Barbaric ornaments around were spread, Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious stone, [head'; And golden circlets, meet for monarch's While grinn'd, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, [dust bestrown. The wearer's fleshless skull, alike with For these were they who, drunken with delight, On pleasure's opiate pillow laid their head, [slow and light, For whom the bride's shy footsteps, Was changed ere morning to the murderer's tread. [thread For human bliss and woe in the frail Of human life are all so closely twined, That till the shears of Fate the texture shred, The close succession cannot be disjoin'd, Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes behind. VI. But where the work of vengeance had been done, [sight; In that seventh chamber, was a sterner There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, [dight, Still in the posture as to death when For this lay prone, by one blow slain outright; [dying; And that, as one who struggled long in One bony hand held knife, as if to smite; [crying; One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy One lay across the door, as kill'd in act of flying. Firm was that faith,- VIII. Thou art a wild enthusiast,” said Count Harold, "for thy Danish maid; And yet, young Gunnar, I will own Hers were a faith to rest upon. But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone, And all resembling her are gone. What maid e'er show'd such constancy In plighted faith, like thine to me? But couch thee, boy; the darksome shade Falls thickly round, nor be dismay'd Because the dead are by. They were as we; our little day O'erspent, and we shall be as they. Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid, Thy couch upon my mantle made, That thou mayst think, should fear invade, Thy master slumbers nigh." Thus couch'd they in that dread abode, Until the beams of dawning glow'd. IX. An alter'd man Lord Harold rose, "My page," he said, "arise ;Leave we this place, my page."-No more He utter'd till the castle door [said, They cross'd-but there he paused and "My wildness hath awaked the deadDisturb'd the sacred tomb! Methought this night I stood on high, The central place of doom; My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain X. "With haggard eyes and streaming hair, Jutta the Sorceress was there, The first proclaim'd, in sounds of fear, 'Harold the Dauntless, welcome here!' The next cried, 'Jubilee! we've won Count Witikind the Waster's son !' And the third rider sternly spoke, 'Mount, in the name of Žernebock !— From us, O Harold, were thy powers,Thy strength, thy dauntlessness, are ours; Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, With hell can strive.' The fiend spoke true! My inmost soul the summons knew, As captives know the knell Commands them quit their cell. When to my rescue sped " XI. 'His sable cowl, flung back, reveal'd The features it before conceal'd; And, Gunnar, I could find In him whose counsels strove to stay So oft my course on wilful way, My father Witikind! Doom'd for his sins, and doom'd mine, A wanderer upon earth to pine Methought while thus my sire did teach, Then first he mark'd, that in the tower XII. Trembling at first, and deadly pale, What sees Count Harold in that bower, Odin in living form stood there, So flow'd his hoary beard; XIV. 'Harold," he said, "what rage is thine, To quit the worship of thy line, To leave thy Warrior-God?— for With me is glory or disgrace, Mine is the onset and the chase, Embattled hosts before my face Until his son shall turn to grace, He clench'd his teeth in high disdain, Smoke roll'd above, fire flash'd around, Evanish'd in the storm. Nor paused the Champion of the North, But raised, and bore his Eivir forth, From that wild scene of fiendish strife, To light, to liberty, and life! XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss, His stubborn sinews fly, The while with timid hand the dew And glimmer'd in her eye. O, dull of heart, through wild and wave In search of blood and death to rave, With such a partner nigh!" XVIII. Then in a mirror'd pool he peer'd, And loves who never loved. XIX. But vainly seems the Dane to seek " CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. Imitations of the Ancient Ballad. THOMAS THE RHYMER. IN THREE PARTS. PART FIRST.-ANCIENT. FEW personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildoune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, 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 on 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 farther 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 the 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 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 traditions 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. Browne's MSS. The former copy, however, as might be expected, is far from 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 Faery. To make his peace with the more severe antiquaries, the Editor has prefixed to the Second Part some remarks on Learmont's prophecies. TRUE THOMAS lay on Huntlie bank; Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. Her shirt was o' the grass-green silk, True Thomas, he pull'd 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 wi' 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 daunton me."— Syne he has kiss'd 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, Thro' 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 reach'd a desert 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 some call it the road to heaven. Where thou and I this night maun gae. "But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, And they waded through rivers aboon 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. "I dought neither speak to prince or peer, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye,' "Now hold thy peace!" the lady said, "For as I say, so must it be." 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. The prophecies ascribed to Thomas of Ercildoune have been the principal means of securing to him remembrance " amongst the sons of his people." The author of Sir Tristrem would long ago have joined, in the vale of oblivion, "Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventure That destiny shall never frighten me. The traditional commentary upon this ballad informs us that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of Knowledge, and that the garden was the terrestrial paradise. The repugnance of Thomas to be debarred the use of falsehood, when he might find it convenient, has a comic effect. |