Allan Ramsay, who wrote in the first half of the eighteenth century, does not appear to have believed in witches or evil spirits. He, however, like other poets, found it convenient to introduce superstition into his poetical effusions. This will be seen from the following extracts from his Gentle Shepherd.

BAULDY.

"What's this?—I canna bear't!—'tis worse than hell,
 To be sae burnt with love, yet daurna tell!
 O Peggy! sweeter than the dawning day;
 Sweeter than gowany glens or new-mawn hay;
 Blyther than lambs that frisk out o'er the knows;
 Straighter than aught that in the forest grows;
 Her een the clearest blob of dew outshines;
 The lily in her breast its beauty tines;
 Her legs, her arms, her cheeks, her mouth, her een,
 Will be my dead, that will be shortly seen!
[Pg 219] For Pate looes her—waes me!—and she looes Pate
 And I with Neps, by some unlucky fate,
 Made a daft vow. O, but ane be a beast,
 That makes rash aiths till he's afore the priest!
 I darna speak my mind, else a' the three,
 But doubt, wad prove ilk ane my enemy.
 'Tis sair to thole;—I'll try some witchcraft art,
 To break with ane, and win the other's heart.
 Here Mausy lives, a witch that for sma' price
 Can cast her cantraips, and gie me advice.
 She can o'ercast the night, and cloud the moon,
 And make the deils obedient to her crune;
 At midnight hours, o'er the kirk-yard she raves,
 And howks unchristen'd weans out of their graves;
 Boils up their livers in a warlock's pow;
 Rins withershins about the hemlock low;
 And seven times does her prayers backwards pray,
 Till Plotcock comes with lumps of Lapland clay,
 Mixt with the venom of black taids and snakes:
 Of this unsonsy pictures aft she makes
 Of ony ane she hates,—and gars expire
 With slow and racking pains afore a fire,
 Stuck fu' of pins; the devilish pictures melt;
 The pain by fowk they represent is felt.
 And yonder's Mause: Ay, ay, she kens fu' weel,
 When ane like me comes rinning to the deil!
 She and her cat sit beeking in her yard:
 To speak my errand, faith, amaist I'm fear'd!
 But I maun do't, tho' I should never thrive:
 They gallop fast that deils and lasses drive.
*****
How does auld honest lucky of the glen?
 Ye look baith hale end fair at threescore-ten.

MAUSE.

E'en twining out a thread with little din,
 And beeking my cauld limbs afore the sun.
 What brings my bairn this gate sae air at morn?
 Is there nae muck to lead? to thresh nae corn?

BAULDY.

Enough of baith: but something that requires
 Your helping hand employs now all my cares.

[Pg 220]MAUSE.

My helping hand! alake, what can I do,
 That underneith baith eild and poortith bow?

BAULDY.

Ay, but you're wise, and wiser far than we;
 Or maist part of the parish tells a lie.

MAUSE.

Of what kind wisdom think ye I'm possest,
 That lifts my character aboon the rest?

BAULDY.

The word that gangs, how ye're sae wise and fell,
 Ye'll maybe tak it ill gif I should tell.

MAUSE.

What folk say of me, Bauldy, let me hear;
 Keep naething up, ye naething have to fear.

BAULDY.

Well, since ye bid me, I shall tell ye a'
 That ilk ane talks about you, but a flaw.
 When last the wind made Glaud a roofless barn;
 When last the burn bore down my mither's yarn;
 When Brawny, elf-shot, never mair came hame;
 When Tibby kirn'd, and there nae butter came;
 When Bessy Freetock's chuffy-cheeked wean
 To a fairy turn'd, and cou'dna stand its lane;
 When Wattie wander'd ae night thro' the shaw
 And tint himsell amaist amang the snaw;
 When Mungo's mare stood still and swat wi' fright,
 When he brought east the howdy under night;
 When Bawsy shot to dead upon the green;
 And Sara tint a snood was nae mair seen;—
 You, lucky, gat the wyte of a' fell out;
 And ilka ane here dreads ye round about,—
 And say they may that mint to do ye skaith:
 For me to wrang ye I'll be very laith;
 But when I neist make groats, I'll strive to please
 You with a firlot of them mixt with pease.

MAUSE.

I thank ye, lad!—Now tell me your demand;
 And, if I can, I'll lend my helping hand.

[Pg 221]BAULDY.

Then, I like Peggy; Neps is fond of me;
 Peggy likes Pate; and Patie's bauld and slee,
 And looes sweet Meg; but Neps I downa see.
 Could ye turn Patie's love to Neps, and then
 Peggy's to me, I'd be the happiest man.

MAUSE.

