' D e 3 » . . ; ’ f . > a F ‘ : a { vA . 7 . cam 4 4A: * \ ca eT e , ‘ 5 = y et a . , es ifs See ne cri i 2AIGN BRARY A-CHAM TACKS ie o > e w i ul = = a HLLINOIS LI &li URBAN a a ao hoe i}, . ae i A) bas : | r mae COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS ! & | gr SIR WALTER SCOTT. Ballantyne {Dress BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND co, EDINBURGH AND LONDON The Complete Poetical Works OF Sir Walter Scott mM | With Illustrations from Designs by 7. MW. Turner, R.A. LONDON PeORCE ROUTLEDGE. AND SONS BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE oO - 1885 : 4 : ' ; 4 ; } 7 CONTENTS. Tue LAY OF THE Last MINSTREL :— Introduction to Edition 1830. Preface to First Edition, 1805 Introduction to Poem in Verse Canto I. 1 Tee, Ill. LV. Views « VI. Notes to The Lay of the ‘Last “Minstrel . MARMION :— Introduction to Edition 1830. : Advertisement to First Edition, 1808 Introduction to Canto I. Canto I.—The Castle Introduction to Canto rt Canto IJ.—The Convent. Introduction to Canto ILI. Canto I1I.—The Hostel, or Inn Introduction to Canto LVe Canto [V.—The Camp Introduction to Canto V. Canto V.—The Court Introduction to Canto V I; Canto VI.—The Battle Notes to Marmion THe LADY OF THE LAKE :— Introduction to Edition 1530 . Canto I.—The Chase I1.—The Island {IIl.—The Gathering IV.—The Prophecy V.—The Combat VI.—The Guard-Room . Notes to The Lady of the Lake Tar Vision oF Don RODERICK :— Dedication and Preface . be vy i i | br pw wn DN N wm COW Onn WS N on | | | | et LN A TOE LIE EIEN, Introduction . : The Vision of Don ioderick ; Conclusion Notes to Don Hodertek”. : ROKEBY :— Introduction to Edition 1830 . Canto I. Wael Te. 7 Ll Pree LAN, Pee Ne 2 VI. Notes to Rokeby |'Tae BRIDAL OF TRIERMAIN :— | Preface to First Edition, 1813 Introduction Canto I. pean Lawes J LEG Conclusion : Notes to Bridal of Trierms vin. THE LORD OF THE ISLES :— Introduction to Edition 1830 - : Advertisement to First Edition, 1814 Canto [. Lise Ill. LV. V. “WAL Conclusion ’ Notes to The Lord of the Isles Tur FIELD OF WATERLOO :— Advertisement to Edition 1815 Conclusion A . ‘ e eR NE OT a A I “q nfs eae Ae ) HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS :— CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MIN- | | | j Introduction Canto I. aI Ts ati Ly: STL oats 2 : : ; . oe eee Conclusion : STRELSY :— Thomas the Rhymer.—Part I. +> %” 9? te Py a Glenfinlas ; or, Lord Ronald’s Coronach The Eve of Saint John : Notes to The Eve of Saint John Cadyow Castle. The Gray Brother WaR-SonG OF THE RoyaL EDINBURGH LigHT DRAGOONS. : TRANSLATIONS OR IMITATIONS FROM THE GERMAN :— j ) The Wild Huntsman William and Helen . The Fire-King . Frederick and Alice The Erl-King . 3 The Battle of Sempach The Noble Moringer LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES :— Hellvellyn ‘ The Maid of Toro The Palmer Wandering Willie The Maid of Neidpath The Bard’s Incantation . 3 : To a Lady.—With Flowers from a Roman Wall. The Violet Hunting Song. The Resolve ’ zi The Last Words of Chaw: atlont or, The Dying Bard . The Norman Horseshoe . The Poacher Song. Epitaph ; . : 2 Health to Lord Melville . : e ° - 48 -— PAGE 406 407 410 413 416 420 423 426 427 431 457 400 463 466 467 468 471 475 475 476 476 477 477 478 478 478 478 479 | 479 480 481 482 | N CONT ENIS. The Bold Dragoon; or, The Plain of Badajos. ° ; . On the Massacre of ‘Clea reece Prologue to Miss Baillie’s Play of the ss un y, Legend a : ; “ For a’ that an’ a’ that Song, for the Anniversary Meeting bt the Pitt Club of Scotland Pharos Loquitur - : Lines, addressed to Ranald MacDonat Esq., of Staffa . Letter in Verse on the V oven mi is Commissioners of Northern Lights: addressed to His Grace the Duke of Buccleuch VERSES, MOTTOES, ETC., FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS AND TALES :— From “ Waverley.” Bridal Song Verses by Edward Were ley Davie Gellatley’s Song “* Hie away, hie away ” St. Swithin’s Chair. Davie Gellatley’s Second Sone Janet Gellatley’s Witchcraft . Flora Macivor’s Song Lines on Captain Wogan ‘* Follow me, follow me” Fron “ Guy Mannering.” Songs of Meg Merrilies :— Nativity of Harry Bertram ‘“Twist ye, twine ye” The Dying Smuggler The Prophecy : : Songs of Dirk Hi ntiorsiele aud Gigasiss , Froin ‘ The Antiquary.” Time. Epitaph on Jon oye oe nel! Elspeth’s Ballad Mottoes From ‘ The Black Dwarf? Mottoes From ‘Old Mortality.” Major Bellenden’s Song . Verses found in Bothwell’s Pockets Book, wrapt round the Lock of Hair Epitaph on Balfour of Burley Mottoes . es . . ° PAGE 483 483 484 485 488 488 489 489 489 489 490 490 491 491 49t 491 491 492 492 492 492 493 494 495 495 495 =. SS. RE IR A ET A I TE ELI EEL I TL IL I TE I TET a From “ Rob Roy.” To the Memory of Edward the Black Prince . : Translation from Afipato Mottoes From “ The Heart of Mid Lothian.” Madge Wildfire’s Songs . Mottoes . ; : From “ The Bride of Laininerimoor.” Lucy Ashton’s Song : Norman the Forester’s Song . The Prophecy . Mottoes From “ The Legend of Montrose.” Ancient Gaelic Melody The Orphan Maid . Mottoes From Tvantoe.” The Crusader’s Return . : 2 The Barefooted Friar Saxon War-Song . ‘ Rebecca’s Hymn The Black Knight’s Song Song.—The Black Knight and WW: ants Funeral Hymn Mottoes From “ The Monastery.” Songs of the White Lady of Avenel :— On Tweed River To the Sub-Prior ‘Halbert’s Incantation To Halbert Hi: oe s Second Thterviowk Ww ith Hie White Lady of Avenel The White Lady to Mary Avenel The White Lady to Edward Sr adinae The White Lady’s Narewell Border Ballad . Mottoes From ‘‘ The Abbot.” The Pardoner’s Advertisement Mottoes . * ; : From ‘‘ Kenilworth.” Goldthred’s Song Speech of the Porter at Kenilwor th Mottoes . ° ; : ‘ ° ° PAGE 498 498 498 498 499 499 499 | 500 500 500 501 501 502 | 502 502 506 506 506 5097 508 | 508 510 5Ilo 510 CON TENTS. From “ The Pirate.” The Song of the Tempest Claud Halcro’s Song The Song of Harold Harfager Song of the Mermaids and Mermen Norna’s Song : : Claud Halcro and Norna Song of the Zetland Fisherman Cleveland’s Songs Claud Halcro’s Verses Norna’s Incantations : Bryce Snailsfoot’s Adver Heemente Mottoes . : . From ‘‘ The Fortunes of Nigel.” Mottoes Fron “ Peveril of the Peak.” Mottoes From ‘‘ Quentin Durward.” Song—County Guy . Mottoes From “ St. Ronan’s Well.” Mottoes From ‘‘ Redgauntlet.’ “As lords their «ec, From “ The Betrothed.” Song—Soldier, Wake Song—The Truth of Woman . song—I asked of my Harp Mottoes Froin “ Uhe Talisman.” Ahriman . Song of Blondel. ihe Blonds V oes Fytte Second Mottoes From ‘* Woodstock.” An Hour with Thee Mottoes From ‘‘ Chronicles of the Canongate.” Mottoes :— The Two Drovers : : My Aunt Margaret’s Mirror ; 3 ee a eet er we eee labourers’ hire delay,” PAGE 511 512 512 513 513 513 514 534 515 515 517 517 518 527 527 oA Ce eee ee oe ee es SAE AI TS Ce EIEIO LIL LA ALON IS Ne PFE SQ. Sra we we on too Sees Sr CONTENTS. -—— eae Sect. ~e PAGE PAGE From “ The Fair Maid of Perth.” Jock of Hazeldean . A n - 538 The Lay of Poor Louise. . . g28| Pibrochof Donald Dhu. . . . 538 | Death Chant. . . . . 529} Norah's Vow . - SPE Oe | Song of the Glee Walden : , . 529 MacGregor’s Gatheriaa 4 : 539 i Mottoes . ' , : : r . 52 Verses on the Grand-Duke Nichollat | Dinner in Edinburgh . : ‘ + 540 ; From ‘' Anne of Geierstein.” The Search after Happiness; or, The ) . The decrenyei bial : ; rcs Quest of Sultaun Solimaun. - 5. G40 AT AE sas oe : ; ; ; Pas Mr. Kemble s Farewell Address . - 544 | i Lines, Written for Miss Smith . * Sd TF From “ Count Robert of Puris.” The Sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill . » 545 : i The Monks of Bangor’s March , ee 4 _ Mottoes . : : s ; ; arnt Epilogue to ‘‘The Appeal” . a eS i Pee re atiae Mackrimmon’s Lament . ; ; eae. | es EAS Ag Donald Caird’s Come Again . ; omeStO° | Mottoes . ° . . . . - 632 Epitaph on Mrs. Erskine : "sag" | On Ettrick Forest’s Mountains Then - 547 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS :— Farewell to the Muse . . : , tae Farewell to Mackenzie . : : 533 The Maid ofIsla_ . ; : ; - 548 | Imitation of the Preceding Song . esas Carle, now the King’s Come . ‘ » 948 Af War-Song of Lachlan . : ‘ a sey Part Second. : : : . “ie SXO Saint Cloud . * . : - 534! The Bannatyne Club. : : + 549 The Dance of Dee : : ; sen534 To J. G. Lockhart, Esq. . 550 Romance of Dunois} : ; < es sO Lines to Monsieur Alexandre : 551 The Troubadour. ; 3 : 5 SENG Epilogue to Drama “St. Ronan’s W ell’ Soa From the French . : ; S30 Epilogue (Queen Mary) . 552 ' Song at a Foot-Ball M: ch : : =) 537 The Death of Keeldar . 552 _ Lullaby of an Infant Chief. : S37 we Lhe Horay, : : S53 | The Return to Ulster . : : « 537 Inscription for a Moturment : 535 a A a REL SE ET TI a Rarer ie RELIED Ae ™*, \ ec een EE SS ns 1 oo) shee AIGA RE NO A TE ES EES Yd “ip an ¥ em ie ' THE POETICAL WORKS wee WALTER SCOTT. The Lay of the Rast Ainstrel, A POEM; IN SIX CANTOS. ro =r cement 1-aeeeremtt em tt A EOL TT LEI ELLE EEE LE a see a Fe ae —o Dum relego, scripsisse pudet ; quia plurima cerno, > Me quoque, qui feci, judice, digna lini. —o— TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE of each, in their turn, I am desircus that the Poems for which I first received some marks CHARLES, EARL OF DALKEJTH, of the public favour, should also be accom- | panied with such scraps of their literary his- THIS tory as may be supposed to carry interest along | aj ¢ ’ with them. Even if I should be mistaken in © qioem 1S Anseribed thinking that the secret history of what was — once so popular, may still attract public atten- | BY tion and curiosity, it seems to me not without its use to record the manner and circumstances THE AUTHOR. under which the present, and other Poems on : e the same plan, attained for a season an exten- : sive reputation. INTRODUCTION. { must resume the story of my literary : , : abours at the period at which I broke off in A poem of nearly thirty years’ standing may la Mee I «1 4s Pee ex be supposed hardly to/need an Introduction, the Essay on the ee a Bor ue oo since, without one, it has been able to keep | when I had enjoyed the rst ce di public itself afloat through the best part of a genera- | favour, b y the Sra of ae ray d son of tion. Nevertheless, as, in the edition of the | the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Borcer. The Waverley Novels now in course of publication ae ee ne ee work, ne d Bie . ; ek ‘at1OnN, | 7803, proved, in the language of the trace, | Lhave imposed on myself the task of saying | rather a heavy concern. ‘The demand in Scot- ee something concerning the purpose and history | j,,4q had been supplied by the first edition, i and the curiosity of the English was not much 1 Published in 4to (41 5s.) 1805. awakened by poems in the rude garb of anti- » 4 % er sat nena tara tie Ae SET ate Pal - 18 SCOTT'S POLTICAL WOR quity, accompanied with notes referring to the obscure feuds of barbarous clans, of whose very names civilized history was ignorant. It was, on the whole, one of those books which are more praised than they are read. At this time I stood personully in a different position from that which I occupied when I first dipt my desperate pen in ink for other purposes than those of my profession. In 1796, When I first published the translations from Biirger, I was an insulated individual, with only my own wants to provide for, and having, in a great measure, my own inclina- tions alone to consult. In 1803, when the second edition of the Minstrelsy appeared, I had arrived at a period of life when men, however thoughtless, encounter duties and circum- stances which press consideration and plans of life upon the most careless minds. I had been for some time married—was the father of a rising family, and, though fully enabled to meet the consequent demands upon me, it was my duty and desire to place myself in a situation which would enable me to make honourable provision against the various con- tingencies of life. It may be readily supposed that the attempts which I had made in literature had been unfa- vourable to my success at the bar. The god- dess Themis is, at Edinburgh, and I suppose everywhere else, of a peculiarly jealous dis- position. She will not readily consent to share her authority, and sternly demands from her votaries not only that real duty be carefully attended to and discharged, but that a certain air of business shall be observed even in the midst of total idleness. It is prudent, if not absolutely necessary, in a young bar- rister, to appear completely engrossed by his profession ; however destitute of employment he may in reality be, he ought to preserve, if possible, the appearance of full occupation. He should, therefore, seem perpetually en- gaged among his law-papers, dusting them, as it were; and, as Ovid advises the fair, * Si nullus erit pulvis, tamen excute nullum.” Perhaps such extremity of attention is more especially required, considering the great number of counsellors who are called to the bar, and how very small a proportion of them are finally disposed, or find encouragement, to follow the law as a profession. Hence the number of deserters is so great, that the least lingering look behind occasions a young novice to be set down as one of the intending fugi- tives. Certain it is, that the Scottish Themis was at this time peculiarly jealous of any flirta- tion with the Muses, on the part of those who had ranged themselves under her banners. This was probably owing to her consciousness | of the superior attractions of her rivals. Of late, however, she has relaxed in some instances in this particular, an eminent example of which has been shown in the case of my friend, Mr. Jeffrey, who, after long conduct- ing one of the most influential literary period- | icals of the age, with unquestionable ability, has been, by the general consent of his brethren, recently elected to be their Dean of Faculty, or President,—being the highest } | tremely robust. acknowledgment of his professional talents which they had it in their power to offer. But this is an incident much beyond the ideas of a period of thirty years’ distance, when a barrister who really possessed any turn for lighter literature, was at as much pains to conceal it, as if it had in reality been some- thing to be ashamed of ; and I could mention more than one instance in which literature and society have suffered much loss, that juris- prudence might be enriched. Such, however, was not my case; for the reader will not wonder that my open inter- ference with matters of light literature dimin- ished my employment in the weightier matters of the law. Nor did the solicitors, upon whose choice the counsel takes rank in his profession, do me less than justice, by regarding others among my contemporaries as fitter to dis- charge the duty due to their clients, than a young man who was taken up with running after ballads, whether Teutonic or national. My profession and I, therefore, came to stand nearly upon the footing which honest Slender consoled himself on having established with Mistress Anne Page; ‘‘ There was no great love between us at the beginning, and it pleased Heaven to decrease it on farther acquaintance.” I became sensible that the time was come when I must either buckle myself resolutely to the ‘toil by day, the lamp by night,” renouncing all the Delilahs of my imagination, or bid adieu to the profession of the law, and hold another course. I confess my own inclination revolted from the more severe choice, which might have been deemed by many the wiser alternative. ae 1 Bandelier, belt tor carrying ammunition, 2 Hackbuteer, musketeer, . piece So RE NR REE EREERRieeEine ee = : + soccer senna faif » ' ® ¥ ~~ 4 (eS as " os" eR eer 2 SET RD ey RE 0S CRE NDS Pa FN EN US EARTH ea eae THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. ee £ o§ 35 4 aaa MXLT. Well I ween the charm he held The noble Ladye had soon dispell’d ; 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. A XXIII. 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 turn’d 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. xv 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! 1 See several charms for this purpose in Reginald Scott’s Discovery of Witchcraft, p. 273. **Tom Potts was but a serving man, But yet he was a doctor good ; He bound his handkerchief on the wound, And with some kinds of words he stanch’d the blood.” ns Se Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, Lond. 1791, p. 131. | 4 1 2 See Note W. 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. XXVII. 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 Priesthaughswire ; Ride out, ride out, The foe to scout ! Mount, mount for Branksome,? 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. ’3 XXVIII. Fair Margaret, from the turret head, Heard, far below, the coursers’ tread, While loud the harness rung, As to their seats, with clamour dread, The ready horsemen sprung : And trampling hoofs, and iron coats, And leaders’ voices, mingled notes, And out ! and out! In hasty route, The horsemen gallop’d forth ; Dispersing to the south to scout, And east, and west, and north, To view their coming enemies, And warn their vassals and allies. 1 Bale, beacon-fagot. The Border beacons, from their number and position, formed a sort of telegraphic com- munication with Edinburgh.—The act of Parliament 1455, ¢. 48, directs, that one bale or fagot shall be warning ot the approach of the English in any manner; two bales that they are coming indeed ; four bales, blazing beside each other, that the enemy are in great force. “The same taikenings to be watched and maid at Eggerhope (Eggerstand) Castell, fra they se the fire of Hume, that they fire right swa. And in like manner on Sowtra Edge, sall se the fire of Eggerhope Castell, and mak taikening iu like manner: And then may all Louthaine be warned, and in special the Castell of Edinburgh ; and their four fires to be made in like manner, that they in f Fife, and fra Striveling east, and the east part of Lou- | thaine, and to Dunbar, all may se them, and come to the defence of the realme.” These beacons (at least in latter H times) were a“ long and strong tree set up, with a long iron pole across the head of it, and an iron brander fixed | on a stalk in the middle of it, for holding a tar-barrel."— = | STEVENSON’S History, vol. ii. p. 701. ; 2 Mount for Branksome was the gathering word of the 5 Scotts. i 3 See Note X. j ' t “€ 36 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. : 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, 2 | Haunted by the lonely earn ;3 / On many a cairn s4 grey pyramid, Where urns of mighty chiefs lie hid ; Till high Dunedin the blazes saw, From Soltra and Dumpender Law ; And Lothian heard the Regent’s order, That all should bowne 5 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 watch-word from the sleepless ward ; While, wearied by the endless din, Blood-hound and ban-dog yell’d within. XK? The noble Dame, amid the broil, Shared the grey Seneschal’s high toil, And spoke of danger with a smile; 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 ten; And others ween’d that it was nought But Leven Clans, or Tynedale men, Who came to gather in black-mail ;6 And Liddesdale, with small avail, Might drive them lightly back agen. Sahiea eS 1 Need fire, beacon. * Tarn, a mountain lake. 3 Earn, a Scottish eagle. 4 The cairns. or piles of loose stones, which crown the summit of most of our Scottish hills, and are found in other remarkable situations, seem usually, though not universally, to have been sepulchral monuments. Six flat stonesare commonly found in the centre, forming a cavity of greater or smaller dimensions, in which an urn is often A TT ee AAS an immense cairn at Roughlee, in Liddesdale. It is of stance alone having been subjected to the fire, over which, coat of unbaked clay, etched with some very rude orna- ments; his skill apparently 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. £ Bowne, make ready. 6 Protection-money exacted by freebooters. a ne ee $$ placed. The author is possessed of one, discovered beneath | the most barbarous construction; the middle of the sub- | when hardened, the artist had laid an inner and outer | So pass’d the anxious night away, And welcome was the peep of day. Sa A er ne ie ef 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. Ti | 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. IT. Unlike the tide of human time, Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, 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.! Why, when the volleying musket play’d Against the bloody Highland blade, Why was [ not beside him laid !— Enough—he died the death of fame ; Enough—he died with conquering Graeme. RI WAS LETS I NN LILA AERTS MMT rm LR el ae AGIA 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.? 1 The Viscount of Dundee, slain in the battle of Killi- | crankie. 2 The morasses were the usual refuge of the Border herds- ' men, on the approach of an English army. 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 t places upon the Border, The banks of the Esk, at Gorton and Hawthornden, are hollowed into similar recesses. But even these dreary deus were not always secure places of : A 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 watchman’s eye Dun wreaths of distant smoke can spy, Which, curling in the rising sun, Show’d southern ravage was begun.! ve Now loud the heedful gate-ward cried— «Prepare ye all for blows and blood! 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.”3 Vie 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,* concealment. ‘In the way as we came, Dot far from this lace, (Long Niddry,) George Ferres, a gentleman of ly ord Protector’s ...... happened upon a cave mm the grounde, the mouth whereof was so worbe with the fresh printe of steps, that he seemed to be certayne thear wear some folke within; and gone doune to trie, he was redily receyved with a hakebut or two. He left them not yet. till he had known wheyther thei wold he content to ylel and come out; which they fondly refusing, he went to my lorde’s grace, and upon utterance of the tbynge, gat licence to deale with them as he coulde: and so returned to them, with a skore or two of pioners. Three ventes had their cave, that we wear ware Of, whereof he first stopt up on, anoother he fill’d full of strawe, and set ita tyer, whereat they within cast water apace. but it was so we] mayn- teyned without, that the fyer prevayled, and thei within fayn to get them belyke into anoother parler Then devysed we (for I hapt to be with him) to stop the same up, whereby we should eyther smoother them, or fynd out their ventes, if thei hadde any moe: as this was done at another issue, about xii score of, we moughbte see the fume of their swoke to come out: the which continued with so great a force, and so long a while, that we could not but thinke they must needs get them out, or smoother within; and forasmuch as we found not that they dyd the tone we thought it for certain thei wear sure of the toother.” —PATTEN’S Account of Somerset’s Expedition into Scot- land, apud DALYELL’S Fragments. 1 See Note Y. 2 This person was, in my younger days, the theme of many a fireside tale. He wasa retainer of the Buccleuch family, and held for his Border service a smill tower on the frontiers of Liddesdale. Watt was, by profession, a sutor, but, by inclination and practice, an archer and warrior. Upon one occasion, the captain of Bewcastle, military governor ot that wild district of Cumberland, is said to fave made an mcursion 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 dis- mounted, and floundering in the bog, used these words of insult :—‘‘Sutor Watt, ye cannot sew your boots ; the heels risp, and the seams rive.” |—'* If I cannot sew,” retorted Tinlinn, discharging a shaft, which nailed the eaptain’s thigh to his saddle,—‘‘ If I cannot sew, I can erk.”2 y 3 An inroad commanded by the Warden in person. 4 The broken ground in a bog. pares 6 Soe Sa ee 1 Risp, creak.—Rive, tear. 2 Yerk, to twitch, as shoemakers do, in securing the stitches of their work. | | Could bound like any Billhope stag.! It bore his wife and children twain ; A half-clothed serf? was all their train : His wife, stout, ruddy, and dark-brow’d, Of silver brooch and bracelet proud, 3 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,5 with many a spear, And all the German hackbut-men,6 Who have long Jain 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 Fastern’s night.” VIT. Now weary scouts from Liddesdale, Fast hurrying in, eonfirm’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 gay ladye. 1 There is an old rhyme, which thus celebrates the places in Liddesdale remarkable for game : “ Billhope braes for bucks and raes, And Carit haugh for swine, And Tarras for the good bull-trout, If he be ta’en in time.” The bucks and roes, as well as the old swine, are now extinct ; but the good bull-trout is still famous. 2 Bondsman. 3 As the Borderers were indifferent about the furniture of their habitations, so much exposed to be burned and plundered, they were proportionally anxious to display splendour in decorating and ornamenting their females —See LESLEY de Moribus Limitaneorum, 4 See Note Z. 5 See Note A 2. ® Musketeers. See Note B 2. <> eee THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. € : 4 | AIRES SRC NE TR ROE ESN a BES pt SRT, PU GE I POT 38 CERES AED 1 49 | SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. 1 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 treasured fleur-de-luce he 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. 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.2 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, 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,3 Came trooping down the Todshawhill ; By the sword they won their land, And by the sword they hold it still. Hearken, Ladye, to the tale, How thy sires won fair Eskdale.— Karl Morton was lord of that valley fair, The Beattisons were his vassals there. 1 See Note C2. 2 See Note D2. 3 In this,and the following stanzas, some account is given of the mode in which the property in the valley of Esk was transferred from the Beattisons, its ancient pos- sessors, to the name of Scott. It is needless to repeat the circumstances, which are given in the poem, literally as they have been preserved by tradition. Lord Maxwell, in the latter part of the sixteenth century, took upon him- self the title of Earl of Morton. - The descendants of Beattison of Woodkerrick, who aided the Earl to escape from his disobedient vassals, continued to hold these lands within the memory of man, and were the only Beattisons who had property in the dale. The old people give locality to the story, by showing the Gualliard’s Haugh, the place where Buccleuch’s men were con- cealed, &e, 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 Ear] into fair Eskdale came, Homage and seignory to claim : Of Gilbert the Galliard a heriot! he sought, ; Saying, ‘‘Give thy best steed, as a vassal — ought.” —‘‘ Dear 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 XI, 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 thy yoke; For a cast of hawks, and a purse of gold, All Eskdale I'l sell thee, to have and hold: Beshrew thy heart, of the Beattisons’ clan If thou leavest on Eske 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 hundred 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 Craikcross ; He blew again so loud and clear, Through the gray mountain-mist there did lances appear ; | And the third blast rang with such a din, | That the echoes answer’d from Pentoun-linn, | And all his riders came lightly in. Then had you seen a gallant shock, When saddles were emptied, and lances broke! 1 The feudal superior, in certain cases, was entitled to the best horse of the vassal, in name of Heriot, or Herezeld. é pty. . : ; t wore Cae + Pe UbMaVoO OF, THE ELE EL ILL SSI RES SE A RIS FS NA MN Hk RI TD A RE RS ae seme Seer Oe ok ® LAST MINSTREL. 39 lor 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 Beattisons’ 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 Eske, 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 Hindhaugh-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 the raven’s nest: Thou, Whitslade, shalt teach him his weapon 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, 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 elfish 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 ; 1 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 gathering word.-—-Survey of Selkirkshire, in Macfar- lane’s MSS., Advocates’ Library. Hence Satchells calls one part of his genealogical account of the families of that clan, his Bellenden. Hon oa: PSP RE ENE EOE A A ART, RE ET Ls os a 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!” 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. lost ! 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 bum, The Almayn’s sullen kettle-drum ; And banners tall, of crimson sbeen, Above the copse appear ; And, glistening through green, Shine helm, and shield, and spear. the hawthorns 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:! 1 The mercenary »dyenturers, whom, in 138, the Earl of Cambridge carried to the assistance of the King of Por- tugal against the Spaniards, mutined for want of regular pay. Atan assembly of their leaders, Sir John Soltier, a natural son of Edward the Black Prince, thus addressed them: ‘‘‘I counsayle, let us be alle of one alliance, and of one accorde, and Jet us among ourselves reyse up the baner of St. George, and let us be frendes to God, and enemyes to alle the worlde; for without we make our- selfe to be feared, we gette nothynge.’ ‘*By my fayth,’ quod Sir William Helmon, ‘ye saye ! right well, and so let us do.’ They aJ] agreed with one voyce, und so regarded among them who shulde be their capitayne. Then they advysed in the case how they coude nat have a better capitayne than Sir John Soltier. For wk ee eee em ee ee » a s — aS 40 They were not arm’d like England’s sons, But bore the levin-darting guns ; Buff coats, all frounced and ’broider’d o’er, 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 clamour 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. There many a youthful knight, full keen To gain his spurs, in arms was seen ; With favour 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 England!” XX. Now, every English eye, intent, On Branksome’s armed towers was 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,? on each tower, Stood prompt their deadly hail to shower ; And flashing armour 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 op_s, and 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. they sulde than have good leyser to do yvel, and they thuught he was more metelyer thereto thau any other. Then they raised up the penon of St. George, and cried, ‘A Soltier! a soltier! the valyaunt bastarde! frendes to God, and enemies to all the worlde !’”—FROISSART, vol. i. | ch. 393. 1 Powder-flasks. 2 Ancient pieces of artillery. 3 A glove u the ancient Borderers, who were wont, when any one broke his word, to expose this emblem, and proclaim him a faithless villain at the first Border meeting. This cere- Inovy Was much dreaded. See LESLEY. SCOTT’S “POETICAL WORks. 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 reads 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. ’~ XXIII. | 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. Allin Lord Howavrd’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. AXIV. “Tt 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.! | 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, Harried3 the lands of Richard Musgrave, And slew his brother by dint of glaive. 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, 1 An asylum for outlaws. 2 Several species of offences, peculiar to the Border, cow- stituted what was called march-treason. Among others, was the crime of riding, or causing to ride, against the opposite country during the time of truce. Thus, in an indenture made at the water of Eske, beside Salom, on | the 25th day of March, 1334, betwixt noble lords and | mighty, Sirs Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and Archibald Douglas, Lord of Galloway, a truce is agreed upon until the st day of July; and it is expressly ac- . corded, ‘Gif ony stellis authir on the ta part, or on the | tothyr, that he shall be hanget or heofdit; and gif ay 2. a lance was the emblem of faith among | |P conpany stellis any gudes within the trieux beforesay 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, Introd, xxx ks 3 Plundered. So Al 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 :— ~ XXVI. *«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 honour’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 ;4 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-wake5 dirge, Our moat, the grave where they shall lie.” XXVII. Proud she look’d round, applause to claim— Then lighten’d Thirlestane’s eye of flame ; His bugle Wat 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, 1 Note of assault. 2 In dubious cases, the innocence of Border criminals was occasionally referred to their own oath. The form of excusing bills, or indictments, by Border-oath, ran thus : ‘You shall swear by heaven above you, hell beneath you, by your part of Paradise, by all that God made in six days and seven nights, and by God himself, you are whart out sackless of art, part, way, witting, ridd, kenning, having, or recetting of any of the goods and cattels named in this bill. So help you God.”—History of Cumberland, Introd. p. xxv. 3 See Note E 2. 4 The battle of Ancram Moor, or Penielheuch, 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 Scottish ariny was commanded by Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, assisted by the Laird of Buccleuch and Norman Lesley. 5 Lyke-wake, the watching a corpse previous to inter- ment, 5 THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Or straight they sound their warrison,! | And drew the bowetrihg i his ear ; 28 And storm and spoil thy garrison : | Each minstrel’s war-note loud was blown ;— | To bar retreat to Cumberland, 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, Lord Maxwell ranks his merry-men good, Beneath the eagle and the rood ; And Jedwood, Eske, 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 England And cannot brook my country’s wrong ; And hard I’ve spurr’d all night, to show The mustering of the coming foe.” — Xie ““ 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, From Branksome’s highest towers display’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 !”— XX “Yet hear,” quoth Howard, ‘‘calmly hear, Nor deem my words the words of fear: For who, in field or foray slack, Saw the blanche lion e’er fall back ?2 1 Weapon-schaw, the military array of a county. 2 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 nomme de guerre. Thus Richard ITI. acquired his well-known epithet, The Boar of York. In the violent satire on Cardinal Wolsey, written by Roy, commonly, but erroneously, imputed to Dr. Bull, the Duke of Buckingham is called the Beautiful Swan, and the Duke of Norfolk, or Earl of Surrey, the White Lion. As the book is extremely rare, and the whole pases relates to the emblematical interpretation of heraldry, it shall be here given at length. Se — “The Description of the Armes. **Of the proud Cardinal this is the shelde, Borne up betweene two angels of Sathan ; The six bloudy axes in a bare felde, Sheweth the cruelte of the red man, Which hath devoured the Beautiful Swan, Mortal enemy unto the Whyte Lion, Carter of Yorke, the vyle butcher’s sonne, The six bulles heddes in a felde blacke, Betokeneth his stordy furiousness, Wherefore, the godly lyght to put abacke, He bryngeth in his dyvlish darcness ; The bandog in the middes doth expresse The mastiff curre bred in Ypswich town, : Gnawynge with his teth a kinges crowne, =a 4 it WH 1 ' : RNY er aero: eee Fe Aeniceeeereren { i SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. -———~. _. 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, € 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.” XXXI. Ill 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. XXXII. The pursuivant-at-arms again Before the castle took his stand ; His trumpet call’d, with parleying strain, 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 :— “If in the lists good Musgrave’s sword Vanquish the Knight of Deloraine, Your youthful chieftain, Branksome’s Lord, Shall hostage for his clan remain ; 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 gainsay’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, The cloubbe signifieth playne his tiranny, Covered over with a Cardinal’s hatt, Wherein shall be fulfilled the prophecy, Aryse up, Jacke, and put on thy salatt, For the tyme is come of bagge and walatt. The temporall chevalry thus thrown doune, Wherefor, prest, take hede, and beware thy crowne.” There were two copies of this very scarce satire in the library of the late John, Duke of Roxburghe, account of it also in Sir Egerton Brydges’ curious miscel- lany, the Censura Literaria, 1 See Note F 2. ne ——— Beneath the castle, on alawn: 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, I 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,2 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, 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 drage’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. _— a ee ee collection of Border Be it remembered, that, on the 1 See Note Go. 2 The title of the most ancient regulations runs thus _" 18th day of December, 1468, Earl William Douglas assem- bled the whole lords, freeholders, and eldest Borderers, that best knowledge had , at the college of Linclouden ; lords and Borderers bodily to touched, that they, justly and should decrete, decern, deliver, and writing, the statutes, ordinances, eir cunning, aud put in order and uses of marche of Dou these statutes lnances, which we fare before. The said Earl William, seeing the statutes in writing decreed and delivered by the said lords and Borderers, thought them right speedful and profitable to the Borders: the which statutes, ordinances, and i » he took, and the whole lords and Bor- bodily to be sworn, that they should i reir goodly power, to do the law upon those that should break the statutes under- written. Also, the said Earl William, and lords, and eldest Borderers, made certain points to be treason in time of warfare to be used, which were no treason before his time, but to be treason in his time, and in all time coming.” TN MN TIT 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 harbour 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 ; BK’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. Se I TIE: PO CE I ATA A ER I ST Se Sees CANTO FIFTH. Ty CALL it not vain :—they do not err, Whe 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, es meee OF THE LAST MINSTREL. His ashes undistinguish’d lie, His place, his power, his memory die: 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. IL. ¥ Scarcely the hot assault was staid, \ The terms of truce were scarcely made, i When they could spy, from Branksome’stowers, | 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.3 Nor list I say what hundreds more, From the rich Merse and Lammermore, And Tweed ’s fair borders, to the war, Beneath the crest of Old Dunbar, And Hepburn’s mingled banners come, Down the steep mountain glittering far, And shouting still, ‘‘A Home! a Home!” 4 NLT Et Neat a Vi; Now squire and knight, from Branksome sent, On many a courteous message went ; To every chief and lord they paid Meet thanks for prompt and powerful aid ; And told them,—how a truce was made, 1 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. 2 Sir David Home of Wedderburn, who was slain in the fatal battle of Flodden, left seven sons by his wife, Isabel, daughter of Hoppringle of Galashiels (now Pringle of Whitebank), They were called the Seven Spears of Wed- derburne. % At the battle of Beaugé, in France, Thomas, Duke of Clarence, brother to Henry V., was unhorsed by Sir John Swinton of Swinton, who distinguished hiin 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 warriors. The Earls of Home, as descendants of the Dunbars, ancient Earls of March, carried a lion rampant, argent; but, as a difference, changed the colour of the shield from gules to vert, in allusion to Greenlaw, their ancient pos- session. The slogan, or war-cry, of this powerful family, was, ‘A Home! a Home!” It was anciently placed in an escrol above the crest. The helmet 1s armed with a lion's heamie sited gules, with a cap of state gules, turned up | 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 Bothwell. : 44 And how a day of fight was ta’en *Twixt Musgrave and stout Deloraine ; 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 armour 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 toot-ball play.! Wills 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 Teviot-side Had sunk in war-cries wild and wide, And in the groan of death ; And whingers, 2 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, 1 The foot-hall was anciently a very favourite sport all through Scotland, but especially wpon the Borders. Sir John Carmichael of Carmichael, Warden of the Middle Marches, was killed in 1600 by a band of the Armstrongs, returning from a foot-ball match. Sir Robert Carey, im his Memoirs, mentious a great meeting, appointed by the Scotch riders to be held at Kelso for the purpose of play- ing at foot-ball, but which terminated in an incursion upon England. At present, the foot-ball is often played by the inhabitants of adjacent parishes, or of the opposite banks of a stream. The victory is contested with the wtinost fury, and very serious accidents have sometimes taken place in the struggle. 2 A sort of knife, or poniard. SCOTT'S POETICAL “WORKS. In the old Border-day :! But yet on Branksome’s towers and town, In peaceful merriment, sunk down The sun’s declining ray. VIII. The blithesome signs of wassel 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 regain, Give the shrill watchword of their clan ;? And revellers, o’er their bowls, proclaim Douglas or Dacre’s conquering name. 1 Notwithstanding the constant wars upon the Borders, and the occasional cruelties which marked the mutual in- roads, the inhabitants on either side do not appear te have regarded each other with that violent and personal ani- mosity, which might have been expected. On the con- trary, like the outposts of hostile armies, they often carried on something resembling friendly intercourse, even in the middle of hostilities; and it is evident, from various ordinanees against trade and intermarriages, between English and Scottish Borderers, that the governments of both countries were jealous of their cherishing too inti- mate a connection. Froissart says of both nations, that ‘* Englyshinen on the one party, and Scottes on the other | party, are good men of warre; for when they meet, there is aharde fight without sparynge. There is no hoo between them, as long as spears, swords, axes, or daggers, will en- dure, but lay on eche upon uther; and whan they be well beaten, and that the one party hath obtained the vic- tory, they then gloryfye so in theyre dedes of armies, and are so joyfull, that such as be taken they shall be ran- somed, or that they go out of the felde; so that shortly eche of them is so content with other, that, at their de- partynge, curtyslye they will say, God thank you.”—BER- NERS'S Froissart, vol. il. p.153.. The Border meetings of truce, which, although places of merchandise and merri- ment, often witnessed the most bloody scenes, may serve to illustrate the description in the text. They are vividly pourtrayed in the old ballad of the Reidsquair. Both parties came armed to a meeting of the wardens, yet they intermixed fearlessly and peaceably with each other in mutual sports and familiar intercourse, until a casual fray arose :— “Then was there nought but bow and spear, And every man pulled out a brand.” In the 20th stanza of this canto, there is an attempt to express some of the mixed feelings, with which the Bor- derers ou each side were led to regard their neighbours. 2 Patten remarks, with bitter censure, the disorderly conduct of the English Borderers, who attended the Pro- tector Somerset on his expedition against Scotland. “ As we wear then a setling, and the tents a setting up, among all things els commendable in our hole journey, one thing seemed to me an intollerable disorder and abuse : that whereas always, both in all tounes of war, and in all campes of armies, quietness and stilnes, without nois, is, principally in the night, after the watch is set, observed, (I nede not reason why,) our northern prikers, the Bor- derers, notwithstandyng, with great euormitie, (as thought me,) and not unlike (to be playn) unto a masterles hounde howlying in a hie way when he hath lost him he waited upon, sum hoopynge, sum whistlyng, and most with cry- ing, A Berwyke,a Berwyke! A Fenwyke, a Feuwyke ! A Bulmer, a Bulmer! or so ootherwise as theyr captains names wear, never lin’de these troublous and dangerous noyses all the nyghte longe. They said, they did it to find their captain and fellows; but if the souldiers of our oother countreys and sheres had used the same maner, in that case we should have oft tymes had the state of our campe more like the outrage of a dissolute huntyng, than the quiet of a well ordered armye. It isa feat of war, inmine opinion, that nfight right well be left. I could reherse causes (but yf I take it, they are better unspoken than uttred, unless the faut wear sure to be amended) that might shew thei move alweis more peral to our armie, but in their one nyght’s so doynge, than they shew good service (as some sey) in a hoole vyage.”—Apud DALZELL’S Frag- ments, Pp. 75- be THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL, } a IX. Less frequent heard, and fainter still, At length the various clamours 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 profound 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 to 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 ; For many a noble 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’d the dawning day: Of all the hundreds sunk to rest, First 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 stalkin slow,— The jingling spurs announced his tread,— A stately warrior pass’d below ; But when he raised his plumed head— Blessed Mary ! can it. be ?— Secure, as if in Ousenam bowers, (RR RN EON YN Oe OE 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. = a 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, perchance he 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; 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. i ' t [ [ 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 wood ; To Branksome many a look they threw, The combatants’ approach to view, And bandied many a word of boast, About the knight each favour’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 ; But yet not long the strife—for, lo ! Himself, the Knight of Deloraine. Strong, as it seem’d, and free from pain, In armour sheath’d from top to toe, Appear’d, and craved the combat due. The Dame her charm successful knew,?2 And the fierce chiefs their claims 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, ! A inartial piece of music, adapted to the bagpipes. 2 See Canto 3, Stanza xxiii, r 4 rf > ————__—_____— ER RS SE RR TE EOP DI TT ; 46 SCOVT’S- POLTICALDW ORK. 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 the boy his present plight, So much he long’d to see the fight. Within the lists, in knightly pride, High Home and haughty Dacre ride ; 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. Then 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 lies 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, The combatants did close. , KX. Ill would it suit your gentle ear, Ye lovely listeners, to hear How to the axe the hélms 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 dame 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 vield a step for death or life.— XXIT. 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 to heaven ! 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, The silent victor stands ; His beaver did he not unclasp, Mark’d not the shouts, felt not the grasp Of gratulating hands. — . | nx Ue ore ee EET A BE WZ WE SGA — Lt Mad iu FHEILAY (OF \THE LAST MINSTREL. ar Hi! { MH] When lo! strange cries of wild surprise. | Cared not the Ladye to betray | Mingled with seeming terror, rise Her mystic arts in view of day ; ; Among the Scottish bands ; But well she thought, ere midnight came ; . And all, amid the throng’d array, Of that strange page the pride to tame ; | In panic haste gave open way From his foul hands the Book to save, . To a half-naked ghastly man, And send it back to Michael’s grave.— ; Who downward from the castle ran: . Needs not to tell each tender word ; He cross’d the barriers at a bound, ‘Twixt Margaret and ’twixt Cranstoun’s lord; And wild and haggard look’d around, Nor how she told of former woes i tI As dizzy, and in pain ; And how her bosom fell and rose, ' | i) And all, upon the armed ground, While he and Musgrave bandied blows.— i ) 4 Knew William of Deloraine ! Needs not these lovers’ ‘oys to tell: } Oi Each ladye sprung from seat with speed ; One day, fair maids, you ‘ll know them well | Hy Vaulted each marshal from his steed ; ’ i Het “‘ And who art thou,” they cried, i ili} “Who hast this battle fought and won?”— XXVIII bill His plumed helm was soon undone— TI 1 i Hi ““Cranstoun of Teviot-side ! William of Deloraine, some chance ' Hi For this fair prize I’ve fought and won,”— Had waken’d from his deathlike trance ; j And to the Ladye led her son. And taught that, in the listed plain, | Another, in his arms and shield, Ex: gi tes a aa axe did wield, nder the nam 5 i Full oft the rescued boy she kiss’d, Hence, to the field Shocrasie ran And often press’d him to her breast ; And hence his presence scared the clan For, under all her dauntless show, Who held him for some fleeting wraith i H Her heart had throbb’d at every blow ; And not a man of blood and breath : : Yet not Lord Cranstoun deign’d she greet, Not much this new ally he loved ; : Though low he kneeled at her feet. Yet, when he saw what hap had proved Me lists not tell what words were made, He greeted him right heartilie : ‘ What Douglas, Home, and Howard, said— He would not waken old debate ‘ —For Howard was a generous foe For he was void of rancorous hate And how the clan united pray’d Though rude, and scant of courtesy : The Ladye would the feud forego, In raids he spilt but seldom blood E : And deign to bless the papi: hour Unless when men-at-arms withstood Of Cranstoun’s Lord and Teviot’s Flower. Or, as was meet, for deadly feud. ; ; He ne’er bore grudge for stalwart blow, { . Ta’en in fair fight from gallant foe: i XXVI. And so ’twas seen of him, e’en now, i She look’d to river, look’d to hill, When on dead Musgrave he look'd down +. i Thought on the Spirit’s prophecy, Grief darken’d on his rugged brow, t Then broke her silence stern and still,— Though half disguised with a frown ; “Not you, but Fate, has vanquish’d me ; And thus, while sorrow bent his head, ' Their influence kindly stars may shower His foeman’s epitaph he made. ; On Teviot’s tide and Branksome’s tower, . For pride is quell’d, and love is free. ”— She took fair Margaret by the hand, Oke Was; hae ga ieee mera serce nrtight |. Now, Richard Musgrave, liest thou here’ That hand to Cranstoun’s lord gave she :— I ween, my deadly enemy ; “As I am true to thee and thine, For, if I slew thy brother dear, Do thou be true to me and mine ! _ Thou slew’st a sister’s son to me ; This clasp of love our bond shall be ; And when I lay in dungeon dark, For this is your betrothing day, Of Naworth Castle, long months three, And all these noble lords shall stay, Se kal EON MAS, hae : “oS ar usgrave, it was long of thee. ee areca se vatht their company And, Musgrave, could our fight be trie4, fh And thou wert now alive, as I, au XXVII. No mortal man should us divide, | ; s Till one, or both of us, did die: All as they left the listed plain, , ; 2 ae } Much of the story she did gain ; hy : eee a o Lisnow How Cranstoun fought with Deloraine, In all aes th tal 7 a 5, , tj And of his page, and of the Book Whe oF, md | Se as ai ee? 2 Which from the wounded knight he took ; TI ren “P cee ee os He ; 10u wert the best to follow gear! i And how he sought her castle high, ‘ane it , ee Osea Hehinkl i] That morn, by help of gramarye ; T : y oye ae ye 2 ld’st ind } \ How, in Sir William’s armour dight, ee ere ert ee eat 1 Stolen by his page, while slept the knight, : 1 can Hat He took on him the single fight. Pe pammeceslapyeibioned witeing, pewwsesoaa ou t1 ut half his tale he left unsaid, f Have for their blazon had, the snaffle, spur, and spear.” And linger’d till he join’d the maid.— Poly-Olbion, Song 13. 4 RN A AE AEN SAF PN A RL A Rn f As . Sr Wer Ra ee REST SOS SD eK 3 + SCOTT'S’ POETICAL. W CORRS: Cheer the dark blood-hound on his way, Liked not to hear it rank’d so high And with the bugle rouse the fray ! 1 Above his flowing poesy : I'd give the lands of Deloraine, Less liked he still, that scornful jeer Dark Musgrave were alive again.”— Misprised the land he loved so dear ; High was the sound, as thus again Xxx. The Bard resumed his minstrel strain. So mourn’d he, till Lord Dacre’s band Were bowning back to Cumberland. They raised brave Musgrave from the field, And laid him on his bloody shield ; On levell’d lances, four and four, CANTO SIXTH. By turns, the noble burden bore. Before, at times, upon the gale, I. Was heard the Minstrel’s plaintive wail ; Behind, four priests, in sable stole, Sung requiem for the warrior’s soul : avid ; Around, the horsemen slowly rode ; ee i met batht he Ree ane Buena With trailing pikes the spearmen trode ; A, , gS a hi f 2 t ete Fe hy th t as a at ; And thus the gallant knight they bore, + Om ae aoe SER ‘ ” ths ‘a! Through Liddesdale to Leven’s shore ; If ee hee Pea ae ae Les We Thence to Holme Coltrame’s lofty nave, iF Shit Cre iOrEe 12 go, Mark oe? And laid him in his father’s grave. | For him note Sven 2 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 harp’s wild notes, though hush’d the | Living, shall forfeit fair renown, song, And, doubly dying, shall go down The mimic march of death prolong ; To the vile dust, from whence he sprung, Now seems it far, and now a-near, Unwept, unhonour’d, and unsung. Now meets, and now eludes the ear ; Now seems some mountain side to sweep, Now faintly dies in valley deep ; I. Seems now as if the Minstrel’s wail, q , Now the sad requiem, loads the gale ; O Caledonia! stern and wild, Last, o’er the warrior’s closing grave, Meet nurse for a poetic child! Rung the full choir in choral stave. Land of brown heath and shaggy wood, Land of the mountain and the flood, After due pause, they bade him tell, Land of my sires! what mortal hand Why he, who touch’d the harp so well, Can e’er untie the filial band, Should thus, with ill-rewarded toil, That knits me to thy rugged strand ! Wander a poor and thankless soil, Still, as I view each well-known scene, When the more generous Southern Land Think what is now, and what hath been, Would well requite his skilful hand. Seems as, to me, of all bereft, Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; The Aged Harper, howsoe’er as thus Dae one still, : . a ae ven in extremity of ill. His only friend, his harp, was dear, By Yarrow's streams still Jet, me stray, ; Though none should guide my feeble way ; 1 r are vllo b 143 . rjarel Po of oe aden bloodhound: and | Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, bugle-horn, and was called the hot-trod. He was entitled, Although it chill my wither’d cheek ; if his dog ue ieee the eee to soe ee invaders ae Still lay my head by Teviot Stone, the opposite kingdom ; a privilege which often occasioned Me ploceabad, In addition to what has been said of the | Lhough there, forgotten and alone, plood-hound, I_ may add, that the breed was kept up by | The Bard may draw his parting groan. the Buccleuch family on their Border estates till within the 12th century. A person was alive in the inemory of man, who remembered a blood-hound being kept at Eldin- hope, in Ettrick Forest, for whose maintenance the tenant III had an sowanes of neat a that time the or ire always watched at night. pon one occasion, when the , : duty had fallen on the narrator, then a lad, he hecame ex- Not scorn d like me! to Branksome Halt hausted with fatigue, and fell asleep upon a bank, near | The Minstrels came, at festive call ; sun-rising. Suddenly he was awakened by the tread of Trooping they came, from near and far horses, and saw five men, well mounted and armed, ride hetorial pe f. irth a v2 briskly over the edge of the hill. They stopped and looked The jovial priests vf m1 and war ; at the flock; but the day was toofar broken to admit the | Alike for feast and fight prepared, chance of their carrying any of them off. One of them, in . ¢ spite, leaped from his horse, and coming to the shepherd, Battle and banquet both they shared, seize’ Simm by the belt he wore round his waist ; and, set- Of late, before each martial clan, ting his foot upon his body, pulled it till it broke, and | They blew their death-note in the van, carried it “ay with him. They rode off at the gallop; and, the si.2. nerd giving the alarm, the blood-hound was But now, for every merry mate, turned loose, 27d the people in the neighbourhood alarmed, Rose the portcullis’ iron grate ; . he marauaers, however, escaped, notwithstanding a | They sound the pipe, they strike the string, sharp pursuit. This circumstance serves to show how very : long the livense of the Borderers cuntinued in some degree They dance, they revel, and they amg; to manifest itself. Till the rude turrets shake and ring. BrEATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, IV. Me lists not at this tide declare The splendour of the spousal rite, How muster’d in the chapel fair ‘ Both maid and matron, squire and knight ; 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 ! v. Some bards have sung, the Ladye high Chapel or altar came not nigh ; Nor durst the rites 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 a~ehed hall Was spread the go, seous 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,4 And cygnet from St. Mary’s wave ;5 1 See Note H 2. 