The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
NIGHT THE FIRST.
Hushed was the court—the courtiers gazed—Each eye was bent, each soul amazed,
To see that group of genuine worth,
Those far-famed minstrels of the north.
So motley wild their garments seemed;
Their eyes, where tints of madness gleamed,
Fired with impatience every breast,
And expectation stood confest.
Short was the pause; the stranger youth,
The gaudy minstrel of the south,
Whose glossy eye and lady form
Had never braved the northern storm,
Stepped lightly forth—kneeled three times low—
And then, with many a smile and bow,
Mounted the form amid the ring,
And rung his harp's responsive string.
Though true the chords, and mellow-toned,
Long, long he twisted, long he conned;
Well pleased to hear his name they knew;
“'Tis Rizzio!” round in whispers flew.
Valet with Parma's knight he came,
An angler in the tides of fame;
And oft had tried, with anxious pain,
Respect of Scotland's queen to gain.
Too well his eye, with searching art,
Perceived her fond, her wareless heart;
And, though unskilled in Scottish song,
Her notice he had woo'd so long,
With pain by night, and care by day,
He framed this fervid, flowery lay.
Malcolm of Lorn.
THE FIRST BARD'S SONG.
Came ye by Ora's verdant steep,
That smiles the restless ocean over?
Heard ye a suffering maiden weep?
Heard ye her name a faithful lover?
Saw ye an aged matron stand
O'er yon green grave above the strand,
Bent like the trunk of withered tree,
Or yon old thorn that sips the sea;
Fixed her dim eye, her face as pale
As the mists that o'er her flew?
Her joy is fled like the flower of the vale,
Her hope like the morning dew.
That matron was lately as proud of her stay,
As the mightiest monarch of sceptre or sway:
O list to the tale! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow,
Of Malcolm of Lorn and young Ann of Glen-Ora.
That smiles the restless ocean over?
Heard ye a suffering maiden weep?
Heard ye her name a faithful lover?
Saw ye an aged matron stand
O'er yon green grave above the strand,
Bent like the trunk of withered tree,
Or yon old thorn that sips the sea;
Fixed her dim eye, her face as pale
As the mists that o'er her flew?
Her joy is fled like the flower of the vale,
Her hope like the morning dew.
That matron was lately as proud of her stay,
As the mightiest monarch of sceptre or sway:
O list to the tale! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow,
Of Malcolm of Lorn and young Ann of Glen-Ora.
8
The sun is sweet at early morn,
Just blushing from the ocean's bosom;
The rose that decks the woodland thorn
Is fairest in its opening blossom;
Sweeter than opening rose in dew,
Than vernal flowers of richest hue,
Than fragrant birch or weeping willow,
Than red sun resting on the billow;
Sweeter than ought to mortals given
The heart and soul to prove;
Sweeter than ought beneath the heaven,
The joys of early love!
Never did maiden and manly youth
Love with such fervour, and love with such truth;
Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow,
As Malcolm of Lorn and fair Ann of Glen-Ora.
Just blushing from the ocean's bosom;
The rose that decks the woodland thorn
Is fairest in its opening blossom;
Sweeter than opening rose in dew,
Than vernal flowers of richest hue,
Than fragrant birch or weeping willow,
Than red sun resting on the billow;
Sweeter than ought to mortals given
The heart and soul to prove;
Sweeter than ought beneath the heaven,
The joys of early love!
Never did maiden and manly youth
Love with such fervour, and love with such truth;
Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow,
As Malcolm of Lorn and fair Ann of Glen-Ora.
The day is come, the dreaded day,
Must part two loving hearts for ever;
The ship lies rocking in the bay,
The boat comes rippling up the river;
O, happy has the gloaming's eye
In green Glen-Ora's bosom seen them!
But soon shall lands and nations lie,
And angry oceans roll between them.
Yes, they must part, for ever part,
Chill falls the truth on either heart;
For honour, titles, wealth, and state,
In distant lands her sire await.
The maid must with her sire away,
She cannot stay behind;
Straight to the south the pennons play,
And steady is the wind.
Shall Malcolm relinquish the home of his youth,
And sail with his love to the lands of the south?
Ah, no! for his father is gone to the tomb—
One parent survives in her desolate home;
No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone way;
Break not her fond heart, gentle Malcolm, O stay!
Must part two loving hearts for ever;
The ship lies rocking in the bay,
The boat comes rippling up the river;
O, happy has the gloaming's eye
In green Glen-Ora's bosom seen them!
But soon shall lands and nations lie,
And angry oceans roll between them.
Yes, they must part, for ever part,
Chill falls the truth on either heart;
For honour, titles, wealth, and state,
In distant lands her sire await.
The maid must with her sire away,
She cannot stay behind;
Straight to the south the pennons play,
And steady is the wind.
Shall Malcolm relinquish the home of his youth,
And sail with his love to the lands of the south?
Ah, no! for his father is gone to the tomb—
One parent survives in her desolate home;
No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone way;
Break not her fond heart, gentle Malcolm, O stay!
The boat impatient leans ashore,
Her prow sleeps on a sandy pillow;
The rower leans upon his oar,
Already bent to brush the billow.
O! Malcolm, view yon melting eyes,
With tears yon stainless roses steeping;
O! Malcolm, list, thy mother sighs;
She's leaning o'er her staff and weeping.
Thy Anna's heart is bound to thine,
And must that gentle heart repine?
Quick from the shore the boat must fly:
Her soul is speaking through her eye:
Think of thy joys in Ora's shade;
From Anna canst thou sever?
Think of the vows thou often hast made,
To love the dear maiden for ever.
And canst thou forego such beauty and youth,
Such maiden honour and spotless truth?
Forbid it!—He yields; to the boat he draws nigh—
Haste, Malcolm, aboard, and revert not thine eye.
That trembling voice in murmurs weak,
Comes not to blast the hopes before thee;
For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take
A last farewell of her that bore thee.
She says no word to mar thy bliss;
A last embrace, a parting kiss,
Her love deserves;—then be thou gone;
A mother's joys are thine alone.
