MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER.

The Lass of Lochroyan—In this volume.

See the ballad, entitled, Brown Adam.

See the Gay Goss Hawk.

NOTES ON SCOTTISH MUSIC, AN ODE.

Far in the green isle of the west.—P. 103. v. 2.

The Flathinnis, or Celtic paradise.

Ah! sure, as Hindú legends tell.—P. 104. v. 1.

The effect of music is explained by the Hindús, as recalling to our memory the airs of paradise, heard in a state of pre-existence—Vide Sacontala.

Did "Bathwell's banks that bloom so fair."—P. 106. v. 3.

"So fell it out of late years, that an English gentleman, travelling in Palestine, not far from Jerusalem, as he passed through a country town, he heard, by chance, a woman sitting at her door, dandling her child, to sing, Bothwel bank thou blumest fair. The gentleman hereat wondered, and forthwith, in English, saluted the woman, who joyfully answered him; and said, she was right glad there to see a gentleman of our isle: and told him, that she was a Scottish woman, and came first from Scotland to Venice, and from Venice thither, where her fortune was to be the wife of an officer under the Turk; who being at that instant absent, and very soon to return, she entreated the gentleman to stay there until his return. The which he did; and she, for country sake, to shew herself the more kind and bountiful unto him, told her husband, at his home-coming, that the gentleman was her kinsman; whereupon her husband entertained him very kindly; and, at his departure gave him divers things of good value."—Verstigan's Restitution of Decayed Intelligence. Chap. Of the Sirnames of our Antient Families. Antwerp, 1605.

INTRODUCTION TO THE TALE OF TAMLANE.

ON THE FAIRIES OF POPULAR SUPERSTITION.

"Of airy elves, by moon-light shadows seen,

The silver token, and the circled green.—POPE.

In a work, avowedly dedicated to the preservation of the poetry and tradition of the "olden time," it would be unpardonable to omit this opportunity of making some observations upon so interesting an article of the popular creed, as that concerning the Elves, or Fairies. The general idea of spirits, of a limited power, and subordinate nature, dwelling among the woods and mountains, is, perhaps common to all nations. But the intermixture of tribes, of languages, and religion, which has occurred in Europe, renders it difficult to trace the origin of the names which have been bestowed upon such spirits, and the primary ideas which were entertained concerning their manners and habits.

The word elf, which seems to have been the original name of the beings, afterwards denominated fairies, is of Gothic origin, and probably signified, simply, a spirit of a lower order. Thus, the Saxons had not only dun-elfen, berg-elfen,and munt-elfen, spirits of the downs, hills, and mountains; but also feld-elfen, wudu-elfen, sae-elfen, and water-elfen; spirits of the fields, of the woods, of the sea, and of the waters. In low German, the same latitude of expression occurs; for night hags are termed aluinnen, and aluen, which is sometimes Latinized eluoe. But the prototype of the English elf, is to be sought chiefly in the berg-elfen, or duergar, of the Scandinavians. From the most early of the Icelandic Sagas, as well as from the Edda itself, we learn the belief of the northern nations in a race of dwarfish spirits, inhabiting the rocky mountains, and approaching, in some respects, to the human nature. Their attributes, amongst which we recognize the features of the modern Fairy, were, supernatural wisdom and prescience, and skill in the mechanical arts, especially in the fabrication of arms. They are farther described, as capricious, vindictive, and easily irritated. The story of the elfin sword, Tyrfing, may be the most pleasing illustration of this position. Suafurlami, a Scandinavian monarch, returning from hunting, bewildered himself among the mountains. About sun-set, he beheld a large rock, and two dwarfs, sitting before the mouth of a cavern. The king drew his sword, and intercepted their retreat, by springing betwixt them and their recess, and imposed upon them the following condition of safety:—that they should make for him a faulchion, with a baldric and scabbard of pure gold, and a blade, which should divide stones and iron as a garment, and which should render the wielder ever victorious in battle. The elves complied with the requisition, and Suafurlami pursued his way home. Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered to him the famous sword Tyrfing; then, standing in the entrance of their cavern, spoke thus: "This sword, O king, shall "destroy a man every time it is brandished; but it shall "perform three atrocious deeds, and it shall be thy bane." The king rushed forward with the charmed sword, and buried both its edges in the rock; but the dwarfs escaped into their recesses.[^[A]] This enchanted sword emitted rays like the sun, dazzling all against whom it was brandished; it divided steel like water, and was never unsheathed without slaying a man—Hervarar Saga, p. 9. Similar to this was the enchanted sword, Skoffhung, which was taken by a pirate out of the tomb of a Norwegian monarch. Many such tales are narrated in the Sagas; but the most distinct account of the -duergar, or elves, and their attributes, is to be found in a preface of Torfaeus to the history of Hrolf Kraka, who cites a dissertation by Einar Gudmund, a learned native of Iceland. "I am firmly of opinion," says the Icelander, "that these beings are creatures of God, consisting, like human beings, of a body and rational soul; that they are of different sexes, and capable of producing children, and subject to all human affections, as sleeping and waking, laughing and crying, poverty and wealth; and that they possess cattle, and other effects, and are obnoxious to death, like other mortals." He proceeds to state, that the females of this race are capable of procreating with mankind; and gives an account of one who bore a child to an inhabitant of Iceland, for whom she claimed the privilege of baptism; depositing the infant, for that purpose, at the gate of the church-yard, together with a goblet of gold, as an offering.—Historia Hrolfi Krakae, a TORFAEO.

Perhaps in this, and similar tales, we may recognize something of real history. That the Fins, or ancient natives of Scandinavia, were driven into the mountains, by the invasion of Odin and his Asiatics, is sufficiently probable; and there is reason to believe, that the aboriginal inhabitants understood, better than the intruders, how to manufacture the produce of their own mines. It is therefore possible, that, in process of time, the oppressed Fins may have been transformed into the supernatural duergar. A similar transformation has taken place among the vulgar in Scotland, regarding the Picts, or Pechs, to whom they ascribe various supernatural attributes.

Similar to the traditions of the Icelanders, are those current among the Laplanders of Finland, concerning a subterranean people, gifted with' supernatural qualities, and inhabiting the recesses of the earth. Resembling men in their general appearance, the manner of their existence, and their habits of life, they far excel the miserable Laplanders in perfection of nature, felicity of situation, and skill in mechanical arts. From all these advantages, however, after the partial conversion of the Laplanders, the subterranean people have derived no farther credit, than to be confounded with the devils and magicians of the dark ages of Christianity; a degradation which, as will shortly be demonstrated, has been also suffered by the harmless Fairies of Albion, and indeed by the whole host of deities of learned Greece and mighty Rome. The ancient opinions are yet so firmly rooted, that the Laps of Finland, at this day, boast of an intercourse with these beings, in banquets, dances, and magical ceremonies, and even in the more intimate commerce of gallantry. They talk, with triumph, of the feasts which they have shared in the elfin caverns, where wine and tobacco, the productions of the Fairy region, went round in abundance, and whence the mortal guest, after receiving the kindest treatment and the most salutary counsel, has been conducted to his tent by an escort of his supernatural entertainers.—Jessens, de Lapponibus.

The superstitions of the islands of Feroe, concerning their Froddenskemen, or under-ground people, are derived from the duergar of Scandinavia. These beings are supposed to inhabit the interior recesses of mountains, which they enter by invisible passages. Like the Fairies, they are supposed to steal human beings. "It happened," says Debes, p. 354, "a good while since, when the burghers of Bergen had the commerce of Feroe, that there was a man in Servaade, called Jonas Soideman, who was kept by spirits in a mountain, during the space of seven years, and at length came out; but lived afterwards in great distress and fear, lest they should again take him away; wherefore people were obliged to watch him in the night." The same author mentions another young man, who had been carried away, and, after his return, was removed a second time upon the eve of his marriage. He returned in a short time, and narrated, that the spirit that had carried him away, was in the shape of a most beautiful woman, who pressed him to forsake his bride, and remain with her; urging her own superior beauty, and splendid appearance. He added, that he saw the men who were employed to search for him, and heard them call; but that they could not see him, nor could he answer them, till, upon his determined refusal to listen to the spirit's persuasions, the spell ceased to operate. The kidney-shaped West Indian bean, which is sometimes driven upon the shore of the Feroes, is termed, by the natives "the Fairie's kidney."

In these traditions of the Gothic and Finnish tribes, we may recognize, with certainty, the rudiments of elfin superstition; but we must look to various other causes for the modifications which it has undergone. These are to be sought, 1st, in the traditions of the east; 2d, in the wreck and confusion of the Gothic mythology; 3d, in the tales of chivalry; 4th, in the fables of classical antiquity; 5th, in the influence of the Christian religion; 6th, and finally, in the creative imagination of the sixteenth century. It may be proper to notice the effect of these various causes, before stating the popular belief of our own time, regarding the Fairies.

I. To the traditions of the east, the Fairies of Britain owe, I think, little more than the appellation, by which they have been distinguished since the days of the crusade. The term "Fairy," occurs not only in Chaucer, and in yet older English authors, but also, and more frequently, in the romance language; from which they seem to have adopted it. Ducange cites the following passage from Gul. Guiart, in Historia Francica, MS.

Plusiers parlent de Guenart,

Du Lou, de L'Asne, de Renart,

De Faëries et de Songes,

De phantosmes et de mensonges.

The Lay le Frain,enumerating the subjects of the Breton Lays, informs us expressly,

Many ther beth faëry.

By some etymologists of that learned class, who not only know whence words come, but also whither they are going, the term Fairy, or Faërie, is derived from Faë, which is again derived from Nympha. It is more probable the term is of oriental origin, and is derived from the Persic, through the medium of the Arabic. In Persic, the term Peri expresses a species of imaginary being, which resembles the Fairy in some of its qualities, and is one of the fairest creatures of romantic fancy. This superstition must have been known to the Arabs, among whom the Persian tales, or romances, even as early as the time of Mahomet, were so popular, that it required the most terrible denunciations of that legislator to proscribe them. Now, in the enunciation of the Arabs, the term Peri would sound Fairy, the letter p not occurring in the alphabet of that nation; and, as the chief intercourse of the early crusaders was with the Arabs, or Saracens, it is probable they would adopt the term according to their pronounciation. Neither will it be considered as an objection to this opinion, that in Hesychius, the Ionian term Phereas, or Pheres, denotes the satyrs of classical antiquity, if the number of words of oriental origin in that lexicographer be recollected. Of the Persian Peris, Ouseley, in his Persian Miscellanies, has described some characteristic traits, with all the luxuriance of a fancy, impregnated with the oriental association of ideas. However vaguely their nature and appearance is described, they are uniformly represented as gentle, amiable females, to whose character beneficence and beauty are essential. None of them are mischievous or malignant; none of them are deformed or diminutive, like the Gothic fairy. Though they correspond in beauty with our ideas of angels, their employments are dissimilar; and, as they have no place in heaven, their abode is different. Neither do they resemble those intelligences, whom, on account of their wisdom, the Platonists denominated Daemons; nor do they correspond either to the guardian Genii of the Romans, or the celestial virgins of paradise, whom the Arabs denominate Houri. But the Peris hover in the balmy clouds, live in the colours of the rainbow, and, as the exquisite purity of their nature rejects all nourishment grosser than the odours of flowers, they subsist by inhaling the fragrance of the jessamine and rose. Though their existence is not commensurate with the bounds of human life, they are not exempted from the common fate of mortals.—With the Peris, in Persian mythology, are contrasted the Dives, a race of beings, who differ from them in sex, appearance, and disposition. These are represented as of the male sex, cruel, wicked, and of the most hideous aspect; or, as they are described by Mr Finch, "with ugly shapes, long horns, staring eyes, shaggy hair, great fangs, ugly paws, long tails, with such horrible difformity and deformity, that I wonder the poor women are not frightened therewith." Though they live very long, their lives are limited, and they are obnoxious to the blows of a human foe. From the malignancy of their nature, they not only wage war with mankind, but persecute the Peris with unremitting ferocity. Such are the brilliant and fanciful colours in which the imaginations of the Persian poets have depicted the charming race of the Peris; and, if we consider the romantic gallantry of the knights of chivalry, and of the crusaders, it will not appear improbable, that their charms might occasionally fascinate the fervid imagination of an amorous troubadour. But, further; the intercourse of France and Italy with the Moors of Spain, and the prevalence of the Arabic, as the language of science in the dark ages, facilitated the introduction of their mythology amongst the nations of the west. Hence, the romances of France, of Spain, and of Italy, unite in describing the Fairy as an inferior spirit, in a beautiful female form, possessing many of the amiable qualities of the eastern Peri. Nay, it seems sufficiently clear, that the romancers borrowed from the Arabs, not merely the general idea concerning those spirits, but even the names of individuals amongst them. The Peri, Mergian Banou (see Herbelot, ap. Peri), celebrated in the ancient Persian poetry, figures in the European romances, under the various names of Mourgue La Faye, sister to King Arthur; Urgande La Deconnue, protectress of Amadis de Gaul; and the Fata Morgana of Boiardo and Ariosto. The description of these nymphs, by the troubadours and minstrels, is in no respect inferior to those of the Peris. In the tale of Sir Launfal, in Way's Fabliaux, as well as in that of Sir Gruelan, in the same interesting collection, the reader will find the fairy of Normandy, or Bretagne, adorned with all the splendour of eastern description. The fairy Melusina, also, who married Guy de Lusignan, count of Poictou, under condition that he should never attempt to intrude upon her privacy, was of this latter class. She bore the count many children, and erected for him a magnificent castle by her magical art. Their harmony was uninterrupted, until the prying husband broke the conditions of their union, by concealing himself, to behold his wife make use of her enchanted bath. Hardly had Melusina discovered the indiscreet intruder, than, transforming herself into a dragon, she departed with a loud yell of lamentation, and was never again visible to mortal eyes; although, even in the days of Brantome, she was supposed to be the protectress of her descendants, and was heard wailing, as she sailed upon the blast round the turrets of the castle of Lusiguan, the night before it was demolished. For the full story, the reader may consult the Bibliotheque des Romans.[^[A]]—Gervase of Tilbury (pp. 895, and 989), assures us, that, in his days, the lovers of the Fadae, or Fairies, were numerous; and describes the rules of their intercourse with as much accuracy, as if he had himself been engaged in such an affair. Sir David Lindsay also informs us, that a leopard is the proper armorial bearing of those who spring from such intercourse, because that beast is generated by adultery of the pard and lioness. He adds, that Merlin, the prophet, was the first who adopted this cognizance, because he was "borne of faarie in adultre, and right sua the first duk of Guyenne, was borne of a fee; and, therefoir, the armes of Guyenne are a leopard."—MS. on Heraldry, Advocates' Library, w. 4. 13. While, however, the Fairy of warmer climes was thus held up as an object of desire and of affection, those of Britain, and more especially those of Scotland, were far from being so fortunate; but, retaining the unamiable qualities, and diminutive size of the Gothic elves, they only exchanged that term for the more popular appellation of Fairies.

Upon this, or some similar tradition, was founded the notion, which the inveteracy of national prejudice, so easily diffused in Scotland, that the ancestor of the English monarchs, Geoffrey Plantagenet, had actually married a daemon. Bowmaker, in order to explain the cruelty and ambition of Edward I., dedicates a chapter to shew "how the kings of England are descended from the devil, by the mother's side."—Fordun, Chron. lib. 9, cap. 6. The lord of a certain castle, called Espervel, was unfortunate enough to have a wife of the same class. Having observed, for several years, that she always left the chapel before the mass was concluded, the baron, in a fit of obstinacy or curiosity, ordered his guard to detain her by force; of which the consequence was, that, unable to support the elevation of the host, she retreated through the air, carrying with her one side of the chapel, and several of the congregation.

II. Indeed, so singularly unlucky were the British Fairies that, as has already been hinted, amid the wreck of the Gothic mythology, consequent upon the introduction of Christianity, they seem to have preserved, with difficulty, their own distinct characteristics, while, at the same time, they engrossed the mischievous attributes of several other classes of subordinate spirits, acknowledged by the nations of the north. The abstraction of children, for example, the well known practice of the modern Fairy, seems, by the ancient Gothic nations, to have rather been ascribed to a species of night-mare, or hag, than to the berg-elfen, or duergar. In the ancient legend of St Margaret, of which there is a Saxo-Norman copy, in Hickes' Thesaurus Linguar. Septen. and one, more modern, in the Auchinleck MSS., that lady encounters a fiend, whose profession it was, among other malicious tricks, to injure new-born children and their mothers; a practice afterwards imputed to the Fairies. Gervase of Tilbury, in the Otia Imperialia, mentions certain hags, or Lamiae, who entered into houses in the night-time, to oppress the inhabitants, while asleep, injure their persons and property, and carry off their children. He likewise mentions the Dracae, a sort of water spirits, who inveigle women and children into the recesses which they inhabit, beneath lakes and rivers, by floating past them, on the surface of the water, in the shape of gold rings, or cups. The women, thus seized, are employed as nurses, and, after seven years, are permitted to revisit earth. Gervase mentions one woman, in particular, who had been allured by observing a wooden dish, or cup, float by her, while washing clothes in a river. Being seized as soon as she reached the depths, she was conducted into one of these subterranean recesses, which she described as very magnificent, and employed as nurse to one of the brood of the hag who had allured her. During her residence in this capacity, having accidentally touched one of her eyes with an ointment of serpent's grease, she perceived, at her return to the world, that she had acquired the faculty of seeing the dracae, when they intermingle themselves with men. Of this power she was, however, deprived by the touch of her ghostly mistress, whom she had one day incautiously addressed. It is a curious fact, that this story, in almost all its parts, is current in both the Highlands and Lowlands of Scotland, with no other variation than the substitution of Fairies for dracae, and the cavern of a hill for that of a river.[^[A]] These water fiends are thus characterized by Heywood, in the Hierarchie—

"Spirits, that have o'er water gouvernement,

Are to mankind alike malevolent;

They trouble seas, flouds, rivers, brookes, and wels,

Meres, lakes, and love to enhabit watry cells;

Hence noisome and pestiferous vapours raise;

Besides, they men encounter divers ways.

At wreckes some present are; another sort,

Ready to cramp their joints that swim for sport:

One kind of these, the Italians fatae name,

Fee the French, we sybils, and the same;

Others white nymphs, and those that have them seen,

Night ladies some, of which Habundia queen.

Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 507.

Indeed, many of the vulgar account it extremely dangerous to touch any thing, which they may happen to find, without saining (blessing) it, the snares of the enemy being notorious and well attested. A poor woman of Tiviotdale, having been fortunate enough, as she thought herself, to find a wooden beetle, at the very time when she needed such an implement, seized it without pronouncing the proper blessing, and, carrying it home, laid it above her bed, to be ready for employment in the morning. At midnight, the window of her cottage opened, and a loud voice was heard, calling upon some one within, by a strange and uncouth name, which I have forgotten. The terrified cottager ejaculated a prayer, which, we may suppose, insured her personal safety; while the enchanted implement of housewifery, tumbling from the bed-stead, departed by the window with no small noise and precipitation. In a humorous fugitive tract, the late Dr Johnson is introduced as disputing the authenticity of an apparition, merely because the spirit assumed the shape of a tea-pot, and of a shoulder of mutton. No doubt, a case so much in point, as that we have now quoted, would have removed his incredulity.

The following Frisian superstition, related by Schott, in his Physica Curiosa, p. 362, on the authority of Cornelius a Kempen, coincides more accurately with the popular opinions concerning the Fairies, than even the dracae of Gervase, or the water-spirits of Thomas Heywood.—"In the time of the emperor Lotharius, in 830," says he, "many spectres infested Frieseland, particularly the white nymphs of the ancients, which the moderns denominate witte wiven, who inhabited a subterraneous cavern, formed in a wonderful manner, without human art, on the top of a lofty mountain. These were accustomed to surprise benighted travellers, shepherds watching their herds and flocks, and women newly delivered, with their children; and convey them into their caverns, from which subterranean murmurs, the cries of children, the groans and lamentations of men, and sometimes imperfect words, and all kinds of musical sounds, were heard to proceed." The same superstition is detailed by Bekker, in his World Bewitch'd, p. 196, of the English translation. As the different classes of spirits were gradually confounded, the abstraction of children seems to have been chiefly ascribed to the elves, or Fairies; yet not so entirely, as to exclude hags and witches from the occasional exertion of their ancient privilege.—In Germany, the same confusion of classes has not taken place. In the beautiful ballads of the Erl King, the Water King, and the Mer-Maid, we still recognize the ancient traditions of the Goths, concerning the wald-elven, and the dracae.

A similar superstition, concerning abstraction by daemons, seems, in the time of Gervase of Tilbury, to have pervaded the greatest part of Europe. "In Catalonia," says that author, "there is a lofty mountain, named Cavagum, at the foot of which runs a river with golden sands, in the vicinity of which there are likewise mines of silver. This mountain is steep, and almost inaccessible. On its top, which is always covered with ice and snow, is a black and bottomless lake, into which if a stone be thrown, a tempest suddenly rises; and near this lake, though invisible to men, is the porch of the palace of daemons. In a town adjacent to this mountain, named Junchera, lived one Peter de Cabinam. Being one day teazed with the fretfulness of his young daughter, he, in his impatience, suddenly wished that the devil might take her; when she was immediately borne away by the spirits. About seven years afterwards, an inhabitant of the same city, passing by the mountain, met a man, who complained bitterly of the burthen he was constantly forced to bear. Upon enquiring the cause of his complaining, as he did not seem to carry any load, the man related, that he had been unwarily devoted to the spirits by an execration, and that they now employed him constantly as a vehicle of burthen. As a proof of his assertion, he added, that the daughter of his fellow-citizen was detained by the spirits, but that they were willing to restore her, if her father would come and demand her on the mountain. Peter de Cabinam, on being informed of this, ascended the mountain to the lake, and, in the name of God, demanded his daughter; when, a tall, thin, withered figure, with wandering eyes, and almost bereft of understanding, was wafted to him in a blast of wind. After some time, the person, who had been employed as the vehicle of the spirits, also returned, when he related where the palace of the spirits was situated; but added, that none were permitted to enter but those who devoted themselves entirely to the spirits; those, who had been rashly committed to the devil by others, being only permitted, during their probation, to enter the porch." It may be proper to observe, that the superstitious idea, concerning the lake on the top of the mountain, is common to almost every high hill in Scotland. Wells, or pits, on the top of high hills, were likewise supposed to lead to the subterranean habitations of the Fairies. Thus, Gervase relates, (p. 975), "that he was informed the swine-herd of William Peverell, an English baron, having lost a brood-sow, descended through a deep abyss, in the middle of an ancient ruinous castle, situated on the top of a hill, called Bech, in search of it. Though a violent wind commonly issued from this pit, he found it calm; and pursued his way, till he arrived at a subterraneous region, pleasant and cultivated, with reapers cutting down corn, though the snow remained on the surface of the ground above. Among the ears of corn he discovered his sow, and was permitted to ascend with her, and the pigs which she had farrowed." Though the author seems to think that the inhabitants of this cave might be Antipodes, yet, as many such stories are related of the Fairies, it is probable that this narration is of the same kind. Of a similar nature seems to be another superstition, mentioned by the same author, concerning the ringing of invisible bells, at the hour of one, in a field in the vicinity of Carleol, which, as he relates, was denominated Laikibraine, or Lai ki brait. From all these tales, we may perhaps be justified in supposing, that the faculties and habits ascribed to the Fairies, by the superstition of latter days, comprehended several, originally attributed to other classes of inferior spirits.

III. The notions, arising from the spirit of chivalry, combined to add to the Fairies certain qualities, less atrocious, indeed, but equally formidable, with those which they derived from the last mentioned source, and alike inconsistent with the powers of the duergar, whom we may term their primitive prototype. From an early period, the daring temper of the northern tribes urged them to defy even the supernatural powers. In the days of Caesar, the Suevi were described, by their countrymen, as a people, with whom the immortal gods dared not venture to contend. At a later period, the historians of Scandinavia paint their heroes and champions, not as bending at the altar of their deities, but wandering into remote forests and caverns, descending into the recesses of the tomb, and extorting boons, alike from gods and daemons, by dint of the sword, and battle-axe. I will not detain the reader by quoting instances, in which heaven is thus described as having been literally attempted by storm. He may consult Saxo, Olaus Wormius, Olaus Magnus, Torfaeus, Bartholin, and other northern antiquaries. With such ideas of superior beings, the Normans, Saxons, and other Gothic tribes, brought their ardent courage to ferment yet more highly in the genial climes of the south, and under the blaze of romantic chivalry. Hence, during the dark ages, the invisible world was modelled after the material; and the saints, to the protection of whom the knights-errant were accustomed to recommend themselves, were accoutered like preux chevaliers, by the ardent imaginations of their votaries. With such ideas concerning the inhabitants of the celestial regions, we ought not to be surprised to find the inferior spirits, of a more dubious nature and origin, equipped in the same disguise. Gervase of Tilbury (Otia Imperial, ap. Script, rer. Brunsvic, Vol. I. p. 797.) relates the following popular story concerning a Fairy Knight. "Osbert, a bold and powerful baron, visited a noble family in the vicinity of Wandlebury, in the bishopric of Ely. Among other stories related in the social circle of his friends, who, according to custom, amused each other by repeating ancient tales and traditions, he was informed, that if any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moon-light, and challenged an adversary to appear, he would be immediately encountered by a spirit in the form of a knight. Osbert resolved to make the experiment, and set out, attended by a single squire, whom he ordered to remain without the limits of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient entrenchment. On repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed by an adversary, whom he quickly unhorsed, and seized the reins of his steed. During this operation, his ghostly opponent sprung up, and, darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert, wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with the horse, which he committed to the care of his servants. The horse was of a sable colour, as well as his whole accoutrements, and apparently of great beauty and vigour. He remained with his keeper till cock-crowing, when, with eyes flashing fire, he reared, spurned the ground, and vanished. On disarming himself, Osbert perceived that he was wounded, and that one of his steel boots was full of blood. Gervase adds, that, as long as he lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh on the anniversary of the eve on which he encountered the spirit."[^[A]] Less fortunate was the gallant Bohemian knight, who, travelling by night, with a single companion, came in sight of a fairy host, arrayed under displayed banners. Despising the remonstrances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break a lance with a champion who advanced from the ranks, apparently in defiance. His companion beheld the Bohemian over-thrown horse and man, by his aërial adversary; and, returning to the spot next morning, he found the mangled, corpse of the knight and steed.—Hierarchie of Blessed Angels, p. 554.

