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 THE 
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE: 
 
 A 
 
 By JAMES HOGG. 
 
 Be mine to read the visions old, 
 Which thy awakening Bards have told; 
 And whilst they meet my tranced view, 
 Hold each strange tale devoutly true. 
 
 COLLINS. 
 
 SIXTH EDITION. 
 
 EDINBURGH; 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, PRINCE'S-STREET : 
 
 AND JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. LONDON. 
 
 181Q.
 
 P/Z 
 
 PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES, 
 A SHEPHERD 
 
 AMONG 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS OF SCOTLAND. 
 
 DEDICATES 
 
 THIS POEM. 
 
 Eltkive, May 1811. 
 
 'O.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 INTRODUCTION 1 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST 31 
 
 Malcolm of Lorn ~~. 35 
 
 Young Kennedy , 49 
 
 The Witch of Fife 70 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND 97 
 
 Glen-Avin 104 
 
 Old David 118 
 
 The Spectre's Cradle Song.., ~,.~~ 145 
 
 M'Gregor 147 
 
 Earl Walter 155 
 
 Kilmeny 176 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD 199 
 
 Mary Scott- ~ 208 
 
 King Edward's Dream 257 
 
 Dumlanrig , 266 
 
 The Abbot M'Kinnon 298 
 
 The Monks' Hymn 308 
 
 Tlie Mermaid's Song 311 
 
 CONCLUSION 317 
 
 NOTES 341
 
 INTRODUCTION.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IN ow burst, ye Winter clouds that lower, 
 
 Fling from your folds the piercing shower ; 
 
 Sing to the tower and leafless tree, 
 
 Ye cold winds of adversity ; 
 
 Your blights, your chilling influence shed, 
 
 On wareless heart, and houseless head, 
 
 Your ruth or fury I disdain, 
 
 I've found my Mountain Lyre again. 
 
 Come to my heart, my only stay ! 
 Companion of a happier day ! 
 Thou gift of Heaven, thou pledge of good, 
 Harp of the mountain and the wood !
 
 4 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 I little thought, when first I tried 
 Thy notes by lone Saint Mary's side, 
 When in a deep untrodden den, 
 I found thee in the braken glen, 
 I little thought that idle toy 
 Should e'er become my only joy ! 
 
 A maiden's youthful smiles had wove 
 Around my heart the toils of love, 
 When first thy magic wires I rung, 
 And on the breeze thy numbers flung. 
 The fervid tear played in mine eye ; 
 I trembled, wept, and wondered why. 
 Sweet was the thrilling ecstacy 
 I know not if 'twas love or thee. 
 
 Weened not my heart, when youth had flown 
 Friendship would fade, or fortune frown ; 
 When pleasure, love, and mirth were past, 
 That thou should'st prove my all at last !
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Jeered by conceit and lordly pride, 
 I flung my soothing harp aside ; 
 With wayward fortune strove a while ; 
 Wrecked in a world of self and guile. 
 Again I sought the braken hill ; 
 Again sat musing by the rill ; 
 My wild sensations all were gone, 
 And only thou wert left alone. 
 Long hast thou in the moorland lain, 
 Now welcome to my heart again. 
 
 The russet weed of mountain gray 
 No more shall round thy border play ; 
 No more the brake-flowers, o'er thee piled, 
 Shall mar thy tones and measures wild. 
 Harp of the Forest, thou shalt be 
 Fair as the bud on forest tree ! 
 Sweet be thy strains, as those that swell 
 In Ettrick's green and fairy dell ; 
 Soft as the breeze of falling even, 
 And purer than the dews of heaven.
 
 O THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Of minstrel honours, now no more ; 
 Of bards, who sung in days of yore ; 
 Of gallant chiefs, in courtly guise ; 
 Of ladies' 1 smiles, of ladies 1 eyes ; 
 Of royal feast and obsequies ; 
 When Caledon, with look severe, 
 Saw Beauty's hand her sceptre bear, 
 By cliff and haunted wild I'll sing, 
 Responsive to thy dulcet string. 
 
 When wanes the circling year away, 
 When scarcely smiles the doubtful day, 
 Fair daughter of Dunedin, say, 
 Hast thou not heard, at midnight deep, 
 Soft music on thy slumbers creep ? 
 At such a time, if careless thrown 
 Thy slender form on couch of down, 
 Hast thou not felt, to nature true, 
 The tear steal from thine eye so blue ? 
 If then thy guiltless bosom strove 
 In blissful dreams of conscious love.
 
 INTRODUCTION. T 
 
 And even shrunk from proffer bland 
 Of lover's visionary hand, 
 On such ecstatic dream when brake 
 The music of the midnight Wake, 
 Hast thou not weened thyself on high, 
 List'ning to angels' 1 melody, 
 'Scaped from a world of cares away, 
 To dream of love and bliss for aye ? 
 
 The dream dispelled, the music gone, 
 Hast thou not, sighing, all alone, 
 Proffered thy vows to Heaven, and then 
 Blest the sweet Wake, and slept again ? 
 
 Then list, ye maidens, to my lay, 
 Though old the tale, and past the day ; 
 Those Wakes, now played by minstrels poor, 
 At midnight's darkest, chillest hour, 
 Those humble Wakes, now scorned by all, 
 Were first begun in courtly hall,
 
 o THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 When royal Mary, blithe of mood, 
 Kept holiday at Holyrood. 
 
 Scotland, involved in factious broils, 
 Groaned deep beneath her woes and toils, 
 And looked o'er meadow, dale, and lea, 
 For many a day her Queen to see ; 
 Hoping that then her woes would cease, 
 And all her vallies smile in peace. 
 The Spring was past, the Summer gone ; 
 Still vacant stood the Scottish throne : 
 But scarce had Autumn's mellow hand 
 Waved her rich banner o'er the land, 
 When rang the shouts, from tower and tree, 
 That Scotland's Queen was on the sea. 
 Swift spread the news o'er down and dale, 
 Swift as the lively autumn gale ; 
 Away, away, it echoed still, 
 O'er many a moor and Highland hill, 
 Till rang each glen and verdant plain, 
 From Cheviot to the northern main.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Each bard attuned the loyal lay, 
 And for Dunedin hied away ; 
 Each harp was strung in woodland bower, 
 In praise of beauty"^ bonniest flower. 
 The chiefs forsook their ladies fair ; 
 The priest his beads and books of prayer ; 
 The farmer left his harvest day, 
 The shepherd all his flocks to stray ; 
 The forester forsook the wood, 
 And hasted on to Holyrood. 
 
 After a youth, by woes o'ercast, 
 After a thousand sorrows past, 
 The lovely Mary once again 
 Set foot upon her native plain ; 
 Kneeled on the pier with modest grace, 
 And turned to heaven her beauteous face. 
 'Twas then the caps in air were blended, 
 A thousand thousand shouts ascended ; 
 Shivered the breeze around the throng ; 
 Gray barrier cliffs the peals prolong ;
 
 10 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 And every tongue gave thanks to Heaven, 
 That Mary to their hopes was given. 
 
 Her comely form and graceful mien, 
 Bespoke the Lady and the Queen ; 
 The woes of one so fair and young, 
 Moved every heart and every tongue. 
 Driven from her home, a helpless child, 
 To brave the winds and billows wild ; 
 An exile bred in realms afar, 
 Amid commotion, broil, and war. 
 In one short year her hopes all crossed, 
 A parent, husband, kingdom lost ! 
 And all ere eighteen years had shed 
 Their honours o'er her royal head. 
 For such a Queen, the Stuarts' heir, 
 A Queen so courteous, young, and fair, 
 Who would not every foe defy ! 
 Who would not stand ! who would not die ! 
 
 Light on her airy steed she sprung, 
 Around with golden tassels hung,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 No chieftain there rode half so free, 
 
 Or half so light and gracefully. 
 
 How sweet to see her ringlets pale 
 
 Wide waving in the southland gale, 
 
 Which through the broom- wood blossoms flew, 
 
 To fan her cheeks of rosy hue ! 
 
 Whene'er it heaved her bosom's screen, 
 
 What beauties in her form were seen ! 
 
 And when her courser's mane it swung, 
 
 A thousand silver bells were rung. 
 
 A sight so fair, on Scottish plain, 
 
 A Scot shall never see again. 
 
 When Mary turned her wondering eyes 
 On rocks that seemed to prop the skies ; 
 On palace, park, and battled pile ; 
 On lake, on river, sea, and isle ; 
 O'er woods and meadows bathed in dew. 
 To distant mountains wild and blue ; 
 She thought the isle that gave her birth. 
 The sweetest, wildest land on earth.
 
 12 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Slowly she ambled on her way 
 Amid her lords and ladies gay. 
 Priest, abbot, layman, all were there, 
 And Presbyter with look severe. 
 There rode the lords of France and Spain, 
 Of England, Flanders, and Lorraine, 
 While serried thousands round them stood, 
 From shore of Leith to Holyrood. 
 
 Though Mary's heart was light as air 
 To find a home so wild and fair ; 
 To see a gathered nation by, 
 And rays of joy from every eye ; 
 Though frequent shouts the welkin broke, 
 Though courtiers bowed and ladies spoke, 
 An absent look they oft could trace 
 Deep settled on her comely face. 
 Was it the thought, that all alone 
 She must support a rocking throne ? 
 That Caledonia's rugged land 
 Might scorn a Lady's weak command,
 
 INTRODUCTION. 13 
 
 And the Red Lion's haughty eye 
 Scowl at a maiden's feet to lie ? 
 
 No ; 'twas the notes of Scottish song, 
 Soft pealing from the countless throng. 
 So mellowed came the distant swell, 
 That on her ravished ear it fell 
 Like dew of heaven, at evening close, 
 On forest flower or woodland rose. 
 For Mary's heart, to nature true, 
 The powers of song and music knew : 
 But all the choral measures bland, 
 Of anthems sung in southern land, 
 Appeared an useless pile of art, 
 Unfit to sway or melt the heart, 
 Compared with that which floated by, 
 Her simple native melody. 
 
 As she drew nigh the Abbey stile, 
 She halted, reined, and bent the while :
 
 14 THE QUEEN'S WAKL.. 
 
 She heard the Caledonian lyre 
 
 Pour forth its notes of runic iire ; 
 
 But scarcely caught the ravished Queen, 
 
 The minstrel's song that flowed between ; 
 
 Entranced upon the strain she hung, 
 
 'Twas thus the gray-haired minstrel sung. 
 
 " O ! Lady dear, fair is thy noon, 
 But man is like the inconstant moon : 
 Last night she smiled o'er lawn and lea ; 
 That moon will change, and so will he. 
 
 " Thy time, dear Lady, 's a passing shower ; 
 Thy beauty is but a fading flower ; 
 Watch thy young bosom, and maiden eye, 
 For the shower must fall, and the flowVet die." 
 
 What ails my Queen ? said good Argyle. 
 Why fades upon her cheek the smile ?
 
 INTRODUCTION. 15 
 
 Say, rears your steed too fierce and high ? 
 Or sits your golden seat awry ? 
 
 Ah ! no, my Lord ! this noble steed, 
 Of Rouen's calm and generous breed, 
 Has borne me over hill and plain, 
 Swift as the dun-deer of the Seine. 
 But such a wild and simple lay, 
 Poured from the harp of minstrel gray, 
 My every sense away it stole, 
 And swayed a while my raptured soul. 
 O ! say, my Lord (for you must know 
 What strains along your vallies flow, 
 And all the hoards of Highland lore), 
 Was ever song so sweet before ? 
 
 Replied the Earl, as round he flung, 
 Feeble the strain that minstrel sung ! 
 My royal Dame, if once you heard 
 The Scottish lay from Highland bard,
 
 16 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Then might you say, in raptures meet. 
 No song was ever half so sweet ! 
 
 It nerves the arm of warrior wight 
 To deeds of more than mortal might ; 
 'Twill make the maid, in all her charms, 
 Fall weeping in her lover's arms ; 
 'Twill charm the mermaid from the deep ; 
 Make mountain oaks to bend and weep ; 
 Thrill every heart with horrors dire, 
 And shape the breeze to forms of fire. 
 
 When poured from greenwood-bower at even, 
 Twill draw the spirits down from heaven ; 
 And all the fays that haunt the wood, 
 To dance around in frantic mood, 
 And tune their mimic harps so boon 
 Beneath the cliff and midnight moon. 
 Ah ! yes, my Queen ! if once you heard 
 The Scottish lay from Highland bard.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 17 
 
 Then might you say in raptures meet, 
 No song was ever half so sweet. 
 
 Queen Mary lighted in the court ; 
 Queen Mary joined the evening's sport ; 
 Yet though at table all were seen, 
 To wonder at her air and mien ; 
 Though courtiers fawned and ladies sung, 
 Still in her ear the accents rung, 
 " Watch thy young bosom, and maiden eye, 
 " For the shower must fall, and thejlowret die. 1 ' 
 These words prophetic seemed to be, 
 Foreboding wo and misery ; 
 And much she wished to prove ere long, 
 The wonderous powers of Scottish song. 
 
 When next to ride the Queen was bound, 
 To view the city's ample round, 
 On high amid the gathered crowd, 
 A herald thus proclaim'd aloud : 
 
 C
 
 18 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 " Peace, peace to Scotland's wasted vales, 
 To her dark heaths and Highland dales ; 
 To her brave sons of warlike mood, 
 To all her daughters fair and good ; 
 Peace o'er her ruined vales shall pour, 
 Like beam of heaven behind the shower. 
 Let every harp and echo ring ; 
 Let maidens smile and poets sing ; 
 For love and peace entwined shall sleep, 
 Calm as the moon-beam on the deep ; 
 By waving Avood and wandering rill, 
 On purple heath and Highland hill. 
 
 " The soul of warrior stern to charm, 
 And bigotry and rage disarm, 
 Our Queen commands, that every bard 
 Due honours have, and high regard. 
 If, to his song of rolling fire, 
 He join the Caledonian lyre, 
 And skill in legendary lore, 
 Still higher shall his honours soar.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 For all the arts beneath the heaven, 
 That man has found, or God has given, 
 None draws the soul so sweet away, 
 As music's melting mystic lay ; 
 Slight emblem of the bliss above, 
 It sooths the spirit all to love. 
 
 " To cherish this attractive art, 
 To lull the passions, mend the heart, 
 And break the moping zealot's chains, 
 Hear what our lovely Queen ordains. 
 
 " Each Caledonian bard must seek 
 Her courtly halls on Christmas week, 
 That then the Royal Wake may be 
 Cheered by their thrilling minstrelsy. 
 No ribaldry the Queen must hear, 
 No song unmeet for maiden's ear, 
 No jest, nor adulation bland, 
 But legends of our native land ;
 
 20 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 And he whom most the court regards, 
 
 High be his honours and rewards. 
 
 Let every Scottish bard give ear, 
 
 Let every Scottish bard appear ; 
 
 He then before the court must stand, 
 
 In native garb, with harp in hand. 
 
 At home no minstrel dare to tarry : 
 
 High the behest. God save Queen Mary V- 
 
 Little recked they, that idle throng, 
 Of music's power or minstrel's song ; 
 But crowding their young Queen around, 
 Whose stately courser pawed the ground, 
 Her beauty more their wonder swayed, 
 Than all the noisy herald said ; 
 Judging the proffer all in sport, 
 An idle whim of idle court. 
 But many a bard preferred his prayer ; 
 For many a Scottish bard was there. 
 Quaked each fond heart with raptures strong, 
 Each thought upon his harp and song ;
 
 INTRODUCTION. 21 
 
 And turning home without delay, 
 Coned his wild strain by mountain gray. 
 
 Each glen was sought for tales of old, 
 Of luckless love, of warrior bold, 
 Of ravished maid, or stolen child 
 By freakish fairy of the wild ; 
 Of sheeted ghost, that had revealed 
 Dark deeds of guilt from man concealed ; 
 Of boding dreams, of wandering spright, 
 Of dead-lights glimmering through the night ; 
 Yea, every tale of ruth or weir, 
 Could waken pity, love, or fear, 
 Were decked anew, with anxious pain, 
 And sung to native airs again. 
 
 Alas ! those lays of fire once more 
 Are wrecked 'mid heaps of mouldering lore ! 
 And feeble he who dares presume 
 That heavenly Wake-light to relume.
 
 ** THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 But, grieved the legendary lay- 
 Should perish from our land for aye. 
 While sings the lark above the wold, 
 And all his flocks rest in the fold, 
 Fondly he strikes, beside the pen, 
 The harp of Yarrow's braken glen. 
 
 December came ; his aspect stern 
 Glared deadly o'er the mountain cairn ; 
 A polar sheet was round him flung, 
 And ice-spears at his girdle hung ; 
 O'er frigid field, and drifted cone, 
 He strode undaunted and alone ; 
 Or, throned amid the Grampians gray, 
 Kept thaws and suns of heaven at bay. 
 
 Not stern December's fierce control 
 Could quench the flame of minstrel's soul 
 Little recked they, our bards of old, 
 Of Autumn's showers, or Winter's cold.
 
 INTRODUCTION. S 
 
 Sound slept they on the nighted hill, 
 Lulled by the winds or babbling rill : 
 Curtained within the Winter cloud j 
 The heath their couch, the sky their shroud. 
 Yet their's the strains that touch the heart, 
 Bold, rapid, wild, and void of art. 
 
 Unlike the bards, whose milky lays 
 Delight in these degenerate days : 
 Their crystal spring, and heather brown, 
 Is changed to wine and couch of down ; 
 Effeminate as lady gay, 
 Such as the bard, so is his lay ! 
 
 But then was seen, from every vale, 
 Through drifting snows and rattling hail, 
 Each Caledonian minstrel true, 
 Dressed in his plaid and bonnet blue, 
 With harp across his shoulders slung, 
 And music murmuring round his tongue.
 
 24 
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Forcing his way, in raptures high, 
 To Holyrood his skill to try. 
 
 Ah ! when at home the songs they raised. 
 When gaping rustics stood and gazed, 
 Each bard believed, with ready will, 
 Unmatched his song, unmatched his skill ! 
 But when the royal halls appeared, 
 Each aspect changed, each bosom feared ; 
 And when in court of Holyrood 
 Filed harps and bards around him stood. 
 His eye emitted cheerless ray, 
 His hope, his spirit sunk away : 
 There stood the minstrel, but his mind 
 Seemed left in native glen behind. 
 
 Unknown to men of sordid heart, 
 What joys the poet's hopes impart ; 
 Unknown, how his high soul is torn 
 By cold neglect, or canting scorn :
 
 INTRODUCTION. 25 
 
 That meteor torch of mental light, 
 A breath can quench, or kindle bright. 
 Oft has that mind, which braved serene 
 The shafts of poverty and pain, 
 The Summer toil, the Winter blast, 
 Fallen victim to a frown at last. 
 Easy the boon he asks of thee ; 
 O ! spare his heart in courtesy ! 
 
 There rolled each bard his anxious eye, 
 Or strode his adversary by. 
 No cause was there for names to scan, 
 Each minstrel's plaid bespoke his clan ; 
 And the blunt borderer's plain array, 
 The bonnet broad and blanket gray. 
 Bard sought of bard a look to steal ; 
 Eyes measured each from head to heel. 
 Much wonder rose, that men so famed, 
 Men save with rapture never named, 
 Looked only so, they could not tell, 
 Like other men, and scarce so well.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Though keen the blast, and long the way, 
 When twilight closed that dubious day, 
 When round the table all were set, 
 Small heart had they to talk or eat ; 
 Red look askance, blunt whisper low, 
 Awkward remark, uncourtly bow, 
 Were all that past in that bright throng, 
 That group of genuine sons of song. 
 
 One did the honours of the board, 
 Who seemed a courtier or a lord. 
 Strange his array and speech withal, 
 Gael deemed him southern southern, Gael. 
 Courteous his mien, his accents weak, 
 Lady in manner as in make ; 
 Yet round the board a whisper ran, 
 That that same gay and simpering man 
 A minstrel was of wonderous fame, 
 Who from a distant region came, 
 To bear the prize beyond the sea 
 To the green shores of Italy.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 27 
 
 The wine was served, and, sooth to say, 
 Insensibly it stole away. 
 Thrice did they drain the allotted store, 
 And wondering skinkers dun for more ; 
 Which vanished swifter than the first, 
 Little weened they the poets' thirst. 
 
 Still as that ruddy juice they drained, 
 The eyes were cleared, the speech regained ; 
 And latent sparks of fancy glowed, 
 Till one abundant torrent flowed 
 Of wit, of humour, social glee, 
 Wild music, mirth, and revelry. 
 
 Just when a jest had thrilled the crowd, 
 Just when the laugh was long and loud, 
 Entered a squire with summons smart ; 
 That was the knell that pierced the heart ! 
 " The court awaits ;" he bowed was gone, 
 Our bards sat changed to busts of stone.
 
 28 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 As ever ye heard the green- wood dell, 
 On morn of June one warbled swell, 
 If burst the thunder from on high, 
 How hushed the woodland melody ! 
 Even so our bards shrunk at the view 
 Of what they wished, and what they knew. 
 
 Their numbers given, the lots were cast, 
 To fix the names of first and last ; 
 Then to the dazzling hall were led, 
 Poor minstrels less alive than dead. 
 
 There such a scene entranced the view, 
 As heart of poet never knew. 
 Twas not the flash of golden gear, 
 Nor blaze of silver chandelier ; 
 Not Scotland's chiefs of noble air, 
 Nor dazzling rows of ladies fair ; 
 'Twas one enthroned the rest above, 
 Sure 'twas the Queen of grace and love !
 
 INTRODUCTION. 29 
 
 Taper the form, and fair the breast 
 Yon radiant golden zones invest, 
 Where the vexed rubies blench in death, 
 Beneath yon lips and balmy breath. 
 Coronal gems of every dye, 
 Look dim above yon beaming eye : 
 Yon cheeks outvie the dawning's glow, 
 Red shadowed on a wreath of snow. 
 
 Oft the rapt bard had thought alone, 
 Of charms by mankind never known , 
 Of virgins, pure as opening day, 
 Or bosom of the flower of May : 
 Oft dreamed of beings free from stain, 
 Of maidens of the emerald main, 
 Of fairy dames in grove at even, 
 Of angels in the walks of heaven : 
 But, nor in earth, the sea, nor sky, 
 In fairy dream, nor fancy's eye, 
 Vision his soul had ever seen 
 Like Mary Stuart, Scotland's Queen.
 
 THE 
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 NIGHT THE FIRST. 
 
 .Hushed was the Court the courtiers gazed- 
 Each eye was bent, each soul amazed, 
 To see that group of genuine worth, 
 Those far-famed minstrels of the north. 
 So motley wild their garments seemed ; 
 Their eyes, where tints of madness gleamed, 
 Fired with impatience every breast, 
 And expectation stood confest. 
 D
 
 34 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 Short was the pause ; the stranger youth. 
 The gaudy minstrel of the south, 
 Whose glossy eye and lady form 
 Had never braved the northern storm, 
 Stepped lightly forth, kneeled three times low, 
 And then, with many a smile and bow, 
 Mounted the form amid the ring, 
 And rung his harp's responsive stiing. 
 Though true the chords, and mellow-toned, 
 Long, long he twisted, long he coned ; 
 Well pleased to hear his name they knew ; 
 " 'Tis Rizzio V round in whispers flew. 
 
 Valet with Parma's knight he came, 
 An angler in the tides of fame ; 
 And oft had tried, with anxious pain, 
 Respect of Scotland's Queen to gain. 
 Too well his eye, with searching art, 
 Perceived her fond, her wareless heart ; 
 And though unskilled in Scottish song, 
 Her notice he had wooed so long; :
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 35 
 
 With pain by night, and care by day, 
 He framed this fervid, flowery lay. 
 
 Jftakoim of Corn* 
 
 THE FIRST BARD'S SONG. 
 I. 
 Came ye by Ora's verdant steep, 
 
 That smiles the restless ocean over ? 
 Heard ye a suffering maiden weep ? 
 
 Heard ye her name a faithful lover ? 
 Saw ye an aged matron stand 
 Cer yon green grave above the strand, 
 Bent like the trunk of withered tree, 
 Or yon old thorn that sips the sea ? 
 Fixed her dim eye, her face as pale 
 
 As the mists that o'er her flew : 
 Her joy is fled like the flower of the vale, 
 
 Her hope like the morning dew ! 
 That matron was lately as proud of her stay, 
 As the mightiest monarch of sceptre or sway:
 
 36 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 O list to the tale ! 'tis a tale of soft sorrow, 
 
 Of Malcolm of Lorn, and young Ann of Glen-Ora. 
 
 II. 
 
 The sun is sweet at early morn, 
 
 Just blushing from the ocean's bosom ; 
 The rose that decks the woodland thorn 
 
 Is fairest in its opening blossom ; 
 Sweeter than opening rose in dew, 
 Than vernal flowers of richest hue, 
 Than fragrant birch or weeping willow, 
 Than red sun resting on the billow ; 
 Sweeter than aught to mortals given 
 
 The heart and soul to prove ; 
 Sweeter than aught beneath the heaven, 
 
 The joys of early love ! 
 Never did maiden, and manly youth, 
 Love with such fervor, and love with such truth : 
 Or pleasures and virtues alternately borrow, 
 As Malcolm of Lorn, and fair Ann of Glen-Ora.
 
 JJIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 37 
 
 III. 
 
 The day is come, the dreaded day, 
 
 Must part two loving hearts for ever ; 
 The ship lies rocking in the bay, 
 
 The boat comes rippling up the river : 
 O happy has the gloaming's eye 
 
 In green Glen-Ora's bosom seen them ! 
 But soon shall lands and nations lie, 
 
 And angry oceans roll between them. 
 Yes, they must part, for ever part , 
 Chill faDs the truth on either heart ; 
 For honour, titles, wealth, and state, 
 In distant lands her sire await. 
 The maid must with her sire away, 
 
 She cannot stay behind ; 
 Strait to the south the pennons play, 
 
 And steady is the wind. 
 Shall Malcolm relinquish the home of his youth, 
 And sail with his love to the lands of the south ? 
 Ah, no ! for his father is gone to the tomb : 
 One parent survives in her desolate home !
 
 38 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 No child but her Malcolm to cheer her lone way : 
 Break not her fond heart, gentle Malcolm, O, stay ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The boat impatient leans ashore, 
 
 Her prow sleeps on a sandy pillow ; 
 The rower leans upon his oar, 
 
 Already bent to brush the billow. 
 O ! Malcolm, view yon melting eyes, 
 
 With tears yon stainless roses steeping ! 
 O ! Malcolm, list thy mother's sighs ; 
 
 She's leaning o'er her staff and weeping ! 
 Thy Anna's heart is bound to thine, 
 And must that gentle heart repine ! 
 Quick from the shore the boat must fly ; 
 Her soul is speaking through her eye ; 
 Think of thy joys in Ora's shade ; 
 
 From Anna canst thou sever ? 
 Think of the vows thou often hast made, 
 
 To love the dear maiden for ever.
 
 XIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 39 
 
 And canst thou forego such beauty and youth, 
 Such maiden honour and spotless truth ? 
 Forbid it ! He yields; to the boat he draws nigh. 
 Haste, Malcolm, aboard, and revert not thine eye. 
 
 V. 
 
 That trembling voice, in murmurs weak, 
 
 Comes not to blast the hopes before thee ; 
 For pity, Malcolm, turn, and take 
 
 A last farewell of her that bore thee. 
 She says no word to mar thy bliss ; 
 A last embrace, a parting kiss, 
 Her love deserves; then be thou gone; 
 A mother's joys are thine alone. 
 Friendship may fade, and fortune prove 
 
 Deceitful to thy heart ; 
 But never can a mother's love 
 
 From her own offspring part. 
 That tender form, now bent and gray, 
 Shall quickly sink to her native clay ;
 
 40 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. XIGHT I. 
 
 Then who shall watch her parting breath, 
 And shed a tear o'er her couch of death ? 
 Who follow the dust to its long long home, 
 And lay that head in an honoured tomb ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oft hast thou, to her bosom prest, 
 
 For many a day about been borne ; 
 Oft hushed and cradled on her breast, 
 
 And canst thou leave that breast forlorn ? 
 O'er all thy ails her heart has bled ; 
 Oft has she watched beside thy bed ; 
 Oft prayed for thee in dell at even, 
 Beneath the pitying stars of heaven. 
 Ah ! Malcolm, ne'er was parent yet 
 
 So tender, so benign ! 
 Never was maid so loved, so sweet, 
 
 Nor soul so rent as thine ! 
 He looked to the boat, slow she heaved from the 
 
 shore ; 
 He saw his loved Anna all speechless implore :
 
 XIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 41 
 
 But, grasped by a cold and a trembling hand, 
 He clung to his parent, and sunk on the strand. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The boat across the tide flew fast, 
 
 And left a silver curve behind ; 
 Loud sung the sailor from the mast, 
 
 Spreading his sails before the wind. 
 The stately ship, adown the bay, 
 
 A corslet framed of heaving snow, 
 And flurred on high the slender spray, 
 
 Till rainbows gleamed around her prow. 
 How strained was Malcolm's watery eye. 
 Yon fleeting vision to descry ! 
 But, ah ! her virgin form so fair, 
 Soon vanished in the liquid air. 
 Away to Ora^ headland steep 
 
 The youth retired the while, 
 And saw th 1 unpitying vessel sweep 
 Around yon Highland isle.
 
 42 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. SIGHT I. 
 
 His heart and his mind with that vessel had gone ; 
 His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan, 
 When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep, 
 He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 High o'er the crested cliffs of Lorn 
 
 The cu' lew coned her wild bravura ; 
 The sun, in pall of purple borne, 
 
 Was hastening down the steeps of Jura. 
 The glowing ocean heaved her breast, 
 
 Her wandering lover's glances under ; 
 And shewed his radiant form, imprest 
 
 Deep in a wavy world of wonder. 
 Not all the ocean's dyes at even, 
 Though varied as the bow of heaven ; 
 The countless isles so dusky blue, 
 Nor medley of the gray curlew, 
 Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed ; 
 
 Their glory all was gone !
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 For his joy was fled, his hope was dead, 
 
 And his heart forsaken and lone. 
 The sea-bird sought her roofless nest, 
 To warm her brood with her downy breast ; 
 And near her home, on the margin dun, 
 A mother weeps o'er her duteous son. 
 
 IX. 
 
 One little boat alone is seen 
 
 On all the lovely dappled main, 
 That softly sinks the waves between, 
 
 Then vaults their heaving breasts again ; 
 With snowy sail, and rower's sweep, 
 
 Across the tide she seems to fly. 
 Why bears she on yon headland steep, 
 
 Where neither house nor home is nigh ? 
 Is that a vision from the deep 
 That springs ashore and scales the steep, 
 Nor ever stays its ardent haste 
 Till sunk upon young Malcolm's breast !
 
 44 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 O ! spare that breast so lowly laid, 
 
 So fraught with deepest sorrow ! 
 It is his own, his darling maid, 
 
 Young Anna of Glen-Ora ! 
 " My Malcolm ! part we ne'er again ! 
 My father saw thy bosom's pain ; 
 Pitied my grief from thee to sever ; 
 Now I, and Glen-Ora, am thine for ever !" 
 
 X. 
 
 That blaze of joy, through clouds of woe, 
 
 Too fierce upon his heart did fall. 
 For, ah ! the shaft had left the bow, 
 
 Which power of man could not recall ! 
 No word of love could Malcolm speak ; 
 
 No raptured kiss his lips impart ; 
 No tear bedewed his shivering cheek, 
 
 To ease the grasp that held his heart. 
 His arms essayed one kind embrace 
 
 Will thev enclose her ? never ! never !
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 45 
 
 A smile set softly on his face, 
 
 But ah ! the eye was set for ever ! 
 'Twas more than broken heart could brook I 
 How throbs that breast ! How still that look ! 
 One shiver more ! All ! all is o'er ! 
 As melts the wave on level shore ; 
 As fades the dye of falling even, 
 Far on the silver verge of heaven ; 
 As on thy ear, the minstrel's lay, 
 So died the comely youth away." 
 
 The strain died soft in note of woe, 
 Nor breath nor whisper 'gan to flow 
 From courtly circle ; all as still 
 As midnight on the lonely hill. 
 So well that foreign minstrel's strain 
 Had mimicked passion, woe, and pain. 
 Seemed even the chilly hand of death 
 Stealing away his mellow breath. 
 So sighed so stopp'd so died his lav,- 
 His spirit too seemed fled for aye.
 
 46 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 'Tis true, the gay attentive throng 
 Admired, but loved not much, his song ; 
 Admired his wonderous voice and skill, 
 His harp that thrilled or wept at will. 
 But that affected gaudy rhyme, 
 The querulous keys and changing chime, 
 Scarce could the Highland chieftain brook : 
 Disdain seemed kindling in his look, 
 That song so vapid, artful, terse, 
 Should e 7 er compete with Scottish verse. 
 
 But she, the fairest of the fair, 
 Who sat enthroned in gilded chair, 
 Well skilled in foreign minstrelsy 
 And artful airs of Italy, 
 Listened his song, with raptures wild, 
 And on the happy minstrel smiled. 
 Soon did the wily stranger's eye 
 The notice most he wished espy, 
 Then poured his numbers bold and free, 
 Fired by the grace of majesty ;
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 47 
 
 And when his last notes died away, 
 
 When sunk in well-feigned death he lay, 
 
 When round the crowd began to ring, 
 
 Thinking his spirit on the wing, 
 
 First of the dames she came along, 
 
 Wept, sighed, and marvelled 'mid the throng. 
 
 And when they raised him, it was said 
 
 The beauteous Sovereign deigned her aid ; 
 
 And in her hands, so soft and warm, 
 
 Upheld the minstrel's hand and arm. 
 
 Then oped his eye with rapture fired ; 
 
 He smiled, and, bowing oft, retired ; 
 
 Pleased he so soon had realized, 
 
 What more than gold or fame he prized. 
 
 Next in the list was Gardyn's name : 
 No sooner called than forth he came. 
 Stately he strode, nor bow made he, 
 Nor even a look of courtesy. 
 The simpering cringe, and fawning look, 
 Of him who late the lists forsook,
 
 48 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 Roused his proud heart, and fired his eye, 
 That glowed with native dignity. 
 
 Full sixty years the bard had seen, 
 Yet still his manly form and mien, 
 His garb of ancient Caledon, 
 Where lines of silk and scarlet shone, 
 And golden garters 'neath his knee, 
 Announced no man of mean degree. 
 
 Upon his harp, of wonderous frame, 
 Was carved his lineage and his name. 
 There stood the cross that name above. 
 Fair emblem of Almighty love ; 
 Beneath rose an embossment proud, 
 A rose beneath a thistle bowed. 
 
 Lightly upon the form he sprung, 
 And his bold harp impetuous rung. 
 Not one by one the chords he tried, 
 But brushed them o'er from side to side.
 
 2UGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 49 
 
 With either hand, so rapid, loud, 
 Shook were the halls of Holyrood. 
 Then in a mellow tone, and strong, 
 He poured this wild and dreadful song. 
 
 THE SECOND BARD'S SONG. 
 I. 
 
 When the gusts of October had rifled the thorn, 
 Had dappled the woodland, and umbered the plain, 
 
 In den of the mountain was Kennedy born: 
 
 There hushed by the tempest, baptized with the rain. 
 
 His cradle, a mat that swung light on the oak ; 
 
 His couch, the sear mountain-fern, spread on the rock ; 
 
 The white knobs of ice from the chilled nipple hung, 
 
 And loud winter-torrents his lullaby sung. 
 
 II. 
 
 Unheeded Tie shivered, unheeded he cried ; 
 
 Soon died on the breeze of the forest his moan. 
 
 To his wailings, the weary wood-echo replied ; 
 
 His watcher, the wondering redbreast alone. 
 
 E
 
 50 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 Oft gazed his young eye on the whirl of the storm, 
 And all the wild shades that the desert deform ; 
 From cleft in the correi, which thunders had riven. 
 It oped on the pale fleeting billows of heaven. 
 
 III. 
 
 The nursling of misery, young Kennedy learned 
 His hunger, his thirst, and his passions to feed : 
 
 With pity for others his heart never yearned, 
 
 Their pain was his pleasure, their sorrow his meed. 
 
 His eye was the eagle's, the twilight his hue ; 
 
 His stature like pine of the hill where he grew ; 
 
 His soul was the neal-fire, inhaled from his den, 
 
 And never knew fear, save for ghost of the glen. 
 
 IV. 
 
 His father a chief, for barbarity known, 
 
 Proscribed, and by gallant Macdougal expelled ; 
 
 Where rolls the dark Teith through the valley of Dowig. 
 The conqueror's menial he toiled in the field,
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 51 
 
 His master he loved not, obeyed with a scowl, 
 Scarce smothered his hate, and his rancour of soul ; 
 When challenged, his eye and his colour would change, 
 His proud bosom nursing and planning revenge. 
 
 V. 
 
 Matilda, ah ! woe that the wild rose's dye, 
 
 Shed over thy maiden cheek, caused thee to rue ! 
 
