Chapter V: Part III: 213 (5)

Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among his contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated romance of _Sir Tristrem_. Of this once admired poem only one copy is now known to exist, which is in the Advocates' Library. The editor, in 1804, published a small edition of this curious work; which, if it does not revive the reputation of the bard of Ercildoune, will be at least the earliest specimen of Scottish poetry, hitherto published. Some account of this romance has already been given to the world in MR ELLIS's _Specimens of Ancient Poetry_, Vol. I. p. 165, 3d. p. 410; a work, to which our predecessors and our posterity are alike obliged; the former, for the preservation of the best selected examples of their poetical taste; and the latter, for a history of the English language, which will only cease to be interesting with the existence of our mother-tongue, and all that genius and learning have recorded in it. It is sufficient here to mention, that, so great was the reputation of the romance of _Sir Tristrem_, that few were thought capable of reciting it after the manner of the author--a circumstance alluded to by Robert de Brunne, the annalist:

I see in song, in sedgeyng tale,
Of Erceldoun, and of Kendale.
Now thame says as they thame wroght,
And in thare saying it semes nocht.
That thou may here in Sir Tristrem,
Over gestes it has the steme,
Over all that is or was;
If men it said as made Thomas, &c.

It appears, from a very curious MS. of the thirteenth century, _penes_ Mr Douce, of London, containing a French metrical romance of _Sir Tristrem_, that the work of our Thomas the Rhymer was known, and referred to, by the minstrels of Normandy and Bretagne. Having arrived at a part of the romance, where reciters were wont to differ in the mode of telling the story, the French bard expressly cites the authority of the poet of Erceldoune:

_Plusurs de nos granter ne volent,_
_Co que del naim dire se solent,_
_Ki femme Kaherdin dut aimer,_
_Li naim redut Tristram narrer,_
_E entusché par grant engin,_
_Quant il afole Kaherdin;_

_Pur cest plaie e pur cest mal,_
_Enveiad Tristran Guvernal,_
_En Engleterre pur Ysolt_
THOMAS _ico granter ne volt,_
_Et si volt par raisun mostrer,_
_Qu' ico ne put pas esteer_, &c.

The tale of _Sir Tristrem_, as narrated in the Edinburgh MS., is totally different from the voluminous romance in prose, originally compiled on the same subject by Rusticien de Puise, and analysed by M. de Tressan; but agrees in every essential particular with the metrical performance, just quoted, which is a work of much higher antiquity.

The following attempt to commemorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional account of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, being entirely modern, would have been placed with greater propriety among the class of Modern Ballads, had it not been for its immediate connection with the first and second parts of the same story.

THOMAS THE RHYMER.

PART THIRD.

* * * * *

When seven years more were come and gone,
Was war through Scotland spread,
And Ruberslaw shew'd high Dunyon,
His beacon blazing red.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,
Pitched palliouns took their room,
And crested helms, and spears a rowe,
Glanced gaily through the broom.

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,
Resounds the ensenzie;[50]
They roused the deer from Caddenhead,
To distant Torwoodlee.

The feast was spread in Ercildoune,
In Learmont's high and ancient hall;
And there were knights of great renown,
And ladies, laced in pall.

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,
The music, nor the tale,
Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,
Nor mantling quaighs[51] of ale.

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,
When as the feast was done;
(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,
The elfin harp he won.)

Hush'd were the throng, both limb and tongue,
And harpers for envy pale;
And armed lords lean'd on their swords,
And hearken'd to the tale.

In numbers high, the witching tale
The prophet pour'd along;
No after bard might e'er avail[52]
Those numbers to prolong.

Yet fragments of the lofty strain
Float down the tide of years,
As, buoyant on the stormy main,
A parted wreck appears.

He sung King Arthur's table round:
The warrior of the lake;
How courteous Gawaine met the wound,
And bled for ladies' sake.

But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,
The notes melodious swell;
Was none excelled, in Arthur's days,
The knight of Lionelle.

For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right,
A venomed wound he bore;
When fierce Morholde he slew in fight,
Upon the Irish shore.

No art the poison might withstand;
No medicine could be found,
Till lovely Isolde's lilye hand
Had probed the rankling wound.

With gentle hand and soothing tongue,
She bore the leech's part;
And, while she o'er his sick-bed hung,
He paid her with his heart.

O fatal was the gift, I ween!
For, doom'd in evil tide,
The maid must be rude Cornwall's queen,
His cowardly uncle's bride.

Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard
In fairy tissue wove;
Where lords, and knights, and ladies bright,
In gay confusion strove.

The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High rear'd its glittering head;
And Avalon's enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.

Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
And fiend-born Merlin's gramarye;
Of that fam'd wizard's mighty lore,
O who could sing but he?

Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,
Till bent at length the listening throng
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.

His ancient wounds their scars expand,
With agony his heart is wrung:
O where is Isolde's lilye hand,
And where her soothing tongue?

She comes! she comes!--like flash of flame
Can lovers' footsteps fly:
She comes! she comes!--she only came
To see her Tristrem die.

She saw him die: her latest sigh
Joined in a kiss his parting breath:
The gentlest pair, that Britain bare,
United are in death.

There paused the harp: its lingering sound
Died slowly on the ear;
The silent guests still bent around,
For still they seem'd to hear.

Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak;
Nor ladies heaved alone the sigh;
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
Did many a gauntlet dry.

On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,
The mists of evening close;
In camp, in castle, or in bower,
Each warrior sought repose.

Lord Douglas, in his lofty tent,
Dream'd o'er the woeful tale;
When footsteps light, across the bent,
The warrior's ears assail.