2 A merlin, or sparrow-hawk, was actually carried by ladies of rank, as a falcon was, in time of peace, the con- stant attendant of a knight or baron.—See LATHAM on Falconry. Godscroft relates, that when Mary of Lorraine was regent, she pressed the Earl of Angus toadmit a royal garrison into his Castle of Tantallon. Tothis 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.”,—HUMR’S History of the House of Douglas, 1743, vol. ii. p. 131. Barclay com- lains of the common and indecent practice of bringing 2awks and hounds into churches. 3 The peacock, it is well known, was considered, 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 te do some deed of chivalry, “before the peacock and the ladies.” 4 The boar’s head was also a usual dish of feudal splen- dour. In Scotland it was sometimes surrounded with little banners, displaying the colours and achievements of the baron at whose board it was served.—PINKERTON’S History, vol. i. p. 432- 5 There are often flights of wild swans upon St. Mary’s Lake, at the head of the river Yarrow. fee AY OF, THE LAST MINSTREL. 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 : 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 clamour join’d with whistling scream, And flapp’d their wings, and shook their bells, In concert with the stag-hounds’ yells. Round go the flasks of ruddy wine, From Bourdeaux, Orleans, 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 humour 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 call’d 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 blood 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. 1 The Rutherfords of Hunthill were an ancient race of 3order 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 ancient warrior, called in tradi- tion the Cock of Hunthill, remarkable for leading into battle nine sons, gallant warriors, all sons of the aged champion. Mr. Rutherford, late of New York, in.a letter to the editor, soon after these songs were first published, quoted, when upwards of eighty years old, a ballad appar- rently the same with the Raid of the Reidsquare, but which apparently is lost, except the following lines :— Bauld Rutherfurd he was fu’ stout, With all his nine sons him about, He brought the lads of Jedbrught out, And bauldly fought that day.” 2 Tobite the thumh, or the glove, seems not to have been considered, upon the Border, as a gesture of contempt, though so used by Shakspeare, but as a pledge of mortal revenge. 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 de- manded of his companion, with whom he had quarrelled ? and learning that he had had words with one of the party, insisted on instant satisfaction, asserting, that though he remembered nothing of the dispute, yet he was sure he never would have bit his glove unless be had received sumine unpardonable insult. He fell in the duel, which wag fought near Selkirk, in 1721. — SS ae f t I f i i fl it i a SCOTT'S POETICAL. WORKS VIIl. 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. 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 Rozand 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.? TX. 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 his wife ; 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 clamour 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!” X. 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 Graeme, The Minstrel of that ancient name :3 1 The person bearing this redoubtable nom de guerre was an Elliot, and resided at Thorleshope, in Liddesdale. He occurs in the list of Border riders, in 1597. 2 See Note L2. 3 ** John Grahame, second son of Malice, Earl of Mon- teith, cominonly sirnamed John with the Bright Sword. upon some displeasure risen against him at court, retired with iuany of his clan and kindred into the English Borders, in the reign of King Henry the Fourth, where they seated themselves ; and many of their posterity have | continued there ever since. Mr. Sandford, speaking of them, says (which indeed was applicable to most of the | Borderers on both sides), ‘They were all stark moss- troopers, and arrant thieves: Both to England and Scot- land outlawed ; yet sometimes connived at, because they ave intelligence forth of Scotland, and would raise 400 orse at any time upon a raid of the English into Scot- Jand. A saying is recorded of a mother to her son (which that is, the last piece of beef was in the pot, and therefore { is now become proverbial), Ride, Rowley, howugh’si’ the pot ; | Was none who struck the harp so well, Within the Land Debateable ; Well friended, too, his hardy kin, Whoever lost, were sure to win; 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 GRAMME. It was an English ladye bright, (The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall,’) 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 of all! it was high time for him to go and fetch more.’ "—Jntro- duction to the History of Cumberland. The residence of the Gremes being chiefly in the De- bateable Land, so called because it was claimed by both kingdoms, their depredatious extended both to England and Scotland, with impunity; for as both wardens ac- counted them the proper subjects of their own prince, neither inclined to demand reparation for their excesses from the opposite officers, which would have been an acknowledgment of his jurisdiction over them.—See a long correspondence on this subject betwixt Lord Dacre and the English Privy Council, in Introduction to History of Cumberland. The Debateable Land was finally divided betwixt England and Scotland, by commissioners ap- pointed by both nations. 1 This burden is adopted, with some alteration, from an old Scottish song, beginning thus :— ‘She lean’d her back against a thorn, The sun shines fair on Carlisle wa’: And there she has her young babe born, And the lyon shall be lord of a’.” v= Carlisle. The Lay of the Last Minstrel.—Canto VI. vy. “The sun shines fair on Carlisle wall.” P_ 50. Oe Fa ere rica etn eer Ie Se roememeenes a NS BSI eo AER A CTT ATTA SiS EE TOT TE = a a ee ea nen ae arn ail - ESE TS &. wo a EE ST ee A I IE ET ET I I CC TC TL : + f 1 t j : THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 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?! 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 favourite 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 anxious start, Which told the mystic hour, approaching nigh, When wise Cornelius promised, by his art, 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. 1 The gallant and unfortunate Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, was unquestionably the most accomplished caya- lier of his time; and his sonnets display beauties which would do honour toa more polishedage. He was beheaded on Tower-bill in 1546; a victim to the mean jealousy of Henry VIII., who could not bear so brilliant a character near his throne. : The song of the supposed bard is founded on an incident said to have happeued to the Ear] in his travels. Cor- nelius Agrippa,.the celebrated alchemist, showed him, in a looking-glass, the lovely Geraldine, to whose service he had devoted his pen and his sword. The vision repre- sented her as indisposed, and reclining upon a couch, reading her lover’s verses by the light of a waxea taper. : se nace ne MA ERIE SIO TCE TE EGE DE AI TOE LILO IT EL EET 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 departing man. . rr LSAT ag RL Ae SP CN A a “~ : XVIII. But soon, within that mirror huge and high, Was seen a self-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. 5h SS A SO OY 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, Pale her dear cheek, as if for love she pined ; All in her night-robe loose she lay reclined, And, pensive, read from tablet eburnine, Some strain that seem’d her inmost soul to find :— That favour’d strain was Surrey’s raptured line, That fair and lovely form, the Lady Geraldine. Ge 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. i Thou jealous, ruthless tyrant ! Heaven repay i 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 ! Sok, Both Scots, and Southern chiefs, prolong Applauses of Fitztraver’s song ; These hated Henry’s name as death, And those still held the ancient faita.— 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; pene seers renga es 0 Se 1 See Note K 2. 2 See Note L2. es a + + ae 32 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. ! 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,* 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’ hol 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. XXIII. 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.5 1 The chiefs of the Vakingr, or Scandinavian_pirates, assumed the title of Sekonwngr, or Sea-kings. Ships, in the inflated language of the Scalds, are often termed the serpents of the ocean. 2 The jormungandr, or Snake of the Ocean, whose folds surround the earth, is one of the wildest fictions of the Edda. It was very nearly caught by the god Thor, who went to fish. for it with a hook baited with a bull’s head, In the battle betwixt the evil demons and the divinities of Odin, which is to precede the Ragnarockr, or Twilight of the Gods, this Snake is to act a cuuspicuous part. 3 These were the Valcyriwr, or Selectors of the Slain, despatched by Odin from Valhalla, to choose those whu were to die, and to distribute the contest. They are well known to the English reader, as Gray’s Fatal Sisters. 4 The northern warriors were usually entombed with their arms, and their other treasures. Thus Angantyr, before commencing the duel in which he was slain, stipu- lated, that if he fell, his sword Tyrfing should be buried with him. His daughter, Hervor, afterwards took it from his tomb. The dialogue which passed betwixt her and Angantyr’s spirit on this occasion has been often trans- lated. The whole history may be found in the Hervarar- Saga. Indeed, the ghosts of the northern warriors were pot wont tamely to suffer their tombs to be plundered ; and hence the mortal heroes had an additional temptation to attempt such adventures; for they held nothing more worthy of their valour than to encounter supernatural beings. —BARTHOLINUS De causis contempte a Danis mortis, lib, i, cap. 2, 9, I0, 13. 5 This was a family name in the house of St. Clair. Henry St. Clair, the second of the line, married Rosabelle, fourth daughter of the Earl of Stratherne. SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. —‘‘ 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. ‘Last night the gifted Seer did view A wet 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 moon-beam. 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.3 1 A large and strong castle, now ruinous, situated be- twixt Kirkaldy and Dysart, on a steep crag, washed by the Frith of Forth. It was conferred on Sir William St, Clair, as a slight compensation for the earldom of Orkney, by a charter of King James III., dated in 1471, and is now the property of Sir James St. Clair Erskine (now Earl of Rosslyn), representative of the family. It was long a principal residence of the Barons of Roslin. 2 Inch, Isle. 3 The beautiful chapel of Roslin is stillin tolerable pre- servation. It was founded in 1446, by William St. Clair, Prince of Orkney, Duke of Oldenburgh, Earl of Caith- ness and Stratherne, Lord St. Clair, Lord Niddesdale, Lord Admiral of the Scottish Seas, Lord Chief Justice of Scotland, Lord Warden of the three Marches, Baron of Roslin, Pentland, Pentland-moor, &c., Knight of the Cockle, and of the Garter (as is affirmed), High Chan- cellor, Chamberlain, and Lieutenant of Scotland. This lofty person, whose titles, says Godscroft, might weary a Spaniard, built the castle of Roslin, where he resided in princely splendour, and founded the chapel, which is in the most rich and florid style of Gothic architecture. Among the profuse carving on the pillars and buttresses, the rose is frequently introduced, in allusion to the name, with which, however, the flower has no connexion; the etymology being Rosslinnhe, the promontory of the linn, or water-fall. The chapel is said to appear on fire previous to the death of any of his descendants. This superstition, noticed by Slezer in his heatruwm Scotie, and alluded to in the text, is probably of Norwegian derivation, and may have been imported by the Earls of Orkney into their Lothian dominions. The tomb-fires of the north are mentioned in most of the Sagas. The Barons of Roslin were buried in a vault beneath the chapel floor. The manner of their interment is thus ee : 4 6 SS LAE ETERS EAE = SS SR AE bk RE a A SE RA Ss SSS ea OSE I IE ITT ELE EAN ES EEE > re Berwick-upon-Tweed. The Lay of the Last Minstrel.—Canto VI. v, 25. “On Berwick wall—” eo ———— eects « THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. Blazed vattlement 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. 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 neighbour’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 shicld 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,— described by Father Hay, in the MS. history already quoted. “Sir William Sinclair, kept a miller’s daughter, with whom, it is alledged, he went to Ireland; yet I think the cause of his retreat was rather occasioned by the Presbyterians, who vexed him sadly, because of his religion being Roman Catholic. His son, Sir William, died during the troubles, and was interred in the chapel of Roslin the very same day that of Dunbar was fought. When wy good-father was buried, his (i.e. Sir William’s) body, it fell into dust. a red velvet cap on his head, on a flat stone ; spoiled except a piece of the white furring head. All his predecessors : manner, in their armour: late Rosline, my good-father, was the first that was buried i ments of King James the land, and several other persons well versed in antiquity, to whom my mother would not hearken, thinking it beg- The great expenses occasioned the sump- garly to be buried after that manner. she was at in burying her husband, tuary acts which were made in the following parliament,’ I A SL the father, was aleud man. He | the battle | corpse seemed to be entire at the opening of the cave; but when they came to touch his He was laying in his armour, with | nothing was that went round the cap, and answered to the hinder part of the were buried after the same n a coffin, against the senti- Seventh, who was then in Scot- 53 | | 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 Vi 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, "Twas 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. 1 The ancient castle of Peel-town in the Isle of Man, is surrounded by four churches, now ruinous. Through one of these chapels there was formerly a passage from the | guard-room of the garrison. This was closed, it is said, upon the following occasion; * They say, that an appari- tion, called, in the Mankish language, the Mauthe Doog, in the shape of a large black spaniel, with curled shaggy hair, was used to haunt Peel-castle; and has been fre- quently seen in every room, but particularly in the guard- chamber, where, as soon as candles were lighted, it came and lay down before the fire, in preesucy of all the soldiers, who, atlength, by being so much accustomed to the sight of it, lost great part of the terror they were seized with at its first appearance. They still, however, retained a cer- tain awe, as believing it was an evil spirit, which only waited permission to do them hurt ; and, for that reason, forebore swearing, and all profane discourse, while in its company. But though they endured the shock of such a guest when altogether in a body, none cared to: be left alone with it. It being the custom, therefore, for one of ' the soldiers to lock the gates of the castle at a certain | hour, and carry the keys to the captain, to whose apart- ment, as I said before, the way led through the church, they agreed among themselves, that whoever was to suc- ceed the ensuing night his fellow in this errand, should accompany him that went first, and by this means no man would be exposed singly to the danger ; for I forgot to mention, that the A/authe Doog was always seen to come out from that passage at the close of the day, and return | to it again as soon as the morning dawned; which made them look on this place as its peculiar residence. ‘*One night a fellow being drunk, and by the strength of his liquor rendered more daring than ordinarily, laughed at the simplicity of his companions ; and, though it was not his turn to go with the keys, would needs ae that office upon him, to testify his courage. All the soldiers endeavoured to dissuade him ; but the more they said, the more resolute he seemed, and swore that he | desired nothing more than that the Mauthe Doog would follow him, as it had done the others; for he would try if it were dog or devil. After having talked in a very repro- bate manner for some time, he snatched up the keys, and ' went out of the guard-room. In some time after his de- parture, a great noise was heard, but nobody had the hold- ness to see what occasioned it, till, the adventurer return- him; but as loud ing, they demanded the knowledge of and noisy as he had been at leaving them, he was now become sober and silent enough ; for oe was never heard to speak more; and though all the time he lived, which was three days, he was entreated hy all who came near him, either to speak, or, if he ec wuld not do that, to make | some signs, by which they might widerstand what had | happened to him, yet nothing intelligible could be yot from him, only that, by the distortion of his limbs and fextures, it might be guessed that he died in agonies more than is common in a natural death. “The Mauthe Doog was, however, never after seen in the castle, nor would any one attempt to go through that passage; for which reason it was closed up, and another way made. This accident happened about three score ee: ’ >. er cea 28 aE RESETS NCS RE SOCODT SCROLL TIC 2 WORKS. 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 solemn 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 address’d : Some to St. Modan made 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. Nought of the bridal will I tell, Which after in short space befell ; 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. XXIX. 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, years since: and I heard it attested by several, but espe- cially by au old soldier, who assured me he had seen it oftener than ne had then hairs on his head.”—W ALDRON’S Description of the Isle of Man, p. 107. 1 This was a favourite saint of the house of Douglas, and of the Earl of Angus in particular; as we learn from the following passage: “‘The Queen-regent had proposed to raise a rival noble to the ducal dignity; and discoursing of her purpose with Angus, he answered, ‘Why not, madam ? we are happy that have such a princess, that can know and will acknowledge men’s services, and is willing to recompense it; but, by the might of God,’ (this was his oath when he was serious and in anger; at other times, it was by St. Bryde of Douglas,) ‘if he be a Duke, I will be a Drake !’—So she desisted from prosecuting of that pur- pose.’”—GODSCROFT, vol. ii. p. 131. 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. XXX, 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, and prayers 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 ; And far the echoing aisles prolong The awful burthen of*the song,— DIES IR, DIES ILLA, SOLVET SH#CLUM 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, shriveling 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 ! Husn’p is 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 ; HH reece: eee 2 ET TS SL OEE, - ee Frere or PETE TE Oe THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. 55 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. Alotes. —O— Note A. The feast was over in Branksome tower.—P. 23. 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 in- duced to this transaction from the vicinity of Branksome to the extensive 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., 3rd May, 1424. Tradition imputes the exchange betwixt Scott and Inglis to a conversation, in which the latter, a man, it would appear, of amild and forbearing nature, complained much of the injuries which he was exposed to from the English Borderers, who frequently plun- dered his lands of Branksome. Sir William Scott instantly offered him the estate of Murdie- stone, in exchange for that which was subject to such egregious inconvenience. When the bargain was completed, he dryly remarked, that the cattle in Cumberland were as good as those of Teviotdale; and proceeded to com- mence a system of reprisals upon the English, 1 Branxholin is the proper name of the barony; but Branksome has been adopted, as suitable to the pronun- ciation, and more proper for poetry. 2 There are no vestiges of any building at Buccleuch, except the site of a chapel, where, according to a tradition current in the time of Scott of Satchells, many of the ancient barons of Buccleuch lie buried. There is also said to have been a mill near this solitary spot ; an extra- ordinary circumstance, as little or no corn grows within several miles of Buccleuch. Satchells says it was used to grind corn for the hounds of the chieftain, which was regularly pursued 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 pay- ment of a red rose. The cause assigned for the grant is, their brave and faithful exertions in favour 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 Langholm, and many lands in Lanarkshire, were conferred upon Sir Walter and his son by the same monarch. After the period of the exchange with Sir Thomas Inglis, Branksome became the princi- pal seat of the Buccleuch family. The castle was enlarged and strengthened by Sir David Scott, the grandson of Sir William, its first possessor. But, in 1570-1, the vengeance of Elizabeth, provoked by the inroads of Buc- cleuch, and his attachment to the cause of Queen Mary, destroyed the castle, and laid waste the lands of Branksome. In the same year the castle was repaired and enlarged by Sir Walter Scott, its brave possessor; but the work. was not completed until after his death, in 1574, when the widow finished the building. This appears from the following inscriptions. Around a stone, bearing the arms of Scott of Buccleuch, appears the following legend :— “Sir GA. Scott of Branrheim Knpt oe of Sir FaAtlliam Scott of Kirkurd Knpt began ve work upon pe 24 of SMarche 1571 ster guia Vepartit at God's pleisour pe 17 April 1574.” On a similar copartment are sculptured the arms of Douglas, with this inscription, ‘‘ DAME MARGARET DOUGLAS HIS SPOUS COMPLETIT THE FORSAID WORK IN OCTOBER 1576.” Over an arched door is inscribed the following moral | verse ;— Noe ee eer ee : ) | AS TY Se ED cen | f ; . | =—— _ ee SCOTTL’S POETICAL WORKS. in. darld. ts. nocht. nature. Hes. brought. pat. sal. lest. ap. Oharefore. serve. Gov. Keip. veil. ye. rov. thp. fame. sal. nocht. dekap. Siv DGHalter Scot of Branrpolm Knight. sar- garet Douglas. 1571. Branksome Castle continued to be the prin- cipal seat of the Buccleuch family, while secu- rity was any object in their choice of a man- sion. It has since been the residence of the Commissioners, or Chamberlains, of the family. From the various alterations which the build- ing has undergone, it is not only greatly re- stricted in its dimensions, but retains little of the castellated form, if we except one square tower of massy thickness, the only part of the original building which now remains. The whole forms a handsome modern residence, lately inhabited by my deceased friend, Adam Ogilvy, Esq. of Hartwoodmyres, Commissioner of his Grace the Duke of Buccleuch. The extent of the ancient edifice can still be traced by some vestiges of its foundation, and its strength is obvious from the situation, on a deep bank surrounded by the Teviot and flanked by a deep ravine, formed by a precipi- tous brook. It was anciently surrounded by wood, as appears from the survey of Roxburgh- shire, made for Pont’s Atlas, and preserved in the Advocates’ Library. This wood was cut about fifty years ago, but is now replaced by the thriving plantations, which have been formed by the noble proprietor, for miles around the ancient mansion of his forefathers. Note B. Nine-and-twenty knights of fame Hung their shields in Branksome-Hall.—P. 23. The ancient Barons of Buccleuch, both from feudal splendour, and from their frontier situa- tion, 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. Satchells tells us, in his doggrel poetry, “No baron was better served in Britain ; The barons of Buckleugh they kept their call, Four and twenty gentlemen in their hall, «All being of his name and kin; Hach two had a servant to wait upon them ; Before supper and dinner, most renowned, The bells rung and the trumpets sowned ; And more than that, I do confess, They kept four and twenty pensioners, Think not I lie, nor do me blame, For the pensioners I can all name: There’s men alive, elder than I, They know if I speak truth, or lie. Every pensioner a room! did gain, For service done and to be done; This let the reader understand, The name both of the men and land, Which they possessed, it is of truth, Both from the Lairds and Lords of Buckleugh.” Accordingly, dismounting from his Pegasus, 1 Room, portion of land. Satchells gives us, in prose, the names of twenty-four gentlemen, younger brothers of ancient families, who were pensioners to the house of Buccleuch, and describes the lands which each possessed for his Border service. In time of war with England, the garrison was doubtless augmented. Satchells adds, “These twenty-three pensioners, all of his own name of Scott, and Walter Gladstanes of Whitelaw, a near cousin of my lord’s, as afore- said, were ready on all occasions, when his honour pleased cause to advertise them, It is known to many of the country better than it is to me, that the rent of these lands, which the Lairds and Lords of Buccleuch did freely bestow upon their friends, will amount to above twelve or fourteen thousand merks a-year.”— History of the Name of Scott, p. 45. An im- mense sum in those times, Norte C. They watch, against Southern force and guile, Lest Scroop, or Howard, pr Percy's powers, Threaten Branksome’s lordly towers, From Warkworth, or Naworth, or merry Carlisle. P. 24. Branksome Castle was continually exposed to the attacks of the English, both from its situation and the restless military disposition | of its inhabitants, who were seldom on good | terms with their neighbours. The following letter from the Earl of Northumberland to Henry VIII. in 1533, gives an account of a suc- cessful inroad of the English, in which the country was plundered up to the gates of the castle, although the invaders failed in their principal object, which was to kill, or make prisoner, the Laird of Buccleuch. It occursin | the Cotton M8. Calig. B. VIII. f. 222. **Pleaseth yt your most gracious highness to be aduertised, that my comptroller, with Ray- nald Carnaby, desyred licence of me to invade the realme of Scotland, for the annoysaunce of your highnes enemys, where they thought best exploit by theyme might be done, and to haue to concur withe theyme the inhabitants of Northumberland, suche as was towards me according to theyre assembly, and as by theyre discretions vpone the same they shulde thinke most convenient; and soo they dyde meet vppon Monday, before night, being the iii day ot this instant monethe, at Wawhope, upon Northe Tyne water, above Tyndaill, where they were to the number of xv c men, and soo invadet Scotland at the hour of viii of the clok at nyght, at a place called Whele Causay ; and before xi of the clok dyd send forth a forrey of Tyndaill and Ryddisdail, and laide all the resydewe in a bushment, and actyvely did set vpon a towne called Branxholm, where the Lord of Buclough dwellythe, and purpesed theymeselves with a trayne for hym lyke to his accustomed manner, in rysynge to all frayes ; albeit, that knyght he was not at home, and so they brynt the said Branxholm, and other townes, as to say Whichestre, Whichestre- helme, and Whelley, and haid ordered theyme- THE LAY OF THE LAST: MINSTREL. 57 self, soo that sundry of the said Lord Bu- clough’s servants, who dyd issue fourthe of his gates, was takyn prisoners, They dyd not leve one house, one stak of corne, nor one shyef, without the gate of the said Lord Bu- clough vnbrynt; and thus scrymaged and frayed, supposing the Lord of Buclough to be within iii or iiii myles to have trayned him to the bushment; and soo in the breyking of the day dyd the forrey and the bushment mete, and reculed homeward, making theyr way westward from theyre invasion to be over Lyddersdaill, as intending yf the fray frome theyre furst entry by the Scotts waiches, or otherwyse by warnying, shulde haue bene gyven to Gedworth and the countrey of Scot- land theyreabouts of theyre invasion ; whiche Gedworth is from the Wheles Causay vi myles, that thereby the Scotts shulde have comen further vnto theyme, and more out of ordre; and soo upon sundry good considerations, before they entered Lyddersdaill, as well ac- compting the inhabitants of the same to be towards your highness, and to enforce theyme the more thereby, as alsoo to put an occasion of suspect to the Kinge of Scotts, and his counsaill, to be taken anenst theyme, amonges theymeselves, made proclamacions, command- ing, vpon payne of dethe, assurance to be for the said inhabitants of Lyddersdaill, without any prejudice or hurt to be done by any Inglys- man vnto theyme, andsoo in good ordre abowte the howre of ten of the clok before none, vppone Tewisday, dyd pass through the said Lyddersdail, when dyd come diverse of the said inhabitants there to my servauntes, under the said assurance, offerring theymselfs with any service they couthe make ; and thus, thanks be to Godde, your highnes’ subjects, abowte the howre of xii of the clok at none the same daye, came into this your highnes realme, bringing wt theyme above xl Scottsmen pri- soners, one of theyme named Scot, of the sur- name and kyn of the said Lord of Buclough, and of his howsehold ; they brought also ccc nowte, and above lx horse and mares, keping in savetie frome losse or hurte all your said highnes subjects. There was alsoo a towne, called Newbyggins, by diverse fotmen of Tyn- daill and Ryddesdaill, takyn vp of the night, and spoyled, when was slayne ii Scottsmen of the said towne, and many Scotts there hurte ; your highnes subjects was xiii myles within the grounde of Scotlande, andis from my house at Werkworthe, above lx miles of the most evil passage, where great snawes doth lye; heretofore the same townes now brynt haith not at any tyme in the mynd of man in any warrs been enterprised unto nowe ; your sub- jects were thereto more encouraged for the better advancement of your highnes service, the said Lord of Buclough beyng always a mortall enemy to this your Graces realme, and he dyd say, within xiii days before, he woulde see who durst lye near hym ; wt many other cruell words, the knowledge whereof was cer- tainly haid to my said servaunts, before theyre enterprice maid vpon him; most humbly be- seeching your majesty, that youre highnes thanks may concur vnto theyme, whose names be here inclosed, and to have in your most pracious memory, the paynfull and diligent service of my pore servaunte Wharton, and thus, as I am most bounden, shall dispose wt them that be under me f . annoysaunce of your highnes enemys.” In resentment of this foray, Buccleuch, with other Border chiefs, assembled an army of 3,000 riders, with which they penetrated into Northumberland, and laid waste the country as far as the banks of Bramish. They baffled, or defeated, the English forces opposed to them, and returned loaded with prey.—PINKERTON’s History, vol. ii. p. 318. Note D. Bards long shall tell, How Lord Walter fell.—P. 24. Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch succeeded to his grandfather, Sir David, in r492. He wasa brave and powerful baron, and Warden of the West Marches of Scotland. His death was the consequence of a feud betwixt the Scotts and Kerrs, the history of which is necessary, to explain repeated allusions in the romance. In the year 1526, in the words of Pitscottie, “the Earl of Angus, and the rest of the Douglasses, ruled all which they liked, and no man durst say the contrary; wherefore the King (James V. then a minor) was heavily dis- pleased, and would fain have been out of their hands, if he might by any way: And, to that effect, wrote a quiet and secret letter with his own hand, and sent it to the Laird of Buc- cleuch, beseeching him that he would come with his kin and friends, and all the force that he might be, and meet him at Melross, at his home-passing, and there to take him out of the Douglasses hands, and to put him to liberty, to use himself among the lave (vest) of his lords, as he thinks expedient. “This letter was quietly directed, and sent by one of the King’s own secret servants, which was received very thankfully by the Laird of Buccleuch, who was very glad thereof, to be put to such charges and familiarity with his prince, and did great diligence to perform the King’s writing, and to bring the matter to pass as the King desired: And, to that effect, convened all his kin and friends, and all that would do for him, to ride with him to Melross, when he knew of the King’s homecoming. And so he brought with him six hundred spears, of Liddesdale, and Annandale, and countrymen, and clans thereabout, and held themselves quiet while that the King returned out of Jedburgh, and came to Melross, to re- main there all that night. ‘But when the Lord Hume, Cessfoord, and Fernyherst, (the chiefs of the clan of Kerr,) took their leave of the King, and returned home, then appeared the Lord of Buccleuch in sight, and his company with him, in an arrayed battle, intending to have fulfilled the King’s petition, and therefore came stoutly forward on the back side of Haliden hill. By that the ; Karl of Angus, with George Douglas, his | brother, and sundry other of his friends, see- |ing this army coming, they marvelled what | the matter meant ; while at the last they knew | SCOTT’S POETICAL *WCrma the Laird of Buccleuch, with a certain com- pany of the thieves of Annandale. With him they were less affeared, and made them man- fully to the field contrary them, and said to the King in this manner, ‘Sir, yon is Buc- cleuch, and thieves of Annandale with him, to unbeset your Grace from the gate’ (i.e. inter- rupt your passage). ‘I vow to God they shall either fight or flee ; and ye shall tarry here on this know, and my brother George with you, with any other company you please; and I shall pass, and put yon thieves off the ground, and rid the gate unto your Grace, or else die for it.’ The King tarried still, as was devised ; and George Douglas with him, and sundry other lords, such as the Harl of Lennox, and the Lord Erskine, and some of the King’s own servants; but all the lave (rest) past with the Earl of Angus to the field against the Laird of Buccleuch, who joyned and countered cruelly both the said parties in the field of Darne- linver,! either against other, with uncertain victory. But at the last, the Lord Hume, hearing word of that matter how it stood, re- turned again to the King in all possible haste, with him the Lairds of Cessfoord and Ferny- hirst, to the number of fourscore spears, and set freshly on the lap and wing of the Laird of Buccleuch’s field, and shortly bare them back- ward to the ground; which caused the Laird of Buccleuch, and the rest of his friends, to go back and flee, whom they followed and chased ; and especially the Lairds of Cessfoord and Fernyhirst followed furiouslie, till at the foot of a path the Laird of Cessfoord was slain by the stroke of a spear by an Elliot, who was then servant to the Laird of Buccleuch. But when the Laird of Cessfoord was slain, the chase ceased. The Earl of Angus returned again with great merriness and victory, and thanked God that he saved him from that chance, and passed with the King to Melross, where they remained all that night. On the morn they past to Edinburgh with the King, who was very sad and dolorous of the slaughter of the Laird of Cessfoord, and many other gentlemen and yeomen slain by the Laird of Buccleuch, containing the number of fourscore and fifteen, which died in defence of the King, and at the command of his writing.” I am not the first who has attempted to cele- brate in verse the renown of this ancient baron, and his hazardous attempt to procure his sove- reign’s freedom. find the following verses :— VALTERIUS SCOTUS BALCLUCHIUS, Egregio suscepto facinore, libertate Regis, ac aliis rebus gestis clarus, sub JACOBO Y, A°. Christi, 1526. “Tntentata aliis, nullique audita priorum Audet, nec pavidum morsve, inetusve quatit, Libertatem aliis soliti transcribere Regis: Subreptam hance Regi restituisse paras ; Si vincis, quanta 6 succedunt premia dextre ! Sin victus, falsas spes jace, pone animam. Hostica vis nocuit: stant altz robora mentis Atque decus. Vincet, Rege probante, fides. Insita queis animis virtus, quosque acrior ardor Obsidet, obscuris nox premat an tenebris?” Heroes ex omnni Historia Scotica lectissimi, Auctore Johan. Jonstonio Abredonense Seoto, 1603. 1 Darnwick, near Melrose. The place of conflict is Roan Skinner’s Field, from a corruption of Skirmish "ield. In a Scottish Latin poet we | | originally written. In consequence of the battle of Melrose, there ensued a deadly feud betwixt the names of Scott and Kerr, which, in spite of all means used to bring about an agreement, raged for many years upon the Borders. Buccleuch was imprisoned, and his estates forfeited, in the year 1535, for levying war against the Kerrs, and restored by act of Parliament, dated 15th March, 1542, during the regency of Mary of Lorraine. But the most signal act of violence, to which this quarrel gave rise, was the murder of Sir Walter himself, who was slain by the Kerrs in the streets of Edinburgh in 1552. This is the event alluded to in stanza vii. ; and the poem is supposed to open shortly after it had taken place. The feud between these two families was not reconciled in 1596, when both chieftains paraded the streets of Edinburgh with their followers, and it was expected their first meeting would decide their quarrel. But, on July 14th of the same year, Colvil, in a letter to Mr. Bacon, in- forms him, ‘‘ that there was great trouble upon the Borders, which would continue till order should be taken by the Queen of England and the King, by reason of the two young Scots chieftains, Cesford and Baclugh, and of the present necessity and scarcity of corn amongst the Scots Borderers and riders. That there had been a private quarrel betwixt those two lairds on the Borders, which was like to have turned to blood; but the fear of the general trouble had reconciled them, and the injuries which they thought to have committed against each other, were now transferred upon Eng- land: not unlike that emulation in France between the Baron de Biron and Mons. Jeverie, who, being both ambitious of honour, under- took more hazardous enterprises against the enemy, than they would have done if they had been at concord together.” —Bircu’s Memorials, vol. ii. p. 67. Note E. Of Bethune’s line of Picardie.—P. 24. The Bethunes were of French origin, and derived their name from asmall town in Artois. There were several distinguished families of the Bethunes in the neighbouring province of Picardy ; they numbered among their descen- dants the celebrated Duc de Sully; and the name was accounted among the most noble in France, while aught noble remained in that country.!' The family of Bethune, or Beatoun, in Fife, produced three learned and dignified prelates; namely, Cardinal Beaton, and two successive Archbishops of Glasgow, all of whom flourished about the date of the ro- mance. Of this family was descended Dame Janet Beaton, Lady Buccleuch, widow of Sir Walter Scott of Branksome. She was a woman of masculine spirit, as appeared from her rid- ing at the head of her son’s clan, after her husband’s murder. She also possessed the hereditary abilities of her family in such a _1 This expression and sentiment were dictated by the situation of France, in the year 1803, when the poem was 182r. | THE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. degree, that the superstition of the vulgar imputed them to supernatural 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 Detec- tion, accuses of Darnley’s murder ‘the Erle of Bothwell, Mr. James Balfour, the persoun of Fliske, Mr. David Chalmers, black Mr. John Spens, who was principal deviser of the murder; and the Quene, assenting thairto, throw the persuasion of the Erle Bothwell, and the witcherast of Lady Buckleuch.” Norte F. Lhe vicwless forms of air.—P. 25. The Scottish vulgar, without having any very defined notion of their attributes, believe in the existence of an intermediate class of | spirits, residing in the air, or in the waters; to whose agency they ascribe floods, storms, | and all such phenomena as their own philo- | sophy cannot readily explain. They are sup- posed to interfere in the affairs of mortals, sometimes with a malevolent purpose, and sometimes with milder views. It is said, for example, that a gallant baron, having returned from the Holy Land to his castle of Drummel- aiar, found his fair lady nursing a healthy child, whose birth did not by any means cor- respond to the date of his departure. Such an occurrence, to the credit of the dames of the Crusaders be it spoken, was so rare, that it required a miraculous solution. The lady, therefore, was believed, when she averred con- fidently, that the Spirit of the Tweed had | issued from the river while she was walking upon its bank, and compelled her to submit to his embraces: and the name of Tweedie was bestowed upon the child, who afterwards became Baron of Drummelziar, and chief of a powerful clan. To those spirits were also ascribed, in Scotland, the —‘ Airy tongues, that syllable men’s names, On sands, and shores, and desert wildernesses.” When the workmen were engaged in erect- ing the ancient church of Old Deer, in Aber- deenshire, upon a small hill called Bissau, they were surprised to find that the work was impeded by supernatural obstacles. At length, the Spirit of the River was heard to say, “Tt is not here, it is not here, That ye shall build the church of Deer But on Taptillery, Where many a corpse shall lie.” The site of the edifice was accordingly trans- ferred to Taptillery, an eminence at some distance from the place where the building had been commenced.—MAcraRLaNneE's MSS, I mention these’ popular fables, because the introduction of the River and Mountain Spirits may not, at first sight, seem to accord with the general tone of the romance, and the | superstitions of the country where the scene | is laid. Note G. A fancied moss-trooper, d&c.—P. 25. This was the usual appellation of the marau- ders upon the Borders ; a profession diligently pursued by the inhabitants on both sides, and by none more actively and successfully than by Buccleuch’s clan. Long after the union of the crowns, the moss-troopers, although sunk in reputation, and no longer enjoying the pretext of national hostility, continued to pursue their calling. Fuller includes, among the wonders of Cum- berland, ‘‘ The moss-troopers : so strange in the condition of their living, if considered in their Original, Increase, Height, Decay, and Ruine. “tz. Original. I conceive them the same called Borderers in Mr. Camden; and charac- | terised by him to be a wild and warlike people. | They are called moss-troopers, because dwelling in the mosses, and riding in troops together. | They dwell in the bounds, or meeting, of the | two kingdoms, but obey the laws of neither. They come to church as seldom as the 2gth of February comes into the kalendar. “2. Increase. When England and Scotland were united in Great Britain, they that for- merly lived by hostile incursions, betook themselves to the robbing of their neighbours. Their sons are free of the trade by their fathers’ copy. They are like to Job, not in piety and patience, but in sudden plenty and poverty ; sometimes having flocks and herds in the morning, none at night, and perchance many again next day. They may give for their motto, vivitur ex rapto, stealing from their honest neighbours what they sometimes require. They are a nest of hornets; strike one, and stir all of them about your ears. Indeed, if they promise safely to conduct a traveller, they will perform it with the fidelity of a Turkish janizary ; otherwise, woe be to him that falleth into their quarters ! “3. Height. Amounting, forty years since, to some thousands. These compelled the vicinage to purchase their security, by paying a constant rent to them. When in their greatest height, they had two great enemies, —the Laws of the Land, andthe Lord William Howard of Naworth. He sent many of them to Carlisle, to that place where the officer doth always his work by daylight. Yet these )} moss-troopers, if possibly they could procure | the pardon for a condemned person of their _ company, would advance greatsums out of their / common stock, who, in such a case, cast in their | lots amongst themselves, and all have one purse. **4. Decay. Caused by the wisdom, valour, and diligence of the Right Honourable Charles Lord Howard, Earl of Carlisle, who routed these English Tories with his regiment. His severity unto them will not only be excused, but commended, by the judicious, who con- sider how our great lawyer doth describe such persons, who are solemnly outlawed. BracrTon, lib. viii. trac. 2. cap. 11.—‘ Bx tune gerunt caput lupinum, ita quod sime judiciali inquisitione rite pereant, et secum suum judicium portent et merito sine lege pereunt, qui secundum legem D ate | | if G0 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. vivere recusdrunt.’—‘ Thenceforward (after that they are outlawed) they wear a wolf’s head, so that they lawfully may be destroyed, without any judicial inquisition, as who carry their own condemnation about them, and deservedly die without law, because they refused to live according to law.’ “5. Rune. Such was the success of this worthy lord’s severity, that he made a thorough reformation among them; and the ringleaders being destroyed, the rest are reduced to legal obedience, and so, I trust, will continue.”— FULLER’s Worthies of England, p. 216. The last public mention of moss-troopers occurs during the civil wars of the 17th cen- tury, when many ordinances of Parliament were directed against them, Nore H. William of Deloraine.—P. 26. The lands of Deloraine are joined to those of Buccleuch in Ettrick Forest. They were immemorially possessed by the Buccleuch family, under the strong title of occupancy, although no charter was obtained from the crown until 1545. Like other possessions, the lands of Deloraine were occasionally granted hy them to vassals, or kinsmen, for Border service. Satchells mentions, among the twenty -four gentlemen-pensioners of the family, ‘‘ William Scott, commonly called Cut- at-the-Black, who had the lands of Nether Deloraine, for his service.” And again, “‘ This William of Deloraine, commonly called Cut-at- the-Black, was a brother of the ancient house of Haining, which house of Haining is de- scended from the ancient house of Hassendean.”’ The lands of Deloraine now give an Earl’s title to the descendant of Henry, the second surviving son of the Duchess of Buccleuch and Monmouth. I have endeavoured to give William of Deloraine the attributes which characterised the Borderers of his day; for which I can only plead Froissart’s apology, that, “it behoveth, in a lynage, some to be folyshe and outrageous, to maynteyne and sustayne the peasable.” As acontrast to my Marchman, I beg leave to transcribe, from the same author, the speech of Amergot Marcell, a captain of the Adventurous Companions, a robber, and a pillager of the country of Au- vergne, who had been bribed to sell his strong- holds, and to assume a more honourable military life under the banners of the Earl of Armagnac. But ‘‘when he remembered alle this, he was sorrowful ; his tresour he thought he wolde not mynysshe; he was wonte dayly to serche for newe pyllages, wherbye encresed his profyte, and then he sawe that alle was closed fro’ hym. Then he sayde and ima- gyned, that to pyll and to robbe (all thynge considered) was a good lyfe, and so repented hym of his good doing. On a tyme, he said to his old companyons, ‘Sirs, there is no sporte nor glory in this worlde amonge men of warre, but to use suche lyfe as we have done in tyme past. What a joy was it to us when we rode forth at adventure, and som- tyme found by the way a riche priour or merchaunt, or a route of mulettes of Mount- pellyer, of Narbonne, of Lymens, of Fongans, of Besyers, of Tholous, or of Carcasonne, laden with cloth of Brussels, or peltre ware comynge fro the fayres, or laden with spycery fro Bruges, fro Damas, or fro Alysaundre ; whatsoever we met, all was ours, or els ran- soumed at our pleasures; dayly we gate new money, and the vyllaynes of Auvergne and of Lymosyn dayly provyded and brought to our castell whete mele, good wynes, beffes, and fatte mottons, pullayne, and wylde foule: We were ever furnyshed as tho we had been kings. When we rode forthe, all the countrey trymbled for feare: all was ours goyng and comynge. How tok we Carlast, I and the Bourge of Companye, and I and Perot of Bernoys took Caluset; how dyd we scale, with lytell ayde, the strong castell of Mar- quell, pertayning to the Erl Dolphyn: I kept it nat past fyve days, but I receyved for it, on a feyre table, fyve thousande frankes, and forgave one thousande for the love of the Erl Dolphyn’s children. By my fayth, this was a fayre and a good lyfe! wherefore I repute myselfe sore deceyved, in that I have ren- dered up the fortress of Aloys; for it wolde have kept fro alle the worlde, and the daye that I gave it up, it was fournyshed with vytaylles, to have been kept seven yere without any re-vytayllinge. This Erl of Armynake hath deceyved me: Olyve Barbe, and Perot le Bernoys, shewed to me how I shulde repente myselfe: certayne I sore repente myselfe of what I have done.’”— FROISSART, Vol. ii, p. 195. Nore I. By wily turns, by desperate bounds, Had baffled Percy’s best blood-hounds.—P. 26. 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 footsteps, he baffled the scent. The pursuers came up: “Rycht to the burn thai passyt ware, Bot the sleuth-hund made stinting thar, And waueryt lang tyme ta and fra, That he na certain gate couth ga; Till at the last that John of Lorne Perseuvit the hund the sleuth had lorne.” The Bruce, Book yii. A sure way of stopping the dog was to spill blood upon the track, which destroyed the discriminating fineness of his scent. A cap- tive was sometimes sacrificed on such occa- sions. Henry the Minstrel tells a romantic story of Wallace, founded on this circumstance: —The hero’s little band had been joined by an Irishman, named Fawdoun, or Fadzean, a dark, savage, and suspicious character, After fee OP THESLAST MINSTREL. a sharp skirmish at Black-Erne Side, Wallace was forced to retreat with only sixteen followers. The English pursued with a Border sleuth-bratch, or blood-hound. “Tn Gelderland there was that bratchet bred, Siker of scent. to follow them that fled ; So was he used in Eske and Liddesdail, While (i.e, 2il/) she gat blood no fleeing might avail.” In the retreat, Fawdoun, tired, or affecting to be so, would go no farther. Wallace, having in vain argued with him, in hasty anger, struck off his head, and continued the retreat. When the English came up, their hound stayed upon the dead body :— “The sleuth stopped at Fawdon, stil] she stood, Nor farther would fra time she fund the blood.” The story concludes with a fine Gothic scene of terror. Wallace took refuge in the solitary tower of Gask. Here he was disturbed at midnight by the blast of a horn. He sent out his attendants by two and two, but no one returned with tidings. At length, when he was left alone, the sound was heard still louder. The champion descended, sword in hand ; and, at the gate of the tower, was encountered by the headless spectre of Faw- doun, whom he had slain so rashly. Wallace, in great terror, fled up into the tower, tore open the boards of a window, leapt down fifteen feet in height, and continued his flight up the river. Looking back to Gask, he discovered the tower on fire, and the form of Fawdoun upon the battlements, dilated to an immense size, and holding in his hand a blazing rafter. The Minstrel concludes, “Trust ryght wele, that all this be sooth indeed, Supposing it be no point of the creed.” The Wallace, Book v. Mr. Ellis has extracted this tale as a sample of Henry’s poetry. — Specimens of English Poetry, vol. i. p. 351. Note K. On Minto-crags the moon-beams glint.—P. 26. A romantic assemblage of cliffs, which rise suddenly above the vale of Teviot, in the immediate vicinity of the family-seat, from which Lord Minto takes his title. A small platform, on a projecting crag, commanding a most beautiful prospect, is termed Barnhills’ Bed. This Barnhills is said to have been a robber, or outlaw. There are remains of a strong tower beneath the rocks, where he is supposed to have dwelt, and from which he derived his name. On the summit crags are the fragments of another ancient tower, in a picturesque situation. Among the houses cast down by the Earl of Hartforde, in 1545, occur the towers of Easter Barnhills, and of Minto-crag, with Minto town and place. Sir Gilbert Elliot, father to the present Lord Minto,! was the author of a beautiful 1 Grandfather to the present Earl. 1819. of the pastoral song, of which the following is a more correct copy than is usually published. The poetical mantle of Sir Gilbert Elliot has descended to his family. **My sheep I neglected, I broke my sheep-hook, And all the gay haunts of my youth I forsook: No more for Ainynta fresh garlands I wove; Ambition, I said, would soon cure me of love. But what had my youth with ambition to do! Why left I Amynta! why broke I my vow! “Through regions remote in vain do I rove, And bid the wide world secure me from love. Ah, fool, to imagine, that aught could subdue A love so well founded, a passion so true! Ah, give me my sheep, and my sheep-hook restore ! And I'll wander from love and Amyuta no more ! Alas! ’tis too late at thy fate to repine! Poor shepherd, Amynta no more can be thine! Thy tears are all fruitless, thy wishes are vain, The moments neglected return not again. Ah! what had my youth with ambition to do! Why left I Amynta! why broke I my vow!” Note L. Ancient Riddell’s fair domain.