THE MURDER OF CAERLAVEROC.

"To help my boat I pierc'd the throat"Of him whom ane lo'ed dear;"Nought did I spare his yellow hair,"And ee'n sae bricht and clear."She sits her lane, and makith mane,"And sings a waefu sang,—'Scotch rievers hae my darling ta'en;'O Willie tarries lang!'"I plunged an auld man in the sea,"Whase locks were like the snaw;"His hairs sall serve for rapes to me,"In hell my saul to draw."Soon did thy smile, sweet baby, stint,"Torn frae the nurse's knee,"That smile, that might hae saften'd flint,"And still'd the raging sea."Alas! twelve precious lives were spilt,"My worthless spark to save;"Bet[86]had I fallen, withouten guilt,"Frae cradle to the grave."Repentance! signal of my bale,"Built of the lasting stane,"Ye lang shall tell the bluidy tale,"Whan I am dead and gane."How Hoddom's lord, ye lang sall tell,"By conscience stricken sair,"In life sustain'd the pains of hell,"And perish'd in despair.

"To help my boat I pierc'd the throat"Of him whom ane lo'ed dear;"Nought did I spare his yellow hair,"And ee'n sae bricht and clear.

"She sits her lane, and makith mane,"And sings a waefu sang,—'Scotch rievers hae my darling ta'en;'O Willie tarries lang!'

"I plunged an auld man in the sea,"Whase locks were like the snaw;"His hairs sall serve for rapes to me,"In hell my saul to draw.

"Soon did thy smile, sweet baby, stint,"Torn frae the nurse's knee,"That smile, that might hae saften'd flint,"And still'd the raging sea.

"Alas! twelve precious lives were spilt,"My worthless spark to save;"Bet[86]had I fallen, withouten guilt,"Frae cradle to the grave.

"Repentance! signal of my bale,"Built of the lasting stane,"Ye lang shall tell the bluidy tale,"Whan I am dead and gane.

"How Hoddom's lord, ye lang sall tell,"By conscience stricken sair,"In life sustain'd the pains of hell,"And perish'd in despair.

FOOTNOTES:[86]Bet—better.

[86]Bet—better.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY CHARLES KIRKPATRICK SHARPE, ESQ.

The tragical event which preceded, or perhaps gave rise to, the successful insurrection of Robert Bruce, against the tyranny of Edward I., is well known. In the year 1304, Bruce abruptly left the court of England, and held an interview, in the Dominical church of Dumfries, with John, surnamed, from the colour of his hair, the Red Cuming, a powerful chieftain, who had formerly held the regency of Scotland. It is said, by the Scottish historians, that he upbraided Cuming with having betrayed to the English monarch a scheme, formed betwixt them, for asserting the independence of Scotland. The English writers maintain, that Bruce proposed such a plan to Cuming, which he rejected with scorn, as inconsistent with the fealty he had sworn to Edward. The dispute, however it began, soon waxed high betwixt two fierce and independent barons. At length, standing before the high altar of the church, Cuming gave Bruce the lie, and Bruce retaliated by a stroke of his poniard. Full of confusion and remorse, for a homicide committed in a sanctuary, the future monarch of Scotland rushed out of the church, with the bloody poniard in his hand. Kirkpatrick and Lindsay, two barons,who faithfully adhered to him, were waiting at the gate. To their earnest and anxious enquiries into the cause of his emotion, Bruce answered, "I doubt I have slain the Red Cuming".—"Doubtest thou?" exclaimed Kirkpatrick, "I make sure!"[87]Accordingly, with Lindsay and a few followers, he rushed into the church, and dispatched the wounded Cuming.

A homicide, in such a place, and such an age, could hardly escape embellishment from the fertile genius of the churchmen, whose interest was so closely connected with the inviolability of a divine sanctuary. Accordingly, Bowmaker informs us, that the body of the slaughtered baron was watched, during the night, by the Dominicans, with the usual rites of the church. But, at midnight, the whole assistants fell into a dead sleep, with the exception of one aged father, who heard, with terror and surprise, a voice, like that of a wailing infant, exclaim, "How long, O Lord, shall vengeance be deferred?" it was answered, in an awful tone, "Endure with patience, until the anniversary of this day shall return for the fifty-second time." In the year 1357, fifty-two years after Cuming's death, James of Lindsay was hospitably feasted in the castle of Caerlaveroc, in Dumfries-shire, belonging to Roger Kirkpatrick. They were the sons of the murderers of the regent. In the dead of night, for someunknown cause, Lindsay arose, and poniarded in his bed his unsuspecting host. He then mounted his horse to fly; but guilt and fear had so bewildered his senses, that, after riding all night, he was taken, at break of day, not three miles from the castle, and was afterwards executed, by order of King David II.

The story of the murder is thus told by the prior of Lochlevin:—

That ilk yhere in our kynrykHoge was slayne of KilpatrikBe schyr Jakkis the LyndessayIn-til Karlaveroc; and awayFor til have bene with all his mychtThis Lyndyssay pressyt all a nychtForth on hors rycht fast rydand.Nevyrtheless yhit thai hym fandNocht thre myle fra that ilk place;Thare tane and broucht agane he wasTil Karlaveroc, be thai menThat frendis war til Kirkpatrik then;Thare was he kepyd rycht straytly.His wyf[88]passyd till the king Dawy,And prayid him of his realté,Of Lauche that scho mycht serwyd be.The kyng Dawy than also fastTill Dumfres with his curt he past,As Lawche wald. Quhat was thare mare?This Lyndessay to deth he gert do thare.

And prayid him of his realté,Of Lauche that scho mycht serwyd be.The kyng Dawy than also fastTill Dumfres with his curt he past,As Lawche wald. Quhat was thare mare?This Lyndessay to deth he gert do thare.

