That never was ta'en before.
He threw them o'er his left shoulder,
With mickle care and pain;
And he bade it keep them, fathoms deep,
Till he returned again.—P. 262, v. 1. 2.
The circumstance of Lord Soulis having thrown the key over his left shoulder, and bid the fiend keep it till his return, is noted in the introduction, as a part of his traditionary history. In the course of this autumn (1806), the Earl of Dalkeith being encamped near the Hermitage Castle, for the amusement of shooting, directed some workmen to clear away the rubbish from the door of the dungeon, in order to ascertain its ancient dimensions and architecture. To the great astonishment of the labourers, and of the country people who were watching their proceedings, a rusty iron key, of considerable size, was found among the ruins, a little way from the dungeon door. The well-known tradition instantly passed from one to another; and it was generally agreed, that the malevolent dæmon, who had so long retained possession of the key of the castle, now found himself obliged to resign it to the heir-apparent of the domain. In the course of their researches, a large iron ladle, somewhat resembling that used by plumbers, was also discovered; and both the reliques are now in Lord Dalkeith's possession.
In the summer of 1805, another discovery was made in the haunted ruins of Hermitage. In a recess of the wall of the castle, intended apparently for receiving the end of a beam or joist, a boy, seeking for birds nests, found a very curious antique silver-ring, embossed with hearts, the well-known cognisance of the Douglas family, placed interchangeably with quatre-foils all round the circle. The workmanship has an uncommonly rude and ancient appearance, and warrants our believing that it may have belonged to one of the Earls of Angus, who carried the heart and quatre-foils[76] in their arms. They parted with the castle and lordship of Liddesdale, in exchange for that of Bothwell, in the beginning of the 16th century. This ring is now in the editor's possession, by the obliging gift of Mr John Ballantyne, of the house of Ballantyne and Company, so distinguished for typography.
FOOTNOTES:
[65] Dalrymple's Collections concerning the Scottish History, p. 395.
[66] Transactions of the Antiquarian Society of Scotland, Vol. I, p. 269.
[67] Index of many records of charters granted between 1309 and 1413, published by W. Robertson, Esq.
[68] As the people thronged to the execution of the gallant youth, they were bitterly rebuked by Sir Ingram de Umfraville, an English or Norman knight, then a favourite follower of Robert Bruce. "Why press you," said he, "to see the dismal catastrophe of so generous a knight? I have seen ye throng as eagerly around him to share his bounty, as now to behold his death." With these words he turned from the scene of blood, and, repairing to the king, craved leave to sell his Scottish possessions, and to retire from the country. "My heart," said Umfraville, "will not, for the wealth of the world, permit me to dwell any longer, where I have seen such a knight die by the hands of the executioner." With the king's leave, he interred the body of David de Brechin, sold his lands, and left Scotland for ever. The story is beautifully told by Barbour, book 19th.
[69] Skrieh—Peep.
[70] Lift—Sky.
[71] Glamour—Magical delusion.
[72] Wale—Chuse.
[73] Puirly—Softly.
[74] Spreat—The spreat is a species of water-rush.
[75] Deer-hair—The deer-hair is a coarse species of pointed grass, which, in May, bears a very minute, but beautiful yellow flower.
[76] Some heralds say, that they carried cinque-foils, others trefoils; but all agree they bore some such distinction to mark their cadency from the elder branch of Douglas.
THE COUT OF KEELDAR.
BY J. LEYDEN.
The tradition on which the following ballad is founded, derives considerable illustration from the argument of the preceding. It is necessary to add, that the most redoubted adversary of Lord Soulis was the Chief of Keeldar, a Northumbrian district, adjacent to Cumberland, who perished in a sudden encounter on the banks of the Hermitage. Being arrayed in armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the combat; but stumbling in retreating across the river, the hostile party held him down below water with their lances till he died; and the eddy, in which he perished, is still called the Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of gigantic size, is pointed out on the banks of the Hermitage, at the western corner of a wall, surrounding the burial-ground of a ruined chapel. As an enemy of Lord Soulis, his memory is revered; and the popular epithet of Cout, i.e. Colt, is expressive of his strength, stature, and activity. Tradition likewise relates, that the young chief of Mangerton, to whose protection Lord Soulis had, in some eminent jeopardy, been indebted for his life, was decoyed by that faithless tyrant into his castle of Hermitage, and insidiously murdered at a feast.
