Chapter 7

The hare sall kittle (litter) on my hearth stane,And there will never be a laird Learmont again.

The first of these lines is obviously borrowed from that in the MS, of the Harl. Library.—"When hares kendles o' the her'stane"—an emphatic image of desolation. It is also inaccurately quoted in the prophecy of Waldhave, published by Andro Hart, 1613:

"This is a true talking that Thomas of tells,The hare shall hirple on the hard (hearth) stane."

Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous historian, seems to have been a firm believer in the authenticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name of Thomas of Ercildoun. "The prophecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon he was commonly calledThomas the Rhymer, may justly be admired; having foretold, so many ages before, the union of England and Scotland in the ninth degree of the Bruce's blood, with the succession of Bruce himself to the crown, being yet a child, and other divers particulars, which the event hath ratified and made good. Boethius, in his story, relateth his prediction of King Alexander's death, and that he did foretell the same to the Earl of March, the day before it fell out; saying, 'That before the next day at noon, such a tempest should blow, as Scotland had not felt for many years before.' The next morning, the day being clear, and no change appearing in the air, the nobleman did challenge Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. He replied, that noon was not yet passed. About which time, a post came to advertise the earl, of the king his sudden death. 'Then,' said Thomas, 'this is the tempest I foretold; and so it shall prove to Scotland.' Whence, or how, he had this knowledge, can hardly be affirmed; but sure it is, that he did divine and answer truly of many things to come."—Spottiswoode, p. 47. Besides that notable voucher, master Hector Boece, the good archbishop might, had he been so minded, have referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King Alexander's death. That historian calls our bard "ruralis ille vates."—Fordun, lib. x. cap. 40.

What Spottiswoode calls "the prophecies extant in "Scottish rhyme," are the metrical predictions ascribed to the prophet of Ercildoun, which, with many other compositions of the same nature, bearing the names of Bede, Merlin, Gildas, and other approved soothsayers, are contained in one small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edinburgh, 1615. The late excellent Lord Hailes made these compositions the subject of a dissertation, published in hisRemarks on the History of Scotland. His attention is chiefly directed to the celebrated prophecy of our bard, mentioned by Bishop Spottiswoode, bearing, that the crowns of England and Scotland should be united in the person of a king, son of a French queen, and related to Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord Hailes plainly proves, that this prophecy is perverted from its original purpose, in order to apply it to the succession of James VI. The ground-work of the forgery is to be found in the prophecies of Berlington, contained in the same collection, and runs thus:

Of Bruce's left side shall spring out as a leafe,As neere as the ninth degree;And shall be fleemed of faire Scotland,In France farre beyond the sea.And then shall come againe ryding,With eyes that many men may see.At Aberladie he shall light,With hempen helteres and horse of tre.········However it happen for to fall,The lyon shall be lord of all;The French quen shal bearre the sonne,Shal rule all Britainne to the sea;Ane from the Bruce's blood shal come also,As neere as the ninth degree.········Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea,A keene man of courage and bold man of armes;A duke's son dowbled (i.e.dubbed), a borne mon in France,That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmes;After the date of our Lord 1513, and thrice three thereafter;Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself,Between 13 and thrice three the threip shal be ended,The Saxons sall never recover after.

There cannot be any doubt, that this prophecy was intended to excite the confidence of the Scottish nation in the Duke of Albany, regent of Scotland, who arrived from France in 1515, two years after the death of James IV. in the fatal field of Flodden. The regent was descended of Bruce by the left,i.e.by the female side, within the ninth degree. His mother was daughter of the Earl of Boulogne, his father banished from his country—"fleemit of fair Scotland." His arrival must necessarily be by sea, and his landing was expected at Aberlady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a duke's son, dubbed knight; and nine years, from 1513, are allowed him, by the pretended prophet, for the accomplishment of the salvation of his country, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sister and rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence and spirit of the country.

