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LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.
[The tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy (a hut, built for the purpose of hunting, and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them exPressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses, to complete their party. The were when two young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing aud singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attaclied herself particularly to him, to leave the hat: the other retained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, cons crated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend; who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fend. into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women.]
"For them the viewless forms of air otet,
They know what spirit brews the storniful day,
To see the phantom train their secret work prepare."
"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!
O, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never fear'd a foe,
How, on the Teith's resounding shore,
As down from Lenny's pass you bore.
O hone a ris signifies" Alas for the prince, or chief."
And, spattering foul, a shower of blood
The fingers strain'd an half-drawn blade:
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 broad claymore could wield, Which dy'd the Teith with Saxon gore. 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 tir'd pilgrim's burning feet
At noon shall shun that shelt ring 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.
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
EVE OF SAINT JOHN.
THE Baron of Smaylho'me rose with day,
Without stop or stay, down the rocky way
He went not with the bold Buccleuch,
He went not 'gainst the English yew,
Yet his plate-jack* was brac'd, and his helmet was lac'd,
And his vaunt-brace of proof he wore ;
The Baron return'd in three days' space,
And weary was his courser s pace,
He came not from where Ancram Moor
Where the Douglas true, and the bold Buccleuch, 'Gainst keen lord Evers stood.
Yet was his helmet hack'd and hew'd,
His acton pierc d and tore;
His axe and his dagger with blood embru'd,
He lighted at the Chapellage,
"Come thou hither, my little foot-page; Come hither to my knee;
Thou art young, and tender of
"Come, tell me all that thou hast seen,
And look thou tell me true!
Since I from Smaylho me tow'r have been,
'My lady, each night, sought the lonely light, That burns on the wild Watchfold;
For, from height to height, the beacons bright
"The bittern clamour'd from the moss, The wind blew loud and shrill;
The plate-jack is coat armour; the vaunt-brace, or wam-brace, Armour for the body; the sperthe, a battle-0.
Yet the craggy pathway sho did cross,
"I watch'd her steps, and silent came
"The second night I kept her in sight, Till to the fire she came,
And, by Mary's might! an armed Knight
"And many a word that warlike lord
But the rain fell fast, and loud blew the blast,
"The third night there the sky was fair, And the mountain biast was still,
As again I watch'd the secret pair,
"And I heard her name in the midnight hour, And name this holy eve;
And say, Come this night to thy lady's bower; Ask no bold Baron's leave.
"He lifts his spear with the bold Buccleuch;
The door she'll undo to her knight so true,
"I cannot come; I must not come; I dare not come to thee;
On the eve of Saint John I must wander alone: In thy bower I may not be.'
"Now, out on thee, faint-hearted knight!
"And I'li chain the blood-hound, and the warder shall not sound,
And rushes shall be strew'd on the stair;
So, by the black rood-stone," and by holy St John, I conjure thee, my love, to be there!"
"Though the blood-hound be mute, and the rush beneath my foot,
And the warder his bugle should not blow, Yet there sleepeth a priest in the chamber to the east,
And my foot-step he would know.'
"O fear not the priest, who sleepeth to the east! For to Dryburgh the way he has ta'en; And there to say mass, till three days do For the soul of a kuight that is slayne.' "He turn'd him around, and grimly he frown'd; Then he laugh'd right scornfully-
He who says the mass-rite for the soul of that
May as well say mass for me.
"At the lone midnight hour, when bad spirits have pow'r,
In thy chamber will I be.'
With that he was gone, and my lady left alone,
Then changed, I trow, was that bold Baron's brow, From the dark to the blood-red high;
"Now, tell me the mien of the knight thou hast
For, by Mary, he shall die!"
"His arms shone full bright, in the beacon's red light:
His plume it was scarlet and blue;
On his shield was a hound, in a silver leash bound, And his crest was a branch of the yew."
"Thou liest, thou liest, thou little foot-page, Loud dost thou lie to me!
For that knight is cold, and low laid in the mould, All under the Eildon-tree."+
The black-rood of Melrose was a crucifix of black marble, and of superior sanctity.
+Kildon-tree is said to be the spot where Thomas the Rhymer uttered his prophecies.