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got fair play. With this man, who is very intelligert, I could never find an opportunity of conversing, though I sought it diligently. It is said, he can inform as to many particulars relating to this sad catastrophe; and that, whenever he has occasion to mention a certain great predecessor of his, (the lady of Thirlestane) he distinguishes her by the uncouth epithet of the dd
h. It must be remarked, that I had access to no records for the purpose of ascertaining the facts above stated, though I believe they are for the most part pretty correct. Perhaps much might be learned by applying to the noble representative of the family, the Honourable Lord Napier who is still possessed of the beautiful mountains round Thirlestane, and who has it at present in contemplation to rebuild and beautify it; wbich may God grant him health and prosperity to accomplish.-It is to this story that the following fragment relates.
FER, fer hee raide, and fer hee gaed,
And aft he sailit the sea; And thrise he crossit the Alpyne hills
To distant Italie.
Beyon Lough-Ness his tempil stude,
Ane ril of meikle fame; A knight of gude Seant John's hee was,
And Baldwin was his name.
By wondrous lore hee did explore
What after tymes wald bee; And manie mystic links of fate
He hafflins culd fursee.
Fer, fer hee raide, and fer hee gaed,
Owr mony hill and dale;
Wher Ettrick wandirs down a plain,
With lofiy hills belay't,
With wunder hee surveyt.
Black hung the bannir on the wall;
The trumpit seimit to grane; And reid, reid ran the bonny burn,
Whilk erst like siller shone.
At first a noise like fairie soundis
He indistinctly heard; Then countless, countless were the crouds
Whilke round the walls appeir'd.
Thousands of steids stood on the hill,
Of sable trappings vaine !
Grew no kin kind of graine.
Hee gazit, hee wonderit, sair hee fearit
Sum recent tragedie;
Gaun droopin on the ley.
His beard was silverit owr wi' eild:
Pale was his cheek wae-worn ;
On a December morn.
“Haile, revirent brither," Baldwin said,
“Here, in this unco land, A temple Warrior greets thee well,
And offers thee his hand.
“O tell me why the peepill murn?
Sure all is not for gude:
Rin reid wi' Christain blude ?"
Ald Beattie turnit and shuke his heid,
While down fell mony a teir ; “O wellcom, wellcom, sire,” he said,
“ Ane waesum tale to heire :
“ The gude Sir Robert's sonne and aire
By creuel handis lyis slain ; And all his wide domains, so fair,
To ither lords ar gane.
“ On sik ane youth as him they mourn,
The sun did never shine ;-
Rins reid wi' Renis wine.
“This is the sad returnin day
He first beheld the light; This is the sad returnin day
He fell by cruel spite.