 O ! why was the sphere of thy love-rolling eye 
 Inlaid with the diamond, and dipt in the dew ? 
 
 Thy father's sole daughter ; his hope, and his care ; 
 
 The child of his age, and the child of his prayer ; 
 
 And thine was the heart that was gentle and kind, 
 
 And light as the feather, that sports in the wind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 To her home from the Lowlands, Matilda returned ; 
 
 All fair was her form, and untainted her mind. 
 Young Kennedy saw her, his appetite burned 
 
 As fierce as the moor-flame impelled by the wind.
 
 52 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 Was it love ? No ; the ray his dark soul never knew, 
 That spark which eternity burns to renew. 
 'Twas the flash of desire, kindled fierce by revenge, 
 Which savages feel the brown desert that range. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Sweet woman ! too well is thy tenderness known ; 
 
 Too often deep sorrow succeeds thy love-smile ; 
 Too oft, in a moment, thy peace overthrown, 
 
 Fair butt of delusion, of passion, and guile ! 
 What heart will not bleed for Matilda so gay, 
 To art and to long perseverance a prey ? 
 Why sings yon scared blackbird in sorrowful mood ? 
 Why blushes the daisy deep in the green- wood ? 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sweet woman ! with virtue, thouVt lofty, thouYt free ; 
 
 Yield that, thourt a slave, and the mark of disdain : 
 No blossom of spring is beleaguered like thee, 
 
 Though brushed by the lightning, the wind, and the rain.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Matilda is fallen ! With tears in her eye, 
 She seeks her destroyer ; but only can sigh. 
 Matilda has fallen, and sorrow her doom, 
 The flower of the valley is nipt in the bloom. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ah ! Kennedy, vengeance hangs over thine head ! 
 
 Escape to thy native Glengary forlorn. 
 Why art thou at midnight away from thy bed ? 
 
 Why quakes thy big heart at the break of the morn ? 
 Why chatters yon Magpie on gable so loud ? 
 Why flits yon light vision in gossamer shroud ? 
 How came yon white doves from the window to fly, 
 And hover on weariless wing to the sky ? 
 
 X. 
 
 Yon Pie is the prophet of terror and death : 
 O'er Abel's green arbour that omen was given, 
 
 Yon pale boding phantom, a messenger wraith ; 
 Yon doves two fair angels commissioned of Heaven.
 
 54 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT i 
 
 The sun is in state, and the reapers in motion ; 
 Why were they not called to their morning devotion ? 
 Why slumbers Macdougal so long in his bed ? 
 Ah ! pale on his couch the old chieftain lies dead f 
 
 XI. 
 
 Though grateful the hope to the death-bed that flies. 
 That lovers and friends o^r our ashes will weep ; 
 
 The soul, when released from her lingering ties, 
 In secret may see if their sorrows are deep. 
 
 Who wept for the worthy Macdougal ? Not one ! 
 
 His darling Matilda, who, two months agone, 
 
 Would have mourned for her father in sorrow extreme. 
 
 Indulged in a painful delectable dream. 
 
 XII. 
 But, why do the matrons, while dressing the dead, 
 
 Sit silent, and look as if something they knew ? 
 Why gaze on the features ? Why move they the head, 
 
 And point at the bosom so dappled and blue ?
 
 SIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 55 
 
 Say, was there foul play? Then, why sleeps the red thunder? 
 Ah ! hold, for Suspicion stands silent with wonder. 
 The body's entomb'd, and the green turf laid over, 
 Matilda is wed to her dark Highland lover. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yes, the new moon that stooped over green Aberfoyle, 
 And shed her light dews on a father's new grave, 
 
 Beheld, in her wane, the gay wedding turmoil, 
 And lighted the bride to her chamber at eve : 
 
 Blue, blue was the heaven ; and, o'er the wide scene, 
 
 A vapoury silver veil floated serene, 
 
 A fairy perspective, that bore from the eye 
 
 Wood, mountain, and meadow, in distance to lie. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The scene was so still, it was all like a vision ; 
 
 The lamp of the moon seemed as fading for ever. 
 'Twas awfully soft, without shade or elision ; 
 
 And nothing was heard but the rush of the river.
 
 56 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 But why won't the bride-maidens walk on the lea, 
 Nor lovers steal out to the sycamore tree? 
 Why turn to the hall with those looks of confusion ? 
 There's nothing abroad ! 'tis a dream ! a delusion ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 But why do the horses snort over their food, 
 And cling to the manger in seeming dismav ? 
 
 What scares the old owlet afar to the wood ? 
 
 Why screams the blue heron, as hastening away ? 
 
 Say, why is the dog hid so deep in his cover ? 
 
 Each window barred up, and the curtain drawn over ; 
 
 Each white maiden bosom still heaving so high, 
 
 And fixed on another each fear-speaking eye ? 
 
 XVI. 
 
 *Tis all an illusion ! the lamp let us trim ! 
 
 Come, rouse thee, old minstrel, to strains of renown ; 
 The old cup is empty, fill round to the brim, 
 
 And drink the young pair to their chamber just gone.
 
 NIGHT I. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 57 
 
 Ha ! why is the cup from the lip ta'en away ? 
 Why fix'd every form like a statue of clay ? 
 Say, whence is that outcry of horrid despair ? 
 Haste, fly to the marriage bed-chamber, 'tis there. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 O ! haste thee, Strath- Allan, Glen-Ogle, away, 
 These outcries betoken wild horror and woe ; 
 The dull ear of midnight is stunned with dismay ; 
 Glen-Ogle ! Strath- Allan ! fly swift as the roe. 
 'Mid darkness and death, on eternity's brim, 
 You stood with Macdonald and Archbald the grim ; 
 Then why do you hesitate ? why do you stand 
 With claymore unsheathed, and red taper in hand ? 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The tumult is o'er ; not a murmur nor groan ; 
 
 What footsteps so madly pace through the saloon ? 
 'Tis Kennedy, naked and ghastly alone, 
 
 Who hies him away by the light of the moon.
 
 58 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 All prostrate and bleeding, Matilda they found, 
 The threshold her pillow, her couch the cold ground ; 
 Her features distorted, her colour the clay, 
 Her feelings, her voice, and her reason away. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Ere morn they returned ; but how well had they never ! 
 
 They brought with them horror too deep to sustain : 
 Returned but to chasten, and vanish for ever, 
 
 To harrow the bosom and fever the brain. 
 List, list to her tale, youth, levity, beauty ; 
 
 ! sweet is the path of devotion and duty ! 
 
 When pleasure smiles sweetest, dread danger and death, 
 And think of Matilda, the flower of the Teith. 
 
 XX. 
 
 0)t 2SruV Cak. 
 " I had just laid me down, but no word could I pray ! 
 I had pillowed my head, and drawn up the bed-cover ; 
 
 1 thought of the grave where my loved father lav, 
 
 So damp and so cold, with the grass growing over.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 I look'd to my husband ; but just as he came 
 To enter my couch, it seemed all in a flame, 
 A ghastly refulgence as bright as day-noon, 
 Though shut was the chamber from eye of the moon. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Bestower of being ! in pity, O ! hide 
 
 That sight from the eye of my spirit for ever ; 
 
 That page from the volume of memory divide, 
 Or memory and being eternally sever ! 
 
 My father approached ; our bed-curtains he drew ; 
 
 Ah J well the gray locks and pale features I knew. 
 
 I saw his fixt eye-balls indignantly glow ; 
 
 Yet still in that look there was pity and woe. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 il O ! hide thee, my daughter, he eagerly cried ; 
 
 O haste from the bed of that parricide lover ! 
 Embrace not thy husband, unfortunate bride, 
 
 Thy red cup of misery already runs over.
 
 CO THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 He strangled thy father ! thy guilt paved the way ; 
 Thy heart yet is blameless, O fly while you may ! 
 Thy portion of life must calamity leaven ; 
 But fly while there's hope of forgiveness from Heaven. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 " And thou, fell destroyer of virtue and life ! 
 
 O ! well may'st thou quake at thy terrible doom ; 
 For body or soul, with barbarity rife, 
 
 On earth is no refuge, in heaven no room. 
 Fly whither thou wilt, I will follow thee still, 
 To dens of the forest, or mists of the hill ; 
 The task I'm assigned, which I'll never forego, 
 But chace thee from earth to thy dwelling below. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " The cave shall not cover, the cloud shall not hide thee ; 
 
 At noon I will wither thy sight with my frown ; 
 In gloom of the night, I will lay me beside thee, 
 
 And pierce with this weapon thy bosom of stone.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 61 
 
 Fast fled the despoiler with howlings most dire, 
 Fast followed the spirit with rapier of fire ; 
 Away, and away, through the silent saloon, 
 And away, and away, by the light of the moon. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " To follow I tried, but sunk down at the door, 
 Alas ! from that trance that I ever awoke ! 
 
 How wanders my mind ! I shall see him no more, 
 Till God shall yon gates everlasting unlock. 
 
 My poor brow is open, 'tis burning with pain, 
 
 O kiss it, sweet vision ! O kiss it again ! 
 
 Now give me thine hand ; I will fly ! I will fly ! 
 
 Away, on the morn's dappled wing, to the sky." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 QLlyt Conclusion. 
 O ! shepherd of Braco, look well to thy flock, 
 
 The piles of Glen-Ardochy murmur and jar ; 
 The rook and the raven converse from the rock, 
 
 The beasts of the forest are howling afar.
 
 652 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 Shrill pipes the goss-hawk his dire tidings to tell, 
 The gray mountain-falcon accords with his yell ; 
 Aloft on bold pinion the eagle is borne, 
 To ring the alarm at the gates of the morn. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Ah ! shepherd, thy kids wander safe in the wood, 
 
 Thy lambs feed in peace on Ben-Ardochy , s brow ; 
 Then why is the hoary cliff sheeted with blood ? 
 
 And what the poor carcase lies mangled below ? 
 Oh hie thee away to thy hut at the fountain, 
 And dig a lone grave on the top of yon mountain ; 
 Hut fly it for ever when falls the gray gloaming, 
 For there a grim phantom still naked is roaming. 
 
 Gardyn with stately step withdrew, 
 While plaudits round the circle flew. 
 
 AVoe that the bard, whose thrilling son* 
 Has poured from age to age along, 
 Should perish from the lists of fame. 
 And lose his only boon a name.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 6S 
 
 Yet many a song of wonderous power, 
 Well known in cot and green-wood bower, 
 Wherever swells the shepherd's reed 
 On Yarrow's banks and braes of Tweed ; 
 Yes, many a song of olden time, 
 Of rude array, and air sublime, 
 Though long on time's dark whirlpool tossed, 
 The song is saved, the bard is lost. 
 
 Yet have I weened, when these I sung 
 On Ettrick banks, while mind was young ; 
 When on the eve their strains I threw, 
 And youths and maidens round me drew ; 
 Or chaunted in the lonely glen, 
 Far from the haunts and eyes of men ; 
 Yes, I have weened, with fondest sigh, 
 The spirit of the bard was nigh : 
 Swung by the breeze on braken pile, 
 Or hovering o'er me with a smile. 
 Would fancy still her dreams combine, 
 That spirit, too, might breathe on mine ;
 
 64 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. TglGWt I. 
 
 Well pleased to see her songs the joy 
 Of that poor lonely shepherd boy. 
 
 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, 
 That many rhymes which still prevail, 
 Of genuine ardour, bold and free, 
 Were aye admired, and aye will be, 
 Had never been, or shortly stood, 
 But for that Wake at Holy rood. 
 Certes that many a bard of name, 
 Who there appeared and strove for fame, 
 No record names, nor minstrel's tongue ; 
 Not even are known the lays they sung. 
 
 The fifth was from a western shore, 
 Where rolls the dark and sullen Orr. 
 Of peasant make, and doubtful mien, 
 Affecting airs of proud disdain ; 
 Wide curled his raven locks and high, 
 Dark was his visage, dark his eye,
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 65 
 
 That glanced around on dames and men 
 Like falcons on the cliffs of Ken. 
 Some ruffian mendicant, whose wit 
 Presumed at much, for all unfit. 
 No one could read the character, 
 If knave or genius writ was there ; 
 But all supposed, from mien and frame, 
 From Erin he an exile came. 
 
 With hollow voice, and harp ill strung, 
 Some bungling parody he sung, 
 Well known to maid and matron gray, 
 Through all the glens of Galloway ; 
 For often had he conned it there, 
 With simpering and affected air. 
 Listened the Court, with sidelong bend, 
 In wonder how the strain would end. 
 But long ere that it grew so plain, 
 They scarce from hooting could refrain ; 
 And each to others 'gan to say, 
 " What good can come from Galloway ?" 
 F
 
 66 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT 1. 
 
 Woe for the man so indiscreet ! 
 For bard Avould be a name unmeet 
 For self-sufficient sordid elf, 
 Whom none admires but he himself. 
 Unheard by him the scorner's tongue, 
 For still he capered and he sung, 
 With many an awkward gape the while. 
 And many a dai k delighted smile, 
 Till round the throne the murmurs ran, 
 Till ladies blushed behind the fan ; 
 And when the rustic ceased to sing, 
 A hiss of scorn ran round the ring. 
 Dark grinned the fool around the form, 
 With blood-shot eye, and face of storm ; 
 Sprung from his seat, with awkward leap, 
 And muttered curses dark and deep. 
 
 The sixth, too, from that country he, 
 Where heath-cocks bay o'er western Dee ; 
 Where Summer spreads her purple screen 
 O'er moor's where greensward ne'er was seen ;
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 67 
 
 Nor shade, o'er all the prospect stern, 
 Save crusted rock, or warrior's cairn. 
 
 Gentle his form, his manners meet, 
 His harp was soft, his voice was sweet ; 
 He sung Lochryan's hapless maid, 
 In bloom of youth by love betrayed : 
 Turned from her lover's bower at last, 
 To brave the chilly midnight blast ; 
 And bitterer far, the pangs to prove, 
 Of ruined fame, and slighted love ; 
 A tender babe, her arms within, 
 Sobbing and " shivering at the chin."" 
 No lady's cheek in court was dry, 
 So softly poured the melody. 
 
 The eighth was from the Leven coast : 
 The rest who sung that night are lost. 
 
 Mounted the bard of Fife on high, 
 Bushy his beard, and wild his eye :
 
 68 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 His cheek was furrowed by the gale, 
 
 And his thin locks were long and pale. 
 
 Full hardly passed he through the throng, 
 
 Dragging on crutches, slow along, 
 
 His feeble and unhealthy frame, 
 
 And kindness welcomed as he came. 
 
 His unpresuming aspect mild, 
 
 Calm and benignant as a child, 
 
 Yet spoke to all that viewed him nigh, 
 
 That more was there than met the eye. 
 
 Some wizard of the shore he seemed, 
 
 Who through the scenes of life had dreamed, 
 
 Of spells that vital life benumb, 
 
 Of formless spirits wandering dumb, 
 
 Where aspins in the moon-beam quake, 
 
 By mouldering pile, or mountain lake. 
 
 He deemed that fays and spectres wan 
 Held converse with the thoughts of man ; 
 In dreams their future fates foretold, 
 And spread the death-flame on the wold ;
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Or flagged at eve each restless wing, 
 In dells their vesper hymns to sing. 
 
 Such was our bard, such were his lays 
 And long by green Benarty's base, 
 His wild wood notes, from ivy cave, 
 Had waked the dawning from the wave. 
 At evening fall, in lonesome dale, 
 He kept strange converse with the gale ; 
 Held worldly pomp in high derision, 
 And wandered in a world of vision. 
 
 Of mountain ash his harp was framed, 
 The brazen chords all trembling flamed, 
 As in a rugged northern tongue, 
 This mad unearthly song he sung.
 
 70 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 ft)* Mitel) of jf ifc- 
 
 THE EIGHTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 " Quhare haif ye been, ye ill womyne, 
 These three lang nightis fra hame ? 
 
 Quhat garris the sweit drap fra yer brow, 
 Like clotis of the saut sea faem ? 
 
 " It fearis me muckil ye haif seen 
 
 Quhat good man never knew ; 
 It fearis me muckil ye haif been 
 
 Quhare the gray cock never crew. 
 
 " But the spell may crack, and the brydel breck. 
 
 Then sherpe yer werde will be ; 
 Ye had better sleipe in yer bed at hame, 
 
 Wr yer deire littil bairnis and me.'"
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 71 
 
 ' Sit dune, sit dune, my leil auld man, 
 
 Sit dune, and listin to me ; 
 I'll gar the hayre stand on yer crown, 
 
 And the cauld sweit blind yer e'e. 
 
 ' But tell nae wordis, my gude auld man, 
 
 Tell never word again ; 
 Or deire shall be yer courtisye, 
 
 And driche and sair yer pain. 
 
 * The first leet night, quhan the new moon set, 
 
 Quhan all was douffe and mirk, 
 We saddled ouir naigis wi' the moon-fern leif, 
 
 And rode fra Kilmerrin kirk. 
 
 4 Some horses ware of the brume-cow framit, 
 
 And some of the greine bay tree ; 
 But mine was made of ane humloke schaw, 
 
 And a stout stallion was he.
 
 72 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 ' We raide the tod doune on the hill, 
 
 The martin on the law ; 
 And we huntyd the hoolet out of brethe, 
 
 And forcit him doune to fa.' 
 
 " Quhat guid was that, ye ill womyne ? 
 
 Quhat guid was that to thee ? 
 Ye wald better haif been in yer bed at hame, 
 
 Wi 1 yer deire littil bairnis and me." 
 
 1 And aye we raide, and se merrily we raide, 
 Throw the merkist gloffis of the night ; 
 
 And we swam the floode, and we darnit the woode, 
 Till we cam to the Lommond height. 
 
 ' And quhen we cam to the Lommond height, 
 
 Se lythlye we lychtid doune ; 
 And we drank fra the hornis that never grew, 
 
 The beer that was never browin.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 73 
 
 * Then up there raise ane wee wee man, 
 
 Franethe the moss-gray stane ; 
 His fece was wan like the collifloure, 
 
 For he nouthir had blude nor bane. 
 
 6 He set ane reid-pipe till his muthe, 
 
 And he playit se bonnilye, 
 Till the gray curlew, and the black-cock, flew 
 
 To listen his melody e. 
 
 4 It rang se sweet through the grein Lommond, 
 
 That the nycht-winde lowner blew ; 
 And it soupit alang the Loch Leven, 
 
 And wakinit the white sea-mew. 
 
 1 It rang se sweet through the grein Lommond, 
 
 Se sweitly butt and se shill, 
 That the wezilis laup out of their mouldy holis, 
 
 And dancit on the mydnycht hill.
 
 74 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 4 The corby craw cam gledgin near, 
 
 The ern gede veeryng bye ; 
 And the troutis laup out of the Leven Loch, 
 
 Charmit with the melodye. 
 
 ' And aye we dancit on the grein Lommond, 
 
 Till the dawn on the ocean grew : 
 Ne wonder I was a weary wycht 
 
 Quhan I cam hame to you. 1 
 
 " Quhat guid, quhat guid, my weird weird wyfe, 
 
 Quhat guid was that to thee ? 
 Ye wald better haif bein in yer bed at hame, 
 
 Wi 1 yer deire littil bairnis and me." 
 
 ' The second nycht, quhan the new moon set, 
 
 Cer the roaryng sea we flew ; 
 The cockle-shell our trusty bark, 
 
 Our sailis of the grein sea-rue.
 
 XIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 75 
 
 1 And thebauldwindis blew, and the fire-flauchtis flew, 
 
 And the sea ran to the skie ; 
 And the thunner it growlit, and the sea-dogs howlit, 
 
 As we gaed scouryng bye. 
 
 4 And aye we mountit the sea-green hillis, 
 
 Quhill we brushit thro' the cludis of the hevin ; 
 
 Than sousit dounright like the stern-shot light, 
 Fra the liftis blue casement driven. 
 
 i But our taickil stood, and our bark was good, 
 And se pang was our pearily prowe ; 
 
 Quhan we culdna speil the brow of the wavis, 
 We needilit them throu belowe. 
 
 < As fast as the hail, as fast as the gale, 
 
 As fast as the midnycht leme, 
 We borit the breiste of the burstyng swale, 
 
 Or fluffit T the flotyng faem.
 
 76 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 i And quhan to the Norraway shore we wan, 
 We muntyd our steedis of the wynd, 
 
 And we splashit the floode, and we darnit the woode, 
 And we left the shouir behynde. 
 
 4 Fleet is the roe on the grein Lommond, 
 
 And swift is the couryng grew ; 
 The rein-deer dun can eithly run, 
 
 Quhan the houndis and the hornis pursue. 
 
 i But nowther the roe, nor the rein-deir dun. 
 
 The hinde nor the couryng grew, 
 Culd fly owr muntaine, muir, and dale, 
 
 As owr braw steedis they flew. 
 
 4 The dales war deep, and the DofFrinis steep, 
 
 And we rase to the skyis eV-bree ; 
 Quhite, quhite was ouir rode, that was never trode. 
 
 Owr the snawis of eternity !
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 77 
 
 * And quhan we cam to the Lapland lone, 
 
 The fairies war all in array ; 
 For all the genii of the north 
 War keepyng their holeday. 
 
 * The warlock men and the weird wemyng, 
 
 And the fays of the wood and the steep, 
 And the phantom hunteris all war there, 
 And the mermaidis of the deep. 
 
 4 And they washit us all with the witch-water, 
 
 Distillit fra the moorland dew, 
 Quhill our beauty blumit like the Lapland rose, 
 
 That wylde in the fbreste grew/- 
 
 " Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womyne, 
 
 Se loud as I heir ye lee ! 
 For the warst-faurd wyfe on the shoris of Fyfe 
 
 Is cumlye comparet wi 1 thee."
 
 78 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 ' Then the mer-maidis sang and the woodlandis rang, 
 
 Se sweetly swellit the quire ; 
 On every cliff a herpe they hang, 
 
 On every tree a lyre. 
 
 ' And aye they sang, and the woodlandis rang, 
 And Ave drank, and we drank se deep ; 
 
 Then soft in the armis of the warlock men, 
 We laid us dune to sleep." 1 
 
 " Away, away, ye ill womyne, 
 
 An ill deide met ye dee ! 
 Quhan ye hae pruvit se false to yer God, 
 
 Ye can never pruve trew to me. 11 
 
 ' And there we lernit fra the fairy foke, 
 
 And fra our master true, 
 The wordis that can beire us throu the air, 
 
 And lokkis and baris undo.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 79 
 
 ' Last nycht we met at Maisry"^ cot ; 
 
 Richt weil the wordis we knew ; 
 And we set a foot on the black cruik-shell, 
 
 And out at the lum we flew. 
 
 * And we flew owr hill, and we flew owr dale. 
 
 And we flew owr firth and sea, 
 Until we cam to merry Carlisle, 
 Quhar we lightit on the lea. 
 
 * We gaed to the vault beyound the towir, 
 
 Quhar we enterit free as ayr ; 
 And we drank, and we drank of the bishopis wine 
 Quhill we culde drynk ne mair. 1 
 
 " Gin that be trew, my gude auld wyfe, 
 
 Whilk thou hast tauld to me, 
 Betide my death, betide my lyfe, 
 
 III beire thee compaoye.
 
 80 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 " Neist tyme ye gaung to merry Carlisle 
 
 To drynk of the blude-reid wine, 
 Beshrew my heart, 111 fly with thee, 
 
 If the diel should fly behynde. - " 
 
 c Ah ! little do ye ken, my silly auld man, 
 
 The daingeris we maun dree ; 
 Last nichte we drank of the bishopis wyne, 
 
 Quhill near near taen war we. 
 
 ' Afore we wan to the sandy ford, 
 
 The gor-cockis nichering flew ; 
 The lofty crest of Ettrick Pen 
 
 Was wavit about with blew, 
 And, flichtering throu the air, we fand 
 
 The chill chill mornyng dew. 
 
 ' As we flew owr the hillis of Braid, 
 
 The sun rase fair and clear ; 
 There gurly James, and his baronis braw, 
 
 War out to hunt the deere.
 
 KIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 81 
 
 * Their bowis they drew, their arrowis flew, 
 
 And peircit the ayr with speede, 
 Quhill purpil fell the mornyng dew 
 With witch-blude rank and reide. 
 
 4 Littil do ye ken, my silly auld man, 
 
 The dangeris we maun dree ; 
 Ne wonder I am a weary wycht 
 
 Quhan I come hame to thee. 1 
 
 " But tell me the &ord, my gude auld wyfe, 
 
 Come tell it me speedilye : 
 For I lang to drink of the gude reide wyne, 
 
 And to wyng the ayr with thee. 
 
 " Yer hellish horse I wilna ryde, 
 
 Nor sail the seas in the wynd ; 
 But I can flee as well as thee, 
 
 And I'll drynk quhile ye be blynd." 11 
 G
 
 82 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 i O fy ! O fy ! my leil avild man, 
 
 That word I darena tell ; 
 It wald turn this warld all upside down, 
 
 And make it warse than hell. 
 
 ' For all the lasses in the land 
 
 Wald munt the wynd and fly ; 
 And the men wald doff their doublets syde, 
 
 And after them wald ply.' 
 
 But the auld gudeman was ane cunnyng auld man, 
 And ane cunnyng auld man was he ; 
 
 And he watchit, and he watchit for mony a nychte. 
 The witches' 1 flychte to see. 
 
 Ane nychte he darnit in Maisry's cot ; 
 
 The fearless haggs came in ; 
 And he heard the word of awsome weird, 
 
 And he saw their deedis of synn.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 83 
 
 Then ane by ane, they said that word, 
 
 As fast to the fire they drew ; 
 Then set a foot on the black cruik-shell, 
 
 And out at the lum they new. 
 
 The auld gudeman cam fra his hole 
 
 With feire and muckil dreide, 
 But yet he culdna think to rue, 
 
 For the wyne came in his head. 
 
 He set his foot in the black cruik-shell, 
 With ane fixit and ane wawlyng e'e ; 
 
 And he said the word that I darena say, 
 And out at the lum flew he. 
 
 The witches skalit the moon-beam pale ; 
 
 Deep groanit the trembling wynde ; 
 But they never wist till our auld gudeman 
 
 Was hoveryng them behynde.
 
 84 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 They flew to the vaultis of merry Carlisle, 
 
 Quhair they enterit free as ayr ; 
 And they drank and they drank of the bishopis wyne 
 
 Quhill they culde drynk ne mair. 
 
 The auld gudeman he grew se crouse, 
 
 He dancit on the mouldy ground, 
 And he sang the bonniest sangs of Fife, 
 
 And he tuzzlit the kerlyngs round. 
 
 And aye he peircit the tither butt, 
 And he suckit, and he suckit se lang, 
 
 Quhill his e'en they closit, and his voice grew Ioav. 
 And his tongue wald hardly gang. 
 
 The kerlyngs drank of the bishopis wyne 
 Quhill they scentit the mornyng wynde ; 
 
 Then clove again the yeilding ayr, 
 And left the auld man behynde.
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 85 
 
 And aye he slepit on the damp damp floor, 
 
 He slepit and he snorit amain ; 
 He never dreamit he was far fra hame. 
 
 Or that the auld wyvis war gane. 
 
 And aye he slepit on the damp damp floor, 
 
 Quhill past the mid-day highte, 
 Quhan wakenit by five rough Englishmen, 
 
 That trailit him to the lychte. 
 
 " Now quha are ye, ye silly auld man, 
 
 That sleepis se sound and se weil ? 
 Or how gat ye into the bishopis vault 
 
 Throu lokkis and barris of steel P 11 
 
 The auld gudeman he tryit to speak, 
 
 But ane word he culdna fynde ; 
 He tryit to think, but his head whirlit round, 
 
 And ane thing he culdna m>nde: 
 " I cam fra Fyfe," the auld man cryit, 
 
 " And I cam on the midnight wynde."
 
 86 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 They nickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld 
 man, 
 
 And they yerkit his limbis with twine, 
 Quhill the reide blude ran in his hose and shoon. 
 
 But some cryit it was wyne. 
 
 They lickit the auld man, and they prickit the auld 
 man, 
 
 And they tyit him till ane stone ; 
 And they set ane bele-fire him about, 
 
 To burn him skin and bone. 
 
 iC O wae to me !* said the puir auld man, 
 
 " That ever I saw the day ! 
 And wae be to all the ill wemyng 
 
 That lead puir men astray ! 
 
 " Let nevir ane auld man after this 
 
 To lawless greide inclyne ; 
 Let nevir ane auld man after this 
 
 Rin post to the deil for wyne. v
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 87 
 
 The reike flew up in the auld manis face, 
 
 And choukit him bitterlye ; 
 And the lowe cam up with ane angry blese, 
 
 And it syngit his auld breek-nee. 
 
 He lukit to the land fra whence he came, 
 
 For lukis he culde get ne mae ; 
 And he thochte of his deire littil bairnis at hame, 
 
 And the auld man was wae ! 
 
 But they turnit their facis to the sun, 
 
 With glofFe and wonderous glair, 
 For they saw ane thing beth lairge and dun, 
 
 Comin swaipin down the aire. 
 
 That burd it cam fra the landis o' Fife, 
 
 And it cam rycht tymeouslye, 
 For quha was it but the auld manis wife. 
 
 Just comit his dethe to see.
 
 88 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 Scho pat ane reide cap on his heide, 
 
 And the auld gudeman lookit fain, 
 Then whisperit ane word intil his lug, 
 
 And tovit to the aire again. 
 
 The auld gudeman he gae ane bolx 
 
 F the mids o 1 the burnyng lowe ; 
 And the sheklis that band him to the ring, 
 
 They fell fra his armis like towe. 
 
 He drew his breath, and he said the word, 
 
 And he said it with muckle glee, 
 Then set his fit on the burnyng pile, 
 
 And away to the aire flew he. 
 
 Till aince he cleirit the swirlyng reike, 
 
 He lukit beth ferit and sad ; 
 But whan he wan to the lycht blue aire, 
 
 He lauchit as he'd been mad.
 
 XIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 89 
 
 His armis war spred, and his heide was hiche, 
 
 And his feite stack out behynde ; 
 And the laibies of the auld manis cote 
 
 War wauffyng in the wynde. 
 
 And aye he neicherit, and aye he flew, 
 
 For he thochte the ploy se raire ; 
 It was like the voice of the gainder blue, 
 
 Whan he flees throu the aire. 
 
 He lukit back to the Carlisle men 
 
 As he borit the norlan sky ; 
 He noddit his heide, and gae ane girn, 
 
 But he new said gude-bye. 
 
 They vanisht far i' the liftis blue wale, 
 
 Ne maire the English saw, 
 But the auld manis lauche cam on the gale, 
 
 With a lang and a loud gaff'a.
 
 90 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 May everilke man in the land of Fife 
 
 Read what the drinkeris dree ; 
 And nevir curse his puir auld wife, 
 
 Rychte wicked altho scho be. 
 
 When ceased the minstrel's crazy song, 
 His heedful glance embraced the throng, 
 And found the smile of free delight 
 Dimpling the cheeks of ladies bright. 
 Ah ! never yet was bard unmoved, 
 When beauty smiled or birth approved ! 
 For though his song he holds at nought 
 " An idle strain ! a passing thought !" 
 Child of the soul ! 'tis held more dear 
 Than aught by mortals valued here. 
 
 When Leven's bard the Court had viewed, 
 His eye, his vigour, was renewed. 
 No, not the evening's closing eye, 
 Veiled in the rainbow's deepest dye.
 
 SIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 91 
 
 By summer breezes lulled to rest, 
 Cradled on Leven's silver breast, 
 Or slumbering on the distant sea, 
 Imparted sweeter ecstacy. 
 
 Nor even the angel of the night, 
 Kindling his holy sphere of light, 
 Afar upon the heaving deep, 
 To light a world of peaceful sleep, 
 Though in her beam night-spirits glanced, 
 And lovely fays in circles danced, 
 Or rank by rank rode lightly bye, 
 Was sweeter to our minstrel's eye, 
 
 Unheard the bird of morning crew ; 
 Unheard the breeze of Ocean blew ; 
 The night unweened had passed away, 
 And dawning ushered in the day. 
 The Queen's young maids, of cherub hue, 
 Aside the silken curtains drew,
 
 92 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 And lo the Night, in still profound, 
 
 In fleece of heaven had clothed the ground ; 
 
 And still her furs, so light and fair, 
 
 Floated along the morning air. 
 
 Low stooped the pine amid the wood, 
 
 And the tall cliffs of Salsbury stood 
 
 Like marble columns bent and riven, 
 
 Propping a pale and frowning heaven. 
 
 The Queen bent from her gilded chair, 
 And waved her hand with graceful air : 
 " Break up the court, my lords ; away, 
 And use the day as best you may, 
 In sleep, in love, or wassail cheer ; 
 The day is dark, the evening near, 
 Say, will you grace my halls the while, 
 And in the dance the day beguile ? 
 Break up the court, my lords ; away, 
 And use the day as best you may. 
 Give order that my minstrels true 
 Have royal fare and honours due ;
 
 NIGHT I. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 And warned by evening's bugle shrill, 
 We meet to judge their minstrel skill. 1 "' 
 
 Whether that Royal Wake gave birth 
 To days of sleep and nights of mirth, 
 Which kings and courtiers still approve, 
 Which sages blame, and ladies love, 
 Imports not ; but our courtly throng 
 (That chapel Wake being kept so long) 
 Slept out the lowering short-lived days, 
 And heard by night their native lavs, 
 Till fell the eve of Christmas good, 
 The dedication of the rood. 
 
 Ah me ! at routs and revels gay, 
 Reproach of this unthrifty day, 
 Though none amongst the dames or men 
 Rank higher than a citizen, 
 In chair or chariot all are borne, 
 Closed from the piercing eye of morn ;
 
 94 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT I. 
 
 But then, though dawning blasts were keen, 
 Scotland's high dames you might have seen, 
 Ere from the banquet hall they rose, 
 Shift their laced shoes and silken hose ; 
 Their broidered kirtles round them throw, 
 And wade their way through wreaths of snow. 
 Leaning on Lord or lover's arm, 
 Cheerful and reckless of all harm. 
 Vanished those hardy times outright ; 
 So is our ancient Scottish might. 
 
 Sweet be her home, admired her charms., 
 Bliss to her couch in lover's arms, 
 I bid in every minstrel's name, 
 I bid to every lovely dame, 
 That ever gave one hour away 
 To cheer the bard or list his lay ! 
 
 To all who love the raptures high 
 Of Scottish song and minstrelsy,
 
 NIGHT i. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 95 
 
 Till next the night, in sable shroud, 
 Shall wrap the halls of Holyrood, 
 That rival minstrels' 1 songs I borrow 
 I bid a hearty kind good-morrow. 
 
 END OF NIGHT THE FIRST.
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 
 H
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE 
 
 NIGHT THE SECOND. 
 
 Scarce fled the dawning's dubious gray, 
 So transient was that dismal day. 
 The lurid vapours, dense and stern, 
 Unpierced save by the crusted cairn, 
 In tenfold shroud the heavens deform ; 
 While tar within the brooding storm, 
 Travelled the sun in lonely blue, 
 And noontide wore a twilight hue.
 
 100 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 The sprites that through the welkin wing, 
 That light and shade alternate bring, 
 That wrap the eve in dusky veil, 
 And weave the morning's purple rail ; 
 From pendent clouds of deepest grain, 
 Shed that dull twilight o'er the main. 
 Each spire, each tower, and cliff sublime, 
 Were hooded in the wreathy rime ; 
 And all, ere fell the murk of even, 
 Were lost Avithin the folds of heaven. 
 It seemed as if the welkin's breast 
 Had bowed upon the world to rest ; 
 As heaven and earth to close began, 
 And seal the destiny of man. 
 
 The supper bell at Court had rung ; 
 The mass was said, the vesper sung ; 
 In true devotion's sweetest mood, 
 Beauty had kneeled before the rood ; 
 But all was done in secret guise, 
 Close from the zealot's searching eyes.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 101 
 
 Then burst the bugle's lordly peal 
 Along the earth's incumbent veil ; 
 Swam on the cloud and lingering shower, 
 To festive hall and lady's bower ; 
 And found its way, with rapid boom, 
 To rocks far curtained in the gloom, 
 xVnd waked their viewless bugle's strain, 
 That sung the softened notes again. 
 
 Upsprung the maid from her love-dream ; 
 The matron from her silken seam ; 
 The abbot from his holy shrine ; 
 The chiefs and warriors from their wine : 
 For aye the bugle seemed to say, 
 " The Wake's begun ! away, away !" 
 
 Fast poured they in, all fair and boon, 
 Till crowded was the grand saloon ; 
 And scarce was left a little ring, 
 In which the rival bards might sing.
 
 102 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 First in the list that night to play, 
 Was Farquhar, from the hiUs of Spey : 
 A gay and comely youth was he, 
 And seemed of noble pedigree. 
 Well known to him Loch-Avin's shore, 
 And all the dens of dark Glen-More ; 
 Where oft, amid his roving clan, 
 His shaft had pierced the ptarmigan ; 
 And oft the dun-deer's velvet side 
 That winged shaft had ruthless dyed, 
 Had struck the heath-cock whirring high, 
 And brought the eagle from the sky ; 
 And he had dragged the scaly brood 
 From every Highland lake and flood. 
 