The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northumbrian chief passed in his incursion, is still pointed out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed forest, and Northumberland. It is a rough insulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it is held unlucky to ride thrice withershins[77] around it. Keeldar Castle is now a hunting seat, belonging to the Duke of Northumberland.
The Brown Man of the Muirs is a Fairy of the most malignant order, the genuine duergar. Walsingham mentions a story of an unfortunate youth, whose brains were extracted from his skull, during his sleep, by this malicious being. Owing to this operation, he remained insane many years, till the virgin Mary courteously restored his brains to their station.
THE COUT OF KEELDAR.
NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED—J. LEYDEN.
The streamers[78] flaunted red,
Till broken streaks of flaky light
O'er Keeldar's mountains spread.
"Come tell me, dear love mine,
"Go you to hunt where Keeldar flows,
"Or on the banks of Tyne?"
"By Tyne the primrose pale;
"But now we ride on the Scottish side,
"To hunt in Liddesdale."
"Sore must thy Margaret mourn;
"For Soulis abhorred is Lyddall's lord,
"And I fear you'll ne'er return.
"'Tis formed of an earth-fast flint;
"No armour of knight, tho' ever so wight,
"Can bear its deadly dint.
"Of adderstone the hilt;
"No Tynedale knight had ever such might,
"But his heart-blood was spilt."
"With the leaves of the rowan tree;
"And my casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand,
"Was formed beneath the sea.
"That bodes no ill to me,
"Though never a knight, by mortal might,
"Could match his gramarye."—
And rattle o'er the vale;
As the wintry breeze, through leafless trees,
Drives on the pattering hail.
In deepening blue retire;
Till soon before them boldly swells
The muir of dun Redswire.
Soft beam'd the rising sun;
But formless shadows seemed to fly
Along the muir-land dun.
His bugle Keeldar blew;
And round did float, with clamorous note
And scream, the hoarse curlew.
The wind grew deadly still;
But the sleek fern, with fingery leaves,
Waved wildly o'er the hill.
Still stood the limber fern;
And a wee man, of swarthy hue,
Up started by a cairn.
That clothes the upland fell;
And the hair of his head was frizzly red,
As the purple heather bell.
Clung cowring to his arm;
The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled,
As struck by Fairy charm.
"Where stag-hound ne'er should be?
"Why wakes that horn the silent morn,
"Without the leave of me?"
"Thy name to Keeldar tell!"—
"The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays
"Beneath the heather bell.
"To live in autumn brown;
"And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell
"Far far from tower and town.
"The chace's surly cheer!
"And ever that hunter is forlorn,
"Whom first at morn I hear."
"In thee we hope nor dread."
But, ere the bugles green could blow,
The Wee Brown Man had fled.
Young Keeldar's band have gone;
And soon they wheel, in rapid course,
Around the Keeldar Stone.
A powerful seed that bore;
And oft, of yore, its channels deep
Were stained with human gore.
Hang the grey moss upon,
The spirit murmurs from within,
And shakes the rocking stone.
And called, in scornful tone,
With him to pass the barrier ground,
The Spirit of the Stone.
"I come to work thy woe!"
And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath,
That murmured from below.
Swift as the winter wind,
When, hovering on the driving blast,
The snow-flakes fall behind.
The stone cross on the lee;
They reached the green, the bonny brae,
Beneath the birchen tree.
Yet sacred to the brave,
Where still, of ancient size, is seen
Gigantic Keeldar's grave.
The daisy springing fair,
Where weeps the birch of silver bark,
With long dishevelled hair.
The curling lady-fern;
That fatal day the mould was red,
No moss was on the cairn.
The holy ground was by,
Where many a stone is sculptured fair,
To mark where warriors lie.
