Nor fail'd old Scotland to produce,

At such high tide, her savoury goose.
Then came the merry maskers in,

And carols roar'd with blithesome din;
If unmelodious was the song,

It was a hearty note, and strong.

Who lists may in their mumming see
Traces of ancient mystery;1

1 It seems certain, that the Mummers of England, who in Northumberland at least used to go about in disguise to the neighbouring houses, bearing the then useless ploughshare; and the Guisards of Scotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in some indistinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which were the origin of the English drama. In Scotland (me ipso teste), we were wont, during my boyhood, to take the characters of the Apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot; the first had the keys, the second carried a sword, and the last the bag, in which the dole of our neighbours' plumb-cake was deposited. One played a champion, and recited some traditional rhymes; another was

"Alexander, King of Macedon,

Who conquer'd all the world but Scotland alone
When he came to Scotland his courage grew cold,
To see a little nation courageous and bold."

These, and many such verses, were repeated, but by rote, and unconnectedly. There was also, occasionally, I believe, a Saint George. In all, there was a confused resemblance of the ancient mysteries, in which the characters of Scripture, the Nine Worthies, and other popular personages, were usually exhibited. It were much to be wished that the Chester mysteries were pub lished from the MS. in the Museum, with the annotations which a diligent investigator of popular antiquities might still supply. The late acute and valuable antiquary, Mr. Ritson, shewed me several memoranda towards such a task, which are probably now dispersed or lost. See, however, his Remarks on Shakspeare, 1783, p. 38.

Since the first edition of Marmion appeared, this subject has received much elucidation from the learned and extensive labours of Mr. Douce; and the Chester mysteries [edited by J. H. Markland, Esq.] have been printed in a style of great elegance and accuracy (in 1818) by Bensley and Sons, London, for the Roxburghe Club. 1830.

1 66

White shirts supplied the masquerade,
And smutted cheeks the visors made;
But, O! what maskers, richly dight,
Can boast of bosoms half so light!
England was merry England, when
Old Christmas brought his sports again.

'Twas Christmas broach'd the mightiest ale;
'Twas Christmas told the merriest tale;
A Christmas gambol oft could cheer

The poor man's heart through half the year.

Still linger, in our northern clime,
Some remnants of the good old time;
And still, within our valleys here.
We hold the kindred title dear,

Even when, perchance, its far-fetch'd claim
To Southron ears sounds empty name;
For course of blood, our proverbs deem,
Is warmer than the mountain-stream.1
And thus, my Christmas still I hold
Where my great-grandsire came of old,
With amber beard, and flaxen hair,"

And reverend apostolic air-
The feast and holy-tide to share,

And mix sobriety with wine,

And honest mirth with thoughts divine:

Small thought was his, in after time

E'er to be hitch'd into a rhyme.

Blood is warmer than water,"-a proverb meant to vindicate our family predilections. 2 See Appendix, Note O.

The simple sire could only boast,
That he was loyal to his cost;
The banish'd race of kings revered,

And lost his land,-but kept his beard.

In these dear halls, where welcome kind
Is with fair liberty combined;
Where cordial friendship gives the hand,
And flies constraint the magic wand
Of the fair dame that rules the land.'
Little we heed the tempest drear,
While music, mirth, and social cheer,
Speed on their wings the passing year.
And Mertoun's halls are fair, e'en now,
When not a leaf is on the bough.
Tweed loves them well, and turns again,
As loath to leave the sweet domain,
And holds his mirror to her face,

And clips her with a close embrace :—
Gladly as he, we seek the dome,
And as reluctant turn us home.

How just that, at this time of glee, My thoughts should, Heber, turn to thee! For many a merry hour we've known, And heard the chimes of midnight's tone. Cease, then, my friend! a moment cease, And leave these classic tomes in peace! Of Roman and of Grecian lore,

1 See Introduction to the Minstrelsy, vol. iv. p. 59.

1

Sure mortal brain can hold no more.

These ancients, as Noll Bluff might say,
"Were pretty fellows in their day;"
But time and tide o'er all prevail—
On Christmas eve a Christmas tale--
Of wonder and of war-“ Profane!
What! leave the lofty Latian strain,
Her stately prose, her verse's charms,
To hear the clash of rusty arms:
In Fairy Land or Limbo lost,
To jostle conjuror and ghost,
Goblin and witch!"-Nay, Heber dear,
Before you touch my charter, hear;
Though Leyden aids, alas! no more,
My cause with many-languaged lore,2
This may I say :-in realms of death
Ulysses meets Alcides' wraith;
Eneas, upon Thracia's shore,

The ghost of murder'd Polydore;

Hannibal was a pretty fellow, sir-a very pretty fellow in his day."Old Bachelor.

2 John Leyden, M.D., who had been of great service to Sir Walter Scott in the preparation of the Border Minstrelsy, sailed for India in April 1803, and died at Java in August 1811, before completing his 36th year.

"Scenes sung by him who sings no more!

His brief and bright career is o'er,

And mute his tuneful strains;

Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour.

A distant and a deadly shore
Has LEYDEN'S cold remains!"

Lord of the Isles, Canto IV.

See a notice of his life in the Author's Miscellaneous Prose Works.

For omens, we in Livy cross,
At every turn, locutus Bos.

As grave and duly speaks that ox,
As if he told the price of stocks;
Or held, in Rome republican,
The place of Common-councilman.

All nations have their omens drear,
Their legends wild of woe and fear.
To Cambria look-the peasant see,
Bethink him of Glendowerdy,

And shun "the Spirit's Blasted Tree."—'
The Highlander, whose red claymore
The battle turn'd on Maida's shore,
Will, on a Friday morn, look pale,
If ask'd to tell a fairy tale :2
He fears the vengeful Elfin King,
Who leaves that day his grassy ring:
Invisible to human ken,

He walks among the sons of men.

1 See Appendix, Note P.

* The Daoine shi', or Men of Peace, of the Scottish Highlanders, rather resemble the Scandinavian Duergar than the English Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they are, if not absolutely malevolent, at least peevish, discontented, and apt to do mischief on slight provocation. The belief of their existence is deeply impressed on the Highlanders, who think they are particularly offended at mortals, who talk of them, who wear their favourite colour green, or in any respect interfere with their affairs. This is especially to be avoided on Friday, when, whether as dedicated to Venus, with whom in Germany, this subterraneous people are held nearly connected, or for a more solemn reason, they are more active, and possessed of greater power. Some curious particulars concerning the popular superstitions of the Highlanders may be found in Dr. Graham's Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire.