Chapter IX: Part III: 213 (9)

"About the same time he (Peden) came to Andrew Normand's house, in the parish of Alloway, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in his barn. After he came in, he halted a little, leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered; when he lifted up his head, he said, 'There are in this house that I have not one word of salvation unto;' he halted a little again, saying, 'This is strange, that the devil will not go out, that we may begin our work!' Then there was a woman went out, ill-looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the same. It escaped me, in the former passages, that John Muirhead (whom I have often mentioned) told me, that when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family-worship, and giving some notes upon the Scripture, when a very ill-looking man came, and sate down within the door, at the back of the _hallan_ (partition of the cottage): immediately he halted, and said, 'There is some unhappy body just now come into this house. I charge him to go out, and not stop my mouth!' The person went out, and he _insisted_ (went on), yet he saw him neither come in nor go out."--_The Life and Prophecies of Mr Alexander Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at New Glenluce, in Galloway_, Part II. § 26.

THE GRAY BROTHER.

* * * * *

The Pope he was saying the high, high mass,
All on saint Peter's day,
With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven,
To wash men's sins away.

The pope he was saying the blessed mass,
And the people kneel'd around,
And from each man's soul his sins did pass,
As he kiss'd the holy ground.

And all, among the crowded throng,
Was still, both limb and tongue,
While thro' vaulted roof, and aisles aloof,
The holy accents rung.

At the holiest word, he quiver'd for fear,
And faulter'd in the sound--
And, when he would the chalice rear,
He dropp'd it on the ground.

"The breath of one of evil deed
"Pollutes our sacred day;
"He has no portion in our creed,
"No part in what I say.

"A being, whom no blessed word
"To ghostly peace can bring;
"A wretch, at whose approach abhorr'd,
"Recoils each holy thing.

"Up! up! unhappy! haste, arise!
"My adjuration fear!
"I charge thee not to stop my voice,
"Nor longer tarry here!"

Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd,
In gown of sackcloth gray;
Far journeying from his native field,
He first saw Rome that day.

For forty days and nights, so drear,
I ween, he had not spoke,
And, save with bread and water clear,
His fast he ne'er had broke.

Amid the penitential flock,
Seem'd none more bent to pray;
But, when the Holy Father spoke,
He rose, and went his way.

Again unto his native land,
His weary course he drew,
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand,
And Pentland's mountains blue.

His unblest feet his native seat,
Mid Eske's fair woods, regain;
Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet
Rolls to the eastern main.

And lords to meet the Pilgrim came,
And vassals bent the knee;
For all mid Scotland's chiefs of fame,
Was none more famed than he.

And boldly for his country, still,
In battle he had stood,
Aye, even when, on the banks of Till,
Her noblest pour'd their blood.

Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet!
By Eske's fair streams that run,
O'er airy steep, thro' copsewood deep,
Impervious to the sun.

There the rapt poet's step may rove,
And yield the muse the day;
There Beauty, led by timid Love,
May shun the tell-tale ray;

From that fair dome, where suit is paid,
By blast of bugle free,
To Auchendinny's hazel glade,
And haunted Woodhouselee.

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,
And Roslin's rocky glen,
Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,
And classic Hawthornden?

Yet never a path, from day to day,
The pilgrim's footsteps range,
Save but the solitary way
To Burndale's ruin'd Grange.

A woeful place was that, I ween,
As sorrow could desire;
For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall,
And the roof was scathed with fire.

It fell upon a summer's eve,
While on Carnethy's head,
The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams
Had streak'd the gray with red;

And the convent-bell did vespers tell,
Newbottle's oaks among,
And mingled with the solemn knell
Our Ladye's evening song:

The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell,
Came slowly down the wind,
And on the pilgrim's ear they fell,
As his wonted path he did find.

Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was,
Nor ever rais'd his eye,
Untill he came to that dreary place,
Which did all in ruins lie.

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire,
With many a bitter groan--
And there was aware of a Gray Friar,
Resting him on a stone.

