The heavens were black, the night was dark

And dreary was the place;

But Janet stood, with eager wish,
Her lover to embrace.

Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,

A north wind tore the bent;

And straight she heard strange elritch sounds
Upon that wind which went.

About the dead hour o' the night,
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o' that

As any earthly thing..

Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear;
But solemn sounds, or sober thoughts,
The Fairies cannot bear.

They sing, inspired with love and joy,
Like skylarks in the air :

Of solid sense, or thought that's grave,
You'll find no traces there.

Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,
The dreary heath upon;

And louder, louder wax'd the sound,
As they came riding on.

Will o' Wisp before them went,

Sent forth a twinkling light; And soon she saw the Fairy bands

All riding in her sight.

And first gaed by the black black steed,
And then gaed by the brown;
But fast she gript the milk-white steed,
And pu'd the rider down.

She pu'd him frae the milk-white steed,
And loot the bridle fa';

And up there raise an erlish' cry-
"He's won among us a'!"—

They shaped him in fair Janet's arms,

"She's ta'en awa the bonniest knight

In a' my cumpanie.

"But had I kenn'd, Tamlane," she says, "A lady wad borrow'd thee

I wad ta'en out thy twa grey een,
Pat in twa een o' tree.

"Had I but kenn'd, Tamlane,” she says, "Before ye came frae hame

I wad ta'en out your heart o' flesh,
Put in a heart o' stane.

"Had I but had the wit yestreen

That I hae coft 3 the dayI'd paid my kane 4 seven times to hell Ere you'd been won away!"

ERLINTON.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

This ballad is published from the collation of two copies, obtained from recitation. It seems to be the rude original, or perhaps a corrupt and imperfect copy, of The Child of Elle, a beautiful legendary tale, published in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry. It is singular that this charming ballad should have been translated, or imitated, by the celebrated Bürger, without acknowledgment of the English original. As The Child of Elle avowedly received corrections, we may ascribe its greatest beauties to the poetical taste of the ingenious editor. They are in the true style of Gothic embellishment. We may compare, for example, the following beautiful verse, with the same idea in an old romance :

"The baron stroked his dark-brown cheek,

And turned his face aside,

To wipe away the starting tear,

He proudly strove to hide!"-Child of Elle.

The heathen Soldan, or Amiral, when about to slay two lovers, relents in a similar manner :—

"Weeping, he turned his heued awai, And his swerde hit fell to grounde."

Florice and Blauncheflour.

Erlinton had a fair daughter,

I wat he weird her in a great sin," For he has built a bigly bower, An' a' to put that lady in.

An' he has warn'd her sisters six,

An' sae has he her brethren se'en, Outher to watch her a' the night,

Or else to seek her morn and e'en.

· Erlish-Elritch; ghastly.- Esk-Newt.

3 Coft-Bought.-4 Kane-Rent paid in kind.

5 IVeird her in a great sin-Placed her in danger of committing a great sin.

She hadna been i' that bigly bower,

Na not a night but barely ane,

Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Chapp'd at the door, cryin', "Peace within!"-

"O whae is this at my bower door,

That chaps sae late, or kens the gin?' “O it is Willie, your ain true love, I pray you rise and let me in!”—

"But in my bower there is a wake,

An' at the wake there is a wane;"
But I'll come to the green-wood the morn,

Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn."

Then she's gane to her bed again,

Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice, Then she said to her sisters a',

"Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise."

She pat on her back a silken gown,
An' on her breast a siller pin,
An' she's ta'en a sister in ilka hand,
And to the green-wood she is gane.
She hadna walk'd in the green-wood,
Na not a mile but barely ane,

Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Wha frae her sisters has her ta'en.

He took her sisters by the hand,

He kiss'd them baith, and sent them hame, An' he's ta'en his true love him behind,

And through the green-wood they are gane. They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood, Na not a mile but barely ane,

When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights, That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane.

The foremost was an aged knight,

He wore the grey hair on his chin,

Says, "Yield to me thy lady bright,

An' thou shalt walk the woods within."

"For me to yield my lady bright

To such an aged knight as thee, People wad think I war gane mad,

Or a' the courage flown frae me."

