Merlin and other poems online

Best loved old Scotland's ballad lays, —
In him full beat, without control,
The Scottish heart, the patriot soul.

Where breaks the blue Atlantic wave,

And sunny ripples Ormsary lave,

Where grew thy youth in ardent time,

Where rose the visions of thy prime, '

Where Highland lore and Higland love

Were constant aye thy heart to move, —



126 JOHN CAMPBELL SEAIRP.

There in the early autumn morn,
Thou passed to the unearthly bourne ;
The open stars were looking on,
Expectant of the coming dawn,
And they and thou, lost to our sight,
Were folded in one heavenly light.



127



XXVIII.
ON" CADEMUIE.

OCTOBER 18, 1885.

The Autumn peace hath fallen
On these encircling hills,
And all the air is silent,
Save where the Manor fills
Its pools in links enfolding
Dear Cademuir's sacred rest, —
The sky-gleam from the hiU-top
Sheds a blessing on its breast.

The peace of gracious dying,
The calm of graceful dead,



128 ON CADEMUIR.

Where lay the heather glory,
And sheen of bracken spread :
There now the bloom decaying,
There now the deepening brown,
And dark the heather spaces,
And dimmed the mountain crown.

Yet the bent hath greater glory,
Most peaceful, now the year
Is flowerless and dwining,
Ajid leaves are wan and sere, —
Well like a noble woman
On whom, as years may flow,
A finer grace there cometh,
Than e'en in youth's full glow.

Ye bear you well, grey mountains,
Unmoved amid decay,
The past ye hold in patience.
For the future brighter day.



ON CADEMUIR. 129

Let such a peace spread o'er me
In my last passing hour, —
Let such a calm enwrap me,
O'ershadowed by the Power.;
Eesigned to God, yet waiting
The spring-hirth, new and free,
Like mountain soul, faith-hearted
In meek expectancy.



130



XXIX.
IN YAEEOW.

JANUARY 2, 1886.

I'll see Newhall this winter day ;
The withered hiUs to me are dear ;
The lint- white bent, the bracken brown, -
Ye well beseem the faded year.

And restful aU the heights around,
Their greenery spent, the summer gone,
Now waiting in a blissful calm,
With quiet faith, the April sun.



IN YARROW. 131

Nor without omen now of hope, —
The sky-blue rift, the sunny gleam,
The soft wind bearing light and shade.
The leaping voices of the stream.



I muse and pass by lone Glenlude,
There Yarrow spreads before my sight, -
The grey clouds moviag part and throw
O'er the brown hills a dappled light.



K'o gliding stream art thou, this morn,
Thy flood each branching channel fills ;
In gleaming spears ado"\via the vale
Thou pour'st three Yarrows from the hills



In roaring sweep of Border fray,
Thou risest in this year new-born ;
Untouched by age, untamed by time, —
In strength as of thy earliest mom.



132 IN YARROW.

!N'ow flow with all thy torrent force
Bring pulsing of thy mighty heart,
Then softly voice the mournful strain,
Heard when fate-stricken lovers part.



Whate'er the years to come may hold,
Of love or power or tragic deed,
"Well canst thou match the wondrous tale,-
Let maiden sidi or warrior bleed.



Beseems thee well the gentle tide
That flows in summer's gloamin' time ;
Befits thee well the forceful mood
'Neath this grey sky and winter clime.

Thou'st known the craving heart of love,
The hapless fate of dule and sorrow,
The yearning for the south wind's breath
To waft a kiss to her on Yarrow.



IN YARROW. 133

Thou'st known the manly form outstretched,
Face upwards on the benty heath, —
1^0 braver man than he laid low,
N'or stronger arm now limp in death.



Thou hast so framed our souls to these,
Well mayst thou leap and flash to-day ;
ITo grander man, no nobler maid
Shall live than in thy Ballad lay.



134



XXX.

5n ^emorfam.
LAURA.

BORN OCTOBER 28, 1862 ; MARRIED MAY 21, 1885 ;

DIED APRIL 24, AND LAID IN TRAQUAIR

CHUBCHTAED, APRIL 28, 1886.

What — where — art thou this Sabbath mom,
The first since thou wert laid in earth 1

We silent look upon thy grave,

And wonder 'mid the Spring's new birth.

