1827.

So coming back across the wave, Without a groan on Ellen's grave 1800.

And coming back ... 1802.]

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote A: The Kirtle is a River in the Southern part of Scotland, on whose banks the events here related took place.--W. W. 1800.]

No Scottish ballad is superior in pathos to 'Helen of Kirkconnell'. It is based on a traditionary tale--the date of the event being lost--but the locality, in the parish of Kirkpatrick-Fleming in Dumfriesshire, is known; and there the graves of "Burd Helen" and her lover are still pointed out.

The following is Sir Walter Scott's account of the story:

"A lady of the name of Helen Irving, or Bell (for this is disputed by the two clans), daughter of the laird of Kirkconnell in Dumfriesshire, and celebrated for her beauty, was beloved by two gentlemen in the neighbourhood. The name of the favoured suitor was Adam Fleming of Kirkpatrick: that of the other has escaped tradition, although it has been alleged he was a Bell of Blackel-house. The addresses of the latter were, however, favoured by the friends of the lady, and the lovers were therefore obliged to meet in secret, and by night, in the Churchyard of Kirkconnell, a romantic spot, surrounded by the river Kirtle. During one of their private interviews, the jealous and despised lover suddenly appeared on the opposite bank of the stream, and levelled his carbine at the breast of his rival. Helen threw herself before her lover, received in her bosom the bullet, and died in his arms. A desperate and mortal combat ensued between Fleming and the murderer, in which the latter was cut to pieces."

See 'Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border', vol. ii. p. 317.

The original ballad--well known though it is--may be quoted as an admirable ill.u.s.tration of the different types of poetic genius in dealing with the same, or a kindred, theme.

I wish I were where Helen lies!

Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies, On fair Kirkconnell lee!

Cursed be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succour me!

Oh think ye na my heart was sair, When my love dropt down and spake nae mair!

There did she swoon wi' meikle care, On fair Kirkconnell lee.

As I went down the water side, None but my foe to be my guide, None but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirkconnell lee--

I lighted down, my sword did draw, I hacked him in pieces sma', I hacked him in pieces sma', For her sake that died for me.

Oh, Helen fair, beyond compare!

I'll weave a garland of thy hair Shall bind my heart for evermair, Until the day I dee!

Oh that I were where Helen lies!

Day and night on me she cries; Out of my bed she bids me rise, Says, "Haste, and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!

Were I with thee I would be blest, Where thou lies low and takes thy rest, On fair Kirkconnell lee.

I wish my grave were growing green, A winding sheet drawn o'er my e'en, And I in Helen's arms lying On fair Kirkconnell lee.

I wish I were where Helen lies!

Night and day on me she cries, And I am weary of the skies, For her sake that died for me!

Ed.

HART-LEAP WELL

Composed 1800.--Published 1800

Hart-Leap Well is a small spring of water, about five miles from Richmond in Yorkshire, and near the side of the road which leads from Richmond to Askrigg. Its name is derived from a remarkable chace, the memory of which is preserved by the monuments spoken of in the second Part of the following Poem, which monuments do now exist as I have there described them.--W. W. 1800.

[Written at Town-end, Grasmere. The first eight stanzas were composed extempore one winter evening in the cottage, when, after having tired myself with labouring at an awkward pa.s.sage in 'The Brothers', I started with a sudden impulse to this to get rid of the other, and finished it in a day or two. My sister and I had pa.s.sed the place a few weeks before in our wild winter journey from Sockburn on the banks of the Tees to Grasmere. A peasant whom we met near the spot told us the story so far as concerned the name of the Well, and the Hart, and pointed out the Stones. Both the stones and the well are objects that may easily be missed. The tradition by this time may be extinct in the neighbourhood.

The man who related it to us was very old.--I. F.]

Included among the "Poems of the Imagination,"--Ed.

The Knight had ridden down from Wensley Moor With the slow motion of a summer's cloud And now, as he approached a va.s.sal's door, "Bring forth another horse!" he cried aloud. [1]

"Another horse!"--That shout the va.s.sal heard 5 And saddled his best Steed, a comely grey; Sir Walter mounted him; he was the third Which he had mounted on that glorious day.

Joy sparkled in the prancing courser's eyes; The horse and horseman are a happy pair; 10 But, though Sir Walter like a falcon flies, There is a doleful silence in the air.

A rout this morning left Sir Walter's Hall, That as they galloped made the echoes roar; But horse and man are vanished, one and all; 15 Such race, I think, was never seen before.

Sir Walter, restless as a veering wind, Calls to the few tired dogs that yet remain: Blanch, [2] Swift, and Music, n.o.blest of their kind, Follow, and up the weary mountain strain. 20

The Knight hallooed, he cheered and chid them on [3]

With suppliant gestures [4] and upbraidings stern; But breath and eyesight fail; and, one by one, The dogs are stretched among the mountain fern.

Where is the throng, the tumult of the race? [5] 25 The bugles that so joyfully were blown?

--This chase it looks not like an earthly chase; [6]

Sir Walter and the Hart are left alone.