Friendship may fade, and fortune prove
Deceitful to thy heart;
But never can a mother's love
From her own offspring part.
That tender form, now bent and gray,
Shall quickly sink to her native clay;
Then who shall watch her parting breath,
And shed a tear o'er her couch of death?
Who follow the dust to its long, long home,
And lay that head in an honoured tomb?
Her prow sleeps on a sandy pillow;
The rower leans upon his oar,
Already bent to brush the billow.
O! Malcolm, view yon melting eyes,
With tears yon stainless roses steeping;
O! Malcolm, list, thy mother sighs;
She's leaning o'er her staff and weeping.
Thy Anna's heart is bound to thine,
And must that gentle heart repine?
Quick from the shore the boat must fly:
Her soul is speaking through her eye:
Think of thy joys in Ora's shade;
From Anna canst thou sever?
Think of the vows thou often hast made,
To love the dear maiden for ever.
And canst thou forego such beauty and youth,
Such maiden honour and spotless truth?
Forbid it!—He yields; to the boat he draws nigh—
Haste, Malcolm, aboard, and revert not thine eye.
That trembling voice in murmurs weak,
Comes not to blast the hopes before thee;
For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take
A last farewell of her that bore thee.
She says no word to mar thy bliss;
A last embrace, a parting kiss,
Her love deserves;—then be thou gone;
A mother's joys are thine alone.
Friendship may fade, and fortune prove
Deceitful to thy heart;
But never can a mother's love
From her own offspring part.
That tender form, now bent and gray,
Shall quickly sink to her native clay;
Then who shall watch her parting breath,
And shed a tear o'er her couch of death?
Who follow the dust to its long, long home,
And lay that head in an honoured tomb?
Oft hast thou, to her bosom press'd,
For many a day about been borne;
Oft hushed and cradled on her breast,
And canst thou leave that breast forlorn?
O'er all thy ails her heart has bled;
Oft has she watched beside thy bed;
Oft prayed for thee in dell at even,
Beneath the pitying stars of heaven.
Ah! Malcolm, ne'er was parent yet
So tender, so benign:
Never was maid so loved, so sweet,
Nor soul so rent as thine!
He looked to the boat—slow she heaved from the shore;
He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore:
But, grasped by a cold and a trembling hand,
He clung to his parent, and sunk on the strand.
The boat across the tide flew fast,
And left a silver curve behind;
Loud sung the sailor from the mast,
Spreading his sails before the wind.
The stately ship, adown the bay,
A corslet framed of heaving snow,
And flurred on high the slender spray,
Till rainbows gleamed around her prow.
How strained was Malcolm's watery eye,
Yon fleeting vision to descry!
But, ah! her virgin form so fair,
Soon vanished in the liquid air.
Away to Ora's headland steep
The youth retired the while,
And saw the unpitying vessel sweep
Around yon Highland isle.
His heart and his mind with that vessel had gone;
His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan,
When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep,
He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep.
For many a day about been borne;
Oft hushed and cradled on her breast,
And canst thou leave that breast forlorn?
O'er all thy ails her heart has bled;
Oft has she watched beside thy bed;
Oft prayed for thee in dell at even,
Beneath the pitying stars of heaven.
Ah! Malcolm, ne'er was parent yet
So tender, so benign:
Never was maid so loved, so sweet,
Nor soul so rent as thine!
He looked to the boat—slow she heaved from the shore;
He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore:
But, grasped by a cold and a trembling hand,
He clung to his parent, and sunk on the strand.
The boat across the tide flew fast,
And left a silver curve behind;
Loud sung the sailor from the mast,
Spreading his sails before the wind.
The stately ship, adown the bay,
A corslet framed of heaving snow,
And flurred on high the slender spray,
Till rainbows gleamed around her prow.
How strained was Malcolm's watery eye,
Yon fleeting vision to descry!
But, ah! her virgin form so fair,
Soon vanished in the liquid air.
Away to Ora's headland steep
The youth retired the while,
And saw the unpitying vessel sweep
Around yon Highland isle.
His heart and his mind with that vessel had gone;
His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan,
When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep,
He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep.
High o'er the crested cliffs of Lorn
The curlew conned her wild bravura;
The sun, in pall of purple borne,
Was hastening down the steeps of Jura:
The glowing ocean heaved her breast,
Her wandering lover's glances under;
And showed his radiant form, imprest
Deep in a wavy world of wonder.
Not all the ocean's dyes at even,
Though varied as the bow of heaven;
The countless isles so dusky blue,
Nor medley of the gray curlew,
Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed;
Their glory all was gone!
For his joy was fled, his hope was dead,
And his heart forsaken and lone.
The sea-bird sought her roofless nest,
To warm her brood with her downy breast;
And near her home on the margin dun,
A mother weeps o'er her duteous son.
The curlew conned her wild bravura;
The sun, in pall of purple borne,
Was hastening down the steeps of Jura:
9
Her wandering lover's glances under;
And showed his radiant form, imprest
Deep in a wavy world of wonder.
Not all the ocean's dyes at even,
Though varied as the bow of heaven;
The countless isles so dusky blue,
Nor medley of the gray curlew,
Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed;
Their glory all was gone!
For his joy was fled, his hope was dead,
And his heart forsaken and lone.
The sea-bird sought her roofless nest,
To warm her brood with her downy breast;
And near her home on the margin dun,
A mother weeps o'er her duteous son.
One little boat alone is seen
On all the lovely dappled main,
That softly sinks the waves between,
Then vaults their heaving breasts again.
With snowy sail, and rowers' sweep,
Across the tide she seems to fly:
Why bears she on yon headland steep,
Where neither house nor home is nigh?
Is that a vision from the deep
That springs ashore and scales the steep,
Nor ever stays its ardent haste
Till sunk upon young Malcolm's breast?
Oh! spare that breast so lowly laid,
So fraught with deepest sorrow!
It is his own, his darling maid,
Young Anna of Glen-Ora!—
“My Malcolm, part we ne'er again:
My father saw thy bosom's pain;
Pitied my grief from thee to sever;
Now I, and Glen-Ora, are thine for ever!”