WintownisCronykill, B. viii. cap. 44.

"Now, come to me, my little page,"Of wit sae wond'rous sly!"Ne'er under flower, o' youthfu' age,"Did mair destruction lie."I'll dance and revel wi' the rest,"Within this castle rare;"Yet he sall rue the drearie feast,"Bot and his lady fair."For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick's wine,"Wi' juice o' poppy flowers;"Nae mair he'll see the morning shine"Frae proud Caerlaveroc's towers."For he has twin'd my love and me,"Ihe maid of mickle scorn—"She'll welcome, wi' a tearfu' e'e,"Her widowhood the morn."And saddle weel my milk-white steed,"Prepare my harness bright!"Giff I can mak my rival bleed,"I'll ride awa this night.""Now haste ye, master, to the ha'!"The guests are drinking there;"Kirkpatrick's pride sall be but sma',"For a' his lady fair."

"Now, come to me, my little page,"Of wit sae wond'rous sly!"Ne'er under flower, o' youthfu' age,"Did mair destruction lie.

"I'll dance and revel wi' the rest,"Within this castle rare;"Yet he sall rue the drearie feast,"Bot and his lady fair.

"For ye maun drug Kirkpatrick's wine,"Wi' juice o' poppy flowers;"Nae mair he'll see the morning shine"Frae proud Caerlaveroc's towers.

"For he has twin'd my love and me,"Ihe maid of mickle scorn—"She'll welcome, wi' a tearfu' e'e,"Her widowhood the morn.

"And saddle weel my milk-white steed,"Prepare my harness bright!"Giff I can mak my rival bleed,"I'll ride awa this night."

"Now haste ye, master, to the ha'!"The guests are drinking there;"Kirkpatrick's pride sall be but sma',"For a' his lady fair."

In came the merry minstrelsy;Shrill harps wi' tinkling string,And bag-pipes, lilting melody,Made proud Caerlaveroc ring.There gallant knights, and ladies bright,Did move to measures fine,Like frolic Fairies, jimp and light,Wha dance in pale moonshine.The ladies glided through the ha',Wi' footing swift and sure—Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a',Whan she stood on the floor.And some had tyres of gold sae rare,And pendants[89]eight or nine;And she, wi' but her gowden hair,Did a' the rest outshine.And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen,Did warriors' hearts assail—But she, wi' her twa sparkling een,Pierc'd through the thickest mail.Kirkpatrick led her by the hand,With gay and courteous air:No stately castle in the landCould shew sae bright a pair.O he was young—and clear the dayOf life to youth appears!Alas! how soon his setting rayWas dimm'd wi' showring tears!Fell Lindsay sicken'd at the sight,And sallow grew his cheek;He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite,But word he cou'dna speak.The gorgeous banquet was brought up,On silver and on gold:The page chose out a crystal cup,The sleepy juice to hold.And whan Kirkpatrick call'd for wine,This page the drink wou'd bear;Nor did the knight or dame divineSic black deceit was near.Then every lady sung a sang;Some gay—some sad and sweet—Like tunefu' birds the woods amang,Till a' began to greet.E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear,Forletting malice deep—As mermaids, wi' their warbles clear,Can sing the waves to sleep.And now to bed they all are dight,Now steek they ilka door:There's nought but stillness o' the night,Whare was sic din before.Fell Lindsay puts his harness on,His steed doth ready stand;And up the stair-case is he gone,Wi' poniard in his hand.The sweat did on his forehead break,He shook wi' guilty fear;In air he heard a joyfu' shriek—Red Cumin's ghaist was near.Now to the chamber doth he creep—A lamp, of glimmering ray,Show'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep,In arms of lady gay.He lay wi' bare unguarded breast,By sleepy juice beguil'd;And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest,And sometimes sweetly smiled.Unclosed her mouth o' rosy hue,Whence issued fragrant air,That gently, in soft motion, blewStray ringlets o' her hair."Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear!"The dame may wake to weep—"But that day's sun maun shine fou clear,"That spills this warrior's sleep."He louted down—her lips he prest—O! kiss, foreboding woe!Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breastA deep and deadly blow.Sair, sair, and mickle, did he bleed:His lady slept till day,But dream't the Firth[90]flow'd o'er her head,In bride-bed as she lay.The murderer hasted down the stair,And back'd his courser fleet:Than did the thunder 'gin to rair,Than show'rd the rain and sleet.Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain,Whare a' was mirk before,And glinted o'er the raging main,That shook the sandy shore.But mirk and mirker grew the night,And heavier beat the rain;And quicker Lindsay urged his flight,Some ha' or beild to gain.Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale,Nor mire nor flood he fear'd:I trow his courage 'gan to failWhen morning light appear'd.For having hied, the live-lang night,Through hail and heavy showers,He fand himsel, at peep o' light,Hard by Caerlaveroc's towers.The castle bell was ringing out,The ha' was all asteer;And mony a scriech and waefu' shoutAppall'd the murderer's ear.Now they hae bound this traitor strang,Wi' curses and wi' blows;And high in air they did him hang,To feed the carrion crows.

In came the merry minstrelsy;Shrill harps wi' tinkling string,And bag-pipes, lilting melody,Made proud Caerlaveroc ring.

There gallant knights, and ladies bright,Did move to measures fine,Like frolic Fairies, jimp and light,Wha dance in pale moonshine.

The ladies glided through the ha',Wi' footing swift and sure—Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a',Whan she stood on the floor.

And some had tyres of gold sae rare,And pendants[89]eight or nine;And she, wi' but her gowden hair,Did a' the rest outshine.

And some, wi' costly diamonds sheen,Did warriors' hearts assail—But she, wi' her twa sparkling een,Pierc'd through the thickest mail.