He starts, he wakes:--"What, Richard, ho!
"Arise, my page, arise!
"What venturous wight, at dead of night,
"Dare step where Douglas lies!"

Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide,
A selcouth[53] sight they see--
A hart and hind pace side by side.
As white as snow on Fairnalie.

Beneath the moon, with gesture proud,
They stately move and slow;
Nor scare they at the gathering crowd,
Who marvel as they go.

To Learmont's tower a message sped,
As fast as page might run;
And Thomas started from his bed,
And soon his cloaths did on.

First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;
Never a word he spake but three;--
"My sand is run; my thread is spun;
"This sign regardeth me."

The elfin harp his neck around,
In minstrel guise, he hung;
And on the wind, in doleful sound,
Its dying accents rung.

Then forth he went; yet turned him oft
To view his ancient hall;
On the grey tower, in lustre soft,
The autumn moon-beams fall.

And Leader's waves, like silver sheen,
Danced shimmering in the ray:
In deepening mass, at distance seen,
Broad Soltra's mountains lay.

"Farewell, my father's ancient tower!
"A long farewell," said he:
"The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,
"Thou never more shalt be.

"To Learmont's name no foot of earth
"Shall here again belong,
"And, on thy hospitable hearth,
"The hare shall leave her young.

"Adieu! Adieu!" again he cried,
All as he turned him roun'--
"Farewell to Leader's silver tide!
"Farewell to Ercildoune!"--

The hart and hind approached the place,
As lingering yet he stood;
And there, before Lord Douglas' face,
With them he cross'd the flood.

Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed,
And spurr'd him the Leader o'er;
But, though he rode with lightning speed,
He never saw them more.

Some sayd to hill, and some to glen,
Their wondrous course had been;
But ne'er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

NOTES

ON

THOMAS THE RHYMER.

PART THIRD.

* * * * *

_And Ruberslaw shew'd high Dunyon._--P. 216. v. 1.

Ruberslaw and Dunyon are two hills above Jedburgh.

_Then all by bonny Coldingknow._--P. 216. v. 2.

An ancient tower near Ercildoune, belonging to a family of the name of Home: One of Thomas's prophecies is said to have run thus:

Vengeance! vengeance! when and where?
On the house of Coldingknow, now and ever mair!

The spot is rendered classical by its having given name to the beautiful melody, called the _Broom o' the Cowdenknows_.

_They roused the deer from Caddenhead,_
_To distant Torwoodlee._--P. 216. v. 3.

Torwoodlee and Caddenhead are places in Selkirkshire.

_How courteous Gawaine met the wound._--P. 218. v. 2.

See, in the _Fabliaux_ of Monsieur le Grand, elegantly translated by the late Gregory Way, Esq. the tale of the _Knight and the Sword_.

_As white as snow on Fairnalie._--P. 221. v. 5.

An ancient seat upon the Tweed, in Selkirkshire. In a popular edition of the first part of Thomas the Rhymer, the Fairy Queen thus addresses him:

"Gin ye wad meet wi' me again,
Gang to the bonny banks of Fairnalie."

FOOTNOTES:

[50] _Ensenzie_--War-cry, or gathering word.

[51] _Quaighs_--Wooden cups, composed of staves hooped together.

[52] See introduction to this ballad.

[53] _Selcouth_--Wondrous.

THE EVE OF SAINT JOHN.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

Smaylho'me, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow-Crags, the property of Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden. The tower is a high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, being defended, on three sides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only from the west, by a steep and rocky path. The apartments, as is usual in a border-keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair; on the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate; the distance between them being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the elevated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among the crags, by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the _Watchfold_, and is said to have been the station of a beacon, in the times of war with England. Without the tower-court is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower.

This ballad was first printed in Mr LEWIS's _Tales of Wonder_. It is here published, with some additional illustrations, particularly an account of the battle of Ancram Moor; which seemed proper in a work upon border antiquities. The catastrophe of the tale is founded upon a well-known Irish tradition.[54] This ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene of the editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this attempt to celebrate them in a Border Tale.

THE EVE OF ST JOHN.

* * * * *

The Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,
He spurr'd his courser on,
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way,
That leads to Brotherstone.

He went not with the bold Buccleuch,
His banner broad to rear;
He went not 'gainst the English yew,
To lift the Scottish spear.

Yet his plate-jack[55] was braced, and his helmet was laced,
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore;
At his saddle-gerthe was a good steel sperthe,
Full ten pound weight and more.

The Baron return'd in three days space,
And his looks were sad and sour;
And weary was his courser's pace,
As he reached his rocky tower.

He came not from where Ancram Moor[56]
Ran red with English blood;
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch,
'Gainst keen Lord Evers stood.

Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd,
His acton pierc'd and tore;
His axe and his dagger with blood embrued,
But it was not English gore.

He lighted at the Chapellage,
He held him close and still;
And he whistled thrice for his little foot-page,
His name was English Will.

"Come thou hither, my little foot-page;
"Come hither to my knee;
"Though thou art young, and tender of age,
"I think thou art true to me.

"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,
"And look thou tell me true!
"Since I from Smaylho'me tower have been,
"What did thy lady do?"

"My lady, each night, sought the lonely light,
"That burns on the wild Watchfold;
"For, from height to height, the beacons bright
"Of the English foemen told.

"The bittern clamour'd from the moss,
"The wind blew loud and shrill;
"Yet the craggy pathway she did cross,
"To the eiry Beacon Hill.

"I watched her steps, and silent came
"Where she sat her on a stone;
"No watchman stood by the dreary flame;
"It burned all alone.

"The second night I kept her in sight,
"Till to the fire she came,
"And, by Mary's might! an armed Knight
"Stood by the lonely flame.