On all the lovely dappled main,
That softly sinks the waves between,
Then vaults their heaving breasts again.
With snowy sail, and rowers' sweep,
Across the tide she seems to fly:
Why bears she on yon headland steep,
Where neither house nor home is nigh?
Is that a vision from the deep
That springs ashore and scales the steep,
Nor ever stays its ardent haste
Till sunk upon young Malcolm's breast?
Oh! spare that breast so lowly laid,
So fraught with deepest sorrow!
It is his own, his darling maid,
Young Anna of Glen-Ora!—
“My Malcolm, part we ne'er again:
My father saw thy bosom's pain;
Pitied my grief from thee to sever;
Now I, and Glen-Ora, are thine for ever!”
That blaze of joy through clouds of woe,
Too fierce upon his heart did fall;
For, ah! the shaft had left the bow,
Which power of man could not recall.
No word of love could Malcolm speak;
No raptured kiss his lips impart;
No tear bedewed his shivering cheek,
To ease the grasp that held his heart.
His arms essayed one kind embrace—
Will they inclose her? never! never!
A smile set softly on his face,
But ah, the eye was set for ever!
'Twas more than broken heart could brook:
How throbs that breast!—How still that look!
One shiver more! All! all is o'er!—
As melts the wave on level shore;
As fades the dye of falling even,
Far on the silver verge of heaven;
As on thy ear the minstrel's lay,—
So died the comely youth away.”
The strain died soft in note of woe,
Too fierce upon his heart did fall;
For, ah! the shaft had left the bow,
Which power of man could not recall.
No word of love could Malcolm speak;
No raptured kiss his lips impart;
No tear bedewed his shivering cheek,
To ease the grasp that held his heart.
His arms essayed one kind embrace—
Will they inclose her? never! never!
A smile set softly on his face,
But ah, the eye was set for ever!
'Twas more than broken heart could brook:
How throbs that breast!—How still that look!
One shiver more! All! all is o'er!—
As melts the wave on level shore;
As fades the dye of falling even,
Far on the silver verge of heaven;
As on thy ear the minstrel's lay,—
So died the comely youth away.”
Nor breath nor whisper 'gan to flow
From courtly circle; all was still
As midnight on the lonely hill.
So well that foreign minstrel's strain
Had mimicked passion, woe, and pain,
Seemed even the chilly hand of death
Stealing away his mellow breath.
So sighed—so stopped—so died his lay,—
His spirit too seemed fled for aye.
'Tis true, the gay attentive throng
Admired, but loved not much, his song;
Admired his wondrous voice and skill,
His harp that thrilled or wept at will;
But that affected gaudy rhyme,
The querulous keys and changing chime,
Scarce could the Highland chieftain brook;
Disdain seemed kindling in his look,
That song so vapid, artful, terse,
Should e'er compete with Scottish verse.
But she, the fairest of the fair,
Who sat enthroned in gilded chair,
Well skilled in foreign minstrelsy
And artful airs of Italy,
Listened his song, with raptures wild,
And on the happy minstrel smiled.
Soon did the wily stranger's eye
The notice most he wished espy,
Then poured his numbers bold and free,
Fired by the grace of majesty;
And when his last notes died away,
When sunk in well-feigned death he lay,
When round the crowd began to ring,
Thinking his spirit on the wing,—
First of the dames she came along,
Wept, sighed, and marvelled 'mid the throng.
And when they raised him, it was said
The beauteous sovereign deigned her aid;
And in her hands, so soft and warm,
Upheld the minstrel's hand and arm.
Then oped his eye with rapture fired;
He smiled, and, bowing oft, retired;
Pleased he so soon had realized
What more than gold or fame he prized.
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 manly 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;
10
Fair emblem of Almighty love:
Beneath rose an embossment proud,—
A Rose beneath a Thistle bowed.
Lightly upon the form he sprung,
And his bold harp impetuous rung.
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 halls of Holyrood.
Then in a mellow tone, and strong,
He poured this wild and dreadful song.
Young Kennedy.
THE SECOND BARD'S SONG.
When the gusts of October had rifled the thorn,
Had dappled the woodland, and umbered the plain,
In den of the mountain was Kennedy born;
There hushed by the tempest, baptized with the rain.
His cradle a mat that swung light on the oak;
His couch the sear mountain-fern, spread on the rock;
The white knobs of ice from the chilled nipple hung,
And loud winter-torrents his lullaby sung.
Had dappled the woodland, and umbered the plain,
In den of the mountain was Kennedy born;
There hushed by the tempest, baptized with the rain.
His cradle a mat that swung light on the oak;
His couch the sear 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;
Soon died on the breeze of the forest his moan.
To his wailings, the weary wood-echo 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 correi, which thunders had riven,
It oped on the pale fleeting billows of heaven.
Soon died on the breeze of the forest his moan.
To his wailings, the weary wood-echo 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 correi, which thunders had riven,
It oped on the pale fleeting billows 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 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 the dark Teith through the valley of Doune,
The conqueror's menial he toiled in the field.
His master he loved not, obeyed with a scowl,
Scarce smothered his hate, and his rancour of soul;
When challenged, his eye and his colour would change,
His proud bosom nursing and planning revenge.
Proscribed, and by gallant Macdougal expelled;
Where rolls the dark Teith through the valley of Doune,
The conqueror's menial he toiled in the field.
His master he loved not, obeyed with a scowl,
Scarce smothered his hate, and his rancour of soul;
When 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.
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 moor-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 flash of desire, kindled fierce by revenge,
Which savages feel the brown desert that range.
All fair was her form, and untainted her mind.
Young Kennedy saw her, his appetite burned
As fierce as the moor-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 flash 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 love-smile;
Too oft, in a moment, thy peace overthrown—
Fair butt of delusion, of passion, and 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 green-wood?
Too often deep sorrow succeeds thy love-smile;
Too oft, in a moment, thy peace overthrown—
Fair butt of delusion, of passion, and 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 green-wood?
Sweet woman! with virtue, thou'rt lofty, thou'rt free;
Yield that, thou'rt a slave, and the mark of disdain:
No blossom of spring is beleaguered like thee,
Though brushed by the lightning, the wind, and the rain.