Kirkpatrick led her by the hand,With gay and courteous air:No stately castle in the landCould shew sae bright a pair.

O he was young—and clear the dayOf life to youth appears!Alas! how soon his setting rayWas dimm'd wi' showring tears!

Fell Lindsay sicken'd at the sight,And sallow grew his cheek;He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite,But word he cou'dna speak.

The gorgeous banquet was brought up,On silver and on gold:The page chose out a crystal cup,The sleepy juice to hold.

And whan Kirkpatrick call'd for wine,This page the drink wou'd bear;Nor did the knight or dame divineSic black deceit was near.

Then every lady sung a sang;Some gay—some sad and sweet—Like tunefu' birds the woods amang,Till a' began to greet.

E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear,Forletting malice deep—As mermaids, wi' their warbles clear,Can sing the waves to sleep.

And now to bed they all are dight,Now steek they ilka door:There's nought but stillness o' the night,Whare was sic din before.

Fell Lindsay puts his harness on,His steed doth ready stand;And up the stair-case is he gone,Wi' poniard in his hand.

The sweat did on his forehead break,He shook wi' guilty fear;In air he heard a joyfu' shriek—Red Cumin's ghaist was near.

Now to the chamber doth he creep—A lamp, of glimmering ray,Show'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep,In arms of lady gay.

He lay wi' bare unguarded breast,By sleepy juice beguil'd;And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest,And sometimes sweetly smiled.

Unclosed her mouth o' rosy hue,Whence issued fragrant air,That gently, in soft motion, blewStray ringlets o' her hair.

"Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear!"The dame may wake to weep—"But that day's sun maun shine fou clear,"That spills this warrior's sleep."

He louted down—her lips he prest—O! kiss, foreboding woe!Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breastA deep and deadly blow.

Sair, sair, and mickle, did he bleed:His lady slept till day,But dream't the Firth[90]flow'd o'er her head,In bride-bed as she lay.

The murderer hasted down the stair,And back'd his courser fleet:Than did the thunder 'gin to rair,Than show'rd the rain and sleet.

Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain,Whare a' was mirk before,And glinted o'er the raging main,That shook the sandy shore.

But mirk and mirker grew the night,And heavier beat the rain;And quicker Lindsay urged his flight,Some ha' or beild to gain.

Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale,Nor mire nor flood he fear'd:I trow his courage 'gan to failWhen morning light appear'd.

For having hied, the live-lang night,Through hail and heavy showers,He fand himsel, at peep o' light,Hard by Caerlaveroc's towers.

The castle bell was ringing out,The ha' was all asteer;And mony a scriech and waefu' shoutAppall'd the murderer's ear.

Now they hae bound this traitor strang,Wi' curses and wi' blows;And high in air they did him hang,To feed the carrion crows.

"To sweet Lincluden's[91]haly cells"Fou dowie I'll repair;"There peace wi' gentle patience dwells,"Nae deadly feuds are there.""In tears I'll wither ilka charm,"Like draps o' balefu' yew;"And wail the beauty that cou'd harm"A knight, sae brave and true."

"To sweet Lincluden's[91]haly cells"Fou dowie I'll repair;"There peace wi' gentle patience dwells,"Nae deadly feuds are there."

"In tears I'll wither ilka charm,"Like draps o' balefu' yew;"And wail the beauty that cou'd harm"A knight, sae brave and true."

FOOTNOTES:[87]Hence the crest of Kirkpatrick is a hand, grasping a dagger, distilling gouts of blood, proper; motto; "I mak sicker."[88]That is, Kirkpatrick's wife.[89]Pendants—Jewels on the forehead.[90]Caerlaveroc stands near Solway Firth.[91]Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded and filled with Benedictine nuns, in the time of Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, lord of Galloway—these were expelled by Archibald the Grim, Earl of Douglas.—VidePennant.

[87]Hence the crest of Kirkpatrick is a hand, grasping a dagger, distilling gouts of blood, proper; motto; "I mak sicker."

[88]That is, Kirkpatrick's wife.

[89]Pendants—Jewels on the forehead.

[90]Caerlaveroc stands near Solway Firth.

[91]Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded and filled with Benedictine nuns, in the time of Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, lord of Galloway—these were expelled by Archibald the Grim, Earl of Douglas.—VidePennant.

