Si ante UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN BOOKSTACKS CENTRAL CIRCULATION BOOKSTACKS The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its renewal or its return to the library from which it was borrowed on or before the Latest Date stamped below. You may be charged a minimum fee of $75.00 for each lost book. Theft, mutilatien, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. TO RENEW CALL TELEPHONE CENTER, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN MAR 11 1999 MAR 0 2 1999 When renewing by phone, write new due date below previous due date. L162 LIGRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY of ILLINOIS, SIR WALTER SCOTT, MO] WORKS OF sin As A VAI WALTER SCOTT.. | Yip) NEW YORK, THOMAS Y. §RQSUAN CROWELL & COMPANY, Py ¥ PUBLISHERS #* &% » »* @ SSCL eR 4s THE CeMELETE POETICAL “WORKS OF Pee WALTER SCOTT WITH AN INTRODUCTION CHARLES ELIOT NORTON BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH NATHAN HASKELL DOLE NEW YORK THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. PUBLISHERS na AE TE 0 Be dee VSIOMET IYO CEA VU me VIE HG Eo ‘a 2 a CopyrRIGHT BY Tuomas Y. Crowgtt & Co. 1894. ? INTRODUCTION. In looking back over this century, which is now so near its close, there is none among its conspicuous figures of pleasanter aspect than that of Scott; and of all the men who have lived during its course there is not one who has contributed more largely to the pleasure of its successive gene- rations. This is a high eulogy; no man could desire a better. To amuse men rationally, to give them wholesome entertainment, is to do them a great service; and to do this through a lifetime more successfully than any one else, is to be worthy of lasting gratitude. This is what Scott did for our fathers, and has done for many of us, and will continue to do for many of our children. At this moment, more than sixty years after the last of ohis novels was written, two popular editions of them are in course of pubh= cation; while his poems, ninety years after the ‘‘ Lay of the Last Minstrel ” was first published, are still the delight of youthful readers, and still charm readers of all ages by the interest of their animated narrative, the ease of their versification, and the manliness of their spirit. ‘¢Scott,” said Mr. Emerson, ‘‘is the most lovable of men, and entitled to the world’s gratitude for the entertainment he has given to solitude, the relief to headache and heartache. But,” he adds, ‘‘ he is not sufficiently © alive to ideas to be a great man.” ‘‘Into the question whether Scott was a great man or not, we do not propose,” says Carlyle, ‘‘to enter deeply. It is, as too usual, a question about words. There can be no doubt that many men have been named and printed great who were vastly smaller than he; as little doubt, more- over, that of the specially good, a very large portion, according to any genu- ine standard of man’s worth, were worthless in comparison with him... . The truth is, our best definition of Scott were perhaps even this, that he was, if no great man, then something much pleasanter to be, —a robust, thoroughly healthy, and withal very prosperous and victorious man. An eminently well-conditioned man, healthy in body, healthy in soul; we will call him one of the healthiest of men.” 34685 ” —_——— Iv INTRODUCTION. And it is this sound, healthy human nature, on good terms with itself and with the world, with easy mastery of its own faculties, open, sympa- thetic, cordial, —it is this large, genial nature with which his work, whether in prose or poetry, is inspired. Let us be grateful for such a gift. There is space even on the narrow shelves of the immortals for books such as his. Shakespeare, Milton, Wordsworth, may rest on a higher shelf, but Scott will be nearer at hand for the multitude of readers, and his volumes will require more frequent rebinding. He was past thirty years old before his poetic genius found its full ex- pression. He was born in 1771, and it was in 1805 that his first long poem, ‘‘ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” was published and sprang into the popu- larity which it has never lost. It was largely a piece of improvisation. It was no poem the writing of which ‘‘made him lean for many years.” Once fairly entered upon, it was soon finished, ‘ proceeding,” as he tell us, ‘at about the rate of a canto per week.” In a letter written within a month or two after its publication, he wrote, ‘‘ It is deficient in that sort of contin- uity which a story ought to have, and which, were it to write again, I would endeavor to giveit. . . . The sixth canto is altogether redundant.” Com- posed as it was at breakneck speed, it is not surprising that the diction is often careless, that the facile couplets are too apt to drop heavily to a prosaic level, and that there is little depth in the reflections which occasionally in- tervene in the story. But, on the other hand, the narrative flows with rapid current, the story is full of picturesque and lively scenes, and the verse has what Wordsworth well called ‘‘an easy, glowing energy.” The ac- count of William of Deloraine’s ride by night quickens the blood till its beat keeps time with the gallop; and, though the last canto be redundant, it contains in the Ballad of Rosabelle one of those fine lyrics within the limits of which Scott’s improvising genius seems often to find its best ex- pression. In his modest introduction to his final edition of the Lay in 1830, he gives an interesting account of its origin and composition; but neither he nor his critics have done justice to the chief distinction of the poem, that its mode was practically a new invention, reclaiming poetry from the tediousness of the then prevailing artificial style, to its place as an art of entertainment in the spirited romantic delineation of nature and of life. There had been nothing like it in English literature. It was an extension of the delightful realm of poetry, and in its kind there has been nothing better. Scott was in no hurry to take advantage of the popularity of his first long poem, and he determined that his second should be less hasty in its com- position. ‘‘ Accordingly,” to cite his own words, ‘‘ particular passages of a a a al « * om ¢ 3 INTRODUCTION. Vv poem which was finally called ‘Marmion’ were labored with a good deal of care by one by whom much care was seldom bestowed ;” and he adds in words which it is pleasant to recall, and which in part account for the excel- lence of the poem, ‘‘ The period of its composition was a very happy one in life.” But ‘*‘ Marmion” was finished in haste, perhaps in too much haste; and yet Scott was right in thinking well of the last canto, of which he wrote to one of his correspondents, ‘‘I have succeeded better than I ventured to hope.” He was, indeed, in this canto at his best; and when ‘‘ Scott’s poetry is at its best,” says Matthew Arnold, ‘it is undoubtedly very good indeed.” The description of the Battle of Flodden Field is a splendid piece of verse. ‘‘ My heart is a soldier’s, and always has been,” Scott once wrote; and his soldier’s heart beats in the thick of the battle he describes. After the words I have just cited, Matthew Arnold quotes these verses : — “ Tunstall lies dead upon the field, His life-blood stains the spotless shield: Edmund is down : — my life is reft ; The Admiral alone is left. Let Stanley charge with spur of fire, — With Chester charge, and Lancashire, Full upon Scotland’s central host, Or victory and England’s lost.” And then he adds, ‘‘ That is, no doubt, as vigorous as possible, as spiritea as possible; it is exceedingly fine poetry.” And there is much hardly less good. In thanking Scott for a copy of Marmion, Wordsworth wrote to him, with characteristic directness, ‘‘ 1 think your end has been attained. That it is not the end which I should wish you to propose to yourself, you will be well aware from what you know of my notions of composition, both as to matter and manner.” In view of their relative positions in popular esteem at the time, Scott may well have been more amused than annoyed at his brother poet’s unsympathetic disapproval, and have asked him in reply, ‘‘Can the Ethiopian change his skin?” Scott’s poetic method, and his view of man and nature, were, indeed, widely different from Wordsworth’s. But ‘‘ because thou art virtuous shall there be no more cakes and ale?” He was not given to introspection or meditation; he sympathized with men more than he studied them, and was more interested in their actions and their earthly fates than in their spiritual elements. He cared little for the order and significance of nature, but delighted in its infinite variety of aspect; and used it in his poems as a picturesque background for his char- acters, the scenery of the stage on which they played their parts. vi INTRODUCTION. ‘¢ Marmion” was published in 1808; and its success was so great from the first, that Scott more than half resolved not to write another long poem, for fear of hazard to his popularity. But this resolution did not last long; and, citing to himself the words of the great Marquis of Montrose, — “ He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch, To win or lose it all,” he began the ‘“‘ Lady of the Lake,” which was to achieve, on its publication in 1810, as instant and as great a success as either of its predecessors, and was to maintain its popularity as firmly and as long. No one of Scott’s poems is fuller of movement, of the health of the open air and the charm of the wild landscape than this ; and no one of them contains more verses which have become part of the familiar possessions of the English-speaking race. ‘*T like it myself,” wrote Scott, ‘‘as well as any of my former attempts ; ” and his judgment has been confirmed by the verdict of three generations. Fitz- James’s horn still wakes a ready echo in the adventurous heart of youth, and many a maiden, on many a lake, wears the form of Katrine’s lady in her lover’s eyes, It has, indeed, rarely happened in the history of literature, that poems written off-hand like these, with so little pains and so little revision, have gained more than a brief lease of life. Scott himself, with his delightful modesty, did not look for permanent fame as a poet. ‘I have enjoyed too extensive popularity in this generation to be entitled to draw long-dated bills on the applause of the next,” he wrote in a letter, just before the ‘‘ Lady of the Lake” was published. And twenty years afterward he said, in his preface to the last edition which he was to oversee, ‘‘I can, with honest truth, exculpate myself from having been at any time a partisan of my Own poetry, even when it was in the highest fashion with the million.” In all that he anywhere says of his poetry his words are quite sound, simple, and unpretending. He recognized the limits of his power and the sources of his popularity ; he was pleased, but not elated, bysuccess. Success could, indeed, do nothing but good to so manly and healthy a nature. The realand abiding charm of his verse consists not in its style, nor its stock of ideas, nor in any significance underlying the narrative, but in qualities which depend upon personal character. It is the expression of a generous nature, with a lively interest in the outward spectacle of the world, a quick sympathy with the actors in the long drama of life, and a keen sense of relation to the earth and enjoyment of it. It is the expression of a lover of his own land, INTROUVUCTION, vii of its mountains and glens, and rivers and lakes, dearer for the sake of the story of its people, a story as varied and picturesque as the scenery itself. The literary critic will find a hundred faults in his poems; but the boy, entranced by the tale, does not know they are there; and the man, jaded with care and weary of books, does not mind them, finding refreshment in verse inspired with the breath of the open air, unstudied in its animation, unforced in its sentiment, and making simple appeal to his memory and imagination. Scott was almost forty years old when the ‘‘ Lady of the Lake” was written. His later poems, ‘*‘ Rokeby,” ‘‘ The Lord of the Isles,” and others, have less of the freshness of youth, and have never possessed the popualrity of his earlier work. In his preface in 1830 to ‘* Rokeby” he gives some of the reasons of their comparative lack of success. Fortunately for the last- ing pleasure of mankind, he turned from poetry to prose, and wrote the Waverley novels. Every year there is jettison of part of the cargo with which the good ship of literature is overladen. Some of Scott’s poetry has already gone over- board, and the time may come when more of it must follow; but it will not all suffer this fate. Even if the rest should go, some of his lyrics, at least, are sure to be saved. What he once called ‘‘ The only good song I ever wrote,” the ‘‘ Pibroch of Donald Dhu,” with its spirited rallying cry, — “ Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended; Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded,” this will not be lost; nor will the ‘‘ Coronach,” from the ‘‘ Lady of the Lake.” Some hearts would not forget the ballad of ‘‘ Alice Brand ;” and some memories are sure to hold Cleveland’s song; and more will recall the stately measure and the pathos of ‘‘I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn;” and others still, the wild ballad of Elspeth, in ‘(The Anti- quary,” — “ The herring loves the merry moonlight, The mackerel loves the wind.” And so long as any of his poems shall last, the memory of Scott himself will be cherished in the hearts of men whom he has entertained, and to whom he has not only given pleasure, but done good. For to become friends with him in his books is to become friends with one of the pleas- antest of men, with whom we cannot keep up acquaintance without, let Vili INTRODUCTION. us hope, gaining something of his own simplicity, geniality, panainnde modesty, and manliness. Among the last verses which Tennyson wrote there is a stanza of singu- larly athe simplicity and strength, which in its personal tribute expres- ses a common sentiment, — “O great and gallant Scott! True gentleman, heart, blood, and bone, I would it had been my lot To have seen thee, and heard thee, and known.” It is fortunate that in the ‘* Life of Scott,” by his son-in-law, Lockhart, and in his own Journal and Letters, we have such a picture of him as exists of few other men, and in all its features consistent with the attractive image that the reader of his poems and novels forms for himself of their large- hearted and lovable author. 1894. CHARLES ELIOT NORTON. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. ‘* EVERY Scottishman,’’ wrote Sir Walter Scott in his fragment of autobio- graphy, ‘‘ has a pedigree. Itis a national prerogative as inalienable as his pride and his poverty.’’* Scott was proud of the fact that in his veins flowed the mingled blood of two | hostile clans, the Scotts and the Haliburtons. He claimed no more than “gentle” | birth, but few men in Scotland were connected with so many ‘ stocks of historical / distinction.’’ } On his father’s side he traced his lineage through seven generations to Auld Watt of Harden, and ‘‘his fair dame, the Flower of Yarrow.’’? On his mother’s side were the ‘‘ Bauld Rutherfords, that were sae stout,’’ and the knightly family of Swintons, through whom he claimed kinship with Sir William Alexander, first Earl of Sterling, the Marquess of Douglas, and Sir Robert Sinclair of Longformacus. Robert Scott, his grandfather, was bred for the sea, but exchanged the tiller for the plough, and engaged in stock farming with considerable success. He married Barbara Haliburton, through whom would have come to him the patrimony of Dryburgh, comprising the ruins of the ancient abbey, had not the childless pro- prietor, whose heir he was, fallen into pecuniary difficulties, and been obliged to sell his estate. His son Walter, the oldest of ‘‘a numerous progeny,’’ married Anne, eldest daughter of Dr. John Rutherford, Professor of Medicine in Edinburgh University. Of their twelve children, the first six died in infancy. Walter, the third son, was born in Edinburgh, August 15,1771. ‘Till he was eighteen months old he “‘showed every sign of health and strength.’? Then fever caused the ]ameness from which he suffered all his life. After trying various remedies, his parents sent him to his grandfather’s at Sandy-Knowe, to get the benefit of the country air. He distinctly remembered being stript and swathed in the warm skin of a sheep just flayed, and his grandfather, a venerable, white-haired man, using every incitement to make him try to crawl on the floor of the little farm-house parlor, while a dis- tant kinsman, Sir Henry Hay MacDougal, drest in an embroidered scarlet waist- coat and a light-colored coat, with milk-white locks tied in military fashion, knelt on the floor before him, dragging his watch along the carpet as a sort of bait. Walter Scott was only four when his grandfather died, but he continued to live at the farm, gradually becoming rugged, though his leg was somewhat shrunken and wasted. He was a remarkably precocious boy; and the reading which he heard, and the stories of Border adventure which were related for his amusement, and the influences of the romantic neighborhood, with its ruined towers, stately castles, purple mountains, and glorious rivers, were a far more important factor in his education than the formal teaching which he received at the hands of his ‘kind and affectionate aunt, Miss Janet Scott,’”’ or at the day-school at Bath, whither he was sent for a year when he was five. The change from the solitude of the Sandy-Knowe farm to his father’s home in Edinburgh was very great; but except for the too rigid Presbyterian strictness of 1X x BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. his parents, which made Sundays especially irksome, the discipline was probably good for him. He was sent to the High School, and also received private lessons; but, as he himself said, he glanced like a meteor from one end of the class to the other, and commonly disgusted his kind master as much by negligence and frivolity, as he occasionally pleased him by flashes of intellect and talent; while he won favor with his companions not only by his inexhaustible fund of stories, but also by his address in all sorts of out-door games, and in the ‘‘ bickers ’’ which occurred between the school boys and the town boys. Toward the end of his course in the High School, under the direct tuition of the Rector, Dr. Adam, he began to grow sensible of the beauties of Latin, and even distinguished himself ‘‘ by some attempts at poetical versions ’’ from Horace and Vergil. He felt that the rector’s judicious mixture of praise and blame went far to counteract his habits of indolence and inattention. His health growing delicate again, he was not immediately sent to college, but spent six months with his Aunt Janet at Kelso, on the Tweed. Here he had excellent instruction, and made the acquaintance of Dr. Blacklock, the friend of Burns; and through his recommendation became intimate with Ossian and Spenser. Spenser he especially delighted in, and could repeat incredible quantities of his verse. A respectable subscription library, a circulating library, and several private book-shelves being open to him, he declared that he waded into the stream like a blind man into a ford. His appetite for books was as ample and indiscriminating as it was indefatigable; and he many times afterwards repeated that few had ever read so much, or to so little purpose. At the University, Scott entirely neglected Greek, much to his later regret, largely forgot his Latin, and made small progress in mathematics. In the other branches he was more fortunate, though in ethics, history, and law, he always felt that his learning was flimsy and inaccurate, and he would, even at the height of his popularity, have sacrificed half of his reputation, if by so doing he could have rested what was left ona solid foundation of learning and science. Scott’s father was a writer to the Signet, a branch of the: law comprising the duties of the solicitor or attorney with those of the man of business. His practice had at one time been extensive, but a rather too simple and confiding nature, and over zeal for clients’ interests to the detriment of his own, had some- what diminished it. When Scott left the University in 1786, he was indentured to him for five years, and at the age of sixteen “‘ entered upon the dry and barren wilderness of forms and conveyances.”’ Though he rebelled against the drudgery and confinement, he felt a rational pride in rendering himself useful to his father; and when actually at the oar, he says no one could pull harder than he, sometimes writing upwards of one hun- dred and twenty folio pages at a sitting, thereby earning at least thirty shillings. The duties of his apprenticeship often required him to make expeditions to the Highlands and elsewhere; and many of the most effective scenes of his poems and novels were inspired by his adventures in those wild and unknown regions. For recreation he read indefatigably; and as his constitution hardened, he made long trips both on horseback and on foot, sometimes, in spite of his lameness, walking twenty or thirty miles a day. Thus he stored his mind with pictures of romantic or historic interest. And as he was unable to draw, he kept a sort of log-book of his rambles; wherever he went, he cut a branch from a tree, and thus fixed the scene in his memory. He endeavored to educate his eye by taking lessons in oil painting, ‘*‘ from a little Jew animalcule, a smouch called Burrell,’’? but he afterwards regretfully wrote in his diary that he made no progress: ‘‘ Nature denied me correctness of eye and neatness of hand.” . an BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xi Still he drew the Castle of Hermitage at Liddesdale so accurately that Clerk put it into regular form, H. W. Williams copied it, and his drawing was engraved for the frontispiece of the first volume of the Kelso Edition of the Minstrelsy. In music he was less talented. He wrote: ‘‘ My ear appears to me as dull as my voice is incapable of musical expression.’’? It is related of his early Edin- burgh days, that being one time present at a drinking bout, when the conviviality was prolonged till late, or rather early, Scott fell asleep, and on waking was con- vinced by his friends that he had sung a song in the course of the evening, and had sung it extremely well. But it is probable that none of them was a very good judge in the circumstances. In respect to lack of musical ear, Scott was like Burns and Byron and many of the great poets. Fortunately, poetry depends rather upon a sense of time than of genuine musical feeling, and many of his halting lines may be attributed to care- lessness and haste. In later days some of the reviews, while giving credit to Scott’s abundant vivacity and verve of style, complained that it seemed impossible for him to write good English. Scott, in his diary, under date of April 22, 1826, thus comments on his early neglect of fundamentals: — ‘*T write grammar as I speak, to make my meaning known; and a solecism in point of compo- sition, like a Scotch word in speaking, is indifferent to me. I never learned grammar; and not only Sir Hugh Evans, but even Mrs. Quickly, might puzzle me about Giney’s [Jenny’s] case, and horum, harum, horum. I believe the bailiff in ‘The Good Natured Man’ is not far wrong when he says: ‘One man has one way of expressing himself, and another another, and that is all the difference between them.’ ” The grave Presbyterian father was somewhat scandalized by his son’s erratic ways, though it is said he also read romances on the sly, and was guilty of playing on the ’cello. One time Walter came home after one of his protracted absences. His father impatiently demanded how he had managed to live without any supply of pocket money; and when Walter expressed his regret that he had not Gold- smith’s art, so as to tramp like poor George Primrose from cottage to cottage over the world, his father replied : — *¢T greatly doubt, sir, you were born for nae better than a gangrel scrape gut! ”’ In spite of the dangerous habits of young Scotch noblemen and gentlemen, Scott’s character was not permanently vitiated by his intercourse with them. Indeed, he often exercised a restraining influence upon them. In his later life he was more than once heard to remark: ‘‘ Depend upon it, of all vices drinking is the most incompatible with greatness.’’ The terrible example of his brother Daniel’s fate was perhaps salutary to him. Scott had by this time outgrown all trace of early ill-health. He was so strong that he could lift a smith’s anvil by the horn with one hand. He is described as about six feet in stature, with a fresh, brilliant complexion, clear, open eyes, perfect teeth, and a noble brow, and with great vivacity of expression. His upper lip was long, and his nose was far from classic, but his head was well set, and he was eminently formed (with the exception of the blemish in one leg) to attract the attention of the fair. Lockhart says that it was the united testimony of his associates that Scott was remarkably free from the more rakish indiscretions of young manhood; and he par- tially explains it by reference to a secret attachment, ‘‘ which continued through all the most perilous stage of life to act as a romantic charm in safeguard of virtue.’’ His earliest love, whom he himself compares to Byron’s Mary Duff, was ‘‘a very good-natured, pretty girl,’’.a Miss Dalrymple, daughter of Lord Westhall, and her daughter afterwards became the snouse of his colleague, Robert Hamilton. xii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. When he was sixty he wrote: — ““T was a mere child, and could feel none of the passion which Byron alleges, yet the recollec- tion of this good-humored companion of my childhood is like that of a morning dream.” But while he was still serving his apprenticeship, it happened that one Sunday, as the congregation were dispersing from Gray Friars, it began to rain, and Scott offered his umbrella to Miss Williamina Belches, a beautiful girl, the daughter of a gentleman who afterwards became Sir John Stuart of Fettercairn. The acquaint- ance thus begun ripened into friendship, and speedily, on Scott’s part, into an undying love, which, though ultimately disappointed, was advantageous in more ways than one. Lockhart says it ‘‘had a powerful influence in nerving Scott’s mind for the sedulous diligence with which he pursued his proper legal studies during the two or three years that preceded his call to the bar.’’ Scott’s father, discovering his attachment, felt it his duty to warn the young lady’s father, since she had ‘‘ prospects of future far above his son’s.’? She finally married Sir William Forbes, who in the time of Scott’s adversity befriended him in many ways. It was evident that Scott’s pride was piqued, if his heart was broken, by her conduct; but when he had acquired name and fame he renewed relations with Lady Jane Stuart, the young lady’s mother; and as late as 1827, on receiving an affectionate letter from her, felt his heart stirred to its deepest depths, and he wrote in his diary, ‘‘ Alas! alas! — but why alas?”’ He determined not to enter into partnership with his father, but to embrace the more ambitious profession of the bar; and with that object in view he was eydent in his studies for four years, and on the 11th of July, 1792, he ‘assumed the gown, with all its duties and honors.’’? At the dinner which he gave, as was customary on such occasions, his father was one of the happiest of guests. ‘On a festival occasion,” says Scott in his autobiography, ‘‘there were few whom a moderate glass of wine exhilarated to such a lively degree.’ On the first day of his presence at Court, a friendly solicitor gave him a guinea, with which he purchased a new night-cap; but his first important fee was spent for a silver candlestick for his mother. He was afterwards offered employment at the Circuit Court at Jedburgh; but, as he wrote his friend Clerk, ‘‘ durst not venture.” He still kept up his habit of making what he called ‘‘raids’’ into unexplored districts; and with his friend Robert Shortreid as guide, for seven successive years explored every nook and corner of Liddesdale, where, till Scott’s appearance, a wheeled carriage had never been seen. To these rambles he owed much of the material collected in ‘‘ The Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.’’ Among the lawyers of the Outer House, many of whom afterwards attained distinction, but who were now light-hearted loungers of ‘‘ the mountain,’? Duss Scotus, as they called Scott, was regarded as the prince of story-tellers. Nearly all of them united to form a class for the study of German; and to this circumstance may be traced Scott’s first entrance upon the field of literature. He had already shown a natural facility for rhyming, and at the age of sixteen is said to have com- posed a poem in four books on the Conquest of Granada; but this was immediately burnt, and not a line is known to have survived, unless in one of the extemporized mottoes to the novels. Birger’s ‘* Lenore ”’ first stimulated him to more serious verse. Having heard about the poem, which was brought to Edinburgh by Mrs. Barbauld in 1795, Scott obtained the original, and translated it at a sitting. His friend Miss Cranstoun, who was in the secret of his love for Miss Belches, had the ballad printed in ‘* most elegant style,’? and sent a copy ‘‘richly bound and blazoned”’ to her at the country house where she and Scott were both visiting. The young lady had un- BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xill doubtedly ‘‘ high admiration of Scott’s abilities,’? but not even this new proof of his talent won her love. Mrs. Scott of Harden, who was of noble German birth, supplied him with many standard German books, and he translated a number of prose dramas and some of Goethe’s lyrics. The ‘* Lenore ’”’ and ‘‘ Wild Huntsman ’’ were published in a thin quarto, with- out Scott’s name, in 1796, the year of Burns’s death, —and was welcomed as a remarkable production by many good critics, but proved pecuniarily a dead loss. Meantime, his practice was slowly increasing, — in his first year he made a little more than twenty-four pounds, in his fifth he made £144 10s., —and his spare time was largely occupied by his efforts in the formation of a body of volunteer cavalry, in which he occupied at first the triple functions of paymaster, quartermaster, and secretary. He was the very life of the ‘‘ Light Horse,’’ and was familiarly known as Earl Walter. During his summer vacation in 1797 he made a tour of the English lakes, where he afterwards laid the scene of ‘‘ Triermain’’ and ‘‘St. Ronan’s Well;’’ and here he met Miss Charlotte Margaret Carpenter, or Charpentier, a young lady of English origin, but born in France. Her guardian was the Marquess of Downshire, but the report that he was her father was disbelieved by Lockhart. After a brief courtship, and some opposition on the part of Scott’s family, he became engaged to her. He married her on the 24th of December, 1797. The following year their first-born son died the day after his birth, and Scott completed his translation of Goethe’s ‘‘ Goetz von Berlichingen,’’? which, when published in February, 1799, brought him twenty-five guineas from a London bookseller. They hired a pretty cottage at Lasswade, which they occupied for several summers; and here amid the most romantic scenery of Scotland were thrown off those ballads which Scott called ‘* his first serious attempts in verse.’? He was also occupied in making his collections for the subsequently published volumes of ‘‘ The Scottish Minstrelsy of the Border.’’ One of the advantages of his residence at Lasswade was his acquaintance with the houses of Melville and Buccleuch; and when the office of sheriff-depute of Selkirkshire became vacant in 1799, Scott, through the Duke of Buccleuch, was appointed to this position. The duties were almost nominal, and the salary £300 a year. This, in addition to what he had received from his father’s estate, his wife’s income, and his own professional earnings, placed him on a secure footing, and gave him, at least during his vacations, time to cultivate literature. Among Scott’s schoolmates at Lancelot Whale’s School in 1783, was James Ballantyne, who had now become a printer, and was publishing a weekly news- paper at Kelso. Scott then proposed to him to print off a dozen or so copies of his ballads. This was done, and the pamphlet containing ‘‘ William and Ellen,”’ ‘The Fire King,” ‘‘ The Chase,’’ and a few others, was published under the title, ** Apology for Tales of Terror.’’ At the same time the scheme of a collection of _ Old Border Ballads was broached. In April, 1800, he wrote to Ballantyne, asking him to Edinburgh, to engage in a general printing business, to include a newspaper, a monthly journal, an = register, the execution of session papers, and, lastly, the publication of ooks. It was two years, however, before Ballantyne emigrated; but in the meantime he had won golden opinions by the beautiful style in which he had brought out the _ first two volumes of “The Border Minstrelsy.” Scott’s share of the profits of these was £78 tos. He had already begun that pecuniary assistance to Ballantyre which, in 1805, resulted in a secret partnership, and his ultimate ruin. The third volume of the “ Minstrelsy”” was well received. The London publisher, Long: xiv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. man, issued one thousand copies of the first two, and fifteen hundred of the third. Scott’s entire profits were £600. His first contributions to the Edinburgh Review were printed in 1803, in which year he was mainly engaged in editing the ancient manuscript of ‘‘ Sir Tristrem, by Thomas the Rhymer.’’? ‘This was published in May, 1804, in an edition of only one hundred and fifty copies, at the high price of two guineas each, The same month he took a lease of the house and farm of Ashestiel, on the south bank of the Tweed, and about a month later his uncle, Captain Robert Scott, died, leaving him his beautiful little villa and thirty acres of land, besides £600 in cash. He sold Rosebank for £5,000, and was now assured of an annual income of £1,000, besides his practice at the Bar (which, for instance, in 1803 brought him over £228) and his literary profits. He had been scarcely more than a week in possession of his beautiful new resi- dence when he was called upon to try a poacher. The man’s pitiful story and clever humor moved the sheriff; he not only let him off, but took him into his service as grieve, or bailiff. From that time forth Tom Purdie was his faithful henchman and trusted friend till he died. It was he who, when Scott received his baronetcy, proceeded to add an S to every sheep on the estate; and this mark, S. W. S., so delighted Scott, that he frequently used it as a signature. The romantic and retired situation of Ashestiel offered Scott abundant inspira- tion and leisure for writing; and here he finished ‘‘ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,’’ begun some time before in an attempt to write a ballad to be called ‘‘ The Goblin Page.’? It was published in January, 1805, seven hundred and fifty copies in quarto, at £1 5s. a copy. Nearly forty-four thousand copies were disposed of before he superintended the edition of 1830, not counting various pirated editions in America and elsewhere. Scott’s profits on the first edition were £169 65. The publishers, Longman & Co., of London, offered him 4500 for the copyright, and afterwards added £100. It was shortly after this that the poet, instead of buying the estate of Long- meadows, on the Yarrow, as he was tempted to do, invested all his capital in Bal- lantyne’s concern, whereby he acquired a third interest. The success of the ‘‘ Lay’’ determined Scott to quit the Bar and devote himself to literature. His first great scheme was a complete edition of British poets, an- cient and modern; but finding that Thomas Campbell was engaged upon a similar work, he took upon himself only the new edition and biography of Dryden. Thus he combined, to use Lockhart’s words, ‘‘ the conscientious magistrate, the marti- net quartermaster, the speculative printer, and the ardent lover of literature for its own sake.’? He might have added also laird and forester and farmer. This same year he began the story of Waverley, but laid it aside till a later day. In 1806 he was appointed clerk of sessions, in place of George Home, who had held the office for upwards of thirty years. By special arrangement, which Scott considered a hard bargain, he undertook the duties, but waived the salary during Home’s life. The duties required his attendance at court from four to SIX hours a day five or six days a week during about six months in the year, and the salary was £1,300. This position Scott filled for twenty-five years, not slighting any of the ‘‘really base drudgery” of the work, or giving to its more exacting claims any but his best talents and skill. During the whole of 1806 and 1807 he gave most of his spare moments to his editorial work on Dryden, but he was also enlisted in several contributions to the Edinburgh Review, and finished ‘‘ Marmion.’? Constable offered one thousand guineas for it before he had seen a single line of it. It was published in February, 1808, in ‘‘ a splendid quarto, price one guinea and a half,’’ and the legitimate sale of the work in England alone reached fifty thousand copies by 1836. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. XV **Marmion’”’ was followed in April by the edition of Dryden on which Scott had been working so long. It was in eighteen volumes, and the editor’s fee was £756. The work, in spite of many prognostications of failure, was a distinguished success. Scott’s industry at this period of his life was scarcely less remarkable than it was when he was struggling to pay off his debts. He edited Strutt’s ‘‘ Queenhoo Hall,’’ adding the concluding chapters. The State papers of Ralph Sadler, which ultimately extended to thirteen ponderous quarto volumes, and were not completed till 1812; a new edition of ‘‘ Captain Carleton’s Memoirs;’’ a similar one of the ‘*Memoirs of Robert Cary, Earl of Monmouth;’’ and a complete edition of the works of Swift, for which he was promised £1,500, were among his labors. He afterwards confessed that this ‘‘ tumult of engagements’’ was enough to tear him to pieces, but that he was saved by ‘‘ the wonderful exhilaration about it all,’? which kept his blood at a fever-pitch, and made him feel as though he could grapple with anything and everything. In a letter to his friend Morritt, he gives a lively picture of his occupations : — “*T have been Secretary to the Judicature Commission, which sat daily during all the Christmas Vacation. I have been editing Swift, and correcting the press at the rate of six sheets [90 pages] aweek. I have been editing Somers at the rate of four ditto ditto; I have written reviews, I have written songs, I have made selections, I have superintended rehearsals, and all this independent of visiting and of my official duty . . . . and independent of a new poem with which I am threatening the world. This last employment is not the most prudent, but I really cannot>well help myself. My office, though a very good one for Scotland, is only held in reversion; nor do I atypresent derive a shilling from it. I must expect that a fresh favorite of the public will supersede nie, and my philosophy being very great on the point of poetical fame, I would fain, at the risk of hastening my own downfall, avail myself of the favorable moment, to make some further provision for my little people.”’ His ‘‘ little people”? were four in number: Charlotte Sophia, afterwards Mrs. Lockhart, born 1799; Walter, 1801; Anne, 1803; and Charles, 1805. Lockhart / gives a delightful picture of Scott’s treatment of his children. He himself con- fessed in his diary that he did not like babies, yet to use the words of his son-in- law : — - “No father ever devoted more time and tender care to his offspring, than he did to each of his, as they successively reached the age when they could listen to him and understand his talk. Like their mute playmates, Camp and the greyhounds, they had at all times free access to his study; he never considered their tattle as any disturbance; they went and came as pleased their fancy ; he was always ready to answer their questions; and when they, unconscious how he was engaged, en- treated him to lay down his pen and tell them a story, he would take them on his knee, repeat a ballad or a legend, kiss them, and set them down again to their marbles or ninepins, and resume his labor, as if refreshed by the interruption.” His accomplishment of so much was due to his habit of early rising, and, as he expressed it, ‘‘ breaking the neck of the day’s work’’ before breakfast. This left him time for his visits and his visitors, for his various out-door avocations, and the manifold duties and pleasures that filled his day. Moreover he was able to compose while walking or riding. In this incessant round of occupations the years passed rapidly. Unfortunately, his zeal was enlisted in furthering the interests of numberless mediocrities who appealed to him; and when, on account of political differences, he quarrelled with the shrewd and enterprising Constable, and entered with the Ballantyne brothers into a rival publishing business, he sowed the seeds of disaster. Lockhart says that, though they would have shed their heart’s blood in his service, yet, as men of affairs, they deeply injured him, and he adds :— “The day that brought John into pecuniary connection with him was the blackest in his calendar,” XVI BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, The two brothers whom Scott called respectively Aldiborontiphoscophornio and Rigdumfunnidos, entered rashly upon all sorts of engagements, and Scott the silent, secret partner, who furnished the most of the capital, was even more ready to sug- gest the publication of works which were foredoomed to failure. The bond of copartnership dated from 1809, if not earlier, andin May of the fol- lowing year, the ‘‘ Lady of the Lake’’ was published also, in a majestic quarto at two guineas, and had a phenomenal success. Within a few months twenty thou- sand copies of different editions had been sold, and the legitimate sale by July, 1836, was reckoned as exceeding fifty thousand copies. A curious effect followed the publication of this poem; attention was drawn to the beauties of the Scottish Lake region, and the cost of post-horse service rose in an extraordinary degree. Scott himself increased his acquaintance with the Highlands during the sum- mer of 1810. At first he had thought of going to the peninsula, where the British army then was, but an invitation from the Laird of Staffa changed his mind, and he betook himself to the Hebrides with his dog Wallace, his wife, his eldest daughter, and several friends. This locality he afterwards chose as the scene of his last important poem. On his return he resumed the composition of ‘‘ Wa- verley;’’ but at the desire of Ballantyne it was laid aside once more. It is inter- esting to know that while the publishing affairs of Scott’s firm were going from bad to worse, owing to his imprudent enterprises, he was tempted ‘‘to pitch the Court of Session and the booksellers to the Devil,” and go out to India. Had Mr. Dundas (afterward Lord Melville), been appointed Governor-General of India, there is little doubt that he would have accepted a situation as Indian Secretary or Judge. The year 1811 was distinguished by the publication of the ‘* Vision of Don Roderick;’’ the proceeds of this he applied as his subscription for the relief of the Portuguese, who had suffered so bitterly in Massena’s campaign. Far more im- portant was his first purchase of land. He was about to come into a salary of #1300 as Clerk of Sessions, and his lease of Ashestiel had run out. He therefore bought for £4000 a little farm stretching half a mile along the ‘‘ Tweed’s Fair River.’? The land comprised the scene of the last clan Battle of the Borders, ‘Where gallant Cessford’s life-blood dear Reeked on dark Elliot’s border spear.’’ It consisted of a rich meadow or intervale, and a hundred acres of undulating land, ‘‘a bank and haugh as poor and bare as Sir John Falstaff’s regiment,” un- drained and unplanted except with heath, while in front of the wretched little farm-house was a stagnant pond called Clarty Hole. He gives in his diary a comic picture of the hegira from Ashestiel to his new domain, a whole troupe carrying old swords, lances, targets, bows, a family of turkeys in a helmet, and dozens of peasant children bringing up the rear. . The whole region had originally belonged to the Abbey of Melrose, the ruins of which were visible from the hillocks near the house. He immediately chris- tened the estate Abbotsford, and felt no little pride in being greeted as the Laird / He immediately began to plant trees, an occupation most fascinating to him. He also, like Gladstone, took pleasure in wielding the axe. His passion for ac- quiring land was ultimately gratified. His hundred acres grew into a domain of over a thousand, and the cottage which he planned became twelve years later a baronial castle. The estate was acquired by means of borrowed money, half of the amount being advanced on the security of the poem ‘‘ Rokeby,’’ which indeed was not written, but as yet only planned. The following summer was among the busiest of Scott’s life. As he wrote Mr. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xvii Morritt, a dozen masons were hammering at his new house, and his ‘* poor noddle’’ at the poem. Indeed, he was also at work at ‘‘Triermain,’’ which he hoped to bring out anonymously at the same time as ‘* Rokeby.’’ “¢ Rokeby ”’ was issued early in January, 1813. Nearly thirty-two hundred copies at two guineas were.sold in two days, and ten thousand of the later editions in three months, but its popularity was much inferior to his two preceding poems. Two months later ‘‘ Triermain’’ appeared, but its anonymity did not play the expected deception on Jeffrey, for whom the trap was chiefly laid; he had gone to America. The Quarterly Review, however, was completely deceived. Amid dark anxieties, and most humiliating demands upon him by his partners for meeting notes and claims against the publishing-house, which seemed to be los- ing at the rate of 4200 a month, and was indeed reported to be on the verge of bankruptcy, Scott received from the Prince Regent the offer of the Laureateship. This he declined. In July, 1814, Scott’s ‘‘ Life and Works of Swift,’ in nineteen octavo volumes, were published in an edition of twelve hundred and fifty copies, which took just ten years to sell; and on the very day of their issue he finished ‘* Waverley,’’ having spent less than a month on the last two volumes. Constable, with whom, now that he and the Ballantynes had forsworn publishing, he was again on friendly terms, at first offered him 4700 for the copyright, but afterwards decided on an equal division of profits. *¢ Waverley ’’ was published anonymously, and was the first of that long series which procured for its author the title of ‘*‘ The Great Unknown,”’ and ‘* The Wizard of the North.’? Though thirty persons were in the secret, it was kept tolerably well, and not even the personal efforts of the Prince Regent induced Scott to drop the mask. The failure of the Ballantynes revealed the real state of things, and at a dinner of the Theatrical Fund in 1827 Scott made his memorable con- fession. Without waiting to see how his anonymous venture should succeed, Scott almost immediately proceeded on what in his diary he calls a ‘* voyage in the Lighthouse Yacht to Nova Zembla and the lord knows where.’’ This voyage gave the finish- ing touches to ‘‘ The Lord of the Isles,’’ and furnished abundant material for the scenery of ‘‘ The Pirate.’’ On his return, early in September, he arranged with Constable for the publication of ‘‘ The Lord of the Isles.’? He received fifteen hun- dred guineas for one half of the copyright. The death of the Duchess of Buccleuch, “a beautiful, affectionate, and generous friend,’’ to whom he was sincerely attached, dashed his enthusiasm for this poem, which was accordingly finished rather as a task than as a labor of love, which it would otherwise have been. It was composed with the utmost speed —the last three cantos occupying less than a month. It was published on January 18, 1815; and only a month later came the second of the Waverley Novels, ‘‘ Guy Mannering,’’ which Scott said was ‘‘ the work of six weeks at Christmas.’’? And this in addition to a-most voluminous correspondence and other literary work, besides his anxious superintendence of the affairs of the Ballantynes, whose erratic business manager was constantly keeping them on a dangerous lee-shore. The sum received for ‘* Guy Mannering ’’ served for a time to keep the sinking ship from the reefs of disaster. The first edition of two thousand copies at a guinea each was sold in two days, and ten thousand were distributed before a collected edition of the novels was made. With the publication of ‘‘ The Lord of the Isles ’’ Scott’s poetical career practi- cally ended; for ‘* The Field of Waterloo ’’ and the few lyrics which he wrote dur- ing a visit to the Continent in 1815, or ‘‘ Harold the Dauntless,’’ and the poems that occur in the novels are of small consequence compared with his previous master- XViil BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. pieces. Scott wrote his friend Morritt in 1817, announcing ‘‘ Harold the Daunt- less,’? and ‘‘ a doggrel tale called the ‘ Search after Happiness’ ”’: — “T begin to get too old and stupid, I think, for poetry, and will certainly never again adventure on a grand scale. Indeed, Scott’s gift as a poet lay in the province of improvisation, and had all the shortcomings, as well as the excellencies, characteristic of such verse. Scott made one attempt to be promoted as Baron of Exchequer, but it fell through. While it was still pending, he had a terrible attack of cramps in the stomach, which caused his friends much anxiety. They were due to gallstones; and their effect was such that at the end of a year they left him looking twenty years older, with scanty hair pure white, and with the fire of his eyes dimmed. Fle came out of it; but, as he wrote one of his friends, he could for some time ‘neither stir for weakness and giddiness, nor read for dazzling in his eyes, nor listen for a whizzing sound in his ears, nor even think for lack of the power of arranging his ideas.”’ The attacks kept increasing in violence, and they were so agonizing that his screams were heard beyond the house. Nevertheless, in their intervals he wrote ‘“Rob Roy,’’ ? **Old Mortality,’? and in June, 1818, he finished ‘‘ The Heart of Mid Lothian,’’ and began ‘‘ The Bride of Lammermoor.’? He was informed that his friend, the Prince Regent, was going to grant him a baronetcy; but just as he was about to start for London to receive it, a still worse attack of his disorder occurred, and he thought that he was dying. He gave his children his parting blessing, and turned his face to the wall. Instead of dying, he fell into a deep sleep, and when he woke the crisis had past. The publication of ‘‘ Ivanhoe ’’ in December, 1819, marked the acme of Scott’s popularity. Twelve thousand copies at ten shillings were almost instantly sold. Unfortunately, his publishers refrained from telling him of the falling off in popu- larity of the succeeding novels. And Scott, whose literary income had been for some time upwards of £10,000 a year, believing that the golden stream was in- exhaustible, entered deeper and deeper into the expenditures caused by the building of Abbotsford, and the constant acquisition of land at exorbitant prices. During his visit to London, in 1820, Sir Thomas Lawrence painted his portrait for the King’s Gallery, and Mr. Chantrey made the bust, which, according to Lock- hart, ‘‘alone preserves for posterity the cast of expression most fondly remembered by all who ever mingled in his domestic circle.’’ i Scott was then gazetted as a baronet; and the king remarked to him at the levee, **T shall always reflect with pleasure on Sir Walter Scott’s having been the first creation of my reign.”’ Scott, whose Tory proclivities were always shown, and who, in the reform meas- ures of a few years later, saw nothing but destruction, was naturally much pleased by this doubtful distinction. The same year both the English universities conferred upon him the honorary degree of Doctor in Civil Law. All the time that he was pouring out his romances at the rate of twelve volumes a year, his hospitality was burdened with an unending multitude of visitors who made his castle a hotel. Lockhart says that the most princely nobleman of his age did not exceed him in the number of his distinguished visitors. The next year John Ballantyne died, much to the regret of Scott, to whom he left two thousand pounds by will. Unfortunately, instead of being possessed of 3 He sent the final sheets with this doggrel rhyme : — “With great joy I send you Roy. ’T was a tough job, But we’re done with Rob.” BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xix property, the reckless fellow was deep in debt. Scott was still blinded to the real state of affairs. So assured was he of possessing unlimited means and unlimited resources, that he -‘‘ exchanged instruments, and received his booksellers’ bills for no less than four ‘ works of fiction,’ not one of them otherwise described in the deeds of agreement, to be produced in unbroken succession.”’ Nor did his genius or fortune fail him. ‘*The Fortunes of Nigel’’ were fol- lowed by ‘‘ Peveril of the Peak,’’ ‘‘ Quentin Durward,”’ ‘‘St. Ronan’s Well,’’ and **Red Gauntlet,’? and Abbotsford was complete ! He was happy in his family; his eldest son independent in fortune; his second talented and on the road to promotion in the army; his daughter married to Lock- hart, who was a rising young man with fine prospects as editor of M/urray’s Quar- terly. ‘This was the grand climax! In Dec. 18, 1825, occurs this entry in Scott’s diary : — “My extremity has come, Cadell has received letters from London which all but positively announce the failure of Hurst and Robinson, so that Constable and Co. must follow, and ee go with poor James Ballantyne for company. I suppose it will involve my all. But if they leave me 4500, I can still make it £1000 or £1200 4 year. At the thought of his dogs and tenants and trees his heart was crushed within him. Lady Scott, pleasure-loving, easy-going, extravagant, was incredulous and critical. For a time it seemed as though the blow might be avoided, and possibly it might if Constable had hastened to London; but he delayed, and the crash came. The total liabilities of the three allied firms was about half a million pounds, of which Scott’s share was £130,000. He wrote in his diary: — “T have walked the last on the domains I have planted — sate the last time in the halls I have built. . . . I find my eyes moistening, and that will not do. I will not yield without a fight for it. .- . In prosperous times I have sometimes felt my fancy and powers of language flag, but advei- sity is to me, at least, a tonic and bracer; the fountain is awakened from its inmost recesses, as if the spirit of affliction had troubled it in his passage.’’ As soon as his misfortune was known, friends and strangers sprang with one impulse to his aid. One anonymous correspondent was anxious to send him £30,000, and he was greatly touched by the offer of his daughter’s harp-teacher to contribute £500 or £600, ‘* probably his all.” A woman of rank offered to marry him, and some ‘‘ unutterable idiot of a privy counsellor ’’ tried to bring about a match with a dowager duchess. But Scott declined all aid. He buckled down to the colossal work of paying this indebtedness by his own exertions. His creditors, with the exception of one grasping Jew, who demanded his pound of flesh, were willing to grant him every facility. He had once written, ‘‘I cannot pull well when the draught is too far behind me. I love to have the press thumping, clattering, banging in my rear; it creates the necessity which almost always makes me work best.’? And to his factor, Laid- law, he wrote, ‘‘ For myself I feel like the Eildon Hills —quite firm, though a little cloudy... . Ido not dislike the path that lies before me. I have seen all that society can show, and enjoyed all that wealth can give me, and I am satisfied much is vanity, if not vexation of spirit.’’ Also in his diary he made the best of the matter, ‘‘I think, now the shock of the discovery is past and over, I am much better off on the whole; I am as if I had shaken off from my shoulders a great mass of garments, rich indeed, but cumbrous, and always more a burden than a comfort.”’ By ‘‘ Woodstock,’’ the fruit of less than three months later, he won what he calls ‘‘ the matchless sum”’ of £8,228. Amid these terrible labors other misfortunes came upon him; ill-health and failure of eyesight, the fatal illness of his grandson, Johnnie Lockhart, for whom XX BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, he felt a peculiar tenderness, as the little fellow had a lameness similar to his own; it was for him that he wrote the ‘‘ Tales of a Grandfather.’’ Lady Scott also fell into ill-health and died while her husband was in Edinburgh. He entered into his diary his conviction that she was still ‘‘ sentient and conscious of his emo- tions — somewhere — somehow — where we cannot tell, how we cannot tell’? — and he spoke with warmth of ‘‘ the mysterious yet certain hope that he should see her in a better world.”’ “¢ Grief,’? he wrote, ‘‘makes me a housekeeper, and to labor is my only re- source.’? Yet he had written a year or two earlier in his diary that ‘‘ never did a being hate task work as he had hated it from his infancy up.’’ ‘‘It-is not that I am idle in my nature either. But propose to me to do one thing, and it is incon- ceivable the desire I have to do something else — not that it is more easy or more pleasant, but just because it is escaping from an imposed task.” The Bank of Scotland threatened to push him, and then for the first time he turned and declared that if they used the sword of the Law he would grasp the shield. He rightly felt that he ought to be left free to write under fitting conditions. During the two years preceding January, 1828, he earned by his pen nearly £40,000 ! How pathetic is this entry in his diary : — “What a life mine has been ! —half-educated, almost wholly neglected or left to myself, stuffing my head with most nonsensical trash, and undervalued in society for a time by most of my com- panions, getting forward and held a bold and clever fellow contrary to the opinion of all who thought me a mere dreamer, broken-hearted for two years, my heart handsomely pieced again, but the crack will remain till my dying day. Rich and poor four or five times, once on the verge of ruin, yet opened new sources of wealth almost overflowing. Now taken in my pitch of pride and nearly winged.”’ The gallant struggle which he made is almost unique in the history of literature. It became a passion with him to be at his desk ‘‘ feaguing it away,”’ to use his own expression. But like Carlyle, he had little respect for that ‘dear pudlicum’’ whom he was doomed to amuse. When the debt was reduced to £60,000, the creditors signified their sense of his labors by surrendering his books, furniture, plate, and curiosities. Some of his friends thought it was not very handsomely done, but Scott was extremely gratified. In five years his debt was reduced to £54,000, and if he had lived till 1833 it would have been entirely cleared. But his health was yielding under the strain. In November, 1830, he resigned from the Court of Sessions on a pension of £840. The following May he often wished he might lie down and sleep without waking. His bodily strength was greatly weakened; fear that his mental faculties were fail- ing haunted him. To linger on like Swift, ‘‘a driveller and a show,’’ seemed a terrible fate. It had been decided that he should try the effect of a winter in Italy; and in September, just before he started, ‘‘ the old splendor of Abbotsford ” was revived for the last time. Captain Glencairn Burns, the son of the poet, came to see him. The neighbors were assembled, and Sir Walter did the honors of the table. Two days later Wordsworth came to bid him farewell. On the 29th of October he sailed for Malta on a government frigate. He was conscious that his days were num- bered; he wrote in his diary, ‘‘I am perhaps setting.”’ At Malta he made.a round of visits with old friends, and was greatly gratified at a grand ball given in his honor. Four hundred gentlemen, mostly English off- cers, were present. At Naples his son Charles was awaiting him; and there was a fine eruption of Vesuvius, which Scott thought, if it portended his death, did him too much honor. He went to the Palazzo on the king’s birthday dressed like a brigadier- BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxi general of Archers’ Guards; he wore ‘‘a decent green uniform, laced at the cuffs,”’ and was ‘‘ sworded and feathered.” Here he refused to listen to the remonstrances of his friends and the warning of his physicians, but began a new novel, and planned to close the series of Waverley with a poem in the style of ‘‘the Lay’ or ‘the Lady of the Lake:’’ the subject, a curious tale of chivalry belonging to Rhodes. In order to carry out this dream, Sir Frederick Adams offered him a steamboat that should carry him to Greece. But this plan was abandoned. Accordingly Sir Walter bought a small closing carriage, and onthe 16th of April started for Rome. He grew more and more impatient to get home. He had looked forward to meeting Goethe in Germany. This hope also was disappointed. ‘‘ He at least died at home,’’ he said— ‘‘ let us to Abbotsford.” He seemed to enjoy the steamboat trip down the Rhine; but on the oth of June he was attacked by apoplexy, combined with paralysis. He was brought to London a week later, and it was not until the middle of July that he was allowed to return to Abbotsford, which he so longed to see. He lingered until the 21st of September, when he peacefully died in the presence of all his children. His two sons died childless. Lockhart’s daughter Charlotte married James Hope, whose daughter, Mary Monica, became the wife of the Honorable Joseph Maxwell, the present possessor of Abbotsford. They have six children. Lockhart’s biography of Scott is justly regarded as a model of fairness and abil- ity. It has been since supplemented by the publication of Scott’s letters, and of the diary from which Lockhart made limited extracts. The result is that Scotts life lies before us with the utmost distinctness: his generosity, his modesty, his lofty principle and piety, modified, as in the case of all human beings, by his individual- ity, his toryism, his outspoken frankness, his occasional narrowness. He had his faults, but few men could better afford to allow the world to balance them with his noble qualities. We have the vividest pen-pictures of Scott’s daily life; we know his methods of composition, his disposition of time, his ideas of hospitality. Few men were ever more honored. In 1827 he was appointed Professor of Antiquities at the Royal Academy, and, writing of his honorary titles, he re- naarked jocosely : — . “What a tail of the alphabet I should draw after me were I to sign with the indications of the _ different societies I belong to, beginning with President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh and ending with umpire of the Six-foot-high Club! ” There oftentimes arises discussion as to the immortality of Scott; but while we may readily acknowledge his faults as a man, as a novelist, and as a poet, still we may be justified in asserting that it will be a sad day, should it ever come, when the young do not feel their hearts glow with enthusiasm alike for Scott’s honorable life and for his varied and splendid works. NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. GOON DEBTS, PAGE INTRODUCTION by Charles Eliot See Per Gs aad BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH by Nathan ERLE Ei kk ae * THE Lay OF THE Last MINSTREL— Preface to First Edition . . . I Introduction to Edition 1830. . 2 Introduction 9 tanto, I... 10 canto IT... 15 Canto III. . 20 Canto IV. . 26 fanto. V. . 34 Canto VI. 40 ~ Marmion — Advertisement to First Edition 48 Introduction to Edition 1830 . 49 Introduction to Canto I. (To Wil- liam Stuart Rose). SI Santo I,, ‘° The Castle ’’ e154 Introduction to Canto II. (To the Rev. John Marriott) 61 Canto II., ‘‘ The Convent ”’ 63 Introduction to Canto III. (To William Erskine) . ie E70 Canto III., ‘‘ The Hostel orInn’”’ 73 Introduction to Canto IV. (To James Skene) . , So Canto IV., ‘‘The Camp”? . beso Y: Introduction to Canto V. (To George Ellis) . 90 Canto V., ‘* The Court ” 92 Lochinvar . 96 MARMION — Introduction to Canto VI. Richard Heber ) Canto VI., ‘‘ The Battle’’. L’ Envoy THE LADY OF THE LAKE— Introduction to Edition 1830 . 120 Ganto Ly The Chase?’ 124 Canto II., ‘* The Island ”’ 132 Canto III., ‘* The Gathering ”’ 142 Canto IV., ‘‘ The Prophecy ”’ ISI Canto: V., “The Combat* =: 160 Canto VI., ‘‘ The Guard-Room’’ 170 THE VISION OF DON RODERICK — Preface . 180 Introduction . ISI Parcels, 183 Conclusion. 195 ROKEBY — Advertisement to First Edition 199 Introduction to Edition 1830 . 200 Canta aids 203 Canto II.. 211 Canto III. . 219 Canto IV.. 228 FATIO =) Vie s 236 Canto’ VI-.. 5/247 THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN; OR, THE VALE OF ST. JOHN — Preface to First Edition 258 Introduction e261 Canto I. 263 . XXIV Lyulph’s Tale Canto II., Lyulph’s Tale, « contin- ued CONTENTS. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN — Introduction to Canto III. . Canto III. . Conclusion THE LoRD OF THE ISLES — Advertisement to First Edition Introduction to Edition 1830 . Gantoor Ti. Canto II.. Ganto Alh:, Cantoc1v... (Cantos: Va\. Canto VE; of THE FIELD OF WATERLOO . Canto I. Canto II. Canto lll. . Canto IV;-. eA OLO WM 6s Canto VE. . CONTRIBUTIONS TO MINSTRELSY OF HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS — Introduction THE SCOTTISH BORDER — Thomas the Rhymer: Part I. Ancient . Part II. Altered from Ancient Prophecies Part III. Modern. r———-Glenfinlas; BALLADS, Coronach “ 424 On a Thunder-storm - 424 On the Setting Sun . - 424 « The Violet Be 3 To a Lady. (With Hicwens eS a Roman Wall) re! 4s War-song of the Edinburgh Light Dragoons 4. hatgie, ? ep ieee The Bard’s Incaneaeene ot AZO Helvellyn . - 426 The Dying Bard . i The Norman Horse-shoe - 428 The Maid of Toro . 429 The Palmer- - 429 The Maid of Neldpatlt - 430 Wandering Willie 430 Hunting Song PARI Health to Lord Meleitte e AQT Epitaph designed for a Monument in Lichfield Cathedral a9 The Resolve . 5 433 Prologue to Miss Baillie? s Play of the Family Legend Hae ee The Poacher . - 434 Song, ‘‘ Oh, say not, my eis Ag? The Bold Dragoon; or, the Plain of Badajoz . Peace). ay On the Massacre of Chenees Pe 438 For‘a’ that an’ a’ thate 72m eeeaO Song for the Anniversary Meet- ing of the Pitt Club of Scotland 440 Lines addressed to Ranald Mac- donald, Esq., of Staffa . - 440 Pharos Loquitur . - 441 al en as CONTENTS. PAGE MiSCELLANEOUS PoEMs — * Letter in verse to the Duke of Buccleuch . 441 Postscriptum . veg 43 Farewell to drentckse, \ High Chief of Kintail wie ', 44ds War-Song of Lachlan, High Chief of Maclean . . 449 Saint Cloud - 450 The Dance of Death - 450 Romance of Dunois . aS 2 The Troubadour . - 452 Song from the French . - 453 Song on the Lifting of the Banner of the House of Buccleuch . 453 Lullaby of an Infant Chief 454 The Return to Ulster 455 Jock of Hazeldean 455 Pibroch of Donald Dhu 456 Nora’s Vow - 456 Macgregor’s caterne 457 Verses to the Tsar Alexander. 458 The Search after Happiness; or, the Quest of Sultaun Solimaun 462 The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill 468 The Monks of Bangor’s March . 468 Mr. Kemble’s Farewell Address . 468 Lines written for Miss Smith . 469 Letter to his Grace, the Duke of Buccleuch : 470 Epilogue to the Vea 472 Mackrimmon’s Lament 472 Donald Caird’s come again i473 Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine . 476 On Ettrick Forest’s Mountains Dun 504 Farewell to the Muse eehDS The Maid of Isla $e SD5 Carle, now the King’s Come . . 505 The Bannatyne Club ee: Epilogue to the Drama founded on ‘St. Ronan’s Well” -i518 To J. G. Lockhart, Esq. . . 519 XXV PAGE MISCELLANEOUS POEMS — Lines addressed to Monsieur Alex- andre : 520 Life of Napoleon : Vg2t Verses from Scott’s Journal, 18.26 529 Verses from Scott’s Journal, 1827 530 The Death of Keeldar . » 530 Verse from Scott’s Journal, 1828 533 Glengarry’s Death-Song = 535 Verses from Scott’s Journal, 1829 535 Inscription for the Monument of the Rev. George Scott - 535 The Foray . "536 SONGS AND MOTTOES FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS — FROM ‘‘ WAVERLEY.” Bridal Song - 444 Lines by Edward Revegte - 444 Davie Gellatley’s Songs - 445 “False love, and hast thou play’d me this ?”’ “The Knight’s to the mountain.” ““ Hie Away.’? “Young men will love thee more fair and more fast.” St. Swithin’s Chair . 445 Flora MaclIvor’s Song . 446 “There is mist on the mountain.” To an Oak Tree . 447 Follow, follow me 448 FROM ‘‘GUY MANNERING.” **Twist ye, Twine ye”. 454 The Dying Gypsy’s Dirge . 454 FROM “‘ THE ANTIQUARY.” Time 458 Elspeth’s Ballad . 458 Mottoes His 459 FROM THE “‘ BLACK DWARF.”’ Motto wae. 461 FROM ‘‘ OLD MORTALITY.” Major Bellenden’s Song 461 Verses found in Bothwell’s Poc- Kket-book =... segsbristerncd a 461 MOOS > ieeerAgr is 462 XXVI PAGE SONGS AND MOTTOES FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS — FROM ‘‘ ROB ROY.’’ To the Memory of Edward the Black Prince - 470 Translation from Ariosto . 471 Mottoes e7t FROM ‘‘ THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.”’ Effie Dean’s Songs . Bee 7 “The elfin Knight sat on the brae.”’ ““Thro’ the kirkyard.” Madge Wildfire’s Songs » 475 Mottoes + bac dS FROM ‘‘ THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR.” . 476 ‘Look thou not on beauty’s charming.” Rr tele ‘“The monk must arise when the mat- Lucy Ashton’s Song Norman the Forester’s Song . ins ring.”’ CONTENTS. SONGS AND MOTTOES FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS — FROM ‘‘ THE MONASTERY.” Songs in Halbert’s Second Inter- view with the White Lady of Avenel Shida Thee aaa The White Lady to Mary Avenel The White Lady to Edward PAGER ae keg 486 Glendenning ©... J) 4 ieo7 The White Lady’s Farewell . 487 Border Ballad . 487 Paraphrase of Horace - 487 Mottoes - 488 FROM ‘‘ THE ABBOT.” Mottoes - 490 FROM ‘‘ KENILWORTH.” Goldthred’s Song . 482 ‘“ Of all the birds on bush or tree.’’ Riottees heer Speech of the Porter - 492 FROM ‘‘ THE LEGEND OF MONTROSE.” staiee aoe Annot Lyle’s Songs. i477 FROM “Birds of omen dark and foul.”’ The Song of the Tempest ih “‘ Gaze not upon the stars, fond sage.” Claud Halcro’s Song: ‘‘ Mary’? 495 The Orphan Maid . 477 The Song of Harold Harfager . 495 «© Wert Thou like me”. . 478 Song of the Mermaids and Mer- FROM ‘‘IVANHOE.”’ MCW ae yeas - 495 The Crusader’s Return . . 478 Norna’s Song . . 496 The Barefooted Friar . 478 Norna and Trold | . 496 Saxon War-Song . 479 Claud Halcro and Norna =» AQT. Rebecca’s Hymn . 480 Song of the Zetland Fishermen . 498 A Virelai Rte ee Ne Sep AOC Cleveland’s Serenade . 499 Duet between the Black Knight Claud Halcro’s Verses . - 499 and Wamba . 481 Claud Halcro’s Invocation - 499 Funeral Hymn . 481 Norna’s Runic Rhyme . . 500 Mottoes . 481 Norna’s Spells . 500 FROM ‘‘ THE MONASTERY.” Bryce Snailfoot’s Sign . . 502 Songs of the White Lady of Av- Fragment of a Sea-Ditty = BO? enel: Dick Fletcher’s Ditty’. 2 4." «02 (1.) On Tweed River . 482 Mottoes 502 (2.) To the Sub-Prior . - 483 FROM “‘ THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL.” Halbert’s Incantation . . 484 Rhymes of Alsatia . 508 The White Lady’s Answer . 484 Mottoes - 500 CONTENTS. Soncs AND MOTTOES FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS — “ce Xxvil PAGE PAGE SONGS AND MOTTOES FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS— ce FROM ‘‘ PEVERIL OF THE PEAK.”’ FROM ‘‘MY AUNT MARGARET’S MIRROR.”? Mottoes 2e5E3 Motto sanat FROM ‘‘ QUENTIN DURWARD.”* FROM “‘ THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH.’? Song — County Guy » 515 Mottoes : - 5a Paraphrase from ‘‘ Orlando Furi- The Lay of Poor Louie . SSI sees) : - 515 Oliver Proudfute’s Glee ee: Mottoes ~ 515 Chant over the Dead WS FROM ‘ST. RONAN’S WELL.” A Dirge. ‘Yes, thou mayst * Mottoes Si sigh ”’ ies FROM “‘ REDGAUNTLET.”’ FROM ‘‘ ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN.”’ Cowley’s Catch Amplified . eet: The Secret Tribunal “533 Consolation . 519 Mottoes . 534 FROM ‘‘ THE BETROTHED.”? FROM ‘‘COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS.’ Song — Soldier, Wake . woe aT Mottoes . 536 Song — The Truth of Woman. 521 FROM ‘‘ CASTLE DANGEROUS.” A Welsh Lay . ; 3522 Mottoes » S37 Mottoes 4 <9 §22 FRAGMENTS, OF VERY EARLY DATE — FROM ‘‘ THE TALISMAN.!? Patiwall Cacia . 539 een eNccaos The Shepherd’s Tale 2-530 To the Arch- Duke af Austria Ue OATHS eet aay e . 542 Song of Blondel —The Bloody The Reiver’s Weagine © . 542 West . - 524 Mottoes ‘é « -.« 526 | DRAMATIC PIECES — FROM ‘‘ WOODSTOCK.” HALIDON HILL: ae Te eee + Le, Dp CanrTo II. And soon beneath the rising day Smiled Branksome Towers and Teviot’s tide. The wild birds told their warbling tale, And waken’d every flower that blows; And peeped forth the violet pale, And spread her breast the mountain rose. And lovelier than the rose so red, Yet paler than the violet pale, She early left her sleepless bed, The fairest maid of Teviotdale. XXVI. Why does fair Margaret so early awake? And don her kirtle so hastilie; And the silken knots, which in hurry ak would make, Why tremble her slender fingers to tie; Why does she stop, and look often around, As she glides down the secret stair; And why does she pat the shaggy blood- hound, As he rouses him up from his lair; And, though she passes the postern alone, Why is not the watchman’s bugle blown? XXVII. The Ladye steps in doubt and dread, Lest her watchful mother hear her tread; The Ladye caresses the rough blood- hound, Lest his voice should waken the castle round, _ The watchman’s bugle is not blown, _ For he was her foster-father’s son; i _ And she glides through the greenwood at \ dawn of light To meet Baron Henry, her own true knight. XXVIII. “The Knight and Ladye fair are met, And under the hawthorn’s boughs are set. A fairer pair were never seen To meet beneath the hawthorn green. ‘He was stately, and young, and tall; Dreaded in battle, and loved in hall; : od she, when love, scarce told, scarce hid, Lent to hee cheek a livelier red; When the half sigh her swelling breast Against the olay prest3 fo snl errs | a, - i Bee TAY OR THE LAST MINSTREL. j 19 When her blue eyes their secret told, Though shaded by her locks of gold — Where would you find the peerless fair, With Margaret of Branksome might com: pare? XXIX. And now, fair dames, methinks I see You listen to my minstrelsy; Your waving locks ye backward throw, And sidelong bend your necks of snow; Ye ween to hear a melting tale, Of two true lovers in a dale; And how the Knight, with tender fire To paint his faithful passion strove; Swore he might at her feet expire, But never, never, cease to love; And how she blush’d, and how she sigh’d, And, half consenting, half denied, And said that she would die a maid; — Yet, might the bloody feud be stay’d, Henry of Cranstoun, and on!y he, QJ | er A Margaret of Branksome’s choice should be. XXX. Alas! fair dames, your hopes are vain! My harp has lost the enchanting strain; Its lightness would my age reprove: My hairs are gray, my limbs are old, My heart is dead, my veins are cold; I may not, must not, sing of love. XXXI. Beneath an oak, moss’d_o’er by eld, The Baron’s Dwarf his courser held,!9 And held his crested helm and spear: That Dwarf was scarce an earthly man, If the tales were true that of him ran Through all the Border, far and near. ’Twas said, when the Baron a- hunting ¢ rode, Through Redesdale’s glens, but rarely — trode, He heard a voice cry, ‘* Lost! lost! lost !”’ And, like tennis-ball by racket tos: A leap, of thirty feet and three, Made from the gorse this elfin shape, Distorted like some dwarfish ape, And lighted at Lord Cranstoun’s knee. A NET UT, to nt ( H a THE LAY OF THE LAST MINST Rae bi aed Cranstoun was some whit dis- may’d; Tis said ‘that five good miles he rade, To rid him of his company; But where he rode one mile, the Dwarf ran four, a the Dwarf was first at the castle 4 door. yy XXXII. _ Use lessens marvel, it is said: _ This elvish Dwarf with the Baron staid; ' Little he ate, and less he spoke, _Nor mingled with the menial flock: _ And oft apart his arms he toss’d, And often mutter’d ‘‘ Lost! lost ! lost !”’ He was waspish, arch, and litherlie,* H But well Lord Cranstoun served he: And he of his service was full fain; _ For once he had been ta’en or slain, An it had not been for his ministry. ¥ All between Home and Hermitage, Talk’d of Lord Cranstoun’s Goblin-Page. XXXIII. __For the Baron went on Pilgrimage, ' And took with him this elvish Page, : To Mary’s Chapel of the Lowes; ; ' For there beside our Ladye’s lake, - An offering he had sworn to make, ? And he would pay his vows ‘ But the Ladye of Branksome gather? da band _ Of the best that would ride at her com- ' mand: The trysting place was Newark Lee. Wat of Harden came thither amain, \-And thither came John of Thirlestane, «And thither came William of Deloraine; They were three hundred spears and : three: ‘Through Douglas-burn, z stream, ‘Their horses prance, their lances gleam. ‘hey came to St. Mary’s lake ere day; @ the chapel was void, and the Baron away. ey burn’d the chapel for very rage, nd cursed Lord Cranstoun’s Goblin- - Page. up Yarrow * Idle. iia OE ae CanTo III. XXXIV. And now, in Branksome’s good green- wood, As under the aged oak he stood, The Baron’s courser pricks his ears, As if a distant noise he hears. The Dwarf waves his long lean arm on high, And signs to the lovers to part and fly; No time was then to vow or sigh. Fair Margaret through the hazel grove, Flew like the startled cushat-dove: The Dwarf the stirrup held and rein; Vaulted the Knight on his steed amain, And, pondering deep that morning’s scene, Rode eastward through the hawthorns green. WHILE thus he pour’d the lengthen’d tale The Minstrel’s voice began to fail: Full slyly smiled the observant page, And gave the wither’d hand of age A goblet crown’d with mighty wine, The blood of Velez?’ scorched vine. He raised the silver cup on high, And, while the big drop fill’d his eye, Pray’d God to bless the Duchess long, And all who cheer’d a son of song. The attending maidens smiled to see How long, how deep, how zealously, The precious juice the Minstrel quaff’d; And he, embolden’d by the draught, Look’d gayly back to them, and laugh’d. The cordial nectar of the bowl Swell’d his old veins, and cheer’d his soul; A lighter, livelier prelude ran, Fre thus his tale again began. CANTO THIRD. Te AND said I that my limbs were old, And said J that my blood was cold, And that my kindly fire was fled, And my poor wither’d heart was dead, _ And that I might not sing of love? — How could I to the dearest theme, aa That ever warm’d a minstrel’s dream, p.| So foul, so false a#ecreant prov Canro III. How could I name love’s very name, Nor wake my heart to notes of flame! Il. In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed; In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed; In halls, in gay attire is seen; In hamlets, dances on the green. Love rules the court, the camp, the grove, And men below, and saints above; For love is heaven, and heaven is love. III. ‘So thought Lord Cranstoun, as I ween, While, pondering deep the tender scene, He rode through Branksome’s hawthorn ® green. But the Page shouted wild and shrill, _ And scarce his helmet could he don, When downward from the shady hill A stately knight came pricking on. That warrior’s steed, so dapple-gray, Was dark with sweat, and splash’d with clay; His armor red with many a stain; He seem’d in such a weary plight, (As if heyhad ridden the live-long night; For it was William of Deloraine. IV. But no whit weary did he seem, When, dancing in the sunny beam, e mark’d the crane on the baron’s ™ crest; * or his ready spear was in his rest. Few were the words, and stern and high, That mark’d the foemen’s feudal oe hate; Bi or question fierce, and proud reply, _ Gave signal soon of dire debate. Their very coursers seem’d to know That each was other’s mortal foe, And snorted fire, when wheel’d around, lo give each knight his vantage-ground. -* The crest of the Cranstouns, in allusion to Weir name, is a crane, dormant, holding a stone this foot, with an emphatic Border motto, ! shalt want ere I want. Arms thus pun- on the name, are said heraldically to be ting.” THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 2y Vv. In rapid round the Baron bent; He sigh’d a sigh, and pray’d a prayer; The prayer was to his patron saint, The sigh was to his ladye fair. Stout Deloraine nor sigh’d nor pray’d, NGr saint, nor ladye, call’d to aid; But he stoop’d his head, and couch’d his spear, And spurr’d his steed to full career. The meeting of these champions proud Seem’d like the bursting thunder-cloud. VI. Stern was the dint the Borderer lent! The stately Baron backwards bent; Bent backwards to his horse’s tail, And his plumes went scattering on the gale. The tough ash spear, so stout and true, Into a thousand flinders flew. But Cranstoun’s lance, of more avail, Pierced through, like silk, the Borderer’s mail; Through shield, and jack, and acton, past, Deep in his bosom, broke at last. — Still sate the warrior saddle-fast, Till, stumbling in the mortal shock, Down went the steed, the girthing broke, Hurl’d on a heap lay man and horse. The Baron onward pass’d his course ; ‘Nor knew —so giddy roll’d his brain — His foe lay stretch’d upon the plain. VII. But when he rein’d his courser round, And saw his foeman on the ground Lie senseless as the bloody clay, He bade his page to stanch the wound, And there beside the warrior stay, And tend him in his doubtful state, And lead him to Branksome castle-gate: His noble mind was inly moved For the kinsman of the maid he loved. ‘This shalt thou do without delay: No longer here myself may stay ; Unless the swifter I speed away, Short shrift will be at my dying day.” VII. Away in speed Lord Cranstoun rode; The Goblin-Page behind abode; 22 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. His lord’s command he ne’er withstood, Though small his pleasure to do good. As the corslet off he took, The Dwarf espied the Mighty Book! Much he marvell’d a knight of pride, Like a book-bosom’d priest should ride ; * He thought not to search or stanch the wound, Until the secret he had found. IX. The iron band, the iron clasp, Resisted long the elfin grasp: For when the first he had undone, It closed as he the next begun. Those iron clasps, that iron band, Would not yield to unchristen’d hand, Till he smear’d the cover 0’er With the Borderer’s curdled gore; A moment then the volume spread, And one short spell therein he read, It had much of glamour t might, Could make a ladye seem a knight; The cobwebs on a dungeon wall Seem tapestry in lordly hall; A nut-shell seem a gilded barge, A sheeling ¢ seem a palace large, And youth seem age, and age seem youth — All was delusion, naught was truth.” XY He had not read another spell, When on his cheek a buffet fell, So fierce, it stretch’d him on the plain, Beside the wounded Deloraine. From the ground he rose dismay’d, And shook his huge and matted head; One word he mutter’d, and no more, ‘‘ Man of age, thou smitest sore ! ’? — No more the Elfin Page durst try Into the wondrous Book to pry; The clasps, though smear’d with Chris- tian gore, Shut faster than they were before. He hid it underneath his cloak. — Now, if you ask who gave the stroke, * Priests were wont to carry their mass-book, for burying and marrying, etc., in their bosoms, + Magical delusion. 4 Ashepherd’s hut, Canto III. I cannot tell, so mot I thrive; It was not given by man alive. XI. Unwillingly himself he address’d, To do his master’s high behest: He lifted up the living corse, And laid it on the weary horse; He led him into Branksome Hall, Before the beards of the warders all; And each did after swear and say, There only pass’d a wain of hay. He took him to Lord David’s tower, Even to the Ladye’s secret bower; And, but that stronger spells were spread, And the door might not be opened, He had laid him on her very bed. Whate’er he did of gramarye,§ Was always done maliciously; He flung the warrior on the ground, And the blood well’d freshly from the wound. XII. As he repass’d the outer court, He spied the fair young child at sport; He thought to train him to the wood; For, at a word, be it understood, He was always for ill, and never fer good. Seem’d to the boy, some comrade gay Led him forth to the woods to play; On the drawbridge the warders stout Saw a terrier and lurcher passing out. XIII. He led the boy o’er bank and fell, Until they came to a woodland brook; 74 The running stream dissolved the spell, — And his own elvish shape he took. Could he have had his pleasure vilde, He had crippled the joints of the noble child; Or, with his fingers Jong and lean, Had strangled him in fiendish spleen; But his awful mother he had in dread, And also his power was limited; So he but scowl’d on the startled child, And darted ‘through the forest wild; The woodland brook he bounding cross’d, And laugh’d, and shouted, ‘‘ Lost! lost’ lost !?? — § Magic. Canto III. XIV. Full sore amazed at the wondrous change, And frighten’d as a child might be, At the wild yell and visage strange, And the dark words of gramarye, The child, amidst the forest bower, Stood rooted like a lily flower; And when, at length, with trembling pace, He sought to find where Branksome lay, He fear’d to see that grisly face Glare from some thicket on his way. Thus, starting oft, he journey’d on, And deeper in the wood is gone, — For aye the more he sought his way, The farther still he went astray, — Until he heard the mountains round Ring to the baying of a hound. XV. And hark! and hark! the deep-mouth’d bark Comes nigher still, and nigher: Bursts on the path a dark blood-hound, His tawny muzzle track’d the ground, And his red eye shot fire. Soon as the wilder’d child saw he, He flew at him right furiouslie. I ween you would have seen with joy The bearing of the gallant boy, When, worthy of his noble sire, His wet cheek glow’d ’twixt fear and ire! He faced:the blood-hound manfully, And held his little bat on high; So fierce he struck, the dog, afraid, At cautious distance hoarsely bay’d, But still in act to spring; When dash’d an archer through the glade, And when he saw the hound was stay’d, He drew his tough bow-string; But arough voice cried, ‘‘ Shoot not, hoy! Ho! shoot not, Edward — ’Tis a boy! ”’ XVI. _ The speaker issued from the wood, And check’d his fellow’s surly mood, And quell’d the ban-dog’s ire: He was an English yeoman good, And born in Lancashire, Well could he hit a fallow-deer THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 23 Five hundred feet him fro; With hand more true, and eye more clear, No archer bended bow. His coal-black hair, shorn round and close, Set off his sun-burn’d face: Old England’s sign, St. George’s cross, His barret-cap did grace; His bugle-horn hung by his side, All in a wolf-skin baldric tied; And his short falchion, sharp and clear, Had pierced the throat of many a deer. XVII. His kirtle, made of forest green, Reach’d scantly to his knee; And, at his belt, of arrows keen A furbish’d sheaf bore he; His buckler, scarce in breadth a span, No larger fence had he; He never counted: him a man, Would strike below the knee; His slacken’d bow was in his hand, And the leash, that was his blood-hound’s band. XVIII. He would not do the fair child harm, But held him with his powerful arm, That he might neither fight nor flee; For when the Red-Cross spied he, The boy strove long and violently. Now, by St. George,’’ the archer cries, ‘‘ Edward, methinks we have a prize! This boy’s fair face, and courage free, Show he is come of high degree.’? — XIX. “©Ves! Iam come of high degree, For I am the heir of bold Buccleuch, And, if thou dost not set me free, False Southron, thou shalt dearly rue! For Walter of Harden shall come with speed, And William of Deloraine, good at need, And every Scott, from Esk to Tweed; And, if thou dost not let me go, Despite thy arrows, and thy bow, I’ll have thee hang’d to feed crow |’? — the 24 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. XX. «‘ Gramercy,* for thy good-will, fair boy! My mind was never set so high; But if thou art chief of such a clan, And art the son of such a man, And ever comest to thy command, Our wardens had need to keep good order; My bow of yew to a hazel wand, Thouw’lt make them work upon the Border. Meantime, be pleased to come with me, For good Lord Dacre shalt thou see; I think our work is well begun, When we have taken thy father’s son.”’ XXI. Although the child was led away, In Branksome still he seem’d to stay, For so the Dwarf his part did play; And, in the shape of that young boy, He wrought the castle much annoy. The comrades of the young Buccleuch He pinch’d, and beat, and overthrew; Nay, some of them he wellnigh slew. He tore Dame Maudlin’s silken tire, * And, as Sym Hall stood by the fire, He lighted the match of his bandelier,t And wofully scorch’d the hackbuteer.# It may he hardly thought or said, The mischief that the urchin made, Till many of the castle guess’d That the young Baron was possess’d ! XXII. Well I ween the charm he held The noble Ladye had soon dispelled; But she was deeply busied then To tend the wounded Deloraine. Much she wonder’d to find him lie, On the stone threshold stretch’d along; She thought some spirit of the sky Had done the bold moss-trooper wrong; Because, despite her precept dread, Perchance he in the Book had read; But the broken lance in his bosom stood, And it was earthly steel and wood. * Grand merct, thanks. + Bandelier, belt for carrying ammunition. t Hackbuteer, musketeer. CanTo III. 7) SORT. She drew the splinter from the wound, And. with a charm she stanch’d the blood; She bade the gash be cleansed and bound: No longer by his couch she stood; But she has ta’en the broken lance, And wash’d it from the clotted gore, And salved the splinter o’er and o’er. § William of Deloraine, in trance, Whene’er she turned it round and round, Twisted as if she gall’d his wound. Then to her maidens she did say, That he should be whole man and sound, Within the course of a night and day. Full long she toil’d; for she did rue Mishap to friend so stout and true. XXIV. So pass’d the day —the evening fell, ’Twas near the time of curfew bell; The air was mild, the wind was calm, The stream was smooth, the dew was balm; E’en the rude watchman, on the tower, Enjoy’d and bless’d the lovely hour. Far more fair Margaret loved and bless’d The hour of silence and of rest. On the high turret sitting lone, She waked at times the lute’s soft tone, Touch’d a wild note, and all between Thought of the bower of hawthorns green. Her golden hair stream’d free from band, Her fair cheek rested on her hand, Her blue eyes sought the west afar, For lovers love the western star. XXV. Is yon the star, o’er Penchryst Pen, That rises slowly to her ken, And, spreading broad its wavering light, Shakes its loose tresses on the night? Is yon red glare the western star ? — O, ’tis the beacon-blaze of war! Scarce could she draw her tighten’d breath, For well she knew the fire of death! § This was called the cure by sympathy. Sir Kenelm Digby was wont occasionally to practise it. CANTO ITI. XXVI. The Warder view’d it blazing strong, And blew his war-note loud and long, Till, at the high and haughty sound, Rock, wood, and river rung around. The blast alarm’d the festal hall, And startled forth the warriors all, Far downward, in the castle-yard, Full many a torch and cresset glared; And helms and plumes, confusedly toss’d, Were in the blaze half-seen, half-lost; And spears in wild disorder shook, Like reeds beside a frozen brook. XXVITI. The Seneschal, whose silver hair Was redden’d by the torches’ glare, Stood in the midst, with gesture proud, And issued forth his mandates loud: **On Penchryst glows a bale * of fire, And three are kindling on Priesthaugh- swire ; Ride out, ride out, The foe to scout! Mount, mount for Branksome,t every man. Thou, Todrig, warn the Johnstone clan, That ever are true and stout — Ye need not send to Liddesdale; For when they see the blazing bale, Elliots and Armstrongs never fail. — Ride, Alton, ride, for death and life! And warn the Warder of the strife, Young Gilbert, let our beacon blaze, Our kin and clan and friends to raise.”’ XXVIII. Fair Margaret from the turret head, Heard, far below, the coursers’ tread, While loud the harness rung, As to their seats, with clamor dread, __ The ready horsemen sprung: And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, And leaders’ voices, mingled notes, And out! and out! In hasty rout, The horsemen gallop’d forth; Dispersing to the south to scout, And east, and west, and north, '* A Border beacon. t Mount for Branksome was the gathering _ word of the Scotts. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 25 To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals and allies. XXIX. The ready page, with hurried hand, Awaked the need-fire’s + slumbering brand, And ruddy blush’d the heaven: For a sheet of flame, from the turret high, Waved like a blood-flag on the sky, All flaring and uneven; And soon a score of fires, I ween, From height, and hill, and cliff, were seen ; Each with warlike tidings fraught, Each from each the signal caught; Each after each they glanced to sight, As stars arise upon the night. They gleam’d on many a dusky tarn,§ Haunted by the lonely earn; Il On many 2 cairn’s gray pyramid, Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid; 28 Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, From Soltra and Dumpender Law; And Lothian heard the Regent’s order, That all should boune 7 them for the Border. XXX. The livelong night in Branksome rang The ceaseless sound of steel; The castle-bell, with backward clang, Sent forth the larum peal; Was frequent heard the heavy jar, Where massy stone and iron bar Were piled on echoing keep and tower, To whelm the foe with deadly shower; Was frequent heard the changing guard, And watchword from the sleepless ward; While, wearied by the endless din, Blood-hound and ban-dog yell’d within. XXXI. The noble Dame, amid the broil, Shared the gray Seneschal’s high toil, And spoke of danger with a smile; } Need-fire, beacon. § Tarn, a mountain lake. || Harz, a Scottish eagle. “| Boune, make ready. 26 Cheer’d the young knights, and council sage Held with the chiefs of riper age. No tidings of the foe were brought, Nor of his numbers knew they aught, Nor what in time of truce he sought. Some said, that there were thousands BLems And others ween’d that it was naught But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men, Who came to gather in black-mail;* Anda Liddesdale, with smail avail, Might drive them lightly back agen. So pass’d the anxious night away, And welcome was the pcep of day. CEASED the high sound — the listening throng Applaud the Master of the Song; And marvel much, in helpless age, So hard should be his pilgrimage. Had he no friend — no daughter dear, His wandering toil to share and cheer; No son to be his father’s stay, And guide him on the rugged way? ‘ Ay, once he had — but he was dead!’ Upon the harp he stoop’d his head, And busied himself the strings withal, To hide the tear that fain would fall. In solemn measure, soft and slow, Arose a father’s notes of woe. CANTO FOURTH. 16 SWEET Teviot! on thy silver tide The glaring bale-fires blaze no more; No longer steel-clad warriors ride Along thy wild and willow’d shore; Where’er thou wind’st, by dale or hill, All, all is peaceful, all is still. As if thy waves, since Time was born, Since first they roll’d upon the Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd’s reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn. tt II. = Unlike the tide of human time, _ Which, though it change in ceaseless “flow, * Protection money exacted by freebooters. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, CANTO IV. Retains each grief, retains each crime, Its earliest course was doom’d to know; And, darker as it downward bears, Is stain’d with past and present tears. Low as that tide has ebb’d with me, It still reflects to Memory’s eye The hour my brave, my only boy, Fell by the side of great Dundee.t Why, when the volleying musket play’d Against the bloody Highland blade, Why was not I beside him laid ! — Enough — he died the death of fame! Enough—he died with conquering Greeme ! III. Now over Border, dale, and fell, Full wide and far was terror spread; For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, The peasant left his lowly shed.*# The frighten’d flocks and herds were pent Beneath the peel’s rude battlement; And maids and matrons dropp’d the tear, While ready warriors seized the spear. From Branksome’s towers, the watch- man’s eye Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, Which, curling in the rising sun, Show’d southern ravage was begun. IV. Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried :— ‘¢ Prepare ye all for blows and blood+t- Watt Tinlinn,” from the Liddel-side, Comes wading through the flood. Full oft the Tynedale snatchers knock At his lone gate, and prove the lock; It was but last St. Barnabright + They sieged him a whole summer night, But fled at morning; well they knew, In vain he never twang’d the yew. Right sharp has been the evening shower, That drove him from his Liddel tower; And by my faith,’’ the gate-ward said, ‘¢ T think ’twill prove a Warden-Raid.”’ $ + Claverhouse, Viscount of Dundee; slain in the battle of Killicrankie. t St. Barnabas’s day, Junerr. It is stillcalled — Barnaby Bright in Hants, from its being gener — ally a bright, sunshiny day. § An inroad commanded by the Warden in ~ person. Pe Ee ee ms ee ee | : . | | Canto IV. Ve While thus he spoke, the bold yeoman Enter’d the echoing barbican. He led a small and shaggy nag, That through a bog, from hag to hag,* Could bound like any Billhope stag. It bore his wife and children twain; A half-clothed serf t was all their train; His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow’d, Of silver brooch and bracelet proud, Laugh’d to her friends among the crowd. He was of stature passing tall, But sparely form’d, and lean withal; A batter’d morion on his brow; A leather jack, as fence enow, On his broad shoulders loosely hung; A border axe behind was slung; His spear, six Scottish ells in length, Seem’d newly dyed with gore; His shafts and bow, of wondrous strength, His hardy partner bore. VI. Thus to the Ladye did Tinlinn show The tidings of the English foe :— **Belted Will Howard * is marching here, And hot Lord Dacre 7” with many a spear, And all the German hackbut-men,?8 Who have long lain at Askerten: They cross’d the Liddel at curfew hour, And burn’d my little lonely tower: The fiend receive their souls therefor ! It had not been burnt this year and more. Barn-yard and dwelling, blazing bright, Served to guide me on my flight; But I was chased the livelong night. Black John of Akeshaw, and Fergus Greme, Fast upon my traces came, Until I turn’d at Priesthaugh Scrogg, And shot their horses in the bog, Slew Fergus with my lance outright — I had him long at high despite: He drove my cows last night.’’ + Fastern’s “* The broken ground in a bog. t Bondsman. | = Shrove Tuesday, the eve of the great Spring Vifast. THE LAY OF -THE LAST MINSTREL. 27 VII. Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, Fast hurrying in, confirm’d the tale; As far as they could judge by ken, Three hours would bring to Teviot’s strand Three thousand armed Englishmen — Meanwhile, full many a_ warlike band, From Teviot, Aill, and Ettrick shade, Came in, their Chief’s defence to aid. There was saddling and mounting in haste, There was pricking o’er moor and lea; He that was last at the trysting place Was but lightly held of his gaye ladye. VIll. From fair St. Mary’s silver wave, From dreary Gamescleugh’s dusky height, His ready lances Thirlestane brave Array’d beneath a banner bright. The tressured fleur-de-luce hé claims, To wreathe his shield, since royal James, Encamp’d by Fala’s mossy wave, The proud distinction grateful gave, For faith mid feudal jars; What time, save Thirlestane alone, Of Scotland’s stubborn barons none Would march to southern wars; And hence, in fair remembrance worn, Yon sheaf of spears his crest has borne; Hence his high motto shines reveal’d — ** Ready, aye ready,”’ for the field.” ¥ IX. f An aged Knight, to danger steel’d, With many a moss-trooper, came on: And azure in a golden field, The stars and crescent graced his shield, Without the bend of Murdieston. Wide lay his lands round Oakwood tower, And wide round haunted Castle-Ower; High over Borthwick’s mountain flood, His wood-embosom’d mansion stood, In the dark glen, so deep below, The herds of plunder’d England low; His bold retainers’ daily food, 28 THE LAY: OF .THE. LAST\MMNSTRES. And bought with danger, blows, and blood. Marauding chief! his sole delight The moonlight raid, the morning fight; Not even the Flower of Yarrow’s charms, In youth, might tame his rage for arms; And still, in age, he spurn’d at rest, And still his brows the helmet press’d, Albeit the blanched locks below Were white as Dinlay’s spotless snow; Five stately warriors drew the sword Before their father’s band; A braver knight than Harden’s lord Ne’er belted on a brand.* X. Scotts of Eskdale, a stalwart band, Came trooping down the Todshawhill; By the sword they won their land, And by the sword they hold it still. Harken, Ladye, to the tale, How thy sires won fair Eskdale. — Earl Morton was lord of that valley fair, The Beattisons were his vassals there. The Earl was gentle, and mild of mood, The vassals were warlike, and fierce, and rude; High of heart, and haughty of word, Little they reck’d of a tame liege lord. The Earl into fair Eskdale came, Homage and seignory to claim: Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot t he sought, Saying, ‘‘ Give thy best steed, asa vassal ought.’’ — ‘Pear to me is my bonny white steed, Oft has he help’d me at pinch of need; Lord and Ear] though thou be, I trow, I can rein Bucksfoot better than thou.’’ Word on word gave fuel to fire, Till so highly blazed the Beattison’s ire, But that the Earl the flight had ta’en, The vassals there their lord had slain. Sore he plied both whip and spur, As he urged his steed through Eskdale muir; And it fell down a weary weight, Just on the threshold of Branksome gate. * This knight was the ancestor of Sir Walter ott. + The feudal superior, in certain cases, was en- titled to the best horse of the vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld. Canto IV. Sele The Earl was a wrathful man to see, Full fain avenged would he be. In haste to Branksome’s Lord he spoke, Saying —‘‘ Take these traitors to the yoke; For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, All Eskdale IT’ll sell thee, to have and hold; Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons’ clan If thou leavest on Esk a landed man; But spare Woodkerrick’s lands alone, For he lent me his horse to escape upon.”’ A glad man then was Branksome bold, Down he flung him the purse of gold; To Eskdale soon he spurr’d amain, And with him five hufdred riders has ta’en. He left his merrymen in the mist of the hill, And bade them hold them close and still; And alone he wended to the plain, To meet with the Galliard and all his train. To Gilbert the Galliard thus he said: — “Know thou me for thy liege lord and head, : Deal not with me as with Morton tame, — For Scotts play best at the roughest game. Give me in peace my heriot due, Thy bonny white steed, or thou shalt rue. If my horn I three times wind, | Eskdale shall long have the sound in mind.”’ XII. Loudly the Beattison laugh’d in scorn :— — ‘¢ Little care we for thy winded horn. ; Ne’er shall it be the Galliard’s lot, To yield his steed to a haughty Scott. Wend thou to Branksome back on foot, With rusty spur and miry boot.’’? — He blew his bugle so loud and hoarse, That the dun deer started at fair Craik- — Cross: He blew again so loud and clear, 3 Through the gray mountain-mist there did lances appear: J And the third blast rang with such a din, That the echoes answer’d from Penteun- — linn, r And all his riders came lightly in, CaNnTo IV. * Then had you seen a gallant shock, When saddles were emptied, and lances broke! For each scornful word the Galliard had said, A Beattison on the field was laid. His own good sword the Chieftain drew, And he bore the Galliard through and through: Where the Beattison’s blood mix’d with the rill, The Galliard’s-Haugh men call it still. The Scotts have scatter’d the Beattison clan, In Eskdale they left but one landed man. The valley of Esk, from the mouth to the source, Was lost and won for that bonny white horse. XIII. Whitslade the Hawk, and Headshaw came, And warriors more than I may name; From Yarrow-cleugh to MHindhaugh- swair, From Woodhouselie to Chester-glen, Troop’d man and horse, and bow and spear; Their gathering word was Bellenden.*? And better hearts o’er Border sod To siege or rescue never rode. ' The Ladye mark’d the aids come in, And high her heart of pride arose: She bade her youthful son attend, That he might know his father’s friend, And learn to face his foes. “*The boy is ripe to look on war; I saw him draw a cross-bow stiff, And his true arrow struck afar The raven’s nest upon the cliff; The red cross, on a southern breast, Is broader than a raven’s nest: Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his wea- pon to wield, And o’er him hold his father’s shield.”’ XIV. Well may you think, the wily page Cared not to face the Ladye sage. He counterfeited childish fear, And shriek’d and shed full many a tear, ¢ 5 THE. LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 29 And moan’d and plain’d in manner wild. The attendants to the Ladye told, Some fairy, sure had changed.the child, That wont to be so free and bold. Then wrathful was the noble dame; She blush’d blood-red for very shame :— ‘Hence! ere the clan his faintness view; Hence with the weakling to Buccleuch ! — Watt Tinlinn, thou shalt be his guide To Rangleburn’s lonely side. — Sure some fell fiend has cursed our line, That coward should e’er be son of mine! ”’ XV. A heavy task Watt Tinlinn had, To guide the counterfeited lad. Soon as the palfrey felt the weight Of that ill-omen’d elvish freight, He bolted, sprung, and rear’d amain, Nor heeded bit, nor curb, nor rein. It cost Watt Tinlinn mickle toil To drive him but a Scottish mile; But as a shallow brook they cross’d, The elf, amid the running stream, His figure changed, like form in dream, And fled, and shouted, ‘* Lost! lost ! lost !”’ Full fast the urchin ran and laugh’d, But faster still a cloth-yard shaft Whistled from startled Tinlinn’s yew, And pierced his shoulder through and through. Although the imp might not be slain, And though the wound soon heal’d again, Yet as he ran, he yell’d for pain; And Watt of Tinlinn, much aghast, Rode back to Branksome fiery fast. XVI. Soon on the hill’s steep-verge he stood, That looks o’er Branksome’s towers and wood; And martial murmurs, from below, Proclaim’d the approaching southern foe. Through the dark wood, in mingled tone, Were Border pipes and bugles blown, The coursers’ neighing he could ken, A measured tread of marching men; While broke at times the solemn hum, The Almayn’s sullen kettle-drum; 30 And banners tall, of crimson sheen, Above the copse appear; And, glistening through the hawthorns green, Shine helm, and shield, and spear. XVII. Light forayers, first, to view the ground, Spurr’d their fleet coursers loosely round; Behind, in close array, and fast, The Kendal archers, all in green, Obedient to the bugle blast, Advancing from the wood were seen. To back and guard the archer band, Lord Dacre’s bill-men were at hand: A hardy race, on Irthing bred, With kirtles white, and crosses red, Array’d beneath the banner tall, That stream’d o’er Acre’s conquer’d wall; And minstrels, as they march’d in order, Play’d ‘‘ Noble Lord Dacre, he dwells on the Border.’’ XVIII. Behind the English bill and bow, The mercenaries, firm and slow, Moved on to fight, in dark array, By Conrad led of Wolfenstein, Who brought the band from distant Rhine, And sold their blood for foreign pay. The camp their home, their law the sword, They knew no country, own’d no lord: They were not arm’d like England’s sons, But bore the levin-darting guns; Buff-coats, all frounced and broider’d Oe; And morsing-horns * and scarfs they wore; Each better knee was bared, to aid The warriors in the escalade; All, as they march’d, in rugged tongue, Songs of Teutonic feuds they sung. XIX. But louder still the clamor grew, And louder still the minstrels: blew, When, from beneath the greenwood tree, Rode forth Lord Howard’s chivalry; His men-at-arms, with glaive and spear, Brought up the battle’s glittering rear, * Powder-flasks. fe of sae S70 OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Canto IV. There many a youthful knight, full keen To gain his spurs, in arms was seen; With favor in his crest, or glove, Memorial of his ladye-love. So rode they forth in fair array, Till full their lengthen’d lines display; Then call’d a halt, and made a stand, And cried, ‘‘ St. George, for merry Eng- land! ”’ ; XX. Now every English eye, intent On Branksome’s armed towers were bent; So near they were, that they might know The straining harsh of each cross-bow; On battlement and bartizan Gleam’d axe and spear and partisan; Falcon and culver,t on each tower, Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower; And flashing armor frequent broke From eddying whirls of sable smoke, Where upon tower and turret head, The seething pitch and molten lead Reek’d, like a witch’s caldron red. While yet they gaze, the bridges fall, The wicket opes, af from the wall Rides forth the hoary Seneschal. XXI. Armed he rode, all save the head, His white beard o’er his breast-plate spread; Unbroke by age, erect his seat, He ruled his eager courser’s gait; Forced him, with chasten’d fire, to prance, And, high curvetting, slow advance: In sign of truce, his better hand Display’d a peeled willow wand; His squire, attending in the rear, Bore high a gauntlet on a spear. #, When they espied him riding out, , Lord Howard and Lord Dacre stout Sped to the front of their array, To hear what this old knight should say :— e + Ancient pieces of artillery. + A glove upon a lance was the emblem of faith among the ancient Borderers, who were wont, when any one broke his word, to expose — this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless vil- © This cere- — lain at the first Border meeting. mony was much dreaded. — See LEsiEy. ; : . : CANTO IV. XXII. ** Ye English warden lords, of you Demands the Ladye of Buccleuch, Why, ’gainst the truce of Border tide, In hostile guise ye dare to ride, With Kendal bow, and Gilsland brand, And all yon mercenary band, Upon the bounds of fair Scotland? My Ladye redes you swith * return; And, if but one poor straw you burn, Or do our towers so much molest, As scare one swallow from her nest, St. Mary! but we’ll light a brand Shall warm your hearths in Cumberland.”’ pee 2.9 bs A wrathful man was Dacre’s lord, But calmer Howard took the word: **May’t please thy Dame, Sir Seneschal, To seek the castle’s outward wall, Our pursuivant-at-arms shall show Both why we came, and when we go.’’ — The message sped, the noble Dame To the wall’s outward circle came; Each chief around lean’d on his spear, To see the pursuivant appear. All in Lord Howard’s livery dress’d, The lion argent deck’d his breast; He led a boy of blooming hue — O sight to meet a mother’s view! It was the heir of great Buccleuch. Obeisance meet the herald made, And thus his master’s will he said: — XXIV. *‘ It irks, high Dame, my noble Lords, *Gainst ladye fair to draw their swords: But yet they may not tamely see, All through the Western Wardenry, Your law-contemning kinsmen ride, _ And burn and spoil the Border-side; And ill beseems your rank and birth To make your towers a flemens-firth.t - We claim from thee William of Deloraine, _ That he may suffer march-treason *! pain. : | It was but last St. Cuthbert’s even He prick’d to Stapleton on Leven, Harried# the lands of Richard Musgrave, | And slew his brother by dint of glaive. * Swith, instantly. t An asylum for outlaws. t Plundered. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 31 Then, since a lone and widow’d Dame These restless riders may not tame, Either receive within thy towers Two hundred of my master’s powers, Or straight they sound their warrison,§ And storm and spoil thy garrison: And this fair boy, to London led, Shall good King Edward’s page be bred.”’ XXV. He ceased — and loud the boy did cry, And stretch’d his little arms on high; Implored for aid each well-known face, And strove to seek the Dame’s embrace. A moment changed that Ladye’s cheer, Gush’d to her eye the unbidden tear; She gazed upon the leaders round, And dark and sad each warrior frown’d; Then, deep within her sobbing breast She lock’d the struggling sigh to rest; Unalter’d and collected stood, And thus replied, in dauntless mood: — XXXVI. « Say to your Lords of high emprize, Who war on women and on boys, That either William of Deloraine Will cleanse him, by oath, of march- treason stain, Or else he will the combat take *Gainst Musgrave, for his honor’s sake. No knight in Cumberland so good, But William may count with him kin and blood. Knighthood he took of Douglas’ sword,” When English blood swell’d Ancram’s ford; * And but Lord Dacre’s steed was wight, And bare him ably in the flight, Himself had seen him dubb’d a knight. For the young heir of Branksome’s line, God be his aid, and God be mine; Through me no friend shall meet his doom; Here, while I live, no foe finds room. Then, if thy Lords their purpose urge, Take our defiance loud and high; Our slogan is their lyke-wake |I dirge, Our moat, the grave where they shall ee § Note of assault. || Watching a corpse all night. 32 XXVII. Proud she look’d round, applause to claim — Then lighten’d Thirlestane’s eye of flame; His bugle Watt of Harden blew; Pensils and pennons wide were flung, To heaven the Border slogan rung, *¢ St. Mary for the young Buccleuch! ”’ The English war-cry answer’d wide, And forward bent each southern spear; Each Kendal archer made a stride, And drew the bowstring to his ear; Each minstrel’s war-note loud was blown: But, ere a gray-goose shaft had flown, A horseman gallop’d from the rear. XXVIII. ** Ah! noble Lords !’’ he breathless said, *¢ What treason has your march betray’d? What make you here, from aid so far, Before you walls, around you war? Your foemen triumph in the thought, That in the toils the lion’s caught. Already on dark Ruberslaw The Douglas holds his weapon-schaw; * The lances, waving in his train, Clothe the dun heath like autumn grain; And on the Liddel’s northern strand, To bar retreat to Cumberland, Lord Maxwellranks his merry-men good, Beneath the eagle and the rood; And Jedwood, Esk, and Teviotdale, Have to proud Angus come; And all the Merse and Lauderdale Have risen with haughty Home. An exile from Northumberland, In Liddesdale I’ve wander’d long; But still my heart was with merry Eng- land, And cannot brook my country’s wrong; And hard I’ve spurr’d all night to show The mustering of the coming foe.”’ XXIX. ** And let them come!’’ fierce Dacre cried; ‘** For soon yon crest, my father’s pride, That swept the shores of Judah’s sea, And waved in gales of Galilee, * Weapon-schaw — military gathering of a chief’s followers, or the army of a county. THE ‘LAY OF -THE- LAST Winse ee Canto IV. From Branksome’s highest towers dis- play’d, Shall mock the rescue’s lingering aid !— Level each harquebuss on row; Draw, merry archers, draw the bow; Up, bill-men, to the walls, and cry, Dacre for England, win or die! ”’ XXX. “‘Yet hear,’’ quoth Howard, hear, Nor deem my words the words of fear: For who, in field or foray slack, Saw the blanche lion e’er fall back? 84 But thus to risk our Border flower In strife against a kingdom’s power, Ten thousand Scots ’gainst thousands three, Certes, were desperate policy. Nay, take the terms the Ladye made, Ere conscious of the advancing aid: Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine In single fight, and, if he gain, He gains for us; but if he’s cross’d, Tis but a single warrior lost: The rest, retreating as they came, Avoid defeat, and death, and shame.’’ “* calmly XXXI. Il] could the haughty Dacre brook His brother Warden’s sage rebuke; And yet his forward step he staid, And slow and sullenly obey’d. But ne’er again the Border side Did these two lords in friendship ride; And this slight discontent, men say, Cost blood upon another day. i XXXII. The pursuivant-at-arms again Before the castle took his stand; ENE ae TT Tae ee ee ee ee His trumpet call’d, with parleying : strail\, The leaders of the Scottish band; And he defied, in Musgrave’s right, Stout Deloraine to single fight; A gauntlet at their feet he laid, And thus the terms of fight he said: — ‘*Tf in the lists good Musgrave’s sword Vanquish the Knight of Deloraine, Your youthful chieftain, Branksome’s — Lord Shall hostage for his clan remain: Canto IV. THE LAV OF. THE If Deloraine foil good Musgrave, The boy his liberty shall have. Howe’er it falls, the English band, Unharming Scots, by Scots unharm’d, In peaceful march, like men unarm’d, Shall straight retreat to Cumberland.’? XXXIII. Unconscious of the near relief, The proffer pleased each Scottish chief, Though much the Ladye sage gain- say’d; For though their hearts were brave and true, From Jedwood’s recent sack they knew, How tardy was the Regent’s aid: And you may guess the noble Dame Durst not the secret prescience own, © Sprung from the art she might not name, By which the coming help was known. Closed was the compact, and agreed That lists should be enclosed with speed, Beneath the castle, on a lawn: They fix’d the morrow for the strife, On foot, with Scottish axe and knife, At the fourth hour from peep of dawn; When Deloraine, from sickness freed, Or else a champion in his stead, Should for himself and chieftain stand, Against stout Musgrave, hand to hand. XXXIV. 1 know right well, that, in their lay, Full many minstrels sing and say, Such combat should be made on horse, On foaming steed, in full career, With brand to aid, when as the spear Should shiver in the course: But he, the jovial Harper, taught Me, yet a youth, how it was fought, In guise which now I say; He knew each ordinance and clause Of Black Lord Archibald’s battle-laws, In the old Douglas’ day. He brook’d not, he, that scoffing tongue Should tax his minstrelsy with wrong, Or call his song untrue: For this, when they the goblet plied, And such rude taunt had chafed his pride, The Bard of Reull he slew. On Teviot’s side, in fight they stood, LAST MINSTREL 33. And tuneful hands were stain’d with blood; Where still the thorn’s white branches wave, Memorial o’er his rival’s grave. XXXV. Why should I tell the rigid doom, That dragg’d my master to his tomb; How Ousenam’s maidens tore their hair, Wept till their eyes were dead and dim, And wrung their hands for love of him, Who died at Jedwood Air? He died! — his scholars, one by one, To the cold silent grave are gone; And I, alas! survive alone, To muse o’er rivalries of yore, And grieve that I shall hear no more The strains, with envy heard before; For, with my minstrel brethren fled, My jealousy of song is dead. HE paused: the listening dames again Applaud the hoary Minstrel’s strain. With many a word of kindly cheer, — In pity half, and half sincere, — Marvell’d the Duchess how so well His legendary song could tell — Of ancient deeds, so long forgot; Of feuds, whose memory was not; Of forests, now laid waste and bare; Of towers, which harbor now the hare; Of manners, long since changed and gone; Of chiefs, who under their gray stone So long had slept, that fickle Fame Had blotted from her rolls their name, And twined round some new minion’s head The fading wreath for which they bled; In sooth, ’twas strange, this old man’s verse Could call them from their marble hearse. The Harper smiled, well-pleased; for ne’er Was flattery lost on poet’s ear: A simple race! they waste their toil For the vain tribute of a smile; 34 E’en when in age their flame expires, Her dulcet breath can fan its fires: Their drooping fancy wakes at praise, And strives to trim the short-lived blaze. Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, And thus his tale continued ran. CANTO FIFTH. I. CALL it not vain: — they do not err, Who say, that when the Poet dies, Mute Nature mourns her worshipper, And celebrates his obsequies: Who say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed Bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil; Through his loved groves that breezes sigh, And oaks, in deeper groan, reply; And rivers teach their rushing wave To murmur dirges round his grave. II. Not that, in sooth, o’er mortal urn Those things inanimate can mourn; But that the stream, the wood, the gale, Is vocal with the plaintive wail Of those, who, else forgotten long, Lived in the poet’s faithful song, And, with the poet’s parting breath, Whose memory feels a second death. The Maid’s pale shade, who wails her lot, That love, true love, should be forgot, From rose and hawthorn shakes the tear Upon the gentle Minstrel’s bier: The phantom Knight, his glory fled, Mourns o’er the field he heap’d with dead; Mounts the wild blast that sweeps amain, And shrieks along the battle-plain. The Chief, whose antique crownlet long Still sparkled in the feudal song, Now, from the mountain’s misty throne, Sees, in the thanedom once his own, His ashes undistinguish’d lie, His place, his power, his memory die: THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. ‘On many a courteous message went; CANTO V. His groans the lonely caverns fill, His tears of rage impel the rill: All mourn the Minstrel’s harp unstrung, Their name unknown, their praise unsung. III. Scarcely the hot assault was staid, The terms of truce were scarcely made, When they could spy from Branksome’s towers The advancing march of martial powers. Thick clouds of dust afar appear’d, And trampling steeds were faintly heard; Bright spears, above the columns dun, Glanced momentary to the sun; And feudal banners fair display’d The bands that moved to Branksome’s aid. IV. Vails not to tell each hardy clan, From the fair Middle Marches came; The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, Announcing Douglas, dreaded name !® Vails not to tell what steeds did spurn, Where the Seven Spears of Wedderburne* Their men in battle-order set; And Swinton laid the lance in rest, That tamed of yore the sparkling crest Of Clarence’s Plantagenet.*6 Nor list I say what hundreds more, From the rich Merse and Lammermo‘e, And Tweed’s fair borders, to the war, Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar, +s And Hepburn’s mingled banners come, ~ Down the steep mountain glittering far, And shouting still, ‘A Home! a © Home!’ % Ni Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent, To every chief and lord they paid g Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid; ~ And told them, — how a truce was made, ~ And how a day of fight was ta’en ’Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine; i * Sir David Home of Wedderburne, who was ~ slain in the fatal battle of Flodden, left seven — sons, who were called the Seven Spears of Wedderburne. CaNnTO V. And how the Ladye pray’d them dear, That all would stay the fight to see, And deign, in love and courtesy, To taste of Branksome cheer. Nor, while they bade to feast each Scot, Were England’s noble lords forgot. Himself, the hoary Seneschal, Rode forth, in seemly terms to call Those gallant foes to Branksome Hall. Accepted Howard, than whom knight Was never dubb’d more bold in fight; Nor, when from war and armor free, More famed for stately courtesy; But angry Dacre rather chose In his pavilion to repose. Vi. Now, noble Dame, perchance you ask, How these two hostile armies met? Deeming it were no easy task To keep the truce which here was set; Where martial spirits, all on fire, Breathed only blood and mortal ire.— By mutual inroads, mutual blows, By habit, and by nation, foes, They met on Teviot’s strand; They met and sate them mingled down, Without a threat, without a frown, As brothers meet in foreign land: The hands, the spear that lately grasp’d, Still in the mailed gauntlet clasp’d, Were interchanged in greeting dear; Visors were raised, and faces shown, And many a friend, to friend made known, Partook of social cheer. Some drove the jolly bowl about; With dice and draughts some chased the day; And some, with many a merry shout, In riot, revelry, and rout, Pursued the foot-ball play. VII . Yet, be it known, had bugles blown, Or sign of war been seen, _ Those bands, so fair together ranged, ' Those hands, so frankly interchanged, Had dyed with gore the green: | The merry shout by Teviotside _ Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, And in the groan of death: THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 35 And whingers * now in friendship bare, The social meal to part and share, Had found a bloody sheath. ’Twixt truce and war, such sudden change Was not infrequent, nor held strange, In the old Border-day : 88 But yet on Branksome’s towers and town, In peaceful merriment, sunk down The sun’s declining ray. VIII. The blithesome signs of wassail gay Decay’d not with the dying day; Soon through the latticed windows tall Of lofty Branksome’s lordly hall, Divided square by shafts of stone, Huge flakes of ruddy lustre shone; Nor less the gilded rafters rang With merry harp and beakers’ clang: And frequent, on the darkening plain, Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, As bands, their stragglers to reg.uin, Give the shrill watchword of their clan; 39 And revellers, o’er their bowls, proclaim Douglas or Dacre’s conquering name. IX. Less frequent heard, and fainter still, At length the various clamors died: And you might hear, from Branksome hill, No sound but Teviot’s rushing tide; Save when the changing sentinel The challenge of his watch could tell; And save where, through the dark pro- found, The clanging axe and hammer’s sound Rung from the nether lawn; For many a busy hand toil’d there, Strong pales to shape, and beams tc square, The lists’ dread barriers to prepare Against the morrow’s dawn. X. Margaret from hall did soon retreat, Despite the Dame’s reproving eye; Nor mark’d she, as she left her seat, Full many a stifled sigh; * Large knives, 36 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. For many a “ble warrior strove To win the Flower of Teviot’s love, And many a bold ally. — With throbbing head and anxious heart, All in her lonely bower apart, In broken sleep she lay; By times, from silken couch she rose; While yet the banner’d hosts repose, She view’rl the dawning day; ()f all the hundreds sunk to rest, *irst woke the loveliest and the best. XI. She gazed upon the inner court, Which in the tower’s tall shadow lay; Where coursers’ clang, and stamp, and snort, Had rung the livelong yesterday; Now still as death; till stalking slow, — The jingling spurs announced _ his tread, A stately warrior pass’d below; But when he raised his plumed head — Bless’d Mary! can it be? — Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, He walks through Branksome’s hostile towers, With fearless step and free. She dared not sign, she dared not speak, Oh! if one page’s slumbers break, His blood the price must pay! Not all the pearls Queen Mary wears, Not Margaret’s yet more precious tears, Shall buy his life a day. XII. Yet was his hazard small; for well You may bethink you of the spell Of that sly urchin page; This to his lord he did impart, And made him seem, by glamour art, A knight from Hermitage. Unchallenged thus, the warder’s post, The court, unchallenged, thus he cross’d, For all the vassalage : But O! what magic’s quaint disguise Could blind fair Margaret’s azure eyes! She started from her seat; While with surprise and fear she strove, And both could scarcely master love — Lord Henry’s at her feet. CANTO V, XIII. Oft have I mused, what purpose bad That foul malicious urchin had To bring this meeting round; For happy love’s a heavenly sight, And by a vile malignant sprite In such no joy is found; And oft I’ve deem/’d, thought Their erring passion might have wrought Sorrow, and sin, and shame; And death to Cranstoun’s gallant Knight, And to the gentle ladye bright, Disgrace, and loss of fame. But earthly spirit could not tell The heart of them that loved so well. True love’s the gift which God has given To man alone beneath the heaven; It is not fantasy’s hot fire, Whose wishes, soon as granted, fly; It liveth not in fierce desire, With dead desire it doth not die; perchance he It is the secret sympathy, The silver link, the silken tie, Which heart to heart, and mind to mind, In body and in soul can bind. — Now leave we Margaret and her Knight, To tell you of the approaching fight. XIV. Their warning blasts the bugles blew, The pipe’s shrill port * aroused each clan; In haste, the deadly strife to view, The trooping warriors eager ran: Thick round the lists their lances stood, Like blasted pines in Ettrick weod; To Branksome many a look they threw, The combatants’ approach to view, And bandied many a word of boast, About the knight each favor’d most. XV. Meantime full anxious was the Dame; For now arose disputed claim, Of who should fight for Deloraine, ’Twixt Harden and ’twixt Thirlestane: They ’gan to reckon kin and rent, And frowning brow on brow was bent; * A martial piece of music, adapted te *he bagpipes. CANTO V. But yet not long the strife — for, lo! Himself, the Knight of Deloraine, Strong, as it seem’d, and free from pain, In armor sheath’d from top to toe, Appear’d, and craved the combat due. The Dame her charm successful knew, And the fierce chiefs theirclaims withdrew. XVI. When for the lists they sought the plain, The stately Ladye’s silken rein Did noble Howard hold; _ Unarmed by her side he walk’d, And much, in courteous phrase, they talk’d Of feats of arms of old. Costly his garb — his Flemish ruff Fell o’er his doublet, shaped of buff, With satin slash’d and lined; Tawny his boot, and gold his spur, His cloak was all of Poland fur, His hose with silver twined; His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt, Hung in a broad and studded belt; Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still Call’d noble Howard, Belted Will. XVII. Behind Lord Howard and the Dame, _ Fair Margaret on her palfrey came, Whose foot-cloth swept the ground: White was her wimple, and her veil, | And her loose locks a chaplet pale Of whitest roses bound; The lordly Angus, by her side, In courtesy to cheer her tried; Without his aid, her hand in vain | Had strove to guide her broider’d rein. He deem’d she shudder’d at the sight Of warriors met for mortal fight; _ But cause of terror, all unguess’d, _ Was fluttering in her gentle breast, When, in their chairs of crimson placed, The Dame and she the barriers graced. XVIII. Prize of the field, the young Buccleuch, An English knight led forth to view; Scarce rued ihe boy his present plight, So much he longed to see the fight. Within the lists, in knightly pride, Iligh Home and haughty Dacre ride; | } THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 37 Their leading staffs of steel they wield, As marshals of the mortal field; While to each knight their care assign’d Like vantage of the sun and wind. The heralds hoarse did loud proclaim, In King and Queen and Warden’s name, That none, while lasts the strife, Should dare, by look, or sign, or word, Aid to a champion to afford, On peril of his life; And not a breath the silence broke, Till thus the alternate Heralds spoke: — XIX. ENGLISH HERALD. ‘** Here standeth Richard of Musgrave, Good knight and true, and freely born, Amends from Deloraine to crave, For foul despiteous scathe and scorn. He sayeth, that William of Deloraine Is traitor false by Border laws; This with his sword he will maintain, So help him God, and his good cause ! ”’ XX. SCOTTISH HERALD. ** Here standeth William of Deloraine, Good knight and true, of noble strain, Who sayeth, that foul treason’s stain, Since he bore arms, ne’er soil’d his coat, And that, so help him God above ! He will on Musgrave’s body prove, He hes most foully in his throat.’’ LORD DACRE. ‘* Forward, brave champions, to the fight ! Sound trumpets! ”’ LORD HOME. ** God defend the right ! ”’ Then, Teviot! how thine echoes rang, When bugle-sound and trumpet clang Let loose the martial foes, And in mid list with shield poised high, And measured step and wary eye, ‘Lhe combatants did close. XXI. Ill would it suit your gentle ear, Ye lovely listeners, to hear 38 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTRETL. How to the axe the helms did sound, And blood pour’d down from many a wound; For desperate was the strife and long, And either warrior fierce and strong. But, were each came a listening knight, I well could tell how warriors fight ! For I have seen war’s lightning flashing, Seen the claymore with bayonet clashing, Seen through red blood the war-horse dashing, And scorn’d, amid the reeling strife, To yield a step for death or life. — XXII. ’Tis done, ’tis done! that fatal blow Has stretch’d him on the bloody plain ! He strives to rise — Brave Musgrave, no! Thence never shalt thou rise again ! He chokes in blood — some friendly hand Undo the visor’s barred band, Unfix the gorget’s iron clasp, And give him room for life to gasp ! — O, bootless aid !— haste, holy Friar, Haste, ere the sinner shall expire! Of all his guilt let him be shriven, And smooth his path from earth toheaven ! XXIII. In haste the holy Friar sped; — His naked foot was dyed with red, As through the lists he ran; Unmindful of the shouts on high, That hail’d the conqueror’s victory, He raised the dying man; Loose waved his silver beard and hair, As o’er him he kneel’d down in prayer; And still the crucifix on high He holds before his darkening eye; And still he bends an anxious ear, His faltering penitence to hear; Still props him from the bloody sod, Still, even when soul and body part, Pours ghostly comfort on his heart, And bids him trust in God! Unheard he prays; —the death-pang’s o'er! Richard of Musgrave breathes no more. XXIV. As if exhausted in the fight, Or musing o’er the piteous sight, CANTO V. The silent victor stands; His beaver did he not unclasp, Mark’d not the shouts, felt not the grasp Of gratulating hands. When lo! strange cries of wild surprise Mingled with seeming terror, rise Among the Scottish bands; And all, amid the throng’d array, In panic haste gave open way To a half-naked ghastly man, Who downward from the castle ran. He cross’d the barriers at a bound, And wild and haggard look’d around, As dizzy, and in pain; And all, upon the armed ground, Knew William of Deloraine ! Each lady sprung from seat with speed; Vaulted each marshal from his steed; ‘¢ And who art thou,’’ they cried, ‘‘ Who hast this battle fought and won? ”’ His plumed helm was soon undone — “¢Cranstoun of Teviot-side ! For this fair prize I’ve fought and won,”’ And to the Ladye led her son. XXV. Full oft the rescued boy she kiss’d, And often press’d him to her breast; For, under all her dauntless show, Her heart had throbb’d at every blow; _ Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign’d she greet, Though low he kneeled at her feet. : Me lists not tell what words were made, i What Douglas, Home, and Howard, said © —For Howard was a generous foe — And how the clan united pray’d The Ladye would the feud forego, And deign to bless the nuptial hour Of Cranstoun’s Lord and Teviot’s Flower. Z XXVI. She look’d to river, look’d tu hill, Thought on the Spirit’s prophecy, Then broke her silence stern and still,— _ ‘“Not you, but Fate, has vanquish’d me. — Their influence kindly stars may shower | On Teviot’s tide and Branksome’s towem® ; For pride is quell’d, and love is free.’’— She took fair Margaret by the hand, Who, breathless, trembling, scarce might ofan: | | CANTO That hand to Cranstoun’s Lord gave she: «¢ As I am true to thee and thine, Do thou be true to me and mine! This clasp of love our bond shall be; For this is your betrothing day, And all these noble lords shall stay, To grace it with their company.”’ XXVII. All as they left the listed plain, Much of the story she did gain; How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, And of his page, and of the Book Which from the wounded knight he took; And how he sought her castle high, That morn, by help of gramarye; How, in Sir William’s armor dight, Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, He took on him the single fight. But half his tale he left unsaid, And linger’d till he join’d the maid. — Cared not the Ladye to betray Her mystic arts in view of day; But well she thought, ere midnight came, Of that strange page the pride to tame, From his foul hands the Book to save, And send it back to Michael’s grave.— Needs not to tell each tender word *Twixt Margaret and ’twixt Cranstoun’s Lord; Nor how she told of former woes, _ And how her bosom fell and rose, _ While he and Musgrave bandied blows.— Needs not these lovers’ joys to tell: One day, fair maids, you'll know them well. XXVIII. William of Deloraine, some chance Had wakened from his death-like trance; And taught that, in the listed plain, Another, in his arms and shield, Against fierce Musgrave axe did wield, Under the name of Deloraine. Hence, to the field, unarm’d, he ran, ' And hence his presence scared the clan, ‘Who held him for some fleeting wraith,* _ And not a man of blood and breath. Not much this new ally he loved, Yet, when he saw what hap had proved, He greeted him right heartilie: * The spectral apparition of a living person. FH LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 39 He would not waken old debate, For he was void of rancorous hate, Though rude and scant of courtesy; In raids he spilt but seldom blood, Unless when men-at-arms withstood, Or, as was meet for deadly feud. He ne’er bore grudge for stalwart blow, Ta’en in fair fight from gallant foe; And so ’twas seen of him, e’en now, When on dead Musgrave he look’d down; Grief darken’d on his rugged brow, Though half disguised with a frown; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, His foeman’s epitaph he made:— XXIX, ‘“Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thouhere ! I ween my deadly enemy; For, if I slew thy brother dear, Thou slew’st a sister’s son to me; And when I lay in dungeon dark, Of Naworth Castle, long months three, Till ransom’d for a thousand mark, Dark Musgrave, it was long of thee. And, Musgrave, could our fight be tried, And thou wert now alive as I, No mortal man should us divide, Till one, or. both of us, did die: Yet rest thee God! for well I know I ne’er shall find a nobler foe. In all the northern counties here, Whose word is Snaffle, spur, and spear, Thou wert the best to follow gear! Twas pleasure, as we look’d behind, To see how thou the chase could’st wind, Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, And with the bugle rouse the fray! I’d give the lands of Deloraine, Dark Musgrave were alive again.”’ XXX. So mourn’d he, till Lord Dacre’s band Were bouning back to Cumberland. They raised brave Musgrave fromthe field, And laid him on his bloody shield; On levell’d lances, four and four, By turns the noble burden bore. Before, at times, upon the gale, Was heard the Minstrel’s plaintive wail; Behind, four priests, in sable stole, Sung requiem for the warrior’s soul: 40 Around, the horsemen slowly rode; With trailing pikes the spearmen trode; And thus the gallant knight they bore, Through Liddesdale to Leven’s shore; Thence to Holme Coltrame’s lofty nave, And laid him in his father’s grave. Tue harp’s wild notes, though hush’d the song, The mimic march of death prolong; Now seems it far, and now a-near, Now meets, and now eludes the ear; Now seems some mountain-side to sweep, Now faintly dies in valley deep; Seems now as if the Minstrel’s wail, Now the sad requiem, loads the gale; Last, o’er the warrior’s closing grave, Rung the full choir in choral stave. After due pause, they bade him tell, Why he, who touch’d the harp so well, Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, Wander a poor and thankless soil, When the more generous Southern Land Would well requite his skilful hand. The Aged Harper, howsoe’er His only friend, his harp, was dear, Liked not to hear it rank’d so high Above his flowing poesy: Less liked he still, that scornful jeer Misprised the land he loved so dear; High was the sound, as thus again The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. CANTO SIXTH. I. BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! Whose heart hath ne’er within him burn’d, As home his footsteps he hath turn’d, From wandering on a foreign strand ! If such there breathe, go, mark him well; For him no Minstrel raptures swell; High though his titles, proud his name, Boundless his wealth as wish can claim; Despite those titles, power, and pelf, The wretch, concentred all in self, THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Canto VI. Living, shall forfeit fair renown, And, doubly dying, shall go down To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Unwept, unhonor’d, and unsung. II. O Caledonia! stern and wild, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e’er untie the filial band, That knits me to thy rugged strand! Still, as I view each well-known scene, Think what is now, and what hath been, Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love them better still, Even in extremity of ill. By Yarrow’s streams still let me stray, Though none should guide my feeble way; Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, — Although it chill my wither’d cheek;* Still lay my head by Teviot Stone, Though there, forgotten and alone, The Bard may draw his parting groan. III. Not scorn’d like me! to Branksome Hall | The Minstrels came, at festive call; Trooping they came, from near and far, — The jovial priests of mirth and war; Alike for feast and fight prepared, Battle and banquet both they shared. Of late, before each martial clan, They blew their death-note in the van, But now, for every merry mate, Rose the portcullis’ iron grate; They sound the pipe, they strike the & string, They dance, they revel, and they sing, Till the rude turrets shake and ring. IV. Me lists not at this tide declare The splendor of the spousal rite, How muster’d in the chapel fair L Both maid and matron, squire and- knight; ‘ i = * The preceding four lines now form the in-— scription on the monument of Sir Walter Scott in the market-place of Selkirk. - Canto VI. Me lists not tell of owches rare, Of mantles green, and braided hair, And kirtles furr’d with miniver; What plumage waved the altar round, How spurs and ringing chainlets sound; And hard it were for bard to speak The changeful hue of Margaret’s cheek; That lovely hue which comes and flies, As awe and shame alternate rise ! Vv. Some bards have sung, the Ladye high Chapel or altar came not nigh; Nor durst the rights of spousal grace, So much she fear’d each holy place. False slanders these: —I trust right well She wrought not by forbidden spell; *° For mighty words and signs have power O’er sprites in planetary hour: Yet scarce I praise their venturous part, Who tamper with such dangerous art. But this for faithful truth I say, The Ladye by the altar stood, Of sable velvet her array, And on her head a crimson hood, With pearls embroider’d and entwined, Guarded with gold, with ermine lined; A merlin sat upon her wrist # Held by a leash of silken twist. VI. _ The spousal rites were ended soon: *Twas now the merry hour of noon, And in the lofty arched hall _ Was spread the gorgeous festival. _ Steward and squire, with heedful haste, Marshall’d the rank of every guest; Pages, with ready blade, were there, The mighty meal to carve and share. | O’er capon, heron-shew, and crane, . And princely peacock’s gilded train, And o’er the boar-head, garnish’d brave, And cygnet from St. Mary’s wave;* O’er ptarmigan and venison, The priest had spoke his benison. Then rose the riot and the din, Above, beneath, without, within! For, from the lofty balcony, Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery: * Flights of wild swans are often seen on St. Mary’s Lake, which is at the head of the Yarrow, THE LAV OF THE LAST MINSTREL, 4! Their clanging bowls old warriors quaff’d, Loudly they spoke, and loudly laugh’d; Whisper’d young knights, in tone more mild, To ladies fair, and ladies smiled. The hooded hawks, high perch’d on beam, The clamor join’d with whistling scream, And flapp’d their wings, and shook their bells, In concert with the stag-hound’s yells. Round go the flasks of ruddy wine, From Bordeaux, Orléans, or the Rhine. Their tasks the busy sewers ply, And all is mirth and revelry. VII. The Goblin Page, omitting still No opportunity of ill, ; Strove now, while blood ran hot and high, To rouse debate and jealousy; Till Conrad, Lord of Wolfenstein, By nature fierce, and warm with wine, And now in humor highly cross’d, About some steeds his band had lost, High words to words succeeding still, Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill; # A hot and hardy Rutherford, Whom men called Dickon Draw-the- Sword. He took it on the page’s saye, Hunthill had driven these steeds away. Then Howard, Home, and Douglas rose, The kindling discord to compose: Stern Rutherford right little said, But bit his glove,# and shook his head. A fortnight thence, in Inglewood, Stout Conrad, cold, and drench’d in biood, His bosom gored with many a wound, Was by a woodman’s lyme-dog found; Unknown the manner of his death, Gone was his brand, both sword and sheath: But ever from that time, ’twas said, That Dickon wore a Cologne“blade. VIII. The dwarf, who fear’d his master’s eye Might his foul treachery espie, Now sought the castle buttery, Where many a yeoman, bold and free, Revell’d as merrily and well As those that sat in lordly selle. 42 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Watt Tinlinn, there, did frankly raise ' The pledge to Arthur Fire-the-Braes;* And he, as by his breeding bound, To Howard’s merry-men sent it round. To quit them, on the English side, Red Roland Forster loudly cried, ‘* A deep carouse to yon fair bride! ’’ — At every pledge, from vat and pail, Foam’d forth in floods the nut-brown ale; While shout the riders every one; Such day of mirth ne’er cheer’d their clan, Since old Buccleuch the name did gain, When in the cleuch the buck was ta’en. IX. The wily page, with vengeful thought, Remember’d him of Tinlinn’s yew. And swore, it should be dearly bought That ever he the arrow drew. First, he the yeoman did molest, With bitter gibe and taunting jest; Told, how he fled at Solway strife, And how Hob Armstrong cheer’d hiswife; Then, shunning still his powerful arm, At unawares he wrought him harm; From trencher stole his choicest cheer, Dash’d from his lips his can of beer; Then, to his knee sly creeping on, With bodkin pierced him to the bone: The venom’d wound, and festering joint, Long after rued that bodkin’s point. The startled yeoman swore and spurn’d, And board and flagons overturn’d. Riot and clamor wild began; Back to the hall the Urchin ran; Took in a darkling nook his post, And grinn’d, and mutter’d ‘‘ Lost! lost! lost!’ XG By this, the Dame, lest farther fray Should mar the concord of the day, Had bid the Minstrels tune their lay. And first stept forth old Albert Grzeme, The Minstrel of that ancient name: * Was none who struck the harp so well, Within the Land Debateable. Well friended, too, his hardy kin, Whoever lost, were sure to win; * The person bearing this redoutable xo de guerre was an Elliott, and resided at Thorles- hope, in Liddesdale. He occurs in the list of Border riders, in 1597. Canto VI. They sought the beeves that made their broth, In Scotland and in England both. In homely guise, as nature bade, His simple song the Borderer said. XI. ALBERT GR/EME. It was an English ladye bright, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,t) And she would marry a Scottish knight, For Love will still be lord of all. ~ Blithely they saw the rising sun, When he shone fair on Carlisle wall; But they were sad ere day was done, Though Love was still the lord of all. Her sire gave brooch and jewel fine, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall; Her brother gave but a flask of wine, For ire that Love was lord of all. For she had lands, both meadow and lea, Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, And he swore her death, ere he would see A Scottish knight the lord of all! XII. That wine she had not tasted well, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall, ) When dead, in her true love’s arms, she fell, For Love was still the lord of all! He pierced her brother to the heart, . Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle © wall: So perish all would true love part, That Love may still be lord of all! And then he took the cross divine, (Where the sun shines fair on Carlisle — wall, ) And died for her sake in Palestine, So Love was still the lord of all. Now all ye lovers, that faithful prove, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,} _ Pray for their souls who died for love, For Love shall still be lord ofall! + This burden is from an old Scottish song. Canto VI. XIII. As ended Albert’s simple lay, Arose a bard of loftier port; For sonnet, rhyme, and roundelay, Renown’d in haughty Henry’s court: There rung thy harp, unrivall’d long, Fitztraver of the silver song! The gentle Surrey loved his lyre — Who has not heard of Surrey’s fame? 4 His was the hero’s soul of fire, And his the bard’s immortal name, And his was love, exalted high By all the glow of chivalry. XIV. They sought, together, climes afar, And oft, within some olive grove, When even came with twinkling star, They sung of Surrey’s absent love. His step the Italian peasant stay’d, And deem’d, that spirits from on high, Round where some hermit saint was laid, Were breathing heavenly melody; So sweet did harp and voice combine To praise the name of Geraldine. XV. Fitztraver! O what tongue may say The pangs thy faithful bosom knew, When Surrey, of the deathless lay, Ungrateful Tudor’s sentence, slew? Regardless of the tyrant’s frown, His harp call’d wrath and vengeance down. He left, for Naworth’s iron towers, Windsor’s green glades, and courtly bowers, And faithful to his patron’s name, With Howard still Fitztraver came; Lord William’s foremost favorite he, And chief of all his minstrelsy. XVI. FITZTRAVER. "Twas All-souls’ eve, and Surrey’s heart beat high; He heard the midnight bell with anx- ious start, Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, die LAY OF LHRE LAST MINSTREL: 43 To show to him the ladye of his heart, Albeit betwixt them roar’d the ocean grim; Yet so the sage had hight to play his part, That he should see her form in life and limb, And mark, if still she loved, and still she thought of him. XVII. | Dark was the vaulted room of gramarye, To which the wizard led the gallant Knight, Save that before a mirror, huge and high, A hallow’d taper shed a glimmering light On mystic implements of magic might; On cross, and character, and talisman, And almagest, and altar, nothing bright: For fitful was the lustre, pale and wan, As watchlight by the bed of some de- parting man. XVIII. But soon, within that mirror huge and high, Was seen aself-emitted light to gleam; And forms upon its breast the Earl ’gan SPy, Cloudy and indistinct, as feverish dream, : Till, slow arranging, and defined, they seem To form a lordly and a lofty room, Part lighted by a lamp with silver beam, Placed by a couch of Agra’s silken loom, And part by moonshine pale, and part was hid in gloom. XIX. Fair all the pageant—but how passing fair The slender form, which lay on couch of Ind! O’er her white bosom stray’d her hazel hair, All in her night-robe loose she lay re- clined. Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined; And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine Some strain that seem’d her inmost soul to find;— 44 THE LAY. OF THE TAST, MINST REY. That favor’d strain was Surrey’s rap- tured line, That fair and lovely form, the Lady Ger- aldine! XX. Slow roll’d the clouds upon the lovely form, And swept the goodly vision all away — So royal envy roll’d the murky storm O’er my beloved Master’s glorious day. Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant! Heaven repay On thee, and on thy children’s latest line, The wild caprice of thy despotic sway, The gory bridal bed, the plunder’d shrine, The murder’d Surrey’s blood, the tears of Geraldine. XXI. Both Scots and Southern chiefs prolong Applauses of Fitztraver’s song; ‘these hated Henry’s name as death, And those still held the ancient faith — Then, from his seat, with lofty air, Rose Harold, bard of brave St. Clair; St. Clair, who, feasting high at Home, Had with that lord to battle come. Harold was born where restless seas Howl round the storm-swept Orcades; Where erst St. Clairs held princely sway O’er isle and islet, strait and bay; — Still nods their palace to its fall, Thy pride and sorrow, fair Kirkwall !— Thence oft he mark’d fierce Pentland rave, As if grim Odin rode her wave; And watch’d, the whilst, with visage pale, And throbbing heart, the struggling sail; For all of wonderful and wild Had rapture for the lonely child. XXII. And much of wild and wonderful In these rude isles might fancy cull! For thither came, in times afar, Stern Lochlin’s sons of roving war, The Norsemen, train’d to spoil and blood, Skill’d to prepare the raven’s food; Kings of the main their leaders brave, Their barks the dragons of the wave. Canto VI. And there, in many a stormy vale, The Scald had told his wondrous tale; And many a Runic column high Had witness’d grim idolatry. And thus had Harold, in his youth, Learn’d many a Saga’s rhyme uncouth,— Of that Sea-Snake * tremendous curl’d, Whose monstrous circle girds the world; Of those dread Maids t whose hideous yell Maddens the battle’s bloody swell; Of Chiefs, who, guided through the gloom By the pale death-lights of the tomb, Ransack’d the graves of warriors old, Their falchions wrench’d from. corpses’ hold, Waked the deaf tomb with war’s alarms, And bade the dead arise to arms! With war and wonder all on flame, To Roslin’s bowers young Harold came, Where, by sweet glen and greenwood tree, He learn’d a milder minstrelsy; Yet something of the Northern spell Mix’d with the softer numbers well. XXII. HAROLD. O listen, listen, ladies gay ! No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle. —‘* Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew ! And, gentle ladye, deign to stay, Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy firth to-day. ‘The blackening wave is edged with white: To inch # and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, — Whose screams forebode that wreck is — nigh. * The jormungandr or snake of the ocean, q | whose folds surround the earth. It was very — nearly caught by the god Thor, who went to fish for it with a hook baited with a bull’s head. Seely the ‘‘ Edda,” or Mallet’s ‘‘ Northern Antiqui- ah ties,’’ p. 445. te + The Valkyriur or Scandinavian Fates, of | Fatal Sisters. ol } Inch, an island. CanTo VI. ‘Last night the gifted Seer did view Awet shroud swathed round ladye gay; Then stay thee, Fair, in Ravensheuch: Why cross the gloomy firth to-day ? ?? — “Tis not because Lord Lindesay’s heir To-night at Roslin leads the ball, But that my ladye-mother there Sits lonely in her castle-hall. “©°Tis not because the ring they ride, And Lindesay at the ring rides well, But that my sire the wine will chide, If ’tis not fill’d by Rosabelle.’’ — O’er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam; "Twas broader than the watch. fire’s light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin’s castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen, *Twas seen from Dryden’s groves of oak, And seen from cavern’d Hawthornden. Seem’d all on fire that chapel proud, Where Roslin’s chiefs uncoffin’d lie, Each Baron, for a sable shroud, Sheathed in his iron panoply. Seem’d all on fire, within, around, Deep sacristy and altar’s pale, Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer’d all the dead men’s mail. Blazed battlement and pinnet high, Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair — So still they blaze, when fate is nigh The lordly line of high St. Clair. There are twenty of Roslin’s barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold — But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle ! And each St. Clair was buried there, With candle, with book,and with knell; But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung, The dirge of lovely Rosabelle. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 45 XXIV. So sweet was Harold’s piteous lay, Scarce mark’d the guests the darken’d hall, . Though, long before the sinking day, A wondrous shade involved them all: It was not eddying mist or fog, Drain’d by the sun from fen or bog; Of no eclipse had sages told; And yet, as it came on apace, Each one could scarce his neighbor’s face, Could scarce his own stretch’d hand behold. A secret horror check’d the feast, And chill’d the soul of every guest; Even the high Dame stood half aghast, She knew some evil on the blast; The elvish page fell to the ground, And, shuddering, mutter’d, ‘‘ Found! found! found!’ XXV. Then sudden, through the darken’d air, A flash of lightning came; So broad, so bright, so red the glare, The castle seem’d on flame. Glanced every rafter of the hall, Glanced every shield upon the wall; Each trophied beam, each sculptured stone, Were instant seen, and instant gone: Full through the guests’ bedazzled band Resistless flash’d the levin-brand, And fill’d the hall with smouldering smoke, As on the elvish page it broke. It broke, with thunder long and loud, Dismay’d the brave, appall’d the proud, — From sea to sea the larum rung; On Berwick wall, and at Carlisle withal, To arms the startled warders sprung: When ended was the dreadful roar, The elvish dwarf was seen no more. XXVI. Some heard a voice in Branksome Hall, Some saw a sight, not seen by all; That dreadful voice was heard by some, Cry, with loud summons, ‘‘ GYLBIN, COME! ”’ 46 And on the spot where burst the brand, Just where the page had flung him down, Some saw an arm, and some a hand, _ And some the waving of a gown. The guests in silence pray’d and shook, And terror dimm’d each lofty look. But none of all the astonish’d train Was so dismay’d as Deloraine; His blood did freeze, his brain did burn, >T was fear’d his mind would ne’er return; For he was speechless, ghastly, wan, Like him of whom the story ran, Who spoke the spectre-hound in Man. At length, by fits, he darkly told, With broken hint, and shuddering cold — That he had seen, right certainly, A shape with amice wrapp’d around, With a wrought Spanish baldric bound, Like pilgrim from beyond the sea ; And knew — but how it matter’d not — It was the wizard, Michael Scott. XXVII. The anxious crowd, with horror pale, All trembling heard the wondrous tale; No sound was made,no word was spoke, Till noble Angus silence broke; And he a soiemn sacred plight Did to St. Bride of Douglas make, That he a pilgrimage would take To Melrose Abbey, for the sake Of Michael’s restless sprite. Then each, to ease his troubled breast, To some bless’d saint his prayers ad- dress’d: Some to St. Modan = their vows, Some to St. Mary of the Lowes, Some to the Holy Rood of Lisle, Some to our Ladye of the Isle; Each did his patron witness make, That he such pilgrimage would take, And monks should sing, and bells should toll, All for the weal of Michael’s soul. While vows were ta’en, and prayers were pray’d, .’Tis said the noble dame, dismay’d, Renounced, for aye, dark magic’s aid. XXVIII. Naught of the bridal will I tell, Which after in short space befell; THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Canto VI. Nor how brave sons and daughters fair Bless’d Teviot’s Flower, and Cranstoun’s ~ heir: After such dreadful scene, ’twere vain To wake the note of mirth again. More meet it were to mark the day Of penitence and prayer divine When pilgrim chiefs, in sad array, Sought Melrose’ holy shrine. XEN With naked foot, and sackcloth vest, And arms enfolded on his breast, Did every pilgrim go; The standers-by might hear uneath,* Footstep, or voice, or high-drawn breath, Through all the lengthen’d row. No lordly look, nor martial stride, Gone was their glory, sunk their pride, Forgotten their renown; Silent and slow, like ghosts they glide To the high altar’s hallow’d side, And there they knelt them down: Above the suppliant chieftains wave The banners of departed brave; Beneath the letter’d stones were laid The ashes of their fathers dead; From many a garnish’d niche around, Stern saints and tortured martyrs frown’d, B26 And slow up the dim aisle afar, With sable cowl and scapular, And snow-white stoles, in order due, The holy Fathers, two and two, In long procession came; Taper, and host, and book they bare, And holy banner, flourish’d fair With the Redeemer’s name. Above the prostrate pilgrim band The mitred Abbot stretch’d his hand, And bless’d them as they kneel’d; With holy cross he sign’d them all, And pray’d they might be sage in hall, And fortunate in field. Then mass was sung andprayers were said, — And solemn requiem for the dead; And bells toll’d out their mighty peal, For the departed spirit’s weal; And ever in the office close The hymn of intercession rose: * Scarcely hear. ca i CanTo VI. And far the echoing aisles prolong The awful burden of the song, — DIES IRA, DIES ILLA, SOLVET SACLUM IN FAVILLA; While the pealing organ rung. Were it meet with sacred strain To close my lay, so light and vain, Thus the holy Fathers sung: — XXXI. HYMN FOR THE DEAD. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, When heaven and earth shall pass away, What power shall be the sinner’s stay? How shall he meet that dreadful day? When, shrivelling like a parched scroll, The flaming heavens together roll; When louder yet, and yet more dread, Swells the high trump that wakes the dead, Oh! on that day, that wrathful day, When man to judgment wakes from clay, Be Tuou the trembling sinner’s stay, Though heaven and earth shall pass away. PiteetAaY OF THE LAS? MINSTREL. . 47 HusHw’ Dis the harp—the Minstrel gone, And did he wander forth alone? Alone, in indigence and age, To linger out his pilgrimage? No; close beneath proud Newark’s tower, Arose the Minstrel’s lowly bower; A simple hut; but there was seen The little garden hedged with green, The cheerful hearth, and lattice clean. There shelter’d wanderers, by the blaze, Oft heard the tale of other days; For much he loved to ope his door, And give the aid he begg’d before. So pass’d the winter’s day; but still, When summer smiled on sweet Bowhill, And July’s eve, with balmy breath, Waved the blue-bells on Newark heath; When throstles sung in Harehead-shaw, And corn was green on Carterhaugh, And flourish’d, broad, Blackandro’s oak, The aged Harper’s soul awoke ! Then would he sing achievements high, And circumstance of chivalry. Till the rapt traveller would stay, Forgetful of the closing day; And noble youths, the strain to hear, Forsook the hunting of the deer; And Yarrow, as he roll’d along, Bore burden to the Minstrel’s song. MARMION: Ay FALE OF .FLODDEN a IN SIX CANTOS. Alas! that Scottish maid should sing The combat where her lover fell! That Scottish Bard should wake the string, The triumph of our foes to tell! LEYDEN. TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY, LORD.,MONTAGU, ETC, sR iG THIS ROMANCE IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR. ADVERTISEMENT TO THE FIRST EDITION. It is hardly to be expected that an author whom the Public have honored with some degree of applause should not be again a trespasser on their kindness. Yet the Author of MARMION must be supposed to feel some anxiety concerning its success, since he is sensible that he hazards by this second intrusion, any reputation which his first poem may have procured him. The present story turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious char- acter; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero’s fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led toit. The design of the Author was, if pos- sible, to apprise his readers, at the outset, of the date of his Story, and to prepare them for — the manners of the Age in which it is laid. Any Historical Narrative, far more an attempt at Epic composition, exceeded his plan of a Romantic Tale; yet he may be per- mitted to hope, from the popularity of THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, that an attempt to paint the manners of the feudal times, upon a broader scale, and in the course — of a more interesting story, will not be unacceptable to the Public. 4 The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, 9th September, 1513. ASHESTIEL, 1808. Seed > Ss 48 INTRODUCTION TO MARMION. 49 INTRODUCTION TO EDITION 1830. Wuart [have to say respecting this Poem may be briefly told. In the Introduction to the « Lay of the Last Minstrel,” I have mentioned the circumstances, so far as my literary life is concerned, which induced me to resign the active pursuit of an honorable profession, for the more precarious resources of literature. My appointment to the Sheriffdom of Selkirk called for a change of residence. I left, therefore, the pleasant cottage I had upon the side of the Esk for the “ pleasanter banks of the Tweed,” in order to comply with the law, which requires that the Sheriff shall be resident, at least during a certain number of months, within his jurisdiction. We found a delightful retirement, by my becoming the tenant of my intimate friend and cousin-german, Colonel Russell, in his mansion of Ashes- tiel, which was unoccupied, during his absence on military service in India. The house was adequate to our accommodation, and the exercise of a limited hospitality. The situ- ation is uncommonly beautiful, by the side of a fine river, whose streams are there very favorable for angling, surrounded by the remains of natural woods, and by hills abounding in game. In point of society, according to the heartfelt phrase of Scripture, we dwelt “amongst our own people ;” and as the distance from the metropolis was only thirty miles, we were not out of reach of our Edinburgh friends, in which city we spent the terms of the summer and winter Sessions of the Court, that is, five or six months in the year. An important circumstance had, about the same time, taken place in my life. Hopes had been held out to me from an influential quarter, of a nature to relieve me from the anxiety which I must have otherwise felt, as one upon the precarious tenure of whose own life rested the principal prospects of his family, and especially as one who had necessarily some dependence upon the favor of the public, which is proverbially capricious ; though it is but justice to add that, in my own case, I have not found it so. Mr. Pitt had expressed a wish to my personal friend, the Right Honorable William Dundas, now Lord Clerk Re- gister of Scotland, that some fitting opportunity should be taken to be of service to me, and as my views and wishes pointed to a future rather than an immediate provision, an opportunity of accomplishing this was soon found. One of the Principal Clerks of Ses- sion, as they are called (official persons who occupy an important and responsible situa- tion, and enjoy a considerable income), who had served upwards of thirty years, felt himseif, from age, and the infirmity of deafness with which it was accompanied, desirous of retiring from his official situation. As the law then stood, such official persons were entitled to bargain with their successors, either for a sum of money, which was usually a considerable one, or for an interest in the emoluments of the office during their life. My predecessor, whose services had been unusually meritorious, stipulated for the emoluments of his office during his life, while I should enjoy the survivorship, on the condition that I discharged the duties of the office in the meantime. Mr. Pitt, however, having died in the interval, his administration was dissolved, and was succeeded by that known by the name of the Fox and Grenville Ministry. My affair was so far completed, that my commission lay in the office subscribed by his majesty; but, from hurry or mistake, the interest of my pre- decessor was not expressed in it, as had been usual in such cases. Although, therefore, it only required payment of the fees, I could not in honor take out the commission in the present state, since in the event of my dying before him, the gentleman whom I succeeded must have lost the vested interest which he had stipulated to retain. I had the honor of an interview with Earl Spencer on the subject, and he, in the most handsome manner, gave directions that the commission should issue as originally intended ; adding, that the matter having received the royal assent, he regarded only as a claim of justice what he would have willingly done as an act of favor. I never saw Mr. Fox on this, or on any other occasion, and never made any application to him, conceiving that in doing so I might have been supposed to express political opinions contrary to those which I had always professed. In his private capacity, there is no man to whom I would have been more proud to owe an obligation, had I been so distinguished. By this arrangement I obtained the survivorship of an office, the emoluments of which | were fully adequate to my wishes; and as the law respecting the mode of providing for superannuated officers was, about five or six years after, altered from that which admitted the arrangement of assistant and successor, my colleague very handsomely took the oppor- tunity of the alteration, to accept of the retiring annuity provided in such cases, and ad _ mitted me to the full benefit of the office, 50 INTRODUCTION TO MARMION. But although the certainty of succeeding to a considerable income, at the time I obtained it, seemed to assure me of a quiet harbor in my old age, I did not escape my share of in- convenience from the contrary tides and currents by which we are so often encountered in our journey through life. Indeed the publication of my next poetical attempt was pre- maturely accelerated, from one of those unpleasant accidents which can neither be foreseen nor avoided. I had formed the prudent resolution to endeavor to bestow a little more labor than I had yet done on my productions, and to be in no hurry again to announce myself as a candidate for literary fame. Accordingly, particular passages of a poem, which was finally called “ Marmion,” were labored with a good deal of care by one by whom much care was seldom bestowed. Whether the work was worth the labor or not I am no competent judge ; but I may be permitted to say, that the period of its composition was a very happy one in my life ; so much so, that I remember with pleasure, at this moment, some of the spots in which particular passages were composed. It is probably owing to this, that the Introductions to the several Cantos assumed the form of familiar epistles to my intimate friends, in which I alluded, perhaps more than was necessary or graceful, to my domestic occupations and amusements — a loquacity which may be excused by those who remember that I was still young, light-headed, and happy, and that “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” The misfortunes of a near relation and friend, which happened at this time, led me to alter my prudent determination, which had been, to use great precaution in sending this poem into the world; and made it convenient at least, if not absolutely necessary, to hasten its publication. The publishers of “ The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” emboldened by the success of that poem, willingly offered a thousand pounds for “ Marmion.” The transaction, being no secret, afforded Lord Byron, who was then at general war with all who blacked paper, an apology for including me in his satire, entitled “ English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.” I never could conceive how an arrangement between an author and his publishers, if satisfactory to the persons concerned, could afford matter of censure to any third party. I had taken no unusual or ungenerous means of enhancing the value of my merchandise —I had never higgled a moment about the bargain, but accepted at once what I considered the handsome offer of my publishers. These gentlemen, at least, were not of opinion that they had been taken advantage of in the transaction, which, indeed, was one of their own framing; on the contrary, the sale of the Poem was so far beyond their expectation, as to induce them to supply the Author’s cellars with what is always an acceptable present to a young Scottish housekeeper, namely, a hogshead of excellent claret. The Poem was finished in too much haste to allow me an opportunity of softening down, if not removing, some of its most prominent defects. The nature of Marmion’s guilt, although similar instances were found, and might be quoted, as existing in feudal times, was nevertheless not sufficiently peculiar to be indicative of the character of the period, forgery being the crime of a commercial, rather than of a proud and warlike age. This — gross defect ought to have been remedied or palliated. Yet I suffered the tree to lie as it — had fallen. I remember my friend, Dr. Leyden, then in the East, wrote me a furious remonstrance on the subject. I have, nevertheless, always been of opinion, that correc- — tions, however in themselves judicious, have a bad effect— after publication. An author — is never so decidedly condemned as on his own confession, and may long find apologists and partisans, until he gives up his own cause. I was not, therefore, inclined to afford matter for censure out of my own admissions; and, by good fortune, the novelty of the | subject, and, if I may so say, some force and vivacity of description, were allowed to atone for many imperfections. Thus the second experiment on the public patience, generally 7 the most perilous, — for the public are then most apt to judge with rigor, what in the first _ instance they had received, perhaps. with imprudent generosity, — was in my case decidedly successful. I had the good fortune to pass this ordeal favorably, and the return of sales | before me makes the copies amount to thirty-six thousand printed between 1808 and 1825, besides a considerable sale since that period. I shall here pause upon the subject of “ Mar- / mion,” and, in a few prefatory words to “The Lady of the Lake,” the last poem of mine | which obtained eminent success, I will continue the task which I have imposed on myself respecting the origin of my productions. ABBOTSFORD, AZril, 1830. MARMION. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. TO WILLIAM STEWART ROSE, ESQ. A shestiel, Ettrick Forest. - NOVEMBER’S sky is chill and drear, November’s leaf is red and sear: Late, gazing down the steepy linn, That hems our little garden in, Low in its dark and narrow glen, You scarce the rivulet might ken, ‘So thick the tangled greenwood grew, So feeble trill’d the streamlet through: Now murmuring hoarse, and frequent seen ; Through bush and brier, no longer green, An angry brook, it sweeps the glade, . Brawls over rock and wild cascade, And, foaming brown with doubled speed, Hurries its waters to the Tweed. No longer Autumn’s glowing red Upon our Forest hills is shed; No more, beneath the evening beam, Fair Tweed reflects their purple gleam; _ Away hath pass’d the heather-bell That bloom’d so rich on Needpath-fell; Sallow his brow, and russet bare Are now the sister-heights of Yair. The sheep, before the pinching heaven, To shelter’d dale and down are driven, ‘Where yet some faded herbage pines, ' And yet a watery sunbeam shines: In meek despondency they eye The wither’d sward and wintry sky And far beneath their summer hill, | Stray sadly by Glenkinnon’s rill: The shepherd shifts his mantle’s fold, And wraps him closer from the cold; His dogs no merry circles wheel, But, shivering, follow at his heel; _A cowering glance they often cast, 'As deeper moans the gathering blast. | | | | | My imps, though hardy, bold, and wild, As best befits the mountain child, Feel the sad influence of the hour, And wail the daisy’s vanish’d flower: Their summer gambols tell, and mourn, And anxious ask, — Will spring return, And birds and lambs again be gay, And blossoms clothe the hawthorn spray? Yes, prattlers, yes. The daisy’s flower Again shall paint your summer bower; Again the hawthorn shall supply The garlands you delight to tie; The lambs upon the lea shall bound, The wild birds carol to the round, And while you frolic light as they, Too short shall seem the summer day. To mute and to material things New life revolving summer brings; The genial call dead Nature hears, And in her glory reappears. But oh! my country’s wintry state What second spring shall renovate? What powerful call shall bid arise The buried warlike and the wise; The mind that thought for Britain’s weal, The hand that grasp’d the victor steel? The vernal sun new life bestows Even on the meanest flower that blows; But vainly, vainly may he shine, Where glory weeps 0’er NELSON’S shrine; And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, That shrouds, O Pirt, thy hallow’d tomb! Deep graved in every British heart, O never let those names depart ! Say to your sons, — Lo, here his grave, Who victor died on Gadite wave;* To him, as to the burning levin, Short, bright, resistless course was given, * Nelson. Gadite wave, sea of Cadiz, or Gades. 52 MARMION. Where’er his country’s foes were found, Was heard the fated thunder’s sound. Till burst the bolt on yonder shore, Roll’d, blazed, destroy’d, — and was no more. Nor mourn ye less his perish’d worth, Who bade the conqueror go forth, And launch’d that thunderbolt of war On Egypt, Hafnia,* Trafalgar; Who, born to guide such high emprize, For Britain’s weal was early wise; Alas! to whom the Almighty gave, For Britain’s sins, an early grave ! His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, A bauble held the pride of power, Spurn’d at the sordid lust of pelf, And served his Albion for herself; Who, when the frantic crowd amain Strain’d at subjection’s bursting rein, O’er their wild mood full conquest gain’d, The pride, he would not crush, restrain’d, Show’d their fierce zeal a worthier cause, And brought the freeman’s arm, to aid the freeman’s laws. Had’st thou but lived, though stripp’d of power, A watchman on the lonely tower, Thy thrilling trump had roused the land, When fraud or danger were at hand; By thee, as by the beacon-light, Our pilots had kept course aright; As some proud column, though alone, Thy strength had propp’d the tottering throne: Now is the stately column broke, The beacon-light is quench’d in smoke, The trumpet’s silver sound is still, The warder silent on the hill! Oh think, how to his latest day, When Death, just hovering, claim’d his prey, With Palinure’s unalter’d mood, Firm at his dangerous post he stood; Each call for needful rest repell’d, With dying hand the rudder held, Till, in his fall, with fateful sway, The steerage of the realm gave way! Then, while on Britain’s thousand plains, One unpolluted church remains, * Copenhagen. Whose peaceful bells ne’er sent around The bloody tocsin’s maddening sound, But still, upon the hallow’d day, Convoke the swains to praise and pray; While faith and civil peace are dear, Grace this cold marble with a tear, — He, who preserved them, PITT, lies here ! Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, Because his rival slumbers nigh; Nor be thy veguiescat dumb, Lest it be said o’er Fox’s tomb. For talents mourn, untimely lost, When best employ’d, and wanted most; Mourn genius high, and lore profound, And wit that loved to play, not wound; And all the reasoning powers divine, To penetrate, resolve, combine; And feelings keen, and fancy’s glow, — They sleep with him who sleeps below: And, if thou mourn’st they could not save From error him who owns this grave, Be every harsher thought suppress’d, And sacred be the last long rest. flere, where the end of earthly things Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings; Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; flere, where the fretted aisles prolong The distant notes of holy song, As if some angel spoke agen, *¢ All peace on earth, good-will to men;”’ If ever from an English heart, O here let prejudice depart, And, partial feeling cast aside, Record, that Fox a Briton died! When Europe crouch’d to France’s yoke, And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, And the firm Russian’s purpose brave, Was barter’d by a timorous slave, Even then dishonor’s peace he spurn’d, The sullied olive-branch return’d, Stood for his country’s glory fast, And nail’d her colors to the mast! Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave A portion in this honor’d grave, And ne’er held marble in its trust Of two such wondrous men the dust. With more than mortal powers en- dow’ i, & How high they soar’d above the crowd! | INTRODUCTION TO CANTO I. 53 Theirs was no common pazty race, Jostling by dark intrigue for place; Like fabled Gods, their mighty war Shook realms and nations in its jar; Beneath each banner proud to stand, Look’d up the noblest of the land, Till through the British world were known The names of Pitt and Fox alone. Spells of such force no wizard grave F’er framed in dark Thessalian cave, Though his could drain the ocean dry, And force the planets from the sky. These spells are spent, and, spent with these, The wine of life is on the lees, Genius, and taste, and talent gone, Forever tomb’d beneath the stone, Where — taming thought to human pride ! — The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. Drop upon Fox’s grave the tear, *Twill trickle to his rival’s bier; O’er Pitt’s the mournful requiem sound, And Fox’s shall the notes rebound. The solemn echo seems to cry, — “Here let their discord with them die. Speak not for those a separate doom, Whom Fate made Brothers in the tomb; But search the land of living men, Where wilt thou find their like agen? ”’ Rest, ardent Spirits! till the cries Of dying Nature bid you rise; Not even your Britain’s groans can pierce The leaden silence of your hearse; Then, O, how impotent and vain This grateful tributary strain ! Though not unmark’d from northern clime, Ye heard the Border Minstrel’s rhyme: His Gothic harp has o’er you rung; The Bard you deign’d to praise, your deathless names has sung. Stay yet, illusion, stay a while, My wilder’d fancy still beguile ! From this high theme how can I part, Ere half unloaded is my heart ! For all the tears e’er sorrow drew, And all the raptures fancy knew, And all the keener rush of blood, That throbs wirough bard in bard tik, mood, Were here a tribute mean and low, Though all their mingled streams could flow — Woe, wonder, and sensation high, In one spring-tide of ecstasy ! — It will not be —it may not last — ‘The vision of enchantment’s past: Like frostwork in the morning ray, The fancied fabric melts away; Each Gothic arch, memorial-stone, And long, dim, lofty aisle, are gone; And, lingering last, deception dear, The choir’s high sounds die on my ear. Now slow return the lonely down, The silent pastures bleak and brown, The farm begirt with copsewood wild, The gambols of each frolic child, Mixing their shrill cries with the tone Of Tweed’s dark waters rushing on. Prompt on unequal tasks to run, Thus Nature disciplines her son: Meeter, she says, for me to stray, And waste the solitary day, In plucking from yon fen the reed, And watch it floating down the Tweed; Or idly list the shrilling lay, With which the milkmaid cheers her way, Marking its cadence rise and fail, As from the field, beneath her pail, She trips it down the uneven dale: Meeter for me, by yonder cairn, The ancient shepherd’s tale to learn; Though oft he stop in rustic fear, Lest his old legends tire the ear Of one, who, in his simple mind, May boast ef book-learn’d taste refined, ut thou, my friend, canst fitly tell, For few have read romance so well), ow still the legendary lay ‘er poet’s bosom holds its sway; ow on the ancient minstrel strain Time lays his palsied hand in vain; nd how our hearts at doughty deeds: y warriors wrought in steely weeds, Still throb for fear and pity’s sake; As when the champion of the Lake Enters Morgana’s fated house, Or inthe Chapel Perilous, Despising spells and demons’ force, Holds converse with the unburied corse; 4 54 Or when, Dame Ganore’s grace to move, (Alas, that lawless was their love!) He sought proud Tarquin in his den, And freed full sixty knights; or when, A sinful man, and unconfess’d, He took the Sangreal’s holy quest, And, slumbering, saw the vision high, He might not view with waking eye. 2 The mightiest chiefs of British song Scorn’d not such legends to prolong: ° They gleam through Spenser’s elfin dream, And mix in Milton’s heavenly theme; And Dryden, in immortal strain, Had raised the Table Round again,? But that a ribald King and Court Bade him toil on, to make them sport; Demanded for their niggard pay, Fit for their souls, a looser lay, Licentious satire, song, and play; The world defrauded of the high design, Profaned the God-given strength, and marr’d the lofty line. Warm’d by such names, well may we then Though dwindled souls of little men, Essay to break a feeble lance In the fair fields of old romance; Or seek the moated castle’s cell, Where long through talisman and spell, While tyrants ruled, and damsels wept, Thy Genius, Chivalry, hath slept: There sound the harpings of the North, Till he awake and sally forth, On venturous quest to prick again, In all his arms, with all his train, Shield, lance, and brand, and plume, and scarf, Fay, giant, dragon, squire, and dwarf, And wizard with his wand of might, And errant maid on palfrey white. Around the Genius weave their spells, Pure Love, who scarce his passion tells; Mystery, half veil’d and half reveal’d; And Honor, with his spotless shield; Attention, with fix’d eye; and Fear, That loves the tale she shrinks to hear; And gentle Courtesy; and Faith, Unchanged by sufferings, time, or death; And Valor, lion-mettled lord, Leaning upon his own good sword. MARMION. CanrtTo TI. Well has thy fair achievement shown, A worthy meed may thus be won; Ytene’s * oaks — beneath whose shade Their theme the merry minstrels made, Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold,# And that Red King, t who, while of old, Through Boldrewood the chase he led, By his loved huntsman’s arrow bled — Ytene’s oaks have heard again Renew’d such legendary strain; For thou hast sung, how He of Gaul, That Amadis so famed in hall, For Oriana, foil’d in fight The Necromancer’s felon might; And well in modern verse hast wove Partenopex’s mystic love: # Hear, then, attentive to my lay, A knightly tale of Albion’s elder day, CANTO FIRST. THE CASTLE. I. Day set on Norham’s castled steep,® And Tweed’s fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot’s mountains lone: The battled towers, the donjon keep,é The loophole grates, where captives weep, The flanking walls that round it sweep, In yellow lustre shone. The warriors on the turrets high, Moving athwart the evening sky, Seem’d forms of giant height: Their armor, as it caught the rays, Flash’d back again the western blaze, In lines of dazzling light. II. Saint George’s banner, broad and gay, Now faded, as the fading ray Less bright, and less, was flung: The evening gale had scarce the power To wave it on the Donjon Tower, ; So heavily it hung. * Vtene, ancient name of the New Forest, | Hants. ? + William Rufus. t Partenopex, a poem by W. S. Rose. Pe Ste na ey ET TN ae Canto I. The scouts had parted on their search, The Castle gates were barr’d; Above the gloomy portal arch, Timing his footsteps to a march, The Warder kept his guard; Low humming, as he paced along, Some ancient Border gathering song. III. A distant trampling sound he hears; He looks abroad, and soon appears O’er Horncliff-hill a plump of spears,* Beneath a pennon gay; A horseman, darting from the crowd, Like lightning from a summer cloud, Spurs on his mettled courser proud, Before the dark array. Beneath the sable palisade, That closed the Castle barricade, His bugle-horn he blew; The warder hasted from the wall, And warn’d the Captain in the hall, For well the blast he knew; And joyfully that knight did call, To sewer, squire, and seneschal. IV “Now broach ye a pipe of Malvoisie,t Bring pasties of the doe, And quickly make the entrance free, And bid my heralds ready be, And every minstrel sound his glee, And all our trumpets blow; And, from the platform, spare ye not To fire a noble salvo-shot; Lord MARMION waits below! ”” Then to the Castle’s lower ward Sped forty yeomen tall, The iron-studded gates unbarr’d, Raised the portcullis’ ponderous guard, The lofty palisade unsparr’d And let the drawbridge fall.. Vv Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, Proudly his red-roan charger trode, He was a stalworth knight, and keen, And had in many a battle been; * Body of men-at-arms. ‘‘ Plump” properly applies to a flight of water-fowl ; but is used by analogy for a body of horse. Tt Malmsey. THE CASTLE. 55 The scar on his brown cheek reveal’d A token true of Bosworth field: His helm hung at the saddlebow; Well by his visage you might know His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire, Show’d spirit proud, and prompt to ire; Yet lines of thought upon his cheek Did deep design and counsel speak. His forehead, by his casque worn bare, His thick mustache, and curly hair, Coal-black, and grizzled here and there. But more through toil than age; His square-turn’d joints, and strength of limb, Show’d him no carpet knight so trim, But in close fight a champion grim, In camps a leader sage. VI. Well was he arm’d from head to heel, In mail and plate of Milan steel;7 But his strong helm, of mighty cost, Was all with burnish’d gold emboss’d: Amid the plumage of the crest, A falcon hover’d on her nest, With wings outspread,and forward breast; E’en such a falcon, on his shield, Soar’d sable in an azure field: The golden legend bore aright, GAho checks at me, to Veath is vight.’ Blue was the charger’s broider’d rein; Blue ribbons deck’d his arching mane; The knightly housing’s ample fold Was velvet blue, and trapp’d with gold. Vil. Behind him rode two gallant squires, Of noble name, and knightly sires; They burn’d the gilded spurs to claim, For well could each a war-horse tame, Could draw the bow, the swordcould sway, And lightly bear the ring away; Nor less with courteous precepts stored, Could dance in hall, and carve at board, And frame love-ditties passing rare, And sing them to a lady fair. VIII. Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halbert, bill, and battle-axe; They bore Lord Marmion’s lance so strong, 4 And led his sumpter mules along, 56 And ambling palfrey, when at need Him listed ease his battle-steed. The last and trustiest of the four, On high his forky pennon bore; Like swallow’s tale, in shape and hue, Flutter’d the streamer glossy blue, Where, blazon’d sable, as before, The towering falcon seem’d to soar, Last, twenty yeomen, two and two, In hosen black and jerkins blue, With falcons broider’d on each breast, Attended on their lord’s behest. Each, chosen for an archer good, Knew hunting-craft by lake or wood; Each one a six-foot bow could bend, And far a cloth-yard shaft could send; Each held a boar-spear tough and strong, And at their belts their quivers rung. Their dusty palfreys, and array, Show’d they had march’d a weary way. IX. ’Tis meet that I should tell you now, How fairly arm’d, and order’d how, The soldiers of the guard, With musket, pike, and morion, To welcome noble Marmion, Stood in the Castle-yard; Minstrels and trumpeters were there, The gunner held his linstock yare, For welcome-shot prepared; Enter’d the train, and such a clang, As then through all his turrets rang, Old Norham never heard. X. The guards their morrice-pikes advanced, The trumpets flourish’d brave, The cannon from the ramparts glanced, And thundering welcome gave. A blithe salute, in martial sort, The minstrels well might sound, For, as Lord Marmion cross’d the court, He scatter’d angels * round. ‘* Welcome to Norham, Marmion! Stout heart, and open hand! Well dost thou brook thy gallant roan, Thou flower of English land! ”’ * A gold coin of the period, value about ten shillings, MARMION. ‘ Canto I, XI. Two pursuivants, whom tabarts ft deck, With silver scutcheon round their neck, Stood on the steps of stone, By which you reach the donjon gate, And there, with herald pomp and state, They hail’d Lord Marmion: They hail’d him Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, Of Tamworth tower and town;2 And he, their courtesy to requite, Gave them a chain of twelve marks’ weight, All as he lighted down. ‘* Now, largesse, largesse,t Lord Mar- mion, Knight of the crest of gold! A blazon’d shield, in battle won, Ne’er guarded heart so bold.’’ XII. They marshall’d him to the Castle-hall, Where the guests stood all aside, And loudly flourish’d the trumpet-call, And the heralds loudly cried: — ‘Room, lordings, room for Lord Mar- mion, With the crest and helm of gold! Full well we know the trophies won In the lists of Cottiswold: There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove, ’Gainst Marmion’s force to stand; To him he lost his lady-love, And to the King his land. Ourselves beheld the listed field, A sight both sad and fair; We saw Lord Marmion pierce his shield, | And saw his saddle bare; We saw the victor win the crest He wears with worthy pride; And on the gibbet-tree, reversed, His foeman’s scutcheon tied. Place, nobles, for the Falcon-Knight ! Room, room, ye gentles gay, For him who conquer’d in the right, Marmion of Fontenaye! ’’ + The embroidered overcoat of the heralds, etc., also spelt tabard and taberd. t The cry by which the bounty of knights and _ nobles was thanked. ‘The cry is still used in the | hop gardens of Kent and Sussex, as a demand. for payment from strangers entering them, | ve al | i ; ' 4 | CanTo I. THE XIIl. Then stepp’d to meet that noble Lord, Sir Hugh the Heron bold, Baron of Twisell, and of Ford, And Captain of the Hold.! He led Lord Marmion to the dais, Raised o’er the pavement high, And placed him in the upper place — They feasted full and high: The whiles a Northern harper rude Chanted a rhyme of deadly feud, “* How the fierce Thirwalls, and Rid- leys all, Stout Willimondswick, And Hardriding Dick, And Hughie of Hawdon, and Will o’ the Wall, Have set on Sir Albany Featherstonhaugh, And taken his life at the Deadman’s- shaw.,”” Scantly Lord Marmion’s ear could brook The harper’s barbarous lay; Yet much he praised the pains he took, And well those pains did pay: For lady’s suit, and minstrel’s strain, By knight should ne’er be heard in vain. XIV. “Now, good Lord Marmion,’’ Heron says, **Of your fair courtesy, I pray you bide some little space In this poor tower with me. Here may you keep your arms from rust, May breathe your war-horse well; Seldom hath pass’d a week but giust Or feat of arms befell: The Scots can rein a mettled steed; And love to couch a spear; — Saint George! a stirring life they lead, That have such neighbors near. Then stay with us a little space, Our northern wars to learn; I pray you, for your lady’s grace! ”’ Lord Marmion’s brow grew stern. XV. The Captain mark’d his alter’d look, And gave a squire the sign; A mighty wassail-bowl he took, And crown’d it high in wine. CASTLE. §? ‘* Now pledge me here, Lord Marmion: But first I pray thee fair, Where hast thou left that page of thine, That used to serve thy cup of wine, Whose beauty was so rare? When last in Raby towers we met, The boy I closely eyed, And often mark’d his cheeks were wet, With tears he fain would hide: His was no rugged horse-boy’s hand, To burnish shield or sharpen brand, Or saddle battle-steed; But meeter seem’d for lady fair, To fan her cheek, or curl her hair, Or through embroidery, rich and rare, The slender silk to lead; His skin was fair, his ringlets gold, His bosom — when he sigh’d, The russet doublet’s rugged fold Could scarce repel its pride ! Say, hast thou given that lovely youth To serve in lady’s bower? Or was the gentle page, in sooth, A gentle paramour? ”’ XVI. Lord Marmion ill could brook such jest; He roll’d his kindling eye, With pain his rising wrath suppress’d, Yet made a calm reply: ‘That boy thou thought’st so goodly fair, He might not brook the northern air; More of his fate if thou wouldst learn, I left him sick in Lindisfarne.* Enough of him. — But, Hégon, say, Why does thy lovely lady gay Disdain to grace the hall to-day? Or has that dame, so fair and sage, Gone on some pious pilgrimage? ’’? — He spoke in covert scorn, for fame Whisper’d light tales of Heron’s dame. XVII. Unmark’d, at least unreck’d, the taunt; Careless the Knight replied, ‘*No bird, whose feathers gayly flaunt, Delights in cage to bide: Norham is grim and grated close, Hemm’d in by battlement and fosse, * See note 24. 58 And many a darksome tower; And better loves my lady bright To sit in liberty and light, In fair Queen Margaret’s bower. We hold our greyhound in our hand, Our falcon on our glove; But where shall we find leash or band, For dame that loves to rove? Let the wild falcon soar her swing, She’ll stoop when she has tired her wing.”’ XVIII. *« Nay, if with Royal James’s bride The lovely Lady Heron bide, Behold me here a messenger, Your tender greetings prompt to bear; For, to the Scottish court address’d, I journey at our King’s behest, And pray you, of your grace, provide For me, and mine, a trusty guide. I have not ridden in Scotland since James back’d the cause of that mock prince Warbeck, that Flemish counterfeit, Who on the gibbet paid the cheat.’ Then did I march with Surrey’s power, What time we razed old Ayton tower.’’41 XIX. ‘< For such-like need, my lord, I trow, Norham can find you guides enow; For here be some have prick’d as far, On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar; Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan’s ale, And driven the beeves of Lauderdale; Harried the wives of Greenlaw’s goods, And given them light to set their hoods.’’2 XX. ° ** Now, in good sooth,’’ Lord Marmion cried, ‘« Were I in warlike wise to ride, A better guard I would not lack, Than your stout forayers at my back; But, as in form of peace I go, A friendly messenger, to know, Why through all Scotland, near and far, Their King is mustering troops for war, The sight of plundering border spears Might justify suspicious fears, And deadly feud, or thirst of spoil, Break out in some unseemly broil: MARMION. Canto T. ‘A herald were my fitting guide; Or friar, sworn in peace to bide; Or pardoner, or travelling priest, Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.”’ XXI. The Captain mused a little space, And pass’d his hand across his face. — ‘* Fain would I find the guide you want, But ill may spare a pursuivant, The only men that safe can ride Mine errands on the Scottish side: And though a bishop built this fort, Few holy brethren here resort; Even our good chaplain, as I ween, Since our last siege, we have not seen: The mass he might not sing or say, Upon one stinted meal a-day; So, safe he sat in Durham aisle, And pray’d for our success the while. Our Norman vicar, woe betide, Is all too well in case to ride; The priest of Shoreswood !®— he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train; But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. Friar John of Tilmouth were the man: A blithesome brother at the can, A welcome guest in hall and bower, He knows each castle, town, and tower, | In which the wine and ale is good, *Twixt Newcastle and Holy-Rood. But that good man, as ill befalls, Hath seldom left our castle walls, Since, on the vigil of St. Bede, In evil hour, he cross’d the Tweed, To teach Dame Alison her creed. Old Bughtrig found him with his wife; And John, an enemy to strife, Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. The jealous churl hath deeply swore, That, if again he venture o’er, He shall shrive penitent no more. Little he loves such risks, I know; Yet, in your guard, perchance will go.” XXII. Young Selby, at the fair hall-board, Carved to his uncle and that lord, And reverently took up the word: — ‘* Kind uncle, woe were we each one, If harm should hap to brother John. CANTO I. He is a man of mirthful speech, Can many a game and gambol teach; Full well at tables can he play, And sweep at bowls the stake away. None can a lustier carol bawl, The needfullest among us all, When time hangs heavy in the hall, And snow comes thick at Christmas tide, And we can neither hunt, nor ride A foray on the Scottish side. The vow’d revenge of Bughtrig rude, May end in worse than loss of hood. Let Friar John, in safety, still In chimney-corner snore his fill, Roast hissing crabs, or flagons swill. Last night, to Norham there came one, Will better guide Lord Marmion.’’ — ** Nephew,”’ quoth Heron, ‘‘ by my fay, Well hast thou spoke; say forth thy say.”’ XXIII. “* Here is a holy Palmer come, From Salem first, and last from Rome; One, that hath kiss’d the blessed tomb, And visited each holy shrine In Araby and Palestine; On hills of Armenie hath been, Where Noah’s ark may yet be seen; By that Red Sea, too, hath he trod, Which parted at the prophet’s rod; In Sinai’s wilderness he saw The Mount, where Israel heard the law, Mid thunder-dint, and flashing levin, And shadows, mists, and darkness, given. He shows Saint James’s cockle-shell, Of fair Montserrat, too, can tell; And of that Grot where Olives nod, Where, darling of each heart and eye, From all the youth of Sicily, Saint Rosalie retired to God.!# XXIV. *Tostout Saint George of Norwich merry, Saint Thomas, too, of Canterbury, Cuthbert of Durham and Saint Bede, For his sins’ pardon hath he pray’d. He knows the passes of the North, And seeks far shrines beyond the Forth; Little he eats, and long will wake, And drinks but of the stream or lake. This were a guide o’er moor and dale; But, when our John hath quaff’d his ale, THE CASTLE. 59 As little as the wind that blows, | And warms itself against his nose, Kens he, or cares, which way he goes.’’ — XXV. ** Gramercy !’’ quoth Lord Marmion, ** Full loth were I, that Friar John, That venerable man, for me, Were placed in fear of jeopardy. If this same Palmer will me lead From hence to Holy-Rood, Like his good saint, I’ll pay his meed, Instead of cockle-shell, or bead, With angels fair and good. I love such holy ramblers; still They know to charm a weary hill, With song, romance, or lay: Some jovial tale, or glee, or jest, Some lying legend, at the least, They bring to cheer the way.’’ — XXVI. <‘ Ah! noble sir,’’? young Selby said, And finger on his lip he laid, ‘¢ This man knows much, perchance e’en more Than he could learn by holy lore. Still to himself he’s muttering, And shrinks as at some unseen thing, Last night we listen’d at his cell; Strange sounds we heard, and, sooth to tell, He murmur’d on till morn, howe’er No living mortal could be near. Sometimes I thought I heard it plain, As other voices spoke again. I cannot tell — I like it not — Friar John hath told us it is wrote, No conscience clear, and void of wrong, Can rest awake, and pray so long. Himself still sleeps before his beads Have mark’d ten aves, and two creeds.’’!5 XXVII. — ‘*Let pass,’’ quoth Marmion; ‘‘ by my fay, This man shall guide me on my way, Although the great arch fiend and he Had sworn themselves of company. So please you, gentle youth, to call This Palmer to the Castle-hall.”’ The summon’d Palmer came in place; 16 His sable cowl] o’erhung his face; 60 In his black mantle was he clad, With Peter’s keys, in cloth of red, On his broad shoulders wrought; The scallop-shell his cap did deck; The crucifix around his neck Was from Loretto brought; His sandals were with travel tore, Staff, budget, bottle, scrip, he wore; The faded palm-branch in his hand Show’d pilgrim from the Holy Land. XXVIII. When as the Palmer came in hall, No lord, nor knight, was there more tall, Nor had a statelier step withal, Or look’d more high and keen; For no saluting did he wait, But strode across the hall of state, And fronted Marmion where he sate, As he his peer had been. But his gaunt frame was worn with toil; His cheek was sunk, alas the whilé! And when he struggled at a smile, His eye look’d haggard wild: Poor wretch! the mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, In his wan face, and sun-burn’d hair, She had not known her child. Danger, long travel, want, or woe, Soon change the form that best we know — For deadly fear can time outgo, And blanch at once the hair; Hard toil can roughen form and face, And want can quench the eye’s bright grace, Nor does old age a wrinkle trace More deeply than despair. Happy whom none of these befall, But this poor Palmer knew them all. XXIX. Lord Marmion then his boon did ask; The Palmer took on him the task, So he would march with morning tide, To Scottish court to be his guide. ** But I have solemn vows to pay, And may not linger by the way, To fair St. Andrew’s bound, Within the ocean-cave to pray, Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, From midnight to the dawn of day, Sung to the billows’ sound;!" MARMION. CaNnTO I. Thence to Saint Fillan’s blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore :18 Saint Mary grant, that cave or spring Could back to peace my bosom bring, Or bid it throb no more! ”’ XXX. And now the midnight draught of sleep, Where wine and spices richly steep, In massive bowl of silver deep, The page presents on knee. Lord Marmion drank a fair good rest, The Captain pledged his noble guest, The cup went through among the rest, Who drain’d it merrily; Alone the Palmer pass’d it by, Though Selby press’d him courteously. This was a sign the feast was o’er; It hush’d the merry wassail roar, The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle naught was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round. XXXI. With early dawn Lord Marmion rose: And first the chapel doors unclose; Then, after morning rites were done, (A hasty mass from Friar John, ) And knight and squire had broke their | fast On rich substantial repast, Lord Marmion’s bugles blew to horse: Then came the stirrup-cup in course: Between the Baron and his host, No point of courtesy was lost; High thanks were by Lord Marmionl paid, Solemn excuse the Captain made, Till, filing from the gate, had pass’d That noble train, their Lord the last. Then loudly rung the trumpet call; Thunder’d the cannon from the wall, And shook the Scottish shore; Around the castle eddied slow, Volumes of smoke as white as snow, And hid its turrets hoar; | Till they roll’d forth upon the air, And met the river breezes there, Which gave again the prospect fair, eg eel arr INTRODUCTION TO CANTO II. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. TO THE REV. JOHN MARRIOTT, A.M. A shestiel, Ettrick Forest. THE scenes are desert now, and bare, Where fcurish’d once a forest fair,19 When these waste glens with copse were lined, And peopled with the hart and hind. Yon Thorn — perchance whose prickly spears Have fenced him for three hundred years, While fell around his green compeers — Yon lonely Thorn, would he could tell The changes of his parent dell, Since he, so gray and stubborn now, Waved in each breeze a sapling bough; Would he could tell how deep the shade A thousand mingled branches made; How broad the shadows of the oak, How clung the rowan * to the rock, And through the foliage show’d his head, With narrow leaves and berries red; What pines on every mountain sprung, O’er every dell what birches hung, In every breeze what aspens shook, What alders shaded every brook ! **Here, in my shade,’ methinks he’d say, “The mighty stag at noon-tide lay: The wolf I’ve seen, a fiercer game, (The neighboring dingle bears his name, ) _ With lurching step around me prowl, And stop, against the moon to how]; _ The mountain-boar, on battle set, His tusks upon my stem would whet; _ While doe, and roe, and red deer good, Have bounded by, through gay green- wood. Then oft, from Newark’s riven tower, Sallied a Scottish monarch’s power: A thousand vassals muster’d round, ' With horse, and hawk, and horn, and hound; And I might see the youth intent, Guard every pass with crossbow bent; 4ind through the brake the rangers stalk, ———— SEO And falc’ners hold the ready hawk; * Mountain ash. 61 And foresters, in green-wood trim, Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet’s f bay From the dark covert drove the prey, To slip them as he broke away. The startled quarry bounds amain, As fast the gallant greyhounds strain; Whistles the arrow from the bow, Answers the harquebuss below; While all the rocking hills reply, To hoof-clang, hound, and hunters’ cry, And bugles ringing lightsomely.”’ Of such proud huntings, many tales Yet linger in our lonely dales, Up pathless Ettrick and on Yarrow, Where erst the outlaw drew his arrow.+ But not more blithe that silvan court, Than we have been at humbler sport; Though small our pomp, and mean our game, Our mirth, dear Marriott, was the same. Remember’st thou my greyhounds true? O’er holt or hill there never flew, From slip or leash there never’sprang, More fleet of foot, or sure of fang. Nor dull, between each merry chase, Pass’d by the intermitted space; For we had fair resource in store, In Classic and in Gothic lore: We mark’d each memorable scene, And held poetic talk between; Nor hill, nor brook, we paced along, But had its legend or its song. All silent now — for now are still Thy bowers, untenanted Bowhill!§ No longer, from thy mountains dun, The yeoman hears the well-known gun, And while his honest heart grows warm, At thought of his parental farm, Round to his mates a brimmer fills, And drinks, ‘‘The Chieftain of the Hills!” No fairy forms, in Yarrow’s bowers, Trip o’er the walks, or tend the flowers, Fair as the elves whom Janet saw By moonlight dance on Carterhaugh; + Slowhound. + Murray, the Robin Hood of Ettrick, but inferior in good qualities to the famous English archer. § A seat of the Duke of Buccleuch on tb Yarrow. 62 MARMION. No youthful Baron’s left to grace The Forest-Sheriff’s lonely chase, And ape, in manly step and tone, The majesty of Oberon: And she is gone, whose lovely face Is but her least and lowest grace; ‘Though if to Sylphid Queen ’twere given, To show our earth the charms of Heaven, She could not glide along the air, With form more light, or face more fair. No more the widow’s deafen’d ear Grows quick that lady’s step to hear : At noon-tide she expects her not, Nor busies her to trim the cot; Pensive she turns her humming wheel, Or pensive cooks her orphans’ meal; Yet blesses, ere she deals their bread, The gentle hand by which they’re fed. From Yair,— which hills so closely bind, Scarce can the Tweed his passage find, Though much he fret, and chafe, and toil, Till all his eddying currents boil, — Her long descended lord is gone,* And left us by the stream alone. And much I miss those sportive boys, Companions of my mountain joys, Just’at the age ’twixt boy and youth, When thought is speech, and speech is truth. Close to my side with what delight They press’d to hear of Wallace wight, When, pointing to his airy mound, I call’d his ramparts holy ground! Kindled their brows to hear me speak; And I have smiled, to feel my cheek, Despite the difference of our years, Return again the glow of theirs. Ah, happy boys! such feelings pure, They will not, cannot, long endure! Condemn’d to stem the world’s rude tide, You may not linger by the side; For Fate shall thrust you from the shore, And Passion ply the sail and oar. Yet cherish the remembrance still, Of the lone mountain, and the rill; For trust, dear boys, the time will come, When fiercer transports shall be dumb, And you will think right frequently, But well, I hope, without a sigh, On the free hours that we have spent Together, on the'brown hill’s bent. * The late Alex. Pringle, Esq., of Whytbank. When, musing on companions gone, We doubly feel ourselves alone, Something, my friend, we yet may gain; There is a pleasure in this pain: It soothes the love of lonely rest, Deep in each gentler heart impress’d. *Tis silent amid worldly toils, And stifled soon by mental broils: But in a bosom thus prepared, Its still small voice is often heard, Whispering a mingled sentiment, *Twixt resignation and content. Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, By lone St. Mary’s silent lake;”? Thou know’st it well,—nor fen,nor sedge, Pollute the pure lake’s crystal edge; Abrupt and sheer, the mountains sink At once upon the level brink; And just a trace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Each hill’s huge outline you may view, Shaggy with heath, but lonely bare, Nor tree, nor bush, nor brake, is there, Save where, of land, yon slender line Bears thwart the lake the scatter’d pine. Yet even this nakedness has power, And aids the feeling of the hour: Nor thicket, dell, nor copse you spy, Where living thing conceal’d might lie; Nor point, retiring, hides a dell, Where swain, or woodman ione, might dwell; There’s nothing left to fancy’s guess, You see that all is loneliness: And silence aids — though the steep hills Send to the lake a thousand rills; In summer tide, so oft they weep, The sound but lulls the ear asleep; Your horse’s hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude. Naught living meets the eye or ear, But well I ween the dead are near; For though, in feudal strife, a foe Hath laid Our Lady’s chapel .ow,?4 Yet still, beneath the hallow’d soil, The peasant rests him scrom his toil, And, dying, bids his bones be laid, Where erst his simple fathers pray’d. If age had tamed the passions’ strife, _ And fate had cut my ties to life, ‘| ‘CANTO II. Here, have I thought, ’twere sweet to dwell, And rear again the chaplain’s cell, Like that same peaceful hermitage, Where Milton long’d to spend his age. *Twere sweet to mark the setting day, On Bourhope’s lonely top decay; And, as it faint and feeble died On the broad lake, and mountain’s side, To say, ‘‘ Thus pleasures fade away; Youth, talents, beauty, thus decay, And leave us dark, forlorn, and gray;”’ Then gaze on Dryhope’s ruin’d tower, And think on Yarrow’s faded Flower: And when that mountain-sound I heard, Which bids us be for storm prepared, The distant rustling of his wings, As up his force the Tempest brings, *Twere sweet, ere yet his terrors rave, To sit upon the Wizard’s grave; That Wizard Priest’s, whose bones are thrust From company of holy dust; 22 On which no sunbeam ever shines — (So superstition’s creed divines ) — Thence view the lake, with sullen roar, Heave her broad billows to the shore; And mark the wild-swans mount the gale, Spread wide through mist their snowy sail, And ever stoop again, to lave Their bosoms on the surging wave. Then, when against the driving hail No longer might my plaid avail, Back to my lonely home retire, And light my lamp, and trim my fire; There ponder o’er some mystic lay, Till the wild tale had all its sway. And, in the bittern’s distant shriek, I heard unearthly voices speak, And thought the Wizard Priest was come, To claim again his ancient home! And bade my busy fancy range, To frame him fitting shape and strange, Till from the task my brow I clear’d, And smiled to think that I had fear’d. But chief, ’twere sweet to think such life, (Though but escape from fortune’s strife, ) Something most matchless good an1 wise, A great and grateful sacrifice; And deem each hour to musing given, A step upon the road to heaven. THE CONVENT. 63 Yet him, whose heart is ill at ease, Such peaceful solitudes displease: He loves to drown his bosom’s jar Amid the elemental war: And my black Palmer’s choice had been Some ruder and more savage scene, Like that wfsich frowns round dark Loch- skene .28 There eagles scream from isle to shore; Down all the rocks the torrents roar; O’er the black waves incessant driven, Dark mists infect the suminer heaven; Through the rude barriers of the lake, . Away its hurrying waters break, he Faster and whiter dash and curl, Till down yon dark abyss they hurl. Rises the fog-smoke white as snow, Thunders the viewless stream below, Diving, as if condemned to lave Some demon’s subterranean cave, Who, prison’d by enchanter’s spell, Shakes the dark rock with groan and yell. And well that Palmer’s form and mien Had suited with the stormy scene, Just on the edge, straining his ken To view the bottom of the den, Where, deep deep down, and far within, Toils with the rocks the roaring linn; Then, issuing forth one foamy wave, And wheeling round the Giant’s Grave, White as the snowy charger’s tail, Drives down the pass of Moffatdale. Marriott, thy harp, on Isis strung, To many a Border theme has rung: Then list to me, and thou shalt know Of this mysterious Man of Woe. —oe CANTO SECOND. THE CONVENT. I. THE breeze which swept away the smoke Round Norham Castle roll’d, When all the loud artillery spoke, With lightning-flash and thunder-stroke, As Marmion left the Hold. It curl’d not Tweed alone, that breeze, For, far upon Northumbrian seas, It freshly blew, and strong, 64 Where, fromhigh Whitby’s cloister’d pile, Bound to St. Cuthbert’s Holy Isle,?4 It bore a bark along. Upon the gale she stoop’d her side, _ And bounded o’er the swelling tide, As she were dancing home, The merry seamen laugh’ d, to see Their gallant ship se wustily . Furrow the green sea-foam. Much joy’d ey in their honor’d freight, For, on the ® = ¥ck, in chair of state, Thé Abbess of’ Saint Hilda placed, With five fair nuns, the galley graced. IT. ’Twas sweet to see these holy maids, Like birds escaped to green-wood shades, Their first flight from the cage, How timid, and how curious too, For all to them was strange and new, And all the common sights they view, Their wonderment engage. One eyed the shrouds and swelling sail, With many a benedicite; One at the rippling surge grew pale, And would for terror pray; Then shriek’d, because the sea-dog, nigh, His round black head, and sparkling eye, Rear’d o’er the foaming spray; And one would still adjust her veil, Disorder’d by the summer gale, Perchance lest some more worldly eye Her dedicated charms might spy; Perchance, because such action graced Her fair-turn’d arm and slender waist. Light was each simple bosom there, Save two, who ill might pleasure share,— The Abbess and the Novice Clare. Ill. The Abbess was of noble blood, But early took the veil and hood, Ere upon life she cast a look, Or knew the world that she forsook. Fair too she was, and kind had been As she was fair, but ne’er had seen For her a timid lover sigh, Nor knew the influence of her eye. Love, to her ear, was but a name Combined with vanity and shame; Her hopes, her fears, her joys, were all Bounded within the cloister wall: MARMION. The deadliest sin her mind could reach, Was of monastic rule the breach; And her ambition’s highest aim To emulate Saint Hilda’s fame. For this she gave her ample dower, To raise the convent’s eastern tower; For this, with carving rare and quaint, She deck’d the chapel of the saint, And gave the relic-shrine of cost, With ivory and gems emboss’d. The poor her Convent’s bounty blest, The pilgrim in its halls found rest. IV. Black was her garb, her rigid rule Reform’d on Benedictine school; Her cheek was pale, her form was spare; Vigils, and penitence austere, Had early quench’d the light of youth, But gentle was the dame, in sooth; Though, vain of her religious sway, She loved to see her maids obey. Yet nothing stern was she in cell, And the nuns loved their Abbess well. Sad was this voyage to the dame; Summon’d to Lindisfarne, she came, There, with Saint Cuthbert’s Abbot old, And Tynemouth’s Prioress, to hold A chapter of St. Benedict, For inquisition stern and strict, On two apostates from the faith, And, if need were, to doom te death. Vv. Naught say I here of Sister Clare, Save this, that she was young and fair; As yet, a novice unprofess’d, Lovely and gentle, but distress’d. She was betroth’d to one now dead, Or worse, who had dishonor’d fled. Her kinsmen bade her give her hand To one, who loved her for her Jand: Herself, almost heart-broken now, Was bent to take the vestal vow, And shroud within Saint Hilda’s gloom, Her blasted hopes and wither’d bloom. VI. She sate upon the galley’s prow, 5 And seem’d to mark the waves below; Nay, seem’d, so fix’d her look and eye, To count them as they glided by. CANTO II. reeg roe ENA AES Canto II. She saw them not — ’twas seeming all — Far other scene her thoughts recall,— A sun-scorch’d desert, waste and bare, Nor waves, nor breezes, murmur’d there; There saw she, where some careless hand O’er a dead corpse had heap’d the sand, To hide it till the jackals come, To tear it from the scanty tomb.— See what a woful look was given, As she raised up her eyes to heaven! VII. Lovely, and gentle, and distress’d — These charms might tame the fiercest breast; Harpers have sung, and poets told, That he, in fury uncontroll’d, The shaggy monarch of the wood, Before a virgin, fair and good, Hath pacified his savage mood. But passions in the human frame, Oft put the lion’s rage to shame: And jealousy, by dark intrigue, With sordid avarice in league, Had practised with their bowl and knife, Against the mourner’s harmless life. This crime was charged ’gainst those who lay Prison’d in Cuthbert’s islet gray. VIII. _ And now the vessel skirts the strand Of mountainous Northumberland; Towns, towers, and halls, successive rise, And catch the nuns’ delighted eyes. Monk-Wearmouth soon behind them lay; And Tynemouth’s priory and bay; They mark’d, amid her trees, the hall Of lofty Seaton-Delaval; They saw the Blythe and Wansbeck floods Rush to the sea through sounding woods; They pass’d the tower of Widderington, Mother of many a valiant son; At Coquet-isle their beads they tell To the good Saint who own’d the cell; _ Then did the Alne attention claim, And Warkworth, proud of Percy’s name; _ And next, they cross’d themselves, to hear The whitening breakers sound so near, Where, boiling thro’ the rocks, they roar, On Dunstanborough’s cavern’d shore; THE CONVENT. 65 Thy tower, proud Bamborough, mark’d they there, King Ida’s castle, huge and square, From its tall rock look grimly down, And on the swelling ocean frown; Then from the coast they bore away, And reach’d the Holy Island’s bay. IX. The tide did now its flood-mark gain, And girdled in the Saint’s domain: For, with the flow and ebb, its style Varies from continent to isle; Dry-shod, o’er sands, twice every day, The pilgrims to the shrine find way; Twice every day, the waves efface Of staves and sandall’d feet the trace. As to the port the galley flew, Higher and higher rose to view The Castle with its battled walis, The ancient monastery’s halls, A solemn, huge, and dark-red pile, Placed on the margin of the isle. X. In Saxon strength that abbey frown’d, With massive arches broad and round, That rose alternate, row and row, On ponderous columns, short and low, Built ere the art-was known, By pointed aisle; and shafted stalk, The arcades of an alley’d walk To emulate in stone. On the deep walls, the heathen Dane Had pour’d his impious rage in vain; And needful was such strength to these, Exposed to the tempestuous seas, Scourged by the winds’ eternal sway, Open to rovers fierce as they, Which could twelve hundred years with- stand Winds, waves, hand. Not but that portions of the pile, Rebuilded in a later style, Show’d where the spoiler’s hand had been; Not but the wasting sea-breeze keen Had worn the pillar’s carving quaint, And moulder’d in his niche the saint, And rounded, with consuming power, The pointed angles of each tower; and northern pirates’ 66 Yet still entire the Abbey stood, Like veteran, worn, but unsubdued. XI. Soon as they near’d his turrets strong, The maidens raised Saint Hilda’s song, And with the sea-wave and the wind, Their voices, sweetly shrill, combined, And made harmonious close}. Then, answering from the sandy shore, Half drown’d amid the breakers’ roar, According chorus rose: Down to the haven of the Isle, The monks and nuns in order file, From Cuthbert’s cloisters grim; Banner, and cross, and relics there, To meet St. Hilda’s maids, they bare; And, as they caught the sounds on air, They echoed back the hymn. The islanders, in joyous mood, Rush’d emulously through the flood, To hale the bark to land; Conspicuous by her veil and hood, Signing the cross, the Abbess stood, And bless’d them with her hand. XII. Suppose we now the welcome said, Suppose the Convent banquet made: All through the holy dome, Through cloister, aisle, and gallery Wherever vestal maid might pry, Nor risk to meet unhallow’d eye, The stranger sisters roam; Till fell the evening damp with dew, And the sharp sea-breeze coldly blew, For there, even summer night is chill. Then, having stray’d and gazed their fill, They closed around the fire; And all, in turn, essay’d to paint The rival merits of their saint, A theme that ne’er can tire A holy maid; for, be it known, That their saint’s honor is their own. XIII. Then Whitby’s nuns exulting told, How to their house three Barons bold Must menial service do; While horns blow out a note of shame, And monks cry ‘‘ Fie upon your name! In wrath, for less of sylvan game, Saint Hilda’s priest ye slew ’’~ - / ~ ~~! MARMION. CANTO II. ‘This, on Ascension-day, each year, While laboring on our harbor-pier, Must Herbert, Bruce, and Percy hear.’’ They told, how in their convent cell A Saxon princess once did dwell, The lovely Edelfled; * And how, of thousand snakes, each one Was changed into a coil of stone, When holy Hilda pray’d! Themselves, within their holy bound, Their stony folds had often found. They told, how sea-fowls’ pinions fail As over Whitby’s towers they sail,?6 And, sinking down, with flutterings faint, They do their homage to the saint. XIV. Nor did St. Cuthbert’s daughters fail To vie with these in holy tale; His body’s resting-place, of old, How oft their patron changed, they told; 27 How, when the rude Dane burn’d their é ile, The aie fled forth from Holy Isle; O’er northern mountain, marsh, and moor, From sea to sea, from shore to shore, Seven years Saint Cuthbert’s corpse they bore. They rested them in fair Melrose; But though, alive, he loved it well, Not there his relics might repose; For, wondrous tale to tell! In his stone coffin forth he rides, A ponderous bark for river tides, Yet light as gossamer it glides, Downward to Tilmouth cell. Nor long was his abiding there, For southward did the saint repair; Chester-le-Street and Rippon saw His holy corpse, ere Wardilaw Hail’d him with joy and fear; And, after many wanderings past, He chose his lordly seat at last, Where his cathedral, huge and vast, Looks down upon the Wear: There, deep in Durham’s Gothic shade, _ His relics are in secret laid; | But none may know the place, Save of his holiest servants three, Deep sworn to solemn secrecy, A Who share that wondrous grace. =| ani | me! ' Canto II, XV. Who may his miracles declare! Even Scotland’s dauntless king, and heir, (Although with them they led Galwegians, wild as ocean’s gale, And Lodon’s knights, all sheathed in mail, And the bold men of Teviotdale, ) Before his standard fled.28 *Twas he, to vindicate his reign, Edged Alfred’s falchion on the Dane, And turn’d the Conqueror back again,9 When, with his Norman bowyer band, He came to waste Northumberland. XVI. But fain Saint Hilda’s nuns would learn If, on a rock by Lindisfarne, Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame The sea-born beads that bear his: name: 29 Such tales had Whitby’s fishers told, And said they might his shape behold, And hear his anvil sound; A deaden’d clang, — a huge dim form, Seen but, ahd heard, when gathering ~ storm And night were closing round.’ _ But this, as tale of idle fame, The nuns of Lindisfarne disclaim. . XVII. While round the fire such legends go, Far different was the scene of woe, Where, in a secret aisle beneath, Council was held of life and death. It was more dark and lone that vault, Than the worst dungeon cell: Old Colwulf *! built it, for his fault, In penitence to dwell, ‘When he, for cowl and beads, laid down The Saxon battle-axe and crown, This den, which, chilling every sense Of feeling, hearing, sight, Was call’d the Vault of Penitence, Excluding air and light, Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made A place of burial for such dead, As, having died in mortal sin, Might not be laid the church within. "Twas now a place of punishment; ‘Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, THE CONVENT. 67 As reach’d the upper air, The hearers bless’d themselves, and said, The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoan’d their torments there. XVIII. But though, in the monastic pile, Did of this penitential aisle Some vague tradition go, Few only, save the Abbot, knew Where the place lay; and still more few Were those, who had from him the clew To that dread vault to go. Victim and executioner Were blindfold when transported there. In low dark rounds the arches hung, From the rude rock the side-walls sprung; The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o’er, Half sunk in earth, by time half wore, Were all the pavement of the floor: The mildew-drops fell one by one, With tinkling plash, upon the stone. A cresset, * in an iron chain, Which served to light this drear domain, With damp and darkness seem’d to strive, As if it scarce might keep alive; And yet it dimly served to show The awful conclave met below. XIX. There, met to doom in secrecy, Were placed the heads of convents three: All servants of St. Benedict, The statutes of whose orders strict On iron table lay; In long black dress, on seats of stone, Behind were these three judges shown By the pale cresset’s ray: The Abbess of Saint Hilda’s, there, Sat for a space with visage bare, Until, to hide her bosom’s swell, And tear-drops that for pity fell, She closely drew her veil: Yon shrouded figure, as I guess, By her proud mien and flowing dress, Is Tynemouth’s haughty Prioress,?2 And she with awe looks pale: And he, that Ancient Man, whose sight Has long been quench’d by age’s night, Upon whose wrinkled brow alone, Nor ruth, nor mercy’s trace, is shown, * Antique chandelier. 