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The Poetical Works of David Macbeth Moir

Edited by Thomas Aird: With A Memoir of the Author

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SONNETS ON THE SCENERY OF THE TWEED;
  
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5

SONNETS ON THE SCENERY OF THE TWEED;

INSCRIBED TO C. E. M.

[As we had been in heart, now link'd in hand]

As we had been in heart, now link'd in hand,
Green Learmonth and the Cheviots left behind,
Homeward 'twas ours by pastoral Tweed to wind,
Through the Arcadia of the Border-land:
Vainly would words portray my feelings, when
(A dreary chasm of separation past)
Fate gave thee to my vacant arms at last,
And made me the most happy man of men.
Accept these trifles, lovely and beloved,
And haply, in the days of future years,
While the far past to memory reappears,
Thou may'st retrace these tablets, not unmoved,
Catherine! whose holy constancy was proved
By all that deepest tries, and most endears.
June 1829.

6

I. WARK CASTLE.

Emblem of strength, which time hath quite subdued,
Scarcely on thy green mount the eye may trace
Those girding walls which made thee once a place
Of succour, in old days of deadly feud.
Yes! thou wert once the Scotch marauder's dread;
And vainly did the Roxburgh shafts assail
Thy moated towers, from which they fell like hail;
While waved Northumbria's pennon o'er thy head.

Even so far back as the time of Stephen, Wark or Carrum was considered one of the strongest castles on the English border, and is the second of the five noted places enumerated by Ridpath, (Border History, p. 76,) as having been taken by David the First of Scotland, in 1135.

“Carrum,” says Richard of Hexham, “is by the English called Wark.” After two other close and protracted sieges, in 1138, it was at last taken and demolished, but not until the garrison had been reduced to the necessity of killing and salting their horses for food. They were allowed to depart, retaining their arms; and such was the Scottish King's admiration of their heroic resistance, that he presented them with twenty-four horses in lieu of those that had been thus destroyed.

Being afterwards rebuilt, Wark Castle was again besieged in the reign of Henry the Eighth; and Buchanan, the historian and poet, himself an eyewitness, gives a description of it as it then stood. In the inmost area was a tower of great strength and height, encircled by two walls, the outer of which included a large space, wherein, in times of danger, the inhabitants of the neighbourhood found shelter for themselves and cattle. The inner was strongly fortified by ditches and towers. It was provided with a garrison, stores of artillery and ammunition, and all things necessary for protracted defence.

The castle of Wark is now so entirely gone, that it is with some difficulty that even the lines of its ancient fortifications can be traced.


Thou wert the work of man, and so hast pass'd
Like those who piled thee; but the features still
Of steadfast Nature all unchanged remain;
Still Cheviot listens to the northern blast,
And the blue Tweed winds murmuring round thy hill;
While Carham whispers of the slaughter'd Dane.

Carham was the scene of a great and decisive defeat of the Danes by the Northumbrian Saxons. It was formerly the seat of an Abbey of Black Canons, subordinate to Kirkham in Yorkshire. Wallace, whose encampment gave name to an adjoining field, burned it down in 1295.

The present church, overshadowed by fine old trees, stands directly on the banks of the Tweed. At its altar the Author took upon himself the matrimonial vows.



7

II. DRYBURGH ABBEY.

Beneath, Tweed murmur'd 'mid the forests green:
And through thy beech-tree and laburnum boughs,
A solemn ruin, lovely in repose,
Dryburgh! thine ivy'd walls were greyly seen:
Thy court is now a garden, where the flowers
Expand in silent beauty, and the bird,
Flitting from arch to arch, alone is heard
To cheer with song the melancholy bowers.
Yet did a solemn pleasure fill the soul,
As through thy shadowy cloistral cells we trode,
To think, hoar pile! that once thou wert the abode
Of men, who could to solitude control
Their hopes—yea! from Ambition's pathways stole,
To give their whole lives blamelessly to God!

The monks of the beautifully situated Abbey of Dryburgh belonged to the order of Premonstratenses, or White Canons. According to Ridpath, (p. 87,) the Monastery of Dryburgh was built by the Constable Hugh de Moreville; but this appears doubtful, as, from a charter of King David, published by Dugdale, (Monasticon, vol. ii.,) and said to have been copied from the original by Sir John Balfour, the foundation of the Church of St Mary at Dryburgh is distinctly attributed to that monarch. Be this as it may, it was founded in 1141.

At the Reformation, Dryburgh Abbey became the property of the Halliburtons of Newmains, ultimately represented by “the Mighty Minstrel” whose ashes rest there, in the cemetery of that ancient family. It is now the seat of the Earl of Buchan.



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III. MELROSE ABBEY.

Summer was on thee—the meridian light,
And, as we wander'd through thy column'd aisles,
Deck'd all thy hoar magnificence with smiles,
Making the rugged soft, the gloomy bright.
Nor was reflection from us far apart,
As clomb our steps thy lone and lofty stair,
Till, gain'd the summit, tick'd in silent air
Thine ancient clock, as 'twere thy throbbing heart.
Monastic grandeur and baronial pride
Subdued—the former half, the latter quite,
Pile of king David! to thine altar's site,
Full many a footstep guides, and long shall guide;
Where they repose, who met not, save in fight—
And Douglas sleeps with Evers, side by side!

