SB Ib5 625 
 

XX' 
 
 THE 
 
 MOUNTAIN BARD; 
 
 CONSISTING OF . I 1 !. 
 
 M. "..'. .. 
 
 ana 
 
 FOUNDED ON 
 
 FACTS AND LEGENDARY TALES. 
 
 BY 
 
 JAMES HOGG, 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. 
 
 Fain would I hear our mountains ring 
 
 With blasts which former minstrels blew ; 
 
 Drive slumber hence on viewless wing, 
 And tales of other times renew. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 
 U Co* 
 
 FOR ARCH. CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH, 
 AND JOHN MURRAY, LONDON. 
 
 1807. 
 
TO 
 
 WALTER SCOTT, ESQ. 
 
 SHERIFF OF ETTRICK FOREST, 
 
 AND 
 
 MINSTREL OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING 
 
 TALES 
 
 ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED 
 BY HIS FRIEND AND HUMBLE SERVANT, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 920074 
 
ADVERTISEMENT, 
 
 A liberal and highly respectable list of Sub- 
 scribers honoured this Work with their counte- 
 nance', but the circumstances of the Author, detained 
 by the duties of his situation in a remote part of the 
 country > has prevented the possibility of collecting 
 their names, and prefixing them to the Book. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Memoir of the Life of James Hogg* i 
 
 Sir David Gramme, 3 
 
 The Pedlar, 15 
 
 Gilmanscleuch, 35 
 
 The Fray of Ehbank, . . 50 
 
 Mess John, 68 
 
 Death of Douglas, Lord of Liddisdale, 96 
 
 Willie Wilkin, 103 
 
 Thirlestane, a Fragment, 117 
 
 Lord Derwent, 128 
 
 The Laird of Lairistan, 137 
 
 Sandy Tod, 153 
 
 A Farewell to Ettrick, 164 
 
 Love Abused, 170 
 
 Epistle to Mr J. M. C. London, 172 
 
 Scotia's Glens, 177 
 
 Donald MacDonald, 179 
 
 The Author's Address to his auld dog Hector, . 183 
 
 The Bonnets o' Bonny Dundee, 190 
 
 Auld Ettrick John, 192 
 
 The Hay Making, " 197 
 
 Bonny Jean, 200 
 
MEMOIR 
 
 OF 
 
 THE LIFE OF JAMES HOGG. 
 
 The friend, to whom Mr Hogg made the following communication, 
 had some hesitation in committing it to the public. On the one 
 hand, he was sensible, not only that the incidents are often tri- 
 vial, but that they are narrated in a stile more suitable to their 
 importance to the author himself, than to their own nature and 
 consequences. But the efforts of a strong mind, and vigorous 
 imagination, to develope itself even under the most disadvanta- 
 geous circumstances, may be always considered with pleasure, 
 and often with profit ; and if, upon a retrospect, the possessor 
 be disposed to view with self complacency his victory over dif- 
 ficulties, of which he only can judge the extent, it will be readi- 
 ly pardoned by those who consider the author's scanty opportu- 
 nities of knowledge ; and remember, that it is only on attaining 
 the last, and most recondite, recess of human science, that we 
 discover hew little we really know. To those who are unac- 
 quainted with the pastoral scenes, in which our author was edu- 
 cated, it may afford some amusement tojind real shepherds ac- 
 tually contending f of a poetical prize, and to remark some other 
 peculiarities in their habits and manners. Above all, these Me* 
 moirs ascertain the authenticity of the publication, and are, 
 therefore, entitled to bt prefixed to it. 
 
 Mitchell-Slack, Nov, 1806. 
 MY DEAR SIR, 
 
 ACCORDING to your request, which 
 I never entirely disregard, I am now going to 
 give you some account of my manner of life 
 
11 
 
 and expensive education. I must again apprize 
 you, that, whenever I have occasion to speak 
 of myself, or my performances, I find it im- 
 possible to divest myself of an inherent vanity ; 
 but, making allowances for that, I will lay be- 
 fore you the outlines of my life, with the cir- 
 cumstances that gave rise to some of my juve- 
 nile pieces, and of my opinion of them, as 
 faithfully 
 
 As if you were the minister of heaven, 
 Sent down to search the secret sins of men. 
 
 I am the second of four sons by the same fa- 
 ther and mother, viz. Robert Hogg and Mar- 
 garet Laidlaw, who, with my three brethren, 
 are all living, and in good health. My pro- 
 genitors were all shepherds of this country. 
 My father, like myself, was bred to the occu- 
 pation of a shepherd, and served in that capa- 
 city until his marriage with my mother; about 
 which time, having saved some substance, he 
 took a lease of the farms of Ettrickhouse and 
 Ettrickhall. He then commenced dealing in 
 sheep ; brought up great numbers, and drove 
 them both to the English and Scottish mar- 
 kets ; when, at length, a great fall in the 
 prices of sheep, and his principal debtor's ab- 
 
Ill 
 
 sconding, quite ruined him. A sequestration* 
 took place. Every thing was sold by auction ; 
 and my parents were turned out of doors with- 
 out a farthing in the world. I was then in the 
 sixth year of my age, and remember well the 
 distressed and destitute condition that we were 
 in. At length, the late worthy Mr Bryden, of 
 Crosslee, took compassion upon us, and, ta- 
 king a short lease of the farm of Ettrickhouse, 
 placed my father there as his shepherd, and 
 thus afforded us the means of supporting life 
 for a time. This gentleman continued to inte- 
 rest himself in our welfare, until the lamented 
 day of his untimely death, when we lost the 
 best friend that we had in the world. It was 
 on this mournful occasion that I wrote the 
 Dialogue in a Country Church-yard.^ 
 
 At such an age, it cannot be expected tKat I 
 should have made great progress in knowledge. 
 The school-house, however, being almost at 
 our door, I had attended for some time ; and 
 had oft-times the honour of standing at the 
 head of that juvenile class, who read the 
 Shorter Catechism, and Proverbs of Solomon. 
 
 * t. e. Legal distress. 
 
 t This worthy man was killed by the fall of a tree* 
 
IT 
 
 At the next Whitsunday after our expulsion, 
 I was obliged to go to service; and, being on- 
 ly seven years of age,, was hired to a farmer in 
 the neighbourhood to herd a few cows. Next 
 year, my parents took me home during the 
 winter quarter, and put me tib school with a 
 lad, who was teaching the children of a neigh- 
 bouring farmer. Here I advanced so far as to 
 get into the class who read in the Bible. I 
 had likewise, for some time before my quarter 
 was out, tried writing ; and had horribly de- 
 filed several sheets of paper with copy-lines,, 
 every letter of which was nearly an inch in 
 length. 
 
 Thus terminated my education : After this 
 I was never another day at any school what- 
 ever ; and was again, that very spring, sent 
 away to my old occupation of herding cows. 
 This employment, the worst and lowest known 
 in our country, I was engaged in for several 
 years under sundry masters, till at length I 
 got into the more honourable one of herding 
 sheep. There is one circumstance which hath 
 led some to imagine, that my abilities as a ser- 
 vant had not been exquisite; namely, that, 
 when 1 was fifteen years of age, I had served 
 a dozen of masters j which circumstance, I 
 
V 
 
 myself am rather willing to attribute to my 
 having gone to service so young, that I was 
 yearly growing stronger, and consequently 
 adequate 10 a harder task, and an increase of 
 wages : for I do not remember of ever having 
 served a master who refused giving me a ver- 
 bal recommendation to the next,, especially 
 for my inoffensive behaviour. This character, 
 which I, some way or other, got at my very 
 first outset, has, in some degree, attended 
 ine ever since, and has certainly been of uti- 
 lity to me; yet, though Solomon avers, that 
 " a good name is rather to be chosen than 
 great riches/' I declare, that I have never been 
 so much benefitted by mine, but that I would 
 have chosen the latter by many degrees. From 
 some of my masters 1 received very hard 
 usage; in particular, while with one shepherd, 
 I was often nearly exhausted by hunger and 
 fatigue. All this while, I neither read nor 
 wrote, nor had I access to any books, saving 
 the Bible. I was greatly taken with our ver- 
 sion of the Psalms of David, learned the most 
 of them by heart, and have a great partiality 
 for them unto this day. Every little pittance 
 that I earned of wages, was carried directly 
 to my parents, who supplied me with what 
 
VI 
 
 deaths I had. These were often scarcely 
 worthy of the appellation ; in particular, I re- 
 member of being exceedingly scarce of shirts. 
 Time after time I had but two ; which grew 
 often so bad, that I was obliged to quit wear- 
 ing them altogether ; for, when I put them on, 
 they hung down in long tatters as far as my 
 heels. At these times I certainly made a very 
 grotesque figure ; for, on quitting the shirt, I 
 could never induce my breeches to keep up to 
 their proper sphere. When fourteen years of 
 age, I saved five shillings of my wages, with 
 which I bought an old violin. This occupied 
 all my leisure hours, and hath been my favour- 
 ite amusement ever since. I had commonly 
 no spare time from labour during the day; 
 but, when I was not over fatigued, I generally 
 spent an hour or two every night in rubbing 
 over my favourite old Scottish tunes; my 
 bed being always in stables and cow-honses, I 
 disturbed nobody but myself. This brings 
 to my remembrance an anecdote, the conse- 
 quence of one of these nocturnal endeavours 
 at improvement. 
 
 When serving with Mr Scott of Singlee, 
 there happened to be a dance one evening, at 
 which a number of the friends and neighbours 
 
Vll 
 
 of the family were present. I being admitted 
 into the room as a spectator, was all attention 
 to the music ; and, on the company breaking 
 up, I retired to my stable-loft, and fell to es- 
 saying some of the tunes to which I had been 
 listening: the musician, going out on some 
 necessary business, and not being aware that 
 another of the same craft was so near him, 
 was not a little surprised when the tones of 
 my old violin assailed his ears. At first, he 
 took it for the late warbles of his own ringing 
 through his head ; but, on a little attention, 
 he, to his mortification and astonishment, per- 
 ceived that the sounds were real ; and that the 
 tunes which he had lately been playing with 
 such skill, were now murdered by some invi- 
 sible being hard by him. Such a circum- 
 stance, at that dead hour of the night, and 
 when he was unable to discern from what 
 quarter the sounds proceeded, convinced him 
 all at once that it was a delusion of the de- 
 vil ; and, suspecting his intentions from so 
 much familiarity, he fled precipitately into 
 the hall, with disordered garments, and in the 
 utmost horror, to the no small mirth of Mr 
 Scott, who declared, that he had lately been 
 considerably stunned himself by the same dis- 
 cordant sounds. 
 
Vlll 
 
 From Singlee I went to Elibank upon Tweed, 
 where, with Mr Laidlaw, I found my situa- 
 tion more easy and agreeable than it had ever 
 been. I staid there three half years, a term 
 longer than usual; and from thence went to 
 Willenslee, to Mr Laidlaw's father, with whom 
 I served as a shepherd two years ; having been 
 for some seasons preceding employed in work- 
 ing with horses, threshing, &c. 
 
 It was, while serving here, in the 18th year of 
 my age, that I first got a perusal of (f The Life 
 and Adventures of ir William Wallace," and 
 " The Gentle Shepherd ;" and though immode- 
 rately fond of them, yet (what you will think 
 remarkable in one who hath since dabbled so 
 much in verses) I could not help regretting 
 deeply that they were not in prose, that every 
 body might have understood them ; or, I 
 thought, if they had been in the same kind of 
 metre with the " Psalms," I could have borne 
 with them. The truth is, I made exceedingly 
 slow progress in reading them : the little read- 
 ing that I had learned, I had nearly lost, and 
 the Scottish dialect quite confounded me ; so 
 that, before I got to the end of a line, I had 
 commonly lost the rhyme of the preceding 
 one , and if I came to a triplet,, a thing of 
 
IX 
 
 I 
 
 which I had no conception, I commonly read 
 to the foot of the page without perceiving 
 that I had lost the rhyme altogether. Thus, 
 after I had got through them both, I found 
 myself much in the same predicament with 
 the man of Eskdalemuir, who borrowed Bai- 
 ley's Dictionary from his neighbour. On re- 
 turning it, the lender asked him, what he 
 thought of it? "I don't know," replied he, 
 " I have read it all through, but cannot say 
 that I understand it; it is the most confused 
 book that ever I saw in my life !" The late 
 Mrs Laid law of Willenslee took some notice 
 of me, and frequently gave me books to read 
 while tending the' ewes ; these were chiefly 
 theological : the only one that I remember 
 any thing of, is Bishop Burners Theory of the 
 Conflagration of the Earth. Happy was it for 
 me that I did not understand it : for the little 
 of it that I did understand, had nearly over- 
 turned my brain altogether. All the day I 
 was pondering on the grand millenium, and 
 the reign of the saints ; and all the night 
 dreaming of new heavens and a new earth ; 
 the stars in horror, and the world in flames ! 
 Mrs Laidlaw also gave me sometimes the 
 newspapers, which I pored on with great ear- 
 
X 
 
 neatness ; beginning at the date, and reading 
 straight on, through advertisements of houses 
 and lands, Balm of Gilead, and every thing; 
 and, after all, was often no wiser than when I 
 began. To give you some farther idea of the 
 progress I had made in literature; I was 
 about this time obliged to write a letter to 
 my elder brother, and, having never drawn 
 a pen for such a number of years, I had ac- 
 tually forgot how to make sundry of the let- 
 ters of the alphabet, which I had either to 
 print, or patch up the words in the best way 
 that I could, without them. 
 
 At Whitsunday 1790, being then in the 
 nineteenth year of my age, I left Willenslee, 
 and hired myself to Mr Laidlaw of Blackhouse, 
 with whom I served as a shepherd nine years. 
 The kindness of this gentleman to me it would 
 be the utmost ingratitude ever to forget ; for 
 indeed it was much more like that of a father 
 than a master; and it is not improbable that 
 I should have been there still, had it not been 
 for the following circumstance. 
 
 My brother William had, for some time be- 
 fore that, occupied the farm of Ettrick-house, 
 where he resided with our parents; but ha- 
 ving taken a wife^ and the place not suiting 
 
XI 
 
 two families, he took another residence, and 
 gave up the farm to me. The lease expiring 
 at Whitsunday 1793, our possession was taken 
 by a wealthier neighbour. The first time that 
 1 attempted to write verses, was in the spring 
 of the year 1793. Mr Laidlaw having a num- 
 ber of valuable books, which were all open to 
 my perusal, I, about this time, began to read 
 with considerable attention, and, no sooner 
 did I begin to read so as to understand, than, 
 rather prematurely, I began to write. The 
 first thing that ever I attempted, was a poe- 
 tical epistle to a student of divinity, an ac- 
 quaintance of mine. It was a piece of most 
 fulsome flattery, and was mostly composed of 
 borrowed lines and sentences from Dryden's 
 Virgil, and Harvey's Life of Bruce. I scarce- 
 ly remember one line of it. 
 
 But the first thing that ever I composed 
 that was really my own, was a rhyme, entitled, 
 An Address to the Duke of Bucclettch, in beha'f 
 o' myself an' ither poorfo'k. 
 
 In the same year, after a deal of pains, I 
 finished a song, called. The Way that the World 
 goes on; and Wattie and Geordle' Foreign In- 
 telligence, an eclogue : These were my first 
 year's productions; and having continued to 
 
Xll 
 
 write on ever since, often without either rhyme 
 or reason, my pieces have multiplied exceed- 
 ingly. Being little conversant in books, and 
 far less in men and manners, the local circum- 
 stances on which some of my pieces are found- 
 ed, may not be unentertaining to you. It was 
 from a conversation that I had with an old 
 woman, from Lochaber, of the name of Ca- 
 meron, on which I founded the story of Glen- 
 gyle, a ballad ; and likewise the ground-plot 
 of The Happy Swains, a pastoral, in four parts. 
 This, which I suppose you have never seen, is 
 a dramatic piece of great length, full of trifles, 
 and blunders : part of the latter were owing to 
 my old woman, on whose word I depended, 
 and who must have been as ignorant of the 
 leading incidents of the year 1746 as I was. 
 
 In 1795, I began The Scotch Gentleman, a 
 comedy, in five long acts; after having been 
 summoned to Selkirk, as a witness against 
 some persons suspected of fishing in close- 
 time. This piece (part of which you have seen) 
 is, in fact, full of faults ; yet, on reading it to 
 an Ettrick audience, which I have several times 
 done, it never fails to produce the most extra- 
 ordinary convulsions of laughter, besides con- 
 sicjerable anxiety. The whole of the third act 
 
Xlll 
 
 is taken up with the examination of the fish- 
 ers; and many of the questions asked, and 
 answers given in court, literally copied. Whe- 
 ther my manner of writing it out was new, I 
 know not; but it was not without singularity. 
 Having very little spare time from my flock, 
 which was unruly enough, 1 folded, and stitch- 
 ed a few sheets of paper, which I carried in 
 my pocket. I had no inkhorn ; but, in place of 
 it, I borrowed a small vial, which I fixed in a 
 hole in the breast of my waistcoat ; and ha- 
 ving a cork, affixed by a piece of twine, it an- 
 swered the purpose full as well. Thus equip- 
 ped, whenever a leisure minute or two offered, 
 I had nothing ado but to sit down and write 
 my thoughts as i found them. This is still my 
 invariable practice in writing prose : I cannot 
 make out one sentence by study, without the 
 pen in my hand to catch the ideas as they 
 arise. I seldom, or never, write two copies of 
 the same thing. 
 
 My manner of composing poetry is very 
 different, and, I believe, much more singular. 
 Let the piece be of what length it will, I com- 
 pose and correct it wholly in my mind, ere 
 ever I put pen to paper, when I write it down 
 as fast as the ABC. When once it is writ- 
 
XIV 
 
 ten, it remains in that state ; it being, as you 
 very well know, with the utmost difficulty that 
 I can be brought to -alter one line, which I 
 think is partly owing to the above practice. 
 
 It is a fact, that, by a long acquaintance 
 with any poetical piece, we become perfect- 
 ly reconciled to its faults. The numbers, by 
 frequently repeating, wear smoother to our 
 minds; and the ideas having expanded, and 
 commented by reflection on each particular 
 scene or incident therein described, the mind 
 cannot, without reluctance, consent to the al- 
 teration of any one part of it ; for instance, 
 how is the Scottish public likely to receive an 
 improved edition of the Psalms of David ? 
 
 My friend, Mr William Laidlaw, hath often 
 remonstrated to me, in vain, on the necessity 
 of a revisal of my pieces; for, in cpite of him, 
 I held fast my integrity. He was the only 
 person who, for many years, ever pretended to 
 discover the least merit in any of my essays, 
 either in prose or verse ; and, as he never fail- 
 ed to have plenty of them about him, he took 
 the opportunity of showing them to every per- 
 son, whose capacity he supposed adequate to 
 judge of their merit ; but it was all to no pur- 
 
XV 
 
 pose : he could never make a proselyte to his 
 opinion of any note, save one, who, in a little, 
 apostatised, and left us as we were. He even 
 went so far as to break with some of his cor- 
 respondents altogether, who persisted in their 
 obstinacy. All this had not the least effect 
 upon me ; as long as I had his applause and 
 my own, which never failed me, I continued 
 to persevere. He at length had the good for- 
 tune to appeal to you, who were pleased to 
 back him, when he came off triumphant; de- 
 claring, that the world should henceforth 
 judge for themselves for him. 
 
 I have often opposed his proposals with such 
 obstinacy, that I was afraid of losing his coun- 
 tenance altogether ; but none of these things 
 had the least effect upon him ; his friendship 
 continued unimpaired, attended with the most 
 tender assiduities for my welfare ; and I am 
 now convinced that he is better acquainted 
 with my nature and propensities than 1 am 
 myself. I have wandered insensibly from my 
 subject ; but, to return. In the spring of the 
 year 1796* as Alexander Laidlaw, a neighbour- 
 ing shepherd, my brother William, and my- 
 self, were resting on the side of a hill above 
 Ettrick-church, I happened, in the course of 
 
xn 
 
 our conversation, to drop some hints of my 
 superior talents in poetry. William said, that, 
 as for putting words into rhyme, it was a thing 
 which he never could do to any sense ; but 
 that if i liked to enter the lists with him in 
 blank verse, he would take me up for any bet 
 that I pleased. Laidlaw declared that he would 
 venture likewise. This being settled, and the 
 judges named, I accepted the challenge; but a 
 dispute arising what was to be the subject, we 
 were obliged to resort to the following mode of 
 decision : Ten subjects were named, and lots 
 cast, which of these was to be the topic; and, 
 amongst them all, that which fell to be elucida- 
 ted by our matchless pens, was, the stars! 
 things which we knew little more about, than 
 merely that they were twinkling and burning 
 over us ; to be seen every night when the 
 clouds were away. I began with high hopes and 
 great warmth, and in a week declared mine 
 ready for the comparison : Laidlaw announced 
 his next week ; but my brother made us wait 
 a full half year; and then, on being urged> 
 presented his unfinished. The arbiters were 
 then dispersed, and the cause was never proper- 
 ly judged; but those to whom they were shown, 
 gave rather the preference to my brother's. 
 
XVll 
 
 This is certain, that it was far superior to any 
 of the other two in the sublimity of the ideas, 
 but, besides being in bad measure, it is often 
 bombastical. The title of it is, Urania's Tour; 
 Laidlaw's, Astronomical Thoughts; and mine, 
 Reflections on a View of the Nocturnal Heavens. 
 Alexander Laidlaw and I tried, after the same 
 manner, a paraphrase on the 117th Psalm, in 
 English verse. Mine is preserved in MS. I 
 continued annually to add numbers of smaller 
 pieces of poetry and songs to my collection, 
 mostly on subjects purely ideal, or else adapt- 
 ed to the times. I had, from my childhood, 
 been affected by the frequent return of a vio- 
 lent pain in my bowels, which attacked me 
 once in a friend's house, at a distance from 
 home, and, increasing to an inflammation, all 
 hopes were given up of my recovery. It was 
 while lying here, in the greatest agony, that I 
 had the mortification of seeing the old wo- 
 man, who watched with me, fall into a swoon, 
 about the dead of the night, from a supposi- 
 tion that she saw my wraith: a spirit which 
 the vulgar suppose to haunt the abodes of 
 such as are instantly to die, to carry off the 
 soul as soon as it is disengaged from the body. 
 And, next morning, I overheard a consulta- 
 
XV111 
 
 tion about borrowing sheets, wherein I wag to 
 be laid at my decease : but Almighty God, in 
 his providence, deceived both them and the 
 officious spirit; for, by the help of an able 
 physician, I recovered, and have never since 
 been troubled with the distemper. It was 
 while confined to my bed from the effects of 
 this dreadful malady that I composed the 
 song, beginning, Farewed, ye Grots; fareweel, 
 ye Glens. 
 
 In the year 1800, I began and finished the 
 two first acts of a tragedy, denominated, The 
 Castle in the Wood; and, flattering myself that 
 it was about to be a masterpiece, I showed it 
 to Mr William Laidlaw, my literary confessor; 
 who, on returning it, declared it faulty in the 
 extreme; and perceiving that he had black 
 strokes drawn down through beveral of my 
 most elaborate speeches, 1 cursed his stupidi- 
 ty, threw it away, and never added another 
 line. My acquaintances hereabouts imagine, 
 that the pastoral of Willie an' Ktatie, publish- 
 ed with others in 1801, was founded on an 
 amour of mine own. I cannot say that their 
 surmises are entirely groundless. The publi- 
 cation of this pamphlet was one of the most 
 unadvised actions that ever was committed. 
 
XIX 
 
 Having attended the Edinburgh market on 
 Monday, with a number of sheep for sale ; and 
 being unable to sell them all, I put them into 
 a park until the market on Wednesday. Not 
 knowing how to pass the interim, it came into 
 my head that I would write a poem or two 
 from rny memory, and have them printed. 
 The thought had no sooner struck me, than 
 I pat it in practice ; when I was obliged to 
 select, not the best, but those that I remem- 
 bered best. I wrote as many as I could dur- 
 ing my short stay, and gave them to a man 
 to print at my expence ; arid having sold off 
 my sheep on Wednesday morning, I returned 
 into the Forest, and saw no more of my poems 
 until I received word that there were one 
 thousand copies of them thrown off. I knew 
 no more about publishing than the man of the 
 moon; and the only motive that influenced 
 me was the gratification of my vanity, by see- 
 ing my works in print. But, on the first copy 
 coming to my hand, my eyes were opened to 
 the folly of my conduct. When I compared 
 it with the MS. there were numbers of stanzas 
 wanting, and others misplaced ; whilst the ty- 
 pographical errors were without number. 
 Thus were my first productions pushed head- 
 
long into the world, without apprizing the pub- 
 lic that such a thing was coming, without ei- 
 ther patron or preface, " unhoussel'd, un- 
 anointed, unaneaFd ; with all their imperfec- 
 tions on their heads/' " Willie and Keatie," 
 however, had the honour of being copied into 
 some periodical publications of the time, as 
 " no unfavourable specimen of the work/' al- 
 though, in my opinion, the succeeding one 
 was greatly its superior. In 1802, The Min* 
 strelsy of the Scottish Border came iuto my 
 hands ; and, though I was even astonished to 
 find such exact copies of many old songs, 
 which I had heard sung by people who never 
 could read a song, but had them handed down 
 by tradition ; and likewise at the conformi- 
 ty of the notes, to the traditions and supersti- 
 tions which are, even to this day, far from be- 
 ing eradicated from the minds of the people 
 amongst our mountains, yet, I confess, that I 
 was not satisfied with many of the imitations 
 of the ancients. I immediately chose a number 
 of traditional facts, and set about imitating the 
 different manners of the ancients myself. The 
 chief of these are. The Death of Douglas, Lord 
 of Liddesdale, The Heir of Thirkstaut, Sir Da- 
 vid Graham, The Ptdlar, and John Scott of Har* 
 
XXI; 
 
 dtn, by the Scotts of Gilmanscleuch. The only 
 other h>cal circumstance on which any other of 
 my pieces is founded, was the following : In 
 1801, I went to Edinburgh on foot, and be- 
 ing benighted at Straiton, lodged there, where 
 the landlord had a son deranged in his mind, 
 whom his father described as having been for- 
 merly sensible and docile. His behaviour was 
 very extravagant; he went out at night, and 
 attacked the moon with great rudeness and vo- 
 ciferation. I was so taken with his condition, 
 that I tarried another night on my way home, 
 to contemplate his manner and ideas a little 
 farther. 
 
