'Drink,' she said gently, 'drink''Drink,' she said gently, 'drink'
'A beggar from across the sea begs alms, yet none will he have save from the hand of the Princess Jean herself,' said the porter boldly. Then—for he had known the princess from the time that she was only a tiny little girl—then he added in a whisper: 'The man hath a voice soft and sweet as that of our lost Prince Horn.'
Princess Jean heard, and not a moment did she pause.
She stepped down from the throne, took a cup of red wine in her hand, and heeding not the astonished stare of lord and lady, she hastened out to the palace gate.
Very beautiful she looked in her long white robe, her gold combs glinting in her hair.
'Drink,' she said gently, as she stood before the beggar, 'drink, and then haste to tell me what tidings thou dost bring from across the sea.'
The beggar took the cup of wine and drank. As he handed back the cup to the princess he dropped into it the diamondring, which had been dull and dim for many a long day now.
Princess Jean saw the ring. She knew it was the very one she had given to Hynde Horn. Her heart bounded. Now at least she would hear tidings of her long-lost love.
'Oh tell me, tell me quick,' she cried, 'where didst thou find this ring? Was it on the sea or in a far-off country that thou didst find it, or was it on the finger of a dead man? Tell me, oh tell me quick!' cried the Princess Jean.
'Neither by sea nor by land did I find the ring,' answered the beggar, 'nor on a dead man's hand. It was given to me by one who loved me well, and I, I give it back to her on this her wedding-day.' As Hynde Horn spoke he stood up, straight and tall, and looked straight into the eyes of the Princess Jean.
Then, in a flash, she understood. In spite of the tattered coat, she knew her own Hynde Horn.
Her pale cheeks glowed, her dim eyes shone.
'Hynde Horn!' she cried, 'my own Hynde Horn, I will never let thee leave me again. I will throw away my golden combs, I will put on my oldest gown, and I will come with thee, and together we will beg for bread.'
King Horn smiled, and his voice was soft as he answered, 'No need is there to take the gold combs from thy hair or to change thy white robe for one less fair. This is thy wedding-day, and I have come to claim my bride.' And King Horn flung aside the old torn coat, and the Princess Jean saw that beneath the rags Hynde Horn was clothed as one of kingly rank.
Then throughout the palace the tidings spread, 'Hynde Horn hath come back, Hynde Horn hath come back, and now is he king of his own country.'
And that very day King Horn was wedded to the beautiful Princess Jean, with her father's blessing, and amid the rejoicings of the people.
And Prince Fykenyld slunk away, ashamed to look his old playmate in the face.
Not many months passed ere King Horn and Queen Jean sailed away to reign together in the far East. And never again in the years to come did the diamonds on King Horn's ring grow dull or dim.
It is six hundred years ago since Thomas the Rhymer lived and rhymed, and in those far-off days little need was there to tell his tale. It was known far and wide throughout the countryside.
Thomas was known as Thomas the Rhymer because of the wonderful songs he sang. Never another harper in all the land had so great a gift as he. But at that no one marvelled, no one, that is to say, who knew that he had gained his gift in Elfland.
When Thomas took his harp in his hand and touched the strings, a hush would fall upon those who heard, were they princes or were they peasants. For the magic of his music reached the hearts of all who stood around him. Were the strains merry, gleeful? The faces of those who heard werewreathed in smiles. Were they sad, melancholy? The faces of those who looked upon the harpist were bathed in tears. Truly Thomas the Rhymer held the hearts of the people in his hand.
But the minstrel had another name, wonderful as the one I have already told to you.
Thomas the Rhymer was named True Thomas, and that was because, even had he wished it, Thomas could not say or sing what was not true.
This gift too, as you will hear, was given to him by the Queen of Elfland.
And yet another name had this wonderful singer.
He was born, so the folk said, in a little village called Ercildoune. He lived there, so the folk knew, in a castle strongly built on the banks of a little river. Thus to those who dwelt in the countryside the Rhymer was known as Thomas of Ercildoune. The river which flowed past the castle was the Leader. It flowed broader and deeper until two milesbeyond the village it ran into the beautiful river Tweed. And to-day the ruins of an old tower are visited by many folk who have heard that it was once the home of the ancient harpist.
Thomas of Ercildoune, Thomas the Rhymer, and True Thomas were thus only different names for one marvellous man who sang and played, never told an untruth, and who, moreover, was able to tell beforehand events that were going to take place.
Listen, and I will tell you how Thomas of Ercildoune came to visit Elfland.
It was one beautiful May morning that Thomas felt something stirring in his heart. Spring had come, spring was calling to him. He could stay no longer in the grim tower on the banks of the Leader. He would away, away to the woods where the thrush and the jay were singing, where the violets were peeping forth with timid eyes, where the green buds were bursting their bonds for very joy.