BY M. G. LEWIS ESQ.—NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread,And softly wind thy bugle-horn;Nor rudely break the silence shedAround the grave of Agilthorn!Oh! gentle huntsman, if a tearE'er dimmed for other's woe thine eyes,Thoul't surely dew, with drops sincere,The sod, where Lady Eva lies.Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound,Their hands and hearts beheld them plight,Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned,The beauteous dame and gallant knight.Alas! the hour of bliss is past,For hark! the din of discord rings;War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast,And trembling plies his radiant wings.And must sad Eva lose her lord?And must he seek the martial plain?Oh! see, she brings his casque and sword!Oh! hark, she pours her plaintive strain!"Blest is the village damsel's fate,"Though poor and low her station be;"Safe from the cares which haunt the great,"Safe from the cares which torture me!"No doubting fear, no cruel pain,"No dread suspense her breast alarms;"No tyrant honour rules her swain,"And tears him from her folding arms."She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks,"In pleasing toil consumes the day;"And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks,"Or joins her rustic lover's lay."Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies"The pillow which supports her head;"She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes"Shall wake, to mourn an husband dead."Hush, impious fears! the good and brave"Heaven's arm will guard from danger free;"When Death with thousands gluts the grave,"His dart, my love, shall glance from thee:"While thine shall fly direct and sure,"This buckler every blow repell;"This casque from wounds that face secure,"Where all the loves and graces dwell."This glittering scarf, with tenderest care,"My hands in happier moments wove;"Curst be the wretch, whose sword shall tear"The spell-bound work of wedded love!"Lo! on thy faulchion, keen and bright,"I shed a trembling consort's tears;"Oh! when their traces meet thy sight,"Remember wretched Eva's fears!"Think, how thy lips she fondly prest;"Think, how she wept, compelled to part;"Think, every wound, which scars thy breast,"Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!""O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend!"Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;"Thy fond complaints my bosom rend,"Thy tears my fainting soul unman:"In pity cease, my gentle dame,"Such sweetness and such grief to join!"Lest I forget the voice of Fame,"And only list to Love's and thine."Flow, flow, my tears! unbounded gush!"Rise, rise, my sobs! I set ye free;"Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush"To own, that life is dear to me."The wretch, whose lips have prest the bowl,"The bitter bowl of pain and woe,"May careless reach his mortal goal,"May boldly meet the final blow:"His hopes destroyed, his comfort wreckt,An happier life he hopes to find;But what can I in heaven expect,Beyond the bliss I leave behind?"Oh, no! the joys of yonder skiesTo prosperous love present no charms;My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes,My paradise in Eva's arms."Yet mark me, sweet! if Heaven's commandHath doomed my fall in martial strife,Oh! let not anguish tempt thy handTo rashly break the thread of life!"No! let our boy thy care engross,Let him thy stay, thy comfort, be;Supply his luckless father's loss,And love him for thyself and me."So may oblivion soon effaceThe grief, which clouds this fatal morn;And soon thy cheeks afford no traceOf tears, which fall for Agilthorn!"He said, and couched his quivering lance;He said, and braced his moony shield;Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance,Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field.But Eva, of all joy bereft,Stood rooted at the castle gate,And viewed the prints his courser left,While hurrying at the call of fate.Forebodings sad her bosom told,The steed, which bore him thence so light,Her longing eyes would ne'er beholdAgain bring home her own true knight.While many a sigh her bosom heaves,She thus addrest her orphan page—"Dear youth, if e'er my love relievedThe sorrows of thy infant age;"If e'er I taught thy locks to play,Luxuriant, round thy blooming face;If e'er I wiped thy tears away,And bade them yield to smiles their place;"Oh! speed thee, swift as steed can bear,Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead,And, o'er the combat, home repair,And tell me how my lord has sped."Till thou return'st, each hour's an age,An age employed in doubt and pain;Oh! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page,Oh! haste, and soon return again!""Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage!Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain:I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page,I'll haste, and soon return again."Then Oswy bade his courser fly;But still, while hapless Eva wept,Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply,So slow the tedious moments crept.And oft she kist her baby's cheek,Who slumbered on her throbbing breast;And now she bade the warder speak,And now she lulled her child to rest."Good warder, say, what meets thy sight?What see'st thou from the castle tower?""Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower.""Oh! pretty babe! thy mother's joy,Pledge of the purest, fondest flame,To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy!Must see thee bear an orphan's name."Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish swordThe life-blood of thy father drains;Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gor'd,Whose streams supplied thy little veins."Oh! warder, from the castle tower,Now say, what objects meet thy sight?""None but the shades of Forest-Bower,None but the rocks of Elginbright.""Smil'st thou, my babe? so smiled thy sire,When gazing on his Eva's face;His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,And joy'd such beams in mine to trace."Sleep, sleep, my babe! of care devoid;Thy mother breathes this fervent vow—Oh! never be thy soul employedOn thoughts so sad, as her's are now!"Now warder, warder, speak again!What see'st thou from the turret's height?""Oh! lady, speeding o'er the plain,The little foot-page appears in sight."Quick beat her heart; short grew her breath;Close to her breast the babe she drew—"Now, Heaven," she cried, "for life or death!"And forth to meet the page she flew."And is thy lord from danger free?And is the deadly combat o'er?"In silence Oswy bent his knee,And laid a scarf her feet before.The well-known scarf with blood was stained,And tears from Oswy's eye-lids fell;Too truly Eva's heart explained,What meant those silent tears to tell."Come, come, my babe!" she wildly cried,"We needs must seek the field of woe;Come, come, my babe! cast fear aside!To dig thy father's grave we go.""Stay, lady, stay! a storm impends;Lo! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread;The thunder roars, the rain descends,And lightning streaks the heavens with red."Hark! hark! the winds tempestuous rave!Oh! be thy dread intent resigned!Or, if resolved the storm to brave,Be this dear infant left behind!""No! no! with me my baby stays;With me he lives; with me he dies!Flash, lightnings, flash! your friendly blazeWill shew me where my warrior lies."O see she roams the bloody field,And wildly shrieks her husband's name;Oh! see she stops and eyes a shield,An heart, the symbol, wrapt in flame.His armour broke in many a place,A knight lay stretched that shield beside;She raised his vizor, kist his face,Then on his bosom sunk, and died.Huntsman, their rustic grave behold:'Tis here, at night, the Fairy king,Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold,Oft forms his light fantastic ring.'Tis here, at eve, each village youth,With freshest flowers the turf adorns;'Tis here he swears eternal truth,By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's.And here the virgins sadly tell,Each seated by her shepherd's side,How brave the gallant warrior fell,How true his lovely lady died.Ah! gentle huntsman, pitying hear,And mourn the gentle lovers' doom!Oh! gentle huntsman, drop a tear,And dew the turf of Eva's tomb!So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose;So ne'er may grief to thee be known:They, who can weep for others' woes,Should ne'er have cause to weep their own.

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread,And softly wind thy bugle-horn;Nor rudely break the silence shedAround the grave of Agilthorn!

Oh! gentle huntsman, if a tearE'er dimmed for other's woe thine eyes,Thoul't surely dew, with drops sincere,The sod, where Lady Eva lies.

Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound,Their hands and hearts beheld them plight,Long held yon towers, with ivy crowned,The beauteous dame and gallant knight.

Alas! the hour of bliss is past,For hark! the din of discord rings;War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast,And trembling plies his radiant wings.

And must sad Eva lose her lord?And must he seek the martial plain?Oh! see, she brings his casque and sword!Oh! hark, she pours her plaintive strain!

"Blest is the village damsel's fate,"Though poor and low her station be;"Safe from the cares which haunt the great,"Safe from the cares which torture me!

"No doubting fear, no cruel pain,"No dread suspense her breast alarms;"No tyrant honour rules her swain,"And tears him from her folding arms.

"She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks,"In pleasing toil consumes the day;"And tends her goats, or feeds her flocks,"Or joins her rustic lover's lay.

"Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies"The pillow which supports her head;"She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes"Shall wake, to mourn an husband dead.

"Hush, impious fears! the good and brave"Heaven's arm will guard from danger free;"When Death with thousands gluts the grave,"His dart, my love, shall glance from thee:

"While thine shall fly direct and sure,"This buckler every blow repell;"This casque from wounds that face secure,"Where all the loves and graces dwell.

"This glittering scarf, with tenderest care,"My hands in happier moments wove;"Curst be the wretch, whose sword shall tear"The spell-bound work of wedded love!

"Lo! on thy faulchion, keen and bright,"I shed a trembling consort's tears;"Oh! when their traces meet thy sight,"Remember wretched Eva's fears!

"Think, how thy lips she fondly prest;"Think, how she wept, compelled to part;"Think, every wound, which scars thy breast,"Is doubly marked on Eva's heart!"

"O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend!"Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;"Thy fond complaints my bosom rend,"Thy tears my fainting soul unman:

"In pity cease, my gentle dame,"Such sweetness and such grief to join!"Lest I forget the voice of Fame,"And only list to Love's and thine.

"Flow, flow, my tears! unbounded gush!"Rise, rise, my sobs! I set ye free;"Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush"To own, that life is dear to me.

"The wretch, whose lips have prest the bowl,"The bitter bowl of pain and woe,"May careless reach his mortal goal,"May boldly meet the final blow:

"His hopes destroyed, his comfort wreckt,An happier life he hopes to find;But what can I in heaven expect,Beyond the bliss I leave behind?

"Oh, no! the joys of yonder skiesTo prosperous love present no charms;My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes,My paradise in Eva's arms.

"Yet mark me, sweet! if Heaven's commandHath doomed my fall in martial strife,Oh! let not anguish tempt thy handTo rashly break the thread of life!

"No! let our boy thy care engross,Let him thy stay, thy comfort, be;Supply his luckless father's loss,And love him for thyself and me.

"So may oblivion soon effaceThe grief, which clouds this fatal morn;And soon thy cheeks afford no traceOf tears, which fall for Agilthorn!"

He said, and couched his quivering lance;He said, and braced his moony shield;Sealed a last kiss, threw a last glance,Then spurred his steed to Flodden Field.

But Eva, of all joy bereft,Stood rooted at the castle gate,And viewed the prints his courser left,While hurrying at the call of fate.

Forebodings sad her bosom told,The steed, which bore him thence so light,Her longing eyes would ne'er beholdAgain bring home her own true knight.

While many a sigh her bosom heaves,She thus addrest her orphan page—"Dear youth, if e'er my love relievedThe sorrows of thy infant age;

"If e'er I taught thy locks to play,Luxuriant, round thy blooming face;If e'er I wiped thy tears away,And bade them yield to smiles their place;

"Oh! speed thee, swift as steed can bear,Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead,And, o'er the combat, home repair,And tell me how my lord has sped.

"Till thou return'st, each hour's an age,An age employed in doubt and pain;Oh! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page,Oh! haste, and soon return again!"

"Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage!Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain:I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page,I'll haste, and soon return again."

Then Oswy bade his courser fly;But still, while hapless Eva wept,Time scarcely seemed his wings to ply,So slow the tedious moments crept.

And oft she kist her baby's cheek,Who slumbered on her throbbing breast;And now she bade the warder speak,And now she lulled her child to rest.

"Good warder, say, what meets thy sight?What see'st thou from the castle tower?""Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower."

"Oh! pretty babe! thy mother's joy,Pledge of the purest, fondest flame,To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy!Must see thee bear an orphan's name.

"Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish swordThe life-blood of thy father drains;Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gor'd,Whose streams supplied thy little veins.

"Oh! warder, from the castle tower,Now say, what objects meet thy sight?""None but the shades of Forest-Bower,None but the rocks of Elginbright."

"Smil'st thou, my babe? so smiled thy sire,When gazing on his Eva's face;His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,And joy'd such beams in mine to trace.

"Sleep, sleep, my babe! of care devoid;Thy mother breathes this fervent vow—Oh! never be thy soul employedOn thoughts so sad, as her's are now!

"Now warder, warder, speak again!What see'st thou from the turret's height?""Oh! lady, speeding o'er the plain,The little foot-page appears in sight."

Quick beat her heart; short grew her breath;Close to her breast the babe she drew—"Now, Heaven," she cried, "for life or death!"And forth to meet the page she flew.

"And is thy lord from danger free?And is the deadly combat o'er?"In silence Oswy bent his knee,And laid a scarf her feet before.

The well-known scarf with blood was stained,And tears from Oswy's eye-lids fell;Too truly Eva's heart explained,What meant those silent tears to tell.

"Come, come, my babe!" she wildly cried,"We needs must seek the field of woe;Come, come, my babe! cast fear aside!To dig thy father's grave we go."

