The hart and hind approach'd the place,
As lingering yet he stood;
And there, before Lord Douglas' face,
With them he cross'd the flood.

Lord Douglas leap'd on his berry-brown steed,
And spurred him the Leader o'er;

But though he rode with lightning speed,
He never saw them more.

Some said to hill, and some to glen,
Their wondrous course had been;
But ne'er in haunts of living men
Again was Thomas seen.

Few personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildoune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, or supposed to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical composition, and of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his countrymen. To give anything like a certain history of this remarkable man, would be a difficult task; but the curious may derive some satisfaction from the particulars here brought together.

It is agreed, on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birth-place, of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer's Castle. The uniform tradition bears, that his surname was Lermont, or Learmont; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred on him in consequence of his poetical compositions. There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon this subject. In a charter, the son of our poet designs himself, "Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun," which seems to imply, that the father did not bear the hereditary name of Learmont; or, at least, was better known and distinguished by the epithet which he had acquired by his personal accomplishments. I must, however, remark, that, down to a very late period, the practice of distinguishing the parties, even in formal writings, by the epithets which had been bestowed on them from personal circumstances, instead of the proper surnames of their families, was common, and indeed necessary, among the border clans. So early as the end of the thirteenth century, when surnames were hardly introduced in Scotland, this custom must have been universal. There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in supposing our poet's name to have been actually Learmont, although, in this charter, he is distinguished by the popular appellation of The Rhymer. We are better able to ascertain the period, at which Thomas of Ercildoune lived; being the latter end of the thirteenth century.

It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercildoune was a remarkable and important person in his own time, since, very shortly after his death, we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. Whether he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the belief of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe Mackenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun, of a convent at Haddington. But of this there seems not to be the most distant proof. On the contrary, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer's prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted by himself.

Whatever doubts, however, the learned might have as to the source of the Rhymer's prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation to ascribe the whole to the intercourse between the bard and the Queen of Faëry. The popular tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired all the knowledge, which made him afterwards so famous. After seven years' residence he was permitted to return to the earth, to enlighten and astonish his countrymen by his prophetic powers; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her pleasure. Accordingly, while Thomas was making merry with his friends, in the tower of Ercildoun, a person came running in, and told, with marks of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were com posedly and slowly parading the street of the village. The prophet instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. According to the popular belief, he still "drees his weird" in Fairy Land, and is expected one day to revisit earth. In the mean while, his memory is held in the most profound respect. The Eildon Tree, from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, now no longer exists; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called Eildon Tree Stone. A neighbouring rivulet takes the name of the Bogle Burn, (Goblin Brook,) from the Rhymer's supernatural visitants. The veneration paid to his dwelling-place even attached itself in some degree to a person, who within the memory of man, chose to set up his residence in the ruins of Learmont's tower. The name of this man was Murray, a kind of herbalist; who, by dint of some knowledge in simples, the possession of a musical clock, an electrical machine, and a stuffed alligator, added to a supposed communication with Thomas the Rhymer, lived for many years in very good credit as a wizard.

The ballad is given from a copy obtained from a lady, residing not far from Ercildoun, corrected and enlarged by another MS. To this old tale the author has added a Second Part, consisting of a kind of Cento, from the printed prophecies ascribed to the Rhymer; and a Third Part, founded upon the tradition of his having returned with the hart and hind, to the Land of Faëry. - Sir W. Scott.

THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT.

AN outlandish Knight from the north lands came,
And he came a wooing to me;

He told me he'd take me unto the north lands,
And I should his fair bride be.

A broad, broad shield, did this strange Knight wield,
Whereon did the red cross shine;

Yet never, I ween, had that strange Knight been.
In the fields of Palestine.

And out and spake this strange Knight,

This Knight of the north countrie;

"O maiden fair with the raven hair,
Thou shalt at my bidding be.

"Thy sire he is from home, ladye,
For he hath a journey gone;

And his shaggy blood-hound is sleeping sound
Beside the postern stone.”

She mounted her on her milk-white steed,
And he on a dapple grey,

And they forward did ride till they reach'd the sea-side,
Three hours before it was day.

Then out and spake this strange Knight,

This Knight of the north countrie;

"O maiden fair with the raven hair,

66

Do thou at my bidding be.

Alight thee, maid, from thy milk-white steed,
And deliver it unto me;

Six maids have I drown'd where the billows sound,
And the seventh one thou shalt be.

"But first pull off thy kirtle fine,

And deliver it unto me;

Thy kirtle of green is too rich, I ween,
To rot in the salt, salt sea.

"Pull off, pull off thy silken shoon,

And deliver them unto me;

Methinks that they are too fine and gay
To rot in the salt, salt sea.

"Pull off, pull off thy bonny green plaid,
That floats in the breeze so free;

It is woven fine with the silver twine,
And comely it is to see"-

"If I must pull off my bonny green plaid,
O turn thy back to me,

And gaze on the sun, which has just begun
To peer o'er the salt, salt sea.

He turned his back on the damoselle,

And gaz'd on the bright sunbeam—

She grasp'd him tight, with her arms so white,
And plunged him into the stream.

"Lie there, Sir Knight, thou false-hearted wight, Lie there instead of me:

Six damsels fair thou hast drowned there,

But the seventh has drowned thee."

That ocean wave was the false one's grave,
For he sunk right hastily;

Though with dying voice faint, he prayed to his saint,
And uttered an Ave Marie.

She mounted her on her dapple grey steed,
And led the steed milk-white:

She rode till she reached her father's hall,
Three hours before the night.

The parrot hung in the lattice so high,
To the lady then did say,-

"Some ruffian, I fear, has led thee from home, For thou hast been long away."

"O do not prattle, my pretty bird,

O do not tell tales of me;

And thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
Instead of the green wood tree."

The earl, as he sat in his turret high,
On hearing the parrot did say,

"What ails thee, what ails thee, my pretty bird,
Thou hast prattled the live-long day?".

"Well may I prattle," the parrot replied, "And call, brave earl, on thee;

For the cat has well nigh reach'd the lattice so high, And her eyes are fix'd on me."

"Well turn'd, well turn'd, my pretty bird,
Well turn'd, well-turn'd for me;

Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
And the door of the ivory."

THE sun had risen above the mist,
The boughs in dew were dreeping;
Seven foresters sat on Chatsworth bank,
And sung while roes were leaping.

"Alas!" sung one, "for Chatsworth oaks,
Their heads are bald and hoary,

They droop in fulness of honour and fame,
They have had their time of glory.

"How fair they stand amid their green land, The sock or share ne'er pain'd them;

Not a bough or leaf have been shred from their strength, Nor the woodman's axe profaned them."

"Green," sung another, "were they that hour
When Scotland's loveliest woman,1

And saddest queen, in the sweet twilight,
Aneath their boughs was roamin'.