A massy castle frown'd,
Since first the Pictish race in blood
The haunted pile did found.
Assails with ceaseless din;
And many a troubled spirit strays
The dungeons dark within.
A knight across the vale;
"I greet your master well," he cried,
"From Soulis of Liddesdale.
"In his green garden bower;
"And bids you to his festive hall,
"Within his ancient tower."
"For doubtful cheer prepare!
"And, as you open force disdain,
"Of secret guile beware.
"A bloody feast was set;
"Who, weetless, at the festal board,
"The bull's broad frontlet met.
"Keep every man his brand;
"And, as you mid his friends are placed,
"Range on the better hand.
"Appear to grace the feast,
"Your whingers, with unerring speed,
"Plunge in each neighbour's breast."
In pomp and proud array;
And oft they filled the blood-red wine,
While merry minstrels play.
And song of game and glee;
Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,
"Of Scotland's luve and lee."
"The Black Black Bull of Noroway!"
Sudden the tapers cease to burn,
The minstrels cease to play.
Sat an enchanted man;
For cold as ice, through every vein,
The freezing life-blood ran.
Each gazed with glaring eye;
But Keeldar from the table sprung,
Unharmed by gramarye.
With yells the castle rung;
Before him, with a sudden bound,
His favourite blood-hound sprung.
And, grating harsh from under,
With creaking, jarring noise, was heard
A sound like distant thunder.
Announce the dire sword-mill;
The piteous howlings of the hound
The dreadful dungeon fill.
Stood listening to the yell;
And greater still their wonder grew,
As on their ear it fell.
Amid the jarring sound;
They only heard, in echoes weak,
The murmurs of the hound.
The castle gates amain;
While hurry out the armed rout,
And marshal on the plain.
Was seen so dire a fray!
Through glittering lances Keeldar hewed
A red corse-paven way.
No lethal brand could dint;
No other arms could e'er withstand
The axe of earth-fast flint.
And rowan leaves, nod on,
And vain Lord Soulis's sword was seen,
Though the hilt was adderstone.
By Soulis of Liddesdale;
"In vain," he said, "a thousand blows
"Assail the charmed mail.
"In vain your faulchions gleam—
"No spell can stay the living tide,
"Or charm the rushing stream."
Above the foamy lin;
The border lances round him gleam,
And force the warrior in.
And the leaf of the rowan pale:
Alas! no spell could charm the tide,
Nor the lance of Liddesdale.
Along the lily lee;
But home came never hound nor horse,
And never home came he.
Without the holy ground,
Between two old gray stones is seen
The warrior's ridgy mound.
Within yon castle's wall,
In a deadly sleep must ay remain,
Till the ruined towers down fall.
Each holds his bugle horn;
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid,
That ne'er shall wake the morn.
NOTES
ON
THE COUT OF KEELDAR.
An earth-fast stone, or an insulated stone, inclosed in a bed of earth, is supposed to possess peculiar properties. It is frequently applied to sprains and bruises, and used to dissipate swellings; but its blow is reckoned uncommonly severe.
The adderstone, among the Scottish peasantry, is held in almost as high veneration, as, among the Gauls, the ovum anguinum, described by Pliny.—Natural History, l. xxix. c. 3. The name is applied to celts, and other round perforated stones. The vulgar suppose them to be perforated by the stings of adders.
The rowan tree, or mountain ash, is still used by the peasantry, to avert the effects of charms and witchcraft. An inferior degree of the same influence is supposed to reside in many evergreens; as the holly, and the bay. With the leaves of the bay, the English and Welch peasants were lately accustomed to adorn their doors at midsummer.—Vide Brand's Vulgar Antiquities.
The rocking stone, commonly reckoned a Druidical monument, has always been held in superstitious veneration by the people. The popular opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by a spirit, coincides with that of the ancient Icelanders, who worshipped the dæmons, which they believed to inhabit great stones. It is related in the Kristni Saga, chap. 2. that the first Icelandic bishop, by chaunting a hymn over one of these sacred stones, immediately after his arrival in the island, split it, expelled the spirit, and converted its worshippers to Christianity. The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was also reckoned a powerful charm by the common people; and the author recollects a popular rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce her in the shape of a handsome young man:
Lay off the St John's wort, and the vervine.
