Ellustrated Article.
THE DOOM OF MORVEN.
A Scottish Legend.

BY HENRY INCE.
(For the Olio.)

SCARCELY a breeze ruffled the silver lake; nature was hushed, save when ever and anon the distant murmurings of a waterfall struck on the ear, affording soft and pleasant relief to the silver scene. A boat quietly glided under the shelter of the towering rocks, now clothed with the vestiges of summer; the sun, sinking majestically behind the hills, threw around his cheering beams, colouring with tints of gold and hues of crimson the rugged, promontoriesSuch a scene was in unison with the feelings of the beauteous Matilda, all bore the aspect of tranquillity. Her auburn locks sported in graceful negligence over her bosom; her eye raised to Heaven spoke patient resignation, and her lips moved in fervent prayer. She appeared rather a seraph of that azure abode on which was fixed her eye, pure as the 20-VOL. V.

U

morning dew! than an inhabitant of this lower sphere.

Twice had the Mountain Hag crossed Matilda's path-twice had the hag proclaimed, in accents wild, "that ere the earth had rolled its annual course, the star of Morven would set in blood!" Another

day would prove the truth or fallacy of this prognostication, for just twelve moons had waned since first the sybil had pronounced the dread anathema.

The boat continued winding along the indented margin of the lake, towards a small chapel dedicated to the tutelar saint of the noble house; here might she pour forth her prayers to avert its threatened doom, uninterrupted by the loud revelry of assembled clans at the castle. Doub ling a projection of the rock, the strand presented itself; Matilda, assisted by her faithful servant, left the boat, and proceeded to the ruined chapel. The way was rugged, the destructive strife of the elements had detached huge masses from the overhanging precipices, and crossed the mosscovered path with the branches of the solitary inhabitants of the glen. At the termination of the defile stood the chapel.

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The gloomy solemnity of the sanctuary struck on her heart!-her feelings were roused to that intensity which renders the possessor easily susceptible of outward impressions; the ivy clad walls, faintly illumined by the flickering rays of the setting sun, the murky aspect of the interior, the death-like stillness that pervaded the place, shook her resolution! The pause was brief, the consciousness of rectilude subdued her fears, she advanced to the altar, and, on bended knee, poured forth the aspirations of a guiltless heart. She retired from the dilapidated pile, less oppressed by the mysterious prediction, with feelings tranquillized by devotion. On this altar, she and the youthful Oscar had first plighted vows of eternal love and constancy-vows subsequently sanctioned by her father.

On her return, memory fondly traced the happy hours spent in climbing the rocky heights, or wandering among the peaceful glens, ere she knew sorrow but by name. Busied with the picture of past pleasures, she had nearly reached the strand, when a shadow darkened her path —raising her eyes, the same mysterious

being appeared on the summit of a rock. Matilda would have proceeded; she stopped, and knew not why. The hag, lifting her long sinewy arm, yelled forth, "Seest thou yonder star?-that rules thy house!" The figure gliding from the knoll, was lost amidst the craigs. An involuntary shriek escaped Matilda's lips; but she quickly joined the trusty Andrew, who, placing her drooping form in the boat, and vigorously plying the oars, soon reached the landing beneath the stately towers of Morven.

The despairing, almost heart-broken lady retired to her chamber, there to ruminate on the destiny of her house. Long did Matilda strive to persuade herself that the mysterious words were the ravings of a distempered brain. She viewed her spotless life-reflected on the noble virtuous tenor of her father's course-so undeserved a calamity would not, could not ensue. The sun's cheering beams called her from feverish slumbers; she descended to the hall, and found the gallant chieftains equipped for the chase. Their boisterous mirth allowed of no thoughts opposed to pleasure ; but if for one moment

sadness crossed Matilda's brow, one glance at the peerless Oscar, or at the calm and venerable countenance of her sire, banished at once the unwelcome intruder. The lively notes of the horn, playing in succession the favourite airs of the clan, announced the hour of departure; repairing to the court yard, the party mounted their steeds, and left the castle, headed by the Lord of Morven. 'The horns of those in advance now rose upon the gale; the prey had been started ;Oscar, leaving his lovely bride in a spot commanding an entire view of the scene, hurried forward to join the eagle train.

