"Each would give each a double charm,
Like pearls upon an Ethiop's arm."

HISTORICAL, POETICAL, AND ROMANTIC
ASSOCIATIONS OF CARLISLE.

N

NO one versed in ballad lore—no reader of old poetry and romance, can approach Carlisle for the first time without pleasurable emotion. Carlisle is the border city—the city of King Arthur and his knights. It has been the scene of many a stout siege and bloody feud; of many a fierce foray, and mournful execution, and of many a just punishment upon traitors and reivers. It is, consequently, not to be pictured to the imagination without unusual interest. Old traditions of events like these have made it among the most remarkable of the cities of England; and it would be difficult to name another around which are clustered so many memories of such various degrees of attraction to the poetical and historical antiquary. Its approach from the south, though striking, gives no idea of its antiquity and former feudalism. It is situated in an extensive plain, surrounded in the distance by mountains, amongst which Saddleback, Skiddaw, and Crossfell, are prominent; and from afar off, with the smoke of its households hanging over it, does undoubtedly impress the imagination with ideas of the romantic.

Nearer approach, however, dissipates this illusion. We lose sight of the valley, being in it, and of the mountains, in the presence of immediate objects. Tall chimneys rear their heads in considerable numbers, pouring forth steam and smoke, and with square buildings and their numerous windows, prove incontestably that modern Carlisle is a manufacturing city, and has associations very different from those of its former history. On entrance, the contrast between the past and the present becomes still more vivid. We see that its walls and gates have disappeared; that its streets are clean, wide and comfortable, which no ancient streets in England ever were; and that it has altogether a juvenile, busy, and thriving appearance, giving few signs (to the eye at least) that it has been in existence above a century. It is true that two venerable relics, its castle and its cathedral, remain to attest its bygone grandeur and glory; but these are not immediately visible, and have to be sought out by the enquiring stranger; whilst all around him is modern and prosaic; and a mere reduplication of the same characteristics of English life and manners that he must have seen in a hundred other places.

Still, however, it is "merry Carlisle," and "bonnie Carlisle," although, like all other mundane things, it has been changed by time; and is quite as much King Arthur's city as England is King Arthur's England; and brimfull of associations which the traveller will be at no loss to recall, of the crime and sorrow—the "fierce wars and faithful loves" of our ancestors, from the year 800 downwards to 1745. Not that Carlisle is only a thousand years old. It has a much earlier origin than the year 800, having been founded by the Romans. By them it was called Luguballium, or Luguvallum, signifying the tower or station by the wall, and was so named from its contiguity to the wall of Severus. The Saxons, disliking this long and awkward name, abbreviated it into Luel; and afterwards in speaking of it, called it Caer-luel, or the city of Luel; from whence comes its present designation of Carlisle. It is supposed to have been during the Saxon period, if not the chief city, the frequent residence of that great mythic personage, King Arthur, where he

With fifty good and able
Knights that resorted unto him
And were of his round table:
Did hold his jousts and tournaments,
Whereto were many pressed,
Wherein some knights did far excel
And eke surmount the rest.

Among these knights, Sir Lancelot du Lake, Sir Bevis, and Sir Gawaine are the most conspicuous in tradition. One of the most celebrated of our most ancient ballads relates to the latter, and to his marriage with the mis-shapen lady that afterwards became so fair. The story is a very beautiful one; and was the model upon which Chaucer founded his Wife of Bath's Tale. It is worth repeating, for the sake of those to whom the uncouth rhymes of ancient days are not familiar; but though it is likely enough that the number of these is but few, it is too interesting, as connected with Carlisle, to be left unmentioned in a chapter expressly devoted to the poetical antiquities of the place.

THE MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE.