 Amid those scenes the youth was bred, 
 Where Nature's eye is stern and dread ; 
 'Mid forests dark, and caverns wild, 
 And mountains above mountains piled, 
 Whose hoary summits, tempest-riven, 
 Uprear eternal snows to heaven.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 In Cumbria's dells he too had staid, 
 Raving like one in trance that's laid, 
 Of things which Nature gave not birth ; 
 Of heavenly damsels born of earth ; 
 Of pestilence and charnel den ; 
 Of ships, and seas, and souls of men. 
 A moonstruck youth, by all confest, 
 The dreamer of the watery West. 
 His locks were fair as sunny sky ; 
 His cheek was ruddy, bright his eye ; 
 His speech was like the music's voice 
 Mixed with the cataract's swaying noise ; 
 His harp strings sounded wild and deep, 
 With lulling swell and lordly sweep. 
 
 Aloof from battle's fierce alarms, 
 Prone his young mind to music's charms. 
 The cliffs and woods of dark Glen-More 
 He taught to chant in mystic lore ; 
 For well he weened, by tarn and hill, 
 Kind viewless spirits wander'd still ;
 
 104 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 And fondly trowed the groups to spy, 
 Listening his cliff-born melody. 
 On Leven's bard with scorn he looked, 
 His homely song he scarcely brooked ; 
 But proudly mounting on the form, 
 Thus sung The Spirit of the Storm. 
 
 THE NINTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 Beyond the grizly cliffs, which guard 
 The infant rills of Highland Dee, 
 
 Where hunter's horn was never heard, 
 Nor bugle of the forest bee ; 
 
 'Mid wastes that dern and dreary lie, 
 One mountain rears his mighty form. 
 
 Disturbs the moon in passing bye, 
 And smiles above the thunder storm.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 105 
 
 There Avin spreads her ample deep, 
 To mirror cliffs that brush the wain ; 
 
 Whose frigid eyes eternal weep, 
 In summer suns and Autumn rain. 
 
 There matin hymn was never sung ; 
 
 Nor vesper, save the plover's wail ; 
 But mountain eagles breed their young. 
 
 And aerial spirits ride the gale. 
 
 An hoary sage once lingered there, 
 Intent to prove some mystic scene ; 
 
 Though cavern deep, and forest sere, 
 
 Had whooped November's boisterous reign. 
 
 That noontide fell so stern and still, 
 The breath of nature seemed away ; 
 
 The distant sigh of mountain rill 
 Alone disturbed that solemn day,
 
 106 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT IT. 
 
 Oft had that seer, at break of morn, 
 Beheld the fahm glide o'er the fell ; 
 
 And 'neath the new moon's silver horn, 
 The fairies dancing in the dell. 
 
 Had seen the spirits of the Glen, 
 In every form that Ossian knew ; 
 
 And wailings heard for living men, 
 Were never more the light to view. 
 
 But, ah ! that dull foreboding day, 
 He saw what mortal could not bear ; 
 
 A sight that scared the erne away, 
 
 And drove the wild deer from his lair. 
 
 Firm in his magic ring he stood, 
 
 When, lo ! aloft on gray Cairn-Gorm, 
 
 A form appeared that chilled his blood, 
 The giant Spirit of the Storm.
 
 NIfiHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 107 
 
 His face was like the spectre wan, 
 Slow gliding from the midnight isle ; 
 
 His stature, on the mighty plan 
 
 Of smoke-tower o'er the burning pile. 
 
 Red, red and grizly were his eyes ; 
 
 His cap the moon-cloud's silver gray ; 
 His staff the writhed snake, that lies 
 
 Pale, bending o'er the milky-way. 
 
 He cried, " Away ! begone, begone ! 
 
 Half-naked, hoary, feeble form I 
 How darest thou seek my realms alone, 
 
 And brave the Angel of the Storm ?"' 
 
 " And who art thou,"" the seer replied, 
 " That bear'st destruction on thy brow ? 
 
 Whose eye no mortal can abide ; 
 
 Dread mountain Spirit ! what art thou ?"
 
 108 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 " Within this desert, dank and long, 
 Since rolled the world a shoreless sea, 
 
 I've held my elemental throne, 
 The terror of thy race and thee. 
 
 " I wrap the sun of heaven in blood, 
 Veiling his orient beams of light ; 
 
 And hide the moon in sable shroud, 
 Far in the alcove of the night. 
 
 " I ride the red bolt's rapid wing, 
 High on the sweeping whirlwind sail, 
 
 And list to hear my tempests sing 
 Around Glen-Avin's ample wale. 
 
 " These everlasting hills are riven ; 
 
 Their reverend heads are bald and gray ; 
 The Greenland waves salute the heaven, 
 
 And quench the burning stars with spray.
 
 XIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 109 
 
 " Who was it reared those whelming waves ? 
 
 Who scalped the brows of old Cairn-Gorm ? 
 And scooped these ever-yawning caves ? 
 
 'Twas I, the Spirit of the Storm. 
 
 " And hence shalt thou, for evermore, 
 Be doomed to ride the blast with me ; 
 
 To shriek, amid the tempest's roar, 
 By fountain, ford, and forest tree." 
 
 The wizard cowered him to the earth, 
 
 And orisons of dread began : 
 " Hence, Spirit of infernal birth ! 
 
 Thou enemy of God and man !" 
 
 He waved his sceptre north away, 
 The arctic ring was rift asunder ; 
 
 And through the heaven, the startling bray 
 Burst louder than the loudest thunder.
 
 110 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 The feathery clouds, condensed and curled, 
 In columns swept the quaking glen ; 
 
 Destruction down the dale was hurled, 
 O'er bleating flocks and wondering men. 
 
 The Grampians groaned beneath the storm ; 
 
 New mountains o'er the correis leaned ; 
 Ben-Nevis shook his shaggy form, 
 
 And wondered what his Sovereign mean'd. 
 
 Even far on Yarrow's fairy dale, 
 
 The shepherd paused in dumb dismay ; 
 
 There passing shrieks adown the vale 
 Lured many a pitying hind away. 
 
 The Lowthers felt the tyrant's wrath ; 
 
 Proud Hartfell quaked beneath his brand ; 
 And Cheviot heart the cries of death, 
 
 Guarding his loved Northumberland.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. HI 
 
 But, O ! as fell that fateful night, 
 What horrors Avin wilds deform, 
 
 And choke the ghastly lingering light ! 
 There whirled the vortex of the storm. 
 
 Ere morn the wind grew deadly still, 
 
 And dawning in the air updrew 
 From many a shelve and shining hill, 
 
 Her folding robe of fairy blue. 
 
 Then, what a smooth and wonderous scene 
 Hung o'er Loch-Avin's lonely breast ! 
 
 Not top of tallest pine was seen, 
 
 On which the dazzled eye could rest. 
 
 But mitred cliff, and crested fell, 
 
 In lucid curls her brows adorn, 
 Aloft the radiant crescents swell, 
 
 All pure as robes by angels worn.
 
 112 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Sound sleeps our seer, far from the day, 
 Beneath yon sleek and wreathed cone 1 
 
 His spirit steals, unmissed, away, 
 And dreams across the desert lone. 
 
 Sound sleeps our seer ! the tempests rave, 
 And cold sheets o'er his bosom fling ; 
 
 The moldwarp digs his mossy grave ; 
 His requiem Avin eagles sing. 
 
 Why howls the fox above yon wreath, 
 That mocks the blazing Summer sun ? 
 
 Why croaks the sable bird of death, 
 As hovering o'er yon desert dun ? 
 
 When circling years have past away, 
 And Summer blooms in Avin glen, 
 
 Why stands yon peasant in dismay, 
 Still gazing o'er the bloated den ?
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 113 
 
 Green grows the grass ! the bones are white ! 
 
 Not bones of mountain stag they seem ! 
 There hooted once the owl by night, 
 
 Above the dead-light's lambent beam ! 
 
 See yon lone cairn, so gray with age, 
 Above the base of proud Cairn-Gorm : 
 
 There lies the dust of Avin's sage, 
 Who raised the Spirit of the Storm, 
 
 Yet still at eve, or midnight drear, 
 When Wintry winds begin to sweep, 
 
 When passing shrieks assail thine ear, 
 Or murmurs by the mountain steep ; 
 
 When from the dark and sedgy dells 
 
 Came eldrich cries of wildered men, 
 Or wind-harp at thy window swells, 
 
 Beware the sprite of Avin-Glen !
 
 114 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Young Farquhar ceased, and, rising slow, 
 Doffed his plumed bonnet, wiped his brow, 
 And flushed with conscious dignity, 
 Cast o'er the crowd his falcon eye, 
 And found them all in silence deep, 
 As listening for the tempest's sweep. 
 So well his tale of Avin's seer 
 Suited the rigour of the year ; 
 So high his strain, so bold his lyre, 
 So fraught with rays of Celtic fire, 
 They almost weened each hum that past 
 The spirit of the northern blast. 
 
 The next was named, the very sound 
 Excited merriment around. 
 But when the bard himself appeared, 
 The ladies smiled, the courtiers sneered ; 
 For such a simple air and mien 
 Before a court had never been. 
 A clown he was, bred in the wild, 
 And late from native moors exiled.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 115 
 
 In hopes his mellow mountain strain 
 High favour from the great would gain. 
 Poor wight ! he never weened how hard 
 For poverty to earn regard ! 
 Dejection o'er his visage ran, 
 His coat was bare, his colour wan, 
 His forest doublet darned and torn, 
 His shepherd plaid all rent and worn ; 
 Yet dear the symbols to his eye, 
 Memorials of a time gone bye. 
 
 The bard on Ettrick's mountain green 
 In Nature's bosom nursed had been, 
 And oft had marked in forest lone 
 Her beauties on her mountain throne ; 
 Had seen her deck the wild-wood tree, 
 And star with snowy gems the lea ; 
 In loveliest colours paint the plain, 
 And sow the moor with purple grain ; 
 By golden mead and mountain sheer, 
 Had viewed the Ettrick waving clear.
 
 116 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Where shadowy flocks of purest snow 
 Seemed grazing in a world below. 
 
 Instead of Ocean's billowy pride, 
 Where monsters play and navies ride, 
 Oft had he viewed, as morning rose, 
 The bosom of the lonely Lowes, 
 Plowed far by many a downy keel, 
 Of wild-duck and of vagrant teal. 
 Oft thrilled his heart at close of even, 
 To see the dappled vales of heaven, 
 With many a mountain, moor, and tree. 
 Asleep upon the St Mary ; 
 The pilot swan majestic wind, 
 With all his cygnet fleet behind, 
 So softly sail, and swiftly row, 
 With sable oar and silken prow. 
 Instead of war's unhallowed form, 
 His eye had seen the thunder-storm 
 Descend within the mountain's brim, 
 And shroud him in its chambers grim ;
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 117 
 
 Then from its bowels burst amain 
 The sheeted flame and sounding rain, 
 And by the bolts in thunder borne, 
 The heaven's own breast and mountain torn ; 
 The wild roe from the forest driven ; 
 The oaks of ages peeled and riven ; 
 Impending oceans whirl and boil, 
 Convulsed by Nature's grand turmoil. 
 
 Instead of arms or golden crest, 
 His harp with mimic flowers was drest : 
 Around, in graceful streamers, fell 
 The briar-rose and the heather bell ; 
 And there, his learning deep to prove, 
 Naturae Donum graved above. 
 When o'er her mellow notes he ran, 
 And his wild mountain chant began, 
 Then first was noted in his eye, 
 A gleam of native energy.
 
 118 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT IT. 
 
 THE TENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 Old David rose ere it was day, 
 And climbed old WonfelFs wizard brae ; 
 Looked round, with visage grim and sour, 
 O'er Ettrick woods and Eskdale-moor. 
 An outlaw from the south he came a 
 And Ludlow was his father's name ; 
 His native land had used him ill, 
 And Scotland bore him no good-will. 
 
 As fixed he stood, in sullen scorn, 
 Regardless of the streaks of morn, 
 Old David spied, on Wonfell cone, 
 A fairy band come riding on. 
 A lovelier troop was never seen ; 
 Their steeds were white, their doublets green.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 119 
 
 Their faces shone like opening morn, 
 And bloomed like roses on the thorn. 
 At every flowing mane was hung 
 A silver bell that lightly rung ; 
 That sound, borne on the breeze away, 
 Oft set the mountaineer to pray. 
 
 Old David crept close in the heath, 
 Scarce moved a limb, scarce drew a breath ; 
 But as the tinkling sound came nigh, 
 Old David's heart beat wonderous high. 
 He thought of riding on the wind ; 
 Of leaving hawk and hern behind ; 
 Of sailing lightly o'er the sea, 
 In mussel shell, to Germany ; 
 Of revel raids by dale and down ; 
 Of lighting torches at the moon ; 
 Or through the sounding spheres to sing, 
 Borne on the fiery meteor's wing ; 
 Of dancing rieath the moonlight sky ; 
 Of sleeping in the dew-cup's eye.
 
 120 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II- 
 
 And then he thought ! dread to tell ! 
 Of tithes the fairies paid to hell ! 
 
 David turned up a reverend eye, 
 And fixed it on the morning sky ; 
 He knew a mighty one lived there, 
 That sometimes heard a warriors prayer 
 No word, save one, could David say ; 
 Old David had not learned to pray. 
 
 Scarce will a Scotsman yet regard 
 What David saw, and what he heard. 
 He heard their horses snort and tread, 
 And every word the rider said ; 
 While green portmanteaus, long and low, 
 Lay bended o'er each saddle bow. 
 A lovely maiden rode between, 
 Whom David judged the Fairy Queen ; 
 But strange ! he heard her moans resound. 
 And saw her feet with fetters bound.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 121 
 
 Fast spur they on through bush and brake ; 
 To Ettrick woods their course they take. 
 Old David followed still in view, 
 Till near the Lochilaw they drew ; 
 There in a deep and wonderous dell, 
 Where wandering sun-beam never fell, 
 Where noon-tide breezes never blew, 
 From flowers to drink the morning; dew : 
 There, underneath the sylvan shade, 
 The fairies'' spacious bower was made. 
 Its rampart was the tangling sloe, 
 The bending briar, and misletoe ; 
 And o'er its roof, the crooked oak 
 Waved wildly from the frowning rock. 
 
 This wonderous bower, this haunted dell, 
 The forest shepherd shunned as hell ! 
 When sound of fairies 1 silver horn 
 Came on the evening breezes borne, 
 Homeward he fled, nor made a stand, 
 Thinking the spirits hard at hand.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 But when he heard the eldrich swell 
 Of giggling laugh and bridle bell, 
 Or saw the riders troop along, 
 His orisons were loud and strong. 
 His household fare he yielded free 
 To this mysterious company, 
 The fairest maid his cot within 
 Resigned with awe and little din ; 
 True he might weep, but nothing sav, 
 For none durst say the fairies nay. 
 
 Old David hasted home that night. 
 A wondering and a wearied wight. 
 Seven sons he had, alert and keen, 
 Had all in Border battles been ; 
 Had wielded brand, and bent the bow, 
 For those who sought their overthrow. 
 Their hearts were true, their arms were strong. 
 Their faulchions keen, their arrows long : 
 The race of fairies they denied 
 Xo fairies kept the English side.
 
 NIGHT IT. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 123 
 
 Our yeomen on their armour threw, 
 Their brands of steel and bows of yew, 
 Long arrows at their backs they sling, 
 Fledged from the Snowdon eagle's wing. 
 And boun 1 away brisk as the wind, 
 The sire before, the sons behind. 
 
 That evening fell so sweetly still, 
 So mild on lonely moor and hill, 
 The little genii of the fell 
 Forsook the purple heather-bell, 
 And all their dripping beds of dew, 
 In wind-flower, thyme, and violet blue ; 
 Aloft their viewless looms they heave, 
 And dew-webs round the helmets weave. 
 The waning moon her lustre threw 
 Pale round her throne of softened blue ; 
 Her circuit, round the southland skv. 
 Was languid, low, and quickly bve ; 
 Leaning on cloud so faint and fair, 
 And cradled on the golden air ;
 
 124 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Modest and pale as maiden bride, 
 She sunk upon the trembling tide. 
 
 What late in daylight proved a jest, 
 Was now the doubt of every breast. 
 That fairies were, was not disputed ; 
 But what they were was greatly doubted. 
 Each argument was guarded well, 
 With if," and " should," and " who can tell." 
 
 " Sure He that made majestic man, 
 And framed the world's stupendous plan ; 
 Who placed on high the steady pole, 
 And sowed the stars that round it roll ; 
 And made that sky, so large and blue 
 Could surely make a fairy too." 
 
 The sooth to say, each valiant core 
 Knew feelings never felt before. 
 Oft had they darned the midnight brake, 
 Fearless of aught save bog and lake ;
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 125 
 
 But now the nod of sapling fir, 
 
 The heath-code's loud exulting whirr, 
 
 The cry of hern from sedgy pool, 
 
 Or airy bleeter's rolling howl, 
 
 Came fraught with more dismaying dread 
 
 Than warder's horn, or warrior's tread. 
 
 Just as the gloom of midnight fell, 
 They reached the fairies' lonely dell. 
 O heavens ! that dell was dark as death ! 
 Perhaps the pit-fall yawned beneath ! 
 Perhaps that lane that winded low, 
 Led to a nether world of woe ! 
 But stern necessity's control 
 Resistless sways the human soul. 
 
 The bows are bent, the tinders smoke 
 With fire by sword struck from the rock. 
 Old David held the torch before ; 
 His right hand heaved a dread claymore.
 
 120 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Whose Rippon edge he meant to try 
 On the first fairy met his eye. 
 Above his head his brand was raised ; 
 Above his head the taper blazed ; 
 A sterner or a ghastlier sight, 
 Ne'er entered bower at dead of night. 
 Below each lifted arm was seen 
 The barbed point of arrow keen, 
 Which waited but the twang of bow 
 To fly like lightning on the foe. 
 Slow move they on, with steady eye, 
 Resolved to conquer or to die. 
 
 At length they spied a massive door, 
 Deep in a nook, unseen before ; 
 And by it slept, on wicker chair, 
 A sprite of dreadful form and air. 
 His grizly beard flowed round his throat. 
 Like shaggy hair of mountain goat ; 
 His open jaws and visage grim, 
 His half-shut eye so deadly dim,
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 127 
 
 Made David's blood to's bosom rush, 
 And his gray hair his helmet brush. 
 He squared, and made his faulchion wheel 
 Around his back from head to heel ; 
 Then, rising tiptoe, struck amain, 
 Down fell the sleeper's head in twain ; 
 And springing blood, in veil of smoke, 
 Whizzed high against the bending oak. 
 
 " By heaven S 11 said George, with jocund air, 
 " Father, if all the fairies there 
 Are of the same materials made, 
 Let them beware the Rippon blade ! v 
 A ghastly smile was seen to play 
 O'er David's visage, stern and gray ; 
 He hoped, and feared ; but ne'er till then 
 Knew whether he fought with sprites or men 
 
 The massy door they next unlock, 
 That oped to hall beneath the rock,
 
 128 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT IT. 
 
 In which new wonders met the eye : 
 
 The room was ample, rude, and high, 
 
 The arches caverned, dark, and torn, 
 
 On Nature's rifted columns borne ; 
 
 Of moulding rude the embrazure, 
 
 And all the wild entablature ; 
 
 And far o'er roof and architrave, 
 
 The ivy's ringlets bend and wave. 
 
 In each abrupt recess was seen 
 
 A couch of heath and rushes green ; 
 
 While every alcove's sombre hue, 
 
 Was gemm'd with drops of midnight dew. 
 
 Why stand our heroes still as death, 
 Nor muscle move, nor heave a breath ? 
 See how the sire his torch has lowered, 
 And bends recumbent o'er his sword ! 
 The arcubalister has thrown 
 His threatening, thirsty arrows down ! 
 Struck in one moment, all the band 
 Entranced like moveless statues stand !
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 129 
 
 Enchantment sure arrests the spear, 
 And stints the warrior's bold career ! 
 
 List, list, what mellow angel-sound 
 Distils from yonder gloom profound ! 
 'Tis not the note of gathering shell, 
 Of fairy horn, nor silver bell ! 
 No, 'tis the lute's mellifluous swell, 
 Mixed with a maiden's voice so clear, 
 The flitting bats flock round to hear ! 
 
 So wildly o'er the vault it rung, 
 That song, if in the green- wood sung, 
 Would draw the fays of wood and plain 
 To kiss the lips that poured the strain. 
 The lofty pine would listening lean ; 
 The wild birch wave her tresses green ; 
 And larks, that rose the dawn to greet, 
 Drop lifeless at the singer's feet. 
 The air was old, the measure slow, 
 The words were plain, but words of woe. 
 K
 
 130 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Soft died the strain ; the warriors stand. 
 Nor rested lance, nor lifted brand, 
 But listening bend, in hopes again 
 To hear that sweetly plaintive strain. 
 'Tis gone ! and each uplifts his eye, 
 As waked from dream of ecstacy. 
 
 Why stoops young Owen's gilded crest ? 
 Why heave those groans from Owen's breast ? 
 While kinsmen's eyes in raptures speak, 
 Why steals the tear o'er Owen's cheek ? 
 That melting song, that song of pain, 
 Was sung to Owen's favourite strain ; 
 The words were uew, but that sweet lay 
 Had Owen heard in happier day. 
 
 Fast press they on ; in close-set row, 
 Winded the lab'rindi far and low, 
 Till, in the cave's extremest bound, 
 Arrayed in. sea-green silk, they found
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 131 
 
 Five beauteous dames, all fair and young ; 
 And she, who late so sweetly sung, 
 Sat leaning o'er a silver lute, 
 Pale with despair, with terror mute. 
 
 When back her auburn locks she threw, 
 And raised her eyes so lovely blue, 
 'Twas like the woodland rose in dew ! 
 That look was soft as morning flower, 
 And mild as sun-beam through the shower. 
 Old David gazed, and weened the while, 
 He saw a suffering angel smile ; 
 Weened he had heard a seraph sing, 
 And sounds of a celestial string. 
 But when young Owen met her view, 
 She shrieked, and to his bosom flew : 
 For, oft before, in Moodlaw bowers, 
 They two had passed the evening hours. 
 She was the loveliest mountain maid, 
 That e'er by grove or riv'let strayed ;
 
 132 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Old Raeburn's child, the fairest flower 
 That ever bloomed in Eskdale-moor. 
 'Twas she the Sire that morn had seen, 
 And judged to be the Fairy Queen ; 
 'Twas she who framed the artless lay, 
 That stopt the warriors on their way. 
 
 Close to her lover's breast she clung, 
 And round his neck enraptured hung : 
 " O my dear Owen ! haste and tell, 
 What caused you dare this lonely dell, 
 And seek your maid, at midnight still, 
 Deep in the bowels of the hill ? 
 Here in this dark and drear abode, 
 By all deserted but my God, 
 Must I have reft the life he gave, 
 Or lived in shame a villain's slave, 
 I was, at midnight's murkest hour, 
 Stole from my father's stately tower, 
 And never thought again to view 
 The sun or sky's ethereal blue ;
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 133 
 
 But since the first of Border-men 
 Has found me in this dismal den, 
 I to his arms for shelter fly, 
 With him to live, or with him die. , ' 
 
 How glowed brave Owen's manly face, 
 While in that lady's kind embrace ! 
 Warm tears of joy his utterance staid ; 
 " O, my loved Ann !" was all he said. 
 Though well they loved, her high estate 
 Caused Owen aye aloof to wait ; 
 And watch her bower, beside the rill, 
 When twilight rocked the breezes still, 
 And waked the music of the grove 
 To hymn the vesper song of love. 
 Then underneath the green- wood bough, 
 Oft had they breathed the tender vow. 
 
 With Ann of Raeburn here they found 
 The flowers of all the Border round ;
 
 134 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 From whom the strangest tale they hear, 
 That e'er astounded warrior's ear. 
 'Twould make even Superstition blush, 
 And all her tales of spirits hush. 
 
 That night the spoilers ranged the vale, 
 By Dryhope towers, and Meggat-dale. 
 Ah ! little trowed the fraudful train, 
 They ne'er should see their wealth again ' 
 Their lemans, and their mighty store, 
 For which they nightly toils had bore, 
 Full twenty Autumn moons and more ! 
 They little deemed, when morning dawned, 
 To meet the deadly Rippon brand ; 
 And only find, at their return, 
 In their loved cave an early urn. 
 Ill suits it simple bard to tell 
 Of bloody Avork that there befel. 
 He lists not deeds of death to sing, 
 Of splintered spear, and twanging string,
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 135 
 
 Of piercing arrow's purpled wing, 
 How faulchions flash, and helmets ring. 
 Not one of all that prowling band, 
 So long the terror of the land, 
 Not one escaped their deeds to tell ; 
 All in the winding lab'rinth fell. 
 The spoil was from the cave conveyed, 
 Where in a heap the dead were laid ; 
 The outer cave our yeomen fill, 
 And left them in the hollow hill. 
 
 But still that dell, and bourn beneath, 
 The forest shepherd dreads as death. 
 Not there at evening dares he stray, 
 Though love impatient points the way ; 
 Though throbs his heart the maid to see, 
 That's waiting by the trysting tree. 
 
 Even the old Sire, so reverend gray, 
 Ere turns the scale of night and day,
 
 136 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Oft breathes the short and ardent prayer, 
 That Heaven may guard his footsteps there; 
 His eyes, meantime, so dim with dread, 
 Scarce ken the turf his foot must tread. 
 For still 'tis told, and still believed, 
 That there the spirits were deceived, 
 And maidens from their grasp retrieved : 
 That this they still preserve in mind, 
 And watch, when sighs the midnight wind, 
 To wreck their rage on humankind. 
 
 Old David, for this doughty raid, 
 Was keeper of the forest made ; 
 A trooper he of gallant fame, 
 And first of all the Laidlaw name. 
 
 E'er since, in Ettrick's glens so green, 
 Spirits, though there, are seldom seen ; 
 And fears of elf, and fairy raid, 
 Have like a morning dream decayed.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 137 
 
 The bare-foot maid, of rosy hue, 
 
 Dares from the heath-flower brush the dew, 
 
 To meet her love in moon-light still, 
 
 By flowery den or tinkling rill ; 
 
 And well dares she till midnight stay, 
 
 Among the coils of fragrant hay. 
 
 True, some weak shepherds, gone astray, 
 As fell the dusk of Hallow-day, 
 Have heard the tinkling sound aloof, 
 And gentle tread of horse's hoof; 
 And flying swifter than the wind, 
 Left all their scattered flocks behind. 
 
 True, when the evening tales are told, 
 When winter nights are dark and cold, 
 The boy dares not to barn repair 
 Alone, to say his evening prayer ; 
 Nor dare the maiden ope the door, 
 Unless her lover walk before ;
 
 138 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Then well can counterfeit the fright, 
 
 If star-beam on the water light ; 
 
 And to his breast in terror cling, 
 
 For " such a dread and dangerous thing V 
 
 O, Ettrick ! shelter of my youth ! 
 Thou sweetest glen of all the south ! 
 Thy fairy tales, and songs of yore, 
 Shall never fire my bosom more. 
 Thy winding glades, and mountains wild, 
 The scenes that pleased me when a child, 
 Each verdant vale, and flowery lea, 
 Still in my midnight dreams I see ; 
 And waking oft, I sigh for thee ; 
 Thy hapless bard, though forced to roam 
 Afar from thee without a home, 
 Still there his glowing breast shall turn, 
 Till thy green bosom fold his urn. 
 Then, underneath thy mountain stone, 
 Shall sleep unnoticed and unknown.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 189 
 
 When ceased the shepherd's simple lay, 
 With careless mien he lounged away. 
 No bow lie deigned, nor anxious looked 
 How the gay throng their minstrel brooked. 
 No doubt within his bosom grew, 
 That to his skill the prize was due. 
 Well might he hope, for while he sung, 
 Louder and louder plaudits rung ; 
 And when he ceased his numbers wild, 
 Fair Royalty approved and smiled. 
 Long had the bard, with hopes elate, 
 Sung to the low, the gay, the great ; 
 And once had dared, at flatterer's call, 
 To tune his harp in Branxholm hall ; 
 But nor his notes of soothing sound, 
 Nor zealous word of bard renowned, 
 Might those persuade, that worth could be 
 Inherent in such mean degree. 
 But when the smile of Sovereign fair 
 Attested genuine nature there,
 
 140 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Throbbed high with rapture every breast, 
 And all his merit stood confest. 
 
 Different the next the herald named ; 
 Warrior he was, in battle maimed, 
 When Lennox, on the downs of Kyle, 
 Certhrew Maconnel and Argyle. 
 Unable more the sword to wield 
 With dark Clan-Alpine in the field, 
 Or rouse the dun deer from her den 
 With fierce Macfarlane and his men ; 
 He strove to earn a minstrel name, 
 And fondly nursed the sacred flame. 
 Warm was his heart, and bold his strain ; 
 Wild fancies in his moody brain 
 Gambolled, unbridled, and unbound, 
 Lured by a shade, decoyed by sound. 
 
 In tender age, when mind was free, 
 As standing by his nursed knee, 
 He heard a tale, so passing strange, 
 Of injured spirit's cool revenge,
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 141 
 
 It chilled his heart with blasting dread, 
 Which never more that bosom fled. 
 When passion's flush had fled his eye, 
 And gray hairs told that youth was bye, 
 Still quaked his heart at bush or stone, 
 As wandering in the gloom alone. 
 
 Where foxes roam, and eagles rave, 
 And dark woods round Ben-Lomond wave, 
 Once on a night, a night of dread I 
 He held convention with the dead ; 
 Brought warnings to the house of death, 
 And tidings from a world beneath. 
 
 Loud blew the blast the evening came, 
 The way was long, the minstrel lame ; 
 The mountain's side was dern with oak, 
 Darkened with pine, and ribbed with rock ; 
 Blue billows round its base were driven, 
 Its top was steeped in waves of heaven.
 
 142 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 The wood, the wind, the billow's moan, 
 All spoke in language of their own, 
 But too well to our minstrel known. 
 Wearied, bewildered, in amaze, 
 Hymning in heart the Virgin's praise, 
 A cross he framed, of birchen bough, 
 And 'neath that cross he laid him low ; 
 Hid by the heath, and Highland plaid, 
 His old harp in his bosom laid. 
 O ! when the winds that wandered by, 
 Sung on her breast their lullaby, 
 How thrilled the tones his bosom through, 
 And deeper, holier, poured his voav ! 
 
 No sleep was his he raised his eye, 
 To note if dangerous place was nigh. 
 There columned rocks, abrupt and rude, 
 Hung o'er his gateless solitude : 
 The muffled sloe, and tangling brier, 
 Precluded freak or entrance here ;
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 143 
 
 But yonder oped a little path, 
 0"ershadowed, deep, and dark as death. 
 Trembling, he groped around his lair 
 For mountain ash, but none was there. 
 Teeming with forms, his terror grew ; 
 Heedful he watched, for well he knew, 
 That in that dark and devious dell, 
 Some lingering ghost or sprite must dwell : 
 So as he trowed, so it befel. 
 
 The stars were wrapt in curtain gray, 
 The blast of midnight died away ; 
 'Twas just the hour of solemn dread, 
 When walk the spiritis of the dead. 
 Rustled the leaves with gentle motion,. 
 Groaned his chilled soul in deep devotion. 
 The lake-fowl's wake was heard no more ; 
 The wave forgot to brush the shore ; 
 Hushed was the bleat, on moor and hill ; 
 The wandering clouds of heaven stood still.
 
 144 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 What heart could bear, what eye could meet. 
 The spirits in their lone retreat ! 
 Rustled again the darksome dell ; 
 Straight on the minstrel's vision fell 
 A trembling and unwonted light, 
 That showed the phantoms to his sight. 
 
 Came first a slender female form, 
 Pale as the moon in Winter storm ; 
 A babe of sweet simplicity 
 Clung to her breast as pale as she, 
 And aye she sung its lullaby. 
 That cradle-song of the phantom's child, 
 O ! but it was soothing, holy, and wild ! 
 But, O ! that song can ill be sung, 
 By Lowland bard, or Lowland tongue.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 145 
 
 Clje Spectre's Crafcie^ong* 
 
 Hush, my bonny babe ! hush, and be still ! 
 Thy mother's arms shall shield thee from ill. 
 Far have I borne thee, in sorrow and pain, 
 To drink the breeze of the world again. 
 The dew shall moisten thy brow so meek. 
 And the breeze of midnight fan thy cheek, 
 And soon shall we rest in the bow of the hill ; 
 Hush, my bonny babe : hush, and be still ! 
 For thee have I travailed, in weakness and woe, 
 The world above and the world below. 
 My heart was soft, and it fell in the snare ; 
 Thy father was cruel, but thou wert fair. 
 I sinned, I sorrowed, I died for thee ; 
 Smile, my bonny babe ! smile on me ! 
 
 See yon thick clouds of murky hue ; 
 Yon star that peeps from its window blue ; 
 Above yon clouds, that wander far, 
 Away, above yon little star, 
 L
 
 146T THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 There's a home of peace that shall soon be thine, 
 And there shalt thou see thy Father and mine. 
 The flowers of the world shall bud and decay, 
 The trees of the forest be weeded away ; 
 But there shalt thou bloom for ever and aye. 
 The time will come, I shall follow thee ; 
 But long, long hence that time shall be ; 
 O weep not thou for thy mother's ill ; 
 Hush, my bonny babe ! hush, and be still ! 
 
 Slow moved she on with dignity, 
 Nor bush, nor brake, or rock, nor tree, 
 Her footsteps staid o'er cliff so bold, 
 Where scarce the roe her foot could hold. 
 Stately she wandered, firm and free, 
 Singing her softened lullaby. 
 
 Three naked phantoms next came on ; 
 They beckoned low, past, and were gone. 
 Then came a troop of sheeted dead, 
 With shade of chieftain at their head.
 
 XIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 147 
 
 And with our bard, in brake forlorn, 
 Held converse till the break of morn. 
 Their ghostly rites, their looks, their mould, 
 Or words to man, he never told ; 
 But much he learned of mystery, 
 Of that was past, and that should be. 
 Thenceforth he troubles oft divined, 
 And scarcely held his perfect mind ; 
 Yet still the song, admired when young, 
 He loved, and that in Court he sung. 
 
 flTije jfate of j$tac$xc#ox. 
 
 THE ELEVENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 " Macgregor, Macgregor, remember our foemen ; 
 The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond ; 
 The clans are impatient, and chide thy delay ; 
 Arise ! let us bound to Glen-Lyon away.'''' 
 
 Stern scowled the Macgregor, then silent and sullen. 
 He turned his red eye to the braes of Strathfillan ;
 
 14-8 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 " Go, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismissed ; 
 The Campbells this night for Macgregor must rest." 
 
 " Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying, 
 Three days, round the hills of M'Nab and Glen-Lyon ; 
 Of riding and running such tidings they bear, 
 We must meet them at home else they'll quickly be here." 
 
 " The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him, 
 And haughty M'Nab, with his giants behind him ; 
 This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, 
 And do what it freezes my vitals to say. 
 Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind ; 
 Thou knowest in the strife I was never behind, 
 Nor ever receded a foot from the van, 
 Or blenched at the ire or the prowess of man. 
 But lVe sworn by the cross, by my God, and by all ! 
 An oath which I cannot, and dare not recall 
 Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from the pile. 
 To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-Gyle.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 149 
 
 Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone, 
 I called to remembrance some deeds I had done, 
 When entered a lady, with visage so wan, 
 And looks, such as never were fastened on man. 
 I knew her, brother ! I knew her too well ! 
 Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell, 
 As would thrill thy bold heart ; but how long she remained, 
 So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained, 
 I knew not but ages seemed short to the while. 
 Though proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green isle, 
 With length of existence no man can enjoy, 
 The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly ! 
 The thrice-threatened pangs of last night to forego, 
 Macgregor would dive to the mansions below. 
 Despairing and mad, to futurity blind, 
 The present to shun, and some respite to find, 
 I swore, ere the shadow fell east from the pile, 
 To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle. 
 
 She told me, and turned my chilled heart to a stone, 
 The glory and name of Macgregor was gone :
 
 150 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. SIGHT II. 
 
 That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo, 
 Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, 
 Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, 
 Smit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun : 
 That a feast on Macgregors each day should be common,. 
 For years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond. 
 
 A parting embrace, in one moment, she gave : 
 Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave ! 
 Then flitting elusive, she said, with a frown, 
 " The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own V 
 
 " Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind ; 
 The dreams of the night have disordered thy mind. 
 Come, buckle thy panoply march to the field 
 See, brother, how hacked are thy helmet and shield I 
 Ay, that was M'Nab, in the height of his pride, 
 When the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side. 
 This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue ; 
 Rise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue :
 
 SIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 151 
 
 Thy fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing, 
 When loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon sliall ring. ,, 
 
 Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night, 
 Macgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of light : 
 It faded it darkened he shuddered he sighed 
 " No ! not for the universe !" low he replied. 
 
