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brothers, whose sister he had seduced, but was afterwards buried, at her request, near their usual piece of meeting, which may account for his being laid, not in holy ground, but beside the burn. The name of Barthram, or Bertram, would argue a Northumbrian origin; and there is, or was, a Headless Cross, among many so named, near Elsdon in Northumberland. But the mention of the Nine-Stane Burn, and Nine-Stane Rig, seems to refer to those places in the vicinity of Hermitage Castle (the scene of the Ballad of Lord Soulis), which is countenanced by the mentioning our Lady's Chapel. Perhaps the hero may have been an Englishman, and the lady a native of Scotland, which renders the catastrophe even more probable. The style of the ballad is rather Scottish than Northumbrian. They certainly did bury in former days near the Nine-Stane Burn; for the Editor remembers finding a small monumental cross, with initials, lying among the heather. It was so small that, with the assistance of another gentleman, he easily placed it upright."

Upon one passage

"A friar shall sing for Barthram's soul, While the headless cross shall bide"

Mr. Surtees observes, that in the return made by the Commissioners on the Dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is an item of a chauntry for one priest to sing daily ad crucem lapideam. Probably many of these crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for persons slain there.

The ballad is, no doubt, founded upon some actual occurrence; for the incident it relates must have been common enough in the old days of Border warfare-when to national animosity was frequently added the stimulus of personal wrong. Of the hapless Barthram, however, and the lady who "tore her ling long yellow hair," and

"Plaited a garland for his breast, And a garland for his hair,”

we know nothing, even from tradition.

But the composition carries with it a conviction that its foundation was in truth. The picture is at once so striking, so touching, and so impressive, as to leave no doubt that Barthram was left

"Lying in his blood,

Upon the moor and moss,"

and that the hand of a loving but unhappy woman

"Cover'd him o'er with the heather flower, The moss and the lady-fern."

The fragment is classed by Sir Walter among Historical Border Ballads-the ballads that relate events which we either know "actually to have taken place, or which, at least, making due allowance for the exaggerations of poetical tradition, we may readily conceive to have had some foundation in history,"such ballads as were current on the Border, and which, although now existing but in "scraps," were once universally chaunted-

"Young wemen, whan thai will play,. Syng it among thaim ilk day."

"Who will not regret," exclaims Sir Walter Scott," that compositions of such interest and antiquity should be now irrecoverable? But it is the nature of popular poetry, as of popular applause, perpetually to shift with the objects of the time; and it is the frail chance of recovering some old manuscript, which can alone gratify our curiosity regarding the earlier efforts of the Border Muse. Some of her later strains, composed during the sixteenth century, have survived even to the present day; but the recollection of them has, of late years, become like that of a 'tale which was told.""

As to the mode in which some of these "old and antique songs" have been preserved, we have a few striking notes in the "Border Minstrelsy."-"Whether they were origi nally the composition of minstrels professing the joint arts of poetry and music, or whether they were the occasional effusions of some self-taught bard, is a question into which I do not mean to inquire. But it is certain that, till a very late period, the pipers, of whom there was one attached to each Border town of note, and whose office was often hereditary, were the great depositaries of oral, and particularly of poetical tradition. About spring time, and after harvest, it was the custom of these musicians to make a progress through a particular district of the country.

A lady came to that lonely bower,

The music and the tale repaid their lodging, | They made a bier of the broken bough, and they were usually gratified with a dona- The sauch and the aspin gray, tion of seed corn. By means of these men And they bore him to the Lady Chapel, much traditional poetry was preserved, which And waked him there all day. must otherwise have perished. Other itinerants, not professed musicians, found their welcome to their night's quarters readily insured by their knowledge in legendary lore. The shepherds also, and aged persons, in the recesses of the Border mountains, frequently remember and repeat the warlike songs of their fathers. This is more especially the case in what are called the South Highlands,

where, in many instances, the same families have occupied the same possessions for centuries."

It was from the latter source that Sir Walter chiefly drew the materials for his work ;they were, he states, "collected during his early youth;" and among the notes to the latest edition of the "Minstrelsy" is the following:-"There is in the library at Abbotsford a collection of ballads, partly printed broadsides, partly in MS., in six small volumes, which, from the handwriting, must have been formed by Sir Walter Scott while he was attending the earlier classes of Edinburgh College." Buchan's collection was

gathered directly as they fell from the lips of
old people. We rejoice to learn that his rug-
ged, but primitive and interesting volumes,
are about to be reprinted "by subscription"-
they have been long out of print.

THEY shot him dead at the Nine-Stane Rig,
Beside the Headless Cross,
And they left him lying in his blood,
Upon the moor and moss.

And threw her robes aside;
She tore her ling long yellow hair,
And knelt at Barthram's side.

5

10

She bathed him in the Lady-Well,
And she plaited a garland for his breast, 15
His wounds so deep and sair;
And a garland for his hair.

They rowed him in a lily-sheet,

And bare him to his earth;
And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's

mass,

As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.

They buried him at the mirk midnight,

When the dew fell cold and still,
When the aspin gray forgot to play,
And the mist clung to the hill.

20

They dug his grave but a bare foot deep, 25

By the edge of the Nine-Stone Burn,
And they cover'd him o'er with the heather-

flower,

The moss and the lady fern.

A Gray Friar staid upon the grave,
And sang till the morning tide;
And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul,
While the Headless Cross shall bide.

30

Borthwick's Decree.

