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\ ‘Dom, \,‘VIlCl'€ he found a lady, newly delivered of an l -,nfa‘-‘L III: was commanded by his attendants to say \ Sucg‘ P,-Jyers by her bed-side as were fitting for a per\ son not expected to survive a mortal disorder. lle venl tut-ed I.0 remonstrate, and observe that her safe delivery warranted better hopes. But he was merrily commanded to obey the orders first given, and with difficuhy recollccted himself sufficiently to acquit himself of the task imposed on him. He was then again hurfled into the chair; but, as they conducted him down stairs, he heard the report of a pistol. He was safely conducted home; it purse of gold was forced upon him; but. he was warned, at the same time, that the least allusion to this dark transaction would cost him his life.

lie hetook himself to rest, and, after long and broken musing fell into a deep sleep. From this he was awakened by his servant, with the dismal news, that a

fin; of uncommon fury had broken out in the house of '"', near the head of the (Janongate, and that it was totally consumed; Will: the shocking addition, that the daughter of the proprietor, a young lady eminent for beauty and accomplishments, had perished in the flames.

l The clergyman had his suspicions, but to have made

i them public Would have availed nothing. He was ti

‘ mid; the family was of the first distinction; above all, the deed was done, and could not be amended. Time wore away, however, and with it his terrors. He became unhappy at being the solitary depositary of this fearful mystery, and mentioned it to some of his brethren, through whom the anecdote acquired a sort of publicity. The divine, however, had been long dead, and

the story in some degree forgotten, when a fire broke

out again on the very same spot where the house of “"

had formerly stood, and which was now occupied by buildings of an inferior description. When the flames

were at their height, the tumult, which usually attends

such a. scene, was suddenly suspended by an unexpected apparition. A beautiful female, in a night

drcss, extremely rich, but at least half a century old, appeared in the very midst of the fire, and uttered

these tremendous words in her vernacular idiom: tt Arte: burned; twice burned; the third time I'll scare

you all!» The belief in this story was formerly so

' strong, that on a fire breaking out, and scctning to approach the fatal spot, there was a good deal of anxiety testified lest the apparition should make good her do


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Such an exliortation was, in similar circumstances, actually given to his followers by a Welch chieftain :

tt Enmity did continue hetweene Howell ap Ry: ap Howell Vaughan and the sonnes of John up Meredith. After the death of Evan ap Robert, Griffith ap Gronw (cozen-gerrnan to John up Meredith's sonnes of Gwynfryn, who had long served in France and had charge there), comeing home to live in the countrey, it happened that a servant of his, comeing to fish in Stymllyn, his fish was taken away, and the fellow beaten by Howell ap Rys his servants, and by his commandment. Griffith ap John ap Gronw took the matter in such dudgeon that he challenged Howell ap Ilys to the field, which he refusing, assembling his cosins John ap Meredith's sonnes and his friends together, assaulted

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scene in the French warres, and consumed with fire his barnes and his out houses. Whilst he was thus assaulting the hall, which Howell ap Rys and many other people kept, being a very strong house, he was shot out of a crevice ofithe house, through the 8513111 Of his beaver into the head, and slayne out-right, being otherwise armed at all points. Notwithstanding his death, the assault of the house was continued with great vehernence, the doores fired with great burthens of straw; besides this, the smoake of the out-houses and barnes not farre distant annoyed greatly the defendants, for that most of them lay under boordes and benches upon the floore, in the hall, the better to avoyd the smoake. During this scene of confusion onely the old man, llowell ap Itys, never stooped, but stood valiantly in the middest of the tloore, armed with a glove in his hand, and called into them, and bid ‘them arise like men, for shame, for he had knowne there as greate a smoke in that hall upon Christmas evcn.' In the end, seeing the house could no longer defend them, being ovcrlayed with a multitude, upon parley betweene them, Howell ap Bys was content to yeald himself prisoner to Morris ap John ap Meredith, John ap Meredith's eldest sonne, soe as he would swear unto him to bring him safe to Carnarvon Castle, to abide the triall of the law for the death of Graff ap John ap Gronw, who was cosen-german removed to the said Howell ap Rys, and