68 MARMION. Whose look is hard and stern, — Saint Cuthbert’s Abbot is his style; For sanctity call’d, through the isle, The Saint of Lindisfarne. XX. Before them stood a guilty pair; But, though an equal fate they share, Yet one alone deserves our care. Her sex a page’s dress belied; The cloak and doublet, loosely tied, Obscured her charms, but could not hide. Her cap down o’er her face she drew; And, on her doublet breast, She tried to hide the badge of blue, Lord Marmion’s falcon crest. But, at the prioress’ command, A Monk undid the silver band, That tied her tresses fair, And raised the bonnet from her head, And down her slender form they spread, In ringlets rich and rare. Constance de Beverley they know, Sister profess’d of Fontevraud, Whom the church number’d with the dead, For broken vows, and convent fled. XXI. When thus her face was given to view, (Although so pallid was her hue, It did a ghastly contrast bear To those bright ringlets glistering fair, ) Her look composed, and steady eye, Bespoke a matchless constancy; And there she stood so calm and pale, That, but her breathing did not fail, And motion slight of eye and head, And of her bosom, warranted That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, You might have thought a form of wax, Wrought to the very life, was there; So still she was, so pale, so fair. XXII. Her comrade was a sordid soul, Such as does murder for a meed; Who, but of fear, knows no control, Because his conscience, sear’d and foul, Feels not the import of his deed; One, whose brute-feeling ne’er aspires Beyond his own more brute desires. Canto II, Such tools the Tempter ever needs, To do the savagest of deeds; For them no vision’d terrors daunt, Their nights no fancied spectres haunt, One fear with them, of all most base, The fear of death, — alone finds place. This wretch was clad in frock and cowl, And shamed not loud to moan and howl, His body on the floor to dash, And crouch, like hound beneath the lash, While his mute partner, standing near, Waited her doom without a tear. XXIII. Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, Well might her paleness terror speak ! For there were seen in that dark wall, Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall; — Who enters at such grisly door, Shall ne’er, I ween, find exit more. In each a slender meal was laid, Of roots, of water, and of bread: By each, in Benedictine dress, Two haggard monks stood motionless; Who, holding high a blazing torch, Show’d the grim entrance of the porch: Reflecting back the smoky beam, The dark-red walls and arches gleam. Hewn stones and cement were display’d, | And building tools in order laid. XXIV. These executioners were chose, As men who were with mankind foes, And with despite and envy fired, Into the cloister had retired; | Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, — Strove, by deep penance, to efface Of some foul crime the stain; For, as the vassals of her will, Such men the Church selected still, — As either joy’d in doing ill, | Or thought more grace to gain, If, in her cause, they wrestled down, | Feelings their nature strove toown, By strange device were they brought, there, | They knew not how, nor knew not where. 7 | } | XXV. 13) And now that blind old Abbot rose, _ To speak the Chapter’s doom, | CanTo II. LHES CONVENT. 69 On those the watl was to enclose, Alive, within the tomb,®3 But stopp’d, because that woful Maid, Gathering her powers, to speak essay’d. Twice she essay’d, and twice in vain; Her accents might no utterance gain; Naught but imperfect murmurs slip From her convulsed and quivering lip; *Twixt each attempt all was so still, You seem’d to hear a distant rill — *Twas ocean’s swells and falls; For though this vault of sin and fear Was to the sounding surge so near, A tempest there you scarce could hear, So massive were the walls. XXVI. _ At length, an effort sent apart The blood that curdled to her heart, And light came to her eye, _ And color dawn’d upon her cheek, A hectic and a flutter’d streak, Like that left on the Cheviot peak, By Autumn’s stormy sky; And when her silence broke at length, Still as she spoke she gather’d strength, And arm’d herself to bear. It was a fearful sight to see Such high resolve and constancy, In form so soft and fair. XXVII. “I speak not to implore your grace; Well know I, for one minute’s space Successless might I sue: Nor do I speak your prayers to gain; For if a death of lingering pain, To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, Vain are your masses too. — I listen’d to a traitor’s tale, ‘L left the convent and the veil; For three long years I bow’d my pride, A horse-boy in his train to ride; And well my folly’s meed he gave, And forfeited, to be his slave, All here, and all beyond the grave. — He saw young Clara’s face more fair, He knew her of broad lands the heir, Forgot his vows, his faith forswore, And Constance was beloved no more. — Tis an old tale, and often told; But did my fate and wish agree, - ca Ne’er had been read, in story old, Of maiden true betray’d for gold, That loved, or was avenged, like me. XXVIII. ‘‘The King approved his favorite’s aim; In vain a rival barr’d his claim, Whose fate with Clare’s was plight, | For he attaints that rival’s fame With treason’s charge —and on they came In mortal lists to fight. Their oaths are said, Their prayers are pray’d, Their lances in the rest are laid, They meet in mortal shock; And, hark! the throng, with thundering cry, : Shout ‘ Marmion, Marmion! to the sky, De Wilton to the block!’ Say ye, who preach Heaven shall decide When in the lists two champions ride, Say, was Heaven’s justice here ! When, loyal in his love and faith, Wilton found overthrow or death, Beneath a traitor’s spear? How false the charge, how true he fell, This guilty packet best can tell.’? — Then drew a packet from her breast, Paused, gather’d voice, and spoke the Fests = XXIX. *¢ Still was false Marmion’s bridal staid; To Whitby’s convent fled the maid, The hated match to shun. ‘Ho! shiftsshe thus? ’ King Henry cried, ‘Sir Marmion, she shall be thy bride, If she were sworn a nun.’ One way remain’d — the King’s command Sent Marmion to the Scottish land: I linger’d here, and rescue plann’d For Clara and for me: This caitiff Monk, for gold, did swear, He would to Whitby’s shrine repair, And, by his drugs, my rival fair A saint in heaven should be. But ill the dastard kept his oath, Whose cowardice has undone us both. XXX. ‘¢ And now my tongue the secret tells, Not that remorse my bosom swells, 70 MARMION. But to assure my soul that none Shall ever wed with Marmion. Had fortune my last hope betray’d, This packet, to the King convey’d, Had given him to the headsman’s stroke, Although my heart that instant broke. — Now, men of death, work forth your will, For I can suffer, and be still; And come he slow, or come he fast, It is but Death who comes at last. XXXI. “‘ Vet dread me, from my living tomb, Ye vassal slaves of bloody Rome! If Marmion’s late remorse should wake, Full soon such vengeance will he take, That you shall wish the fiery Dane Had rather been your guest again. Behind, a darker hour ascends! The altars quake, the crosier bends, The ire of a despotic King Rides forth upon destruction’s wing; Then shall these vaults, so strong and deep, Burst open to the sea-winds’ sweep; Some traveller then shall find my bones Whitening amid disjointed stones, And, ignorant of priests’ cruelty, Marvel such relics here should be.”’ XXXII. Fix’d was her look, and stern her air: Back from her shoulders stream’d her hair; The locks, that wont her brow to shade, Stared up erectly from her head; Her figure seem’d to rise more high; Her voice, despair’s wild energy Had given a tone of prophecy. Appall’d the astonish’d conclave sate; With stupid eyes, the men of fate Gazed on the light inspired form, And listen’d for the avenging storm; The judges felt the victim’s dread; No hand was moved, no word was said, Till thus the Abbot’s doom was given, Raising his sightless balls to heaven: — << Sister, let thy sorrows cease; Sinful brother, part in peace! ”’ From that dire dungeon, place of doom, Of execution teo, and tomb, CanTo II. Paced forth the judges three; Sorrow it were, and shame, to tell The butcher-work that there befell, When they had glided from the cell Of sin and misery. XXXIII. A hundred winding steps convey That conclave to the upper day; But, ere they breathed the fresher air, They heard the shriekings of despair, And many a stifled groan: With speed their upward way they take, (Such speed as age and fear can make, ) And cross’d themselves for terror’s sake, As hurrying, tottering on: Even in the vesper’s heavenly tone, They seem’d to hear a dying groan, And bade the passing knell to toll For welfare of a parting soul. Slow o’er the midnight wave it swung, Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; To Warkworth cell the echoes roll’d, His beads the wakeful hermit told, The Bamborough peasant raised his head, But slept ere half a prayer he said; So far was heard the mighty knell, The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, Spread his broad nostril to the wind, Listed before, aside, behind, Then couch’d him down beside the hind, And quaked among the mountain fern, | To hear that sound’so dull and stern. | INTRODUCTION TO CANTO THIRD. ~ TO WILLIAM ERSKINE, ESQ.* | Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. | LIKE April morning clouds, that pass, With varying shadow, o’er the grass, And imitate, on field and furrow, ‘ Life’s chequer’d scene of joy and sorrow; Like streamlet of the mountain north, Now in a torrent racing forth, Now winding slow its silver train, | And almost slumbering on the plain; ! | } | * A Judge of the Court of Sessions, after- wards, by title, Lord Kinnedder. He died in 1822 INTRODUCTION TO CANTO ITI. 71 Like breezes of the autumn day, Whose voice inconstant dies away, And ever swells again as fast, When the ear deems its murmur past; Thus various, my romantic theme Flits, winds, or sinks, a morning dream. Yet pleased, our eye pursues the trace Of Light and Shade’s inconstant race; Pleased, views the rivulet afar, Weaving its maze irregular; And pleased, we listen as the breeze Heaves its wild sigh through Autumn ees: Then, wild as cloud, or stream, or gale, Flow on, flow unconfined, my delet: Need I to thee, dear Erskine, tell I love the license all too well, In sounds now lowly, and now strong, To raise the desultory song ? — Oft, when mid such capricious chime, Some transient fit of lofty rhyme To thy kind judgment seem’d excuse For many an error of the muse, Oft hast thou said, ‘If, still misspent, Thine hours to poetry are lent, Go, and to tame thy wandering course, Quaff from the fountain at the source; Approach those masters, 0’er whose tomb Immortal laurels ever bloom. Instructive of the feebler bard, Still from the grave their voice is heard, From them, and from the paths they show’d, Choose honor’d guide and practised road; Nor ramble on through brake and maze, With harpers rude, of barbarous days. *Or deem’st thou not our later time _ Yields topic meet for classic rhyme? Hast thou no elegiac verse For Brunswick’s venerable hearse? * What, not a line, a tear, a sigh, When valor bleeds for liberty ? — Oh, hero of that glorious time, When, with unrivall’d light sublime, — Though martial Austria, and though all The might of Russia, and the Gaul, Though banded Europe stood her foes — The star of Brandenburgh arose ! _ Thou could’st not live to see her beam » Forever quench’d in Jena’s stream. * Killed at Auerstadt, 1806. Lamented chief ! — it was not given To thee to change the doom of Heaven, And crush that dragon in its birth, Predestined scourge of guilty earth. Lamented chief ! — not thine the power, To save in that presumptuous hour, When Prussia hurried to the field, Andsnatch’d the spear, but left the shield; Valor and skill ’twas thine to try, And, tried in vain, ’twas thine to die. Ill had it seem’d thy silver hair The last, the bitterest pang to share, For princedoms reft,and scutcheons riven, And birthrights to usurpers given; Thy land’s, thy children’s wrongs to feel, And witness woes thou could’st not heal. On thee relenting Heaven bestows For honor’d life an honor’d close; And when revolves, in time’s sure change, The hour of Germany’s revenge, When, breathing fury for her sake, Some new Armenius shall awake, Her champion, ere he strike, shall come To whet his sword on BRUNSWICK’s tomb. “‘Or of the Red-Cross hero ¢ teach, Dauntless in dungeon as on breach: Alike to him, the sea, the shore, The brand, the bridle, or the oar: Alike to him the war that calls Its votaries to the shatter’d walls, Which the grim Turk, besmear’d with blood, Against the Invincible made good; Or that, whose thundering voice would wake : The silence of the polar lake, When stubborn Russ, and metall’d Swede, On the warp’d wave their death-game play’d; Or that, where Vengeance and Affright Howl’d round the father of the fight, Who snatch’d, on Alexandria’s sand, The conqueror’s wreath with dying hand.4 ‘*Or, if to touch such cord be thine, Restore the ancient tragic line, And emulate the notes that rung From the wild harp, which silent hung By silver Avon’s holy shore, Till twice an hundred years roll’d o’er; t Sir Sidney Smith. ¢ Sir Ralph Abercromby. 72 MARMION. When she, the bold Enchantress,* came, With fearless hand and heart on flame! From the pale willow snatch’d the treas- ure, And swept it with a kindred measure, Till Avon’s swans, while rung the grove With Montfort’s hate and Basil’s love, Awakening at the inspired strain, Deem’d their own Shakespeare lived again.”’ Thy friendship thus thy judgment wronging, With praises not to me belonging, In task more meet for mightiest powers, Wouldst thou engage my thriftless hours. But say, my Erskine, hast thou weigh’d That secret power by all obey’d, Which warps not less the passive mind, Its source conceal’d or undefined; Whether an impulse, that has birth Soon as the infant wakes on earth, One with our feelings and our powers, And rather part of us than ours; Or whether fitlier term’d the sway Of habit form’d in early day? Howe’er derived, its force confest Rules with despotic sway the breast, And drags us on by viewless chain, While taste and reason plead in vain. Look east, and ask the Belgian why, Beneath Batavia’s sultry sky, He seeks not eager to inhale The freshness of the mountain gale, Content to rear his whiten’d wall Beside the dank and dull canal? He’ll say, from youth he loved to see The white sail gliding by the tree. Or see yon weatherbeaten hind, Whose sluggish herds before him wind, Whose tatter’d plaid and rugged cheek His northern clime and kindred speak; Through England’s laughing meads he goes, And England’s wealth around him flows; Ask, if it would content him well, At ease in those gay plains to dwell, Where hedge-rows spread a_ verdant screen, And spires and forests intervene, And the neat cottage peeps between? No! not for these will he exchange His dark Lochaber’s boundless range: * Joanna Baillie. Not for fair Devon’s meads forsake Bennevis gray, and Garry’s lake. Thus, while I ape the measure wild Of tales that charm’d me yet a child, Rude though they be, still with the chime Return the thoughts of early time; And feelings, roused in life’s first day, Glow in the line, and prompt the lay. Then rise those crags, that mountain tower, Which:charm’d myfancy’s wakening hour. Though no broad river swept along, To claim, perchance, heroic song; Though sigh’d no groves in summer gale, To prompt of love a softer tale: Though searce a puny streamlet’s speed Claim’d homage from a shepherd’s reed; Yet was poetic impulse given, By the green hill and clear blue heaven. It was a barren scene, and wild, Where naked cliffs were rudely ‘piled; But ever and anon between Lay velvet tufts of loveliest green; And well the lonely infant knew Recesses where the wall-flower grew, And honey-suckle loved to crawl Up the low crag and ruin’d wall. I deem’d such nooks the sweetest shade The sun in all its round survey’d; And still I thought that shatter’d tower? The mightiest work of human power; | And marvell’d as the aged hind | With some strange tale bewitch’d my — mind, Of forayers, who, with headlong force, Down from that strength had spurr’d their horse, Their southern rapine to renew, Far in the distant Cheviots blue, And, home returning, fill’d the hall With revel, wassail-rout, and brawl. Methought that still with trump and clang | The gateway’s broken arches rang; Methought grim features, seam’d with scars, Glared through the window’s rusty a And ever, by the winter hearth, Old tales I heard of woe or mirth, Of lovers’ slights, of ladies’ charms, Of witches’ spells, of warriors’ arms} t Smailholm tower, in Berwickshire. Canto III. ‘THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 73 Of patriot battles, won of old By Wallace wight and Bruce the bold; Of later fields of feud and fight, When, pouring from their Highland height, The Scottish clans, in headlong sway, Had swept the scarlet ranks away. While stretch’d at length upon the floor, Again I fought each combat o’er, Pebbles and shells, in order laid, The mimic ranks of war display’d; And onward still the Scottish Lion bore, Andstill the scatter’d Southron fled before. Still, with vain fondness, could I trace, Anew, each kind familiar face, That brighten’d at our evening fire! From the thatch’d mansion’s gray-hair’d Sire,* Wise without learning, plain and good, And sprung of Scotland’s gentler blood; Whose eye, in age, quick, clear, and keen, Show’d what in youth its glance had been; Whose doom discording neighbors sought, Content with equity unbought; To him the venerable Priest, Our frequent and familiar guest, _ Whose life and manners well could paint | Alike the student and the saint; ' Alas! whose speech too oft I broke _ With gambol rude and timeless joke: ' For I was wayward, bold, and wild, | A self-will’d imp, a grandame’s child; But half a plague, and half a jest, Was still endured, beloved, caress’d. For me, thus nurtured, dost thou ask The classic poet’s well-conn’d task? Nay, Erskine, nay. — On the wild hill Let the wild heath-bell flourish still; Cherish the tulip, prune the vine, But freely let the woodbine twine, And leave untrimm’d the eglantine; Nay, my friend, nay. —Since oft thy praise Hath given fresh vigor to my lays; Since oft thy judgment could refine My flatten’d thought, or cumbrous line; | Still kind, as is thy wont, attend, _ And in the minstrel spare the friend. | * Robert Scott of Sandyknows, the grand- _ father of the poet. } a | | | Though wild as cloud, as stream, as gale, Flow forth, flow unrestrain’d, my Tale! CANTO THIRD. THE HOSTEL, OR INN. Le THE lifelong day Lord Marmion rode: The mountain path the Palmer show’d, By glen and streamlet winded still, Where stunted birches hid the rill. They might not choose the lowland road, For the Merse forayers were abroad, Who, fired with hate and thirst of prey, Had scarcely fail’d to bar their way. Oft on the trampling band, from crown Of some tall cliff, the deer look’d down; On wing of jet, from his repose In the deep heath, the black-cock rose; Sprung from the gorse the timid roe, Nor waited for the bending bow; And when the stony path began, By which the naked peak they wan, Up flew the snowy ptarmigan. The noon had long been pass’d before They gain’d the height of Lammermoor; Thence winding down the northern way Before them, at the close of day, Old Gifford’s towers and hamlet lay. fi. No summons calls them to the tower, To spend the hospitable hour. To Scotland’s camp the Lord was gone; His cautious dame, in bower alone, Dreaded her castle to unclose, So late, to unknown friends or foes. On through the hamlet as they paced, Before a porch, whose front was graced With bush and flagon trimly placed, Lord Marmion drew his rein: The village inn seem’d large, though rude; 3 Its cheerful fire and hearty foed Might well relieve his train. Down from their seats the horsemen sprung, With jingling spurs the court-yard rung; 74 MARMION, They bind their horses to the stall, For forage, food, and firing call, And various clamor fills the hall: Weighing the labor with the cost, Toils everywhere the bustling host. Ill. Soon, by the chimney’s merry blaze, Through the rude hostel might you gaze; Might see, where, in dark nook aloof, The rafters of the sooty roof Bore wealth of winter cheer; Of sea-fowl dried, and solands store, And gammons of the tusky boar, And savory haunch of deer, The chimney arch projected wide; Above, around it, and beside, Were tools for housewives’ hand; Nor wanted, in that martial day, The implements of Scottish fray, The buckler, lance, and brand. Beneath its shade, the place of state, On oaken settle Marmion sate, And view’d around the blazing hearth. Wis followers mix in noisy mirth; Whom with brown ale, in jolly tide, From ancient vessels ranged aside, Full actively their host supplied. IV. Theirs was the glee of martial breast, And laughter theirs at little jest; And oft Lord Marmion deign’d to aid, And mingle in the mirth they made; For though with men of high degree, The proudest of the proud was he, Yet, train’d in camps, he knew the art To win the soldier’s hardy heart. They love a captain to obey, Boisterous as March, yet fresh as May; With open hand and brow as free, Lover of wine and minstrelsy; Ever the first to scale a tower, As venturous in a lady’s bower :— Such buxom chief shall lead his host From India’s fires to Zembla’s frost. Vis Resting upon his pilgrim staff, Right opposite the Palmer stood; His thin dark visage seen but half, Half hidden by his hood. Canto IIi. Still fix’d on Marmion was his look, Which he, who ill such gaze could brook, Strove by a frown to quell; But not for that, though more than once Full met their stern encountering glance, The Palmer’s visage fell. VI. By fits less frequent from the crowd Was heard the burst of laughter loud; For still, as squire and archer stared On that dark face and matted beard, Their glee and game declined. All gazed at length in silence drear, Unbroke, save when in comrade’s ear Some yeoman, wondering in his fear, Thus whisper’d forth his mind :— *¢ Saint Mary ! saw’st thou e’er such sight ? How pale his cheek, his eye how bright, Whene’er the firebrand’s fickle light, Glances beneath his cowl! Full on our Lord he sets his eye; For his best palfrey, would not I Endure that sullen scowl.’ VII. But Marmion, as to chase the awe Which thus had quell’d their hearts, whe saw The ever-varying firelight show That figure stern and face of woe, Now call’d upon a squire :— ‘* Fitz-Eustace, know’st thou not some lay To speed the lingering night away ? We slumber by the fire.’? — VIII. ‘* So please you,’’ thus the youth rejoin’d, ** Our choicest minstrel’s left behind. Ill may we hope to please your ear, Accustom’d Constant’s strain to hear. The harp full deftly can he strike, And wake the lover’s lute alike; To dear Saint Valentine, no thrush Sings livelier from a spring-tide bush, No nightingale her lovelorn tune More sweetly warbles to the moon. Woe to the cause, whate’er it be, Detains from us his melody, Lavish’d on rocks, and billows stern, Or duller monks of Lindisfarne. CanTo III. Now must I venture, as I may, To sing his favorite roundelay.’’ IX. A mellow voice Fitz-Eustace had, The air he chose was wild and sad; Such have I heard, in Scottish land, Rise from the busy harvest band, When falls before the mountaineer, On Lowland plains the ripen’d ear. Now one shrill voice the notes prolong, Now a wild chorus swells the song: Oft have I listen’d and stood still, As it came soften’d up the hill, And deem’d it the lament of men Who languish’d for their native glen; And thought how sad would be such | sound On Susquehanna’s swampy ground, Kentucky’s wood-encumber’d brake, Or wild Ontario’s boundless lake, Where heart-sick exiles, in the strain, Recall’d fair Scotland’s hills again! 2 SONG. Where shall the lover rest, Whom the fates sever From his true maiden’s breast, Parted forever ? Where, through groves deep and high, Sounds the far billow, Where early violets die, Under the willow. CHORUS. Eleu loro, etc. Soft shall be his pillow. There, through the summer day, Cool streams are laving; There, while the tempests sway, Scarce are boughs waving; There, thy rest shalt thou take, Parted forever, Never again to wake, Never, O never! CHORUS. | _ &leu loro, etc. Never, O never! THE HOSTEL OR. INN, 75 XI. Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden’s breast, Ruin, and leave her? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war’s rattle With groans of the dying. CHORUS. Eleu loro, etc. There shall he be lying. Her wing shall the eagle flap O’er the false-hearted; His warm blood the wolf shall lap, Ere life be parted. Shame and dishonor sit By his grave ever, Blessing shall hallow it, — Never, O never! CHORUS. Eleu loro, etc. Never, O never! XII. It ceased, the melancholy sound; And silence sunk on all around. The air was sad; but sadder still It fell on Marmion’s ear, And plain’d as if disgrace and ill, And shameful death, were near. He drew his mantle past his face, Between it and the band, And rested with his head a space, Reclining on his hand. His thoughts I scan not; but I ween, That, could their import have been seen, The meanest groom in all the hall, That e’er tied courser to a stall, Would scarce have wish’d to be their prey, For Lutterward and Fontenaye. XIII. High minds, of native pride and force, Most deeply feel thy pangs, Remorse! Fear, for their scourge, mean villains have, Thou art the torturer of the brave! Yet fatal strength they boast to steel Their minds to bear the wounds they feel, "6 Even while they writhe beneath the smart Of civil conflict in the heart. For soon Lord Marmion raised his head, And, smiling, to Fitz-Eustace said, ‘< Js it not strange, that, as ye sung, Seem’d in mine ear a death-peal rung, Such as in nunneries they toll For some departing sister’s soul? Say, what may this portend? ?? — Then first the Palmer silence broke, (The livelong day he had not spoke, } ‘¢ The death of a dear friend.’’ 3 XIV. Marmion, whose steady heart and eye Ne’er changed in worst extremity; Marmion, whose soul could scantly brook, Even from his King, a haughty look; Whose accent of command controll’d, In camps, the boldest of the bold — Thought, look, and utterance fail’d him now, Fall’n was his glance, and flush’d his brow; For either in the tone, Or something in the Palmer’s look, So full upon his conscience strook, That answer he found none. Thus oft it haps, that when within They shrink at sense of secret sin, A feather daunts the brave; A fool’s wild speech confounds the wise, And proudest princes vail their eyes Before their meanest slave. XV. Well might he falter ! — By his aid Was Constance Beverley betray’d. Not that he augur’d of the doom, Which on the living closed the tomb: But, tired to hear the desperate maid Threaten by turns, beseech, upbraid; And wroth, because, in wild despair, She practised on the life of Clare; Its fugitive the Church he gave, Though not a victim, but a slave; And deem’d restraint in convent strange Would hide her wrongs, and her revenge. Himself, proud Henry’s favorite peer, Held Romish thunders idle fear, Secure his pardon he might hold, For some slight mulct of penance-gold. This judging, he gave secret way, When thestern priests surprised their prey. MARMION. Canto III. His train but deem’d the favorite page Was left behind, to spare his age; Or other if they deem’d, none dared To mutter what he thought and heard: Woe to the vassal, who durst pry Into Lord Marmion’s privacy ! XVI. His conscience slept—he deem’d her well, And safe secured in distant cell: But, waken’d by her favorite lay, And that strange Palmer’s boding say, That fell so ominous and drear, Full on the object of his fear, To aid remorse’s venom’d throes, Dark tales of convent-vengeance rose; | And Constance, late betray’d and scorn’d, All lovely on his soul return’d; Lovely as when, at treacherous call, She left her convent’s peaceful wall Crimson’d with shame, with terror mute, Dreading alike escape, pursuit, Till love, victorious o’er alarms, Hid fears and blushes in his arms. XVII. ‘* Alas !’’ he thought, ‘‘ how changed that mien ! ; How changed these timid looks have been, Since years of guilt, and of disguise, Have steel’d her brow, and arm’d her eyes! 4 No more of virgin terror speaks The blood that mantles in her cheeks; Fierce, and unfeminine, are there, Frenzy for joy, for grief despair; . And I the cause — for whom were given Her peace on earth, her hopesin heaven!— Would,’’ thought he, as the picture grows, ** IT on its stalk had left the rose! Oh, why should man’s success remove The very charms that wake his love! Her convent’s peaceful solitude Is now a prison harsh and rude. And, pent within the narrow cell, How will her spirit chafe and swell! How brook the stern monastic laws! The penance how — and I the cause! Vigil and worse ! ’?? — And twice he rose to cry, *‘ To horse ! ”” + i | scourge — perchance even — Canto III. And twice his Sovereign’s mandate came, Like damp upon a kindling flame; And twice he thought, ‘‘ Gave Inot charge She should be safe, though not at large? They durst not, for their island, shred One golden ringlet from her head.”’ XVIII. While thus in Marmion’s bosom strove Repentance and reviving love, Like whirlwinds, whose conténding sway I’ve seen Loch Vennachar obey, Their Host the Palmer’s speech had heard, And, talkative, took up the word: «« Ay, reverend Pilgrim, you, who stray From Scotland’s simple land away, To visit realms afar, Full often learn the art to know Of future weal, or future woe, By word, or sign, or star; Yet might a knight his fortune hear, If, knight-like, he despises fear, Not far from hence; —if fathers old Aright our hamlet legend told.’’ — These broken words the menials move, (For marvels still the vulgar love, ) And, Marmion giving license cold, His tale the host thus gladly told: — rhb THE HOST’S TALE. «A Clerk could tell what years have flown Since Alexander fill’d our throne, (Third monarch of that warlike name, ) And eke the time when here he came - To seek Sir Hugo, then our lord: A braver never drew a sword; A wiser never, at the hour Of midnight, spoke the word of power: The same, whom ancient records call The founder of the Goblin-Hall.* I would, Sir Knight, your longer stay Gave you that cavern to survey. Of lofty roof, and ample size, Beneath the castle deep it lies: To hew the living rock profound, The floor to pave, the arch to round, There never toil’d a mortal arm, It all was wrought by word and charm; And I have heard my grandsire say, That the wild clamor and affray Of those dread artisans of hell, Who labor’d under Hugo’s spell, THE HOSTEL, OR INN. 77 Sounded as loud as ocean’s war, Among the caverns of Dunbar. XX. ‘The King Lord Gifford’s castle sought, Deep laboring with uncertain thought ; Even then he muster’d all his host, To meet upon the western coast: For Norse and Danish galleys plied Their oars within the frith of Clyde. There floated Haco’s banner trim,®? Above Norweyan warriors grim, Savage of heart, and large of limb; Threatening both continent and isle, Bute, Arran, Cunninghame, and Kyle. Lord Gifford, deep beneath the ground, Heard Alexander’s bugle sound, And tarried not his garb to change, But, in his wizard habit strange, Came forth, — a quaint and fearful sight; His mantle lined with fox-skins white; His high and wrinkled forehead bore A pointed cap, such as of yore Clerks say that Pharaoh’s Magi wore: His shoes were mark’d with cross and spell, Upon his breast a pentacle; 38 His zone, of virgin parchment thin, Or, as some tell, of dead man’s skin, Bore many a planetary sign, Combust, and retrograde, and trine; And in his hand he held prepared, A naked sword without a guard. 99 f ‘Dire dealings with the fiendish race Had mark’d strange lines upon his face; Vigil and fast had worn him grim, His eyesight dazzled seem’d and dim, As one unused to upper day; Even his own menials with dismay Beheld, Sir Knight, the grisly Sire, In his unwonted wild attire; Unwonted, for traditions run, He seldom thus beheld the sun. — ‘T know,’ he said — his voice was hoarse, And broken seem’d its hollow force, — ‘TI know the cause, although untold, Why the King seeks his vassal’s hold: Vainly from me my liege would know His kingdom’s future weal or woe; But yet, if strong his arm and heart, His courage may do more than art, 78 MARMION. XXII. “Of middle air the demons proud, Who ride upon the racking cloud, Can read, in fix’d or wandering star, The issue of events afar; But still their sullen aid withhold, Save when by mightier force controll’d. Such late I summon’d to my hall; And though so potent was the call, That scarce the deepest nook of hell I deem’d a refuge from the spell, Yet, obstinate in silence still, The haughty demon mocks my skill. But thou — who little know’st thy might, As born upon that blessed night ®9 When yawning graves, and dying groan, Proclaim’d hell’s empire overthrown, — With untaught valor shall compel Response denied to magic spell.’ ‘Gramercy,’ quoth our Monarch free, ‘Place him but front to front with me, And, by this good and honor’d brand, The gift of Coeur-de-Lion’s hand, Soothly I swear, that, tide what tide, The demon shall a buffet bide.’ — His bearing bold the wizard view’d, And thus, well pleased, his speech re- new’d: — ‘There spoke the blood of Malcolm ! — mark: Forth pacing hence, at midnight dark, The rampart seek, whose circling crown Crests the ascent of yonder down: A southern entrance shalt thou find; There halt, and there thy bugle wind, And trust thine elfin foe to see, In guise of thy worst enemy: Couch then thy lance, and spur thy steed, Upon him! and Saint George to speed! If he go down, thou soon shalt know Whate’er these airy sprites can show; — If thy heart fail thee in the strife, I am no warrant for thy life.’ XXIII. ‘¢ Soon as the midnight bell did ring, Alone, and arm’d, forth rode the King To that old camp’s deserted round: Sir Knight, you well might mark the mound, Left hand the town, —the Pictish race, The trench, long since, in blood did trace; CanTo III. The moor around is brown and bare, The space within is green and fair. The spot our village children know, For there the earliest wild-flowers grow; But woe betide the wandering wight, That treads its circle in the night! The breadth across, a bowshot clear, Gives ample space for full career: Opposed to the four points of heaven, By four deep gaps are entrance given. The southernmost our Monarch past, Halted, and blew a gallant blast; And on the north, within the ring, Appear’d the form of England’s King, Who then, a thousand leagues afar, In Palestine waged holy war: Yet arms like England’s did he wield, Alike the leopards in the shield, Alike his Syrian courser’s frame, The rider’s length of limb the same: Long afterwards did Scotland know, Fell Edward * was her deadliest foe. XXIV. ‘« The vision made our Monarch start, But soon he mann’d his noble heart, And in the first career they ran, The Elfin Knight fell, horse and man; Yet did a splinter of his lance Through Alexander’s visor glance, And razed the skin— a puny wound. The King, light ieaping to the ground, With naked blade his phantom foe Compell’d the future war to show. Of Largs he saw the glorious plain, Where still gigantic bones remain, Memorial of the Danish war; Himself he saw, amid the field, On high his brandish’d war-axe wield, And strike proud Haco from his car, While all around the shadowy Kings _ Denmark’s grim ravens cower’d their wings. ’Tis said, that, in that awful night, Remoter visions met his sight, Foreshowing future conquests far, When our sons’ sons wage northern war; A royal city, tower and spire, Redden’d the midnight sky with fire, * Edward I. of England, surnamed ‘Long: — shanks,”’ ; A CanTo III. And shouting crews her navy bore, Triumphant, to the victor shore.* Such signs may learned clerks explain, They pass the wit of simple swain. XXV. “— How merited ? and when? Dur. ’Twas in the days Of Oswald’s grandsire, — mid Galwegian chiefs The fellest foe, the fiercest champion. His blood-red pennons scared the Cum- brian coasts, And wasted towns and manors mark’d his progress. His galleys stored with treasure, and their decks Crowded with English captives, who be- held, With weeping eyes, their native shores retire, He bore him homeward; but a tempest rose LEON. So far I’ve heard the tale, And spare thee the recital: — The grim chief, Marking his vessels labor on the sea, And loth to lose his treasure, gave com- mand To plunge his captives in the raging deep. Dur. Theresunk the lineage of a noble name, And the wild waves boom’d over sire and . SOD, Mother and nursling, of the House of Aglionby, Leaving but one frail tendril. — Hence the fate That hovers o’er these turrets, — hence the peasant, Belated, hieing homewards, dreads to cast A glance upon that portal, lest he see The unshrouded spectres of the murder’d dead; 582 Or the avenging Angel, with his sword, Waving destruction; or the grisly phan- tom Of that fell Chief, the doer of the deed, Which still, they say, roams thro’ his empty halls, And mourns their wasteness and _ their lonelihood. LEON. Such is the dotage Of superstition, father; ay, and the cant hoodwink’d atonement Of some foul deed done in the ancient warfare, When war was butchery, and men were wolves, Doth Heaven consign the innocent to suffering. I tell thee, Flora’s virtues might atone For all the massacres her sires have done Since first the Pictish race their stained limbs Array’d in wolf’s skin. Dur. Leonard, ere yet this beggar’s scrip and cloak Supplied the place of mitre and of crosier, Which in these alter’d lands must not be worn, I was superior of a brotherhood Of holy men, — the Prior of Lanercost. Nobles then sought my footstool many a _ league, There to unload their sins — questions of conscience Of deepest import were not deem’d too nice For my decision, youth. — But not even then, With mitre on my brow, and all the voice Which Rome gives to a father of her church, Dared I pronounce so boldly on the ways Of hidden Providence, as thou, young man, Whose chiefest knowledge is to track a Stag, Or wind a bugle, hast presumed to do. Lron. Nay, I pray forgive me. Father; thou know’st I meant not to presume Dur. Can I refuse thee pardon? — Thou art all Of prejudice. — Not for DRAMATIC PIECES. ae Act I. That war and change have left to the poor Durward. Thy father, too, who lost his life and fortune Defending Lanercost, when its fair aisles Were spoil’d by sacrilege — I blest his banner, And yet it prosper’d not. could — Thee from the wreck I saved, and for thy sake Have still dragg’don my life of pilgrimaa And penitence upon the hated shores I else had left forever. Come with me, And I will teach thee there is healing in The wounds which friendship gives. [ ZAxeunt, SCENE II. « The Scene changes to the Interior of the Castle. An apartment is discovered, in which there is much appearance of present poverty, mixed with some relics of former grandeur. On the wall hangs, amongst other things, a suit of ancient armor : But — all I by the table is a cou- — ered basket, behind, and concealed by at, the carcass of a roe-deer. There ts a smalt latticed window, which, ap- pearing to perforate a wall of great thickness, 1s supposed to look out towards the drawbridge. a loop-hole for musketry ; and, as 7s not unusual in old buildings, is placed 50 high up in the wall, that it is only ap- proached by five or six narrow stone steps. ELEANOR, the wife of OSWALD of DEVOR- GOIL, FLORA and KATLEEN, er Daughter and Niece, are discovered a work. The Jormer spins, the latter are embroidering. labor to examine the manner in which Lt is in the shape of ~ ELEANOR quits her own FLORA zs executing her task, and shakes | her head as tf dissatisfied. ELE. Fy on it, Flora! —this botch’ a work of thine Shows that thy mind is distant from > | task. The finest tracery of our old cathedralal Had not a richer, freer, bolder a Than Flora once could trace. : thoughts are wandering. = | a ScENE II. FLo. They’re with my father. Broad upon the lake The evening sun sunk down; huge piles of clouds, Crimson and sable, rose upon his disk, And quench’d him ere his setting, like some champion In his last conflict, losing all his glory. Sure signals those of storm. And if my father Be on his homeward road — ELE. But that he will not. Baron of Devorgoil, this day at least He banquets with the nobles — who, the next, Would scarce vouchsafe an alms to save his household From want or famine. friend, For one brief space we shall not need their aid. _FLo. (Goyfully). then his gift? How silly I that would, yet durst not tell it? I fear my father will condemn us both, That easily accepted such a present. Kat. Now, here’s the game a by- stander sees better Than those who play it. — My good aunt is pondering On the good cheer which Gullcrammer has sent us, And Flora thinks upon the forest venison. [ Aside. ELE. (40 FLo.). Thy father need not know on’t —’tis a boon Comes timely, when frugality, nay, absti- nence, Might scarce avail us longer. hoped Ere now avisit from the youthful donor, That we might thank his bounty; and perhaps My Flora thought the same, when Sun- day’s kerchief And the best kirtle were sought out, and donn’d To grace a work-day evening. FLo. Nay, mother, that is judging all too close! My work-day gown was torn — my. ker- chief sullied; Thanks toa kind What! knew you I had THE DOOM OF DEVORGOITL. 583 And thus — But, think you, will the gal- lant come? ELE. He will, for with these dainties came a message From gentle Master Gullcrammer, to in- timate — FLo. (greatly disappointed). crammer? Kat. There burst the bubble — down fell house of cards, And cousin’s like to cry for *t! [Aszde. ELE. Gullcrammer! ay, Gullcram- mer; thou scorn’st not at him? *Twere something short of wisdom in a maiden, Who, like the poor bat in the Grecian fable, Hovers betwixt two classes in the world, And is disclaim’d by both the mouse and bird. KAT. I am the poor mouse, And may go creep into what hole I list, And no one heed me — Yet I’ll waste a word Of counsel on my betters.—Kind my aunt, And you, my gentle cousin, were’t not better We thought of dressing this same gear for supper, Than quarrelling about the worthless donor? ELE. Peace, minx! Fito. Thou hast no feeling, cousin Katleen. Kat. So! Ihave brought them both on my poor shoulders: So meddling peace-makers are still re- warded: E’en let them to ’t again, and fight it out. Frio. Mother, were I disclaim’d of every class, I would not therefore so disclaim myself, As even a passing thought of scorn to waste On cloddish Gullcrammer. ELE. List to me, love, and let adversity Incline thine ear to wisdom. Look around thee — Of the gay youths who boast a noble name, Which will incline to wed a dowerless damsel ? And of the yeomanry, who, think’st thou, Flora, Gull- 584 Would ask to share the labors of his farm . An high-born beggar ?— This young man is modest FLo. Silly, good mother; shéepish, if you will it. ELE. E’en call it what you list — the softer temper, The fitter to endure the bitter sallies Of one whose wit is all too sharp for mine. FLo. Mother, you cannot mean it as you say; You cannot bid me prize conceited folly ? ELE. Content thee, child !— Each lot has its own blessings. This youth, with his plain-dealing honest suit, Proffers thee quiet, peace, and compe- LENGE, Redemption from a home, o’er which fell Fate Stoops like a falcon. — Oh! if thou couldst choose (As no such choice is given) ’twixt such a maic And some proud noble ! — Who, in sober judgment, Would like to navigate the heady river, Dashing in fury from its parent mountain, More than the waters of the quiet lake? Kat. Now can I hold no longer — Lake, good aunt? Nay, in the name of truth, say mill-pond, horse-pond; Or if there be a pond more miry, More sluggish, mean-derived, and base than either, Be such Gullcrammer’s emblem — and his portion ! FLo. I would that he or I were in our grave, Rather than thus his suit should goad me ! — Mother, Flora of Devorgoil, tho’ low in fortunes, Is still too high in mind to join her name With such a base-born churl as Gullcram- mer. Exes. You are trim maidens both! (70 Ftora.) Have you forgotten, Or did you mean to call to my remem- brance Thy father chose a wife of peasant blood? FLo. Will you speak thus to me, or think the stream DRAMATIC PIECES, Can mock the fountain it derives its _ source from? 4 My venerated mother! —jin that name Lies all on earth a child should chiefest honor; i" And with that name to mix reproach or — taunt, | Were only short of blasphemy to Heaven. | Err. Then listen, Flora, to that | mother’s counsel, | Or rather profit by that mother’s fate. Your father’s fortunes were but bent, not | broken, a Until he listen’d to his rash affection. Means were afforded to redeem his house, | Ample and large —the hand of a rich heiress Da Awaited, almost courted, his acceptance: He saw my beauty — such it then was | call’d, a Or such at least he thought it—the — wither’d bush, Whate’er it now may seem, had blossoms _ then, — 4 And he forsook the proud and wealthy heiress, t To wed with me and ruin — é Kat. (aside). The more fool, — Say I, apart, the peasant maiden then, | Who might have chose a mate from her _ own hamlet. ‘ ELE. Friends fell off, a And to his own resources, his own coun- sels, a Abandon’d, as they said, the thoughtless - prodigal, : Who had exchanged rank, riches, pomp, — and honor, # For the mean beauties of a cottage maid. = Fo. It was done like my father, - Who scorn’d to sell what wealth can never buy — True love and free affections. loves you! = | If you have suffer’d in a weary world, - Your sorrows have been jointly borne, — and love . a Has made the load sit lighter. | ELE. Ay, but a misplaced match hath that deep curse in’t, @ That can embitter e’en the purest streams _ | Of true affection. Thou hast seen me > seek, oi And he | oN ScENE II. With the strict caution early habits taught me, To match our wants and means — hast seen thy father, With aristocracy’s high brow of scorn, Spurn at economy, the cottage virtue, As best befitting her whose sires were peasants: : Nor can I, when I see my lineage scorn’d, Always conceal in what contempt I hold The fancied claims of rank he clings to fondly. FLo. Why wiil you do so — well you know it chafes him. ELE. Flora, thy mother is but mortal woman, Nor can at all times check an eager tongue. Kat. (aside). That’s no new tidings to her niece and daughter. ELE. O may’st thou never know the spited feelings That gender discord in adversity Betwixt the dearest friends and truest lovers! In the chill damping gale o1 poverty, If Love’s lamp go not out, it gleams but palely, And twinkles in the socket. FLo. But tenderness can screen it with her veil, Tillit revive again. By gentleness, good mother, How oft I’ve seen you soothe my father’s mood ! Kat. Now there speak youthful hope and fantasy ! [ Aside. Eve. That is an easier task in youth than age; Our temper hardens, and our charmsdecay, And both are needed in that art of soothing. _ Kar. And there speaks sad experience. [ dside. ELE. Besides, since that our state was utter desperate, Darker his brow, more dangerous grow his words: Fain would I snatch thee from the woe and wrath Which darken’d long my life, and soon must end it. [A knocking without; ELEANOR. shows alarm, THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 585 It was thy father’s knock, — haste to the gate. [Zxeunt FLORA and KATLEEN. What can have happen’d?— he thought to stay the night. This gear must not be seen. [As she ts about to remove the bas- het, she sees the body of the roe- deer. What have we here? a roe-deer ! — as I fear it, This was the gift of which poor Flora thought. The young and handsome hunter But time presses. _ L She removes the basket and the roe intoa closet. As she has done— Enter OSWALD of DEVORGOIL, FLORA, and KATLEEN. [He is dressed in a scarlet cloak, which should seem worn and old —ahead-piece, and old-fashioned sword — the rest of his dress that of a peasant. His countenance and manner should express the moody and irritable haughtiness of a proud man involved in calamity, and who has been ex- posed to recent insult. ' Osw. (addressing his wife) .— The sun hath set — why is the drawbridge lower’d? Ee. The counterpoise has fail’d, and Flora’s strength, Katleen’s, and mine united, could not raise it. Osw. Flora and thou! a goodly gar- rison To hold acastle, which, if fame says true, Once foiled the King of Norse and all his rovers. ELE. It might be so in ancient times, but now Osw. A herd of deer might storm proud Devorgoil. Kat. (aside to FLO.) You, Flora, know full well, one deer already Has enter’d at the breach; and, what is worse, The escort is not yet march’d off, for Blackthorn Is still within the castle. 586 FLo. In heaven’s name, rid him out, on’t ere my father Discovers he is here! before ? Kat. Because I staid him on some little business; I had a plan to scare poor paltry Gull- crammer Out of his paltry wits. FLo. Well, haste ye now, And try to get him off. Kat. I will not promise that. I would not turn an honest hunter’s dog, So well I love the woodcraft, out of shelter In such a night as this, far less his master: But I’ll do this, —I’ll try to hide him for you. Why went he not Osw. (whom his wife has assisted to take of his cloak and feathered cap) — Ay, take them off, and bring my peas- ant’s bonnet And peasant’s plaid—HI’ll_ oble it no further. Let them erase my name from honor’s lists, And drag my scutcheon at their horses’ heels; I have deserved it all, for I am poor, And poverty hath neither right of birth, Nor rank, relation, claim, nor privilege, To match a new-coin’d viscount, whose good-grandsire, The lord be with him, was a careful skipper, And steer’d his paltry skiff ’twixt Leith and Campvere — Marry, sir, he could buy Geneva cheap, And knew the coast by moonlight. FLo. Mean you the Viscount Ellon- dale, my father? What strife has been between you? Osw. O, a trifle! Not worth a wise man’s thinking twice about; — Precedence is a toy —a superstition About a table’s end, joint-stool, and trencher. Something was once thought due to long descent, And something to Galwegia’s oldest baron, — DRAMATIC PIECES. Act I, | But let that pass—a dream of the old time. . ELE. It is indeed a dream. Osw. (turning quickly) — upon her rather Ha! said ye? —let me hear these words more plain. ELE. Alas! they are but echoes of your own. 4 Match’d with the real woes that hover | o’er us, What are the idle visions of precedence, But, as you term them, dreams, and toys, and trifles, Not worth a wise man’s thinking twice upon ? 4 Osw. Ay, ’twas for you I framed that consolation, The true philosophy of clouted shoe And linsey-woolsey kirtle. I know, that minds a Of nobler stamp receive no dearer motive Than what is linked with honor. bons, tassels, Which are but shreds of silk and spangled tinse] — The right of place, which in itself is mo- mentary — A word, which is but air — may in them. selves, And to the nobler file, be steep’d so richly i In that elixir, honor, that the lack : Of things so very trivial in themselves Shall be misfortune. them O’er the wild waves — one in the deadly. | breach fs And battle’s headlong front —one _ the paths yb a Of midnight study,—and, in gaining these _ Emblems of honor, each will hold him-— Ys 4s self a Repaid for all his labors, deeds, and dangers. i What then should he think, knowing _ them his own, Who sees what warriors and what sages toil for, by The formal and establish’d marks of honor, ae Usurp’d from him by upstart insolence?- Rib- One shall seek for. | ScENE II. ELE. (who has listened to the last speech with some impatience) — This is but empty declamation, Oswald. The fragments left at yonder full-spread banquet, Nay, even the poorest crust swept from the table, Ought to be far more precious to a father, Whose family lacks food, than the vain boast, He sate at the board-head. Osw. Thou’lt drive me frantic! —I will tell thee, woman — Yet why to thee? There is another ear Which that tale better suits, and he shall hear it. [ Looks at his sword, which he has unbuckled, and addresses the rest of the speech to tt. Yes, trusty friend, my father knew thy worth, And often proved it—often told me of it. Tho’ thou and I be now held lightly of, And want the gilded hatchments of the time, I think we both may prove true metal still. *Tis thou shalt tell this story, right this wrong: Rest thou till time is fitting. [//angs up the sword. [Zhe Women look at each other with anxiety during this speech, which they partly overhear, They both approach OSWALD. ELE. Oswald, my dearest husband! FLo. My dear father ! Osw. Peace, both! — we speak no more of this. I go To heave the drawbridge up. E 24x72. KATLEEN mounts the steps towards the loop-hole, looks out, and speaks. Kat. The storm is gathering fast; broad, heavy drops Fall plashing on the bosom of the lake, And dash its inky surface into circles; The distant hills are hid in wreaths of darkness. *Twill be a fearful night. OSWALD re-enters, and throws himself into a seat. ELE. More dark and dreadful Than is our destiny, it cannot be. THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 587 Osw. (40 FLo.) Such is Heaven’s will — it is our part to bear it. We’re warranted, my child, from ancient story And _ blessed writ, to say, that song assuages The gloomy cares that prey upon our reason, And wake astrife betwixt our better feel- ings And the fierce dictates of the headlong passions. Sing, then, my love; for if a voice have influence To mediate peace betwixt me and my destiny, Flora, it must be thine. FLo. My best to please you! SONG. WHEN the tempest’s at the loudest, On its gale the eagle rides; When the ocean rolls the proudest, Thro’ the foam the sea-bird glides — All the range of wind and sea Is subdued by constancy. Gnawing want and sickness pining, All the ills that men endure; Each their various pangs combining, Constancy can find a cure — Pain, and Fear, and Poverty, Are subdued by constancy. Bar me from each wonted pleasure, Make me abject, mean, and poor; Heap on insults without measure, Chain me to a dungeon floor — I’ll be happy, rich, and free, If endow’d with constancy. ACT II. —Scene I. A Chamber in a distant part of the Castle. A large Window in the flat scene, sup- posed to look on the Lake, which ts oc- castonally illuminated by lightning. There ts a couch-bed in the room, and an antique cabinet. Enter KATLEEN, introducing BLACK- THORN. Kat. This was the destined scene of action, Blackthorn, 588 And here our properties. But all in vain, For of Gullcrammer we’ll see naught to- night, Except the dainties that I told you of. BLA. O, if he’s left that same hog’s face and sausages, He will try back upon them, never fear it. The cur will open on the trail of bacon, Like my old brach-hound. Kar. And should that hap, we’ll play our comedy, Shall we not, Blackthorn? be Owlspiegle Bia. And who may that hard-named person be? Kart. I’ve told you nine times over. BLA. Yes, pretty Katleen, but my eyes were busy In looking at you all the time you were talking; And so I lost the tale. ‘Kat. Then shut your eyes, and let your goodly ears Do their good office. Thou shalt BLA. That were too hard penance. Tell but thy tale once more, and I will hearken As if I were thrown out, and listening for My blood-hound’s distant bay. Kart. A civil simile ! Then, for the tenth time, and the last, — be told, Owlspiegle was of old the wicked barber To Erick, wicked Lord of Devorgoil. Bia. The chief who drown’d his cap- tives in the Solway? We all have heard of him. Kat. A hermit hoar, a venerable man — pentance In the fierce lord, and tax’d him with his guilt; But he, heart-harden’d, turn’d into deris- ion The man of heaven, and, as his dignity Consisted much in a long reverend beard, Which reach’d his girdle, Erick caused his barber, This same Owlspiegle, violate its honors With sacrilegious razor, and clip his hair After the fashion of a roguish fool, DRAMATIC PIECES. | = ACT is a BLA. This was reversing of our ancient. 2 proverb, ‘¥ And shaving for the devil’s, not for God’s sake. : Kat. True, most grave Black hens q and in punishment Of this foul act of scorn, the barbers S ghost e Is said to have no resting after death, : But haunts these halls, and chiefly this . same chamber, Where the profanity was acted, ine And clipping all such guests as slccay within it. Such is at least the tale our elders tell, With many others, of this haunted castes 4 Bia. And you would have me take” ; this shape of Owlspiegle, : And trim the wise Melchisedek ! — ie wonnot. 1 Kat. You will not! 3 BLA. No — unless you bear a part. Kat. What! can you not alone play 5 such a farce? Bia. Not I— I’m dull. foresters Still hunt our game in couples. you, Katleen, We danced at Shrovetide — then you were my partner; We sung at Christmas — you kept time with me; x And if we go a mumming in this busines By heaven, you must be one, or Master Besides, we . Look Cullévertmer a Is like to rest unshaven 4 Kat. Why, you fool: What end can this serve? Bia. Nay, I know not, i: 4 ners, Why, use makes perfect — who nda what may happen? sing our carol, As I have alter’dit, with some few on To suit the charicest and I will bear— _ [ Gives a paper. — Bia. Part in the gambol. study quickly. Is there no other ghost, then, haunts the castle, ae ScENE I, But this same barber shave-a-penny gob- fei. 1AT 2 I thought they glanced in every beam of moonshine, As frequent as a bat. Kat. I’ve heard my aunt’s high hus- band tell of prophecies, And fates impending o’er the house of Devorgoil; Legends first coin’d by ancient supersti- tion, And render’d current by credulity And pride of lineage. Five years have I dwelt, And ne’er saw anything more mischievous Than what I am myself. Bia. And that is quite enough, I war- rant you. But, stay, where shall I find a dress To play this — what d’ye call him— Owlspiegle? é Kat. (¢akes dresses out of the cabinet. ) Why, there are his own clothes, Preserved with other trumpery of the sort, For we’ve kept naught but what is good for naught. [She drops a cap as she draws out the clothes. Blackthorn lifts it, and gives it to her. Nay, keep it for thy pains — it is a cox- } f ? i » comb, — So call’d in ancient times, in ours a fool’s cap, — For you must know they kept a Fool at Devorgoil In former days; but now are well con- tented To play the fool themselves, to save ex- penses. Yet give it me, I’ll find a worthy use for 7t. I’ll take this page’s dress, to play the page Cockledemoy, who waits on ghostly Owl- splegle; And yet ’tis needless, too, for Gullcram- mer Will scarce be here to-night. Bua. I tell you that he will —I will uphold . His plighted faith and true allegiance Unto a sows’d sow’s face and sausages, THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 589 And such the dainties that you say he sent you, Against all other likings whatsoever, Except a certain sneaking of affection, Which makes some folks I know of play the fool, To please some other folks. Kat. Well, I do hope he’ll come. There’s first a chance He will be cudgell’d by my noble uncle — I cry his mercy — by my good aunt’s husband, Who did vow vengeance, knowing naught of him But by report, and by a limping sonnet Which he had fashion’d to my cousin’s glory, And forwarded by blind Tom Long the carrier; So there’s the chance, first of a hearty beating, Which failing, we’ve this after-plot of vengeance. © Buia. Kind damsel, how considerate and merciful ! But how shall we get off, our parts being play’d? Kat. For that we are well fitted: — here’s a trap-door Sinks with a counterpoise; — you shall go that way. I'll make my exit yonder — ’neath the window, A balcony communicates with the tower That overhangs the lake. Bua. ’Twere a rare place, this house of Devorgoil, To play at hide-and-seek in — shall we One day, my pretty Katleen? Kat. Hands off, rude ranger! no managed hawk To stoop to lure of yours. — But bear you gallantly; This Gullcrammer hath vex’d my cousin much, — I fain would have some vengeance. Bia. I'll bear my part with glee; — he spoke irreverently Of practice at a mark! Kart. That cries for vengeance. But I must go — I hear my aunt’s shrill voice ! My cousin and her father will scream next. I’m 59° ELE. (@¢ a distance). Katleen! Kat- leen! BLA. Hark to old Sweetlips. Away with you before the full cry open — But stay, what have you there? Kat. (with a bundle she has taken Jrom the wardrobe) — My dress, my page’s dress — let it alone. BLA. Your tiring-room is not, I hope, far distant; You’re inexperienced in these new habili- menisi- I am most ready to assist your toilet. Kat. Out, you great ass! was ever such a fool! [Runs off. BLA. (s272¢') ‘ O, Robin Hood was a bowman good, And a bowman good was he, And he met with a maiden in merry Sher- wood, All under the greenwood tree. Now give me a kiss, quoth bold Robin Hood, Now give me a kiss, said he, For there never came maid into merry Sherwood, But she paid the forester’s fee. I’ve coursed this twelvemonth this sly puss, young Katleen, And she has dodged me, turn’d beneath my nose, And flung me out a score of yards at once: If this same gear fadge right, I’ll cote and mouth her, And then! whoop! dead! dead! dead! She is the metal To make a woodman’s wife of !— [ Pauses a moment. Well —I can find a hare upon her form With any man in Nithsdale—stalk a deer, Run Reynard to the earth for all his doubles, Reclaim a haggard hawk that’s wild and wayward, Can bait a wild cat, — sure the devil’s in’t But I can match a woman —I’ll to study. [Sits down on the couch to exam- ine the paper. DRAMATIC PIECES. SAO Act Tim ScENE II. Scene changes to the inhabited apartment of the Castle, as in the last Scene of the preceding Act. A fire ts kindled, by which OSWALD sits in an attitude of deep and melancholy thought, without paying attention to what passes around him, ELMWANOR ?¢s busy in covering a table ; FLORA goes out and re-enters, as if busted in the kitchen. There should be some by-play — the Women whisper- ang together, and watching the state of OSWALD ; then separating and seeking to avoid his observation, when he case ally raises his head and drops it again, Lhis must be left to taste and manage- ment. Lhe Women,in the first part of the scene, talk apart, and as if fearful of being overheard ; the by-play of stop- ping occasionally, and attending to Os- WALD’S movements, will give liveliness , to the Scene. ELE. Is all prepared? — FLO. Ay: but I doubt the issue Will give my sire less pleasure than you — hope for. ELE. Tush, maid— I know thy father’s - humor better. ; He was high-bred in gentle luxuries; And when our griefs began, I’ve wept we | apart, While lordly cheer and high-fill’d cups” of wine im Were blinding him against the woe t@ come. He has turn’d his back upon a princely banquet; We will not spread his board — this night at least, Since chance hath better furnish’d — with dry bread, And water from the well. Linter KATLEEN, and hears the last speech. Kat. (astde). Considerate aunt! she deems that a good supper Were not a thing indifferent even to him Who is to hang to-morrow. Since she thinks so, We must take care the venison has due honor — z So much I owe the sturdy knave, Lance Blackthorn. ScENE II. FLo. Mother, alas! when Grief turns reveller, Despair is cup-bearer. to-morrow ? ELE. I have learn’d carelessness from fruitless care. Too long I’ve watch’d to-morrow; let it come And cater for itself—Thou hear’st the thunder. [ Low and distant thunder. This is a gloomy night — within, alas! [Looking at her husband. Still gloomier and more threatening. — Let us use Whatever means we have to drive it o’er, And leave to Heaven to-morrow. Trust me, Flora, *Tis the philosophy of desperate want To match itself but with the present evil, And face one grief at once. Away! I wish thine aid, and not thy counsel. [4s FLORA ts about to go off, GULLCRAMMER’S Woice 7s heard behind the flat scene, as if from the drawbridge. GUL. (dehind). Hillo — hillo — hilloa —hoa —hoa! [OSWALD raises himself and Lis- tens ; ELEANOR goes up the steps and opens the window at the loop-hole: GULLCRAMMER’S voice 7s then heard more distinctly. “suUL. Kind Lady Devorgoil — sweet Mistress Flora ! — The night grows fearful, I have lost my What shall hap way, And wander’d till the road turn’d round with me, And brought me back. For Heaven’s sake, give me shelter! _ Kart. (as?de). Now, as I live, the voice of Gullcrammer ! Now shall our gambol be played off with spirit; I'll swear I am the only one to whom That screech-owl whoop was e’er accept- able. Osw. What bawling knave is this, that takes our dwelling For some hedge-inn, the haunt of lated drunkards? THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 591 Ee. What shall I say?— Go, Kat- leen, speak to him, Kat. (aside). The game is in my hands — I will say something Will fret the Baron’s pride — and then he enters. (She speaks from the window) — Good sir, be patient ! We are poor folks —it is but six Scotch miles To the next borough town, where your Reverence May be accommodated to your wants; We are poor folks, an’t please your Rev- erence, And keep a narrow household —there’s no track To lead your steps astray — GuL. Nor none to lead them right. — You kill me, lady, If you deny me harbor. hence, And in my weary plight, were sudden death, Interment, funeral-sermon, tombstone, epitaph. Osw. Who’s he that is thus clamorous without ? (Zo ELE.) Thou know’st him? ELE, (confused). I know him? —No To budge from — yes — ’tis a worthy clergyman, Benighted on his way; — but think not of him. Kat. The morn will rise when that the tempest’s past, . And if he miss the marsh, and can avoid The crags upon the left, the road is plain. Osw. Then this is all your piety !— to leave One whom the holy duties of his office Have summon’d over moor and wilder- ness, To pray beside some dying wretch’s bed, Who (erring mortal) still would cleave to life, — Or wake some stubborn sinner to repent- ance, — To leave him, after offices like these, To choose his way in darkness ’twixt the marsh And dizzy precipice? ELE. What can I do? 592 Osw. Do what thou canst—the wealth- iest do no more; And if so much, ’tis well. bling walls, While yet they bear a roof, shall now, as ever, Give shelter to the wanderer.— Have we food? He shall partake it. — Have we none? the fast Shall be accounted with the good man’s merits And our misfortunes These crum- [He goes to the loop-hole while he speaks, and places himself there za room of his Wife, who comes down with reluctance. GUL. (wzthout). Hillo—hoa —hoa! By my good faith, I cannot plod it farther; The attempt were death. Osw. (speaks from the window) — Pa- tience, my friend, I come to lower the drawbridge. (Descends, and exit, Exe. O that the screaming bittern had his couch Where he deserves it, in the deepest marsh ! Kat. I would not give this sport for all the rent Of Devorgoil, when Devorgoil was rich- est ! (Zo ELE.) But now you chided me, my dearest aunt, For wishing him a horse-pond for his portion? ELE. Yes, saucy girl; you, then He was not fretting me. enough, And skill to bear him as some casual stranger, — But he is dull as earth, and every hint Is lost on him, as hail-shot on the cormo- rant, Whose hide is proof except to musket- bulets ! FLo. (afart). And yet to such a one would my kind mother, Whose chiefest fault is loving me too fondly, Wed her poor daughter? but, an it please If he had sense DRAMATIC PIECES, he i ; é raat fi lgy bd RY ACT IL. Enter GULLCRAMMER, his dress damdged by the storm ; ELEANOR runs to meet him, in or der to explain to him that she wished him to behave as a stranger. GULLCRAMMER, mustaking her ap- proach for an invitation to Samiliarity, advances with the air of pedantic conceit belonging lo his character, when OSWALD exters, — ELEANOR recovers herself, and assumes an air of distance — GULLCRAMMER 27s confounded, and does not know what to make of tt. Osw. The counterpoise has clean given way; the bridge Must e’en remain unraised, and leave ue open, : For this night’s course at least, to pass- ing visitants. — a What have we here? —is this the rever- end man? [We takes up the candle, and sur- veys GULLCRAMMER, whostrives lo sustain the inspection with confidence, while fear obviously contends with conceit and de- sire to show himself to the best advantage. GuL. Kind sir — or, good my lord, — my band is ruffled, E But yet ’twas fresh this morning. This fell shower Hath somewhat smirch’d my cloak, bil you may note It rates five marks per yard; my doublet — Hath fairly ’scaped — ’tis three-piled taf- feta. [Opens his cloak, and displays his doublet. ‘: Osw. A goodly inventory — Art thou a preacher ? GuL. Yea—TI laud Heaven and good Saint Mungo for it. Osw. ’Tis the time’s plague, when those that should weed follies tt Out of the common field, have their own minds r O’errun with foppery. — Envoys twixt heaven and earth, - Example should with precept join, to show us How we may scorn the world with all ts ; vanities, : a" <% SI . aA, Salle at ScENE II. GuL. Nay, the high heavens forefend that I were vain! - When our learn’d Principal such sound- ing laud Gave to mine Essay on the hidden quali- ties Of the sulphuric mineral, I disclaim’d All self-exaltment. And (turning ¢o the women) when at the dance, The lovely Saccharissa Kirkencroft, Daughter to Kirkencroft of Kirkencroft, Graced me with her soft hand, credit me, ladies, That still I felt myself a mortal man, Though beauty smiled on me. Osw. Come, sir, enough of this. That you’re our guest to-night, thank the rough heavens, And all our worser fortunes; be conform- able Unto my rules; these are no Saccharissas To gild with compliments. There’s in your profession, As the best grain will have its piles of chaff, A certain whiffler, who hath dared to bait A noble maiden with love tales and son- 4 nets; And if I meet him, his Geneva cap May scarce be proof to save his ass’s ears. Kat. (aside). Umph—I am strongly tempted; And yet I think I will be generous, And give his brains a chance to save his bones. Then there’s more humor in our goblin plot, _ Than in a simple drubbing. ELE. (apart to FLo.). What shall we do? If he discover him, He’ll fling him out at window. FLo. My father’s hint to keep himself .- unknown Is all too broad, I think, to be neglected. ELE. But yet the fool, if we produce his bounty, May claim the merit of presenting it; And then we’re but lost women for ac- cepting A gift our needs made timely. Kat. Do not produce them. E’en let the fop go supperless to bed, _ And keep his bones whole. THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 593 Osw. (¢o his Wife) — Hast thou aught To place before him ere he seek repose? ELE. Alas! too well you know our needful fare Is of the narrowest now, and knows no surplus. Osw. Shame us not with thy niggard housekeeping : He is a stranger — were it our last crust, And he the veriest coxcomb e’er wore taffeta, A pitch he’s little short of —be must share it, Tho’ all should want to-morrow. GUL. (partly overhearing what passes between them) — Nay, I am no lover of your sauced dainties — Plain food and plenty is my motto still. Your mountain air is bleak, and brings an appetite: A soused sow’s face, now, to my modest thinking, Has ne’er a fellow. fair ladies Of a sow’s face and sausages? [Wakes signs to ELEANOR. Fo. Plague on the vulgar hind, and on his courtesies ! The whole truth will come out ! Osw. What should they think, but that you’re like to lack Your favorite dishes, sir, unless perchance You bring such dainties with you. GuL. No, not z7z¢k me; not, indeed, Directly wz¢h me; but — Aha! fair ladies ! [ Wakes signs again. Kat. He’ll draw the beating down — Were that the worst, Heaven’s will be done! [ Aszde, Osw. (apart). What can he mean? — this is the veriest dog-whelp — Still he’s a stranger, and the latest act Of hospitality in this old mansion Shall not be sullied. GuL. Troth, sir, I think, under the ladies’ favor, Without pretending skill in second-sight, Those of my cloth being seldom con- What think these jurers Osw. I’ll take my Bible-oath that thou art none. [ Aszde. say still, That a sow’s face and sausages Osw. Peace, sir! O’er-driven jests (if this be one) are in- solent. FLO. (apart, seeing her mother uneasy.) The old saw still holds true —a churl’s benefits, Sauced with his lack of feeling, sense, and courtesy, Savor like injuries. [A horn is winded without ; a loud knocking at the gate. LEO. (without). Ope, for the sake of love and charity! [OSWALD goes to the loop-hole. GuL. Heaven’s mercy! should there come another stranger, And he half-starved with wandering on the wolds, The sow’s face boasts no substance, nor the sausages, To stand our reinforced attack! I judge, too, By this starved Baron’s language, there’s no hope Of a reserve of victuals. FLo. Go to the casement, cousin. then Kat. Go yourself, And bid the gallant, who that bugle winded, Sleep in the storm-swept waste; as meet for him As for Lance Blackthorn. —Come, I’ll not distress you; Ill get admittance for this second suitor, And we’ll play out this gambol at cross purposes. But see, your father has prevented me. Osw. (seems to have spoken with those without, and answers) — Well, I will ope the door; one guest already, er ie ci i. | ee 804 DRAMATIC PIECES. ACT ' GuL. I do opine, still with the ladies’ | Driven by the storm, has claim’d my favor, hospitality, a That I could guess the nature of our | And you, if you were fiends, were scarce supper: less welcome ‘ I do not say in such and such precedence | To this my mouldering roof, than omen The dishes will be placed — housewives, ignorance as you know, And rank conceit. I hasten to admit On such forms have their fancies; but, I you. [ Lctte ELE. (40 FLO.). The tempest hickoo : By that winded bugle, : I guess the guest that next will honor us. Little deceiver, that didst mock my troubles, Tis now thy turn to fear! FLo. Mother, if I knew less or more | | of this . Unthought-of and most perilous visitems tion, I would your wishes were fulfill’d on me, And I were wedded to a thing like yon. 5 GUL. (approaching). Come, ladies, — now you see the jest is threadbare. _ And you must own that same sow’s face — and sausages 4 Re-enter OSWALD with LEONARD, sup porting BAULDIE DURWARD. Oswaiti - takes a view of them, as formerly of GULLCRAMMER, den speabele ¥ 7 Osw. (40 Leo. ). By thy green cassock, : hunting-spear, and bugle, I guess thou art a huntsman? ‘ LEO. (lowing with respect) — ; A ranger of the neighboring royal forest, t Under the good Lord Nithsdale; hunts- - man, therefore, 4 In time of peace; and when the land has _ war, gs To my best powers a soldier. ‘ Osw. Welcome, as either. loved the chase, q And was a soldier once. — This aged - man, : What may he be? Dur. (recovering his breath) — Is but a beggar, sir, a humble mendicant, _ Who feels it passing strange, that home : I have 4 this roof, 4 Above all outeaes he should now crave _ shelter. a Osw. Why so? You’re welcome both 4 — only the word Scene II. Warrants more courtesy than our present means Permit us to bestow. A huntsman and a soldier May be a prince’s comrade, much more mine; And for a beggar — friend, there little - lacks, Save that blue gown and badge, and clouted pouches, To make us comrades too; then welcome both, And to a beggar’s feast. bread, And water from the spring, will be the best on’t; For we had cast to wend abroad this evening, And left our larder empty. GUL. Yet, if some kindly fairy, In our behalf, would search its hid recesses. — (4fart.) We'll not go supperless now — we’re three to one. — Still do I say, that a soused face and sausages I fear, brown Osw. (looks sternly at him, then at his wife) — There’s something under this, but that the present Is not a time to question. — ( 70 ELE.) Wife, my mood Is at such height of tide, that a turn’d feather Would make me frantic now, with mirth or fury! Tempt me no more — but if thou hast the things This carrion crow so croaks for, bring them forth; For, by my father’s beard, if I stand caterer, "Twill be a fearful banquet ! Ete. Your pleasure be obey’d — Come aid me, Flora. [ Lxeunt. [During the following speeches, the Women place dishes on the table. Osw. (40 Dur.). How did you lose your path? Dur. E’en when we thought to find it a wild meteor rest: a THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIZ. 595 Danced in the moss, and led our feet astray. — I give small credence to the tales of old, Of Friar’s-lantern told, and Will-o’-Wisp, Else would I say, that some malicious demon Guided us in a round; for to the moat, Which we had pass’d two hours since were we led, And there the gleam flicker’d and disap- pear’d, Even on your drawbridge. I was so worn down, So broke with laboring thro’ marsh and moor, That, wold I nold I, here my young con- ductor Would needs implore for entrance; else, believe me, I had not troubled you. Osw. And why not, father? —have you e’er heard aught, Or of my house or me, that wanderers, Whom or their roving trade or sudden circumstance Oblige to seek a shelter, should avoid The House of Devorgoil? Dur. Sir, I am English born — Native of Cumberland. Enough is said Why I should shun those towers, whose lords were hostile To English blood, and unto Cumberland Most hostile and most fatal. Osw. Ay, father. Once my grandsire plough’d and harrow’d, And sow’d with salt, the streets of your fair towns: But what of that?— you have the ’vant- age now. Dur. True, Lord of Devorgoil, and well believe I, That not in vain we sought these towers to-night, So strangely guided, to behold their state, Osw. Ay, thou wouldst say, twas fit a Cumbrian beggar Should sit an equal guest in his proud halls, Whose fathers beggar’d Cumberland — Graybeard, let it be so, I’ll not dispute it with thee. 596 (Zo LEONARD, who was speaking to FLORA, but, on being surprised, occupied himself with the suit of armor) — What makest thou there, young man? Leo. I marvell’d at this harness; it is larger Than arms of modern days. carved With gold inlaid on steel —how close the rivets — How justly fit the joints! gauntlet Would swallow twice my hand. How richly I think the [Ze ts about to take down some part of the armor ; OSWALD interferes. Osw. Do not displace it. My grandsire, Erick, doubled human strength, And almost human size — and human knowledge, And human vice, and human virtue also, As storm or sunshine chanced to occupy His mental hemisphere. After a fatal deed, He hung his armor on the wall, forbid- ding It e’er should be ta’en down. a prophecy, That of itself ’twill fall, upon the night When, inthe fiftieth year from his decease, Devorgoil’s feast is full. This is the era; But, as too well you see, no meet occa- sion Will do the downfall of the armor justice, Or grace it with a feast. There let it bide, Trying its strength with the old walls it hangs on, Which shall fall soonest. Dur. (looking at the trophy with a mixture of feeling) — Then there stern Erick’s harness hangs untouch’d, Since his last fatal raid on Cumberland ! Osw. Ay, waste and want, and reck- There is Still yoked with waste and want — have stripp’d these walls Of every other trophy. Antler’d skulls, DRAMATIC PIECES. Att Il. Whose branches vouch’d the tales old vassals told Of desperate chases — partisans and spears — Knights’ barred helms and shields —the shafts and bows, Axes and breastplates, of the hardy yeo- manry — The banners of the vanquish’d — signs these arms Were not assumed in vain, have disap- pear’d; Yes, one by one they all have disap- pear’ds =u : And now Lord Erick’s harness hangs alone, Midst implements of vulgar husbandry | And mean economy; as some old war- rior, Whom want hath made an inmate of an almshouse, Shows, mid the beggar’d spendebrits base mechanics, And bankrupt pedlers, with whom fate has mix’d him. Dur. Or rather like a pirate, whom the prison-house, Prime leveller next the grave, hath for the first time Mingled with peaceful captives, low in fortunes, But fair in innocence. Osw. (looking at DURWARD with sur prise) — Friend, thou art bitter! — Dur. Plain truth, sir, like the vuley copper coinage, Despised amongst the gentry, still finds value And currency with beggars. Osw. Be it s0, I will not trench on the immunities q I soon may claim to share. Thy features, too, Tho’ weather-beaten, and thy strain of language, Relish of better days. Come hither, friend, [ They speak apart And let me ask thee of thine occupation. [LEONARD looks round, and, Ste- ing OSWALD engaged qth Dur- WARD, and GULLCRAMMER with ELEANOR, approaches towards ScENE II. FLORA, who must give him an opportunity of doing so, with ob- vious attention on her part to give it the air of chance. The by-play here will rest with the Lady, who must engage the attention of the audience by playing off a little female hypocrisy and simple co- quetry. Leo. Flora FLo. Ay, gallant huntsman, may she deign to question Why Leonard came not at the appointed hour; Or why he came at midnight? Leo. Love has no certain lodestar, gen- tle Flora, And oft gives up the helm to wayward pilotage. To say the sooth— A beggar forced me hence, And Will-o’-Wispdid guide us back again. FLo. Ay, ay, your beggar was the faded spectre Of Poverty, that sits upon the threshold Of these our ruin’d walls. I’ve been un- wise, Leonard, to let you speak so oft with me; And you a fool to say what you have said. E’en let us here break short; and, wise at length, Hold each our separate way thro’ life’s wide ocean. LEo. Nay, let us rather join our course _ together, And share the breeze or tempest, doub- ling joys, Relieving sorrows, warding evils off With mutual effort, or enduring them With mutual patience. FLo. This is but flattering counsel — sweet and baneful; But mine had wholesome bitter in’t. Kat. Ay, ay; but like the sly apothe- cary, You’ll be the last to take the bitter drug That you prescribe to others. [They whisper. ELEANOR aa- vances to interrupt them, fol- lowed by GULLCRAMMER. ELE. What, maid, no household cares? Leave to your elders THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 507 The task of filling passing strangers’ ears With the due notes of welcome. Cui Be it thine, O, Mistress Flora, the more useful talent Of filling strangers’ stomachs with sub- stantials; That is to say, —for learned commen- tators Do so expound substantials in some places, — With a soused bacon-face and sausages. FLO. (apart). Would thou wert soused, intolerable pedant, Base, greedy, perverse, interrupting cox- comb! Kat. Hush, coz, for we’ll be well avenged on him, And ere this night goes o’er, else woman’s wit Cannot o’ertake her wishes. [She proceeds to arrange seats. OSWALD and DURWARD come Jorward in conversation. Osw. I like thine humor well. — So all men beg Dur. Yes—I can make it good by proof. Your soldier Begs for a leaf of laurel, and a line In the Gazette ;— he brandishes his sword To back his suit, and is a sturdy beggar.— The courtier begs a ribbon or a star, And, like our gentler mumpers, is pro- vided With false certificates of health and for- tune Lost in the public service. — For your lover Who begs a sigh, a smile, a lock of hair, A buskin-point, he maunds upon the pad, With the true cant of pure mendicity. ‘* The smallest trifle to relieve a Christian, And if it like your ladyship! ” [lx a begging tone Kat, (afart). This is a cunning knave, and feeds the humor Of my aunt’s husband, for I must not say Mine honor’d uncle. I will try a ques- tion. — Your man of merit tho’, who serves the commonwealth, Nor asks for a requital? { Zo DURWaARD. 598 Dur. Is a dumb beggar, And lets his actions speak like signs for him, Challenging double guerdon. — Now, Pll show How your true beggar has the fair advan- tage O’er all the tribes of cloak’d mendicity I have told over to you. — The soldier’s laurel, The statesman’s ribbon, and the lady’s favor, Once won and gain’d, are not held worth a farthing By such as longest, loudest, canted for them; Whereas your charitable halfpenny, Which is the scope of a true beggar’s suit, Is worth ¢wo farthings, and, in times of plenty, Will buy a crust of bread. FLo. (interrupting him, and address- ing her father) — Sir, let me be a beggar with the time, And pray you come to supper. ELE. (40 OSWALD, apart). Must he sit with us? [ Looking at DURWARD. Osw. Ay, ay, what else —since we are beggars all? When cloaks are ragged, sure their worth is equal, Whether at first they were of silk or woollen. ELE. Thou art scarce consistent. This day thou didst refuse a princely ban- quet, Because a new-made lord was placed above thee; And now Osw. Wife, I have seen, at public exe- cutions, A wretch that could not brook the hand of violence Should push him from the scaffold, pluck up courage, And, with a desperate sort of cheerfulness, Take the fell plunge himself — Welcome then, beggars, to a beggar’s feast ! GUL. (who has in the meanwhile seated himself) — But this is more.—A better countenance, DRAMATIC PIECES. ACT IL. Fair fall the hands that soused it ! ~— than this hog’s, 4a Or prettier provender than these same sausages, (By what good friend sent hither, shall be nameless — Doubtless some youth whom love hath made profuse, ) [ Smiling significantly at ELEANOR and FLORA. } . No prince need wish to peck at. Long, I ween, Since that the nostrils of this house (by metaphor, I mean the chimneys) smell’d a steam so grateful. — By your good leave I cannot dally longer. [ Helps himself. Osw. (places DURWARD above GULL- CRAMMER’). Meanwhile, sir, Please it your youthful learning to give place To gray hairs and to wisdom; and, more- — over, If you had tarried for the benediction GUL. (somewhat abashed). I said grace to myself. Osw. (20¢ minding him) — And waited for the company of others, It had been better fashion. Time haa been, I should have told a guest at Devorgoull Bearing himself thus forward, he was saucy. [ He seats himself, and helps the com- pany and himself in dumb-show, There should be a contrast be- twixt the precision of his arts- tocratic civility and the rude underbreeding of GULLCRAM= MER. a Osw. (having tasted the dish next him — Why, this is venison, Eleanor! Gui. Eh! What! Let’s see — ( Pushes across OSWALD and helps himself.) It may be venison — “¢ I’m sure ’tis not beef, veal, mutton, lamb, ; or pork; + Eke am I sure, that be it what it will, It is not half so good as sausages, € Or as a sow’s face soused. Osw. Eleanor, whence all this? a ScENE II. ELE. Wait till to-morrow, You shall know all.’ It was a happy chance That furnish’d us to meet so many guests —( Fills wine). Try if your cup be not as richly garnish’d As is your trencher.* Kat. (apart). My aunt adheres to the good cautious maxim Of ‘‘ Eat your pudding, friend, and hold your tongue.’’ Osw. (éastes the wine). It isthe grape of Bordeaux. Such dainties, once familiar to my board, Have been estranged from ’t long. [He again fills his glass, and con- tinues to speak as he holds it up. Fill round, my friends—here is a treacherous friend, now, Smiles in your face, yet seeks to steal the jewel, Which is distinction between man and brute — I mean our reason; this he does, and smiles. But are not all friends treacherous? One shall cross you Even in your dearest interests — one shall slander you — This steal your daughter, that defraud your purse; But this gay flask of Bordeaux will but borrow Your sense of mortal sorrows for a season, And leave, instead, a gay delirium. Methinks my brain, unused to such gay visitants, The influence feels already! — we will revel ! — Our banquet shall be loud !— it is our last. -Katleen, thy song. Kat. Not now, my lord —I mean to sing to-night For this same moderate, grave, and rev- erend clergyman; Pli keep my voice till then. Eg. Your round refusal shows but cottage breeding. * Wooden trenchers should be used, and the quaigh, a Scottish drinking cup: whence our word quaff. THE DOOM OF DEVORGOLL. 599 Kat. Ay, my good aunt, for I was cottage-nurtured, And taught, I think, to prize my own wild will Above all sacrifice to compliment. Here is a huntsman — in his eyes I read it, He sings the martial song my uncle loves, What time fierce Claver’se with his Cava- liers, Abjuring the new change of government, Forcing his fearless way thro’ timorous friends, And enemies as timorous, left the capi- tal To rouse in James’s cause the distant Highlands. Have you ne’er heard the song, my noble uncle ? Osw. Have I not heard, wench? — It was I rode next him — Tis thirty summers since — rode by his rein; We marched on thro’ the alarmed city, As sweeps the osprey thro’ a flock of gulls, Who scream and flutter, but dare no re- sistance Against the bold sea-empress. murmur, The crowds before us, in their sullen wrath, And those whom we had pass’d, gather- ing fresh courage, Cried havoc in the rear—-we minded them E’en as the brave bark minds the burst- ing billows, Which, yielding to her bows, burst on her sides, And ripple in her wake. — Sing me that strain, (70 LEo.) And thou shalt have a meed I seldom tender, Because they’re all I have to give — my thanks. LEo. Nay, if you’ll bear with what I cannot help, A voice that’s rough with hollowing to the hounds, I’ll sing the song even as old Rowland taught me. They did SONG. Air, —*‘ The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee.” To the Lords of Convention ’twas Clav- er’se who spoke, ** Ere the King’s crown shall fall, there are crowns to be broke: So let each Cavalier who loves honor and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dun- dee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it’s room for the bonnets of bonny Dundee! ”’ Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the Streets, The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat: But the Provost, douce man, said, ‘‘ Just e’en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee.”’ Come fill up my cup, etc. As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; But the young plants of grace they look’d couthie and slee, Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny Dundee ! Come fill up my cup, etc. With sour-featured Whigs the Grass- market was cramm/’d,* As if half the West had set tryst to be hang’d; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e, As they watch’d for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, etc. * Previous to 1784 the Grassmarket was the common place of execution at Edinburgh. DRAMATIC PIECES. Acr IL These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, ¥ And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; — But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dun- dee. Come fill up my cup, ete. He spurr’d to the foot of the proud Cas- tle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallant spoke : — ‘* Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three, For the love of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.”’ Come fill up my cup, etc. The Gordon demands of him which way he goes? —= ‘“< Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose ! Your Grace in short space shall hear tid- ings of me, ; Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. Come fill up my cup, etc. ‘“‘There are. hills beyond Pentland, and | lands beyond Forth, If there’s lords in the Lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North; ; There are wild Duvienee three thou- sand times three, Will cry Zozgh / for the bonnet of Bonny Dundeese i Come fill up my cup, etc. ‘‘ There’s brass on the target of barken’d bull- hide; There’s steel in the scabbard that dangles beside; The brass shall be burnish’d, the steel shall flash free, At atoss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee. ’ Come fill up my cup, etc. «¢ Away to the hills, to the caves, to thell rocks !— 4 Ere I own an usurper, I’ll couch with ; the fox ! — 4 ScENE II. And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of your glee, You have not seen the last of my bonnet and me!” Come fill up my cup, etc. He waved his proud hand, and the trum- pets were blown, The kettle-drums clashed, and the horse- men rode on, Till on Ravelston’s cliffs and on Clermis- ton’s lee, Died away the wild war-notes of Bonny Dundee. - Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle the horses, and call up the men, Come open your gates, and let me gae free, For it’s up with the bonnets of Bonny Dundee! ELE. Katleen, do thousing now. Thy uncle’s cheerful; We must not let his humor ebb again. Kat. But I'll do better, aunt, than if I sung, For Flora can sing blithe; so can this huntsman, As he has shown e’en now; let them duet it, Osw. Well, huntsman, we must give to freakish maiden The freedom of her fancy. — Raise the carol, And Flora, if she can, will join the measure. SONG. When friends are met o’er merry cheer, And lovely eyes are laughing near, And in the goblet’s bosom clear The cares of day are drown’d; When puns are made, and bumpers quaff'd, And wild Wit shoots his roving shaft, And Mirth his jovial laugh has laugh’d, Then is our banquet crown’d, Ah gay, Then is our banquet crown’d, THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. 601 When glees are sung, and catches troll’d, And bashfulness grows bright and bold, And beauty is no longer cold, And age no longer dull; When chimes are brief, and cocks do crow, To tell us it is time to go, Yet how to part we do not know, Then is our feast at full, Ah gay, Then is our feast at full. Osw. (rises with his cup in his hand )— Devorgoil’s feast is full— Drink to the pledge! [A tremendous burst of thunder fol- lows these words of the Song ; and the Lightning should seem to strike the suit of black Armor, which falls with a crash. All rise in surprise and fear except GULLCRAMMER, who tumbles over backwards and lies still. Osw. That sounded like the judgment peal — the roof Still trembles with the volley. Dur. Happy those, Who are prepared to meet such fearful summons. Leonard, what dost thou there? LEo. (supporting FLO.) The duty of a man — Supporting innocence. call, I were not misemploy’d. Osw. ‘The armor of my grandsire hath fall’n down, And old saws have spoke truth. — (J/us- ing.) The fiftieth year — Devorgoil’s feast at fullest! think of it — Leo. (4fting a scroll which had fallen with the armor) — This may inform us. — (Adtempts to read the manuscript, shakes his head and gives it to OSWALD) — But not to eyes unlearn’d it tells its tidings. Osw. Hawks, hounds, and revelling consumed the hours I should have given to study. (Looks at the manuscript. ) These characters I spell not more than thou, Were it the final What to 602 They are not of our day, and, as I think, Not of our language. — Where’s our scholar now, So forward at the banquet? Upon a point of learning? Leo. Here is the man of letter’d dig- nity, E’en in a piteous case. CRAMMER /orward, ) Osw. Art waking, craven? Canstthou read this scroll? Or art thou only learn’d in sousing swine’s flesh, And prompt in eating it? GuLL. Eh — ah! — oh— ho! — Have you no better time To tax a man with riddles, than the moment When he scarce knows whether he’s dead or living? Osw. Confound the pedant ?—Can you read the scroll, Or can you not, sir? If youcaz, pronounce Its meaning speedily. GUL. Caz I read it, quotha? When at our learned University, I gain’d first premium for Hebrew learn- ing, — Which was a pound of high-dried Scot- tish snuff, And half a peck of onions, with a bushel Of curious oatmeal, — our learned Prin- cipal Did say, ‘‘ Melchisedek, thou canst do anything !”’ Now comes he with his paltry scroll of Is he laggard (Drags GULL- parchment, And, ‘‘ Cav you read it?’’ — After such affront, The point is, if I w//. Osw. A point soon solved, Unless you choose to sleep among the frogs; For look you, sir, there is the chamber window, — Beneath it lies the lake. ELE. Kind master Gullcrammer, be- ware my husband. He brooks no contradiction —’tis his fault, And in his wrath he’s dangerous. GULL. (looks at the scroll, and mutters as if reading) — Hashgaboth hotch-potch — DRAMATIC PIECES. Act Il. A simple matter this to make a rout of — Len rashersen bacon, mish-mash venison, Sausagian soused-face—’Tis a simple catalogue Of our small supper — made o the grave sage Whose prescience knew this night that we should feast On venison, hash’d sow’s face, and sau- sages, And hung his steel coat for a supper bell. E’en let us to our provender again, For it is written we shall finish it, 7 And bless our stars the lightning left it us. Osw. This must be impudence or ig- norance ! The spirit of rough Erick stirs within me, — And I will knock thy brains out if thow falterest ! Expound the scroll to me! GULLS You’re over-hasty; And yet you may be right too— "Tis Samaritan, Now I look closer on’t, and I did take ‘ For simple Hebrew. Dur. ’Tis Hebrew to a simpleton, That we see plainly, friend— Give me the scroll. GuL. Alas, good friend! what would you do with it? z Dor. (takes it from him.) My best to read it, sir — The charac is Saxon, Used at no distant date within this dis- triets And thus the tenor runs — not in Samari- tan, f Nor simple Hebrew, but in wholesome English: — 4 ** Devorgoil, thy bright moon wanelll . And the rust thy harness staineth; : Servile guests the banquet soil q Of the once proud’ Devorgoil. ; But should Black Erick’s armor fall, Look for guests shall scare you all! They shall come ere peep of day, — Wake and watch, and hope and pray.” ae =e KAT. (¢o FLo.) Here is fine foolery? q An old wall shakes - At a loud thunder-clap— down comes a suit i a Of ancient armor, when its wasted braces 4 ScENE II. Were all too rotten to sustain its weight — A beggar cries out, Miracle !— and your father, Weighing the importance of his name and lineage, Must needs believe the dotard! Fio. Mock not, I pray you; this may be too serious. Kat. And if I live till morning, I will have The power to tell a better tale of wonder Wrought on wise Gullcrammer. I'll go prepare me. PE*12, FLo. I have not Katleen’s spirit, yet I hate This Gullcrammer too heartily to stop Any disgrace that’s hasting towards him. Osw. (fo whom the Beggar has been again reading the scroll ). *Tis a strange prophecy!— The silver moon, . Now waning sorely, is our ancient bear- ing — Strange and unfitting guests — GUL. (interrupting hin). the matter Is, as you say, all moonshine in the water. Osw. How mean you, sir? (threaten- Ay, ay, ing.) GUL. To show that I can rhyme With yonder bluegown. Give me breath and time, I will maintain, in spite of his pretense, Mine exposition had the better sense — It spoke good victuals and increase of cheer; And his, more guests to eat what we have here — An increment right needless. Osw. Get thee gone! To kennel, hound! _ Gut. The hound will have his bone. [ Takes up the platter of meat and a flask. Osw. Flora, show him his chamber — take him hence, Or, by the name I bear, I'll see his brains ! GUL. Ladies, good-night!—TI spare you, sir, the pains. [Zxit, tehted by FLORA with a lamp. THE DOOM OF DEVORGOLL. 603 Osw. The owl is fled.—I’ll net to bed to-night: There is some change impending o’er this house, For good or ill. I would some holy man Were here, to counsel us what we should do. Yon witless thin-faced gull is but a cas- sock Stuff’d out with chaff and straw. Dur. (assuming an air of dignity). I have been wont, In other days, to point to erring mortals The rock which they should anchor on. [He holds up a Cross — the rest take a posture of devotion, and the Scene closes. ACT III. — ScEngE I. A ruinous Anteroom in the Castle. Enter KATLEEN, fantastically dressed to play the character of Cockledemoy, with the visor in her hand, Kat. I’ve scarce had time to glance at my sweet person, Yet this much could I see, with half a glance, ' My elfish dress becomes me —I’ll not mask me Till I have seen Lance Blackthorn. Lance, I say! [ Cadls. Blackthorn, make haste! Enter BLACKTHORN, half dressed as Owdlspregle. Bia. Here am I — Blackthorn in the upper half, Much at your service; but my nether parts Are goblinized and Owlspiegled. much ado To get these trankums on. Erick Kept no good house, and starved his quondam barber. KaT. Peace, ass, and hide you — Gull- crammer is coming; He left the hall before, but then took fright, And e’en sneak’d back. The Lady Flora lights him — Trim occupation for her ladyship ! I had I judge Lord 604 Had you seen Leonard, when she left the hall On such fine errand! Bia. This Gullcrammer shall have a bob extraordinary For my good comrade’s sake. — But tell me, Katleen, What dress is this of yours? Kart. A page’s, fool! Bia. Iam accounted no great scholar, But ’tis a page that I would fain peruse A little closer. [ Approaches her. Kart. Put on your spectacles, And try if you can read it at this distance, ' For you shall come no nearer. Bua. But is there nothing, then, save rank imposture, In all these tales of goblinry at Devor- goil? Kar. My aunt’s grave lord thinks other- wise, supposing That his great name so interests the Heavens, That miracles must needs bespeak its fall. I would that I were in a lowly cottage, Beneath the greenwood, on its walls no armor To court the levin-bolt BLA. And a kind husband, Katleen, To ward such dangers as must needs come nigh, — My father’s cottage stands so low and lone, That you would think it solitude itself; The greenwood shields it from the north- ern blast, And, in the woodbine round its latticed casement, The linnet’s sure to build the earliest nest In all the forest. Kat. Peace, you fool, —they come. [FLora Jléghfs GULLCRAMMER across the Stage. Kat. (when they have passed) — Away with you! On with your cloak —be ready at the signal. Buia. And shall we talk of that same cottage, Katleen, At better leisure? I have much to say In favor of my cottage. Kart. If you will be talking, You know I can’t prevent you, DRAMATIC PIECES. nell = no RG BEX i Py — Acr III. BLA. That’s enough, - (Aside.) I shall have leave, I see, toe spell the page : A little closer, when the due time comes. SCENE II. Scene changes to GULLCRAMMER’S sleep- ing Apartment. He enters, ushered in by FLORA, who sets on the table a flash, i with the lamp. : Fo. A flask, in case your Reverence be athirsty; “ A light, in case your Reverence be afear’d; — . And so, sweet slumber to your Rever- ence. GUL. Kind Mistress Flora, will you? — eh! eh! eh! FLo. Will I what? GUL. Tarry a little? FLO. (smzling). Kind Master Gull- crammer, cere How can you ask me aught so unbecom- ing? ae Oh, fie, fie, fie! — Believe me, Mistress Flora, ; Tis not for that— but being guided through zh Such dreary galleries, stairs, and suites . of rooms, To this same cubicle, I’m somewhat loth To bid adieu to pleasant company. FLo. A flattering compliment ! — In plain truth, you are frighten’d. GuL. What! frighten’d?— | — 72 am not timorous. . FLo. Perhaps you’ve heard this is our haunted chamber ? But then it is our best. — Your Rever- ence knows, That in all tales which turn upona ghost, — Your traveller belated has the luck To enjoy the haunted room — it is a rule: — 3 To some it were a hardship, but to you, Who area scholar, and not timorous GuL. I did not say I was not timorous, I said I was not temerarious. — I’ll to the hall again. FLo. You’ll do your pleasure, But you have somehow moved my father’s anger, ScenE II. And you had better meet our playful Owlspiegle — So is our goblin call’d — than face Lord Oswald. GUL. Owlspiegle ? — THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL. It is an uncouth and outlandish name, And in mine ears sounds fiendish. Fio. Hush, hush, hush! Perhaps he hears us now — (77 an under- tone) — A merry spirit; None of your elves that pinch folks black and blue, For lack of cleanliness. GuL. As for that, Mistress Flora, My taffeta doublet hath been duly brush’d, My shirt hebdomadal put on this morn- ing. 5 Why, you need fear no goblins. But this Owlspiegle Is of another class; — yet has his frolics; Cuts hair, trims beards, and plays amid his antics The office of a sinful mortal barber. Such is at least the rumor. GuL. He will not cut my clothes, or scar my face, Or draw my blood? FLo. Enormities like these Were never charged against him. GuL. And, Mistress Flora, would you smile on me, If, prick’d by the fond hope of your ap- proval, I should endure this venture ? FLO. I do hope I shall have cause to smile. GUL. Well! in that hope I will embrace the achievement for thy sake. [ She zs going. Yet, stay, stay, stay!—on_ second thoughts I will not — I’ve thought on it, and will the mortal cudgel Rather endure than face the ghostly razor ! Your crab-tree’s tough, but blunt, — your razor’s polish’d, But, as the proverb goes, ’tis cruel sharp. I'll to thy father, and unto his pleasure Submit these destined shoulders. FLo. But you shall not — Believe me, sir, you shall not; he is desperate, | 605 And better far be trimm’d by ghost or goblin, Than by my sire in anger; —there are stores Of hidden treasure, too, and Heaven knows what, Buried among these ruins—you shall stay. (Apart.) And if indeed there be such sprite as Owlspiegle, And, lacking him, that thy fear plague thee not Worse than a goblin, I have miss’d my purpose, Which else stands good in either case. — Good-night, sir. [ZLa2t, and double locks the door. GuL. Nay, holdye, hold! Nay, gentle Mistress Flora, Wherefore this ceremony? — She has lock’d me in, And left me to the goblin ! — (Listening. ) So, so, so! I hear her light foot trip to such a dis- tance, That I believe the castle’s breadth divides me From human company. — I’m ill at ease — But if this citadel (daying his hand on his stomach) were better victual’d, It would be better mann’d. [ Sz¢ts down and drinks. She has a footstep light, and taper ankle. [ Chuckles, Aha! that ankle! yet, confound it too, But for those charms Melchisedek had been Snug in his bed at Mucklewhame —I say, Confound her footstep, and her instep too, To use a cobbler’s phrase. — There I was quaint. Now, what to do in this vile circumstance, To watch or go to bed, I can’t deter- mine; Were I a-bed, the ghost might catch me napping, And if I watch, my terrors will increase As ghostly hours approach. I'll to my bed E’en in my taffeta doublet, shrink my head gOO Beneath the clothes—leave the lamp burning there, [Sets ct on the table. And trust to fate the issue. [He lays aside his cloak, and brushes tt, as from habit, start- img at every moment; tes a napkin over his head; then shrinks beneath the bed-clothes. fle starts once or twice, and at length seems to go to sleep, A bell tolls ONE. He leaps up in his bed, GuL. I had just coax’d myself to sweet forgetfulness, And that confounded bell, I hate all bells, Except a dinner-bell—and yet I lie, too, — I love the bell that soonshall tell the parish Of Gabblegoose, Melchisedek’s incum- bent — And shall the future minister of Gabble- goose, Whom his parishioners will soon require To exorcise their ghosts, detect their witches, Lie shivering in his bed fora pert goblin, Whom, be he switch’d or cocktail’d, horn’d or poll’d, A few tight Hebrew words will soon send packing? Tush ! I willrouse the parson up within me, And bid defiance (A distant noise.) In the name of Heaven, What sounds are these? — O Lord! this comes of rashness ! [Draws his head down under the bed-clothes. Duet without, between OWLSPIEGLE and COCKLEDEMOY. OwWLs. Cockledemoy, My boy, my boy, COcCKL. Here, father, here. Owts. Nowthepole-star’s redand burning, And the witch’s spindle turning, Appear, appear! GUL. (who has again raised himself, and listened with great terror to the Duet) — I have heard of the devil’s dam before, But never of his child. Now Heaven deliver me. DRAMATIC PIECES. ee AcT I. The Papists have the better of us there, ~— They have their Latin prayers, cut and dried, a And pat for such occasion. —I can think On naught but the vernacular. OwLs. Cockledemoy ! My boy, my boy, We'll sport us here — COCKL. Our gambols play, Like elve and fay; OwLs. And domineer, ; Boru. Laugh, frolic, and frisk, till the morning appear. COCKL. Lift latch — open clasp—_ Shoot bolt —and burst hasp! [7%e door opens with violence. L:nter BLACKTHORN as OWL- SPIEGLE, fantastically dressed as a Spanish Barber, tall, thin, emaciated, and ghostly ; Kat- LEEN, @s COCKLEDEMOY, af- tends as his page. Au their manners, tones, and motions are fantastic, as those of Gob- fins. They make two or three times the circuit of the Room, without seeming to see GULL- CRAMMER. They then resume their Chant, or Recitative. OwLs. Cockledemoy ! My boy, my boy, , What wilt thou do that will give thee joy? . Wilt thou ride on the midnight owl? CockL. No; for the weather is stormy and foul. be Owls. Cockledemoy ! | My boy, my boy, « What wilt thou do that can give thee joy? a With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat, 4 Wilt thou fight a traverse with the castle cat? a CockKL. Oh no! she has claws, and I like not that. &s GuL. I see the devil is a doting father, — And spoils his children —’tis the surest — way ; To make curst imps of me not — oa or i Gs ar them. They se i ats may ‘ “ a . 2 SCENE II. What will they think on next? It must be own’d, They have a dainty choice of occupations. OWLS. Cockledemoy ! My boy, my boy, What shall we do that can give thee joy? Shall we go seek for a cuckoo’s nest? COCKL. That’s best, that’s best! Boru. About, about, Like an elvish scout, The cuckoo’s a gull, and we’ll soon find him out. [They search the room with mops and mows. At length COCKLE- DEMOY jumps on the bed. GULL- CRAMMER razses himself half up, supporting himself by his hands. COCKLEDEMOY does the same, and grins at him, then skips SJrom the bed, and runs to OWL- SPIEGLE. I’ve found the nest, And in it a guest, With a sable cloak and a taffeta vest; He must be wash’d,and trimm’d, and drest, To please the eyes he loves the best. That’s best, that’s best. He must be shaved, and trimm’d and drest, To please the eyes he loves the best. [Zhey arrange shaving things on the table, and sing as they pre- pare them. BoTH. Know that all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, Of the make-believe world, be- comes forfeit to us. OWLS. (sharpening his razor) — The sword this is made of was lost in a fray By a fop, who first bullied and then ran away; And the strap, from the hide of a lame racer, sold By Lord Match, to his friend, for some hundreds in gold. COCKL. OwlLs. Boru. THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL, 507 BotH. For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, Of the make-believe world, be- comes forfeit to us. COCKL. (Placing the napkin) — And this cambric napkin, so white and so fair, At an usurer’s funeral I stole from the heir. [ Drops something from a vial, as going to make suds. This dewdrop I caught from one eye of his mother, Which wept, while she ogled the parson with t’other. BoTH. For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, Of the make-believe world, be- comes forfeit to us (arranging the lather and the basin) — My soap-ball is of the mild al- kali made, Which the soft dedicator em- ploys in his trade; And it froths with the pith of a promise, that’s sworn By a lover at night, and forgot on the morn. BoTH. For all of the humbug, the bite, and the buz, Of the make-believe world, be- comes forfeit to us. Halloo, halloo, The blackcock crew, Thrice shriek’d hath the owl, thrice croak’d hath the raven, Here ho! Master Gullcrammer, rise and be shaven? OwLS. Da capo. GUL. (who has been observing them). I’]l pluck a spirit up, they’re merry gob- lins, And will deal mildly. humor; Besides, my beard lacks trimming. [He rises from his bed, and ad- vances with great symptoms of trepidation, but affecting an air I will soothe their ee! we | a. | 608 DRAMATIC PIECES. Act II, of composure. The Goblins re- ceive him with fantastic cere- mony. Gentlemen, ’tis your will I should be trimm’d — E’en do your pleasure. [ Zhey point to a seat — he sits, Think, howsoe’er, Of me as one who hates to see his blood; Therefore I do beseech you, signior, Be gentle in your craft. I know those barbers, One would have harrows driven across his visnomy, Rather than they should touch it witha razor. OWLSPIEGLE shaves GULLCRAMMER while COCKLEDEMOY sz7gs. Father never started hair, Shaved too close, or left too bare — Father’s razor slips as glib As from courtly tongue a fib. Whiskers, mustache, he can trim in Fashion meet to please the women; Sharp’s his blade, perfumed his lather ! Happy those gre trimm’d by father! GuL. That’s a good boy. I love to hear a child Stand for his father, if he were the devil. [ Ze motions to rise, Craving your pardon, sir.— What! sit again ? My hair lacks not your scissors. [OWLSPIEGLE @vszsts on his sitting. Nay, if you’re peremptory, I’ll ne’er dis- pute it, Nor eat the cow and choke upon the tail — E’en trim me to your fashion. [OWLSPIEGLE cuds his hair, and shaves his head ridiculously. COCKLEDEMOY (sings as before). Hair-breadth ’scapes, and hair-breadth snares, Hair-brain’d follies, ventures, cares, Part when father clips your hairs. If there is a hero frantic, Or a lover too romantic; — If threescore seeks second spouse, Or fourteen lists lover’s vows, Bring them here — for a Scotch boddle, Owlspiegle shall trim their noddle. [ They take the napkin from about GULLCRAMMER’S) neck. fle makes bows of acknowledement, which they return fantastically, and sing — a Thrice crow’d hath the blackcock, thrice croak’d hath the raven, And Master Melchisedek Gullcrammer’s shaven ! GuL. My friends, you are too musical for me, But though I cannot cope with you in song, I would, in humble prose, inquire of you, — If that you will permit me to acquit Even with the barber’s pence the barber’s service ? [ They shake their heads, Or if there is aught else that I can do for you, Sweet Master Owlspiegle, or your loving child, The hopeful Cockle’ moy? CocKL. Sir, you have been trimm’d of late; Smooth’s your chin, and bald your pate; Lest cold rheums should work you harm, Here’s a cap to keep you warm. GuL. Welcome, as Fortunatus’ wish- ing cap, For ’twas a cap that I was wishing for. (There I was quaint in spite of mortal terror.) : [As he puts on the cap, a pair of ass’s ears disengage themselves, Upon my faith, it is a dainty head-dress, _ And might become an alderman! — — Thanks, sweet Monsieur, Thou’rt a considerate youth. [ Both Goblins bow with ceremony to GULLCRAMMER, who returns their salutation, OWLSPEIGLE descends by the trap-door, COCKLEDEMOY springs out at window. . SONG (without). ; OwL. Cockledemoy, my hope, my care, Where art thou now, O tell mewhere | CocKL. Up in the sky, = On the bonny dragonfly, el - | a : Scene III. Come, father, come you too — She has four wings andstrengthenow, And her long body has room for two. GuL. Cockledemoy now is a naughty brat — Would have the poor old stiff-rump’d devil, his father, Peril his fiendish neck. All boys are thoughtless. SONG. ~ Ow. Which way didst thou take? CockL. I have fallen in the lake — Help, father, for Beelzebub’s sake. GuL. The imp is drown’d —a strange death for a devil! O, may all boys take warning, and be civil; Respect their loving sires, endure a chid- ing, Norroam by night on dragonflies a-riding ! COCKL. (szzgs). Now merrily, merrily, row I to shore, My bark is a bean-shell, a straw for an oar, OWL. (s¢mgs). My life, my joy, My Cockledemoy ! GuL. I can bear this no longer — thus children are spoil’d. (Strikes into the tune.) — Master Owl- spiegle, hoy! He deserves to.be whipp’d, little Cockle- demoy ! _ [ Their voices are heard as ifdying away. GuL. They’re gone!