Thomas hastened to the woods and threw himself down by the bank of a little brook.
Ah yes! spring has come. How the little birds sing, how the gentle breezes whisper! Yet listen! what is it Thomas hears beyond the song of the birds, the whisper of the breeze?
On the air floats the sound of silver bells. Thomas raises his head. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle! The sound draws nearer, clearer. It is music such as one might hear in Elfland.
Beyond the wood, over the lonely moors, rode a lady. So fair a lady had Thomas never seen.
Her palfrey was dapple-grey and she herself shone as the summer sun. Her saddle was of pure ivory, bright with many precious stones and hung with cloth of richest crimson.
The girths of her saddle were of silk and the buckles were each one a beryl. Her stirrups of clear crystal and adorned with pearls hung ready for her fairy feet. Thetrappings of her palfrey were of finest embroidery, her bridle was a chain of gold.
From the palfrey's mane hung little silver bells, nine-and-fifty little silver bells. It was the fairy music of the bells that had reached the ears of Thomas as he lay dreaming on the bank of the little brook.
The lady's skirt was green, green as the leaves of spring, her cloak was of fine velvet. Her long black hair hung round her as a veil, and her brow was adorned with gems.
By her side were seven greyhounds, other seven she led by a leash. From her neck hung a horn and in her belt was thrust a sheath of arrows.
It seemed as though the lady gay were on her way to the hunting-field.
Now she would blow her horn until the echoes answered merrily, merrily; now she would trill her songs, until the wild birds answered gaily, gaily.
Thomas of Ercildoune gazed, and Thomas of Ercildoune listened, and his heart gave a great bound as he said to himself, 'Now,by my troth, the lady is none of mortal birth. She is none other than Mary, the Queen of Heaven.'
Then up sprang Thomas from the little woodland brook and away sped he over the mountain-side, that he might, so it were possible, reach her as she rode by the Eildon tree, which tree grew on the side of the Eildon hills.
'For certainly,' said Thomas, 'if I do not speak with that lady bright, my heart will break in three.'
And in sooth, as she dismounted under the Eildon tree, Thomas met the lady, and kneeling low beneath the greenwood, he spoke, thus eager was he to win a benison from the Queen of Heaven.
'Lovely lady, have pity upon me, even as thou art mother of the Child who died for me.'
'Nay now, nay now,' said the lady gay, 'no Queen of Heaven am I. I come but from the country thou dost call Elfland, though queen of that country in truth I am. I do but ride to the hunt with my hounds as thoumayest hear.' And she blew on her horn merrily, merrily.
Under the Eildon tree Thomas met the ladyUnder the Eildon tree Thomas met the lady
Now Thomas did not wish to lose sight of so fair a lady.
'Go not back to Elfland; stay by my side under the Eildon tree,' he pleaded.
'Nay,' said the Queen of Elfland, 'should I stay with thee, a mortal, my fairness would fade as fades a leaf.'
But Thomas did not believe her, and, for he was a bold man, he drew near and kissed the rosy lips of the Elfland Queen.
Alas, alas! no sooner had he kissed her than the lady fair changed into a tired old woman.
She no longer wore a skirt of beautiful green, but a long robe of hodden grey covered her from head to foot. The light, bright as the summer sun that had shone around her, faded, and her face grew pale and thin. Her eyes no longer danced for joy, they gazed dull and dim before her. And on one side of her head the long black hair had changed to grey.
It was a sight to make one sad, and Thomas, as he gazed, cried, as well he might, 'Alas, alas!'
'Thyself hast sealed thy doom, Thomas,' cried the lady. 'Thou must come with me to Elfland. Haste thou therefore to bid farewell to sun and moon, to trees and flowers, for, come weal, come woe, thou must e'en serve me for a twelvemonth.'
Then Thomas fell upon his knees and prayed to Mary mild that she would have pity upon him.
But when he arose the Queen of Elfland bade him mount behind her, and Thomas could do nought save obey her command.
Her steed flew forward, the Eildon hills opened, and horse and riders were in the caverns of the earth.
Thomas felt darkness close around him. On they rode, on and yet on; swift as the wind they rode. Water reached to his knee, above and around him was darkness, and ever and anon the booming of the waves.
For three days they rode. Then Thomasgrew faint with hunger and cried, 'Woe is me, I shall die for lack of food.'
As he cried, the darkness grew less thick, and they were riding forward into light. Bright sunlight lay around them as they rode toward a garden. It was a garden such as Thomas had never seen on earth.
All manner of fruit was there, apples and pears, dates and damsons, figs and currants, all ripe, ready to be plucked. In this beautiful garden, too, there were birds, nightingales building their nests, gay popinjays flitting hither and thither among the trees, thrushes singing their sweetest songs.