King Arthur lives in merry Carleile,
And seemly is to see:
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright of blee.
And there with him queene Guenever,
That bride so bright in bowre;
And all his barons about him stoode,
That were both stiffe and stowre.
The king a royale Christmasse kept,
With mirth and princelye cheare;
To him repaired many a knighte,
That came both farre and neare.
And when they were to dinner sette,
And cups went freely round:
Before them came a faire damsèlle,
And knelt upon the ground.
A boone! a boone! O kinge Arthùre,
I beg a boone of thee;
Avenge me of a carlish knighte,
Who hath shent my love and me.
At Tearne-Wadling,[4] his castle stands,
Near to that lake so fair,
And proudlye rise the battlements,
And streamers deck the air.
Noe gentle knighte, nor ladye gay,
May pass that castle-walle;
But from that foule discurteous knighte,
Mishappe will them befalle.
Hee's twyce the size of common men,
Wi' thewes, and sinewes stronge,
And on his backe he bears a clubbe,
That is both thicke and longe.
This grimme baròne, 'twas our harde happe,
But yester morne to see;
When to his bowre he bare my love,
And sore misused me.
And when I told him, King Arthùre
As lyttle shold him spare;
Goe tell, sayd he, that cuckold kinge,
To meete me if he dare.
Upp then sterted King Arthùre,
And sware by hille and dale,
He ne'er wolde quitt that grimme baròne,
Till he had made him quail.

King Arthur sets off in a great rage. The opprobrious term, which galled him the more because it was true, fired his blood, and he challenged the "grimme baròne" to mortal combat.

Sir Gawaine, who seems to have been of a stature as gigantic as the famous Sir Hugh Cæsar, who is buried at Penrith, conquered him by enchantment: his sinews lost their strength, his arms sank powerless at his side; and he only received the boon of life at the hands of his enemy by swearing upon his faith as a knight, to return upon New Year's day, and bring "true word what thing it was that women most desired."

Go fetch my sword Excalibar:
Goe saddle mee my steede,
Nowe, by my faye, that grimme baròne
Shall rue this ruthfulle deede.
And when he came to Tearne-Wadling,
Beneath the castle-walle;
"Come forth; come forth; thou proud baròne,
Or yielde thyself my thralle."
On magicke grounde that castle stoode,
And fenc'd with many a spelle:
Noe valiant knighte could tread thereon,
But straite his courage felle.
Forth then rush'd that carlish knight,
King Arthur felte the charme:
His sturdy sinews lost their strengthe,
Down sunke his feeble arme.
Nowe yield thee, yield thee, King Arthùre,
Nowe yield thee unto mee:
Or fighte with mee, or lose thy lande,
Noe better terms maye bee.
Unlesse thou sweare upon the rood,
And promise on thy faye,
Here to returne to Tearne-Wadling
Upon the New Yeare's daye:
And bringe me worde what thing it is
All women moste desyre:
This is thy ransome, Arthùre, he says,
Ile have noe other hyre.
King Arthur then helde up his hande,
And sweare upon his faye,
Then tooke his leave of the grimme baròne,
And faste hee rode awaye.
And he rode east, and he rode west,
And did of all inquyre,
What thing it is all women crave,
And what they most desyre.

King Arthur made due inquiry; but it was not so easy a matter to discover the secret.

Some told him riches, pompe, or state;
Some rayment fine and brighte;
Some told him mirthe; some flatterye;
And some a jollye knighte:
In letters all King Arthur wrote,
And seal'd them with his ringe;
But still his minde was helde in doubte,
Each tolde a different thinge.

As New Year's day approached, his tribulation increased; for though he might have told the "grimme baròne" with much truth many things that women did much desire, he was not at all sure that his version of what they most desired, would hit the fancy of the Lord of Tarn-Wadling, who had set him to expound the riddle. He would not give up, however, and one day,—

As ruthfulle he rode over a more,
He saw a ladye sitte
Between an oke, and a greene holléye,
All clad in "red scarlette."
Her nose was crookt and turned outwàrde,
Her chin stoode all awreye;
And where as sholde have been her mouthe,
Lo! there was set her eye:
Her haires, like serpents, clung aboute
Her cheekes of deadlye hewe:
A worse-form'd ladye than she was,
No man mote ever viewe.