 Thinking that a person in such a state, with 
 a proper cause assigned, was a fit subject for a 
 poem, before I reached home, I had all the 
 incidents arranged, and a good many verses 
 composed, of the pastoral tale of Sandy Tod. 
 I think it one of the best of my tender pieces. 
 Most of my prose essays have been written in 
 an epistolary form. You may have seen, by the 
 papers, that I gained two premiums from the 
 Highland Society, for essays connected with 
 the rearing and management of sheep. I have 
 gone three journies into the Highlands ; two 
 on foot, and one on horseback ; at each time 
 
xxn 
 
 penetrating farther, until I have seen a great 
 part of that rough, but valuable country. I 
 have copied out the most of my journals into 
 letters for your perusal, and will proceed with 
 the rest at my leisure : who knows but you 
 may one day think of laying them before the 
 public ? I have always had a great partiality 
 for the Highlands of Scotland, and now intend 
 going to settle in one of its most distant cor- 
 ners. The issue of such an adventure, timq 
 only can reveal. 
 
 THE above is the substance of three letters,, 
 written at the same date ; since which time I 
 have experienced a very unexpected reverse 
 of fortune. After our return from the High- 
 lands, in June last, I put every thing in readi- 
 ness for our departure to settle in Harries ; 
 wrote, and published, my Fareweel to Ettrick; 
 wherein the real sentiments of my heart, at 
 that time, are simply related ; which, probably, 
 constitute its only claim to merit. It would 
 be tedious and trifling, were I to relate all the 
 disagreeable circumstances which ensued; suf- 
 
XX111 
 
 fice it to say, that my scheme was absolutely 
 frustrated. 
 
 Being miserably disappointed, and vexed at 
 being thus baffled in an undertaking, ubout 
 which I had talked so much, to avoid a great 
 many disagreeable questions and explanations, 
 I went to England during the remainder of 
 ...summer. This transaction did not savour with 
 my countrymen ; they looked on me as a fu- 
 gitive, and railed at me without mercy; though 
 why, or for what reason, I have never been 
 able to comprehend, as the only person who 
 had even the least prospect of losing by it, al- 
 ways stood my firm friend. It, however, gave 
 me the opportunity of learning exactly who 
 were really my friends ; a knowledge which is 
 of greater consequence than many are aware. 
 
 I am, &c. 
 
 JAMES HOGG. 
 
BALLADS, 
 
 IMITATION OF THE ANTIENTS. 
 
 
SIR DAVID GRAEME. 
 
 ANY person who has read the Minstrelsy of the 
 Scottish Border with attention, must have observed 
 what a singular degree of interest and feeling the sim- 
 ple ballad of " The Twa Corbies" impresses upon the 
 mind, which is rather increased than diminished by 
 the unfinished state in which the story is left. It ap- 
 pears as if the bard had found his powers of descrip- 
 tion inadequate to a detail of the circumstances at- 
 tending the fatal catastrophe, without suffering the 
 interest, already roused, to subside, and had artfully 
 consigned it over to the fancy of every reader to paint 
 it what way he chose ; or else that he lamented the 
 untimely fate of a knight, whose base treatment he 
 durst not otherwise make known than in that short 
 parabolical dialogue. That the original is not im- 
 
proved in the following ballad, will too manifestly 
 appear upon perusal ; I think it, however, but just to 
 acknowledge, that the idea was suggested to me by 
 reading " The Twa Corbies." 
 
SIR DAVID GRJEME. 
 
 THE dow flew east, the dow flew west, 
 
 The dow flew far ayont the fell, 
 An' sair at e'en she seem'd distrest, 
 But what perplext her could not tell. 
 
 But ay she cry'd, Cur-dow, cur-dow, 
 An' ruffled a* her feathers fair ; 
 
 An' lookit sad, an' wadna bow 
 To taste the sweetest, finest ware* 
 
 The lady pined, an' some did blame, 
 (She didna blame the bonny dow) 
 
 But sair she blamed Sir David Graeme, 
 Wha now to her had broke his vow, 
 
He swore by moon and stars sae bright, 
 And by their bed the grass sae green, 
 
 To meet her there on Lammas night, 
 Whatever dangers lay between : 
 
 To risk his fortune and his life, 
 To bear her from her father's ha', 
 
 To give her a' the lands o' Dryfe, 
 An* wed wi' her for gude an* a'. 
 
 The day arrived, the evening came, 
 The lady looked wi' wistful ee ; 
 
 But, O, alas ! her noble Graeme 
 
 Frae e'en to morn she could not see. 
 
 An' ilka day she sat an' grat, 
 
 An 7 ilka night her fancy wraught, 
 
 In wyting this, and blaming that, 
 But O the cause she never thought. 
 
 The sun had drank frae Keilder fells 
 His beverage o' the morning dew ; 
 
 The wild-fowl slumbered in the dells, 
 The heather hung its bells o' blue; 
 
The lambs were skipping on the brae, 
 In airy notes the shepherd sung, 
 
 The small birds hailed the jocund day, 
 Till ilka thicket sweetly rung. 
 
 The lady to her window hied, 
 
 That opened owr the banks o' Tyne, 
 4t An 9 O, alas !" she said, and sighed, 
 " Sure ilka breast is blyth but mine ! 
 
 n Where ha'e ye been, my bonny dow, 
 
 That I ha'e fed wi' bread and wine ?' 
 As roving a* the country through, 
 O saw ye this fause knight o' mine ?" 
 
 The dow sat on the window tree, 
 An' held a lock o' yellow hair; 
 
 She perched upon that lady's knee, 
 An' carefully she placed it there. 
 
 4( What can this mean ? it is the same, 
 
 Or else my senses me beguile ! 
 This lock belonged to David Gneme, 
 The flower of a' the British isle. 
 
\ 
 
 " It is not cut wi' sheers nor knife, 
 
 But frae his haffat torn awa : 
 I ken he lo'ed me as his life, 
 But this I canna read at a." 
 
 The dow flew east, the dow flew west, 
 The dow flew far ayont the fell, 
 
 And back she came, wi' panting breast, 
 Ere ringing of the castle bell. 
 
 She lighted on the hollow tap, 
 
 An' cried, Cur-dow, an' hung her wing ; 
 Then flew into that lady's lap, 
 
 An' there she placed a diamond ring, 
 
 ff What can this mean ? it is the same, 
 
 Or else my senses me beguile ! 
 This ring I gave to David Graeme, 
 The flower of a' the British isle. 
 
 <( He sends me back the tokens true ! 
 
 Was ever maid perplexed like me r 
 'Twould seern h'as rued o' ilka vow, 
 But all is wrapt in mystery." 
 
Then down she sat, an' sair she grat; 
 
 With rapid whirl her fancy wrought, 
 In wy ting this, an' blamin* that ; 
 
 But O the cause she never thought ! 
 
 When, lo ! Sir David's trusty hound, 
 Wi' humpling back, an* hollow ee, 
 
 Came cringing in ; an' lookit round 
 
 Wi' hopeless stare, wha there might be. 
 
 He laid his head upon her knee, 
 
 With looks that did her heart assail ; 
 
 An' a' that she cou'd flatter, he 
 
 Wad neither bark, nor wag his tail ! 
 
 She fed him wi' the milk sae sweet, 
 An' ilka thing that he wad ha'e. 
 
 He licked her hands, he licked her feet, 
 Then slowly, slowly, trudged away. 
 
 But she has eyed the honest hound, 
 An* a' to see where he wad gae : 
 
 He stopped, and howled, an' looked around, 
 Then slowly, slowly, trudged away. 
 
10 
 
 Then she cast aff her coal-black shoon, 
 An* sae has she her silken hose ; 
 
 She kiltit high her 'broidered gown, 
 An* after him in haste she goes. 
 
 She followed him owr muirs and rocks, 
 Thro-ugh mony a -dell,. an' dowy glen, 
 
 Till frae her brow, and lovely locks, 
 The dew-drops fell like drops o* rain. 
 
 An' ay she said, " My love is hid. 
 And dare na come the castle nigh ; 
 
 But him I'll find, an' him I'll chide, 
 For leaving his poor maid to sigh ; 
 
 ' But ae press to his manly breast, 
 An' ae kiss o' his bonny mou'. 
 Will weel atone for a' the past, 
 An' a' the pain I suffer now." 
 
 But in a hagg in yonder flow. 
 
 Ah, there she fand her gallant knight ! 
 A loathsome carcase lying low, 
 
 Red-rusted all his armour bright 
 
Wi' ae wound through his shoulder-bane, 
 An' in his bosom twa or three ; 
 
 Wi' flies an' vermine sair o'ergane, 
 An* ugsome to the sight was he. 
 
 His piercing een, that love did beet, 
 Had now become the ravens' prey ; 
 
 His tongue, that moved to accents sweet, 
 Deep frae his throat was torn away. 
 
 Poor Reyno fawned, an' took his place, 
 
 As glad to see the livid clay ; 
 Then licked his master's bloated face, 
 
 An' kindly down beside him lay. 
 
 ** Now coming was the night sae dark? 
 
 An' gane was a' the light o' day/' 
 The muir was dun, the heavens mirk, 
 
 An' deep an' dreary was the way*, 
 
12 
 
 The croaking raven soared on high, 
 Thick, thick, the cherking weazels ran ; 
 
 Al hand she heard the howlet's cry, 
 An' groans as of a dying man. 
 
 Wi' horror, an' wi' dread aghast, 
 
 That lady turned, an' thought o' hame ; 
 
 An' there she saw, approaching fast, 
 The likeness o' her noble Graeme ! 
 
 His grim, grim eyelids didna move; 
 
 His thin, thin cheek was deadly pale ; 
 His mouth was black, and sair he strove 
 
 T impart to her some dreadfu' tale. 
 
 For thrice his withered hand he waved, 
 An' laid it on his bleedin' breast, 
 
 Hast thou a tender heart received ? 
 How thou wilt tremble at the rest ! 
 
 Fain wad I tell what there befel, 
 But its unmeet for mortal ear : 
 
 The dismal deeds on yonder fell 
 Wad shock a human heart to hear. 
 
NOTES 
 
 OJT 
 
 SIR DAVID GRJEME. 
 
 The dowflew east, the dow flew west. P. 5. v. 1,, 
 
 I borrowed the above line from a beautiful old rhyme 
 which I have often heard my mother repeat, but of which 
 she knew no tradition ; and from this introduction the part 
 f the dove naturally arose. The rhyme runs thus: 
 
 The heron flew east, the heron flew west, 
 
 The heron flew to the fair forest ; 
 
 She flew o'er streams and meadows green, 
 
 And a' to see what could be seen : 
 
 And when she. saw the faithful pair, 
 
 Her breast grew sick, her head grew sair; 
 
 For there she saw a lovely bower, 
 
 Was a' clad o'er wi' lilly-flower ; 
 
 And in the bower there was a bed 
 
 With silken sheets, and weel down spread ; 
 
14 
 
 And in the bed there lay a knight, 
 
 Whose wounds did bJeed both day and night; 
 
 And by the bed there stood a stane, 
 
 And there was set a leal maiden, 
 
 With silver needle and silken thread, 
 
 Stemming the wounds when they did bleed. 
 
 To gi'e her a' the lands o 1 Dryfe.P. 6. v. 2. 
 The river Dryfe forms the south-east district of Annan- 
 dale ; on its banks the ruins of the tower of Graeme still 
 remain in considerable uniformity. 
 
 The sun had drunk from Keilder fells 
 
 His beverage of the morning dew. P. 6. v. 5. 
 Keilder Fells are those hills which lie eastward of the 
 sources. of North Tyne. 
 
 When, lo! Sir David's trusty hound, 
 
 With humpling back, and hallow ee. P. 9. v. 2. 
 It is not long ago since a shepherd's dog watched his 
 corpse in the snow amongst the mountains of this country, 
 until nearly famished, and at last led to the discovery of 
 the body of his disfigured master. 
 
THE 
 
 PEDLAR. 
 
 'This Ballad is founded on a fact , which has been mag* 
 nified by popular credulity and superstition into the 
 terrible story which follows. It is here related, ac- 
 cording to the best informed old people about Et- 
 trick, as nearly as is consistent with the method pur- 
 sued in telling it. I need not inform the reader, that 
 every part of it is believed by them to be absolute 
 truth. 
 
 TWAS late, late, late on a Saturday's night, 
 The moon was set, an' the wind was lown ; 
 
 The lazy mist crept toward the height, 
 
 An' the dim, livid flame glimmered laigh on the 
 downe. 
 
O'er the rank-scented fen the bittern was warping, 
 High on the black muir the foxes did howl, 
 
 All on the lone hearth the cricket sat harping, 
 An' far on the air cam the notes o' the owL 
 
 When the lady o' Thirlestane rose in her sleep, 
 An' she shrieked sae loud that her maid ran to see ; 
 
 Her e'en they war set, an' her voice it was deep, 
 An' she shook like the leaf o* the aspin tree. 
 
 (( O where is the pedlar I drave frae the ha', 
 
 That pled sae sair to tarry wi' me ?" 
 ^ He's gane to the mill, for the miller sells ale, 
 
 An' the pedlar's as weel as a man can be." 
 
 <f I wish he had staid, he sae earnestly prayed, 
 And he hight a braw pearling in present to gie ; 
 
 But I was sae hard, that I would na regard, 
 
 Tho' I saw the saut tear trickle down frae his ee. 
 
 " But O what a terrible dream I ha'e seen, 
 The pedlar a' mangled most shocking to see ! 
 
 An' he gapit, an' waggit, an' stared wi' his een, 
 An' he seemed to lay a' the blame upo' me ! 
 
17 
 
 (( I fear that alive he will never be seen, 
 An' the vera suspicion o't terrifies me: 
 
 I wadna hae sickan a vision again 
 
 For a' the guid kye upon Thirlestane lee. 
 
 " Yet wha wad presume the poor pedlar to kill ? 
 
 O, Grizzy, my girl, will ye gang and see ? 
 If the pedlar is safe, an* alive at the mill, 
 
 A merk o* guid money I'll gie unto thee." 
 
 ' O lady, 'tis dark, and I heard the dead bell ! 
 
 And I darna gae yonder for goud nor fee : 
 But the miller has lodgings might serve yoursel, 
 
 An' the pedlar's as weel as a pedlar can be." 
 
 She sat till day, and she sent wi' fear, 
 The miUer said there he never had been ; 
 
 She went to the kirk, and speered for him there, 
 But the pedlar in life was never mair seen* 
 
 Frae aisle to aisle she lookit wi' care ; 
 
 Frae pew to pew she hurried her een ; 
 An' a' to see if the pedlar was there, 
 
 But the pedlar in life was never mair seen. 
 
18 
 
 But late, late, late on a Saturday's night, 
 As the laird was walking along the lee, 
 
 A silly aald pedlar cam bye on his right, 
 
 An' a muckle green pack on his shoulders had ht\ 
 
 " O whar are ye gaeing, ye beggarly lown? 
 
 Ye's nauther get lodging nor fall frae me." 
 He turned him about, an' the blude it ran down. 
 
 An' his throat was a' hackered, an' ghastly was he 
 
 Then straight, wi' a sound, he sank i'the ground, 
 A knock was heard, an' the fire did flee; 
 
 To try a bit prayer the laird clapped down, 
 As flat an' as feared as a body cude be. 
 
 He fainted : but soon as he gathered his breath, 
 He tauld what a terrible sight he had seen : 
 
 The devil a' woundit, an' bleedin to death, 
 In shape ' a pedlar upo the mill-green. 
 
 The lady she shriekit, the door it was steekit, 
 The servants war glad that the devil was gane ; 
 
 But ilk Saturday's night, when faded the light, 
 Near the mill-house the poor bleeding pedlar was 
 seen. 
 
An' ay whan passengers bye war gaun, 
 A doolfu' voice cam frae the mill-ee, 
 
 On Saturday's night when the clock struck one, 
 Cry'n, " O Rob Riddle, ha'e mercy on me !" 
 
 The place was harrassed, the mill was laid waste, 
 The miller he fled to a far countrie ; 
 
 But ay at e'en the pedlar was seen, 
 
 An' at midnight the voice cam frae the mill-ee. 
 
 The lady frae hame wad never mair budge, 
 
 From the time that the sun ga-ed over the hill ; 
 
 An* now she had a* the poor bodies to lodge, 
 As nane durst gae on for the ghost o' the mill. 
 
 But the minister there was a bodie o' skill, 
 Jsae feared for devil or spirit was he ; 
 
 An' he's gane awa to watch at the mill, 
 
 To try if this impudent ghaist he cou'd see. 
 
 He prayed an' he read, an' he sent them to bed ; 
 
 Then the bible anunder his arm took he, 
 An' round an' round the mill-house he gaed, 
 
 To try if this terrible sight he cou'd see, 
 
20 
 
 Wi' a shivering groan the pedlar cam on, 
 An' the muckle green pack on his shoulders had he ; 
 
 But he nouther had flesh, blude, nor bone, 
 For the moon shone throw his thin bodye. 
 
 The ducks they whackit, the dogs they howled^ 
 The herons thy shriekit most piteoudie ; 
 
 The horses they snorkit for miles around, 
 
 While the priest an' the pedlar together might be, 
 
 Wi' a positive look he opened his book, 
 An' charged him by a' the sacred Three, 
 
 To tell why that horrible figure he took, 
 To terrify a' the hale countrie? 
 
 " My body was butchered within that mill, 
 My banes lie under the inner mill-wheel ; 
 
 An' here my spirit maun wander, until 
 Some crimes an' villanies I can reveal : 
 
 " I robbed my niece of three hundred pounds, 
 Which providence suffered me ne'er to enjoy ; 
 
 For the sake of that money I gat my death's wounds ; 
 The miller me kend, but he missed his ploy. 
 
21 
 
 ' The money lies buried on Ealderstone bill, 
 Beneath the mid bourack o' three times three* 
 
 O gi'e't to the owners, kind sir, an" it will 
 Bring wonderful comfort an' rest unto me, 
 
 ** 'Tis drawing to day, nae mair I can say; 
 
 My message I trust, good father, with thee. 
 If the black cock should craw, while I am awa 3 
 
 O, weary, and weary, what wad come o' me I" 
 
 Wi' a sound like a horn, away he was borne ; 
 
 The grass was decayed where the spirit had been: 
 An 7 certain it is, from that day to this, 
 
 The ghost o' the pedlar was never mair seen. 
 
 The mill was repaired, and, low in the yird, 
 The banes lay under the inner mill-wheel ; 
 
 The box an' the ellwand beside him war hid, 
 An' mony a thimble an' mony a seal. 
 
 Must the scene of iniquity cursed remain ? 
 
 Can this bear the stamp of the heavenly seal ? 
 Yet certain it is from that day to this, 
 
 The millers of Thirlestane ne'er ha'e done wee!, 
 
 1 
 
But there was an auld mason wha Wrought at the mill, 
 In rules a' providence skilfu' was he; 
 
 He keepit a bane o' the pedlar's heel, 
 
 An* a queerer wee bane you never did see. 
 
 The miller had fled to the forest o' Jed ; 
 
 But time had now grizzled his haffets wi' snaw; 
 He was crookit an' auld, an' his head was turned bald, 
 
 Yet his joke he cou'd brik wi'the best o' them a*. 
 
 Away to the border the mason he ran, 
 To try wi' the bane if the miller was fey ; 
 
 An* into a smiddie, wi' mony a man, 
 He fand him a gaffin fu' gaily that day. 
 
 The mason he crackit, the mason he taukit, 
 
 Of a' curiosities mighty an' mean ; 
 Then pu'd out the bane, an' declared there were nanc 
 
 Who in Britain had ever the marrow o't seen. 
 
 When ilka ane took it, an' ilka ane lockit, 
 
 An' ilka ane ca'd it a comical bane ; 
 To the miller it goes, wha, wi' spects en his nose, 
 
 To ha'e an' to view it, was wonderous fain. 
 
But what was bis horror, as leaning he stood, 
 An' what the surprise o'.the people around, 
 
 When the little wee bane fell a streamin wi' blood, 
 Which dyed a' his fingers, an' ran to the ground ! 
 
 They charged him wi' murder, an' a* the hale crew 
 Declared, ere they partit, the hale they wad ken ; 
 
 A red goad o' ern frae the fire they drew, 
 An' they swore they wad spit him like ony muirhen. 
 
 " O hald," said the mason, " for how can it be ? 
 
 " You'll find you are out when the truth I reveal ; 
 At fair Thirlestane 1 gat the wee bane, 
 
 Deep buried anunder the inner mill-wheel/' 
 
 '" O God," said the wretch, wi' the tear in his ee, 
 " O pity a creature lang doomed to despair; 
 
 A silly auld pedlar, wha begged of me 
 
 For mercy, I murdered, an' buried him there !" 
 
 To Jeddart they hauled the auld miller wi' speed, 
 An' they hangit him dead on a high gallow tree; 
 
 An' afterwards they in full counsel agreed, 
 That Rob Riddle he richly deserved to dee. 
 
The thief may escape the lash an' the rape, , 
 The liar an' swearer their leather may save. 
 
 The wrecker of' unity pass with impunity, 
 
 But when gat the niurcTrer in peace to the grave ? 
 
 Ca't not superstition ; vii' reason you'll find it, 
 Nor laugh at a story attestit sae weel ; 
 
 For lang ha'e the facts in the forest been mindit 
 O' the ghaist an' the bane o' the pedlar's heel, 
 
NOTES 
 
 THE PEDLAR. 
 
 When the lady o' Thirlestane rose in her sleep. 
 
 P. 16. v. 2. 
 
 The lady here alluded to was the second wife of Sir Ro- 
 bert Scott, the last knight of Thirlestane, of whom the 
 reader shall hear further. Thirlestane is situated high on 
 the banks of the Ettrick, and was the baronial castle of 
 the Scotts of Thirlestane. It is now the property of the 
 Right Honourable Lord Napier, who wears the arms of 
 that ancient house. The mill is still on the old scite. 
 
 lady, 'tis dark, and I heard the dead bell! 
 And I darna gae. yonder for goud nor fee. 
 
 p. ir. v. 3. 
 
 By the dead bell is meant a tinkling in the ears, which 
 our peasantry in the country regard as a secret intelligence 
 
26' 
 
 of some friend's decease. Thus this natural occurrence 
 strikes many with a superstitious awe. This reminds me of 
 a trifling anecdote, which I will here relate as an instance. 
 Our two servant girls agreed to go an errand of their own, 
 one night after supper, to a considerable distance, from 
 which I strove to dissuade them, but could not prevail. So, 
 after going to the apartment where I slept, I took a drink- 
 ing glass, and, coming close to the tack of the door, made 
 two or three sweeps round the lips of the glass with my 
 finger, which caused a loud shrill soufid. I then overheard 
 the following dialogue. B. Ah, mercy ! the dead bell went 
 through my head ju&t now, with such a knell as I never 
 heard. J. I heard it too ! E. Did you indeed ! that is re- 
 markable ! I never knew of two hearing it at the same time 
 before. J. We will not go to Midgehope to-night. B. I 
 would not go for all the world ; I shall warrant it is my 
 poor brother Wat ; who knows what these wild Irish may 
 have done to him ! 
 
 Amongst people less conversant in the manners of the 
 cottage than I have been, it may reasonably be suspected 
 that I am prone to magnify these vulgar superstitions, in 
 order to give countenance to several of them hinted at in 
 the ballads. Therefore, as this book is designed solely for 
 amusement, 1 hope I shall be excused for here detailing a 
 few more of them, which still linger amongst the wilds of 
 the country to this day, and which 1 have been an eye wit- 
 ness to a thousand times ; and from these the reader may 
 judge what they must have been in the times to which these 
 ballads refer. 
 
 In addition to the dead bell ; if one of the ears is at 
 any time seized with a glowing heat, which may very easily 
 happen, if exposed to a good fire, or a strong wind, they 
 straight conclude that some person is talking of them. 
 Tbej then turn to suck as are near them, and put the fol- 
 
lowing question; Right lug, left lug, whilk lug glows? 
 That person immediately guesseth ; and if it hit upon the 
 one that -glows, they say, " You love me better than they 
 who talk -of me;" and so conclude they are ill spoken of; 
 but if the guesser hits upon the wrong lug, they say, " You 
 love me worse than those that talk of me :" and rest satis- 
 fied that some person is saying good of them. When the 
 nostrils itch, they are sure to hear tell of some person be- 
 ing dead; and the death watch, the death tap, and the death 
 swap, which is a loud, sharp stroke, are still current; whilst 
 the belief in wraiths, ghaists, and bogles, is little or nothing 
 abated. 
 
 When they sneeze, on first stepping out of bed in the 
 morning, they are from thence certified that strangers will 
 be there in the course of the day, in number corresponding 
 to the times which they sneeze ; and if a feather, a straw, 
 or any such thing, be observed hanging at a dog's nose, or 
 beard, they call that a guest, and are sure of the approach 
 of a stranger. If it hang long at the dog's nose, the visi- 
 tant is to stay long ; but if it falls instantly away, the per- 
 son is only to stay a short time. They judge also, from the 
 length of this guest, what will be the size of the real one, 
 and, from its shape, whether it will be a man or a woman ; 
 and they watch carefully on what part of the floor it drops, 
 as it is on that very spot the stranger will sit. And there 
 is scarcely a shepherd in the whole country, who, if he gets 
 one of his flock dead on the sabbath, is not from thence 
 certified that he will have two or three more in the course 
 of the week. During the season that the ewes are milked, 
 the bught door is always carefully shut at even ; and the 
 reason they assign for this is, that when it is negligently 
 left open, the witches and fairies never miss the opportuni- 
 ty of dancing in it all the night. Nothing in the world can 
 be more unnatural than this supposition; 'for the bught i 
 
commonly so foul, that they are obliged to wade to the 
 ancles in mud, consequently the witches could not find a 
 more inconvenient spot for dancing, on the whole farm. 
 Many, however, still adhere to that custom; and I was 
 once present when an old shoe was found in the -blight that 
 Done of them would claim, and they gravely and rationally 
 concluded that one of the witches had lost it, while dancing 
 in the night. When any of them eat an egg, as soon as 
 they have emptied it of its contents, they always crush the 
 shell. An English gentleman asked Mr William Laidlaw, 
 why the Scots did that? He, being well acquainted with 
 the old adage, replied, " That it was for fear the witches 
 got them to sail over to Flanders in." " What though they 
 should," said he, " are you so much afraid that the witches 
 leave you ?" 
 