But up then spake the second knight,
I wat he spake right boustouslie,
"Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright,
Or here the tane of us shall die."-

"My lady is my warld's meed :

My life I winna yield to nane; But if ye be men of your manhead, Ye'll only fight me ane by ane."He lighted aff his milk-white steed, An' gae his lady him by the head, Say'n,

"See ye dinna change your cheer, Until ye see my body bleed.”—

He set his back unto an aik,

He set his feet against a stane,
An' he has fought these fifteen men,

An' killed them a' but barely ane :
For he has left that aged knight,

An' a' to carry the tidings hame. When he gaed to his lady fair,

I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie;

"Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought; Now we shall walk the green-wood free."

THE TWA CORBIES.

This Poem was communicated to me by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq., jun. of Hoddom, as written down, from tradition, by a lady. It is a singular circumstance, that it should coincide so very nearly with the ancient dirge, called, The Three Ravens, published by Mr. Ritson, in his Ancient Songs; and that, at the same time, there should exist such a difference, as to make the one appear rather a counterpart than copy of the other. In order to enable the curious reader to contrast these two singular poems, and to form a judgment which may be the original, I take the liberty of copying the English ballad from Mr. Ritson's Collection, omitting only the burden and repetition of the first line. The learned Editor states it to be given "From Ravenscroft's Melismata. Musical Phansies, filling the Cittie and Country Humours, to 3, 4, and 5 Voyces," London, 1611, 4to. "It will be obvious," continues Mr. Ritson, "that this ballad is much older, not only than the date of the book, but most of the other pieces contained in it." The music is given with the words, and adapted to four voices :

There were three rauens sat on a tre,
They were as blacke as they might be :
The one of them said to his mate,
"Where shall we our breakefast take?".
"Downe in yonder greene field,
There lies a knight slain under his shield;
"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they their master keepe;
"His haukes they flie so eagerlie,
There's no fowle dare come him nie.

"Down there comes a fallow dce,
As great with yong as she might goe.
"She lift up bis blondy hed,

And kist his wounds that were so red.

"She got him up upon her backe, And carried him to earthen lake.

"She buried him before the prime,

She was dead her selfe ere euen song time.

"God send euery gentleman,

Such haukes, such houndes, and such a leman.”

Ancient Songs, 1792, p. 455.

I have seen a copy of this dirge much modernized.

217ane-A number of people.

The ballad of The Douglas Tragedy is one of the few, to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality.

The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farmhouse, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent, named Douglas burn, which joins the Yarrow, after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas craig. This wild scene, now a part of the Traquair estate, formed one of the most ancient possessions of the renowned family of Douglas; for Sir John Douglas, eldest son of William, the first Lord Douglas, is said to have sat, as baronial Lord of Douglas

["Any person who has read the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border with attention, must have observed what a singular degree of interest and feeling the simple ballad of 'The Twa Corbies' impresses upon the mind, which is rather increased than diminished by the unfinished state in which the story is left. It appears as if the bard had found his powers of description inadequate to a detail of the circumstances attending the fatal catastrophe, without suffering the interest already roused to subside, and had artfully consigned it over to the fancy of every reader to paint it what way he chose; or else that he lamented the untimely fate of a knight, whose base treatment he durst not otherwise make known than in that short parabolical dialogue. That the original is not improved in the following ballad, (‘Sir David Græme,') will too manifestly appear upon perusal. I think it, however, but just to acknowledge, that the idea was suggested to me by reading the 'Twa Corbies.'"'— HOGG's Mountain Bard, third edition, p. 4.-ED.]

burn, during his father's lifetime, in a parliament of Malcolm Canmore, held at Forfar.-GODSCRroft, vol. i. p. 20.

The tower appears to have been square, with a circular turret at one angle, for carrying up the staircase, and for flanking the entrance. It is said to have derived its name of Blackhouse from the complexion of the Lords of Douglas, whose swarthy hue was a family attribute. But, when the high mountains, by which it is enclosed, were covered with heather, which was the case till of late years, Blackhouse must also have merited its appellation from the appearance of the scenery.

From this ancient tower, Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones erected upon the neighbouring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas burn is averred to have been the stream, at which the lovers stopped to drink so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event.

6

Many copies of this ballad are current among the vulgar, but chiefly in a state of great corruption; especially such as have been committed to the press in the shape of penny pamphlets. One of these is now before me, which, among many other, has the ridiculous error of " blue gilded horn," for "bugelet horn." The copy, principally used in this edition of the ballad, was supplied by Mr. Sharpe. The three last verses are given from the printed copy, and from tradition. The hackneyed verse, of the rose and the brier springing from the grave of the lovers, is common to most tragic ballads; but it is introduced into this with singular propriety, as the chapel of St. Mary, whose vestiges may be still traced upon the lake to which it has given name, is said to have been the burial-place of Lord William and Fair Margaret. The wrath of the Black Douglas, which vented itself upon the brier, far surpasses the usual stanza :

"At length came the clerk of the parish,
As you the truth shall bear,
And by mischance he cut them down,
Or else they had still been there."7

a Fail-Turf.