of the very same house he was of. Which Morris

ap John ap Meredith undertaking, did put a guard

about the said Howell of his trustiest friends and ser

vants, who kept and defended him from the rage of his

kindred, and especially of Owen ap John ap Meredith,

his brother, who was very eager against him. They

passed by leisure thence like in camps to Carnarvon;

the whole countrie being assembled, Howell his friends

posted a horseback from one place or other by the

way, who brought word that he was come thither safe,

for they were in great fear lest he should be murthered,

and that Morris ap John ap Meredith could not be able

to defend him, neither durst any of Howell's friends be

there, for fear of the kindred. In the end, being deli

vered by Morris ap John ap Meredith to the constable of Carnarvon Castle, and there kept safely in ward

until the assises, it fell out by law that the burning of Howells houses, and assaulting him in his owne house,

was a more haynous offence in Morris ap John ap

llleredilh and the rest, than the death of Graff ap John

ap Gronw in Howell, who did it in his own defence:

whereupon Morris ap John ap Meredith, with thirty-five more, were indicted of felony, as appeareth by the copie of the indictment,which I had from the records.»

-—Sir Joan \Vrmut's History of the Gwydir Family, Lond. t77o, Svo, p. n6.

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end to the quarrel for the present, but could not effect

an entire reconciliation. They promised him, however, that till the sermon was over they would make no more disturbance. He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the time in endeavouring to make them ashamed of what they had done. His behaviour and discourse affected them so much, that, at his farther entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts of hostility while he continued in the country. And so much respected was he among them, that whoever was in fear of his enemy used to resort where Mr Gilpin was, esteeming his presence the best protection.

u One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts before the people were assembled, he observed a glove hanging up, and was informed by the sexton that it was meant as a challenge to any one who should take it down. Mr Gilpin ordered the sexton to reach it him; but upon his utterly refusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and put it in his breast. When the people were assembled, he went into the pulpit, and, before he concluded his sermon, took occasion to rebuke them severely for these inhuman challenges. ‘I hear,‘ saith he, ‘ that one among you hath hanged up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who taketh it down: see, I have taken it down ;' and, pulling out the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed them how unsuitable such savage practices were to the profession of Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love as he thought would most affect them.»—Life of Bernard Gilpin, Lond. 1753, 8_vo, p. 177.

Note 2. Stanza xxxii. A horseman orm'd, at headlong speed.

This and what follows is taken from a real achievement of Major Robert Philipson, called, from his desperate and adventurous courage, Robin the Devil; which, as being very inaccurately noticed in this note upon the first edition, shall be now given in a more an

Awed, however, by the sacredness of the

thentic form. The chief place of his retreat was not Lord's Island in Derwentwatcr, but Curwcn's Island in the Lake of Windermere :

\t This island formerly belonged to the Philipsons, a family of note in Westmoreland. During the civil wars, two of them, an elder and a younger brother, served the king. The former, who was the proprietor of it, commanded a regiment; the latter was a major.

n The major, whose name was Robert, was at man of great spirit and enterprise; and for his many feats of personal bravery had obtained, among the Oliverians of those parts, the appellation of Robin the Devil.

u After the war had subsided, and the direful effects of public opposition had ceased, revenge and malice long kept alive the animosity of individuals. Colonel Briggs, a steady friend to usurpation, resided at this time at Kendal, and, under the double character of a leading magistrate (for he was a justice of peace) and an active commander, held the country in awe. This person, having heard that Major Philipson was at his brothers house on the island in Windermere, resolved, if possible, to seize and punish a man who had made himself so particularly obnoxious. How it was conducted, my authority! does not inform us—whether he got together the navigation of the lake, and blockadcd the place by sea, or whether he landed and carried on his approaches in form. Neither do we learn the strength of the garrison within, nor of the works without. All we learn is, that Major Philipson endured a siege of eight months with great gallantry, till his bro

ther, the colonel, raised a party, and relieved him. a It was now the majors turn to make reprisals.

put himself, therefore, at the head of a little troop of horse, and rode to Kendal. llerc, being informed that Colonel Briggs was at prayers (for it was on a Sunday morning), be stationed his men properly in the avenues. and himself, armed, rode directly into the church. lt probably was not a regular church, but some large place of meeting. It is said he intended to seize the colonel, and carry him off; but as this seems to have been totally impracticable, it is rather probable that his intention was to kill him on the spot, and in the midst of the confusion to‘ escape. Whatever his intention was, it was frustrated, for Briggs happened to he elsewhere.

u The congregation, as might be expected, was thrown into great confusion on seeing an armed man on horseback make his appearance among them; and the major, taking advantage of their astonishment, turned his horse round, and rode quietly out. But having given an alarm, he was presently assaulted as he left the assembly, and being seized, his girths were cut, and he was unhorsed. .