"Now, Christ thee save!" said the Gray Brother;
"Some pilgrim thou seemest to be."
But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze,
Nor answer again made he.

"O come ye from east, or come ye from west,
"Or bring reliques from over the sea,
"Or come ye from the shrine of St James the divine,
"Or St John of Beverly?"

"I come not from the shrine of St James the divine,
"Nor bring reliques from over the sea;
"I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope,
"Which for ever will cling to me."

"Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so!
"But kneel thee down by me,
"And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin,
"That absolved thou mayst be."

"And who art thou, thou Gray Brother,
"That I should shrive to thee,
"When he, to whom are giv'n the keys of earth and heav'n,
"Has no power to pardon me?"

"O I am sent from a distant clime,
"Five thousand miles away,
"And all to absolve a foul, foul crime,
"Done _here_ 'twixt night and day."

The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand,
And thus began his saye--
When on his neck an ice-cold hand
Did that Gray Brother laye.

NOTES ON THE GRAY BROTHER.

* * * * *

_From that fair dome, where suit is paid,_
_By blast of bugle free._--P. 439. v. 4.

The barony of Pennycuik, the property of Sir George Clerk, Bart. is held by a singular tenure; the proprietor being bound to sit upon a large rocky fragment, called the Buckstane, and wind three blasts of a horn, when the king shall come to hunt on the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. Hence, the family have adopted, as their crest, a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the motto, _Free for a Blast_. The beautiful mansion-house of Pennycuik is much admired, both on account of the architecture and surrounding scenery.

To Auchendinny's hazel glade.--P. 439. v. 4.

Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuik, the present residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq., author of the _Man of Feeling_, &c.

_And haunted Woodhouselee._--P. 439. v. 4.

For the traditions connected with this ruinous mansion, see the Ballad of _Cadyow Castle_, p. 410.

_Who knows not Melville's beechy grove._--P. 439. v. 5.

Melville Castle, the seat of the honourable Robert Dundas, member for the county of Mid-Lothian, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near Laswade. It gives the title of viscount to his father, Lord Melville.

_And Roslin's rocky glen._--P. 439. v. 5.

The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the ancient family of St Clair, the Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell in which they are situated, belong to the Right Honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former lords of Roslin.

_Dalkeith, which all the virtues love._--P. 439. v. 5.

The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged, of old, to the famous Earl of Morton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. The park extends along the Esk, which is there joined by its sister stream, of the same name.

_And classic Hawthornden._--P. 439. v. 5.

Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A house, of more modern date, is inclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient castle, and overhangs a tremendous precipice, upon the banks of the Eske, perforated by winding caves, which, in former times, formed a refuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who journeyed from London, on foot, in order to visit him. The beauty of this striking scene has been much injured, of late years, by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in vain for the leafy bower,

"Where Jonson sate in Drummond's social shade."

Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source, till it joins the sea, at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succession of the most interesting objects, as well as of the most romantic and beautiful scenery.

FOOTNOTES:

[100] This tradition was communicated to me by John Clerk, Esq. of Eldin, author of an _Essay upon Naval Tactics_, who will be remembered by posterity, as having taught the Genius of Britain to concentrate her thunders, and to launch them against her foes with an unerring aim.

WAR-SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

BY THE EDITOR.

* * * * *

"_Nennius._ Is not peace the end of arms?

_Caratach._ Not where the cause implies a general conquest.
Had we a difference with some petty isle,
Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks,
The taking in of some rebellious lord,
Or making head against a slight commotion,
After a day of blood, peace might be argued:
But where we grapple for the land we live on,
The liberty we hold more dear than life,
The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours,
And, with those, swords, that know no end of battle--
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance,
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest,
And, where they march, but measure out more ground
To add to Rome----
It must not be.--No! as they are our foes,
Let's use the peace of honour--that's fair dealing;
But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman,
That thinks to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under ground,
And be allied in ashes."----

BONDUCA.