"And many a word that warlike lord
"Did speak to my lady there;
"But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,
"And I heard not what they were.

"The third night there the sky was fair,
"And the mountain-blast was still,
"As again I watched the secret pair,
"On the lonesome Beacon Hill.

"And I heard her name the midnight hour,
"And name this holy eve;
"And say, 'Come this night to thy lady's bower;
"Ask no bold Baron's leave.

'He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch;
'His lady is all alone;
'The door she'll undo, to her knight so true,
'On the eve of good St John.'

'I cannot come; I must not come;
'I dare not come to thee;
'On the eve of St John I must wander alone:
'In thy bower I may not be.'

'Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!
'Thou should'st not say me nay;
'For the eve is sweet, and when lovers meet,
'Is worth the whole summer's day.'

'And I'll chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound,
'And rushes shall be strewed on the stair;
"So, by the black rood-stone,[57] and by holy St John,
'I conjure thee, my love, to be there!'

'Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,
'And the warder his bugle should not blow,
'Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,
'And my foot-step he would know.'

'O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east!
"For to Dryburgh[58] the way he has ta'en;
'And there to say mass, till three days do pass,
"For the soul of a knight that is slayne.'

"He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd;
"Then he laughed right scornfully--
'He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that knight,
'May as well say mass for me.

'At the lone midnight-hour, when bad spirits have power,
'In thy chamber will I be.'
"With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,
"And no more did I see."--

Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow,
From the dark to the blood-red high;
"Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast seen,
"For, by Mary, he shall die!"

"His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light;
"His plume it was scarlet and blue;
"On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound,
"And his crest was a branch of the yew."

"Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,
"Loud dost thou lie to me!
"For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould,
"All under the Eildon-tree."[59]

"Yet hear but my word, my noble lord!
"For I heard her name his name;
"And that lady bright, she called the knight,
"Sir Richard of Coldinghame."

The bold Baron's brow then chang'd, I trow,
From high blood-red to pale--
"The grave is deep and dark--and the corpse is stiff and stark--
"So I may not trust thy tale."

"Where fair Tweed flows round holy Melrose,
"And Eildon slopes to the plain,
"Full three nights ago, by some secret foe,
"That gay gallant was slain."

"The varying light deceived thy sight,
"And the wild winds drown'd the name;
"For the Dryburgh bells ring, and the white monks do sing,
"For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!"

He pass'd the court-gate, and he oped the tower grate,
And he mounted the narrow stair,
To the bartizan-seat, where, with maids that on her wait,
He found his lady fair.

That lady sat in mournful mood;
Look'd over hill and vale;
Over Tweed's fair flood, and Mertoun's[60] wood,
And all down Tiviotdale.

"Now hail, now hail, thou lady bright!"
"Now hail, thou Baron true!
"What news, what news, from Ancram fight?
"What news from the bold Buccleuch?"

"The Ancram Moor is red with gore,
"For many a southern fell;
"And Buccleuch has charged us, evermore,
"To watch our beacons well."

The lady blush'd red, but nothing she said;
Nor added the Baron a word:
Then she stepp'd down the stair to her chamber fair,
And so did her moody lord.

In sleep the lady mourn'd, and the Baron toss'd and turn'd,
And oft to himself he said--
"The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is deep.....
It cannot give up the dead!"

It was near the ringing of matin-bell,
The night was well nigh done,
When a heavy sleep on that Baron fell,
On the eve of good St John.

The lady looked through the chamber fair,
By the light of a dying flame;
And she was aware of a knight stood there--
Sir Richard of Coldinghame!

"Alas! away, away!" she cried,
"For the holy Virgin's sake!"
"Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;
But, lady, he will not awake.

"By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,
"In bloody grave have I lain;
"The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,
"But, lady, they are said in vain.

"By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,
"Most foully slain I fell;
"And my restless sprite on the beacon's height,
"For a space is doom'd to dwell.

"At our trysting-place,[61] for a certain space,
"I must wander to and fro;
"But I had not had power to come to thy bower,
"Had'st thou not conjured me so."

Love master'd fear--her brow she crossed;
"How, Richard, hast thou sped?
"And art thou saved, or art thou lost?"
The Vision shook his head!

"Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;
"So bid thy lord believe:
"That lawless love is guilt above,
"This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam;
His right upon her hand:
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,
For it scorch'd like a fiery brand.

The sable score, of fingers four,
Remains on that board impress'd;
And for evermore that lady wore
A covering on her wrist.

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,
Ne'er looks upon the sun:
There is a monk in Melrose tower,
He speaketh word to none.

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,
That monk, who speaks to none--
That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,
That monk the bold Baron.

NOTES

ON

THE EVE OF ST JOHN.

* * * * *

_BATTLE OF ANCRUM MOOR._

Lord Evers, and Sir Brian Latoun, during the year 1544, committed the most dreadful ravages upon the Scottish frontiers, compelling most of the inhabitants, and especially the men of Liddesdale, to take assurance under the king of England. Upon the 17th November, in that year, the sum total of their depredations stood thus, in the bloody ledger of Lord Evers:

Towns, towers, barnekynes, parish churches, bastille
houses, burned and destroyed 192
Scots slain 403
Prisoners taken 816
Nolt (cattle) 10,386
Sheep 12,492
Nags and geldings 1,296
Gayt 200
Bolls of corn 850
Insight gear, &c. (furniture) an incalculable quantity.

MURDIN's _State Papers_, Vol. I. p. 51.