 Whether it proceeds from a certain habit of body in the 
 cattle, from their food, or what is the fundamental cause of 
 it, I cannot tell ; but the milk of whole herds of cows is 
 liable at times to a strange infection, whereby it is convert- 
 ed into a tough jelly as soon as it cools from the udder, and 
 is thus rendered loathsome and unfit for use. This being a 
 great loss and grievance to the owner, k will scarcely be 
 believed, that there are very many of the families in Et- 
 trick and its vicinity, and some most respectable ones, who 
 have, at some period in the present age, been driven to use 
 very gross incantations for the removal of this from their 
 cattle, which they believe to proceed from witchcraft. The 
 effects of these are so apparent on the milk in future, and 
 so well attested, that the circumstance is of itself sufficient 
 to stagger the resolution of the most obstinate misbeliever 
 in witchcraft, if not finally to convert him. I am not so 
 thoroughly initiated into this mystery as to describe it mi- 
 nutely; but, in the first place, a fire is set on, and sur- 
 rounded with green turfs, in which a great number of pins 
 
rire stuck. A certain portion of the milk of each cow, so 
 infected, is then hung on in a pot, with a horse' shoe, ahd a 
 black dish, with its mouth downward, placed in it. The 
 doors are then carefully shut, and the milk continues to 
 boil ; and the first person that comes to that house after- 
 wards, is always blamed for the mischief. But the poor old 
 women are generally suspected. There are, besides, a 
 number of other remarks, too tedious, and too common, to 
 be minutely described here : such as, spilling salt on the 
 ground, or milk in the fire ; suffering the dish-water to boil, 
 without putting a peat in it ; shavings at candles; thirteen 
 in a. company, &c. ; all which are ominous, or productive 
 of their particular effecls. oMany are spt to despise their 
 poor illiterate countrymen for these weak and superstitious 
 notions ; but I am still of opinion, that, in the circum- 
 stance of their attaching credit to them, there is as much 
 to praise as to blame. Let it be considered, that their 
 means of information hav^ not been adequate to the re- 
 moval of these ; while, on the other hand, they have been 
 used to hear them related, and attested as truths, by the 
 very persons whom they were bound, by all the laws of na- 
 ture and gratitude, to reverence and believe, 
 
 An 1 ay whan passengers bye tear gaun, 
 Adoolftf 'Voice camfrae the mill-ec 
 On Saturday 's night, when the clock struck one, 
 Cryng, " Rob Riddle, hae mercy on me" 
 
 P. 19. v. 1. 
 
 In addition to this cry of despair, which was sometimes 
 beard from the mill, it was common for the ghost to go down 
 to the side of the mill-dam at a certain hour of the night, 
 calling out, " Ho, Rob Riddle, come home to your supper, 
 your sowens are cold !" To account for this, tradition adds, 
 that the miller confessed, at his death, that the pedlar cajua 
 
30 
 
 down to the mill to inform him that it was wearing late, 
 and that he must come home to his supper, and that he 
 took that opportunity to murder him. At other times it 
 was heard crying, in a lamentable voice, " O saw ye ought 
 ef John Waters? Nobody has seen John Waters ! w This, 
 it seems, was the pedlar's name. 
 
 The place was harassed, the mill &ts laid waste. 
 
 P. 19. v. g. 
 
 To such a height did the horror of this apparition arrive 
 in Ettrick, that it is certain there were few in the parish 
 who durst go to, or by the mill, after sun-set; but, unlike 
 many of the country bogles, who assume a variety of fan- 
 tastical shapes, this never appeared otherwise than in the 
 shape of a pedlar, with a green pack on his back : and so 
 simple and natural was his whole deportment, that few ever 
 suspected him for the spirit, until he vanished away. He 
 once came so near two men in the twilight, that they fami- 
 liarly offered him snuff, when he instantly sunk into the 
 earth, and left his companions in a state of insensibility. 
 
 But the minister there was a bodie c? skill, 
 Nae feared for devil or spirit was he. 
 
 P. 19. v.4. 
 
 The great and worthy Mr Boston was the person who 
 is said to have laid this ghost; and the people of Ettrick 
 are much disappointed at finding no mention made of it in 
 his memoirs ; but some, yet alive, have heard John Corry, 
 tvho was his servant, tell the following story : One Satur- 
 day afternoon, Mr Boston came to him, and says, u John, 
 you must rise early on Monday, and get a kilnful of oats 
 dried before day." " You know very well, master," said 
 John, " that I dare not for my breath go to the mill before 
 day."" John/' said he, " I tell you to go, and I will an- 
 
swer for it, that nothing shall molest you" John, who re- 
 vered his master, went away, determined to obey ; but that 
 very night, said John, he went to the mill, prayed with the 
 family, and staid very late, but charged them not to men- 
 tion it. On Monday morning, John arose at two o'clock, 
 took a horse, and went to the mill, which is scarcely a mile 
 below the kirk; and, about a bow-shot west of the mill, 
 Mr Boston came running by him, buttoned in his great 
 coat, but was so wrapt in thought, that he neither percei- 
 ved his servant nor his horse. When he came home at 
 even, Mr Boston says to him, " Well, John, have you seen 
 the pedlar?" "No, no, sir," said John, " there was no- 
 thing troubled me; but I saw that you were yonder befo.rf 
 me this morning." " I did not know that you saw me," 
 said he, " John, nor did I wish to be seen ; therefore, say 
 nothing of it/' This was in March, and in May following 
 the mill was repaired, when the remains of the pedlar and 
 his pack were actually found, and the hearts of the poor 
 people set at ease : for it is a received opinion, that, if the 
 body, or bones,, or any part of a murdered person is found, 
 the ghost is then at rest, and that it leaves mankind to find 
 out the rest. I shall only mention another instance of this : 
 There is a place below Yarrow Kirk, called Bell's Lakes, 
 which was for a great number of years the terror of the 
 whole neighbourhood, from a supposition that it was haunt- 
 ed by a ghost : I believe the Bogle of Bell's Lakes has 
 been heard of through a great part of the south of Scot- 
 land. It happened at length, that a man and his wife were 
 casting peats at Craighope-head, a full mile from the lakes; 
 and coming to a loose place in the morass, his spade slip- 
 ped lightly down, and stuck fast in something below ; but 
 judge of their surprise, when, on pulling it out, a man's 
 head stuck on it, with long auburn hair, and so fresh that 
 every feature was distinguishable. This happened in the 
 
author's remembrance ; and it was supposed that it was the 
 head of one Adam Hyslop, who had evanished about forty 
 years before, and was always supposed to have left the 
 country; since that discovery, however, Bell's Lakes has 
 been as free of bogles as any other place. 
 
 He prayed, an' he read, an' he sent them to bed; 
 Then the bible anunder his arm took he, 
 
 An! round an f round the mill-house he gaed. 
 To try if this terrible sight he could see. 
 
 P. 19. v. 5. 
 
 A similar story to this of Mr Boston and the pedlar, is 
 told of a contemporary of his, the Reverend Henry Davie- 
 son, of Gallashiels. The ghost of an old wicked laird of 
 Buckholm, in that parish, who had died a long time pre- 
 vious to that period, so haunted and harassed the house, 
 that they could not get a servant to stay about it. Where- 
 upon, in compliance with the earnest intreaties of the fami- 
 ly, Mr Davieson went up one night to speak to and rebuke 
 it. After supper, he prayed with the family, and then 
 charged them all, as they valued their peace, to go quietly 
 to their beds. This injunction they all obeyed ; but one 
 lady lay down without undressing, and, from a small aper- 
 ture in the partition, which separated her chamber from 
 the apartment in which he was left, watched all his mo- 
 tions. She said, that he searched long in the bible, and 
 folded down leaves' at certain places. He then kneeled, 
 and prayed; and afterwards taking the bible, and putting 
 his fingers in at the places he had marked, he took it below 
 his arm, and went out ; thai, prompted by curiosity, she fol- 
 lowed him, unperceived, through several of the haunted lanes; 
 that she sometimes heard him muttering, but saw nothing. 
 When he came to his chamber, he acted the same scene 
 *ver again, and she followed him at a distance round all 
 
33 
 
 tUo town as before. That when he came to his chamber 
 die third time, he prayed with greater fervency than ever; 
 and when he rose, and took the bible to go out, his looks 
 were so stern and severe, that she was awed at the very 
 sight of them; and, on following, him out of the court-yard, 
 she was seized with an involuntary, terror, and fled back to 
 her apartment. When the family assembled next morning 
 to prayers, he conjured them to tell him who of them were 
 out of bed last night ; and, the rest all denying, the lady 
 confessed the whole, " I knew," said- he, " there was some- 
 body watching, me,, at which L was troubled ; but it was 
 lucky for you that you did not follow me the third time ; 
 for, had you seen what I saw, you had never been .yourself 
 again : but you may now safely go out and in, up. stairs and 
 down stairs, at all hours of the night, for you will never 
 more be troubled with Old Buckholm." Whether tlrese 
 traditions have taken their origin from a much earlier pe- 
 riod, and, have, by, later, generations, been brought down and 
 ascribed to these well known characters ; or, whether these 
 worthy men, in commiseration of the ideal sufferings of 
 their visionary parishioners, have really condescended to 
 these sham watchings, it is not now easy to determine. 
 But an age, singular as that was for devotion, would readily 
 be as much so for superstition ; for, even to this day, the 
 country people, who have the deepest sense of. religion, are 
 always those who believe most firmly in supernatural agen* 
 cy. 
 
 Yet certain it is, from that day to this,. 
 
 The millers of Thirlestane ne'er have done weeL 
 
 P. 21. v. 5, 
 
 Though a pretext can scarcely be found in the annals of 
 superstition sufficient to authorise the ascribing of this to 
 the murder of the pedlar, so oSany ages before, yet the mis- 
 
fortunes attending the millers of Thirlstane are so obvious, 
 as to have become proverbial : and when any of the neigh- 
 bours occasionally mention this, along with it the murder 
 of the pedlar is always hinted at. And it is scarcely thirty 
 years since one of the millers was tried for his life for 
 scoring a woman whom he supposed a witch. He had long 
 suspected her as the cause of all the misfortunes attending 
 him, and, enticing her into the kiln one Sabbath evening, he 
 seized her forcibly, and cut the shape of the cross on her 
 forehead : This they call, scoring aboon the breath, which 
 overthrows their power of doing them any further mischief, 
 
 And afterwards they in full council agreed, 
 That Rob Riddle he richly deserved to dee. 
 
 P. 23. v. 5. 
 
 This alludes to an old and very common proverb, " That 
 uch a one will get Jcddart justice :" which is, first to hang 
 a man, and then judge whether he was guilty or not. 
 
GILMANSCLEUCH. 
 
 FOUNDED UPON AN ANCIENT FAMILY TRADITION. 
 
 WHAIR ha'e ye laid the goud, Peggye, 
 
 Ye gat on New-Yeir's day ? 
 I lookit ilka day to see 
 Ye d rest in fine array ; 
 
 " But nouther kirtle, cap, nor gowne, 
 
 To Peggye has come hame ; 
 Whair ha'e ye stowed the gowde, dochter i 
 I feir ye have heen to blame." 
 
 " My goud it was my ain^ father ; 
 
 A gift is ever free ; 
 And when I neid my goud agene, 
 Can it be tint to me ? 
 
ff O ha'e ye sent it to a friend ? 
 
 Or lent it to a fae ? 
 Or gi'en it to some fause leman, 
 To hreid ye mickle wae ?" 
 
 # I ha'e na' sent it to a friend,. 
 
 Nor lent it to a fae, 
 And never man, without your ken, 
 Sal cause my joye or wae; 
 
 * x I.ga'e it to a poor auld man, 
 
 Came shivering to the dore ; 
 And when I heard his waesome tale 
 I wust my treasure more^" 
 
 if What was the beggar's tale, Peggy e ; 
 
 I fairi wald hear it o'er ; 
 I fain wald hear that wylie tale 
 That drained thy little store.'' 
 
 " His hair was like the thistle doune, 
 His cheeks were furred wi ? tyme, 
 His beard was like a bush of lyng, 
 When silvered o'er wi' ryme ; 
 
37 
 
 " He lifted up his languid eye, 
 
 Whilk better days had seen ; 
 And ay he heaved the mournfu' sye^ 
 While saut teirs fell atween. 
 
 " He took me by the hands, and saide, 
 
 While pleasantly he smiled, 
 O weel to you., my little flower, 
 That blumes in desart wilde - r 
 
 :f And may ye never feel the waes 
 
 That lang ha'e followit me ; 
 Bereivit of all my gudes and gear^ 
 My friends and famiJyec. 
 
 " In Gilmanscleuch, beneath the heuch,, 
 
 My fathers lang did dwell ; 
 Ay fonnost, uader bauld Buccleuchy 
 A foreign fae to quell.. 
 
 ff Ilk petty robber, through the lands, 
 
 They taucht to stand in awe ; 
 And aften checked the plundrin' bands 
 Of famous Tushilaw. 
 
38 
 
 But when the bush was in the flush, 
 
 And fairer there was nane, 
 Ae blast did all its honours crush. 
 And Gilmanscleuch is gane ! 
 
 " I had ane brither, stout and trew, 
 
 But furious, fierce, and keen ; 
 Ane only sister, sweet and young, 
 Her name was luvly Jean. 
 
 " Hir hair was like the threads of goud, 
 
 Hir cheeks of rosy hew, 
 Hir eyne war like the huntin' hawks 
 That owr the cassel flew, 
 
 44 Of fairest fashion was hir form, 
 
 Hir skin the driven snaw, 
 That's drifted by the wintery storm 
 On lofty Gilman's-law. 
 
 " Hir face a smile perpetual wore, 
 
 Her teeth were ivorie, 
 Hir lips the little purple floure 
 That blumes on Baillie-lee. 
 
" But, mark ! what dool and care, fair maid, 
 
 For beauty's but a snare, 
 Young Jock of Harden her betrayed, 
 Whilk greeved us wonder sair. 
 
 " My brother Adam stormed and raged, 
 
 And swore in aungry mood, 
 
 Either to right his dear sister, 
 
 Or shed the traytor'<s blood. 
 
 " I kend his honor fair and firm, 
 And didna doubt his faithe, 
 But being youngest of seven brethren, 
 To marry he was laith. 
 
 " When June had decked the braes in gf ene, 
 
 And flushed the forest tree ; 
 When young deers ranne on ilka hill, 
 And lambs on ilka lee ; 
 
 " A shepherd frae our mountains hied, 
 
 Ane ill death mot he dee ! 
 f O master, master, haste,' he cried, 
 ' O haste alang wi' me ? 
 
40 
 
 * Our ewes are banished frae the glen, 
 
 Their lambs ar drawn away, 
 The fairest raes on Eldin braes 
 Ar Jock of Harden's prey. 
 
 ' His hounds are ringing through your woods, 
 
 And manye deer ar slaine ; 
 A herd is fled to Douglas-Craig, 
 Will ne'er return againe, 
 
 4 Your brother Adam, stout and strong, 
 
 I warned on yon hill-side ; 
 And he's awa to Yarrow's banks, 
 As fast as hee can ride/ 
 
 " O ill betide thy haste, young man ! 
 
 Thou micht ha'e tald it me ; 
 Thou kend, to hunt on all my lande, 
 The Harden lads were free. 
 
 " Gae, saddel me my milk-white steed, 
 
 Gae, saddel him suddenly; 
 To Yarrow banks I'll hie wi' speed, 
 This bauld huntir to see. 
 
41 
 
 <e But, low, low down, on Sundhop broom,, 
 
 My brother Harden spyd ; 
 And, with a stern and furious look, 
 He up to him did ride. 
 
 ( Was't not enough, thou tray tor strong, 
 
 My sister to betray : 
 That thou shouldst scare my feebil ewes, 
 And chase their lambs away f 
 
 4 " Thy hounds ar ringing through our woods, 
 
 Our choizest deers ar slaine ; 
 And hundreds fledd to Stuart's hills, 
 Wull ne'er returne againe.' 
 
 4 It setts thee weel, thou haughty e youth, 
 
 To bend such taunts on me \ 
 Oft ha'e you hunted Aikwood hills^ 
 And no man hindered thee/ 
 
 But wilt thou wedd my dear sister r 
 
 Now tell me aye or nay.' 
 % Nae questions will I answer thee, 
 
 That's speerit in sic a way. 
 
f Tak this for truth, I ne'er meant ill 
 
 To nouther thee nor thine/ . 
 Then spurrit his steed against the hill, 
 Was fleeter than the-hynde. 
 
 4< He set a buglet to his mouth, 
 
 And blew baith loud and cleir; 
 A sign to all his merry men 
 Their huntin to forbear. 
 
 * O turn thee, turn thee, trayter strong ;' 
 
 Cried Adam bitterlie ; 
 ' Nae haughtye Scott, of Harden's kin, 
 
 Sal proodlye scool on me. 
 
 ' Now draw thy sword, or gi'e thy word, 
 
 For one of them I'll have, 
 Or to thy face I'll thee disgrace, 
 And ca' thee coward knave/ 
 
 f< He sprang frae aff his coal-black steed, 
 
 And tied him to a wande ; 
 Then threw his bonnet aff his head, 
 And drew his deidlye brande. 
 
" And lang they foucbt, and sair they foucht, 
 
 Wi' swords of mettyl kene, 
 Till clotted blud, in mony a spot, 
 Was sprynkelit on the grene. 
 
 4( And lang they foucht, and sair they foucht, 
 
 For braiver there war nane ; 
 Braive Adam's thye was baithit in blud, 
 And Harden's culler baue. 
 
 " Though Adam was baith stark and gude, 
 
 Nae langer cou'd he stande ; 
 His hand claive to his hivvye sword, 
 His nees plett lyke the w r ande. 
 
 *' He leanit himsel agenst ane aek, 
 Nae mair cou'd act his parte ; 
 A wudman then sprang frae the brume, 
 And percit young Harden's herte. 
 
 " Bein yald and stout, he wheelit about, 
 
 And kluve his heid in twaine; 
 Then calmlye laide him on the grene, 
 Niver to ryse againe. 
 
44 
 
 <f I raid owr heicht, I raid through ho we, 
 
 And ferr outstrippit the wynde, 
 And sent my voyce the forest throw, 
 But naething cou'd I fynde. 
 
 
 '"* And whan I came, the dysmal syghte 
 
 Wad melt an herte of stane ! 
 My bother fent and bleiden laye, 
 Young Harden neiiiy gane. 
 
 ' And art thou there, O Gilmanscleuch ! 
 
 Wi' faltren tongue he cried, 
 Hadst thou arrivit tyme eneuch,. 
 Thy kinsmen hadna died. 
 
 ' Be kind unto thy sister Jean, 
 
 Whatever may betide ; 
 This nycht [ memr, at Gilmauscleuch^ 
 To maik of hir my bride : 
 
 s But this sad fraye, this fatal daye, 
 
 May breid baith dule and payne, 
 My freckle brithren ne'er will staye 
 Till they're avengit or slayne.' 
 
45* 
 
 The wudman sleeps in Sundhope-brume^ 
 
 Into a lowlye grave ; 
 Young Jock they bure to Harden's tome, 
 
 And layde him wi' the lave. 
 
 Thus fell that brave and cumlye youth, 
 Whose arm was like the steel; 
 
 Whose very look was opin truth, 
 Whose heart was trew and leel. 
 
 It's now full three-and-thirty zeirs 
 
 Syn that unhappye daye, 
 And late I saw his curnlye corpse 
 
 Without the leist dekaye : 
 
 The garland cross his breast aboon,, 
 
 Still held its varied hew; 
 The roses bloomed upon his shoon 
 
 As faire as if they grew. 
 
 I raised our vassals ane and a', 
 
 Wi' mickil care and pain. 
 Expecting Harden's furious sons 
 
 Wi' all their faither's train, 
 
" But Harden was a weirdly man, 
 
 A cunnin tod wa& he ; 
 He lockit his sons in prison strau&g, 
 And wi' him bore the key. 
 
 " And hee's awa to Holy Rood, 
 
 Amang our nobles a', 
 With bonnit lyke a girdel braid, 
 And hayre like Craighop snaw ; 
 
 " His coat was of the forest grene, 
 
 Wi' buttons lyke the moon ; 
 His breeks war of the gude buck-sky line,. 
 Wi' a' the hayre aboon. 
 
 " His twa-hand sword hang round his neck, 
 
 And rattled to his heel; 
 The rowels of his silver spurs, 
 Were of the Rippon steel ; 
 
 " His hose were braced wi' chains of aim,. 
 
 And round wi ? tassels bung, 
 At ilka tramp of Harden's heel 
 The royal arches rung. 
 
47 
 
 * The courtly nobles of the north 
 The chief with wonder eyed, 
 But Harden's form, and Harden's look, 
 Were hard to be denied. 
 
 Hee made his plaint unto our king^ 
 
 And magnified the deed ; 
 While high Buccleuch, with pith enouch, 
 
 Made Harden better speed. 
 
 Ane grant of all our lands sae fayre, 
 
 The king to him has gi'en, 
 And all the Scotts of Gilmanscleuck 
 
 War outlawed ilka ane. 
 
 The time I mist, and never wist 
 
 Of nae sic treacherye, 
 Till I got word frae kind Traquare, 
 
 The country shune to flee. 
 
 e For mee and mine nae friend wad fynd, 
 
 But fa' ane easy preye ; 
 While yet my brither weakly was, 
 And scarce could brook the way, 
 1 
 
48 
 
 ** Now I ha'e foucht in forreign fields,, 
 
 In mony a bluddy fray, 
 But langed to see my native hills 
 Afore my dying day. 
 
 " My brother fell in Hungarye, 
 When fighting by my side; 
 My luckless sister bore ane son, 
 But broke hir heart and dyed. 
 
 " That son, now a' my earthly care, 
 
 Of port and stature fine ; 
 He has thine eye, and is thy blood,, 
 As weel as he is mine. 
 
 " For me, I'm but a puir auld man, 
 
 That nane regairds ava; 
 The peaceful grave will end my care. 
 Where I maun shortly fa'." 
 
 I ga'e him a' my goud, father, 
 
 I gat on New- Year's day ; 
 , And welcomed him to Harden-ha', 
 With us a while to stay." 
 
* My sweet Peggye, my dear Peggye, 
 
 Ye ay were dear to me ; 
 For ilka bonnet-piece ye gave, 
 My love,, ye shall, ha'e three. 
 
 *' Auld Gilmanscleuch sal share wi' me 
 
 The table and the ha'; 
 We'll tell of a' our doughty deeds 
 At hame and far awa. 
 
 *" That yo*th, my hapless brother's son, 
 
 Who bears our eye and name, 
 Sal farm the lands of Gilmanscleuch, 
 While Harden halds the same. 
 
 '" Nae rent, nor kane, nor service mean, 
 
 I'll ask at him at a', 
 Only to stand at my ryht hand 
 When Branxholm gi'es the ca'. 
 
 te A Scott shou'd ay support a Scott,* 
 
 When sinking to decaye, 
 Till over a' the southlan' hills f * 
 
 We stretch our ample sway-." 
 c 
 
THE 
 
 FRAY OF ELIBANK. 
 
 This Ballad is likewise founded on a well known and, 
 well authenticated fact. I am only uncertain what 
 was the name of HARD EN'S son, who was taken 
 prisoner, and forced to marry MURRAY'S youngest 
 daughter; but he was either brother or nephew to 
 him who wUs slain in Yarrow by the SCOTTS of Gil- 
 mansdeuch. 
 
 O WHA hasna heard o' the bauld Juden Murray, 
 The lord o' the Elibank castle, sae -high ? 
 
 An' wha hasna heard o' that terrible hurry, 
 Whan Wattle o' Harden was catched wi' the kyef 
 
51 
 
 Auld Harden was ever the king o' gude fellows, 
 His tables were filled in the room an' the ha'; 
 
 But peace on the border, that thinned his keyloes, 
 And want for his lads, was the warst thing of a'. 
 
 i r oung Harden was bauld as the Persian lion, 
 And langed his skill and his courage to try ; 
 
 Stout Willie o' Fauldshope ae night he did cry on, 
 Frae danger or peril wha never wad fly. 
 
 r ' O Willie ! ye ken our retainers are mony, 
 Our kye they rout thin on the loan and the lee ; 
 
 A. drove we maun ha'e for our pastures sae bonny, 
 Or Harden's ae cow aince again we may see. 
 
 :f Fain wad I, but darena, gang over the border, 
 Buccleuch wad restrain us, and ruin us quite ; 
 
 He's bound to keep a' the wide marches in order; 
 Then where shall we gae, and we'll venture to- 
 night r" 
 
 r< O master ! ye ken how the Murray shave grundyou, 
 And aften caroused on your beef and your veal ; 
 
Yet, spite o' your wiles and your spies they have 
 
 shunned you, 
 A Murray is kittler to catch than the, diel! 
 
 <f Rough Juden o' Eli's grown doited and silly, 
 He fights wi' his women frae mornin' till e'en, 
 
 Yet three hunder gude kye has the thrifty auld billy, 
 As fair sleekit keyloes as ever was seen." 
 
 " Then, Willie, this night will we herry auld Juden : 
 Nae danger I fear while thy weapon I see : 
 
 That time when we vanquished the outlaw of Sowderr 
 The best o' his men were mishackered by thee. 
 
 " If we had his kye in the byres of Aekwood, 
 He's welcome to claim the best way he can ; 
 
 But sair he'll be puzzled his title to make good, 
 For a' he's a cunning and dexterous man." 
 