I'll try my airt to gar the bowls row right;
 Sae gang your ways and come again at night;
 'Gainst that time I'll some simple things prepare,
 Worth all your pease and groats, tak ye nae care.

BAULDY.

Well, Mause, I'll come, gif I the road can find;
 But if ye raise the deil, he'll raise the wind;
 Syne rain and thunder, maybe, when 'tis late
 Will make the night sae mirk, I'll tine the gate.
 We're a' to rant in Symie's at a feast,—
 O! will ye come, like badrans, for a jest?
 And there you can our different haviours spy;
 There's nane shall ken o't there but you and I.

MAUSE.

'Tis like I may: But let na on what's past
 'Tween you and me, else fear a kittle cast.

BAULDY.

If I aught of your secrets e'er advance,
 May ye ride on me ilka night to France!

MAUSE.

This fool imagines—as do many sic—
 That I'm a witch in compact with Auld Nick,
 Because by education I was taught
 To speak and act aboon their common thought:
 Their gross mistake shall quickly now appear;
 Soon shall they ken what brought, what keeps me here.
 Now since the royal Charles, and right's restor'd,
 A shepherdess is daughter to a lord.
 The bonny foundling that's brought up by Glaud,
 Wha has an uncle's care on her bestow'd,—
 Her infant life I sav'd, when a false friend
 Bow'd to the usurper, and her death design'd,
[Pg 222] To establish him and his in all these plains
 That by right heritage to her pertains.
 She's now in her sweet bloom, has blood and charms
 Of too much value for a shepherd's arms.
 None know't but me!—And if the morn were come,
 I'll tell them tales will gar them a' sing dumb.
*****

SIR WILLIAM.

How goes the night? does day-light yet appear
 Symon, you're very timeously asteer.

SYMON.

I'm sorry, sir, that we've disturb'd your rest;
 But some strange thing has Bauldy's spirit opprest,
 He's seen some witch, or wrestled with a ghaist.

BAULDY.

O! ay; dear sir, in troth, 'tis very true;
 And I am come to make my plaint to you.

SIR WILLIAM.

I lang to hear 't.

BAULDY.

Ah! sir, the witch ca'd Mause,
 That wins aboon the mill amang the haws,
 First promis'd that she'd help me with her art,
 To gain a bonny thrawart lassie's heart.
 As she had trysted, I met wi'er this night;
 But may nae friend of mine get sic a fright!
 For the curst hag, instead of doing me good—
 The very thought o't's like to freeze my blood!
 Rais'd up a ghaist, or deil, I kenna whilk,
 Like a dead corse in sheet as white as milk;
 Black hands it had, and face as wan as death.
 Upon me fast the witch and it fell baith,
 And gat me down, while I, like a great fool,
 Was labour'd as I wont to be at school.
 My heart out of its hool was like to loup;
 I pithless grew with fear, and had nae hope;
 Till, with an elritch laugh, they vanished quite.
 Syne I half dead with anger, fear, and spite,
 Crap up and fled straight frae them, sir, to you,
 Hoping your help to gie the deil his due.
[Pg 223] I'm sure my heart will ne'er gie o'er to dunt,
 Till in a fat tar-barrel Mause be burnt!
*****

SIR WILLIAM.

Troth, Symon, Bauldy's more afraid than hurt;
 The witch and ghaist have made themselves good sport.
 What silly notions crowd the clouded mind,
 That is through want of education blind!

SYMON.

But does your honour think there's nae sic thing
 As witches raising deils up through a ring?
 Syne playing tricks—a thousand I could tell—
 Cou'd ne'er be contriv'd on this side hell.

SIR WILLIAM.

Such as the devil's dancing in a moor,
 Amongst a few old women craz'd and poor,
 Who were rejoiced to see him frisk and lowp
 O'er braes and bogs with candles in ***
 Appearing sometimes like a black-horn'd cow,
 Aft-times like Bawty, Badrans, or a sow;
 Then with his train through airy paths to glide,
 While they on carts, or clowns, or broomstaffs ride;
 Or in an egg-shell skim out o'er the main,
 To drink their leader's health in France or Spain;
 Then aft by night bumbaze hare-hearted fools,
 By tumbling down their cupboards, chairs, and stools.
 Whate'er's in spells, or if there witches be,
 Such whimsies seem the most absurd to me."

To glean from Cowper, Wordsworth, Tennyson, and the many other poets who have contributed to superstitious lore, would swell this portion of our work (The Poets and Superstition) to an undue proportion; and therefore we take leave of the poets, after giving extracts from Longfellow, whose talented effusions are not only read and appreciated in America and England, but over the whole world.