The boar took shelter in a cavern at the extremity of the glen, so protected by irregular rocks, as to preclude the hunter's near approach. The dogs drew back gored and wounded, with fruitless attempts to dislodge the wily animal,neither could they be induced to renew the encounter. Stratagem was employed -they ascended the craig, and passing along the shelving ridge forced the animal from its lair by throwing from be'hind masses of rock; the noise drove the infuriated beast from his den; maddened with the pain inflicted by showers of arrows, he rushed along the ravine. The baying of the dogs, the shouts of the chiefs, the hurried notes of the horn, the clangor of horses hoofs resounded through the vale. The noble palfrey of Matilda could no longer be curbed, impatiently he dashed forward, far beyond the foremost of the huntsmen, a loud quivering shriek followed, the prediction was fulfilled!-a shaft drew the blood of the gentle, unoffending Matilda.

Bowed down by his loss, the Lord of Morven, ere another spring put forth its buds, was numbered with the departed of his race.

Oscar, the unhappy Oscar, only lingered to see the sepulchral rites performed to his more than parent, he enlisted under the sacred banner, and departed for Palestine. In many a sanguinary fray did the Moslem feel his prowess, many a gallant brow yielded to his arm. He fell, covered with wounds and glory, in attempting to mount the walls of the Holy City.

THE SKELETON RIDER;
OR, THE MAGIC SPUR.
For the Olio.

THERE dwelt langsyne near Lintra fell,
(The spot by mony's kend fu' well;)
A rich ould laird, as dour and glum
As ere yet breath'd aneath the sun,
Nae awmous gave he to the poor,
The orphan spurn'd he frae his door;
Nae wearied pilgrim raised his latch,
Nae birdie loitered on his thatch.

Nor shrub, nor flower, nor oak-tree tall,

Ere thrived near his churlish wall:
But soon a judgment on him fell,
As will my story's sequel tell.

It chanced ane simmer night ye ken,
Upon a dwarfish piebald powny
The laird came brankin down the glen
He'd bought that afternoon at Downie.
Now, in this glen a cool, deep lake,
Stealing in silver ripplings by.
Half girdled in by rock and brake,
Would greet at times the traveller's eye:
Green sloping hills on either side,
And thymy knolls stretch'd far and wide,
And mony a flower of varied hue
Upon its fretted margins grew

Time out of mind this pool had been
Distinguish'd by the fairies stream,
And all wha dared its waves profane,
Ne'er fail'd the sprites' ill-will to gain.

Now soon the laird's braw charger spied
The fount, and strove to reach its side;
In vain the rider tugg'd and swore,
And thrash'd and cursed him o'er and o'er,
The powny was resolved to cool
His nostrils in the tempting pool;
Wha's threats and cuffs he little cared
And sae he did, despite the laird,
For maist an hour he sipp'd and quaff'd,
Then took anither lusty draught,
Then rested, then again begun,
And seem'd as though he'd ne'er ha' done,
The laird he lash'd and tugg'd the rein,
But powny just in cool disdain
Toss'd up his head, as if to say,
My pleasure's here a while to stay.
Would I'd a spur,' the rider cried,
'To penetrate thy stubborn hide,
Thou imp of Sathan, then I'd see
Wha should be master-thou or me.'

Just now the moonbeams in the river

Fu' brawly 'gan to gleam and quiver,
The stars o' heaven abuse were winkin',
The glow-worm's lamps below were blinking,
The nightingales were sweetly singing,
The fairies' bells afar were ringing,
For fairies in those days were common
As mortal man and mortal woman.

Our puzzled laird, in gazing round, Espied upon the dappled ground, Just where the moon was brightest playing, The thing for which he'd late been praying. "Thanks, gentle fairie,' quod the rider, (He knew the sprite was his provider), He thus unto his steed begun :

Then as he fix'd the weapon on,

Now then, ye deevil, now wese try Wha's to be master-ye or I. What!-hast na yet thy fill, ye reiver'? I would the beldam Ailsie Rowan Wad gar thy legs for ever goin.' Wi' that he dash'd the gleamin' rowels Fu' fiercely in the powny's bowels, Wha straight began to cat and caper, Just like a maist expiring taper, And horseman, steed, and spur thegither, Went bounding aff amang the heather. Anon, the laird's abode they gain'd, And then the laird his powny rein'd! But powny wadna yield the master, Sae with each goad he flew the faster: Not e'en Dick Faulder's magic shallop Wad ere ha' beat that powny's gallop!

It chanced ane eve that maid and mither And mony a lad conven'd thegither, By Lintra side their harvest keeping, While a' the stars o' heaven were peeping,

And when the moon reveal'd her beam,
The lads and lasses ower the green
Began the mazy dance to lead,
And trip wi' light and fairy tread.

