The circumstances attending the disappearance of Merlin would probably be found as imaginative as those of Arthur’s removal, but they cannot be recovered; and what is singular enough, circumstances which originally belonged to the history of this famous bard, said to be the son of the Demon himself, have been transferred to a later poet, and surely one of scarce inferior name, Thomas of Erceldoune.  The legend was supposed to be only preserved among the inhabitants of his native valleys, but a copy as old as the reign of Henry VII. has been recovered.  The story is interesting and beautifully told, and, as one of the oldest fairy legends, may well be quoted in this place.

Thomas of Erceldoune, in Lauderdale, called the Rhymer, on account of his producing a poetical romance on the subject of Tristrem and Yseult, which is curious as the earliest specimen of English verse known to exist, flourished in the reign of Alexander III. of Scotland.  Like other men of talent of the period, Thomas was suspected of magic.  He was said also to have the gift of prophecy, which was accounted for in the following peculiar manner, referring entirely to the elfin superstition:—­As True Thomas (we give him the epithet by anticipation) lay on Huntly Bank, a place on the descent of the Eildon Hills, which raise their triple crest above the celebrated Monastery of Melrose, he saw a lady so extremely beautiful that he imagined it must be the Virgin Mary herself.  Her appointments, however, were rather those of an Amazon or goddess of the woods.  Her steed was of the highest beauty and spirit, and at his mane hung thirty silver bells and nine, which made music to the wind as she paced along.  Her saddle was of royal bone (ivory), laid over with orfeverie—­i.e., goldsmith’s work.  Her stirrups, her dress, all corresponded with her extreme beauty and the magnificence of her array.  The fair huntress had her bow in her hand, and her arrows at her belt.  She led three greyhounds in a leash, and three raches, or hounds of scent, followed her closely.  She rejected and disclaimed the homage which Thomas desired to pay to her; so that, passing from one extremity to the other, Thomas became as bold as he had at first been humble.  The lady warns him that he must become her slave if he should prosecute his suit towards her in the manner he proposes.  Before their interview terminates, the appearance of the beautiful lady is changed into that of the most hideous hag in existence.  One side is blighted and wasted, as if by palsy; one eye drops from her head; her colour, as clear as the virgin silver, is now of a dun leaden hue.  A witch from the spital or almshouse would have been a goddess in comparison to the late beautiful huntress.  Hideous as she was, Thomas’s irregular desires had placed him under the control of this hag, and when she bade him take leave of sun, and of the leaf that grew on tree, he felt himself under the necessity of obeying her.  A cavern received them, in which,