But these Thomas neither saw nor heard. Thomas had eyes only for the fruit, and he thrust forth his hand to pluck it, so hungry, so faint was he.
'Let be the fruit, Thomas,' cried the lady, 'let be the fruit. For dost thou pluck it, thy soul will go to an evil place, nor shall it escape until the day of doom. Leave the fruit, Thomas, and come lay thy head upon my knee, and I will show thee a sight fairerthan ever mortal hath seen. And Thomas, being fain to rest, lay down as he was bid, and closed his eyes.
'Now open thine eyes, Thomas,' said the lady, 'and thou shalt see three roads before thee. Narrow and straight is the first, and hard is it to walk there, for thorns and briars grow thick, and spread themselves across the pathway. Straight up over the mountain-tops on into the city of God runs this straight and narrow road. It is named the path of Goodness. And ever will the thorns prick and the briars spread, for few there be who tread far on this rough and prickly road.
'Look yet again, Thomas,' said the lady. And Thomas saw stretching before him a long white road. It ran smooth and broad across a grassy plain, and roses blossomed, and lilies bloomed by the wayside. 'That,' said the lady, 'is named the path of Evil, and many there be who saunter along its broad and easy surface.'
Thomas said no word, but lay looking atthe third pathway as it twisted and twined in and out amid the cool, green nooks of the woodland. Tiny rills caught the sunlight and tossed it back to the cold, grey rock down which they trickled; tiny ferns waved a welcome from their sheltered crevices. 'This,' said the lady, 'this is the fair road to Elfland, and along its beauteous way must thou and I ride this very night. But speak thou to none, Thomas, when thou comest to Elfland. Though strange the sights you see, the sounds you hear, speak thou to none, for never mortal returns to his own country does he speak one word in the land of Elfs.'
Then once again Thomas mounted behind the lady, and hard and fast did they ride until they saw before them a castle. It stood on a high hill, fair and strong, and as it came in sight the lady reined in her white steed.
'See, Thomas, see!' she cried, 'here is the castle that is mine and his who is king of this country. None like it is there, for beauty or for strength, in the land from which thou comest. My lord is waited on by knights, ofwhom there are thirty in this castle. A noble lord is mine, nor would he wish to hear how thou wert bold and kissed me under the Eildon tree. Bear thou in mind, Thomas, that thou speak no word, nay, not though thou art commanded to tell thy tale. I will say to my courtiers that I took from thee the power of speech ere ever we crossed the sea.'
Thomas listened, and dared not speak. Thomas stood still, still as a stone, and gazed upon the lady, and lo! a great wonder came to pass.
Once more the lady shone bright as the sun upon a summer's morn, once more she wore her skirt of green, green as the leaves of spring, and her velvet cloak hung around her shoulders. Her eyes flashed and her long hair waved once more black in the breeze.
And Thomas, looking at his own garments, started to see that they too were changed. For he was now clothed in a suit of beautiful soft cloth, and on his feet were a pair of green velvet shoes.
Clear and loud the lady fair blew her horn, clear and loud, and forward she rode toward the castle gate.
Then down to welcome their queen trooped all the fairy court, and kneeling low before her, they did her reverence.
Into the hall she stepped, Thomas following close at her side, silent as one who had no power to speak.
They crowded around him, the knights and squires; they asked him questions about his own country, yet no word dared Thomas answer.
Then arose great revelry and feasting in the castle of the Elfin Queen.
Harps and fiddles played their wildest and most gladsome tunes, knights and ladies danced, and all went merry as a marriage bell.
Across the hall Thomas looked, and there a strange sight met his glance. Thirty harts and as many deer lay on the oaken floor, and bending over them, their knives in their hands, were elfin cooks, making ready forthe feast. Thomas wondered if it were but a dream, so strange seemed the sights he saw.
Gaily passed the days, and Thomas had no wish to leave the strange Elfland. But a day came when the queen said to Thomas, 'Now must thou begone from Elfland, Thomas, and I, myself, will ride with you back to your own country.'
'Nay now, but three days have I dwelt in thy realm,' said Thomas, 'with but little cheer. Give me leave to linger yet a little while.'
'Indeed, indeed, Thomas,' cried the Queen of Elfland, 'thou hast been with me for seven long years and more, but now thou must away ere the dawn of another day. To-morrow there comes an evil spirit from the land of darkness to our fair realm. He comes each year to claim our most favoured and most courteous guest, and it will be thou, Thomas, thou, whom he will wish to carry to his dark abode. But we tarry not his coming. By the light of the moon we ride to-night to the land of thy birth.'
