It fell upon a summer's eve, While on Carnethy's head The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams And the convent bell did vespers tell, And mingled with the solemn knell The heavy knell, the choir's faint swell, Deep sunk in thought, I ween he was, Until he came to that dreary place, He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, And there was aware of a Grey Friar, Resting him on a stone. "Now, Christ thee save!" said the Grey Brother; "Some pilgrim thou seem'st to be;' " But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, Nor answer again made he. "O come ye from east, or come ye from west, Or bring relics from over the sea; Or come ye from the shrine of Saint James the divine, Or Saint John of Beverley?" "I come not from the shrine of Saint James the divine, Nor bring relics from over the sea; I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, "Now, woeful pilgrim, say not so! But kneel thee down by me, And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, That absolved thou mayst be." "And who art thou, thou Grey Brother, That I should shrive to thee, When he, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven, Has no power to pardon me?" "O I am sent from a distant clime, And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, The pilgrim kneeled him on the sand, When on his neck an ice-cold band THOMAS THE RHYMER. IN THREE PARTS. FEW personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildoune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Unlting, or supposing to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical composition and of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his countrymen. To give anything like a certain history of this remarkable man would be indeed difficult; but the curious may derive some satisfaction from the particulars here brought together. It is agreed on all hands that the residence, and probably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's castle. The uniform tradition bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Learmont; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred upon him in consequence of his poetical compositions. There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon the subject. We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of Ercildoune lived, being the latter end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to place his death a little further back than Mr. Pinkerton, who supposes that he was alive in 1300 (List of Scottish Poets). It cannot be doubted that Thomas of Ercildoune was a remarkable and important person in his own time, since, very shortly after his death, we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. Whether he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe Mackenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun of a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems not to be most distant proof. On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted by himself. The popular tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge which made him afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence, he was permitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his countrymen by his prophetic powers; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her pleasure. Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry with his friends in the Tower of Ercildoune, a person came running in, and told, with marks of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, parading the street of the village. The prophet instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. According to the popular belief, he still "drees his weird" in Fairy Land, and is one day expected to revisit earth. In the meanwhile, his memory is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, now no longer exists; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called the Eildon Tree Stone. A neighbouring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn (Goblin Brook) from the Rhymer's supernatural visitants. It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to dismiss a person so important in Border tradition as the Rhymer, without some further notice than a simple commentary upon the following ballad. It is given from a copy obtained from a lady residing not far from Ercildoune, corrected and enlarged by one in Mrs. Brown's MSS. The former copy, however, as might be expected, is far more minute as to local description. To this old tale the Editor has ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a kind of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer; and a Third Part, entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his having returned with the hart and hind, to the Land of Faërie. Part First. ANCIENT. TRUE Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap, "O no, O no, Thomas," she said; Harp and carp, Thomas," she said; "Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never danton me." "Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said; She mounted on her milk-white steed; The steed flew swifter than the wind. O they rade on, and farther on; "Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, Abide, and rest a little space, And I will show you ferlies three. O see ye not yon narrow road, So thick beset with thorns and briers?That is the path of righteousness, Though after it but few inquires. And see not ye that braid, braid road, Though some call it the road to heaven. And see not ye that bonny road, That winds about the fernie brae ? That is the road to fair Elfland, Where thou and I this night maun gae. But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, For, if you speak word in Elflyn land, Ye'll ne'er get back to your ain countrie." O they rade on, and farther on, And they waded through rivers aboon the knee, And they saw neither sun nor moon, But they heard the roaring of the sea. It was mirk, mirk night, and there was nae stern light, And they waded through red blude to the knee, For a' the blude, that's shed on earth, Rins through the springs o' that countrie. Syne they came on to a garden green, "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; It will give thee the tongue that can never lie." "My tongue is mine ain," true Thomas said; I neither dought to buy nor sell, I dought neither speak to prince or peer, He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, Part Second. ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. CORSPATRICK (Comes Patrick), Earl of March, but more commonly taking his title fron. his Castle of Dunbar, acted a noted part during the wars of Edward I. in Scotland. As Thomas of Ercildoune is said to have delivered to him his famous prophecy of King Alexander's death, the author has chosen to introduce him into the following ballad. All the prophetic verses are selected from Hart's publication. WHEN seven years were come and gane, And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, He heard the trampling of a steed, He was a stalwart knight, and strong; Says "Well met, well met, true Thomas! Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave, A storm shall roar, this very hour, ་ From Rosse's Hills to Solway Sea." Ye lied, ye lied, ye warlock hoar! For the sun shines sweet on fauld and lea." |