Walks near Edinburgh 13

Walks near Edinburgh 13

THE WATER O' WEARIE'S WELL.

 

There cam a bird out o' a bush

On water for to dine,

And sighing sair, said the King's dochter,

"O! wae's this heart o' mine."

 

He's ta'en a Harp into his hand,

He's harped them a' asleep,

Except it was the King's dochter,

Who ae wink couldna get.

 

He's luppen on his berry-brown steed,

Ta'en her on behind himsel',

And they rade down to that water

That they ca' Wearie's Well.

 

"Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,

Nae harm shall thee befa'.

Aft times I hae watered my guid steed

Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."

 

The first step she steppit in,

She steppit to the knee,

And sighin' said this ladye fair,

"This water's no' for me."

 

"Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,

Nae harm shall thee befa'.

Aft times I hae watered my guid steed

Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."

 

The next step that she stepped in,

She steppit to the middle,

And sighin' said that ladye fair,

"I've wat my golden girdle."

 

"Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair,

Nae harm shall thee befa'.

Aft times I hae watered my guid steed

Wi' the water o' Wearies Well."

 

The next step that she stepped in,

She steppit to the chin,

And sighin' said this ladye fair,

"It will gar our loves to twine."

 

"Seven King's dochters I hae drowned

In the water o' Wearie's Well,

And I'll mak' you the eighth o' them,

An' I'll ring for you the Bell."

 

"Sin' I am standin' here," she says,

"This dowie death to die,

Grant me ae kiss o' your fause, fause mouth,

For that would comfort me."

 

He leaned him ower his saddle bow

To kiss her cheek and chin,

She's ta'en him in her arms twa

And thrown him headlong in.

 

"Sin' seven King's dochters ye've drowned there

In the water o' Wearie's Well,

I'll mak' you bridegroom to them a',

An' ring the Bell mysel'."

 

An' aye she warsled, an' aye she swam,

Till she won to dry land,

Then thankit God maist heartilie

The dangers she'd ower cum.

 

The other song is the Scottish version of the old fairy tale of the

Frog Prince, and runs thus:--

 

THE LADYE AND THE FAIRY; OR THE PADDO'S SANG.

 

Oh, open the door, my hinnie, my heart!

Oh, open the door, my ain true love!

An' mind the words that you and I spak

By the well o' the woods o' Wearie O!

 

Oh, gi'e me my castock,[44] my hinnie, my heart,

Oh, gi'e me my castock, my ain true love,

An' mind the words that you and I spak'

By the well o' the woods o' Wearie O!

 

Oh, gi'e me my kail, my hinnie, my heart,

Oh, gi'e me my kail, my ain true love!

An' mind the words that you and I spak'

At the well in the woods o' Wearie.

 

Oh, gi'e me your hand, my hinnie, my heart,

Oh, gi'e me your hand, my ain true love,

An' mind the words that you and I spak'

By the well in the woods o' Wearie.

 

Oh, wae to ye now, my hinnie, my heart,

Oh, wae to ye now, my wise fause love;

Ye've broken the words ye gi'ed to me

At the well in the woods o' Wearie!

 

There is a very pretty old tune to "The Paddo's Sang."

 

[44] Castock, cabbage-stock.

 

It was here that, in 1596, a bloody murder was committed. On the 22nd

of December, James Carmichael, the Laird of Carmichael's second son,

surprised and slew Stephen Bruntfield, the Captain of Tantallon.

History does not relate what cause or provocation there was for this

crime; but it did not long go unavenged, for the following March,

Adam Bruntfield, younger brother of the murdered man, challenged

Carmichael, and, having procured a licence from the king, fought

with him in single combat on Barnbougle Links, before five thousand

spectators. The lists were erected under the superintendence of

several of the nobles of James VI.'s court. The Duke of Lennox, Sir

James Sandilands, the Laird of Buccleuch, and Lord St. Clair acted

as judges. The combatants were curiously arrayed,--the one in blue

taffety, the other in red satin. Carmichael was a strong, powerful

man, and at the first encounter he wounded his adversary, who was

much younger, and of a mean stature; but, to the surprise of every

one, Bruntfield immediately after struck Carmichael on the neck

and slew him. He was taken back to Edinburgh in triumph, while his

antagonist was borne in dead.[45]

 

With this curious instance of the troubled times in which our

forefathers lived, we shall end this walk, having returned to

Edinburgh very nearly at the spot from which we started.

 

[45] Birrel's _Diary_; Anderson's _MS. History of Scotland_ in the

Advocates' Library.

 

 

 

 

WALK IV.

 

 

St. Margaret's Well--St. Anthony's Chapel--Muschat's

Cairn--Jock's Lodge--Portobello--Restalrig.

 

To-day's walk must be a short one, for, with the sea in front of

us, and the rapidly increasing boundaries of Leith and Portobello

on either side, there only remains a small space to be explored.

Let us start from the Holyrood entrance to the Queen's Park, and

walk towards St. Margaret's Loch. The iron-barred gate, which

apparently leads to a vault in the hill-side to our right, guards

the curious old well of St. Margaret. If we go close to the bars,

in a few minutes our eyes become accustomed to the darkness, and we

can clearly see the venerable arches, with the central pillar which

supports the richly groined roof. A stone ledge runs round seven

sides of the building, a little above the level of the water, which

always flows there, clear and icy cold. The well formerly stood in a

picturesque situation near the church of Restalrig, and very probably

was the original fountain of St. Triduan, to which pilgrimages were

made.[46] An ancient elder-tree with twisted branches overshadowed

it; a tiny thatched cottage stood hard by; and the spot was the most

sheltered and peaceful that could be imagined. When the North British

Railway threatened to bury this curious well beneath its embankment,

and eventually destroy it (as it destroyed the beautiful and

venerable Collegiate Church of the Holy Trinity), Dr. Laing and other

enlightened and energetic antiquarians of the day made a successful

attempt to move the whole structure to the Queen's Park, where it was

erected over what was known of old as St. David's or the Rood Well.

It is now in safety, and presents its original appearance, though

deprived of its former picturesque surroundings.

 

[46] Sir David Lindsay writes of persons going

 

To Sanct Trid well to mend thair ene.

 

 

A little farther on, a steep path winds away up to St. Anthony's

Chapel, passing the stone from which gushes the famous wishing-well.

This well is mentioned in the beautiful and pathetic ballad of "The

Marchioness of Douglas," which begins,

 

Oh, waly, waly up yon bank,

An' waly, waly down yon brae.[47]

 

[47] I had intended only to quote a few lines of this touching

lament, but it is all so beautiful, I cannot refrain from quoting the

whole, and trust that those who know it well already will not mind

reading it again.

 

THE MARCHIONESS OF DOUGLAS.

 

Oh, waly, waly up yon bank,

An' waly, waly down yon brae,

An' waly, waly by yon burn side,

Whar I an' my love were wont to gae.