Matilda is fallen! With tears in her eye
She seeks her destroyer, but only can sigh.
Matilda has fallen, and sorrow her doom—
The flower of the valley is nipt in the bloom.
Yield that, thou'rt a slave, and the mark of disdain:
No blossom of spring is beleaguered like thee,
Though brushed by the lightning, the wind, and the rain.
Matilda is fallen! With tears in her eye
She seeks her destroyer, but only can sigh.
Matilda has fallen, and sorrow her doom—
The flower of the valley is nipt in the bloom.
Ah! Kennedy, vengeance hangs over thine head!
Escape to thy native Glengary forlorn:
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?
Escape to thy native Glengary forlorn:
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;
Why 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!
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;
Why 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!
Though grateful the hope to the death-bed that flies,
That lovers and friends o'er our ashes will weep;
The soul, when released from her lingering ties,
In secret may see if their sorrows are deep.
Who wept for the worthy Macdougal?—Not one!
His darling Matilda, who, two months agone,
Would have mourned for her father in sorrow extreme,
Indulged in a painful delectable dream.
That lovers and friends o'er our ashes will weep;
The soul, when released from her lingering ties,
In secret may see if their sorrows are deep.
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His darling Matilda, who, two months agone,
Would have mourned for her father in sorrow extreme,
Indulged in a painful delectable dream.
But, why do the matrons, while dressing the dead,
Sit silent, and look as if something they knew?
Why gaze on the features? Why move they the head,
And point at the bosom so dappled 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.
Sit silent, and look as if something they knew?
Why gaze on the features? Why move they the head,
And point at the bosom so dappled 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,
And 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 wide scene,
A vapoury silver veil floated serene,
A fairy perspective, that bore from the eye
Wood, mountain, and meadow, in distance to lie.
And 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 wide scene,
A vapoury silver veil floated serene,
A fairy perspective, that bore from the eye
Wood, mountain, and meadow, in distance to lie.
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!
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!
But why do the horses snort over their food,
And cling to the manger in seeming dismay?
What scares the old owlet afar to the wood?
Why screams the blue heron as hastening away?
Say, why is the dog hid so deep in his cover?
Each window barred up, and the curtain drawn over?
Each white maiden bosom still heaving so high,
And fixed on another each fear-speaking eye?
And cling to the manger in seeming dismay?
What scares the old owlet afar to the wood?
Why screams the blue heron as hastening away?
Say, why is the dog hid so deep in his cover?
Each window barred up, and the curtain drawn over?
Each white maiden bosom still heaving so high,
And fixed on another each fear-speaking eye?
'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.
Ha! why is the cup from the lip ta'en away?
Why fixed every form like a statue of clay?
Say, whence is that outcry of horrid despair?
Haste, fly to the marriage bed-chamber—'tis there!
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.
Ha! why is the cup from the lip ta'en away?
Why fixed every form like a statue of clay?
Say, whence is that outcry of horrid despair?
Haste, fly to the marriage bed-chamber—'tis there!
O! haste thee, Strath-Allan, 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 Arch'bald the Grim;
Then why do you hesitate? why do you stand
With claymore unsheathed, and red taper in hand?
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 Arch'bald 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:
What footsteps so madly pace through the saloon?
'Tis Kennedy, naked and ghastly, alone,
Who 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;
Her features distorted, her colour the clay,
Her feelings, her voice, and her reason away.
What footsteps so madly pace through the saloon?
'Tis Kennedy, naked and ghastly, alone,
Who 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;
Her 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;—
O! 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.
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;—
O! 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 clan Kennedy was only in the present age finally expelled from Glengary, and forced to scatter over this and other countries. Its character among the Highlanders is that of the most savage and irreclaimable tribe that ever infested the mountains of the north.
The Bride's Tale.
I 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.
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 gray locks and pale features I knew;
I saw his fix'd eye-balls indignantly glow;
Yet still in that look there were pity and woe.
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 gray locks and pale features I knew;
I saw his fix'd 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;
Embrace not thy husband, unfortunate bride,
Thy red cup of misery already runs over.
He strangled thy father; thy guilt paved the way;
Thy heart yet is blameless, O, fly while you may!
Thy portion of life must calamity leaven;
But fly while there's hope of forgiveness from Heaven.
“O haste from the bed of that parricide lover;
Embrace not thy husband, unfortunate bride,
Thy red cup of misery already runs over.
He strangled thy father; thy guilt paved the way;
Thy heart yet is blameless, O, fly while you may!
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! 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.
O! 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.
12
“The cave shall not cover, the cloud shall not hide thee;
At noon I will wither thy sight with my frown:
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 howlings 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.
At noon I will wither thy sight with my frown:
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 howlings 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 sunk 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! 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.
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! 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.
The Conclusion.
O! shepherd of Braco, look well to thy flock,
The piles of Glen-Ardochy murmur and jar;
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 gray mountain-falcon accords with his yell;
Aloft on bold pinion the eagle is borne,
To ring the alarm at the gates of the morn.
The piles of Glen-Ardochy murmur and jar;
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 gray 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 on Ben-Ardochy's brow;
Then why is the hoary cliff sheeted with blood?
And what the poor carcass 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 when falls the gray gloaming,
For there a grim phantom still naked is roaming.
Thy lambs feed in peace on Ben-Ardochy's brow;
Then why is the hoary cliff sheeted with blood?
And what the poor carcass 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 when falls the gray gloaming,
For there a grim phantom still naked is roaming.
While plaudits round the circle flew.
Woe that the bard, whose thrilling song
Has poured from age to age along,
Should perish from the lists of fame,
And lose his only boon—a name.
Yet many a song of wondrous power,
Well known in cot and green-wood bower,
Wherever swells the shepherd's reed
On Yarrow's banks and braes of Tweed;
Yes, many a song of olden time,
Of rude array, and air sublime,
Though long on time's dark whirlpool tossed,
The song is saved, the bard is lost.
