Thomas the Rhymester
Do you know the little village that hides in the shadow of the Eildon Hills? Long, long ago, there lived a fine man named Thomas the Rhymer. He was no different from his neighbors, save for one thing—he played the lute marvelously well. And he could compose poetry. Just like all the wandering minstrels and bards of that time.One fine day, Thomas shut the door of his cottage behind him and set off with his lute tucked under his arm to visit a farmer who lived on the hillside.
"If I walk briskly, this trip won’t take me long," thought Thomas. But the day was so clear, so hot, that by the time he reached the banks of the Huntly Burn, which ran down from the Eildon Hills, he was so weary that he longed to escape the sun under the thick shade of a spreading oak tree and rest.
Before him lay a small grove, with paths running in all directions, hidden beneath the greenery. He gazed at the cool shade, absentmindedly plucking the strings of his lute, when suddenly, beyond his own music, he heard distant sounds, like the ringing of a mountain stream.
But what was this? In great astonishment, he leapt to his feet—on one of the mysterious forest paths appeared a beautiful lady on horseback. More beautiful than any he had ever seen.
She wore a dress of grass-green silk and a green velvet cloak. Her fair hair cascaded over her shoulders. The white horse beneath her stepped gracefully among the trees, and Thomas saw that every strand of its mane ended with a tiny silver bell. Of course, it was the ringing of these bells that he had mistaken for the babbling of a mountain stream.
He snatched the cap from his head and fell to one knee before the beautiful rider. But she, tightening the reins of her white horse, stopped and commanded Thomas to rise.
"I am the Queen of Elfland," she said, "and I have ridden here to meet you, Thomas of Ercildoune."
She smiled kindly and extended a slender hand for him to help her dismount. Thomas tied the horse to a thorny bush and led the lady into the shade of the spreading tree, enchanted by her gentle, otherworldly beauty.
"Play for me on your lute, Thomas," she requested. "Good music and the coolness of the forest are faithful allies, are they not?"
Thomas obediently took up his instrument and began to play. Never before had he played so tenderly and joyfully. When he finished, the Queen of Elfland did not hide her delight.
"I wish to reward you, Thomas," she said. "Ask for any favor, and I shall grant it."
Thomas took both her white hands in his and dared to say:
"Allow me to kiss you, beautiful Queen."
The Queen did not pull her hands away but merely smiled and said:
"Remember, Thomas, if you kiss me, you must, for better or worse, serve me for seven long years. Do you agree?"
"What are seven years!" exclaimed Thomas. "I will gladly pay the price."
And he touched his lips to the Queen of Elfland's.
The Queen quickly rose, and Thomas suddenly felt that from now on, he would obediently follow her everywhere. Yet the spell of love was so strong that he did not regret his bold act in the least. So be it—he would give the Queen seven years of his earthly life.
The Queen of Elfland mounted her snow-white horse and ordered Thomas to sit behind her. To the gentle chime of silver bells, they flew through green hollows and heather-covered hills faster than any heavenly wind. Finally, they arrived at a very strange place. The Queen dismounted and told Thomas they would rest here briefly.
Thomas looked around with great curiosity: he realized he had found himself in a land not meant for ordinary mortals. Behind them lay impenetrable thickets of climbing bracken. Ahead, three roads stretched from this barren land.
One road, narrow and steep, was densely overgrown on both sides with thorny bushes and wild roses. Above, the bushes met, forming a long, dark tunnel.
Another road was wide and straight, with sunbeams dancing upon it, skipping onto meadows of green velvet, embroidered like precious stones with colorful flowers. The third road wound upward through fern thickets. It was carpeted with soft moss and crowned, like a high dome, with green foliage that offered coolness to the traveler.
Following Thomas's astonished gaze, the Queen of Elfland said:
"The narrow, thorny path is the Road of the Righteous. Few travelers dare to take this road. The wide, straight road, passing by blooming valleys, is called the Road of Vice, though it seems so bright and splendid. And the third beautiful road, winding along a living hedge of evergreen ferns, is the road to Elfland. We shall ride this road tonight to Elfland."
She approached the horse, which pricked its ears and stamped its hooves, eager to set foot on this green path. But before they set off, the Queen said to Thomas:
"If you heed my advice, Thomas, and remain silent the entire time you spend in Elfland, no matter what you hear or see there, then after seven years, you will return to the land of men. But if you utter even a single word, you will lose your happiness and be condemned to wander eternally in the barren desert that lies between fair Elfland and the land of men."
They rode along the third path for a very long time before reaching the Queen's domain. Over hills, valleys, marshes, and plains. At night, the sky was black above them, and by day, the clouds gleamed gold in the sun. They sometimes forded swift rivers filled with red blood. The Queen gathered the train of her green robe, and the snow-white flanks of her horse were stained with blood-red marks. For all the blood ever spilled on earth gathered here in streams that watered these strange lands.
