The Two Angels and Other Poems By Alexander Anderson ... with an Introductory Sketch by Rev. George Gilfillan |
THE DEIL'S STANE. |
The Two Angels and Other Poems | ||
THE DEIL'S STANE.
“In the very centre of the deep gorge of this linn is an immense boulder, estimated at thirty tons weight. It is a mass of water-worn granite, probably from the Isle of Arran, as its granulated particles seem to be precisely of the same character of those that compose the granite of Goatfell. It must have been conveyed in the age of the northern drift, or dropped from the base of some massive iceberg as it sailed the waters that erst covered these heights. It is rounded like an egg, and has a belt of finer grain begirding its bulk like an iron hoop around a barrel.”—Simpson's “Voice from the Desert.” Such is the account given by the late Dr Simpson of Sanquhar; but in the neighbourhood the boulder in question is known by the dignified appellation of the “Deil's Stane.” How it came to get such a title I have not been able to learn. Long ago, a pedlar was murdered near the spot for the sake of the petty wares he traded with among the hills. They still show you his blood in the channel of the Orchard burn, close to where the stone is lying. This, like all other blood shed in like circumstances, will not wash out. I have, in the following poem, with the license usually granted to rhymers, wandered from received tradition in order to “point a moral and adorn a tale.”
Sae lang awa' frae me?
Come in, come in, for I'm weary to hae
Wee Jeanie upon my knee.
Where the fairies by munelicht play,
Then up to the daisies that grow sae white
On the side o' the Carco brae.
An' weavin' them into a croon
For wee Jeanie's heid; but I saw na ane,
Though I lookit roun' an roun'.”
Nor yet in the howms doon by;
For we sat by the edge o' the Orchard burn,
An' we heard the cushie's cry.
As we paidled up the burn,
Till they splutter'd to win frae oor sicht in the broo,
Wi' mony a jouk an' turn.
But set wee Jeanie her lane,
Wi' a bunch o' primroses in her han',
On the tap o' the deil's big stane.”
An' what does your grannie hear?
What made ye gang up to the deil's big stane—
That place sae dark an' drear?
What soun's an' what sichts are there;
When the howlet flaps wi' an eerie cry,
Through the woods o' Knockenhair!
At their howfs in Sanquhar toon,
As they staucher by hear the paidlar's cry,
An' the big stane rumblin' doon.
An' wee Jeanie upon my knee,
I will tell ye the tale o' the paidlar's death,
As my mither tauld it to me.
Wi' a hump upon his back;
But fu' yauld was he at speelin' a brae
To a herd's house wi' his pack.
An' a gleg look in his e'e;
But wae to the greed that brocht on his doom,
An' the death he had to dree.
A purse fu' heavy an' lang;
An' ilka mornin' he counted it ow'r,
For fear that it micht gang wrang.
An' jingled into the lave,
He scartit his heid, an' he hotch'd an' lauch'd
Till he scarce could weel behave.
Turns into an awfu' sin,
For the heart grows hard, an' lies dead in the breast,
Like the bouk o' my nieve o' whin.
For oor human love gets thrawn;
An' we canna look up to the sky abune,
For oor heid is downward drawn.
Comin' up or gaun doon a brae;
For the luve o' the siller he liket sae weel
Was in him by nicht an' day.
To the lassies oot on the hill,
A brooch for their shawls, or a finger ring,
That was gowd in their simple skill.
To bring him meikle woe,
As a thunder cloud rests on the high Bale Hill,
An' darkens the fields below.
When I was a toddlin' wean;
It will mak' ye nae mair tak' the Orchard burn
To sit on the deil's big stane.
Held alang steep Carco brae,
Croonin' into himsel', for his heart was glad
Ow'r the bargains he'd made that day;
Touch'd the hump that was on his back,
An', turnin' roun', no a yaird frae himsel'
Was a man that was cled in black.”
An' sell to me,” said he,
“A necklace for ane o' the witches o' Craw'ck,
Wha has dune gude wark for me.”
An' oot wi' the wanted gear;
“A shillin's the price;” said the man in black—
“O, Mungo, your shillin's here.”
An' steppit alang the brae;
But what made Mungo jump up an' dance,
Like schule weans at their play?
A joyfu' sicht, I wis;
Instead o' the shillin' a guinea lay there,
That by nae kent law was his.
For fear it micht grow dim,
An' never let on to the neebors he met
O' the luck that had fa'en to him.
A han' was laid on his back,
An', lookin' aroun', no a yaird frae himsel'
Was the same man cled in black.
As he thocht to himsel', nae doot,
He has come again to tak' back his ain,
That I canna dae withoot.
An' sell me richt speedily
A necklace for ane o' the witches o' Craw'ck,
Wha has dune gude wark for me.”
Cam' oot wi' the wanted gear;
“A shillin's the price;” said the man in black—
“O, Mungo, your shillin's here.”
While the paidlar steekit his een;
Nor open'd them up till the man in black
Was naewhere to be seen.
Lay anither gowd guinea bricht;
Sae he row'd it up wi' the first in a cloot,
An' thocht that a' was richt.
A han' was laid on his back,
An', lookin roun', no a yaird frae himsel'
Was the same man cled in black.
As he leant against a stane
That Mungo had never seen there afore,
An' thirty tons if ane.
As he sank doon on his knee—
“Come ye here to work me scaith or ill,
Or to buy a necklace frae me?”
As he cried, like a thunder-peal,
“A necklace o' fire for the neck o' him
Wha cheats baith man an' deil.”
On ilk side o' his heid grew a horn,
As he seized the paidlar an' whirl'd him ow'r
The hill wi' a lauch o' scorn.
Gaed Mungo, flung by the deil;
An' doon row'd that big stane after him,
As steady as some mill-wheel.
Wi' the paidlar's deein' cry;
It gaed doon the Craw'ck an' doon the Nith,
An' awa' ow'r the hills oot by.
It lies there till this day;
An' still at its fit is the paidlar's bluid,
That winna wash away.
To be lads an' lasses fair,
Keep min' o' the death o' Mungo Girr,
An' aye deal frank an' fair.
For I canna lang be here,
That the deil's big stane is on ilka ane's back
Wha has love for nocht but gear.
The Two Angels and Other Poems | ||