His erran's deen, as fast as he cu'd spang,hastes to Luckie's howf to join the thrang,An' Luckie smirks her kin'liest welcome ben,Prinkin' her feathers like a tappit hen."Hooray! there's Inglis, sirs; ye see he's true;"An' doun sits Inglis 'mang the jovial crew.An' syne the crack gaed on—wha bocht o'er dear;What "Aikie Brae" gat for his muckle steer;Hoo auld Tam Gray has buiket young May Mason;An' "Bogie," wi' his quean maun stan' the Session;Hoo "Brosie Tam" is heckled by his wife;An' sic-like news aboot the country rife.Ilk gies his tale while at the drinkin' thrang,Till Lundie cries, "Come, Inglis, gie's a sang!We'll drink your health till ye get into tune,—Nae moulie draps, noo,—clean-cap-oot a' roun'.""Hoot, Lundie, man! ye ken I hae the cauld,—Nae han' at best, an' a' my sangs are auld;But, gin I maun—an' ye're sae singin'-fain—I'll try ane on a forbear o' mine ain:—
His erran's deen, as fast as he cu'd spang,hastes to Luckie's howf to join the thrang,An' Luckie smirks her kin'liest welcome ben,Prinkin' her feathers like a tappit hen."Hooray! there's Inglis, sirs; ye see he's true;"An' doun sits Inglis 'mang the jovial crew.An' syne the crack gaed on—wha bocht o'er dear;What "Aikie Brae" gat for his muckle steer;Hoo auld Tam Gray has buiket young May Mason;An' "Bogie," wi' his quean maun stan' the Session;Hoo "Brosie Tam" is heckled by his wife;An' sic-like news aboot the country rife.Ilk gies his tale while at the drinkin' thrang,Till Lundie cries, "Come, Inglis, gie's a sang!We'll drink your health till ye get into tune,—Nae moulie draps, noo,—clean-cap-oot a' roun'."
"Hoot, Lundie, man! ye ken I hae the cauld,—Nae han' at best, an' a' my sangs are auld;But, gin I maun—an' ye're sae singin'-fain—I'll try ane on a forbear o' mine ain:—
Air—"Muirland Willie.""Watt o' the Hill cam' doun the brae,Trigly buskit frae tap to tae,Ridin' fu' crouse on his dappled grey—Wattie wis fidgin' fain;'An', aye,' quo' he, 'whate'er betide,Some canty bit lass I'll mak' my bride,For winter is comin'—my bed's o'er wide—I'll lie nae mair my lane.'"Wattie gaed hoddlin' to the mill.'Here's routh,' quo' he, 'to woo at will,Jenny an' Meg an' Bess an' Lill,Tibbie an' Kate an' Jane.Lasses,—I'm here a wooer to woo,Will ane o' ye come an' be my doo?I've siller, an' lan', an' mony a coo—I'm tired o' lyin' my lane.'"The lasses skirled a loud 'tee hee!'But ilka ane cried, 'wull ye tak me?'Better an' auld man's dawtie be,Wi' walth o' gear, than nane.'Wattie,' quo' they, 'just steek yer een,Grip wha ye like, she'll ne'er compleen;Better a cuttie than wantin' a speen—Ye'se lie nae mair yer lane.'""Noo, my sang's deen," quo Inglis; "I've the ca'To keep the pottie boilin'. Come awa,Lundie, my man, an' gie's your winsome Jean;Begin at ance—the seener ye'll be deen.""Inglis, wha yokes wi' you's a gowk, atweel!'He needs a lang speen that sups wi' the deil!'But, troth, 'twere wrang to gar ye sup yer kailA wee thocht hetter than I wud mysel':—
Air—"Muirland Willie."
"Watt o' the Hill cam' doun the brae,Trigly buskit frae tap to tae,Ridin' fu' crouse on his dappled grey—Wattie wis fidgin' fain;'An', aye,' quo' he, 'whate'er betide,Some canty bit lass I'll mak' my bride,For winter is comin'—my bed's o'er wide—I'll lie nae mair my lane.'
"Wattie gaed hoddlin' to the mill.'Here's routh,' quo' he, 'to woo at will,Jenny an' Meg an' Bess an' Lill,Tibbie an' Kate an' Jane.Lasses,—I'm here a wooer to woo,Will ane o' ye come an' be my doo?I've siller, an' lan', an' mony a coo—I'm tired o' lyin' my lane.'
"The lasses skirled a loud 'tee hee!'But ilka ane cried, 'wull ye tak me?'Better an' auld man's dawtie be,Wi' walth o' gear, than nane.'Wattie,' quo' they, 'just steek yer een,Grip wha ye like, she'll ne'er compleen;Better a cuttie than wantin' a speen—Ye'se lie nae mair yer lane.'"
"Noo, my sang's deen," quo Inglis; "I've the ca'To keep the pottie boilin'. Come awa,Lundie, my man, an' gie's your winsome Jean;Begin at ance—the seener ye'll be deen."
"Inglis, wha yokes wi' you's a gowk, atweel!'He needs a lang speen that sups wi' the deil!'But, troth, 'twere wrang to gar ye sup yer kailA wee thocht hetter than I wud mysel':—
Air—"Laird o' Cockpen.""In a wee thieket hoosie, far doon i' the glen,There lived a young lassie, the plague o' the men.Sae dainty, sae genty, sae canty an' keen,The wale o' the parish was Tipperty's Jean.The minister smiled till her braid i' the kirk,The dominie winkit wi' mony a smirk,An' douce-lookin' elders, on Saturday's e'en,Could crack aboot naething but Tipperty's Jean."Auld Lowrie the laird, wi' his hat in his han',Says, 'Will ye tak'me, wi' my siller an' lan';'y thanks to ye, laird, but it's sinfu' gin aneSud marry their grandad,' quo Tipperty's Jean.The doctor grew dowie, and maist like to dee,Sae wowf gat the lawyer he bade folks agree,An' Rob o' the Milltown an' Tam o' the GreenMaist tint their scant wits aboot Tipperty's Jean."The lasses gaed wand'ring their lanes i' the loan,The auld folks were girnin' wi' mony a groan;'The warld's seerly gyte, sirs, there's never been seenSic wark as they haud aboot Tipperty's Jean.'Nae dellin' was deen, nae thrashin', nae ploughin',The wark a' gaed wrang, sae thrang war they wooin';Sic ridin', sic racin' there never was seen,The chiels were sae daft aboot Tipperty's Jean."They happit aboot her like craws on a rig,A' fechtin', or fleechin', or crackin' fell big;'Gae 'wa', sirs, to Freuchie, for brawly it's seenIt's siller yer wooin',' quo Tipperty's Jean.'Sin' auld uncle Davie cam' back owre the sea,An' left sic a hantle o' siller to me,I'm deaved wi' yer wooin' frae mornin' till e'en.The deil tak sic wooers,' quo Tipperty's Jean."'Oh, wae on the siller! it's twined me an' Johnnie.Though scanty o' wealth, yet he's kindly an' bonnieGin he wud but seek me this very gude e'en,He'd no tine his errand,' quo Tipperty's Jean.Peer Johnnie o'erheard her, his heart like to brak,He cuist his arms roon' her an' gied her a smack.'Wull ye be my dawtie?' she blinkit fu' keen;'Yer welcome to tak' me,' quo Tipperty's Jean."An' there was a waddin'! sic vivers an' drinks,Sic fiddlin' an' pipin', sic dancin' an' jinks;The haggis e'en hotched to the piper it's lane;'It's a' weel that ends weel,' quo Tipperty's Jean.The minister danced i' the barn wi' the bride;The elders cried 'Fiddlers, play upDelvin Side;'dominie sang like a mavis at e'en;'Here's a health to quid lasses,' like Tipperty's Jean."Thus ance begun, sang followed sang a' roun'—The Cunnin' Clerk o' Colliston,The Tailor Loon,Auld Scour Abeen, an' mony mair as fell—Luckie brings the drucken bite hersel'—Saut beef an' breid (she was a sleekit bodie)To moyen ben anither bowl o' toddy;Anither, an' anither yet, 'til a' war' glorious,Some greetin'-fow, an' ithers clean uproarious.To tak' the gate at lang an' last they're fain,"Sorry to pairt, happy to meet again."Though Inglis kent a bull's fit frae a B,He had mair than a wee drap in his ee;For length o' road he caredna half a bodle,The breadth o't sairly fash'd his drummel'd nodle."It's dreich wark this," quo he; "I kenna, haith,Gin I'd best gang or rin—I'se try them baith.I wish I war' weel hame! na, what excuseCan I mak' oot for haudin' sic a boose?Weel was I warnised ere I cam' frae hame;I canna say ae word—itwasa shame—by my troth I sweer, if I get o'erThis dirdum richt, I'll ne'er haud sic a splore."Alas! alas! what witchery constrainsMan's pleasures thus, to breed such racking pains?'Tis retribution just: vice is the sourceOf dread despair and harrowing remorse;But, like the star that gems the darkest night,Returning virtue brings back glorious light.While Inglis, thus opprest wi' drink an' care,Pyowtered alang, an' browdenin' unco sairOn's Tibbie dear,—whiles thinkin' upo' witchesThat haunt the Collieburn—unholy wretches!—His puir Guidwife set doun the evenin' meal,An', by the fire, sat birrin' at her wheel.The chaumer had a cozy look, an' clean;[D]For weel she likit it sud aye be seen.While weary time beat on wi' measured speed,Fu' mony a glance toward the knock she gied:"I wunner oor Guidman's nae frae the fair;He's past his ord'nar time four hoors an' mair.See, Betty, lass! the nicht is growin' cauld,Fesh twa-r-three peats to mak' the fire mair bauld;An' bring me tidin's o' the kin' o' nicht—Whether it's wet or dry, or mirk or licht.""A bonnie nicht it is on hill an' howe,The moon's just glintin' o'er the Castle knowe.""Weel, lass, I'm glad o' that," her mistress cried;An' to her task her eident hand applied."An' now gae to your bed, there's nocht to hinner—Ye're sleepy like—aweel, I dinna wunner;But see ye're up wi' morn's first glint o' grey,For weel ye ken it is oor kirnin' day."
Air—"Laird o' Cockpen."
"In a wee thieket hoosie, far doon i' the glen,There lived a young lassie, the plague o' the men.Sae dainty, sae genty, sae canty an' keen,The wale o' the parish was Tipperty's Jean.The minister smiled till her braid i' the kirk,The dominie winkit wi' mony a smirk,An' douce-lookin' elders, on Saturday's e'en,Could crack aboot naething but Tipperty's Jean.
"Auld Lowrie the laird, wi' his hat in his han',Says, 'Will ye tak'me, wi' my siller an' lan';'y thanks to ye, laird, but it's sinfu' gin aneSud marry their grandad,' quo Tipperty's Jean.The doctor grew dowie, and maist like to dee,Sae wowf gat the lawyer he bade folks agree,An' Rob o' the Milltown an' Tam o' the GreenMaist tint their scant wits aboot Tipperty's Jean.
"The lasses gaed wand'ring their lanes i' the loan,The auld folks were girnin' wi' mony a groan;'The warld's seerly gyte, sirs, there's never been seenSic wark as they haud aboot Tipperty's Jean.'Nae dellin' was deen, nae thrashin', nae ploughin',The wark a' gaed wrang, sae thrang war they wooin';Sic ridin', sic racin' there never was seen,The chiels were sae daft aboot Tipperty's Jean.
"They happit aboot her like craws on a rig,A' fechtin', or fleechin', or crackin' fell big;'Gae 'wa', sirs, to Freuchie, for brawly it's seenIt's siller yer wooin',' quo Tipperty's Jean.'Sin' auld uncle Davie cam' back owre the sea,An' left sic a hantle o' siller to me,I'm deaved wi' yer wooin' frae mornin' till e'en.The deil tak sic wooers,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
"'Oh, wae on the siller! it's twined me an' Johnnie.Though scanty o' wealth, yet he's kindly an' bonnieGin he wud but seek me this very gude e'en,He'd no tine his errand,' quo Tipperty's Jean.Peer Johnnie o'erheard her, his heart like to brak,He cuist his arms roon' her an' gied her a smack.'Wull ye be my dawtie?' she blinkit fu' keen;'Yer welcome to tak' me,' quo Tipperty's Jean.
"An' there was a waddin'! sic vivers an' drinks,Sic fiddlin' an' pipin', sic dancin' an' jinks;The haggis e'en hotched to the piper it's lane;'It's a' weel that ends weel,' quo Tipperty's Jean.The minister danced i' the barn wi' the bride;The elders cried 'Fiddlers, play upDelvin Side;'dominie sang like a mavis at e'en;'Here's a health to quid lasses,' like Tipperty's Jean."
Thus ance begun, sang followed sang a' roun'—The Cunnin' Clerk o' Colliston,The Tailor Loon,Auld Scour Abeen, an' mony mair as fell—Luckie brings the drucken bite hersel'—Saut beef an' breid (she was a sleekit bodie)To moyen ben anither bowl o' toddy;Anither, an' anither yet, 'til a' war' glorious,Some greetin'-fow, an' ithers clean uproarious.To tak' the gate at lang an' last they're fain,"Sorry to pairt, happy to meet again."
Though Inglis kent a bull's fit frae a B,He had mair than a wee drap in his ee;For length o' road he caredna half a bodle,The breadth o't sairly fash'd his drummel'd nodle."It's dreich wark this," quo he; "I kenna, haith,Gin I'd best gang or rin—I'se try them baith.I wish I war' weel hame! na, what excuseCan I mak' oot for haudin' sic a boose?Weel was I warnised ere I cam' frae hame;I canna say ae word—itwasa shame—by my troth I sweer, if I get o'erThis dirdum richt, I'll ne'er haud sic a splore."
Alas! alas! what witchery constrainsMan's pleasures thus, to breed such racking pains?'Tis retribution just: vice is the sourceOf dread despair and harrowing remorse;But, like the star that gems the darkest night,Returning virtue brings back glorious light.
While Inglis, thus opprest wi' drink an' care,Pyowtered alang, an' browdenin' unco sairOn's Tibbie dear,—whiles thinkin' upo' witchesThat haunt the Collieburn—unholy wretches!—His puir Guidwife set doun the evenin' meal,An', by the fire, sat birrin' at her wheel.The chaumer had a cozy look, an' clean;[D]For weel she likit it sud aye be seen.While weary time beat on wi' measured speed,Fu' mony a glance toward the knock she gied:"I wunner oor Guidman's nae frae the fair;He's past his ord'nar time four hoors an' mair.See, Betty, lass! the nicht is growin' cauld,Fesh twa-r-three peats to mak' the fire mair bauld;An' bring me tidin's o' the kin' o' nicht—Whether it's wet or dry, or mirk or licht.""A bonnie nicht it is on hill an' howe,The moon's just glintin' o'er the Castle knowe.""Weel, lass, I'm glad o' that," her mistress cried;An' to her task her eident hand applied."An' now gae to your bed, there's nocht to hinner—Ye're sleepy like—aweel, I dinna wunner;But see ye're up wi' morn's first glint o' grey,For weel ye ken it is oor kirnin' day."