The unfortunate Chatterton was not, probably, acquainted with Gervase of Tilbury; yet he seems to allude, in the Battle of Hastings, to some modification of Sir Osbert's adventure:

So who they be that ouphant fairies strike,
Their souls shall wander to King Offa's dike.

The entrenchment, which served as lists for the combatants, is said by Gervase to have been the work of the pagan invaders of Britain. In the metrical romance of Arthour and Merlin, we have also an account of Wandlesbury being occupied by the Sarasins, i.e. the Saxons; for all pagans were Saracens with the romancers. I presume the place to have been Wodnesbury, in Wiltshire, situated on the remarkable mound, called Wansdike, which is obviously a Saxon work.—GOUGH'S Cambden's Britannia, pp. 87—95.

To the same current of warlike ideas, we may safely attribute the long train of military processions which the Fairies are supposed occasionally to exhibit. The elves, indeed, seem in this point to be identified with the aërial host, termed, during the middle ages, the Milites Herlikini, or Herleurini, celebrated by Pet. Blesensis, and termed, in the life of St Thomas of Canterbury, the Familia Helliquinii. The chief of this band was originally a gallant knight and warrior; but, having spent his whole possessions in the service of the emperor, and being rewarded with scorn, and abandoned to subordinate oppression, he became desperate, and, with his sons and followers, formed a band of robbers. After committing many ravages, and defeating all the forces sent against him, Hellequin, with his whole troop, fell in a bloody engagement with the Imperial host. His former good life was supposed to save him from utter reprobation; but he and his followers were condemned, after death, to a state of wandering, which should endure till the last day. Retaining their military habits, they were usually seen in the act of justing together, or in similar warlike employments. See the ancient French romance of Richard sans Peur. Similar to this was the Nacht Lager, or midnight camp, which seemed nightly to beleaguer the walls of Prague,

"With ghastly faces thronged, and fiery arms,"

but which disappeared upon recitation of the magical words, Vezelé, Vezelé, ho! ho! ho!—For similar delusions, see DELRIUS, pp. 294, 295.

The martial spirit of our ancestors led them to defy these aërial warriors; and it is still currently believed, that he, who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch from them their drinking cup, or horn, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety across a running stream. Such a horn is said to have been presented to Henry I. by a lord of Colchester.—GERVAS TILB. p. 980. A goblet is still carefully preserved in Edenhall, Cumberland, which is supposed to have been seized at a banquet of the elves, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave; or, as others say, by one of their domestics, in the manner above described. The Fairy train vanished, crying aloud,

If this glass do break or fall,

Farewell the luck of Edenhall!

The goblet took a name from the prophecy, under which it is mentioned, in the burlesque ballad, commonly attributed to the duke of Wharton, but in reality composed by Lloyd, one of his jovial companions. The duke, after taking a draught, had nearly terminated the "luck of Edenhall," had not the butler caught the cup in a napkin, as it dropped from his grace's hands. I understand it is not now subjected to such risques, but the lees of wine are still apparent at the bottom.

God prosper long, from being broke,

The luck of Edenhall.—Parody on Chevy Chace.

Some faint traces yet remain, on the borders, of a conflict of a mysterious and terrible nature, between mortals and the spirits of the wilds. This superstition is incidentally alluded to by Jackson, at the beginning of the 17th century. The fern seed, which is supposed to become visible only on St John's Eve,[^[A]] and at the very moment when the Baptist was born, is held by the vulgar to be under the special protection of the queen of Faëry. But, as the seed was supposed to have the quality of rendering the possessor invisible at pleasure,[^[B]] and to be also of sovereign use in charms and incantations, persons of courage, addicted to these mysterious arts, were wont to watch in solitude, to gather it at the moment when it should become visible. The particular charms, by which they fenced themselves during this vigil, are now unknown; but it was reckoned a feat of no small danger, as the person undertaking it was exposed to the most dreadful assaults from spirits, who dreaded the effect of this powerful herb in the hands of a cabalist. Such were the shades, which the original superstition, concerning the. Fairies, received from the chivalrous sentiments of the middle ages.

Ne'er be I found by thee unawed,
On that thrice hallowed eve abroad,
When goblins haunt, from fire and fen.
And wood and lake, the steps of men.
COLLINS'S Ode to Fear.

The whole history of St John the Baptist was, by our ancestors, accounted mysterious, and connected with their own superstitions. The fairy queen was sometimes identified with Herodias.—DELRII Disquisitiones Magicae, pp. 168. 807. It is amusing to observe with what gravity the learned Jesuit contends, that it is heresy to believe that this celebrated figurante (saltatricula) still leads choral dances upon earth!

This is alluded to by Shakespeare, and other authors of his time:

"We have the receipt of fern-seed; we walk invisible."
Henry IV. Part 1st, Act 2d, Sc. 3.

IV. An absurd belief in the fables of classical antiquity lent an additional feature to the character of the woodland spirits of whom we treat. Greece and Rome had not only assigned tutelary deities to each province and city, but had peopled, with peculiar spirits, the Seas, the Rivers, the Woods, and the Mountains. The memory of the pagan creed was not speedily eradicated, in the extensive provinces through which it was once universally received; and, in many particulars, it continued long to mingle with, and influence, the original superstitions of the Gothic nations. Hence, we find the elves occasionally arrayed in the costume of Greece and Rome, and the Fairy Queen and her attendants transformed into Diana and her nymphs, and invested with their attributes and appropriate insignia.—DELRIUS, pp. 168, 807. According to the same author, the Fairy Queen was also called Habundia. Like Diana, who, in one capacity, was denominated Hecate, the goddess of enchantment, the Fairy Queen is identified in popular tradition, with the Gyre-Carline, Gay Carline, or mother witch, of the Scottish peasantry. Of this personage, as an individual, we have but few notices. She is sometimes termed Nicneven,and is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland, by Lindsay in his Dreme, p. 225, edit. 1590, and in his Interludes, apud PINKERTON'S Scottish Poems, Vol. II. p. 18. But the traditionary accounts regarding her are too obscure to admit of explanation. In the burlesque fragment subjoined, which is copied from the Bannatyne MS. the Gyre Carline is termed the Queen of Jowis (Jovis, or perhaps Jews), and is, with great consistency, married to Mohammed.[^[A]]

In Tyberius tyme, the trew imperatour,
Quhen Tynto hills fra skraipiug of toun-henis was keipit,
Thair dwelt are grit Gyre Carling in awld Betokis bour,
That levit upoun Christiane menis flesche, and rewheids unleipit;
Thair wynit ane hir by, on the west syde, callit Blasour,
For luve of hir lanchane lippis, he walit and he weipit;
He gadderit are menzie of modwartis to warp doun the tour:
The Carling with are yren club, quhen yat Blasour sleipit,
Behind the heil scho hat him sic ane blaw,
Quhil Blasour bled ane quart
Off milk pottage inwart,
The Carling luche, and lut fart
North Berwik Law.

The king of fary than come, with elfis many ane,
And sett are sege, and are salt, with grit pensallis of pryd;
And all the doggis fra Dunbar wes thair to Dumblane,
With all the tykis of Tervey, come to thame that tyd;
Thay quelle doune with thair gonnes mony grit stane,
The Carling schup hir on ane sow, and is her gaitis gane,
Grunting our the Greik sie, and durst na langer byd,
For bruklyng of bargane, and breikhig of browis:
The Carling now for dispyte
Is maieit with Mahomyte,
And will the doggis interdyte,
For scho is queue of Jowis.

Sensyne the cockis of Crawmound crew nevir at day,
For dule of that devillisch deme wes with Mahoun mareit,
And the henis of Hadingtoun sensyne wald not lay,
For this wild wibroun wich thame widlit sa and wareit;
And the same North Berwik Law, as I heir wyvis say,
This Carling, with a fals east, wald away careit;
For to luck on quha sa lykis, na langer scho tareit:
All this languor for love before tymes fell,
Lang or Betok was born,
Scho bred of ane accorne;
The laif of the story to morne,
To you I sall telle.

But chiefly in Italy were traced many dim characters of ancient mythology, in the creed of tradition. Thus, so lately as 1536, Vulcan, with twenty of his Cyclops, is stated to have presented himself suddenly to a Spanish merchant, travelling in the night, through the forests of Sicily; an apparition, which was followed by a dreadful eruption of Mount Aetna.—Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 504 Of this singular mixture, the reader will find a curious specimen in the following tale, wherein the Venus of antiquity assumes the manners of one of the Fays, or Fatae, of romance. "In the year 1058, a young man of noble birth had been married at Rome, and, during the period of his nuptial feast, having gone with his companions to play at ball, he put his marriage ring on the finger of a broken statue of Venus in the area, to remain, while he was engaged in the recreation. Desisting from the exercise, he found the finger, on which he had put his ring, contracted firmly against the palm, and attempted in vain either to break it, or to disengage his ring. He concealed the circumstance from his companions, and returned at night with a servant, when he found the finger extended, and his ring gone. He dissembled the loss, and returned to his wife; but, whenever he attempted to embrace her, he found himself prevented by something dark and dense, which was tangible, though not visible, interposing between them; and he heard a voice saying, 'Embrace me! for I am Venus, whom this day you wedded, and I will not restore your ring.' As this was constantly repeated, he consulted his relations, who had recourse to Palumbus, a priest, skilled in necromancy. He directed the young man to go, at a certain hour of night, to a spot among the ruins of ancient Rome, where four roads met, and wait silently till he saw a company pass by, and then, without uttering a word, to deliver a letter, which he gave him, to a majestic being, who rode in a chariot, after the rest of the company. The young man did as he was directed; and saw a company of all ages, sexes, and ranks, on horse and on foot, some joyful and others sad, pass along; among whom he distinguished a woman in a meretricious dress, who, from the tenuity of her garments, seemed almost naked. She rode on a mule; her long hair, which flowed over her shoulders, was bound with a golden fillet; and in her hand was a golden rod, with which she directed her mule. In the close of the procession, a tall majestic figure appeared in a chariot, adorned with emeralds and pearls, who fiercely asked the young man, 'What he did there?' He presented the letter in silence, which the daemon dared not refuse. As soon as he had read, lifting up his hands to heaven, he exclaimed, 'Almighty God! how long wilt thou endure the iniquities of the sorcerer Palumbus!' and immediately dispatched some of his attendants, who, with much difficulty, extorted the ring from Venus, and restored it to its owner, whose infernal banns were thus dissolved."—FORDUNI Scotichronicon, Vol. I. p. 407, cura GOODALL.

But it is rather in the classical character of an infernal deity, that the elfin queen may be considered, than as Hecate, the patroness of magic; for not only in the romance writers, but even in Chaucer, are the Fairies identified with the ancient inhabitants of the classical hell. Thus Chaucer, in his Marchand's Tale, mentions

Pluto that is king of fayrie—and

Proserpine and all her fayrie.

In the Golden Terge of Dunbar, the same phraseology is adopted: Thus,

Thair was Pluto that elricke incubus

In cloke of grene, his court usit in sable.

Even so late as 1602, in Harsenet's Declaration of Popish Imposture, p. 57, Mercury is called Prince of the Fairies.

But Chaucer, and those poets who have adopted his phraseology, have only followed the romance writers; for the same substitution occurs in the romance of Orfeo and Heurodis, in which the story of Orpheus and Eurydice is transformed into a beautiful romantic tale of faëry, and the Gothic mythology engrafted on the fables of Greece. Heurodis is represented as wife of Orfeo, and queen of Winchester, the ancient name of which city the romancer, with unparalleled ingenuity, discovers to have been Traciens, or Thrace. The monarch, her husband, had a singular genealogy:

His fader was comen of King Pluto,

And his moder of King Juno;

That sum time were as godes y-holde,

For aventours that thai dede and tolde.

Reposing, unwarily, at noon, under the shade of an ymp tree,[^[A]] Heurodis dreams that she is accosted by the King of Fairies,

With an hundred knights and mo,

And damisels an hundred also,

Al on snowe white stedes;

As white as milke were her wedes;

Y no seigh never yete bifore,

So fair creatours y-core:

The kinge hadde a croun on hed,

It nas of silver, no of golde red,

Ac it was of a precious ston:

As bright as the sonne it schon.

Ymp tree—According to the general acceptation, this only signifies a grafted tree; whether it should he here understood to mean a tree consecrated to the imps, or fairies, is left with the reader.

The King of Fairies, who had obtained power over the queen, perhaps from her sleeping at noon in his domain, orders her, under the penalty of being torn to pieces, to await him to-morrow under the ymp tree, and accompany him to Fairy-Land. She relates her dream to her husband, who resolves to accompany her, and attempt her rescue:

A morwe the under tide is come,

And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome,

And wele ten hundred knights with him,

Ich y-armed stout and grim;

And with the quen wenten he,

Right upon that ympe tre.

Thai made scheltrom in iche aside,

And sayd thai wold there abide,

And dye ther everichon,

Er the qeun schuld fram hem gon:

Ac yete amiddes hem ful right,

The quen was oway y-twight,

With Fairi forth y-nome,

Men wizt never wher sche was become.

After this fatal catastrophe, Orfeo, distracted for the loss of his queen, abandons his throne, and, with his harp, retires into a wilderness, where he subjects himself to every kind of austerity, and attracts the wild beasts by the pathetic melody of his harp. His state of desolation is poetically described:

He that werd the fowe and griis,

And on bed the purpur biis,

Now on bard hethe he lith.

With leves and gresse he him writh:

He that had castells and tours,

Rivers, forests, frith with flowrs.

Now thei it commence to snewe and freze,

This king mot make his bed in mese:

He that had y-had knightes of priis,

Bifore him kneland and leuedis,

Now seth he no thing that him liketh,

Bot wild wormes bi him striketh:

He that had y-had plente

Of mete and drinke, of ich deynte,

Now may he al daye digge and wrote,

Er he find his fille of rote.

In sorner he liveth bi wild fruit,

And verien hot gode lite.

In winter may he no thing find,

Bot rotes, grases, and the rinde.

His here of his herd blac and rowe,

To his girdel stede was growe;

His harp, whereon was al his gle,

He hidde in are holwe tre:

And, when the weder was clere and bright,

He toke his harpe to him wel right,

And harped at his owen will,

Into al the wode the soun gan shill,

That al the wild bestes that ther beth

For joie abouten him thai teth;

And al the foules that ther wer,

Come and sete on ich a brere,

To here his harping a fine,

So miche melody was therein.

At last he discovers, that he is not the sole inhabitant of this desart; for

He might se him besides

Oft in hot undertides,

The king of Fairi, with his route,

Come to hunt him al about,

With dim cri and bloweing,

And houndes also with him berking;

Ac no best thai no nome,

No never he nist whider thai bi come.

And other while he might hem se

As a gret ost bi him te,

Well atourued ten hundred knightes,

Ich y-armed to his rightes,

Of cuntenance stout and fers,

With mani desplaid baners;

And ich his sword y-drawe hold,

Ac never he nist whider thai wold.

And otherwhile he seighe other thing;

Knightis and lenedis com daunceing,

In queynt atire gisely,

Queyete pas and softlie:

Tabours and trumpes gede hem bi,

And al mauer menstraci.—

And on a day he seighe him biside,

Sexti leuedis on hors ride,

Gentil and jolif as brid on ris;

Nought o man amonges hem ther nis;

And ich a faucoun on bond bere,

And riden on hauken bi o river.

Of game thai found wel gode haunt,

Maulardes, hayroun, and cormoraunt;

The foules of the water ariseth,

Ich faucoun hem wele deviseth,

Ich fancoun his pray slough,

That seize Orfeo and lough.

"Par fay," quoth he, "there is fair game,

"Hider Ichil bi Godes name,

"Ich was y won swich work to se:"

He aros, and thider gan te;

To a leuedie hi was y-come,

Bihelde, and hath wel under nome,

And seth, bi al thing, that is

His owen quen, dam Heurodis;

Gern hi biheld her, and sche him eke,

Ac nouther to other a word no speke:

For messais that sche on him seighe,

That had ben so riche and so heighe,

The teres fel out of her eighe;

The other leuedis this y seighe,

And maked hir oway to ride,

Sche most with him no longer obide.

"Allas!" quoth he, "nowe is mi woe,

"Whi nil deth now me slo;

"Allas! to long last mi liif,

"When y no dare nought with mi wif,

"Nor hye to me o word speke;

"Allas whi nil miin hert breke!

"Par fay," quoth he, "tide what betide,

"Whider so this leuedis ride,

"The selve way Ichil streche;

"Of liif, no dethe, me no reche.

In consequence, therefore, of this discovery Orfeo pursues the hawking damsels, among whom he has descried his lost queen. They enter a rock, the king continues the pursuit, and arrives at Fairy-Land, of which the following very poetical description is given:

In at roche the leuedis rideth,

And he after and nought abideth;

When he was in the roche y-go,

Wele thre mile other mo,

He com into a fair cuntray,

As bright soonne somers day,

Smothe and plain and al grene,

Hill no dale nas none ysene,

Amiddle the loud a castel he seighe,

Rich and reale and wonder heighe;

Al the utmast wal

Was cler and schine of cristal;

An hundred tours ther were about,

Degiselich and bataild stout;

The butrass come out of the diche,

Of rede gold y-arched riche;

The bousour was anowed al,

Of ich maner deuers animal;

Within ther wer wide wones

Al of precious stones,

The werss piler onto biholde,

Was al of burnist gold:

Al that loud was ever light,

For when it schuld be therk and night,

The riche stonnes light gonne,

Bright as doth at nonne the sonne

No man may tel, no thenke in thought.

The riche werk that ther was rought.

Than he gan biholde about al,

And seighe ful liggeand with in the wal,

Of folk that wer thidder y-brought,

And thought dede and nere nought;

Sum stode with outen hadde;

And some none armes nade;

And sum thurch the bodi hadde wounde;

And sum lay wode y-bounde;

And sum armed on hors sete;

And sum astrangled as thai ete;

And sum war in water adreynt;

And sum with fire al for schreynt;

Wives ther lay on childe bedde;

Sum dede, and sum awedde;

And wonder fere ther lay besides,

Right as thai slepe her undertides;

Eche was thus in this warld y-nome,

With fairi thider y-come.[^[A]]

There he seize his owhen wiif,

Dame Heurodis, his liif liif,

Slepe under an ympe tree:

Bi her clothes he knewe that it was he,

And when he had bihold this mervalis alle,

He went into the kinges halle;

Then seigh he there a semly sight,

A tabernacle blisseful and bright;

Ther in her maister king sete,

And her quen fair and swete;

Her crounes, her clothes schine so bright,

That unnethe bihold he hem might.

Orfeo and Heurodis, MS.

It was perhaps from such a description that Ariosto adopted his idea of the Lunar Paradise, containing every thing that on earth was stolen or lost.

Orfeo, as a minstrel, so charms the Fairy King with the music of his harp, that he promises to grant him whatever he should ask. He immediately demands his lost Heurodis; and, returning safely with her to Winchester, resumes his authority; a catastrophe, less pathetic indeed, but more pleasing, than that of the classical story. The circumstances, mentioned in this romantic legend, correspond very exactly with popular tradition. Almost all the writers on daemonology mention, as a received opinion that the power of the daemons is most predominant at noon and midnight. The entrance to the Land of Faëry is placed in the wilderness; a circumstance, which coincides with a passage in Lindsay's Complaint of the Papingo:

Bot sen my spreit mon from my bodye go,

I recommend it to the queue of Fary,

Eternally into her court to tarry

In wilderness amang the holtis hair.

LINDSAY'S Works, 1592, p. 222.

Chaucer also agrees, in this particular, with our romancer:

In his sadel he clombe anon,

And priked over stile and ston,

An elf quene for to espie;

Til he so long had riden and gone

That he fond in a privie wone

The countree of Faërie.

Wherein he soughte north and south,

And often spired with his mouth,

In many a foreste wilde;

For in that countree nas ther non,

That to him dorst ride or gon,

Neither wif ne childe.

Rime of Sir Thopas.

V. Other two causes, deeply affecting the superstition of which we treat, remain yet to be noticed. The first is derived from the Christian religion, which admits only of two classes of spirits, exclusive of the souls of men—Angels, namely, and Devils. This doctrine had a necessary tendency to abolish the distinction among subordinate spirits, which had been introduced by the superstitions of the Scandinavians. The existence of the Fairies was readily admitted; but, as they had no pretensions to the angelic character, they were deemed to be of infernal origin. The union, also, which had been formed betwixt the elves and the Pagan deities, was probably of disservice to the former; since every one knows, that the whole synod of Olympus were accounted daemons.

The fulminations of the church were, therefore, early directed against those, who consulted or consorted with the Fairies; and, according to the inquisitorial logic, the innocuous choristers of Oberon and Titania were, without remorse, confounded with the sable inhabitants of the orthodox Gehennim; while the rings, which marked their revels, were assimilated to the blasted sward on which the witches held their infernal sabbath.—Delrii Disq. Mag. p. 179. This transformation early took place; for, among the many crimes for which the famous Joan of Arc was called upon to answer, it was not the least heinous, that she had frequented the Tree and Fountain, near Dompré, which formed the rendezvous of the Fairies, and bore their name; that she had joined in the festive dance with the elves, who haunted this charmed spot; had accepted of their magical bouquets, and availed herself of their talismans, for the delivery of her country.—Vide Acta Judiciaria contra Johannam D'Arceam, vulgo vocutam Johanne la Pucelle.

The Reformation swept away many of the corruptions of the church of Rome; but the purifying torrent remained itself somewhat tinctured by the superstitious impurities of the soil over which it had passed. The trials of sorcerers and witches, which disgrace our criminal records, become even more frequent after the Reformation of the church; as if human credulity, no longer amused by the miracles of Rome, had sought for food in the traditionary records of popular superstition. A Judaical observation of the precepts of the Old Testament also characterized the Presbyterian reformers. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live," was a text, which at once (as they conceived) authorized their belief in sorcery, and sanctioned the penalty which they denounced against it. The Fairies were, therefore, in no better credit after the Reformation than before, being still regarded as actual daemons, or something very little better. A famous divine, Doctor Jasper Brokeman, teaches us, in his system of divinity, "that they inhabit in those places that are polluted with any crying sin, as effusion of blood, or where unbelief or superstitione have gotten the upper hand."—Description of Feroe. The Fairies being on such bad terms with the divines, those, who pretended to intercourse with them, were, without scruple, punished as sorcerers; and such absurd charges are frequently stated as exaggerations of crimes, in themselves sufficiently heinous.

Such is the case in the trial of the noted Major Weir, and his sister; where the following mummery interlards a criminal indictment, too infamously flagitious to be farther detailed: "9th April, 1670. Jean Weir, indicted of sorceries, committed by her when she lived and kept a school at Dalkeith: that she took employment from a woman, to speak in her behalf to the Queen of Fairii, meaning the Devil; and that another woman gave her a piece of a tree, or root, the next day, and did tell her, that as long as she kept the same, she should be able to do what she pleased; and that same woman, from whom she got the tree, caused her spread a cloth before her door, and set her foot upon it, and to repeat thrice, in the posture foresaid, these words, 'All her losses and crosses go alongst to the doors,' which was truly a consulting with the devil, and an act of sorcery, &c. That after the spirit, in the shape of a woman, who gave her the piece of tree, had removed, she, addressing herself to spinning, and having spun but a short time, found more yarn upon the pirn than could possibly have come there by good means."[^[A]]—Books of Adjournal.

It is observed in the record, that Major Weir, a man of the most vicious character, was at the same time ambitious of appearing eminently godly; and used to frequent the beds of sick persons, to assist them with his prayers. On such occasions, he put to his mouth a long staff, which he usually carried, and expressed himself with uncommon energy and fluency, of which he was utterly incapable when the inspiring rod was withdrawn. This circumstance, the result, probably, of a trick or habit, appearing suspicious to the judges, the staff of the sorcerer was burned along with his person. One hundred and thirty years have elapsed since his execution, yet no one has, during that space, ventured to inhabit the house of this celebrated criminal.

Neither was the judgment of the criminal court of Scotland less severe against another familiar of the Fairies, whose supposed correspondence with the court of Elfland seems to have constituted the sole crime, for which she was burned alive. Her name was Alison Pearson, and she seems to have been a very noted person. In a bitter satire against Adamson, Bishop of St Andrews, he is accused of consulting with sorcerers, particularly with this very woman; and an account is given of her travelling through Breadalbane, in the company of the Queen of Faëry, and of her descrying, in the court of Elfland, many persons, who had been supposed at rest in the peaceful grave.[^[A]] Among these we find two remarkable personages; the secretary, young Maitland of Lethington, and one of the old lairds of Buccleuch. The cause of their being stationed in Elfland probably arose from the manner of their decease; which, being uncommon and violent, caused the vulgar to suppose that they had been abstracted by the Fairies. Lethington, as is generally supposed, died a Roman death during his imprisonment in Leith; and the Buccleuch, whom I believe to be here meant, was slain in a nocturnal scuffle by the Kerrs, his hereditary enemies. Besides, they were both attached to the cause of Queen Mary, and to the ancient religion; and were thence, probably, considered as more immediately obnoxious to the assaults of the powers of darkness.[^[B]] The indictment of Alison Pearson notices her intercourse with the Archbishop of St Andrews, and contains some particulars, worthy of notice, regarding the court of Elfland. It runs thus: "28th May, 1586. Alison Pearson, in Byrehill, convicted of witchcraft, and of consulting with evil spirits, in the form of one Mr William Simpsone, her cosin, who she affirmed was a gritt schollar, and doctor of medicine, that healed her of her diseases when she was twelve years of age; having lost the power of her syde, and having a familiaritie with him for divers years, dealing with charms, and abuseing the common people by her arts of witchcraft, thir divers years by-past.

For oght the kirk culd him forbid,
He sped him sone, and gat the thrid;
Ane carling of the quene of Phareis,
That ewill win geir to elpliyne careis;
Through all Brade Abane scho has bene,
On horsbak on Hallow ewin;
And ay in seiking certayne nightis,
As scho sayis with sur silly wychirs:
And names out nybours sex or sewin,
That we belevit had bene in heawin;
Scho said scho saw theme weill aneugh,
And speciallie gude auld Balcleuch,
The secretar, and sundrie uther:
Ane William Symsone, her mother brother,
Whom fra scho has resavit a buike
For ony herb scho likes to luke;
It will instruct her how to tak it,
In saws and sillubs how to mak it;
With stones that meikle mair can doe,
In leich craft, where scho lays them toe:
A thousand maladeis scho hes mendit;
Now being tane, and apprehendit,
Scho being in the bischopis cure,
And keipit in his castle sure,
Without respect of worldlie glamer,
He past into the witches chalmer.
Scottish Poems of XVI. Century, Edin. 1801,
Vol. II, p. 320.

