THERE is a tradition in Tweeddale, that when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family and a son of the laird of Tushielaw, in Ettricke Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell into a consumption, and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on without recognising her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's "Fleur d'Epine." The Maid of Neidpath. OH! lovers' eyes are sharp to see, Can lend an hour of cheering. Disease had been in Mary's bower, And slow decay from mourning, Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower To watch her love's returning. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Till through her wasted hand, at night, By fits, a sultry hectic hue Across her cheek was flying; By fits, so ashy pale she grew, Yet keenest powers, to see and hear, Ere scarce a distant form was kenned, She knew, and waved to greet him; And o'er the battlement did bend, As on the wing to meet him. He came he passed-a heedless gaze, Returns each whisper spoken, Could scarcely catch the feeble moan, Which told her heart was broken. |