—P. 26. The family of Riddell have been very long in possession of the barony called Riddell, or Ryedale, part of which still bears the latter name. Tradition carries their antiquity to a point extremely remote; and is, in some degree, sanctioned by the discovery of two stone coffins, one containing an earthen pot filed with ashes and arms, bearing a legible date, A.D. 727; the other dated 936, and filled with the bones of a man of gigantic size. These coffins were discovered in the founda- tions of what was, but has long ceased to be, the chapel of Riddell; and as it was argued, with plausibility, that they contained the remains of some ancestors of the family, they were deposited in the modern place of sepul- ture, comparatively so termed, though built in rrro. But the following curious and authentic documents warrant most conclu- sively the epithet of ‘‘ancient Riddell:” rst, A charter by David I. to Walter Rydale, Sheriff of Roxburgh, confirming all the estates of lLiliesclive, &c., of which his father, Gervasius de Rydale, died possessed.—endly, A bull of Pope Adrian IV., confirming the will of Walter de Ridale, knight, in favour of his brother Anschittil de Ridale, dated 8th April, 1155. 3rdly, A bull of Pope Alexander IIL, confirming the said will of Walter de Ridale, bequeathing to his brother + i LHE LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL. ward ; but within five or six dayes the wounds were cicatrized, and entirely healed.”—Page 6. The King (James VI.) obtained from Sir Kenelm the discovery of his secret, which he pretended had been taught him by a Car- melite friar, who had learned it in Armenia, or Persia. Let not the age of animal magnetism and metallic tractors smile at the sympathetic powder of Sir Kenelm Digby. Reginald Scott mentions the same mode of cure in these | terms :—‘‘ And that which is more strange . . . they can remedie anie stranger with that verie sword wherewith they are wounded. Yea, and that which is beyond all admiration, if they stroke the sword upward with their fingers, the partie shall feele no pain ; whereas, if they draw their fingers downwards, there- upon the partie wounded shall feele intoler- able pain.” I presume that the success ascribed to the sympathetic mode of treatment might arise from the pains bestowed in wash- ing the wound, and excluding the air, thus bringing on a cure by the first intention. It is introduced by Dryden in the Enchanted Island, a (very unnecessary) alteration of the Tenrpest :-— “Ariel. Anoint the sword which pierced him with this Weapon-salve, and wrap it close from air, Till I have time to visit him again.”—Act v. sc. 2. Again, in scene 4th, Miranda enters with Hippolito’s sword wrapt up :— ** Hip. O my wound pains me! Mir. Lam come to ease you. [She wnwraps the Sword. Hip. Alas, I feel the cold air come to me; My wound shoots worse than ever, Wir. Does it still grieve you? ’ F [She wipes and anoints the Sword. Hip. Now, methinks, there’s something laid just upon it. Mir. Do you find no ease? Hip. Yes, yes; upon the sudden all this pain Is leaving me. Sweet heaven, how I am eased!” Note X. Our kin, and clan, and friends to raise.—P. 35. The speed with which the Borderers col- lected great bodies of horse, may be judged of from the following extract, when the subject of the rising was much less important than that supposed in the romance. It is taken from Carey’s Memoirs :— *“Upon the death of the old Lord Scroop, the Queen gave the west wardenry to his son, that had married my sister. He having re- ceived that office, came to me with great ear- nestness, and desired me to be his deputy, offering me that I should live with him in his house; that he would allow me half a dozen men, and as many horses, to be kept at his charge ; and his fee being 1,000 merks yearly, he would part it with me, and I should have | the half. This his noble offer I accepted of, and went with him to Carlisle; where I was no sooner come, but I entered into my office. We had a stirring time of it; and few days past over my head but I was on horseback, either to prevent mischief, or take malefactors, and to bring the Border in better quiet than it had 69 | been in times past. One memorable thing of |God’s mercy shewed unto me, was such as | | have good cause still to remember it. ‘‘T had private intelligence given me, that there were two Scottishmen that had killed a churchman in Scotland, and were by one of the Greemes relieved. This Greme dwelt within five miles of Carlisle. He hada pretty house, and close by it a strong tower, for his own defence in time of need.—About two o’clock in the morning, I took horse in Carlisle, and not above twenty-five in my company, thinking to surprise the house on a sudden. Before I could surround the house, the two Scots were gotten in the strong tower, and I could see a boy riding from the house as fast as his horse could carry him ; I little suspect- }ing whatitmeant. But Thomas Carleton came to me presently, and told me, that if I did not presently prevent it, both myself and all my company would be either slain or taken pri- soners. It was strange to me to hear this lan- guage. He then said to me, ‘Do you see that boy that rideth away so fast? He will be in Scotland within this half hour ; and he is gone to let them know, that you are here, and to what end you are come, and the small number you have with you; and that if they will make haste, on a sudden they may surprise us, and do with us what they please.’ Hereupon we took advice what was best to be done. We sent notice presently to all parts to raise the country, and to come to us with all the speed they could ; and withall we sent to Carlisle to raise the townsmen ; for without foot we could do no good against the tower. There we staid some hours, expecting more company; and within short time after the country came inon all sides, so that we were quickly between three and four hundred horse ; and, after some longer stay, the foot of Carlisle came to us, to the number of three or four hundred mes; whom we presently set to work, to get to the top of the tower, and to uncover the roof ; and then some twenty of them to fall down to- gether, and by that means to win the tower. — The Scots, seeing their present danger, offered to parley, and yielded themselves tomy mercy. They had no sooner opened the iron gate, and yielded themselves my prisoners, but we might see 4oo horse within a quarter of a mile coming to their rescue, and to surprise me and my small company ; but of a sudden they stayed, and stood at gaze. Then had I more to do than ever; for all our Borderers came crying, with full mouths, ‘Sir, give us leave to set upon them ; for these are they that have killed our fathers, our brothers, and uncles, and our cousins; and they are coming, thinking to surprise you, upon weak grass nags, such as they could get on a sudden ; and God hath put them into your hands, that we may take re- venge of them for much blood that they have spilt of ours.’ I desired they would be patient a while, and bethought myself, if I should give them their will, there would be few or none of the Scots that would escape unkilled ; (there was somany deadly feuds among them ;) and therefore I resolved with myself to give them a fair answer, but not to give them their desire. So Itold them, thatif I were not there a eee REO ema =| CSE ne eres cee en Se ne Aas A er %0 Ce es SCOTT'S. POL TICALYW ORES. myself, they might then do what they pleased themselves ; but being present, if I should give them leave, the blood that should be spilt that day would lie very hard upon my conscience. And therefore I desired them, for my sake, to forbear; and, if the Scots did not presently make away with all the speed they could, upon my sending to them, they should then have their wills to do what they pleased. They were ill satisfied with my answer, but durst not disobey. I sent with speed to the Scots, and bade them pack away with all the speed they could ; for if they stayed the messenger’s return, they should few of them return to their own home. They madeno stay; but they were returned homewards before the messenger had made an end of his message. Thus, by God’s mercy, I escaped a great danger; and, by my means, there were a great many men’s lives saved that day.” NOTE tY: Show’d southern ravage was begun.—P. 37. From the following fragment of a letter from the Earl of Northumberland to King Henry VIII., preserved among the Cotton MSS. Calig. B. vii. 179, the reader may estimate the nature of the dreadful war which was occasionally waged upon the Borders, sharpened by mutual cruelties, and the personal hatred of the war- dens, or leaders. Some Scottish Barons, says the Earl, had threatened to come within ‘‘ three miles of my pore house of Werkworth, where I lye, and gif me light to put on my clothes at mydnight ; and alsoo the said Marke Carr said there opynly, that, seyng they had a governor on the Marches of Scotland, as well as they had in Ingland, he shulde kepe your highness instructions, gyffyn unto your garyson, for making of any day- forrey; for he and his friends wolde burne enough on the nyght, lettyng your counsaill here defyne a notable acte at theyre plea- sures. Upon whiche, in your highnes name, I comaundet dewe watche to be kepte on your Marchies, for comyng in of any Scotts.—Neuer- theles, upon Thursday at night last, came thyrty light horsemen into a litil village of myne, called Whitell, having not past sex houses, lying towards Ryddisdaill, upon Shil- botell More, and there wold have fyred the said howses, but ther was no fyre to get there, and they forgate to brynge any withe theyme ; and took a wyf being great with chylde, in the said towne, and said to hyr, Wher we can not gyve the lard lyght, yet we shall doo this in spyte of hym ; and gyve her iii mortall wounds upon the heid, and another in the right side, with a dagger: whereupon the said wyf is deede, and the childe in her bely is loste. Beseeching your most gracious highness to reduce unto your gracious memory this wylful and shame- full murder, done within this your highnes realme, notwithstanding all the inhabitants thereabout rose unto the said fray, and gave warnynge by becons into the countrey afore theyme, and yet the Scottsmen dyde escape. And uppon certeyne knowledge to my brother Clyfforthe and me, had by credible persons of Scotland, this abomynable act not only to be done by dyverse of the Mershe, but also the afore named persons of Tyvidaill, and con- sented to, as by appearance, by the Erle of Murey, upon Friday at night last, let slyp C of the best horsemen of Glendaill, with a parte of your highnes subjects of Berwyke, together with George Dowglas, whoo came into Ingland agayhe, in the dawning of the day; but afore theyre retorne, they dyd mar the Earl of Murreis provisions at Coldingham ; for they did not only burne the said town of Colding- ham, with all the corne thereunto belonging, which is esteemed wurthe cii marke sterling ; but alsoo burned twa townes nye adjoining thereunto, called Branerdergest and the Black Hill, and toke xxiii persons, ]x horse, with ce hed of cataill, which, nowe as I am informed, hathe not only been a staye of the said Erle of Murreis not coming to the Bordure as yet, but alsoo, that none inlande man will adventure theyr self uppon the Marches. And as for the tax that shulde have been grauntyd for finding of the said iii hundred men, is utterly denyed. Upon which the King of Scotland departed from Edynburgh to Stirling, and as yet there doth remayn. And also I, by the advice of my brother Clyfforth, have devysed, that within this iii nyghts, Godde willing, Kelsey, in like case, shall be brent, with all the corn in the said town ; and then they shall have noo place to lye any garyson in nygh unto the Borders. And as I shall atteigne further knowledge, I shall not faill to satisfye your highnes, accord- ing to my most bounden dutie. And for this burnyng of Kelsey is devysed to be done secretly, by Tyndaill and Ryddisdale. And | thus the holy Trynite and *** your most royal estate, with long lyf, and as much increase of honour as your most noble heart can desire. At Werkworth the xxiid day of October.” (1522.) Nore Z, Belted Will Howard.—P. 37. 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 rzth 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 rigour with which he repressed the Border excesses, the name of Belted Will Howard is still famous in our traditions. In the castle of Naworth, his apartments, containing a bed- room, oratory, and library, are still shown. They impress us with an unpleasing idea of the life of alord warden of the Marches. Three or four strong doors, separating these rooms from the rest of the castle, indicate the appre- hensions of treachery from his garrison ; and the secret winding passages, through which he could privately descend into the guardroom, or even into the dungeons, imply the necessity 5 CN ; : llth rr _ $$$ Panay OR YTAR LAST MINSTREL. 71 of no small degree of secret superintendence on the part of the governor. As the ancient books and furniture have remained undis- turbed, the venerable appearance of these apartments, and the armour scattered around the chamber, almost lead us to expect the arrival of the warden in person. Naworth Castle is situated near Brampton, in Cumber- land. Lord William Howard is ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle. Note A 2. Lord Dacre.—P. 37. 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. There were two powerful branches ofthatname. The firstfamily, called Lord Dacres of the South, held the castle of the same name, and are ancestors to the pre- sent Lord Dacre. The other family, descended from the same stock, were called Lord Dacres of the North, and were barons of Gilsland and Graystock. A chieftain of the latter branch was warden of the West Marches during the reign of Edward VI. He was aman of a hot and obstinate character, as appears from some particulars of Lord Surrey’s letter to Henry VIIL, giving an account of his behaviour at the siege and stormof Jedburgh. Itis printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, Appen- dix to the Introduction. Note B 2. The German hackbut-men.—P. 37. 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 hack- butters on foot, and two hundred on horseback, composed chiefly of foreigners. On the 27th of September, 1549, the Duke of Somerset, | Lord Protector, writes 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 advanced to the most strength of horse- men 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 undermined with the pyke-axe, and so taken: cither to be kept for the King’s Majesty, or otherwise to be defaced, and taken from the profits of the enemy. And in like manner the house of Carlaverock to be used.” Repeated mention occurs of the Almains, in the subsequent cor- respondence ; and the enterprise seems finally to have been abandoned, from the difficulty of providing these strangers with the necessary “victuals and carriages in so poor a country as Dumfries-shire.”—AHistory of Cumberland, vol. i, Introd. p. lxi. From the battle-pieces of the ancient Flemish painters, we learn, that the Low Country and German soldiers marched to an assault with their right knees bared. And we may also observe, in such pictures, the extravagance to which they carried the fashion of ornamenting their dress with knots of ribbon. This custom of the Germans is alluded to in the Mirrour for Magistrates, aero be “Their pleited garments therewith well accord, All jagde and frounst, with divers colours deckt.” Note C 2. “Ready, aye ready,” for the fleld.—P. 38. Sir John Scott of Thirlestane flourished in the reign of James V., and possessed the estates of Thirlestane, Gamescleuch, &c., lying upon the river of Ettrick, and extending to St. Mary’s Loch, at the head of Yarrow. It appears, that when James had assembled his nobility, and their feudal followers, at Fala, with the purpose of invading England, and was, as is well known, disappointed 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, similiar to the tressure in the royal arms, with a bundle of spears for the crest ; motto, Ready, aye ready. The charter itself is printed by Nisbet ; but his work being scarce, I insert the following accurate tran- script from the original, in the possession of the Right Honourable Lord Napier, the repre- sentative of John of Thirlestane. “JAMES REx. ““We James, by the grace of God, King of Scottis, considerand the ffaith and guid servis of of of! right traist friend John Scott of Thirlestane, quha cummand to our hoste at Soutra-edge, with three score and ten laun- cieres on horseback of his friends and followers, and beand willing to gang with ws into Eng- land, when all our nobles and others refused, he was ready to stake at all our bidding; ffor the quhilk cause, it is our will, and we doe straitlie command and charg our lion herauld and his deputies for the time beand, to give and to graunt to the said John Scott, ane Border of fileure de lises about his coatte of armes, sik as is on our royal banner, and alsua ane bundell of launces above his helmet, with thir words, Readdy, ay Readdy, that he and all his aftercummers may bruik the samine as a pledge and taiken of our guid will and kynd- nes for his true worthines ; and thir our letters seen, ye nae wayes failzie to doe. Given at 1 Sic in orig. wee es SE EN AAR I PE WTS A aE nn A a 4 | 1 4 SA ee j —_- — — | —— the xxvii day of July, m c and xxxii zeires. By the King’s graces speciall ordinance. “Jo. ARSKINE.” On the back of the charter is written, “Edin. 14 January, 1713. MRegistred, con- form to the act of parliament made anent pro- bative writs, per M‘Kaile, pror. and produced by Alexander Borthwick, servant to Sir William Scott of Thirlestane. M. L. J.” Note D 2. 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.—P. 38. The family of Harden are descended from a younger son of the Laird of Buccleuch, who flourished before the estate of Murdieston was acquired by the marriage of one of those chief- tains with the heiress, in 1296. Hence they bear the cognizance of the Scotts upon the field ; whereas those of the Buccleuch are dis- posed upon a bend dexter, assumed in conse- quence of that marriage.—See GLADSTAINE of Whitelawe’s MSS., and Scott of Stokoe’s Pedigree, Newcastle, 1783. Walter Scott of Harden, who flourished during the reign of Queen Mary, was a re- nowned Border freebooter, concerning whom tradition has preserved a variety of anecdotes, some of which have been published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border; others in LEYDEN’s Scenes of Infancy ; and others, more lately, in The Mountain Bard, a collection of Border ballads by Mr. James Hogg. The bugle-horn, said to have been used by this formidable leader, is preserved by his descen- dant, the present Mr. Scott of Harden. His castle was situated upon the very brink of a dark and precipitous dell, through which a scanty rivulet steals to meet the Borthwick. In the recess of this glen he is said to have kept his spoil, which served for the daily main- tenance of his retainers, until the production of a pair of clean spurs, in a covered dish, announced to the hungry band, that they must ride for a supply of provisions. He was married to Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and called in song the Flower of Yarrow, He possessed a very exten- sive estate, which was divided among his five sons. There are numerous descendants of this old marauding Baron. The following beautiful passage of Lrypen’s Scenes of Infancy, is founded on a tradition respecting an infant captive, whom Walter of: Harden carried off in a predatory incursion, and who is said to have become the author of some of our most beau- tiful pastoral songs ;— ace SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. Ffalla Muire, under our hand and privy cashet, ““ Where Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with sand, Rolls her red tide to Teviot’s western strand, Through slaty hills, whose sides are shagg’d with thorn, Where springs, in scatter’d tufts, the dar -green cori, Towers wood-girt Harden, far above the vale, And clouds of ravens o’er the turrets sail, A hardy race, who never shrunk from war, The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar, Here fixed his mountain-home ;—a wide domain, And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain ; But what the niggard ground of wealth denied, From fields more bless’d his fearless arm supplied. Tbe waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright ; The warder'’s horn was heard at dead of night; And as the massy portals wide were flung, With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung. What fair, half-veil’d, leans from her latticed hall, Where red the wavering gleams of torchlight fall ; Tis Yarrow’s fairest Flower, who, through the gloom, Looks, wistful, for her lover’s dancing plume. Amid the piles of spoil, that strew’d the ground, Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound ; With trembling haste the youthful matron flew, And from the hurried heaps an infant drew. Scared at the light, his little hands he flung Around ber neck, and to her bosom clung ; While beauteous Mary soothed, in accents mild, His fluttering soul, and clasp’d her foster child. Of milder mood the gentle captive grew, Nor loved the scenes that scared his infant view ; In vales remote, fron: camps and castles far, He shunn’d the fearful shuddering joy of war; Content the loves of simple swains to sing, Or wake to fame the harp’s heroic string. His are the strains, whose wandering echoes thrill ‘The shepherd, lingering on the twilight hill, When evening brings the merry folding hours, And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers. He lived o'er Yarrow’s Flower to shed the tear, ‘To strew the holly leaves o’er Harden’s bier: But none was found above the minstrel’s tomb, Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom ; He, nameless as the race from which he sprung, Saved other names, and left his own unsung.” Note E 2. Knighthood he took of Douglas’ sword.—P. 4t. 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 possessed it, upon any squire who, after due probation, was found to merit the honour of chivalry. Lat- terly, this power was confined to generals, who were wont to create knights banneret after or before an engagement. Even so late as the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Essex highly offended his jealous sovereign by the indiscriminate exertion of this privilege. Among others, he knighted the witty Sir John Harrington, whose favour at court was by no means enhanced by his new honours.—See the Nuge Antique, edited by Mr. Park. But probably the latest instance of knighthood, conferred by a subject, was in the case of Thomas Ker, knighted by the Earl of Huntley, after the defeat of the Earl of Argyle in the battle of Belrinnes. The fact is attested, both by a poetical and prose account of the engagement, contained in an ancient MS. in the Advocates’ Library, and edited by Mr. Dalyell, in Godly Sangs and Ballets, Edin. 1802. Pee AY OF THE. TAS DP MINSTREL. : is Note F 2. Let Musgrave meet fierce Deloraine In single fight. —P. 42. It may easily be supposed, that trial by single combat, so peculiar to the feudal system, was common on the Borders. In 1558, the well-known Kirkaldy of Grange fought a duel with Ralph Evre, brother to the then Lord Evre, in consequence of a dispute about a prisoner said to have been ill treated by the Lord Eyre. Pitscottie gives the following account of the affair :—‘‘ The Lord of Ivers his brother provoked William Kircaldy of Grange to fight with him, in singular combat, on horseback, with spears; who, keeping the appointment, accompanied with Monsieur d'Ossel, lieutenant to the French King, and the garrison of Haymouth, and Mr. Ivers, accompanied with the governor and garrison of Berwick, it was discharged, under the pain of treason, that any man should come near the champions within a flight-shot, except one man for either of them, to bear their spears, two trumpets, and two lords to be judges. When they were in readiness, the trumpets sounded, the heraulds cried, and the judges let them go. They then encountered very fiercely ; but Grange struck his spear through his adversary’s shoulder, and bare him off his horse, being sore wounded: But whether he died, or not, it is uncertain.”—P. 202. The following indenture will show at how late a period the trial by combat was resorted to on the Border, as a proof of guilt or inno- cence :— “‘It was agreed between Thomas Musgrave and Lancelot Carleton, for the true trial of such controversies as are betwixt them, to have it openly tried by way of combat, before God and the face of the world, to try it in Canonbyholme, before England and Scotland, upon Thursday in Easter-week, being the eighth day of April next ensuing, A.D. 1602, betwixt nine of the clock, and one of the same day, to fight on foot, to be armed with jack, steel cap, plaite sleeves, plaite breaches, plaite sockes, two basleard swords, the blades to be one yard and half a quarter in length, two Scotch daggers, or dorks, at their girdles, and either of them to provide armour and weapons for themselves, according to this indenture. Two gentlemen to be appointed, on the field, to view both the parties, to see that they both be equalin arms and weapons, ac- | cording to this indenture; and being so viewed by the gentlemen, the gentlemen to ride to the test of the company, and to leave them but two boys, viewed by the gentlemen, to be under sixteen years of age, to hold their horses. In testimony of this our agreement, we have both set our hands to this indenture, of intent all matters shall be made so plain, as | there shall be no question to stick upon that | day. Which indenture, as a witness, shall be delivered to two gentlemen. And for that it is convenient the world should be privy to every particular of the grounds of the quarrel, we have agreed to set it down in this inden- ture betwixt us, that, knowing the quarrel, their eyes may be witness of the trial. THE GROUNDS OF THE QUARREL, *‘z, Lancelot Carleton did charge Thomas Musgrave before the Lords of her Majesty’s Privy Council, that Lancelot Carleton was told by a gentleman, one of her Majesty’s sworn servants, that Thomas Musgrave had offered to deliver her Majesty’s Castle of Bewcastle to the King of Scots; and to witness the same, Lancelot Carleton had a letter under the gentleman’s own hand for his discharge. “‘o, He chargeth him, that whereas her Majesty doth yearly bestow a great fee upon him, as captain of Bewcastle, to aid and de- fend her Majesty’s subjects therein : Thomas Musgrave hath neglected his duty, for that her Majesty’s Castle of Bewcastle was by him made a den of thieves, and an harbour and receipt for murderers, felons, and all sorts of misdemeanors. The precedent was Quintin Whitehead and Runion Blackburne. “3. He chargeth him, that his office of Beweastle is open for the Scotch to ride in and through, and small resistance made by him to the contrary. “Thomas Musgrave doth deny all this charge; and saith, that he will prove that Lancelot Carleton doth falsely bely him, and will prove the same by way of combat, ac- cording to this indenture. Lancelot Carleton hath entertained the challenge ; and so, by God’s permission, will prove it true as before, and hath set his hand to the same. (Signed) ‘THOMAS MUSGRAVE. ** LANCELOT CARLETON.” NoTE G 2. He, the jovial harper.—P. 42. The person here alluded to, is one of our ancient Border minstrels, called Rattling Roaring Willie. This soubriquet was probably | derived from his bullying disposition ; being, it would seem, such a roaring boy, as is fre- quently mentioned in old plays. While drinking at Newmill, upon Teviot, about five miles above Hawick, Willie chanced to quarrel with one of his own profession, who was usually distinguished by the odd name of Sweet Milk, from a place on Rule Water so called. They retired to a meadow on the opposite side of the Teviot, to decide the contest with their swords, and Sweet Milk was killed on the spot. A thorn-tree marks the scene of the murder, which is still called Sweet Milk Thorn. Willie was taken and executed at Jedburgh, bequeathing his name to the beautiful Scotch air, called ‘‘ Rattling Roaring Willie.” Ramsay, who set no value on traditionary lore, published a few verses of this song in the Tea-table Miscellany, carefully suppressing all which had any connexion with the history of the author and origin of the piece. In this case, however, honest Allan is a be’ a meses i i re ae oS = — ——— a = ~ —- ~~ aA SA IPT I TE PoE IT EAE IBD INN A TE cht PU IET a E ET R ts E G E 80 SCOTT'S -POETIGCAL WC most apt to judge with rigour, what in the first instance they had received, perhaps, with im- prudent generosity,—was in my case decidedly successful. Ihad the good fortune to pass this ordeal favourably, and the return of sales be- fore me makes the copies amount to thirty-six thousand printed between 1808 and 1825, be- sides 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 con- tinue the task which 1 have imposed on my- self respecting the origin of my productions. ABBOTSFORD, April, 1830. ADVERTISEMENT. IT is hardly to be expected, that an Author whom the Public have honoured with some degree of applause, should not be again a tres- | passer 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 in- trusion, any reputation which his first Poem may have procured him. The present story turns upon the private adventures of a fictitious character ; but is called a Tale of Flodden Field, because the hero’s fate is connected with that memorable defeat, and the causes which led to it. 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 permitted 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. The Poem opens about the commencement of August, and concludes with the defeat of Flodden, oth September, 1513. Ashestiel, 1808. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO FIRST. TO WILLIAM STEWART Rose, Esa. Ashestiel, 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 Yare. 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 o’er NELSon’s shrine ; ee Re ae ee ee TR eS ee a TE TTS Se ae And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, That shrouds, O Prrr, 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 yictor died on Gadite wave ; To him, as to the burning levin, Short, bright, resistless course was given. 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 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, 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, Pirv, lies here ! ee 1 Copenhagen, MARMION. the tottering Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, Because his rival slumbers nigh ; Nor be thy requiescat 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 3 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. Herve, where the end of earthly things Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings 3 Where stiff the hand, and still the tongue, Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung; Here, 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 dishonour’s peace he spurn’d, The sullied olive-branch return’d, Stood for his country’s glory fast, And nail’d her colours to the mast! Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave A portion in this honour’d grave, And ne’er held marble in its trust Of two such wondrous men the dust. With more than mortal powers endow’d, How high they soar’d above the crowd! Theirs was no common party 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 Pirr and Fox alone. Spells of such force no wizard grave E’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, For ever 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, ’T will trickle to his rival’s bier ; O’er Pirt’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?” ean ees Sg gH RSA AT OR RE Sa tive’ sie tinermetesaattniD Mt na gs Se 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 through bard in bard-like 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 of book-learn’d taste refined. > But thou, my friend, can’st fitly tell, (For few have read romance so well,) How still the legendary lay O’er poet’s bosom holds its sway ; How on the ancient minstrel strain Time lays his palsied hand in vain ; And how our hearts at doughty deeds, By 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 in the Chapel Perilous, $2 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. carne gE a a a Despising spells and demons’ force, Holds converse with the unburied corse sa 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.? 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,3 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 sons 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, eee Se 1 See Note A. 2 See Note B. 3 Dryden’s melancholy account of his projected Fpic Poem, blasted by the selfish and sordid parsimony of his patrons, is contained in an “‘ Essay on Satire,” addressed to the Earlof Dorset, and prefixed to the Translation of Juvenal. After mentioninga 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 I could, given your lordship, and by you the world, a rude draught of what I have been long labouring in my imagination, and what I had intended to have put in practice (ange far unable for the attempt of such a poem;) and to have left the stage, to which my genius never much inclined me, fora work which would have taken up my life in the perform- ance of it. This, too, I had intended chiefly for the honour of my native country, to which a poet is particu- larly obliged. Of two subjects, both relating to it, I was doubtful whether I should choose that of King Arthur conquering the Saxons, which, being farther distant in time, gives the greater scope to my invention ; or that of Edward the Black Prince, in subduing Spain, and restor- ing it to the lawful prince, though a great tyrant, Don Pedro the Cruel; which, for the compass of time, includ- ing only the expedition of one year, for the greatness of the action, and its answerable event, for the mnagnanimity of the English hero, opposed to the ingratitude of the person whom he restored, and for the many beautiful epi- sodes which I had interwoven with the principal design, together with the characters of the chiefest English per- sons, (wherein, after Virgil and Spenser, I would have taken occasion to represent my living friends and patrons of the noblest families, and also shadowed the events of future ages in the succession of our imperial line,)—with these helps, and those of the machines which I have men- tioned, I might perhaps have done as well as some of my predecessors, 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 a future subsistence, I was then discouraged in the beginning of my attempt; and now age has overtaken me, and want, a more insufferable Se ee the change of the times, has wholly dis- abled me,” ae : ) | : etree ei Norham Castle. Marmion.—Canto I, v. 1. “ Day set on Norham’s castled steep, And Tweed’s fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot’s mountains lone——” A ee ee —— _ ial 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 Honour, 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 Valour, lion-mettled lord, Leaning upon his own good sword. a 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,3 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. eM gee SAE SO SEL ST I, OE + CANTO FIRST. THE CASTLE. I. Day set on Norham’s castled steep,4 And Tweed’s fair river, broad and deep, And Cheviot’s mountains lone : The battled towers, the donjon keep,5 1 The New Forest in Hampshire, anciently so called. 2 The “ History of Bevis of Hampton” is abridged by my friend Mr. George Ellis, with that liveliness which extracts amusement even out of the most rude and un- promising of our old tales of chivalry. Ascapart, a most jmportant personage in the romance, is thus described in au extract :— “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. eee acento ae sem 20 = agar) 2 Gi I am happy to say, that the memory of Sir Bevis is still fragrant in his town of Southampton ; the gate of which is sentineled by the effigies of that doughty knight- errant and his gigantic associate, 3 William Rufus, 4 See Note C. 5 It is perhaps unnecessary to remind my readers, that the donjon, in its proper signification, means the strongest eerie TLS LE SER A A NR ENE TA Ne ween Sa MARMION. 83 tre rn ya ce 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 armour, 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. 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. Ill. A distant trampling sound he hears ; He looks abroad, and soon appears, } O’er Horncliff-hill a plump! of spears, 5 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 buglehorn 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 Malvoisic, Bring pasties of the doe, And quickly make the entrance free, And bid my heralds ready be, And every minstrel sound his glee, 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 garrison retreated to make their last stand. The donjon contained the great hall, and principal rooms of state for solemn occasions, and also the prison of the fortress; from which last circumstance we derive the modern and restricted use of the word dungeon. Ducange (voce DUNJO) conjectures plausibly, that the name 1s 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. 1 This word properly applies to a flight of water-fow1 ; but is applied, by analogy, to a body of horse. ‘* There is a knight of the North Country, Which leads a lusty plump of spears. “Indden Field, ij eee ee -~_-- TC - a a cy, p Semen ps Si ER SS AE ee Ea Ce re ar SSE ARS: wages Ce a ne ¢ 84 SCOTT’ S \RORVICAL WORKS, 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. V. Along the bridge Lord Marmion rode, Proudly his red-roan charger trode, His helm hung at the saddlebow ; Well by his visage you might know He was a stalworth knight, and keen, And had in many a battle been ; The scar on his brown cheek reveal’d A token true of Bosworth field ; 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 ;! 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 ; F’en such a falcon, on his shield, Soar’d sable in an azure field : The golden legend bore aright, DHAho checks at me, to veath is Vight.2 1 The artists of Milan were famous in the middle ages for their skill in armoury, as appears from the following passage, in which Froissart gives an account of the prepar- ations made by Henry, Earl of Hereford, afterwards Heury IV.,and Thomas, Duke of Norfolk, Earl Marischal, for their proposed 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 Lombardy, to have armour 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 armour for the Earl of Derby. When he had selected what he wished for in plated and mail armour, the Lord of Milan, out of his abundant love for the Earl, ordered four of the best armourers in Milan to accompany the knight to England, that the Earl of Derby might be more completely armed.” —JOHNES’ Froissart, vol. iv. p. 597. 2 The crest and motto of Marmion are borrowed 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 wisdom, but also of a lively wit. Chancing to be at the court, he there saw Sir Piers Courtenay, an English knight, famous for skill in tilting, and for the veanty af his person, parading the palace, arrayed in a | 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 warhorse tame, Could draw the bow, the sword could 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. VIIL. Four men-at-arms came at their backs, With halbert, bill, and battle-axe : They bore Lord Marmion’s lance so strong, And led his sumpter-mules along, 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 tail, 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 ; new mantle, bearing for device an embroidered falcon, with this rhyme,— “‘T bear a falcon, fairest of flight, ; Who so pinches at her, his death is dight! In graith.” 2 The Scottish knight, being a wag, appeared next day in a dress exactly similar to that of Courtenay, but bearing a magpie instead of the falcon, with a motto ingeniously cootrived to rhyme to the vaunting inscription of Sir iers :— “‘T bear a pie picking at a piece, Whoso picks at her, I shall pick at his nese, In faith.” This affront could only be expiated by a just with sharp lances. In the course, Dalzell left his helmet unlaced, so that it gave way at the touch of his antagonist’s lance, and he thus avoided the shock of the encounter, This happened twice:—in the third encounter, the handsome Courtenay lost two of his front teeth. As the English- man complained bitterly of Dalzell’s fraud in not fasten- ing 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 lists, any unequal advantage should be detected. This being agreed to, the wily Scot demanded that Sir Piers, in addi- tion to the loss of his teeth, should consent to the extine- tion of one of his eyes, he himself having lost an eye in the fight of Otterburn. As Courtenay demurred to this equalization of optical powers, Dalzell demanded the for- feit ; which, after much altercation, the King appointed to be paid to him, saying, he surpassed the English both in wit and valour. This must appear to the reader a sin- gular speciinen of the humour of that time. I suspect the Jockey Club would have given a different decision from Henry IV. 1 Prepared. 2 Armour, 3 Nose, er ae PSST TS eS OLLIE IOLA AE. oe sae ee eee 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 !” XI. Two pursuivants, whom tabarts 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 ;! And he, their courtesy to requite, Gave them a chain of twelve marks’ weight, All as he lighted down. *- Now, largesse, largesse,? Lord Marmion, Knight of the crest of gold! A blazon’d shield, in battle won, Ne’er guarded heart so bold.” | See Note D. 2 This was the cry with which heralds and pursuivants were wont to acknowledge the bounty received from the knights. Stewart of Lorn distinguishes a ballad, in which MARMION. | | | } ! | | | 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 Marmion, | With the crest and helm of gold! | Full well we know the trophies won In the lists at Cottiswold: There, vainly Ralph de Wilton strove ’Gainst Marmion’s force to stand’; To him he lost his ladye-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 !” XIII. 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 deas, 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 Ridleys all, Stout Willimondswick, And Hardiiding 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,” 2 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. , | whose feats they kept a. record, and proclaimed them | aloud, as in the text, upon suitable occasions. he satirizes the narrowness of James V. and his courtiers, | by the ironical burden— * Lerges, lerges, lerges, hay, Lerges of this new-yeir day. First lerges of the King, my chief, Qubilk come als quiet as a theif, And in my hand slid schillingis tway, ! To put his lergnes to the preif, 2 For lerges of this new-yeir day.” The heralds, like the minstrels, were a race allowed to have great claims upon the liberality of the knights, of 1 Two, 2 Proof, | | | At Berwick, Norham, and other Border fortresses of importance, pursuivants usually resided, whose inviolable character rendered them the only persons thas could, with perfect assurance of safety, be sent on necessary em- bassies into Scotland. This is alluded to in stanza xxi, p. 87. 1 Were accuracy of any consequence in a fictitious narra- tive, this castellan’s name ought to have been Wilham ; 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 surrendered 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 Scot- land, was, in fact, living in her own Castle at Ford.—See Sir RICHARD HERON’S curious Genealogy of the Heron Family. 2 The rest of this old ballad, given as a note in the former editions of ‘“* Marmion,” may be found in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. 2 EA SS — ES REEL EA EE jg tet ET oy radeccabamaO co? 5: a a ee il i} Hi i i CSL NEE ET = SCOTT'S POLITCAL WORKS 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 neighbours 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 wassell-bowl he took, And crown’d it high with wine. ‘*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 XVII. | Unmark’d, at least unreck’d, the taunt, Careless the knight replied, ‘‘No bird, whose feathers gaily flaunt, Delights in cage to bide: Norham is grim and grated close, Hemm’d in by battlement and fosse, 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.”—! 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 1 The story of Perkin Warbeck, or Richard, Duke of York, is well known. In 1496, he was received honourably in Scotland; and James IV., after conferring upon him in marriage his own relation, the Lady Catharine Gordon, made war on England in behalf of his pretensions. To retaliate an invasion of England, Surrey advanced into Berwickshire at the head of considerable forces, but re- treated, after taking the inconsiderable fortress of Ayton. XVI. Ford, in his Dramatic Chronicle of Perkin Warbeck, To serve in lady’s bower ? Or was the gentle page, in sooth, A gentle paramour ?” Se ipa massa ne: ee MS en yee <= ea Dele alleen egret dati lig nent vetaren itn -ticaag alga A ne em Ne a pe 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, Heron, say, Why does thy lovely lady gay Disdain to grace the hall to-day? Or has that dame, so fair and sage, makes the most of this inroad :— * SURREY.’ ‘“* Are all our braving enemies shrunk hack, Hid in the fogges of their distemper’d climate, Not daring to behold our colours wave In spight of this infected ayre? Can they Looke on the strength of Cundrestine defac’t ; The glorie of Heydonhall devasted; that Of Edington cast downe; the pile of Fulden Orethrowne: And this, the strongest of their forts, Old Ayton Castle, yeelded and demolished, And yet not peepe abroad? The Scots are bold, Hardie in battayle, but it seems the cause They undertake considered, appeares Unjoynted in the frame on’t.” Gone on some pious pilgrimage ?”— He spoke in covert scorn, for fame Whisper’d light tales of Heron’s dame. 2 The garrisons of the English castles of Wark, Norham, and Berwick, were, as may be easily supposed, very troublesome neighbours to Scotland, Sir Richard Mait- land of Ledington wrote a poem, called “The Blind a ab. { cumnamemenetansenceees 5S NE ES Cae MARMION. | Hi} errr ir oe 87 — | =X. ** 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, _ Break out in some unseemly broil : Old Bughtrig found him with his wife ; uh _ A herald were my fitting guide ; | And John, an enemy to strife, iti Or friar, sworn in peace to bide ; | Sans frock and hood, fled for his life. ali] / ' Or pardoner, or travelling priest, The jealous churl hath deeply swore, Bra ! _ Or strolling pilgrim, at the least.” That, if again he venture o’er, Hi 1 | Few holy brethren here resort ; Carved to his uncle and that lord, ; ' Even our good chaplain, as I ween, And reverently took up the word. ( t _ Since our last siege, we have not seen: ‘* Kind uncle, woe were we each one, , The mass he might not sing or say, If harm should hap to brother John. ; _ Upon one stinted meal a-day ; He is a man of mirthful speech, |. §8o, safe he sat in Durham aisle, Can many a game and gambol teach ; / | And pray’d for our success the while. Full well at tables can he play, + Our Norham vicar, woe betide, And sweep at bowls the stake away. t } . j | Borderers jocularly intimated the burning a house. When : ‘ : : 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, xe 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, Is all too well in case to ride ; The priest of Shoreswood!—he could rein The wildest war-horse in your train ; Baron’s Comfort ;” when his barony of Blythe, in Lauder- dale, was harried by Rowland 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 1oo pounds Scots (£8 6s. 8d.), and every thing else that was portable. ‘* This spoil was committed threescore and fourteen years of age, and grown blind,) in time of peace; when nane of that country lippened | [expected] such a thing.”—“ The Blind Baron’s Comfort ” consists in a string of puns on the word Blythe, the naine of the lands thus despoiled. Like John Littlewit, he had “a conceit left him in his misery—a miserable con- ceit.” The last line of the text contains a phrase, by which the the Maxwells, ip 1685, burned the eastle of Lochwood, they said they did so to give the Lady Johnstone “ light to set her hood.” Nor was the phrase inapplicable ; for, in a letter, to which I have mislaid the reference, the Earl of Northumberland writes to the King and Council, that he dressed himself at midnight, at Warkworth, by the blaze of the neighbouring villages burned by the Scottish marauders. 1 This churchman seems to have been akin to Welsh, the vicar of St. Thomas of Exeter, a leader among the Cornish insurgents in 1549. ‘* This man,” says Hollinshed, “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 long-bow, and also in the cress-bow ; he handled his hand-gun and peece very well; he was a very good woodman, and a hardie, and such a one as would not give his head for the poliimg, or his beard for the washing. He was a companion in any exercise of activitie, and of a courteous and gentle be- haviour. He descended of a good honest parentage, being borne at Peneverin, in Cornwall; and yet, in this rebellion, an arch-captain, and a principal doer.”—Vol. iv. p. 958, 4to edition. This model of clerical talents had the en to be hanged wpon the steeple of his own church, oe 2 ae eae SS, Te ae ee the 16th day of May, 1570, (and the said Sir Richard was | But then, no spearman in the hall Will sooner swear, or stab, or brawl. | Friar John of Tillmouth 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, | lo teach Dame Alison her creed. He shall shrieve 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, 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 M~ntserrat, too, can tell ; Spree cea [RS i te nt er ae c a = Sr ait 388 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. a i 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. ‘© To stout 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, 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 loath were I, that Friar John, That venerable man, for me, Were placed in fear or 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. 1 ‘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 inankind, resolving to dedicate herself wholly to God Almighty, that she, by divine inspiration, forsook her father’s house, and never was more heard of, till her body was found in that cleft of a rock, on that almost inacces- sible mountain, where now the chapel is built ; and they affirm she was carried up there by the hands of angels; for that place was not formerly 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 creeping into a narrow and dreadful cleft in a rock, which was always dropping wet, and was her place of retirement, as wellas prayer; having worn out even the rock with her knees, in a certain place, which is now 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 discover’d, which is just beneath the hole in the rock, which is open’d on purpose, as I said, there isa very fine 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 Sicily and Malta, by Mr. John Dryden, (son'to the poet,) p. 107 | 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.”—! 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 5 His sable cowl o’erhung his face ; 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, Nor lord, nor knight, was there more tall, Or 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. 1 Friar John understood the soporific virtue of his beads and breviary, as well as his pamesake 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: Let us therefore begin, you and I, the seven penitential psalms, to try whether you shall not quickly full asleep.’ The conceit pleased Gargantua very well; aud, beginning the first of these psalms, as soon as they came to Beati quorum, they fell asleep, both the one and the other.” 2 A Palner, opposed to a Pilgrim, was one who made it his sole business to visit different holy shrines ; travelling incessantly, and subsisting by charity: whereas the Pil- grim retired to his usual home and occupations, when he had paid his devotions at the particular spot which was the object of his pilgrimage. The Palmers seem to have been the Quwestionarii of the ancient Scottish canons 1242 and 1296. There is in the Bannatyne MS. a burlesque account of two such persons, entitled, ““Simmy and his Brother.” Their accoutrements are thus ludicrously de- scribed, (I discard the ancient spelling)— * Syne shaped them up, to loup on leas, Two tabards of the tartan ; They counted nought what their clouts were When sew’d them on, in certain. Syne clampit up St. Peter's keys, Made of an old red gartane ; St. James’s shells, on t’other side, shews As pretty as a partane oe, On Symmye and his brother.” ] , 7 | | | | | . ’ | | | — MARMION. But his gaunt frame was worn with toil; His cheek was sunk, alas the while! 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. Andrews 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 ;! Thence to Saint Fillan’s blessed well, Whose spring can frenzied dreams dispel, And the crazed brain restore : 2 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 bow] of silver deep, 1 St. Regulus, (Scotticé, St. Rule,)a monk of Patre, in Achaia, warned by a vision, is said, A.D. 370, to have sailed westward, until he landed at St. 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. It is nearly round, about ten feet in diameter, and the same in height. On one side is a sort of stone altar; on the other an aperture into an inner den, where the miser- able ascetic, who inhabited this dwelling, probably slept. At full tide, egress and regress are hardly practicable. As Regulus first colonized the metropolitan see of Scot- land, and converted the inhabitants in the vicinity, he has some reason to complain, that the ancient name of Killrule (Cella Reguli) should have been superseded, even in favour of the tutelar saint of Scotland. The reason of the change was, that St. Rule is said to have brought to Scotland the relics of Saint Andrew. 2 St. Fillan was a Scottish saint of some reputation. Although Popery is, with us, matter of abomination, yet She common people still retain some of the superstitious connected withit. There are in Perthshire several wells and springs dedicated to St. Fillan, which are still places of pilgrimage and offerings, even among the Protestants. They are held powerful in cases of madness; and, in some of very late occurrence, lunatics have been left all night hound to the holy stone, in vonfidence that the saint vould cure and unloose them before morning. 89 a 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 wassel roar, The minstrels ceased to sound. Soon in the castle nought was heard, But the slow footstep of the guard, Pacing his sober round, sok 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 Marmion 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. INTRODUCTION TO CANTO SECOND. TO THE Rev. JoHN Marriott, A.M. Ashestiel, Ettrick Forest. THE scenes are desert now, and bare, Where flourish’d once a forest fair,! 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 grey 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 2 to the rock, eee 1 See Note F. 2 Mountain-ash, nmceParnenae 0 ; = Sat eRe TA at_ SORENESS LO a Ee SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS: 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 neighbouring dingle bears his name,) With lurching step around me prowl, And stop, against the moon to howl; 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 ; And through the brake the rangers stalk, And fale’ners hold the ready hawk ; And foresters, in green-wood trim, Lead in the leash the gazehounds grim, Attentive, as the bratchet’s! 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, here 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, 1 Slowhound. 2 The Tale of the Outlaw Murray, who held out Newark Castle and Ettrick Forest against the King, may be found in the Border Minstrelsy. In the Macfarlane MS., ainong other causes of James the Fifth’s charter to the burgh of Selkirk, is mentioned, that the citizens assisted him to suppress this dangerous outlaw. And while his honest heart glows warm, At thought of his paternal 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 ; 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 noontide 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 !1 Kindled their brows to hear me speak ; And J 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 transport 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. 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 ; 1 There is, on a high mountainous ridge above the farnt of Ashestiel, a fosse called Wallace's Trench, MARMION. Qi | But, in a bosom thus prepared, Its still small voice is often heard, Whispering a mingled sentiment, *T wixt resignation and content, Oft in my mind such thoughts awake, By lone Saint 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 atrace of silver sand Marks where the water meets the land. Far in the mirror, bright and blue, Kach 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 lone, 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 soft they weep, ; The sound but lulls the ear asleep ; Your horse’s hoof-tread sounds too rude, So stilly is the solitude. Nought 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 low,?2 Yet still, beneath the hallow’d soil, The peasant rests him from his toil, And, dying, bids his bones be laid, Where erst his simple fathers pray’d. . 1 This beautiful sheet of water forms the reservoir from which the Yarrow takes its source. It is connected with a smaller lake, called the Loch of the Lowes, and sur- rounded by mountains. In the winter, it is still fre- queited by flights of wild swaus; hence wy friend Mr. Wordsworth’s lines ;— | ‘The swan on sweet St. Mary’s lake : Floats double, swan and shadow.” | Near the lower extremity of the lake, are the ruins of \ Dryhope tower, the birth-place of Mary Scott, daughter of Philip Scott of Dryhope, and famous by the tradi- tional 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 appellation was, in latter days, with equal justice, con- ferred on Miss Mary Lilias Scott, the last of the elder branch of the Harden family. 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 naine. The words usually sung to the air of | *T weedside,” beginning, ‘* What beauties does Flora dis- close,” were composed in her honour. . 2 The chapel of St. Mary of the Lowes (de Zacubus) was situated on the eastern side of the lake, to which it gives ' name. It was injured by the 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 ground is still used asa cemetery.