 Auld Juden he strayed by the side of a river, 
 When the watcher on Hanginshaw-law loud did 
 cry, 
 
 " Ho, Juden, take care ! or ye're ruined for ever, 
 The bugle of Aekwood has thrice sounded high/ 
 
* c Ha, faith !" then quo' Juden, " they're naething 
 
 to lippen, 
 
 I wonder sae lang frae a ploy they could cease ; 
 Gae, blaw the wee horn; gar my villains come 
 
 trippin' : 
 I- have o'er mony kye to get rested in peace." 
 
 With that a wee fellow came puffing and blawin', 
 Erae high Philip-cairn a' the gate he had run ; 
 
 " O Juden, be handy, and countna the lawin', 
 But warn well, and arm well, or else ye're undone ! 
 
 Young Wattie o' Harden has crossed the Yarrow, 
 Wi* mony a hardy and desperate man ; 
 The Hoggs and the Brydens have brought him to 
 
 dare you, 
 For the Wild Boar of Fauldshop he strides in the 
 
 van." 
 
 (( God's mercy-.!" quo' Juden, "'gae blaw the great 
 bugle ; 
 
 Warn Flora, Traquair, and the fierce Hollowlee. 
 We'll gi'e them afleg : but I like that cursed Hogg ill, 
 
 Nae devil in hell but I rather wad see. 
 
 
* f To him men in arms are the same thing as thistles; 
 
 At Ancram and Sowden his prowess I saw ; 
 But a bullet or arrow will suple his bristles, 
 
 And lay him as laigh as the least o' them a'." 
 
 The kye they lay down by the side of the Weel 
 On the Elibank craig and the Ashiesteel bourn ; 
 
 And ere the king's elwand came over the hill, 
 Afore Wat and his men rattled mony a horn. 
 
 But Juden, as cunning as Harden was. strong, 
 
 On ilka man's bonnet has placed a white feather; 
 And the night being dark, to the peel height they 
 
 thrang, 
 
 And sae closely they darned them amang the 
 deep heather. 
 
 Where the hrae it was steep, and the kye they did 
 wend, 
 
 And saii; for their pastures forsaken they strave/ 
 Till Willie o' Fauldshop, wi' half o' the men, 
 
 Went aff wi' a few to encourage the lave. 
 
55 
 
 Nae sooner was Willie gaae o'er the height. 
 Than up start the Murrays, and fiercely set on ; 
 
 And sic a het fight, in the ho we o' the night, 
 In the forest of Ettrick has hardly been known. 
 
 Soon weapons were clashing, and fire was flashing, 
 And red ran the blood, down the Ashiesteel bourn ; 
 
 The partieswerc shouting, the kye they were routing, 
 Confusion did gallop, and fury did burn. 
 
 But though weapons were clashing, and the fire it 
 
 was flashing, 
 Though the wounded and dying did dismally 
 
 groan ; 
 Though parties were shouting, the kye they came 
 
 routing, 
 And Willie o' Fauldshop drave heedlessly on 1 
 
 O Willie, O Willie, how sad the disaster ! 
 
 Had some kindly spirit but whispered your ear 
 " O Willie, return, and relieve your kind master, 
 
 Wha's fighting surrounded \vi' mony a spear." 
 
Surrounded he was ; but his hrave little band., 
 Determined, unmoved as the mountain they stood ; 
 
 In hopes that their hero was coming to hand, 
 Their master they guarded in streams of their 
 blood. 
 
 In vain was their valour, in vain was their skill, 
 In vain has young Harden a multitude slain, 
 
 By numbers o'erpowered they were slaughtered at 
 
 will, 
 And Wattie o 7 Harden was prisoner ta'en. 
 
 His hands aud his feet they ha'e bound like a sheep, 
 And away to the Elibank tower they did hie, 
 
 And they locked him down in a dungeon sae deep, 
 And they bade him prepare on the morrow to die 
 
 Though Andrew o' Langhop had fa'n i' the fight, 
 He only lay still till the battle was bye ; 
 
 Then ventured to rise, and climb over the height, 
 And there he set up a lamentable cry. 
 
" Ho, Willie o' Fauldshop ! Ho, all is warected ! 
 
 Ho ! what's to come o' you ? or whar are ye gane ? 
 Your friends they are slaughtered, your honour 
 suspected, 
 
 And Wattie o' Harden is prisoner ta'en." 
 
 Nae boar in the forest, when hunted and wounded ; 
 
 Nae lion or tiger bereaved of their prey, 
 Did ever sae storm, or was ever sae stounded, 
 
 As Willie, when warned o* that desperate fray. 
 
 He threw off his jacket, wi' harnass well lined ; 
 
 He threw off his bonnet well belted wi' steel ; 
 And off he has run, wi' his troopers behind, 
 
 To rescue the lad that they likit sae weel. 
 
 But when they arrived on the Elibank green, 
 The yett was shut, and the east grew pale; 
 
 They slinkit away, wi' the tears i' their een, 
 To tell to Auld Harden their sorrowfu' tale. 
 
 Though Harden was grieved, he durst venture nae 
 
 further, 
 But left his poor sou to submit to his fate 5 
 
58 
 
 " If I lose him/' quo' he, " I can soon get another^ 
 But never again wad get sic an estate,* 
 
 Some say that a stock was begun that night, 
 But I canna tell whether 'tis true or a lie, 
 
 That muckle Jock Ballantyne, time of the fight. 
 Made off wi' a dozen of Elibank kye. 
 
 Brave Robin o' Singly was killed i' the stoure, 
 And Kirkhope, and VVhitsled, and young Baileylee ; 
 
 Wi' Juden, baith Gatehop and Flora fell o'er, 
 And auld Ashiesteel gat a cut on the knee. 
 
 And mony a brave fellow,, cut off in their bloom, 
 Lie rotting in cairns on the craig and the steele ; 
 
 Weep o'er them, ye shepherds, how hapless their 
 
 doom ! 
 Their natures how faithful, undaunted and leel! 
 
 The lady o' Elibank rase wi' the dawn, 
 
 And she wakened auld Juden, and to him did say 
 
 a Pray, what will ye do wi' this gallant young man ?" 
 " We'll hang him," quo' Juden, " this very same 
 day." 
 
Wad ye hang sic a brisk and a gallant young heiiy 
 And has three hamely daughters ay suffering ne- 
 glect ? \ 
 
 Though laird o' the best o' the Forest sae fair, 
 He'll marry the warst for the sake of his neck. 
 
 " -Despise not the lad for a perilous feat; 
 
 He's a friend will bestead you, and stand by you still ; 
 The laird maunha'e men, and the men maun ha'e meat, 
 
 And the meat maun be had, be the danger what 
 will/' 
 
 Then Juden he leagh, and he rubbit his leg, 
 
 And he thought that the lady was perfectly right; 
 
 t( By heaven," said he, " he shall marry my Meg ! 
 I dreamed, and I dreamed o' her a' the last night. >? 
 
 Now Meg was but thin, an' her nose it was lang ; 
 
 And her mou' was as mucEle as muckle could be ; 
 Her een they war grey, and her colour was wan, 
 
 But her nature was generous, gentle, and free; 
 
Her shape it was slender, her arms they were fine; 
 
 Her shoulders were clad wi' her lang dusky hair; 
 And three times mae beauties adorned her mind, 
 
 Then mony a ane that was three times as fair. 
 
 Poor Wat, wi' a guard, was brought into a ha', 
 Where ae end was black, and the ither was fair ; 
 
 There Juden's three daughters sat in a raw, 
 
 And himseP at the head in a twa-elbow chair : 
 
 ff Now, Wat, as ye're young, and I hope ye will 
 
 mend, 
 
 On the following conditions I grant ye your life, 
 Be shifty, be warie, be auld Juden's friend, 
 
 And accept of my daughter there, Meg, for your 
 wife. 
 
 *' And since ye're sae keen o' my Elibank kye, 
 Ye's ha'e each o' your drove ye can ken by the 
 
 head; 
 And if nae horned acquaintance should kythe to 
 
 your eye, 
 Ye shall wale half a score, and a bull for a breed. 
 
" My Meg, I assure you, is better than bonny; 
 
 I reade you in choicing, let prudence decide; 
 Then say whilk ye will ; ye are welcome to ony : 
 
 See, there is your coffin, or there is your bride." 
 
 " Lead on to the gallows, then/' Wattie replied ; 
 " I'm now in your power, and ye carry it high; 
 Nae daughter of yours shall e'er lie by my side ; 
 
 A Scott, ye maun mind, counts it naething to die." 
 
 m 
 
 " Amen ! then," quo' Juden, " lead on to the tree, 
 Your raid ye shall rue wi' the loss of your breath* 
 
 My Meg, let me tell ye, is better than thee ; 
 How dare ye, sir, rob us, and lightly us baith I" 
 
 When Wat saw the tether drawn over the tree, 
 His courage misga'e him, his heart it grew sair; 
 
 He watch'd Juden's face, and he watched his ee r 
 But the devil a scrap of reluctance was there. 
 
 He fand the last gleam of his hope was a fadin'; 
 
 The fair face of nature nae mair he wald see. 
 The coffin was set, where he soon must be laid in ; 
 
 His proud heart was humbled he fell on his 
 knee ! 
 
62 
 
 *' O sir, but ye're hurried ! I humbly implore ye 
 To grant me three days to examine my mind ; 
 
 To think on my sins, and the prospect before me^ 
 And balance your offer of freedom sae kind." 
 
 ** My friendship ye spurned ; my daughter ye 
 
 scorned ; 
 
 This minute in air ye shall flaff at the spauld : 
 A preciouser villain my tree ne'er adorned ; 
 
 Hang a rogue when he's young, he'll steal nane 
 when he's auld." 
 
 " O sir,, but 'tis hard to dash me in eternity 
 Wi' as little time to consider my state." 
 
 * { I swear, then, this hour shall my daughter be 
 
 married t' ye, 
 Or else the next minute submit to your fate." 
 
 But Wattie now fand he was fairly warang, 
 That marriage to death was a different case. 
 
 " What matter," quo' he, " though her nose it be 
 
 , lang? 
 It will ay keep her ae bieldy side of a face, 
 
63 
 
 " To fondle, or kiss her, I'll never be fain, 
 
 Or lie down beside her wi' nought but my sark ; 
 
 But the fiist, if I please, I can let it alane ; 
 And cats they are all alike grey in the dark, 
 
 " What though she has twa little winkling een? 
 
 They're better than nane, and my life it is sweet: 
 And what though her inou' be the maist I ha'e seen? 
 
 Faith, muckle-mou'd fock ha'e a luck for their 
 meat." 
 
 That day they were wedded., that night they were 
 bedded, 
 
 And Juden has feasted them gayly and free; 
 But aft the bridegroom has he rallied and bladded, 
 
 What faces he made at the big hanging tree. 
 
 He swore that his mou' was grown wider than Meg's ; 
 
 That his face frae the chin was a half a yard high ;. 
 That it struck wi' a palsy his knees and his legs ; 
 
 For a' that a Scott thought it naething to die ! 
 
" There's toothing," he said, *< I more highly ap- 
 prove 
 
 Than a rich forest laird to come stealing my kye; 
 Wad Branxholm and Thirlestane come for a drove, 
 
 I wad furnish them wives in their bosoms to lie." 
 
 So Wattie took Meg to the Forest sae fair, 
 
 And they lived a most happy and peaceable life : 
 
 The langer he kend her, he lo'ed her the mair, 
 For a prudent, a virtuous, and sensible wife. 
 
 And muckle good blood frae that union has flowed, 
 And mony a brave fellow, and mony a brave feat ; 
 
 I darna just say they are a' muckle mou'd, 
 
 But they rather have a' a good luck for their meat. 
 
NOTES 
 
 THE FRAY OF ELIBANK. 
 
 zvha hasna heard o 1 the bauld Juden Murray^ 
 The lord ojTthe Elibank castle, so high? 
 
 P. 50. v. 1. 
 
 Sir Gideon Murray \vas ancestor of the present Lord Eli- 
 bank. The ruins of his huge castle still stand on the side 
 of a hill, overhanging the Tweed, in the shire of Selkirk. 
 Lovei Traquair, who was then Murray, Philliphaugh, Flora, 
 and Sundhope, were all kinsmen of his; and there is a tra- 
 dition extant, that all the land betwixt Tweed and Yarrow 
 once pertained to the potent name of Murray. If so, their 
 possessions must have bordered a great way with Harden's. 
 The castle of Aekwood, or Oakwood, the baronial residence 
 of the latter, stands on the Ettrick, about eight miles south 
 of Elibank. The other places mentioned, are all in that 
 neighbourhood. 
 
Stout Willie of Fa&ldshcp ae night he did cry on, 
 Frae danger or peril wha never wad fly. 
 
 P. 51. v. 2. 
 
 This man's name was William Hogg, better known by the 
 epithet of The Wild Boar of Fauldshop. Tradition reports 
 him as a man of unequalled strength, courage, and ferocity. 
 He was Harden's chief champion, and in great favour with 
 his master, until once, by his temerity, he led him into a 
 ^crape that had well nigh cost him his life. It was never 
 positively said what this scrape was, but there is reason to 
 suppose it was the Fray of Elibank. 
 
 The Hoggs and the Brydens have brought him to dare you, 
 
 P. 53. v. 3. 
 
 The author's progenitors possessed the lands of Faulds- 
 hop, under the Scotts of Harden, for ages ; until the extra- 
 vagance of John Scott occasioned the family to part with 
 them. They now form part of the extensive estates of 
 Buccleugh. Several of their wives were supposed to be 
 rank witches ; and it is probable that the famous witch of 
 Fauldshop was one of them, who so terribly hectored Mr 
 Michael Scott, by turning him into a hare, and hunting him 
 with his own dogs, until forced to take shelter in his own 
 jaw-hole. The cruel retaliation which he made in showing 
 his art to her, is also well known. It appears also, that 
 some of the Hoggs had been poets before now, as there is 
 still a part of an old song extant relating much to them 
 Observe how elegantly it flows on : 
 
 And the rough Hoggs of Fauldshop, 
 That wear both wool and hair ; 
 
 There's nae sic Hoggs as Fauldshop's. 
 In all Saint Boswell's fair. 
 
And afterwards, near the end : 
 
 But the hardy Hoggs of Fauldshop, 
 
 For courage, blood, and bane ; 
 For the Wild Boar of Fatildshop, 
 
 Like him was never nane. 
 If ye reave the Hoggs of Fauldshop, 
 
 Ye herry Harden's gear ; 
 But the poor Hogga of Fauldshop 
 
 Have had a stormy year, 
 
 The Brydens, too, have long been a numerous and re- 
 spectable olan in Ettrick forest and its vicinity. 
 
 So Wattle took Meg to the Forest saefair. 
 
 P. 64. v. 2. 
 
 Though Elibank is in the shire of Selkirk, as well a 
 Oakwood, yet, originally, by Ettrick Forest, was meant only 
 the banks and environs of the two rivers, Ettrick and Yar 
 row. 
 
MESS JOHN. 
 
 THIS is a very popular story about Ettrick Forest, 
 as well as a part of Aimandale and Tweeddale, and is 
 always told with the least variation, both by young 
 and old, of any legendary tale I ever heard. It seems, 
 like many others, to be partly founded on facts, with 
 a great deal of romance added ; for, if 'tradition can 
 be in aught believed, the murder of the priest seems 
 well attested : but I do not know if any records men- 
 tion it. His sirname is said to have been Binram, 
 though some suppose that it was only a nickname ; 
 and the mount, under which he was buried, still re- 
 ta4ns the name of Binram's Corse. A gentleman of 
 that country, with whom I lately conversed, strove to 
 convince me that I had placed the era of the tale too 
 late, for that it must have had its origin from a much 
 
earlier age. But -when was there ever a more roman- 
 tic, or more visionary age, tban that to which this 
 ballad refers ? Besides, it is certain, that the two he- 
 roes, Dobson and Dun, 'whom every one allows to 
 have been the first who had the courage to lay hold 
 on the lady, and to have slain the priest, skulked 
 about the head of Moflfat water during the heat of 
 the persecution, which they both survived, * And An- 
 drew Moore, who died at Ettrick about 26 years ago, 
 at a great age, often averred, that he had, in his 
 youth, seen and conversed with many people, who 
 remembered every circumstance of it, both as to the 
 murder of the priest, and the road being laid waste 
 by the woman running at night with a fire-pan, or, as 
 some call it, a globe of fire, on her head. This singu- 
 lar old man could repeat by heart every old ballad 
 which is now published in the " Minstrelsy of the 
 Border," except three, with three times as many; 
 and from him, Auld Maitland, with many ancient 
 songs and tales, still popular in that country, are de- 
 rived. 
 
 If I may then venture a conjecture at the whole of 
 this story, it is nowise improbable that the lass of 
 Craigyburn was some enthusiast in religious matters, 
 or perhaps a lunatic ; and that, being troubled with a 
 sense of guilt, and a squeamish conscience, she had, 
 on that account, made several visits to Saint Mary's 
 
70 
 
 Chapel to obtain absolution : and it is well known, 
 that many of the Mountain-men wanted only a hair 
 to make a tether of. Might they not then frame this 
 whole story about the sorcery, on purpose to justify 
 their violent procedure in the eyes of their country- 
 men, as no bait was more likely to be swallowed at 
 that time ? But, however it was, the reader has the 
 story, in the following ballad, much as I have it. 
 
MESS JOHN. 
 
 MESS JOHN stood in St Mary's kirk, 
 And preached and prayed so mightilie, 
 
 No priest nor bishop through the land, 
 Could preach or pray so well as he : 
 
 The words of peace flowed from his tongue, 
 His heart seemed rapt with heavenly flame, 
 
 And thousands would the chapel throng, 
 So distant flew his pious fame. 
 
 His face was like the rising moon,, 
 Imblushed with evening's purple dye ; 
 
 His stature like the graceful pine 
 That grew on Bourhop hills so high. 
 
72 
 
 Mess John lay on his lonely couch, 
 And now he sighed and sorely pined ; 
 
 A smothered flame consumed his heart, 
 And tainted his capacious mind. 
 
 It was not for the nation's sin, 
 
 Nor kirk oppressed, that he did mourn ; 
 'Twas for a little earthly flower 
 
 The bonny Lass of Craigyburn. 
 
 Whene'er his eyes' with her's did meet, 
 They pierced his heart without reinede; 
 
 And when he heard her voice so sweet, 
 Mess John forgot to say his creed. 
 
 " Curse on our stubborn law," he said, 
 " That chains us back from social joy; 
 
 Those sweet desires, by nature lent, 
 I cannot taste without alloy ! 
 
 " Give misers wealth, and monarchs power; 
 Give heroes kingdoms to o'erturn ; 
 
 Give sophists talents depths to scan-- 
 Give me the lass of Craigyburn/' 
 
73 
 
 Pale grew his cheek, and howe his 
 His holy zeal, alas ! is flown ; 
 
 A priest in love is like the grass, 
 That fades ere it be fairly grown 
 
 When thinking on her cherry lip, 
 Her maiden bosom fair and gay, 
 
 Her limbs, the ivory polished fine, 
 
 His heart, like wax, would melt away ! 
 
 He tried the sermons to compose, 
 He tried it both by night and day; 
 
 But all his lair and logic failed, 
 
 His thoughts were ay on bonny May. 
 
 He said the creed, he sung the mass, 
 And o'er the breviary did turn ; 
 
 But still his wayward fancy eyed 
 The bonny lass of Craigyburn. 
 
 One day, upon his lonely couch 
 He lay, a prey to passion fell ; 
 
 And aft he turned and aft he wished 
 What 'tis unmeet for me to tell. 
 D 
 
74 
 
 A. sudden languor chilled his blood, 
 And quick o'er all his senses flew ; 
 
 But what it was, or what the cause, 
 He neither wished to know, nor knew : 
 
 But first he heard the thunder roll, 
 And then a laugh of malice keen; 
 
 Fierce whirlwinds shook the mansion-walls, 
 And grievous sobs were heard between : 
 
 And then a maid, of beauty bright, 
 With bosom bare, and claithing thin, 
 
 With many a wild fantastic air, 
 To his bedside came gliding in. 
 
 A silken mantle on her feet 
 
 Fell down in many a fold and turn, 
 
 He thought he saw the lovely form 
 Of bonny May of Craigyburn ! 
 
 Though eye and tongue and every limb 
 Lay chained as the mountain rock, 
 
 Yet fast his fluttering pulses played, 
 AS thus the enticing demon spoke : 
 
ef Poor heartless man ! and wilt thou lie 
 
 A prey to this devouring flame ? 
 That thou possess not honny May, 
 None but thyself hast thou to blame. 
 
 " You little know the fervid fires 
 
 In female breasts that burn so clear; 
 The forward youth of fierce desires, 
 To them is most supremely dear. 
 
 " Who ventures most to gain their charms, 
 
 By them is ever most approved ; 
 The ardent kiss, and clasping arms, 
 By them are ever best beloved. 
 
 " Then mould her form of fairest wax, 
 
 With adder's eyes, and feet of horn : 
 Place this small scroll within its breast, 
 Which I, your friend, have hither borne. 
 
 *' Then make a blaze of alder wood, 
 
 Before your fire make this to stand ; 
 And the last night of every moon 
 The bonny May's at your command. 
 
76 
 
 " With fire and steel to urge her weel, 
 
 See that you neither stint nor spare ^ 
 For if the cock he heard to crow. 
 The charm will vanish into ak." 
 
 Then bristly, bristly, grew her hair, 
 Her colour changed to hlack and blue ; 
 
 And broader, broader, grew her face, 
 Till with a yell away she flew ! 
 
 The charm was gone : Upstarts Mess John, 
 A statue now behold him stand ; 
 
 Fain, fain, he would suppose't a dream, 
 But, lo, the scroll is in his hand. 
 
 Read through this tale, and, as you pass, 
 You'll cry, alas, the priest's a man ! 
 
 Read how he used the bonny lass, 
 And count him human if you can. 
 
77 
 
 " O FATHER dear ! what ails my heart? 
 
 Ev'n but this minute I was well ; 
 And now, though still in health and strength, 
 I suffer half the pains of hell." 
 
 '" My honny May, my darling child, 
 111 wots thy father what to say ; 
 I fear 'tis for some secret sin 
 
 That heaven this scourge on thee doth lay; 
 
 *' Confess, and to thy Maker pray ; 
 
 He's kind ; be firm, and banish fear; 
 He'll lay no more on my poor child, 
 
 Than he gives strength of mind to bear/' 
 
 " A thousand poignards pierce my heart ! 
 
 I feel, I feel, I must away ; 
 
 Yon holy man at Mary's kirk 
 
 Will pardon, and my pains 
 
 I mind, when, on a doleful night, 
 A picture of this black despair 
 
 Was fully opened to my sight, 
 A vision bade me hasten there." 
 
*' O stay, my child, till morning dawn, 
 
 The night is dark, and danger nigh ; 
 Yon persecuted desperate bands 
 Will shoot thee for a nightly spy. 
 
 *" Where wild Polmoody's mountains tower, 
 
 Full many a wight their vigils keep : 
 Where roars the torrent from Loch-Skenfe, 
 
 A troop is lodged in trenches deep. 
 
 *' The howling fox and raving earn 
 
 Will scare thy reason quite away; 
 Regard thy sex, and tender youth, 
 
 And stay, my child, till dawning day." 
 
 ' I burn ! I rage ! my heart, my heart !" 
 
 Then, with a shriek, away she ran. 
 
 Hope says she'll lose her darkling way, 
 
 And never reach that hated man. 
 
 But lo ! ^a magic lanthorn bright 
 Hung on the birks of Craigyburn ; 
 
 She placed the wonder on her head, 
 Which shone around her like the sun. 
 
79 
 
 She ran, impelled by racking pain, 
 
 Through rugged ways and waters wild ; 
 
 Where art thou, guardian spirit, fled ? 
 Oh haste to save an only child ! 
 
 Hold ! he who doats on earthly things, 
 Tis fit their frailty should appear ; 
 
 Hold ! they who providence accuse, 
 Tis just their folly cost them dear. 
 
 The God who guides the gilded moon, 
 And rules the rough and rolling sea, 
 
 Without a trial ne'er will leave 
 A soul to evil destiny. 
 
 When crossing Meggat's highland strand, 
 She stopt to hear au eldritch scream ; 
 
 Loud crew the cock at Henderland, 
 The charm evanished like a dream! 
 
 The magic lanthorn left her head, 
 And darkling now return she must. 
 
 She wept, and cursed her hapless doom.; 
 She wept, and called her God unjust. 
 
80 
 
 But on that sad revolving day, 
 The racking pains again return \ 
 
 Ah, must we view a slave to lust, 
 The bonny lass of Craigybum? 
 
 Or see her to her father's hall, 
 Returning, rueful, ruined quite : 
 
 And still, on that returning day, 
 Yield to a monster'* hellish might f 
 
 No though harrassed, and sore distressed, 
 Both shame and danger she endured; 
 
 For heaven in pity interposed, 
 And still her virtue was secured. 
 
 But o'er the scene we'll draw a veil, 
 Wet with the tender tear of woe ; 
 
 We'll turn, and view the dire effects 
 From this nocturnal rout that flow : 
 
 For every month the -spectre ran, 
 With shrieks would any heart appal ; 
 
 Arid every man and mother's son, 
 Astonished fled at evening falL 
 
31 
 
 A bonny widow went at night 
 
 To meet the lad she loved so well ; 
 
 Ah, yon's my former husband's sprite ! !j 
 She said, and into faintings fell. 
 
 An honest taylor leaving work, 
 Met with the lass of Craigyburn ; 
 
 It was enough he breathed his last ! 
 One shriek had done the taylor's turn. 
 
 But drunken John of Keppelgill 
 Met with her on Carrifran gans ; 
 
 He, staggering, cried, " Who devil's that ?" 
 Then plashing on, cried, " Faith, God kens F J 
 
 A mountain preacher quat his horse, 
 
 And prayed aloud with lengthened phiz ; 
 
 The damsel yelled the father smelled 
 Dundee was but a joke to this. 
 