(1 At this instant his party made a furious attack on the assailants, and the major killed with his own hand the man who had seized him, clapped the saddle, ungirthed as it was, upon his horse, and vaulting into it, rode full speed through the streets of Kendal, calling his men to follow him; and with his whole party made a safe retreat to his asylum in the lake. The action marked the man. Many knew himt and they who did not, knew as well from the exploit that it could be nobody but Robin the Devil.»

' Dr Born’: hair 1 History of Westmoreland.

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-Ayrshire. Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story


one start: of the 395125 :



It Warn, Maid of horn!» the minslrels sung,
Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung, (1)
And the dark seas, thy towers that lave,
lleaved on the beach a softer wave,

As mid the tuneful choir to keep

The diapason of the deep.

Lull’d were the winds on Inninmore,
And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore,
As if wild woods and waves had pleasure
In listing to the lovely measure.

And ne'er to symphony more sweet
Gave mountain-echoes answer meet,
Since, met from main-land and from isle,
Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle,

Each minst.rel’s tributary lay

Paid homage to the festal day.

Dull and dishonour'd were the bard,
Worthless of guerdon and regard,

Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame,

Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim,

Who on that mom's resistless call

Was silent in Artornish hall.

IN SIX CANTOS. l ADVERT[sEMENT_ Deem'st thou these sadden'd scenes have pleasure still’!

Autumn depart.s—from Gala's fields no more
Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer,
Blent with the stream, and gale that wafts it o'er,
No more the distant reaper's mirth we hear.
The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear,
And harvest-home hath hush'd the clanging wain,
On the waste hill no forms of life appear,
Save where, sad laggard of the autumnal train,
Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scattcr'd
gram. -



l( Wake, Maid of Lorn !» 't was thus they sung, And yet more proud the descant rung,

at Wake, Maid of Lorn ! high right is ours, To charm dull sleep from Beauty's howers; Earth, ocean, air, have nought so shy

But owns the power of minstrelsy.

In Lettermore the timid deer

Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear;
Rude Heiskar‘s seal through surges dark
Will long pursue the minstrel’: bark ; (2)
To list his notes, the eagle proud

Will poise him on Ben-(.'ailliach's cloud ;
Then let not maiden‘s ear disdain

The summons of the minstrel train,

But, while our harps wild music make,
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake!


at O wake, while dawn, with dewy shine, Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine! She bids the mottled thrush rejoice

To mate thy melody of voice;

The dew that on the violet lies

Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes;

But, Edith, wake, and all we see ,
Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!»-

tt She comes not yet,» gray Ferrand cried: <1 Brethren, let softer spell be tried,

Those notes prolong’d, that soothing theme,
Which best may mix with beauty's dream,
And whisper, with their silvery tone,

The hope she loves, yet fears to own.»-
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died
The strains of flattery and of pride;

More soft, more low, more tender fell

The lay of love he bade them tell.

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As vainly had her maidens vied

In skill to deck the princely bride.

Iler locks, in dark-brown length array'd, Cathleen of Ulne, 't was thine to braid ; Young Eva with meet reverence drew

On the light foot the silken shoe,

While on the ancle's slender round
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound,
That, bleach’d Lochryan's depths within,
Seem'd dusky still on Edith's skin.

llut Einion, of experience old,

Had weightiest task—the mantle’s fold

In many an artful plait she tied,

To show the form it seem'd to hide,

Till on the floor descending roll’d

Its waves of crimson, blent with gold.


O! lives there now so cold a maid,

Who thus in l)eauty's pomp array'd,

In beanty's proudest pitch of power,

And conquest won—-the bridal hour—
With every charm that wins the heart,
By nature given, enhanced by art,

Could yet the fair reflection view, n
In the bright mirror pictured true,

And not one dimple on her cheek

A tell-tale consciousness bespealt!

Lives still such maid?--Fair damsels, say,
For further vouches not my lay,

Save that such lived in Britain's isle,
When Lorn's bright Edith seorn'd to smile.