Inglis, wi' put an' row, still hauds the gait,Fairies an' witches jumblin' in his pate,Gain heels o'er head, like bumbees in a byke,Sae doun he leans, sair dung, upon a dyke;Wearied wi' travel, sair he tries to think,—But that's clean o'er him, he's sae dazed wi' drink."I wish I war' but at oor plantin' beltie,Or had atween my legs oor wee bit sheltie!"Scarce had the words wun o'er his grievin' lips,Whan, raxin' oot his han's, a shelt he grips."Na! sic a chance!" he cries; syne, in a crack,He warstles up, an' on the creatur's back,Grips fast the mane, whan, wi' an eldritch squeel,Forrit it flees as fast as'ts legs could speel.But nae alane; for, like birds i' the flichtir,Rade roun' an' roun', wi' muckle mirth an' lauchter,A fairy band; an', as they rade, they sang,While siller bells upo' their bridles rang.On ilka side o' Inglis rade a knichtIn Lincoln-green, wi' armour burnished bricht;Like stars intil a frosty nicht, the sheenBlinkit like siller in his dazzlet een.Onward they rade—the knichts cried, "Forward!" still—Till bye Ha'moss, syne up the CastlehillAt fire-flaucht speed, till on the very tapThey drew their reins an' aff their horses lap.But sic a sicht as met puir Inglis eenWas ne'er by mortal in this wide warld seen;The hillside, openin' oot, exposed to viewYetts made o' silver, hung on sapphires blue.Harpers stood roun'; an', as they harped, they sungLieds sweetly wild, but in some unco tongue;An' wee, wee ladies fair beyond compare,An' wee, wee lords in gorgeous garbs war' there.One courteous knight, advancing from them all,Said, "Welcome, Inglis, to our Fairy Hall!Come let us join the rest and see the sport,And pay our duty to the Queen at courtKeep close by me until we pass yon den,—There monsters entrance bar to mortal men,—And take this ring, 'twill keep thee safe from allCan hurt or harm within our Fairy Hall.I but repay a debt I owe to theeFor leaving still unploughed upon the leaThat elfin ring, where oft, in days of yore,My forebears danced, before they left this shore;And other kindly things that I and mineHave got from you and yours in 'auld langsyne.'While here, ne'er eat nor drink; not for your life!For, if ye do, ye'll ne'er see your Goodwife."Forward they passed, and through the entrance hall,Its roof upborne by pillars magical;A line of silver columns flashing bright,And flinging back the toying gleams of light;No sun, no moon shone in the azure sky,Yet there was light o'er all, afar and nigh,Flowing from sources hid far, far beyond,Like springs outgushing streams of diamond.And there were gentle hills; and there above,Crowning their tops, was many a lovely groveWaving its leaves and branches to and fro,O'er emerald moss that clustering lay below.And there were valleys carpeted with flowers;There sweet retreats and honeysuckled bowers;And lakes with wavelets playing too and fro,Waking soft music in their rippling flow.And on their surface many a tiny sail—Gently impelled by Zephyr's mildest gale—Parting the elfin billows with a sheenLike opals set upon an emerald-green.And crimson corals lined the peaceful shore,Disturbed by no wild surge's angry roar;Close to the brink was many an elfin home—Bow'rs built of amber—bathed in silver foam.And there a cataract, in elfin glee,Danced music, splashing to the elfin sea;Now gently stealing, now in bursts, alongThe tones came warbling low or loud in song.'Twas sweet to see the waters leaping so,Like bairns at play, that ne'er knew sin or woe.Upon a gentle sward that lay beyond,High on a solid rock of diamond,Was placed a throne of yellow burnished goldOf rarest work the elfin art could mould;Its steps were gemmed with chrysolite and pearl,Its canopy with topazes and beryl;And on it sat the Queen, as spotless fairAs new fallen snow, pure as a child of air.Upon her brow the richly jewelled wreathCould add no beauty to the hair beneath;Those queenly tresses were of raven hue,And sparkled bright with crystal-dropping dew;While music, like a flood, broke round the throneWhereon she sat like morning star alone,Welcoming right royally each coming guestFrom far or near, from south, north, east, or west.To cheer the guests with music and with song,With harp and pipe, the elfin minstrels throng.The harpers sat—waiting the royal glance.That, smiling given, the bardic chiefs advanceping the chords—the wires responsive rung—And in harmonious concert thus they sung:—"Come where the bright star of even is beaming;Come where the moonlight o'er valley and hill,O'er castle and cot in golden flakes streaming,Shimmers on lake and leaf—glints on the rill.Ever light, ever free,Gay let our spirits be,Roaming by burn and lea—roaming at will."Come where the mavis sings sweetest at gloamin';Come where the woods wi' the wee birdies ring;Come to the hill where the wild bee is roamin';Come where the bonnie flow'rs bonniest spring;Come to the trystin' tree,Ever gay, ever free,Sing our old songs with glee—cheerily sing."Come where the burn splashes down frae the mountain;Come where the hazel nuts hang on the tree;Come to the dell wi' its clear shining fountain,Where lilies are listenin' the pipe o' the beeThere, by the whisp'ring stream,Where the trouts golden gleam,Tell that old tale—that brings joy to the ee."Come where Spring's bridal chimes blue bells are ringing;Come where the yellow broom blooms on the brae;Come where the lintie his love-sang is singing,And wee birdies courtin' on ilka green spray.Joyously let us sing,Love awakes wi' the Spring,Merrily let us roam—come, come away."The trumpets sound; an' at the Queen's comman'Rade forth o' knights an' lords a gallant ban';Squadron on squadron pressed in close review,Their presence markin' their allegiance true;Ilk gallant tried, as gently ridin' bye,To catch one meltin' glance frae one loved eye.An' then cam' racin', playin' at the ba',An' arrow-shootin' at the waponschaw;Some danced in glee—but nae quadrilles frae France,But just the guid auld reel an' country dance—An' mony anither pastime, whilk to tellWad weary even Davie Lindsay's sell'.An' noo the Queen an' ilk attendin' lordTak' up their places at the festive board.Amang the crowd, oor Inglis an' the knichtSet themsel's doun, yet geylies oot o' sicht;But a' the marvels that afore he'd seenWar' nocht to what noo met his dazzled een:Dishes of gold, the drinking cups of gems,And flowers of brilliant hues on slender stems,Shedding delicious fragrance over all,Blending their odours through the banquet hall;While softest music, as if borne on wings,Stole round and round in low, sweet whisperings.Again the trumpets sound; the heralds call,"The Queen a kindly welcome drinks to all!"In meet response, the wine-cups soon are seenRaised to the toast, "Her Majesty the Queen."Cheer follows cheer through all the elfin ranks;Right graciously she bows and smiles her thanks.'Mid sic excitin' scenes, Inglis amaistForgat the frien'ly warnin' nae to taste;An' raxin' oot his han', the wine-cup took,But just in time was warnised by a look—An' sic a look! it gealed his very heart,An' pierced him thro' an' thro' as wi' a dart—Upon a pedestal was placed uprightA weird-like form,—as if to hide from sight,O'erstrewn with leaves,—and, draped in gory red,It seemed the statue of some monster dread;Around its head were tendrils of the vine;To bind this chaplet two pale snakes entwine.Silent and stern, in death-like rest it sate,Waiting its certain prey from time or fate;Nor life, nor motion did it show,—untilThe call went forth the goblets all to fill,Then, lifting up its head, it glared around,As if rejoicing in the welcome sound.All suddenly it seemed to spring to life,As if to handle drink betokened strife;Its eyes flashed vividly, it grimly smiledTo see poor Inglis thus almost beguiled.—As thus its figure burst upon his view,Inglis knew wellwhowaited for his due—saftly settin' doun the cup in fearHe stole a cautious glance to those war' near."Why don't you drink the toast?" his neebours cry.Quo Inglis, "Sirs, I'm nae just byous dry.""Treason! vile treason!" roars an elfin carl;"Here's a base mortal from the outer warl'!"Syne sic a rippet raise! sic yells an' cries!While rage flashed furious in the elfin eyes,Some rinnin' here, some there, whiles some pell-mell,Roared oot wi' glee, "He'll pay our Kain to hell.""Wae's me!" thocht Inglis, "I'll be en'it noo;This comes o' gain frae hame an' getting fou."Wi' that his frien', the knicht, spak' up an cried,"Silence! the Queen shall this affair decide."Strauchtway they harle him 'fore the royal chairAn' place him, like a culprit, tremblin' there.Her Majesty exclaims, "How cameyouhere?"Inglis, "Gracious Queen, I'm vera seerIt wasna wi' my wull; an', gin ye'll tak'My honest word for't, I sall ne'er come back;"An' syne he tauld her a', baith crap an' root,That drink was just the cause o't, oot an' oot."Well! all that may be true," the Queen replies;"I fear you hear your doom in these wild cries.""Nae doubt," quo Inglis, "sair eneuch's my case,Unless I pity get at your sweet face.It's nae just for mysel' I beg my life,But forhersake at hame—my dear Guidwife."syne the knicht spak' oot, "My Gracious Queen,This culprit and his forebears all have beenNeighbours to us and ours for many a day,And aye were kindly, and ne'er wrought us wae;His pardon thus I crave upon my knee.""Rise, sir; 'tis granted; but thus shall it be:If e'er again he cheat his leal Goodwife,And with such cantrips plague her very life;Or with such spates of drink he daze himsel',Some day he's sure to pay our Kain to hell."All instant changed; but how, he never kenn'd.Whaur was he? Paumerin' at his ain hoose-end.—Frae that day forth a wiser man, atweel!An' did his very best to cheat the Deil.
