His russet weeds were brown as heath,
That clothes the upland fell;

And the hair of his head was frizzly red,
As the purple heather-bell.

An urchin, clad in pickles red,

Clung cowering to his arm;

The hounds they howl'd, and backward fled,
As struck by Fairy charm.

"Why rises high the stag-hound's cry,
Where stag-hound ne'er should be?
Why wakes that horn the silent morn,
Without the leave of me?"-

"Brown Dwarf, that o'er the muirland strays, Thy name to Keeldar tell!"

"The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays Beneath the heather-bell.

""Tis sweet, beneath the heather-bell,

To live in autumn brown;

And sweet to hear the lav'rocks swell
Far far from tower and town.

"But woe betide the shrilling horn,
The chase's surly cheer!

And ever that hunter is forlorn,
Whom first at morn I hear."

Says, "Weel nor woe, nor friend nor foe,
In thee we hope nor dread."

But, ere the bugles green could blow,
The Wee Brown Man had fled.

And onward, onward, hound and horse,
Young Keeldar's band have gone;
And soon they wheel, in rapid course,
Around the Keeldar Stone.

Green vervain round its base did creep,
A powerful seed that bore;

1 Urchin-Hedgehog.

And oft, of yore, its channels deep
Were stain'd with human gore.

And still, when blood-drops, clotted thin,
Hang the gray moss upon,

The spirit murmurs from within,

And shakes the rocking stone.1

Around, around, young Keeldar wound,
And call'd, in scornful tone,

With him to pass the barrier ground,
The Spirit of the Stone.

The rude crag rock'd; "I come for death,

I come to work thy woe!

And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath,
That murmur'd from below.

But onward, onward, Keeldar past,
Swift as the winter wind,

When, hovering on the driving blast,
The snow-flakes fall behind.

They pass'd the muir of berries blae,
The stone cross on the lee ;

They reach'd the green, the bonny brae,
Beneath the birchen tree.

This is the bonny brae, the green,

Yet sacred to the brave,

Where still, of ancient size, is seen,

Gigantic Keeldar's grave.

1 The rocking stone, commonly reckoned a Druidical monument, has always been held in superstitious veneration by the people. The popular opinion, which supposes them to be inhabited by a spirit, coincides with that of the ancient Icelanders, who worshipped the demons, which they believed to inhabit great stones. It is related in the Kristni saga, chap. 2, that the first Icelandic bishop, by chanting a hymn over one of these sacred stones, immediately after his arrival on the island, split it, expelled the spirit, and converted its worshippers to Christianity. The herb vervain, revered by the Druids, was also reckoned a powerful charm by the common people; and the author recollects a popular rhyme, supposed to be addressed to a young woman by the devil, who attempted to seduce her in the shape of a handsome young man :

"Gin ye wish to be leman mine,

Lay off the St John's wort, and the vervine."

By his repugnance to these sacred plants, his mistress discovered the cloven foot.

The lonely shepherd loves to mark
The daisy springing fair,

Where weeps the birch of silver bark,
With long dishevell'd hair.

The grave is green, and round is spread
The curling lady-fern;

That fatal day the mould was red,
No moss was on the cairn.

And next they pass'd the chapel there;
The holy ground was by,

Where many a stone is sculptured fair,
To mark where warriors lie.

And here, beside the mountain flood,
A massy castle frown'd,

Since first the Pictish race in blood
The haunted pile did found.1

The restless stream its rocky base
Assails with ceaseless din;
And many a troubled spirit strays
The dungeons dark within.

Soon from the lofty tower there hied
A knight across the vale;

"I greet your master well," he cried,
"From Soulis of Liddesdale.

"He heard your bugle's echoing call,

In his green garden bower;

And bids you to his festive hall,

Within his ancient tower."

Young Keeldar call'd his hunter train ;-
"For doubtful cheer prepare!

1 Castles, remarkable for size, strength, and antiquity, are, by the common people, commonly attributed to the Picts, or Pechs, who are not supposed to have trusted solely to their skill in masonry, in constructing these edifices, but are believed to have bathed the foundation-stone with human blood, in order to propitiate the spirit of the soil. Similar to this is the Gaelic tradition, according to which St. Columba is supposed to have been forced to bury St. Oran alive, beneath the foundation of his monastery, in order to propitiate the spirits of the soil, who demolished by night what was built during the day.

And, as you open force disdain,

Of secret guile beware.

""Twas here for Mangerton's brave lord

A bloody feast was set,

Who, weetless, at the festal board,

The bull's broad frontlet met.

"Then ever, at uncourteous feast,
Keep every man his brand;

And, as you 'mid his friends are placed,
Range on the better hand.

"And, if the bull's ill-omen'd head1
Appear to grace the feast,

Your whingers, with unerring speed,
Plunge in each neighbour's breast."

In Hermitage they sat at dine,

In pomp and proud array;

And oft they fill'd the blood-red wine,
While merry minstrels play.

And many a hunting song they sung,
And song of game and glee;

Then tuned to plaintive strains their tongue,
"Of Scotland's luve and lee."_2

To wilder measures next they turn:

"The Black Black Bull of Noroway!"-3 Sudden the tapers cease to burn,

The minstrels cease to play.

1 To present a bull's head before a person at a feast, was, in the ancient turbulent times of Scotland, a common signal for his assassination. Thus, Lindsay of Pitscottie relates in his History, p. 17, that "eftir the dinner was endit, once alle the delicate courses taken away, the Chancellor (Sir William Crichton) presentit the bull's head befoir the Earle of Douglas, in sign and token of condemnation to the death."

2 The most ancient Scottish song known is that which is here alluded to

"Quhen Alysander our King wes dede,

That Scotland led in luve and le," &c.

3 The song alluded to is a wild fanciful popular tale of enchantment, termed " The Black Bull of Noroway." The author is inclined to believe it the same story with the romance of the Three futtit Dog of Noroway," the title of which is mentioned in the Complaynt of Scotland.

Each hunter bold, of Keeldar's train,
Sat an enchanted man;

For cold as ice, through every vein,
The freezing life-blood ran.

Each rigid hand the whinger, rung,
Each gazed with glaring eye;
But Keeldar from the table sprung,
Unharm'd by gramarye.

He burst the doors; the roofs resound;
With yells the castle rung;
Before him, with a sudden bound,
His favourite blood-hound sprung.

Ere he could pass, the door was barr'd;
And, grating harsh from under,
With creaking, jarring noise, was heard
A sound like distant thunder.

The iron clash, the grinding sound,
Announce the dire sword-mill;1
The piteous howlings of the hound
The dreadful dungeon fill.

With breath drawn in, the murderous crew
Stood listening to the yell;

And greater still their wonder grew,

As on their ear it fell.

They listen'd for a human shriek

Amid the jarring sound;

They only heard, in echoes weak,

The murmurs of the hound.

The death-bell rung, and wide were flung

The castle gates amain;

While hurry out the armed rout,
And marshal on the plain.

1 The author is unable to produce any authority that the execrable machine, the swordmill, so well known on the continent, was ever employed in Scotland; but he believes the vestiges of something very similar have been discovered in the ruins of old castles.