The following War-Song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expence. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was no where more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a Regiment of Cavalry, from the city and county, and two Corps of Artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: "_Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate._"

WAR-SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

* * * * *

To horse! to horse! the standard flies,
The bugles sound the call;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze,
Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true;
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;
We boast the red and blue.[101]

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown,
Dull Holland's tardy train;
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn,
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,
And, foaming, gnaw the chain;

O! had they mark'd the avenging call
Their brethren's murder gave,
Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown,
Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,
Sought freedom in the grave!

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,
Or brook a victor's scorn?

No! though destruction o'er the land
Come pouring as a flood,
The sun, that sees our falling day,
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway,
And set that night in blood.

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
Or plunder's bloody gain;
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,
To guard our King, to fence our Law,
Nor shall their edge be vain.

If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tri-color,
Or footstep of invader rude,
With rapine foul, and red with blood,
Pollute our happy shore,--

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie!
Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer, or to die.

To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;
High sounds our bugle call;
Combined by honour's sacred tie,
Our word is _Laws and Liberty!_
March forward, one and all!

NOTE ON THE WAR-SONG.

* * * * *

_O! had they mark'd the avenging call_
_Their brethren's murder gave._--P. 449. v. 2.

The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on the fatal 10th August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the progressive injustice, by which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free people upon the continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state degraded is half enslaved.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] The Royal Colours.

THE FEAST OF SPURS.

BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

* * * * *

_In the account of_ WALTER SCOTT _of Harden's way of living, it is mentioned, that "when the last Bullock was killed and devoured, it was the Lady's custom to place on the table a dish, which, on being uncovered, was found to contain a pair of clean Spurs; a hint to the Riders, that they must shift for their next meal."_ See Introduction, p. 88.

_The speakers in the following stanzas are_ WALTER SCOTT _of Harden, and his wife,_ MARY SCOTT, _the Flower of Yarrow._

* * * * *

"Haste, ho! my dame, what cheer the night?
"I look to see your table dight,
"For I ha'e been up since peep o' light,
"Driving the dun deer merrilie.

"Wow! but the bonnie harts and raes
Are fleet o' foot on Ettricke braes;
My gude dogs ne'er, in a' their days,
Forfoughten were sae wearilie.

"Frae Shaws to Rankelburn we ran
A score, that neither stint nor blan;
And now ahint the breckans[102] stan',
And laugh at a' our company.

"We've passed through monie a tangled cleugh,
We've rade fu' fast o'er haugh and heugh;
I trust ye've got gude cheer eneugh
To feast us a' right lustilie."--

"Are ye sae keen-set, Wat? 'tis weel;
Ye winna find a dainty meal;
It's a' o' the gude Rippon steel,
Ye maun digest it manfullie.

"Nae ky are left in Harden Glen;
Ye maun be stirring wi' your men;
Gin ye soud bring me less than ten,
I winna roose[103] your braverie."--

"Are ye sae modest ten to name?
"Syne, an I bring na twenty hame,
"I'll freely gi'e ye leave to blame
"Baith me, and a' my chyvalrie.

"I coud ha'e relished better cheer,
"After the chace o' sic-like deer;
"But, trust me, rowth o' Southern gear
"Shall deck your lard'ner speedilie.

"When Stanegirthside I last came by,
"A bassened bull allured mine eye,
"Feeding amang a herd o' kye;
"O gin I looked na wistfullie!

"To horse! young Jock shall lead the way;
"And soud the warden tak the fray
"To mar our riding, I winna say,
"But he mote be in jeopardie.

"The siller moon now glimmers pale;
"But ere we've crossed fair Liddesdale,
"She'll shine as brightlie as the bale[104]
"That warns the water hastilie.

"O leeze me on her bonnie light!
"There's nought sae dear to Harden's sight,
"Troth, gin she shone but ilka night,
"Our clan might live right royallie.

"Haste, bring your nagies frae the sta',
"And lightlie louping, ane and a',
"Intull your saddles, scour awa',
"And ranshakle[105] the Southronie.