 Away went Macgregor, but went not alone ; 
 To watch the dread rendezvous, Malcolm has gone. 
 They oared the broad Lomond, so still and serene, 
 And deep in her bosom, how awful the scene ! 
 O'er mountains inverted the blue waters curled, 
 And rocked them on skies of a far nether world. 
 
 All silent they went, for the time was approaching ; 
 The moon the blue zenith already was touching ; 
 No foot was abroad on the forest or hill, 
 No sound but the lullaby sung by the rill ; 
 Young Malcolm at distance, couched, trembling the whil 
 Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.
 
 152 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. MIGHT II. 
 
 Few minutes had passed, ere they spied on the stream, 
 A skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem ; 
 Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom, 
 The glow-worm her wakelight, the rainbow her boom ; 
 A dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast, 
 Like wold-fire, at midnight, that glares on the waste. 
 Though rough was the river with rock and cascade, 
 No torrent, no rock, her velocity staid ; 
 She wimpled the water to weather and lee, 
 And heaved as if borne on the waves of the sea. 
 Mute Nature was roused in the bounds of the glen ; 
 The wild deer of Gairtney abandoned his den, 
 Fled panting away, over river and isle, 
 Nor once turned his eye to the brook of Glen-Gyle. 
 
 The fox fled in terror ; the eagle awoke, 
 As slumbering he dozed on the shelve of the rock ; 
 Astonished, to hide in the moon-beam he flew, 
 And screwed the night-heaven till lost in the blue. 
 
 Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach, 
 The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 153 
 
 He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain, 
 As begging for something he could not obtain ; 
 She raised him indignant, derided his stay, 
 Then bore him on board, set her sail, and away. 
 
 Though fast the red bark down the river did glide. 
 Yet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side ; 
 " Macgregor ! Macgregor I 11 he bitterly cried ; 
 " Macgregor ! Macgregor I 1 ' the echoes replied. 
 He struck at the lady, but, strange though it seem, 
 His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream ; 
 But the groans from the boat, that ascended amain, 
 Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain. 
 They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away ; 
 Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye ! 
 
 Abrupt as glance of morning sun, 
 The bard of Lomond's lay is done. 
 Loves not the swain, from path of dew, 
 At morn the golden orb to view, 
 Rise broad and yellow from the main, 
 While scarce a shadow lines the plain ;
 
 154 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Well knows he then the gathering cloud 
 Shall all his noontide glories shroud, 
 Like smile of morn before the rain, 
 Appeared the minstrePs mounting strain. 
 As easy inexperienced hind, 
 Who sees not coming rains and wind, 
 The beacon of the dawning hour, 
 Nor notes the blink before the shower, 
 Astonished, 'mid his open grain, 
 Sees round him pour the sudden rain 
 So looked the still attentive throng, 
 When closed at once Macfarlane's song. 
 
 Time was it when he 'gan to tell 
 Of spectre stern, and barge of hell ; 
 Loud, and more loud, the minstrel sung ; 
 Loud, and more loud, the chords he rung ; 
 Wild grew his looks, for well he knew 
 The scene was dread, the tale was true ; 
 And ere Loch-Ketturine , s wave was won, 
 Faultered his voice, Ins breath was done.
 
 XIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 155 
 
 He raised his brown hand to his brow, 
 To veil his eye's enraptured glow ; 
 Flung back his locks of silver gray, 
 Lifted his crutch, and limped away. 
 
 The Bard of Clyde stepped next in view ; 
 Tall was his form, his harp was new ; 
 Brightened his dark eye as he sung ; 
 A stammer fluttered on his tongue ; 
 A captain in the wars was he, 
 And sprung of noble pedigree. 
 
 arl Walter* 
 
 THE TWELFTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 ** What makes Earl Walter pace the wood 
 In the wan light of the moon ? 
 
 Why altered is Earl Walter's mood 
 So strangely, and so soon ?"
 
 156 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. XIGHT II. 
 
 " It is his lot to fight a knight 
 
 Whom man could never tame, 
 To-morrow, in his Sovereign's sight, 
 
 Or bear perpetual shame." 
 
 " Go warn the Clyde, go warn the Ayr, 
 
 Go warn them suddenly, 
 If none will fight for Earl Walter, 
 
 Some one may fight for me." 
 
 " Now hold your tongue, my daughter dear. 
 Now hold your tongue for shame ! 
 
 For never shall my son Walter 
 Disgrace his father's name. 
 
 " Shall ladies tell, and minstrels sing, 
 
 How lord of Scottish blood, 
 By proxy fought before his king ? 
 
 No, never ! by the rood !"
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 157 
 
 Earl Walter rose ere it was day, 
 
 For battle made him boun' ; 
 Earl Walter mounted his bonny gray, 
 
 And rode to Stirling town. 
 
 Old Hamilton from the tower came down, 
 
 " Go saddle a steed for me, 
 And 111 away to Stirling town, 
 
 This deadly bout to see. 
 
 " Mine eye is dim, my locks are gray, 
 
 My cheek is furred and wan ; 
 Ah, me ! but I have seen the day 
 
 I feared not single man ! 
 
 " Bring me my steed,"" said Hamilton ; 
 
 " Darcie his vaunts may rue ; 
 Whoever slays my only son 
 
 Must fight the father too.
 
 158 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. XI6HT II. 
 
 " Whoever fights my noble son 
 
 May foin the best he can ; 
 Whoever braves Wat Hamilton, 
 
 Shall know he braves a man.'' 1 
 
 And there was riding in belt and brand. 
 
 And running o'er holt and lea ! 
 For all the lords of fair Scotland 
 
 Came there the fight to see. 
 
 And squire, and groom, and baron bold,, 
 
 Trooping in thousands came, 
 And many a hind, and warrior old. 
 
 And many a lovely dame. 
 
 When good Earl Walter rode the ring, 
 
 Upon his mettled gray, 
 There was none so ready as our good king 
 
 To bid that Earl good day.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 159 
 
 For one so gallant and so young, 
 
 Oh, many a heart beat high ; 
 And no fair eye in all the throng, 
 
 Nor rosy cheek, was dry. 
 
 But up then spoke the king^ daughter, 
 
 Fair Margaret was her name 
 " If we should lose brave Earl Walter. 
 
 My sire is sore to blame. 
 
 " Forbid the fight, my liege, I pray, 
 
 Upon my bended knee." 
 " Daughter, I'm loth to say you nay; 
 
 It cannot, must not be. 11 - 
 
 4{ Proclaim it round," the princess cried, 
 
 " Proclaim it suddenly ; 
 If none will fight for Earl Walter, 
 
 Some one may fight for me.
 
 160 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 " In Douglas-dale I have a tower, 
 
 With many a holm and hill, 
 I'll give them all, and ten times more, 
 
 To him will Darcie kill." 
 
 But up then spoke old Hamilton, 
 
 And doffed his bonnet blue ; 
 In his sunk eye the tear-drop shone, 
 
 And his gray locks o'er it flew : 
 
 " Cease, cease, thou lovely royal maid, 
 
 Small cause hast thou for pain ; 
 Wat Hamilton shall have no aid 
 
 'Gainst lord of France or Spain. 
 
 " I love my boy ; but should he fly, 
 
 Or other for him fight, 
 Heaven grant that first his parent's eye 
 
 May set in endless night !" -
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 161 
 
 Young Margaret blushed, her weeping staid, 
 
 And quietly looked on : 
 Now Margaret was the fairest maid 
 
 On whom the daylight shone. 
 
 Her eye was like the star of love, 
 That blinks across the evening dun ; 
 
 The locks that waved that eye above, 
 Like light clouds curling round the sun. 
 
 When Darcie entered in the ring, 
 A shudder round the circle flew : 
 
 Like men who from a serpent spring, 
 They startled at the view. 
 
 His look so fierce, his crest so high, 
 
 His belts and bands of gold, 
 And the glances of his charger's eye 
 
 Were dreadful to behold. 
 M
 
 162 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT XI. 
 
 But when he saw Earl Walter's face, 
 
 So rosy and so young, 
 He frowned, and sneered with haughty grace, 
 
 And round disdainful flung. 
 
 " What ! dost thou turn my skill to sport, 
 
 And break thy jests on me ? 
 Thinkst thou I sought the Scottish court, 
 
 To play with boys like thee ? 
 
 " Fond youth go home and learn to ride ; 
 
 For pity get thee gone ; 
 Tilt with the girls and boys of Clyde, 
 
 And boast of what thou'st done. 
 
 i( If Darcie^ spear but touch thy breast, 
 
 It flies thy body through ; 
 If Darcie's sword come o'er thy crest. 
 
 It cleaves thy heart in two."
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 163 
 
 " I came not here to vaunt, Darcie ; 
 
 I came not here to scold ; 
 It ill befits a knight like thee 
 
 Such proud discourse to hold. 
 
 " To-morrow boast, amid the throng, 
 
 Of deeds which thou hast done ; 
 To-day restrain thy saucy tongue ; 
 
 Rude blusterer, come on !"" 
 
 Rip went the spurs in either steed, 
 
 To different posts they sprung ; 
 Quivered each spear o'er charger's head ; 
 
 Forward each warrior hung. 
 
 The horn blew once the horn blew twice 
 
 Oh ! many a heart beat high ! 
 'Twas silence all ! the horn blew thrice 
 
 Dazzled was every eye.
 
 164? THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Hast thou not seen, from heaven, in ire, 
 
 The eagle swift descend ? 
 Hast thou not seen the sheeted fire 
 
 The lowering darkness rend ? 
 
 Not faster glides the eagle gray 
 
 Adown the yielding wind ; 
 Not faster bears the bolt away, 
 
 Leaving the storm behind ; 
 
 Than flew the warriors on their way, 
 
 With full suspended breath ; 
 Than flew the warriors on their way 
 
 Across the field of death. 
 
 So fierce the shock, so loud the clang, 
 
 The gleams of fire were seen ; 
 The rocks and towers of Stirling rang. 
 
 And the red blood fell between.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 165 
 
 Earl Walter's gray was borne aside, 
 
 Lord Darcie's black held on. 
 " Oh ! ever alack," fair Margaret cried, 
 
 " The brave Earl Walter's gone !" 
 *' Oh ! ever alack,"" the king replied, 
 
 " That ever the deed was done !" 
 
 Earl Walter's broken corslet doffed, 
 
 He turned with lightened eye ; 
 His glancing spear he raised aloft, 
 
 And seemed to threat the sky. 
 
 Lord Darcie's spear aimed at his breast, 
 
 He parried dexfrously ; 
 Then caught him rudely by the wrist, 
 
 Saying, " Warrior, come with me !" 
 
 Lord Darcie drew, Lord Darcie threw ; 
 
 But threw and drew in vain ; 
 Lord Darcie drew, Lord Darcie threw, 
 
 And spurred his black amain.
 
 166 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Down came Lord Darcie, casque and brand 
 
 Loud rattled on the clay ; 
 Down came Earl Walter, hand in hand, 
 
 And head to head they lay. 
 
 Lord Darcie's steed turned to his lord, 
 
 And trembling stood behind ; 
 But off Earl Walter's dapple scoured 
 
 Far fleeter than the wind ; 
 Nor stop, nor stay, nor gate, nor ford, 
 
 Could make her look behind. 
 
 CTer holt, o'er hill, o'er slope and slack. 
 
 She sought her native stall ; 
 She liked not Darcie's doughty black. 
 
 Nor Darcie^ spear at all. 
 
 " Even go thy ways," Earl Walter cried, 
 
 " Since better may not be ; 
 I'll trust my life with weapon tried. 
 
 But never again with thee.
 
 5JIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 16? 
 
 " Rise up, Lord Darcie, sey thy brand, 
 
 And fling thy mail away ; 
 For foot to foot, and hand to hand, 
 
 Well now decide the day." 
 
 So said, so done ; their helms they flung, 
 Their doublets linked and sheen ; 
 
 And hawberk, armlet, cuirass, rung 
 Promiscuous on the green. 
 
 ** Now, Darcie ! now thy dreaded name, 
 
 That oft has chilled a foe, 
 Thy hard-earned honours, and thy fame, 
 
 Depend on every blow. 
 
 *'*' Sharp be thine eye, and firm thy hand ; 
 
 Thy heart unmoved remain ; 
 For never was the Scottish brand 
 
 Upreared, and reared in vain."
 
 168 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 " Now do thy best, young Hamilton, 
 
 Rewarded shalt thou be ; 
 Thy king, thy country, and thy kin, 
 
 All, all depend on thee ! 
 
 " Thy father's heart yearns for his son, 
 
 The ladies" cheeks grow wan ; 
 Wat Hamilton ! Wat Hamilton ! 
 
 Now prove thyself a man P 1 
 
 " What makes Lord Darcie shift and dance 
 
 So fast around the plain ? 
 What makes Lord Darcie strike and lance,. 
 
 As passion fired his brain ? 
 
 " Lay on, lay on,'"' said Hamilton ; 
 
 " Thou bear'st thee boistYously ; 
 If thou shouldst pelt till day be done. 
 
 Thy weapon I defy.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 169 
 
 " What makes Lord Darcie shift and wear 
 
 So fast around the plain ? 
 Why is Lord Darcie's hollands fair 
 
 All stripped with crimson grain ? r 
 
 The first blow that Earl Walter made 
 
 He clove his whiskered chin, 
 " Beshrew thy heart," Lord Darcie said, 
 
 "Ye sharply do begin !" 
 
 The next blow that Earl Walter made, 
 
 Quite through the gare it ran. 
 " Now, by my faith," Lord Darcie said, 
 
 " That's stricken like a man." 
 
 The third blow that Earl Walter made, 
 
 It pierced his lordly side. 
 " Now, by my troth," Lord Darcie said. 
 
 " Thv marks are ill to bide."
 
 170 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT H. 
 
 Lord Dame's sword he forced a-hight, 
 
 And tripped him on the plain. 
 " O, ever alack," then cried the knight, 
 
 " I ne'er shall rise again !" 
 
 When good Earl Walter saw he grew 
 
 So pale, and lay so low, 
 Away his brace of swords he threw, 
 
 And raised his fainting foe. 
 
 Then rang the list with shouts of joy, 
 Loud and more loud they grew, 
 
 And many a bonnet to the sky 
 And many a coif they threw. 
 
 The tear stood in the father's eye, 
 
 He wiped his aged brow, 
 " Give me thy hand, my gallant boy ! 
 
 I knew thee not till now.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 171 
 
 " My liege, my king, this is my son 
 
 Whom I present to thee ; 
 Nor would I change Wat Hamilton 
 
 For all the lads I see !" 
 
 " Welcome, my friend and warrior old ! 
 
 This gallant son of thine 
 Is much too good for baron bold, 
 
 He must be son of mine ! 
 
 " For he shall wed my daughter dear, 
 
 The flower of fair Scotland ; 
 The badge of honour he shall wear, 
 
 And sit at my right hand. 
 
 " And he shall have the lands of Kyle, 
 
 And royal bounds of Clyde ; 
 And he shall have all Arran's isle 
 
 To dower his roval bride."
 
 172 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 The princess smiled, and sore was flushed, 
 
 0, but her heart was fain ! 
 And aye her cheek of beauty blushed 
 
 Like rose-bud in the rain. 
 
 From this the Hamiltons of Clyde 
 
 Their royal lineage draw ; 
 And thus was won the fairest bride 
 
 That Scotland ever saw ! 
 
 When ceased the lay, the plaudits rung. 
 Not for the bard, or song he sung ; 
 But every eye with pleasure shone, 
 And cast its smiles on one alone, 
 That one was princely Hamilton ! 
 And well the gallant chief approved 
 The bard who sung of sire beloved, 
 And pleased were all the court to see 
 The minstrel hailed so courteously.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 173 
 
 Again is every courtier's gaze 
 Speaking suspense, and deep amaze ; 
 The bard was stately, dark and stern, 
 'Twas Drummond from the moors of Ern. 
 Tall was his frame, his forehead high, 
 Still and mysterious was his eye ; 
 His look was like a winter day, 
 When storms and winds have sunk away. 
 
 Well versed was he in holy lore ; 
 In cloistered dome the cowl he wore ; 
 But, wearied with the eternal strain 
 Of formal breviats, cold and vain, 
 He wooed, in depth of Highland dale, 
 The silver spring and mountain gale. 
 
 In gray Glen-Ample's forest deep, 
 Hid from the rains and tempest's sweep, 
 In bosom of an aged wood 
 His solitary cottage stood.
 
 174 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Its walls were bastioned, dark, and dern, 
 Dark was its roof of filmot fern, 
 And dark the vista down the linn, 
 But all was love and peace within. 
 Religion, man's first friend and best, 
 Was in that home a constant guest ; 
 There, sweetly, every morn and even, 
 Warm orisons were poured to Heaven : 
 And every cliff Glen- Ample knew, 
 And green wood on her banks that grew, 
 In ansAver to his bounding string, 
 Had learned the hymns of Heaven to sing ; 
 With many a song of mystic lore, 
 Rude as when sung in days of yore. 
 
 His were the snowy flocks, that strayed 
 Adown Glen-Airtney's forest glade ; 
 And his the goat, and chesnut hind, 
 Where proud Ben-Vorlich cleaves the wind : 
 There oft, when suns of summer shone, 
 The bard would sit, and muse alone.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 175 
 
 Of innocence, expelled by man ; 
 
 Of nature's fair and wonderous plan ; 
 
 Of the eternal throne sublime, 
 
 Of visions seen in ancient time, 
 
 Till his rapt soul would leave her home 
 
 In visionary worlds to roam. 
 
 Then would the mists that wandered bye 
 
 Seem hovering spirits to his eye : 
 
 Then would the breeze's whistling sweep, 
 
 Soft lulling in the cavern deep, 
 
 Seem to the enthusiast's dreaming ear 
 
 The words of spirits whispered near. 
 
 Loathed his firm soul the measured chime 
 And florid films of modern rhyme ; 
 No other lays became his tongue 
 But those his rude forefathers sung. 
 And when, by wandering minstrel warned, 
 The mandate of his queen he learned, 
 So much he prized the ancient strain, 
 High hopes had he the prize to gain.
 
 176 THE QUEEN'S WAKJi. XIGHT II. 
 
 With modest, yet majestic mien, 
 He tuned his harp of solemn strain : 
 O list the tale, ye fair and young, 
 A lay so strange was never sung ! 
 
 minting 
 
 THE THIRTEENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen ; 
 But it wasna to meet Duneira's men, 
 Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see, 
 For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
 It was only to hear the Yorlin sing, 
 And pu' the cress-flower round the spring ; 
 The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye, 
 And the nut that hang frae the hazel tree ; 
 For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be. 
 But lang may her minny look o'er the wa\ 
 And lang may she seek i 1 the green- wood shaw ; 
 Lang the laird of Duneira blame, 
 And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come hame !
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 177 
 
 When many a day had come and fled, 
 When grief grew calm, and hope was dead, 
 When mess for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, 
 When the bedes-man had prayed, and the dead- 
 bell rung, 
 Late, late in a gloamin when all was still, 
 When the fringe was red on the westlin hill, 
 The wood was sere, the moon i the wane, 
 The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, 
 Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane ; 
 When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, 
 Late, late in the gloamin Kilmeny came hame ! 
 
 " Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been ? 
 Lang hae we sought baith holt and den ; 
 By linn, by ford, and green-wood tree, 
 Yet you are halesome and fair to see. 
 Where gat you that joup o 1 the lilly scheen ? 
 That bonny snood of the birk sae green ? 
 And these roses, the fairest that ever were seen ? 
 Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been P 1 " 
 N
 
 178 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, 
 But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face ; 
 As still was her look, and as still was her ee, 
 As the stillness that lay on the emerant lea, 
 Or the mist that sleeps on a waveless sea. 
 For Kilmeny had been she knew not where, 
 And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare ; 
 Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, 
 Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew, 
 But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, 
 And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, 
 When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen. 
 And a land where sin had never been ; 
 A land of love, and a land of light, 
 Withouten sun, or moon, or night : 
 Where the river swa'd a living stream, 
 And the light a pure celestial beam : 
 The land of vision it would seem, 
 A still, an everlasting dream. 
 
 In yon green-wood there is a waik. 
 And in that waik there is a wene,
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 179 
 
 And in that wene there is a maike, 
 That neither has flesh, blood, nor bane ; 
 
 And down in yon green-wood he walks his lane. 
 
 In that green wene Kilmeny lay, 
 Her bosom happed wi' the flowerits gay ; 
 But the air was soft and the silence deep, 
 And bonny Kilmeny fell sound asleep. 
 She kend nae mair, nor opened her ee, 
 Till waked by the hymns of a far countrye. 
 
 She 'wakened on couch of the silk sae slim, 
 All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim ; 
 And lovely beings round were rife, 
 Who erst had travelled mortal life ; 
 And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, 
 " What spirit has brought this mortal here ?" 
 
 " Lang have I journeyed the world wide," 
 A meek and reverend fere replied ;
 
 180 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 " Baith night and day I have watched the fair, 
 
 Eident a thousand years and mair. 
 
 Yes, I have watched o'er ilk degree, 
 
 Wherever blooms femenitye ; 
 
 But sinless virgin, free of stain 
 
 In mind and body, fand I nane. 
 
 Never, since the banquet of time, 
 
 Found I a virgin in her prime, 
 
 Till late this bonny maiden I saw 
 
 As spotless as the morning snaw : 
 
 Full twenty years she has lived as free 
 
 As the spirits that sojourn this countrye. 
 
 I have brought her away frae the snares of men, 
 
 That sin or death she never may ken."' 1 
 
 They clasped her waiste and her hands sae fair, 
 They kissed her cheek, and they kerned her hair, 
 And round came many a blooming fere, 
 Saying, " Bonny Kilmeny, yeVe welcome here ! 
 Women are freed of the littand scorn : 
 O, blessed be the day Kilmeny was born !
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 181 
 
 Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
 
 Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
 
 Many a lang year in sorrow and pain, 
 
 Many a lang year through the world we've gane, 
 
 Commissioned to watch fair womankind, 
 
 For its they who nurice th' immortal mind. 
 
 We have watched their steps as the dawning shone, 
 
 And deep in the green- wood walks alone ; 
 
 By lilly bower and silken bed, 
 
 The viewless tears have o'er them shed ; 
 
 Have soothed their ardent minds to sleep, 
 
 Or left the couch of love to weep. 
 
 We have seen ! we have seen ! but the time must 
 
 come, 
 And the angels will weep at the day of doom .' 
 
 " O, would the fairest of mortal kind 
 Aye keep the holy truths in mind, 
 That kindred spirits their motions see, 
 Who watch their ways with anxious ee, 
 And grieve for the guilt of humanitye !
 
 182 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. SIGHT II. 
 
 O, sweet to Heaven the maiden's prayer, 
 And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair ! 
 And dear to Heaven the words of truth, 
 And the praise of virtue frae beauty's mouth ! 
 And dear to the viewless forms of air, 
 The minds that kyth as the body fair ! 
 
 " O, bonny Kilmeny ! free frae stain, 
 If ever you seek the world again, 
 That world of sin, of sorrow and fear, 
 O, tell of the joys that are waiting here ; 
 And tell of the signs you shall shortly see ; 
 Of the times that are now, and the times that shall 
 be." 
 
 They lifted Kilmeny, they led her away, 
 And she walked in the light of a sunless day : 
 The sky was a dome of crystal bright, 
 The fountain of vision, and fountain of light : 
 The emerald fields were of dazzling glow. 
 And the flowers of everlasting blow.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 183 
 
 Then deep in the stream her body they laid, 
 That her youth and beauty never might fade ; 
 And they smiled on heaven, when they saw her lie 
 In the stream of life that wandered bye. 
 And she heard a song, she heard it sung, 
 She kend not where ; but sae sweetly it rung, 
 It fell on her ear like a dream of the morn : 
 " O ! blest be the day Kilmeny was born ! 
 Now shall the land of the spirits see, 
 Now shall it ken what a woman may be ! 
 The sun that shines on the world sae bright, 
 A borrowed gleid frae the fountain of light ; 
 And the moon that sleeks the sky sae dun, 
 Like a gouden bow, or a beamless sun, 
 Shall wear away, and be seen nae mair, 
 And the angels shall miss them travelling the air. 
 But lang, lang after baith night and day, 
 When the sun and the world have elyed away ; 
 When the sinner has gane to his waesome doom. 
 Kilmeny shall smile in eternal bloom !""
 
 184 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 They bore her away she wist not how, 
 For she felt not arm nor rest below ; 
 But so swift they wained her through the ligh^ 
 "Twas like the motion of sound or sight ; 
 They seemed to split the gales of air, 
 And yet nor gale nor breeze was there. 
 Unnumbered groves below them grew, 
 They came, they past, and backward flew, 
 Like floods of blossoms gliding on, 
 In moment seen, in moment gone. 
 O, never vales to mortal view 
 Appeared like those o'er which they flew ! 
 That land to human spirits given, 
 The lowermost vales of the storied heaven ; 
 From thence they can view the world below, 
 And heaven's blue gates with sapphires glow. 
 More glory yet unmeet to know. 
 
 They bore her far to a mountain green. 
 To see what mortal never had seen ;
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 185 
 
 And they seated her high on a purple sward, 
 And bade her heed what she saw and heard, 
 And note the changes the spirits wrought, 
 For now she lived in the land of thought. 
 She looked, and she saw nor sun nor skies, 
 But a crystal dome of a thousand dies. 
 She looked, and she saw nae land aright, 
 But an endless whirl of glory and light. 
 And radiant beings went and came 
 Far swifter than wind, or the linked flame. 
 She hid her een frae the dazzling view ; 
 She looked again and the scene was new. 
 
 She saw a sun on a summer sky, 
 And clouds of amber sailing bye ; 
 A lovely land beneath her lay, 
 And that land had glens and mountains gray ; 
 And that land had vallies and hoary piles, 
 And marled seas, and a thousand isles ; 
 Its fields were speckled, its forests green, 
 And its lakes were all of the dazzling sheen,
 
 186 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Like magic mirrors, where slumbering lay 
 
 The sun and the sky and the cloudlet gray ; 
 
 Which heaved and trembled and gently swung, 
 
 On every shore they seemed to be hung ; 
 
 For there they were seen on their downward plain 
 
 A thousand times and a thousand again ; 
 
 In winding lake and placid firth, 
 
 Little peaceful heavens in the bosom of earth. 
 
 Kilmeny sighed and seemed to grieve, 
 For she found her heart to that land did cleave ; 
 She saw the corn wave on the vale, 
 She saw the deer run down the dale ; 
 She saw the plaid and the broad claymore, 
 And the brows that the badge of freedom bore ; 
 And she thought she had seen the land before. 
 
 She saw a lady sit on a throne, 
 The fairest that ever the sun shone on ! 
 A lion licked her hand of milk, 
 And she held him in a leish of silk ;
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 187 
 
 And a leifu' maiden stood at her knee, 
 With a silver wand and melting ee ; 
 Her sovereign shield till love stole in, 
 And poisoned all the fount within. 
 
 Then a gruff untoward bedeman came, 
 And hundit the lion on his dame : 
 And the guardian maid wi' the dauntless ee, 
 She dropped a tear, and left her knee ; 
 And she saw till the queen frae the lion fled, 
 Till the bonniest flower of llie world lay dead. 
 A coffin was set on a distant plain, 
 And she saw the red blood fall like rain : 
 Then bonny Kilmeny , s heart grew sair, 
 And she turned away, and could look nae mair. 
 
 Then the gruff grim carle girned amain, 
 And they trampled him down, but he rose again ; 
 And he baited the lion to deeds of weir, 
 Till he lapped the blood to the kingdom dear ;
 
 188 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 And weening his head was danger-preef, 
 When crowned with the rose and clover leaf, 
 He gowled at the carle, and chased him away 
 To feed wi 1 the deer on the mountain gray. 
 He gowled at the carle, and he gecked at heaven^ 
 But his mark was set, and his arles given. 
 Kilmeny a while her een withdrew ; 
 She looked again, and the scene was new. 
 
 She saw below her fair unfurled 
 One half of all the glowing world, 
 Where oceans rolled, and rivers ran, 
 To bound the aims of sinful man. 
 She saw a people, fierce and fell, 
 Burst frae their bounds like fiends of hell ; 
 There lilies grew, and the eagle flew, 
 And she herked on her ravening crew, 
 Till the cities and towers were wrapt in a blaze, 
 And the thunder it roared o'er the lands and the seas. 
 The widows they wailed, and the red blood ran, 
 And she threatened an end to the race of man :
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 189 
 
 She never lened, nor stood in awe, 
 Till claught by the lion's deadly paw. 
 Oh ! then the eagle swinked for life, 
 And brainzelled up a mortal strife ; 
 But flew she north, or flew she south, 
 She met wi' the gowl of the lion's mouth. 
 
 With a mooted wing and waefu' maen, 
 The eagle sought her eiry again ; 
 But lang may she cour in her bloody nest, 
 And lang, lang sleek her wounded breast, 
 Before she sey another flight, 
 To play wi' the norland lion's might. 
 
 But to sing the sights Kilmeny saw, 
 So far surpassing nature's law, 
 The singer's voice wad sink away, 
 And the string of his harp wad cease to play. 
 But she saw till the sorrows of man were bye, 
 And all was love and harmony ;
 
 190 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Till the stars of heaven fell calmly away, 
 Like the flakes of snaw on a winter day. 
 
 Then Kilmeny begged again to see 
 The friends she had left in her own country, 
 To tell of the place where she had been, 
 And the glories that lay in the land unseen ; 
 To warn the living maidens fair, 
 The loved of Heaven, the spirits - ' care, 
 That all whose minds unmeled remain 
 Shall bloom in beauty when time is gane. 
 
 With distant music, soft and deep, 
 They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep ; 
 And when she awakened, she lay her lane, 
 All happed with flowers in the green-wood wene. 
 When seven lang years had come and fled ; 
 When grief was calm, and hope was dead ; 
 When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, 
 Late, late in a gloamin Kilmeny came hame !
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 191 
 
 And O, her beauty was fair to see, 
 But still and stedfast was her ee ! 
 Such beauty bard may never declare, 
 For there was no pride nor passion there ; 
 And the soft desire of maidens een 
 In that mild face could never be seen. 
 Her seymar was the lilly flower, 
 And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower ; 
 And her voice like the distant melodye, 
 That floats along the twilight sea. 
 But she loved to raike the lanely glen, 
 And keeped afar frae the haunts of men ; 
 Her holy hymns unheard to sing, 
 To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. 
 But wherever her peaceful form appeared, 
 The wild beasts of the hill were cheered ; 
 The wolf played bly thly round the field, 
 The lordly byson lowed and kneeled ; 
 The dun deer wooed with manner bland, 
 And cowered aneath her lilly hand.
 
 19S THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 And when at even the woodlands rung, 
 
 When hymns of other worlds she sung, 
 
 In ecstacy of sweet devotion, 
 
 0, then the glen was all in motion. 
 
 The wild beasts of the forest came, 
 
 Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame, 
 
 And goved around, charmed and amazed ; 
 
 Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed, 
 
 And murmured and looked with anxious pain 
 
 For something the mystery to explain. 
 
 The buzzard came with the throstle-cock ; 
 
 The corby left her houf in the rock ; 
 
 The blackbird alang wi' the eagle flew ; 
 
 The hind came tripping o'er the dew ; 
 
 The wolf and the kid their raike began, 
 
 And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran ; 
 
 The hawk and the hern attour them hung, 
 
 And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young ; 
 
 And all in a peaceful ring were hurled : 
 
 It was like an eve in a sinless world !
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE- 193 
 
 When a month and a day had come and ga^e, 
 Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene ; 
 There laid her down on the leaves sae green, 
 And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen. 
 But O, the words that fell from her mouth, 
 Were words of wonder, and words of truth ! 
 But all the land were in fear and dread, 
 For they kendna whether she was living or dead. 
 It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain ; 
 She left this world of sorrow and pain, 
 And returned to the land of thought again. 
 
 He ceased ; and all with kind concern 
 Blest in their hearts the bard of Ern. 
 
 By that the chill and piercing air, 
 The pallid hue of ladies fair, 
 The hidden yawn, and drumbly eye, 
 Loudly announced the morning nigh. 
 O
 
 194 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Beckoned the Queen with courteous smile, 
 And breathless silence gazed the while : 
 
 " I hold it best, my lords, 11 she said, 
 " For knight, for dame, and lovely maid, 
 At wassail, wake, or revel hall, 
 To part before the senses pall. 
 Sweet though the draught of pleasure be, 
 Why should we drain it to the lee ? 
 Though here the minstrel's fancy play, 
 Light as the breeze of summer-day ; 
 Though there in solemn cadence flow, 
 Smooth as the night- wind o'er the snow ; 
 Now bound away with rolling sweep, 
 Like tempest o'er the raving deep ; 
 Higli on the morning's golden screen, 
 Or casemate of the rainbow lean ; 
 Such beauties were in vain prolonged, 
 The soul is cloyed, the minstrel wronged.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 195 
 
 " Loud is the morning-blast and chill, 
 The snow-drift speeds along the hill ; 
 Let ladies of the storm beware, 
 And knights of ladies take a care ; 
 From lanes and alleys guard them well, 
 Where lurking ghost or sprite may dwell ; 
 But most avoid the dazzling flare, 
 And spirit of the morning air ; 
 Hide from their eyes that hideous form, 
 The ruthless angel of the storm. 
 I wish, for every gallant's sake, 
 That none may rue our Royal Wake : 
 I wish what most his heart approves, 
 And every lady what she loves, 
 Sweet be her sleep on bed of down, 
 And pleasing be her dreams till noon. 
 And when you hear the bugle's strain, 
 I hope to see you all again. 11 
 
 Whether the Queen to fear inclined, 
 Or spoke to cheer the minstrel's mind.
 
 196 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT II. 
 
 Cartes, she spoke with meaning leer, 
 And ladies smiled her words to hear. 
 Yet, though the dawn of morning shone, 
 No lady from that night-wake gone, 
 Not even the queen durst sleep alone. 
 And scarce had Sleep, with throb and sighj 
 O'er breast of snow, and moistened eye. 
 Outspread his shadowy canopy, 
 When every fervid female mind, 
 Or sailed with witches on the wind, 
 In Carlisle drank the potent wine, 
 Or floated on the foamy brine. 
 Some strove the land of thought to win, 
 Impelled by hope, withstood by sin ; 
 And some with angry spirit stood 
 By lonely stream, or pathless wood. 
 And oft was heard the broken sigh, 
 The half-formed prayer, and smothered cry ; 
 So much the minds of old and young- 
 Were moved by what the minstrels sung.
 
 NIGHT II. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 19? 
 
 What Lady Gordon did or said 
 Could not be learned from lady's maid, 
 And Huntly swore and shook his head. 
 But she and all her buskined train 
 Appeared not at the Wake again. 
 
 END OF NIGHT THE SECOND.
 
 THE 
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD.
 
 THE 
 
 QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 NIGHT THE THIRD. 
 
 J. he storm had ceased to shroud the hill ; 
 The morning's breath was pure and chill ; 
 And when the sun rose from the main, 
 No eye the glory could sustain. 
 The icicles so dazzling bright ; 
 The spreading wold so smooth and white ; 
 The cloudless sky, the air so sheen, 
 That roes on Pentland's top were seen ;
 
 202 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 And Grampian mountains, frowning high, 
 Seemed froze amid the northern sky. 
 The frame was braced, the mind set free 
 To feat, or brisk hilarity. 
 
 The sun, far on his southern throne, 
 Glowed in stern majesty alone : 
 Twas like the loved, the toilsome day, 
 That dawns on mountains west away, 
 When the furred Indian hunter hastes 
 Far up his Appalachian wastes, 
 To range the savage haunts, and dare 
 In his dark home the sullen bear. 
 And ere that noonday-sun had shone 
 Right on the banks of Duddingston, 
 Heavens ! what a scene of noise and glee, 
 And busy brisk anxiety ! 
 There age and youth their pastime take 
 On the smooth ice that chains the lake. 
 The Highland chief, the Border knight, 
 In waving plumes, and baldricks bright.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 203 
 
 Join in the bloodless friendly war, 
 The sounding-stone to hurl afar. 
 - The hair-breadth aim, the plaudits due, 
 The rap, the shout, the ardour grew, 
 Till drowsy day her curtain drew. 
 
 The youth, on cramps of polished steel, 
 Joined in the race, the curve, the wheel ; 
 With arms outstretched, and foot aside, 
 Like lightning o'er the lake they glide ; 
 And eastward far their impulse keep, 
 Like angels journeying o'er the deep. 
 
 When night her spangled flag unfurled 
 Wide o'er a wan and sheeted world, 
 In keen debate homeward they hie, 
 For well they knew the Wake was nigh. 
 
 By mountain sheer, and column tall, 
 How solemn was that evening fall ! 
 The air was calm, the stars were bright, 
 The hoar frost flightered down the night ;
 
 204 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 But oft the list'ning groups stood still, 
 For spirits talked along the hill. 
 The fairy tribes had gone to won 
 In southland climes beneath the sun ; 
 By shady woods, and waters sheen, 
 And vales of everlasting green, 
 To sing of Scotia"^ woodlands wild, 
 Where human face had never smiled. 
 The ghost had left the haunted yew, 
 The wayward bogle fled the clough, 
 The darksome pool of crisp and foam 
 Was now no more the kelpies 1 home : 
 But polar spirits sure had spread 
 Cer hills which native fays had fled ; 
 For all along, from cliff and tree, 
 On Arthur's hill, and Salisbury, 
 Came voices floating down the air 
 From viewless shades that lingered there : 
 The words were fraught with mystery ; 
 Voices of men they could not be. 
 Youths turned their faces to the sky, 
 With beating heart, and bended eye ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 205 
 
 Old chieftains walked with hastened tread, 
 Loath that their hearts should bow to dread. 
 They feared the spirits of the hill 
 To sinful Scotland boded ill. 
 
 Orion up his baldrick drew, 
 The evening star was still in view, 
 Scarce had the Pleiades cleared the main, 
 Or Charles reyoked his golden wain, 
 When from the palace-turrets rang 
 The bugle's note with warning clang ; 
 Each tower, each spire, in music spake, 
 " Haste, nobles, to Queen Mary's Wake.''' 
 The blooming maid ran to bedight, 
 In spangled lace, and robe of white, 
 That graceful emblem of her youth, 
 Of guileless heart, and maiden truth. 
 The matron decked her candid frame 
 In moony broach, and silk of flame ; 
 And every Eai'l and Baron bold 
 Sparkled in clasp and loop of gold.
 
 206 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 'Twas the last night of hope and fear, 
 That bards could sing, or Sovereign hear ; 
 And just ere rose the Christmas sun, 
 The envied prize was lost and won. 
 
 The bard that night who foremost came 
 Was not enrolled, nor known his name ; 
 A youth he was of manly mold, 
 Gentle as lamb, as Hon bold ; 
 But his fair face, and forehead high, 
 Glowed with intrusive modesty. 
 
 'Twas said by bank of southland stream 
 Glided his youth in soothing dream ; 
 The harp he loved, and wont to stray 
 Far to the wilds and woods away, 
 And sing to brooks that gurgled bye 
 Of maiden's form and maiden's eye ; 
 That, when this dream of youth was past, 
 Deep in the shade his harp he cast ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 207 
 
 In busy life his cares beguiled, 
 His heart was true, and fortune smiled. 
 But when the Royal Wake began, 
 Joyful he came the foremost man, 
 To see the matchless bard approved, 
 And list the strains he once had loved. 
 
 Two nights had passed, the bards had sung 
 Queen Mary's harp from ceiling hung, 
 On which was graved her lovely mold, 
 Beset with crowns and flowers of gold ; 
 And many a gem of dazzling dye 
 Glowed on that prize to minstrel's eye. 
 
 The youth had heard each minstrel's strain, 
 And, fearing northern bard would gain, 
 To try his youthful skill was moved, 
 Not for himself, but friends he loved.
 
 208 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 THE FOURTEENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 Lord Pringle's steed neighs in the stall, 
 His panoply is irksome grown, 
 
 His plumed helm hangs in the hall, 
 His broad claymore is berry brown. 
 
 No more his bugle's evening peal 
 Bids vassal arm and yeoman ride, 
 
 To drive the deer of Otterdale, 
 Or foray on the Border side. 
 
 Instead of hoop and battle knell, 
 Of warrior's song, and revel free, 
 
 Is heard the lute's voluptuous swell 
 Within the halls of Torwoodlee.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 209 
 
 Sick lies his heart without relief; 
 
 'Tis love that breeds the warrior's woe, 
 For daughter of a froward chief, 
 
 A freebooter, his mortal foe. 
 
 But O, that maiden's form of grace, 
 And eye of love, to him were dear ! 
 
 The smile that dimpled on her face 
 Was deadlier than the Border spear. 
 
 That form was not the poplar's stem, 
 That smile the dawning's purple line ; 
 
 Nor was that eye the dazzling gem 
 That glows adown the Indian mine. 
 
 But would you praise the poplar pale, 
 Or morn in wreath of roses drest ; 
 
 The fairest flower that woos the vale, 
 Or down that clothes the solan's breast ; 
 P
 
 210 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 A thousand times beyond, above, 
 
 What rapt enthusiast ever saw ; 
 Compare them to that mould of love- 
 
 Young Mary Scott of Tushilaw ! 
 
 The war-flame glows on Ettrick pen, 
 Bounds forth the foray swift as wind, 
 
 And Tushilaw and all his men 
 Have left their homes afar behind. 
 
 O lady, lady, learn thy creed, 
 
 And mark the watch-dog^ boisfrous din ; 
 The abbot comes with book and bead, 
 
 O haste and let the father in ! 
 
 And, lady, mark his locks so gray, 
 His beard so long, and colour wan ; 
 
 O he has mourned for many a day, 
 And sorrowed o'er the sins of man !
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 21 1 
 
 And yet so stately is his mien, 
 
 His step so firm, and breast so bold ; 
 
 His brawny leg and form, I ween, 
 Are wonderous for a man so old. 
 
 Short was his greeting, short and low, 
 His blessing short as prayer could be ; 
 
 But oft he sighed, and boded woe, 
 And spoke of sin and misery. 
 
 To shrift, to shrift, now ladies all, 
 Your prayers and Ave Marias learn; 
 
 Haste, trembling, to the vesper hall, 
 For ah ! the priest is dark and stern. 
 
 Short was the task of lady old, 
 Short as confession well could be ; 
 
 The abbofs orisons were cold, 
 His absolutions frank and free.
 
 212 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Go, Mary Scott, thy spirit meek 
 
 Lay open to the searcher's eye ; 
 And let the tear bedew thy cheek, 
 
 Thy sins are of a crimson dye. 
 
 For many a lover thou hast slain, 
 And many yet lies sick for thee 
 
 Young Gihnanscleuch and Deloraine, 
 And Pringle, lord of Torwoodlee. 
 
 Tell every wish thy bosom near, 
 
 No other sin, dear maid, hast thou ; 
 And well the abbot loves to hear 
 
 Thy plights of love and simple vow. 
 
 " Why stays my Mary Scott so long ? 
 
 What guilt can youth and beauty wail ? 
 Of fervent thought and passion strong, 
 
 Heavens ! what a sickening tedious tale V*
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 213 
 
 O lady, cease ; the maiden's mind, 
 
 Though pure as morning's cloudless beam, 
 
 A crime in every wish can find, 
 
 In noontide glance, and midnight dream. 
 
 To woman's heart when fair and free, 
 Her sins seem great and manifold ; 
 
 When sunk in guilt and misery, 
 No crime can then her soul behold. 
 
 "Tis sweet to see the opening flower 
 Spread its fair bosom to the sun ; 
 
 *Tis sweet to hear in vernal bower 
 The thrush's earliest hymn begun : 
 
 But sweeter far the prayer that wrings 
 The tear from maiden's beaming eye ; 
 
 And sweeter far the hymn she sings 
 In grateful holy ecstacy.
 
 214 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The mass was said, but cold and dry 
 That mass to Heaven the father sent ; 
 
 With book, and bead, and rosary, 
 The abbot to his chamber went. 
 
 The watch-dog rests with folded eye 
 Beneath the portal's gray festoon ; 
 
 The wildered Ettrick wanders bye, 
 
 Loud murmuring to the careless moon. 
 
 The warder lists with hope and dread 
 Far distant shout of fray begun ; 
 
 The cricket tunes his tiny reed, 
 And harps behind the embers dun. 
 
 Why does the warder bend his head, 
 And silent stand the casement near ? 
 
 The cricket stops his little reed, 
 The sound of gentle step to hear.
 
 NI#HT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 215 
 
 O many a wight from Border brake 
 Has reaved the drowsy warden round ; 
 
 And many a daughter lain awake, 
 
 When parents trowed them sleeping sound, 
 
 The abbot's bed is well down spread, 
 
 The abbot's bed is soft and fair, 
 The abbot's bed is cold as lead 
 
 For why ? the abbot is not there. 
 
 Was that the blast of bugle, borne 
 
 Far on the night- wind, wavering shrill ? 
 
 'Tis nothing but the shepherd's horn 
 That keeps the watch on Cacra hill. 
 
 What means the warder's answering note ? 
 
 The moon is west, 'tis near the day ; 
 I thought I heard the warrior's shout, 
 
 "Tis time the abbot were away !
 
 216 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The bittern mounts the morning air ; 
 
 And rings the sky with quavering croon ; 
 The watch-dog sallies from his lair, 
 
 And bays the wind and setting moon. 
 
 "Tis not the breeze, nor bittern's wail, 
 Has roused the guard er from his den ; 
 
 Along the bank, in belt and mail, 
 Comes Tushilaw and all his men. 
 
 The abbot, from his casement, saw 
 The forest chieftain's proud array ; 
 
 He heard the voice of Tushilaw 
 The abbots heart grew cold as clay ! 
 
 " Haste, maidens, call my lady fair, 
 That room may for my warriors be ; 
 
 And bid my daughter come and share 
 The cup of joy with them and me.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 217 
 
 " Say we have fought and won the fray, 
 Have lowered our haughty foeman's pride ; 
 
 And we have driven the richest prey 
 That ever lowed by Ettrick side." 
 
 To hear a tale of vanquished foes 
 
 His lady came right cheerfully ; 
 And Mary Scott, like morning rose, 
 
 Stood blushing at her father's knee. 
 
 Fast flowed the warrior's ruthless tale, 
 And aye the red cup passed between ; 
 
 But Mary Scott grew lily pale, 
 
 And trembled like the aspin green. 
 
 " Now, lady, give me welcome cheer, 
 Queen of the border thou shalt be ; 
 
 For I have brought thee gold and gear, 
 And humbled haughty Torwoodlee.
 
 218 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 " I beat his yeomen in the glen, 
 I loosed his horses from the stall, 
 
 I slew the blood-hound in his den, 
 
 And sought the chief through tower and hall. 
 
 " 'Tis said in hamlet mean and dark 
 Nightly he lies with leman dear ; 
 
 O, I would give ten thousand mark, 
 To see his head upon my spear ! 
 
 " Go, maidens, every mat be spread 
 On heather, haum, or roegrass heap, 
 
 And make for me the scarlet bed, 
 
 For I have need of rest and sleep.' 1 
 
 " Nay, my good lord, make other choice, 
 
 In that you cannot rest to-day ; 
 For there in peaceful slumber lies 
 
 A holy abbot, old and gray.""
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 219 
 
 The chieftain's cheek to crimson grew, 
 Dropt from his hand the rosy wine 
 
 " An abbot ! curse the canting crew ! 
 An abbot sleep in couch of mine ! 
 
 " Now, lady, as my soul shall thrive, 
 I'd rather trust my child and thee 
 
 With my two greatest foes alive, 
 The king of Scots and Torwoodlee. 
 
 " The lazy hoard of Melrose vale 
 
 Has brought my life, my all to stake : 
 
 0, lady ! I have heard a tale, 
 
 The thought o't makes my heart to ache ! 
 
 " Go, warriors, hale the villain forth, 
 Bring not his loathful form to me ; 
 
 The gate stands open to the north, 
 The rope hangs o'er the gallows tree.
 
 220 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 " There shall the burning breeze of noon 
 Rock the old sensual sluggard blind ; 
 
 There let him swing, till sun and moon 
 Have three times left the world behind.' 1 - 
 
 O abbot, abbot, say thy prayers, 
 
 With orisons load every breath ; 
 The forest trooper's on the stairs, 
 
 To drag thee to a shameful death. 
 
 O abbot, abbot, quit thy bed, 
 
 111 armed art thou to meet the strife ; 
 
 Haste, don thy beard, and quoif thy head, 
 And guard the door for death or life. 
 
 Thy arm is firm, thy heart is stout, 
 Yet thou canst neither fight nor flee ; 
 
 But beauty stands thy guard without, 
 Yes, beauty weeps and pleads for thee.
 
 NKSHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 221 
 
 Proud, ruthless man, by vengeance driven, 
 Regardless hears a brother plead ; 
 
 Regardless sees the brand of Heaven 
 Red quivering o'er his guilty head : 
 
 But once let woman's soothing tongue 
 
 Implore his help or clemency, 
 Around him let her arms be flung, 
 
 Or at his feet her bended knee ; 
 
 The world's a shadow ! vengeance sleeps ! 
 
 The child of reason stands revealed 
 When beauty pleads, when woman weeps, 
 
 He is not man who scorns to yield. 
 
 Stern Tushilaw is gone to sleep, 
 Laughing at woman's dread of sin ; 
 
 But first he bade his warriors keep 
 All robbers out, and abbots in.
 
 222 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The abbot from his casement high 
 Looked out to see the peep of day ; 
 
 The scene that met the abbofs eye 
 Filled him with wonder and dismay. 
 
 'Twas not the dews of dawning mild, 
 The mountain's hues of silver gray, 
 
 Nor yet the Ettrick's windings wild, 
 By belted holm and bosky brae ; 
 
 Nor moorland Rankleburn, that raved 
 By covert, clough, and greenwood shaw ; 
 
 Nor dappled flag of day, that waved 
 In streamers pale from Gilmans-law : 
 
 But many a doubted ox there lay 
 
 At rest upon the castle lea ; 
 And there he saw his gallant gray, 
 
 And all the steeds of Torwoodlee.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 223 
 
 " Beshrew the wont ! w the abbot said, 
 
 " The charge runs high for lodging here ; 
 
 The guard is deep, the path way-laid, 
 My homilies shall cost me dear. 
 
 " Come well, come woe, with dauntless core 
 
 Fll kneel, and con my breviary ; 
 If Tushilaw is versed in lore, 
 
 'Twill be an awkward game with me.*" 
 
 Now Tushilaw he waked and slept, 
 
 And dreamed and thought till noontide hour ; 
 
 But aye this query upmost kept, 
 
 " What seeks the abbot in my tower ?" 
 
 Stern Tushilaw came down the stair 
 With doubtful and indignant eye, 
 
 And found the holy man at prayer, 
 With book, and cross, and rosary.
 
 224 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT HI. 
 
 " To book, to book, thou reaver red, 
 
 Of absolution thou hast need ; 
 The sword of Heaven hangs o'er thy head, 
 
 Death is thy doom and hell thy meed F 1 
 
 " I'll take my chance, thou priest of sin, 
 
 Thy absolutions I disdain ; 
 But I will noose thy bearded chin, 
 
 If thus thou talkest to me again. 
 
 " Declare thy business and thy name, 
 Or short the route to thee is given !" 
 
 " The abbot I of Coldinghame, 
 
 My errand is the cause of Heaven.'" 
 
 * 4 That shalt thou prove ere we two part; 
 
 Some robber thou, or royal spy : 
 But, villain, I will search thy heart, 
 
 And chain thee in the deep to lie !
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 225 
 
 Hence with thy rubbish, hest and ban, 
 Whinyards to keep the weak in awe ; 
 
 The scorn of Heaven, the shame of man- 
 No books nor beads for Tushilaw !" 
 
 " Oh ! lost to mercy, faith, and love ! 
 
 Thy bolts and chains are nought to me ; 
 I'll call an angel from above, 
 
 That soon will set the pris'ner free." 
 
 Bold Tushilaw, o'er strone and steep, 
 Pursues the roe and dusky deer ; 
 
 The abbot lies in dungeon deep, 
 The maidens wail, the matrons fear. 
 
 The sweetest flower on Ettrick shaw 
 Bends its fair form o'er grated keep ; 
 
 Young Mary Scott of Tushilaw 
 
 Sleeps but to sigh, and wakes to weep. 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Bold Tushilaw, with horn and hound, 
 Pursues the deer o^er holt and lea ; 
 
 And rides and rules the Border round, 
 From Philiphaugh to Gilnockye. 
 
 His page rode down by Melrose fair, 
 His page rode down by Coldinghame ; 
 
 But not a priest was missing there, 
 Nor abbot, friar, nor monk of name. 
 
 The evening came ; it was the last 
 The abbot in this world should see ; 
 
 The bonds are firm, the bolts are fast, 
 No angel comes to set him free. 
 
 Yes, at the stillest hour of night 
 
 Softly unfolds the iron door ; 
 Beamed through the gloom unwonted light, 
 
 That light a beauteous angel bore.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 227 
 
 Fair was the form that o'er him hung, 
 And fair the hands that set him free ; 
 
 The trembling whispers of her tongue 
 Softer than seraph's melody. 
 
 The abbot's soul was all on flame, 
 
 Wild transport through his bosom ran ; 
 
 For never angel's airy frame 
 
 Was half so sweet to mortal man ! 
 
 Why walks young Mary Scott so late, 
 
 In veil and cloak of cramasye ? 
 The porter opens wide the gate, 
 
 His bonnet moves, and bends his knee. 
 
 Long may the wondering porter wait, 
 
 Before the lady form return ; 
 ' ; Speed, abbot, speed, nor halt nor bate, 
 
 Nor look thou back to Rankleburn !"
 
 228 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The day arrives, the ladies plead 
 In vain for yon mysterious wight ; 
 
 For Tushilaw his doom decreed, 
 Were he an abbot, lord, or knight. 
 
 The chieftain called his warriors stout, 
 And ranged them round the gallows tree, 
 
 Then bade them bring the abbot out, 
 The fate of fraud that all might see. 
 
 The men return of sense bereft, 
 
 Faulter their tongues, their eye-balls glare 
 The door was locked, the fetters left 
 
 All close ! the abbot was not there ! 
 
 The wondering warriors bow to God, 
 
 And matins to the virgin hum ; 
 But Tushilaw he gloomed and strode, 
 
 And walked into the castle dumb.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 229 
 
 But to the Virgin's sacred name 
 The vow was paid in many a cell ; 
 
 And many a rich oblation came, 
 For that amazing miracle. 
 
 Lord Pringle walked his glens alone, 
 Nor flock nor lowing herd he saw ; 
 
 But even the king upon the throne 
 Quaked at the name of Tushilaw. 
 
 Lord Pringle's heart was all on flame, 
 Nor peace nor joy his bosom knew, 
 
 'Twas for the kindest, sweetest dame, 
 That ever brushed the Forest dew. 
 
 Gone is one month with smile and sigh, 
 With dream by night and wish by day ; 
 
 A second came with moistened eye ; 
 Another came and passed away.
 
 230 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Why is the flower of yonder pile 
 Bending its stem to court decay, 
 
 And Mary Scott's benignant smile 
 Like sun-beam in a winter day ? 
 
 Sometimes her colour's like the rose, 
 Sometimes 'tis like the lily pale ; 
 
 The flower that in the forest grows 
 Is fallen before the summer gale. 
 
 A mother's fostering breast is warm, 
 And dark her doubts of love I ween : 
 
 For why ? she felt its early harm 
 A mother's eye is sharp and keen ! 
 
 "Tis done ! the woman stands revealed ! 
 
 Stern Tushilaw is waked to see ; 
 The bearded priest so well concealed, 
 
 Was Pringle, lord of Torwoodlee !
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 231 
 
 Oh never was the thunder's jar, 
 The red tornado's wasting wing, 
 
 Nor all the elemental war, 
 Like fury of the Border king. 
 
 He laughed aloud his faulchion eyed 
 A laugh of burning vengeance born ! 
 
 " Does thus the coward trow," he cried, 
 " To hold his conqueror's power to scorn ! 
 
 " Thinks Tushilaw of maids or wives, 
 Or such a thing as Torwoodlee ! 
 
 Had Mary Scott a thousand lives, 
 These lives were all too few for me ! 
 
 " Ere midnight, in the secret cave, 
 
 This sword shall pierce her bosom's core, 
 
 Though I go childless to my grave, 
 And rue the deed for evermore !
 
 232 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 " O had I lulled the imp to rest 
 
 When first she lisped her name to me, 
 
 Or pierced her little guileless breast 
 When smiling on her nurse's knee !" 
 
 " Just is your vengeance, my good lord, 
 'Tis just and meet our daughter die; 
 
 For sharper than a foeman's sword 
 Is family shame and injury. 
 
 " But trust the ruthless deed to me ; 
 
 I have a vial potent, good ; 
 Unmeet that all the Scotts should see 
 
 A daughter's corse embalmed in blood ! 
 
 " Unmeet her gallant kinsmen know 
 The guilt of one so fair and young ; 
 
 No cup should to her mem'ry flow, 
 No requiem o'er her grave be sung.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 233 
 
 " My potent draught has erst proved true 
 Beneath my own and husband's eye ; 
 
 Trust me, ere falls the morning dew, 
 In dreamless sleep shall Mary He !" 
 
 " Even go thy way, thy words are true, 
 I knew thy dauntless soul before ; 
 
 But list if thou deceivest me too, 
 
 Thou hast a head ! I say no more." 
 
 Stern Tushilaw strode o'er the ley, 
 And, wondering, by the twilight saw 
 
 A crystal tear drop from his eye, 
 The first e'er shed by Tushilaw ! 
 
 O grievous are the bonds of steel, 
 And blasted hope 'tis hard to prove ; 
 
 More grievous far it is to feel 
 Ingratitude from those we love.
 
 284 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 " What brings my lady mother here, 
 Pale as the morning shower and cold ? 
 
 In her dark eye why stands the tear ? 
 Why in her hand a cup of gold ?" - 
 
 " My Mary, thou art ill at rest, 
 Fervid and feverish is thy blood ; 
 
 Still yearns o'er thee thy mother's breast, 
 Take this, my child, 'tis for thy good !" - 
 
 O sad, sad was young Mary's plight ! 
 
 She took the cup no word she spake : 
 She had even wished that very night 
 
 To sleep, and never more to wake. 
 
 She took the cup she drank it dry, 
 Then pillowed soft her beauteous head, 
 
 And calmly watched her mother's eye ; 
 But O that eye was hard to read !
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 235 
 
 Her moistened eye, so mild and meek, 
 Soon sunk their auburn fringe beneath ; 
 
 The ringlets on her damask cheek 
 
 Heaved gentler with her stealing breath ! 
 
 She turned her face unto the wall, 
 Her colour chajiged to pallid clay ; 
 
 Long ere the dews began to fall, 
 The flower of Ettrick lifeless lay ! 
 
 Why underneath her winding sheet 
 Does broidered silk her form enfold ? 
 
 Why is cold Mary's buskined feet 
 
 All laced with belts and bands of gold ? 
 
 " What boots to me these robes so gay ? 
 
 To wear them now no child have I ! 
 They should have graced her bridal day, 
 
 Now they must in the church-yard lie !
 
 236 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT HI. 
 
 " I thought to see my daughter ride, 
 
 In golden gear and cramasye, 
 To Mary's fane, the loveliest bride 
 
 E'er to the Virgin bent the knee. 
 
 " Now I may by her funeral wain 
 Ride silent o'er the mountain gray : 
 
 Her revel hall, the gloomy fane ; 
 Her bridal bed, the cheerless clay !" 
 
 Why that rich snood with plume and lace 
 Round Mary's lifeless temples drawn ? 
 
 Why is the napkin o'er her face, 
 A fragment of the lily lawn ? 
 
 " My Mary has another home ; 
 
 And far, far though her journey be, 
 When she to Paradise shall come, 
 
 Then will my child remember me !"
 
 NIGHT HI. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 237 
 
 O many a flower was round her spread, 
 And many a pearl and diamond bright, 
 
 And many a window round her head 
 Shed on her form a bootless light I 
 
 Lord Pringle sat on Maygill brae, 
 
 Pondering on war and vengeance meet ; 
 
 The Cadan toiled in narrow way, 
 
 The Tweed rolled far beneath his feet. 
 
 Not Tweed, by gulf and whirlpool mazed, 
 Through dark wood-glen, by him was seen ; 
 
 For still his thought-set eye was raised 
 To Ettrick mountains, wild and green. 
 
 Sullen he sat, unstaid, unblest, 
 
 He thought of battle, broil, and blood ; 
 
 He never crossed, he never wist 
 Till by his side a Palmer stood.
 
 238 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 " Haste, my good lord, this letter read, 
 
 111 bodes it listless thus to be ; 
 Upon a die I've set my head, 
 
 And brought this letter far to thee." 
 
 Lord Pringle looked the letter on, 
 His face grew pale as winter sky ; 
 
 But, ere the half of it was done, 
 The tear of joy stood in his eye. 
 
 A purse he to the Palmer threw, 
 
 Mounted the cleft of aged tree, 
 Three times aloud his bugle blew, 
 
 And hasted home to Torwoodlee. 
 
 "Twas scarcely past the hour of noon 
 When first the foray whoop began ; 
 
 And, in the wan light of the moon, 
 Through March and Teviotdale it ran
 
 OTGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Far to the south it spread away, 
 Startled the hind by fold and tree ; 
 
 And aye the watch- word of the fray 
 
 Was, " Ride for Ker and Torwoodlee V 
 
 When next the day began to fade, 
 
 The warriors round their chieftains range ; 
 
 And many a solemn vow they made, 
 And many an oath of fell revenge. 
 
 The Pringles 1 plumes indignant dance 
 
 It was a gallant sight to see ; 
 And many a Ker, with sword and lance, 
 
 Stood rank and file on Torwoodlee. 
 
 As they fared up yon craigy glen, 
 
 Where Tweed sweeps round the Thorny-hill, 
 Old Gideon Murray and his men 
 
 The foray joined with right good-will.
 
 240 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 They hasted up by Plora side, 
 
 And north above Mount-Benger turn, 
 
 And lothly forced with them to ride 
 Black Douglas of the Craigy-burn. 
 
 When they came nigh Saint Mary's lake 
 The day-sky glimmered on the dew ; 
 
 They hid their horses in the brake, 
 
 And lurked in heath and braken clough. 
 
 The lake one purple valley lay, 
 
 Where tints of glowing light were seen ; 
 
 The ganza waved his cuneal way, 
 With yellow oar and quoif of green. 
 
 The dark cock bayed above the coomb, 
 Throned mid the wavy fringe of gold, 
 
 Unwreathed from dawning's fairy loom, 
 In many a soft vermilion fold.
 
 SIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 341 
 
 The tiny skiffs of silver mist 
 
 Lingered along the slumbering vale ; 
 
 Belled the gray stag with fervid breast 
 High on the moors of Meggat-dale. 
 
 There hid in clough and hollow den, 
 
 Gazing around the still sublime, 
 There lay Lord Pringle and his men 
 
 On beds of heath and moorland thyme. 
 
 That morning found rough Tushilaw 
 
 In all the father's guise appear ; 
 An end of all his hopes he saw 
 
 Shrouded in Mary's gilded bier. 
 
 No eye could trace without concern 
 The suffering warrior's troubled look ; 
 
 The throbs that heaved his bosom stern, 
 No ear could bear, no heart could brook. 
 R
 
 242 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 5JIGHT III. 
 
 " Woe be to thee, thou wicked dame ! 
 
 My Mary's prayers and accents mild 
 Might well have rendered vengeance lame 
 
 This hand could ne'er have slain my child ! 
 
 " But thou, in frenzied fatal hour, 
 Reft the sweet life thou gavest away, 
 
 And crushed to earth the fairest flower 
 That ever breathed the breeze of day. 
 
 " My all is lost, my hope is fled, 
 
 The sword shall ne'er be drawn for me ; 
 
 Unblest, unhonoured my gray head 
 
 My child ! would I had died for thee !" 
 
 The bell tolls o'er a new-made grave ; 
 
 The lengthened funeral train is seen 
 Stemming the Yarrow's silver wave, 
 
 And darkening Dryhope holms so green.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 243 
 
 When nigh the virgin's fane they drew, 
 Just by the verge of holy ground, 
 
 The Kers and Pringles left the clough. 
 
 And hemmed the wondering Scotts around. 
 
 Vassal and peasant, seized with dread, 
 Sped off, and looked not once behind ; 
 
 And all who came for wine and bread, 
 Fled like the chaff before the wind. 
 
 But all the Scotts together flew, 
 For every Scott of name was there, 
 
 In sullen mood their weapons drew, 
 And back to back for fight prepare. 
 
 Rough was the onset boast, nor threat, 
 Nor word, was heard from friend or foe ; 
 
 At once began the work of fate, 
 
 With perilous thrust and deadly blow.
 
 244 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 O but the Harden lads were true, 
 And bore them bravely in the broil ! 
 
 The doughty laird of wild Buccleugh 
 Raged like a lion in the toil. 
 
 His sword on bassenet was broke, 
 The blood was streaming to his heel, 
 
 But soon to ward the fatal stroke 
 Up rattled twenty blades of steel. 
 
 Young Raeburn tilted gallantly ; 
 
 But Ralph of Gilmanscleugh was slain, 
 Philip and Hugh of Baillilee, 
 
 And William laird of Deloraine. 
 
 Red Will of Thirlestane came on, 
 With his long sword and sullen eye ; 
 
 Jealous of ancient honours won, 
 
 Woe to the wight that came him nigh I
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 245 
 
 He was the last the ranks to break, 
 And, flying, fought full desperately ; 
 
 At length within his feudal lake 
 
 He stood, and fought unto the knee. 
 
 Wild looked he round from side to side ; 
 
 No friendly skiff was there that day ! 
 For why ? the knight in bootless pride, 
 
 Had driven them from the wave away. 
 
 Sore did he rue the stern decree ! 
 
 Red rolled the billow from the west ; 
 And fishes swam indignantly 
 
 Deep o'er the hero's boardly breast. 
 
 When loud has roared the wintry storm, 
 Till winds have ceased, and rains are gone, 
 
 There oft the shepherd's trembling form 
 Stands gazing o'er gigantic bone,
 
 246 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Pondering of Time's unstaying tide ; 
 
 Of ancient chiefs by kinsmen slain ; 
 Of feudal rights, and feudal pride, 
 
 And reckless Will of Thirlestane. 
 
 But long shall Ettrick rue the strife 
 That reft her brave and generous son, 
 
 Who ne'er in all his restless life 
 Did unbecoming thing but one. 
 
 Old Tushilaw, with sword in hand, 
 And heart to fiercest woes a prey, 
 
 Seemed courting every foeman's brand, 
 And fought in hottest of the fray. 
 
 In vain the gallant kinsmen stood 
 Wedged in a firm and bristled ring ; 
 
 Their funeral weeds are bathed in blood, 
 No corslets round their bosoms cling.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 247 
 
 Against the lance and helmed file 
 
 Their courage, might, and skill were vain ; 
 Short was the conflict, short the while 
 
 Ere all the Scotts were bound or slain. 
 
 When first the hostile band upsprung, 
 The body in the church was laid, 
 
 Where vows were made, and requiems sung, 
 By matron, monk, and weeping maid. 
 
 Lord Pringle came before his eye 
 
 The monks and maidens kneeled in fear ; 
 
 But Lady Tushilaw stood bye, 
 And pointed to her Mary's bier .' 
 
 ?< Thou lord of guile and malice keen, 
 What boots this doleful work to thee ! 
 
 Could Scotland such a pair have seen 
 As Mary Scott and Torwoodlee ?""
 
 248 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Lord Pringle came, no word he spake, 
 Nor owned the pangs his bosom knew ; 
 
 But his full heart was like to break 
 In every throb his bosom drew. 
 
 "01 had weened with fondest heart 
 Woe to the guileful friend who lied ! 
 
 This day should join us ne'er to part, 
 This day that I should win my bride ! 
 
 " But I will see that face so meek, 
 Cold, pale, and lifeless though it be ; 
 
 And I will kiss that comely cheek, 
 Once sweeter than the rose to me. 11 
 
 With trembling hand he raised the lid, 
 Sweet was the perfume round that flew ; 
 
 For there were strewed the roses red, 
 And every flower the forest knew.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 249 
 
 He drew the fair lawn from her face, 
 
 'Twas decked with many a costly wreath ; 
 
 And still it wore a soothing grace 
 Even in the chill abodes of death. 
 
 And aye he prest the cheek so white, 
 And aye he kissed the lips beloved. 
 
 Till pitying maidens wept outright, 
 
 And even the frigid monks were moved. 
 
 Why starts Lord Pringle to his knee ? 
 
 Why bend his eyes with watchful strain r 
 The maidens shriek his mien to see ; 
 
 The startled priests inquire in vain I 
 
 Was that a sob, an earthly sigh, 
 
 That heaved the flowers so lightly shed F 
 
 "Twas but the wind that wandered bye, 
 And kissed the bosom of the dead ?
 
 250 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Are these the glowing tints of life 
 
 O'er Mary's cheek that come and fly ? 
 
 Ah, no ! the red flowers round are rife, 
 The rosebud flings its softened dye. 
 
 Why grows the gazer's sight so dim ; 
 
 Stay, dear illusion, still beguile ! 
 Thou art worth crowns and worlds to him 
 
 Last, dear illusion, last awhile ! 
 
 Short was thy sway, frenzied and short, 
 
 For ever fell the veil on thee ; 
 Thy startling form of fears the sport, 
 
 Vanished in sweet reality ! 
 
 'Tis past ! and darkly stand revealed 
 A mother's cares and purpose deep : 
 
 That kiss, the last adieu that sealed, 
 Waked Mary from her death-like sleep !
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 251 
 
 Slowly she raised her form of grace, 
 Her eyes no ray conceptive flung ; 
 
 And O, her mild, her languid face, 
 Was like a flower too early sprung ! 
 
 " O I lie sick and weary here, 
 
 My heart is bound in moveless chain ; 
 
 Another cup, my mother dear, 
 
 I cannot sleep though I would fain !"' 
 
 She drank the wine with calm delay, 
 
 She drank the wine with pause and sigh : 
 
 Slowly, as wakes the dawning day, 
 
 Dawned long-lost thought in Mary's eye. 
 
 She looked at pall, she looked at bier. 
 
 At altar, shrine, and rosary ; 
 She saw her lady mother near, 
 
 And at her side brave Torwoodlee !
 
 252 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 'Twas all a dream, nor boded good, 
 A phantom of the fevered brain ! 
 
 She laid her down in moaning mood, 
 To sooth her woes in sleep again. 
 
 Needs not to paint that joyful hour, 
 The nuptial vow, the bridal glee, 
 
 How Mary Scott, the Forest flower, 
 Was borne a bride to Torwoodlee. 
 
 Needs not to say, how warriors prayed 
 When Mary glided from the dome ; 
 
 They thought the Virgin's holy shade 
 In likeness of the dead had come. 
 
 Diamond and ruby rayed her waist, 
 And twinkled round her brow so fair; 
 
 She wore more gold upon her breast 
 
 Than would have bought the hills of Yair.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 258 
 
 A foot so light, a form so meet, 
 
 Ne'er trode Saint Mary's lonely lea ; 
 
 A bride so gay, a face so sweet, 
 The Yarrow braes shall never see. 
 
 Old Tushilaw deigned not to smile, 
 
 No grateful word his tongue could say, 
 
 He took one kiss, blest her the while, 
 Wiped his dark eye, and turned away. 
 
 The Scotts were freed, and peace restored ; 
 
 Each Scott, each Ker, each Pringle swore. 
 Swore by his name, and by his sword, 
 
 To be firm friends for evermore. 
 
 Lord Pringle's hills were stocked anew, 
 Drove after drove came nightly free ; 
 
 But many a Border Baron knew 
 
 Whence came the dower to Torwoodlee.
 
 254 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. XIGHT XXI. 
 
 Scarce had the closing measure rung, 
 When from the ring the minstrel sprung, 
 CTer foot of maid, and cane of man, 
 Three times he foundered as he ran, 
 And his gilt harp, of flowery frame, 
 Left ready for the next that came. 
 Loud were the plaudits, all the fair 
 Their eyes turned to the royal chair : 
 They looked again, no bard was there ! 
 But whisper, smile, and question ran, 
 Around the ring anent the man ; 
 While all the nobles of the south 
 Lauded the generous stranger youth. 
 
 The next was bred on southern shore, 
 Beneath the mists of Lammermore ; 
 And long, by Nith and crystal Tweed, 
 Had taught the Border youth to read. 
 The strains of Greece, the bard of Troy, 
 Were all his theme, and all his joy.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 255 
 
 Well toned his voice of wars to sing ; 
 His hair was dark as raven's wing ; 
 His eye an intellectual lance ; 
 No heart could bear its searching glance : 
 But every bard to him was deal - ; 
 His heart was kind, his soul sincere. 
 
 When first of Royal Wake he heard, 
 Forthwith it chained his sole regard : 
 It Avas his thought, his hourly theme, 
 His morning prayer, his midnight dream. 
 Knights, dames, and squires of each degree, 
 He deemed as fond of songs as he, 
 And talked of them continually. 
 But when he heard the Highland strain, 
 Scarce could his breast his soul contain ; 
 'Twas all unequalled, and would make 
 Immortal Bards ! immortal Wake ! 
 About Dunedin streets he ran, 
 Each knight he met, each maid, each man,
 
 256 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT ITT- 
 
 In field, in alley, tower, or hall, 
 
 The Wake was first, the Wake was all. 
 
