"O shame to knighthood, strange and foul
Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow,
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,
Which best befits thy sullen vow.

"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire, Thy heart was froze to love and joy, When gayly rung thy raptur'd lyre

To wanton Morna's melting eye."

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame,
And high his sable locks arose,
And quick his color went and came,
As fear and rage alternate rose.

"And thou! when by the blazing oak
I lay, to her and love resign'd,
Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,
Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind?

"Not thine a race of mortal blood, Nor old Glengyle's pretended line; Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood—

Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine."

He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer;
Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,

And sternly shook his coal-black hair.

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung

His wildest witch-notes on the wind; And loud, and high, and strange, they rung, As many a magic change they find.

Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form, Till to the roof her stature grew; Then, mingling with the rising storm, With one wild yell away she flew.

Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear: The slender hut in fragments flew;

1 See Appendix, Note D.

"Lewis's collection produced also what Scott justly calls his first serious attempts in verse;' and of these the earliest appears to have been the Glenfinlas. Here the scene is laid in the most favorite district of his favorite Perthshire Highlands; and the Gaelic tradition on which it was founded was far more likely to draw out the secret strength of his genius, as well as to arrest the feelings of his countrymen, than any subject with which the stores of German diablerie could have supplied

But not a lock of Moy's loose hair
Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.

Wild mingling with the howling gale,

Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise; High o'er the minstrel's head they sail, And die amid the northern skies.

The voice of thunder shook the wood, As ceased the more than mortal yell; And, spattering foul, a shower of blood Upon the hissing firebrands fell.

Next dropp'd from high a mangled arm; The fingers strain'd a half-drawn blade: And last, the life-blood streaming warm, Torn from the trunk, a gasping head.

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,
Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore;
That arm the broad claymore could wield,
Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore.

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills!

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen! There never son of Albin's hills

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen!

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet

At noon shall shun that sheltering den, Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet The wayward Ladies of the Glen.

And we-behind the Chieftain's shield, No more shall we in safety dwell; None leads the people to the fieldAnd we the loud lament must swell.

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'!

The pride of Albin's line is o'er! And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

him. It has been alleged, however, that the poet makes a German use of his Scottish materials; that the legend, as briefly told in the simple prose of his preface, is more effecting than the lofty and sonorous stanzas themselves; that the vague terror of the original dream loses, instead of gaining, by the expanded elaboration of the detail There may be sorae thing in these objections: but no man can pretend to be at impartial critic of the piece which first awoke his own childish ear to the power of poetry and the melody of verse. '—Lije of Scott, vol. ii. p. 25.

NOTE A.

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree.-P. 589.

THE fires lighted by the Highlanders, on the first of May, in compliance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are termed The Beltane-tree. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales.

NOTE B.

The seer's prophetic spirit found.-P. 590.

I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr. Johnson's definition, who calls it "An impression, either by the mind upon the eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were present." To which I would only add, that the spectral appearances, thus presented, usually presage misfortune; that the faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it; and that they usually acquire it while themselves under the pressure of melancholy.

NOTE C.

Will good St. Oran's rule prevail ?—P. 591.

St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was buried at Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of the soil, who obstructed the attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state! He had no time to make further discoveries, for Columba cansed the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and the cemetery, was called Relig Ouran; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be buried in that place. This is the rule alluded to in the poem.

75

NOTE D.

And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer.-P. 592.

St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c., in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an Abbot of Pittenweem, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 649. While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendor, as to afford light to that with which he wrote; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7, tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the Battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited it in a place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine as an assurance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay.

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, there is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which James III. confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral staff called the Quegrich, which he and his predecessors are said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is probably the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther observes, that additional particulars, concerning St. Fillan, are to be found in BELLENDEN'S Boece, Book 4, folio ccxiii., and in PENNANT'S Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. 11, 15. See a note on the lines in the first canto of Marmion.

"Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well,
Whose spring can phrensied dreams dispel,
And the crazed brain restore," &c.-ED.

NOTE A.-P. 574.

From the Chartulary of the Trinity House of Soltra.
Advocates' Library, W. 4. 14.
ERSYLTON.

OMNIBUS has literas visuris vel audituris Thomas de Ercildoun filius et heres Thoma Rymour de Ercildoun salutem in Domino. Noveritis me per fustem et baculum in pleno judicio resignasse ac per presentes quietem clamasse pro me et heredibus meis Magistro domus Sanctæ Trinitatis de Soltre et fratribus ejusdem domus totam terram meam cum omnibus pertinentibus suis quam in tenemento de Ercildoun hereditarie tenui renunciando de toto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure et clameo quæ ego seu antecessores mei in eadem terra alioque tempore de perpetuo habuimus sive de futuro habere possumus. In cujus rei testimonio presentibus his sigillum meum apposui data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post festum Sanctorum Apostolorum Symonis et Jude Anno Domini Millesimo cc. Nonagesimo Nono.

NOTE B.-P. 576.

The reader is here presented, from an old, and unfortunately an imperfect MS, with the undoubted original of Thomas the Rhymer's intrigue with the Queen of Faery. It will afford great amusement to those who would study the nature of traditional poetry, and the changes effected by oral tradition, to compare this ancient romance with the foregoing ballad. The same incidents are narrated, even the expression is often the same; yet the poems are as different in appearance, as if the older tale had been regularly and systematically modernized by a poet of the present day.

Incipit Prophesia Thome de Erseldoun.