32 9 Che Lord of the Isles: A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. —o— INTRODUCTION. I coup hardly have chosen a subject more popular in Scotland, than any thing connected with the Bruce’s history, unless I had at- | tempted that of Wallace. But 1 am decidedly of | opinion that a popular, or what is called takiny title, though well qualified to ensure the pub- lishers against loss, and clear their shelves of the original impression, is rather apt to be hazardous than otherwise to the reputation of the author. He who attempts a subject of distinguished popularity, has not the privilege of awakening the enthusiasm of his audience ; on the contrary, it is already awakened, and glows, it may be, more ardently than that of | the author himself. In this case, the warmth of the author is inferior to that of the party | whom he addresses, who has, therefore, little chance of being, in Bayes’s phrase, ‘* elevated and surprised” by what he has thought of with more enthusiasm than the writer. The | sense of this risk, joined to the consciousness of striving against wind and tide, made the task of composing the proposed Poem some- what heavy and hopeless ; but, like the prize- | fighter in ‘‘As You Like It,” I was to wrestle for my reputation, and not neglect any advan- tage. In a most agreeable pleasure-voyage, which I have tried to commemorate in the In- troduction to the new edition of ‘‘The Pirate,” [ visited, in social and friendly company, the coasts and islands of Scotland, and made myself acquainted with the localities of which I meant to treat. But this voyage, which was in every other effect so delightful, was in its conclusion saddened by one of those strokes of fate which so often mingle themselves with our pleasures. The accomplished and excel- lent person who had recommended to me the subject for ‘‘The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” and to whom I proposed to inscribe what I already suspected might be the close of my poetical labours, was unexpectedly removed from the world, which she seemed only to have | visited for purposes of kindness and benevo- | lence. It is needless to say how the Author’s | feelings, or the composition of his trifling work, were affected by a circumstance which occa- sioned so many tears and so much sorrow. True itis, that ‘‘ The Lord of the Isles ” was con- cluded, unwillingly and in haste, under the | painful feeling of one who hasatask which must be finished, rather than with the ardour of one who endeavours to perform that task well. Although the Poem cannot be said to have made a favourable impression on the public, | the sale of fifteen thousand copies enabled the Author to retreat from the field with the honours of war. In the meantime, what was necessarily to be considered as a failure, was much reconciled to my feelings by the success attending my attempt in another species of composition. “Waverley” had, under strict incognito, taken its flight from the press, just before I set out upon the voyage already mentioned ; it had now made its way to popularity, and the suc- cess of that work and the volumes which fol- lowed, was sufficient to have satisfied a greater appetite for applause than I have at any time possessed. I may as well add in this place, that, being ‘much urged by my intimate friend, now un- happily no more, William Erskine, (a Scottish judge, by the title of Lord Kinedder,) I agreed | to write the little romantic tale called ‘‘ The Bridal of Triermain;” but it was on the condition, that he should make no serious effort to disown the composition, if report should lay it at his door, As he was more than suspected of a taste for poetry, and as I took care, in several places, to mix some- thing which might resemble (as far as was in my power) my friend’s feeling and manner, the train easily caught, and two large editions were sold. A third being called for, Lord Kinedder became unwilling to aid any longer a deception which was going farther than he expected or desired, and the real Author’s name was given. Upon another occasion, I sent up another of these trifles, which, like schoolboy’s kites, served to show how the wind of popular taste was setting. The manner was supposed to be that of a rude minstrel, or Scald, in opposition to ‘‘ The Bridal of Triermain,”’ which was designed to belong rather to the Italian school. This new fugitive piece was called “Harold the Dauntless;” and I am still astonished at my having committed the gross error of selecting the very name which Lord Byron had made so famous. It encountered rather an odd fate. My ingenious friend, Mr. ' James Hogg, had published, about the same time, a work called ‘‘ The Poetic Mirror,” con- taining imitations of the principal living poets. There was in ita very good imitation of my own style, which bore such aresemblance to ‘‘ Harold the Dauntless,” that there was no discovering the original from the imitation ; and I believe that many who took the trouble of thinking upon the subject, were rather of opinion that my ingenious friend was the true, and not the fictitious, Simon Pure. Since this period, ~~ See + al ——+€+ | SCOTT'S POETICAL WORmam ees in the year 1816, the Author hae’ Bruce, who had been driven out of Scotland not been an bataiaee on the public by any | by the English, and the Barons who adhered poetical work of importance. W.S. ABBOTSFORD, April, 1830. +4 ADVERTISEMENT. THE scene of this Poem lies, at first, in the Castle of Artornish, on the coast of Argyle- | shire ; and, afterwards, in the Islands of Skye | and Arran, and upon the coast of Ayrshire. | Finally, it is laid near Stirling. The story | opens in the spring of the year 1307, when | CANTO FIRST. AUTUMN departs—but still his mantle’s fold Rests on the groves of noble Somerville, Beneath a shroud of russet dropp’d with gold Tweed and his tributaries mingle still ; Hoarser the wind, and deeper sounds the rill, Yet lingering notes of silvan music swell, The deep-toned cushat, and the redbreast | shrill ; And yet some tints of summer splendour tell | When the broad sun sinks down on Ettrick’s | western fell. | Autumn departs—from Gala’s fields no more Come rural sounds our kindred banks to cheer ; Blent with the stream, and gale that watts | it o’er, No more the distant reaper’s mirth we hear. | The last blithe shout hath died upon our ear, | And harvest-home hath hush’d the clanging | wain, On the waste hill no forms of life appear, Save where, sad laggard of the autumnaltrain, Some age-struck wanderer gleans few ears of scatter’d grain. Deem’st thou these sadden’d scenes have pleasure still, Lovest thou through Autumn’s fading realms to stray, To see the heath-flower wither’d on the hill, To listen to the wood’s expiring lay, To note the red leaf shivering on the spray, To mark the last bright tints the mountain stain, On the waste fields to trace the gleaner’s way, And moralize on mortal joy and pain ?— O! if such scenes thou lovest, scorn not the minstrel strain. No! do not scorn, although its hoarser note Scarce with the cushat’s homely song can vie, ! Though faint its beauties as the tints remote That gleam through mist in autumn’s even- ing sky, | to that foreign interest, returned from the | Island of Rachrin on the coast of Ireland, again to assert his claims to the Scottish Crown. | Many of the personages and incidents intro- | duced are of historical celebrity. The authori- | ties used are chiefly those of the venerable | Lord Hailes, as well entitled to be called the | restorer of Scottish history, as Bruce the re- | storer of Scottish monarchy ; and of Archdeacon Barbour, a correct edition of whose Metrical History of Robert Bruce will soon, I trust, appear, under the care of my learned friend, | the Rev. Dr. Jamieson. ABBOTSFORD, toth December, 1814, And few as leaves that tremble, sear anddry, When wild November hath his bugle wound ; Nor mock my toil—a lonely gleaner I, Through fields time-wasted, on sad inquest bound, | Where happier bards of yore have richer har- vest found. So shalt thou list, and haply not unmoved, To a wild tale of Albyn’s warrior day ; In distant lands, by the rough West reproved, Still live some relics of the ancient lay. For, when on Coolin’s hills the lights decay, With such the Seer of Skye the eve beguiles ; "Tis known amid the pathless wastes of Reay, In Harries known, and in Iona’s piles, Where rest from mortal coil the Mighty of the Isles. ‘‘ WAKE, Maid of Lorn !” the Minstrels sung. Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung,! | And the dark seas, thy towers that lave, | Heaved on the beach a softer wave, | As mid the tuneful choir to keep | The diapason of the Deep. Lull’d were the winds on Inninmore, | And green Loch-Alline’s woodland shore, As if wild woods and waves had pleasure In listing to the lovely measure. And ne’er to symphony more sweet Gave mountain echoes answer meet, Since, met from mainland and from isle, Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle, | Each minstrel’s tributary lay | Paid homage to the festal day. Dull and dishonour’d were the bard, Worthless of guerdon and regard, Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, Or lady’s smiles, his noblest aim, Who on that morn’s resistless call Were silent in Artornish hall. II. ‘Wake, Maid of Lorn!” ’twas thus they sung, And yet more proud the descant rung, 1 See Note A. “Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours, To charm dull sleep from Beauty’s bowers ; Jarth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy But owns the power of minstrelsy. In Lettermore the timid deer Will pause, the harp’s wild chime to hear ; Rude Heiskar’s seal through surges dark Will long pursue the minstrel’s bark ;! To list his notes, the eagle proud Will poise him on Ben-Cailliach’s cloud ; Then let not Muaiden’s ear disdain The summons of the minstrel train, But, while our harps wild music make, Edith of Lorn, awake, awake ! iil. “OQ wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine, ! Wakes Nature’s charms to vie with thine ! She bids the mottled thrush rejoice To mate thy melody of voice ; The dew that on the violet lies Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes; But, Edith, wake, and all we see Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee !”— «She comes not yet,” grey Ferrand cried ; ‘‘ Brethren, let softer spell be tried, Those notes prolong’d, that soothing theme, Which best may mix with Beauty’s dream, And whisper, with their silvery tone, The hope she loves, yet fears to own.” | He spoke, and on the harp-strings died | The strains of flattery and of pride; More soft, more low, more tender fell The lay of love he bade them tell. IV. ‘‘ Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly, Which yet that maiden-name allow ; Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh, When Love shall claim a plighted vow. By Fear, thy bosom’s fluttering guest, By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest, And wake thee at the call of Love! : ‘Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily mann’d, We hear the merry pibrochs play, We see the streamers’ silken band. What Chieftain’s praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell— The riddle must be read by Love.” | v. Retired her maiden train among, Edith of Lorn received the song, But tamed the minstrel’s pride had been That had her cold demeanour seen ; For not upon her cheek awoke The glow of pride when Flattery spoke, : 1 The seal displays a taste for music, which could scarcely be expected from his habits and local predilec- ; tions. They will long follow 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 I seals takes place there. Pree LORD IOLA E ISLES. Nor could their tenderest numbers bring | One sigh responsive to the string. As vainly had her maidens vied In skill to deck the princely bride. | Her locks, in dark-brown length array’d, Cathleen of Ulne, ’twas thine to braid ; Young Eva with meet reverence drew On the light foot the silken shoe, | While on the ankle’s slender round Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound, That, bleach’d Lochryan’s depths within, Seem’d dusky still on Edith’s skin. But Einion, of experience old, | Had weightiest task—the mantle’s fold In many au artful plait she tied, To show the form it seem’d to hide, Till on the floor descending roll’d Its waves of crimson blent with gold. VI. O! lives there now so cold a maid, Who thus in beauty’s pomp array’d, In beauty’s proudest pitch of power, And conquest won—the bridal hour- - With every charm that wins the heart, By Nature given,.enhanced by Art, Could yet the fair reflection view, In the bright mirror pictured true, And not one dimple on her cheek A tell-tale consciousness bespeak ?— Lives still such maid ?—Fair damsels, say, For further vouches not my lay, Save that such lived in Britain’s isle, i When Lorn’s bright Edith scorn’d to smile. VII. But Morag, to whose fostering care Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, | Morag, who saw a mother’s aid | By all a daughter’s love repaid, (Strict was that bond—most kind of all— Inviolate in Highland hall—) Grey Morag sate a space apart, In Edith’s eyes to read her heart. In vain the attendants’ fond appeal To Morag’s skill, to Morag’s zeal ; She mark’d her child receive their care, Cold as the image sculptured fair, i (Form of some sainted patroness, ) Which cloister’'d maids combine to dress ; ; She mark’d—and knew her nursling’s heart \ In the vain pomp took little part. Wistful a while she gazed—then press’d The maiden to her anxious breast In finish’d loveliness—and led To where a turret’s airy head, | Slender and steep, and battled round, | O’erlook’d, dark Mull! thy mighty Sound,! a : — : 1 The Sound of Mull, which divides that island from | the continent of Scotland, is one of the most striking scenes which the Hebrides afford to the traveller. Sailing | from Oban to Aros, or Tobermory, through a narrow channel, yet deep enough to bear vessels of the largest burden, he has on his left the boldand 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 south-eastward arise a prodigious range of mountains, among which Cruachan Ben is pre-eminent. And to the | north-east is the no less huge and picturesque range of the | Ardnamurchan hills. Many ruinous castles, situated : genemilly upon cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest X cer Sy = ee re rs = a SSeS aS ae SS =essr+- = mr = ee = ees Se = = Se <= ¥ pt > sth, NO RESET + 2A SOE IE, a0 I9@ Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar, Part thy swarth hills from Morven’'s shore, ° Vill. ** Daughter,” she said, ‘‘these seas behold, Round twice a hundred islands roll’d, From Hirt, that hears their northern roar, To the green Ilay’s fertile shore ;! Or mainland turn, where many a tower Owns thy bold brother’s feudal power, Each on its own dark cape reclined, And listening to its own wild wind, From where Mingarry, sternly placed, O’erawes the woodland and the waste,* To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging Of Connal-with his rocks engaging. Think’st thou, amid this ample round, A single brow but thine has frown’'d, To sadden this auspicious morn, That bids the daughter of high Lorn Impledge her spousal faith to wed The heir of mighty Somerled ?3 to the scene. Those of Dunolly and Dunstafinage are first passed, then that of Duart, formerly belonging to the chief of the warlike and powerful sept of Macleans, ana the scene of Miss Baillie’s beautiful tragedy, entitled the Family Legend. Still passing on to the northward, Artornish and Aros become visible upon the opposite shores; and, lastly, Mingarry, and other ruins of less dis- tinguished note. In tine weather, a grander and more lmpressive scene, both from its natural beauties, and associations with ancient history and tradition, can hardly be imagined. passage 1s both difficult and dangerous, from the narrow- ness of the channel, and in part from the number of inland lakes, out of which sally forth a number of conflicting and thwarting tides, making the navigation perilous to open boats. The sudden flaws and gusts of wind which issue without a moment's warning from the mountain giens, are equally formidable. So that 1n unsettled weather, a stranger, if not much accustomed to the sea, Inay sometimes add to the other sublime sensations excited by the scene, that feeling of dignity which arises fro a sense of danger. 1 The number of the western isles of Scotland exceeds two hundred, of which St. Kilda is the most northerly, ancieutly called Hirth, or Hirt, probably from ‘‘ earth,” being in fact the whole globe to its inhabitants. Ilay, which now belongs almost entirely to Walter Campbell, Esq. of Shawfield, is by far the most fertile of the He- brides, and has been greatly improved under the spirited and sagacious management of the present proprietor. This was in ancient times the principal abode of the Lords of the Isles, being, if not the largest, the most im- portant island of their archipelago. In Martin’s time, some relics of their grandeur were yet extant. ‘‘ Loch- Finlagan, about thrée miles in circumference, affords salmon, trouts, and eels: this lake hes in the centre of theisle. The Isle Finlagan, from which this lake hath its name, isinit. It’s famous for being once the court in which the great Mac-Donald, King of the Isles, had his residence; his houses, chapel, &c. are now ruinous. His guards de corps, called Lucht-tach, kept guard on the lakeside nearest to the isle; the walls of their houses are still to be seen there. The high court of judicature, con- sisting of fourteen, sat always here: and there was an appeal to them from all the courts in the isles: the eleventh share of the sum in debate was due to the princi- pal judge. There was a big stone of seven foot square, in which there was a deep impression made to receive the feet of Mac-Donald; for he was crowned King of the Isles standing in this stone, and swore that he would continue Ins vassals in-the possession of their lands, and do exact, justice to all his subjects: and then his father’s sword was put into his hand. The Bishop. of Argyle and seven priests anointed him king, in presence of all the heads of the tribes in the isles and continent, and were his vassals ; at which time the orator rehearsed a catalogue of his an- cestors,” &c.—MARTIN’S Account of the Western Isles, 8vo, London, 1716, p. 240, 1. % See Note B. >» Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, about the middle of the twelfth century. He seems to lave exercised his authority in both capacities, indepen- dent of the Crown of Scotland, against which he often When the weather is rough, the | SCOTL’S POLTICAL Wy Ofma ' Ronald, from many a hero sprung, The fair, the valiant, and the young, LorpD OF THE ISLES, whose lofty name ! A thousand bards have given to fame, The mate of monarchs, and allied On equal terms with England’s pride.— From chieftain’s tower to bondsman’s cot, Who hears the tale, and triumphs not? The damsel dons her best attire, The shepherd lights his beltane fire, Joy, joy ! each warder’s horn hath sung, Joy, joy ! each matin bell hath rung ; The holy priest says grateful mass, Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass, No mountain den holds outcast boor, Of heart so dull, of soul so poor, But he hath flung his task aside, And claim’d this morn for holy-tide ; Yet, empress of this joyful day, Edith is sad while all are gay.”— IX, Proud Edith’s soul came to her eye, Resentment check’d the struggling sigh, Her hurrying hand indignant dried The burning tears of injured pride— ‘* Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise To swell yon hireling harpers’ lays ; Make to yon maids thy boast of power, That they may waste a wondering hour, Telling of banners proudly borne, Of pealing bell and bugle-horn, Or, theme more dear, of robes of price, Crownlets and gauds of rare device. But thou, experienced as thou art, Think’st thou with these to cheat the heart, That, bound in strong affection’s chain, Looks for return and looks in vain? No! sum thine Edith’s wretched lot In these brief words—He loves her not! aoe ““ Debate it not—too long I strove To call his cold observance love, All blinded by the league that styled Edith of Lorn,—while yet a child, She tripp’d the heath by Morag’s side,— The brave Lord Ronald’s destined bride. Ere yet I saw him, while afar His broadsword blazed in Scotland’s war, Train’d to believe our fates the same, My bosom throbb’d when Ronald’s name 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 neighbouring provinces of Ireland. He was defeated and slain in an engagement with a very inferior force, near Renfrew. His son Gillicolane fell in the same battle. This mighty chieftain married a daughter of Olaus, King of Man. From him our genealogists deduce two dynasties, distinguished in the stormy history of the middle ages; the Lords of the Isles descended from his elder son Ron- ald,—and the Lords of Lorn, who took their surname of M‘Dougal, as descended of his second son Dougal. That Somerled’s territories upon the mainland, and upon the islands, should have been thus divided between his two sons, instead of passing to the elder exclusively, may illustrate the uncertainty of descent among the great Highland families, which we shall presently notice, L See Note C. Sk ATA Roe ATER RC FEN ETON I TT TEES HRN YE SIO. CRS SR POUT PAC C8 SARE LT OR REALE MRE ENUN vf of Pree resem thier a SRNR STORE INA SE RRA SNC GT PO A EI art Cea Par nsw RENAE PS PREV LORD. OF LAE TSLES. 333 Came gracing Fame’s heroic tale, Like perfume on the summer gale. What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told Of Ronald’s deeds in battle bold ; Who touch’d the harp to heroes’ praise, But his achievements swell’d the lays? Even Morag—not a tale of fame Was hers but closed with Ronald’s name. He came! and all that had been told Of his high worth seem’d poor and cold, Tame, lifeless, void of energy, Unjust to Ronald and to me! ak “Since then, what thought had Edith’s heart, And gave not plighted love its part !— And what requital? cold delay— Excuse that shunn’d the spousal day. — It dawns, and Ronald is not here !— Hunts he Bentalla’s nimble deer, Or loiters he in secret dell To bid some lighter love farewell, And swear, that though he may not scorn A daughter of the House of Lorn,! Yet, when these formal rites are o’er, Again they meet, to part no more?” AIT, — Hush, daughter, hush! thy doubts remove, More nobly think of Ronald's love. Look, where beneath the castle gray His fleet unmoor from Aros bay ! See’st not each galley’s topmast bend, As on the yards the sails ascend? Hiding the dark-blue land they rise, Like the white clouds on April skies ; The shouting vassals man the oars, Behind them sink Mull’s mountain shores, Onward their merry course they keep, Through whistling breeze and foaming deep. And mark the headmost, seaward cast, Stoop to the freshening gale her mast, As if she vail'd its banner'’d pride, To greet afar her prince's bride! Thy Ronald comes, and while in speed His galley mates the flying steed, He chides her sloth !”—Fair Edith sigh’d, Blush’d, sadly smiled, and thus replied :— XIII, “Sweet thought, but vain !—No, Morag ! mark, Type of his course, yon lonely bark, That oft hath shifted helm and sail, To win its way against the gale. Since peep of morn, my vacant eyes Have view’d by fits the course she tries ; Now, though the darkening scud comes on, And dawn’s fair promises be gone, And though the weary crew may see Our sheltering haven on their lee, Still closer to the rising wind They strive her shivering sail to bind, Still nearer to the shelves’ dread verge At every tack her course they urge, As if they fear’d Artornish more Than adverse winds and breakers’ roar.” 1 See Note D. XIV. Sooth spoke the Maid.—Amid the tide The skiff she mark’d lay tossing sore, And shifted oft her stooping side, In weary tack from shore to shore. Yet on her destined course no more She gain’d, of forward way, Than what a minstrel may compare To the poor meed which peasants share, Who toil the livelong day ; And such the risk her pilot braves, That oft, before she wore, Her boltsprit kiss’d the broken waves, Where in white foam the ocean raves Upon the shelving shore. Yet, to their destined purpose true, Undaunted toil’d her hardy crew, Nor look’d where shelter lay, Nor for Artornish Castle drew, Nor steer’d for Aros bay. Vis Thus while they strove with wind and seas, Borne onward by the willing breeze, Lord Ronald’s fleet swept by, Streamer’d with silk, and trick’d with gold, Mann’d with the noble and the bold Of Island chivalry. Around their prows the ocean roars, And chafes beneath their thousand oars, Yet bears them on their way: So chafes the war-horse in his might, That fieldward bears some valiant knight, Champs, till both bit and boss are white, But, foaming, must obey. On each gay deck they might behold Lances of steel and crests of gold, And hauberks with their burnish’d fold, That shimmer’d fair and free ; And each proud galley, as she pass’d, To the wild cadence of the blast Gave wilder minstrelsy. Full many a shrill triumphant note Saline and Scallastle bade float Their misty shores around ; And Morven’s echoes answer’d well, And Duart heard the distant swell Come down the darksome Sound. XVI. So bore they on with mirth and pride, And if‘that labouring bark they spied, ’*Twas with such idle eye | As nobles cast on lowly boor, | When, toiling in his task obscure, They pass him careless by. | Let them sweep on with heedless eyes ! But, had they known what mighty prize In that frail vessel lay, The famish’d wolf, that prowls the wold, Had scathless pass’d the unguarded fold, Ere, drifting by these galleys bold, Unchallenged were her way ! And thou, Lord Ronald, sweep thou on, With mirth, and pride, and minstrel tone! But had’st thou known who sail’d so nigh, Far other glance were in thine eye ! nip emer ee ron ee A RE en emery ee ~ A I ETE ESM gn fis “a+ ce ie a ear ate naemepeninmaatatpeatain mn D CERT EET a ance en a SR Ns SNA A NE | sf seater emma nt 334 Far other flush were on thy brow, That, shaded by the bonnet, now Assumes but ill the blithesome cheer Of bridegroom when the bride is near! XVII. Yes, sweep they on !—We will not leave, For them that triumph, those who grieve. With that armada gay Be laughter loud and jocund shout, And bards to cheer the wassail rout, With tale, romance, and lay ; And of wild mirth each clamorous art, Which, if it cannot cheer the heart, May stupefy and stun its smart, For one loud busy day. Yes, sweep they on !—But with that skiff Abides the minstrel tale, Where there was dread of surge and cliff, Labour that strain’d each sinew stiff, And one sad Maiden’s wail. XVIII. All day with fruitless strife they toil’d, With eve the ebbing currents boil’d More fierce from strait and lake ; And midway through the channel met Conflicting tides that foam and fret, And high their mingled billows jet, As spears, that, in the battle set, Spring upward as they break. Then, too, the lights of eve were past, And louder sung the western blast On rocks of Inninmore ; Rent was the sail, and strain’d the mast, And many a leak was gaping fast, And the pale steersman stood aghast, And gave the conflict o er. XIX. "Twas then that One, whose lofty look Nor labour dull’d nor terror shook, Thus to the Leader spoke :— ‘Brother, how hopest thou to abide The fury of this wilder’d tide, Or how avoid the rock’s rude side, Until the day has broke? Didst thou not mark the vessel reel, With quivering planks, and groaning keel, At the last billow’s shock ? Yet how of better counsel tell, Though here thou see’st poor Isabel Half dead with want and fear ; For look on sea, or look on land, Or yon dark sky, on every hand Despair and death are near. For her alone I grieve—on me Danger sits light by land and sea, I follow where thou wilt ; Hither to bide the tempest’s lour, Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, Or rush amid their naval power, With war-cry wake their wassail-hour, And die with hand on hilt.’”— SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. — That elder Leader’s calm reply In steady voice was given, “In man’s most dark extremity Oft succour dawns from Heaven. Edward, trim thou the shatter’d sail, The helm be mine, and down the gale Let our free course be driven ; So shall we ’scape the western bay, The hostile fleet, the unequal fray, So safely hold our vessel’s way Beneath the Castle wall ; For if a hope of safety rest, Tis on the sacred name of guest, Who seeks for shelter, storm-distress’d, Within a chieftain’s hall. If not—it best beseems our worth, Our name, our right, our lofty birth, By noble hands to fall.” XXI. ‘ The helm, to his strong arm consign’d, Gave the reef’d sail to meet the wind, And on her alter’d way, Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship, Like greyhound starting from the slip To seize his flying prey. Awaked before the rushing prow, The mimic fires of ocean glow, Those lightnings of the wave ; Wild sparkles crest the broken tides, : And, flashing round, the vessel’s sides With elvish lustre lave, While, far behind, their livid light To the dark billows of the night A gloomy splendour gave, It seems as if old Ocean shakes From his dark brow the lucid flakes In envious pageantry, To match the meteor light that streaks Grim Hecla’s midnight sky. i XXII. Nor lack’d they steadier light to keep Their course upon the darken’d deep ;— Artornish, on her frowning steep ’Twixt cloud and ocean hung, Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, And landward far, and far to sea, Her festal radiance flung. By that blithe beacon-light they steer’d, Whose lustre mingled well With the pale beam that now appear’d, As the cold moon her head uprear’d Above the eastern fell. 1 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 illu- minated around the vessel, and a long train of lambent coruscations are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pursuing her wake through the darkness. These phosphoric appearances, concerning the origin of | whieh naturalists are not agreed in opinion, seem to be | called into action by the rapid motion of the ship through the water, and are probably owing to the water being | saturated with fish-spawn, or other animal substances. | They remind one strongly of the description of the sea- { snakes in Mr. Coleridge's wild, but highly poetical ballad | of the Ancient Mariner :— ‘ “‘ Beyoud the shadow of the ship, 7 wa\ch’d the water-snakes, They moved in tracks of shining white, And when they rear’d, the elvish light Fell off in hoary flakes.” fe LORD OF THE: 1SDES. | “Thrice welcome, holy Sire!” he said ; XXIII, Thus guided, on their course they bore, Until they near’d the mainland shore, When frequent on the hollow blast Wild shouts of merriment were cast, And wind and wave and sea-birds’ cry With wassail sounds in concert vie, Like funeral shrieks with revelry, Or like the battle-shout By peasants heard from cliffs on high, When Triumph, Rage, and Agony, Madden the fight and rout. Now nearer yet, through mist and storm Dimly arose the Castle’s form, And deepen’d shadow made, Far lengthen’d on the main below, Where, dancing in reflected glow, A hundred torches play’d, Spangling the wave with lights as vain As pleasures in this vale of pain, That dazzle as they fade. XXIV. Beneath the Castle’s sheltering lee, They staid their course in quiet sea. Hewn in the rock, a passage there Sought the dark fortress by a stair, So strait, so high, so steep, With peasant’s staff one valiant hand Might well the dizzy pass have mann’d, ’Gainst hundreds arm’d with spear and brand, And plunged them in the deep.! His bugle then the helmsman wound ; Loud answer’d every echo round, From turret, rock, and bay, The postern’s hinges crash and groan, And soon the warder’s cresset shone On those rude steps of slippery stone, To light the upward way. 1 The fortress of a Hebridean chief was almost always | on the sea-shore, for the facility of communication which the ocean afforded. Nothing can be more wild than the situations which they chose, and the devices by which the architects endeavoured to defend them. Narrow stairs and arched vaults were the usual wode of access; and the drawbridge appears at Dunstaffnage, and elsewhere, to have fallen from the gate of the building to the top of such a staircase; so that any one advancing with hostile | purpose, found himself in a state of exposed and pre- | earious elevation, with a gulf between him and the object | of his attack. 7 These fortresses were guarded with equal care. The duty of the watch devolved chiefly upon an officer called the Cockman, who had the charge of challenging all who | approached the castle. The very ancient family of Mac- | Niel of Barra kept this attendant at their castle about a | hundred years ago. Martin gives the following account of the difficulty which attended his procuring entrance there:—‘‘ The little island Kismul lies about a quarter of | 2x mile from the south of this isle (Barra); it is the seat of | Mackneil of Barra; there is a stone wall round it two stories high, reaching the sea; and within the wall there isan | old tower and an hall, with other houses aboutit. There is a little magazine in the tower, to which no stranger has | aecess. I saw the officer called the Cockman,and an old | cock he is; when I bid him ferry me over the water to the | island, he told me that he was but an inferior officer, his | business being to attend in the tower; but if (says he) the constable, whothen stood on the wall, will give you access, I'll ferry you over. I desired him to procure me the constable’s permission, and I would reward him; but having waited some hours for the constable’s answer, and not receiving any, I was obliged to return without seeing this famous fort. Mackneil and his lady being absent, was the cause of this difficulty, and of my not seeing the place. I was told some weeks after, that the constable | wus very apprehensive of some design I mignt have in | viewing the fort, and thereby to expose it to the conquest of a foreign power; of which I supposed there was no | great cause of fear.” 335 ‘* Full long the spousal train have staid, And, vex’d at thy delay, Fear’d lest, amidst these wildering seas, The darksome night and freshening breeze Had driven thy bark astray.”— xOKVe “Warder,” the younger stranger said, “‘ Thine erring guess some mirth had made In mirthful hour ; but nights like these, When the rough winds wake western seas, Brook not of glee. We crave some aid And needful shelter for this maid Until the break of day ; For, to ourselves, the deck’s rude plank Is easy as the mossy bank That’s breathed upon by May. And for our storm-toss’d skiff we seek Short shelter in this leeward creek, Prompt when the dawn the east shall streak Again to bear away.”— Answer’d the Warder, ‘‘In what name Assert ye hospitable claim ? Whence come, or whither bound ? | Hath Erin seen your parting sails? Or come ye on Norweyan gales ? And seek ye England’s fertile vales, Or Scotland’s mountain ground ?”— XXVI. “ Warriors—for other title none For some brief space we list to own, Bound by a vow—warriors are we ; | In strife by land, and storm by sea, We have been known to fame; And these brief words have import dear, When sounded in a noble ear, ' To harbour safe, and friendly cheer, That gives us rightful claim. Grant us the trivial boon we seek, And we in other realms will speak Fair of your courtesy ; Deny—and be your niggard Hold Scorn’d by the noble and the bold, Shunn’d by the pilgrim on the wold, And wanderer on the lea !”— XXVII. ‘Bold stranger, no—’gainst claim like thine, No bolt revolves by hand of mine, ' Though urged in tone that more express’d A monarch than a suppliant guest. Be what ye will, Artornish Hall On this glad eve is free to all. Though ye had drawn a hostile sword ‘Gainst our ally, great England’s Lord, Or mail upon your shoulders borne, To battle with the Lord of Lorn, | Or, outlaw’d, dwelt by greenwood tree With the fierce Knight of Ellerslie, Or aided even the murderous strife, When Comyn fell beneath the knife Of that fell homicide The Bruce,! This night had been a term of truce.— Ho, vassals! give these guests your care, And show the narrow postern stair.” 1 See Note G, r ok | 336 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. But now appear’d the Seneschal, Commission’d by his lord to call To land these two bold brethren leapt, The strangers to the Baron’s hall, (The weary crew their vessel kept,) Where feasted fair and free And, lighted by the torches’ flare, That Island Prince in nuptial tide, That seaward flung their smoky glare, | With Edith there his lovely bride, The younger knight that maiden bare And her bold brother by her side, Half lifeless up the rock ; And many a chief, the flower and pride On his strong shoulder lean’d her head, Of Western land and sea. And down her long dark tresses shed, As the wild vine in tendrils spread, Here pause we, gentles, for a space ; Droops from the mountain oak. | And, if our tale hath won your grace, Him follow’d close that elder Lord, Grant, us brief patience, and again And in his hand a sheathed sword, We will renew the minstrel strain. Such as few arms could wield ; But when he boun’d him to such task, - e Well could it cleave the strongest casque, And rend the surest shield. XXVIII. aa Pe RCT SO TELE BEATTIE PTOI PAT CANTO SECOND. XXIX. I. The raised portcullis’ arch they pass, Fitu the bright goblet, spread the festive The wicket with its bars of brass, board ! The entrance long and low, Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair! Flank’d at each turn by loop-holes strait, Through the loud hall in joyous concert Where bowmen might in ambush wait, pour’d, , (If force or fraud should burst the gate,) | Let mirth and music sound the dirge of To gall an entering foe. | Care! : But every jealous post of ward | But ask thou not if Happiness be there, Was now defenceless and unbarr’d, | If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe, And all the passage free | Or if the brow the heart’s true livery wear ; To one low-brow’d and vaulted room, | Lift not the festal mask !—enough to know, Where squire and yeoman, page and groom, No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal Plied their loud revelry. woe. II. Oe With beakers’ clang, with harpers’ lay, .% r, With all that olden time deem’d gay, Sn cee EE ooG eae oe unis The Island Chieftain feasted high ; And, comrades, gaze not on the maid, But there was in his troubled eye : . A gloomy fire, and on his brow re ee anina tee a yrae Now sudden flush’d, and faded now, A damsel tired of midnight bark Emotions such as draw their birth ‘Creravderersioria moulding ate From deeper source than festal mirth. And bearing martial mien.” : By fits he paused, and harper’s strain But not for Eachin’s reproof And jester’s tale went round in vain, Would page or vassal stand aloof, Or fell but on his idle ear But crowded on to stare Like distant sounds which dreamers hear. As men of courtesy untaught ; Then would he rouse him, and employ 1 d Each art to aid the clamorous jo Till fiery Edward roughly caught, : JOY, om one the foremost tere ‘ Pave call a pletee ee lay, a His chequer’d plaid, and in its shroud, And, for brief space, of a 1 the crowd, To hide her from the vulgar crowd, As he was loudest of the loud, Involved his sister fair. Seem gayest of the gay. His brother, as the clansman bent His sullen brow in discontent, III. aa Made brief and stern excuse ;— Yet nought amiss the bridal throng Vassal, were thine the cloak of pall Mark’d in brief mirth, or musing long ; That decks thy Lord in bridal hall, The vacant brow, the unlistening ear, Twere honour’d by her use. They gave to thoughts of raptures near, And his fierce starts of sudden glee XXXI. Seem’d bursts of bridegroom’s ecstasy. ; 2 Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd, Proud was his tone, but calm ; his eye Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud, Had that compelling dignity, ; ; And jealous of his honour’d line, His mien that bearing haught and high, | And that keen knight, De Argentine, : Which common spirits fear ; | (From England sent on errand high, Needed nor word nor signal more, The western league more firm to tie,)! Nod, wink, and laughter, all were o’er ; Upon each other back they bore, 1 Sir Egidius, or Giles de Argentine, was one of the And gazed like startled deer most uccomplished knights of the period. He had served ie ; ¥ PL . m ome se es RNY TE EE RN A ASN TN SSR SASL INSERTED ANAT JB RINE AMER AMEE DEAR A SSR I TEAC VRE ee 34t i ? nuh y i oh Both deem’d in Ronald’s mood to find A lover’s transport-troubled mind. But one sad heart, one tearful eye, Pierced deeper through the mystery, And watch’d, with agony and fear, Her wayward bridegroom’s varied cheer. LV. She watch’d—yet fear'd to meet his glance, And he shunn’d hers ;—till when by chance They met, the point of foeman’s lance Had given a milder pang! Beneath the intolerable smart He writhed ;—then sternly mann’d his heart To play his hard but destined part, And from the table sprang. “« Fill me the mighty cup !” he said, “‘Erst own’d by royal Somerled ;! Fill it, till on the studded brim In burning gold the bubbles swim, And every gem of varied shine Glow doubly bright in rosy wine! To you, brave lord, and brother mine, Of Lorn, this pledge I drink— The union of Our House with thine, By this fair bridal-link ! ”— Ve ‘“‘ Let it pass round!” quoth he of Lorn, ** And in good time—that winded horn Must of the Abbot tell; The laggard monk is come at last.” Lord Ronald heard the bugle-blast, And on the floor at random east, The untasted goblet fell. But when the warder in his ear Tells other news, his blither cheer Returns like sun of May, When through a thunder-cloud it beams !— Lord of two hundred isles, he seems As glad of brief delay, As some poor criminal might feel, When from the gibbet or the wheel Respited for a day. in the wars of Henry of Luxemburg with such high repu- tation, that he was, in popular estimation, the third worthy of the age. Those to whom fame assigned pre- cedence over hii were, Henry of Luxemburg himself, and Robert Bruce. Argentine had warred in Palestine, encountered thrice with the Saracens, and had slain two antagonists in each engagement :—an easy inatter, he said, for one Christian knight to slay two Pagan dogs. His death corresponded with his high character. With Aymer de Valence, Earl of Pembroke, he was appointed to attend immediately upon the person of Edward II. at Bannock- burn. When the day was utterly lost they forced the king from the field. De Argentine saw the king safe from immediate danger, and then took his leave of him; ‘‘God be with you, sir,” he said, ‘it is not my wont to fly.” So saying, he turned his horse, cried his war-cry, plunged into the midst of the combatants, and was slain. Baston, a rhyming mouk who had been brought by Edward to celebrate his expected triumph, and who was compelled by the victors to compose a poem on his defeat, mentions with some feeling the death of Sir Giles de Argentine: Nobilis Argenten, pugil inclyte, dulcis Egidi, Vix scieram mentem cum te succwmbere vidi. ** The first line mentions the three chief requisites of a true knight, noble birth, valour, and courteousness. Few leonine couplets can be produced that have so much senti- ment. I wish that I could have collected more ample memorials concerning a character altogether different from modern manners. Sir Giles d’Argentine was a hero of romance in real life.” So observes the excellent Lord Hailes, 1 See Note E. PHENLORD' OF THE ISLES VI. “Brother of Lorn,” with hurried voice He said, ‘‘ And you, fair lords, rejoice ! Here, to augment our glee, Come wandering knights from travel far, Well proved, they say, in strife of war, And tempest on the sea.— Ho! give them at your board such place As best their presences may grace, And bid them welcome free ! ” With solemn step, and silver wand, The Seneschal the presence scann’d Of these strange guests ; and well he knew How to assign their rank its due ;! For though the costly furs That erst had deck’d their caps were torn, And their gay robes were over-worn, And soil’d their gilded spurs, Yet such a high commanding grace Was in their mien and in their face, As suited best the princely dais,?2 And royal canopy ; And there he marshall’d them their place, First of that company. VII. Then lords and ladies spake aside, And angry looks the error chide, That gave to guests unnamed, unknown, A place so near their prince’s throne ; But Owen Erraught said, *“* For forty years a seneschal, To marshal guests in bower and hall Has been my honour’d trade. Worship and birth to me are known, By look, by bearing, and by tone, Not by furr’d robe or broider’d zone ; And ’gainst an oaken bough I'll gage my silver wand of state, That these three strangers oft have sate In higher place than now. ”— VIIT; ‘J, too,” the aged Ferrand said, ““Am qualified by minstrel trade Of rank and place to tell ;— Mark’d ye the younger stranger’s eye, My mates, how quick, how keen, how high, How fierce its flashes fell, — 1 The Sewer, to whom, rather than the Seneschal, the office of arranging the guests of an island chief apper- tained, was an officer of importance in the family of a Hebridean chief.—‘‘ Every family had commonly two stewards, which, in their language, were called Marischal Tach: the first of these served always at home, and was obliged to be versed in the pedigree of all the tribes in the isles, and in the highlands of Scotland ; for it wus his pro- vince to assign every nan at table his seat according to his quality ; and this was done without one word speak- ing, only by drawing a score with a white rod, which this 1 the rest of the room, Marischal had in his hand, before the person who was bid by him to sit down: and this was necessary to prevent disorder and contention ; and though the Marischal might sometimes be mistaken, the master of the family incurred no censure by such an escape; but this custom has been laid aside of late. They had also cup-bearers, who always filled and carried the cup round the company, and he himself always drank off the first draught. They had likewise purse-masters, who kept their money. Both these officers had an hereditary right to their office in writing, and each of them hada town and land for his service; some of those rights I have seen fairly written on good parchment,”—MARTIN'S Western Isles. 2 Dais—the great hall-table—eleyated astep or two above SSF ee ee SS ee = + ) | | Glancing among the noble rout As if to seek the noblest out, Because the owner might not brook On any save his peers to look ? And yet it moves me more, That steady, calm, majestic brow, With which the elder chief even now Scann’d the gay presence o’er, Like being of superior kind, In whose high-toned impartial mind Degrees of mortal rank and state Seem objects of indifferent weight. The lady too—though closely tied The mantle veil both face and eye, Her motions’ grace it could not hide, Nor could her form’s fair symmetry.” IX. Suspicious doubt and lordly scorn Lour’d on the haughty front of Lorn. From underneath his brows of pride, The stranger guests he sternly eyed, And whisper’d closely what the ear Of Argentine alone might hear ; Then question’d, high and brief, If, in their voyage, aught they knew Of the rebellious Scottish crew, Who to Rath-Hrin’s shelter drew, With Carrick’s outlaw’d Chief ?! And if, their winter’s exile o’er, They harbour’d still by Ulster’s shore, 1 Tt must be remembered by all whe have read the Scot- tish 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. consent of the Scottish barons, but his authority endured 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.” On the 29th March, 1306, he was crowned king at Scone. Upon the 19th June, in the same year, he was totally defeated at Methven, near Perth; and his most important adhereuts, with few exceptions, were either executed or compelled to embrace the English interest, for safety of their lives and fortunes. After this | disaster, his life was that of an outlaw, rather than a candidate for monarchy. He separated himself from the females of his retinue, whom he sent for safety to the Castle of Kildrummie, in Aberdeenshire, where they afterward became captives to England. From Aberdeen- shire, Bruce retreated to the mountainous parts of Bread- albane, and approached the borders of Argyleshire. There, as mentioned in the Appendix, Note D, and more fully in Note F, he was defeated by the Lord of Lorn, who had assumed arms against him in revenge of the death of his relative, John the Red Comyn. Escaped from this peril, Bruce, with his few attendants, subsisted by hunting and fishing, until the weather compelled them to seek better sustenance and shelter than the Highland mountains afforded. With great difficulty they crossed, from Rowar- deunan probably, to the western banks of Lochlomond, partly in a niiserable boat, and partly byswimming. The | valiant and loyal Ear] of Lennox, to whose territories | they had now found their way, welcomed them with tears, | but was unable to assist them to make an effectual head. | The Lord of the Isles, then in possession of great part of | Cautyre, received the fugitive monarch and future restorer of his country’s independence, in his Castle of Dunua- | : But treason, says Barbour, was so | general, that the King durst not abide there. Accordingly, | verty, in that district. with the remnant of his followers, Bruce embarked for Rath-Erin, or Rachrine, the Recina of Ptoleiny. a small | island, lying almost opposite to the shores of Ballycastle, | The islanders at first fled from | their new and armed guests, but upon some explanation | on the coast of Ireiaud. subinitted themselves to Bruce's sovereignty. He resided among them until the approach of spring, when he again returned to Scotland, with the desperate resolution to reconquer his kingdom, or perish in the attempt. The progress of his success, from its commencement tc its completion, forms the brightest period in Scottish his- tory. SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS: He was crowned at Scone by the general | Or launch’d their galleys on the main, To vex their native land again ? x. That younger stranger, fierce and high, | At once confronts the Chieftain’s eye | With look of equal scorn ;— “Of rebels have we nought to show; But if of Royal Bruce thou’dst know, I warn thee he has sworn, Ere thrice three days shall come and go, His banner Scottish winds shall blow, Despite each mean or mighty foe, From England’s every bill and bow To Allaster of Lorn.” Kindled the mountain Chieftain’s ire, But Ronald quench’d the rising fire ; “Brother, it better suits the time To chase the night with Ferrand’s rhyme, Than wake, ’midst mirth and wine, the jars | That flow from these unhappy wars.”— _‘*Content,” said Lorn; and spoke apart With Ferrand, master of his art, Then whisper’d Argentine,— ““The lay I named will carry smart To these bold strangers’ haughty heart, If right this guess of mine,” He ceased, and it was silence all, Until the Minstrel waked the hall. Cor THE BROACH OF LORN.! ‘Whence the broach of burning gold, That clasps the Chieftain’s mantle-fold, Wrought and chased with rare device, Studded fair with gems of price,? On the varied tartans beaming, As, through night’s pale rainbow gicaming, Fainter now, now seen afar, Fitful shines the northern star? ‘“‘Gem ! ne’er wrought on highland mountain Did the fairy of the fountain, Or the mermaid of the wave, Frame thee in some coral cave? Did in Iceland’s darksome mine Dwarf’s swart hands thy metal twine ? Or, mortal-moulded, comest thou here, From England’s love, or France’s fear ? XII. SONG CONTINUED. **No !-—-thy splendours nothing tell Foreign art or faéry spell. Moulded thou for monarch’s use, By the overweening Bruce, 1 See Note FP. * Great art and expense was bestowed upon the fibula, or broach, which secured the plaid, when the wearer was ' a person of inaportance. Martin mentions having seen a silver broach of + huudred marks value. ‘‘ It was broad as any ordinary Lowter plate, the whole curiowly sngraven with various animals, &c. There was a lesser buckle, which was wore it the middle of the larger, and abovetwe ounces weight ; it had in the centre a large piece of crystal, or some finer stone, and this was set all round with several finer stones of a lesser size.”