presenter! to the 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA • SAN DIEGO 
 
 by 
 
 FRIENDS OF THE LIBRARY 
 
 MR, JOHN C. ROSE 
 
 donor 

 
 .^ -.■^.-::^i.^r'^. ...V:, 
 
 THE POEMS 
 
 OF 
 
 JA M E S HOGG 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD 
 
 [selected] 
 
 WITH INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 Mrs. garden 
 
 ¥■ 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 Walter Scott, 24 Warwick Lane, Paternoster Row, 
 
 AND NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE 
 1887.
 
 FOR FULL LIST of the Volumes in 
 this series, see Catalogue at end of 
 book. 
 
 Mary Scott 86 
 
 The Abbot McKinnon . . . . .106 
 
 The Monks' Hymn , . . , .112 
 
 The Mermaid's Song 1 13 
 
 Conchision » .116
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 
 ^^ 
 
 ^"^^^=^-^^^^^^^51^^^^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction .... 
 
 . 7 
 
 The Queen's Wake — 
 
 
 Queen Mary's Arrival in Scotland 
 
 . 37 
 
 Night the First 
 
 . 42 
 
 Young Kennedy , 
 
 
 
 . 43 
 
 The Bride's Tale 
 
 
 
 . 47 
 
 The Witch of Fife 
 
 
 
 . 50 
 
 Night the Second 
 
 
 
 . . 64 
 
 The Spectre's Cradle Song 
 
 
 
 . . 67 
 
 The Fate of Macgregor 
 
 
 
 . 68 
 
 Kilmeny 
 
 
 
 . 72 
 
 Night the Third 
 
 
 
 . . . 83 
 
 Mary Scott 
 
 
 
 . 86 
 
 The Abbot McKinnon 
 
 
 
 . 106 
 
 The Monks' Hymn 
 
 
 
 . 112 
 
 The Mermaid's Song . 
 
 
 
 . 113 
 
 Conclusion 
 
 
 
 . 116
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Mountain Bard — page 
 
 Gilmanscleuch 123 
 
 Lord Derwent , . . . . . .133 
 
 Sir David Graeme . . , . . .138 
 The Author's Address to his Auld Dog Hector . 143 
 Farewell to Ettrick 147 
 
 The Pilgrims of the Sun — 
 
 Part First 152 
 
 Part Second — The Messengers' Report , .162 
 
 Origin of a Comet ...... 164 
 
 Part Third— The Return to Earth . . .167 
 Part Fourth ...... 169 
 
 The Pedlar 172 
 
 The Poetic Mirror — 
 
 Isabelle . . . , . , , .179 
 The Conclusion . . . . , . .181 
 
 Mador of the Moor — 
 
 Caledonia 183 
 
 The River Tay ' 183 
 
 Love 184 
 
 The Palmer's Morning Hymn , , . . 185 
 Stirling 186 
 
 Queen Hynde — 
 
 The Boat Race 187 
 
 Invitation . . . . . , . .190 
 The Fate of Odin's Worshippers . . . .192 
 
 Lines to Sir Walter Scott . . . .195
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 V 
 
 Ballads and Poems— 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Lord of Balloch .... 
 
 . 200 
 
 Little Pynkie 
 
 . 204 
 
 The Mermaid ..... 
 
 . 212 
 
 Morning 
 
 . 216 
 
 Stanzas 
 
 . 217 
 
 The Auld Man's Fareweel to his Wee H 
 
 ouse . 218 
 
 Regret 
 
 . 220 
 
 A Bard's Address to his Youngest Daugl 
 
 ler . 221 
 
 Elegy 
 
 . -224 
 
 Verses to the Comet of i8i I 
 
 . 225 
 
 A Father's Lament .... 
 
 . 227 
 
 The Broken Heart .... 
 
 . 228 
 
 An Aged Widow's Lament 
 
 . 229 
 
 The Frazers in the Correi . 
 
 . 230 
 
 Jock Johnstone the Tinkler . 
 
 . 231 
 
 Maria Gray ..... 
 
 . .240 
 
 Songs— 
 
 
 I Hae Naebody now .... 
 
 . 243 
 
 The Moon was a-waning . . ' . 
 
 . 244 
 
 Loose the Yett 
 
 . 245 
 
 By a Bush 
 
 . 246 
 
 The Bonnie Lass of Deloraine 
 
 . 248 
 
 0, Jeanie, there's naething lo fear 
 
 . 249 
 
 ^Vllen the Kye conies Hame 
 
 . 250 
 
 A Boy's Song 
 
 . . 252 
 
 The Broom Sae Green 
 
 . 253 
 
 The Skylark 
 
 . 254 
 
 Bonnie Prince Charlie 
 
 » . 255
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 Songs — contimied — 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Flora Macdonald's Farewell 
 
 . . 256 
 
 M 'Lean's Welcome .... 
 
 . 257 
 
 The Stuarts of Appin 
 
 . 259 
 
 Farewell to Glen-Shalloch , 
 
 . 261 
 
 M'Kimman . , . . , 
 
 . 263 
 
 Donald M 'Donald .... 
 
 . 264 
 
 Moggy and Me 
 
 . 266 
 
 Lock the Door, Lariston 
 
 . 267 
 
 Poor Little Jessie .... 
 
 . . 269 
 
 The Laird o' Lamington 
 
 . 270 
 
 When iNIaggy gangs away . 
 
 . 271 
 
 There's Gowd in the Breast 
 
 . 272 
 
 Cameron's Welcome Hame . . » 
 
 . 273 
 
 Sing on, sing on, my Bonnie Bird 
 
 . 275 
 
 Love Letter ..... 
 
 . 276 
 
 The Witch o' Fife .... 
 
 . 277 
 
 I'm a gane wrang .... 
 
 . 278 
 
 Good night, and joy ... 
 
 . 279 
 
 Sacred Pieces— 
 
 
 Hymn to the Deity ..... 
 
 . 28I 
 
 Dweller in Heaven .... 
 
 . 282 
 
 On Carmel's Brow .... 
 
 . 283 
 
 Hymn 
 
 . 285 
 
 The Covenanter's Scaffold Song . 
 
 . 286 
 
 The Fall of Idumea 
 
 . 287 
 
 4^^e 

 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 
 F no country, perhaps, save of 
 Scotland, can it be related that 
 during the latter half of the same 
 century it produced two great 
 poets, both of them sprung from 
 the working class. Yet she is 
 but a little island of the sea ! 
 These poets were — Robert Burns, the Ayrshire 
 Ploughman, and James Hogg, the Ettrick Shep- 
 herd. They were both peasants, alike by ancestry, 
 by birth, and by nurture— both sons of the soil, 
 and both sons of genius. There, probably, the 
 resemblance ceases ; for while Burns was the poet 
 of human feelings, of men and women, their frail- 
 ties and their virtues, their tender loves and their 
 bitter hates, Hogg was emphatically the poet of 
 Nature and of the supernatural. He was one who 
 saw " sermons in stones, books in the running 
 brooks ;" and he loved Nature with a poet's heart.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Professor Wilson has said that " Hog^g was the 
 only worthy successor of Burns ;" and Professor 
 Veitch, himself a poet and a Borderer, that "after 
 Burns, Hogg was the greatest poet that has sprung 
 from the bosom of the common people." 
 
 Burns was born in 1759, and was dead before 
 James Hogg ever heard of his name. In the sum- 
 mer of 1796, while he was tending his flocks on the 
 Blackhouse heights, Hogg was joined by a half-daft 
 man named Jock Scott. This worthy employed 
 the sunny hours of the long summer day in repeat- 
 ing to the shepherd the wonderful poem of " Tam 
 o' Shanter." Hogg was amazed, and made Jock 
 repeat it over and over again, till he too learned it 
 by heart. " It was made by a wonderful poet 
 called Robert Burns ; but he's dead, and there will 
 never be another like him." Thus said daft Jock 
 Scott, and left the shepherd on the hill to think 
 over what he had heard. The result was that he 
 resolved to be a successor of Burns. He had been 
 entranced with the poem just repeated to him. 
 Why, then, could not he tread in the footsteps of 
 this wonderful Ayrshire peasant ? 
 
 Hogg sprang from a shepherd ancestry, and was 
 reared in a shepherd home. The pastoral life is 
 one well calculated to nurture any hidden germs of 
 poetic fancy which may be inherent in the soul. 
 The shepherd is not, properly speaking, a labour- 
 ing man, whose shoulders are bent over the spade 
 or mattock. No ! He spends his days almost 
 alone in communion with Nature. His is a life in 
 which the higher aspirations implanted by the
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Divine power may find time and scope for devel- 
 opment. In studying Nature and her ways, the 
 skies, the effects of the shadows on the mountain 
 side, and the clouds on the hill tops, the sprays of 
 purple heather and the wild mountain daisy at his 
 feet, the gurgling streamlet and the bleak moorland 
 tarn — surely the man born a poet would learn to 
 " look from Nature up to Nature's God." 
 
 A hundred years ago the Scottish peasantry were 
 a religious people. The old Covenanting struggle 
 was still fresh in their memories, and they rever- 
 enced their brave, godly old forefathers who had 
 borne persecution for the cause of religion. An 
 immense amount of romance clung about the his- 
 tory of these times. Partly from that, and partly 
 from the natural temperament of the mountaineer, 
 it happened that the Scottish peasantry were also 
 a poetical people. Indeed, where religion, or 
 faith, is a prominent feature in the character of a 
 nation, the people generally are, in consequence of 
 their religion, also poetical — ballad-loving. How 
 rich Scotland is in ballad literature ! and a hundred 
 years or two ago that was almost the only literature 
 known to the peasantry there. 
 
 One, however, would almost require to be 
 acquainted with the bleak but beautiful, wild but 
 romantic, scenery amid which the embryo poet 
 passed his youth, to be able to realise the sort of 
 influence which such scenery must have exercised 
 on a nature such as his. His own description 
 of the Bard of Ettrick, given in the introduction 
 to the tenth bard's song, affords some idea of
 
 lo INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the influence which the scenes which constanlly 
 met his eye in his native valley had produced 
 in him : — 
 
 " The bard on Ettrick's mountain green, 
 In Nature's bosom nursed had been, 
 And oft had marked, in forest lone, 
 Her beauties on her mountain throne ; 
 Had seen her deck the wildwood tree. 
 And star with snowy gems the lea ; 
 In loveliest colours paint the plain, 
 And sow the moor with purple grain ; 
 By golden mead, and mountain sheer, 
 Had viewed the Ettrick waving clear, 
 Where shadowy flocks of purest snow 
 Seemed grazing in a world below." 
 
 But we must speak of the facts of the poet's life — 
 a life which was in the main uneventful. He him- 
 self alleges that he was of Scandinavian descent. 
 Professor Veitch, referring to Worsoe's descrip- 
 tion of the Danes in England, says : — " Should Mr. 
 Worsoe return to Britain, and take a few days' 
 excursion among the hills of Ettrick and Yarrow, 
 I promise to find him as perfect a type of the fair, 
 or Norwegian blood, as any he will meet with in 
 the North of England. ... In the beginning of 
 last century there might have been seen any day on 
 the Braes of Yarrow a shepherd lad, with features, 
 hair, and frame of body as perfect as could well be 
 found. In him, too, were thrilling ideals and 
 imaginings such as might have moved in the heart 
 of any Skald ; and he bore a name which might 
 very fairly be regarded as indicating the Norwe- 
 gian blood, for the Ettrick Shepherd was not
 
 named from the hog of the hill-side, but from the 
 haug or haig of the old northern tongues." 
 
 Hogg first saw the light in the farm-house of 
 Ettrick Hall. The name implies a more imposing 
 structure than the facts justify. Ettrick Hall was 
 but a clay bigging, with a roof of thatch composed 
 of heather drawn from the hill-side. It probably 
 consisted of a "but and a ben," with a cow-byre and 
 other outhouses attached. This edifice is long since 
 demolished, and is replaced by a substantial stone 
 house ; nothing now remaining of the old one but 
 the hearthstone, around which the future poet and 
 his brothers played, while the good-wife toasted her 
 oaten cakes, more than a hundred years ago. 
 
 At the time of Hogg's birth, his father rented a 
 small farm ; but very soon, owing to bad times or 
 other inadvertences, was compelled to abandon 
 farming, and return once more to his original 
 occupation of a shepherd. The parents of James 
 Hogg, if not in actual poverty, were in a humble 
 condition of life. But they were nevertheless of 
 old descent, each having a pedigree going back for 
 centuries. The poet, in after years, was proud of his 
 weird old ancestors ; and well he might, for a 
 notable witch was his great-grandmother by one 
 parent, while his grandfather on the other side had 
 held credible and communicable intercourse with 
 the fairy folk. 
 
 Whether or not we believe in those half super- 
 natural narratives, true it is that the traditions of 
 them must have played no inconsiderable part in 
 forming the character of the future poet.
 
 12 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 As far as is known, the birth of James Hogg 
 occurred in the autumn of 1770, the exact date 
 being unknown. When of a fit age, his parents 
 sent him to the parish school, which almost ad- 
 joined their dwelling. It was only for a few months 
 in winter that he could be spared, for in summer 
 the child of six years was hired to herd cows on a 
 neighbouring farm. The following winter we find 
 him again at school ; and that completes his 
 education. From that time his life was to be one 
 of hard work — even to the end. 
 
 His school education, as we have seen, was im- 
 perfect to the last degree, but there were other 
 teachers at work to complete it. In the first place, 
 his mother, peasant-woman though she was, we 
 find to have been singularly shrewd and intelligent 
 for her class. Her memory was a storehouse of 
 the ancient ballad literature of the Border. Walter 
 Scott visited her in her little mountain home, in 
 order to take down from her recitation some of the 
 almost extinct ballads afterwards published by 
 him. She soothed her little children to rest with 
 them ; and kept them quiet during the day with 
 stories of witches, fairies, and spirits. Then she 
 taught her four boys (of whom James was the 
 second eldest) the psalms of David, in the some- 
 what crank, but often grand and majestic, old 
 Scottish metrical version. Margaret Laidlaw (her 
 father it was who had spoken with the fairies) was 
 no ordinary woman ; and if genius comes by in- 
 heritance, there can be little doubt that Hogg 
 inherited his from his mother. So long as he
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 remained in his father's house his poet training 
 was going on unconsciously to both mother and 
 child. The lore she taught him ; these legends 
 of the forest — how maidens were spirited away, 
 visiting fairyland, and returning again to home- 
 life for a while — or how people whom she had 
 known had received visits from denizens of 
 other worlds than this — with stories of apparitions 
 of all kinds as familiar occurrences — were the 
 lessons that he learned at his mother's knee. The 
 outcome of all, by and by, was "The Queen's 
 Wake," "The Pilgrims of the Sun," and "The 
 Shepherd's Callander." 
 
 The boy went from one service to another, con- 
 tinuing to ascend by slow steps the social ladder. 
 He was forty-three when he published " The 
 Queen's Wake;" but he had not been silent till 
 then. No. He had made songs and pastorals, 
 which he had sung to the servants who were at 
 that time his associates. They were his only 
 critics, and his muse pleased them well. They 
 were rude critics, it is true, but his muse was also 
 rude ; but as the event proved, their critical skill 
 had not been at fault. 
 
 Hogg tells us he composed with ease, but the 
 writing out of his compositions was not easy work. 
 He had forgotten the little he had been taught of 
 the science of writing. He could not form the 
 letters, and had to teach himself to write by copy- 
 ing such bits of manuscript letters as he could find. 
 He practised writing on the large slate stones he 
 found on the hill-side, making letters an inch long
 
 14 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 in his eagerness to acquire the art which to him 
 
 meant the way to success. He tells us that at five- 
 and-twenty he wept because he could not commit 
 his poems to writing. These were some of the 
 difficulties Hogg had to overcome, and he overcame 
 these difficulties, because afterwards we find that 
 he wrote a clear and gentlemanlike hand, while 
 errors in spelling or in grammar are scarcely met 
 with in his manuscripts. 
 
 At the age of sixteen it fell to his lot to be 
 engaged as shepherd at Willanslea. Here he met 
 with a kind master in Mr. Laidlaw, whose wife 
 evinced much interest in the young shepherd. 
 Detecting something off the common in the lad, 
 she put into his hands books and newspapers, all 
 of which he read with avidity. Hogg also at this 
 period availed himself of a small subscription 
 library which had been started in the little market 
 town of Peebles. After two years spent at 
 Willanslea, he went to serve as shepherd at 
 Blackhouse in Yarrow. And this was the turning 
 point in his life. His new employers being distant 
 — we may say, only Scotch — cousins of his, were 
 generous and intelligent people. Recognising the 
 latent talent in their young kinsman, they afforded 
 him every help in their power in improving himself. 
 Hogg remained ten years at Blackhouse, and 
 always regarded the years passed in the service of 
 Mr. Laidlaw as the happiest of his life. It was 
 here, we think, that he began to live ; here that the 
 quickening of the hidden germs began ; and here 
 it made him happy to find that after all he was not
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 the mere clod which so much in his estate warranted 
 him in thinking. Here it was that the great 
 aspiration first filled his bosom of becoming the 
 successor of Burns. He never filled that vacant place, 
 but made for himself a name nearly as honourable. 
 
 Meantime we shall be excused for again quoting 
 Professor Veitch, who has drawn so vivid a picture 
 of James Hogg as he was at this period of his life. 
 
 " I like to picture Hogg at this period as he 
 herded on the Hawk Shaw Rig, up the Douglas 
 Burn — a dark, heathy slope of the Blackhouse 
 heights, which divide the Blackhope Burn from the 
 other main feeders of the Douglas. There, on a 
 summer day during these ten years, you would find 
 on the hill a ruddN^-faced youth of middle height, of 
 finely symmetrical and agile form, with beaming 
 light blue eyes, and a profusion of light brown hair, 
 that fell over his shoulders — long, fairy, and lissom as 
 a woman's." " The time is between the middle of 
 July and the middle of September, when his duty 
 is to supper the lambs. These had simply to be 
 moved from place to place, and this was done by 
 Hector, or his successor, the shepherd's collie and 
 friend. Now was the opportunity of the shepherd 
 student. With the lambs quietly pasturing, he sets 
 to work, produces a sheet or two of paper folded 
 and stitched, has an inkhorn stuck in a buttonhole 
 of his waistcoat, with a cork and a bit of twine and 
 a stump of a pen, and there he thinks out his 
 verses — writes them, in fact, all through on the tablet 
 of memory— and there commits the production, 
 which he has already finished and polished in his
 
 i6 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mind, to paper. What kind of poetic impulse was 
 
 likely to come out of this ? " 
 
 The fact of his having continued ten years in the 
 service of the same employer is silent testimony 
 that this "impassioned youth," with his ink-horn 
 and his bit of folded paper, sitting on the hill-side 
 writing his verses, or lying among the heather 
 dreaming his dreams, did not meanwhile neglect 
 his work as a shepherd. 
 
 In 1800 he goes to Edinburgh on some business 
 for his master, probably with a flock of sheep to 
 the market, a distance, it may be, of thirty miles. 
 When there he sings one of his own songs in the 
 hearing of his acquaintances. They admire the 
 song, and recommend him to offer it to a music- 
 seller who would print it. This the shepherd did. 
 The song was published (the words being set to a 
 well-known Scottish air), and attained immense 
 success. At that time Buonaparte was said to be 
 projecting an invasion of Great Britain, and 
 " Donald McDonald " was written to bid defiance 
 to the ambitious Corsican. This was the song 
 which attained such success, and was sung in all 
 companies. The writer of it, meantime, had 
 returned to the Blackhouse heights, and remained 
 unknown. No one apparently had asked who had 
 composed the spirit-stirring ditty which spoke so 
 contemptuously of the " Corsican callant." 
 
 At the same time the success of "Donald 
 McDonald " induced the author to think that he 
 " was a great poet," and on this assumption he 
 rushed again into print, publishing a collection of
 
 INTRODUCTION, 17 
 
 songs and ballads which, in a pecuniary point of 
 view, were valueless, and gave but little promise 
 of the distinction awaiting the shepherd. 
 
 Not long after this he made the acquaintance of 
 Sir Walter Scott, and by his advice, at a later date. 
 The Motmtain Bard was published. The work in 
 question was a collection of original ballads, and 
 contained some of his best pieces. It brought him 
 into notice, and it put money in his purse. For 
 The Moantaifi Bard, and another work most dis- 
 similar, being a treatise on sheep, Hogg got three 
 hundred pounds — a large sum indeed to one in his 
 circumstances. But it was not inexhaustible, as the 
 poet soon discovered ; for, having invested his 
 earnings in a farm, he lost his three hundred 
 pounds, coming out of the speculation poorer than 
 ever. 
 
 With the light heart and manly courage which at 
 all times characterised him, he took his staff in his 
 hand, threw his plaid over his shoulders, and made 
 his way to Edinburgh in search of literary employ- 
 ment. Alas ! the time for this had not yet come : 
 so he tried other things, and seems to have found 
 means of living. Reared in the forests, we maybe 
 sure his wants were not exorbitant, and, being 
 I frugal in his habits, a little wealth went a long 
 way. 
 
 Apropos of The Motmtain Bard^ the following 
 anecdote is told by Hogg. On one occasion, being 
 with Sir Walter Scott on the banks of the Tweed, 
 he asked the shepherd to recite his ballad of 
 " Gilmanscleuch," which he had repeated in the 
 6-2-6
 
 i8 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 hearing of Sir Walter three years before. Hogg, 
 of course, readily complied with the request, but 
 came to a dead stand about the ninth verse. Sir 
 Walter set the author right, and himself repeated 
 the whole poem, consisting of eighty stanzas, with- 
 out a mistake. At that time " Gilmanscleuch " had 
 never been either written or printed ; but had made 
 a deep impression on Sir Walter, relating, as it did, 
 to some of the doughty deeds of his ancestors, the 
 Scotts of Harden. 
 
 To resume : the shepherd, while residing in 
 Edinburgh, began a monthly periodical called The 
 Spy^ which brought him into contact with many of 
 the literafi of the Scottish metropolis, at that time 
 approaching the zenith of its literary glor^'. The 
 Spy lived only one year, but was by no means a 
 despicable production. Besides Hogg's own con- 
 tributions, there were in its pages articles from 
 many of the best authors, and it was probably from 
 lack of capital that the enterprising editor felt 
 himself obliged to abandon the undertaking. He 
 was again cast adrift ; but he had made many 
 friends, some of whom believed truly in him and in 
 his gifts. " After what he has done," said one of 
 them, " what may he not do ? " Taking him by 
 the hand, and forcing him, in a manner, to be 
 dependent on them for a time, a few of those 
 friends insisted on him applying himself to literature 
 alone, and doing something worthy of his genius — 
 something which would bring honour to their 
 native Ettrick. 
 
 The results proved that they were wise
 
 INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 counsellors, for in a few months, his mind being 
 freed from the harassing cares of "how to live," 
 Hogg produced " The Queen's Wake." 
 
 This work at once and for ever made the author 
 famous. It took the reading world by storm. 
 Who was then this man who was capable of creating 
 those aerial beings ? Surely here was a true poet ! 
 Yes. Here was a poet, a poor man who had been 
 trying to make a living by measuring land, and by 
 herding sheep. He had been in their midst, and 
 they knew it not. 
 
 " The Queen's Wake " purports to be a collec- 
 tion of original poems recited by the minstrels of 
 Scotland at Holyrood, before Mary Queen of 
 Scots at Christmas, after her landing in her 
 native land. The story is, that Mary having 
 been struck by the song of an aged minstrel 
 who played to her as she rode with her 
 courtiers from the pier of Leith to Holyrood, and 
 by the reports she heard of the great mass of 
 legendary lore abounding in her native land, 
 announces a poetical y^V^ or competition to be held 
 at Christmastide — the prize to be Queen Mary's 
 harp. 
 
 The minstrels accordingly flock to the royal 
 palace, and " The Queen's Wake " consists of the 
 poems supposed to have been sung before the 
 lovely queen. 
 
 The plan of the work admits of variety, and 
 Hogg evinces in no mean degree his varied powers 
 of song. His descriptions of scenery are often 
 beautiful, but he soars highest and sings sweetest
 
 20 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 when he enters the land of spirits. " Kilmeny " is 
 an exquisite ballad, and the author seems at 
 home, and to reach even the sublime in his 
 delineations of Kilmcny's sojourn in the 1 md of 
 perfect purity, to which she had been transported 
 for a time by one of the immortals. One writer" 
 says of Kilmeny — " In the whole range of legendary 
 verse we are not aware of anything so perfectly 
 exquisite as " Bonnie Kilmeny." Of the " Wake " 
 the same author says — "That a work of such 
 perfect execution should have been written by a 
 shepherd who received no advantages from educa- 
 tion is a literary wonder, and might well astonish 
 the world." 
 
 John Wilson, better known as Christopher North, 
 says of the Ettrick Shepherd — " The still, green 
 beauty of the pastoral hills and vales where he 
 passed his youth inspired him with ever-brooding 
 visions of fairyland — till, as he sat musing in his 
 lonely sheihng, the world of phantasy seemed, in 
 the clear depths of his imagination, a lovelier 
 reflection of nature. . . . Whenever he treats of 
 fairyland his language insensibly becomes soft, 
 wild, and aerial." 
 
 In this way it befell that the shepherd became 
 not only a poet of nature, but of a realm far 
 beyond it. The world of fairydom and of spirits 
 seems as real to him as does the realm of men and 
 women to us. When we read his "Kilmeny" and 
 his " Pilgrims of the Sun," we seem for the time to 
 realise, and altogether credit, how these lovely and 
 guileless maidens should pass, for a time, from
 
 INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 their earthly homes into the land of spirits — and 
 should converse familiarly with the inhabitants 
 there ; and we marvel and experience a sort of 
 sorrow that they should return to every-day life and 
 "the world of sin again." " Kilmeny" is the most 
 beautiful poem which Hogg wrote, and is a con- 
 ception of singular purity and exquisite finish. 
 
 Wilson, in one of the Noctes^ alleges that the 
 shepherd, lying on the mountain side, dreams the 
 dream of Kilmeny, and carries her ever after 
 in his heart. It was Kilmeny that, as we have 
 said, brought fame to its auihor, but most of the 
 " Wake," and many others of his poems, are worthy 
 of being placed alongside of it. We believe that, 
 although he had never written another line, the 
 man who wrote " Kilmeny " was entitled to a fore- 
 most rank among the " inspired ones." 
 
 " The Witch of Fife," another of the poems in 
 the " Queen's Wake," is a gem from the realms of 
 witchcraft, and shows in a wonderful manner 
 Hogg's vein of thought and imagination. It is a 
 strange, grotesque description of lawless doings 
 with the evil one. Full of nice humour and caustic 
 wit, blended with finely painted descriptions of 
 scenes of nature through which the witches passed 
 in their flight, it is justly regarded as " unsurpassed 
 in the picturesque of superstition." 
 
 The seventeenth bard's song — " The Abbot 
 McKinnon," is a wild, weird tale. It is founded on 
 a legend of the ancient times when lona was a 
 great monastic establishment, and relates how the 
 abbot of I, or Icolmkill, brought to the island
 
 22 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 monastery a young monk of rare beauty and grace, 
 who " abode with the abbot by day and by night," 
 till the older monks looked grave and the younger 
 ones smiled mysteriously to each other. 
 
 After a while, the abbot has a vision, and is 
 desired, along with certain of his monks, to repair 
 to the neighbouring island of Staffa. Here he 
 accordingly repairs, impelled to do so, not by in- 
 clination, but by the mysterious agency of the god 
 of the sea. Strange visitants from the deep meet 
 the abbot and his companions at Staffa. The end 
 being that the boat with all on board is engulphed 
 by the waves — an offering to the "god of the sea" 
 — as well as a punishment for the abbot's sad 
 breach of his monastic vows. The beautiful young 
 monk at I being " Matilda of Skye." 
 
 The poem, however, to which Hogg awards the 
 imaginary prize is none of these we have named. 
 It fell to the ninth bard — the piece being "Young 
 Kennedy." 
 
 Poets are not at all times the best judges of their 
 own compositions, and the author of " Kilmeny " 
 has shown himself sadly at fault in placing any 
 other poem first. " Young Kennedy " is not equal 
 to the other pieces in the " Queen's Wake," and, 
 although many passages are powerfully written, 
 and the story is vividly told, it is far behind " Kil- 
 meny" and the "Witch of Fife." As mothers are 
 sometimes said to regard their weak and deformed 
 children with greater affection than those more 
 robust, so the shepherd seems to have chosen the 
 weakest composition in the work for the place of
 
 INTRODUCTION. 23 
 
 honour. " Mary Scott," a beautiful love story, is 
 passed by, and the unpleasant tale of " Young 
 Kennedy'' is magnified by the author. 
 
 As soon as " The Queen's Wake " made its 
 appearance, and met with the approval of the 
 critics, Hogg became a marked man in the literary 
 world. The work went through many editions. 
 Close upon the heels of the "Queen's Wake" followed 
 "Mador of the Moor" and the "Pilgrims of the 
 Sun." The latter work has often been considered 
 the shepherd's highest attainment, and contains 
 magnificent descriptive passages, notably that 
 which depicts the origin of a comet, but it is not 
 uniform, and certainly never attained to a tithe of 
 the popularity attending the " Queen's Wake." 
 
 In 1817 Hogg published "The Brownie of Bods- 
 beck," a prose tale. From that time, " alleging," 
 as he himself says, "that the public had had 
 enough of poetry," he continued to write prose 
 tales and sketches, many of them graphic and 
 interesting. 
 
 In 1 817 also, B la. kwood^s Magazine yfdiS started. 
 Of this now celebrated magazine James Hogg was 
 one of the originators, and he continued to con- 
 tribute to its columns — with a few intervals of 
 estrangement — till his death. The celebrated 
 " Chaldee Manuscript" made its appearance in 
 one of the first numbers of Blackwood. It was 
 conceived and for the most part written by Hogg, 
 and calling forth, as it did, storms from various 
 literary quarters, it had the result of binding Hogg 
 very closely up with the staff of Blackwood.
 
 24 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 As all the world knows, Christopher North was 
 editor of Blackwood''s Magasijie^ and author, or 
 joint author, of the renowned Nodes Ambrosiancey 
 which tended much to make the first celebrity of 
 the Magazine. These papers, without alluding to 
 which it were impossible to write truly of James 
 Hogg, were a series of articles appearing monthly 
 in Blackwood^ and which were carried over a 
 number of years. They were mostly critical, but 
 were conducted in dialogue form. Men and man- 
 ners, but especially books, were discussed in 
 fearless terms. The " Ettrick Shepherd," was the 
 life and soul of the Nodes. Into his mouth 
 Christopher North put many of his finest criti- 
 cisms ; into his mouth, also, were put the grossest 
 absurdities and the vulgarest of buffooneries. But 
 in the Nodes the " Ettrick Shepherd " was entirely, 
 or almost entirely, a fictitious character, having its 
 origin in Christopher North's imagination. Pos- 
 terity, unfortunately, is best acquainted with the 
 shepherd through the medium of these remarkable 
 papers, and his memory has suffered not a little from 
 the erroneous impression conveyed by them. The 
 readers of the present day must put aside the 
 Nodes and judge the shepherd by his writing — by 
 his "Queen's Wake" and "Mary Lee" — by his 
 graphic and satirical ballads of " Little Pynkie," 
 and "The Gude Grey Cat," and by his songs. 
 
 The outward life of Hogg was not eventful, but 
 was throughout characterised by manly indepen- 
 dance and endurance. The life of Robert Burns 
 was a bed of roses compared with the struggles
 
 INTRODUCTION, 25 
 
 and misfortunes which James Hogg had to endure. 
 It was no doubt owing much to the simplicity, and 
 what the Scotch call " aefauldness," of his 
 character, that he suffered as he did. Guileless in 
 his own nature, he supposed that every one was 
 as honest as himself, till he found, when too late, 
 that he had been taken advantage of. 
 
 To the Countess of Dalkeith, afterwards Duchess 
 of Buccleuch, Hogg had dedicated " The Queen's 
 Wake," and she had showed much interest in its 
 author. Two years after the publication of " The 
 Queen's Wake," this lady died, but on her death- 
 bed she charged her sorrowing husband not to 
 forget her "poor poet." The Duke of Buccleuch 
 did not fail to remember his Duchess's dying 
 request, and gave Hogg the little farm of Altrive 
 Lake, in classic Yarrow, for life ; but without rent 
 or fee. 
 
 To this little homestead the poet went in 1815, 
 affording there a shelter to his aged father, who 
 lived at Altrive Lake till his death some years 
 after. Hogg's mother, to whom he owed so much 
 of his skill in ballad lore, had passed away before 
 her son had a home to offer her ; but she had 
 lived long enough to know that her son James 
 had become famous, and was no longer only a 
 shepherd but also a poet. 
 
 Soon after the appearance of " The Pilgrims of 
 the Sun" about 1816, the shepherd produced a 
 volume of poetry having rather a singular history. 
 It was this. He himself says, " My next literary 
 adventure was the most extraordinary of any. I
 
 26 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 took it into my head that I would collect a poem 
 from every living author in Britain, and publish 
 them in a neat and elegant volume, by which I 
 calculated I might make my fortune." Acting on 
 this idea, and judging other authors by his own 
 generous nature, which was ever ready to give 
 of his best to help a friend, he applied to 
 Southey, Wordsworth, Wilson, Byron, and others. 
 All of them entered cordially into his project, 
 and promised contributions. Fortified by these 
 assurances Hogg forthwith proceeded to announce 
 the forthcoming work. The bards were as good as 
 their word. They sent contributions, but not such 
 as Hogg deemed worthy of either them or himself. 
 On the contrary, the poems sent seemed only to be 
 the gleanings from Balaam's box — and the shep- 
 herd felt himself in a fix. Wordsworth, probably 
 in a fit of chagrin at his brother poet, recalled his 
 poem. The other poems, as may well be imagined, 
 Hogg read with sincere disappointment ; but worst 
 of all. Sir Walter Scott firmly declined to send any- 
 thing at all, and Hogg had relied on his contri- 
 bution for the success of his work. Lord Byron 
 too — who had meant " Lara " for the work — drew 
 back. Hogg was at his wits' end, and to remedy 
 the defect he determined to write in imitation of 
 his announced contributors. He sat down, and in 
 three months the volume made its appearance as 
 promised. But the poems were, with, we think, one 
 exception, all from Hogg's own pen. It speaks not a 
 little for his diligence, and for the versatility of his 
 pen, that he was able to catch, in a great degree,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 the style of his contemporaries. So well did he do 
 this, that for a moment the public believed in the 
 pretended character of the work. But the author 
 was incapable of deception. In some cases the 
 caricature was too pronounced — as in that of 
 Wordsworth — and proclaimed the forgery. The 
 discovery only afforded amusement, none joining 
 louder in the laugh than the shepherd himself. 
 Some of the poems in The Poetic Mirror are really 
 excellent ; the best, however, is perhaps that in 
 which Hogg caricatures himself — " The Gude Grey 
 Cat." The imitations of Coleridge depict well the 
 dreamy, half earthly, half unearthly lucubrations of 
 the philosopher. 
 
 In 1819 the poet married Margaret Phillips, a 
 lady above him in station, but comely and wise, and 
 who was destined to make her husband's home " the 
 dearest spot on earth to him." The attachment 
 had existed, and the courtship had been going on, 
 for ten years before the marriage took place. The 
 lady, however, had never swerved from her devo- 
 tion to the shepherd, although in these ten years 
 he had passed through many vicissitudes of fortune 
 and of favour. 
 
 In the same year were published two volumes, 
 entitled The Jacobite Relics — songs of Jacobite 
 times, with historical notes — published under the 
 auspices of the Duke of Sussex and other persons 
 of note. This work was collected and prepared by 
 the Ettrick Shepherd. Not only were the notes 
 from his pen, but many of the songs were written, 
 or so re-written by him, as to be almost new versions
 
 28 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the old text. The book fell out of print ; but it 
 is not to be supposed therefore that it was value- 
 less. It is, in fact, the only work of the same kind 
 that we know of, and in the class of literature to 
 which it belongs is a work of no small value. 
 
 Altrive Lake was the poet's home, with the 
 exception of a few unlucky years spent at the 
 adjoining farm of Mount Benger. This farm the 
 shepherd, in an evil hour, took a lease of We say 
 unlucky, because, although a good poet, he seems 
 to have been but a bad farmer, and his unfortunate 
 tenantcy of Mount Benger was disastrous, and 
 clouded his remaining years with difficulties 
 which he was never able altogether to surmount. 
 Probably no author was ever so systematically 
 unfortunate as James Hogg. Either he made a 
 bad choice of publishers, or the fates were against 
 him ; for almost without exception, soon after the 
 work which Hogg had placed in their hands had 
 been issued, his publishers became bankrupt. Had 
 it not been for the liberal remuneration accorded 
 by the magazines and annuals the little family at 
 Altrive Lake must have starved. As it was, the 
 shepherd's house on the banks of the Yarrow was 
 the resort of visitors of every class and from every 
 clime, who flocked to make the acquaintance, and 
 judge for themselves, of the inspired genius of the 
 Nodes Anibrosiancr. With the genial hospitality 
 which characterised both the poet and his wife, 
 every one was made welcome at Altrive Lake, or, 
 at least, none were refused admittance. During 
 the summer Hogg's time was much broken in upon
 
 INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 by visitors. He was a keen fisher, and as both the 
 Yarrow and St. Mary's Loch abounded with trout 
 and salmon, his company was in constant request 
 to accompany his visitors on piscatorial expeditions. 
 Perhaps in these later years the shepherd would 
 have written better had there been fewer visitors at 
 Altrive Lake ; at the same time, being constitu- 
 tionally sociable, his mind might possibly have 
 suffered more from seclusion than from too much 
 society. We venture to quote from the record 
 given by one of these visitors — an American, we 
 think — which was published in The Mirror in 1833. 
 After describing the approach to Altrive, the writer 
 says :— " Presently the shepherd came down with 
 a large 'pepper and salt' coloured shooting-coat 
 on, and his cheeks rolled up in flannels. The 
 bright, intelligent eye, and fine forehead, were 
 visible, notwithstanding the cosy bandage in which 
 he was buried. Few men within a year or two of 
 threescore (at this lime he was sixty-three) wear 
 such a hale appearance as James Hogg. Time has 
 touched his figure and sprinkled the frost of age 
 upon his pow ; but he is erect as the oak of the 
 forest, and his step as free and elastic as any youth 
 of five-and-twenty. There is an extreme resem- 
 blance between Hogg and the late Sir Walter Scott, 
 that, as Professor Wilson is accustomed to remark, 
 had they been brothers they would have been 
 thought very like each other. The Ettrick Shep- 
 herd's character is not so generally known or 
 appreciated as it ought to be. He is known to 
 many only by name, and to a few by detached
 
 30 INTRODUCTION, 
 
 portions of his writings. To love the writer you 
 must know the man. There is about him a frank- 
 ness and an affection very seldom to be found in 
 literary men : and the love he bears ' the flowers 
 of the forest,' as he calls his children, and the 
 nameless traits which lend a charm to character, 
 command our esteem for one who has been un- 
 changed by poverty and success, in good and evil 
 report the friend of his race, and, as Sir Walter 
 Scott, in speaking of him, said, ' ever the worthy 
 man, and honest shepherd.' " 
 
 The remark of the above writer, that Hogg was 
 the friend of his race, leads us to speak of the 
 efforts make by him for the furtherance of educa- 
 tion in his immediate neighbourhood. Feeling, 
 as he ever did, his own great lack of education, 
 schools being far apart, and the population sparse, 
 he thought a small school near Mount Benger — 
 which was about the centre of the parish — would 
 be advantageous. With this object in view, he 
 fitted up an old hut as a school-room.. A suitable 
 teacher was got who lived with Mr. Hogg, while 
 the fees paid by the pupils were sufficient to 
 provide a small salary. Here for many years 
 the boys and girls from the upper part of Yarrow 
 received a good education. Being regarded as 
 a great boon to the locality, the "Poet's School" 
 was afterwards endowed, and continues to this day — 
 lives as a monument of the Ettrick Shepherd's 
 interest in his fellow men. 
 
 During the years spent at Altrive Hogg con- 
 tinued to write diligently, contributing to many of
 
 INTRODUCTION. 31 
 
 the magazines as well as to the annuals, all of which 
 were greedy for articles and poems from his pen. 
 
 We have said almost nothing of his prose 
 writings, which were numerous, consisting of tales 
 and sketches illustrative of the life of the country 
 people. Of these "The Brownie of Bodsbeck " is 
 justly celebrated. Many of his lesser poems are 
 also worthy of notice. 
 
 " The Lord of Balloch " is a weird and horrible 
 story, which one cannot read without experiencing 
 a creeping of the flesh. It is a powerful delineation, 
 equal in some respects to the famous " Blue Beard" 
 of our childhood. ' The story is founded on a 
 legend of the country of the Grants, and tells of 
 Highland cruelty and revenge. 
 
 " Little Pynkie " is, to our thinking, a beautiful 
 conception of a creature, not of this world exactly, 
 but yet taking a part in its transactions, and all 
 for the good of fair womankind, of which she was 
 so fair and so perfect a specimen. There is some- 
 thing charming in the verse that tells us that when 
 the young noblemen came to carry away the body 
 of the dead baron, whom she had lured to his 
 death, Pynkie stepped out among them, sang her 
 stave, and danced her fairy wheel, when immedi- 
 ately their grief all fled, and they at once began to 
 dance along with the tiny encliantress. It seems 
 to have been a sort of tarentelle into which the be- 
 witching Pynkie charmed them, for they, too, danced 
 till evil overtook them. The poetry may not be at all 
 times so musical as that of " Kilmeny," but it flows 
 smoothly along, and the story is pure and sweet.
 
 32 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Of Hogg's songs it may be said that those of a 
 national character are spirit-stirring. " Cam' ye by 
 Athol" has always had great popularity, as well as 
 "Flora M'Donald's Lament," and "Come o'er the 
 Stream, Charlie." These are all Jacobite songs. 
 "When the Kye comes Hame " is a pastoral, of 
 much sweetness, which always lends a charm to 
 the witching hour, "'tween the gloaming and the 
 mirk," when so many love tales have been told in 
 pastoral districts. 
 
 Early in 1832 Hogg was induced to visit London, 
 which in those days seemed almost as distant as 
 the shores of Canada are at the present time. 
 Having now passed his three-score years, he was 
 naturally anxious that some provision should be 
 made for his wife and five children. So he went to 
 London with the view of so arranging for the issue 
 of a collected edition of his works as would bring 
 in money. Such an arrangement was accordingly 
 made with a young but enterprising publisher. 
 The first volume of " The Altrive Tales " appeared, 
 met with great success — then, with the usual luck 
 attending the Ettrick Shepherd, the publisher was 
 declared bankrupt ! Undeserved misfortune, one 
 would think — but so it was, and all Hogg's anxiety 
 and trouble were thrown away. This sad event, 
 however, followed the return of the poet to 
 Yarrow. 
 
 His life in London was a sort of ovation, of 
 which after two months he became heartily sick — 
 most of all was he home-sick. The simple, 
 homely shepherd from Ettrick Forest was made a
 
 INTRODUCTION. '>,i 
 
 lion of among the literary circles in the metropolis 
 — he 'w?ls fefed^ and courted, and made much of, 
 till, as we have said, he grew weary. 
 
 Gladly did he return to Altrive in April, but he 
 had hardly reached the longed-for shelter of his 
 home when the disastrous intelligence reached him 
 that, as on former occasions, his publisher had 
 failed. This time the blow fell with double weight, 
 as he was getting old and beginning to feel that 
 his best writing days were past. 
 
 Although he continued to write regularly for 
 Blackwood^ for Fi'aser^s Magazine^ and for other 
 periodicals, Hogg was never the same after the 
 calamity which befell him in 1832. In the autumn 
 of 1835 the end came. His health, which had 
 been failing throughout the summer, entirely gave 
 way, and after an illness of a few weeks, he died 
 at Altrive Lake on the twenty-first of November 
 
 He was buried in Ettrick churchyard, alongside 
 the graves of his shepherd ancestors ; a modest 
 headstone, erected by his widow, marks the spot 
 where rest the mortal remains of the shepherd 
 poet. 
 
 Hogg, as we have seen, left a widow ; he left also 
 five children, the eldest of whom was a son 
 named James, who was singularly attached to 
 his father. He still lives, but has remained un- 
 married. Of the four daughters three were married. 
 The eldest and the youngest still survive. There 
 are few descendants of the Ettrick Shepherd- 
 only one of his daughters had a family. A son 
 6-3-6
 
 34 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of hers, who was named for his distinguished 
 grandfather, died in infancy, and now there is none 
 of the name to perpetuate the memory of the Bard. 
 
