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 resignd,
Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,
Or saild 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,
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine.'

He mutterd thrice St. Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer;
Then turnd him to the eastern clime,
And sternly shook his coal-black hair:

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 waxt 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 dropt from high a mangled arm,

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

Oft o'er that head, in battling field,

Streamd the proud crest of high Benmore;
That arm the broad claymore could wield,
Which dyed 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 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 fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;

We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

[Stanza I. O hone a rie signifies Alas for the prince, or chief.'

Stanza 4. The fires lighted by the Highlanders on the first of May, in compliance with a custom derived from the Pagan times, are so called. It is a festival celebrated, with various superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales.

Stanza 22. St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was buried in Icolmkill. In memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be buried, in the chapel, or the cemetery, called, after him, Reilig Ouran. This is the 'rule' alluded to in the poem.

Stanza 55. St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c., in Scotland. Scott.]

[This ballad, like the preceding, was written by Dr. Leyden, and first published in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.' The hero, according to Sir Walter Scott, was William, Lord Soulis, a powerful baron, descended from Alexander II. Local tradition represents him as a cruel tyrant and sorcerer; constantly employed in oppressing his vassals, harassing his neighbours, and fortifying his castle of Hermitage against the King of Scotland, for which purpose he employed all means, human and infernal; invoking the fiends, by his incantations, and forcing his vassals to drag materials, like beasts of burden. Tradition proceeds to relate, that the Scottish king, irritated by reiterated complaints, peevishly exclaimed to the petitioners, Boil him, if you please, but let me hear no more of him.' Satisfied with this answer, they proceeded with the utmost haste to execute the commission; which they accomplished, by boiling him alive on the Nine-stane Rig, in a cauldron, said to have been long preserved at Skelfhill, a hamlet betwixt Hawick and the Hermitage. Messengers, it is said, were immediately despatched by the king, to prevent the effects of such a hasty declaration, but they only arrived in time to witness the conclusion of the ceremony. The Nine-stane Rig is a declivity about one mile in breadth, and four in length, descending upon the Water of Hermitage from the range of hills which separate Liddesdale and Teviotdale. It derives its name from one of those circles of large stones, which are termed Druidical, nine of which remained till a late period. Five of these stones are still visible, and two are particularly pointed out, as those which supported the iron bar, upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended. Redcap is a popular appellation of that class of spirits which haunt old castles Every ruined tower in the south of Scotland is supposed to have an inhabitant of this species."]

ORD SOULIS he sat in Hermitage castle, And beside him Old Redcap sly;'Now, tell me, thou sprite who art meikle of might,

'While thou shalt bear a charmed life, And hold that life of me,

'Gainst lance and arrow, sword and knife,
I shall thy warrant be.

Nor forged steel, nor hempen band,
Shall e'er thy limbs confine,
Till threefold ropes of sifted sand
Around thy body twine.

If danger press fast, knock thrice on the chest,
With rusty padlocks bound;

Turn away your eyes, when the lid shall rise,
And listen to the sound.'

Lord Soulis he sat in Hermitage castle,

And Redcap was not by;

And he called in a page, who was witty and sage,

To go to the barmkin high.

'And look thou east, and look thou west,

And quickly come tell to me,

What troopers haste along the waste,

And what may their livery be.'

He looked o'er fell, and he looked o'er flat,
But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Save a pyot on a turret that sat
Beside a corby craw.

The page he lookt at the skrieh of day,
But nothing, I wist, he saw,

Till a horseman gay, in the royal array,

Rode down the Hazel-shaw.

Say, why do you cross o'er muir and moss?"
So loudly cried the page:

I tidings bring, from Scotland's king,

To Soulis of Hermitage.

He bids me tell that bloody warden,
Oppressor of low and high,

If ever again his lieges complain,
The cruel Soulis shall die.'

By traitorous sleight they seized the knight,

Before he rode or ran,

And through the key-stone of the vault

O May she came, and May she gaed,
By Goranberry green;

And May she was the fairest maid
That ever yet was seen.

O May she came, and May she gaed,
By Goranberry tower;

And who was it but cruel Lord Soulis,
That carried her from her bower.

He brought her to his castle gray,
By Hermitage's side;

Says, 'Be content, my lovely May,
For thou shalt be my bride.'

With her yellow hair, that glittered fair,
She dried the trickling tear;

She sighed the name of Branxholme's heir,
The youth that loved her dear.

'Now, be content, my bonnie May,

And take it for your hame;

Or ever and aye shall ye rue the day,
You heard young Branxholme's name.

O'er Branxholme tower, ere the morring hour,
When the lift is like lead so blue,

The smoke shall roll white on the weary night,
And the flame shine dimly through.'

Syne he's ca'd on him Ringan Red,
A sturdy kemp was he;

From friend or foe, in border feid,
Who never a foot would flee.

Red Ringan sped, and the spearmen led,
Up Goranberry Slack;

Aye, many a wight, unmatcht in fight,
Who never more came back.

And bloody set the westering sun,
And bloody rose he up;

But little thought young Branxholme's c
Where he that night should sup.

He shot the roe-buck on the lee,
The dun deer on the law;
The glamour sure was in his ee,