Once again the lady fair mounted her white palfrey, and Thomas rode behind until she brought him safe back to the Eildon tree.
There, under the leaves of the greenwood, while the little birds sang their lays, the Queen of Elfland said farewell to Thomas.
'Farewell, Thomas, farewell, I may no longer stay with thee.'
'Give me a token,' pleaded Thomas, 'a token ere thou leavest me, that mortals may know that I have in truth been with thee in Elfland.'
'Take with thee, then,' said the lady, 'take with thee the gift of harp and song, and likewise the power to tell that which will come to pass in future days. Nor ever shall thy tales be false, Thomas, for I have taken from thee the power to speak aught save only what is true.'
She turned to ride away, away to Elfland. Then Thomas was sad, and tears streamed from his grey eyes, and he cried, 'Tell me, lady fair, shall I never meet thee more?'
'Yea,' said the Elf Queen, 'we shall meetagain, Thomas. When thou art in thy castle of Ercildoune and hearest of a hart and hind that come out of the forest and pace unafraid through the village, then come thou down to seek for me here, under the Eildon tree.'
Then loud and clear blew she her horn and rode away. Thus Thomas parted from the Elfin Queen.
On earth seven slow long years had passed away since Thomas had been seen in the little village of Ercildoune, and the villagers rubbed their eyes and stared with open mouth as they saw him once again in their midst.
Ofttimes now Thomas was to be seen wandering down from his grim old castle down to the bonny greenwood. Ofttimes was he to be found lying on the bank of the little brook that babbled to itself as it ran through the forest, or under the Eildon tree, where he had met the Elf Queen so long before.
He would be dreaming as he lay there of the songs he would sing to the country folk. So beautiful were these songs that people hearing them knew that Thomas the Rhymerhad a gift that had been given to him by no mortal hand.
He would be thinking, too, as he lay by the babbling brook, of the wars and dangers that in years to come would fall upon his country. And those who hearkened to the woes he uttered found that the words of True Thomas never failed to come to pass.
Seven long years passed away since Thomas had parted from the Elfland Queen, and yet another seven.
War had raged here and there throughout the land, when on a time it chanced that the Scottish army encamped close to the castle of Ercildoune where Thomas the Rhymer dwelt.
It was a time of truce, and Thomas wished to give a feast to the gallant soldiers who had been fighting for their country.
Thus it was that the doors of the old castle were flung wide, and noise and laughter filled the banquet-hall. Merry were the tales, loud the jests, bright the minstrel strains that night in the castle of Ercildoune.
But when the feast was over Thomas himself arose, the harp he had brought from Elfland in his hand, and a hush fell upon the throng, upon lords and ladies, and upon rough armed men.
The cheeks of rugged warriors that day were wet ere ever Thomas ceased to sing. Nor ever in the years to come did those who heard forget the magic of his song.
Night fell, those who had feasted had gone to rest, when in the bright moonlight a strange sight was seen by the village folk.
Along the banks of the Leader there paced side by side a hart and a hind, each white, white as newly fallen snow.
Slowly and with stately steps they moved, nor were they affrighted by the crowd which gathered to gaze at them.
Then, for True Thomas would know the meaning of so strange a sight, then a messenger was sent in haste to the castle of Ercildoune.
As he listened to the tale the messengerbrought, Thomas started up out of bed and in haste he put on his clothes. Pale and red did he grow in turn as he listened to the tale, yet all he said was this: 'My sand is run, my thread is spun, this token is for me.'
Thomas hung his elfin harp around his neck, his minstrel cloak across his shoulders, and out into the pale moonlight he walked. And as he walked the wind touched the strings of the elfin harp and drew forth a wail so full of dole that those who heard it whispered: 'It is a note of death.'
On walked Thomas, slow and sad, and oft he turned to look again at the grim walls of the castle, which he knew he would never see again.
And the moonbeams fell upon the grey tower, and in the soft light the walls grew less grim, less stern, so thought Thomas.
'Farewell,' he cried, 'farewell. Nor song nor dance shall evermore find place within thy walls. On thy hearthstone shall the wild hare seek a refuge for her young.Farewell to Leader, the stream I love, farewell to Ercildoune, my home.'
As Thomas tarried for a last look, the hart and the hind drew near. Onward then he went with them toward the banks of the Leader, and there, before the astonished folk, he crossed the stream with his strange companions, and nevermore was Thomas the Rhymer seen again.
For many a day among the hills and through the glens was Thomas sought, but never was he found. There be some who say that he is living yet in Elfland, and that one day he will come again to earth.
Meanwhile he is not forgotten. The Eildon tree no longer waves its branches in the breeze, but a large stone named the Eildon-tree stone marks the spot where once it grew. And near to the stone flows a little river which has been named the Goblin Brook, for by its banks it was believed that Thomas the Rhymer used to talk with little men from the land of Elf.
