ing night-by the prophetic words of Siddick-and by that boding forecast of disaster, which the wise would do well to regard. On all sides people were seated on the rising ground: the tree tops, the immemorial resting places of ravens and rooks, were filled with young men, anxious to see the procession to the chapel of Preston, and hearken to the bridal joy; and even the rough and dizzy cliff of Baruhourie Burn, which overlooks the Solway for many miles, had the possession of its summit disputed with its native cormorants and eagles, by some venturous school-boys, who thus showed that love of adventure which belongs to the children of the sea-coast. The sun was in noon when we landed in Preston-bay, and its edge was touching the grassy tops of the western hills of Galloway, when shout above shout, from wood and eminence,-the waving of white hands from field and knoll, and the sudden awakening of all manner of clamorous and mirthful melody, announced the coming of the bridal crowd. The gates of Preston-hall burst suddenly open; out upon the level lawn gushed an inundation of youths and maidens clad in their richest dresses, and the living stream flowed down to the Solway side. As they approached, a shallop, covered from the mast-head to the water with streamers, and pennons, and garlands, came suddenly from a small anchorage scooped out of the bosom of the garden, making the coming tide gleam to a distance, with the gold and silver lavished in its decoration. But my admiration of this beautiful shallop was soon interrupted by the appearance of a lady, who, standing on the ground by the prow of the bride's barge, looked earnestly seaward, and trembled so much, that the white satin dress which covered her from bosom to heel-studded, and sown, and flowered with the most costly stones and metals-shook as if touched by an ungentle wind. Her long tresses of raven black hair—and which descended from her shoulders till she could sit upon them-partook of her agitation. Her eyes, large and bright, and fringed with long lashes of a black still deeper than that of her hair, were calm and contemplative, and seemed with her mind meditating on some perilous thing. While she stood thus, a maiden came to her side, and casting a long white veil-a present from the bridegroom-over her head, shrowded her to the feet but the elegance of her form, and the deep dark glance of her expressive eyes triumphed over the costly gift-though the fringe was of diamonds, and the disastrous tale of the youth who perished swimming over the Solway to his love, was wrought, or rather damasked, in the middle. I could have gazed from that hour to this on this beautiful vision; but while I looked, there came slowly from the wood a figure of a woman, bent with age or distress to the ground, and entirely covered in a black mantle: she approached the bride unperceived, and lay down at her feet as a foot-stool on which she must tread before she could enter the shallop. This was unheeded of many, or of all; for the blessings showered by all ranks on the departing pair,-the bustle of the mariners preparing to sail with the tide, which now filled Preston-bay,-the sounding of bugle and pipe, and the unremitting rivalry in song and ballad, between the mariners in the barges of the bridegroom and bride, successively filled every mind-save mine, overclouded then, as it has ever since been, before some coming calamity. Ballad and song passed over my memory without leaving a verse behind; one song alone, sung by a mariner of Allanbay, and which has long been popular on the coast, interested me much,-more, I confess, from the dark and mysterious manner in which it figured or shadowed forth our catastrophe, than from its poetical merit, the last verse alone approaching to the true tone of the lyric. Michael Halmer's Song. Upon the bonnie mountain side, upon the leafy trees, The wind comes breathing freshly forth-ho! pluck up fron; the sand The sheep love Skiddaw's lonesome top-the shepherd loves his hill- My son, a grey-hair'd peasant said, leap on the grassy land, And wherefore, old man, should I turn? dost hear the merry pipe, Full sore the old man sigh'd-and said, go bid the mountain wind Lo! look! here comes our lovely bride-breathes there a wind so rude During the continuance of this song, an old gentleman of the house of Maxwell, advancing through the press to the barges, said aloud-" A challenge, ye gallants, a challenge!-let the bridegroom take the merry mariners of England let the bride take her mariners of old Galloway-push the barges from Preston-bay, as the signal-pipe sounds; and a tun of blood-red wine to a cupfull of cold water, that we reach Allanbay first." As the old man finished his challenge, hundreds of caps, and bonnets too, were thrown into the air, and the bridegroom, with a smile, took his offered hand, and said," What! Sir Marmaduke Maxwell, wilt thou brave us too?-A ton of the richest wine to a drink of the saltest brine in the centre of the Solway, that the merry lads of Allanbay exceed thee at least by ten strokes of the oar." The English mariners replied, as is their wont-with a shout, threw aside their jackets and caps, and prepared gladly for the coming contest: nor were the mariners of Siddick and Colvend slow in preparing: they made themselves ready with that silent and sedate alacrity peculiar to that singular people. "May I never see Skiddaw again," said Walter Selby of mates.Shouldest thou peril her in thy folly, come before my face no more." "Peril Beatrice Maxwell, Lord William," said the Scottish helmsman, with a look of proud scorn, "My fathers have fought to the saddle laps in English blood for the men of the house of Maxwell-and I would rather see all who own the sirname o' Forster sinking in the Solway without one to help them, than be the cause of Preston soiling slipper or snood.