Buccleuch was a violent enemy to the English, by whom his lands had been repeatedly plundered (See Introduction, p. xxvi), and a great advocate for the marriage betwixt Mary and the dauphin, 1549. According to John Knox, he had recourse even to threats, in urging the parliament to agree to the French match. "The laird of Buccleuch," says the Reformer, "a bloody man, with many Gods wounds, swore, they that would not consent should do worse."

"Item, For banting and repairing with the gude neighbours, and queene of Elfland, thir divers years by-past, as she had confest; and that she had friends in that court, which were of her own blude, who had gude acquaintance of the queene of Elfland, which might have helped her; but she was whiles well, and whiles ill, sometimes with them, a'nd other times away frae them; and that she would be in her bed haille and feire, and would not wytt where she would be the morn; and that she saw not the queene this seven years, and that she was seven years ill handled in the court of Elfland; that, however, she kad gude friends there, and that it was the gude neighbours that healed her, under God; and that she was comeing and going to St Andrews to haile folkes thir many years past.

"Item, Convict of the said act of witchcraft, in as far as she confest that the said Mr William Sympsoune, who was her guidsir sone, born in Stirleing, who was the king's smith, who, when about eight years of age, was taken away by ane Egyptian to Egypt; which Egyptian was a gyant, where he remained twelve years, "and then came home.

"Item, That she being in Grange Muir, with some other folke, she, being sick, lay downe; and, when alone, there came a man to her, clad in green, who said to her, if she would be faithful, he would do her good; but she, being feared, cried out, but naebodye came to her; so she said, if he came in God's name, and for the gude of her saule, it was well; but he gaid away: that he appeared to her another tyme like a lustie man, and many men and women with him; that, at seeing him, she signed herself and prayed, and past with them, and saw them making merrie with pypes, and gude cheir and wine, and that she was carried with them; and that when she telled any of these things, she was sairlie tormentit by them; and that the first time she gaed with them, she gat a sair straike frae one of them, which took all the poustie[^[A]] of her syde frae her, and left ane ill-far'd mark on her syde.

"Item, That she saw the gude neighbours make their sawes [^[B]] with panns and fyres, and that they gathered the herbs before the sun was up, and they came verie fearful sometimes to her, and flaide [^[C]] her very sair, which made her cry, and threatened they would use her worse than before; and, at last, they took away the power of her haile syde frae her, which made her lye many weeks. Sometimes they would come and sitt by her, and promise all that she should never want if she would be faithful, but if she would speak and telle of them, they should murther her; and that Mr William Sympsoune is with them, who healed her, and telt her all things; that he is a young man not six years older than herself, and that he will appear to her before the court comes; that he told her he was taken away by them, and he bidd her sign herself that she be not taken away, for the teind of them are tane to hell everie year.

Poustie—Power.

Sawes—Salves.

Flaide—Scared.

"Item, That the said Mr William told her what herbs were fit to cure every disease, and how to use them; and particularlie tauld, that the Bishop of St Andrews laboured under sindrie diseases, sic as the riples, trembling, feaver, flux, &c. and bade her make a sawe, and anoint several parts of his body therewith, and gave directions for making a posset, which she made and gave him."

For this idle story the poor woman actually suffered death. Yet, notwithstanding the fervent arguments thus liberally used by the orthodox, the common people, though they dreaded even to think or speak about the Fairies, by no means unanimously acquiesced in the doctrine, which consigned them to eternal perdition. The inhabitants of the Isle of Man call them the "good people, and say they live in wilds, and forests, and on mountains, and shun great cities, because of the wickedness acted therein: all the houses are blessed where they visit, for they fly vice. A person would be thought impudently prophane who should suffer his family to go to bed, without having first set a tub, or pail, full of clean water, for those guests to bathe themselves in, which the natives aver they constantly do, as soon as ever the eyes of the family are closed, wherever they vouchsafe to come."—WALDREN's Works, p. 126. There are some curious, and perhaps anomalous facts, concerning the history of Fairies, in a sort of Cock-lane narrative, contained in a letter from Moses Pitt, to Dr Edward Fowler, Lord Bishop of Gloucester, printed at London in 1696, and preserved in Morgan's Phoenix Britannicus, 4to, London 1732.

Anne Jefferies was born in the parish of St Teath, in the county of Cornwall, in 1626. Being the daughter of a poor man, she resided as servant in the house of the narrator's father, and waited upon the narrator himself, in his childhood. As she was knitting stockings in an arbour of the garden, "six small people, all in green clothes," came suddenly over the garden wall; at the sight of whom, being much frightened, she was seized with convulsions, and continued so long sick, that she became as a changeling, and was unable to walk. During her sickness, she frequently exclaimed, "They are just gone out of the window! they are just gone out of the window! do you not see them?" These expressions, as she afterwards declared, related to their disappearing. During the harvest, when every one was employed, her mistress walked out; and dreading that Anne, who was extremely weak and silly, might injure herself, or the house, by the fire, with some difficulty persuaded her to walk in the orchard till her return. She accidentally hurt her leg, and, at her return, Anne cured it, by stroking it with her hand. She appeared to be informed of every particular, and asserted, that she had this information from the Fairies, who had caused the misfortune. After this, she performed numerous cures, but would never receive money for them. From harvest time to Christmas, she was fed by the Fairies, and eat no other victuals but theirs. The narrator affirms, that, looking one day through the key-hole of the door of her chamber, he saw her eating; and that she gave him a piece of bread, which was the most delicious he ever tasted. The Fairies always appeared to her in even numbers; never less than two, nor more than eight, at a time. She had always a sufficient stock of salves and medicines, and yet neither made, nor purchased any; nor did she ever appear to be in want of money. She, one day, gave a silver cup, containing about a quart, to the daughter of her mistress, a girl about four years old, to carry to her mother, who refused to receive it. The narrator adds, that he had seen her dancing in the orchard among the trees, and that she informed him she was then dancing with the Fairies. The report of the strange cures which she performed, soon attracted the attention of both ministers and magistrates. The ministers endeavoured to persuade her, that the Fairies by which she was haunted, were evil spirits, and that she was under the delusion of the devil. After they had left her, she was visited by the Fairies, while in great perplexity; who desired her to cause those, who termed them evil spirits, to read that place of scripture, First Epistle of John,, chap. iv. v. 1,—Dearly beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits, whether they are of God, &c. Though Anne Jefferies could not read, she produced a Bible folded down at this passage. By the magistrates she was confined three months, without food, in Bodmin jail, and afterwards for some time in the house of Justice Tregeagle. Before the constable appeared to apprehend her, she was visited by the Fairies, who informed her what was intended, and advised her to go with him. When this account was given, on May 1, 1696, she was still alive; but refused to relate any particulars of her connection with the Fairies, or the occasion on which they deserted her, lest she should again fall under the cognizance of the magistrates.

Anne Jefferies' Fairies were not altogether singular in maintaining their good character, in opposition to the received opinion of the church. Aubrey and Lily, unquestionably judges in such matters, had a high opinion of these beings, if we may judge from the following succinct and business-like memorandum of a ghost-seer. "Anno 1670. Not far from Cirencester was an apparition. Being demanded whether a good spirit or a bad, returned no answer, but disappeared with a curious perfume, and most melodious twang. M.W. Lilly believes it was a Fairie. So Propertius,

Omnia finierat; tenues secessit in auras,

Mansit odor possis scire fuisse Deam!"

AUBREY'S Miscellanies, p. 80.

A rustic, also, whom Jackson taxed with magical practices, about 1620, obstinately denied that the good King of the Fairies had any connection with the devil; and some of the Highland seers, even in our day, have boasted of their intimacy with the elves, as an innocent and advantageous connection. One Maccoan, in Appin, the last person eminently gifted with the second sight, professed to my learned and excellent friend, Mr Ramsay, of Ochtertyre, that he owed his prophetic visions to their intervention.

VI. There remains yet another cause to be noticed, which seems to have induced a considerable alteration into the popular creed of England, respecting Fairies. Many poets of the sixteenth century, and, above all, our immortal Shakespeare, deserting the hackneyed fictions of Greece and Rome, sought for machinery in the superstitions of their native country. "The fays, which nightly dance upon the wold," were an interesting subject; and the creative imagination of the bard, improving upon the vulgar belief, assigned to them many of those fanciful attributes and occupations, which posterity have since associated with the name of Fairy. In such employments, as rearing the drooping flower, and arranging the disordered chamber, the Fairies of South Britain gradually lost the harsher character of the dwarfs, or elves. Their choral dances were enlivened by the introduction of the merry goblin Puck,[^[A]] for whose freakish pranks they exchanged their original mischievous propensities. The Fairies of Shakespeare, Drayton, and Mennis, therefore, at first exquisite fancy portraits, may be considered as having finally operated a change in the original which gave them birth.[^[B]]

Robin Goodfellow, or Hobgoblin, possesses the frolicksome qualities of the French Lutin. For his full character, the reader is referred to the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. The proper livery of this sylvan Momus is to be found in an old play. "Enter Robin Goodfellow, in a suit of leather, close to his body, his hands and face coloured russet colour, with a flail."—Grim, the Collier of Croydon, Act 4, Scene 1. At other times, however, he is presented in the vernal livery of the elves, his associates:

Tim. "I have made
"Some speeches, sir, ill verse, which have been spoke
"By a green Robin Goodfellow, from Cheapside conduit,
"To my father's company."
The City Match, Act I, Scene 6.

The Fairy land, and Fairies of Spenser, have no connection with popular superstition, being only words used to denote an Utopian scene of action, and imaginary or allegorical characters; and the title of the "Fairy Queen" being probably suggested by the elfin mistress of Chaucer's Sir Thopas. The stealing of the Red Cross Knight, while a child, is the only incident in the poem which approaches to the popular character of the Fairy:

—A Fairy thee unweeting reft;
There as thou sleptst in tender swadling band,
And her base elfin brood there for thee left:
Such men do changelings call, so chang'd by Fairies theft.
Book I. Canto 10.

While the fays of South Britain received such attractive and poetical embellishments, those of Scotland, who possessed no such advantage, retained more of their ancient, and appropriate character. Perhaps, also, the persecution which these sylvan deities underwent, at the instance of the stricter presbyterian clergy, had its usual effect, in hardening their dispositions, or at least in rendering them more dreaded by those among whom they dwelt. The face of the country, too, might have some effect; as we should naturally attribute a less malicious disposition, and a less frightful appearance, to the fays who glide by moon-light through the oaks of Windsor, than to those who haunt the solitary heaths and lofty mountains of the North. The fact at least is certain; and it has not escaped a late ingenious traveller, that the character of the Scottish Fairy is more harsh and terrific than that which is ascribed to the elves of our sister kingdom.—See STODDART'S View of Scenery and Manners in Scotland.

The Fairies of Scotland are represented as a diminutive race of beings, of a mixed, or rather dubious nature, capricious in their dispositions, and mischievous in their resentment. They inhabit the interior of green hills, chiefly those of a conical form, in Gaelic termed Sighan, on which they lead their dances by moon-light; impressing upon the surface the mark of circles, which sometimes appear yellow and blasted, sometimes of a deep green hue; and within which it is dangerous to sleep, or to be found after sun-set. The removal of those large portions of turf, which thunderbolts sometimes scoop out of the ground with singular regularity, is also ascribed to their agency. Cattle, which are suddenly seized with the cramp, or some similar disorder, are said to be elf-shot; and the approved cure is, to chafe the parts affected with a blue bonnet, which, it may be readily believed, often restores the circulation. The triangular flints, frequently found in Scotland, with which the ancient inhabitants probably barbed their shafts, are supposed to be the weapons of Fairy resentment, and are termed elf-arrow heads. The rude brazen battle-axes of the ancients, commonly called celts, are also ascribed to their manufacture. But, like the Gothic duergar, their skill is not confined to the fabrication of arms; for they are heard sedulously hammering in linns, precipices, and rocky or cavernous situations where, like the dwarfs of the mines, mentioned by Georg. Agricola, they busy themselves in imitating the actions and the various employments of men. The brook of Beaumont, for example, which passes, in its course, by numerous linns and caverns, is notorious for being haunted by the Fairies; and the perforated and rounded stones, which are formed by trituration in its channel, are termed, by the vulgar, fairy cups and dishes. A beautiful reason is assigned, by Fletcher, for the fays frequenting streams and fountains. He tells us of

A virtuous well, about whose flowery banks

The nimble-footed Fairies dance their rounds,

By the pale moon-shine, dipping oftentimes

Their stolen children, so to make them free

From dying flesh, and dull mortality.

Faithful Shepherdess.

It is sometimes accounted unlucky to pass such places, without performing some ceremony to avert the displeasure of the elves. There is, upon the top of Minchmuir, a mountain in Peebles-shire, a spring, called the Cheese Well, because, anciently, those who passed that way were wont to throw into it a piece of cheese, as an offering to the Fairies, to whom it was consecrated.

Like the feld elfen of the Saxons, the usual dress of the Fairies is green; though, on the moors, they have been sometimes observed in heath-brown, or in weeds dyed with the stoneraw, or lichen.[^[A]] They often ride in invisible procession, when their presence is discovered by the shrill ringing of their bridles. On these occasions, they sometimes borrow mortal steeds; and when such are found at morning, panting and fatigued in their stalls, with their manes and tails dishevelled and entangled, the grooms, I presume, often find this a convenient excuse for their situation; as the common belief of the elves quaffing the choicest liquors in the cellars of the rich (see the story of Lord Duffus below), might occasionally cloak the delinquencies of an unfaithful butler.

Hence the hero of the ballad is termed an "elfin grey."

The Fairies, beside their equestrian processions, are addicted it would seem, to the pleasures of the chace. A young sailor, travelling by night from Douglas, in the Isle of Man, to visit his sister, residing in Kirk Merlugh, heard the noise of horses, the holla of a huntsman, and the sound of a horn. Immediately afterwards, thirteen horsemen, dressed in green, and gallantly mounted, swept past him. Jack was so much delighted with the sport, that he followed them, and enjoyed the sound of the horn for some miles; and it was not till he arrived at his sister's house that he learned the danger which he had incurred. I must not omit to mention, that these little personages are expert jockeys, and scorn to ride the little Manks ponies, though apparently well suited to their size. The exercise therefore, falls heavily upon the English and Irish horses brought into the Isle of Man. Mr Waldron was assured by a gentleman of Ballafletcher, that he had lost three or four capital hunters by these nocturnal excursions.—WALDRON'S Works, p. 132. From the same author we learn, that the Fairies sometimes take more legitimate modes of procuring horses. A person of the utmost integrity informed him, that, having occasion to sell a horse, he was accosted among the mountains by a little gentleman plainly dressed, who priced his horse, cheapened him, and, after some chaffering, finally purchased him. No sooner had the buyer mounted, and paid the price, than, he sunk through the earth, horse and man, to the astonishment and terror of the seller; who experienced, however, no inconvenience from dealing with so extraordinary a purchaser.—Ibid. p. 135.

It is hoped the reader will receive, with due respect, these, and similar stories, told by Mr Waldron; for he himself, a scholar and a gentleman, informs us, "as to circles in grass, and the impression of small feet among the snow, I cannot deny but I have seen them frequently, and once thought I heard a whistle, as though in my ear, when nobody that could make it was near me." In this passage there is a curious picture of the contagious effects of a superstitious atmosphere. Waldron had lived so long among the Manks, that he was almost persuaded to believe their legends.

From the History of the Irish Bards, by Mr Walker, and from the glossary subjoined to the lively and ingenious Tale of Castle Rackrent, we learn, that the same ideas, concerning Fairies, are current among the vulgar in that country. The latter authority mentions their inhabiting the ancient tumuli, called Barrows, and their abstracting mortals. They are termed "the good people;" and when an eddy of wind raises loose dust and sand, the vulgar believe that it announces a Fairy procession, and bid God speed their journey.

The Scottish Fairies, in like manner, sometimes reside in subterranean abodes, in the vicinity of human habitations or, according to the popular phrase, under the "door-stane," or threshold; in which situation, they sometimes establish an intercourse with men, by borrowing and lending, and other kindly offices. In this capacity they are termed "the good neighbours,"[^[A]] from supplying privately the wants of their friends, and assisting them in all their transactions, while their favours are concealed. Of this the traditionary story of Sir Godfrey Macculloch forms a curious example.

Perhaps this epithet is only one example, among many, of the extreme civility which the vulgar in Scotland use towards spirits of a, dubious, or even a determinedly mischievous, nature. The archfiend himself is often distinguished by the softened title of the "good-man." This epithet, so applied, must sound strange to a southern ear; but, as the phrase bears various interpretations, according to the places where it is used, so, in the Scottish dialect, the good-man of such a place signifies the tenant, or life-renter, in opposition to the laird, or proprietor. Hence, the devil is termed the good-man, or tenant, of the infernal regions. In the book of the Universal Kirk, 13th May, 1594, mention is made of "the horrible superstitioune usit in Garioch, and dyvers parts of the countrie, in not labouring a parcel of ground dedicated to the devil, under the title of the Guid-man's Croft." Lord Hailes conjectured this to have been the tenenos adjoining to some ancient Pagan temple. The unavowed, but obvious, purpose of this practice, was to avert the destructive rage of Satan from the neighbouring possessions. It required various fulminations of the General Assembly of the Kirk to abolish a practice bordering so nearly upon the doctrine of the Magi.

As this Gallovidian gentleman was taking the air on horseback, near his own house, he was suddenly accosted by a little old man, arrayed in green, and mounted upon a white palfrey. After mutual salutation, the old man gave Sir Godfrey to understand, that he resided under his habitation, and that he had great reason to complain of the direction of a drain, or common sewer, which emptied itself directly into his chamber of dais, [^[A]] Sir Godfrey Macculloch was a good deal startled at this extraordinary complaint; but, guessing the nature of the being he had to deal with, he assured the old man, with great courtesy, that the direction of the drain should be altered; and caused it be done accordingly. Many years afterwards, Sir Godfrey had the misfortune to kill, in a fray, a gentleman of the neighbourhood. He was apprehended, tried, and condemned.[^[B]] The scaffold, upon which his head was to be struck off, was erected on the Castle-hill of Edinburgh; but hardly had he reached the fatal spot, when the old man, upon his white palfrey, pressed through the crowd, with the rapidity of lightning. Sir Godfrey, at his command, sprung on behind him; the "good neighbour" spurred his horse down the steep bank, and neither he nor the criminal were ever again seen.

The best chamber was thus currently denominated in Scotland, from the French dais, signifying that part of the ancient halls which was elevated above the rest, and covered with a canopy. The turf-seats, which occupy the sunny side of a cottage wall, is also termed the dais.

In this particular, tradition coincides with the real fact; the trial took place in 1697.

The most formidable attribute of the elves, was their practice of carrying away, and exchanging, children; and that of stealing human souls from their bodies. "A persuasion prevails among the ignorant," says the author of a MS. history of Moray, "that, in a consumptive disease, the Fairies steal away the soul, and put the soul of a Fairy in the room of it." This belief prevails chiefly along the eastern coast of Scotland, where a practice, apparently of druidical origin, is used to avert the danger. In the increase of the March moon, withies of oak and ivy are cut, and twisted into wreaths or circles, which they preserve till next March. After that period, when persons are consumptive, or children hectic, they cause them to pass thrice through these circles. In other cases the cure was more rough, and at least as dangerous as the disease, as will appear from the following extract:

"There is one thing remarkable in this parish of Suddie (in Inverness-shire), which I think proper to mention. There is a small hill N.W. from the church, commonly called Therdy Hill, or Hill of Therdie, as some term it; on the top of which there is a well, which I had the curiosity to view, because of the several reports concerning it. When children happen to be sick, and languish long in their malady, so that they almost turned skeletons, the common people imagine they are taken away (at least the substance) by spirits, called Fairies, and the shadow left with them; so, at a particular season in summer, they leave them all night themselves, watching at a distance, near this well, and this they imagine will either end or mend them; they say many more do recover than do not. Yea, an honest tenant who lives hard by it, and whom I had the curiosity to discourse about it, told me it has recovered some, who were about eight or nine years of age, and to his certain knowledge they bring adult persons to it; for, as he was passing one dark night, he heard groanings, and coming to the well, he found a man, who had been long sick, wrapped in a plaid, so that he could scarcely move, a stake being fixed in the earth, with a rope, or tedder, that was about the plaid; he had no sooner enquired what he was, but he conjured him to loose him, and out of sympathy he was pleased to slacken that, wherein he was, as I may so speak, swaddled; but, if I right remember, he signified, he did not recover."—Account of the Parish of Suddie, apud Macfarlane's MSS.

According to the earlier doctrine, concerning the original corruption of human nature, the power of daemons over infants had been long reckoned considerable, in the period intervening between birth and baptism. During this period, therefore, children were believed to be particularly liable to abstraction by the Fairies, and mothers chiefly dreaded the substitution of changelings in the place of their own offspring. Various monstrous charms existed in Scotland, for procuring the restoration of a child, which had been thus stolen; but the most efficacious of them was supposed to be, the roasting of the suppositious child upon the live embers, when it was believed it would vanish, and the true child appear in the place, whence it had been originally abstracted.[^[A]]

Less perilous recipes were sometimes used. The editor is possessed of a small relique, termed by tradition a toad-stone, the influence of which was supposed to preserve pregnant women from the power of daemons, and other dangers incidental to their situation. It has been carefully preserved for several generations, was often pledged for considerable sums of money, and uniformly redeemed, from a belief in its efficacy.

The most minute and authenticated account of an exchanged child is to be found in Waldron's Isle of Man, a book from which I have derived much legendary information. "I was prevailed upon myself," says that author, "to go and see a child, who, they told me, was one of these changelings, and, indeed, must own, was not a little surprised, as well as shocked, at the sight. Nothing under heaven could have a more beautiful face; but, though between five and six years old, and seemingly healthy, he was so far from being able to walk or stand, that he could not so much as move any one joint; his limbs were vastly long for his age, but smaller than any infant's of six months; his complexion was perfectly delicate, and he had the finest hair in the world. He never spoke nor cried, ate scarce any thing, and was very seldom seen to smile; but if any one called him a fairy-elf, he would frown, and fix his eyes so earnestly on those who said it, as if he would look them through. His mother, or at least his supposed mother, being very poor, frequently went out a chareing, and left him a whole day together. The neighbours, out of curiosity, have often looked in at the window, to see how he behaved while alone; which, whenever they did, they were sure to find him laughing, and in the utmost delight. This made them judge that he was not without company, more pleasing to him than any mortals could be; and what made this conjecture seem the more reasonable, was, that if he were left ever so dirty, the woman, at her return, saw him with a clean face, and his hair combed with the utmost exactness and nicety." P. 128.

Waldron gives another account of a poor woman, to whose offspring, it would seem, the Fairies had taken a special fancy. A few nights after she was delivered of her first child, the family were alarmed by a dreadful cry of "Fire!" All flew to the door, while the mother lay trembling in bed, unable to protect her infant, which was snatched from the bed by an invisible hand. Fortunately the return of the gossips, after the causeless alarm, disturbed the Fairies, who dropped the child, which was found sprawling and shrieking upon the threshold. At the good woman's second accouchement, a tumult was heard in the cow-house, which drew thither the whole assistants. They returned, when they found that all was quiet among the cattle, and lo! the second child had been carried from the bed, and dropped in the middle of the lane. But, upon the third occurrence of the same kind, the company were again decoyed out of the sick woman's chamber by a false alarm, leaving only a nurse, who was detained by the bonds of sleep. On this last occasion, the mother plainly saw her child removed, though the means were invisible. She screamed for assistance to the nurse; but the old lady had partaken too deeply of the cordials which circulate on such joyful occasions, to be easily awakened. In short, the child was this time fairly carried off, and a withered, deformed creature, left in its stead, quite naked, with the clothes of the abstracted infant, rolled in a bundle, by its side. This creature lived nine years, ate nothing but a few herbs, and neither spoke, stood, walked nor performed any other functions of mortality; resembling, in all respects, the changeling already mentioned.—WALDRON'S Works, ibid.

But the power of the Fairies was not confined to unchristened children alone; it was supposed frequently to extend to full grown persons, especially such as, in an unlucky hour, were devoted to the devil by the execration of parents, and of masters;[^[A]] or those who were found asleep under a rock, or on a green hill, belonging to the Fairies, after sun-set; or, finally, to those who unwarily joined their orgies. A tradition existed, during the seventeenth century, concerning an ancestor of the noble family of Duffus, who, "walking abroad in the fields, near to his own house, was suddenly carried away, and found the next day at Paris, in the French king's cellar, with a silver cup in his hand. Being brought into the king's presence, and questioned by him who he was, and how he came thither, he told his name, his country, and the place of his residence; and that, on such a day of the month, which proved to be the day immediately preceding, being in the fields, he heard the noise of a whirlwind, and of voices, crying, 'Horse and Hattock!' (this is the word which the Fairies are said to use when they remove from any place), whereupon he cried, 'Horse and Hattock' also, and was immediately caught up, and transported through the air, by the Fairies, to that place, where, after he had drunk heartily, he fell asleep, and, before he woke, the rest of the company were gone, and had left him in the posture wherein he was found. It is said the king gave him the cup, which was found in his hand, and dismissed him." The narrator affirms, "that the cup was still preserved, and known by the name of the Fairy cup." He adds, that Mr Steward, tutor to the then Lord Duffus, had informed him, "that, when a boy, at the school of Forres, he, and his school-fellows, were upon a time whipping their tops in the church-yard, before the door of the church, when, though the day was calm, they heard a noise of a wind, and at some distance saw the small dust begin to rise and turn round, which motion continued advancing till it came to the place where they were, whereupon they began to bless themselves; but one of their number being, it seems, a little more bold and confident than his companions, said, 'Horse and Hattock, with my top,' and immediately they all saw the top lifted up from the ground, but could not see which way it was carried, by reason of a cloud of dust which was raised at the same time. They sought for the top all about the place where it was taken up, but in vain; and it was found afterwards in the church-yard, on the other side of the church."—This puerile legend is contained in a letter from a learned gentleman in Scotland, to Mr Aubrey, dated 15th March, 1695, published in AUBREY'S Miscellanies, p. 158.