 Alike to him the south or north, 
 So high he held the minstrel worth, 
 So high his ardent mind was wrought, 
 Once of himself he scarcely thought. 
 Dear to his heart the strain sublime, 
 The strain admired in ancient time ; 
 And of his minstrel honours proud, 
 He strung his harp too high, too loud.
 
 SIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 257 
 
 THE FIFTEENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 The heath-cock had whirred at the break of the morn, 
 
 The moon of her tassels of silver was shorn, 
 
 When hoary King Edward lay tossing in ire, 
 
 His blood in a ferment, his bosom on fire ; 
 
 His battle-files, stretched o'er the valley, were still 
 
 As Eden's pine forests that darkened the hill. 
 
 He slept but his visions were loathly and grim : 
 How quivered his lip ! and how quaked every limb ! 
 His dull moving eye showed how troubled his rest, 
 And deep were the throbs of his labouring breast. 
 
 He saw the Scot's banner red streaming on high ; 
 The fierce Scottish warriors determined and nigh ; 
 Their columns of steel, and, bright gleaming before, 
 The lance, the broad target, and Highland claymore. 
 
 S
 
 258 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 And, lo ! at their head, in stern glory appeared 
 
 That hero of heroes so hated and feared ; 
 
 TVas the exile of Rachrin that led the array, 
 
 And Wallace's spirit was pointing the way : 
 
 His eye was a torch, beaming ruin and wrath, 
 
 And graved on his helmet was Vengeance or Death! 
 
 In far Ethiopia's desert domain, 
 Where whirlwinds new mountains up-pile on the plain,, 
 Their crested brown billows, fierce curling on high, 
 O'er shadow the sun, and are tossed to the sky ; 
 But, meeting each other, they burst and recoil, 
 Mix, thunder, and sink, with< a reeling turmoil . 
 As dreadful the onset that Edward beheld, 
 As fast his brave legions were heaped on the field. 
 
 The plaided blue Highlander, swift as the wind, 
 Spread terror before him, and ruin behind. 
 Thick clouds of blood- vapour brood over the slain, 
 And Pembroke and Howard are stretched on the plain.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 259 
 
 The chieftain he hated, all covered with blood, 
 Still nearer and nearer approached where he stood ; 
 He could not retreat, and no succour was near 
 " Die, scorpion !" he cried, and pursued his career. 
 The king felt the iron retreat from the wound, 
 No hand to uphold him, he sunk on the ground : 
 His spirit escaped on the wings of the wind, 
 Left terror, confusion, and carnage behind, 
 Till on the green Pentland he thought he sat lone, 
 And pondered on troubles and times that were gone. 
 
 He looked over meadow, broad river, and downe, 
 From OchePs fair mountains to Lammermore brown ; 
 He still found his heart and desires were the same ; 
 He wished to leave Scotland nor sceptre nor name. 
 
 He thought, as he lay on the green mountain thyme, 
 A spirit approached him in manner sublime. 
 At first she appeared like a streamer of light, 
 But still as she neared she was formed to his sight. 
 Her robe was the blue silken veil of the sky, 
 The drop of the amethyst deepened its dye ;
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Her crown was a helmet, emblazoned with pearl ; 
 Her mantle the sunbeam, her bracelets the beryl ; 
 Her hands and her feet like the bright burning levin ; 
 Her face was the face of an angel from heaven : 
 Around her the Avinds and the echoes grew still, 
 And rainbows were formed in the cloud of the hill. 
 
 Like music that floats o'er the soft heaving deep, 
 When twilight has lulled all the breezes asleep, 
 The wild fairy airs in our forests that rung, 
 Or hymn of the sky by a seraph when sung ; 
 So sweet were the tones on the fancy that broke, 
 When the Guardian of Scotland's proud mountains thus 
 spoke : 
 
 " What boots, mighty Edward, thy victories won ? 
 'Tis over ; thy sand of existence is run ; 
 Thy laurels are faded, dispersed in the blast ; 
 Thy soul from the bar of Omnipotence cast, 
 To Avander bewildered o'er mountain and plain, 
 O'er lands thou hast steeped with the blood of the slain.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 261 
 
 " I heard of thy guerdon, I heard it on high : 
 Thou'rt doomed on these mountains to linger and lie, 
 The mark of the tempest, the sport of the wind, 
 The tempest of conscience, the storm of the mind, 
 Till people thou'st hated, and sworn to subdue, 
 Triumphant from bondage shall burst in thy view, 
 Their sceptre and liberty bravely regain, 
 And climb to renown over mountains of slain. 
 
 " I thought (and I joined my endeavours to thine,) 
 The time was arrived when the two should combine ; 
 For 'tis known that they will 'mong the hosts of the sky, 
 And we thought that blest aera of concord was nigh. 
 But ages unborn yet shall flit on the wing, 
 And Scotland to England ere then give a king ; 
 A father to monarchs, Avhose flourishing sway 
 The ocean and ends of the earth shall obey. 
 
 " See yon little hamlet o'ershadowed with smoke, 
 See yon hoary battlement throned on the rock, 
 Even there shall a city in splendour break forth, 
 The haughty Dunedin, the Queen of the North ;
 
 262 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 There learning shall flourish, and liberty smile, 
 The awe of the world, and the pride of the isle. 
 
 " But thy lonely spirit shall roam in dismay ; 
 And weep o'er thy labours so soon to decay. 
 In yon western plain, where thy power overthrew 
 The bulwarks of Caledon, valiant and few ; 
 Where beamed the red faulchion of ravage and wrath ; 
 Where tyranny, horsed on the dragons of death, 
 Rode ruthless through blood of the honoured and just. 
 When Graeme and brave Stuart lay bleeding in dust, 
 The wailings of liberty pierced the sky ; 
 Th 1 Eternal, in pity, averted his eye ! 
 
 " Even there shall the power of thy nations combined. 
 Proud England, green Erin, and Normandy joined, 
 Exulting in numbers, and dreadful array, 
 Led on by Carnarvon, to Scotland away, 
 As thick as the snow-flakes that pour from the pole, 
 Or silver-maned waves on the ocean that roll. 
 A handful of heroes, all desperate driven, 
 Impelled by the might and the vengeance of Heaven ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 263 
 
 By them shall his legions be all overborne, 
 And melt from the field like the mist of the morn. 
 The Thistle shall rear her rough front to the sky, 
 And the Rose and the Shamrock at Carron shall die. 
 
 " How couldst thou imagine those spirits of flame 
 Would stoop to oppression, to slavery, and shame ! 
 Ah ! never ; the Hon may couch to thy sway, 
 The mighty leviathan bend and obey ; 
 But the Scots, round their king and broad banner unfurled, 
 Their mountains will keep against thee and the world. 11 
 
 King Edward awoke with a groan and a start, 
 The vision was vanished, but not from his heart ! 
 His courage was high, but his vigour was gone ; 
 He cursed the Scotch nation, and bade them lead on. 
 His legions moved on like a cloud of the west ; 
 But fierce was the fever that boiled in his breast. 
 On sand of the Solway they rested his bed, 
 Where the soul of the king and the warrior fled ; 
 He heard not the sound of the evening curfew ; 
 But the whisper that died on his tongue was" Subdue V
 
 264 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The bard had sung so bold and high, 
 While patriot fire flashed from his eye, 
 That ere King Edward won to rest, 
 Or sheet was spread above his breast, 
 The harp-strings jarred in wild mistone ; 
 The minstrel throbbed, his voice was gone. 
 Upon his harp he leaned his head, 
 And softly from the ring was led. 
 
 The next was from a western vale, 
 Where Nith winds slowly down the dale ; 
 Where play the waves o'er golden grain, 
 Like mimic billows of the main. 
 Of the old elm his harp was made, 
 That bent o'er CludeiVs loneliest shade : 
 No gilded sculpture round her flamed, 
 For his own hand that harp had framed^ 
 In stolen hours, when, labour done, 
 He strayed to view the parting sun. 
 O when the toy to him so fan-, 
 Began to form beneath his care. . ; :
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 265 
 
 How danced his youthful heart with joy ! 
 How constant grew the dear employ ! 
 The sun would chamber in the Ken ; 
 The red star rise o'er Locherben ; 
 The solemn moon, in sickly hue, 
 Waked from her eastern couch of dew, 
 Would half way gain the vault on high, 
 Bathe in the Nith, slow stealing by, 
 And still the bard his task would ply. 
 
 When his first notes, from covert gray, 
 Arrested maiden on her way ; 
 When ceased the reaper's evening tale, 
 And paused the shepherd of the dale, 
 Bootless all higher worldly bliss, 
 To crown our minstrel's happiness ! 
 What all the joys by fortune given, 
 To cloyless song, the gift of Heaven ? 
 
 That harp could make the matron stare. 
 Bristle the peasant's hoary hair. 
 
 (
 
 %66 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Make patriot-breasts with ardour glow, 
 And Warrior pant to meet the foe ; 
 And long by Nith the maidens young 
 Shall chant the strains their minstrel sung ; 
 At ewe-bught, or at evening fold, 
 When resting on the daisied wold, 
 Combing their locks of waving gold, 
 Oft the fair group enrapt, shall name 
 Their lost, their darling Cunninghame ; 
 His was a song beloved in youth, 
 A tale of weir a tale of truth. 
 
 iDumlanrt0* 
 
 THE SIXTEENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 Who's he that at Dumlanrig's gate 
 Hollas so loud, and raps so late ? 
 Nor warder's threat, nor porter's growl, 
 Question, nor watch-dog's angry howl, 
 He once regards, but rap and call, 
 Thundering alternate shake the wall.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 267 
 
 The captive, stretched in dungeon deep, 
 Waked from his painful visioned sleep ; 
 His meagre form from pavement raised, 
 And listened to the sounds amazed : 
 Both bayle and keep rang with the din, 
 And Douglas heard the noise within. 
 
 " Ho ! rise, Dumlanrig ! alPs at stake ! 
 Ho ! rise, Dumlanrig ! Douglas, wake ! 
 Blow, warder blow thy warning shrill, 
 Light up the beacon on the hill, 
 For round thee reaves thy ruthless foe. 
 Arise, Dumlanrig ! Douglas, ho !" 
 
 His fur-cloak round him Douglas threw, 
 And to the crennel eager flew. 
 " What news? what news? thou stalwart groom. 
 Who thus, in midnight's deepest gloom, 
 Bring'st to my gate the loud alarm 
 Of foray wide and country harm ? 
 
 C
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 What are thy dangers ? what thy fears ? 
 Say out thy message, Douglas hears."" 
 
 " Haste, Douglas ! Douglas, arm with speed, 
 And mount thy fleetest battle steed ; 
 For Lennox, with the southern host, 
 Whom thou hast baulked and curbed the most, 
 Like locusts from the Solway blown, 
 Are spread upon thy mountains brown ; 
 Broke from their camp in search of prey, 
 They drive thy flocks and herds away ; 
 Roused by revenge, and hunger keen, 
 They've swept the hills of fair Dalveen ; 
 Nor left thee bullock, goat, or steer, 
 On all the holms of Durisdeer. 
 
 " One troop came to my father's hall ; 
 They burnt our tower, they took our all. 
 My dear, my only sister May, 
 By force the ruffians bore away ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 269 
 
 Nor kid, nor lamb, bleats in the glen, 
 Around all lonely Locherben ! 
 
 " My twenty men, I have no moe, 
 Eager to cross the roaming foe, 
 Well armed with hauberk and broad sword. 
 Keep ward at Cample's rugged ford. 
 Before they bear their prey across, 
 Some Southrons shall their helmets lose, 
 If not the heads those helmets shield, 
 O, haste thee, Douglas, to the field !" 
 With that his horse around he drew, 
 And down the path like lightning flew. 
 
 " Arm," cried the Douglas, " one and all !" 
 And vanished from the echoing wall. 
 " Arm V was the word ; along it ran 
 Through manor, bayle, and barbican ; 
 And clank and clatter burst at once 
 From every loop of hall and sconce,
 
 S70 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 With whoop of groom, and warder's call, 
 And prancing steeds, 'twas hurry all. 
 
 At first, like thunder's distant tone, 
 The rattling din came rolling on, 
 Echoed Dumlanrig woods around ; 
 Louder and louder swelled the sound, 
 Till like the sheeted flame of wonder, 
 That rends the shoals of heaven asunder. 
 
 When first the word, " To arms !" was given. 
 Glowed all the eastern porch of heaven ; 
 A wreathy cloud of orient brown, 
 Had heralded the rising moon, 
 Whose verge was like a silver bow, 
 Bending o'er Ganna's lofty brow ; 
 And ere above the mountain blue 
 Her wasted orb was rolled in view, 
 A thousand men, in armour sheen, 
 Stood ranked upon Dumlanrig green.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 271 
 
 The Nith they stemmed in firm array ; 
 For Cample-ford they bent their way. 
 Than Douglas and his men that night, 
 Never saw yeomen nobler sight ; 
 Mounted on tall curvetting steed, 
 He rode undaunted at their head ; 
 His shadow on the water still, 
 Like giant on a moving hill. 
 The ghastly bulTs-head scowled on high, 
 Emblem of death to foemen's eye ; 
 And bloody hearts on streamers pale, 
 Waved wildly in the midnight gale. 
 
 O, haste thee, Douglas ! haste and ride ! 
 Thy kinsmen's corpses stem the tide ! 
 What red, what dauntless youth is he, 
 Who stands in Cample to the knee ; 
 Whose arm of steel, and weapon good, 
 Still dyes the stream with Southern blood, 
 While round him fall his faithful men ? 
 "Tis Morison of Locherben.
 
 272 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 O, haste thee, Douglas, to the fray, 
 Ere won be that important way ! 
 The Southron's countless prey, within 
 The dreadful coils of Crighup linn, 
 No passage from the moor can find, 
 The wood below, the gulf behind : 
 One pass there is, and one alone, 
 
 And in that pass stands Morison. 
 
 Who crosses there, or man or beast, 
 
 Must make their passage o'er his breast, 
 
 And over heaps of mangled dead, 
 
 That dam red Cample from its bed. 
 
 His sister's cries his soul alarm, 
 
 And add new vigour to his arm. 
 
 His twenty men are waned to ten. 
 
 O, haste to dauntless Locherben ! 
 
 The Southrons, baulked, impatient turn, 
 And crowd once more the fatal bourn. 
 AH desperate grew the work of death, 
 No yielding but with yielding breath ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 278 
 
 Even still lay every death-struck man, 
 For footing to the furious van. 
 The little band was seized with dread, 
 Behind their rampart of the dead : 
 Power from their arms began to fly, 
 And hope within their breasts to die, 
 When loud they heard the cheering word 
 Of " Douglas ! Douglas !" cross the ford : 
 Then turned the Southron swift as wind, 
 For fierce the battle raged behind. 
 
 O, stay, brave M orison 1 O, stay ! 
 Guard but that pass till break of day ; 
 Thy flocks, thy sister to retrieve, 
 That task to doughty Douglas leave : 
 Let not thine ardour all betray, 
 Thy might is spent brave warrior, stay 
 
 O, for the lyre of heaven, that rung 
 When Linden's lofty hymn was sung ; 
 T
 
 274 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Or his, who from the height beheld 
 The reeling strife of Flodden field ! 
 Then far on wing of genius borne 
 Should ring the wonders of that morn : 
 Morn ! ah ! how many a warrior bold 
 That morn was never to behold ! 
 When rival rank to rank drew nigh, 
 When eye was fixed on foeman's eye, 
 When lowered was lance, and bent was bow ? 
 And faulchion clenched to strike the blow, 
 No breath was heard, nor clank of mail, 
 Each face with rage grew deadly pale. 
 Trembled the moon's reluctant ray ; 
 The breeze of heaven sunk soft away. 
 
 So furious was that onsets shock, 
 Destruction's gates at once unlock : 
 'Twas like the earthquake's hollow groan, 
 When towers and towns are overthrown : 
 'Twas like the river's midnight crush, 
 When snows dissolve, and torrents rush ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 275 
 
 When fields of ice, in rude array, 
 Obstruct its own resistless way : 
 "Twas like the whirlwind's rending sweep : 
 'Twas like the tempest of the deep, 
 Where Corrybraken's surges driven, 
 Meet, mount, and lash the breast of heaven. 
 
 Twas foot to foot, and brand to brand ; 
 Oft hilt to hilt, and hand to hand ; 
 Oft gallant foemen, woe to tell, 
 Dead in each other's bosoms fell ! 
 The horsemen met with might and main, 
 Then reeled, and wheeled, and met again. 
 A thousand spears on hawberks bang ; 
 A thousand swords on helmets clang. 
 Where might was with the feebler blent, 
 Still there the line of battle bent ; 
 As oft recoiled from flank assail, 
 While blows fell thick as rattling hail. 
 Nature stood mute that fateful hour, 
 All save the ranks on C ample-moor,
 
 276 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 And mountain goats that left their den, 
 And bleating fled to Garroch glen. 
 
 Dumlanrig, aye in battle keen, 
 The foremost in the broil was seen : 
 Woe to the warrior dared withstand 
 The progress of his deadly brand ! 
 He sat so firm, he reined so well, 
 Whole ranks before his charger fell. 
 A valiant youth kept by his side, 
 With crest and armour crimson-dyed ; 
 Charged still with him the yielding foe, 
 And seconded his every blow. 
 The Douglas wondered whence he came, 
 And asked his lineage and his name. 
 'Twas he who kept the narrow way, 
 Who raised at first the battle-fray, 
 And roused Dumlanrig and his men, 
 Brave Morison of Locherben. 
 
 " My chief, 11 he said, " forgive my fear 
 For one than life to me more dear ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 277 
 
 But late I heard my sister cry, 
 * Dumlanrig, now thy weapon ply. 1 
 Her guard waits in yon hollow lea, 
 Beneath the shade of spreading tree."" 
 
 Dumlanrig 1 s eye with ardour shone ; 
 " Follow !" he cried, and spurred him on. 
 A close gazoon the horsemen made, 
 Douglas and Morison the head, 
 And through the ranks impetuous bore, 
 By dint of lance and broad claymore, 
 Mid shouts, and groans of parting life, 
 For hard and doubtful was the strife. 
 Behind a knight, firm belted on, 
 They found the fair May Morison. 
 But why, through all Dumlanrig's train, 
 Search her bright eyes, and search in vain ? 
 A stranger mounts her on his steed ; 
 Brave Morison, where art thou fled ? 
 The drivers for their booty feared, 
 And, soon as Cample-ford was cleared.
 
 278 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 To work they fell, and forced away 
 Across the stream their mighty prey. 
 The bleating flocks in terror ran 
 Across the bloody breast of man ; 
 Even the dull cattle gazed with dread, 
 And, lowing, foundered o'er the dead. 
 
 The Southrons still the fight maintain ; 
 Though broke, they closed and fought again. 
 Till shouting drivers gave the word, 
 That all the flocks had cleared the ford ; 
 Then to that pass the bands retire, 
 And safely braved Dumlanrig's ire. 
 Rashly he tried, and tried in vain, 
 That steep, that fatal path to gain ; 
 Madly prolonged th' unequal fray, 
 And lost his men, and lost the day. 
 Amid the battle's fiercest shock, 
 Three spears were on his bosom broke, 
 Then forced in flight to seek remede. 
 Had it not been his noble steed,
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 279 
 
 That swift away his master bore, 
 He ne'er had seen Dumlanrig more. 
 
 The day-beam, from his moonlight sleep, 
 O'er Queensberry began to peep, 
 Kneeled drowsy on the mountain fern. 
 At length rose tiptoe on the cairn, 
 Embracing, in his bosom pale, 
 The stars, the moon, and shadowy dale. 
 Then what a scene appalled the view, 
 On Cample-moor, as dawning grew ! 
 Along the purple heather spread, 
 Lay mixed the dying and the dead ; 
 Stern foemen there from quarrel cease, 
 Who ne'er before had met in peace. 
 Two kinsmen good the Douglas lost, 
 And full three hundred of his host ; 
 With one by him lamented most, 
 The flower of all the Nithsdale men, 
 Young Morison of Locherben.
 
 280 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The Southrons did no foot pursue, 
 Nor seek the conflict to renew. 
 They knew not at the rising sun 
 What mischief they'd to Douglas done, 
 But to the south pursued their way, 
 Glad to escape with such a prey. 
 
 Brave Douglas, where thy pride of weir ? 
 How stinted in thy bold career ! 
 Woe, that the Lowther eagle's look 
 Should shrink before the Lowland rook I 
 Woe, that the lordly lion's paw 
 Of ravening wolves should sink in awe ! 
 But doubly woe, the purple heart 
 Should tarnished from the field depart ( 
 
 Was it the loss of kinsmen dear, 
 Or crusted scratch of Southron spear r 
 Was it thy dumb thy sullen host, 
 Thy glory by misconduct lost ?
 
 VIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 281 
 
 Or thy proud bosom, swelling high, 
 Made the round tear roll in thine eye ? 
 Ah ! no ; thy heart was doomed to prove 
 The sharper pang of slighted love. 
 
 What vision lingers on the heath, 
 Flitting across the field of death ; 
 Its gliding motion, smooth and still 
 As vapour on the twilight hill, 
 Or the last ray of falling even 
 Shed through the parting clouds of heaven ? 
 
 Is it a sprite that roams forlorn ? 
 Or angel from the bowers of morn, 
 Come down a tear of heaven to shed, 
 In pity o'er the valiant dead ? 
 No vain, no fleeting phantom this ! 
 No vision from the bowers of bliss ! 
 Its radiant eye, and stately tread, 
 Bespeak some beauteous mountain maid ;
 
 282 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 No rose of Eden's bosom meek, 
 
 Could match that maiden's moistened cheek ; 
 
 No drifted wreath of morning snow, 
 
 The whiteness of her lofty brow ; 
 
 Nor gem of India's purest dye, 
 
 The lustre of her eagle eye. 
 
 When beauty, Eden's bowers within, 
 First stretched the arm to deeds of sin ; 
 When passion burned, and prudence slept, 
 The pitying angels bent and wept. 
 But tears more soft were never shed, 
 No, not when angels bowed the head, 
 A sigh more mild did never breathe 
 O'er human nature whelmed in death, 
 Nor woe and dignity combine 
 In face so lovely, so benign, 
 As Douglas saw that dismal hour, 
 Bent o'er a corse on C ample-moor ; 
 A lady o'er her shield, her trust, 
 A brave, an only brother's dust.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 283 
 
 What heart of man unmoved can lie, 
 When plays the smile in beauty's eye ? 
 Or when a form of grace and love 
 To music's notes can lightly move ? 
 Yes : there are hearts unmoved can see 
 The smile, the ring, the revelry ; 
 But heart of warrior ne'er could bear 
 The beam of beauty's crystal tear. 
 Well was that morn the maxim proved 
 The Douglas saw, the Douglas loved. 
 
 " O, cease thy tears, my lovely May, 
 Sweet floweret of the banks of Ae, 
 His soul thou never canst recall ; 
 He fell as warrior wont to fall. 
 Deep, deep the loss we both bewail : 
 But that deep loss to countervail, 
 Far as the day-flight of the hern, 
 From Locherben to green Glencairn, 
 From where the Shinnel torrents pour 
 To the lone vales of Crawford-moor,
 
 284 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT 111. 
 
 The fairy links of Tweed and Lyne, 
 All, all the Douglas has, is thine, 
 And Douglas too ; whate'er betide, 
 Straight thou shalt be Dumlanrig's bride.'" 
 
 " What ! mighty chief, a bride to thee ! 
 No, by yon heaven's High Majesty, 
 Sooner I'll beg, forlorn and poor, 
 Bent at thy meanest vassal's door, 
 Than look thy splendid halls within, 
 Thou deer, wrapt m a lion's skin ! 
 
 " Here lies thy bravest knight in death ; 
 Thy kinsmen strew the purple heath ; 
 What boots thy boasted mountains green ? 
 Nor flock, nor herd, can there be seen ; 
 All driven before thy vaunting foe 
 To ruthless slaughter, bleat and low, 
 Whilst thou shame on thy dastard head ! 
 A wooing com'st amid the dead,
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 28S 
 
 " O, that this feeble maiden hand 
 Could bend the bow, or wield the brand ! 
 If yeomen mustered in my hall, 
 Or trooped obsequious at my call, 
 My country's honour I'd restore, 
 And shame thy face for evermore. 
 Go, first thy flocks and herds regain ; 
 Revenge thy friends in battle slain ; 
 Thy wounded honour heal ; that done, 
 Douglas may ask May Morison." 
 
 Dumlanrig's blood to's bosom rushed, 
 His manly cheek like crimson blushed. 
 He called three yeomen to his side : 
 " Haste, gallant warriors, haste and ride ! 
 Warn Lindsay on the banks of Daur, 
 The fierce M'Turk and Lochinvaur ; 
 Tell them that Lennox flies amain ; 
 That Maxwell and Glencairn are ta'en ; 
 Kilpatrick with the spoiler rides ; 
 The Johnston flies, and Jardine hides :
 
 f86 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 That I alone am left to fight, 
 
 For country's cause and sovereign's right. 
 
 My friends are fallen my warriors toiled 
 
 My towns are burnt my vassals spoiled : 
 
 Yet say before to-morrow's sun 
 
 With amber tips the mountain dun, 
 
 Either that host of ruthless thieves 
 
 I'll scatter like the forest leaves, 
 
 Or my wrung heart shall cease to play, 
 
 And my right hand the sword to sway. 
 
 At Blackwood I'll their coming bide : 
 
 Haste, gallant warriors, haste and ride !" 
 
 He spoke : each yeoman bent his eye, 
 And forward stooped in act to fly ; 
 No plea was urged, no short demur ; 
 Each heel was turned to strike the spur. 
 
 As ever ye saw the red deer's brood, 
 From covert sprung, traverse the wood.;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 287 
 
 Or heath-fowl beat the mountain wind, 
 
 And leave the fowler fixt behind ; 
 
 As ever ye saw three arrows spring 
 
 At once from yew-bow's twanging string 
 
 So flew the messengers of death, 
 
 And, lessening, vanished on the heath. 
 
 The Douglas bade his troops with speed 
 Prepare due honours for the dead, 
 And meet well armed at evening still 
 On the green cone of Blackford-hill. 
 There came M'Turk to aid the war, 
 With troops from Shinnel glens and Scaur ; 
 Fierce Gordon with the clans of Ken, 
 And Lindsay with his Crawford men ; 
 Old Morton, too, forlorn and gray, 
 Whose son had fallen at break of day. 
 
 If troops on earth may e'er withstand 
 An onset made by Scottish brand.
 
 288 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT IIJ. 
 
 Then lawless rapine sways the throng, 
 And conscience whispers " This is wrong : v 
 But should a foe, whate'er his might, 
 To Scotia's soil dispute her right, 
 Or dare on native mountain claim 
 The poorest atom boasts her name, 
 Though high that warrior's banners soar. 
 Let him beware the broad claymore. 
 
 Scotland ! thy honours long have stood, 
 Though rudely cropt, though rolled in blood, 
 Yet, bathed in warm and purple dew, 
 More glorious o'er the ruin grew. 
 Long flourished thy paternal line ; 
 Arabia's lineage stoops to thine. 
 
 Dumlanrig found his foes secure, 
 Stretched on the ridge of Locher-moor. 
 The hum that wandered from their host 
 Far on the midnight breeze was lost.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 289 
 
 No deafening drum, no bugle's swell, 
 No watch-word past from centinel, 
 No slight vibration stirred the air 
 To warn the Scot a foe was there, 
 Save bleat of flocks that wandered slow, 
 And oxen's deep and sullen low. 
 
 What horrors o'er the warrior hang J 
 What vultures watch his soul to fang ! 
 What toils ! what snares ! he hies him on 
 Where lightnings flash, and thunders groan ; 
 Where havock strikes whole legions low, 
 And death's red billows murmuring flow ; 
 Yet still he fumes and flounders on, 
 Till crushed the moth its mem'ry gone ! 
 
 Why should the bard, who loves to mourn 
 
 His maiden's scorn by mountain bourn, 
 
 Or pour his wild harp's fairy tone 
 
 From sounding cliff or green- Avood lone, 
 
 
 U
 
 290 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Of slaughtered foemen proudly tell, 
 On deeds of death and horror dwell ? 
 
 Dread was Dumlanrig's martial ire, 
 Fierce on the foe he rushed like fire. 
 Lindsay of Crawford, known to fame, 
 That night first gained a hero's name. 
 The brave M'Turk of Stenhouse stood 
 Bathed to the knees in Southron blood ; 
 A bold and generous chief was he, 
 And come of ancient pedigree ; 
 And Gordon with his Galloway crew, 
 O'er floundering ranks resistless flew. 
 Short was the strife ! they fled as fast 
 As chaff before the northern blast. 
 
 Dumlanrig's flocks were not a few, 
 And well their worth Dumlanrig knew ; 
 But ne'er so proud was he before 
 Of his broad bounds and countless store, 
 As when they strung up Nithsdale plain. 
 Well guarded to their hills again.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 291 
 
 With Douglas' name the green- woods rung, 
 
 As battle-songs his warriors sung. 
 
 The banners streamed in double row, 
 
 The heart above, the rose below. 
 
 His visage glowed, his pulse beat high, 
 
 And gladness sparkled in his eye : 
 
 For why, he knew the lovely May, 
 
 Who in Kilpatrick's castle lay, 
 
 With joy his proud return would view, 
 
 And her impetuous censure rue. 
 
 Well judged he: Why should haughty chief 
 Intrude himself on lady's grief, 
 As if his right, as nought but he 
 Were worthy her anxiety. 
 No, warrior : keep thy distance due ; 
 Beauty is proud and jealous too. 
 If fair and young thy maiden be, 
 Know she knew that ere told by thee. 
 Be kind, be gentle, heave the sigh, 
 And blush before her piercing eye ;
 
 292 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 For though thouVt noble, brave, and young, 
 If rough thy mien and rude thy tongue, 
 Though proudly towers thy trophied pile, 
 Hope not for beauty's yielding smile. 
 Oh ! well it suits the brave and high, 
 Gentle to prove in lady's eye. 
 
 Dumlanrig found his lovely flower 
 Fair as the sun-beam o'er the shower, 
 Gentle as zephyr of the plain, 
 Sweet as the rose-bud after rain : 
 Gone all her scorn and maiden pride, 
 She blushed Dumlanrig"' s lovely bride. 
 
 James of Dumlanrig, though thy name 
 Scarce vibrates in the ear of fame, 
 But for thy might and valour keen, 
 That gallant house had never been. 
 
 Blest be thy menVry, gallant man ! 
 Oft flashed thy broad sword in the van
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 293 
 
 When stern rebellion reared the brand, 
 
 And stained the laurels of our land, 
 
 No knight unshaken stood like thee 
 
 In right of injured majesty : 
 
 Ev'n yet, o'er thy forgotten bier, 
 
 A minstrel drops the burning tear, 
 
 And strikes his wild harp's boldest string. 
 
 Thy honours on the breeze to fling, 
 
 That mountains once thine own may know 
 
 From whom the Queensberry honours flow. 
 
 Fair be thy memVy, gallant knight ! 
 So true in love, so brave in fight ! 
 Though o'er thy children's princely urn 
 The sculpture towers, and seraphs mourn, 
 O'er thy green grave shall wave the yew, 
 And heaven distil its earliest dew. 
 
 When ceased the bard's protracted song, 
 Circled a smile the fair among :
 
 294 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The song was free, and soft its fall, 
 So soothing, yet so bold withal, 
 They loved it well, yet, sooth to say, 
 Too long, too varied was the lay. 
 
 'Twas now the witching time of night, 
 When reason strays, and forms that fright, 
 Are shadowed on the palsied sight ; 
 When fancy moulds upon the mind 
 Light visions on the passing wind, 
 And woos, with faultering tongue and sigh, 
 The shades o'er memory's wilds that fly ; 
 And much the circle longed to hear 
 Of gliding ghost, or gifted seer, 
 That in that still and solemn hour 
 Might stretch imagination's power, 
 And restless fancy revel free 
 In painful, pleasing luxury. 
 Just as the battle-tale was done, 
 The watchman called the hour of one.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 205 
 
 Lucky the hour for him who came, 
 Lucky the wish of every dame, 
 The bard who rose at herald's caD 
 Was wont to sing in Highland hall, 
 Where the wild chieftain of M'Lean 
 Upheld his dark Hebridian reign ; 
 Where floated crane and clamorous gull 
 Above the misty shores of Mull ; 
 And evermore the billows rave 
 Round many a saint and sovereign's grave. 
 There round Columba's ruins gray 
 The shades of monks are wont to stray, 
 And slender forms of nuns, that weep 
 In moonlight by the murmuring deep, 
 O'er early loves and passions crost, 
 And being's end for ever lost. 
 No earthly form their names to save, 
 No stem to flourish o'er their grave, 
 No blood of theirs beyond the shrine 
 To nurse the human soul divine,
 
 296 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Still cherish youth by time unworn, 
 And flow in ages yet unborn. 
 While mind, surviving evermore, 
 Unbodied seeks that lonely shore. 
 
 In that wild land our minstrel bred, 
 From youth a life of song had led, 
 Wandering each shore and upland dull 
 With Allan Bawn, the bard of Mull, 
 To sing the deeds of old Fingal, 
 In every cot and Highland hall. 
 
 Well knew he every ghost that came 
 To visit fair Hebridian dame, 
 Was that of monk or abbot gone, 
 Who once, in cell of pictured stone, 
 Of woman thought, and her alone. 
 
 Well knew he every female shade 
 To westland chief that visit paid
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 297 
 
 In morning pale, or evening dun, 
 Was that of fair lamenting nun, 
 Who once, in cloistered home forlorn, 
 Languished for joys in youth forsworn ; 
 And oft himself had seen them glide 
 At dawning from his own bed-side. 
 
 Forth stepped he with uncourtly bow, 
 The heron plume waved o'er his brow, 
 His garb was blent with varied shade, 
 And round him flowed his Highland plaid. 
 But woe to Southland dame and knight 
 In minstrel's tale who took delight. 
 Though known the air, the song he sung 
 Was in the barbarous Highland tongue : 
 But tartaned chiefs in raptures hear 
 The strains, the words, to them so deal'. 
 
 Thus run the bold portentous lay, 
 As near as Southern tongue can say.
 
 298 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 QTtje 3bbot JR'&imunu 
 
 THE SEVENTEENTH BARD'S SONG. 
 
 M'Kinnon's tall mast salutes the day, 
 And beckons the breeze in Iona bay ; 
 Plays lightly up in the morning sky, 
 And nods to the green wave rolling bye ; 
 The anchor upheaves, the sails unfurl, 
 The pennons of silk in the breezes curl ; 
 But not one monk on holy ground 
 Knows whither the Abbot M'Kinnon is bound. 
 
 Well could that bark o'er the ocean glide, 
 Though monks and friars alone must guide ; 
 For never man of other degree 
 On board that sacred ship might be. 
 On deck M'Kinnon walked soft and slow; 
 The haulers sung from the gilded prow ; 
 The helmsman turned his brow to the sky, 
 Upraised his cowl, and upraised his eye.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 299 
 
 And away shot the bark on the wing of the wind, 
 Over billow and bay like an image of mind. 
 
 Aloft on the turret the monks appear, 
 To see where the bark of their abbot would bear ; 
 They saw her sweep from Iona bay, 
 And turn her prow to the north away, 
 Still lessen to view in the hazy screen, 
 And vanish amid the islands green. 
 Then they turned their eyes to the female dome, 
 And thought of the nuns till the abbot came home. 
 
 Three times the night with aspect dull 
 Came stealing o'er the moors of Mull ; 
 Three times the sea-gull left the deep, 
 To doze on the knob of the dizzy steep, 
 By the sound of the ocean lulPd to sleep ; 
 And still the watch-lights sailors see 
 On the top of the spire, and the top of Dun-ye ; 
 And the laugh rings through the sacred dome. 
 For still the abbot is not come home.
 
 300 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. ANIGHT III. 
 
 But the wolf that nightly swam the sound, 
 From Ross*^ rude impervious bound, 
 On the ravenous burrowing race to feed, 
 That loved to haunt the home of the dead, 
 To him Saint Columb had left in trust, 
 To guard the bones of the royal and just, 
 Of saints and of kings the sacred dust ; 
 The savage was scared from his charnel of death, 
 And swam to his home in hunger and wrath, 
 For he momently saw, through the night so dun. 
 The cowering monk, and the veiled nun, 
 Whispering, sighing, and stealing away 
 By cross dark alley, and portal gray. 
 O, wise was the founder, and well said he, 
 " Where there are women mischief must be." 
 
