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“ Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide,

Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle, Our father's towers o'erhang her side,

The castle of the bold Glengyle. “ To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,

Our woodland course this morn we bore, And haply met, while wandering here,

The son of great Macgillianore. “O aid me, then, to seek the pair,

Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost; Alone, 1 dare not venture there,

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost.”— “ Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there;

Then first, my own sad vow to keep, Here will I pour my midnight prayer,

Which still must rise when mortals sleep."“O first, for pity's gentle sake,

Guide a lone wanderer on her way! For I must cross the haunted brake,

And reach my father's towers ere day.”— “ First, three times tell each Ave-bead,

And thrice a Pater-noster say; Then kiss with me the holy rede;

So shall we safely wend our way."“O shame to knighthood, strange and foul !

Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow, And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,

Which best befits thy sullen vow. “Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,

Thy heart was froze to love and joy,
When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,

To wanton Morna's melting eye.”
Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame,

And high his sable locks arose,
And quick his colour went and came,

As fear and rage alternate rose.

« And thou! when by the blazing oak

I lay, to her and love resign'd,
Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,

Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind!
“ Not thine a race of mortal blood,

Nor old Glengyle's pretended line;
Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,

Thye sire, the Monarch of the Mine.”
He mutter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme,

And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer;'
Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,

And sternly shook his coal-black hair.

St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an Abbot of Pittenween, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A. D. 649. While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendour, as to afford light to that with which he wrote; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St. Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, lib. 7, tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited it in some place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine, as an assurance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay.

In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, there is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which James III. confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral staff, called the Quegrich, which he and his predecessors are said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is probably the most ancient patent ever granted for a quack medicine. The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther observes, that additional particulars, concerning $t

And, bending o'er his harp, he flung

His wildest witch-notes on the wind;
And loud, and high, and strange, they rung,

As many a magic change they find.
Tall wax'd the Spirit's altering form,

Till to the roof her stature grew;
Then, mingling with the rising storm,

With one wild yell away she flew.
Rain beats, hail rattles, whirlwinds tear:

The slender hut in fragments flew;
But not a lock of Moy's loose hair

Was waved by wind, or wet by dew.
Wild mingling with the howling gale,

Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise;
High o'er the minstrel's head they sail,

And die amid the northern skies.

The voice of thunder shook the wood,

As ceased the more than mortal yell;
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood

Upon the hissing firebrands fell.

Next dropp'd from high a mangled arm;

The fingers strain’d an half-drawn blade:
And last, the life-blood streaming warm,

Torn from the trunk, a gasping head.

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,

Stream'd the proud crest of high Benmore;
That arm the bload claymore could wield,

Which dyed the Teith with Saxon gore.

Fillan, are to be found in BELLENDEN's Boece, Book 4, folio ccxiii. and in
PENNANT'S Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. 11. 15.
[See a note on the lines in the first canto of Marmion. ...

" Thence to St. Fillan's blessed well,
Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel,
And the crazed brain restore,” &c.—Ep.}

Woe to Moneira's sullen rills!

Woe to Glenfinlas' dreary glen !
There never son of Albin's hills

Shall draw the hunter's shaft agen!

E'en the tired pilgrim's burning feet

At noon shall shun that sheltering den,
Lest, journeying in their rage, he meet

The wayward Ladies of the Glen.

And we— behind the Chieftain's shield,

No more shall we in safety dwell;
None leads the people to the field -

And we the loud lament must swell.

O hone a rie'! O hone a rie'!

The pride of Albin's line is o'er!
And fall'n Glenartney's stateliest tree;

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!


SMAYLHO'ME, or Smallholm Tower, the scene of the following ballad, is situated on the northern boundary of Roxburghshire, among a cluster of wild rocks, called Sandiknow'-Crags, the property of Hugh Scott, Esq. of Harden. The tower is a high square building, surrounded by an outer wall, now ruinous. The circuit of the outer court, being defended on three sides, by a precipice and morass, is accessible only from the west, by a steep and rocky path. The apartments, as is usual in a Border keep, or fortress, are placed one above another, and communicate by a narrow stair; on the roof are two bartizans, or platforms, for defence or pleasure. The inner door of the tower is wood, the outer an iron gate; the distance between them being nine feet, the thickness, namely, of the wall. From the elevated situation of Smaylho'me Tower, it is seen many miles in every direction. Among the crags by which it is surrounded, one, more eminent, is called the Watchfold, and is said to have been the station of a beacon, in the times of war with England. Without the towercourt is a ruined chapel. Brotherstone is a heath, in the neighbourhood of Smaylho'me Tower.

1« This place is rendered interesting to poetical readers, by its having been the residence, in early life, of Mr. Walter Scott, who has celebrated it in his • Eve of St. John.' To it he probably alludes in the introduction to the third canto of Marmion.

• Then rise those crags, that mountain tower,
Which charmed my fancy's wakening hour.''

Scots Mag. March, 1809 The farm-house in the immediate vicinity of Smallholm.

This ballad was first printed in Mr. Lewis's Tales of Wonder. It is here published, with some additional illustrations, particularly an account of the battle of Ancram Moor; which seemed proper in a work upon Border antiquities. The catastrophe of the tale is founded upon a well-known Irish tradition.' This ancient fortress and its vicinity formed the scene of the Editor's infancy, and seemed to claim from him this attempt to celebrate them in a Border tale.?

The following passage, in Dr. HENRY MORE's Appendix to the Antidote against Atheism, relates to a similar phenomenon :-“I confess, that the bodies of devils may not be only warm, but sindgingly hot, as it was in him that took one of Melancthon's relations by the hand, and so scorched her, that she bare the mark of it to her dying day. But the examples of cold are more frequent; as in that famous story of Cuntius, when he touched the arm of a certain woman of Pentoch, as she lay in her bed, he felt as cold as ice; and so did the spirit's claw to Anne Styles."-Ed. 1662, p. 135. ? [See the Introduction to the third canto of Marmion.

“It was a barren scene, and wild,
Where naked cliffs were rudely piled ;
But ever and anon between
Lay velvet tufts of softest green;
And well the lonely infant knew
Recesses where the wallflower grew," &c.-Ed.]

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