HUGHIE GRAHAM. Our lords are to the mountains gane, never more touching than in the picture of the hero singling out his poor aged father from the crowd of spectators; and the simple grandeur of preparation for this afflicting circumstance in the verse that immediately precedes it is matchless. That the reader may properly appreciate the value of Burns's touches, I here subjoin two verses from the most correct copy of the ballad, as it is printed in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 324. "He looked over his left shoulder, And for to see what he might see; "O hald your tongue, my father, he says, For they may ravish me o' my life, But they canna banish me from heaven hie!" The Grahames were a warlike and restless clan, who held the debatable land on the Scotish border by the uncertain and dangerous tenure of plundering warfare. Though mostly Scotchmen, we find them on the skirts of the English armies, when they And they have tied him hand and foot, Cried, Hughie Graham thou'rt a loun. O lowse my right hand free, he says, Dare tell the tale to Hughie Graham. Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, they ravaged the land, sharing the spoils of their country. Indeed they considered themselves independent, and flew to arms with the prevailing party, making cruel havoc, and ultimately filling their fastnesses with the spoil of either kingdom. They felt much hampered in the time of peace, when the Scotish and English Wardens found leisure to ascertain the bounds of sovereign property. Their aid and assistance was of easy purchase, and (if we may place any faith on an old song) was reckoned equivalent to the strength of an army. 'O! the Graemes, the gallant Graemes, Wad the gallant Graemes but stand by me, O haud your tongue, the bishop says, And wi' your pleading let me be; For tho' ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall die. Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, O haud your tongue now lady fair, They've ta'en him to the gallows knowe, At length he looked round about, O haud your tongue, my father dear, And ye may gie my brother John, My sword that's bent in the middle clear, And let him come at twelve o'clock, And see me pay the bishop's mare. And ye may gie my brother James My sword that's bent in the middle brown, And bid him come at four o'clock, And see his brother Hugh cut down. Remember me to Maggy my wife, The neist time ye gang o'er the moor, Tell her she staw the bishop's mare, Tell her she was the bishop's whore. And ye may tell my kith and kin, I never did disgrace their blood; THE BONNY ERLE OF MURRAY. THE last verse of this old fragment is beautiful and affecting. Ye Highlands and ye Lawlands, Now wae be to thee, Huntly! I bade you bring him wi' you, He was a bra' gallant, As e'er rid at the ring, And the bonny Erle of Murray, He was a bra' gallant, As e'er played at the ba', |