The prophecy, put in the name of our Thomas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's book, refers to a later period. The narrator meets the Rhymer upon a land beside a lee, who shows him many emblematical visions, described in no mean strain of poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flodden and Pinkie, to the national distress which followed these defeats, and to future halcyon days, which are promised to Scotland. One quotation or two will be sufficient to establish this fully:

Our Scottish king sal come ful keene,The red lyon beareth he;A feddered arrow sharp, I weene,Shall make him winke and warre to see.Out of the field he shall be led,When he is bludie and woe for blood;Yet to his men shall he say,"For God's luve, turn you againe,"And give yon sutherne folk a frey!"Why should I lose the right is mine?"My date is not to die this day."—

Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular reports concerning the doubtful fate of James IV.? Allusion is immediately afterwards made to the death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, who fought and fell with his sovereign:

The sternes three that day shall die,That bears the harte in silver sheen.

The well-known arms of the Douglas family are the heart and three stars. In another place, the battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by name:

At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt,Much gentle blood that day;There shall the bear lose the guilt,And the eagill bear it away.

To the end of all this allegorical and mystical rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by Andro Hart, a new edition of Berlington's verses, before quoted, altered and manufactured so as to bear reference to the accession of James VI., which had just then taken place. The insertion ismade with a peculiar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a question, put by the narrator, concerning the name and abode of the person who shewed him these strange matters, and the answer of the prophet to that question:

"Then to the Bairne could I say,"Where dwells thou, or in what countrie?"[Or who shall rule the isle of Britane,"From the north to the south sey?"A French queene shall beare the sonne,"Shall rule all Britaine to the sea;"Which of the Bruce's blood shall come,"As neere as the nint degree:"I frained fast what was his name,"Where that he came, from what country.]"In Erslingtoun I dwell at hame,"Thomas Rymour men cals me."

There is surely no one, who will not conclude, with Lord Hailes, that the eight lines, inclosed in brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, borrowed from Berlington, with such alterations as might render the supposed prophecy applicable to the union of the crowns.

While we are on this subject, it may be proper briefly to notice the scope of some of the other predictions, in Hart's Collection. As the prophecy of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits of the nation, during the regency of Albany, so those of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the Earl of Arran, afterwards Duke of Chatelherault, during the minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity. This is obvious from the following verses:

Take a thousand in calculation,And the longest of the lyon,Four crescents under one crowne,With Saint Andrew's croce thrise,Then threescore and thrise three:Take tent to Merling truely,Then shall the warres ended be,And never againe rise.In that yere there shall a king,A duke, and no crowned king;Becaus the prince shall be yong,And tender of yeares.

The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, when the Scottish regent, by means of some succours derived from France, was endeavouring to repair the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie. Allusion is made to the supply given to the "Moldwarte" (England) by the fained "hart" (the Earl of Angus). The regent is described by his bearing the antelope; large supplies are promised from France, and complete conquest predicted to Scotland and her allies. Thus was the same hackneyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The regent was not, indeed, till after this period, created Duke of Chatelherault; but that honour was the object of his hopes and expectations.

The name of our renowned soothsayer is liberally used as an authority, throughout all the prophecies published by Andro Hart. Besides those expressly put in his name, Gildas, another assumed personage, is supposed to derive his knowledge from him; for he concludes thus:

"True Thomas me told in a troublesome time,"In a harvest morn at Eldoun hills."

The Prophecy of Gildas.

In the prophecy of Berlington, already quoted, we are told,

"Marvellous Merlin, that many men of tells,"And Thomas's sayings comes all at once."

While I am upon the subject of these prophecies, may I be permitted to call the attention of antiquaries to Merdwynn Wyllt, orMerlin the Wild, in whose name, and by no means in that of Ambrose Merlin, the friend of Arthur, the Scottish prophecies are issued. That this personage resided at Drummelziar, and roamed, like a second Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweeddale, in remorse for the death of his nephew, we learn from Fordun. In theScotichronicon, lib. 3, cap. 31. is an account of an interview betwixt St Kentigern and Merlin, then in this distracted and miserable state. He is said to have been calledLailoken, from his mode of life. On being commanded by the saint to give an account of himself, he says, that the penance, which he performs, was imposed on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody contest betwixt Lidel and Carwanolow, of which battle he had been the cause. According to his own prediction, he perished at once by wood, earth, and water; for, being pursued with stones by the rustics, he fell from a rock into the riverTweed, and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there for the purpose of extending a fishing-net:

Sude perfossus, lapide percussus et undaHaec tria Merlinum fertur inire necem.Sicque ruit, mersusque fuit lignoque perpendi,Et fecit vatem per terna pericula verum.