This idea is not peculiar to the Gothic tribes, but extends to those of Sclavic origin. Tooke (History of Russia, Vol. I. p. 100) relates, that the Russian peasants believe the nocturnal daemon, Kikimora, to have been a child, whom the devil stole out of the womb of its mother, because she had cursed it. They also assert, that if an execration against a child be spoken in an evil hour, the child is carried off by the devil. The beings, so stolen, are neither fiends nor men; they are invisible, and afraid of the cross and holy water; but, on the other hand, in their nature and dispositions they resemble mankind, whom they love, and rarely injure.

Notwithstanding the special example of Lord Duffus, and of the top, it is the common opinion, that persons, falling under the power of the Fairies, were only allowed to revisit the haunts of men, after seven years had expired. At the end of seven years more, they again disappeared, after which they were seldom seen among mortals. The accounts they gave of their situation, differ in some particulars. Sometimes they were represented as leading a life of constant restlessness, and wandering by moon-light. According to others, they inhabited a pleasant region, where, however, their situation was rendered horrible, by the sacrifice of one or more individuals to the devil, every seventh year. This circumstance is mentioned in Alison Pearson's indictment, and in the Tale of the Young Tamlane, where it is termed, "the paying the kane to hell," or, according to some recitations, "the teind," or tenth. This is the popular reason assigned for the desire of the Fairies to abstract young children, as substitutes for themselves in this dreadful tribute. Concerning the mode of winning, or recovering, persons abstracted by the Fairies, tradition differs; but the popular opinion, contrary to what may be inferred from the following tale, supposes, that the recovery must be effected within a year and a day, to be held legal in the Fairy court. This feat, which was reckoned an enterprize of equal difficulty and danger, could only be accomplished on Hallowe'en, at the great annual procession of the Fairy court.[^[A]] Of this procession the following description is found in Montgomery's Flyting against Polwart, apud Watson's Collection of Scots Poems, 1709, Part III. p. 12.

In the hinder end of harvest, on All-hallowe'en,

When our good neighbours dois ride, if I read right.

Some buckled on a bunewand, and some on a been,

Ay trottand in tronps from the twilight;

Some saidled a she-ape, all grathed into green,

Some hobland on a hemp-stalk, hovand to the hight;

The king of Pharie and his court, with the Elf queen,

With many elfish incubus was ridand that night.

There an elf on an ape, an unsel begat.

Into a pot by Pomathorne;

That bratchart in a busse was born;

They fand a monster on the morn,

War faced nor a cat.

See the inimitable poem of Hallowe'en:—

"Upon that night, when Fairies light
On Cassilis Downan dance;
Or o'er the leas, in splendid blaze,
On stately coursers prance," &c. Burns.

The catastrophe of Tamlane terminated more successfully than that of other attempts, which tradition still records. The wife of a farmer in Lothian had been carried off by the Fairies, and, during the year of probation, repeatedly appeared on Sunday, in the midst of her children, combing their hair. On one of these occasions she was accosted by her husband; when she related to him the unfortunate event which had separated them, instructed him by what means he might win her, and exhorted him to exert all his courage, since her temporal and eternal happiness depended on the success of his attempt. The farmer, who ardently loved his wife, set out on Hallow-e'en and, in the midst of a plot of furze, waited impatiently for the procession of the Fairies. At the ringing of the Fairy bridles, and the wild unearthly sound which accompanied the cavalcade, his heart failed him, and he suffered the ghostly train to pass by without interruption. When the last had rode past, the whole troop vanished, with loud shouts of laughter and exultation; among which he plainly discovered the voice of his wife, lamenting that he had lost her for ever.

A similar, but real incident, took place at the town of North Berwick, within the memory of man. The wife of a man, above the lowest class of society, being left alone in the house, a few days after delivery, was attacked and carried off by one of those convulsion fits, incident to her situation. Upon the return of the family, who had been engaged in hay-making, or harvest, they found the corpse much disfigured. This circumstance, the natural consequence of her disease, led some of the spectators to think that she had been carried off by the Fairies, and that the body before them was some elfin deception. The husband, probably, paid little attention to this opinion at the time. The body was interred, and, after a decent time had elapsed, finding his domestic affairs absolutely required female superintendence, the widower paid his addresses to a young woman in the neighbourhood. The recollection, however, of his former wife, whom he had tenderly loved, haunted his slumbers; and, one morning, he came to the clergyman of the parish in the utmost dismay, declaring, that she had appeared to him the preceding night, informed him that she was a captive in Fairy Land, and conjured him to attempt her deliverance. She directed him to bring the minister, and certain other persons, whom she named, to her grave at midnight. Her body was then to be dug up, and certain prayers recited; after which the corpse was to become animated, and fly from them. One of the assistants, the swiftest runner in the parish, was to pursue the body; and, if he was able to seize it, before it had thrice encircled the church, the rest were to come to his assistance, and detain it, in spite of the struggles it should use, and the various shapes into which it might be transformed. The redemption of the abstracted person was then to become complete. The minister, a sensible man, argued with his parishioner upon the indecency and absurdity of what was proposed, and dismissed him. Next Sunday, the banns being for the first time proclaimed betwixt the widower and his new bride, his former wife, very naturally, took the opportunity of the following night to make him another visit, yet more terrific than the former. She upbraided him with his incredulity, his fickleness, and his want of affection; and, to convince him that her appearance was no aërial illusion, she gave suck, in his presence, to her youngest child. The man, under the greatest horror of mind, had again recourse to the pastor; and his ghostly counsellor fell upon an admirable expedient to console him. This was nothing less than dispensing with the further solemnity of banns, and marrying him, without an hour's delay, to the young woman to whom he was affianced; after which no spectre again disturbed his repose.

Having concluded these general observations upon the Fairy superstition, which, although minute, may not, I hope, be deemed altogether uninteresting, I proceed to the more particular illustrations, relating to the Tale of the Young Tamlane.

The following ballad, still popular in Ettrick Forest, where the scene is laid, is certainly of much greater antiquity than its phraseology, gradually modernized as transmitted by tradition, would seem to denote. The Tale of the Young Tamlane is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland; and the air, to which it was chaunted, seems to have been accommodated to a particular dance; for the dance of Thorn of Lynn, another variation of Thomalin, likewise occurs in the same performance. Like every popular subject, it seems to have been frequently parodied; and a burlesque ballad, beginning

"Tom o' the Linn was a Scotsman born,"

is still well known.

In a medley, contained in a curious and ancient MS. cantus, penes J.G. Dalyell, Esq., there is an allusion to our ballad:—

"Sing young Thomlin, be merry, be merry, and twice so merry."

In Scottish Songs, 1774, a part of the original tale was published, under the title of Kerton Ha'; a corruption of Carterhaugh; and, in the same collection, there is a fragment, containing two or three additional verses, beginning,

"I'll wager, I'll wager, I'll wager with you," &c.

In Johnson's Musical Museum, a more complete copy occurs, under the title of Thom Linn, which, with some alterations was reprinted in the Tales of Wonder.

The present edition is the most perfect which has yet appeared; being prepared from a collation of the printed copies, with a very accurate one in Glenriddell's MSS., and with several recitals from tradition. Some verses are omitted in this edition, being ascertained to belong to a separate ballad, which will be found in a subsequent part of the work. In one recital only, the well known fragment of the Wee, wee Man, was introduced, in the same measure with the rest of the poem. It was retained in the first edition, but is now omitted; as the editor has been favoured, by the learned Mr Ritson, with a copy of the original poem, of which it is a detached fragment. The editor has been enabled to add several verses of beauty and interest to this edition of Tamlane, in consequence of a copy, obtained from a gentleman residing near Langholm, which is said to be very ancient, though the diction is somewhat of a modern cast. The manners of the Fairies are detailed at considerable length, and in poetry of no common merit.

Carterhaugh is a plain, at the conflux of the Ettrick and Yarrow, in Selkirkshire, about a mile above Selkirk, and two miles below Newark Castle; a romantic ruin, which overhangs the Yarrow, and which is said to have been the habitation of our heroine's father, though others place his residence in the tower of Oakwood. The peasants point out, upon the plain, those electrical rings, which vulgar credulity supposes to be traces of the Fairy revels. Here, they say, were placed the stands of milk, and of water, in which Tamlane was dipped, in order to effect the disenchantment; and upon these spots, according to their mode of expressing themselves, the grass will never grow. Miles Cross (perhaps a corruption of Mary's Cross), where fair Janet waited the arrival of the Fairy train, is said to have stood near the duke of Buccleuch's seat of Bowhill, about half a mile from Carterhaugh. In no part of Scotland, indeed, has the belief in Fairies maintained its ground with more pertinacity than in Selkirkshire. The most sceptical among the lower ranks only venture to assert, that their appearances, and mischievous exploits, have ceased, or at least become infrequent, since the light of the Gospel was diffused in its purity. One of their frolics is said to have happened late in the last century. The victim of elfin sport was a poor man, who, being employed in pulling heather upon Peatlaw, a hill not far from Carterhaugh, had tired of his labour, and laid him down to sleep upon a Fairy ring.—When he awakened, he was amazed to find himself in the midst of a populous city, to which, as well as to the means of his transportation, he was an utter stranger. His coat was left upon the Peatlaw; and his bonnet, which had fallen off in the course of his aërial journey, was afterwards found hanging upon the steeple of the church of Lanark. The distress of the poor man was, in some degree, relieved, by meeting a carrier, whom he had formerly known, and who conducted him back to Selkirk, by a slower conveyance than had whirled him to Glasgow.—That he had been carried off by the Fairies, was implicitly believed by all, who did not reflect, that a man may have private reasons for leaving his own country, and for disguising his having intentionally done so.

THE YOUNG TAMLANE

O I forbid ye, maidens a',

That wear gowd on your hair,

To come or gae by Carterhaugh;

For young Tamlane is there.

There's nane, that gaes by Carterhaugh,

But maun leave him a wad;

Either goud rings or green mantles,

Or else their maidenheid.

Now, gowd rings ye may buy, maidens,

Green mantles ye may spin;

But, gin ye lose your maidenheid,

Ye'll ne'er get that agen.

But up then spak her, fair Janet,

The fairest o' a' her kin;

"I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,

"And ask nae leave o' him."

Janet has kilted her green kirtle,[^[A]]

A little abune her knee;

And she has braided her yellow hair,

A little abune her bree.

And when she cam to Carterhaugh,

She gaed beside the well;

And there she fand his steed standing,

But away was himsell.

She hadna pu'd a red red rose,

A rose but barely three;

Till up and starts a wee wee man,

At Lady Janet's knee.

Says—"Why pu' ye the rose, Janet?

"What gars ye break the tree?

"Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,

"Withoutten leave o' me?"

Says—"Carterhaugh it is mine ain;

"My daddie gave it me;

"I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh,

"And ask nae leave o' thee."

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,

Amang the leaves sae green;

And what they did I cannot tell—

The green leaves were between.

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,

Amang the roses red;

And what they did I cannot say—

She ne'er returned a maid.

When she cam to her father's ha',

She looked pale and wan;

They thought she'd dried some sair sickness,

Or been wi' some leman.

She didna comb her yellow hair,

Nor make meikle o' her heid;

And ilka thing, that lady took,

Was like to be her deid.

Its four and twenty ladies fair

Were playing at the ba';

Janet, the wightest of them anes,

Was faintest o' them a'.

Four and twenty ladies fair

Were playing at the chess;

And out there came the fair Janet,

As green as any grass.

Out and spak an auld gray-headed knight,

Lay o'er the castle wa'—

"And ever alas! for thee, Janet,

"But we'll be blamed a'!"

"Now haud your tongue, ye auld gray knight!

"And an ill deid may ye die!

"Father my bairn on whom I will,

"I'll father nane on thee."

Out then spak her father dear,

And he spak meik and mild—

"And ever alas! my sweet Janet,

"I fear ye gae with child."

"And, if I be with child, father,

"Mysell maun bear the blame;

"There's ne'er a knight about your ha'

"Shall hae the bairnie's name.

"And if I be with child, father,

"'Twill prove a wondrous birth;

"For well I swear I'm not wi' bairn

"To any man on earth.

"If my love were an earthly knight,

"As he's an elfin grey,

"I wadna gie my ain true love

"For nae lord that ye hae."

She princked hersell and prinn'd hersell,

By the ae light of the moon,

And she's away to Carterhaugh,

To speak wi' young Tamlane.

And when she cam to Carterhaugh,

She gaed beside the well;

And there she saw the steed standing,

But away was himsell.

She hadna pu'd a double rose,

A rose but only twae,

When up and started young Tamlane,

Says—"Lady, thou pu's nae mae!

"Why pu' ye the rose, Janet,

"Within this garden grene,

"And a' to kill the bonny babe,

"That we got us between?"

"The truth ye'll tell to me, Tamlane;

"A word ye mauna lie;

"Gin ye're ye was in haly chapel,

"Or sained [^[B]] in Christentie."

"The truth I'll tell to thee, Janet,

"A word I winna lie;

"A knight me got, and a lady me bore,

"As well as they did thee.

"Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,

"Dunbar, Earl March, is thine;

"We loved when we were children small,

"Which yet you well may mind.

"When I was a boy just turned of nine,

"My uncle sent for me,

"To hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,

"And keep him cumpanie.

"There came a wind out of the north,

"A sharp wind and a snell;

"And a dead sleep came over me,

"And frae my horse I fell.

"The Queen of Fairies keppit me,

"In yon green hill to dwell;

"And I'm a Fairy, lyth and limb;

"Fair ladye, view me well.

"But we, that live in Fairy-land,

"No sickness know, nor pain;

"I quit my body when I will,

"And take to it again.

"I quit my body when I please,

"Or unto it repair;

"We can inhabit, at our ease,

"In either earth or air.

"Our shapes and size we can convert,

"To either large or small;

"An old nut-shell's the same to us,

"As is the lofty hall.

"We sleep in rose-buds, soft and sweet,

"We revel in the stream;

"We wanton lightly on the wind,

"Or glide on a sunbeam.

"And all our wants are well supplied,

"From every rich man's store,

"Who thankless sins the gifts he gets,

"And vainly grasps for more.

"Then would I never tire, Janet,

"In elfish land to dwell;

"But aye at every seven years,

"They pay the teind to hell;

"And I am sae fat, and fair of flesh,

"I fear 'twill be mysell.

"This night is Hallowe'en, Janet,

"The morn is Hallowday;

"And, gin ye dare your true love win,

"Ye hae na time to stay.

"The night it is good Hallowe'en,

"When fairy folk will ride;

"And they, that wad their true love win,

"At Miles Cross they maun bide."

"But how shall I thee ken, Tamlane?

"Or how shall I thee knaw,

"Amang so many unearthly knights,

"The like I never saw.?"

"The first company, that passes by,

"Say na, and let them gae;

"The next company, that passes by,

"Say na, and do right sae;

"The third company, that passes by,

"Than I'll be ane o' thae.

"First let pass the black, Janet,

"And syne let pass the brown;

"But grip ye to the milk-white steed,

"And pu' the rider down.

"For I ride on the milk-white steed,

"And ay nearest the town;

"Because I was a christened knight,

"They gave me that renown.

"My right hand will be gloved, Janet,

"My left hand will be bare;

"And these the tokens I gie thee,

"Nae doubt I will be there.

"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,

"An adder and a snake;

"But had me fast, let me not pass,

"Gin ye wad be my maik.

"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,

"An adder and an ask;

"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,

"A bale [^[C]] that burns fast.

"They'll turn me in your arms, Janet,

"A red-hot gad o' aim;

"But had me fast, let me not pass,

"For I'll do you no harm.

"First, dip me in a stand o' milk,

"And then in a stand o' water;

"But had me fast, let me not pass—

"I'll be your bairn's father.

"And, next, they'll shape me in your arms,

"A toad, but and an eel;

"But had me fast, nor let me gang,

"As you do love me weel.

"They'll shape me in your arms, Janet,

"A dove, but and a swan;

"And, last, they'll shape me in your arms,

"A mother-naked man:

"Cast your green mantle over me—

"I'll be mysell again."

Gloomy, gloomy, was the night,

And eiry [^[D]] was the way,

As fair Janet, in her green mantle,

To Miles Cross she did gae.

The heavens were black, the night was dark,

And dreary was the place;

But Janet stood, with eager wish,

Her lover to embrace.

Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,

A north wind tore the bent;

And straight she heard strange elritch sounds

Upon that wind which went.

About the dead hour o' the night,

She heard the bridles ring;

And Janet was as glad o' that,

As any earthly thing!

Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,

The hemlock small blew clear;

And louder notes from hemlock large,

And bog-reed struck the ear;

But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,

The Fairies cannot bear.

They sing, inspired with love and joy,

Like sky-larks in the air;

Of solid sense, or thought that's grave,

You'll find no traces there.

Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,

The dreary heath upon;

And louder, louder, wax'd the sound,

As they came riding on.

Will o' Wisp before them went,

Sent forth a twinkling light;

And soon she saw the Fairy bands

All riding in her sight.

And first gaed by the black black steed,

And then gaed by the brown;

But fast she gript the milk-white steed,

And pu'd the rider down.

She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed,

And loot the bridle fa';

And up there raise an erlish [^[E]] cry—

"He's won amang us a'!"

They shaped him in fair Janet's arms,

An esk [^[F]], but and an adder;

She held him fast in every shape—

To be her bairn's father.

They shaped him in her arms at last,

A mother-naked man;

She wrapt him in her green mantle,

And sae her true love wan.

Up then spake the Queen o' Fairies,

Out o' a bush o' broom—

"She that has borrowed young Tamlane,

Has gotten a stately groom."

Up then spake the Queen of Fairies,

Out o' a bush of rye—

"She's ta'en awa the bonniest knight

In a' my cumpanie.

"But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says,

"A lady wad borrowed thee—

"I wad ta'en out thy twa gray een,

"Put in twa een o' tree.

"Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane," she says,

"Before ye came frae hame—

"I wad tane out your heart o' flesh,

"Put in a heart o' stane.

"Had I but had the wit yestreen,

"That I hae coft [^[G]] the day—

"I'd paid my kane seven times to hell,

"Ere you'd been won away!"

The ladies are always represented, in Dunbar's Poems, with green mantles and yellow hair. Maitland Poems, Vol. I. p. 45.

Sained—Hallowed.

Bale—A faggot.

[D]

Eiry—Producing superstitious dread.

[E]

Erlish—Elritch, ghastly.

[F]

Esk—Newt.

[G]

Coft—Bought.

NOTES ON THE YOUNG TAMLANE.

Randolph, Earl Murray, was my sire,

Dunbar, Earl March, is thine, &c.—P. 185, v. 5.

Both these mighty chiefs were connected with Ettrick Forest, and its vicinity. Their memory, therefore, lived in the traditions of the country. Randolph, earl of Murray, the renowned nephew of Robert Bruce, had a castle at Ha' Guards, in Annandale, and another in Peebles-shire, on the borders of the forest, the site of which is still called Randall's Walls. Patrick of Dunbar, earl of March, is said by Henry the Minstrel, to have retreated to Ettrick Forest, after being defeated by Wallace.

And all our wants are well supplied,

From every rich man's store;

Who thankless sins the gifts he gets, &c.—P. 187. v. 3.

To sin our gifts, or mercies, means, ungratefully to hold them in slight esteem. The idea, that the possessions of the wicked are most obnoxious to the depredations of evil spirits, may be illustrated by the following tale of a Buttery Spirit, extracted from Thomas Heywood:—

An ancient and virtuous monk came to visit his nephew, an inn-keeper, and, after other discourse, enquired into his circumstances. Mine host confessed, that, although he practised all the unconscionable tricks of his trade, he was still miserably poor. The monk shook his head, and asked to see his buttery, or larder. As they looked into it, he rendered visible to the astonished host an immense goblin, whose paunch, and whole appearance, bespoke his being gorged with food, and who, nevertheless, was gormandizing at the innkeeper's expence, emptying whole shelves of food, and washing it down with entire hogsheads of liquor. "To the depredation of this visitor will thy viands be exposed," quoth the uncle, "until thou shalt abandon fraud, and false reckonings." The monk returned in a year. The host having turned over a new leaf, and given christian measure to his customers, was now a thriving man. When they again inspected the larder, they saw the same spirit, but woefully reduced in size, and in vain attempting to reach at the full plates and bottles, which stood around him; starving, in short, like Tantalus, in the midst of plenty. Honest Heywood sums up the tale thus:

In this discourse, far be it we should mean

Spirits by meat are fatted made, or lean;

Yet certain 'tis, by God's permission, they

May, over goods extorted, bear like sway.

All such as study fraud, and practise evil,

Do only starve themselves to plumpe the devill.

Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels, p. 577.

ERLINTON. NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

This ballad is published from the collation of two copies, obtained from recitation. It seems to be the rude original, or perhaps a corrupted and imperfect copy, of The Child of Elle, a beautiful legendary tale, published in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. It is singular, that this charming ballad should have been translated, or imitated, by the celebrated Bürger, without acknowledgment of the English original. As The Child of Elle avowedly received corrections, we may ascribe its greatest beauties to the poetical taste of the ingenious editor. They are in the truest stile of Gothic embellishment. We may compare, for example, the following beautiful verse, with the same idea in an old romance:

The baron stroked his dark-brown cheek,

And turned his face aside,

To wipe away the starting tear,

He proudly strove to hide!

Child of Elle.

The heathen Soldan, or Amiral, when about to slay two lovers, relents in a similar manner:

Weeping, he turned his heued awai,

And his swerde hit fel to grounde.

Florice and Blauncheflour.

ERLINTON.

Erlinton had a fair daughter,

I wat he weird her in a great sin,[^[A]]

For he has built a bigly bower,

An' a' to put that lady in.

An' he has warn'd her sisters six,

An' sae has he her brethren se'en,

Outher to watch her a' the night,

Or else to seek her morn an' e'en.

She hadna been i' that bigly bower,

Na not a night, but barely ane,

Till there was Willie, her ain true love,

Chapp'd at the door, cryin', "Peace within!"

"O whae is this at my bower door,

"That chaps sae late, nor kens the gin?"[^[B]]

"O it is Willie, your ain true love,

"I pray you rise an' let me in!"

"But in my bower there is a wake,

"An' at the wake there is a wane;[^[C]]

"But I'll come to the green-wood the morn,

"Whar blooms the brier by mornin' dawn."

Then she's gane to her bed again,

Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice,

Then she said to her sisters a',

"Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise."

She pat on her back a silken gown,

An' on her breast a siller pin,

An' she's tane a sister in ilka hand,

An' to the green-wood she is gane.

She hadna walk'd in the green-wood,

Na not a mile but barely ane,

Till there was Willie, her ain true love,

Whae frae her sisters has her ta'en.

He took her sisters by the hand,

He kiss'd them baith, an' sent them hame,

An' he's ta'en his true love him behind,

And through the green-wood they are gane.

They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood,

Na not a mile but barely ane,

When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights.

That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane.

The foremost was an aged knight,

He wore the grey hair on his chin,

Says, "Yield to me thy lady bright,

"An' thou shalt walk the woods within."

"For me to yield my lady bright

"To such an aged knight as thee,

"People wad think I war gane mad,

"Or a' the courage flown frae me."

But up then spake the second knight,

I wat he spake right boustouslie,

"Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright,

"Or here the tane of us shall die."

"My lady is my warld's meed;

"My life I winna yield to nane;

"But if ye be men of your manhead,

"Ye'll only fight me ane by ane."

He lighted aff his milk-white steed,

An' gae his lady him by the head,

Say'n, "See ye dinna change your cheer;

"Until ye see my body bleed."

He set his back unto an aik,

He set his feet against a stane,

An' he has fought these fifteen men,

An' kill'd them a' but barely ane;

For he has left that aged knight,

An' a' to carry the tidings hame.

When he gaed to his lady fair,

I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie;

"Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought;

"Now we shall walk the green-wood free."

Weird her in a great sin—Placed her in danger of committing a great sin.

Gin—The slight or trick necessary to open the door, from engine.

Wane—A number of people.

THE TWA CORBIES.

This poem was communicated to me by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq. jun. of Hoddom, as written down, from tradition, by a lady. It is a singular circumstance, that it should coincide so very nearly with the ancient dirge, called The Three Ravens, published by Mr Ritson, in his Ancient Songs; and that, at the same time, there should exist such a difference, as to make the one appear rather a counterpart than copy of the other. In order to enable the curious reader to contrast these two singular poems, and to form a judgment which may be the original, I take the liberty of copying the English ballad from Mr Ritson's Collection, omitting only the burden and repetition of the first line. The learned editor states it to be given "From Ravencroft's Metismata. Musical phansies, fitting the cittie and country, humours to 3, 4, and 5 voyces, London, 1611, 4to. It will be obvious (continues Mr Ritson) that this ballad is much older, not only than the date of the book, but most of the other pieces contained in it." The music is given with the words, and is adapted to four voices:

There were three rauens sat on a tre,

They were as blacke as they might be:

The one of them said to his mate,

"Where shall we our breakfast take?"

"Downe in yonder greene field,

"There lies a knight slain under his shield;

"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,

"So well they their master keepe;

"His haukes they flie so eagerly,

"There's no fowle dare come him nie.

"Down there comes a fallow doe,

"As great with yong as she might goe,

"She lift up his bloudy hed,

"And kist his wounds that were so red.

"She got him up upon her backe,

"And carried him to earthen lake.

"She buried him before the prime,

"She was dead her selfe ere euen song time.

"God send euery gentleman,

"Such haukes, such houndes, and such a leman.

Ancient Songs, 1792, p. 155.

I have seen a copy of this dirge much modernized.

THE TWA CORBIES.

As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies making a mane;

The tane unto the t'other say,

"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"

"In behint yon auld fail [^[A]] dyke,

"I wot there lies a new slain knight;

"And nae body kens that he lies there,

"But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

"His hound is to the hunting gane,

"His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

"His lady's ta'en another mate,

"So we may mak our dinner sweet.

"Ye'll sit on his white hause bane,

"And I'll pike out his bonny blue een:

"Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,

"We'll theek [^[B]] our nest when it grows bare.

"Mony a one for him makes mane,

"But nane sall ken whare he is gane:

"O'er his white banes, when they are bare,

"The wind sall blaw for evermair."

Fail—Turf.

Theek—Thatch.

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.