The king of England had promised to these two barons a feudal grant of the country, which they had thus reduced to a desert; upon hearing which, Archibald Douglas, the seventh Earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to write the deed of investiture upon their skins, with sharp pens and bloody ink, in resentment for their having defaced the tombs of his ancestors, at Melrose.--_Godscroft._ In 1545, Lord Evers and Latoun again entered Scotland, with an army consisting of 3000 mercenaries, 1500 English borderers, and 700 assured Scottish-men, chiefly Armstrongs, Turnbulls, and other broken clans. In this second incursion, the English generals even exceeded their former cruelty. Evers burned the tower of Broomhouse, with its lady (a noble and aged woman, says Lesley), and her whole family. The English penetrated as far as Melrose, which they had destroyed last year, and which they now again pillaged. As they returned towards Jedburgh, they were followed by Angus, at the head of 1000 horse, who was shortly after joined by the famous Norman Lesley, with a body of Fife-men. The English, being probably unwilling to cross the Teviot, while the Scots hung upon their rear, halted upon Ancram Moor, above the village of that name; and the Scottish general was deliberating whether to advance or retire, when Sir Walter Scott,[62] of Buccleuch, came up at full speed, with a small, but chosen body of his retainers, the rest of whom were near at hand. By the advice of this experienced warrior (to whose conduct Pitscottie and Buchanan ascribe the success of the engagement), Angus withdrew from the height which he occupied, and drew up his forces behind it, upon a piece of low flat ground, called Panier-heugh, or Peniel-heugh. The spare horses being sent to an eminence in their rear, appeared to the English to be the main body of the Scots, in the act of flight. Under this persuasion, Evers and Latoun hurried precipitately forwards, and, having ascended the hill, which their foes had abandoned, were no less dismayed than astonished, to find the phalanx of Scottish Spearmen drawn up, in firm array, upon the flat ground below. The Scots in their turn became the assailants. A heron, roused from the marshes by the tumult, soared away betwixt the encountering armies: "O!" exclaimed Angus, "that I had here my white goss-hawk, that we might all yoke at once!"--_Godscroft._ The English, breathless and fatigued, having the setting sun and wind full in their faces, were unable to withstand the resolute and desperate charge of the Scottish lances. No sooner had they begun to waver, than their own allies, the assured borderers, who had been waiting the event, threw aside their red crosses, and, joining their countrymen, made a most merciless slaughter among the English fugitives, the pursuers calling upon each other to "remember Broomhouse!"--_Lesley_, p. 478. In the battle fell Lord Evers, and his son, together with Sir Brian Latoun, and 800 Englishmen, many of whom were persons of rank. A thousand prisoners were taken. Among these was a patriotic alderman of London, Read by name, who, having contumaciously refused to pay his portion of a benevolence, demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was sent by royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at settling his ransom, he found still more exorbitant in their exactions than the monarch.--REDPATH's _Border History_, p. 553. Evers was much regretted by King Henry, who swore to avenge his death upon Angus, against whom he conceived himself to have particular grounds of resentment, on account of favours received by the Earl at his hands. The answer of Angus was worthy of a Douglas: "Is our brother-in-law offended,"[63] said he, "that I, as a good Scotsman, have avenged my ravaged country, and the defaced tombs of my ancestors, upon Ralph Evers? They were better men than he, and I was bound to do no less--and will he take my life for that? Little knows King Henry the skirts of Kirnetable:[64] I can keep myself there against all his English host."--_Godscroft._

Such was the noted battle of Ancram Moor. The spot, on which it was fought, is called Lyliard's Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of that name, who is reported, by tradition, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as squire Witherington. The old people point out her monument, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have been legible within this century, and to have run thus:

Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane,
Little was her stature, but great was her fame;
Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps,
And, when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her stumps.

_Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose._

It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an ancestor of Lord Evers held also a grant of Scottish lands from an English monarch. "I have seen," says the historian, "under the broad-seale of the said King Edward I., a manor, called Ketnes, in the countie of Ferfare, in Scotland, and neere the furthest part of the same nation northward, given to John Eure and his heiress, ancestor to the Lord Eure, that now is, for his service done in these partes, with market, &c. dated at Lanercost, the 20th day of October, anno regis, 34."--STOWE's _Annals_, p. 210. This grant, like that of Henry, must have been dangerous to the receiver.

_There is a nun in Dryburgh bower._--P. 239. v. 3.

The circumstance of the nun, "who never saw the day," is not entirely imaginary. About fifty years ago, an unfortunate female-wanderer took up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins of Dryburgh abbey, which, during the day, she never quitted. When night fell, she issued from this miserable habitation, and went to the house of Mr Halliburton of Newmains, the editor's great-grandfather, or to that of Mr Erskine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighbourhood. From their charity, she obtained such necessaries as she could be prevailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted her candle, and returned to her vault; assuring her friendly neighbours, that, during her absence, her habitation was arranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name of _Fatlips_; describing him as a little man, wearing heavy iron shoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, to dispel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regarded, by the well-informed, with compassion, as deranged in her understanding; and by the vulgar, with some degree of terror. The cause of her adopting this extraordinary mode of life she would never explain. It was, however, believed to have been occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence of a man, to whom she was attached, she would never look upon the sun. Her lover never returned. He fell during the civil-war of 1745-6, and she never more would behold the light of day.

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate woman lived and died, passes still by the name of the supernatural being, with which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed imagination, and few of the neighbouring peasants dare enter it by night.