But, in a metrical history of Merlin of Caledonia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from the traditions of the Welch bards, this mode of death is attributed to a page, whom Merlin's sister, desirous to convict the prophet of falsehood, because he had betrayed her intrigues, introduced to him, under three various disguises, enquiring each time in what manner the person should die. To the first demand Merlin answered, the party should perish by a fall from a rock; to the second, that he should die by a tree; and to the third, that he should be drowned. The youth perished, while hunting, in the mode imputed by Fordun to Merlin himself.

Fordun, contrary to the Welch authorities, confounds this person with the Merlin of Arthur; but concludes by informing us, that many believed him to be a different person. The grave of Merlin is pointed out at Drummelziar, in Tweeddale, beneath an aged thorn-tree. On the east side of the church-yard, the brook, called Pausayl, falls into the Tweed; and the following prophecy is said to have been current concerning their union:

When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin's grave,Scotland and England shall one monarch have.

On the day of the coronation of James VI. the Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the Pausayl at the prophet's grave.—Pennycuick'sHistory of Tweeddale, p. 26. These circumstances would seem to infer a communication betwixt the south-west of Scotland and Wales, of a nature peculiarly intimate; for I presume that Merlin would retain sense enough to chuse, for the scene of his wanderings, a country, having a language and manners similar to his own.

Be this as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylvester, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots during the reign of James V. Waldhave,[44]under whose name a set of prophecies was published, describes himself as lying upon Lomond Law; he hears a voice, which bids him stand to his defence; he looks around, and beholds a flock of hares and foxes[45]pursued over the mountain by a savage figure, to whom he can hardly give the name of man. At the sight of Waldhave, the apparition leaves the objects of his pursuit, and assaults him with a club. Waldhave defends himself with his sword, throws the savage to the earth, and refuses to let him arise till he swear, by the law and lead he lives upon, "to do him no harm." This done, he permits him to arise, and marvels at his strange appearance:

"He was formed like a freike (man) all his four quarters;"And then his chin and his face haired so thick,"With haire growing so grime, fearful to see."

He answersbriefly to Waldhave's enquiry, concerning his name and nature, that he "drees his weird,"i.e.does penance, in that wood; and, having hinted that questions as to his own state are offensive, he pours forth an obscure rhapsody concerning futurity, and concludes,

"Go musing upon Merlin if thou wilt;"For I mean no more man at this time."

This is exactly similar to the meeting betwixt Merlin and Kentigern in Fordun. These prophecies of Merlin seem to have been in request in the minority of James V.; for, among the amusements, with which Sir David Lindsay diverted that prince during his infancy, are,

The prophecies of Rymer, Bede, and Merlin.

Sir David Lindsay's Epistle to the King.

And we find, in Waldhave, at least one allusion to the very ancient prophecy, addressed to the countess of Dunbar:

This is a true token that Thomas of tells,When a ladde with a ladye shall go over the fields.

The original stands thus:

When laddes weddeth lovedies.

Another prophecy of Merlin seems to have been current about the time of the regent Morton's execution.—When that nobleman was committed to the charge of his accuser, captain James Stewart, newly created Earl of Arran, to be conducted to his trial at Edinburgh, Spottiswoode says, that he asked, "Who was earl of Arran?" "and being answered that Captain James was the man, after a short pause he said, 'And is it so? I know then what I may look for!' meaning, as was thought, that the old prophecy of the 'Falling of the heart[46]by the mouth of Arran,' should then be fulfilled. Whether this was his mind or not, it is not known; but some spared not, at the time when the Hamiltons were banished, in which business he was held too earnest, to say, that he stood in fear of that prediction, and went that course only to disappoint it. But, if so it was, he did find himself now deluded; for he fell by the mouth of another Arran than he imagined."—Spottiswoode, 313. The fatal words, alluded to, seem to be these in the prophecy of Merlin:

"In the mouth of Arrane a selcouth shall fall,"Two bloodie hearts shall be taken with a false traine,"And derfly dung down without any dome."

