Volume Ii Part 6 (1/2)

for that day, when the Lord would avenge all their bloods!” When ended, John Muirhead enquired what he meant by Brown's blood? He said twice over, ”What do I mean? Claverhouse has been at the Pres.h.i.+l this morning, and has cruelly murdered John Brown; his corpse are lying at the end of his house, and his poor wife sitting weeping by his corpse, and not a soul to speak a word comfortably to her.”

While we read this dismal story, we must remember Brown's situation was that of an avowed and determined rebel, liable as such to military execution; so that the atrocity was more that of the times than of Claverhouse. That general's gallant adherence to his master, the misguided James VII., and his glorious death on the field of victory, at Killicrankie, have tended to preserve and gild his memory. He is still remembered in the Highlands as the most successful leader of their clans. An ancient gentleman, who had borne arms for the cause of Stuart, in 1715, told the editor, that, when the armies met on the field of battle, at Sheriff-muir, a veteran chief (I think he named Gordon of Glenbucket), covered with scars, came up to the earl of Mar, and earnestly pressed him to order the Highlanders to charge, before the regular army of Argyle had completely formed their line, and at a moment when the rapid and furious onset of the clans might have thrown them into total disorder. Mar repeatedly answered, it was not yet time; till the chieftain turned from him in disdain and despair, and, stamping with rage, exclaimed aloud, ”O for one hour of Dundee!”

Claverhouse's sword (a strait cut-and-thrust blade) is in the possession of Lord Woodhouselee. In Pennycuik-house is preserved the buff-coat, which he wore at the battle of Killicrankie. The fatal shot-hole is under the arm-pit, so that the ball must have been received while his arm was raised to direct the pursuit However he came by his charm of _proof_, he certainly had not worn the garment usually supposed to confer that privelage, and which is called _the waistcoat of proof, or of necessity_. It was thus made: ”On Christmas daie, at night, a thread must be sponne of flax, by a little virgine girle, in the name of the divell: and it must be by her woven, and also wrought with the needle.

In the breast, or forepart thereof, must be made with needle work, two heads; on the head, at the right side, must be a hat and a long beard; the left head must have on a crown, and it must be so horrible that it maie resemble Belzebub; and on each side of the wastcote must be made a crosse.”--SCOTT'S _Discoverie of Witchcraft,_ p. 231.

It would be now no difficult matter to bring down our popular poetry, connected with history, to the year 1745. But almost all the party ballads of that period have been already printed, and ably ill.u.s.trated by Mr Ritson.

END OF HISTORICAL BALLADS.

MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER.

PART SECOND.

_ROMANTIC BALLADS._

SCOTTISH MUSIC, AN ODE,

BY J. LEYDEN.

TO IANTHE.

Again, sweet syren, breathe again That deep, pathetic, powerful strain; Whose melting tones, of tender woe, Fall soft as evening's summer dew, That bathes the pinks and harebells blue, Which in the vales of Tiviot blow.

Such was the song that soothed to rest.

Far in the green isle of the west, The Celtic warrior's parted shade; Such are the lonely sounds that sweep O'er the blue bosom of the deep, Where s.h.i.+p-wrecked mariners are laid.

Ah! sure, as Hindu legends tell, When music's tones the bosom swell, The scenes of former life return; Ere, sunk beneath the morning star, We left our parent climes afar, Immured in mortal forms to mourn.

Or if, as ancient sages ween, Departed spirits, half-unseen, Can mingle with the mortal throng; 'Tis when from heart to heart we roll The deep-toned music of the soul, That warbles in our Scottish song.

I hear, I hear, with awful dread, The plaintive music of the dead; They leave the amber fields of day: Soft as the cadence of the wave, That murmurs round the mermaid's grave, They mingle in the magic lay.

Sweet syren, breathe the powerful strain!

_Lochroyan's Damsel_[A] sails the main; The chrystal tower enchanted see!

”Now break,” she cries, ”ye fairy charms!”

As round she sails with fond alarms, ”Now break, and set my true love free!”

Lord Barnard is to greenwood gone, Where fair _Gil Morrice_ sits alone, And careless combs his yellow hair; Ah! mourn the youth, untimely slain!

The meanest of Lord Barnard's train The hunter's mangled head must bear.