— Now, am I scared, or am [ not? I think the very desperate ecstasy Of fear has given me courage. strange, now! When they were here I was not half so frighten’d As now they are gone — they were a sort of company. What a strange thing is use! — A horn, a claw, The tip of a fiend’s tail, was wont to scare me; — Now am I with the devil hand and glove; His soap has Jather’d, and his razor shaved me; This is THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIZL. 609 Could dine with him, nor ask for a long spoon; And if I keep not better company, What will become of me when I shall die? [ Zuaues SCENE III. A Gothic Hall, waste andruinous. The moonlight ts at times seen through the shafted windows. Enter KATLEEN and BLACKTHORN — 7 hey have thrown off the more ludicrous parts of their ais guise. Kat. This way—thisway. Was evei fool so gull’d! Bria. I play’d the barber better than I thought for. Well, I’ve an occupation in reserve, When the long bow and merry musket fail me. — But hark ye, pretty Katleen. KAT. What should I hearken to? Bia. Art thou not afraid, In these wild halls while playing feigned goblins, That we may meet with real ones? Kart. Not a jot. My spirit is too light, my heart too bold, To fear a visit from the other world. Bia. But is not this the place, the very hall In which men say that Oswald’s grand- father, The black Lord Erick, walks his penance round? Credit me, Katleen, these half-moulder’d columns Have in their ruin somethingvery fiendish, And, if you’ll take an honest friend’s advice, The sooner that you change their shat- ter’d splendor For the snug cottage that I told you of, Believe me, it will prove the blither dwelling. Kat. If Le’er see that cottage, honest Blackthorn, Belicve me, it shall be from other motive Than fear of Erick’s spectre. [A rustling sound ts heard. BLA. I heard a rustling sound — I’ve joined him in a catch, kept time and | Upon my life, there’s something in the tune, : hall, 610 Katleen, besides us two! Kat. A yeoman thou, A forester, and frighten’d! I am sorry I gave the fool’s-cap to poorGullcrammer, And let thy head go bare. [ Zhe same rushing sound ts repeated, Bia. Why, are you mad, or hear you not the sound? Kat. And if I do, I take small heed of it. Will you allow a maiden to be bolder Than you, with beard on chin and sword at girdle? BLA. Nay, if I had my sword, I would not care; Tho’ I ne’er heard of master of defence, So active at his weapon as co brave The devil, or a ghost — See! see! see yonder ! [A Figure is imperfectly seen be- tween two of the pillars. KaT. There’s something moves, that’s certain, and the moonlight, Chased by the flitting gale, is too imperfect To show its form; but, in the name of God, I’ll venture on it boldly. BLA. Wilt thou so? Were I alone, now, I were strongly tempted To trust my heels for safety; but with thee, Be it fiend or fairy, Ill take risk to meet it. Kat. It stands full in our path, and we must pass it, Or tarry here all night. BLA. In its vile company? [4s they advance towards the Figure, it is more plainly distin- guished, which might, I think, be contrived by raising successive screens of crape. The Figure is wrapped in a long robe, like the mantle of a FHer mit, or Palmer. PALMER. Ho! ye who thread by night these wildering scenes, In garb of those who long have slept in death, Fear ye the company of those you imitate? Buia. This is the devil, Katleen, let us fly ! [ Runs off. DRAMATIC PIECES. Acr IIL. Kat. I will not fly — why should I? My nerves shake | To look on this strange vision, but my heart Partakes not the alarm. —If thou dost come in Heaven’s name, In Heaven’s name art thou welcome! Pat. I come, by Heaven permitted. Quit this castle: There is a fate on’t — if for good or evil, Brief space shall soon determine. In that fate, If good, by lineage thou canst nothing claim, If evil, much may’st suffer. — Leave these precincts. Kat. Whate’er thou art, be answer’d — Know, I will not Desert the kinswoman who train’d my youth; Know, that I will not quit my friend, my Flora; a Know, that I will not leave the aged man Whose roof has shelter’d me. This is — my resolve — If evil come, I aid my friends to bear it; If good, my part shall be to see them prosper, A portion in their happiness from which. No fiend can bar me, E: PAL. Maid, before thy courage, _ Firm built on innocence, even beings of. nature, More powerful far than es give Place and way; 2 Take then this key, and wait the event with courage. di [He drops the key. — He disappears ; gradually — the moonlight fail- ing at the same time. | KAT. (after a pause). Whate’er it was, ’tis gone! My head turns round — ~ The blood that lately fortified my heart — Now eddies in full torrent to my brain, And makes wild work with reason. I will haste, a If that my steps can bear me so far safe, — To living company. What if I meet it Again in the long aisle, or vaulted pas: sage? a And if I do, the strong support that bore” ; me a Eo a ed ie, oy Scene IV. Thro’ this appalling interview, again Shall strengthen and uphold me. [As she steps forward, she stumbles over the key. What’s this? The key? —there may be ‘mystery in’t. I’ll to my kinswoman, when this dizzy fit Will give me leave to choose my way aright. [She sits down exhausted. Re-enter BLACKTHORN, with a drawn sword and torch. BLA. Katleen! —what, Katleen! — What a wretch was I To leave her! — Katleen! —I am weapon’d now, And fear nor dog nor devil, — She re- plies not ! Beast that I was! —nay, worse than beast! The stag, As timorous as he is, fights for his hind. What’s to be done? —I’ll search this cursed castle From dungeon to the battlements; if I find her not, Vl fling me from the highest pinnacle — KATLEEN (who has somewhat gathered her spirits in consequence of his en- trance, comes behind and touches him: he starts). Brave sir! I’ll spare you that rash leap — You’re a bold woodsman ! Surely I hope that from this night hence- forward You’ll never kill a hare, since you’re akin to them. O I could laugh — but that my head’s so dizzy. Bia. Lean on me, Katleen — By my honest word I thought you close behind —I was sur- prised, Not a jot frightened. Kat. Thou art a fool to ask me to thy cottage, And then to show me at what slight ex- pense Of manhood I might master thee and it. Bia. Vl take the risk of that — This goblin business Came rather unexpectedly; the best horse THE DOOM OF DEVORGOILL. 611 Will start at sudden sights. again, And if I prove not true to bonny Katleen, Hang me in mine own bowstring. [ Lxeunt. Try me ScENE IV. The Scene returns to the Apartment at the beginning of Act Second. OSWALD and DURWARD are discovered with ELEANOR, FLORA, azd LEONARD — DURWARD shuts a Prayer-book, which he seems to have been reading. Dur. ’Tis true— the difference betwixt the churches, Which zealots love to dwell on, to the wise Of either flock are of far less importance Than those great truths to which all Christian men Subscribe with equal reverence. Osw. We thank thee, father, for the holy office, Still best performed when the pastor’s tongue Is echo to his breast: of jarring creeds It ill beseems a layman’s tongue to speak — Where have you stow’d yon prater? [ 70 Flora, FLo. Safe in the goblin-chamber. ELE. The goblin-chamber ! Maiden, wert thou frantic? — if his Rev- erence Have suffer’d harm by waspish Owl- spiegle, Be sure thou shalt abye it. Here he comes. Can answer for himself! Linter GULLCRAMMER 77 the fashion in which OWLSPIEGLE had put him; hav- tng the fool’ s-cap on his head, and towel about his meck, etc. His manner through the scene ts wild and extrava- gant, as Uf the fright had a little af- fected his brain, Dur. A goodly spectacle !— Is there such a goblin? (70 Osw.) Or has sheer terror made him such a figure ? Osw. There is a sort of wavering tra- dition 612 Of a malicious imp who teased all strangers; My father wont to call him Owlspiegle. GuL. Who talks of Owlspiegle? He is an honest fellow for a devil. So is his son, the hopeful Cockle’moy. ( Sings.) ‘* My hope, my joy, My Cockledemoy!’’ Leo. The fool’s bewitch’d — the gob- lin hath furnish’d him A cap which well befits his reverend wis- dom. Fro. If I could think he had lost his slender wits, _ Ushould be sorry for the trick they play’d him. Leo. O fear him not; it were a foul reflection On any fiend of sense and reputation, To filch such petty wares as his poor brains. Dur. What saw’st thou, sir? — what heard’st thou? GuL. What was’t I saw and heard? That which old graybeards, Who conjure Hebrew into Anglo-Saxon, To cheat starved barons with, can little guess at. Fro. If he begin so roundly with my father, His madness is not like to save his bones. GUL. Sirs, midnight came, and with it came the goblin. I had reposed me after some brief study; But as the soldier, sleeping in the trench, Keeps sword and musket by him, so I had My little Hebrew manual prompt for ser- vice. FLO. Sausagian soused-face ; that much of your Hebrew Even I can bear in memory. GUL. We counter’d, The goblin and myself, even in mid- chamber, And each stept back a pace, as ’twere to study The foe he had to deal with! —TI be- thought me, Ghosts ne’er have the first word, and so I took it, And fired a volley of round Greek at him. DRAMATIC PIECES. oo PBS “Act 1, ; He stood his ground, and answer’d in | the Syriac; I flank’d my Greek with Hebrew, and compell’d him — . [A xotse heard. Osw. Peace, idle prater |! — Hark — what sounds are these? ‘ Amid the growling of the storm ithoulll I hear strange notes of music, and the clash Of coursers’ trampling feet. VOICES (wethout). We con:e, dari riders of the night, And flit before the dawning light; Hill and valley, far aloof, Shake to hear our chargers’ hoof; But not a foot-stamp on the green At morn shall show where we have been. . Osw. These must be revellers be lated — Let them pass on; the ruin’d halls of Devorgoil : Open to no such guests. — [ /lourish of trumpets ata distances then nearer. They sound a summons; 4 What can they lack at this dead hour om night ? 7 Look out, and see their number, and their bearing. LEO. (goes up to the window) — "Tis strange — one single shadowy form : alone 2 Is hovering on the drawbridge — far apart” Flit thro’ the tempest banners, horse, and _ | riders, In darkness lost, or dimly seen by light- ning. — 7 Hither the figure moves-—the bolts Te" volve — ee The gate uncloses to him. eo ELE. Heaven protect us! 4 Lhe PALMER enters — GULLCRAMMER 3 runs off. : Osw. Whence, and what art thou? — for what end come hither? PaL. I come from a far land, where the storm howls not, And the sun sets not, to pronounce | thee, e Oswald of Devorgoil, thy house’s fate. iuoiules Scene IV. Dur. I charge thee, in the name we late have kneel’d to PaL. Abbot of Lanercost, I bid thee peace ! Uninterrupted let me do mine errand: Baron of Devorgoil, son of the bold, the proud, The warlike and the mighty, wherefore wear’st thou The habit of a peasant? fore Are thy fair halls thus waste — thy cham- bers bare? — Where are the tapestries, where the con- quer’d banners, Trophies, and gilded arms, that deck’d the walls Of once proud Devorgoil? [He advances, and places himself where the Armor hung, so as to be nearly in the centre of the Scene. Dur. Whoe’er thou art — if thou dost know so much, Needs must thou know Osw. Peace! I will answer here; to me he spoke — Mysterious stranger, briefly I reply: A peasant’s dress befits a peasant’s for- tune; And ’twere vain mockery to array these walls In trophies, of whose memory naught re- mains, Save that the cruelty outvied the valor Of those who wore them. PAL, Degenerate as thou art, Know’st thou to whom thou say’st this? [He drops his mantle, and is dis- covered armed as nearly as may be to the suit which hung on the wall; all express terror. Tell me, where- Osw. It is himself —the spirit of mine Ancestor ! Eri. Tremble not, son, but hear me! [ He strikes the wall; it-opens, and discovers the Treasure-Cham- ber. There lies piled The wealth I brought from wasted Cum- berland, THE DOOM OF DEVORGOLL. 613 Enough to reinstate thy ruin’d _for- tunes. — Cast from thine high-born brows that peasant bonnet, Throw from thy noble grasp the peas- ant’s staff — O’er all, withdraw thine hand from that mean mate, Whom in an hour of reckless despera- tion Thy fortunes cast thee on. This do, And be as great as e’er was Devorgoil, When Devorgoil was richest ! Dur. Lord Oswald, thou art tempted by a fiend, Who doth assail thee on thy weakest side, Thy pride of lineage, and thy love of grandeur. Stand fast— resist— contemn his fatal offers ! ELE. Urge him not, father; if the sacrifice Of such a wasted woe-worm wretch as I am Can save him from the abyss of misery, Upon whose verge he’s tottering, let me wander i An unacknowledged outcast from his castle, Even to the humble cottage I was born in. Osw. No, Ellen, no—it is not thus they part, Whose hearts and souls, disasters borne in common Have knit together, close as summer saplings Are twined in union by the eddying tem- pest. — Spirit of Erick, while thou bear’st his shape, I?ll answer with no ruder conjuration Thy impious counsel, other than with these words, Depart, and tempt me not! Eri. Then Fate will have her course. — Fall, massive grate, Yield them the tempting view of these rich treasures, But bar them from possession! (A fort- cullts falls before the door of the Treas ure-Chamber.) Mortals, hear ! 614 No hand may ope that gate, except the heir Of plunder’d Aglionby, whose mighty wealth, Ravish’d in evil hour, lies yonder piled; And not his hand prevails without the key Of Black Lord Erick. given To save proud Devorgoil —so wills high Heaven. [ 72under ; he disappears. Dur. Gaze not so wildly; you have stood the trial That his commission bore, and Heaven Brief space is designs, If I may spell his will, to rescue Devor- oil Even by the Heir of Aglionby — Behold him In that young forester, unto whose hand Those bars shall yield the treasures of his house, Destined to ransom yours. — Advance, young Leonard, And prove the adventure. LEO. (advances, and attempts the grate). It is fast As is the tower, rock-seated. Osw. We will fetch other means, and prove its strength, Nor starve in poverty, with wealth before us Dur. Think what the vision spoke; The key — the fated key Enter GULLCRAMMER GuL. A key? —I say a quay is what we want, Yhus by the learn’d orthographized — Q, u, a, y. The lake is overflow’ d!—a quay, a boat, Oars, punt, or sculler, is all one to me ! — We shall be drown’d, good people!!! Enter KATLEEN and BLACKTHORN. Kat. Deliver us! Haste, save yourselves — the lake is ris- ing fast. Bua. °T has risen my bow’s height in the last five minutes, And still is swelling strangely. GUL. ( who has stood astonished upon seeing them) — DRAMATIC PIECES. berg ai a % Act III. Scene % We shall be drown’d without your kind assistance. Sweet Master Owlspiegle, your dragon- fly — Your straw, your bean-stalk, gentle Cockle’moy ! E LEO. (looking from the shot-hole). Tis true, by all that’s fearful. The proud lake i Peers, like ambitious tyrant, o’er his bounds, And soon will whelm the castle — even the drawbridge Is under water now. Kart. Let us escape! gazing there? Dur. Upon the opening of that fatal grate Depends the fearful spell that now en- traps us. The key of Black Lord Erick — ere we find it, The castle will be whelm’d beneath ie waves, And we shall perish in it! KaT. (gzving the key). this: A chance most strange and fearful gave it me. [OSWALD puts tt into the lock, and atiempts to turn it— a loud: clap of thunder, FLo. Thelake still rises faster. SER. That must be kept, of course. _ I ask but that which thou may’st freely Besides, eo tell. QuE. I was an orphan boy, and first saw light Not far from where we stand — my line eage low, ‘ But honest in its poverty. A lord, The master of the soil for many a mile, 4 Dreaded and powerful, took a kindly charge For my advance in letters, and the qualities Of the poor orphan lad drew some ape plause. The knight was proud of me, and, in his halls, ‘Thad such kind of welcome as the great Give to the humble, whom they love to point to yi As objects not unworthy their protection, Whose progress is some honor to thea patron —— A cure was spoken of, which I might serve, My manners, doctrine, and acquirements fitting. 4 SER. Hitherto thy luck : Was of the best, good friend. Few lor had cared If thou couldst read thy grammar or thy psalter : Thou hadst been valued couldst thou scout a harness, 3 And dress a steed distinctly. QUE. My old master % Held different doctrine, at least it seem’d — so — But he was mix’d in many a deadly feud— 3 > Scene I. And here mytale grows mystic. Ibecame Unwitting and unwilling, the depositary, Of a dread secret, and the knowledge on’t Has wreck’d my peace forever. It be- : came My patron’s will, that I, as one who knew More than I should, must leave the realm of Scotland, And live or die within a distant land. SER. Ah! thou hast donea fault in some wild raid, As you wild Scotsmen call them. ~ QUE. Comrade, nay; Mine was a peaceful part, and happ’d by : chance. I must not tell you more. presence Brought danger to my benefactor’s house. Tower after tower conceal’d me, willing still To hide my ill-omen’d face with owls and | ravens, And let my patron’s safety be the purchase Of my severe and desolate captivity. So thought I, when dark Arran, with its walls Of native rock, enclosed me. lurk’d, A peaceful stranger amid armed clans, ‘Without a friend to love or to defend me, ‘Where all beside were link’d by close alli- ances, At length I made my option to take service In that same legion of auxiliaries In which we lately served the Belgian. ‘Our leader, stout Montgomery, hath been ~ kind Thro’ full six years of warfare, and as- sign’d me More peaceful tasks than the rough front of war, For which my education little suited me. Enough, my There I indeed; Nay, kinder than you think, my simple Quentin. The letters which you brought to the : Montgomery, Pointed to thrust thee on some desperate | service, Which should most likely end thee. Que. Bore I such letters? — Surely, comrade, no. AUCHINDRANE, SER. Ay, therein was Montgomerykind - 625 Full deeply was the writer bound to aid me, Perchance he only meant to prove my mettle; And it was but a trick of my bad fortune That gave his letters ill interpretation. SER. Ay, but thy better angel wrought for good, Whatever ill thy evil fate design’d thee. Montgomery pitied thee, and changed thy service In the rough field for labor in the tent. More fit for thy green years and peaceful habits. QuE. Even there his well-meant kind- ness injured me. My comrades hated, undervalued me, And whatsoe’er of serviceI could do them, They guerdon’d with ingratitude and envy — Such my strange doom, that if I serve a man At deepest risk, he is my foe forever ! SER. Hast thou worse fate than others if it were so? Worse even than me, thy friend, thine officer, — Whom yon ungrateful slaves have pitch’d ashore, As wild waves heap the sea-weed on the beach, And left him here, as if he had the pest Or leprosy, and death were in his com- pany? Qug. They think at least you have the worst of plagues, The worst of leprosies, —they think you poor. SER. They think like lying villains then;— I’m rich, And they too might have felt it. thought — But stay—what plans your wisdom for yourself ? QuE. My thoughts are well-nigh des- perate. But I purpose Return to my stern patron — there to tell him That wars, and winds, and waves, have cross’d his pleasure, And cast me on the shore from whence he banish’d me; Then let him do his will and destine for me A dungeon or a grave. I’ve a 626 SER. Now, by the rood, thou art a simple fool! I can do better for thee. Quentin. I took my license from the noble regiment, Partly that I was worn with age and war- fare, Partly that an estate of yeomanry, Of no great purchase, but enough to live on, Has call’d me owner since a kinsman’s death. It lies in merry Yorkshire, where the wealth Of fold and furrow, proper to Old Eng- land, Stretches by streams which walk no slug- gish pace, But dance as light as yours. friend Quentin, Thiscopyhold can keep two quiet inmates, AndIamchildless. Wilt thou be my son? Que. Nay, you can only jest, my worthy friend! What claim have I to be a burden to you? Ser. The claim of him that wants, and is in danger, On him that has, and can afford protec- tion. Thou wouldst not fear a foeman in my cottage, Where a stout mastiff slumber’d on the hearth, And this good halberd hung above the chimney? But come—lI have it—thou shalt earn thy bread Duly, and honorably, and usefully. Our village schoolmaster hath left the parish, Forsook the ancient school-house with its yew-trees, That lurk’d beside a church two centuries older, — So long devotion took the lead of knowl- edge; And since his little flock are shepherdless, Tis thou shalt be promoted in his room; And rather than thou wantest scholars, man, Myself will enter pupil. Better late, Cur proverb says, than never to do well. And Jook you, on the holydays Id tell, Mark me, Now, good DRAMATIC PIECES. To all the wondering boors and gaping children, Strange tales of what the regiment aia in Flanders, And thou shouldst say Amen, and be warrant " That I speak truth to them. . QuE. Would I might take thy offer! But, alas! | Thou art the hermit who compell’d a it grim, In name of heaven and heavenly charity To share his roof and meal, but found too late £ That he had drawn a curse on him and his, By sheltering a wretch foredoom’d a | " heaven! SER. Thou talk’st in riddles to me. — QUE. bee | do, ’Tis that I am a riddle to myself. Thou know’st I am by nature born a friend To glee and merriment, can make wild Verses; The jest or laugh has never stopp’d with me, When once ’twas set a rolling. a SERGE: I have known thee A blithe companion still, and wonder now Thou shouldst become thus crestfallen. QUE. Does the lark sing her descant when the falcon Scales the blue vault with bolder wing than hers, And meditatesa stoop? The mirth thou’st noted it Was all deception, fraud.— Hated enough For other causes, I did veil my feelings Beneath the mask of mirth, —laugh’ d, sung, and caroll’d, To gain some interest in my comme bosoms, a Although mine own was bursting. SER. Thou’rt a hypocrite Of anew order. xX Quer. But harmless as the inom snake, Which bears the adder’s form, lurks — in his haunts, i Yet neither hath his fang-teeth nor hi poison. a Look you, kind Hildebrand, I would seer merry, Bi ScENE I. Lest other men should, tiring of my sad- ness, Expel me from them, as the hunted wether Is driven from the flock. Ser. Faith, thou hast borne it bravely out. Had I been ask’d to name the merriest fellow Of all our muster-roll — that man wert thou. QUE. See’st thou, my friend, yon brook dance down the valley, And sing blithe carols over broken rock And tiny waterfall, kissing each shrub And each gay flower it nurses in its pas- sage, Where, thinkst thou, is its source, the bonny brook ? — It flows from forth a cavern, black and gloomy, Sullen and sunless, like this heart of _ mine, Which others see in a false glare of gayety, Which I have laid before you in its sad- ness. Ser. If such wild fancies dog thee, wherefore leave The trade where thou wert safe midst others’ dangers, And venture to thy native land, where fate Lies on the watch for thee? Had old Montgomery Been with the regiment, thou hadst had no congé. QuE. No, ’tis most likely. — But I had a hope, A poor, vain hope, that I might live ob- scurely In some far corner of my native Scotland, Which, of all others, splinter’d into dis- tricts, Differing in manners, families, even lan- guage, Seem’d a safe refuge for the humble wretch Whose highest hope was to remain un- heard of. But fate has baffled me —the winds and waves, With force resistless, have impell’d me hither — Have driven me to the clime most dan- gerous to me: AUCHINDRANE. 629 And I obey the call, like the hurt deer, Which seeks instinctively his native lair, Tho’ his heart tells him it is but to die there. SER. ’Tis false, by Heaven, young man! ‘This same despair, Tho’ showing resignation in its banner, Is but a kind of covert cowardice. Wise men have said, that tho’ our stars incline, They cannot force us. — Wisdom is the pilot, And if he cannot cross, he may evade them. You lend an ear to idle auguries, The fruits of our last revels — still most sad Under the gloom that follows boisterous mirth, As earth looks blackest after brilliant sunshine. QuE. No, by my honest word. I join’d the revel, And aided it with laugh and song and shout, But my heart revell’d not; and, when the mirth Was at the loudest, on yon galliot’s prow I stood unmarked, and gazed upon the land, My native land—each cape and cliff I knew. ““ Behold me now,’’ I said, ‘‘ your des- tined victim ! ”’ So greets the sentenced criminal the head- man, Who slow approaches with his lifted axe. ‘‘ Hither I come,”’ I said, ‘‘ ye kindred hills, Whose darksome outline in a distant land Haunted my slumbers; here I stand, thou ocean, Whose hoarse voice, murmuring in my dreams, required me; See me now here, ye winds, whose plain- tive wail, On yonder distant shores, appear’d to call me — Summon’d, behold me.”’ and waves, And the deep echoes of the distant moun- tain, Made answer :— ‘‘ Come and die!”’ And the winds ae ‘ ei & € 628 DRAMATIC PIECES. Act I, | SER. Fantastic all! Poor boy, thou art | Then let us go— But whither? My old q distracted head With the vain terrors of some feudal | As little knows where it shall lie to- night ‘ tyrant, As yonder mutineers that left their officer; — Whose frown hath been from infancy thy | As reckless of his quarters as these bile bugbear. lows, . Why seek his presence? That leave the wither’d sea-weed on thel QUE. Wherefore does the moth beach, i Fly to the scorching taper? —why the bird, Dazzled by lights at midnight, seek the net?.— Why does the prey, which feels the fas- cination Of the snake’s glaring eye, drop in his jaws? SER. Such wild examples but refute themselves, Let bird, let moth, let the coil’d adder’s prey; Resist the fascination and be safe. Thou goest not near this Baron — if thou goest, I will go with thee. field, Which he in a whole life of petty feud Has never dream’d of, I will teach the knight To rule him in this matter —be thy war- rant, That far from him, and from his petty lordship, You shall henceforth tread English land, and never Thy presence shall alarm his conscience more. QuE. ’Twere desperate risk for both. I‘will far rather Hastily guide thee thro’ this dangerous province, And seek thy school, thy yew-trees, and thy churchyard; — The last, perchance, will be the first I find. SER. I would rather face him, Like a bold Englishman that knows his right, And will stand by his friend. And yet tis folly — Fancies like these are not to be resisted; *Tis better to escape them. Many a pres- age, Too rashly braved, becomes its own ac- complishment. Known in many a And care not where they pile it. FE Que. Think not for that, good friend. Weare in Scotland, $ And if it is not varied fan its wont, Each cot, that sends a curl of smoke to heaven, 2 Will yield a stranger quarters for the night, ‘ Simply because he needs them. FE SER. But are there none within an easy — walk a Give lodgings here for hire? for I have left — Some of the Don’s piastres (tho’ I kept — The secret from yon gulls), and I had rather E Pay the fair reckoning I can well afford, — And my host takes with pleasure, than I’d_ cumber : Some poor man’s roof with me and all my wants, And tax his charity beyona discretion. __ QuE. Some six miles hence there is a town and hostelry. :. But you are wayworn, and it is most likely _ Our comrades must have fill’d it. é SER. Out upon them! — © Were there a friendly mastiff who would ~ lend me 4 Half of his supper, half of his poor kennel, — I would help Honesty to pick his bones, — And share his straw, far rather than I’d — su On jolly fare with these base varlets ! Que. We'll manage better; for our 4 Scottish dogs, 4 Tho’ stout and trusty, are but ill- instractedl In hospitable rights. — Here is a maiden, A little maid, will tell us of the country, — And sorely it is changed since I left it, If we should fail to find a harborage. Linter ISABEL MACLELLAN, @ girl oft . about six years old, bearing a milk-pail on her head; she stops on seeing the SERGEANT and QUENTIN. : see I’ll be there first. ScENE II. Qug. There’s something in her look that doth remind me — But ’tis not wonder I find recollections Inall that here I look on.—Pretty maid — SER. You’re slow, and hesitate. I will be spokesman. — Good even, my pretty maiden—canst thou tell us, Is there a Christian house would render strangers, For love or guerdon, a night’s meal] and lodging? Isa. Full surely, sir; we dwell in yon old house Upon the cliff — they call it Chapeldonan. (Points to the building.) Our house is large enough, and if our supper Chance to be scant, you shall have half of mine, For, as I think, sir, you have been a soldier. Up yonder lies our house; I’ll trip before, And tell my mother she has guests a-coming}; _ The path is something steep, but you shall I must chain up the dogs, too; ' Nimrod and Bloodylass are cross to strangers, _ But gentle when you know them. [ Zxit,and ts seen partially ascend- ing to the Castle. SER. You have spoke Your country folk aright, both for the dogs And for the people. We had luck to light On one too young for cunning and for selfishness. — He’s in a reverie — a deep one sure, Since the gibe on his country wakes him not. — ' Bestir thee, Quentin ! . Whom thou hast loved and lost. QUE. ’Twas a wondrous likeness ! Ser. Likeness! of whom? I’ll warrant thee of one Such fantasies Live long in brains like thine, which fash- ion visions AUCHINDRANE. 629 Of woe and death when they are cross’d in love, As most men are or have been. QuE. The guess has touch’ d me, tho’ it is but slightly, ’Mongst other woes: days, A maid that view’d me with some glance of favor; But my fate carried me to other shores, And she has since been wedded. I did think on’t But asa bubble burst, a rainbow vanish’d; It adds no deeper shade to the dark gloom Which chills the springs of hope and life within me. Our guide hath got a trick of voice and feature Like to the maid I spoke of — that is all. SER. She bounds before us like a game- some doe, Or rather as the rock-bred eaglet soars Up to her nest, as if she rose by will, Without aneffort. Nowa Netherlander, One of our Frogland friends, viewing the scene, Would take his oath that tower, and rock, and maiden, Were forms too light and lofty to be real, And only some delusion of the fancy, Such as men dream at sunset. I myself Have kept the level ground so many years, I have well-nigh forgot the art to climb, Unless assisted by thy younger arm. [ Zhey go off as tf to ascend to the Tower, the SERGEANT leaning upon QUENTIN. I knew in former ScENE II. Scene changes to the Front of the Old Tower. ISABEL comes forward with her Mother, —MARION speaking as they advance. Mar. I blame thee not, my child, for bidding wanderers Come share our food and shelter, if thy father Were here to welcome them; but, Isabel, He waits upon his lord at Auchindrane, And comes not home to-night. Isa. What then, my mother? The travellers do not ask to see my father; 630 Food, shelter, rest, is all the poor men want, And we can give them these without my father. Mar. Thou canst not understand, nor I explain, Why a lone female asks not visitants What time her husband’s absent. — ( Apart.) My poor child, And if thou’rt wedded to a jealous hus- band, Thouw’lt know too soon the cause. Isa. (partly overhearing what her mother says) — Ay, but I know already — Jealousy Is when my father chides, and you sit weeping. Mar. Out, little spy! thy father never chides; Or, if he does,’tis when his wife deservesit. But to our strangers; they are old men, Isabel, That seek this shelter, are they not? Isa. One is old — Old as this tower of ours, and worn like that, Bearing deep marks of battles long since fought. Mar. "Some remnant of the wars; he’s welcome, surely, Bringing no quality along with him Which can alarm suspicion. — Well, the other ? Isa. A young man, gentle-voiced and gentle-eyed, Who looks and speaks like one the world has frown’d on; But smiles when you smile, seeming that he feels Tele in your joy, tho’ he himself is sad. rown hair, and downcast looks. Mar. (alarmed). °Tis but an idle thought — it cannot be! (Listens.) I hear his accents — It is all Loo’ true My terrors were prophetic ! — pose myself, And then accost him firmly. Thus it must be. [ She retires hastily into the Tower. — The voices of the SERGEANT and QUENTIN @re heard ascend- tng behind the Scenes. I'll com- DRAMATIC PIECES. AeT ff ete One effort more — we stand upon the level. : I’ve seen thee work thee up glacis and cavalier E Steeper than this ascent, when cannon, culverine, Musket, and hackbut, shower’d their shot upon thee, And form’d, with ceaseless blaze, a fiery garland 4 Round the defences of the post you storm’d. : [ Zhey come on the Stage, and at the same time MARION re- “enters from the Tower. SER. Truly thou speak’st. tardier 4 That I, in climbing hither, miss the fire, Which wont to tell me there was death in loitering. — é Here stands, methinks, our hostess. [He goes forward to address MAR- ION. QUENTIN, struck om see- ing her, keeps back, f SER. Kind damé; yon little lass hath brought you strangers, i Willing to be a trouble, not a charge to you. . We are disbanded soldiers, but have means Ample enough to pay our journey home- ward. ‘ Mar. We keep no house of general entertainment, q But know our duty, sir, to locks like yours, Whiten’d and thinn’d by many a long campaign. Ill chances that my husband should bee absent — : (Apart. ) — Courage alone can make me struggle thro’ it — 4 For in your comrade, tho’ he hath forgot — me, I spy a friend whom I have known in school-days, a And whom I think MacLellan well i members. — a (She goes up to QUENTIN.) You see a woman’s memory P Is faithfuller than yours: Blane I am the for Quenti a SCENE II. _ Bid him, God speed you. ee Se ee ee ree. Hath not a greeting left for Marion Harkness. QUE. (with effort). Iseek, indeed, my native land, good Marion, | Butseek it likeastranger. Allis changed, | And thou, thyself — Mar. You left a giddy maiden, | And find, on your return, a wife and mother. | Thine old acquaintance, Quentin, is my mate — | Stout Niel MacLellan, ranger to our lord, | The Knight of Auchindrane. He’s ab- sent now, | But will rejoice to see his former com- rade, If, as I trust, you tarry his return. | (Apart.) Heaven grant he understand my words by contraries ! He must remember Niel and he were rivals; He must remember foes; Niel and he were _ He must remember Niel is warm of tem- er, And think, instead of welcome, I would blithely But he is as simple And void of guile as ever. QuE. Marion, I gladly rest within your cottage, And gladly wait returnof Niel MacLellan, To clasp his hand, and wish him happi- ness. Some rising feelings might perhaps pre- vent this — But’tisa peevish part to grudge our friends Their share of fortune because we have miss’d it; I can wish others joy and happiness, Though I must ne’er partake them. Mar. But if it grieve you — Que. No! donot fear, The brightest gleams of hope That shine on me are such as are reflected From those which shine on others. [ 74e SERGEANT and QUENTIN e7- ter the Tower with the little girl. MAR. (comes forward, and speaks in agitation) — Even so! the simple youth has miss’d my meaning: AUCHINDRANE. 631 I shame to make it plainer, or to say, In one brief word, Pass on. — Heaven guide the bark, For we are on the breakers! [ Lx2t into the Tower. ACT II. — Scene I. A Withdrawing Apartment in the Castle of Auchindrane. Servants place a Table, with a Flask of Wine and Drinking- Cups. Linter MURE of AUCHINDRANE, with ALBERT GIFFORD, zs Relation and Visitor. They place themselves by the Table, after some complimentary cere- mony. At some distance 1s heard the nowse of revelling. AucH. We’re better placed for confi- dential talk, Than in the hall fill’d with disbanded soldiers, And fools and fiddlers gather’d on the highway, — The worthy guests whom Philip crowds my hall with, And with them spends his evening. Gir. But think you not, my friend, that your son Philip Should be participant of these our coun- sels, Being so deeply mingled in the danger — Your house’s only heir — your only son? AucH. Kind cousin Gifford, if thou lack’st good counsel At race, at cockpit, or at gambling table, Or any freak by which men cheat them- selves As well of life as of the means to live, Call for assistance upon Philip Mure; But in all serious parley spare invoking him. Gir. You speak too lightly ofmy cousin Philip; All name him brave in arms. AUCH. A second Bevis; But I, my youth bred up in graver fashions, Mourn o’er the mode of life in which he spends, Or rather dissipates, his time and sub- stance. No vagabond escapes his search — The soldier 632 Spurn’d from the service, henceforth to be ruffian Upon his own account, is Philip’s com- rade; The fiddler, whose crack’d crowd has still three strings on’t; The balladeer, whose voice has still two notes left; Whate’er is roguish, and whate’er is vile, Are welcome to the board of Auchin- drane, And Philip will return them shout for shout, And pledge for jovial pledge, and song for song, Until the shame-faced sun peep at our windows, And ask: ‘* What have we here? ”’ GiF. You take such revel deeply;— we are Scotsmen, Far known for rustic hospitality, That mind not birth or titles in our guests: The harper has his’ seat beside our hearth, The wanderer must find comfort at our board, His name unask’d, his pedigree unknown; So did our ancestors, and so must we. AucH. Allthis is freely granted, worthy kinsman; And prithee do not think me churl enough To count how many sit beneath my salt. I’ve wealth enough to fill my father’s hall Each day at noon, and feed the guests who crowd it; I am near mate with those whom men call Lord, Tho’ a rude western knight. me, cousin, Altho’ I feed wayfaring vagabonds, I make them not mycomrades. Suchas I, Who have advanced the fortunes of my Ime, And swell’d a baron’s turret to a palace, | Have oft the curse awaiting on our thrift, To see, while yet we live, the things which But mark must be At our decease —the downfall of our family, The loss of land and lordship, name and knighthood, DRAMATIC PIECES. SES AcT ib The wreck of the fair fabric we have built, By a degenerate heir. Philip has that _ Of inborn meanness in him, that he loves not The company of betters nor of equals 3. Never at ease, unless he bears the bell, — And crows the loudest in the company. He’s mesh’d, too, in the snares of every female Who deigns to cast a passing glance on him — Licentious, disrespectful, rash, and proll ligate. Gir. Come, my good coz, think we too have been young, f And I will swear that in your father’s: lifetime You have yourself been trapp’d by loys like these. AucH. A fool I may have been — but not a madman; I never play’d the rake among my fol- lowers, Pursuing this man’s sister, that man’s wife: And therefore never saw I man of mine, When summon’d to obey my hest, grow restive, - Talk of his honor, of his peace destroy’d, And, while obeying, mutter threats of vengeance. But now the humor of an idle youth, Disgusting trusted followers, sworn de- pendants, Plays football with his honor and my safety. GiF. I’m sorry to find discord in your : house, a For I had hoped, while bringing you cold . news, 5 To find you arm’d in union ’gainst the | danger. AucH. What can man speak that i would shrink to hear, . And where the danger I would deign to shun? (fe rises.) : What should appal a man inured to perilae Like the bold climber on the crags of — Ailsa? 2 Winds whistle past him, billows rage bee low, ; The sea-fowl sweep around, with shrie : q and clang, ScENE I. One single slip, one unadvised pace, One qualm of giddiness —and peace be with him! But he whose grasp is sure, whose step is firm, Whose brain is constant —he makes one proud rock The means to scale another, till he stand Triumphant on the peak. GIF. And so I trust Thou wilt surmount the danger now ap- proaching, Which scarcely can I frame my tongue to tell you, though I rode here on purpose. AucH. Cousin, I think thy heart was never coward, And strange it seems thy tongue should take such semblance. -T’ve heard of many a loud-mouth’d, noisy braggart, Whose hand gave feeble sanction to his tongue; But thou art one whose heart can think bold things, Whose hand can act them—but who shrinks to speak them! Gir. And if Ispeak them not, ’tis that I shame To tell thee of the calumnies that load thee. Things loudly spoken at the city Cross — Things closely whisper’d in our Sover- eign’s ear — Things which the plumed lord and flat- capp’d citizen Do circulate amid their different ranks — Things false, no doubt; but, falsehoods while I deem them, Still honoring thee, I shun the odious topic. AucH. Shun it not, cousin; ’tis a friend’s best office To bring the news we hear unwillingly. The sentinel, who tells the foe’s approach, And wakes the sleeping camp, does but his duty: Be thou as bold in telling me of danger, As I shall be in facing danger told of. Gir. I need not bid thee recollect the death-feud That raged so long betwixt Cassilis; ay house and AUCHINDRANE. 633 I need not bid thee recollect the league, When royal James himself stood mediator Between thee and Earl Gilbert. AUCH. Call you these news? — You might as well have told me That old King Coil is dead, and graved at Kylesfeld, Pll help thee out— King James com- manded us Henceforth to live in peace, made us clasp hands too. O, sir, when such an union hath been made, In heart and hand conjoining mortal foes, Under a monarch’s royal mediation, The league is not forgotten. And with this What is there to be told? The King commanded — ‘* Be friends.’’? No doubt we were so— Who dares doubt it ? GiF. You speak but half the tale. AucH. By good Saint Trimon, but I’1l tell the whole! There is no terror in the tale for me — Go speak of ghosts to children! — This Earl Gilbert (God sain him) loved Heaven’s peace as well as I did, And we were wondrous friends whene’ er we met At church or market, or in burrows town. Midst this, our good Lord Gilbert, Earl of Cassilis, Takes purpose he would journey forth to Edinburgh. The King was doling gifts of abbey-lands, Good things that thrifty house was wont to fish for. Our mighty Earl forsakes his sea-wash’d castle, Passes our borders some four miles from hence; And, holding it unwholesome to be fast- ers Long after sunrise, lo! the Earl and train Dismount, to rest their nags and eat their breakfast. The morning rose, the small birds caroll’d sweetly — The corks were drawn, the pasty brooks incision — 634 His lordship jests, his train are choked with laughter; When, — wondrous change of cheer, and most unlook’d for, Strange epilogue to bottle and to baked meat ! — Flash’d from the greenwood half a score of carabines; And the good Earl of Cassilis, in his breakfast, Had nooning, dinner, supper, all at once, Even in the morning that he closed his journey; And the grim sexton, for his chamberlain, Made him the bed which rests the head | forever. Gir. Told with much spirit, cousin — some there are - Would add, and in a tone resembling | triumph, And would that with these long estab- lish’d facts DRAMATIC PIECES. : | : / : ' : ' ; ' : ) : My tale began and ended! I must tell | you, That evil-deeming censures of the events, Both at the time and now, throw blame on thee — Time, place, and circumstance, they say, proclaim thee, Alike, the author of that morning’s am- bush. AUCH. Ay, ’tis an old belief in Carrick here, Where natives do not always die in bed, That if a Kennedy shall not attain Methuselah’s last span, a Mure has slain him; Such is the general creed of all their clan. Thank Heaven, that they are bound to prove the charge They are so prompt in making. They have clamor’d Enough of this before, to show their malice. But what said these coward pickthanks when I came Before the King, before the Justicers, Rebutting all their calumnies, and daring them To show that I knew aught of Cassilis’ journey — Which way he meant to travel — where to halt — _ Not an eye sparkled—not a footie Without which knowledge I possess means To dress an ambush for him? Did . Defy the assembled clan of Kenned: To show, by proof direct or inferen Wherefore they slander’d me with foul charge? My gauntlet rung before them in court, he And I did dare the best of them tol ift it And prove such charge a true one — Did I not? Gir. I saw your gauntlet lie befor Kennedys, Who looked on it as men doonan a Longing to crush, and yet afraid to g it. vanced — a: _ No arm was stretch’d to lift the fatal sym- bol. AucH. Then, wherefore do the hile : murmur now? - Wish theytosee again, howone bold} Can baffle and defy their pac aE Gir. No; but they speak of ev suppress'd. AucH. Suppress’d ! — what evide — by whom suppress’d? : What Will-o’- Wisp — what idiot os a ness, Is he to whom they trace an empty But cannot show his person? GIF. They pret With the King’s leave, to is it to trial; ae - Averring that a lad named Quentin : Brought thee a letter from the m Earl, With friendly greetings, telling of journey, The hour which he set forth, the pla halted at, — Affording thee the means to ae bush, Of which your hatred made the z tion. ee AucH. A prudent Earl, indeed, his practice, je When dealing with a recent enemy And what should he propose strange confidence In one who sought it not? ScENE I. Gir. His purposes were kindly, say the Kennedys — Desiring you would meet him where he halted, Offering to undertake whate’er commis- sions You listed trust him with, for court or city: _ And, thus apprised of Cassilis’ purposed journey, And of his halting-place, you placed the | ambush, Prepared the homicides AucH. They’re free to say their pleas- ure. They are men Of the new court —and I am but a frag- ment Of stout old Morton’s faction. It is rea- son That such as I be rooted from the earth, That they may have full room to spread their branches. No doubt, ’tis easy to find strolling va- grants To prove whate’er they prompt. Quentin Blane — Did you not call him so? — why comes : he now? _And wherefore not before? This must | be answer’d — | (4bruptly.) — Where is he now? Gir. Abroad — they say — kidnapp’d. | By you kidnapp’d, that he might die in Flanders. But orders have been sent for his dis- charge, And his transmission hither. AUCH. (assuming an air of com- posure). — When they produce such witness, cousin Gifford, We’ll be prepared to meet it. meanwhile, The King doth ill to throw his royal sceptre . In the accuser’s scale, ere he can know How justice shall incline it. GIF. Our sage prince Resents, it may be, less the death of Cas- : silis, Than he is angry that the feud should burn, This In the AUCHINDRANE. 635 After his royaf vuice had said, ‘* Be quench’d: ”’ Thus urging prosecution less for slaughter, Than that, being done against the King’s command, Treason is mix’d with homicide. AucH. Ha! ha! most true, my cousin. Why, well consider’d, ’tis a crime so great To slay one’s enemy, the King forbidding it, Like parricide, it should be held impos- sible. *Tis just as if a wretch retain’d the evil, When the King’s touch had bid the sores be heal’d; And such a crime merits the stake at least. What! can there be within a Scottish bosom A feud so deadly, that it kept its ground When the King said, ‘‘ Be friends! ”’ It is not credible. Were I King James, I never would be- lieve it; I’d rather think the story all a dream, And that there was no friendship, feud, nor journey, No halt, no ambush, and no Earl of Cas- silis, Than dream wrong ! — Gir. Speak within door, coz. AUCH. O, true. — (Aside. ) —I1 shall betray myself Even to this half-bred fool. —I must have room, Room for an instant, or I suffocate. — Cousin, I prithee call our Philip hither — Forgive me; ’twere more meet I sum- mon’d him Myself; but then the sight of yonder revel Would chafe my blood, and I have need of coolness. Gir. I understand thee —I will bring him straight. [ Axi. Aucu. And if thou dost, he’s lost his ancient trick To fathom, as he wont, his five-pint flagons. — This space is mine — O for the power to fill it, anointed Majesty has 636 Instead of senseless rage andemptycurses, With the dark spell which witches learn from fiends, That smites the object of their hate afar, Nor leaves a token of its mystic action, Stealing the soul from out the unscathed body, As lightning melts the blade, nor harms the scabbard ! —?’Tis vain to wish for it — Each curse of mine Falls to the ground as harmless as the arrows Which children shoot at stars! The time for thought, If thought could aught avail me, melts away, Like to a snowball in a schoolboy’s hand, That melts the faster the more close he grasps it ! — If I had time, this Scottish Solomon, Whom some call son ef David the Musi- cian,* Might find it perilous work to march to Carrick. There’s many a feud still slumbering in its ashes, Whose embers are yet red. Nobles we have, Stout as old Graysteel, and as hot as Bothwell; Here too are castles look from crags as high On seas as wide as Logan’s. So the King — Pshaw! He is here again — Linter GIFFORD. GIF. I heard you name The King, my kinsman; know, he comes not hither. AUCH. (affecting indifference). Nay, then,we need not broach our barrels, cousin, Nor purchase us new jerkins. —Comes not Philip? GIF. Yes, sir. a service To his good friends at parting. AucH. Friends for the beadle or the sheriff-officer. He tarries but to drink * An allusion to the calumnious report that James VI. was son to Queen Mary by Rizzio. DRAMATIC. PIECES. | To have welcomed him in bastard Alicant, é Well, let it pass. Who comes, and how attended, Since James designs not westward? GiF. O you shall have, instead, his fiery functionary, a George Home that was, but now Du bar’s great Earl; ; He leads a royal host, and comes to show you 4 How he distributes justice on the Border, Where judge and hangman oft reverse their office, * And the noose does its work before tHe sentence. a But I have said my tidings best and worst. %, None but yourself can know what con the time And peril may demand. To lift your banner, 2 If I might be a judge, were desperate game: Ireland and Galloway offer you conve ience si For flight, if flight be thought the better remedy; 3 To face the court requires the conscious- ness (3 And confidence of innocence. You alone Can judge if you possess these attributes _ (A noise behind the scenes.) 4 AucH. Philip, I think, has broken up his revels; f His ragged regiment are dispersing them, Well liquor’d doubtless. They’re 4 banded soldiers, Or some such vagabonds. — Here come the gallant. g Enter Puitip. fe has a buff-coat an head-piece, wears a sword and dagger with pistols at his girdle. He appear: to be affected by liquor, but to be by m means intoxicated, , AucH. You scarce have been made known’to one another, . Altho’ you sate together at the board. Son Philip, know and prize our cousin — Gifford. £ PHI. (éastes the wine on the table). — If you had praised him, sir, you had been loth a | Scene I. _ [Pl make amends, by pledging his good journey In glorious Burgundy. —The stirrup-cup, | ho! _ And bring my cousin’s horses to the court. AUCH. (draws him aside). — The stirrup-cup! He doth not ride to- | night — Shame on such churlish conduct to a _ kinsman ! PHI. (aszde to his father). of pressing import. Send the fool off. — Stay, I will start him for you. (Zo Gir.) Yes, my kind cousin, Bur- gundy is better, On a night-ride, to those who thread our moors, And we may deal it freely to our friends, For we came freely by it. Yonder ocean Rolls many a purple cask upon our shore Rough with embossed shells and shagged I’ve news sea-weed, _ When the good skipper and his careful crew Have had their latest earthly draught of brine, And gone to quench, or to endure their thirst, Where nectar’s plenty, or even water’s scarce, And filter’d to the parched crew by drops- ful. AucH. Thou’rt mad, son Philip! Gif- ford’s no intruder, That we should rid him hence by such wild rants: My kinsman hither rode at his own dan- ger, To tell us that Dunbar is hasting to us, With a strong force, and with the King’s __ commission, To enforce against our house a hateful charge, With every measure of extremity. Pui. And is this all that our good cousin tells us? I can say more, thanks to the ragged regiment, With whose good company you have up- ’ braided me, On whose authority, I tell thee, cousin, Dunbar is here already. AUCHINDRANE. 637 GIF. PHI. Yes, gentle coz. sire, be hasty In what you think to do. AucH. I think thou darest not jest on such a subject. Where hadst thou these fair tidings? Put. Where you, too, might have heard them, noble father, Save that your ears, nail’d to our kins- man’s lips, Would list no coarser accents. soldiers, My merry crew of vagabonds, forever! Scum of the Netherlands, and wash’d ashore Upon this coast like unregarded sea-weed, They had not been two hours on Scottish land, When, lo! they met a military friend, An ancient fourier, known to them of old, Who, warm’d by certain stoups of search- ing wine, Inform’d his old companions that Dunbar Left Glasgow yesterday, comes here to- morrow; Himself, he said, was sent a spy before, To view what preparations we were making. AUCH. (0 GIF.). If this be sooth, good kinsman, thou must claim To take a part with us for life and death, Or speed from hence, and leave us to our fortune. GiF. In such dilemma, Believe me, friend, I’d choose upon the instant — But I lack harness, and a steed to charge on, For mine is overtired, and, save my page, There’s not a man to back me. But [’ll hie To Kyle, and raise my vassals to your aid. Put. ’Twill be when the rats, That on these tidings fly this house of ours, Come back to pay their rents. — ( Apart. ) AUCH. Courage, cousin ! — Thou goest not hence ill mounted for thy need; Full forty coursers feed in my wide stalls — Already? And you, my O, my 638 The best of them is yours to speed your journey. PHI. Stand not on ceremony, good our cousin, When safety signs, to shorten courtesy. Gir. (Zo AUCH.). Farewell, then, cousin; for my tarrying here Were ruin to myself, small aid to you; Yet loving well your name and family, I’d fain — PHI. Be gone? —that is our object, too — Kinsman, adieu. [Zx7¢ GIFFORD, PHILIP calls after him. You Yeoman of the stable, Give Master Gifford there my fleetest steed, Yon cut-tail’d roan, that trembles at a spear. — (Trampling of the horse heard going off.) Hark! he departs. tard rides, To shun the neighborhood of jeopardy ! (He lays aside the appearance of levity which he has hitherto worn, and says very sert- ously) — And, now, my father — AucH. And now, my son —thou’st ta’en a perilous game Into thine hands, rejecting elder coun- sel, — How dost thou mean to play it? Put. Sir, good gamesters play not Till they review the cards which fate has dealt them, Computing thus the chances of the game, And woefully they seem to weigh against How swift the das- us. AucH. Exile’s a passing ill, and may be borne; And when Dunbar and all his myrmidons Are eastward turn’d, we’ll seize our own again. Pur. Would that were all the risk we had to stand to! But more and worse, —a doom of trea- son, forfeiture, Death to ourselves, dishonor to our house, DRAMATIC PIECES. Acr II, Is what the stern Justiciary menaces; And, fatally for us, he hath the means _ To make his threatenings good. id AucH. It cannot be. I tell thee, there’s no force : In Scottish law to raze a house like mine, Coeval with the time the Lords of Gal- loway Submitted them unto the Scottish sceptre, Renouncing rights of Tanistry and Bre- hon. 7 Some dreams they have of evidence = - some suspicion; But old Montgomery knows my purposs well, And long before their mandate reach the . camp , To crave the presence of this mighty with ness, He will be fitted with an answer to it. : PHI. Father, what we call great, is often ruin’d . By means so ludicrously disproportion’d, They make me think upon the gunner’s” linstock, Which, yielding forth a light about the size And semblance of the glowworm, vee applied To powder, blew a palace into atoms, Sent a young King —a young Queen’s s mate, at least — Into the air, as high as e’er flew night hawk, And made such wild work in the realm of Scotland, * As they can tell who heard, — and yous were one | Who saw, perhaps, the night-flight which | 4 began it. AucH. If thou hast naught to — but drunken folly, I cannot listen longer. 4 Put. I will speak brief and sudden. — There is one Whose tongue to us has the same seul ous force F Which Bothwell’s powder had to Kirk of Field; = One whose least tones, and those but — peasant accents, 1 Could rend the roof off our fathers’ castle, — Level its tallest turret with its base; SCENE ' And he that doth possess this wondrous power ; Sleeps this same night not five miles dis- tant from us. Aucu. (who had looked on PHILIP wzth much appearance of astonishment and doubt, exclaims ).— Then thou art mad indeed! Ha! ha! I’m glad on’t. Id purchase an escape from what I dread, Even by the frenzy of my only son. Pur. I thank you, but agree not to the bargain. You rest on what yon civet cat has said: Yon silken doublet, stuff’d with rotten straw, Told you but half the truth, and knew no more. But my good vagrants had a perfect tale. They told me, little judging the impor- tance, That Quentin Blane had been discharged with them. They told me, that a quarrel happ’d at landing, And that the youngster and an ancient sergeant Had left their company, and taken refuge In Chapeldonan, where our ranger dwells; They saw him scale the cliff on which it stands, Ere they were out of sight; the old man with him, And therefore laugh no more at me as mad; But laugh, if thou hast list for merriment, To think he stands on the same land with us, Whose absence thou wouldst deem were cheaply purchased With thy soul’s ransom and thy body’s danger. AucH. ’Tis then a fatal truth. Thou art no yelper To open rashly on so wild a scent; Thouw’rt the young bloodhound, which careers and springs, Frolics and fawns, as if the friend of man, But seizes on his victim like a tiger. PHI. No matter what I am —I’m as you bred me; AUCHINDRANE, 639 So let that pass till there be time to mend me, And let us speak like men, and to the purpose. This object of our fear and of our dread, Since such our pride must own him, sleeps to-night Within our power: — to-morrow in Dun- bar’s, And we are then his victims. AUCH. He is ours to-night. Put. He is. Ill answer that Mac- Lellan’s trusty. AucH. Yet he replied to you to-day full rudely. Pui. Yes! the poor knave has got a handsome wife, And is gone mad with jealousy. AucH. Fool! — when we need the ut- most faith, allegiance, Obedience,and attachment in our vassals, Thy wild intrigues pour gall into their hearts, And turn their love to hatred! Pui. Most reverend sire, you talk of ancient morals, Preach’d on by Knox, and practised by Glencairn.* Respectable, indeed, but somewhat musty In these our modern nostrils. In our days If ayoung baron chance to leave his vassal The sole possessor of a handsome wife, ’Tis sign he loves his follower; andif not, He loves his follower’s wife, which often proves The surerbond of patronage. case, Favor flows in of course, and vassals rise. AucH. Philip, this is infamous, And what is worse, impolitic. Take ex- ample: Break not God’s laws or man’s for each temptation Take either * Alexander, Fifth Earl of Glencairn, called “The Good Earl,’? concurred in the Reforma- tion, asisting the Reformers with pen and sword. He had a chief command in the army raised against Queen Mary in June, 1567 and demol- ished the altar, broke the images, tore down the pictures and committed other acts of iconoclastic vandalism in the Chapel royal of Holyrood-house after the Queen was conducted to Lochleven. He was the author of a satirical poem against the Roman Catholics called ‘‘The Hermit of Alla: reit’’ (Loretto). He died in 1574. 640 That youth and blood suggest. I am a man — A weak and erring man;— full well thou know’st That I may hardly term myself a pattern Even to my son; yet thus far will I say, I never swerved from my integrity, Save at the voice of strong necessity, Or such o’erpowering view of high ad- vantage As wise men liken to necesssity, In strength and force compulsive. No one saw me Exchange my reputation for my pleasure, Or do the devil’s work without his wages. I practised prudence, and paid tax to vir- tue, By following her behests, save where strong reason Compell’d a deviation. ers At times look’d sour, or elders shook their heads, They could not term my walk irregular; For I stood up still for the worthier cause, A pillar, tho’ a flaw’d one, of the altar, Kept a strict walk, and led three hundred ee Put. Ah, these three hundred horse i in sk rough times Were better commendation to a party Than all your efforts at hypocrisy, Betray’d so oft by avarice and ambition, And dragg’d to open shame. But, right- eous father, When sire and son unite in mutual crime, And join their efforts tothe same enormity, It is no time to measure other’s faults, Or fix the amount of each. Most moral father, Think if it be a moment to weigh The vices of the Heir of Auchindrane, Or take precaution that the ancient house Shall have another heir than the sly cour- tier That’s gaping for the forfeiture. AucH. We’ll disappoint him, Philip,— We'll disappoint him yet. It is a folly, A wilful cheat, to cast our eyes behind, When time, and the fast flitting oppor- tunity, Call loudly — nay, compel us to look for- ward: Then, if preach- a DRAMATIC PIECES. Mg ay Act II. Why are we not already at MacLellan’s, Since there the’ victim sleeps? PHI. Nay, soft, I pray thee, I had not made your piety my confessor, Nor enter’din debate on these sage coun- sels, Which yow’re more like to give than 1 profit by, Could I have used the time more use- fully; But first an interval must pass betweam The fate of Quentin and the little artifice That shall detach him from his comrade, The stout old soldier that I told you of. AucH. How work a point so difficult —so dangerous? Pui. ’Tis cared for. the convenience Arising from meancompany. My agents Are at my hand, like a good workman’s tools, And if I mean a mischief, ten to one That they anticipate the deed and guilt. Well knowing this, when first the va- grants’ tattle Gave me the hint that Quentin was so near us, Instant I sent MacLellan, with strong charges To stop him for the night, and bring me word, Like an accomplish’ d spy, how all thing stood, Lulling the enemy into security. AucH. There was a prudent general! Mark, my father, Pui. MacLellan went and came wi | the hour. The jealous bee, which buzzes in his nigh | ca Has humm’d to him, this fellow, Quentin i Blane, - Had been in schoolboy days an humble lover Of his own pretty wife — , AUCH. Most fortunalale The knave will be more prompt to serve our purpose. a Pur. No doubt on’t. Mid the tidin $ | he brought back, : Was one of someimportance. Theold man Is flush of dollars; this I caused him tell Among. his comrades: who became as_ eager | | ! Scene I. To have him in their company, as e’er They had been wild to partwith him. And in brief space, A letter’s framed by an old hand amongst them, Familiar with such feats. | name And character of old Montgomery, Whom he might well suppose at no great distance, Commandinghisold Sergeant Hildebrand, By all the ties of late authority, Conjuring him by ancient soldiership, To hasten to his mansion instantly, On business of high import, with a charge To come alone — _ AucH. Well, he sets out, not: what follows? Pui. Iam not curious into others’ prac- tices, — So far I’m an economist in guilt, As you, my sire, advise. But on the road To old Montgomery’s he meets his com- rades; They nourish grudge against him and his | dollars, And things may hap, which counsel, : learn’d in law, It bore the I doubt it Call Robbery and Murder. Should he | live, He has seen naught that we would hide | from him. _ AucH. Who carries the forged letter to the veteran? Pur. Why, Niel MacLellan, who re- turn’d again To his own tower, as if to pass the night there. They pass’d on him, or tried to pass, a story, Asif they wish’d the sergeant’s company, Without the young comptroller’s — that is Quentin’s, ‘And he became an agent of their plot, That he might better carry on our own. AucuH. There’s life in it — yes, there is life in’t; And we will have a mounted party ready To scour the moors in quest of the banditti That kill’d the poor old man — they shall | die instantly. Dunbar shall see us use sharp justice here As well as hein Teviotdale. Youare sure ; | AUCHINDRANE. 641 You gave no hint nor impulse to their purpose ? Pui. It needed not. oped at once The whole pack Upon the scent of dollars. — But time comes When I must seek the tower, and act with Niel What farther’s to be done. AucH. Alone with him thou goest not. He bears grudge — Thou art my only son, and on a night When such wild passions are so free abroad, When such wild deeds are doing, ’tis but natural I guarantee thy safety. —I’ll ride with oe Pui. E’en as you will! my lord, But — pardon me — If you will come, let us not have a word Of conscience, and of pity, and forgive- ness; Fine words to-morrow, out of place to- night. Take counsel, then — leave all this work to me; Call up your household, make fit prepara- tion, In love and peace, to welcome this Earl Justiciar, As one that’s free of guilt. Go, deck the castle As for an honor’d guest. Hallow the chapel (If they have power to hallow it) with thy prayers. Let me ride forth alone, and ere the sun Comes o’er the eastern hill, thou shalt accost him: ‘‘Now do thy worst, thou oft-returning Spy; Beecreiabt thou canst discover.”’ AucH. Yet goest thou not alone with that MacLellan! He deems thou bearest will to injure him, And seek’st occasion suiting to such will. Philip, thou art irreverent, fierce, ill- nurtured, Stain’d with low vices, which disgust a father; Yet ridest thou not alone with yonder man, — 642 Come weal, come woe, myself will go with thee. [ Zx2t, and calls to horse behind the scene. Pui. (alone). Now would I give my fleetest horse to know What sudden thought roused this pater- nal care, And if ’tis on his own account or mine; ’Tis true, he hath the deepest share in all That’s likely now to hap, or which has happen’d. Yet strong thro’ Nature’s universal reign, The link which binds the parent to the offspring : The she-wolf knows it, and the tigress owns it. So that dark man, who, shunning what is vicious, Ne’er turned aside from an atrocity, Hath still some care left for his hapless offspring. Therefore ’tis meet, tho’ wayward, light, and stubborn, That I should do for him all that a son Can do for sire —and his dark wisdom join’d To influence my bold courses, ’twill be hard To break our mutual purpose. — Horses there ! [ Axze. ACT III. —Scene I. Lt is Moonlight. The Scene ts the Beach beneath the Tower which was exhibited in the first scene, — the Vessel is gone from her anchorage. AUCHINDRANE and PHILIP, as tf dismounted from their horses, come forward cautiously. Put. The nags are safely stow’d. Their noise might scare him; Let them be safe, and ready when we need them. The business is but short. MacLellan, To wake him,and in quiet bring him forth, If he be so disposed; for here are waters Enough to drown, and sand enough to cover him. But if he hesitate, or fear to meet us, By heaven I’ll deal on him in Chapeldo- nan We’ll call DRAMATIC: PIECES. Act It With my own hails — AucH. Too furious boy! + alana 01 noise undoes us: Our practice must be silent as ’tis | Bethink thee that conviction of this slaughter Confirms the very worst of accusations _ Our foes can bring against us. Where- fore shonld we, Who by birth and fortune mate with nobles, And are allied with them, take this lad’s life, — His peasant life, — unless to quash his evidence, Taking such pains to rid him from the world, Who would, if spared, have fix’d a crime Hage us. Pui. Well, I do own me one of thie wise fol Who think that when a deed of fata is plann’d The execution cannot be too rapid. But do we still keep purpose? Is’t deter- mined He sails for Ireland—and without a wherry? Salt water is his passport —is it not so? AucH. I would it could be otherwise! Might he not go there while in life and limb, And breathe his span out in another air? Many seek Ulster never to return — Why might this wretched youth not harlor there? Pui. With all my heart. honor to me To be the agent in a work like this. — Yet this poor caitiff, having thrust himself Into the secrets of a noble house, if And twined himself so closely with a safety, That we must perish, or that he must die, I’ll hesitate as little on the action, in As I would do to slay the animal i It is small Whose flesh supplies my dinner. Tis as harmless, 4 That deer or steer, as is this Quen Blane, 4 And not more necessary is its death To our accommodation — so we slay | Without a moment’s pause or hesitation. =. AUCH. ’Tis not, my son, the feeling | call’d remorse, That now lies tugging at this heart of mine, | Engendering thoughts that stop the lifted hand. Have I not heard John Knox pour forth his thunders Against the oppressor and the man of blood In accents of a minister of vengeance? Were not his fiery eyeballs turned on me, As if he said expressly: ‘‘Thou’rt the | man? ”’ Yet did my solid purpose, as I listen’d, Remain unshaken as that massive rock. _ Pui. Well, then, I’ll understand ’tis not remorse, — As ’tis a foible little known to thee, — ‘That interrupts thy purpose. What, | then, is it? Is't scorn, or is’t compassion? thing’s ‘certain, — Either the feeling must have free indul- gence, Or fully be subjected to your reason — ‘There is no room for these same treach- : erous courses, Which men call moderate measures. We must confide in Quentin, or must One : slay him. _ Aucu. In Ireland he might live afar : from us. _ Put. Among Queen Mary’s faithful partisans, Your ancient enemies, the haughty Ham- iltons, The stern MacDonnells, and resentful : Greemes — ‘With these around him, and with Cassilis’ death Exasperating them against you, think, my : father, What chance of Quentin’s silence. AucH. ‘Too true — too true. a silly youth, too, Who had not wit to shift for his own living — A bashful lover, whom his rivals laugh’d heed of pliant temper, which companions played on — A moonlight waker, and a noontide : dreamer — | He is AUCHINDRANE. 643 A torturer of phrases into sonnets, Whom all might lead that chose to praise a rhymes. Pui. I marvel that your memory has room To hold so much on such a worthless subject. AucH. Base in himself, and yet so strangely link’d With me and with my fortunes, that I’ve studied To read him thro’ and thro’, as I would read Some paltry rhyme of vulgar prophecy, Said to contain the fortunes of my house; And let me speak him truly: — He is grateful, Kind, tractable, obedient —a child Might lead him by a thread — He shall not die! PHI. Indeed !— then have we had our midnight ride To wondrous little purpose. AucH. By the blue heaven, Thou shalt not murder him, cold, selfish sensualist ! Yon pure vault speaks it — yonder sum- mer moon, With its ten million sparklers, cries, For- bear ! The deep earth sighs it forth — Thou shalt not murder ! Thou shalt not mar the image of thy maker ! Thou shalt not from thy brother take the life, The gracious gift which God alone can give ! PHI. Here is a worthy guerdon now, for stuffing His memory with old saws and holy sayings ! They come upon him in the very crisis, And when his resolution should be firmest, They shake it like a palsy. — Let it be, He’ll endat last by yielding to temptation, Consenting to the thing which must be done, With more remorse the more he hesi- tates. — (To his Father, who has stood fixed after his last speech.) — Well, sir, ’tis fitting you resolve at last, 644 How the young clerk should be disposed upon; Unless you would ride home to Auchin- drane, And bid them rear the Maiden in the court-yard, That when Dunbar comes, he have naught to do But bid us kiss the cushion and the heads- man. AucH. It is too true. — There is no safety for us, Consistent with the unhappy wretch’s life ! In Ireland he is sure to find my enemies. Arran I’ve proved — the Netherlands I’ve tried, But wilds and wars return him on my hands. Puri. Yet fear not, father, we’ll make surer work; The land has caves, the sea has whirlpools, Where that which they suck in returns no more. AucH. If will know naught of it, hard- hearted boy! Pur. Hard-hearted! Why — my heart is soft as yours; But then they must not feel remorse at once — We can’t afford such wasteful tenderness : I can mouth forth remorse as well as you. Be executioner, and I’1l be chaplain, And say as mild and moving things as you can; But one of us must keep his steely temper. AucH. Do thou the deed —I cannot look on it. Pur. Sobeit. Walk with me — Mac- Lellan brings him. The boat lies moor’d within that reach of rock, And ’twill require our greatest strength combined To launch it from the beach. Meantime, MacLellan Brings our man hither. — See the twink- ling light That glances in the tower. AucH. Let us withdraw — for should he spy us suddenly, He may suspect us, and alarm the family. Pui. Fear not — MacLellan has his trust and confidence, DRAMATIC PIECES. :| ACT IIL, | Bought with a few sweet words and we comes home. AucH. But think you that the Ranger | may be trusted? Pui. I’ll answer for him, — Let’s go| float the shallop. [ 7hey go off, and as they leave the Stage, MACLELLAN is seen de- scending from the Tower with QUENTIN. dark lantern. the Stage. Mac. (showing the light). — So — bravely done — that’s the last ledge of rocks, The former bearsa- They come upon And we are on the sands. — I have broke your slumbers Somewhat untimely. QUE. stir Do not think so, friend. | These six years past I have been used to | When the reveillé rung; and that, believe me, Chooses the hours for rousing meat ran- dom, And, having given it summons, yields m no license To indulge a second slumber. I’ll tell thee, Nay more, | That, like a pleased child, I was e’en too. | happy For sound repose. : Mac. The greater fool were you. Men should enjoy the moments given to slumber; For who can tell how soon may be the waking, Or where we shall have leave to sleep | again ? QuE. The God of Slumber comes not . at command. Last night the blood danced merry thro? my veins: Instead of finding this our land of Carrie The dreary waste my fears had appr hended, I saw thy wife, MacLellan, and thy daughter, : And had a brother’s welcome; saw thee, too, ft Renew’d my early friendship with you both, Scene I. And felt once more that I had friends and country. So keen the joy that tingled thro’ my sys- tem, Join’d with the searching powers of yon- der wine, That I am glad to leave my feverish lair, Altho’ my hostess smooth’d my couch herself, To cool my brow upon this moonlight beach, Gaze on the moonlight dancing on the waves. Such scenes are wont to soothe me into melancholy; But such the hurry of my spirits now, That everything I look on makes me laugh. Mac. I’ve seen but few so gamesome, Master Quentin, Being roused from sleep so suddenly as you were. ; QugE. Why, there’sthe jest on’t. Your old castle’s haunted. In vain the host—2in vain the lovely hostess, In kind addition to all means of rest, Add their best wishes for our sound re- pose, When some hobgoblin brings a pressing message: — Montgomery presently must see his ser- geant, And up gets Hildebrand, and off he trudges. I can’t but laugh to think upon the grin With which he doff’d the kerchief he had twisted Around his brows, and put his morion on — Ha! ha! ha! ha! Mac. I’m glad to see you merry, Quentin. Quer. Why, faith, my spirits are but transitory, And you may live with me a month or more, And never see me smile. such trifle As yonder little maid of yours would laugh at, Will serve me for a theme of merriment — Even now, I scarce can keep my gravity; Then some AUCHINDRANE., 645 We were so snugly settled in our quarters, With full intent to let the sun be high Ere we should leave our beds — and first the one And then the other’s summon’d briefly forth To the old tune, ‘‘ Black Bandsmen, up and march! ’’ Mac. Well, you shall sleep anon — rely upon it — And make up time misspent. Meantime, methinks, You are so merry on your broken slum- bers, You ask’d not why I call’d you. QUE. I can guess. You lack my aid to search the weir for seals, ? You lack my company to stalk a deer. Think you I have forgot your sylvan tasks, Which oft you have permitted me to share, Till days that we were rivals? Mac. You have memory Of that too ! — Que. Like the memory of a dream, Delusion far too exquisite to last. Mac. You guess not then for what I call you forth! It was to meet a friend — QuE. What friend? Thyself excepted, The good old man who’s gone to see Montgomery, And one to whom I once gave dearer title, I know not in wide Scotland man or woman Whom I could name a friend. Mac. Thou art mistaken. There is a Baron, and a powerful one — Que. There flies my fit of mirth. You have a grave And alter’d man before you. Mac. Compose yourself, there is no cause for fear, — He will and must speak with you. Que. Spare me the meeting, Niel, — I cannot see him. Say, I’m just landed on my native earth; Say, that I will not cumber it a day; Say, that my wretched thread of poor ex- istence Shall be drawn out in solitude and exile, Where never memory of so mean a thing 646 Again shall cross his path — but do not ask me To seek or speak again with that dark man ! Mac. Your fears are now as foolish as your mirth — What should the powerful knight of Auchindrane In common have with sucha man as thou? QuE. No matter what — Enough, I will not see him. Mac. He is thy master, and he claims obedience. Que. My master? Ay, my task-mas- ter — Ever since I could write man, his hand hath been upon me; No step I’ve made but cumber’d with his chain, And Iam weary on’t — I will not see him. Mac. You must and shal] —there is no remedy. Que. Take heed that you compel me not to find one. I’ve seen the wars since we had strife to- gether; To put my late experience to the test Were something dangerous —- Ha! I am betray’d! [ While the latter part of this dia- logue 1s passing, AUCHINDRANE and PHILIP enter on the Stage Jrom behind and suddenly pre- sent themselves. AucH. What says the runagate? QuE. (laying aside all appearance of resistance). — Nothing. You are my fate; And in a shape more fearfully resistless My evil angel could not stand before me. AucH. And so you scruple, slave, at my command, To meet me when I deign to ask thy pres- ence? QuE. No, sir; I had forgot—I am your bond-slave; But sure a passing thought of indepen- dence, For which Tve seen whole nations doing battle, Was not, in one who has so long enjoyed it, DRAMATIC PIECES. Act III, A crime beyond forgiveness. AUCH. We shall see: Thou wert my vassal, born upon my land, ~ Bred by my bounty. —It concern’d me highly, Thou know’st it did— and yet, against my charge, Again I find thy worthlessness in Scotland, QuE. Alas! the wealthy and the poves ful know not How very dear to those who have lame share in’t Is that sweet word of country ! exile The poor Feels, in each action of the varied day, ) The very air — His doom of banishment. Cools not his brow as in his native land; The scene is strange, the food is loathly — to him; The language —nay, the music jars his ear. Why should I, guiltless of the slightest crime, Suffer a punishment which, sparing life, Deprives that life of all which men hold dear ? AucuH. Hear ye the serf I bred begin to reckon : Upon his rights and pleasures! Who am I — Thou abject, who am I, whose will thou 7 thwartest ? PuI. Well spoke, my pious sire. There goes remorse ! Let once thy precious pride take fire, ane : then, MacLellan, you and I may have small trouble. Que. Your words are deadly, and your power resistless; I’m in your hands — but, surely, less than life May give you the security you seek, Without commission of a mortal crime. — AucH. Who is’t would deign to think upon thy life? I but require of thee to speed to Ireland, Where thou may’st sojourn for some little space, Having due means of living dealt to thea And, when it suits the changes of the times, ; Permission to return. Scene I. QUE. Noble my lord, I am too weak to combat with your pleas- ure; Yet O, for mercy’s sake, and for the sake Of that dear land which is our common mother, Let me not part in darkness from my country ! Pass but an hour or two, and every cape, Headland, and bay, shall gleam with new- born light, And I’ll take boat as gayly as the bird That soars to meet the morning. Grant me but this—to show no darker thoughts Are on your heart than those your speech expresses ! Pui. A modest favor, friend, is this you ask ! _ Are we to pace the beach like watermen, Waiting your worship’s pleasure to take | boat ? No, by my faith! you go upon the instant. The boat lies ready, and the ship receives ou Near to the Point of Turnberry. — Come, we wait you; | Bestir you! Que. I obey. Then farewell, Scotland ! And Heaven forgive my sins, and grant | that mercy ' Which mortal man deserves not ! AucH. (speaks aside to his Son). — | What signal Shall let me know ’tis done? PHI. When the light is quench’d, Your fears for Quentin Blane are at an end — (To Qur.) Come, comrade, come, we must begin our voyage. Que. But when —O when to end it! | He goes off reluctantly with PHILIP and MAacLELLAN. AUCHIN- DRANE stands looking after them. The Moon becomes over- clouded, and the Stage dark. AUCHINDRANE, who has gazed txedly and eagerly after those who have left the Stage, becomes animated, and speaks. AucHu. It is no fallacy !— The night is dark, AUCHINDRANE, 647 The moon has sunk before the deepening clouds; I cannot on the murky beach distinguish The shallop from the rocks which lie be- side it; I cannot see tall Philip’s floating plume, Nor trace the sullen brow of Niel Mac- Lellan; Yet still that caitiff’s visage is before me. With chattering teeth, mazed look, and bristling hair, As he stood here this moment ! — Have I changed My human eyes for those of some night prowler, The wolf’s, the tiger-cat’s, or the hoarse bird’s That spies its prey at midnight? I can see him — Yes, I cansee him, seeing no one else, — And well it is Ido so. In his absence, Strange thoughts of pity mingled with my purpose, And moved remorse within me. — But they vanish’d Whene’er he stood a living man before me; Then my antipathy awaked within me, Seeing its object close within my reach, Till I could scarce forbear him. — How they linger! The boat’s not yet to sea ! — I ask myself, What has the poor wretch done to wake my hatred — Docile, obedient, and in sufferance pa- tient ! — As well demand what evil has the hare Done to the hound that courses her in sport. Instinct infallible supplies the reason — And that must plead my cause. — The vision’s gone ! Their boat now walks the waves; a single gleam, Now seen, now lost, is all that marks her course; That soon shall vanish too —then all is over |! — Would it were over, for in this moment lies The agony of. ages; — Now, ’tis gone — And all is acted! No—she breasts again The opposing wave, and bears the tiny sparkle 648 Upon her crest —(A faint cry heard as from seaward. ) Ah! there was fatal evidence, All’s over now, indeed! —The light is quench’d — And Quentin, source of all my fear, exists not. The morning tide shall sweep his corpse to sea, And hide all memory of this stern night’s work. [He walks in a slow and deeply meditative manner towards the side of the Stage, and suddenly meets MARION, the wife of MAc- LELLAN, who has descended from the Castle. Now, how to meet Dunbar — Heaven guard my senses! Stand ! who goes there ? — Do spirits walk the earth Ere yet they’ve left the body? MAR. Is it you, My lord, on this wild beach at such an hour? Aucu. It is MacLellan’s wife, in search of him, Or of her lover — of the murderer, Or of the murder’d man. — Go to, Dame Marion; Men have their hunting-gear to give an eye to, Their snares and trackings for their game. But women Should shun the night air. A young wife also, Still more a handsome one, should keep her pillow Till the sun gives example for her waken- ing Come, Dame, ‘go back — back to your bed again. Mar. Hear me, my lord! there have been sights and sounds That terrified my child and me — Groans, screams, As if of dying seamen, came from ocean — A corpse-light danced upon the crested waves For several minutes’ space, then sunk at once. When we retired to rest we had two guests, DRAMATIC PIECES. 3 Act Tk Besides my husband Niel — Ill tell your lordship Who the men were AUCH. Pshaw, woman, can you think That I have any interest in your gossips? Please your own husband, and that you may please him, Get thee to bed, and shut up doors, good dame. Were I MacLellan, I should scarce b satisfied To find thee wandering here in mist and moonlight, When silence should be in thy habitation, And sleep upon thy pillow. MAR. Good my lord, This is a holyday. — By an ancient custom Our children seek the shore at break of day, And gather shells, and dance, and play, and sport them In honor of the Ocean. Old men say The customis derived from heathen times. Our Isabel ; Is mistress of the feast, and you may think She is awake already, and impatient To be the first shall stand upon the beach, And bid the sun good-morrow. AUCH. Ay, indeed? Linger such dregs of heathendom among you? And hath Knox preach’d, and Wishart died, in vain? Take notice, I forbid these sinful prac- tices, And will not have my followers mingle in them. : Mar. If such your honor’s pleasure, I must go . And lock the door on Isabel; she is wilful, And voice of mine will have small force to keep her . From the amusement she so long has dream’d of. But I must tell your honor, the old people, That were survivors of the former race, Prophesied evil if this day should pass Without due homage to the mighty Ocean. i AucH. Folly and Papistry. — Perhaps ~ the Ocean Hath had his morning sacrifice already; Or can you think the dreadful element, SCENE I. | Whose frown is death, whose roar the : dirge of navies, Will miss the idle pageant you prepare ? I’ve business for you, too — the dawn ad- | vances — -I’d have thee lock thy little child in safety, And get to Auchindrane before the sun rise} Tell them to get a royal banquet ready, As if a king were coming there to feast him. Mar. I will obey your pleasure. my husband — AucuH. I wait him on the beach, and bring him in To share the banquet. | Mar. But he has a friend, Whom it would ill become him to intrude Upon your hospitality. Aucu. Fear not; his friend shall be made welcome too, Should he return with Niel. Mar. He must —he will return —he has no option. AucH. (apart). Thus rashly do we deem of other’s destiny — He has indeed no option — but he comes : not. Begone on thy commission —I go this wa To meet thy husband. But [MARION goes to her Tower, and after entering it, 1s seen to come out, lock the door, and leave the stage, as tf to execute AUCHIN- PRANE’S commission. Le, ap- parently going off in a different direction, has watched her from the side of the stage, and on her departure speaks. _ AucH. Fare thee well, fond woman, Most dangerous of spies —thou prying, prating, Spying and telling woman! I’ve cut short _ Thy dangerous testimony — Hated word! What other evidence have we cut short, And by what fated means, this dreary morning ! — Bright lances here and helmets ! — I must shift _ To join the others, [ Exit. AUCHINDRANE. 649 Enter from the other side the SERGEANT, accompanted with an Officer and two Pikemen. Ser. ’Twas in good time you came; a minute later The knaves had ta’en my dollars and my life. Orr. You fought most stoutly. of them were down Ere we came to your aid. SER. Gramercy, halberd! And well it happens, since your leader seeks This Quentin Blane, that you have fall’n on me; None else can surely tell you where he hides, Being in some fear, and bent to quit this province. OrF. *Twill do our Earl good service. He has sent Despatches into Holland for this Quentin. SER. I left him two hours since in yon- Two der tower, Under the guard of one who smoothly spoke, Altho’ he look’d but roughly —I will chide him For bidding me go forth with yonder trai- tor. Orr. Assure yourself ’twas a concerted stratagem. Montgomery’s been at Holyrood for months, And can have sent no letter — ’twas a plan On you and on your dollars, and a base one, To which this Ranger was most likely privy. Such men as he hang on our fiercer barons, The ready agents of their lawless will; Boys‘of the belt, who aid their master’s pleasures, And in his moods ne’er scruple his in- junctions. But haste, for now we must unkennel Quentin; I’ve strictest charge concerning him. Ser. Go up, then, to the tower. You’ve younger limbs than mine; there shall you find him Lounging and snoring, like a lazy cur Before a stable door; it is his practice. 650 [ 7%2 OFFICER goes up to the Tower, and after knocking without re- cetving an answer ,turns the key which MARION had left in the lock, and enters ; ISABEL, dressed as tf forher dance, runs out and descends to the Stage; the OFFI- CER follows. Orr. There’s no one in the house, this little maid Excepted — Isa. And for me, I’m ther? no longer, And will not be again for three hours good; I’m going to join my playmates on the sands. OFF. (detaining her). Youshall, when you have told to me distinctly Where are the guests who slept up there last night. Isa. Why, there is the old man, he stands beside you, The merry old man with the glistening hair; He left the tower at midnight, for my father Brought him a letter. SER. In ill hour I left you. I wish to Heaven that I had stay’d with you! There is a nameless horror that comes o’er me. — Speak, pretty maiden, chanced next, And thou shalt have thy freedom. tell us what Isa. After you went last night, my father Grew moody, and refused to doff his clothes, Or go to bed, as sometimes he will do When there is aught fo chafe him. Until past midnight, He wander’d to and fro, then call’d the stranger, The gay young man, that sung such merry songs, Yet ever look’d most sadly whilst he sung them; And forth they went together. OFF. And you’ve seen Or heard naught of them since? Isa. Seen surely nothing, and I cannot think DRAMATIC FIZCEs, oe | | | Act M, That they have lot or share in what I heard. I heard my mother praying, for the corpse- lights | Were dancing on the waves; and at one o’clock, | Just as the Abbey steeple toll’d the nen | There was a heavy plunge upon the | waters, And some one cried aloud for mercy | — mercy ! It was the water-spirit, sure, which prom- ised Mercy to boat and fishermen, if we Perform’d to- -day’s rites duly. Let me Bos I am to lead the ring. OFF. (40 SER.). Detain her not. cannot tell us more; To give her liberty is the sure way To lure her parents homeward. — Strahan, take two men, And should the father or the mothe come, Arrest them both, or either. Auchindrane May come upon the beach; arrest him also, q But do not state a cause. I?ll back again, And take directions from my Lord Dun- | bar. Keep you upon the beach, and have an eye To all that passes there. [ Lxeunt separately 2 | ScENE II. Scene changes to a remote and rocky part of the Seabeach, Enter AUCHINDRANE, meeting PHILIP. AucH. The devil’s brought his legions to this beach, That wont to be so lonely ; morions, lances, Show in the morning beam as thick as glowworms E At summer midnight. te PHI. I’m right glad to see then Be they whoe’er they may, so they are mortal; For I’ve contended with a lifeless foe, : And I have lost the battle. I would give A thousand crowns to hear a mortal steel Ring on a mortal harness. a —- a | When dealing with a stag. \ Scene II. AucH. How now! art mad? or hast thou done the turn — The turn we came for, and must live or die by? Put. ’Tis done, if man can do it; but I doubt If this unhappy wretch have Heaven’s permission To die by mortal hands. AucH. Where is he? — where’s Mac- Lellan? PHI. In the deep — Both in the deep, and what’s immortal of them Gone to the judgment seat, where we must meet them. ucH. MacLellan dead, and Quentin too? — So be it To all that menace ill to Auchindrane, Or have the power to injure ! —Thy words Are full of comfort, but thine eye and look Have in this pallid gloom a ghastliness, Which contradicts the tidings of thy tongue. Pui. Hear me, old man —'There zs a heaven above us, As you have heard old Knox and Wishart preach, Tho’ little to your boot. witness Is slain, andsilent. But his misused body Comes right ashore as if to cry for ven- geance; It rides the waters like a living thing, Erect, as if he trode the waves which bear him. AucH. Thou speakest frenzy, when sense is most required. Put. Hear me yet more!—TI say I did the deed With all the coolness of a practiced hunter I struck him The dreaded overboard, And with MacLellan’s aid I held his head Under the waters, while the Ranger tied The weights we had provided to his feet. We cast him loose when life and body parted, _ And bade him speed for Ireland. But even then, As in defiance of the words we spoke, The body rose upright behind our stern, AUCHINDRANE. 651 One half in ocean, and one half in air, And tided after as in chase of us. AucH. It was enchantment ! — Did you strike at it? PHI. Once and again. But blows avail’d no more Than on a wreath of smoke, where they may break The column for a moment, which unites And is entireagain. Thus the dead body Sunk down before my oar, but rose un- harm’d, And doge’d us closer still, as in defiance. AucH. Twas Hell’s own work! Pui. MacLellan then grew restive, And, desperate in his fear, blasphemed aloud, Cursing us both as authors of his ruin. Myself was well-nigh frantic while per- sued By this dread shape, upon whose ghastly features The changeful moonbeam spread a grisly light, And, baited thus, I took the nearest way To ensure his silence, and to quell his noise; I used my dagger, and I flung him over- board, : And half-expected his dead carcass also Would join the chase — but he sank down at once. AucuH. He had enough of mortal sin about him To sink an argosy. Put. But now resolve you what defence to make, If Quentin’s body shall be recognized; For ’tis ashore already; and he bears Marks of my handiwork — so does Mac- Lellan. Aucu. The concourse thickens still — Away, away! We must avoid the multitude. [ Zhey rush out. ScENE III... Scene changes to another part of the Beach, Children are seen dancing, and Villagers looking on. ISABEL seems to take the management of the Dance. Vit. Wom. How well she queens it, the brave little maiden ! 652 Vit. Ay, they all queen it from their very cradle, These willing slaves of haughty Auchin- drane. But now I hear the old man’s reign is ended; — ’Tis well—he has been tyrant long enough. SECOND VIL. Finlay, speak low — you interrupt the sports. THIRD VIL. Look out to sea!— There’s something coming yonder, Bound for the beach, will scare us from our mirth. FouRTH VIL. Pshaw! it is but a sea- gull on the wing, Between the wave and sky. THIRD VIL. Thou art a fool, Standing on solid land—?’tis a dead body. SECOND ViL. And if it be, he bears him like a live one, Not prone and weltering, like a drowned corpse, But bolt erect, as if he trode the waters, And used them as his path. FourRTH VIL. It is a merman, And nothing of this earth, alive or dead. [ By degrees all the Dancers break off Jromthetr sport, and stand gaz- ing to seaward, while an object, imperfectly seen, drifts towards the Beach, and atlength arrives among the rocks which border the tide. THIRD VIL. Perhaps it is some wretch who needs assistance; Jasper, make in and see. SECOND VIL. Not I, my friend; E’en take the risk yourself, you’d put on others. [ HILDEBRAND Aas entered, and heard the two last words, SER. What, are you men? Fear ye to look on what you must be one day? I, who have seen a thousand dead and dying Within a flight-shot square, will teach you how in war We look upon the corpse when life has left it, DRAMATIC PIECES. Act III. ScEeNnge Til. [ [Ze goes to the back scene, and seems attempting to turn the body, which has come ashore with its Jace downward. Will none of you come aid to turn the body? IsA. You're cowards all. —I7ll help thee, good old man. [ She goes to ata the SERGEANT with the body, and presently gives a cry, and faints. HILDEBRAND comes forward. All crowd round him, he speaks with an expression of horror. SER. ’Tis Quentin Blane! Poor youth, his gloomy bodings Have been the prologue to an act of dark- ness; His feet are manacled, his bosom stabb’d, And he is foully murder’d. The proud Knight And his dark Ranger must have done this deed, For which no common ruffian could have motive. A PEASANT. Caution were best, old man — Thou art a stranger, The Knight is great and powerful. SER. Let it be so. Call’d on by Heaven to stand forth an avenger, I will not blench for fear of mortal man. Have I not seen that when that innocent Had placed her hands upon the murder’d body, His gaping wounds, that erst were soak’ d with brine, Burst forth with blood as ruddy as the cloud Which now the sun does rise on! PEASANT. What of that? SER. Nothing that can affect the inno- cent child; | But murder’s guilt attaching to her father, Since the blood musters in the victim's veins At the approach of what holds lease <7 him Of all that parents can transmit to chile dren. Z And here comes one to whom I'll vou | the circumstance, THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. The EARL OF DUNBAR enters with Sol- diers and others, having AUCHIN- DRANE azd PHILIP prisoners. Dun. Fetter the young ruffian and his trait’rous father ! [ They are made secure. Aucu. "Twas a lord spoke it —I have known a knight, Sir George of Home, who had not dared to say so. Dun. "Tis Heaven, not I, decides upon your guilt. A harmless youth is traced within your power, Sleeps in your Ranger’s house —his friend at midnight Is spirited away. Then lights are seen, And groans are heard, and corpses come ashore Mangled with daggers, while (40 PHI.) your dagger wears The sanguine livery of recent slaughter: Here, too, the body of a murder’d victim 653 (Whom none but you had interest to re- move ) Bleeds on a child’s approach, because the daughter Of one the abettor of the wicked deed; — All this, and other proofs corroborative, Call on us briefly to pronounce the doom We have in charge to utter. AucuH. If my house perish, Heaven’s will be done! I wish not to survive it; but, O Philip, Would one could pay the ransom for us both! Pui. Father, ’tis fitter that we both should die, Leaving no heir behind. — The piety Of a bless’d saint, the morals of an anchorite, Could not atone thy dark hypocrisy, Or the wild profligacy I have practised. Ruin’d our house, and shattered be our towers, And with them end the curse our sins have merited! THE HOUSE .OF ASPEN. A TRAGEDY. ADVERTISEMENT. Tuis attempt at dramatic composition was executed nearly thirty years since, when the magnificent works of Goethe and Schiller were for the first time made known to the British public, and received, as many now alive must remember, with universal enthusiasm. What we admire we usually attempt to imitate ; and the author, not trusting to his own efforts, borrowed the substance of the story and a part of the diction from a dramatic romance called “Der heilige Vehme” (The Secret Tribunal), which fills the sixth volume of the “ Sagen der Vorzeit” (Tales of Antiquity), by Beit Weber. The drama must be termed rather a rifacimento of the original than a translation, since the whole is compressed, and the incidents and dialogue are occasionally much varied. The imitator is ignorant of the real name of his ingenious contemporary, and has been informed that of Beit Weber is fictitious.* The late Mr. John Kemble at one time had some desire to bring out the play at Drury- Lane, then adorned by himself and his matchless sister, who were to have supported the characters of the unhappy son and mother; but great objections appeared to this proposal. There was danger that the mainspring of the story,— the binding engagements formed by members of the secret tribunal,— might not be sufficiently felt by an English audience, to whom the nature of that singularly mysterious institution was unknown from early associa- tion. There was also, according to Mr. Kemble’s experienced opinion, too much blood, too * George Wachter, who published various works under the pseudonym of Vez¢ Weber, was born in 1763, and died in 1837.— £d. 6x4 DRAMATIC PIECES. much of the dire catastrophe of Tom Thumb, when all die on the stage. It was, besides, esteemed perilous to place the fifth act and the parade and show of the secret conclave at the mercy of underlings and scene-shifters, who, by a ridiculous motion, gesture, or accent, might turn what should be grave into farce. [ The author, or rather the translator, willingly acquiesced in this reasoning, and never afterwards made any attempt to gain the honor of the buskin. he German taste, also, caricatured by a number of imitators, who, incapable of copying the sublimity of the great masters of the school, supplied its place by extravagance and bombast, fell into disrepute, and received a coup de grace from the joint efforts of the late lamented Mr. Canning and — Mr. Frere. The effect of their singularly happy piece of ridicule called “ The Rovers,” a mock play which appeared in 7’e Aztz-Jacobin, was, that the German school, with its beauties and its defects, passed completely out of fashion, and the following scenes were consigned to neglect and obscurity. Very lately, however, the writer chanced to look them over with feelings very different from those of the adventurous period of his literary life during which they had been written, and yet with such as perhaps a reformed libertine might regard the illegitimate production of an early amour. There is something to be ashamed of, certainly ; but, after all, paternal vanity whispers that the child has a resem- blance to the father. a To this it need only be added, that there are in existence so many manuscript copies of the following play, that if it should not find its way to the public sooner, it is certain to’ do so when the author can no more have any opportunity of correcting the press, and con- sequently at greater disadvantage than at present. Being of too small a size or conse- quence for a separate publication, the piece is sent as a contribution to Zhe Keepsake, where the demerits may be hidden amid the beauties of more valuable articles. £ ABBOTSFORD, 1st Afril, 18296 : DRAMATIS PERSONA. MEN. RuDIGER, Baron of Aspen, an old German warrior. GEORGE OF ASPEN, : gi Sons to Rudiger. HENRY OF ASPEN, & RODERIC, Count of Maltingen, chief of a department of the Invisible Tribunal, and the hereditary enemy of the family of Aspen. & WiLuiAM, Baron of Wolfstein, ally of Count Roderic. sy BERTRAM OF EBERSDORF, brother to the former husband of the Baroness of Aspen, disguised as a Minstrel. 2 DUKE OF BAVARIA. thera tee Followers of the House of Aspen. CONRAD, Page of Honor to Henry of Aspen. i. MARTIN, Sguire to George of Aspen. % HuGo, Squire to Count Roderic. PETER, an ancient domestic of Rudiger. FATHER Lupovic, Chaplain to Rudiger. WOMEN. ISABELLA, formerly married to Arnolf of Ebersdorf, now wife of Rudiger. GERTRUDE, /sadella’s niece, betrothed to Henry. Soldiers, Judges of the Invisible Tribunal, etc. SCENE.— The Castle of Ebersdorf in Bavaria, the ruins of Griefenhaus, and the adjacent country. x " a ACT I. —Scene I. RUDIGER, Baron of Aspen, and his lady, An anctent Gothic chamber in the castle ISABELLA, are discovered sitting at a of Lbersdorf. Spears, crossbows, and large oaken table, & arms, wrth the horns of buffaloes and Rup. A plague upon that roan horse! of deer, are hung round the wall. An \ Had he not stumbled with me at the ford | antique buffet with beakers and stone | after our last skirmish, I had been no ie bottles. with my sons. And yonder the boys are, Scene I, . hardly three miles off, battling with Count ‘ Roderic, and their father must lie here like a worm-eaten manuscript in a con- vent library! Out upon it! Out upon it! Is it not hard that a warrior, who _has travelled so many leagues to display _ the cross on the walls of Zion, should be now unable to lift a spear before his own castle gate? Isa. Dear husband, your anxiety re- _tards your recovery. ~ Rup. Maybe so; but not less than your silence and melancholy! Here have -I sat this month, and more, since that cursed fall! Neither hunting nor feast- ing, nor lance-breaking for me! And my sons— George enters cold and re- served, as if he had the weight of the empire on his shoulders, utters by sylla- Dles a cold ‘* How is it with you?” and shuts himself up for days in his solitary chamber — Henry, my cheerful Henry — Isa. Surely, he at least — _ Rup. Even he forsakes me, and skips up the tower staircase like lightning to join your fair ward, Gertrude, on the I cannot blame him: for, battlements. by my knightly faith, were I in his place, ‘Tthink even these bruised bones would hardly keep me from her side. Still, ‘however, here I must sit alone. Isa. Not alone, dear husband. Heaven knows what I would do to soften your confinement. __ Rup. Tellme not of that, lady. When I first knew thee, Isabella, the fair maid of Arnheim was the joy of her compan- ions, and breathed life wherever she ‘came. Thy father married thee to Arnolf of Ebersdorf —not much with thy will, tis true — (She hides her face. Nay forgive me, Isabella — but that is over — he died, end the ties between us, which thy marriage had broken, were renewed — but the sunshine of my Tsabella’s light heart returned no more. Isa. (weeping). Beloved Rudiger, you search my very soul! Why will you re- ‘call past times — days of spring that can never return? Do I not love thee more than ever wife loved husband? Rup. (stretches out his arms — she em- braces him). And therefore art thou THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 655 ever my beloved Isabella. But still, is it not true? Has not thy cheerfulness vanished since thou hast become Lady of Aspen? Dost thou repent of thy love to Rudiger? Isa. Alas! no! never! never! : Rup. Then why dost thou herd with monks and priests, and leave thy old knight alone, when, for the first time in his stormy life, he has rested for weeks within the walls of his castle? Hast thou committed a crime from which Rudiger’s love cannot absolve thee? Isa. O many! many! Rup. Then be this kiss thy penance. And tell me, Isabella, hast thou not founded a convent, and endowed it with the best of thy late husband’s lands? Ay, and with a vineyard which I could have prized as well as the sleek monks. Dost thou not daily distribute alms to twenty pilgrims? Dost thou not cause ten masses to be sung each night for the repose of thy late husband’s soul? Isa. It will not know repose. Rup. Well, well—God’s peace be with Arnolf of Ebersdorf; the mention of him makes thee ever sad, though so many years have passed since his death. Isa. But at present, dear husband, have I not the most just cause for anx- iety? Are not Henry and George — our beloved sons, at this very moment per- haps engaged in doubtful contest with our hereditary foe, Count Roderic of Maltingen ? Rup. Now, there lies the difference; you sorrow that they are in danger. I that I cannot share it with them — Hark! I hear horses’ feet on the draw- bridge. Go to the window, Isabella. Isa. (at the window). It is Wickerd, your squire. Rup. Then shall we have tidings of George and Henry. (L7¢er WICKERD. ) How now, Wickerd? Have you come to blows yet? Wic. Not yet, noble sir. Rup. Not yet?—shame on the boys’ dallying — what wait they for? Wic. The foe is strongly posted, sir knight, upon the Wolfshill, near the ruins of Griefenhaus: therefore your noble 656 son, George of Aspen, greets you well, and requests twenty more men-at-arms, and, after they have joined him, he hopes, with the aid of St. Theodore, to send you news of victory. Rup. (attempts to rise hastily). Saddle my black barb; I will head them myself. (Sits down.) A murrain on that stum- bling roan! I had forgot my dislocated bones. Call Reynold, Wickerd, and bid him take all whom he can spare from de- fence of the castle — (WICKERD 25 going ) —and ho! Wickerd, carry with you my black barb, and bid George charge upon him. (Exit WICKERD.) Now see, Isa- bella, if I disregard the boy’s safety; I send him the best horse ever knight be- strode. When we lay before Ascalon, indeed, I had a bright bay Persian — Thou dost not heed me. Isa. Forgive me, dear husband: are not our sons in danger? Will not our sins be visited upon them? Is not their present situation — Rup. Situation? I know it well: as fair a field for open fight as I ever hunted over: see here —(makes lines on the table) —here is the ancient castle of Griefenhaus in ruins, here the Wolfshill; and here the marsh on the right. Isa. The marsh of Griefenhaus? Rup. Yes; by that the boys must pass. Isa. Pass there! (Apart.) Avenging Heaven! thy hand is upon us! [ Laxzt hastily. Rup. Whither now? Whither now? She is gone. Thus it goes. Peter! Peter! (Zuter PETER.) Help me to the gallery, that I may see them on horseback. [Lazt, leaning on PETER. SCENE II. The inner court of the castle of Ebersdorf; @ quadrangle, surrounded with Gothic buildings ; troopers, Sollowers of RUDI- GER, pass and re-pass in haste, as if preparing for an excursion. WICKERD comes forward. Wic. What, ho! Reynold! Reynold! By our Lady, the spirit of the Seven DRAMATIC PIECES. 5S ‘’ a5 | Aer F, | Sleepers is upon him—So ho! not. mounted yet! Reynold! Linter REYNOLD. | | Rey. Here! Here! A devil choke, thy bawling! thinkst thou old Reynold | is not as ready for a skirmish as thou? Wic. Nay, nay: I did but jest; but, | by my sooth, it were a shame should our | youngsters have yoked with Count Rod- eric before we graybeards come. Rey. Heaven forfend! Our troopers are but saddling their horses; five min- utes more, and we are in our stirrups, | and then let Count Roderic sit fast. : Wic. A plague on him! he has ever lain hard on the skirts of our noble master. | Rey. Especially since he was refused the hand of our Lady’s niece, the pretty Lady Gertrude. Wic. Ay, marry! would nothing less serve the fox of Maltingen than the lovely lamb of our young Baron Henry! By my sooth, Reynold, when I look upon these two lovers, they make me full twenty years younger; and when I meet the man that would divide them — I say nothing — but let him look to it. Rey. And how fare our young lords?’ Wic. Each well in his humor — Baron George stern and cold, according to his wont, and his brother as cheerful as ever. Rey. Well! — Baron Henry for me. Wic. Yet George saved thy life. Rey. True — withas much indifference as if he had been snatching a chestnut out of the fire. Now, Baron Henry wept for my danger and my wounds. ‘There- fore George shall ever command my life, but Henry my love. Wic. Nay, Baron George shows his gloomy spirit even by the choice of a favorite. Rey. Ay— Martin, formerly the squire of Arnolf of Ebersdorf, his mother’s first husband. —I marvel he could not have fitted himself with an attendant from among the faithful followers of his worthy father, whom Arnolf and his adherents used to hate as the Devil hates holy water. But Martin is a good soldier, and has. my black barb, Gertrude. that I cannot mount bim! Scene III. THE HOUSE stood toughly by George in many a hard brunt. Wic. The knave is sturdy enough, but ‘so sulky withal.—I have seen, brother Reynold, that when Martin showed his moody visage at the banquet, our noble mistress has dropped the wine she was raising to her lips, and exchanged her smiles for a ghastly frown, as if sorrow went by sympathy, as kissing goes by favor. Rey. His appearance reminds her of her first husband, and thou hast well seen ¢ha/ makes her ever sad. Wic. Dost thou marvel at that? She was married to Arnolf by a species of force, and they say that before his death he compelled her to swear never to es- pouse Rudiger. The priests will not absolve her for the breach of that vow, and therefore she is troubled in mind. For, d’ye mark me, Reynold [ Bugle sounds. Rey. Atruce to your preaching ! To horse! and a blessing on your arms! Wic. St. George grant it! [Axezznzt. ScENE III. The gallery of the castle, terminating in a large balcony commanding a distant prospect. — Voices, bugle-horns, kettle- drums, trampling of horses, etc., are heard without. RUDIGER, /eaning on PETER, looks from the balcony. GERTRUDE and Isa- BELLA are near him. Rup. There they go at length — look, Isabella! look, my pretty Gertrude — these are the iron-handed warriors who shall tell Roderic what it will cost him to force thee from my protection — ( //our- ish without. Rudiger stretches his arms from the balcony.) Go, my children, and God’s blessing with you. Look at That horse shall let daylight in through a phalanx, were it twenty pikes deep. Shame on it Seest thou _ how fierce old Reynold looks? Ger. I can hardly know my friends in their armor. OF ASPEN. 657 [ Zhe bugles and kettle-drums are heard as at a greater distance. Rub. Now I could tell every one of their names, even at this distance; ay, and were they covered, as I have seen them, with dust and blood. He on the dapple gray is Wickerd—a_ hardy fellow, but somewhat given to prating. That is young Conrad who gallops so fast, page to thy Henry, my girl. [Lugles, etc., ala greater distance still, GrErR. Heaven guardthem! Alas! the voice of war that calls the blood into your cheeks, chills and freezes mine. Rup. Say not so. It is glorious, my girl, glorious! See how their armor glistens as they wind round yon hill! how their spears glimmer amid the long train of dust. Hark! you can still hear the faint notes of their trumpets — (Bugles very faint.) — And Rudiger, old Rudiger with the iron arm, as the crusaders used to call me, must remain behind with the priests and the women. Well! well! — (Szzgs.) “ It was a knight to battle rode, And as his war-horse he bestrode”’ — Fill me a bowl of wine, Gertrude; and do thou, Peter, call the minstrel who came last night. — ( S?zgs. ) ‘« Off rode the horseman, dash, sa, sa! And stroked his whiskers, tra, la la.” — (PETER goes out, — RUDIGER s7/s down, and GERTRUDE helps him with wine.) Thanks, my love. It tastes ever best from thy hand. Isabella, here is glory and victory to our boys— (Drinks. ) — Wilt thou not pledge me? Isa. To their safety, and God grant it! — (Drinks.) Enter BERTRAM as a minstrel, with a boy bearing his harp, — Also PETER. Rup. Thy name, minstrel? Ber. Minhold, so please you. Rup. Art thou a German? Ber. Yes, noble sir; and of this prov- ince, 658 Rup. Sing me a song of battle. [BERTRAM szzgs to the harp. Rup. Thanks, minstrel: well sung, and lustily. What sayst thou, Isabella? Isa. I marked him not. Rup. Nay, in sooth you are too anx- ious. Cheer up. And thou, too, my lovely Gertrude: in a few hours thy Henry shall return, and twine his laurels into a garland for thy hair. He fights for thee, and he must conquer. Ger. Alas! must blood be spilled for a silly maiden? Rup. Surely; for what should knights break lances but for honor and ladies’ love —ha, minstrel? Ber. So please you —also to punish crimes. Rup. Out upon it! wouldst have us ex- ecutioners, minstrel? Such work would disgrace our blades. We leave male- factors to the Secret Tribunal. Isa. Merciful God! Thou hast spoken a word, Rudiger, ‘of dreadful import. GER. They say, that unknown and in- visible themselves, these awful judges are ever present with the guilty; that the past and the present misdeeds, the secrets of the confessional, nay, the very thoughts of the heart, are before them; that their doom is as sure as that of fate, the means and executioners unknown. Rup. They say true —the secrets of that association, and the names of those who compose it, are as inscrutable as the grave: we only know that it has taken deep root, and spread its branches wide. I sit down each day in my hall, nor know how many of these secret judges may surround me, all bound by the most solemn vow to avenge guilt. Once, and but once, a knight, at the earnest request and inquiries of the emperor, hinted that he belonged to the society: the_next morning he was found slain in a forest: the poniard was left in the wound, and bore this label — ‘‘ Thus do the invisible judges punish treachery.”’ GER. Gracious! aunt, you grow pale. Isa. A slight indisposition only, Rup. And what of it all? We know our hearts are open to our Creator: shall we fear any earthly inspection? Come DRAMATIC PIECES. os Paes. Act IL to the battlements; there we shall soonest descry the return of our warriors. [ Axz¢ RUDIGER, with GERTRUDE and PETER. Isa. Minstrel, send the chaplain hither. (Lait BERTRAM.) Gracious Heaven! the guileless innocence of my niece, the manly honesty of my upright-hearted Rudiger, become daily tortures to me. While he was engaged in active and stormy exploits, fear for his safety, joy when he returned to his castle, enabled me to disguise my inward anguish from others. But from myself — Judges of blood, that lie concealed in noontide as in midnight, who boast to avenge the hidden guilt, and to penetrate the re- cesses of the human breast, how blind is your penetration, how vain your dagger, and your cord, compared to the con- science of the sinner! Enter FATHER LUDOVIG . Lup. Peace be with you, lady! Isa. It is not with me: it is thy office to bring it. Lup. And the cause is the absence of the young knights? . Isa. Their absence and their danger. ~ Lup. Daughter, thy hand has been stretched out in bounty to the sick and _ to the needy. Thou hast not denied a shelter to the weary, nor a tear to the afflicted. Trust in their prayers, and in those of the holy convent thou hast founded: peradventure they will bring back thy children to thy bosom. Isa. Thy brethren cannot pray for me. or mine. Their vow binds them to pray night and day for another —to suppli- cate, without ceasing, the Eternal Mercy for the soul of one who—Oh, only Heaven knows how much he needs theif prayer ! : Lup. Unbounded is the mercy of Heaven. The soul of thy former hus- band As Isa. I charge thee, priest, mention not the word. (Apart.) . Wretch that I am, the meanest menial in my train” has power to goad me to madness! r Lup. Hearken to me, daughter; thy crime against Arnolf of Ebersdorf can | Scene III. not bear in the eye of Heaven so deep a dye of guilt. Isa. Repeat that once more; say once again that it cannot—cannot bear so deep a dye. Prove to me that ages of the bitterest penance, that tears of the dearest blood, can erase such guilt. Prove but ¢2a¢ to me, and I will build thee an abbey which shall put to shame the fairest fane in Christendom. Lup. Nay, nay, daughter, your con- science is over tender. Supposing that, under dread of the stern Arnolf, you swore never to marry your present hus- band, still the exacting such an oath was unlawful, and the breach of it venial. Isa. (vesuming her composure). Be it so, good father: I yield to thy better reasons. And now tell me, has thy pious care achieved the task I intrusted to thee? Lup. Of superintending the erection of the new hospital for pilgrims? I have, noble lady: and last night the minstrel now in the castle lodged there. IsA. Wherefore came he then to the castle ? Lup. Reynold brought the commands of the Baron. Isa. Whence comes he, and what is his tale? When he sung before Rudiger, I thought that long before I had heard - such tones —seen such a face. _Lup. It is possible you may have seen him, lady, for he boasts to have been known to Arnolf of Ebersdorf, and to have lived formerly in this castle. He inquires much after AZartin, Arnolf’s squire. Isa. Go, Ludovic—go quick, good father, seek him out, give him this purse, and bid him leave the castle, and speed him on his way. _ Lup. May I ask why, noble lady? Isa. Thou art inquisitive, priest; I honor the servants of God, but I foster not the prying spirit of a monk. Begone! _ Lup. But the Baron, lady, will expect a reason why I dismiss his guest ? Isa. True, true (vecollecting herself); pardon my warmth, good father, I was thinking of the cuckoo that grows too big for the nest of the sparrow, and THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 659 strangles its foster-mother. Do no such birds roost in convent-walls? Lub. Lady, I understand you not. Isa. Well, then, say to the Baron, that I have dismissed long ago all the attend- ants of the man of whom thou hast spoken, and that I wish to have none of them beneath my roof. Lup. (¢nguisttively), Except Martin? Isa. (sharply). Except Martin! who saved the life of my son George! Do as I command thee. fexet. Manet LUDOVIC. Lup. Ever the same —stern and per- emptory to others as rigorous to herself; haughty even to me, to whom, in another mood, she has knelt for absolution, and whose knees she has bathed in tears. I cannot fathom her. The unnatural zeal with which she performs her dreadful penances cannot be religion, for shrewdly I guess she believes not in their blessed efficacy. Well for her that she is the foundress of our convent, otherwise we might not have erred in denouncing her as a heretic! [ Zxit. ACT II. — Scene I. A woodland prospect. — Through a long avenue, half-grown up by brambles, are discerned in the background the ruins of the anctent Castle of Griefenhaus. — The distant noise of battle 1s heard dur- ing this scene. Linter GEORGE OF ASPEN, armed with a battle-axe in his hand, as from horse- back. Fe supports MARTIN, and brings him forward. Gro. Lay thee down here, old friend. The enemy’s horsemen will hardly take their way among these branches, through which I have dragged thee. Mar. Oh, do not leave me! leave me not an instant! My moments are now but few, and I would profit by them. Gro. Martin, you forget yourself and me —I must back to the field. MAR. (atlempts to rise). Then drag me back thither also; I cannot die but in your presence—TI dare not be alone. Stay, to give peace to my parting soul. 660 Gro. I am no priest, Martin. (Gozxg.) MAR. (rating himself with great pain). Baron George of Aspen, I saved thy life in battle: for that good deed, hear me but one moment. Gro. I hear thee, my poor friend. (Returning.) Mar. But come close —very close. See’st thou, sir knight—this wound I his — and this — dost thou not remember? Gro. I do. Mar. I have served thee since thou wast a child; served thee faithfully — was never from thy side. Geo. Thou hast. Mar. And now I die in thy service. Gro. Thou may’st recover. Mar. I cannot. By my long service —by my scars —by this mortal gash, and by the death that I am to die — oh, do not hate me for what I am now to unfold! GEO. Be assured I can never hate thee. Mar. Ah, thou little knowest. — Swear to me thou wilt speak a word of comfort to my parting soul. Gro. (takes his hana). I swear I will. (Alarum and shouting.) But be brief — thou knowest my haste. Mar. Hear me, then. I was the squire, the beloved and favorite attend- ant, of Arnolf of Ebersdorf. Arnolf was savage as the mountain bear. He loved the Lady Isabel, but she requited not his passion. She loved thy father; but her sire, old Arnheim, was the friend of Arnolf, and she was forced to marry him. By midnight, in the chapel of Ebersdorf, the ill-omened rites were per- formed; her resistance, her screams were in vain. These arms detained her at the altar till the nuptial benediction was pro- nounced, Canst thou forgive me? Gro. I do forgive thee. Thy obedi- ence to thy savage master has been ob- literated by a long train of service to his widow. Mar. Services! ay, bloody services! for they commenced —do not quit my hand -— they commenced with the murder of my master. (GEORGE guts his hand, DRAMATIC PIECES. rey) Ta and stands aghast in speechless oor Trample on me! pursue me with your dagger ! Act 4 I aided your mother to poison her first husband! I thank Heaven, it is said. GEO. My mother? Sacred Heaven! Martin, thou ravest— the fever of thy wound has distracted thee. Mar. No! I am not mad! God I were! Try me! Wolfshill— yonder the old castle of -Would to Yonder is the Griefenhaus — and yonder is the hemlock — marsh (22 @ whisper) where I gathered the deadly plant that drugged Arnolf’s cup of death. (GEORGE ¢raverses the stage in the utmost agitation, and some- times stanis over MARTIN with his hands clasped together.) Oh, had youseen him when the poticn took effect! Had you heard his ravings, and seen th: contor-— tions of his ghastly visage!—-He died furious and impenitent, as he lived; and went —- where { am shortly to go. You do not speak? : GEO. (with exertion). Miserable wretch! how can I? Mar. Can you not forgive me? GEO. Mey God pardon thee —I can- not! Mzvx. I saved thy life — Gro. For that, take my curse! (He snatches up his battle-axe, and rushes out to the side from which the noise ts heard.) Mar. Hear me! yet more — more — horror! (Adempts to rise, and falls heav- ily. A loud alarum.) Enter WICKERD, Aastily. Wic. In the name of God, Martin, | lend me thy brand! Mar. Take it. Wic. Where is it? Mar. (looks wildly at him). In the | chapel at Ebersdorf, or buried in the | hemlock marsh. Wic. The old grumbler is crazy with his wounds. Martin, if thou hast a— spark of reason in thee, give me thy | sword. The day goes sore against us. — Mar. There it lies. Bury it in the heart of thy master George, thou wilt do him a good office — the office of a faith: ful servant, ri ScENB I Enter CONRAD. Con. Away, Wickerd! to horse, and pursue! Baron George has turned the day; he fights more like a fiend than a man: he has unhorsed Roderic, and slain six of his troopers—they are in headlong fight—the hemlock marsh is red with their gore! (MARTIN gives a deep groan, and faints.) Away! away! (hey hurry off, as to the pursuit.) Linter RODERIC OF MALTINGEN, without his helmet, his arms disordered and broken, holding the truncheon of a spear in his hand ; with him, BARON WOLF- STEIN. ~ Rop. A curse on fortune, anda double curse upon George of Aspen! Never, never will I forgive him my disgrace — overthrown like a rotten trunk before a whirlwind! WoLF. Be comforted, Count Roderic; it is well we have escaped being prison- ers. See how the troopers of Aspen pour along the plain, like the billows of the Rhine! It is good we are shrouded by the thicket. Rop. Why took he not my life, when he robbed me of my honor and my love? Why did his spear not pierce my heart, - when mine shivered on his arms like a frail bulrush? (7rows down the broken Spear.) Bear witness, heaven and earth, I outlive this disgrace only to avenge! Wo tr. Be comforted; the knights of Aspen have not gained a bloodless vic- tory. Andsee, there lies one of George’s followers — (Seeing MARTIN. ) Rop. His squire Martin; if he be not dead, we will secure him: he is the de- pository of the secrets of his master. Arouse thee, trusty follower of the house of Aspen! _ Mar. (reviving.) Leave me not! leave me not! Baron George! my eyes are darkened with agony! I have not yet told all. Wo tr. The old man takes you for his master. Rop. What wouldst thou tell? Mar. Oh, I would tell all the tempta- tions by which I was urged to the mur- der of Ebersdorf! THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 661 Rop. Murder! — this is worth mark- ing. Proceed. Mar. I loved a maiden, daughter of Arnolf’s steward; my master seduced her —she became an outcast, and died in misery —I vowed vengeance — and I did avenge her. Rop. Hadst thou accomplices ? Mar. None, but thy mother. Rop. The Lady Isabella! Mar. Ay; she hated her husband: he knew her love to Rudiger, and when she heard that thy father was returned from Palestine, her life was endangered by the transports of his jealousy — thus prepared for evil, the fiend tempted us, and we fell. Rop. (éreaks into a transport). For- tune! thou hast repaid me all! Love and vengeance are my own! — Wolf- stein, recall our followers! quick, sound thy bugle — (WOLFSrEIN sounds. ) MAR. (stares wildly round). That was no note of Aspen—Count Roderic of Maltingen — Heavens! what have I said ! Rop. What thou canst not recall. Mar. Then is my fate decreed! ’Tis as it should be! in this very place was the poison gather’d —’tis retribution ! Enter three or four soldiers of RODERIC. Rop. Secure this wounded trooper; bind his wounds and guard him well: carry him to the ruins of Griefenhaus, and conceal him till the troopers of Aspen have retired from the pursuit; — look to him, as you love your lives. Mar. (ed off by soldiers). Ministers of vengeance ! my hour is come! [ /xeunt. Rop. Hope, joy, and triumph, once again are ye mine! Welcome to my heart, long-absent visitants! One lucky chance has thrown dominion into the scale of the house of Maltingen, and Aspen kicks the beam. Wo LF. I foresee, indeed, dishonor to the family of Aspen, should this wounded squire make good his tale. Rop. And how thinkest thou this dis- grace will fall on them? WoLF. Surely by the public punish- ment of Lady Isabella. Rop, And is that all? 662 Wor. What more? Rop. Shortsighted that thou art, 1s not George of Aspen, as well as thou, a mem- ber of the holy and invisible circle, over which I preside. Wo LF. Speak lower, for God’s sake! these are things not to be mentioned be- fore the sun. Rop. True; but stands he not bound by the most solemn oath religion can devise, to discover to the tribunal whatever con- cealed iniquity shall come to his knowl- edge, be the Perpetrator whom he may — ay, were that perpetrator his own father —or mother; and can you doubt that he has heard Martin’ s confession? Wo Lr. True; but, blessed Virgin! do you think he will accuse his own mother before the invisible judges? Rop. If not, he becomes foresworn, and, by our law, must die. Either way my vengeance is complete — perjured or parricide, I care not; but, as the one or the other shall I crush the haughty George of Aspen. Wo LF. Thy vengeance strikes deep. Rop. Deep as the wounds I have borne from this proud family. Rudiger slew my father in battle —George has twice baffled and dishonored my arms, and Henry has stolen the heart of my beloved: but no longer can Gertrude now remain under the care of the murderous dam of this brood of wolves;. far less can she wed the smooth-cheeked boy, when this scene of villany shall be disclosed. [ Bugle. Wo.r. Hark! they sound a retreat: let us go deeper into the wood. Rop. The victors approach! I shall dash their triumph ! — Issue the private summons for convoking the members this very evening; I will direct the other measures. Wo Fr. What place? Rop. The old chapel in the ruins of Griefenhaus, as usual. [ Bxeunt. ScENE II. Enter GEORGE OF ASPEN, as from the pursutt. GEO. (comes slowly forward). Wow many wretches have sunk under my arm DRAMATIC PIECES. Act tlm this day, to whom life was sweet, though ~ the wretched bondsmen of Count Rod-— eric! And I—I who sought death be-_ neath every lifted battle-axe, and offered — my breast to every arrow —I am cursed with victory and safety. Here I left the — wretch Martin ! — Martin ! — what, ho! Martin!— Mother of God! he is” gone !— Should he repeat the dreadful tale to any other— Martin ! — He answers — not. Perhaps he has crept into the thicket, and died there — were it so, the horrible secret is only mine. Enter HENRY OF ASPEN, wath WIcKERD, REYNOLD, and followers. HEN. Joy to thee, brother! though, by St. Francis, I would not gain another — field at the price of seeing thee fight — with such reckless desperation. Thy — safety is little less than miraculous, a, Rey. By’r Lady, when Baron George — struck, I think he must have forgot that — his foes were God’s creatures. furious doings I never saw, and I have ~ been a trooper these forty-two year come St. Barnaby — Gro. Peace! Saw any of you Martin? Wic. Noble sir, I left him here not long since. Gro. Alive or dead? : Wic. Alive, noble sir, but sorely $ wounded. I think he must be prisoner, ~ for he could not have budged else from _ hence. : Gro. Heedless slave! Why didst thou Z leave him? oe Hen. Dear brother, Wickerd acted for the best; he came to our assistance and the aid of his companions. Gro. I tell thee, Henry, Martin’s safety was of more importance than the lives of any ten that stand here. Wic. (muttering). Here’s much to do about an old crazy trencher-shifter. Gro. What mutterest thou? E Wic. Only, sir knight, that Martin seemed out of his senses when I left him, — and has perhaps wandered into the marsh, if and perished there. se Gro. How — out of his senses? Did he speak to thee? — (Apprehensively. yy Wic. Yes, noble sir. Such ScENE II. Gro. Dear Henry, step for an instant to yon tree — thou wilt see from thence if the foe rally upon the Wolfshill. (HENRY retires.) And do you stand back (¢o the soldiers). [He brings WICKERD forward. GEO. (with marked apprehension). What did Martin say to thee, Wickerd? — tell me, on thy allegiance. Wic. Mere ravings, sir knight — offered me his sword to kill you. GEO. Said he aught of killing any one else? Wic. No; the pain of his wound seemed to have brought on a fever. GEO. (clasps his hands together). 1 breathe again—I spy comfort. Why could I not see as well as this fellow, that the wounded wretch may have been dis- tracted? Let me at least think so till proof shall show the truth. (4s7de.) Wickerd, think not on what I said — the heat of the battle had chafed my blood. Thou hast wished for the Nether- farm at Ebersdorf — it shall be thine. Wic. Thanks, my noble lord. Re-enter HENRY. HEN. No —they do not rally —they have had enough of it—but Wickerd and Conrad shall remain, with twenty troopers and a score of crossbowmen, _and scour the woods towards Griefenhaus, to prevent the fugitives from making head. We will, with the rest, to Ebersdorf. What say you, brother? Gro. Well ordered. Wickerd, look thou search everywhere for Martin; bring him to me dead or alive; leave not a nook of the wood unsought. Wic. I warrant you, noble sir, I shall find him, could he clew himself up like -a dormouse. HEN. I think he must be prisoner. Gro. Heaven forfend! Take atrum- pet, Eustace (fo an attendant), ride to the castle of Maltingen, and demand a parley. If Martin is prisoner, offer any ransom; offer ten—twenty —all our prisoners in exchange. Eus. It shall be done, sir knight. HEN. Ere we go, sound trumpets — strike up the song of victory. THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 663 SONG. Joy to the victors! the sons of old Aspen! Joy to the race of the battle and scar! Glory’s proud garland triumphantly grasping; Generous in peace, and victorious in war. Honor acquiring, Valor inspiring, Bursting resistless, through foemen they go: War-axes wielding, Broken ranks yielding, Till from the battle proud Roderic retiring, Yields in wild rout the fair valm to his foe. Joy to each warrior, true follower of Aspen! Joy to the heroes that gain’d the bold day ! Health to our wounded, in agony gasping; Peace to our brethren that fell in the fray ! Boldly this morning, Roderic’s power scorning, Well for their chieftain their blades did they wield; Joy blest them dying, As Maltingen flying, Low laid his banners, our conquest adorning, Their death-clouded eyeballs descried on the field! Now to our home, the proud mansion of Aspen, Bend we, gay victors, triumphant away: There each fond damsel, her gallant youth clasping, Shall wipe from his forehead the stains of the fray. Listening the prancing Of horses advancing; E’en now on the turrets our maidens appear. Love our hearts warming, Songs the night charming, Round goes the grape in the goblet gay dancing; Love, wine, and song, our blithe evening shall cheer! 664 HEN. Now spread our banners, and to Ebersdorfintriumph. We carry relief to the anxious, joy to the heart of the aged, brother George. (Going off.) GEO. Or treble misery and death. [ Apart, andjollowing slowly. The music sounds, and the followers of Aspen begin to file across the stage. The curtain falls. ACT III.—Scenr I. Castle of Ebersdorf. RUDIGER, ISABELLA, a7zd@ GERTRUDE. Rup. I prithee, dear wife, be merry. It must be over by this time, and happily, otherwise the bad news had reached us. IsA. Should we not, then, have heard the tidings of the good? Rup. Oh! these fly slower by half. Be- sides, I warrant all of them engaged inthe pursuit. Oh! nota page would leave the skirts of the fugitives till they were fairly beaten into their holds; but had the boys lost the day, the stragglers had made for the castle. Go to the window, Gertrude: seest thou anything? GER. I think I see a horseman. Isa. A single rider? then I fear me much, GER. It is only Father Ludovic. Rup. A plague on thee ! didst thou take a fat friar on a mule for a trooper of the house of Aspen? GER. But yonder is a cloud of dust. Rup. (eagerly). Indeed! GER. It is only the wine sledges going to my aunt’s convent. Rup. The devil confound the wine sledges, and the mules, and the monks! Come from the window, and torment me no longer, thou seer of strange sights. Ger. Dear uncle, what can I do to amuse you? Shall I tell you what I dreamed this morning? Rup. Nonsense: but say on; anything is better than silence. GER. I thought I was inthe chapel, and they were burying my Aunt Isabella alive. And who do you think, aunt, were the gravediggers who shovelled in the earth upon you? Even Baron George and old Martin. DRAMATIC PIECES. Act TL Isa. (appears shocked.) Heaven ! what an idea! GER. Do but think of my terror! aaa Minhold the minstrel played all the while to drown your screams. : Rup. And old Father Ludovic danced a saraband, with the steeple of the new convent upon his thick skull by way of mitre. A truce to this nonsense. Give us a song, my love, and leave thy dreams and visions, GER. What shall I sing to you? Rup. Sing to me of war. GER. I cannot sing of battle; but I will sing you the Lament of Eleanor of Toro, when her lover was slain in the war. IsA. Oh, no laments, Gertrude. Rup. Then sing a song of mirth Isa, Dear husband, is this a time for mirth? Rup. Is it neither a time to sing of — mirth nor of sorrow? Isabella would — rather hear Father Ludovic chant the — ** De profundis.”’ Ger. Dear uncle, be not angry. At present, I can only sing the lay of poor — Eleanor. It comes to my heart at this © moment as if the sorrowful mourner had ~ been my own sister. SONG.* Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of © Toro, ; Weak were the whispers that wavedthe dark wood, : As a fair maiden, hendderd in sorrow, Sigh’d to the breezes and wept to the — flood: — ‘* Saints, from the mansion of bliss lowly f bending, & Virgin, that hear’st the poor supple a Oye G Grant my petition, in anguish ascending, 4 My Frederick restore, or let Eleanor — die. = Distant and faint were the sounds of the battle; “ With the breezes they rise, with the q breezes they fail, *] * Compare with “The Maid of Toro,” ante, P- 429. - ScENE I. Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict’s dread rattle, And the chase’s wild clamor came load- ing the gale. Breathless she gazed through the wood- land so dreary, Slowly approaching, a warrior was seen; Life’s ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien. ‘* Save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying; Save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low; Cold on yon heath thy bold Frederick is lying, Fast thro’ the woodland approaches the foe.’’ [ Zhe voice of GERTRUDE sinks by degrees, till she bursts into tears. Rup. How now, Gertrude? Ger. Alas! may not the fate of poor Eleanor at this moment be mine? Rup. Never, my girl, never! (AZz/itary music 1s heard). Wark! hark! to the sounds that tell thee so. [All rise and run to the window. Rup. Joy! joy! they come, and come victorious. ( Zhe chorus of the war-song as heard without.) Welcome! welcome! once more have my old eyes seen the banners of the house of Maltingen trampled in the dust. — Isabella, broach our oldest casks; wine is sweet after war. Enter HENRY, followed by REYNOLD and troopers. Rup. Joy to thee, my boy, let me press thee to this old heart. Isa. Bless thee, my son— (Lmbraces him.) Oh, how many hours of bitter- ness are compensated by this embrace! Bless thee, my Henry! where hast thou left thy brother? HEN. Hardat hand: by this he is cross- ing the drawbridge. Hast thou no greet- ings for me, Gertrude? (Goes to her.) Ger, I joy not in battles, THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 665 Rup. But she had tears for thy danger. HEN. Thanks, my gentle Gertrude. See, I have brought back thy scarf from no inglorious field. GER. It is bloody ! — ( Shocked.) Rup. Dost start at that, my girl? Were it his own blood, as it is that of his foes, thou shouldst glory in it. —Go, Reynold, make good cheer with thy fellows. [Zaz REYNOLD and Soldiers. Linter GEORGE, pensively. GEO. (goes straight to Father, thy blessing. Rup. Thou hast it, boy. Isa. (rushes to embrace him — he avoids her). Wow? art thou wounded? GEO. No. ‘Rub. Thou lookest deadly pale. GEO. It is nothing. Isa. Heaven’s blessings on my gallant George. GEO. (astde). Dares she bestow a blessing? Oh, Martin’s tale was frenzy ! IsA. Smile upon us for once, my son; darken not thy brow on this day of gladness — few are our moments of joy —should not my sons share in them? GEO. (aside). She has moments of joy —— it was frenzy, then! Isa. Gertrude, my love, assist me to disarm the knight. (She loosens and takes off his casgue.) GER. There is one, two, three hacks, and none has pierced the steel. Rup. Let me see. Let. me see. A trusty casque ! Ger. Else hadst thou gone. Isa. I will reward the armorer with its weight in gold. GEO, (aside). She must be innocent. Ger. And Henry’s shield is hacked, too. Let me show it to you, uncle. (She carries HENRY’S to RUDIGER.) Rup. Do, my love; and come hither, Henry, thou shalt tell me how the day went. [HENRY and GERTRUDE converse apart with RUDIGER; GEORGE comes forward ; ISABELLA comes to him. Isa. Surely, George, some evil has RUDIGER). 666 befallen thee. Grave thou art ever, but so dreadfully gloomy — Gro. Lv7z/, indeed. — (Aszde.) Now for the trial. Isa. Has your loss been great? Gro. No!— Yes! — (Apart.) I can- not do it. Isa. Perhaps some friend lost? Geo. It must be. — JZartin its dead. — (He regards her with apprehension, but steadily, as he pronounces these words. ) Isa. (starts, then shows a ghastly ex- pression of joy). Dead! GEO. (almost overcome by his feelings ). Guilty! Guilty !— ( Apart.) Isa. (wethout observing his emotion). Didst thou say dead? Gro. Did I —no—I only said mor- tally wounded. Isa. Wounded? only wounded? Where is he? Let me fly to him. — ( Gozzg.) Gro. (sternly). Hold, lady ! — Speak not so loud! — Thou canst not see him! — He is a prisoner. Isa. A prisoner and wounded? Fly to his deliverance ! — Offer wealth, lands, castles, — all our possessions for his ran- som. Never shall I know peace till these walls, or till the grave secures him. GEO. (apart). Guilty! Linter PETER. Guilty! Pet. Hugo, squire to the Count of - Maltingen, has arrived with a message. Rub. I will receive him in the hall. [Lait, leaning on GERTRUDE and HENRY. Isa. Go, George —see after Martin. GEO. (firmly). No,I havea task to per- form; and though the earth should open and devour me alive —I will accomplish it. But first — but first — Nature, take thy tribute. — (He falls on his mother’s neck, and weeps bitterly.) Isa. George! my son! for Heaven’s sake, what dreadful frenzy! GEO. (walks two turns across the stage and composes himself). Listen, mother — I knew a knight in Hungary, gallant in battle, hospitable and generous in peace. The king gave him his friend- DRAMATIC PIECES: Act If. | ship, and the administration of a prov-_ ince; that province was infested by ~ thieves and murderers. You mark me? — Isa. Most heedfully. : Gro. The knight was sworn — bound by an oath the most dreadful that can be | taken by man — to deal among offenders, © evenhanded, stern and impartial justice. — Was it not a dreadful vow? Isa. (with an affectation of composure). Solemn, doubtless, as the oath of every magistrate. | Gero. And inviolable? Isa. Surely — inviolable. ‘ Gro. Well! it happened, that when — he rode out against the banditti, he made > a prisoner. And who, think you, that prisoner was? e Isa. I know not (w¢th increasing ter- — ror). z GEO. (trembling, but proceeding rap-— 7dly.) His own twin-brother, who sucked the same breasts with him, and lay in the bosom of the same mother — his brother, whom he loved as his own soul © —what should that knight have done — unto his brother? q Isa. (almost speechless). did he do? ¥ Gro. He did (turning his head from her, and with clasped hands) what I can never do: —he did his duty. Isa. My son! my son! Mercy! (Clings to him.) Gro. Is it then true? Isa. What? Gro. What Martin said. hides her face.) It is true! Isa. (looks up with an air of dignity.) — Hear, Framer of the laws of Nature! the — mother is judged by the child — (7 urms __ towards him.) Yes, it is true — true that, fearful of my own life, I secured it by the murder of my tyrant. Mistaken coward! I little knew on what terrors I ran, to avoid one moment’s agony. — Thou hast the secret ! GEO. Knowest thou to whom thou hast told it? Isa. To my son. Geo. No! No! Toan executioner! Isa. Be it so—go, proclaim my crime, — and forget not my punishment, Forget 3 aS By Alas! what : — Mercy [ (ISABELLA. eee : Scene I. { not that the murderess of her husband has dragged out years of hidden remorse, to be brought at last to the scaffold by her own cherished son — thou art silent. _ Gro. The language of Nature is no ‘more. How shall I learn another? Isa. Look upon me, George. Should the executioner be abashed before the criminal —look upon me, my son. From my soul do I forgive thee. Gro. Forgive me what? Isa. What thou dost meditate — be vengeance heavy, but let it be secret — -add not the death of a father to that of the sinner! Oh! Rudiger! Rudiger ! in- nocent cause of all my guilt and all my woe, how wilt thou tear thy silver locks when thou shalt hear her guilt whom thou hast so often clasped to thy bosom —hear her infamy proclaimed by the son of thy fondest hopes — ( Weefs. ) GEO. (strugeling for breath). Nature will have utterance, mother, dearest mother, I will save you or perish! (Throws himself into her arms.) Thus ‘fall my vows. Isa. Man thyself! I ask not safety from thee. Never shall it be said that (Isabella of Aspen turned her son from ‘the path of duty, though his footsteps must pass over her mangled corpse. ' Man thyself. Gro. No! No! The ties of Nature -were knit by God himself. Cursed be the stoic pride that would rend them asunder, and call it virtue! Isa. My son! My son! behold thee hereafter? [ Zhree knocks are heard upon the door of the apartment. ] Gro. Hark! One—two — three. Roderic, thou art speedy! (Apart.) Isa. (opens the door), A parchment stuck to the door witha poniard! ( Ofexs it.) Heaven and earth!—a summons from the invisible judges! — (Drops the parchment. ) GEO. (reads with emotion.) ‘Isabella of Aspen, accused of murder by poison, we conjure thee, by the cord and by the steel, to appear this night before the How shall I THE HOUSE OF ‘ASPEN, 667 avengers of blood, who judge in secret and avenge in secret, like the Deity. As thou art innocent or guilty, so be thy deliverance.’’ — Martin, Martin, thou hast played false ! Isa. Alas! whither shall I fly? Gro. Thou canst not fly; instant death would follow the attempt: a hundred thousand arms would be raised against thy life; every morsel thou didst taste, every drop which thou didst drink, the very breeze of heaven that fanned thee, would come loaded with destruction. One chance of safety is open, —obey the summons. Isa. And perish? Yet why should I still fear death? Be it so. Gro. No —I have sworn to save you. I will not do the work by halves. Does any one save Martin know of the dread- ful deed? Isa. None. Gro. Then go— assert your innocence, and leave the rest to me. Isa. Wretch that I am! Howcan I support the task you would impose? GEo. Think on my father. Live for him; he will need all the comfort thou canst bestow. Let the thought that his destruction is involved in thine, carry thee through the dreadful trial. Isa. Be it so.— For Rudiger I have lived, for him I will continue to bear the burden of existence; but the instant that my guilt comes to his knowledge shall be the last of my life. Ere I would bear from him one glance of hatred or of scorn, this dagger should drink my blood. (Puts the poniard into her bosom.) Gro. Fear not. He can never know. No evidence shall appear against you. Isa. How shall I obey the summons, and where find the terrible judgment seat ? GEO. Leave that to the judges. Re- solve but to obey, and a conductor will be found. Go tothe chapel; there pray for your sins and for mine. (//e leads her out and returns.) —Sins, indeed! I break a dreadful vow, but I save the life of aparent; and the penance I will do for my perjury shall appal even the judges of blood, 668 Enter REYNOLD. Rey. Sir knight, the messenger of Count Roderic desires to speak with you. Gro. Admit him. Linter HuGo. Hue. Count Roderic of Maltingen greets you. He says he will this night hear the bat flutter and the owlet scream, and he bids me ask if thou also wilt listen to the music. Gro. I understand him. there. Huc. And the count says to you, that he will not ransom your wounded squire, though you would downweigh his best horse with gold. But you may send him a confessor, for the count says he will need one. Gero. Is he so near death? Huc. Not as it seems to me. He is weak through loss of blood; but since his wound was dressed he can both stand and walk. Our count has a notable balsam, which has recruited him much. GEO. Enough — I will send a priest. (£xit Huco.) I fathom his plot. He would add another witness to the tale of Martin’s guilt. But no priest shall ap- proach him. Reynold, thinkest thou not we could send one of the troopers, dis- guised as a monk, to aid Martin in mak- ing his escape? Rey. Noble sir, the followers of your house are so well known to those of Maltingen, that I fear it is impossible. GEO. Knowest thou of no stranger who might be employed? His reward shall exceed even his hopes. Rey. So please you —I think the min- strel could well execute such a commis- sion; he is shrewd and cunning, and can write and read like a priest. Gro. Call him. — (£x7¢ REYNOLD.) If this fails, I must employ open force. Were Martin removed, no tongue can assert the bloody truth. I will be Enter MINSTREL. GEO. Come hither, Minhold. Hast thou courage to undertake a dangerous enterprise ? Ber. My life, sir knight, has been DRAMATIC PIECES. one scene of danger and of dread. have forgotten how to fear. GEO. "Thy speech is above thy seem ing. Who art thou? Ber. An unfortunate knight, obliged to shroud myself under this disguise. : | GEO, What is the cause of thy mi fortune? | Ber. I slew, at a tournament, a prince, and was laid under the ban of the empire. GEO. [have interest with the emperor. Swear to perform what task I shall impose on thee, and I will procure the recall of the ban. BER. I swear, Gro. Then take the disguise of a monk, and go with the follower of Count Rox eric, as if to confess my wounded squire Martin. Give him thy dress, and remain in prison in his stead. Thy captivity shall be short, and I pledge my knightly word I will labor to execute my promise, when thou shalt have leisure to unfold thy history. Ber. I will do as you direct. life of your squire in danger? GEo. It is, unless thou canst accom- plish his release. 4 BER. I will essay it. [Zxit, Gro. Such are the mean expedients to. which George of Aspen must now resort. No longer can I debate with Roderic in the field. ‘The depraved — the perjured knight must contend with him only in the arts of dissimulation and treachery. Oh, mother! mother! the most bitter conse quence of a crime has been the bl Ye Is the (ee, Nable sir, he rode forth, after a a slight refreshment, to visit the party in the field. - Gro. Saddle my steed; I will follow him. ATT. So please you, your noble father has twice demanded your presence at the banquet. 4 GEO. It matters not —say that I have ridden forth to the Wolfshill. Where is thy ladye Scene I. Att. In the chapel, sir knight. Gro. ’Tis well—saddle my bay-horse — (apart) for the last time. [ Lxzt. AGT IV. — Scene I. The wood of Griefenhaus, with the ruins of the Castle. A nearer view of the Castle than in Act Second, but still at some distance. Enter RODERIC, WOLFSTEIN, avd Sol- diers, as from a reconnottring party. Wo.r. They mean to improve their success, and will push their advantage far. We must retreat betimes, Count Roderic. - Rop. We are safe here for the present. They make no immediate motion of ad- vance. I fancy neither George nor Henry are with their party in the wood. Enter Hueco. Hus, Noble sir, how shall I tell what ‘has happened? ~ Rop. What? Huc. Martin has escaped. Rop. Villain, thy life shall pay it! (Strikes at Huco — 7s held by WOLF- STEIN. ) Wo tr. Hold, hold, Count Roderic! ‘Hugo may be blameless. Rop. Reckless slave ! how came-he to escape ? Hus. Under the disguise of a monk’s habit, whom by your orders we brought to confess him. Rop. Has he been long gone? Huc. An hour and more since he passed our sentinels, disguised as the ‘chaplain of Aspen; but he walked so ‘slowly and feebly, I think he cannot yet have reached the posts of the enemy. Rop. Where is the treacherous priest ? Huc. He awaits his doom not far from hence. [ Za7¢t Huco. Rop. Drag him hither, The mis- icreant that snatched the morsel of ven- geance from the lion of Maltingen shall expire under torture. ‘Re-enter HuGoO, with BERTRAM and At- tendants. Rop. Villain! what tempted thee, junder the garb of a minister of religion, THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 669 to steal a criminal from the hand of jus- tice ! Ber. I am no villain, Count Roderic; and I only aided the escape of one wounded wretch whom thou didst mean to kill basely. Rop. Liar and slave! thou hast as- sisted a murderer, upon whom - justice had sacred claims. Ber. I warn thee again, Count, that I am neither liar nor slave. Shortly I hope to tell thee I am once more thy equal. Rop. Thou! Thou! — Ber. Yes! the name of Bertram of Ebersdorf was once not unknown to thee. Rop. (astonished). Thou Bertram ! the brother of Arnolf of Ebersdorf, first hus- band of the Baroness Isabella of Aspen? Ber. The same. Rop. Who, in a quarrel at a tourna- ment, many years since, slew a blood- relation of the emperor, and was laid under the ban? Ber. The same. Rop. And who has now, in the dis- guise of a priest, aided the escape of Martin, squire to George of Aspen? Ber. The same —the same. Rop. Then, by the holy cross of Cologne, thou hast set at liberty the murderer of thy brother Arnolf! Ber. How! What! I understand thee not! Rop. Miserable plotter !— Martin, by his own confession, as Wolfstein heard, avowed having aided Isabella in the murder of her husband. I had laid such a plan of vengeance as should have made all Germany shudder. And thou hast counteracted it—thou, the brother of the murdered Arnolf! Ber. Can this be so, Wolfstein? Wo tr. I heard Martin confess the murder. Ber. Then I am indeed unfortunate ! Rop. What, in the name of evil, brought thee here? Ber. Iam the last of my race. When I was outlawed, as thou knowest, the lands of Ebersdorf, my rightful inherit- ance, were declared forfeited, and the 670 emperor bestowed them upon Rudiger when he married Isabella. I attempted to defend my domain, but Rudiger — Hell thank him for it — enforced the ban against me at the head of his vassals, and I was constrained to fly. Since then I have warred against the Saracens in Spain and Palestine. Rop. But why didst thou return to a land where death attends thy being dis- covered? Ber. Impatience urged me to see once more the land of my nativity, and the towers of Ebersdorf. I came there yes- terday, under the name of the minstrel Minhold. Rop. And what prevailed on thee to undertake to deliver Martin? Ber. George, though I told not my name, engaged to procure the recall of the ban; besides, he told me Martin’s life was in danger, and I accounted the old villain to be the last remaining follower of our house. But, as God shall judge me, the tale of horror thou hast men- tioned I could not have even suspected. Report ran, that my brother died of the plague. Wo Lr. Raised for the purpose, doubt- less, of preventing attendance upon his sick- bed, and an inspection of his body. BER. My vengeance shall be dreadful as its cause! The usurpers of my in- heritance, the robbers of my honor, the murderers of my brother, shall be cut off, root and branch! Ron. Thou art, then, welcome here; especially if thou art still a true brother to our invisible order. BER. I am. Rop. There is a meeting this night on the business of thy brother’s death. Some are now come. I must despatch them in pursuit of Martin. Enter Hueco. Huc. The foes advance, sir knight. Rop. Back! back tothe ruins! Come with us, Bertram; onthe road thou shalt hear the dreadful history. [ Lxeunt. trom the opposite stde enter GEORGE, HENRY, WICKERD, CONRAD, and ‘Sols adiers, DRAMATIC PIECES. aH AcT IV GEO. No news of Martin yet? y Wic. None, sir knight. a Geo. Nor the minstrel? é Wic. None. q GEo. Then he has betrayea me, ori prisoner— misery either way. Bese. and search the wood,: Wickerd. [ Axeunt WICKERD and ‘follows HEN. Still this dreadful gloom on %, brow, brother? Gro. Ay! what else? | HEN. Once thou thoughtest me worl of thy friendship. Gro. Henry, thou art young — HEN. Shall I therefore betray thy con: fidence? Gro. No! but thou art gentle and well-natured.. Thy mind cannot even support the burden which mine must bear, far less wilt thou approve the means I shall use to throw it off. HEN. Try me. Gro. I may not. HEN. Then thou dost no longer love me. GEO. I love thee, and because I lowe thee, I will not involve thee in my dis- tress. HEN. I will bear it with thee. Gro. Shouldst thou share it, it woul be doubled to me! HEN. Fear not, I will find a remedy. Gro. It would cost thee peace of mind, here, and _ hereafter. ¢ HEN. I take the risk. Gro. It may not be, Henry. Thal wouldst become the confidant of crimes past — the accomplice of others to come. HEN. Shall I guess? Gero. I charge thee, no! ; HEN. I must. Thou art one of : secret judges. Gro. Unhappy boy! what hast thou said? : HEN. Is it not so? pf Gro. Dost thou know what the dis- covery has cost thee? e HEN. I care not. Gro. He who discovers any part o} our mystery must himself become one of our number. HEN. How so? Gro. If he does not consent, his se *,- 3CENE II. srecy will be speedily ensured by his Jeath. To that we are sworn — take thy thoice ! ; HEN. Well, are you not banded in secret to punish those offenders whom he sword of justice cannot reach, or who are shielded from its stroke by the buckler of power? Gro. Such is indeed the purpose of our fraternity; but the end is pursued through paths dark, intricate, and slip- pery with blood. Who is he that shall tread them with safety? Accursed be the hour in which I entered the laby- cinth, and doubly accursed that in which thou too must lose the cheerful sunshine of a soul without a mystery ! ' Hen. Yet for thy sake will I be a member. ' Geo. Henry, thou didst rise this morn- ing a free man. No one could say to thee, ‘‘ Why dost thou so?’’ Thou lay- est thee down to-night the veriest slave that ever tugged at an oar —the slave of men whose actions will appear to thee savage and incomprehensible, and whom thou must aid against the world, upon peril of thy throat. : HEN. Be it so. I will share your lot. Gro. Alas, Henry! Heaven forbid! ‘But since thou hast by a hasty word fet- tered thyself, I will avail myself of thy bondage. Mount thy fleetest steed, and hie thee this very night to the Duke of ‘Bavaria. He is chief and paramount of our chapter. Show him this signet and this letter; tell him that matters will be this night discussed concerning the house of Aspen. Bid him speed him to ‘the assembly, for he well knows the president is our deadly foe. He will admit thee a member of our holy body. HEN. Who is the foe whom you dread? Gro. Young man, the first duty thou ‘must learn is implicit and blind obedience. HEN. Well I shall soon return and see thee again. Gro. Return, indeed, thou wilt; but for the rest —well! that matters not. Hen. I go: thou wilt set a watch here? Gro. Iwill. (HENRY gozmg.) Return, ‘my dear Henry; let me embrace thee, -shouldst thou not see me again. THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 671 HEN. Heaven! what mean you? Gro. Nothing. The life of mortals is precarious; and, should we not meet again, take my blessing and this embrace and this— (Zmébraces him warmly.) And now haste to the duke. (4.7 Henry.) Poor youth, thou little know- est what thou hast undertaken. But if Martin has escaped, and if the duke arrives, they will not dare to proceed without proof. Re-enter WICKERD and followers. Wic. We have made a follower of Maltingen prisoner, Baron George, who reports that Martin has escaped. GEO. Joy! joy! such joy as I can now feel! Set him free for the good news — and, Wickerd, keep a good watch in this spot all night. Send out scouts to find Martin, least he should not be able to reach Ebersdorf. Wic. I shall, noble sir. [Zhe kettle-edrums and trumpets flourish as for setting the watch - the scene closes. ScENE II. The Chapel at Ebersdorf, an ancient Gothic building. ISABELLA 7s discovered rising from before the altar, on which burn two tapers. Isa. I cannot. pray. Terror and guilt have stifled devotion. The heart must be at ease—the hands must be pure when they are lifted to Heaven. Mid- night is the hour of summons: it is now near. Howcan I pray, when I go re- solved to deny a crime which every drop of my blood could not wash away! And my son! Oh! he will fall the victim of my crime ! Arnolf ! Arnolf! thou art dread- fully avenged! (Zap at the door.) The footstep of my dreadful guide. (7ap again.) My courage isno more. (£7- ter GERTRUDE oy the door.) Gertrude! it only thou? (Lméraces her.) Ger. Dear aunt, leave this awful place; it chills my very blood. My uncle sent me to call you to the hall. Isa. Who is in the hall? GER. Only Reynold and the family, with whom my uncle is making merry. 672 Isa. Sawest thou no strange faces? GER, No; none but friends. Isa. Art thou sure of that? Is George there? Ger. No, nor Henry; both have rid- den out. I think they might have stayed one day at least. But come, aunt, I hate this place; it reminds me of my dream. See, yonder was the spot where methought they were burying you alive, below yon monument (Pointing). Isa. (starting). The monument of my first husband. Leave me, leave me, Gertrude. I followin a moment. (/x7¢ GERTRUDE.) Ay, here he lies! forgetful alike of his crimes and injuries! Insen- sible, as if this chapel had never rung with my shrieks, or the castle resounded to his parting groans! When shall I sleep so soundly? (As she gazes on the monument, a figure muffied in black appears from behind it.) Merciful God! is it a vision, such as has haunted my couch Pin Ze approaches - she goes on with mingled terror and resolution. ) Ghastly phantom, art thou the restless spirit of one who died in agony, or art thou the mysterious being that must guide me to the presence of the avengers of blood? (Figure bends its head and beckons.) — To-morrow! To-morrow! I cannot fol- low thee now! (figure shows a dagger Jrom beneath tts cloak.) Compulsion! I understand thee: I will follow. (She follows the figure a little way; he turns and wraps a black veil round her head, and takes her hand: then both exeunt behind the monument. ) SCENE III. The Wood of Griefenhaus. — A watch- fire, round which sit \WICKERD, CON- RAD, and others, in thetr watch-cloaks. Wic. The night is bitter cold. Con. Ay, but thou hast lined thy doub- let well with old Rhenish. Wic. True; and I’ll give you warrant for it. “CSiags.) (RHEINWEIN LIED. ) What makes the troopers’ frozen courage muster ? The grapes of juice divine. DRAMATIC: PILCES. : ia v Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster : ~Oh, blessed be the Rhine! : | Let fringe and furs, and many a rabiil skin, sirs, Bedeck your Saracen; : He’ll freeze without what warms our hearts within sirs, When the night-frost crusts the fen, But on the Rhine, but on the Rhine “ cluster, The grapes of juice divine, | That make our troopers’ frozen courage muster; Oh, blessed be the Rhine! Con. Well sung, Wickerd; thou wert ever a jovial soul. Linter a trooper or two more. Wic. Hast thou made the rounds, Frank? FRANK. Yes, up to the hemlock marsh. It is a stormy night; the moon shone on the Wolfshill, and on the dead bodies with which to-day’s work has covered it. We heard the spirit of the house of Mal- tingen wailing over the slaughter of its adherents: I durst go no farther. Wic. Hen-hearted rascal! The spirit of some old raven, who was picking their bones. Con. Nay, Wickerd; say there are such things. FRANK. Ay; and Father Ludovic told us last sermon, how the devil twisted the neck of ten farmers at Kletterbach, be refused to pay Peter’s pence. Wic. Yes, some church devil, no doubt. FRANK. Nay, old Reynold says, that in passing, by midnight, near the old chapel at our castle, he saw it all lighted up, and heard a chorus of voices sing eo funeral service. ANOTHER SOLDIER. Father Ludovic heard the same. Wic. Hear me, ye hare-livered boys! Can you look death in the face in battle, and dread such nursery bugbears? Old Reynold saw his vision in the strength of the churchmen Scene III. the grape. As for the chaplain, far be it from me-to name the spirit which visits him; but I know what I know, when I found him confessing Bertrand’s pretty Agnes in the chestnut grove. Con. But, Wickerd, though I have often heard of strange tales, which I could not credit, yet there is one in our family so well attested, that I almost be- lieve it. Shall I tell it you? _ ALL SOLDIERS. Do! do tell it, gentle Conrad. Wic. And I will take t’other sup of Rhenish to fence against the horrors of the tale. | Con. It is about my own uncle and god-father, Albert of Horsheim. Wic. I have seen him — he was a gal- lant warrior. Con. Well! He was long absent in the Bohemian wars. In an expedition ‘he was benighted, and came to a lone house on the edge of a forest. He and his followers knocked repeatedly for en- ‘trance in vain. They forced the door, but found no inhabitants. Frank. And they made good their quarters ? Con. They did, and Albert retired to “rest in an upper chamber. Opposite to “the bed on which he threw himself was ‘a large mirror. At midnight he was ‘awaked by deep groans, he cast his eyes “upon the mirror, and saw — FRANK. Sacred Heaven! “nothing? _ Wic. Ay, the wind among the withered leaves. Go on, Conrad. Your uncle was a wise man. Con. That’s more than gray hairs can make other folks. Wic. Ha! stripling, art thou so mala- pert? Though thou art Lord Henry’s page, I shall teach thee who commands this party. ALL SOLDIERS. Peace, peace, good \Wickerd, let Conrad proceed. Con. Where was I? FRANK. About the mirror. Con. True. My uncle beheld in the ‘mirror the reflection of a human face, )slistorted and covered with blood. A | voice pronounced articulately, ‘‘ It is yet Heard you THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 673 time.’’? As the words were spoken, my uncle discerned in the ghastly visage the features of his own father. SOLDIER. Hush! By St. Francis I heard a groan. (7hey start up all but WICKERD. ) Wic. The croaking of a frog, who has caught cold in this bitter night, and sings rather more hoarsely than usual. FRANK. Wickerd, thou art surely no Christian. (Zhey sit down, and close round the fire.) Con. Well—my uncle called up his attendants, and they searched every nook of the chamber, but found nothing. So they covered the mirror with a cloth, and Albert was left alone; but hardly had he closed his eyes when the same voice pro- claimed. ‘‘It is now too late:’’ the covering was drawn aside, and he saw the figure — FRANK. Merciful Virgin! (All rise.) Wic. Where? what? Con. See yon figure coming from the thicket ! It comes. Enter MARTIN, iz the monk’s dress, much disordered: his face ts very pale and his steps slow. Wic. (levelling his pike). Man or devil, which thou wilt, thou shalt feel cold iron if thou budgest a foot nearer. (MARTIN séofs.) Who art thou? What dost thou seek? Mar. To warm myself at your fire. It is deadly cold. Wic. See there, ye cravens, your ap- parition is a poor benighted monk: sit down, father. (7hey place MARTIN by the fire.) By heaven, it is Martin — our Martin! Martin, how fares it with thee? We have sought thee this whole night. Mak. So have many others (vacantly). Con. Yes, thy master. Mar. Did you see him too? Con. Whom? Baron George? Mar. No! my first master, Arnolf of Ebersdorf. Wic. He raves. Mar. He passed me but now in the wood, mounted upon his old black steed; its nostrils breathed smoke and flame; 674 neither tree nor rock stopped him. He said, ‘*‘ Martin, thou wilt return this night to my service !”’ Wic. Wrap thy cloak around him, Francis, he is distracted with cold and pain. Dost thou not recollect me, old friend? Mar. Yes, you are the butler at Ebers- dorf: you have the charge of the large gilded cup, embossed with the figures of the twelve apostles. It was the favorite goblet of my old master. Con. By our Lady, Martin, thou must be distracted indeed, to think our master would intrust Wickerd with the care of the cellar. Mar. I know a face so like the Apos- tle Judas on that cup. I have seen the likeness when I gazed on a mirror. Wic. Try to go to sleep, dear Martin; it will relieve thy brain. (/votsteps are heard in the wood.) To your arms. ( They take thetr arms.) Linter two MEMBERS Of the Invisible Tri- bunals, muffled in thetr cloaks. Con. Stand! Who are you? 1 MeM. Travellers benighted in the wood. Wic. Are ye friends to Aspen or Mal- tingen? 1 Mem. We enter not into their quar- rel. We are friends to the right. Wic. Then ye are friends to us, and welcome to pass the night by our fire. 2 Mem. Thanks. ( They approach the fire, and regard MARTIN very earnestly.) Con. Hear ye any news abroad? 2 Mem. None; but that oppression and villany are rife and rank as ever. Wic. The old complaint. 1 MeM. No! never did former age equal this in wickedness; and yet, as if the daily commission of enormities were not enough to blat the sun, every hour discovers crimes which have lain con- cealed for years. Con. Pity the Holy Tribunal should slumbér in its office, 2 MeM. Young man, it slumbers not. When criminals are ripe for its vengeance, it falls like the bolt of Heaven. DRAMATIC PIECES. : | { | Mar. (atlempting to rise). Let me be gone. CON. (detaining him). Whither now, Martin? Mar. To mass. 1 Mem. Even now, we heard a tale qi : a villain, who, ungrateful as the frozen adder, stung the bosom that had warmed him into life. Mar. Conrad, bear me off, I would. be away from these men. Con. Be at ease, and strive to sleep. Mar. Too well I know —I shall never sleep again. 2 Mem. The wretch of whom we speak became, from revenge and lust of gain, the murderer of the master whose bread| he did eat. Wic. Out upon the monster! 1 Mem. For nearly thirty years was he permitted to cumber the ground. The miscreant thought his crime was con- cealed; but the earth which groaned | under his footsteps —the winds which passed over his unhallowed head — the stream which he polluted by his lips —) the fire at which he warmed his blood- | stained hands — every element bore wits ness to his guilt. Mar. Conrad, good youth — lead me from hence, and I will show thee where, | thirty years since, I deposited a mighty | bribe. [ Aese | Con. Be patient, good Martin. Wic. And where was the miscreant seized. | [ The two Members suddenly | hands on MARTIN, and draw their daggers ; the soldiers pac | to their arms. 1 Mem. On this very spot. Wic. Traitors, unloose your hold. 1 Mem. In the name of the Invisible — Judges, I charge ye, impede us not in| our duty. | [AW sink their weapons and | motionless. Mar. Help! help! 1 Mem. Help him with your prayers. — [7/e 71s dragged off. The scene shuts. Scenr I ACT V.—ScENE I. The subterranean chapel of the Castle of Griefenhaus. Tt seems deserted, and in decay. There are four entrances, cach defended by an tron portal, At each door stands a warder clothed in black; and masked, armed with a naked sword. During the whole scene they remain motionless on thetr posts. Ln the centre of the chapel is the ruin- ous altar, half sunk in the ground, on which lie a large book, a dagger, and a cowl of ropes, beside two lighted tapers. Antique stone benches of different heights around the chapel. In the back Scene 7s seen a dilapidated entrance into the sacristy, which is quite dark. Various Members of the Invisible Tribu- nal enter by the four different doors of the chapel. Leach whispers sometheng as he passes the Warder, which is answered by an inclination of the head. The costume of the members is a long black robe, capable of muffling the face ; some wear it in this manner; others have their faces uncovered, unless on the entrance of a stranger ; they place themselves in profound silence upon the stone benches, _ Enter COUNT RODERIC, dressed ‘in a | scarlet cloak of the same form with those of the other members. Le takes his place on the most elevated bench. Rop. Warders, secure the doors! (The doors are barred with great care.) | Herald, do thy duty! | [Members all rise — Herald stands by the altar. Her. Members of the Invisible Tribu- nal, who judge in secret, and avenge in secret, like the Deity, are your hearts free from malice, and your hands from ' blood-guiltiness ? = [All the Members incline their : heads. ' Rop. God pardon our sins of ignor- _ance, and preserve us from those of pre- | sumption. [Again the Members solemnly in- cline their heads. Her. To the east, and to the west, -and tothe north, and tothe south, I raise THE HOUSE OF ASPEN 675 my voice; wherever there is treason, wherever there is blood-guiltiness, wher- ever there is sacrilege, sorcery, robbery, or perjury, there let this curse alight, and pierce the marrow and the bone. Raise, then, your voices, and say with me, woe! woe unto offenders ! ALL. Woe! woe! [A/embers sit down. Her. He who knoweth of an unpun- ished crime, let him stand forth as bound by his oath when his hand was laid upon the dagger and upon the cord, and call to the assembly for vengeance ! Mem. (rises, his face covered). WVen- geance! vengeance! vengeance! Rop. Upon whom dost thou invoke vengeance ? AccusER. Upon a brother of this order, who is forsworn and perjured to its laws. Rop. Relate his crime. Accu. This perjured brother was sworn, upon the steel and upon the cord, to denounce malefactors to the judgment-seat, from the four quarters of heaven, though it were the spouse of his heart, or the son whom he loved as the apple of his eye; yet did he conceal the guilt of One who was dear unto him; he folded up the crime from the knowledge of the tribunal; he removed the evidence of guilt, and withdrew the criminal from justice. What does his perjury deserve? Rop. Accuser, come before the altar; lay thy hand upon the dagger and the cord, and swear to the truth of thy accu- sation. Accu. (his hand on the altar). 1 swear ! Rop. Wilt thou take upon thyself the penalty of perjury, should it be found false? Accu. I will. Rop. Brethren, what is your sentence? | Zhe Members confer a moment in whispers —a silence. ELDEST MEM. Our voice is, that the perjured brother merits death. Rop. Accuser, thou hast heard the voice of the assembly; name _ the criminal, Accu. George, Baron of Aspen. [A murmur in the assembly. 676 A MEM. (suddenly rising). I am ready, according to our holy laws, to swear, by the steel and the cord, that George of Aspen merits not this accusa- tion, and that it is a foul calumny. Accu. Rash man! gagest thou an oath so lightly? Mem. I gage it not lightly. I proffer it in the cause of innocence and virtue. Accu. What if George of Aspen should not himself deny the charge? Mem. Then would I never trust man again. Accu. Hear him, then, bear witness against himself. (Z7h#rows back his mantle. ) Rop. Baron George of Aspen? Gro. The same — prepared to dv penance for the crime of which he stands self-accused. Rop. Still, canst thou disclose the name of the criminal whom thou hast rescued from justice; on that condition alone, thy brethren may spare thy life. Gro. Thinkest thou I would betray for the safety of my life, a secret I have preserved at the breach of my word? -—-No! I have weighed the value of my obligation —I will not discharge it — but most willingly will I pay the penalty ! Rop. Retire, George of Aspen, till the assembly pronounce judgment. GEO. Welcome be your sentence — I am weary of your yoke of iron. A light beams on my soul. Woe to those who seek justice in the dark haunts of mys- tery and of cruelty! She dwells in the broad blaze of the sun, and Mercy is ever by her side. Woe to those who would advance the general weal by trampling upon the social affections! they aspire to be more than men — they shall become worse than tigers. I go: better for me your altars should be stained with my blood, than my soul blackened with your crimes. [ Xx7t GEORGE, by the ruinous door 7n the back scene, into the sac- risty. Rop. Brethren, sworn upon the steel and upon the cord, to judge and to avenge in secret, without favor and with- DRAMATIC PIECES. ¥ ACT V. out pity, what is your judgment upon George of Aspen, self-accused of perjury, and resistance to the laws of our frater-— nity. [Long and earnest murmurs in the assembly. Rop. Speak your doom. ELDEST MEM. George of Aspen has declared himself perjured; —the penalty of perjury is death. Rop. Father of the secret judges — Eldest among those who avenge in secret —take to thee the steel and the cord; — let the guilty no longer cumber the land. ELDEST MEM. I am fourscore and eight years old. My eyes are dim, and my hand is feeble; soon shall I be called before the throne of my Creator; — how shall I stand there, stained with the blood of such a man? Rop. How wilt thou stand before that throne, loaded with the guilt of a broken oath? The blood of the criminal be upon us and ours! ELDEST Mem. So be it, in the name of God! [ He takes the dagger from the altar, goes slowly towards the back scene, and reluctantly enters the sacristy. ELDEsT JUDGE. ( from behind the scene). Dost thou forgive me? 7 GEO. (dehind). Ido! (fe is heard to fall heavily.) [Re-enter the old judge from the sacristy. fe lays on the altar the bloody dagger. Rop. Hast thou done thy duty? ELDEST MEM. Ihave. (/e faints.) Rop. He swoons. Remove him. [He ts assisted off the stage. Dur- ing this, four members enter the sacristy and bring out a bier covered with a pall, which they place on the steps of the altar. A deep silence. Rop. Judges of evil, dooming in secret, and avenging in secret, like the Deity: God keep your thoughts from eviljm and your hands from guilt. BER. I raise my voice in this assembly, ~ and cry, vengeance! vengeance! ven-— geance ! : SCENE I. Rop. Enough has this night been done —(#e rises and brings BERTRAM /or- ward,) Think what thou doest — George has fallen—it were murder to slay both mother and son. BER. George of Aspen was thy victim —a sacrifice to thy hatred and envy. I claim mine, sacred to justice and to my murdered brother. Resume thy place! —thou canst not stop the rock thou hast put in motion. Rop. (vesumes his seat). Upon whom - callest thou for vengeance? art? BER. Upon Isabella of Aspen. Rop. She has been summoned. HERALD. Isabella of Aspen, accused of murder by poison, I charge thee to appear, and stand upon thy defence. [Zhree knocks are heard at one of the doors —it is opened by the warder. Linter ISABELLA, the veil still wrapped around her head, led by her conductor. All the members muffle their faces. Rop. Uncover her eyes. [Zhe veil ts removed. looks wildly round. Rop. Knowest thou, lady, where thou ISABELLA Isa. I guess. Rop. Say thy guess. Isa. Before the avengers of blood. Rop. Knowest thou why thou art called to their presence? Isa. No. Rop. Speak, accuser. Ber. I impeach thee, Isabella of Aspen, before this awful assembly, of _ having murdered, privily and by poison, _ Arnolf of Ebersdorf, thy first husband. Rop. Canst thou swear to the accusa- tion? BER. (47s hand on the altar). J lay my hand on the steel and the cord, and swear. _ Rop. Isabella of Aspen, thou hast heard thy accusation. What canst thou - answer ? Isa. That the oath of an accuser is no _ proof of guilt! Rop. Hast thou more to say? Isa. I have. Rop. Speak on. THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. 677 IsA. Judges invisible to the sun, and seen only by the stars of midnight! I stand before you, accused of an enor- mous, daring, and premeditated crime. I was married to Arnolf when I was only eighteen years old. Arnold was wary and jealous; ever suspecting me without a cause, unless it was because he had injured me. How then should I plan and perpetrate such a deed? The lamb turns not against the wolf, though a prisoner in his den. Rop. Have you finished? Isa. A moment. Years after years have elapsed without a whisper of this foul suspicion. Arnolf left a brother! though common fame had been silent, natural affection would have been heard against me — why spoke he not my ac- cusation? Or has my conduct justified this horrible charge? No! awful judges, I may answer, I have founded cloisters, I have endowed hospitals. The goods that Heaven bestowed on me I have not held back from the needy. I appeal to you, judges of evil, can these proofs of innocence be downweighed by the asser- tion of an unknown and disguised, per- chance a malignant accuser. Ber. No longer will I wear that dis- guise. (Zhrows back hismantle.) Dost thou know me now? Isa. Yes; I know thee for a wander- ing minstrel, relieved by the charity of my husband. BER. No, traitress! know me for Ber- tram of Ebersdorf, brother to him thou didst murder. Call her accomplice, Mar- tin. Ha! turnest thou pale! Isa. May I have some water? — (Apart.) Sacred Heaven! his vindic- tive look is so like. —[ Water ts brought. A Mem. Martin died in the hands of our brethren. Rop. Dost thou know the accuser, lady? Isa. (reassuming fortitude). Let not the sinking of nature under this dreadful trial be imputed to the consciousness of guilt. I do know the accuser — know him to be outlawed for homicide, and under the ban of the empire: his testi- mony cannot be received. 678 ELDEST JUDGE. She says truly. Ber. (go RoDERIC). Then I call upon thee and William of Wolfstein to bear witness to what you know. Rop. Wolfstein is not in the assembly, and my place prevents me from being a witness. Ber. Then I will call another: while let the accused be removed. Rop. Retire, lady. [ISABELLA zs led to the sacristy. Isa. (22 going off). The ground is slippery. — Heavens! it is floated with blood! mean- [ Lxzt into the sacristy. Rop. (afart to BERTRAM). Whom dost thou mean to call? [BERTRAM whispers, Rop. This goes beyond me. (After a moment’s thought.) But be it so. Maltingen shall behold Aspen humbled in the dust. (Ad/oud.) Brethren, the accuser calls for a witness who remains without: admit him. [Ad muffle their faces. Enter RUDIGER, his eves bound or covered, leaning upontwo members ; they place a stool for him, and unbind his eyes. Rop. Knowest thou where thou art, and before whom? Rup. I know not, and I care not. Two strangers summoned me from my castle to assist, they said, at a great act of justice. I ascended the litter they brought, and I am here. Rop. It regards the punishment of perjury and the discovery of murder. Art thou willing to assist us? Rup. Most willing, as is my duty. Rop. What if the crime regard thy friend? Rup. Rop. Rup. poniard. Rop. Then canst thou not blame us for this deed of justice. Remove the pall. [ Zhe pall ts lifted, beneath which ts discovered the body of GEORGE, pale and bloody. RUDIGER stag: gers towards tt, I will hold him no longer so. What if thine own blood? I would let it out with my DRAMATIC PIECES. Rup. My George! my George! Not! slain manly in battle, but murdered by legal assassins. Much, much may I mourn thee, my beloved boy; but not. now, not now: never will I shed a tear for thy death till I have cleared thy fame. | Hear me, ye midnight murderers, he was | innocent (raising his voice) — upright as’ the truth itself. Let the man who dares. gainsay me lift that gage. If the Almighty does not strengthen these frail limbs, to. make good a father’s quarrel, I have a. son left, who will vindicate the honor of Aspen, or lay his bloody body beside his | brother’s. a Rop. Rash and insensible! Hear first | the cause. Hear the dishonor of thy house. ae Isa. (from the sacristy). Never shall | he hear it till the author is no more! [RUDIGER attempts lo rush towards the sacristy, but ts prevented, ISABELLA enters wounded, and throws herself on Cre s body. | Isa. Murdered for me — for me! my : dear, dear son! _ Rup. (still held). Cowardly villains, let me loose! Maltingen, this is thy doing! Thy face thou wouldst disguise, thy deeds, thou canst not! I defy he to instant and mortal combat! Isa. (looking up). No! no! endan- ger not thy life! Myself! myself! 1 could not bear thou shouldst know a Oh!.. GOie5 Rup. Oh! let me go — let me but ‘ae to stop her blood, and I will forgive all. Rop. Drag him off and detain him. The voice of lamentation must not dis- turb the stern deliberation of justice. _ Rup. Bloodhound of Maltingen’ Well beseems thee thy base revenge! The marks of my son’s lance are still on thy craven crest! Vengeance on th band of ye! a [ RUDIGER 72s dragged off to the sacristy Rop. Brethren, we stand discovered! What is to be Aone to him who shall descry our mystery. ELDEsT JUDGE. He must become a brother of our order, or die! ee “Scene I. Rop. This man will never join us! ‘He cannot put his hand into ours, which ‘are stained with the blood of his wife and son: he must therefore die! am the assembly.) Brethren! I wonder not at your reluctance; but the man is powerful, has friends and allies to buck- ler his cause. It is over with us, and with our order, unless the laws are ‘obeyed. (fainter murmurs.) Besides, have we not sworn a deadly oath to exe- ‘cute these statutes? (4 dead silence.) ‘Take to thee the steel and the cord (40 ‘the eldest judge). ELDEST JUDGE. He has done no evil — he was the companion of my battle— Twill not! Rov. (40 another). Do thou—and ‘succeed to the rank of him who has dis- obeyed. Remember your oath! (JZem- ber takes the dagger, and goes trresolutely forward: looks into the sacristy, and comes back.) Mem. He has fainted — fainted in an- guish for his wife and his son: the bloody ground is strewn with his white hairs, torn by those hands that have fought for Christendom. [ will not be your butcher. (Throws down the dagger.) Ber. Irresolute and perjured! the rob- ‘ber of my inheritance, the author of my exile, shall die! Rop. Thanks, Bertram. Execute the doom —secure the safety of the holy tribunal ! [BERTRAM seizes the dagger, and zs about lo rush into the sacristy, when three loud knocks are heard at the door. ALL. Hold! hold! | Zhe DUKE of Bavaria, attended by many menibers of the Invisible Tribunal, enters, dressed in a scarlet mantle trimmed with ermine, and wearing a ducal . crown.— He carries a rod in his hand. — All rise. — A mur- mur among the members, who whisper to each other, “ The Dune, Oo The CHIRK, ete: ~Rop. The Duke of Bavaria! I lost. am THE HOUSE OF ASPEN. (Murmurs | 679 DUKE. (sees the bodies.) IT am toc late — the victims have fallen. HEN. (who enters with the DUKE). Gracious Heaven! O George! Rup. (from the sacristy). is thy voice — save me! Henry, it [HENRY rushes tnto the sacristy. DUKE. Roderic of Maltingen, descend from the seat which thou hast dishonored. (RovERIc “eaves his place, which the DUKE occupies. )— Thou standest accused of having perverted the laws of our order; for that being a mortal enemy to the House of Aspen, thou hast abused thy sacred authority to pander to thy private revenge; and to this Wolfstein has been witness. Rop. Chief among our circles, I have but acted according to our laws. Duke. Thou hast indeed observed the letter of our statutes, and woe am I that they do warrant this night’s bloody work! Icannot do unto thee as I would, but what I can I will. Thou hast not indeed transgressed our law, but thou hast wrested and abused it: kneel down, therefore, and place thy hands betwixt mine. (RopERIC kneels as directed.) I degrade thee from thy sacred office. (Spreads his hands as pushing RODERIC from him.) If after two days thou dar- est to pollute Bavarian ground by thy footsteps, be it at the peril of the steel and the cord. (RODERIC vises.) I dis- solve this meeting. (Ad/ rise.) Judges and condemners of others, God teach you knowledge of yourselves! (A// bend their heads — DUKE breaks his rod and comes forward, ) Rop. Lord Duke, thou hast charged me with treachery —thou art my liege lord — but who else dares maintain the accusation, lies in his throat. HEN. (rushing from the sacristy). Villain! I accept thy challenge! Rop. Vain boy! my lance shall chas- tise thee in the lists — there lies my gage. DuKE. Henry, on thy allegiance, touch itnot. (Zo Roperic.) Lists shalt thou never more enter; lance shalt thou never more wield. (Draws his sword.) With | this sword wast thou dubbed a knight; 680 and with this sword I dishonor thee — I thy prince — (strzkes him slightly with the flat of the sword ) —1 take from thee the degree of knight, the dignity of chivalry. Thou art no longer a free German noble; thou art honorless and rightless; the funeral obsequies shall be performed for thee as for one dead to knightly honor and to fair fame; thy spurs shall be hacked from thy heels; thy arms baffled | and reversed by the common executioner. DRAMATIC. PIECES. . Ac Go, fraudful and dishonored, hid shame in a foreign land! (Rop shows a dumb expression of rage.) hands on Bertram of Ebersdorf: as I li he shall pay the forfeiture of his o lawry. Henry, aid us to remove father from this charnel-house. Ne shall he know the dreadful secret. B mine to soothe the sorrows, and to store the honor of the House of Aspet (Curtain slowly falls.) & APPENDIX. THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. NOTE I. The feast was over in Branksome tower.— Py 10. In the reign of James I., Sir William Scott.of Buccleuch, chief of the clan bearing that name, exchanged, with Sir Thomas Inglis of Manor, the estate of Murdiestone, in Lanarkshire, for one-half of the barony of Branksome, or Brankholm, lying upon the Teviot, about three miles above Hawick. He was probably induced to this transaction from the yicinity of Branksome to the exten- sive domain which he possessed in Ettrick Forest, and in Teviotdale. In the former district he held by occupancy the estate of Buccleuch, and much of the forest land on the river Ettrick. In Teviotdale, he enjoyed the barony of Eckford, by a grant from Robert II. to his ancestor, Walter Scott of Kirkurd, for the apprehending of Gilbert Ridderford, confirmed by Robert III., 3d May, 1424. Tradition imputes the ex- change betwixt Scott and Inglis to a conver- sation, in which the latter —a man, it would appear, of a mild and forbearing nature— complained much of the injuries to which he was exposed from the English Borderers, who frequently plundered his lands of Branksome. Sir William Scott instantly offered him the estate of Murdie- stone, in exchange for that which was sub- ject to such egregious inconvenience. When the bargain was completed, he dryly re- marked, that the cattle in Cumberland were as good as those of Teviotdale; and pro-: ceeded to commence a system of reprisals upon the English, which was regularly pur- sued by his successors. In the next reign, James II. granted to Sir Walter Scott of Branksome, and to Sir David, his son, the remaining half of the barony of Branksome, to be held in blanche for the payment of a red rose. The cause assigned for the grant is, their brave and faithful exertions in favor of the King against the house of Douglas, ’ with whom James had been recently tugging for the throne of Scotland. This charter is dated the 2nd February, 1443; and, in the same month, part of the barony of Lang~ holm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were conferred upon Sir Walter and his son by the same monarch. NOTE 2. Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome Hall.— Pero; The ancient barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendor and from their frontier situation, retained in their household at Branksome, a number of gentlemen of their own name, who held lands from their chief, for the military service of watching and warding his castle. NOTE 3. with Jedwood-axe at saddlebow. — P. 10. “ Of a truth,” says Froissart, “the Scottish cannot boast great skill with the bow, but rather bear axes, with which, in time of need, they give heavy strokes.” The Jedwood-axe was a sort of partisan, used by horsemen, as appears from the arms of Jedburgh, which bear a cavalier mounted and armed with this weapon. It is also called a Jedwood or Jeddart staff. NOTE 4. They watch, against Southern force and guile, Lest Scroof, or Howard, or Percy’s powers, Threaten Branksome’s lordly towers, From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. — P. 11. Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of the English, both from its situation and the restless military disposi- tion of its inhabitants, who were seldom on | good terms with their neighbors, 681 682 NOTE 5. Bards long shall tell, How Lord Walter fell! —P. 11. Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather, Sir David, in 1492. He was a brave and powerful baron, and War- den of the West Marches of Scotland. His death was the consequence of the feud be- twixt the Scotts and kerrs. NOTE 6. While Cessford owns the rule of Carr, While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott, The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar, The havock of the feudal war, Shall never, never be forgot !—P. 11. Among other expedients resorted to for stanching the feud betwixt the Scotts and the Kerrs, there was a bond executed in 1529, between the heads of each clan, binding themselves to perform reciprocally the four principal pilgrimages of Scotland, for the renetit of the souls of those of the opposite name who had fallen in the quarrel. But either this indenture never took effect, or else the feud was renewed shortly afterwards. NOTE 7. With Carr in arms had stood. — P. 11. The family of Ker, Kerr, or Carr,* was very powerful on the Border. Their in- fluence extended from the village of Preston- Grange, in Lothian, to the limits of England. Cessford Castle, now in ruins, the ancient baronial residence of the family, is situated near the village of Morebattle, within two or three miles of the Cheviot Hills. Tradi- tion affirms that it was founded by Halbert, _ or Habby Kerr, a gigantic warrior, concern- ing whom many stories are current in Roxburghshire. The Duke of Roxburgh represents Ker of Cessford. Note 8. Lord Cranstoun.—P. 11. The Cranstouns are an ancient Border family, whose chief seat was in Crailing, in, Teviotdale. They were at this time at feud with the clan of Scott; for it appears that the Lady of Buccleuch, in 1557, beset the Laird of Cranstoun, seeking his life. Never- theless, the same Cranstoun, or perhaps his eon was married to a daughter of the same ady. * The name is spelt differently by the various families who bear it. Carr is selected, not as the most correct, but as the most poetical read- ing. APPENDIX. Neyo a NOTE 9. a Of Bethune's line of Picardie. —- P. 11. a The Bethunes were of French origin, and derived their name from a small town in Artois. There were several distinguished families of the Bethunes in the neighboring | province of Picardy ; they numbered among their descendants the celebrated Duc de Sully, and the name was accounted among the most noble in France, while aught noble remained in that country.t The family of Bethune, or Beatoun, in Fife, produced three learned and dignified prelates : namely, Cardinal Beaton, and two successive Arch- bishops of Glasgow, all of whom flourished about the date of the romance. Of this family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, widow of Sir Walter Scott of Branksome. She was a woman of mas- culine spirit, as appeared from her riding at the head of her son’s clan, after her hus- band’s murder. She was believed by the superstition of the vulgar to possess super natural knowledge. With this was mingled, by faction, the foul accusation of her having influenced Queen Mary to the murder of her husband, One of the placards, preserved in Buchanan’s Detection, accuses of Darnley’s murder “the Erle of Bothwell, Mr, James Balfour, the persoun of Fliske, Mr. Davie Chalmers, black Mr. John Spens, who was principal deviser of the murder; and th Queen assenting thairto, throw the persua- sion of the Erle Bothwell, and the witchcraft of Lady Buckleuch.” Pa NOTE Io. a Fle learn’d the art that none may name, In Padua, far beyond the sea. — P. eo Padua was long supposed by the Scottish peasants to be the principal school of necro- mancy. The Earl of Gowrie, slain at Perth, in 1600, pretended, during his studies in Italy, to have acquired some POW lene the cabala.— See the examination of ‘Wemyss of Bogie, before the Privy Council, concern- ing Gowrie’s Conspiracy. NOTE IY, His form no darkening shadow traced Upon the sunny wall.—P. 11. The shadow of a necromancer is independ- ent of the sun. Glycas informs us that Simon Magus caused his shadow to go be fore him, making people believe it was an } This expression and sentiment were dic tated by the situation of France, in the year 1803, when the poem was originally written 1821, vs ; “a tHe Y OF TAE GAST MINSTREL, attendant spirit. — HEywoov’s Hierarchie, p- 475. A common superstition was that when a class of students had made a certain progress in their mystic studies, they were obliged to run through a subterranean hall, where the devil literally caught the hindmost in the race, unless he crossed the hall so speedily that the arch-enemy could only grasp his shadow. Hence the old Scotch proverb, “ De’il take the hindmost.” Sor- cerers were often fabled to have given their shadows to the fiend. NOTE 12. By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffied Percy’s best blood-hounds. — Ae KR The kings and heroes of Scotland, as well as the Border-riders, were sometimes obliged to study how to evade the pursuit of blood- hounds. Barbour informs us that Robert Bruce was' repeatedly tracked by sleuth-dogs. On one occasion, he escaped by wading a bow-shot down a brook, and ascending into a tree by a branch which overhung the water ; thus, leaving no trace on land of his foot- steps, he baffled the scent. A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A captive was sometimes sacrificed on such occasions. Henry the Minstrel tells a ro- mantic story of Wallace, founded on this cir- cumstance : — The hero’s little band had been joined by an Irishman, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character. After a sharp skirmish at Black- Erne Side, Wallace was forced to retreat with only sixteen followers, the English pur- suing with a Border blood-hound. In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or affect- ing to be so, would go no farther, and Wal- lace, having in vain argued with him, in hasty anger, struck off his head, and contin- ued the retreat. When the English came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body : — shy “ The sleuth stopped at Fawdon, still she stood, Nor farther would, fra time she fund the blood.”’ NOTE 13. But when Melrose he reach’d,’twas silence ais He meetly stabled his steed in stall, And sought the convent’s lonely wall.— Hikd. The ancient and beautiful monastery of _ Melrose was founded in 1136 by King David I, It was destroyed by the English in 1322, 683 rebuilt by David Bruce, and again injured and effaced at the Reformation, Its ruins afford the finest specimen of Gothic archi- tecture and Gothic sculpture which Scotland can boast. The stone of which it is built, though it has resisted the weather for so many ages, retains perfect sharpness, so that even the most minute ornaments seem as entire as when newly wrought. NOTE 14. When the buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die. Then view St. David’s ruined pile. — P.15. The buttresses ranged along the sides of the ruins of Melrose Abbey, are, according to the Gothic style, richly carved and fretted, containing niches for the statues of saints, and labelled with scrolls, bearing appropri- ate texts of Scripture. Most of these statues have been demolished. David J. of Scotland purchased the repu- tation of sanctity, by founding, and liberally endowing, not only the monastery of Mel- rose, but those of Kelso, Jedburgh, and many others ; which led to the well-known obser- vation of his successor, that he was a sore saint for the crown. NOTE I5. And there the dying lamps did burn, Before thy low and lonely urn, O gallant Chief of Otterburne ! — P. 16. The famous and desperate battle of Otter- burne was fought 15th August, 1388, between Henry Percy, called Hotspur, and James, Earl of Douglas. Both these renowned rival champions were at the head of a chosen body of troops. Percy was made prisoner, and the Scots won the day through their gallant general. The Earl of Douglas was slain in the action. He was buried at Melrose, beneath the high altar. NOTE 16. dark Knight of Liddesdale ! — P. 16. William Douglas, called the Knight of Liddesdale, flourished during the reign of David II., and was so distinguished by his valor, that he was called the Flower of Chiv- alry. Nevertheless, he tarnished his renown by the cruel murder of Sir Alexander Ram- say of Dalhousie, originally his friend and brother in arms. The King had conferred upon Ramsay the sheriffdom of Teviotdale, 684 to which Douglas pretended some claim. In revenge of this preference, the Knight of Liddesdale came down upon Ramsay, while he was administering justice at Hawick, seized and carried him off to his remote and inaccessible castle of Hermitage, where he threw his unfortunate prisoner, horse and man, into a dungeon, leaving him to perish of hunger. King David, though incensed at such a high-handed outrage, was compelled to appoint Douglas his victim’s successor. NOTE 17. the wondrous Michael Scott. — P. 17. Sir Michael Scott of Balwearie flourished during the 13th century, and was one of the ambassadors sent to bring the maid of Nor- way to Scotland upon the death of Alexan- der IlI. By a poetical anachronism, he is here placed in a later era. He was a man of much learning, chiefly acquired in foreign countries. He wrote a commentary upon Aristotle, printed at Venice in 1496: and several treatises upon natural philosophy, from which he appears to have been addicted to the abstruse studies of judicial astrology, alchymy, physiognomy, and _ chiromancy. Hence he passed among his contemporaries for a skilful magician, Dempster informs us that he remembers to have heard in his youth that the magic books of Michael Scott were still in existence, but could not be opened without danger, on account of the malignant fiends who were thereby invoked. Tradition varies concerning the place of his burial ; some contend for Home Coltrame, in Cumberland ; others for Melrose Abbey. But all agree that his books of magic were interred in his grave, or preserved in the con- vent where he died. NOTE 18. The words that cleft Eildon Hills in three. — IB eeey., Michael Scott was, once upon a time, much embarrassed by a spirit, for whom he was under the necessity of finding constant em- ployment. He commanded him to build a cauld, or damhead, across the Tweed at Kelso; it was accomplished in one night, and still does honor to the infernal architect. Michael next ordered that Eildon Hill, which was then a uniform cone, should be divided into three. Another night was sufficient to part its summit into the three picturesque peaks which it now bears. At length the enchanter conquered this indefatigable de- mon by employing him in the hopeless and endless task of making ropes out of sea-sand. APPENDIX. NOTE 19. The Baron's Dwarf his courser held.—— P. 1g The idea of Lord Cranstoun’s Goblin Page is taken from a being called Gilpin Horner, who appeared, and made some stay, at a farm-house among the Border mountains. NOTE 20. All was delusion, naught was truth. — P.22 Glamour, in the legends of Scottish super- stition, means the magic power of imposing on the eyesight of the spectators, so that the appearance of an object shall be totally dif- ferent from the reality. To such a charm the ballad of Johnny Fa’ imputes the fascina- tion of the lovely Countess, who eloped with that gipsy leader :— ‘* Sae soon as they saw her weel-far’d face, They cast the glamour o’er her.’ NOTE 21. Until they came to a woodland brook ; The running stream dissolved the spell.— PY 22 It is a firm article of popular faith, that no enchantment can subsist in a living stream. Nay, if you can interpose a brook betwixt you and witches, spectres, or even fiends, you are in perfect safety. Burns’s inimitable Tam o’ Shanter turns entirely upon such a superstition. NOTE 22. He never counted him a man, Would strike below the knee.— P. 23. To wound an antagonist in the thigh or leg was reckoned contrary to the law of arms. Ina tilt betwixt Gawain Michael, an English squire, and Joachim Cathore, a Frenchman, “ they met at the speare poyntes rudely ; the French squyer justed right pleas- antly ; the Englishman ran too lowe, for he strak the Frenchman depe into the thigh. — Wherewith the Erle of Buckingham was right sore displeased, and so were all the | other lords, and sayde how it was shamefully done.” — FROISSART, Vol i., chap. 366. NOTE 23. On many a cairn’s gray pyramid, 4 Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid — P. 25. The cairns, or piles of loose stones, which crown the summit of most of our Scottish hills, and are found in other remarkable sit-— uations, seem usually, though not universally, — to have been sepulchral monuments. Six flat stones are commonly found in the centre, — forming a cavity of greater or smaller dimen _ teeth OFT ITE ma sions, in which an urn is often placed. The author is possessed of one, discovered beneath an immense cairn at Roughlee, in Liddes- dale. It is of the most barbarous construc- tion ; the middle of the substance alone hay- ing been subjected to the fire, over which, when hardened, the artist had laid an inner and outer coat of unbaked clay, etched with some very rude ornament, his skill appar- ently being inadequate to baking the vase when completely finished. The contents were bones and ashes, and a quantity of beads made of coal. This seems to have been a barbarous imitation of the Roman fashion of sepulture. NOTE 24. For pathless marsh, and mountain cell, The peasant left his lowly shed. — P. 26. The morasses were the usual refuge of the Border herdsmen on the approach of an English army. — (Winstrelsy of the Scottish Border, vol, i., p. 393.) Caves, hewed in the most dangerous and inaccessible places, also afforded an occasional retreat. Such caverns may be seen in the precipitous banks of the Teviot at Sunlaws, upon the Ale at Ancram, upon the Jed at Hundalee, and in many other places upon the Border. The banks of the Eske, at Gorton and Hawthornden, are hollowed into similar recesses. NOTE 25. Watt Tinlinn. — P. 26. This person was, in my younger days, the theme of many a fireside tale. Hewas a retainer of the Buccleuch family, and held for his Border service a small tower on the frontiers of Liddesdale. Watt was by pro- fession a sz¢or, but by inclination and prac- tice an archer and warrior. Upon occasion, the captain of Bowcastle, military governor of that wild district of Cumberland, is said to have made an incursion into Scotland, in which he was defeated, and forced to fly. Watt Tinlinn pursued him closely through a dangerous morass; the captain, however, gained the firm ground; and, seeing Tinlinn dismounted and floundering in the bog, used these words of insult.—‘“Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your boots ; the heels 77s, and the seams vive.” *—“ If I cannot sew,” retorted Tinlinn, discharging a shaft, which nailed the captain’s thigh to his saddle, “ if I cannot sew, I can yerk.” TF * Risp, creak. — Rive, tear. + Yerk, to twitch, as shoemakers do, in secur- ing the stitches of their work. LAST MINSTREL. 685 NOTE 26. Belted Will Howard.— P. 27. Lord William Howard, third son of Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, succeeded to Naworth Castle, and a large domain annexed to it, in right of his wife Elizabeth, sister of George Lord Dacre, who died without heirs male, in the 11th of Queen Elizabeth. By a poetical anachronism, he is introduced into the romance a few years earlier than he actually flourished. He was warden of the Western Marches; and, from the rigor with which he repressed the Border excesses, the namé of Belted Will Howard is still famous in our traditions. NOTE 27. Lord Dacre. — P. 27. The well-known name of Dacre is derived from the exploits of one of their ancestors at the siege of Acre, or Ptolemais, under Richard Coeur de Lion. NOTE 28. The German Hackbut-men.—P. 27. In the wars with Scotland, Henry VIII. and his successors employed numerous bands of mercenary troops. At the battle of Pinky there were in the English army six hundred hackbutters on foot, and two hundred on horseback, composed chiefly of foreigners. On the 27th of September, 1549, the Duke of Somerset, Lord Protector, writes thus to the Lord Dacre, warden of the West Marches :—‘“ The Almains, in number two thousand, very valiant soldiers, shall be sent to you shortly from Newcastle, together with Sir Thomas Holcroft, and with the force of your wardenry (which we would were ad- vanced to the most strength of horsemen that might be), shall make the attempt to Loughmaben, being of no such strength but that it may be skailed with ladders, whereof, beforehand, we would you caused secretly some number to be provided; or else under- mined with the pyke-axe, and so taken: either to be kept for the King’s Majesty, or otherwise to be defaced, and taken from the profits of the enemy. And in like man- ner the house of Carlaverock to be used.” — History of Cumberland, vol.i., Introd., p. Ixi. NOTE 29. “ Ready, aye ready,” for the field. —P. 27. Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the reign of James V., and possessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamescleuch, etc., lying upon the river of Ettrick, and extend- 686 ing to St. Mary’s Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It appears that when James had assembled his nobility and their feudal fol- lowers, at Fala, with the purpose of invading England, and was, as is well-known, disap- pointed by the obstinate refusal of his peers, this baron alone declared himself ready to follow the King wherever he should lead. In memory of his fidelity, James granted to his family a charter of arms, entitling them to bear a border of fleurs-de-luce, similar to the tressure in the royal arms, with a bundle of spears for the crest: motto, Ready, aye ready. NOTE 30. Their gathering word was Bellenden.— P20; Bellenden is situated near the head of Borthwick water, and being in the centre of the possessions of the Scotts, was frequently used as their place of rendezvous and gath- ering word. NOTE 31. That he may suffer march-treason pain, — Pat. Several species of offences, peculiar to the Border, constituted what was called march- treason. Among others, was the crime of riding, or causing to ride, against the oppo- site country during the time of truce. Thus, in an indenture made on the 25th day of March, 1334, betwixt noble lords Sirs Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and Archi- bald Douglas, Lord of Galloway, a truce is agreed upon until the rst day of July, and it is expressly accorded, “ Gif ony stellis authir on the ta part, or on the tothyr, that he shall be hanget or heofdit; and gif ony company stellis any gudes within the trieux before- sayd, ane of that company sall be hanget or heofdit, and the remanant sall restore the gudys stolen in the dubble.”— History of Westmoreland and Cumberland, \ntrod., p. XEMIN: NOTE 32. Knighthood he took of Douglas’ sword. — Fe 31. The dignity of knighthood, according to the original institution, had this peculiarity, that it did not flow from the monarch, but could be conferred by one who himself pos- sessed it, upon any squire who, after due probation, was found to merit the honor of chivalry. Latterly, this power was confined to generals, who were wont to create knights bannerets after or before an engagement. APPENDIX. NOTE 33. When English blood swell’d Ancram’s ford. — P.31. The battle of Ancram Moor, or Peniel- heuch, was fought A.D. 1545. The English, commanded by Sir Ralph Evers and Sir ~ Brian Latoun, were totally routed, and both their leaders slain in the action. The Scot- tish army was commanded by Archibald — Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the Laird of Buccleuch and Norman Lesley, NOTE 34. for who, in field or foray slack, Saw the blanche lion eer fall back. — P. 329 This was the cognizance of the noble — house of Howard in all its branches, The crest, or bearing of a warrior, was often used as a omme de guerre. NOTE 35. The Bloody Heart blazed in the van, Announcing Douglas, dreaded name.—~ P. 34. The chief of this potent race of heroes, about the date of the poem, was Archibald Douglas, seventh Earl of Angus, a man of — great courage and activity. The Bloody — Heart was the well-known cognizance of the — House of Douglas, assumed from the time — of good Lord James, to whose care Robert Bruce committed his heart, to be carried to — the Holy Land. ae NOTE 36. And Swinton laid the lance in rest, That tamed of yore the sparkling crest Of Clarence’s Plantagenet.— P. 34. At the battle of Beaugé, in France. Thomas, Duke of Clarence, brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swin- ton, of Swinton, who distinguished him by — a coronet set with precious stones, which he ~ wore around his helmet. The family of — Swinton is one of the most ancient in Scot — land, and produced many celebrated war riors. NOTE 37. R And shouting still, “A Home! a Home!” — — P. 34. The Earls of Home, as descendants of the — Dunbars, ancient Earls of March, carried a — lion rampant, argent: but, as a difference, — changed the color of the shield from gules — to vert, in allusion to Greenlaw, their an-— cient possessions The slogan or war-cry of © AME LAY OF STHESTAST MINSTREL: 687 this powerful family was, “A Home! a Home!” It was anciently placed in an escrol above the crest. The helmet is armed with a lion’s head erased gules, with a cap of state gules, turned up ermine. The Hepburns, a powerful family in East Lothian, were usually in close alliance with the Homes. The chief of this clan was Hepburn, Lord of Hailes: a family which terminated in the too famous Earl of Both- well. NOTE 38. ’Twixt truce and war, such sudden change Was not infrequent, nor held strange, In the old Border-day. — P. 35. Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borders, and the occasional cruelties which marked the mutual inroads, the in- habitants on either side do not appear to have regarded each other with that violent and personal animosity which might have been expected. On the contrary, like the outposts of hostile armies, they often car- ried on something resembling friendly inter- course, even in the middle of hostilities; and it is evident, from various ordinances against trade and intermarriages, between English and Scottish Borderers, that the governments of both countries were jealous of their cherishing too intimate a connection. NOTE 309. on the darkening plain, Loud hollo, whoop, or whistle ran, As bands, their stragglers to regain, Give the shrill watchword of their clan.— Polk. Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disorderly conduct of the English Borderers, who attended the Protector Somerset on his expedition against Scotland. NOTE 40 She wrought not by forbidden spell. — Pe41. _ Popular belief, though contrary to the doctrines of the Church, made a favorable distinction betwixt magicians and _necro- Mancers, or wizards: the former were sup- osed to command the evil spirits, and the atter to serve, or at least to be in league and compact with, those enemies of man- kind. The arts of subjecting the demons were manifold; sometimes the fiends were actually swindled by the magicians.* * There are some amusing German and Irish “tories to that effect. NOTE 41. A merlin sat upon her wrist, Held by a leash of silken twist. —P. 41 A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was actually carried by ladies of rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, the constant attendant of a knight orbaron. See LATHAM on Falconry. — Godscroft relates, that when Mary of Lor- raine was regent she pressed the Earl of Angus to admit a royal garrison into his Castle of Tantallon. To this he returned no direct answer ; but, as if apostrophizing a goss-hawk, which sat on his wrist, and which he was feeding during the Queen’s speech, he exclaimed, “ The devil’s in this greedy glede, she will never be full.” Home’s Hiistory of the House of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii., p. 131. Barclay complains of the com- mon and indecent practice of bringing hawks and hounds into churches. NOTE 42. And princely peacock’s gilded train, And oer the boar-head, garnish’d brave. — P. 41. The peacock, it is well known, was con- sidered, during the times of chivalry, not merely as an exquisite delicacy, but as a dish of peculiar solemnity. After being roasted, it was again decorated with its plumage, and a sponge, dipped in lighted spirits of wine, was placed in its bill. When it was introduced on days of grand festival, it was the signal for the adventurous knights to take upon them vows to do some deed of chivalry, “ before the peacock and the ladies.” The boar’s head was also a usual dish of feudal splendor. In Scotland it was some- times surrounded with little banners display- ing the colors and achievements of the baron at whose board it was served. — PINKER- TON’s History, vol. i., p. 432. NOTE 43. Smote, with his gauntlet, stout Hunthill. — PAT. The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an an- cient race of Border Lairds, whose names occur in history, sometimes as defending the frontier against the English, sometimes as disturbing the peace of their own country. Dickon Draw-the-sword was son to the an- cient warrior, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, remarkable for leading into battle nine sons, gallant warriors, all sons of the aged champion, — 688 NOTE 44. bit his glove. — P. 41. To bite the thumb, or the glove, seems not to have been considered, upon the Border, as a gesture of contempt, though so used by Shakespeare, but as a pledge of mortal re- venge. It is yet remembered, that a young gentleman of Teviotdale, on the morning after a hard drinking-bout, observed that he had bitten his glove. He instantly demanded of his companion with whom he had quar- relled? And, learning that he had had words with one of the party, insisted on instant satisfaction, asserting that though he remem- bered nothing of the dispute, yet he was sure he never would have bit his glove unless he had received some unpardonable insult. He fell in the duel, which was fought near Sel- kirk, in 1721. NOTE 45. old Albert Greme, The Minstrel of that ancient name. — P. 42. “ John Greme, second son of Madice, Ear] of Monteith, commonly surnamed John with the Bright Sword, upon some displeasure risen against him at court, retired with many of his clan and kindred into the English Bor- ders, in the reign of King Henry the Fourth, where they seated themselves; and many of their posterity have continued ever since. Mr. Sandford, speaking of them, says (which indeed was applicable to most of the Bor- derers on both sides), ‘ They were all stark MARMION. NOTE 1. As when the Champion of the Lake Enters Morgana’s fated house, Or in the Chapel Perilous, Despising spells and demons’ force, Holds converse with the unburied corse. — P..53. THE romance of the Morte Arthur contains a sort of abridgment of the most celebrated adventures of the Round Table; and, being written in comparatively modern language, gives the general reader an excellent idea of what romances of chivalry actually were. It has also the merit of being written in pure old English; and many of the wild adven- APPENDIX, | most accomplished cavalier of his time; a moss-troopers and arrant thieves: both to England and Scotland outlawed; yet some times connived at, because they gave intelli- gence forth of Scotland, and would raise four hundred horse at any time upon a raid of the English into Scotland. A saying is recorded | of a mother to her son (which is now become | proverbial), /eide, Rowley, hough’s i’ the pot. | that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, | and therefore it was high time for him to a and fetch more.’ ” — Jxtroduction to the His. tory of Cumberland. af iy | NOTE 46. ee Who has not heard of Surrey’s fame?— P. 4 The gallant and unfortunate Henry How- | ard, Earl of Surrey, was unquestionably t his sonnets display beauties which would honor to a more polished’ age. He was be headed on Tower-hill in 1546; a victim the mean jealousy of Henry VIII., who cou not bear so brilliant a character near h throne. on an incident said to have happened to t Earl in his travels. Cornelius Agrippa, t celebrated alchemist, showed him in a loo ing-glass the lovely Geraldine, to whose se vice he had devoted his pen and his swor The vision represented her as indisposed, a reclining upon a couch, reading her lover's . verses by the light of a waxen taper. tures which it contains are told with a si plicity bordering upon the sublime. Several these are referred to in the text ; and I wou have illustrated them by more full extract: but as this curious work is about to be published, I confine myself to the tale of t Chapell Perilous, and of the quest of S Launcelot after the Sangreal. “Right so Sir Launcelot departed, a when he came to the Chapell Perilous, alighted downe, and tied his horse to a litt. gate. And as soon as he was within th churchyard, he saw on the front of the chapel many faire rich shields turned upside downe; — and many of the shields Sir Launcelot had seene knights have before; with that he sav stand by him thirtie great knights, more, by a yard, than any man that ever he had seene, -and all those grinned and gnashed at Sir :Launcelot ; and when he saw their counte- ‘mance, hee dread them sore, and so put his shield afore him, and tooke his sword in his hand, ready to doe battaile; and they were all armed in black harneis, ready, with their shields and swords drawen. And when Sir ‘Launcelot would have gone through them, they scattered on every side of him, and gave ‘him the way ; and therewith he waxed all bold, and entered into the chapell, and then hee saw ‘no light but a dimme lampe burning, and then was he ware of a corps covered with a cloath of silke; then Sir Launcelot stooped downe, and cut a piece of that cloath away, and then ‘it fared under him as the earth had quaked a ilittle, whereof he was afeard, and then hee saw ‘a faire sword lye by the dead knight, and that he gat in his hand, and hied him out of the chappell. As soon as he was in the chappell- yerd, all the knights spoke to him with a grimly voice, and said, ‘Knight, Sir Launce- lot, lay that sword from thee, or else thou shalt die.’ — ‘ Whether I live or die,’ said Sir Launcelot, ‘with no great words get yee it againe, therefore fight for it and yee list.’ ‘Therewith he passed through them; and, be- ‘yond the chappell-yerd, there met him a faire Jamosell, and said,‘ Sir Launcelot, leave that sword behind thee, or thou wilt die for it — I will not leave it,’ said Sir Launcelot, ‘for no threats.’ — ‘No?’ said she, ‘and ye did ‘eave that sword, Queen Guenever should ye ‘aever see.’ —‘ Then were J a fool and I would eave this sword,’ said Sir Launcelot.— Now, gentle knight,’ said the damosell, ‘I quire thee to kiss me once.’ — ‘ Nay,’ said sir Launcelot, ‘that God forbid!’ —‘ Well, ir,” said she, ‘and thou haddest kissed me hy life dayes had been done, but now, alas!’ aid she, ‘I have lost all my labor; for I or- leined this chappell for thy sake, and for Sir yawaine; and once I had Sir Gawaine within t; and at that time he fought with that ‘might which there lieth dead in yonder happell, Sir Gilbert the bastard, and that ‘ime hee smote off Sir Gilbert the bastard’s att hand. And so, Sir Launcelot, now I tell hee, that I have loved thee these seaven are; but there may no woman have thy ove but Queene Guenever ; but sithen I may jot rejoyice thee to have thy body alive, I ad kept no more joy in this world but to ave had thy dead body; and I would have calmed it and served, and so have kept it in ay life daies, and daily I should have clipped hee, and kissed thee, in the despite of Queen smenever.’ — ‘ Yee say well,’ said Sir Launce- ot; ‘Jesus preserve me from your subtill MARMION. 689 craft.’ And therewith he took his horse and departed from her.” NOTE 2. A sinful man, and unconfess'd, Fle took the Sangreal’s holy quest, And, slumbering, saw the vision high, He might not view with waking eye.— Pha, One day, when Arthur was holding a high feast with his Knights of the Round Table, the Sangreal, or vessel out of which the last passover was eaten (a precious relic, which had long remained concealed from human eyes, because of the sins of the land), suddenly appeared to him and all his chivalry. The consequence of this vision was, that all the. knights took on them a solemn vow to seek the Sangreal. But alas! it could only be re- vealed to a knight at once accomplished in earthly chivalry, and pure and guiltless of evil conversation. All Sir Launcelot’s noble accomplishments were therefore rendered vain by his guilty intrigue with Queen Guenever or Ganore; and in his holy quest he encoun- tered only such disgraceful disasters as that which follows :— “But Sir Launcelot rode overthwart and endlong in a wild forest, and held no path but as wild adventure led him; and at the last he came unto a stone crosse, which departed two wayes, in wast. land; and, by the crosse, was a stone that was of marble; but it was so dark, that Sir Launcelot might not well know what it was. Then Sir Launcelot looked by him, and saw an old chappell, and there he wend to have found people. And so Sir Launcelot tied his horse to a tree, and there he put off his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and then hee went unto the chappell doore, and found it wasted and broken. And within he found a faire altar, full richly arrayed with cloth of silk, and there stood a faire candlestick, which beare six great candles, and the candlesticke was of silver. And when Sir Launcelot saw this light, he had a great will for to enter into the chappell, but he could find no place where hee might enter. Then was hee passing heavie and dismaied. Then he returned, and came againe to his horse, and tooke off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture, und un- laced his helme, and ungirded his sword, and laid him downe to sleepe upon his shield, before the crosse. “ And so hee fell on sleepe; and, halfe waking and halfe sleeping, hee saw come by him two palfreys, both faire and white, the which beare a litter, therein lying a sicke knight. And when he was nigh the crosse, 690 he there abode still. All this Sir Launcelot saw and beheld, for hee slept not verily, and hee heard him say, ‘O sweete Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me, where through I shall be blessed, for I have endured thus long for little trespasse!’ And thus a great while complained the knight, and allwaies Sir Launcelot heard it. With that Sir Launcelot saw the candlesticke, with the fire tapers, come before the crosse; but he could see no body that brought it. Also therecame a table of silver, and the holy vessell of the Sancgreall, the which Sir Launcelot had seen before that time in King Petchour’s house. And therewithall the sicke knight set him upright, and held up both his hands, and said, ‘ I’aire sweete Lord, which is here within the holy vessell, take heede to mee, that I may bee hole of this great malady!’ And therewith upon his hands, and upon his knees, he went so nigh, that he touched the holy vessell and kissed it: And anon he was hole, and then he said, ‘Lord God, 1 thank thee, for Iam healed of this malady.’ Soo when the holy vessell had been there a great while, it went into the chappelle againe, with the candlesticke and the light, so that Sir Launcelot wist not where it became, for he was overtaken with sinne, that hee had no power to arise against the holy vessell, wherefore afterward many men said of him shame. But he tooke repentance afterward. Then the sicke knight dressed him upright, and kissed the crosse. Then anon his squire brought him his armes, and asked his lord how he did. ‘Certainly,’ said hee, ‘I thanke God right heartily, for through the holy vessell I am healed: But I have right great mervaile of this sleeping knight, which hath had neither grace nor power to awake during the time that this holy vessell hath beene here present.’ —‘I dare it right well say,’ said the squire, ‘that this same Knight is defouled with some manner of deadly sinne, whereof he has never con- fessed.’ —‘ By my faith,’ said the knight, ‘ whatsoever he be he is unhappie; for, as I deeme, hee is of the fellowship of the Round Table, the which is entred into the quest of the Sancgreall.’