Folk-Lore and Legends | Page 4

persons and
pursuits; and more than one family of Corriewater have the fame of
augmenting the numbers of the elfin chivalry. Faces of friends and
relatives, long since doomed to the battle-trench or the deep sea, have
been recognised by those who dared to gaze on the fairy march. The
maid has seen her lost lover, and the mother her stolen child; and the
courage to plan and achieve their deliverance has been possessed by, at
least, one border maiden. In the legends of the people of Corrievale,
there is a singular mixture of elfin and human adventure, and the
traditional story of the Cupbearer to the Queen of the Fairies appeals
alike to our domestic feelings and imagination.
"In one of the little green loops or bends on the banks of Corriewater,
mouldered walls, and a few stunted wild plum-trees and vagrant roses,
still point out the site of a cottage and garden. A well of pure spring-
water leaps out from an old tree-root before the door; and here the
shepherds, shading themselves in summer from the influence of the sun,
tell to their children the wild tale of Elphin Irving and his sister Phemie;
and, singular as the story seems, it has gained full credence among the

people where the scene is laid."
"I ken the tale and the place weel," interrupted an old Scottish woman,
who, from the predominance of scarlet in her apparel, seemed to have
been a follower of the camp,--"I ken them weel, and the tale's as true as
a bullet to its aim and a spark to powder. O bonnie Corriewater, a
thousand times have I pulled gowans on its banks wi' ane that lies stiff
and stark on a foreign shore in a bloody grave;" and, sobbing audibly,
she drew the remains of a military cloak over her face, and allowed the
story to proceed.
"When Elphin Irving and his sister Phemie were in their sixteenth year,
for tradition says they were twins, their father was drowned in
Corriewater, attempting to save his sheep from a sudden swell, to
which all mountain streams are liable; and their mother, on the day of
her husband's burial, laid down her head on the pillow, from which, on
the seventh day, it was lifted to be dressed for the same grave. The
inheritance left to the orphans may be briefly described: seventeen
acres of plough and pasture land, seven milk cows, and seven pet sheep
(many old people take delight in odd numbers); and to this may be
added seven bonnet-pieces of Scottish gold, and a broadsword and
spear, which their ancestor had wielded with such strength and courage
in the battle of Dryfe Sands, that the minstrel who sang of that deed of
arms ranked him only second to the Scotts and Johnstones.
"The youth and his sister grew in stature and in beauty. The brent bright
brow, the clear blue eye, and frank and blithe deportment of the former
gave him some influence among the young women of the valley; while
the latter was no less the admiration of the young men, and at fair and
dance, and at bridal, happy was he who touched but her hand, or
received the benediction of her eye. Like all other Scottish beauties, she
was the theme of many a song; and while tradition is yet busy with the
singular history of her brother, song has taken all the care that rustic
minstrelsy can of the gentleness of her spirit and the charms of her
person."
"Now I vow," exclaimed a wandering piper, "by mine own honoured
instrument, and by all other instruments that ever yielded music for the

joy and delight of mankind, that there are more bonnie songs made
about fair Phemie Irving than about all other dames of Annandale, and
many of them are both high and bonnie. A proud lass maun she be if
her spirit hears; and men say the dust lies not insensible of beautiful
verse; for her charms are breathed through a thousand sweet lips, and
no further gone than yestermorn I heard a lass singing on a green
hillside what I shall not readily forget. If ye like to listen, ye shall judge;
and it will not stay the story long, nor mar it much, for it is short, and
about Phemie Irving." And, accordingly, he chanted the following rude
verses, not unaccompanied by his honoured instrument, as he called his
pipe, which chimed in with great effect, and gave richness to a voice
which felt better than it could express:--
FAIR PHEMIE IRVING.
Gay is thy glen, Corrie, With all thy groves flowering; Green is thy
glen, Corrie, When July is showering; And sweet is yon wood where
The small birds are bowering, And there dwells the sweet