The ballad of The Douglas Tragedy is one of the few, to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality. The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farmhouse, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent, named Douglas-burn, which joins the Yarrow, after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas-craig. This wild scene, now a part of the Traquair estate, formed one of the most ancient possessions of the renowned family of Douglas; for Sir John Douglas, eldest son of William, the first Lord Douglas, is said to have sat, as baronial lord of Douglas-burn, during his father's lifetime, in a parliament of Malcolm Canmore, held at Forfar.—GODSCROFT, Vol. I. p. 20. The tower appears to have been square, with a circular turret at one angle, for carrying up the staircase, and for flanking the entrance. It is said to have derived its name of Blackhouse from the complexion of the lords of Douglas, whose swarthy hue was a family attribute. But, when the high mountains, by which it is inclosed, were covered with heather, which was the case till of late years, Blackhouse must have also merited its appellation from the appearance of the scenery.

From this ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighbouring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas-burn is averred to have been the stream, at which the lovers stopped to drink: so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event.

Many copies of this ballad are current among the vulgar, but chiefly in a state of great corruption; especially such as have been committed to the press in the shape of penny pamphlets. One of these is now before me, which, among many others, has the ridiculous error of "blue gilded horn," for "bugelet horn." The copy, principally used in this edition of the ballad, was supplied by Mr Sharpe. The three last verses are given from the printed copy, and from tradition. The hackneyed verse, of the rose and the briar springing from the grave of the lovers, is common to most tragic ballads; but it is introduced into this with singular propriety, as the chapel of St Mary, whose vestiges may be still traced upon the lake, to which it has given name, is said to have been the burial place of Lord William and Fair Margaret. The wrath of the Black Douglas, which vented itself upon the brier, far surpasses the usual stanza:

At length came the clerk of the parish,

As you the truth shall hear,

And by mischance he cut them down,

Or else they had still been there.

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY.

"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,

"And put on your armour so bright;

"Let it never be said, that a daughter of thine

"Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,

"And put on your armour so bright,

"And take better care of your youngest sister,

"For your eldest's awa the last night."

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,

And himself on a dapple grey,

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,

And lightly they rode away.

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,

To see what he could see,

And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold

Come riding over the lee.

"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said,

"And hold my steed in your hand,

"Until that against your seven brethren bold,

"And your father, I mak a stand."

She held his steed in her milk-white hand,

And never shed one tear,

Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',

And her father hard fighting, who lov'd her so dear.

"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said,

"For your strokes they are wond'rous sair;

"True lovers I can get many a ane,

"But a father I can never get mair."

O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,

It was o' the holland sae fine,

And ay she dighted her father's bloody wounds,

That ware redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said,

"O whether will ye gang or bide?"

"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,

"For ye have left me no other guide."

He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,

And himself on a dapple grey,

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,

And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,

And a' by the light of the moon,

Until they came to yon wan water,

And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak a drink

Of the spring that ran sae clear;

And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,

And sair she gan to fear.

"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,

"For I fear that you are slain!"

"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak;

"That shines in the water sae plain."

O they rade on, and on they rade,

And a' by the light of the moon,

Until they cam' to his mother's ha' door,

And there they lighted down.

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,

"Get up, and let me in!—

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,

"For this night my fair lady I've win.

"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,

"O mak it braid and deep!

"And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,

"And the sounder I will sleep."

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,

Lady Marg'ret lang ere day—

And all true lovers that go thegither,

May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St Marie's kirk,

Lady Margaret in Mary's quire;

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,

And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat,

And fain they wad be near;

And a' the warld might ken right weel,

They were twa lovers dear.

But bye and rade the Black Douglas,

And wow but he was rough!

For he pull'd up the bonny brier,

And flang'd in St Mary's loch.

YOUNG BENJIE. NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

In this ballad the reader will find traces of a singular superstition, not yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of Scotland. The lykewake, or watching a dead body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in the idea of the assistants, more dismally awful, by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In the interval betwixt death and interment, the disembodied spirit is supposed to hover around its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain rites, retains the power of communicating, through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. Such enquiries, however are always dangerous, and never to be resorted to unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is called. It is the more unsafe to tamper with this charm, in an unauthorized manner; because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active. One of the most potent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the dead body to speak, is, setting the door ajar, or half open. On this account, the peasants of Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar, while a corpse lies in the house. The door must either be left wide open, or quite shut; but the first is always preferred, on account of the exercise of hospitality usual on such occasions. The attendants must be likewise careful never to leave the corpse for a moment alone, or, if it is left alone, to avoid, with a degree of superstitious horror, the first sight of it. The following story, which is frequently related by the peasants of Scotland, will illustrate the imaginary danger of leaving the door ajar. In former times, a man and his wife lived in a solitary cottage, on one of the extensive border fells. One day, the husband died suddenly; and his wife, who was equally afraid of staying alone by the corpse, or leaving the dead body by itself, repeatedly went to the door, and looked anxiously over the lonely moor, for the sight of some person approaching. In her confusion and alarm, she accidentally left the door ajar, when the corpse suddenly started up, and sat in the bed, frowning and grinning at her frightfully. She sat alone, crying bitterly, unable to avoid the fascination of the dead man's eye, and too much terrified to break the sullen silence, till a catholic priest, passing over the wild, entered the cottage. He first set the door quite open, then put his little finger in his mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; when the horrid look of the corpse relaxed, it fell back on the bed, and behaved itself as a dead man ought to do.

The ballad is given from tradition.

YOUNG BENJIE.

Of a' the maids o' fair Scotland,

The fairest was Marjorie;

And young Benjie was her ae true love,

And a dear true love was he.

And wow! but they were lovers dear,

And loved fu' constantlie;

But ay the mair when they fell out,

The sairer was their plea.[^[A]]

And they hae quarrelled on a day,

Till Marjorie's heart grew wae;

And she said she'd chuse another luve,

And let young Benjie gae.

And he was stout,[^[B]] and proud-hearted,

And thought o't bitterlie;

And he's ga'en by the wan moon-light,

To meet his Marjorie.

"O open, open, my true love,

"O open, and let me in!"

"I dare na open, young Benjie,

"My three brothers are within."

"Ye lied, ye lied, ye bonny burd,

"Sae loud's I hear ye lie;

"As I came by the Lowden banks,

"They bade gude e'en to me.

"But fare ye weel, my ae fause love,

"That I hae loved sae lang!

"It sets [^[C]] ye chuse another love,

"And let young Benjie gang."

Then Marjorie turned her round about,

The tear blinding her ee,—

"I darena, darena, let thee in,

"But I'll come down to thee."

Then saft she smiled, and said to him,

"O what ill hae I done?"

He took her in his armis twa,

And threw her o'er the linn.

The stream was strang, the maid was stout,

And laith laith to be dang,[^[D]]

But, ere she wan the Lowden banks,

Her fair colour was wan.

Then up bespak her eldest brother,

"O see na ye what I see?"

And out then spak her second brother,

"Its our sister Marjorie!"

Out then spak her eldest brother,

"O how shall we her ken?"

And out then spak her youngest brother,

"There's a honey mark on her chin."

Then they've ta'en up the comely corpse,

And laid it on the ground—

"O wha has killed our ae sister,

"And how can he be found?

"The night it is her low lykewake,

"The morn her burial day,

"And we maun watch at mirk midnight,

"And hear what she will say."

Wi' doors ajar, and candle light,

And torches burning clear;

The streikit corpse, till still midnight,

They waked, but naething hear.

About the middle o' the night.

The cocks began to craw;

And at the dead hour o' the night,

The corpse began to thraw.

"O wha has done the wrang, sister,

"Or dared the deadly sin?

"Wha was sae stout, and feared nae dout,

"As thraw ye o'er the linn?"

"Young Benjie was the first ae man

"I laid my love upon;

"He was sae stout and proud-hearted,

"He threw me o'er the linn."

"Sall we young Benjie head, sister,

"Sall we young Benjie hang,

"Or sall we pike out his twa gray een,

"And punish him ere he gang?"

"Ye mauna Benjie head, brothers,

"Ye mauna Benjie hang,

"But ye maun pike out his twa gray een,

"And punish him ere he gang.

"Tie a green gravat round his neck,

"And lead him out and in,

"And the best ae servant about your house

"To wait young Benjie on.

"And ay, at every seven year's end,

"Ye'll tak him to the linn;

"For that's the penance he maun drie,

"To scug [^[E]] his deadly sin."

Plea—Used obliquely for dispute.

Stout—Through this whole ballad, signifies haughty.

Sets ye—Becomes you—ironical.

[D]

Dang—defeated.

[E]

Scug—shelter or expiate.

LADY ANNE.

This ballad was communicated to me by Mr Kirkpatrick Sharpe of Hoddom, who mentions having copied it from an old magazine. Although it has probably received some modern corrections, the general turn seems to be ancient, and corresponds with that of a fragment, containing the following verses, which I have often heard sung in my childhood:—

She set her back against a thorn,

And there she has her young son borne;

"O smile nae sae, my bonny babe!

"An ye smile sae sweet, ye'll smile me dead."

An' when that lady went to the church,

She spied a naked boy in the porch,

"O bonnie boy, an' ye were mine,

"I'd clead ye in the silks sae fine."

"O mither dear, when I was thine,

"To me ye were na half sae kind."

Stories of this nature are very common in the annals of popular superstition. It is, for example, currently believed in Ettrick Forest, that a libertine, who had destroyed fifty-six inhabited houses, in order to throw the possessions of the cottagers into his estate, and who added to this injury, that of seducing their daughters, was wont to commit, to a carrier in the neighbourhood, the care of his illegitimate children, shortly after they were born. His emissary regularly carried them away, but they were never again heard of. The unjust and cruel gains of the profligate laird were dissipated by his extravagance, and the ruins of his house seem to bear witness to the truth of the rhythmical prophecies denounced against it, and still current among the peasantry. He himself died an untimely death; but the agent of his amours and crimes survived to extreme old age. When on his death-bed, he seemed much oppressed in mind, and sent for a clergyman to speak peace to his departing spirit: but, before the messenger returned, the man was in his last agony; and the terrified assistants had fled from his cottage, unanimously averring, that the wailing of murdered infants had ascended from behind his couch, and mingled with the groans of the departing sinner.

LADY ANNE

Fair lady Anne sate in her bower,

Down by the greenwood side,

And the flowers did spring, and the birds did sing,

'Twas the pleasant May-day tide.

But fair lady Anne on sir William call'd,

With the tear grit in her e'e,

"O though thou be fause, may heaven thee guard,

"In the wars ayont the sea!"

Out of the wood came three bonnie boys,

Upon the simmer's morn,

And they did sing, and play at the ba',

As naked as they were born.

"O seven lang year was I sit here,

"Amang the frost and snaw,

"A' to hae but ane o' these bonnie boys,

"A playing at the ba'."

Then up and spake the eldest boy,

"Now listen, thou fair ladie!

"And ponder well the read that I tell,

"Then make ye a choice of the three.

"'Tis I am Peter, and this is Paul,

"And that are, sae fair to see,

"But a twelve-month sinsyne to paradise came,

"To join with our companie."

"O I will hae the snaw-white boy,

"The bonniest of the three."

"And if I were thine, and in thy propine,[^[A]]

"O what wad ye do to me?"

"'Tis I wad clead thee in silk and gowd,

"And nourice thee on my knee."

"O mither! mither! when I was thine,

"Sic kindness I could na see.

"Before the turf, where I now stand,

"The fause nurse buried me;

"Thy cruel penknife sticks still in my heart,

"And I come not back to thee."

Propine—Usually gift, but here the power of giving or bestowing.

LORD WILLIAM

This ballad was communicated to me by Mr James Hogg; and, although it bears a strong resemblance to that of Earl Richard, so strong, indeed, as to warrant a supposition, that the one has been derived from the other, yet its intrinsic merit seems to warrant its insertion. Mr Hogg has added the following note, which, in the course of my enquiries, I have found most fully corroborated.

"I am fully convinced of the antiquity of this song; for, although much of the language seems somewhat modernized, this must be attributed to its currency, being much liked, and very much sung, in this neighbourhood. I can trace it back several generations, but cannot hear of its ever having been in print. I have never heard it with any considerable variation, save that one reciter called the dwelling of the feigned sweetheart, Castleswa."

LORD WILLIAM

Lord William was the bravest knight

That dwait in fair Scotland,

And, though renowned in France and Spain,

Fell by a ladie's hand.

As she was walking maid alone,

Down by yon shady wood.

She heard a smit [^[A]] o' bridle reins,

She wish'd might be for good.

"Come to my arms, my dear Willie,

"You're welcome hame to me;

"To best o' chear and charcoal red,[^[B]]

"And candle burnin' free."

"I winna light, I darena light,

"Nor come to your arms at a';

"A fairer maid than ten o' you,

"I'll meet at Castle-law."

"A fairer maid than me, Willie!

"A fairer maid than me!

"A fairer maid than ten o' me,

"Your eyes did never see."

He louted owr his saddle lap,

To kiss her ere they part,

And wi' a little keen bodkin,

She pierced him to the heart.

"Ride on, ride on, lord William, now,

"As fast as ye can dree!

"Your bonny lass at Castle-law

"Will weary you to see."

Out up then spake a bonny bird,

Sat high upon a tree,—

How could you kill that noble lord?

"He came to marry thee."

"Come down, come down, my bonny bird,

"And eat bread aff my hand!

"Your cage shall be of wiry goud,

"Whar now its but the wand."

"Keep ye your cage o' goud, lady,

"And I will keep my tree;

"As ye hae done to lord William.,

"Sae wad ye do to me."

She set her foot on her door step,

A bonny marble stane;

And carried him to her chamber,

O'er him to make her mane.

And she has kept that good lord's corpse

Three quarters of a year,

Until that word began to spread,

Then she began to fear.

Then she cried on her waiting maid,

Ay ready at her ca';

"There is a knight unto my bower,

"'Tis time he were awa."

The ane has ta'en him by the head,

The ither by the feet,

And thrown him in the wan water,

That ran baith wide and deep.

"Look back, look back, now, lady fair,

"On him that lo'ed ye weel!

"A better man than that blue corpse

"Ne'er drew a sword of steel."

Smit—Clashing noise, from smite—hence also (perhaps) Smith and Smithy.

Charcoal red—This circumstance marks the antiquity of the poem. While wood was plenty in Scotland, charcoal was the usual fuel in the chambers of the wealthy.

THE BROOMFIELD HILL.

The concluding verses of this ballad were inserted in the copy of Tamlane, given to the public in the first edition of this work. They are now restored to their proper place. Considering how very apt the most accurate reciters are to patch up one ballad with verses from another, the utmost caution cannot always avoid such errors.

A more sanguine antiquary than the editor might perhaps endeavour to identify this poem, which is of undoubted antiquity, with the "Broom Broom on Hill," mentioned by Lane, in his Progress of Queen Elizabeth into Warwickshire, as forming part of Captain's Cox's collection, so much envied by the black-letter antiquaries of the present day.—Dugdale's Warwickshire, p. 166. The same ballad is quoted by one of the personages, in a "very mery and pythie comedie," called "The longer thou livest, the more fool thou art." See Ritson's Dissertation, prefixed to Ancient Songs, p. lx. "Brume brume on hill," is also mentioned in the Complayat of Scotland. See Leyden's edition, p. 100.

THE BROOMFIELD HILL.

There was a knight and a lady bright,

Had a true tryste at the broom;

The ane ga'ed early in the morning,

The other in the afternoon.

And ay she sat in her mother's bower door,

And ay she made her mane,

"Oh whether should I gang to the Broomfield hill,

"Or should I stay at hame?

"For if I gang to the Broomfield hill,

"My maidenhead is gone;

"And if I chance to stay at hame,

"My love will ca' me mansworn."

Up then spake a witch woman,

Ay from the room aboon;

"O, ye may gang to the Broomfield hill,

"And yet come maiden hame.

"For, when ye gang to the Broomfield hill,

"Ye'll find your love asleep,

"With a silver-belt about his head,

"And a broom-cow at his feet.

"Take ye the blossom of the broom,

"The blossom it smells sweet,

"And strew it at your true love's head,

"And likewise at his feet.

"Take ye the rings off your fingers,

"Put them on his right hand,

"To let him know, when he doth awake,

"His love was at his command."

She pu'd the broom flower on Hive-hill,

And strew'd on's white hals bane,

And that was to be wittering true,

That maiden she had gane.

"O where were ye, my milk-white steed,

"That I hae coft sae dear,

"That wadna watch and waken me,

"When there was maiden here?"

"I stamped wi' my foot, master,

"And gar'd my bridle ring;

"But na kin' thing wald waken ye,

"Till she was past and gane."

"And wae betide ye, my gay goss hawk,

"That I did love sae dear,

"That wadna watch and waken me,

"When there was maiden here."

"I clapped wi' my wings, master,

"And aye my bells I rang,

"And aye cry'd, waken, waken, master,

"Before the ladye gang."

"But haste and haste, my good white steed,

"To come the maiden till,

"Or a' the birds, of gude green wood,

"Of your flesh shall have their fill."

"Ye need na burst your good white steed,

"Wi' racing o'er the howm;

"Nae bird flies faster through the wood,

"Than she fled through the broom."

PROUD LADY MARGARET.

This Ballad was communicated to the Editor by Mr. HAMILTON, Music-seller, Edinburgh, with whose Mother it had been a, favourite. Two verses and one line were wanting, which are here supplied from a different Ballad, having a plot somewhat similar. These verses are the 6th and 9th.

'Twas on a night, an evening bright,

When the dew began to fa',

Lady Margaret was walking up and down,

Looking o'er her castle wa'.

She looked east, and she looked west,

To see what she could spy,

When a gallant knight came in her sight,

And to the gate drew nigh.

"You seem to be no gentleman,

"You wear your boots so wide;

"But you seem to be some cunning hunter,

"You wear the horn so syde."[^[A]]

"I am no cunning hunter," he said,

"Nor ne'er intend to be;

"But I am come to this castle

"To seek the love of thee;

"And if you do not grant me love,

"This night for thee I'll die."

"If you should die for me, sir knight,

"There's few for you will mane,

"For mony a better has died for me,

"Whose graves are growing green.

"But ye maun read my riddle," she said,

"And answer my questions three;

"And but ye read them right," she said,

"Gae stretch ye out and die.—

"Now, what is the flower, the ae first flower,

"Springs either on moor or dale?

"And what is the bird, the bonnie bonnie bird,

"Sings on the evening gale?"

"The primrose is the ae first flower,

"Springs either on moor or dale;

"And the thistlecock is the bonniest bird;

"Sings on the evening gale."

"But what's the little coin," she said,

"Wald buy my castle bound?

"And what's the little boat," she said,

"Can sail the world all round?"

"O hey, how mony small pennies

"Make thrice three thousand pound?

"Or hey, how mony small fishes

"Swim a' the salt sea round."

"I think you maun be my match," she said,

"My match, and something mair;

"You are the first e'er got the grant

Of love frae my father's heir.

"My father was lord of nine castles,

"My mother lady of three;

"My father was lord of nine castles,

"And there's nane to heir but me.

"And round about a' thae castles,

"You may baith plow and saw,

"And on the fifteenth day of May,

"The meadows they will maw."

"O hald your tongue, lady Margaret," he said,

"For loud I hear you lie!

"Your father was lord of nine castles,

"Your mother was lady of three;

"Your father was lord of nine castles,

"But ye fa' heir to but three.

"And round about a' thae castles,

"You may baith plow and saw,

"But on the fifteenth day of May

"The meadows will not maw.

"I am your brother Willie," he said,

"I trow ye ken na me;

"I came to humble your haughty heart,

"Has gar'd sae mony die."

"If ye be my brother Willie," she said,

"As I trow weel ye be,

"This night I'll neither eat nor drink,

"But gae alang wi' thee."

"O hold your tongue, lady Margaret," he said.

"Again I hear you lie;

"For ye've unwashen hands, and ye've unwashen feet,[^[B]]

"To gae to clay wi' me.

"For the wee worms are my bedfellows,

"And cauld clay is my sheets;

"And when the stormy winds do blow,

"My body lies and sleeps."

Syde—Long or low.

Unwashen hands and unwashen feet—Alluding to the custom of washing and dressing dead bodies.

THE ORIGINAL BALLAD OF THE BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS.

The beautiful air of Cowdenknows is well known and popular. In Ettrick Forest the following words are uniformly adapted to the tune, and seem to be the original ballad. An edition of this pastoral tale, differing considerably from the present copy, was published by Mr. HERD, in 1772. Cowdenknows is situated upon the river Leader, about four miles from Melrose, and is now the property of Dr HUME.

O the broom, and the bonny bonny broom,

And the broom of the Cowdenknows!

And aye sae sweet as the lassie sang,

I' the bought, milking the ewes.

The hills were high on ilka side,

An' the bought i' the lirk o' the hill,

And aye, as she sang, her voice it rang

Out o'er the head o' yon hill.

There was a troop o' gentlemen

Came riding merrilie by,

And one of them has rode out o' the way,

To the bought to the bonny may.

"Weel may ye save an' see, bonny lass,

"An' weel may ye save an' see."

"An' sae wi' you, ye weel-bred knight,"

"And what's your will wi' me?"

"The night is misty and mirk, fair may,

"And I have ridden astray,

"And will ye be so kind, fair may,

"As come out and point my way?"

"Ride out, ride out, ye ramp rider!

"Your steed's baith stout and strang;

"For out of the bought I dare na come,

"For fear 'at ye do me wrang."

"O winna ye pity me, bonny lass,

"O winna ye pity me?

"An' winna ye pity my poor steed,

"Stands trembling at yon tree?"

"I wadna pity your poor steed,

"Tho' it were tied to a thorn;

"For if ye wad gain my love the night,

"Ye wad slight me ere the morn.

"For I ken you by your weel-busked hat,

"And your merrie twinkling e'e,

"That ye're the laird o' the Oakland hills,

"An' ye may weel seem for to be."

"But I am not the laird o' the Oakland hills,

"Ye're far mista'en o' me;

"But I'm are o' the men about his house,

"An' right aft in his companie."

He's ta'en her by the middle jimp,

And by the grass-green sleeve;

He's lifted her over the fauld dyke,

And speer'd at her sma' leave.

O he's ta'en out a purse o' gowd,

And streek'd her yellow hair,

"Now, take ye that, my bonnie may,

"Of me till you hear mair."

O he's leapt on his berry-brown steed,

An' soon he's o'erta'en his men;

And ane and a' cried out to him,

"O master, ye've tarry'd lang!"

"O I hae been east, and I hae been west,

"An' I hae been far o'er the know,

"But the bonniest lass that ever I saw

"Is i'the bought milking the ewes."

She set the cog [^[A]] upon her head,

An' she's gane singing hame—

"O where hae ye been, my ae daughter?

"Ye hae na been your lane."

"O nae body was wi' me, father,

"O nae body has been wi' me;

"The night is misty and mirk, father,

"Ye may gang to the door and see.

"But wae be to your ewe-herd, father,

"And an ill deed may he die;

"He bug the bought at the back o' the know,

"And a tod [^[B]] has frighted me.

"There came a tod to the bought-door,

"The like I never saw;

"And ere he had tane the lamb he did,

"I had lourd he had ta'en them a'."

O whan fifteen weeks was come and gane,

Fifteen weeks and three.

That lassie began to look thin and pale,

An' to long for his merry twinkling e'e.

It fell on a day, on a het simmer day,

She was ca'ing out her father's kye,

By came a troop o' gentlemen,

A' merrilie riding bye.

"Weel may ye save an' see, bonny may,

"Weel may ye save and see!

"Weel I wat, ye be a very bonny may,

"But whae's aught that babe ye are wi'?"

Never a word could that lassie say,

For never a ane could she blame,

An' never a word could the lassie say,

But "I have a good man at hame."

"Ye lied, ye lied, my very bonny may,

"Sae loud as I hear you lie;

"For dinna ye mind that misty night

"I was i' the bought wi' thee?

"I ken you by your middle sae jimp,

"An' your merry twinkling e'e,

"That ye're the bonny lass i'the Cowdenknow,

"An' ye may weel seem for to be."

Than he's leap'd off his berry-brown steed,

An' he's set that fair may on—

"Caw out your kye, gude father, yoursell,

"For she's never caw them out again.

"I am the laird of the Oakland hills,

"I hae thirty plows and three;

"Ah' I hae gotten the bonniest lass

"That's in a' the south country.

Cog—Milking-pail.

Tod—Fox.

LORD RANDAL.

There is a beautiful air to this old ballad. The hero is more generally termed Lord Ronald; but I willingly follow the authority of an Ettrick Forest copy for calling him Randal; because, though the circumstances are so very different, I think it not impossible, that the ballad may have originally regarded the death of Thomas Randolph, or Randal, earl of Murray, nephew to Robert Bruce, and governor of Scotland. This great warrior died at Musselburgh, 1332, at the moment when his services were most necessary to his country, already threatened by an English army. For this sole reason, perhaps, our historians obstinately impute his death to poison. See The Bruce, book xx. Fordun repeats, and Boece echoes, this story, both of whom charge the murder on Edward III. But it is combated successfully by Lord Hailes, in his Remarks on the History of Scotland.

The substitution of some venomous reptile for food, or putting it into liquor, was anciently supposed to be a common mode of administering poison; as appears from the following curious account of the death of King John, extracted from a MS. Chronicle of England, penes John Clerk, esq. advocate. "And, in the same tyme, the pope sente into Englond a legate, that men cald Swals, and he was prest cardinal of Rome, for to mayntene King Johnes cause agens the barons of Englond; but the barons had so much pte (poustie, i.e. power) through Lewys, the kinges sone of Fraunce, that King Johne wist not wher for to wend ne gone: and so hitt fell, that he wold have gone to Suchold; and as he went thedurward, he come by the abbey of Swinshed, and ther he abode II dayes. And, as he sate at meat, he askyd a monke of the house, how moche a lofe was worth, that was before hym sete at the table? and the monke sayd that loffe was worthe bot ane halfpenny. 'O!' quod the kyng, 'this is a grette cheppe of brede; now,' said the king, 'and yff I may, such a loffe shalle be worth xxd. or half a yer be gone:' and when he said the word, muche he thought, and ofte tymes sighed, and nome and ete of the bred, and said, 'By Gode, the word that I have spokyn shall be sothe.' The monke, that stode befor the kyng, was ful sory in his hert; and thought rather he wold himself suffer peteous deth; and thought yff he myght ordeyn therfore sum remedy. And anon the monke went unto his abbott, and was schryvyd of him, and told the abbott all that the kyng said, and prayed his abbott to assoyl him, for he wold gyffe the kyng such a wassayle, that all Englond shuld be glad and joyful therof. Tho went the monke into a gardene, and fond a tode therin; and toke her upp, and put hyr in a cuppe, and filled it with good ale, and pryked hyr in every place, in the cuppe, till the venome come out in every place; an brought hitt befor the kyng, and knelyd, and said, 'Sir, wassayle; for never in your lyfe drancke ye of such a cuppe,' 'Begyne, monke,' quod the king; and the monke dranke a gret draute, and toke the kyng the cuppe, and the kyng also drank a grett draute, and set downe the cuppe.—The monke anon went to the Farmarye, and ther dyed anon, on whose soule God have mercy, Amen. And v monkes syng for his soule especially, and shall while the abbey stondith. The kyng was anon ful evil at ese, and comaunded to remove the table, and askyd after the monke; and men told him that he was ded, for his wombe was broke in sondur. When the king herd this tidyng, he comaunded for to trusse; but all hit was for nought, for his bely began to swelle for the drink that he dranke, that he dyed within II dayes, the moro aftur Seynt Luke's day."