Yet have I weened, when these I sung
On Ettrick banks, while mind was young;
When on the eve their strains I threw,
And youths and maidens round me drew;
Or chanted in the lonely glen,
Far from the haunts and eyes of men:
Yes, I have weened, with fondest sigh,
The spirit of the bard was nigh;
Swung by the breeze on braken pile,
Or hovering o'er me with a smile.
Would fancy still her dreams combine,
That spirit, too, might breathe on mine;
Well pleased to see her songs the joy
Of that poor lonely shepherd boy.
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
That many rhymes which still prevail,
Of genuine ardour, bold and free,
Were aye admired, and aye will be,
Had never been, or shortly stood,
But for that Wake at Holyrood.
Certes that many a bard of name,
Who there appeared and strove for fame,
No record names, nor minstrel's tongue;
Not even are known the lays they sung.
The fifth was from a western shore,
Where rolls the dark and sullen Orr:
Of peasant make, and doubtful mein,
Affecting airs of proud disdain.
Wide curled his raven locks and high;
Dark was his visage, dark his eye,
That glanced around on dames and men,
Like falcon's on the cliffs of Ken.
Some ruffian mendicant, whose wit
Presumed at much, for all unfit.
No one could read the character,
If knave or genius writ was there;
But all supposed, from mein and frame,
From Erin he an exile came.
With hollow voice, and harp ill strung,
Some bungling parody he sung,
Well known to maid and matron gray,
Through all the glens of Galloway;
For often had he conned it there,
With simpering and affected air.
Listened the Court, with sidelong bend,
In wonder how the strain would end.
But long ere that it grew so plain,
They scarce from hooting could refrain;
And each to others 'gan to say,
“What good can come from Galloway?”
Woe for the man so indiscreet!
For bard would be a name unmeet
For self-sufficient sordid elf,
Whom none admires but he himself.
Unheard by him the scorner's tongue,
For still he capered and he sung,
With many an awkward gape the while,
And many a dark delighted smile,
Till round the throne the murmurs ran;
Till ladies blushed behind the fan;
And when the rustic ceased to sing,
A hiss of scorn ran round the ring.
Dark grinned the fool around the form,
With blood-shot eye, and face of storm;
13
And muttered curses dark and deep.
The sixth, too, from that country he,
Where heath-cocks bay o'er western Dee;
Where Summer spreads her purple screen
O'er moors where greensward ne'er was seen;
Nor shade, o'er all the prospect stern,
Save crusted rock, or warrior's cairn.
Gentle his form, his manners meet,
His harp was soft, his voice was sweet;
He sung Lochryan's hapless maid,
In bloom of youth by love betrayed;
Turned from her lover's bower at last,
To brave the chilly midnight blast;
And bitterer far, the pangs to prove
Of ruined fame, and slighted love;
A tender babe, her arms within,
Sobbing and “shivering at the chin.”
No lady's cheek in court was dry,
So softly poured the melody.
The eighth was from the Leven coast:
The rest who 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.
Full hardly passed he through the throng,
Dragging on crutches, slow along,
His feeble and unhealthy frame,
And kindness welcomed as he came.
His unpresuming aspect mild,
Calm and benignant as a child,
Yet spoke to all that viewed him nigh,
That more was there than met the eye:
Some wizard of the shore he seemed,
Who through the scenes of life had dreamed,
Of spells that vital life benumb,
Of formless spirits wandering dumb,
Where aspens in the moonbeam quake,
By mouldering pile, or mountain lake.
He deemed that fays and spectres wan
Held converse with the thoughts of man;
In dreams their future fates foretold,
And spread the death-flame on the wold;
Or flagged at eve each restless wing
In dells their vesper hymns to sing.
Such was our bard, such were his lays;
And long, by green Benarty's base,
His wild wood-notes, from ivy cave,
Had waked the dawning from the wave.
At evening fall, in lonesome dale,
He kept strange converse with the gale;
Held worldly pomp in high derision,
And wandered in a world of vision.
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.
The Witch of Fife.
THE EIGHTH BARD'S SONG.
“Quhare haif ye been, ye ill womyne,
These three lang nightis fra hame?
Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yer brow,
Like clotis of the saut sea faem?
These three lang nightis fra hame?
Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yer brow,
Like clotis of the saut sea faem?
“It fearis me muckil ye haif seen
Quhat guid man never knew;
It fearis me muckil ye haif been
Quhare the gray cock never crew.
Quhat guid man never knew;
It fearis me muckil ye haif been
Quhare the gray cock never crew.
“But the spell may crack, and the brydel breck,
Then sherpe yer werde will be;
Ye had better sleipe in yer bed at hame,
Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me.”—
Then sherpe yer werde will be;
Ye had better sleipe in yer bed at hame,
Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me.”—
‘Sit doune, sit doune, my leil auld man,
Sit doune, and listin to me;
I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown,
And the cauld sweit blind yer ee.
Sit doune, and listin to me;
I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown,
And the cauld sweit blind yer ee.
‘But tell nae wordis, my guid auld man,
Tell never word again;
Or deire shall be yer courtisye,
And driche and sair yer pain.
Tell never word again;
Or deire shall be yer courtisye,
And driche and sair yer pain.
‘The first leet night, quhan the new moon set,
Quhan all was douffe and mirk,
We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif,
And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk.
Quhan all was douffe and mirk,
We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif,
And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk.
‘Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit,
And some of the greine bay tree;
But mine was made of ane humloke schaw,
And a stout stallion was he.
And some of the greine bay tree;
But mine was made of ane humloke schaw,
And a stout stallion was he.
‘We raide the tod doune on the hill,
The martin on the law;
And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe,
And forcit him doune to fa’.—
The martin on the law;
And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe,
And forcit him doune to fa’.—
“Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne?
Quhat guid was that to thee?
Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame,
Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me.”—
Quhat guid was that to thee?
Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame,
Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me.”—
‘And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide,
Throw the merkist gloffis of the night;
And we swam the floode, and we darnit the woode,
Till we cam to the Lommond height.
Throw the merkist gloffis of the night;
And we swam the floode, and we darnit the woode,
Till we cam to the Lommond height.
14
‘And quhan we cam to the Lommond height,
Se lythlye we lychtid doune;
And we drank fra the hornis that never grew,
The beer that was never brewin.