But at last, they reached the gates of Elfland. Thousands of magical trumpets announced their arrival. To the sounds of welcome, Thomas rode into the enchanted land, bathed in wondrous light.
And somewhere far away, in the land of ordinary mortals, the inhabitants of Ercildoune whispered among themselves a mysterious tale: their neighbor Thomas Learmont had vanished one fine summer day, and his trace was lost.
While Thomas remained in Elfland, he dared not utter a word to anyone about the wonders he had seen or heard. Seven years flew by like three days, and when his service to the Queen of the Elves came to an end, the moment of parting arrived. The Queen herself escorted Thomas to the gates of the magical realm, into a sunlit garden that lay beyond. There grew graceful lilies and the most beautiful flowers of the earth, and beneath them roamed gentle, elegant unicorns.
The Queen reached out, plucked an apple from a tree, and handed it to Thomas.
"Now, at last, you may speak, Thomas," she said. "And as a reward for seven years of loyal service, take this apple. It is enchanted and will grant you the gift of always speaking the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."
But Thomas was a clever lad and immediately realized that this gift of speaking only the truth was not a great blessing in the land to which he was returning. He tried to explain this to the Queen of the Elves.
"When you live among people," he said, "sometimes you have to embellish things, like when courting a girl or striking a good deal with a neighbor. You can't get by without a bit of eloquence."
But the Queen merely smiled (yet again!) and said:
"Cast aside your worries, Thomas! And cherish my gift—it is not given to everyone. It will bring you fame beyond your wildest dreams. The name of Learmont will be remembered forever, as long as Scotland exists. Now, you must return, Thomas. But first, heed my words. The day will come when I shall summon you again. So swear to obey my command, wherever it may find you. I will send my messengers for you. There will be two of them. You will recognize them at once—they will come from another world, not yours..."
Thomas gazed into the deep eyes of the beautiful Queen, as if into an abyss, and understood that the spell of love that had bound him for seven long years would never release him. Yet he was glad to swear to the Queen that he would fulfill her command.
No sooner had the words of the oath left his lips than Thomas suddenly fell into a deep sleep. The green garden, the flowers, the gentle unicorns—all dissolved instantly into a milky mist that descended from the clouds onto the earth, dusted with fallen apple blossoms.
When Thomas awoke, he found himself lying beneath a large oak tree by the banks of the Huntly Burn. Still in doubt, he peered intently at the deserted forest paths, vainly hoping to catch the sound of silver bells. His journey to Elfland, which had lasted seven long years, now seemed like a brief afternoon nap.
Thomas cried out:
"I will return!"
And, picking up his lute, he set off for Ercildoune. He was eager to learn what had happened there over the past seven years. But even more, Thomas wanted to test whether the Queen's promise would come true: would he truly now speak only the truth?
"I fear I'll only anger my neighbors," Thomas mused to himself, "if I can't tell them anything but the truth. They'll hear things they won't like, and they won't get the advice they expect."
No sooner had he appeared on the streets of his village than he heard shouts and cries. A poor old man thought Thomas had risen from the dead and returned to his native village from the other world. However, Thomas quickly proved to everyone that he was alive and well, and the good people of Ercildoune stopped being surprised to see him again. But they never ceased to marvel, gasp, and exclaim when he told them of his journey to Elfland. Children constantly gathered at his feet, climbing onto his knees to hear his wondrous tales of the merrymaking in that magical land. The old men shook their heads and quietly whispered among themselves about those who had been similarly lured away by the Queen of the Elves—only they had never returned.
But Thomas told no one, not a soul, about his promise to return to the Queen when she sent her two messengers.
For his part, Thomas couldn't help but be surprised that nothing had changed in Ercildoune, as if he had been gone not seven years but three days. Of course, his house needed repairs, as the thatched roof had leaked in places from the rain, and the wind had blown holes in the walls, requiring stronger stones to be fitted. His neighbors had more wrinkles on their faces and more gray in their hair. Seven hot summers, seven harvests, seven frosty winters, and seven sun-filled springs had passed, yet everything remained in its place.
From the day Thomas returned, he waited to see if the Queen's promise would come true. Would he truly now speak only the truth?
Yet, as before, he calmly flirted with the farmer's daughter and could easily persuade a neighbor to buy a cow or a sheep from him.
But one fine day, at a village meeting discussing a terrible disaster—the death of livestock in all the surrounding villages—Thomas suddenly felt compelled to stand and say something. To his own astonishment, he predicted that the plague would strike all the villages except Ercildoune. The villagers were greatly surprised by this strange prophecy, but deep down, they believed it. Something in his words inspired trust even before Thomas's prediction came true. Miraculously, not a single cow, horse, or sheep fell ill in Ercildoune.