 In i860 a monument was erected beside St. 
 Mary's Loch to Hogg. It is a fairly good monu- 
 ment, but the district is silent and remote, so that 
 comparatively few people see the lonely stone 
 figure in the shepherd's plaid, which sits ever keep- 
 ing watch, with his collie by his side, over his loved 
 and lovely St. Mary's. We hope the time may yet 
 come when the land which gave him birth will 
 recognise the genius of her shepherd, and raise for 
 him in the Metropolis a monument beside those of 
 lesser bards, such as John Wilson and Allan 
 Ramsay. 
 
 Nearly half-a-century has elapsed since the 
 death of Hogg, but during that time his name and 
 his poetry have not been forgotten. On the con- 
 trary, although a cloud hung for a while over his 
 literary character owing to the misrepresentations 
 contained in the Nodes Ambrosiaticc^ and to the 
 ungenerous attack made on his posthumous 
 memory by J. G. Lockhart, in his life of Sir Walter 
 Scott, happily Hogg's memory has recovered 
 from the shock, and lives in the hearts and homes 
 of the Scottish people, who have just cause to be 
 proud of their peasant poet. 
 
 Of his religious sentiments we can only say that 
 his writings throughout testify to his reverence for 
 sacred things and for the Scriptures. He v/as re- 
 gular and decided in instructing his children in the 
 Scriptures, and in the Shorter Catechism, which is
 
 INTRODUCTION. 35 
 
 the bulwark of Scotch Presbyterianism. The 
 Covenanting story of " The Brownie of Bodsbeck " 
 gives very decided proof of his reverence for and 
 knowledge of the doctrines of salvation. Allowance 
 must be made for the times in which and the people 
 among whom' he lived. They were times of great 
 laxity, but there is no reason to believe that James 
 Hogg was other than religious and God-fearing. 
 
 As we thus close the page of his life-history, we 
 cannot but honour the name and the memory of 
 the Bard who sang " Kilmeny " and " The Kye 
 comes Hame," who sang them too, under such 
 great difficulties ; and although the world may not 
 grow pale when it reads the story of his life, yet 
 that life is well fitted to 
 
 *' Point a moral or atlorn a tale." 
 
 M. G. GARDEN.
 
 poetical Morfte of 3ame0 llDogo. 
 
 777^ QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 QUEEN MARY'S ARRIVAL IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 After a youth by woes o'ercast, 
 After a thousand sorrows past, 
 The lovely Mary once again 
 Set foot upon her native plain ; 
 Kneeled on the pier with modest grace, 
 And turned to heaven her beauteous face. 
 'Twas then the caps in air were blended, 
 A thousand, thousand shouts ascended ; 
 Shivered the breeze around the throng ; 
 Grey barrier cliffs the peals prolong, 
 And every tongue gave thanks to Heaven, 
 That Mary to their hopes was given. 
 
 Her comely form and graceful mien 
 Bespoke the lady and the queen ;
 
 38 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The woes of one so fair and young 
 
 Moved every heart, and every tongue. 
 
 Driven from her home, a helpless child, 
 
 To brave the winds and billows wild ; 
 
 An exile bred in realms afar, 
 
 Amid commotion, broil» and war : 
 
 In one short year her hopes all crossed — 
 
 A parent, husband, kingdom lost. 
 
 And all ere eighteen years had shed 
 
 Their honours o'er her royal head ; — 
 
 For such a queen, the Stuarts' heir, 
 
 A queen so courteous, young, and fair. 
 
 Who would not every foe defy ? 
 
 Who would not stand ? who would not die ? 
 
 Light on her airy steed she sprung. 
 Around with golden tassels hung, 
 No chieftain there rode half so free. 
 Or half so light and gracefully, 
 flow sweet to see her ringlets pale 
 Wild waving in the southland gale, 
 \Vhich through the broom-wood blossoms licw, 
 To fan her cheeks of rosy hue ! 
 \\niene'er it heaved her bosom's screen. 
 What beauties in her form were seen ! 
 And when her courser's mane it swung, 
 A thousand silver bells were rung. 
 A sight so fair on Scottish plain 
 A Scot shall never see again. 
 WTien Mary turned her wondering eyes 
 To rocks that seemed to prop the skies ; 
 On palace, park, and battled pile ; 
 On lake and river, sea and isle. 
 O'er woods and meadows bathed in dew, 
 To distant mountains wild and blue,
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 39 
 
 She thought the isle that gave her birth 
 The sweetest,, wildest land on earth. 
 
 Our Queen commands that every bard 
 Due honours have and high regard. 
 If to his song of rolling fire 
 He joins the Caledonian lyre, 
 And skill in legendary lore, 
 Still higher shall his honours soar. 
 For all the arts beneath the heaven. 
 That man has found, or God has given, 
 None draws the soul so sweet away, 
 As music's melting, mystic lay ; 
 Slight emblem of the bliss above, 
 It soothes the spirit all to love. 
 
 '* To cherish this attractive art, 
 To lull the passions, mend the heart. 
 And break the moping zealot's chains. 
 Hear what our lovely queen ordains : 
 
 " Each Caledonian bard must seek 
 Her courtly halls on Christmas week, 
 That there the royal wake may be 
 Cheered by their thrilling minstrelsy. 
 No ribaldry the Queen must hear. 
 No song unmeet for maiden's ear, 
 No jest, nor adulation bland, 
 But legends of our native land ; 
 And he whom most the court regards, 
 High be his honours and rewards. 
 Let every Scottish bard give ear, 
 Let every Scottish bard appear, 
 He then before the court must stand, 
 In native garb with harp in hand.
 
 40 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 At home no minstrel dare to tarry, 
 
 High the behest — God save Queen Mary ! " 
 
 December came ; his aspect stern 
 Glared deadly o'er the mountain cairn ; 
 A polar sheet was round him flung, 
 And ice-spears at his girdle hung ; 
 O'er frigid field and drifted cone. 
 He strode undaunted and alone ; 
 Or, throned among the Grampians grey, 
 Kept thaws and suns of heaven at bay. 
 
 Not stern December's fierce control 
 Could quench the flame of minstrel's soul : 
 Little recked they, our bards of old, 
 Of autumn's showers, or winter's cold. 
 Sound slept they on the 'nighted hill, 
 Lulled by the winds, or bubbling rill 
 Curtained within the winter cloud, 
 The heath their couch, the sky their shroud ; 
 Yet theirs the strains that touch the heart — 
 Bold, rapid, wild, and void of art. 
 
 Unlike the bards, whose milky lays 
 Delight in these degenerate days : 
 Their crystal spring and heather brown 
 Is changed to wine and couch of down ; 
 Effeminate as lady gay, 
 Such as the bard, so is his lay ! 
 
 But there was seen, from every vale, 
 Through drifting snows and rattling hail, 
 Each Caledonian minstrel true. 
 Dressed in his plaid and bonnet blue,
 
 With harp across his shoulders slung, 
 And music murmuring round his tongue, 
 Forcing his way in raptures high, 
 To Holyrood his skill to try. 
 
 Their numbers given, the lots were cast, 
 To fix the names of first and last ; 
 Then to the dazzling hall were led 
 Poor minstrels less alive than dead. 
 
 There such a scene entranced the view, 
 As heart of poet never knew. 
 'Twas not the flush of golden gear, 
 Nor blaze of silver chandelier ; 
 Nor Scotland's chiefs of noble air, 
 Nor dazzling rows of ladies fair ; 
 Twas one enthroned the rest above — 
 Sure 'twas the queen of grace and love ! 
 Taper the form, and fair the breast 
 Yon radiant, golden zones invest, 
 Where the vexed rubies blanch in death, 
 Beneath yon lips and balmy breath ; 
 Coronal gems of every dye 
 Look dim above yon beaming eye. 
 Yon cheeks outvie the dawning's glow, 
 Red shadowed on a wreath of snow. 
 
 Oft the rapt bard had thought alone, 
 Of charms by mankind never known, 
 
 But, nor in earth, the sea, nor sky, 
 In fairy dream, nor fancy's eye. 
 Vision his soul had never seen 
 Like Mary Stuart, Scotland's Queen.
 
 42 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 
 
 Next in the list was Gardyn's name ; 
 No sooner called, than forth he came. 
 Stately he strode, nor bow made he, 
 Nor even a look of courtesy. 
 The simpering cringe and fawning look 
 Of him who late the lists forsook,* 
 Roused his proud heart, and fired his eye, 
 That glowed with native dignity. 
 
 Full sixty years the bard had seen, 
 Yet still his stately form and mien, 
 His garb of ancient Caledon, 
 Where lines of silk and scarlet shone, 
 And golden garters neath his knee. 
 Announced no man of mean degree. 
 
 Upon his harp of wondrous frame 
 Was carved his lineage and his name, 
 There stood the cross that name above. 
 Fair emblem of almighty love ; 
 Beneath rose an embossment proud — 
 A rose beneath a thistle bowed. 
 
 Lightly upon the form he sprang. 
 And his bold harp impetuous rang 
 Not one by one the chords he tried, 
 But brushed them o'er from side to side, 
 With either hand, so rapid, loud. 
 Shook were the walls of Holy rood. 
 Then in a mellow tone, and strong. 
 He poured his wild and dreadful song. 
 
 First Bard, Bizzio.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 43 
 
 The Second Bard's Song. 
 
 ^Vhen the gusts of October had rifled the thorn, 
 And dappled the woodland, and umbered the plain, 
 
 In den of the mountain was Kennedy born ; 
 
 There hushed by the tempest, baptised with the rain. 
 
 His cradle a mat that swung high on the oak ; 
 
 His couch the sere mountain-fern spread on the rock ; 
 
 The white knobs of ice from the chilled nipple hung, 
 
 And loud winter torrents his lullaby sung. 
 
 Unheeded he shivered, unheeded he cried j 
 
 Soon died on the breeze of the forest his moan. 
 To his wailings the weary wood-echoes replied ; 
 
 His watcher, the wondering redbreast alone. 
 Oft gazed his young eye on the whirl of the storm, 
 And all the wild shades that the desert deform ; 
 From cleft in the corrie which thunders had riven, 
 It sped on the pale, fleeting visions of heaven. 
 
 The nursling of misery, young Kennedy learned 
 His hunger, his thirst, and his passions to feed ; 
 
 With pity for others his heart never yearned — 
 
 Their pain was his pleasure — their sorrow his meed. 
 
 His eye was the eagle's, the twilight his hue ; 
 
 His stature like pine of the hill where he grew ; 
 
 His soul was the neal-fire, inhaled from his den, 
 
 And never knew fear, save for ghost of the glen. 
 
 His father a chief for barbarity known, 
 Proscribed, and by gallant Macdougal expelled ; 
 
 Where rolls Uie dark Teith through the valley of Doune, 
 The conqueror's menial, he toiled in the field.
 
 44 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 
 
 His master he loved not, obeyed with a scowl, 
 Scarce smothered his hate, and his rancour of soul ; 
 WTien challenged, his eye and his colour would change, 
 His proud bosom nursing and planning revenge. 
 
 Matilda, ah ! woe that the wild rose's dye 
 
 Shed over thy maiden cheek, caused thee to rue ! 
 
 O, why was the sphere of thy love-rolling eye 
 Inlaid with the diamond and dipt in the dew ? 
 
 Thy father's sole daughter ; his hope and his care ; 
 
 The child of his age and the child of his prayer ; 
 
 And thine was the heart that was gentle and kind, 
 
 And light as the feather 'that sports in the wind. 
 
 To her home from the lowlands Matilda returned. 
 All fair was her form, and untainted her mind. 
 Young Kennedy saw her, his appetite burned 
 
 As fierce as the wood-flame impelled by the wind. 
 Was it love ? No ; the ray his dark soul never knew. 
 That spark which eternity burns to renew ; 
 'Twas the flush of desire, kindled fierce by revenge, 
 Which savages feel, the brown desert that range. 
 
 Sweet woman ! too well is thy tenderness known. 
 Too often deep sorrow succeeds thy lone smile, 
 
 Too oft in a moment, thy peace overthrown — 
 Fair butt of delusion, of passion, of guile ! 
 
 What heart will not bleed for Matilda so gay, 
 
 To art and to long perseverance a prey ? 
 
 Why sings yon scared blackbird in sorrowful mood ? 
 
 Why blushes the daisy deep in the greenwood ? 
 
 Ah ! Kennedy, vengeance hangs over thine head I 
 Escape to thy native Glengarry forlorn j
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 45 
 
 Why art thou at midnight away from thy bed ? 
 
 Why quakes thy big heart at the break of the morn ? 
 Why chatters yon magpie on gable so loud ? 
 Why flits yon light vision in gossamer shroud ? 
 How came yon white doves from the window to fly, 
 And hover on weariless wing to the sky ? 
 
 Yon ^pie is the prophet of terror and death ; 
 
 O'er Abel's green arbour that omen was given ; 
 Yon pale boding phantom a messenger wraith ; 
 
 Yon doves two fair angels commissioned of heaven : 
 The sun is in state, and the reapers in motion ; 
 WTiy were they not called to their morning devotion ? 
 Why slumbers Macdougal so long in his bed ? 
 Ah ! pale on his couch the old chieftain lies dead ! 
 
 But why do the matrons, while dressing the dead, 
 Sit silent and look as if something they knew ? 
 
 WTiy gaze on the features ? why move they the head ? 
 And point at the bosom so dabbled and blue ? 
 
 Say, was there foul play? — Then why sleeps the red 
 thunder ? 
 
 Ah ! hold, for suspicion stands silent with wonder. 
 
 The body's entombed, and the green turf laid over — 
 
 Matilda is wed to her dark Highland lover. 
 
 Yes, the new moon that stooped over green Aberfoyle, 
 Aiid shed her light dews on a father's new grave, 
 
 Beheld, in her wane, the gay wedding turmoil, 
 And lighted the bride to her chamber at eve ; 
 
 Blue, blue was the heaven ; and, o'er the wild scene, 
 
 A vapoury silver veil floated serene, 
 
 A fairy perspective that bore from the eye 
 
 Wood, mountain, and meadow, in distance to lie.
 
 46 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The scene was so still, it was all like a vision ; 
 
 The lamp of the moon seemed as fading for ever ; 
 'Twas awfully soft, without shade or elision ; 
 
 And nothing was heard but the rush of the river. 
 But why won't the bride-maidens walk on the lea, 
 Nor lovers steal out to the sycamore tree ? 
 Why turn to the hall with those looks of confusion ? 
 There's nothing abroad ! — 'tis a dream ! — a delusion ! 
 
 I * • • • • 
 
 'Tis all an illusion ! the lamp let us trim ; 
 
 Come rouse thee old minstrel to strains of renown ; 
 The old cup is empty, fill round to the brim. 
 
 And drink the young pair to their chamber just gone. 
 lia ! why is the cup from the lip ta'cn away ? 
 Why fixed every form like a statue of clay? 
 Say, whence is that outciy of horrid despair ? 
 Haste, fly to the marriage bed-chamber — 'lis there ! 
 
 O ! haste thee Strath-Allen, Glen Ogle away, 
 
 These outcries betoken wild horror and woe ; 
 The dull ear of midnight is stunned with dismay ; 
 
 Glen Ogle, Strath-Allan, fly swift as the roe. 
 Mid darkness and death, on eternity's brim. 
 You stood with Macdonald and Archibald the Grim ; 
 Then why do you hesitate ? why do you stand 
 With claymore unsheathed, and red taper in hand ? 
 
 The tumult is o'er ; not a murmur nor groan ; 
 
 ^Vhat footsteps so madly pace through the saloon ? 
 'Tis Kennedy, naked and ghastly, alone, 
 
 ^^^lo hies him away by the light of the moon. 
 All prostrate and bleeding Matilda they found, 
 The threshold her pillow, her couch the cold ground j
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 47 
 
 Hei features distorted, her colour the clay, 
 Her feelings, her voice, and her reason away. 
 
 Ere morn they returned ; but how well had they never ! 
 
 They brought with them horror too deep to sustain ; 
 Returned but to chasten and vanish for ever, 
 
 To harrow the bosom, and fever the brain. 
 List, list to her tale, youth, levity, beauty ; — 
 
 ! sweet is the path of devotion and duty ! — 
 
 When pleasure smiles sweetest dread danger and death. 
 And think of Matilda, the flower of the Teith. 
 
 THE BRIDE'S TALE. 
 
 1 had just laid me down, but no word could I pray, 
 
 I had pillowed my head and drawn up the bed-cover ; 
 I thought of the grave, where my loved father lay, 
 
 So damp and so cold, with the grass growing over. 
 I looked to my husband, but just as he came 
 To enter my couch it seemed all in a flame, 
 A ghastly refulgence as bright as day noon. 
 Though shut was the chamber from eye of the moon. 
 
 Bestower of being ! in pity, O ! hide 
 
 That sight from the eye of my spirit for ever ; 
 That page from the volume of memory divide, 
 
 Or memory and being eternally sever ! 
 My father approached, our bed-curtains he drew. 
 Ah, well the grey locks and pale features I knew j 
 I saw his fixed eye-balls indignantly glow ; 
 Yet still in that look there were pity and woe. 
 
 ** O ! hide thee, my daughter," he eagerly cried ; 
 
 " O ! haste from the bed of that parricide lover I 
 Embrace not thy husband, unfortunate bride, 
 
 Thy red cup of fliisery already runs over.
 
 48 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 He strangled thy father ; thy guilt paved the way ; 
 Thy heart yet is blameless, O ! fly while you may 1 
 Thy portion of life must calamity leaven ; 
 But fly while there's hope of forgiveness from Heaven. 
 
 " And thou, fell destroyer of virtue and life, 
 
 O 1 well mayst thou quake at thy terrible doom ; 
 
 For body or soul, with barbarity rife, 
 
 On earth is no refuge, in heaven no room. 
 
 Fly whither thou wilt, I will follow thee still, 
 
 To dens of the forest, or mists of the hill ; 
 
 The task I'm assigned, which I'll never forego, 
 
 But chase thee from earth to thy dwelling below. 
 
 •* The cave shall not cover, the cloud shall not hide thee ; 
 
 At noon I will wither thy sight with my frowm, 
 In gloom of the night I will lay me beside thee, 
 
 And pierce with this weapon thy bosom of stone." 
 Fast fled the despoiler with bowlings most dire. 
 Fast followed the spirit with rapier of fire ; 
 Away, and away, through the silent saloon. 
 And away, and away, by the light of the moon. 
 
 To follow I tried, but sank down at the door, 
 Alas ! from that trance that I ever awoke ! 
 
 How wanders my mind ! I shall see him no more 
 Till God shall yon gates everlasting unlock. 
 
 My poor brow is open, 'tis burning with pain ! 
 
 O, kiss it, sweet vision 1 O, kiss it again ! 
 
 Now give me thine hand ; I will fly, I will fly ! 
 
 Away on the morn's dappled wing to the sky. 
 
 TTie Conclusion. 
 
 O shepherd of Braco, look well to thy §ock, 
 The piles of Glen Ardochy murmur and jar ;
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 49 
 
 The rook and the raven converse from the rock, 
 
 The beasts of the forest are howling afar. 
 Shrill pipes the goss-hawk his dire tidings to tell, 
 The grey mountain-falcon accords with his yell ; 
 Aloft on bold pinion the eagle is borne, 
 To ring the alarm at the gates of the morn. 
 
 Ah ! shepherd, thy kids wander safe in the wood, 
 Thy lambs feed in peace in Benardochy's brow ; 
 
 Then why is the hoary cliff sheeted, with blood ? 
 And what the poor carcase lies mangled below? 
 
 Oh, hie thee away to thy hut at the fountain , 
 
 And dig a lone grave on the top of yon mountain ; 
 
 But fly it for ever where falls the grey gloaming ; 
 
 For there a grim phantom still naked is roaming. 
 
 The Eighth Bard. 
 
 The eighth was from the Leven coast ; 
 The rest that sung that night are lost. 
 
 Mounted the bard of Fife on high. 
 Bushy his beard and wild his eye ; 
 His cheek was furrowed by the gale. 
 And his thin locks were long and pale ; 
 Some wizard of the wild he seemed, 
 Who through the scenes of life had dream'd 
 Of spells that vital life benumb, 
 Of formless spirits wandering dumb, 
 WTiere aspects in the moonbeam quake, 
 By mouldering pile, or mountain lake. 
 
 6-4-6 ' .
 
 50 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 
 
 Of mountain ash his harp was framed, 
 The brazen chords all trembling flamed, 
 As in a rugged northern tongue 
 This mad unearthly song he sung. 
 
 ^he M\\iV Qi Jife. 
 The Eighth Bard's Song. 
 
 " Where have ye been, ye ill woman, 
 These three lang nichts frae hame? 
 
 What gars the sweit drap frae yer brow, 
 Like clots o' the saut sea faem ? 
 
 ** It fears me muckle ye have seen 
 
 ^Vhat guid man never knew ; 
 It fears me muckle ye have been 
 
 Where the grey cock never crew. 
 
 ** But the spell may crack, and the bridle breck, 
 
 Then sharp yer weird will be ; 
 Ve had better sleep in yer bed at hame 
 
 Wi' yer dear little bairns and me." 
 
 ** Sit down, sit down, my leal auld man, 
 
 Sit down and listen to me ; 
 I'll gar the hair stand on yer crown 
 
 And the cauld sweit blind yer e'e. 
 
 ** But tell nae \\'ords, my guid,auld man, 
 
 Tell never word again ; 
 Or dear shall be yer courtesy ; 
 
 And driche and sair yer pain.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 51 
 
 "The first leei nicht, when the new moon set, 
 \Vhen all was douf and mirk, 
 We saddled our naigs wi' the moon fern leaf, 
 And rode frae Kilmorran Kirk. 
 
 " Some horses were of the broom cow framed, 
 
 And some of the green bay tree ; 
 Eut mine was made of a hemlock -shaw, 
 
 And a stout stallion was he. 
 
 "We rode the tod doon on the hill 
 
 The martin on the law ; 
 And we hunted the hoolit out o' breath ; 
 
 KxAforcit him doon to fa'." — 
 
 " What guid was that, ye ill woman ? 
 
 What guid was that to thee ? 
 Ye wad better have been in yer bed at hame 
 
 Wi' yer dear little bairns and me. " 
 
 "And aye we rade and sae rnerrylie we rade, 
 Through the merkist gloffs o* the night ; 
 
 And we swam the flood, and we dariiit the wood, 
 Till we cam to the Lommond height. 
 
 "And when we cam to the Lommond height, 
 Sae blythlie we lighted doon ; * 
 
 And we drank frae the horns that never grew, 
 The beer that was never brewin, 
 
 "Then up there rose ane v.'ee, wee man, 
 
 Frae 'neath the moss-grey stane ; 
 His face was wan like the cauliflower, 
 
 For he neither had blude nor bane.
 
 52 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 " He set his reed-pipe till his mouth ; 
 
 And he played sae bonnylie,' 
 Till. the grey curlew, and the black-cock flew 
 
 To listen his melody. 
 
 "It rang sae sweet through the green Lommond 
 
 That the night-wind lowner blew ; 
 And it scofiit along the Loch Leven 
 
 And wakened the white sea-mew. 
 
 " It rang sae sweet through the green Lommond, 
 
 Sae sweetly butt and sae shill, 
 That the weazles lap out o' their moudy holes, 
 
 And danced on the midnicht hill. 
 
 " The corby craw cam gledgin' near, 
 
 The ern gaed veering by ; 
 And the trouts laup out o' the Loch Leven 
 
 Charmed with the melody. 
 
 " And aye we danced on the green Lommond 
 
 Till the dawn on the ocean grew, 
 Nae wonder I was a weary wicht 
 
 \Vhen I ca,m hame to you." — 
 
 " WTiat guid, what guid, my weird, weird wife, 
 
 WTiat guid was that to thee? 
 \e wad better have been in yer bed at hame 
 
 Wi' yer dear little bairns and me." 
 
 "The second nicht when the new moon set, 
 
 O'er the roaring sea we flew ; 
 The cockle-shell our trusty bark, 
 
 Our sails of the green sea-rue.
 
 ** And the bauld winds blew, and the fire-flauchts 
 flew, 
 
 And the sea ran to the sky ; 
 And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit, 
 
 As we gaed scouring by. 
 
 And aye we mountit' the sea-green hills, 
 
 Till we brush'd through the cluds of the heaven ; 
 
 Then sousit doonright, like the stern-shot light 
 Frae the lift's blue casement driven. 
 
 ** But our tackle stood, and our bark was good, 
 
 And.so pang was our pearly prow ; 
 When we couldna speil the brow o' the waves 
 
 We needVt them through below. 
 
 "As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale, 
 
 As fast as the midnicht leme, 
 We bor'd the breast of the bursting swale, 
 
 Or fluff 't in the floating faem, 
 
 " And when to the Norway shore we wan, 
 
 We mounted on steeds of the wind, 
 And we splashed the flood, and we darnit the wood, 
 
 And we left the shore behind. 
 
 " Fleet is the roe on the green Lommond, 
 
 And swift as the cour'ing grew, 
 The rein-deer dun can eithly run 
 
 Wlien the hounds, and the horns pursue, 
 
 " But neither the roe nor the rein-deer dun, 
 
 The hind nor the cour'ing grew. 
 Could fly o'er mountain, main, and dale. 
 
 As our braw steeds they flew.
 
 54 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 " The dales were deep, and the Doffrinis steep, 
 
 As we rase to the sky's e'e-bree ; 
 White, white, was- our road, that was never trod 
 
 O'er the snaws of eternity ! 
 
 "•And when we cam to the Lapland lone, 
 
 The fairies were all in array ; 
 For all the genii of the north 
 
 Were keeping their holiday.- 
 
 " The warlock men and the weird women, 
 And the fays of the wood and the steep, 
 
 And the phantom hunters all were there, 
 And the mermaids of the deep. 
 
 "And they washit-us all with the wit^ch-water, 
 
 Distill'd frae the morning dew. 
 Till our beauty blum'd like the Lapland rose, 
 
 That wild in forest grew." — 
 
 ** Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill woman, 
 
 Sae loud as I hear ye lee ! 
 For the warst-faured wife on the shores of Fife 
 
 Is comlie comparit wi' thee." — 
 
 ** Than the mermaids sang, and the woodlands rang, 
 
 Sae sweetly swell'd the quire ; 
 On every cliff a harp they hung, 
 
 On every tree a lyre. 
 
 " And aye they sang, and the woodlands rang. 
 And we drank, and we drank sae deep ; 
 
 Then saft in the arms of the warlock men 
 We laid us doon to sleep. " —
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 55 
 
 "Away, away, ye ill woman, 
 
 An ill deed mot ye dee ! 
 When ye hae provit sae fause to yer God, 
 • Ye can never prove true to me ! " — 
 
 " And there we learn'd frae the fairy folk, 
 
 And frae our master true, 
 The words that can bear us through the air. 
 
 And locks and bars undo. 
 
 " Last nicht we met at Maisey's cot ; 
 
 Richt well the words we knew ; 
 And we set a foot on the black cruik-shele. 
 
 And out at the lum we flew. 
 
 "And we flew ow'r hill, and we flew ow'r dale, 
 
 And we flew ow'r firth and sea. 
 Until we cam to merry Carlisle, 
 • Where we lightit on the lea. 
 
 " We gaed to the vault beyond the tow'r, 
 
 Where we entered free as air, 
 And we drank, and we drank of the Bishop's wine, 
 
 Until we could drink nae mair." — 
 
 "Gin that be true, my guid auld wife, 
 
 Whilk thou hast tauld to me, 
 Betide my death, betide my life, 
 
 I'll bear thee companie. 
 
 ** Neist time ye gang to merry Carlisle, 
 
 To drink of the bluid-red wine, 
 Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with thee, 
 
 If the deil should fly behind."—
 
 56 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 " Ah 1 little do ye ken, my silly auld man, 
 
 The dangers we maun dree ; 
 Last nicht we drank of the Bishop's wine, 
 
 Till near, near ta'en were we. 
 
 *' Afore we wan to the Sandy Ford, 
 
 The yor-cocks nichering flew, 
 The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen 
 
 Was wavit about with blue. 
 And, flichtering through the air, we fand 
 
 The chill, chill morning dew. 
 
 ** As we flew o'er the hills of Braid, 
 
 The sun raise fair and clear ; 
 There gurly James and his barons braw 
 
 War out to hunt the deer. 
 
 '* Their bows they drew, their arrows flew, 
 And pierc// the air with speed, 
 
 Till purple fell trie morning d«w, 
 Wi' witch-blude rank and, red. 
 
 " Little do ye ken, my silly auld man. 
 
 The dangers we maun dree ; 
 Nae wonder I am a weary wight 
 
 When I come hame'to thee. " — 
 
 " l>ut tell me the word, my guid auld wife ; 
 
 Come tell me s'peedily ; 
 For I lang to drink o' the guid red wine, 
 
 And to wing the air with thee. 
 
 " Yer hellish horse I winna-ride. 
 
 Nor sail the seas in the wind ; 
 But I can flee as well as thee, . 
 
 And I'll drink till ye be blind."—
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 57 
 
 " O fy ! O fy ! my leal auld man, 
 
 That word I daurna tell ; 
 It would turn this warld all upside down, 
 
 And make it worse than hell. 
 
 " For all the lassies in the land 
 
 Wad mount the wind and fly ; 
 And the men wad doff their doublets' side. 
 
 And after them wad ply." 
 
 But the auld guidman was a cunning auld man, 
 
 And a cunning auld man was he ; 
 And he watch'd, and he watch'd for mony a nicht, 
 , The witches' flight to see. 
 
 Ane nicht he darriit in Maisey's cot ; 
 
 The fearless hags cam in. 
 And he heard the word of awsome weird, 
 
 And he saw their deeds of sin. 
 
 Then ane by ane they said that word. 
 
 As fast to the fire they drew ; 
 Then set a foot on the black cruik-shele 
 
 And out at the lum they flew. 
 
 The auld guidman cam frae his hole 
 
 With fear and muckle dread, 
 But yet he couldna think to rue, 
 
 For the wine cam in his head. 
 
 He set his foot in the black cruik-shele. 
 With ane fixed and ane ivaivlying ee ;• 
 
 And he said the word that I daurna say, 
 And out at the lum flew he.
 
 58 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The witches scalit the moonbeams pale ; 
 
 Deep groaned the trembling wind ; 
 But they never wist till our auld guidman 
 
 Was hovering them behind. 
 
 They flew to the vaults of merry Carlisle, 
 
 ^\^lere they entered free as air ; 
 And they drank, and they drank of the Bishop's 
 wine, 
 
 Till they eould drink nae mair. 
 
 The auld guidman he grew sae crouse, 
 
 lie danced on the inouldy ground, 
 And he sang the bonniest sangs o' Fife, 
 
 And he tailzied the karlins round. 
 
 And aye he pierced the tither butt, 
 
 And he sucked, and he sucked sae lang, 
 
 Till his een they closed, and his voice grew low. 
 And his tongue would hardly gang. 
 
 The karlins drank of the Bishop's wine 
 Till they scented the morning wind ; 
 
 Then clove again the yielding air. 
 And left the auld man behind. 
 
 And aye he sleepzV on the damp, damp floor, 
 
 He sleep?/ and he snor?V amain ; 
 He never dreamed he was far frae hame, 
 
 Or that the auld wives were gane. 
 
 And aye he sleepzV on the damp, damp floor, 
 
 Till past the mid-day height, 
 When wakened by five rough EnglishuK-n, 
 
 That trailed him to the light.
 
 THE QUEEN'S. WAKE. 59 
 
 " Now, wha are ye, ye silly auld man, 
 ■ That sleeps sae sound and sae weel ? 
 Or how gat ye into the Bishop's vault 
 Through locks and bars of steel ? " . 
 
 The auld guidman he tryed to speak, 
 
 But a word he couldna find ; 
 He tryed to think, but his head whirled round, 
 
 And a thing he couldna mind ; — 
 *' I cam frae Fife," the auld man cried, 
 
 "And I cam on the midnight wind." 
 
 They nickzV the auld man, and they prick?V the 
 auld man. 
 
 And they yerk?V his limbs wi' twine, 
 Till the red blood ran in his hose and shoon. 
 
 But some cried it was wine. 
 
 They nickzV the auld man, and they prick// the 
 auld man, 
 
 And they tyzV him till a stone, 
 And they set a bele-fire him about, 
 
 To burn him skin and bone. 
 
 ** O wae to me," said the puir auld man, 
 
 " That ever I saw the day ! 
 And wae be to all the ill women, 
 
 That lead puir men astray I 
 
 " Let never an auld man after this. 
 
 To lawless greed incline ; 
 Let never an auld man after this, 
 
 Rin post to the deil for wine. "
 
 6o THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The reek flew up in the auld man's face, 
 
 And chok// him bitterly ; 
 Aud the lowe cam up with an angry blaze, 
 
 And sing// his auld breek-knee. 
 
 He looked to the land from whence he came, 
 
 For looks he could get nae mae ; 
 And he thought of his dear little bairns at name, 
 
 And O ! the auld man was wae ! 
 
 But they turned their faces to the sun, 
 
 With gloffe and wondrous glare, 
 For they saw a thing baith large and dun, 
 
 Come swooping through the air. 
 
 That bird it cam frae the land of Fife, 
 
 And it cam right timeously. 
 For wha was it but the auld man's wife, 
 
 Just com/V his death to see ? 
 
 She put a red cap on his head. 
 
 And the auld guidman looked fain, 
 
 Then whispered a word intil his lug, 
 And tovit to the air again. 
 
 The auld guidman he ga'e ane bob 
 
 r the mids o' the burning lowe ; 
 And the shackles that bound him to the rings, 
 
 They fell frae his arms like towe. 
 
 He drew his breath and he said the word, 
 
 And he said it wi' muckle glee. 
 And set his foot on the burning pile, 
 
 And away to the air flew he.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 6i 
 
 Till aince he cleared the swirling reek 
 
 He lukzV baith feared and sad ; 
 But when he wan to the light bhie air, 
 
 He lauch// as he'd been mad. 
 
 His arms were spread, and his head was high, 
 
 And his feet stuck out behind ; 
 And the labies o' the auld man's coat 
 
 Were wauffling in the wind. 
 
 He lookeV back to the Carlisle men, 
 
 As he hovzV the norland sky ; 
 He noddit his head and gae'd ane girn, 
 
 But he never said " Guid-bye." 
 
 They vanished far in the lift's blue vale, 
 
 Nae mair the English saw, 
 But the auld man's laugh cam on the gale 
 
 Wi' a laugh, and a loud guffaw. 
 
 May ever ilk man in the land of Fife 
 
 Read what the drinkers dree ; 
 And never curse his puir auld wife, 
 
 Right wicked although she be. 
 
 WTien ceased the minstrel's crazy song, 
 His heedful glance embraced the throng, 
 And found the smile of free delight 
 Dimpling the cheeks of ladies bright. 
 Ah-! never yet was bard unmoved. 
 When beauty smiled or birth approved ! 
 For though his Song he holds at nought — 
 ** An idle strain ! a passing thought ! "
 
 62 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Child of the soul ! 'tis held more dear 
 Than aught by mortals valued here. 
 
 When Leven's bard the court had viewed, 
 His eye, his vigour, was renewed. 
 No, not the evening's closing eye, 
 Veiled in the rainbow's deepest dye, 
 By summer breezes lulled to rest, 
 Cradled on Leven's silver breast, 
 Or slumbering on the distant sea, 
 Imparted sweeter ecstasy. 
 
 Nor even the angel of the night, 
 Kindling his holy sphere of light, 
 Afar upon the heaving deep, 
 To light a world of peaceful sleep, 
 Though in her beam night spirits glanced, 
 And lovely fays in circles danced. 
 Or rank by rank rode lightly by, — 
 Was sweeter to our minstrel's eye. 
 
 Unheard, the bird of morning crew ; 
 Unheard, the breeze of Ocean blew ; 
 The night unweened had passed away, 
 And dawning ushered in the day. 
 The Queen's young maids, of cherub hue. 
 Aside the silken curtains drew. 
 And lo, the night^in still profound. 
 In fleece of heaven had clothed the ground ; 
 And still her furs, so light and fair. 
 Floated along the morning air. 
 Low stooped the pine amid the wood, 
 And the tall cliffs of Salisbury stood 
 Like marble columns bent and riven. 
 Propping a pale and frowning heaven.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 63 
 
 The Queen bent from her gilded chair, 
 And waved her hand with graceful air : — 
 *' Break up the court, my lords ; away, 
 And use the day as best you may, 
 In sleep, in love, or wassail cheer ; 
 The day is dark, the evening near — 
 Say, will you grace my halls the while, 
 And in the dance the day beguile ? 
 Break up the court, my lords ; away, 
 And use the day as best you may. 
 Give order that my minstrels true 
 Have royal fare and honours due ; 
 And warned by evening's bugle shrill. 
 We meet to judge their minstrel skill." 
 
 Whether that Royal Wake gave birth 
 To days of sleep and nights of mirth, 
 Which kings and courtiers still approve, 
 Which sages blame, and ladies love. 
 Imports not ; — but our courtly throng 
 (That chapel wake being kept so long) 
 Slept out the lowering short-lived days, 
 And heard by night their native lays, 
 Till fell the eve of Christmas good. 
 The dedication of the rood. 
 
 Ah me ! at routs and revels gay, 
 
 Reproach of this unthrifty day, 
 
 Though none amongst the dames or men 
 
 Rank- higher than a citizen. 
 
 In chair or chariot all are borne, 
 
 Closed from the piercing eye of morn, . 
 
 But then, though dawning blasts are keen, 
 
 Scotland's high dames you might have seen,
 
 64 THE QUEEN'S' WAKE. 
 
 Ere from the banquet-hall they rose, 
 Shift their laced shoes and silken hose' ; 
 Their broidered kirtles round them throw ; 
 And wade their way through wreaths of.sno\ 
 Leaving on lord or lover's arm, 
 Cheerful and reckless of all harm. 
 Vanished those hardy times outright ; ■ 
 So is our ancient Scottish might. 
 
 To all who love the raptures high 
 Of Scottish song and minstrelsy, 
 Till next the night, in sable shroud, 
 Shall wrap the haljs of Holyrood, 
 That rival minstrel's song I borrow — 
 I bid a hearty kind.good-m.orrow. 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 The Eleventh Bard. 
 
 Different the next the herald nam'd ;. 
 Warrior he was, in battle maim'd, 
 When Lennox, on the downs of Kyle, 
 O'erthrew McConnel and Argyle. 
 Unable more the sword to wield , 
 
 With dark Clan-Alpine in the field. 
 Of rouse the dun deer from her den, 
 With fierce Macfarlane and his men ; 
 He strove to earn a minstrel fame, 
 And fondly nursed the sacred flame. 
 Warm was his heart, and bold his strahi. 
 Wild fancies in his moody brain 
 Gamboll'd, unbridled, and unbound. 
 Lured by a shade, decoyed by sound.
 
 THE, QUEEN'S WAKE. 65 
 
 In tender age, when mind was free, 
 As standing by his nurse's knee, 
 He heard a tale so passing strange 
 Of injured spirit's cool revenge, 
 It chilled his heart with blasting dread, 
 Which never more that bosom fled. 
 When passion's flash had fled his eye. 
 And grey hairs told that youth was by, 
 Still quaked his heart at bush or stone, 
 As wandering in the gloom alone. 
 
 Where foxes roam, and eagles rave, 
 And dark woods round Ben Lomond wave, 
 Once on a night — a night of dread ! 
 He held convention with the dead ; 
 Brought warnings to the house of death, 
 And tidings from a world beneath. 
 
 The mountain side was dern with oak, 
 Darkened with pine, and ribb'd with rock. 
 Blue billows round its base were driven. 
 Its top was steeped in waves of heaven. 
 The wood, the wind, the billows' moan. 
 All spoke in language of their own, 
 But too well to our minstrel known. 
 Wearied, bewildered, in amaze. 
 Hymning in heart the Virgin's praise, 
 A cross he framed of birchen bough, 
 And 'neath that cross he laid him low. 
 Hid by the heath and Highland plaid, 
 His old harp in his bosom laid. 
 Oh ! when the winds that wandered by. 
 Sang on his breast their lullaby, 
 How thrilled the tones his bosom through, 
 And deeper, holier, poured his vow. 
 b-s-b
 
 66 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 No sleep was his — he raised his eye, 
 To note if dangerous place were nigh. 
 There columned rocks, abrupt and rude, 
 Hung o'er his gateless solitude : 
 The muffled sloe and tangling briar 
 Precluded freak or entrance here ; 
 But yonder ope'd a little path, 
 O'ershadowed, deep, and dark as death. 
 Trembling, he groped around his lair 
 For mountain ash, but none was there. 
 Teeming with forms his terror grew. 
 Heedful he watched, for well he knew 
 That in that deep and devious dell 
 Some lingering ghost or sprite must dwell ; 
 So as he trow'd, so it befell. 
 
 The stars were wrapt in curtain grey, 
 The blast of midnight died away ; 
 'Twas just the hour of solemn dread, 
 \\1ien walk the spirits of the dead. 
 Rustled the leaves with gentle motion, 
 Groaned his chilled soul in deep devotion. 
 The lake-fowl's wake was heard no more ; 
 The wave forgot to brush the shore ; 
 Hush'd was the bleat on moor and hill ; 
 The wandering clouds of heaven stood still. 
 
 WTiat heart could bear, what eye could meet, 
 The spirits in their lone retreat ? 
 Rustled again the darksome dell ; 
 Straight on the minstrel's vision fell 
 A trembling and unwonted light. 
 That show'd the phantoms to his sight. 
 Came forth a slender female form, 
 Pale as the moon in winter storm ;
 
 A babe of sweet simplicity 
 
 Clung to her breast, as pale as she, 
 
 And aye she sung its lullaby. 
 
 That cradle-song of the phantom's child, 
 
 Oh ! but it was soothing, holy, and wild ! 
 
 But, oh ! that song can ill be sung 
 
 By Lowland bard, or Lowland tongue. 
 
 The Spectre's Cradle-Song. 
 
 " Hush, my bonnie babe, hush and be still ! 
 Thy mother's arms shall shield thee from ill ; 
 Far have I borne thee in sorrow and pain. 
 To drink the breeze of the world again. 
 The dew shall moisten thy brow so meek, 
 And the breeze of midnight fan thy cheek, 
 And soon shall we rest in the bow of the hill ; 
 Hush, my bonnie babe, hush and be still ! 
 For thee have I travelled, in weakness and woe, 
 The world above and the world below. 
 iMy heart was soft, and it fell in the snare j 
 Thy father was cruel, but thou wert fair. 
 I sinned, I sorrow'd, I died for thee ; 
 Smile, my bonnie babe, smile on me ! 
 
 " See yon thick clouds of murky hue j 
 Yon star that peeps from its window blue ; 
 Above yon clouds, that wander far, 
 Away above yon little star, 
 
 There's a home of peace that shall soon be thine. 
 And there shalt thou see thy father and mine. 
 The flowers of the world shall bud and decay, 
 The trees of the forest be weeded away,
 
 68 THE QUEEN'S IVAKE. 
 
 But there thou shalt bloom for ever and aye. 
 The time will come, I shall follow thee, 
 But long, long hence that time shall be ; 
 Smile now, my bonnie babe, smile on me ! " 
 
 Slow moved she on with dignity. 
 Nor bush, nor brake, nor rock, nor tree. 
 Her footsteps stay'd ; o'er cliffs so bold, 
 Where not the wren its foot could hold, 
 Stately she wandered, firm and free, 
 Singing her soften'd lullaby. 
 
 Three naked phantoms next came on, 
 They beckon'd low, ]:>ass'd, and were gone. 
 Then came a troop of sheeted dead, 
 With shade of chieftain at their head, 
 And with our bard in brake f'.nlorn 
 Held converse till the dawn of morn. 
 Their ghostly rites, their looks, their mould, 
 Or words to man he never told ; 
 Uut much he learn'd of mystery, 
 Of that was past, and that should be. 
 Thenceforth he troubles oft divined, 
 And scarcely held his perfect mind. 
 Yet still the song admired when young, 
 He loved, and that in court he sung. 
 
 ^he J lie oi JEargvegor. 
 
 The Eleventh Bard^s So?tg. 
 
 " Macgregcr, Macgregor, remember our foemen : 
 The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond ; 
 The clans are impatient and chide thy delay ; 
 Arise, let us bound to Glen-Lyon away."
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 69 
 
 Stern scowled the Macgregor, then, silent and sullen, 
 He turned his red eye to the' braes of Strathfillan ; 
 " Go, jNIalcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismissed ; 
 The Campbells this night for I\Iacgregor must rest." 
 
 " Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been 
 flying 
 Three days round the hills of McNab and Glen-Lyon : 
 Of riding and running such tidings they bear. 
 We must meet them at home, else they'll quickly be 
 
 here." 
 
 " The Campbell may come, as his promises bind 
 him. 
 And haughty McNab, with his giants behind him ; 
 This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, 
 And do what it freezes my vitals to say. 
 Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind ; 
 Thou know'st in the strife I was never behind, 
 Nor ever receded a foot from the van. 
 Or blanched at the ire or the prowess of man. 
 But I've sworn by the cross, by my God, and my all — 
 An oath which I cannot and dare not recall — 
 Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from the pile, 
 To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-Gyle. 
 