"Stay, lady, stay! a storm impends;Lo! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread;The thunder roars, the rain descends,And lightning streaks the heavens with red.

"Hark! hark! the winds tempestuous rave!Oh! be thy dread intent resigned!Or, if resolved the storm to brave,Be this dear infant left behind!"

"No! no! with me my baby stays;With me he lives; with me he dies!Flash, lightnings, flash! your friendly blazeWill shew me where my warrior lies."

O see she roams the bloody field,And wildly shrieks her husband's name;Oh! see she stops and eyes a shield,An heart, the symbol, wrapt in flame.

His armour broke in many a place,A knight lay stretched that shield beside;She raised his vizor, kist his face,Then on his bosom sunk, and died.

Huntsman, their rustic grave behold:'Tis here, at night, the Fairy king,Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold,Oft forms his light fantastic ring.

'Tis here, at eve, each village youth,With freshest flowers the turf adorns;'Tis here he swears eternal truth,By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's.

And here the virgins sadly tell,Each seated by her shepherd's side,How brave the gallant warrior fell,How true his lovely lady died.

Ah! gentle huntsman, pitying hear,And mourn the gentle lovers' doom!Oh! gentle huntsman, drop a tear,And dew the turf of Eva's tomb!

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose;So ne'er may grief to thee be known:They, who can weep for others' woes,Should ne'er have cause to weep their own.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY ANNA SEWARD.

Farewell my ingle, bleezing bright,When the snell storm's begun;My bouris casements, O! sae light,When glints the bonnie sun!Farewell my deep glens, speck't wi' sloes,O' tangled hazles full!Farewell my thymy lea, where lowsMy kine, and glourin bull.Farewell my red deer, jutting proud,My rooks, o' murky wing!Farewell my wee birds, lilting loud,A' in the merry spring!Farewell my sheep, that sprattle onIn a lang line, sae braw!Or lie on yon cauld cliffs aboon,Like late-left patch o' snaw!Farewell my brook, that wimplin rins,My clattering brig o' yew;My scaly tribes wi' gowden fins,Sae nimbly flickering through!Farewell my boat, and lusty oars,That scelp'd, wi' mickle spray!Farewell my birks o' Teviot shores,That cool the simmer's day!Farewell bauld neighbours, whase swift steedO'er Saxon bounds has scowr'd,Swoom'd drumlie floods when moons were dead,And ilka star was smoor'd.Maist dear for a' ye shar'd wi' me,When skaith and prey did goad,And danger, like a wreath, did fleeAlang our moon-dead road.Farewell my winsome wife, sae gay!Fu' fain frae hame to gang,Wi' spunkie lads to geck and play,The flow'rie haughs amang!Farewell my gowk, thy warning noteThen aft-times ca'd aloud,Tho' o' the word that thrill'd thy throat,Gude faith, I was na proud!And, pawkie gowk, sae free that mad'st,Or ere I hanged be,Would I might learn if true thou said'st,When sae thou said'st to me!

Farewell my ingle, bleezing bright,When the snell storm's begun;My bouris casements, O! sae light,When glints the bonnie sun!

Farewell my deep glens, speck't wi' sloes,O' tangled hazles full!Farewell my thymy lea, where lowsMy kine, and glourin bull.

Farewell my red deer, jutting proud,My rooks, o' murky wing!Farewell my wee birds, lilting loud,A' in the merry spring!

Farewell my sheep, that sprattle onIn a lang line, sae braw!Or lie on yon cauld cliffs aboon,Like late-left patch o' snaw!

Farewell my brook, that wimplin rins,My clattering brig o' yew;My scaly tribes wi' gowden fins,Sae nimbly flickering through!

Farewell my boat, and lusty oars,That scelp'd, wi' mickle spray!Farewell my birks o' Teviot shores,That cool the simmer's day!

Farewell bauld neighbours, whase swift steedO'er Saxon bounds has scowr'd,Swoom'd drumlie floods when moons were dead,And ilka star was smoor'd.

Maist dear for a' ye shar'd wi' me,When skaith and prey did goad,And danger, like a wreath, did fleeAlang our moon-dead road.

Farewell my winsome wife, sae gay!Fu' fain frae hame to gang,Wi' spunkie lads to geck and play,The flow'rie haughs amang!

Farewell my gowk, thy warning noteThen aft-times ca'd aloud,Tho' o' the word that thrill'd thy throat,Gude faith, I was na proud!

And, pawkie gowk, sae free that mad'st,Or ere I hanged be,Would I might learn if true thou said'st,When sae thou said'st to me!

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED—REV. DR JAMIESON.

The principal design of the author of this piece, was to give a specimen of Scottish writing, more nearly approaching to the classical compositions of our ancient bards, than that which has been generally followed for seventy or eighty years past. As the poem is descriptive of the superstitions of the vulgar, in the county of Angus, the scene is laid on the banks of South Esk, near the castle of Inverquharity, about five miles north from Forfar.

It is with pleasure that the editor announces to the literary world, that Dr Jamieson is about to publish a complete Dictionary of the Scottish Dialect; his intimate acquaintance with which is evinced in the following stanzas.

