In came the merry minstrelsy;
Shrill harps wi' tinkling string,
And bagpipes, lilting melody,

Made proud Caerlaveroc ring.

There gallant knights, and ladies bright,
Did move to measures fine,
Like frolic fairies, jimp and light,
Wha dance in pale moonshine.
The ladies glided through the ha',

Wi' footing swift and sure-
Kirkpatrick's dame outdid them a',
When she stood on the floor.

And some had tyres of gold sae rare,
And pendants' eight or nine;
And she, wi' but her gowden hair,
Did a' the rest outshine.

And some wi' costly diamonds sheen,
Did warriors' hearts assail-
But she wi' her twa sparkling een,
Pierced through the thickest mail.

Kirkpatrick led her by the hand,

With gay and courteous air; No stately castle in the land

Could show sae bright a pair.

O he was young-and clear the day
Of life to youth appears!
Alas! how soon his setting ray

Was dimm'd wi' show'ring tears!

Fell Lindsay sicken'd at the sight,
And sallow grew his cheek;
He tried wi' smiles to hide his spite,
But word he cou❜dna speak.

The gorgeous banquet was brought up,
On silver and on gold:

The page chose out a crystal cup,
The sleepy juice to hold.

And whan Kirkpatrick call'd for wine,
This page the drink would bear;
Nor did the knight or dame divine
Sic black deceit was near.

Then every lady sang a sang:

Some gay-some sad and sweet-
Like tunefu' birds the woods amang,
Till a' began to greet.

E'en cruel Lindsay shed a tear,
Forletting malice deep-

As mermaids, wi' their warbles clear,
Can sing the waves to sleep.

And now to bed they all are dight,

Now steek they ilka door;

There's nought but stillness o' the night, Whare was sic din before.

Fell Lindsay puts his harness on,

His steed doth ready stand; And up the staircase is he gone,

Wi' poniard in his hand.

The sweat did on his forehead break,
He shook wi' guilty fear;
In air he heard a joyfu' shriek—
Red Cumin's ghaist was near.
Now to the chamber doth he creep-
A lamp, of glimmering ray,
Show'd young Kirkpatrick fast asleep,
In arms of lady gay.

He lay wi' bare unguarded breast,
By sleepy juice beguiled;

And sometimes sigh'd, by dreams opprest,
And sometimes sweetly smiled.
Unclosed her mouth o' rosy hue,

Whence issued fragrant air,
That gently, in soft motion, blew
Stray ringlets o'er her hair.
"Sleep on, sleep on, ye luvers dear!
The dame may wake to weep-
But that day's sun maun shine fu' clear,
That spills this warrior's sleep."

He louted down-her lips he press'd-
O! kiss, foreboding woe!

Then struck on young Kirkpatrick's breast
A deep and deadly blow.

Sair, sair, and meikle did he bleed :

His lady slept till day,

2

But dreamt the Firth flow'd o'er her head, In bride-bed as she lay.

The murderer hasted down the stair,

And back'd his courser fleet :
Then did the thunder 'gin to rair,
Then shower'd the rain and sleet.

Ae fire-flaught darted through the rain,
Whare a' was mirk before,
And glinted o'er the raging main,
That shook the sandy shore.

But mirk and mirker grew the night,
And heavier beat the rain;
And quicker Lindsay urged his flight,
Some ha' or beild to gain.

Lang did he ride o'er hill and dale,
Nor mire nor flood he fear'd:

I trow his courage 'gan to fail
When morning light appear'd.
For having hied, the live-lang night,
Through hail and heavy showers,
He fand himself, at peep o' light,
Hard by Caerlaveroc's Towers.

› Pendants-Jewels on the forehead.

⚫ Caerlaveroc stands near Solway Firth.

Oh! gentle huntsman, softly tread,
And softly wind thy bugle-horn;
Nor rudely break the silence shed
Around the grave of Agilthorn!

Oh! gentle huntsman, if a tear

E'er dimm'd for other's woe thine eyes, Thou'lt surely dew, with drops sincere, The sod where Lady Eva lies.

Yon crumbling chapel's sainted bound

Their hands and hearts beheld them plight; Long held yon towers, with ivy crown'd, The beauteous dame and gallant knight. Alas! the hour of bliss is past,

For hark! the din of discord rings; War's clarion sounds, Joy hears the blast, And trembling plies his radiant wings.

And must sad Eva lose her lord?

And must he seek the martial plain?
Oh! see she brings his casque and sword!
Oh! hark, she pours her plaintive strain!
"Blessed is the village damsel's fate,

Though poor and low her station be;
Safe from the cares which haunt the great,
Safe from the cares which torture me! *

2

' Lincluden Abbey is situated near Dumfries, on the banks of the river Cluden. It was founded and filled with Benedictine nuns, in the time of Malcolm IV., by Uthred, father to Roland, Lord of Galloway-these were expelled by Archibald the Grim, Earl of Douglas.-Vide PENNANT.