To return from these desultory remarks, into which the editor has been led by the celebrated name of Merlin, the style of all these prophecies, published by Hart, is very much the same. The measure is alliterative, and somewhat similar to that ofPierce Plowman's Visions; a circumstance, which might entitle us to ascribe to some of them an earlier date than the reign of James V., did we not know thatSir Galloran of Galloway, andGawaine and Gologras, two romances rendered almost unintelligible by the extremity of affected alliteration, are perhaps not prior to that period. Indeed, although we may allow, that, during much earlier times, prophecies, under the names of those celebrated soothsayers, have been current in Scotland, yet those published by Hart have obviously been so often vamped and re-vamped, to serve the political purposes of different periods, that it may be shrewdly suspected, that, as in the case of Sir John Cutler's transmigrated stockings, very little of the original materials now remains. I cannot refrain from indulging my readers with the publisher's title to the last prophecy; as it contains certain curious information concerning the queen of Sheba, who is identified with the Cumæan Sybil: "Here followeth a prophecie, pronounced by a noble queene and matron, called Sybilla, Regina Austri, that came to Solomon. Through the which she compiled four bookes, at the instance and request of the said king Sol. and others divers: and the fourth book was directed to a noble king, called Baldwine, king of the broad isle of Britain; in the which she maketh mention of two noble princes and emperours, the which is called Leones. How these two shall subdue, and overcome all earthlie princes to their diademe and crowne, and also be glorified and crowned in the heaven among saints. The first of these two is Constantinus Magnus; that was Leprosus, the son of Saint Helene, that found the croce. The second is the sixty king of the name of Steward of Scotland, the which is our most noble king." With such editors and commentators, what wonder that the text became unintelligible, even beyond the usual oracular obscurity of prediction?

If there still remain, therefore, among these predictions, any verses having a claim to real antiquity, it seems now impossible to discover them from those which are comparatively modern. Nevertheless, as there are to be found, in these compositions, some uncommonly wild and masculine expressions, the editor has been induced to throw a few passages together, into the sort of ballad to which this disquisition is prefixed. It would, indeed, have been no difficult matter for him, by a judicious selection, to have excited, in favour of Thomas of Erceldoune, a share of the admiration, bestowed by sundry wise persons upon Mass Robert Fleming. For example:

"But then the lilye shal be loused when they least think;Then clear king's blood shal quake for fear of death;For churls shal chop off heads of their chief beirns,And carfe of the crowns that Christ hath appointed.········Thereafter, on every side, sorrow shal arise;The barges of clear barons down shal be sunken;Seculars shal sit in spiritual seats,Occupying offices anointed as they were."

Taking the lilye for the emblem of France, can there be a more plain prophecy of the murder of her monarch, the destruction of her nobility, and the desolation of her hierarchy?

But, without looking farther into the signs of the times, the editor, though the least of all the prophets, cannot help thinking, that every true Briton will approve of his application of the last prophecy quoted in the ballad.

Hart's collection of prophecies was frequently reprinted during the last century, probably to favour the pretensions of the unfortunate family of Stewart. For the prophetic renown of Gildas and Bede, seeFordun, lib. 3.

Before leaving the subject of Thomas's predictions, it may be noticed, that sundry rhymes, passing for his prophetic effusions, are still current among the vulgar. Thus, he is said to have prophecied of the very ancient family of Haig of Bemerside,

Betide, betide, whate'er betide,Haig shall be Haig of Bemerside.

The grandfather of the present proprietor of Bemerside had twelve daughters, before his lady brought him a male heir. The common people trembled for the credit of their favourite soothsayer. The late Mr Haig was at length born, and their belief in the prophecy confirmed beyond a shadow of doubt.

Another memorable prophecy bore, that the Old Kirk at Kelso, constructed out of the ruins of the abbey, should fall when "at the fullest." At a very crowded sermon, about thirty years ago, a piece of lime fell from the roof of the church. The alarm, for the fulfilment of the words of the seer, became universal; and happy were they, who were nearest the door of the predestined edifice. The church was in consequence deserted, and has never since had an opportunity of tumbling upon a full congregation. I hope, for the sake of a beautiful specimen of Saxo-Gothick architecture, that the accomplishment of this prophecy is far distant.

Another prediction, ascribed to the Rhymer, seems to have been founded on that sort of insight into futurity, possessed by most men of a sound and combining judgement. It runs thus:

At Eildon Tree if you shall be,A brigg ower Tweed you there may see.