Aft, owre the bent, with heather blent,And throw the forest brown,I tread the path to yon green strath,Quhare brae-born Esk rins down.Its banks alang, quhilk hazels thrang,Quhare sweet-sair'd hawthorns blow,I lufe to stray, and view the playOf fleckit scales below.Ae summer e'en, upon the green,I laid me down to gaze;The place richt nigh, quhare CarityHis humble tribute pays:And Prosen proud, with rippet loud,Cums ravin' frae his glen;As gin he might auld Esk affricht,And drive him back agen.An ancient tour appear't to lourAthort the neibourin plain,Quhais chieftain bauld, in times of auld,The kintre callit his ain.Its honours cowit, its now forhowit,And left the houlat's prey;Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude,With gloom owrespreads the day.A dreary shade the castle spread,And mirker grew the lift;The croonin' kie the byre drew nigh,The darger left his thrift.The levrock shill on erd was still,The westlin wind fell loun;The fisher's houp forgat to loup,And aw for rest made boun.I seemit to sloom, quhan throw the gloomI saw the river shake,And heard a whush alangis it rush,Gart aw my members quake;Syne, in a stound, the pool profoundTo cleave in twain appear'd:And huly throw the frichtsom howHis form a gaist uprear'd.He rashes bare, and seggs, for hair,Quhare ramper-eels entwin'd;Of filthy gar his ee-brees war,With esks and horse-gells lin'd.And for his een, with dowie sheen,Twa huge horse-mussels glar'd:From his wide mow a torrent flew,And soupt his reedy beard.Twa slauky stanes seemit his spule-banes;His briskit braid, a whin;Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair;Ilk arm a monstrous fin.He frae the wame a fish became,With shells aw coverit owre:And for his tail, the grislie whaleCould nevir match its pow'r.With dreddour I, quhen he drew nigh,Had maistly swarfit outricht:Less fleyit at lenth I gatherit strenth,And speirit quhat was this wicht.Syne thrice he shook his fearsum bouk,And thrice he snockerit loud;From ilka ee the fire-flauchts flee,And flash alangis the flude.Quhan words he found, their elritch soundWas like the norlan blast,Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back,That skeegs the dark-brown waste.The troublit pool conveyit the gowlDown to yon echoin rock;And to his maik, with wilsum skraik,Ilk bird its terror spoke."Vile droich," he said, "art nocht afraid"Thy mortal life to tyne?"How dar'st thou seik with me till speik,"Sae far aboon thy line?"Yet sen thou hast thai limits past,"That sinder sprites frae men,"Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare,"That worms like thee may ken."In kintries nar, and distant far,"Is my renoun propalit;"As is the leid, my name ye'll reid,"But here I'mKelpiecallit."The strypes and burns, throw aw their turns,"As weel's the waters wide,"My laws obey, thair spring heads frae,"Doun till the salt sea tide."Like some wild staig, I aft stravaig,"And scamper on the wave:"Quha with a bit my mow can fit,"May gar me be his slave."To him I'll wirk baith morn and mirk"Quhile he has wark to do;"Gin tent he tak I do nae shak"His bridle frae my mow."Quhan Murphy's laird his biggin rear'd,"I carryit aw the stanes;"And mony a chiell has heard me squeal"For sair-brizz'd back and banes."Within flude-mark, I aft do wark"Gudewillit, quhan I please;"In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep,"Greit blocks I win with ease."Yon bonny brig quhan folk wald big,"To gar my stream look braw;"A sair-toil'd wicht was I be nicht;"I did mair than thaim aw."And weel thai kent quhat help I lent,"For thai yon image framit,"Aboon the pend quhilk I defend;"And it thaiKelpienamit."Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais,"Narby yon whinny hicht,"The sound of me their daffin lays;"Thai dare na mudge for fricht."Now in the midst of them I scream,"Quhan toozlin' on the haugh;"Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream,"Loud nickerin in a lauch."Sicklike's my fun, of wark quhan run;"But I do meikle mair:"In pool or ford can nane be smur'd"Gin Kelpie be nae there."Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spat,"Quhair ane sall meet his deid:"Nor wit nor pow'r put aff the hour,"For his wanweird decreed."For oulks befoir, alangis the shoir,"Or dancin' down the stream,"My lichts are seen to blaze at een,"With wull wanerthly gleam."The hind cums in, gif haim he win,"And cries, as he war wode;'Sum ane sall soon be carryit down'By that wanchancy flude.'"The taiken leil thai ken fow weel,"On water sides quha won;"And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae,"Fast frae the danger run."But fremmit fouk I thus provoke"To meit the fate thai flee:"To wilderit wichts thai're waefow lichts,"But lichts of joy to me."With ruefow cries, that rend the skies,"Thair fate I seem to mourn,"Like crocodile, on banks of Nile;"For I still do the turn."Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen;"Thai rin as thai war heyrt,"Despise all reid, and court their deid:"By me are thai inspir't."Yestreen the water was in spate,"The stanners aw war cur'd:"A man, nae stranger to the gate,"Raid up to tak the ford."The haill town sware it wadna ride;"And Kelpie had been heard:"But nae a gliffin wad he bide,"His shroud I had prepar'd."The human schaip I sumtimes aip:"As Prosenhaugh raid haim,"Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht,"Maist crack't his bustuous frame."I, in a glint, lap on ahint,"And in my arms him fangit;"To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik:"The carle was sair bemangit."My name itsell wirks like a spell,"And quiet the house can keep;"Quhan greits the wean, the nurse in vain,"Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to sleip."But gin scho say, 'Lie still, ye skrae,"There's Water-Kelpie's chap;'"It's fleyit to wink, and in a blink"It sleips as sound's a tap."He said, and thrice he rais't his voice,And gaif a horrid gowl:Thrice with his tail, as with a flail,He struck the flying pool.A thunderclap seem't ilka wap,Resoundin' throw the wude:The fire thrice flash't; syne in he plash't,And sunk beneath the flude.

Ae summer e'en, upon the green,I laid me down to gaze;The place richt nigh, quhare CarityHis humble tribute pays:And Prosen proud, with rippet loud,Cums ravin' frae his glen;As gin he might auld Esk affricht,And drive him back agen.

An ancient tour appear't to lourAthort the neibourin plain,Quhais chieftain bauld, in times of auld,The kintre callit his ain.Its honours cowit, its now forhowit,And left the houlat's prey;Its skuggin' wude, aboon the flude,With gloom owrespreads the day.

