Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 16

by Unknown

"Ye banks and braes o'bonny Doon,
How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair!
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae weary fu' o'care!"

But this beautiful lyric was not then in existence, nor for nearly two centuries after.

It was about the end of the fourth year after her marriage, and while leading this solitary and melancholy life, that the Countess of Cassilis, as she walked one evening, as was her wont, on the battlements of the castle, was suddenly alarmed by seeing a numerous band of gipsies approaching the building; and she was the more alarmed, that the earl, with nearly all his immediate retainers, was at that moment from home, the former being then in attendance on the Assembly of Divines at Westminster. The countess, however, would have felt but little uneasiness at the threatened visit of these wanderers, although they had been even much more numerous than they were—for such visitations were then of ordinary occurrence—had they presented the usual appearance, and had the band been composed of the usual materials—that is, of men, women, and children. But in this case there were none of the latter. The whole were men—and all young, stout, active-looking men they were: and hence the alarm of the countess.

Her fears, however, did not prevent her watching their motions for some time, ere she descended from the battlements; and this surveillance discovered to her that they were under the conduct of a leader, and that they were approaching the castle with a very suspicious degree of caution, and yet with a still more startling haste.

Strongly suspecting that the designs of the gipsies were evil, the Countess of Cassilis hastened down from the battlements, and secured herself within the walls of the castle. In the meantime, the band of gipsies approached; but, instead of attempting any violence, they began to sing some of the wild strains with which they usually sought to attract the notice and excite the charity of those to whom they appealed. Her apprehensions somewhat allayed by this pacific indication, the countess ventured towards a window that overlooked the rude minstrels, and was about to fling them a suitable guerdon, when, on obtaining the nearer view of their leader which this step afforded, she uttered a piercing shriek, and fell senseless on the floor. His disguise had not been able to conceal from her—for sharp, sharp are the eyes of love—that in the leader of the gipsies she had met with the lost knight of Dunbar. In the next instant, the countess was in the arms of the lover of her youth. He it was who acted as leader of the gipsies; and the purpose for which he now came was to carry off, in the absence of her husband—of whose absence he was aware—the betrothed of his early years.

In place of having been assassinated, as was generally believed, Sir John had been consigned to the dungeons of the Inquisition, in consequence of some unguarded expressions regarding the holy office which he had allowed to escape him when in Madrid; and in these dungeons had he lain, from the time he was first lost sight of, till within about six weeks of his appearance at Cassilis Castle. On his return home, he had learned, for the first time, of the marriage of the Lady Jane to the Earl of Cassilis; and this information having been accompanied by the intelligence that the latter was then in London, had determined him on the desperate enterprise in which he was now engaged. All this Sir John now communicated to the countess, and ended with proposing that she should fly with him.

"No, no, Sir John," said the now weeping and dreadfully-agitated lady—"I cannot, I will not, do anything so unbecoming the daughter of the Earl of Haddington and the wife of Cassilis. However unwillingly I may have become the latter, I feel myself equally bound to consult his honour as my own, and do nothing that might sully either. Go then, Sir John," she continued; "oh, do depart from me—do leave me, and take with you an assurance of my continued and unabated"—she paused for a moment, and added—"esteem."

But vain, vain were the good resolutions of the unfortunate countess—vain her determination not to take so hazardous, and perhaps it ought to be added, so infamous a step as that proposed by her desperate and unthinking lover. Love, almighty love, finally prevailed—all the countess's resolutions melted away before the energetic importunities of her lover, like snow beneath the midsummer sun; and the succeeding hour saw her mounted on the mettled steed which he had brought for the express purpose of carrying her away—

"So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung."

This done, exactly as the poet has described it, the ill-starred pair commenced their flight, still attended, however, by the gipsy band which Sir John had employed to aid him in the abduction, and which he thought it necessary to keep around him till he should have got to a sufficient distance to be relieved from all apprehensions of pursuit.