The spot in question commands an extensive prospect of the course of the river; and it was easy to foresee, that, when the country should become in the least degree improved, a bridge would be somewhere thrown over the stream. In fact, you now see no less than three bridges from that elevated situation.

Corspatrick (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but more commonly taking his title from his castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Erceldoune is said to have delivered tohim his famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the editor has chosen to introduce him into the following ballad. All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's publication.

When seven years were come and gane,The sun blinked fair on pool and stream;And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,Like one awakened from a dream.He heard the trampling of a steed,He saw the flash of armour flee,And he beheld a gallant knight,Come riding down by the Eildon-tree.He was a stalwart knight, and strong;Of giant make he 'peared to be:He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode,Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free.Says—"Well met, well met, true Thomas!Some uncouth ferlies shew to me."Says—"Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave!Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!"Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave,"And I will shew thee curses three,"Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane,"And change the green to the black livery."A storm shall roar, this very hour,"From Rosse's Hills to Solway sea."Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar!"For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea."He put his hand on the earlie's head;He shewed him a rock, beside the sea,Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,[47]And steel-dight nobles wiped their e'e."The neist curse lights on Branxton hills:"By Flodden's high and heathery side,"Shall wave a banner, red as blude,"And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride."A Scottish king shall come full keen;"The ruddy lion beareth he:"A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween,"Shall make him wink and warre to see."When he is bloody, and all to bledde,"Thus to his men he still shall say—'For God's sake, turn ye back again,'And give yon southern folk a fray!'Why should I lose the right is mine?'My doom is not to die this day.'[48]"Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,"And woe and wonder ye sall see;"How forty thousand spearmen stand,"Where yon rank river meets the sea."There shall the lion lose the gylte,"And the libbards bear it clean away;"At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt"Much gentil blude that day.""Enough, enough, of curse and ban;"Some blessing shew thou now to me,"Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said,"Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me!""The first of blessings I shall thee shew,"Is by a burn, that's call'd of bread;[49]"Where Saxon men shall tine the bow,"And find their arrows lack the head."Beside that brigg, out ower that burn,"Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,"Shall many a falling courser spurn,"And knights shall die in battle keen."Beside a headless cross of stone,"The libbards there shall lose the gree;"The raven shall come, the erne shall go,"And drink the Saxon blude sae free."The cross of stone they shall not know,"So thick the corses there shall be.""But tell me now," said brave Dunbar,"True Thomas, tell now unto me,"What man shall rule the isle Britain,"Even from the north to the southern sea?""A French queen shall bear the son,"Shall rule all Britain to the sea:"He of the Bruce's blude shall come,"As near as in the ninth degree."The waters worship shall his race;"Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;"For they shall ride ower ocean wide,"With hempen bridles, and horse of tree."

When seven years were come and gane,The sun blinked fair on pool and stream;And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,Like one awakened from a dream.

He heard the trampling of a steed,He saw the flash of armour flee,And he beheld a gallant knight,Come riding down by the Eildon-tree.

He was a stalwart knight, and strong;Of giant make he 'peared to be:He stirr'd his horse, as he were wode,Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free.

Says—"Well met, well met, true Thomas!Some uncouth ferlies shew to me."Says—"Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave!Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!

"Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave,"And I will shew thee curses three,"Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane,"And change the green to the black livery.

"A storm shall roar, this very hour,"From Rosse's Hills to Solway sea."Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar!"For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea."

He put his hand on the earlie's head;He shewed him a rock, beside the sea,Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,[47]And steel-dight nobles wiped their e'e.

"The neist curse lights on Branxton hills:"By Flodden's high and heathery side,"Shall wave a banner, red as blude,"And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride.

"A Scottish king shall come full keen;"The ruddy lion beareth he:"A feather'd arrow sharp, I ween,"Shall make him wink and warre to see.

"When he is bloody, and all to bledde,"Thus to his men he still shall say—'For God's sake, turn ye back again,'And give yon southern folk a fray!'Why should I lose the right is mine?'My doom is not to die this day.'[48]

"Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,"And woe and wonder ye sall see;"How forty thousand spearmen stand,"Where yon rank river meets the sea.

"There shall the lion lose the gylte,"And the libbards bear it clean away;"At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt"Much gentil blude that day."