After that, Thomas often made accurate predictions. And since he had a knack for rhyming, he delivered them in verse. Thus, they were quickly memorized and spread far and wide. But most importantly, they all came true, and the fame of Thomas the Rhymer, Thomas the Prophet, soon spread across all of Scotland. Yet, though he became famous and was invited to all corners of the country, he never left his beloved Ercildoune. Having grown wealthy, he built a castle nearby and hosted neighbors, famous warriors, lords, and earls alike. He was deeply saddened when one of his predictions came true:
"As long as thrushes sing in the thorn,
Ercildoune's treasure shall not be torn."
Indeed, one harsh spring, the thrushes did not sing as usual in the thorny bushes around Ercildoune. The summer was rainy and cold, the harvest poor, and nearly all the villagers went bankrupt, forced to mortgage their lands to wealthy landlords.
But the most astonishing prediction Thomas made was on March 18, 1285. At that time, the wise King Alexander III sat on the Scottish throne. The next day, the Earl of March was to go hunting and sent for Thomas to predict the weather.
"Tomorrow at noon, a storm shall rise.
Never before has Scotland seen such skies."
So much blood will be shed,
predicted Thomas.
And the Earl of March did not dare to go hunting. The next day, closer to noon, he summoned Thomas again.
"Well, where is your ominous storm?" he reproached the seer.
"Noon has not yet struck," Thomas replied calmly.
At that moment, a frightened messenger burst into the earl's chambers. He reported that the great king had died. He had accidentally fallen from his horse on a steep mountain path and had not risen again.
"Alas, this news signifies the storm that will bring cruel devastation to our Scotland," Thomas said.
To the sorrow and grief of all honest Scots, his prediction came true.
But people also repeated those prophecies of his that were yet to be fulfilled. Here is one of them:
When the Cows of Gowrie come ashore,
The judgment day for our souls will be near.
It should be noted that the Cows of Gowrie are two giant boulders standing beyond the high tide line in the Tay estuary, behind Invergowrie. And every year they inch closer to the land as the sea recedes.
Another of Thomas's prophecies is yet to come true:
York was, London is, Edinburgh shall be—
The most glorious, the greatest of the three.
And here is a legend the Scots themselves wove about Thomas.
Fourteen years had passed since Thomas the Rhymer returned from the Elf Queen when Scotland was drawn into a bitter war. The English king, after defeating John Balliol at Dunbar, had conquered Scotland. But the valiant knight William Wallace rallied the Scots to fight back.
It so happened that the army of brave Scots was encamped near Thomas's castle. And Thomas decided to host a grand feast for the glorious warriors. The castle of Ercildoune had never seen such a grand celebration. Guests filled the great hall of the castle—noble knights in fine chainmail, beautiful ladies in rustling silks. Wine flowed like a river, and wooden cups were constantly refilled with merry Scottish ale.
Musicians delighted the ears of the esteemed guests, and storytellers entertained with tales of war and hunting exploits. But the main event awaited the guests later. When the feast was over, Thomas himself, the master of the castle, ordered his beloved lute to be brought and began to sing. Holding their breath, not uttering a word, the guests listened to his songs about the glorious past of the British land.
He sang of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, of the brave Gawain and the wizard Merlin, of the tragic love of Tristan and Isolde. And all who listened to him thought and felt that they would never hear such a bard again.
They were right.
That night, when the guests had dispersed and a mist descended over the river, a soldier on guard in a tent on the hillside awoke to the strange sound of light hooves on the dry grass.
He peered out of the tent and saw an extraordinary sight.
In the light of the bright August moon, a white stag and doe were approaching along the path. They walked majestically and proudly. The soldier called his friends, and they all surrounded the unusual pair, but the animals continued forward, paying no attention to anyone.
"We must wake Thomas Learmont," someone suggested. "Perhaps he can tell us what this means."
"True, we must send for Thomas the Seer!" they all shouted, and a young page was sent to the castle to wake Thomas Learmont.
Hearing the news, Thomas immediately jumped out of bed and dressed quickly. He was pale, and his hands trembled. No wild beast had ever left the forest and appeared in the village streets before. And besides, who had ever heard of white stags? No one. So, these must be messengers from the Elf Queen, come for him, Thomas the Rhymer. He rejoiced—soon he would see the beautiful queen again—but he also grieved, for the thread of his earthly life had been cut.
Taking his lute, Thomas left the castle and, with the white stag on his right and the white doe on his left, walked through the moonlit streets of the village and disappeared into the forest, leaving his beloved Ercildoune forever.