3 Hause-Neck.

4 Theek-Thatch.

5 Various reading

"We'll theck our nest-it's a' blawn bare."

6 [Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, Esq.]

7 [At the time when Sir Walter Scott was collecting the materials for this work, the farm of Blackhouse was tenanted by the father of his attached friend, and in latter days factor, (or land-steward,) Mr. William Laidlaw. James Hogg was shepherd on the same farm, and in the course of one of his exploring rides up the glen of Yarrow, Sir Walter made acquaintance with young Laidlaw and the "Mountain Bard," who both thenceforth laboured with congenial zeal in behalf of his undertaking.-- ED.]

"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armour so bright;

Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.

"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,

And put on your armour so bright,
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa' the last night.”—
He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple gray,

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.

Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
To see what he could see,

And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold,
Come riding o'er the lee.

"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
"And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I make a stand."-

She held his steed in her milk-white hand,

And never shed one tear,

O, she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the holland sae fine,

And aye she dighted' her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret," he said,
"O whether will ye gang or bide ? "—
"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
For you have left me no other guide.”—
He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,

With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.

O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.

They lighted down to tak a drink

Of the spring that ran sae clear;
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she 'gan to fear.

"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,

"For I fear that you are slain!"—

""Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak, That shines in the water sae plain.”—

O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam to his mother's ha' door,
And there they lighted down.

"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,

"Get up, and let me in! "Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,

"For this night my fair lady I've win.

"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
"O mak it braid and deep!

And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep."-

Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
Lady Marg❜ret lang ere day-
And all true lovers that go thegither,

May they have mair luck than they!

Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk, Lady Margret in Marie's quire;

Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose, And out o' the knight's a brier.

And they twa met, and they twa plat,

And fain they wad be near;

And a' the warld might ken right weel,
They were twa lovers dear.

But bye and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
And flang'd in St. Marie's Loch.'

YOUNG BENJIE.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

In this ballad the reader will find traces of a singular superstition, not yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of Scotland. The lykewake, or watching a dead body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in the idea of the assistants, more dismally awful, by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In the interval betwixt death and interment, the disembodied spirit is supposed to hover around its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain rites, retains the power of communicating, through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. Such enquiries, however, are always dangerous, and never to be resorted to, unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is called. It is the more unsafe to tamper with this charm in an unauthorized manner, because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active. One of the most potent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the dead body to speak, is, setting the door ajar, or half open. On this account, the peasants of Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar, while a corpse lies in the house. The door must either be left wide open, or quite shut; but the first is always preferred, on

[Mr. Motherwell gives in his "Minstrelsy," 1827, a copy of this ballad as usually recited in the West of Scotland; but the variations it supplies are trivial, and all for the worse.-ED.]

* [Miss Joanna Baillie-who was born at Long-Calderwood near Bothwell.-ED.]

account of the exercise of hospitality usual on such occasions. The attendants must be likewise careful never to leave the corpse for a moment alone, or, if it is left alone, to avoid, with a degree of superstitious horror, the first sight of it.

The following story, which is frequently related by the peasants of Scotland, will illustrate the imaginary danger of leaving the door ajar. In former times, a man and his wife lived in a solitary cottage, on one of the extensive Border fells. One day the husband died suddenly; and his wife, who was equally afraid of staying alone by the corpse, or leaving the dead body by itself, repeatedly went to the door, and looked anxiously over the lonely moor for the sight of some person approaching. In her confusion and alarm she accidentally left the door ajar, when the corpse suddenly started up, and sat in the bed, frowning and grinning at her frightfully. She sat alone, crying bitterly, unable to avoid the fascination of the dead man's eye, and too much terrified to break the sullen silence, till a Catholic priest, passing over the wild, entered the cottage. He first set the door quite open, then put his little finger in his mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; when the horrid look of the corpse relaxed, it fell back on the bed, and behaved itself as a dead man ought to do.

The ballad is given from tradition. I have been informed by a lady, of the highest literary eminence, that she has heard a ballad on the same subject, in which the scene was laid upon the banks of the Clyde. The chorus was,

"O Bothwell banks bloom bonny,"

and the watching of the dead corpse was said to have taken place in Bothwell church.