A different account of the poisoning of King John is given in a MS. Chronicle of England, written in the minority of Edward III., and contained in the Auchinleck MS. of Edinburgh. Though not exactly to our present purpose, the passage is curious, and I shall quote it without apology. The author has mentioned the interdict laid on John's kingdom by the pope, and continues thus:

He was ful wroth and grim,

For no prest wald sing for him

He made tho his parlement,

And swore his croy de verament,

That he shuld make such assaut,

To fede all Inglonde with a spand.

And eke with a white lof,

Therefore I hope [^[A]] he was God-loth.

A monk it herd of Swines-heued,

And of this wordes he was adred,

He went hym to his fere,

And seyd to hem in this manner;

"The king has made a sori oth,

That he schal with a white lof

Fede al Inglonde, and with a spand,

Y wis it were a sori saut;

And better is that we die to,

Than al Inglond be so wo.

Ye schul for me belles ring,

And after wordes rede and sing;

So helpe you God, heven king,

Granteth me alle now mill asking,

And Ichim wil with puseoun slo,

Ne schal he never Inglond do wo."

His brethren him graunt alle his bone.

He let him shrive swithe sone,

To make his soule fair and cleue,

To for our leuedi heven queen,

That sche schuld for him be,

To for her son in trinité.

Dansimond zede and gadred frut,

For sothe were plommes white,

The steles [^[B]] he puld out everichon,

Puisoun he dede therin anon,

And sett the steles al ogen,

That the gile schuld nought be sen.

He dede hem in a coupe of gold,

And went to the kinges bord;

On knes he him sett,

The king full fair he grett;

"Sir," he said, "by Seynt Austin,

This is front of our garden,

And gif that your wil be,

Assayet herof after me."

Dansimoud ete frut, on and on,

And al tho other ete King Jon;

The monke aros, and went his way,

God gif his soule wel gode day;

He gaf King Jon ther his puisoun,

Himself had that ilk doun,

He dede, it is nouther for mirthe ne ond,

Bot for to save al Iuglond.

The King Jon sate at mete,

His wombe to wex grete;

He swore his oth, per la croyde,

His wombe wald brest a thre;

He wald have risen fram the bord,

Ac he spake never more word;

Thus ended his time,

Y wis he had an evel fine.

Hope, for think.

Steles—Stalks.

Shakespeare, from such old chronicles, has drawn his authority for the last fine scene in King John. But he probably had it from Caxton, who uses nearly the words of the prose chronicle. Hemingford tells the same tale with the metrical historian. It is certain, that John increased the flux, of which he died, by the intemperate use of peaches and of ale, which may have given rise to the story of the poison.—See MATTHEW PARIS.

To return to the ballad: there is a very similar song, in which, apparently to excite greater interest in the nursery, the handsome young hunter is exchanged for a little child, poisoned by a false step-mother.

LORD RANDAL.

"O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?

"O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?"

"I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,

"For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?

"Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?"

"I din'd wi' my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,

"For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?.

"What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?"

"I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon,

"For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?

"What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?"

"O they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed soon,

"For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain wald lie down."

"O I fear ye are poison'd, Lord Randal, my son!

"O I fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!"

"O yes! I am poison'd; mother, make my bed soon,

"For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down."

SIR HUGH LE BLOND.

This ballad is a northern composition, and seems to have been the original of the legend called Sir Aldingar, which is printed in the Reliques of Antient Poetry. The incidents are nearly the same in both ballads, excepting that, in Aldingar, an angel combats for the queen, instead of a mortal champion. The names of Aldingar and Rodingham approach near to each other in sound, though not in orthography, and the one might, by reciters, be easily substituted for the other.

The tradition, upon which the ballad is founded, is universally current in the Mearns; and the editor is informed, that, till very lately, the sword, with which Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended the life and honour of the queen, was carefully preserved by his descendants, the viscounts of Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot lived in the thirteenth century, is proved by his having, in 1282, bestowed the patronage of the church of Garvoch upon the monks of Aberbrothwick, for the safety of his soul.—Register of Aberbrothwick, quoted by Crawford in Peerage. But I find no instance in history, in which the honour of a queen of Scotland was committed to the chance of a duel. It is true, that Mary, wife of Alexander II., was, about 1242, somewhat implicated in a dark story, concerning the murder of Patrick, earl of Athole, burned in his lodging at Haddington, where he had gone to attend a great tournament. The relations of the deceased baron accused of the murder Sir William Bisat, a powerful nobleman, who appears to have been in such high favour with the young queen, that she offered her oath, as a compurgator, to prove his innocence. Bisat himself stood upon his defence, and proffered the combat to his accusers; but he was obliged to give way to the tide, and was banished from Scotland. This affair interested all the northern barons; and it is not impossible, that some share, taken in it by this Sir Hugh de Arbuthnot, may have given a slight foundation for the tradition of the country.—WINTON, B. vii. ch. 9. Or, if we suppose Sir Hugh le Blond to be a predecessor of the Sir Hugh who flourished in the thirteenth century, he may have been the victor in a duel, shortly noticed as having occurred in 1154, when one Arthur, accused of treason, was unsuccessful in his appeal to the judgment of God. Arthurus regem Malcolm proditurus duello periit. Chron. Sanctae Crucis ap. Anglia Sacra, Vol. I. p. 161.

But, true or false, the incident, narrated in the ballad, is in the genuine style of chivalry. Romances abound with similar instances, nor are they wanting in real history. The most solemn part of a knight's oath was to defend "all widows, orphelines, and maidens of gude fame."[^[A]]—LINDSAY'S Heraldry, MS. The love of arms was a real passion of itself, which blazed yet more fiercely when united with the enthusiastic admiration of the fair sex. The knight of Chaucer exclaims, with chivalrous energy,

To fight for a lady! a benedicite!

It were a lusty sight for to see.

It was an argument, seriously urged by Sir John of Heinault, for making war upon Edward II., in behalf of his banished wife, Isabella, that knights were bound to aid, to their uttermost power, all distressed damsels, living without council or comfort.

Such an oath is still taken by the Knights of the Bath; but, I believe, few of that honourable brotherhood will now consider it quite so obligatory as the conscientious Lord Herbert of Cherbury, who gravely alleges it as a sufficient reason for having challenged divers cavaliers, that they had either snatched from a lady her bouquet, or ribband, or, by some discourtesy of similar importance, placed her, as his lordship conceived, in the predicament of a distressed damozell.

An apt illustration of the ballad would have been the combat, undertaken by three Spanish champions against three Moors of Granada, in defence of the honour of the queen of Granada, wife to Mohammed Chiquito, the last monarch of that kingdom. But I have not at hand Las Guerras Civiles de Granada, in which that atchievement is recorded. Raymond Berenger, count of Barcelona, is also said to have defended, in single combat, the life and honour of the Empress Matilda, wife of the Emperor Henry V., and mother to Henry II. of England.—See ANTONIO ULLOA, del vero Honore Militare, Venice, 1569.

A less apocryphal example is the duel, fought in 1387, betwixt Jaques le Grys and John de Carogne, before the king of France. These warriors were retainers of the earl of Alencon, and originally sworn brothers. John de Carogne went over the sea, for the advancement of his fame, leaving in his castle a beautiful wife, where she lived soberly and sagely. But the devil entered into the heart of Jaques le Grys, and he rode, one morning, from the earl's house to the castle of his friend, where he was hospitably received by the unsuspicious lady. He requested her to show him the donjon, or keep of the castle, and in that remote and inaccessible tower forcibly violated her chastity. He then mounted his horse, and returned to the earl of Alencon within so short a space, that his absence had not been perceived. The lady abode within the donjon, weeping bitterly, and exclaiming, "Ah Jaques! it was not well done thus to shame me! but on you shall the shame rest, if God send my husband safe home!" The lady kept secret this sorrowful deed until her husband's return from his voyage. The day passed, and night came, and the knight went to bed; but the lady would not; for ever she blessed herself, and walked up and down the chamber, studying and musing, until her attendants had retired; and then, throwing herself on her knees before the knight, she shewed him all the adventure. Hardly would Carogne believe the treachery of his companion; but, when convinced, he replied, "Since it is so, lady, I pardon you; but the knight shall die for this villainous deed." Accordingly, Jaques le Grys was accused of the crime, in the court of the earl of Alencon. But, as he was greatly loved of his lord, and as the evidence was very slender, the earl gave judgment against the accusers. Hereupon John Carogne appealed to the parliament of Paris; which court, after full consideration, appointed the case to be tried by mortal combat betwixt the parties, John Carogne appearing as the champion of his lady. If he failed in his combat, then was he to be hanged, and his lady burned, as false and unjust calumniators. This combat, under circumstances so very peculiar, attracted universal attention; in so much, that the king of France and his peers, who were then in Flanders, collecting troops for an invasion of England, returned to Paris, that so notable a duel might be fought in the royal presence. "Thus the kynge, and his uncles, and the constable, came to Parys. Then the lystes were made in a place called Saynt Katheryne, behinde the Temple. There was soo moche people, that it was mervayle to beholde; and on the one side of the lystes there was made gret scaffoldes, that the lordes might the better se the batayle of the ii champion; and so they bothe came to the felde, armed at all peaces, and there eche of them was set in theyr chayre; the erle of Saynt Poule gouverned John of Carongne, and the erle of Alanson's company with Jacques le Grys; and when the knyght entred in to the felde, he came to his wyfe, who was there syttynge in a chayre, covered in blacke, and he sayd to her thus:—Dame, by your enformacyon, and in your quarrell, I do put my lyfe in adventure, as to fyght with Jacques le Grys; ye knowe, if the cause be just and true.'—'Syr,' sayd the lady, 'it is as I have sayd; wherefore ye maye fyght surely; the cause is good and true.' With those wordes, the knyghte kissed the lady, and toke her by the hande, and then blessyd hym, and soo entred into the felde. The lady sate styll in the blacke chayre, in her prayers to God, and to the vyrgyne Mary, humbly prayenge them, by theyr specyall grace, to send her husbande the victory, accordynge to the ryght. She was in gret hevynes, for she was not sure of her lyfe; for, if her husbande sholde have ben dyscomfyted, she was judged, without remedy, to be brente, and her husbande hanged. I cannot say whether she repented her or not, as the matter was so forwarde, that both she and her husbande were in grete peryll: howbeit, fynally, she must as then abyde the adventure. Then these two champyons were set one agaynst another, and so mounted on theyr horses, and behauved them nobly; for they knewe what perteyned to deades of armes. There were many lordes and knyghtes of Fraunce, that were come thyder to se that batayle. The two champyons justed at theyr fyrst metyng, but none of them dyd hurte other; and, after the justes, they lyghted on foote to periournie theyr batayle, and soo fought valyauntly.—And fyrst, John of Carongne was hurt in the thyghe, whereby al his frendes were in grete fere; but, after that, he fought so valyauntly, that he bette down his adversary to the erthe, and threst his swerde in his body, and soo slewe hyrn in the felde; and then he demaunded, if he had done his devoyse or not? and they answered, that he had valyauntly atchieved his batayle. Then Jacques le Grys was delyuered to the hangman of Parys, and he drewe hym to the gybbet of Mountfawcon, and there hanged him up. Then John of Carongne came before the kynge, and kneled downe, and the kynge made him to stand up before hym; and, the same daye, the kynge caused to be delyvred to him a thousande franks, and reteyned him to be of his chambre, with a pencyon of ii hundred pounde by yere, durynge the terme of his lyfe. Then he thanked the kynge and the lordes, and went to his wyfe, and kissed her; and then they wente togyder to the chyrche of our ladye, in Parys, and made theyr offerynge, and then retourned to their lodgynges. Then this Sir John of Carongne taryed not longe in Fraunce, but went, with Syr John Boucequant, Syr John of Bordes, and Syr Loys Grat. All these went to se Lamorabaquyn,[^[A]] of whome, in those dayes, there was moche spekynge."

This odd name Froissart gives to the famous Mahomet, emperor of Turkey, called the Great.

Such was the readiness, with which, in those times, heroes put their lives in jeopardy, for honour and lady's sake. But I doubt whether the fair dames of the present day will think, that the risk of being burned, upon every suspicion of frailty, could be altogether compensated by the probability, that a husband of good faith, like John de Carogne, or a disinterested champion, like Hugh le Blond, would take up the gauntlet in their behalf. I fear they will rather accord to the sentiment of the hero of an old romance, who expostulates thus with a certain duke:—

Certes, sir duke, thou doest unright,

To make a roast of your daughter bright;

I wot you ben unkind.

Amis and Amelion.

I was favoured with the following copy of Sir Hugh le Blond, by K. Williamson Burnet, Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from the recitation of an old woman, long in the service of the Arbuthnot family. Of course the diction is very much humbled, and it has, in all probability, undergone many corruptions; but its antiquity is indubitable, and the story, though indifferently told, is in itself interesting. It is believed, that there have been many more verses.

SIR HUGH LE BLOND.

The birds sang sweet as ony bell,

The world had not their make,

The queen she's gone to her chamber,

With Rodingham to talk.

"I love you well, my queen, my dame,

"'Bove land and rents so clear

"And for the love of you, my queen,

"Would thole pain most severe."

"If well you love me, Rodingham,

"I'm sure so do I thee:

"I love you well as any man,

"Save the king's fair bodye."

"I love you well, my queen, my dame;

"'Tis truth that I do tell:

"And for to lye a night with you,

"The salt seas I would sail."

"Away, away, O Rodingham!

"You are both stark and stoor;

"Would you defile the king's own bed,

"And make his queen a whore?

"To-morrow you'd be taken sure,

"And like a traitor slain;

"And I'd be burned at a stake,

"Altho' I be the queen."

He then stepp'd out at her room-door,

All in an angry mood;

Until he met a leper-man,

Just by the hard way-side.

He intoxicate the leper-man

With liquors very sweet;

And gave him more and more to drink,

Until he fell asleep.

He took him in his arms two,

And carried him along,

Till he came to the queen's own bed,

And there he laid him down.

He then stepp'd out of the queen's bower,

As switt as any roe,

Till he came to the very place

Where the king himself did go.

The king said unto Rodingham,

"What news have you to me?"

He said, "Your queen's a false woman,

"As I did plainly see."

He hasten'd to the queen's chamber,

So costly and so fine,

Untill he came to the queen's own bed,

Where the leper-man was lain.

He looked on the leper-man,

Who lay on his queen's bed;

He lifted up the snaw-white sheets,

And thus he to him said:

"Plooky, plooky,[^[A]] are your cheeks,

"And plooky is your chin,

"And plooky are your arms two

"My bonny queen's layne in.

"Since she has lain into your arms,

"She shall not lye in mine;

"Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth,

"She never shall kiss mine."

In anger he went to the queen,

Who fell upon her knee;

He said, "You false, unchaste woman,

"What's this you've done to me?"

The queen then turn'd herself about,

The tear blinded her e'e—

There's not a knight in all your court

"Dare give that name to me."

He said, "'Tis true that I do say;

"For I a proof did make:

"You shall be taken from my bower,

"And burned at a stake.

"Perhaps I'll take my word again,

"And may repent the same,

"If that you'll get a Christian man

"To fight that Rodingham."

"Alas! alas!" then cried our queen,

"Alas, and woe to me!

"There's not a man in all Scotland

"Will fight with him for me."

She breathed unto her messengers,

Sent them south, east, and west;

They could find none to fight with him,

Nor enter the contest.

She breathed on her messengers,

She sent them to the north;

And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond,

To fight him he came forth.

When unto him they did unfold

The circumstance all right,

He bade them go and tell the queen,

That for her he would fight.

The day came on that was to do

That dreadful tragedy;

Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up

To fight for our lady.

"Put on the fire," the monster said;

"It is twelve on the bell!"

"Tis scarcely ten, now," said the king;

"I heard the clock mysell."

Before the hour the queen is brought,

The burning to proceed;

In a black velvet chair she's set,

A token for the dead.

She saw the flames ascending high,

The tears blinded her e'e:

"Where is the worthy knight," she said,

"Who is to fight for me?"

Then up and spake the king himsel,

"My dearest, have no doubt,

"For yonder comes the man himsel,

"As bold as ere set out."

They then advanced to fight the duel

With swords of temper'd steel,

Till down the blood of Rodingham

Came running to his heel.

Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword,

'Twas of the metal clear;

And he has pierced Rodingham

Till's heart-blood did appear.

"Confess your treachery, now," he said,

"This day before you die!"

"I do confess my treachery,

"I shall no longer lye:

"I like to wicked Haman am,

"This day I shall be slain."

The queen was brought to her chamber

A good woman again.

The queen then said unto the king,

"Arbattle's near the sea;

"Give it unto the northern knight,

"That this day fought for me."

Then said the king, "Come here, sir knight,

"And drink a glass of wine;

"And, if Arbattle's not enough,

"To it we'll Fordoun join."

Plooky—Pimpled.

NOTES ON SIR HUGH LE BLOND.

Until he met a leper-man. &c.—P. 268. v. 4.

Filth, poorness of living, and the want of linen, made this horrible disease formerly very common in Scotland. Robert Bruce died of the leprosy; and, through all Scotland, there were hospitals erected for the reception of lepers, to prevent their mingling with the rest of the community.

"It is twelve on the bell!"

"Tis scarcely ten, now," said the king, &c.—P. 272. v. 2.

In the romance of Doolin, called La Fleur des Battailles, a false accuser discovers a similar impatience to hurry over the execution, before the arrival of the lady's champion:—"Ainsi comme Herchambaut vouloit jetter la dame dedans le feu, Sanxes de Clervaut va a lui, si lui dict; 'Sire Herchambaut, vous estes trop a blasmer; car vous ne devez mener ceste chose que par droit ainsi qu'il est ordonnè; je veux accorder que ceste dame ait un vassal qui la diffendra contre vous et Drouart, car elle n'a point de coulpe en ce que l'accusez; si la devez retarder jusque a midy, pour scavoir si un bon chevalier l'a viendra secourir centre vous et Drouart."—Cap. 22.

"And, if Arbattle's not enough,

"To it we'll Fordoun join."—P. 274. v. 1.

Arbattle is the ancient name of the barony of Arbuthnot. Fordun has long been the patrimony of the same family.

GRAEME AND BEWICK.

The date of this ballad, and its subject, are uncertain. From internal evidence, I am inclined to place it late in the sixteenth century. Of the Graemes enough is elsewhere said. It is not impossible, that such a clan, as they are described, may have retained the rude ignorance of ancient border manners to a later period than their more inland neighbours; and hence the taunt of old Bewick to Graeme. Bewick is an ancient name in Cumberland and Northumberland. The ballad itself was given, in the first edition, from the recitation of a gentleman, who professed to have forgotten some verses. These have, in the present edition, been partly restored, from a copy obtained by the recitation of an ostler in Carlisle, which has also furnished some slight alterations.

The ballad is remarkable, as containing, probably, the very latest allusion to the institution of brotherhood in arms, which was held so sacred in the days of chivalry, and whose origin may be traced up to the Scythian ancestors of Odin. Many of the old romances turn entirely upon the sanctity of the engagement, contracted by the freres d'armes. In that of Amis and Amelion, the hero slays his two infant children, that he may compound a potent salve with their blood, to cure the leprosy of his brother in arms. The romance of Gyron le Courtois has a similar subject. I think the hero, like Graeme in the ballad, kills himself, out of some high point of honour towards his friend.

The quarrel of the two old chieftains, over their wine, is highly in character. Two generations have not elapsed since the custom of drinking deep, and taking deadly revenge for slight offences, produced very tragical events on the border; to which the custom of going armed to festive meetings contributed not a little. A minstrel, who flourished about 1720, and is often talked of by the old people, happened to be performing before one of these parties, when they betook themselves to their swords. The cautious musician, accustomed to such scenes, dived beneath the table. A moment after, a man's hand, struck off with a back-sword, fell beside him. The minstrel secured it carefully in his pocket, as he would have done any other loose moveable; sagely observing, the owner would miss it sorely next morning. I chuse rather to give this ludicrous example, than some graver instances of bloodshed at border orgies. I observe it is said, in a MS. account of Tweeddale, in praise of the inhabitants, that, "when they fall in the humour of good fellowship, they use it as a cement and bond of society, and not to foment revenge, quarrels, and murders, which is usual in other countries;" by which we ought, probably, to understand Selkirkshire and Teviotdale.—Macfarlane's MSS.

GRAEME AND BEWICK.

Gude lord Graeme is to Carlisle gane;

Sir Robert Bewick there met he;

And arm in arm to the wine they did go,

And they drank till they were baith merrie.

Gude lord Graeme has ta'en up the cup,

"Sir Robert Bewick, and here's to thee!

"And here's to our twae sons at hame!

"For they like us best in our ain countrie."

"O were your son a lad like mine,

"And learn'd some books that he could read,

"They might hae been twae brethren bauld,

"And they might hae bragged the border side."

"But your son's a lad, and he is but bad,

"And billie to my son he canna be;

"Ye sent him to the schools, and he wadna learn;

"Ye bought him books, and he wadna read."

"But my blessing shall he never earn,

"Till I see how his arm can defend his head."

Gude lord Graeme has a reckoning call'd,

A reckoning then called he;

And he paid a crown, and it went roun';

It was all for the gude wine and free.[^[A]]

And he has to the stable gaen,

Where there stude thirty steeds and three;

He's ta'en his ain horse amang them a',

And hame he' rade sae manfullie.

"Wellcome, my auld father!" said Christie Graeme,

"But where sae lang frae hame were ye?"

"It's I hae been at Carlisle town,

"And a baffled man by thee I be.

"I hae been at Carlisle town,

"Where Sir Robert Bewick he met me;

"He says ye're a lad, and ye are but bad,

"And billie to his son ye canna be.

"I sent ye to the schools, and ye wadna learn;

"I bought ye books, and ye wadna read;

"Therefore, my blessing ye shall never earn,

"Till I see with Bewick thou save thy head."

"Now, God forbid, my auld father,

"That ever sic a thing suld be!

"Billie Bewick was my master, and I was his scholar,

"And aye sae weel as he learned me."

"O hald thy tongue, thou limmer lown,

"And of thy talking let me be!

"If thou does na end me this quarrel soon,

"There is my glove I'll fight wi' thee."

Then Christie Graeme he stooped low

Unto the ground, you shall understand;—

"O father, put on your glove again,

"The wind has blown it from your hand."

"What's that thou says, thou limmer loun?

"How dares thou stand to speak to me?

"If thou do not end this quarrel soon,

"There's my right hand thou shalt fight with me."

Then Christie Graeme's to his chamber gane,

To consider weel what then should be;

Whether he suld fight with his auld father

Or with his billie Bewick, he.

"If I suld kill my billie dear,

"God's blessing I sall never win;

"But if I strike at my auld father,

"I think 'twald be a mortal sin.

"But if I kill my billie dear,

"It is God's will! so let it be.

"But I make a vow, ere I gang frae hame,

"That I shall be the next man's die."

Then he's put on's back a good ould jack,

And on his head a cap of steel,

And sword and buckler by his side;

O gin he did not become them weel!

We'll leave off talking of Christie Graeme,

And talk of him again belive;

And we will talk of bonnie Bewick,

Where he was teaching his scholars five.

When he had taught them well to fence,

And handle swords without any doubt;

He took his sword under his arm,

And he walked his father's close about.

He looked atween him and the sun,

And a' to see what there might be,

Till he spied a man, in armour bright,

Was riding that way most hastilie.

"O wha is yon, that came this way,

"Sae hastilie that hither came?

"I think it be my brother dear;

"I think it be young Christie Graeme."

"Ye're welcome here, my billie dear,

"And thrice you're welcome unto me!"

"But I'm wae to say, I've seen the day,

"When I am come to fight with thee.

"My father's gane to Carlisle town,

"Wi' your father Bewick there met he;

"He says I'm a lad, and I am but bad,

"And a baffled man I trow I be.

"He sent me to schools, and I wadna learn;

"He gae me books, and I wadna read;

"Sae my father's blessing I'll never earn,

"Till he see how my arm can guard my head."

"O God forbid, my billie dear,

"That ever such a thing suld be!

"We'll take three men on either side,

"And see if we can our fathers agree."

"O hald thy tongue, now, billie Bewick,

"And of thy talking let me be!

"But if thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art,

"Come o'er the dyke, and fight wi' me."

"But I hae nae harness, billie, on my back,

"As weel I see there is on thine."

"But as little harness as is on thy back,

"As little, billie, shall be on mine."

Then he's thrown aff his coat of mail,

His cap of steel away flung he;

He stuck his spear into the ground,

And he tied his horse unto a tree.

Then Bewick has thrown aff his cloak,

And's psalter-book frae's hand flung he;

He laid his hand upon the dyke,

And ower he lap most manfullie.

O they hae fought for twae lang hours;

When twae lang hours were come and gane,

The sweat drapped fast frae aff them baith,

But a drap of blude could not be seen.

Till Graeme gae Bewick an ackward [^[B]] stroke,

Ane ackward stroke, strucken sickerlie;

He has hit him under the left breast,

And dead-wounded to the ground fell he.

"Rise up, rise up, now, hillie dear!

"Arise, and speak three words to me!—

"Whether thou'se gotten thy deadly wound,

"Or if God and good leaching may succour thee?"

"O horse, O horse, now billie Graeme,

"And get thee far from hence with speed;

"And get thee out of this country,

"That none may know who has done the deed."

"O I have slain thee, billie Bewick,

"If this be true thou tellest to me;

"But I made a vow, ere I came frae hame,

"That aye the next man I wad be."

He has pitched his sword in a moodie-hill,[^[C]]

And he has leap'd twentie lang feet and three,

And on his ain sword's point he lap,

And dead upon the grund fell he.