Inglis, wi' put an' row, still hauds the gait,Fairies an' witches jumblin' in his pate,Gain heels o'er head, like bumbees in a byke,Sae doun he leans, sair dung, upon a dyke;Wearied wi' travel, sair he tries to think,—But that's clean o'er him, he's sae dazed wi' drink."I wish I war' but at oor plantin' beltie,Or had atween my legs oor wee bit sheltie!"Scarce had the words wun o'er his grievin' lips,Whan, raxin' oot his han's, a shelt he grips."Na! sic a chance!" he cries; syne, in a crack,He warstles up, an' on the creatur's back,Grips fast the mane, whan, wi' an eldritch squeel,Forrit it flees as fast as'ts legs could speel.But nae alane; for, like birds i' the flichtir,Rade roun' an' roun', wi' muckle mirth an' lauchter,A fairy band; an', as they rade, they sang,While siller bells upo' their bridles rang.On ilka side o' Inglis rade a knichtIn Lincoln-green, wi' armour burnished bricht;Like stars intil a frosty nicht, the sheenBlinkit like siller in his dazzlet een.Onward they rade—the knichts cried, "Forward!" still—Till bye Ha'moss, syne up the CastlehillAt fire-flaucht speed, till on the very tapThey drew their reins an' aff their horses lap.But sic a sicht as met puir Inglis eenWas ne'er by mortal in this wide warld seen;The hillside, openin' oot, exposed to viewYetts made o' silver, hung on sapphires blue.Harpers stood roun'; an', as they harped, they sungLieds sweetly wild, but in some unco tongue;An' wee, wee ladies fair beyond compare,An' wee, wee lords in gorgeous garbs war' there.One courteous knight, advancing from them all,Said, "Welcome, Inglis, to our Fairy Hall!Come let us join the rest and see the sport,And pay our duty to the Queen at courtKeep close by me until we pass yon den,—There monsters entrance bar to mortal men,—And take this ring, 'twill keep thee safe from allCan hurt or harm within our Fairy Hall.I but repay a debt I owe to theeFor leaving still unploughed upon the leaThat elfin ring, where oft, in days of yore,My forebears danced, before they left this shore;And other kindly things that I and mineHave got from you and yours in 'auld langsyne.'While here, ne'er eat nor drink; not for your life!For, if ye do, ye'll ne'er see your Goodwife."
Forward they passed, and through the entrance hall,Its roof upborne by pillars magical;A line of silver columns flashing bright,And flinging back the toying gleams of light;No sun, no moon shone in the azure sky,Yet there was light o'er all, afar and nigh,Flowing from sources hid far, far beyond,Like springs outgushing streams of diamond.And there were gentle hills; and there above,Crowning their tops, was many a lovely groveWaving its leaves and branches to and fro,O'er emerald moss that clustering lay below.And there were valleys carpeted with flowers;There sweet retreats and honeysuckled bowers;And lakes with wavelets playing too and fro,Waking soft music in their rippling flow.And on their surface many a tiny sail—Gently impelled by Zephyr's mildest gale—Parting the elfin billows with a sheenLike opals set upon an emerald-green.And crimson corals lined the peaceful shore,Disturbed by no wild surge's angry roar;Close to the brink was many an elfin home—Bow'rs built of amber—bathed in silver foam.And there a cataract, in elfin glee,Danced music, splashing to the elfin sea;Now gently stealing, now in bursts, alongThe tones came warbling low or loud in song.'Twas sweet to see the waters leaping so,Like bairns at play, that ne'er knew sin or woe.
Upon a gentle sward that lay beyond,High on a solid rock of diamond,Was placed a throne of yellow burnished goldOf rarest work the elfin art could mould;Its steps were gemmed with chrysolite and pearl,Its canopy with topazes and beryl;And on it sat the Queen, as spotless fairAs new fallen snow, pure as a child of air.Upon her brow the richly jewelled wreathCould add no beauty to the hair beneath;Those queenly tresses were of raven hue,And sparkled bright with crystal-dropping dew;While music, like a flood, broke round the throneWhereon she sat like morning star alone,Welcoming right royally each coming guestFrom far or near, from south, north, east, or west.To cheer the guests with music and with song,With harp and pipe, the elfin minstrels throng.The harpers sat—waiting the royal glance.That, smiling given, the bardic chiefs advanceping the chords—the wires responsive rung—And in harmonious concert thus they sung:—
"Come where the bright star of even is beaming;Come where the moonlight o'er valley and hill,O'er castle and cot in golden flakes streaming,Shimmers on lake and leaf—glints on the rill.Ever light, ever free,Gay let our spirits be,Roaming by burn and lea—roaming at will.
"Come where the mavis sings sweetest at gloamin';Come where the woods wi' the wee birdies ring;Come to the hill where the wild bee is roamin';Come where the bonnie flow'rs bonniest spring;Come to the trystin' tree,Ever gay, ever free,Sing our old songs with glee—cheerily sing.
"Come where the burn splashes down frae the mountain;Come where the hazel nuts hang on the tree;Come to the dell wi' its clear shining fountain,Where lilies are listenin' the pipe o' the beeThere, by the whisp'ring stream,Where the trouts golden gleam,Tell that old tale—that brings joy to the ee.
"Come where Spring's bridal chimes blue bells are ringing;Come where the yellow broom blooms on the brae;Come where the lintie his love-sang is singing,And wee birdies courtin' on ilka green spray.Joyously let us sing,Love awakes wi' the Spring,Merrily let us roam—come, come away."
The trumpets sound; an' at the Queen's comman'Rade forth o' knights an' lords a gallant ban';Squadron on squadron pressed in close review,Their presence markin' their allegiance true;Ilk gallant tried, as gently ridin' bye,To catch one meltin' glance frae one loved eye.An' then cam' racin', playin' at the ba',An' arrow-shootin' at the waponschaw;Some danced in glee—but nae quadrilles frae France,But just the guid auld reel an' country dance—An' mony anither pastime, whilk to tellWad weary even Davie Lindsay's sell'.
