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“ Alas! that ever thou rais’dst thine eyes,

Thine eyes to look on me;
Till seven years are o'er, return no more,

For here thou must not be.”
Think not but Soulis was wae to yield

His warlock-chamber o'er ;
He took the keys from the rusty lock,

That never were ta’en before.
He threw them o'er his left shoulder,

With mickle care and pain;
And he bade it keep them fathoms deep,

Till he returned again.
And still, when seven years are o'er,

Is heard the jarring sound,
When slowly opes the charmed door

Of the chamber under ground.
And some within the chamber-door

Have cast a curious eye;
But none dare tell, for the spirits in hell,

The fearful sights they spy.

When Soulis thought on his merry men now,

A woeful wight was he:
Says, “ Vengeance is mine, and I'll not repine ;

But Branxholm's heir shall die.”
Says, “ What would you do, young Branxholm,

Gin ye had me, as I have thee?”
“I would take you to the good green-wood,

And gar your ain hand wale the tree.” (wale-choose. “ Now shall thine ain hand wale the tree,

For all thy mirth and mickle pride;
And May shall choose, if my love she refuse,

A scrog bush thee beside.”
They carried him to the good green-wood,

Where the green pines grew in a row;
And they heard the cry, from the branches high,

Of the hungry carrion crow.
They carried him on, from tree to tree,

The spiry boughs below:
“Say, shall it be thine, on the tapering pine,

To feed the hooded crow ?”.

“The fir-tops fall by Branxholm wall,

When the night-blast stirs the tree;
And it shall not be mine, to die on the pine

I loved in infancy.”
Young Branxholm turned him, and oft looked back;

And aye he passed from tree to tree:
Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake:

“O, sic a death is no for me!”
And next they passed the aspin gray,-

Its leaves were rustling mournfully: “ Now choose thee, choose thee, Branxholm gay,

Say, wilt thou never choose the tree ? " “More dear to me is the aspin gray,

More dear than any other tree!
For beneath the shade that its branches made,

Have passed the vows of my love and me.”
Young Branxholm peeped, and puirly spake,

Until he did his own men see,
With witch's hazel in each steel cap,

In scorn of Soulis' gramary.
Then shoulder height for glee he lap,

“Methinks I spy a coming Tree!
“ Ay! many may come, but few return,”

Quo' Soulis, the lord of gramary,“No warrior's hand, in fair Scotland,

Shall ever dint a wound on me."
“Now, by my sooth! (quoth bold Walter),

If that be true, we soon shall see :"
His bent bow he drew, and the arrow was true,

But never a wound or scar had he.
Then up bespake him true Thomas;

He was the Lord of Ersyltoun; “The wizard's spell, no steel can quell,

Till once your lances bear him down."
They bore him down with lances bright,

But never a wound or scar had he:
With hempen bands they bound him tight,

Both hands and feet, on the Nine-stane lee.
That wizard accurst, the bands he burst,

They moulder'd at his inagic spell; And neck and heel, in the forged steel,

They bound him against the charms of hell.

That wizard accurst, the bands he burst,

No forged steel his charms could bide; Then up bespake him true Thomas,

“We'll bind him yet, whate'er betide."
The black Spae-Book from his breast he took,

Impressed with many a warlock spell;
And the book it was wrote by Michael Scott,

Who held in awe the fiends of hell.
They buried it deep, where his bones they sleep,

That mortal man might never see;
But Thomas did save it from the grave,

When he returned from Faërie.
The black Spae-Book from his breast he took,

And turned the leaves with curious hand-
No ropes did he find the wizard could bind,

But threefold ropes of sifted sand.
They sifted the sand from the Nine-stane burn,

And shaped the ropes so curiously;
But the ropes would neither twist nor twine,

For Thomas true, and his gramary.
The black Spae-Book from his breast he took,

And again he turned it with his hand;
And he bade each lad of Teviot add

The barley-chaff to the sifted sand. The barley-chaff to the sifted sand

They added still, by handsful nine; But Red-Cap sly, unseen, was by,

And the ropes would neither twist nor twine. And still beside the Nine-stane burn,

Ribbed, like the sand at mark of sea,
The ropes, that would not twist nor turn,

Shaped of the sifted sand you see.
The black Spae-Book, true Thomas took-

Again its magic leaves he spread;
And he found, that, to quell the powerful spell,

The wizard must be boiled in lead.
On a circle of stones they placed the pot;

On a circle of stones, but barely nine
They heated it red and fiery hot,

Till the burnished brass did glimmer and shine. They rolled him up in a sheet of lead;

A sheet of lead for a funeral pall! They plunged him in the cauldron red,

And melted him-lead and bones and all
At the Skelf-hill, the cauldron still

The Men of Liddesdale can show;
And on the spot, where they boiled the pot,

The spreat and the deer-hair ne'er shall grow THE BRAZEN HEAD. (From a Tract of the Sixteenth Century, called The Famous History of


HE WOULD HAVE WALLED ENGLAND ABOUT WITH BRASS. FRIAR BACON, reading one day of the many conquests of England, bethought himself how he might keep it hereafter from the like conquests, and so make himself famous hereafter to all posterities. This (after great study) he found could be no way so well done as one, which was to make a head of brass; and if he could make this head to speak (and hear it when it speaks), then might he be able to wall all England about with brass. To this purpose he got one Friar Bungay to assist him, who was a great scholar and a magician (but not to be compared to Friar Bacon). These two with great study and pains so framed a head of brass, that in the inward parts thereof there was all things like as in a natural man's head: this being done, they were as far from perfection of the work as they were before, for they knew not how to give those parts that they had made, motion, without which it was impossible that it should speak. Many books they read, but they could not find out any hope of what they sought; that at the last they concluded to raise a spirit, and to know of him that which they could not attain to by their own studies. To do this, they prepared all things ready, and went one evening to a wood thereby, and after many ceremonies used, they spake the words of conjuration, which the devil straight obeyed, and appeared unto them, asking what they would ? Know, said Friar Bacon, that we have made an artificial head of brass, which we would have to speak, to the furtherance of which we have raised thee; and being raised, we will here keep thee, unless thou tell to us the way and manner how to make this head to speak. The devil told him that he had not that power of himself. Beginner of lies! (said Friar Bacon) I know that thou dost dissemble, and therefore tell it us quickly, or else we will here bind thee to remain during our pleasures. At these threatenings the devil consented to do it, and told them, that with a continual fume of the six hottest simples it should have motion, and in one month's space speak; the time of the month or day he knew not: also, he told them, that if they heard it not before it had done speaking, all their labour should be lost: they being satisfied, licensed the spirit to depart.

Then went these two learned friars home again, and prepared the simples ready, and made the fume, and with continual watching attended when this brazen head should speak: thus watched they for three weeks without any rest, so that they were so weary and sleepy that they could

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