which, however, the flower has no connexion; the ther in a body, none cared to be left alone with etymology being Rosslinnhe, the promontory of it. It being the custom, therefore, for one of the the linn or water-fall. The chapel is said to ap- soldiers to lock the gates of the castle at a certain pear on fire previous to the death of any of his descendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer in his Theatrum Scotia, and alluded to in the text, is probably of Norwegian derivation, and may have been imported by the earls of Orkney into their Lothian domains. The tomb-fires of the north are mentioned in most of the Sagas.

The barons of Roslin were buried in a vault beneath the chapel floor. The manner of their interment is thus described by Father Hay, in the MS. history already quoted.

hour, and cary the keys to the captain, to whose apartment, as I said before, the way led throughs the church, they agreed among themselves, that whoever was to succeed the ensuing night his fellow in this errand, should accompany him that went first, and by this means no man would be exposed singly to the danger: for I forgot to mention, that the Mauthe Doog was always seen to come out from that passage at the close of day, and return to it again as soon as the morning dawned; which made them look on this place as its peculiar residence.

"Sir William Sinclair, the father, was a leud man. He kept a miller's daughter, with whom, it "One night, a fellow being drunk, and by the is alledged, he went to Ireland: yet I think the strength of the liquor rendered more daring than cause of his retreat was rather occasioned by the ordinarily, laughed at the simplicity of his comPresbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of panions; and, though it was not his turn to go his religion being Roman Catholic. His son, sir with the keys, would needs take that office upon William, died during the troubles, and was inter- him to testify his courage. All the soldiers enred in the chapel of Roslin the very same day that deavoured to dissuade him; but the more they said, the battle of Dunbar was fought. When my good the more resolute he seemed, and swore that he father was buried, his (i. e. sir William's) corpse desired nothing more than that the Mauthe Doog seemed to be entire at the opening of the cave; but would follow him as it had done the others; for he when they came to touch his body, it fell into dust. would try if it were dog, or devil. After having He was lying in his armour, with a red velvet cap talked in a very reprobate manner for some time, on his head, on a flat stone; nothing was spoiled he snatched up the keys, and went out of the guardexcept a piece of the white furring, that went round room: in some time after his departure, a great the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the noise was heard, but nobody had the boldness to head. "All his predecessors were buried after the see what occasioned it, till the adventurer returnsame manner, in their armour: late Rosline, my ing, they demanded the knowledge of him; but as good father, was the first that was buried in a cof-loud and noisy as he had been at leaving them, he fin; against the sentiments of king James the Se-was now become sober and silent enough; for he venth, who was then in Scotland, and several other persons well versed in antiquity, to whom my mother would not hearken, thinking it beggarly to be buried after that manner. The great expenses she was at in burying her husband, occasioned the sumptuary acts which were made in the following parliament."

23. Gylbin, come!"-P. 24. See the story of Gilpin Horner, p. 56, in notes. 24. For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,

Like him, of whom the story ran,

was never heard to speak more: and though all the time he lived, which was three days, he was entreated by all who came near him, either to speak, or if he could not do that, to make some signs, by which they might understand what had happened to him; yet nothing intelligible could be got from him, only that by the distortion of his limbs and features, it might be guessed that he died in agonies more than is common in a natural death.

"The Mauthe Doog was however never after seen in the castle, nor would any one attempt to go through that passage; for which reason it was closed up, and another way made. This accident happened about threescore years since: and I heard it attested by several, but especially by an old soldier, who assured me he had seen it oftener than he had then hairs on his head."-Waldron's De scription of the Isle of Man, p. 107.

25. And he a solemn sacred plight

Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man.-P. 24. The ancient castle of Peel-town, in the Isle of Man, is surrounded by four churches now ruinous. Through one of these chapels, there was formerly a passage from the guard-room of the garrison. This was closed, it is said, upon the following occasion: "They say, that an apparition, called in the Mankish language, the Mauthe Doog, in the Did to St. Bryde of Douglas make.-P. 25. shape of a large black spaniel, with curled shaggy This was a favourite saint of the house of Douhair, was used to haunt Peel-castle; and has been glas, and of the earl of Angus in particular, as we frequently seen in every room, but particularly in learn from the following passage. The queen rethe guard-chamber, where, as soon as candles were gent had proposed to raise a rival noble to the dulighted, it came and lay down before the fire, in pres-cal dignity; and discoursing of her purpose with ence of all the soldiers, who, at length, by being Angus he answered, "Why not madam? we are so much accustomed to the sight of it, lost great happy that have such a princess, that can know part of the terror they were seized with at its first and will acknowledge men's service, and is willing appearance. They still, however, retained a cer- to recompence it: but, by the might of God, (this tain awe, as believing it was an evil spirit, which was his oath when he was serious and in anger, at only waited permission to do them hurt; and, for other times, it was by St. Bride of Douglas, if he that reason, forbore swearing, and all prophane dis- be a duke, 1 will be a drake!"-So she desisted cource, while in its company. But though they from prosecuting of that purpose.—Godscroft, vol. endured the shock of such a guest when all toge-i, p. 131.

