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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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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

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.

The ruins of the Tower of Ercildoune, once the abode and property of the famous True Thomas, the poet and soothsayer, are still to be seen at a little distance from the village of the same name in Lauderdale, pleasantly situated on the eastern bank of the Leader, which, in pronunciation, has been corrupted into Earlstoun. About the ruins themselves there is nothing peculiar or remarkable, save their authenticated antiquity, and the renown shed upon them as the relics of “Learmonth's high and ancient hall.” Part of the walls, and nearly the whole of the subterranean vaults, yet remain. A stone in the wall of the church of Earlstoun still bears the inscription—

He must have died previous to 1299; for in that year his son resigned the property of his deceased father to the Trinity House of Soltra, as a document testifying this circumstance is preserved in the Advocates' Library. On a beautiful morning in September, “long, long ago,” when I was yet ignorant that any part of the ruins were in existence, they were pointed out to me, and, I need not add, awakened a thousand stirring associations connected with the legends, the superstitions, and the history of the mediæval ages—when nature brought forth “Gorgons, and hydras, and chimeras dire,” and social life seemed entirely devoted to “Ladye love, and war, renown, and knightly worth.”