The greening boughs droop over thee,
The silver daisy stars the grass.

Sweet bird-notes on the air are borne,
The sun-gleams o'er the hillsides pass.



LA URA. 135

And thou laid low ! not knowing aught —
Fresh joy of earth, sun-glint that cheers ;

And never more thy heaven-touched eyes

Will shine on spring-tide through their tears.



The ardent soul, now quenched in death,
'Mid promise of the breathing Spring ;

The heart, God-stirred, that moveth not.
Once throbbing to each gentle thing.

The hand one ne'er shall touch again,
The eyes whose gleam we'll never see,

The voice whose sound was sweetest charm-
The past that never more shall be !

The welcome smile, the parting grace.
The witching air, dear Laura, thine,

Thou'st shed them from thy early grave.
And left for memory to entwine



136 LAURA.

In one love-cherished wreath for aye
Eound thy fair brow and sunny hair ;

Thou creature of a God-like clime
That breathed on earth diviner air.



Ah ! shall the present e'er for us

Have such a spell as memory gives ?

'Mid all the brightest we may see
Thine image is the power that lives.



She sleepeth weU, green-graved Traquair !

With thee, her dear-loved hOls around ;
Thy storied stream this morn soft makes

Amid its stones low moaning soimd, —



N'ot for the first time murmuring o'er
The sorrow of our life's mischance,

But passing ne'er with sadder heart
In all the days of old Eomance,



LA URA. 13*7

Not e'en the lover's broken hope ;

JS'ot e'en when Lucy left The Glen ;
Not e'en when in the weird grey night,

The heart-blood stained the water wan.



In vain for thee we longing yearn,
We cannot see thee — cannot know ;

And dawns will flush and evenings pass,
And seasons come and seasons go ;

And birks grow green around the burn,
The heather purple o'er the brae ;

But our dear one will ne'er return,
Our Forest Flower is " wede away " !

What — where— rart thou this Sabbath morn 1
I know there is a hopeless creed —

But yet we trust, God, that Thou
Hast healing for our hearts that bleed.



138 LAURA.

A shape, men say, as wavering dream,
That moves on some far-distant shore,

Towards which we tm-n with outstretched hands,
But reach, ah ! reach thee, never more.



Not such my faith, not such thy fate —
A Heart has yearned for thee ahove ;

And thou hast gone where angels are.
Thy spirit to a boundless love.



From the sense-world upon thy sight

Shone faces, God-like, through the veil 3

Thy brow now radiant with the truth,
A-gleam with light that ne'er shall pale.

We, seeing part, have ready plaint —

" Thou strik'st, God, with awful hand ;

Thy wisdom we may not foresee.

Thy power our fate can not withstand."



LA URA. 139

" "Why mock us with a heavenly dawn 1
Why quench it in its opening ray ?

Wliy rob us of the promised, wealth,
The untold brightening of the day ? "



Nay, rather thus, thou gentle one.

We think of thee as summoned home ;

One longing look to friends on earth,
The world's fond yearning overcome.

He beckoned from within the veil,
On Him thou bent thy saintly eyes,

Then turned the way which He had trod-
Thy Hope, the Living Sacrifice.

May 2, 1886.



140



XXXI.
THE TWEED.

FROM SUMMER MORN TO EVE, MAY 9, 1886.

Come bright in the morn's beam,

Come joyous and free,
Brave son of the moorland,

My heart speeds with thee.

Through gleaming pool stately,
Then rushing in stream.

Ye pass lightly changing.
As moods in a dream.



THE TWEED. 141

Green alders, birk tresses,

Fleck thy waves as they glide ;

The cloud-gleams are borne on
Thy pure lapsing tide.



Meet spirit for worship,
Sky-born and earth-given,

Thou minglest earth's shades with
The hues of the heaven.



Thine the joy of the morning,
Thind gleam of bright day ;

Till grey-coming gloamin'
Greets thee on thy way.



And spreads her veil o'er thee,
Withdrawn from our eyes, —

And we hear thy voice moving
In soft fall and rise.



142 THE TWEED.

While earth's sounds are hushed all
In the mild even's calm,

And the stars and I listen
Thy heaven-borne psalm.