— Western Islands. Pennant | has given an engraving of such a broach as Martin de- scribes, and the workmanship of which is very elegant. It | is said to have belonged to the family of Lochbuy. —See i PENNANT’S Tour, vol. iii p, 14. When the royal robe he tied O’er a heart of wrath and pride ; Thence in triumph wert thou torn, By the victor hand of Lorn! “When the gem was won and lost, Widely was the war-cry toss’d! Rung aloud Bendourish fell, Answer’d Douchart’s sounding dell, Fled the deer from wild Teyndrum, When the homicide, o’ercome, Hardly ’scaped with scathe and scorn, Left the pledge with conquering Lorn ! XIII, SONG CONCLUDED, ‘*Vain was then the Douglas brand,! Vain the Campbell’s vaunted hand, Vain Kirkpatrick’s bloody dirk, Making sure of murder’s work ;? Barendown fled fast away, Fled the fiery De la Haye,3 When this broach, triumphant borne, Beam’d upon the breast of Lorn. ‘‘Farthest fled its former Lord, Left his men to brand and cord, Bloody brand of Highland steel, English gibbet, axe, and wheel. Let him fly from coast to coast, Dogg’d by Comyn’s vengeful ghost, While his spoils, in triumph worn, Long shall grace victorious Lorn!” 1 The gallant Sir James, called the Good Lord Douglas, the most faithful and valiant of Bruce’s adherents, was wounded at the battle of Dalry. Sir Nigel, or Niel Camp- bell, was also in that unfortunate skirmish. He married | Marjorie, sister to Robert Bruce, and was among his most faithful followers. Ina manuscript account of the house of Argyle, supplied, it would seem, as materials for Arch- bishop Spottiswoode’s History of the Church of Scotland, I find the following passage concerning Sir Niel Camp- | bell :—’* Moreover, when all the nobles in Scotland had left King Robert after his hard success, yet this noble | knight was niost faithful, and shrinked not, as itis to be | seen in an indenture bearing these words :—Memorandwin quod cum ab incarnatione Domini 1308 conventum fuit et concordatum inter nobiles viros Dominum Alexandrum de Seatoun militem et Dominum Gilbertum de Haye militem et Downinum Nigellum Campbell militem apud monasterium de Cambuskenneth 9° Septembris qui tucta sancta eucharista, magnoque juramento facto, jurarunt se debere libertatem regni et Robertum nuper regem coro- matum contra omnes mortales Francos Anglos Scotos defendere usque ad ultimum terminum vite ipsorum. Their sealles are appended to the indenture in greene wax, togithir with the seal of Gulfrid, Abbot of Cambus- kenneth,” 2 See Note G. 3 These knights are enumerated by Barbour among the staall number of Bruce’s adherents, who remained in aris with him after the battle of Methven. ‘* With him was a bold baron, Schyr William the Baroundoun, Schyr Gilbert de la Haye alsua,” There were more than one of the noble family of Hay engaged in Bruce’s cause; but the principal was Gilbert de la Haye, Lord of Errol, a stanch adherent to King Robert’s interest, and whom he rewarded by creating hii | hereditary Lord High Constable of Scotland, a title which | he used 16th March, 1308, where, in a letter from the peers of Scotland to Philip the Fair of France, he is designed Gilbertus de Hay Constabularius Scotie. He was slain at the battle of Halidoun-hill. Hugh de la Haye, his bro- ther, was made prisoner at the battle of Methven, Dee LORD OF THE ISLES. 339 XIV. As glares the tiger on his foes, Hemm’d in by hunters, spears, and bows, And, ere he bounds upon the ring, Selects the object of his spring,— Now on the bard, now on his Lord, So Edward glared and grasped his sword— But stern his brother spoke,—‘‘ Be still. What ! art thou yet so wild of will, After high deeds and sufferings long, To chafe thee for a menial’s song ?— Well hast thou framed, Old Man, thy strains, To praise the hand that pays thy pains ;! Yet something might thy song have told Of Lorn’s three vassals, true and bold, Who rent their Lord from Bruce’s hold, As underneath his knee he lay, And died to save him in the fray. I’ve heard the Bruce’s cloak and clasp Was clench’d within their dying grasp, What time a hundred foemen more Rush’d in and back the victor bore, Long after Lorn had left the strife, Full glad to ’scape with limb and life.— Enough of this—And, Minstrel, hold, As minstrel-hire, this chain of gold, For future lays a fair excuse, To speak more nobly of the Bruce.” — Vis *“ Now, by Columba’s shrine, I swear, And every saint that’s buried there, ‘Tis he himself!” Lorn sternly cries, ‘« And for my kinsman’s death he dies.” | As loudly Ronald calls—‘‘ Forbear ! | Not in my sight while brand I wear, 1 The character of the Highland bards, however high in | an earlier period of society, seems soon to have degenerated. | The Irish affirm, that in their kindred tribes severe laws became necessary to restrain their avarice. In the High- lands they seem gradually to have sunk into contempt, as well as the orators, or men of speech, with whose office that of family poet was often united.—‘‘The orators, in their language called Isdane, were in high esteem both in these islands and the continent: until within these forty | years, they sat always among the nobles and chiefs of | families in the streah, or circle. Their houses and little | villages were sanctuaries, as well as churches, and they took place before doctors of physick. The orators, after the Druids were extinct, were brought in to preserve the genealogy of families, and to repeat the same at every succession of chiefs; and upon the occasion of marriages and births, they made epithalamiums and panegyricks, which the poet or bard pronounced. The orators, by the force of their eloquence, had a powerful ascendant over the greatest men in their time; for if any orator did but ask the habit, arms, horse, or any other thing belonging to the greatest man in these islands, it was readily grauted them, sometimes out of respect, and sometimes for fear of being exclaimed against by a satyre, which, in those days, was reckoned a great dishonour. But these gentlemen becoming insolent, lost ever since both the profit and esteem which was formerly due to their character; for neither their panegyricks nor satyres are regarded to what they have been, and they are now allowed but a small salary. I must not omit to relate their way of study, which is véry singular: They shut their doors and win- dows for a day’s time, and lie on their backs, with a. stune upon their belly, and plads about their heads, and their eyes being covered, they pump their brains for rhetorical encomium or panegyrick; and indeed they furnish such a style from this dark cell as is understood by very few ; and if they purchase a couple of horses as the reward of their meditation, they think they have done a great matter. The poet, or bard, had a title to the bridegroom’s upper garb, that is, the plad and bonnet; but now he is satisfyed with what the bridegroom pleases to give him on such occasions.”—MARTIN’S Western /sles, if ) } ; : : ' A — sha oe, < é Q saoeee 2 ERNEST LORRAIN. 4 IT NN 3 Sh suctmace ect nnewacusiat cea SSE ALE LENE READ SMELL AT AO NE ERE NA SP TRL RIC PE nz mands Paar one ht oe REY RR 5 Sh oot TACO IO REE : ‘ a s aes 1 340 SCOTL’S:. POETICAL WORKS. , » O’ermatch’d by odds, shall warrior fall, And, match’d in numbers and in might, _ Or blood of stranger stain my hall! Doubtful and desperate seem’d the fight. ’ This ancient fortress of my race Thus threat and murmur died away, Shall be misfortune’s resting-place, Till on the crowded hall there lay ' Shelter and shield of the distress’d, Such silence, as the deadly still, _ No slaughter-house for shipwreck’d guest.”— | Ere bursts the thunder on the hill. . ‘Talk not to me,” fierce Lorn replied, With blade advanced, each Chieftain bold _ ‘Of odds or match !—when Comyn died, Show’d like the Sworder’s form of old, | Three daggers clash’d within his side! As wanting still the torch of life, | Taik not to me of sheltering hall, To wake the marble into strife. _ The Church of Gop saw Comyn fall! ' On God’s own altar stream’d his blood, ' While o’er my prostrate kinsman stood XTX: { The ruthless murderer—e’en as now— 3 : With armed hand and scornful brow ! nen aut pause the stranger maid, _ Up, all who love me! blow on blow! And Edith, seized to pray for aid. p, all w ! z _ And lay the outlaw’d felons low !” As to De Argentine she clung, Ba a ; Away her veil the stranger flung, And, lovely ’mid her wild despair, 4 XVI. Fast stream’d her eyes, wide flow’d her hair, , Then up sprung many a mainland Lord, Ser te aa ee FO ER Obedient to their Chieftain’s word. Thou, who in Judah well hast fought Barcaldine’s arm is high in air, For our dear faith, and oft hast sought And Kinloch-Alline’s blade is bare, Renown in knightly exercise ' Black Murthok’s dirk has left its sheath, When this poor hand hina dealt the prize : And clench’d is Dermid’s hand of death. Say, can thy soul of honour brook 7 Their mutter’d threats of vengeance swell On hie unequal strife to look Into a wild and warlike yell ; When, butcher’d thus in peaceful hall Onward they press with weapons high, Those once thy friends, my brethren, fall!” _ The affrighted females shriek and fly, To Argentine she turn’d her-wordack ana And, Scotland, then thy brightest ray But her eye sought the Island liorad | Had darken’d ere its noon of day, A flush like evening's setting flame But every chief of birth and fame, Glow’d on his cheek ; his hardy frame _ That from the Isles of Ocean came, As with a brief donviaten shook: sel At Ronald’s side that hour withstood With hurried voice and eager lio i Fierce Lorn’s relentless thirst for blood. “Fear not,” he said, “my Isabel! : ; What said I—Edith !—all is well— i ss iY ay, no nen we oe proxies j ' The safety of my love ride— | Brave Torquil from Dunvegan high, My bride? "but there aa accents clung _ Lord of the misty hills of Skye, In tremor to his faltering tongue. ' Mac-Niel, wild Bara’s ancient thane, | i Duart, of bold Clan Gillian’s strain, i Fergus, of ae: Ss pee bay, 9G ' Mac-Duffith, Lord of Colonsay, " : reg _ Soon as they saw the broadswords glance, Now rose De Argentine, to claim ' With ready weapons rose at once, The prisoners in his sovereign’s name, _ More prompt, that many an ancient feud, os eae ae ree WHO Teena nee Full oft suppress’d, full oft renew’d, cS G LCE ee ° OTR a ee See ‘ : | (Such speech, I ween, was but to hide _ Glow’d ’twixt the chieftains of Argyle, eu I =e 4 ra cence aie i : pee eae is care their safety to provide ; And many a lord of ocean’s isle. Wonkenene ae in though Laren Wild was the scene—each sword was bare, OF SD IgA Ore Se ee Back stream’d each chieftains shaggy hair, | In gloomy opposition set, | Eyes, hands, and brandish'd weapons met: Blue gleaming o’er the social board, Flash’d to the torches many a sword ; _ And soon those bridal lights may shine On purple blood for rosy wine. XVILT. Kach heart was up, each weapon bared, Each foot advanced,—a surly pause Still reverenced hospitable laws. , All menaced violence, but alike _ Reluctant each the first to strike, . (For aye accursed in minstrel line {s he who brawls ’mid song and wine,) XIX. Nigh came the strangers, and more nigh ;— Still less they ples used the Monarch’s eye, Men were they all of evil mien, Down-look’d, unwilling to be seen ;! They moved with half-resolved pace And bent on earth each gloomy face. The foremost two were fair array’d, With brogue and bonnet, trews and plaid, 1 See Note M. THE, LORD OF LHE LED | | | | Parana bore Phe arms of epi ineers, Daggers and broadswords, bows and spears, The three, that lagg’d small space behind, Seem’d serfs of more e degraded kind ; Goat-skins or deer-hides o’er them cast, Made a rude fence against the blast ; Their arms and feet and heads were b: ire, Matted their beards, unshorn their hair ; For arms, the caitiffs bore in hand, A club, an axe, a rusty brand. XX. Onward, still mute, they kept the track ;— “*Tell who ye be, or else stand back,”’ Said Bruce; ‘‘In deserts when they meet, Men pass not as in peaceful street.” Still, at his stern command, they stood, And proffer’d greeting brief and rude, But acted courtesy so ill, As seem ’d of fear, and not of will. ‘‘ Wanderers we are, as you may be; Men hither driven by wind and sea, Who, if you list to taste our cheer, Will share with you this fallow deer.’’— *“Tf from the sea, where lies your bark ?’”— ‘*'Ten fathom deep in ocean dark ! Wreck’d yesternight : but we are men, Who little sense of peril ken. The shades come down—the day is shut— Will you go with us to our hut?”— “Our vessel waits us in the bay ; Thanks for your proffer—have good-day.”. “Was that your galley, then, which rode Not far from shore when evening glow’d?”~ “Tt was. ”—‘‘ Then spare your needless pain, There will she now be sought in vain, We saw her from the mountain head, When with St. George’s blazon red A southern vessel bore in sight, And yours raised sail, and took to flight.” xT *“ Now, by the rood, unwelcome news !” Thus with Lord Ronald communed Bruce; ‘* Nor rests there light enough to show If this their tale be true or no. The men seem bred of churlish kind, Yet mellow nuts have hardest rind ; | We will go with them—food and fire And sheltering roof our wants require. Sure guard ’g¢ vinst treacher y will we keep, And watch by turns our comrades’ sleep. Good fellows, thanks; your guests we'll be, And well will pay the courtesy. | Come, lead us where your lodging lies,— —Nay, soft! we mix not companies.— Show us the path o’er crag and stone, And we will follow you ;—lead on.” XXII. They reach’d the dreary cabin, made Of sails against a rock display’d, And there, on entering, found A slender boy, whose form and mien Ill suited with such savage scene, In cap and cloak of velvet green, Low seated on the ground, Y 5 J 348 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. His garb was such as minstrels wear, Dark was his hue, and dark his hair, : His youthful cheek was marr’d by care, Their fire at separate distance burns, His eyes in sorrow drown’d. By turns they eat, keep guard by turns; ** Whence this poor boy?”—As Ronald spoke, | For evil seem’d that old man’s eye, The voice his trance of anguish broke; Dark and designing, fierce yet shy. As if awaked from ghastly dream, Still he avoided forward look, He raised his head with start and scream, But slow and circumspectly took And wildly gazed around ; A circling, never-ceasing glance, Then to the wall his face he turn’d, By doubt and cunning mark’d at once, And his dark neck with blushes burn’d. Which shot a mischief-boding ray, From under eyebrows shagg’d and gray. XXII. The younger, too, who seem’d his son, ““ Whose is the boy?” again he said. Had that dark look the timid shun ; ‘“ By chance of war our captive made ; The half-clad serfs behind them sate, He may be yours, if you should hold And scowl’d a glare *twixt fear and hate— That music has more charms than gold ; Till all, as darkness onward crept, For, though from earliest childhood mute, Couch’d down, and seem’d to sleep, or slept. The lad can deftly touch the lute, Nor he, that boy, whose powerless tongue And on the rote and viol play, Must trust his eyes to wail his wrong, And well can drive the time away A longer watch of sorrow made, : For those who love such glee ; But stretch’d his limbs to slumber laid. For me, the favouring breeze, when loud It pipes upon the galley’s shroud, SXVle Makes blither melody.”— “Hath he, then, sense of spoken sound?”— ‘* Aye; so his mother bade us know, A crone in our Jate shipwreck drown’d, And hence the silly stripling’s woe. More of the youth I cannot say, XXYV. | Not in his dangerous host confides The King, but wary watch provides. | Ronald keeps ward till midnight past, Then wakes the King, young Allan last ; | Thus rank’d, to give the youthful page ap cs cee G ae | T'he rest required by tender age. ah eee ee ec aoe nel 6 grim What is Lord Ronald’s wakeful thought, Weilittledlistadsthink of tim <2 : To chase the languor toil had brought ? — But why waste time in idle words? | For deem not that he deign d to throw Sit to your cheer—unbelt your swords.” ae sea ene coven foe,)— Sudden the captive turn'd his head, sib ae cee OF Gay ; noe ‘lie fals And one quick glance to Ronald sped. ee at her foeman’s feet a i esi It was a keen and warning look, Nor less when, placed in princely selle, = Ohi ae ene een She glanced on him with favouring eyes, And well the Chief the signal took. At Woodstocke when he won the prize. XXIV. Nor, fair in joy, in sorrow fair, ‘ Kind host,” he said, ‘ our needs require In pride of place as ‘mid despair, A separdte board and separate fire ; Must she alone les Goce his Sate d For know, that on a pilgrimage His thoughts to his ee bride, Wend I, my comrade, and this page. To Edith, turn—O how decic 4 : And, sworn to vigil and to fast, W hen here his love and heart are given, Alf Long as this hallow’d task shall last, And there his faith stands plight to Hezven! We never doff the plaid or sword, No drowsy ward ’tis his to keep, Or feast us at a stranger's board ; | For seldom lovers long for sleep. 1 And never share one common sleep, pti ee tis ae ne ae oe ; But one must still his vigil keep. answer it dog to Nea 7 ad t Thus, for our separate use, good friend, | Then waked the King—at pe Tae ; We'll hold this hut’s remoter end.”__ | Lord Ronald stretch’d himself to rest. ‘* A churlish vow,” the eldest said, “And hard, methinks, to be obey’d. How say you, if, to wreak the scorn What spell was good King Robert’s, say, That pays our kindness harsh return, To drive the weary night away? We should refuse to share our meal ?”— | His was the patriot’s burning thought, 2 pe say Wie she our evicrde are steel! | Of Freedom’s battle bravely fought, And our vow binds us not to fast, | Of castles storm’d, of cities freed, Where gold or force may buy repast.” | Of deep design and daring deed, Their host’s dark brow grew keen and fell, Of England’s roses reft and torn, e i pee ne aaa ue features swell ; | And Scotland’s cross in triumph worn, fet sun ie felon’s moody-ire Of rout and rally, war and truce,— Before Lord Ronald’s glance of fire, _ As heroes think, so thought the Bruce. Nor could his craven courage brook | No marvel, ’mid such musings high, beep vo ae Ye gee look. | Sleep shunn’d the monarch’s thoughtful eye. ith laugh constrain’d,—‘‘ Let every man Now over Coolin’s eastern head Follow the fashion of his clan ! | The greyish light begins to spread, Nach to his separate quarters keep, | The otter to his cavern drew, And feed or fast, or wake or sleep.” | And clamour’d shrill the wakening mew; FS ENT EL CTT A TS EGET AS NER AI EEN BTL VEER RUAN NI AR a ERS XXVII. ie = — LHE LORD OP THE ISTES. 349 Then watch’d the page—to needful rest The King resign’d his anxious breast. XXVIII. To Allan’s eyes was harder task, The weary watch their safeties ask. He trimm’d the fire, and gave to shine With bickering light the splinter’d pine ; Then gazed awhile, where silent laid Their hosts were shrouded by the plaid. But little fear waked in his mind, For he was bred of martial kind, And, if to manhood he arrive, May match the boldest knight alive. Then thought he of his mother’s tower, His little sisters’ greenwood bower, How there the Easter-gambols pass, And of Dan Joseph’s lengthen’d mass. But still before his weary eye In rays prolong’d the blazes die— Again he roused him—on the lake Look’d forth, where now the twilight-flake Of pale cold dawn began to wake, On Coolin’s cliffs the mist lay furl’d, The morning breeze the lake had curl’d, The short dark waves, heaved to the land,. With ceaseless plash kiss’d cliff or sand — It was a slumbrous sound—he turn’d To tales at which his youth had burn’d, Of pilgrim’s path by demon cross’d, Of sprightly elf or yelling ghost, Of the wild witch’s baneful cot, And mermaid’s alabaster grot, Who bathes her limbs in sunless well Deep in Strathaird’s enchanted cell.! Sa 1 Imagination ean hardly conceive any thing 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 deservedly celebrated, and 2 full account of its beauties has been published by Dr. Mac-Leay of Oban. The general impression may perhaps 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 wttempt to recollect the impressions then received :— “The first entrance to this celebrated cave is rude and unproniising ; but the light of the torches, with which we were propided, 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 sta- tuary. might be fancifully compared to a sheet of water, which, while it rushed whitening and foaming down a declivity, had been suddenly arrested and consolidated by the spell of an enchauter. Upon 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 pvol 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 informed us (as indeed we partly saw by the light he carried) that the enchantwent of Maccalister’s cave ter- minates with this portal, 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 thost fanciful mouldings, ina substance resembling white marble, and distinguished by the depth and 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 exqui- sitely elegant and fanciful. A statuary might catch beautiful hints from the singular and romantic dispo- sition of those stalactites. There is scarce a form, or group, on which active fancy may not trace figures or grotesque ornaments, which have been gradually moulded in this cavern by the dropping of the calcareous water The fioor forms a steep and difficult ascent, and | | . x , . eh of hi ae Thither in fancy rapt he flies, And on his sight the vaults arise : | That hut’s dark walls he sees no more, His foot is on the marble floor, ; And o’er his head the dazzling spars | Gleam like a firmament of stars! —Hark ! hears he not the sea-nymph speak Her anger in that thrilling shriek !— No! all too late, with Allan’s dream Mingled the captive’s warning scream. As from the ground he strives to start, , A ruffian’s dagger finds his heart ! | Upward he casts his dizzy CY CR aa Laas Murmurs his master’s name, and dies ! SOx | Not so awoke the King! his hand | Snatch’d from the flame a knotted brand, | The nearest weapon of his wrath : With this he cross’d the murderer's path, And venged young Allan well! The spatter’d brain and bub] ling blood | Hiss’d on the half-extinguish’d wood, The miscreant gasp’d and fell! | Nor rose in peace the Island Lord; | One caitiff died upon his sword, | And one beneath his grasp lies prone, | In mortal grapple overthrown. | But while Lord Ronald’s dagger drank | The life-blood from his panting flank, | The Father-ruffian of the band | Behind him rears a coward hand! —O for a moment’s aid, Till Bruce, who deals no double blow, Dash to the earth another foe, Above his comrade laid !— And it is gain’d—the captive sprung On the raised arm, and closely clung, And, ere he shook him loose, The master’d felon press’d the ground, And gasp’d beneath a mortal wound, While o’er him stands the Bruce. XXX, | ‘‘Miscreant! while lasts thy flitting spark, Give me to know the purpose dark, That arm’d thy hand with murderous knife, Against offenceless stranger’s life ?”— ‘“ No stranger thou!” with accent fell, Murmur’d the wretch: “I know thee well; And know thee for the foeman sworn Of my high chief, the mighty Lorn.’’ “Speak yet again, and speak the truth For thy soul’s sake !—from whence this youth 7 His country, birth, and name declare, And thus one eyil deed repair.” — —‘*Vex me no more! . ny coldvaa No more I know than I have told. ee hardening into petrifactions. Many of those fine groups have been injured by the senseless rage of appropriation of recent tourists; and the grotto has lost, (Iam informed,) through the smoke of torches, something of that vivid silver tint which was originally one of its chief distine- tions. But enough of beauty remains to compensate for all that may be lost.”—Mr. 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, blood runs gf so 7 SESE t enn Nee A A RS RC Ph LE A IE 350 We found him in a bark we sought With different purpose . Fate cut him short; in blood and broil, As he had lived, died Cormac Doil. XXXI. Then resting on his bloody blade, The valiant Bruce to Ronald said, ‘Now shame upon us both !—that boy Lifts his mute face to heaven, And clasps his hands, to testify His gratitude to God on high, For strange deliverance given. His speechless gesture thanks hath paid, Which our free tongues have left unsaid !”’ He raised the youth with kindly word, But mark’d him shudder at the sword: He cleansed it from its hue of death, And plunged the weapon in its sheath. ‘* Alas, poor child ! unfitting part Fate doom’d, when with so soft a heart, And form so slight as thine, | She made thee first a pirate’s slave, Then, in his stead, a patron gave Of wayward lot like mine ; A landless prince, whose wandering life Is but one scene of blood and strife— Yet scant of friends the Bruce shall be, But he'll find resting-place for thee.— Come, noble Ronald! o’er the dead Enough thy generous grief is paid, And well has Allan’s fate been wroke; Come, wend we hence—the day has broke. Seek we our bark—I trust the tale Was false, that she had hoisted sail.” KKM Yet, ere they left that charnel-cell, The Island Lord bade sad farewell To Allan :—‘‘ Who shall tell this tale,” He said, ‘‘in halls of Donagaile ! Oh, who his widow’d mother tell, That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell !— Rest thee, poor youth ! and trust my care For mass and knell and funeral prayer ; While o’er those caitiffs, where they lie, The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!” And now the eastern mountain’s head On the dark lake threw lustre red ; Bright gleams of gold and purple streak Ravine and precipice and peak— (So earthly power at distance shows ; Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.) O’er sheets of granite, dark and broad, Rent and unequal, lay the road. In sad discourse the warriors wind, And the mute captive moves behind. CANTO FOURTH. traced The northern realms of ancient Caledon, Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed, By lake and cataract, her lonely throne ; nn ee 3 «end | Lthourht yeh | STRANGER! if e’er thine ardent step hath | } aa. SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS: Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known, Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown Mingle their echoes with the eagle’s cry, And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky. Yes! ‘twas sublime, but sad.—The loneli- ness Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye ; And strange and awful fears began to press Thy bosom with a stern solemnity | Then hast thou wish’d some woodman’s cot- | tage nigh, Something that show’d of life, though low and mean ; Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy, Glad sound, it’s cock’s blithe carol would have been, Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green. Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes An awful thrill that softens into sighs ; Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch’s lakes, In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise : Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies, Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar— But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize Of desert dignity to that dread shore, That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar. II. | Through such wild scenes the champion pass’d, | When bold halloo and bugle-blast | Upon the breeze came loud and fast. _ “There,” said the Bruce, ‘‘rung Edward’s horn! | What can have caused such brief return ? | And see, brave Ronald,—see him dart O’er stock and stone like hunted hart, Precipitate, as is the use, In war or sport, of Edward Bruce. —He marks us, and his eager cry Will tell his news ere he be nigh.” III. Loud Edward shouts, ‘‘ What make ye here Warring upon the mountain-deer, When Scotland wants her King? A bark from Lennox cross’d our track, With her in speed I hurried back, These joyful news to bring— The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale, And Douglas wakes his native vale ; | Thy storm-toss’d fleet hath won its way | With little loss to Brodick-Bay, | And Lennox, with 4 gallant band, Waits but thy coming and command To waft them o’er to Carrick strand, ——4 os — ————e ; fi CW { Loch Coriskin. The Lord of the Isles.—Canto LV. v. 6. “Coriskin dark and Coolin high, Echoed the dirge’s doleful ery. Along that sable lake pass’d slow, Fit scene for such a sight of woe—” fates LORD OF THE TSEES. There are blithe news !—but mark the close ! Edward, the deadliest of our foes, As with his host he northward pass’d, Hath on the Borders breathed his last.” LVi, Still stood the Bruce—his steady cheek Was little wont his joy to speak, But then his colour rose : ““ Now, Scotland! shortly shalt thou see, With God’s high will, thy children free, And vengeance on thy foes ! Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs, Bear witness with me, Heaven, belongs My joy o’er Edward’s bier :! I took my knighthood at his hand, And lordship held of him, and land, And well may vouch it here, That, blot the story from his page, Of Scotland ruin’d in his rage, You read a monarch brave and sage, And to his people dear.” — ‘“‘ Let London’s burghers mourn her Lord, And Croydon monks his praise record,” The eager Edward said; “Eternal as his own, my hate Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate, And dies not with the dead! Such hate was his on Solway’s strand, When vengeance clench’d his palsied hand, That pointed yet to Scotland’s land,2 As his last accents pray’d Disgrace and curse upon his heir, If he one Scottish head should spare, Till stretch’d upon the bloody lair Each rebel corpse was laid! | The generosity which does justice to the character of an enemy, often marks Bruce’s sentiments, as recorded by the faithful Barbour. He seldom mentions a fallen enemy without y possess. I shall only take one instance. Shortly after Bruce landed in Carrick, 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 whoin he had an intrigue. Shortly after he was possessed of this informa- tion, Bruce, resorting toa 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 service, he, after a second warn- ing, 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 cleft the skull of the assassin with a blow of his two-handed sword. * He rushed down of blood all red, And when the king saw they were dead, All three lying, he wiped his brand. With that his boy came fast running, And said, ‘ Our lord might lowyt1 be, That granted you might and poweste 2 To fell the felony and the pride, Of three in so little tide.’ The king said, ‘So our lord me see, They have been worthy men all three, Had they not been full of treason: But that made their confusion,’” 7 BARBOUR’S Bruce, b, vy. p. 152. « See Note N, 1 Lauded 2 Power, praising such good qualities as he night | 351 Such hate was his, when his last breath Renounced the peaceful house of death, And bade his bones to Scotland’s coast Be borne by his remorseless host. As if his dead and stony eye Could still enjoy her misery! Such hate was his—dark, deadly, long ; Mine,—as enduring, deep, and strong !””— V “<é Let women, Edward, war with words, With curses monks, but men with swords : Nor doubt of living foes, to sate Deepest revenge and deadliest hate, Now, to the sea! behold the beach, And see the galleys’ pendants stretch Their fluttering length down favouring gale ! Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the sail. Hold we our way for Arran first, Where meet in arms our friends dispersed ; Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, And Boyd the bold in battle fray. [ long the hardy band to head, And see once more my standard spread.— Does noble Ronald share our course, Or stay to raise his island force? ”— ‘*Come weal, come woe, by Bruce’s side,” | Replied the Chief, “ will Ronald bide. | And since two galleys yonder ride, Be mine, so please my liege, dismiss’d To wake to arms the clans of Uist, And all who hear the Minche’s roar, On the Long Island’s lonely shore. The nearer Isles, with slight delay, Ourselves may summon in our way; And soon on Arran’s shore shall meet, With Torquil’s aid, a gallant fleet, If aught avails their Chieftain’s hest Among the islesmen of the west.” VI. | Thus was their venturous counsel said. But, ere their sails the galleys spread, Coriskin dark and Coolin high Kchoed the dirge’s doleful ery. Along that sable lake pass’d slow,— | Fit scene for such a sight of woe,— | The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore The murder’d Allan to the shore. At every pause, with dismal shout, Their coronach of grief rung out, And ever, when they moved again, The pipes resumed their clamorous strain, And, with the pibroch’s shrilling wail, Mourn’d the young heir of Donagaile. Round and around, from cliff and cave, His answer stern old Coolin gave, Till high upon his misty side Languish’d the mournful notes, and died. For never sounds, by mortal made, Attain’d his high and haggard head, That echoes but the tempest’s moan, Or the deep thunder’s rending groan. VII, Merrily, merrily bounds the bark, She bounds before the gale, | The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch Is joyous in her sail! With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse, The cords and canvass strain, The waves, divided by her force, In rippling eddies chased her course, As if they laugh’d again. Not down the breeze more blithely flew, Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, Than the gay galley bore Her course upon that favouring wind, And Coolin’s crest has sunk behind, And Slapin’s cavern’d shore. ‘Twas then that warlike signals wake Dunscaith’s dark towers and Eisord’s lake, And soon, from Cavilgarrigh’s head, Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread ; A summons these of war and wrath To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath, And, ready at the sight, Kach warrior to his weapons sprung, And targe upon his shoulder flung, Impatient for the fight. Mac-Kinnon’s chief, in warfare gray, Had charge to muster their array, And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay. Vill. Signal of Ronald’s high command, A beacon gleam’d o’er sea and land, From Canna’s tower, that, steep and gray, Like falcon-nest o’erhangs the bay. ! Seek not the giddy crag to climb, To view the turret scathed by time ; It is a task of doubt and fear To aught but goat or mountain-deer. But rest thee on the silver beach, And let the aged herdsman teach His tale of former day ; His cur’s wild clamour he shall chide, And for thy seat by ocean’s side, His varied plaid display ; Then tell, how with their Chieftain came, In ancient times, a foreign dame To yonder turret gray. Stern was her Lord’s suspicious mind, Who in so rude a jail confined So soft and fair a thrall! And oft when moon on ocean slept, That lovely lady sate and wept Upon the castle-wall, And turn’d her eye to southern climes, And thought perchance of happier times, And touch’d her lute by fits, and sung Wild ditties in her native tongue. And still, when on the cliff and bay Placid and pale the moonbeams play, And every breeze is mute, Upon the lone Hebridean’s ear Steals a strange pleasure mix’d with fear, While from that cliff he seems to hear The murmur of a lute, 1 The little island of Canna, or Cannay, adjoins to those of Rum and Muick, with which it forms one parish. In a pretty bay opening towards the east, there is a lofty and slender rock detached from the shore. Upon the swnmit are the ruins of a very small tower, scarcely accessible by a steep and precipitous path. Here it is said one of the kings, or Lords of the Isles, confined a beautiful lady, of whom he was jealous. The ruins are of course haunted by her restless spirit, and many romantic stories are told by the aged people of the island concerning her fate in life, and her appearances after death. > aaa ee A EA ) ™ 4. SCOTT'S POETICAL WOR —> | And sounds, as of a captive lone, | That mourns her woes in tongue unknown.— | Strange is the tale—but all too long | Already hath it staid the song— Yet who may pass them by, | That crag and tower in ruins gray, Nor to their hapless tenant pay The tribute of a sigh! IX. Merrily, merrily bounds the bark O’er the broad ocean driven, Her path by Ronin’s mountains dark The steersman’s hand hath given. And Ronin’s mountains dark have sent | Their hunters to the shore,! | And each his ashen bow unbent, And gave his pastime o’er, | And at the Island Lord’s command, For hunting spear took warrior’s brand. | On Scooreigg next a warning light | Summon’d her warriors to the fight ; A numerous race, ere stern Macleod O’er their bleak shores in vengeance strode,’ When all in vain the ocean-cave Its refuge to his victims gave. The Chief, relentless in his wrath, With blazing heath blockades the path ; In dense and stifling volumes roll’d, The vapour fill’d the cavern’d hold ! The warrior-threat, the infant’s plain, The mother’s screams, were heard in vain ; The vengeful Chief maintains his fires, Till in the vault a tribe expires ! The bones which strew that cavern’s gloom, Too well attest their dismal doom. xa Merrily, merrily goes the bark On a breeze from the northward free, So shoots through the morning sky the lark, Or the swan through the summer sea. The shores of Mull on the eastward lay, And Ulva dark and Colonsay, And all the group of islets gay That guard famed Staffa round. Then all unknown its columns rose, Where dark and undisturb’d repose The cormorant had found, | And the shy seal had quiet home, And welter’d in that wondrous dome, 1 Ronin (popularly called Rum, a name which a poet may be pardoned for avoiding if possible) isa very rough and mountainous island, adjacent to those of Eigg and Cannay. There is almost no arable ground upon it, so that, except in the plenty of the deer, which of course are now nearly extirpated, it still deserves the description ' bestowed by the archdean of the Isles. ‘‘ Ronin, sixteen myle north-wast from the ile of Coll, lyes ane ile eallit Ronin Ile, of sixteen myle long, and six in bredthe in the narrowest, ane forest of heigh mountains, and abundance of little deir in it, quhilk deir will never be slane dounie- with, but the principal saittis man be in the height of the hill, because the deir will be callit upwart ay be the tainchell, or without tynchel they will pass wpwart per- force. In this ile will be gotten about Britane als many wild nests upon the plane mure as men pleasis to gadder, and yet by resson the fowls hes 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 Description of the Western Isles, p, 18. 2 See Note O. +t LS ES ESTE eee — = SSS= | Staffa. The Lord of the Isles,—Canto LY. v. 10. “Where, as to shame the temples deck’d By skill of earthly architect Nature herself, it seem’d, would raise A Minster to her Maker’s praise.” Where, as to shame the temples deck’d By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem’d, would raise A Minster to her Maker’s praise !1 Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend ; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolong’d and high, That mocks the organ’s melody. Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old Iona’s holy fane, That Nature’s voice might seem to say, ““ Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay! Thy humble powers that stately shrine Task’d high and hard—but witness mine!’ ’ XI. Merrily, merrily goes the bark, 3efore the gale she bounds ; So darts the dolphin from the shark, Or the deer before the hounds. They left Loch-Tua on their lee, And they waken’d the men of the wild Tirce, And the Chief of the sandy Coll; They paused not at Columba’s isle, though peal’d the bells from the holy pile With long and measured toll ; No time for matin or for mass, And the sounds of the holy summons pass Away in the billows’ roll. Lochhbuie’s fierce and warlike Lord Their signal saw, and grasp’d his sword, And verdant Ilay call’d her host, And the clans of Jura’s rugged coast Lord Ronald’s call obey, And Scarba’s isle, whose tortured shore Still rings to Corrievreken’s roar, And lonely Colonsay ; ‘Scenes sung by him who sings no more ! His bright and brief career is o’er. And mute his tuneful strains ; Quench’d is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour ; A distant and a deadly shore Has LEYDEN’s cold remains !? 1 It would be unpardonable to detain the reader upon a wonder so often described, and yet so incapable of being understood by description. This palace of Neptune is even grander upon a second than the first view. The stupendous columns which form the sides of the cave, the depth and strength of the tide which rolls its deep and heavy swell up to the extremity of the vault—the variety of tints formed by white, crimson, and yellow stalactites, or petrifactious, which occupy the vacancies between the base of the broken pillars which form the roof, and inter- | sect them with a rich, curious, and variegated chasing, oecupying each interstice—the corresponding variety below water, where the ocean rolls over a dark-red or violet-coloured rock, from which, as from a base, the | basaltic columms arise—the tremendous noise of the swell- ing tide, mingling with the deep-toned echoes of the vault, —are circumstances elsewhere unparalleled. Nothing can be more interesting than the varied appear- ance of the little archipelago of islets, of which Stafta is the most remarkable. This group, called in Gaelic Tre- sharnish, affords 4 thousand varied views to the voyager, as they appear in different positions with reference to his course. The variety of their shape contributes much to the beauty of these effects. 2 The ballad, entitled ‘* Macphail of Colonsay, and the Mermaid of Corrievrekin,” was composed by Jobn Leyden, from a tradition which he found while making a fatal departure for India, where, after having made farther Dae LOKD.Of PYZICG LS Lda) XIT. | | Ever the breeze blows merrily, But the galley ploughs no more the sea. Lest, rounding wild Cantire, they meet | The southern foeman’s watchful fleet, They held unwonted way ;— Up Tarbat’s western lake they bore, Then dragg’d their bark the isthmus o’er,! As far as Kilmaconnel’s shore, Upon the eastern bay. | It was a wondrous sight to see Topmast and pennon glitter free, High raised above the greenwood tree, As on dry land the galley moves, | By cliff and copse and alder groves. ! | Deep import from that selcouth sign, Did many a mountain Seer divine, For ancient legends told the Gael, | That when a royal bark should sail O’er Kilmaconnel moss, | Old Albyn should in fight prevail, | And every foe should faint and quail | Before her silver Cross. XIII. Now lJaunch’d once more, the inland sea They furrow with fair augury, And steer for Arran’s isle ; 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. 2 Thither their destined course they drew ; It seem’d the isle her monarch knew, So brilliant was the landward view, The ocean so serene ; _ Each puny wave in diamonds roll’d O’er the calm deep, where hues of gold With azure strove and green. The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower, Glow’d with the tints of evening’s hour, The beach was silver sheen, The wind breathed soft as lover’s sigh, _ And, oft renew’d, seem’d oft to die, With breathless pause between. O who, with speech of war and woes, Would wish to break the soft repose Of such enchanting scene! XIV. Is it of war Lord Ronald speaks ? The blush that dyes his manly cheeks, 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, immediately atter the landing of our forces near Batavia, in August, I8rr. 1 See Note P. 2 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 another harbour, 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 environed with a theatre of mountains ; and in the background the serrated crags of Grianan-Athol soar above.—PENNANT’S Zour to the Western Isles. p. L | 191-2. Ben-Ghaoil, ‘‘the mountain of the winds,” 1s tour through the Hebrides about 1801, soon before his | generally known by its English, and less poetica] name, of Goatfield. 354 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. The timid look, and downcast eye, And faltering voice the theme deny. And good King Robert’s brow express’d, He ponder’d o’er some high request, As doubtful to approve ; Yet in his eye and lip the while, Dwelt the half-pitying glance and smile, Which manhood’s graver mood beguile, When lovers talk of love. Anxious his suit Lord Ronald pled ; ~“* And for my bride betrothed,” he said, ‘“My Liege has heard the rumour spread Of Edith from Artornish fled. Too hard her fate—I claim no right To blame her for her hasty flight ; Be joy and happiness her lot !— But she hath fled the bridal-knot, And Lorn recall’d his promised plight, In the assembled chieftains’ sight.— When, to fulfil our fathers’ band, I proffer’d all I could—my hand-- I was repulsed with scorn ; Mine honour I should ill assert, And worse the feelings of my heart, If I should play a suitor’s part Again, to pleasure Lorn.” — XV. ‘“ Young Lord,” the Royal Bruce replied, ‘That question must the Church decide ; Yet seems it hard, since rumours state Edith takes Clifford for her mate, The very tie, which she hath broke, To thee should still be binding yoke. But, for my sister Isabel— The mood of woman who can tell? I guess the Champion of the Rock, Victorious in the tourney shock, That knight unknown, to whom the prize She dealt,—had favour in her eyes ; But since our brother Nigel’s fate, Our ruin’d house and hapless state, From worldly joy and hope estranged, Much is the hapless mourner changed. Perchance,” here smiled the noble King, ‘““This tale may other musings bring. Soon shall we know—yon mountains hide The little convent of Saint Bride ; There, sent by Edward, she must stay, Till fate shall give more prosperous day ; And thither will I bear thy suit, Nor will thine advocate be mute.” XVI. As thus they talk’d in earnest mood, That speechless boy beside them stood. He stoop’d his head against the mast, And bitter sobs came thick and fast, A grief that would not be repress’d, But seem’d to burst his youthful breast. His hands, against his forehead held, As if by force his tears repell’d, But through his fingers, long and slight, Fast trill’d the drops of crystal bright. Edward, who walk’d the deck apart, Kirst spied this conflict of the heart. Thoughtless as brave, with bluntness kind He sought to cheer the sorrower’s mind ; sy force the slender hand he drew From those poor eyes that stream’d with dew. r- | ‘It is the foe ! | As in his hold the stripling strove, — (Twas a rough grasp, though meant in love,) Away his tears the warrior swept, And bade shame on him that he wept. ““T would to Heaven, thy helpless tongue Could tell me who hath wrought thee wrong ! For, were he of our crew the best, The insult went not unredress’d. Come, cheer thee ; thou art now of age To be a warrior’s gallant page ; Thou shalt be mine !—a palfrey fair O’er hill and holt my boy shall bear, To hold my bow in hunting grove, Or speed on errand to my love ; For well I wot thou wilt not tell The temple where my wishes dwell.” o XVII. Bruce interposed,—‘‘ Gay Edward, no, This is no youth to hold thy bow, To fill thy goblet, or to bear Thy message light to lighter fair. Thou art a patron all too wild And thoughtless, for this orphan child. See’st thou not how apart he steals, Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals? Fitter by far in yon calm cell To tend our sister Isabel, With father Augustin to share The peaceful change of convent prayer, Than wander wild adventures through, With such a reckless guide as you.”— “ Thanks, brother !” Edward answer’d gay, ‘“‘ For the high laud thy words convey ! But we may learn some future day, if thou or I can this poor boy Protect the best, or best employ. Meanwhile, our vessel nears the strand ; Launch we the boat, and seek the land,”’ XVIII. To land King Robert lightly sprung, And thrice aloud his bugle rung With note prolong’d and varied strain, Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. Good Douglas then, and De la Haye, Had in a glen a hart at bay, And Lennox cheer’d the laggard hounds, When waked that horn the greenwood bounds. ‘‘ It is the foe!” cried Boyd, who came In breathless haste with eye on flame,— Each valiant lord Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword ! ”— “Not so,” replied the good Lord James, “That blast no English bugle claims. Oft have I heard it fire the fight, Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear, If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear ! Each to Loch-Ranza’s margin spring ; That blast was winded by the King! ”! 1 The passage in Barbour, describing the landing of Bruce, and his being recognised by Douglas and those of his followers who had preceded him, by the sound of his | horn, is in the original singularly simple and affecting.— The king arrived in Arran with thirty-three small row- boats. He interrogated a female if there had arrived any warlike 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 EE NT I TN 1 NOLS RS WS ASE TO IE NN Si OR A SET fe LHE a OF XIX. Fast to their mates the tidings oe ad, And fast to shore the warriors sped. Bursting from glen and greenwood tree,. High ws aked their loyal jubilee ! Around the royal Bruce they crowd, And clasp’d his hands, and wept aloud. Veterans of early fields were there, Whose helmets press’d their hoary h: ur, Whose swords and axes bore a stain From life-blood of the red-hair’d Dane: And boys, whose hands scarce brook’d to wield | The heavy sword or bossy shield. Men too were there, that bore the scars Impress’d in Albyn’s woful wars, At Falkirk’s fierce and fatal fi; ght, Teyndrum’s dread rout and Methven’ s fligh The might of Douglas there was seen, There Lennox with his graceful mien ; Kirkpatrick, Closeburn’s dreaded Knight ; The Lindsay, fiery, fierce, and light ; The Heir of murder'd De la Haye, And Boyd the grave, and Seton gay. Around their King regain’d they press’d, Wept, shouted, clasp’ d him to their breast, And young and old, and serf and lord, And he who ne’er unsheathed a sword, And he in many a peril tried, Alike resolved the brunt to bide, And live or die by Bruce’s side ! XxX. Oh, War! thou hast thy fierce delight, Thy gleams of joy, intensely br ight! ! Such gleams, as from thy polish’d shield Fly dazzling o’er the battle-field ! Such trans sports wake, severe and high, Amid the pealing conquest-cry ; Searce less, when, after bettle- lost, Muster the remnants of a host, And as each comrade’s name they tell, Who in the well- fought conflict fell, Knitting stern brow o’er fle sts eye, Yow to avenge them or to die! 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 obey ed. ** 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 horne blew he. James of Dowgl: vs 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 therewithall he blew, And then Sir Robert Boid it knew; And said, ‘ Yon is the king, but dre: ud, Go we forth till him, better speed.’ Then went they till the king in hye, And him inclined courteously. And blithly welcomed them the king, And was joyful of their meeting, And kissed them ; and speared syne How they had f: wred in hunting ? And they him told all, but lesing g 32 Syne laud they God of their me eting. Syne with the king till his harbour ye Went both joyfu’ and jolly.” BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book y. L Asked, p. I15, 116, 2 Without lying. | | And here the venerable Archdeacon intimates nea IDELLS: 355 Wa arriors fae sad “hers are warriors found, If not on martial Britain’s ground? And who, when waked with note of fire Love more than they the British lyre Know ye not ,—hearts to honour dear ! ! That joy, deep- thrilling, stern, severe, At which the heartstrings vibrate high, And wake the fountains of the eye? And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace Of tear is on his m: inly face, When, scanty relics of the train That hail’ d at Scone his early reign, This patriot band around him hung, And to his knees and bosom clung? Blame ye the Bruce ?—his brot her’ blamed, But shared the weakness, while ashamed. With haughty laugh his head he turn’d, And dash’d away the tear he scorn’d.! SX ‘Tis morning, and the Convent bell Long time had ceased its matin knell, Within thy walls, Saint Bride! An aged Sister sought the cell Assign’d to Lady Isabel, And hurriedly she cried, “Haste, gentle Lady, haste-—-there waits A noble stranger at the gates 3 Saint Bride’s poor vot’ress ne’er has seen A Knight of such a princely mien ; His errand, as he bade me tell, Is with the Lady Isabel.” The princess rose,—for on her knee Low bent she told her rosary,— ‘‘ Let him by thee his purpose te ach 5 [ may not give a stranger speech.” “Saint Bride forefend, thou royal M: uid |” The portress cross’d her self, and said,— ‘Not to be prioress might I Debate his will, his suit deny.”— ‘Has earthly show then, simple fool, Power o’er a sister of thy rule, And art thou, like the worldly train, Subdued by splendours light and vain ?”-~ The kind, and yet fiery character of Edward Bruce, is Ww ell painted by Barbour, in the accouut of his behaviour after the battle of B annoekburn. 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, * Out-taken him, men has not seen Where he for any meu made moaning. ” a piece of scandal. Sir Edward Bruce, it seems, loved Ross’s sister, par amours, to the neglect of his own lady, sister to Day id de Stré ithbogie, Earl of Athole. This criminal passion had evil consequences ; for, in resentment of the affront done to his sister, Athole attacked the guard which Bruce had left at Cambuskenneth, during the battle of Bannock- burn, to protect his magazine of provisions, and slew Sir William Keith, the commander. For which treason he was forfeited. In like manner, when in a sally from Carrickfergus, Neil Fleming, and the guards whom he commanded, had fallen, after the protracted resistance which saved the rest of Edward Bruce’s army, he made such moan as surprised his followers’; “Sic moan he made men had ferly,| For he was not customably Wont for to moan men any thing, Nor would not hear men make moaning. Such are the nice traits of character so often lost in general history. ” 1 Wonder. t frm, ee Te : a ae 350 SX ‘“No, Lady! in old eyes like mine, Gauds have no glitter, gems no shine ; Nor grace his rank attendants vain, One youthful page is all his train. It is the form, the eye, the word, The bearing of that stranger Lord ; His stature, manly, bold, and tall, Built like a castle’s battled wall, Yet moulded in such just degrees, His giant-strength seems lightsome ease. Close as the tendrils of the vine His locks upon his forehead twine, Jet-black, save where some touch of grey Has ta’en the youthful hue away. Weather and war their rougher trace Have left on that majestic face ;— But ’tis his dignity of eye! There, if a suppliant, would I fly, Secure, ‘mid danger, wrongs, and grief, Of sympathy, redress, relief— That glance, if guilty, would I dread More than the doom that spoke me dead !” ‘“ Bnough, enough,” the princess cried, “Tis Scotland’s hope, her joy, her pride! To meaner front was ne’er assign’d Such mastery o’er the common mind— Bestow’d thy high designs to aid, How long, O Heaven! how long delay’d !— Haste, Mona, haste, to introduce My darling brother, royal Bruce!” XXIII. They met like friends who part in pain, And meet in doubtful hope again. But when subdued that fitful swell, The Bruce survey’d the humble cell ;— ** And this is thine, poor Isabel !— - That pallet-couch, and naked wall, For room of state, and bed of pall; For costly robes and jewels rare, | A string of beads and zone of hair ; ' And for the trumpet’s sprightly call _ To sport or banquet, grove or hall, The bell’s grim voice divides thy care, ’*T wixt hours of penitence and prayer !— O ill for thee, my royal claim From the First David’s sainted name ! O woe for thee, that while he sought His right, thy brother feebly fought !”— XXIV. ‘* Now lay these vain regrets aside, _ And be the unshaken Bruce!” she cried. ‘‘For more I glory to have shared _ The woes thy venturous spirit dared, When raising first thy valiant band In rescue of thy native land, Than had fair Fortune set me down The partner of an empire’s crown. And grieve not that on Pleasure’s stream No more I drive in giddy dream, For Heaven the erring pilot knew, And from the gulf the vessel drew, Tried me with judgments stern and great, My house’s ruin, thy defeat, Poor Nigel’s death, till, tamed, I own, My hopes are fix’d on Heaven alone ; » Nor e’er shall earthly prospects win My heart to this vain world of sin.’’— a SCOTT’S* POETICAL W Okie XXV. ‘Nay, Isabel, for such stern choice, First wilt thou wait thy brother’s voice ; Then ponder if in convent scene No softer thoughts might intervene— Say they were of that unknown Knight, Victor in Woodstock’s tourney-fight— Nay, if his name such blush you owe, Victorious o’er a fairer foe!” Truly his penetrating eye Hath caught that blush’s passing dye,— Like the last beam of evening thrown On a white cloud,—just seen and gone. Soon with calm cheek and steady eye, The princess made composed reply :—~ ‘©T guess my brother’s meaning well ; For not so silent is the cell, But we have heard the islesmen all Arm in thy cause at Ronald’s call, And mine eye proves that Knight unknown And the brave Island Lord are one.— Had then his suit been earlier made, In his own name, with thee to aid, (But that his plighted faith forbade, ) I know not... .. But thy page so near ?— This is no tale for menial’s ear.” XXVI. Still stood that page, as far apart As the small cell would space afford ; With dizzy eye and bursting heart, He leant his weight on Bruce’s sword, | The monarch’s mantle too he bore, And drew the fold his visage o’er. | ‘Fear not for him—in murderous strife,” Said Bruce, ‘‘his warning saved my life ; Full seldom parts he from my side, And in his silence I confide, Since he can tell no tale again, He is a boy of gentle strain, | And I have purposed he shall, dwell | In Augustin the chaplain’s cell, And wait on thee, my Isabel.