In a lande as I was lent,

In the gryking of the day,

Ay alone as I went,

In Huntle bankys me for to play;

I saw the throstyl, and the jay,
Ye mawes movyde of her song,
Ye wodwale sange notes gay,
That al the wod about range.
In that longyng as I lay,

Undir nethe a dern tre,

I was war of a lady gay,
Come rydyng ouyr a fair le :
Zogh I suld sitt to domysday,
With

my tong to wrabbe and wry Certenly all hyr aray,

It beth neuyer discryuyd for me.
Hyr palfra was dappyll gray,

Sycke on say neuer none;
As the son in somers day,
All abowte that lady schone.
Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone,
A semly syght it was to se,
Bryht with mony a precyous stone
And compasyd all with crapste;
Stones of oryens, gret plente,
Her hair about her hede it hang,
She rode ouer the farmyle,

A while she blew, a while she sang,
Her girths of nobil silke they were,
Her boculs were of beryl stone,

Sadyll and brydil war - -;

With sylk and sendel about bedone,

Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne,

And hyr croper of the arase,

Her brydil was of gold fine,

On euery syde forsothe hang bells thr Her brydil reynes

He met her euyn at Eldyn Tre.
Thomas knelyd down on his kne
Undir nethe the grenewood spray,

And sayd, Lovely lady, thou rue on me,
Queen of Heaven as you may well be.
But I am a lady of another countrie,
If I be pareld most of prise,

I ride after the wild fee,

My ratches rinnen at my devys.
If thou be pareld most of prise,
And rides a lady in strang foly,
Lovely lady, as thou art wise,
Giue you me leue to lige ye by.
Do way, Thomas, that were foly,
I pray ye, Thomas, late me be,
That sin will fordo all my bewtie.
Lovely ladye, rewe on me,

And euer more I shall with ye dwell,
Here my trowth I plyght to thee,
Where you belienes in heuin or hell.
Thomas, and yon myght lyge me by,
Undir nethe this grene wode spray,
Thou would tell full hastely,
That thou had layn by a lady gay.
Lady, mote I lyge by the,
Undir nethe the grene wode tre,
For all the gold in chrystenty,
Suld you neuer be wryede for me.

Man on molde you will me marre,

And yet bot you may haf your will,

Trow you well, Thomas, you cheuyst ye warre
For all my bewtie wilt you spill.
Down lyghted that lady bryzt,
Undir nethe the grene wode spray,
And as ye story sayth full ryzt,
Seuyn tymes by her he lay.
She sayd, Man, you lyst thi play,

What berde in bouyr may dele with thee,

That maries me all this long day;
I pray ye, Thomas, let me be,
Thomas stode up in the stede,
And behelde the lady gay,

Her heyre hang down about hyr hede,
The tane was blak, the other gray,
Her eyn semyt onte before was gray,
Her gay clethyng was all away,

That he before had sene in that stede
Hyr body as blow as ony bede.
Thomas sighede, and sayd, Allas,
Me thynke this a dullfull syght,
That thou art fadyd in the face,
Before you shone as son so bryzt.

Tak thy leue, Thomas, at son and mone
At gresse, and at euery tre,

This twelmonth sall you with me gone
Medyl erth you sall not se.

Alas, he seyd, ful wo is me,

I trow my dedes will werke me care,
Jesu, my sole tak to ye,

Whedir so euyr my body sal fare.
She rode furth with all her myzt,
Undir nethe the derne lee,
It was as derke as at midnizt,
And euyr in water unto the kne;
Through the space of days thre,
He herde but swowyng of a flode;
Thomas sayd, Ful wo is me,
Now I spyll for fawte of fode;
To a garden she lede him tyte,
There was fruyte in grete plente,
Peyres and appless ther were rype,
The date and the damese,

The figge and als fy.bert tre;
The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste,
The papigaye about gan fle,

The throstylcock sang wald hafe no rest.
He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand,
As man for faute that was faynt;
She seyd, Thomas, lat al stand,
Or els the deuyl wil the ataynt.
Sche seyd, Thomas, I the hyzt,
To lay thi hede upon my kne,
And thou shalt see fayrer syght,
Than euyr sawe man in their kintre.
Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way,
That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn?
Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay,
Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne.
Sees thou, Thomas, yon secund way,
That lygges lawe undir the ryse?
Streight is the way, sothly to say,

To the joyes of paradyce.

Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way,

That lygges onyr yone how?
Wide is the way, sothly to say,

To the brynyng fyres of helle.

Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castell,
That standes ouyr yone fair hill?

Of town and tower it beereth the belle,
In middell erth is none like theretill.

Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye,

I

I pray thee curteis man to be;

What so any man to you say,
Loke thu answer none but me.

My lord is servyd at yche messe,
With xxx kniztes feir and fre;

I shall say syttyng on the dese,

I toke thy speche beyone the le.

Thomas stode as still as stone,

And behelde that ladye gaye;

Than was sche fayr, and ryche anone,

And also ryal on hir palfreye.

The grewhoundes had fylde thaim on the dere,

The raches coupled, by my fay,

She blewe her horne Thomas to chere,

To the castell she went her way.
The ladye into the hall went,
Thomas folowyd at her hand;
Thar kept her mony a lady gent,
With curtasy and lawe.
Harp and fedyl both he fande,
The getern and the sawtry,
Lut and rybid ther gon gan,
Thair was al maner of mynstralsy,
The most fertly that Thomas thoght,
When he com emyddes the flore,
Fourty hertes to quarry were broght,
That had been befor both long and store.
Lymors lay lappyng blode,

And kokes standyng with dressyng knyfe,
And dressyd dere as thai wer wode,

And rewell was thair wonder.

Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre,
All that leue long day.
Ladyes that were gret of gre,

Sat and sang of rych array.

Thomas sawe much more in that place,

Than I can descryve,

Til on a day, alas, alas,

My lovelye ladye sayd to me,

Busk ye, Thomas, you must agayn,

Here you may no longer be:

Hy then zerne that you were at hame,

I sal ye bryng to Eldyn Tre.