This ill-conditioned damsel tells him the secret, however, upon condition that he will bring her a "fair and courtly knight to marry her,"—a condition which, considering all the circumstances, must have seemed to the good king as bad as the jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire. The great secret is, as she expresses it, "that all women will have their wille, and this is their chief desyre," which Arthur forthwith tells to the "grimme baròne;" and so acquits himself as far as he is concerned. The other trouble, however, still remains, and fills the king's mind with anxiety. Queen Guinevere, who was outraged as well as her husband by the opprobrious message of the "grimme baròne," but who had never thought of the very obvious solution of the riddle he had been set, comes out to meet him on his return, and inquires how he has sped. He details his new tribulation in having promised to procure a fair knight to marry this ugly, mis-shapen creature. Comfort is nearer at hand than he thought, and Sir Gawaine, his own nephew, "his sister's son," bids him "be merrye and lighte," for he will marry her, however foul and loathsome she may be. He does so accordingly:—

And when they were in wed-bed laid,
And all were done awaye:
"Come turne to me, mine owne wed-lord,
Come turne to mee, I praye."
Sir Gawaine scant could lift his head,
For sorrowe and for care;
When lo! instead of that lothelye dame,
He sawe a young ladye faire.
Sweet blushes stayn'd her rud-red cheeke,
Her eyen were blacke as sloe;
The ripening cherrye swellde her lippe,
And all her necke was snowe.

Agreeably surprised at the change, Sir Gawaine soon learns to love the lady. She informs him that, by a cruel fate, she cannot be fair both night and day; and asks him which he prefers. He hints that the night would be most pleasant; to which she replies:—

What when gaye ladyes goe with their lordes
To drinke the ale and wine;
Alas! then I must hide myself,
I must not go, with mine?
"My faire ladyè, Sir Gawaine sayd,
I yield me to thy skille;
Because thou art my owne ladye
Thou shalt have all thy wille."

The spell is broken. She tells him her history; and that henceforth she shall be fair both night and day.

My father was an aged knighte,
And yet it chanced soe,
He took to wife a false ladyè,
Whiche broughte me to this woe.
Shee witch'd mee, being a faire younge maide,
In the grene forèst to dwelle;
And there to abide in lothlye shape,
Most like a fiend of helle.
Midst mores and mosses, woods, and wilds;
To lead a lonesome life:
Till some yonge faire and courtlye knighte
Wolde marrye me for his wife:
Nor fully to game mine owne trewe shape,
Such was her devilish skille;
Until he wolde yielde to be ruled by mee,
And let mee have all my wille.
She witch'd my brother to a carlish boore,
And made him stiffe and stronge;
And built him a bowre on magicke grounde,
To live by rapine and wronge.
But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyè,
And hee a gentle knighte.

Another ballad, equally celebrated, though not so beautiful, also relates to King Arthur's residence at Carlisle, and to the truth of the imputation cast upon Queen Guinevere by the "grimme baròne" of the last story. It is entitled "The Boy and the Mantle," commencing somewhat uncouthly:—

In the third day of May,
To Carleile did come
A kind curteous child
That cold much of wisdome.

This "child" brings that wondrous mantle which no lady who is not chaste can wear; and it is tried upon all the dames of the court. When Queen Guinevere put it on, it was suddenly rent from the top to the bottom, and turned in succession all manner of colours, and is told as follows:—