'Twas then came up Sir Robert Bewick,

And his brave son alive saw he;

"Rise up, rise up, my son," he said,

"For I think ye hae gotten the victorie."

"O hald your tongue, my father dear!

"Of your prideful talking let me be!

"Ye might hae drunken your wine in peace,

"And let me and my billie be.

"Gae dig a grave, baith wide and deep,

"A grave to hald baith him and me;

"But lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side,

"For I'm sure he wan the victorie."

"Alack! a wae!" auld Bewick cried,

"Alack! was I not much to blame!

"I'm sure I've lost the liveliest lad

"That e'er was born unto my name."

"Alack! a wae!" quo' gude Lord Graeme,

"I'm sure I hae lost the deeper lack!

"I durst hae ridden the Border through,

"Had Christie Graeme been at my back.

"Had I been led through Liddesdale,

"And thirty horsemen guarding me,

"And Christie Gramme been at my back,

"Sae soon as he had set me free!

"I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,

"I've lost the key but and the lock;

"I durst hae ridden the world round,

"Had Christie Graeme been at my back."

The ostler's copy reads very characteristically— "It was all for good wine and hay."

Ackward—Backward.

Moodie-hill—Mole-hill.

THE DUEL OF WHARTON AND STUART. IN TWO PARTS.

Duels, as may be seen from the two preceding ballads, are derived from the times of chivalry. They succeeded to the combat at outrance, about the end of the sixteenth century; and, though they were no longer countenanced by the laws, nor considered a solemn appeal to the Deity, nor honoured by the presence of applauding monarchs and multitudes, yet they were authorised by the manners of the age, and by the applause of the fair.[^[A]] They long continued, they even yet continue, to be appealed to, as the test of truth; since, by the code of honour, every gentleman is still bound to repel a charge of falsehood with the point of his sword, and at the peril of his life. This peculiarity of manners, which would have surprised an ancient Roman, is obviously deduced from the Gothic ordeal of trial by combat. Nevertheless, the custom of duelling was considered, at its first introduction, as an innovation upon the law of arms; and a book, in two huge volumes, entituled Le vrai Theatre d' Honneur et de la Chivalerie, was written by a French nobleman, to support the venerable institutions of chivalry against this unceremonious mode of combat. He has chosen for his frontispiece two figures; the first represents a conquering knight, trampling his enemy under foot in the lists, crowned by Justice with laurel, and preceded by Fame, sounding his praises. The other figure presents a duellist, in his shirt, as was then the fashion (see the following ballad), with his bloody rapier in his hand: the slaughtered combatant is seen in the distance, and the victor is pursued by the Furies. Nevertheless, the wise will make some scruple, whether, if the warriors were to change equipments, they might not also exchange their emblematic attendants. The modern mode of duel, without defensive armour, began about the reign of Henry III. of France, when the gentlemen of that nation, as we learn from Davila, began to lay aside the cumbrous lance and cuirass, even in war. The increase of danger being supposed to contribute to the increase of honour, the national ardour of the french gallants led them early to distinguish themselves by neglect of every thing, that could contribute to their personal safety. Hence, duels began to be fought by the combatants in their shirts, and with the rapier only. To this custom contributed also the art of fencing, then cultivated as a new study in Italy and Spain, by which the sword became, at once, an offensive and defensive weapon. The reader will see the new "science of defence," as it was called, ridiculed by Shakespeare, in Romeo and Juliet, and by Don Quevedo, in some of his novels. But the more ancient customs continued for some time to maintain their ground. The sieur Colombiere mentions two gentlemen, who fought with equal advantage for a whole day, in all the panoply of chivalry, and, the next day, had recourse to the modern mode of combat. By a still more extraordinary mixture of ancient and modern fashions, two combatants on horseback ran a tilt at each other with lances, without any covering but their shirts.

"All things being ready for the ball, and every one being in their place, and I myself being next to the queen (of France), expecting when the dancers would come in, one knockt at the door somewhat louder than became, as I thought, a very civil person. When he came in, I remember there was a sudden whisper among the ladies, saying, 'C'est Monsieur Balagny,' or, 'tis Monsieur Balagny; whereupon, also, I saw the ladies and gentlewomen, one after another, invite him to sit near them; and, which is more, when one lady had his company a while, another would say, 'you have enjoyed him long enough; I must have him now;' at which bold civility of theirs, though I were astonished, yet it added unto my wonder, that his person could not be thought, at most, but ordinary handsome; his hair, which was cut very short, half grey, his doublet but of sackcloth, cut to his shirt, and his breeches only of plain grey cloth. Informing myself of some standers by who he was, I was told he was one of the gallantest men in the world, as having killed eight or nine men in single fight; and that, for this reason, the ladies made so much of him; it being the manner of all French women to cherish gallant men, as thinking they could not make so much of any one else, with the safety of their honour."—Life of Lord Herbert of Cherbury, p. 70. How near the character of the duellist, originally, approached to that of the knight-errant, appears from a transaction, which took place at the siege of Juliers, betwixt this Balagny and Lord Herbert. As these two noted duellists stood together in the trenches, the Frenchman addressed Lord Herbert: "Monsieur, on dit que vous etes un des plus braves de votre nation, et je suis Balagny; allons voir qui fera le mieux." With these words, Balagny jumped over the trench, and Herbert as speedily following, both ran sword in hand towards the defences of the besieged town, which welcomed their approach with a storm of musquetry and artillery. Balagny then observed, this was hot service; but Herbert swore, he would not turn back first; so the Frenchman was finally fain to set him the example or retreat. Notwithstanding the advantage which he had gained over Balagny, in this "jeopardy of war," Lord Herbert seems still to have grudged that gentleman's astonishing reputation; for he endeavoured to pick a quarrel with him, on the romantic score of the worth of their mistresses; and, receiving a ludicrous answer, told him, with disdain, that he spoke more like a palliard than a cavalier. From such instances the reader may judge, whether the age of chivalry did not endure somewhat longer than is generally supposed.

When armour was laid aside, the consequence was, that the first duels were very sanguinary, terminating frequently in the death of one, and sometimes, as in the ballad, of both persons engaged. Nor was this all: The seconds, who had nothing to do with the quarrel, fought stoutly, pour se desennuyer, and often sealed with their blood their friendship for their principal. A desperate combat, fought between Messrs Entraguet and Caylus, is said to have been the first, in which this fashion of promiscuous fight was introduced. It proved fatal to two of Henry the Third's minions, and extracted from that sorrowing monarch an edict against duelling, which was as frequently as fruitlessly renewed by his successors. The use of rapier and poniard together,[^[A]] was another cause of the mortal slaughter in these duels, which were supposed, in the reign of Henry IV., to have cost France at least as many of her nobles as had fallen in the civil wars. With these double weapons, frequent instances occurred, in which a duellist, mortally wounded, threw himself within his antagonist's guard, and plunged his poniard into his heart. Nay, sometimes the sword was altogether abandoned for the more sure and murderous dagger. A quarrel having arisen betwixt the vicompte d' Allemagne and the sieur de la Roque, the former, alleging the youth and dexterity of his antagonist, insisted upon fighting the duel in their shirts, and with their poniards only; a desperate mode of conflict, which proved fatal to both. Others refined even upon this horrible struggle, by chusing for the scene a small room, a large hogshead, or, finally, a hole dug in the earth, into which the duellists descended, as into a certain grave.—Must I add, that even women caught the phrenzy, and that duels were fought, not only by those whose rank and character rendered it little surprising, but by modest and well-born maidens! Audiguier Traité de Duel. Theatre D' Honneur, Vol. I.[^[B]]

It appears from a line in the black-letter copy of the following ballad, that Wharton and Stuart fought with rapier and dagger:

With that stout Wharton was the first
Took rapier and poniard there that day.
Ancient Songs, 1792, p. 204.

This folly ran to such a pitch, that no one was thought worthy to be reckoned a gentleman, who had not tried his valour in at least one duel; of which Lord Herbert gives the following instance:—A young gentleman, desiring to marry a niece of Monsieur Disaucour, ecuyer to the duke de Montmorenci, received this answer: "Friend, it is not yet time to marry; if you will be a brave man, you must first kill, in single combat, two or three men; then marry, and get two or three children; otherwise the world will neither have gained or lost by you." HERBERT'S Life, p. 64.

We learn, from every authority, that duels became nearly as common in England, after the accession of James VI., as they had ever been in France. The point of honour, so fatal to the gallants of the age, was no where carried more highly than at the court of the pacific Solomon of Britain. Instead of the feudal combats, upon the Hie-gate of Edinburgh, which had often disturbed his repose at Holy-rood, his levees, at Theobald's, were occupied with listening to the detail of more polished, but not less sanguinary, contests. I rather suppose, that James never was himself disposed to pay particular attention to the laws of the duello; but they were defined with a quaintness and pedantry, which, bating his dislike to the subject, must have deeply interested him. The point of honour was a science, which a grown gentleman might study under suitable professors, as well as dancing, or any other modish accomplishment. Nay, it would appear, that the ingenuity of the sword-men (so these military casuists were termed) might often accommodate a bashful combatant with an honourable excuse for declining the combat:

—Understand'st them well nice points of duel?

Art born of gentle blood and pure descent?

Were none of all thy lineage hang'd, or cuckold?

Bastard or bastinadoed? Is thy pedigree

As long, as wide as mine? For otherwise

Thou wert most unworthy; and 'twere loss of honour

In me to fight. More: I have drawn five teeth—

If thine stand sound, the terms are much unequal;

And, by strict laws of duel, I am excused

To fight on disadvantage.—

Albumazar, Act IV. Sc. 7.

In Beaumont and Fletcher's admirable play of A King and no King, there is some excellent mirth at the expence of the professors of the point of honour.

But, though such shifts might occasionally be resorted to by the faint-hearted, yet the fiery cavaliers of the English court were but little apt to profit by them; though their vengeance for insulted honour sometimes vented itself through fouler channels than that of fair combat It happened, for example, that Lord Sanquhar, a Scottish nobleman, in fencing with a master of the noble science of defence, lost his eye by an unlucky thrust. The accident was provoking, but without remedy; nor did Lord Sanquhar think of it, unless with regret, until some years after, when he chanced to be in the French court. Henry the Great casually asked him, how he lost his eye? "By the thrust of a sword," answered Lord Sanquhar, not caring to enter into particulars. The king, supposing the accident the consequence of a duel, immediately enquired, "Does the man yet live?" These few words set the blood of the Scottish nobleman on fire; nor did he rest till he had taken the base vengeance of assassinating, by hired ruffians, the unfortunate fencing-master. The mutual animosity betwixt the English and Scottish nations, had already occasioned much bloodshed among the gentry, by single combat; and James now found himself under the necessity of making a striking example of one of his Scottish nobles, to avoid the imputation of the grossest partiality. Lord Sanquhar was condemned to be hanged, and suffered that ignominious punishment accordingly.

By a circuitous route, we are now arrived at the subject of our ballad; for, to the tragical duel of Stuart and Wharton, and to other instances of bloody combats and brawls betwixt the two nations, is imputed James's firmness in the case of Lord Sanquhar.

"For Ramsay, one of the king's servants, not long before Sanquhar's trial, had switched the earl of Montgomery, who was the king's first favourite, happily because he tooke it so. Maxwell, another of them, had bitten Hawley, a gentleman of the Temple, by the ear, which enraged the Templars (in those times riotous, and subject to tumults), and brought it allmost to a national quarrel, till the king slept in, and took it up himself.—The Lord Bruce had summoned Sir Edward Sackville (afterward earl of Dorset), into France, with a fatal compliment, to take death from his hand.[^[A]] And the much lamented Sir James Stuart, one of the king's blood, and Sir George Wharton, the prime branch of that noble family, for little worthless punctilios of honor (being intimate friends), took the field, and fell together by each others hand."—WILSON'S Life of James VI. p. 60.

See an account of this desperate duel in the Guardian.

The sufferers in this melancholy affair were both men of high birth, the heirs apparent of two noble families, and youths of the most promising expectation. Sir James Stuart was a knight of the Bath, and eldest son of Walter, first lord Blantyre, by Nicolas, daughter of Sir James Somerville, of Cambusnethan. Sir George Wharton was also a knight of the Bath, and eldest son of Philip, lord Wharton, by Frances, daughter of Henry Clifford, earl of Cumberland. He married Anne, daughter of the earl of Rutland, but left no issue.

The circumstances of the quarrel and combat are accurately detailed in the ballad, of which there exists a black-letter copy in the Pearson Collection, now in the library of the late John duke of Roxburghe, entitled, "A Lamentable Ballad, of a Combate, lately fought, near London, between Sir James Stewarde, and Sir George Wharton, knights, who were both slain at that time.—To the tune of, Down Plumpton Park, &c." A copy of this ballad has been published in Mr Ritson's Ancient Songs, and, upon comparison, appears very little different from that which has been preserved by tradition in Ettrick Forest. Two verses have been added, and one considerably improved, from Mr Ritson's edition. These three stanzas are the fifth and ninth of Part First, and the penult verse of Part Second. I am thus particular, that the reader may be able, if he pleases, to compare the traditional ballad with the original edition. It furnishes striking evidence, that, "without characters, fame lives long." The difference, chiefly to be remarked betwixt the copies, lies in the dialect, and in some modifications applicable to Scotland; as, using the words "Our Scottish Knight." The black-letter ballad, in like manner, terms Wharton "Our English Knight." My correspondent, James Hogg, adds the following note to this ballad: "I have heard this song sung by several old people; but all of them with this tradition, that Wharton bribed Stuart's second, and actually fought in armour. I acknowledge, that, from some dark hints in the song, this appears not impossible; but, that you may not judge too rashly, I must remind you, that the old people, inhabiting the head-lands (high grounds) hereabouts, although possessed of many original songs, traditions, and anecdotes, are most unreasonably partial when the valour or honour of a Scotsman is called in question." I retain this note, because it is characteristic; but I agree with my correspondent, there can be no foundation for the tradition, except in national partiality.

THE DUEL OF WHARTON AND STUART.

PART FIRST.

It grieveth me to tell you o'

Near London late what did befal,

'Twixt two young gallant gentlemen;

It grieveth me, and ever shall.

One of them was Sir George Wharton,

My good Lord Wharton's son and heir;

The other, James Stuart, a Scottish knight,

One that a valiant heart did bear.

When first to court these nobles came,

One night, a gaining, fell to words;

And in their fury grew so hot,

That they did both try their keen swords.

No manner of treating, nor advice,

Could hold from striking in that place;

For, in the height and heat of blood,

James struck George Wharton on the face.

"What doth this mean," George Wharton said,

"To strike in such unmanly sort?

"But, that I take it at thy hands,

"The tongue of man shall ne'er report!"

"But do thy worst, then," said Sir James,

"Now do thy worst! appoint a day!

"There's not a lord in England breathes

"Shall gar me give an inch of way."

"Ye brag right weel," George Wharton said;

"Let our brave lords at large alane,

"And speak of me, that am thy foe;

"For you shall find enough o' ane!

"I'll alterchange my glove wi' thine;

"I'll show it on the bed o' death;

"I mean the place where we shall fight;

"There ane or both maun lose life and breath!"

"We'll meet near Waltham," said Sir James;

"To-morrow, that shall be the day.

"We'll either take a single man,

"And try who bears the bell away."

Then down together hands they shook,

Without any envious sign;

Then went to Ludgate, where they lay,

And each man drank his pint of wine.

No kind of envy could be seen,

No kind of malice they did betray;

But a' was clear and calm as death,

Whatever in their bosoms lay,

Till parting time; and then, indeed,

They shew'd some rancour in their heart;

"Next time we meet," says George Wharton,

"Not half sae soundly we shall part!"

So they have parted, firmly bent

Their valiant minds equal to try:

The second part shall clearly show,

Both how they meet, and how they dye.

THE DUEL OF WHARTON AND STUART.

PART SECOND.

George Wharton was the first ae man,

Came to the appointed place that day,

Where he espyed our Scots lord coming,

As fast as he could post away.

They met, shook hands; their cheeks were pale;

Then to George Wharton James did say,

"I dinna like your doublet, George,

"It stands sae weel on you this day.

"Say, have you got no armour on?

"Have ye no under robe of steel?

"I never saw an English man

"Become his doublet half sae weel."

"Fy no! fy no!" George Wharton said,

"For that's the thing that mauna be,

"That I should come wi' armour on,

"And you a naked man truly."

"Our men shall search our doublets, George,

"And see if one of us do lie;

"Then will we prove, wi' weapons sharp,

"Ourselves true gallants for to be."

Then they threw off their doublets both,

And stood up in their sarks o' lawn;

"Now, take my counsel," said Sir James,

"Wharton, to thee I'll make it knawn:

"So as we stand, so will we fight;

"Thus naked in our sarks," said he;

"Fy no! fy no!" George Wharton says;

"That is the thing that must not be.

"We're neither drinkers, quarrellers,

"Nor men that cares na for oursel;

"Nor minds na what we're gaun about,

"Or if we're gaun to heav'n or hell.

"Let us to God bequeath our souls,

"Our bodies to the dust and clay!"

With that he drew his deadly sword,

The first was drawn on field that day.

Se'en bouts and turns these heroes had,

Or e'er a drop o' blood was drawn;

Our Scotch lord, wond'ring, quickly cry'd,

"Stout Wharton! thou still hauds thy awn!"

The first stroke that George Wharton gae,

He struck him thro' the shoulder-bane;

The neist was thro' the thick o' the thigh;

He thought our Scotch lord had been slain.

"Oh! ever alak!" George Wharton cry'd,

"Art thou a living man, tell me?

"If there's a surgeon living can,

"He'se cure thy wounds right speedily."

"No more of that!" James Stuart said;

"Speak not of curing wounds to me!

"For one of us must yield our breath,

"Ere off the field one foot we flee."

They looked oure their shoulders both,

To see what company was there;

They both had grievous marks of death,

But frae the other nane wad steer.

George Wharton was the first that fell;

Our Scotch lord fell immediately:

They both did cry to Him above,

To save their souls, for they boud die.

THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

This fragment, obtained from recitation in the Forest of Ettrick, is said to relate to the execution of Cokburne of Henderland, a border freebooter, hanged over the gate of his own tower by James V., in the course of that memorable expedition, in 1529, which was fatal to Johnie Armstrang, Adam Scott of Tushielaw, and many other marauders. The vestiges of the castle of Henderland are still to be traced upon the farm of that name, belonging to Mr Murray of Henderland. They are situated near the mouth of the river Meggat, which falls into the lake of St Mary, in Selkirkshire. The adjacent country, which now hardly bears a single tree, is celebrated by Lesly, as, in his time, affording shelter to the largest stags in Scotland. A mountain torrent, called Henderland Burn, rushes impetuously from the hills, through a rocky chasm, named the Dow-glen, and passes near the site of the tower. To the recesses of this glen the wife of Cokburne is said to have retreated, during the execution of her husband; and a place, called the Lady's Seat, is still shewn, where she is said to have striven to drown, amid the roar of a foaming cataract, the tumultuous noise, which announced the close of his existence. In a deserted burial-place, which once surrounded the chapel of the castle, the monument of Cokburne and his lady is still shewn. It is a large stone, broken into three parts; but some armorial bearings may be yet traced, and the following inscription is still legible, though defaced:

HERE LYES PERYS OF COKBURNE AND HIS WYFE MARJORY.

Tradition says, that Cokburne was surprised by the king, while sitting at dinner. After the execution, James marched rapidly forward, to surprise Adam Scott of Tushielaw, called the King of the Border, and sometimes the King of Thieves. A path through the mountains, which separate the vale of Ettrick from the head of Yarrow, is still called the King's Road, and seems to have been the rout which he followed. The remains of the tower of Tushielaw are yet visible, overhanging the wild banks of the Ettrick; and are an object of terror to the benighted peasant, from an idea of their being haunted by spectres. From these heights, and through the adjacent county of Peebles, passes a wild path, called still the Thief's Road, from having been used chiefly by the marauders of the border.

THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

My love he built me a bonny bower,

And clad it a' wi' lilye flour;

A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,

Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,

He spied his sport, and went away;

And brought the king that very night,

Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me sae dear;

He slew my knight, and poin'd [^[A]] his gear;

My servants all for life did flee,

And left me in extremitie.

I sew'd his sheet, making my mane;

I watched the corpse, myself alane;

I watched his body, night and day;

No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,

And whiles I gaed, and whiles I satte;

I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,

And happ'd him with the sod sae green.

But think na ye my heart was sair,

When I laid the moul on his yellow hair?

O think na ye my heart was wae,

When I turn'd about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again,

Since that my lovely knight is slain;

Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair

I'll chain my heart for evermair.

Poin'd—Poinded, attached by legal distress.

FAIR HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.

The following very popular ballad has been handed down by tradition in its present imperfect state. The affecting incident, on which it is founded, is well known. A lady, of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell,[^[A]] (for this is disputed by the two clans) daughter of the laird of Kirconnell, in Dumfries-shire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming, of Kirkpatrick; that of the other has escaped tradition; though it has been alleged, that he was a Bell, of Blacket House. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the church-yard of Kirconnell, a romantic spot, surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of those private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carabine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces. Other accounts say, that Fleming pursued his enemy to Spain, and slew him in the streets of Madrid.

This dispute is owing to the uncertain date of the ballad; for, although the last proprietors if Kirconnell were Irvings, when deprived of their possession by Robert Maxwell in 1600, yet Kirconnell is termed in old chronicles The Bell's Tower; and a stone, with the arms of that family, has been found among its ruins. Fair Helen's sirname, therefore, depends upon the period at which she lived, which it is now impossible to ascertain.

The ballad, as now published, consists of two parts. The first seems to be an address, either by Fleming or his rival, to the lady; if, indeed, it constituted any portion of the original poem. For the editor cannot help suspecting, that these verses have been the production of a different and inferior bard, and only adapted to the original measure and tune. But this suspicion, being unwarranted by any copy he has been able to procure, he does not venture to do more than intimate his own opinion. The second part, by far the most beautiful, and which is unquestionably original, forms the lament of Fleming over the grave of fair Helen.

The ballad is here given, without alteration or improvement, from the most accurate copy which could be recovered. The fate of Helen has not, however, remained unsung by modern bards. A lament, of great poetical merit, by the learned historian Mr Pinkerton, with several other poems on this subject, have been printed in various forms.

The grave of the lovers is yet shewn in the church-yard of Kirconnell, near Springkell. Upon the tomb-stone can still be read—Hie jacet Adamus Fleming; a cross and sword are sculptured on the stone. The former is called, by the country people, the gun with which Helen was murdered; and the latter, the avenging sword of her lover. Sit illis terra levis! A heap of stones is raised on the spot where the murder was committed; a token of abhorrence common to most nations.[^[A]]

This practice has only very lately become obsolete in Scotland. The editor remembers, that, a few years ago, a cairn was pointed out to him in the King's Park of Edinburgh, which had been raised in detestation of a cruel murder, perpetrated by one Nicol Muschet, on the body of his wife, in that place, in the year 1720.

FAIR HELEN.

PART FIRST.

O! sweetest sweet, and fairest fair,

Of birth and worth beyond compare,

Thou art the causer of my care,

Since first I loved thee.

Yet God hath given to me a mind,

The which to thee shall prove as kind

As any one that thou shalt find,

Of high or low degree.

The shallowest water makes maist din,

The deadest pool the deepest linn.

The richest man least truth within,

Though he preferred be.

Yet, nevertheless, I am content,

And never a whit my love repent,

But think the time was a' weel spent,

Though I disdained be.

O! Helen sweet, and maist complete,

My captive spirit's at thy feet!

Thinks thou still fit thus for to treat

Thy captive cruelly?

O! Helen brave! but this I crave,

Of thy poor slave some pity have,

And do him save that's near his grave,

And dies for love of thee.

FAIR HELEN.

PART SECOND.

I wish I were where Helen lies!

Night and day on me she cries;

O that I were where Helen lies,

On fair Kirconnell Lee!

Curst be the heart, that thought the thought,

And curst the hand, that fired the shot,

When in my arms burd [^[A]] Helen dropt,

And died to succour me!

O think na ye my heart was sair,

When my love dropt down and spak nae mair!

There did she swoon wi' meikle care,

On fair Kirconnell Lee.

As I went down the water side,

None but my foe to be my guide.

None but my foe to be my guide,

On fair Kirconnell Lee.

I lighted down, my sword did draw,

I hacked him in pieces sma,

For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair, beyond compare!

I'll make a garland of thy hair,

Shall bind my heart for evermair,

Untill the day I die.

O that I were where Helen lies!

Night and day on me she cries;

Out of my bed she bids me rise,

Says, "haste, and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!

If I were with thee I were blest,

Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,

On fair Kirconnell Lee.

I wish my grave were growing green,

A winding sheet drawn ower my een,

And I in Helen's arms lying,

On fair Kirconnell Lee.

I wish I were where Helen lies!

Night and day on me she cries;

And I am weary of the skies,

For her sake that died for me.

Burd Helen—Maid Helen.

HUGHIE THE GRAEME.

The Graemes, as we have had frequent occasion to notice, were a powerful and numerous clan, who chiefly inhabited the Debateable Land. They were said to be of Scottish extraction, and their chief claimed his descent from Malice, earl of Stratherne. In military service, they were more attached to England than to Scotland; but, in their depredations on both countries, they appear to have been very impartial; for, in the year 1600, the gentlemen of Cumberland alleged to Lord Scroope, "that the Graemes, and their clans, with their children, tenants, and servants, were the chiefest actors in the spoil and decay of the country." Accordingly, they were, at that time, obliged to give a bond of surety for each other's peaceable demeanour; from which bond, their numbers appear to have exceeded four hundred men.—See Introduction to NICOLSON'S History of Cumberland, p. cviii.

Richard Graeme, of the family of Netherbye, was one of the attendants upon Charles I., when prince of Wales, and accompanied him upon his romantic journey through France and Spain. The following little anecdote, which then occurred, will shew, that the memory of the Graemes' border exploits was at that time still preserved.

"They were now entered into the deep time of Lent, and could get no flesh in their inns. Whereupon fell out a pleasant passage, if I may insert it, by the way, among more serious. There was, near Bayonne, a herd of goats, with their young ones; upon the sight whereof, Sir Richard Graham tells the marquis (of Buckingham), that he would snap one of the kids, and make some shift to carry him snug to their lodging. Which the prince overhearing, 'Why, Richard,' says he, 'do you think you may practise here your old tricks upon the borders?' Upon which words, they, in the first place, gave the goat-herd good contentment; and then, while the marquis and Richard, being both on foot, were chasing the kid about the stack, the prince, from horseback, killed him in the head, with a Scottish pistol.—Which circumstance, though trifling, may yet serve to shew how his Royal Highness, even in such slight and sportful damage, had a noble sense of just dealing."—Sir HENRY WOTTON'S Life of the Duke of Buckingham.