 " Last night in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone, 
 I called to remembrance some deeds I had done, 
 When entered a lady with visage so wan, 
 And looks such as never was fastened on man. 
 I knew her, O brother ! I knew her too well, 
 Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell 
 As would thrill thy bold heart ; but how long she 
 remained.
 
 70 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 
 
 So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained, 
 I knew not — but ages seemed short to the while. 
 Though proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green isle, 
 With length of existence no man con enjoy, 
 The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly ; 
 The thrice-threatened pangs of last night to forego, 
 Macgregor would dive to the mansions below, 
 Despairing and mad, to futurity blind, 
 The present to shun, and so respite to find, 
 I swore ere the shadow fell east from the pile, 
 To meet her alone by the brook of Glen -Gyle. 
 
 ** She told me, and turned my chilled heart to a 
 stone. 
 The glory and name of Macgregor were gone ; 
 That the pine which for ages had shed a bright halo 
 Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo 
 Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, 
 Smit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun ; 
 That a feast on Macgregors each day should lie 
 
 common. 
 For years to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond. 
 
 '* A parting embrace in one moment she gave : 
 Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave ! 
 Then flitting elusive, she said, with a frown, 
 * The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own ! ' " 
 
 " Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind ; 
 The dreams of the night have disordered thy mind. 
 Come, buckle thy panoply — march to the field — 
 See, brother, how hacked are thy helmet and shield : 
 Ay, that was McNab, in the height of his pride, 
 ^^'hen the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 71 
 
 This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue ; 
 Rise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue ; 
 Thy fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing, 
 When loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring." 
 
 Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the 
 night, 
 Macgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of light : 
 It faded — it darkened — he shuddered — he sighed ; 
 *' No ! not for the universe ! " — low he replied. 
 
 Away went Macgregor, but went not alone ; 
 To watch the dread rendezvous Malcolm has gone. 
 They oared the broad Lomond, so still and serene. 
 And deep in her bosom, how awful the scene ! 
 O'er mountains inverted the blue waters curled, 
 And rocked them on skies of a far nether world. 
 
 All silent they went, for the time was approaching ; 
 The moon the blue zenith already was touching ; 
 No foot was abroad on the forest or hill, 
 No sound but the lullaby sung by the rill ; 
 Young Malcolm at distance couched trembling the 
 
 while — 
 Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle. 
 
 Few minutes had passed ere they spied on the stream 
 A skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem ; 
 Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom, 
 The glow-worm her wake-light, the rainbow her boom ; 
 A dim, rayless beam was her prow and her mast, 
 Like wold-fire at midnight that glares on the waste. 
 Though rough was the river with rock and cascade, 
 No torrent — no rock — her velocity stayed ;
 
 72 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 She wimpled the water to weather and lee, 
 And heaved as if borne on the waves of the sea. 
 
 Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach, 
 The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch. 
 He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain, 
 As begging for something he could not obtain ; 
 She raised him indignant, derided his stay. 
 Then bore him on board, set her sail, and away. 
 
 Though fast the red bark down the river did glide, 
 Yet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side. 
 " Macgregor ! Macgregor ! " he bitterly cried ; 
 " Macgregor ! Macgregor 1" the echoes replied. 
 He struck at the lady, but strange though it seem, 
 His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream ; 
 But the groans from the boat that ascended amain, 
 Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain. 
 They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away : 
 Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye. 
 
 gilmcny. 
 
 The Thirteejith BarcTs Sons^. 
 
 Bonnie Kilmeny gaed up the glen ; 
 But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 
 Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, 
 For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
 It was only to hear the yorlin sing, 
 And pu' the cress-flower round the spring ; 
 The scarlet hypp and the hind-berrye. 
 And the nest that hung frae the hazel tree ; 
 For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. y^, 
 
 But lang may her minny look o'er the wa' ; 
 And lang may she seek i' the greenwood shaw ; 
 Lang the laird o' Duneira blame, 
 And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame ! 
 
 Wlien many lang day had come and fled, 
 When grief grew calm, and hope was dead. 
 When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, 
 When the bedesman had pray'd and the dead-bell rung, 
 Late, late in a gloaming, when all was still. 
 When the fringe was red on the westlin hill. 
 The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane. 
 The reek o' the cot hung o'er the plain, 
 Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
 When the ingle lowed wi' an eiry leme — 
 Late, late in the gloaming Kilmeny came hame ! 
 
 " Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
 Lang hae we sought baith holt and dean ; 
 By burn, by ford, by greenwood tree, 
 Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
 Where gat ye that joup o' the lily sheen ? 
 That bonnie snood o' the birk sae green ? 
 And those roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? 
 Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? " 
 
 Kilmeny look'd up wi' a lovely grace. 
 But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; 
 As still was her look, and as still was her e'e, 
 As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 
 Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
 For Kilmeny had been, she kenned not where, 
 And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare ; 
 Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew. 
 Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew.
 
 74 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, 
 And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, 
 "When she spoke of the lovely forms she had seen, 
 And a land where sin had never been ; 
 A land of love and a land of light, 
 Withouten sun, or moon, or night ; 
 WTiere the river swa'd a living stream. 
 And the light a pure and cloudless beam ; 
 The land of vision, it would seem, 
 A still, an everlasting dream. 
 
 In yon green wood there is a waik, 
 And in that waik there is a wene. 
 
 And in that wene there is a maike ; 
 That neither has flesh, nor blood, nor bane ; 
 And down in yon greenwood he walks his lane. 
 
 In that green wene Kilmeny lay, 
 Her bosom hap'd wi' flowerets gay ; 
 But the air was soft, and the silence deep. 
 And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep. 
 She kenned nae mair, nor open'd her e'e, 
 Till wak'd by the hymns of a far countrye. 
 
 She woke on a couch of silk sae slim, 
 All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; 
 And lovely beings round were rife. 
 Who erst had travelled mortal life ; 
 And aye they smiled and 'gan to speer, 
 " \Vhat spirit has brought this mortal here?" 
 
 ** Lang have I rang'd the world wide," 
 A meek and reverend fere replied ; 
 " Baith night and day I have watched the fair, 
 Eident a thousand years and mair. 
 Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 75 
 
 Wherever blooms feminitye ; 
 
 And sinless virgin, free of stain 
 
 In mind and body, found I nane. 
 
 Never since the banquet of time 
 
 Found I a virgin in her prime, 
 
 Till late this bonnie maiden I saw, 
 
 As spotless as the morning snaw ; 
 
 Full twenty years she has lived as free 
 
 As the spirits that sojourn in this countrye : 
 
 I have brought her away from the snares of men, 
 
 That sin or death she never may ken." 
 
 They clasped her waist, and her hands sae fair, 
 They kissed her cheeks, and they kemmed her hair ; 
 And round came many a blooming fere. 
 Saying, "Bonnie Kilmeny, ye're welcome here ! 
 Women are freed of the littand scorn, 
 O blessed be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
 Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
 Now shall it ken what a woman may be I 
 Many lang year, in sorrow and pain. 
 Many lang year through the world we've gane, 
 Comniissioned to watch fair woman-kind, 
 For it's they who nurse the immortal mind. 
 We have watched their steps as the dawning shone, 
 And deep in the greenwood walks alone ; 
 By lily bower and silken bed. 
 The viewless tears have been o'er them shed ; 
 Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep. 
 Or left the couch of love to weep. 
 We have seen, we have seen ! but the time maun come, 
 And the angels will weep at the day of doom I 
 
 '* O would the fairest of mortal kind 
 Aye keep these holy truths in mind,
 
 76 THE QUERISTS WAKE, 
 
 That kindred spirits their motions see, 
 Who watch their ways with anxious e'e, 
 And grieve for the guilt of humanitye ! 
 O, sweet to Heaven the maiden's prayer, 
 And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
 And dear to Heaven the words of truth 
 And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth ! 
 And dear to the viewless forms of air, 
 The mind that kythes as the body fair ! 
 
 " O, bonny Kihneny ! free frae stain, 
 If ever ycu seek the world again, 
 That world of sin, of sorrow, and fear, 
 O tell of the joys that are waiting here ; 
 And tell of the signs you shall shortly see ; 
 Of the times that are now, and the times that shall be. 
 
 They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away. 
 And she walked in the light of a sunless day ; 
 The sky was a dome of crystal bright. 
 The fountain of vision, and fountain of light ; 
 The emerant fields were of dazzling glow. 
 And the flowers of everlasting blow. 
 Then deep in the stream her body they laid. 
 That her youth and her beauty never might fade ; 
 And they smil'd on Heaven, when they saw her lie 
 In the stream of life that wandered by. 
 And she heard a song, she heard it sung, 
 She ken'd not where, but sae sweetly it rung. 
 It fell on the ear like a dream of the morn,— 
 *' O blest be the day Kilmeny was born I 
 Now shall the land of the spirits see. 
 Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
 The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
 A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ;
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. m 
 
 And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 
 Like a gouden bow or a beamlcss sun, 
 Shall wear away and be seen nae mair, 
 And the angels shall miss them travelling the air. 
 But lang, lang after, baith nicht and day. 
 When the sun and the world have fled away ; 
 When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom, 
 Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom ! " 
 
 They bore her away, she wist not how, 
 For she felt not arm nor rest below ; 
 But so swift they wained her through the light, 
 'Twas like the motion of sound or sight ; 
 They seemed to split the gales of air, 
 And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
 Unnumbered groves below them grew, 
 They came, they passed, and backward flew, 
 Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
 A moment seen, in a moment gone. 
 Ah ! never vales to mortal view 
 Appeared like those o'er which they flew. 
 That land to human spirits given. 
 The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
 From thence they can view the world below, • 
 And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow. 
 More glory yet unmeet to know. 
 
 They bore her far to a mountain green. 
 To see what mortal never had seen. 
 And they seated her high on a purple sward. 
 And bade her heed what she saw and heard, 
 And note the changes the spirits wrought. 
 For now she lived in the land of thought. 
 She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies. 
 But a crystal dome of a thousand d}es :
 
 78 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
 But an endless whirl of glory and light, 
 And radiant beings went and came, 
 Far swifter than wind, or the linkM flame. 
 She hid her e'en frae the dazzling view ; 
 She looked again, and the scene was new. 
 
 She saw a sun in a summer sky, 
 And clouds of amber sailing by ; 
 A lovely land beneath her lay, 
 And that land had lakes and mountains grey ; 
 And that land had valleys and hoary piles. 
 And marled seas and a thousand isles. 
 Its fields were speckled, its forests green. 
 And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen. 
 Like magic mirrors, where shining lay 
 The sun, and the sky, and the cloudlet grey ; 
 \\Tiich heaved and trembled and gently swung, 
 On every shore they seemed to be hung : 
 For there they were seen on their downward plain 
 A thousand times and a thousand again ; 
 In winding lake, and placid firth, 
 Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. 
 
 Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve. 
 For she found her heart to that land did cleave ; 
 She saw the corn wave on the vale ; 
 She saw the deer run down the dale ; 
 She saw the plaid and the broad claymore. 
 And the 1:)rows that the badge of freedom bore, — 
 And she thought she had seen the land before. 
 
 She saw a lady sit on a throne. 
 The fairest that ever the sun shone on :
 
 A lion licked her hand of milk, 
 And she held him in a leish of silk ; 
 And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, 
 With a silver wand and melting e'e ; 
 Her sovereign shield till love stole in, 
 And poisoned all the fount within. 
 
 Then a gruff, untoward bedesman came, 
 And hundit the lion on his dame ; 
 And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless e'e, 
 She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; 
 And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, 
 Till the bonniest flower o' the world lay dead ; 
 A coffin was set on a distant plain, 
 And she saw the red blood fall like rain ; 
 Then bonnie Kilmeny's heart grew sair. 
 And she turned away, and could look nae mair. 
 
 Then the gruff, grim carle girned amain. 
 And they trarnpled him down, but he rose again ; 
 And he baited the lion to deeds of weir. 
 Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear ; 
 And weening his head was danger preef, 
 ^Vhen crowned with the rose and clover leaf. 
 He gowled at the carle, and chased him away, 
 To feed wi' the deer on the mountain grey. 
 He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at heaven. 
 But his mark was set and his arles given. 
 Ivilmeny a while her een withdrew ; 
 She looked again, and the scene was new. 
 
 She saw before her fair unfurled ' 
 
 One-half of all the glowing world, 
 Wliere oceans rolled, and rivers ran, 
 To bound the aims of sinful man.
 
 8o THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 She saw a people, fierce and fell, 
 
 Burst frae their bounds like fiends of bell ; 
 
 There lilies grew, and the eagle flew ; 
 
 And she herked on her ravening crew, 
 
 Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a blaze, 
 
 And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and the 
 
 seas. 
 The widows wailed, and the red blood ran, 
 And she threatened an end to the race of man ; 
 She never lened, nor stood in awe. 
 Till caught by the lion's deadly paw! 
 Oh ! then the eagle swinked for life, 
 And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; 
 But flew she north, or flew she south. 
 She met wi' the gowl o' the lion's mouth. 
 
 With a mooted wing and waefu' macn. 
 The eagle sought her eiry again ; 
 But lang may she cower in her bloody nest. 
 And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast, 
 Before she sey another flight, 
 To play wi' the norland lion's might. 
 
 But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, 
 So far surpassing nature's law, 
 The singers voice wad sink away. 
 And the string of his harp wad cease tp play. 
 But she saw till the sorrows of man were by, 
 And all was love and harmony ; — 
 Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
 Like flakes of snaw on a winter day. 
 
 Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
 The friends she had left in her ain countrie, 
 To tell of the place where she had been. 
 And the glories that lay in the land unseen ;
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 To warn the living maidens fair, 
 The loved of heaven, the spirits' care, 
 That all whose minds unmeled remain 
 Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 
 
 With distant music, soft and deep, 
 They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep ; 
 And when she awakened, she lay her lane. 
 All happed with flowers, in the greenwood wene. 
 When seven long years had come and fled, 
 A\Tien grief was calm, and hope was dead. 
 When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, 
 Late, late in a gloamin' Kilmeny came hame. 
 And O, her beauty was fair to see, 
 But still and steadfast was her ee ! 
 Such beauty bard may never declare. 
 For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
 And the soft desire of maiden's een 
 In that mild face could never be seen. 
 Her seymar was the lily flower, 
 And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower ; 
 And her voice like the distant melodye, 
 That floats along the twilight sea. 
 But she loved to raike the lanely glen. 
 And keep afar frae the haunts of men. 
 Her holy hymns unheard to sing, 
 To suck the flowers, and drink the spring ; 
 But wherever her peaceful form appeared. 
 The wild beasts of the hill were cheered ; 
 The wolf played blythely round the field, 
 The lordly byson lowed, and kneeled ; 
 The dun deer wooed with manner bland. 
 And cowered beneath her lily hand. 
 And when at eve the woodlands rung. 
 When hymns of other worlds she sung 
 b-6-b
 
 In ecstasy of sweet devotion, 
 
 O, then the glen was all in motion ! 
 
 The wild beasts of the forest came, 
 
 Broke from their boughts and faulds the tame, 
 
 And goved around, charmed and aina/xd ; 
 
 Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, 
 
 And murmured, and looked with anxious pain 
 
 For something the mystery to explain. 
 
 The buzzard came with the throstle-cock ; 
 
 The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
 
 The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew ; 
 
 The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 
 
 The wolf and the kid their raike began, 
 
 And the kid and the lamb and the leveret ran ; 
 
 The hawk and the hem atlour them hung, 
 
 And the merle and the mavis forhooyed their young ; 
 
 And all in a peaceful ring were hurled — 
 
 It was like an eve in a sinless world ! 
 
 ^^^len a month and a day had come and gane, 
 Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene ; 
 There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
 And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. 
 But O ! the words that fell frae her mouth 
 Were words of wonder, and words of trutli ! 
 But all the land were in fear and dread, 
 For they kendna whether she was living or dead. 
 It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ; 
 She left this world of sorrow and pain. 
 And returned to the land of thought again.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 83 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 
 
 The storm had ceased to shroud the hill ; 
 The morning's breath was pure and chill j 
 And when the sun rose from the main, 
 No eye the glory could sustain. 
 The icicles so dazzling bright ; 
 The spreading m old so smooth and white ; 
 The cloudless sky, the air so sheen, 
 That roes on Pentland top were seen ; 
 And Grampian mountain, frowning high, 
 v'->eemed frozen mid the northern sky. 
 The frame was braced, the mind set free 
 To feats or brisk hilarity. 
 
 The sun far on his southern throne 
 Glowed in stern majesty alone ; 
 'Twas like the loved, the toilsome day, 
 That dawns on mountains west away, 
 \Vhen the furred Indian hunter hastes 
 Far up his Appalachian wastes, 
 To range the savage haunts, and dare 
 In his dark home the sullen bear. 
 And ere that noonday sun had shone 
 Right on the banks of Duddingston, 
 Heavens ! what a scene of noise and glee 
 And busy, brisk anxiety ! 
 There age and youth their pastime take ; 
 The Highland chief, the Border knight. 
 In weaving plumes and baldrick bright, 
 Join in the bloodless, friendly war. 
 The sounding stone to hurl afar. 
 The hair -breadth aim, the plaudits due.
 
 84 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The rap, the shout, the ardour grew, 
 Till drowsy day her curtains drew. 
 
 When night her spangled flag unfurled 
 Wide o'er a wan and sheeted world, 
 In keen debate homeward they hie, 
 Yox well they knew the wake was nigh. 
 
 By mountain sheer, and column tall. 
 How solemn was that evening fall ! 
 The air was calm, the stars were bright, 
 The hoar-frost flightered down the night j 
 But oft the listening groups stood still, 
 For spirits talked along the hill. 
 The fairy tribes had gone to won 
 In southland climes beneath the sun ; 
 By shady woods and waters sheen, 
 And vales of everlasting green. 
 
 For all along, from cliff and tree, 
 On Arthur's hill, and Salisbury, 
 Came voices floating down the air 
 From viewless shades that lingered there ; 
 The words were fraught with mystery, 
 Voices of men they could not be. 
 Youths turned their faces to the sky 
 With beating hearts and beaded eye ; 
 Old chieftains walked with hastened tread, 
 Loath that their hearts should bow to dread 
 They feared the spirits of the hill 
 To sinful Scotland boded ill. 
 
 Orion up his baldrick drew. 
 The evening star was still in view j
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 85 
 
 Scarce had the Pleiads cleared the main, 
 Or Charles re-yoked his golden wain, 
 When from the palace turrets rang 
 The bugle's note with warning clang ; 
 Each tower, each spire, in music spake, 
 " Haste, nobles, to Queen Mary's wake." 
 
 'Twas the last night of hope and fear 
 That bards could sing, or Sovereign hear ; 
 And just ere rose the Christmas sun, 
 The envied prize was lost or won. 
 
 The bard that night who foremost came 
 Was not enrolled, nor known his name ; 
 A youth he was of manly mould, 
 Gentle as lamb, as lion bold ; 
 But his fair face, and forehead high, 
 Glowed with intrusive modesty. 
 
 'Twas said by bank of southland stream 
 Glided his youth in soothing dream ; 
 The harp he loved ; and wont to stray 
 Far to the wilds and woods away, 
 And sing to brooks that gurgled by, 
 Of maiden's form, and maiden's eye : — 
 That when this dream of youth was past, 
 Deep in the shade his harp he cast ; 
 In busy life his cares beguiled ; 
 His heart was true, and fortune smiled. 
 But when the royal wake began. 
 Joyful he came, the foremost man. 
 To see the matchless bard approved, 
 And list the strains he once had loved. 
 
 Two nights had passed, the br.rds had sung, 
 Queen Mary's harp from ceiling liinig,
 
 86 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 On which was graved her lovely mold, 
 Beset with crowms and flowers of gold ; 
 And many a gem of dazzling dye 
 Glowed on that prize to minstrel's eye. 
 
 The youth had heard each minstrel's strain, 
 And fearing northern bard would gain, 
 To try his youthful skill was moved, 
 Not for himself, but friends he loved. 
 
 The Fourteenth Ba7'(ts Song. 
 
 Lord Pringle's steed neighs in the stall, 
 His panoply is irksome grown. 
 
 His plumed helm hangs in the hall, 
 Ilis broad claymore is berry brown. 
 
 No more his bugle's evening peal 
 Bids vassal arm and yoeman ride, 
 
 To drive the deer of Otterdale, 
 Or foray on the border side. 
 
 Instead of whoop and battle knell. 
 Of warrior's song, and revel free. 
 
 Is heard the lute's voluptuous swell 
 Within the halls of Torwoodlee. 
 
 Sick lies his heart without relief; 
 
 'Tis love that breeds the warrior's wop, 
 For daughter of a froward chief, 
 
 A freebooter, his mortal foe.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 87 
 
 But O, that maiden's form of grace 
 And eye of love to him were dear ; 
 
 The smile that dimpled on her face 
 Was deadlier than the border spear. 
 
 The war-flame glows on Ettrick Pen, 
 Bounds forth the foray swift as wind, 
 
 And Tushilaw and all his men 
 
 Have left their homes afar behind. 
 
 O lady, lady, learn thy creed, 
 
 And marie the watch-dog's boisterous di'.i- 
 The Abbot comes with book and bead — 
 
 O haste, and let the father in. 
 
 And, lady, mark his locks so grey. 
 His beard so long, and colour wan ; 
 
 O, he has mourned for many a day. 
 And sorrow'd o'er the sins of man ! 
 
 And yet so stately is his mien, 
 
 His step so firm, and breast so bold ; 
 
 His brawny leg and form, I ween. 
 Are wondrous for a man so old. 
 
 Short was his greeting, short and low, 
 His blessing short as prayer could l)e ; 
 
 But oft he sighed, and boded woe, 
 And spoke of sin and misery. 
 
 To shrift, to shrift, now ladies all. 
 Your prayers and Ave Marias leain ; 
 
 Haste, trembling, to the vesper hall, 
 For ah ! the priest is dark and stern.
 
 Short was the task of lady old, 
 Short as confession well could be ; 
 
 The Abbot's orisons were cold, 
 His absolutions frank and free. 
 
 Go, ^^ary Scott, thy spirit meek 
 
 Lay open to the searcher's eye ; 
 And let the tear bedew thy cheek. 
 
 Thy sins are of a crimson dye. 
 
 For many a lover thou hast slain, 
 And many yet lie sick for thee — 
 
 Young Gilmanscleuch, and Deloraine, 
 And Pringle, lord of Torwoodlee. 
 
 Tell every wish thy bosom near, 
 No other sin, dear maid, hast thou ; 
 
 And well the Abbot loves to hear 
 Thy plights of love and simple vow. 
 
 *' Why stays my Mary Scott so long ? 
 
 "What guilt can youth and beauty wail ? 
 Of fervent thought and passion strong, 
 
 Heavens ! what a hideous, sickening tale," 
 
 O lady, cease ; the maiden's mind, 
 
 Though pure as morning's cloudless beam, 
 
 A crime in every wish can find, 
 
 In noontide glance, and midnight dream. 
 
 To woman's heart, when fair and free, 
 Her sins seem great and manifold ; 
 
 WTien sunk in guilt and misery 
 
 No crime can then her soul behold.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 89 
 
 'Tis sweet to see the opening flower 
 Spread its fair bosom to the sun ; 
 
 'Tis sweet to hear in vernal bower 
 The thrush's earhest hymn begun : 
 
 But sweeter far the prayer that wrings 
 The tear from maiden's beaming eye ; 
 
 And sweeter far the hymn she sings 
 In grateful, holy ecstasy. 
 
 The mass was said, but cold and dry, 
 That mass to heaven the father sent ; 
 
 With book, and bead, and rosary, 
 The Abbot to his chamber went. 
 
 The watch-dog rests with folded eye 
 Beneath the portal's gay festoon ; 
 
 The wildered Ettrick wanders by, 
 
 Loud murmuring to the careless moon. 
 
 The warder lists with hope and dread 
 For distant shout of fray begun ; 
 
 The cricket tunes his tiny reed. 
 And harps behind the embers dun. 
 
 Why does the warder bend his head, 
 And silent stand the casement near ? 
 
 The cricket stops his little reed. 
 The sound of gentle step to hear. 
 
 O, many a wight from border brake 
 Has reaved the drowsy warden round ; 
 
 And many a daughter lain awake 
 When parents trowed her sleeping sound.
 
 90 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The Abbot's bed is well downspread, 
 The Abbot's bed is soft and fair, 
 
 The Abbot's bed is cold as lead — 
 For why ? — the Abbot is not there. 
 
 Was that the blast of bugle, borne 
 
 Far on the night-wind, wavering shrill ? 
 
 'Tis nothing but the shepherd's horn, 
 That keeps the watch on Cacra hill. 
 
 What means the warder's answering note ? 
 
 The moon is west, 'tis near the day ; 
 I thought I heard the warriors' shout— 
 
 'Tis time the Abbot was away ! 
 
 The bittern mounts the morning air, 
 
 And rings the sky with quavering croon ; 
 
 The watch-dog sallies from his lair, 
 And bays the wind and setting moon. 
 
 'Tis not the breeze, nor bittern's wai!. 
 Has roused the guarder from his den j 
 
 Along the bank, in belt and mail. 
 Come Tushilaw and all his men. 
 
 The Abbot from his casement saw 
 The forest chieftain's proud array ; 
 
 lie heard the voice of Tushilaw ; 
 
 The Abbot's heart grew cold as clay I 
 
 " Haste, maidens, call my lady fair, 
 That room may for my warriors be ; 
 
 And bid my daughter come and share 
 The cup of joy with them and me.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 91 
 
 •* Say we have fought and won the fray, 
 Have lowered our haughty foeman's pride j 
 
 And we have driven the richest prey 
 That ever lowed by Ettrick side." 
 
 To hear a tale of vanquished foes, 
 
 His lady came right cheerfully ; 
 And Mary Scott, like morning rose. 
 
 Stood blushing at her father's knee. 
 
 Fast flowed the warrior's ruthless tale, 
 And aye the red cup passed between j 
 
 But Mary Scott grew lily pale, 
 And trembled like the aspen green, 
 
 " Now, lady, give me welcome cheer, 
 Queen of the border thou shalt be ; 
 
 For I have brought thee gold and gear. 
 And humbled haughty Torwoodlee, 
 
 *' I beat his yoemen in the glen ; 
 
 I loosed his horses from the stall j 
 I slew the blood-hound in his den. 
 
 And sought the chief through tower and hall. 
 
 " Go, maidens, every mat be spread 
 On heather haum or roegrass heap ; 
 
 And make for me the scarlet bed. 
 
 For I have need of rest and sleep. " — 
 
 ** Nay, my good lord, make other choice, 
 In that you cannot rest to-day ; 
 
 For there in peaceful slumber lies 
 A holy Abbot, old and grey."
 
 92 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The chieftain's cheek to crimson grew, 
 Dropt from his hand the rosy wine — 
 
 " An Abbot ! curse the canting crew 1 
 An Abbot sleep in couch of mine ! 
 
 '*Now, lady, as my soul shall thrive, 
 I'd rather trust my child and thee 
 
 With my two greatest foes alive, 
 The King of Scots and Torwoodlee. 
 
 " Go, warriors, hale the villain forth, 
 Bring not his loathful form to me ; 
 
 The gate stands open to the north, 
 The rope hangs o'er the gallows-tree." 
 
 O Abbot, Abbot, say thy prayers, 
 With orisons load every breath ; 
 
 The forest trooper's on the stairs, 
 To drag thee to a shameful death. 
 
 Oh Abbot, Abbot, quit thy bed, 
 
 Ill-armed art thou to meet the strife ; 
 
 Haste, don thy beard, and quoif thy head, 
 And guard the door for death or life. 
 
 Thy arm is firm, thy heart is stout. 
 Yet thou canst neither fight nor flee ; 
 
 But beauty stands thy guard without, — 
 Yes, beauty weeps and pleads for thee. 
 
 Proud, ruthless man, by vengeance driven, 
 Regardless hears a brother plead ; 
 
 Regardless sees the brand of Heaven 
 Red quivering o'er his guilty head ;
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 93 
 
 But once let woman's soothing tongue 
 \ Implore his help or clemency j 
 
 Around him let her arms be flung, 
 Or at his feet her bended knee- 
 
 Stern Tushilaw is gone to sleep, 
 Laughing at woman's dread of sin ; 
 
 But first he bade his warriors keep 
 All robbers out, and abbots in. 
 
 The Abbot from his casement high 
 Looked out to see the peep of day ; 
 
 The scene that met the Abbot's eye 
 Filled him with wonder and dismay. 
 
 'Twas not the dews of dawning mild, 
 The mountain's hues of silver grey, 
 
 Nor yet the Ettrick's windings wild 
 By belted holm and bosky brae ; 
 
 Nor moorland Rankleburn that raved 
 By covert, clough, and greenwood shaw. 
 
 Nor dappled flag of day, that waved 
 In streamers pale from Gilmanslaw ; 
 
 But many a doubted ox there lay 
 
 At rest upon the castle lea. 
 And there he saw his gallant grey, 
 
 And all the steeds on Torwoodlee. 
 
 " Beshrew the worst ! " the Abbot said, 
 " The charge runs high for lodging here j 
 
 The guard is deep, the path waylaid. 
 My homilies shall cost me dear. 
 
 L.
 
 94 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 " Come weal, come woe, with dauntless core 
 
 I'll kneel, and con my breviary ; 
 If Tushilaw is versed in lore, 
 
 'Twill be an awkward game with me." — 
 
 Now Tushilaw he waked and slept, 
 
 And dreamed and thought till noontide hour 
 
 But aye this query upmost kept, 
 
 " What seeks the Abbot in my tower? " 
 
 Stern Tushilaw came down the stair 
 With doubtful and indignant eye, 
 
 And found the holy man at prayer. 
 With book, and cross, and rosary. 
 
 ** To book, to book, thou reaver red, 
 
 Of absolution thou hast need ; 
 The sword of Heaven hangs o'er thy head. 
 
 Death is thy doom, and hell thy meed ! " 
 
 '* I'll take my chance, thou priest of sin. 
 
 Thy absolution I disdain ; 
 But I will noose thy bearded chin. 
 
 If thus thou look'st to me again. 
 
 " Declare thy business and thy name. 
 Or short the route to thee is given ! " — 
 
 "The Abbot I of Coldingham, 
 
 My errand is the cause of Heaven." — 
 
 " This shalt thou prove ere we two part ; 
 
 Some robber thou or royal spy ; 
 But, villain, I will search thy heart. 
 
 And chain thee in the deep to lie."
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 95 
 
 ** Oh ! lost to mercy, faith, and love ! 
 
 Thy bolts and chains are nought to nie ; 
 I'll call an angel from above. 
 
 That soon will set the prisoner free." — 
 
 Bold Tushilaw o'er strone and steep 
 Pursues the roe and dusky deer ; 
 
 The Abbot lies in dungeon deep, 
 The maidens wail, the matrons fear. 
 
 The sweetest flower on Ettrick shaw 
 Bends its fair form o'er grated keep ; 
 
 Young Mary Scott of Tushilaw 
 
 Sleeps but to sigh, and wakes to weep. 
 
 Bold Tushilaw, with horn and hound. 
 Pursues the deer o'er holt and lea ; 
 
 And rides and rules the Border round 
 From Philiphaugh to Gilknockye. 
 
 His page rode down by Melrose fair, 
 Ills page rode down by Coldingham ; 
 
 But not a priest was missing there. 
 Nor abbot, friar, or monk of name. 
 
 The evening came ; it was the last 
 The Abbot in this world should see ; 
 
 The bonds are firm, the bolts are fast, 
 No angel comes to set him free. 
 
 Yes, at the stillest hour of night 
 Softly unfolds the iron door : 
 
 Beamed through the gloom unwonted light- 
 That light a beauteous angel bore.
 
 96 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Fair was the forai that o'er him hung, 
 And fair the hands that set him free ; 
 
 The trembhng whispers of her tongue 
 Softer than seraph's melody. 
 
 WTiy walks young Mary Scott so late 
 In veil and cloak of cramasye ? 
 
 The porter opens wide the gate, 
 
 His bonnet moves, and bends the knee. 
 
 Long may the wondering porter wait, 
 
 Before the lady form return ; 
 " Speed, Abbot, speed, nor halt nor bait, 
 
 Nor look thou back to Rankleburn." 
 
 The chieftain called his warriors stout. 
 And ranged them round the gallows tree, 
 
 Then bade them bring the Abbot out, 
 The fate of fraud that all might see. 
 
 The men return, of sense bereft, 
 
 Falter their tongues, their eyeballs glare j 
 The door was locked, the fetters left — 
 
 All close ! the Abbot was not there. 
 
 The wondering warriors bow to God, 
 And matins to the Virgin hum ; 
 
 But Tushilaw he gloomed and strode 
 And walked into the castle dumb. 
 
 Lord Pringle walked his glens alone, 
 Nor flock nor lowing herd he saw \ 
 
 But even the king upon the throne 
 Quaked at the name of Tushilaw.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 97 
 
 Lord Pringle's heart was all on flame, 
 Nor peace nor joy his bosom knew, 
 
 'Twas for the kindest, sweetest dame 
 That ever brushed the forest dew. 
 
 Why is the flower of yonder pile 
 Bending its stem to court decay, 
 
 And Mary Scott's benignant smile 
 Like sunbeam in a winter day ? 
 
 Sometimes her colour's like the rose, 
 Sometimes 'tis like the lily pale ; 
 
 The flower that in the forest grows 
 Is fallen before the summer gale. 
 
 A mother's fostering breast is warm, 
 And dark her doubts of love, I ween 
 
 For why ? — she felt its early harm, 
 A mother's eye is sharp and keen. 
 
 'Tis done ! the woman stands revealed ! 
 
 Stern Tushilaw is waked to see ; 
 The bearded priest so well concealed 
 
 Was Pringle, Lord of Torwoodlee ! 
 
 Oh, never was the thunder's jar. 
 The red tornado's wasting wing. 
 
 Nor all the elemental war. 
 Like fury of the Border King. 
 
 *' Thinks Tushilaw of maids or wives. 
 Or such a thing as Torwoodlee ? 
 
 Had Mary Scott a thousand lives. 
 These lives were all too few for me.' 
 b-T-h
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 ' ' Ere midnight in the secret cave, 
 This sword shall pierce her bosom's core, 
 
 Though I go childless to my grave, 
 And rue the deed for evermore. 
 
 " O, had I lulled the imp to rest, 
 \Vhen first she lisped her name to me, 
 
 Or pierced her little guileless breast, 
 When smiling on her nurse's knee 1 " 
 
 ** What brings my lady mother here, 
 Pale as the morning shower and cold ? 
 
 In her dark eye why stands the tear ? 
 \\Tiy in her hand a cup of gold ? " 
 
 '* My Mary, thou art ill at rest, 
 Fervid and feverish is thy blood ; 
 
 Still yearns o'er thee thy mother's Ijrcast, 
 Take this, my child, 'tis for thy good." 
 
 She took the cup — she drank it dry, 
 Then pillowed soft her beauteous head, 
 
 And calmly watched her mother's eye ; 
 But O, that eye was hard to read ! 
 
 Her moistened eyes, so mild and meek, 
 Soon sunk their auburn fringe beneath ; 
 
 The ringlets on her damask cheek 
 
 Heaved gentler with her stealing breath. 
 
 She turned her face unto the wall, 
 Her colour changed to pallid clay ; 
 
 Long ere the dews began to fall, 
 The flower of Eitrick lifeless lay.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 99 
 
 Why underneath the winding-sheet 
 Does broidered silk her form enfold ? 
 
 Why are cold Mary's buskined feet 
 All laced with belts and bands of gold ? 
 
 " What boots to me those robes so gay. 
 To wear them now no child have I : 
 
 They should have graced her bridal day, 
 Now they must in the churchyard lie ! 
 
 " I thought to see my daughter ride, 
 In golden gear and cramasye, 
 
 To Mary's fane, the loveliest bride 
 Ere to the Virgin bent the knee, 
 
 " Now I may by her funeral wain 
 Ride silent o'er the mountain grey — 
 
 Her revel hall, the gloomy fane, 
 Her bridal bed, the cheerless clay. " 
 
 Why that rich snood with plume and lace 
 Round Mary's lifeless temples drawn ? 
 
 Why is the napkin o'er her face 
 A fragment of the lily lawn ? 
 
 " My Mary has another home ; 
 
 And far, far though her journey be, 
 When she to Paradise shall come, 
 
 Then will my child remember me." 
 
 Lord Pringle sat on Maygill brae. 
 
 Pondering on war and vengeance meet j 
 
 The Cadan toiled in narrow way, 
 The Tweed rolled far beneath his feet.
 
 loo THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Not Tweed, by gulf and whirlpool mazed, 
 Through dark wood glen, by him was seen 
 
 For still his thought-set eye was raised 
 To Ettrick mountains wild and green. 
 
 Sullen he sat, unstaid, unblest ; 
 
 He thought of battle, broil, and blood ; 
 He never crossed, he never wist, 
 
 Till by his side a palmer stood. 
 
 ** Haste, my good lord, this letter read, 
 
 111 bodes it listless thus to be ; 
 Upon a die I've set my head. 
 
 And brought this letter far to thee." 
 
 Lord Pringle looked the letter on. 
 His face grew pale as winter sky ; 
 
 But ere the half of it was done, 
 The tear of joy was in his eye. 
 
 A purse he to the Palmer threw. 
 Mounted the cleft of aged tree, 
 
 Three times aloud his bugle blew. 
 And hasted home to Torwoodlee. 
 
 Far to the south it spread away. 
 Startled the hind by ford and tree. 
 
 And aye the watchword of the fray 
 
 Was " Ride for Ker and Torwoodlee." 
 
 When next the day began to fade 
 The warriors round their chieftain range 
 
 And many a solemn vow they made. 
 And many a vow of fell revenge.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The Pringles' plumes indignant dance — 
 
 It was a gallant sight to see ; 
 And many a Ker with sword and lance 
 
 Stood rank and file on Torwoodlee. 
 
 They hasted on by Flora side, 
 
 And north, above Mount Benger, turn, 
 And loathly forced with them to ride 
 
 Black Douglas of the Craigy-burn. 
 
 When they came nigh St. Mary's Lake 
 The day-sky glimmered on the dew ; 
 
 They hid their horses in the brake, 
 
 And lurked in heath and bracken clough. 
 
 That morning found rough Tushilaw 
 In all the father's guise appear ; 
 
 An end of all his hopes he saw 
 Shrouded in Mary's gilded bier. 
 «... > • 
 
 No eye could trace without concern 
 The suffering warrior's troubled look ; 
 
 The throbs that heaved his bosom stern 
 No ear could bear, no heart could brook. 
 
 *' Woe be to thee, thou wicked dame ! 
 
 My Mary's prayers and accents mild 
 Might well have rendered vengeance lame — 
 
 This hand could ne'er have slain my child. 
 
 " But thou, in frenzied, fatal hour, 
 Reft the sweet life thou gavest away ; 
 
 And crushed to earth the fairest flower 
 That ever breathed the breeze of day.
 
 102 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 '* My all is lost, my hope is fled, 
 The sword shall ne'er be drawn for me ; 
 
 Unblest, unhonoured, my grey head — 
 My child ! would I had died for thee ! " 
 
 The bell tolls o'er a new-made grave ; 
 
 The lengthened funeral train is seen, 
 Stemming the Yarrow's silver wave, 
 
 And darkening Dryhope's holms so green. 
 
 \\Tien nigh- the virgin's fane they drew, 
 Just by the verge of holy ground, 
 
 The Kers and Pringles left the clough. 
 
 And hemmed the wandering Scotts around. 
 
 Vassal and peasant, seized with dread. 
 Sped off, and looked not once behind ; 
 
 And all who came for wine and bread 
 Fled like the chaff before the wind. 
 
 But all the Scotts together flew. 
 For every Scott of name was there, 
 
 In sullen mood their weapons drew, 
 And back to back for fight prepare. 
 
 Rough was the onset — boast, nor threat, 
 Nor word was heard from friend or foe ; 
 
 At once began the work of fate 
 
 With perilous thrust and deadly blow. 
 
 Oh, but the Harden lads were true, 
 And bore them bravely in the broil ; 
 
 The doughty laird of wild Buccleuch 
 Raged like a lion in the toil.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 103 
 
 Old Tushilaw, with sword in hand, 
 
 And heart to fiercest woes a prey, 
 
 Seemed courting every foeman's brand, 
 
 And fought in hottest of the fray. 
 
 When first the hostile band upsprung 
 The body in the church was laid. 
 
 Where vows were made and requiems sung, 
 By matron, monk, and weeping maid. 
 
 Lord Pringle came — before his eye 
 
 The monks and maidens kneeled in fear ; 
 
 But Lady Tushilaw stood by, 
 And pointed to her Mary's bier ! 
 
 " Thou lord of guile and malice keen, 
 WTiat boots this doleful work to thee ? 
 
 Could Scotland such a pair have seen 
 As Mary Scott and Torwoodlee ? " 
 
 Lord Pringle came — no word he spake, 
 Nor owned the pangs his bosom knew ; 
 
 But his full heart was like to break, 
 In every throb his bosom drew. 
 
 "O, I had weened with fondest heart — 
 (Woe to the guileful friend who lied !) 
 
 This day should join us ne'er to part. 
 This day that I should win my bride ! 
 
 " But I will see that face so meek, 
 Cold, pale, and lifeless though it be ; 
 
 And I will kiss that comely cheek, 
 Once sweeter than the rose to me. "
 
 I04 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 
 
 With trembling hand he raised the lid ; 
 
 Sweet was the perfume round that flew, 
 For there were strewed the roses red, 
 And every flower the forest knew. 
 
 And aye he prest the cheek so white, 
 And aye he kissed the lip beloved, 
 
 Till pitying maidens wept outright. 
 
 And even the frigid monks were moved. 
 
 Why starts Lord Pringle to his knee ? 
 
 Why bend his eyes with watchful strain ? 
 The maidens shriek his mien to see, 
 
 The startled priests inquire in vain. 
 
 Was that a sob, an earthly sigh. 
 
 That heaved the flowers so lightly shed ?— 
 'Twas but the wind that wandered by, 
 
 And kissed the bosom of the dead ! 
 
 Are these the glowing tints of life 
 
 O'er Mary's cheek that come and fly ? 
 
 Ah, no ! the red flowers round are rife, 
 The rose-bud flings its softened dye. 
 
 Why grows the gazer's sight so dim ? 
 
 Stay, dear illusion, still beguile ! 
 Thou art worth crowns and worlds to him— 
 
 Last, dear illusion, last awhile. 
 
 'Tis past, and darkly stands revealed 
 A mother's cares and purpose deep : 
 
 That kiss, the last adieu that sealed, 
 Waked Mary from her death-like sleep !
 
 Slowly she raised her form of grace, 
 Her eyes no rays conceptive flung ; 
 
 And O, her mild, her languid face 
 Was like a flower too early sprung. 
 
 "O I lie sick and weary here, 
 
 My heart is bound in moveless chain ; 
 
 Another cup, my mother dear, 
 
 I cannot sleep, though I would fain. " 
 
 She drank the wine with calm delay, 
 
 She drank the wine with pause and sigh ; 
 
 Slowly, as wakes the dawning day. 
 Dawned long-lost thought in Mary's eye ; 
 
 She looked at pall, she looked at bier. 
 
 At altar, shrine, and rosary ; 
 She saw her lady mother near, 
 
 And at her side brave Torwoodlee. 
 
 'Twas all a dream, nor boded good, 
 A phantom of her fevered brain ; 
 
 She laid her down in moaning mood 
 To sooth her woes in sleep again. 
 
 Need not to paint that joyful hour. 
 
 The nuptial vow, the bridal glee- 
 How Mary Scott, the forest flower. 
 Was borne a bride to Torwoodlee. 
 
 Diamond and ruby rayed her waist. 
 And twinkled round her brow so fair ; 
 
 She wore more gold upon her breast 
 
 Than would have bought the hills of Yair.
 
 io6 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Old Tushilaw deigned not to smile, 
 No grateful word his tongue could say ; 
 
 He took one kiss, blessed her the while, 
 Wiped his dark eye, and turned away, 
 
 Lord Pringle's hills were stocked anew, 
 Drove after drove came nightly free ; 
 
 But many a border Baron knew 
 
 Whence came the dower to Torwoodlee. 
 
 The Seventeenth Bard. 
 
 Forth stepped he with uncourtly bow ; 
 The heron plume waved o'er his brow ; 
 His garb was blent with varied shade, 
 And round him hung his Highland plaid. 
 But woe to Southland dame and knight, 
 In minstrels' tale who took delight. 
 Though known the air, the song he sung 
 Was in the barbarous Highland tongue : 
 But tartan'd chiefs in raptures hear 
 The strains, the words to them so dear. 
 
 Thus ran the lx>ld portentous lay, 
 As near as Southron tongue can say. 
 
 ^he ^bbot JEf^innon. 
 
 The Seventeenth Bard's Song. 
 