An' noo the Queen an' ilk attendin' lordTak' up their places at the festive board.Amang the crowd, oor Inglis an' the knichtSet themsel's doun, yet geylies oot o' sicht;But a' the marvels that afore he'd seenWar' nocht to what noo met his dazzled een:Dishes of gold, the drinking cups of gems,And flowers of brilliant hues on slender stems,Shedding delicious fragrance over all,Blending their odours through the banquet hall;While softest music, as if borne on wings,Stole round and round in low, sweet whisperings.
Again the trumpets sound; the heralds call,"The Queen a kindly welcome drinks to all!"In meet response, the wine-cups soon are seenRaised to the toast, "Her Majesty the Queen."Cheer follows cheer through all the elfin ranks;Right graciously she bows and smiles her thanks.
'Mid sic excitin' scenes, Inglis amaistForgat the frien'ly warnin' nae to taste;An' raxin' oot his han', the wine-cup took,But just in time was warnised by a look—An' sic a look! it gealed his very heart,An' pierced him thro' an' thro' as wi' a dart—Upon a pedestal was placed uprightA weird-like form,—as if to hide from sight,O'erstrewn with leaves,—and, draped in gory red,It seemed the statue of some monster dread;Around its head were tendrils of the vine;To bind this chaplet two pale snakes entwine.Silent and stern, in death-like rest it sate,Waiting its certain prey from time or fate;Nor life, nor motion did it show,—untilThe call went forth the goblets all to fill,Then, lifting up its head, it glared around,As if rejoicing in the welcome sound.All suddenly it seemed to spring to life,As if to handle drink betokened strife;Its eyes flashed vividly, it grimly smiledTo see poor Inglis thus almost beguiled.—As thus its figure burst upon his view,Inglis knew wellwhowaited for his due—saftly settin' doun the cup in fearHe stole a cautious glance to those war' near."Why don't you drink the toast?" his neebours cry.Quo Inglis, "Sirs, I'm nae just byous dry.""Treason! vile treason!" roars an elfin carl;"Here's a base mortal from the outer warl'!"Syne sic a rippet raise! sic yells an' cries!While rage flashed furious in the elfin eyes,Some rinnin' here, some there, whiles some pell-mell,Roared oot wi' glee, "He'll pay our Kain to hell.""Wae's me!" thocht Inglis, "I'll be en'it noo;This comes o' gain frae hame an' getting fou."Wi' that his frien', the knicht, spak' up an cried,"Silence! the Queen shall this affair decide."Strauchtway they harle him 'fore the royal chairAn' place him, like a culprit, tremblin' there.Her Majesty exclaims, "How cameyouhere?"Inglis, "Gracious Queen, I'm vera seerIt wasna wi' my wull; an', gin ye'll tak'My honest word for't, I sall ne'er come back;"An' syne he tauld her a', baith crap an' root,That drink was just the cause o't, oot an' oot."Well! all that may be true," the Queen replies;"I fear you hear your doom in these wild cries.""Nae doubt," quo Inglis, "sair eneuch's my case,Unless I pity get at your sweet face.It's nae just for mysel' I beg my life,But forhersake at hame—my dear Guidwife."syne the knicht spak' oot, "My Gracious Queen,This culprit and his forebears all have beenNeighbours to us and ours for many a day,And aye were kindly, and ne'er wrought us wae;His pardon thus I crave upon my knee.""Rise, sir; 'tis granted; but thus shall it be:If e'er again he cheat his leal Goodwife,And with such cantrips plague her very life;Or with such spates of drink he daze himsel',Some day he's sure to pay our Kain to hell."All instant changed; but how, he never kenn'd.Whaur was he? Paumerin' at his ain hoose-end.—Frae that day forth a wiser man, atweel!An' did his very best to cheat the Deil.
The Peris of Eastern romance are most likely the source from which sprang the tales of romantic fancy with which our legendary lore abounds.
In the enunciation of the Arabic language the word "Peri" would sound "Fairy," the letter P not occurring in its alphabet, and would be so pronounced by the Crusaders in their early intercourse with the Arabs.
In the wreck of Gothic mythology consequent on the introduction of Christianity, the amiable characteristics of the Peris or Fairies became degraded amid the mischievous attributes ascribed to subordinate spirits, more unamiable in their persons and practices, yet more congenial to the habits of thought of the northern peoples.
In Eastern tales, however vaguely they are described, the females are uniformly represented as beings of great beauty, amiability, and beneficence—the fairest creatures of romantic fancy.
With the early troubadours and minstrels, those nymphs formed the subject of many a lay, and the fate of their amours, of many a wild romaunt.
The fondness of female fays for human society were fertile themes of Persian poetry and early European romances, such as "Sir Launfal and Sir Gruelan," wherein the Fairies of Normandy and Bretagne are endowed with all the splendour of Eastern description.
The FairyMalusina, who married Guy de Lusignan under condition that he should never intrude on her privacy, was of this class. She bore him many children, and erected for him a magnificent castle by her art. They lived in uninterrupted harmony until the prying husband concealed himself to behold his wife in her enchanted bath. When discovered,Malusinafled in great sorrow, and was never again seen. A humiliating tale, which,if true, would seem to show that men are quite as curious and inquisitive as women are popularly supposed to be.
So common was the idea of the union of human beings with the females of Fairyland in early times, that it was firmly believed the ancestor of the English monarchs, Geoffrey Plantagenet, had married one of these beings.
In the ballad of "Thomas of Ercildoune," the Queen of Fairyland is represented as becoming enamoured of True Thomas. Among the Icelanders the belief was common. Torfaeus, in his history, gives an account of a female who, having born a child to an Icelander, claimed the privilege of baptism, and deposited the infant at the gate of the churchyard for that purpose, with a golden goblet as an offering. The belief is still held by the Laplanders.
The origin of the noble family of Hay dates from a remote period in our national history. In Normandy there were lands and a lordship denominated Hay, and in the roll of the adventurers who accompanied William the Conqueror into England in 1066, Le Sieur de la Haya is expressly mentioned; but the origin of the Erroll family is thus told by tradition:—The Danes, having landed in Aberdeenshire, ravaged the country as far as the town of Perth. King Kenneth hastened to give them battle, and the hostile armies met on the Leys of Luncarty, in Perthshire. The Scots at first gave way, and fled through a narrow pass, where they were stopped by a countryman of great strength and courage, and his two sons, who had no other weapons than the yokes of their ploughs, they having been at work in a field not far from the scene of action. Upbraiding the fugitives for their conduct in flying from the field, these peasants succeeded in rallying them. The Scots turned upon their conquerors, and, after a second encounter, still more furious than the first, they gained a complete victory. It is said that, after the Danes were defeated, the old man, lying on the ground, wounded and fatigued, cried "Hay, Hay," which word became the surname of his posterity. The King rewarded him with as much land in the Carse of Gowrie as a falcon should fly over before she settled; and a falcon, being accordingly let off, flew over an extent of ground six miles in length, afterwards called Erroll, and lighted on a stone still styled the Falcon Stone. The King also raised him to the dignity of nobility, and assigned to him and his family armorial bearings in accordance with the signal service which he and his two sons had rendered to their country.
"Till lately, indeed," says Lord Lindsay, in hisLives of the Lindsays, "more especially in Great Britain and north of the Tweed, Genealogy merited the ridicule which was so freely lavished on her. It is but a few years ago since the most unfounded fictions were currently believed as to the origin of the Scottish families. The Stuarts were universally held to be the descendants of Banquo—the Douglases of 'the dark grey man,' who fought under King Salvathius against the Danes. It would be endless to enumerate all the fictions with which vanity and flattery peopled the blank of time; they are now forgotten—all save the beautiful legend of the patriarch Hay of Luncarty, on which Milton, in his youth, purposed to found a drama, and which has been immortalised by Shakespeare in the play ofCymbeline."