— Mind not his tears ; I’ve seen them flow, As in the thaw dissolves the snow. |’Tis a kind youth, but fanciful, | Unfit against the tide to pull, And those that with the Bruce would.sail, Must learn to strive with stream and gale.— But forward, gentle Isabel— My answer for Lord Ronald tell.”— XXVII. ““This answer be to Ronald given— The heart he asks is fix’d on heaven. My.love was like a summer flower, | That wither’d in the wintry hour, | Born but of vanity and pride, | And with these sunny visions died. If further press his suit—then say, He should his plighted troth obey, | T'roth plighted both with ring and word, | And sworn on crucifix and sword.— Oh, shame thee, Robert! I have seen Thou hast a woman’s guardian been ! | Even in extremity’s dread hour, When press’d on thee the Southern power, And safety, to all human sight, Was only found in rapid flight, Gee DORD OL THE ISLES. 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 the foe might do, Rather than, like a knight untrue, Leave to pursuers merciless A woman in her last distress.—! And wilt thou now deny thine aid To an oppress’d and injured maid, Even plead for Ronald’s perfidy, And press his fickle faith on me ?— So witness Heaven, as true I vow, Had I those earthly feelings now, Which could my former bosom move Ere taught to set its hopes above, I’d spurn each proffer he could bring, Till at my feet he laid the ring, The ring and spousal contract both, And fair acquittal of his oath, By her who brooks his perjured scorn, The ill-requited Maid of Lorn !”’ nee A LOT OL TCR ee Ee XXVIII. With sudden impulse forward sprung The page, and on her neck he hung ; Then, recollected instantly, His head he stoop’d, and bent his knee, Kiss’d twice the hand of Isabel, Arose, and sudden left the cell.— The princess, loosen’d from his hold, Blush’d angry at his bearing bold ; But good King Robert cried, ““Chafe not—by signs he speaks his mind, He heard the plan my care design’d, Nor could his transports hide.— But, sister, now bethink thee well ; No easy choice the convent cell ; Trust, I shall play no tyrant part, Hither to force thy hand or heart, 1 This incident, which illustrates so happily the chivalrous generosity of Bruce’s character, 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. Bruce was about to retreat, and his host was arrayed for moving. “The king has heard a woman cry, He asked what that was in hy.! * It is the layndar,? sir,’ sai ane, * That her child-ill 3 right now has ta’en : And rust leave now behind us here. Therefore she makes an evil cheer.’ 4 The king said, ‘ Certes,5 it were pity That she in that point left should be, For certes I trow there is no inan That he no will rue 6 a woman than.’ His hosts all there arested he, | And gert7 a tent soon stintit 8 be, And gert her gang in hastily, EL A RN OTS ET A I APE A ROL ANE ETE EE AT A A OR ETE SEPT Oe ' t ' ' | | \ And other women to be her by. While she was delivered he bade; And syne forth on his ways rade. And how she forth should carried be, Or he forth fure,? ordained he. This was a full great courtesy, That swilk a king and so mighty, Gert his men dwell on this manner, But for a poor lavender.” BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book xvi. pp. 39, 40. 1 Haste. 2 Laundress. 3 Child-bed. 4 Stop. » Certainly. 6 Pity. 7 Caused. § Pitched. ® Moved. ' (a ee eee 4 | Or wrong for thee, the Maid of Lorn. ous Bis ss ID Or suffer that Lord Ronald scorn, But think,—not long the time has been, _ That thou wert wont to sigh unseen, And wouldst the ditties best approve, | That told some lay of hapless love. | | Now are thy wishes in thy power, : | And thou art bent on cloister bower ! | O! if our Edward knew the change, How would his busy satire range, With many a sarcasm varied still | On woman’s wish, and woman’s will !’’"— es Xie ‘‘Brother, I well believe,” she said, ““Kven so would Edward’s part be play’d. Kindly in heart, in word severe, A foe to thought, and grief, and fear, He holds his humour uncontroll’d ; But thou art of another mould. Say then to Ronald, as I say, Unless before my feet he lay The ring which bound the faith he swore, By Edith freely yielded o’er, He moves his suit to me no more. Nor do I promise, even if now He stood absolved of spousal vow, That I would change my purpose made, To shelter me in holy shade.— Brother, for little space, farewell ! To other duties warns the bell.’’— SOX: ‘* Lost to the world,” King Robert said, { | | “‘ Lost to the world by lot severe, When he had left the royal maid, O what a gem jies buried here, Nipp’d by misfortune’s cruel frost, The buds of fair affection lost !— { But what have I with love to do? ' Far sterner cares my lot pursue. —Pent in this isle we may not lie, Nor would it long our wants supply. Right opposite, the mainland towers Of my own Turnberry court our powers— —Might not my father’s beadsman hoar, Cuthbert, who dwells upon the shore, ~~ $LIST A A Kindle a signal-flame, to show The time propitious for the blow ? It shall be so—some friend shall bear Our mandate with despatch and care; —Edward shall find the messenger. That fortress ours, the island fleet May on the coast of Carrick meet.— O Scotland ! shall it e’er be mine To wreak thy wrongs in battle-line, To raise my victor-head, and see Thy hills, thy dales, thy people free,— That glance of bliss is all I crave, Betwixt my labours and my grave!” Then down the hill he slowly went, Oft pausing on the steep descent, And reach’d the spot where his bold train Held rustic camp upon the plain. ? Sey yenne nee alleen on eraresmg tt ee ‘ Hi \ ¥ g SCOTT'S, POETICAL WOR | | The ivy twigs were torn and fray’d, CANTO FIFTH. As if some climber’s steps to aid.— But who the hardy messenger, Whose venturous path these signs infer ?— “Strange doubts are mine !—Mona, draw nigh; From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay a She eineets cone aye And circling mountains sever from the world. nee 3 “79 And there the fisherman his sail unfurl’d, \ Civone, Lociys mens Oe one wh The ete drove his kids to steep Ben- Only your brother's foot-page came, , yee ae 1 ret say? At peep of dawn—I pray’d him pass Before the hut the dame her spindle tw irl ae To chapel where they said the mass; Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil,— But like an arrow he shot by , ae ee ce Seca aL eee as And tears seem’d bursting from his eye.” On fair Loch-Ranza stream’d the early day, Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl’d Roused by the summons of the moss-grown | Iv. bell ; Sung were the matins, and the mass was But other duties call’d each convent maid, | | The truth at once on Isabel, said, | As darted by a aun heas fell.— And every sister sought her separate cell, H ie ebay seep vee ae apeeriiaee me Such was the rule, her rosary to tell. t orm, Der "008s Et ee And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer ; —Instant, good Mona, to the bay, y prayer ; | + i The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice And to my royal brother say, ree 2 i : > | I do conjure him seek my cell, Up a ie snowy neck and long dark hair | With that mute page he loves so well." As stoop’d her enti head in meek devotion ‘‘ What! know’st thou not his warlike host neve ’ ; At break of day has left our coast? ; | My old eyes saw them from the tower. At eve they couch’d in greenwood bower, She raised her eyes, that duty done, At dawn a bugle-signal, made When glanced upon the pavement-stone, By their bold Lord, their ranks array’d ; Gemm’d and enchased, a golden ring, Up sprung the spears through bush and tree, Bound to a scroll with silken string, | No time for benedicite ! With few brief words inscribed to tell, | Like deer, that, rousing from their lair, ““This for the Lady Isabel.” Just shake the dewdrops from their hair, Within, the writing farther bore,— | And toss their armed crests aloft, «Twas with this ring his plight he swore, | Such matins theirs !”—‘‘.Good mother, soft— With this his promise I restore ; Where does my brother bend his way ?7”— To her who can the heart command, ‘“ As I have heard, for Brodick-Bay, Well may I yield the plighted hand. Across the isle—of barks a score And O! for better fortune born, Lie there, ’tis said, to waft them o’er, Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn On suddens news, to Carrick-shore.”— Her who was Edith once of Lorn!” “Tf such their purpose, deep the need,” One single flash of glad surprise Said anxious Isabel, ‘‘of speed ! Just glanced from Isabel’s dark eyes, Call Father Augustin, good dame.” But vanish’d in the blush of shame, The nun obey’d, the Father came. That, as its penance, instant came. “OQ thought unworthy of my race! Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base, Vv. A moment’s throb of joy to own, rears : 3 ' That rose upon her hopes o’erthrown !— \ Kind noe ce be bt i. uae Thou pledge of vows too well believed, Thi ae a 2 to th Br a t a : Of man ingrate and maid deceived, I ue hia “i d S Paes Pievae Think not thy lustre here shall gain pray 21m, DY 8 ep ; Another heart to hope in vain ! That, till he speak My ith me, he stay ! For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud, Or, if his haste brook no delay, ° That he deliver, on my suit, p : | | ' : i 3 | Where worldly thoughts are overawed, Into thy charge that stripling mute. Il. And worldly splendours sink debased.” Tr vara his sistas Then by the cross the ring she placed. 1s Prays TUS Sa For causes more than she may tell— Away, good Father !—and take heed, That life and death are on thy speed.” Next rose the thought,—its owner far, His cowl the good old priest did on, How came it here through bolt and bar ?— Took his piked staff and sandall’d shoon, But the dim lattice is ajar.— And, like a palmer bent by eld, She looks abroad—the morning dew O’er moss and moor his journey held. A light short step had brush’d anew, And there were foot-prints seen On the carved buttress rising still, Till on the mossy window-sill Heavy and dull the foot of age, Their track effaced the green. And rugged was the pilgrimage ; iil. VE: 5 2 rs » ES 6 ~ - % * LHETLORD But none was there beside, whose care Might such important message bear. Through birchen copse he wander’d slow, Stunted and sapless, thin and low ; By many a mountain stream he pass’d, From the tall cliffs in tumult cast, Dashing to foam their waters dun, And sparkling in the summer sun. Round his grey head the wild curlew In many a fearless circle flew. O’er chasms he pass’d, where fractures wide Craved wary eye and ample stride ; ! He cross’d his brow beside the stone, Where Druids erst heard victims groan, And at the cairns upon the wild, O’er many a heathen hero piled,? He breathed a timid prayer for those Who died ere Shiloh’s sun arose. Beside Macfarlane’s Cross he staid, There told his hours within the shade, And at the stream his thirst allay’d. Thence onward journeying slowly still, As evening closed he reach’d the hill, Where, rising through the woodland green, Old Brodick’s gothic towers were seen, From Hastings, late their English lord, Douglas had won them by the sword.3 The sun that sunk behind the isle, Now tinged them with a parting smile. 1 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 inconsiderable breadth. There is one pass over the river Machrai, renowned for the dilemma of a poor woman, who, being tempted by the narrowness of the ravine to step across, succeeded in making the first move- ment, but took fright when it became necessary to move | the other foot, and remained ina posture equally ludicrous and dangerous, until some chance passenger assisted her to extricate herself. It is said she remained there some hours. 2 The Isle of Arran, like those of Man and Anglesea, abounds with many relics of heathen, and probably Druidical, superstition. There are high erect columns of unhewn stone, the most early of all monuments, the circles of rude stones, commonly entitled Druidical, and the cairns, or sepulchral piles, within which are usually found urns enclosing ashes. Much doubt necessarily rests | upon the history of such monuments, nor is it possible to consider them as exclusively Celtic, or Druidical. By much the finest circles of standing stones, excepting Stonehenge, are those of Stenhouse, at Stennis, in the island of Pomona, the principal isle of the Orcades. These, of course, are neither Celtic nor Druidical; and we are assured that many circles of the kind occur both in Sweden and Norway. 3 Brodick or Brathwick Castle, in the Isle of Arran, is an ancient fortress, near an open roadstead called Brodick- Bay, and not far distant from a tolerable harbour, 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 retreat 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 appear to have laid an ambush for Sir John Hastings, the English governor of Brodwick, and sur- prised a considerable supply of arms and provisions, and nearly took the castle itself. Indeed, that they actually did so, has been generally averred by historians, although it does not appear from the narrative of Barbour. 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 had 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 surrounded by flourishing plantations. OP ODA Le TS DES Ww | rn a Vit. But though the beams of light decay, "Twas bustle all in Brodick-Bay. The Bruce’s followers crowd the shore, And boats and barges some unmoor, Some raise the sail, some seize the oar ; Their eyes oft turn’d where glimmer’d far What might have scem’d an early star On heaven’s blue arch, save that its light Was all too flickering, fierce, and bright. Far distant in the south, the ray Shone pale amid retiring day, But as, on Carrick shore, Dim seen in outline faintly blue, The shades of evening closer drew, It kindled more and more. The monk’s slow steps now press the sands, And now amid a scene he stands, Full strange to churchman’s eye ; Warriors, who, arming for the fight, Rivet and clasp their harness light, And twinkling spears, and axes bright, And helmets flashing high. Oft, too, with unaccustom’d ears, A language much unmeet he hears,! While, hastening all on board, As stormy as the swelling surge That mix’d its roar, the leaders urge Their followers to the ocean verge, With many a haughty word. Vill, Through that wild throng the Father pass’d, And reach’d the Royal Bruce at last. He leant against a stranded boat, That the approaching tide must float, And counted every rippling wave, As higher yet her sides they lave, And oft the distant fire he eyed, And closer yet his hauberk tied, And loosen’d in its sheath his brand. Kdward and Lennox were at hand, Douglas and Ronald had the care The soldiers to the barks to share.— The Monk approach’d and homage paid ; ** And art thou come,” King Robert said, | ‘So far to bless us ere we part?”— —‘* My Liege, and with a loyal heart !— But other charge I have to tell,”— And spoke the hest of Isabel. -‘* Now by Saint Giles,” the monarch cried “This moves me much !—this morning tide, I sent the stripling to Saint Bride, With my commandment there to bide.” —‘* Thither he came the portress show’d, But there, my Liege, made brief abode.” — 1 Barbour, with great simplicity, gives an anecdote, from which it would seem that the vice of profane swear- ing, 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 say ‘the devil.” Concluding, from this hardy expression, that the house contained warlike guests, he iminediately assailed it, and had the good fortune to make prisoners Thomas Randolph, afterwards the famous Earl of Murray, and Alexander 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. ae an ea td Se fi sacs sinteiimen ante etiteainsnt ensemthcemmmttaiiacbitasie S | 360 i a eee tn IX. } | °* Twas I.” said Edward, ‘‘found employ: | Of nobler import for the boy. | Deep pondering in my anxious mind, : A fitting messenger to find, To bear thy written mandate o’er To Cuthbert on the Carrick shore, I chanced, at early dawn, to pass The chapel gate to snatch a mass. I found the stripling on a tomb Low-seated, weeping for the doom That gave his youth to convent gloom. I told my purpose, and his eyes Flash’d joyful at the glad surprise. He bounded to the skiff, the sail Was spread before a prosperous gale, And well my charge he hath obey’d ; For, see ! the ruddy signal made, That Clifford, with his merry-men all, Guards carelessly our father’s hall,’”’—! xX. **O wild of thought, and hard of heart!” Answer'd the Monarch, “‘ on a part Of such deep danger to employ A mute, an orphan, and a boy ! Unfit for flight, unfit for strife, Without a tongue to plead for life! Now, were my right restored by Heaven, Edward, my crown I would have given, Kre, thrust on such adventure wild, [ perill’d thus the helpless child.” — —Offended half, and half submiss, “ Brother and Liege, of blame like this,” Edward replied, ‘‘ I little dream’d. A stranger messenger, I deem’d, Might safest seek the beadsman’s cell, Where all thy squires are known so well. Noteless his presence, sharp his sense, His imperfection his defence. If seen, none can his errand guess ; If ta’en, his words no tale express— Methinks, too, yonder beacon’s shine Might expiate greater fault than mine,’’— ‘* Rash,” said King Robert, ‘‘ was the deed— But it is done.—Embark with speed !— Good Father, say to Isabel How this unhappy chance befell ; If well we thrive on yonder shore, Soon shall my care her page restore. Our greeting to our sister bear, And think of us in mass and prayer.”— XI, ** Aye!”’—said the Priest, ‘‘ while this poor hand Can chalice raise or cross command, While my old voice has accents’ use, Can Augustin forget the Bruce !” Then to his side Lord Ronald press’d, And whisper’d, “‘ Bear thou this request, That when by Bruce’s side I fight, For Scotland’s crown and freedom’s right, The princess grace her knight to bear Some token of her favouring care ; It shall be shown where England’s best May shrink to see it on my crest. And for the boy—since weightier care For royal Bruce the times prepare, ! See Note Q. SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. The helpless youth is Ronald’s charge, His couch my plaid, his fence my targe,” He ceased ; for many an eager hand Had urged the barges from the strand. Their number was a score and ten, They bore thrice threescore chosen men, With such small force did Bruce at last The die for death or empire cast ! SR a ne tare Menem he XII. Now on the darkening main afloat, Ready and mann’d rocks every boat ; Beneath their oars the ocean’s might Was dash’d to sparks of glimmering light. Faint and more faint, as off they bore, Their armour glanced against the shore, And, mingled with the dashing tide, Their murmuring voices distant died,— ““God speed them !” said the Priest, as dark On distant billows glides each bark ; ‘*OQ Heaven ! when swords for freedom shine. And monarch’s right, the cause is thine ! Edge doubly every patriot blow ! Beat down the banners of the foe! And be it to the nations known, That Victory is from God alone!” As up the hill his path he drew, He turn’d his blessings to renew, Oft turn’d, till on the darken’d coast All traces of their course were lost; Then slowly bent to Brodick tower, To shelter for the evening hour. XIIT. In night the fairy prospects sink, Where Cumray’s isles with verdant link Close the fair entrance of the Clyde; The woods of Bute, no more descried, Are gone—and on the placid sea The rowers ply their task with glee, While hands that knightly lances bore Impatient aid the labouring oar. The half-faced moon shone dim and pale, And glanced against the whiten’d sail ; But on that ruddy beacon-light Each steersman kept the helm aright, And oft, for such the King’s command, That all at once might reach the strand, From boat to boat loud shout and hail Warn’d them to crowd or slacken sail. South and by west the armada bore, And near at length the Carrick shore. As less and less the distance grows, High and more high the beacon rose ; The light, that seem’d a twinkling star, Now blazed portentous, fierce, and far, Dark-red the heaven above it glow’d, Dark-red the sea beneath it flow’d, Red rose the rocks on ocean’s brim, In blood-red light her islets swim ; Wild scream the dazzled sea-fowl gave, Dropp’d from their crags on plashing wave. The deer to distant covert drew, The black-cock deem’d it day, and crew. Like some tall castle given to flame, O’er half the land the lustre came. ‘‘Now, good my Liege, and brother sage, What think ye of mine elfin page ?”— “Row on!” the noble King replied, | ‘We'll learn the truth whate’er betide ; Pree LORD OF Yet sure the beadsman and the child Could ne’er have waked that beacon wild.” XIV With that the boats approach’d the land, But Edward's grounded on the sand ; The eager knight leap’d in the sea Waist-deep, and first on shore was he, Though every barge’s hardy band Contended which should gain the land, When that strange light, which, seen afar, Seem’d steady as the polar star, Now, like a prophet’s fiery chair, Seem’d travelling the realms of air. Wide o’er the sky the splendour glows, As that portentous meteor rose ; Helm, axe, and falchion glitter’d bright, And in the red and dusky light His comrade’s face each warrior saw, Nor marvell'd it was pale with awe. Then high in air the beams were lost, And darkness sunk upon the coast.— Ronald to Heaven a prayer address’d, And Douglas cross’d his dauntless breast : “Saint James protect us!” Lennox cried, But reckless Edward spoke aside, **Deem’st thou, Kirkpatrick, in that flame Red Comyn’s angry spirit came, Or would thy dauntless heart endure Once more to make assurance sure?” — “Hush!” said the Bruce; ‘we soon shall know, If this be sorcerer’s empty show, Or stratagem of southern foe. The moon shines out—upon the sand Let every leader rank his band.” XV. Faintly the moon’s pale beams supply That ruddy light’s unnatural dye ; The dubious cold reflection lay On the wet sands and quiet bay. Beneath the rocks King Robert drew His scatter’d files to order due, Till shield compact and serried spear In the cool light shone blue and clear. Then down a path that sought the tide, That speechless page was seen to glide ; He knelt him lowly on the sand, And gave a scroll to Robert’s hand. “ A torch,” the Monarch cried, ‘‘ what, ho Now shall we Cuthbert’s tidings know.” But evil news the letters bare, The Clifford’s force was strong and ware, Augmented, too, that very morn, By mountaineers who came with Lorn. Long harrow’d by oppressor’s hand, Courage and faith had fled the land, And over Carrick, dark and deep, Had sunk dejection’s iron sleep.— Cuthbert had seen that beacon-flame, Unwitting from what source it came. Doubtful of perilous event, Edward’s mute messenger he sent, If Bruce deceived should venture o’er, To warn him from the fatal shore. XVI. As round the torch the leaders crowd Bruce read these chilling news aloud. ’ Stenson ll SD eseestses-os-seesn sbi ennaninian inns } i THE ISLES. 361 ‘*What council, nobles, have we now ?— To ambush us in greenwood bough, And take the chance which fate may send To bring our enterprise to end, Or shall we turn us to the main | As exiles, and embark again ?”— Answer’d fierce Edward, ‘‘ Hap what may, In Carrick, Carrick’s Lord must stay. - [ would not minstrels told the tale, Wildfire or meteor made us quail.” Answer'd the Douglas, “If my liege May win yon walls by storm or siege, Then were each brave and patriot heart Kindled of new for loyal part.” — Answer’d Lord Ronald, ‘‘ Not for shame Would I that aged Torquil came, And found, for all our empty boast, | Without a blow we fled the coast. | I will not credit that this land, So famed for warlike heart and hand, The nurse of Wallace and of Bruce, Will long with tyrants hold a truce.” — ‘* Prove we our fate—the brunt we'll bide!” So Boyd and Haye and Lennox cried ; So said, so vow’d, the leaders all; So Bruce resolved : ‘And in my hall Since the bold Southern make their home, The hour of payment soon shall come, When with a rough and rugged host Clifford may reckon to his cost. Meantime, through well-known bosk and dell I’ll lead where we may shelter well.” XVII. Now ask you whence that wondrous light, Whose fairy glow beguiled their sight ?— It ne’er was known !—yet grey-hair’d eld A superstitious credence held, That never did a mortal hand Wake its broad glare on Carrick strand ; Nay, and that on the self-same night When Bruce cross’d o’er, still gleams the light. Yearly it gleams o’er mount and moor, And glittering wave and crimson’d shore— But whether beam celestial, lent By Heaven to aid the King’s descent, Or fire hell-kindled from beneath, To lure him to defeat and death, Or were it but some meteor strange, Of such as oft through midnight range, 1 The following are the words of an ingenious cor- respondent, to whom I am obliged for much information respecting Turnberry and its neighbourhood :—" 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 ancient, 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 kinsman, and never suspected of treachery.” —Letter from Mr. Joseph Train, of Newton Stuart, author of an ingenious Collection of Poems, illustrative of many ancient Traditions in Galloway and Ayrshire, Edinburgh, 1834, os as ~ Paap ve ete tee a ee tens eet as me a ee ee ea 362 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. Startling the traveller late and lone, I know not—and it ne’er was known. XVIII. Now up the rocky pass they drew, And Ronald, to his promise true, Still made his arm the stripling’s stay, To aid him on the rugged way. ““ Now cheer thee, simple Amadine ! Why throbs that silly heart of thine ?”— —That name the pirates to their slave (In Gaelic ’tis the Changeling) gave— ** Dost thou not rest thee on my arm? Do not my plaid-folds hold thee warm? Hath not the wild bulls treble hide This targe for thee and me supplied? 1g not Clan-Colla’s sword of steel? And, trembler, canst thou terror feel? Cheer thee, and still that throbbing heart ; From Ronald’s guard thou shalt not part.” —QO! many a shaft, at random sent, Finds mark the archer little meant ! And many a word, at random spoken, May soothe or wound a heart that’s broken ! Half soothed, half grieved, half terrified, Close drew the page to Ronald’s side ; A wild delirious thrill of joy Was in that hour of agony, As up the steepy pass he strove, Fear, toil, and sorrow, lost in love ! KY The barrier of that iron shore, The rock’s steep ledge, is now climb’d o’er ; And from the castle’s distant wall, From tower to tower the warders call : The sound swings over land and sea, And marks a watchful enemy.— They gain’d the Chase, a wide domain Left for the Castle’s silvan reign, (Seek not the scene—the axe, the plough, _The boor’s dull fence, have marr’d it now,)! 1 The Castle of Turnberry, on the coast of Ayrshire, was the property of Robert Bruce, in right of his mother. Lord Hailes mentions the following remarkable circum- stance concerning the mode in which he became proprietor of it :—‘tMartha, Countess of Carrick in her own right, the wife of Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale, bare him a son, afterwards Robert I. (11th July, 1274.) The circum- stances of her marriage were singular : happening to meet Robert Bruce in her domains, she became enamoured of him, and with some violence led him to her castle of Turnberry. A few days after she married him, without the knowledge of the relations of either party, and with- out the requisite consent of the king. The king instantly seized her castle and whole estates; She afterwards atoned by a fine for her feudal delinquency. Little did Alexander foresee, that, from this union, the restorer of the Scottish monarchy was to arise.”—Annals of Scotland, vol. ii. p. 180. The same obliging correspondent, whom I have quoted in the preceding note, gives me the following account of the present state of the ruins of Turnberry :— “Turnberry Point is a rock projecting into the sea; the | J But must not quit the ranks of wav. top of itis about eighteen feet above high-water mark. Upon this rock was built the castle. There is about twenty-five feet high of the wall next to the sea yet stand- ing. Upon the land-side the wail is only about four feet high; the length has been sixty feet, and the breadth forty-five: It was surrounded by a ditch, but that is now | nearly filled up. The top of the ruin, rising between forty and fifty feet above the water, has a majestic ap- | | have rested, after assaulting the castle.” pearance from the sea. There is not much local tradition in the vicinity connected with Bruce or his history. In front, however, of the rock, upon which stands Culzean Castle, is the mouth of a romantic cavern, called the Cove of Colean, in which it is said Bruce and his followers con- cealed themselves immediately after landing, till they But then, soft swept in velvet green The plain with many a glade between, | Whose tangled alleys far invade | The depth of the brown forest shade. | Here the tall fern obscured the lawn, | Fair shelter for the sportive fawn ; | There, tufted close with copsewood green, | Was many a swelling hillock seen ; And all around was verdure meet For pressure of the fairies’ feet. | The. glossy holly loved the park, ' The yew-tree lent its shadow dark, And many an old oak, worn and bare, With all its shiver’d boughs, was there. | Lovely between, the moonbeams fell On lawn and hillock, glade and dell. The gallant Monarch sigh’d to see These glades so loved in childhood free, | Bethinking that, as outlaw now, He ranged beneath the forest bough. xx Far o’er the moonlight Chase they sped, Well knew the band that measured tread, When, in retreat or in advance, The serried warriors move at once ; And evil were the luck, if dawn Descried them on the open lawn. | Copses they traverse, brooks they cross, Strain up the bank and o’er the moss. From the exhausted page’s brow | Cold drops of toil are streaming now; With effort faint and lengthen’d pause, | His weary step the stripling draws. | ‘‘ Nay, droop not yet!” the warrior said ; | “* Come, let me give thee ease and aid! Strong are mine arms, and little care A weight so slight as thine to bear.— What! wilt thou not ?—capricious boy !— Then thine own limbs and strength employ | Pass but this night, and pass thy care, Pll place thee with a lady fair, ; Where thou shalt tune thy lute to tell How Ronald loves fair Isabel !” | Worn out, dishearten’d, and dismay’d, Here Amadine let go the plaid ; His trembling limbs their aid refuse, He sunk among the midnight dews ! XXI. What may be done ?—the night is gone— The Bruce’s band moves swittly on— | Eternal shame, if at the brunt Lord Ronald grace not battle’s front !— ‘*See yonder oak, within whose trunk | Decay a darken’d cell hath sunk; Enter, and rest thee there a space, | Wrap in my plaid thy limbs, thy face. I will not be, believe me, far ; arranged matters for their farther enterprises. Burns mentions it in the poem of Hallowe’en. The only place to the south of Turnberry worth mentioning, with reference to Bruce’s history, is the Weary Nuik, a little romantic green hill, where he and his party are said to Around the Castle of Turnberry was a level plain of about two miles in extent, forming the castle park. There could be nothing, I am informed, more beautiful than the copsewood and verdure of this extensive meadow, before it was invaded by the ploughshare. i ERIE SELES SORT A UC EN A HRN ARNT AA A TE, ACS A TS TT name ee sre wn RRL NET aS TR IO RI RR ET A eR NE MN 2 2 2 aera oer ae ONO ESE IIE EET ER ee | =a Well willl mark the bosky bourne, And soon, to guard thee hence, return.— Nay, weep not so, thou simple boy! But sleep in peace, and wake in joy.” In silvan lodging close bestow’d, He placed the page, and onward strode With strength put forth, o’er moss and brook, And soon the marching band o’ertook. XXII. Thus strangely left, long sobb’d and wept The page, till, wearied out, he slept—- A rough voice waked his dream—‘ Nay, here, Here by this thicket, pass’d the deer— Beneath that oak old Ryno staid— What have we here ?—a Scottish plaid, And in its folds a stripling laid 7— Come forth ! thy name and business tell !— What, silent ?—then I guess thee well, The spy that sought old Cuthbert’s cell, Wafted from Arran yester morn— Come, comrades, we will straight return. Our Lord may choose the rack should teach To this young lurcher use of speech. Thy bow-string, till I bind him fast.’”— “Nay, but he weeps and stands aghast ; Unbound we'll lead him, fear it not ; Tis a fair stripling, though a Scot.” The hunters to the castle sped, And there the hapless captive led. | XXIII. Stout Clifford in the castle-court Prepared him for the morning sport ; And now with Lorn held deep discourse, Now gave command for hound and horse. War-steeds and palfreys paw’d the ground, And many a deer-dog howl’d around. To Amadine, Lorn’s well-known word Replying to that Southern Lord, Mix’d with this clanging din, might seem The phantasm of a fever’d dream. The tone upon his ringing ears Came like the sounds which fancy hears, When in rude waves or roaring winds Some words of woe the muser finds, Until more loudly and more near, Their speech arrests the page’s ear. XXIV. «¢ And was she thus,” said Clifford, ‘‘ lost? The priest should rue it to his cost! What says the monk ?”—‘‘ The holy Sire Owns, that in masquer’s quaint attire, She sought his skiff, disguised, unknown To all except to him alone. But, says the priest, a bark from Lorn Laid them aboard that very morn, And pirates seized her for their prey. He proffer’d ransom-gold to pay, And they agreed—but ere told o’er, The winds blow loud, the billows roar ; | They sever’d, and they met no more. \ He deems—such tempest vex’d the coast— Ship, crew, and fugitive were lost. So let it be, with the disgrace And scandal of her lofty race ! Thrice better she had ne’er been born, Than brought her infamy on Lorn!” LT A CI SSO XXV. Lord Clifford now the captive spied ;— “Whom, Herbert, hast thou there?” he cried. ““ A spy we seized within the Chase, A hollow oak his lurking place.”’ ‘* What tidings can the youth afford ?”— ‘* He plays the mute.’’—‘** Then noose a cord— Unless brave Lorn reverse the doom For his plaid’s sake.’’—‘‘ Clan-Colla’s loom,” Said Lorn, whose careless glances trace Rather the vesture than the face, ‘* Clan-Colla’s dames such tartans twine ; Wearer nor plaid claims care of mine. Give him, if my advice you crave, His own scathed oak ; and let him wave | In air, unless, by terror wrung, A frank confession find his tongue.— Nor shall he die without his rite ; —Thou, Angus Roy, attend the sight, And give Clan-Colla’s dirge thy breath, As they convey him to his death.”— ‘*O brother ! cruel to the last !” Through the poor captive’s bosom pass’d The thought, but to his purpose true, He said not, though he sigh’d, ‘‘ Adieu!” XXVI. And will he keep his purpose still, | In sight of that last closing ill, When one poor breath, one single word, May freedom, safety, life, afford ? Can he resist the instinctive call, For life that bids us barter all ?— Love, strong as death, his heart hath steel’d, His nerves hath strung—he will not yield ! Since that poor breath, that little word, May yield Lord Ronald to the sword.— Clan-Colla’s dirge is pealing wide, The griesly headsman’s by his side ; Along the greenwood Chase they bend, And now their march has ghastly end ! That old and shatter’d oak beneath, They destine for the place of death. —-What thoughts are his, while all in vain His eye for aid explores the plain ? What thoughts, while, with a dizzy ear, He hears the death-prayer mutter’d near ? And must he die such death accurst, Or will that bosom-secret burst ? Cold on his brow breaks terror’s dew, His trembling lips are livid blue ; The agony of parting life Has nought to match that moment’s strife ! XXVII. But other witnesses are nigh, Who mock at fear, and death defy ! Soon as the dire lament was play’d, It waked the lurking ambuscade. The Island Lord look’d forth, and spied ; The cause, and loud in fury cried, ‘* By Heaven they lead the page to die, And mock me in his agony ! They shall abye it !”—On his arm Bruce laid strong grasp, ‘‘ They shall not harm A ringlet of the stripling’s hair ; But, till I give the word, forbear. —Douglas, lead fifty of our force Up yonder hollow water-course, Z SS SS SST EE mere pan wees se tree pe ‘ Ra PS ED RE PW BEER IS Sree OT ES LAP TT ees, es THE LORD OF THE ISLES. 363 + ee Er - “yy. Me . = , i Meee (Or THE ISLES. 365 Great God! once more my sire’s abode | Call all, call all! from Reedswair-Path, : ; ; . Is mine—behold the floor I trode | To the wild confines of Cape-Wrath ; In tottering infancy ! Wide let the news through Scotland ring, And there the vaulted arch, whose sound The Northern Eagle claps his wing ! ” Kchoed my joyous shout and bound ‘ | In boyhood, and that rung around | To youth’s unthinking glee ! es O first, to thee, all-gracious Heaven, "hen to my friends, my thanks be given ! ”— ae : ' ° ™ 1 r ‘ He paused a space, his brow he cross’d— CANTO SIXTH. : Then on the board his sword he toss’d, Cawrirethatiahecrad ti CERT , Yet steaming hot; with Southern gore Peto cian . ‘ th ie Sees at orget ’ 7 : . : : , Ee S ¢ a} "1 TT Ss r » From hilt to point ‘twas crimson’d o’er. | ne .CMOTORS Ol C10: SPAT TOUsIng TNO When breathless in the mart the couriers ae met XXXIV. ~ " * : Karly and late, at evening and at prime ; ‘ Bring here,” he said, ‘‘ the mazers four, When the loud cannon and the merry chime | My noble fathers loved of yore.! | Hail’d news on news, as field on field was Thrice let them circle round the board, ! won, : ; The pledge, fair Scotland’s rights restored ! When Hope, long doubtful, soar’d at length | And he whose lip shall touch the wine, sublime, Without a vow as true as mine, | And our glad eyes, awake as day begun, ' To hold both Jands and life at nought, | Watch’d Joy’s broad banner rise, to meet the Until her freedom shall be bought,— rising sun ! Be brand of a disloyal Scot, OD. dhedeveioras heuer thrilli : . . . IS e Tere “Ss F 5 or T "Pe And lasting infamy his lot! ees aq € Aours, when thrilling joy re Sit, gentle friends ! our hour of glee A 1c arr a Oren erie teat cer d Is brief, we'll spend it joyously ! £ a Se 8 course of darkness, aoubts, an Blithest of all the sun’s bright beams, The 1 ret Me deanticec ae thet détata When betwixt storm and storm he gleams. eG JOST BIOs 22ND CRS OF RIE. BODE CEL YA. Well is our country’s work begun The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the | nay But more, far more, must yet be done !— Th: ees ALR barter borers thee cone Speed messengers the country through ; mn se , nea th £1 lithe nf bil are ares e < Tas ro" o WE » Arouse old friends, and gather new ;? H ee See ae ie trai, ie tial Warn Lanark’s knights to gird their mail, pe OW TECRS he Oy CORY 2a DO) SE LLOTN LOA SS, Rouse the brave sons of Teviotdale. To ile thankful praye1 nica the glee, pity a4 ‘ : ‘ ‘ ae ole ata : : A artR That hail’d the Despot’s fall, and peace and Let Ettrick’s archers shar Pp their Gat ts, liuerts | The fairest forms, the truest hearts !3 o Pikes : Aud met thaim at thair arywing. He wes wele sone broucht to the Kiug, That speryt at him how he had done. Angi he with sar hart tauld him sone, How that he fand nane weill luffand ; Bot all war fayis, that he fand ; And that the lord the Persy, With ner thre hundre in cumpany, Was in the castell thar besid, Fullfillyt off dispyt and prid. Bot ma than twa partis off his rowt War herberyt in the toune without ; ‘And dyspytyt yow mar, Schir King, Than men may dispyt ony thing.’ Than said the King, in full gret ire ; ‘Tratour, quhy maid thow than the fyr? ‘A! Schyr,’ said he, ‘sa God me se! The fyr wes newyr maid for me. Na, or the nycht, I wyst it nocht Bot fra I wyst it, weill I thocht That ye, and haly your menye, In hy 4 suld put yow to the se. For thi I cum to mete yow her, To tell perellys that may aper.’ “The King wes off his spek angry, And askyt his prywé men, in hy, Quhat at thaim thoucht wes best to do, Schyr Edward fryst answert thar to, Hys brodyr that wes swa hardy, And said; ‘I say yow sekyrly Thar sall na perell, that may be, Dryve me eftsonys 5 to the se. Myne auentur her tak will I, Quhethir it be esfull or angry.’ ‘ Brothyr,’ he said, ‘sen thou will sua, It is gud that we samyn ta Dissese or ese, or payne or play, Eityr as God will ws purway.16 And sen men sayis that the Persy Myn heretage will oceupy ; | Spring. 2 Began. _3 Loftily. 4 Several. * Make, 6 Buds. 7 Covering. 8 Bereaved. 9 Men. 0 Before. il Dark. 12 Clear, 4 Haste. 15 Soon after, 16 Prepare, _ the Castle of Ayr. ‘ and royal gifts attest his attachment to the t f pine en ; homens nanan _ part of the garrison, who were quartered with- | out the walls of the fortress, retreated into _ the mountainous part of Carrick, and tnere _ made himself so strong, that the English were LON ENS LT ITEC TSR EER AOR SATE TSE IPE LS TRI ERIE ART LTS PRES IO TN AF PTS OT OTT OPIS TIL DM POS RLS TC PC IY CARNES SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. And his menye sa ner ws lyis, | That ws dispytis mony wyss; Ga we and wenge! sum off the dispyte And that may we haiff done alss tite ; 2 For thai ly traistly,? but dreding Off ws, or off our her cummyng. And thoucht we slepand slew thai all, Repruff tharof na man sall. For werrayour na forss suld ma, Quhethir he mycht ourcoi his fa Throw strenth, or throw sutelté; Bot that gud faith ay haldyn be.’” BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book iv., v. 1. Note R. Lhe Bruce hath won his father’s hall !—P. 364. 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 tra- dition isnot accurate. The fact is, that he was only strong enough to alarm and drive in the outposts of the English garrison, then com- manded, not by Clifford, as assumed in the text, but by Percy. Neither was Clifford slain upon this occasion, though he had several skir- mishes with Bruce.. He fell afterwards in the battle of Bannockburn. Bruce, after alarming the Castle of Turnberry, and surprising some obliged to evacuate Turnberry, and at length Many of his benefactions hereditary followers of his house, in this part ot the country. It is generally known, that Bruce, in con- sequence of his distresses after the battle of Methven, was affected by a scorbutie disorder, which was then called a leprosy. It is said he experienced benefit from the use of a medicinal spring, about a mile north of the town of Ayr, called from that circumstance King’s Ease. The following is the tradition of the country, collected by Mr. Train :—‘‘ After Robert as- cended the throne, he founded the priory of Hominican monks, every one of whom was under the obligation of putting up to Heaven | a prayer once every week-day, and twice in holydays, for the recovery of the king; and, after his death, these masses were continued for the saving of his soul. The ruins of this | old monastery are now nearly level with the | ground. Robert likewise caused houses to be | built round the well of King’s Ease, for eight | lepers, and allowed eight bolls of oatmeal, and 428 Scotch money, per annum, to each person. | These donations were laid upon the lands of | Fullarton, and are now payable by the Duke of Portland. The farm of Shiels, in the? neighbourhood of Ayr, has to give, if required, | a certain quantity of straw for the lepers’ beds, | and so much to thatch their houses annually. Hach leprous person had a drinking-horn pro- vided him by the king, which continued to be hereditary in the house to which it was first 2 Quickly. 1 Avenge. 3 Confidently. | stane unmolested. granted. One of those identical horns, of very | curious workmanship, was in the possession of the late Colonel Fullarton of that Ik.” My correspondent proceeds to mention some curious remnants of antiquity respecting this foundation. ‘‘In compliment to Sir William Wallace, the great deliverer of his country, King Robert Bruce invested the descendants of that hero with the right of placing all the lepers upon the establishment of King’s Case. This patronage continued in the family of Craigie, till it was sold along with the lands of the late Sir Thomas Wallace. The burgh of Ayr then purchased the right of applying the donations of King’s Case to the support of the poor-house of Ayr. The lepers’ charter-stone was a basaltic block, exactly the shape of a sheep’s kidney, and weighing an Ayrshire boll of meal. The surface of this stone being as smooth as glass, there was not any other way of lifting it than by turning the hollow to the ground, there extending the arms along each side of the stone, and clasping the hands in the cavity. Young lads were always considered as deserving to be ranked among men, when they could lift the blue stone of King’s Case. It always lay beside the well, till afew years ago, when some English dragoons encamped at that place wantonly broke it, since which the frag- ments have been kept by the freemen of Prest- wick in a place of security. There is one of these charter-stones at the village of Old Daily, in Carrick, which has become more celebrated by the following event, which happened only a very few years ago:—The village of New Daily being now larger than the old place of the ° same name, the inhabitants insisted that the charter-stone should be removed from the old town to the new, but the people of Old Daily were unwilling to part with their ancient right. Demands and remonstrances were made on each side without effect, till at last man, woman, and child, of both villages, marched out, and by one desperate engagement put an end to a war, the commencement of which no person then living remembered. Justice and victory, in this instance, being of the same party, the villagers of the old town of Daily now enjoy the pleasure of keeping the blue- Ideal privileges are often attached to some of these stones. In Girvan, if aman can set his back against one of the above description, he is supposed not liable to be arrested for debt, nor can cattle, it is imagined, be poinded as long as they are fas- tened to the same stone. That stones were | often used as symbols to denote the right of possessing land, before the use of written documents became general in Scotland, is, I think, exceedingly probable. The charter- stone of Inverness is still kept with great care, set in a frame, and hooped with iron, at the market-place of that town. It is called by the | inhabitants of that district Clack na Couddin. I think it is very likely that Carey has men- tioned this stone in his poem of Craig Pha- derick. This is only a conjecture, as I have never seen that work. While the famous marble chair was allowed to remain at Scoon, it was considered as the charter-stone of the kingdom of Scotland.” — — a erenomers ~*~ i $ ; ) | : : ' f 4 i i { k t ; ' ' j ; | 4 : ; ; ! . | | ) | i q t Note 8. “ Bring here,” he said, ‘ the mazers four, My noble fathers loved of yore.” —P. 36s. These mazers were large drinking-cups, or goblets. Mention of them occurs in a curious inventory of the treasure and jewels of James III., which will be published, with other curious documents of antiquity, by my friend, Mr. Thomas Thomson, D. Register of Scotland, under the title of ‘ A Collection of Inventories, and other Records of the Royal Wardrobe, Jewel-House,” &c. I copy the passage, in which mention is made of the mazers, and also of a habiliment, called ‘“‘King Robert Bruce’s serk,” i.e. shirt, meaning, perhaps, his | shirt of mail; although no other arms are | mentioned in the inventory. It might have been a relic of more sanctified description, a penance shirt perhaps. Extract from ‘‘Inventare of ane Parte of the Gold and Silver conyeit and unconyeit, Jowellis, and uther Stuff perteining to Umgquhile oure Soverane Lords Fader, that he had in Depois Pere LOK Or THE ISLES. 393 authenticates a striking passage in the history of the house of Douglas, by Hume of Gods- croft. The last Earl of Douglas (of the elder branch) had been reduced to monastic seclusion in the Abbey of Lindores, by James II. James | III., in his distresses, would willingly have recalled him to public life, and made him his lieutenant. ‘“‘ But he,” says Godscroft, ‘laden with years and old age, and weary of troubles, | refused, saying, Sir, you have keépt mee, and your black coffer in Sterling, too long, neither of us can doe you any good: I, because my friends have forsaken me, and my followers and dependers are fallen from me, betaking | themselves to other masters; and your black | trunk is too farre from you, and your enemies are between you and it: or (as others say) be- cause there was in it a sort of black coyne, that the king had caused to be coyned by the advice of his courtiers ; which moneyes (saith he) sir, if you had put out at the first, the people would have taken it; and if you had employed mee in due time I might have done you service. But now there is none that will the Tyme of his Deceis, and that come to the | Handis of oure Soverane Lord that now is, M.CCCC.LXXXVIII.” ‘“‘Memorandum fundin in a bandit kist like | a gardeviant,! in the fyrst the grete chenye? of gold, contenand sevin score sex linkis. liem, thre platis of silver. Item, tuelf salfatis.3 [tem, fyftene discheis4 ouregilt. Item, a grete gilt plate. Item, twa grete bassingis5 ouregilt. item, FOUR MASARIS, CALLED KING ROBERT THE Brocis, with a cover. Item, a grete cok maid of silver. Item, the hede of silver of ane of the coveris of masar. Item, a fare dialle.¢é [tem, twa kasis of knyfiis.7 Item, a pare of auld kniffis. Item, takin be the smyth that opinnit the lokkis, in gold fourty demyis. Item, In Inglys grotis® --------- xxiiii li. and the said silver given again to the takaris of hym. Item, ressavit in the cloissat of Davidis tour, ane haly water-fat of silver, twa boxis, a cageat tume, a glas with rois-water, a dosoune of torchis, King Roperr Brucis SERK.” The real use of the antiquarian’s studies, is to bring the minute information which he collects to bear upon points of history. For example, in the inventory I have just quoted, there is given the contents of the black kist, or chest, belonging to James III., which was his strong box, and contained a quantity of trea- sure, in money and jewels, surpassing what might have been at the period expected of *‘poor Scotland’s gear.” This illustrates and 1 Gard-vin, or wine-cooler. 2 Chain. 3 Salt-cellars, anciently the object of much curious workinanship. 4 Dishes. 5 Basins, 6 Dial, 7 Cases of knives. 8 English groats, 'take notice of me, nor meddle with your money.”—Humer’s History of the House of Douglas, fol. Edin. 1644, p. 206. Next i When English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,— Paso, The ‘‘ good Lord James of Douglas,” during 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 moun- tains. 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 arise more magnificent from its ruins. Upon one of these occasions he used fearful cruelty, causing all the store of pro- | visions, which the English had laid up in his castle, to be heaped together, bursting the Wine and beer-casks among the wheat and ‘flour, slaughtering 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 com- memorated under the name of the Douglas’s Larder. A more pleasing tale of chivalry is recorded by Godscroft. ‘‘By this means, and such other exploits, he so affrighted the enemy, that it was counted a matter of great jeopardie to keep this castle, which began to be called ‘the adventurous (or hazardous) Castle of Douglas s whereupon Sir John Walton being in suit of an English lady, she wrote to him, that when he had kept the adventurous Castle of Douglas seven years, then he might think him- self worthy to be a suitor to her. Upon this occasion Walton took upon him the keeping of it, and succeeded to Thruswall, but he ran the same fortune with the rest that were before him. For Sir James, having first dressed an ambuscado near unto the place, he made four- teen of his men take so many sacks, and fill them with grass, as though it had been corn Hy i io i eee os ‘ : ee SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKS which they carried in the way to Lanark, the chief market town in that county : so hoping to draw forth the captain by that bait, and either to take him or the castle, or both. Neither was this expectation frustrated, for the captain did bite, and came forth to have taken this victual(as he supposed.) But ere he could reach these carriers, Sir James, with his com- pany, had gotten between the castle and him ; and these disguised carriers, seeing the captain following after them, did quickly cast off their sacks, mounted themselves on horseback, and | met the captain with a sharp encounter, being so much the more amazed, as it was unlooked for: wherefore, when he saw these carriers metamorphosed into warriors, and ready to assault him, fearing that which was, that there was some train laid for them, he turned about to have retired to his castle, but there he also met with his enemies; between which two companies he and his whole followers were slain, so that none escaped: the captain after- | wards being searched, they found (as it is re- ported) his mistress’s letter about him.”— _ Humr’s History of the House of Douglas, fol. pp. 29, 30 Note U. And Connoght pour'd from waste and wood Her hundred tribes, whose sceptre rude Dark Eth O'Connor sway’d.—P. 367. There is in the Foedera an invitation to Eth O’Connor, chief of the Irish of Connaught, setting forth that the king was about to move against his Scottish rebels, and therefore re- questing 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 commanded by Richard de Burgh, Earl of Ulster. Similar mandates were issued to the following Irish chiefs, whose names may astonish the un- - learned, and amuse the antiquary :— ; ch ofrmuaie eA EDAD WETS ANA A nt J me rh ie N eS “Bth O Donnuld, Duci Hibernicorum de Tyconil ; Demod O Kahan, Fernetrew ; Doneval O Neel, Tryowyn ; Neel Macbreen, Duci Hibernicorum de Ky- nallewan ; Eth. Offyn, Duci Hibernicorum de Turtery ; Admely Mac Anegus, Duci Hibernicorum Onehagh ; Neel O Hanlan, Erthere ; Mac Mahun, Uriel ; Lauercagh Mac Wyr, Duci Hibernicorum Lougherin ; O- Railly, Bresfeny ; Geffrey O Fergy, Montiragwil ; Felyn O Honughur, Duci Hibernicorum Cennach ; Donethuth O Bien, Duci Tothmund ; Duci Hibernicorum de Duci Hibernicorum de de Duci Hibernicorum de Bien Duci Hibernicorum de de Gillys Duci Hibernicorum de Duci Hibernicorum de de Hibernicorum de Dermod Mac Arthy, Duci Hibernicorum de Dessemound ; Denenol Carbragh ; Maur. Kenenagh Mac Murgh; Murghugh O Bryn ; David O Tothvill ; Dermod O Tonoghur, Doffaly ; Fyn O Dymsy ; Souethuth Mac Gillephatrick ; | Leyssagh O Morth ; Gilbertus Ekelly, Duci MHibernicorum de Omany ; Mac Ethelau ; Omalan Helyn, Duci Hibernicorum Midie.” RYMER’s Fadera, vol. iii., pp. 476, 477. Note V. In battles four beneath their eye, The forces of King Robert lie.—P. 368. The arrangements adopted by King Robert for the decisive battle of Bannockburn, are given very distinctly by Barbour, and form an edifying lesson to tacticians. Yet, till com- mented upon by Lord Hailes, this important passage of history has been generally and strangely misunderstood by historians. I will here endeavour to detail it fully. Two days before the battle, Bruce selected the field of action, and took post there with his army, consisting of about 30,000 disciplined men, and about half the number of disorderly attendants upon the camp. The ground was called the New Park of Stirling; it was partly open, and partly broken by copses of wood and marshy ground. He divided his regular forces into four divisions. Three of these occupied a front line, separated from each other, yet sufficiently near for the purposes of communication. The fourth division formed a reserve. The line extended in a north- easterly direction from the brook of Bannock, which was so rugged and broken as to cover the right flank effectually, to the village of Saint Ninian’s, probably in the line of the present road from Stirling to Kilsyth. Edward Bruce commanded the right wing, which was strengthened by a strong body of cavalry under Keith, the Mareschal of Scotland, to whom was committed the important charge of attacking the English archers ; Douglas, and the young Steward of Scotland, led the central wing ; and Thomas Randoiph, Earl of Moray, the left wing. The King himself commanded the fourth division, which lay in reserve behind the others. The royal standard was pitched, according to tradition, in a stone, having a round hole for its reception, and thence called the Bore-stone. It is still shown on the top of a small eminence, called Brock’s-brae, to the south-west of St. Ninian’s. His main body thus disposed, King Robert sent the followers of the camp, fifteen thousand and upwards in number, to the eminence in rear of his army, called from that circumstance the Gillies’ (i.e. the servants’) Hill. The military advantages of this position were obvious. The Scottish left flank, protected by nd eo oe oer seme ee BEE Oe re Ea EE sp eee 1 CD SR Se A I Ra EL EY EEE NTE TEE ISIE Leu LORD, OF THE ISLES. 