[Pg 224]FROM "THE GOLDEN LEGEND."

LUCIFER.

"Hasten! hasten!
 O ye spirits!
 From its station drag the ponderous
 Cross of iron, that to mock us
 Is uplifted high in air!

VOICES.

O, we cannot!
 For around it
 All the saints and guardian angels
 Throng in legions to protect it;
 They defeat us everywhere!

THE BELLS.

Laudo Deum verum!
 Plebem voco!
 Congrego clerum!

LUCIFER.

Lower! lower!
 Hover downward!
 Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and
 Clashing, clanging, to the pavement
 Hurl them from their windy tower!

VOICES.

All thy thunders
 Here are harmless!
 For these bells have been anointed,
 And baptised with holy water!
 They defy our utmost power.

THE BELLS.

Defunctos ploro!
 Pestem fugo!
 Festa decoro!

LUCIFER.

Shake the casements!
 Break the painted
 Panes, that flame with gold and crimson;
 Scatter them like leaves of autumn,
 Swept away before the blast!

[Pg 225]VOICES.

O, we cannot!
 The archangel
 Michael flames from every window,
 With the sword of fire that drove us
 Headlong out of heaven, aghast!

THE BELLS.

Funera plango!
 Fulgura frango!
 Sabbata pango!

LUCIFER.

Aim your lightnings
 At the oaken,
 Massive, iron-studded portals!
 Sack the house of God, and scatter
 Wide the ashes of the dead!

VOICES.

O, we cannot!
 The apostles
 And the martyrs, wrapped in mantles,
 Stand as warders at the entrance,
 Stand as sentinels o'erhead!

THE BELLS.

Excito lentos!
 Dissipo ventos!
 Paco cruentos!

LUCIFER.

Baffled! baffled!
 Inefficient,
 Craven spirits! leave this labour
 Unto Time, the great destroyer!
 Come away, ere night is gone!

VOICES.