 Young Linton, in the Chapelhope, 
 Enraged to see the road laid waste, 
 
 Way-laid the damsel witn a gun, 
 But in a panic home was chaced. 
 
82 
 
 The Cameronians left their camp, 
 And scattered wide o'er many a bill ; 
 
 Pursued by men, pursued by hell, 
 They stoutly held their tenets still. 
 
 But at the source of Moffat's stream, 
 Two champions of the covenant dwell, 
 
 Who long had braved the power of men. 
 And fairly beat the prince of hell : 
 
 Armed with a gun, a rowan-tree rung, 
 
 A bible, and a scarlet twine, 
 They placed them on the Birkhill path, 
 
 And distant saw the lanthorn shine. 
 
 And nearer, nearer, still it drew, 
 
 At length they heard her piercing cries ; 
 
 And louder, louder, still they prayed, 
 With aching heart, and upcast eyes ! 
 
 The bible, spread upon the brae, 
 No sooner did the light illume, 
 
 Then straight the magic lanthorn fled,, 
 And left the lady in the gloom. 
 
With open book, and haggart look, 
 
 " Say what art thou ?" they loudly cry ; 
 * e I am a woman : let me pass, 
 
 Or quickly at your feet I'll die. 
 
 *'' O let me run to Mary's kirk, 
 
 Where, if I'm forced to sin and shame, 
 A gracious God will pardon me ; 
 My heart was never yet to blame.'* 
 
 -Armed with the gun, the rowan-tree rung, 
 The bible, and the scarlet twine, 
 
 With her they trudged to Mary's kirk, 
 This cruel sorcery out to find. 
 
 When nigh Saint Mary's isle they drew, 
 Rough winds and rapid rains began ; 
 
 The livid lightning linked flew, 
 
 And round the rattling thunder ran : 
 
 The torrents rush, the mountains quake-, 
 The sheeted ghosts run to and fro ; 
 
 And deep, and long, from out the lake^ 
 The Water-Cow w?ts heard to low. 
 
84 
 
 The mansion then seemed in a blaze, 
 And issued forth a sulphurous smell ; 
 
 An eldritch laugh went o'er their heads, 
 Which ended in a hellish yell. 
 
 Bauld Halbert ventured to the cell, 
 
 And, from a little window, viewed 
 The priest and Satan, close engaged 
 In hellish rites, and orgies lewd. 
 
 A female form of melting wax, 
 
 Mess John surveyed with steady eye, 
 
 Which ever and anon he pierced, 
 And forced the lady loud to cry. 
 
 Then Halbert raised his trusty gun, 
 Was loaded well with powder and ball : 
 
 And, aiming at the monster's head, 
 He blew his brains against the wall. 
 
 The devil flew with such a clap, 
 On door nor window did not stay; 
 
 And loud he cried, in jeering tone, 
 " Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor John's away !" 
 
85 
 
 East from the kirk and holy ground, 
 They bare that lump of sinful clay, 
 
 And o'er him raised a mighty mound, 
 Called Binram's Corse unto this day. 
 
 And ay when any lonely wight 
 
 By yon dark cleugh is forced to stray, 
 He hears that cry at dead of night, 
 (( Ha, ha, ha, ha, poor John's away," 
 
NOTES 
 
 MESS JOHN. 
 
 JUIcss John stood in Saint Mary's kirk. 
 
 P. 71. v. 1. 
 
 The ruins of St Mary's chapel are still visible, in a wild 
 scene on the banks of the lake of that name ; but the man* 
 sion in which the priest, or, as some call him, the curate, 
 lived, was almost crazed of late, for the purpose of build- 
 ing a stone-wail round the old church and burying-ground. 
 This chapel is, in some ancient records, called The Maiden 
 Kirk, and, in others, The kirk ofSt Mary of the Lou'cs. 
 
 His stature like the graceful pine, 
 That grezv on Bour hop- hills so high. 
 
 P. 71. v.3. 
 
 The hills of Bourhop, on the south side of the loch, op- 
 posite to the chapel, rise to the height of two thousand 
 feet above the sea's level, and were, like much of that 
 country, formerly covered with wood. 
 
sr 
 
 A silken mantle on her feet 
 
 Fell down in many a fold and turn. 
 
 P. 74. v. 4, 
 
 It is a vulgar received opinion, that, let the devii assume; 
 \vhat appearance be will, were it even that of an angel of 
 light, yet still his feet must be cloven ; and that, if he do not 
 contrive some means to cover them, they will lead to a dis- 
 covery of him and his intentions, which are only evil, and 
 that continually. It is somewhat curious, that they should 
 rank him amongst the clean beasts, which divide the hoof. 
 They believe, likewise, that he and his emissaries can turn 
 themselves into whatever shape they please, of all God's 
 creatures, excepting those of a lion, a lamb, and a dove. 
 Consequently their situation is the most perilous that can be 
 conceived ; for, when it begins to grow dark, they cannot be 
 sure, but almost all the beasts and birds they see arc either 
 deils or witches. Of cats, hares, and swine, they are parti- 
 cularly jealous; and a caterwauling noise hath often turned 
 men from going to see their sweethearts, and even from 
 seeking the midwife. And I knew a girl, who returned home 
 after proceeding ten miles on a journey, from the unlucky 
 and ominous circumstance of an ugly bird crossing the road 
 three times before her : Neither did her parents at all dis- 
 approve of what she had done. 
 
 You little know the fervid fires 
 
 In female breasts that burn so clear; 
 Thefrozcard youth, of fierce desires, 
 
 To them is most supremely dear : 
 Who -ventures most to gain their charms, 
 
 By them is ever .most approved; 
 The ardent kiss, and clasping arms, 
 
 JBy them are ever best beloved. P. 75. v. 2. 3. 
 Tf any of my fair readers should quarrel with the senti- 
 ments manifested in these two stanzas, they will recollect 
 
88 
 
 that they are the sentiments of a fiend ; who^ we must sup- 
 pose, was their mortal enem} r , and would not scruple to 
 paint their refined sensibility in very false colours, or, at 
 least, from a very wrong point of view. 
 
 Withjire and steel to urge her zceet, 
 See that you neither stint nor spare. 
 
 P. 76. v.l. 
 
 The story says, that the priest was obliged to watch the 
 picture very constantly ; and that always when the parts 
 next the fire began to soften, he stuck pins into them, ami 
 exposed another side ; that, when each of these pins were 
 stuck in, the lady uttered a piercing shriek ; and that, as their 
 number increased in the waxen image, her torment in- 
 creased, and caused her to haste on with amazing speed, 
 
 Where wild Polmoodifs mountains tower. 
 Full many a wight their vigils keep. 
 
 P. 78. v. 2. 
 
 The mountains of Polmoody, besides being the highest^ 
 are the most inaccessible in the south of Scotland ; and 
 great numbers, from the western counties, found shelter on 
 them during the heat of the persecution. Many of these, it 
 is supposed, were obliged to shift for their sustenance by 
 stealing sheep ; yet the country people, from a sense that 
 Necessity has no law, winked at the loss ; their sheep being, 
 in those days, of less value than their meal, of which they 
 would otherwise have been obliged to part with a share to 
 the sufferers. Part of an old ballad is still current in that 
 neighbourhood, which relates their adventures, and the dif- 
 ficulties they laboured under for want of meat, and in get- 
 ting hold of the sheep during the night. Some of the coun- 
 try people, indeed, ascribe these depredations to the perse- 
 cutors; but it is not likely that they would put themselves 
 
89 
 
 to so much trouble. I remember only a few stanzas of this 
 ballad, \vhich are as follows : 
 
 Caryfran Can's they're very strait, 
 We canna gang without a road; 
 
 But tak' ye the tae side, an' me the tither, 
 And they'll a' come in at Firthup Dod. 
 
 On Turnberry and Caryfran Can's, 
 And out among the Moodlaw haggs, 
 
 They worried the feck o' the laird's lambs, 
 And eatit them raw, arid buried the baggs. 
 
 Had Guernsey's Castle a tongue to speak, 
 
 Or mouth o' flesh, that it could fathom ; 
 It wad tell o' mony a supple trick, 
 
 Was done at the foot o' Rotten-boddom : 
 Where Donald, and his hungry men, 
 
 Oft hough'd them up \vi' little din; 
 And, mair intent on flesh than yarn, 
 
 Bure aff the bouk, and buried the skin. 
 
 This Guernseys is an extensive wild glen on the further 
 side of these mountains ; and being, in former times, used as 
 a common, to which many of the gentlemen and farmers of 
 Tweeddale drove their flocks to feed during the summer 
 months, consequently it would be, at that season, a very fit 
 place for a prey. The Donald mentioned may have been 
 
the famous Donald Cargill, a Cameronian preacher, of great 
 notoriety at the period. 
 
 Where roars the torrent from Lochskene, 
 
 A troop is lodged in trenches deep. P. 78. v. 2. 
 There are sundry cataracts in Scotland, called The Grey 
 Mare's Tail; in particular, one in the parish of Closeburn, 
 in Nithsdale; and one betwixt Stranraer and Newton- 
 Stewart : But that in Poimoody, on the border of Annan- 
 dale, surpasses them all ; as the water, with only one small 
 intermission, falls from a height of 3<?0 yards. This, with 
 the rocks overhanging it on each side, when the \vater is 
 flooded, greatly excels any thing I ever saw in awful gran- 
 deur. Immediately below it, in the straitest part of that 
 narrow pass which leads from Annandale into Yarrow, a 
 small strong entrenchment is visible. It is called by the 
 country people, The Giant's trench. It is in the form of an 
 octave, and is defended behind by a bank. As it is not 
 nearly so much grown up as those at Philipbaugb, it is pro- 
 bable, that a handful of the covenanters might fortify them- 
 selves there during the time that their brethren were in arms. 
 But it is even more probable, that a party of the king's 
 troops might be posted for some time in that important pass; 
 as it is certain, Claverhouse made two sweeping circuits of 
 that country, and, the last time, took many prisoners in the 
 immediate vicinity of this scene. May we not likewise sup* 
 pose, that the outrage committed at Saint Mary's kirk might 
 contribute to his appearance in those parts ? 
 
 Young Lint on in the Chapelhope, 
 
 Enraged to see the road laid waste. J*. 81. v. 5. 
 The Lintons were, in those days, and even till toward the 
 beginning of the last century, the principal farmers in all the 
 upper parts of Ettrick and Yarrow; yet such a singular re- 
 verse of fortune have these opulent families experienced, 
 
that there is now rarely one of the name to be found above 
 the rank of the meanest labourer. The Lin tons of Chapel- 
 hope either favoured or pitied the covenanters; for they fed 
 and sheltered great numbers of them, even to the impairing 
 of their 'fortunes. On Dundee's first approach to these parts, 
 Mrs Lin ton went out to the road, and invited him and all 
 his men to partake of a liberal refreshment, which they 
 thankfully accepted ; and this being a principal family, he 
 went away so thoroughly convinced of the attachment of 
 that neighbourhood to the royal cause, that a scrutiny was 
 not only, ?,t that time, effectually prevented, but the troops 
 returned no more there for many years, until the license 
 which they there enjoyed gathered such numbers as to be- 
 come quite notorious. The spots where conventicles were 
 Leld on these grounds, are still well known, and pointed out 
 by some devout shepherds, with anecdotes of the preachers, 
 or some of the principal characters. One can scarcely be- 
 lieve, but that Mr Graham had visited these spots, or was 
 present on them, when he wrote the following lines : 
 
 " O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they sought 
 
 The upland moors, where rivers, there but brooks, 
 
 Die part to different seas. Fast by such brooks, 
 
 A little glen is sometimes scooped; a plat 
 
 With green-sward gay, and flowers, that strangers seem 
 
 Amid the heathery wild, that all around 
 
 Fatigues the eye." 
 
 These lines, with the two following pages of the sweet poem in 
 which they occur, seem to be literal sketches of these scenes, as 
 well as a representation of the transactions which then took 
 place : For years more gloomy followed ; and, from these 
 " green-swards gay," they were driven into the " deep dells, by 
 rocks o'er-canopied." Thus, it was high up in Ryskinhope 
 where Rcnwicl^ preachcfl his last sermon, above the lakes, the 
 
sources of the Yarrow, where there is neither plat nor plain. 
 but linns and moors. When he prayed that day few of the 
 hearers* cheeks were dry. My parents were \vcll acquaint- 
 ed with a woman whom he there baptized. 
 
 But at the source of Moffat's stream^ 
 
 Two champions of the covenant dwelt; 
 Who long had braved the power of men, 
 
 And fairly beat the prince of hell. P. 82. v. 2. 
 
 These mens names were Halbert Dobson, and David Dun ; 
 better known by those of Hab Dob, and Davie Din. The 
 remains of their cottage is still visible, and sure never was 
 human habitation contrived on. such a spot. It is on the 
 very brink of a precipice, which is 400 feet perpendicular 
 height, whilst another of half that height overhangs it above. 
 To this they resorted, in times of danger, for a number of 
 years; and the precipice is still called DoVs linn. 
 
 There is likewise a natural cavern in the bottom of the 
 linn farther up, where they, with other ten, hid themselves 
 for several days, while another kept watch upon the Path- 
 know; and they all assembled at the cottage during the 
 night. 
 
 Tradition relates farther of these two champions, that, 
 while they resided at the cottage by themselves, the devil 
 appeared to them every night, and plagued them exceeding- 
 ly; striving often to terrify them, so as to make them throw 
 themselves over the linn. But one day they contrived a hank 
 of red yarn in the form of crosses, which it was impossible 
 the devil could pass; and, on his appearance at night, they 
 got in behind him, and attacked him resolutely with each a 
 bible in one hand, and a rowan-tree staff ia the other, and, 
 after a desperate encounter, they succeeded in tumbling him 
 headlong over the linn ; but, to prevent hurting himself, at 
 the moment he was overcome, he turned himself into a batch 
 of skins ! It was not those of stolen sheep we hope. Cre- 
 
uuiity has been the ruling passion of the Scots' at this time ? 
 else such a story never could have obtained the least credit ; 
 yet, it is said, these men were wont to tell it as long as they 
 lived, concluding it always with the observation, that the de- 
 vil had never more troubled them, as he found it was not 
 for his health. A short rhyme is still extant relating to this 
 singular tradition ; but which seems to have been composed 
 afterwards, as the linn is there called Dob's linn. It seems 
 not improbable, that the bard who composed the song above 
 quoted was likewise the author of this, for, like it, it is hard 
 to say whether it is serious or burlesque. 
 
 Little kend the wirrikow, 
 What the covenant could dow ! 
 What o' faith, an' what o r fen, 
 What o' might, an* what o' men ; 
 Or he had never shewn his face, 
 His reekit rags, and riven taes, * 
 To men o' mak, an' men o' mense, 
 Men o' grace, an' men o* sense: 
 For Hab Dob, and Davie Din, 
 Dang the deil owre Dob's linn. 
 
 Weir quo' he, an' weir quo' he; 
 Haud the bible till his e'e ; 
 Ding him owre, or thrush him down, 
 He's a fause deceitfu' lown !-^ 
 Then he owre him, an* he owre him, 
 He owre him, an' he owre him : 
 Habby held him griff and grim, 
 Davie threush him liff an' limb ; 
 
 * The " reekit duds, and reistit phiz," which Burns attri- 
 butes to the grand enemy of jnankind, is perhaps borrowed 
 from this popular rhyme. 
 
94 
 
 Till, like a bunch o' barkit skins, 
 Down flew Satan ower the linns. 
 
 After seeing this, the reader will not deny, that our cham- 
 pions " fairly beac the prince of hell/' 
 
 And deep and long, from out the lake, 
 
 The Water-Cow was heard to low. P. 83. v. 5. 
 In some places of the Highlands of Scotland, the inhabi- 
 tants are still in continual terror of an imaginary being, call- 
 ed The Water-Horse. When I was travelling over the ex- 
 tensive and dreary isle of Lewis, I had a lad of Stornoway 
 with me as a guide and interpreter. On leaving the shores 
 of Loch ftogg, in our way to Harries, we came to an inland 
 lake, called, I think, Loch Alladale; and, though our nearest 
 road lay alongst the shores of this loch, Malcolm absolutely 
 refused to accompany me by that way for fear of the Water- 
 Horse? of which he told many wonderful stories, swearing to 
 the truth of them ; and, in particular, how his father had 
 lately been very nigh taken by him, and that he had succeed- 
 ed in decoying one man to his destruction, a short time pre- 
 vious to that. This spectre is likewise an inhabitant of Loch 
 Aven at the foot of Cairngorm, and of Loch Laggan, in the 
 wilds betwixt Lochaber and Badenoch* Somewhat of a si- 
 milar nature seems to have been The Water-Cow, which, in 
 former times, haunted Saint Mary's loch, of which some ex- 
 tremelv fabulous stories are yet related; and, though rather 
 less terrible and malevolent than the Water-Horse, yet, like 
 him, she possessed the rare slight of turning herself into 
 whatever shape she pleased, and was likewise desirous of 
 getting as many dragged into the lake as possible. Andrew 
 Moore, above-mentioned, said, that, when he was a boy, his 
 parents would not suffer him to go to play near the loch for 
 fear of her ; and that he remembered of seeing her once 
 coming swimming towards him and his comrades in the even- 
 
ing twilight, but they all fled, and she sunk before reaching 
 the side. A farmer of Bourhope once got a breed of her, 
 which he kept for many years, until they multiplied exceed- 
 ingly ; and he never had any cattle throve so well, until 
 once, on some outrage or disrespect on the farmer's part to- 
 wards them, the old dam came out of the lake one pleasant 
 March evening, and gave such a roar, until all the surround- 
 ing hills shook again ; upon which her progeny, nineteen in 
 number, followed her all quietly into the loch, and were ne- 
 ver more seen. 
 
 Which forced the lady loud to cry. P. 84. v. 3. 
 After the subject of a ballad is fairly introduced, qreat 
 particularity is disgusting; therefore, the lass of Craigyburn, 
 after this line, is no more mentioned : But the story adds, 
 that she died of a broken heart, and of the heats which she 
 got in being forced to run so fast. Another tradition, which 
 I heard more lately, says, that she was conveyed secretly to 
 a nunnery in Ireland, and that her father, whose name was 
 Nicolson, afterwards lived in Craikbcck. 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH 
 
 O-P 
 
 DOUGLAS, LORD OF LIDDISDALE. 
 
 THE first stanza of this Song, as well as the history 
 of the event to which it refers, is preserved by Hume 
 of Godscroft in his history of the House of Douglas. 
 The author having been successful in rescuing some 
 excellent old songs from the very brink of oblivion, 
 searched incessantly many years after the remains of 
 this, until lately, by mere accident, he lighted upon a 
 few scraps, which he firmly believes to have formed a 
 part of that very ancient ballad. The reader may 
 judge for himself. The first verse is from Hume ; 
 and all those printed within brackets are as near the 
 original as rhyme and reason will permit. They are 
 barely sufficient to distinguish the strain in which the 
 old song hath proceeded. 
 
THE 
 
 DEATH 
 
 OF 
 
 DOUGLAS, LORD OF LIDDISDALE, 
 
 THE Lady Douglas left her bower, 
 
 An* ay sae loud as she did call, 
 ( 'Tis all for gude Lord Liddisdale 
 
 That I do let these tears down fall." 
 
 [" O haud your tongue, my sister dear, 
 
 An' o' your weepin' let me be : 
 
 Lord Liddisdale will haud his ain 
 
 Wi' ony Lord o' Chrystendie. 
 
98 
 
 " For him ye widna weep or whine 
 
 If you had seen what I did see,] 
 That day he broke the troops o' Tyne, 
 Wi's gilded sword o' metal free. 
 
 * f Stout Heezlebrae was wonder wae 
 To see his faintin' vassals yield ; 
 An' in a rage he did engage 
 Lord Liddisdale upon the field* 
 
 c A vaunt, thou haughty Scot/ he cry'd, 
 ' Nor dare to face a noble fae; 
 Say wilt thou brave the deadly brand, 
 And heavy hand of Heezlebrae . ?J 
 
 " The word was scarcely mixt wi' air, 
 
 When Douglas' sword his answer gac ; 
 An' frae a wound, baith deep and sair, 
 Out fled the soul o' Heezlebrae. 
 
 a Mad Faucet next, wi' wounds transfixt, 
 
 In anguish gnaw'd the bloody clay ; 
 Then Hallinshed he wheil'd an' fled, 
 An' left his rich, ill-gotten prey. 
 
99 
 
 <f I ha*e been west, I ha'e been east, 
 I ha'e seen dangers many a ane; 
 But for a bauld and dauntless breast, 
 Lord Liddisdale will yield to nane, 
 
 " An' were I call'd to face the foe, 
 
 An' bidden chuse my leader free ; 
 Lord Liddisdale would be the man 
 Should lead me on to victory. 
 
 [" O haud your tongue, my brother John ! 
 
 Though I have heard you patientlie, 
 Lord Liddisdale is dead an' gone, 
 An' he was slain for love o' me. 
 
 " My little true an' trusty page 
 
 Has brought the heavy n'ews to me, 
 That my ain lord did him engage 
 
 Where he could nouther ficht nor flee. 
 
 fe Four o' the foremost men he slew, 
 
 An' four he wounded despratelie ; 
 But cruel Douglas came behind, 
 
 An' ran him through the fair bodie.] 
 
100 
 
 <f O wae be to the Ettrick wood ! 
 
 O wae be to the banks of Ale ! 
 O wae be to the dastard croud 
 
 That murder'd handsome Liddisdale ! 
 
 [f e It wasna rage for Ramsey slain 
 
 That rais'd the deadly feid sae hie ;] 
 Nor perjur'd Murray's timeless death 
 It was for kindness shewn to me. 
 
 [" When I was led through Liddisdale, 
 An' thirty horsemen guarding me ; 
 When that gude lord came to my aid, 
 Sae soon as he did set me free !] 
 
 " The wild bird sang, and woodlands rang. 
 
 An' sweet the sun shone on the vale ; 
 Then thinkna ye my heart was wae 
 To part wi' gentle Liddisdale. 
 
 " But I will greet for Liddisdale, 
 
 Until my twa black een rin dry ; 
 An' I will wail for Liddisdale, 
 As lang as I ha'e voice to cry. 
 
101 
 
 ** An* for that gude lord I will sigh 
 
 Until my heart an* spirit fail ; 
 An', when I die, O bury me 
 On the left side of Liddisdale." 
 
 (f Now haud your tongue, my sister dear, 
 
 Your grief will cause baith dule an' shame. 
 Since ye were fause, in sic a cause, 
 The Douglas' rage I canria blame." 
 
 fe Gae stem the bitter norlan' gale ; 
 
 Gae bid the wild wave cease to rowe; 
 I'll own my love for Liddisdale 
 Afore the king, my lord, an' you," 
 
 He drew his sword o' stained steel, 
 While neid-fire gleam'd frae ilka eye, 
 
 Nor pity, nor remorse did feel, 
 Till dead she at his feet did lye, 
 
 " O cruel man ! what ha'e I done ? 
 
 I never wrong'd my lord nor thee ; 
 I little thought my brother John 
 Could ha'e the heart to murder me*" 
 
102 
 
 Sunk was her een, her voice was gane, 
 Her bonny face was pale as clay, 
 
 Her hands she rais'd to heaven for grace ; 
 Then fainted, sunk, and died away. 
 
 He dight his sword upon the ground ; 
 
 Wi' tentless glare his een did rowe, 
 Till fixing on the throbbing wound 
 
 That stain'd her breast of purest snow, 
 
 He cry'd, " O lady, fause an' fair ! 
 
 Now thou art dead and I undone ! 
 I'll never taste of comfort raair, 
 
 ]S T or peace of mind, aneath the sun ! 
 
 Owr mountains, seas, an' burnin' 
 
 I'll seek the plains of Italie; 
 Then kneel in Judah's distant land, 
 
 An' syne come back an' sleep wi' thee/' 
 
WILLIE WILKIN. 
 
 The real name of this famous warlock 'was Johnston ; 
 how he came to acquire that of IVilkin I can get no 
 information, though his name and his pranks are 
 well known in Annandale and Nithsdale. He see?ns 
 to have been an abridgement of Mr Michael Scott ; 
 but, though his powers were exhibited on a much more 
 narrow scale, they were productive of actions yet more 
 malevolent. 
 
 THE glow- worm goggled on the moss 
 
 When Wilkin rode away, 
 And much his aged mother fear'd/ 
 
 But wist not what to say. 
 
104 
 
 For near the change of every moon, 
 
 At deepest midnight tide, 
 He hied him to yon ancient fane 
 
 That stands by Kinnel side. 
 
 His thoughts were absent, wild his looks, 
 His speeches fierce and few ; 
 
 But who he met, or what was done, 
 No mortal ever knew. 
 
 " O stay at home, my only son ! 
 
 O stay at home with me ! 
 I fear Fm secretly forewarn'd 
 Of ills awaiting thee. 
 
 O 
 
 " Last night I heard the dead-bell sound, 
 
 When all were fast asleep ; 
 
 And ay it rung, and ay it sung, 
 
 Till all my flesh did creep. 
 
 (C And when on slumber's silken couch, 
 
 My senses dormant lay, 
 I saw a pack of hungry hounds, 
 Would make of thee their prey. 
 
105 
 
 With feeble step I ran to help, 
 Or death with thee to share ; 
 
 When straight you hound my hands and 
 And left me lying there. 
 
 c I saw them tear thy vitals forth ; 
 Thy life-blood dyed the way ; 
 I saw thy eyes all glaring red, 
 And closed mine for ay. 
 
 Then stay at home, my only son ! 
 
 O stay at home with me ! 
 Or take with thee this little book, 
 
 Thy guardian it shall be." 
 
 Hence, old fanatic, from my sight ! 
 
 What means this senseless whine? 
 I pray thee mind thine own affairs, 
 
 Let me attend to mine." 
 
 Alas, my son ! the generous spark 
 That warm'd thy tender mind 
 
 Is now extinct, and malice keen 
 Is only left behind. 
 
106 
 
 re How canst thou rend that aged heart 
 
 That yearns thy woes to share ? 
 Thou still hast been my only grief, 
 My only hope and care. 
 
