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“Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page,
Loud dost thou lie to me!
All under the Eildon-tree."
For I heard her name his name ;
Sir Richard of Coldinghame."
From high blood-red to pale-“ The grave is deep and dark—and the corpse is stiff and
And Eildon slopes to the plain,
That gay gallant was slain.
And the wild winds drowned the name ;
For Sir Richard of Coldinghame!”.
And he mounted the narrow stair
He found his lady fair.
Looked over hill and vale;
And all down Teviotdale.
“Now hail thou Baron true! What news, what news, from Ancram fight?
What news from the bold Buccleuch ?” “The Ancram Moor is red with gore,
For many a Southron fell;
To watch our beacons well."
Nor added the Baron a word :
And so did her inoody lord.
And oft to himself he said “The worms around him creep, and his bloody grave is
deep ... It cannot give up the dead !"
It was near the ringing of matin-bell,
The night was well nigh done,
On the eve of good St John.
By the light of a dying flame;
Sir Richard of Coldinghame!
“For the holy Virgin's sake !" “Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side ;
But, lady, he will not awake. “ By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,
In bloody grave have I lain; The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,
But, lady, they are said in vain. “By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,
Most foully slain I fell;
For a space is doomed to dwell.
I must wander to and fro;
Hadst thou not conjured me so.'
“How, Richard, hast thou sped ? And art thou saved, or art thou lost?"
The Vision shook his head !
So bid thy lord believe :
This awful sign receive.”
His right upon her hand :
For it scorched like a fiery brand.
Remains on that board impressed ;
A covering on her wrist.
Ne'er looks upon the sun :
He speaketh word to none.
That Monk, who speaks to none-
That Monk the bold Baron.
CADYOW CASTLE. ADDRESSED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. The ruins of Cadyow, or Cadzow Castle, the ancient baronial residence of the family of Hamilton, are situated upon the precipitous banks of the river Evan. about two miles above its junction with the Clyde. The situation of the ruins, embosomed in wood, darkened by ivy and creeping shrubs, and overhanging the brawling torrent, is romantic in the highest degree. In the immediate vicinity of Cadyow is a grove of immense oaks, the remains of the Caledonian Forest, which anciently extended through the south of Scotland, from the Eastern to the Atlantic Ocean. Some of these trees measure twenty-five feet, and upwards, in circumference ; and the state of decay, in which they now appear, shows that they may have witnessed the rites of the Druids. The whole scenery is included in the magnificent and extensive park of the Duke of Hamilton. In this forest was long preserved the breed of the Scottish wild cattle, until their ferocity led to their extirpation, about forty years ago. Their appearance was beautiful, being milk-white, with black muzzles, horns, and hoofs. The bulls are described by ancient authors as having white manes; but those of latter days had lost that peculiarity, perhaps by intermixture with the tame breed.
In detailing the death of the regent Murray, which is made the subject of the following ballad, it would be injustice to my reader to use other words than those of Dr Robertson, whose account of that memorable event forms a beautiful piece of historical painting.
“Hamilton of Bothwellhaugh was the person who committed this barbarous action. He had been condemned to death soon after the battle of Langside, as we have already related, and owed his life to the regent's clemency. But part of his estate had been bestowed upon one of the regent's favourites, who seized his house, and turned out his wife naked, in a cold night, into the open fields, where, before next morning, she became furiously mad. This injury made a deeper impression on him than the benefit he had received, and from that moment he vowed to be revenged of the regent. Party rage strengthened and inflamed his private resentment. His kinsmen, the Hamiltons, applauded the enterprise. The maxims of that age justified the most desperate course he could take to obtain vengeance. He followed the regent for sonic time, and watched for an opportunity to strike the blow. He resolved, at last, to wait till his enemy should arrive at Linlithgow, through which he was to pass, in his way from Stirling to Edinburgh. He took his stand in a wooden gallery, which had a window towards the street; spread a feather-bed on the floor, to hinder the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up a black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be observed from without; and, after all this preparation, calmly expected the regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. Some indistinct information of the danger which threatened him, had been conveyed to the regent, and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate through which he had entered, and to fetch a compass round the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street; and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a single bullet, chrough the lower part of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman, who rode on his other side. His followers instantly endeavoured to break into the house whence the blow had come ; but they found the door strongly barricaded, and, before it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse, which stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got far beyond their reach. The regent died the same night of his wound.”-History of Scotland, book v.
The Regent died on the 23d of January 1569. Immediately after the murder Bothwellhaugh rode to Hamilton, where he was received in triumph.
WHEN princely Hamilton's abode
Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers,
And revel sped the laughing hours.
And echoed light the dancer's bound,
As mirth and music cheered the hall. But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid,
And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, Thrill to the music of the shade,
Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame,
You bid me tell a minstrel tale,
On the wild banks of Evandale.
From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, To draw oblivion's pall aside,
And mark the long-forgotten urn. Then, noble maid! at thy command,
Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; Lo! as on Evan's banks we stand,
The past returns the present flies. Where with the rock's wood-covered side
Were blended late the ruins green, Rise turrets in fantastic pride,
And feudal banners flaunt between : Where the rude torrent's brawling course
Was shagged with thorn and tangling sloe, The ashler buttress braves its force,
And ramparts frown in battled row. 'Tis night--the shade of keep and spire
Obscurely dance on Evan's stream, And on the wave the warder's fire
Is chequering the moonlight beam. Fades slow their light; the east is gray;
The weary warder leaves his tower; Steeds snort ; uncoupled stag-hounds bay,
And merry hunters quit the bower. The drawbridge falls—they hurry out
Clatters each plank and swinging chain, As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout
Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein, First of his troop, the chief rode on;
His shouting merry-men throng behind ; The steed of princely Hamilton
Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roebucks bound,
The startled red-deer scuds the plain, For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound
Has roused their mountain haunts again.
Through the huge oaks of Evandale,
Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, What sullen roar comes down the gale,
And drowns the hunter's pealing horn? Mightiest of all the beasts of chase
That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race,
The Mountain Bull comes thundering on.
He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow,
And tosses high his mane of snow.
Struggling in blood the savage lies;
Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the pryse! 'Tis noon-against the knotted oak
The hunters rest the idle spear;
Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer.
On greenwood lap all careless thrown, Yet missed his eye ihe boldest man
That bore the name of Hamilton. “Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, i Still wont our weal and woe to share ? Why comes he not our sport to grace ?
Why shares he not our hunter's fare?” Stern Claud replied, with darkening face,
(Gray Pasley's haughty lord was he) “At merry feast, or buxom chase,
No more the warrior shalt thou see. “Few suns have set, since Woodhouselee
Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, When to his hearths, in social glee,
The war-worn soldier turned him home. “There, wan from her maternal throes,
His Margaret, beautiful and mild, Sate in her bower, a pallid rose,
And peaceful nursed her new-born child. “O change accursed ! past are those days ;
False Murray's ruthless spoilers came, And, for the hearth's domestic blaze,
Ascends destruction's volumed flame. 66 What sheeted phantom wanders wild
Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, Her arms enfold a shadowy child
Oh, is it she, the pallid rose ?