"The farm of Blackhouse, in Selkirkshire, is said to have been the scene of this melancholy event. There are the remains of a very ancient tower, adjacent to the farm-house, in a wild and solitary glen, upon a torrent named Douglas burn, which joins the Yarrow, after passing a craggy rock, called the Douglas craig.... From this ancient tower Lady Margaret is said to have been carried by her lover. Seven large stones, erected upon the neighboring heights of Blackhouse, are shown, as marking the spot where the seven brethren were slain; and the Douglas burn is averred to have been the stream at which the lovers stopped to drink: so minute is tradition in ascertaining the scene of a tragical tale, which, considering the rude state of former times, had probably foundation in some real event." Were it not for Scott's concluding remark, and the obstinate credulity of most of the English and Scotch editors, we should hardly think it necessary to say that the locality of some of the incidents in _Ribolt and Guldborg_, is equally well ascertained (Grundtvig, 342, 343). "Popular tales and anecdotes of every kind," as Jamieson well remarks, "soon obtain locality wherever they are told; and the intelligent and attentive traveller will not be surprised to find the same story which he had learnt when a child, with every appropriate circumstance of names, time, and place, in a Glen of Morven, Lochaber, or Rannoch, equally domesticated among the mountains of Norway, Caucasus, or Thibet." _Ill. North. Ant._ p. 317. "Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says, "And put on your armour so bright; Let it never be said that a daughter of thine Was married to a lord under night. "Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, 5 And put on your armour so bright, And take better care of your youngest sister, For your eldest's awa' the last night."-- He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, And himself on a dapple grey, 10 With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, And lightly they rode away. Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder, To see what he could see, And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold, 15 Come riding o'er the lee. "Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said, "And hold my steed in your hand, Until that against your seven brethren bold, And your father, I make a stand."-- 20 She held his steed in her milk-white hand, And never shed one tear, Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear. "O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said, 25 "For your strokes they are wondrous sair; True lovers I can get many a ane, But a father I can never get mair."--