—St. XXI. p. 179.

The St Clairs are of Norman extraction, being descended from William de St Clair, second son of Walderne Compte de St Clair, and Margaret, daughter to Richard Duke of Normandy. He was called, for his fair deportment, the Seemly St Clair, and settling in Scotland during the reign of Malcolm Ceanmore, obtained large grants of land in Mid-Lothian. These domains were increased by the liberality of succeeding monarchs, to the descendants of the family, and comprehended the baronies of Rosline, Pentland, Cowsland, Cardaine, and several others. It is said a large addition was obtained from Robert Bruce on the following occasion. The king, in following the chace upon the Pentland hills, had often started a “white faunch deer,” which had always escaped from his hounds; and he asked the nobles, who were assembled around him, whether any of them had dogs which they thought might be more successful. No courtier would affirm that his hounds were fleeter than those of the king, until Sir William St Clair of Rosline unceremoniously said, he would wager his head that his two favourite dogs, “Help and Hold,” would kill the deer before she could cross the March-burn. The king instantly caught at his unwary offer, and betted the forest of Pentland-moor against the life of Sir William St Clair. All the hounds were tied up, except a few ratches, or slow-hounds, to put up the deer; while Sir William St Clair posting himself in the best situation for slipping his dogs, prayed devoutly to Christ, the blessed Virgin, and St Katherine. The deer was shortly after roused, and the hounds slipped; Sir William following on a gallant steed, to cheer his dogs. The hind, however, reached the middle of the brook, upon which the hunter threw himself from his horse in despair. At this critical moment, however, Hold stopped her in the brook; and Help coming up, turned her back, and killed her on Sir William’s side. The king, descending from the hill, embraced Sir William, and bestowed on him the lands of Kirkton, Loganhouse, Earncraig, &c. in free forestrie. Sir William, in acknowledgment of Saint Katherine’s intercession, built the chapel of St Katherine in the Hopes, the churchyard of which is still to be seen. The hill, from which Robert Bruce beheld this memorable chace, is still called the King’s Hill, and the place where Sir William hunted is called the Knight’s Field*.—MS. History of the Family of St Clair, by Richard Augustin Hay, Canon of St Genevieve.

This adventurous huntsman married Elizabeth, daughter of Malice Spar, Earl of Orkney and Stratherne, in whose right their son Henry was, in 1379, created Earl of Orkney, by Haco, king of Norway. His title was recognised by the kings of Scotland, and remained with his successors until it was annexed to