"Enough, enough, of curse and ban;"Some blessing shew thou now to me,"Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said,"Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me!"

"The first of blessings I shall thee shew,"Is by a burn, that's call'd of bread;[49]"Where Saxon men shall tine the bow,"And find their arrows lack the head.

"Beside that brigg, out ower that burn,"Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,"Shall many a falling courser spurn,"And knights shall die in battle keen.

"Beside a headless cross of stone,"The libbards there shall lose the gree;"The raven shall come, the erne shall go,"And drink the Saxon blude sae free."The cross of stone they shall not know,"So thick the corses there shall be."

"But tell me now," said brave Dunbar,"True Thomas, tell now unto me,"What man shall rule the isle Britain,"Even from the north to the southern sea?"

"A French queen shall bear the son,"Shall rule all Britain to the sea:"He of the Bruce's blude shall come,"As near as in the ninth degree.

"The waters worship shall his race;"Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;"For they shall ride ower ocean wide,"With hempen bridles, and horse of tree."

FOOTNOTES:[44]I do not know, whether the person here meant be Waldhave, an abbot of Melrose, who died in the odour of sanctity, about 1160.[45]The strange occupation, in which Waldhave beholds Merlin engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage in Geoffrey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. The poem, after narrating, that the prophet had fled to the forests in a state of distraction, proceeds to mention, that, looking upon the stars one clear evening, he discerned, from his astrological knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, upon the next morning, to take another husband. As he had presaged to her that this would happen, and had promised her a nuptial gift (cautioning her, however, to keep the bridegroom out of his sight), he now resolved to make good his word. Accordingly, he collected all the stags and lesser game in his neighbourhood; and, having seated himself upon a buck, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cumberland, where Guendolen resided. But her lover's curiosity leading him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade, Merlin's rage was awakened, and he slew him with the stroke of an antler of the stag. The original runs thus:Dixerat: et silvas et saltus circuit omnes,Cervorumque greges agmen collegit in unum,Et damas, capreasque simul, cervoque resedit;Et veniente die, compellens agmina præ se,Festinans vadit quo nubit Guendolna.Postquam venit eo, pacienter coegitCervos ante fores, proclamans, "Guendolna,"Guendolna, veni, te talia munera spectant."Ocius ergo venit subridens GuendolnaGestarique virum cervo miratur, et illumSic parere viro, tantum quoque posse ferarumUniri numerum quas præ se solus agebat,Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas.Stabat ab excelsa, sponsus spectando fenestraIn solio mirans equitem risumque movebat.Ast ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis esset,Calluit, extemplo divulsit cornua cervoQuo gestabatur, vibrataque jecit in illumEt caput illius penitus contrivit, eumqueReddidit exanimem, vitamque fugavit in auras;Ocius inde suum, talorum verbere, cervumDiffugiens egit, silvasque redire paravit.For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr Ritson. There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertainingSpecimens of Early English Romances, lately published by Mr Ellis.[46]The heart was the cognizance of Morton.[47]King Alexander; killed by a fall from his horse, near Kinghorn.[48]The uncertainty which long prevailed in Scotland, concerning the fate of James IV., is well known.[49]One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus:The burn of breidShall run fow reid."Bannockburn is the brook here meant. The Scots give the name ofbannockto a thick round cake of unleavened bread.

[44]I do not know, whether the person here meant be Waldhave, an abbot of Melrose, who died in the odour of sanctity, about 1160.