"No doubting fear, no cruel pain,

No dread suspense her breast alarms: No tyrant honour rules her swain,

And tears him from her folding arms. "She, careless wandering 'midst the rocks, In pleasing toil consumes the day; And tends her goats, or feeds her flock, Or joins her rustic lover's lay. "Though hard her couch, each sorrow flies The pillow which supports her head; She sleeps, nor fears at morn her eyes

Shall wake, to mourn an husband dead. "Hush, impious fears! the good and brave Heaven's arm will guard from danger free; When death with thousands gluts the grave,

His dart, my love, shall glance from thee: "While thine shall fly direct and sure, This buckler every blow repel; This casque from wounds that face secure, Where all the loves and graces dwell. "This glittering scarf, with tenderest care, My hands in happier moments wove; Curst be the wretch, whose sword shall tear The spell-bound work of wedded love! "Lo! on thy falchion, keen and bright, I shed a trembling consort's tears; Oh! when their traces meet thy sight, Remember wretched Eva's fears! "Think, how thy lips she fondly prest; Think, how she wept, compell'd to part; Think, every wound, which scars thy breast, Is doubly mark'd on Eva's heart! ”—

"O thou! my mistress, wife, and friend!"Thus Agilthorn with sighs began;

"Thy fond complaints my bosom rend, Thy tears my fainting soul unman :

"In pity cease, my gentle dame,

Such sweetness and such grief to join! Lest I forget the voice of Fame,

And only list to Love's and thine.

"Flow, flow, my tears, unbounded gush! Rise, rise, my sobs! I set ye free; Bleed, bleed, my heart! I need not blush To own, that life is dear to me.

"The wretch, whose lips have prest the bowl, The bitter bowl of pain and woe,

May careless reach his mortal goal,
May boldly meet the final blow:
"His hopes destroy'd, his comfort wreckt,
An happier life he hopes to find;

["Lewis's Sir Agilthorn is a pleasing effusion, but can never be mistaken for an old ballad. His description of the happiness and contentment of a village damsel appears to have been borrowed from Guarini's Pastor Fido."-Monthly Review, October, 1804.]

But what can I in heaven expect, Beyond the bliss I leave behind? "Oh, no! the joys of yonder skies

To prosperous love present no charms; My heaven is placed in Eva's eyes,

My paradise in Eva's arms.

"Yet mark me, sweet! if Heaven's command
Hath doom'd my fall in martial strife,
Oh! let not anguish tempt thy hand
To rashly break the thread of life!

"No! let our boy thy care engross,

Let him thy stay, thy comfort be; Supply his luckless father's loss,

And love him for thyself and me.

"So may oblivion soon efface

The grief, which clouds this fatal morn ; And soon thy cheeks afford no trace

Of tears, which fall for Agilthorn!

He said, and couched his quivering lance:
He said, and braced his moony shield;
Seal'd a last kiss, threw a last glance,

Then spurr'd his steed to Flodden Field.

But Eva, of all joy bereft,

Stood rooted at the castle gate,
And view'd the prints his courser left,
While hurrying at the call of fate.

Forebodings sad her bosom told,

The steed which bore him thence so light, Her longing eyes would ne'er behold.

Again bring home her own true knight. While many a sigh her bosom heaves,

She thus address'd her orphan page :"Dear youth, if e'er my love relieved The sorrows of thy infant age:

"If e'er I taught thy locks to play, Luxuriant, round thy blooming face;

If e'er I wiped thy tears away,

And bade them yield to smiles their place : "Oh! speed thee, swift as steed can bear, Where Flodden groans with heaps of dead, And, o'er the combat, home repair,

And tell me how my lord has sped. "Till thou return'st, each hour's an age, An age employ'd in doubt and pain; Oh! haste thee, haste, my little foot-page, Oh! haste, and soon return again!" "Now, lady dear, thy grief assuage!

Good tidings soon shall ease thy pain; I'll haste, I'll haste, thy little foot-page, I'll haste, and soon return again."

Then Oswy bade his courser fly;

But still, while hapless Eva wept, Time scarcely seem'd his wings to ply, So slow the tedious moments crept.

And oft she kiss'd her baby's cheek,
Who slumber'd on her throbbing breast;
And now she bade the warder speak,

And now she lull'd her child to rest.

"Good warder, say, what meets thy sight? What see'st thou from the castle tower?". "Nought but the rocks of Elginbright,

Nought but the shades of Forest-Bower.""Oh! pretty babe! thy mother's joy,

Pledge of the purest, fondest flame, To-morrow's sun, dear helpless boy!

May see thee bear an orphan's name. "Perhaps, e'en now, some Scottish sword The life-blood of thy father drains; Perhaps, e'en now, that heart is gored, Whose streams supplied thy little veins. "O! warder, from the castle tower,

Now say, what objects meet thy sight?""None but the shades of Forest-Bower,

None but the rocks of Elginbright."-
"Smil'st thou, my babe? so smiled thy sire,
When gazing on his Eva's face;
His eyes shot beams of gentle fire,

And joy'd such beams in mine to trace.
"Sleep, sleep, my babe! of care devoid :
Thy mother breathes this fervent vow-
Oh! never be thy soul employ'd

On thoughts so sad as hers are now!

