"Harden's castle was situated upon the very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borthwick. In the recess of this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which served for the daily maintenance of his retainers." Notes on the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," Canto IV. stanza 9.
This expression signified formerly the giving the alarm to the inhabitants of a district; each district taking its name from the river that flowed through it.
The esteem in which the moon was held in the Harden family may be traced in the motto they still bear: "Reparabit cornua Phœbe."
FOOTNOTES:
[102] Breckans—Fern.
[103] Roose—Praise.
[104] Bale—Beacon-fire.
[105] Ranshakle—Plunder.
[106] Knapscap—Helmet.
ON A VISIT PAID TO THE RUINS OF MELROSE ABBEY.
BY THE COUNTESS OF DALKEITH, AND HER SON, LORD SCOTT.
BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.
The dire anathema to pour
On England's hated name;
See, to appease your injured shades,
And expiate her Border raids,
She sends her fairest Dame.
That once her boldest Lords defaced;
Then let your hatred cease;
The prayer of import dread revoke,
Which erst indignant fury spoke,
And pray for England's peace.
Your sainted spirits hover nigh,
And haunt this once-loved spot;
That Youth's fair open front behold,
His step of strength, his visage bold,
And hail a genuine Scott.
In the rich blood that warms his heart,
And let your hatred cease;
The prayer of import dread revoke,
Which erst indignant fury spoke,
And pray for England's peace.
May ever lay her temples low,
Or violate her fanes;
No moody fanatic deface
The works of wondrous art, that grace
Antiquity's remains.
NOTE
ON A VISIT PAID TO
THE RUINS OF MELROSE ABBEY.
Melrose Abbey was reduced to its present ruinous state, partly by the English barons in their hostile inroads, and partly by John Knox and his followers. For a reason why its abbots should be supposed to take an interest in the Buccleuch family, see the Notes to the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," octavo edition, p. 238.
ARCHIE ARMSTRONG'S AITH.
BY THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A. M.
He cursed the blinkan moon,
For shouts were borne upo' the breeze
Frae a' the hills aboon.
That e'enin near the fauld,
And warned his fellows to the chace,
For he kenn'd him stout and bauld.
He thought, as he ran past,—
"O Johnie ance was stiff in stour,
"But hangit at the last!"—
Was rough, and ill to find;
But ere he reached the Stubholm brae,
His faes were far behind.
The draps fell fast and free;
And when he heard a loud halloo,
A waefu' man was he.
An anxious e'e he cast;
And oh! when he stepped o'er the door,
His wife she looked aghast.
"Ilk word o' timely warning?
"I trow ye will be ta'en the night,
"And hangit i' the morning."—
"And help me as ye dow;
"I wad be laith to lose my life
"For ae poor silly yowe."—
Wi' a' the woo' aboon;
There's ne'er a flesher[107] i' the land
Had done it half sae soon.
The heart, but and the liver;
Alake, that siccan a noble part
Should win intull the river!
And wrapt them i' the skin;
And he has thrown them o'er the wa',
And sicht whan they fell in.
The bairn wi' auntie stays;
They clapt the carcase in its room,
And smoored it wi' the claes.
And rocked it wi' his hand;
Siccan a rough nourice as he
Was not in a' the land.
"Hush, hushabye, my dear."—
He had na sang to sic a tune,
I trow, for monie a year.
A' rinning out o' breath;—
"Ah, Archie, we ha' got ye fast,
"And ye maun die the death!
"And elsewhere cast the blame;
"Now ye may spare your wilie words,
"For we have traced ye hame."—
"Deil ha' me if I'm lying;
"But haud your tongues for mercie's sake,
"The bairn's just at the dying.
"As thin my neebor's faulds,
"May I be doomed the flesh to eat
"This vera cradle halds!
"Go search the biggin[111] thorow,
"And if ye find ae trotter there,
"Then hang me up the morrow."—
They searched baith but and ben;
But a' was clean, and a' was clear,
And naething could they ken.
They glowred at ane anither;—
"Sure, Patie, 'twas the deil himsel
"That ye saw rinning hither.
"And thus beguiled your e'e."—
"Hey, Robie, man, and like enowe,
"For I ha'e nae rowan-tree."—
Convinced 'twas Maggie Brown;
And Maggie, ere eight days were past,
Got mair nor ae new gown.
And gamesomelie did say,—
"I did na think that half sae weel
"The nourice I could play."
He ate the cradled sheep;
I trow he was na vera laith
Siccan a vow to keep.
The story he has told;
And aye when he gan rock and sing,
Charlie his sides wad hold.
NOTES
ON
ARCHIE ARMSTRONG'S AITH.
The hero of this ballad was a native of Eskdale, and contributed not a little towards the raising his clan to that pre-eminence which it long maintained amongst the Border thieves, and which none indeed but the Elliots could dispute. He lived at the Stubholm, immediately below the junction of the Wauchope and the Esk; and there distinguished himself so much by zeal and assiduity in his professional duties, that at length he found it expedient to emigrate, his neighbours not having learned from Sir John Falstaff, that "it is no sin for a man to labour in his vocation." He afterwards became a celebrated jester in the English court. In more modern times, he might have found a court in which his virtues would have entitled him to a higher station. He was dismissed in disgrace in the year 1737, for his insolent wit, of which the following may serve as a specimen. One day when Archbishop Laud was just about to say grace before dinner, Archie begged permission of the king to perform that office in his stead; and having received it, said, "All praise to God, and little Laud to the deil." The exploit detailed in this ballad has been preserved, with many others of the same kind, by tradition, and is at this time current in Eskdale.
There is no district wherein witches seem to have maintained a more extensive, or more recent influence than in Eskdale. It is not long since the system of bribery, alluded to in the next stanza, was carried on in that part of the country. The rowan-tree, or mountain-ash, is well known to be a sure preservative against the power of witchcraft.
FINIS.
FOOTNOTES:
[107] A Flesher—A Butcher.
[108] Ingle—Fire.
[109] Toom—Empty.
[110] Croon—To hum over a song.
[111] Biggin—Building.
EDINBURGH:
Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.
Transcriber's Notes:
Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.
P. 310 added footnote attributing unidentified poem to William Collins.