FOOTNOTES:

[54] The following passage, in DR HENRY MORE's _Appendix to the Antidote against Atheism_, relates to a similar phenomenon: "I confess, that the bodies of devils may not only be warm, but sindgingly hot, as it was in him that took one of Melanchthon's relations by the hand, and so scorched her, that she bare the mark of it to her dying day. But the examples of cold are more frequent; as in that famous story of Cuntius, when he touched the arm of a certain woman of Pentoch, as she lay in her bed, he felt as cold as ice; and so did the spirit's claw to Anne Styles."--_Ed._ 1662. p. 135.

[55] The plate-jack is coat-armour; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace, armour for the body; the sperthe, a battle-axe.

[56] See an account of the battle of Ancram Moor, subjoined to the ballad.

[57] The black-rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of superior sanctity.

[58] Dryburgh Abbey is beautifully situated on the banks of the Tweed. After its dissolution, it became the property of the Halliburtons of Newmains, and is now the seat of the Right Honourable the Earl of Buchan. It belonged to the order of Premonstratenses.

[59] Eildon is a high hill, terminating in three conical summits, immediately above the town of Melrose, where are the admired ruins of a magnificent monastery. Eildon-tree is said to be the spot where Thomas the Rhymer uttered his prophecies. See p. 173.

[60] Mertoun is the beautiful seat of Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden.

[61] _Trysting-place_--Place of rendezvous.

[62] The editor has found in no instance upon record, of this family having taken assurance with England. Hence, they usually suffered dreadfully from the English forays. In August, 1544 (the year preceding the battle), the whole lands belonging to Buccleuch, in West Teviotdale, were harried by Evers; the outworks, or barmkin, of the tower of Branxholm, burned; eight Scotts slain, thirty made prisoners, and an immense prey of horses, cattle, and sheep, carried off. The lands upon Kale water, belonging to the same chieftain, were also plundered, and much spoil obtained; 30 Scotts slain, and the Moss Tower (a fortress near Eckford), _smoked very sore_. Thus Buccleuch had a long account to settle at Ancram Moor.--MURDIN's _State Papers_, pp. 45, 46.

[63] Angus had married the widow of James IV., sister to King Henry VIII.

[64] Kirnetable, now called Cairntable, is a mountainous tract at the head of Douglasdale.

LORD SOULIS.

BY J. LEYDEN.

* * * * *

The subject of the following ballad is a popular tale of the Scottish borders. It refers to transactions of a period so important, as to have left an indelible impression on the popular mind, and almost to have effaced the traditions of earlier times. The fame of Arthur, and the Knights of the Round Table, always more illustrious among the Scottish borderers, from their Welch origin, than Fin Maccoul, and Gow Macmorne, who seem not, however, to have been totally unknown, yielded gradually to the renown of Wallace, Bruce, Douglas, and the other patriots, who so nobly asserted the liberty of their country.--Beyond that period, numerous, but obscure and varying legends, refer to the marvellous Merlin, or Myrrdin _the Wild_, and Michael Scot, both magicians of notorious fame. In this instance the enchanters have triumphed over the _true man_. But the charge of magic was transferred from the ancient sorcerers to the objects of popular resentment of every age; and the partizans of the Baliols, the abettors of the English faction, and the enemies of the protestant, and of the presbyterian reformation, have been indiscriminately stigmatized as necromancers and _warlocks_. Thus, Lord Soulis, Archbishop Sharp, Grierson of Lagg, and Graham of Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee, receive from tradition the same supernatural attributes. According to Dalrymple,[65] the family of Soulis seem to have been powerful during the contest between Bruce and Baliol; for adhering to the latter of whom they incurred forfeiture. Their power extended over the south and west marches; and near Deadrigs,[66] in the parish of Eccles, in the east marches, their family-bearings still appear on an obelisk. William de Soulis, Justiciarius Laodoniæ, in 1281, subscribed the famous obligation, by which the nobility of Scotland bound themselves to acknowledge the sovereignty of the Maid of Norway, and her descendants. RHYMER, Tom. II. pp. 266, 279; and, in 1291, Nicholas de Soulis appears as a competitor for the crown of Scotland, which he claimed as the heir of Margery, a bastard daughter of Alexander II., and wife of Allan Durward, or Chuissier.--CARTE, p. 177. DALRYMPLE'S _Annals_, Vol. I. p. 203.

But their power was not confined to the marches; for the barony of Saltoun, in the shire of Haddington, derived its name from the family; being designed Soulistoun, in a charter to the predecessors of Nevoy of that ilk, seen by Dalrymple; and the same frequently appears among those of the benefactors and witnesses in the chartularies of abbeys, particularly in that of Newbottle. Ranulphus de Soulis occurs as a witness, in a charter, granted by King David, of the teindis of Stirling; and he, or one of his successors, had afterwards the appellation of _Pincerna Regis_. The following notices of the family and its decline, are extracted from Robertson's _Index of Lost Charters_.[67] Various repetitions occur, as the index is copied from different rolls, which appear to have never been accurately arranged.

Charter to the Abbacie of Melross, of that part of the barony
of Westerker, quhilk perteint to Lord Soulis--a Rob. I. in
vicecom. Melrose.

---- To the abbey of Craigelton, quhilkis perteint to Lord
Soulis--ab eodem--Candidæ Casæ.

---- To John Soullis, knight of the lands of Kirkanders and
Brettalach--ab eodem--Dumfries.

---- To John Soullis, knight of the baronie of Torthorald, ab
eodem--Dumfries.

Charter To John Soullis, of the lands of Kirkanders--ab
eodem--Dumfries.

---- To John Soullis, of the barony of Kirkanders--quæ fuit
quondam Johannis de Wak, Militis--ab eodem.

---- To James Lord Douglas, the half-lands of the barony
of Westerker, in valle de Esk, quilk William Soullis
forisfecit--ab eodem.