"Now, warder, warder, speak again! What see'st thou from the turret's height?""Oh! lady, speeding o'er the plain,

The little foot-page appears in sight."—

Quick beat her heart; short grew her breath; Close to her breast the babe she drew"Now, Heaven," she cried, "for life or death!" And forth to meet the page she flew. "And is thy lord from danger free? And is the deadly combat o'er?"In silence Oswy bent his knee,

And laid a scarf her feet before.

The well-known scarf with blood was stain'd,
And tears from Oswy's eyelids fell;
Too truly Eva's heart explain'd,

What meant those silent tears to tell.

"Come, come, my babe!" she wildly cried,

"We needs must seek the field of woe; Come, come, my babe! cast fear aside! To dig thy father's grave we go.""Stay, lady, stay! a storm impends; Lo! threatening clouds the sky o'erspread; The thunder roars, the rain descends,

And lightning streaks the heavens with red. "Hark! hark! the winds tempestuous rave!

Oh! be thy dread intent resign'd! Or, if resolved the storm to brave,

Be this dear infant left behind!".

"No! no! with me my baby stays;

With me he lives; with me he dies! Flash, lightnings, flash! your friendly blaze Will show me where my warrior lies."

O see she roams the bloody field,

And wildly shrieks her husband's name; O see she stops and eyes a shield,

A heart the symbol, wrapt in flame. His armour broke in many a place,

A knight lay stretch'd that shield beside; She raised his vizor, kiss'd his face,

Then on his bosom sunk and died.Huntsman, their rustic grave behold:

'Tis here, at night, the Fairy king, Where sleeps the fair, where sleeps the bold, Oft forms his light fantastic ring.

'Tis here, at eve, each village youth
With freshest flowers the turf adorns;
'Tis here he swears eternal truth,

By Eva's faith and Agilthorn's.
And here the virgins sadly tell,
Each seated by her shepherd's side,
How brave the gallant warrior fell,
How true his lovely lady died.
Ah! gentle huntsman, pitying hear,
And mourn the gentle lovers' doom!
Oh! gentle huntsman, drop a tear,

And dew the turf of Eva's tomb !

So ne'er may fate thy hopes oppose;

So ne'er may grief to thee be known; They who can weep for others' woes,

Should ne'er have cause to weep their own.

Farewell, my sheep, that sprattle on,

In lang line, sae braw;
Or lie on yon cauld cliffs aboon,
Like late-left patch o' suaw!
Farewell, my brook, that wimplin rins,
My clattering brig o' yew;
My scaly tribes wi' gowden fins.
Sae nimbly flickering through!

Farewell, my boat, and lusty oars,
That scelp'd, wi' mickle spray!
Farewell, my birks o' Teviot shores,
That cool the simmer's day!

Farewell, bauld neighbours, whase swift steed
O'er Saxon bounds has scowr'd,

Swoom'd drumlie floods when moons were dead,
And ilka star was smoor'd.

Maist dear for a' ye shared wi' me,
When skaith and prey did goad,
And danger, like a wraith, did flee
Alang our moon-dead road.

Farewell, my winsome wife, sae gay!
Fu' fain frae hame to gang,
Wi' spunkie lads to geck and play,
The flowrie haughs amang!

Farewell, my gowk, thy warning note
Then aft-times ca'd aloud,

Tho' o' the word that thrill'd thy throat,
Gude faith, I was na proud!

And, pawkie gowk, sae free that mad'st,
Or ere I hanged be,

Would I might learn if true thou said'st,
When sae thou said'st to me!'

RICH AULD WILLIE'S FAREWELL.

A FREEBOOTER, TAKEN BY THE ENGLISH IN A BORDER BATTLE, AND CONDEMNED TO BE EXECUTED.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

BY ANNA SEWARD.

Farewell, my ingle, bleezing bright,
When the snell storm's begun;
My bouris casements, O! sae light!
When glints the bonnie sun!

Farewell, my deep glens, speck't wi' sloes,
O' tangled hazels full!
Farewell, my thymy lea, where lows
My kine, and glourin bull.

Farewell, my red-deer, jutting proud,

My rooks o' murky wing! Farewell, my wee birds, lilting loud, A' in the merry spring!

["Miss Seward has oddly blended English and Scottish phraseology in Rich Auld Willie's Farewell."-Monthly Review, Jan., 1804.]

WATER-KELPIE.

NEVER BEFORE PUBLISHED.

REV. DR. JAMIESON.

The principal design of the author of this piece was to give a specimen of Scottish writing, more nearly approaching to the classical compositions of our ancient bards, than that which has been generally followed for seventy or eighty years past. As the poem is descriptive of the superstitions of the vulgar in the county of Angus, the scene is laid on the banks of South Esk, near the castle of Inverquharity, about five miles north from Forfar.

It is with pleasure that the Editor announces to the literary world, that Dr. Jamieson is about to publish a complete Dictionary of the Scottish Dialect; his intimate acquaintance with which is evinced in the following stanzas.

* The work here referred to has since been published, and forms an invaluable digest of Scottish language and learning.