 McKinnon's tall mast salutes the day, 
 And beckons the breeze in lona bay ; 
 Plays lightly up in the morning sky, 
 And nods to the green wave rolling by ;
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 107 
 
 The anchor upheaves, the sails unfurl, 
 
 The pennons of silk in the breezes curl ; 
 
 But not one monk on holy ground 
 
 Knows whither the Abbot McKinnon is bound. 
 
 Well could that bark o'er the ocean glide, 
 Though monks and friars alone must guide, 
 For never man of other degree 
 On board that sacred ship might be. 
 On deck McKinnon walked soft and slow ; 
 The haulers sang from the gilded prow ; 
 The helmsmen turned his brow to the sky, 
 Upraised his cowl, and upraised his eye. 
 And away shot the bark on the wing of the wind, 
 Over billow and bay, like an image of mind. 
 
 Aloft on the turret the monks appear. 
 To see where the bark of their Abbot would bear ; 
 They saw her sweep from lona bay, 
 And turn her prow to the north away, 
 Still lessen to view in the fairy screen, 
 And vanish amid the island green. 
 Then they turned their eyes to the female dome, 
 And thought of the nuns till the Abbot came 
 home. 
 
 Three times the night, with aspect dull, 
 Came stealing o'er the moors of Mull ; 
 Three times the sea-gull left the deep. 
 To dose on the knob of the dizzy steep, 
 By the sound of the ocean lull'd to sleep ; 
 And still the watch-lights sailors see 
 On the top of the spire, and the top of Dun -ye ; 
 And the laugh rings through the sacred dome, 
 For still the Abbot is not come home.
 
 io8 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 But the wolf that nightly swam the sound, 
 From Rosa's rude, impervious bound. 
 On the ravening, burrowing race to feed, 
 That loved to haunt the home of the dead : 
 To him Saint Columb had left in trust. 
 To guard the bones of the royal and just. 
 Of Saints and of Kings the sacred dust ; 
 The savage was scared from his charnel of death. 
 And swam to his home in hunger and wrath, 
 For he momently saw through the night so dun 
 The cowering monk, and the veiled nun. 
 Whispering, sighing, and stealing away 
 By cross dark valley and portal grey. 
 O ! wise was the founder, and well said he, 
 " \Vhere there are women, mischief must be." 
 
 No more the watch-fires gleam to the blast, 
 McKinnon and friends arrive at last. 
 A stranger youth to the isle they brought, 
 Modest of mien and deep of thought, 
 In costly sacred robes bedight. 
 And he lodged with the Abbot by day and by night , 
 
 When arm in arm they walked the isle, 
 Young friars would beckon, and monks would smile ; 
 But sires in dread of sins unshriven 
 Would shake their heads and look up to Heaven, 
 Afraid the forni of the saint to see, 
 ^^^lO reared their temple amid the sea, 
 And pledged his soul to guard the dome 
 Till virtue should fly her western home. 
 But now a stranger of hidden degi-ee, 
 Too fair, too gentle a man to be — 
 This stranger of beauty and steps so light
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 109 
 
 Abode with the Abbot by day and by night. 
 The monfhs and the days flew lightly by, 
 The monks were kind and the nuns were shy, 
 But the grey-haired sires, in trembling mood, 
 Kneeled at the altar and kissed the rood. 
 
 McKinnon he dreamed that the saint of the isle 
 Stood by his side, and with courteous smile, 
 Bade him arise from his guilty sleep. 
 And pay his respects to the god of the deep, 
 In temple that north in the main appeared, 
 Which fire from bowels of ocean had seared. 
 Which the giant builders of heaven had reared. 
 To rival in grandeur the stately pile 
 Himself had upreared in lona's isle ; 
 For round them rose the mountains of sand. 
 The fishes had left the coasts of the land. 
 And so high ran the waves of the angry sea, 
 They had drizzled the cross on the top of Dun-ye. 
 The cycle was closed, and the period run 
 He had vowed to the sea, he had vowed to the sun. 
 If in that time rose trouble or pain. 
 Their homage to pay to the god of the main. 
 Then he bade him haste and the rites prepare. 
 Named all the monks should with him fare, 
 And promised again to see him there. 
 
 McKinnon awoke from his vision'd sleep, 
 He opened his casement and looked on the deep ; 
 He looked to the mountains, he looked to the shore, 
 The vision amazed him and troubled him sore. 
 He never had heard of the rite before j 
 But all was so plain, he thought meet to obey, 
 He dared not decline, and he would not delay.
 
 no THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Uprose the Abbot, uprose the morn, 
 Uprose the sun from the Bens of Lorn ; 
 And the bark her course to the northward framed, 
 With all on board whom the saint had named. 
 
 The clouds were journeying east the sky, 
 The wind was low, and the swell was high, 
 And the glossy sea was heaving bright, 
 Like ridges and hills of liquid light ; 
 While far on her lubrick bosom were seen 
 The magic dyes of purple and green. 
 
 How joyed the bark her sides to lave ! 
 She leaned to the lee and she girdled the wave ; 
 Aloft on the stayless verge she hung, 
 Light on the steep wave veered and swung. 
 And the crests of the billows before her flung. 
 Loud murmured the ocean with downward growl, 
 The seal swam aloof, and the dark sea-fowl ; 
 The pie-duck sought the breast of the main. 
 And rose in the wheel of her wake again ; 
 And behind her, far to the southward, shone 
 A pathway of snow on the waste alone. 
 
 But now the dreadful strand they gain, 
 
 \Vhere rose the sacred dome of the main ; 
 
 Oft had they seen the place before. 
 
 And kept aloof from the dismal shore. 
 
 But now it rose before their prow. 
 
 And what they beheld they did not know. 
 
 The tall grey forms, in close-set file, 
 
 Upholding the roof of that holy pile ; 
 
 The sheets of foam and the clouds of spray, 
 
 And the groans that rushed from the portals grey, 
 
 Appalled their hearts and drove them away.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. in 
 
 They wheeled their bark to the east around, 
 And moored in basin, by rocks inbound ; 
 Then, awed to silence, they trode the strand, 
 Where furnaced pillars in order stand, 
 All formed of the liquid burning levin, 
 All bent like the bow that spans the heaven, 
 Or upright ranged in horrid array. 
 With purfle of green o'er the darksome grey. 
 
 Their path was on wondrous pavement of old, 
 Its blocks all cast in some giant mould, 
 Fair hewn and grooved by no mortal hand, 
 With countermure guarded by sea and by land. 
 The watcher Bushella frowned over their way. 
 Enrobed in the sea-breeze, and hooded with grey, 
 The warder that stands by that dome of the deep, 
 With spray-shower and rainbow the entrance to keep 
 And when they drew nigh to the chancel of ocean. 
 And saw her waves rush to their raving devotion, 
 Astounded and awed to the antes they clung. 
 And listened the hymns in her temple she sung. 
 The song of the cliff, when the winter winds blow. 
 The thunder of heaven, the earthquake below. 
 Conjoined, like the voice of a maiden would be. 
 Compared with the anthem there sung by the sea. 
 
 The solemn rows in that darksome den 
 Were dimly seen like the forms of men. 
 Like giant monks in ages agone, 
 WHiom the god of the ocean had seared to stone, 
 And bound in his temple for ever to lean 
 In sackcloth of grey and visors of green ; 
 An everlasting worship to keep. 
 And the big, salt tears eternally weep.
 
 112 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 
 
 On angel pavement each bent his knee, 
 And sung this hymn to the god of the sea. 
 
 The Monks' Hymn. 
 
 Thou, who makest the ocean to flow, 
 
 Thou, who makest the channels below, 
 
 To thee, to thee, this incense we heap, 
 
 Thou, who knowest not slumber nor sleep. 
 
 Great spirit, that mov'st on the face of the deep I 
 
 To thee, to thee, we sing to thee, 
 
 God of the western wind, god of the sea ! 
 
 To thee, to thee, this wine we pour, 
 
 God of the western wind, god of the shower ! 
 
 We pour this oil and this wine to thee, 
 God of the western wind, god of the sea ! 
 ** Greater yet must the offering be." 
 
 The monks gazed round, the Abbot grew wan, 
 For the closing notes were not sung by man ; 
 They came from the rock, or they came from the air, 
 From voice they knew not, and knew not where ; 
 But it sung with a mournful melody, 
 *' Greater yet must the offering be." 
 
 In holy dread they passed away, 
 And they walked the ridge of that isle so grey, 
 And saw the white waves toil and fret. 
 An hundred fathoms below their feet. 
 They looked to the countless isles that lie 
 From Barra to Mull, and from Jura to Skye ; 
 They looked to heaven, they looked to the main,
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 113 
 
 They looked at all with a silent pain, ^ 
 As on places they were not to see again, 
 
 A little bay lies hid from sight, 
 O'erhung by clififs of dreadful height ; 
 When they drew near that irony steep, 
 They heard a voice rise from the deep ; 
 And that voice was sweet as voice could be, 
 And they found it came from the maid of the sea. 
 
 McKinnon lay stretched on the verge of the hill, 
 And peeped from the height on the bay so still ; 
 And he saw her sit on a weedy stone, 
 Laving her fair breast and singing alone ; 
 And aye she sank the wave within, ^ 
 Till it gurgled around her lovely chin. 
 Then combed her locks of the pale sea-green. 
 And aye this song was heard between. 
 
 The Mermaid's Song. 
 
 Matilda of Skye 
 
 Alone may lie. 
 And list to the wind that whistles by ; 
 
 Sad may she be, 
 
 For deep in the sea, 
 Deep, deep, deep in the sea, 
 This night her lover shall sleep with me. 
 
 She may turn and hide 
 
 From the spirits that glide. 
 And the ghost that stands at her bedside } 
 But never a kiss the vow shall seal. 
 Nor warm embrace her bosom feel ; 
 For far, far down in the floors below. 
 Moist as the rock-weed, cold as the snow,
 
 With the eel and the clam, and the pearl of the deep, 
 On soft sea-flowers her lover shall sleep ; 
 And long and sound shall his slumber be. 
 In the coral bowers of the deep with me. 
 
 The trembling sun far, far away, 
 Shall pour on his couch a softened ray, 
 And his mantle shall wave in the flowing tide. 
 And the little fishes shall turn aside ; 
 But the waves and the tides of the sea shall cease. 
 Ere wakes her love from his bed of peace. 
 No home ! — no kiss ! — No, never ! never I 
 His couch is spread for ever and ever. 
 
 The Abbot arose in dumb dismay. 
 They turned and fled from the height away. 
 For dark and portentous was the day. 
 When they came in view of their rocking sail. 
 They saw an old man who sat on the wale ; * 
 His beard was long, and silver grey. 
 Like the rime that falls at the break of day ; 
 His locks like wool, and his colour wan — 
 He scarcely looked like an earthly man. 
 
 They asked his errand, they asked his name, 
 Whereunto bound, and whence he came ; 
 But a sullen, thoughtful silence he kept. 
 And turned his face to the sea and wept. 
 Some gave him welcome, and some gave him scorn. 
 But the abbot stood pale vnth terror o'erborne ; 
 He tried to be jocund, but trembled the more, 
 For he thought he had seen the face before. 
 
 * Wale is a Hebridean word, signifying the verge or brim of 
 the mountain.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 115 
 
 Away went the ship with her canvas all spread, 
 So glad to escape from that island of dread ; 
 And skimmed the blue wave like a streamer of light, 
 Till fell the dim veil 'twixt the day and the night. 
 
 Then the old man arose and stood up on the prow. 
 And fixed his dim eyes on the ocean below, 
 And they heard him saying, " Ah, woe is me ! 
 But great as the sin must the sacrifice be." 
 Oh, mild was his eye, and his manner sublime, [time." 
 When he looked unto Heaven, and said — " Now is the 
 He looked to the weather, he looked to the lee. 
 He looked as for something he dreaded to see, 
 Then stretched his pale hand, and pointed his eye 
 To a gleam on the verge of the eastern sky. 
 
 The monks soon beheld on the lofty Ben More 
 A sight which they never had seen before ; 
 A belt of blue lightning around it was driven, 
 And its crown was encircled by morion of heaven ; 
 And they heard a herald that loud did cry, 
 " Prepare the way for the Abbot of I." 
 
 Then a sound arose, they knew not where, 
 It came from the sea, or it came from the air, 
 'Twas louder than tempest t"hat ever blew, 
 And the sea-fowls screamed and in terror flew. 
 Some ran to the cords, some kneeled at the shrine, 
 But all the wild elements seemed to combine ; 
 'Twas just but one moment of stir and commotion, 
 And down went the ship like a bird of the ocean ! 
 
 This moment she sailed all stately and fair, 
 The next nor ship, nor shadow was there,
 
 ii6 THE QUEEN'S WAKE, 
 
 But a boil that arose from the deep below, 
 A mountain, gurgling column of snow. 
 It sunk away with a murmuring moan : 
 The sea is calm, and the sinners are gone. 
 
 Conclusion. 
 
 Queen Mary's harp on high that hung, 
 And every tone responsive rung. 
 With gems of gold, that dazzling shone. 
 That harp is to the Highlands gone ; 
 Gardyn is crowned with garlands gay, 
 And bears the envied prize away. 
 Long, long that harp the hills among, 
 Resounded Ossian's warrior song ; 
 Waked slumbering lyres from every tree, 
 Adown the banks of Don and Dee ; 
 At length was borne by beauteous bride 
 To woo the airs on Garry side. 
 
 When full two hundred years had fled, 
 And all the northern bards were dead, 
 That costly harp of wondrous mould. 
 Defaced of all its gems and gold. 
 With that which Gardyn erst did play, 
 Back to Dunedin found its way. 
 
 As Mary's hand the victor crowned, 
 And twined the wreath his temples round. 
 Loud were the shouts of Highland chief — 
 The Lowlanders were dumb with grief \ 
 And the poor Bard of Ettrick stood 
 Like statue pale, in moveless mood ; 
 Like ghost, which oft his eyes had seen 
 At gloamin' in his glens so green.
 
 Queen Mary saw the minstrel's pain, 
 And bade from bootless grief refrain. 
 
 She said a boon to him should fall, 
 "Worth all the harps in royal hall ; 
 Of Scottish song a countless store. 
 Precious remains of minstrel lore, 
 And cottage, by a silver rill, 
 Should all reward his rustic skill : 
 Did other gifts his bosom claim, 
 He needed but that gift to name. 
 
 " O my fair Queen," the minstrel said, 
 With faltering voice and hanging head, 
 ** Your cottage keep, and minstrel lore — 
 Grant me a harp, I ask no more. 
 From thy own hand a lyre I crave ; 
 That boon alone my heart can save." 
 
 . " Well hast thou asked ; and be it known, 
 I have a harp of old renown. 
 Hath many an ardent wight beguiled ; 
 'Twas framed by wizard of the wild. 
 And will not yield one measure bland 
 Beneath a skilless stranger hand ; 
 But once her powers by progress found, 
 O, there is magic in the sound ! 
 
 " When worldly woes oppress thy heart. 
 And thou and all must share a part — 
 Should scorn be cast from maiden's eye. 
 Should friendship fail, or fortune fly ; 
 Steal with thy harp to lonely brake, 
 Her wild, her soothing numbers wake,
 
 ii8 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 And soon corroding cares shall cease, 
 And passion's host be lulled to peace ; 
 Angels a gilded screen shall cast, 
 That cheers the future, veils the past. 
 
 " That harp will make the elves of eve 
 Their dwelling in the moonbeam leave, 
 And ope thine eyes by haunted tree, 
 Their glittering tiny forms to see. 
 The flitting shades that woo the glen 
 'Twill shape to forms of living men, — 
 To forms on earth no more you see. 
 Who once were loved, and aye will be ; 
 And holiest converse you may prove 
 Of things below and things above. " 
 
 *• That is, that is the harp for me ! " 
 Said the rapt bard in ecstasy ; 
 *' This soothing, this exhaustless store, 
 Grant me, my Queen — I ask no more." 
 
 O, when the weeping minstrel laid 
 .The relic in his old grey plaid, 
 When Holyrood he left behind 
 To gain his hills of mist and wind, 
 Never was hero of renown, 
 Or monarch prouder of his crown. 
 He tript the vale, he climbed the cooml). 
 The mountain breeze began to boom ; 
 Aye when the magic chords it rung, 
 He raised his voice and blithely sung ; 
 *' Hush, my wild harp 1 thy notes forbear ; 
 No blooming maids nor elves are here ; 
 Forbear a while that witching tone, 
 Tbou must not, canst not sing alone.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. • 119 
 
 I Wlien summer flings her watchet screen 
 
 \ At eve o'er Ettrick woods so green, 
 
 j Thy notes shall many a heart beguile ; 
 
 ^ Young Beauty's eye shall o'er thee smile, 
 I *And fairies trip it merrily 
 
 5 Around my royal harp and me." 
 
 \ Long has that harp of magic tone 
 
 \ To all the minstrel world been known. 
 
 Who has not heard her witching lays 
 \ Of Ettrick bank and Yarrow braes ? 
 
 I But that sweet bard who sung and played 
 
 I Of many a feat and Border raid, _ 
 
 Of many a knight and lovely maid, 
 \Vhen forced to leave his harp behind 
 « Did all her tuneful chords unwind ; 
 
 j And many ages passed and came 
 
 \ Ere man so well could tune the same. 
 
 1 • Bangour the daring task essayed — 
 
 -Not- half the chords his fingers played ; 
 Yet even then some thrilling lays 
 Bespoke the harp of ancient days. 
 
 Redoubted Ramsay's peasant skill 
 Flung some strained notes along the hill ; 
 His was some lyre from lady's hall. 
 And not the mountain harp at all. 
 
 Langhorn arrived from Southern dale, 
 And chimed his notes on Yarrow vale ; 
 They would not, could not, touch the heart- 
 His was the moodish lyre of art. 
 
 Sweet rung the harp to Logan's hand : 
 Then Leyden came from Border land.
 
 I20 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 With dauntless heart and ardour high, 
 And wild impatience in his eye. 
 Though false his tones at times might be, 
 Though wild notes marred the sjnnphony, 
 Between, the glowing measure stole, • 
 That spoke the bard's inspired soul. 
 vSad were those strains, when hymned afar, 
 On the green vales of Malabar. 
 O'er seas beneath the golden morn, 
 They travelled on the monsoon borne, 
 Thrilling the^heart of Indian maid. 
 Beneath the wild banana's shade. — 
 Leyden ! a shepherd wails thy fate, 
 And Scotland knows her loss too late. 
 
 The day arrived — blest be the day, 
 Walter the Abbot came that way ! — 
 The sacred relic met his view — 
 Ah ! well the pledge of Heaven he knew ! 
 He screwed the chords, he tried a strain ; 
 'Twas wild — he tuned and tried again, 
 Then poured the numbers bold and free. 
 The ancient magic melody. 
 
 The land was charmed to list his lays ; 
 It knew the harp of ancient days. 
 The Border chiefs, that long had been 
 In sepulchres unhearsed and green. 
 Passed from their mouldy vaults away, 
 In armour red and stern array, 
 And by their moonlight halls were seen. 
 In visor, helm, and habergeon. 
 Even fairies sought our land again. 
 So powe»^ul was the magic strain.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 121 
 
 Blest be his generous heart for aye 1 
 He told me where the relic lay"; 
 Pointed my way with ready will, 
 Afar on Ettrick's wildest hill ; 
 Watched my first notes with curious eye, 
 And wondered at my minstrelsy ; 
 He little weened a parent's tongue 
 Such strains had o'er my cradle sung. 
 
 could the bard I loved so long, 
 Reprove my fond aspiring song ? 
 Or could his tongue of candour say. 
 That I should throw my harp away ? 
 Just when her notes began with skill 
 To sound beneath the southern hill. 
 And twine around my bosom's core. 
 How could we part for evermore ? 
 'Twas kindness all — I cannot blame — 
 For bootless is the minstrel flame ; 
 
 But sure a bard might well have known 
 Another's feelings by his own I 
 
 Now, my loved harp, a while farewell ! 
 
 1 leave thee on the old grey thorn ; 
 The evening dews will mar thy swell. 
 
 That waked to joy the cheerful morn. 
 
 Farewell, sweet soother of my woe ! 
 
 Chill blows the blast around my head ; 
 And louder yet that blast may blow. 
 
 When down this weary vale I've sped. 
 
 The wreath lies on St. Mary's shore ; 
 
 The mountain sounds are harsh and loud ; 
 The lofty brows of stern Clokmore 
 
 Are visored with the moving cloud.
 
 122 THE QUEEN'S IVAKE. 
 
 But winter's deadly hues shall fade 
 
 On moorland bald and mountain shaw,* 
 
 And soon the rainbow's lovely shade 
 Sleeps on the breast of Bowerhope Law. 
 
 Then will the glowing suns of Spring, 
 The genial shower, and stealing dew, 
 
 Wake every forest bird to sing. 
 And every mountain flower renew. 
 
 But not the rainbow's ample ring, 
 
 That spans the glen and mountain grey, 
 
 Though fanned by western breezes' wing. 
 And sunned by summer's glowing ray, 
 
 To man decayed, can evermore 
 Renew the age of love and glee 1 
 
 Can ever second spring restore 
 
 To my old mountain harp and me I 
 
 But when the hue of softened green 
 Spreads over hill and lonely lea, 
 
 And lowly primrose opes unseen 
 Her virgin bosom to the bee ; 
 
 When hawthorns breathe their odours far, 
 And carols hail the year's return ; 
 
 And daisy spreads her silver star 
 Unheeded by the mountain burn ; 
 
 Then \n\\ I seek the aged thorn. 
 The haunted wild and fair}' ring, 
 
 Where oft thy erring numbers borne 
 Have taught the wandering winds to sing. 
 
 * Shaw is brow of the hill.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD, 
 
 GILMANSCLEUCH. 
 
 {Founded on an ancient Family Tradition.) 
 
 " Whar hae ye laid the gowd, 
 Ye gat on New Year's day ? 
 
 I lookit ilka day to see 
 Ye drest in fine array; 
 
 Peggy, 
 
 " But neither kirtle, cap, nor gown 
 
 To Peggy has come hame : 
 Whar hae ye stowed the gowd, dochter ? 
 
 I fear ye hae been to blame. " 
 
 " My gowd it was my ain, father ; 
 
 A gift is ever free ; 
 And when I need my gowd again, 
 
 It winna be tint to me." 
 
 '* Oh, hae ye sent it to a friend, 
 
 Or lent it to a fae ? 
 Or gi'en it to some fause leman, 
 
 To breed ye mickle wae ? "
 
 124 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 " I hae na sent it to a friend, 
 
 Nor lent it to a fae ; 
 And never man without your ken 
 
 Sal cause me joy or wae. 
 
 " I gae it to a poor auld man, 
 Cam' shivering to the door; 
 
 And when I heard his waesome tale 
 I wish'd my treasure more." 
 
 '* \Vliat was the beggar's tale, Peggy ? 
 
 I fain wad hear it o'er ; 
 I fain wad hear that wylie tale 
 
 That drained thy little store." 
 
 •' His hair was like the thistle-down, 
 His cheeks were furred wi' time, 
 
 His beard was like a bush o' lyng, 
 When silver'd o'er wi' rime. 
 
 " He lifted up his languid eye. 
 Which better days had seen ; 
 
 And aye he heaved the mournfu' sigh. 
 And the saut tears fell atween. 
 
 " He took me by the hands, and said, 
 While pleasantly he smiled, 
 
 *0h, weel to you, my little flower. 
 That blooms in desert wild. 
 
 ** * And may you never feel the waes 
 That lang hae follow'd me, 
 
 Bereav'd o' a' my gudes and gear, 
 My friends and family I
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 125 
 
 ** * In Gilmanscleuch, beneath the heugh, 
 
 My fathers long did dwell, 
 Aye foremost, under bold Buccleuch, 
 
 A foreign foe to quell. 
 
 " *Ilk petty robber through the land 
 
 They taught to stand in awe, 
 And often checked the plundering bands 
 
 Of their kinsman, Tushilaw. 
 
 *' 'But when the bush was in the flush. 
 
 And fairer there was nane, 
 A blast did all its honours crush, 
 
 And Gilmanscleuch is gane ! 
 
 " *I had a brother, lithe and strong. 
 But froward, fierce, and keen ; 
 
 One only sister, sweet and young, 
 Her name was lovely Jean. 
 
 " 'Her hair was like the threads o' gowd, 
 
 Her cheeks of rosy hue, 
 Her e'en were like the hunting hawk's 
 
 That ower the castle flew. 
 
 '* * Of fairest fashion was her form, 
 
 Her skin the driven snaw 
 That's drifted by the wintry storm 
 
 On lofty Gilmans-law ; 
 
 " 'Her brow gae blink of scorning wore, 
 
 Her teeth were ivory. 
 Her lips the little purple flower 
 
 That blooms on Bailey-lee.
 
 126 THE MOUNTAIN BARD, 
 
 " * Oh true, true was the reade that said 
 
 That beauty's but a snare : 
 Young Jock o' Harden her betrayed, 
 Which grieved us wonder sair. 
 
 '* ' My brother Adam stormed in wrath, 
 
 And swore in angry mood 
 Either to right his dear sister. 
 
 Or shed the traitor's blood. 
 
 " ' When June had decked the braes in green, 
 
 And flush'd the forest tree ; 
 Wlien young deers ran on ilka hill, 
 
 And lambs on ilka lee ; 
 
 " *A shepherd frae our mountains hied. 
 
 An ill death mot he die ! 
 *' O master, master, haste ! " he cried, 
 
 haste along wi' me ! 
 
 " Our ewes are bajiished frae the glen, 
 
 Our lambs are driven away. 
 The fairest ewes on Eldin braes 
 
 Are Jock o' Harden's prey. 
 
 " His hounds are ringing through your woods, 
 
 And many deer are slain ; 
 Ane herd is fled to Douglas Bum, 
 
 And ne'er will turn again. 
 
 " Your brother Adam, stalworth still, 
 
 1 warned on yon hill-side ; . 
 And he's awa to Yarrow's banks 
 
 As fast as he can ride."
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 127 
 
 " *Oh ill betide thy haste, young man 1 
 
 Thou micht hae tauld it me ; 
 Thou kenned to hunt on all my lands 
 
 The Harden lads were free. 
 
 " ' Gae saddle me my milk-white steed, 
 
 Gae saddle him suddenly ; 
 To Yarrow banks I'll hie wi' speed, 
 
 This bauld hunter to see 1 
 
 " ' But low, low doon, on Sundhope broom, 
 
 My brother Harden spied, 
 And with a stern and furious look 
 
 He up to him did ride. 
 
 " 'Wast not enough, thou traitor strong, 
 
 My sister to betray ? 
 That thou shouldst scare my feeble ewes, 
 
 And chase their lambs away ? 
 
 " * Thy hounds are ringing through our woods. 
 
 Our choicest deer are slain. 
 And hundreds fled to Stuart's hills 
 
 Will ne'er return again.' 
 
 " ' It sets thee weel, thou haughty youth, 
 
 To bend such taunts on me ; 
 Oft here you hunted Harden's woods. 
 
 And nae man hindered thee.' 
 
 ** ' But wilt thou wed my dear sister? 
 
 Now tell me — ay or nay.' 
 *Nae question will I answer thee, 
 
 That's speer't in sic a way.
 
 128 THE MOUNTAIN BARD, 
 
 " *Tak' this for truth, I ne'er meant ill 
 
 To neither thee nor thine,' 
 Then spurred his steed against the hill, 
 
 Was fleeter than the hynd. 
 
 ** * He's set a buglet to his mouth, 
 
 And blew baith loud and clear 
 A sign to all his merry men. 
 
 Their huntin' to forbear. 
 
 " ' O turn thee, turn thee, traitor strong,' 
 
 Cried Adam bitterly ; 
 ' Nae haughty Scott, of Harden's kin, 
 
 Sal proudly scowl on me, 
 
 '* * Now draw thy sword, or gi'e thy word. 
 
 For ane of them I'll have, 
 Or to thy face I'll thee disgrace 
 
 And ca' thee coward knave.' 
 
 " ' He sprang frae aff his coal-black steed 
 
 And tied him to a wand ; 
 Then threw his bonnet off his head. 
 
 And drew his deadly brand. 
 
 " 'And lang they fought, and sair they fought, 
 
 Wi' swords of metal keen. 
 Till clotted bluid on many a spot 
 
 Was sprinkled on the green. 
 
 " * And lang they fought, and sair they fought, 
 
 For braver there were nane ; 
 Brave Adam's thigh was bath'd in bluid. 
 
 And Harden's collar-bane.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 129 
 
 " * Though Adam was baith stark and gude, 
 
 Nae langer could he stand ; 
 His hands clave to his heavy sword, 
 
 His knees plait like the wand. 
 
 " * He lean'd himsel' against an aik, 
 
 Nae mair could act his part ; 
 A woodman then sprang frae the broom 
 
 And pierced young Harden's heart. 
 
 ** * But word or groan he wheel'd him round 
 
 And clave his head in twain, 
 Then calmly laid him on the grass. 
 
 Never to rise again. 
 
 " ' I rode o'er height, I rode through howe, 
 
 And far outstript the wind, 
 And sent my voice the forest through, 
 
 But naething could I find. 
 
 " ' When I came there, the dismal sight 
 
 Might melt a heart of stane : 
 My brother faint and bleeding lay. 
 
 Young Harden nearly gane. 
 
 ** 'And art thou there, O Gilmanscleuch ? " 
 
 Wi' faltering tongue he cried ; 
 * Hadst thou arrived time enough. 
 
 Thy kinsman had not died. 
 
 " ' Be kind unto thy sister Jean 
 
 Whatever may betide : 
 This night I meant at Gilmanscleuch 
 
 To make of her my bride.
 
 I30 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 " ' But this sad fray, this fatal day, 
 May breed baith dule and pain ; 
 
 My freclcle brethren ne'er will stay 
 Till they're aveng'd or slain,' 
 
 " * The woodman sleeps in Sundhope broom 
 
 Into a lowly grave ; 
 Young Jock they bare to Harden's tomb, 
 
 And laid him wi' the lave. 
 
 ** * It's now full three and thretty years 
 
 Sin' that unhappy day, 
 And late I saw his comely corpse 
 
 Without the least decay. 
 
 " * The garland cross his breast abune 
 
 Still held its varied hue ; 
 The roses bloomed upon his shoon 
 
 As fair as if they grew. 
 
 " ' I raised our vassals ane an' a* 
 
 Wi' mickle care and pain, 
 Expecting Harden's furious sons 
 
 Wi' a' their father's train. 
 
 " ' F)Ut Harden was a weirdly man, 
 
 A cunning tod was he ; 
 He locked his sons in prison strong, 
 
 And wi' him bore the key. 
 
 " * And he's awa to Holyrood, 
 
 Amang our nobles a', 
 With bonnet like a girdle braid, 
 
 And hair like Craighope snaw.
 
 ** ' His coat was of the forest green, 
 
 Wi* buttons like the moon ; 
 His breeks were of the gude buckskin, 
 
 Wi' a the hair aboon ; 
 
 " * His twa-hand sword hung round his neck, 
 
 And rattled at his heel ; 
 The rowels of his silver spurs 
 
 Were of the Ripon steel. 
 
 " * His hose were braced wi' chains o' iron, 
 
 And round wi' tassels hung ; 
 At ilka tramp o' Harden's heel 
 
 The royal arches rung. 
 
 " ' Sae breid and buirdly was his bouk. 
 
 His glance sae gruff to bide, 
 Whene'er his braid bonnet appear'd 
 
 The menials stepp'd aside. 
 
 '* ' The courtly nobles of the north, 
 
 The chief with favour eyed, 
 For Harden's form and Harden's look 
 
 Were hard to be denied. 
 
 " * He made his plaint unto our king. 
 
 And magnified the deed ; 
 And high Buccleuch, with scarce fair play, 
 
 Made Harden better speed. 
 
 *' * A grant of all our lands sae fair 
 
 The king to him has gi'en. 
 And a' the vScotts o' Gilmanscleuch, 
 
 Were outlawed ilka ane.
 
 132 THE MOUNTAIN BARB. 
 
 " *The time I miss'd, and never wist 
 
 Of siccan a weird for me 
 Till I got word frae kind Traquair, 
 , The country soon to flee ; 
 
 *' 'Else me and mine nae friend wad find, 
 
 But fa' an easy prey, 
 While yet my brother weakly was, 
 
 And scarce could bruik the way. 
 
 *' *Now, I hae fought on foreign fields. 
 
 In many a bluidy fray, 
 But langed to see my native hills 
 
 Before my dying day. 
 
 ' ' ' My brother fell in Hungary, 
 
 When fighting by my side ; 
 My luckless sister bore a son, 
 
 But broke her heart and died. 
 
 '* 'That son, now a' my earthly care. 
 
 Of port and stature fine. 
 He has thine eye, and is thy blude, 
 
 As weel as he is mine. 
 
 '* * For me, I'm but a puir auld man. 
 
 Whom nane regards ava' ; 
 The peaceful grave will end my care, 
 
 Where I maun shortly fa.' 
 
 " I gae him a' my gowd, father, 
 
 I got on New Year's day. 
 And welcomed him to Harden Ha', 
 
 With us a while to stay."
 
 *' My sweet Peggy, my kind Peggy, 
 
 Ye aye were dear to me ; 
 For ilka bonnet-piece ye ga'e, 
 
 My love, ye sail hae three. 
 
 ** Auld Gilmanscleuch shall share wi' me 
 
 The table and the ha' ; 
 We'll tell of a' our doughty deeds, 
 
 At hame and far awa'. 
 
 " That youth, my hapless brother's son, 
 Who bears our eye and name, 
 
 Shall farm the lands of Gilmanscleuch, 
 While Harden holds the same. 
 
 "Nae rent, nor kaine, nor service mean 
 
 I'll ask of him at a'. 
 Only to stand at my right hand 
 
 When Branxholm gi'es the ca'. 
 
 " A Scott must aye support a Scott, 
 
 When as he sinketh low ; 
 But he that proudly lifts his head. 
 
 Must learn his place to know." 
 
 LORD DERWENT. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 " O WHY look ye so pale, my lord? 
 
 And why look ye so wan. 
 And why stand mounted at your gate 
 
 So early in the dawn ? "
 
 134 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 •' O well may I look pale, ladye, 
 
 For how can I look gay, 
 When I have fought the live-long night, 
 
 And fled at break of day ? " 
 
 "And is the Border troop arrived? 
 
 And have they won the day ? 
 It must have been a bloody field, 
 
 Ere Derwent fled away. 
 
 '* But where got ye that stately steed, 
 
 So stable and so good ? 
 And where got ye that gilded sword, 
 
 So dyed with purple blood ? " 
 
 " I got that sword in bloody fray, 
 Last night on Eden downe ; 
 
 I got the horse and harness too. 
 Where mortal ne'er got one. '' 
 
 ' ' Alight, alight, my noble lord ; 
 
 God mot you save and see ; 
 For never till this hour was I 
 
 Afraid to look on thee." 
 
 He turned him to the glowing east 
 That stained both tower and tree : 
 
 " Prepare, prepare, my lady fair, 
 Prepare to go with me. 
 
 ' ' Before this dawning day shall close 
 
 A deed shall here be done. 
 That men unborn shall shrink to hear, 
 
 And dames the tale shall shun.
 
 " The morning blushes to the chin, 
 
 The foul intent to see ; 
 Prepare, prepare, my lady fair, 
 
 Prepare to follow me." 
 
 " Alight, alight, my noble lord, 
 
 I'll live or die with thee ; 
 I see a wound deep in your side. 
 
 And hence you cannot flee. " 
 
 She looked out o'er her left shoulder 
 
 To list a heavy groan ; 
 But when she turned her round again, 
 
 Her noble loid was gone. 
 
 She looked to east, and west, and south, 
 
 And all around the tower. 
 Through house and hall ; but man nor horse 
 
 She never could see more. 
 
 She looked her round and round about, 
 • All in a doleful state ; 
 And there she saw her little foot-page 
 Alighting at the gate. 
 
 " Oh ! open, open, noble dame. 
 
 And let your servant in ; 
 Our furious foes are hard at hand. 
 
 The castle fair to win." 
 
 *' But tell me, billy, where's my lord ? 
 
 Or whether is he bound ? 
 He's gone just now, and in his side 
 
 A deep and deadly wound,"
 
 136 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 " Why do you rave, my noble dame, 
 
 And look so wild on me ? 
 Your lord lies on the bloody field, 
 
 And him you'll never see. 
 
 *• With Scottish Jardine, hand to hand, 
 
 He fought most valiantlye, 
 Put him to flight, and broke his men, 
 
 With shouts of victory. 
 
 " But Maxwell, rallying, wheeled about, 
 And charged as fierce as hell ; 
 
 Yet ne'er could pierce the English troops 
 Till my brave master fell. 
 
 '* Then all was gone ; the ruffian Scott 
 
 Bore down our flying band ; 
 And now they waste with fire and sword 
 
 The Links of Cumberland. 
 
 " Lord Maxwell's gone to Carlisle town 
 
 With Jardine hastilye, 
 And young Kilpatrick and Glencairn 
 
 Are come in search of thee." 
 
 " How dare you lie, my little page, 
 
 Whom I pay meat and fee ? 
 The cock has never crowed but once 
 
 Since Derwent was with me. 
 
 ** The bird that sits on yonder bush, 
 
 And sings so loud and clear. 
 Has only three times changed his note 
 
 Since my good lord was here."
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. I37 
 
 "Whoe'er it was, whate'er it was, 
 
 I'm sure it was not he ; 
 I saw him dead on Eden plain, 
 
 I saw him with my e'e. 
 
 " I saw him stand against an host. 
 While heaps before him fell : 
 
 I saw them pierce his manly side, 
 And bring the last farewell. 
 
 " ' O run,' he cried, ' to my ladye. 
 
 And bear the fray before ; 
 Tell her I died for England's right,'— 
 
 Then words spake never more. 
 
 " Come let us fly to Westmoreland, 
 
 For here you cannot stay ; 
 Short be thy shrift, our steeds are swift, 
 
 And well I know the way." 
 
 " I will not fly, I cannot fly : 
 
 My heart is wonder sore ; 
 My brain it turns, my blood it bums. 
 
 And I dare not look before." 
 
 She turned her eye to Borrowdale ; 
 
 Her heart grew chill with dread ; — 
 For there she saw the Scottish bands, 
 
 Kilpatrick at their head. 
 
 Red blazed the beacon of Pownell, 
 On Skiddaw there were three ; 
 
 The warder's horn o'er muir and fell 
 Was heard continually.
 
 138 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 Dark grew the sky, the wind was still, 
 
 The sun in blood arose ; 
 But oh ! how many a gallant man 
 
 Ne'er saw that evening close I 
 
 SIR DAVID GRAEME. 
 
 The dow* flew east, the dow flew west, 
 The dow flew far ayont the fell ; 
 
 An' sair at e'en she seemed distrest, 
 But what perplexed her could not tell. 
 
 But aye she coo'd wi' mournfu' croon, 
 An' ruffled a' her feathers fair ; 
 
 And lookit sad as she war bcun' 
 To leave the land for evermair. 
 
 The lady wept, and some did blame, — 
 She didna blame the bonnie dow, 
 
 But sair she blamed Sir David Graeme, 
 Because the knight had broke his vow. 
 
 For he had sworn by the stars sae bright, 
 And by their bed on the dewy green, 
 
 To meet her there on St. Lambert's night, 
 Whatever dangers lay between ; 
 
 To risk his fortune an' his life 
 
 In bearing her frae her father's towers ; 
 To ei'e her a' the lands of Dryfe, 
 
 An' the Enzie-holm wi' its bonnie bowers. 
 
 * Dove.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 139 
 
 The day arrived, the evening came, 
 The lady look'd wi* wistfu' e'e ; 
 
 But, O, alas ! her noble Graeme 
 Frae e'en to morn she didna see. 
 
 The sun had drunk frae Keilder fell 
 His beverage o' the mornin' dew ; 
 
 The deer had crouched her in the dell, 
 The heather ope'd its bells o' blue. 
 
 " Where hae ye been, my bonnie dow, 
 That I hae fed wi' the bread an' wine ? 
 
 As roving a' the country through, 
 
 O, saw ye this fause knight o' mine ? " 
 
 The dow sat doon on the window tree. 
 An' she carried a lock o' gowden hair ; 
 
 And she perched upon the lady's knee, 
 An ' carefully she placed it there. 
 
 " What can this be ? This lock's the same 
 That aince was mine. Whate'er betide. 
 
 This lock I gae to Sir David Graeme, 
 The flower o' a' the Border side." 
 
 The dow flew east, the dow flew west, 
 
 The dow flew far ayont the fell, 
 An' back she came, wi' panting breast. 
 
 Ere the ringing o' the castle bell. 
 
 She lighted on the holly-tap, 
 
 An' she cried *' cur-doo," and flutter'd her wing; 
 Then flew into that lady's lap. 
 
 An' there she placed a diamond ring.
 
 I40 277^ MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 ** What can this mean ? This ring's the same 
 That aince was mine. Whate'er betide,. 
 
 This ring I gae to Sir David Graeme, 
 The flower o' a' the Border side. 
 
 " He sends me back the love-tokens true ! 
 Was ever poor maiden perplexed like me ? 
 
 'Twould seem he's reclaimed his faith an' his vow- 
 But all is fauldit in mystery." 
 
 An' she has sat her down an' grat, 
 
 The world to her a desert seemed ; 
 An' she wyted this an' she wyted that, 
 
 But o' the real cause never dreamed. 
 
 \Vhen lo ! Sir David's trusty hound, 
 Wi' humpling back, an' a waefu' e'e. 
 
 Came cringing in an' lookit around, 
 But his look was hopeless as could be. 
 
 He laid his head on that lady's knee. 
 
 An' he lookit as somebody he wad name, 
 
 An' there was a language in his howe e'e, 
 
 That was stronger than a tongue could frame. 
 
 She fed him wi' the milk an' the bread. 
 
 An' ilka thing that he wad hae ; 
 He lickit her hahd, he coured his head. 
 
 Then slowly, slowly he slunkered away. 
 
 But she has ey'd her fause knight's hound, 
 
 An' a' to see where he wad gae : 
 He whined, an' he howl'd, an' lookit around, 
 
 Then slowly, slowly he trudged away.
 
 She followed the hound owre muirs an' rocks, 
 Through mony a dell an' dowie glen, 
 
 Till frae her brow and bonnie gowd locks 
 The dew dreepit down like the draps o' rain. 
 
 An' aye she said, ** My love may be hid, 
 An' darena come to the castle to me ; 
 
 But him I will find an' dearly I'll chide, 
 For lack o' stout heart an' courtesye." 
 
 An' aye she ey'd the grey sleuth-hound 
 As he windit owre Deadwater fell. 
 
 Till he came to the den wi' the moss inbound, 
 An' O, but it kythed a lonesome dell ! 
 
 An' he waggit his tail, an' he fawned about. 
 Then he cowred him down sae wearily ; 
 
 "Ah I yon's my love, I hae found him out, 
 He's lying waiting in the dell for me. 
 
 '" What ails my love, that he looks nae roun', 
 
 A lady's stately step to view ? 
 Ah me ! I have neither stockings nor shoon, 
 
 An' my feet are wet wi' the moorland dew. 
 
 " Sae sound as he sleeps in his hunting gear, 
 To waken him great pity would be ; 
 
 Deaf is the man that caresna to hear. 
 An' blind is he wha wantsna to see. " 
 
 She gae ae look, she needit but ane. 
 For it left nae sweet uncertainty ; 
 
 She saw a wound through his shoulder bane, 
 An' in his brave breast two or three.
 
 142 THE MOUNTAIN BARD, 
 
 There wasna sic een on the Border green 
 As the piercing een o' Sir David Graeme ; 
 
 She gliskit \vi' her e'e where these een should be, 
 But the raven had been there afore she came. 
 
 There's a cloud fa's darker than the night, 
 
 An' darkly on that lady it came ; 
 There's a sleep as deep as the sleep outright— 
 
 'Tis without a feeling or a name. 
 
 O shepherd, lift that comely corpse. 
 Well may you see no wound is there ; 
 
 There's a faint rose 'mid the bright dew drops, 
 And they have not wet her glossy hair. 
 
 There's a lady has lived in Hoswood tower, 
 'Tis seven years past on St. Lambert's day, 
 
 An' aye when comes the vesper hour, 
 These words an' no more can she say : — 
 
 " They slew my love on the wild Swaird green. 
 
 As he was on his way to me ; 
 An' the ravens picked his bonny blue een, 
 
 An' the tongue that was formed for courtesy. 
 
 " My brothers they slew my comely knight, 
 An' his grave is red blood to the brim : 
 
 I thought to have slept out the lang, lang. night. 
 But they've waken'd me, an' waken'd not hhn 1' 
 
 •>^ ^lr -♦- ill* -^
 
 THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS TO HIS AULD 
 DOG HECTOR. 
 
 Come, my auld, towzy, trusty friend, 
 What gars ye look sae dung wi' wae ? 
 
