Proud heart, and nodding plume,

Dance o'er the warrior's tomb, Dyed with blood is the red tartan's wave,

Dire is the horseman's wheel,

Shiv'ring the ranks of steel, Victor in battle, is Scotland the Brave!

SANQUHAR CASTLE.

A LEGEND.

Time rolls his ceaseless course. The race of yore,

Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store,

Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea,-
How are they blotted from the things that be!

Lady of the Lake, Canto III.

THE venerable ruins of a feudal fortress are still seen by the traveller, in the vicinity of the ancient burgh of Sanquhar. Standing upon a gentle eminence, it forms the most picturesque object in a lovely landscape; at no great distance, the beautiful Nith pours its placid stream, though tradition assures us that in earlier times, its waters laved the southern base of the castle wall. Gently sloping mountains ascend in all directions, not presenting that grey appearance which distinguishes most of our Scottish hills, but clothed with a waving and verdant covering of grass to the top; while here and there you observe a groupe of trees, the only visible remains of the magnificent Ettrick forest, which at one time covered the whole of the surrounding country. Many a romantic tale is yet told of “the Castle” by the people of Nithsdale, among whom such reminiscences are cherished with surpassing fondness; for much of the spirit of the olden time yet lingers among her warm-hearted peasantry. The following is one to which we have often listened in our boyish days.

It happened, about the year 1240, that the castle of Sanquhar, then a building of much strength with donjon, battlements, and towers, was seized by a party of English, under the command of Sir Richard Cressingham. This general taking advantage of the temporary absence of Sir James Douglas, the governor, had attacked the bold but scanty garrison left behind to its defence; and by superiority of numbers rather than of bravery, had succeeded in making himself master of the stronghold. Month followed month, and still the English continued to retain possession of the fortress, for their number was more than three times that of the besiegers; and Cressingham, though he wanted the bravery and the generosity to entitle him to the designation of a hero, had certainly displayed an uncommon share of prudence and circumspection in all his movements. The proud spirit of Douglas was exasperated at the thought, that a South’ron foe should so long frown

defiance from a Scottish stronghold. Often had he exerted the most consummate skill and bravery in attempts to expel the haughty invaders, but still without success ;-the banner of England continued to wave proudly from the battlements. The arrow from some Scottish bow, had carried death to many an English heart, and frequently had Douglas with his few, but courageous followers, put a considerable portion of the enemy to the sword. But each time, the overpowering numbers of the English had wrested victory from his hands, and compelled him at last reluctantly to retire.

Latterly an event had occurred, which added tenfold to the impatience of Douglas for the recovery of the castle. The fortress of Ryehill, which was situated at some distance southward from the more extensive one of Sanquhar, was still possessed and garrisoned by Scotsmen under Sir James Ross, the feudal superior of the district. It happened that the only daughter of this knight was a lady of uncommon loveliness. Songs still celebrate her beauty under the name of the “ Sweet Rose of Niddesdale.” These tell in their own simple melody of her “ gowden hair,” her bonny blue een” and her “fairie form," and certainly lead you to suppose, that the appellation by which she was distinguished among the peasants of the dale, could scarcely have been more happily selected. Long since had her beauty and gentleness won the heart of Douglas, and the

warrior's noble spirit of daring and of chivalry, had soon taught the admiration and the affection to be mutual. Oft had her soothing voice calmed the chieftain's soul in the midst of Scotland's distresses, and her approving smile, when he returned with the trophies of some well-contested field, had exalted and refined his patriotism, while it gave purity and intensity to his love. It had been her delight too, in the seasons of peace, to sing to Douglas of the heroic deeds of his distinguished ancestry, until the spirit of the chieftain almost longed for the din and the glory of battle again. Once more let the proud South'ron be expelled, and peace return to the vallies of long distracted Scotland, and the glens of Nithsdale would soon ring with joy at the bridal of the brave Sir James and the young and lovely daughter of Ross. · It had been the lady's practice occasionally to wander to a slight distance from Ryehill, escorted by a small band of Scotsmen, with the design of gathering some of those beautiful flowers that bloomed in profusion around the fort. It was imagined, that even this escort was more demanded by the lady's rank than by any likelihood of danger; for dastardly though Cressingham had already shewn himself to be, it was never dreamed that he could prove half so unmanly as to trample on all the forms of honourable warfare, and make the lady Ross a prisoner. For once, however, they had calculated