I find no traces of this particular Hughie Graeme, of the ballad; but, from the mention of the Bishop, I suspect he may have been one, of about four hundred borderers, against whom bills of complaint were exhibited to Robert Aldridge, lord bishop of Carlisle, about 1553, for divers incursions, burnings, murders, mutilations, and spoils, by them committed.—NICHOLSON'S History, Introduction, lxxxi. There appear a number of Graemes, in the specimen which we have of that list of delinquents. There occur, in particular,

Ritchie Grame of Bailie,

Will's Jock Grame,

Fargue's Willie Grame,

Muckle Willie Grame,

Will Grame of Rosetrees,

Ritchie Grame, younger of Netherby,

Wat Grame, called Flaughtail,

Will Grame, Nimble Willie,

Will Grahame, Mickle Willie,

with many others.

In Mr Ritson's curious and valuable collection of legendary poetry, entitled Ancient Songs, he has published this Border ditty, from a collation of two old black-letter copies, one in the collection of the late John duke of Roxburghe, and another in the hands of John Bayne, Esq.—The learned editor mentions another copy, beginning, "Good Lord John is a hunting gone." The present edition was procured for me by my friend Mr W. Laidlaw, in Blackhouse, and has been long current in Selkirkshire. Mr Ritson's copy has occasionally been resorted to for better readings.

HUGHIE THE GRAEME.

Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane,

He has ridden o'er moss and muir;

And he has grippit Hughie the Graeme,

For stealing o' the Bishop's mare.

"Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be!

"Here hangs a broad sword by my side;

"And if that thou canst conquer me,

"The matter it may soon be tryed."

"I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief;

"Although thy name be Hughie the Graeme,

"I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,

"If God but grant me life and time."

"Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,

"And deal your blows as hard as you can!

"It shall be tried, within an hour,

"Which of us two is the better man."

But as they were dealing their blows so free,

And both so bloody at the time,

Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,

All for to take brave Hughie the Graeme.

Then they hae grippit Hughie the Graeme,

And brought him up through Carlisle town;

The lasses and lads stood on the walls,

Crying, "Hughie the Graeme, thou'se ne'er gae down!"

Then hae they chosen a jury of men,

The best that were in Carlisle [^[A]] town;

And twelve of them cried out at once,

"Hughie the Graeme, thou must gae down!"

Then up bespake him gude Lord Hume,[^[B]]

As he sat by the judge's knee,—

"Twentie white owsen, my gude lord,

"If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me."

"O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume!

"For sooth and sae it manna be;

"For, were there but three Graemes of the name,

"They suld be hanged a' for me."

'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,

As she sate by the judge's knee,—

A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge,

"If you'll grant Hughie the Graeme to me."

"O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume!

"Forsooth and so it mustna be;

"Were he but the one Graeme of the name,

"He suld be hanged high for me."

"If I be guilty," said Hughie the Graeme,

"Of me my friends shall hae small talk;"

And he has loup'd fifteen feet and three,

Though his hands they were tied behind his back.

He looked over his left shoulder,

And for to see what he might see;

There was he aware of his auld father,

Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.

"O hald your tongue, my father," he says,

"And see that ye dinna weep for me!

"For they may ravish me o' my life,

"But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie.'

"Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife!

"The last time we came ower the muir,

"'Twas thou bereft me of my life,

"And wi' the Bishop thou play'd the whore.

"Here, Johnie Armstrang, take thou my sword,

"That is made o' the metal sae fine;

"And when thou comest to the English [^[C]] side,

"Remember the death of Hughie the Graeme."

Garlard—Anc. Songs.

Boles—Anc. Songs.

Border—Anc, Songs.

NOTE ON HUGHIE THE GRAEME.

And wi' the Bishop thou play'd the whore.—P. 326, v. 9.

Of the morality of Robert Aldridge, bishop of Carlisle, we know but little; but his political and religious faith were of a stretching and accommodating texture. Anthony a Wood observes, that there were many changes in his time, both in church and state; but that the worthy prelate retained his offices and preferments during them all.

JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE.

AN ANCIENT NITHESDALE BALLAD.

The hero of this ballad appears to have been an outlaw and deer-stealer—probably one of the broken men residing upon the border. There are several different copies, in one of which the principal personage is called Johnie of Cockielaw. The stanzas of greatest merit have been selected from each copy. It is sometimes said, that this outlaw possessed the old castle of Morton, in Dumfries-shire, now ruinous:—"Near to this castle there was a park, built by Sir Thomas Randolph, on the face of a very great and high hill; so artificially, that, by the advantage of the hill, all wild beasts, such as deers, harts, and roes, and hares, did easily leap in, but could not get out again; and if any other cattle, such as cows, sheep, or goats, did voluntarily leap in, or were forced to do it, it is doubted if their owners were permitted to get them out again."—Account of Presbytery of Penpont, apud Macfarlane's MSS. Such a park would form a convenient domain to an outlaw's castle, and the mention of Durrisdeer, a neighbouring parish, adds weight to the tradition. I have seen, on a mountain near Callendar, a sort of pinfold, composed of immense rocks, piled upon each other, which, I was told, was anciently constructed for the above-mentioned purpose. The mountain is thence called Uah var, or the Cove of the Giant.

JOHNIE OF BREADISLEE.

AN ANCIENT NITHISDALE BALLAD.

Johnie rose up in a May morning,

Called for water to wash his hands—

"Gar loose to me the gude graie dogs

"That are bound wi' iron bands,"

When Johnie's mother gat word o' that,

Her hands for dule she wrang—

"O Johnie! for my benison,

"To the grenewood dinna gang!

"Eneugh ye hae o' the gude wheat bread,

"And eneugh o' the blude-red wine;

"And, therefore, for nae venison, Johnie,

"I pray ye, stir frae hame."

But Johnie's busk't up his gude bend bow,

His arrows, ane by ane;

And he has gane to Durrisdeer

To hunt the dun deer down.

As he came down by Merriemass,

And in by the benty line,

There has he espied a deer lying

Aneath a bush of ling.[^[A]]

Johnie he shot, and the dun deer lap,

And he wounded her on the side;

But, atween the water and the brae,

His hounds they laid her pride.

And Johnie has bryttled [^[B]] the deer sae weel,

That he's had out her liver and lungs;

And wi' these he has feasted his bludy hounds,

As if they had been erl's sons.

They eat sae much o' the venison,

And drank sae much o' the blude,

That Johnie and a' his bludy hounds

Fell asleep, as they had been dead.

And by there came a silly auld carle,

An ill death mote he die!

For he's awa to Hislinton,

Where the Seven Foresters did lie.

"What news, what news, ye gray-headed carle,

"What news bring ye to me?"

"I bring nae news," said the gray-headed carle,

"Save what these eves did see.

"As I came down by Merriemass,

"And down amang the scroggs,[^[C]]

"The bonniest childe that ever I saw

"Lay sleeping amang his dogs.

"The shirt that was upon his back

"Was o' the Holland fine;

"The doublet which was over that

"Was o' the lincome twine.

"The buttons that were on his sleeve

"Were o' the goud sae gude;

"The gude graie hounds he lay amang,

"Their months were dyed wi' blude."

Then out and spak the First Forester,

The held man ower them a'—

If this be Johnie o' Breadislee,

"Nae nearer will we draw."

But up and spak the Sixth Forester,

(His sister's son was he)

"If this be Johnie o' Breadislee,

"We soon snall gar him die!"

The first flight of arrows the Foresters shot,

They wounded him on the knee;

And out and spak the Seventh Forester,

"The next will gar him die."

Johnie's set his back against an aik,

His fute against a stane;

And he has slain the Seven Foresters,

He has slam them a' but ane.

He has broke three ribs in that ane's side,

But and his collar bane;

He's laid him twa-fald ower his steed,

Bade him cany the tidings hame.

"O is there na a bonnie bird,

"Can sing as I can say;

"Could flee away to my mother's bower,

"And tell to fetch Johnie away?"

The starling flew to his mother's window stane,

It whistled and it sang;

And aye the ower word o' the tune

Was—"Johnie tarries lang!"

They made a rod o the hazel bush,

Another o' the slae-thorn tree,

And mony mony were the men

At fetching our Johnie.

Then out and spak his auld mother,

And fast her tears did fa'—

"Ye wad nae be warned, my son Johnie,

"Frae the hunting to bide awa.

"Aft hae I brought to Breadislee,

"The less gear [^[D]] and the mair,

"But I ne'er brought to Breadislee,

"What grieved my heart sae sair!

"But wae betyde that silly auld carle!

"An ill death shall he die!

"For the highest tree in Merriemass

"Shall be his morning's fee."

Now Johnie's gude bend bow is broke,

And his gude graie dogs are slain;

And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,

And his hunting it is done.

Ling—Heath.

Brytlled—To cut up venison. See the ancient ballad of Chevy Chace, v. 8.

Scroggs—Stunted trees.

[D]

Gear—Usually signifies goods, but here spoil.

KATHERINE JANFARIE.

The Ballad was published in the first edition of this work, under the title of "The Laird of Laminton." It is now given in a more perfect state, from several recited copies. The residence of the Lady, and the scene of the affray at her bridal, is said, by old people, to have been upon the banks of the Cadden, near to where it joins the Tweed. Others say the skirmish was fought near Traquair, and KATHERINE JANFARIE'S dwelling was in the glen, about three miles above Traquair house.

There was a may, and a weel far'd may.,

Lived high up in yon glen;

Her name was Katherine Janfarie,

She was courted by mony men.

Up then came Lord Lauderdale,

Up frae the Lawland border;

And he has come to court this may,

A' mounted in good order.

He told na her father, he told na her mother,

And he told na ane o' her kin;

But he whisper'd the bonnie lassie hersel',

And has her favour won.

But out then cam Lord Lochinvar,

Out frae the English border,

All for to court this bonnie may,

Weil mounted, and in order.

He told her father, he told her mother,

And a' the lave o' her kin;

But he told na the bonnie may hersel',

Till on her wedding e'en.

She sent to the Lord of Lauderdale,

Gin he wad come and see;

And he has sent word back again,

Weel answered she suld be.

And he has sent a messenger

Right quickly through the land,

And raised mony an armed man

To be at his command.

The bride looked out at a high window,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And she was aware of her first true love,

With riders mony a one.

She scoffed him, and scorned him,

Upon her wedding day;

And said—"It was the Fairy court

"To see him in array!

"O come ye here to fight, young lord,

"Or come ye here to play?

"Or come ye here to drink good wine

"Upon the wedding day?"

"I come na here to fight," he said,

"I come na here to play;

"I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonnie bride,

"And mount and go my way."

It is a glass of the blood-red wine

Was filled up them between,

And aye she drank to Lauderdale,

Wha her true love had been.

He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,

And by the grass-green sleeve;

He's mounted her hie behind himsell,

At her kinsmen spear'd na leave.

"Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar!

"Now take her if you may!

"But, if you take your bride again,

"We'll call it but foul play."

There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,

A' clad in the Johnstone grey;[^[A]]

They said they would take the bride again,

By the strong hand, if they may.

Some o' them were right willing men,

But they were na willing a';

And four-and-twenty Leader lads

Bid them mount and ride awa'.

Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,

And swords flew frae the shea's,

And red and rosy was the blood

Ran down the lily braes.

The blood ran down by Caddon bank,

And down by Caddon brae;

And, sighing, said the bonnie bride—

"O waes me for foul play!"

My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!

Wae to your willfu' will!

There's mony a gallant gentleman

Whae's blude ye have garr'd to spill.

Now a' you lords of fair England,

And that dwell by the English border,

Come never here to seek a wife,

For fear of sic disorder.

They'll haik ye up, and settle ye bye,

Till on your wedding day;

Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,

And play ye foul foul play.

Johnstone grey—The livery of the ancient family of Johnstone.

THE LAIRD O' LOGIE

An edition of this ballad is current, under the title of "The Laird of Ochiltree;" but the editor, since publication of this work, has been fortunate enough to recover the following more correct and ancient copy, as recited by a gentleman residing near Biggar. It agrees more nearly, both in the name and in the circumstances, with the real fact, than the printed ballad of Ochiltree.

In the year 1592, Francis Stuart, earl of Bothwell, was agitating his frantic and ill-concerted attempts against the person of James VI., whom he endeavoured to surprise in the palace of Falkland. Through the emulation and private rancour of the courtiers, he found adherents even about the king's person; among whom, it seems, was the hero of our ballad, whose history is thus narrated in that curious and valuable chronicle, of which the first part has been published under the title of "The Historie of "King James the Sext," and the second is now in the press.

"In this close tyme it fortunit, that a gentelman, callit Weymis of Logye, being also in credence at court, was delatit as a traffekker with Frances Erle Bothwell; and he being examinat before king and counsall, confessit his accusation to be of veritie, that sundrie tymes he had spokin with him, expresslie aganis the king's inhibitioun proclamit in the contrare, whilk confession he subscryvit with his hand; and because the event of this mater had sik a succes, it sall also be praysit be my pen, as a worthie turne, proceiding frome honest chest loove and charitie, whilk suld on na wayis be obscurit from the posteritie for the gude example; and therefore I have thought gude to insert the same for a perpetual memorie.

"Queen Anne, our noble princess, was servit with dyverss gentilwemen of hir awin cuntrie, and naymelie with are callit Mres Margaret Twynstoun,[^[A]] to whome this gentilman, Weymes of Logye, bure great honest affection, tending to the godlie band of marriage, the whilk was honestlie requytet be the said gentilwoman, yea evin in his greatest mister; for howsone she understude the said gentilman to be in distress, and apperantlie be his confession to be puueist to the death, and she having prevelege to ly in the queynis chalmer that same verie night of his accusation, whare the king was also reposing that same night, she came forth of the dur prevelie, bayth the prencis being then at quyet rest, and past to the chalmer, whare the said gentilman was put in custodie to certayne of the garde, and commandit thayme that immediatelie he sould be broght to the king and queyne, whareunto thay geving sure credence, obeyit. Bot howsone she was cum bak to the chalmer dur, she desyrit the watches to stay till he sould cum furth agayne, and so she closit the dur, and convoyit the gentilman to a windo', whare she ministrat a long corde unto him to convoy himself doun upon; and sa, be hir gude cheritable help, he happelie escapit be the subteltie of loove."

Twynelace, according to Spottiswoode.

THE LAIRD O' LOGIE.

I will sing, if ye will hearken,

If ye will hearken unto me;

The king has ta'en a poor prisoner,

The wanton laird o' young Logie.

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel;

Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;

And may Margaret's lamenting sair,

A' for the love of young Logie.

"Lament, lament na, may Margaret,

"And of your weeping let me be;

"For ye maun to the king himsell,

"To seek the life of young Logie."

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,

And she has curl'd back her yellow hair—

"If I canna get young Logie's life,

"Fareweel to Scotland for evermair."

When she came before the king,

She knelit lowly on her knee—

"O what's the matter, may Margaret?

"And what needs a' this courtesie?"

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,

"A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!

"And the first boon that I come to crave,

"Is to grant me the life of young Logic."

"O na, O na, may Margaret,

"Forsooth, and so it manna be;

"For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland

"Shall not save the life of young Logie."

But she has stown the king's redding kaim,[^[A]]

Likewise the queen her wedding knife;

And sent the tokens to Carmichael,

To cause young Logic get his life.

She sent him a purse o' the red gowd,

Another o' the white monie;

She sent him a pistol for each hand,

And bade him shoot when he gat free.

When he came to the tolbooth stair,

There he let his volley flee;

It made the king in his chamber start,

E'en in the bed where he might be.

"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',

"And bid Carmichael come speak to me;

"For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,

"That yon's the shot o' young Logie."

When Carmichael came before the king,

He fell low down upon his knee;

The very first word that the king spake,

Was—"Where's the laird of young Logie?"

Carmichael turn'd him round about,

(I wot the tear blinded his eye)

"There came a token frae your grace,

"Has ta'en away the laird frae me."

"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?"

"And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;

"The morn the justice court's to stand,

"And Logic's place ye maun supply."

Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,

Even as fast as he may drie—

"O if young Logie be within,

"Tell him to come and speak with me!"

May Margaret turned her round about,

(I wot a loud laugh laughed she)

"The egg is chipped, the bird is flown,

"Ye'll see na mair of young Logie."

The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith,

The tother at the Queen's Ferrie;

And she's gotten a father to her bairn,

The wanton laird of young Logie.

Redding kain—Comb for the hair.

NOTE ON THE LAIRD O' LOGIE.

Carmichael's the keeper o' the key.—P. 344. v. 2.

Sir John Carmichael of Carmichael, the hero of the ballad, called the Raid of the Reidswair, was appointed captain of the king's guard in 1588, and usually had the keeping of state criminals of rank.

A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE.

This is a sort of charm, sung by the lower ranks of Roman Catholics, in some parts of the north of England, while watching a dead body, previous to interment. The tune is doleful and monotonous, and, joined to the mysterious import of the words, has a solemn effect. The word sleet, in the chorus, seems to be corrupted from selt, or salt; a quantity of which, in compliance with a popular superstition, is frequently placed on the breast of a corpse.

The mythologic ideas of the dirge are common to various creeds. The Mahometan believes, that, in advancing to the final judgment seat, he must traverse a bar of red-hot iron, stretched across a bottomless gulph. The good works of each true believer, assuming a substantial form, will then interpose betwixt his feet and this "Bridge of Dread;" but the wicked, having no such protection, must fall headlong into the abyss.—D'HERBELOT, Bibiotheque Orientale.

Passages, similar to this dirge, are also to be found in Lady Culross's Dream, as quoted in the second Dissertation prefixed by Mr Pinkerton to his Select Scottish Ballads, 2 vols. The dreamer journeys towards heaven, accompanied and assisted by a celestial guide:

Through dreadful dens, which made my heart aghast,

He bare me up when I began to tire.

Sometimes we clamb o'er craggy mountains high.

And sometimes stay'd on uglie braes of sand:

They were so stay that wonder was to see;

But, when I fear'd, he held me by the hand.

Through great deserts we wandered on our way—

Forward we passed on narrow bridge of trie,

O'er waters great, which hediously did roar.

Again, she supposes herself suspended over an infernal gulph:

Ere I was ware, one gripped me at the last,

And held me high above a naming fire.

The fire was great; the heat did pierce me sore;

My faith grew weak.; my grip was very small;

I trembled fast; my fear grew more and more.

A horrible picture of the same kind, dictated probably by the author's unhappy state of mind, is to be found in Brooke's Fool of Quality. The dreamer, a ruined female, is suspended over the gulph of perdition by a single hair, which is severed by a demon, who, in the form of her seducer springs upwards from the flames.

The Russian funeral service, without any allegorical imagery, expresses the sentiment of the dirge in language alike simple and noble.

"Hast thou pitied the afflicted, O man? In death shalt thou be pitied. Hast thou consoled the orphan? The orphan will deliver thee. Hast thou clothed the naked? The naked will procure thee protection."—RICHARDSON'S Anecdotes of Russia.

But the most minute description of the Brig o' Dread, occurs in the legend of Sir Owain, No. XL. in the MS. Collection of Romances, W. 4.1. Advocates' Library, Edinburgh; though its position is not the same as in the dirge, which may excite a suspicion that the order of the stanzas in the latter has been transposed. Sir Owain, a Northumbrian knight, after many frightful adventures in St Patrick's purgatory, at last arrives at the bridge, which, in the legend, is placed betwixt purgatory and paradise:

The fendes han the knight ynome,

To a stinkand water thai ben ycome,

He no seigh never er non swiche;

It stank fouler than ani hounde.

And maui mile it was to the grounde.

And was as swart as piche.

And Owain seigh ther ouer ligge

A swithe strong naru brigge:

The fendes seyd tho;

"Lo! sir knight, sestow this?

"This is the brigge of paradis,

"Here ouer thou must go.

"And we the schul with stones prowe,

"And the winde the schul ouer blow,

"And wirche the full wo;

"Thou no schalt tor all this unduerd,

"Bot gif thou falle a midwerd,

"To our fewes[A] mo.

"And when thou art adown yfalle,

"Than schal com our felawes alle,

"And with her hokes the hede;

"We schul the teche a newe play:

"Thou hast served ous mani a day,

"And into helle the lede."

Owain biheld the brigge smert,

The water ther under blac and swert,

And sore him gan to drede:

For of othing he tok yeme,

Never mot, in sonne beme,

Thicker than the fendes yede.

The brigge was as heigh as a tour,

And as scharpe as a rasour,

And naru it was also;

And the water that ther ran under,

Brend o' lighting and of thonder,

That thoght him michel wo.

Ther nis no clerk may write with ynke,

No no man no may bithink,

No no maister deuine;

That is ymade forsoth ywis.

Under the brigge of paradis,

Halvendel the pine.

So the dominical ous telle,

That is the pure entrae of helle,

Seine Poule berth witnesse;[^[A]]

Whoso falleth of the brigge adown,

Of him nis no redempcioun,

Noîther more nor lesse.

The fendes seyd to the knight tho,

"Ouer this brigge might thou nowght go,

"For noneskines nede;

"Fle peril sorwe and wo,

"And to that stede ther thou com fro,

"Wel fair we schul the lede."

Owain anon be gan bithenche,

Fram hou mani of the fendes wrenche,

God him saved hadde;

He sett his fot opon the brigge,

No feld he no scharpe egge,

No nothing him no drad.

When the fendes yseigh tho,

That he was more than half ygo,

Loude thai gun to crie;

"Alias! alias! that he was born!

"This ich night we have forlorn

"Out of our baylie."

Fewes—Probably contracted for fellows.

The reader will probably search St Paul in vain, for the evidence here referred to.

The author of the Legend of Sir Owain, though a zealous catholic, has embraced, in the fullest extent, the Talmudic doctrine of an earthly paradise, distinct from the celestial abode of the just, and serving as a place of initiation, preparatory to perfect bliss, and to the beatific vision.—See the Rabbi Menasse ben Israel, in a treatise called Nishmath Chajim, i.e. The Breath of Life.

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.

NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.

This ballad, which is a very great favourite among the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest, is universally believed to be founded in fact. The editor found it easy to collect a variety of copies; but very difficult, indeed, to select from them such a collated edition, as may, in any degree, suit the taste of "these more light and giddy-paced times."

Tradition places the event, recorded in the song, very early; and it is probable that the ballad was composed soon afterwards, although the language has been gradually modernized, in the course of its transmission to us, through the inaccurate channel of oral tradition.—The bard does not relate particulars, but barely the striking outlines of a fact, apparently so well known when he wrote, as to render minute detail as unnecessary, as it is always tedious and unpoetical.

The hero of the ballad was a knight of great bravery, called Scott, who is said to have resided at Kirkhope, or Oakwood castle, and is, in tradition, termed the Baron of Oakwood. The estate of Kirkhope belonged anciently to the Scotts of Harden: Oakwood is still their property, and has been so from time immemorial. The editor was therefore led to suppose, that the hero of the ballad might have been identified with John Scott, sixth son of the laird of Harden, murdered in Ettrick Forest by his kinsmen, the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh (see notes to Jamie Telfer, Vol. I. p. 152). This appeared the more probable, as the common people always affirm, that this young man was treacherously slain, and that, in evidence thereof, his body remained uncorrupted for many years; so that even the roses on his shoes seemed as fresh as when he was first laid in the family vault at Hassendean. But from a passage in Nisbet's Heraldry, he now believes the ballad refers to a duel fought at Deucharswyre, of which Annan's Treat is a part, betwixt John Scott of Tushielaw and his brother-in-law Walter Scott, third son of Robert of Thirlestane, in which the latter was slain.

In ploughing Annan's Treat, a huge monumental stone, with an inscription, was discovered; but being rather scratched than engraved, and the lines being run through each other, it is only possible to read one or two Latin words. It probably records the event of the combat.—The person slain was the male ancestor of the present Lord Napier.

Tradition affirms, that the hero of the song (be he who he may) was murdered by the brother, either of his wife, or betrothed bride. The alleged cause of malice was, the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property, upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name of the murderer is said to have been Annan, and the place of combat is still called Annan's Treat. It is a low muir, on the banks of the Yarrow, lying to the west of Yarrow Kirk. Two tall unhewn masses of stone are erected, about eighty yards distant from each other; and the least child, that can herd a cow, will tell the passenger, that there lie "the two lords, who were slain in single combat."

It will be, with many readers, the greatest recommendation of these verses, that they are supposed to have suggested to Mr Hamilton, of Bangour, the modern ballad, beginning,

"Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride."

A fragment, apparently regarding the story of the following ballad, but in a different measure, occurs in Mr Herd's MSS., and runs thus:—

"When I look cast, my heart is sair,

"But when I look west, its mair and mair;

"For then I see the braes o' Yarrow,

"And there, for aye, I lost my marrow."

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.

Late at e'en, drinking the wine,

And ere they paid the lawing,

They set a combat them between,

To fight it in the dawing.

"O stay at hame, my noble lord!

"O stay at hame, my marrow!

"My cruel brother will you betray

"On the dowie houms of Yarrow."

"O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!

"O fare ye weel, my Sarah!

"For I maun gae, though I ne'er return,

"Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaimed his hair,

As oft she had done before, O;

She belted him with his noble brand,

And he's awa' to Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank,

I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,

Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"O come ye here to part your land,

"The bonnie forest thorough?

"Or come ye here to wield your brand,

"On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"

"I come not here to part my land,

"And neither to beg nor borrow;

"I come to wield my noble brand,

"On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;

"And that's an unequal marrow;

"Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,

"On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,

On the bloody braes of Yarrow,

Till that stubborn knight came him behind,

And ran his bodie thorough.

"Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother [^[A]] John,

"And tell your sister Sarah,

"To come and lift her leafu' lord;

"He's sleepin sound on Yarrow."——

"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream;

"I fear there will be sorrow!

"I dream'd, I pu'd the heather green,

"Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,

"From where my love repaireth,

"Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,

"And tell me how he fareth!

"But in the glen strive armed men;

"They've wrought me dole and sorrow;

"They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain—

"He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high high hill,

She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,

And in the den spyed ten slain men,

On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,

She search'd his wounds all thorough;

She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!

"For a' this breeds but sorrow;

"I'll wed ye to a better lord,

"Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, my father dear!

"Ye mind me but of sorrow;

"A fairer rose did never bloom

"Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."