 D'ye think my favour's at an end, 
 Because thy head is turning grey ? 
 
 Although thy strength begins to fail, 
 Its best was spent in serving me ; 
 
 An' can I grudge thy wee bit meal. 
 Some comfort in thy age to gie ? 
 
 For mony a day, frae sun to sun. 
 
 We've toiled fu' hard wi' ane anither ; 
 
 An' mony a thousand mile thou'st run. 
 To keep my thraward flocks thegithcr. 
 
 To nae thrawn boy nor naughty wife 
 Shall thy auld banes become a drudge ; 
 
 At cats an' callans a' thy life 
 
 Thou ever bor'st a mortal grudge ; 
 
 An' whiles thy surly look declared, 
 Thou lo'ed the women warst of a' ; 
 
 Because my love wi' thee they shared, 
 A matter out o' right or law. 
 
 "^Tien sittin' wi' my bonnie Meg, 
 Mair happy than a prince could be, 
 
 Thou placed thee by her other leg, 
 An' watched her wi' a jealous e'e.
 
 144 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 An' then, at ony start or flare, 
 
 Thou wad'st hae worried furiouslye ; 
 
 While I was forced to curse an' swear, 
 Afore thou wad'st forbidden be. 
 
 Yet wad she clasp thy towzy paw ; 
 
 Thy gruesome grips were never skaithly ; 
 An' thou than her hast been mair true, 
 
 An' truer than the friend that gae thee. 
 
 Ah me ! o' fashion, self, an' pride. 
 Mankind hae read me sic a lecture ; 
 
 But yet it's a' in part repaid 
 
 By thee, my faithful, grateful Hector ! 
 
 O'er past imprudence, oft alane 
 I've shed the saut an' silent tear ; 
 
 Then sharin' a' my grief an' pain. 
 
 My poor auld friend came snoovin' near. 
 
 For a* the days we've sojourned here. 
 An' they've been neither fine nor few, 
 
 That thought possest thee year to year. 
 That a' my griefs arase frae you. 
 
 Wi' waesome face an' hingin' head. 
 
 Thou wad'st hae pressed thee to my knee ; 
 
 While I thy looks as weel could read. 
 As thou had'st said in words to me : 
 
 " O my dear master, dinna greet ; 
 
 What hae I ever done to vex thee ? 
 See here I'm cowrin' at your feet ; 
 
 Just take my life, if I perplex thee.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 145 
 
 " For a' my toil, my wee drap meat 
 
 Is a' the wage I ask of thee ; 
 For whilk I'm oft obliged to wait 
 
 Wi' hungry wame an' patient e'e. 
 
 "Whatever wayward course ye steer ; 
 
 Whatever sad mischance o'ertake ye ; 
 Man, here is ane will hald ye dear ! 
 
 Man, here is ane will ne'er forsake ye ! " 
 
 Yes, my puir beast, though friends me scorn, 
 Whom mair than life I valued dear. 
 
 An' thraw me out to fight forlorn, 
 Wi' ills my heart do hardly bear ; 
 
 While I hae thee to bear a part — 
 
 My health, my plaid, an' hazel rung — 
 
 I'll scorn the unfeeling, haughty heart, 
 The saucy look, and slanderous tongue. 
 
 Some friends, by pop'lar envy swayed, 
 Are ten times waur than ony fae ; 
 
 My heart was theirs, an' to them laid 
 As open as the light o' day. 
 
 I feared my ain, but had nae dread, 
 That I for loss o' theirs should mourn ; 
 
 Or that when luck an' favour fled. 
 Their friendship wad injurious turn. 
 
 But He who feeds the ravens young 
 Lets naething pass He disna see ; 
 
 He'll sometime judge o' right an' wrang, 
 An' aye provide for you an' me.
 
 146 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 An', hear me, Hector, thee I'll trust, 
 As far as thou hast wit an' skill ; 
 
 Sae will I ae sweet lovely breast, 
 To me a balm for every ill. 
 
 To these my trust shall ever turn. 
 While I have reason truth to scan ; 
 
 But ne'er beyond my mother's son, 
 To aught that bears the shape o' man. 
 
 I ne'er could thole thy cravin' face. 
 Nor when ye pattit on my knee ; 
 
 Though in a far an' unco place 
 
 I've whiles been forced to beg for thee. 
 
 Even now I'm in my master's power. 
 Where my regard may scarce be shown ; 
 
 But ere I'm forced to gie thee o'er, 
 When thou art auld and senseless grown, 
 
 I'll get a cottage o' my ain, 
 Some wee bit cannie, lonely biel, 
 
 WTiere thy auld heart shall rest fu' fain, 
 An' share wi' me my humble meal. 
 
 Thy post shall be to guard the door 
 Wi' gousty bark, whale'er betides ; 
 
 Of cats an' hens to clear the floor, 
 All' bite the flaes that vex thy sides. 
 
 When my last bannock's on the hearth 
 Of that thou sanna want thy share ; 
 
 While I hae house or hauld on earth, 
 My Hector shall hae shelter there.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 147 
 
 An' should grim death thy noddle save 
 Till he has made an end o* me, 
 
 Ye'll lie a wee while on the grave 
 O' ane wha aye was kind to thee. 
 
 There's nane alive will miss thee mair ; 
 
 An' though in words thou canst not wail, 
 On a' the claes thy master ware, 
 
 I ken thou'lt smell and wag thy tail. 
 
 If e'er I'm forced wi' thee to part, 
 Wliich will be sair against my will, 
 
 I'll sometimes mind thy honest heart. 
 As lang as I can climb a hill. 
 
 Come, my auld towzy, trusty friend, 
 Let's speel to Queensb'ry's lofty height ; 
 
 All warldly cares we'll leave behind. 
 An' onward look to days more bright. 
 
 "While gazing o'er the Lawland dales. 
 Despondence on the breeze shall flee, 
 
 An' muses leave their native vales 
 To scale the clouds wi' you an* me. 
 
 FAREWELL TO ETTRICK. 
 
 Fareweel, green Ettrick, fare-thee-weel ! 
 
 I own I'm unco laith to leave thee ; 
 Nane kens the half o' what I feel. 
 
 Nor half the cause I hae to grieve me.
 
 148 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 There first I saw the rising mom ; 
 
 There first my infant mind unfurled, 
 To ween that spot where I was born; 
 
 The very centre of the world, 
 
 I thought the hills were sharp as knives^ 
 An' the braid lift lay whomel'd on them, 
 
 An' glowred wi' wonder at the wives 
 That spak o' ither hills ayon' them. 
 
 As ilka year gae something new, 
 Addition to my mind or stature. 
 
 So fast my love for Ettrick grew, 
 Implanted in my very nature. 
 
 I've sung, in mony a rustic lay, 
 
 Her heroes, hills, and verdant groves ; 
 
 Her wilds an' valleys fresh and gay, 
 Her shepherds' and her maidens' loves. 
 
 1 had a thought, — a poor vain thought ! 
 
 That some time I might do her honour ; 
 But a' my hopes are come to nought, 
 
 I'm forced to turn my back upon her, 
 
 She's thrown me out o' house an' hauld ; 
 
 My heart got never sic a thrust ; 
 An' my poor parents, frail and auld. 
 
 Are forced to leave their kindred dust. 
 
 But fare-ye-weel, my native stream, 
 Frae a' regret be ye preserved ! 
 
 Ye'U maybe cherish some at hame, 
 Wha dinna jist sae weel deserve't.
 
 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 149 
 
 There is nae man on a' your banks 
 Will ever say that I did wrang him ; 
 
 The lassies hae my dearest thanks 
 For a' the joys I had amang them. 
 
 Though twined by rough an' ragin' seas, 
 And mountains capt wi' wreaths o' snaw, 
 
 To think o' them I'll never cease, 
 As lang as I can think ava. 
 
 I'll make the Harris rocks to ring 
 Wi' ditties wild when nane shall hear ; 
 
 The Lewis shores shall learn to sing 
 The names o' them I lo'ed sae dear ; 
 
 But there is ane aboon the lave 
 I'll carve on ilka lonely green ; 
 
 The sea-bird tossin' on the wave 
 Shall learn the name o' bonny Jean. 
 
 Ye gods, take care o' my dear lass ! 
 
 That as I leave her I may find her ; 
 Till that blest time shall come to pass, 
 
 When we shall meet nae mare to sinder. 
 
 Fareweel, my Ettrick ! fare-thee-weel ! 
 
 I own I'm unco laith to leave thee ; 
 Nane kens the half o' what I feel, 
 
 Nor half o' that I hae to grieve me. 
 
 My parents crazy grown wi' eild, 
 How I rejoice to stand their stay ! 
 
 I thought to be their help an' shield, 
 And comfort till their hindmost day :
 
 1 50 THE MOUNTAIN BARD. 
 
 Wi' gentle hand to close their een, 
 An' weet the prd wi' mony a tear, 
 
 That held the dust o' ilka frien' ; 
 O' friends sae tender and sincere : 
 
 It winna do : — I maun away 
 
 To yon rough isle, sae bleak an' dun ; 
 Lang will they mourn, baith night an' day 
 
 The absence o' their darling son. 
 
 An' my dear Will ! how will I fen', 
 Without thy kind an' ardent care ? 
 
 Without thy verse-inspirin' pen. 
 
 My muse will sleep an' sing naemair. 
 
 Fareweel to a' my kith an' kin ! 
 
 To ilka friend I held sae dear ! 
 How happy hae we often been, 
 
 Wi' music, mirth, an' hamely cheer ! 
 
 Nae mair your gilded banks at noon 
 Swells to my sang in echoes glad ; 
 
 Nae mair I'll screed the rantin' tune, 
 That haflins put the younkers mad. 
 
 Nae mair amang the haggs an' rocks, 
 WTiile hounds wi' music fill the air, 
 
 We'll hunt the sly an' sulky fox, 
 Or trace the wary circlin' hare. 
 
 My happy days wi' you are past. 
 
 An', waes my heart, will ne'er return I 
 
 The brightest day may overcast. 
 
 And man was made at times to mourn.
 
 But if I ken my dyin' day, 
 
 Though a foreworn an' waefu' man, 
 I'll tak my staff, an' post away, 
 
 To yield my life where it began. 
 
 If I should sleep nae mair to wake, 
 In yon far isle beyond the tide, 
 
 Set up a headstane for my sake. 
 An' prent upon its ample side : 
 
 " In memory of a shepherd boy, 
 Who left us for a distant shore ; 
 
 Love was his life, and song his joy ; 
 But now he's dead — we add no more ! " 
 
 Fareweel, green Ettrick, fare-lhee-weei ! 
 
 I own I'm something wae to leave thee 
 Nane kens the half o' what I feel, 
 
 Nor half the cause I hae to grieve me !
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Of all the lasses in fair Scotland 
 
 That lightly bound o'er muir and lea, 
 
 There's nane like the maids of Yarrowdale, 
 The maids o' Yarrow are fair to see. 
 
 But ne'er by Yarrow's sunny braes, 
 Nor Ettrick's green and wizard shaw, 
 
 Did ever maid so lovely won 
 As Mary Lee of Carelha'. 
 
 O ! round her fair and sightly form 
 
 The light hill-breeze was blithe to blow. 
 
 For the virgin hue her bosom wore 
 Was whiter than the drifted snow. 
 
 The dogs that wont to growl and bark 
 ^\^lene'er a stranger they could see, 
 
 Would cower and creep along the sward. 
 And lick the hand of Mary Lee.
 
 She ne'er had felt the stounds of love 
 Nor the waefu' qualms that breed o' sin ; 
 
 But ah ! she showed an absent look, 
 And a deep and thoughtfu' heart within. 
 
 She loved to look on a young man's face, 
 The downy chin, and the burning eye. 
 
 Without desire, without a blush ; 
 
 She loved them, but she knew not why. 
 
 She learned to read, when she was young, 
 
 The books of deep divinity ; 
 And she thought by night, and she read by day, 
 
 Of the life that is, and the life to be. 
 
 And the more she thought, and the more she read 
 Of the ways of Heaven and Nature's plan, 
 
 She feared the half that the bedesmen said 
 Was neither true nor plain to man. 
 
 Yet she was meek, and bowed to Heaven 
 
 Each morn beneath the shady yew, 
 Before the laverock left the cloud. 
 
 Or the sun began his draught of dew. 
 
 And when the gloaming's gouden veil 
 Was o'er Blackandro's summit flung, 
 
 Among the bowers of green Bowhill 
 Her hymn she to the Virgin sung. 
 
 And aye she thought, and aye she read, 
 Till mystic wildness marked her air ; 
 
 For the doubts that on her bosom preyed 
 Were more than maiden's mind could bear.
 
 154 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 And she grew weary of this world, 
 
 And yearned and pined the next to see ; 
 
 Till Heaven in pity earnest sent, 
 And from that thraldom set her free. 
 
 One eve when she had prayed and wept 
 Till daylight faded on the wold — 
 
 The third night of the waning moon, 
 Well known to hind and matron old ; 
 
 For then the fairies boun' to ride, 
 
 And the elves of Ettrick's greenwood shaw, 
 And aye their favourite rendezvous 
 
 Was green Bowhill and Carelha' — 
 
 There came a wight to Mar}''s knee. 
 
 With face, like angel's, mild and sweet ; 
 
 His robe was like the lily's bloom. 
 And graceful flowed upon his feet. 
 
 He did not clasp her in his arms. 
 Nor showed he cumbrous courtesy, 
 
 But took her gently by the hand. 
 Saying, " Maiden, rise and go witli me. 
 
 ** Cast off, cast off those earthly weeds, 
 
 They ill befit thy destiny ; 
 I come from a far distant land, 
 
 To take thee where thou long'st to be. " 
 
 She only felt a shivering throb, 
 A pang defined that may not be ; 
 
 And up she rose, a naked form, 
 
 More lightsome, pure, and fair than he.
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 155 
 
 He held a robe in his right hand, 
 Pure as the white rose in the bloom ; 
 
 That robe was not of earthly make, 
 
 Nor sewed by hand, now wove in loom. 
 
 When she had donned that light seymar, 
 Upward her being seemed to bound ; 
 
 Like one that wades in waters deep. 
 And scarce can keep him to the ground. 
 
 The beauteous stranger turned his face 
 Unto the eastern streamers sheen ; 
 
 He seemed to eye the ruby star 
 That rose above the Eildon green. 
 
 He spread his right hand to the heaven, 
 And he bade the maid not look behind. 
 
 But keep her face to the dark blue even : 
 And away they bore upon the wand. 
 
 She did not linger, she did not look. 
 For in a moment they were gone ; 
 
 But she thought she saw her very form 
 Stretched on the greenwood's lap alone. 
 
 As ever you saw the meteor speed, 
 Or the arrow cleave the yielding wind. 
 
 Away they sprung, and the breezes sung, 
 And they left the gloaming star behind ; 
 
 And eastward, eastward still they bore, 
 Along the night's grey canopy ; 
 
 And the din of the world died away, 
 And the landscape faded on the e'e.
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 They had marked the dark blue waters lie, 
 Like curved lines on many a vale ; 
 
 And they hung on the shelve of a saffron cloud, 
 That scarcely moved in the slumbering gale. 
 
 They turned their eyes to the heaven above, 
 And the stars blazed bright as they drew nigh" 
 
 And they looked on the darksome world below ; 
 But all was grey obscurity. 
 
 They could not trace the hill nor dale, 
 
 Nor could they ken where the greenwood lay ; 
 
 But they saw a thousand shadowy stars, 
 In many a winding watery way ; 
 
 And they better knew where the rivers ran 
 Than if it had been the open day. 
 
 They looked on the western shores afar, 
 But the light of day they could not see j 
 
 And the halo of the evening star 
 Sank like a crescent on the sea. 
 
 Then onward, onward fast they bore 
 
 On the yielding winds so light and boon, 
 
 To meet the climes that bred the day, 
 And gave the glow to the gilded moon. 
 
 Long had she chambered in the deep 
 
 To spite the maidens of the main ; 
 But now frae the merman's couch she sprang, 
 
 And blushed upon her still domain. 
 
 ^Vhen first from out the sea she peeped. 
 She kythed like maiden's gouden kemb, 
 
 And the sleepy waves washed o'er her brow, 
 And bcU'd her cheek with the briny faem.
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 157 
 
 But the yellow leme spread up the lift, 
 And the stars grew dim before her e'e, 
 
 And up arose the Queen of Night 
 In all her solemn majesty. 
 
 Oh ! Mary's heart was blithe to lie 
 Above the ocean wastes reclined, 
 
 Beside her lovely guide so high. 
 On the downy bosom of the wind. 
 
 She saw the shades and gleams so bright 
 
 Play o'er the deep incessantly, 
 Like streamers of the norland way, 
 
 The lights that danced on the quaking sea. 
 
 She saw the wraith of the waning moon, 
 Trembling and pale it seemed to lie ; 
 
 It was not round like golden shield. 
 Nor like her moulded orb on high. 
 
 Her image cradled on the wave 
 Scarce bore similitude the while — 
 
 It was a line of silver light 
 
 Stretched on the deep for many a mile. 
 
 The lovely youth beheld with joy 
 
 That Mary loved such scenes to view ; 
 
 And away, and away they journeyed on, 
 Faster than wild bird ever flew. 
 
 Before the tide, before the wind, 
 
 The ship speeds swiftly o'er the faem, 
 
 And the sailor sees the shores fly back. 
 And weens his station still the same :
 
 Beyond that speed ten thousand times, 
 
 By the marled streak and the cloudlet brown, 
 
 Pass'd our aerial travellers on 
 
 In the wan light of the waning moon. 
 
 They kept aloof as they passed her by, 
 
 For their views of the world were not yet done 
 
 But they saw her mighty mountain form 
 Like Cheviot in the setting sun. 
 
 And the stars and the moon fled west away, 
 So swift o'er the vaulted sky they shone ; 
 
 They seemed like fiery rainbows reared. 
 In a moment seen, in a moment gone. 
 
 Yet Mary Lee as easy felt 
 
 As if on silken couch she lay ; 
 And soon on a rosy film they hung, 
 
 Above the beams of the breaking day. 
 
 And they saw the chambers of the sun. 
 And the angels of the dawning ray 
 
 Draw the red curtains from the dome, 
 The glorious dome of the God of Day. 
 
 And the youth a slight obeisance made, 
 And seemed to bend upon his knee : 
 
 The holy vow he whispering said 
 Sunk deep in the heart of Mary Lee. 
 
 I may not say the prayer he prayed, 
 
 Nor of its wondrous tendency ; 
 But it proved that the half the bedesmen said 
 
 Was neither true nor ever could be .
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 159 
 
 Sweet breaks the day o'er Harlaw cairn, 
 On many an ancient peel and barrow, 
 
 On bracken hill, and lonely tarn. 
 
 Along the greenwood glen of Yarrow. 
 
 Oft there had Mary viewed with joy 
 The rosy streaks of light unfurled : 
 
 Oh ! think how glowed the virgin's breast 
 Hung o'er the profile of the world ; 
 
 On battlement of storied cloud 
 That floated o'er the dawn serene, 
 
 To pace along with angel tread, 
 And on the rainbow's arch to lean. 
 
 Her cheek lay on its rosy rim, 
 
 Her bosom pressed the yielding blue, 
 
 And her fair robes of heavenly make 
 Were sweetly tinged with every hue. 
 
 And there they lay, and there beheld 
 
 The glories of the opening morn 
 Spread o'er the eastern world afar, 
 
 Where winter wreath was never borne. 
 
 And they saw the blossom-loaded trees, 
 
 And gardens of perennial blow 
 Spread their fair bosoms to the day, 
 
 In dappled pride, and endless glow. 
 
 These canie and passed, for the earth rolled on, 
 And still on the brows of the air they hung ; 
 
 The scenes of glory they now beheld 
 May scarce by mortal bard be sung.
 
 i6o J/JE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 It was not the hues of the marbled sky, 
 Nor the gorgeous kingdoms of the East, 
 
 Nor the thousand blooming isles that lie 
 Like specks on the mighty ocean's breast ; 
 
 It was the dwelling of that God 
 Who oped the welling springs of time ; 
 
 Seraph and cherubim's abode ; 
 
 The Eternal's throne of light sublime. 
 
 The virgin saw her radiant guide 
 
 On nature look with kindred eye ; 
 But whenever he turned him to the sun, 
 
 He bowed with deep solemnity. 
 
 And ah ! she deemed him heathen born, 
 
 Far from her own nativity, 
 In lands beneath the southern star, 
 
 Beyond the sun, beyond the sea. 
 
 And aye she watched with wistful eye, 
 And durst not question put the while ; 
 
 He marked her mute anxiety, 
 And o'er his features beamed the smile. 
 
 He took her slender hand in his, 
 And swift as fleets the stayless mind. 
 
 They scaled the glowing fields of day. 
 And left the elements behind. 
 
 The first green world that they passed by 
 
 Had 'habitants of mortal mould ; 
 For they saw the rich men and the poor, 
 
 And they saw the young and they saw the old.
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. i6i 
 
 But the next green world the twain pass'd by 
 They seemed of some superior frame ; 
 
 For all were in the bloom of youth, 
 And all their radiant robes the same. 
 
 And Mary saw the grove and trees, 
 And she saw the blossoms thereupon ; 
 
 But she saw no grave in all the land, 
 Nor church, nor yet a churchyard stone. 
 
 That pleasant land is lost in light, 
 
 To every searching mortal eye ; 
 So nigh the sun its orbit sails, 
 
 That on his breast it seems to lie. 
 
 And though its light be dazzling bright. 
 The warmth was gentle, mild, and bland, 
 
 Such as on summer days may be 
 Far up the hills of Scottish land. 
 
 And Mary Lee longed much to stay 
 In that blest land of love and truth, 
 
 So nigh the fount of life and day \ 
 That land of beauty and of youth. 
 
 " O maiden of the wistful mind. 
 
 Here it behoves not to remain ; 
 But Mary, yet the time will come 
 
 Wlien thou shalt see this land again. 
 
 " Thou art a visitant beloved 
 
 Of God and every holy one ; 
 And thou shalt travel on with me 
 
 Around the spheres, around the sun, 
 To see what maid hath never seen, 
 
 And do what maid hath never done." 
 b-ii-b
 
 [62 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 Thus spoke her fair and comely guide, 
 
 And took as erst her lily hand ; 
 And soon in holy ecstasy 
 
 On mountains of the sun they stand. 
 
 Here I must leave the beauteous twain, 
 Casting their raptured eyes abroad 
 
 Around the valleys of the sun, 
 And all the universe of God : 
 
 And I will bear my hill-harp hence, 
 And hang it on its ancient tree ; 
 
 For its wild warblings ill become, 
 The scenes that oped to Mary Lee. 
 
 PART SECOND. 
 The Messengers* Report. 
 
 Ten thousand thousand messengers arrived 
 From distant worlds, the missioners of heaven, 
 Sent forth to countervail malignant sprites 
 That roam existence. These gave their report. 
 Not at the throne, but at the utmost seats 
 Of these long files of throned seraphim. 
 By whom the word was passed. Then fast away 
 Flew the commissioned spirits, to renew 
 Their watch and guardship in far distant lands. 
 They saw them, in directions opposite. 
 To eveiy point of heaven glide away 
 Like flying stars ; or, far adown the steep. 
 Gleam like small lines of hght.' 
 
 Now was the word 
 Given out, from whence they knew not, that all 
 tongues,
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 163 
 
 Kindreds, and tribes, should join, with one accord, 
 
 In hymn of adoration and acclaim, 
 
 To Him that sat upon the throne of heaven. 
 
 Who framed, saved, and redeemed them to Himself! 
 
 Then all the countless hosts obeisance made. 
 
 And with their faces turned unto the throne 
 
 Stood up erect, while all their coronals 
 
 From off their heads were reverently upborne. 
 
 Our earth-born visitant quaked every limb. 
 
 The angels touched their harps with gentle hand 
 
 As prelude to begin — then, all at once. 
 
 With full o'erwhelming swell the strain arose ; 
 
 And pealing high rose o'er the throned lists 
 
 And tuneful files, as if the sun itself 
 
 Welled forth the high and holy symphony ! 
 
 All heaven beside was mute : the streams stood still 
 
 And did not murmur — the light wandering winds 
 
 Withheld their motion in the midst of heaven, 
 
 Nor stirred the leaf, but hung in breathless trance 
 
 Where first the sounds assailed them ! — Even the 
 
 windows 
 Of God's pavilion seemed to open wide 
 i\.nd drink the harmony. 
 
 Few were the strains 
 The virgin pilgrim heard, for they o'erpowered 
 Her every sense ; and down she sunk entranced 
 By too supreme delight, and all to her 
 Was lost ; she saw nor heard not — it was gone ! 
 
 Long did she lie beside a cooling spring 
 In her associate's arms, before she showed 
 Motion of life ; and when she first awoke 
 It was in dreaming melody — low strains 
 Half sung, half uttered, hung upon her breath.
 
 i64 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 ORIGIN OF A COMET. 
 
 At length upon the brink of heaven they stood ; 
 There lingering, forward on the air they leaned 
 With hearts elate, to take one parting look 
 Of nature from its source, and converse hold 
 Of all its wonders. Not upon the sun, 
 Rut on the halo of bright golden air 
 That fringes it, they leaned, and talked so long, 
 That from contiguous worlds they were beheld. 
 And wondered at as beams of living light. 
 
 There all the motions of the ambient spheres 
 Were well observed, explained, and understood, 
 All save the mould of that mysterious chain 
 Which bound them to the sun — that God himself. 
 And He alone, could comprehend or wield. 
 
 While thus they stood or lay (for to the eyes 
 Of all their posture seemed these two between, 
 Bent forward on the wind, in graceful guise, 
 On which they seemed to press, for their fair robes 
 Were streaming far behind them) there passed by 
 A most erratic wandering globe, that seemed 
 To run with troubled aimless fury on. 
 The virgin, wondering, inquired the cause 
 And nature of that roaming meteor world. 
 
 Wlien Cela thus : — " I can remember well 
 When yon was such a world as that you left ; 
 A nursery of intellect, for those 
 Where matter lives not. Like these other worlds,
 
 It wheeled upon its axle, and it swung 
 
 With wild and rapid motion. But the time 
 
 That God ordained for its existence run, 
 
 Its uses in that beautiful creation, 
 
 Where naught subsists in vain, remained no more. 
 
 The saints and angels knew of it, and came 
 
 In radiant files, with awful reverence, 
 
 Unto the verge of heaven where we now stand, 
 
 To see the downfall of a sentenced world. 
 
 Think of the impetus that urges on 
 
 These ponderous spheres, and judge of the event. 
 
 Just in the middle of its swift career. 
 
 The Almighty snapt the golden cord in twain 
 
 That hung it to the heaven — creation sobbed, 
 
 And a spontaneous shriek rang on the hills 
 
 Of these celestial regions. Down amain 
 
 Into the void the outcast world descended. 
 
 Wheeling and thundering on ! Its troubled seas 
 
 Were churned into a spray, and, whizzing, flurred 
 
 Around it like a dew. The mountain tops 
 
 And ponderous rocks were off impetuous flung, 
 
 And clattered down the steeps of night forever. 
 
 " Away into the sunless, starless void 
 Rushed the abandoned world ; and through its caves 
 And rifted channels airs of chaos sung. 
 The realms of night were troubled — for the stillness, 
 Which there from all eternity had reigned 
 Was rudely discomposed ; and moaning sounds, 
 Mixed with a whistling howl, were heard afar 
 By darkling spirits. Still with stayless force, 
 For years and ages, down the wastes of night 
 Rolled the impetuous mass ! — of all its seas 
 And superficies disencumbered. 
 It boomed along, till by the gathering speed,
 
 i66 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 Its furnaced mines and hills of walled sulphur 
 Were blown into a flame — when, meteor-like, 
 Bursting away upon an arching track, 
 Wide as the universe, again it scaled 
 The dusky regions. Long the heavenly hosts 
 Had deemed the globe extinct, nor thought of it. 
 Save as an instance of Almighty power : 
 Judge of their wonder and astonishment, 
 When far as heavenly eyes can see, they saw, 
 In yon blue void, that hideous world appear. 
 Showering thin flame, and shining vapour forth, 
 O'er half the breadth of heaven ! — The angels 
 
 paused ! 
 And all the nations trembled at the view. 
 
 ** But great is He who rules them ! — He can turn 
 And lead it all unhurtful through the spheres, 
 Signal of pestilence or wasting sword 
 That ravage and deface humanity. 
 
 •' The time will come, when, in like wise, the earth. 
 Shall be cut ofT from God's fair universe ; 
 Its end fulfilled. But when that time shall be, 
 From man, from saint, and angel is concealed." 
 
 Here ceased the converse. — To a tale like this 
 What converse could succeed ? — They turned round, 
 And kneeling on the brow of heaven, there paid 
 Due adoration to that Holy One 
 Who framed and rules the elements of nature. 
 Then like two swans that far on wing have scaled 
 The Alpine heights to gain their native lake, 
 At length, perceiving far below their eye 
 The beauteous silvery speck, they slack their wings,
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. i6'/ 
 
 And softly sink adown the incumbent air : 
 So sank our lovely pilgrims, from the verge 
 Of the fair heaven, down the streamered sky ; 
 For other scenes and other worlds to view. 
 
 PART THIRD. 
 
 The Return to Earth. 
 
 When these wild wanderings all were past and 
 done, 
 Just in the red beam of the parting sun, 
 Our pilgrims skimmed along the light of even. 
 Like flitting stars that cross the nightly heaven, 
 And lighting on the verge of Phillip plain. 
 They trode the surface of the world again 
 
 Arm linked in arm, they walked to gieen 
 Bowhill : 
 At their approach the woods and lawns grew still ; 
 The little birds to brake and bush withdrew, 
 The merl away unto Blackandro flew ; 
 The twilight held its breath in deep suspense, 
 And looked its wonder in mute eloquence. 
 
 They reached the bower, where first, at Mary's 
 knee 
 Cela arose her guide through heaven to be. 
 All, all was still— no living thing was seen ; 
 No human footstep marked the daisied green ; 
 The youth looked round, as something were 
 
 unmeet, 
 Or wanting there to make their bliss complete. 
 They paused— they sighed— then with a silent awe 
 Walked onward to the halls of Carelha'.
 
 i68 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 They heard the squires and yeomen, all intent 
 Talking of some mysterious event ; 
 They saw the maidens in dejection mourn, 
 Scarce daring glance unto a yeoman turn. 
 .Straight to the inner chamber they repair ; 
 Mary beheld her widowed mother there, 
 Flew to her arms, to kiss her and rejoice : 
 Alas 1 she saw her not nor heard her voice, 
 But sat unmoved with many a bitter sigh, 
 Tears on her cheek, and sorrow in her eye ! 
 In sable weeds her lady form was clad, 
 And the white lawn waved mournful round her 
 
 head. 
 Mary beheld, arranged in order near, 
 The very robes she last on earth did wear ; 
 And shrinking from the disregarded kiss, 
 " Oh, tell me, Cela !— tell me, what is this?" 
 
 *' Fair maiden of the pure and guileless heart, 
 As yet thou knowest not how nor what thou art ;— 
 Come, I will lead thee to yon hoary pile, 
 Where sleep thy kindred in their storied isle : 
 There I must leave thee, in this world below ; 
 'Tis meet thy land these holy truths should know : 
 But, Mary, yield not thou to bootless pain. 
 Soon we shall meet, and never part again." 
 
 He took her hand, she dared not disobey, 
 But, half reluctant, followed him away. 
 They paced along to Ettrick's margin green. 
 And reached the hoary fane of old Lindeen : 
 It was a scene to curdle maiden's blood — 
 The massy churchyard-gate wide open stood ; 
 The stars were up, the valley steeped in dew, 
 The baleful bat in silent circles flew ;
 
 No sound was heard, except the lonely rail 
 Harping his ordinal adown the dale ; 
 And soft and slow upon the breezes light. 
 The rush of Ettrick breathed along the night. 
 Dark was the pile, and green the tombs beneath, 
 And dark the gravestones on the sward of death. 
 
 Within the railed space appeared to view 
 A grave new opened — thitherward they drew ; 
 And there beheld, within its mouldy womb, 
 A living, moving tenant of the tomb ! 
 It was an aged monk, uncouth to see. 
 Who held a sheeted corpse upon his knee, 
 And busy, busy with the form was he ! 
 At their approach he uttered howl of pain, 
 Till echoes groaned it from the holy fane. 
 Then fled amain. — Ah ! Cela, too, is gone ; 
 And Mary stands within the grave alone ! 
 With her fair guide her robes of heaven are fled. 
 And round her fall the garments of the dead ! 
 
 Here I must seize my ancient harp again, 
 And chaunt a simple tale, a most uncourtly strain. 
 
 PART FOURTH. 
 
 The night wind is still, and the moon in the wane, 
 The river-lark sings on the verge of the plain ; 
 So lonely his plaint by the motionless reed. 
 It sounds like an omen or tale of the dead ; 
 Like a warning of death it falls on the ear 
 Of those who are wandering the woodlands in fear ; 
 For the maidens of Carelha' wander, and cry 
 On their young lady's name, with the tear in their eye.
 
 I70 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 
 
 The gates had been shut, and the mass had been sung, 
 But Mary was missing, the beauteous and young ; 
 And she had been seen in the evening still, 
 By woodman, alone, in the groves of Bowhill. 
 
 Her lady mother, distracted and wild, 
 For the loss of her loved, her only child. 
 With all her maidens tracked the dew — 
 Well Mary's secret bower she knew. 
 Oft had she traced, with fond regard, 
 Her darling to that grove, and heard 
 Her orisons the green bough under, 
 And turned aside with fear and wonder. 
 
 O, seraph Hope I that here below 
 Can nothing dear to the last forego ! 
 When we see the forms we fain would save 
 Wear step by step adown to the grave, 
 Still hope a lambent gleam will shed 
 Over the last, the dying bed • 
 And even, as now, when the soul's away, 
 It flutters and lingers o'er the clay ! 
 O hope ! thy range was never expounded ! 
 'Tis not by the grave that thou art bounded ! 
 
 " O 1 lady mother, thy fears forego ; 
 Why all this terror and this woe ? 
 But late when I was in this place 
 Thou wouldst not look me in the face : 
 
 ! why do you blush at the sight of me ? 
 
 1 am thy own child, thy Mary Lee."
 
 THE PILGRIMS OF THE SUN. 171 
 
 " I saw thee dead and cold as clay ; 
 I watched thy corpse for many a day ; 
 I saw thee laid in the grave at rest ; 
 I strewed the flowers upon thy breast ; 
 And I saw the mould heaped over thee — 
 Thou art not my child, my Mary Lee." 
 
 O'er Mary's face amazement spread ; 
 She knew not that she had been dead ; 
 She gazed in mood irresolute : 
 Both stood aghast, and both were mute. 
 
 That mould is sensible and warm, 
 It leans upon a parent's arm : 
 The kiss is sweet, and the tears are sheen, 
 And kind are the words that pass between ; 
 They cling as never more to sunder — 
 O ! that embrace was fraught with wonder !
 
 THE PEDLAR. 
 
 {From " The Mountain Bard:') 
 
 'TwAS late, late, late on a Saturday's night, 
 The moon was set and the wind was lown ; 
 
 The lazy mist crept down frae the height, 
 
 An' the dim blue lowe glimmered low on the downe. 
 
 O'er the rank -scented fen the bleeter was warping, 
 High on the black muir the foxes did howl, 
 
 All by the lone hearth the cricket sat harping. 
 An' far on the air came the notes of the owl. 
 
 The linn it was rowting adown frae the height. 
 An' the water was sighin' sae goustilye ; 
 
 O, it was sic an eerisome Saturday night, 
 As ane in a lifetime hardly wad see. 
 
 When the lady o' Thirlestane rose in her sleep, 
 
 And she shrieked sae loud that her maid ran to see ; 
 
 Her een they were set, an' her voice it was deep, 
 And she shook like the leaf o' the aspen tree. 
 
 ** O, where is the pedlar I drove frae the ha', 
 
 That pled sae sair to tarry wi' me ? " 
 " He's gane to the mill, for the miller sells ale. 
 
 An' the pedlar's as weel as a man can be."
 
 THE PEDLAR. 173 
 
 " I wish he had stayed, he sac earnestly prayed, 
 An' he hight a braw pearling in present to gie ; 
 
 But I was sae hard that I couldna regard, 
 
 Tho' I saw the saut tear trickle fast frae his e'e. 
 
 " But O, what a terrible vision I've seen, 
 The pedlar a mangled — most shocking to see ! 
 
 An' he gapit an' waggit, an' stared wi' his een, 
 An' he seemed to lay a' the blame upon me. 
 
 " I fear that in life he will ne'er mair be seen, 
 An' the very suspicion o't terrifies me : 
 
 I wadna hae siccan a vision again, 
 For a' the guid kye upon Thirlestane lee. 
 
 "Yet wha wad hae heart the poor pedlar to kill ? 
 
 O Grizzy, my girl, will ye gang and see ! 
 If the pedlar is safe an' alive at the mill, 
 
 A merk o' guid money I'll gie unto thee." 
 
 " O lady, 'tis dark, and I heard the dead-bell ; 
 
 An' I darena gae yonder for gowd nor fee : 
 But the miller has lodgings might serve yoursel. 
 
 An' the pedlar's as weel as a pedlar can be." 
 
 She sat till day, and she sent wi' fear, — 
 The miller said there he never had been ; 
 
 She went to the kirk, and speered for him there, 
 But the pedlar in life was never mair seen. 
 
 Frae aisle to aisle she lookit Vvi' care ; 
 
 Frae pew to pew she hurried her een ; 
 An' a' to see if the pedlar was there, 
 
 But the pedlar in life was never mair seen.
 
 174 THE PEDLAR. 
 
 But late, late, late on a Saturday's night, 
 As the laird was walking alang the lee, 
 
 A silly auld pedlar came by on his right, 
 An' a muckle green pack on his shoulders had he. 
 
 " O where are ye gaun, ye beggarly loon ? 
 
 Ye's neither get lodging nor sale frae me ! " 
 He turned him about, an' the blude it ran down. 
 
 An' his throat was a' hackered, an' ghastly was he. 
 
 Then straight wi' a sound, he sank i' the ground. 
 And a fire-flaught out o' the place did flee ! 
 
 To try a bit prayer the laird clappit down, 
 As flat an' as feared as a body could be. 
 
 He fainted ; but soon as he gathered his breath. 
 He tauld what a terrible sight he had seen : 
 
 The devil a' woundit and bleedin' to death, 
 In shape o' a pedlar upo' the mill-green. 
 
 The lady she shriekit, the door it was steekit. 
 The servants were glad that the devil was gane ; 
 
 But ilk Saturday night, when faded the light, [seen. 
 Near the mill-house, the poor bleeding pedlar was 
 
 An' aye when passengers by were gaun, 
 
 A dolefu' voice came frae the mill-ee. 
 At the turn o' the night, when the clock struck one, 
 
 Cryin' "O Rob Riddle, hae mercy on me ! " 
 
 The place was harassed, the mill was laid waste, 
 
 The miller he fled to a far countrye ; 
 But aye at e'en the pedlar was seen. 
 
 An' at midnight the voice came frae the mill-ee.
 
 THE PEDLAR. I75 
 
 The lady frae hame wad never mair budge, 
 From the time that the sun gade over the hill ; 
 
 An' now she had a' the poor bodies to lodge, 
 As nane durst gae on for the ghaist o' the mill. 
 
 But the minister there was a body o' skill, 
 Nae feared for devil or spirit was he ; 
 
 An' he's gane avva' to watch at the mill, 
 To see if this turbulent ghost he could see. 
 
 He prayed, and he read, and he sent them to bed, 
 And the Bible anunder his arm took he, 
 
 An' round an' round the mill-house he gade. 
 To try if this terrible sight he could see. 
 
 Wi' a shivering groan the pedlar cam* on, 
 
 And the muckle green pack on his shoulders had he ; 
 
 But he neither had flesh, blude, nor bane. 
 For the moon shone through his thin bodye. 
 
 The minister opened the holy book, 
 
 And charged him by a' the Sacred Three, 
 
 To tell why that ghastly figure he took, 
 To terrify a the hale countrye. 
 
 The pedlar he opened his fleshless gums. 
 And siccan a voice ne'er struck the ear ; 
 
 It was like the stound an' whistling sound 
 Of the crannied wind at midnight drear. 
 
 " O weel," he said " may I rise frae the dead, 
 Guilt presses the hardest nearest hame ; 
 
 An' here 'tis so new, that ye a' maun rue, 
 An' yon proud lady was a' the blame.
 
 176 THE PEDLAR, 
 
 "My body was butchered within that mill, 
 My banes lie under the inner mill-wheel, 
 
 And here my spirit maun wander until 
 Some crimes and villainies I can reveal : 
 
 " 1 robbed my niece o' three hundred pounds, 
 ^Vhich Providence suffered me not to enjoy ; 
 
 For the sake of that money I got my death's wounds ; 
 The miller me kenned, but he missed his ploy. 
 
 " The money lies buried on Balderstone hill, 
 Beneath the mid bourack o' three times three : 
 
 O gie't to the owners, kind sir, and it will 
 Bring wonderfu' comfort an' rest unto me. 
 
 " 'Tis drawing to day, nae mair I can say. 
 My message I trust, good father, with thee ; 
 
 If the black cock should craw, when I am awa, 
 O weary, an' weary ! what wad come o' me?" 
 
 Wi' a sound like a horn away he v/as borne ; 
 
 The grass was fired where the spirit had been ; 
 An' certain it is, from that day to this, 
 
 The ghost o' the pedlar was never mair seen. 
 
 The mill was repaired, and low i' the yird, 
 The bones lay under the inner mill-wheel ; 
 
 The box an' the ellwand beside him were hid, 
 An' mony a thimble, an' mony a seal. 
 
 Must the scene of iniquity cursed remain? 
 
 Can this bear the stamp of the heavenly seal ? 
 Vet certain it is, from that day to this, 
 
 The millers o' Thirlestane ne'er hae done weel !
 
 THE PEDLAR. 177 
 
 But there was an auld mason wha wrought at the mill, 
 In the rules o' Providence skilfu' was he ; 
 
 He keepit a bane o' the pedlar's heel, 
 An' a queerer wee bane you never did see. 
 
 The miller had fled to the forest o' Jed, 
 
 But time had now grizzled his hafFets wi' snaw ; 
 
 He was crookit an' auld, an' his head was turned bald, 
 But his joke he could break wi' the best o' them a'. 
 
 Away to the Border the mason he ran. 
 To try wi' the bane if the miller was fey ; 
 
 And into a smiddie wi' mony a man. 
 He fand him a-gaffin fu' gaily that day. 
 
 The mason he crackit, the mason he taukit, 
 
 Of a' curiosities mighty and mean ; 
 Then pu'd out the bane, an' declared there was nana 
 
 "Who in Britain had ever the equal o't seen. 
 
 Then ilka ane took it, and ilka ane lookit, 
 
 An' ilka ane ca'd it a comical bane ; 
 To the miller it goes, wha wi' specs on his nose, 
 
 To hae and to view it was wondrous fain. 
 
 But what was his horror, as leaning he stood, 
 An' what the surprise o' his cronies around. 
 
 When the little wee bane fell a-streaming wi' blood, 
 Which dyed a' his fingers, and ran to the ground ! 
 
 They charged him wi' murder, and a' the hale crew [hell ; 
 
 Cried the truth should be told should they bring it frae 
 A red goad o' aim frae the fire they drew. 
 
 An' they swore they wad spit him unless he wad tell. 
 b'\2-b
 
 178 THE PEDLAR. 
 
 *' O hald," said the mason, " for how can this be ? 
 
 You'll find you're all out when the truth I reveal ; 
 At fair Thirlestane I gat this wee bane, 
 
 Deep buried anunder the inner mill-wheel." 
 
 " O God ! " said the wretch, wi' the tear in his e'e, 
 " O pity a creature lang doomed to despair ; 
 
 A silly auld pedlar, wha begged of me 
 
 For mercy, I murdered, and buried him there ! " 
 
 To Jeddart they hauled the auld miller wi' speed, 
 An' they hangit him dead on a high gallows-tree ; 
 
 And a/. erccards they in full counsel agreed, 
 That Rob Riddle he richly deserved to dee. 
 
 The thief may escape the lash and the rape. 
 The liar and swearer their vile hides may save, 
 
 The wrecker of unity pass with impunity, 
 
 But whan gat the murd'rer in peace to his grave ? 
 
 Ca't not superstition, if reason you find it, 
 Nor laugh at a story attestit sae weel ; 
 
 F^or lang will the/acis i' the Forest be mindit, 
 O' the ghaist, an' the bane o' the pedlar's heel.
 
 From ''THE POETIC MIRROR. 
 
 ISABELLE. 
 
 Can there be a moon in heaven to-night, 
 That the hill and the grey cloud seem so light ? 
 The air is whitened by some spell, 
 For there is no moon, I kno^v it well; 
 On this third day the sages say 
 ('Tis wonderful how well they know) 
 The moon is journeying far away, 
 Bright somewhere in a hea\'en below. 
 