By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his mistress discovered the cloven foot.
Castles, remarkable for size, strength, and antiquity, are, by the common people, commonly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who are not supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in masonry, in constructing these edifices, but are believed to have bathed the foundation-stone with human blood, in order to propitiate the spirit of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic tradition, according to which St Columba is supposed to have been forced to bury St Oran alive, beneath the foundation of his monastery, in order to propitiate the spirits of the soil, who demolished by night what was built during the day.
To present a bull's head before a person at a feast, was, in the ancient turbulent times of Scotland, a common signal for his assassination. Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his History, p. 17. that "efter the dinner was endit, once alle the delicate courses taken away, the chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the bullis head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in signe and toaken of condemnation to the death."
"Of Scotland's luve and lee."—P. 294. v. 4.
The most ancient Scottish song known is that which is here alluded to, and is thus given by Wintoun, in his Chronykil, Vol. I. p. 401.
That Scotland led in luve and le,
Away wes sons of ale and brede,
Of wyne and wax, of gamyn and gle:
Cryst, borne into virgynyte,
Succour Scotland and remede,
That stad is in perplexyte.
That alluded to in the following verse, is a wild fanciful popular tale of enchantment, termed "The Black Bull of Noroway." The author is inclined to believe it the same story with the romance of the "Three Futtit Dog of Noroway," the title of which is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland.
Announce the dire sword-mill.—P. 295. v. 5.
The author is unable to produce any authority, that the execrable machine, the sword-mill, so well known on the continent, was ever employed in Scotland; but he believes the vestiges of something very similar have been discovered in the ruins of old castles.
That no species of magic had any effect over a running stream, was a common opinion among the vulgar, and is alluded to in Burns's admirable tale of Tam o' Shanter.
FOOTNOTES:
[77] Withershins.—German, widdersins. A direction contrary to the course of the sun; from left, namely, to right.
[78] Streamers—Northern lights.
[79] Urchin—Hedge-hog.
GLENFINLAS,
OR
LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.[80]
BY THE EDITOR.
The simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bathy (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women.
Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery.
This ballad first appeared in the Tales of Wonder.
GLENFINLAS,
OR
LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.
"Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair;
"They know what spirit brews the stormful day,
"And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare,
"To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare."[81]
"The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
"And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;
"We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!
The chief that never feared a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow!
How, on the Teith's resounding shore,
The boldest Lowland warriors fell,
As down from Lenny's pass you bore.
How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree;
While youths and maids the light strathspey
So nimbly danced with Highland glee.
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;
But now the loud lament we swell,
O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!
The joys of Ronald's halls to find,
And chase with him the dark-brown game,
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind.
The seer's prophetic spirit found,
As, with a minstrel's fire the while,
He waked his harp's harmonious sound.
Which wandering spirits shrink to hear;
And many a lay of potent tone,
Was never meant for mortal ear.
High converse with the dead they hold,
And oft espy the fated shroud,
That shall the future corpse enfold.
To rouse the red deer from their den,
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way,
And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.
To watch their safety, deck their board?
Their simple dress, the Highland plaid,
Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.
Their whistling shafts successful flew;
And still, when dewy evening fell,
The quarry to their hut they drew.
The solitary cabin stood,
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,
Which murmurs through that lonely wood.
When three successive days had flown;
And summer mist in dewy balm
Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone.
Afar her dubious radiance shed,
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,
And resting on Benledi's head.
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy;
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes,
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.
"While thus the pulse of joy beats high?
"What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,
"Her panting breath, and melting eye?
"This morning left their father's pile
"The fairest of our mountain maids,
"The daughters of the proud Glengyle.
"And dropp'd the tear, and heav'd the sigh;
"But vain the lover's wily art,
"Beneath a sister's watchful eye.
"While far with Mary I am flown,
"Of other hearts to cease her care,
"And find it hard to guard her own.