Onward! onward!
 With the night wind,
 Over field and farm and forest,
 Lonely homestead, darksome hamlet,
 Blighting all we breathe upon!"
[Pg 226] THE SONG OF HIAWATHA.
"Should you ask me whence these stories?
 Whence these legends and traditions,
 With the odours of the forest,
 With the dew and damp of meadows,
 With the curling smoke of wigwams,
 With the rushing of great rivers,
 With their frequent repetitions,
 And their wild reverberations,
 As of thunder in the mountains?
 I should answer, I should tell you:
 'From the forests and the prairies,
 From the great lakes of the Northland,
 From the land of the Ojibways,
 From the land of the Dacotahs,
 From the mountains, moors, and fenlands,
 Where the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
 Feeds among the reeds and rushes.
 I repeat them as I heard them
 From the lips of Nawadaha,
 The musician, the sweet singer.'
*****
Can it be the sun descending
 O'er the level plain of water?
 Or the red swan floating, flying,
 Wounded by the magic arrow,
 Staining all the waves with crimson,
 With the crimson of its life-blood,
 Filling all the air with splendour,
 With the splendour of its plumage?
 Yes, it is the sun descending,
 Sinking down into the water;
 All the sky is stained with purple,
 All the water flushed with crimson!
 No; it is the red swan floating,
 Diving down beneath the water;
 To the sky its wings are lifted,
 With its blood the waves are reddened
 Over it the star of evening
 Melts and trembles through the purple
 Hangs suspended in the twilight.
 No; it is a bead of wampum
[Pg 227] On the robes of the Great Spirit,
 As he passes through the twilight,
 Walks in silence through the heavens!
 This with joy beheld Iagoo,
 And he said in haste, 'Behold it!
 See the sacred star of evening!
 You shall hear a tale of wonder;
 Hear the story of Osseo,
 Son of the evening star Osseo.
 'Once, in days no more remembered,
 Ages nearer the beginning,
 When the heavens were closer to us,
 And the gods were more familiar,
 In the Northland lived a hunter,
 With ten young and comely daughters,
 Tall and lithe as wands of willow;
 Only Oweenee, the youngest,
 She the wilful and the wayward,
 She the silent, dreamy maiden,
 Was the fairest of the sisters.
 'All these women married warriors,
 Married brave and haughty husbands;
 Only Oweenee, the youngest,
 Laughed and flouted all her lovers,
 All her young and handsome suitors,
 And then married old Osseo,
 Old Osseo, poor and ugly,
 Broken with age and weak with coughing,
 Always coughing like a squirrel.
 'Ah, but beautiful within him
 Was the spirit of Osseo,
 From the evening star descended,
 Star of evening, star of woman,
 Star of tenderness and passion!
 All its fire was in his bosom,
 All its beauty in his spirit,
 All its mystery in his being,
 All its splendour in his language!
 'And her lovers, the rejected,
 Handsome men with belts of wampum,
 Handsome men with paint and feathers,
 Pointed at her in derision,
 Followed her with jest and laughter,
[Pg 228] But she said, "I care not for you,
 Care not for your belts of wampum,
 Care not for your paint and feathers,
 Care not for your jests and laughter:
 I am happy with Osseo!"
 'Once to some great feast invited,
 Through the damp and dusk of evening
 Walked together the ten sisters,
 Walked together with their husbands;
 Slowly followed old Osseo,
 With fair Oweenee beside him;
 All the others chatted gaily,
 These two only walked in silence.
 'At the western sky Osseo
 Gazed intent, as if imploring,
 Often stopped and gazed imploring
 At the trembling star of evening,
 At the tender star of woman;
 And they heard him murmur softly,
 "Ah, showain nemeshin, Nosa!
 Pray, pity me, my father!"
 '"Listen!" said the elder sister,
 "He is praying to his father!
 What a pity that the old man
 Does not stumble in the pathway,
 Does not break his neck by falling!"
 And they laughed till all the forest
 Rang with their unseemly laughter.
 'On their pathway through the woodlands
 Lay an oak by storms uprooted,
 Lay the great trunk of an oak-tree
 Buried half in leaves and mosses,
 Mouldering, crumbling, huge and hollow.
 And Osseo, when he saw it,
 Gave a shout, a cry of anguish,
 Leaped into its yawning cavern,
 At one end went in an old man,
 Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly;
 From the other came a young man,
 Tall and straight and strong and handsome.
 'Thus Osseo was transfigured,
 Thus restored to youth and beauty;
 But, alas for good Osseo,
[Pg 229] And for Oweenee, the faithful!
 Strangely, too, was she transfigured.
 Changed into a weak old woman,
 With a staff she tottered onward,
 Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly!
 And the sisters and their husbands
 Laughed until the echoing forest
 Rang with their unseemly laughter.
 'But Osseo turned not from her,
 Walked with slower step beside her,
 Took her hand, as brown and withered
 As an oak-leaf is in winter,
 Called her sweetheart, Nenemoosha,
 Soothed her with soft words of kindness,
 Till they reached the lodge of feasting,
 Till they sat down in the wigwam,
 Sacred to the star of evening,
 To the tender star of woman.
 'Wrapt in visions, lost in dreaming,
 At the banquet sat Osseo;
 All were merry, all were happy,
 All were joyous but Osseo.
 Neither food nor drink he tasted,
 Neither did he speak nor listen,
 But as one bewildered sat he,
 Looking dreamily and sadly,
 First at Oweenee, then upward
 At the gleaming sky above them.
 'Then a voice was heard, a whisper,
 Coming from the starry distance,
 Coming from the empty vastness,
 Low and musical and tender;
 And the voice said, "O Osseo!
 O my son, my best beloved!
 Broken are the spells that bound you,
 All the charms of the magicians,
 All the magic powers of evil;
 Come to me; ascend, Osseo!
 '"Taste the food that stands before you;
 It is blessed and enchanted,
 It has magic virtues in it,
 It will change you to a spirit.