 It is a strange and lovely night, 
 
 A greyish pale, but not white ! 
 
 Is it rain, or is it dew, 
 
 That falls so thick I see its hue? 
 
 In rays it follows, one, two, three, 
 
 Down the air so merrily, 
 
 Said Isabelle ; so let it be ! 
 
 Why does the Lady Isabelle 
 Sit in the damp and dewy dell. 
 Counting the racks of drizzly rain, 
 And how often the rail cries over again ? 
 For she's harping, harping in the brake, 
 Craik, craik Craik, craik —
 
 i8o THE POETIC MIRROR. 
 
 Ten times nine, and thrice eleven ; — 
 The last call was an hundred and seven. 
 Craik, craik — the hour is near — 
 Let it come, I have no fear ! 
 Yet it is a dreadful work, I wis, 
 Such doings in a night like this ! 
 
 Sounds the river harsh and loud ? 
 The stream sounds harsh, but not loud. 
 There is a cloud that seems to hover 
 By western hill the churchyard over ; 
 \Vhat is it like? — 'Tis like a whale ; 
 'Tis like a shark with half the tail. 
 Not half, but third and more ; 
 Now 'tis a wolf, and now a boar ; 
 Its face is raised — it cometh here ; 
 Let it come^there is no fear. 
 There's two for heaven, and ten for hell, 
 Let it come — 'tis well — 'tis well ! 
 Said the Lady Isabelle. 
 
 What ails that little cut-tailed whelp, 
 That it continues to yelp, yelp ? 
 Yelp, yelp, and it turns its eye 
 Up to the tree and half to the sky ; 
 Half to the sky and full to the cloud, 
 And still it whines and barks aloud. 
 Why I should dread I cannot tell. 
 There is a spirit ; I know it well ! 
 I see it in yon falling beam — 
 Is it a vision or a dream ? 
 It is no dream, full well I know ' 
 I have a woeful deed to do ! 
 Hush, hush, thou little murmurer ; 
 I tell thee, hush — the dead are near \
 
 THE POETIC MIRROR. i8i 
 
 If thou knewest all, poor tail-less whelp, 
 Well mightest thou tremble, growl, and yelji 
 But thou knowest nothing, hast no part 
 (Simple and stupid as thou art) 
 Save gratitude and truth of heart. 
 But they are coming by this way 
 That have been dead for a year and a day ; 
 Without challenge, without change. 
 They shall have their full revenge ! 
 They have been sent to wander in woe 
 In the lands of flame and the lands of snow ; 
 But those that are dead 
 Shall the greensward tread, 
 And those that are living 
 Shall soon be dead ! 
 None to pity them, none to help ; 
 Thou mayest quake, my cut-tailed whelp ! 
 
 There are two from the grave 
 That I fain would save ; 
 Full hard is the weird 
 For the young and the brave ! 
 Perchance they are wrapt in vision sweet, 
 \Vhile the passing breezes kiss their feet ; 
 And they are dreaming of joy and love ! — 
 Well, let them go — there's room above. 
 
 Yet they are coming ! and they are three ! 
 Jesu Maria ! can it be? 
 
 The Conclusion. 
 
 Sleep on 1 fair maiden of Borrowdale ! 
 Sleep, O sleep, and do not wake ; 
 Dream of the dance, till the foot so pale. 
 And the beauteous ankle shiver and shake j
 
 1 82 THE POETIC MIRROR. 
 
 Till thou shalt press, with feeling bland, 
 
 Thine own fair breast for lover's hand. 
 
 Thy heart is light as summer breeze, 
 
 Thy heart is joyous as the day ; 
 
 Man never form of angel sees, 
 
 But thou art fair as they. 
 
 So lovers ween, and so they say, 
 
 So thine shall ween for many a day. 
 
 The hour's at hand, O woe is me ! 
 
 For they are coming, and they are three.
 
 From "MADOR OF THE MOOR!' 
 
 -♦ 
 
 CALEDONIA. 
 
 Old Caledonia ! pathway of the storm 
 That o'er thy wilds resistless sweeps along, 
 Though clouds and snows thy sterile hills deform, 
 Thou art the land of freedom and of song. 
 Land of the eagle fancy, wild and strong ! 
 Land of the loyal heart and valiant arm ! 
 Though southern pride and luxury may wrong 
 Thy mountain honours, still my heart shall warm 
 At thy unquestioned weir and songs of magic charm. 
 
 THE RIVER TAY. 
 
 Westward they past by bank and greenwood side, 
 A varied scene it was of wondrous guise ; 
 Below them parting ri%'ers smoothly glide, 
 And far above their heads aspiring rise 
 Grey crested rocks, the columns of the skies,
 
 While little lowly dells lay hid between : 
 
 It seemed a fairy land, a paradise, 
 
 Where every bloom that scents the woodland green 
 
 Opened to heaven its breast, by human eye unseen. 
 
 Queen of the forest, there the birch tree swung 
 Her light green locks aslant the southern breeze ; 
 Red berries of the brake around them hung ; 
 A thousand songsters warbled on the trees. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 What art thou, Love ? or who may thee define ? 
 Where lies thy bourne of pleasure or of pain ? 
 No sceptre, graved by Reason's hand, is thine, 
 Child of the moistened eye and burning brain, 
 Of glowing fancy, and the fervid vein. 
 That soft on bed of roses loves to rest, 
 And crop the flower where lurks the deadly bane : 
 Oh, many a thorn those dear delights invest, 
 Child of the rosy cheek, and heaving snow-white 
 breast ! 
 
 Thou art the genial balm of virtuous youth, 
 
 And point'st where Honour waves her wreath on 
 
 high; 
 Like the sweet breeze that wanders from the south. 
 Thou breath'st upon the soul, where embryos lie 
 Of new delights, the treasures of the sky. 
 Who knows thy trembling watch in bower of even. 
 Thy earliest grateful tear, and melting sigh ? 
 Oh, never was to yearning mortal given 
 So dear delights as thine, thou habitant of heaven I
 
 Oh, I will worship even before thy bust, 
 
 When my dimmed eye no more thy smile can see ! 
 
 While this deserted bosom beats, it must 
 
 Still beat in unison with hope and thee : 
 
 For I have wept o'er perished ecstasy, 
 
 And o'er the fall of beauty's early prime ; 
 
 But I will dream of new delights to be, 
 
 When moon and stars have ceased their range 
 
 sublime, 
 And angels rung the knell of all-consuming Time. 
 
 THE PALMER'S MORNING HYMN. 
 
 Lauded be thy name for ever, 
 Thou, of life the guard and giver I 
 Thou canst guard thy creatures sleeping, 
 Heal the heart long broke with weeping, 
 Rule the ouphes and elves at will. 
 That vex the air or haunt the hill, 
 And all the fury subject keep 
 Of boiling cloud and chafed deep : 
 I have seen, and well I know it ; 
 Thou hast done, and thou wilt do it. 
 God of stillness and of motion. 
 Of the rainbow and the ocean, 
 Of the mountain, rock, and river, 
 Blessed be thy name for ever ! 
 
 I have seen thy wondrous might. 
 Through the shadows of this night ; 
 Thou, who slumberest not nor sleepest, 
 Blest are they thou kindly keepest ; 
 Spirits from the ocean under. 
 Liquid flame, and levelled thunder,
 
 Need not waken nor alarm them — 
 All combined they cannot harm them. 
 God of evening's yellow ray, 
 God of yonder dawning day 
 That rises from the distant sea 
 Like breathings of eternity ; 
 Thine the flaming sphere of light, 
 Thine the darkness of the night, 
 Thine are all the gems of even, 
 God of angels, God of heaven. 
 God of life that fade shall never. 
 Glory to thy name for ever ! 
 
 STIRLING. 
 
 Old Strevline,* thou stand'st beauteous on the height, 
 
 Amid thy peaceful vales of every dye, 
 
 Amid bewildered waves of silvery light 
 
 That maze the mind, and toil the raptured eye. 
 
 Thy distant mountains spiring to the sky. 
 
 Seem blended with the mansions of the blest ; 
 
 How proudly rise their gilded points on high 
 
 Above the morning cloud and man's behest. 
 
 Like thrones of angels hung upon the welkin's breast ! 
 
 For these I love thee ; but I love thee more 
 For the grey relics of thy martial towers. 
 Thy mouldering palaces and ramparts hoar. 
 Throned on the granite pile that grimly lowers, 
 Memorial of the times, when hostile powers 
 So often proved thy steadfast patriot worth : 
 May every honour wait thy future hours. 
 And glad the children of thy kindred Forth ! 
 I love thy very name, old bulwark of the North. 
 * Ancient name of Stirling.— I^J.
 
 From ''QUEEN HYNDEr 
 ♦ — 
 
 THE BOxVT RACE. 
 
 Fourteen fair barges in a row 
 
 Started at once with heaving prow ; 
 
 With colours, flags, and plumes bedight ; 
 
 It was forsooth a comely sight ! 
 
 KJng Eric's seven good rowers swarth, 
 
 Chosen from all the sinewy north, 
 
 Were men of such gigantic parts, 
 
 And science in the naval arts. 
 
 And with such force their flashes hurled, 
 
 They feared no rowers of this world. 
 
 King Eric, crowned with many a gem. 
 Took station on his barge's stem ; 
 Secure of victory, and proud 
 To shoot before the toiling crowd, 
 And spring the first upon the shore ; 
 Full oft he'd done the same before. 
 
 Seven boats of either nation bore, 
 In proud array from Keila's shore. 
 With equal confidence endow'd ; 
 To each seven rowers were allowed :
 
 i88 QUEEN HYNDE. 
 
 But by the way they spied, with glee, 
 That one Scots barge had only three, 
 And she was bobbing far behind, 
 As toiling with the tide and wind ; 
 The rowers laugh'd till all the firth 
 Resounded with the boist'rous mirth. 
 
 Around an isle the race was set, 
 A nameless isle, and nameless yet ; 
 And when they tum'd its southern mull, 
 The wind and tide were fair and full ; 
 Then 'twas a cheering sight to view 
 How swift they skimmed the ocean blue ; 
 How lightly o'er the wave they scoop'd ; 
 Then down into the valley swoop'd ; 
 Like flock of sea-birds gliding home. 
 They scarcely touch'd the floating foam. 
 But like dim shadows through the rain. 
 They swept across the heaving main ; 
 While in the spray, that flurr'd and gleam'd 
 A thousand little rainbows beam'd. 
 
 King Eric's bark, like pilot swan. 
 Aright before the centre ran, 
 Stemming the current and the wind 
 For all his cygnet fleet behind. 
 And proudly look'd he back the while, 
 With lofty and imperial smile. 
 O mariners ! why all that strife ? 
 Why plash and plunge 'twixt death and life ? 
 When 'tis as plain as plain can be. 
 That barge is mistress of the sea. 
 
 Pray not so fast, Sir Minstrel rath ! 
 Look back upon that foamy path, 
 As Eric does with doubtful eye, 
 On little boat that gallantly
 
 Q UEEN H YNDE, 1 89 
 
 Escapes from out the flashing coil, 
 And presses on with eager toil, 
 Full briskly stemming tide and wind, 
 And following Eric hard behind ; 
 And, worst of all for kingly lot, 
 Three rowers only man the boat I 
 
 ** Ply, rowers, ply ! We're still a-head. 
 Lean from your oars — shall it be said 
 That the seven champions of the sea 
 Were beat outright by random three ? 
 Ply, rowers, ply ! She gains so fast, 
 I hear their flouts upon us cast. 
 'Tis the small boat, as I'm on earth ! 
 That gave so much untimely mirth. 
 
 "Curse on her speed ! Strain, rowers, strain ! ' 
 Impatient Eric cried again ; 
 *' See how she cleaves the billow proud. 
 Like eagle through a wreathy cloud : 
 Strain, vassals, strain ! If we're outrun, 
 By moving thing below the sun, 
 I swear by Odin's mighty hand, 
 I'll sink the boat and swim to land ! " 
 
 Hard toil'd King Eric's giant crew ; 
 Their faces grim to purple grew ; 
 At last their cheering loud ye-ho 
 Was changed into a grunt of woe. 
 For she, the little bark despised, 
 And foully at the first misprised. 
 Came breasting up with skimming motion, 
 Scarce gurgling in the liquid ocean ; 
 And by, and by, and by she bore. 
 With whoop of joy, and dash of oar I
 
 The foremost rower plied his strength 
 On two oars of tremendous length, 
 Which boards on further end reveal'd, 
 Broader than Eric's gilded shield ; 
 The monarch trembled and look'd grave 
 To see the strokes that rower gave. 
 
 Just then he heaved his oars behind, 
 Like falcon's wings lean'd to the wind 
 As pass'd his little pinnace plain 
 The monarch's meteor of the main ; 
 And, as be bent his might to row, 
 He struck King Eric's gilded prow 
 With such a bounce and such a heave, 
 That back she toppled o'er the wave, 
 And nigh had thrown, as nigh could be, 
 Her king and champions in the sea, 
 '* Ho ! oar-room, friends ! your distance keep, 
 Cried that rude Hector of the deep ; 
 " Ye -ho ! ye -ho ! 
 How well we go ! 
 Ours is the bark that fears no foe ! " 
 
 INVITATION. 
 
 Oh come on thy path of the starry ray, 
 Thou queen of the land of the gloaming grey, 
 And the dawnings mild and pallid hue, 
 From thy valleys beyond the land of the dew, 
 The realm of a thousand gilded domes, 
 The richest region that fancy roams !
 
 QUEEN HYNDE. 191 
 
 I have sought for thee in the bhie hare-bell, 
 And deep in the fox-glove's silken cell ; 
 For I fear'd thou hadst drunk of its potion deep, 
 And the breeze of the world had rock'd thee asleep 
 Then into the wild-rose I cast mine eye, 
 And trembled because the prickles were nigh. 
 And deem'd the specks on its foliage green 
 Might be the blood of my Fairy Queen, 
 Then gazing, wonder'd if blood might be 
 In an imimortal thing like thee. 
 I have open'd the woodbine's velvet vest, 
 And sought the hyacinth's virgin breast ; 
 Then anxious lain on the dewy lea, 
 And look'd to a twinkling star for thee, 
 That nightly mounted the orient sheen, 
 Streaming in purple and glowing in green ; 
 And thought, as I eyed its changing sphere, 
 My Fairy Queen might sojourn there. 
 
 But now I have found thee, thou vagrant thing, 
 Though where I neither dare say nor sing ! 
 For it was in a home so passing fair. 
 That an angel of light might have linger'd there : 
 I found thee playing thy freakish spell 
 Where the sun never shone, and the rain never fell, 
 Where the ruddy cheek of youth ne'er lay, 
 And never was kiss'd by the breeze of day ; 
 It was sweet as the woodland breeze of even, 
 And pure as the star of the western heaven, 
 As fair as the dawn of the sunny east, 
 And soft as the down of the solan's breast. 
 
 Since now I have found thee, I'll hold thee fast ; 
 Till thou garnish my song — it is the last !
 
 THE FATE OF ODIN'S WORSHIPPERS. 
 
 " Stretch but thy finger from the spheres 
 Towards these bloody worshippers, 
 And lo ! the sinners and the spot 
 Shall quickly be as they were not ! 
 As things of terror no more seen, 
 Nay, be as they had never been. 
 
 ** Our eyes are fix'd on thte above — 
 Our hope in thy redeeming love : 
 Then, oh, in mercy to our race. 
 Hear in the heavens, thy dwelling-place ! " 
 
 \Vhile yet the Christian army kneel'd, 
 Ere brow was raised from rock or shield, 
 Heaven's golden portals were unbarr'd 
 And the Almighty's voice was heard ! 
 It came not forth like thunders loud, 
 When lightnings through the liquid clou d 
 Break up the dense and dismal gloom 
 With chafe, with clatter, and with boom ; 
 It came with such a mighty sound. 
 As if the heavens, the depths profound. 
 And tempests at their utmost noise, 
 Cried all together in one voice. 
 
 Deep call'd to deep, and wave to wave ; 
 Stone unto stone, and grave to grave : 
 The yawning cliffs and. caverns groan'd ; 
 The mountains totter'd as they moan'd ; 
 All nature roar'd in one dire Steven ; * 
 Heaven cried to earth, and earth to Heaven, 
 
 * Steven, uproar.
 
 Till both the offenders and offended 
 Knew that the Eternal God descended. 
 
 After the voice a whirlwind blew, 
 Before it every fragment flew 
 Of movent nature, all in cumber, 
 And living creatures without number 
 Were borne aloft with whirling motion : 
 It lifted ships out of the ocean ! 
 And all, without one falling shiver, 
 Were borne away, and lost for ever ; 
 But there were cries of death and dread 
 Heard in the darkness overhead ! 
 
 After the wind, with rending roll, 
 A crash was heard from pole to pole, 
 As if the Almighty's hand had rent 
 The ample yielding firmament ; 
 
 And lo ! trom out the heavens there came 
 A sea of rolling smouldering flame. 
 Which o'er the sinners' heads impended, 
 And slowly, dreadfully descended ; 
 While with their shouts the welkin broke^ 
 '* Great Odin comes ! our God, our rock ! " 
 
 Just while their horrid sacrifice 
 Still flamed with incense to the skies ; 
 Just when their hearts were at the proudest, 
 And orisons had pealed the loudest. 
 The liquid sounding flame enclosed them, 
 And roU'd them in its furnace bosom ! 
 That city fill'd with loathsome crime, 
 With all its piles of ancient time, 
 b-iyb
 
 [94 QUEEN HYNDE. 
 
 After the fiery column broke, 
 Scarce gave a crackle or a smoke, 
 More than a heap of chaff or tinder, 
 But melted to a trivial cinder ! — 
 
 Scarce had the eye of trembling hind 
 Regained its sight — with terror blind, 
 Jiis heart began to beat in time 
 Or shudder'd at the heinous crime, 
 Ere the appalling scene was o'er ! 
 One single moment, and no more, 
 All ghtter'd with a glowing gleen,* 
 Then pass'd as they had never been. 
 Walls, towers, and sinners, in one sweeji 
 Were solder'd to a formless heap, 
 To stand, until that final day. 
 When this fair world shall melt away, 
 As beacons sacred and sublime 
 Of judgment sent for human crime. 
 
 * Gleen, a bright dazzling gleam. 
 
 f I
 
 LINES TO SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 Sound, my old harp, thy boldest key 
 To strain of high festivity ! 
 Can'st thou be silent in the brake, 
 Loitering by Altrive's mountain lake, 
 When he who gave the hand its sway 
 That now has tuned thee many a day, 
 lias gained thee honours trulier won, 
 Than e'er by sword of Albyn's son ; 
 High guerdon of a soul refined, 
 The meed of an exalted mind ? 
 
 Well suits such wreath thy loyal head, 
 My counsellor, and friend indeed. 
 Though hard through life I've pressed my way 
 For many a chill and joyless day, 
 Since I have lived enrapt to hail 
 My sovereign's worth, my friend's avail. 
 And see, what more I prize than gain, 
 Our forest harp the bays obtain, 
 I'll ween I have not lived in vain. 
 
 Ah ! could I dream when first we met, 
 When by the scanty ingle set,
 
 196 LINES TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. 
 
 Beyond the moors where curlews wheel 
 In Ettrick's bleakest, loneliest shiel, 
 Conning old songs of other times, 
 Most uncouth chants and crabbed rhymes- 
 Could I e'er dream that wayward wight, 
 Of roguish joke, and heart so light. 
 In whose oft-changing eye I gazed, 
 Not without dread the head was crazed, 
 Should e'er, by genius' force alone. 
 Skim o'er an ocean sailed by none ; 
 All the hid shoals of envy miss. 
 And gain such noble port as this ! 
 
 I could not : but I cherish still 
 Mirth at the scene, and ever will. 
 When o'er the fells we took our way ; 
 ('Tis twenty years, even to a day. 
 Since we two sought the fabled urn 
 Of marble blue by Rankleburn) : 
 No tomb appeared ; but oft we traced 
 Towns, camps, and battle-lines effaced, 
 Which never were, nor could remain, 
 Save in the bold enthusiast's brain : 
 The same to us — it turned our lays 
 To chiefs and tales of ancient days. 
 One broken pot alone was found 
 Deep in the rubbish under ground, 
 In middle of the ancient fane — 
 " A gallant helmet split in twain ! " 
 The truth was obvious ; but in faith 
 On you all words were waste of breath ; 
 You only looked demure and sly, 
 And sore the brow fell o'er the eye ; 
 You could not bear that you should ride 
 O'er pathless waste and forest wide,
 
 LINES TO STR WALTER SCOTT. 197 
 
 Only to say that you had been 
 To see that nought was to be se, 
 
 seen. 
 
 The evenings came; more social mirth 
 Ne'er flowed around the cottage hearth : 
 When Maitland's song first met your ear, 
 How the furled visage up did clear, 
 Beaming delight ! though now a shade 
 Of doubt would darken into dread 
 That some unskilled presumptuous arm 
 Had marred tradition's mighty charm. 
 
 Scarce grew thy lurking dread the less, 
 Till she, the ancient minstreless, 
 With fervid voice, and kindling eye, 
 And withered arms waving on high. 
 Sung forth these words in eldritch shriek, 
 While tears stood on thy nut-brovni cheek- 
 
 " Na, we are nane o' the lads o' France, 
 
 Nor e'er pretend to be ; 
 We be three lads of fair Scotland, 
 
 Auld Maitland's sons, a' three ! " 
 
 Thy fist made all the table ring — 
 " By sir, but that is the thing ! '* 
 
 Yes, twenty years have come and fled 
 Since we two met, and time has shed 
 His riming honours o'er each brow — 
 My state the same, how changed art thou ! 
 But every year yet overpast 
 I've loved thee dearer than the last. 
 For all the volumes thou hast wrote, 
 Those that are owned, and that are not,
 
 Let these he conned even to a grain, 
 I've said it, and will say't again — 
 Who knows thee but by these alone, 
 The better half is still unknown. 
 
 1 know thee well — no kinder breast 
 Beats for the woes of the distrest, 
 Bleeds for the wounds it cannot heal, 
 Or yearns more o'er thy country's weal. ' 
 Thy love embraces Britain o'er, 
 And spreads and radiates with her shore ; 
 Scarce fading on her ocean's foam, 
 But still 'tis brightest nearest home, 
 Till those within its central rays, 
 Rejoicing, bask within the blaze. 
 
 Blessed be the act of sovereign grace, 
 That raised thee 'bove the rhyming race ; 
 Blessed be the heart and head elate, 
 The noble generous estimate 
 That marked thy worth, and owned the hand 
 Resistless in its native land. 
 Bootless the waste of empty words. 
 The pen is worth ten thousand swords. 
 
 Long brook thy honours, gallant knight, 
 So firm of soul, so stanch of right; 
 For had thy form but reached its prime, 
 Free from mischance in early time. 
 No stouter sturdier ann of weir 
 Had wielded sword or battle spear. 
 For war thy boardly frame was born, 
 For battle shout, and bugle-horn ; 
 Thy boyish feats, thy youthful dream — 
 How thy muse kindles at the theme I
 
 LL\ES TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. 199 
 
 Chance marred the path, or Heaven's decree 
 How blessed for Scotland and for me ! 
 
 Scarce sounds thy name as't did before, 
 Walter the Abbot now no more : 
 Well — let it be — I'll not repine, 
 But love the title since 'tis thine. 
 Long brook thy honours, firm to stand 
 As Eildon rock ; and that th) land, 
 The first e'er won by dint of rhyme, 
 May bear thy name till latest time. 
 And stretch from bourn of Abbot's-lea 
 To Philhope Cross, and Eildon Tree, 
 Is the heart's wish of one who's still 
 Thy grateful shepherd of the hill !
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS, 
 
 THE LORD OF BALLOCH. 
 
 The eagle flew over the Laggan Loch, 
 
 And down by the braes of Badenoch, 
 
 And eastward, eastward sped his way. 
 
 Far over the lovely links of Spey ; 
 
 Till the lord of Balloch turned his eye 
 
 To the haughty journeyer of the sky, 
 
 And he said to his henchman, " Gill-na-omb, 
 
 What brings the eagle so far from home ?" 
 
 Then Gillion watched his lord's dark eye, 
 And his voice it faltered in reply ; 
 And he said, " My lord, who needs to care 
 For the way of the eagle in the air? 
 Perhaps he is watching Lochdorbin's men. 
 Or the track of the Gordons of the Glen, 
 For he spies, from his stories of the wind, 
 That the dead are often left behind ; 
 Or, haply, he knows, in our forest bounds, 
 Of some noble stag dead of his wounds."
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 201 
 
 " Go, saddle my steed without delay ; 
 I have watched yon eagle, day by day, 
 Still hovering over yon lonely dell — 
 There's a dread on my soul which I dare not tell. 
 Gillion, no mystery may I brook, 
 I like not thy suspicious look. 
 
 Say have you heard no word at all 
 
 Of some one missed from her father's hall ? " 
 
 " No, my good lord — no, not one word, 
 As I shall be sworn upon my sword ; 
 And why should the eagle's yelling din 
 Awake suspicions your heart within? " 
 
 That lord he mounted his gallant steed, 
 But at his henchman he shook his head. 
 And gave him a look as bounding away. 
 That filled his black heart with dismay ; 
 And he fled to hide in the bosky burn, 
 For he dared not wait his lord's return. 
 
 The lord of Balloch away is gone. 
 With beating heart, to the wild alone ; 
 For in the dead of night he had dream'd 
 Of that dell o'er which the eagle scream'd, 
 And there, with his mortal eye, had seen 
 A vision of terror and of teen ; 
 And something was borne on his soul oppress'd. 
 Of a deed that would never be redress'd ; 
 For there are sprites that the truth can scan. 
 And whisper it to the soul of man. 
 
 The eagle he sail'd upon the cloud. 
 And he spread his wings, and scream'd aloud,
 
 202 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 For he durst not light in the lonely dell, 
 But his rage made all the echoes yell ; 
 For he saw the blood below his feet, 
 And he saw it red, and he knew it sweet. 
 And though death was pleasing to his eye, 
 The silken tartans stream'd too nigh. 
 
 The lord of Balloch rode on and on, 
 With a heavy gloom his heart upon. 
 Till his steed began to show demur, 
 For he snorted and refused the spur, 
 And, nor for coaxing nor for blow, 
 Further one step he would not go ; 
 He reared aloft, and he shook with fear, 
 And his snorting was terrible to hear : 
 The gallant steed is left behind. 
 And the chief proceeds with a troubled mind. 
 
 But short way had that good lord gone. 
 Ere his heart was turn'd into a stone ; 
 It was not for nought that the steed rebell'd ; 
 It was not for nought that the eagle yell'd ; 
 It was not for nought that the visions of night 
 1 'resented that lord with a grievous sight — 
 A sight of misery and despair : 
 I'ut I dare not tell what he found there ! 
 For the hearts of the old would withhold belief, 
 And the hearts of the young would bleed with grief, 
 Till the very fountains of life ran dry ! 
 Sweet sleep would forsake the virgin's eye, 
 And man, whose love she had learned to prize, 
 Would appear a monster in disguise — 
 
 The ver>' flowers of the wildered dell 
 Would blush, were I that tale to tell •
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 203 
 
 Ah ! the clan of Lochdorbin for ever may rue 
 That the dream and its ending proved so true, 
 For twenty ruffians of that dome, 
 And at their head base Gill-na-omb, 
 Were hung by the necks around that dell, 
 To bleach in the snows and rains that fell ; 
 And there they swung the wild within, 
 Till the dry bones rattled in the skin ; 
 And they hung, and they hung, till all was gone 
 Save a struggling skull and white backbone — 
 A lesson to men of each degree 
 How sacred the virgin form should be. 
 
 As for Lochdorbin's- brutal chief, 
 He was pinion'd like a common thief, 
 And cast into a dungeon deep 
 Below the Balloch castle-keep, 
 Where he pined to death, there not the first 
 Who had died of hunger and of thirst. 
 On his own flesh he strove to dine. 
 And drank his blood instead of wine, 
 Then groan'd his sicken'd soul away, 
 Cursing the lord of Balloch's sway. 
 And wishing, with dying grin and roar. 
 That twenty maidens, and twenty more, 
 Were in his power in the lonely dell. 
 And all by that lord beloved as well. 
 
 He is gone — extinct, and well-away f 
 His castle's a ruin unto this day. 
 And neither the shepherd nor hind can tell 
 The name of the chief that there did dwell ; 
 And all that remains of that cruel beast, 
 Who laid the Buchan and Bogie waste,
 
 204 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 Are some shreds of bones in the Balloch keep, 
 
 Still kicked about in ihat dungeon deep ; 
 
 Or haply some films of dust enshrined, 
 
 Whirled on the eddies of the wind. 
 
 So perish all from noble range, 
 
 Who would wrong a maiden for revenge ! 
 
 LITTLE PYNKIE. 
 
 Little Pynkie came to Kilbogie yett, 
 
 It was on a hallow-day ; 
 And the lady babies with her met, 
 
 To hear what she would say. 
 
 For Pynkie was the littlest bairn 
 That ever danced on the green ; 
 
 And Pjmkie was the bonniest thing 
 That ever on earth was seen. 
 
 Her face was cast in beauty's mould, 
 
 And o'er her brow aboon 
 Her hair was like the streams of gold 
 
 That tinsel from the moon. 
 
 Three spans from heel ta head she stood. 
 
 But all so meet to see, 
 No maiden in the mildest mood 
 
 A lovelier form could be. 
 
 Whoever looked at her a space, 
 
 Could never call to mind 
 That she possessed not frame and grace 
 
 Of stateliest womankind.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS, 205 
 
 The baron came forth to the green, 
 And he took her by the hand ; 
 
 ' ' Little Pynkie, you are welcome here, 
 The flower of fair Scotland. 
 
 " You are welcome to my bowers, Pynkie, 
 
 And to my halls so gay ; 
 And you shall be my bonnie dear, 
 
 And I'll fondle you night and day." 
 
 " Oh, no ! oh no, my own good lord. 
 
 For that would be a sin ; 
 For if you toy or 7neUe with me, 
 
 To heaven you'll never win." 
 
 " But I will take my chance, Pynkie, 
 
 For love is sore to thole ; 
 The joy of maiden's leifu' charms 
 
 Can never stain the soul." 
 
 " But I will sing a sang to you. 
 
 And dance a fairy wheel, 
 Till you and all your bonny may bairns 
 
 Can dance it wonder weel." 
 
 Were I to tell Little Pynkie's sang, 
 
 It might do muckle ill. 
 For it was not framed of earthly words, 
 
 Though it sounded sweet and shrill. • 
 
 But aye the o'erword of the sang 
 
 Which ladies learned to sing, 
 Was — " Round and round, and seven times round 
 
 The elfin fairy ring 1"
 
 2o6 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 The first round that Little Pynkie made 
 
 Was gentle, soft, and sweet ; 
 But the second round Little Pynkie made, 
 
 They could not ken her feet. 
 
 The third round that Little Pynkie made, 
 
 She shimmered as light and gay 
 As dancing of the wiry lights 
 
 On warm and sunny day. 
 
 And aye she sang, v/ith twirle and spang, 
 
 Around them on the plain. 
 Till her feet they shimmered abune their heads, 
 
 Then kissed the sward again. 
 
 Then the baron he began to bob, 
 
 No longer could he stand. 
 And his little maidens in a ring. 
 
 They joined him hand-in-hand. 
 
 And round and round, and faster round, 
 
 The fairy ring they flew ; 
 And aye the longer that they danc'd, 
 
 The madder on fun they grew. 
 
 And Little Pynkie in the midst 
 
 Bobbed like a flee in May, 
 And every spring Little Pynkie gave 
 
 The baron he cried '* Hurraye ! " 
 
 But aye when Pynkie made a spring 
 
 Between him and the day. 
 He made a paulle with hands and feet, 
 
 And gave a faint " Hurraye ! "
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 207 
 
 He streikit out his limbs in death, 
 
 Unpitied and unblest ; 
 But *' Hurraye ! " it was the ae last word 
 
 That gurgled in his breast. 
 
 The chaplain came into the ring 
 
 To lift his master's head, 
 And called on six young boardly xvichts 
 
 To bear away the dead ; 
 
 When Little Pynkie in the midst 
 
 Stood lovely as the sun ; 
 She sang a stave, and danced it round, 
 
 And all their grief was done. 
 
 Ijut ay when Pynkie made a rise 
 
 With fitful, fairy fling, 
 " Again, again! " the chaplain cried, 
 
 " Well proven, my bonny thing ! 
 
 ■ Again, again ! Again, again ! " 
 In maddening scream cried he, 
 Oh, let me see that spring again 
 That I of love may die !" 
 
 He streikit out his laithly limbs, 
 His een set in his head, 
 ut, " Again, again ! " ca 
 Till after he was dead. 
 
 Then all the land together came 
 
 To priest and holy friar. 
 And there were prayers in every kirk, 
 
 And hymns in every choir ;
 
 2o8 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 For Little Pynkie held her place, 
 
 At lordly Kilbogie, 
 And of every chamber in the house 
 
 Little Pynkie keepit the key. 
 
 So word's gone east, and word's gone west. 
 
 From Solway to the Clyde, 
 And word's gone to the great Mass John 
 
 That lived on Cluden side. 
 
 So he is come to Kilbogie's hall 
 
 These lordly maids to save, 
 And conjure that wild thing away 
 
 Into the deep sea's wave. 
 
 When he came to Kilbogie's yett 
 
 He tirled at the pin, 
 And wha sae ready as Little Pynkie 
 
 To rise and let him in. 
 
 ** Bairn, I have words to say to you 
 
 On matter most sincere ; 
 Where is the country you came from, 
 
 And wha was it sent you here ? " 
 
 " I came from a country far away, 
 
 A region fair and sweet. 
 For all the sterms of the milky way 
 
 Were far beneath our feet. 
 
 " But I have roamed this earthly sphere 
 
 Some virgin souls to win, 
 Since maids were born the slaves of lovej 
 
 Of sorrow and of sin :
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 209 
 
 " By night and day, and gloaming grey, 
 By grove and greenwood tree ; 
 
 Oh, if you kenned what I have done 
 To keep them fair and free ! 
 
 *' I have sat upon their waving locks, 
 
 As dancing on the green. 
 And watched the blushes of the cheek. 
 
 And glances of the een. 
 
 ** I have whispered dreams into their ears 
 
 Of all the snares of love ; 
 And cooled their young and hoping breasts 
 
 With dews distilled above." 
 
 "But oh, thou wild and wicked thing. 
 
 Think of this virgin band ; 
 Thou'st taken their father from their head. 
 
 Their pastor from their hand. " 
 
 " That father was a man so wild, 
 Disgrace of human frame. 
 
 And his fat chaplain — worst of all — 
 Their deeds I may not name. 
 
 ** Before one of those maids had bloomed 
 
 In lovely ladyhood, 
 Each would have lost her white clothing 
 
 But and her silken snood. 
 
 " But now, Mass John, I know you are 
 
 A good man and a true ; 
 I'herefore I yield my virgin charge 
 With pleasure up to you.
 
 I 2IO BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 \ ~~" i 
 
 " For oh ! there is much for me to do, \ 
 
 'Mong maidens mild and meek ; 
 For men are so wicked here below 
 
 And women are so weak. 
 
 ' ' But I will bathe your een, Mass John, 
 
 With unguent of the sky ; 
 And you shall hear with other ears, 
 
 And see with other eye. 
 
 "And you shall see the right and wrong, 
 1 With soul of dread within, 
 
 I What habitants you dwell among, 
 
 j What world you sojourn in." 
 
 I She touched his eye, she touched his ear, 
 
 j With unguent of the sky, 
 
 I Distilled from flowers of heavenly bowers 
 
 \ That never, never die. 
 
 But Little Pynkie she was gone 
 Away by dale and glen, 
 
 To guard the virgins of the land 
 From wiles of wicked men. 
 
 There was no thought within the heart 
 
 Though secret and untold, 
 But they were acted in his sight 
 
 By spirits manifold. 
 
 He wished for death, and could not lie 
 Such strange enchantment under. 
 
 Thus wandering with a spirit's eye 
 Amid a world of wonder.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 21 
 
 For man must be a mortal thing \ 
 
 With an immortal mind, ^ 
 
 Or pass the door of death, and leave 
 Mortality behind. 
 
 So good Mass John long'd fervently 
 
 That life with him were done, 
 To mix with spirits or with men, 
 
 But on}y with the one. 
 
 Mass John went home and laid him doon 
 
 And soon was with the dead, 
 And the bonnie maids of Kilbogie 
 
 Are left without a head. 
 
 When seven lang years had come and gane 
 With biynk and shower away, 
 
 Then Little Pynkie she came back 
 Upon a hallow-day. 
 
 But the strains that Little Pynkie sung 
 
 At setting of the sun. 
 Were never forgot by old or young. 
 
 Till life with them was done. 
 
 Wliat then was said, or what was done, 
 
 No minstrel ever knew, 
 But the bonnie maids of Kilbogie 
 
 With beauty bloomed anew. 
 
 Some deemed that they would pass away, 
 
 To other land than this ; 
 But they lived the life that women live, 
 
 Of social earthly bliss.
 
 212 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 But many a tale in Westland dale, 
 Quaint rhyme, and fairy lay, 
 
 There yet remains of Pynkie's strains 
 Upon the hallow-day. 
 
 THE MERMAID. 
 
 " Oh, where won ye, my bonny lass, 
 Wi' look sae wild an' cheery? 
 
 There's something in that witching face 
 That I lo'e wonder dearly." 
 
 " I live wheae the harebell never grew, 
 Where the streamlet never ran, 
 
 Where the winds o' Heaven never blew— 
 Now find me gin you can." 
 
 ' ' Tis but your wild an' wily way, 
 The gloaming makes you eerie, 
 
 For ye are the lass o' the Braken-Brae, 
 An nae lad maun come near ye : 
 
 *' But I am sick, an' very sick, 
 Wi' a passion strange and new, 
 
 For ae kiss of thy rosy cheeks 
 And lips o' coral hue. " 
 
 "Go, hie you from this lonely brake, 
 
 Nor dare your walk renew ; 
 For I'm the Maid of the Mountain Lake, 
 
 An' I come wi' the falhng dew."
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS, 213 
 
 " Be you the Maid of the Crystal Wave, 
 
 Or she of the Braken-Brae ; 
 One tender kiss I mean to have ; 
 
 You shall not say me nay. 
 
 ** For beauty's like the daisy's vest. 
 That shrinks from the early dew ; 
 
 But soon it opes its bonny breast, 
 An' sae may it fare wi' you." 
 
 *' Kiss but this hand, I humbly sue, 
 Ev'n there I'll rue the stain ; 
 
 Or the breath of men will dim its hue, 
 It will ne'er be pure again. 
 
 '* For passion's like the burning beal 
 
 Upon the mountain's brow, 
 That wastes itself to ashes pale. 
 
 And sae will it fare wi' you." 
 
 " Oh mother, mother, make my bed. 
 
 And make it soft and easy ; 
 And with the cold dew bathe my head, 
 
 For pains of anguish seize me : 
 
 ** Or stretch me in the chill blue lake, 
 To quench this bosom's burning ; 
 
 An' lay me by yon lonely brake, 
 For hope there's none returning. 
 
 " I've been where man should not have been, 
 
 Oft in my lonely roaming ; 
 And seen what man should not have seen, 
 
 By greenwood in the gloaming.
 
 214 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 **0h, passion's deadlier than the grave, 
 
 A' human things undoing ; 
 The Maiden of the Mountain Wave 
 
 Has lured me to my ruin ! " 
 
 'Tis now an hundred years an' more, 
 An' all these scenes are over, 
 
 Since rose his grave on yonder shore 
 Beneath the wild wood cover ; 
 
 An' late I saw the Maiden there, 
 Just as the daylight faded, 
 
 Braiding her locks o' gowden hair, 
 And singing as she braided : 
 
 Mermaid's- Song. 
 
 Lie still, my love, lie still and sleep, 
 Long is thy night of sorrow ; 
 
 The Maiden of the Mountain deep 
 Shall meet you on the morrow. 
 
 But oh, when shall that morrow be, 
 That my true love shall waken ? 
 
 ^^^^en shall we meet, refined an' free, 
 Amid the moorland braken ? 
 
 Full low and lonely is thy bed, 
 The worm even flies thy pillow ; 
 
 Where now the lips, so comely red, 
 That kissed me 'neath the willow?
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 215 
 
 Oh, I must laugh, do as I can, 
 Ev'n 'mid my song of mourning, 
 
 At all the fuming freaks of man, 
 To which there's no returning. 
 
 Lie still, my love, lie still and sleep — 
 Hope lingers o'er thy slumber ; 
 
 What though thy years beneath the steep 
 Should all its stones outnumber ? 
 
 Though moons steal o'er an' seasons fly 
 On time's swift wing unstaying, 
 
 Yet there's a spirit in the sky, 
 That lives o'er thy decaying. 
 
 In domes beneath the water-springs 
 
 No end hath my sojourning ; 
 An' to this land of fading things 
 
 Far hence be my returning ; 
 
 For spirits now have left the deep, 
 Their long last farewell taken : 
 
 Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep, 
 The day is near the breaking ! 
 
 When my loved flood from fading day 
 No more its gleam shall borrow. 
 
 Nor heath-fowl from the moorland grey 
 Bid the blue dawn good-morrow ; 
 
 The Mermaid o'er thy grave shall weep, 
 Without one breath of scorning : 
 
 Lie still, my love, lie still an' sleep, 
 And fare thee well till morning !
 
 2i6 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Waken, drowsy slumberer, waken ! 
 Over gorse, green broom, and braken, 
 From her sieve of silken blue 
 Dawning sifts her silver dew. 
 Hangs the emerald on the willow. 
 Lights her lamp below the billow. 
 Bends the brier and branchy braken — 
 Waken, drowsy slumberer, waken ! 
 
 Waken, drowsy slumberer, waken ! 
 Deep the moon her draught has taken 
 Of the babbling rivulet sheen. 
 Far beyond the Ochil green. 
 From her gauzy veil on high 
 Trills the laverock's melody ; 
 Round and round, from glen and grove, 
 Pour a thousand hjonns to love ; 
 Harps the quail amid the clover, 
 O'er the moon-fern whews the plover ; 
 Bat has hid, and heath-cock crowed, 
 Courser neighed, and cattle lowed. 
 Kid and lamb their lair forsaken ; — 
 Waken, drowsy slumberer, waken ! 
 
 See how light the wood-fly dances ! 
 Swifter still the dawn advances ; 
 Streaming in her eagle talon 
 Waves her bright and broad gonfalon ; 
 Specks of purple, sprigs of yellow, 
 Roof her radiant light umbrella ; 
 Pretty limner ! see her hue 
 Painted on the amber dew, 
 On the leaf of beech and willow,
 
 On the lake and sleepy billow ; — 
 Rouse thee, slumberer, from thy pillow ! 
 
 Human life is but a day ; 
 Gay its morn, but short as gay ; 
 Day of evil — day of sorrow ! 
 Hope — even hope can paint no morrow. 
 Steeped in sloth or passions boiling, 
 Noon shall find thee faint and toiling : 
 Evening rears her mantle dreary ; 
 Evening finds thee pale and weary. 
 Prospects blasted, — aims misguided, — 
 For the future ill provided, — 
 Murmuring, worn, enfeebled, shaking — - 
 Days of sorrow, nights of waking — 
 Yield thy soul unto the Giver ; 
 Bow thy head, and sleep for ever ! 
 Rise, O rise, to work betake thee ! 
 Wake thee, drowsy slumberer, wake thee ! 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 My sweet little cherub, how calm thou'rt reposing 1 
 Thy suffering is over, thy mild eye is closing ; 
 This world hath proved to thee a step-dame unfriendly : 
 But rest thee, my babe, there's a spirit within thee. 
 A mystery thou art, though unblest and unshriven — 
 A thing of the earth, and a radiance of heaven ; 
 A flower of the one, thou art fading and dying — 
 A spark of the other, thou'rt mounting and flying. 
 
 Farewell, my sweet baby, too early we sever ; 
 I may come to thee, but to me thou shalt never : 
 Some angel of mercy shall lead and restore thee, 
 A pure living flame, to the mansions of glory.
 
 2i8 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 The moralist's boast may sound prouder and prouder, 
 The hypocrite's prayer rise louder and louder ; 
 But I'll trust my babe in her trial of danger, 
 To the mercy of Him that was laid in the manger. 
 
 THE AULD MAN'S FAREWEEL TO HIS 
 WEE HOUSE. 
 
 I LIKE ye weal, my wee auld house, 
 Though laigh the wa's an' flat the riggin' ; 
 
 Though round thy lum the sourick grows, 
 An' rain-draps gaw my cozy biggin'. 
 
 Lang hast thou happit mine an' me, 
 
 My head's grown grey aneath thy kipple ; 
 
 An' aye thy ingle cheek was free 
 
 Baith to the blind man an' the cripple : 
 
 An' to the puir forsaken wight 
 
 Wi' bairnie at her bosom cryin*, 
 My cot was open day an' night. 
 