—‘Sir,’ said the squire, ‘here I have‘brought you all your armes, save your helme and your sword; and, there- fore, by mine assent, now may ye take this knight’s helme and his sword;’ and so he did. And when he was cleane armed, he took Sir Launcelot’s horse, for he was better than his owne, and so they departed from the crosse. “Then anon Sir Launcelot awaked, and set himselfe upright, and he thought him APPENDIX, what hee had there seene, and whether it were dreames or not; right so he heard a voice that said, ‘Sir Launcelot, more hardy than is the stone, and more bitter than the wood, and more naked and bare than is’ the liefe of the fig-tree, therefore go thou from hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place ;? and when Sir Launcelot heard this, he was passing heavy, and wist not what to doe. And so he departed sore weeping, and cursed the time that he was borne; for then he deemed never to have had more worship; for the words went unto his heart, till that he knew wherefore that hee was so called.” ig NOTE 3. And Dryden, in immortal strain, a Had raised the Table Round again. — P. 54 Dryden’s melancholy account of his pr jected Epic Poem, blasted by the selfish an sordid parsimony of his patrons, is con- tained in an “ Essay on Satire,” addressed to the Earl of Dorset, and prefixed to th Translation of Juvenal. After mentionin a plan of supplying machinery from the guardian angels of kingdoms, mentioned in the Book of Daniel, he adds :— £ “Thus, my lord, I have, as briefly as 1 could, given your lordship, and by you tl world, a rude draught of what I have bee long laboring in my imagination, and wh 1 had intended to have. put in practice (though far unable for the attempt of such poem ;) and to have left the stage, to whie my genius never much inclined me, for work which would have taken up my life the performance of it. This, too, 1 had i tended chiefly for the honor of my natiy country, to which a poet is particular obliged. Of two subjects, both relating t it, | was doubtful whether I should choo: that of King Arthur conquering the Saxon which, being farther distant in time, give the greater scope to my invention: or thé of Edward the Black Prince, in subduin Spain and restoring it to the lawful prine thougha great tyrant, Don Pedro the Crue which, for the compass of time, includin only the expedition of one year, for tl greatness of the action and its answerabl event, for the magnanimity of the Englis hero, opposed to the ingratitude of tl person whom he restored, and for the man beautiful episodes which I had interwovel with the principal design, together with the characters of the chiefest English persons, (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, I would have taken occasion to represent my living friends and patrons of the noblest families, MARMION, _and also shadowed the event of future ages in the succession of our imperial line), — with these helps, and those of the machines which I have mentioned, I might perhaps have done as well as some of my predeces- sors, or at least chalked out a way for others to amend my errors in a like design; but being encouraged only with fair words by King Charles II., my little salary ill _ paid, and no prospect of future subsistence, I was then discouraged in the beginning of _ my attempt; and now age has overtaken me, -and want, a more insuiferable evil, through the change of the times, has wholly disabled me.”’ NOTE 4. Their theme the merry minstrels made, Of Ascapart, and Bevis bold. — P. 54. The “ History of Bevis of Hampton” is abridged by my friend Mr. George Ellis, with that liveliness which extracts amuse- ment even out of the most rude and un- promising of our old tales of chivalry. _Ascapart, a most important personage in ' the romance, is thus described in an ex- tract: — _“ This geaunt was mighty and strong, And full thirty foot was long. He was bristled like a sow; A foot he had between each brow; His lips were great, and hung aside; His eyen were hollow, his mouth was wide ; Lothly he was to look on than, And liker a devil than a man. His staff was a young oak, Hard and heavy was his stroke.”’ Specimens of Metrical Romances, vol. ii., p. 136. I am happy to say that the memory of Sir _ Bevis is still fragrant in his town of South- ampton; the gate of which is sentinelled by the effigies of that doughty knight-errant _and his gigantic associate. NOTE 5. Day set on Norham’s castled steep, And Tweed’s fair river, broad and deep, etc, — P. 54. The ruinous castle of Norham (anciently called Ubbanford), is situated on the south- ern bank of the Tweed, about six miles above Berwick, and where that river is still the boundary between England and Scot- land. The extent of its ruins, as well as its historical importance, shows it to have been a place of magnificence, as well as strength. Edward I. resided there when he was cre- ated umpire of the dispute concerning the Scottish succession. It was repeatedly taken and retaken during the wars between England and Scotland; and, indeed, scarce 691 any happened in which it had not a princi- pal share. Norham Castle is situated on a steep bank which overhangs the river. The repeated sieges which the castle had sus- tained rendered frequent repairs necessary. In 1164, it was almost rebuilt by Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of Durham, who added a huge keep or donjon; notwithstanding which King Henry Il., in 1174, took the castle from the bishop and committed the keeping of it to William de Neville. After this period it seems to have been chiefly gar- risoned by the King,-and considered as a royal fortress. The Greys of Chillingham Castle were frequently the castellans, or captains of the garrison; yet, as the castle was situated in the patrimony of St. Cuth- bert, the property was in the see of Durham till the Reformation. After that period it passed through various hands. At the union of the crowns, it was in the pos- session of Sir Robert Carey (afterwards Earl of Monmouth) for his own life, and that of two of his sons. After King James’s acces- sion, Carey sold Norham Castle to George Home, Earl of Dunbar, for £6,000. See his curious Memoirs, published by Mr. Con- stable of Edinburgh. According to Mr. Pinkerton, there is, in the British Museum, Cal. B. 6, 216, a curi- ous memoir of the Dacres on the State of Norham Castle in 1522, not long after the battle of Flodden. The inner ward, or keep, is represented as impregnable: “ The provisions are three great vats of salt eels, forty-four kine, three hogsheads of salted salmon, forty quarters of grain, besides nany cows and four hundred sheep, lying under the castle-wall nightly; but a num- ber of the arrows wanted feathers, and a good Fletcher (i.e. maker of arrows) was required.” — History of Scotland, vol. ii., p- 201, note. The ruins of the castle are at present con- siderable, as well as picturesque. They consist of a large shattered tower, with many vaults, and fragments of other edifices enclosed within an outward wall of great circuit. NoTE 6. The battled towers, the donjon keep.— P. 54. It is perhaps unnecessary to remind my readers that the donjon, in its proper signi- fication, means the strongest part of a feudal castle; a high square tower, with walls of tremendous thickness, situated in the centre of the other buildings, from which, however, it was usually detached. Here, in case of the outward defences being gained, the gar- rison retreated to make their last stand. 692 The donjon contained the great hall and principal rooms of state for solemn occa- sions, and also the prison of the fortress ; from which last circumstance we derive the modern and restricted use of the word dun- geon. Ducange (voce DUNJO) conjectures plausibly, that the name is derived from these keeps being usually built upon a hill, which in Celtic is called Dun. Borlase supposes the word came from the darkness of the apartments in these towers, which were thence figuratively called Dungeons: thus deriving the ancient word from the modern application of it. NOTE 7. Well was he arm’d from head to heel, In mail and plate of Milan steel. pF 55 The artists of Milan were famous in the Middle Ages for their skill in armory, as appears from the following passage, in which Froissart gives an account of the prepara- tions made by Henry, Earl of Hereford, afterwards Henry IV., and Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marischal, for their pro- posed combat in the lists at Coventry :— “These two lords made ample provision of all things necessary for the combat; and the Earl of Derby sent off messengers to Lom- bardy, to have armor from Sir Galeas, Duke of Milan. The Duke complied with joy, and gave the knight, called Sir Francis, who had brought the message, the choice of all his armor for the Earl of Derby. When he had selected what he wished for in plated and mail armor, the Lord of Milan, out of his abundant love for the Earl, ordered four of the best armorers in Milan to accom- pany the knight to England, that the Earl of Derby might be more completely armed.” JOHNES’ /roissart, vol. iv., p. 597. Note 8. Who checks at me, to death is dight. —P. 55. The crest and motto of Marmion are bor- rowed from the following story :— Sir David de Lindsay, first Earl of Crauford, was, among other gentlemen of quality, attended during a visit to London, in 1390, by Sir William Dalzell, who was, according to my authority, Bower, not only excelling in wis- dom, but also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he there saw Sir Piers Cour- tenay, an English knight, famous for skill in tilting, and for the beauty of his person, parading the palace, arrayed in a new man- APPENDIX. 2) a tle, bearing for device an embroidered falcon, with this rhyme, — 2 “T bear a falcon, fairest of flight, ie Whoso pinches at her, his death is dight* _ In graith.” + > The Scottish knight, being a wag, ap- peared next day in a dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay, but bearing a magpie in- stead of the falcon, with a motto ingeniously contrived to rhyme to the vaunting inserip- tion of Sir Piers : — 7 “‘T bear a pie picking at a peice, ie Whoso picks at her, I shall pick at his nese, In faith.” i This affront could only be expiated by a joust with sharp lances. In the course, Dal zell left his helmet unlaced, so that it gav way at the touch of his antagonist’s lance. and he thus avoided the shock of the en counter. This happened twice: in the thir encounter the handsome Courtenay lost twe of his front teeth. As the Englishman co - plained bitterly of Dalzell’s fraud in not fas- tening his helmet, the Scottishman agreed to’ run six courses more, each champion staking in the hand of the King two hundred pounds, to be forfeited, if, on entering the list, any unequal advantage should bedetected. ‘This being agreed to, the wily Scot demanded that Sir Piers, in addition to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the extinction of one o his eyes, he himself having lost an eye in the fight of Otterburne. As Courtenay demurred to this equalization of optical powers, Dal- zell demanded the forfeit ; which, after much altercation, the King appointed to be paid to him, saying, he surpassed the English both in wit and valor. This must appear to the reader a singular specimen of the humor of that time. I suspect the Jockey Club would have given a different decision fro Henry IV. J NOTE 9. They hail’d Lord Marmion : They hail’d him Lord of Fontenaye, Of Lutterward, and Scrivelbaye, Of Tamworth tower and town. —P. 56. Lord Marmion, the principal character of the present romance, is entirely a fictitious personage. In earlier times, indeed, the family of Marmion, Lords of Fontenaye, in Normandy, was highly distinguished. Robert de Marmion, Lord of Fontenaye, a distinguished follower of the Conqueror, ob- tained a grant of the castle and town of Tamworth, and also of the manor of Scriv” elby, in Lincolnshire. One or both of these noble possessions was held by the honorable + Nose. * Prepared. t Armor. MARMION. service of being the Royal Champion, as the ancestors of Marmion had formerly been to the Dukes of Normandy. But after the castle and demesne of Tamworth had passed through four successive barons from Robert, the family became extinct in the person of Philip de Marmion, who died in 2oth Edward I. without issue male. He was suc- ceeded in his castle of Tamworth by Alex- ander de Freville, who married Mazera, his granddaughter. Baldwin de Freville, Alex- ander’s descendant, in the reign of Richard I., by the supposed tenure of his castle at Tamworth, claimed the office of Royal Cham- pion, and to do the service appertaining ; namely, on the day of coronation, to ride, completely armed, upon a barbed horse, into Westminster Hall, and there to challenge the combat against any who would gainsay the King’s title. But this office was ad- judged to Sir John Dymoke, to whom the -manor of Scrivelby had descended by another of the co-heiresses of Robert de Marmion; and it remains in that family, whose repre- sentative is Hereditary Champion of Eng- land at the present day. The family and possessions of Freville have merged in the Earls of Ferrars. I have not, therefore, created a new family, but only revived the titles of an old one in an imaginary person- age. __ It was one of the Marmion family who, in -the reign of Edward II., performed that chivalrous feat before the very castle of /Norham, which Bishop Percy has woven into his beautiful ballad, “‘ The Hermit of / Warkworth.” The story is thus told by | Leland :— “The Scottes cam yn to the marches of ! England, and destroyed the castles of Werk and Herbotel, and overran much of Northum- -berland marches. _ “At this tyme, Thomas Gray and his friendes defended Norham from the Scottes. “Jt were a wonderful processe to declare, what mischefes cam by hungre and asseges by the space of xi. years in Northumberland ; for the Scottes became so proude, after they had got Berwick, that they nothing esteemed the Englishmen. “ About this tyme there was a great feste made yn Lincolnshir, to which came many gentlemen and ladies ; and among them one lady brought a heaulme for a man of were, ‘with a very riche creste of gold, to William ‘Marmion, knight, with a letter of commande- ment of her lady, that he should go into the daungerest place in England, and ther to let the heaulme be seene and known as famous. ‘So he went to Norham; whither, within 4 ‘days of cumming, cam Philip Moubray, | 693 guardian of Berwicke, having yn his bande 40 men of armes, the very flour of men of the Scottish marches. “Thomas Gray, capitayne of Norham, seynge this, brought his garrison afore the barriers of the castel, behind whom cam William, richly arrayed, as al glittering in gold, and wearing the heaulme, his lady’s present. “Then said Thomas Gray to Marmion, ‘Sir Knight, ye be cum hither to fame your helmet : mount up on yowr horse, and ryde lyke a valiant man to yowr foes even here at hand, and I forsake God if I rescue not thy body deade or alive or I myself wyl dye for it. “ Whereupon he toke his cursere, and rode among the throng of ennemyes; the which layed sore stripes on him, and pulled him at the last out of his sadel to the grounde. “Then Thomas Gray, with al the hole garrison, lette prick yn among the Scottes, and so wondid them and their horses, that they were overthrowan; and Marmion, sore beten, was horsid agayn, and, with Gray, persewed the Scottes yn chase. There were taken fifty horse of price; and the women of Norham brought them to the foote men to follow the chase.” NOTE Io. Sir Hugh the Heron bold, Baron of Twisel, and of Ford, And Captain of the Hold.— P. 57. Were accuracy of any consequence in a fictitious narrative, this castellan’s name ought to have been William: for William Heron of Ford was husband to the famous Lady Ford, whose siren charms are said to have cost our James IV.so dear. Moreover, the said William Heron was, at the time supposed, a prisoner in Scotland, being sur- rendered by Henry VIII., on account of his share in the slaughter of Sir Robert Ker of Cessford. His wife, represented in the text as residing at the Court of Scotland, was, in fact, living in her own Castle at Ford. — See Sir RICHARD HERON’S curious Geneal- ogy of the Heron Family. NOTE II. James back’d the cause of that mock prince, Warbeck, that Flemish counterfett, Who on the gibbet paid the cheat. Then did I march with Surrey's power, What time we razed old Ayton tower. — P. 58. The story of Perkin Warbeck,or Richard, Duke of York, is well known. In 1496 he was received honorably in Scotland; and 694 James IV., after conferring upon him in marriage his own relation, the Lady Cather- ine Gordon, made war on England in be- half of his pretensions. To retaliate an invasion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwickshire at the head of considerable forces, but retreated, after taking the incon- siderable fortress of Ayton. NOTE 12. I trow, Norham can find you guides enow ; for here be some have pricked as far, On Scottish ground, as to Dunbar ; Have drunk the monks of St. Bothan’s ale, And driven the beeves of Lauderdale: Harried the wives of Greenlaw’s goods, And given them light to set their hoods. — P. 58. The garrisons of the English’ castles of Wark, Norham, and Berwick, were, as may be easily supposed, very troublesome neigh- bors to Scotland. Sir Richard Maitland of Ledington wrote a poem, called “ The Blind Baron’s Comfort ;” when his barony of Blythe in Lauderdale was harried by Row- land Foster, the English captain of Wark, with his company, to the number of 300 men. They spoiled the poetical knight of 5,000 sheep, 200 nolt, 30 horses and mares; the whole furniture of his house of Blythe, worth 100 pounds Scots (8£. 6s. 8d.), and every- thing else that was portable. NOTE 13. The priest of Shoreswood —he could rein Lhe wildest war-horse in your train. — P.58. This churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the vicar of St. Thomas of Exe- ter, a leader among the Cornish insurgents in1549. “This man,” says Holinshed, “had many good things in him. He was of no great stature, but well set, and mightilie compact. He was a very good wrestler; shot well, both in the longbow and also in the crossbow ; he handled his handgun and peece very well; he was a very good wood- man, and a hardie, and such a one as would not give his head for the polling, or his beard for the washing. He was a compan- ion in any exercise of activitie, and of a courteous and gentle behaviour. He de- scended of a good honest parentage, being borne at Peneverin in Cornwall; and yet, in this rebellion, an arch-captain and a prin- cipal doer.” — Vol. iv., p. 958, 4to edition. This model of clerical talents had the mis- fortune to be hanged upon the steeple of his own church. APPENDIX, NOTE 14, that Grot where Olives nod, | Where, darling of each heart and rye, | From all the youth of Sicily, | Saint Rosalie retired to God. — P. 50ea5| “ Sante Rosalia was of Palermo, and born of a very noble family, and when very young abhorred so much the vanities of this world and avoided the converse of mankind, resolv. | ing to dedicate herself wholly to God Al- | mighty, that she, by divine inspiration, for- | sook her father’s house, and never was more | heard of, till her body was found in that cleft | of a rock, on that almost inaccessible moun- | tain, where now the chapel is built ; and they _ affirm that she was carried up there by the | hands of angels; for that place was not for- | merly so accessible (as now it is) in the days” of the Saint: and even now it is a very bad, | and steepy, and breakneck way. In this | frightful place, this holy woman lived a great many years, feeding only on what she found growing on that barren mountain, and creep- ing into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a rock, which was always dropping wet, and was her place of retirement as well as prayer; having worn out even the rock with a knees in a certain place, which is nov open’d on purpose to show it to those who come here. ‘This chapel is very richly | adorn’d; and on the spot where the Saint’s dead body was discovered, which is just be- neath the hole in the rock, which is open’d on purpose, as I said, there is a very statue of marble representing her in a lying posture, — railed in all about with fine iron and brass work; and the altar, on which they say mass, is built just over it.” — Voyage to St cily and Malta, by Sir John Dryden (son to the poet), p. 107. NOTE I5. Friar John. — Himself still sleeps before his beads 2 Have mark’d ten aves, and two creeds. — P. 59. Friar John understood the soporific virtue _ of his beads and breviary as well as his namesake in Rabelais. ‘“ But Gargantua could not sleep by any means, on which side soever he turned himself. Whereupon the monk said to him, ‘I never sleep soundly but when I am at sermon or prayers. L us therefore begin, you and I, the seven penitential psalms, to try whether you shall not quickly fall asleep.’ The conceit pleased Gargantua very well; and, beginning the first _ of these psalms, as soon as they came to — Beati quorum, they fell asleep, both the one — and the other,” q MARMION. NOTE 16. The summon’d Palmer came in place. — fa SO. A Palmer, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it his sole business to visit differ- ent holy shrines ; travelling incessantly, and subsisting by charity : whereas the Pilgrim retired to his usual home and occupations, when he had paid his devotions at the par- | ticular spot which was the object of his pil- grimage. The Palmers seem to have been the Questionarii of the ancient Scottish can- ons 1242 and 1296. NOTE 17. To fair St. Andrew's bound, Within the ocean-cave to pray, Where good Saint Rule his holy lay, From midnight to the dawn of day, Sung to the billows’ sound. —P. 60. St. Regulus (Scottice, St. Rule), a monk of Patrz, in Achaia, warned by a vision, is said, A.D. 370, to have sailed westward, until he landed at Saint Andrews in Scot- land, where he founded a chapel and tower. The latter is still standing, and, though we may doubt the precise date of its foundation, is certainly one of the most ancient edifices in Scotland. A cave, nearly fronting the ruinous castle of the Archbishops of St. _ Andrews, bears the name of this religious _ person. It is difficult of access; and the “rock in which it is hewed is washed by the German Ocean. ten feet in diameter, and the same in height. / On one side is a sort of stone altar; on the dwelling probably slept. ‘favor of the tutelar saint of Scotland. It is nearly round, about other an aperture into an inner den, where the miserable ascetic who inhabited this At full tide, egress and regress are hardly practicable. As Reg- ulus first colonized the metropolitan see of Scotland, and converted the inhabitants in _ the vicinity, he has some reason to complain, | that the ancient name of Killrule (Ced/a Reguli) should have been superseded even in The reason of the change was, that St. Rule is said to have brought to Scotland the relics of St. Andrew. Note 18. — Saint Fillan’s blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore. — P. 60. St. Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. Although Popery is, with us, matter of abomination, yet the common | people still retain some of the superstitions connected with it. There are in Perthshire 695 Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and offerings, even among the Protestants. They are held powerful i _ cases of madness ; and, in some of very late occurrence, luna- tics have been left all night bound to the holy stone, in confidence that the saint would cure and unloose them before morning. NOTE I9. The scenes are desert now, and bare, Where flourish’d once a forest fair. — P. 61. Ettrick Forest, now a range of mountain- ous sheep-walks, was anciently reserved for the’ pleasure of the royal chase. Since it was disparked, the wood has been, by de- grees, almost totally destroyed, although, wherever protected from the sheep, copses soon arise without any planting. When the King hunted there, he often summoned the array of the country to meet and assist his sport. Thus, in 1528, James V. “ made proclamation to all lords, barons, gentlemen, landwardmen, and freeholders, that they should compear at Edinburgh, with a month’s victuals, to pass with the king where he pleased, to danton the thieves of Tiviotdale, Annandale, Liddisdale, and other parts of that country ; and also warned all gentlemen that had good dogs to bring them, that he might hunt in the said country as he pleased : The whilk the Earl of Argyle, the Earl of Huntley, the Earl of Athole, and so all the rest of the gentlemen of the Highland, did, and brought their hounds with them in like manner, to hunt with the King, as_ he pleased. “The second day of June the King past out of Edinburgh to the hunting, with many of the nobles and gentlemen of Scot- land with him, to the number of twelve thousand men; and then past to Meggit- land, and hounded and hawked all the country and bounds; that is to say, Cram- mat, Pappert-law, St. Mary-laws, Carlavirick, Chapel, Ewindoores, and Longhope. I heard say, he slew, in these bounds, eighteen score of harts.” * These huntings had, of course, a military character, and attendance upon them was a part of the duty of a vassal. The act for abolishing ward or military tenures in Scotland, enumerates the services of hunt- ing, hosting, watching, and warding, as those which were in future to be illegal. Taylor, the water-poet, has given an ac- ' count of the mode in which these huntings were conducted in the Highlands of Scot- land, in the seventeenth century, having * PirscoTTigz’s History of Scotland, folio edi- several wells and springs dedicated to St. | tion, p. 143. 696 been present at Braemar upon such an occasion :— “There did I find the truly noble and right honorable lords, John Erskine, Earl of Mar; James Stewart, Earl of Murray; George Gordon, Earl of Engye, son and heir to the Marquess of Huntley ; James Erskine, Earl of Buchan; and John, Lord frskine, son and heir to the Earl of Mar, and their Countesses, with my much honored and my last assured and approved friend, Sir William Murray, knight of Abercarney, and hundreds of others, knights, esquires, and their followers; all and every man.in general, in one habit, as if Lycurgus had been there, and made laws of equality; for once in the year, which is the whole month of August, and sometimes part of Septem- ber, many of the nobility and gentry of the kingdom (for their pleasure) do come into these Highland countries to hunt; where they do conform themselves to the habit of the Highlandmen, who, for the most part, speak nothing but Irish; and, in former time, were those people which were called the Red-shanks. Their habit is, —shoes, with but one sole a-piece; stockings (which they call short hose), made of a warm stuff of divers colours, which they call tartan; as for breeches, many of them, nor their fore- fathers, never wore any, but a jerkin of the same stuff that their hose is of ; their garters being bands or wreaths of hay or straw; with a plaid about their shoulders ; which is a mantle of divers colours, much finer and lighter stuff than their hose; with blue flat caps on their heads; a handkerchief, knit with two knots, about their necks; and thus are they attired. Now their weapons are — long bowes and forked arrows, swords, and targets, harquebusses, muskets, durks, and Lochaber axes. With these arms I found many of them armed for the hunting. As for their attire, any man, of what degree soever, that comes amongst them, must not disdain to wear it; for, if they do, then they will disdain to hunt, or willingly to bring in their dogs; but if men be kind unto them, and be in their habit, then are they con- quered with kindness, and the sport will be plentiful. This was the reason that I found so many noblemen and gentlemen in those shapes. But to proceed to the hunting : — ““My good Lord of Mar having put me into that shape, I rode with him from his house, where I saw the ruins of an old castle, called the Castle of Kindroghit. It was built by King Malcolm Canmore (for a hunting-house), who reigned in Scotland, when Edward the Confessor, Harold. and Norman William, reigned in Englanc. I APPENDIX. | durks, and daggers, in the space of two speak of it, because it was the last house saw in those parts; for I was the space o twelve days after, before I saw either hous corn-field, or habitation for any creature bu deer, wild horses, wolves, and such lik creatures, — which made me doubt that should never have seen a house again. a “Thus, the first day, we travelled eight miles, where there were small cottages buil on purpose to lodge in, which they call Lon quhards. JI thank my good Lord Erskine he commanded that I shou!d always b lodged in his lodging: the kitchen being - always on the side of a bank: many kettl and pots boiling, and many spits turnin and winding, with great variety of cheer, as venison baked ; sodden, roast, and stewe beef ; mutton, goats, kid, hares, fresh salmon pigeons, hens, capons, chickens, partridg muir-coots, heath-cocks, caperkellies, and termagants; good ale, sacke, white and claret, tent (or allegant), with most potent aquavite. “All these, and. more than these, we ha continually in superfluous abundance, caugh by falconers, fowlers, fishers, and brought b my lord’s tenants and purveyors to victua our camp, which consisteth of fourteen o: fifteen hundred men and horses. The mann of the hunting is this: Five or six hundred — men do rise early in the morning, and they do disperse themselves divers ways, and seven, eight, or ten mile$ compass, they do bring, or chase in, the deer in many herd (two, three, or four hundred in a herd), to such or such a place, as the noblemen shall appoint them; then, when day is come, t lords and gentlemen of their companies do ride or go to the said places, sometimes wad- — ing up to the middles, through burns and — rivers; and then, they being come to the place, do lie down on the ground till those’ foresaid scouts, which are called the Tink-— hell, do bring down the deer; but, as the proverb says of the bad.cook, so these tink- hell men do lick their own fingers; for, be sides their bows and arrows, which they carry with them, we can hear, now and then, a — harquebuss or a musket go off, which they do seldom discharge in vain. Then, after we had staid there three hours or thereabouts, — we might perceive the deer appear on the hills round about us (their heads making show like a wood), which, being followed — close by the tinkhell, are chased down into — the valley where we lay; then all the valley, — on each side, being waylaid with a hundred — couple of strong Irish greyhounds, they are — all let loose, as occasion serves, upon the herd of deer, that with dogs, guns, arrows, MARMION. hours, fourscore fat deer were slain; which after are disposed of, some one way, and some another, twenty and thirty miles, and more than enough left for us, to make merry withall at our rendezvous. NOTE 20. By lone Saint Mary’s silent lake. — P. 62. This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which the Yarrow takes its source. It is connected witha smaller lake, called the Loch of the Lowes, and sur- rounded by mountains. In the winter it is still frequented by flights of wild swans; hence my friend Mr. Wordsworth’s lines : — “The swan on still St. Mary’s Lake Floats double, swan and shadow.”’ Near the lower extremity of the lake are the ruins of Dryhope tower, the birthplace of Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott, of Dryhope, and famous by the traditional name of the Flower of Yarrow. She was married to Walter Scott of Harden, no less renowned for his depredations, than his bride for her beauty. Her romantic appel- lation was in later days, with equal justice, conferred on Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of the Harden fam- ily. The author well remembers the talent and spirit of the latter Flower of Yarrow, though age had then injured the charms _ which procured her the name. The words usually sung to the air of ‘‘ Tweedside,’” be- ginning, “ What beauties does Flora dis- close,” were composed in her honor. NOTE 21. —— in feudal strife, a foe, Hath laid Our Lady’s chapel low. — P. 62. The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes (de lacubus) was situated on the eastern side of the lake, to which it gives name. It was in- jured bythe clan of Scott, in a feud with the Cranstouns; but continued to be a place of worship during the seventeenth century. The vestiges of the building can now scarcely be traced ; but the burial-ground is still used as acemetery. A funeral, in a spot so very retired, has an uncommonly striking effect. The vestiges of the chaplain’s house are yet visible. Being in a high situation, it com- manded a full view of the lake, with the opposite mountain of Bourhope, belonging, with the lake itself, to Lord Napier. On the left hand is the tower of Dryhope, men- tioned in a preceding note. 697 NOTE 22. The Wizard’s grave ; That Wizard Priest's, whose bones are thrust From company of holy dust. —P. 63. At one corner of the burial-ground of the demolished chapel, but without its precincts, is a small mound, called Binram’s Corse, where tradition deposits the remains of a necromantic priest, the former tenant of the chaplainry. NOTE 23. Some ruder and more savage scene, Like that which frowns round dark Loch- skene. — P. 63. Loch-skene is a mountain lake, of consid- erable size, at the head of the Moffat-water. The character of the scenery is uncommonly savage ; and the earn, or Scottish eagle, has, for many ages, built its nest yearly upon an islet in the lake. Loch-skene discharges it- self into a brook, which, after a short and precipitate course, falls froma cataract of immense height, and gloomy grandeur, called from its appearance, the “Gray Mare’s Tail”? The “Giant’s Grave,” afterwards mentioned, is a sort of trench, which bears that name, a little way from the foot of the cataract. It has the appearance of a battery, designed to command the pass. NOTE 24. St. Cuthbert’s Holy Isle. — P. 64. Lindisfarne, an isle on the coast of North- umberland, was called Holy Island, from the sanctity of its ancient monastery, and from its having been the episcopal seat of the see of Durham during the early ages of British Christianity. A succession of holy men held that office; but their merits were swallowed up in the superior fame of St. Cuthbert, who was sixth Bishop of Durham, and who be- stowed the name of his “ patrimony ” upon the extensive property of thesee. The ruins of the monastery upon Holy Island betoken great antiquity. The arches are, in general, strictly Saxon, and the pillars which support them, short, strong, and massy. In some places, however, there are pointed windows, which indicate that the building has been repaired at a period long subsequent to the original foundation. The exterior orna- ments of the building, being of a light sandy stone, have been wasted, as described in the text. Lindisfarne is not properly an island, but rather, as the venerable Bede has termed it, a semi-isle ; for, although surrounded by the sea at full tide, the ebb leaves the sanas 698 dry between it and the opposite coast of Northumberland, from which it is about three miles distant. NOTE 25. in their convent cell, A Saxon princess once did dwell, The lovely Edelfled. — P. 66. She was the daughter of King Oswy, who, in gratitude to Heaven for the great victory which he won in 655, against Penda, the Pagan King of Mercia, dedicated Edelfleda, then but a year old, to the service of God, in the monastery of Whitby, of which St. Hilda was then abbess. She afterwards adorned the place of her education with great mag- nificence. NOTE 26. of thousand snakes, each one Was changed into a coil of stone, When holy Hilda pray d ; They told, how sea-fowls pinions fail, As over Whitby’s towers they sail. — P. 66. These two miracles are much insisted upon by all ancient writers who have occasion to mention either Whitby or St. Hilda. The relics of the snakes which infested the pre- cincts of the convent, and were, at the abbess’s prayer, not only beheaded, but pet- rified, are still found about the rocks, and are termed by Protestant fossilists, Amemonite. The other miracle is thus mentioned by Camden: “It is also ascribed to the power of her sanctity, that these wild geese, which, in the winter, fly in great flocks to the lakes and rivers unfrozen in the southern parts, to the great amazement of every one, fall down suddenly upon the ground, when they are in their flight over certain neighboring fields hereabouts; a relation I should not have made, if I had not received it from several credible men. But those who are less in- clined to heed superstition attribute it to some occult quality in the ground, and to somewhat of antipathy between it and the geese, such as they say is betwixt wolves and scylla roots: For that such hidden tenden- cies and aversions, as we call sympathies and antipathies, are implanted in many things by provident Nature, for the preservation of them, is a thing so evident that everybody grants it.” Mr. Charlton, in his History of Whitby, points out the true origin of the fable, from the number of sea-gulls that, when flying from a storm, often alight near Whitby ; and from the woodcocks, and other birds of passage, who do the same upon their arrival on shore, after a long flight, APPENDIX. NOTE 27. His body’s resting-place, of old, How oft their Patron changed, they cold. Fs St. Cuthbert was, in the choice of his sepulchre, one of the-most mutable and un reasonable saints in the Calendar. He died A.D. 688, in a hermitage upon the Farne— Islands, having resigned the bishopric of Lindisfar ne, or Holy Island, about two years before. His body was brought to Lindis- | farne, where it remained until a descent of the Danes, about 793, when the monastery was nearly destroyed. The monks fled to Scotland with what they deemed their chief treasure, the relics of St. Cuthbert. Th Saint was, however, a most capricious fe! low traveller, which was the more intolerabk as, like Sinbad’s Old Man of the Sea, h journeyed upon the shoulders of his com panions. ‘They paraded him through Sco land for several years, and came as far w as Whithern, in Galloway, whence they a tempted to sail for Ireland, but were drive back by tempests. He at length made halt at Norham; from thence he went to Melrose, where he remained stationary for a short time, and then caused himself to be launched upon the Tweed in a stone coffin which landed him at Tilmouth; 1 in Northum berland. The resting-place of the remains of thi Saint is not now matter of uncertainty. 5S recently as 17th May, 1827, 1,139 years afte his death, their discovery and disintermen: were effected. Under a blue stone in th middle of the shrine of St. Cuthbert, at th eastern extremity of the choir of Durha Cathedral, there was then found a walle grave, containing the coffins of the Saint The first, or outer one, was ascertained to b that of 1541, the second of 1041; the third or inner one, answering in every particula to the description of that of 698, was foun to contain, not indeed, as had been averre then, and even until 1539, the incorruptibl body, but the entire skeleton of the Saint the bottom of the grave being perfectly d free from offensive smell, and without th slightest symptom that a human body ha ever undergone decomposition within walls. The skeleton was found swathed i five silk robes of emblematic embroidery, t ornamental parts laid with gold leaf, a these again covered with a robe of linen. Beside the skeleton were also deposited sev- eral gold and silver zusiguia, and other relics of the Saint. - [Speaking of the burial of Cuthbert, Mr, Hartshorne says, “ Aldhune was at that time © MARMION. bishop of the, previously for a long period, wandering see of Lindisfarne. But we now hear no more of that ancient name as the seat of Episcopacy. A cathedral church, such as it was . . . was speedily erected up- on the hillof Durham. This church was consecrated, with much magnificence and solemnity, in the year 999.”— History of Northumberland, P. 221.] Nore 28. Even Scotland’s dauniless king and heir fo) ? ete, Before his standard fled. — P. 67. Every one has heard, that when David I., with his son Henry, invaded Northumber- land in 1136, the English host marched against them under the holy banner of St. Cuthbert; to the efficacy of which was im- puted the great victory which they obtained in the bloody battle of Northallerton, or Cutonmoor. The conquerors were at least as much indebted to the jealousy and intract- ability of the different tribes who composed David’s army: among whom, as mentioned in the text, were the Galwegians, the Britons of Strath-Clyde, the men of Teviotdale and Lothian, with many Norman and German warriors, who asserted the cause of the Empress Maud. See CHALMERS’s Ca/ledo- nia, vol.i., p. 622; a most laborious, curious, and interesting publication, from which con- siderable defects of style and manner ought not to turn aside the Scottish antiquary. NOTE 29. Twas he, to vindicate his reign, Edged Alfred’s falchion on the Dane, And turn’d the Conqueror back again. — P67. Cuthbert, we have seen, had no great rea- son to spare the Danes, when opportunity offered. Accordingly, I find, in Simeon of Durham, that the Saint appeared in a vision to Alfred, when lurking in the marshes of Glastonbury, and promised him assistance and victory over his heathen enemies ; a con- solation which, as was reasonable, Alfred, ‘after the victory of Ashendown, rewarded by a royal offering at the shrine of the Saint. As to William the Conqueror, the terror spread before his army, when he marched to punish the revolt of the Northumbrians in 1096, had forced the monks to fly once more to Holy Island with the body of the Saint. It was, however, replaced before William left the north; and, to balance accounts, the Conqueror having intimated an_indiscreet curiosity to view the Saint’s body, he was, while in the act of commanding the shrine 699 to be opened, seized with heat and. sickness, accompanied with such a panic terror, that, notwithstanding there was a sumptuous din- ner prepared for him, he fled without eating a morsel (which the monkish historian seems to have thought no small part both of the | miracle and the penance), and never drew his | bridle till he got to the river Tees. NOTE 30. Saint Cuthbert sits, and toils to frame The sea-born beads that bear his name.— Ps 67. Although we do not learn that Cuthbert was, during his life, such an artificer as Dunstan, his brother in sanctity, yet, since his death, he has acquired the reputation of forging those Hztrochi which are found among the rocks of Holy Island, and pass there by the name of St. Cuthbert’s Beads. While at this task, he is supposed to sit during the night upon a certain rock, and use another as his anvil. This story was perhaps credited in former days; at least the Saint’s legend contains some not, more probable. NOTE 31. Old Colwulf.— P. 67. Ceolwulf, or Colwulf, King of Northum- berland, flourished in the eighth century. He was a man of some learning; for the venerable Bede dedicates to him his “ Eccle- siastical History.” He abdicated the throne about 738, and retired to Holy Island, where he died in the odor of sancity. Saint as Colwulf was, however, I fear the foundation of the penance vault does not correspond with his character; for it is recorded among his memorabilia, that, finding the air of the island raw and cold, he indulged the monks, whose rule had hitherto confined them to milk or water, with the comfortable privi- lege of using wine or ale. If any rigid an- tiquary insists on this objection, he is welcome to suppose the penance-vault was intended, by the founder, for the more genial purposes of a cellar, NOTE 32. Tynemouth’s haughty Prioress. — P. 67. That there was an ancient priory at Tyne: mouth is certain. Its ruins are situated on a high rocky point; and, doubtless, many a vow was made to the shrine by the distressed mariners who drove towards the iron-bound coast of Northumberland in stormy weather. It was anciently a nunnery ; for Virca, abbess of Tynemouth, presented St. Cuthbert (yet alive) with a rare winding-sheet, in emulation of a holy lady called Tuda, who had sent 700 him 2 coffin. But, as in the case of Whitby, | hospitality. art of Holy Island, the introduction of nuns at Tynemouth im the reign of Henry VIII. 3s an anachronism. The nunnery at Holy isiend is altogether fictitious. Indeed, St. APPENDIX. : | Cuthbert was “unlikely to permit such an es ) tablishment; for, notwithstanding his ac | cepting thé ‘mortuary gifts above mentioned, and his carrying on a visiting acquaintance with the Abbess of Coldingham, he certainly hated the whole female sex ; and, in revenge ei a slippery trick played to him by an Irish princess, he, after death, inflicted severe pen- anceson such as presumed to approach with- in a certain distance of his shrine. NOTE 33. On those the wall was to enclose, tle within the tomb. — P. 69. lt is well known that the rehgious, who | broke their vows of chastity, were subjected to-the Same penalty as the Roman vestals | in a2 Similar case. A small niche, sufficient <0 enclestheir bodies, was made in the mas- Sive wall of the convent ; a slender pittance | of food and water was deposited im it, and the awful words, VADE IN PACE, were the signal for immuring the ciminal li is not | likely that, in later times, this punishment was often resorted to: but among the ruins oi the Abvsey of Coldingham were some years ago discovered the remains of a female Skele- ton, which from the shape of the niche and position of the figure seemed to be that of an immured nun. NOTE 34. The villag ge inn.— P. 73. The accommodations of a Scottish hostel rie, or inn, in the sixteenth century, may be collected fzom Dunber’s adimiralde. tale of * The-Friars of Berwick” Simon Lawder, with an arched roof, and “the gay ostlier.” seems to have lived acd comfortably ; and his wife decorated her son with 2 scarlet Lintle samdaatkeieas nik F and silver; and rings upon her fingers ; and feasted her paramour with rabbits, capons. partridges, and Bordeanx wine. At least. if | the Scottish inns were not good, it was not . have only to add, that. in 1737, the | Hall was tenanted by the for want of encouragement from the kgis- lature: who, so early as the reign of James [.. not only enacted that in all boroughs and | fairs there be hostellaries, having stables and and provision for man and horse, | ‘but by another statute ordained that no man, ‘travelling on horse or foot, should presume | ‘to lodge anywhere except in these hostella | ries; and that no person, save innkeepers, | should Teceive such travellers, under the penalty of forty shillings, for exercising such pe the Scottish hostels ae option nthe ee * Norte 35. Vcct aga The death of a dear friend.— P 76, Among other omens to which : credit is given among the Scottish pe is what is called the “dead-bell,” exp by my friend James Hogg to be that ling in Sie eat ee friend’s decease. Note 36. — The Goblin Hall. — P77. A raked nent which i bees aoa had only stood a few years. From the of this hall another staircase of | Marquess of T cescible by the fall of the stair oe Nore 37." — There floated Haco's banner trim in Above Norweyan warriors grim.— In 1263, Haco, King of Norway, c MARMION. the Frith of Clyde witha powerful armament, and made a descent at Largs, in Ayrshire. Here he was encountered and defeated, on the 2d October, by Alexander III. Haco re- treated to Orkney, where he died soon after this disgrace to his arms. There are still existing, near the place of battle, many bar- rows, some of which, having been opened, were found, as usual, to contain bones and urns. NoTeE 38. Upon his breast a pentacle.— P. 77. “ A pentacle is a piece of fine linen, folded with five corners, according to the five senses, and suitably inscribed with characters. This the magician extends towards the spirits which he invokes, when they are stubborn and rebellious, and refuse to be conformable unto the ceremonies and rites of magic.” — See the discourses, etc., in Reginald Scott’s Discovery of Witchcraft, ed. 1665, p. 66. NOTE 309. As born upon that blessed night, When yawning graves and dying groan Proclaim’d Hell's empire overthrown, — Re78s It is a popular article of faith that those who are born on Christmas, or Good Friday, have the power of seeing spirits, and even of commanding them. The Spaniards imputed the haggard and downcast looks of their Philip II. to the disagreeable visions to which this privilege subjected him. NOTE 40. Yet still the knightly spear and shield The Elfin warrior doth wield Upon the brown hill’s breast. — P. 79. The following extract from the Essay upon the Fairy superstitions, in the “ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,” vol. ii., will show whence many of the particulars of the com- bat between Alexander III. and the Goblin Knight are derived : — Gervase of Tilbury, Otia Imperial. ap. Script. rer. Brunsvic. (vol. i. p. 797), relates the following popular story concerning a fairy knight : ‘ Osbert, a bold and powerful baron, visited a noble family in the vicinity of Wan- delbury, in the bishopric of Ely. Among other stories related in the social circle of his friends, who, according to custom, amused each other by repeating ancient tales and tra- ditions, he was informed, that if any knight, unattended, entered an adjacent plain by moonlight, and challenged an adversary to appear, he would be immediately encountered by a spirit in the form of a knight. Osbert resolved to make the experiment, and set out, attended by a single squire, whom he ordered to remain without the limits of the plain, which was surrounded by an ancient intrench- ment. On repeating the challenge, he was instantly assailed by an adversary, whom he quickly unhorsed, and seized the reins of his steed. During this operation, his ghostly opponent sprung up, and darting his spear, like a javelin, at Osbert, wounded him in the thigh. Osbert returned in triumph with the horse, which he committed to the care of his servants. The horse was of a sable color, as well as his whole accoutrements, and ap- parently of great beauty and vigor. He remained with his keeper till cock-crowing, when, with eyes flashing fire, he reared, spurned the ground, and vanished. On dis- arming himself, Osbert perceived that he was wounded, and that one of his steel boots was full of blood.” Gervase adds, that ‘as long as he lived, the scar of his wound opened afresh on the anniversary of the eve on which he encountered the spirit.” Less fortunate was the gallant Bohemian knight, who, travelling by night with a single com- panion, “came in sight of a fairy host, ar- rayed under displayed banners. Despising the remonstrances of his friend, the knight pricked forward to break a lance with a cham- pion, who advanced from the ranks appar- ently in defiance. His companion beheld the Bohemian overthrown, horse and man, by his aérial adversary ; and returning to the spot next morning, he found the mangled corpses of the knight and steed.” — Aier- archy of Blessed Angels, p. 554. Besides these instances of Elfin chivalry above quoted, many others might be alleged in support of employing fairy machinery in thismanner. The forest of Glenmore, in the North Highlands, is believed to be haunted by a spirit called Lham-dearg, in the array of an ancient warrior, having a bloody hand, from which he takes his name. . He insists upon those with whom he meets doing battle with him; and the clergyman who makes up an account of the district, extant in the Macfarlane MS. in the Advocates’ Library, gravely assures us, that, in his time, Lam- dearg fought with three brothers, whom he met in his walk, none of whom long survived the ghostly conflict. Barclay, in his ‘ Eu- phormion,” gives a singular account of an officer who had ventured, with his servant, rather to intrude upon a haunted house ina town in Flanders, than to put up with worse quarters elsewhere. After taking the usual precautions of providing fires, lights, and arms, they watched till midnight, when be- hold! the severed arm of a man dropped from "02 the ceiling; this was followed by the legs, the other arm, the trunk, and the head ot the body, all separately. The members rolled together, united themselves in the presence of the astonished soldiers, and formed a gigantic warrior, who defied them both to combat. The blows, although they pene- trated the body and amputated the limbs of their strange antagonist, had, as the reader may easily believe, little effect on an enemy who possessed such powers of self-union; nor did his efforts make more effectual im- pression upon them. How the combat ter- minated | do not exactly remember, and have not the book by me; but I think the spirit made to the intruders on his mansion the usual proposal that they should renounce their redemption; which being declined, he was obliged to retreat. The northern champions of old were accus- tomed peculiarly to search for, and delight in, encounters with such military spectres. See a whole chapter on the subject, in Bar- THOLINUS, De Causis contempte Mortis a Danis. p.253: NOTE 41. Close to the hut no more his own, Close to the aid he sought in vain, The morn may find the stiffen’d swain. — P. 81. I cannot help here mentioning that, on the night in which these lines were written, sug- gested, as they were, by a sudden fall of snow, beginning after sunset, an unfortunate man perished exactly in the manner here described, and his body was next morning found close to his own house. The accident happened within five miles of the farm of Ashestiel. NOTE 42. forbes: =P. 81; Sir William Forbes of Pitsligo, Baronet ; unequalled, perhaps, in the degree of indi- vidual affection entertained for him by his friends, as well as in the general respect and esteem of Scotland at large. His “Life of Beattie,” whom he befriended and patronized in life, as well as celebrated after his decease, was not long published before the benevolent and affectionate biographer was called to follow the subject of his narrative. This melancholy event very shortly succeeded the marriage of the friend, to whom this intro- duction is addressed, with one of Sir Wil- liam’s daughters. NOTE 43. Friar Rush.— P. 83. Alias Will o’ the Wisp.” This person- APPENDIX. age is a strolling demon, or esprit follet, who, once upon a time, got admittance into a monastery as a scullion, and played the monks many pranks. He was also a sort of Robin Goodfellow and Jack o’ Lantern. 2 It is in allusion to this mischievons demon that Milton’s clown speaks, — “She was pinch’d, and pull’d, she said, And he by #rzar’s Lantern led.” “The history of Friar Rush” is of extreme rarity, and for some time, even the existence of such a book was doubted, although it is expressly alluded to by Reginald Scott, in his “Discovery of Witchcraft.” 1 have perused a copy in the valuable library of my friend, Mr. Heber; and I observe from Mr. Beloe’s “ Anecdotes of Literature,” that there is one in the excellent collection of the Marquess of Stafford, NOTE 44. ' Sir David Lindesay of the Mount, Lord Lion King-at-arms.— P. 84. The late elaborate edition of Sir David Lindesay’s Works, by Mr. George Chalmers, has probably introduced him to many of my readers. It is perhaps to be regretted that the learned Editor had not bestowed more pains in elucidating his author, even although he should have omitted, or at least reserved, his disquisitions on the origin of the lan- guage used by the poet. But, with all its faults, his work is an acceptable present to Scottish antiquaries, Sir David Lindesay was well known for his early efforts in favor of the Reformed doctrines, and, indeed, his play, coarse as it now seems, must have had a powerful effect upon the people of his age. I am uncertain if I abuse poetical license by introducing Sir David Lindesay in the char- acter of Lion-Herald, sixteen years before he obtained that office. At any rate, I am not the first who has been guilty of the anachron- ism; for the author of “Flodden Field” despatches Dellamount, which can mean no- body but Sir David de la Mont, to France, on the message of defiance from James IV. to Henry VIII. It was often an office imposed on the Lion King-at-arms to receive foreign ambassadors; and Lindesay himself did this honor to Sir Ralph Sadler in 1539-40. In- deed, the oath of the Lion, in its first article, bears reference to his frequent employment upon royal messages and embassies. . The office of heralds in feudal times being _ held of the utmost importance, the inaugura- tion of the King-at-arms, who presided over their colleges, was proportionally solemn. In fact, it was the mimicry of a royal coronation, except that the unction was made with wine Sie gaa eh tn lp ae bar te oy se a PAS Mr NR re oa Be te Bi et al i ay ine ana RS i fala MARMION. instead of oil. In Scotland, a namesake and kinsman of Sir David Lindesay, inaugurated in 1592, “was crowned by King James with the ancient crown of Scotland, which was used before the Scottish kings assumed a close crown ;” and on occasion of the same solem- nity, dined at the King’s table wearing the crown. It is probable that the coronation of his predecessor was not less solemn. So sacred was the herald’s office, that in 1515, Lord Drummond was by Parliament declared guilty of treason, and his lands forfeited, be- cause he had struck with his fist the Lion King-at-arms when he reproved him for his follies. Nor was he restored, but at the Lion’s earnest solicitation. NOTE 45. ~ Crichtoun Castle, — P. 85. A large ruinous castle on the banks of the Tyne, about ten miles from Edinburgh. As indicated in the text, it was built at different times, and with a very differing regard to splendor and accommodation. The oldest part of the building is a narrow keep, or tower, such as formed the mansion of a lesser Scot- tish baron; but so many additions have been made to it, that there is now a large court- yard, surrounded by buildings of different ages. The eastern front of the court is raised above a portico, and decorated with entabla- tures, bearing anchors. All the stones of this front are cut into diamond facets, the angular projections of which have an uncom- monly rich appearance. The inside of this part of the building appears to have contained a gallery of great length and uncommon ele- gance. Access was given to it by a magnifi- cent staircase, now quite destroyed. The soffits are ornamented with twining cordage and rosettes; and the whole seems to have been far more splendid than was usual in Scottish castles. The castle belonged origi- nally to the Chancellor, Sir William Crichton, and probably owed to him its first enlarge- ment, as well as its being taken by the Earl of Douglas, who imputed to Crichton’s coun- sels the death of his predecessor, Earl Wil- liam, beheaded in Edinburgh Castle, with his brother, in 1440. It is said to have been totally demolished on that occasion ; but the present state of the ruin shows the contrary. In 1483 it was garrisoned by Lord Crichton, then its proprietor, against King James III., whose displeasure he had incurred by sedu- cing his sister Margaret, in revenge, it is said, for the Monarch having dishonored his bed. From the Crichton family the castle passed to that of the Hepburns, Earls of Bothwell ; and when the forfeitures of Stewart, the Jast 793 Earl of Bothwell, were divided, the barony and Castle of Crichton fell to the share of the Earl of Buccleuch. They were. after- wards the property of the Pringles of Clifton, and are now that of Sir John: Callander, Baronet. It were to be wished the proprietor would take a little pains to preserve these splendid remains of antiquity, which are at present used as a fold for sheep, and winter- ing cattle; although, perhaps, there are very few ruins in Scotland which display so well the style and beauty of ancient castle-archi- tecture. The castle of Crichton has a dun- geon vault, called the AZassy More. The epithet, which is not uncommonly applied to the prisons of other old castles in Scotland, is of Saracenic origin. It occurs twice in the “ Bpistole Itinerarie” of Tollius, “ Carcer subterraneus, sive, ut Mauri appellant, MAZMORRA,” p. 147; and again, “ Cogzntur omnes Captivi sub noctem in ergastula sub- terranea, que Turce Algezerani vocant MAZMORRAS,” p. 243. The same ’word ap- plies to the dungeons of the ancient Moorish castles in Spain, and serves to show from what nation the Gothic style of castle-build- ing was originally derived. NOTE 46. Earl Adam Hepburn. — P, 85. He was the second Earl of Bothwell, and fell in the field of Flodden, where, according to an ancient English poet, he distinguished himself by a furious attempt to retrieve the day :— : ‘¢ Then on the Scottish part, right proud, The Earl of Bothwell then out brast, And stepping forth, with stomach good, Into the enemies’ throng he thrast; And Bothwell! Bothwell! cried bold, To cause his souldiers to ensue; But there he caught a welcome cold, The Englishman straight down him threw. Thus Haburn through his hardy heart His fatal fine in conflict found,”’ ete. Flodden Field,a Poem; edited by H. Weber. Edin., 1808. Adam was grandfather to James, Earl of Bothwell, too well known in the history of Queen Mary. NOTE 47. For that amessenger from Heaven, In vain to James had counsel given, Against the English war. — P. 85. This story is told by Pitscottie with char- acteristic simplicity: — “ The King, seeing that France could get no support of him for that time, made a proclamation, full hastily, through all the realm of Scotland, both east and west, south and north, as well in the 704 isles as in the firm land, to all manner of men, between sixty and sixteen years, that they should be ready, within twenty days, to pass with him, with forty days’ victual, and to meet at the Burrow-muir of Edinburgh, . and there to pass forward where he pleased. His proclamations were hastily obeyed, con- trary to the Council of Scotland’s will; but every man loved his prince so well that they would on no ways disobey him ; but every man caused make his proclamation so has- tily, conform to the charge of the King’s proclamation. “The King came to Lithgow, where he happened to be for the time at the Council, very sad and dolorous, making his devotion to God, to send him good chance and fortune in his voyage. In this meantime there came aman, clad in a blue gown, in at the kirk door, and belted about him in a roll of linen cloth; a»pair of brotikings * on his feet, to the great of his legs; with all other hose and clothes conform thereto; but he had nothing on his head, but syde f red yellow hair behind, and on his haffets. which wan down to his shoulders; but his forehead was bald and bare. He seemed to be a man of two-and-fifty years, with a great pike-staff in his hand, and came first forward among the lords, crying and speiring § for the King, saying, he desired to speak with him. While at the last, he came where the priest was sit- ting in the desk at his prayers; but when he saw the King, he made him little reverence or salutation, but leaned down groffling on the desk before hini, and said to him in this manner, as after follows:— ‘Sir King, my mother hath sent me to you, desiring you not to pass, at this time, where thou art pur- posed ; for if thou does, thou wilt not fare well in thy journey, nor none that passeth with thee. Further, she bade thee mell || with no woman, nor use their counsel, nor let them touch thy body, nor thou theirs ; for, if thou do it, thou wilt be confounded and brought to shame’ “ By this man had spoken thir words unto the King’s grace, the evening song was near done, and the King paused on thir words, studying to give him an answer: but, in the meantime, before the King’s eyes, and in the presence of all the lords that were about him tor the time, this man vanished away, and could no ways be seen or comprehended, but vanished: away as he had been a blink of the sun, or a whip of the whirlwind, and could no more be seen. I heard say, Sir David Lindesay, Lyon-herauld, and John Inglis the * Buskins. f Long. + Cheeks. § Asking. || Meddle. APPENDIX. marshal, who were, at that time, young men, - and special servants to the King’s grace, — were standing presently beside the King, who thought to have laid hands on this — man, that they might have speired further tidings at him: But all for nought; they could not touch him; for he vanished away | betwixt them, and was no more seen.” NoTE 48. The wild-buck bells. — P. 86. I am glad of an opportunity to describe the cry of the deer by another word than braying, although the latter has been sancti- fied by the use of the Scottish metrical trans- lation of the Psalms. #Be// seems to be an abbreviation of bellow. This sylvan sound conveyed great delight to our ancestors, — chiefly, 1 suppose, from association. A gentle knight in ‘the reign of Henr¥ VIII., Sir Thomas Wortley, built Wantley Lodge, — in Wancliffe Forest, for the pleasure (as an ancient inscription testifies) of “listening to — the hart’s ded/.” ¥ NOTE 49. June saw his father’s overthrow.--- P. 86. The rebellion against James III. was sig- nalized by the cruel circumstance of his son’s — presence in the hostile army. When the King saw his own banner displayed against — him, and his son in the faction of his ene- mies, he lost the little courage he had ever possessed, fled out of the field, fell from his — horse as it started at a woman and water-— pitcher, and was slain, it is not well under- stood by whom. James IV., after the battle, passed to Stirling, and hearing the monks of © the chapel-royal deploring the death of his father, their founder, he was seized with deep — remorse, which: manifested itself in severe — penances. (See Note 56 on stanza ix. of canto v.) The battle of Sauchie-burn, in — which James III. fell, was fought 18th June, — 1488. : NOVE 50. The Borough-moor. — P. 88. The Borough, or Common Moor of Edin: burgh, was of very great extent, reaching from the southern walls of the city to the — bottom of Braid Hills. It was anciently a forest; and, in that state, was so great a nuisance, that the inhabitants of Edinburgh — had permission granted to them of building wooden galleries, projecting over the street in order to encourage them to consume the timber, which they seem to have done very effectually. When James IV. mustered the array of the kingdom there, in 1513, the Borough-moor was, according to Hawthorn: MARMION. den, “a field spacious, and delightful by the shade of many stately and aged oaks.” Upon that, and similar occasions, the royal standard is traditionally said to have been displayed from the Hare-Stane, a high stone, now built into the wall, on the left hand of the highway leading towards Braid, not far from the head of Burntsfield Links. The Hare-Stane probably derives its name from the British word Har, signifying an army. NOTE 51. in proud Scotlana’s royal shield, The ruddy lion ramp d in gold. — P. 89. The well-known arms of Scotland. you will believe Boethius and Buchanan, the double treasure round the shield, men- tioned, counter fleur-de-lysed or lingued and armed azure, was first assumed by Achaius, King of Scotland, contemporary of Charle- | magne, and founder of the celebrated League with France; but later antiquaries make poor Eochy, or Achy, little better than a sort of King of Brentford, whom old Grig (who has also swelled into Gregorius Mag- nus) associated with himself in the impor- tant duty of governing some part of the north-eastern coast of Scotland. NOTE 52. — Caledonia’s Queen is changed.— P. 91. The Old Town of Edinburgh was secured | on the north side by a lake, now drained, ing to Patten; and a voluminous handker- and on the south by a wall, which there was some attempt to make defensible even so late as 1745. The gates, and the greater part of the wall, have been pulled down, in the course of the late extensive and beauti- ful enlargement of the city. My ingenious and valued friend, Mr. Thomas Campbell, proposed to celebrate Edinburgh under the epithet here borrowed. But the “ Queen of the North” has not been so fortunate as to receive from so eminent a pen the proposed distinction. NOTE 53. The cloth-yard arrows.— P. 92. This is no poetical exaggeration. In some of the counties of England, distin- guished for archery, shafts of this extraordi- nary length were actually used. Thus at the battle of Blackheath, between the troops of Henry VII., and the Cornish insurgents, in 1496, the bridge of Dartford was defended by a picked band of archers from the rebel | ‘army, ‘whose arrows,” says Holinshed, “were in length a full cloth yard.” The Scottish, according to Ascham, had a proy- ~erb, that every English archer carried If | 795 under his belt twenty-four Scots, in allusion to his bundle of unerring shafts. NOTE 54 He saw the hardy burghers there March arm’d on foot with faces bare.— ie. The Scottish burgesses were, like yeo- men, appointed to be armed with bows and sheaves, sword, buckler, knife, spear, or a good axe instead of a bow, if worth £100: their armor to be of white or bright harness. They wore white hats, i.e., bright steel caps, without crest or visor. By an act of James IV. their weafon-schawings are appointed to be held four times a year, under the alder- men or bailiffs. NOTE 55. On foot the yeoman too Each at his back (a slender store) fis forty days’ provision bore, His arms were halbert, axe, or spear. — 3 P..93. Bows and quivers were in vain -recom- mended to the peasantry of Scotland, by repeated statutes; spears and axes seem universally to have been used instead> of them. ‘Their defensive armor was the plate- jack, hauberk, or brigantine ; and their mis- sile weapons cross-bows and culverins. All wore swords of excellent temper, accord- chief round their neck, “not for cold, but for cutting.” The mace also was much used in the Scottish army. The old poem on the. battle of Flodden mentions a band — “Who manfully did meet their foes, With leaden mauls, and lances long.” When the feudal array of the kingdom was called forth, each man was. obliged to appear with forty days’ provision. When this was expended, which took place before the battle of Flodden, the army melted away of course. Almost all the Scottish forces, except a few knights, men-at-arms, and the Border-prickers, who formed excellent light cavalry, acted upon foot. ' NOTE 56. A banquet rich, and costly wines, To Marmion and his train. — P.94. In all transactions of great or petty im: portance, and among whomsoever taking place, it would seem that a present of wine was a uniform and indispensable prelimi- nary. It was not to Sir John Falstaff alone that such an introductory preface was neces- sary, however well judged and acceptable on 706 the part of Mr. Brook; for Sir Ralph Sadler, while on an embassy to Scotland in 1539-40, mentions, with complacency, “the same night came Rothesay (the herald so called) to me again, and brought me wine from the King, both white and red.” — Clifford’s Edi- 2207, Pp. 39- NOTE 57. his iron-belt, That bound his breast in penance-pain, Ln memory of his father slain. — P. 95. Few readers need to be reminded of this belt, to the weight of which James added certain ounces every year that he lived. Pitscottie founds his belief that James was not slain in the battle of Flodden, because the English never had this token of the iron- belt toshowto any Scottishman. The person and character of James are delineated ac- cording to our best historians. His romantic disposition, which led him highly to relish gayety, approaching to license, was, at the same time, tinged with enthusiastic devotion. These propensities sometimes formed a strange contrast. He was wont, during his fits of devotion, to assume the dress, and conform to the rules, of the order of Fran- ciscans ; and when he had thus done penance for some time in Stirling, to plunge again into thetide of pleasure. Probably, too, with no unusual inconsistency, he sometimes laughed at the superstitious observances to which he at other times subjected himself. NOTE 58, Sir Hugh the Heron’s wife.— P. 95. It has-been already noticed (see note 10) that King James’s acquaintance with Lady Heron:of Ford did not commence until he marched into England. Our historians im- pute to the King’s infatuated passion the elays which led to the fatal defeat of Flodden. ‘The author of “The Genealogy of the Heron Family” endeavors, with laud- able anxiety, to clear the Lady Ford from the scandal; that she came and went, how- ever, between the armies of James and Surrey is certain. “See PINKERTON’s Aiistory and the authorities he refers to, vol. ii., p. 99. NOTE 59. The fair Queen of France Sent him aturquois ring and glove, And charged him,as her knight and love, For her to break a lance. —P. 95. “Also the Queen of France wrote a love letter to the King of Scotland, calling him her love, showing him that she had suffered much rebuke in France for the defending of his honor. She believed surely that he APPENDIX. ne would recompense her again with some of his kingly support in her necessity; that is to say, that he would raise her an army, and — come three foot of ground on English ground, © for her sake. ‘To that effect she sent him a ring off her finger, with fourteen thousand — French crowns to pay his expenses.” Pit-— SCOTTIE, p. 110.— A turquois ring, probably © this fatal gift, is, with James’s sword and ~ dagger, preserved in the College of Heralds, — London. a NOTE 60. Archibald Bell-the-Cat.—P.97. Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, a man remarkable for strength of body and mind, acquired the popular name of Bell-the-Cat, . upon the following remarkable occasion : — James the Third, of whom Pitscottie com- plains that he delighted more in music, andl i “policies of building,” than in bunting hawking, and other noble exercises, was so ill advised as to make favorites of his archi- tects and musicians, whom the same histon rian irreverently terms masons and fiddlers. His nobility, who did not sympathize in. the King’s respect for the fine arts, were extremely incensed at the honors conferred on those persons, particularly on Cochrane, — a mason, who had been created Earlof Mar ;_ and, seizing the opportunity, when, in 1482, — the King had convoked the whole array of the country to march against the English, they held a midnight council in the church of Lauder, for the purpose of forcibly remov ing these minions from the King’s person When all had agreed on the propriety of this measure, Lord Gray told the assembly the apologue of the Mice, who had formed a resolution that it would be highly advanta geous to their community to tie a bell round the cat’s neck, that they might hear her approach at a ’ distance; but which public — measure unfortunately miscarried, from no x mouse being willing to undertake the task of — a fastening the bell. “I understand the moral,” De said Angus, “and, that what we propose — may not lack execution, I will deZ/-the-cat.” . eee. RO Paes 7 Stee tose Gowler NOTE 61. Against the war had Angus stood, And chafed his royal Lord.—P.97. Angus was an old man when the war a against England was resolved upon. He © earnestly spoke against that measure fromits — commencement ; and, on the eve of the battle - of Flodden, remonstrated so freely upon the impolicy of fighting, that the King said tot him, with scorn and indignation, “if he was — afraid he might go home.” The Earl burst into tears at this insupportable insult, and MARMION. retired accordingly, leaving his sons George, Master of Angus, and Sir William of Glen- bervie, to command his followers. They were both slain in the battle, with two hun- dred gentlemen of the name of Douglas. The aged earl, broken-hearted at the calami- ties of his house and his country, retired into a religious house, where he died about a year after the field of Flodden. NOTE 62. Tantallon hold.— P. 97. The ruins of Tantallon Castle occupy a high rock projecting into the German Ocean, about two miles east of North Berwick. The building formed a principal castle of the Douglas family, and when the Earl of Angus was banished, in 1527, it continued to hold out against James V. The King went in person against it, and for its reduction borrowed from the Castle of Dunbar, then belonging to the Duke of Albany, two great cannons, “ Thrawn-mouth’d Meg and _ her Marrow;” also, “two great botcards, and two moyan, two double falcons, and four quarter falcons.” Yet, notwithstanding all this apparatus, James was forced to raise the siege, and only afterwards obtained pos- session of Tantallon by treaty with the governor, Simon Panango. When the Earl of Angus returned from banishment, upon the death of James, he again obtained posses- sion of Tantallon, and it actually afforded refuge to an English ambassador, under circumstances similar to those described in the text. This was no other than the cele- brated Sir Ralph Sadler, who resided there for some time under Angus’s protection, af- ter the failure of his negotiations for match- ing the infant Mary with Edward VI. NOTE 63. Their motto on his blade. —P. 97. A very ancient sword, in possession of Lord Douglas, bears among a great deal of flourishing, two hands pointing to a heart, which is placed betwixt them, and the date 1329, being the year in which Bruce charged the good Lord Douglas to carry his heart to the Holy Land. NOTE 64. Martin Swart.—P. 99. A German general, who commanded the auxiliaries sent by the Duchess of Burgundy with Lambert Simnel. He was defeated and killed at Stokefield. The name of this German general is preserved by that of the field of battle, which is called, after him, 797 Swartmoor. There were songs about him long current in England. — See Dissertation prefixed to RITSON’s Ancient Songs, 1792, p> Lxi. NOTE 65. The Cross. — P. too. The Cross of Edinburgh was an ancient and curious structure. ‘The lower part was an octagonal tower, sixteen feet in diameter, and about fifteen feet high. At each angle there was a pillar, and between them an arch, of the Grecian shape. Above these was a projecting battlement, with a turret at each corner, and medallions, of rude but curious workmanship, between them. Above this rose the proper Cross, a column of one stone, upwards of twenty feet high, sur- mounted with a unicorn. This pillar is preserved in the grounds of the property of Drum, near Edinburgh. The magistrates of Edinburgh in 1756, with consent of the Lords of Session, destroyed this curious monument under a wanton pretext that it encumbered the streets. From the Tower of the Cross, so long as it remained, the heralds published the acts of Parliament. NOTE 66. This awful summons came. — P.1o1. This supernatural citation is mentioned by all our Scottish historians. It was, probably, like the apparition at Linlithgow, an at- tempt, by those averse to the war, to impose upon the superstitious temper of James IV. NOTE 67. One of his own ancestry. Drove the Monks forth of Coventry. P. 103. This relates to the catastrophe of a real Robert de Marmion, in the reign of King Stephen, whom William of Newbury de- scribes with some attributes of my fictitious hero. “ Homo bellicosus, ferocia, et astucta, Jere nullo suo tempore impar.” This Baron, having expelled the Monks from the church of Coventry, was not long of experiencing the Divine judgment, as the same monks, no doubt, termed his disaster. Having waged a feudal war withthe Earl of Chester, Marmion’s horse fell, as he charged in the van of his troop, against a body of the Earl’s followers; the rider’s thigh being broken by the fall, his head was cut off by a common foot-soldier, ere he could receive any succor. The whole story is told by William of Newbury. 708 Note 68. The savage Dane At lol more deep the mead did drain, — Potro, The Iol of the heathen Danes (a word still applied to Christmas in Scotland) was solemnized with great festivity. The humor of the Danes at table displayed itself by pelting each other with bones; and Torfzus tells a long and curious story, in the History of Hrolfe Kraka, of one Hottus, an inmate of the Court of Denmark, who was so generally assailed with these missiles, that he constructed, out of the bones with which he was overwhelmed, a very respectable in- trenchment, against those who continued the raillery. NOTE 69. Who lists may in their mumming seé Traces of ancient mystery. — P. 105. It seems certain that the MWzmmers of England, who (in Northumberland at least) used to go about in disguise to the neighbor- ing houses, bearing the then useless plough- share; and the Guisards of Scotland, not yet in total disuse, present, in some indis- tinct degree, a shadow of the old mysteries, which were the origin of the English drama. In Scotland (me ipso teste), we were wont, during my boyhood, to take the characters of the apostles, at least of Peter, Paul, and Judas Iscariot ; the first had the keys, the second carried a sword, and the last the bag, in which the dole of our neighbors’ plum- cake was deposited. One played a cham- pion, and recited some traditional rhymes; another was : — ‘“ Alexander, King of Macedon, Who conquer’d all the world but Scotland alone.” These, and many such verses, were repeated, but by rote, and unconnectedly. There was also, occasionally, I believe, a Saint George. In all, there was a confused resemblance of the ancient mysteries, in which the charac- ters of Scripture, the Nine Worthies, and other popular personages, were usually ex- hibited. NOTE 70. The Highlander Will, on a Friday morn, look pale, Lf ask’d to tell a fairy tale. — P. 106. The Daoine shi, or Men of Peace, of the Scottish Highlanders, rather resemble the Scandinavian Duergar than the English Fairies. Notwithstanding their name, they APPENDIX, are, if not absolutely malevolent, at leas peevish, discontented, and apt to do misc on slight provocation. The belief of the existence is deeply impressed on the Higl landers, who think they are particularly o fended at mortals who talk to them, wh wear their favorite color (green), or in an respect interfere with their affairs. This i especially to be avoided on Friday, wher whether as dedicated to Venus, with wh in Germany, this subterraneous people held nearly connected, or for a more solem reason, they are more active, and possesse of greater power. Some curious particular concerning the popular superstition of t Highlanders may be found in Dr. Graha Picturesque Sketches of Perthshire. NOTE 71. The last lord of Franchémont. — P. 10 The journal of the friend to whom th Fourth Canto of the Poem is inscribed, fu nished me with the following account of — striking superstition. “ Passed the pretty little village of Franc mont (near Spaw), with the romantic ruin of the old castle of the Counts of that na The road leads through many delight vales on a rising ground; at the extrem of one of them stands the ancient castle, n the subject of many superstitious legend It is firmly believed by the neighboring pea: antry, that the last Baron of Franchémon deposited, in one of the vaults of the castle a ponderous chest, containing an immens treasure in gold and silver, which, by som magic spell, was intrusted to the care of Devil, who is constantly found sitting on the chest in the shape of a huntsman. Any one adventurous enough to touch the ches is instantly seized with the palsy. Upo one occasion, a priest of noted piety brought to the vault : he used all the arts 0 exorcism to persuade his infernal majesty vacate his seat, but in vain; the huntsm remained immovable. At last, moved the earnestness of the priest, he told h that he would agree to resign the chest the exorciser would sign his name w blood. But the priest understood his mear ing, and refused, as by that act he woul have delivered over his soul to the De Yet if anybody can discover the mys words used by the person who deposited thi treasure, and pronounce them, the fiend m instantly decamp. I had many stories of similar nature from a peasant, who had hin self seen the Devil in the shape of a grea eat” 7 MARMION. NOTE 72. the huge and sweeping brand Which wont of yore, in battle fray, His foeman’s limbs to shred away, As wood-knife lops the sapling spray. — P. Ilo. The Earl of Angus had strength and per- sonal activity corresponding to his courage. Spens of Kilspindie, a favorite of James 1V., having spoken of him lightly, the Earl met him while hawking, and, compelling him to single combat, at one blow cut asunder his thigh-bone, and killed him onthe spot. But ere he could obtain James’s pardon for this slaughter, Angus was obliged to yield his castle of Hermitage, in exchange for that of Bothwell, which was some diminution to the family greatness. The sword with which he struck so remarkable a blow, was presented by his descendant James, Earl of Morton, afterwards Regent of Scotland, to Lord Lindesay of the Byres, when he defied Both- well to single combat on Carberry Hill. See Introduction to the AZinstrelsy of the Scottish Border. NOTE 73. And hopest thou hence unscathed to go? — No! by St. Bride of Bothwell, no! Up drawbridge, grooms ! — what, Warder, ho! Let the portcullis fall. — P. 111. This ebullition of violence in the potent _ Earl of Angus is not without its example in _ the real history of the house of Douglas, whose chieftains possessed the ferocity with the heroic virtues of a savage state. The _ most curious instance occurred in the case of Maclellan, Tutor of Bomby, who, having refused to acknowledge the pre-eminence claimed by Douglas over the gentlemen and Barons of Galloway, was seized and impris- oned by the Earl, in his castle of the Thrieve, on the borders of Kirkcudbrightshire. Sir Patrick Gray, commander of King James the Second’s guard, was uncle to the Tutor of Bomby, and obtained from the King a “sweet letter of supplication,’ praying the Earl to deliver his prisoner into Gray’s hand. When Sir Patrick arrived at the castle, he was received with all the honor due to a favorite servant of the King’s household ; but while he was at dinner, the Earl, who suspected his errand, caused his prisoner to _-be led forth and beheaded. After dinner, Sir Patrick presented the King’s letter to the Earl, who received it with great affecta- tion of reverence; “and took him by the hand, and led him forth to the green, where _ the gentleman was lying dead, and showed | 709 him the manner, and said, ‘ Sir Patrick, you. are come a little too late; yonder is your sis- ter’s son lying, but he wants his head: take his body, and do with it what you will.’ — Sir Patrick answered again, with a sore heart, and said, ‘ My lord, if ye have taken from him his head, dispone upon the body as ye please;’ and with that called for his horse, and leaped thereon; and when he was on horseback, he said to the Earl on this manner, ‘ My lord, if 1 live, you shall be re- warded for your labors that you have used at this time, according to your demerits.’ “ At this saying the Earl was highly of- fended, and cried for horse. Sir Patrick, see- ing the Earl’s fury, spurred his horse, but he was chased near Edinburgh ere they left him; and had it not been his led horse was so tried and good he had been taken.” — P1TscorT- TIE’S History, p. 39. NOTE 74. A letter forged! — Saint Jude to speed! Did ever knight so foul a deed! —P. 111. Lest the reader should partake of the Earl’s astonishment, and consider these crimes inconsistent with the manners of the period, I have to remind him of the numer- ous forgeries (partly executed by a female assistant) devised by Robert of Artois, to forward his suit against the Countess Ma- tilda; which, being detected, occasioned his flight into England, and proved the remote cause of Edward the Third’s memorable wars in France. John Harding, also, was ex- pressly ‘hired by Edward I. to forge such documents as might appear to establish the claim of fealty asserted over Scotland by the English monarchs. NOTE 75. Twisel Bridge.— P.113. On the evening previous to the memora- ble battle of Flodden, Surrey’s headquarters were at Barmoor Wood, and King James held an inaccessible position on the ridge of Flodden-hill, one of the last and lowest emi- nences detached from the ridge of Cheviot. The Till, a deep and slow river, winded be- tween the armies. On the morning of the gth September, 1513, Surrey marched in a north-westerly direction, and crossed the Till, with his van and artillery, at Twisel- bridge, nigh where that river joins the Tweed, his rear-guard column passing about a mile higher, by a ford. This movement had the double effect of placing his army between King James and his supplies from Scotland, and of striking the Scottish mon- 710 arch with surprise, as he seems to have re- lied on the depth of the river in his front. But as the passage, both over the bridge and through the ford, was difficult and slow, it seems possible that the English might have been attacked to great advantage while strug- gling with these natural obstacles. I know not if we are to impute James’s forbearance to want of military skill, or to the romantic declaration which Pitscottie puts in his mouth, “that he was determined to have his enemies before him on a plain field,” and therefore would suffer no interruption to be given, even by artillery, to their passing the river. The ancient bridge of Twisel, by which the English crossed the Till, is still standing beneath Twisel Castle, a splendid pile of Gothic architecture rebuilt by Sir Francis Blake. Beneath a tall rock near the bridge is a plentiful fountain called St. Helen’s Well. NOTE 76. Hence might they see the full array, Of either host, for deadly fray.— P. 114. The reader cannot here expect a full ac- count of the battle of Flodden ; but, so far as is necessary to understand the romance, I beg to remind him, that, when the English army, by their skilful countermarch, were fairly placed between King James and his own country, the Scottish monarch resolved to fight; and, setting fire to his tents, de- scended from the ridge of Flodden to secure the neighboring eminence of Brankstone, on which that village is built. Thus the two armies met, almost without seeing each other, when, according to the old poem, of “ Flodden Field,” “‘ The English line stretch’d east and west, And southward were their faces set ; The Scottish northward proudly prest, And manfully their foes they met.” The English army advanced in four divis- ions. On theright, which first engaged, were the sons of Earl Surrey ; namely, Thomas Howard, the Admiral of England, and Sir Edmund, the Knight Marshal of the army. Their divisions were separated from each other; but, at the request of Sir Edmund, his brother’s battalion was drawn very near to his own. The centre was commanded by Surrey in person; the left wing by Sir Ed- ward Stanley, with the men of Lancashire, and of the palatinate of Chester. Lord Dacre, with a large body of horse, formed a reserve. When the smoke, which the wind had driven between the armies, was some- what dispersed, they perceived the Scots, who had moved down the hill in a similar APPENDIX. ~ order of battle and in deep silence. The Earls of Huntly and of Home commanded ~ their left wing, and charged Sir Edmund Howard with such success as entirely to defeat his part of the English right wing. Sir Edmund’s banner was beaten down, and he himself escaped with difficulty to his brother’s division. The Admiral, however, stood firm; and Dacre advancing to his su ) port with the reserve of cavalry, probably between the intervals of the divisions com manded by the brothers Howard, appears have kept the victors in effectual check, Home’s men, chiefly Borderers, began to pillage the baggage of both armies; a their leader is branded by the Scottish h torians with negligence or treachery. O the other hand, Huntly, on whom they be stow many encomiums, is said by the Eng- lish historians to have left the field after the first charge. Meanwhile the Admiral, whose flank these chiefs ought to have at tacked, availed himself of their inactivity, and pushed forward against another large division of the Scottish army in his front, headed by the Earls of Crawford and Mont- rose, both of whom were slain, and their forces routed. On the left, the success of the English was yet more decisive ; for the Scottish right wing, consisting of undisci- plined Highlanders, commanded by Lenn and Argyle, was unable to sustain the char of Sir Edward Stanley, and especially the severe execution of the Lancashire archers The King and Surrey, who commanded t respective centres of their armies, were mea while engaged in close and dubious conflict James, surrounded by the flower of his king: dom, and impatient of the galling discharge of arrows, supported also by his reserve under Bothwell, charged with such fury, that the standard of Surrey was in danger, At that critical moment, Stanley, who had routed the left wing of the Scottish, pursued his career of victory and arrived on the rig flank, and in the rear of James’s division, which, throwing itself into a circle, disputed the battle till night came on. Surrey then drew back his forces; for the Scottish centre not having been broken, and their left wing being victorious, he yet doubted the event of the field. The Scottish army, however, felt their loss, and abandoned the field of battle in disorder, before dawn. They lost, per- haps, from eight to ten thousand men; but that included the very prime of their nobik ity, gentry,and even clergy. Scarcea family of eminence but has an ancestor killed at_ Flodden; and there is no province in Scot- land, even at this day, where the battle is” mentioned without a sensation of terror and_ MARMION. sorrow. The English lost, also, a great number of men, perhaps within one-third of the vanquished, but they were of inferior note. NOTE 77. Brian Tunstall, stainless knight. — P..EIds Sir Brian Tunstall, called in the romantic language of the time, Tunstall the Unde- filed, was one of the few Englishmen of rank slain at Flodden. He figures in the ancient English poem, to which I may safely refer my readers ; as an edition, with full explan- atory notes, has been published by my friend, Mr. Henry Weber. ‘Tunstall, per- haps, derived his epithet of zsdejiled from his white armor and banner, the latter bear- ing a white cock, about to crow, as well as from his unstained loyalty and knightly faith. His place of residence was Thurland Castle. NoTE 78, Reckless of life, he desperate fought, And fell on Flodden plain ; And well in death his trusty brand, Firm clench'd within his manly hand, Beseem’d the monarch slain. — Part O. There can be no doubt that King James fell in the battle of Flodden. He was killed, says the curious French Gazette, within a lance’s length of the Earl of Surrey; and the same account adds, that none of his division were made prisoners, though many were killed; a circumstance that testifies the des- peration of their resistance. The Scottish historians record many of the idle reports which passed among the vulgar of their day. Home was accused by the popular voice, not only of failing to support the King, but even of having carried him out of the field, and murdered him. And this tale was revived in my remembrance by an unauthenticated story of a skeleton, wrapped in a bull’s hide, and surrounded with an iron chain, said to have been found in the well of Home Castle ; for which, on inquiry, I could never find any better authority than the sexton of the par- ish having said that, if the well were cleaned cut, he would not be surprised at such a dis- 711 covery. ome was the chamberlain of the King, and his prime favorite; he had much to lose (in fact did lose all) in consequence of James’s death, and nothing earthly to gain by that event; but the retreat, or inactivity of the left wing which he commanded, after defeating Sir Edmund Howard, and even the circumstance of his returning unhurt, and loaded with spoil, from so fatal a con- flict, rendered the propagation of any cal- umny against him easy and acceptable. Other reports gave a still more romantic turn to the King’s fate, and averred, that James, weary of greatness, after the carnage among his nobles, had gone on a pilgrimage, to merit absolution for the death of his father, and the breach of his oath of amity to Henry. In particular, it was objected to the English, that they could never show the token of the iron belt, which, however, he was likely enough to have laid aside on the day of the battle, as encumbering his per- sonal exertions. They produce a better evi- dence, the monarch’s sword and dagger. which are still preserved in the Herald’s College in London. Stowe has recorded a degrading story of the disgrace with which the remains of the unfortunate monarch were treated in his time. An unhewn col- umn marks the spot where James fell, still called the King’s Stone. NOTE 79. The fair cathedral storm’d and took, — Brae: This storm of Lichfield cathedral, which had been garrisoned on the part of the King, took place in the Great Civil War. Lord Brook, who, with Sir John Gill, commanded the assailants, was shot with a musket-ball through the vizor of his helmet. The roy- alists remarked, that he was killed by a shot fired from St. Chad’s cathedral, and upon St. Chad’s Day, and received his death- wound in the very eye with which, he had said, he hoped to see the ruin of all the cathedrals in England. The magnificent church in question suffered cruelly upon this and other occasions; the principal spire being ruined by the fire of the besiegers. 712 APPENDIX. THE,LADY, OF THE fAnRe NOTE 1. the heights of Uam-Var, And roused the cavern, where, ’tis told, A giant made his den of old. —P. 125. UA-VAR, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaighmor, is a mountain to the north-east of the village of Callender in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den or cavern, from a sort of re- treat among the rocks on the south side, said, by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. In latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have been only extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small enclosure, or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open above head. NOTE 2. Two dogs of black Saint Hubert’s breed, Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed. —P, 125. “The hounds which we call Saint Hu- bert’s hounds, are commonly all blacke, yet neuertheless, the race is so mingled at these days, that we find them of all colours. These are the hounds which the abbots of St. Hu- bert haue always kept some of their race or kind, in honour or remembrance of the saint, which was a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may conceiue that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow them into paradise.’— The Noble Art of Venerie or Hunting, translated and col- lected for the Use of all Noblemen and Gentlemen. Lond. 1611, 4to, p. 15. NOTE 3. for the death-wound and death-halloo, Muster'd his breath, his whinyard drew. — P. 126, When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the perilous task of going in upon, and killing or disabling the desperate animal. At certain times of the year this was held particularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag’s horn being then deemed poisonous, and more dangerous than one from the tusks of a boar, as the old rhyme testifies : — sa oe De hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy LEY, But barber’s hand will boar’s hurt heal, there- fore thou need’st not fear.” At all times, however, the task was danger- ous, and to be adventured upon wisely and warily, either by getting behind the stag while he was gazing on the hounds, or by watching an opportunity to gallop roundly” in upon him, and kill him with a sword. NOTE 4. 4 And now to issue from the glen, a Unless he climb, with footing nice, A far projecting precipice. — P. 127. y Until the present road was made through - the romantic pass which I have presumptu- E ously attempted to describe in the preceding — stanzas, there was no mode of issuing out of — the defile called the Trosachs, excepting by a sort of ladder, composed of the branches — and roots of trees. q NOTE 5. To meet with Highland plunderers here, Were worse than loss of steed or deer. — P. 120.8 The clans who inhabited the romantic re-_ gions in the neighborhood of Loch Katrine, © were, even until a late period, much addicted — to predatory excursions upon their Lowland — neighbors. No pathway meets the wanderer’s ken, § NOTE 6. A gray-hair'd sire, whose eye intent, ; Was on the vision’d future bent.— P. 129. d If force of evidence could authorize us to believe facts inconsistent with the general laws of nature, enough might be produced in — favor of the existence of the second-sight. — It is called in Gaelic Taishitaraugh, from ; Taish, an unreal or shadowy appearance; — and those possessed of the faculty are called Taishatrin, which may be aptly translated visionaries. Martin, a steady believer in the — second-sight, gives the following account of it:— ; “The second-sight is a singular faculty of — seeing an otherwise invisible object without . any previous means used by the person that — used it for that end; the vision makes such a lively impression upon the seers, that they — neither see nor think of anything else, ex- cept the vision, as long as it continues; and : then they appear pensive or jovial, according ; to the object that was represented to them. _ “At the sight of a vision, the eyelids of q the person are erected, and the eyes continue ~ staring until the object vanishes. This is ob — vious to others who are by when. the persons ~ happen to see a vision, and occurred more ~ THE LADYIORLTHE LAKE. than once to my own observation, and to others that were with me. “If a woman is seen standing at a man’s left hand, it is a presage that she will be his wife, whether they be married to others, or unmarried at the time of the apparition. “To see a spark of fire fall upon one’s arm or breast, is a forerunner of a dead child to be seen in the arms of those persons; of which there are several fresh instances. “To see a seat empty at the time of one’s sitting in it, is a presage of that person’s death soon after.”— MARTIN’S Description of the Western Islands, 1716, 8vo, p. 300, et Seq. _ Tothese particulars innumerable examples might be added, all attested by grave and credible authors. But, in despite of evidence which neither Bacon, Boyle, nor Johnson were able to resist, the Zazsch, with all its visionary properties, seems to be now uni- versally abandoned. to the use of poetry. The exquisitely beautiful poem of Lochiel will at once occur to the recollection of every reader. NOTE 7. Here, for retreat in dangerous hour, Some chief had framed a rustic bower.— P. 130. The Celtic chieftains, whose lives were continually exposed to peril, had usually, in the most retired spot of their domains, some place of retreat for the hour of necessity, which, as circumstances would admit, was a tower, a cavern, or a rustic hut, in a strong and secluded situation. One of these last gave refuge to the unfortunate Charles Ed- ward, in his perilous wanderings after the battle of Culloden. Note 8. My sire’s tall form might grace the part Of Ferragus or Ascabart. — P. 130. These two sons of Anak flourished in ro- mantic fable. The first is well known to the admirers of Ariosto, by the name of Ferrau. He was an antagonist of Orlando, and was at length slain by him in single combat. _ Ascapart, or Ascabart, makes a very ma- terial figure in the History of Bevis Hamp- ton, by whom he was conquered. His effigies may be seen guarding one side of a gate at Southampton, while the other is occupied by Sir Bevis himself. NOTE 9. Though all unask’d his birth and name. — P.131. The Highlanders, who carried hospitality to a punctilious excess, are said to have con- 713 sidered it as churlish to ask a stranger his name or lineage before he had taken refresh- ment. Feuds were so frequent among them, that a contrary rule would in many cases have produced the discovery of some circum- stance which might have excluded the guest from the benefit of the assistance he stood in need of. NOTE Io. - Morn’s genial influence roused a minstrel Zray. — Allan Bane. — P. 132. The Highland chieftains retained in their service the bard, as a family officer, to a late period. ) NOTE Il. The Greme.— P. 134. The ancient and powerful family of Gra- ham (which, for metrical reasons, is here spelt after the Scottish pronunciation) held extensive possessions in the counties of Dum- barton and Stirling. Few families can boast of more historical renown, having claim to three of the most remarkable characters in the Scottish annals. Sir John the Greme, the faithful and undaunted partaker of the labors and patriotic warfare of Wallace, fell in the unfortunate field of Falkirk, 1298. The celebrated Marquis of Montrose, in whom De Retz saw realized his abstract idea of the heroes of antiquity, was the sec- ond of these worthies. And, notwithstand- ing the severity of his temper, and the rigor with which he executed the oppressive man- dates of the princes whom he served, I do not hesitate to name as a third, John Greme of Claverhouse, Viscount of Dundee, whose heroic death in the arms of victory may be allowed to cancel the memory of his cruelty to the nonconformists, during the reigns of Charles II. and James II. NOTE 12. This harp, which erst Saint Modan sway'd. — P. 134. I am not prepared to show that Saint Modan was a performer on the harp. It was, however, no unsaintly accomplishment ; for Saint Dunstan certainly did play upon that instrument, which retaining, as was natural, a portion of the sanctity attached to its master’s character, announced future events by its spontaneous sound, NOTE 13. Ere Douglasses, to ruin driven, Were exiled from their native heaven. — P. 134. The downfall of the Douglasses of the 714 house of Angus during the reign of James V. is the event alluded to in the text. NOTE 14. In Holy-Rood.a knight he slew.—P. 135. This was by no means an uncommon oc- currence in the Court of Scotland; nay, the presence of the sovereign himself scarcely restrained the ferocious and inveterate feuds which were the perpetual source of bloodshed among the Scottish nobility. The murder of Sir William Stuart of Ochiltree, called The Bloody, by the celebrated Francis, Earl of Bothwell, may be mentioned among many others. — JOHNSTONI Historia Rerum Britannicarum, ab anno 1572 ad annum 1628. Amstelodami, 1655, fol. p. 135. NOTE I5. The Douglas, like a stricken deer, Disown'd by every noble peer. — P. 135. The exile state of this powerful race is not exaggerated in this and subsequent passages. The hatred of James against the race of Douglas was so inveterate, that numerous as their allies were, and disregarded as the regal authority had usually been in similar cases, their nearest friends, even in the most remote parts of Scotland, durst not entertain them, unless under the strictest and closest dis- guise. NOTE 16. —— Maronnan’s cell.— P. 135. The parish of Kilmaronock, at the east- ern extremity of Loch Lomond, derives its name from a cell or chapel dedicated to St. Maronock, or Marnock, or Maronnan, about whose sanctity very little is now remembered. There is a fountain devoted to him in the same parish; but its virtues, like the merits of its patron, have fallen into oblivion. NOPE 27. —— Bracklinn’s thundering wave.— ee ae This is a beautiful cascade made by a mountain stream called the Keltie, at a place called the Bridge of Bracklinn, about a mile from the village of Callender in Menteith. : NOTE 18. For Tine-man forged by fairy lore. — P2136; Archibald, the third Earl of Douglas, was so unfortunate in all his enterprises, that he acquired the epithet of TINE-MAN, because he ¢ized, or lost, his followers, in every battle which he fought. APPENDIX. NOTE 19. a Did, self-unscabbarded, foreshow ‘ Lhe footstep of a secret foe. — P. 136. a The ancient warriors, whose hope and confidence rested chiefly in their blades, were accustomed to deduce omens from them, es- pecially from such as was supposed to have been fabricated by enchanted skill, of which we have various instances in the romances and legends of the time. NOTE 20. im Those thrilling sounds that call the might Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.— P. 136, The connoisseurs in pipe-music affect to discover in a well-composed pibroch, the im- itative sounds of march, conflict, flight, pur- suit, and all the “ current of a heady fight.” NOTE ‘21. ; Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!— Pe 1376) Roderick the Black, the descendant of Alpine. Besides his ordinary name and sur name, which were chiefly used in the inter- course with the Lowlands, every Highland chief had an epithet expressive of his patri- archal dignity as head of the clan, and which was common to all his predecessors, as Pha- raoh to the kings of Egypt, or Arsaces to those of Parthia, this name was usually a patronymic, expressive of his descent from the founder of the family. Thus the Duke of Argyle is called MacCallum More, or the Son of Colin the Great. x NOTE 22. And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor, round.— P, 142, ~ d When a chieftain designed to summon his _ clan upon any sudden or important emer-_ gency, he slew a goat, and making a cross © of any light wood, seared its extremities in the fire, and extinguished them in the blood — of the animal. This was called the Fiery Cross, also Crean Tarigh, or the Cross of — Shame, because disobedience to what the symbol implied, inferred infamy. It was de-_ livered to a swift and trusty messenger, who — ran full speed with it to the next hamlet, where he presented it to the principal person, — with a single word, implying the place of © rendezvous. He who received the symbol — was bound to send it forward with equal de- — spatch to the next village; and thus it passed — with incredible celerity through all the dis- — trict which owed allegiance to the chief, and — also among his allies and neighbors, if the — danger was commontothem, At sight of the — ZHE LADY OF “THE LAKE. Fiery Cross, every man, from sixteen years old to sixty, capable of bearing arms, was obliged instantly to repair, in his best wea- pons and accoutrements, to the place of ren- dezvous. He who failed to appear, suffered the extremities of fire and sword, which were emblematically denounced to the disobedient by the bloody and burnt marks upon this warlike signal. During the civil war of 1745-56, the Fiery Cross often made its cir- cuit: and upon one occasion it passed through the whole district of Breadalbane, a tract of thirty-two miles, in three hours. NOTE 23. That monk, of savage form and face. — P. 143. The state of religion in the Middle Ages afforded considerable facilities for those whose mode of life excluded them from reg- ular worship, to secure, nevertheless, the ghostly assistance of confessors, perfectly willing to adapt the nature of their doctrine to the necessities and peculiar circumstances of their flock. Robin Hood, it is well known, had his celebrated domestic chaplain, Friar Tuck. NOTE 24. Of Brian’s birth strange tales were told. — ee Fee The legend which follows is not of the author’s invention. It is possible he may differ from modern critics, in supposing that the records of human superstition, if peculiar to, and characteristic of, the country in which the scene is laid, are a legitimate subject of poetry. He gives, however, ready assent to the narrower proposition which condemns all attempts of an irregular and disordered fancy to excite terror, by accumulating a train of fantastic and incoherent horrors, whether borrowed from all countries and patched upon a narrative belonging to one which knew them not, or derived from the author’s own imagination. In the present case, therefore, I appeal to the record which I have transcribed, with the variation of a very few words from the geographical collec- tions made by the Laird of Macfarlane. I know not whether it be necessary to remark, that the miscellaneous concourse of youths and maidens on the night and on the spot where the miracle is said to have taken place, might, even in a credulous age, have some- what diminished the wonder which accom- panied the conception of Gilli-Doir-Magre- vollich. _“ There is bot two myles from Inverloghie, the church of Kilmalee, in Loghyeld. In an- 715 cient tymes there was ane church builded upon ane hill, which was above this church, which doeth now stand in this toune; and ancient men doeth say, that there was a battell foughten on ane litle hill not the tenth part of a myle from this church, be certaine men which they did not know what they were. And long tyme thereafter, certaine herds of that toune, and of the next toune, called Unnatt, both wenches and youthes, did on a tyme conveen with others on that hill; and the day being somewhat cold, did gather the bones of the dead men that were slayne long tyme before in that place, and did make a fire to warm them. At last they did all remove from the fire, except one maid or wench, which was verie cold, and she did remaine there for a space. She being quyet- lie her alone, without anie other companie, took up her cloaths above her knees, or thereby to warm her; a wind did come and caste the ashes upon her, and she was con- ceived of ane man-chyld. Severall tymes thereafter she was verie sick, and at last she was knowne to be with chyld. And then her parents did ask at her the matter heiroff, which the wench could not weel answer which way to satisfie them. At last she resolved them with ane answer. As fortune fell upon her concerning this marvellous miracle, the chyld being borne, his name was called G7//z- Doir-Maghrevollich, that is to say, the Black Child, Sow to the Bones. So called, his grandfather sent him to school, and so he was a good schollar, and godlie, He did build this church which doeth now stand in Lochyeld, called Kilmalee.” — MACFAR~ LANE, wt supra, ii. 188. NOTE 25. Yet ne’er again to braid her hair The Virgin snood did Alice wear.— P. 143. The szood, or riband, with which a Scot- tish lass braided her hair, had an emblemati- cal signification, and applied to her maiden character. It was exchanged for the curch, toy, or coif, when she passed, by marriage, into the matron state. But if the damsel was so unfortunate as to lose pretensions to the name of maiden without gaining a right to that of matron, she was neither permitted to use the snood, nor advanced to the graver dignity of the curch. In old Scottish songs there occur many sly allusions to such mis- fortune; as in the old words to the popular tune of “ Ower the muir amang the heather.* “Down amang the broom, the broom, Down amang the broom, my dearie, The lassie lost her silken snood, That gard her greet till she was wearie-”” 716 NOTE 26. The fatal Ben-Shie’s boding scream. — Pokaan Most great families in the Highlands were supposed to have a tutelar, or rather a domes- tic spirit, attached to them, who took an in- terest in their prosperity, and intimated, by its wailings, any approaching disaster. A superstition of the same kind is, I believe, universally received by the inferior ranks of the native Irish. NOTE 27. Sounds, too, had come in midnight blast Of charging steeds, careering fast Along Benharrow’s shingly side, Where mortal horsemen neer might ride. — P. 144. A presage of the kind alluded to in the text is still believed to announce death to the ancient Highland family of M’Lean of Lochbuy. The spirit of an ancestor slain in battle is heard to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around the family residence, ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intimating the approaching calamity. NOTE 28. the dun deer’s hide On fleeter foot was never tied. — P. 145. The present drogue of the Highlanders is made of half-dried leather, with holes to admit and let out the water; for walking the moors dry-shod is a matter altogether out of the question. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made of undressed deer’s hide, with the hair outwards ; a circumstance which procured the Highlanders the well-known epithet of Redshanks. NOTE 29. The dismal coronach.— P. 146. The coronach of the Highlanders, like the ululatus of the Romans, and the z/zoo of the Irish, was a wild expression of lamen- tation, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a departed friend. When the words of it were articulate, they expressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan would sustain by his,death. NOTE 30. Not faster oer thy heathery braes, Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze. — P. 148. It may be necessary to inform the southern reader, that the heath on the Scottish moor- lands is often set fire to, that the sheep may have the advantage of the young herbage APPENDIX, produced in room of the tough old heather : This custom (execrated by sports- — men) produces occasionally the most beauti- — plants. ful nocturnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge of a volcano. not new to poetry. The charge of a warrior, in the fine ballad of Hardyknute, is said to _ be ‘“ like fire to heather set.” NOTE 31. By many a bard, in Celtic tongue, This simile is | Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung.— P. 149. — This is a very steep and most romantic — hollow in the mountain of Benvenue, over- — hanging the southeastern extremity of Loch — Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and overshadowed with birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the spontaneous produc- ton of the mountain, even where its cliffs appear denuded of soil. NOTE 32. The Taghairm calld; by which, afar, Our sires foresaw the events of war.— P. ipa j The Highlanders, like all rude people, had various superstitious modes of inquiring into — futurity. One of the most noted was the Zag- hairm, mentioned in the text. A person was wrapped up in the skin of a newly slain bullock, and deposited beside a waterfall, or at the bottom of a precipice, or in some other strange, wild, and unusual situation, where . the scenery around him suggested nothing but subjects of horror. In this situation, he revolved in his mind the question proposed ; and whatever was impressed upon him by — his exalted imagination, passed for the in- spiration of the disembodied spirits who — haunt the desolate recesses. Note 33. that huge cliff, whose ample verge Tradition calls the Hero’s Targe. — P. 152. There is a rock so named in the Forest of Glenfinlas, by which a tumultuary cataract takes its course. This wild place is said in former times to have afforded refuge to an ee ee ene ee ee te outlaw, who was supplied with provisions by j a woman, who lowered them down from the brink of the precipice above. His water he ‘procured for himself, by letting down a flagon tied to a string, into the black pool beneath the fall. NOTE 34. Which spills the foremost foeman’s life, That party conquers in the strife.— P. 152. Though this be in the text described as.a response of the Taghairm, or Oracle of the THE LADY OF THE LAKE. Hide, it was of itself an augury frequently attended to. The fate of the battle was often anticipated in the imagination of the com- batants, by observing which party first shed blood. It is said that the Highlanders un- der Montrose were so deeply imbued with this notion, that, on the morning of the battle of Tippermoor, they murdered a de- fenceless herdsman, whom they found in the fields, merely to secure an advantage of so much consequence to their party. NOTE 35. Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle’s screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen ? — P. 154. Fairies, if not positively malevolent, are capricious, and easily offended. They are, like other proprietors of the forest, peculiarly jealous of their rights of vert and venison. This jealousy was also an attribute of the northern Duergar, or dwarfs; to many of whose distinctions the fairies seem to have succeeded, if, indeed, they are not the same class of beings. NOTE 36. —— who may dare on wold to wear The fairies’ fatal green? —P. 154. As the Daoine Shi’, or Men of Peace, wore green habits, they were supposed to take of- fence when any mortals ventured to assume their favorite color. Indeed, from some reason which has been, perhaps, originally a general superstition, geez is held in Scot- land to be unlucky to particular tribes and counties. The Caithness men, who hold this belief, allege as a reason, that their bands wore that color when they were cut off at the battle of Flodden; and for the same reason they avoid crossing the Ord on a Monday, being the day of the week on which their ill-omened array set forth. Green is also disliked by those of the name of Og- ilvy ; but more especially it is held fatal to the whole clan of Grahame. It is remem- bered of an aged gentleman of that name, that when his horse fell in a fox-chase, he accounted for it at once by observing, that the whipcord attached to his lash was of this unlucky color. NOTE 37. For thou wert christen’'d man.— P. 154. The elves were supposed greatly to envy - the privileges acquired by Christian initia- tion, and they gave to those mortals who had fallen into their power a certain precedence, founded upon this advantageous distinction. 717 Tamlane, in the old ballad, describes his own rank in the fairy procession : — ‘For I ride on a milk-white steed, And aye nearest the town; Because I was a christen’d knight, They gave me that renown.” NOTE 38. Who ever reck’'d, where, how, or when, The prowling fox was trapp'd or slain? ~ Pin di5 5: St. John actually used this illustration when engaged in confuting the plea of law proposed for the unfortunate Earl of Straf- ford: “It was true we gave laws to hares and deer, because they are beasts of chase ; but it was never accounted either cruelty or foul play to knock foxes or wolves on the head as they can be found, because they are beasts of prey. In a word, the law and hu- manity were alike: the one being more falla- cious, and the other more barbarous, than in any age had been vented in such an author- ity.’ —CLARENDON’S History of the Rebel- lion. Oxford, 1702, fol. vol. p. 183. NOTE 39. his Highland cheer, The harden’d flesh of mountain deer, — P. 159. The Scottish Highlanders in former times, had a concise mode of cooking their venison, or rather of dispensing with cook- ing it, which appears greatly to have sur- prised the French whom chance made ac- quainted with it. The Vidame of Charters, when a hostage in England, during the reign of Edward VI., was permitted to travel into Scotland, and penetrated as far as to the remote Highlands (au fin fond des Sau- vages). After a great hunting party, at which a most wonderful quantity of game was destroyed, he saw these Scottish Savages de- vour a part of their venison raw, without any further preparation than compressing it between two batons of wood, so as to force out the blood and render it extremely hard. This they reckoned a great delicacy; and when the Vidame partook of it, his compli- ance with their taste rendered him extremely popular. NOTE 40. Not then claim’d sovereignty his due, While Albany, with feeble hand, Held borrow'd truncheon of command.— P1264. There is scarcely a more disorderly period in Scottish history than that which succeeded the battle of Flodden, and occupied the mi 718 nority of James V. Feuds of ancient stand- ing broke out like old wounds, and every quarrel among the independent nobility, which occurred daily, and almost hourly, gave rise to fresh bloodshed. NOTE 41. L only meant To show the reed on which you leant, Deeming this path you might pursue ‘ithout a pass from Roderick Dhu.— | eae Lone This incident, like some other passages in the poem, illustrative of the character of the ancient Gael, is not imaginary, but borrowed from fact. The Highlanders, with the in- consistency of most nations in the same state, were alternately capable of great exer- tions of generosity, and of cruel revenge and perfidy. NOTE 42. On Bochastle the mouldering lines, Where Rome, the Empress of the world, Of yore her eagle-wings unfurl’d.— P. 163. The torrent which discharges itself from Loch Vennachar, the lowest and eastmost of the three lakes which form the scenery ad- joining to the Trosachs, sweeps through a flat and extensive moor, called Bochastle. Upon a small eminence, called the Duz of Boch- astle, and indeed on the plain itself, are some intrenchments, which have been thought Ro- man. There is, adjacent to Callender, a sweet villa, the residence of Captain Fair- foul, entitled the Roman Camp. NOTE 43. See, here, all vantageless I stand, Armd, like thyself, with single brand. — R21633 The duellists of former times did not al- ways stand upon those punctilios respecting equality of arms, which are now judged es- sential to fair combat. It is true, that in former combats in the lists, the parties were, by the judges of the field, put as nearly as possible in the same circumstances. But in private duel it was often otherwise. NOTE 44. Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, for train’d abroad his arms to wield, Fitz-James’s blade was sword and shield. ~ Prog: A round target of light wood, covered with strong leather, and studded with brass or iron, was a necessary part of a Highlander’s APPENDIX, equipment. Jn charging regular troops, they received the thrust of the bayonet in this buckler, twisted it aside, and used the broadsword against the encumbered soldier, In the civil war of 1745, most of the front rank of the clans were thus armed ; and Cap-- Sat ih PS a i BS ge tain Grose informs us, that, in 1747, the pri- vates of the 42d regiment, then in Flanders, — were, for the most part, permitted to carry targets. — Military Antiquities, vol. i., p, 164, NOTE 45. The burghers hold their sports to-day. — P. 166, Every burgh of Scotland, of the least note, but more especially the considerable towns, had their solemn //ay, or festival, when feats of archery were exhibited, and prizes distributed to those who excelled in wrest- — ling, hurling the bar, and the other gymnas- tic exercises of the period. Stirling, a usual place of royal residence, was not likely to be deficient in pomp upon such occasions, es: pecially since James V. was very partial to — them. His ready participation in these pop- ular amusements was one cause of his ac- fe quiring the title of King of the Commons, — or Lex Plebeiorum, as Lesley has latinized — it. a silver arrow. Such a one is preserved at Selkirk and at Peebles. NOTE 46. Robin Hood. — P. 167. The usual prize to the best shooter was — The exhibition of this renowned outlaw — and his band was a favorite frolic at such ing, in which kings did not disdain to be actors, was prohibited in Scotland upon the Reformation, by a statute, of the 6th Parlia- ment of Queen Mary, c. 61, A.D. 1555, which ordered, under heavy penalties, that, “na manner of person be chosen Robert Hude, nor Little John, Abbot of Unreason, Queen of May, nor otherwise.” But in 1561, the “rascal multitude,” says John Knox, “ were stirred up to make a Robin Hude, whilk enormity was of many years left and damned by statute and act of Parliament; yet would they not be forbidden.” Accordingly, they raised a very serious tumult, and at length made prisoners the magistrates who en- festivals as we are describing. This sport- | deavored to suppress it, and would not re- lease them till they extorted a formal prom- ise that no one should be punished for his share of the disturbance. It would seem, from the complaints of the General Assembly of the Kirk, that these profane. festivities were continued down to 1592. THE LADY OF THE LAKE. NOTE 47. Prize of the wrestling match, the King To Douglas gave & golden ring. — P.167. The usual prize of a wrestling was a ram and a ring, but the animal would have em- barrassed my story. Thus, in the Cokes Tale of Gamelyn, ascbribed to Chaucer : — ““There happed to be there beside, Tryed a wrestling; And therefore there was y-setten A ram and als a ring.” NOTE 48. These drew not for their fields the sword Like tenants of a feudal lord, Nor own’d the patriarchal claim Of Chieftain in their leader's name ; Adventurers they.— P. 170. The Scottish armies consisted chiefly of the nobility and barons, with their vassals, who held lands under them, for military ser- vice by themselves and their tenants. The patriarchal influence exercised by the heads of clans in the Highlands and borders was of a different nature, and sometimes at vari- ance with feudal principles. It flowed from the Patria Potestas, exercised by the chief- tain as representing the original father of the whole name, and was often obeyed in contradiction to the feudal superior. NOTE 49. Thou now hast glee-maiden and harp! Get thee an ape, and trudge the land, The leader of a juggler band.—P. 171. The jongleurs, or jugglers, used to call in the aid of various assistants, to render these performances as captivating as possible. The glee-maiden was a necessary attendant. Her duty was tumbling and dancing; and there- fore the Anglo-Saxon version of St. Mark’s Gospel states Herodias to have vaulted or tumbled before King Herod. NOTE 50. That stirring air that peals on high, Over Dermid’s race our victory, — Strike it.— P. 174. There are several instances, at least in tradition, of persons so much attached to particular tunes as to require to hear them on their deathbed. Such an anecdote is mentioned by the late Mr. Riddel of Glen- riddel, in his collection of Border tunes, respecting an air called the “ Dandling of the Bairns,” for which a certain Gallovidian laird is said to have evinced this strong mark of partiality. It is popularly told of 719 a famous freebooter, that he composed the tune known by the name of Macpherson’s Rant, while under sentence of death, and played it at the gallows-tree. Some spirited words have been adapted to it by Burns. A similar story is recorded of a Welsh bard, who composed and played on his deathbed the air called Dafyddy Garregg Wen. NOTE 51. Battle of Beal’ an Duine.— P. 174. A skirmish actually took place at a pass thus called in the Trosachs, and closed with the remarkable incident mentioned in the text. It was greatly posterior in date to the reign of James V. NOTE 52. And Snowdoun’s Knight is Scotland’s King. — P. 178. This discovery will probably remind the reader of the beautiful Arabian tale of // Bondocani. Yet the incident is not bor- rowed from that elegant story, but from Scottish tradition. James V., of whom we are treating, was a monarch whose good and benevolent intentions often rendered his romantic freaks venial, if not respecta- ble, since from his anxious attention to the interests of the lower and most oppressed class of his subjects he was, as we have seen, popularly termed the A7xg of the Commons. For the purpose of seeing that justice was regularly administered, and frequently from the less justifiable motive of gallantry, he used to traverse the vicinage of his several palaces in various disguises. The two ex- cellent comic songs, entitled, “The Gaber- lunzie Man,” and “ We'll gae nae mair a roving,” are said to have been founded upon the success of his amorous adventures when travelling in the disguise of a beggar. The latter is perhaps the best comic ballad in any language. NOTE 53. Stirling’s tower Of yore the name of Snowdoun claims. — P2178. William of Worcester, who wrote about the middle of the fifteenth century, calls Stirling Castle Snowdoun. Sir David Lindesay bestows the same epithet upon it in his complaint of the Papingo :— “* Adieu, fair Snawdoun, with thy towers high, Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round; May, June, and July, would I dwell in thee, Were I a man, to hear the birdis sound, Whiik doth againe thy royal rock rebound,”’ | 720 THE VISION OF NOTE I. And Cattraeth’s glens with voice of tri- umph rung, And mystic Merlin harp’d, and gray-hair'ad Llywarch sung !—P. 181. Tuts locality may startle those readers who do not recollect that much of the an- cient poetry preserved in Wales refers less to the history of the Principality to which that name is now limited, than to events which happened in the north-west of Eng- land and south-west of Scotland, where the Britons for a long time made a stand against the Saxons. The battle of Cattraeth, la- mented by the celebrated Aneurin, is sup- posed, by the learned Dr. Leyden, to have been fought on the skirts of Ettrick Forest. It is known to the English reader by the paraphrase of Gray, beginning, — ‘* Had I but the torrent’s might, With headlong rage and wild affright,’’ etc. But it is not so generally known that the champions mourned in this beautiful dirge were the British inhabitants of Edinburgh, who were cut off by the Saxons of Deiria or Northumberland, about the latter part of the sixth century. Llywarch, the celebrated bard and mon- arch, was prince of Argood in Cumberland ; and his youthful exploits were performed upon the Border. Merlin Wryllt, or the Savage, bore the name of Caledonia, and hence is appropriated to Scotland. The spot in which he was buried, near Drum- elzier on the Tweed, is still shown. See Pennycuick’s “ Description of Tweeddale,” Edinburgh, 1715, vol. iv., p. 26. NOTE 2. —Minchmore’s haunted spring. —P. 182. A belief in the existence and nocturnal revels of the fairies still lingers among the vulgar in Selkirkshire. A copious fountain upon the ridge of Minchmore, called the Cheesewell, is supposed to be sacred to these fanciful spirits, and it was customary to propitiate them by throwing in some- thing upon passing it. A pin was the usual oblation; and the ceremony is still some- times practised, though rather in jest than earnest. NOTE 3. the rude villager, his labor done, In verse spontaneous chants some favor'd name.— P. 182. The flexibility of the Italian and Spanish APPENDIX. DON RODERICK. languages, and perhaps the liveliness of their — genius, renders these countries distinguished — for the talent of improvisation, which is found even among the lowest of the peo- ple. It is mentioned by Baretti and other travellers. NOTE 4. kindling at the deeds of Greme.— P2582" Over a name sacred for ages to heroic verse, a poet may be allowed to exercise some power. I have used the freedom, here and elsewhere, to alter the orthography of — the name of my gallant countryman, in order to apprise the Southern reader of its legiti. © mate sound ;— Grahame being, on the other side of the Tweed, usually pronounced as a — dissyllable. | NOTE 5. What! will Don Roderick here till morw ing stay, | To wear in shrift and prayer the night away? And are his hours in such dull penance ast, For pow Florinda’s plunder'd charms to pay? —P. 184. | Almost all the Spanish historians, as well as the voice of tradition, ascribe the inva- sion of the Moors to the forcible violation committed by Roderick upon Florinda, called — by the Moors, Caba or Cava. She was the daughter of Count Julian, one of the Gothic monarch’s principal lieutenants, who, when — the crime was perpetrated, was engaged in the defence of Ceuta against the Moors. In his indignation at the ingratitude of his sov- ereign, and the dishonor of his daughter, Count Julian forgot the duties of a Chris- tian and a patriot, and, forming an alliance with Musa, then the Caliph’s lieutenant in * Africa, he countenanced the invasion of Spain — by a body of Saracens and Africans, com- manded by the celebrated Tarik; the issue of which was the defeat and death of Roder- ick, and the occupation of almost the whole peninsula by the Moors. Voltaire, in his General History, expresses his doubts of this popular story, and Gibbon gives him some countenance; but the universal tradi- tion is quite sufficient for the purposes of poetry. The Spaniards, in detestation of Florinda’s memory, are said by Cervantes, never to bestow that name on any human female, reserving it for their dogs. THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. Note 6. The Techir war-cry and the Lelie’s yell.— 156. The Tecbir (derived from the words A//a acbar, God is. most mighty), was the ori- ginal war-cry of the Saracens. It is celebrated by Hughes in the Siege of Damascus :— “‘ We heard the Tecbir; so these Arabs call Their shout of onset, when, with loud appeal, They challenge Heaven, as if demanding conquest.”’ The Lelie, well known to the Christians during the crusades, is the shout of Ad/a illa Alla, the Mahometan confession of faith. It is twice used in poetry by my friend Mr. W. Stewart Rose, in the romance of Partenopex, and in the Crusade of St. Lewis, NOTE 7. By Heaven, the Moors prevail! the Chris- tians yield | — Their coward leader gives for flight the sign! The sceptred craven mounts to quit the field — Is not yon steed Orelia? — Yes,’tis mine! — P. 187. Count Julian, the father of the injured Florinda, with the connivance and assistance of Oppas, Archbishop of Toledo, invited, in 713, the Saracens into Spain. A consider- able army arrived under the command of Tarik, or Tarif, who bequeathed the well- known name of Gibraltar (Gzdel al Tarik, or the mountain of Tarik) to the place of his landing. He was joined by Count Julian, ravaged Andalusia, and took Seville, In 714 they returned with a still greater force, and Roderick marched into Andalusia at the head of a great army, to give them battle. The field was chosen near Xeres. [Roderick was defeated, and fled from the field of battle on his favorite steed Orelia. This famous and matchless charger was found riderless on the banks of the river Guadelite, with the King’s upper garment, buskins, etc. It was supposed that in trying to swim the river he was drowned. But wild legions as to his after fate long prevailed in Spain. — See SouTHEY’s “ Don Roderick.” — Ep.] Note 8. When for the light bolero ready stand, The mozo blithe, with gay muchacha net. — P. 189. The bolero is a very light and active dance, much practised by the Spaniards, in which castanets are always used. JJozoand mucha- oat are equivalent to our phrase of lad and S. ; 721 NOTE 9. While trumpets rang, and heralds cried, “ Castile!” —P. 191. The heralds, at the coronation of a Spanish monarch, proclaim his name three times, and repeat three times the word Castilla, Cas- tilla, Castilla ; which, with all other cere- monies, was carefully copied in the mock inauguration of Joseph Bonaparte. NOTE Io. High blazed the war, and long, and far, and wide. — P. 192. Those who were disposed to believe that mere virtue and energy are able of themselves to work forth the salvation of an oppressed people, surprised in a moment of confidence, deprived of their officers, armies, and for- tresses, who had every means of resistance to seek in the very moment when they were to be made use of, and whom the numerous treasons among the higher orders deprived of confidence in their natural leaders, — those who entertained this enthusiastic but delu- sive opinion may be pardoned for expressing their disappointment at the protracted war- fare in the Peninsula. There are, however, another class of persons, who, having them- selves the highest dread or veneration, or something allied to both, for the power of the modern Attila, will nevertheless give the heroical Spaniards little or no credit for the long, stubborn, and unsubdued resistance of three years to a power before whom their former well-prepared, well-armed, and numer- ous adversaries fell in the course of as many months. While these gentlemen plead for deference to Bonaparte, and crave “Respect for his great place, and bid the devil Be duly honor’d for his burning throne,” it may not be altogether unreasonable to claim some modificatiow of censure upon those who have been long and to a great extent successfully resisting this great enemy of mankind. That the energy of Spain has not uniformly been directed by conduct equal to its vigor, has been too obvious; that her armies, under their complicated disadvan- tages, have shared the fate of such as were defeated after taking the field with every possible advantage of arms and discipline, is surely not to be wondered at. But that a nation, under the circumstances of repeated discomfiture, internal treason, and the mis- management incident to a temporary and hastily adopted government, should have wasted, by its stubborn, uniform, and _pro- longed resistance, myriads after myriads of those soldiers who had overrun the world — and some of its provinces should, like Galicia, "22 after being abandoned by their allies, and overrun by their enemies, have recovered their freedom by their own unassisted ex- ertions; that others, like Catalonia, undis- mayed by the treason which betrayed some fortresses, and the force which subdued others, should not only have continued their resistance, but have attained over their vic- torious enemy a superiority, which is even now enabling them to besiege and retake the places of strength which had been wrested from them, is a tale hitherto untold in the revolutionary war. NOTE Il. They won not Zaragoza, but her children’s bloody tomb, — P. 192. The interesting account of Mr. Vaughan * has made most readers acquainted with the first siege of Zaragoza. ‘The last and fatal siege of that gallant and devoted city is de- tailed with great eloquence and precision in the “ Edinburgh Annual Register ” for 1800, —a work in which the affairs of Spain have been treated.of with attention corresponding to their deep interest, and to the peculiar sources of information open to the _his- torian. The following are a few brief ex- tracts from this splendid historical narra- tive :—— “A breach was soon made in the mud walls, and then, as in the former siege, the war was carried on in the streets and houses ; but the French had been taught by experi- ence, that in this species of warfare the Zara- gozans derived a superiority from the feeling and principle which inspired them and the cause for which they fought. The only means of conquering Zaragoza was to de- stroy it house by house, and street by street ; and upon this system of destruction they proceeded. Three companies of miners, and eight companies of sappers, carried on this subterraneous war ; the Spaniards, it is said,. attempted to oppose them by countermines ; these were operations to which they were wholly unused, and, according to the French statement, their miners were every day dis- covered and suffocated. Meantime, the bom- bardment was incessantly kept up. ‘ Within the last forty-eight hours,’ said Palafox in a letter to his friend General Doyle, ‘6,000 shells have been thrown in. Two-thirds of the town are in ruins; but we shall perish under the ruins of the remaining third rather than surrender,’ In the course of the siege, above 17,000 bombs were thrown at the town ; the stock of powder with which Zaragoza * “Narrative of the Siege of Zaragoza,” by Richard Charles Vaughan, 1809. Mr. Vaughan was afterwards British Minister at Washington.”? APPENDIX. had been stored was exhausted; they had none at last but what they manufactured day by day; and no other cannon-balls than those which were shot into the town, and which they collected and fired back upon the enemy.” In the midst of these horrors and priva- tions, the pestilence broke out in Zaragoza. To various causes, enumerated by the annal- ist, he adds, “scantiness of food, crowded quarters, unusual exertion of body, anxiety of mind, and the impossibility of recruiting their exhausted strength by needful rest, in a city which was almost incessantly bom- barded, and where every hour their sleep was broken by the tremendous explosion of mines. There was now no respite, either by day or night, for this devoted city ; even the natural order of light and darkness was de- stroyed in Zaragoza; by day it was involved in a red sulphureous atmosphere of smoke, which hid the face of heaven; by night, the fire of cannons and motars, and the flames of burning houses, kept it in a state of ter- rific illumination. ‘‘ When once the pestilence had begun, it was impossible to check its progress, or con- fine it to one quarter of the city. Hospitals were immediately established, — there were above thirty of them ; as soon as one was destroyed by the bombardment, the patients were removed to another, and thus the in- fection was carried to every part of Zaragoza. Famine aggravated the evil; the city had probably not been sufficiently provided at the commencement of the siege, and of the provisions which it contained, much was de- stroyed in the daily ruin which the mines and bombs had effected Had the Zaragozans and their garrison proceeded according to military rules, they would have surren- dered before the end of January; their bat teries had then been demolished, there were open breaches in many parts of their weak walls, and the enemy were already within the city. On the 30th, above sixty houses were blown up, and the French obtained possession of the monasteries of the Augus- _ tines and Las Monicas, which adjoined each other, two of the last defensible places left. The enemy forced their way into the church; every column, every chapel, every altar, became a point of defence, which was repeatedly attacked, taken, and retaken; the pavement was covered with blood, the aisles and body of the church strewed with the dead, who were trampled under foot by the gf combatants. In the midst of this conflict: the roof, shattered by repeated bombs, f« 4. in; the few who were not crushed, afte short pause, which this tremendous s! 2g THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. and their own unexpected escape, occasioned, renewed the fight with rekindled fury; fresh parties of the enemy poured in; monks and citizens, and soldiers, came to the defence, and the contest was continued upon the ruins, and the bodies of the dead and the dying.” Yet, seventeen days after sustaining these extremities, did the heroic inhabitants of Zaragoza continue their defence; nor did they then surrender until their despair had extracted from the French generals a capitu- lation, more honorable than has been granted to fortresses of the first order. Who shall venture to refuse the Zara- gozans the eulogium conferred upon them by the eloquence of Wordsworth ! — “ Most gloriously have the citizens of Zaragoza proved that the true army of Spain, in a contest of this nature, is the whole people. The same city has also exemplified a melan- choly, yea, a dismal truth, yet consolatory and full of joy,—that when a people are called suddenly to fight for their liberty, and are sorely pressed upon, their best field of battle is the floors upon which their chil- dren have played; the chambers where the family of each man has slept (his own or his neighbors’), upon or under the roofs by which they have been sheltered; in the gar- dens of their recreation; in the street, or in the market-place; before the altars of their temples, and among their congregated dwell- ings, blazing or uprooted. “The government of Spain must never forget Zaragoza fora moment. Nothing is wanting to produce the same effects every- where, but a leading mind, such as that city was blessed with. In the latter contest this has been proved; for Zaragoza contained, at that time, bodies of men from almost all parts of Spain. The narrative of those two sieges should be the manual of every Span- iard. He may add it to the ancient stories of Numantia and Saguntum; let him sleep upon the book as a pillow, and, if he be a devout adherent to the religion of his coun- try, let him wear it in his bosom for his crucifix to rest upon.” — WORDSWORTH oz the Convention of Cintra. NOTE I2. The Vault of Destiny.— P. 195. Before finally dismissing the enchanted savern of Don Roderick, it may be noticed, ‘at the legend occurs in one of Calderon’s ays, entitled La Virgin del Sagrario. The “Se opens with the noise of the chase. and ¢/. indo, a predecessor of Roderick upon las “thic throne, enters pursuing a stag. 723 The animal assumes the form of a man, and defies the King to enter the cave, which forms the bottom of the scene, and engage with him in single combat. The King ac- cepts the challenge, and they engage accord- ingly, but without advantage on either side, which induces the Genie to inform Recis- undo, that he is not the monarch for whom the adventure of the enchanted cavern is re- served, and he proceeds to predict the down- fall of the Gothic monarchy, and of the Christian religion, which shall attend the discovery of its mysteries. Recisundo, ap- palled by these prophecies, orders the cavern to be secured by a gate and bolts of iron. In the second part of the same play, we are informed that Don Roderick had removed the barrier, and transgressed the prohibition of his ancestor, and had been apprised by the prodigies which he discovered of the ap proaching ruin of his kingdom. NOTE 13. While downward on the land his legions ress, Pine lee it was rich with vine and flock, And smiled like Eden in her summer dress ; — Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wil- derness.— P. 195. I have ventured to apply to the move- ments of the French army that sublime pas- sage in the prophecies of Joel, which seems applicable to them in more respects than that I have adopted in the text. One would think their ravages, their military appoint- ments, the terror which they spread among invaded nations, their military discipline, their arts of political intrigue and deceit, were distinctly pointed out in the following verses of Scripture : — “9, A day of darknesse and of gloomi- nesse, a day of clouds and of thick darknesse, as the morning spread upon the mountains; a great people and a strong, there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the yeares of many genera- tions. 3. A fire devoureth before them, and behind them a flame burneth; the land is as the Garden of Eden before them, and behinde them a desolate wilderness, yea,and nothing shall escape them. 4. The appearance of them is as the appearance of horses; and as horsemen, so shall they runne. 5. Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains, shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battel array. 6. Before their face shall the people be much pained: all faces shall gather blacknesse. 7. They shall 724 run like mighty men, they shall climb the wall like men of warre, and they shall march every one in his wayes, and they shall not break their ranks. 8. Neither shall one thrust another, they shall walk every one in his path: and when they fall upon the sword, they shall not be wounded. g. They shall run to and fro in the citie; they shall run upon the wall, they shall climbe up upon the houses: they shall enter in at the windows like a thief. ro. The earth shall quake be- fore them, the ‘heavens shall tremble, the sunne and the moon shall be dark, and the starres shall withdraw their shining.” In verse 2oth, also, which announces the retreat of the northern army, described in such dreadful colors, into “a land barren and desolate,” and the dishonor with which God afflicted them for having “magnified them- selves to do great things,” there are partic- ulars not inapplicable to the retreat of Massena ;— Divine Providence having, in all ages, attached disgrace as the natural punishment of cruelty and presumption. NOTE 14, The rudest sentinel, in Britain born, With horror paused to view the havoc | done, Gave his poor crust to feed same wretch for- lorn.— P. 196. Even the unexampled gallantry of the British army in the campaign of 1810-11, although they never fought but to conquer, will do them less honor in history than their humanity, attentive to soften to the utmost of their power the horrors which war, in its mildest aspect, must always inflict upon the defenceless- inhabitants of the country in which it is waged, and which, on this occa- sion, were tenfold augmented by the barbar- ous cruelties of the French. Soup-kitchens were established by subscription among the officers, wherever the troops were quartered for any length of time. The commissaries contributed the heads, feet, etc., of the cattle slaughtered for the soldiery : rice, vegetables, and bread, where it could be had, were pur- chased by the officers. Fifty or sixty starv- ing peasants were daily fed at one of these regimental establishments, and carried home the relics to their famished households. The emaciated wretches, who could not crawl from weakness, were speedily employed in pruning their vines. While pursuing Massena, the soldiers evinced the same spirit of humanity, and in many instances, when reduced themselves to short allowance, from having outmarched their supplies, they shared their pittance with the starving in- APPENDIX, habitants, who had ventured back to view the ruins of their habitations, burnt by the retreating enemy, and to bury the bodies of their relations whom they had butchered. Is it possible to know such facts without feeling a sort of confidence, that those who so well deserve victory are most likely to at- tain it?—It is not the least of Lord Wel lington’s military merits, that the slightest disposition towards marauding meets im- mediate punishment. Independently of all moral obligation, the army which is most_ orderly in a friendly country, has always proved most formidable to an armed enemy, NOTE I5. Vain-glorious fugitive '—P, 196. q The French conducted this memorable re- treat with much of the fanfaronnade proper — to their country, by which they attempt to — impose upon others, and perhaps on them-— selves, a belief that they are triumphing in the very moment of their discomfiture. On the 30th March, 1811, their rear-guard was overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry. Being well posted, and conceiving themselves — safe from infantry (who were indeed many miles in the rear), and from artillery, they — indulged themselves in parading their bands of music, and actually performed “ God save — the King.” Their minstrelsy was, however, — deranged by the undesired accompaniment — of the British horse-artillery, on whose part — in the concert they had not calculated. The surprise was sudden, and the rout complete; for the artillery and cavalry did execution — upon them for about four miles, pursuing at the gallop as often as they got beyond the | range of the guns. NOTE 16, Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava’s plain, And front the flying thunders as they roar, With frantic charge and tenfold odds, in vain! —P, 196 ~ In the severe action of Fuentes de Honoro, upon 5th May, 1811, the grand mass of the French cavalry attacked the right of the British position, covered by two guns of the horse-artillery, and two squadrons of cavalry. After suffering considerably from the fire of the guns, which annoyed them in every attempt at formation, the enemy turned their wrath entirely towards them, distributed brandy among their troopers, and advanced to carry the field-pieces with the desperation of drunken fury. They were in THE VISION OF DON RODERICK. nowise checked by the heavy loss which they sustained in this daring attempt, but closed, and fairly mingled with the British cavalry, to whom they bore the proportion of ten to one. Captain Ramsay (let me be permitted to name a gallant countryman), who com- manded the two guns, dismissed them at the gallop, and putting himself at the head of the mounted artillerymen, ordered them to fall upon the French, sabre-in-hand. This very unexpected conversion of artillerymen into dragoons, contributed greatly to the defeat of the enemy, already disconcerted by the reception they had met from the two British squadrons: and the appearance of some small re-enforcements, notwithstanding the immense disproportion of force, put them to absolute rout. A colonel or major of their cavalry, and many prisoners (almost all intoxicated), remained in our possession. Those who consider for a moment the dif- ference of the services, and how much an artilleryman is necessarily and naturally led to identify his own safety and utility with abiding by the tremendous implement of war, to the exercise of which he is chiefly, if not exclusively, trained, will know how to estimate the presence of mind which com- manded so bold a manceuvre, and the stead- iness and confidence with which it was executed. NOTE 17. And what avails thee that, for Cameron slain, Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given. — P. 196. The gallant Colonel Cameron’ was wounded mortally during the desperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentes de Honoro. He fell at the head of his native Highlanders, the 71st and 79th, who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. They charged with irresistible fury, the finest body of French Grenadiers ever seen, being a part of Bonaparte’s selected guard. The officer who led the French, a man remarkable for stature and symmetry, was killed on the spot. The Frenchman who stepped out of his rank to take aim at Colonel Cameron was also bayoneted, pierced with a thousand wounds, and almost torn to pieces by the furious Highlanders, who, under the command of Colonel Cado- gan, bore the enemy out of the contested ground at the point of the bayonet. Mas- sena pays my countrymen a singular com- pliment in his account of the attack and defence of this village, in which he says ‘the British lost many officers, and Scotch. 725 Norte 18. O who shall grudge him Albuera’s bays, Who brought a race regenerate to the field Roused then to emulate their fathers’ praise, LTemper'd their headlong rage, their cour- age steel’d, And raised fair Lusitania’s fallen shield. —P. 197. Nothing during the war of Portugal seems, to a distinct observer, more deserving of praise, than the self-devotion of Field-Mar- shal Beresford, who was contented to under- take all the hazard of obloquy which might have been founded upon any miscarriage in the highly important experiment of training the Portuguese troops to an improved state of discipline. In exposing his military rep- ution to the censure of imprudence from the most moderate, and all manner of unutter- able calumnies from the ignorant and malig- nant, he placed at stake the dearest pledge which a military man had to offer; and nothing but the deepest conviction of the high and essential importance attached to success can be supposed an adequate mo- tive. How great the chance of miscarriage was supposed, may be estimated from the general opinion of officers of unquestioned talents and experience, possessed of every opportunity of information ; how completely the experiment has succeeded, and how much the spirit and patriotism of our an- cient allies had been underrated, is evident, not only from those victories in which they have borne a distinguished share, but from the liberal and highly honorable manner in which these opinions have been retracted. The success of this plan, with all its impor- tant consequences, we owe to the indefati- gable exertions of Field-Marshal Beresford. NOTE 19. arace renown’d of old, Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle- swell, * * * * * * * the conquering shout of Greme.—P. 1098. This stanza alludes to the various achieve- ments of the warlike family of Grame, or Grahame. They are said, by tradition, to have descended from the Scottish chief, under whose command his countrymen stormed the wall built by the Emperor Severus between the Friths of Forth and Clyde, the fragments of which are still popularly called Greme’s Dyke. Sir John the Graeme, “the hardy, wight, and wise,” is well known as the friend of Sir William Wallace. Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories _of the heroic Marquis of Montrose. The 726 pass of Killycrankie is famous for the action between King William’s forces and the Highlanders in 1689, ‘“Where glad Dundee in faint huzzas expired.” It is seldom that one line can number so many heroes, and yet more rare when it can APPENDIX, appeal to the glory of a living descendant in support of its ancient renown. The allusions to the private history and — character of General Grahame may be illus- — trated by referring to the eloquent and af- fecting speech of Mr. Sheridan, upon the vote of thanks to the Victors of Barosa. NOTE I. NOTE 2. On Barnard’s towers, and Tees’s stream, etc. no human ear, — P. 203. Unsharpen'd by revenge and fear, ‘‘ BARNARD’S CASTLE,” saith old Leland, “ standeth stately upon Tees.” It is founded upon a very high bank, and its ruins impend over the river, including within the area a circuit of sixacres and upwards. This once magnificent fortress derives its name from its founder, Barnard Baliol, the ancestor of the short and unfortunate dynasty of that name, which succeeded to the Scottish throne under the patronage of Edward I.and Edward III. Baliol’s Tower, afterwards mentioned in the poem, is a round tower of great size, situated at the western extremity of the building. It bears marks of great antiquity, and was re- markable for the curious construction of its vaulted roof, which has been lately greatly injured by the operations of some persons, to whom the tower has been leased for the purpose of making patent shot! The pros- pect from the top of Baliol’s Tower com- mands a rich and magnificent view of the wooded valley of the Tees. Barnard Castle often changed masters during the Middle Ages. From John Ba- liol, the first King of Scotland of that family, it went by forfeiture to Edward I. It was held by the Beauchamps of Warwick, the Staffords of Buckingham, the Bishops of Durham, and by the Crown. Richard III. is said to have enlarged and strengthened its fortifications, and to have made it for some time his principal residence, for the purpose of bridling and suppressing the Lancastrian faction in the northern counties. The earls of West Moreland received it probably through marriage, and after the suppression of the rebellion in the twelfth year of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, it reverted to the Crown, and was sold or leased to Car, Earl of Som- erset, the guilty and unhappy favorite of James I. It was afterwards granted to Sir Henry Vane the Elder, and came finally into possession of the Earls of Darlington. Could e’er distinguish horse’s clank. — P, 2045 I have had occasion to remark, in real life, the effect of keen and fervent anxiety in giv- ing acuteness to the organs of sense. My gifted friend, Miss Joanna Baillie, whose dramatic works display such intimate ac- quaintance with the operations of human passion, has not omitted this remarkable circumstance : — “De Montfort (off his guard). Tis Rezen- velt: I heard his well-known foot, From the first staircase mounting step by step. fred. Yow quick an ear thou hast for distant sound! I heard him not. (De Montfort looks embarrassed, and ts silent.)”? NOTE 3. The morion’s plumes his visage hide, And the buff-coat, an ample fold, Mantles his form’s gigantic mould, —P.204. The use of complete suits of armor was fallen into disuse during the Civil War, though they were still worn by leaders of rank and importance. “In the reign of King James I.,” says our military antiquary, “no great alterations were made in the article of defensive armor, except that the buff-coat, or jerkin, which was originally worn under the cuirass, now became fre- quently a substitute for it, it having been found that a good buff leather would of itself resist the stroke of a sword; this, however, only occasionally took place among the light- armed cavalry and infantry, complete suits of armor being still used among the heavy- horse. Buff-coats continued to be worn by the city-trained bands till within the memory of persons now living, so that defensive armor may, in some measure, be said to have terminated in the same materials with which it began; that is, the skins of animals, or ead ROKEBY. 727 leather.” — Groser’s Military Antigitities. Lond., 1801, 4to, vol. ii., p. 323. Of the buff-coats, which were worn over the corslets, several are yet preserved; and Captain Grose has given an engraving of one which was used in the time of Charles I. by Sir Francis Rhodes, Bart., of Balbrough- Hall, Derbyshire. They were usually lined with silk or linen, secured before by buttons, or by a lace, and often richly decorated with gold or silver embroidery. NOTE 4. On his dark face a scorching clime, And toil, had done the work of time. * * * * * * Death had he seen by sudden blow, By wasting plague, by tortures slow. — P. 204. In this character, I have attempted to sketch one of those West Indian adventurers, who, during the course of the seventeenth century, were popularly known by the name, of Buccaneers. in the predatory incursions upon Spanish America, during the reign of Elizabeth, had never been forgotten ; and, from that period downward, the exploits of Drake and Raleigh were imitated, upon a smaller scale indeed, but with equally desperate valor, by small bands of pirates, gathered from all nations, but chiefly French and English. The en- grossing policy of the Spaniards tended greatly to increase the number of these free- booters, from whom their commerce and colonies suffered, in the issue, dreadful calamity. The Windward Islands, which the Spanish did not deem worthy their own occupation, had been gradually settled by adventurers of the French and English nations. After Frederic of Toledo, acting under orders from the Court of Madrid, had cruelly destroyed these colonies, in 1630, the planters, rendered desperate by persecution, began underthe well- known name of Buccaneers, or Bucaniers, a retaliation both by piracy on sea and pred- atory descents on Spanish territory. See either Raynal, or “The History of the Bucaniers.” NOTE 5. On Marston heath Met, front to front, the ranks of death.— | P. 205. The well known and desperate battle of Long-Marston Moor, which terminated so unfortunately for the cause of Charles, com- menced under very different auspices: Prince Rupert had marched with an army of The successes of the English . 20,000 men for the relief of York, then be- sieged by Sir Thomas Fairfax, at the head of the Parliamentary army, and the Earl of Leven, with the Scottish auxiliary forces. In this he is so completely succeeded, that he compelled the besiegers to retreat to Mars- ton Moor, a large open plain, about eight miles distant from the city. Thither they were followed by the Prince, who had now united to his army the garrison of York, probably not less than ten thousand men strong, under the gallant Marquis (then Earl) of Newcastle. Whitelocke has re- corded, with much impartiality, the follow- ing particulars of this eventful day :— “ The right wing of the Parliament was commanded by Sir Thomas Fairfax, and consisted of all his horse, and three regiments of the Scots horse ; the left wing was commanded by the Earl of Manchester and Colonel Cromwell. One body of their foot was commanded by Lord Fairfax, and consisted of his foot, and two brigades of the Scots foot for reserve ; and the main body of the rest of the foot was commanded by General Leven. “ The right wing of the Prince’s army was commanded by the Earl of Newcastle; the left wing by the Prince himself; and the main body by General Goring, Sir Charles Lucas, and Major-General Porter. Thus were both sides drawn up into battalia. “July 3d, 1644. In this posture both armies faced each other, and about seven o’clock in the morning the fight began be. tween them. The Prince, with his left wing, fell on the Parliament’s right wing, routed them, and pursued them a great way; the like did General Goring, Lucas, and Porter, upon the Parliament’s main body. The three generals, giving all for lost, hasted out of the field, and many of their soldiers fled, and threw down their arms ; the King’s forces too eagerly following them, the vic- tory, now almost achieved by them, was again snatched out of their hands. For Colonel Cromwell, with the brave regiment of his countrymen, and Sir Thomas Fairfax, having rallied some of his horse, fell upon the Prince’s right wing, where the Earl of Newcastle was, and routed them; and the rest of their companions rallying, they fell altogether upon the divided bodies of Rupert and Goring, and totally dispersed them, and obtained a complete victory, after three hours’ fight. “From this battle and the pursuit, some reckon were buried 7,000 Englishmen ; all agree that above 3,000 of the Prince’s men were slain in the battle, besides those in the chase, and 3,000 prisoners taken, many of their chief officers, twenty-five pieces of ord- 728 nance, forty-seven colors, 10,000 arms, two wagons of carabins and pistols, 130 barrels of powder, and all their bag and baggage.” WHITELOCKE’S Memoirs, fol. p.89. Lond., 1682. NOTE 6. Monckton and Mitton told the news, How troops of Roundheads choked the Ouse, And many a bonny Scot aghast, iis his palfrey northward, past, Lursing the day when zeal or meed First lured their Lesley o'er the Tweed. — P. 208. Monckton and Mitton are villages near the river Ouse, and not very distant from the field of battle. The particulars of the action were violently disputed at the time; but the following extract, from the Manuscript His- tory of the Baronial House of Somerville, is decisive as to the flight of the Scottish gen- eral, the Earl of Leven. The details are given by the author of the history on the authority of his father, then the representa- tive of the family. This curious manuscript was published by consent of Lord Somer- ville. “The order of this great battell, wherin both armies was neer of ane equall number, consisting, to the best calculatione, neer to threescore thousand men upon both sydes, I shall not take upon me to discryve; albeit, from the draughts then taken upon the place, and information I receaved from this gentleman, who being then a volunteer, as having no command, had opportunitie and libertie to ryde from the one wing of the armie to the other, to view all ther several squadrons of horse and battallions of foot, how formed, and in what manner drawn up, with every other circumstance relating to the fight, and that both as to the King’s armies and that of the Parliament’s, amongst whom, untill the engadgment, he went from statione to statione to observe ther order and forme; but that the descriptione of this battell, with the various success on both sides at the beginning, with the loss of the royal armie, and the sad effects that followed that misfortune as to his Majestie’s interest, hes been so often done already by English authors, little to our commendatione, how justly I shall not dispute, seing the truth is, as our principall generall fled that night neer fourtie mylles from the place of the fight, that part of the armie where he com- manded being totallie routed; but it is as true, that much of the victorie is attributed to the good conduct of David Lesselie, lievetennent-generall of our horse. Crom- well himself, that minione of fortune, but APPENDIX. the rod of God’s wrath, to punish eftirward three rebellious nations, disdained not to take orders from him, albeit then in the same qualitie of command for the Parlia- ment, as being lievetennent-generall to the Earl of Manchester’s horse, whom, with the assistance of the Scots’ horse, haveing routed the Prince’s right wing, as he had done that of the Parliament’s. These two command- ers of the horse upon that wing wisely re- strained the great bodies of their horse from persuing these brocken troups, but, wheelling to the left-hand, falls in upon the naked flanks of the Prince’s main battallion of foot, carying them doune with great violence; nether mett they with any great resistance untill they came to the Marques of New- castle his battallione of White Coats, who, first peppering them soundly with ther shott, when they came to charge, stoutly boor them up with their picks that they could not en- ter to break them. | Here the Parliament’s horse of that wing receaved ther greatest losse, and a stop for sometyme putt to ther hoped-for victorie; and that only by the stout resistance of this gallant battallione, which consisted neer of four thousand foot, until at length a Scots regiment of dragouns, commanded by Collonell Frizeall, with other two, was brought to open them upon some hand, which at length they did, when all the ammunitione was spent. Having refused quarters, every man fell in the same order and ranke wherein he had foughten. “ Be this execution was done, the Prince returned from the persuite of the right wing of the Parliament’s horse, which he had beatten and followed too farre, to the losse of the battell, which certanely, in all men’s opinions, he might have caryed if he had not been too violent upon the pursuite; which gave his enemies upon the left-hand oppor- tunitie to disperse and cut doune his in- fantrie, who, having cleared the field of all the standing bodies of foot, wer now, with many [foot soldiers] of their oune, standing ready to receave the charge of his allmost spent horses, if he should attempt it ; which the Prince observeing, and seeing all lost, he retreated to Yorke with two thousand horse. Notwithstanding of this, ther was that night such a consternatione in the Parliament arm- ies, that it’s believed by most of those that wer there present, that if the Prince, haveing so great a body of horse inteire, had made ane onfall that night, or the ensueing morn- ing be-tyme, he had carryed the victorie out of ther hands; for it’s certane, by the morn- ing’s light, he had rallyed a body of ten thousand men, whereof ther was neer three thousand gallant horse. These, with the ROKEBY. 729 assistance of the toune and garrisoune of Yorke, might have done much to have re- covered the victory, for the losse of this bat- tell in effect lost the King and his interest in the three kingdomes; his Majestie never being able eftir this to make head in the north, but lost his garrisons every day. “ As for Generall Lesselie, in the beginning of this flight haveing that part of the army quite brocken, whare he had placed himself, by the valour of the Prince, he imagined, and was confermed by the opinione of others then upon the place with him, that the battell was irrecoverably Jost, seeing they wer fleeing upon all hands; theirfore they humblie intreated his excellence to reteir and wait his better fortune, which, without farder advyseing, he did; and never drew bridle untill he came the lenth of Leads, having ridden all that night with a cloak of drap de berris about him, belonging to this gentleman of whom I write, then in his retinue, with many other officers of good qualitie. It was neer twelve the next day befor they had the certanety who was master of the field, when at length ther arryves ane express, sent by David Lesselie, to acquaint the general they had obtained a most glori- ous victory, and that the Prince, with his brocken troupes, was fled from Yorke. This intelligence was somewhat amazeing to these gentlemen that had been eye-witnesses to the disorder of the armie before ther retearing, and had then accompanyed the General in his flight; who, being much wearyed that evening of the battell with ordering of his armie, and now quite spent with his long journey in the night, had casten himselfe doune upon a bed to rest, when this gentle- man comeing quyetly into his chamber, he awoke, and hastily cryes out, ‘ Lievetennent- collonell, what newes?’—‘ All is safe, may it please your Excellence; the Parliament’s armie hes obtained a great victory ;’ and then delyvers the letter. The Generall, upon the hearing of this, knocked upon his breast, and sayes, ‘I would to God I had dyed upon the place!’ and then opens the letter, which, in a few lines, gave ane account of the victory, and in the close pressed his speedy returne to the armie, which he did the next day, being accompanyed. some mylles back by this gentleman, who then takes his leave of him, and receaved at part- ing many expressions of kyndenesse, with promises that he would never be unmyndful of his care and respect towards him ; and in the end he entreats him to present his ser- vice to all his friends and acquaintances in Scotland. Thereftir the Generall-sets for- ward in his journey for the armie, as this gentleman did for . . . in order to his trans- portatione for Scotland, where he arryved sex dayes eftir the fight of Mestoune Muir, and gave the first true account and de- scriptione of that great battell, wherein the Covenanters then gloryed soe much, that they impiously boasted the Lord had now signally appeared for his cause and people ; it being ordinary for them, dureing the whole time of this warre, to attribute the greatness of their success to the goodness and justice of ther cause, untill Divine Justice trysted them with some crosse dis- pensatione, and then you might have heard this language from them, ‘ That it pleases the Lord to give his oune the heaviest end of the tree to bear, that the saints and the people of God must still be sufferers while they are here away, that the malignant party was God’s rod to punish them for ther un- thankfullnesse, which in the end he will cast into the fire;’ with a thousand other expressions and Scripture citations, pro- phanely and blasphemously uttered by them to palliate ther villainie and rebellion.”— Memoires of the Somervilles. — Edin., 1815. NOTE 7. With his barb’d horse, fresh tidings say, Stout Cromwell has redeem’d the day. — P. 208. Cromwell, with his regiment of cuirassiers, had a principal share in turning the fate of the day at Marston Moor; which was equally matter of triumph to the Independ- ents, and of grief and heart-burning to the Presbyterians and to the Scottish, Note 8. Do not my native dales prolong, Of Percy Rede, the tragic song, Train’d forward to his bloody fall By Girsonfield, that treacherous Hall? — P. 208. In a poem entitled, “The Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel,” Newcastle, 1809, this tale, with many others peculiar to the valley of the Reed, is commemorated :— “ The particulars of the traditional story of Parcy Reed of Troughend, and the Halls of Girson- field, the author had from a descendant of the family of Reed. From his account, it appears that Percival Reed, Esquire, a keeper of Reedsdale, was betrayed by the Halls (hence denominated the false-hearted Halls) to a band of moss-troopers of the name of Crosier, who slew him at Bating- hope, near the source of the Reed. “The Halls were, after the murder of Parcy Reed, held in such universal abhor 739 rence and contempt by the inhabitants of Reedsdale, for their cowardly and treacher- ous behaviour, that they were obliged to leave the country.” In another passage, we are informed that the ghost of the injured Borderer is supposed to haunt the banks of a brook called the Pringle. These Reeds of Troughend were a very ancient family, as may be conjectured from their deriving their surname from the river on which they had their mansion. An epitaph on one of their tombs affirms that the family held their lands of Troughend, which are situated on the Reed, nearly opposite to Otterburn, for the incredible space of nine hundred years. NOTE 9g. And near the spot that gave me name, The moated mound of Risingham, Where Reed upon her margin sees Sweet Woodburne’s cottages and trees, Some ancient sculptor’s art has shown An outlaws image on the stone. — P. 208. Risingham, upon the river Reed, near the beautiful hamlet of Woodburn, is an ancient Roman station, formerly called Habitancum. Camden says, that in his time the popular account bore, that it had been the abode of a deity, or giant, called Magon; and appeals, in support of this tradition, as well as to the etymology of Risingham, or Reisenham, which signifies, in German, the habitation of the giants, to two Roman altars taken out of the river, inscribed, DEO MocGontTi CADENORUM. About half a mile distant from Risingham, upon an eminence covered with scattered birch-trees, and fragments of rock, there is cut upon a large rock, in a/to relievo, a remarkable figure, called Robin of Risingham, or Robin of Reedsdale. It presents a hunter, with his bow raised in one hand, and in the other what seems to be ahare. There isa quiver at the back of the figure, and he is dressed in a long coat, or kirtle, coming down to the knees, and meet- ing close, with a girdle bound round him. Dr. Horseley, who saw all monuments of antiquity with Roman eyes, inclines to think this figure a Roman archer: and certainly the bow is rather of the ancient size, than of that which was so formidable in the hand of the English archers of the Middle Ages. But the rudeness of the whole figure pre- vents our founding strongly upon mere inaccuracy of proportion. The popular tradition is, that it represents a giant, whose brother resided at Woodburn, and he him- self at Risingham, It adds, that they sub- sisted by hunting, and that one of them, finding the game become too scarce to sup- APPENDIX. port them, poisoned his companion, in — whose memory the monument was éngraved. | What strange and tragic circumstance may — be concealed under this legend, or whether it is utterly apocryphal, it is now impossible to discover. NOTE Io. Do thou revere The statutes of the Buccaneer.— P. 208. The “statutes of the Buccaneers” were, in reality, more equitable than could have been expected from the state of society under which they had been formed. They chiefly related, as may readily be conjectured, to the distribution and the inheritance of their plunder. When the expedition was completed, the fund of prize-money acquired was thrown together, each party taking his oath that he had retained or concealed no part of the common stock. If any one transgressed in this important particular, the punishment was, his being set ashore on some desert key or island, to shift for himself as he could. The owners of the vessel had then their share assigned for the expenses of the out- fit. ‘These were generally old pirates, settled at Tobago, Jamaica, St. Domingo, or some other French or English settlement. The surgeon’s and carpenter’s salaries, with the price of provisions and ammunition, were also defrayed. Then followed the compgn- sation due to the maimed and wounded, rated according to the damage they had sustained; as six hundred pieces of eight, or six slaves, for the loss of an arm or leg, and so in proportion. “After this act of justice and humanity, the remainder of the booty was divided into aS many shares as there were Buccaneers. The commander could only lay claim to a single share, as the rest; but they compli- mented him with two or three in proportion as he had acquitted himself to their satisfac- tion. When the vessel was not the property of the whole company, the person who had fitted it out, and furnished it with necessary arms and ammunition, was entitled to a third of all the prizes. Favor had never any influ. ence in the division of the booty, for every share was determined by lot. Instances of such rigid justice as this are not easily met with, and they extended even to the dead. Their share was given to the man who was known to be their companion when alive, and therefore their heir. If the person who had been killed had no intimate, his part was sent to his relations, when they were known. If there were no friends nor relations, it was distributed in charity to the poor and to b ROKEBY. churches, which were to pray for the person in whose name these benefactions were given, the fruits of inhuman, but necessary piratical plunder.” — RAYNAL’s fYistory of European Settlements in the East and West Indies, by Justamond. Lond., 1776, 8vo, ili. p. 41. NOTE II. The course of Tees. —P. 212. The view from Barnard Castle commands the rich and magnificent valley of Tees. Im- mediately adjacent to the river, the banks are very thickly wooded; at a little distance they are more open and cultivated; but, being interspersed with hedge-rows, and with isolated trees of great size and age, they still retain the richness of woodland scenery. The ‘river itself flows in a deep trench of solid rock, chiefly limestone and marble. The finest view of its romantic course is froma handsome modern-built bridge over the Tees, by the late Mr. Morritt of Rokeby. In Le- land’s time, the marble quarries seem to have been of some value. “ Hard under the cliff by Egleston, is found on eche side of Tese very fair marble, wont to be taken up booth by marbelers of Barnardes Castelle and of Egleston, and partly to have been wrought by them, and partly sold onwrought to others.” —/tinerary. Oxford, 1768, vo, p. 88. NOTE 12. Egliston’s gray ruins.— P, 212. The ruins of this abbey, or priory (for Tanner calls it the former, and Leland the latter), are beautifully situated upon the an- gle formed by a little dell called Thorsgill, at its junction with the Tees. A good part of the religious house is still in some degree habitable, but the church is in ruins. Eglis- ton was dedicated to St. Mary and St. John the Baptist, and is supposed to have been founded by Ralph de Multon about the end of Henry the Second’s reign. There were formerly the tombs of Rokeby, Bowes, and Fitz-Hugh. NOTE 13. the mound, Raised by that Legion long renown’d, Whose votive shrine asserts their claim, Of pious, faithful, conquering Bik — Neth gee Close behind the George Inn at Greta Bridge, there is a well-preserved Roman en- campment, surrounded with a triple ditch, lying between the river Greta and a brook called the Tutta. The four entrances are easily to be discerned. Very many. Roman altars and monuments have been found in | 73% the vicinity, most of which are preserved at Rokeby by my friend Mr. Morritt. Among others is a small votive altar with the in- scription LEG. VI. VIC. P.F.F., which has been rendered Legio sexta, victrix, pia, for- tis, fidelis. (The victorious Sixth Legion, full of reverence, gallantry, fidelity.”) NOTE 14. Rokeby's turrets high. — P. 212. This ancient manor long gave name toa family by whom it is said to have been pos- sessed from the Conquest downward, and who are at different times distinguished in history. It was the Baron of Rokeby who finally defeated the insurrection of the Ear] of Northumberland, tempore Hen. JV. See Holinshed’s Chronicles, London, 1808, iii., p-45. The Rokeby, or Rokesby, family con- tinued to be distinguished until the great Civil War, when, having embraced the cause of Charles I., they suffered severely by fines and confiscations. ‘The estate then passed from its ancient possessors to the family of the Robinsons, from whom it was purchased by the father of my valued friend, the present proprietor, NOTE I5. A stern and lone, yet lovely road, As eer the foot of Minstrel trode. — P. 213. What follows is an attempt to describe the romantic glen, or rather ravine, through which the Greta finds a passage between Rokeby and Mortham; the former situated upon the left bank of Greta, the latter on the right bank, about half a mile nearer to its junction with the Tees, NOTE 16. tell * * * * * - How whistle rash bids tempests roar, — ihe i That this is a general superstition is well known to all who have been on ship-board, or who have conversed with seamen. The most formidable whistler that I remember to have met with was the apparition of a certain Mrs. Leakey, who, about 1636, re- sided, we are told, at Mynehead, in Somer- set, where her only son drove a considerable trade between that port and Waterford, and was owner of several vessels. This old gen- tlewoman was of a social disposition, and so acceptable to her friends, that they used to say to her and to each other, it were a pity such an excellent, good-natured old ledy should die; to which she was wont to reply, that whatever pleasure they might find in 732 her company just now, they would not greatly like to see or converse with her after death, which nevertheless she was apt to think might happen. Accordingly, after her death and funeral, she began to appear to various persons by night and by noon- day, in her own house, in the town and fields, at sea and upon shore. So far had she departed from her former urbanity, that she is recorded to have kicked a doctor of medicine for his impolite negligence in omit- ting to hand her over a stile. It was also her humor to appear upon the quay, and call for a boat. But especially as soon as any of her son’s ships approached the har- bor, ‘this ghost would appear in the same garb and likeness as when she was alive, and, standing at the mainmast, would blow with a whistle, and though it were never so great a calm, yet immediately there would arise a most dreadful storm, that would break, wreck, and drown ship and goods.” When she had thus proceeded until her son had neither cash to freight a vessel, nor could have procured men to sail in it, she began to attack the persons of his family, and actu- ally strangled their only child in the cradle. The rest of her story, showing how the spectre looked over the shoulder of her daughter-in-law, while dressing her hair in the looking-glass, and how Mrs. Leakey the younger took courage to address her, and how the beldam despatched her to an Irish prelate, famous for his crimes and misfor- tunes, to exhort him to repentance, and to apprise him that otherwise he would be hanged, and how the bishop was satisfied with replying that if he was born to be hanged, he should not be drowned ;—all these, with many more particulars, may be found at the end of one of John Dunton’s publications, called Athenianism, London, 1710, where the tale is engrossed under the title of The Apparition Evidence. NOTE 17, Of Erick’s cap and Elmo's light. — P. 214. “This Ericus, King of Sweden, in his time was held second to none in the magi- cal art; and he was so familiar with the evil spirits, which he exceedingly adored, that which way soever he turned his cap, the wind would presently blow that way. From this occasion he was called Windy Cap; and many men belived that Regnerus, King of Denmark, by the conduct of this Ericus, who was his nephew, did happily extend his piracy into the most remote parts of the earth, and conquered many countries and fenced cities by his cunning, and at ‘the Cape of Good Hope. APPENDIX. last was his coadjutor; that by the consent — of the nobles, he should be chosen King of Sweden, which continued a long time with — him very happily, until he died of old age.”— ~ OLraus Macnus, History of the Goths, Swedes, and Vandals, Lond., 1658, fol. p. 45: NoTeE 18. The Demon frigate.— P. 214. This is an allusion to a well-known nauti- cal superstition concerning a fantastic vessel, called by sailors the Flying Dutchman, and supposed to be seen about the latitude of She is distin- guished from earthly vessels by bearing a press of sail when all others are unable, from stress of weather, to show an inch of canvas. The cause of her wandering is not altogether certain; but the general account is, that she was originally a vessel loaded with great wealth, on board of which some horrid act of murder and piracy had been — committed ; that the plague broke out among the wicked crew who had perpetrated the crime, and that they sailed in vain from port to port, offering, as the price of shel- ter, the whole of their ill-gotten wealth; — that they were excluded from every harbor, for fear of the contagion which was devour- ing them; and that, as a punishment of their crimes, the apparition of the ship still continues to haunt those seas in which the catastrophe took place, and is considered by the mariners as the worst of all possible omens. NOTE I9. by some desert isle or key.— P. 214. What contributed much to the security of the Buccaneers about the Windward Islands, was the great number of little islets, called in that country Zeys. These are small sandy patches, appearing just above the surface of the ocean, covered only with a few bushes and weeds, but sometimes affording springs of water, and, in general, much frequented by turtle. Such little uninhabited spots afforded the pirates good harbors, either for refitting or for the purpose of ambush; they were occasionally the hiding-place of their treasure, and often afforded a shelter to themselves. As many of the atrocities which they practised on their prisoners were committed in such spots, there are some of these keys which even now have an indifferent reputation among seamen, and where they are with difficulty prevailed on to remain ashore at night, on account of the visionary terrors incident to places which have been thus contaminated. ROKEBY. . NOTE 20. Before the gate of Mortham stood. — P. 215. The castle of Mortham, which Leland terms “ Mr. Rokesby’s Place, zz rifa citer., scant a quarter of a mile from Greta Bridge, and not a quarter of a mile beneath into Tees,” is a picturesque tower, surrounded by buildings of different ages, now converted into a farm-house and offices. The battle- ments of the tower itself are singularly ele- gant, the architect having broken them at regular intervals into different heights ; while those at the corners of the tower project into octangular turrets. They are also from space to space covered with stones laid across them, as in modern embrasures, the whole forming an uncommon and beautiful effect. The surrounding buildings are of a less happy form, being pointed into high and steep roofs. A wall with embrasures encloses the southern front, where a low por- tal arch affords an entry to what was the castle court. At some distance is most hap- pily placed between the stems of two mag- nificent elms the monument alluded to in the text. It is said to have been brought from the ruins of Egiistone Priory, and, from the armory with which it is richly carved, appears to have been a tomb of the Fitz-Hughs. The situation of Mortham is eminently beautiful, occupying a high bank, at the bot- tom of which the Greta winds out of the dark, narrow, and romantic dell, which the text has attempted to describe, and flows onward through a more open valley to meet the Tees about a quarter of a mile from the castle. Mortham is surrounded by old trees, happily and widely grouped with Mr. Morritt’s new plantations. NOTE 21. There dig, and tomb your precious heap, And bid the dead your treasure keep. — Laedie-§ 1o'5 If time did not permit the Buccaneers to lavish away their plunder in their usual de- baucheries, they were wont to hide it, with, many superstitious solemnities, in the desert islands and keys which they frequented, and where much treasure, whose lawless owners perished without reclaiming it, is still sup- posed to be concealed. The most cruel of mankind are often the most superstitious ; and these pirates are said to have had recourse to a horrid ritual, in order to secure an un- earthly guardian to their treasures. They killed a negro or Spaniard, and buried him with the treasure, believing that his spirit would haunt the spot, and terrify away all 733 intruders. I cannot produce any other au- thority on which this custom is ascribed to them than that of maritime tradition, which is, however, amply sufficient for the purposes of poetry. NOTE 22. The power * * * * * * * * That unsubdued and lurking lies To take the felon by surprise, And force him, as by magic spell, In his despite his guilt to tell.— P. 216. All who are conversant with the adminis- tration of criminal justice, must remember many occasions in which malefactors appear to have conducted themselves with a species of infatuation, either by making unnecessary confidences respecting their guilt, or by sud- den and involuntary allusions to circum- stances by which it could not fail to be ex- posed. A remarkable instance occurred in the celebrated case of Eugene Aram. A skeleton being found near Knaresborough, was supposed, by the persons who gathered around the spot, to be the remains of one Clarke, who had disappeared some years be- before, under circumstances leading to a sus- picion of his having been murdered. One Houseman, who had mingled in the crowd, suddenly said, while looking at the skeleton, and hearing the opinion which was buzzed around, “ ‘That is no more Dan Clarke’s bone than it is mine!” —a sentiment ex- pressed so positively, and with such pecu- liarity of manner, as to lead all who heard him to infer that he must necessarily know where the real body had been interred. Ac- cordingly, being apprehended, he confessed having assisted Eugene Aram to murder Clarke, and to hide his body in Saint Rob- ert’s Cave. It happened to the author him- stlf, while conversing with a person accused of an atrocious crime, for the purpose of rendering him professional assistance upon his trial, to hear the prisoner, after the most solemn and reiterated protestations that he was guiltless, suddenly, and, as it were, in- voluntarily, in the course of communications, make such an admission as was altogether incompatible with innocence. NOTE 23. Brackenbury’s dismal tower.— P, 218. This tower has been already mentioned. It is situated near the north-eastern extrem- ity of the wall which encloses Barnard Castle, and is traditionally said to have been the prison. By an odd coincidence, it bears a name which we naturally connect with iny 734 prisonment, from its being that of Sir Rob- ert Brackenbury, lieutenant of the Tower of London under Edward IV. and Richard III. NOTE 24. Nobles and knights, so proud of late, Must jine for freedon and estate. * * % * % Right heavy shall his ransom be, Unless that maid compound with thee, — P2710; After the battle of Marston Moor, the Earl of Newcastle retired beyond sea in dis- gust, and many of his followers laid down their arms, and made the best composition they could with the Committees of Parlia- ment. Fines were imposed upon them in proportion to their estates and degrees of delinquency, and these fines were often be- stowed upon such persons as had deserved well of the Commons. In some circum- stances it happened, that the oppressed cav- aliers were fain to form family alliances with some powerful person among the triumphant party. NOTE 25. The Indian, prowling for his prey, Who hears the settlers track his way.— Pe 210: The patience, abstinence, and ingenuity ex- erted by the North-American Indians, when in pursuit of plunder or vengeance, is the most distinguished feature in their charac- ter; and the activity and address which they display in their retreat is equally surprising. NOTE 26. In Redesdale his youth had heard, Each art her wily dalesmen dared, When Rooken-edge, and Redswair high, To bugle rung and bloodhound’s cry. — P2169. “What manner of cattle-stealers they are that inhabit these valleys in the marches of both kingdoms, John Lesley, a Scotche man himself, and Bishop of Ross, will inform you. They sally out of their own borders in the night, in troops, through unfrequented by-ways and many intricate windings. All the day-time they refresh themselves and their horses in lurking holes they had pitched upon before, till they arrive in the dark in those places they have a. design upon. As soon as they have seized upon the booty, they, in like manner, return home in the night, through blind ways, and fetching many a compass. The more skilful any cap- tain is to pass through those wild deserts, APPENDIX. thickest mists, his reputation is the greater, and he is looked upon as a man of an excel lent head. And they are so very cunning, that they seldom have their booty taken from them, unless sometimes when, by the help of blood-hounds following them exactly upon the track, they may chance to fall into the hands of their adversaries. When being taken, they have so much persuasive elo: quence, and so many smooth, insinuating words at command, that if they do not move their judges, nay, and even their ad- versaries (notwithstanding the severity of their natures), to have mercy, yet they incite them to admiration and compassion.” —— CAMDEN’S Britannia. x The inhabitants of the valleys of Tyne and Reed were, in ancient times, so inordi- nately addicted to these depredations, that in 1564, the Incorporated Merchant-adven- turers of Newcastle made a law that none~ born in these districts should be admitted apprentice. The inhabitants are stated to be so generally addicted to rapine, that no ~ faith should be reposed in those proceeding from “such lewde and wicked progenitors.” This regulation continued to stand unre-— pealed until 1771. A beggar, in an old play, describes himself as ‘born in Redesdale, in Northumberland, and come of a wight-rid- ing surname, called the Robsons, good honest — men and true, saving a little shifting for their living, God help them!” —a descrip tion which would have applied to most Bor derers on both sides. ; Keidswair, famed for a skirmish to whict. © it gives name, [see Border Minstrelsy, vol, il., p. 15,] is on the very edge of the Carter Fell, which divides England from Scotland, — The Rooken is a place upon Reedwater — Bertram, being described as a native of these — dales, where the habits of hostile depreda- tion long survived the union of the crowns, may have been, in some degree, prepared by education for the exercise of a similar trade in the wars of the Buccaneers. NOTE 27. fliding his face, lest foemen spy The sparkle of his swarthy eye. — P. 220. After one of the recent battles, in which the Irish rebels were defeated, one of their most active leaders was found in a bog, in which he was immersed up to the shoulders, while his head was concealed by an impend- ing ledge of turf. Being detected and seized, notwithstanding his precaution, he became solicitous to know how his retreat had been discovered. “I caught,” answered crooked turnings, and deep precipices, in the | the Sutherland Highlander, by whom he was ROKEBY. taken, “the sparkle of your eye.” Those who are accustomed to mark hares upon their form usually discover them by the same circumstance. Sir Walter Scott continued to be fond of coursing hares long after he had laid aside all other field sports, and he used to say jocularly, that he had more pleasure in being considered an excellent finder, than in all his reputation as a ¢rou- veur. NoTE 28. Here stood a wretch, prepared to change His soul’s redemption for revenge.— P. 221. It is agreed by all the writers upon magic and witchcraft, that revenge was the most common motive for the pretented compact between Satan and his vassals. NOTE 29. Of my marauding on the clowns Of Calverley and Bradford downs. — bg222. The troops of the King, when they first took the field, were as well disciplined as could be expected from circumstances. But as the circumstances of Charles became less favorable, and his funds for regularly paying his forces decreased, habits of military li- cense prevailed among them in greater ex- cess. Lacy the player, who served his master during the Civil War, brought out, after the Restoration, a piece called The Old Troop, in which he seems to have commem- orated some real incidents which occurred in his military career. The names of the offi- cers of the Troop sufficiently express their habits. We have Fleaflint Plundermaster- General, Captain Ferret-farm, and Quarter- master Burn-drop. The officers of the Troop are in league with these worthies, and connive at their plundering the country for a suitable share in the booty. Ali this was undoubtedly drawn from the life, which Lacy had an opportunity to study. The moral of the whole is comprehended in a rebuke given to the lieutenant, whose disorders in the country are said to prejudice the King’s cause more than his courage in the field could recompense. The piece is by no means void of farcical humor. NOTE 30. Brignall’s woods, and Scargill’s wave, E’en now, oer many a sister cave.— P.222. The banks of the Greta, below Rutherford Bridge, abound in seams of grayish slate, which are wrought in some places to a very great depth, under ground, thus forming artificial caverns, which, when the seam has 735 been exhausted, are gradually hidden by the underwood which grows in profusion upon the romantic banks of the river. In times of public confusion, they might be well adapted to the purposes of banditti. NOTE 31. When Spain waged warfare with our land. — P. 224. There was a short war with Spain in 1625-26, which will be found to agree pretty well with the chronology of the poem. But probably Bertram held an opinion very com- mon among the maritime heroes of the age, that, “there was no peace beyond the Line.” The Spanish gwarda-costas were constantly employed in aggressions upon the trade and settlements of the English and French; and, by their own severities, gave room for the system of buccaneering, at first adopted in self-defence and retaliation, and afterwards persevered in from habit and thirst of plunder. NOTE 32, our comrades’ strife.— P. 225. The laws of the Buccaneers, and their suc- cessors the Pirates, however severe and equi- table, were, like other laws, often set aside by the stronger party. Their quarrels about the division of the spoil fill their history, and they as frequently arose out of mere frolic, or the tyrannical humor of their chiefs. An anecdote of Teach (called Blackbeard), shows that their habitual indifference for human life extended to their companions, as well as their enemies and captives, “One night, drinking in his cabin with Hands, the pilot, and another man, Black- beard, without any provocation, privately draws out a small pair of pistols, and cocks them under the table, which being perceived by the man, he withdrew upon deck, leaving Hands, the pilot, and the captain together. When the pistols were ready, he blew out the candles, and, crossing his hands, discharged them at his company. Hands, the master, was shot through the knee, and lamed for life; the other pistol did no execution.” — Jounson’s History of Pirates. Lond., 1733, 8vo, vol. i., p. 38. NOTE 33. Song. — Adieu for evermore. — P. 225. The last verse of this song is taken from the fragment of an old Scottish ballad, of which I only recollected two verses when the first edition of Rokeby was published. Mr. Thomas Sheridan kindly pointed out to me an entire copy of this beautiful song, which 736 seems to express the fortunes of some fol- lowers of the Stuart family :— “Tt was a’ for our rightful king That we left fair Scotland’s strand, It was a’ for our rightful king That we e’er saw Irish land, My dear, That we e’er saw Irish land. *¢ Now all is done that man can do, And all is done in vain! My love! my native land, adieu! For I must cross the main, My dear, For I must cross the main. ‘* He turned him round and right about, All on the Irish shore, He gave his bridle-reins a shake, With, Adieu for evermore, My dear! Adieu for evermore! “* The soldier frae the war returns, And the merchant frae the main, But I hae parted wi’ my love, And ne’er to meet again, My dear, And ne’er to meet again. ‘When day is gone and night is come, And a’ are boun’ to sleep, I think on them that’s far awa’ The lee-lang night, and weep, NOTE 34. Rere-cross on Stanmore. — P. 227. Rere-cross, Ree-cross, or Roi-cross; that is, the cross of the King, is the border mark between England and Scotland. This is a fragment of an old cross, with its pediment, surrounded by an intrench- ment, upon the very summit of the waste ridge of Stanmore, near a small house of entertainment. The situation of the cross, and the pains taken to defend it, seem to indicate that it was intended for a landmark of importance. NOTE 35. fast thou lodged our deer ? — P. 227. The duty of the ranger, or pricker, was first to lodge or harbor the deer, i.e., to dis- cover his retreat, and then to make his report to his prince or master. NOTE 36. When Denmark's raven soar’d on high, | Triumphant thro Northumbrian sky, Till, hovering near, her fatal croak Bade Reged’s Britons dread the yoke. — P.228, About the year of God 866, the Danes, APPENDIX. under their celebrated leaders Inguar (more properly Agnar) and Hubba, sons, it is said, of the still more celebrated Regnar Lodbrog, invaded Northumberland, bringing with them the magical standard, so often mentioned in poetry, called REAFEN, or Rumfan, from its bearing the figure of a raven : — ‘Wrought by the sisters of the Danish king, Of furious Ivar in a midnight hour: While the sick moon at their enchanted song Wrapt in pale tempest, labor’d thro’ the clouds, The demons of destruction then, they say, Were all abroad, and mixing with the woof Their baleful power: The sisters ever sung, ‘Shake, standard, shake this ruin on our foes.’”’ THOMSON and MALLET’S Alfred. The Danes renewed and extended their in- — cursions, and began to colonize, establishing a kind of capital at York, from which they — spread their conquests and incursions in every direction. Stanmore, which divides the mountains of Westmoreland and Cum- berland, was probably the boundary of the Danish kingdom in that direction. The dis- trict to the west, known in ancient British history by the name of Reged, had never been conquered by the Saxons, and continued to maintain a precarious independence until it was ceded to Malcolm, King of Scots, by William the Conqueror, probably on account — of its similarity in language and manners to the neighboring British kingdom of Strath-_ Clyde. Upon the extent and duration of the Dan- ish sovereignty in Northumberland, the cu-— rious may consult the various authorities — quoted in the Gesta et Vestigta Danorum extra Daniam, tom. ii. p. 40. The most — powerful of their Northumbrian leaders seems to have been Ivar, called, from the ex- — tent of his conquests, Widfam ; that is, The Strider. ® NOTE 37. Beneath the shade the Northmen came, Fix'd on each vale a Runic name. — P. 228. The heathen Danes have left several traces of their religion in the upper part of Tees- dale. Balder-garth, which derives its name from the unfortunate son of Odin, is a tract of waste land, on the very ridge of Stanmore; and a brook, which falls into the Tees near Barnard Castle, is named after the same deity. A field upon the banks of the Tees is also termed Woden-Croft, from the su- preme deity of the Edda. NOTE 38. Who has not heard how brave O’ Neale In English blood imbrued his steel?—P. 229, The O’Neale here meant, for more than ROKEBY. one succeeded to the chieftainship during the reign of Elizabeth, was Hugh, the grandson ot Con O’Neale, called Con Bacco, or the Lame. His father, Matthew O’Kelly, was illegitimate, and, being the son of a black- smith’s wife, was usually called Matthew the blacksmith. His father, nevertheless, des- tined his succession to him; and he was created, by Elizabeth, Baron of Dungannon. Upon the death of Con Bacco, this Matthew was slain by his brother. Hugh narrowly escaped the same fate, and was protected by the English. Shane O’Neale, his uncie, called Shane Dymas, was succeeded by Tur- lough Lynogh O’Neale; after whose death Hugh, having assumed the chieftainship, be- came nearly as formidable to the English as any by whom it had been possessed. He re- belled repeatedly, and as often made submis- sions, of which it was usually a condition that he should not any longer assume the title of O’Neale; in lieu of which he was created Earl of Tyrone. But this condition he never observed longer than until the pres- sure of superior force was withdrawn. His baffling the gallant Earl of Essex in the field, and over-reaching him in a treaty, was the induction to that nobleman’s tragedy. Lord Mountjoy succeeded in finally subju- gating O’Neale; but it was not till the suc- cession of James, to whom he made personal submission, and was received with civility at court. NOTE 309. But chief arose his victor pride, When that brave Marshal fought and died. —P. 229. The chief victory which Tyrone obtained over the English was in a battle fought near Blackwater, while he besieged a fort garri- soned by the English, which commanded the passes into his country. Tyrone is said to have entertained a per- sonal animosity against the knight-marshal, Sir Henry Bagnal, whom he accused of de- taining the letters which he sent to Queen Elizabeth, explanatory of his conduct, and offering terms of submission. ‘The river, called by the English, Blackwater, is termed in Irish, Avon-Duff, which has the same sig- nification. Both names are mentioned by Spenser in his “ Marriage of the Thames and the Medway.” [ut I understand that his verses relate not to the Blackwater of Ulster, but to a river of the same name in the south of Ireland : — “ Swift Avon-Duff, which of the Englishmen Is called Blackwater,” : 737 NOTE 40, The Tanist he to great O’ Neale. —P. 229. “ Fudox. What is that which you call Tanist and Tanistry? These be names and terms never heard of nor known to us. “Tren. It is a custom amongst all the Irish, that presently after the death of one of their chiefe lords or captaines, they doe presently assemble themselves to a place generally appointed and knowne unto them, to choose another in his stead, where they do nominate and elect, for the most part not the eldest sonne, nor any of the children of the lord deceased, but the next to him in blood, that is, the eldest and worthiest, as commonly the next brother unto him, if he have any, or the next cousin, or so forth, as any is elder in that kindred or sept; and then next to them doe they chose the next of the blood to be Tanist, who shall next suc- ceed him in the said captainry, if he live thereunto. “ Fudox. Do they not use any ceremony in the election, for all barbarous nations are commonly great observers of ceremonies and superstitious rites ? “Tren. They use to place him that shall be their captaine upon a stone, always re- served to that purpose, and placed commonly upon a hill. In some of which I have seen formed and engraven a foot, which they say was the measure of their first captaine’s foot ; whereon hee standing, receives an oath to preserve all the ancient former customes of the countrey inviolable, and to deliver up the succession peaceably to his Tanist, and then hath a wand delivered unto him by some whose proper office that is ; after which, de- scending from the stone, he turneth himself round, thrice forwards and thrice backwards, “ Fudox. But how is the Tanist chosen? “Tren. ‘They say he setteth but one foot upon the stone, and receiveth the like oath that the captaine did.”— SPpENSER’s View of the State of [reland, apud Works, Lond., 1805, 8vo, vol, viii. p. 306. The Tanist, therefore, of O’Neale, was the heir-apparent of his power. This kind of succession appears also to have regulated, in very remote times, the succession to the crown of Scotland. It would have been im- prudent, if not impossible, to have asserted a minor’s right of succession in those stormy days, when the principles of policy were summed up in my friend Mr. Wordsworth’s lines :— “‘____ the good old rule Sufficeth them; theesimple plan, That they should take who have the power, And they should keep who can,” 738 NOTE 4I. With wild majestic port and tone, Like envoy of some barbarous throne. — P, 236. The Irish chiefs, in their intercourse with the English, and with each other, were wont to assume the language and style of indepen- dent royalty. NOTE 42. His foster-father was his guide.— P. 230. There was no tie more sacred among the Irish than that which connected the foster- father, as well as the nurse herself, with the child they brought up. NOTE 43. Great Nial of the Pledges Nine. — P. 231. Neal Naighvallach, or Of the Nine Hos- tages, is said to have been Monarch of all Ireland during the end of the fourth or be- ginning of the fifth century. He exercised a predatory warfare on the coast of England and of Bretagne, or Armorica; and from the latter country brought off the celebrated Saint Patrick, a youth of sixteen, among other captives, whom he transported to Ire- iand. Neal derived his epithet from nine nations, or tribes, whom he held under his subjection, and from whom he took hostages. NOTE 44. Shane-Dymas wild. — P. 231. This Shane-Dymas, or John the Wanton, held the title and power of O’Neale in the earlier part of Elizabeth’s reign, against whom he rebelled repeatedly. “ This chieftain is handed down to us as the most proud and profligate man on earth. He was immoderately addicted to women and wine. He is said to have had 200 tuns of wine at once in his cellar at Dandram, but usquebaugh was his favorite liquor. He spared neither age nor condition of the fair sex. Altho’ so illiterate that he could not write, he was not destitute of address, his understanding was strong, and his courage daring. He had 600 men for his guard; 4,000 foot, 1,000 horse for the field. He claimed superiority over all the lords of Ulster, and called himself king thereof.” — CAMDEN. When reduced to extremity by the English, and forsaken by his allies, this Shane-Dymas fled to Clandeboy, then occupied by a colony of Scottish Highlanders of the family of MacDonell. He was at first courteously re- ceived, but by degrees they began to quarrel about the slaughter of some of their friends whom Shane-Dymas had put to death. and APPENDIX. advancing from words to deeds, fell upen him with their broadswords, and cut him to pieces, After his death a law was mada that none should presume to take the name and title of O’ Neale. NOTE 45. Geraldine. — P. 231. The O’Neales were closely allied with this powerful and warlike family; for Henry Owen O’Neale married the daughter of Thomas Earl of Kildare, and their son Con- More married his cousin-german, a daughter of Gerald Earl of Kildare. This Con-More cursed any of his posterity who should learn the English language, sow corn, or build houses, so as to invite the English to settle in their country. Others ascribe this an- athema to his son Con-Bacco. Fearflatha O’Gnive, bard to the O’ Neales of Clannaboy, complains in the same spirit of the towers and ramparts with which the strangers had disfigured the fair sporting fields of Erin, — See WALKER’S /rish Bards, p. 140. NOTE 46. his page, the next degree In that old time to chivalry. — P. 231. Originally, the order of chivalry embraced three ranks :— 1. The Page; 2. The Squire; 3. The Knight ;—a gradation which seems to have been imitated in the mystery of free- masonry. But, before the reign of Charles I., the custom of serving as a squire had fallen into disuse, though the order of the page was still, to a certain degree, in observ- ance. This state of servitude was so far from inferring anything degrading, that it was considered as the regular school for ac- quiring every quality necessary for future distinction. NOTE 47. Seem’d half abandon’d to decay. — P. 236. The ancient castle of Rokeby stood exactly upon the site of the present mansion, by which a part of its walls is enclosed. It is surrounded by a profusion of fine wood, and the park in which it stands is adorned by the junction of the Greta and of the Tees. The title of Baron Rokeby of Armagh was, in 1777, conferred on the Right Reverend Richard Robinson, Primate of Ireland, de- scended of the Robinsons, formerly of Rokeby, in Yorkshire. Note 48. The Felon Sow. — P. 238. The ancient minstrels had a comic as well as a serious strain of romance; and although ROKEBY. the examples of the latter are by far the most numerous, they are, perhaps, the less valu- able. The comic romance was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel poetry. Ifthe latter described deeds of heroic achievement, and the events of the battle, the tourney, and the chase, the former, as in the Tournament of Tottenham, introduced a set of clowns debating in the field, with all the assumed circumstances of chivalry. One of the very best of these mock romances, and which has no small portion of comic humor, is the Hunting of the Felon Sow of Rokeby by the Friars of Richmond. NOTE 49. The Filea of O’ Neale was he.— P. 239. . The Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, or, as the name literally implies, poet, Each chieftain of distinction had one or more in his service, whose office was usually hereditary. The late ingenious Mr. Cooper Walker, has assembled a curious collection of particulars concerning this order of men, in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. There were itinerant bards of less elevated rank, but all were held in the highest venera- tion. NOTE 650. Ah, Clandeboy ! thy friendly floor Slieve-Donard’s oak shall light no more. — Py 239. Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the sept of the O’Neales, and Slieve-Donard a romantic mountain in the same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone’s great rebellion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not yield even to their descendants in practising the most free and extended hospitality. NOTE 51. On Marwood Chase and Toller Hill. — P5239. Marwood Chase is the old park extending along the Durham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller Hill is an emi- nence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding a superb view of the ruins. NOTE 52. “ And Scotland’s vaunted Hawthornden, And, silenced on lernian shore, M’Curtin’s harp should charm no more.” — P. 240. Drummond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of his reputation as a poet during the Civil War. He died in 1649, at the 739 age of sixty-four. M’Curtin was hereditary Ollamh or bard of North Munster, and Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond and Presi- dent of Munster. When Lord Thomond joined Elizabeth’s forces, M’Curtin satirized him in a poem in which he said, ‘ How am I afflicted that the descendant of the great Brion Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme worthy the honor and glory of his exalted race.’ The Earl vowed vengeance, and the bard fled to County Cork. But, once coming in Thomond’s way, he pre tended to be suddenly seized with the pangs of death. His wife, entering into the spirit of the comedy, bewailed him, and told the Earl that it was her husband’s dying request to be pardoned. “That nobleman,” says Walker, in his ‘‘ Memoirs of the Irish Bards,” “ was moved to compassion, and not only declared that he most heartily forgave him, but opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with some pieces to inter him. This instance of his lordship’s pity and generosity gave courage to the trembling bard; who suddenly springing up, recited an extemporaneous ode in praise of Donough, and re-entering into his service, became once more his favorite.” NOTE 53. Littlecot{e| Hall. —P. 244. This ballad is founded on a fact ; —the horrible murder of an infant by Wild Day- rell, as he was called. He gave the house and lands as a bribe to the judge (Popham) in order to save his life. A few months after Dayrell broke his neck by a fall from his horse. NOTE 54. As thick a smoke these hearts have given At Hallow-tide or Christmas-even.—P. 245. Such an exhortation was, in similar cir- cumstances, actually given to his followers by a Welsh chieftain. NOTE 55. Over Hexham’s altar hung my glove.— Pega. This custom among the Redesdale and Tynedale Borderers of duelling, which often resulted in petty warfare, the contending parties mustering their adherents, was found and is mentioned in the interesting life. of Barnard Gilpin. “It happened that a quarrel of this kind was on foot when Mr. Gilpin was at Roth- bury, in those parts. During the two or three first days of his preaching, the contend 740 ing parties observed some decorum, and never appeared at church together. At length, however, they met. One party had been early at church, and just as Mr. Gilpin be- gan his sermon, the other entered. They stood not long silent. Inflamed at the sight of each other, they began to clash their wea- pons, for they were all armed with jave- lins and swords, and mutually approached. Awed, however, by the sacredness of the place, the tumult in some degree ceased. Mr. Gilpin proceeded; when again the com- batants began to brandish their weapons, and draw towards each other. As a fray seemed near, Mr. Gilpin stepped from the pulpit, went between them, and addressed the leaders, put an end to the quarrel, for the present, but could not effect an entire reconciliation. They promised him, how- ever, that till the sermon was over they would make no more disturbance. He then went again into the pulpit, and spent the rest of the time in endeavoring to make them ashamed of what they had done. His be- havior and discourse affected them so much, that, at his further entreaty, they promised to forbear all acts of hostility while he continued in the country. And so much respected was he among them, that whoever was in fear of his enemy used to resort where Mr. Gilpin was, esteeming his presence the best protection. APPENDIX. “ One Sunday morning, coming to a church in those parts, before the people were assem- — bled, he observed a glove hanging up, and was informed by the sexton that it was meant as a challenge to any one who should take it down. Mr. Gilpin ordered the sexton to reach it to him; but upon his utterly re- fusing to touch it, he took it down himself, and put it into his breast. When the people were assembled, he went into the pulpit, and, before he concluded his sermon, took occa- sion to rebuke them severely for these inhu- man challenges. ‘I hear,’ saith he, ‘ that one among you hath hanged up a glove, even in this sacred place, threatening to fight any one who taketh it down: see, I have taken it down :’ and, pulling out the glove, he held it up to the congregation, and then showed — them how unsuitable such savage practices were to the profession of Christianity, using such persuasives to mutual love as he thought would most affect them.” — Life of Barnard Gilpin, Lond., 1753, 8vo, p. 170s NOTE 56. A horseman arm’d, at headlong speed.— P2508, This, and what follows, is taken from a real achievement of Major Robert Philipson, called from his desperate and adventurous courage, Robin the Devil. ~ THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. NOTE I. The Baron of Triermain. —P «263. TRIERMAIN was a fief of the Barony of Gilsland in Cumberland; it was possessed by a Saxon family at the time of the Con- quest, but, “‘ after the death of Gilmore, Lord of Tryermaine and Torcrossock, Hubert Vaux gave Tryermaine and Torcrossock to his second son, Ranulph Vaux; which Ran- ulph afterwards became heir to his elder brother Robert, the founder of Lanercost, who died, without issue. Ranulph, being Lord of all Gilsland, gave Gilmore’s lands to his younger son, named Roland, and let the Barony descend to his eldest son Robert, son of Ranulph. Ronald had issue Alexan- der, and he Ranulph, after whom succeeded Robert, and they were named Rolands suc- cessively, that were lords thereof, until the reign of Edward the Fourth, That house | gave for arms, Vert [Argent, not vert], a bend dexter, chequy, or, and gules.’ — Burn’s Antiquities of Westmoreland and Cumberland, vol. ii., p. 482. NOTE 2. fle pass d red Penrith’s Table Round. — Ps 264, A circular intrenchment, about half a mile from Penrinth, is thus popularly termed. The circle within the ditch is about one hun- dred and sixty paces in circumference, with openings, or approaches, directly opposite to each other. As this ditch is on the inner side, it could not be intended for the purpose of defence, and it has reasonably been con- jectured that the enclosure was designed for the solemn exercise of feats of chivalry, and the embankment around for the convenience of the spectators. THE BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN. NOTE 3. Mayburgh’s mound.— P, 264. Higher up the river Eamont than Arthur’s Round Table, is a prodigious enclosure of great antiquity, formed by a collection of stones upon the top of a gently sloping hill, called Mayburgh. In the plain which it encloses there stands erect an unhewn stone of twelve feet in height. Two similar masses are said to have been destroyed during the memory of man. The whole appears to be a monument of Druidical times. NOTE 4. That sable tarn.— P. 265. The small lake called Scales-tarn lies so deeply embossed in the recesses of the huge mountain called Saddleback, more poetically Glaramara, is of such great depth, and so completely hidden from the sun, that it is said its beams never reach it, and that the reflection of the stars may be seen at mid- day. NOTE 5. The terrors of Tintadgel’s spear. — P. 266. Tintadgel Castle, in Cornwall, is reported to have been the birthplace of King Arthur. NOTE 6. Scattering a shower of fiery dew.— P. 269. The author has an indistinct recollection of an adventure, somewhat similar to that which is here ascribed to King Arthur, hav- ing befallen one of the ancient Kings of Denmark. The horn in which the burning liquor was presented to that Monarch, is said still to be preserved in the Royal Museum at Copenhagen. NOTE 7. The monarch, breathless and amazed, Back on the fatal castle gazed — Nor tower nor donjon could he spy, Darkening against the morning sky.— P2090. —‘ We now gained a view of the Vale of St. John’s, a very narrow dell, hemmed in by mountains, through which a small brook makes many meanderings, washing little en- closures of grass-ground, which stretch up the rising of the hills. In the widest part of the dale you are struck with the appearance of an ancient ruined castle, which seems to stand upon the summit of a little mount, the mountains around forming an amphitheatre. The massive bulwark shows a front _of vari- ous towers, and makes an awful, rude, and 741 Gothic appearance, with its lofty turrets and rugged battlements; we traced the gal leries, the bending arches, the buttresses. The greatest antiquity stands characterized in its architecture: the inhabitants near it assert it is an antediluvian structure. “ The traveller’s curiosity is roused, and he prepares to make a nearer approach, when that curiosity is put upon the rack by his being assured that, if he advances, certain genii who govern the place, by virtue of their supernatural art and necromacy, will strip it of allits beauties, and by enchantment trans- form the magic walls. The vale seems adapted for the habitation of such beings; its gloomy recesses and retirements look like the haunts of evil spirits. There was no delusion in the report ; we were soon con- vinced of its truth; for this piece of an- tiquity, so venerable and noble in its aspect, as we drew near, changed its figure, and proved no other than a shaken massive pile of rocks, which stand in the midst of this little vale, disunited from the adjoining mountains, and have so much the real form and resemblance of a castle, that they bear the name of the Castle Rocks of St. John.” — HuTcuHinson’s Excursion to the Lakes, D, lals Note 8. Twelve bloody fields, with glory fought. — Re270, Arthur is said to have defeated the Saxons in twelve pitched battles, and to have achieved the other feats alluded to in the text. NOTE 9. The flower of chivalry. There Galaad sat with manly grace, Yet maiden meekness in his face ; There Morolt of the iron mace, And love-lorn Tristrem there.— P2270. The characters named in the stanza are all of them more or Jess distinguished in the romances which treat of King Arthur and his Round Table, and their names are strung together, according to the established cus- toms of minstrels upon such occasions, for example, in the ballad of the Marriage of Sir Gawaine : — ‘*Sir Lancelot, Sir Stephen bolde, They rode with him that daye, And foremost of the companye, There rode the stewarde Kaye. “Soe did Sir Banier, and Sir Bore, And eke Sir Garratte keen, Sir Tristrem, too, that gentle knight, To the forest, fresh and greene.” 