395 the brook of Bannock, could not be turned; | or, if that attempt were made, a movement by the reserve might have covered it. Again, the Inglish could not pass the Scottish army, and | move towards Stirling, without exposing their flank to be attacked while in march. If, on the other hand, the Scottish line had been drawn up east and west, and facing to | the southward, as affirmed by Buchanan, and adopted by Mr. Nimmo, the author of the | | History of Stirlingshire, there appears nothing | to have prevented the English approaching upon the carse, or level ground, from Falkirk, | either from turning the Scottish left flank, or from passing their position, if they preferred it, without coming to an action, and moving on to the relief of Stirling. And the Gillies’ Hil, if this less probable hypothesis be adopted, wouid be situated, not in the rear, as allowed by all the historians, but upon the left flank of | Bruce’s army. The only objection to the hypothesis above laid down, is, that the left flank of Bruce’s army was thereby exposed to a sally from the garrison of Stirling. But, Ist, the garrison were bound to neutrality by terms of Mowbray’s treaty ; and Barbour even seems to censure, as a breach of faith, some secret | assistance which they rendered their country- | men upon the eve of battle, in placing tem- porary bridges of doors and spars over the pools of water in the carse, to enable them to advance to the charge.! 2ndly, Had this not been the case, the strength of the garrison was probably not sufficient to excite apprehension. 3rdly, The adverse hypothesis leaves the rear | of the Scottish army as much exposed to the Stirling garrison, as the left flank would be in the case supposed. It only remains to notice the nature of the ground in front of Bruce’s line of battle. Being part of a park, or chase, it was consider- ably interrupted with trees ; and an extensive marsh, still visible, in some places rendered it inaccessible, and in all of difficult approach. More to the northward, where the natural impediments were fewer, Bruce fortified his position against cavalry, by digging a number of pits so close together, says Barbour, as to resemble the cells in a honey-comb. They were a foot in breadth, and between two and three feet deep, many rows of them being placed one behind the other. They were slightly covered with brushwood and green sods, so as not to be obvious to an impetuous enemy. All the Scottish army were on foot, except- ing a select body of cavalry stationed with Edward Bruce on the right wing, under the immediate command of Sir Robert Keith, the Marshal of Scotland, who were destined for the important service of charging and dispersing the English archers. Thus judiciously posted, in a situation forti- | fied by both art and nature, Bruce awaited the attack of the English. l An assistance which (by the way) could not have been rendered, had not the English approached from the south- | east ; since, had their march been due north, the whole | Scottish army must have been between them and the garrison, Note W. With these the valiant of the Isles Beneath their chieftains rank’d their files.— P. 368. The men of Argyle, the islanders, and the Highlanders in general, were ranked in the rear. They must have been numerous, for Bruce had reconciled himself with almost all their chieftains, excepting the obnoxious Mac- Dougals of Lorn. The following deed, con- | taining the submission of the potent Earl of Ross to the King, was never before published. It is dated in the third year of Robert’s reign, that is, 1309. “* OBLIGACIO COMITIS ROSSENSIS PER HOMAGIUM FIDELITATEM ET SCRIPTUM. “‘Universis christi fidelibus ad quorum no- ticiam presentes litere peruenerint Willielmus Comes de Ross salutem in domino sempi- ternam. Quia magnificus princeps Dominus Robertus dei gracia Rex Scottorum Dominus meus ex innata sibi bonitate, inspirataque clemencia, et gracia speciali remisit michi pure rancorem animi sui, et ralaxauit ac condonauit michi omnimodas transgressiones seu offensas contra ipsum et suos per me |et meos vsque ad confeccionem literarum presencium perpetratas: Et terras meas et tenementa mea omnia graciose concessit. Et me nichilominus de terra de Dingwal et fern- croskry infra comitatum de Suthyrland de be- nigna liberalitate sua heriditarie infeodare | curauit. Ego tantam principis beneuolenciam efficaciter attendens, et pro tot graciis michi factis, vicem sibi gratitudinis meis pro viribus de cetero digne ------------- vite cupiens exhibere, subicio et obligo me et heredes meos et homines meos vniuersos dicto Domino meo Regi per omnia -------------- erga suam regiam dignitatem, quod erimus de cetero fide- les sibi et heredibus suis et fidele sibi seruicium auxilium et concilium - ------------- contra omnes homines et feminas qui vivere poterint aut mori, et super h--- Ego Willielmus pro me -------------- hominibus meis vniuersis dicto domino meo Regi -------- manibus homagium sponte feci et super dei ewangelia sacramentum prestiti ------------ In quorum omnium testimonium sigillum meum, et sigilla Hugonis filii et heredis et Johannis filii mei vna cum sigillis venerabilium patrum Dominorum Dauid et Thome Moraviensis et Rossensis dei gracia episcoporum presentibus literis sunt appensa. Acta scripta et data apud Aldern in Morauia vltimo die mensis Octobris, Anno Regni dicti domininostri Regis Roberti Tertio. | Testibus venerabilibus patribus supradictis, Domino Bernardo Cancellario Regis, Dominis Willielmo de Haya, Johanne de Striuelyn, Williehno Wysman, Johanne de Ffenton, Dauid de Berkeley, et Waltero de Berkeley militibus, magistro Waltero Heroc, Decano ecclesie | Morauie, magistro Willielmo de _ Creswel eiusdem ecclesie precentore et multis aliis nobilibus clericis et laicis dictis die et loco con- gregatis.” The copy of this curious document was sup- plied by my friend, Mr. Thomson, Deputy 25 ! i} i SY AEE AEE EO a OR a IS A a SCOP SY LOL Le Ae Register of Scotland, whose researches into our ancient records are daily throwing new and important light upon the history of the country. Note X. The Monarch rode along the van.—P. 368. The English vanguard, commanded by the | came in | : peas z | English army ; they made a circuit by the low Earls of Gloucester and Hereford, sight of the Scottish army upon the evening of the 23rd of June. Bruce was then riding upon a little palfrey, in front of his foremost line, putting his host in order. that the personal encounter took place betwixt him and Sir Henry de Bohun, a gallant English knight, the issue of which had a great effect upon the spirits of both armies. It is thus recorded by BARBOUR :— ** And quhen Glosyster and Herfurd war With thair bataill, approchand ner, Befor thaii all thar come rydand, With helm on heid, and sper in hand, Schyr Henry the Boune, the worthi, That wes a wycht knycht, and a hardy ; And to the Erle off Herfurd cusyne : Armyt in armys gud and fyne; Come on a sted, a bow schote ner, Befor all othyr that thar wer: And kuew the King, for that he saw Him swa rang his men on raw ; And by the croune, that wes set Alsua apon his bassynet. And towart him he went in hy. And the King sua apertly Saw him cum, forouth all his feris,! In hy? till him the hors he steris. And quhen Schyr Henry saw. - -e King Cum on, for owtyn abaysing,? Till him he raid in full gret hy. He thoucht that be suld weill lychtly Wyn him, and haf him at his will, Sen he him horsyt saw sa ill. Sprent 4 thai samyn in till a ling.5 Schyr Henry myssit the noble king. And he, that in his sterapys stud, With the ax that wes hard and gud, With sa gret mayne? raucht him a dynt, That nothyr hat, na helm, mycht stynt The hewy ‘ dusche 8 that he him gave, That ner the heid till the harnys clave. The hand ax schaft fruschit 9 in twa 3 And he doune to the erd gan ga All flatlynys,!9 for him faillyt mycht. This wes the fryst strak off the fycht.” BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book viii., v. 684. The Scottish leaders remonstrated with the King upon his temerity. He only answered, ““T have broken my good battle-axe.”—The English vanguard retreated after witnessing this single combat. Probably their generals did not think it advisable to hazard an attack, while its unfavourable issue remained upon their minds. Nore Y. What train of dust, with trumpet-sound, And glimmering spears, is wheeling round Our leftward flank ? . Bae TOs While the van of the English army advanced, a detached body attempted to relieve Stirling. Lord Hailes gives the following account of this manoeuyre and the result, which is accom- panied by circumstances highly characteristic 2 ae. 5 Lin 8 Clash. 1 Comrades, 4 Spurred, 6 Strength, or force. 7 He 9 Broke. It was then | | wheeled to attack him. | his troopsin a circular form, with their spears | sharing it. ‘tween them and the town. | posing Randolph’s | Ninian’s, the short movement to Newhouse 3 Without shrinking. WORKS. of the chivalrous manners of the age, and dis- plays that generosity which reconciles us ever to their ferocity upon other occasions. Bruce had enjoined Randolph, who com- manded the left wing of the army, to be vigil- | ant in preventing any advanced parties of the | English from throwing succours into the castle of Stirling. “Hight hundred horsemen, commanded by Sir Robert Clifford, were detached from the grounds to the east, and approached the castle. | The king perceived their motions, and coming up to Randolph, angrily exclaimed, ‘ Thought- less man! you have suffered the enemy to pass.” Randolph hasted to repair his fault, or perish. As he advanced, the English cavalry Randolph drew up resting on the ground, and protended on every side. At the first onset, Sir William Dayne- court, an English commander of distinguished note, was slain. The enemy, far superior in numbers to Randolph, environed him, and pressed hard on his little band. Douglas saw his jeopardy, and requested the king’s per- mission to go and succour him. ‘You shall not move from your ground,’ cried the king ; ‘let Randolph extricate himself as he best may. I will not alter my order of battle, and lose the advantage of my position.’—‘ In truth,’ replied Douglas, ‘I cannot stand by and see Randolph perish ; and, therefore, with your leave, I must aid him.’ The king unwillingly consented, and Douglas flew to the assistancr of his friend. While approaching, he perceived that the English were falling into disorder, and that the perseverance of Randolph had prevailed over their impetuous courage. ‘ Halt,’ cried Douglas, ‘those brave men have repulsed the enemy ; let us not diminish their glory by *”__TNALRYMPLE’S ae of Scot- land, 4to, Edinburgh, 1779, pp. 44, Two large stones erected at the ones end of the village of Newhouse, about a quarter of a mile from the south part of Stirling, ascertain the place of this memorable skirmish. The circumstance tends, were confirmation neces- sary, to support the opinion of Lord Hailes, | that the Scottish line had Stirling on its left flank. It will be remembered, that Randolph commanded infantry, Daynecourt cavalry. Supposing, therefore, according to the vulgar | hypothesis, that the Scottish line was drawn up, facing to the south, in the line of the brook | of Bannock, and consequently that Randolph | was stationed with his left flank resting upon | Milntown bog, it is morally impossible that | his infantry, moving from that position, with | whatever celerity, could cut off from Stirling a body of cavalry who had already passed St. Ninian’s,! or, in ot her words, werealready be- Whereas, sup- left to have approached St. could easily be executed, so as to intercept the English in the manner described. 1 Barbour says expressly, they avoided the New Park, | (where Bruce’s army lay,) and held ‘‘ well neath the Kirk,’ 10 Flat. | which can only mean St. Ninian’s. —_—______ ae Eg I Norte Z. Forth, Marshal, on the peasant foe ! We'll tame the terrors of their bow, And cut the bow-string loose !—P. 371. 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. I conceive, the marsh called Milntown bog, and, keeping the firm ground, charged the , left flank and rear of the English archers. As | the bowmen had no spears, nor long weapons, 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 re- | covered. “The Inglis archeris schot sa fast, That mycht thair schot haff ony last, It had bene hard to Scottis men. Bot King Robert, that wele gan ken ! That thair archeris war peralouss, And thair schot rycht hard and grewouss, Ordanyt, forouth 2 the assemblé, Hys marschell with a gret menye, Fyve hundre arinyt in to stele, That on lycht horss war horsyt welle, For to pryk 3 amang the archeris ; And swa assaile thaim with thair speris, That thai na layser haiff to schute. This marschell that Ik of mute,+ That Schyr Robert of Keyth was cauld, As Ik befor her has yow tauld, Quhen he saw the bataillis sua Asselmbill, and to gidder ga, And saw the archeris schoyt stoutly ; With all thaim off his cumpany, In hy apon thaim gan he rid; And our tuk thaim ata sid ;5 And ruschyt amang thaim sa rudly, Stekand thaim sa dispitously, And in sic fusoun 6 berand doun, And slayand thaim, for owtyn ransoun ;7 That thai thaim scalyt8 euirilkane.! And fra that tyme furth thar wes pane That assemblyt schot to ma.10 Quhen Scottis archeris saw that thai sua War rebutyt,!1 thai woux hardy, And with all thair mycht schot egrely Amang the horss men, that thar raid ; And woundis wid to thaim thai maid; And slew of thaim a full gret dele.” 2 BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book ix., v. 228. Although the success of this manoeuvre was evident, it is very remarkable that the Scottish | generals do not appear to have profited by the lesson. Almost every subsequent battle which they lost against England, 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 Hali- doun-hill, fought scarce twenty years after- wards, 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 disperse them, if a 1 Know. 2 Disjoined from the main body. 3 Spur. 4 That I speak of. 5 Set upon their flank. 6 Numbers. 7 Ransom. 8 Dispersed. 9 Every one. 10 Make. ll Driven back. They rounded, as | yaw Ont OF THE ISLES. 397 hundred men-at-arms were put under his command. ‘* But, to confess the truth,” says Fordun, ‘‘he could not procure a single horse- ' man for the service proposed.” Of such little use is experience in war, where its results are opposed by habit or prejudice. Note A 2. To arms they flew,—axe, club, ov spear,— And nimic ensigns high they rear.—P. 373. The followers of the Scottish camp observed, from the Gillies’ Hill in the rear, the impres- sion produced upon the English army by the | bringing up of the Scottish reserve, and, prompted by the enthusiasm of the moment, 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. *Yomen, and swanys,! and pituill, That in the Park yeinyt wictaill,? War left; quhen thai wyst but lesing,4 That thair lordis, with fell fechtyng, On thair fayis assemblyt wer ; Ane off thaim selwyn 5 that war thar Capitane of thaim all thai maid. And schetis, that war sumedele® brad, Thai festuyt in steid off baneris, Apon lang treys and speris: And said that thai wald se the fycht ; And help thair lordis at thair mycht. Quhen her till all assentyt wer, In a rout assemblit er;7 Fyftene thowsand thai war, or ma. And than in gret hy gan thai ga, With thair baneris, all in a rout, As thai had men bene styth8 and stout. Thai come, with all that assemblé, Rycht quhill thai mycht the bataill se ; Than all at anys thai gave a ery, ‘Sla! Sla! Apou thaim hastily !’” BARBOUR’S Bruce, Book ix., v. 410. The unexpected apparition, of what seemed anew army, completed the confusion which already prevailed among the English, who fled in every direction, and were pursued with im- menseslaughter. The brook of Bannock, accord- | ing to Barbour, was so choked with the bodies of men and horses, that it might have been passed dry-shod. The followers of the Scottish amp fell upon the disheartened fugitives, and added to the confusion and slaughter. Many were driven into the Forth, and perished there, which, by the way, could hardly have hap- pened, had the armies been drawn up east and west, since, in that case, to get at the river, the English fugitives must have fled through the victorious army. About a short mile from the field of battle is a place called the Bloody Folds. Here the Earl of Gloucester is said to have made astand, and died gallantly at the head of his own military tenants and vassals. He was much regretted by both sides ; and it is said the Scottish would gladly have saved his life, but, neglecting to wear his sur- coat with armorial bearings over his armour, he fell unknown, after his horse had been | stabbed with spears. | Sir Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, _ _ 2 Rabble. © Selves. 6 Somewhat. 3 Kept the provisions. ‘Are. 8 Stiff 1 Swains. 4 Lying. SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. ——_ contrived to conceal himself during the fury in monasterio de Cambuskyneth concordatum of the pursuit, and when it was somewhat | fuit finaliter Judicatum hoc statutum de Con- slackened, approached King Robert. ‘“‘ Whose cilio et Assensu _Episcoporum et ceterorum prisoner are you, Sir Marmaduke?” said Prelatorum Comitum Baronum et aliorum Bruce, to whom he was personally known. nobilium regni Scocie nec non et tocius ‘Yours, sir,” answered the knight. “*i"re-| communitatis regni predicti quod omnes qui - ceive you,” answered the king, and, treating contra fidem et pacem dicti domini regis in him with the utmost courtesy, loaded him | bello seu_alibi mortui sunt to die ad pacem | with gifts, and dismissed him withoutransom. | ejus et fidem non venerant licet sepius vocati \ The other prisoners were all well treated. et legitime expectati fuissent de terris et tene- | There might be policy in this, as Bruce would mentis et omni alio statu infra regnum Scocie | naturally wish to acquire the good opinion of perpetuo sint exheredati_et habeantur de the English barons, who were at this time at cetero tanquam inimici Regis et Regni ab great variance with their king. But it also omni vendicacione juris hereditarii vel juris well accords with his high chivalrous character. | alterius cujuscunque in posterum pro se et heredibus suis in perpetuum privati Ad per- petuam igitur rei memoriam et evidentem probacionem hujus Judicii et Statuti sigilla | Episcoporum et aliorum Prelatorum nec non et comitum Baronum ac ceterorum nobilium | dicti Regni presenti ordinacioni Judicio et Edward IL., according to the best authori- | statuto sunt appensa. ties, showed, in the fatal field of Bannockburn, te: sta ; personal gallantry not unworthy of his great Sigillum Domini Regis sire andgreater son. He remained on thefield | Sigillum Willelmi Episcopi Sancti Andree till forced away by the Earl of Pembroke, | Sigillum Roberti Episcopi Glascuensis when all was lost. He then rode to the Castle Sigillum Willelmi Episcopi Dunkeldensis of Stirling, and demanded admittance ; but| . . + Zpiscopi 7 27) css the governor, remonstrating upon the impru-| - - . Episcopi ‘ ca be ken ee dence of shutting himself up in that fortress, . Episcopl . | | : ! Note B 2. 0! give their hapless prince his due.—P. 373. which must so soon surrender, he assembled | Sigillum Alani Episcopi Sodorensis around his person five hundred men-at-arms, | Sigillum Johannis Episcopi Brechynensis and, avoiding the field of battle and the vic- Sigillum Andree Hpiscopi Ergadiensis torious army, fled towards Linlithgow, pur- Sigillum Frechardi Episcopi Cathanensis sued by Douglas with about sixty horse. They Sigillum Abbatis de Scona were augmented by Sir Lawrence Abernethy Sigillum Abbatis de Calco with twenty more, whom Douglas met in the Sigillum Abbatis de Abirbrothok Torwood upon their way to join the English | Sigillum Abbatis de Sancta Cruce army, and whom he easily persuaded to desert Sigillum Abbatis de Londoris the defeated monarch, and to assist in the | Sigillum Abbatis de Newbotill pursuit. They hung upon Edward’s flight) Sigillum Abbatis de Cupro as far as Dunbar, too few in number to assail | Sigillum Abbatis de Paslet him with effect, but enough to harass his re- | Sigillum Abbatis de Dunfermelyn treat so constantly, that whoever fell an instant | Sigillum Abbatis de Lincluden behind, was instantly slain, or made prisoner. Sigillum Abbatis de Insula Missarum Edward’signominious flight terminated at Dun- Sigillum Abbatis de Sancto Columba bar, where the Earl of March, whostill professed Sigillum Abbatis de Deer allegiance to him, ‘‘ received him full gently.” Sigillum Abbatis de Dulce Corde From thence, the monarch of so great an em- Sigillum Prioris de Coldinghame pire, and the late commander of so gallant Sigillum Prioris de Rostynot and numerous an army, escaped to Bam- Sigillum Prioris Sancte Andree borough in a fishing vessel. Sigillum Prioris de Pettinwem Bruce, as will appear from the following Sigillum Prioris de Insula de Lochlevin document, lost no time in directing the thun- Sigillum Senescalli Scocie ders of parliamentary censure against such Sigillum Willelmi Comitis de Ros part of his subjects as did not return to their oe ee natural allegiance after the battle of Bannock- FEC burn. Sigillum Gilberti de la Haya Constabularii Scocie Sigillum Roberti de Keth Mariscalli Scocie Ae aes VI DIE NOVEMBRIS, M,CCC,XIV. Pigiium Hugonis de"los Sigillum Jacobi de Duglas | Judicium Reditum apud Kambuskinet contra Sigillum Johannis de Sancto Claro t omnes illos qui tune fuerunt contra sidem et Sigillum Thome de Ros ‘ pacem Domini Regis. Sigillum Alexandri de Settone Sigillum Walteri Haliburtone Anno gracie millesimo tricentisimo quarto Sigillum Davidis de Balfour | ApuD MONASTERIUM DE CAMBUSKENNETH, decimo sexto die Novembris tenente parlia- Sigillum Duncani de Wallays mentum suum Excellentissimo principe Domi- Sigillum Thome de Dischingtone no Roberto Dei gracia Rege Scottorum Iustri Sigillum Andree de Moravia EE SE A pA A ar : sear SSS — gS RE “3 Ube eORD OF ATI ISLES. 399 Sigillum Archibaldi de Betun Sigillum Ranulphi de Lyill Sigillum Malcomi de Balfour Sigillum Normanni de Lesley Sigillum Nigelli de Campo bello Sigillum Morni de Musco Campo Note C 2. Nor for De Argentine alone, Through Ninian’s church these torches shone, And rose the death-prayer’s awful tone.—P. 374- | Lord John Giffard, The remarkable circumstances attending the death of De Argentine have been already | noticed (p. 337.) Besides this renowned warrior, there fell many representatives of the noblest | houses in England, which never sustained a more bloody and disastrous defeat. Barbour says that two hundred pairs of gilded spurs were taken from the field of battle; and that some were left the author can bear witness, who has in his possession a curious antique | spur, dug up in the morass, not long since. ** Tt wes forsuth a gret ferly, To se samyn ! sa fele dede lie. Twa hundre payr of spuris reid,2 War tane of knichtis that war deid.” Iam now to take my leave of Barbour, not | without a sincere wish that the public may encourage the undertaking of my friend Dr. Jamieson, who has issued proposals for pub- lishing an accurate edition of his poem, and of Blind Harry’s Wallace. The only good edition of The Bruce was published by Mr. Pinkerton, in three vols., in 1790; and, the learned editor having had no personal access to consult the manuscript, it is not without errors; and it has besides become scarce. Of Wallace there is no tolerable edition; yet these two poems do no small honour to the early state of Scottish poetry, and The Bruce is justly regarded as containing authentic his- torical facts. The following list of the slain at Bannock- burn, extracted from the continuator of Trivet’s Annals, will show the extent of the national calamity. LIST OF THE SLAIN. Nicolas de Hasteleigh, William Dayncourt, 4Kgidius de Argenteyne, Edmond Comyn, John Lovel, (the rich, ) Edmund de Hastynge, Milo de Stapleton, Simon Ward, Robert de Felton, Michael Poyning, Edmund Maulley. Barons and Knights Bannerets. Gilbert de Clare, Earl of Gloucester, Robert de Clifford, Payan Tybetot, William Le Mareschal, John Comyn, William de Vescey John de Montfort, Philip de Courtenay, Hugo de Scales, Radulph de Beauchamp, John de Penbrigge, With thirty-three others of the same rank, not named. } Knights. Henry de Boun, Thomas de Ufford, John de Elsingfelde, John de Harcourt, Walter de Hakelut, PRISONERS, Barons and Baronets. Henry de Boun, Ear) of Hereford, Anselm de Mareschal, Giles de Beauchamp, John de Cyfrewast, John Bluwet, Roger Corbet, Gilbert de Boun, Bartholomew de Enefeld, Thomas de Ferrers, William de Latimer, | Maurice de Berkley, Tngelram de Umfraville, Marmaduke de Twenge, | John de Wyletone, Radulph and Thomas Robert de Maulee, Bottetort, Henry Fitz-Hugh, John and Nicholas de Kingstone, (brothers, ) William Lovel, Henry de Wileton, Baldwin de Freyill, John de Clivedon,! Adomar la Zouche, John de Merewode, John Maufe,?2 Thomas and Odo ' Ercedekene, Robert Beaupel, (the son,) Thomas de Gray, Walter de Beauchamp, | Richard de Charon, John de Wevelmton, Robert de Nevil, John de Segrave, Gilbert Peeche, John de Clavering, Antony de Lucy, Radulph de Camys, John de Evere, Lele | Andrew de Abrembyn. ou Mautravers, (the son, William and_ William Knights. Giffard, and_ thirty- four other knights, not | Thomas de Berkeley, named by the historian. The son of Roger Tyrrel, And in sum there were there slain, along with the Earl of Gloucester, forty-two barons and bannerets. The number of earls, barons, and bannerets made captive, was twenty-two, and sixty-eight knights. Many clerks and esquires were also there slain or taken. Roger de Northburge, keeper of the king’s signet, (Custos Targie Domini Regis,) was made pris- 'oner with his two clerks, Roger de Waken- felde and Thomas de Switon, upon which the king caused a seal to be made, and entitled it his privy seal, to distinguish the same from the signet so lost. The Earl of Hereford was exchanged against Bruce’s queen, who had been detained in captivity ever since the year 1306. The Targia, or signet, was restored to England through the intercession of Ralph de Monthermer, ancestor of Lord Moira, who is 'said to have found favour in the eyes of the the field of Bannockburn. Scottish king. — Continuation of TRIVET’s Annals, Hall’s edit. Oxford, 1712, vol. ii., p. 14. Such were the immediate consequences of Its more remote effects, in completely establishing the national independence of Scotland, afford a boundless field for speculation. 1 Together. 2 Red, or gilded. 1 Supposed Clinton. 2 Maule, — SSS! ——--— in® ESSE nme neu ntaereeco } _ ae 4 , ee ae eee om — Re ener ws oe a eae — | i ia 1 SCOTS: POLTICALUW OK Che Field of WWlaterloa: A POEM. ** Though Valois braved young Edward’s gentle hand, And Albert rush’d on Henry’s way-worn band, With Europe’s chosen sons, in arms renown’d, Yet. not on Vere's bold archers long they look’d, Nor Audley’s squires nor Mowbray’s yeomen brook’d,— They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.” AKENSIDE. TO HER GRACE THE With birch and darksome oak between, Spreads deep Ane far a pe screen, y +a . WH NC > Of tangled forest ground. eee ee ee aot Stems planted close by stems defy The adventurous foot—the curious eye For access seeks in vain ; ETC: eHiCr, eHLC: And the brown tapestry of leaves, Strew’d on the blighted ground, receives THE FOLLOWING VERSES Nor sun, nor air, nor rain. No opening glade dawns on our way, ARE No streamlet, glancing to the ray, Our woodland path has cross’d ; Atlost Aespecttull Anseribed And the straight causeway which we tread, 2 Y Prolongs a line of dull arcade, PRINCESS OF WATERLOO, Unvarying through the unvaried shade BY Until in distance lost. THE AUTHOR. y a Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, ADVERTISEMENT. | ang corn-fields, glance betweed ; It may be some apology for the imperfec- | The peasant, at his labour blithe, | tions of this Phemthag. it was foroceed Plies the hook’d staff and shorten’d seythe :— | hastily, and during a short tour upon the Con- | ,, But when these ears were green, tinent, when the Author’s labours were liable | Placed close within destruction’s scope, to frequent interruption ; but its best apology | Full little was that rustic’s hope is, that it was written for the purpose of assist- | ae ni pen ng ! ne i; . S seri ; dab 3 >» 2 € ¢ od — ing the Waterloo Subscription. Let not the paver with mieeaia Their architecture view ; —++—. For yonder rude ungraceful shrine, And disproportion’d spire, are thine, 1 Immortal WATERLOO! ABBOTSFORD, 1815. Farr Brussels, thou art far behind, Though, lingering on the morning wind, ast “4 W e yet may hear the hour Fear not the heat, though full and high Peal’d over orchard and canal, The sun has scorch’d the autumn sky, With voice prolong’d and measured fall, - a ee Sa From proud St. Michael’s tower ; | 4 The reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand a stick Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now, | with an iron hook, with which he collects as much grain Where the tall beeches’ glossy bough | as he can cut at one sweep with a short scythe, which he s a holds in his right hand. They carry on this double pro- For many a league around, cess with great spirit and dexterity, a ; i i ) k Il. lm Sore de ee A brighter, livelier scene succeeds ; In groups the scattering wood recedes, p> os — aa ae sommes ce an SA PO EDA OI i Gini | meh 2 Ns Na € : oor TER ST BF LC LD ETE CLD LOL ET TC RO TIL CT ECT EE RAI paras tas sac LTHE FIELD OF WATERLOO. And scarce a forest straggler now To shade us spreads a greenwood bough ; These fields have seen a hotter day Than e’er was fired by sunny ray. Yet one mile on—yon shatter’d hedge Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge Looks on the field below, And sinks so gently on the dale, That not the folds of Beauty’s veil In easier curves can flow, Brief space from thence, the ground again Ascending slowly from the plain, Forms an opposing screen, Which, with its crest of upland ground, Shuts the horizon all around. The soften’d vale between Slopes smooth and fair for courser’s tread : Not the most timid maid need dread To give her snow-white palfrey head On that wide stubble-ground ; Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush, are there, Her course to intercept or scare, Nor fosse nor fence are found, Save where, from out her shatter’d bowers, Rise Hougomont’s dismantled towers. IV. Now, see’st thou aught in this lone scene Can tell of that which late hath been ?— A stranger might reply, “The bare extent of stubble-plain Seems lately lighten’d of its grain ; And yonder sable tracks remain Marks of the peasant’s ponderous wain, When harvest-home was nigh. On these broad spots of trampled ground, Perchance the rustics danced such round As Teniers loved to draw ; And where the earth seems scorch’d by flame, To dress the homely feast they came, And toil’d the kerchief’d village dame Around her fire of straw.” Mig So deem 'st thou—so each mortal deems, Of that which is from that which scems :— But other harvest here, Than that which peasant’s scythe demands, Was gather’d in by sterner hands, With bayonet, blade, and spear. No vulgar crop was theirs to reap, No stinted harvest thin and cheap! Heroes before each fatal sweep Fell thick as ripen’d grain : And ere the darkening of the day, Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay The ghastly harvest of the fray, The corpses of the slain. eS ee SURE VI. Ay, look again—that line so black And trampled marks the bivouack, Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery’s track, So often lost and won; And close beside, the harden’d mud Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood, The fierce dragoon, through battle’s flood, Dash’d the hot war-horse on. These spots of excavation tell The ravage of the bursting shell— And feel’st thou not the tainted steam, That reeks against the sultry beam, From yonder trenched mound? | The pestilential fumes declare That Carnage has replenish’d there Her garner-house profound, MTs | Far other harvest-home and feast, Than claims the boor from scythe released, On these scorch’d fields were known ! Death hover’d o’er the maddening rout, And, in the thrilling battle-shout, Sent for the bloody banquet out A summons of his own. Through rolling smoke the Demon’s eye Could well each destined guest espy, Well could his ear in ecstasy Distinguish every tone That fill’d the chorus of the fray— From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray, From charging squadrons’ wild hurra, From the wild clang that mark’d their way,-— Down to the dying groan, And the last sob of life’s decay, When breath was all but flown. VITI. Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, Feast on !—but think not that a strife, With such promiscuous carnage rife, Protracted space may last ; The deadly tug of war at length Must limits find in human strength, And cease when these are past. Vain hope !—that morn’s o’erclouded sun Heard the wild shout of fight begun Ere he attain’d his height, And through the war-smoke, volumed high, Still peals that unremitted cry, Though now he stoops to night. For ten long hours of doubt and dread, Fresh succours from the extended head Of either hill the contest fed; Still down the slope they drew, The charge of columns paused not, Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot: For all that war could do Of skill and force was proved that day, And turn’d not yet the doubtful fray On bloody Waterloo. IX. Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were thine,! When ceaseless from the distant line Continued thunders came! Kach burgher held his breath, to hear These forerunners of havoc near, Of rapine and of flame. What ghastly sights were thine to meet, When rolling through thy stately street, The wounded show’d their mangled plight In token of the unfinish'd fight, 1 It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bona- parte had promised his army, in case of victory, twenty- four hours’ plunder of the city of Brussels. ee er a STS tie eee me LE SNOUT RS EAT I a Salk ARIES Gale ee AO | 402 And from each anguish-laden wain The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain ! How often in the distant drum Heard’st thou the fell Invader come, While Ruin, shouting to his band, Shook high her torch and gory brand !— Cheer thee, fair City! From yon stand, lhnpatient, still his outstretch’d hand Points to his prey in vain, While maddening in his eager mood, And all unwont to be withstood, He fires the fight again. De “On! On!” was still his stern exclaim ; “Confront the battery’s jaws of flame! Rush on the levell’d gun ! My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance ! Each Hulan forward with his lance, My Guard—my Chosen—charge for France, France and Napoleon !”’! Loud answer’d their acclaiming shout, Greeting the mandate which sent out Their bravest and their best to dare The fate their leader shunn’d to share. 2 1 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 advice, and allow of no obstacles. An eyewitness has given the following account of his demeanour 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 countenance, 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 | ‘Let | him storm the battery,’ replied Bonaparte, and turned his | from the murderous fire of the English artillery. back on the aide-de-camp who brought the message.”— Kelatione de la Bataille de Mont-St.-Jean. Par un Témoin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 8vo, p. 51. 2 Ithas been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards, at the last period of this dreadful con- flict. This, however, is not accurate. He came 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 dis- puted. 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 artillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive VEmpereur, which were heard over all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. 3ut 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 ina straight line. He witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particularly from an observatory which had been placed there by the King of the Nether- lands, some weeks before, for the purpose of surveying the country.! Itis not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that memorable occasion, the 1 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 con- structed by the Duke of Wellington. SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS, But He, his country’s sword and shield, Still in the battle-front reveal’d, . Where danger fiercest swept the field, Came like a beam of light, In action prompt, in sentence brief— ‘Soldiers, stand firm,” exclaim’d the Chief, “Kingland shall tell the fight!” Xi. On came the whirlwind—like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast— On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke ; The war was waked anew, Three hundred cannon-mouths roar’d loud, And from their throats, with flash and cloud, Their showers of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in full career, Rush’d on the ponderous cuirassier, The lancer couch’d his ruthless spear, And hurrying as to havoe near, The cohorts’ eagles flew. In one dark torrent, broad and strong, The advancing onset roll’d along, Forth harbinger’d by fierce acclaim, That, from the shroud of smoke and flame, Peal’d wildly the imperial name. MIT. But on the British heart were lost | The terrors of the charging host ; For not an eye the storm that view’d | Changed its proud glance of fortitude, | Nor was one forward footstep staid, | As dropp’d the dying and the dead. | Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, | Fast they renew’d each serried square ; And on the wounded and the slain Closed their diminish’d files again, Till from their line scarce spears’ lengths | three, | Emerging from the smoke they see Helmet, and plume, and panoply,— Then waked their fire at once! Each musketeer’s revolving knell, | As fast, as regularly fell, | As when they practise to display | Their discipline on festal day. Then down went helm and lance, Down were the eagle banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went, Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent ; And, to augment the fray, | Wheel’d full against their staggering flanks, | The English horsemen’s foaming ranks | Forced their resistless way. | Then to the musket knell succeeds | The clash of swords—the neigh of steeds— least deficiency in personal courage; on the contrary, he | evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind during the wholeaction. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of | valour 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 un- | hurt. 1 In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressed, the Duke called to the men, ‘‘ Soldiers, we must never be beat, —what will they say in England?” It is needless to say | how this appeal was answered, THE FIELD OF WATERLOO. As plies the smith his clanging trade,! Against the cuirass rang the blade ; And while amid their close array The well-served cannon rent their way, And while amid their scatter’d band Raged the fierce rider’s bloody brand, Recoil’d in common rout and fear, Lancer and guard and cuirassier, Horsemen and foot,—a mingled host, Their leaders fall’n, their standards lost. XIII. Then, WELLINGTON ! thy piercing eye This crisis caught of destiny— The British host had stood That morn ’gainst charge of sword and lance As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, But when thy voice had said, “‘ Advance!” They were their ocean’s flood.— O Thou, whose inauspicious aim Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, Think’st thou thy broken bands will bide The terrors of yon rushing tide? Or will thy chosen brook to feel The British shock of levell’d steel,2 Or dost thou turn thine eye Where coming squadrons gleam afar, And fresher thunders wake the war, And other standards fly ?— Think not that in yon columns, file Thy conquering troops from Distant Dyle— Is Blucher yet unknown ? Or dwells not in thy memory still, (Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,) What notes of hate and vengeance thrill In Prussia’s trumpet tone ?— What yet remains ?—shall it be thine To head the relics of thy line In one dread effort more ?— The Roman lore thy leisure loved, And thou canst tell what fortune proved That Chieftain, who, of yore, Ambition’s dizzy paths essay’d, And with the gladiators’ aid For empire enterprised— He stood the cast his rashness play’d, Left not the victims he had made, 1 A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sound which took place immediately upon the British cavalry mingling with those of the enemy, to “ a thousand tinkers at work mending pots and kettles.” 2 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 saine author has covered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which formed the British position, with redoubts and intrenchments which never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eyewitness, he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and 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 successfully 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 | detachinent of the Guards, under the command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel Home) made good | the garden, and thus preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke | of Wellington’s right flank, 403 Dug his red grave with his own blade, And on the field he lost was laid, Abhorr’d—but not despised. ATV. But if revolves thy fainter thought On safety—howsoever bought, Then turn thy fearful rein and ride, Though twice ten thousand men have died On this eventful day, To gild the military fame Which thou, for life, in traffic tame Wilt barter thus away. Shall future ages tell this tale Of inconsistence faint and frail? And art thou He of Lodi’s bridge, Marengo’s field, and Wagram’s ridge ! Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, That, swell’d by winter storm and shower, Rolls down in turbulence of power, A torrent fierce and wide; Reft of these aids, a rill obscure, Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor, Whose channel shows display’d The wrecks of its impetuous course, But not one symptom of the force By which these wrecks were made ! Ve Spur on thy way !—since now thine ear Has brook’d thy veterans’ wish to hear, Who, as thy flight they eyed, Exclaim’d,—while tears of anguish came, Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame,— **O, that he had but died !”’ But yet, to sum this hour of ill, | Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill, Back on yon broken ranks— Upon whose wild confusion gleams The moon, as on the troubled streams When rivers break their banks, And, to the ruin’d peasant’s eye, | Objects half seen roll swiftly by, Down the dread current hurl’d— | So mingle banner, wain, and gun, Where the tumultuous flight rolls on Of warriors, who, when morn begun, Defied a banded world. XVI. List—frequent to the hurrying rout, The stern pursuers’ vengeful shout Tells, that upon their broken rear Rages the Prussian’s bloody spear. So fell a shriek was none, When Beresina’s icy flood Redden’d and thaw’d with flame and blood, And, pressing on thy desperate way, Raised oft and long their wild huryra, The children of the Don. Thine ear no yell of horror cleft So ominous, when, all bereft Of aid, the valiant Polack left— Ay, left by thee—found soldier’s grave In Leipsic’s corpse-encumber’d wave. Fate, in those various perils past, Reserved thee still some future cast ; ‘om r 404 ; ; i ‘ ' t ; ; ' i ‘ : } t 3 re SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. eS On the dread die thou now hast thrown, Hangs not a single field alone, Nor one campaign—thy martial fame, Thy empire, dynasty, and name, Have felt the final stroke ; And now, o’er thy devoted head The last stern vial’s wrath is shed, The last dread seal is broke. XVII. Since live thou wilt—refuse not now Before these demagogues to bow, Late objects of thy scorn and hate, Who shall thy once imperial fate Make wordy theme of vain debate.— Or shall we say, thou stoop’st less low In seeking refuge from the foe, Against whose heart, in prosperous life, Thine hand hath ever held the knife ? Such homage hath been paid By Roman and by Grecian voice, And there were honour in the choice, If it were freely made. Then safely come—in one so low,— So lost,—we cannot own a foe; Though dear experience bid us end, In thee we ne’er can hail a friend,— Come, howsoe’er—but do not hide Close in thy heart that germ of pride, Krewhile, by gifted bard espied, That ‘‘ yet imperial hope ;” Think not that for a fresh rebound, To raise ambition from the ground, We yield thee means or scope. In safety come—but ne’er again Hold type of independent reign ; No islet calls thee lord, We leave thee no confederate band, No symbol of thy lost command, To be a dagger in the hand From which we wrench’d the sword. VIII. Yet, even in yon sequester’d spot, May worthier conquest be thy lot Than yet thy life has known ; Conquest, unbought by blood or harm, That needs nor foreign aid nor arm, A triumph all thine own. Such waits thee when thou shalt control Those passions wild, that stubborn soul, That marr’d thy prosperous scene :— Hear this—from no unmoved heart, Which sighs, comparing what THOU ART With what thou MIGHT’sT HAVE BEEN! pXaIENGs Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew’d Bankrupt a nation’s gratitude, To thine own noble heart must owe More than the meed she can bestow. For not a people’s just acclaim, Not the full hail of Europe’s fame, Thy Prince’s smiles, thy state’s decree, The ducal rank, the garter’d knee, Not these such pure delight afford As that, when hanging up thy sword, | Well mayst thou think, ‘This honest steel | Was ever drawn for public weal ; | And, such was rightful Heaven’s decree, Ne’er sheathed unless with victory |!” KiKs Look forth, once more, with soften’d heart, Ere from the field of fame we part ; Triumph and Sorrow border near, And joy oft melts into a tear. Alas! what links of love that morn Has War’s rude hand asunder torn ! For ne’er was field so sternly fought, And ne’er was conquest dearer bought. Here piled in common slaughter sleep Those whom affection long shall weep: Here rests the sire, that ne’er shall strain His orphans to his heart again ; The son, whom, on his native shore, The parent’s voice shall bless no more ; The bridegroom, who has hardly press’d His blushing consort to his breast ; The husband, whom through many a year Long love and mutual faith endear. Thou canst not name one tender tie, But here dissolved its relics lie ! O! when thou see’st some mourner’s veil Shroud her thin form and visage pale, Or mark’st the Matron’s bursting tears Stream when the stricken drum she hears; Or see’st how manlier grief, suppress’d, Is labouring in a father’s breast,— With no enquiry vain pursue The cause, but think on Waterloo ! Xx XI. Period of honour as of woes, What bright careers ‘twas thine to close !— Mark’d on thy roll of blood what names To Britain’s memory, and to Fame’s, Laid there their last immortal claims ! Thou saw’st in seas of gore expire Redoubted Picron’s soul of fire— Saw’st in the mingled carnage lie All that of Ponsonpy could die — Dr LANcEY change Love’s bridal-wreath, For laurels from the hand of Death— Saw’st gallant MiLuEr’s failing eye Still bent where Albion’s banners fly, And CAMERON, in the shock of steel, Die like the offspring of Lochiel ; And generous GorpoNn, ‘mid the strife, Fall while he watch’d his leader’s life.— Ah! though her guardian angel’s shield Fenced Britain’s hero through the field, Fate not the less her power made known, Through his friends’ hearts to pierce his own ! XXII. Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay! _ Who may your names, your numbers, say ? What high-strung harp, what lofty line, To each the dear-earn’d praise assign, From high-born chiefs of martial fame To the poor soldier’s lowlier name? Lightly ye rose that dawning day, From your cold couch of swamp and clay, eee er SL CREO The Field of Waterloo. ace g trace—” Db sad Field! whose blighted f: Wears desolation’s witherin “ Farewell, oo en ee SE oe ek TT AE I SN A CRE I SE Jr ee en LL A SS SS AN A A BEA NS ANS Ac CS NS A cs Nh nt 8 tn st ah A we 7; 4 & THE FIELTD.OF WATERLOO. To fill, before the sun was low, The bed that morning cannot know.— Oft may the tear the green sod steep, And sacred be the heroes’ sleep, Till time shall cease to run ; And ne’er beside their noble grave, May Briton pass and fail to crave A blessing on the fallen brave Who fought with Wellington! XXIII. Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face Wears desolation’s withering trace ; Long shall my memory retain Thy shatter’d huts and trampled grain, With every mark of martial wrong, That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont ! Yet though thy garden’s green arcade The marksman’s fatal post was made, Though on thy shatter’d beeches fell The blended rage of shot and shell, Though from thy blacken’d portals torn, Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn, Has not such havoe bought a name Immortal in the rolls of fame? Yes—Agincourt may be forgot, And Cressy be an unknown spot, And Blenheim’s name be new ; But still in story and in song, For many an age remember’d long, Shall live the towers of Hougomont, And Field of Waterloo. CONCLUSION. STERN tide of human Time! that know’st not rest, But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, Bear’st ever downward on thy dusky breast Successive generations to their doom ; While thy capacious stream has equal room For the gay bark where Pleasure’s streamers sport, And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ;— Stern tide of Time! through what mys- | Of hope and fear have our frail barks been | terious change driven ! For ne’er, before, vicissitude so strange Was to one race of Adam’s offspring given. And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe, Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, | 405 Succeeding ages ne’er again shall know, | Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow. Well hast thou stood, my Country !—the brave fight Hast well maintain’d through good report and ill; In thy just cause and in thy native might, And Te iS grace and justice constant still ; Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill Of half the world against thee stood array’d, Or when, with better views and freer will, Beside thee Europe’s noblest drew the blade, Hach emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid. Well art thou now repaid—though slowly rose, eee long with mists thy blaze of ame, While like the dawn that in the orient glows On the broad wave its earlier lustre came : Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame, And Maida’s myrtles gleam’d beneath its ray, Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, Rivall’d the heroes of the wat’ry way, And wash’d in foemen’s gore unjust reproach away. Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe, And rescued innocence from overthrow, And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might, And to the show The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight, gazing world mayst proudly | Who quell’d devouring pride, and vindicated | | | right. Yet ’mid the confidence of just renown, Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus ac- quired, Write, Britain, down : ‘Tis not alone the heart with valour fired, The discipline so dreaded and admired, Im many a field of bloody conquest known : —Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired ‘Tis constancy in the good cause alone, write the moral lesson | Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons havo _———— 6 Ee z= 4 won, = \ STAR RA REIN BEN AT AD A A eRe ners PPO OPP TR SIT YE Yt et TP de “a ee De we pre eeeenerens Hi ij ; : a eee eee = ee oe ee ee i ie = a = TR Se eae SS cage eae ‘s Parry ae a A enn tor w os i elena mas Se Snntbdians mtarwDmaatarraaearipin- a iam. SCOTT a POL TICAL VO en er ee Harold the Dauntless: A POEM, IN SIX CANTOS. —0— INTRODUCTION. THERE is a mood of mind we all have known, | On drowsy eve, or dark and low’ring day, When the tired spirits lose their sprightly | tone, And nought can chase the lingering hours | away. Dull on our soul falls Faney’s dazzling ray, And Wisdom holds his steadier torch in vain, Obscured the painting seems, mistuned the lay, Nor dare we of our listless load complain, For who for sympathy may seek that cannot tell of pain ? The jolly sportsman knows such drearihood, | When bursts in deluge the autumnal rain, Clouding that morn which threats the heath- | cock’s brood ; Of such, in summer’s drought, the anglers. plain, Who hope the soft mild southern shower in vain ; But, more than all, the discontented fair, Whom father stern, and sterner aunt, re- strain From county-ball, or race occurring rare, While all her friends around their vestments | gay prepare. Ennui!—or, as our mothers call’d thee, Spleen ! To thee we owe full many a rare device ;— Thine is the sheaf of painted cards, I ween, The rolling billiard-ball, the rattling dice, The turning- -lathe for framing gimerack nice ; The amateur’s blotch’d pallet thou mayst | claim, retort, and air-pump, threatening frogs and mice, (Mur ders disguised by philosophic name,) And much of trifling grave, and much of buxom game. Then of the books, to catch thy drowsy glance Compiled, what bard the catalogue may quote ! Plays, poems, novels, never read but once ;— But not of such the tale fair Edgeworth wrote, | That bears thy name, and is thine antidote ; And not of such the strain my Thomson sung, Delicious dreams i inspiring by his note, What time to Indolence his harp he strung ;— | Oh! might my lay be rank’d that happier list among! Each hath his refuge whom thy cares as- sail, For me, I love my study-fire to trim, And con right vacantly some idle tale, Displaying « on the couch each listless limb, Till on the drowsy page the lights grow dim, And doubtful slumber half supplies the theme ; While antique shapes of knight and giant grim, Damsel and dwarf, in long procession gleam, And the Romancer’s tale becomes the Reader’s dream. "Tis thus my malady I well may bear, Albeit outstretch’d, like Pope’s own Pari- del, Upon the rack of a too- easy chair ; And find, to cheat the time, a powerful spell In old romaunts of err antry that tell, Or later legends of the Fairy-folk, Or Oriental tale of Afrite fell, Of Genii, Talisman, and broad- -wing’d Roe, | Though taste may blush and frown, and sober reason mock, Oft at such season, too, will rhymes un- sought Arrange themselves in some romantic lay ; The which, as things unfitting graver thought, Are burnt or blotted on some wiser day.