In the fair city of Edinburgh there lived many many years ago a beautiful maiden named Lizzie Lindsay. Her home was in the Canongate, which is now one of the poorest parts of the city.
But in the days when Lizzie danced and sang, and made her father's and mother's heart rejoice, the Canongate was the home of all the richest lords and ladies.
For close to the Canongate was Holyrood, the palace where the king held his court. And it was well, thought the lords and ladies of long ago, to live near the palace where there were many gay sights to be seen.
Lizzie had been a bonny wee girl, and as she grew up she grew bonnier still, until, not only in Edinburgh, but far and wide throughout the country, people would speak of herbeauty. Even the folk who dwelt away over the hills in the Highlands heard of the beauty of Lizzie Lindsay.
Dame Lindsay loved her daughter well, and gave her beautiful gowns of silk and velvet. Her father, too, would bring her home many a sparkling jewel, many a brilliant gem. It seemed as though Lizzie Lindsay had all that her heart could wish.
Certainly she did not wish to leave her home in the Canongate, for though lord after lord, noble after noble begged for her hand, Lizzie but tossed her beautiful head high in the air as she said them nay.
But though it was well known that the lovely maiden had kind looks and gentle words to spare for none save only her dear father and her doting mother, yet still the lords and nobles would dance more gladly with Lizzie than with any other maiden. And a ball, even a ball given by the court at the palace of Holyrood, seemed to be less gladsome were it known that the fair maiden would not be there.
Now, as I have told you, the fame of Lizzie Lindsay's beauty had spread even to the Highlands. And Donald, the young laird of Kingcaussie, heard that she was fairer than any other maiden in the land, and that she was haughtier and more wilful as well. For she would have nought to say, to any of the rich suitors who surrounded her.
Then Donald, who was tall and handsome, and who was used to have his own way, smiled as he heard of Lizzie's wilful spirit and her great beauty. He made up his mind that he would go to Edinburgh and try to win as his bride the bonnie lassie who would have nought to do with noble or with lord.
The young laird lived with his father and mother in a castle built high amid the heather-covered hills, and little until now had Donald cared for city ways or city walls. To hunt the deer, to chase the roe, to spend the long hours from early morn until even among the heathery moors whichwere all his own, had been happiness enough for him.
But now, now the glory faded from the heather, and the hunt and chase lost their delight. Sir Donald's heart was in the fair city of Edinburgh with beautiful Lizzie Lindsay, whom, though he had not seen, he loved.
At length one day the young laird went to his lady mother and, kissing her hand right courteously, he begged her to grant him a boon. For Donald had been well trained, and, though he was no longer a boy, he did not dream of leaving his home among the hills until he had gained his mother's consent.
'Grant me a boon, lady mother,' said the young laird. 'Send me away to the fair city of Edinburgh, for it is there that my true love dwells. And if ye will do this I will bring you home a daughter more beautiful than any other maiden in the land.'
Now the young laird's mother had heardof Lizzie Lindsay, and it may be that she was glad that her son should wish to bring to the castle so beautiful a bride. Yet she had no wish for the maiden to be won by aught save by love for her dear son alone.
Lizzie had refused to wed with lord or noble, it was true, yet the broad lands, the ancient castle of the MacDonalds, might please her fancy. But the Lady of Kingcaussie determined that neither for land nor for castle should bonnie Lizzie Lindsay come to the Highlands.
When she saw young Donald at her side, and heard him begging leave to go to the fair city of Edinburgh, she smiled as she looked into his eager face, and answered slowly, 'My son, ye shall go to Edinburgh an it please you, and so ye are able ye shall bring back with you Lizzie Lindsay as your bride. A fairer maiden, I can well believe, has never graced these walls. Yet, if ye go, it shall not be as Sir Donald MacDonald, the heir to broad lands andancient castles, but as a simple stranger, without riches and without rank. Then, if ye do win your bride, it will be through love alone,' said his mother gravely. But her eyes shone bright and glad, for she thought that there was not a maiden in all the land who would not be proud to wed her son, though he had neither riches nor lands.
As for the old laird, he laughed when he heard why his son had grown weary at the hunt and listless at the chase. He laughed and cried, 'Let the lad go to the city; before a year has passed away he will be home again and the beautiful Lizzie Lindsay with him.' For his old father, too, thought that no maiden could refuse to love his bonny self-willed son.
Well, young Donald was too anxious to be off and away to Edinburgh to be grieved to go as a simple Highlander. Before the day was over he had said farewell to his light-hearted old father and to his gentle lady mother, and clad in a rough tartan kiltand without a servant to follow him, the young laird was off to the fair city of Edinburgh.