 Nor wanted bed for sick to lie in. 
 
 What gart my ewes thrive on the hill, 
 An' kept my little store increasin'? — 
 
 The rich man never wished me ill, 
 The puir man left me aye his blessin'. 
 
 Troth, I maun greet wi' thee to part, 
 Though to a better house I'm flittin'; 
 
 Sic joys will never glad my heart 
 As I've had by thy hallan sittin'.
 
 My bonnie bairns around me smiled ; 
 
 My sonsie wife sat by me spinnin', 
 Aye liltin' owre her ditties wild, 
 
 In notes sae artless and sae winnin'. 
 
 Our frugal meal was aye a feast ; 
 
 Our e'enin' psalm a hymn of joy : 
 Aye calm an' peacefu' was our rest ; 
 
 Our bliss, our love without alloy. 
 
 I canna help but baud thee dear. 
 
 My auld, storm-battered hamely sheilin' ; 
 
 Thy sooty lum an' kipples clear 
 I better lo'e than gaudy ceilin'. 
 
 Thy roof will fa', thy rafters start. 
 
 How damp an' cauld thy hearth will be ! 
 
 Ah, sae will soon ilk honest heart. 
 That erst was blithe an' bauld in thee. 
 
 I thought to cower aneath thy wa'. 
 Till death had closed my weary e'en ; 
 
 Then left thee for the narrow ha', 
 Wi' lowly roof o' swaird sae green. 
 
 Fareweel, my house an' burnie clear, 
 My bourtree bush an' bowzy tree ; 
 
 The wee while I maun sojourn here, 
 I'll never find a hame like thee !
 
 220 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 REGRET. 
 
 What makes that lulling brook complain, 
 While softly round the valley sweeping ? 
 
 What makes the blackbird's morning strain 
 Sound like the voice of woe and weeping ? 
 
 Alas ! I fear the sylvan bower 
 
 Has lost its sweets of morn and even, 
 
 Since I have flung the sweetest flower 
 That ever breathed the breeze of heaven. 
 
 Sing on, thou bonny bird of Spring ! 
 
 Thy little heart with love is heaving ; 
 Far hast thou wandered on the wing, 
 
 But not thy love behind thee leaving ; 
 
 But I have left my native glade, 
 
 The silent bower, and scented blossom ; 
 
 And I have left the sweetest maid. 
 That ever heaved a snowy bosom. 
 
 I saw the round, the crystal tear. 
 
 How could my stem reproach abuse her ! 
 
 I loved her — yes, I loved her dear — 
 How could my jealous mind accuse her 1 
 
 How often from the evening fall 
 
 I've wooed her fondly till the morrow ; 
 
 Slie gave her heart — it was her all — 
 And yet I left that heart to sorrow. 
 
 Sing on, thou bonny bird of morn. 
 
 Above the broom-wood waving yellow j 
 
 Thy love sits listening in the thorn, 
 Delighted with thy music mellow.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS, 221 
 
 Thou call'st the red sun from the sea, 
 He hastes above the wave to hear thee 
 
 The evening star steals o'er the tree, 
 With simple ray of love to cheer thee. 
 
 Long may thy melody renew 
 
 The fondest hope of faithful lover ; 
 
 And morning weave her mantle blue 
 Thy dwelling in the greenwood over ! 
 
 Her silver sleys of fairy weft. 
 
 Of former joys alone remind me ; 
 
 My bliss is fled since I have left 
 
 My dear, my injured maid behind me. 
 
 A BARD'S ADDRESS TO HIS YOUNGEST 
 DAUGHTER. 
 
 Come to my arms, my dear wee pet. 
 My gleesome, gentle Harriet ! 
 The sweetest babe art thou to me 
 That ever sat on parent's knee ; 
 Thy every feature is so cheering. 
 And every motion so endearing. 
 Thou hast that eye was mine erewhile, 
 Thy mother's blithe and grateful smile. 
 And such a playful, merry mien. 
 That care flies off" whene'er thou'rt seen. 
 
 And, if aright I read thy mind. 
 The child of nature thou'rt designed ; 
 For, even while yet upon the breast, 
 Thou mimick'st child, and bird, and beast ;
 
 I 222 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 
 
 Can'st cry like Maggie o'er her book, 
 And crow like cock, and caw like rook, 
 Boo like a bull, or blare like ram. 
 And bark like dog, and bleat like lamb. 
 And when afield in sunshine weather, 
 Thou minglest all these sounds together : 
 Then who can say, thou happy creature, 
 Thou'rt not the very child of nature ? 
 
 Child of my age and dearest love ! 
 As precious gift from God above, 
 I take thy pure and gentle frame. 
 And tiny mind of mounting flame ; 
 And hope that through life's chequer'd glade — 
 That weary path that all must tread — 
 Some credit from thy name will flow 
 To the old bard who loved thee so. 
 At least, thou shalt not want thy meed — 
 His blessing on thy beauteous head. 
 And prayers to Him whose sacred breath 
 Lighten'd the shades of life and death — 
 Who said with sweet benignity, 
 *' Let little children come to me." 
 
 And now, sweet child, one boon I crave — 
 And pout not, for that boon I'll have — 
 One kiss I ask for grandam's sake, 
 Who never saw thy tiny make ; 
 And one for her who left us late. 
 Laid low, but not forgotten yet ; 
 And thy sweet mother, too, the nearest 
 To thee and me, the kindest, dearest— 
 Thou sacred, blest memorial, 
 When I kiss thee, I kiss them all !
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 223 
 
 'Tis very strange, my little dove ! 
 That all I ever loved, or love, 
 In wondrous visions still I trace 
 While gazing on thy guiltless face : 
 Thy very name brings to my mind 
 One, whose high birth and soul refined. 
 Withheld her not from naming me. 
 Even in life's last extremity. 
 Sweet babe ! thou art memorial dear 
 Of all I honour and revere ! 
 
 Come, look not sad : though sorrow now 
 Broods on thy father's thoughtful brow. 
 And on the reverie he would dwell — 
 Thy prattle soon will that expel. 
 — How dar'st thou frown, thou freal«sh fay, 
 And turn thy chubby face away, 
 And pout, as if thou took'st amiss 
 Thy partial parent's offer'd kiss ? 
 Full well I know thy deep design ; 
 'Tis to turn back thy face to mine, 
 With triple burst of joyous glee. 
 And fifty strains at mimicry ! 
 
 Crow on, sweet child ! thy wild delight 
 Is moved by visions heavenly bright : 
 What wealth from nature may'st thou gain, 
 With promptings high to heart and brain ! 
 But hope is all — though yet unproved, 
 Thou art a shepherd's best beloved : 
 And now above thy brow so fair. 
 And flowing films of flaxen hair, 
 I lay my hand once more, and frame 
 A blessing, in the holy name 
 Of that supreme divinity 
 Who breathed a living soul in thee.
 
 224 BALLADS AND POEMS, 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Fair was thy blossom, tender flower, 
 That opened like the rose in May, 
 
 Though nursed beneath the chilly shower 
 Of fell regret for love's decay ! 
 
 How oft thy mother heaved the sigh 
 O'er wreaths of honour early shorn, 
 
 Before thy sweet and guiltless eye 
 Had opened on the dawn of morn ! 
 
 How oft above thy lowly bed, 
 When all in silence slumbered low. 
 
 The fond and filial tear was shed, 
 
 Thou child of love, of shame, and woe ! 
 
 Her wronged but gentle bosom burned 
 With joy thy opening bloom to see, — 
 
 The only breast that o'er thee yearned, 
 The only heart that cared for thee. 
 
 Fair was thy blossom, bonny flower, 
 Fair as the softest wreath of spring. 
 
 When late I saw thee seek the bower 
 In peace thy morning hymn to sing ! 
 
 Thy little feet across the lawn 
 
 Scarce from the primrose pressed the dew ; 
 I thought the spirit of the dawn 
 
 Before me to the greenwood flew. 
 
 Even then the shaft was on the wing, 
 Thy spotless soul from earth to sever ; 
 
 A tear of pity wet the string 
 
 That twanged, and sealed thy doom for ever.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 225 
 
 I saw thee late the emblem fair 
 Of beauty, innocence, and truth. 
 
 Start tiptoe on the verge of air, 
 'Twixt childhood and unstable youth j 
 
 But now I see thee stretched at rest, 
 
 (To break that rest shall wake no morrow ;) 
 
 Pale as the grave-flower on thy breast, 
 Poor child of love, of shame, and sorrow ! 
 
 VERSES TO THE COMET OF i8n. 
 
 How lovely is this wildered scene, 
 As twilight from her vaults so blue 
 
 Steals soft o'er Yarrow's mountains green. 
 To sleep embalmed in midnight dew ! 
 
 All hail, ye hills, whose towering height. 
 Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky ! 
 
 And thou, mysterious guest of night, 
 Dread traveller of immensity. 
 
 Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail ; 
 
 Shred from the pall of glory riven, 
 That flashest in celestial gale, 
 
 Broad pennon of the King of heaven ! 
 
 Art thou the flag of woe and death, 
 From angel's ensign-staff" unfurled ? 
 
 Art thou the standard of His wrath, 
 Waved o'er a sordid sinful world ?
 
 226 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 No, from that pure pellucid beam, 
 
 That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone,* 
 
 No latent evil we can deem, 
 
 Bright herald of the eternal throne ! 
 
 Whate'er portends thy front of fire. 
 Thy streaming locks so lovely pale ; 
 
 Or peace to man, or judgments dire, 
 Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail ! 
 
 \Vhere hast thou roamed these thousand years ? 
 
 Why sought these polar paths again, 
 From wilderness of glowing spheres, 
 
 To fling thy vesture o'er the wain ? 
 
 And when thou scal'st the milky way. 
 And vanishest from human view, 
 
 A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray 
 Through wilds of yon empjn-eal blue. 
 
 Oh, on thy rapid prow to glide ! 
 
 To sail the boundless skies with thee. 
 And plough the twinkling stars aside. 
 
 Like foam -bells on a tranquil sea ; 
 
 To brush the embers from the sun. 
 
 The icicles from off the pole. 
 Then far to other systems run. 
 
 Where other moons and planets roll ! 
 
 Stranger of heaven ! oh let thine eye 
 Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream ; 
 
 Eccentric as thy course on high, 
 And airy as thine ambient beam. 
 
 ' It was reckoned by many tliat this was the same comet 
 which appeareil at the birth of our Saviour.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 227 
 
 And long, long may thy silver ray 
 Our northern arch at eve adorn ; 
 
 Then, wheeling to the east away, 
 Light the grey portals of the morn. 
 
 A FATHER'S LAMENT. 
 
 How can you bid this heart be blithe, 
 
 When blithe this heart can never be ? 
 I've lost the jewel from my crown, — 
 
 Look round our circle and you'll see 
 That there is ane out o' the ring 
 
 Who never can forgotten be — 
 Ay, there's a blank at my right hand 
 
 That ne'er can be made up to me ! 
 
 'Tis said, as water wears the rock. 
 
 That time wears out the deepest line ; 
 It may be true wi' hearts enow, 
 
 But never can apply to mine. 
 For I have learned to know and feel — 
 
 Though losses should forgotten be — 
 That still the blank at my right hand 
 
 Can never be made up to me ! 
 
 I blame not Providence's sway. 
 
 For I have many joys beside. 
 And fain would I, in grateful way, 
 
 Enjoy the same, whate'er betide. 
 A mortal thing should ne'er repine. 
 
 But stoop to the supreme decree ; 
 Yet, oh ! the blank at my right hand 
 
 Can never be made up to me !
 
 228 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 
 
 Now lock my chamber door, father, 
 
 And say you left me sleeping ; 
 But never tell my step -mother 
 
 Of all this bitter weeping. 
 No earthly sleep can ease my smart, 
 
 Or even a while reprieve it, 
 For there's a pang at my young heart 
 
 That never more can leave it. 
 
 Oh, let me lie, and weep my fill 
 
 O'er wounds that heal can never ; 
 And O, kind Heaven ! were it thy will 
 
 To close these eyes for ever ; 
 P'or how can maid's affections dear 
 
 Recall her love mistaken ? 
 Or how can heart of maiden bear 
 
 To know that heart forsaken ? 
 
 Oh, why should vows so fondly made 
 
 Be broken ere the morrow. 
 To one who loved as never maid 
 
 Loved in this world of sorrow ? 
 The look of scorn.I cannot brave, 
 
 Nor pity's eye more dreary; 
 A quiet sleep within the grave 
 
 Is all for which I weary. 

 
 BALLADS AND POEMS, 229 
 
 AN AGED WIDOW'S LAMENT. 
 
 Oh, is he gane, my good auld man, 
 
 And am I left forlorn ? 
 And is that manly heart at rest, 
 
 The kindest e'er was born ? 
 
 We've sojourned here, thro' hope and fear, 
 
 For fifty years and three. 
 And ne'er in all that happy time 
 
 Said he harsh word to me. 
 
 And many a braw and buirdly son. 
 And daughters in their prime, 
 
 His trembling hand laid in the grave, 
 Lang, lang afore the time. 
 
 I dinna greet the day to see 
 
 That he to them has gane ; 
 But oh, it's fearful thus to be 
 
 Left in a world alane, 
 
 Wi' a poor worn and broken heart, 
 
 Whose race of joy is run, 
 And scarce has little opening left 
 
 For aught beneath the sun. 
 
 My life nor death I winna crave, 
 
 Nor fret, nor yet despond ; 
 But a' my hope is in the grave. 
 
 And the dear hame beyond.
 
 230 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 THE FRAZERS IN THE CORREI. 
 
 " Where has your daddy gone, my little May ? 
 
 Where has our lady been a' the lang day ? 
 
 Saw you the red-coats rank on the ha' green ? 
 
 Or heard you the horn on the mountain yestreen ? " 
 
 " Auld carle greybeard, ye speer na at me, 
 
 Gae speer at the maiden that sits by the sea ; 
 
 The red-coats were here, and it wasna for good, 
 
 For the raven's grown hoarse wi' the waughtin' o' blood. 
 
 " Oh listen, auld carle, how roopit his note ! 
 The blood o' the Frazer's too hot for his throat ; 
 I trow the black traitor's of Sassenach breed, 
 They prey on the living and he on the dead. 
 Wlien I was a baby, we call'd him in joke 
 The harper of Errick, the priest of the rock ; 
 But now he's our mountain companion no more. 
 The slave of the Saxon, the quaffer of gore." 
 
 " Sweet little maiden, why talk you of death? 
 The raven's our friend, and he's croaking in wrath ; 
 lie will not pick eye from a bonneted head. 
 Nor mar the loved form by the tartans that's clad. 
 But point me the cliff where the Frazer abides, 
 \Vherc Foyers, Culduthel, and Gorthaleg hides ; 
 There's danger at hand, I must speak with them soon. 
 And seek iliem alone by the light of the moon." 
 
 " Auld carle greybeard, a friend you should be, 
 For the truth's on your lip and the tear in your e'e ; 
 Then seek in yon correi that sounds from the brae, 
 An* sings to the rock when the breeze is away.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 231 
 
 I sought them last night with the haunch of the deer, 
 And deep in their cave they were hiding in fear ; 
 There, at the last crow of the brown heather-cock, 
 They pray'd for their prince, kneel' d, and slept on the 
 rock. 
 
 "Oh, tell me, auld carle, what will be the fate 
 Of those who are killing the gallant and great ; 
 Who force our brave chiefs to the correi to go, 
 And hunt their own prince like the deer or the roe? 
 I know it, auld carle, as sure as yon sun 
 Shines over our heads, that the deeds they have done 
 To those who are braver and better than they. 
 There's one in this world or the next will repay." 
 
 JOCK JOHNSTONE THE TINKLER. 
 
 ** Oh, came ye ower by the Yoke-burn Ford, 
 Or down the King's Road of the cleuch ? 
 
 Or saw ye a Knight and a lady bright, 
 Wha hae gane the gate they baith shall rue ? 
 
 ** I saw a knight and a lady bright 
 
 Ride up the cleuch at the break of day ; 
 
 The knight upon a coal-black steed, 
 And the dame on one of the silver grey. 
 
 ** And the lady's palfrey flew the first, 
 With many a clang of silver bell : 
 
 Swift as the raven's morning flight, 
 The two went scouring ower the fell.
 
 232 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 ** By this time they are man and wife, 
 And standing in St. Mary's fane ; 
 
 And the lady in the grass-green silk 
 A maid you will never see agnin." 
 
 "Ent I can tell thee, saucy wight — 
 And that the runaways shall prove — 
 
 Revenge to a Douglas is as sweet 
 As maiden charms or maiden's love." 
 
 •'Since thou say'st that, my Lord Douglas^ 
 Good faith some clinking there will be ; 
 
 Beshrew my heart, but and my sword. 
 If I winna turn and ride with thee ! " 
 
 They whipp'd out ower the shepherd cleuch, 
 And down the links o' the Corsecleuch burn 
 
 And aye the Douglas swore by his sword 
 To win his love or ne'er return. 
 
 " Fight first your rival, Lord Douglas, 
 And then brag after, if you may ; 
 
 For the Earl of Ross is as brave a lord 
 As ever gave good weapon sway. 
 
 " But I for ae poor siller merk, 
 Or thirteen pennies an' a bawbee, 
 
 Will tak in hand to fight you baith, 
 Or beat the winner, whiche'er it be." 
 
 The Douglas turn'd him on his steed. 
 And I wat a loud laughter leuch he : — 
 
 *' Of all the fools I have ever met, 
 Man, I hae never met ane like thee.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 233 
 
 "Art thou akin to lord or knight, 
 
 Or courtly squire or warrior leal ? " 
 " I am a tinkler," quo the wight, 
 ' ''But I like crown-cracking unco weel." 
 
 Wlien they came to St. Mary's kirk, 
 
 The chaplain shook for very fear ; 
 And aye he kiss'd the cross, and said, 
 
 "What deevil has sent that Douglas here ' 
 
 " He neither values book nor ban, 
 - But curses all without demur ; 
 And cares nae mair for a holy man 
 Than I do for a worthless cur." 
 
 " Come here, thou bland and brittle priest, 
 
 And tell to me without delay, 
 Where you have hid the I.ord of Ross, 
 
 And the lady that came at the break of day ? " 
 
 *' No knight or lady, good Lord Douglas, 
 Have I beheld since break of morn ; 
 
 And I never saw the Lord of Ross 
 
 Since the woeful day that I was born." 
 
 Lord Douglas turn'd him round about, 
 And look'd the tinkler in the face ; 
 
 Where he beheld a lurking smile, 
 And a deevil of a dour grimace. 
 
 " How's this, how's this, thou tinkler loun ? 
 
 Hast thou presumed to lie to me ? " 
 " Faith, that I have ! " the tinkler said, 
 
 "And a right good turn I have done to thee ;
 
 234 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 "For the Lord of Ross, and thy own true love. 
 The beauteous Harriet of Thirlestane, 
 
 Rade west away, ere the break of day ; 
 And you'll never see that dear maid again : 
 
 "So I thought it best to bring you here, 
 On a wrang scent, of my own accord ; 
 
 For had you met the Johnstone clan, 
 They wad hae made mince-meat of a lord." 
 
 At this the Douglas was so wroth, 
 
 He wist not what to say or do ; 
 But he strak the tinkler o'er the croun, 
 
 Till the blood came dreeping ower his brow. 
 
 *« Beshrew thy heart," quo the tinkler lad, 
 " Thou bear'st thee most vmgallantlye ! 
 
 If these are the manners of a lord, 
 They are manners that winna gang down wi' me. 
 
 " Hold up thy hand," the Douglas cried, 
 "And keep thy distance, tinkler loun 1 " 
 
 "That will I not," the tinkler said, 
 
 " Though I and my mare should both go down ! 
 
 ♦* I have armour on," cried the Lord Douglas, 
 " Cuirass and helm, as you may see." 
 
 " The deil may care ! " quo the tinkler lad ; 
 " I shall have a skelp at them and thee." 
 
 " You are not horsed," quo the Lord Douglas, 
 " And no remorse this weapon brooks." 
 
 " Mine's a right good yaud," quo the tinkler lad ; 
 " And a great deal better nor she looks. 
 
 •* So stand to thy weapons, thou haughty lord j 
 What I have taken I needs must give ;
 
 BALLADS AlStD POEMS. 235 
 
 Thou shalt never strike a tinkler again, 
 For the langest day thou hast to live." 
 
 Then to it they fell, both sharp and snelJ, 
 Till the fire from both their weapons flew ; 
 
 But the very first shock that they met with, 
 The Douglas his rashness 'gan to rue. 
 
 For though he had on a sark of mail, 
 And a cuirass on his breast wore he. 
 
 With a good steel bonnet on his head, 
 Yet the blood ran trinkling to his knee. 
 
 The Douglas sat upright and firm. 
 Aye as together their horses ran ; 
 
 But the tinkler laid on like a very deil — 
 Siccan strokes were never laid on by man. 
 
 " Hold up thy hand, thou tinkler loun? " 
 Cried the poor priest, with whining din ; 
 
 " If you hurt the brave Lord James Douglas, 
 A curse be on thee and all thy kin ! " 
 
 " I care no more for Lord James Douglas, 
 Than Lord James Douglas cares for me ; 
 
 But I want to let his proud heart know. 
 That a tinkler's a man as well as he." 
 
 So they fought on, and they fought on, 
 
 Till good Lord Douglas' breath was gone j 
 
 And the tinkler bore him to the ground. 
 With rush, with rattle, and with groan. 
 
 ** O hon ! O hon ! " cried the proud Douglas, 
 "That I this day should have lived to see ! 
 
 For sure my honour I have lost, 
 And a leader again I can never be !
 
 236 BALLADS AND POEMS, 
 
 ** But tell me of thy kith and kin, 
 And where was bred thy weapon hand ? 
 
 For thou art the wale of tinkler louns 
 That ever was born in fair Scotland." 
 
 the wight,- 
 
 ee 
 
 " My name's Jock Johnstone," quo tj- 
 " I winna keep in my name frae th. 
 
 And here, take thou thy sword again, 
 And better friends we two shall be.' 
 
 But the Douglas swore a solemn oath, 
 That was a debt he could never owe ; 
 
 He would rather die at the back of the dike, 
 Than owe his sword to a man so low. 
 
 *' But if thou wilt ride under my banner, 
 And bear my livery and my name. 
 
 My right-hand warrior thou shalt be, 
 And I'll knight thee on the field of fame." 
 
 "Woe worth thy wit, good Lord Douglas, 
 To think I'd change my trade for thine ; 
 
 Far better and wiser would you be, 
 To live as a journeyman of mine, 
 
 "To mend a kettle or a casque, 
 Or clout a goodwife's yettlin pan — 
 
 Upon my life, good Lord Douglas, 
 You'd make a noble tinkler man ! 
 
 *' I would give you a drammock twice-a-day. 
 And sunkets on a Sunday morn ; 
 
 And you should be a rare adept 
 
 In steel and copper, brass and horn. 
 
 ** I'll fight you every day you rise, 
 Till you can act the hero's part ;
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 237 
 
 Therefore I pray you, think of this, 
 I And lay it seriously to heart." 
 
 I The Douglas writhed beneath the lash, 
 
 I Answering with an inward curse — 
 
 I Like salmon wriggling on a spear, 
 
 j That makes his deadly wound the worse. 
 
 1 Eut up there came two squires renown'd j 
 I In search of Lord Douglas they came ; 
 
 ! And when they saw their master down, 
 j Their spirits mounted in a flame. 
 
 \ And they flew upon the tinkler wight, 
 { Like perfect tigers on their prey ; 
 
 I But the tinkler heaved his trusty sword, 
 I And made him ready for the fray. 
 
 i " Come one to one, ye coward knaves — 
 \ Come hand to hand, and steed to steed, 
 
 j I would that ye were better men, 
 I For this is glorious work indeed ! " 
 
 I Before you could have counted twelve, 
 
 I The tinkler's wondrous chivalrye 
 
 I Had both the squires upon the sward, 
 
 \ And their horses galloping o'er the lea. 
 
 \ The tinkler tied them neck and heel, 
 j And many a biting jest gave he ; 
 
 I " O fie, for shame ! " said the tinkler lad, 
 I *' Siccan fighters I did never see ! " 
 
 He slit one of their bridal reins — 
 Oh what disgrace the conquer' d feels ! 
 
 And he skelpit the squires with that good tawse. 
 Till the blood ran ofl' at baith their heels.
 
 238 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 The Douglas he was forced to laugh, 
 Till down his cheek the salt tears ran •. 
 
 ** I think the deevil be come here 
 In the likeness of a tinkler man ! " 
 
 Then he is to Lord Douglas gone, 
 And he raised him kindly by the hand, 
 
 And he set him on his gallant steed, 
 And bore him away to Henderland : 
 
 " Be not cast down, my Lord Douglas, 
 Nor writhe beneath a broken bane. 
 
 For the leech's art will mend the part. 
 And your honour lost will spring again. 
 
 " 'Tis true, Jock Johnstone is my name, 
 I'm a right good tinkler as you see ; 
 
 For I can crack a casque betimes, 
 Gr clout one, as my need may be. 
 
 "Jock Johnstone is my name, 'tis true — 
 But noble hearts are allied to me, 
 
 For I am the Lord of Annandale, 
 
 And a knight and earl as well as thee." 
 
 Then Douglas strained the hero's hand, 
 And took from it his sword again ; 
 
 " Since thou art the Lord of Annandale, 
 Thou hast eased my heart of meikle pain. 
 
 *' I might have known thy noble form. 
 In that disguise thou'rt pleased to wear ; 
 
 All Scotland knows thy matchless arm, 
 And England by experience dear.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 239 
 
 ** We have been foes as well as friends, 
 And jealous of each other's sway ; 
 
 But little can I comprehend 
 
 Thy motive for these pranks to-day ?" 
 
 " Sooth, my good lord, the truth to tell, 
 'Twas I that stole your love away, 
 
 And gave her to the Lord of Ross 
 An hour before the break of day : 
 
 " For the Lord of Ross is my brother, 
 
 By all the laws of chivalrye ; 
 And I brought with me a thousand men 
 
 To guard him to my own countrye. 
 
 " But I thought meet to stay behind, 
 And try your lordship to waylay ; 
 
 Resolved to breed some noble sport, 
 By leading you so far astray ; 
 
 "Judging it better some lives to spare — 
 Wliich fancy takes me now and then — 
 
 And settle our quarrel hand to hand, 
 Than each with our ten thousand men. 
 
 " God send you soon, my Lord Douglas, 
 To Border foray sound and haill ! 
 
 But never strike a tinkler again. 
 
 If he be a Johnstone of Annandale." 
 
 "^
 
 240 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 MARIA GRAY. 
 
 Who says that Maria Gray is dead, 
 
 And that I in this world can see her never ? 
 Wlio says she is laid in her cold death-bed, 
 
 The prey of the grave and of death for ever? 
 Ah ! they know little of my dear maid, 
 
 Or kindness of her spirit's giver ; 
 For every night she is by my side 
 
 By the morning bower, or the moonlight river. 
 
 Maria was bonnie when she was here, 
 
 When flesh and blood was her mortal dwelling ; 
 Her smile was sweet and her mind was clear, 
 
 And her form all human forms excelling. 
 But oh ! if they saw Maria now. 
 
 With her looks of pathos and of feeling. 
 They would see a cherub's radiant brow, 
 
 To ravished mortal eyes unveiling ! 
 
 The rose is the fairest of earthly flowers — 
 
 It is all of beauty and of sweetness — 
 So my dear maid, in the heavenly bowers. 
 
 Excels in beauty and in meetness. 
 She has kiss'd my cheek, she has kemb'd my hair. 
 
 And made a breast of heaven my pillow. 
 And promised her God to take me there, 
 
 Before the leaf falls from the willow. 
 
 Farewell, ye homes of living men ! 
 
 I have no relish for your pleasures — 
 In the human face I nothing ken 
 
 That with my spirit's yearning measures : 
 I long for onward bliss to be, 
 
 A day of joy, a brighter morrow ; 
 And from this bondage to be free. 
 
 Farewell, thou world of sin and sorrow I
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 241 
 
 Oh, great was the wonder, and great was the dread, 
 Of the friends of the living, and friends of the dead ; 
 For every evening and morning were seen 
 Two maidens, where only one should have been ! 
 Still hand in hand they moved, and sung 
 Their hymns, on the walks they trode when young ; 
 And one night, some of the watcher train 
 Were said to have heard this holy strain 
 Wafted upon the trembling air ; 
 It was sung by one, although two were there : — 
 
 HYMN OVER A DYING VIRGIN. 
 
 *' O thou whom once thy redeeming love 
 Brought'st down to earth from the throne a'.iove, 
 Stretch forth thy cup of salvation free 
 To a thirsty soul, that longs for thee ! 
 O thou who left'st the realms of day, 
 Whose blessed head in a manger lay, 
 See her here prostrate before thy throne, 
 Who trusts in thee, and in thee alone ! 
 
 " O thou, who once, as thy earthly rest, 
 Wert cradled on a virgin's breast. 
 For the sake of one who held thee dear, 
 Extend thy love to this virgin here ! 
 Thou Holy One, whose blood was spilt 
 Upon the cross, for human guilt, 
 This humbled virgin's longings see, 
 And take her soul in peace to thee ! " 
 
 That very night the mysterious dame 
 Not home to her father's dwelling came, 
 Though her maidens sat in chill dismay. 
 And watch'd and call'd, till the break of day.
 
 242 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 But in the dawning, with fond regard, 
 
 They sought the bower where the song was heard, 
 
 And found her form stretch'd on the green. 
 
 The loveliest corpse that ever was seen. 
 
 She lay as in balmy sleep reposed, 
 
 While her lips and eyes were sweetly closed. 
 
 As if about to awake and speak ; 
 
 For a dimpling smile was on her cheek, 
 
 And the pale rose there had a gentle glow, 
 
 Like the morning's tint on a wreath of snow. 
 
 All was so seemly and serene 
 As she lay composed upon the green, 
 It was plain to all that no human aid, 
 But an angel's hand, had the body laid ; 
 For from her form there seem'd to rise 
 The sweetest odours of paradise. 
 Around her temples and brow so fair 
 White roses are twined in her auburn hair, 
 All bound \\ith a birch and holly band, 
 And the book of God was in her right hand. 
 
 Farewell, ye flowerets of sainted fame. 
 Ye sweetest maidens of mortal frame ; 
 A sacred love o'er your lives presided, 
 And in your deaths you were not divided ! 
 Oh, blessed are they who bid adieu 
 To this erring nature as pure as you !
 
 SONGS. 
 
 I HAE NAEBODY NOW. 
 
 I HAE naebody now, I hae naebody now, 
 
 To meet me upon the green, 
 Wi' light locks waving o'er her brow. 
 
 An' joy in her deep blue een ; 
 Wi' the raptured kiss an' the happy smile, 
 
 An' the dance o' the lightsome fay, 
 An' the wee bit tale o' news the while, 
 
 That had happen'd when I was away. 
 
 I hae naebody now, I hae naebody now, 
 
 To clasp to my bosom at even, 
 O'er her calm sleep to breath the vow. 
 
 An' pray for a blessing from heaven. 
 An' the wild embrace, an' the gleesome face, 
 
 In the morning that met my eye, 
 Where are they now, where are they now ? 
 
 In the cauld, cauld grave they lie. 
 
 There's naebody kens, there's naebody kens 
 An' oh may they never prove,
 
 244 SONGS, 
 
 That sharpest degree of agony, 
 
 For the child o' their earthly love — 
 
 To see a flower in its vernal hour 
 By slow degrees decay, 
 
 Then calmly aneath the hand o' death 
 Breathe its sweet soul away ! 
 
 The moon was a-waning. 
 
 The tempest was over, 
 Fair was the maiden, 
 
 And fond was the lover ; 
 But the snow was so deep, 
 
 That his heart it grew wc: ry. 
 And he sunk down to slee]) 
 
 In the moorland so dreary. 
 
 Soft was the bed 
 
 She had made for her lover ; 
 White were the sheets, 
 
 And embroidered the cover, 
 
 O dinna break, my poor auld heart, i 
 
 Nor at thy loss repine, >■ 
 
 For the unseen hand that threw the dart I 
 
 Was sent frae her Fatner and thine ; i 
 
 Yet I maun mourn, an' I zm/I mourn, I 
 
 Even till my latest day, \ 
 
 For though my darling can never return [ 
 
 I can follow t\\e sooner away. 
 
 THE MOON WAS A-WANING.
 
 But his sheets are more white, 
 And his canopy grander, 
 
 And sounder he sleeps 
 
 Where the hill-foxes wander. 
 
 Alas, pretty maiden, 
 
 What sorrows attend you ! 
 I see you sit shivering, 
 
 With lights at your window : 
 But long you may wait 
 
 Ere your arms shall enclose him, 
 For still, still he lies. 
 
 With a wreath on his bosom. 
 
 How painful the task. 
 
 The sad tidings to tell you ! — 
 An orphan you were 
 
 Ere this misery befell you. 
 And far in yon wild, 
 
 Wliere the dead tapers hover, 
 So cold, cold, and wan. 
 
 Lies the corse of your lover. 
 
 LOOSE THE YETT. 
 
 Loose the yett, an' let me in, 
 
 Lady wi' the glistening e'e, 
 Dinna let your menial train 
 
 Drive an auld man out to dee. 
 Cauldrife is the winter even, 
 
 See the rime hangs at my chin ; 
 Lady, for the sake of heaven. 
 
 Loose the yett, an' let me in I
 
 246 SONGS. 
 
 Ye shall gain a virgin hue, 
 
 Lady, for your courtesye, 
 Ever beaming, ever new. 
 
 Aye to bloom an' ne'er to dee. 
 Lady, there's a lovely plain 
 
 Lies beyond yon setting sun, 
 There we soon may meet again — 
 
 Short the race we hae to run. 
 
 'Tis a land of love an' light. 
 
 Rank or title is not there ; 
 High an' low maun there unite, 
 
 Poor man, prince, an' lady fair. 
 There, what thou on earth hast given, 
 
 Doubly shall be paid again : 
 Lady, for the sake of heaven 
 
 Loose the yett, an' let me in ! 
 
 Blessings rest upon thy head, 
 
 Lady of this lordly ha' ! 
 That bright tear that thou didst shed 
 
 Fell na down amang the snaw ! 
 It is gane to heaven aboon, 
 
 To the fount of charity ; 
 \Vhen thy days on earth are done. 
 
 That blest drop shall plead for thee. 
 
 BY A BUSH. 
 
 By a bush on yonder brae, 
 
 \Vhere the airy Benger rises, 
 Sandy tun'd his artless lay ; 
 Thus he sung the lea-lang day,
 
 SONGS. 247 
 
 '* Thou shalt ever be my theme, 
 
 Yarrow, winding down the hollow, 
 With thy bonny sister stream^ 
 Sweeping through the broom so yellow. 
 On these banks thy waters lave, 
 Oft the warrior found a grave. 
 
 *' Oft on thee the silent wain 
 
 Saw the Douglas' banners streaming ; 
 Oft on thee the hunter train. 
 Sought the shelter'd deer in vain ; 
 Oft, in thy green dells and bowers. 
 
 Swains have seen the fairies riding ; 
 Oft the snell and sleety showers, 
 
 Found in thee the warrior hiding. 
 Many a wild and bloody scene 
 On thy bonny banks have been. 
 
 ** Wind, my Yarrow, down the howe, 
 Forming bows o' dazzling siller, 
 
 Meet thy titty yont the knowe : 
 
 Wi' my love I'll join like you. 
 
 Flow, my Ettrick, it was thee 
 Into life wha first did drap me : 
 
 Thee I've sung, an' when I dee 
 Thou wilt lend a sod to hap me : 
 Passing swains shall say, and weep, 
 Here our Shepherd lies asleep.'
 
 THE BONNIE LASS OF DELORAINE. 
 
 Still must my pipe lie idle by, 
 
 And worldly cares my mind annoy? 
 Again its softest notes I'll try, 
 
 So dear a theme can never cloy. 
 Last time my mountain harp I strung, 
 
 'Twas she inspired the simple strain — 
 That lovely flower so sweet and young, 
 
 The bonnie lass of Deloraine. 
 
 How blest the breeze's balmy siglis 
 
 Around her ruddy lips that blow : 
 The flower that in her bosom dies, 
 
 Or grass that bends beneath her toe. 
 Her cheek's endowed with power at will 
 
 The rose's richest shade to drain ; 
 Her eyes, what soft enchantments fill ! 
 
 The bonnie lass of Deloraine. 
 
 Let Athol boast her birchen bowers, 
 
 And Lomond of her isles so green ; 
 And Windermere her woodland shores : 
 
 Our Ettrick boasts a sweeter scene : 
 For there the evening twilight swells, 
 
 With many a wild and melting strain ; 
 And there the pride of beauty dwells. 
 
 The bonnie lass of Deloraine. 
 
 If Heaven shall keep her aye as good 
 And bonnie as she wont to be, 
 
 The world may into Ettrick crowd, 
 And nature's first perfection see.
 
 SONGS. 249 
 
 Glencoe has drawn the wanderer's eye, 
 And Staffa in the western main j 
 
 These natural wonders ne'er can vie 
 Wi' the bonnie lass of Deloraine. 
 
 May health still cheer her beauteous face, — 
 
 And round her brow may honour twine ; 
 -And Heaven preserve that breast in peace, 
 
 WHiere meekness, love, and duty join ! 
 But all her joys shall cheer my heart, 
 
 And all her griefs shall give me pain ; 
 For never from my soul shall part 
 
 The bonnie lass of Deloraine. 
 
 O, JEANIE, THERE'S NAETHING TO FEAR. 
 
 Oh, my lassie, our joy to complete again, 
 
 Meet me again i' the gloaming, my dearie ; 
 Low down in the dell let us meet again — 
 Oh, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! 
 Come, when the wee bat flits silent and eiry. 
 Come, when the pale face o' Nature looks weary , 
 Love be thy sure defence. 
 Beauty and innocence — 
 Oh, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! 
 
 Sweetly blows the haw an' the rowan-tree. 
 Wild roses speck our thicket sae briery ; 
 
 Still, still will our walk in the greenwood be — 
 Oh, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye I
 
 250 SONGS. 
 
 List when the blackbird o' singing grows weary, 
 List when the beetle-bee's bugle comes near ye, 
 Then come with fairy has^e, 
 Light foot, an' beating breaat — 
 Oh, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! 
 
 Far, far will the bogle an' brownie be, 
 
 Beauty an' truth they dauma come near it ; 
 Klind love is the tie of our unity, 
 
 A' maun love it, an' a maun revere it. 
 'Tis love makes the song o' the woodland sae cheery, 
 Love gars a' nature look bonnie that's near ye ; 
 That makes the rose sae sweet, 
 Cowslip and violet — 
 Oh, Jeanie, there's naething to fear ye ! 
 
 WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME. 
 
 Come, all ye jolly shepherds 
 
 That whistle through the glen, 
 I'll tell ye of a secret 
 
 That courtiers dinna ken : 
 What is the greatest bliss 
 
 That the tongue o' man can name ? 
 'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie 
 When the kye comes hame. 
 When the kye comes hame, 
 When the kye comes hame, 
 'Tween the gloaming and the mirk, 
 When the kye comes hame. 
 
 'Tis not beneath the coronet, 
 Nor canopy of state.
 
 SONGS, 251 
 
 'Tis not on couch of velvet, 
 Nor arbour of the great — 
 
 'Tis beneath the spreading birk, 
 In the glen without the name, 
 
 Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, 
 When the kye comes hame. 
 When the kye comes hame, etc. 
 
 There the blackbird bigs his nest 
 
 For the mate he lo'es to see. 
 And on the topmost bough, 
 
 Oh, a happy bird is he ; 
 Where he pours his melting ditty, 
 
 And love is a' the theme. 
 And he'll woo his bonnie lassie 
 
 When the kye comes hame. 
 
 When the kye comes hame, etc. 
 
 When the blewart bears a pearl, 
 
 And the daisy turns a pea. 
 And the bonnie lucken gowan 
 
 Has fauldit up her e'e, 
 Then the laverock frae the blue lift 
 
 Drops down, an' thinks nae shame 
 To woo his bonnie lassie 
 
 When the kye comes hame, 
 When the kye comes hame, etc. 
 
 See yonder pawkie shepherd. 
 
 That lingers on the hill, 
 His ewes are in the fauld, 
 
 An' his lambs are lying still ; 
 Yet he downa gang to bed. 
 
 For his heart is in a flame
 
 252 SONGS. I 
 
 To meet his bonnie lassie 
 I When the kye comes hame. 
 
 I WTien the kye comes hame, etc 
 
 When the little wee bit lieart 
 
 Rises high in the breast, 
 An' the little wee bit starn 
 
 Rises red in the east, 
 Oh there's a joy sae dear. 
 
 That the heart can hardly frame, 
 Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, 
 
 When the kye comes hame ! 
 When the kye comes hame, etc. 
 
 Then since all nature joins 
 
 In this love without alloy, 
 Oh, wha wad prove a traitor 
 
 To Nature's dearest joy? 
 Or wha wad choose a crown, 
 Wi' its perils and its fame, 
 And miss his bonnie lassie 
 When the kye comes hame, 
 ^Vhen the kye comes hame, 
 \Vhen the kye comes hame, 
 'Tween the gloaming and the mirk, 
 When the kye comes hame ! 
 
 A BOY'S SONG. 
 
 Where the pools ^re bright and deep, 
 Where the grey ttout lies asleep. 
 Up the river and o'er the lea, 
 That's the way for Billy and me.
 
 SONGS. 253 
 
 Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
 Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, 
 Where the nestlings chirp and flee, 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
 Where the hay lies thick and greenest ; 
 There to trace the homeward bee, 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Where the hazel bank is steepest, 
 Where the shadow falls the deepest, 
 Where the clustering nuts fall free, 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 Why the boys should drive away 
 Little sweet maidens from the play. 
 Or love to banter and fight so well, 
 That's the thing I never could tell. 
 
 But this I know, I love to play, 
 Through the meadow, among the hay ; 
 Up the water and o'er the lea. 
 That's the way for Billy and me. 
 
 THE BROOM SAE GREEN. 
 
 Lang I sat by the broom sae green. 
 
 An' oh, my heart was eerie, 
 For aye this strain was breathed within, 
 
 Your laddie will no come near ye ! 
 Lie still, thou wee bit fluttering thing, 
 \Vhat means this weary wavering ?
 
 254 SONGS. 
 
 Nae heart returns thy raptured spring, 
 Your laddie will no come near ye ! 
 
 His leifu' sang the robin sung 
 
 On +he bough that hung sae near me ; 
 Wi' teiider grief my heart was wrung, 
 
 P'or oh, the strain was dreary ! 
 The robin's sang it couldna be 
 That gart the tear-drap blind my e'e ; 
 How ken'd the wee bird on the tree 
 
 That my laddie wad no come near me ? 
 
 The new-wean'd lamb on yonder lea 
 It bleats out through the braken. 
 
 The berried bird upon the tree 
 Mourns o'er its nest forsaken ; 
 
 If they are wae, how weel may I ? 
 
 Nae grief like mine aneath the sky ; 
 
 The lad I lo'e he cares nae by, 
 
 Though my fond heart is breaking ! 
 
 THE SKYLARK. 
 
 Bird of the wilderness, 
 
 Blithesome and cumberless, 
 Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness. 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
 Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 Wild is thy lay and loud, 
 Far in the downy cloud, 
 Loves gives it energy, love gave it birth.
 
 SONGS. 255 
 
 Where, on thy dewy wing, 
 Where art thou journeying ? 
 Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. 
 
 O'er fell and fountain sheen. 
 
 O'er moor and mountain green, 
 O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, 
 
 Over the cloudlet dim. 
 
 Over the rainbow's rim. 
 Musical cherub, soar, singing, away ! 
 
 Then, when the gloaming comes. 
 
 Low in the heather blooms 
 Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be ! 
 
 Emblem of happiness, 
 
 Blest is thy dwelling-place — 
 Oh, to abide in the desert with thee ! 
 
 BONNIE PRINCE CHARLIE. 
 
 Cam' ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg, 
 Down by the Tummel, or banks o' the Garry ; 
 Saw ye our lads, wi' their bonnets and white cockades, 
 Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie ? 
 Follow thee ! follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee ? 
 Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly : 
 Charlie, Charlie, wha v/adna follow thee, 
 ICing o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie ? 
 
 I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald ; 
 But if I had ten, they should follow Glengarry. 
 Health to M'Donnel, and gallant Clan-Ronald, 
 For these are the men that will die for their Charlie. 
 Follow thee ! follow thee ! etc.
 
 256 SONGS. 
 
 I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them, 
 Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie ; 
 Brave M'Intosh he shall fly to the field with them j 
 These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie ! 
 Follow thee ! follow thee ! etc. 
 
 Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore I 
 Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely ! 
 Ronald and Donald, drive on wi' the broad claymore, 
 Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie ! 
 