---- To Robert Stewart, the son and heir of Walter Stewart, the
barony of Nisbit, the barony of Longnewton, and Mertoun, and
the barony of Cavirton, invicecomitatu de Roxburgh, quhilk
William Soulis forisfecit.

---- To Murdoch Menteith, of the lands of Gilmerton, whilk was
William Soullis, in vicecom. de Edinburgh--ab eodem.

---- To Robert Bruce, of the lands of Liddesdale, whilk William
Soulis erga nos forisfecit--ab eodem.

---- To Robert Bruce, son to the king, the lands of Liddesdail,
whilk William Soullis forisfecit erga nos, ab eodem--anno
regni 16.

---- To Archibald Douglas, of the baronie of Kirkanders, quilk
were John Soullis, in vicecom. de Dumfries.

---- To Murdoch Menteith, of the lands of Gilmerton, quilk
Soullis forisfecit, in vicecom. de Edinburgh.

---- Waltero Senescallo Scotiæ of Nesbit (except and the valley
of Liddell) the barony of Langnewton and Maxtoun, the
barony of Cavertoun, in vicecom. de Roxburgh, quas Soullis
forisfecit.

Charter To James Lord Douglas, of the barony of Westerker, quam
Willielmus de Soullis forisfecit.

---- To William Lord Douglas, of the lands of Lyddal, whilkis
William Soullis forisfecit, a Davide secundo.

The hero of tradition seems to be William, Lord Soullis, whose name occurs so frequently in the foregoing list of forfeitures; by which he appears to have possessed the whole district of Liddesdale, with Westerkirk and Kirkandrews, in Dumfries-shire, the lands of Gilmertoun, near Edinburgh, and the rich baronies of Nisbet, Longnewton, Caverton, Maxtoun, and Mertoun, in Roxburghshire. He was of royal descent, being the grandson of Nicholas de Soulis, who claimed the crown of Scotland, in right of his grandmother, daughter to Alexander II.; and who, could her legitimacy have been ascertained, must have excluded the other competitors. The elder brother of William, was John de Soulis, a gallant warrior, warmly attached to the interests of his country, who, with fifty borderers, defeated and made prisoner Sir Andrew Harclay, at the head of three hundred Englishmen; and was himself slain, fighting in the cause of Edward the Bruce, at the battle of Dundalk, in Ireland, 1318. He had been joint-warden of the kingdom with John Cummin, after the abdication of the immortal Wallace, in 1300; in which character he was recognised by John Baliol, who, in a charter granted after his dethronement, and dated at Rutherglen, in the ninth year of his reign (1302), styles him "_Custos regni "nostri_." The treason of William, his successor, occasioned the downfall of the family. This powerful baron entered into a conspiracy against Robert the Bruce, in which many persons of rank were engaged. The object, according to Barbour, was to elevate Lord Soulis to the Scottish throne. The plot was discovered by the Countess of Strathern. Lord Soulis was seized at Berwick, although he was attended, says Barbour, by three hundred and sixty squires, besides many gallant knights. Having confessed his guilt, in full parliament, his life was spared by the king; but his domains were forfeited, and he himself confined in the castle of Dumbarton, where he died. Many of his accomplices were executed; among others, the gallant David de Brechin, nephew to the king, whose sole crime was having concealed the treason, in which he disdained to participate.[68] The parliament, in which so much noble blood was shed, was long remembered by the name of the _Black Parliament_. It was held in the year 1320.

From this period the family of Soulis makes no figure in our annals. Local tradition, however, more faithful to the popular sentiment than history, has recorded the character of their chief, and attributed to him many actions which seem to correspond with that character. His portrait is by no means flattering; uniting every quality which could render strength formidable, and cruelty detestable. Combining prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, avarice, dissimulation, and treachery, is it surprising that a people, who attributed every event of life, in a great measure, to the interference of good or evil spirits, should have added to such a character the mystical horrors of sorcery? Thus, he is represented as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer; constantly employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, and fortifying his castle of Hermitage against the king of Scotland; for which purpose he employed all means, human and infernal: invoking the fiends, by his incantations, and forcing his vassals to drag materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish king, irritated by reiterated complaints, peevishly exclaimed to the petitioners, "Boil him, if you please, but let me hear no more of him." Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with the utmost haste to execute the commission; which they accomplished, by boiling him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to have been long preserved at Skelf-hill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messengers, it is said, were immediately dispatched by the king, to prevent the effects of such a hasty declaration; but they only arrived in time to witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The castle of Hermitage, unable to support the load of iniquity, which had been long accumulating within its walls, is supposed to have partly sunk beneath the ground; and its ruins are still regarded by the peasants with peculiar aversion and terror. The door of the chamber, where Lord Soulis is said to have held his conferences with the evil spirits, is supposed to be opened once in seven years, by that dæmon, to which, when he left the castle, never to return, he committed the keys, by throwing them over his left shoulder, and desiring it to keep them till his return. Into this chamber, which is really the dungeon of the castle, the peasant is afraid to look; for such is the active malignity of its inmate, that a willow, inserted at the chinks of the door, is found peeled, or stripped of its bark, when drawn back. The Nine-stane Rig, where Lord Soulis was boiled, is a declivity, about one mile in breadth, and four in length, descending upon the water of Hermitage, from the range of hills which separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It derives its name from one of those circles of large stones, which are termed Druidical, nine of which remained to a late period. Five of these stones are still visible; and two are particularly pointed out, as those which supported the iron bar, upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended.