Marmion.

A TALE OF FLODDEN FIELD.

Alas! that Scottish maid should sing

'The combat where her lover fell!

That Scottish Bard should wake the string,
The triumph of our foes to tell. Leyden.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE HENRY, LORD MONTAGUE, &c.

THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR.

ADVERTISEMENT.

That bloomed so rich on Needpath-fell, Ir is hardly to be expected, that an author, whom Sallow his brow, and russet bare the public has honoured with some degree of Are now the sister-heights of Yare. applause, should not be again a trespasser on their The sheep, before the pinching heaven, kindness. Yet the author of Marmion must be To sheltered dale and down are driven, supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its suc- Where yet some faded herbage pines, cess, since he is sensible that he hazards, by this And yet a watery sunbeam shines: second intrusion, any reputation which his first In meek despondency they eye poem may have procured him. The present story The withered sward and wintry sky, turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious And far beneath their summer hill, character; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, Stray sadly by Glenkinnon's rill: because the hero's fate is connected with that me- The shepherd shifts his mantle's fold morable defeat, and the causes which led to it. And wraps him closer from the cold; The design of the author was, if possible to apHis dogs no merry circles wheel, prise his readers, at the outset, of the date of his But, shivering, follow at his heel; story, and to prepare them for the manners of the A cowering glance they often cast, age in which it is laid. Any historical narrative, As deeper moans the gathering blast. far more an attempt at epic composition, exceeds My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild his plan of a romantic tale; yet he may be permit- As best befits the mountain child, ted to hope from the popularity of The Lay of the Feel the sad influence of the hour, Last Minstrel, that an attempt to paint the manAnd wail the daisy's vanished flower; pers of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and Their summer gambols tell, and mourn, in the course of a more interesting story, will not And birds and lambs again be gay, And anxious ask,-Will spring return, be unacceptable to the public. And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray?

The poem opens about the commencement of August and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, 9th September, 1513.

MARMION.

INTRODUCTION TO CANTO I.

TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, Esq.
Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest.

NOVEMBER'S sky is chill and drear,
November's leaf is red and sear:
Late, gazing down the steepy linn,
That hems our little garden in,
Low in its dark and narrrow glen,
You scarce the rivulet might ken,
So thick the tangled green-wood grew,
So feeble trilled the streamlet through:
Now, murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen
Through bush and brier, no longer green,
An angry brook, it sweeps the glade,
Brawls over rock and wild cascade,
And, foaming brown with double speed,
Hurries its waters to the Tweed.

No longer Autumn's glowing red
Upon our forest hills is shed;
No more, beneath the evening beam,
Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam;
Away hath passed the heather-bell,

Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy's flower
Again shall paint your summer bower;
Again the hawthorn shall supply
The garlands you delight to tie;
The lambs upon the lea shall bound,
The wild birds carol to the round,
And while you frolick light as they,
Too short shall seem the summer day.
To mute and to material things
New life revolving summer brings;
The genial call dead Nature hears,
And in her glory re-appears.
But Oh! my country's wintry state
What second spring shall renovate?
What powerful call shall bid arise
The buried warlike, and the wise?
The mind, that thought for Britain's weal,
The hand, that grasped the victor steel?
The vernal sun new life bestows
Even on the meanest flower that blows;
But vainly, vainly may he shine,
Where glory weeps o'er NELSON's shrine;
And vainly pierce the solemn gloom
That shrouds, O PITT, thy hallowed tomb!
Deep graved in every British heart,
O never let those names depart!
Say to your sons,-Lo, here his grave,
Who victor died on Gadite wave;
To him, as to the burning levin,
Short, bright, resistless course was given,

Where'er his country's foes were found,
Was heard the fated thunder's sound,
Till burst the bolt on yonder shore,

Rolled, blazed, destroyed,-and was no more.
Nor mourn ye less his perished worth,
Who bade the conqueror go forth,
And lanched that thunderbolt of war
On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar;

Who, born to guide such high emprise,
For Britain's weal was early wise;
Alas! to whom the Almighty gave,
For Britain's sins, an early grave;
His worth, who, in his mightiest hour,
A bauble held the pride of power,
Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf,
And served his Albion for herself;
Who, when the frantic crowd amain
Strained at subjection's bursting rein,
O'er their wild mood full conquest gained,
The pride, he would not crush, restrained,
Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause,
And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's
laws.