 " Ere I had been one month a bride, 
 
 Of joy I took farewell ; 
 With Craigie, on the banks of Sark, 
 Thy valiant father fell. 
 
 " I nurs'd thee on my tender breast, 
 
 With nieikle care and pain; 
 And saw, witu pride, thy mind expand*. 
 Without one sordid stain. 
 
 " With joy, each night, I saw thee kneel 
 
 Before the throne of grace ; 
 And on thy Saviour's blessed day 
 Frequent his holy place. 
 
 fe But all is gone ! the vespers sweet 
 
 Which from our castle rose 
 Are silent now, and sullen pride 
 In hand with envy goes ! 
 
107 
 
 tf Thy wedded wife has sway'd thy heart 
 
 To pride and passion fell; 
 O ! for thy pretty children's sake, 
 Renounce that path of hell* 
 
 tf Then stay at home, my only son ! 
 
 O with thy mother stay ! 
 Or tell me what thou goest about. 
 That for thee I may pray." 
 
 He turn'd about, and hasted out, 
 
 And for his horse did call ; 
 " An hundred fiends my patience rend, 
 But thou excelFst them all." 
 
 She slipt beneath his saddle lap' 
 A book of psalms and pray'rs, 
 
 And hastened to yon ancient fane. 
 To listen what was there. 
 
 And when she came to yon kirk-yard, 
 Where graves are green and low, 
 
 She saw full thirty coal-black steeds 
 All standing in a row. 
 
108 
 
 Her Willie's was the tallest steed, 
 /Twixt Dee and Annan whole ; 
 But plac'd bi side that mighty rank, 
 He kyth'd but like a foal. 
 
 She laid her hand upon his side ; 
 
 Her heart grew cold as stone ! 
 The cold sweat ran from every hair, 
 
 He trembled every bone ! 
 
 She laid her hand upon the next, 
 
 His bulky side to stroak, 
 And ay she reach'd, and ay she stretch'd, 
 
 Was nothing all but smoke. 
 
 It was a mere delusive form 
 
 Of films and surphry wind ; 
 And every wave she gave her hand 
 
 A gap was left behind. 
 
 She pass'd through all those stately steeds, 
 
 Yet nothing marr'd her way, 
 And left her shape in every shade. 
 
 For all their proud array. 
 
109 
 
 But whiles she felt a glowing heat, 
 Though mutt'ring holy prayer; 
 
 And filmy veils assaiTd her face, 
 And stifling brimstone air. 
 
 Then for her darling desperate grown, 
 Straight to the aisle she flew; 
 
 But what she saw, and what she heard, 
 JSo mortal ever knew. 
 
 But yells, and moans, and heavy 
 And blackest blasphemye, 
 
 Did fast abound ; for every hound 
 Of hell seem'd there to be. 
 
 And after many a horrid rite, 
 
 And sacrifice prophane, 
 " A book ! a book !" they loudly howl'd ; 
 " Our spells are all in vain. 
 
 " Hu ! tear him, tear him limb from limb/' 
 Resounded through the pile, 
 
 " Hu ! tear him, tear him straight, for he 
 Has mock'd us all this while/ 1 
 
no 
 
 The tender matron, desperate grown, 
 
 Then shriek'd most bitterlye : 
 <e O spare my son, and take my life, 
 The book was lodg'd by me." 
 
 f< Ha ! that's my frantic mother's voice ! 
 
 My life or peace must end ; 
 O take her ! take her !" loud he cried, 
 " Take her, and spare thy friend I" 
 
 The riot rout then sallied out, 
 Like hounds upon their prey ; 
 
 And gathered round her in the aisle, 
 With many a hellish bray. 
 
 Each angry shade endeavours made 
 Their fangs in blood to stain, 
 
 But all their efforts to be felt 
 Were impotent and vain. 
 
 Whether the wretched mortal there 
 
 His filial hands embrued, 
 Or if the ruler of the sky 
 
 The scene with pity view'd, 
 
Ill 
 
 And sent the streaming bolt of heaven, 
 
 Ordained to interpose, 
 To take her life, and save her soul, 
 
 From these infernal foes, 
 
 No man can tell, how it befel ; 
 
 Enquiry all was vain; 
 But thence she never more returned, 
 
 She there that night was slain. 
 
 And Willie Wilkin's noble steed 
 
 Lay stiff upon the green. 
 A night so dire in Annandale 
 
 Before had never been ! 
 
 Loud thunders shook the vault of heaven, 
 
 The bolts with fury flew ; 
 The graves were plow'd, the rocks were riven ; 
 
 Whole flocks and herds it slew. 
 
 They gather'd up her mangled limbs, 
 
 And laid beneath a stone ; 
 But heart, and tongue, and every palin 
 
 From every hand were gone. 
 
112 
 
 Her brains were dash'd against the 
 
 Her blood upon the floor; 
 Her reverend head, with sorrows grey, 
 
 Hung on the chapel door. 
 
 To Auchincastle Wilkin hied, 
 
 On Evan braes so green ; 
 And liv'd and died like other men, 
 
 For aught that could be seen. 
 
 But gloomy, gloom} 7 was his look j 
 
 And froward was his way ; 
 And malice every action rul'd 
 
 Until his dying day . 
 
 And many a mermaid staid his call, 
 
 And many a mettled fay ; 
 And many a wayward spirit leaned 
 
 His summons to obey. 
 
 And many a wondrous work he wrought, 
 
 And many things fore laid ; 
 Much was he fear'd, but little lov'd, 
 
 By either young or old. 
 
NOTES 
 
 WILLIE WILKIN. 
 
 He hied him to yon ancient fane 
 
 That stands by Kinnel side. P. 104. v. 1; 
 The name of this ancient fane is Dumgree. It is beauti- 
 fully situated on the west side of the Kinnel, one of the 
 rivers which joins the Annan from the west, and is now in 
 ruins. It is still frequented by a few peaceable spirits at 
 certain seasons. As an instance : Not many years ago, a 
 neighbouring farmer, riding home at night upon a mare, 
 \vho, besides knowing the road well enough, had her foal 
 closed in at home, thought himself hard at his own house, 
 but was surprised to find that his mare was stopped at the 
 door of the old kirk of Dumgree. He mounted again, and 
 essayed it a second and a third time ; but aiways, when he 
 thought himself at home, he found himself at the door of 
 the old church of Dumgree, and farther from home than 
 
114 
 
 when he first set out. He was now sensible, that the beast 
 was led by some invisible hand, so alighting, he went into 
 the chapel and said his prayers ; after which, he mounted, 
 and rode as straight home as if it had been noon. If the 
 farmer had told his story to ray uncle Toby, he would cer- 
 tainly have whistled Lillabullero. 
 
 To Auchencastle Wilkin hied, 
 
 On Evan braes so green. P. 112. v. 2. 
 Auchencastle is situated on the west side of the Evan, 
 another of the tributary streams of the Annan. It seems 
 to have been a place of great strength and antiquity; is 
 surrounded by a moat and a fosse, and is, perhaps, surpass- 
 ed by none in Scotland for magnitude. 
 
 And lived and died like other men, 
 
 For aught that could be seen P. 112. v. 2. 
 If he lived and died like other men, it appears that he 
 was not at all buried like other men. When on his death- 
 bed, he charged his sons, as they valued their peace and 
 prosperity, to sing no requiem, nor say any burial-service 
 over his body ; but to put a strong withie to each end of 
 his Coffin, by which' they were to carry him away to Dum- 
 gree, and see that all the attendants were well mounted. 
 On the top of a certain eminence they were to set down, 
 the corpse and rest a few minutes, and if nothing interfe- 
 red they might proceed. If they fulfilled these, he promi- 
 sed them the greatest happiness and prosperity for four i$e- 
 Ficrations; but, if they neglected them in one point, the 
 utmost misery and wretchedness. The lads performed eve- 
 ry thing according to their father's directions ; and they had 
 scarcely well set down the corpse on the place he mention- 
 ed, when they were alarmed by the most horrible bellowing 
 of bulls ; and instantly two dreadful brindered ones appear- 
 ed, roaring^ and snuffing, and tossing up the earth with their 
 
115 
 
 horns and hoofs; on which the whole company turned and 
 fled. When the bulls reached the coffin, they put each of 
 them one of their horns into their respective withies, and 
 ran off with the corpse, stretching their course straight to 
 the westward. The relatives, and such as were well mount- 
 ed, pursued them, and kept nigh them for several miles; 
 but when they came to the small water of Brann, in Niths- 
 dale, the bulls went straight through the air from the one 
 hill head to the other, without descending to the bottom of 
 the glen. This unexpected manoeuvre threw the pursuers 
 quite behmd, though they need not have expected any thing 
 else, having before observed, that their feet left no traces 
 on the ground, though ever so soft. However, by dint of 
 whip and spur, they again got sight of them ; but when they 
 came to Loch Ettrick, on the heights of Cioseburn, they 
 had all lost sight of them but two, who were far behind : 
 but the bulls there meeting with another company, plunged 
 into the lake with the corpse, and were never more seen at 
 that time. Ever since, his spirit has haunted that loch, and 
 continues to do so to this day. 
 
 He was, when alive, very fond of the game of curling on 
 the ice, at which no mortal man could beat him ; nor has 
 his passion for it ceased with death ; for he and his hell- 
 ish confederates continue to amuse themselves with this 
 game during the long winter nights, to the great terror 
 and annoyance of the neighbourhood, not much regarding 
 whether the loch be frozen or not. I have heard sundry 
 of the neighbouring inhabitants declare, with the most se- 
 rious countenances, that they have heard them talking, and 
 the sound of the stones running alongst the ice and hit- 
 ting each other, as distinctly as ever they did when pre- 
 sent at a real and substantial curling. Some have heard 
 him laughing, others lamenting; and others have seen the 
 two bulls plashing and swimming about in the loch at 
 the close of the evening. In short, every one allows it 
 
116 
 
 to be a dangerous place, and a place where very many have 
 been affrighted ; though there is little doubt that, by ma- 
 king allowances for the magnifying qualities of fear, ail the 
 above might be accounted for in a natural way. Wilkin's 
 descendants are still known ; and the poorer sort of them 
 have often their great predecessor mentioned to them as a 
 term of reproach, whom they themselves allow to have 
 been an awesome body. 
 
THIRLESTANE. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 SIR ROBERT SCOTT, knight of Thirlestane, was 
 married to a lady of high birth and qualifica- 
 tions, whom he most tenderly loved ; but she, soon 
 dying, left him an only son. He was afterwards mar- 
 ried to a lady of a different temper, by whom he had 
 several children ; whose jealousy of the heir made Sir 
 Robert doat still more on this darling son. She, know- 
 ing that the right of inheritance belonged to him, 
 and that, of course, a very small share would fall to 
 her sons, seeing he loved the heir so tenderly, grew 
 every year more uneasy. But the building, and other 
 preparations which were going on at Gamescleuch, on 
 the other side of the Ettrick, for his accommodation 
 >n reaching his majority, when he was also to be mar- 
 
118 
 
 ried to a fair kinswoman, drove her past all patience, 
 and made her resolve on his destruction. The ma- 
 sonry of his new castle of Gamescleuch was finished 
 on his birth- day, when he reached his twentieth year, 
 but it never went farther. This being always a feast- 
 day at Thirlestane, the lady prepared, on that day, to 
 put her hellish plot in execution ; for which purpose^ 
 she had previously secured to her interest John Lally, 
 the family piper. This man, tradition says, procured 
 her three adders, of which they chose the parts re- 
 plete with most deadly poison ; these they ground to a 
 fine powder, and mixed with a bottle of wine. On 
 the forenoon before the festival commenced, he went 
 over to Gamescleuch to regale his workmen, who had 
 exerted themselves to get their work finished on that 
 day, and Lally the piper went with him as server. 
 When his young lord called for wine to drink a health 
 to the masons, John gave him a cup of the poisoned 
 bottle, which he drank off. Lally went out of the 
 castle, as if about to return home ; but that was the 
 last sight of him. He could never be found, nor heard 
 of, though the most diligent and extended search was 
 made for him. The heir swelled and burst almost 
 instantaneously. A large company of the then po- 
 tent name of Scott, with others, were now assembled 
 at Thirlestane to grace the festival ; but what a woe- 
 ful meeting it turned out to be ! They with one voice 
 
119 
 
 pronounced him poisoned ; but where to attach the 
 blame remained a mystery, as he was so universally 
 loved and esteemed. The first thing the knight cau- 
 sed to be done, was blowing the blast on the trumpet 
 or great bugle, which was the warning for all the fa- 
 mily instantly to assemble, which they did in the 
 court of the castle. He then put the following ques- 
 tion : " Now, are we all here ?" A voice answered 
 from the crowd, " We are all here but Lally the pi- 
 per/' Simple and natural as this answer may seem, 
 it served as an electrical shock to old Sir Robert. It 
 is supposed that, knowing the confidence s which his 
 lady placed in this menial, the whole scene of cruelty 
 opened to his eyes at once ; and the trying conviction, 
 that his peace was destroyed by her most dear to 
 him, struck so forcibly upon his feelings, that it to- 
 tally deprived him of reason. He stood a long time 
 speechless, and then fell to repeating the answer which 
 he received, like one half awakened out of a sleep; 
 nor was he ever heard, for many a day, to speak an- 
 other word than these, " We're all here but Lally the 
 piper :" And when any one accosted him, whatever 
 was the subject, that was sure to be the answer he re- 
 ceived. 
 
 The method which he took to revenge his son's 
 death was singular and unwarrantable : He said, that 
 the estate of right belonged to his son, and since he 
 
120 
 
 could not bestow it upon him living, he would spend 
 it all upon him now he was dead ; and that neither 
 the lady nor her children should ever enjoy a farthing 
 of that which she had played so foully for. The body 
 \vas accordingly embalmed, and lay in great splen- 
 dour at Thirlestane for a year and a day ; during all 
 which time Sir Robert kept open house, welcoming 
 and feasting all who chose to come, and actually 
 spent or mortgaged his whole estate, saving a very 
 small patrimony in Eskclale-muir, which belonged to 
 his wife. Some say, that while all the country who 
 chose to come were thus feasting at Thirlestane, she 
 remained shut up in a vault of the castle, and lived 
 on bread and water. 
 
 During the three last days of this wonderful feast, 
 the crowds which gathered were immense ; it seemed 
 as if the whole country were assembled at Thirle- 
 stane. The butts of wine were carried to the open 
 fields, the ends knocked out of them with hatchets, 
 stones, or whatever came readiest to hand, and the 
 liquor carried about " in stoups and in caups." On 
 these days the burn of Thirlestane ran constantly red 
 with wine, and even communicated its tincture to the 
 river Ettrick. The family vault, where- his corpse 
 was interred in a leaden chest, is under the same roof 
 with the present parish church of Ettrick, and dis- 
 tant from Thirlestane about a Scots mile. To give 
 
121 
 
 some idea of the magnitude of the burial, the old 
 people tell us, that though the whole way was crowd* 
 ed with attendants, yet, when the leaders of the pro- 
 cession reached the church, the rearmost were not 
 nearly got from Thirles-ane. 
 
 Sir Jlobert, shortly after dying, left his family in a 
 state little short of downright beggary, which, they 
 say, the lady herself came to before she died. As Sir 
 Robert's fmt lady was of the family of Harden, some 
 suspected him of having a share in forwarding the 
 knight's desperate procedure. Certain it is, however, 
 he did not, in this instance, depart from the old fami- 
 ly maxim, " Keep what you have, and catch what you 
 can," but made a noble hand of the mania of grief 
 which so overpowered the faculties of the old baron ; 
 for when accounts came to be cleared up, a large pro- 
 portion of the lands turned out to be Harden's. And 
 it is added, on what authority I know not, that when 
 the extravagance of Sir William Scott obliged the 
 Harden family to part with these lands, the purcha- 
 sers were bound, by the bargain, to refund these lands, 
 should the Scotts of Thirlestane ever make good their 
 right to them, either by law or redemption. 
 
 The nearest lineal descendant from this second mar- 
 riage is one Robert Scott, a poor man who lives at 
 the Binks on Teviot, whom the generous Bucdeuch 
 has taken notice of and provided for. He is com- 
 F 
 
122 
 
 | 
 
 monly distinguished by the appellation of Rob^ the 
 Laird, from the conviction of what he would have 
 been had he got fair play. With this man, who is 
 very intelligent, I could never find an opportunity of 
 conversing, though I sought it diligently. It is said, 
 Jhe can inform as to many particulars relating to this 
 sad catastrophe ; and that, whenever he has occasion 
 to mention a certain great predecessor of his, (the la- 
 dy of Thirlestane) he distinguishes her by the un- 
 couth epithet of the d d b h. It must be re- 
 marked, that I had access to no records for the pur- 
 pose of ascertaining the facts above stated, though I 
 believe they are for the most part pretty correct. 
 Perhaps much might be learned by applying to the 
 noble representative of the family, the Honourable 
 Lord Napier, who is still possessed of the beautiful 
 mountains round Thirlestane, and who has it at pre- 
 sent in contemplation to rebuild and beautify it ; 
 which may God grant him health and prosperity to 
 accomplish. It is to this story that the following 
 fragment relates. 
 
THIRLESTANE. 
 
 , 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 FER, fer hee raide, and fer hee gaed, 
 
 And aft he sailit the sea ; 
 And tlirise he crossit the Alpyne hills 
 
 To distant Italic. 
 
 Beyon Lough-Ness his tempil stude, 
 
 Ane ril of meikle fame ; 
 A knight of gude Scant John's hee was, 
 
 And Baldwin was his name. 
 
 By wonderous lore hee did explore 
 What after Lymes wald bee ; 
 
 And manie mystic links of fate 
 He hafflins culd fursee. 
 
124 
 
 Fer, fer hee raide, and fer hee gaed, 
 
 Owr mony hill and dale ; 
 Till, passing through the fair foreste, 
 
 He learnit a waesom tale. 
 
 Wher Ettrick wandirs down a plain, 
 
 With lofty hills belay't, 
 The staitly towirs of Thirlestane 
 
 With wundir hee surveyt. 
 
 Black hung the bannir on the wall ; 
 
 The trumpit seimit to grane ; 
 And reid, reid ran the bonny burn, 
 
 Whilk erst like siller shone. 
 
 At first a noise like fairie soundis 
 
 He indistinctly heard; 
 Then countless, countless were the crouds 
 
 Whilke round the walls appeir'd. 
 
 Thousands of steids stood on the hill, 
 
 Of sable trappings vaine ; 
 And round on Ettricks baittle haughs 
 
 Grew no kin kind of graine. 
 
125 
 
 Hee gazit, he wonderit, sair he fearit 
 
 Sum recent tragedie ; 
 At lenth he spyit ane woeful wight 
 
 Gaun droopin on the ley. 
 
 His beard was silverit owr wi' eild ; 
 
 Pale was his cheek wae-worn ; 
 His hayre was like the muirland wild 
 
 On a December morn. 
 
 ff Haile, revirent brither," Baldwin said, 
 " Here, in this unco land, 
 A temple warrior greets thee well, 
 And offers thee his hand. 
 
 ff O tell me why the peepill murn? 
 
 Sure all is not for gude : 
 And why, why does the bonnie burn 
 Rin reid wi' Christian blude ?" 
 
 Aid Beattie turnit and shuke his heid, 
 
 While down fell mony a teir; 
 tf O wellcom, wellcom, sire/' he 
 " Ane waesum tale to heire : 
 
126 
 
 '' The gude Sir Robert's sonne and airc 
 
 By creuel handis lyis slain ; 
 And all his wide domains, so fair, 
 To ither lords ar gane. 
 
 f On sik ane youth as him they mourn, 
 
 The sun did never shine ; 
 Instead of Christian blude, the burn 
 Rins reid wi' Renis wine, 
 
 " This is the sad returnin day 
 He first beheld the light ; 
 This is the sad returnin day 
 He fell by cruel spite. 
 
 tf And on this day, with pomp and pride, 
 
 From hence you'll see him borne; 
 And his poor faith er sad return 
 Of landis and onuris shorne. 
 
 " Come to my littill chambir still, 
 
 In yonder turret low ; 
 We'll say our praiers for the dead, 
 And for the leeving too. 
 
127 
 
 And when thou hast a free repast 
 Of wheat bread and the wine, 
 
 My tale shall weet thy onest cheeks., 
 As oft it has dune mine." 
 
LORD DERWENT. 
 
 A FRAGMENT* 
 
 WHY look ye so pale, my lord ? 
 
 And why look ye so wan ? 
 And why stand mounted at your gate, 
 
 So early in the dawn ?" 
 
 ff O well may t look pale, lady ; 
 
 For how can I look gay, 
 When I have fought the live-long night. 
 And fled at break of day." 
 
 (f And is the border troop arrived ? 
 
 And have they won the day f 
 It must have been a bloody field, 
 Ere Derwent fled away. 
 
129 
 
 " But where got ye that stately steed, 
 
 So stable and so good I 
 And where got ye that gilded sword, 
 So dyed with puiple blood }" 
 
 " I got that sword, in bloody fray, 
 
 Last night on Eden downe ; 
 I got the horse, and harnass too, 
 Where mortal ne'er got one." 
 
 t Alight, alight, my noble lord ; 
 God mot you save and see ! 
 For never, till this hour, was I 
 Afraid to look on thee." 
 
 He turned him to the glowing east, 
 
 That stained both tower and tree : 
 " Prepare, prepare, my lady fair, 
 Prepare to follow me. 
 
 t Before this dawning day shall close, 
 
 A deed shall here be done, 
 That men unborn shall shrink to hear. 
 
 And dames the tale shall shun. 
 r 
 
130 
 
 fg The conscious morning blushes deep, 
 
 The foul intent to see. 
 Prepare, prepare, my lady fair, 
 Prepare to follow me." 
 
 " Alight, alight, my noble lord, 
 
 I'll live or die with thee ; 
 I see a wound deep in your side, 
 And hence you cannot flee/' 
 
 She looked out o'er her left shoulder 
 
 To list a heavy groan ; 
 But when she turned her round" again, 
 
 Her noble lord was gone. 
 
 She looked to east, and west, and south, 
 
 And all around the tower ; 
 Through house and hall, but man nor horse 
 
 She never could see more. 
 
 She turned her round, and round about, 
 
 All in a doleful state ; 
 And there she saw her little foot page 
 
 Alighting at the gate. 
 
 
131 
 
 " Oil ! open, open, noble dame, 
 
 And let your servant in ; 
 Our furious foes are hard at hand, 
 The castle fair to win." 
 
 " But tell me, Billy, where's my lord f 
 
 Or whither is he bound ? 
 He's gone just now, and in his side 
 A deep and deadly wound." 
 
 " Why do you rave, my noble dame. 
 
 And look so wild on me ? 
 Your lord lies on the bloody field, 
 And him you'll never see. 
 
 " With Scottish Jardine, hand to hand, 
 
 He fought most valiantly, 
 Put him to flight, and broke his men, 
 With shouts of victory. 
 
 " But Maxwell rallying, wheeled about, 
 
 And charged as fierce as hell ; 
 Yet ne'er could pierce the English troop 
 Till my brave master fell. 
 
132 
 
 " Then all was gone ; the ruffian Scot 
 
 Bore down our flying band ; 
 And now they waste, with fire and sword, 
 The Links of Cumberland. 
 
 " Lord Maxwell's gone to Carlisle town, 
 
 With Jardine bold and true; 
 And young Kilpatrick and Glencairn 
 Are come in search of you." 
 
 i How dare you lie, my little page, 
 
 Whom I pay meat and fee ? 
 The cock has never crowed but once 
 Since Derwent was with me. 
 
 (f The bird that sits on yonder bush, 
 
 And sings so loud and clear, 
 Has only three times changed his note 
 Since my good lord was here." 
 
 (( Whoe'er it was, whate'er it was, 
 
 I'm sure it was not he : 
 I saw him slain on Eden plain, 
 And him you'll never see. 
 
133 
 
 " I saw him stand against an host, 
 While heaps before him fell ; 
 I saw them pierce his manly side, 
 And bring his last farewell. 
 
 " O run ! he cried, to my ladye, 
 
 And bear the fray before ; 
 Tell her I died for England's right 
 Then word spake never more. 
 
 " Come, let us fly to Westmoreland, 
 
 For here you cannot stay; 
 We'll fairly shift; our steeds are swift; 
 And well I know the way." 
 
 " I will not fly, I cannot fly ; 
 
 My heart is wonder sore ; 
 My brain it turns, my blood it burns., 
 And all with me is o'er." 
 
 She turned her eyes to Borrowdale ; 
 
 Her heart grew chill with dread, 
 For there she saw the Scottish band, 
 
 Kilpatrick at their head. 
 
134 
 
 Red blazed the beacon on Pownell ; 
 
 On Skiddaw there were three ; 
 The warder's horn, on muir and fell, 
 
 Was heard continually. 
 
 Dark grew the sky, the wind was still, 
 
 The sun in blood arose ; 
 But oh ! how many a gallant man 
 
 Ne'er saw that evening close ! 
 
NOTES 
 
 ON 
 
 LORD DERWENT. 
 
 I got that sword in bloody fray. 
 
 Last night on Eden downe. P. 129. v. 2. 
 This ballad relates to an engagement which took place 
 betwixt the Scots and English, in Cumberland, A. D. 1524; 
 for a particular account of which, see the historians of that 
 time. 
 
 But Maxwell rallying, wheeled about. P. 131. v. 5. 
 The page's account of this action seems not to be wide 
 of the truth : " On the 17th of Julie, the Lord Maxwell, 
 and Sir Alexander Jardein, with diverse other Scottishmen, 
 in great numbers entered England by the west marches and 
 Caerleill, with displayed banners, and began to harrie the 
 country, and burn diverse places. The Englishmen assem- 
 bled on every side, so that they were far more in number 
 than the Scottishmen, and thereupon set feircielie upon 
 their enemies : insomuch, that, for the space of an hour, 
 there was a sore fight continued betwixt them. But the 
 
136 
 
 Lord Maxwell, like a true politike captain, as of all that 
 knew him he was no less reputed, ceased not to incourage 
 his people ; and after that, by the taking of Sir Alexander 
 Jardein and others, they had beene put backe, he brought 
 them in arraie again, and, beginning a new skirmish, reco- 
 vered in manner all the prisoners ; took and slew diverse 
 Englishmen; so that he returned with victorie, and led 
 above 300 prisoners with him into Scotland." HOLINGSHED. 
 
