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No. I.



Bothwell Castle is beautifully situated upon the Clyde, and fronts

the ruins of Blantyre Priory. The estate of Bothwell has long been, and continues to be, in the possession of tke Douglas family.

Loud roars the north round Bothwell's hall,

And fast defcends the pattering rain: But streams of tears still faster fall

From thy blue eyes, oh! bonny Jane !

Hark! hark !--I hear, with mournful yell,

The wraiths * of angry Clyde complain ; But forrow bursts with louder swell

From thy fair breast, oh! bonny Jane !

* Water-fpirits,

« Tap!

« Tap!-tap!”—who knocks ?--the door unfolds ;

The mourner lifts her melting eye, And soon with joy and hope beholds

A reverend monk approaching nigh:

His air is mild, his step is slow,

His hands across his breast are laid, And soft he fighs, while bending low,

-“ St. Bothan * guard thee, gentle maid !"

To meet the friar the damsel ran;
She kiss'd his hand, she clasp'd his knee.

Now free me, free me, holy man,
• Who com't from Blantyre Prio-rie ! -

" What mean these piteous cries, daughter?

“ St. Bothan be thy speed ! “ Why swim in tears thine eyes, daughter?

66 From whom would'st thou be freed?".

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-Oh ! father, father! know, my fire,

Though long I knelt, and wept, and sigh’d, • Hath sworn, ere twice ten days expire,

• His Jane shall be Lord Malcolm's bride!'

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“ Lord Malcolm is rich and great, daughter, —

" And comes of an high degree; “ He's fit to be thy mate, daughter,

“ So, Benedicite !"

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* The patron Saint of Bothwell.

'Oh !

- Oh! father, father ! fay not so !

• Though rich his halls, though fair his bowers, « There stands an hut, where Tweed doth flow,

• I prize beyond Lord Malcolm's towers :

• There dwells a youth where Tweed doth glide,

« On whom nor rank, nor fortune smiles ; " I'd rather be that peasant's bride,

· Than reign o'er all Lord Malcolm's isles.'

-- But should you flee away, daughter,

“ And wed with a village clown, " What would your father say, daughter ?

“ How would he fume and frown?”

- Oh! he might frown and he might fume,

• And Malcolm's heart might grieve and pine, • So Edgar's hut for me had room,

* And Edgar's lips were press’d to mine!'

_“ If at the castle gate, daughter,

“ At night, thy love so true “ Should with a courser wait, daughter,

“ What, daughter, would'st thou do?".

- With noiseless step the stairs I'd press,

• Unclose the gate, and mount with glee, "And ever, as on I sped, would bless

• The abbot of Blantyre Prio-rie”.

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Then, daughter, dry those eyes fo briglit:, “ I'll hafte where flows Tweed's filver stream; “ And when thou fee'st, at dead of night,

A lamp in Blantyre's chapel gleam,

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“ With noiseless step the staircase press,

“ For know thy lover there will be; " Then mount bis steed, hafte on--and bless

“ The abbot of Blantyre Prio-rie !"

Then forth the friar he bent his way,

While lightly danc'd the damsel's heart; Oh! how she chid the length of day,

How figh'd to see the fun depart !

How joy'd she when eve's shadows came,
How swiftly gain'd her tower so high !.

- Does there in Blantyre shine a flame?. Ah no!-the moon deceived mine eye !?

Again the shades of evening lour;

Again she hails the approach of night. - Shines there a flame in Blantyre tower?

• Ah no !-'tis but the northern-light !

But when arriv'd All-hallow-E'en, *
What time the night and morn


* On this night witches, devils, &c. are thought, by the Scotchi, to be abroad on their baneful errands. See Burns's Poem, under the title of " HallowE’en."


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