Had'st thou but lived, though stripped of power,
A watchman on the lonely tower,

Thy thrilling trump had roused the land,
When fraud or danger were at hand;
By thee, as by the beacon-light,
Our pilots had kept course aright;
As some proud column, though alone,

Thy strength had propped the tottering throne.
Now is the stately column broke,

The beacon-light is quenched in smoke,
The trumpet's silver sound is still,
The warder silent on the hill!

Oh, think, how to his latest day,

When death, just hovering, claimed his prey,
With Palinure's unaltered mood,
Firm at his dangerous post he stood;
Each call for needful rest repelled,
With dying hand the rudder held,
Till, in his fall, with fateful sway,
The steerage of the realm gave way!
Then, while on Britain's thousand plains
One unpolluted church remains,
Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around
The bloody tocsin's maddening sound,
But still, upon the hallowed day,
Convoke the swains to praise and pray;
While faith and civil peace are dear,
Grace this cold marble with a tear,—
He, who preserved them, PITT, lies here!
Nor yet suppress the generous sigh,
Because his rival slumbers nigh;
Nor be thy requiescat dumb,
Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb.
For talents mourn, untimely lost,
When best employed, and wanted most,
Mourn genius high, and lore profound,
And wit that loved to play, not wound;
And all the reasoning powers divine,
To penetrate, resolve, combine;
And feelings keen, and fancy's glow-
They sleep with him who sleeps below
And, if thou mourn'st they could not save
From error him who owns this grave,
Be every harsher thought suppressed,
And sacred be the last long rest.
Here, where the end of earthly things
Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings;
Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue,

Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung
Here, where the fretted aisles prolong
The distant notes of holy song,
As if some angel spoke agen,
All peace on earth, good-will to men;
If ever from an English heart,
O here let prejudice depart,
And, partial feeling cast aside,
Record, that Fox a Britain died!
When Europe crouched to France's yoke,
And Austria bent, and Prussia broke,
And the firm Russian's purpose brave
Was bartered by a timorous slave,
Even then dishonour's peace he spurned,
The sullied olive-branch returned,
Stood for his country's glory fast,
And nailed her colours to the mast!
Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave
A portion in this honoured grave;
And ne'er held marble in its trust
Of two such wond'rous men the dust.

With more than mortal powers endowed,
How high they soared above the crowd!
Theirs was no common party race,
Jostling by dark intrigue for place;
Like fabled Gods, their mighty war
Shook realms and nations in its jar;
Beneath each banner proud to stand,
Looked up the noblest of the land,
Till through the British world were known
The names of PITT and Fox alone.
Spells of such force no wizard grave
E'er framed in dark Thessalian cave,
Though his could drain the ocean dry,
And force the planets from the sky.
These spells are spent, and, spent with these,
The wine of life is on the lees.
Genius, and taste, and talent gone,
For ever tombed beneath the stone,
Where-taming thought to human pride!
The mighty chiefs sleep side by side.
Drop upon Fox's grave the tear,
"Twill trickle to his rival's bier;

O'er PITT's the mournful requiem sound,
And Fox's shall the notes rebound,
The solemn echo seems to cry,-
"Here let their discord with them die;
Speak not for those a separate doom,
Whom fate made brothers in the tomb,
But search the land of living men,
Where wilt thou find their like agen?"

Rest, ardent Spirits! till the cries
Of dying Nature bid you rise;

Not even your Britain's groans can pierce
The leaden silence of your hearse:

Then, O how impotent and vain

This grateful tributary strain!

Though not unmarked from northern elime,
Ye heard the Border Minstrel's rhyme:
His Gothic harp has o'er you rung;

The bard you deigned to praise, your death
names has sung.

Stay yet illusion, stay awhile,
My wildered fancy still beguile!
From this high theme how can I part,
Ere half unloaded is
my heart!

For all the tears e'er sorrow drew,
And all the raptures fancy knew,
And all the keener rush of blood,
That throbs through bard in bard-like mood,
Were here a tribute mean and low,

Though all their mingled streams could flow