143



XXXII.

5n /iftemonam,

LORD DALKEITH.

WRITTEN IN TARKOW, SEPTEMBER 21, 1886.

Swift down the steep slope his eager heart bore him ;

Sharp clang of his rifle, — dread fate in its roar, —
The hills' mournful rebound, — the youth death-
stricken, —

He quivers and falls to rise never more :

Ere deed of glory could brighten his story, —
Young, chivalrous, manly, gallant, and true ;

If no fame, yet no stain, on a hfe brief and noble,
When echoed the knell of the hope of Buccleuch.



144 LORD DALKEITH.

IsTot the first of thy race outstretclied on the moor-
land,
When the iDirks of the Forest drooped o'er him
forlorn,
And the bent bore the stain of the blood-stricken
foray,—
The dead face upturned to the light of the morn.



Oft tragic and dread was the fate of thy fathers,
But o'er them hearts bled not in cot and in shiel,

As they bleed for thee, youth, sleeping so lonely.
On that grim, gory cliff by the shore of LochieL



N'one but a stranger to tend thy last moments —

The heir of broad hills, spreading fair in the sun ;
A draught from the spring by kind hand thee
proffered, —
Breathing thanks, a chivalrous knight, for the
boon.



LORD DALKEITH. 145

The grey hours must pass, and dawn streak the
morning,
Ere Achnacarry can shelter thy head ;
But he, in whose heart thou liv'dst in thy life-
time.
Will lonely this night watch the face of the
dead.



The raven will croak on Farrachmore riven,

The eagle swoop down from his eyrie on high ;
But nought shall come near thee in that pallid
slumber,
As cherished in death, as in life, thou dost
Ue.



By stormy Lochiel this day ye are mourning ;

There is dule in the halls of high Achnacarry ;
But adown Ettrickdale there's a sorer wail.

And deep is the du'ge on the braes of Yarrow.



146 LORD DALKEITH.

Esk, Liddel, and Teviot mingle their sorrow

O'er the bier of the youth, "both gallant and true,
And the Forest winds bear it where'er grows the
heather,
The sad moan for the fate of the hope of
Buccleuch.



147



XXXIII.
IN" MANOR

AN AFTERNOON PICTURE, SEPTEMBER 11, 1887.

Its deepest song the Manor sings,

This day of mist and grey-cloud rain,

And in its rising swell and fall
I hear again the sad refrain,

That meets me on an autumn day,

Has touched my ear in youthful morn.

When first by thee, loved stream, I strayed, -
A sorrowing voice, yet not forlorn.



148 IN MANOR.

Corn-fields are "bare, and on the hills
The heather fades, the bent is white,

The bracken yellow 'mid the green ;
Yet throucjh the rain a cjolden light



'Mid clouds and towers in heaven is tossed,
Strays on the hills, strikes mists beneath,

That rise and pass against the sky.

Blown by the mountain-spirit's breath.



'Tis a strange land 'mid those weird hills,
"Where cloud and gleam are trailing high ;

What glances there 1 one daring bird,
Hath pierced the tumult of the sky !



149



XXXIV.
IN MANOR.

JANUARY 28, 1888.

Back once again in thee, clear Vale,
Where first to life my fancies rose ;

And now 'twould seem all else is dream,
Save what from thee in secret flows,



And links itself in cunning play

Of thoughts that shape the inner soul,

Ne'er voiced in words, in deeds ne'er shown.
And owning but their own control



150 IN MANOR.

Again I'm on the current borne,
My outward life has no recall,

Out-hlotted as it ne'er had been :
And thou, dear Vale, art all in all.



With thee the past, with thee the real,
A past of feelings, fancies, tears.

Life's deeds and words here fade and pale.
Thou dreamland of my living years !



Yet not e'en Spring has touched thy brow,
Nor prankt thee with a smiling flower,

Clear, piercing air on vale and hill, —
The breathing of the wintry hour.

But in the sky a glowing sun

Touches with gleam hill-face and stream,
As it had waked in summer time,

And walks as in a joyous dream.



IN MANOR. 151

It circles all thy lowly glen,

In glory of its own bright sphere,

Shoots golden shimmer on thy moors.
And triumphs o'er the wintry year.



To the high heaven one's heart upsoars,
In yearning to the God-Hke face,

And thou and I, dear Yale, are won
To worship in a blessed grace.

What, thee before, the hour of fame %
Pomp, power, and tattle, all they bring ?

What but the flickering gleams that pass
On flutterings of a restless wing ?

The memories of the higher self.

All that the grave can never claim, —

All that th' immortal cares to keep, —
This thou alone for me canst name.



152 IN MANOR.

Thus do I yearn to thee, dear Yale,
So live I as the life in thee,—

Hours, days, and years are gone — are nought,
In thee I find Eternity !



153



XXXV.

THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON,

SATURDAY EVENING, JANUARY 28, 1888 — AS SEEN AT
THE LOANING.

She rose and passed on high,
Clear, beautiful, transcendent, as a queen
Might go attired for bridal, without peer, —
The wonder of the world, serene in joy ;
Not witting aught of dark oncoming fate, —
Of shadow that should clasp her in eclipse, —
A pall of death : in trial still a queen,
Ne'er losing mien, touching the cloudy veil
To grey transparency, then radiant glow,



154 THE ECLIPSE OF THE MOON.

In lofty triumph o'er lier darkest hour.
At length, in splendour clearer for the shade,
She looked, and all the peering stars grew pale.
Then passed undoubted to her empire-throne !



155



XXXVI.

THE seve:n" speaes of weddeebue:n'.

The seven sons of Sir David Home of "Wedclerburn
who fell at Flodden, were known as "The Seven
Spears of Wedderburn." The incident of the ballad
is historically true. The name of the knight, so
foully entreated by the Borderers, was Sieur Antoine
d'Arces de la Bastie, and the date of his slaughter
was September 1517 — exactly four years after
Flodden. De la Bastie was slain in revenge for
the execution by Albany of Lord Home and liis
brother.



156 TEE SEVEN SPEARS OF WEDDERBURN.

The Seven Spears of Wedderburn,
High stalwart lads are they;

And in the sun and 'neath the moon
Eide foremost to the fray.



In many a Border foray,

O'er many a heather hill,
The spears have glanced, one after one,

From Blackadder to Till.



And when the sun was westering
On Flodden's crested height,

The Seven Spears of Wedderburn
Gave first shock in the fight !



The minions now of Albany

Are preying on the land,
The Laird of Home is done to death.

And D'Arcy hath command



THE SEVEN SPEARS OF WEDDERBURN. 157

In all the Merse and Lotliians,
Where only Home should reign :

That Frenchman on his fleetest steed
ShaU ne'er win back again.



So hot and fast gay D'Arcy rides,
Behind him hot rides he,

The youngest Spear of Wedderhurn,
Fierce o'er the benty lea.



Now but one leap to clear the hag,
And the foremost horse has won,

Or the gallant with the comely face
Looks no more on the sun.



One fatal plunge, and D'Arcy
Is helpless in the moss :

l!^ow stay thee Jesu Saviour,
With the comfort of the cross !



158 THE SEVEN SPEARS OF WEDDERBVRN.

For a ruthless hand is on thee,

Like a tiger in its ire ;
And vengeance in the Borderer

Burns with a lurid fire.



And now he turns and homeward rides,

But from his saddle-bow
There dangles by its yeUow locks
. A knightly face and brow, —



So loved of dames and damosels
In the gay Court of France,

Now strung in gleeful triumph
'JSTeath the savage Border lance.



And many a mourning maiden

Has shed the bitter tear
For D'Arcy's fate, the gallant knight,

And Beauty's chevalier.



THE SEVEN SPEARS OF WEDDERBURN. 159

What shall be said of thee, young Home,

And of thy deadly turn ?
What shall wipe out the bloody stain

On the Spear of Wedderburn ?

August 1883.



160



XXXVII.

A LEGE^s^D OF NEIDPATH CASTLE.

What foundation there may be for this traditional
tale, it is difficult to say. Nor, supposing it to
have some ground in fact, can it now he ascer-
tained whether the incident occurred in the time
of the Tweeddale or the March family — Hay or
Douglas — who successively occupied I^eidpath
Castle.