"Circumstantial evidence," says Pratt, "is also so far in favour of the traditionary record as to render it hazardous to set it aside as wholly unworthy of credit. Thus, theHawkestoneat St Madoes, the well-known boundary of the ancient possessions of the Hays of Erroll in Perthshire, is mentioned by Boethius as existing in his day (anno. 1500), and as having been set up immediately after the defeat of the Danes, in 980. Also theStoneso carefully preserved at Slains Castle, and which from time immemorial has been venerated by the family as that on which their ancestor sat down after the conflict. For the origin of these and similar traditions it would be difficult to account, had there been no foundation whatever for the narrative of Luncarty."
Gilbert de Haya, Regent of Scotland during the minority of Alexander II., married a daughter of William Comyn, Earl of Buchan, about 1255.
The old Castle of Slains belonged originally to the Earls of Buchan, and became afterwards, for many generations, the seat of the Earls of Erroll.
There is some doubt whether the Castle owed its erection to Fergus, who lived in the time of William the Lion (1065), or to the Comyns who succeeded to this earldom through marriage with Marjory, only daughter of Fergus, and Countess of Buchan in her own right.
Again,—Saladin, the famous Sultan of Syria, fought Guy de Lusignan, King of Jerusalem, in 1187. Then Phillip Augustus of France, Richard I. of England, with many others, and among them numbers of our Scottish nobility, deemed themselves called upon to fly to the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre, and by a third crusade endeavour to wrest its possession from the infidel.
From these facts considerable doubt arises as to which of the "gallant Hays" was the hero of the following ballad. It could hardly be Gilbert, who married the daughter of the Earl of Buchan. If it was, then he could scarcely have been in the third crusade; and there are grave doubts as to the Lady Claribel having been the "child of the Elfin Queen." There may, however, be no doubt that she was beautiful as a Princess, for beauty is no rare qualification of the ladies of the district; nor may it be improbable that she waylaid and captured the Hay in one of the many knightly journeyings in search of adventures which the nobles of those days undertook.
The ladies of those far-off times did many strange things—at least, what now-a-days would be considered such; nevertheless, from the ballad it appears she "made a good wife for all that."
It is feared, under all the circumstances, that, as in many other legendary tales, considerable liberty has been taken with fact in favour of fancy.
From the Recitation of a Collector of Balladsof the Olden Time.
Long, long ago in the mist of years,Near the shores of a sunlit sea,Hid in a nook of a forest old,Rippled a burn in joyous glee,Filling with crystal a basin clear,Scooped from a bed of sparkling sand;And there, on a moss-clad bank, there layThe fairest maid of Fairyland.Shading the water a birken treeArched its hoary branches above,And the sun peep'd thro' the trembling leaves,[E]Smiling upon their silent love.The well ne'er heeded the prying eye,Brighter it beamed upon the tree;And glance for glance, as in years gone by,Back it shadowed in love and lee.The maid gazed long on that water clear,Mirroring back the bending tree,And longed for one in whose spirit-deeps,Imaged as fondly she should be.And, though she sighed, she tremblingly hoped,For, looking still on that mirror fair,Her blue eyes flashed with a brighter glanceAt the figure reflected there.As on the grass lay the fair, fair May,Dreaming away the fleeting hours,Her curls seemed rillets of burnished gold,Stealing among the springing flowers.For seldom yet has the summer's sun,Smiling o'er earth's bright drapery green,Lit lovelier locks or form more fairThan this child of the Fairy Queen."Oh, sad is the fate," sighed Claribel,"Of the maidens of Fairyland,Who pine for the wedding-robes of love,With the grasp of a wedding hand.Oh, were I loved by some gentle knight,Little I'd reck of royal birth;Station and rank I would freely changeFor that holiest joy of earth."No noble or knight of ElfinlandMy dreaming fancy e'er shall move;I'll seem a maiden of earth to be,And light my life with stars of love.I'll win me a lord of fame and worth,Who'll love me fondly more and more;While I learn him lear of GramaryeHe'll teach me all his earthly lore."[F]The maiden rose from her couch of moss,Circled around with a mystic sheen;Such beauty, I trow, earth never saw,Such grace no living man hath seen.Enswathed in the light of endless bloom,Her brow outpaling falling snow,Her cheeks like the blushing damask rose,Her lips with budding love aglow.Round her she wrapped a cramosie cloak,To hide her robes of sun-wove air;A veil of the moonlit mist she donned,To shade her face so passing fair.Gliding along through the forest green,Brushing the dew with hasty feet,Smiling a hope on her parted lips,Thinking of him she longed to meet.
Long, long ago in the mist of years,Near the shores of a sunlit sea,Hid in a nook of a forest old,Rippled a burn in joyous glee,Filling with crystal a basin clear,Scooped from a bed of sparkling sand;And there, on a moss-clad bank, there layThe fairest maid of Fairyland.
Shading the water a birken treeArched its hoary branches above,And the sun peep'd thro' the trembling leaves,[E]Smiling upon their silent love.The well ne'er heeded the prying eye,Brighter it beamed upon the tree;And glance for glance, as in years gone by,Back it shadowed in love and lee.
The maid gazed long on that water clear,Mirroring back the bending tree,And longed for one in whose spirit-deeps,Imaged as fondly she should be.And, though she sighed, she tremblingly hoped,For, looking still on that mirror fair,Her blue eyes flashed with a brighter glanceAt the figure reflected there.
As on the grass lay the fair, fair May,Dreaming away the fleeting hours,Her curls seemed rillets of burnished gold,Stealing among the springing flowers.For seldom yet has the summer's sun,Smiling o'er earth's bright drapery green,Lit lovelier locks or form more fairThan this child of the Fairy Queen.
"Oh, sad is the fate," sighed Claribel,"Of the maidens of Fairyland,Who pine for the wedding-robes of love,With the grasp of a wedding hand.Oh, were I loved by some gentle knight,Little I'd reck of royal birth;Station and rank I would freely changeFor that holiest joy of earth.
"No noble or knight of ElfinlandMy dreaming fancy e'er shall move;I'll seem a maiden of earth to be,And light my life with stars of love.I'll win me a lord of fame and worth,Who'll love me fondly more and more;While I learn him lear of GramaryeHe'll teach me all his earthly lore."[F]
The maiden rose from her couch of moss,Circled around with a mystic sheen;Such beauty, I trow, earth never saw,Such grace no living man hath seen.Enswathed in the light of endless bloom,Her brow outpaling falling snow,Her cheeks like the blushing damask rose,Her lips with budding love aglow.
Round her she wrapped a cramosie cloak,To hide her robes of sun-wove air;A veil of the moonlit mist she donned,To shade her face so passing fair.Gliding along through the forest green,Brushing the dew with hasty feet,Smiling a hope on her parted lips,Thinking of him she longed to meet.