In the vicinity of North Berwick (a small fishing town nine miles from Dunbar), rises North Berwick Law, a steep mountain, whose height from base to summit is computed at three miles. There is a tradition in the neighbourhood that Borthwick would give his daughter only to that suitor who should bear her to the summit of the mountain without setting her down. To this proposal the

heir of Cockburnspath joyfully acceded, and the adventure terminated as it has been described in the ballad. From the top of North Berwick Law a beautiful prospect presents itself to the eye. The shores of Fife, with Canny Edinbro', may be distinctly seen. The "Ewe and the Lamb" are two isolated rocks not far from the shore. The "Bass" is too well known to require any notice. A short

500

BORTHWICK'S DECREE.

distance from the town of North Berwick, on; And they have bound his arms ahint

a sloping cliff, is situated a ruined tower,
which is still pointed out by the fishermen as
the abode of the "Manly Borthwick of old."
Such trials of strength as narrated in the
ballad were by no means uncommon.
Iliad, a Grecian king is indebted for his wife
In the
to his skill in the dance, having "kept the
floor" (to use a border expression) against
all competitors, and tired them out.

BORTHWICK Of North Berwick Law,

Wons in his Seaward Tower-
Which looketh on to the German Sea,
A wild and lanely Bower.

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66

With cord and hempen band, 'Does Borthwick treat me in this sort, Like a thief upon your land?”

"Wha' finds the wolf, or prowling tod
Small weight shall rest upon his head
Within the Laird's domain,
Who hath the vermin slain."

"Why do I find thee here, young man,
Thou heir of Cockburnspath;
To come sae soon when warnit away
Is daurful of our wrath.

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40

45

50

10 Why thrust thy self beneath my sword, 55 Why court her for thy greed?"

She hath an eye-a rosy lip,

15

What tongue her charms can tell.

Up in the morning early oh,

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Up in the early morn;

Up rose the heir of Cockburnspath,
And a wilfu' youth is he,
"Let there be danger in the way,
My true love I'll go see."

"Nay, do not go to North Berwick," His trusty yeoman said,

"For Borthwick's scouts lay on the lea, To take thee quick or dead.

"Every man may chase the hare

So long as runs it free,
Every man drinketh of the Burn
That sings unto the sea."

"Every man's no, is not a 'Nay,'

For now and evermore;

I may yet swim unto the land

When thrust out from the shore.

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"Love gives me strength, love gives me speed,
Love aids me where I
go;
30

Not for his scouts will I turn back,

Or lout to them I trow."

He had not gone abune a mile,

A mile or barely three,

When four stout hallyons unawares,
Sprung on him from the lea.

"Thy dochter is no sheep or steer
That thou shouldst market her;

60

66

70

I'll bid thee a bode, and give thee a fee, 75
If thou bringst her to the fair."

Borthwick he thought awhile, and then
Ettled the laugh in his eye,

35 Then turn'd to Murray, and daffin spake

To Cockburn ryghte courteously.

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"For to the top of North Berwick Law, Is three long miles and more,

It freshened him, and he upward rushed, 155
New heartened in the race.

He staggered now, for his legs grew tired,
And his arms were weak as tow;

And the heavy toil up the mountain side 115 And as he strove to keep his feet,

Will make it seem a score."

He took her in his manly arms,
And started in his race,

Never a one who followed him

Could keep up with his pace.

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And now he sung as the banks grew steep,
And made him pant and blow;

66

And a Saugh tree by a stone.”

"Love gives me strength, love gives me speed, Poor Willie he gathered up his strength,

And his heart sent forth a groan.

Love aids me where I go.

165

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THIS is a tradition, common amongst the fishermen of Holy Island and the Main, which I have woven into a ballad. The feat of Sir Gillum is not original, some Irish Knight on the coast of Ireland having performed the same action; the prophecy and the results being the same. Who Sir Gillum of Middelton was, I am at a loss to discover. Romero, who is introduced as King of the Holy Isle, was governor thereof in the time of Edward the Third; he was afterwards governor of Coldingham, where he was surprised with his companions, and brutally murdered by a marauding party of Scots. He was given to piratical expeditions on his own account, and inherited his plundering propensities from his forefathers, who no doubt had often launched their sea bark to the inspiring strains of the Scalds and Minnesingers.

Bede calls Lindisfarn a Semi Island, and as he justly observes, twice a continent in one day; for at the flowing of the tide it is encompassed with water, and at the ebb there is an almost dry passage both for horses and carriages to and from the main land; from which if measured in a straight line it is distant two miles eastward; but on account of several quicksands, passengers are obliged to

make so many detours that the distance is almost doubled. The water over these flats at spring tide is only seven feet. At the north-west part of the island, a tongue of land runs into the sea about a mile in length. At the southernmost point is a rock of a conical figure, whereon is the Baron's "Castle of red rock stone," almost perpendicular, sixty feet in height, and crowned by a small fortress. There are four caves or coves as they are called, to the north-north-east of the island, and in one of these Sir Gillum

Stabled his dappled steed

In a cave on the eastern shore.

The largest of these caves is upwards of fifty feet long, with an entrance just large enough to admit a man.

The principal feature of any interest on this island is its venerable abbey, now in utter ruins.

"The abbey," says Pennant, "retayns at this day one singular beauty; the tower has not formed a lantern, as in other cathedrals: but from the angles, arches spring, crossing each other diagonally to form a canopy roof." One of these arches yet remains unloaded

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