God speed thee, king Arthur,
Sitting at thy meate;
And the goodly queene Guinevere,
I cannott her forgett.
I tell you, lords, in this hall;
I bid you all to "heede;"
Except you be the more surer
Is you for to dread.
He plucked out of his "porterner,"
And longer wold not dwell,
He pulled forth a pretty mantle,
Betweene two nut-shells.
Have thou here, king Arthur;
Have thou here of mee,
Give itt to thy comely queene
Shapen as itt is alreadye.
Itt shall never become that wiffe,
That hath once done amisse.
Then every knight in the king's court
Began to care for "his."
Forth came dame Guinevere;
To the mantle shee her "hied;"
The ladye shee was newfangle,
But yett she was affrayd.
When she had taken the mantle;
She stoode as shee had beene madd;
It was from the top to the toe
As sheeres had itt shread.
One while was it "gule;"
Another while was itt greene;
Another while was it wadded:
Ill itt did her beseeme.
Another while was it blacke
And bore the worst hue:
By my troth, quoth king Arthur,
I thinke thou be not true.
She threw down the mantle,
That bright was of blee;
Fast, with a rudd redd,
To her chamber can shee flee.
She curst the weaver, and the walker
That clothe that had wrought;
And bade a vengeance on his crowne,
That hither had it broughte.

The lady of Sir Kay, another of King Arthur's knights, tries it on with no better success; and the ballad thus corroborates the old traditions reported by the earliest historians, that the court of the British King was anything but a pure one, "and that Queen Guinevere was noted for breach of faith to her husband," especially with her husband's friend, Sir Lancelot du Lake, the hero himself of many a goodly ballad; and of some passages in the Morte Arthur.

Mixing the real with the fabulous history of Carlisle, and taking both in chronological order, we must leave these ancient ballads to relate that, during the period of the British Kings, Carlisle suffered from the incursions of the Scots and Picts, by whom it was ultimately reduced to ruins; it was rebuilt by Egfrid, King of Northumberland, who surrounded and fortified it with a wall; founded a monastery and a college of secular priests. It was once more destroyed by the Danes, about the year 900, who threw down the walls, burned its houses, chiefly built of wood, and killed every person in it, man, woman, and child. It remained in ruins, it is believed, for nearly 200 years. On the return of William Rufus from Alnwick, after concluding a peace with the turbulent Scotch, he passed over the remains of this once celebrated city, and observing that it must have been a place of great strength, and could be made so again, he resolved to rebuild it for the protection of the border. He did so: and Carlisle became of more importance than it had ever been before. Its castle was built and garrisoned; and every means taken to render it a stronghold both for offensive and defensive warfare. Henry the First completed what Rufus had so well begun, erected Carlisle into an Episcopal see in the year 1132, making Athelwold, his confessor, the first bishop.

In Evans's Collection of Old Ballads is one relating to a bishop of Carlisle at this early period. It is entitled "Bishop Thurston and the King of Scots," and contains some beautiful passages which render it worthy of all the publicity that can be given to it; especially as the whole composition inculcates sentiments of abhorrence for warfare, rare at the time it was penned, but now, happily, in the ascendant. Soon after King Stephen's departure for Normandy, A.D. 1137, the King of Scotland entered England in a hostile manner. Stephen's Government was not in a position to resist an invasion at that time; and the miseries of war were averted by the interposition of the venerable Bishop Thurston, who prevailed upon the Scotch King to meet him at Roxburgh, and used such arguments as induced him to return to his own country in peace. They are said to have been arguments of Christian charity, and not the arguments of policy and the sword, which bishops as well as barons could use in those days. A few stanzas will show the excellent spirit of the ballad.

Through the fair country of Tiviotdale
King David marched forth;
King David and his princely son,
The heroes of the North.
And holy Thurston fro' merry Carlisle,
In haste his way doth wind,
With many a cross-bearer before,
And many a knight behind.