"Let ilka ane his knapscap[106] lace;
"Let ilka ane his steil-jack brace;
"And deil bless him that sall disgrace
"Walter o' Harden's liverie!"--

NOTES ON THE FEAST OF SPURS.

* * * * *

_Harden Glen._--P. 453. v. 5.

"Harden's castle was situated upon the very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borthwick. In the recess of this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which served for the daily maintenance of his retainers." Notes on the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," Canto IV. stanza 9.

_Warns the water._--P. 454. v. 5.

This expression signified formerly the giving the alarm to the inhabitants of a district; each district taking its name from the river that flowed through it.

_O leeze me,_ &c.--P. 455. v. 1.

The esteem in which the moon was held in the Harden family may be traced in the motto they still bear: "_Reparabit cornua Phoebe."_

FOOTNOTES:

[102] _Breckans_--Fern.

[103] _Roose_--Praise.

[104] _Bale_--Beacon-fire.

[105] _Ranshakle_--Plunder.

[106] _Knapscap_--Helmet.

ON A VISIT PAID TO THE RUINS OF MELROSE ABBEY

BY THE COUNTESS OF DALKEITH, AND HER SON, LORD SCOTT.

BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

* * * * *

Abbots of Melrose, wont of yore
The dire anathema to pour
On England's hated name;
See, to appease your injured shades,
And expiate her Border raids,
She sends her fairest Dame.

Her fairest Dame those shrines has graced,
That once her boldest Lords defaced;
Then let your hatred cease;
The prayer of import dread revoke,
Which erst indignant fury spoke,
And pray for England's peace.

If, as it seems to Fancy's eye,
Your sainted spirits hover nigh,
And haunt this once-loved spot;
That Youth's fair open front behold,
His step of strength, his visage bold,
And hail a genuine Scott.

Yet think that England claims a part
In the rich blood that warms his heart,
And let your hatred cease;
The prayer of import dread revoke,
Which erst indignant fury spoke,
And pray for England's peace.

Pray, that no proud insulting foe
May ever lay her temples low,
Or violate her fanes;
No moody fanatic deface
The works of wondrous art, that grace
Antiquity's remains.

NOTE ON A VISIT PAID TO THE RUINS OF MELROSE ABBEY.

* * * * *

Melrose Abbey was reduced to its present ruinous state, partly by the English barons in their hostile inroads, and partly by John Knox and his followers. For a reason why its abbots should be supposed to take an interest in the Buccleuch family, see the Notes to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," octavo edition, p. 238.

ARCHIE ARMSTRONG'S AITH.

BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.

* * * * *

As Archie passed the Brockwood-leys,
He cursed the blinkan moon,
For shouts were borne upo' the breeze
Frae a' the hills aboon.

A herd had marked his lingering pace
That e'enin near the fauld,
And warned his fellows to the chace,
For he kenn'd him stout and bauld.

A light shone frae Gilnockie tower;
He thought, as he ran past,--
"O Johnie ance was stiff in stour,
"But hangit at the last!"--

His load was heavy, and the way
Was rough, and ill to find;
But ere he reached the Stubholm brae,
His faes were far behind.

He clamb the brae, and frae his brow
The draps fell fast and free;
And when he heard a loud halloo,
A waefu' man was he.

O'er his left shouther, towards the muir,
An anxious e'e he cast;
And oh! when he stepped o'er the door,
His wife she looked aghast.

"Ah wherefore, Archie, wad ye slight
"Ilk word o' timely warning?
"I trow ye will be ta'en the night,
"And hangit i' the morning."--

"Now haud your tongue, ye prating wife,
"And help me as ye dow;
"I wad be laith to lose my life
"For ae poor silly yowe."--

They stript awa the skin aff-hand,
Wi' a' the woo' aboon;
There's ne'er a flesher[107] i' the land
Had done it half sae soon.

They took the _haggis-bag_ and heart,
The heart, but and the liver;
Alake, that siccan a noble part
Should win intull the river!

But Archie he has ta'en them a',
And wrapt them i' the skin;
And he has thrown them o'er the wa',
And sicht whan they fell in.