The formation of ropes of sand, according to popular tradition, was a work of such difficulty, that it was assigned by Michael Scot to a number of spirits, for which it was necessary for him to find some interminable employment. Upon discovering the futility of their attempts to accomplish the work assigned, they petitioned their task-master to be allowed to mingle a few handfuls of barley-chaff with the sand. On his refusal, they were forced to leave untwisted the ropes which they had shaped. Such is the traditionary hypothesis of the vermicular ridges of the sand on the shore of the sea.

_Redcap_ is a popular appellation of that class of spirits which haunt old castles. Every ruined tower in the south of Scotland is supposed to have an inhabitant of this species.

LORD SOULIS.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

* * * * *

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle,
And beside him Old Redcap sly;--
"Now, tell me, thou sprite, who art meikle of might,
"The death that I must die?"

"While thou shalt bear a charmed life,
"And hold that life of me,
"'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife,
"I shall thy warrant be.

"Nor forged steel, nor hempen band,
"Shall e'er thy limbs confine,
"Till threefold ropes, of sifted sand,
"Around thy body twine.

"If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest,
"With rusty padlocks bound;
"Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise,
"And listen to the sound."

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle,
And Redcap was not by;
And he called on a page, who was witty and sage,
To go to the barmkin high.

"And look thou east, and look thou west,
"And quickly come tell to me,
"What troopers haste along the waste,
"And what may their livery be."

He looked o'er fell, and he looked o'er flat,
But nothing, I wist, he saw,
Save a pyot on a turret that sat
Beside a corby craw.

The page he look'd at the skrieh[69] of day,
But nothing, I wist, he saw,
Till a horseman gray, in the royal array,
Rode down the Hazel-shaw.

"Say, why do you cross o'er moor and moss?"
So loudly cried the page;
"I tidings bring, from Scotland's king,
"To Soulis of Hermitage.

"He bids me tell that bloody warden,
"Oppressor of low and high,
"If ever again his lieges complain,
"The cruel Soulis shall die."

By traitorous slight they seized the knight,
Before he rode or ran,
And through the key-stone of the vault,
They plunged him, horse and man.

* * * * *

O May she came, and May she gaed,
By Goranberry green;
And May she was the fairest maid,
That ever yet was seen.

O May she came, and May she gaed,
By Goranberry tower;
And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis,
That carried her from her bower?

He brought her to his castle gray,
By Hermitage's side;
Says--"Be content, my lovely May,
"For thou shalt be my bride."

With her yellow hair, that glittered fair,
She dried the trickling tear;
She sighed the name of Branxholm's heir,
The youth that loved her dear.

"Now, be content, my bonny May,
"And take it for your hame;
"Or ever and ay shall ye rue the day,
"You heard young Branxholm's name.

"O'er Branxholm tower, ere the morning hour,
"When the lift[70] is like lead so blue;
"The smoke shall roll white on the weary night,
"And the flame shine dimly through."

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red,
A sturdy kemp was he;
From friend or foe, in border feid,
Who never a foot would flee.

Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led,
Up Goranberry slack;
Aye, many a wight, unmatched in fight,
Who never more came back.

And bloody set the westering sun,
And bloody rose he up;
But little thought young Branxholm's heir,
Where he that night should sup.

He shot the roe-buck on the lee,
The dun deer on the law;
The glamour[71] sure was in his e'e,
When Ringan nigh did draw.

O'er heathy edge, through rustling sedge,
He sped till day was set;
And he thought it was his merrymen true,
When he the spearmen met.

Far from relief, they seized the chief;
His men were far away;
Through Hermitage slack, they sent him back,
To Soulis' castle gray;
Syne onward fure for Branxholm tower,
Where all his merry men lay.

"Now, welcome, noble Branxholm's heir!
"Thrice welcome," quoth Soulis, "to me!
"Say, dost thou repair to my castle fair,
"My wedding guest to be?
"And lovely May deserves, per fay,
"A brideman such as thee!"

And broad and bloody rose the sun,
And on the barmkin shone;
When the page was aware of Red Ringan there,
Who came riding all alone.

To the gate of the tower Lord Soulis he speeds,
As he lighted at the wall,
Says--"Where did ye stable my stalwart steeds,
"And where do they tarry all?"

"We stabled them sure, on the Tarras Muir;
"We stabled them sure," quoth he:
"Before we could cross that quaking moss,
"They all were lost but me."

He clenched his fist, and he knocked on the chest,
And he heard a stifled groan;
And at the third knock, each rusty lock
Did open one by one.

He turned away his eyes, as the lid did rise,
And he listen'd silentlie;
And he heard breathed slow, in murmurs low,
"Beware of a coming tree!"

In muttering sound the rest was drowned;
No other word heard he;
But slow as it rose the lid did close,
With the rusty padlocks three.

* * * * *

Now rose with Branxholm's ae brother,
The Teviot, high and low;
Bauld Walter by name, of meikle fame,
For none could bend his bow.

O'er glen and glade, to Soulis there sped
The fame of his array,
And that Tiviotdale would soon assail
His towers and castle gray.

With clenched fist, he knocked on the chest,
And again he heard a groan;
And he raised his eyes as the lid did rise,
But answer heard he none.

The charm was broke, when the spirit spoke,
And it murmur'd sullenlie,--
"Shut fast the door, and for evermore,
"Commit to me the key.

"Alas! that ever thou raised'st thine eyes,
"Thine eyes to look on me!
"Till seven years are o'er, return no more,
"For here thou must not be."

Think not but Soulis was wae to yield
His warlock chamber o'er;
He took the keys from the rusty lock,
That never was ta'en before.

He threw them o'er his left shoulder,
With meikle care and pain;
And he bade it keep them, fathoms deep,
Till he returned again.