The arguments used by the bishop to dissuade the invader are of universal interest, and as applicable now as then:—

Out then spoke the holy Thurston,
And full of woe spake he,
"O Christ, thy kingdom of heavenly bliss,
Alas, when shall we see!
For here on earth is nought but sin,
And kings for pride do ill,
And when they with each other war
The poor folks blood must spill.
What hath the husbandman done wrong
That he must spoil his grain?
What the poor widow, and what the child,
That they must all be slain?
And what is the simple maid to blame
To be made of lust the prey?
And what the lowly village priest
That they so oft do slay?
And when the doleful day of doom
Shall call ye from the grave,
From the crying blood of these innocents
What tyrants shall ye save?
Now think thee well, O mortal King,
And thy misdeeds bemoan,
And think what will save thy hapless soul,
When all thy pomp is gone.
Nor fancy that alms will save thy soul,
Though bounteous they be given;
Nor the rearing of abbeys all rich endowed
Will carry thy soul to heaven."

From the time of Henry I. the place began to prosper, though it appears from Stowe that, in 1829, a great portion of it was burned down. In the year 1300, King Edward I. summoned his barons and knights to meet him here on the feast-day of St. John the Baptist, to prepare for the invasion of Scotland; which was afterwards commenced by the siege of Carlaverock castle. The same monarch also summoned a Parliament to meet here in the year 1307, the last parliament of his reign. A complete list of the members who attended is to be found in Stowe's Annals, including, says the historian, "eighty-seven earls and barons, twenty bishops, sixty-one abbots, and eight priors, besides many deacons, archdeacons and other inferior clerks. The subject of their deliberations was the Scottish war, and the sore annoyance given by Robert Bruce. The King remained here from January, when the Parliament was summoned, during all the winter and summer, disposing of many things concerning Scotland at his pleasure," but vexing himself to death at his inability, from sickness and other causes, to march against Robert Bruce. He had some revenge, however, for a party of his men "capturing one Thomas, that was a knight, and one Alexander, that was a priest and dean of Glasgow," who had been sent by Robert Bruce to "allure away the English people by gentle persuasion;" he had them summarily hanged, drawn, and quartered, and placed their heads upon the gates of Carlisle—those gates where the heads of so many Scotchmen were afterwards to grin in ghastly horror until 1745.

Among the poetical and historical associations connected with Carlisle, the famous battle of Otterbourne, and the still more famous ballad which celebrates it, must not be omitted. In the twelfth year of Richard II., A.D. 1388, the Scotch made a great raid over the border, and ravaged the whole country about Carlisle, driving away large quantities of cattle, and taking no less than 300 men prisoners. Another division of them extended their ravages into the counties of Northumberland and Durham; and grew so insolent as to render a vigorous effort necessary to crush them, on the part of the English.

It fell about the Lammas tide
When yoemen win their hay,
The doughty Douglass 'gan to ride
In England to take a prey.
The Earl of Fife withoute strife
He bound him over Solway.
The great wolde even together ride
The race they may rue for aye.

The version of the ballad, as given by Percy, is the only one of the many versions extant which makes allusion to the party that ravaged Carlisle. The main interest is centred around Newcastle, and on the doings of the other division of the Scotch. There is, however, another ballad of which Carlisle is more exclusively the theme. It is somewhat less known to the English reader, not being found in Percy's Reliques; and describes a scene which was very common to the border for a long period. Mr. Gilbert has illustrated it by a picturesque sketch. The principal portions of this ballad, sufficient to tell the story, are here transcribed. In the year 1596, William Armstrong, of Kinmont, better known as Kinmont Willie, a noted reiver, or border trooper, and stealer of Englishmen's cattle, was taken prisoner by Lord Scrope, the Warden of the Western Marches, and safely lodged in Carlisle Castle. A truce existed at the time between Lord Scrope and the Lord of Buccleugh, who severally watched over the interests of the English and Scottish sides of the border; and the Lord of Buccleugh, incensed that the truce had been broken by the capture of Willie, demanded that he should be set at liberty. Lord Scrope refused; and the Lord of Buccleugh, with a small body of two hundred men, performed the daring feat of surprising the castle of Carlisle, and rescuing his countryman. The "fause Sakelde," alluded to in the ballad, was the then possessor of Corby castle, and sheriff of Cumberland—the chief of the powerful family of the Salkeldes; and "Hairibee" was the slang phrase for the place of execution at Carlisle.