742 NOTE to. Lancelot, that evermore Look’d stolen-wise on the Queen. — P. 270. Upon this delicate subject hear Richard Robinson, citizen of London, in his Asser- tion of King Arthur: “ But as it is a thing sufficiently apparent that she (Guenever, wife of King Arthur) was beautiful, so it is a thing doubted whether she was chaste, yea or no. Truly, so far as I can with honestie, I would spare the impayred honour of noble women, But yet the truth of the historie pluckes me by the eare, and willeth not onely, but commandeth me to declare what the ancients have deemed of her. To wrestle or contend with so great authoritie were indeed unto mei a controversie, and that greate.” — Assertion of King Arthure. Im- printed by John Wolfe, London, 1582. NOTE It. There were two who loved their neighbors’ wives, And one who loved his own. — P. 271. “ In our forefathers’ tyme, wh_n Papistrie, as a Standyng poole, covered and overflowed all England, fewe books were read in our tongue, savying certaine bookes of chevalrie, as they said, for pastime and pleasure : which, as some say, were made in the monasteries, by idle monks or wanton chanons. As one, for example, La Morte d’Arthure ; the whole pleasure of which book standeth in two speciall poyntes, in open manslaughter and bold bawdrye; in which booke they be counted the noblest knightes that do kill APPENDIX. most men without any quarrell, and commit foulest adoulteries by subtlest shiftes ; as Sir Lancelot with the wife of King Arthur, his master ; Sir Tristram, with the wife of King Marke, his uncle; Sir Lamerocke, with the wife of King Lote, that was his own aunt. This is good stuffe for wise men to laugh at ; or honest men to take pleasure at; yet I know when God’s Bible was banished the Court, and La Morte d’Arthure received into the Prince’s chamber.” — ASCHAM’s Schoolmaster. NOTE 12, Who won the cup of gold. —P. 271. See the comic tale of the Boy and the Mantle, in the third volume of Percy’s Rel- iques of Ancient Poetry, from the Breton or Norman original of which Ariosto is sup- posed to have taken his tale of the Enchanted Cup. NOTE 13. Whose logic is from Single-speech. — P. 275. See “ Parliamentary Logic, etc.,” by the Hon. W. G. Hamilton (1808), commonly called “ Single-Speech Hamilton.” NOTE TO THE POEM. Scott composed this poem with the inten- tion that the public should attribute it to his friend Mr. Erskine (Lord Kinedder). The joke succeeded ; but on the third edition being published, Lord Kinedder avowed the true author, the deception having gone © further than either he or Scott intended. We mention this fact in order to explain the preface. — Ep, THE LORD OF THE ISLES. NOTE 1. Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung — P. 201. THE ruins of the Castle of Artornish are situated upon a promotory, on the Morven, or mainland side of the Sound of Mull, a name given to the deep arm of the sea which divides that island from thecontinent. The situation is wild and romantic in the highest degree, having on the one hand a high and precipitous chain of rocks overhanging thesea, and on the other the narrow entrance to the beautiful salt-water lake, called Loch Alline, which is in many places finely fringed with copsewood. ‘The ruins of Artornish are not now very considerable, and consist chiefly of the remains of an old keep, or tower, with fragments of outward defences. But, in former days, it was a place of great conse- quence, being one of the principal strong- holds, which the Lords of the Isles, during the period of their stormy independence, possessed upon the mainland of Argyleshire. It is almost opposite to the Bay of Aros, in the Island of Mull, where there was another castle, the occasional residence of the Lords of the Isles. NOTE 2. Rude Heiskar’s seal through surges dark Will long pursue the minstrel’s bark. — Pe 201. The seal displays a taste for music, which LAE LORDVOR. THE ISLES. could scarcely be expected from his habits and local predilections. They will long fol- low a boat in which any musical instrument is played, and even a tune simply whistled has attractions for them. The Dean of the Isles says of Heiskar, a small, uninhabited rock, about twelve (Scottish) miles from the Isle of Uist, that an infinite slaughter of seals takes place there. NOTE 3. — aturret’s airy head, Slender and steep, and battled round, Overlook’'d, dark Mull! thy mighty Sound. — P. 292. The Sound of Mull, which divides that island from the continent of Scotland, is one of the most striking scenes which the Heb- rides afford to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, or Tombermory, through a narrow channel, yet deep enough to bear vessels of the largest burden, he has on his left the bold and mountainous shores of Mull; on the right those of that district of Argyleshire called Morven, or Morvern, successively indented by deep salt-water lochs, running up many miles inland. To the southeastward arise a prodigious range of mountains, among which Cruachan-Ben is preeminent. And to the northeast is the no less huge and picturesque range of the Ardnamurchan hills. Many ruinous castles, situated generally upon cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest to the scene. NOTE 4. The heir of mighty Somerled, — P. 292. Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, about the middle of the twelfth century. He seems to have exercised his authority in both capacities, independent of the crown of Scotland, against which he often stood in hostility. He made various incursions upon the western lowlands during the reign of Malcolm IV., and seems to have made peace with him upon the terms of an independent prince, about the year 1157. In 1164 he resumed the war against Malcolm, and invaded Scotland with a large, but probably a tumultuary army, collected in the isles, in the mainland of Argyleshire, and in the neighboring provinces of Ireland. He was defeated and slain, in an engagement with a very inferior force, near Renfrew. This chieftain married a daughter of Olaus, King of Man. The Lords of the Isles de- scended from his eldest son, Ronald, and the Lords of Lorn from his second son, Dougal, whence they took their surname of Mac- Dougal. 743 NOTE 5. Lord of the Isles. —P. 292. The representative of this independent principality, for such it seems to have been, though acknowledging occasionally the pre- eminence of the Scottish crown, was, at the period of the poem, Angus, called Angus Og: but the name has been exphonie gratia, exchanged for that of Ronald, which fre- quently occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert Bruce, whom he received in his Castle of Dunnaverty, during the time of his greatest distress. NoTE 6. The House of Lorn. — P. 293. The House of Lorn, as we observed in a former note, was, like the Lord of the Isles, descended from ason of Somerled, slain at Renfrew, in 1164. This son obtained the succession of his mainland territories, com- prehending the greater part of the three dis: tricts of Lorn, in Argyleshire, and of course might rather be considered as petty princes than feudal barons. They assumed the patronymic appellation of Macbousal, by which they are distinguished in the history of the Middle Ages. NOTE 7. Awaked before the rushing prow, The mimic fires of ocean glow, Those lightnings of the wave. — P. 295. The phenomenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is one of the most beautiful and interesting which is witnessed in the Hebrides. At times the ocean appears entirely illuminated around the vessel, and a long train of lam- bent coruscations are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pursuing her wake through the darkness. NoTE 8. That keen knight, De Argentine. — P. 208. Sir Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one of the most accomplished knights of the period. He had served in the wars of Henry of Luxemburg with such high reputation that he was, in popular estimation, the third worthy of the age. Those to whom fame assigned precedence over him were, Henry of Luxemburg himself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine had warred in Palestine, encoun- tered thrice with the Saracens, and had slain two antagonists in each engagement ;— an easy matter, he said, for one Christian knight to slay two Pagan dogs. 744 NOTE 9. “ Fill me the mighty cup!” he said, “ Frst own'd by royal Somerled.” — P5208, A Hebridean drinking cup of the most ancient and curious workmanship, has been long preserved in the Castle of Dunvegan, in Skye, the romantic seat of Mac-Leod of Mac- Leod, the chief of that ancient and powerful clan. The horn of Rorie More, preserved in the same family, and recorded by Dr. John- son, is not to be compared with this piece of antiquity, which is one of the greatest curi- osities in Scotland. NOTE Io, “the rebellious Scottish crew, Who to Rath-Erin’s shelter drew, With Carrick’s outlaw'd chief.” — P. 299. It must be remembered by all who have read the Scottish history, that after he had slain Comyn at Dumfries, and asserted his right to the Scottish crown, Robert Bruce was reduced to the greatest extremity by the English and their adherents. He was crowned at Scone by the general consent of the Scottish barons, but his authority en- dured but a short time. According to the phrase said to have been used by his wife, he was for that year “a summer king, but not a winter one.” NOTE It. The Broach of Lorne. — P. 299. Robert Bruce, after his defeat at Methven, being hard pressed by the English, endeav- - ored, with the dispirited remnant of his followers, to escape from Breadalbane and the mountains of Perthshire into the Argyle- shire Highlands. But he was encountered and repulsed, after a very severe engage- ment, by the Lord of Lorn. Bruce’s per- sonal strength and courage were never displayed to greater advantage than in this conflict. There is a tradition in the family of the Mac-Dougals of Lorn, that their chieftain engaged in personal battle with Bruce himself, while the latter was employed in protecting the retreat of his men; that Mac-Dougal was struck down by the king, whose strength of body was equal to his vigor of mind, and would have been slain on the spot, had not two of Lorn’s vassals, a father and son, whom tradition terms Mac- Keoch, rescued him by seizing the mantle of the monarch, and dragging him from above his adversary. Bruce rid himself of these foes by two blows of his redoubted battle- APPENDIX. ] axe, but was so closely pressed by the other followers of Lorn that he was forced to abandon the mantle, and broach which fastened it, clasped in the dying grasp of the Mac-Keochs. A studded broach, said to have been that which King Robert lost upon this occasion, was long preserved in the ~ family of Mac-Dougal, and was lost in a fire which consumed their temporary resi- dence. Great art and expense were bestowed upon the broach which secured the plaid. Some were as broad as a platter, engraved with curious designs and decorated with crystals or more valuable stones. NOTE 12. When Comyn fell beneath the knife Of that fell homicide the Bruce.— P. 296. Vain Kirkpatrick’s bloody dirk, Making sure of murder’s work. —P. 300. Every reader must recollect that the prox- imate cause of Bruce’s asserting his right to the crown of Scotland, was the death of — John, called the Red Comyn. The causes of this act of violence, equally extraordinary from the high rank, both of the perpetrator — and sufferer, and from the place where the slaughter was committed, are variously re- lated by the Scottish and English historians, “_ and cannot now be ascertained. The fact that they met at the high altar of the Minor- ites, or Greyfriar’s Church in Dumfries, that their difference broke out into high and in- sulting language, and that Bruce drew his dagger and stabbed Comyn, is certain. Rushing to the door of the church, Bruce met two powerful barons, Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, and James de Lindsay, who ea- gerly asked him what tidings ? ings,’ answered Bruce; “I doubt I have slain Comyn.” ‘Doubtest thou?” said Kirkpatrick; “JI make sicker” (7.2. sure). With these words, he and Lindsay rushed into the church, and despatched the wounded Comyn. The Kirkpatricks of Closeburn assumed in memory of this deed, a hand holding a dagger, with the memorable words, “T make sicker.” NOTE 13. Barendown fled fast away, Filed the fiery De la Haye. — P. 300. These knights are enumerated by Barbour among the small number of Bruce’s adhe- rents, who remained in arms with him after the battle of Methven. “ Bad tid- THE LORD OF THE ISLES. NOTE 14. Wast not enough to Ronald’s bower I brought thee like a paramour. — P. 303. It was anciently customary in the High- lands to bring the bride to the house of the husband. Nay, in some cases, the complais- ance was stretched so far that she remained there upon trial for a twelvemonth ; and the bridegroom, even after this period of co- habitation, retained an option of refusing to fulfil his engagement. It is said that a desperate feud ensued between the clans of Mac-Donald of Sleate and Mac-Leod, owing to the former chief having availed himself of this license to send back to Dunvegan a sister or daughter of the latter. Mac-Leod, resenting the indignity, observed, that since there was no wedding bonfire, there should be one to solemnize the divorce. Accord- ingly, he burned and laid waste the terri- tories of Mac-Donald, who retaliated, and a deadly feud, with all its accompaniments, took place in form. NOTE I5. Since matchless Wallace first had been In mock’ ry crown’d with wreaths of green. — P..303- Stow gives the following curious account vf the trial and execution of this celebrated patriot: “ William Wallace, who had oft- times set Scotland in great trouble, was taken and brought to London, with great numbers of men and women wondering upon him. He was lodged in the house of Wil- liam Delect, a citizen of London, in Fen- church Street. On the morrow, being the eve of St. Bartholomew, he was brought on horseback to Westminster. John Legrave and Jeffrey, knights, the mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen of London, and many others, both on horseback and on foot, accompanying him, and in the great hall at Wesminster, he being placed on the south bench, crowned with laurel, for that he had said in times past that he ought to bear a crown in that hall, as it was commonly reported, and being impeached for a traitor by Sir Peter Mal- orie, the king’s justice, he answered, that he was never traitor to the King of England, but for other things whereof he was accused, he confessed them ; and was after headed and quartered.” — Stow, Chr. p. 209. There is something singularly doubtful about the mode in which Wallace was taken. That he was betrayed to the English is indubitable ; and popular fame charges Sir John Menteith with the indelible infamy. ‘ Accursed,” says Arnold Blair, “be the day of nativity of John de Menteith, and may his name be 745 struck out of the book of life.” But John de Menteith was all along a zealous favorer of the English interest, and was governor of Dumbarton Castle by commission from Edward the First; and therefore, as the accurate Lord Hailes has observed, could not be the friend and confidant of Wallace, as tradition states him to be. The truth seems to be, that Menteith, thoroughly en- gaged in the English interest, pursued Wallace closely, and made him prisoner through the treachery of an attendant, whom Peter Langtoft calls Jack Short. The in- famy of seizing Wallace must rest, therefore, between a degenerate Scottish nobleman, the vassal of England, and a domestic, the ob- scure agent of his treachery; between Sir John Menteith, son of Walter, Earl of Men- teith, and the traitor Jack Short. NOTE 16. Was not the life of Athole shed, To soothe the tyrant’s sicken’a bed ? — ‘ Pr 363. John de Strathbogie, Earl of Athole, had attempted to escape out of the kingdom, but a storm cast him upon the coast, when he was taken, sent to London, and executed with circumstances of great barbarity, being first half strangled, then let down from the gal- lows while yet alive, barbarously dismem- bered, and his body burnt. It may surprise the reader to learn that this was a mitigated punishment ; for in respect that his mother was a granddaughter of King John, by his natural son, Richard, he was not drawn on ‘a sledge to execution, “that point was for- given,” and he made the passage on horse- back. Matthew of Westminster tells us that King Edward, then extremely ill, received great ease from the news that his relative was apprehended. “ Quo audito, Rex An- glia, etsi gravissimo morbo tunc langueret, levius tamen tulit dolorem.” To this sin- gular expression the text alludes. NOTE 17. While I the blessed cross advance, And expiate this unhappy chance, In Palestine with sword and lance. — P. 304. Bruce uniformly professed, and probably felt, compunction for having violated the sanctuary of the church by the slaughter of Comyn; and finally, in his last hours, in testimony of his faith, penitence, and zeal, he requested James Lord Douglas to carry his heart to Jerusalem, to be there desposited in the Holy Sepulchre, | APPENDIX. 746 NoTE 18. circumstances. He divided his force into De Bruce! TI rose with purpose dread three parts, appointed a place of rendezvous To speak my curse upon thy head,— P. 304. So soon as the notice of Comyn’s slaughter reached Rome, Bruce and his adherents were excommunicated. It was published first by the Archbishop of York, and renewed at different times, particularly by Lambyrton, Bishop of St. Andrews, in 1308, but it does not appear to have answered the purpose which the English monarch expected. In- deed, for reasons which it may be difficult to trace, the thunders of Rome descended upon the Scottish mountains with less effect than in more fertile countries. Probably the comparative poverty of the benefices occa- sioned that fewer foreign clergy settled in Scotland, and the interests of the native churchmen were linked with that of their country. Many of the Scottish prelates, Lambyrton the primate particularly, de- clared for Bruce, while he was yet under the ban of the church, though he afterwards again changed sides. NOTE 19. A hunted wanderer on the wild, On foreign shores a man exiled, —P. 304. This is not metaphorical. The echoes of Scotland did actually ef ring With the bloodhounds that bay’d for her fugi- tive king.”’ A very curious and romantic tale is told by Barbour upon this subject, which may be abridged as follows :— = When Bruce had again got footing in Scotland, in the spring of 1306, he continued to be in a very weak and precarious condi- tion, gaining, indeed, occasional advantages, but obliged to fly before his enemies when- ever they assembled in force. Upon one occasion, while he was lying with a small party in the wilds of Cumnock, in Ayrshire, Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, with his inveterate foe, John of Lorn, came against him suddenly with eight hundred Highlanders, besides a large body of men- at-arms. They brought with them a slough- dog, or blood-hound, which, some say, had been once a favorite with the Bruce himself, and therefore was least likely to lose the trace. Bruce, whose force was under four hundred men, continued to make head against the cavalry, till the men of Lorn had nearly cut off his retreat. Perceiving the danger of his situation, he acted as the celebrated and ill- requited Mina is said to have done in similar and commanded them to retreat by different routes. But-when John of Lorn arrived at the spot where they divided, he caused the hound to be put upon the trace, which im- mediately directed him to the pursuit of that party which Bruce headed. This, therefore, ' Lorn pursued with his whole force, paying “no attention to the others. The king again, subdivided his small body into three parts, and with the same result, for the pursuers — attached themselves exclusively to that which he led in person. He then caused his fol- lowers to disperse, and retained only his foster-brother in his company. The slough- dog followed the trace, and, neglecting the others, attached himself and his attendants to the pursuit of the king. Lorn became . convinced that his enemy was nearly in his power, and detached five of his most active attendants to follow him and interrupt his flight. They did so with all the agility of mountaineers. “ What aid wilt thou make?” said Bruce to his single attendant, when he saw the five men gain ground on him. “The best I can,” replied his foster-brother. “Then,” said Bruce, “ here I make my stand.” The five pursuers came up fast. The king took three to himself, leaving the other two to his foster-brother. He slew the first who encountered him; but observing his foster- brother hard pressed, he sprung to his assist- ance, and despatched one of his assailants. Leaving him to deal with the survivor, he returned upon the other two, both of whom he slew before his foster-brother had de- spatched his single antagonist. When this hard encounter was over, with a courtesy, which in the whole work marks Bruce’s character, he thanked his foster-brother for his aid. “It likes you to say so,” answered his follower; “but you yourself slew four of the five.” —‘‘ True,” said the king, “ but only because I had better opportunity than you. They were not apprehensive of me when they saw me encounter three, so I had a mo- ment’s time to spring to thy aid, and to re- turn equally unexpectedly upon my own op- ponents.” In the meanwhile Lorn’s party approached rapidly, and the king and his foster-brother betook themselves to a neighboring wood. Here they sat down, for Bruce was exhausted by fatigue, until the cry of the slough-hound came so near that his foster-brother entreated Bruce to provide for his safety by retreating further. “TI have heard,” answered the king, “that whosoever will wade a bow-shot length down a running stream, shall make the slough-hound lose scent. Let us try the ee Re ies THE LORD. OF THE ISLES. experiment, for were yon devilish hound silenced I should care little for the rest.” Lorn in the meanwhile advanced, and found the bodies of his slain vassals, over whom he made his moan, and threatened the most deadly vengeance. Then he followed the hound to the side of the brook down which the king had waded a great way. Here the hound was at fault, and John of Lorn, after long attempting in vain to recover Bruce’s trace, relinquished the pursuit. “Others,” says Barbour, “affirm that upon this occasion the king’s life was saved by an excellent archer who accompanied him, and who pertéiving that they would be finally taken by means of the blood-hound hid him- self in a thicket, and shot him with an arrow. In which way,” adds the metrical biog- rapher, “this escape happened I am uncer- tain, but at that brook the king escaped from his pursuers.” NOTE 20. “ Alas! dear youth, the unhappy time,” Answerd the Bruce,“ must bear the crime, Since guiltier far than you, Even 1” —he paused: for Falkirk’s woes Upon his conscious soul arose. — P. 306. I have followed the vulgar and inaccurate tradition, that Bruce fought against Wal- lace, and the array of Scotland, at the fatal battle of Falkirk. The story which seems to have no better authority than that of Blind Harry, bears, that having made much slaugh- ter during the engagement, he sat down to dine with the conquerors without washing the filthy witness from his hands. ‘‘ Fasting he was, and had been in great need, Blooded were all his weapons, and his weed ; Southeron lords scorn’d him in terms rude, And said, Behold yon Scot eats his own blood. “Then rued he sore, for reason bad be known, That blood and Jand alike should be his own; With them he long was, ere he got away, But contrair Scots he fought not from that day.” The account given by most of our histo- rians, of the conversation between Bruce and Wallace over the Garron River, is equally apocryphal. There is full evidence that Bruce was not at that time on the English side, nor present at the battle of Falkirk ; nay, that he acted as a guardian of Scotland, along with John Comyn, in the name of Baliol, and in opposition to the English. NOTE 21. These are the savage wilds that lie North of Strathnardill and Dunskye. — Fasoy. The extraordinary piece of scenery which 747 I have here attempted to describe is, I think, unparalleled in any part of Scotland, at least in any which I have happened to visit. It lies just upon the frontier of the Laird of Mac-Leod’s country, which is thereabouts divided from the estate of Mr. Mac-Allister of Strath-Aird, called Strathnardill by the Dean of the Isles. NOTE 22. And mermaid’s alabaster grot, Who bathes her limbs in sunless well, Deep in Strathaird’s enchanted cell.— tc Imagination can hardly conceive anything more beautiful than the extraordinary grotto discovered not many years since upon the estate of Alexander Mac-Allister, Esq., of Strathaird. It has since been much and de- servedly celebrated, and a full account of its beauties has been published by Dr. Mac-Leay of Oban. The general impression may per- haps be gathered from the following extract from a journal, which, written under the feelings of the moment, is likely to be more accurate than any attempt to recollect the impressions then received : — ‘‘ The first en- trance to this celebrated cave is rude and un- promising ; but the light of the torches, with which we were provided, was soon reflected from the roof, floor, and walls, which seem as if they were sheeted with marble, partly smooth, partly rough with frost-work and rustic ornaments, and partly seeming to be wrought into statuary. The floor forms a steep and difficult ascent, and might be fan- cifully compared to a sheet of water, which, while it rushed whitening and foaming down a declivity, had been suddenly arrested and consolidated by the speil of anenchanter. Up- on attaining the summit of this ascent, the cave opens into a splendid gallery, adorned with the most dazzling crystallizations, and finally descends with rapidity to the brink of a pool of the most limpid water, about four or five yards broad. ‘There opens beyond this pool a portal arch, formed by two columns of white spar, with beautiful chasing upon the sides, which promises a continuation of the cave. One of our sailors swam across, for there is no other mode of passing, and in- formed us (as indeed we partly saw by the light he carried) that the enchantment of Mac-Allister’s cave terminates with this por- tal, a little beyond which there was only a rude cavern, speedily choked with stones and earth. But the pool, on the brink of which we stood, surrounded by the most fanciful mouldings, in a substance resembling white marble, and distinguished by the depth and 748 purity of its waters, might have been the bathing grotto of a naiad. The groups of combined figures projecting, or embossed, by which the pool is surrounded, are exquisitely elegant and fanciful. A statuary might catch beautiful hints from the singular and roman- tic disposition of those stalactites. There is scarce a form or group on which active fancy may not trace figures or grotesque orna- ments, which have been gradually moulded in this cavern by the dropping of the calca- reous water hardening into petrifactions. Many of those fine groups have been injured by the senseless rage of appropriation of recent tourists; and the grotto had lost (I am informed), through the smoke of torches, something of that vivid silver tint which was originally one of its chief distinctions. But enough of beauty remains to compensate for all that may be lost.’””— Dr. Mac-Allister of Strathaird has, with great propriety, built up the exterior entrance to this cave, in order that strangers may enter properly attended by a guide, to prevent any repetition of the wanton and selfish injury which this singular scene has already sustained. NOTE 23. Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs My joy ver Edward’s bier. — P. 314. The generosity which does justice to the character of an enemy, often marks Bruce’s sentiments, as recorded by the faithful Bar- bour. He seldom mentions a fallen enemy without praising such good qualities as he might possess. I shall only take one in- stance, Shortly after Bruce landed in Car- rick, in 1306, Sir Ingram Bell, the English governor of Ayr, engaged a wealthy yeoman, who had hitherto been a follower of Bruce, to undertake the task of assassinating him. The king learned this treachery, as he is said to have done other secrets of the enemy, by means of a female with whom he had an in- trigue. Shortly after he was possessed of this information, Bruce, resorting to a small thicket at a distance from his men, with only a single page to attend him, met the traitor, accompanied by two of his sons. They approached him with their wonted familiarity, but Bruce, taking his page’s bow and arrow, commanded them to keep at a distance. As they still pressed forward with professions of zeal for his person and ser- vice, he, after a second warning, shot the father with the arrow; and being assaulted successively by the two sons, despatched first one, who was armed with an axe, then as the other charged him with a spear, avoided the thrust, struck the head from the spear, and APPENDIX. cleft the skull of the assassin with a blow of his two-handed sword. NOTE 24. And Ronin’s mountains dark have sent Their hunters to the shore. — P. 315. Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name which a poet may be pardoned for avoiding if possible) is a very rough and mountainous island, adjacent to those of Eigg and Canna or Cannay. Thereis almost no arable ground upon it, so that, except in the plenty of the deer, which of course are now nearly extir- pated, it still deserves the description be- stowed by the arch-dean of the Isles: “ Ronin, sixteen myle north-wast from the ile of Coll, lyes ane ile callit Ronin Ie, of sixteen myle long, and six in bredthe in the narrowest, ane forest of heigh mountains, an abundance of little deir in it, quhilk deir will never be slane dounewith, but the principal saittis man be in the height of the hill, because the deir will be callit upwart ay be the tainchell or with- out tynchel they will pass upwart perforce. In this ile will be gotten about Britane als many wild nests upon the plane mure as men pleasis to gadder, and yet by reason the fowls has few to start them except deir. This ile lyes from the west to the eist in lenth, and pertains to M’Kenabrey of Colla. Many solan geese are in this ile.’ — Monro’s De- scription of the Western Isles, p. 18. NOTE 25. On Scooreigg next a warning light Summon'd her warriors to the fight ; A numerous race, ere stern Macleod Over their bleak shores in vengeance strode. — P.315. These, and the following lines of the stanza, refer to a dreadful tale of feudal vengeance, of which unfortunately there are relics that still attest the truth. Scoor-Eigg is a high peak in the centre of the small Isle of Eigg, or Egg. It is well known to mineralogists, as affording many interesting specimens, and to others whom chance or curiosity may lead to the island, for the astonishing view of the mainland and neighboring isles, which it commands. The following account is ex- tracted from the poet’s own journal kept during his tour through the Scottish Islands. 26th August, 1814 .— At seven this morn- ing we were in the sound which divides the Isle of Rum from that of Egg. The latter, although hilly and rocky, and traversed by a remarkably high and barren ridge, called Scoor-Rigg, has, in point of soil, a much more promising appearance. Southward of both les the Isle of Muich, or Muck, a low Peer ay, a a a ee ee YT eet phat ns THE LORD OF“ FHE ISLES, and fertile island, and though the least, yet probably the most valuable of the three. We manned the boat and rowed along the shore of Egg in quest of a cavern, which had been the memorable scene of a horrid feudal vengeance. We had rounded more than half the island, admiring the entrance of many a bold natural cave, which its rocks exhibited, without finding that which we sought, until we procured a guide. Nor, indeed, was it surprising that it should have escaped the search of strangers, as there are no outward indications more than might distinguish the entrance of a fox-earth. This noted cave has a very narrow opening, through which one can hardly creep on his knees and hands. It rises steep and lofty within, and runs into the bowels of the rock to the depth of two hundred and fifty-five measured feet; the height at the entrance may be about three feet, but rises within to eighteen or twenty, and the breadth may vary in the same pro- portion. The rude and stony bottom of this cave is strewed with the bones of men, women, and children, the sad relics of the ancient inhabitants of the island, two hun- dred in number, who were slain on the fol- lowing occasion :— The Mac-Donalds of the Isle of Egg,a people dependent on Clan- Ranald, had done some injury to the Laird of Mac-Leod. The tradition of the isle says, that it was by a personal attack on the chief- tain, in which his back was broken. But that of the other isles bears more probably, that the injury was offered to two or three of the Mac-Leods, who, landing upon Eigg, and using some freedom with the young women, were seized by the islanders, bound hand and foot, and turned adrift in a boat which the wind and waves safely conducted to Skye. To avenge the offence given, Mac- Leod sailed with such a body of men as rendered resistance hopeless. The natives, fearing his vengeance, concealed themselves in this cavern, and, after a strict search, the Mac-Leods went on board their galleys, after doing what mischief they could, concluding the inhabitants had left the isle, and betaken themselves to the Long Island, or some of Clan-Ranald’s other possessions, But next morning they espied from the vessels a man upon the island, and immediately landing again, they traced his retreat by the marks of his footsteps, a light snow being un- happily on the ground. Mac-Leod then surrounded the cavern, summoned the sub- terranean garrison, and demanded that the individuals who had offended him should be delivered up tohim. This was peremptorily refused. The chieftain then caused his peo- ple to divert the course of a rill of water, 749 which, falling over the entrance of the cave, would have prevented his purposed ven- geance. He then kindled at the entrance of the cavern a huge fire, composed of turf and fern, and maintained it with unrelenting assiduity, until all within were destroyed by suffocation. The date of this dreadful deed must have been recent, if one may judge from the fresh appearance of those relics. I brought off, in spite of the prejudice of our sailors, a skull from among the numerous specimens of mortality which the cavern afforded. Before reembarking we visited another cave, opening to the sea, but of a character entirely different, being a large open vault, as high as that of a cathedral, and running back a great way into the rock at the same height. The height and width of the opening gives ample light to the whole. Here, after 1745, when the Catholic priests were scarcely tolerated, the priest of Eigg used to perform the Roman Catholic service, most of the islanders being of that persuasion. A huge ledge of rocks rising about half-way up one side of the vault, served for altar and pulpit; and the appear- ance of a priest and Highland congregation in such an extraordinary place of worship, might have engaged the pencil of Salvator.” NOTE 26. Scenes sung by him who sings no more. — P. 316. The ballad entitled, “ Macphail of Colon- say, and the Mermaid of Corrievrekin” [see Border Minstrelsy, vol. iv., p. 285], was com- posed by John Leyden, from a tradition which he found while making a tour through the Hebrides about 1801, soon before his fatal departure for India, where, after having made further progress in Oriental literature than any man of letters who had embraced those studies, he died a martyr to his zeal for knowledge, in the island of Java, im- mediately after the landing of our forces near Batavia, in August, 1811. NOTE 27. Up Tarbat’s western lake they bore, Then drage’d their bark the isthmus oer. — Pisilos The peninsula of Cantire is joined to South Knapdale by a very narrow isthmus ; formed by the western and eastern Loch of Tarbat. These two salt water lakes, or bays, encroach so far upon the land, and the ex- tz-emities come so near to each other, that there is not above a mile of land to divide them. 750 NOTE 28. The sun, ere yet he sunk behind Ben-Ghoil, “the Mountain of the Wind,” Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind, And bade Loch Ranza smile. — P. 316. Loch Ranza is a beautiful bay, on the northern extremity of Arran, opening towards East Tarbat Loch. It is well described by Pennant: “ The approach was magnificent ; a fine bay in front about a mile deep, having a ruined castle near the lower end, on a low far-projecting neck of land, that forms an- other harbor, with a narrow passage; but within has three fathom of water, even at the lowest ebb. Beyond is a little plain watered by a stream, and inhabited by the people of a small village. The whole is en- vironed with a theatre of mountains; and in the background the serrated crags of Grianan-Athol soar above.” — PENNANT’S Tour tothe Western Isles, pp. 191,192. Ben- Ghaoil, “the mountain of the winds,” is generally known by its English, and less poetical, name of Goatfield. NOTE 29. Each to Loch Ranza’s margin spring ; That blast was winded by the king ! — J geecutee The passage in Barbour, describing the landing of Bruce, and his being recognized by Douglas and those of his followers who had preceded him, by the sound of his horn, is in the original singularly simple and. af. fecting. The king arrived in Arran with thirty-three small row-boats. He interro- gated a female if there had arrived any war- like men of late in that country. “ Surely, sir,” she replied, ‘I can tell you of many who lately came hither, discomfited the English governor, and blockaded his castle of Brodick. They maintain themselves in a wood at no great distance.” The king, truly conceiving that this must be Douglas and his followers, who had lately set forth to try their fortune in Arran, desired the woman to conduct him to the wood. She obeyed. “ The king then blew his horn on high; And gert * his men that were him by, Hold them still, and all privy ; And syne again his horn blew he. James of Dowglas heard him blow, And at the last alone gan know, And said, ‘ Soothly yon is the king; I know long while since his blowing.’ The third time therewithal he blew, And then Sir Robert Boid it knew; And said, ‘ Yon is the king, but dread. Go we forth till him, better speed. * Caused. APPENDIX. Then went they till the king in hye, And him inclined courteously. And blithely welcomed them the king, And was joyful of their meeting, And kissed them ; and speared ¢ syne How they had fared in hunting? And they him told all, but lesing. ¢ Syne laud they God of their meeting, Syne with the king till his harbourye Went both joyfu’ and jolly.” BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book v., pp. 115, 116. NOTE 30. his brother blamed, But shared the weakness, while ashamed, With haughty laugh his head he turn’d, And dash’d away the tear he scorn’'d — Po325e The kind and yet fiery character of Edward Bruce is well painted by Barbour, in the ac: count of his behavior after the battle of Bannockburn, Sir Walter Ross, one of the very few Scottish nobles who fell in that battle, was so dearly beloved by Edward, that he wished the victory had been lost, so Ross had lived. NOTE 31. Thou heard’st a wretched female plain In agony of travail-pain, And thou didst bid thy little band Upon the instant turn and stand, And dare the worst that foe might do, Rather than, like a knight untrue, Leave to pursuers merciless A woman in her last distress. —P. 320. This incident, which illustrates so happily the chivalrous generosity of Bruce’s charac- ter, is one of the many simple and natural traits recorded by Barbour. It occurred during the expedition which Bruce made to Ireland, to support the pretensions of his brother Edward to the throne of that kingdom. NOTE 32. Over chasms he passd where fractures wide Craved wary eye and ample stride. — P5323: The interior of the island of Arran abounds with beautiful Highland scenery. ‘The hills, being very rocky and precipitous, afford some cataracts of great height, though of incon- siderable breadth. There is one pass over the river Machrai, renowed for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, being tempted by the narrowness of the ravine to step across, suc- ceeded in making the first movement, but took fright when it became necessary to move the other foot, and remained in a pos- } Asked. £ Without falsehood. fae LOR Oye ISLES; ture equally ludicrous and dangerous, until some chance passenger assisted her to extri- cate herself. It is said she remained there some hours. NOTE “33. Old Brodick’s gothic towers were seen, From Hastings, late their English Lord, Douglas had won them by the “sword. — reas. Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of Arran, isan ancient fortress, near an open roadstead called Brodick-Bay, and not far distant from a tolerable harbor, closed in by the Island of Lamlash. ‘This important place had been assailed a short time before Bruce’s arrival in the island. James Lord Douglas, who accompanied Bruce to his re- treat in Rachrine, seems, in the spring of 1306, to have tired of his abode there, and set out accordingly, in the phrase of the times, to see what adventure God would send him. Sir Robert Boyd accompanied him ; and his knowledge of the localities of Arran appears to have directed his course thither. They landed in the island privately, and ap- pear to have laid an ambush for Sir John Hastings, the English governor of Brodwick, and surprised a considerable supply of arms and provisions, and nearly took the castle it- self. Indeed, that they actually did so, has been generally averred by historians, although it does not appear from the narrative of Bar- bour. On the contrary, it would seem that they took shelter within a fortification of the ancient inhabitants, a rampart called Tor an Schian. When they were joined by Bruce, it seems probable that they gained Brodick Castle. At least tradition says that from the battlements of the tower he saw the supposed signal-fire on Turnberry-nook. The castle is now much modernized, but has a dignified appearance, being sur- rounded by flourishing plantations. NOTE 34. Oft, too, with unaccustomed ears, A language much unmeet he hears. — Pecke t. Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from which it would seem that the vice of profane swearing, afterwards too general among the Scottish nation, was, at this time, confined to military men. As Douglas, after Bruce’s return to Scotland, was roving about the mountainous country of Tweeddale, near the water of Line, he chanced to hear some persons in a farm- house says, “ the devil.” Concluding, from this hardy expression, that the house con- tained warlike guests, he immediately as- 751 sailed it, and had the good fortune to make prisoners Thomas’ Randolph, afterwards the famous Earl of Murray, and Alexan- der Stuart, Lord Bonkle. Both were then in the English interest, and had come into that country with the purpose of driving out Douglas. They afterwards ranked among Bruce’s most zealous adherents. NOTE 35. Now ask you whence that wondrous light, Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight ! It ne'er was known. — P, 326. The following are the words of an ingen- ious correspondent, to whom I am obliged for much information respecting Turnberry and its neighborhood. “ The only tradition now remembered of the landing of Robert the Bruce in Carrick, relates to the fire seen by him from the Isle of Arran. It is still generally reported, and religiously believed by many, that this fire was really the work of supernatural power, unassisted by the hand of any mortal being; and it is said, that, for several centuries, the flame rose yearly, on the same hour of the same night of the year, on which the king first saw it from the turrets of Brodick Castle; and some go so far as to say, that if the exact time were known, it would be still seen. That this superstitious notion is very an- cient, is evident from the place where the fire is said to have appeared being called the Bogles’ Brae, beyond the remembrance of man. In support of this curious belief, it is said that the practice of burning heath for the improvement of land was then unknown ; that a spunkie (Jack o’lanthorn) could not have been seen across the breadth of the Forth of Clyde, between Ayrshire and Arran ; and that the courier of Bruce was his kins- man, and never suspected of treachery.” — Letter from Mr. Joseph Train, of Newton Stewart. NOTE 36. The Bruce hath won his father’s hall ! — ree aos I have followed the flattering and pleasing tradition, that the Bruce, after his descent upon the coast of Ayrshire, actually gained possession of his maternal castle. But the tradition is not accurate. The fact is, that he was only strong enough to alarm and drive in the outposts of the English garri- son, then commanded, not by Clifford, as assumed in the text, but by Percy. Neither was Clifford slain upon this occasion, though he had several skirmishes with Bruce. He fell afterwards in the battle of Bannock- burn., Bruce, after alarming the castle of 752 Turnberry, and surprising some part of the garrison, who were quartered without the walls of the fortress, retreated into the moun- tainous part of Carrick, and there made him- self so strong, that the English were obliged to evacuate Turnberry, and at length the Castle of Ayr. Many of his benefactions and royal gifts attest his attachment to the hereditary followers of his house, in this part of the country. NOTE 37. When Bruce's banner had victorious flow’d, Over Loudoun’s mountain, and in Ury’s vale. — P. 331. The first important advantage gained by Bruce, after landing at Turnberry, was over Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, the same by whom he had been defeated near Methven. They met, as has been said, by appointment, at Loudonhill, in the west of Scotland. Pembroke sustained a defeat ; and from that time Bruce was at the head of a considerable flying army. Yet he was subse- quently obliged to retreat into Aberdeen- shire, and was there assailed by Comyn, Earl of Buchan, desirous to avenge the death of his relative, the Red Comyn, and supported by a body of English troops under Philip de Mowbray. Bruce was ill at the time of a scrofulous disorder, but took horse to meet his enemies, although obliged to be sup- ported on either side. He was victorious, and it is said that the agitation of his spirits restored his health. NOTE 38. When English blood oft deluged Douglas- dale.— P. 331. The “ good Lord James of Douglas,” dur- ing these commotions, often took from the English his own castle of Douglas ; but being unable to garrison it, contented himself with destroying the fortifications, and retiring into the mountains. As a reward to his patriotism, it is said to have been prophesied, that how often soever Douglas Castle should be destroyed, it should always again rise more magnificent from its ruins. Uponone of these occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing all the store of provisions, which the English had laid up in his castle, to be heaped together, bursting the wine and beer casks among the wheat and flour, slaughter- ing the cattle upon the same spot, and upon the top of the whole cutting the throats of the English prisoners. This pleasantry of the “ good Lord James” is commemorated under the name of the Douglas's Larder. APPENDIX, NOTE 39. And fiery Edward routed stout St. fohn.~ PRs “John de St John, with 15,000 horsemen, had advanced to oppose the inroad of the Scots. By a forced march he endeavored to surprise them, but intelligence of his motions was timeously received. The courage of Edward Bruce, approaching to temerity, frequently enabled him to achieve what men of more judicious valor would never have at- tempted. He ordered the infantry, and the meaner sort of his army, to entrench them- selves in strong narrow ground. He him- self, with fifty horsemen well harnessed, issued forth under cover of a thick mist, sur- prised the English on their march, attacked and dispersed them.””— DALRYMPLE’S An- nals of Scotland, quarto, Edinburgh, 1779, Pp 2ke NOTE 40. When Randolph's war-cry swell’d the south- ern gale.— P. 331. Thomas Randolph, Bruce’s sister’s son, a renowned Scottish chief, was in the early part of his life not more remarkable for con- sistency than Bruce himself. He espoused his uncle’s party when Bruce first assumed the crown, and was made prisoner at the fatal battle of Methven, in which his rela- tive’s hopes appeared to be ruined. Ran- dolph accordingly not only submitted to the English, but took an active part against Bruce ; appeared in arms against him: and in the skirmish where he was so closely pur- sued by the bloodhound, it is said his nephew took his standard with his own hand. But Randolph was afterwards made prisoner by Douglas in Tweeddale, and brought before King Robert. Some harsh language was exchanged between the uncle and nephew, and the latter was committed for a time to close custody. Afterwards, however, they were reconciled, and Randolph was created Earl of Moray about 1312. After this period he eminently distinguished him- self, first by the surprise of Edinburgh Castle, and afterwards by many similar en- terprises, conducted with equal courage and ability. NOTE 4I. Stirling’s towers, Beleaguered by King Robert’s powers ; And they took term of truce, — P. 331. When a long train of success, actively im- proved by Robert Bruce, had made him mas- ter of almost all Scotland, Stirling Castle continued to hold out. The care of the blockade was committed by the king to his soggy RHE LORD: ORSTRHE ISLES. brother Edward, who concluded a treaty with Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor, that he should surrender the fortress, if it were not succored by the King of England before St. John the Baptist’s day. The King se- verely blamed his brother for the impolicy of a treaty, which gave time to the king of Eng- land to advance to the relief of the castle, with all his assembled forces, and obliged himself either to meet them in battle with an inferior force, or to retreat with dishonor. “Tet all England come,” answered the reck- less Edward ; “ we will fight them were they more.” The consequence was, of course, that each kingdom mustered its strength for the expected battle ; and as the space agreed upon reached from Lent to Midsummer, full time was allowed for that purpose. NOTE 42. And Cambria, but of late subdued, Sent forth her mountain multitude. — |i. og Edward the First, with the usual policy of a conqueror, employed the Welsh, whom he had subdued, to assist him in his Scottish wars, for which their habits, as mountaineers, particularly fitted them. But this policy was not without its risks. Previous to the battle of Falkirk, the Welsh quarrelled with the English men-at-arms, and after bloodshed on both parts, separated themselves from his army, and the feud between them, at so dan- gerous and critical a juncture, was reconciled with difficulty. Edward II. followed his father’s example in this particular, and with no better success. They could not be brought to exert themselves in the cause of their conquerors. But they had an indifferent re- ward for their forbearance. Without arms, and clad only in scanty dresses of linen cloth, hey appeared naked in the eyes even of the Scottish peasantry; and after the rout of Bannockburn, were massacred by them in great numbers, as they retired in confusion towards their own country. They were under command of Sir Maurice de Berkeley. NOTE 43. And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude Dark Eth O'Connor sway'd, — P. 332. There is in the Foedera an invitation to Eth O’Connor, chief of the Irish of Con- naught, setting forth that the king was about to move against his Scottish rebels, and therefore requesting the attendance of all the force he could muster, either commanded by himself in person, or by some nobleman of his race. ‘These auxiliaries were to be com- 753 manded by Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. NOTE 44. The monarch rode along the van. — P. 334. The English vanguard, commanded by the Earls of Gloucester and Hereford, came in sight of the Scottish army upon the evening of the 23d of June. Bruce was then riding upon a little palfrey in front of his foremost line, putting his host in order. It was then that the personal encounter took place be- twixt him and Sir Henry de Bohun, a gal- lant English knight, the issue of which had a great effect upon the spirits of both armies. NOTE 45. Responsive from the Scottish host, Pipe-clang and bugle-sound were toss’d. — PL 336) There is an old tradition, that the well- known Scottish tune of “ Hey, tutti, taitti,” was Bruce’s march at the battle of Bannock- burn. The late Mr. Ritson, no granter of propositions, doubts whether the Scots had any martial music, quotes Froissart’s account of each soldier in the host bearing a little horn, on which, at the onset, they would make such a horrible noise, as if all the devils of hell had been among them. He observes, that these horns are the only music mentioned by Barbour, and concludes, that it must remain a moot point whether. Bruce’s army were cheered by the sound even of a solitary bagpipe. — Historical Essay pre jixed to Ritson’s Scottish Songs. — lt may be observed in passing, that the Scottish of this period certainly observed some musical ca- dence, even in winding their horns, since Bruce was at once recognized by his fol- lowers from his mode of blowing. See Note 29, p. 750. But the tradition, true or false, has been the means of securing to Scotland one of the finest lyrics in the language, the celebrated war-song of Burns, — “ Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.” NOTE 46. Sce where yon bare-foot Abbott stands, And blesses them with lifted hands. — P. 330. “ Maurice, abbot of Inchaffray, placing himself on an eminence, celebrated mass in sight of the Scottish army. He then passed along the front bare-footed, and bearing a crucifix in his hands, and exhorting the Scots, in few and forcible words, to combat for their rights and their liberty. The Scots kneeled down. ‘ They yield, cried Edward ; ‘see, they implore mercy.’ —‘ They do,’ an- 754 swered Ingelram de Umfraville, ‘but not ours. On that field they will be victori- ous, or die.’” — Annals of Scotland, vol. ii. Pp. 47- NOTE 47. Forth, Marshal, on the peasant foe ! Well tame the terrors of their bow, And cut the bow-string loose! — baa The English archers commenced the attack with their usual bravery and dexterity. But against a force, whose importance he had learned by fatal experience, Bruce was pro- vided. A small but select body of cavalry were detached from the right, under com- mand of Sir Robert Keith. They rounded, as I conceive, the marsh called Milton bog, and, keeping the firm ground, charged the left flank and rear of the English archers. As the bowmen had no spears nor long wea- pons fit to defend themselves against horse, they were instantly thrown into disorder, and spread through the whole English army a confusion from which they never fairly recovered. Although the success of this manceuvre was evident, it is very remarkable that the Scottish generals do not appear to have profited by the lesson. Almost every subse- quent battle which they lost against Eng- land, was decided by the archers, to whom the close and compact array of the Scottish phalanx afforded an exposed and unresisting mark. The bloody battle of Halidoun-hill, fought scarcely twenty years afterwards, was so completely gained by the archers, that the English are said to have lost only one knight, one esquire, and a few foot-soldiers. At the battle of Neville’s Cross, in 1346, where David II. was defeated and made prisoner, John de Graham, observing the loss which the Scots sustained from the English bowmen, offered to charge and dis- perse them, if a hundred men-at-arms were put under his command. “ But, to confess the truth,” says Fordun, “he could not pro- cure a single horseman for the service pro- posed.” Of such little use is experience in war, where its results are opposed by habit or prejudice. Note 48. Each braggart churl could boast before, Twelve Scottish lives his baldric bore! — P2337. Roger Ascham quotes a similar Scottish proverb, “ whereby they give the whole praise of shooting honestly to Englishmen, saying thus, ‘that every English archer beareth under his girdle twenty-four Scottes.” In- APPENDIX. deed Toxophilus says before, and truly, of the Scottish nation, ‘The Scottes surely be good men of warre in theyre owne feates as can be; but as for shootinge, they can neither use it to any profite, nor yet challenge it for any praise.” — Works of Ascham, edited by Bennet, 4to, p. 110. It is said, I trust incorrectly, by an ancient English historian, that the “good Lord James of Douglas,” dreaded the superiority of the English archers so much, that when he made any of them prisoner, he gave him the option. of losing the forefinger of his right hand, or his right eye, either species of mutilation rendering him incapable to use the bow. I have mislaid the reference to this singular passage. NOTE 49. Down ! down! in headlong overthrow, Horseman and horse, the forentost go. — Eee 3S It is generally alleged by historians, that the English men-at-arms fell into the hidden snare which Bruce had prepared for them. Barbour does not mention the circumstance. According to his account, Randolph, seeing the slaughter made by the cavalry on the right wing among the archers, advanced courageously against the main body of the English, and.entered into close combat with them. Douglas and Stuart, who commanded the Scottish centre, led their division also to the charge, and the battle, becoming general along the whole line, was obstinately main. tained on both sides for a long space of time; the Scottish archers doing great exe: cution among the English men-at-arms, after the bowmen of England were dispersed. NOTE 50. And steeds that shriek in agony.— P3375 I have been told that this line requires an explanatory note; and, indeed, those who witness the silent patience with which horses submit to the most cruel usage, may be pez mitted to doubt, that in moments of sudden and intolerable anguish, they utter a most melancholy cry. Lord Erskine, in a speech made in the House of Lords, upon a bill for enforcing humanity towards animals, noticed this remarkable fact, in language which I will not mutilate by attempting to repeat it. It was my fortune, upon one occasion, to hear a horse, ina moment of agony, utter a thrilling scream, which I still consider the | most melancholy sound I ever heard. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. NoTE 51. Lord of the Isles, my trust in thee Is firm as Ailsa Rock ; Rush on with Highland sword and targe, I with my Carrick spearmen charge. — P. 338. When the engagement between the main bodies had lasted some time, Bruce made a decisive movement by bringing up the Scot- tish reserve. It is traditionally said, that at this crisis, he addressed the Lord of the Isles in a phrase used as a motto_by some of his descendants, “ My trust is constant in thee.” Barbour intimates that the reserve “assem- bled on one field,” that is, on the same line with the Scottish forces already engaged, which leads Lord Hailes to conjecture that the Scottish ranks must have been much thinned by slaughter, since, in that circum- scribed ground there was room for the re- serve to fall into the line. But the advance of the Scottish cavalry must have contributed 755 a good deal to form the vacancy occupied by the reserve. NOTE 52. To arms they flew, — axe, club, or spear, — And mimic ensigns high they rear, — P.3330. The followers of the Scottish camp ob- served, from the Gillies’ Hill in the rear, the impression produced upon the English army by the bringing up of the Scottish reserve, and prompted by the enthusiasm of the mo- ment, or the desire of plunder, assumed, in a tumultuary manner, such arms as they found nearest, fastened sheets to tent-poles and lances, and showed themselves like a new army advancing to battle. The unexpected apparition, of what seemed a new army, completed the confusion which already prevailed among the English, who fled in every direction, and were pursued with immense slaughter. THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. NOTE I. The peasant, at his labor blithe, Plies the hook’'d staff and shorten’d scythe. — P. 343. THE reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand a stick with an iron hook, with which he collects as much grain as he can cut at one sweep with a short scythe, which he holds in his right hand. They carry on this double process with great spirit and dex- terity. NOTE 2. Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine. — P. 345. It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had promised his army, in case of victory, twenty-four hours’ plunder of the city of Brussels. NOTE 3. “On! On!” was still his stern exclaim.— P. 345. The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more fully displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no ad- vice, and allow of no obstacles. An eye-wit- ness has given the following account of his demeanor towards the end of the action : — “It was near seven o’clock; Bonaparte, who till then had remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated with a stern counte- nance the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indignant at these unforeseen difficulties ; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward —to charge with the bayonet —to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed from different points, that the day went against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered ; to which he only replied, — ‘En avant! En avant!’ “ One general sent to inform the Emperor that he was in a position which he could not maintain, because it was commanded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same time, in what way he should protect his division from the murderous fire of the Eng- lish artillery. ‘Let him storm the battery,’ replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aide-de-camp who brought the message.” 756 — Relation de la Bataille de Mont-St.-Jean. Par un Témoin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 8vo, p. 51. NOTE 4. The fate their leader shunn’d to share.— P. 345. It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards, at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, how- ever, is not accurate. Hecame down indeed to a hollow part of the high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely disputed. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them that his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to support the fire of the ar- tillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive l Empereur, which were heard over all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. But the guards were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line. He witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more re- mote, particularly from an observatory which had been placed there by the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the pur- pose of surveying the country.* It is not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that memorable occa- sion, the least deficiency in personal courage ; on the contrary, he evinced the greatest com- posure and presence of mind during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valor‘for recovery of the battle; and it is remarkable, that during the whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington’s personal attendants escaped unhurt. NOTE 5. England shall tell the fight. — P. 345. In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressed,j the Duke called to the men, “ Sol- * The mistakes concerning this observatory have been mutual. The English supposed it was erected for the use of Bonaparte: and a French writer affirms it was constructed by the Duke of Wellington. Tt The 95th. The Duke’s words were, ‘‘ Stand fast, 95th — what will they say in England?” APPENDIX. diers, we must never be beat, — what win they say in England?” It is needless to say how this appeal was answered. NOTE 6. As plies the smith his clanging trade. — P. 346. A private soldier of the gsth regiment compared the sound which took place im- mediately upon the British cavalry mingling with those of the enemy, to “a thousand tinkers at work mending pots and kettles.” NOTE 7. The British shock of levell’d steel. —P. 346. No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The Imperial Guards, in particular, hardly stood till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, “The Guards never yield — they die.” The same author has covered the plateau, or emi- nence, of St. Jean, which formed the British position, with redoubts and retrenchments which never had an existence. As the nar- rative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was prob- ably deceived by the appearance of a road and a ditch which run along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, that the writer mentions the Chateau of Hougomont to have been carried by the French, although it was resolutely and suc- cessfully defended during the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the British (a detachment of the Guards, under the command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by their desper- ate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington’s right flank. Note 8. What bright careers’twas thine to close,— P. 348. Sir Thomas Picton, Sir William Ponsonby, Sir William de Lancy, and numberless gal- lant officers. NOTE 9. Laurels from the hand of Death. —P. 348. Colonel Sir William de Lancey had mar- ried the beautiful Miss Hall, daughter of Sir James Hall, Bart., only two months before the Battle of. Waterloo. a ol GLENFINLAS. NOTE 10. Gallant Miller’s failing eye.— P. 348. Colonel Miller of the Guards, son of Sir William Miller, Lord Glenlee, when lying mortally wounded in the attack on the Bois de Bossu, desired to see once more the colors of his regiment. They were waved about his head, and he died declaring that he was satisfied. NOTE II. And Cameron, in the shock of steel. — P. 348. Colonel Cameron of Fassiefern, fell at 1b Quatre Bras, June 16, 1815, heading a charge of the 92d Highlanders. NOTE 12. And generous Gordon. — P. 348. “Colonel the Honorable Sir Alexander Gordon ”—brother to the Earl of Aberdeen —who fell by the side of the Duke in the heat of the action. NOTE 13. Fair Hougomont. — P. 348. “ Hougomont ” —a chateau with a garden and wood round it. A post of great impor- tance, valiantly held by the Guards during the battle. GLENFINLAS. NOTE I. How blazed Lord Ronald’s beltane-tree. P. 388. THE fires lighted by the Highlanders on the 1st of May, in compliance with the cus- tom derived from the Pagan times, are termed The Beltane-tree. It is a festival celebrated with various superstitious rites, both in the north of Scotland and in Wales. NOTE 2. The seer’s prophetic spirit found. — P. 388. I can only describe the second sight, by adopting Dr. Johnson’s definition, who calls it “ An impression, either by the mind upon the eye, or by the eye upon the mind, by which things distant and future are perceived and seen as if they were present.”” To which I would only add, that the spectral appearances, thus presented, usually presage misfortune ; that the faculty is painful to those who suppose they possess it ; and that they usually acquire it while themselves under the pressure of melancholy. NOTE 3. Will good St. Oran’s rule prevail. — P. 389. St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was buried at Icolmkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate certain demons of the soil, who obstructed the at- tempts of Columba to build a chapel. Co- lumba caused the body of his friend te be dug up, after three days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assist- ants, declared that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state! _He had no time to make further discoveries, for Co- lumba caused the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and the cemetery, was called Relig Ouran ; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was admitted to pay her devotions, or be buried in that place. This is the rule alluded to in the poem. NOTE 4. And thrice St. Fillan’s powerful prayer. — P. 391. St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, etc., in Scotland. He was, according to Camerarius, an Abbot of Pittenween, in Fife; from which situa- tion he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A.D. 649. While en- gaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendor, as to afford light to that with which he wrote ; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The gth of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St. Phileans, or Forgend, in Fife. Les- ley, lib. 7, tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan’s miraculous and luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Bannock- burn, the king’s chaplain, a man of little | faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited it 758 in a place of security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to open and shut suddenly ; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have himself deposited his arm in the shrine as an assurance of victory. Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should assist his own, he dedicated to him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay. In the Scots Magazine for July, 1802, there is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 1487, by which James III. confirms, APPENDIX. to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strath- fillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral staff called the Quegrich, which he and his predecessors are said to have possessed since the days of Robert Bruce. As the Quegrich was used to cure diseases, this document is probably the most ancient patent ever grauted for a quack medicine. The ingenious correspondent, by whom it is furnished, farther observes, that additional particulars, concerning St. Fillan, are to be found in BELLENDEN’S Boece, Book 4, folio ccxiii., and in PENNANT’S Tour in Scotland, 1772, pp. 11, 15. THE: EVE* OF «Sd2 JOHN: NoTE 1. BATTLE OF ANCRAM MOOR.— P. 392. Lorp Evers, and Sir Brian Latoun, dur- ing the year 1544, committed the most dreadful ravages upon the Scottish frontiers, compelling most of the inhabitants, and es- pecially the men of Liddesdale, to take assur- ance under the King of England. Upon the 17th November, in that year, the sum total of their depredations stood thus, in the bloody ledger of Lord Evers :— Towns, towers, barnekynes, paryshe churches, bastill houses, burned and destroyed 192 Scots slain . ; - : : : 403 Prisoners taken . : ° : : 816 Nolt (cattle) . . 10,386 hepe -. : “ A - 12,492 Nags and geldings c 1296 Gayt ; : ; : . 200 Bolls of corn. 850 Insight gear, etc. (furniture), an pacatedbaple quantity. Mouropin’s State Pagers, vol.1., p. 51. For these services Sir Ralph Evers was made a Lord of Parliament. See a strain of exulting congratulation upon his promotion poured forth by some contemporary minstrel, in vol. 1., p. 417, Scottesh Minstrelsy. The King of England had promised to these two barons a feudal grant of the coun- try, which they had thus reduced to a desert ; upon hearing which, Archibald Douglas, the seventh earl of Angus, is said to have sworn to write the deed of investiture upon their skins, wtth sharp pens and bloody ink, in resentment for their having defaced the tombs of his ancestors at Melrose. —GODSCROFT. In 1545, Lord Evers and Latoun again en- tered Scotland, with an army consisting of 3,000 mercenaries, 1,500 English Borderers, and yoo assured Scottish men, chiefly Arm- strongs, Turnbulls, and other broken clans. In this second incursion, the English gener- als even exceeded their former cruelty. Evers burned the tower of Broomhouse, with its lady (a noble and aged woman, says Lesley), and her whole family. The English pene- trated as far as Melrose, which they had destroyed last year, and which they now again pillaged. As they returned towards Jedburgh, they were followed by Angus at the head of 1,000 horse, who was shortly after joined by the famous Norman Lesley, witha body of Fife men, The English being prob- ably unwilling to cross the Teviot while the Scots hung upon their rear, halted upon Ancram Moor, above the village of that name; and the Scottish general was delib- erating whether to advance or retire, when Sir Walter Scott * of Buccleuch came up at * The Editor has found no instance upon rec- ord of this family having taken assurance with England. Hence, they usually suffered dread- fully from the English forays. In August, 1544 (the year preceding the battle), the whole lands belonging to Buccleuch, in West Teviotdale, were harried by Evers; the outworks, or barm- kin, of the Tower of Branxholm burned, eight Scots slain, thirty made prisoners, and an im- mense prey of horses, cattle, and sheep carried off. The lands upon Kale Water, belonging to the same chieftain, were also plundered, and much spoil obtained; thirty Scots slain, and the Moss Tower (a fortress near Eskford) s#zoked very sore. Thus Buccleuch had a long account to settle at Ancram Moor.— Murpin’s State Papers, Pp. 45, 46. THE EVE OF ST. ¥OHN. full speed with a small but chosen body of his retainers, the rest of whom were near at hand. By the advice of this experienced warrior (to whose conduct Pitscottie and Buchanan ascribe the success of the engage- ment), Angus withdrew from the height which he occupied, and drew up his forces behind it, upon a piece of low, flat ground called Pan- ier-heugh or, Paniel-heugh. The spare horses being sent to an eminence in their rear, ap- peared to the English to be the main body of the Scots in the act of flight. Under this persuasion, Evers and Latoun hurried pre- cipitately forward, and having ascended the hill, which their foes had abandoned, were no less dismayed than astonished to find the phalanx of Scottish spearmen drawn up in firm array upon the flat ground below. The Scots, in their turn, became the assailants. A heron, roused from the marshes by the tumult, soared away betwixt the encountering armies. ‘“O!” exclaimed Angus, “that I had here my white goss-hawk, that we might all yoke at once! ”— Gopscrort. ‘The English, breathless and fatigued, having the setting sun and wind full in their faces, were unable to withstand the resolute and des- perate charge of the Scottish lances. No sooner had they begun to waver, than their own allies, the assured Borderers, who had been waiting the event, threw aside their red crosses, and joining their countrymen, made a most merciless slaughter among the English fugitives, the pursuers calling upon each other to “ remember Broomhouse !” — LESLEY, p. 478. In the battle fell Lord Evers, and his son, together with Sir Brian Latoun, and 800 Englishmen, many of whom were persons of rank. A thousand prisoners were taken. Among these was a patriotic alderman of London, Read by name, who, having con- tumaciously refused to pay his portion of a benevolence, demanded from the city by Henry VIII., was sent by royal authority to serve against the Scots. These, at settling his ransom, he found still more exorbitant in their exactions than the monarch. — RED- PATH’S Border History, p. 563. Evers was much regretted by King Henry, who swore to avenge his death upon Angus, against whom he conceived himself to have particular grounds of resentment, on account of favors received by the earl at his hands. The answer of Angus was worthy of a Doug- las, “Is our brother-in-law offended,” * said he, “that I, as a good Scotsman, have avenged my ravaged country, and the de- faced tombs of my ancestors, upon Ralph * Angus had married the widow of James IV., sister to King Henry VIII. 1 759 Evers? They were better men than he, and Iwas bound to dono less. And will he take my life for that? Little knows King Henry the skirts of Kirnetablet I can keep my- self there against all his English host.” — GODSCROFT. Such was the noted battle of Ancram Moor. The spot on which it was fought is called Lilyard’s Edge, from an Amazonian Scottish woman of that name, who is re ported, by tradition, to have distinguished herself in the same manner as Squire Wither- ington. { The old people point out her monument, now broken and defaced. The inscription is said to have been legible with in this century, and to have run thus :— “Fair maiden Lylliard lies under this stane, Little was her stature, but great was her fame. Upon the English louns she laid mony thumps, And, when her legs were cutted off, she fought upon her stumps.’”’ Vide Account of the Parish of Melrose. It appears, from a passage in Stowe, that an ancestor of Lord Evers held also a grant of Scottish lands from an English monarch. ‘“‘] have seen,” says the historian, “ under the broad-seale of the said King Edward l., a manor called Ketnes, in the county of For- fare, in Scotland, and neere the furthest part of the same nation northward, given to John Ure and his heires, ancestor to the Lord Ure that now is, for his service done in these partes, with market, etc., dated at Lanercost, the 2oth day of October, anno regis 34.” STowE’s Annals, p. 210. This grant, like that of Henry, must have been dangerous to the receiver. NOTE 2. A covering on her wrist.— P. 395. There is an old and well-known Irish tra- dition that the bodies of certain spirits and devils are scorchingly hot, so that they leave upon anything they touch an impress as if of red-hot iron. It is related of one of Me- lancthon’s relations, that a devil seized hold of her hand, which bore the mark of a burn to her dying day. The incident in the poem is of a similar nature—the ghost’s hands “ scorch’d like a fiery brand,” leaving a burn- ing impress on the table and the lady’s wrist. Another class of fiends are reported to be icy cold, and to freeze the skin of any one with whom they come in contact. NOTE 3. That nun who neéer beholds the day.—P. 395. The circumstances of the nun, “ who never + Kirnetable, now called Cairntable, is a mountainous tract at the head of Douglasdale. t See Chevy Chase. 760 saw the day,” is not entirely imaginary. About fifty years ago, an unfortunate female wanderer took up her residence in a dark vault, among the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, which, during the day, she never quitted. When night fell, she issued from this mis- erable habitation, and went to the house of Mr. Haliburton of Newmains, the Editor’s great-grandfather, or to that of Mr. Erskine of Sheilfield, two gentlemen of the neighbor- hood. From their charity she obtained such necessaries as she could be prevailed upon to accept. At twelve, each night, she lighted her candle, and returned to her vault, assur- ing her friendly neighbors, that, during her absence, her habitation was arranged by a spirit, to whom she gave the uncouth name of at lips ; describing him as a little man, wearing heavy iron shoes, with which he trampled the clay floor of the vault, to dis- CADYOW NOTE I. sound the pryse! — P. 397. Pryse. — The note blown at the death of the game. — J Caledonia olim frequens erat sylvestris quidam bos, nunc vero rarior, gut, colore candidissimo, jubam densam et demis- sam, instar leonis gestat, truculentus ac ferus ab humano genere abhorrens, ut guecungue homines vel manibus contrectarint, vel halitu perflaverint, ab iis multos post dies omnino abstinuerunt.. Ad hoc tanta audacia huic bovi indita erat, ut non solum irritatus egui- tes furenter prosterneret, sed ne tantillum lacessitus omnes promiscue homines corni- bus ac ungulis peteret ; ac canum, gui apud mos ferocissimi sunt, impetus plane con- temneret. Ejus carnes cartilaginose, sed saporis suavissimi. LErat is olim per illam vastissimam Caledonia syluam frequens, sed humana ingluvie jam assumptus tribus tan- tum locts est religuus, Strivilingii, Cumber- naldie, et Kincarnie. —LESLEUS Scotize Descriptio, p. 13. NOTE 2. Stern Claud replied. — P.308. Lord Claud Hamilton, second son of the Duke of Chatelherault, and commendator of the Abbey of Paisley, acted a distinguished part during the troubles of Queen Mary’s reign, and remained unalterably attached APPENDIX. pel the damps. This circumstance caused her to be regarded, by the well-informed, with compassion, as deranged in her understand- ing ; and, by the vulgar, with some degree of terror. The cause of her adopting this extraordinary mode of life she would never explain. It was, however, believed to have been occasioned by a vow, that, during the absence of a man to whom she was attached, she would never look upon the sun. Her lover never returned. He fell during the civil war of 1745-6, and she never more would behold the light of day. The vault, or rather dungeon, in which this unfortunate woman lived and died, passes still by the name of the supernatural being, with which its gloom was tenanted by her disturbed imagination, and few of the neighboring peasants dare enter it by night. — Note of 1803. CASTLE: He led the van of her army at the fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the com- manders at the Raid of Stirling, which had so nearly given complete success to the Queen’s faction. He was ancestor of the present Marquis of Abercorn. NOTE 3. Woodhouselee. —P. 308. This barony, stretching along the banks of the Esk, near Auchendinny, belonged to Bothwellhaugh, in right of his wife. The ruins of the mansion, from which she was expelled in the brutal manner which occa- sioned her death, are still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular re- port tenants them with the restless ghost of the Lady Bothwellhaugh ; whom, however, it confounds with Lady Anne Bothwell, whose Lament is so popular. This spectre is so tenacious of her rights, that, a part of the stones of the ancient edifice having been employed in building or repairing the pres- ent Woodhouselee, she has deemed it a part of her privilege to haunt that house also ; and, even of very late years, has excited considerable disturbance and terror among the domestics. This is a more remarkable vindication of the rights of ghosts as the present Woodhouselee, which gives his title | to the Honorable Alexander Fraser Tytler, to the cause of that unfortunate princess | a senator of the College of Justice, is situated CADYOW on the slope of the Pentland hills, distant at least four miles from her proper abode. She always appears in white, and with her child in her arms. NOTE 4. Drives to the leap his jaded steed. —P. 398. Birrel informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely pursued, “after that spur and wand had failed him, he drew forth his dag- ger, and strocke his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap a very brode stanke [i-e., ditch], by whilk means he escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the horses.” — BiRREL’s Diary, p. 18. NOTE 5. From the wild Border’s humbled side. — Ro Ros. Murray’s death took place shortly after an expedition to the Borders ; which is thus commemorated by the author of the Elegy :— “So having stablischt all things in this sort, ToLiddisdaill again he did resort, Throw Ewisdail, Eskdail, and all the daills rode he, And also lay three nights in Cannabie, Whair na prince lay thir hundred jyeiris before, Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir sa sair; And, that they suld na mair thair thift allege, Threescore and twelf he brocht of thame in pledge, Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordour; Then mycht the rasch-bus keep ky on the Border.”’ Scottish Poems, 16th century, p. 232+ NoTE 6. With hackbut bent. —P. 398. Hackbuck bent— Gun cock’d. The car- bine, with which the Regent was shot, is pre- served at Hamilton Palace. It is a brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, ap- pears to have been rifled or indented in the barrel. It had a matchlock, for which a modern firelock has been injudiciously sub- stituted. NOTE 7. The wild Macfarlane’s plaided clan. — P, 398. This clan of Lennox Highlanders were at- -tached to the Regent Murray. Holinshed, speaking of the battle of Langside, says, “ In this batyle the vallancie of an Heiland gen- tleman, named Macfarlane, stood the Re- gent’s part in great steede; for, in the hottest brunte of the fighte, he came up with two hundred of his friendes and countrymen, and so manfully gave in upon the flankes of the CASTLE. 761 Queen’s people, that he was a great cause of the disordering of them. This Macfarlane had been lately before, as I have heard, con- demned to die, for some outrage by him committed, and obtayning pardon through suyte of the Countess of Murray, he recom- pensed that clemencie by this piece of ser- vice now at this batayle.” Calderwood’s ac- count is less favorable to the Macfarlanes. He states that “ Macfarlane, with his High- landmen, fled from the wing where they were set. The Lord Lindsay, who stood nearest to them in the Regent’s battle, said, ‘ Let them go! I shall fill their place better ;’ and so, stepping forward, with a company of fresh men, charged the enemy, whose spears were now spent, with long weapons, so that they were driven back by force, being before almost overthrown by the avaunt-guard and harquebusiers, and so were turned to flight.” —CALDERWOOD’s MS. afud KEITH, p. 480. Melville mentions the flight of the van- guard, but states it to have been commanded by Morton, and composed chiefly of com- moners of the barony of Renfrew. Note 8. Glencairn and stout Parkhead were nigh. — P. 398. The Earl of Glencairn was a steady ad- herent of the Regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl of Morton, whose horse was killed by the same ball by which Murray fell. NOTE 9. haggard Lindesay’s iron eye, That saw fair Mary weep in vain. — P. 398. Lord Lindsay of the Byres was the most ferocious and brutal of the Regent’s faction, and, as such, was employed to extort Mary’s signature to the deed of resignation pre- sented to her in Lochleven castle. He dis- charged his commission with the most savage rigor ; and it is even said, that when the weeping captive, in the act of signing, averted her eyes from the fatal deed, he pinched her arm with the grasp of his iron glove. NOTE Io. So close the minions crowded nigh. — P.399. Not only had the Regent notice of the in- tended attempt upon his life, but even of the very house from which it was threatened. With that infatuation at which men wonder, after such events have happened, he deemed it would be a sufficient precaution to ride briskly past the dangerous spot. But even this was prevented by the crowd; so that Bothwellhaugh had time to take deliberate aim.—SPOTTISWOODE, p. 233. BUCHANAN. 762 APPENDIX. THE GRAY BROTHER. NOTE I. By blast of bugle free.—P. 401. THE barony of Pennycuik, the property of Sir George Clerk, Bart., is held by a sin- gular tenure ; the proprietor being bound to sit upon a large rocky fragment called the Buckstane, and wind three blasts of a horn, when the King shall come to hunt on the Borough Muir, near Edinburgh. Hence the family have adopted as their crest a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the motto, ree for a Blast, The beautiful mansion-house of Pennycuik is much ad- mired, both on account of the architecture and surrounding scenery. NOTE 2. To Auchendinny’s hazel shade.— P. 401. Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske be- low Pennycuik, the present residence of the ingenious H. Mackenzie, Esq., author of the Man of Feeling, etc. Edition 1803. NOTE 3. Melville's beechy grove.— P. 401. Melville Castle, the seat of the Right | Honorable Lord Melville, to whom it gives the title of Viscount, is delightfully situated upon the Eske, near Lasswade. NOTE 4. Roslin’s rocky glen.—P. 4ot. The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic chapel, which is still in beau- tiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell in which they are situated, belong to the Right Honorable the Earl of Rosslyn, NoTE: P. 459. Sir Walter Scott, while engaged in writing “ Woodstock,” noted in his journal, under date of March 24, 1826, that John Ballan- tyne was “clamorous for a motto.” He adds: “It is foolish to encourage people to expect mottoes and such like decoraments. You have no success in finding them, and there is a disgrace in wanting them. It is like being in the habit of showing feats of strength, which you at length gain praise by accomplishing, while some shame occurs in failure,” the representative of the former Lords of Roslin. NOTE 5. Datkeith, which all the Virtues love. — P. 401. The village and Castle of Dalkeith be- longed of old to the famous Earl of Morton, but is now the residence of the noble family of Buccleuch. The park extends along the Eske, which is there joined by its sister stream of the same name, NOTE 6. Classic Hawthornden. — 401. Hawthornden, the residence of the poet Drummond. A house of more modern date is enclosed, as it were, by the ruins of the ancient castle, and overhangs a tremendous precipice upon the banks of the Eske, per- forated by winding caves, which in former times were a refuge to the oppressed patriots of Scotland. Here Drummond received Ben Jonson, who journeyed from London on foot in order to visit him. The beauty of this striking scene has been much injured of late years by the indiscriminate use of the axe. The traveller now looks in vain for the leafy bower, “Where Jonson sat in Drummond’s social shade.”’ Upon the whole, tracing the Eske from its source till it joins the sea at Mussel- burgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succession of the most beautiful scenery — 1803. ... The beautifulscenery of Hawthornden has, since the above note was written, recovered all its former orna- ment of wood— 1833. It was while correcting the proof-sheets & “ The Antiquary,” that he was first led to adorn the chapters of his works with original verse. Lockhart thus described the occasion of it :— ‘“On one occasion he happened to ask John Ballantyne, who was sitting by him, to hunt for a particular passage in Beaumont and Fletcher. John did as he was bid, but did. not succeed in discovering the lines. ‘ Hang it, Johnnie!’ cried Scott, ‘I believe I can make a motto sooner than you will find one.’ He did so accordingly, and from tha4 APPENDIX. 763 hour, whenever memory failed to suggest an appropriate epigraph, he had recourse to the inexhaustible mines of ‘Old Play’ or ‘Old Ballad,’ to which we owe some of the most exquisite verses that ever flowed from his pen.” “ Bach blank in faithless memory void The poet’s glowing thought supplied.” When, in 1822, Constable was compiling a volume of the poetry contained in Scott’s Novels, Tales, and Romances the author wrote him :— “It is odd to say, but nevertheless quite certain, that I do not know whether some of the things are original or not, and I wish you would devise some way of stating this in the title.” Constable finally adopted an explanatory note or advertisement written by Scott him- self, which ran : — ** We believe by far the greater part of the poetry interspersed through these novels to be original compositions by the author. At the same time, the reader will find passages which are quoted from other authors, and very probably detect more of these than our nore limited reading has enabled us te ascertain. Indeed, it is our opinion that some of the following poetry is neither en- tirely original nor altogether borrowed; but consists, in some instances, of passages from other writers, which the author has not hesi- tated to alter considerably, or to adapt the quotation more explicitly and aptly to the matter in hand.” A glimpse of Scott in the very act of fur- nishing one of these extemporized mottoes is given in Lockhart’s Life. It was one day in December, 1831, while visiting Mr. Cadell in Edinburgh, and saddening his friends by his strange apathy and unwonted silence, the effects of his malady, Ballantyne re- minded him that a motto was wanted for one of the chapters of “ Count Robert of Paris.” ‘He looked out for a moment at the gloomy weather,” says Lockhart, and penned the lines beginning, “The storm increases, ’tis no sunny shower,” which he entitled, “‘ The Deluge.” (See p. 536). Many of Scott’s quotations have been lo- cated, and those that are undoubtedly the work of another author are omitted from this edition. Whenever there is room for doubt, quotations are inserted. | INDEX OF FIRST LINES. A cat of yore (or else oid sop lied), 472. Admire not that I gain’d the prize, 580. Ah! county Guy, the hour is nigh, 515. A grain of dust, 526. A Hawick gill of mountain dew, 506. Ah, poor Louise! the livelong day, 531. Alas! Alas! 485. Allen-a-Dale has no fagot for burning, 227. Allis prepared — the chambers of the mine, 537. All joy was bereft me the day that you left me, 430. All your ancient customs, 503- Amid these aisles, where once his precepts show’d, 433. A mightier wizard far than I, 485. A mirthful man he was — the snows of age, 534. And be he safe restored ere evening set, 472. And did you not hear of a mirth befell, 444. And long ere dinner-time I have, 529. And ne’er but once, my son, he says, 539. And some for safety took the dreadful leap, 515. And so ’twill be when I am gone, 529. And what tho’ winter will pinch severe, 46r. And when Love’s torch hath set the heart in flame, 491. ‘And whither would you lead me then?” 244. And you shall deal the funeral dole, 499. An hour with thee! — When earliest day, 527. Anna-Marie, love, up is the sun, 480. Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 482. A priest, ye cry, a priest! Lame shepherds they, 88 Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, 482. Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed, 475. Ask thy heart, whose secret cell, 485. As lords their laborers’ hire delay, 519. Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, 512. As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet’s sound, 468. As, to the Autumn breeze’s bugle-sound, 476. A tale of sorrow, for your eyes may weep, 538. At school I knew him —a sharp-witted youth, 489. Ave Maria! Maiden mild! 150. ‘A weary lot is thine, fair maid,’’ 226. A weary month has wander’d o’er, 449. Ay! and I taught thee the word and the spell, 484. Ay ! mark the matron well; and laugh not, Harry, 509- Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft in’t, 509. Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of bays, 535. ‘‘Br brave,” she cried, ‘‘you yet may be our guest, 459. “Behold the Tiber!’ the vain Roman cried, 531- Be patient, be patient ; for Patience hath power, Ol. Between the foaming jaws of the white torrent, 537: Bilboe’s the word, 511. Bingo, why, Bingo! hey, boy,~~- here, sir, here, Oo L(y Birds of omen dark and foul, 477. Bold knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, 411. Bring the bow] which you boast, 527- But follow, follow me, 448. By pathless march, by greenwood tree, 527. By spigot and barrel, 508. By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle! Bit. By ties mysterious link’d, our fated race, 486. CaN she not speak? 514. Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, 475. Champion, famed for warlike toil, 500. * Chance will not do the work. — Chance sends the breeze, 511. Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still, 485. Cockledemoy ! 606. Come forth, old man — Thy daughter’s side, 528. Come hither, young one — Mark me! ‘Thou art now, 510. Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it, 517. ; Complain not of me, child of clay, 486. Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus, 511. Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass, 538+ Darina youth! for thee it is well, 485. Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still, 523. Dark and eerie was the night, 475. “ Dear John —I some time ago wrote to inform his,” 519. Death finds us mid our playthings — snatches us, Sil. Deeds are done on earth, 528. “Devorgoil, thy bright moon waneth,” 602. Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the moment is nigh, 427. Dire was his thought who first in poison steep’d, Afiv sha Donald Caird can lilt and sing, 473. Dust unto dust, 481. ; Dwellers of the mountain, rise, 496. Emstem of England’s ancient faith, 447. Enchantress, farewell, who so oft hast decoy’d me, 505. 765 766 Farr is the damsel, passing fair, 531. : False love, and hast thou play’d me this, 44s. Far as the eye could reach no tree was seen, 471. Fare thee well, thou Holly green! 487. Farewell! farewell! the voice you hear, 499. Farewell, merry maidens, to song and to laugh, 8. Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl of. the North, 448. : Farewell to Northmaven, 495. Farewell to the land where the clouds love to rest, 472. Far in the bosom of the deep, 441. Father never started hair, 608. Fathoms deep beneath the wave, 495. For all our men were very very merry, 519. For leagues along the watery way, 496. “For O my sweet William was forester true,’’ 157. For the Colne, 533. Fortune, you say, flies from us — She but circles, 401. Frederick leaves the land of France, 414. From heavy dreams fair Helen rose, 403. From Ross, where the clouds on Benlomond are sleeping, 470. From the brown crest of Newark its summons extending, 453. From the touch of the tip, 508. ““From thy Pomeranian throne,’’ 360. Full in the midst a mighty pile arose, 515. Gaze not upon the stars, fond sage, 477. Gentle sir, 523. Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, 401. Give me the joy that sickens not the heart, 535. Give us good voyage, gentle stream—we stun not, 511. Give way —give way—I must and will have justice, 510. Glowing with love, on fire for fame, 452. God protect brave Alexander, 458. Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee, 474. Good evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you ride, 483. Go sit old Cheviot’s crest below, 542. Hatt to the Chief who in triumph advances, 137. Hail to thy cold and clouded beam, 211. Hark! the bells summon, and the bugle calls, 493. Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, 504. “‘ Hawk and osprey screamed for joy,” 362. Health to the chieftain from his clansman true, 441. Hear what Highland Nora said, 457. Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its billet, 538. Heighho, I can’t say no, 529. He is gone on the mountain, 146. He mounted himself on a coal black steed, 491. Here come we to our close —for that which fol- lows, 518. Here, hand me down the statute — read the arti- cles, 516. Here lies the volume thou boldly hast sought, 485. Here’s a weapon now, 535. Here’s neither want of appetite nor mouths, 513. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Here is a father now, 476. : Here stands the victim;—there the proud be- trayer, 493. Here we have one head, 528. Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, 536. He strikes no coin, ’tis true, but coins new phrases, 489. He walk’d and wrought, poor soul! What then. 530- He was a fellow in a peasant’s garb, 514. He was a man, 492. He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, 516. Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, 474. Hie away, hie away, 445. High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 478. High feasting was there there — the gilded roofs, 515. High o’er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, 493. His talk was of another world —his bodements, 538. Hither we come, 622. | Hold fast thy truth, young soldier. Gentle maiden, 517. However, Madame Caradori, 535. How fares the man on whom good men would look, 512. “‘Hurra, hurra! our watch is done!’’ 282. I am as free as Nature first made man, 516. I asked of my harp, ‘‘Who hath injured thy chords,’ 522. I climb’d the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, 426. I fear the devil worst when gown and cassock, 515. . I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse, 482. I glance like the wildfire thro’ country and town, 474. I grow vaporish and odd, 530. : I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, 459- “Til fares the bark with tackle riven,” 364. I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, 478. I’ll walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with caution, 489. I loll in my chair, 529. I’m Madge of the country, I’m Madge of the town, 475. *m not a King nor nae sic thing, 529. In awful ruins A¢tna thunders nigh, 424. Indifferent, but indifferent —pshaw! he doth it not, 489. In Madoc’s tent the clarion sounds, 522. _In respect that your Grace has commission’d a Kraken, 443. ‘ In some breasts passion lies conceal’d and silent, 491. In the bonny cells of Bedlam, 475. In the wide pile, by others heeded not, 471. In the wild storm, 490. In yon lone vale his early youth was bred, 488. I see thee yet, fair France —thou favor’d land, 516. I strive like the vessel in the tide-way, 504. It chanced that Cupid on a season, 453. It comes —it wrings me in my parting hour, 517. It is and is not —’tis the thing I sought for, 491. It is not texts will do it. Church artillery, 490. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. It is the bonny butcher lad, 474. It sticks like a pistol half out of its holster, 535. It’s useless to murmur and pout, 529. It was a little naughty page, 542. - It was an English ladye bright, 42. It was a ship, and a ship of fame, 502. It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, 452. I was a wild and wayward boy, 241. I was one, 534. Joy to the victors! the sons of old Aspen, 663. KNEEL with me —swear it —’tis not in words I trust, 490. Lapigs and knights, and arms, and love’s fair flame, 471. Land of the Gael, thy glory has flown! 533. Late, when the Autumn evening fell, 444. Let the proud salmon gorge the feathered hook, 510. Let those go see who will —I like it not, 461. Life ebbs from such old age, unmark’d and silent, 460. Life hath its May; and all is mirthful then, 490. Life, with you, 460. Lochornie and Lochornie moss, 535. Look not thou on beauty’s charming, 476. Look on my girdle — on this thread of gold, 486. Look round thee, young Astolpho: Here’s the place, 471. Lord William was born in gilded bower, 357. Loud o’er my head though awful thunders roll, 424. Loughrea is a blackguard place, 529. Love wakes and weeps, 499. Macteop’s wizard flag from the gray castle sallies, 473. Maiden, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, 486. March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, 487. Many a fathom dark and deep, 484. Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood, 5r2. Measurers of good and evil, 533. Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, 482. Merry it is in the good greenwood, 154. Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her hand, 526. Mortal warp and mortal woof, 485. Mother darksome, Mother dread, 497. Must we then sheathe our still victorious sword, 526. My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard, 475. My dog and I we have a trick, 532. My hawk is tired of perch and hood, 177. My hounds may a’ rin masterless, 462. My tongue pads slowly under this new language, 528. My wayward fate I needs must plain, 433. Nay, dally not with time, the wise man’s treas- ure, 488. Nay, hear me, brother — I am elder, wiser, 490. Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her, 461. Nay, [’il hold touch: —the game shall be played out, 492. Nay, jet me have the friends who eat my victuals, 488. 767 Nay, smile not, Lady, when I speak of witch craft, 567. Nearest of blood should still be next in love, 517. Necessity — thou best of peacemakers, 514. Night and morning were at meeting, 450. No after friendships e’er can raise, 535. No human quality is so well wove, 516. November’s hail-cloud drifts away, 477. ““ Not faster yonder rowers’ might,” 133. Not serve two masters?— Here’s a youth will try it, 492. ‘ No, sir, —I will not pledge ;— I’m one of these, 514. Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, 522. Now bid the steeple rock—she comes, shie comes! 493. Now, Billy Bewick, keep good heart, 476. Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, ’tis hard reckoning, 489. Now change the scene and let the trumpets sound, 526. : Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honor, 489. Now have you reft me from my staff, my guide, 491- Now, hoist the anchor, mates, and let the sails, mas Now let us sit in conclave. 488. Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, 490. Now Scot and English are agreed, 509. That these weeds, O ay! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mis- chief, 488. O Bessy Bell and Mary Gray, so2. O, Brignall’s banks are wild and fair, 223. O, dread was the time, and more dreadful the omen, 440. Of all the birds on bush or tree, 492. O for a glance of that gay Muse’s eye, 462. O for the voice of that wild horn, 470. Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good, 520. Oh fear not, fear not, good Lord John, 523. O hone a rie’! O hone a rie’! 388. O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight, 454. Oh you would be a vestal maid, I warrant, 517- O, I do know him, ’tis the mouldy lemon, 509. O, I’m come to the Low Country, 530. O, Lady, twine no wreath for me, 239. O Land of Cakes! said the Northern bard, 529. O listen, listen, ladies gay! 44. O lovers’ eyes are sharp to see, 430. O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 429. O, ata of Isla, from the cliff, 505. Once again, — but how changed since my wan- d’rings began, 455. On Ettrick Forest’s mountains dun, 504. On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere yon boune ye to rest; 445. On ey eahe lies the land, boys, 518. ““O open the door, some pity to show,” 429. O, sadly shines the morning sun, 522. O, say not, my love, with that mortified air, 437. O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, 474. O tell me, Harper, wherefore flow, 438. Our counsels waver like the unsteady bark, 517. Our vicar still preaches that Peter and Poule, 171 Our work is over — over now, 475. ¥68 Over the mountains, and under the waves, 504. O, who rides by night thro’ the woodland so wild? 423. O, will ye hear a myrthful bourd? 542. O, will you hear a knightly tale of old Bohemian day? 418. O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, 96. Painters show Cupid blind —Hath Hymen eyes? 516. Parental love, my friend, has power o’er wisdom, 504. “ Patience waits the destined day,” 280. Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, 456. Plain, as her native dignity of mind, 476. Poor sinners whom the snake deceives, 502. Proud Maisie is in the wood, 475. ‘‘QuaAKE to your foundations deep,”’ 286. Rasu adventurer, bear thee back! 282. Rash thy deed, 485. Red glows the forge in Striguil’s bounds, 428. Remorse — she ne’er forsakes us, 460. Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your captive, 516. Ring out the merry bell, the bride approaches, Roos Robin Rover, 502. Rove not from pole to pole; the man lives here, 511. St. Macnus control thee, that martyr of treason, 499. Say not my art is fraud—all live by seeming, 482. See the treasures Merlin piled, 283. See yonder woman, whom our swains revere, 503. She comes! She comes! in all the charms of youth, 537. : She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean, 503° ‘She may be fair,’”’ he sang, ‘‘ but yet,’’ 364. She who sits by haunted well, sox. Since here we are set in array round the table, 431. Soft spread the southern summer night, 450. So good bye, Mrs. Brown, 529. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o’er, 131. Soldier, wake — the day is peeping, 521. Some better bard shall sing in feudal state, 515. Son of a witch, 528. “Son of Honor, theme of story,”’ 285. So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart, 448. So there ends the tale, 535. Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife! 462. So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, 460. ** Speak not of niceness when there’s chance of wreck,”’ 515. Staffa, sprung from high Macdonald, 440. Stern eagle of the far north-west, 494. Stern was the law which bade its votaries leave, 482. Still in his dead hand clench’d remain the strings, 460. Strange ape of man! who loathes thee while he scorns thee, 537: “Summer eve is gone and past,’’ 238. INDEX OF FIRST LINES. Sweet shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, 664. Bee TAakE these flowers which, purple waving, 425. Take thou no scorn, 487. Tell me not of it, friend — when the young weep, 459- Tell me not of it ——I could ne’er abide, 534. That day of wrath, that dreadful day, 47. That’s right, friend—drive the gaitlings back, 518. The Baron of Smaylho’me rose with day, 392. The course of human life is changeful still, 514. The deadliest snakes are those which twined ’mongst flowers, 528. The Druid Urien had daughters seven, 369. The elfin knight sate on the brae, 474. The forest of Glenmore is drear, 426. The Gordon then his bugle blew, 514. The heath this night must be my bed, 148. The hearth in hall was black and dead, 476. The herring loves the merry moon-light, 458. The hottest horse will oft be cool, 48r. The hour is nigh: now hearts beat high, 53r. The king call’d down his merry men all, 523. The knight’s to the mountain, 445. The last of our steers on our board has been spread, 536. The Lord Abbot had a soul, 459. The monk must arise when the matins ring, 476. The moon’s on the lake, and the mist’s on the brae, 457. Thé news has flown frae mouth to mouth, 505. Then in my gown of sober gray, 489. Then she stretch’d out her lily hand, 475. The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, 537. The Pope he was saying the high, high mass, 400. There are times, 531. There came three merry men from south, west, and north, 481. There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, 446. There must be gove:2ment in all society, 517. There’s a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood, 474- There’s something in that ancient superstition, 488. There was shaking of hands, and sorrow of heart, 503- The sacred tapers’ lights are gone, 490. These be the adept’s doctrines — every element, 534- These were wild times—the antipodes of ours, 537: The sky is clouded, Gaspard, 491. The sound of Rokeby’s woods I hear, 243. The storm increases — ’tis no sunny shower, 536. The sun is rising dimly red, 495. The sun upon the lake is low, 574. The sun upon the Weirdlaw hill, 468. The tears I shed must ever fall! 527. ‘“The toils are pitch’d, and the stakes are set,” 158. The violet in her green-wood bower, 425. The way is long, my children, long and rough, 538. The Wildgrave winds his bugle horn, 408. The wind blew keen frae north and east, 503. The wisest sovereigns err like private men, 493+ INDEX OF FIRST LINES. They saw that city welcoming the Rhine, 534. Things needful we have thought on; but the - thing, 509. This is a gentle trader, and a prudent, 503. This is a lecturer so skill’d in policy, 516. This is a love-meeting ? See the maiden mourns, 514. This is He, 492. f : This is no pilgrim’s morning — yon gray mist, 502. This is rare news thou tell’st me, my good fellow, 493- This fe some creature of the elements, 514. This is the Prince of Leeches; fever, plague, 26. This is the time — heaven’s maiden-sentinel, 51r. This is the very barnyard, 510. This, Sir, is one among the Seignory, 509. This superb successor, 536. This way lies safety and a sure retreat, 512. Thou hast each secret of the household, Francis, 490. This is the day when the fairy kind, 485. Those evening clouds, that setting ray, 424. Though right be aft put down by strength, 439. Thou, so needful, yet so dread, 500. Thou, that over billows dark, sor. Thou who seek’st my fountain lone, 487. Thrice to the holly brake, 484. Thro’ the kirkyard, 474. Thy craven fear my truth accused, 484. Thy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, 46r. Thy time is not yet out —the devil thou servest, 517. Tis a challenge, Sir, is it not? 514. *Tis a weary life this, 49r. Tis not alone the scene — the man, Anselmo, 502. ’Tis not her sense —for sure, in that, 526. "Tis strange that, in the dark sulphureous mine, 537° Tis the black ban-dog of our jail. Pray look on him, 515. ’Tis when the wound is stiffening with the cold, 489. Tis ewer to hear expiring Summer’s sigh, 433. Toll, toll the bell, 535. Too much rest is rust, 522. To horse! to horse! the standard flies, 425. To the Lords of Convention ’twas’ Claver’se who spoke, 600. To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale, 535. True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank, 382. Trust me, each state must have its policies, 482. ’Twas All-souls’ eve, and Surrey’s heart beat gh, 43. ’Twas a Maréchal of France, and he fain would honor gain, 437. ’T was near the fair city of Benevent, 524. ’T was time and griefs, 46r. *T was when among our linden-trees, 416. ’Twas when fleet Snowball’s head was woxen gray, 510. Twist ye, twine ye! even so, 454. Up in the air, 474. Uprose the sun o’er moor and mead, 530. VAIN man, thou may’st esteem thy love as fair, 7: Viewless [’ssence, thin and bare, 532. W AKEN, lords and ladies gay, 431. Want you a man, 535. : Wasted, weary, wherefore stay, 454. We are not worse at once—the course of evil, 512. We do that in our zeal, 528. We know not when we sleep nor when we wake, Welcome, grave Stranger, to our green retreats, We'll keep our customs;—what is law itself, Well. then, our course is chosen; spread the sail, Well, well, at worst ’tis neither theft nor coinage, 460. We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum’s rattle, 577. We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, 514. We meet as shadows in the land of dreams, 517- Were ever two such loving friends! 530. Were every hair upon his head a life, 526. Wert thou like me in life’s low vale, 478. What brave chief shall head the forces, 523. What did ye wi’ the bridal ring — bridal ring — bridal ring ? 474. What ho, my jovial mates! come on! we'll frolic it, 503. What makes the troopers’ frozen courage muster, 672. What, man, ne’er lack a draught, when the full can, 493- What sheeted ghost. is wandering through the storm? 518, What stir, what turmoil have we for the nones? 492. Wheel the wild dance, 45r. When beauty leads the lion in her toils, 526. ““Whence the brooch of burning gold,”’ 299. When fruitful Clydesdale’s apple bowers, 539. When I hae a saxpence under my thumb, 490. When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 480. When princely Hamilton’s abode, 396. When Princes meet, astrologers may mark it, 517. When seven years more were come and gone, 385. When seven years were come and gane, 384. When the gledd’s in the blue cloud, 474. When the heathen trumpet’s clang, 468. When the lone pilgrim views afar, 469. When the tempest’s at the loudest, 587. When with Poetry dealing, 521. Wherefore come ye not to court? 50 Where is he? Has the deep earth swailowed him? 538. Where shall the lover rest, 75. Whet the bright steel, 479. While the dawn on the mountain was misty and gray, 242. Who is he? — One that for the lack of land, 459. Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the forelock, 477: “Why sit’st thou by that ruin’d hall,” 458. Why, then, we will have bellowing: of beeves, ee HY Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?”’ 455. Will you hear of a Spanish Lady, 538. Within that awful volume lies, 484. Within the bounds of Annandale, 53r. Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous, 537- Ee vanquish’d!”’ was stern Brenno’s F2. ith, and woman’s trust, 521. YEs, it is she whose eyes looked on thy child- hood, 491. Yes! I love Justice well—as well as you do, 460. Yes, life hath left him —every busy thought, 489. Yes, thou mayst sigh, 532. Yon patch of greensward, 528, INDEX OF FIRST LINES You call it an ill angel —it may be so, 489. You call this education, do you not? 488. Young men will love thee more fair and more fast, 445. Your suppliant, by name, 508. Youth of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me? 484. You shall have no worse prison than my cham- ber, 514. You talk of Gayety and Innocence, 526. Youth! thou wear’st to manhood now, 490. 9a awe ole ly i eS A A A I lik ta ltt Bisel im TN Be Si OL OE A a a he tt my ies: iy Pm ij j 4 ("s 7 Py om ine o- my ' | \ Tae ana. yi ag a) . gb A ; y } Sreether Tt Sea wae Ay 7 ale teicar 7 ee