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"Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh,
Obsequious at their Regent's rein,
And haggard Lindsay's iron eye,
That saw fair Mary weep in vain.
"Mid pennoned spears, a steely grove,

Proud Murray's plumage floated high;
Scarce could his trampling charger move,

So close the minions crowded nigh.
"From the raised visor's shade, his eye,

Dark rolling, glanced the ranks along,
And his steel truncheon, waved on high,
Seemed marshalling the iron throng.
"But yet his saddened brow confessed

A passing shade of doubt and awe;
Some fiend was whispering in his breast,
'Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!'
"The death-shot parts-the charger springs-
Wild rises tumult's startling roar !-
And Murray's plumy helmet rings-

Rings on the ground, to rise no more.
"What joy the raptured youth can feel,
To hear her love the loved one tell,
Or he, who broaches on his steel

The wolf, by whom his infant fell!
"But dearer to my injured eye,

To see in dust proud Murray roll;
And mine was ten times trebled joy

To hear him groan his felon soul.
"My Margaret's spectre glided near;

With pride her bleeding victim saw;
And shrieked in his death-deafened ear,
'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!"

w The earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the earl of Morton, whose horse was killed by the same ball by which Murray fell.

* Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious and brutal of the regent's faction, and, as such, was employed to extort Mary's signature to the deed of resignation presented to her in Lochleven Castle. He discharged his commission with the most savage rigour; and it is even said, that when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes from the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron glove.

y Not only had the regent notice of the intended attempt upon his life, but even of the very house from which it was threatened. With that infatuation at which men wonder after such events have happened, he deemed it would be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by the crowd: so that Bothwellhaugh had time to take a deliberate aim.-Spottiswoode, p. 233. Buchunun.

"Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault!
Spread to the wind thy bannered tree!
Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow!-
Murray is fallen, and Scotland free."
Vaults every warrior to his steed;

Loud bugles join their wild acclaim-
"Murray is fallen, and Scotland freed!
Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame!"
But, see! the minstrel vision fails-

The glimmering spears are seen no more;
The shouts of war die on the gales,

Or sink in Evan's lonely roar.


For the loud bugle, pealing high,
The blackbird whistles down the vale,
And sunk in ivied ruins lie

The bannered towers of Evandale.

For chiefs, intent on bloody deed,

And Vengeance, shouting o'er the slain,
Lo! high-born Beauty rules the steed,
Or graceful guides the silken rein.

And long may Peace and Pleasure own
The maids, who list the minstrel's tale;
Nor e'er a ruder guest be known

On the fair banks of Evandale !



THE tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Lasswade, in MidLothian. This building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was formerly named Burndale, from the following tragic adventure:-The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the abbot of Newbottle, a richly-endowed abbey, upon the banks of the South Eske, now a seat of the marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned, also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the contrivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns and other combus

tibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its inmates.

The scene with which the ballad opens, was suggested by a curious passage in the life of Alexander Peden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II. and that of his successor James II.

THE Pope he was saying the high, high mass,

All on Saint Peter's day,

With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven,
To wash men's sins away.

The Pope he was saying the blessed mass,
And the people kneeled around,

And from each man's soul his sins did pass,
As he kissed the holy ground.

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

At the holiest word, he quivered for fear,
And faltered in the sound-

And, when he would the chalice rear,
He dropped it on the ground.

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

66 A being, whom no blessed word
To ghostly peace can bring;
A wretch, at whose approach abhorred,
Recoils each holy thing.

"Up, up, unhappy! haste, arise!
My adjuration fear!

I charge thee not to stop my voice,
Nor longer tarry here!"

Amid them all a Pilgrim kneeled,
In gown of sackcloth grey:
Far journeying from his native field,
He first saw Rome that day.

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

Amid the penitential flock,

Seemed none more bent to pray;

But, when the Holy Father spoke,
He rose, and went his way.
Again unto his native land,

His weary course he drew,
To Lothian's fair and fertile strand,
And Pentland's mountains blue.

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

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

And boldly for his country, still,
In battle he had stood,

Aye, e'en when, on the banks of Till,
Her noblest poured their blood.

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

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

From that fair dome, where suit is paid
By blast of bugle free,z

To Auchendinny's a hazel glade,

And haunted Woodhouselee.

Who knows not Melville's beechy grove,
And Roslin's rocky glen,

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

a Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Pennycuik, sometime the residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, esq., author of the "Man of Feeling," &c.

b Melville Castle is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near Lasswade. It gave the title of viscount to Lord Melville.

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

Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,
And classic Hawthornden ?e

Yet never a path, from day to day,
The Pilgrim's footsteps range,
Save but the solitary way,

To Burndale's ruined Grange.

A woeful place was that, I ween,
As sorrow could desire;

For, nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall,
And the roof was scathed with fire.

It fell upon a summer's eve,

While on Carnethy's head,

The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams
Had streaked the grey with red;

And the convent bell did vespers tell,
Newbottle's oaks among,

And mingled with the solemn knell
Our Ladye's evening song:

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

Deep sunk in thought, I ween he was,
Nor ever raised his eye,

Until he came to that dreary place,
Which did all in ruins lie.

He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire,
With many a bitter groan-

And there was aware of a Grey Friar,
Resting him on a stone.

"Now, Christ thee save!" said the Grey Brother;
"Some pilgrim thou seem'st to be;"

But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze,

Nor answer again made he.

"O come ye from east, or come ye from west,
Or bring relics from over the sea;

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

e Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. Here Drum. mond received Ben Jonson, who journeyed from London on foot in order to visit him. The beauty of this striking scene has been much injured of late years, by the indiscriminate use of the axe. Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source till it joins the sea at Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succession of the most interesting objects, as well as of the most romantic and beautiful scenery.

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