The cradle stans by the ingle[108] toom,[109]
The bairn wi' auntie stays;
They clapt the carcase in its room,
And smoored it wi' the claes.

And down sate Archie daintilie,
And rocked it wi' his hand;
Siccan a rough nourice as he
Was not in a' the land.

And saftlie he began to croon,[110]
"Hush, hushabye, my dear."--
He had na sang to sic a tune,
I trow, for monie a year.

Now frae the hills they cam in haste,
A' rinning out o' breath;--
"Ah, Archie, we ha' got ye fast,
"And ye maun die the death!

"Aft ha' ye thinned our master's herds,
"And elsewhere cast the blame;
"Now ye may spare your wilie words,
"For we have traced ye hame."--

"Your sheep for warlds I wad na take;
"Deil ha' me if I'm lying;
"But haud your tongues for mercie's sake,
"The bairn's just at the dying.

"If e'er I did sae fause a feat,
"As thin my neebor's faulds,
"May I be doomed the flesh to eat
"This vera cradle halds!

"But gin ye reck na what I swear,
"Go search the biggin[111] thorow,
"And if ye find ae trotter there,
"Then hang me up the morrow."--

They thought to find the stolen gear,
They searched baith but and ben;
But a' was clean, and a' was clear,
And naething could they ken.

And what to think they could na tell,
They glowred at ane anither;--
"Sure, Patie, 'twas the deil himsel
"That ye saw rinning hither.

"Or aiblins Maggie's ta'en the yowe,
"And thus beguiled your e'e."--
"Hey, Robie, man, and like enowe,
"For I ha'e nae rowan-tree."--

Awa' they went wi' muckle haste,
Convinced 'twas Maggie Brown;
And Maggie, ere eight days were past,
Got mair nor ae new gown.

Then Archie turned him on his heel,
And gamesomelie did say,--
"I did na think that half sae weel
"The nourice I could play."

And Archie didna break his aith,
He ate the cradled sheep;
I trow he was na vera laith
Siccan a vow to keep.

And aft sinsyne to England's king
The story he has told;
And aye when he gan rock and sing,
Charlie his sides wad hold.

NOTES ON ARCHIE ARMSTRONG'S AITH.

* * * * *

The hero of this ballad was a native of Eskdale, and contributed not a little towards the raising his clan to that pre-eminence which it long maintained amongst the Border thieves, and which none indeed but the Elliots could dispute. He lived at the Stubholm, immediately below the junction of the Wauchope and the Esk; and there distinguished himself so much by zeal and assiduity in his professional duties, that at length he found it expedient to emigrate, his neighbours not having learned from Sir John Falstaff, that "it is no sin for a man to labour in his vocation." He afterwards became a celebrated jester in the English court. In more modern times, he might have found a court in which his virtues would have entitled him to a higher station. He was dismissed in disgrace in the year 1737, for his insolent wit, of which the following may serve as a specimen. One day when Archbishop Laud was just about to say grace before dinner, Archie begged permission of the king to perform that office in his stead; and having received it, said, "All _praise_ to God, and little _Laud_ to the deil." The exploit detailed in this ballad has been preserved, with many others of the same kind, by tradition, and is at this time current in Eskdale.

_Or aiblin's Maggie's ta'en the yowe._--P. 464. v. 4.

There is no district wherein witches seem to have maintained a more extensive, or more recent influence than in Eskdale. It is not long since the system of bribery, alluded to in the next stanza, was carried on in that part of the country. The rowan-tree, or mountain-ash, is well known to be a sure preservative against the power of witchcraft.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[107] _A Flesher_--A Butcher.

[108] _Ingle_--Fire.

[109] _Toom_--Empty.

[110] _Croon_--To hum over a song.

[111] _Biggin_--Building.

* * * * *

EDINBURGH:
Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they
were not changed.

Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.

Italics words are denoted by _underscores_.

Bold words are denoted by =equals=.

P. 310 added footnote attributing unidentified poem to William
Collins.