"The lovely Flora of Glengyle,
"Unmindful of her charge and me,
"Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.
"All underneath the greenwood bough,
"Will good St Oran's rule prevail,
"Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?"—
"No more on me shall rapture rise,
"Responsive to the panting breath,
"Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.
"Where sunk my hopes of love and fame,
"I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,
"On me the Seer's sad spirit came.
"With ghastly sights and sounds of woe,
"To dash each glimpse of joy, was given—
"The gift, the future ill to know.
"So gaily part from Oban's bay,
"My eye beheld her dash'd and torn,
"Far on the rocky Colonsay.
"Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power,
"As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe,
"He left the skirts of huge Benmore.
"As down Benvoirlich's side they wound,
"Heard'st but the pibroch[84], answering brave
"To many a target clanking round.
"I saw the wound his bosom bore,
"When on the serried Saxon spears
"He pour'd his clan's resistless roar.
"And bidst my heart awake to glee,
"And court, like thee, the wanton kiss—
"That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee!
"I hear thy Warning Spirit cry;
"The corpse-lights dance—they're gone, and now....
"No more is given to gifted eye!"——
"Sad prophet of the evil hour!
"Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams,
"Because to-morrow's storm may lour?
"Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear;
"His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,
"Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear.
"My Mary's buskins brush the dew;"
He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell,
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew.
In rush'd the rouzers of the deer;
They howl'd in melancholy sound,
Then closely couch beside the seer.
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams,
As, bending o'er the dying flame,
He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams.
And sudden cease their moaning howl;
Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears
By shivering limbs, and stifled growl.
As softly, slowly, oped the door;
And shook responsive every string,
As light a footstep press'd the floor.
Close by the minstrel's side was seen
An huntress maid, in beauty bright,
All dropping wet her robes of green.
Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare,
As, bending o'er the dying gleam,
She wrung the moisture from her hair.
"O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen,
"In deep Glenfinlas' moon-light glade,
"A lovely maid in vest of green:
"His shoulders bear the hunter's bow,
"The mountain dirk adorns his side,
"Far on the wind his tartans flow?"
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied:
"And why, beneath the moon's pale ray,
"Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side?"
"Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle,
"Our father's towers o'erhang her side,
"The castle of the bold Glengyle.
"Our woodland course this morn we bore,
"And haply met, while wandering here,
"The son of great Macgillianore.
"Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost;
"Alone, I dare not venture there,
"Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost."
"Then, first, my own sad vow to keep,
"Here will I pour my midnight prayer,
"Which still must rise when mortals sleep."
"Guide a lone wanderer on her way!
"For I must cross the haunted brake,
"And reach my father's towers ere day."
"And thrice a Pater-noster say;
"Then kiss with me the holy reed;
"So shall we safely wind our way."
"Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow,
"And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,
"Which best befits thy sullen vow.
"Thy heart was froze to love and joy,
"When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,
"To wanton Morna's melting eye."
And high his sable locks arose,
And quick his colour went and came,
As fear and rage alternate rose.
"I lay, to her and love resign'd,
"Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,
"Or sailed ye on the midnight wind!
"Nor old Glengyle's pretended line;
"Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,
"Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine."
And thrice St Fillan's powerful prayer;
Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,
And sternly shook his coal-black hair.
His wildest witch-notes on the wind;
And loud, and high, and strange, they rung,
As many a magic change they find.
Till to the roof her stature grew;
Then, mingling with the rising storm,
With one wild yell, away she flew.
The slender hut in fragments flew;
But not a lock of Moy's loose hair
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise;
High o'er the minstrel's head they sail,
And die amid the northern skies.
As ceased the more than mortal yell;
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood
Upon the hissing firebrands fell.
The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade:
And last, the life-blood streaming warm,
Torn from the trunk, a gasping head.
Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore;
That arm the broad claymore could wield,
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore.
Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen!
There never son of Albin's hills
Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen!
At noon shall shun that sheltering den,
Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet
The wayward Ladies of the Glen.
No more shall we in safety dwell;
None leads the people to the field—
And we the loud lament must swell.
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!