Hey and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme,
For, saving your presence, to her ye're a saint.
And the thyme it is wither'd and rue is in prime.
Kellyburn Braes.
Is those good old times so much to be regretted, when every noble had the right and privilege of administering justice or injustice on his own vassals, when hanging was in the hands of the gentry, and law in the mouth of every feudal chief--when the crumbling towers, where the moping owl now sits in melancholy solitude, were peopled with the gay, and the bright, and the fair--when the courts where the lonely wind whistles as in mockery of their emptiness, resounded to the clang of arms and the voice of the trumpet--when feast and revel filled those halls, where now sits nothing but silence and desolation;--the bravest of the brave was the Lord of the Château de B----, and the fairest of the fair was his lady. Beauty and wit were her's, and courage and wealth were his, and all thought the Marquis the happiest of mortals, except himself. How it came about, and why, does not appear, but a violent hatred took place between the Marquis and a neighbouring Baron, but histories do not mention that the Marchioness participated in her husband's dislike.
Some said, that the Marquis was jealous, and called him "poor man!" but as if to give them all the lie, and prove that he loved his wife dearly and suspected her not at all, he came to a sudden resolution to call together his vassals and retainers and join the crusade, for it was just about this time that Peter the Hermit went through Europe like a mad dog, infecting everybody with a desire to bite the Saracens. Every wise man makes a will, and the Marquis wisely calculating that a man who goes to cut other folk's throats, may find some one by the way to cut his own, caused to be made and delivered his last will and testament, leaving all his goods and effects, real and personal, to his dearly beloved wife in case of his death; and further adding a proviso, that if he did not return or send a messenger announcing his existence within seven years, she might look upon him as dead to all intents and purposes, and marry again to her heart's content: but he made it a private request, that she would never espouse the obnoxious Baron, which she promised faithfully, not to do.
Now when the will was made as above stated by the Marquis's chaplain, who could read and write, the Marquis, who could not, made a cross at the bottom and stamped the wax with the pommel of his sword, and the Marchioness kissed her lord and wept bitterly to think of his dying at all.
At length the dreaded day of departure came. The vassals and retainers marched out of the castle in gallant array, and the Marquis's page told him that his charger was prepared, whereupon the Marchioness fainted--dead as a stone. The Marquis waited till she had recovered, and then snatched himself away and departed, while the Marchioness, with flowing tears and streaming hair, stood in the highest tower watching the horsemen till the top of the last spear was hid behind the mountain, and then she came down and said to the servant, "At home to nobody but the Baron."
* * * * *
In the mean time the Marquis joined the crusaders, arrived safely in the Holy Land, and for some time performed prodigies of valour; till at length one of these same prodigies conducted him into a Saracen prison, where he lingered, like good King Lusignan, living principally upon roasted chestnuts and mare's milk, for there were no cows in Jerusalem. His fortitude would have melted a heart of stone, but as it did not melt the stones of the prison, it served him but little, although being of an ingenious turn, he used occasionally to carve figures on little sticks, and Make whistles out of a marrowbone when he could get one.