THE 
 
 LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN, 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 THREE CHAMPIONS OF LIDDISDALE. 
 
 THE scene of this ballad is laid in the upper parts 
 of Liddisdale, in which district the several residencies 
 of the three champions are situated, as is also the old 
 castle of Hermitage, with the farm-houses of Saughen- 
 tree and Roughley. 
 
 As to the authenticity of the story, all that I can 
 say of it is, that I used to hear it told when I was a 
 boy, by William Scott, a joiner of that country, and 
 was much taken with some of the circumstances. 
 Were I to relate it verbatim, it would only be antici- 
 pating a great share of the poem. One verse is an- 
 cient, beginning, O wae be to thee, &c. 
 
THE 
 
 LAIRD OF LAIRISTAN; 
 
 OR, THE 
 
 THREE CHAMPIONS OF LIDDISDALE. 
 
 < WILLIE, 'tis light, and the moon shines bright., 
 Will ye go and watch the deer wi 1 me ?" 
 
 f( Ay, be my sooth, this very night :" 
 
 And away they went to the Saughentree. 
 
 The moon had turn'd the roof of heaven j 
 The ground lay deep in drifted snaw ; 
 
 The hermitage bell had rung eleven, 
 When lo ! a wondrous sight they saw. 
 
139 
 
 Right owr the knowe where Liddel lyes, 
 Nae wonder that it catch'd his ee ! 
 
 A thing of huge and monstrous size 
 Was steering that way hastilye. 
 
 C( Ah ! what is yon, my brother John ? 
 
 Now God preserve baith you and me ! 
 But our guns they are load, and what corners ia 
 
 their road, 
 Be't boggle, or robber, these bullets shall prie." 
 
 " Oh baud your tongue, my brother dear ; 
 
 Let us survey't with steedy ee ; 
 'Tis surely a man they are carrying here, 
 
 And 'tis fit that the family warn'd should be." 
 
 They ran to the ha', and they waken'd them a', 
 Where none were at home but maidens three; 
 
 And into the shade of the wall they have staid, 
 To watch what the issue of this would be. 
 
 And there they saw a dismal sight ! 
 
 A sight had neerly freez'd their blood ! 
 One lost her reason that very night, 
 
 And one of them fainted where they stood. 
 
140 
 
 Four stalwart men, on arms so bright, 
 
 Came bearing a corpse with many a wound ; 
 
 His habit bespoke him a lord or knight ; 
 And his fair ringlets swept the ground. 
 
 They heard a voice to the other say 
 " A place to leave him will not be found ; 
 The barn is lock'd, and the key away." 
 Said one, (< In the byre we'll lay him down." 
 
 Then into the byre the corpse they bore, 
 And. away they fled right speedilye; 
 
 The rest took shelter within the door, 
 In wild amazement, as well might be. 
 
 And into the byre no ane durst gang, 
 No, not for the life of his bodye ; 
 
 But the blood on the snaw was traiFd alang, 
 And they kend a' wasna as it should be, 
 
 Next morning all the Dalesmen ran ; 
 
 For soon the word was far and wide ; 
 And there lay the Laird of Lairistan, 
 
 The bravest knight on the border side ! 
 
141 
 
 He was wounded behind, and wounded before, 
 And cloven through the left cheek-bone; 
 
 And clad in the habit he daily Wore; 
 
 But his sword, and his belt, and his bonnet 
 were gone. 
 
 Then east and west the word has gane, 
 And soon to Brnxholm ha' it flew, 
 
 That Elliot of Lairistan he was slain, 
 And how or why no creature knew. 
 
 Buccleuch has mounted his milk-white steed, 
 With fifteen knights in his companye ;j 
 
 To Hermitage Castle they rode with speed, 
 Where all the dale was summon'd to be. 
 
 And soon they came, a numerous host, 
 
 And they swore, and touch'd the dead bodie ; 
 
 But Jocky o' Millburn he was lost, 
 
 And could not be found in the hale countrye. 
 
 " Now, wae be to thee, Armstrong o' Millburn ! 
 
 And O an ill death may'st thou dee ! 
 Through thee we have lost brave Lairistan, 
 But his equal thou wilt never be. 
 
142 
 
 ff The Bewcastle men may ramp and rave, 
 
 And drive away the Liddisdaie kye : 
 For now is our guardian laid in his grave; 
 And Branxholm and Thirlestane distant lye." 
 
 The Dales-men thus his loss deplore, 
 
 And every one his virtues tell; 
 His hounds lay howling at the door; 
 
 His hawks flew idle o'er the fell. 
 
 When three long years were come and gone, 
 Two shepherds sat on Roughly hill ; 
 
 And ay they sigh'd, and made their moan, 
 O'er present times that look'd so ill. 
 
 f Our young king lives at London town, 
 
 Buccleuch must bear him companye; 
 And Thirlestane's all to ruin gone, 
 And who shall our protector be i 
 
143 
 
 " And jealous of the Stuart race, 
 
 The English lords begin to thraw ; 
 The land is in a piteous case, 
 
 When subjects rise against the law. 
 
 " Ere all is done, our blood may soak 
 
 Oui; Scottish houms, and leave a stain 
 A stain like that on Sundup's cloak, 
 Which never will wash out again." 
 
 Amazement kyth'd in Sandy's face; 
 
 His mouth to open wide began; 
 He star'd, and look'd from place to place, 
 
 As events o'er his mem'ry ran. 
 
 The broider'd cloak of gaudy green 
 That Sundup wore, and was sae gay, 
 
 For three lang years had ne'er been seen, 
 At chapel, raid, nor holiday. 
 
 
 He minded too, he once o'erheard, 
 
 (When courting of his bonny Ann) 
 A hint, the which he greatly fear'd, 
 But ne'er could thoroughly understand. 
 
144 
 
 *' Now tell me, Willie, tell me true ; 
 
 Your simTie bodes us little good ; 
 I fear the cloak you menlioii'd now 
 I fear 'tis stain'd with noble blood !" 
 
 Indeed, my friend, you've guess'd aright; 
 
 I never meant to tell to man 
 That tale ; but crimes will come to light, 
 Let human wits do what they can. 
 
 ff But He, who ruleth wise and well, 
 
 Hath order'd from his seat on high, 
 That ay since valiant Elliot fell 
 That mantle bears the purple dye. 
 
 < e Arid all the waters in Liddisdale, 
 
 And all that lash the British shore, 
 Can ne'er wash out the wondrous maele ! 
 It still seems fresh with purple gore." 
 
 Then east and west the word has gane, 
 And soon to Branxholm hall it flew ; 
 
 And Halbert o ? Sundup hee was ta'en, 
 And brought before the high Buccleuch. 
 
145 
 
 The cloak was hung in open hall, 
 
 Where ladies and lords of high degree, 
 
 And many a one, both great and small, 
 Were struck with awe the same to see, 
 
 f( Now tell me, Sundup," said Buccleuch, 
 "-If this is rul'd by God on high ? 
 If that is Elliot's blood we view, 
 
 False Sundup ! thou shalt surely die." 
 
 Then Halbert turn'd him where he stood, 
 And wip'd the round tear from his ee ; 
 " That blood, my lord, is Elliot's blood; 
 I winna keep the truth frae thee." 
 
 " O ever-alack !" said good Buccleuch, 
 " If that be true thou tell'st to me, 
 On the highest tree in Branxholm heucb, 
 Stout Sundup, thou must hangit be/' 
 
 " Tis Elliot's blood ; I tell you true : 
 
 And Elliot's death was wrought by me ; 
 And were the deed again to do, 
 I'd do't in spite of hell and thee. 
 G 
 
146 
 
 " My sister, brave Jock Armstrong's bride, 
 
 The fairest flower of Liddisdale, 
 By Elliot basely was betray 'd ; 
 And roundly has he paid the mail. 
 
 " We watch'd him in her secret bower, 
 And found her to his bosom prest; 
 He begg'd to have his broad claymore, 
 And dar'd us both to do our best. 
 
 " Perhaps, my lord, ye'll truly say, 
 
 In rage, from laws of arms we swerv'd : 
 Though Lairistan got double play, 
 Twas fairer play than he deserv'd, 
 
 " We might have kill'd him in the dark, 
 
 When in the lady's arms lay he; 
 We might have kilFd him in his sark, 
 Yet gave him room to fight or flee. 
 
 " Come on, then, gallant Milburn cry'd, 
 
 My single arm shall do the deed ; 
 Or heavenly justice is denied, 
 
 Or that false heart of thine shall bleed. 
 
147 
 
 Then to't they fell, both sharp and snell, 
 
 With steady hand and watchful eye ; 
 Soon blood and sweat from either felL; 
 And from their swords the sparkles fly. 
 
 " The first stroke Milburn to him wan, 
 
 He ript his bosom to the bone ; 
 Though Armstrong was a gallant man, 
 Like Elliot living there was none. 
 
 " His growth was like the Border oak ; 
 
 His strength the bison's strength outvied; 
 His courage like the mountain rock ; 
 For skill his man he never tried. 
 
 " Oft had we three, in Border fray, 
 
 Made chiefs and armies stand in awe ; 
 And little thought to see the day, 
 On other deadly thus to draw. 
 
 The first wound that brave Milburn got, 
 The tear of rage row'd in his ee ; 
 
 The next stroke that brave Milburn got, 
 The blood ran dreeping to his knee. 
 
148 
 
 My sword I grip'd into my hand, 
 And fast to his assistance ran ; - 
 
 What could I do f I could not stand 
 And see the base deceiver win. 
 
 O turn thee, turn thee, limmer loun ! 
 
 turn and change a blow with me, 
 Or, by the righteous powers aboon, 
 
 I'll hew the arm from thy bodye. 
 
 He turn'd, with many a haughty word, 
 
 And lounged and struck most furiouslye ; 
 But with one slap of my broad sword 
 
 1 brought the traitor to his knee. 
 
 Now take thou that, stout Armstrong cry'd, 
 For all the pain thou'st gi'en to me ; 
 
 (Though then he shortly would have died) 
 And ran him through the fair bodye." 
 
149 
 
 Buccleuch's stern look began to change ; 
 
 To tine a warrior lothe was he ; 
 The crime was call'd a brave revenge, 
 
 And Halbert of Sundup was set free. 
 
 Then every man for Milburn mounvd, 
 
 And wish'd him to enjoy his own; 
 But Milburn never more return'd 
 
 Till ten long years were come and gone. 
 
 * 
 
 Then loud alarms through England ring, 
 And deeds of death and dool began ; 
 
 The commons rose against the king, 
 And friends to diff'rent parties ran. 
 
 The nobles join the royal train, 
 
 And soon his ranks with grandeur fill ; 
 
 They sought their foes with might and main, 
 And found them lying on Edgehill. 
 
 The trumpets blew, the bullets flew, 
 And long and bloody was the fray; 
 
 At length o'erpower'd, the rebel crew 
 Before the royal troops gave way. 
 
150 
 
 " Who was the man," Lord Lindsey cry'd, 
 " That fought so well through all the fray ? 
 Whose coat of rags, together ty'd, 
 Seems to have seen a better day ? 
 
 " Such bravery in so poor array, 
 
 I never in my life did see ; 
 His valour three times turn'd the day, 
 When we were on the point to flee/' 
 
 Then up there spoke a man of note, 
 
 Who stood beside his majestic, 
 '< My liege, the man's a border Scot, 
 Who volunteered to fight for thee." 
 
 The king he smil'd, and said aloud, 
 " Go bring the valiant Scot to me; 
 When we have all our foes subdued, 
 The Lord of Liddel he shall be." 
 
 The king gave him his gay gold ring, 
 And made him there a belted knight ; 
 
 But Milburn bled to save his king ! 
 The king to save his royal right ! 
 
SONGS 
 
 ADAPTED TO THE TIMES. 
 
SANDY TOD. 
 
 A Scottish Pastoral. 
 TO A LADY. 
 
 You ha'e learned in love to languish, 
 You ha'e felt affliction's rod, 
 
 Mum wi' me the meltin' anguish. 
 Muni the loss o' Sandy Tod. 
 
 Sandy was a lad 'o' vigour, 
 
 Clean an' tight o' lith an' lim 5 , 
 
 For a decent, manly figure, 
 Few cou'd ding or equal him* 
 
154 
 
 In a cottage, poor and nameless, 
 
 By a little bouzy linn, 
 Sandy led a life sae blameless, 
 
 Far frae ony strife or din. 
 
 Annan's fertile dale bey on' him, 
 
 Spread her fields an' meadows green ; 
 
 Hoary Hertfell towered aboon him, 
 Smilin' to the sun gude e'en. 
 
 Few his wants, his wishes fewer, 
 Save his flocks nae care had he ; 
 
 Never heart than his was truer, 
 Tender to the last degree. 
 
 He was learned, and every tittle 
 E'er he read believed it true ; 
 
 Savin' chapters cjoss an' kittle, 
 He cou'd read his bible through. 
 
 Oft he read the acts o' Joseph, 
 How wi' a' his friends he met; 
 
 Ay the hair his noddle rose off, 
 Ay his cheeks wi' tears were weU 
 
155 
 
 Seven bonny buskit simmers 
 O'er the Solway Frith had fled, 
 
 Since a flock o' ewes an' gimmers 
 Out amang the hills he fed. 
 
 Some might bragg o' knowledge deeper, 
 But nae herd was lo'ed sae weel ; 
 
 Sandy's hirsel proved, their keeper 
 Was a cannie carefu' chiel'. 
 
 Ay when ony tentless lammie 
 Wi' its neibours chanced to go, 
 
 Sandy kend the careless mammy/ 
 Whether she cried mac or no. 
 
 Warldly walth an' grandeur scornin', 
 Peace adorned his little bield ; 
 
 Ilka e'enin', ilka mornin', 
 Sandy to his Maker kneeled.. 
 
 You wha roun' wi' diamonds wrap ye, 
 An' are fanned wi' loud applause, 
 
 Can ye trou the lad was happy ? 
 Really 'tis believed he was. 
 
156 
 
 In the day sae black an' showery, 
 I ha'e seen the bonny bow, 
 
 When arrayed in all its glory, 
 
 Vanish on the mountain's brow. , 
 
 Sae ha'e ye, my lovely marrow, 
 Seen the rose an' vi'let blue, 
 
 Bloornm' on the banks of Yarrow, 
 Quickly fade, an' lose their hue; 
 
 Fadin' as the forrst roses, 
 Transient as the radiant bow, 
 
 Fleetin' as the shower that follows, 
 Is our happiness below. 
 
 Unadmired she'll hover near ye, 
 In the rural sport she'll play; 
 
 Woo her she'll at distance hear ye, 
 Press her she is gane for ay. 
 
 She had Sandy ay attendit, 
 Seemed obedient to his nod ; 
 
 Now his happy hours are end it, 
 Lack-a-day for Sandy Tod ! 
 
U7 
 
 I' the kirk ae Sunday sitting 
 Wiiar to be he seldom failed, 
 
 Sandy's tender heart was smitten. 
 Wi' a wound that never heuied : 
 
 Sally, dressed i' hat an' feather, 
 Placed her in a neibrin' pew, 
 
 Sandy sat he kendna whether! 
 Sandy felt he wistna how ! 
 
 Though the priest alarmed the audience,, 
 An' drew tears trae mom .-vu, 
 
 Sandy heard a noise like baudrons 
 Murrin' i' tlie bed at e'en ! 
 
 Aince or twice his sin alarmed him, 
 Down he looked,, an 7 wished a prayer; 
 
 Sally hud o' sense disarmed him, 
 Heart an' mind an' a' was there ! 
 
 Luckily her een were from him ; 
 Ay they beamed a nit her road ; 
 Aince a smilin' glance set on him 
 " Mercy, Lord !" quo' Sandy Tod. 
 
158 
 
 A' that night he lay an' turned him, 
 
 Fastit a' the folio win' day ; 
 Now the eastern lamps war burning 
 
 Westward fled the glomin' grey. 
 
 Res'lute made by desperation, 
 Down the glen in haste he flew, 
 
 Quickly reached the habitation 
 Where his sweet carnation grew. 
 
 I wad sing the happy meeting 
 War it new or strange to thee ; 
 
 Weel ye ken 'tis but repeat in' 
 
 What has past 'tween you and me. 
 
 Thy white hand around me pressed, 
 
 My unresty heart has felt; 
 But, whan hers on Sandy rested, 
 
 His fond heart was like to melt! 
 
 Lockit to his bosom duntin' 
 Listless a' the night she lay, 
 
 Orion's belt had bored the mountain, 
 Loud the cock had crawed the day. 
 
159 
 
 Sandy rase his bonnet daddit 
 Begged a kiss gat nine or ten ; 
 
 Then the hay, sae ruffed an' saddit, 
 Towzlet up that nane might ken. 
 
 You ha'e seen, on April morning 
 Light o' heart, the pretty lamb 
 
 Skipping dancing bondage scorning 
 Wander heedless o' its dam ? 
 
 Sometimes gaun, an' sometimes rinnin', 
 Sandy to his mountains ran ; 
 
 Roun' aboon his flocks gaed singin', 
 Never was a blyther man : 
 
 Never did his native nation, 
 
 Sun or sky, wear sic a hue ; 
 In his een the hale creation 
 
 Wore a face entirely new. 
 
 Weel he lo'ed his faithfu' Ruffler, 
 Weel the bird sang on the tree; 
 
 Meanest creatures doomed to suffer, 
 Brought the tear into his ee. 
 
160 
 
 Sandy's -heart was imdesignin', 
 Soil an' lovin' as the dove; 
 
 Scarcely cou'd it bear refinin* 
 By the gentle tire o' love. 
 
 You ha'e seen the cunnin* fowler 
 \V;!r the airy bird to death ; 
 
 Blossoms nipt by breezes fouler, 
 Or by winter's wastin' breath ? 
 
 Sally's blo?som soon was blighted 
 
 By untimely winter prest ; 
 Sally had been wooed an' slighted 
 
 By a farmer in the west. 
 
 Sandy daily lo'ed her dearer, 
 Kendna she afore was won, 
 
 Aince > whan he gaed down to see her., 
 Sally had a dainty son ! 
 
 Sternies, blush, an' hide your faces ; 
 
 Veil the moon in sable hue; 
 Else thy locks, for human vices, 
 
 Soon will dreep wi' pity's dew ! 
 
161 
 
 Thou who rules the rolling thunder, 
 Thou who darts the flying flame, 
 
 Wilt thou vengeance ay keep under 
 Due for injured love an' fame ? 
 
 Cease, my charmer, cease bewailing 
 Down thy cheeks the pearls shine ; 
 
 Cease to mourn thy sex's failin', 
 I maun drap a tear for mine : 
 
 Man, the lord o' the creation, 
 Lightened wi' a ray divine, 
 
 kost to feelin', truth, an' caution, 
 Lags the brutal tribes behind ! 
 
 You ha'e seen the harmless conie 
 Following ha me its mate to rest ; 
 
 One ensnared, the frighted cronie 
 Fled amazed wi' pantin' breast. 
 
 Petrified,. an' dumb wi' horror, 
 Sandy fled, he kendna where ; 
 
 Never heart than his was sorer, 
 it was uiak than he cou'd bear ! 
 
162 
 
 Seven days on yonder mountain 
 Lay he sobbing late an' soon, 
 
 Till discovered by a fountain, 
 Railin' at the dovvy moon. 
 
 Weepin' a' the day, he'd wander 
 Through yon dismal glen alane ; 
 
 By the stream at night wad dander, 
 Ravin' owr his Sally's 
 
 ShunM an' pitied by the world, 
 Long a humblhV sight was he, 
 
 Till that fatal moment hurled 
 Him to lang eternity,, 
 
 Sittin' on yon cliff sae rocky, 
 Fearless as the boding crow/-*- 
 
 No, my dear, I winna shock ye 
 Wi' the bloody scene below. 
 
 By yon aek, decayed an* rottin', 
 Where the hardy woodbin twines, 
 
 Now, in peace, he sleeps forgotten ; 
 Owr his head these simple lines ; 
 
163 
 
 " Lovers, pause, while I implore ye 
 Still to walk in virtue's road ; 
 
 An' to say, when ye gang o'er me, 
 Lack a-day, for Sandy Tod !" 
 
FAREWELL TO ETTRICK. 
 
 FAREWEEL, my Ettrick ! fare-ye-weel ! 
 
 I own I'm unco laith to leave ye ; 
 Nane kens the half o' what I feel, 
 
 Nor half the cause I ha'e to grieve me ! 
 
 There first I saw the rising morn ; 
 
 There first my infant mind unfuiTd, 
 To judge that spot where I was born 
 
 The very centre o' the world ! 
 
 I thought the hills were sharp as knives, 
 An' the braed lift lay whomel'd on them, 
 
 An' glowr'd wi' wonder at the wives 
 That spak o' ither hills ayon' them. 
 
165 
 
 When ilka year ga'e something new, 
 Addition to my mind or stature, 
 
 As fast my love for Et trick grew, 
 Implanted in my very nature, 
 
 I've sung, in mony a rustic lay, 
 
 Her heroes, an' her hills sae green; 
 
 Her woods and vallies fresh and gay; 
 Her honest lads and lasses clean. 
 
 I had a thought a poor vain thought! 
 
 I thought that I might do her honour; 
 But a' my hopes are come to nought, 
 
 I'm forc'd to turn my back upon her ! 
 
 She's thrown me out o' house an' hauld ! 
 
 My heart got never sic a thrust ! 
 An' my poor parents, frail an' auld, 
 
 Are forc'd to leave their kindred dust ! 
 
 But fare-ye-weel, my native streams 
 Frae a' sic dule be ye preserved ; 
 
 Ye'H find ye cherish some at hame 
 That disna just sue weel deserve't. 
 
166 
 
 There is nae man on a' your banks 
 Will ever say that I did wrang him j, 
 
 The lasses ha'e niy dearest thanks 
 For a' the joys I had amang them. 
 
 Though twin'd by rough an' ragin' seas> 
 An 7 risin' hills an' rollin' rivers : 
 
 To think o' them I'll never cease, 
 Until my heart ga'e a' to shivers ! 
 
 I'll make the Harris rocks to ring 
 
 Wi' ditties wild, when nane shall hear 5 
 
 The Lewis shores shall learn to sing 
 The names o' them I lo'ed so dear. 
 
 My Peggy's ay aboon the lave, 
 I'll carve on ilka lonely green ; 
 
 The sea-bird, tossin' on the wave, 
 Shall learn the name o' bonny Jean. 
 
 Ye gods, tak care o' my dear lass ! 
 
 That as I leave her I may find her; 
 Till that blest time shall come tb pass 
 
 We'll meet again, and never sinder. 
 
Fareweel, my Ettrick ! fare-ye-weel ! 
 
 'l own I'm unco wae to leave ye ! 
 JSane kens the half o' what I feel, 
 
 Nor half o' that I ha'e to grieve me ! 
 
 My parents, crazy grown wi' eild, 
 How I rejoic'd to be their stay ! 
 
 I thought to stand their help an' shield, 
 Until an' at their latest day, 
 
 Wi' gentle hand to close their een, 
 An' weet the yerd wi' mony a tear, 
 
 That held the dust o' ilka frien' ; 
 O' friens so tender an' sincere ! 
 
 It winna do : I maun away 
 
 To yon rough isle sae bleak an' dun ; 
 Lang will they mourn > baith night an' day, 
 
 The absence o' their darlin' son. 
 
 An' my dear Will ! how will I fen' 
 Without thy kind an' ardent care ! 
 
 Without thy verse-inspirin' pen, 
 
 My muse will sleep an' sing nae mair. 
 
1(58 
 
 Fareweel to a' my kith an' kin ! 
 
 To ilka fri n 7 \ held sae dear ! 
 How happy often hae we been, 
 
 Wi' music, mirth, an* welcome cheer ! 
 
 Nae mair your gilded banks at noon, 
 An answer to my flute will swell ! 
 
 Nae mair the viol sweet I'll tune, 
 That a' the younkers lo'ed sae well ! 
 
 Nae mair amang the hags an' rocks, 
 While hounds wi' music fill'd the air, 
 
 We'll hunt the sly an' cruel fox, 
 Or trace the warie, circlin' hare ! 
 
 My happy days wr you are past ! 
 
 An' waes my heart ! will ne'er return ! 
 The brightest day will overcast ! 
 
 And man was made at times to mourn. 
 
 But if I kend my dyin' day, 
 
 Though distant, weary, pale, an' wan, 
 I'd tak my staff an' post away 
 
 To yield my life where it began. 
 
I'ftt 
 
 If in yon lone sequester'd place 
 The tyrant Death should lay me low, 
 
 Oh ! drap a tear, an' say Alas ! 
 
 For him who lov'd an' honour'd you. 
 
 Fareweel, my Etf rick ! fare-ye-weel ! 
 
 I own I'm some thing wae to leave ye ! 
 Nane kens the half o' what I feel ! 
 
 Nor half the cause I ha'e to grieve me! 
 
LOVE ABUSED. 
 
 TUNE Mary, weep nae mairfor me. 
 
 THE gloaming from the welkin high 
 
 Had chased the bonny gouden gleam ; 
 The curtained east, in crimson dye, 
 
 Hung heavy o'er the tinted stream ; 
 The wild rose, blushing on the brier, 
 
 Was set with drops of shining dew -r 
 As big, and clear, the bursting tear 
 
 That rowed in Betty's een sae blue ! 
 
 She saw the dear, the little cot, 
 
 Where fifteen years flew sweetly bye ! 
 
 And mourn'd her shame, and hapless lot, 
 That forc'd her from that home to lie* 
 7 
 
171 
 
 Though sweet and mild the evening 
 Her heart was rent with anguish keen ; 
 
 The mavis ceased his music wild, 
 
 And wonder'd what her sobs could mean, 
 
 " It was not kind, to rob my mind 
 
 Of all its peace for evermore ! 
 To blot my name with burning shame, 
 
 And make my parents' hearts so sore. 
 That hame how dare I enter now, 
 
 Each honoured face in tears to see, 
 Where oft I kneel'd, to hear the vow 
 
 Was offer'd from the heart for me ! 
 