KINMONT WILLIE.

O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde,
O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scrope,
How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie
On Hairibee to hang him up?
Had Willie had but twenty men—
But twenty men as stout as he,
Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en
Wi' eight score in his company.
They bound his legs beneath the steed,
They tied his hands behind his back,
They guarded him, five score on each side,
And brought him over the Liddel-rack.
They led him through the Liddel-rack,
And also through the Carlisle sands,
They brought him to Carlisle Castell
To be at my Lord Scrope's commands.
Now word is gone to the bold keeper
In Branksome hall where that he lay,
That Lord Scrope had taken Kinmont Willie
Between the hours of night and day.
He struck the table with his hand,
He made the red wine spring on hie—
"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said,
"But avenged on Lord Scrope I will be.
"O is my helmet a widow's cap,
Or my lance a wand of the willow tree?
Or my arm a lady's lily hand,
That an English Lord should lightly me?
"And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie,
Against the truce of Border tide?
And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh
Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
"And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie,
Withouten either dread or fear,
And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh,
Can back a steed and shake a spear?
"O were there war between the lands,
As well as I wot that there is none,
I would slight Carlisle Castell high,
Though it were builded of marble stone.
"I would set that Castell in a low,
And sloken it with English blood,
There's never a man in Cumberland
Should tell where Carlisle Castell stood.
"But since nae war's between the lands
And there is peace and peace should be;
I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
And yet the Kinmont shall go free."
Then on we held for Carlisle town
And at Staneshaw bank the Eden we crossed,
The water was great and mickle of spait
But there never a man nor horse we lost.
And when we reached the Staneshaw bank,
The wind was rising loud and hie,
And there the laird gar'd leave our steeds
For fear that they should stamp and nie.
And when we left the Staneshaw bank,
The wind began full loud to blaw,
But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
When we came beneath the castle wa'.
We crept on knees and held our breath,
Till we placed the ladders against the wa',
And ready was bold Buccleugh himself
To mount the first before us a'.
He has ta'en the watchman by the throat,
He flung him down upon the lead;
"Had there not been peace between our land,
Upon the other side thou hadst gaed."
"Now sound our trumpet," quoth Buccleugh,
Let's waken Lord Scrope, right merrilie;
Then loud the Warder's trumpet blew,
"Wha daur meddle wi' me?"
Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers
We garred the bars bang merrilie,
Until we came to the inner prison,
Where Kinmont Willie he did lie.
And when we came to the lower prison,
Where Kinmont Willie he did lie.
"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
Upon the morn that thou's to die?"
"O, I sleep saft, and I wake aft,
It's long since sleeping was fley'd frae me!
Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,
And a' gude fellows that speir for me!"
The Red Rowan has lifted him up
The starkest man in Teviotdale;
"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
Till of Lord Scrope I take farewell.
"Farewell, farewell, my good Lord Scrope,
My good Lord Scrope, farewell," he cried,
"I'll pay you for my lodging maill,
When first we meet on the border side."
Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
We bore him down the ladder lang,
At every stride Red Rowan made
I wot the Kinmont's airms played clang.
"O, mony a time," quoth Kinmont Willie,
"I have ridden horse both wild and woad,
But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,
I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode!"
We scarce had reached the Haneshaw bank,
When all the Carlisle hills were rung,
And a thousand men on horse and foot
Came wi' the keen Lord Scrope along.
Buccleugh has turned to Eden water,
Even where it flowed from bank to brim,
And he has plunged in wi' a' his band
And safely swam them thro' the stream.
He turned him on the other side,
And at Lord Scrope his glove flung he,
"If ye like na' my visit in merry England,
In fair Scotland come visit me!"