 No more the watch-fires gleam to the blast, 
 M'Kinnon and friends arrive at last. 
 A stranger youth to the isle they brought, 
 Modest of mien and deep of thought,
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 301 
 
 In costly sacred robes bedight, 
 
 And he lodged with the abbot by day and by night, 
 
 His breast was graceful, and round withal, 
 His leg was taper, his foot was small, 
 And his tread so light that it flung no sound 
 On listening ear or vault around. 
 His eye was the morning's brightest ray, 
 And his neck like the swan's in Iona bay ; 
 His teeth the ivory polished knew, 
 And his lip like the morel when glossed with dew. 
 While under his cowl's embroidered fold 
 Were seen the curls of waving gold. 
 This comely vouth, of beauty so bright, 
 Abode with the abbot by day and by night. 
 
 When arm in arm they walked the isle, 
 Young friars would beckon, and monks would smile : 
 But sires, in dread of sins unshriven, 
 Would shake their heads and look up to heaven.
 
 302 THE QUEEN'S WAKE- NIGHT III. 
 
 Afraid the frown of the saint to see, 
 Who reared their temple amid the sea, 
 And pledged his soul to guard the dome. 
 Till virtue should fly her western home. 
 But now a stranger of hidden degree, 
 Too fair, too gentle, a man to be, 
 This stranger of beauty and step so light 
 Abode with the abbot by day and by night. 
 
 The months and the days flew lightly bye, 
 The monks were kind and the nuns were shy ; 
 But the gray-haired sires, in trembling mood, 
 KneePd at the altar and kissed the rood. 
 
 M'Kinnon he dreamed that the saint of the isle 
 Stood by his side, and with courteous smile 
 Bade him arise from his guilty sleep, 
 And pay his respects to the God of the deep, 
 In temple that north in the main appeared, 
 Which fire from bowels of ocean had seared, 
 Which the giant builders of heaven had reared.
 
 XIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 303 
 
 To rival in grandeur the stately pile 
 
 Himself had upreared in Iona's isle ; 
 
 For round them rose the mountains of sand, 
 
 The fishes had left the coasts of the land, 
 
 And so high ran the waves of the angry sea, 
 
 They had drizzled the cross on the top of Dun-ye. 
 
 The cycle was closed, and the period run, 
 
 He had vowed to the sea, he had vowed to the sun, 
 
 If in that time rose trouble or pain, 
 
 Their homage to pay to the God of the main. 
 
 Then he bade him haste and the rites prepare, 
 
 Named all the monks should with him fare, 
 
 And promised again to see him there. 
 
 M'Kinnon awoke from his visioned sleep, 
 He opened his casement and looked on the deep ; 
 He looked to the mountains, he looked to the shore, 
 The vision amazed him and troubled him sore, 
 He never had heard of the rite before ; 
 But all was so plain, he thought meet to obey. 
 He durst not decline, and he would not delav.
 
 304 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Uprose the abbot, uprose the morn, 
 Uprose the sun from the Bens of Lorn ; 
 And the bark her course to the northward framed, 
 With all on board whom the saint had named. 
 
 The clouds were journeying east the sky, 
 The wind was low and the swell was high, 
 And the glossy sea was heaving bright 
 Like ridges and hills of liquid light ; 
 While far on her lubric bosom were seen 
 The magic dyes of purple and green. 
 
 How joyed the bark her sides to lave ! 
 She leaned to the lee, and she girdled the wave ; 
 Aloft on the stayless verge she hung, 
 Light on the steep wave veered and swung, 
 And the crests of the billows before her flung. 
 Loud murmured the ocean with downward growl, 
 The seal swam aloof and the dark sea fowl ; 
 The pye-duck sought the depth of the main, 
 And rose in the wheel of her wake again ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 305 
 
 And behind her, far to the southward, shone 
 A pathway of snow on the waste alone. 
 
 But now the dreadful strand they gain, 
 Where rose the sacred dome of the main ; 
 Oft had they seen the place before, 
 And kept aloof from the dismal shore, 
 But now it rose before their prow, 
 And what they beheld they did not know. 
 The tall gray forms, in close-set file, 
 Upholding the roof of that holy pile ; 
 The sheets of foam and the clouds of spray, 
 And the groans that rushed from the portals gray. 
 Appalled their hearts, and drove them away. 
 
 They wheeled their bark to the east around, 
 And moored in basin, by rocks imbound ; 
 Then, awed to silence, they trode the strand 
 Where furnaced pillars in order stand, 
 All framed of the liquid burning levin, 
 And bent like the bow that spans the heaven, 
 X
 
 306 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Or upright ranged in horrid array, 
 
 With purfle of green o'er the darksome gray. 
 
 Their path was on wonderous pavement of old, 
 Its blocks all cast in some giant mould, 
 Fair hewn and grooved by no mortal hand, 
 With countermure guarded by sea and by land. 
 The watcher Bushella frowned over their way, 
 Enrobed in the sea-baize, and hooded with gray ; 
 The warder that stands by that dome of the deep, 
 With spray-shower and rainbow, the entrance to 
 
 keep. 
 But when they drew nigh to the chancel of ocean, 
 And saw her waves rush to their raving devotion. 
 Astounded and awed to the antes they clung, 
 And listened the hymns in her temple she sung. 
 The song of the cliff, when the winter winds blow. 
 The thunder of heaven, the earthquake below, 
 Conjoined, like the voice of a maiden would be, 
 Compared with the anthem there sung by the sea.
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 307 
 
 The solemn rows in that darksome den, 
 Were dimly seen like the forms of men, 
 Like giant monks in ages agone, 
 Whom the God of the ocean had seared to stone, 
 And bound in his temple for ever to lean, 
 In sackcloth of gray and visors of green, 
 An everlasting worship to keep, 
 And the big salt tears eternally weep. 
 
 So rapid the motion, the whirl and the boil, 
 So loud was the tumult, so fierce the turmoil, 
 Appalled from those portals of terror they turn, 
 On pillar of marble their incense to burn. 
 Around the holy flame they pray, 
 Then turning their faces all west away, 
 On angel pavement each bent his knee, 
 And sung this hymn to the God of the sea.
 
 THE QUEEN'S wake. NIGHT III 
 
 Thou, who makest the ocean to flow, 
 Thou, who walkest the channels below ; 
 To thee, to thee, this incense we heap, 
 Thou, who knowest not slumber nor sleep, 
 Great Spirit that movest on the face of the deep ! 
 To thee, to thee, we sing to thee, 
 God of the western wind, God of the sea. 
 
 To thee, who bring'st with thy right hand 
 The little fishes around our land ; 
 To thee, who breathest in the bosom 1 d sail, 
 Rul'st the shark and the rolling whale, 
 Fling'st the sinner to downward grave, 
 Lighfst the gleam on the mane of the wave, 
 Bid'st the billows thy reign deform, 
 LauglVst in the whirlwind, sing'st in the storm ; 
 Or risest like mountain amid the sea, 
 Where mountain was never, and never will be
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 809 
 
 And rear'st thy proud and thy pale chaperoon 
 'Mid walks of the angels and ways of the moon. 
 To thee, to thee, this wine we pour, 
 God of the western wind, God of the shower. 
 
 To thee, who bid'st those mountains of brine 
 Softly sink in the fair moonshine, 
 And spread'st thy couch of silver light, 
 To lure to thy bosom the queen of the night, 
 Who weavest the cloud of the ocean dew, 
 And the mist that sleeps on her breast so blue ; 
 When the murmurs die at the base of the hill, 
 And the shadows lie rocked and slumbering still, 
 And the Solan's young, and the lines of foam, 
 Are scarcely heaved on thy peaceful home, 
 We pour this oil and this wine to thee, 
 God of the western wind, God of the sea ! 
 " Greater yet must the offering be."
 
 310 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 The monks gazed round, the abbot grew wan, 
 For the closing notes were not sung by man. 
 They came from the rock, or they came from the air, 
 From voice they knew not, and knew not where ; 
 But it sung with a mournful melody, 
 " Greater yet must the offering be. 1 ' 
 
 In holy dread they past away, 
 And they walked the ridge of that isle so gray, 
 And saw the white waves toil and fret, 
 An hundred fathoms below their feet ; 
 They looked to the countless isles that lie, 
 From Barra to Mull, and from Jura to Skye ; 
 They looked to heaven, they looked to the main, 
 They looked at all with a silent pain, 
 As on places they were not to see again. 
 
 A little bay lies hid from sight, 
 (Terhung by cliffs of dreadful height ;
 
 KIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 311 
 
 When they drew nigh that airy steep, 
 
 They heard a voice rise from the deep, 
 
 And that voice was sweet as voice could be, 
 
 And they feared it came from the Maid of the Sea. 
 
 M'Kinnon lay stretched on the verge of the hill, 
 And peeped from the height on the bay so still ; 
 And he saw her sit on a weedy stone, 
 Laving her fair breast, and singing alone ; 
 And aye she sank the wave within, 
 Till it gurgled around her lovely chin, 
 Then combed her locks of the pale sea-green, 
 And aye this song was heard between. 
 
 Maltilda of Skye 
 Alone may he, 
 And list to the wind that whistles bv :
 
 312 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Sad may she be, 
 For deep in the sea, 
 Deep, deep, deep in the sea, 
 This night her lover shall sleep with me. 
 She may turn and hide 
 From the spirits that glide, 
 And the ghost that stands at her bed-side : 
 But never a kiss the vow shall seal, 
 Nor warm embrace her bosom feel ; 
 For far, far down in the floors below, 
 Moist as this rock-weed, cold as the snow, 
 With the eel, and the clam, and the pearl of the deep, 
 On soft sea-flowers her lover shall sleep, 
 And long and sound shall his slumber be 
 In the coral bowers of the deep with me. 
 
 The trembling sun, far, far away, 
 Shall pour on his couch a softened ray, 
 And his mantle shall wave in the flowing tide, 
 And the little fishes shall turn aside ;
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 313 
 
 But the wares and the tides of the sea shall cease, 
 Ere wakes her love from his bed of peace. 
 No home ! no kiss ! No, never ! never ! 
 His couch is spread for ever and ever. 
 
 The abbot arose in dumb dismay, 
 They turned and fled from the height awaj r , 
 For dark and portentous was the day. 
 When they came in view of their rocking sail, 
 They saw an old man who sat on the wale ; 
 His beard was long, and silver grey, 
 Like the rime that falls at the break of day ; 
 His locks like wool, and his colour wan, 
 And he scarcely looked like an earthly man. 
 
 They asked his errand, they asked his name, 
 Whereunto bound, and whence he came ; 
 But a sullen thoughtful silence he kept, 
 And turned his face to the sea and wept.
 
 314 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 Some gave him welcome, and some gave him scorn. 
 But the abbot stood pale, with terror o 1 erborne ; 
 He tried to be jocund, but trembled the more, 
 For he thought he had seen the face before. 
 
 Away went the ship with her canvass all spread, 
 So glad to escape from that island of dread ; 
 And skimmed the blue wave like a streamer of light, 
 Till fell the dim veil 'twixt the day and the night. 
 
 Then the old man arose and stood up on the prow, 
 And fixed his dim eyes on the ocean below ; 
 And they heard him saying, " Oh, woe is me ! 
 But great as the sin must the sacrifice be. ,, 
 Oh, mild was his eye, and his manner sublime, 
 When he looked unto Heaven, and said " Now is 
 
 the time." 
 He looked to the weather, he looked to the lee, 
 He looked as for something he dreaded to see,
 
 NIGHT III. THE QUEEN'S WAtf E. 315 
 
 Then stretched his pale hand, and pointed his eye 
 To a gleam on the verge of the eastern sky. 
 
 The monks soon beheld, on the lofty Ben- More, 
 A sight which they never had seen before, 
 A belt of blue lightning around it was driven, 
 And its crown was encircled by morion of heaven ; 
 And they heard a herald that loud did cry, 
 " Prepare the way for the Abbot of I !* 
 
 Then a sound arose, they knew not where, 
 It came from the sea, or it came from the air, 
 'Twas louder than tempest that ever blew, 
 And the sea-fowls screamed, and in terror flew ; 
 Some ran to the cords, some kneeled at the shrine, 
 But all the wild elements seemed to combine ; 
 'Twas just but one moment of stir and commotion, 
 And down went the ship like a bird of the ocean. 
 
 This moment she sailed all stately and fair, 
 The next nor ship nor shadow was there,
 
 316 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. NIGHT III. 
 
 But a boil that arose from the deep below, 
 A mounting gurgling column of snow ; 
 It sunk away with a murmuring moan, 
 The sea is calm, and the sinners are gone. 
 
 END OF NIGHT THE THIUD.
 
 CONCLUSION.
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 h riend of the bard ! peace to thy heart, 
 Long hast thou acted generous part, 
 Long hast thou courteously in pain 
 Attended to a feeble strain, 
 While oft abashed has sunk thine eye, 
 Thy task is done, the Wake is bye. 
 
 I saw thy fear, I knew it just ; 
 *Twas not for minstrels long in dust, 
 But for the fond and venturous swain 
 Who dared to wake their notes again ; 
 Yet oft thine eye has spoke delight, 
 I marked it well, and blest the sight :
 
 320 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 No sour disdain, nor manner cold, 
 Noted contempt for tales of old ; 
 Oft hast thou at the fancies smiled, 
 And marvelled at the legends wild. 
 Thy task is o'er ; peace to thy heart ! 
 For thou hast acted generous part. 
 
 'Tis said that thirty bards appeared, 
 That thirty names were registered, 
 With whom were titled chiefs combined, 
 But some are lost, and some declined. 
 Woe's me, that all my mountain lore 
 Has been unfit to rescue more ! 
 And that my guideless rustic skill 
 Has told those ancient tales so ill. 
 
 The prize harp still hung on the wall ; 
 The bards were warned to leave the hall, 
 Till courtiers gave the judgment true, 
 To whom the splendid prize was due.
 
 CONCLUSION. 321 
 
 What curious wight will pass with me, 
 The anxious motley group to see ; 
 List their remarks of right and wrong, 
 Of skilful hand and faulty song, 
 And drink one glass the bards among ? 
 
 There sit the men behold them there, 
 Made maidens quake and courtiers stare, 
 Whose names shall future ages tell ; 
 What do they seem ? behold them well. 
 A simpler race you shall not see, 
 Awkward and vain as men can be : 
 Light as the fumes of fervid wine, 
 Or foam-bells floating on the brine, 
 The gossamers in air that sail, 
 Or down that dances in the gale. 
 
 Each spoke of others fame and skill 
 With high applause, but jealous will. 
 Each song, each strain, he erst had known, 
 And all had faults except his own : 
 Y
 
 322 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Plaudits were mixed with meaning jeers, 
 For all had hopes, and all had fears. 
 
 A herald rose the court among, 
 
 And named each bard and named his song ; 
 
 Rizzio was named from royal chair 
 
 " Rizzio !" re-echoed many a fair. 
 
 Each song had some that song approved, 
 
 And voices gave for bard beloved. 
 
 The first division called and done, 
 
 Gardyn stood highest just by one. 
 
 No merits can the courtier sway, 
 
 'Twas then, it seems, as at this day. 
 
 Queen Mary reddened, wroth was she 
 Her favourite thus outdone to see, 
 Reproved her squire in high disdain, 
 And caused him call the votes again. 
 Strange though it seem, the truth I say. 
 Feature of that unyielding day,
 
 CONCLUSION. 323 
 
 Her favourite's voters counted o'er, 
 Were found much fewer than before. 
 Glistened her eyes with pungent dew : 
 She found with whom she had to do. 
 
 Again the royal gallery rung 
 With names of those who second sung, 
 When, spite of haughty Highland blood, 
 The Bard of Ettrick upmost stood. 
 
 The rest were named who sung so late. 
 And after long and keen debate, 
 The specious nobles of the south 
 Carried the nameless stranger youth ; 
 Though Highland wrath was at the full, 
 Contending for -the Bard of Mull. 
 
 Then did the worst dispute begin, 
 Which of the three the prize should win. 
 'Twas party all not minstrel worth, 
 But honour of the south and north ;
 
 324 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 And nought was heard throughout the court, 
 But taunt, and sneer, and keen retort. 
 High run the words, and fierce the fume. 
 And from beneath each nodding plume 
 Red look was cast that vengeance said, 
 And palm on broad-sword's hilt was laid, 
 While Lowland jeer, and Highland mood, 
 Threatened to end the Wake in blood. 
 
 Rose from his seat the Lord of Mar, 
 Serene in counsel as in war. 
 " For shame,' 11 said he, " contendants all ! 
 This outrage done in royal hall, 
 Is to our country foul disgrace. 
 What ! mock our Sovereign to her face ! 
 Whose generous heart and taste refined, 
 Alike to bard and courtier kind, 
 This high repast for all designed. 
 For shame ! your party strife suspend, 
 And list the counsel of a friend.
 
 CONCLUSION. 325 
 
 " Unmeet it is for you or me 
 To lessen one of all the three, 
 Each excellent in his degree ; 
 But taste, as sapient sages tell, 
 Varies with climes in which we dwell. 
 
 " Fair emblem of the Border dale, 
 Is cadence soft and simple tale ; 
 While stern romantic Highland clime, 
 Still nourishes the rude sublime. 
 
 "If Border ear may taste the worth 
 Of the wild pathos of the north, 
 Or that sublimed by Ossian's lay, 
 By forest dark and mountain gray, 
 By clouds which frowning cliffs deform. 
 By roaring flood and raving storm, 
 Enjoy the smooth, the fairy tale, 
 Or evening song of Teviotdale ; 
 Then trow you may the tides adjourn, 
 And nature from her path- way turn ;
 
 326 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The wild-duck drive to mountain tree, 
 The capperkayle to swim the sea, 
 The heath-cock to the shelvy .shore, 
 The partridge to the mountain hoar, 
 And bring the red-eyed ptarmigan 
 To dwell by the abodes of man. 
 
 " To end this strife, unruled and vain, 
 Let all the three be called again ; 
 Their skill alternately be tried, 
 And let the Queen alone decide. 
 Then hushed be jeer and answer proud,'' 
 He said, and all, consenting, bowed. 
 
 When word was brought to bard's retreat, 
 The group were all in dire debate ; 
 The Border youth (that stranger wight) 
 Had quarrelled with the clans outright ; 
 Had placed their merits out of ken, 
 Deriding both the songs and men.
 
 CONCLUSION. 327 
 
 'Tis said but few the charge believes 
 He branded them as fools and thieves. 
 Certes that war and woe had been, 
 For gleaming dirks unsheathed were seen, 
 The Highland minstrels ill could brook 
 His taunting word and haughty look. 
 
 The youth was chafed, and with disdain 
 Refused to touch his harp again ; 
 Said he desired no more renown 
 Than keep those Highland boasters down ; 
 Now he had seen them quite outdone, 
 The south had two, the north but one ; 
 But should they bear the prize away, 
 For that he should not, would not play ; 
 He cared for no such guerdon mean, 
 Nor for the harp, nor for the Queen. 
 
 His claim withdrawn, the victors twain 
 Repaired to prove their skill again.
 
 328 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The song that tuneful Gardyn sung 
 Is still admired by old and young, 
 And long shall be at evening fold, 
 While songs are sung or tales are told. 
 Of stolen delights began the song, 
 Of love the Carron woods among, 
 Of lady borne from Carron side 
 To Barnard towers and halls of pride, 
 Of jealous lord and doubtful bride, 
 And ended with Gilmorice 1 doom 
 Cut off in manhood's early bloom. 
 Soft rung the closing notes and slow, 
 And every heart was steeped in woe. 
 
 The harp of Ettrick rung again, 
 Her bard, intent on fairy strain, 
 And fairy freak by moonlight shaw, 
 Sung young Tarn Lean of Carterha\ 
 
 Queen Mary's harp on high that hung. 
 And every tone responsive rung,
 
 CONCLUSION. 329 
 
 With gems and gold that dazzling shone, 
 That harp is to the Highlands gone, 
 Gardyn is crowned with garlands gay. 
 And bears the envied prize away. 
 Long, long that harp, the hills among, 
 Resounded OssiarTs warrior song ; 
 Waked slumbering lyres from every tree 
 Adown the banks of Don and Dee, 
 At length was borne, by beauteous bride, 
 To woo the airs on Garry side. 
 
 When full two hundred years had fled. 
 And all the northern bards were dead, 
 That costly harp, of wonderous mould, 
 Defaced of all its gems and gold, 
 With that which Gardyn erst did play, 
 Back to Dunedin found its way. 
 
 As Mary's hand the victor crowned, 
 And twined the wreath his temples round.
 
 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Loud were the shouts of Highland chief 
 The Lowlanders were dumb with grief; 
 And the poor Bard of Ettrick stood 
 Like statue pale, in moveless mood ; 
 Like ghost, which oft his eyes had seen 
 At gloaming in his glens so green. 
 Queen Mary saw the minstrel's pain, 
 And bade from bootless grief refrain. 
 
 She said a boon to him should fall 
 Worth all the harps in royal hall ; 
 Of Scottish song a countless store, 
 Precious remains of minstrel lore, 
 And cottage, by a silver rill, 
 Should all reward his rustic skill : 
 Did other gift his bosom claim, 
 He needed but that gift to name. 
 
 " O, my fair Queen," the minstrel said, 
 With faultering voice and hanging head,
 
 CONCLUSION. 331 
 
 <* Your cottage keep, and minstrel lore 
 Grant me a harp, I ask no more. 
 From thy own hand a lyre I crave, 
 That boon alone my heart can save.* 1 
 
 " Well hast thou asked; and be it known, 
 I have a harp of old renown 
 Hath many an ardent wight beguiled ; 
 'Twas framed by wizard of the wild, 
 And will not yield one measure bland 
 Beneath a skilless stranger hand ; 
 But once her powers by progress found, 
 O there is magic in the sound ! 
 
 " When worldly woes oppress thy heart 
 And thou and all must share a part 
 Should scorn be cast from maiden's eye, 
 Should friendship fail, or fortune fly, 
 Steal with thy harp to lonely brake, 
 Her wild, her soothing numbers wake.
 
 332 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 And soon corroding cares shall cease, 
 And passion's host be lulled to peace ; 
 Angels a gilded screen shall cast, 
 That cheers the future, veils the past. 
 
 " That harp will make the elves of eve 
 Their dwelling in the moon-beam leave, 
 And ope thine eyes by haunted tree 
 Their glittering tiny forms to see. 
 The flitting shades that woo the glen 
 'Twill shape to forms of living men, 
 To forms on earth no more you see, 
 Who once were loved, and aye will be ; 
 And holiest converse you may prove 
 Of things below and things above.'" 
 
 " That is, that is the harp for me !" 
 Said the rapt bard in ecstacy ; 
 46 This soothing, this exhaustless store, 
 Grant me, my Queen, I ask no more.* 1
 
 CONCLUSION. 333 
 
 O, when the weeping minstrel laid 
 The relic in his old gray plaid, 
 When Holyrood he left behind 
 To gain his hills of mist and wind, 
 Never was hero of renown, 
 Or monarch prouder of his crown. 
 He tript the vale, he climbed the coomb. 
 The mountain breeze began to boom ; 
 Aye when the magic chords it rung, 
 He raised his voice and blithely sung. 
 " Hush, my wild harp, thy notes forbear ; 
 No blooming maids nor elves are here : 
 Forbear a while that witching tone, 
 Thou must not, canst not sing alone. 
 When Summer flings her watchet screen 
 At eve o'er Ettrick woods so green, 
 Thy notes shall many a heart beguile ; 
 Young Beauty's eye shall o'er thee smile. 
 And fairies trip it merrily 
 Around my royal harp and me."
 
 334 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Long has that harp of magic tone 
 To all the minstrel world been known : 
 Who has not heard her witching lays, 
 Of Ettrick banks and Yarrow braes ? 
 But that sweet bard, who sung and played 
 Of many a feat and Border raid, 
 Of many a knight and lovely maid, 
 When forced to leave his harp behind, 
 Did all her tuneful chords unwind ; 
 And many ages past and came 
 Ere man so well could tune the same. 
 
 Bangour the daring task essayed, 
 Not half the chords his fingers played ; 
 Yet even then some thrilling lays 
 Bespoke the harp of ancient days. 
 
 Redoubted Ramsay's peasant skill 
 Flung some strained notes along the hill ; 
 His was some lyre from lady's hall, 
 And not the mountain harp at all.
 
 CONCLUSION. 335 
 
 Langhorn arrived from Southern dale, 
 And chimed his notes on Yarrow vale, 
 They would not, could not, touch the heart ; 
 His was the modish lyre of art. 
 
 Sweet rung the harp to Logan's hand : 
 Then Leyden came from Border land, 
 With dauntless heart and ardour high, 
 And wild impatience in his eye. 
 Though false his tones at times might be. 
 Though wild notes marred the symphony 
 Between, the glowing measure stole 
 That spoke the bard's inspired soul. 
 Sad were those strains, when hymned afar, 
 On the green vales of Malabar : 
 O'er seas beneath the golden morn, 
 They travelled on the monsoon borne. 
 Thrilling the heart of Indian maid, 
 Beneath the wild banana's shade. 
 Leyden ! a shepherd wails thy fate, 
 And Scotland knows her loss too late.
 
 836 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 The day arrived blest be the day, 
 Walter the Abbot came that way ! 
 The sacred relic met his view 
 Ah ! well the pledge of Heaven he knew ! 
 He screwed the chords, he tried a strain ; 
 'Twas wild he tuned and tried again, 
 Then poured the numbers bold and free, 
 The ancient magic melody. 
 
 The land was charmed to list his lays ; 
 It knew the harp of ancient days. 
 The Border chiefs, that long had been 
 In sepulchres unhearsed and green, 
 Passed from their mouldy vaults away, 
 In armour red and stern array, 
 And by their moonlight halls were seen, 
 In visor helm, and habergeon. 
 Even fairies sought our land again, 
 So powerful was the magic strain. 
 
 Blest be his generous heart for aye ! 
 He told me where the relic lay ;
 
 CONCLUSION. 337 
 
 Pointed my way with ready will, 
 Afar on Ettrick's wildest hill; 
 Watched my first notes with curious eye, 
 And wondered at my minstrelsy : 
 He little weened a parent's tongue 
 Such strains had o'er my cradle sung. 
 
 O could the bard I loved so long, 
 Reprove my fond aspiring song ! 
 Or could his tongue of candour say, 
 That I should throw my harp away ! 
 Just when her notes began with skill, 
 To sound beneath the southern hill, 
 And twine around my bosom's core, 
 How could we part for evermore ! 
 'Twas kindness all, I cannot blame, 
 For bootless is the minstrel flame ; 
 But sure a bard might well have known 
 Another's feelings by his own ! 
 Z
 
 338 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 Of change enamoured, woe the while ! 
 He left our mountains, left the isle ; 
 And far to other kingdoms bore 
 The Caledonian harp of yore ; 
 But, to the hand that framed her true, 
 Only by force one strain she threw. 
 That harp he never more shall see, 
 Unless 'mong Scotland's hills with me. 
 
 Now, my loved Harp, a while farewell ; 
 
 I leave thee on the old gray thorn ; 
 The evening dews will mar thy swell, 
 
 That waked to joy the cheerful morn. 
 
 Farewell, sweet soother of my woe ! 
 
 Chill blows the blast around my head ; 
 And louder yet that blast may blow, 
 
 When down this weary vale I've sped.
 
 CONCLUSION. 839 
 
 The wreath lies on Saint Mary's shore ; 
 
 The mountain sounds are harsh and loud ; 
 The lofty brows of stern Clokmore 
 
 Are visored with the moving cloud. 
 
 But Winter's deadly hues shall fade 
 On moorland bald and mountain shaw, 
 
 And soon the rainbow's lovely shade 
 Sleep on the breast of Bowerhope Law ; 
 
 Then will the glowing suns of spring, 
 The genial shower and stealing dew, 
 
 Wake every forest bird to sing, 
 And every mountain flower renew. 
 
 But not the rainbow's ample ring, 
 
 That spans the glen and mountain grey, 
 
 Though fanned by western breeze's wing, 
 And sunned by summer's glowing ray,
 
 340 THE QUEEN'S WAKE. 
 
 To man decayed, can ever more 
 Renew the age of love and glee ! 
 
 Can ever second spring restore 
 
 To my old mountain Harp and me ! 
 
 But when the hue of softened green 
 Spreads over hill and lonely lea, 
 
 And lowly primrose opes unseen 
 Her virgin bosom to the bee ; 
 
 When hawthorns breathe their odours far. 
 And carols hail the year's return ; 
 
 And daisy spreads her silver star 
 Unheeded by the mountain burn ; 
 
 Then will I seek the aged thorn, 
 The haunted mid and fairy ring, 
 
 Where oft thy erring numbers borne 
 
 Have taught the wandering winds to sing. 
 
 END OF THE QUEEN'S WAKE.
 
 NOTES.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note I. 
 Those wakes, now played by minstrels poor, 
 At midnight's darkest, chillest hour, 
 Those humble wakes, now scorned by all, 
 Werejirst begun in courtly hall. Page 7- 
 In former days, the term Wake was only used to distin- 
 guish the festive meeting which took place on the even- 
 ing pi'cvious to the dedication of any particular church 
 or chapel. The company sat up all the night, and, in 
 England, amused themselves in various ways, as their 
 inclinations were by habit or study directed. In Scot- 
 land, however, which was always the land of music and 
 of song, music and song were the principal, often the 
 only, amusements of the Wake. These songs were gene- 
 rally of a sacred or serious nature, and were chanted to 
 the old simple melodies of the country. The Bush aboon
 
 344 NOTES. 
 
 Traqtiair, The Broom of Coivdenknows, John come kiss me 
 now, and many others, are still extant, set to the Psalms 
 of David, and other spiritual songs, the Psalms being 
 turned into a rude metre corresponding to the various 
 measures of the tunes. 
 
 The difference in the application of the term which 
 exists in the two sister kingdoms, sufficiently explains 
 the consequences of the wakes in either. In England 
 they have given rise to many fairs and festivals of long 
 standing ; and, from that origin, every fair or festival is 
 denominated a wake. In Scotland the term is not used 
 to distinguish any thing either subsisteht or relative, 
 save those serenades played by itinerant and nameless 
 minstrels in the streets and squares of Edinburgh, which 
 are inhabited by the great and wealthy, after midnight, 
 about the time of the Christmas holidays. These seem 
 to be the oidy remainder of the ancient wakes now in 
 Scotland, and their effect upon a mind that delights in 
 music is soothing and delicious beyond all previous con- 
 ception. A person who can relish the concord of sweet 
 sounds, gradually recalled from sleep by the music of the 
 wakes, of which he had no previous anticipation, never 
 fails of being deprived, for a considerable time, of all re- 
 collection, what condition, what place, or what world he
 
 NOTES. 345 
 
 is in. The minstrels who, in the reign of the Stuarts, 
 enjoyed privileges which were even denied to the princi- 
 pal nobility, were, by degrees, driven from the tables of 
 the great to the second, and afterwards to the common 
 hall, that their music and songs might be heard, while 
 they themselves were unseen. From the common hall 
 they were obliged to retire to the porch or court ; and so 
 low has the characters of the minstrels descended, that 
 the performers of the Christmas wakes are wholly un- 
 known to the most part of those whom they serenade. 
 They seem to be despised, but enjoy some small privi- 
 leges, in order to keep up a name of high and ancient 
 origin. 
 
 Note II. 
 There rode the lords of France and Spain, 
 Of England, Flanders, and Lorraine, 
 JVIiile serried thousands round them stood, 
 From shore of Leith to Holy rood. P. 12. 
 Hollingshed describes Queen Mary's landing in Scot- 
 land, with her early misfortunes and accomplishments 
 after this manner : " She arrived at Leith the 20th of 
 August, in the year of our Lord 1561, where she was 
 honourably received by the Earl of Argyle, the Lord
 
 346 NOTES. 
 
 Erskine, the Prior of St Andrew's, and the burg-esses of 
 Edinburgh, and conveyed to the Abbie of Holie-rood- 
 house, for (as saith Buchanan) when some had spread 
 abroad her landing- in Scotland, the nobility and others 
 assembled out of all parts of the realme, as it were to a 
 common spectacle. 
 
 " This did they, partly to congratulate her return, 
 and partly to shew the dutie which they alwais bear unto 
 her (when she was absent), either to have thanks there- 
 fore, or to prevent the slanders of the enemies : where- 
 fore not a few, by these beginnings of her reign, did gesse 
 what would follow, although, in those so variable notions, 
 of the minds of the people, every one was very desirous 
 to see their Queen offered unto them (unlooked for), af- 
 ter so many haps of both fortunes as had befallen her. 
 For, when she was but six days old, she lost her father 
 among the cruel tempests of battle, and was, with great 
 diligence, brought up by her mother (being a chosen and 
 worthy person), but yet left as a prize to others, by rea- 
 son of civil sedition in Scotland, and of outward wars 
 with other nations, being further led abroad to all the 
 dangers of frowning fortune, before she could know what 
 evil did mean. 
 
 " For leaving her own country, she was nourished as
 
 NOTES. 347 
 
 a banished person, and hardly preserved in life from the 
 weapons of her enemies, and violence of the seas. After 
 which fortune began to flatter her, in that she honoured 
 her with a worthy marriage, which, in truth, was rather 
 a shadow of joie to this queen, than any comfort at all. 
 For, shortly after the same, all things were turned to sor- 
 row, by the death of her new young husband, and of her 
 old and grieved mother, by loss of her new kingdom, and 
 by the doubtful possession of her old heritable realme. But 
 as for these things she was both pitied and praised, so 
 was she also for gifts of nature as much beloved and fa- 
 voured, in that beneficial nature (or rather good God) 
 had indued her with a beautiful face, a well composed 
 body, an excellent wit, a mild nature, and good beha- 
 viour, which she had artificially furthered by courtly 
 education, and affable demeanor. Whereby, at the first 
 sight, she wan unto her the hearts of most, and confirmed 
 the love of her faithful subjects." Holl. p. 314. Ar- 
 broath Ed. 
 
 With regard to the music, which so deeply engaged 
 her attention, we have different accounts by contempo- 
 raries, and those at complete variance with one another. 
 Knox says, " Fyres of joy were set furth at night, and a 
 eompanie of maist honest men, with instruments of mu-
 
 348 NOTES. 
 
 sick, gave ther salutation at hir chalmer windo : the me- 
 lodie, as sche alledged, lyked her weill, and sche willed 
 the sam to be continued sum nychts efter with grit dili- 
 gence." But Dufresnoy, who was one of the party who 
 accompanied the Queen, gives a very different account of 
 these Scotish minstrels. " We landed at Leith," says 
 he, " and went from thence to Edinburgh, which is but 
 a short league distant. The Queen went there on horse- 
 back, and the lords and ladies who accompanied her upon 
 the little wretched hackneys of the country, as wretch- 
 edly capparisoned ; at sight of which the Queen began to 
 weep, and to compare them with the pomp and superb 
 palfreys of France. But there was no remedy but pa- 
 tience. What was worst of all, being arrived at Edin- 
 burgh, and retired to rest in the Abbey (which is really 
 a fine building, and not at all partaking of the rudeness 
 of that country), there came under her window a crew of 
 five or six hundred scoundrels from the city, who gave 
 her a serenade with wretched violins and little rebecks, of 
 which there are enough in that country, and began to 
 sing Psalms so miserably mistimed and mistuned, that 
 nothing could be worse. Alas ! what music ! and what 
 a night's rest !" 
 
 This Frenchman has had no taste for Scotish music- 
 such another concert is certainly not in record.
 
 NOTES. 349 
 
 Note III. 
 
 Ah ! Kennedy, vengeance hangs over thine head ! 
 Escape to thy native Glengary forlorn. P. 53. 
 
 The Clan Kennedy was only in the present age finally 
 expelled from Glen-Gary, and forced to scatter over this 
 and other countries. Its character among the High- 
 landers is that of the most savage and irreclaimable tribe 
 that ever infested the mountains of the north. 
 
 Note IV. 
 The Witch of Fife.?. 70. 
 It may suffice to mention, once for all, that the catas- 
 trophe of this tale, as well as the principal events related 
 in the tales of Old David and M'Gregor, are all founded 
 on popular traditions. So is also the romantic story of 
 Kilmeny's disappearance and revisiting her friends, after 
 being seven years in Fairyland. The tradition bears some 
 resemblance to the old ballads of Tarn Lean and Thomas 
 of Erceldon ; and it is not improbable that all the three 
 may have drawn their origin from the same ancient ro- 
 mance.
 
 350 NOTES. 
 
 Note V. 
 Glen-Avin. P. 104. 
 There are many scenes among - the Grampian deserts 
 which amaze the traveller who ventures to explore them ; 
 and in the most pathless wastes the most striking land- 
 scapes are often concealed. Glen-Avin exceeds them all 
 in what may he termed stern and solemn grandeur. It 
 is indeed a sublime solitude, in which the principal fea- 
 ture is deformity ; yet that deformity is mixed with lines 
 of wild beauty, such as an extensive lake, with its islets 
 and bays, the straggling trees, and the spots of shaded 
 green ; and, altogether, it is such a scene as man has 
 rarely looked upon. I spent a summer day in visiting 
 it. The hills were clear of mist, yet the heavens were 
 extremely dark the effect upon the scene exceeded all 
 description. My mind, during the whole day, expe- 
 rienced the same sort of sensation as if I had been in a 
 dream ; and on returning from the excursion, I did not 
 wonder at the superstition of the neighbouring inhabi- 
 tants, who believe it to be the summer haunt of innumer- 
 able tribes of fairies, and many other spirits, some of whom 
 seem to be the most fantastic, and to behave in the most 
 eccentric manner, of any I ever before heard of. Though
 
 NOTES. 351 
 
 the glen is upwards of twenty miles in length, and of 
 prodigious extent, it contains no human habitation. It 
 lies in the west corner of Banffshire, in the very middle 
 of the Grampian hills. 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 Oft had that seer, at break of morn, 
 
 Beheld thefahm glide o'er the fell. P. 106. 
 