Massive and grand the Tower by the Tweed,
"Where the woods o'erhanging see

The rippling gleam of the joyous stream,
As it sweeps to the ocean free.



A LEQENB OF NEIDPATH CASTLE. 161

Its flowered terraces are fair,

As their lines encircling run,
By the ancient yews and leafy limes

Before the westerin" sun.



My lord, he scans tlie varied vale,
As he paces the bartizan high ;

Why darkens his brow ia the sunlight fair.
And with passion glares his eye 1

A grimy face there against a stone,
A pillared stone he had reared ;

A beggar's form in dismal rags.
It leaned and looked and peered !



" I brook not," said the noble Earl,
" The sight of unseemly thing " —

He fumed and swore — " That caitiff there
To the dungeon you must bring."



162 A LEGENB OF NEIDPATH CASTLE.

" I thought to get a better abns,
Could I see your lordship's face ;

Beseemeth well a noble man
To bear the poor some grace."



In dungeon lay the unseemly man,
Hoary and bent with years ;

The poor old soul, — his heart beat hard
On his bed of stone and tears !



On the morrow they're joyous off to town,
The Earl, his lady, and train ;

The lamps are lit, the dance is set,
The hours speed on amain.

Three days had gone, and life was high,

The pulses throbbing keen ;
But on my lady's sleep that night

Broke a ghastly pictured scene —



A LEGEND OF NEIDPATII CASTLE. 163

Eose on her view the dungeon space,

Dark, dismal its strong girth,
No glimpse was there of heaven's light,

No breath of the fresh'nins earth !



There huddled lay on that rocky floor

A shape as of the dead —
A piteous face with a pleading look,

As it had craved for bread !



" Ah ! good my lord, send with post-haste

To save this dreadful stain ;
I'd give all Neidpath's acres broad,

If that my dream were vain."



Swift the horseman rode that morn ;

Eut pale was his look, I trow,
When he saw the face on the rocky floor.

And wot the dream was true —



%



164 A LEGEND OF NEIDPATE CASTLE.

There he lay the unseemly man,
A huddled form and dead ;

And fingers gnawed ! — ah ! woe is me —
In the Castle by the Tweed !



165



XXXVIII.
THE LAIRD OF SCHELYE-LAW.

This baUad has arisen in my mind from some queer,
quaint memory of an old tradition. How I got it,
I cannot now in the least remember, nor am I at
all sure that it has any foundation in fact ; but I
rather think it is founded on some sort of belief of
foul play on the part of the head of the House of
Traquair, with a view to get back to the main
branch of the family the lands of Schelynlaw. If
so, the incident must have taken place in the time
of the first Earl, — in whose character scrupulousness
was not a marked feature, though I should be loath



166 THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLAW.

to charge him as accessory to murder. This deed
may be left to the indiscretion of Jock of Grieston,
who came of a violent stock.

These lands were clearly an original portion of
the estate acquired by the Earl of Buchan from
Rogers, their temporary possessor ; for we find that
in 1492 a claim was made on the Earl by Geilis
of Cokbume, daughter of William, third of Hen-
derland, and Alexander Murray her husband, for
ten merks' worth of "the land" of Schelynlaw.
They alleged that they had obtained seisin from
William Murray of Traquair, deceased. This
William Murray, or William de Moravia — possibly
the Outlaw — had been forfeited in 1464, and liis
widow Margaret Murray also claimed twelve merks
yearly out of the estate of Traquair. She got eight
merks from the Earl of Buchan, the new laird. But
the estate of Schelynlaw came eventually to be sepa-
rated from Traquair, and to be held by a kinsman
and his successors. In 1585, Schelynlaw is in pos-
session of James Stewart, captain of the King's Life



THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLAW. 167

Guard, and youngest brother of Sir Jolin Stewart
of Traquair. This James Stewart was served heir
to his brother Sir William in 1605, and died in
1606. He was succeeded in Schelynlaw by his
second son, Sir Eobert Stewart, who was tutor to
his nephew John (grandson of James Stewart), after-
wards Sir John Stewart and first Earl of Traquair.
Sir Eobert Stewart of Schelynlaw was dead before
December 12, 1633, as his son, James Stewart of
Nether Horsburgh, was on that date served heir
to his father in parts of Horsburgh, Kailzie, and
Ormistoun, but not in Schelynlaw. There was no
independent family of Stewart of Schelynlaw after
this date. Sir Eobert was probably the person
referred to in the tradition on which this ballad is
founded. The Tower of Schelynlaw stood on the
slope of the hill, about a quarter of a mile up the
vaUey on the east side of the Schelynlaw Bum,
which joins the Kirkhouse Burn nearly opposite
the Manse of Traquair. Its remains are now green
mounds marked by a solitary tree. Myddlemast



168 THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLAW.

was the name of the family of Grieston ; they held
the property from 1476, with some slight interval,
until 1624, when the lands passed or were sold
to the first Earl of Traquair, — who died suddenly,
March 29, 1659.

Schelynlaw Tower is fair on the brae,

Its muirs are green and wide,
And Schelynlaw's ewes are the brawest ewes

In a' the country-side.

The birk grows there and the rowan red,

And the burnie brattles down,
And there are nae sic knowes as Schelynlaw's,

With the heather and bent sae brown.

But wife, three bairns are a' frae him gane,

Twa sons in a deidly raid ;
And but yestreen his bonnie lass Jean

In Traquair kirkyard was laid.



THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLAW. 169

A lane auld man in his ain auld Keep,

What ane could wish him ill 1
Not e'en Traquair wi' his black fause heart,

And his loons that range the hill



Out in the morn to the muirland dun,
Eode ane frae Schelynlaw's gate.

Into the mist of the hill he rode,
His errand might not wait.



The opening arms of the grey hill haur

Folded the rider dim ;
Oh, cloud of the muir ! 'tis a gruesome deed,

Ye hide in your misty rim.

Up he made for the Black Syke Eig,
And round by the Fingland Glen,

But he turned and turned him aye in the mist •
Its glower was as faces of men !

Y



170 THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLAW.

And oft a voice sounded low in his ear,
" Tlie sun is no' gaun to daw —

For that straik o' blude and that clot o' blude,
On the breist o' auld Schelynlaw ! "



'Twas late o' nicht — to the House of Traquair,
A horseman came jaded and rude,

N"one asked him whence or why he came,
JSTor whose on his hands was the blude.



" But hae ye the Bond 1 " said hard Traquair.

« The Bond i' faith I hae,—
The deid sign nao mair, the lands are thine, —

But foul was the stroke I gae :



" I've ridden wi' you ower moss and fell,

In moonlight and in mirk,
And monie a stalwart man I've hewn, —

So shrive me, Haly Kirk !



THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLA W. 171

" Lewinshope Tarn and Wulrus Will

I slew, and Jock o' the Ha' ;
But there's my richt hand to burn in flame,

Could I bring back auld Schelynlaw ! "



Schelynlaw's lands were ne'er bought or sold,
Yet they fell to the house of Traquair ;

But Jock o' Grieston that rode that morn
Was ne'er seen to ride ony mair.

High in state rose the noble Earl,

Well did he please the King ;
He could tell any lie to the States or the Kirk, —

His warrant the signet-ring.



Many a year has come and gone, —
His pride and his power are away,

A graceless son has the old lord's lands,
And the father's hairs are grey.



172 THE LAIRD OF SCHELYNLAW.

The Court is back to Edinburgh town,
Lairds and braw leddies ride there ;

A dole some give to a bowed down-man,
In pity, — 'tis auld Traquair !



173



XXXIX.

THE DOW GLEK

IN THE HENDERLAND BURN.
\

The scene of the supposed retreat of the wife of
Cokburne of Henderland during his execution. The
tradition that a Cokburne of Henderland was sum-
marily hanged over the gateway of his own tower
is old and persistent. What is certain is that the
laird who so suffered was not William Cokburne,
who was tried and executed in Edinburgh, 16th
May 1530, though he is probably the person whose
fate is bewailed in the exquisite lyric. The Border



174 THE DOW GLEN.

Widow's Lament. This William of Henderland was
fifth in descent from Perys de Cokburne and his
wife Marjory — in all likelihood of the family of
De Soulis — whose tomb of the early part of the
fifteenth century is still preserved on the site of