When Donald reached Edinburgh he wondered how he would see the maiden of whose beauty and of whose cleverness he had so often heard.
He had not long to wait, for he had scarce been a day in the city when he heard that a great ball was to be given and to be graced by the presence of the fair maiden whom he hoped to win as his bride.
Donald made up his mind that he too would go to the ball, and it was easy for him to do this, as there were many in the city who knew the young laird.
When he entered the ballroom he saw that the lords and nobles were dressed in suits of velvet or silk and satins, while he wore only his kilt of rough tartan.
The lords and ladies too stared at the tall handsome young Highlander in his strange garments, and some, who did not know him, forgot their good manners and smiled andnudged each other as he passed down the room.
But the young laird had no thought to spare for the crowd. He was making his way to the circle, in the midst of which stood Lizzie Lindsay. He had heard too often of the beautiful maiden not to be sure it was she as soon as his eyes fell upon her face.
Young Donald, in his homespun tartan, stood on the outskirt of the little crowd that surrounded her, listening. The lords in their gay suits were doing their utmost to win the goodwill of the maiden, but their flattery and foolish words seemed to give her little pleasure. Indeed she was too used to them to find them aught but a weariness.
Soon Donald was bowing before the maiden he had left his home to win, and begging her to dance with him. And something in the bright eyes and gallant bearing of young Donald pleased the petted maiden, and, despite his rough suit, she had noughtbut smiles for the young stranger from the Highlands.
The lords, in their silks and velvets, opened their eyes wide in astonishment as Lizzie glided past them with young Donald; the ladies smiled and flouted her, but the maiden paid no heed to their words or looks.
Donald was not flattering her as she was used to be flattered, he was telling her of the country in which he dwelt. And Lizzie as she listened heard the hum of the bees, smelt the fragrance of the heather. Nay, she even forgot the ballroom, and she was out on the silent moorland or climbing the steep mountains side by side with the young stranger whose face was so eager, whose eyes were so bright. She was stooping to pluck the wildflowers that grew in the nooks of some sheltered glen, or she was kilting her dainty gown and crossing the mountain streamlets, and ever the tall, young stranger was by her side.
Before the ball was over Donald knewthat Lizzie Lindsay's home was in the Canongate, and he had begged to be allowed to see her there.
Lizzie had no wish to lose sight of the bright young Highlander, and she told him gaily that if he came to the Canongate to see her he should be welcome, both to her and her dear father and mother.
When the dance ended the young laird went to his lodgings, and his heart was light and his dreams glad. His old father had thought he might be in Edinburgh a year ere he won his bride. But young Donald murmured to himself that it would scarce be twelve long months before he was back again to the Highlands with his bonny Lizzie Lindsay.
The next day Donald was at the Canongate betimes, and Lizzie welcomed him merrily, and her father and mother looked in kindly fashion at the young stranger, for indeed Donald had the gift of winning hearts.
But neither father nor mother dreamedthat the country clad youth would win their beautiful daughter's hand, for had she not refused it to many a lordly earl and noble knight.
'Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?''Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?'
Yet the more Lizzie heard about the Highlands, the more she longed to be there with young Donald by her side.
At length a day came when Donald, with little fear and much hope in his heart, asked the maiden if she would go with him to the Highlands.
'We will feed on curds and whey,' cried the daring young Donald; 'your cheeks will grow more pink, and your brow more white with our simple fare. Your bed shall be made on the fresh green bracken and my plaid shall wrap you round. Will ye come to the Highlands with me, Lizzie Lindsay?'
Now Lizzie had listened to young Donald's words with joy, but also with some fear. Her food had been of the daintiest, her bed of the softest down, and the young stranger, who was indeed scarce a stranger now, had, it seemed, but little to offer her save hislove. Yet Lizzie still wished to go to the Highlands.
But when Dame Lindsay heard what young Donald had said she hardened her heart against the bonny young Highlander.
'Ye shall speak no more to my daughter,' she cried, 'until ye have told me where your home is, and how many broad lands are your own?' For it seemed to the old dame that a penniless lad would never dare to win her daughter, when lords and nobles had wooed her in vain.
But Donald's head was high, and he seemed to feel no shame as he answered the old dame bravely—
'My name is Donald MacDonald, and I hold it high in honour. My father is an old shepherd and my mother a dairymaid. Yet kind and gentle will they be to your beautiful daughter if she will come with me to the Highlands.'
Dame Lindsay could scarce believe she had heard aright. Her daughter marry a shepherd lad! Nay, that should never be,though indeed the lad was a bonny one and brave.
Then in her anger she bade young Donald begone. 'If ye do steal away my daughter, then, without doubt ye shall hang for it!' she cried.