Amid the mirth a fearfu din Came pattering swiftly down the glen, Sae strange a noise fill'd a' wi' terror, And straight they huddled close thegither: Each maiden, as the sound grew louder, Glanced breathless ower her laddie's shouther; When pitter patter ower the stanes Advanced a heap o' glistening banes,'Twas e'en the laird upon his powny, The same he'd brought langsyne frae Downie: Twa moons he'd gallop'd helter-skelter, Wi' neither raiment, food nor shelter, When toil and famine grew the stranger, And nature could haud out nae langer, Her lamp o' life grew daily dimmer, And deed at last and deed for ever. Yet, while their flesh kept hourly wasting, Baith laird and steed kept onward hast'ning, And morning, noon and night, 'tis stated, Still more with speed unmitigated.

The night breeze in their costards rustled

And through their vacant eye-holes whistled;
Their sallow jaw-bones girn'd and gibber'd,
And a' their sapless members shiver'd,
Sae as the steed gaed pitter patter
They aye set up this dreery clatter.
Weel, when they'd pass'd the frighted crew,
Baith vanish'd sudden frae their view,
Sae strangely and sae true thegither
Not one could tell ye how or whither.

The vision now is only spied
When shines the moon on Lintra side,
Or when the hovering twilight grey
Retards awhile the approach of day,
Then like a wreath o' mist it flies
Before the affrighted peasant's eyes,
Wha by the gowd spur on his heel
The bony rider kens fu' weel.

T.F.

A SOLEMN festival was held by King Richard in the Bishop's Palace on this eventful day. The long passage leading under the withdrawing room from the hall to the kitchen was choked with jostling servitors. The great kitchen itself seemed one vast hecatomb fish of every description, including sturgeons, porpoises, and seals, slaughtered oxen and wild bulls, swans, peacocks, geese, cranes, herons, shaws, stags, bucks, and roes, cumbered in barbarous profusion the floors, dressers, and spits, while every delicacy of poultry and game, excepting turkeys, then unknown in England, were piled around without number; the pasties, jellies, tarts, and custards, might amount to some twenty thousand, and, to use the words of an old bill of fare on a similar festival, there were "spices,

* Continued from p. 295.

sugared delicates, and wafers plenty!" Three gigantic fire-places received and dismissed in rotation their various offerings; while the buttery broached its hogsheads of ale, and the cellar its tuns of wine and pipes of ippocrasse.

At length the great bell of the Palace proclaimed that the gates were to be closed and the King, moving from the Bishop's bedchamber, adjoining the great North Tower, (a decagon upwards of fifty feet high, and a hundred and thirty in circumference) appeared in the Bishop's dining-room, which was now merely an antichamber to the lair of royalty. He was there received by the illustrious company in their less cumbrous attire. A velvet cap of scarlet or purple reposed on the tonsures where mitres had flamed in the Minster, and their venerable beards fell over plain but costly and very full robes of red and purple silk, girdled with gold; the temporal nobles and knights had assumed similarly light tabards, but emblazoned and of gayer colours, for this was the very age of colours; and Plantagenet himself had thrown aside his golden habit, and wore a long loose mantle over a satin surcoat, on which was wrought his favourite blazon, a White Hart couchant, ducally crowned, and gorged with a chain, the device of his mother; as usual his beautiful greyhound was with him.

The King now leaning on his Confessor, passed on to the great hall, the sleek and snowy Blemach gracefully pacing after her master, and, as they entered, the folding doors leading from the ladies' chamber at the opposite end were thrown open, and a perfect thicket of steepled and horned head-tires, ushered with due rustling of silks, gleaming of jewels, and tiny Babel of tongues, indicated the approach of the better half of creation. This glorious room, a hundred feet long, and sixty broad, formed about the centre of that immense façade that looked over meadow, lake, and orchard to the east. Unexampled in magnificence as the furniture of this festal apartment was, the kindling eyes of the guests rested chiefly on the decorations of the walls and vaulted roof. They were painted in the most brilliant colours with the coronation, marriages, wars, and funeral of King Edward the First; and there was many a noble in this august saloon whose forefathers figured on its walls; especially those connected with Sir Roger Pewlesdon of Emral, so distinguished against the Welchmen, or Almeric de Bailgioll, Burnell Valence, Earl of Pembroke, Lord Badlesmere, and other knights equally successful against the Scots.