 All your bowls and all your kettles
[Pg 230] Shall be wood and clay no longer;
 But the bowls be changed to wampum,
 And the kettles shall be silver;
 They shall shine like shells of scarlet,
 Like the fire shall gleam and glimmer.
 '"And the women shall no longer
 Bear the dreary doom of labour,
 But be changed to birds, and glisten
 With the beauty of the starlight,
 Painted with the dusky splendours
 Of the skies and clouds of evening!"
 'What Osseo heard as whispers,
 What as words he comprehended,
 Was but music to the others,
 Music as of birds afar off,
 Of the whippoorwill afar off,
 Of the lonely Wawonaissa
 Singing in the darksome forest.
 'Then the lodge began to tremble,
 Straight began to shake and tremble,
 And they felt it rising, rising,
 Slowly through the air ascending,
 From the darkness of the tree-tops
 Forth into the dewy starlight,
 Till it passed the topmost branches;
 And behold! the wooden dishes
 All were changed to shells of scarlet!
 And behold! the earthen kettles
 All were changed to bowls of silver!
 And the roof-poles of the wigwam
 Were as glittering rods of silver,
 And the roof of bark upon them
 As the shining shards of beetles.
 'Then Osseo gazed around him,
 And he saw the nine fair sisters,
 All the sisters and their husbands,
 Changed to birds of various plumage.
 Some were jays, and some were magpies,
 Others thrushes, others blackbirds;
 And they hopped and sang and twittered,
 Perked and fluttered all their feathers,
 Strutted in their various plumage,
 And their tails like fans unfolded.
[Pg 231] 'Only Oweenee, the youngest,
 Was not changed, but sat in silence,
 Wasted, wrinkled, old, and ugly,
 Looking sadly at the others;
 Till Osseo, gazing upward,
 Gave another cry of anguish,
 Such a cry as he had uttered
 By the oak-tree in the forest.
 'Then returned her youth and beauty,
 And her soiled and tattered garments
 Were transformed to robes of ermine,
 And her staff became a feather,
 Yes, a shining silver feather!
 'And again the wigwam trembled,
 Swayed and rushed through airy currents,
 Through transparent cloud and vapour,
 And amid celestial splendours
 On the evening star alighted,
 As a snow-flake falls on snow-flake,
 As a leaf drops on a river,
 As the thistle-down on water.
 'Forth with cheerful words of welcome
 Came the father of Osseo,
 He with radiant locks of silver,
 He with eyes serene and tender.
 And he said, "My son, Osseo,
 Hang the cage of birds you bring there,
 Hang the cage with rods of silver,
 And the birds with glistening feathers,
 At the doorway of my wigwam."
 'At the door he hung the bird-cage,
 And they entered in and gladly
 Listened to Osseo's father,
 Ruler of the star of evening,
 As he said, "O my Osseo!
 I have had compassion on you,
 Given you back your youth and beauty,
 Into birds of various plumage
 Changed your sisters and their husbands;
 Changed them thus because they mocked you
 In the figure of the old man,
 In that aspect sad and wrinkled,
 Could not see your heart of passion,
[Pg 232] Could not see your youth immortal;
 Only Oweenee, the faithful,
 Saw your naked heart and loved you.
 '"In the lodge that glimmers yonder,
 In the little star that twinkles
 Through the vapours, on the left hand,
 Lives the envious Evil Spirit,
 The Wabeno, the magician,
 Who transformed you to an old man.
 Take heed lest his beams fall on you,
 For the rays he darts around him
 Are the power of his enchantment,
 Are the arrows that he uses."
'Many years, in peace and quiet
 On the peaceful star of evening
 Dwelt Osseo with his father;
 Many years in song and flutter,
 At the doorway of the wigwam,
 Hung the cage with rods of silver,
 And fair Oweenee, the faithful,
 Bore a son unto Osseo,
 With the beauty of his mother,
 With the courage of his father.
 'And the boy grew up and prospered,
 And Osseo, to delight him,
 Made him little bows and arrows,
 Opened the great cage of silver,
 And let loose his aunts and uncles,
 All those birds with glossy feathers,
 For his little son to shoot at.
 'Round and round they wheeled and darted,
 Filled the evening star with music,
 With their songs of joy and freedom;
 Filled the evening star with splendour,
 With the fluttering of their plumage;
 Till the boy, the little hunter,
 Bent his bow and shot an arrow,
 Shot a swift and fatal arrow,
 And a bird, with shining feathers,
 At his feet fell wounded sorely.
 'But, O wondrous transformation!
 'Twas no bird he saw before him,
[Pg 233] 'Twas a beautiful young woman,
 With the arrow in her bosom!
 'When her blood fell on the planet,
 On the sacred star of evening,
 Broken was the spell of magic,
 Powerless was the strange enchantment,
 And the youth, the fearless bowman,
 Suddenly felt himself descending,
 Held by unseen hands, but sinking
 Downward through the empty spaces,
 Downward through the clouds and vapours,
 Till he rested on an island,
 On an island, green and grassy,
 Yonder in the big sea-water.
 'After him he saw descending
 All the birds with shining feathers,
 Fluttering, falling, wafted downward,
 Like the painted leaves of autumn;
 And the lodge with poles of silver,
 With its roof like wings of beetles,
 Like the shining shards of beetles,
 By the winds of heaven uplifted,
 Slowly sank upon the island,
 Bringing back the good Osseo,
 Bringing Oweenee, the faithful.
 'Then the birds, again transfigured,
 Resumed the shape of mortals,
 Took their shape, but not their stature;
 They remained as little people,
 Like the pigmies, the Puk-Wudjies;
 And on pleasant nights of summer,
 When the evening star was shining,
 Hand in hand they danced together
 On the island's craggy headlands,
 On the sand-beach low and level.
 'Still their glittering lodge is seen there,
 On the tranquil summer evenings,
 And upon the shore the fisher
 Sometimes hears their happy voices,
 Sees them dancing in the starlight!'"

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