 " And can I love the treacherous man 
 
 Who wrought that dear and deadly ill, 
 Who blurr'd with clouds my early dawn ? 
 
 Ah ! woes my heart ! I love him still. 
 My heart abus'd, my love misus'd, 
 
 My wretched fate with tears I see : 
 But most I fear, my parents dear 
 
 Go mourning to the grave for me." 
 
EPISTLE 
 
 TO 
 
 MR T. M. C., LONDON. 
 
 Published in the Scots Magazine. 
 
 MY blessin' on you T. M. C. 
 
 Like you there are nae mony mae : 
 
 For mony a year, wi' eager een, 
 
 I've glowr'd ovvr Scotia's Magazine; 
 
 And oft, like zealots at a sermon, 
 
 Disco verin' beauties whar there were none ; 
 
 But never a' my life, till now, 
 
 Have I met sic a chiel as you ; 
 
 Sae sly, sae shrewd, sae queer a creature, 
 
 Sae weel acquaint wi' simple nature, 
 
 Sae gay, sae easy, an' sae ranty, 
 
 Sae cappernaity an' sae canty : 
 
 For when I sing your sangs sae gay, 
 
 To lasses at the bught or hay, 
 
They blush, an' smurtlin', own they like 
 
 them, 
 The thoughts they thought afore sae strike 
 
 them. 
 
 Whether 'tis from a similarity 
 Of feelings, hitting to a rarity ; 
 Or if in verse you soar away, 
 Far, far beyond my simple lay, 
 An' into nature tak a stretch, 
 Whilk I wad fain, but canna reach ; 
 Or if ae planet held the sway 
 When we were born, I canna say ;. 
 But frae sic causes> or some other, 
 I feel a wish to ca' you brother. 
 
 Then, billy, set your foot to mine, 
 Let baith our buoyant brains combine 
 To raise our country's Magazine 
 Aboon the times that yet ha'e been. 
 Then tak some pains to double rhyme, 
 Gar line wi' line keep equal time, 
 An' then, though critics back should fling 
 
 us, 
 The deils shall dacld in vain to ding us. 
 
174 
 
 Though Pegasus may be denied, 
 By lofty bards sae occupied, 
 Wi' joy we'll mount our cuddy asses, 
 An' scour like fire around Parnassus, 
 An' gather flowers of ilka hue, 
 To bind auld Scotland's honest brow. 
 The upstarts new shall a' be snubbit, 
 And Ruddiman be sadly rubbit. 
 
 How could ye leave our hoary hills ? 
 Our ruggU rocks and rattling rills? 
 GUI woodlands wild, an' waters mony ? 
 Our lasses chaste, an' sweet, an' bonny? 
 The warrior's nurse, the poet's theme ! 
 The seat of innocence an' hame ? 
 
 We've sic a short time here to fare, 
 'Tis little matter how or where ; 
 An' I wad chuse at least eleven 
 Tore London, for the road to heaven. 
 
 I neither ken your name nor bearin'; * 
 Only I ken ye are a queer ane, 
 
 * The gentleman, to whom this epistle was addressed, is 
 Mr Thomas Mouncey Cunninghame, from Dumfries-shire, 
 the author of many ingenious essays in the Scots Magazine ; 
 but, at the writing of this, the author knew nothing of him. 
 
175 
 
 An 5 guess, for insight, wealth, or knowledge, 
 Ye've ta'en the desk, or musty college ; 
 To turn a pedant or translator, 
 And slight the genuine school of nature. 
 Sweet dame ! she inet me single handed : 
 Yet, studying her, my mind expanded 
 To bounds are neither rack'd nor narrow, 
 On Ettrick banks an* braes of Yarrow. 
 
 An* though your life should glide away 
 In pleasure's dear an* devious way, 
 Regret will sometimes pierce the heart, 
 An' leave a dour an' deadly smart. 
 An' when death comes, I'm wae for thee ! 
 Nae real friend to close your ee t 
 Or owr a son or brother's bier 
 To shed the sad regret fu 1 tear ! 
 But just let down, wi' strings an' pullies, 
 To Asleep wi' w es, an' bucks, an' bullies : 
 An' when the summons reach the dead anes. 
 To rise in droves frae 'mang the headstanes, 
 Poor Tarn may gang an' stand alane, 
 Of fellow faces he'll see nane, 
 But a' the croud gaun throu'ther, throu'ther, 
 Wi' ruefu' looks out owr ilk shouther. 
 
176 
 
 O leave that .lake of lowns an' letchery, 
 Of folly, falsehood, tricks, and treachery ; 
 Though oft a thriving place for low wits, 
 L d, it's a dangerous hole for poets ! 
 
 If life's a blessing tween twa brothers, 
 The poor enjoy't as lang as others. 
 If health surpasses sumptuous fare, 
 Of that they ha'e their ample share. 
 What wad ye ha'e then ? Dinna wrang us, 
 . Come back an' live an' die amang us. 
 I lang to sing a sonnet \vi' thee, 
 Au' bonny Bessy sighs to see thee: 
 O ! when she's sic a kind an' bonny ane^ 
 Comewed, an' turn a Carneronian. 
 
 While round our coast the ocean rows ; 
 While on the Grampians heather grows ; 
 While goud and gear the miser heaps up, 
 An' ill-will between cadgers keeps up ; 
 While simple ease improves the feature, 
 An' best becomes the cheek o' nature; 
 As sterns the sky, and spots the leopard/ 
 Count on 
 
 Your friend, 
 
 THE ETTRICK SHEPHEP.D. 
 
SCOTIA'S GLENS. 
 
 Tune Lord Ballantine's delight. 
 
 'JVIoNG Scotia's glens, and mountains 
 Where Gallia's lilies never grew, 
 Where Roman eagles never flew, 
 
 Nor Danish lion rallied ; 
 Where skulks the roe in anxious fear, 
 Where roves the stately nimble deer- 
 There live the lads to freedom dear, 
 
 By foreign yoke ne'er galled, 
 
 There woods grow wild on every hill, 
 There freemen wander at their will ; 
 Sure Scotland will be Scotland still, 
 While hearts so brave defend her : 
 
178 
 
 Fear not, our sovereign liege, they cry, 
 We've flourished fair beneath thine eye; 
 .For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die, 
 Nor ought but life surrender. 
 
 Since thou hast watched our every need. 
 And taught our navies wide to spread, 
 The smallest hair from thy grey head 
 
 No foreign foe shall sever. 
 Thy honoured age in peace to save, 
 The sternest host we'll dauntless brave ; 
 Or stem the stoutest Indian wave, 
 
 No heart nor hand shall waver. 
 
 Though nations join yon tyrant's arm, 
 While Scotland's noble blood runs warm, 
 Our good old man we'll guard from harm, 
 
 Or fall in heaps around him. 
 Although the Irish, harp were won, 
 And England's roses all o'er-run, 
 ; Mong Scotia's glens, wi' sword and gun, 
 
 We'll form a bulwark round him. 
 
DONALD MACDONALD. 
 
 TuneWoo' d and married an' a+ 
 
 MY name it is Donald Macdonald, 
 
 I live in the Highlands sae grand ; 
 I've followed our banner, an' will do^ 
 
 Wharever my maker has land. 
 When rankit amang the blue bonnets,, 
 
 Nae danger can fear me awa, 
 I ken that my brethren around me 
 Are either to conquer or fa/ 
 Brogs an' brochen an' a', 
 Brochen an' brogs an' a', 
 An' isna the laddie weel aff 
 Wha has brogs an' brochen an* a'. 
 
180 
 
 Short syne we war wonderfu' canty,, 
 
 Our friends an' our country to see, 
 But since the proud Consul's grown vannty, 
 
 We'll meet him by land or by sea. 
 Wherever a clan is disloyal, 
 
 Wherever our king has a foe, 
 He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald 
 Wi' his Highlanders all in a row. - 
 Guns an' pistols an' a', 
 Pistols an' guns an' a'; 
 He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald 
 . Wi' guns an' pistols an' a'. ' 
 
 What though we befriendit young Charlie ? 
 
 To tell it I dinna think shame ; 
 Poor lad ! he came to us but barely, 
 
 An' reckoned our mountains his hame : 
 Tis true that our reason forbade us, 
 
 But tenderness carried the day ; 
 Had Geordie come friendless amang us, 
 Wi' him we had a' gane away. 
 Sword an' buckler an' a', 
 Buckler an' sword an' a'; 
 For George we'll encounter the devil, 
 Wi' sword an' buckler an' a\ 
 
181 
 
 An' O I wad eagerly press him 
 
 The keys o' the East to retain ; 
 For shou'cl he gre up the possession, 
 
 We'll soon ha'e to force them again ; 
 Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour, 
 
 Though it war my finishin' blow, 
 He ay may depend on Macdonald, 
 Wi's Highlandmen all in a row. 
 Knees an' elbows an' a', 
 Elbows an' knees an' a' ; 
 Depend upon Donald Macdonald, 
 His knees an' elbows an ? aV 
 
 If Bonapart land at Fort-William, 
 
 Auld Europe nae langer shall grane ; 
 I laugh, whan I think how we'll gall him 
 
 Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane ; 
 Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy, 
 
 We'll rattle him aff frae our shore ; 
 Or lull him asleep in a cairney, 
 An' sing him Lochaber no more! 
 Stanes an' bullets an' a', 
 Bullets an' stanes an' a'; 
 We'll finish the Corsican callan', 
 Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'. 
 
182 
 
 The Gordon is gude in a hurry ; 
 
 An' Campbell is steel to the bane ; 
 An 9 Grant, an 5 Mackenzie, an' Murray, 
 
 An' Cameron will hurkle to nane. 
 The Stuart is sturdy an' wannle, 
 
 An' sae is Macleod an' Mack ay; 
 An' I, their gude-brither Macdonald, 
 Sal never be last i' the fray. 
 Brogs an' brochen an' a', 
 Brochen an' brogs an' a' ; 
 An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet, 
 The kilt, an' the feather, an a'. 
 
THE 
 
 AUTHOR'S ADDRESS 
 
 TO 
 
 HIS AULD DOG HECTOR. 
 
 COME, my auld, towzy, trusty friend ; 
 
 What gars ye look sae douth an' wae ? 
 D'ye think my favour's at an end, 
 
 Because thy head is turnin gray ? 
 
 Although thy feet begin to fail, 
 
 Their best were spent in serving me ; 
 
 An' can I grudge thy wee bit meal, 
 Some comfort in thy age to gi'e f 
 
 For mony n day, frae sun to sun, 
 We've toiFd an' helpit ane anither ; 
 
 An' mony a thousand mile thou'st run, 
 To keep my thraward flocks thegither. 
 
184 
 
 To nae thrawn boy, nor scrawghin wife,, 
 Shall thy auld banes become a drudge ; 
 
 At cats an' callans, a' thy life,, 
 Thou ever bore a mortal grudge. 
 
 An 1 whiles thy surly looks declared, 
 Thou lo'ed the women warst of a' ; 
 
 'Cause aft they my affection shared, 
 Which thou couldst never bruik ataV 
 
 When sitting with my bonny Meg, 
 Mair happy than a prince could be,. 
 
 Thou plac'd thee by her other leg, 
 An' watched her wi' a jealous ee. 
 
 An' then, at ony start or steer, 
 
 Thou wad ha'e worried furiouslye ; 
 
 While I was forc'd to curse and swear, 
 Afore thou wad forbidden be. 
 
 Yet wad she clasp thy towzy paw ; 
 
 Thy greesome grips were never skaithly; 
 An' thou than her hast been rnair true ! 
 
 An' truer than the friend that ga'e thee ! 
 
185 
 
 Ah, me ! of fashion, health, an' pride, 
 The world has read me sic a lecture ! 
 
 But yet it's a' in part repaid 
 
 By thee, my faithful, grateful Hector ! 
 
 O'er past imprudence, oft alane 
 I've shed the saut an' silent tear ; 
 
 Then, sharing ay my grief an' pain, 
 My poor auld friend came snoovin' near. 
 
 For a' the days we've sojourned here, 
 An' they've been neither fine nor few, 
 
 That thought possest thee year to year, 
 That a' my griefs arase frae you. 
 
 Wi' waesome face, and hingin' head, 
 Thou wad ha'e press'd thee to my knee ; 
 
 While I thy looks as weel could read, 
 As thou hadst said in words to me, 
 
 O my dear master, dinna greet; 
 
 What ha'e I ever done to vex ye ? 
 See here Pm cowrin' at your feet ; 
 
 Just take my life if I perplex ye, 
 
186 
 
 ff For a' tny toil, my wee drap meat 
 
 Is a' the wage I ask of thee ; 
 For whilk I'm oft oblig'd to wait 
 * Wi' hungry wame, an' patient ce. 
 
 fe Whatever wayward course ye steer ; 
 
 Whatever sad mischance o'ertake ye ; 
 Man, here is ane will hald ye dear ! 
 Man, here's a friend will ne'er forsake ye !" 
 
 Yes, my puir beast ! though friends me scorn^ 
 Whom mair than life I valued dear ; 
 
 An' throw me out to fight forlorn, 
 Wi' ills my heart dow hardly bear, 
 
 While I have thee to bear a part > 
 
 My plaid, my health, an' heezle rung ^ 
 
 I'll scorn the silly haughty heart, 
 
 The saucy look, and slanderous tongue. 
 
 Sure friends by pop'lar envy sway'd, 
 Are ten times waur than ony fae ! 
 
 My heart was theirs, an' to them laid 
 As open as the light o' day. 
 
187 
 
 I fear'd my ain ; but never dredd 
 That I for loss o' theirs should mourn ; 
 
 Or that, when luck or favour fled, 
 Their friendship wad injurious turn. 
 
 But He, who feeds the ravens young, 
 Lets naething pass unheeded bye ; 
 
 He'll sometime judge of right an* wrong, 
 An' ay provide for you and I. 
 
 And hear me, Hector i thee Pll trust, 
 As far as thou hast wit an' skill ; 
 
 Sae will I ae sweet lovely breast, 
 Tp me a balm for every ill, 
 
 To these my faith shall ever run, 
 While I have reason truth to scan ; 
 
 But ne'er, beyond my mother's son, 
 To aught that bears the shape of man. 
 
 I ne'er could thole thy cravin 1 face, 
 Nor when ye pattit on my knee ; 
 
 Though in a far an' unco place, 
 
 I've whiles been forc'd to beg for thee. 
 
188 
 
 Even now Fm in my master's power, 
 Where my regard may scarce be shown ; 
 
 But ere Fm forc'd to gi'e thee o'er, 
 When thou art auld an' useless grown, 
 
 Fll get a cottage o' my ain, 
 
 Some wee bit cannie, lonely bieF, 
 
 Where thy auld heart shall rest fu' fain, 
 An' share with me my humble meal. 
 
 Thy post shall be to guard the door, 
 An' bark at pethers, boys, au' whips; 
 
 Of cats an' hens to clear the floor, 
 An' bite the flaes that vex thy hips. 
 
 When my last bannock's on the hearth, 
 Of that thou sanna want thy share; 
 
 While I have house or hald on earth, 
 My Hector shall ha'e shelter there. 
 
 An' should grim death thy noddle save* 
 Till he has made an end of me ; 
 
 Ye'll lye a wee while on the grave 
 Of ane wha ay was kind to thecv 
 
189 
 
 There's nane alive will miss me mair; 
 
 An' though in words thou canst not wail, 
 On a' the claes thy master ware, 
 
 Thou'lt smell, and fawn, an' wag thy tail. 
 
 An' if I'm forc'd with thee to part, 
 Which will be sair against my will, 
 
 I'll sometimes mind thy honest heart, 
 As lang as I can climb a hill. 
 
 Come, my auld, touzy, trusty tike, 
 
 Let's speel to Queensb'ry's lofty brow ; 
 
 There greedy midges never fike ; 
 There care an' envy never grow. 
 
 While gazing down the fertile dales. 
 Content an' peace shall ay be by ; 
 
 An' muses leave their native vales 
 To rove at large wi' you and I. 
 
THE 
 
 BONNETS O' BONNY DUNDEE. 
 
 Tune. Comin' thro 9 the Rye. 
 
 cc O WILL ye gang down to the bush in the meadow, 
 
 An' see how the ewes an' the lammies do feed O ! 
 
 An' by the fair hand, thro' the flowers I will lead 
 
 An' sing you the bonnets o' bonny Dundee." 
 (< Wi' heart an' wi' hand, my dear lad ! I'll gang wi' 
 
 thee; 
 My daddy an' mammy think nought to belie 
 
 thee; 
 
 I ken ye'll do naething but kiss me, an' lead me, 
 An' sing me the bonnets o' bonny Dundee." 
 
191 
 
 O ! when fled thy angel, poor lovely Macrnillan ! 
 
 An' left thee to listen to counsel sae killin'; 
 O where were the feelings o' that smiling villain, 
 
 Wha riffled thy blossom, an' left thee to die ? 
 How pale is that cheek that was rosy an' reid, O ! 
 
 To see that sunk eye wad gar ony heart bleed, O; 
 O wae to the wild-willow bush in the meadow ; 
 
 O dool to the bonnets o' bonny Dundee ! 
 
AULD ETTRICK JOHN. 
 
 THERE dwalt a man on Ettrick side, 
 
 An' onest man I wot was he ; 
 His name was John, an' he was born 
 
 A year afore the thretty three : 
 He wad a wife when he was young, 
 
 But she had deit, an' John was wae; 
 He wantit lang, at length did gang, 
 
 To court the lassie o' the brae. 
 
 Auld John cam daddin down the hill, 
 His arm was waggin manfullie ; 
 
 He thought his shadow look'd na ill, 
 As aft he keek'd aside to see. 
 
193 
 
 His shoon war four pound weight a-piece; 
 
 On ilka leg a ho had he ; 
 His doublet strang was large an' lang, 
 
 His breeks they hardly reach'd his knee. 
 
 His coat was threed-about wi' green, 
 
 The mouds * had wrought it jnuckle harm ; 
 The pouches war an ell atween, 
 
 The cuff was faldit up the arm. 
 He wore a bonnet on his head, 
 
 The bung upon his shoulders lay, 
 An' by the neb ye wad hae red, 
 
 That Johnie viewed the milky way. 
 
 But yet for a' his antic dress, 
 
 His cheeks wi' healthy red did glow: 
 His joints war knit, an firm like brass, 
 
 Though siller gray his head did grow : 
 An' John, altho' he had nae lands, 
 
 Had twa gude kye among the knowes ; 
 A bunder pund i' honest hands, 
 
 An' sax an' thretty doddit yowes* 
 
 * Mouds, moths. 
 
194 
 
 An' Nelly was a bonny lass, 
 
 Fu' sweet an' ruddy was her mow*, 
 Her een war like twa beads o' glass ; 
 
 Her brow was white like Cheviot woo. 
 Her cheeks war bright as heather bells, 
 
 Her bosom like December snaw, 
 Her teeth as pure as eggs's shells, 
 
 Her hair was like the hoddy craw. 
 
 Glide wife/' quo John/ as he sat down, 
 " I'm come to court your daughter Nell; 
 An' if I die immediately, 
 
 She sail hae a' the gear hersell. 
 An' if I chance to hae a son, 
 
 I'll breed him up a bra divine ; 
 An' if ilk wiss turn out a we'an, 
 
 There's little fear that we hae nine." 
 
 Now Nelly thought, an' ay she leugh, 
 Our lads are a' for sodgers gane ; 
 
 Young Tarn will kiss an' toy enough 
 But he o' marriage talketh nane. 
 
195 
 
 When I am laid in Johnnie's bed, 
 Like hares or lav'rocks I'll be free; 
 
 I'll busk me braw an' conquer a', 
 
 Auld Johnnie's just the man for me/' 
 
 Wi' little say he wan the day, 
 
 She soon beeam his bonny bride j 
 But ilka joy is fled away, 
 
 Frae Johnie's canty ingle side ; 
 She frets an' greets, an' visits aft, 
 
 Jn hopes some lad will see her hame ; 
 But never ane will be sae daft, 
 
 As tent auld Johnie's flisky dame. 
 
 An' John will be a gaishen soon ; 
 
 His teeth are frae their sockets flown, 
 The hair's peel'd affhis head aboon, 
 
 His face is milk an' water grown : 
 His legs, that firm like pillars stood, 
 
 Are now grown toom an' unco sma' ; 
 She's reav'$ him sair o' flesh an' blood, 
 
 An peace o' mind, the warst ava. 
 
196 
 
 Let ilka lassie tak a man, 
 
 An' ilka callan tak a wife ; 
 But youth wi' youth, gae hand in hand, 
 
 Or tine the sweetest joys o' life. 
 Ye men whae's heads are turnin' gray, 
 
 Wha to the grave are hastin' on, 
 Let reason ay your passion sway, 
 
 An' mind the fate o' Ettrick John. 
 
 An' a' ye lasses plump an' fair, 
 
 Let pure affection guide your hand. 
 Nor stoop to lead a life o' care, 
 
 Wi' wither'd age, for gear or land. 
 When ilka lad your beauty slights, 
 
 An' ilka smile shall yield to wae, 
 Ye'll mind the lang an' lanesome nights 
 
 O' Nell, the lassie o' the brae. 
 
THE HAY MAKING. 
 
 Tune. Comin* thro 9 the Rye. 
 
 TIBET, lassie, how I Ice, 
 Tis needless here to tell ; 
 
 But a' the flowers the meadow through, 
 Ye're sweetest ay yoursel ! 
 
 1 canna sleep a wink at night, 
 Nor work i' peace by day ; 
 
 Your image smiles afore my sight, 
 Whatever I do or say. 
 
 J?y, Jamie, dinna act the part 
 
 Ye'll ever blush to own, 
 Nor try to draw my youthfu' heart 
 
 Frae reason's sober throne. 
 
198 
 
 Sic visions I can ne'er approve, 
 
 Nor ony waukin' dream ; 
 Than hae sic fiery furious love, 
 
 I'd rather hae esteem. 
 
 My bonnie lassie, come away, 
 
 I canna bide your frown ; 
 Wi' ilka flower sae fresh an' gay, 
 
 I'll deck your bosom roun'. 
 I'll pu' the gowan off the glen, 
 
 The lillie off the lee, 
 The rose an' hawthorn sweet I'll twine, 
 
 To make a bobb for thee. 
 
 Aye, Jamie, ye wad steal my heart, 
 
 An' a my peace frae me, 
 An' hank me fast within the net, 
 
 Ere I my error see. 
 Ye'll pu' the gowan off the glen, 
 
 My bosom to adorn, 
 An' ye confess ye're gaun to place 
 
 Within my breast a thorn ! 
 
199 
 
 How can ye, Tibby, be so tart, 
 
 An' vex me a' the day ? 
 Ye ken I loe wi' a' my heart, 
 
 What wad ye hae me say ? 
 Ilk anxious wish, an' little care, 
 
 I'll in thy breast confide ; 
 An' a' your joys an' sorrows share,, 
 
 If ye'll become my bride. 
 
 Then tak my hand, ye hae my heart, 
 
 There's nane I like sae weel, 
 And Heaven grant I act my part 
 
 To ane sae true and leel. 
 An' we'll win' the hay, an wear the hay, 
 
 Till death our bosoms twine, 
 An' often bless the happy day, 
 
 That join'd us lang syne. 
 
BONNY JEAN. 
 
 Tune Prince William Henry's Delight* 
 
 SING on, sing on, my bonny bird, 
 
 The sang ye sang yestreen O, 
 When here, aneath the hawthorn wild, 
 
 I met my bonny Jean O. 
 My blude ran prinklin' through my veins, 
 
 My hair began to steer O; 
 My heart play'd deep against my breast ! 
 
 As I beheld my dear O. 
 
 O weels me on my happy lot ! 
 
 O weels me on my dearie ! 
 O weels me on the channin' spot, 
 
 Where a' combined to chear me ! 
 
201 
 
 The mavis liltit on the bush, 
 The iavrock on the green O, 
 
 The lilie bloorn'd, the daisy blush'd, 
 But a* was nought to Jean O, 
 
 Sing on, sing on, my bonnie thrush, 
 
 Be neither flee'd nor eerie, 
 I'll wad your love sits i' the bush, 
 
 That gars ye sing sae cheerie ; 
 She may be kind, she may be sweet,, 
 
 She may be neat an' clean O; 
 But O she's e'en a dry some ma*e, 
 
 Compared wi' bonny Jean O. 
 
 If love wad open a' her stores, 
 
 An' a' her bloomin' treasures, 
 An' bid me rise an' turn an' choice, 
 
 An' taste her chiefest pleasures ; 
 My choice wad be the rosy cheek, 
 
 The modest beamin' eye, O ! 
 The yellow hair, the bosom fair, 
 
 The lips o' coral dye, O ! 
 
A bramble shade around our head, 
 
 A burnie poplin' bye, O, 
 Our bed the swaird, our sheet the plaid, 
 
 Our canopy the sky O ! 
 An' here's the burn, an' there's the bush 
 
 Around the flowrie green O; 
 An' this the plaid, an' sure the lass 
 
 Wad be my bonnie Jean O. 
 
 Hear me, thou bonny modest moon ! 
 
 Ye sternies twinklin' high O! 
 An' a' ye gentle powers aboon, 
 
 That roam athwart the sky O. 
 Ye see me gratefu' for the past, 
 
 Ye saw me blest yestreen O ; 
 An' ever till I breathe my last, 
 
 Ye'll see me true to Jean O. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 EDINBURGH : 
 Printed by James Ballantyne & Co. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 -8-8- 
 
 v ' "~ 
 
 ftEC'i 
 
 25 ;9& 
 
 w STACKS 
 
 ! D 
 
 T; SUVJt. 
 
 NOV5 1005 - 
 
 -4ffM 
 
 LD 21A-50m-4,'59 
 (A1724slO)476B 
 
 General Library 
 
 University of California 
 
 Berkeley 
 
920074 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 .i.