But Morag, to whose fostering care

Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair,
Morag, who saw a mother's aid

By all a da_ughter's love repaid,

(Strict was that hond—most kind of alllnviolate in Highland hall—)

Gray Morag sate a space apart

In Edith‘s eyes to read her heart.

In vain the attendants’ fond appeal

To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal;

She mark’d her child receive their care,
Cold as the image sculptured fair

(Form of some sainted patroness)

Which cloister'd maids combine to dress;
She mark'd—-and knew her nursliug's heart
In the vain pomp took little part.

Wistful awhile she gazed—-then press'd
.The maiden to her anxious breast

ln finish'd loveliness-—and led

To where a turret’s airy head,

Slender and steep, and battled round, 0’erlook’d, dark Mull! thy mighty sound, (3) Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar, Part thy swarth hills from Morven's shore.


44 Daughter,» she said, it these seas behold,
Round twice an hundred islands roll'd,
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar,
To the green llay's fertile shore; (4)

Or main-land turn, where many a tower
Owns thy bold brother's feudal power,

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Each on its own dark cape reclined,
And listening to its own wild wind,
From where Mingarry, sternly placed,
O'erawes the woodland and the waste, (5)
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging
Of Connal with his rocks engaging.
Think'st thou, amid this ample round,
A single brow but thine has frown'd,

To sadden this auspicious morn,

That bids the daughter of high Lorn
Impledge her spousal faith to wed

The Heir of mighty Somerled; (6)
Ronald, from many a hero sprung,

The fair, the valiant, and the young,
Lotto or THE Isms, (7) whose lofty name
A thousand bards have given to fame,
The mate of monarchs, and allied

On equal terms with England's pride.—-
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not’!
The damsel dons her best attire,

The shepherd lights his beltane fire,
Joy! Joy! each warder's horn hath sung,
Joy! Joy! each matin bell-hath rung-;
The holy priest says grateful mass,

Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass,

No mountain den holds outcast boor,
Of heart so du.ll, of soul so poor,

But he hath flung his task aside,

And claim'd this morn for holy_-tide;
Yet, empress of this joyful day,

Edith is sad while all are gay.»


Proud Edith’s soul came to her eye,
Resentment check'd the struggling sigh,
Iler hurrying hand indignant dried

The burning tears of injured pride-—

K Morag, forhearl or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harper's lays;
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly borne,

Of pealing hell and bugle-horn,

Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gauds of rare device.

But thou, experienced as thou art,
Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,
That bound in strong affection's chain,
Looks for return and looks in vain’!
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot

In these brief words—IIe loves her not!


a Debate it not—too longl strove

To call his cold observance love,

All blinded by the league that styled
Edith of Lorn,—-while, yet a child,

She tripp'd the heath by l\rIorag’s side,-
The hrave Lord Ronald's destined bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar

His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,
'I‘rain’d to believe our fates the same,
My bosom throbb'd when Ronald's name
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale,

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—uI"Iush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove, More uobly think of Ronald's love.

Look, where beneath the castle gray

His fleet unmoor from Aros-hay‘. -
Seest not each galley's topmast bend,

As on the yards the sails ascend‘!

Iliding the dark-blue land they rise,

Like to the white clouds on April skies;
The shouting vassals man the oars,
Behind them sink l\Iull's mountain shores,
Onward their merry course they keep,
Through whistling breeze and foaming deep.
And mark the headmost, seaward cast,
Stoop to the freshening gale her mast,

As if she vail’d its banner'd pride,

To greet afar her prince's bride!

Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed
His galley mates the flying steed,

He chides her sloth '.»—Fair Edith sigh'd,
Blush'd, sadly smiled, and thus replied:—-


it Sweet thought, but vain l—No, Morag! mark, Type of his course, you lonely bark,

That oft hath shifted helm and sail,

To win its way against the gale.

Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes

Have view'd by fits the course she tries;
Now, though the darkening scud comes on,
And dawn's fair promises be gone,

And though the weary crew may see

Our sheltering haven on their lee,

Still closer to the rising wind

They strive hcr shivering sail to bind,

Still nearer to the shelv$' dread verge

At every tack her course they urge,

As if they fear'd Artornish more

Than adverse winds and breakers‘ roar.»

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