Proudly there stood by the rock-bound shoreA lordly home, with turrets gray;But the knight afar in Paynim landHad been many a year away.Merrily dashed the sea-driven foamHigh on the lofty castle wall;But the henchmen moved them drowsily,For lone, alas! were bower and hall.'Twas the hour when wearied daylight sinksIn the arms of the waiting west,And gloaming steals from her purple cave,Bearing her lone star on her breast.When the glades like minster windows gleamWith slanting rays of burnished gold,And stealing shadows, in fond embrace,Are creeping the forest to fold.Through the dim and faint-lit forest aisles,Flitting among the grey old trees,The maiden sped on, each weary sighMingling with the evening breeze."Oh, would he were come—the gallant Hay,Quickly the night begins to fall;Oh, would that his manly heart were mine,And my home were his castle hall."Brighter anon flashed her bright blue eye,Rosier blushed her cheeks, I ween,As, breathless, she heard a war-horse trampThrough the glade of the forest green.Then quickly came forth a youthful knight,Straining his eyes that home to see,He'd longed for many a watchful hourBy the waters of Galilee.Suddenly halted the courteous knight,Bright the glance of his martial eyeFlashed in the light of his manhood's bloom'Neath the plume of his morion high.Marvelled he much as the evening raysFell on a maid so wondrous rare;"Art thou a form from the beauty worldOr the fairest of earthly fair?""List, warrior, list," the fair maid said;"Pray thee list a lady's behest.I've wandered far and lost my way,And am wearied and fain would rest."Full lowly he bent his waving plume,Till it mixed with his horse's mane,"Where is thy home, dear lady, I ask?Let me carry thee thither again.""Knowest thou, brave knight, where the elfin hallsGleam under skies of purple light,With their towering domes of chaste opalGlowing in clouds of crimson bright;With their waving trees of rarest kind,Soft'ning sunlight cheering the gloom,Catching the rays as they hasten by,Wreathing their tops with golden bloom."Last eve, with my maids, I left my home,Singing our songs in gay refrain;Seeking wild flowers, I wandered aloneOver hill, over dale, and plain.Laughingly trod we the dewy mead,Lit by the rays of the evening star;But sadly I've spent the weary day,For, ah me! I have wandered far.'"I know not thy home," the young knight said,"Else in honour I'd bear thee there;Tho' never below the glorious skyHave I seen one so passing fair.Much have I mingled in court and camp,In revel, in tourney and strife,But never, till now, have mine eyes beheldA maid I could love as my wife."Quickly the warrior lighted him down—"Lady," he said, "my halls are near;Come to my arms—I'll carry thee home,And ye shall be my peerless fere.""Gramercy, my lord," the maiden said;"Willingly shall I go with thee;And I'll be to thee a leal, true wife—Thoushalt be 'all the world to me.'"Around her form his arms he flung,To kiss her lips so cherry bright,But nothing he held, for the sylph-like formEthereal prov'd as a stream of light."Lady," he said, "this is passing strange!Thour't there!—I see thy curls of gold,I see the flash of thy lustrous eyes,But I cannot thy form enfold.""My form is of air, so virgin pureBy mortal it cannot be press'dTill by the cross of his sword he swearAlone I shall dwell in his breast."Then he bent him low before the cross,And he vowed, by all he held dear,That ever he'd prove her own true lord,Andonlyshe his much loved fere."Now, come to my arms, thou beauteous fair,"And he grasped her fondly and fast,Kissing her lips, grown woman again,Fearing his joy too great to last."I'm thine, only thine, mine own dear lord,Never again to roam apart;Oh! let me nestle within thine arms,Let me live in thine inmost heart."He lifted her on the saddle-bowOf his gallant roan, standing near,And proudly it shook its stately headAs her voice fell soft on its ear.In triumph it bore them fleetly home;And the liegemen for years could tellHow the old halls rung with "welcomes home"To Lord Hay and fair Claribel.Revelry rang in that castle old,And oft they pledged him deep and free;And much they talked of his prowess bold,And his truth and his braverie.But more they spoke of his fair, fair bride,And her beauty so wondrous bright;Lighting his halls like the sun's first raysDispersing the shadows of night.Long, long did they mourn in FairylandFor the Princess, dear Claribel;Long was she missed in revel and court,In palace and bower and dell.But oft, when hidden among the flowers,Watching the lovers in dalliance gay,The fairy maidens would whisper low,"Wouldwe werebut as Lady Hay!"
Proudly there stood by the rock-bound shoreA lordly home, with turrets gray;But the knight afar in Paynim landHad been many a year away.Merrily dashed the sea-driven foamHigh on the lofty castle wall;But the henchmen moved them drowsily,For lone, alas! were bower and hall.
'Twas the hour when wearied daylight sinksIn the arms of the waiting west,And gloaming steals from her purple cave,Bearing her lone star on her breast.When the glades like minster windows gleamWith slanting rays of burnished gold,And stealing shadows, in fond embrace,Are creeping the forest to fold.
Through the dim and faint-lit forest aisles,Flitting among the grey old trees,The maiden sped on, each weary sighMingling with the evening breeze."Oh, would he were come—the gallant Hay,Quickly the night begins to fall;Oh, would that his manly heart were mine,And my home were his castle hall."
Brighter anon flashed her bright blue eye,Rosier blushed her cheeks, I ween,As, breathless, she heard a war-horse trampThrough the glade of the forest green.Then quickly came forth a youthful knight,Straining his eyes that home to see,He'd longed for many a watchful hourBy the waters of Galilee.
Suddenly halted the courteous knight,Bright the glance of his martial eyeFlashed in the light of his manhood's bloom'Neath the plume of his morion high.Marvelled he much as the evening raysFell on a maid so wondrous rare;"Art thou a form from the beauty worldOr the fairest of earthly fair?"
"List, warrior, list," the fair maid said;"Pray thee list a lady's behest.I've wandered far and lost my way,And am wearied and fain would rest."Full lowly he bent his waving plume,Till it mixed with his horse's mane,"Where is thy home, dear lady, I ask?Let me carry thee thither again."
"Knowest thou, brave knight, where the elfin hallsGleam under skies of purple light,With their towering domes of chaste opalGlowing in clouds of crimson bright;With their waving trees of rarest kind,Soft'ning sunlight cheering the gloom,Catching the rays as they hasten by,Wreathing their tops with golden bloom.
"Last eve, with my maids, I left my home,Singing our songs in gay refrain;Seeking wild flowers, I wandered aloneOver hill, over dale, and plain.Laughingly trod we the dewy mead,Lit by the rays of the evening star;But sadly I've spent the weary day,For, ah me! I have wandered far.'
"I know not thy home," the young knight said,"Else in honour I'd bear thee there;Tho' never below the glorious skyHave I seen one so passing fair.Much have I mingled in court and camp,In revel, in tourney and strife,But never, till now, have mine eyes beheldA maid I could love as my wife."
Quickly the warrior lighted him down—"Lady," he said, "my halls are near;Come to my arms—I'll carry thee home,And ye shall be my peerless fere.""Gramercy, my lord," the maiden said;"Willingly shall I go with thee;And I'll be to thee a leal, true wife—Thoushalt be 'all the world to me.'"
Around her form his arms he flung,To kiss her lips so cherry bright,But nothing he held, for the sylph-like formEthereal prov'd as a stream of light."Lady," he said, "this is passing strange!Thour't there!—I see thy curls of gold,I see the flash of thy lustrous eyes,But I cannot thy form enfold."
"My form is of air, so virgin pureBy mortal it cannot be press'dTill by the cross of his sword he swearAlone I shall dwell in his breast."Then he bent him low before the cross,And he vowed, by all he held dear,That ever he'd prove her own true lord,Andonlyshe his much loved fere.
"Now, come to my arms, thou beauteous fair,"And he grasped her fondly and fast,Kissing her lips, grown woman again,Fearing his joy too great to last."I'm thine, only thine, mine own dear lord,Never again to roam apart;Oh! let me nestle within thine arms,Let me live in thine inmost heart."
He lifted her on the saddle-bowOf his gallant roan, standing near,And proudly it shook its stately headAs her voice fell soft on its ear.In triumph it bore them fleetly home;And the liegemen for years could tellHow the old halls rung with "welcomes home"To Lord Hay and fair Claribel.
Revelry rang in that castle old,And oft they pledged him deep and free;And much they talked of his prowess bold,And his truth and his braverie.But more they spoke of his fair, fair bride,And her beauty so wondrous bright;Lighting his halls like the sun's first raysDispersing the shadows of night.
