his stand in a wooden gallery, which had a window towards the street; spread a feather-bed on the floor to hinder the noise of his feet from being heard; hung up a black cloth behind him, that his shadow might not be observed from without; and, after all this preparation, calmly expected the Regent's approach, who had lodged, during the night, in a house not far distant. Some indistinct information of the danger which threatened him had been conveyed to the Regent, and he paid so much regard to it, that he resolved to return by the same gate through which he had entered, and to fetch a compass round the town. But, as the crowd about the gate was great, and he himself unacquainted with fear, he proceeded directly along the street; and the throng of people obliging him to move very slowly, gave the assassin time to take so true an aim, that he shot him, with a single bullet, through the lower part of his belly, and killed the horse of a gentleman who rode on his other side. His followers instantly endeavoured to break into the house whence the blow had come; but they found the door strongly barricadoed, and, before it could be forced open, Hamilton had mounted a fleet horse, which stood ready for him at a back passage, and was got far beyond their reach. The Regent died the same night of his wound."-History of Scotland, book v. Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where he was received in triumph; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been burned by Murray's army, were yet smoking; and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of the provocation, seemed to his kinsmen to justify the deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left Scotland and served in France, under the patronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recommended by having avenged the cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful brother. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made to engage him to assassinate Gaspar de Coligni, the famous Admiral of France, and the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the offer with contempt and indignation. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland to commit murders in France; he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he would neither for price nor prayer avenge that of another man. Thuanus, cap. 46. The Regent's death happened 23d January, 1569. It is applauded or stigmatized, by contemporary historians, according to their religious or party prejudices. The triumph of Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, "who," he observes," satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, him whose sacrilegious avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of St. Andrews of its covering;" but he ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous interference of the Deity.-JEBB, vol. ii. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by others, made the ground of a general national reflection; for, when Mather urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other conspirator answered, "that neyther Poltrot nor Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, without some reason or consideration to lead them to it; as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or rewarde; the other, upon desperate mind of revenge, for a lyttle wrong done unto him, as the report goethe, according to the vyle trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes."-MURDIN'S State Papers, vol. i. p. 197. WHEN princely Hamilton's abode Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, The song went round, the goblet flow'd, And revel sped the laughing hours. Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound, ut Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid, And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, hrill to the music of the shade, Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. et still, of Cadyow's faded fame, You bid me tell a minstrel tale, nd tune my harp, of Border frame, On the wild banks of Evandale. or thou, from scenes of courtly pride, From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, › draw oblivion's pall aside, And mark the long-forgotten urn. hen, noble maid! at thy command, Again the crumbled halls shall rise; > ! as on Evan's banks we stand, The past returns-the present flies. 'here, with the rock's wood cover'd side, Were blended late the ruins green, ise turrets in fantastic pride, And feudal banners flaunt between : 'here the rude torrent's brawling course Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe, he ashler buttress braves its force, And ramparts frown in battled row. is night—the shade of keep and spire Obscurely dance on Evan's stream; nd on the wave the warder's fire Is chequering the moonlight beam. ades slow their light; the east is gray; The weary warder leaves his tower; teeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, And merry hunters quit the bower. The drawbridge falls-they hurry outClatters each plank and swinging chain, s, dashing o'er, the jovial rout Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. First of his troop, the Chief rode on; His shouting merry-men throng behind; The steed of princely Hamilton Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roebucks bound, The startled red-deer scuds the plain, For the hoarse bugle's warrior-sound Has roused their mountain haunts again. Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, What sullen roar comes down the gale, on. Fierce, on the hunter's quiver'd band, He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, And tosses high his mane of snow. Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance has flown; Struggling in blood the savage lies; His roar is sunk in hollow groanSound, merry huntsmen! sound the pryse! Tis noon-against the knotted oak Proudly the Chieftain mark'd his clan, On greenwood lap all careless thrown, Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man That bore the name of Hamilton. "Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, Still wont our weal and woe to share? Why comes he not our sport to grace? 66 Why shares he not our hunter's fare?" Stern Claud replied, with darkening face, (Grey Paisley's haughty lord was he,) At merry feast, or buxom chase, No more the warrior wilt thou see. "Few suns have set since Woodhouselee Saw Bothwellhaugh's bright goblets foam, When to his hearths, in social glee, The war-worn soldier turn'd him home. "There, wan from her maternal throes, His Margaret, beautiful and mild, Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, And peaceful nursed her new-born child. "O change accursed! past are those days; False Murray's ruthless spoilers came, And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, Ascends destruction's volumed flame. "What sheeted phantom wanders wild, Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, Her arms enfold a shadowy child- "The wilder'd traveller sees her glide, And half unsheathed his Arran brand. But who, o'er bush, o'er stream and rock, Rides headlong, with resistless speed, Whose bloody poniard's frantic stroke Drives to the leap his jaded steed; Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, As one some vision'd sight that saw, Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair?-- 'Tis he! 'tis he! 'tis Bothwellhaugh. From gory selle,* and reeling steed, Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, And, reeking from the recent deed, He dash'd his carbine on the ground. Sternly he spoke-""Tis sweet to hear In good greenwood the bugle blown, But sweeter to Revenge's ear, To drink a tyrant's dying groan. "Your slaughter'd quarry proudly trode, At dawning morn, o'er dale and down, But prouder base-born Murray rode Through old Linlithgow's crowded town. "From the wild Border's humbled side, In haughty triumph marched he, While Knox relax'd his bigot pride, And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. *Selle-Saddle. A word used by Spenser, and other ancient authors. "But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, Or change the purpose of Despair? "With hackbut bent, my secret stand, Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, And mark'd, where, mingling in his band, Troop'd Scottish pikes and English bows. "Dark Morton, girt with many a spear, Murder's foul minion, led the van; And clash'd their broadswords in the rear The wild Macfarlanes' plaided clan. "Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh, Obsequious at their Regent's rein, And haggard Lindesay's iron eye, That saw fair Mary weep in vain. "Mid pennon'd spears, a steely grove, Proud Murray's plumage floated high; Scarce could his trampling charger move, So close the minions crowded nigh. "From the raised vizor's shade, his eye, Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along, And his steel truncheon, waved on high, Seem'd marshalling the iron throng. "But yet his sadden'd brow confess'd A passing shade of doubt and awe; Some fiend was whispering in his breast; 'Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh!' "The death-shot parts-the charger springs Wild rises tumult's startling roar ! And Murray's plumy helmet rings-Rings on the ground, to rise no more. "What joy the raptured youth can feel, To hear her love the loved one tellOr he, who broaches on his steel The wolf, by whom his infant fell! "But dearer to my injured eye To see in dust proud Murray roll; And mine was ten times trebled joy, To hear him groan his felon soul. "My Margaret's spectre glided near; With pride her bleeding victim saw ; And shriek'd in his death-deafen'd ear, 'Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!' The imperfect state of this ballad, which was written several years ago, is not a circumstance affected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar interest, which is often found to arise from ungratified curiosity. On the contrary, it was the Editor's intention to have completed the tale, if he had found himself able to succeed to his own satisfaction. Yielding to the opinion of persons, whose judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friendship, is entitled to deference, he has preferred inserting these verses as a fragment, to his intention of entirely suppressing them. The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Lasswade, in Mid-Lothian. This building, now called Gilmerton Grange, was originally named Burndale, from the following tragic adventure. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the Abbot of Newbattle, a richly endowed abbey, upon the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the connivance of the lady's nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burndale. He formed a resolution of bloody vengeance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance were engaged in a stolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its inmates. The scene with which the ballad opens, was suggested by the following curious passage, extracted from the Life of Alexander Peden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II, and his successor, James. This person was supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed himself, to be possessed of supernatural gifts; for the wild scenes which they frequented, and the constant dangers which were incurred through their proscription, deepened upon their minds the gloom of superstition, so general in that age. "About the same time he [Peden] came to Andrew Normand's house, in the parish of Alloway, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in his barn. After he came in, he halted a little, leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered; when he lifted up his head, he said, 'They are in this house that I have not one word of salvation unto;' he halted a little again, saying, 'This is strange, that the devil will not go out, that we may begin our work!' Then there was a woman went out, ill-looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the same. It escaped me, in the former passages, what John Muirhead (whom I have often mentioned) told me, that when he came from Ireland to Galloway, he was at family-worship, and giving some notes upon the Scripture read, when a very ill-looking man came, and sat down within the door, at the back of the hallan, [partition of the cottage:] immediately he halted and said, 'There is some unhappy body just now come into this house. I charge him to go out, and not stop my mouth!' This person went out, and he insisted [went on, yet he saw him neither come in nor go out."-The Life and Prophecies of Mr. Alexander Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at New Glenluce, in Galloway, part ii. § 26. A friendly correspondent remarks, "that the incapacity of proceeding in the performance of a religious duty, when a contaminated person is present, is of much higher antiquity than the era of the Reverend Mr. Alexander Peden." Vide Hygini Fabulas, cap. 26. "Medea Corintho exul, Athenas, ad Ægeum Pandionis filium devenit in hospitium, eique nupsit. "Postea sacerdos Diana Medeam exagitare cœpit, regique negabat sacra caste facere posse, eo quod in ea civitate esset mulier venefica et scelerata; tunc exulatur." THE Pope he was saying the high, high mass, All on Saint Peter's day, With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven, To wash men's sins away. The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, As he kiss'd the holy ground. The holy accents rung. At the holiest word he quiver'd for fear, He dropp'd it to the ground. "The breath of one of evil deed Pollutes our sacred day; "A being, whom no blessed word I charge thee not to stop my voice, In gown of sackcloth gray; I ween he had not spoke, Amid the penitential flock, Seem'd none more bent to pray; His weary course he drew, |
