Part 13 (2/2)

And shuddering still may we explore, Where oft whilom were captives pent, The darkness of thy Ma.s.sy More;[84]

Or from thy gra.s.s-grown battlement.

May trace, in undulating line, The sluggish mazes of the Tyne.”

[Footnote 84: The prison vault.]

Proceeding along the stream, we pa.s.s c.o.c.kpen, reminding us of the Laird of c.o.c.kpen and his amusing courts.h.i.+p, when

”Dumb-founder'd was he, But nae word did he gae; He mounted his mare, And he rade cannilie.

But aften he thought, As he gaed through the glen, She's a fule to refuse The Laird o' c.o.c.kpen.”

We linger a few minutes by Newbattle Abbey, founded by David I., for a community of Cistercian monks, brought hither from Melrose, but now the residence of the Marquis of Lothian; and soon after reach the old ”burgh town” of Dalkeith, most delightfully situated between the two Esks, and reminding us forcibly of ”Mansie Waugh,” the _pawkie tailor_ of Dalkeith, whose amusing history we read in our boyhood. Dalkeith is a considerable place, and has many elegant residences. In its immediate vicinity is Dalkeith Palace, seat of the Duke of Buccleugh, standing on an overhanging bank of the North Esk. Here too, in earlier times, lived the Grahams, and the Douglases; and into this strong retreat, then called the ”Lion's den,” retired the celebrated Regent Morton, who was subsequently beheaded. We might enter the house, as this favor is often granted to strangers, but we will not now; though it boasts the possession of some fine old paintings, and some exquisite pieces of furniture. But the grounds around it are infinitely more attractive, adorned, as they are, with magnificent trees and shrubbery, and the serpentine windings of the two Esks, whose waters unite in the park, a little distance below the house. How placidly the stream glides through the verdant meadows, and mirrors the green foliage of the overhanging trees, or the branching horns of some deer, bent to drink its clear waters! How softly and delicately the pencil rays of green and yellow light glimmer through those shady retreats to the right. See the startled deer bounding through the woods! How softly and lovingly sleeps the suns.h.i.+ne on that wide pool at the bottom of the green slope, adorned with flowers and honeysuckles! And see, through that shady vista the open sky in the distance, ”so darkly, deeply, beautifully blue.” The birds too, mavis, lintie, and bulfinch, are caroling among the trees, as if their little hearts were filled with boundless joy.

The cottage of ”Jeanie Gairlace,” supposed to be conferred upon her by the d.u.c.h.ess of Buccleugh, is placed by Macneil, the author of ”Scotland's Skaith,” in this beautiful vicinity. As we have yet to wait some time for the rail cars that are to take us to Edinburgh, let us sit down on this rustic seat, and I will give you some account of Macneil, and his touching poem of ”Will and Jean.”

Hector Macneil was born in 1746, and died in 1818. He was brought up to mercantile pursuits, but did not succeed in business. He cultivated in secret his pa.s.sion for the muses, and published at intervals several poetical effusions, among which were ”The Harp, a Legendary Poem,”--”The Links of the Forth, or a Parting Peep at the Ca.r.s.e of Sterling,” and ”Scotland's Skaith, or the History of Will and Jean,” his most natural and successful production. Though not successful in lyrical effusions, or in song writing, he is the author, we believe, of that exquisite ballad, ”Bonny Wee Mary o' Castlecary.” He also wrote some prose tales, in which he laments the effects of modern changes and improvements. In the latter years of his life, he resided in comparative comfort, at Edinburgh, enjoying the congenial society of its refined and literary circles.

”Scotland's Skaith (curse) or the History of Will and Jean,” is intended to depict the ruinous effects of intemperance, and the possibility of reform, with the happiness thence resulting. A happy couple, in humble life are gradually drawn into the vortex of intemperance, and at last are reduced to the deepest extremities. The husband enlists as a soldier, and the wife is compelled, with her children, to beg her bread.

In the commencement of the poem Willie is represented as pa.s.sing a rustic alehouse, whose attractions prove too much for him. The situation of the alehouse, and the commencement of Willie's career as a drunkard, are admirably described. The rhythm of the poem is peculiarly harmonious and lively.

In a howm[85] whose bonnie burnie, Whimpering rowed its crystal flood, Near the road where travellers turn aye, Neat and bield[86] a cot house stood.

White the wa's, wi' roof new theckit,[87]

Window broads[88] just painted red; Lown[89] 'mang trees and braes it reekit,[90]

Hafflins[91] seen and hafflins hid.

Up the gavel[92] end thick spreading, c.r.a.p the clasping ivy green, Back owre firs the high craigs cleadin,[93]

Raised around a cosey screen.

Down below a flowery meadow; Joined the burnies rambling line, Here it was that Howe the widow That same day set up her sign.

Brattling[94] down the brae, and near its Bottom, Will first marvelling sees 'Porter, ale, and British spirits,'

Painted bright between twa trees.

'G.o.dsake Tam! here's walth for drinking!

Wha can this new-comer be?'

'Hout,' quo Tam, 'there's drouth in thinking-- Let's in Will, and syne[95] we'll see.'

[Footnote 85: Hollow, or glen.]

[Footnote 86: Sheltered.]

[Footnote 87: Thatched.]

[Footnote 88: Boards.]

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