[45]The strange occupation, in which Waldhave beholds Merlin engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage in Geoffrey of Monmouth's life of Merlin, above quoted. The poem, after narrating, that the prophet had fled to the forests in a state of distraction, proceeds to mention, that, looking upon the stars one clear evening, he discerned, from his astrological knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, upon the next morning, to take another husband. As he had presaged to her that this would happen, and had promised her a nuptial gift (cautioning her, however, to keep the bridegroom out of his sight), he now resolved to make good his word. Accordingly, he collected all the stags and lesser game in his neighbourhood; and, having seated himself upon a buck, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cumberland, where Guendolen resided. But her lover's curiosity leading him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade, Merlin's rage was awakened, and he slew him with the stroke of an antler of the stag. The original runs thus:Dixerat: et silvas et saltus circuit omnes,Cervorumque greges agmen collegit in unum,Et damas, capreasque simul, cervoque resedit;Et veniente die, compellens agmina præ se,Festinans vadit quo nubit Guendolna.Postquam venit eo, pacienter coegitCervos ante fores, proclamans, "Guendolna,"Guendolna, veni, te talia munera spectant."Ocius ergo venit subridens GuendolnaGestarique virum cervo miratur, et illumSic parere viro, tantum quoque posse ferarumUniri numerum quas præ se solus agebat,Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas.Stabat ab excelsa, sponsus spectando fenestraIn solio mirans equitem risumque movebat.Ast ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis esset,Calluit, extemplo divulsit cornua cervoQuo gestabatur, vibrataque jecit in illumEt caput illius penitus contrivit, eumqueReddidit exanimem, vitamque fugavit in auras;Ocius inde suum, talorum verbere, cervumDiffugiens egit, silvasque redire paravit.For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr Ritson. There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertainingSpecimens of Early English Romances, lately published by Mr Ellis.

Dixerat: et silvas et saltus circuit omnes,Cervorumque greges agmen collegit in unum,Et damas, capreasque simul, cervoque resedit;Et veniente die, compellens agmina præ se,Festinans vadit quo nubit Guendolna.Postquam venit eo, pacienter coegitCervos ante fores, proclamans, "Guendolna,"Guendolna, veni, te talia munera spectant."Ocius ergo venit subridens GuendolnaGestarique virum cervo miratur, et illumSic parere viro, tantum quoque posse ferarumUniri numerum quas præ se solus agebat,Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas.Stabat ab excelsa, sponsus spectando fenestraIn solio mirans equitem risumque movebat.Ast ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis esset,Calluit, extemplo divulsit cornua cervoQuo gestabatur, vibrataque jecit in illumEt caput illius penitus contrivit, eumqueReddidit exanimem, vitamque fugavit in auras;Ocius inde suum, talorum verbere, cervumDiffugiens egit, silvasque redire paravit.

For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr Ritson. There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertainingSpecimens of Early English Romances, lately published by Mr Ellis.

[46]The heart was the cognizance of Morton.

[47]King Alexander; killed by a fall from his horse, near Kinghorn.

[48]The uncertainty which long prevailed in Scotland, concerning the fate of James IV., is well known.

[49]One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus:The burn of breidShall run fow reid."Bannockburn is the brook here meant. The Scots give the name ofbannockto a thick round cake of unleavened bread.

[49]One of Thomas's rhymes, preserved by tradition, runs thus:

The burn of breidShall run fow reid."

Bannockburn is the brook here meant. The Scots give the name ofbannockto a thick round cake of unleavened bread.

BY THE EDITOR.

Thomas the Rhymer was renowned among his contemporaries, as the author of the celebrated romance ofSir 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 inMr Ellis'sSpecimens 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 ofSir 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,penesMr Douce, of London, containing a French metrical romance ofSir 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 YsoltThomasico granter ne volt,Et si volt par raisun mostrer,Qu' ico ne put pas esteer, &c.

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 YsoltThomasico granter ne volt,Et si volt par raisun mostrer,Qu' ico ne put pas esteer, &c.

The tale ofSir 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.

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 taleThe prophet pour'd along;No after bard might e'er avail[52]Those numbers to prolong.Yet fragments of the lofty strainFloat 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 handHad 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 bardIn 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 valeIn 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 songIn changeful passion led,Till bent at length the listening throngO'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 flameCan lovers' footsteps fly:She comes! she comes!—she only cameTo see her Tristrem die.She saw him die: her latest sighJoined in a kiss his parting breath:The gentlest pair, that Britain bare,United are in death.There paused the harp: its lingering soundDied 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 cheekDid 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 oftTo 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 menAgain was Thomas seen.

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 taleThe prophet pour'd along;No after bard might e'er avail[52]Those numbers to prolong.

Yet fragments of the lofty strainFloat 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 handHad 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 bardIn 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 valeIn 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 songIn changeful passion led,Till bent at length the listening throngO'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 flameCan lovers' footsteps fly:She comes! she comes!—she only cameTo see her Tristrem die.

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

There paused the harp: its lingering soundDied 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 cheekDid 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 oftTo 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 menAgain was Thomas seen.

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