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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 IIuutlie bank;
A ferlie he spied wi' his e'e;
And there he saw a ladye bright,

Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk,
Her mantle o' the velvet fyne;
At ilka tett of her horse's mane
Hang fifty siller bells and nine.

True Thomas, he pulled aff his cap,
And louted low down to his knee,-
"All hail, thou mighty queen of heaven!
For thy peer on earth I never did see.'

"O no, O no, Thomas," she said;
"That name does not belang to me;
I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
That am hither come to visit thee.

Harp and carp, Thomas," she said
"Harp and carp along with me;
And if ye dare to kiss my lips,

Sure of your bodie I will be."

"Betide me weal, betide me woe,

;

That weird shall never danton me."

Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
All underneath the Eildon Tree.

"Now, ye maun go wi' me," she said;
"True Thomas, ye maun go wi' me;

And ye maun serve me seven years,

Through weal or woe as may chance to be."

She mounted on her milk-white steed;
She's ta'en true Thomas up behind;
And aye, whene'er her bridle rung,
The steed flew swifter than the wind.

O they rade on, and farther on;

The steed gaed swifter than the wind,
Until they reached a desart wide,
And living land was left behind.

"Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, And lean your head upon my knee:

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,
That lies across that lily leven ?-
That is the path of wickedness,

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,
Whatever ye may hear or see;

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,
And she pu'd an apple frae a tree-

"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;
A gudely gift ye wad gie to me !

I neither dought to buy nor sell,
At fair or tryst where I may be.

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I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
Nor ask of grace from fair ladye.'
"Now hold thy peace!" the ladye said,
For, as I say, so must it be.'

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He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
And a pair of shoes of velvet green;
And, till seven years were gane and past,
True Thomas on earth was never seen.

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,
The sun blinked fair on pool and stream;

And Thomas lay on Huntlie bank,
Like one awakened from a dream.

He heard the trampling of a steed,
He saw the flash of armour flee,

And he beheld a gallant knight
Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.

He was a stalwart knight, and strong;
Of giant make he 'peared to be:
He stirred his horse, as he were wode,
Wi' gilded spurs, of faushion free.

Says "Well met, well met, true Thomas!
Some uncouth ferlies show to me.

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Says "Christ thee save, Corspatrick brave!
Thrice welcome, good Dunbar, to me!

Light down, light down, Corspatrick brave,
And I will show thee curses three,

Shall gar fair Scotland greet and grane,
And change the green to the black livery.

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."

He put his hand on the earlie's head;
He showed him a rock, beside the sea,
Where a king lay stiff, beneath his steed,
And steel-dight nobles wiped their e'e.

"The neist curse lights on Branxton Hills: By Flodden's high and heathery side, Shall wave a banner, red as blude,

And chieftains throng wi' meikle pride.

A Scottish king shall come full keen;
The ruddy lion beareth he:

A feathered arrow sharp, I ween,

Shall make him wink and warre to see.

When he is bloody, and all to bledde,
Thus to his men he still shall say-
'For God's sake, turn ye back again,
And give yon southern folk a fray?
Why should I lose the right is mine:
My doom is not to die this day.'

Yet turn ye to the eastern hand,
And woe and wonder ye shall see;
How forty thousand spearmen stand,
Where yon rank river meets the sea.

There shall the lion lose the gylte,

And the libbards bear it clean away; At Pinkyn Cleuch there shall be spilt Much gentil blude that day."

Enough, enough, of curse and ban;

Some blessing show thou now to me, Or, by the faith o' my bodie," Corspatrick said, "Ye shall rue the day ye e'er saw me!"

"The first of blessings I shall thee show,
Is by a burn, that's called of bread;
Where Saxon men shall tine the bow,
And find their arrows lack the head.

Beside that brigg, out ower that burn,

Where the water bickereth bright and sheen,

Shall many a falling courser spurn,

And knights shall die in battle keen.

Beside a headless cross of stone,

The libbards there shall lose the gree; The raven shall come, the erne shall go, And drink the Saxon blood sae free. The cross of stone they shall not know, So thick the corses there shall be."

"But tell me now," said brave Dunbar,
"True Thomas, tell now unto me,
What man shall rule the isle Britain,
Even from the north to the southern sea?"

A French queen shall bear the son,
Shall rule all Britain to the sea;
He of the Bruce's blood shall come,
As near as in the ninth degree.

"The waters worship shall his race;
Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;
For they shall ride ower ocean wide,
With hempen bridles, and horse of tree."

Part Third.

MODERN.

THE following attempt to commemorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional account of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, being entirely modern, would have been placed with greater propriety among the class of Modern Ballads, had it not been for its immediate connection with the first and second parts of the same story.

WHEN seven years more had come and gone,
Was war through Scotland spread,

And Ruberslaw showed high Dunyon
His beacon blazing red.

Then all by bonny Coldingknow,
Pitched palliouns took their room,
And crested helms, and spears a rowe,
Glanced gaily through the broom.

The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,
Resounds the ensenzie;

They roused the deer from Caddenhead,
To distant Torwoodlee.

The feast was spread in Ercildoune,
In Learmont's high and ancient hall;
And there were knights of great renown,
And ladies, laced in pall.

Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,
The music nor the tale,

Nor goblets of the blood-red wine,

Nor mantling quaighs of ale.

True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,
When as the feast was done;

(In minstrel strife, in Fairy Land,
The elfin harp he won.)

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