For a detailed account of the battle of Ancrum Moor, where Lord Evers and his son were slain, see Tytler's Scotland, vol. v. p. 380-384; or Appendix to that noble ballad “The Eve of St John.”—(Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv.)

The chivalrous Douglas, killed at Otterburn in the fight with Percy, was interred beneath the high altar of Melrose, “hys baner hangyng over hym.”—(Froissart, vol. ii.) William Douglas, called the Black Knight of Liddesdale, was also buried here with great pomp and pageantry.—(Godscroft's History of the House of Douglas, vol. ii. p. 123.) His tomb is still shown.

In the battle of Anerum Moor, according to Ridpath, eight hundred of the English were killed, with both their leaders, Evers and Latoun; and a thousand taken prisoners. The Scots are said to have lost only two of their number, and to have treated their enemies with great barbarity.—(Border History, p. 553.)

It is strongly suspected, however, that the Scottish historians have not given a fair account of their loss. “Parta autem victoria,” says Lesly, (p. 478,) “ita in fugientes sævitum est, ut nihil illustre postea gesserimus, quin potius luculenta ad Musselburghum plaga accepta maximas summæ immanitatis pœnas dederimus.”



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IV. ABBOTSFORD.

The calm of evening o'er the dark pine-wood
Lay with an aureate glow, as we explored
Thy classic precincts, hallow'd Abbotsford!
And at thy porch in admiration stood:
We felt thou wert the work, th' abode of Him
Whose fame hath shed a lustre on our age,
The mightiest of the mighty!—o'er whose page
Thousands shall hang, until Time's eye grow dim;
And then we thought, when shall have pass'd away
The millions now pursuing life's career,
And Scott himself is dust, how, lingering here,
Pilgrims from all the lands of earth shall stray
Amid thy cherish'd ruins, and survey
The scenes around, with reverential fear!

This sonnet has been honoured by a translation into Italian— by an accomplished scholar of that country—which appeared in Blackwood's Magazine, November 1829.



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V. NIDPATH CASTLE.

Stern, rugged pile! thy scowl recalls the days
Of foray and of feud, when, long ago,
Homes were thought worthy of reproach or praise
Only as yielding safeguards from the foe:
Over thy gateways the armorial arms
Proclaim of doughty Douglases, who held
Thy towers against the foe, and thence repell'd
Oft, after efforts vain, invasion's harms.
Eve dimm'd the hills, as, by the Tweed below,
We sat where once thy blossomy orchards smiled,
And yet where many an apple-tree grows wild,
Listening the blackbird, and the river's flow;
While, high between us and the sunset glow,
Thy giant walls seem'd picturesquely piled.

Associated with this ancient Castle, the reader of poetry cannot fail to remember the delicately beautiful legend, regarding a daughter of one of the Earls of March and the young Laird of Tushielaw, as it has afforded a theme for the muse of two of our most celebrated contemporaries—to Sir Walter Scott, in his ballad “The Maid of Neidpath;” and to Mr Campbell, in his song of “Earl March looked on his dying child.”

The Castle itself is more distinguished for strength than architectural beauty; and was built by the powerful family of Frazer, from which it passed, by intermarriage, into that of the Hays of Yester, ancestors of the Marquis of Tweeddale. In 1686, the second Earl sold his estates in Peebles-shire to the first Duke of Queensberry, who settled them on his second son, the Earl of March. At the death of the last Duke, the Castle and adjoining estate fell, by succession, to the present Earl of Wemyss, who also assumed the title of Earl of March.



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VI. “THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR.”

As speaks the sea-shell from the window-sill
Of cottage-home, far inland, to the soul
Of the bronzed veteran, till he hears the roll
Of ocean 'mid its islands chafing still;
As speaks the love-gift to the lonely heart
Of her, whose hopes are buried in the grave
Of him, whom tears, prayer, passion could not save,
And Fate but link'd, that Death might tear apart,—
So speaks the ancient melody of thee,
Green “Bush aboon Traquair,” that from the steep
O'erhang'st the Tweed—until, mayhap afar,
In realms beyond the separating sea,
The plaided Exile, 'neath the Evening Star,
Thinking of Scotland, scarce forbears to weep!

The charming pastoral air, called “The Bonny Bush aboon Traquair,” is of great antiquity—indeed, is considered one of the very oldest which has come down to us; but the original words have been long since lost. The verses to which the melody was afterwards adapted, and to which it is now sung, were the composition of Crauford, the author of “Tweedside,” and other popular songs, and first appeared in the Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. Along with “The Flowers of the Forest,” “The Broom of the Cowden-knowes,” “Polwarth on the Green,” “Fair Helen of Kirkconnel Lee,” and others indigenous to the south of Scotland, it may be adduced as a specimen of what Wordsworth so beautifully designates, the

—“Old songs,
The precious music of the heart.”

A few solitary scraggy trees, on a slope overlooking the lawn of Traquair House, mark out the site of the ancient “Bush.” Not far distant from these a clump has been planted, which is called “The New Bush.” But the spell is untranslateable.