Se lythlye we lychtid doune;
And we drank fra the hornis that never grew,
The beer that was never brewin.
‘Then up there raise ane wee wee man,
Fra neithe the moss-gray stane;
His fece was wan like the collifloure,
For he nouthir had blude nor bane.
Fra neithe the moss-gray stane;
His fece was wan like the collifloure,
For he nouthir had blude nor bane.
‘He set ane reid-pipe til his muthe,
And he playit se bonnilye,
Till the gray curlew and the black-cock flew
To listen his melodye.
And he playit se bonnilye,
Till the gray curlew and the black-cock flew
To listen his melodye.
‘It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond,
That the nycht-winde lowner blew;
And it soupit alang the Loch Leven,
And wakinit the white sea-mew.
That the nycht-winde lowner blew;
And it soupit alang the Loch Leven,
And wakinit the white sea-mew.
‘It rang se sweit through the grein Lommond,
Se sweitly butt and se shill,
That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy holis,
And dancit on the mydnycht hill.
Se sweitly butt and se shill,
That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy holis,
And dancit on the mydnycht hill.
‘The corby craw cam gledgin near,
The ern gede veeryng bye;
And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch,
Charmit with the melodye.
The ern gede veeryng bye;
And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch,
Charmit with the melodye.
‘And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond,
Till the dawn on the ocean grew:
Ne wonder I was a weary wycht
Quhan I cam hame to you.’—
Till the dawn on the ocean grew:
Ne wonder I was a weary wycht
Quhan I cam hame to you.’—
“Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird wyfe,
Quhat guid was that to thee?
Ye wald better haif bein in yer bed at hame,
Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me.”—
Quhat guid was that to thee?
Ye wald better haif bein in yer bed at hame,
Wi' yer deire littil bairnis and me.”—
‘The second nycht, quhan the new moon set,
O'er the roaryng sea we flew;
The cockle-shell our trusty bark,
Our sailis of the grein sea-rue.
O'er the roaryng sea we flew;
The cockle-shell our trusty bark,
Our sailis of the grein sea-rue.
‘And the bauld windis blew, and the fire-flauchtis flew,
And the sea ran to the skie;
And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit,
As we gaed scouryng bye.
And the sea ran to the skie;
And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit,
As we gaed scouryng bye.
‘And aye we mountit the sea-grein hillis,
Quhill we brushit thro' the cludis of the hevin;
Than sousit dounright like the stern-shot light,
Fra the liftis blue casement driven.
Quhill we brushit thro' the cludis of the hevin;
Than sousit dounright like the stern-shot light,
Fra the liftis blue casement driven.
‘But our taickil stood, and our bark was good,
And se pang was our pearily prowe;
Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis,
We needilit them throu belowe.
And se pang was our pearily prowe;
Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis,
We needilit them throu belowe.
‘As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale,
As fast as the mydnycht leme,
We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale,
Or fluffit i' the flotyng faem.
As fast as the mydnycht leme,
We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale,
Or fluffit i' the flotyng faem.
‘And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan,
We muntyd our steedis of the wynde,
And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the woode,
And we left the shouir behynde.
We muntyd our steedis of the wynde,
And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the woode,
And we left the shouir behynde.
‘Fleit is the roe on the grein Lommond,
And swift is the couryng grew;
The rein-deir dun can eithly run,
Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue.
And swift is the couryng grew;
The rein-deir dun can eithly run,
Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue.
‘But nowther the roe, nor the rein-deir dun,
The hinde nor the couryng grew,
Culde fly owr montaine, muir, and dale,
As our braw steedis they flew.
The hinde nor the couryng grew,
Culde fly owr montaine, muir, and dale,
As our braw steedis they flew.
‘The dales war deep, and the Doffrinis steep,
And we raise to the skyis ee-bree;
Quhite, quhite was our rode, that was never trode,
Owr the snawis of eternity!
And we raise to the skyis ee-bree;
Quhite, quhite was our rode, that was never trode,
Owr the snawis of eternity!
‘And quhan we cam to the Lapland lone,
The fairies war all in array;
For all the genii of the north
War keipyng their holiday.
The fairies war all in array;
For all the genii of the north
War keipyng their holiday.
‘The warlock men and the weird wemyng,
And the fays of the wood and the steip,
And the phantom hunteris all war there,
And the mermaidis of the deip.
And the fays of the wood and the steip,
And the phantom hunteris all war there,
And the mermaidis of the deip.
‘And they washit us all with the witch-water,
Distillit fra the muirland dew,
Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose,
That wylde in the foreste grew.’—
Distillit fra the muirland dew,
Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose,
That wylde in the foreste grew.’—
“Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womyne,
Se loud as I heir ye lee!
For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe
Is cumlye comparit wi' thee.”—
Se loud as I heir ye lee!
For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe
Is cumlye comparit wi' thee.”—
‘Then the mermaidis sang and the woodlandis rang,
Se sweitly swellit the quire;
On every cliff a herpe they hang,
On every tree a lyre.
Se sweitly swellit the quire;
On every cliff a herpe they hang,
On every tree a lyre.
‘And aye they sang, and the woodlandis rang,
And we drank, and we drank se deip;
Then saft in the armis of the warlock men,
We laid us dune to sleip.’—
And we drank, and we drank se deip;
Then saft in the armis of the warlock men,
We laid us dune to sleip.’—
“Away, away, ye ill womyne,
An ill deide met ye dee!
Quhan ye hae pruvit se false to yer God,
Ye can never pruve true to me.”—
An ill deide met ye dee!
Quhan ye hae pruvit se false to yer God,
Ye can never pruve true to me.”—
‘And there we learnit fra the fairy foke,
And fra our master true,
The wordis that can beire us throu the air,
And lokkis and barris undo.
And fra our master true,
The wordis that can beire us throu the air,
And lokkis and barris undo.
‘Last nycht we met at Maisry's cot;
Richt weil the wordis we knew;
And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell,
And out at the lum we flew.
Richt weil the wordis we knew;
And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell,
And out at the lum we flew.
