640 [This ballad was written by Dr. Leyden, and first published in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.' The tradition,' says Sir Walter Scott, on which it is founded, derives considerable illustration from the argument of 'Lord Soulis'-(see next ballad.) It is necessary to add, that the most redoubted adversary of Lord Soulis was the chief of Keeldar, a Northumbrian district, adjacent to Cumberland, who perished in a sudden encounter on the banks of the Hermitage. Being arrayed in armour of proof, he sustained no hurt in the combat; but, stumbling in retreating across the river, the hostile party held him down below water with their lances till he died; and the eddy, in which he perished, is still called the Cout of Keeldar's Pool. His grave, of gigantic size, is still pointed out on the banks of the Hermitage, at the western corner of a wall, surrounding the burial-ground of a ruined chapel. As an enemy of Lord Soulis, his memory is revered; and the popular epithet of Cout, i. e. Colt, is expressive of his strength, stature, and activity. The Keeldar Stone, by which the Northumbrian chief passed in his incursion, is still pointed out, as a boundary mark, on the confines of Jed forest and Northumberland. It is a rough insulated mass, of considerable dimensions, and it is held unlucky to ride thrice withershins-in a direction, that is, contrary to the course of the sunaround it. The Brown Man of the Muirs is a Fairy of the most malignant order."] P The lady sighed as Keeldar rose: The heath-bell blows where Keeldar flows, By Tyne the primrose pale; But now we ride on the Scottish side, To hunt in Liddesdale.' 'Gin you will ride on the Scottish side, The axe he bears, it hacks and tears; No armour of knight, though ever so wight, No danger he fears, for a charmed sword he wears, Of adderstone the hilt; No Tynedale knight had ever such might But his heart-blood was spilt.' In my plume is seen the holly green, And my casque of sand, by a mermaid's hand, Then Margaret, dear, have thou no fear; Though never a knight, by mortal might, Then forward bound both horse and hound, As the wintry breeze, through leafless trees, Behind their course the English fells In deepening blue retire; Till soon before them boldly swells The muir of dun Redswire. And when they reacht the Redswire high, Soft beamed the rising sun; But formless shadows seemed to fly Along the muirland dun. 641 And when he reacht the Redswire high, And round did float, with clamorous note, The next blast that young Keeldar blew, But the sleek fern with fingery leaves, The third blast that young Keeldar blew, And a wee man, of swarthy hue, Up started by a cairn. His russet weeds were brown as heath And the hair of his head was frizzly red, An urchin, clad in prickles red, The hounds they howld, and backward fled, 'Why rises high the stag-hounds' cry, Where stag-hound ne'er should be? Why wakes that horn the silent morn, Without the leave of me?' 'Brown dwarf, that o'er the muirland strays, Thy name to Keeldar tell!' The Brown Man of the Muirs, who stays Beneath the heather-bell. 'Tis sweet, beneath the heather-bell, And sweet to hear the laverocks swell But woe betide the shrilling horn, Says, 'Weal nor woe, nor friend nor foe, But, ere the bugles green could blow, And onward, onward, hound and horse, Young Keeldar's band have gone; And soon they wheel, in rapid course, Around the Keeldar Stone. Green vervain round its base did creep, And still, when blood drops, clotted thin, The spirit murmurs from within, Around, around young Keeldar wound, With him to pass the barrier ground, The rude crag rockt; 'I come for death, And 'twas the Brown Man of the Heath, That murmured from below. But onward, onward Keeldar past, They past the muir of berries blae, They reacht the green, the bonnie brae, This is the bonnie brae, the green, Yet sacred to the brave, Where, still, of ancient size, is seen The lonely shepherd loves to mark Where weeps the birch of silver bark, With long dishevelled hair. The grave is green, and round is spread The curling lady-fern; That fatal day the mould was red, And next they past the chapel there; Where many a stone is sculptured fair, And here, beside the mountain flood, Since first the Pictish race, in blood, The restless stream its rocky base Soon from the lofty tower there hied 'I greet your master well,' he cried, He heard your bugle's echoing call, Young Keeldar called his hunter train: 'For doubtful cheer prepare; And, as you open force disdain, Of secret guile beware. "Twas here, for Mangerton's brave lord A bloody feast was set, Who, weetless, at the festal board The bull's broad frontlet met. Then ever, at uncourteous feast, And, as you mid his friends are placed, And, if the bull's ill-omened head Appear to grace the feast, Your whingers, with unerring speed, Plunge in each neighbour's breast.' In Hermitage they sat at dine, In pomp and proud array; And oft they filled the blood-red wine, |