And still, when seven years are o'er,
Is heard the jarring sound;
When slowly opes the charmed door
Of the chamber under ground.

And some within the chamber door
Have cast a curious eye;
But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell,
The fearful sights they spy.

* * * * *

When Soulis thought on his merry men now,
A woeful wight was he;
Says--"Vengeance is mine, and I will not repine!
"But Branxholm's heir shall die."

Says--"What would ye do, young Branxholm,
"Gin ye had me, as I have thee?"
"I would take you to the good greenwood,
"And gar your ain hand wale[72] the tree."

"Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree,
"For all thy mirth and meikle pride;
"And May shall chuse, if my love she refuse,
"A scrog bush thee beside."

They carried him to the good greenwood,
Where the green pines grew in a row;
And they heard the cry, from the branches high,
Of the hungry carrion crow.

They carried him on from tree to tree,
The spiry boughs below;
"Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine,
"To feed the hooded crow?"

"The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall,
"When the night blast stirs the tree,
"And it shall not be mine to die on the pine,
"I loved in infancie."

Young Branxholm turned him, and oft looked back,
And aye he passed from tree to tree;
Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly[73] spake,
"O sic a death is no for me!"

And next they passed the aspin gray;
Its leaves were rustling mournfullie:
"Now, chuse thee, chuse thee, Branxholm gay!
"Say, wilt thou never chuse the tree?"

"More dear to me is the aspin gray,
"More dear than any other tree;
"For beneath the shade, that its branches made,
"Have past the vows of my love and me."

Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake,
Until he did his ain men see,
With witches' hazel in each steel cap,
In scorn of Soulis gramarye;
Then shoulder height for glee he lap,
"Methinks I spye a coming tree!"

"Aye, many may come, but few return,"
Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramarye;
"No warrior's hand in fair Scotland
"Shall ever dint a wound on me!"

"Now, by my sooth," quo' bauld Walter,
"If that be true we soon shall see."
His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true,
But never a wound or scar had he.

Then up bespake him, true Thomas,
He was the lord of Ersyltoun:
"The wizard's spell no steel can quell,
"Till once your lances bear him down."

They bore him down with lances bright,
But never a wound or scar had he;
With hempen bands they bound him tight,
Both hands and feet on the Nine-stane lee.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst;
They mouldered at his magic spell;
And neck and heel, in the forged steel,
They bound him against the charms of hell.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst;
No forged steel his charms could bide;
Then up bespake him, true Thomas,
"We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide."

The black spae-book from his breast he took,
Impressed with many a warlock spell:
And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott,
Who held in awe the fiends of hell.

They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep,
That mortal man might never it see:
But Thomas did save it from the grave,
When he returned from Faërie.

The black spae-book from his breast he took,
And turned the leaves with curious hand;
No ropes, did he find, the wizard could bind,
But threefold ropes of sifted sand.

They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn,
And shaped the ropes so curiouslie;
But the ropes would neither twist nor twine,
For Thomas true and his gramarye.

The black spae-book from his breast he took,
And again he turned it with his hand;
And he bade each lad of Teviot add
The barley chaff to the sifted sand.

The barley chaff to the sifted sand
They added still by handfulls nine;
But Redcap sly unseen was by,
And the ropes would neither twist nor twine.

And still beside the Nine-stane burn,
Ribbed like the sand at mark of sea,
The ropes, that would not twist nor turn,
Shaped of the sifted sand you see.

The black spae-book true Thomas he took;
Again its magic leaves he spread;
And he found that to quell the powerful spell,
The wizard must be boiled in lead.

On a circle of stones they placed the pot,
On a circle of stones but barely nine;
They heated it red and fiery hot,
Till the burnished brass did glimmer and shine.

They rolled him up in a sheat of lead,
A sheat of lead for a funeral pall;
They plunged him in the cauldron red,
And melted him, lead, and bones, and all.

At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still
The men of Liddesdale can shew;
And on the spot, where they boiled the pot,
The spreat[74] and the deer-hair[75] ne'er shall grow.

NOTES

ON

LORD SOULIS.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

The tradition regarding the death of Lord Soulis, however singular, is not without a parallel in the real history of Scotland. The same extraordinary mode of cookery was actually practised (_horresco referens_) upon the body of a sheriff of the Mearns. This person, whose name was Melville of Glenbervie, bore his faculties so harshly, that he became detested by the barons of the country. Reiterated complaints of his conduct having been made to James I. (or, as others say, to the Duke of Albany), the monarch answered, in a moment of unguarded impatience, "Sorrow gin the sheriff were sodden, and supped in broo'!" The complainers retired, perfectly satisfied. Shortly after, the lairds of Arbuthnot, Mather, Laurestoun, and Pittaraw, decoyed Melville to the top of the hill of Garvock, above Lawrencekirk, under pretence of a grand hunting party. Upon this place (still called the _Sheriff's Pot_), the barons had prepared a fire and a boiling cauldron, into which they plunged the unlucky sheriff. After he was _sodden_ (as the king termed it), for a sufficient time, the savages, that they might literally observe the royal mandate, concluded the scene of abomination, by actually partaking of the hell-broth.

The three lairds were outlawed for this offence; and Barclay, one of their number, to screen himself from justice, erected the kaim (_i.e._ the camp, or fortress) of Mathers, which stands upon a rocky, and almost inaccessible peninsula, overhanging the German ocean. The laird of Arbuthnot is said to have eluded the royal vengeance, by claiming the benefit of the law of clan Macduff, concerning which the curious reader will find some particulars subjoined. A pardon, or perhaps a deed of replegiation, founded upon that law, is said to be still extant among the records of the viscount of Arbuthnot.