15
‘And we flew owr hill, and we flew owr dale,
And we flew owr firth an sea,
Until we cam to merry Carlisle,
Quhare we lightit on the lea.
And we flew owr firth an sea,
Until we cam to merry Carlisle,
Quhare we lightit on the lea.
‘We gaed to the vault beyond the towr,
Quhare we enterit free as ayr;
And we drank, and we drank of the bishopis wyne
Quhill we culde drynk ne mair.’—
Quhare we enterit free as ayr;
And we drank, and we drank of the bishopis wyne
Quhill we culde drynk ne mair.’—
“Gin that be true, my guid auld wyfe,
Whilk thou hast tauld to me,
Betide my death, betide my lyfe,
I'll beire thee companye.
Whilk thou hast tauld to me,
Betide my death, betide my lyfe,
I'll beire thee companye.
“Neist time ye gaung to merry Carlisle
To drynk of the blude-reid wyne,
Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with thee,
If the deil should fly behynde.”—
To drynk of the blude-reid wyne,
Beshrew my heart, I'll fly with thee,
If the deil should fly behynde.”—
Ah! little do ye ken, my silly auld man,
The daingeris we maun dree;
Last nychte we drank of the bishopis wyne,
Quhill near near taen war we.
The daingeris we maun dree;
Last nychte we drank of the bishopis wyne,
Quhill near near taen war we.
‘Afore we wan to the Sandy Ford,
The gor-cockis nichering flew;
The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen
Was wavit about with blue,
And, flichtering throu the ayr, we fand
The chill chill mornyng dew.
The gor-cockis nichering flew;
The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen
Was wavit about with blue,
And, flichtering throu the ayr, we fand
The chill chill mornyng dew.
‘As we flew owr the hillis of Braid,
The sun raise fair and cleir;
There gurly James, and his baronis braw,
War out to hunt the deir.
The sun raise fair and cleir;
There gurly James, and his baronis braw,
War out to hunt the deir.
‘Their bowis they drew, their arrowis flew,
And piercit the ayr with speide,
Quhill purpil fell the mornyng dew
Wi' witch-blude rank and reide.
And piercit the ayr with speide,
Quhill purpil fell the mornyng dew
Wi' witch-blude rank and reide.
‘Littil do ye ken, my silly auld man,
The daingeris we maun dree;
Ne wonder I am a weary wycht
Quhan I come hame to thee.’—
The daingeris we maun dree;
Ne wonder I am a weary wycht
Quhan I come hame to thee.’—
“But tell me the word, my guid auld wyfe,
Come tell it me speedilye;
For I lang to drynk of the guid reide wyne,
And to wyng the ayr with thee.
Come tell it me speedilye;
For I lang to drynk of the guid reide wyne,
And to wyng the ayr with thee.
“Yer hellish horse I wilna ryde,
Nor sail the seas in the wynde;
But I can flee as weil as thee,
And I'll drynk quhill ye be blynd.”—
Nor sail the seas in the wynde;
But I can flee as weil as thee,
And I'll drynk quhill ye be blynd.”—
‘O fy! O fy! my leil auld man,
That word I darena tell;
It wald turn this warld all upside down,
And make it warse than hell.
That word I darena tell;
It wald turn this warld all upside down,
And make it warse than hell.
‘For all the lassies in the land
Wald munt the wynde and fly;
And the men wald doff their doublets syde,
And after them wald ply.’—
Wald munt the wynde and fly;
And the men wald doff their doublets syde,
And after them wald ply.’—
But the auld guidman was ane cunnyng auld man,
And ane cunnyng auld man was he;
And he watchit, and he watchit for mony a nychte,
The witches' flychte to see.
And ane cunnyng auld man was he;
And he watchit, and he watchit for mony a nychte,
The witches' flychte to see.
Ane nychte he darnit in Maisry's cot;
The fearless haggs cam in;
And he heard the word of awsome weird,
And he saw their deidis of synn.
The fearless haggs cam in;
And he heard the word of awsome weird,
And he saw their deidis of synn.
Then ane by ane they said that word,
As fast to the fire they drew;
Then set a foot on the black cruik-shell,
And out at the lum they flew.
As fast to the fire they drew;
Then set a foot on the black cruik-shell,
And out at the lum they flew.
The auld guidman cam fra his hole
With feire and muckil dreide,
But yet he culdna think to rue,
For the wyne cam in his head.
With feire and muckil dreide,
But yet he culdna think to rue,
For the wyne cam in his head.
He set his foot in the black cruik-shell,
With ane fixit and ane wawlying ee;
And he said the word that I darena say,
And out at the lum flew he.
With ane fixit and ane wawlying ee;
And he said the word that I darena say,
And out at the lum flew he.
The witches skalit the moonbeam pale;
Deep groanit the trembling wynde;
But they never wist till our auld guidman
Was hoveryng them behynde.
Deep groanit the trembling wynde;
But they never wist till our auld guidman
Was hoveryng them behynde.
They flew to the vaultis of merry Carlisle,
Quhare they enterit free as ayr;
And they drank and they drank of the bishopis wyne
Quhill they culde drynk ne mair.
Quhare they enterit free as ayr;
And they drank and they drank of the bishopis wyne
Quhill they culde drynk ne mair.
The auld guidman he grew se crouse,
He dancit on the mouldy ground,
And he sang the bonniest sangs of Fyfe,
And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round.
He dancit on the mouldy ground,
And he sang the bonniest sangs of Fyfe,
And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round.
And aye he piercit the tither butt,
And he suckit, and he suckit se lang,
Quhill his een they closit, and his voice grew low,
And his tongue wald hardly gang.
And he suckit, and he suckit se lang,
Quhill his een they closit, and his voice grew low,
And his tongue wald hardly gang.
The kerlyngs drank of the bishopis wyne
Quhill they scentit the morning wynde;
Then clove again the yielding ayr,
And left the auld man behynde.
Quhill they scentit the morning wynde;
Then clove again the yielding ayr,
And left the auld man behynde.
And aye he sleipit on the damp damp floor,
He sleipit and he snorit amain;
He never dreamit he was far fra hame,
Or that the auld wyvis war gane.