This was a daring exploit, and has been gallantly sung. The words seem to come out of the mouth of one of the very moss troopers who had acted a part in the achievement, and the whole composition is rough but finely flavoured; and strongly dramatic. Queen Elizabeth, when she heard of it, was highly indignant, and "stormed not a little." Two years afterwards, the "bold Buccleugh" was in England, and Elizabeth was anxious to see so doughty a chieftain. He was presented accordingly, and Elizabeth, in a rough and peremptory manner, demanded of him how he had dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous!

"What is it," replied the undaunted Scot, "that a man dare not do?"

Elizabeth, struck with his boldness, turned to a lord in waiting, and said, "with ten thousand men such as this, our brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne in Europe."

There is another ballad relating to the same Lord Scrope, and the execution of a noted reiver, named "Hughie the Græme," who had made woeful havoc in his time among the farmsteads of the Marches, and the cattle of "merry England." Hughie did not escape Hairibee. The actual offence for which he suffered was his stealing the Bishop of Carlisle's mare. The following is the ballad:—

HUGHIE THE GRÆME.

Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane,
He has ridden our moss and muir;
And he has grippit Hughie the Græme,
For stealing o' the bishop's mare.
"Now, Good Lord Scroope, this may not be!
Here hangs a broadsword by my side;
And if that thou canst conquer me,
The matter it may soon be tryed.
"I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief,
Although my name be Hughie the Græme;
I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds,
If God but grant me life and time.
"Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope,
And deal your blows as hard as you can;
It shall be tried within an hour,
Which of us two is the better man."
But as they were dealing their blows so free,
And both so bloody at the time,
Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall,
All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.
Then they ha'e gribbit Hughie the Græme,
And brought him up through Carlisle town;
The lasses and lads stood on the walls,
Crying, "Hughie the Græme, thou'se ne'er gae down!"
Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men,
The best that were in Carlisle town:
And twelve of them cried out at once,
"Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!"
Then up bespake him gude Lord Hume,
As he sat by the judge's knee:
"Twenty white owsen, my gude Lord,
If you'll grant Hughie the Græme to me."
"O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume!
Forsooth, and sae it mauna be;
For were there but three Græmes of the name,
They suld be hanged a' for me."
'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume,
As she sat by the judge's knee:
"A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge,
If you'll grant Hughie the Græme to me."
"O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume!
Forsooth and so it mustna be;
Were he but the one Græme of the name,
He suld be hanged high for me."
"If I be guilty," said Hughie the Græme,
"Of me my friends shall have small talk:"
And he has leaped fifteen feet and three,
Tho' his hands they were tied behind his back.
He looked over his left shoulder,
And for to see what he might see;
There was he aware of his ould father,
Came tearing his hair most piteously.
"O hauld your tongue, my father," he says,
"And see that ye dinna weep for me!
For they may ravish me o' my life,
But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie.
"Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife!
The last time we came ower the muir,
'Twas thou bereft me of my life,
And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore.
"Here, Johnnie Armstrong, take thou my sword,
That is made o' the metal sae fine;
And when thou comest to the English side,
Remember the death of Hughie the Græme."

There are two or more versions of the foregoing: one in Ritson's Collection; and one communicated by Burns to Johnson's Museum. The ballad of Hobbie Noble relates to a hero of the same stamp, who suffered about the same period, at the same place, for a similar love for English oxen and sheep. Hobbie was an Englishman; who, finding less difference in the laws of "mine and thine" on the Scotch side of the border, and more sympathy with such loose notions of property as he possessed, established himself among the Scotch, and helped them to ravage the country to Carlisle southward, whenever opportunity offered. The Scotch, however, proved false to him. The Armstrongs, amongst whom he was residing, were bribed by the English to decoy him over the border upon pretence of a raid or foray; where he was delivered up to a party from Carlisle castle, that had long been on the look-out for him. By these he was taken to Carlisle, and hanged on Hairibee in less than twenty-four hours afterwards.

HOBBIE NOBLE.