The young laird turned haughtily on his heel. He had little patience, nor could his spirit easily brook such scorn as the old Dame flung at him.
He turned on his heel and he said, 'There is no law in Edinburgh city this day which can hang me.'
But before he could say more Lizzie was by his side. 'Come to my room, Donald,' she pleaded; and as he looked at the beautiful girl the young laird's wrath vanished as quickly as it had come. 'Come to my room for an hour until I draw a fair picture of you to hang in my bower. Ye shall have ten guineas if you will but come.'
'Your golden guineas I will not have!' cried Donald quickly. 'I have plenty of cows in the Highlands, and they are all my own.Come with me, Lizzie, and we will feed on curds and whey, and thou shalt have a bonnie blue plaid with red and green strips. Come with me, Lizzie Lindsay; we will herd the wee lambs together.'
Yet, though Lizzie loved young Donald MacDonald, she still hesitated to leave her kind parents and her beautiful home.
She sat in her bower and she said to her maid, 'Helen, what shall I do, for my heart is in the Highlands with Donald?'
Then the maid, who was wellnigh as beautiful as her mistress, cried, 'Though I were a princess and sat upon a throne, yet would I leave all to go with young Donald MacDonald.'
'O Helen!' cried Lizzie, 'would ye leave your chests full of jewels and silk gowns, and would ye leave your father and mother, and all your friends to go away with a Highland laddie who wears nought but a homespun kilt?'
But before her maid could answer her, Lizzie had sprung from her chair, saying,'Yet I think he must be a wizard, and have enchanted me, for, come good or come ill, I must e'en go to the Highlands.'
Then early one morning Lizzie tied up her silk robes in a bundle and clad herself in one of Helen's plain gowns. With her bundle over her arm, Lizzie Lindsay was off to the Highlands with Donald MacDonald.
Donald's heart was glad as he left the fair city of Edinburgh behind him, Lizzie by his side. He had so much to tell his beautiful bride, so much, too, to show her, that at first the road seemed neither rough nor long.
But as the hours passed the way grew rougher, the hills steeper, and Lizzie's strength began to fail. Her shoes, too, which were not made for such rough journeys, were soon so worn that her feet grew hot and blistered.
'Alas!' sighed Lizzie Lindsay, 'I would I were back in Edinburgh, sitting alone in my bower.'
'We are but a few miles away from the city,' said Donald; 'will you even now go back?'
But the tears trickled slowly down the maiden's cheeks, and she sobbed, 'Now would I receive no welcome from my father, no kiss from my mother, for sore displeased will they be that I have left them for you, Donald MacDonald.'
On and on they trudged in silence, and as evening crept on Donald cried aloud, 'Dry your tears now, Lizzie, for there before us is our home,' and he pointed to a tiny cottage on the side of the hill.
An old woman stood at the door, gazing down the hill, and as they drew near she came forward with outstretched hands. 'Welcome, Sir Donald,' she said, 'welcome home to your own.'
'She spoke in Gaelic, as Highlanders do, so Lizzie did not know what she said.
Sir Donald whispered quickly in the same language, 'Hush, call me only Donald, and pretend that I am your son.' The old woman, though sore dismayed at having to treat the young laird in so homely a way, promised to do his bidding.
Then Donald turned to Lizzie. 'Here mother,' he said, 'is my lady-love, whom I have won in the fair city of Edinburgh.'
The old woman drew Lizzie into the cottage, and spoke kindly to her, but the maiden's heart sank. For a peat fire smouldered on the hearth and the room was filled with smoke. There was no easy chair, no couch on which to rest her weary body, so Lizzie dropped down on to a heap of green turf.
Her sadness did not seem to trouble Donald. He seemed gayer, happier, every moment.
'We are hungry, mother,' he said; 'make us a good supper of curds and whey, and then make us a bed of green rushes and cover us with yonder grey plaids.'
The old woman moved about eagerly as though overjoyed to do all that she could for her son and his young bride.
Curds and whey was a supper dainty enough for a queen, as Lizzie whispered to her shepherd lad with a little sigh. Even the bed of green rushes could not keep her awake.No sooner had she lain down than, worn out with her long journey, she fell fast asleep, nor did she awake until the sun was high in the sky.
As she awoke she heard Donald's voice. He was reproaching her, and she had not been used to reproach.
'It would have been well,' said Donald, 'that you had risen an hour ago to milk the cows, to tend the flock.'
The tears gathered in Lizzie's eyes and trickled down her cheeks.
'Alas, alas!' she sighed, 'I would I had never left my home, for here I am of little use. I have never milked a cow, nor do I know how to begin, and flocks have I never tended. Alas that I ever came to the Highlands! Yet well do I love Donald MacDonald, and long and dull would the days have been had he left me behind him in Edinburgh.'