-I see ye dinna ken ought of the Howatsons of Glenhowan." 66 I know nought of the Howatsons of Glenhowan," said the bridegroom, "but what I am proud and pleased with-therefore ply the oar and manage the sail, for I have men with me who will put you to your might in both." To this conciliating speech the maritime representative of the ancient Howatsons of Glenhowan returned no answer, but busying himself in his vocation, chanted, as was his wont on going upon any important mission, some fragment of an old ballad-made by one of the minstrels of the house of Maxwell, when its glory was at the fullest. "Give the sail to the south-wind, thou mariner bold, And sever the green grassy sward with her prow, "An ominous star sits above the bright moon, And see the changed planet so lovely even now "The moon, thou coward churl-lo! see the swift shafts 1 And hearken the war steed-he neighs in his strength, And the bark smote the ground and ashore they all leapt Of two handed claymore and hauberk-and soon All on yon fair shore where the cowslips bloom thick, The sun saw in gladness-the moon saw in death And long shall the Cumberland damosels weep Ere the song had ceased, the bride proceeded to enter the barge, when she perceived at her feet a figure in a black mantle, and scarce refrained from shrieking. Margery, what wouldest thou with me, Margery," said she visibly affected-" the cottage thou livest in I have given thee.""Worlds, wealth, and creature comforts are no cares of mine," said the old domestic of the house of Maxwell. "I laid me down here, ere Beatrice Maxwell deports with one of a doomed house she should step over my gray hairs.-Have I not said-have I not prayed?"— "Margery, Margery," said the bride, "be silent and be wise."" Are we to stand here and listen to the idle words of a crazed menial," said one of the house of Maxwell,-" aboard, gallants, aboard," and placing the bride on deck, the barges, urged by oar and sail, darted out of the bay of Preston, while the shout and song of clamouring multitudes followed us far into the ocean. ye The wind of the summer twilight, gentle and dewy, went curling the surface of the water; before us the green mountains of Cumberland rose; behind us we beheld the huge outline of the Scottish hills, while, a full stone-cast asunder the barges pursued their way, and the crews, silent and anxious, had each their hopes of conquering in the contest. As we went scudding away I looked towards the hall of Helvellyn, and there I beheld on its summit the old lord, with his grey hair-his hands clasped, and his eyes turned intent on the barge which contained his son. I thought on the prophecy, and on the vision of the preceding evening, and looked towards the hills of Scotland, now fast diminishing in the distance. At first I thought I saw the waters agi tated in the track we had pursued, and continuing to gaze, I observed the sea furrowed into a tremendous hollow, following the sinuous course of the barge. I now knew this to be a whirlwind, and dreading that it would fasten on our sails, I tacked northward-the whirlwind followed also.-I tacked southward, and to the south veered the whirlwind, encreasing in violence as it came. The first sight I beheld was the sea at our stern, whirling round in fearful undulations. The wind at once seizing our sails, turned us thrice about, and down went the barge, headforemost in the centre of Solway. I was stunned and felt the cold brine bubbling in my ears as emerging from the flood I tried to swim-barge, bridegroom, and mariners were all gone. The bride's barge came in a moment to my side, and saved me, and standing for the coast of Cumberland, spread the tale of sorrow along the shore, where crowds had assembled to welcome us. The old Lord of Helvellyn remained on the castle top, after he had witnessed the loss of his son; and when his favorite servant ventured to approach, he was found seated in his chair, his hands clasped more in resignation than agony, his face turned to the Solway, and his eyes gazing with the deepest intensity and stiff and dead. The morning tide threw the body of Lord William and those of his six mariners ashore; and when I walked down at day dawn to the beach, I found them stretched in a row on the very spot where the vision had revealed their fate to me so darkly and so surely. Such a tale as this will be often told you among the sea-coast cottages of Cumberland.-Young man, be wise, and weigh well the mysterious ways of Providence. ELLEN OF EGLANTINE. › Fast fell the night's shadows, and late was the hour, Unheeding the wrath of the thick-driving show'r," To tell the sad tale of her woes. "Why comes not my Egbert?" distracted she cried, "Though threats may assail me, though parents may chide, "E'er Raymond shall bear me away as his bride, "Grim Death shall call Ellen his own. "Full well I remember, when last in my ear, "My love pour'd his amorous sighs; "Hence vain apprehension! hence banish all fear! "When my rival expects thee, exulting and vain, "When midnight assumes her still shadowy reign, "In vain my eye wanders across the dark dale, "I see not his plume floating wide in the gale, For Raymond, revengeful and thirsting for blood, Now midnight was past, and deep sounded the bell, "He comes not!" she cried, as she shrunk at the knell, "This I drink to thee, Egbert, though force may compel, "This makes me for ever thy own." Thus saying, while horror distorted her eyes, To her lips she the poison convey'd ; She feels in her breast a chill languor arise, Through her veins a cold numbness, death's harbinger, flies, "I am free!" she exultingly said. Now all was prepar'd, and the banquet was spread, Faint and faltering came the sad maid: The rose from her cheeks, worn with sorrow, had fled, She led on to the altar her life-ebbing tide "I come to thee, Egbert!" exulting she cried, 66 Know, Raymond, that Ellen will ne'er be thy bride!" |