And, for the hearth's domestic blaze, Ascends destruction's volumed flame. "What sheeted phantom wanders wild, Where mountain Eske through. Her arms enfold a shadowy child- awe 'Revenge,' she cries, 'on Murray's pride! And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh!" He ceased-and cries of rage and grief Burst mingling from the kindred band, And half arose the kindling Chief, 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, Hedash'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, Of this noted person, it is enough to say, *Selle-saddle. A word used by Spenser, that he was active in the murder of David and other ancient authors. Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley. ear, The maids who list the minstrel's Nor e'er a ruder guest be known Remember injured Bothwellhaugh!' "Then speed thee, noble Chatler- through, is an ancient cognizance of the ault! * An oak, half-sawn. with family of Hamilton. THE GRAY BROTHER. A FRAGMENT. the motto 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 Gil merton, 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 New battle, a richly endowed abbey, u, on 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 sup posed 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 p ssages, 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 Sc ipture 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. 1 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. § 24. A friendly correspondent remarks, "that the incapacity of proceeding in the performance of a religious duty, when a contaminat d 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 Egrum Pandionis filium devenit in hospitium, eique nuvsit. "Postea sacerdos Diana Medeam exagitare cæpit, 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, | At the holiest word he quiver'd for high mass, All on Saint Peter's day, fear, And falter'd in the sound- With the power to him given, by the And, when he would the chalice rear, saints in heaven, To wash men's sins away. The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, He dropp'd it to the ground. "The breath of one of evil deed Pollutes our sacred day; He has no portion in our creed, "A being, whom no blessed word "Up, up, unhappy! haste, arise! I charge thee not to stop my voice, Amid them all a pilgrim kneel'd, For forty days and nights so drear, Seem'd none more bent to pray; His weary course he drew, His unblest feet his native seat, 'Mid Eske's fair woods, regain; Thro' woods more fair no stream more sweet Rolls to the eastern main. And lords to meet the pilgrim came, Impervious to the sun. There the rapt poet's step may rove, From that fair dome, where suit is paid And Roslin's rocky glen, Yet never a path, from day to day, To Burndale's ruined grange. A woful place was that, I ween, And the roof was scathed with fire. It fell upon a summer's eve, While, on Carnethy's head, The last faint gleams of the sun's low beams Had streak'd the grey with red; And the convent bell did vespers tell, Newbattle's oaks among, And mingled with the solemn knell Our Ladye's evening song. The heavy kuell, the choir's faint swell, Came slowly down the wind, And on the pilgrim's ear they fell, As his wonted path he did find. Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he "1 come not from the shrine of St. James the divine, Nor bring reliques from over the sea; I bring but a curse from our father the Pope, Which for ever will cling to me." "Now, woful pilgrim, say not so! But kneel thee down to me, And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, That absolved thou mayest be.""And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, That I should shrive to thee, When He, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven, Has no power to pardon me ?”— "O I am sent from a distant clime, The pilgrim kneel'd him on the sand BALLADS, TRANSLATED, OR IMITATED, FROM THE GERMAN, &C. |