'Shed no more tears, Lizzie,' said Donald gently. 'Get up and dress yourself in your silk gown, for to-day I will take you over the hills of Kingcaussie and show you the glensand dales where I used to play when I was but a little lad.'
Then Lizzie dried her tears and soon she was up and dressed in her finest gown, and leaning on Donald's arm she wandered with him over the heathery hills until they reached a noble castle.
Joyously then laughed the young laird, as he bade Lizzie gaze all around her and be glad.
'I am the lord of all you see, Lizzie,' cried he, 'for this castle is my home and the mountains are my own broad lands.'
Then joyously too laughed Lizzie Lindsay, for she knew that her shepherd lad was none other than the far-famed Sir Donald MacDonald.
At that moment the castle gates were flung wide, and the old Laird of Kingcaussie came out to greet the bride.
'Ye are welcome, Lizzie Lindsay, welcome to our castle,' he said right courteously. 'Many were the lords and nobles who begged for your hand, but it is young Donald, my son,who has won it, with no gift save the glance of his bonny blue eyes.' And the old laird laughed merrily as he looked up at his son.
The laird's gracious mother too came down to greet her, and well was she pleased that her boy had won the beautiful maiden he loved.
As for Lizzie Lindsay, she sent to Edinburgh to fetch her father and mother, that they might see for themselves how wise their daughter had been to follow Donald MacDonald to the Highlands.
Lord William sat alone in his grey northern castle. He had come but lately from the sunny South, and the room in which he sat struck chill after the sun-warmed rooms to which he had grown used. Little joy had Lord William in his old grey castle, for his heart was far away in the sunny South.
All alone he sat save for his favourite bird, the gay goshawk. And it, for it loved its master well, blinked a tear from its eye as it peered into Lord William's gloomy face, blinked and peered again, so pale and lean had his master grown.
'Now what ill has befallen,' thought the bird, and it ruffled its feathers in its distress.
Lord William looked up and stroked the glossy plumage of his gay goshawk.
'Be still, my bonny bird, be still,' said LordWilliam, 'and I will smooth your ruffled wings.'
The goshawk blinked and peered more close into the tired face of his master. Then he began to speak.
'Have you lost your sword or spear in the tournament, have you lost them in sunny England?' asked the bird, 'or are you pale with grief because your true love is far away?'
'By my troth!' cried Lord William, 'I have lost nor sword nor spear, yet do I mourn, for my true love whom I fain would see.
'You shall carry a message to her, my gay goshawk, for you can fly over hill and dale. You shall carry a letter to my love, and you shall e'en bring me an answer,' said Lord William, 'for you can speak as well as fly, my bonny bird.'
'But how shall I know your true love?' said the bird. 'Never have I seen her face or heard her voice.'
'O well will you know my true love,' cried Lord William, 'for in all England lives therenone so fair as she. The cheeks of my love are red as the red red rose, and her neck, it is whiter than new-fallen snow.
'Near to her lattice window grows a birch, whose leaves tremble in the breeze. There shall you sit, my gay goshawk, and you shall sing to her as she goes to holy church.
'With four-and-twenty maidens will she go, yet well will you know my own true love, for she is the fairest of them all. You shall know her, too, by the gold that bedecks her skirt, by the light that glimmers in her hair.'
Then Lord William sat down and wrote a letter to his love, and fastened it firm under the pinion of his gay goshawk. Away flew the bird, swift did it fly to do its master's will. O'er hill and dale it winged its flight until at length it saw the birch-tree that grew near the lady's bower.
There, on the birch-tree, did the goshawk perch, and there did he sing his song as the lady with her four-and-twenty maidens passed beneath its branches towards the church.
The sharp eyes of the goshawk glanced at each beautiful maiden, and quick was he to see Lord William's love, for sweet was she as the flowers that spring in May. Gold was embroidered on her skirt, sunlight glistened in her beautiful yellow hair.
When another day dawned the gay goshawk left the birch-tree and alighted on the gate, a little nearer to the lattice window where sat the beautiful lady to whom he had been sent. Here again he sang his song. Loud and clear he sang it first, loud and clear that all might hear. Soft and sweet he sang it after, soft and sweet that only Lord William's lady might catch the note of love. And ever, loud or soft, the last words of his song were these, 'Your true love cannot come to you here.'
Then said the lady to her four-and-twenty maidens, 'Eat, my merry maidens, eat and drink, for the feast is spread. I go but to my lattice window to listen to the birds, for hark! they are singing their evensong.'
But in her heart the lady knew there wasonly one song she longed to hear. Wide she opened her lattice window and, leaning out, she hearkened to the song of the gay goshawk.