 Fahm is a little ugly monster, who frequents the sum- 
 mits of the mountains around Glen-Avin, and no other 
 place in the world that I know of. My guide, D. M 'Queen, 
 declared that he had himself seen him ; and, by his de- 
 scription, Fahm appears to be no native of this world, 
 but an occasional visitant, whose intentions are evil and 
 dangerous. He is only seen about the break of day, and 
 on the highest verge of the mountain. His head is twice 
 as large as his whole body beside ; and if any living crea- 
 ture cross the track over which he has passed before the 
 sun shine upon it, certain death is the consequence. The 
 head of that person or animal instantly begins to swell, 
 grows to an immense size, and finally bursts. Such a 
 disease is really incident to sheep on those heights, and 
 in several parts of the kingdom, where the grounds are
 
 352 NOTES. 
 
 elevated to a great height above the sea; but in no place 
 save Glen-Avin is Falun blamed for it. 
 
 Note VII. 
 Even far on Yarrow's fairy dale, 
 
 The shepherd paused in dumb dismay, 
 There passi?ig shrieks adown the vale 
 Lured many a pitying hind away. P. 110. 
 It was reckoned a curious and unaccountable circum- 
 stance, that, during the time of a great fall of snow by 
 night, a cry, as of a person who had lost his way in the 
 storm, was heard along the vale of Ettrick from its head 
 to its foot. What was the people's astonishment, when 
 it was authenticated, that upwards of twenty parties had 
 all been out with torches, lanthorns, &c. at the same hour 
 of the night, calling and searching after some unknown 
 person, whom they believed perishing in the snow, and 
 that none of them had discovered any such person the 
 word spread ; the circumstances were magnified and the 
 consternation became general. The people believed that 
 a whole horde of evil spirits had been abroad in the val- 
 ley, endeavouring to lure them abroad to their destruc- 
 tionthere was no man sure of his life! prayers and
 
 NOTES. 353 
 
 thanksgivings were offered up to Heaven in every ham- 
 let, and resolutions unanimously formed, that no man 
 perishing in the snow should ever be looked after again 
 as long as the world stood. 
 
 When the astonishment had somewhat subsided by ex- 
 hausting itself, and the tale of horror spread too wide ever 
 to be recalled, a lad, without the smallest reference to the 
 phenomenon, chanced to mention, that on the night of 
 the storm, when he was out on the hill turning his sheep 
 to some shelter, a flock of swans passed over his head to- 
 ward the western sea, which was a sure signal of severe 
 weather ; and that at intervals they were always shout- 
 ing and answering one another, in an extraordinary, and 
 rather fearsome manner. It was an unfortunate dis- 
 covery, and marred the harmony of many an evening's 
 conversation ! In whatever cot the circumstance was 
 mentioned, the old shepherds rose and went out the 
 younkers, who had listened to the prayers with reverence 
 and fear, bit their lips the matrons plied away at their 
 wheels in silence it was singular that none of them 
 should have known the voice of a swan from that of the 
 devil ! they were very angry with the lad, and regarded 
 him as a sort of blasphemer. 
 
 A a
 
 354 NOTES. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 See yon lone cairn, so gray with age, 
 
 Above the base of proud Cairn-Gorm.'V . 113. 
 I only saw this old cairn at a distance ; but the narra- 
 tive which my guide gave me of the old man's loss was 
 very affecting. He had gone to the forest in November 
 to look after some goats that were missing, when a dread- 
 ful storm came suddenly on, the effects of which were 
 felt throughout the kingdom. It was well enough known 
 that he was lost in the forest, but the snow being so deep, 
 it was judged impossible to find the body, and no one 
 looked after it. It was not discovered until the harvest 
 following, when it was found accidentally by a shepherd. 
 The plaid and clothes which were uppermost not being 
 decayed, it appeared like the body of a man lying entire ; 
 but when he began to move them, the dry bones rattled 
 together, and the bare white scull was lying in the bonnet. 
 
 Note IX. 
 Old David. P. 118. 
 I remember hearing a very old man, named David 
 Laidlaw, who lived somewhere in the neighbourhood of
 
 NOTES. 355 
 
 Hawick, relate many of the adventures of this old moss- 
 trooper, his great progenitor, and the first who ever bore 
 the name. He described him as a great champion a 
 man quite invincible, and quoted several verses of a bal- 
 lad relating to him, which I never heard either before or 
 since. I remember only one of them : 
 
 There was ane banna of barley meal 
 Cam dun tin dime by Davy's sheil, 
 But out cam Davy and his lads, 
 And dang the banna a' in blads. 
 
 He explained how this " bannock of barley meal" meant 
 a rich booty, which the old hero captured from a band of 
 marauders. He lived at Garwell in Eskdale-moor. 
 
 Lochy-Law, where the principal scene of this tale is 
 laid, is a hill on the lands of Shorthope in the wilds of 
 Ettrick. The Fairy Slack is up in the middle of the 
 hill, a very curious ravine, and would be much more so 
 when overshadowed with wood. The Back-burn which 
 joins the Ettrick immediately below this hill, has been 
 haunted time immemorial, both by the fairies, and the 
 ghost of a wandering minstrel who was cruelly murdered 
 there, and who sleeps in a lone grave a small distance 
 from the ford.
 
 1 
 
 356 NOTES. 
 
 Note X. 
 And fears of elf and fairy raid, 
 Have like a morning dream decayed. P. 136. 
 The fairies have now totally disappeared, and it is a 
 pity they should ; for they seem to have been the most 
 delightful little spirits that ever haunted the Scotish dells. 
 There are only very few now remaining alive who have 
 ever seen them ; and when they did, it was on Hallow- 
 evenings while they were young, when the gospel was not 
 very rife in the country. But, strange as it may appear, 
 with the witches it is far otherwise. Never, in the most 
 superstitious ages, was the existence of witches, or the in- 
 fluence of their diabolical power, more firmly believed in, 
 than by the inhabitants of the mountains of Ettrick Fo- 
 rest at the present day. Many precautions and charms 
 are used to avert this influence, and scarcely does a sum- 
 mer elapse in which there are not some of the most gross 
 incantations practised, in order to free flocks and herds 
 from the blasting power of these old hags. There are 
 two farmers still living, who will both make oath that 
 they have wounded several old wives with shot as they 
 were traversing the air in the shapes of moor-fowl and 
 partridges. A very singular amusement that for old
 
 NOTES. 857 
 
 wives f I heard one of these gentlemen relate, with the 
 utmost seriousness, and as a matter he did not wish to be 
 generally known, that one morning, going out a fowling, 
 he sprung a pair of moor-fowl in a place where it was not 
 customary for moor-fowl to stay he fired at the hen 
 wounded her, and eyed her until she alighted beyond an 
 old dyke when he went to the spot, his astonishment 
 
 may be well conceived, when he found Nell picking 
 
 the hail out of her limbs ! He was extremely vexed that 
 he had not shot the cock, for he was almost certain he 
 was no other than Wattie Grieve ! ! ! 
 
 The tales and anecdotes of celebrated witches, that are 
 still related in the country, are extremely whimsical and 
 diverting. The following is a well-authenticated one. A 
 number of gentlemen were one day met for a chase on 
 the lands of Newhouse and Kirkhope their greyhounds 
 were numerous and keen, but not a hare could they raise. 
 At length a boy came to them, who offered to start a 
 hare to them, if they woidd give him a guinea, and the 
 black greyhound to hold. The demand was singular, but 
 it was peremptory, and on other conditions he would not 
 comply. The guerdon was accordingly paid the hare 
 was started, and the sport afforded by the chase was 
 excellent the greyhounds were all baffled, and began
 
 358 NOTES. 
 
 to give up one by one, when one of the party came slily 
 behind the boy, and cut the leish in which he held the 
 black dog away he flew to join the chase. The boy, 
 losing all recollection, ran, bawling out with great vocife- 
 ration, " Huy, mither, rin ! ! Hay, rin, ye auld witch, 
 if ever ye ran i' yer life ! i Rin, mither, rin ! !" The black 
 dog came fast up with her, and was just beginning to 
 month her, when she sprung in at the window of a little 
 cottage and escaped. The riders soon came to the place, 
 and entered the cot in search of the hare ; but, lo ! there 
 was no living creature there but the old woman lying 
 panting in a bed, so breathless that she could not speak 
 a word ! ! ! 
 
 But the best old Mitch tale that remains, is that which 
 is related of the celebrated Michael Scott, Master of Oak- 
 wad. Mr Walter Scott has preserved it, but so altered 
 from the original way, that it is not easy to recognize it. 
 The old people tell it as follows : There was one of Mi- 
 Michael's tenants who had a wife that was the most not- 
 able witch of the age. So extraordinary were her pow- 
 ers, that the country people began to put them in compe- 
 tition with those of the Master, and say, that in some 
 cantrips she surpassed him. Michael could ill brook such 
 insinuations ; for there is always jealousy between great
 
 NOTES. 359 
 
 characters, and went over one day with his dogs on pre- 
 tence of hunting-, but in reality with an intent of exercis- 
 ing some of his infernal power in the chastisement of 
 Lucky (I have the best reason in the world for con- 
 cealing her reputed name). He found her alone in the 
 field weeding lint ; and desired her, in a friendly manner, 
 to show him some of her powerful art. She was very 
 angry with him, and denied that she had any supernat- 
 ural skill. He, however, continuing to press her, she 
 told him sharply to let her alone, else she would make 
 him repent the day he troubled her. How she perceived 
 the virtues of Michael's wand is not known, but in a mo- 
 ment she snatched it from his hand, and gave him three 
 lashes with it. The knight was momently changed to a 
 hare, when the malicious and inveterate hag cried out, 
 laughing, " Shu, Michael, rin or dee I" and baited all 
 his own dogs upon him. He was extremely hard hunt- 
 ed, and was obliged to sAvim the river, and take shelter in 
 the sewer of his own castle from the fury of his pursuers, 
 where he got leisure to change himself again to a man. 
 
 Michael l>eing extremely chagrined at having been 
 thus outwitted, studied a deadly revenge ; and going over 
 afterwards to hunt, he sent his man to Fauldshope to 
 borrow some bread from Lucky to give to his dogs,
 
 360 NOTES. 
 
 for that he had neglected to feed them before he came 
 from home. If she gave him the bread, he was to thank 
 her and come away ; but if she refused it, he gave him a 
 line written in red characters, which he was to lodge 
 above the lintel as he came out. The servant found her 
 baking of bread, as his master assured him he would, and 
 delivered his message. She received him most ungracious- 
 ly, and absolutely refused to give him any bread, alleg- 
 ing, as an excuse, that she had not as much as would 
 serve her own reapers to dinner. The man said no more, 
 but lodged the line as directed, and returned to his master. 
 The powerful spell had the desired effect ; Lucky . - 
 instantly threw off her clothes, and danced round and 
 round the lire like one quite mad, singing the while with 
 great glee, 
 
 " Master Michael Scott's man 
 Cam seekin bread an' gat nane." 
 
 The dinner hour arrived, but the reapers looked in vain 
 for their dame, who was wont to bring it to them to the 
 field. The goodman sent home a servant girl to assist 
 her, but neither did she return. At length he ordered 
 them to go and take their dinner at home, for he suspect- 
 ed his spouse had taken some of her tirravies. All of
 
 NOTES. 361 
 
 them went inadvertently into the house, and, as soon as 
 they passed beneath the mighty charm, were seized with 
 the same mania, and followed the example of their mis- 
 tress. The goodman, who had tarried behind, setting 
 some shocks of corn, came home last ; and hearing the 
 noise ere ever he came near the house, he did not ven- 
 ture to go in, but peeped in at the window. There he 
 beheld all his people dancing naked round and round 
 the fire, and singing, " Master Michael Scott's man," 
 with the most frantic wildness. His wife was by that 
 time quite exhausted, and the rest were half trailing her 
 around. She could only now and then pronounce a syl- 
 lable of the song, which she did with a kind of scream, 
 yet seemed as intent on the sport as ever. 
 
 The goodman mounted his horse, and rode with all 
 speed to the Master, to inquire what he had done to his 
 people which had put them all mad. Michael bade him 
 take down the note from the lintel and burn it, which he 
 did, and all the people returned to their senses. Poor 
 Lucky died overnight, and Michael remained un- 
 matched and alone in all the arts of enchantment and 
 necromancy.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Note XI. 
 The Spectres Cradle Song. P. 145. 
 I mentioned formerly that the tale of McGregor is 
 founded on a popular Highland tradition so also is this 
 Song of the Spectre in the introduction to it, which, to 
 me at least, gives it a peculiar interest. As I was once 
 travelling up Glen-Dochart, attended by Donald Fisher, 
 a shepherd of that country, he pointed out to me some 
 curious green dens, by the side of the large rivulet which 
 descends from the back of Ben More, the name of which, 
 in the Gaelic language, signifies the abode of the fairies. 
 A native of that country, who is still living, happening to 
 be benighted there one summer evening, without know- 
 ing that the place was haunted, wrapped himself in his 
 plaid, and lay down to sleep till the morning. About 
 midnight he was awaked by the most enchanting music ; 
 and on listening, he heard it to be the voice of a woman 
 singing to her child. She sung the verses twice over, so 
 that next morning he had several of them by heart. 
 Fisher had heard them often recited in Gaelic, and he 
 said they were wild beyond human conception. He re- 
 membered only a few lines, which were to the same pur- 
 port with the Spirit's Song here inserted, namely, that
 
 NOTES. 363 
 
 she (the singer) had brought her babe from the regions 
 below to be cooled by the breeze of the world, and that 
 they would soon be obliged to part, for the child was go- 
 ing to heaven, and she was to remain for a season in pur- 
 gatory. I had not before heard any thing so truly ro- 
 mantic. 
 
 Note XII. 
 That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo, 
 Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, 
 Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, 
 Smit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun. P. 150. 
 The pine was the standard, and is still the crest of the 
 M'Gregors ; and it is well known that the proscription 
 of that clan was occasioned by a slaughter of the Col- 
 quhouns, who were its constant and inveterate enemies. 
 That bloody business let loose the vengeance of the coun- 
 try upon them, which had nearly extirpated the name. 
 The Campbells and the Grahams arose and hunted them 
 down like wild beasts, until a M'Gregor could no more 
 be found.
 
 364 NOTES. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 Earl Walter.?. 155. 
 This ballad is founded on a well-known historical fact. 
 Hollingshed mentions it slightly in the following words : 
 " A Frenchman named Sir Anthony Darcie, knight, 
 called afterwards Le Sir de la Batvtie, came through 
 England into Scotland, to seek feats of arms. And com- 
 ing to the king the four and twentie of September, the 
 Lord Hamilton fought with him right valiantly, and so 
 as neither of them lost any piece of honour." 
 
 Note XIV. 
 From this the Hamiltons of Clyde, 
 Their royal lineage draw. P. 172. 
 The Princess Margaret of Scotland was married to the 
 Lord 'Hamilton when only sixteen years of age, who 
 received the earldom of Arran as her dowry. Holling- 
 shed says, " Of this marriage, those of the house of Ha- 
 milton are descended, and are nearest of blood to the 
 crown of Scotland, as they pretend ; for (as saith Les- 
 leus, lib. viii. p. 31 6,) if the line of the Stewards fail, the 
 crown is to come to them."
 
 NOTES. 365 
 
 Note XV. 
 Kttmeny. P. 176. 
 
 Beside the old tradition on which this ballad is found- 
 ed, there are some modern incidents of a similar nature, 
 which cannot well be accounted for, yet are as well at- 
 tested as any occurrence that has taken place in the pre- 
 sent age. The relation may be amusing to some readers. 
 
 A man in the parish of Traquair, and county of Pee- 
 bles, was busied one day casting turf in a large open field 
 opposite to the mansion-house the spot is well known, 
 and still pointed out as rather unsafe ; his daughter, a 
 child seven years of age, was playing beside him, and 
 amusing him with her prattle. Chancing to ask a ques- 
 tion at her, he was surprised at receiving no answer, and, 
 looking behind him, he perceived that his child was not 
 there. He always averred that, as far as he could re- 
 member, she had been talking to him about half a min- 
 ute before ; he was certain it was not above a whole one 
 at most. It was in vain that he ran searching all about 
 like one distracted, calling her name ; no trace of her 
 remained. He went home in a state of mind that may 
 be better conceived than expressed, and raised the people 
 of the parish, who searched for her several days with the
 
 366 NOTES. 
 
 same success. Every pool in the river, every bush and 
 den on the mountains around was searched in vain. It 
 was remarked that the father never much encouraged 
 the search, being thoroughly persuaded that she was car- 
 ried away by some invisible being, else she could not have 
 vanished so suddenly. As a last resource, he applied to 
 the minister of Inverlethen, a neighbouring divine of ex- 
 emplary piety and zeal in religious matters, who enjoin- 
 ed him to cause prayers be offered to God for her in 
 seven Christian churches, next Sabbath, at the same in- 
 stant of time ; " and then," said he, " if she is dead, 
 God will forgive our sin in praying for the dead, as we 
 do it through ignorance ; and if she is still alive, I will 
 answer for it, that ajl the devils in hell shall be unable to 
 keep her." The injunction was punctually attended to. 
 She was remembered in the prayers of all the neighbour- 
 ing congregations, next Sunday, at the same hour, and 
 never were there such prayers for fervour heard before. 
 There was one divine in particular, Mr Davidson, who 
 prayed in such a manner that all the hearers trembled. 
 As the old divine foreboded, so it fell out. On that very 
 day, and within an hour of the time on which these 
 prayers were offered, the girl was found, in the Plora 
 wood, sitting, picking the bark from a tree. She could
 
 NOTES. 367 
 
 give no perfect account of the circumstances which had 
 befallen to her, but she said she did not want plenty of 
 meat, for that her mother came and fed her with milk 
 and bread several times a-day, and sung her to sleep at 
 night. Her skin had acquired a bluish cast, which wore 
 gradually off in the course of a few weeks. Her name 
 was Jane Brown, she lived to a very advanced age, and 
 was known to many still alive. Every circumstance of 
 this story is truth, if the father's report of the sudden- 
 ness of her disappearance may be relied on. 
 
 Another circumstance, though it happened still later, 
 is not less remarkable. A shepherd of Tushilaw, in the 
 parish of Ettrick, whose name was Walter Dalgleish, 
 went out to the heights of that farm, one Sabbath morn- 
 ing, to herd the young sheep for his son, and let him to 
 church. He took his own dinner along with him, and 
 his son's breakfast. When the sermons were over, the 
 lad went straight home, and did not return to his father. 
 Night came, but nothing of the old shepherd appeared. 
 When it grew very late his dog came home seemed ter- 
 rified, and refused to take any meat. The family were 
 ill at ease during the night, especially as they never had 
 known his dog leave him before ; and early next morn- 
 ing the lad arose and went to the height to look after hi*
 
 368 not^s. 
 
 father and his flock. He found his sheep all scattered, 
 and his father's dinner unbroken, lying on the same spot 
 where they had parted the day before. At the distance 
 of 20 yards from the spot, the plaid which the old man 
 wore was lying - as if it had been flung from him, and a 
 little farther on, in the same direction, his bonnet was 
 found, but nothing of himself. The country people, as 
 on all such occasions, rose in great numbers, and search- 
 ed for him many days. My father, and several old men 
 still alive; were of the party. He could not be found or 
 heard of, neither dead nor alive, and at length they gave 
 up all thoughts of ever seeing him more. 
 
 On the 20th day after his disappearance, a shepherd's 
 wife, at a place called Berry-bush, came in as the family 
 was sitting down to dinner, and said, that if it were pos- 
 sible to believe that Walter Dalgleish was still in exist- 
 ence, she would say yonder was he coming down the hill. 
 They all ran out to Match the phenomenon, and as the 
 person approached nigher, they perceived that it was ac- 
 tually he, walking without his plaid and his bonnet. 
 The place where he was first descried is not a mile dis- 
 tant from that where he was last seen, and there is nei- 
 ther brake, hag, nor bush. When he came into the 
 house, he shook hands with them all asked for his fa-
 
 NOTES. 369 
 
 mily, and spoke as if he had been absent for years, and 
 as if convinced something had befallen them. As they 
 perceived something singular in his looks and manner, 
 they unfortunately forebore asking him any questions at 
 first, but desired him to sit and share their dinner. This 
 he readily complied with, and began to sup some broth 
 with seeming eagerness. He had only taken one or two 
 spoonfuls when he suddenly stopped, a kind of rattling 
 noise was heard in his breast, and he sunk back in a faint. 
 They put him to bed, and from that time forth, he never 
 spoke another word that any person could make sense of. 
 He was removed to his own home, where he lingered a 
 few weeks, and then died. What befel him remains to 
 this day a mystery, and for ever must. 
 
 Note XVI. 
 But oft the list'ning groups stood still, 
 For spiiits talked along the hill.-V. 204. 
 The echoes of evening, which are occasioned by the 
 voices or mirth of different parties not aware of each 
 other, have a curious and striking effect. I have known 
 some country people terrified almost out of their senses at 
 hearing voices and laughter among cliffs, where .they 
 knew it impossible for human being to reach. Some of 
 Bb
 
 370 NOTES. 
 
 the echoes around Edinburgh are extremely grand ; what 
 would they then be were the hills covered with wood ? I 
 have witnessed nothing more romantic than from a situ- 
 ation behind the Pleasance, where all the noises of the 
 city are completely hushed, to hear the notes of the 
 drum, trumpet, and bugle, poured from the cliffs of Salis- 
 bury, and the viewless cannons thundering from the 
 rock. The effect is truly sublime. 
 
 Note XVII. 
 Mary Scott.?. 208. 
 This ballad is founded on the old song of The Grey 
 Goss Hawk. The catastrophe is the same, and happens 
 at the same place, namely, in St Mary's church-yard. 
 The castle of Tushilaw, where the chief scene of the tale 
 is laid, stood on a shelve of the hill which overlooks the 
 junction of the rivers Ettrick and Rankleburn. It is 
 a singular situation, and seems to have been chosen for 
 the extensive prospect of the valley which it commands 
 both to the east and west. It was the finest old baronial 
 castle of which the Forest can boast, but the upper arches 
 and turrets fell in, of late years, with a crash that alarm- 
 ed the whole neighbourhood. It is now a huge heap of 
 ruins. Its last inhabitant was Adam Scott, who was
 
 NOTES. 371 
 
 long denominated in the south the King of the Border, 
 but the courtiers called him the King of Thieves. King 
 James V. acted upon the same principle with these 
 powerful chiefs, most of whom disregarded his autho- 
 rity, as Bonaparte did with the sovereigns of Europe. 
 He always managed matters so as to take each of them 
 single-handed made a rapid and secret march over- 
 threw one or two of them, and then returned directly 
 home till matters were ripe for taking the advantage of 
 some other. He marched on one day from Edinburgh to 
 Meggatdale, accompanied by a chosen body of horsemen, 
 surprised Peres Cockburn, a bold and capricious outlaw 
 who tyrannized over those parts, hanged him over his 
 own gate, sacked and burnt his castle of Henderland, 
 and divided his lands between two of his principal fol- 
 lowers, Sir James Stuart and the Lord Hume. From 
 Henderland he marched across the mountains by a wild 
 unfrequented path, still called the King's Road, and ap- 
 peared before the gates of Tushilaw about sun-rise. Scott 
 was completely taken by surprise ; he, however, rushed 
 to arms with his few friends who were present, and, after 
 a desperate but unequal conflict, King James overcame 
 him, plundered his castle of riches and stores to a prodi- 
 gious amount, hanged the old Border King over a huge
 
 372 NOTES. 
 
 tree which is still growing in the corner of the castle- 
 yard, and over which he himself had hanged many a one, 
 carried his head with him in triumph to Edinburgh, 
 and placed it on a pole over one of the ports. There was 
 a long and deadly feud between the Scotts and the Kers 
 in those days ; the Pringles, Murrays, and others around, 
 always joined with the latter, in order to keep down the 
 too powerful Scotts, who were not noted as the best of 
 neighbours. 
 
 Note XVIII. 
 King Edward's dream. -P. 257- 
 The scene of this ballad is on the banks of the Eden 
 in Cumberland, a day's march back from Burgh, on the 
 sands of Solway, where King Edward I. died, in the 
 midst of an expedition against the Scots, in which he had 
 solemnly sworn to extirpate them as a nation. 
 
 Note XIX. 
 Dumlanrig. P. 266. 
 This ballad relates to a well-known historical fact, of 
 which tradition has preserved an accurate and feasible 
 detail. The battles took place two or three years subse- 
 quent to the death of King James V. I have heard that
 
 NOTES. 373 
 
 it is succintly related by some historian, but I have for- 
 got who it is. Hollingshed gives a long bungling account 
 of the matter, but places the one battle a year before the 
 other ; whereas it does not appear that Lennox made two 
 excursions into Nithsdale, at the head of the English 
 forces, or fought two bloody battles with the laird of 
 Dumlanrig on the same ground, as the historian would 
 insinuate. He says, that Dumlanrig, after pursuing 
 them cautiously for some time, was overthrown in at- 
 tempting to cross a ford of the river too rashly ; that he 
 lost two of his principal kinsmen, and 200 of his fol- 
 lowers ; had several spears broken upon his body, and 
 escaped only by the goodness of his horse. The battle 
 which took place next night, he relates as having hap- 
 pened next year ; but it must be visible to every reader 
 that he is speaking of the same incidents in the annals of 
 both years. In the second engagement he acknowledges 
 that Dumlanrig defeated the English horse, which he at- 
 tributes to a desertion from the latter, but that, after 
 pursuing them as far as Dalswinton, they were joined by 
 the foot, and retrieved the day. The account given of 
 the battles, by Lesleus and Fran. Thin, seems to have 
 been so different, that they have misled the chronologer ; 
 the names of the towns and villages appealing to him so
 
 374 NOTES. 
 
 different, whereas a local knowledge of the country would 
 have convinced him that both accounts related to the 
 same engagement. 
 
 Note XX. 
 M'Kinnon, the Abbot. P. 298. 
 To describe the astonishing scenes to which this ro- 
 mantic tale relates, Icolmkill and Staffa, so well known 
 to the curious, would only be multiplying pages to no 
 purpose. By the Temple of the ocean is meant the Isle 
 of Staffa, and by its chancel the cave of Fingal. 
 
 Note XXI. 
 0, wise was the founder, and well said he, 
 " Where there are women mischief must be!" P. 300. 
 St Columba placed the nuns in an island at a little 
 distance from I, as the natives call Iona. He would 
 not suffer either a cow or a woman to set foot on it ; 
 " for where there are cows," said he, " there must be 
 women ; and where there are women, there must be mis- 
 chief."
 
 NOTES. 375 
 
 Note XXII. 
 The Harp of Ettrick rung again. P. 328. 
 That some notable bard flourished in Ettrick Forest 
 in that age is evident, from the numerous ballads and 
 songs which relate to places in that country, and inci- 
 dents that happened there. Many of these are of a very 
 superior cast. Outlaw Murray, Young Tarn Lean of 
 Carterhaugh, Jamie Telfer i the fair Dodhead, The dowy 
 Downs of Yarrow, and many others, are of the number. 
 Dunbar, in his Lament for the Bards, merely mentions 
 him by the title of Ettrick ; more of him we know not. 
 
 Note XXIII. 
 Gardyn is crowned with garlands gay, 
 And bears the envied prize away. P. 329- 
 Queen Mary's harp, of most curious workmanship, was 
 found in the house of Lude, on the banks of the Garry in 
 Athol, as was the old Caledonian harp. They were both 
 brought to that house by a bride, which the chieftain of 
 Lude married from the family of Gardyn of Banchory 
 (now Garden of Troup). It was defaced of all its orna- 
 ments, and Queen Mary's portrait, set in gold and jewels, 
 during the time of the last rebellion. How it came into
 
 376 NOTES. 
 
 the possession of that family is not known, at least tradi- 
 tions vary considerably regarding the incident. But there 
 is every reason to suppose, that it was given in conse- 
 quence of some musical excellency in one or other of the 
 Gardyns ; for it may scarcely be deemed, that the royal 
 donor would confer so rich and so curious an instrument 
 on one who could make no use of it. So far does the tale 
 correspond with truth, and there is, besides, a farther co- 
 incidence of which I was not previously aware. I find, 
 that Queen Mary actually gave a grand treat at Holy- 
 rood-house at the very time specified in the Poem, where 
 great proficiency was displayed both in music and dancing. 
 
 Note XXIV. 
 Coomb is a Scots Lowland term, and used to distin- 
 guish all such hills as are scooped out on one side in form 
 of a crescent. The bosom of the hill, or that portion 
 which lies within the lunated verge, is always denominat- 
 ed the coomb. 
 
 Note XXV. 
 Shaw is likewise a Lowland term, and denotes the 
 snout, or brow of a hill ; but the part so denominated is 
 always understood to be of a particular form, broad at the
 
 NOTES. 377 
 
 base, and contracted to a point above. Each of these 
 terms conveys to the mind a strong picture of the place so 
 designed. Both are very common. 
 
 Note XXVI. 
 Lam signifies a detached hill of any description, but 
 more generally such as are of a round or conical form. 
 It seems to bear the same acceptation in the Lowlands of 
 Scotland, as Ben does in the Highlands. The term is 
 supposed to have had its derivation from the circumstance 
 of the ancient inhabitants of the country distributing the 
 law on the tops of such hills ; and where no one of that 
 form was nigh, artificial mounds were raised in the neigh- 
 bourhood of towns for that purpose. Hence they were 
 originally called Lam-hills ; but, by a natural and easy 
 contraction, the lams and the hills of the country came to 
 signify the same thing. A little affinity may still be 
 traced ; both were effective in impeding the progress of 
 an hostile invader ; while the hardy native surmounted 
 both without difficulty, and without concern. 
 
 Note XXVII. 
 Glen is a term common to every part of Scotland 
 alike, and invariably denotes the whole course of a moun-
 
 378 NOTES. 
 
 tain stream, with all the hills and vallies on each side tft 
 the first summit. It is an indefinite term, and describes 
 no particular size, or local appearance of a river, or the 
 scenery contiguous to it, farther than that it is one, and 
 inclined to be narrow and confined between the hills; 
 these glens being from one to thirty miles in length, and 
 proportionably dissimilar in other respects. By a Glen, 
 however, is generally to be understood a branch of a 
 greater river. The course of the great river is denomi- 
 nated the Strath, as Strath-Tay, Strath-Spey, &c. ; and 
 the lesser rivers, which communicate with these, are the 
 Glens. There may be a few exceptions from this general 
 rule, but they are of no avail as affecting the acceptation 
 of the term whenever it is used as descriptive. 
 
 Note XXVIII. 
 Strone. (Only once used.) A Strom is that hill 
 which terminates the range. It is a Highland term, but 
 common in the middle districts of Scotland. 
 
 Note XXIX. 
 Ben is likewise a Highland term, and denotes a 
 mountain of a pyramidal form, which stands unconnected 
 with others.
 
 notes. 379 
 
 Note XXX. 
 Dale is the course of a Lowland river, with its adja- 
 cent hills and vallies. It conveys the same meaning as 
 Strath does in the Highlands. 
 
 Note XXXI. 
 Wale (only once used) is a Hebridean term, and sig- 
 nifies the verge or brim of the mountain. It is supposed 
 to be modern, and used only in those maritime districts, 
 as having a reference to the gunnel, or wale, of a ship or 
 boat. 
 
 Note XXXII. 
 Cory, or Correi is a northern term, and is invariably 
 descriptive of a green hollow part of the mountain, from 
 which a rivulet descends. 
 
 Note XXXIII. 
 
 If there is any other word or term peculiar to Scot- 
 land, I am not aware of it. The Songs of the two bards, 
 indeed, who affect to imitate the ancient manner, abound 
 with old Scotch words and terms, which, it is presumed, 
 the rythm, the tenor of the verse, and the narrative, will
 
 380 NOTES. 
 
 illustrate, though they may not be found in any glossary 
 of that language. These are, indeed, generally so noto- 
 riously deficient and absurd, that it is painful for any one 
 conversant in the genuine old provincial dialect to look 
 into them. 
 
 Ignorant, however, as I am of every dialect save my 
 mother tongue, I imagine that I understand so much of 
 the English language as to perceive that its muscular 
 strength consists in the energy of its primitive stem in 
 the trunk from which all its foliage hath sprung, and 
 around which its exuberant tendrils are all entwined and 
 interwoven I mean the remains of the ancient Teutonic. 
 On the strength of this conceived principle, which may 
 haply be erroneous, I have laid it down as a maxim, that 
 the greater number of these old words and terms that can 
 be introduced with propriety into our language, the bet- 
 ter. To this my casual innovations must be attributed. 
 The authority of Grahame and Scott has of late rendered 
 a few of these old terms legitimate. If I had been as 
 much master of the standard language as they, I would 
 have introduced ten times more.
 
 NOTES. 381 
 
 Note XXXIV. 
 
 The following Poem was inserted by the Publisher of 
 the Second Edition, as illustrative of some of the 
 Songs in the Work. It was written and sent to him 
 by B. Barton, Esq. Woodbridge, Suffolk. 
 
 Shepherd of Ettrick ! as of yore 
 To humble swains the Seraphs sung, 
 
 Again, though now unseen, they pour 
 
 Their hallow'd strains from mortal tongue. 
 
 For O ! celestial are the tones 
 
 The minstrel strikes to Malcolm's sorrow ; 
 When Jura, echoing back his moans, 
 
 Claims the lost maiden of Glen-ora. 
 
 Soft dies the strain ; the cords now ring, 
 Swept by a more impetuous hand ; 
 
 Indignant Gardyn strikes the string, 
 And terror chills the listening band. 
 
 Now from the cliffs of old Caim-gorm, 
 Dark gathering clouds the tempest bring; 
 
 He comes, the Spirit of the Storm ! 
 And at the rustling of his Ming,
 
 382 NOTES. 
 
 The harp's wild notes, now high, now low. 
 In varying cadence swell or fall, 
 
 Like wintry winds in wild Glencoe, 
 Or ruined Bothwell's roofless hall. 
 
 A wilder strain is wafted near 
 As from the regions of the sky ; 
 
 And where's the mortal that can hear 
 Unmoved the Spectre's lullaby ? 
 
 To weave the due reward of praise 
 For every rival bard were vain ; 
 
 Nor suits an humble poet's lays, 
 Who loves, yet fears a loftier strain. 
 
 Yet must I pause upon the tale 
 
 Of that strange bark for Stafla bound ; 
 
 Proudly she greets the morning gale, 
 Proudly she sails from holy ground. 
 
 O, never yet has ship that traced 
 The pathless bosom of the main, 
 
 Been with such magic numbers graced, 
 Or honoured with so sweet a strain.
 
 NOTES. 383 
 
 But who, that sees the morning rise 
 
 Serenely bright, can tell the hour 
 When the rough tempest of the skies 
 
 Shall next display its awful power ? 
 
 And who, that sees the floating bark- 
 Sail forth obedient to the gale, 
 
 Foresees the impending horrors dark, 
 That swell the terror of the tale ? 
 
 Nor can I pass in silence by 
 
 That favoured maiden's wondrous doom, 
 Who, 'neath a self-illumined sky, 
 
 Saw fields and flowers in endless bloom. 
 
 O Heaven-taught Shepherd ! when or where 
 Was that ethereal legend wrought ? 
 
 What urged thee thus a flight to dare 
 
 Through realms by former bards unsought ? 
 
 Say, hast thou, like Kilmeny, been 
 Transported to the land of thought ; 
 
 And thence, by minstrel vision keen, 
 The lire of inspiration caught ?
 
 884 NOTES. 
 
 It must be so : in cottage lone, 
 
 To dreams of poesy resigned, 
 From Ettrick's banks thy soul has flown, 
 
 And earth-born follies left behind. 
 
 Then through those scenes Kilmeny saw, 
 In trance ecstatic hast thou roved, 
 
 And witnessed, but with holy awe, 
 What mortal fancy never proved. 
 
 O Shepherd ! since 'tis thine to boast 
 The fascinating powers of song, 
 
 Far, far above the countless host, 
 
 Who swell the Muses' suppliant throng. 
 
 The Gift of God distrust no more, 
 His inspiration be thy guide ; 
 
 Be heard thy harp from shore to shore, 
 Thy song's reward thy country's pride. 
 
 Woodbridge, April 21, 1813. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 (fUtnnurgh : 
 
 OLIVER & BOYD, PRINTER?
 
 / 
 
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 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
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