“ Alas! away, away!” she cried,

“For the holy Virgin's sake! " Lady, I know who sleeps by thy side;

But, lady, he will not awake.

" By Eildon-tree, for long nights three,

In bloody grave have I lain;
The mass and the death-prayer are said for me,

But, lady, they are said in vain.
“ By the Baron's brand, near Tweed's fair strand,

Most foully slain, I fell;
And my restless sprite on the beacon's height,

For a space is doom'd to dwell.

" At our trysting-place,' for a certain space,

I must wander to and fro;
But I had not had power to come to thy bower,

Had'st thou not conjured me so."

Love master'd fear - her brow she cross'd;

“How, Richard, hast thou sped? And art thou saved, or art thou lost?”.

The vision shook his head!

" Who spilleth life, shall forfeit life;

So bid thy lord believe:
That lawless love is guilt above,

This awful sign receive."

He laid his left palm on an oaken beam;

His right upon her hand;
The lady shrunk, and fainting sunk,

For it scorch'd like a fiery brand.

The sable score, of fingers four,

Remains on that board impress'd; And for evermore that lady wore

A covering on her wrist.

? Trysting-place-Place of rendezvous.

There is a nun in Dryburgh bower,

Ne'er looks upon the sun;
There is a monk in Melrose tower,

He speaketh word to none.

That nun, who ne'er beholds the day,'

That monk, who speaks to none
That nun was Smaylho'me's Lady gay,

That monk the bold Baron.

1

'The circumstance of the nun, “who never saw the day,” is not entirely imaginary. About fifty years ago, an unfortunate female wanderer took up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which, during the day, she never quitted. When night fell, she issued from this miserable habitaiion, and went to the house of Mr. Haliburton of Newmains, the Editor's great-grandfather, or to that of Mr. Erskine of Sheil. field, two gentlemen of the neighbourhood. From their charity, she ob tained such necessaries as she could be prevailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted her candle, and returned to her vault, assuring her friendly neighbours, that, during her absence, her habitation was arranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name of Fatlips ; describing him as a little man, wearing heavy iron shoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, to dispel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regarded, by the well-informed, with compassion, as deranged in her understanding; and by the vulgar, with some degree of terror. The cause of her adopting this extraordinary mode of life she would never explain. It was, however, believed to have been occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence of a man to whom she was attached, she would never look upon the sun. Her lover never returned. He fell during the civil war of 1745–6, and she never more would behold the light of day.

The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate woman lived and died, passes still by the name of the supernatural being, with which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed imagination; and few of the neighbouring peasants dare enter it by night.—1803

CADYOW CASTLE.

ADDRESSED TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

LADY ANNE HAMILTON.'

When princely Hamilton's abode

Ennobled Cadyow's Gothic towers, The song went round, the goblet flow'd,

And revel sped the laughing hours. Then, thrilling to the harp's gay sound,

So sweetly rung each vaulted wall, And echoed light the dancer's bound,

As mirth and music cheer'd the hall. But Cadyow's towers, in ruins laid,

And vaults, by ivy mantled o'er, Thrill to the music of the shade,

Or echo Evan's hoarser roar. Yet still, of Cadyow's faded fame,

You bid me tell a minstrel tale,
And tune my harp, of Border frame,

On the wild banks of Evandale.
For thou, from scenes of courtly pride,

From pleasure's lighter scenes, canst turn, To draw oblivion's pall aside,

And mark the long-forgotten urn. Then, noble maid! at thy command,

Again the crumbled hails shall rise; Lo! as on Evan's banks we stand,

The past returns the present flies.

1

[Eldest daughter of Archibald, 9th Duke of Hamilton -Ep.1 Where, with the rock's wood-cover'd side,

Were blended late the ruins green,
Rise turrets in fantastic pride,

And feudal banners flaunt between:
Where the rude torrent's brawling course

Was shagg'd with thorn and tangling sloe,
The ashler buttress braves its force,

And ramparts frown in battled row.
'T is night — the shade of keep and spire

Obscurely dance on Evan's stream;
And on the wave the warder's fire

Is chequering the moonlight beam.
Fades slow their light; the east is grey ;

The weary warder leaves his tower;
Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay,

And merry hunters quit the bower.
The drawbridge falls --- they hurry out –

Clatters each plank and swinging chain,
As, dashing o'er, the jovial rout

Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein.
First of his troop, the Chief rode on;'

His shouting merry-men throng behind;
The steed of princely Hamilton

Was fleeter than the mountain wind.
From the thick copse: the roebucks bound,

The startled red-deer scuds the plain,
For the hoarse bugle's warrior sound

Has roused their mountain haunts again.
Through the huge oaks of Evandale,

Whose limbs a thousand years have worn,
What sullen roar comes down the gale,

And drowns the hunter's pealing horn?

· The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, was James, Earl of Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and first peer of the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, under the singular title of her adopted father.

Mightiest of all the beasts of chase,

That roam in woody Caledon, Crasbing the forest in his race,

The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. Fierce, on the hunter's quiverd band,

He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand,

And tosses high his mane of snow. Aim'd well, the Chieftain's lance has flown;

Struggling in blood the savage lies; His roar is sunk in hollow groan

Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the pryse!' "T is noon - against the knotted oak

The hunters rest the idle spear;
Curls through the trees the slender smoke,

Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. Proudly the Chieftain mark'd his clan,

On greenwood lap all careless thrown, Yet miss'd his eye the boldest man,

That bore the name of Hamilton. "Why fills not Both welhaugh his place,