 Follow thee ! follow thee ! wha wadna follow thee ? 
 Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly : 
 Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee. 
 King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie? 
 
 FLORA MACDONALD'S FAREWELL. 
 
 Far over yon hills of the heather sae green, 
 
 An' down by the correi that sings to the sea, 
 The bonnie young Flora sat sighing her lane. 
 
 The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her e'e. 
 She luok'd at a boat wi' the breezes that swung 
 
 Away, on the wave, like a bird of the main. 
 An' aye as it lessen'd, she sighed an' she sung, 
 
 Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again ! 
 Fareweel to my hero, the gallant an' young, 
 
 Fareweel to the lad T shall ne'er see again. 
 
 The muircock that craws on the brows of Ben-Connal, 
 He kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame ; 
 
 The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan-Ronald, 
 Unawed and unhunted, his eyry can claim ;
 
 SONGS, 257 
 
 The solan can sleep on the shelve of the shore. 
 The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea, 
 
 But ah ! there is one whose sad fate I deplore, 
 
 Nor house, ha', nor hame, in this country has he — 
 
 The conflict is past, and our name is no more — 
 There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me ! 
 
 The target is torn from the arm of the just. 
 
 The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave, 
 The claymore for ever in darkness must rust, 
 
 But red is the sword of the stranger and slave ; 
 The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud. 
 
 Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet of blue : 
 Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud 
 
 When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true ? 
 Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good ; 
 
 The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow ! 
 
 M 'LEAN'S WELCOME. 
 
 Come o'er the stream, Charlie, 
 Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ; 
 Come o'er the stream, Charlie, 
 
 And dine with M'Lean ; 
 And though you be weary, 
 We'll make your heart cheery, 
 And welcome our Charlie, 
 
 And his loyal train. 
 We'll bring down the track deer, 
 We'll bring down the black steer,
 
 2S8 SONGS. 
 
 The lamb from the bracken, 
 
 And doe from the glen ; 
 The salt sea we'll harr}', 
 And bring to our Charlie 
 The cream from the bothy, 
 
 And curd from the pen. 
 
 Come o'er the stream, Charlie, 
 Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ; 
 Come o'er the sea, Charlie, 
 
 And dine with M'Lean ; 
 And you shall drink freely 
 The dews of Glen-sheerly, 
 That stream in the starlight 
 
 When kings do not ken. 
 And deep be your meed 
 Of the wine that is red, 
 To drink to your sire. 
 
 And his friend the M'Lean. 
 
 Come o'er the stream, Charlie, 
 Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ; 
 Come o'er the stream, Charlie, 
 
 And dine with M 'Lean ; 
 If aught will invite you. 
 Or more will delight you, 
 
 'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highland- 
 men, 
 All ranged on the heather, 
 With bonnet and feather, 
 Strong arms and broad claymores, 
 
 Three hundred and ten I
 
 SONGS. 259 
 
 THE STUARTS OF APPIN. 
 
 I SING of a land that was famous of yore, 
 
 The land of green Appin, the ward of the flood, 
 Where every grey cairn that broods o'er the shore, 
 
 Marks grave of the royal, the valiant, or good : 
 The land where the strains of grey Ossian were framed — 
 
 The land of fair Selma, and reign of Fingal — 
 And late of a race, that with tears must be named, 
 The noble Clan Stuart, the bravest of all. 
 
 Oh-hon, an Righ ! and the Stuarts of Appin ! 
 The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin ! 
 Their glory is o'er, 
 For the clan is no more, 
 And the Sassenach sings on the hills of green Appin. 
 
 In spite of the Campbells, their might and renown. 
 
 And all the proud files of Glenorchy and Lorn, 
 While one of the Stuarts held claim on the crown, 
 
 His banner full boldly by Appin was borne. 
 And ne'er fell the Campbells in check or trepan, 
 
 In all their Whig efforts their power to renew. 
 But still on the Stuarts of Appin they ran. 
 
 To wreak their proud wrath on the brave and the few. 
 Oh-hon, an Righ ! and the Stuarts of Appin, etc. 
 
 In the year of the Graham, while in oceans of blood 
 
 The fields of the Campbells were gallantly flowing, 
 It was then that the Stuarts the foremost still stood, 
 
 And paid back a share of the debt they were owing. 
 O proud Inverlochy ! O day of renown ! 
 
 Since first the sun rose o'er the peaks of Cruachin, 
 ^Vas ne'er such an host by such valour o'erthrown. 
 
 Was ne'er such a day for the Stuarts of Appin ! 
 Oh-hon, an Righ ! and the Stuarts of Appin, etc.
 
 26o SONGS. 
 
 And ne'er for the crown of the Stuarts was fought 
 
 One battle on vale, or on mountain deer-trodden, 
 But dearly to Appin the glory was bought, 
 
 And dearest of all on the field of Culloden ! 
 Lament, O Glen-Creran, Glen-Duror, Ardshiel, 
 
 High offspring of heroes, who conquer'd were never ; 
 For the deeds of your fathers no bard shall reveal, 
 
 And the bold clan of Stuart must perish for ever ! 
 Oh-hon, an Righ ! and the Stuarts of Appin, etc. 
 
 Clan-Chattan is broken, the Seaforth bends low. 
 
 The sun of Clan-Ranald is sinking in labour ; 
 Glencoe and Clan-Donnachie, where are they now ? 
 
 And where is bold Keppoch, the lord of Lochaber ? 
 All gone with the house they supported ! — laid low, 
 
 \Vhile dogs of the south their bold life-blood were 
 lapping, 
 Trod down by a proud and a merciless foe — 
 
 The brave are all gone with the Stuarts of Appin ! 
 Oh-hon, an Righ ! and the Stuarts of Appin, etc. 
 
 They are gone, they are gone, the redoubted, the brave ! 
 
 The sea-breezes lone o'er their rehcs are sighing ; 
 Dark weeds of oblivion shroud many a grave 
 Where the unconquered foes of the Campbell are 
 lying. 
 But long as the grey hairs wave over this brow. 
 And earthly emotions my spirit are wrapping, 
 My old heart with tides of regret shall o'erflow, 
 And bleed for the fall of the Stuarts of Appin ! 
 Oh-hon, an Righ ! and the Stuarts of Appin ! 
 The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin ! 
 Their glory is o'er. 
 For their star is no more, 
 And the green grass waves over the heroes of Appin !
 
 SONGS. 261 
 
 FAREWELL TO GLEN-SHALLOCH. 
 
 Farewell to Glen-Shalloch, 
 
 A farewell for ever ; 
 Farewell to ray wee cot 
 
 That stands by the river ! 
 The fall is loud sounding 
 
 In voices that vary, 
 And the echoes surrounding 
 
 Lament with my Mary. 
 
 I saw her last night, 
 
 'Mid the rocks that enclose them, 
 With a child at her knee, 
 
 And a child at her bosom : 
 I heard her sweet voice 
 
 'Mid the depth of my slumber. 
 And the song that she sung 
 
 Was of sorrow and cumber. 
 
 * ' Sleep sound, my sweet babe ! 
 
 There is nought to alarm thee ; 
 The sons of the valley 
 
 No power have to harm thee. 
 I'll sing thee to rest 
 
 In the balloch untrodden, 
 With a coronach sad 
 
 For the slain of Culloden. 
 
 ** The brave were betray 'd, 
 
 And the tyrant is daring 
 To trample and waste us, 
 
 Unpitying, unsparing.
 
 262 SONGS. 
 
 Thy mother no voice has, 
 
 No feeling that changes, 
 No word, sign, or song, 
 
 But the lesson of vengeance 1 
 
 " I'll tell thee, my son, 
 
 How our laurels are withering ; 
 I'll bind on thy sword 
 
 When the clansmen are gathering 
 I'll bid thee go forth 
 
 In the cause of true honour, 
 And never return 
 
 Till thy country hath won her I 
 
 "Our tower of devotion 
 
 Is the house of the reaver ; 
 The pride of the ocean 
 
 Is fallen for ever ; 
 The pride of the forest. 
 
 That time could not weaken, 
 Is trod in the dust, 
 
 And its honours are shaken. 
 
 "Rise, spirits of yore, 
 
 Ever dauntless in dangi^r ! 
 For the land that was yours 
 
 Is the land of the stranger. 
 Oh come from your caverns, 
 
 All bloodless and hoary, 
 And these fiends of the valley 
 
 Shall tremble before ve I " 
 
 -MtfJN-
 
 SONGS. 263 
 
 M'KIMMAN. 
 
 Is your war-pipe asleep, and for ever, M'Kimman? 
 
 Is your war-pipe asleep, and for ever ? 
 Shall the pibroch that welcomed the foe to Ben-Aer 
 Be hushed when we seek the red wolf in his lair. 
 
 To give back our wrongs to the giver ? 
 To the raid and the onslaught our chieftains have gone — 
 Like the course of the fire-flaught their clansmen 
 
 pass'd on ; 
 With the lance and the shield 'gainst the foe they have 
 
 bound them, 
 
 And have taken the held with their vassals around them. 
 
 Then raise the wild slogan-cry. On to the foray ! 
 
 Sons of the heather-hill, pine-wood, and glen ; 
 
 Shout for MTherson, M'Leod, and the Moray, 
 
 Till the Lomonds re-echo the challenge again. 
 
 Youth of the daring heart, bright be thy doom 
 
 As the bodings which light up thy bold spirit now ; 
 
 But the fate of M'Kimman is closing in gloom, 
 
 And the breath of the grey wraith hath pass'd o'er 
 his brow. 
 
 Victorious in joy thou'lt return to Ben-Aer, 
 
 And be clasp'd to the hearts of thy best beloved there ; 
 
 But M'Kimman, M'Kimman, M'Kimman shall never — 
 
 O never — never — never — never ! 
 
 Wilt thou shrink from the doom thou can shun not, 
 M'Kimman? 
 
 Wilt thou shrink from the doom thou can shun not ? 
 If thy course must be brief, let the proud Saxon know 
 That the soul of M'Kimman ne'er quail'd when a foe 
 
 Bared his blade in a land he had won not.
 
 264 SONGS. 
 
 Where the light-footed roe leaves the wild breeze 
 
 behind, 
 And the red heather-bloom gives its sweets to the 
 
 wind — 
 There our broad pennon flies, and our keen steeds are 
 
 prancing 
 'Mid the startling war-cries, and the bright weapons 
 glancing ! 
 
 Then raise the wild slogan-cry, On to the foray ! 
 
 Sons of the heather-hill, pine-wood, and glen; 
 
 Shout for M'Pherson, M'Leod, and the Moray, 
 
 Till the Lomonds re-echo the challenge again ! 
 
 DONALD MCDONALD. 
 
 My name it is Donald M 'Donald, 
 
 I live in the Hielands sae grand ; 
 I hae foUow'd our banner, and will do, 
 
 WTierever my Maker has land. 
 When rankit amang the blue bonnets, 
 
 Nae danger can fear me ava; 
 I ken that my brethren around me 
 Are either to conquer or fa'. 
 Brogues an' brochen an' a', 
 Brochen an' brogues an' a' ; 
 An' is nae her very weel aff, 
 Wi' her brogues an' brochen an' a' ? 
 
 What though we befriendit young Charlie? 
 
 To tell it I dinna think shame ; 
 Poor lad ! he came to us but barely, 
 
 An' reckoned our mountains his hame.
 
 SONGS. 265 
 
 'Twas true that our reason forbade us, 
 
 But tenderness carried the day ; 
 Had Geordie come friendless amang us, 
 Wi' him we had a' gane away, 
 Sword an' buckler an' a', 
 Buckler an' sword and a'; 
 Now for George we'll encounter the devil, 
 Wi' sword an' buckler an' a' ! 
 
 An' oh, I wad eagerly press him 
 
 The keys o' the East to retain ; 
 For should he gie up the possession, 
 
 We'll soon hae to force them again. 
 Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour. 
 Though it were my finishing blow. 
 He aye may depend on M 'Donald, 
 Wi' his Hielanders a' in a row ; 
 Knees an' elbows an' a', 
 Elbows an' knees an' a' ; 
 Depend upon Donald M 'Donald, 
 His knees an' elbows an' a' I 
 
 Wad Bonaparte land at Fort William, 
 
 Auld Europe nae langer should grane ; 
 I laugh when I think how we'd gall him, 
 
 Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane ; 
 Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy 
 
 We'd rattle him off frae our shore, 
 Or lull him asleep in a cairny, 
 
 An' sing him — " Lochaber no more 1 " 
 Stanes an' bullets an' a' ; 
 Bullets an' stanes an' a' ; 
 We'll finish the Corsican callan 
 Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a' !
 
 266 SONGS. 
 
 For the Gordon is good in a hurry, 
 
 An' Campbell is steel to the bane, 
 An' Grant, an' M'Kenzie, an' Murray, 
 
 An' Cameron will hurkle to nane ; 
 The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal, 
 
 An' sae is M'Leod and M'Kay ; 
 An' I, their gude brither, M'Donald, 
 Shall ne'er be the last in the fray ! 
 Brogues an' brochen an' a', 
 Brochen an' brogues an' a' ; 
 An' up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet, 
 The kilt an' the feather an' a' ! 
 
 MOGGY AND ME. 
 
 Oh wha are sae happy as me an' my Moggy ? 
 
 Oh wha are sae happy as Moggy an' me ? 
 We're bailh turnin' auld, an' our walth is soon tauld, 
 
 But contentment bides aye in our cottage sae wee. 
 She toils a' the day when I'm out wi' the hirsel, 
 
 An' chants to the bairns while I sing on the brae ; 
 An' aye her blithe smile welcomes me frae my toil. 
 
 When down the glen I come weary an' wae. 
 
 Aboon our auld heads we've a nice little biggin, 
 
 That keeps out the cauld when the simmer's awa ; 
 We've twa wabs o' linen o' Moggy's ain spinnin', 
 
 As thick as silk velvet and white as the snaw ; 
 We've kye in the byre, an' yauds in the stable, 
 
 A grumphie sae fat that she hardly can stand j 
 An' something, I guess, in yon auld painted press 
 
 To cheer up the speerits an' steady the hand.
 
 SONGS. 267 
 
 'Tis true we hae had mony sorrows an' crosses, 
 
 Our pouches oft toom, an' our hearts fu' o' care ; 
 But wi' a' our crosses, our sorrows an' losses, 
 
 Contentment, thank heaven ! has aye been our share. 
 I've an auld roostit sword that was left by my father, 
 
 Whilk aye has been drawn when my king had a fae ; 
 We hae friends ane or twa that aft gie us a ca', 
 
 To laugh when we're happy or grieve when we're 
 wae. 
 
 Our duke may hae gowd mair than schoolmen can 
 reckon, 
 
 An' flunkies to watch ilka glance o' his e'e, 
 His lady aye braw sittin' prim in the ha* ; 
 
 But are they sae happy as Moggy an' me ? 
 A' ye wha ne'er fand the straiglit road to be happy, 
 
 Wha are nae content wi' the lot that ye dree. 
 Come down to the dwellin' o' whilk I've been tellin', 
 
 You'll learn it by looking at Moggy an' me. 
 
 LOCK THE DOOR, LARISTON. 
 
 •' Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddesdale ; 
 Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on ; 
 
 The Armstrongs are flying. 
 
 The widows are crying, 
 The Castletown's burning, and Oliver's gone ! 
 
 *' Lock the door, Lariston — high on the weather-gleam 
 See how the Saxon plumes bob on the sky — 
 
 Yeomen and carbineer, 
 
 Billman and halberdier, 
 Fierce is the foray, and far is the cry !
 
 268 SONGS. 
 
 " Bewcastle brandishes high his broad scimitar ; 
 Ridley is riding his fleet-footed grey ; 
 
 Hidley and Howard there, 
 
 Wandale and Windermere ; 
 Lock the door, Lariston ; hold them at bay. 
 
 " Why dost thou smile, noble Elliot of Lariston ? 
 Why does the joy-candle gleam in thine eye ? 
 
 Thou bold Border ranger, 
 
 Beware of thy danger ; 
 Thy foes are relentless, determined, and nigh." 
 
 Jack Elliot raised up his steel bonnet and lookit, 
 His hand grasp'd the sword with a nervous embrace ; 
 
 " Ah, welcome, brave foemen, 
 
 On earth there are no men 
 More gallant to meet in the foray or chase I 
 
 ** Little know you of the hearts I have hidden here ; 
 Little know you of our moss-troopers' might — 
 Linhope and Sorbie true, 
 Sundhope and Milburn too, 
 Gentle in manner, but lions in fight I 
 
 "I have Mangerton, Ogilvie, Raebum, and Netherbie, 
 Old Sim of Whitram, and all his array ; 
 
 Come all Northumberland, 
 
 Teesdale and Cumberland, 
 Here at the Breaken tower end shall the fray I " 
 
 Scowled the broad sun o'er the links of green 
 
 Liddesdale, 
 Red as the beacon-light tipped he the wold 
 
 Many a bold martial eye 
 
 Mirror'd that morning sky, 
 Never more oped on his orbit of gold.
 
 SONGS. 269 
 
 Shrill was the bugle's note, dreadful the warrior's shout, 
 Lances and halberds in splinters were borne ; 
 
 Helmet and hauberk then 
 
 Braved the claymore in vain, 
 Buckler and armlet in shivers were shorn. 
 
 See how they wane — the proud files of the Windermere ! 
 
 Howard ! ah, woe to thy hopes of the day ! 
 Hear the wide welkin rend, 
 While the Scots' shouts ascend — • 
 
 *• Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye 1 " 
 
 POOR LITTLE JESSIE. 
 
 Oh, what gart me greet when I parted wi' Willie, 
 
 While at his guid fortune ilk ane was so fain ? 
 The neighbours upbraidit an' said it was silly, 
 
 When I was sae soon to see Willie again. 
 He gae me his hand as we gaed to the river. 
 
 For oh, he was aye a kind brother to me ; 
 Right sair was my heart from my Willie to sever, 
 
 And saut was the dew-drop that smartit my e'e. 
 
 It wasna the kiss that he gae me at parting, 
 
 Nor yet the kind squeeze that he gae to my hand 
 It wasna the tear frae his blue eye was starting, 
 
 As slow they war shoving the boat frae the land : 
 The tear that I saw owre his bonnie cheek straying. 
 
 It pleased me indeed, but it doubled my pain ; 
 For something within me was constantly saying, 
 
 ** Ah, Jessie, ye'll never see Willie again ! "
 
 270 SONGS. 
 
 The bairn's unco wae to be taen frae its mother, 
 
 The wee bird is wae when bereaved o' its young, 
 But oh, to be reft of a dear only brother — 
 
 That feeling can neither be paintit nor sung. 
 I dreamed a' the night that my Willie was wi' me, 
 
 Sae kind to his Jessie, at meeting sae fain, 
 An' just at the dawning a friend came to see me, 
 
 An' taul me I never wad see him again. 
 
 I hae naebody now to look kind an' caress me ; 
 
 I look for a friend, but nae friend can I see ; 
 I dinna ken what's to become o' poor Jessie, 
 
 The warl has little mair pleasure for me. 
 It's lang sin' I lost baith my father and mother, 
 
 I'm simple, an' poor, an' forlorn on the way ; 
 T had ane that I likit, an only dear brother, 
 
 My Wilhe — but he's lying cauld i' the clay. 
 
 THE LAIRD O' LAMINGTON. 
 
 Can I bear to part wi' thee, 
 Never mair your face to see? 
 Can I bear to part wi' thee. 
 
 Drunken Laird o' Lamington ? 
 Canty war ye o'er your kale, 
 Toddy jugs an' caups o' ale. 
 Heart aye kind, an' leal, an' halc; 
 
 Honest Laird o' Lamington. 
 
 Pie that cheats can ne'er be just ; 
 He that prays is ne'er to Irusi ;
 
 SONGS. 271 
 
 He that drinks to drauck his dust, 
 Wha can say that wrang is done ? 
 
 Wha was't ne'er to fraud inclin'd ? 
 
 Never pray'd sin' he can mind ? 
 
 Ane wha's drouth there's few can find ? 
 The honest Laird o' Lamington. 
 
 I like a man to tak' his glass, 
 Toast a friend or bonnie lass ; 
 He that winna is an ass — 
 
 Deil send him ane to gallop on ! 
 I like a man that's frank an' kind, 
 Meets me when I have a mind, 
 Sings his sang, an' drinks me blind. 
 
 Like the Laird o' Lamington. 
 
 WHEN MAGGY GANGS AWAY. 
 
 Oh, what will a' the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 Oh, what will a' the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 There's no a heart in a' the glen 
 
 That disna dread the day : 
 Oh, what will a' the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 
 Young Jock has ta'en the hill for't— 
 
 A waefu' wight is he ; 
 Poor Harry's ta'en the bed for't, 
 
 An' laid him down to dee ;
 
 272 SONGS. 
 
 An' Sandy's gane into the kirk, 
 
 An' learnin' fast to pray ; 
 And oh, what will the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away? 
 
 The young laird o' the Lang-Shaw 
 
 Has drunk her health in wine ; 
 The priest has said — in confidence — 
 
 The lassie was divine, 
 And that is mair in maiden's praise 
 
 Than ony priest should say : 
 But oh, what will the lads do 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ? 
 
 The wailing in our green glen 
 
 That day will quaver high ; 
 'Twill draw the redbreast frae the wood, 
 
 The laverock frae the sky ; 
 The fairies frae their beds o' dew 
 
 Will rise an' join the lay : 
 An' hey ! what a day will be 
 
 When Maggy gangs away ! 
 
 THERE'S GOWD IN THE BREAST. 
 
 There's gowd in the breast of the primrose pale, 
 
 An' siller in every blossom ; 
 There's riches galore in the breeze of the vale, 
 
 And health in the wild wood's bosom. 
 Then come, my love, at the hour of joy, 
 
 When warbling birds sing o'er us ; 
 Sweet nature for us has no alloy. 
 
 And the world is all before us.
 
 SONGS. 273 
 
 The courtier joys in bustle and power, 
 
 The soldier in war-steeds bounding, 
 The miser in hoards of treasured ore, 
 
 The proud in their pomp surrounding : 
 But we hae yon heaven sae bonnie and blue. 
 
 And laverocks skimming o'er us ; 
 The breezes of health and the valleys of dew- 
 
 Oh, the world is all before us 1 
 
 CAMERON'S WELCOME HAME. 
 
 Oh strike your harp, my Mary, 
 
 Its loudest, liveliest key, 
 An' join the sounding correi 
 
 In its wild melody ; 
 For bum, an' breeze, an' billow, 
 
 Their sangs are a' the same. 
 And every waving willow 
 
 Soughs " Cameron's welcome hame. 
 
 Oh list yon thrush, my Mary, 
 
 That warbles on the pine, 
 His strain, sae light an' airy. 
 
 Accords in joy wi' thine ; 
 The lark that soars to heaven, 
 
 The sea-bird on the faem, 
 Are singing, frae morn till even. 
 
 Brave " Cameron's welcome hame." 
 
 D'ye mind, my ain dear Mary, 
 
 When we hid in the tree, 
 An' saw our Auchnacarry 
 
 All flaming fearfully ?
 
 274 SONGS. 
 
 The fire was red, red glaring, 
 An' ruefu' was the scene, 
 
 An' aye you cried, despairing, 
 My father's ha's are gane ! 
 
 I said, my ain dear Mary, 
 
 D'ye see yon cloud sae dun, 
 That sails aboon the carry, 
 
 An' hides the weary sun ? 
 Behind yon curtain dreary. 
 
 Beyond, and far within, 
 There's Ane, my dear wee Mary, 
 
 Wha views this deadly sin. 
 
 He sees this waefii' reaving, 
 
 The rage o' dastard knave, 
 1 le saw our deeds of bravery. 
 
 And he'll reward the brave. 
 Though all we had was given 
 
 For loyalty an' faith, 
 I still had hopes that Heaven 
 
 Would right the hero's skaith. 
 
 The day is dawn'd in heaven 
 
 For which we a' thought lang ; 
 The good, the just, is given 
 
 To right our nation's wrang. 
 My ain dear Auchnacarry, 
 
 I hae thought lang for thee ; 
 Oh sing to your harp, my Mary, 
 
 An' sound its bonniest key !
 
 SONGS. 275 
 
 SING ON, SING ON, MY BONNIE BIRD. 
 
 Sing on, sing on, my bonnie bird, 
 
 The sang ye sung yestreen, O, 
 When here, aneath the hawthorn wild, 
 
 I met my bonnie Jean, O ! 
 My blude ran prinklin' through my veins, 
 
 My hair begoud to steer, O ; 
 My heart played deep against my breast. 
 
 When I beheld my dear, O ! 
 
 O weel's me on my happy lot, 
 
 O weel's me o' my dearie, 
 O weel's me o' the charming spot 
 
 Where a' combined to cheer me ! 
 The mavis liltit on the bush. 
 
 The laverock o'er the green, O, 
 The lily bloom'd, the daisy blush'd. 
 
 But a' war nought to Jean, O ! 
 
 Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush, 
 
 Be neither fley'd nor eerie ; 
 I'll wad your love sits on the bush, 
 
 That gars ye sing sae cheerie. 
 She may be kind, she may be sweet. 
 
 She may be neat an' clean, O, 
 But oh, she's but a drysome mate 
 
 Compared wi' bonnie Jean, O ! 
 
 If love wad open a' her stores. 
 An' a' her blooming treasures. 
 
 An' bid me rise, an' turn, an' choose, 
 An' taste her chiefest pleasures,
 
 276 SONGS. 
 
 My choice wad be the rosy clieelc, 
 The modest beaming eye, O, 
 
 The auburn hair, the bosom fair. 
 The lips o' coral dye, O I 
 
 Hear me, thou bonnie modest moon, 
 
 Ye steruies, tvvinklin' high, O, 
 An' a' ye gentle powers abooii, 
 
 That roam athwart the sky, O ! 
 Ye see me gratefu' for the past, 
 
 Ye saw me blest yestreen, O, 
 An' ever till I Vjreathe my last, 
 
 Ye'll see me true to Jean, O ! 
 
 LOVE LETTER. 
 
 Ah, Maggy, thou art gane away, 
 
 And left me here to languish ; 
 To dander on frae day to day, 
 
 Swathed in a sort o' anguish. 
 My mind's the aspen o' the vale, 
 
 In ceaseless waving motion ; 
 'Tis like a ship without a sail, 
 
 On life's unstable ocean. 
 
 I downa bide to see the moon 
 
 Blink o'er the hill sae dearly. 
 Late on a bonnie face she shone, 
 
 A face that I lo'e dearly. 
 An' when down by the water clear 
 
 At e'en I'm lonely roaming, 
 I sigh an' think if ane were here 
 
 How sweet wad fa' the gloaming I
 
 SONGS. - 277 
 
 Ah, Maggy, thou art gane away, 
 
 An' I nae mair shall see thee ; 
 Now a' the lee-lang simmer day 
 
 An' a' the night I weary ; 
 For thou wert aye sae sweet, sae gay, 
 
 Sae teasing an' sae canty, 
 I dinna bhish to swear an' say, 
 
 In faith I canna want thee ! 
 
 Oh, in the slippery paths o' love 
 
 Let prudence aye direct thee ; 
 Let virtue every step approve. 
 
 And virtue will respect thee. 
 To ilka pleasure, ilka pang. 
 
 Alack ! I am nae stranger, 
 An' he wha aince has wander'd wrang, 
 
 Is best aware of danger. 
 
 May still thy heart be kind an' true, 
 
 A' ither maids excelling, 
 An' heaven shall shed its purest dew 
 
 Around thy rural dwelling. 
 May flow'rets spring, an' wild birds sing 
 
 Around thee late and early. 
 An' oft to thy remembrance bring 
 
 The lad that loves thee dearly ! 
 
 THE WITCH O' FIFE. 
 
 Hurray, hurray, the jade's away. 
 
 Like a rocket of air with her bandalet ! 
 
 I'm up in the air on my bonnie grey mare, 
 But I see her yet, I see her yet.
 
 278 SONGS. 
 
 I'll ring the skirts o* the gowden wain 
 Wi' curb an' bit, wi' curb an' bit : 
 
 An' catch the Bear by the frozen mane — 
 An' I see her yet, I see her yet. 
 
 Away, away, o'er mountain an' main, 
 
 To sing at the morning's rosy yett ; 
 An' water my mare at its fountain clear — 
 
 But I see her yet, I see her yet. 
 Away, thou bonnie witch o' Fife, 
 
 On foam of the air to heave an' flit, 
 An' little reck thou of a poet's life, 
 
 For he sees thee yet, he sees thee yet ! 
 
 I'M A' GANE WRANG. 
 
 I'm a' gane wrang ! I'm a' gane wrang ! 
 
 I canna close my wakerife e'e ; 
 What can it be has sent this pang 
 
 To my young heart unken'd to me? 
 I'm feared, I'm feared that it may prove 
 
 An ailment which I daurna name ; 
 What shall I do ?— If it be love, 
 
 I'll dee outright wi' burning shame I 
 
 I hae a dream baith night and day, 
 
 Of ane that's aye afore my e'e ; 
 An' aye he looks as he wad say 
 
 Something that's unco kind to me. 
 Yet love's a word my youthfu' tongue 
 
 Has ne'er durst utter to mysel ; 
 I'm a' gane wrang, an' me sae young, 
 
 What shame for maiden's tongue to tell I
 
 I find an aching at my heart, 
 
 An' dizziness that ill portends ; 
 A kind o' sweet an' thrilling smart 
 
 Gangs prinkling to my fingers' ends, 
 Then throitgh me wi' a stoundin' pain ; 
 
 But yet I like that pain to dree ; 
 Then burnin' tears will drap like rain — 
 
 'Tis love, as sure as love can be 1 
 
 I dinna ken what I'm to do, 
 
 The end o' this I canna see ; 
 I am sae young an' bonnie too, 
 
 *Tis a great pity I should dee. 
 Yet dee I maun — I canna prove 
 
 This tide o' pleasure an' o' pain ; 
 There's nought sae sweet as virgin's love. 
 
 But, oh, to be beloved again ! 
 
 GOOD NIGHT, AND JOY. 
 
 The year is wearing to the wane. 
 
 An' day is fading west awa' ; 
 Loud raves the torrent an' the rain, 
 
 And dark the cloud comes down the shaw 
 But let the tempest tout an' blaw 
 
 Upon his loudest winter horn. 
 Good night, an' joy be wi' you a' ; 
 
 We'll maybe meet again the morn I 
 
 Oh, we have wander' d far an' wide 
 O'er Scotia's hills, o'er firth an' fell, 
 
 An' mony a simple flower we've culled. 
 An' trimm'd them wi' the heather-bell J
 
 28o SONGS. 
 
 We've ranged the dingle an' the dell, 
 The hamlet an' the baron's ha' ; 
 
 Now let us take a kind farewell — 
 Good night, an' joy be wi' you a' ! 
 
 Though I was wayward, you were kind, 
 
 And scire w'd when I went astray ; 
 For oh, my strains were often wild 
 
 As winds upon a winter day. 
 If e'er I led you from the way, 
 
 Forgie your Minstrel aince for a' ; 
 A tear fa's wi' his parting lay — 
 
 Good-night, an' joy be wi' you a' S
 
 SACRED PIECES. 
 
 HYMN TO THE DEITY. 
 
 Father Almighty, O Father of light, 
 I kneel and I tremble before thee, 
 
 For darkness surrounds the throne of thy might, 
 And with terror I fear and adore thee. 
 
 1 have seen, I have heard, what I not comprehen-l. 
 
 Which has caused my poor reason to waver, 
 The bodies and spirits of martyr'd men, 
 Who shrank from thy standard, O never, 
 
 O never, — O never ! 
 But bled for their God and forgiven 
 
 But where can I turn my bewildered eye, 
 
 Or where can I fly, but to thee. 
 Since all the long vales of eternity lie 
 
 Concealed in deep darkness from me ? 
 Then here at thy footstool of mercy I bow, 
 
 Imploring thy grace to deliver ; 
 For shadows of darkness beleaguer me now, 
 
 And I fly to my God and forgiver, 
 For ever ! — O ever ! 
 
 m cling to my Saviour for ever.
 
 282 SACRED PIECES, 
 
 DWELLER IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Dweller in heaven high, ruler below, 
 Fain would I know thee, yet tremble to know ! 
 How can a mortal deem, how may it be, 
 That being can ne'er be but present with thee ? 
 Is it true that thou sawest me ere I saw the morn ? 
 Is it true that thou knewest me before I was born ? 
 That nature must live in the light of thine eye ? — 
 This knowledge for me is too great and too high ! 
 
 That, fly I to noon-day, or fly I to night, 
 
 To shroud me in darkness, or bathe me in light. 
 
 The light and the darkness to thee are the same, 
 
 And still in thy presence of wonder I am ? 
 
 Should I with the dove to the desert repair. 
 
 Or dwell with the eagle in clough of the air : 
 
 In the desert afar — on the mountain's wild brink — 
 
 From the eye of Omnipotence still must I shrink ! 
 
 Or mount I, on wings of the morning, away 
 To caves of the ocean, unseen by the day. 
 And hide in these uttermost parts of the sea, 
 Even there to be living and moving in thee : 
 Nay, scale I the cloud, in the heavens to dwell. 
 Or make I my bed in the shadows of hell, 
 Can science expound, or humanity frame, 
 That still thou art present, and all are the same ! 
 
 Yes, present for ever ! Almighty ! Alone ! 
 Great Spirit of nature, unbounded, unknown. 
 What mind can embody thy presence divine ! 
 I know not my own being, how can I thine ?
 
 Then humbly and low in the dust let me bend, 
 And adore what on earth I can ne'er comprehend 
 The mountains may melt, and the elements flee, 
 Yet an universe still be rejoicing in thee ! 
 
 ON CARMEL'S BROW. 
 
 On Carmel's brow the wreathy vine 
 
 Had all it honours shed ; 
 And, o'er the vales pf Palestine, 
 
 A sickly paleness spread ; 
 When the old seer, by vision led 
 
 And energy sublime. 
 Into that shadowy region sped, 
 
 To muse on distant time. 
 
 He saw the valleys far and wide, 
 
 But sight of joy was none ; 
 He looked o'er many a mountain's siile, 
 
 But silence reigned alone ; 
 Save that a boding voice sung on 
 
 By wave and waterfall, 
 As still, in harsh and heavy tone. 
 
 Deep unto deep did call. 
 
 On Kison's strand, and Ephratah, 
 
 The hamlets thick did lie ; 
 No wayfarer between he saw, 
 
 No Asherite passed by : 
 No maiden at her task did ply, 
 
 Nor sportive child was seen ; 
 The lonely dog barked wearily 
 
 Where dwellers once had been.
 
 284 SACRED PIECES. \ 
 . .- I 
 
 Oh ! beauteous were the palaces 
 
 On Jordan wont to be ; 
 And still they glimmered to the breeze, 
 
 Like stars beneath the sea — 
 But vultures held their jubilee 
 
 Where harp and cymbal rung ; 
 And there, as if in mockery, 
 
 The baleful satyr sung. 
 
 But, oh ! that prophet's visioned eye, 
 
 On Carmel that reclined, 
 It looked not on the times gone by, 
 
 But those that were behind ; 
 His grey hair streamed upon the wind — 
 
 His hands were raised on high — 
 As, mirrored on his mystic mind, 
 
 Arose futurity. 
 
 He saw the feast in Bozrah spread, 
 
 Prepared in ancient day ; 
 Eastward, away the eagle sped, 
 
 And all the birds of prey. 
 •* Who's this," he cried, ** comes by the way 
 
 Of Edom, all divine, 
 Travelling in splendour, whose array 
 
 Is red, but not with wine? 
 
 ** Blest be the herald of our King, 
 
 That comes to set us free ! 
 The dwellers of the rock shall sing, 
 
 And utter praise to thee ! 
 Tabor and Hermon yet shall see 
 
 Their glories glow again. 
 And blossoms spring on field and tree, 
 
 That ever shall remain.
 
 SACRED PIECES. 285 
 
 " The happy child, in dragon's way, 
 
 Shall frolic with delight ; 
 The lamb shall round the leopard play, 
 
 And all in love unite. 
 The dove on Zion's hill shall light, 
 
 That all the world must see ; 
 Hail to the Journeyer in his might. 
 
 That comes to set us free ! " 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 O THOU, who dwell'st in the heavens high, 
 Above yon stars, and within yon sky, 
 Where the dazzling fields never needed light 
 Of the sun by day, nor the moon by night ! 
 
 Though shining millions around thee stand. 
 
 For the sake of One at thy right hand, 
 
 O think of them that cost him dear, 
 
 Still chained in doubt, and in darkness here ! 
 
 Our night is dreary, and dim our day, 
 But if thou turnest thy face away, 
 We are sinful, feeble, and helpless dust, 
 And have none to look to, and none to trust. 
 
 The powers of darkness are all abroad. 
 They own no Saviour and fear no God j 
 And we are trembling in dumb dismay : 
 O turn not thou thy face away !
 
 286 SACRED PIECES, 
 
 Thy aid, O mighty One, we crave I 
 Not shortened is thy arm to save, 
 Afar from thee we now sojourn ; 
 Return to us, O God, return. 
 
 THE COVENANTER'S SCAFFOLD SONG. 
 
 Sing with me ! sing with me ! 
 Weeping brethren, sing with me ! 
 For now an open heaven I see. 
 And a crown of glory laid for me. 
 I Tow my soul this earth despises ! 
 How my heart and spirit rises ! 
 Bounding from the flesh I sever : 
 World of sin, adieu for ever ! 
 
 Sing with me ! sing with me ! 
 Friends in Jesus, sing with me I 
 All my sufferings, all my woe, 
 All my griefs I here forego. 
 Farewell terror, sighing, grieving, 
 Praying, hearing, and believing, 
 Earthly trust and all its wrongings, 
 Earthly love and all its longings. 
 
 Sing with me ! sing with me ! 
 Blessed spirits, sing with me ! 
 To the Lamb our song shall be 
 Through a glad eternity. 
 Farewell earthly morn and even, 
 Sun and moon and stars of heaven ; 
 Heavenly portals ope before me, 
 Welcome, Christ, in all thy glory.
 
 SACRED PIECES. 287 
 
 THE FALL OF IDUMEA. 
 
 Oh, wail for Idumea, cast forth unforgiven, 
 My sword is bathed red in the vengeance of heaven, 
 And down on the mountains, unnerved and supine. 
 She shall fall as the dead leaves descend from the vine ; 
 ^^^^ere heaps upon heaps shall their corpses remain ; 
 And the mountains shall melt with the blood of the 
 
 slain. 
 'Tis the day of the Lord ; prepare thee ! prepare thee ! 
 And mark its approach that it may not ensnare thee ; 
 Look well to the plain, at its throes and its bending, 
 Lest it swallow you up in the gulf of its rending ; 
 Attend to the sea when to blood it is turning ; 
 Attend to the mountains when clothed in mourning ; 
 Observe the pale moon when her radiance is clouded, 
 And look to the sun when his glory is shrouded. 
 Then the blue heavens heaved hither and thither. 
 Then folded and rolled like a scroll up together ; 
 Then, then, is approaching, o'erwhelming and early, 
 The day of the Lord ; prepare thee ! prepare thee I 
 
 It is past, it is over ! the earth in amazement, 
 The people stand silent in dreadful debasement, 
 Before the dire wrath of the mighty Avenger 
 Of Israel, thus wreaked on the land of the stranger ; 
 Idumea is fallen ! no arm to deliver ! 
 The contest of Zion is settled for ever. 
 
 The beauty of Edom no age shall restore it, 
 The curse of the Lord is in it and o'er it ; 
 The rivers and springs into pitch are turning, 
 The dust is brimstone, the breeze is burning,
 
 288 SACRED PIECES. 
 
 The city is shaken unto its foundations, 
 
 1 he land is a waste unto all generations ; 
 
 Her halls are all emptiness — grandeur's illusion, 
 
 And stretched out upon them the line of confusion ; 
 
 In her palaces dark desolation is reigning. 
 
 And the briers and the nettle their foliage training. 
 
 The owl calls his count with a whoop and a knell ; 
 
 And there shall the bittern and cormorant dwell ; 
 
 The lama shall lie in her chamber of state, 
 
 And open her bosom, and cry for her mate ; 
 
 The ostrich shall stand on her battlements proudly ; 
 
 And the vultures assemble discordant and loudly ; 
 
 The satyrs shall dance with their bowlings and yellings. 
 
 The spirits of darkness that haunt the low dwellings 
 
 Of mortals cut off in their greenness of sinning, 
 
 Ere grace had a spring or repentance beginning ; 
 
 The toad and the adder shall come from the forest, 
 
 And dragons pant o'er it when thirst's at the sorest. 
 
 The gloom of oblivion shall over it centre. 
 
 Till time shall withdraw and eternity enter, — 
 
 To all who despise their God and forgiver, 
 
 A beacon of terror for ever and ever.
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Blewarty blue wort, small blue flower. 
 
 Brewin, brewed. 
 
 Belejire, bonfire. 
 
 C curing grew, a coursing greyhound. 
 
 Darnity penetrated. 
 
 Eithly, quickly, soon learned. 
 
 Fey, predestined, near death. 
 
 Forhooyed, forsook. 
 
 Freckle, hot-spirited. 
 
 Gaw, gall. 
 
 Hoxve-e'e, hollow eye. 
 
 Kythes, appears. 
 
 Kaim, comb. 
 
 Laup, leaped. 
 
 Leme, gleam. 
 
 Lened, gave, granted. 
 
 Liitand, resting upon. 
 
 Ouphes, probably wolves, or water dogs. 
 
 Riming, growing white-haired. 
 
 Rath, soon. 
 
 Titty, sister, p. 247 ; the Ettrick, sister to the Yarrow. 
 
 Yird, earth.
 
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 My Study Windows. 
 
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 English Poets. 
 
 The Biglow Papers. 
 
 Great English Painters. 
 
 Lord Byron's Letters, 
 
 Essays by Leigh Hunt. 
 
 Longfellow's Prose. 
 
 Great Musical Composers 
 
 Marcus Aurelius. 
 
 Epictetus. 
 
 Seneca's Morals. 
 
 Whitman's Specimen 
 Days in America. 
 
 Whitman's Democratic 
 
 Vistas. 
 White's Natural History. 
 Captain Singleton. 
 Essays by Mazzini. 
 Prose Writings of Heine. 
 Reynolds' Discourses. 
 
 The Lover: Papers of 
 Steele and Addison. 
 
 Burns's Letters. 
 
 Volsunga Saga. 
 
 Sartor Resartus. 
 
 Writings of Emerson. 
 
 Life of Lord Herbert.
 
 THE SCOir LIBRARY— continued. 
 
 English Prose. 
 The Pillars of Society. 
 Fairy and Folk Tales. 
 Essays of Dr. Johnson. 
 Essays of Wm. Hazlitt. 
 Lander's Pentameron, &c. 
 Foe's Tales and Essays. 
 Vicar of Wakefield. 
 Political Orations. 
 Holmes's Autocrat 
 Holmes's Poet. 
 Holmes's Professor. 
 Chesterfield's Letters. 
 Stories from Carleton. 
 Jane Eyre. 
 Elizabethan England. 
 Davis's Writings. 
 Spence's Anecdotes. 
 More's Utopia. 
 Sadi's Gulistan. 
 English Folk Tales. 
 Northern Studies. 
 Famous Reviews. 
 Aristotle's Ethics. 
 Lander's Aspasia. 
 Tacitus. 
 Essays of Ella. 
 
 Balzac. 
 
 De Musset's Comedies. 
 Darwin's Coral-Keefs. 
 Sheridan's Plays. 
 Our Village. 
 Humphrejr's Clock, &c. 
 Tales from Wonderland. 
 Douglas Jerrold. 
 Rights of Woman. 
 Athenian Oracle. 
 Essays of Sainte-Beuve. 
 Selections from Plato. 
 Heine's Travel Sketches. 
 Maid of Orleans. 
 Sydney Smith. 
 The New Spirit. 
 Marvellous Adventur^j. 
 (From the Morte d'Arthur.) 
 Helps's Essays. 
 Montaigne s Essays. 
 Luck of Barry Lyndon. 
 William TelL 
 Carlyle's German Essays. 
 Lamb's Essays. 
 Wordsworth's Prose. 
 Leopardi's Dialogues. 
 Inspector-General (Gogol) 
 Bacon's Essays. 
 Prose of Milton.
 
 ticw Serfee ot Critical JBlograpbfes. 
 
 Edited by ERIC Robertson and Frank T. Marzials. 
 
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 ALREADY ISSUED— 
 LIFE OF LONGFELLOW. By Prof. E. S. Robertson. 
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 LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON. By Col. F. Grant. 
 LIFE OF DARWIN. By G. T. Bettantt. 
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 LIFE OF CARLYLE. By Richard Garnett, LLD. 
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 LIFE OF BALZAC. By Frederick Wedmore. 
 
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 EDITED BY ELEONORE d'ESTERRE KEELING. 
 
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 London -. Walter Scott, Limited, Paternoster Square.
 
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