Long, long did they mourn in FairylandFor the Princess, dear Claribel;Long was she missed in revel and court,In palace and bower and dell.But oft, when hidden among the flowers,Watching the lovers in dalliance gay,The fairy maidens would whisper low,"Wouldwe werebut as Lady Hay!"
Compiled for the use of English Readers.
AA wee thocht,a little.Aiblins,perhaps.Ain,own.Aits,oats.A'thegither,altogether.Awe,owe.Ayont,on the other side.BBairns,children.Beff,to strike with a heavy blow.Begink,a trick played on one; a misfortune.Beik,bake;inflame.Ben,within.Birrin' at the wheel,spinning busily; birr,to whirr.Boose,a drinking bout.Braid,broad.Brawly,in good health.Breeks,breeches.Breid,bread.Browdenin' on,thinking fondly of.Buik,bulk.Buik,to give to the session clerk the names of those to be married for the proclamation of the banns of marriage.Bumbees,humble bees.Buskit,dressed.But an' ben,in every apartment.Byehan',finished.Byke,the hive, or nesCCa',call;right.Cantrips,wild actions.Canty, cantie,cheerful and pleasant.Chaumer,chamber.Chessel,a cheese-vat.Chiels,men.Clean-cap-oot a' roun',all round the table must drain the glass.Clout,patch;mend.Coo,cow.Couthie,kind.Cozy,comfortable.Crack,conversation.Crack, in a,in an instant.Crap an' reet,crop and root;the whole of a thing from beginning to end.Crouse,brisk;bold;boldly.Cuist,cast.Cuttie,a short spoon made of horn.DDaft,mad.Dawtie,pet.Dazed,stupified.Deaved,rendered deaf.Dee,die.Deed,indeed.Deein',doing.Dellin',digging with a spade.Dinna,do not.Dirdum,an uproar;a loud noise.Donnart,stupid.Doo,dove.Douce-lookin',solemn-looking.Dowie,sick.Drappy,a small quantity.Dreepie,very rainy.Dreich,dreary;slow.Drucken bite,a dainty morsel to make the strong drink taste sweeter.Drummel'd,stupified;dumfoundered.EEch, och,the smallest word or sound.Ee,eye;pl.Een.Eident,diligent.Eldricht,wild;unearthly.FFairin',a present from a fair.Fair fa',may fortune attend.Fash'd,troubled.Feckly,for the most part.Fell,very.Fell,sharp;keen.Fernyear,the past year.Feshin',fetching.Fidgin',moving in a fidgety manner.Fient,not;a strong negation.Corrupted from fiend.Fire-flaucht,lightning.Fizz,great hurry.Fleechin',flattering.Flichter,flutter;quiver.Forebear,forefather.Forbye,besides.Forrit,forward.Fou,drunk.Freely,wholly.Fussled,whistled.Fyke,vexation;trouble.GGaed on,went on.Gain',going.Gars,makes;causes;forces.Gaunted,yawned.Gealed,froze.Genty,neat.Geylies,gaily;in good health;well.Gie,give.Gin,if.Girnin',groaning;complaining peevishly.Girss,grass.Greetin'-fou,in that state of intoxication that induces weeping or greetin'.Grip,seize;hold fast.Grow-grey,of the natural grey colour; applied to wool.Guid,good.Guid neebours,fairies.Gyte,out of one's senses.HHaenae,have not.Hairst,harvest.Haith,faith;an oath.Hantle,a large quantity, sum, or number.Happit,covered.Happit,hopped.Hardin,a kind of rough linen.Harle,pull;tug.Hauds the gait,holds on the way.Hauld,hold;habitation.Haulket,with a white face;applied to cattle.Hinner,hinder.Hint,last.Hoddlin',walking with a heaving motion.Hoo's a',how is all, that is, how does all go with you? the mode of salutation equivalent to "How do you do?"Hoosie,small house, iebeing the termination of diminutives.Hose,stockings.Howf,ale-house.Humeldoddy,without horns.IIlk,every.Ithers,others.JJowin',rolling like a wave.KKelpie,the water hobgoblin.Kenna,do not know.Kent,knew.Kirn,churn.Kirnin' day,day for making butter.Kittle,attended with constant difficulties.LLat,let.Lieds,songs.Link at,to do anything with vigour, as walking.Losh,Lord;an exclamation.Lugs,ears.MMains,the farmer generally is addressed by the name of his farm.Maist,almost.Mak' me boun',go.Mant,to hesitate;stutter.Maskin',mash.Maun,must.Meat-hale,in sound health and with good appetite for food.Min,man.Min',remembrance.Mint,to give a hint.Mith,might.Mochy,moist;misty.Moulie draps,small drops; nae moulie draps,not the smallest drop left in the glass.Moyen,to draw forth.Moyens,means;plans; to lay moyens,to form plans;to use means.My certy,assuredly;by my faith;a strong assertion.My lane,by myself;alone.NNeist,next.Nizz,nose.Nodle,head.Nowt,cattle.OOrd'nar,ordinary.PPaumerin',moving with heavy step in a very stupid manner.Ploy,play;frolic.Pottie boilin', to keep the,to keep anything a-going.Praise,God.Prinkin',decking.Put an' row,with the greatest difficulty.Pyowtered,walked with slow, tottering step.QQuean,paramour.RRaked up his een,opened his eyes.Rants,wild frolics.Rape,rope twisted of straw with which the thatch is secured over the stack.Raxin',stretching.Rig an' fur,ribbed;applied to stockings.Rippet,wild tumult;boisterous fun.Rizzon,reason.Routh,plenty;a large number.Rowin',rolling.SSair dung,much overcome.Sair'd,served;satisfied.Sanna,shall not.Sark,shirt.Saul,soul;an imprecation.Saut,salt.Seer,sure.Seerly,surely.Sell,self.Sets,becomes.Shoon,shoes.Siller,silver;applied to money in general.Sin',since.Singit,singed.Skail,separate.Skinklin',falling slightly.Skirled,cried with a shrill voice.Sleekit,sly.Smoored,smothered.Snell,sharp.Snod,neat.Sonsie,plump, and having a pleasant look.Soople,supple;flexible.Spang,to walk with a long, quick step.Spates,floods.Spates of drink,drunken bouts.Speel,to run.Speen,spoon.Splore,a wild frolic.Squeel,scream.Stan' the session,appear before the kirk session to satisfy discipline.Starns,stars.Steek,shut.Stendin',walking with long strides at a quick pace.Stirk,stot.Stoup,measure.Sud,should.Sweer,swear.Syne,then.TTap to tae, frae,from top to foot.Tappit,crested.Taties,potatoes.Tent,care.Thack,thatch.Thestreen,last night.Thieket,thatched.Thowless,without vigour.Thrang,strongly bent.Tint,lost.Toun,farm buildings.Trigly,neatly.Troke,small ware.Twined,separated.Tynin',loosing.UUnco,very.Unco sair,very much.VVaunty,given to boasting.Vivers,victuals.WWale,best.Warld,world.Warnised,warned.Warstles up,mounts with difficulty.Wasna,was not.War',were.Ware,spend.Waukit,fulled.Waur,overcome;adj. worse.Wee bit sheltie,small pony.Weet oor mou',to moisten the mouth;applied commonly to the use of strong drink.Whan,when.Whaur,where.Win wi',accompany.Win to, win as far as,to reach.Wis,was.Wowf,melancholy.Wunner,wonder.Wun o'er his lips,escaped from his lips.YYarkit at the wark,wrought with vigour.Yer,your.Yestreen,last night.Yetts,gates.Yill,ale.Yokes wi',engages in anything.
David Scott, Printer, "Sentinel" Office, Peterhead.