He sleipit and he snorit amain;
He never dreamit he was far fra hame,
Or that the auld wyvis war gane.
And aye he sleipit on the damp damp floor,
Quhill past the mid-day highte,
Quhan wakenit by five rough Englishmen
That trailit him to the lychte.
Quhill past the mid-day highte,
Quhan wakenit by five rough Englishmen
That trailit him to the lychte.
“Now quha are ye, ye silly auld man,
That sleipis se sound and se weil?
Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault
Throu lokkis and barris of steel?”
That sleipis se sound and se weil?
Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault
Throu lokkis and barris of steel?”
16
The auld gudeman he tryit to speak,
But ane word he culdna fynde;
He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round,
And ane thing he culdna mynde:—
“I cam fra Fyfe,” the auld man cryit,
“And I cam on the mydnycht wynde.”
But ane word he culdna fynde;
He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round,
And ane thing he culdna mynde:—
“I cam fra Fyfe,” the auld man cryit,
“And I cam on the mydnycht wynde.”
They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld man,
And they yerkit his limbis with twine,
Quhill the reide blude ran in his hose and shoon,
But some cryit it was wyne.
And they yerkit his limbis with twine,
Quhill the reide blude ran in his hose and shoon,
But some cryit it was wyne.
They lickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld man,
And they tyit him till ane stone;
And they set ane bele-fire him about,
To burn him skin and bone.
And they tyit him till ane stone;
And they set ane 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 wemyng
That lead puir men astray!
“That ever I saw the day!
And wae be to all the ill wemyng
That lead puir men astray!
“Let nevir ane auld man after this
To lawless greide inclyne;
Let nevir ane auld man after this
Rin post to the deil for wyne.”
To lawless greide inclyne;
Let nevir ane auld man after this
Rin post to the deil for wyne.”
The reike flew up in the auld manis face,
And choukit him bitterlye;
And the lowe cam up with ane angry blese,
And it syngit his auld breek-knee.
And choukit him bitterlye;
And the lowe cam up with ane angry blese,
And it syngit his auld breek-knee.
He lukit to the land fra whence he cam,
For lukis he culde get nae mae;
And he thochte of his deire littil bairnis at hame,
And O the auld man was wae!
For lukis he culde get nae mae;
And he thochte of his deire littil bairnis at hame,
And O the auld man was wae!
But they turnit their facis to the sun,
With gloffe and wonderous glair,
For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun,
Comin swaipin down the ayr.
With gloffe and wonderous glair,
For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun,
Comin swaipin down the ayr.
That burd it cam fra the landis o' Fyfe,
And it cam rycht tymeouslye,
For quha was it but the auld manis wyfe,
Just comit his dethe to see?
And it cam rycht tymeouslye,
For quha was it but the auld manis wyfe,
Just comit his dethe to see?
Scho put ane reide cap on his heide,
And the auld guidman lookit fain,
Then whisperit ane word intil his lug,
And tovit to the ayr again.
And the auld guidman lookit fain,
Then whisperit ane word intil his lug,
And tovit to the ayr again.
The auld guidman he gae ane bob,
I'the mids o' the burnyng lowe;
And the sheklis that band him to the ring,
They fell fra his armis like towe.
I'the mids o' the burnyng lowe;
And the sheklis that band him to the ring,
They fell fra his armis like towe.
He drew his breath, and he said the word,
And he said it with muckil glee,
Then set his fit on the burnyng pile,
And away to the ayr flew he.
And he said it with muckil glee,
Then set his fit on the burnyng pile,
And away to the ayr flew he.
Till aince he clerit the swirlyng reike,
He lukit beth ferit and sad;
But whan he wan to the lycht blue ayr,
He lauchit as he'd been mad.
He lukit beth ferit and sad;
But whan he wan to the lycht blue ayr,
He lauchit as he'd been mad.
His armis war spred, and his heid was hiche,
And his feite stack out behynde;
And the laibies of the auld manis cote
War wauffing in the wynde.
And his feite stack out behynde;
And the laibies of the auld manis cote
War wauffing in the wynde.
And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew,
For he thochte the ploy se raire;
It was like the voice of the gainder blue,
Quhan he flees throu the ayr.
For he thochte the ploy se raire;
It was like the voice of the gainder blue,
Quhan he flees throu the ayr.
He lukit back to the Carlisle men
As he borit the norlan sky;
He noddit his heide, and gae ane girn,
But he nevir said guid-bye.
As he borit the norlan sky;
He noddit his heide, and gae ane girn,
But he nevir said guid-bye.
They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale,
Ne mair the English saw,
But the auld manis lauch cam on the gale,
With a lang and a loud gaffa.
Ne mair the English saw,
But the auld manis lauch cam on the gale,
With a lang and a loud gaffa.
May ever ilke man in the land of Fyfe
Read what the drinkeris dree;
And nevir curse his puir auld wife,
Rychte wicked altho scho be.
Read what the drinkeris dree;
And nevir curse his puir auld wife,
Rychte wicked altho scho be.
It may suffice to mention, once for all, that the catastrophè of this tale, as well as the principal events related in the tales of “Old David,” and “M'Gregor,” are all founded on popular traditions. So is also the romantic story of Kilmeny's disappearance and revisiting her friends after being seven years in Fairyland. The tradition bears some resemblance to the old ballads of “Tam Lean,” and “Thomas of Erceldon:” and it is not improbable that all the three may have drawn their origin from the same ancient romance.
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!”
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.
17
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 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 were keen,
Scotland's high dames you might have seen,
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 snow,
Leaning on lord or lover's arm,
Cheerful and reckless of all harm.
Vanished those hardy times outright;
So is our ancient Scottish might.
Sweet be her home, admired her charms,
Bliss to her couch in lover's arms,
I bid in every minstrel's name,
I bid to every lovely dame,
That ever gave one hour away
To cheer the bard or list his lay!
To all who love the raptures high
Of Scottish song and minstrelsy,
Till next the night, in sable shroud,
Shall wrap the halls of Holyrood,
That rival minstrels' songs I borrow—
I bid a hearty kind good-morrow.
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