A dreary shade the castle spread,And mirker grew the lift;The croonin' kie the byre drew nigh,The darger left his thrift.The levrock shill on erd was still,The westlin wind fell loun;The fisher's houp forgat to loup,And aw for rest made boun.

I seemit to sloom, quhan throw the gloomI saw the river shake,And heard a whush alangis it rush,Gart aw my members quake;Syne, in a stound, the pool profoundTo cleave in twain appear'd:And huly throw the frichtsom howHis form a gaist uprear'd.

He rashes bare, and seggs, for hair,Quhare ramper-eels entwin'd;Of filthy gar his ee-brees war,With esks and horse-gells lin'd.And for his een, with dowie sheen,Twa huge horse-mussels glar'd:From his wide mow a torrent flew,And soupt his reedy beard.

Twa slauky stanes seemit his spule-banes;His briskit braid, a whin;Ilk rib sae bare, a skelvy skair;Ilk arm a monstrous fin.He frae the wame a fish became,With shells aw coverit owre:And for his tail, the grislie whaleCould nevir match its pow'r.

With dreddour I, quhen he drew nigh,Had maistly swarfit outricht:Less fleyit at lenth I gatherit strenth,And speirit quhat was this wicht.Syne thrice he shook his fearsum bouk,And thrice he snockerit loud;From ilka ee the fire-flauchts flee,And flash alangis the flude.

Quhan words he found, their elritch soundWas like the norlan blast,Frae yon deep glack, at Catla's back,That skeegs the dark-brown waste.The troublit pool conveyit the gowlDown to yon echoin rock;And to his maik, with wilsum skraik,Ilk bird its terror spoke.

"Vile droich," he said, "art nocht afraid"Thy mortal life to tyne?"How dar'st thou seik with me till speik,"Sae far aboon thy line?"Yet sen thou hast thai limits past,"That sinder sprites frae men,"Thy life I'll spare, and aw declare,"That worms like thee may ken.

"In kintries nar, and distant far,"Is my renoun propalit;"As is the leid, my name ye'll reid,"But here I'mKelpiecallit."The strypes and burns, throw aw their turns,"As weel's the waters wide,"My laws obey, thair spring heads frae,"Doun till the salt sea tide.

"Like some wild staig, I aft stravaig,"And scamper on the wave:"Quha with a bit my mow can fit,"May gar me be his slave."To him I'll wirk baith morn and mirk"Quhile he has wark to do;"Gin tent he tak I do nae shak"His bridle frae my mow.

"Quhan Murphy's laird his biggin rear'd,"I carryit aw the stanes;"And mony a chiell has heard me squeal"For sair-brizz'd back and banes."Within flude-mark, I aft do wark"Gudewillit, quhan I please;"In quarries deep, quhile uthers sleep,"Greit blocks I win with ease.

"Yon bonny brig quhan folk wald big,"To gar my stream look braw;"A sair-toil'd wicht was I be nicht;"I did mair than thaim aw."And weel thai kent quhat help I lent,"For thai yon image framit,"Aboon the pend quhilk I defend;"And it thaiKelpienamit.

"Quhan lads and lasses wauk the clais,"Narby yon whinny hicht,"The sound of me their daffin lays;"Thai dare na mudge for fricht."Now in the midst of them I scream,"Quhan toozlin' on the haugh;"Than quhihher by thaim doun the stream,"Loud nickerin in a lauch.

"Sicklike's my fun, of wark quhan run;"But I do meikle mair:"In pool or ford can nane be smur'd"Gin Kelpie be nae there."Fow lang, I wat, I ken the spat,"Quhair ane sall meet his deid:"Nor wit nor pow'r put aff the hour,"For his wanweird decreed.

"For oulks befoir, alangis the shoir,"Or dancin' down the stream,"My lichts are seen to blaze at een,"With wull wanerthly gleam."The hind cums in, gif haim he win,"And cries, as he war wode;'Sum ane sall soon be carryit down'By that wanchancy flude.'

"The taiken leil thai ken fow weel,"On water sides quha won;"And aw but thai, quha's weird I spae,"Fast frae the danger run."But fremmit fouk I thus provoke"To meit the fate thai flee:"To wilderit wichts thai're waefow lichts,"But lichts of joy to me.

"With ruefow cries, that rend the skies,"Thair fate I seem to mourn,"Like crocodile, on banks of Nile;"For I still do the turn."Douce, cautious men aft fey are seen;"Thai rin as thai war heyrt,"Despise all reid, and court their deid:"By me are thai inspir't.

"Yestreen the water was in spate,"The stanners aw war cur'd:"A man, nae stranger to the gate,"Raid up to tak the ford."The haill town sware it wadna ride;"And Kelpie had been heard:"But nae a gliffin wad he bide,"His shroud I had prepar'd.

"The human schaip I sumtimes aip:"As Prosenhaugh raid haim,"Ae starnless nicht, he gat a fricht,"Maist crack't his bustuous frame."I, in a glint, lap on ahint,"And in my arms him fangit;"To his dore-cheik I keipt the cleik:"The carle was sair bemangit.

"My name itsell wirks like a spell,"And quiet the house can keep;"Quhan greits the wean, the nurse in vain,"Thoch tyke-tyrit, tries to sleip."But gin scho say, 'Lie still, ye skrae,"There's Water-Kelpie's chap;'"It's fleyit to wink, and in a blink"It sleips as sound's a tap."

He said, and thrice he rais't his voice,And gaif a horrid gowl:Thrice with his tail, as with a flail,He struck the flying pool.A thunderclap seem't ilka wap,Resoundin' throw the wude:The fire thrice flash't; syne in he plash't,And sunk beneath the flude.

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