Scott himself tells us in his Border Minstrelsy, in his notes to the old Ballad of Bothwell Brig, that "the whole appearance of the ground as given in the picture of the battle at Hamilton Palace, even including a few old houses, is the same as the scene now presents. The removal of the porch or gateway, upon the bridge, is the only perceptible difference." There must have been much change here since Scott visited the spot. The old houses have given way to new houses. The old bridge is metamorphosed into something that might pass for a newish bridge. The banks of the river, and the lands of the park beneath, are so planted and wooded, that the pioneers would have much to do before a battle could be fought. All trace of moorland has vanished, and modern inclosure and cultivation have taken possession of the scene. When we bring back by force of imagination the old view of the place, it is a far different one. "Where Bothwell's bridge connects the margin steep, And Clyde below runs silent, strong, and deep, The hardy peasant, by oppression driven To battle, deemed his cause the cause of Heaven. Unskilled in arms, with useless courage stood, While gentle Monmouth grieved to shed his blood; But fierce Dundee, inflamed with deadly hate, In vengeance for the great Montrose's fate, Let loose the sword, and to the hero's shade A barbarous hecatomb of victories paid." _Wilson's Clyde._ When we picture to ourselves the Duke of Monmouth ordering his brave footguards under command of Lord Livingstone, to force the bridge, which was defended by Hackstone of Rathillet, and Claverhouse sitting on his white horse on the hillside near Bothwell, watching the progress of the fray, and ready to rush down with his cavalry and fall on the infatuated Covenanters who were quarreling among themselves on Hamilton haughs, we see a wild and correspondent landscape, rough as the Cameronian insurgents, and rude as their notions. The Bothwell brig of the present day has all the old aspect modernized out of it. Its smiling fields, and woods that speak of long peaceful times, and snug modern homes--oh! how far off are they from the grand old melancholy tone of the old ballad:-- "Now farewell father, and farewell mother, And fare ye weel, my sisters three; An' fare ye weel, my Earlstoun, For thee again I'll never see! "So they're away to Bothwell hill, An' waly they rode bonily! When the Duke of Monmouth saw them comin' He went to view their company. * * * * "Then he set up the flag o' red, A' set about wi' bonny blue; 'Since ye'll no cease, and be at peace, See that ye stand by ither true.' "They stelled their cannons on the height, And showered their shot down in the howe; An' beat our Scots' lads even down, Thick they lay slain on every knowe. * * * *