— These few survive—and proudly let me say, Court not the critic’s smile, nor dread his frown ; They well may serve to while an hour away, Nor does the volume ask for more renown, | Than Ennui’s yawning smile, what time she drops it down. pe ee = | : ; | | fA R Par a LTE ———— CANTO FIRST. i List to the valorous deeds that were done By Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind’s son ! Count Witikind came of a regal strain, And roved with his Norsemen the land and the main. Woe to the realms which he coasted ! for there Was shedding of blood, and rending of hair, Rape of maiden, and slaughter of priest, Gathering of ravens and wolves to the feast : When he hoisted his standard black, Before him was battle, behind him wrack, And he burn’d the churches, that heathen | Dane, To light his band to their barks again, II. On Erin’s shores was his outrage known, The winds of France had his banners blown ; Little was there to plunder, yet still His pirates had foray’d on Scottish hill : But upon merry England’s coast More frequent he sail’d, for he won the most. So wide and so far his ravage they knew, If a sail but gleam’d white ’gainst the welkin blue, Trumpet and bugle to arms did call, Burghers hasten’d to man the wall, Peasants fled inland his fury to ’scape, Beacons were lighted on headland and cape, Bells were toll’d out, and aye as they rung, Fearful and faintly the grey brothers sung, ** Bless us, Saint Mary, from flood and from fire, From famine and pest, and Count Witikind’s ire:|,”’ Ill. He liked the wealth of fair England so well, That he sought in her bosom as native to dwell. He enter’d the Humber in fearful hour, And disembark’d with his Danish power. Three Earls came against him with all their train,— Two hath he taken, and one hath he slain. Count Witikind left the Humber’s rich strand, And he wasted and warr’din Northumberland. But the Saxon King was a sire in age, Weak in battle, in council sage ; Peace of that heathen leader he sought, Gifts he gave, and quiet he bought ; And the Count took upon him the peaceable style Of a vassal and liegeman of Britain’s broad isle. IV. Time will rust the sharpest sword, Time will consume the strongest cord ; That which moulders hemp and steel, Mortal arm and nerve must feel. Of the Danish band, whom Count Witikind | led Many wax'd aged, and many were dead : 7 ee es ee et oe ee | Banners DAUNTLESS. 407 | Himself found his armour full weighty to bear, Wrinkled his brows grew, and hoary his hair ; He lean’d on astaff, when his step went abroad, And patient his palfrey, when steed he be- strode. As he grew feebler, his wildness ceased, He made himself peace with prelate and priest, Made his peace, and, stooping his head, Patiently listed the counsel they said : Saint Cuthbert’s Bishop was holy and grave, Wise and good was the counsel he gave, v. “Thou hast murder’d, robb’d, and spoil’d, Time it is thy poor soul were assoil’d ; Priests did’st thou sl: vy, and churches burn, | Time it is now to repentance to turn ; ; Fiends hast thou worshipp’d, with fiendish rite, Leave now the darkness, and wend into light : O! while life and space are given, Turn thee yet, and think of Heaven!” That stern old heathen his head he raised, And on the good prelate he steadfastly gazed ; ' “Give me broad lands on the Wear and the Tyne, My faith I will leave, thine.” and I'll cleave. unt VI. Broad lands he gave him on Tyne and Wear, To be held of the church by bridle and spear ; Part of Monkwearmouth, of Tynedale part, To better his will, and to soften his heart : Count Witikind was a joyful man, Less for the faith than the lands that he wan. The high church of Durham is dress’d for the day, The clergy are rank'd in their solemn array : There came the Count, in a bear-skin warm, leaning on Hilda his concubine’s arm. :le kneel’d before Saint Cuthbert’s shrine, With patience unwonted at rites divine ; He abjured the gods of heathen race, And he bent his head at the font of grace. | But such was the grisly old proselyte’s look, That the priest who baptized him grew puic and shook ; And the old monks mutter’d beneath their hood, ‘Of a stem so stubborn can never spring good! ” VI. Up then arose that grim convertite, Homeward he hied him when ended the rite ; The prelate in honour will with him ride, And feast in his castle on Tyne’s fair side. s and banderols danced in the wind, Monks rode before them, and spearmen be- hind ; Onward they pass’d, till fairly did shine Pennon and cross on the bosom of Tyne; And full in front did that fortress lour, In darksome strength with its buttress and tower : | At the castle gate was young Harold there, | Count Witikind’s only offspring and heir. 2 a were oe Se er eee ee SREP RR a EY CY TO INC I R= ES pe RO Ee ee __ ae SCOTT’S POETICAL“ WORKS VIII. | Young Harold was fear’d for his hardihood, His strength of frame, and his fury of mood. Rude he was and wild to behold, | Wore neither collar nor bracelet of gold, Cap of vair nor rich array, E Such as should grace that festal day : His doublet of bull’s hide was all unbraced, Uncover’d his head, and his sandal unlaced : His shaggy black locks on his brow hung low, And his eyes glanced through them a swarthy glow ; A Danish club in his hand he bore, The spikes were clotted with recent gore ; At his back a she-wolf, and her wolf-cubs twain, In the dangerous chase that morning slain. Rude was the greeting his father he made, None to the Bishop,—while thus he said :— IX. “What priest-led hypocrite art thou, With thy humbled look and thy monkish brow, Like a shaveling who studies to cheat his vow ? Canst thou be Witikind the Waster known, Royal Eric’s fearless son, Haughty Gunhilda’s haughtier lord, | Who won his bride by the axe and sword ; | From the shrine of Saint Peter the chalice who | tore, | And melted to bracelets for Freya and Thor; | With one blow of his gauntlet who burst the | skull, | Before Odin’s stone, of the Mountain Bull? Then ye worshipp’d with rites that to war- gods belong, With the deed of the brave, and the blow of | the strong ; And now, in thine age to dotage sunk, | Wilt thou patter thy crimes to a shaven | monk,— Lay down thy mail-shirt for clothing of | hair,— Fasting and scourge, like a slave, wilt thou | bear? Or, at best, be admitted in slothful bower To batten with priest and with paramour ? Oh! out upon thine endless shame ! | Kach Scald’s high harp shall blast thy fame, And thy son will refuse thee a father’s name !” X. Ireful wax’d old Witikind’s look, His faltering voice with fury shook :-— ‘““Hear me. Harold of harden’d heart ! Stubborn and wilful ever thou wert. Thine outrage insane I command thee to cease, Fear my wrath and remain at peace :— Just is the debi: of repentance I’ve paid, Richly the church has a recompense made, And the truth of her doctrines I prove with my blade. But reckoning to none of my actions I owe, And least to my son such accounting will show. 5 ee ee hy speak I to thee of repentance or truth, Who ne’er from thy childhood knew reason or ruth ? Hence! to the wolf and the bear in her den : These are thy mates, and not rational men.” x, Grimly smiled Harold, and coldly replied, ‘““We must honour our sires, if we fear when they chide. Yor me, I am yet what thy lessons have made, I was rock’d in a buckler and fed from a blade ; An infant, was taught to clasp hands and to shout, From the roofs of the tower when the flame had broke out ; In the blood of slain foemen my finger to dip, | And tinge with its purple my cheek and my lip.— Tis thou know’st not truth, that hast barter’d in eld, For a price, the brave faith that thine ancestors held. | When this wolf,”—and the carcass he flung on the plain, — “Shall awake and give food to her nurslings again, | The face of his father will Harold review . | Till then, aged Heathen, young Christian, adieu ! ” <0 Priest, monk, and prelate, stood aghast, As through the pageant the heathen pass’d. A cross-bearer out of his saddle he flung, Laid his hand on the pommel, and into it sprung. Loud was the shriek, and deep the groan, When the holy sign on the earth was thrown! The fierce old Count unsheathed his brand, | But the calmer Prelate stay’d his hand. “Let him pass free!—Heaven knows its hour,— But he must own repentance’s power, Pray and weep, and penance bear, Kre he hold land by the Tyne and the Wear.” Thus in scorn and in wrath from his father is gone Young Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind’s son. XITI. High was the feasting in Witikind’s hall, Revell’d priests, soldiers, and pagans, and all ; And e’en the good Bishop was fain to endure .The scandal, which time andinstruction might cure: It were dangerous, he deem’d, at the first to restrain, In his wine and his wassail, a half-christen’d Dane. The mead flow’d around, and the ale was drain’d dry, Wild was the laughter, the song, and the Cis With Kyrie Eleison, came clamorously in The war-songs of Danesmen, Norweyan, and Finn, Till man after man the contention gave o’er, Outstretch’d on the rushes that strew’d the hall floor ; a Ee Aa eR ll A And the tempest within, having ceased its wild rout, Gave place to the tempest that thunder’d with- out. XIV. Apart from the wassail, in turret alone, Lay Flaxen-hair’d Gunnar, old "rmengarde’s son ; In the train of Lord Harold that Page was the first, HAROLD THE DA UNTLESS. For Harold in childhood had Ermengarde | nursed ; And grieved was young Gunnar his master should roam, Unhoused and unfriended, an home. exile from He heard the deep thunder, the plashing of | rain, He saw the red lightning through shot-hole and pane ; “And oh!” said the Page, ‘‘on the shelterless wold Lord Harold is wandering in darkness and cold ! What though he was stubborn, and wayward and wild, He endured me because I was Ermengarde’s | child, And often from dawn till the set of the sun, In the chase, by his stirrup, unbidden I run ; I would I were older, and knighthood could bear, I would soon quit the banks of the Tyne and the Wear : For my mother’s command, with her last part- ing breath, Bade me follow her nursling in life and to | death. Xv. “It pours and it thunders, it lightens amain, As if Lok, the Destroyer, had burst from his chain ! Accursed by the church, and expell’d by his sire, Nor Christian nor Dane give him shelter or fire, And this tempest what mortal may houseless endure ? Unaided, unmantled, he dies on the moor! Whate’er comes of Gunnar, he tarries not | here.” He leapt from his couch and he grasp’d to his spear ; Sought the hall of the feast. his tread, The wassailers slept fast as the sleep of the dead : “Ungrateful and bestial!” his anger broke forth, “To forget ’mid your goblets the pride of the North ! And you, ye cowl’d priests, who have plenty in store, Must give Gunnar for ransom a palfrey and ore.” Undisturb’d hy SV. Then heeding full little of ban or of curse, He has seized on the Prior of Jorvaux’s purse : Saint Meneholt’s Abbot next mon ning has miss’d ‘ His mantle, deep furr’d from the cape to the wrist : The Seneschal’s keys from his belt he has ta’en, (Well drench’d on that eve was old Hildebrand’s brain.) To the stable-yard he made his way, And mounted the Bishop’s palfrey gay, Castle and hamlet behind him has cast, And right on his way to the moorland has pass’d, | Sore snorted the palfrey, unused to face A weather so wild at so rash a pace ; So long he snorted, so loud he neigh’d, There answer’d a steed that was bound beside, | And the red flash of lightning show’d there where lay | His master, Lord Harold, outstretch’d on the clay. XVII. Up he started, and thunder’d out, ‘‘Stand!” | And raised the club in his deadly hand. The flaxen-hair'd Gunnar his purpose told, Show’d the palfrey and proffer’d the gold. ‘‘ Back, back, and home, thou simple boy ! Thou canst not share my grief or joy: Have I not mark’d thee wail and cry When thou hast seen a sparrow die? And canst thou, as my follower should, | Wade ankle-deep through foeman’s blood, | Dare mortal and immortal foe, The gods above, the fiends below, And man on earth, more hateful still, The very fountain-head of ill? Desperate of life, and careless of death, Lover of bloodshed, and slaughter, and seathe, Such must thou be with me to roam, | And such thou canst not be—back, home !” and XVIII. Young Gunnar shook like an aspen bough, | As he heard the harsh voice and beheld the | dark brow, And half he repented his purpose and vow. But now to draw back were bootless shame, And he loved his master, so urged his claim: 1“ Ajas! if my.arm and my courage be weak, Bear with me a while for old Ermengarde’s sake ; Nor deem so lightly of Gunnar’s faith, As to fear he would break it for peril of death. Have I not risk’d it to fetch thee this gold, This surcoat and mantle to fence thee from cold ? And, did I bear a baser mind, What lot remains if I stay behind? The priests’ revenge, thy father’s wrath, A dungeon, and a shameful death.” Da BG With gentler look Lord Harold eyed The Page, then turn’d his head aside ; And either a tear did his eyelash stain, Or it caught a drop of the passing rain. “Art thou an outcast, then?” quoth he; “The meeter page to follow me.” ee ae ; ' { i ' i : 4 | ; | : I. 4 ‘ i t ' j fT + eee r is 2 4 AIO Ventures achieved, and battles fought ; How oft with few, how oft alone, Fierce Harold’s arm the field hath won. Men swore his eye, that flash’d so red When each other glance was quench’d with dread, Bore oft a light of deadly flame, That ne’er from mortal courage came. Those limbs so strong, that mood so stern, That loved the couch of heath and fern, Afar from hamlet, tower, and town, More than to rest on driven down ; That stubborn frame, that sullen mood, Men deem’d must come of aught but good ; And they whisper’d, the great Master Fiend was at one With Harold the Dauntless, Count Witikind’s son. XX. Years after years had gone and fled, The good old Prelate lies lapp’d in lead ; In the chapel still is shown His sculptured form on a marble stone, With staff and ring and scapulaire, And folded hands in the act of prayer. Saint Cuthbert’s mitre is resting now On the haughty Saxon, bold Aldingar’s brow ; The power of his crozier he loved to extend bend ; And now hath he clothed him in cope and in | pall, And the Chapter of Durham has met at his call. ** And hear ye not, brethren,” the proud Bishop said, “That our vassal, the Danish Count Witikind’s dead ? All his gold and his goods hath he given To holy church for the love of heaven, And hath founded a chantry with stipend and dole, That priests and that beadsmen may pray for his soul : Harold his son is wandering abroad, Dreaded by man and abhorr’d by God ; Meet it is not, that such should heir The lands of the church on the. Tyne and the Wear, And at her pleasure, her hallow’d hands May now resume these wealthy lands.” XXI. Answer’d good Eustace, a canon old,— ‘* Harold is tameless, and furious, and bold ; Ever Renown blows a note of fame, And a note of fear, when she sounds his name: Much of bloodshed and much of scathe Have been their lot who have waked his wrath. Leave him these lands and lordships still, Heaven in its hour may change his will; But if reft of gold, and of living bare, An evil counsellor is despair.” More had he said, but the Prelate frown’d, SCOTT'S POETICAL Works ‘Twere bootless to tell what climes they sought, er And with one consent have they given their doom, That the church should the lands of Saint Cuthbert resume. So will’d the Prelate ; and canon and dean Gave to his judgment their loud amen. CANTO SECOND. I. ‘Tis merry in greenwood,—thus runs the old lay,— In the gladsome month of lively May, When the wild birds’ song on stem and spray Invites to forest bower ; Then rears the ash his airy crest, Then shines the birch in silver vest, | And the beech in glistening leaves is drest, | And dark between shows the oak’s proud breast, Like a chieftain’s frowning tower ; Though a thousand branches join their screen, Yet the broken sunbeams glance between, _ And tip the leaves with lighter green, With brighter tints the flower : | Dull is the heart that loves not then The deep recess of the wildwood glen, 5; | Where roe and red-deer fi 5 ‘i O’er whatever would break, or whatever would | Where roeiand deer find sheltering den, When the sun is in his power, Ii, Less merry, perchance, is the fading leaf That follows so soon on the gather’d sheaf, When the greenwood loses the name; Silent is then the forest bound, Save the redbreast’s note, and the rustling sound Of frost-nipt leaves that are dropping round, Or the deep-mouth’d cry of the distant hound That opens on his game: Yet then, too, I love the forest wide, Whether the sun in splendour ride, And gild its many-colour’d side ; Or whether the soft and silvery haze, In vapoury folds, o’er the landscape strays, And half involves the woodland maze, Like an early widow’s veil, Where wimpling tissue from the gaze The form half hides, and half betrays, Of beauty wan and pale. ITI. Fair Metelill was a woodland maid, Her father a rover of greenwood shade, By forest statutes undismay’d, Who lived by bow and quiver; Well known was Wulfstane’s archery, By merry Tyne both on moor and lea, Through wooded Weardale’s glens so free, Well beside Stanhope’s wildwood tree, And well on Ganlesse river. Yet free though he trespass’d on woodland game, More known and more fear’d was the wizard fame \nd murmur’d his brethren who sate around, eee re a Tf pcre ES perf peer fTAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. Of Jutta of Rookhope, the Outlaw’s dame : Fear’d when she frown’d was her eye of flame, More fear’d when in wrath she laugh’d ; For then, ’twas said, more fatal true To its dread aim her spell-glance flew, Than when from Wulfstane’s bended yew Sprung forth the grey-goose shaft. IV. Yet had this fierce and dreaded pair, So Heaven decreed, a daughter fair ; None brighter crown’d the bed, {n Britain’s bounds, of peer or prince, Nor hath, perchance, a lovelier since In this fair isle been bred. And nought of fraud, or ire, or aie Was known to gentle Metelill,— A simple maiden she ; The spells in dimpled smile that lie, And a downcast blush, and the darts that fly With the sidelong glance of a hazel eye, Were her arms and witchery. So young, so simple was she yet, She scarce could childhood’s joys forget, And still she loved, in secret set Beneath the greenwood tree, To plait the rushy coronet, And braid with flowers her locks of jet, As when in infancy ;— Yet could that heart, so simple, prove The early dawn of stealing love: Ah! gentle maid, beware ! The power who, now so mild a guest, Gives dangerous yet delicious zest To the calm pleasures of thy breast, Will soon, a tyrant o’er the rest, Let none his empire share. Vie One morn, in kirtle green array’d, Deep in the wood the maiden stray’d, And, where a fountain sprung, She sate her down, unseen, to thread The scarlet berry’s mimic braid, And while the beads she strung, Like the blithe lark, whose carol gay Gives a good-morrow to the day, So lightsomely she sung. VI. SONG. “‘LorpD WILLIAM was born in gilded bower, The heir of Wilton’s lofty tower ; Yet better loves Lord William now To roam beneath wild Rookhope’s brow ; And William has lived where ladies fair With gawds and jewels deck their hair, Yet better loves the dewdrops still That pearl the locks of Metelill, ** The pious Palmer loves, I wis, Saint Cuthbert’s hallow’d beads to kiss ; But I, though simple girl I be, Might have such homage paid to me; For did Lord William see me suit This necklace of the bramble’s fruit, He fain—but must not have his will— Would kiss the beads of Metelill, —_? 4II | “My nurse has told me many a tale, How vows of love are weak and frail : | My mother says that courtly youth | By rustic maid means seldom sooth. What should they mean? it cannot be, That such a warning’s meant for me, For nought—oh ! nought of fraud or ill Can William mean to Metelill!” VII. Sudden she stops—and starts to feel A weighty hand, a glove of steel, | Upon her shrinking shoulders laid ; | Fearful she turn’d, and saw, dismay’d, A Knight in plate and mail array’d, His crest and bearing worn and fray’d, His surcoat soil’d and riven, Form’d like that giant race of yore, Whose long-continued crimes outwore The sufferance of Heaven. Stern accents made his pleasure known, Though then he used his gentlest tone : “ Maiden,” he said, ‘‘ sing forth thy glee. Start not—sing on—it pleases me.” Vili: Secured within his powerful hold, To bend her knee, her hands to fold, Was all the maiden might ; And ‘‘Oh! forgive,” she faintly said; ‘The terrors of a simple maid, If thou art mortal wight ! But if—of such strange tales are told,— Unearthly warrior of the wold, Thou comest to chide mine accents bold, My mother, Jutta, knows the spell, At noon and midnight pleasing well The disembodied ear ; Oh! let her powerful charms atone For aught my rashness may have done, And cease thy grasp of fear.” Then laugh’d the Knight—his sound Half in the hollow helmet drown’d ; His barred visor then he raised, And steady on the maiden gazed. He smooth’d his brows, as best he might, To the dread calm of autumn night, When sinks the tempest roar ; Yet still the cautious fishers eye The clouds, and fear the gloomy sky, And haul their barks on shore. laughter’s | IX, ‘‘ Damsel,” he said, ‘‘be wise, and learn Matters of weight and deep concern : From distant realms I come, | And, wanderer long, at length have plann’d | In this my native Northern land To seek myself a home. Nor that alone—a mate I seek ; She must be gentle, soft, and meek,— No lordly dame for me; Myself am something rough of mood, And feel the fire of royal blood, And therefore do not hold it good To match in my degree. 25 GC ee seein ee ge ae en TT 8 CT + Le NR EAN FT OE A a TY ot pects \ gr: e f 412 SCOTT?S “POETICAL “WORKS Then, since coy maidens say my face Is harsh, my form devoid of grace, For a fair lineage to provide, ‘Tis meet that my selected bride In lineaments be fair ; I love thine well—till now I ne’er Look’d patient on a face of fear, But now that tremulous sob and tear Become thy beauty rare. One kiss—nay, damsel, coy it not! And now go seek thy parents’ cot, And say, a bridegroom soon I come, To woo my love, and bear her home.” x. Home sprung the maid without a pause, As leveret ’scaped from greyhound’s jaws ; But still she lock’d, howe’er distress’d, The secret in her boding breast ; Dreading her sire, who oft forbade Her steps should stray to distant glade. Night came—to her accustom’d nook Her distaff aged Jutta took, And by the lamp’s imperfect glow, Rough Wulfstane trimm’d his shafts and bow. Sudden and clamorous, from the ground Upstarted slumbering brach and hound ; Loud knocking next the lodge alarms, And Wulfstane snatches at his arms, When open flew the yielding door, And that grim Warrior press’d the floor. XI. “* All peace be here—What! none replies ? Dismiss your fears and your surprise. ‘Tis I—that Maid hath told my tale,— Or, trembler, did thy courage fail ? [t recks not—it is I demand Fair Metelill in marriage band ; Harold the Dauntless I, whose name Is brave men’s boast and caitiff’s shame.” The parents sought each other’s eyes, With awe, resentment, and surprise : Wulfstane, to quarrel prompt, began The stranger’s size and thewes to scan But as he scann’d, his courage sunk, And from unequal strife he shrunk, ‘hen forth, to blight and blemish, flies The harmful curse from Jutta’s eyes ; Yet, fatal howsoe’er, the spell On Harold innocently fell ! And disappointment and amaze Were in the witch’s wilder’d gaze. XII. But soon the wit of woman woke, And to the Warrior mild she spoke: ‘* Her child was all too young.” —“ A toy, The refuge of a maiden coy.”— Again, “‘ A powerful baron’s heir Claims in her heart an interest fair.” — “* A trifle—whisper in his. ear, That Harold is a suitor here ! ”— Baffled at length she sought delay: ““Would not the Knight till morning stay? Late was the hour—he there might rest Till morn, their lodge’s honour’d guest.” Such were her words,—her craft might cast, Her honour’d guest should sleep his last : *“No, not to-night—but soon,” he swore, ‘He would return, nor leave them more.” The threshold then his huge stride crost, And soon he was in darkness lost. XIII. Appall’d a while the parents stood, Then changed their fear to angry mood, And foremost fell their words of ill On unresisting Metelill : Was she not caution’d and forbid, Forewarn’d, impiored, accused, and chid, And must she still to greenwood roam, To marshal such misfortune home ? “Hence, minion—to thy chamber hence— There prudence learn, and penitence.” She went—her lonely couch to steep In tears which absent lovers weep ; Or if she gain’d a troubled sleep, Fierce Hayrold’s suit was still the theme And terror of her feverish dream. XIV. Scarce was she gone, her dame and sire Upon each other bent their ire ; ‘“A woodsman thou, and hast a spear, And couldst thou such an insult bear?” Sullen he said, ‘‘ A man contends With men, a witch with sprites and fiends ; Not to mere morta] wight belong Yon gloomy brow and frame so strong. But thou—is this thy promise fair, That your Lord William, wealthy heir To Ulrick, Baron of Witton-le-Wear, Should Metelill to altar bear? Do all the spells thou boast’st as thine Serve but to slay some peasant’s kine, His grain in autumn’s storms to steep, Or thorough fog and fen to sweep, And hag-ride some poor rustic’s sleep? Is such mean mischief worth the fame Of sorceress and witch’s name? Fame, which with all men’s wish conspires, With thy deserts and my desires, To damn thy corpse to penal fires ? Out on thee, witch! aroint! aroint! What now shall put thy schemes in joint ? What save this trusty arrow’s point, From the dark dingle when it flies, And he who meets it gasps and dies.” XV. Stern she replied, ‘‘ I will not wage War with thy folly or thy rage ; But ere the morrow’s sun be low, Wulfstane of Rookhope, thou shalt know, If I can venge me on a foe. Believe the while, that whatsoe’er I spoke, in ire, of bow and spear, It is not Harold’s destiny The death of pilfer’d deer to die. But he, and thou, and yon pale moon, (That shall be yet more pallid soon, Before she sink behind the dell,) Thou, she, and Harold too, shall tell What Jutta knows of charm or spell,” oS SIR cer NI TE EE ER RAT Be NE meveenet weer mere er he Hes A CCT CT ONL LOLOL S IC SOLE LL CD LT moreone yeten. + Fk 4 HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. hus muttering, to the door she bent Her wayward steps, and forth she went, And left alone the moody sire, To cherish or to slake his ire. XVI. Far faster than belong’d to age Has Jutta made her pilgrimage. A priest has met her as she pass’d, And cross’d himself and stood aghast : She traced a hamlet—not a cur His throat would ope, his foot would stir ; By crouch, by trembling, and by groan, They made her hated presence known ! But when she trode the sable fell, Were wilder sounds her way to tell,-— For far was heard the fox’s yell, The black-cock waked and faintly crew, Scream ’d o’er the moss the scared curlew ; Where o’er the cataract the oak Lay slant, was heard the raven’s croak ; The mountain-cat, which sought his prey, Glared, scream’d, and started from her way. Such music cheer’d her journey lone To the deep dell and rocking stone: There, with unhallow’d hymn of praise, She call’d a God of heathen days. XVilI. INVOCATION. “From thy Pomeranian throne, Hewn in rock of living stone, Where, to thy godhead faithful yet, Bend Hsthonian, Finn, and Lett, And their swords in vengeance whet, That shall make thine altars wet, Wet and red for ages more With the Christians’ hated gore,— Hear me! Sovereign of the Rock, Hear me! mighty Zernebock. *““ Mightiest of the mighty known, Here thy wonders have been shown ; Hundred tribes in various tongue Oft have here thy praises sung ; Down that stone with Runic seam’d, Hundred victims’ blood hath stream’d ! Now one woman comes alone, And but wets it with her own, The last, the feeblest of thy flock,— Hear—and be present, Zernebock ! ““Hark! he comes! the night-blast cold Wilder sweeps along the wold ; The cloudless moon grows dark and dim, And bristling hair and quaking limb Proclaim the Master Demon nigh,— Those who view his form shall die ! Lo! I stoop and veil my head ; Thou who ridest the tempest dread, Shaking hill and rending oak— Spare me! spare me! Zernebock. **He comes not yet! Shall cold delay Thy votaress at her need repay ? Thou—shall I call thee god or fiend ?— “Yet others on thy mood attend 413 | With prayer and ritual—Jutta’s arms | Are necromantic words and charms ; Mine is the spell, that, utter’d once, Shall wake Thy Master from his trance, Shake his red mansion-house of pain, And burst his seven-times-twisted chain !— So! com’'st thou ere the spell is spoke? I own thy presence, Zerneboek.”— XVIII. ‘Daughter of dust,” the Deep Voice said, —Shook while it spoke the vale for dread, Rock’d on the base that massive stone, The Evil Deity to own,— ** Daughter of dust! not mine the power Thou seek’st on Harold’s fatal hour. ‘Twixt heaven and hell there is a strife Waged for his soul and for his life, And fain would we the combat win, And snatch him in his hour of sin. There is a star now rising red, That threats him with an influence dread : Woman, thine arts of malice whet, To use the space before it set. Involve him with the church in strife, Push on adventurous chance his life : Ourself will in the hour of need, As best we may, thy counsels speed.” So ceased the Voice ; for seven leagues round Each hamlet started at the sound; But slept again, as slowly died Its thunders on the hill’s brown side. xX. ‘* And is this all,” said Jutta stern, ‘** That thou canst teach and I can learn ? Hence! to the land of fog and waste, There fittest is thine influence placed, Thou powerless, sluggish Deity ! But ne’er shall Briton bend the knee Again before so poor a god.” She struck the altar with her rod ; Slight was the touch, as when at need A damsel stirs her tardy steed ; But to the blow the stone gave place, And, starting from its balanced base, Roll’d thundering down the moonlight dell, Re-echo’d moorland, rock, and fell; Into the moonlight tarn it dash’d, | Their shores the sounding surges lash’d, And there was ripple, rage, and foam ; But on that lake, so dark and lone, Placid and pale the moonbeam shone As Jutta hied her home. —¢——— CANTO THIRD. I. GREY towers of Durham! there was once a time [ view’d your battlements with such vague hope, As brightens life in its first dawning prime; Not that e’en them came within fancy’s scope — SCOTT?S. POETICAL WOk te. A vision vain of mitre, throne, or cope ; Yet, gazing on the venerable hall, Her flattering dreams would in perspective | ope Some reverend room, -some prebendary's stall,— And thus Hope me deceived as she deceiveth Restoring priestly chant and clang of knightly lle Well yet I love thy mix’d and massive piles, Half church of God, half castle ’gainst the Scot, And long to roam these venerable aisles, With records stored of deeds long since for- ot, Who leaves at will his patrimonial field To ransack every crypt and hallow’d spot, And from oblivion rend the spoils they | yield, shield. Vain is the wish—since other cares demand Each vacant hour, and in another clime ; But still that northern harp invites my hand, Which tells the wonder of thine earlier time ; And fain its numbers would I now com- mand To paint the beauties of that dawning fair, When Harold, gazing from its lofty stand Upon the western heights of Beaurepaire, Saw Saxon Hadmer’s towers begirt by winding And echo answer’d still with long-resounding | Wear. 1. Fair on the half-seen streams the sunbeams danced, Betraying it beneath the woodland bank, And fair between the Gothic turrets glanced Broad lights, and shadows fell on front and flank, Where tower and buttress rose in martial rank, And girdled in the massive donjon Keep, And from their circuit peal’d o’er bush and bank The matin bell with summons long and deep, sweep. ik: The morning mists rose from the ground, Each merry bird awaken’d round, As if in revelry ; Afar the bugles’ clanging sound Call’d to the chase the lagging hound ; The gale breathed soft and free, And seem’d to linger on its way To catch fresh odours from the spray, And waved it in its wanton play So light and gamesomely. The scenes which morning beams reveal, Its sounds to hear, its gales to feel {n all their fragrance round him steal, It melted Harold’s heart of steel, And, hardly wotting why, p He doff’d his helmet’s gloomy pride, And hung it on a tree beside, Laid mace and falchion by, And on the greensward sate him down, And from his dark habitual frown Relax’d his rugged brow— Whoever hath the doubtful task From that stern Dane a boon to ask, Were wise to ask it now. IV. | His place beside young Gunnar took, | And mark’d his: master’s softening look, got; ; . . | And in his eye’s dark mirror spied There might I share my Surtees’ happier | The gloom of stormy thoughts subside, And cautious watch’d the fittest tide To speak a warning word. | So when the torrent’s billows shrink, The timid pilgrim on the brink Waits long to see them wave and sink, Ere he dare brave the ford, And often, after doubtful pause, His step advances or withdraws: Fearful to move the slumbering ire Of his stern lord, thus stood the squire, Till Harold raised his eye, That glanced as when athwart the shroud Of the dispersing tempest-cloud The bursting sunbeams fly. Wie “« Arouse thee, son of Ermengarde, Offspring of prophetess and bard ! Take harp, and greet this lovely prime With some high strain of Runic rhyme, Strong, deep, and powerful! Peal it round Like that loud bell’s sonorous sound, Yet wild by fits, as when the lay Of bird and bugle hail the day. Such was my grandsire Hrick’s sport, When dawn gleam’d on his martial court. Heymar the Scald, with harp’s high sound, Summon’d the chiefs who slept around ; Couch'd on the spoils of wolf and bear, They roused like lions from their lair, Then rush’d in emulation forth To enhance the glories of the north.— Proud Erick, mightiest of thy race, Where is thy shadowy resting-place? In wild Valhalla hast thou quaff’d | From foeman’s skull metheglin draught, | Or wander’st where thy cairn was piled To frown o’er oceans wide and wild ? | Or have the milder Christians given | Thy refuge in their peaceful heaven ? Where’er thou art, to thee are known Our toils endured, our trophies won, | Our wars, our wanderings, and our woes.” He ceased, and Gunnar’s song arose. VI. SONG. | Hawk and osprey scream ’d for joy | O’er the beetling cliffs of Hoy, Crimson foam the beach o’erspread, The heath was dyed with darker red, | =) ivi i (an Durham Cathedral. Harold the Dauntless —C.nto JIT. v. t. “Well yet I love thy mixed and massive piles, Half church of God, half castle ’gainst the Scot.” ‘ _ se EE ad ies ee ee LS ee Ae a RT NO RE a a TE NN RO Lod , ey EE Ee cane ee aw HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 415 ¢ each _ ee es i When o’er Erick, Inguar’s son, “Profane not, youth—it is not thine ; Dane and Northman piled the stone ; To judge the spirit of our line— i Singing wild the war-song stern, The bold Berserkar’s rage divine, } ‘Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn !’ Through whose inspiring, deeds are wrought } Past human strength and human thought. } iy ‘“Where eddying currents foam and boil When full upon his gloomy soul 4 i By Bersa’s burgh and Greemsay’s isle, The champion feels the influence roll, ; The seaman sees a martial form He swims the lake, he leaps the wall— Half-mingled with the mist and storm. Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall— t In anxious awe he bears away Unshielded, mail-less, on he goes i To moor his bark in Stromna’s bay, Singly against a host of foes ; i And murmurs from the bounding stern, Their spears he holds like wither’d reeds, ‘Rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn !’ Their mail like maiden’s silken weeds ; One ’gainst a hundred will he strive, “‘What cares disturb the mighty dead? Take countless wounds, and yet survive. Each honour’d rite was duly paid ; Then rush the eagles to his cry No daring hand thy helm unlaced, | Of slaughter and of victory,— Thy sword, thy shield, were near thee placed, | And blood he quaffs like Odin’s bow], f Thy flinty couch no tear profaned, Deep drinks his sword,—deep drinks his Without, with hostile blood was stain’d ; soul ; lia Within, twas lined with moss and fern,— And all that meet him in his ire : Hi Then rest thee, Dweller of the Cairn !— | He gives to ruin, rout, and fire, b i Then, like gorged lion, seeks some den, ’ 118] “He may not rest: from realms afar And couches till he’s man agen.— {ij Comes voice of battle and of war, Thou know’st the signs of look and limb, if Of conquest wrought with bloody hand When ’gins that rage to overbrim— | On Carmel’s cliffs and Jordan’s strand, Thou know’st when I am moved, and why ; When Odin’s warlike son could daunt And when thou see’st me roll mine eye, The turban’d race of Termagaunt,’”’—— Set my teeth thus, and stamp my foot, Regard thy safety and be mute ; A But else speak boldly out whate’er pao Is fitting that a knight should hear. ‘“* Peace,” said the Knight, ‘‘ the noble Scald I love thee, youth. Thy lay has power j Our warlike father’s deeds recall’d, Upon my dark and sullen hour ;— But never strove to soothe the son So Christian monks are wont to say ; With tales of what himself had done. Demons of old were charm’d away ; i t Seen iien oo H | : At Odin’s board the bard sits high Then fear not I will rashly deem Whose harp ne’er stoop’d to flattery ; Ill of thy speech, whate’er the theme,” But highest he whose daring lay y | Hath dared unwelcome truths to say.” With doubtful smile young Gunnar eyed His master’s looks, and nought replied— But well that smile his master led To construe what he left unsaid. IX. 4 As down some strait in doubt and dread The watchful pilot drops the lead, ‘Ts it to me, thou timid youth, And, cautious in the midst to steer, Thou fear’st to speak unwelcome truth? The shoaling channel sounds with fear ; So, lest on dangerous ground he swerved, The Page his master’s brow observed, Pausing at intervals to fling My soul no more thy censure grieves Than frosts rob laurels of their leaves. Say on—and yet—beware the rude And wild distemper of my blood ; His hand on the melodious string, Loath were I that mine ire should wrong And to his moody breast apply The youth that bore my shield so long, The soothing charm of harmony, And who, in service constant still, While hinted half, and half exprest, Though weak in frame, art strong in will.”— | This warning song convey’d the rest. ‘Oh !” quoth the page, ‘‘even there depends | My counsel—there my warning tends— Oft seems as of my master’s breast Some demon were the sudden guest ; Then at the first misconstrued word His hand is on the mace and sword, From her firm seat his wisdom driven, His life to countless dangers given.— O! would that Gunnar could suffice To be the fiend’s last sacrifice, So that, when glutted with my gore, He fled and tempted thee no more !’ SONG. “‘T}1 fares the bark with tackle riven, | And ill when on the: breakers driven,— Ill when the storm-sprite shrieks in air, | And the scared mermaid tears her hair ; But worse when on her helm the hand Of some false traitor holds command. ‘‘T1] fares the fainting Palmer, placed |’ Mid Hebron’s rocks or Rana’s waste,— Ill when the scorching sun is high, VIII. ‘ : “ And the expected font is dry,— Then waved his hand, and shook his head Worse when his guide o’er sand and heath, : The impatient Dane, while thus he said : The barbarous Copt, has plann’d his death. t An, —-—-—--—---+¢ as J * + ad ¥ oe eee SCOTT’S POETICAL WC: it aa a, t g tens 416 “*T]] fares the Knight with buckler cleft, And ill when of his helm bereft,— Ill when his steed to earth is flung, Or from his grasp his falchion wrung ; But worse, if instant ruin token, When he lists rede by woman spoken.” — x. “How now, fond boy?—Canst thou think Said Harold, “ of fair Metelill? ”— “‘She may be fair,” the Page replied, As through the strings he ranged,— “She may be fair ; but yet,”—he cried, And then the strain he changed,—— SONG. ‘‘She may be fair,” he sang, “‘ but yet Far fairer have I seen Than she, for all her locks of jet, And eyes so dark and sheen. Were I a Danish knight in arms, As one day I may be, My heart should own no foreign charms,— A Danish maid for me. “7 love my father’s northern land, Where the dark pine-trees grow, And the bold Baltic’s echoing strand Looks o’er each grassy oe.! I love to mark the lingering sun, From Denmark loath to go, And leaving on the billows bright, To cheer the short-lived summer night, A path of ruddy glow. ‘‘But most the northern maid I love, With breast like Denmark’s snow, And form as fair as Denmark's pine, Who loves with purple heath to twine Her locks of sunny glow ; And sweetly blend that shade of gold With the cheek’s rosy hue, And Faith might for her mirror hold That eye of matchless blue. “Tis hers the manly sports to love That southern maidens fear, To bend the bow by stream and grove, And lift the hunter’s spear. She can her chosen champion’s flight With eye undazzled see, Clasp him victorious from the strife, Or on his corpse yield up her life,— A Danish maid for me!” Xi. Then smiled the Dane—‘ Thou canst so well The virtues of our maidens tell, Half could I wish my choice had been Blue eyes, and hair of golden sheen, cP acne hatte ieee COTA 1 Qe—Island. i | | | | | | | | | : | | | ! oa e- cro sae ab UP NRA SELES TEL ATER ALL RN LER TN ARE EAE STS SIO ON Se And lofty soul ;—yet what of ill Hast thou to charge on Metelill?”— “* Nothing on her,” young Gunnar said, ‘* But her base sire’s ignoble trade. ; Her mother, too—the general fame Hath given to Jutta evil name, And in her grey eye is a flame Art cannot hide, nor fear can tame.— That sordid woodman’s peasant cot Twice have thine honour’d footsteps sought, And twice return’d with such ill rede As sent thee on some desperate deed.” — XII. “Thou errest ; Jutta wisely said, | He that comes suitor to a maid, | Ere link’d in marriage, should provide, ; Lands and a dwelling for his bride— | My father’s by the Tyne and Wear I have reclaim’d.”—‘‘ O, all too dear, And all too dangerous the prize, | E’en were it won,”’ young Gunnar cries ;— “* And then this Jutta’s fresh device, That thou shouldst seek, a heathen Dane, From Durham’s priests a boon to gain, When thou hast left their vassals slain In their own halls !”—Flash’d Harold’s eye, ' Thunder’d his voice—“‘ False Page, you lie! The castle, hall and tower, is mine, Built by old Witikind on Tyne. The wild-cat will defend his den, | Fights for her nest the timid wren ; | And think’st thou I'll forego my right ‘ For dread of monk or monkish knight ?— | Up and away, that deepening bell Doth of the Bishop’s conclave tell. Thither will I, in manner due, | As Jutta bade, my claim to sue ; And, if to right me they are loath, Then woe to church and chapter both !”’ Now shift the scene, and let the curtain fall, And our next entry be Saint Cuthbert’s hali. CANTO FOURTH. I. FuLL many a bard hath sung the solemn gloom Of the long Gothic aisle and stone-ribb’d roof, O’er-canopying shrine, and gorgeous tomb, Carved screen, and altar glimmering far aloof, ~ And blending with the shade—a matchless proof Of high devotion, which hath now wax’d cold ; Yet legends say, that Luxury’s brute hoof | Intruded oft within such sacred fold, | Like step of Bel’s false priest, track’d in his fane of old. So ARLE TA ERTS TAD HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. Well pleased am I, howe’er, that when the | route Of our rude neighbours whilome deign’d to come, Uncall’d, and eke unwelcome, to sweep out And cleanse our chancel from the rags of Rome, They spoke not on our ancient fane the doom To which their bigot zeal gave o’er their own, But spared the martyr’d saint and storied tomb, Though papal miracles had graced the stone, | And though the aisles still loved the organ’s | swelling tone. And deem not, though ’tis now my part to paint A prelate sway’d by love of power and gold, That all who wore the mitre of our Saint Like to ambitious Aldingar [ hold ; Since both in modern times and days of old It sate on those whose virtues might atone Their predecessors’ frailties trebly told : Matthew and Morton we as such may own— And such Gif fame speak truth) the honour’d Barrington. II. But now to earlier and to ruder times, As subject meet, I tune my rugged rhymes, Telling how fairly the chapter was met, And rood and books in seemly order set ; Huge brass-clasp’d volumes, which the hand Of studious priest but rarely scann’d, Now on fair carved desk display’d, *T was theirs the solemn scene to aid. O’erhead with many a scutcheon graced, And quaint devices interlaced, A labyrinth of crossing rows, The roof in lessening arches shows ; Beneath its shade, placed proud and high, With footstool and with canopy, Sate Aldingar, and prelate ne’er More haughty graced Saint Cuthbert’s chair ; Canons and deacons were placed below, In due degree and lengthen’d row. Unmoved and silent each sat there, Like image in his oaken chair ; Nor head, nor hand, nor foot they stirr’d, Nor lock of hair, nor tress of beard ; And of their eyes severe alone The twinkle show’d they were not stone. Ill. The Prelate was to speech address’d, Each head sunk reverent on each breast ; But ere his voice was heard—without Arose a wild tumultuous shout, Offspring of wonder mix’d with fear, Such as in crowded streets we hear Hailing the flames, that, bursting out, Attract yet scare the rabble rout. Ere it had ceased, a giant hand Shook oaken door and iron band, Till oak and iron both gave way, Clash’d the long bolts, the hinges bray, And, ere upon angel or saint they can call, Stands Harold the Dauntless in midst of the hall. 417 IV. “Now save ye, my masters, both rocket and rood, From Bishop with mitre to Deacon with hood ! For here stands Count Harold, old Witikind’s son, Come to sue for the lands which his ancestors won.” The Prelate look’d troubled eye, Unwilling to grant, yet afraid to deny ; While each Canon and Deacon who heard the Dane speak, To be safely at home would have fasted a week :— Then Aldingar roused him, and answer’d again, **Thou suest for a boon which thou canst not obtain ; The church hath no fiefs for an unchristen’d Dane. Thy father was wise, and his treasure hath given, That the priests of a chantry might hymn him to heaven ; And the fiefs which whilome he possess’d as his due, Have lapsed to the church, and been granted anew To Anthony Conyers and Alberic Vere, For the service Saint Cuthbert s bless’d banner to bear, When the bands of the North come to foray the Wear ; Then disturb not our conclave with wrangling or blame, But in peace and in patience pass hence as ye came.” round him with sore Vv. Loud laugh’d the stern Pagan,—‘‘ They’re free from the care Of fief and of service, both Conyers and Vere,— Six feet of your chancel is all they will need, A buckler of stone and a corselet of lead. Ho, Gunnar!—the tokens !”—and, sever’d anew, A head and a hand on the altar he threw. Then shudder’d with terror both Canon and Monk, They knew the glazed eye and the counte- nance shrunk, And ot Anthony Conyers the half-grizzled hair, And the scar on the hand of Sir Alberic Vere. There was not a churchman or priest that was there, But grew pale at the sight, and betook him to prayer. VI. Count Harold laugh’d at their looks of fear : “* Was this the hand should your banner bear ? Was that the head should wear the casque In battle at the church’s task ? Was it to such you gave the place Of Harold with the heavy mace? | Find me between the Wear and Tyne A knight will wield this club of mine,— Give him my fiefs, and I will say There’s wit beneath the cowl of grey.” a SLY ae AEE eR PS ee sara an EE: LAA DEAE OI 418 He raised it, rough with many a stain, Caught from crush’d skull and spouting brain ; | He wheel’d it that it shrilly sung, And the aisles echoed as it swung, Then dash’d it down with sheer descent, And split King Osric’s monument.— *“ How like ye this music? How trow ye the | hand That can wield such a mace may be reft of its land? No answer ?—I spare ye a space to agree, And Saint Cuthbert inspire you, a saint if he be. Ten strides through your chancel, ten strokes | on your bell, And again I am with you—grave fathers, fare- well,” Vil. He turn’d from their presence, he clash’d the oak door, And the clang of his stride died away on the oor ; And his head from his bosom the Prelate uprears With a ghost-seer’s look when the ghost dis- appears. “Ye Priests of Saint Cuthbert, now give me your rede, For never of counsel had Bishop more need ! Were the arch-fiend incarnate in flesh and in bone, The language, the look, and the laugh, were his own. In the bounds of Saint Cuthbert there is not a knight Dare confront in our quarrel yon goblin in fight ; Then rede me aright to his claim to reply, ‘Tis unlawful to grant, and ’tis death to deny.” VIII. On ven’son and malmsie that morning had fed The Cellarer Vinsauf—’twas thus that he said ; ** Delay till to-morrow the Chapter’s reply ; Let the feast be spread fair, and the wine be pour’d high : If he’s mortal he drinks,—if he drinks, he is ours— His bracelets of iron,—his bed in our towers.” This man had a laughing eye, Trust not, friends, when such you spy ; A beaker’s depth he well could drain, Revel, sport, and jest amain— The haunch of the deer and the grape’s bright dye Never bard loved them better than I; But sooner than Vinsauf fill’d me my wine, Pass’d me his jest, and laugh’d at mine, Though the buck were of Bearpark, of Bour- | deaux the vine, . With the dullest hermit I’d rather dine On an oaten cake and a draught of the Tyne. TX. Walwayn the Leech spoke next—he knew Each plant that loves the sun and dew, But special those whose juice can gain Dominion o’er the blood and brain ; a SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. ) The peasant who saw him by pale moonbeam Gathering such herbs by bank and stream, Deem’d his thin form and soundless tread Were those of wanderer from the dead.— ‘““Vinsauf, thy wine,” he said, ‘‘hath power, Our gyves are heavy, strong our tower ; Yet three drops from this flask of mine, More strong than dungeons, gyves, or wine, Shall give him prison under ground | More dark, more narrow, more profound. | Short rede, good rede, let Harold have— | A dog’s death and a heathen’s grave.” I have lain on a sick man’s bed, Watching for hours for the leech’s tread, As if I deem’d that his presence alone Were of power to bid my pain begone ; I have listed his words of comfort given, As if to oracles from heaven ; I have counted his steps from my chamber door, And bless’d them when they were heard no more ;— But sooner than Walwayn my sick couch should nigh, My choice were by leech-craft unaided to die. x3 “Such service done in fervent zeal The Church may pardon and conceal,” The doubtful Prelate said, ‘‘ but ne’er The counsel ere the act should hear.— Anselm of Jarrow, advise us now, The stamp of wisdom is on thy brow ; Thy days, thy nights, in cloister pent, Are still to mystic learning lent ;— Anselm of Jarrow, in thee is my hope, Thou well mayst give counsel to Prelate or Pope.” Se Answer’d the Prior—‘‘’Tis wisdom’s use Still to delay what we dare not refuse ; Ere granting the boon he comes hither to ask, Shape for the giants gigantic task ; Let us see how a step so sounding can tread In paths of darkness, danger, and dread ; He may not, he will not, impugn our decree, That calls but for proof of his chivalry ; And were Guy to return, or Sir Bevis the Strong, Our wilds have adventure might cumber them long— The Castle of Seven Shields” —— ‘‘Kind Anselm, no more! The step of the Pagan approaches the door.” The churchmen were hush’d.—In his mantle of skin, | With his mace on his shoulder, Count Harold strode in. There was foam on his lips, there was fire in his eye, For, chafed by attendance, his fury was nigh. ‘““Hol! Bishop,” he said, “dost thou grant me my claim ? ; Or must I assert it by falchion and flame ?”— XII, “On thy suit, gallant Harold,” the Bishop replied In accents which trembled, ‘‘we may not decide, HAROLD THE — —<———. vat oye SF ; yet x DAUNTLESS. 419 | 7 ” ~ Until Tort ah your strength and your valour | There was ce ee the sisters, for each "Tis not th & ? ___ one would have ; poe we doubt them, but such is the | ree ae King Adolf, the gallantand brave; | aMaanGld you, Sir Pete Fa An Pea hate, and hate urged them to For tea he at i Hat herd When the firm earth was cleft, and the Arch e shavelings that herd in fiend arose! ; ches ot thy court ? z . : , Say what shall h 0 ?— Fr rj i y mee aa e do?—From the shrine shall | He swore to the maidens their wish to fulfil— : ' The lead bier of thy patron, and heave itin air They swore to the foe they would work by his | | And through the long chancel make Cuthbert Heike . take wing, A spindle and distaff to each hath he given, | With the speed of a bullet dismiss’d from the Now hearken my spell,” said the Outcast of | : sling ?”— heaven. ; “Nay, spare such probation,” the Cellarer | 3 said, | “Ye shall ply these spindles at midnight hour, | “From the mouth of our minstrels thy task | And for every spindle shall rise a tower, | shall be read. | Where the right shall be feeble, the wrong | While the wine sparkles high in the goblet of | shall have power, old, | And there shall ye dwell with your paramour.” | And the revel is loudest, thy task shall be told: | | | And thyself, gallant Harold, shall, hearing Beneath ae pale moonlight they sate on the | j 1 i e | wo , _ That the Bishop, his cowls, and his shave-| 4nd the rhymes which they chanted must lings, meant well.” never be told ; And as ye black wool from the distaff they | XIII. veg DEG, : ; | “Goud revel’ the guests, and the coblate loud With ee from their bosom they moisten’d | | eae 8 1e thread, But louder the minstrel, Hugh M 1 : | ee. eeepc eneville, | 4. et danced the spindles beneath the cold | And Harold, the hurry and pride of whose soul Sas : : R’en when’ verging to fav pea ee The castle arose like the birth of a dream— control, The seven eas ascended like mist from the | Still bent on the harper his broad sable Q Bou: And often untasted fhe goblet pass’d ee Seven portals defend them, seven ditches } Than mes, or than wassail, to him was more surround. Pe ee. 24 The noe s high tale of enchantment to | Within that dread castle seven monarchs were | ar; wed, | aA nd a cian that day might of Vinsauf paar of the seven ere the morning lay dead ; ps : 1th their eyes all on fire, and their daggers | That oe had but wasted his wine-casks in | _ all ree isoaone eee ain. Seven damsels surround the Northumbrian’s bed. : XIV. THE CASTLE or THE SEVEN SHIELDS. “Six kingly bridegrooms to death we have : A BALLAD. done, | Tux Druid Urien had daughters seven, Six gallant kingdoms King Adolf hath won, k ' Their skill could call the moon from heaven | Bix lovely brides all his pleasure to do, | So fair their forms and so high their Fane, | Or the bed of the seventh shall be husbandless | That seven proud kings for their suitors came. | te | King me and Rhys came from Powis and Well chanced it that Adolf the night when ' Ticehorts an their hair, and unpruned ne: | a yh | opm tenga air, ¢ pruned were | Had eae and had sain’d him ere boune | » From oe was Ewain, and Ewain’ He ecru ee the couch and his broadsword | ery 2 y eng he drew, f And pees bearded Donald from Galloway And eh the seven daughters of Urien he . slew. Lot, King of Lodon, was hunchback’d from : " a : sg The gate of the castle he bolted and seal’d, : unmail of Cumbria had never a tooth ; And hung o’er each arch-stone a crown and a But Adolf of Bambrough, Northumberland’s shield ; = _hetr, To the cells of Saint Dunstan then wended his Was gay and was gallant, was young and was way, fair. And died in his cloister an anchorite gray. \ t Sepeetaiepeninatantaien lidtedeaelaendiadedeheommeniddemnmenniaanseiiateiaminisiaieeiaseaiien ceallieititiedahdiametiaaiae’ ikl ~ “a XL tA - a = ae ss a sie C Paci CA AONE OE AICS 0 OSE OS I OS 420 Seven monarchs’ wealth in that castle lies | stow’d, The foul fiends brood o’er them like raven and toad. Whoever shall guesten these chambers within, From curfew till matins, that treasure shall win. But manhood grows faint as the world waxes old ! There lives not in Britain a champion so bold, So dauntless of heart, and so prudent of brain, As to dare the adventure that treasure to gain. The waste ridge of Cheviot shall wave with | the rye, | Before the rude Scots shall Northumberland fly, | And the flint cliffs of Bambro’ shall melt in | the sun, Before that adventure be perill’d and won. XV. ‘* And is this my probation?” wild Harold he | said, ‘Within a lone castle to press alone bed?— | Good even, my Lord Bishop,—Saint Cuthbert | to borr ow, The Castle of Seven Shields receives me to- | morrow.’ CANTO FIFTH. if DENMARK’s sage courtier to her youth, Sos cloud an ouzel or a whale, Spoke, though unwittingly, a partial truth ; For Fantasy embroiders Nature’s veil. The tints of ruddy eve, or dawning pale, Of the swart thunder-cloud, or silver haze, Are but the ground-work of the rich detail Which Fantasy with pencil wild portrays, Blending what seems and is, in the wrapt | muser’s gaze. princely Nor are the stubborn forms of earth and | stone Less to the Sorceress’s empire given ; For not with unsubstantial hues alone, Caught from the varying surge, or vacant | ‘heaven, From bursting sunbeam, levin, She limns her pictures: on the earth, as_ | air, Arise her castles, and her car is driven ; And never gazed the eye on scene so fair, | But of its boasted charms gave Fancy half the share. or from flashing | | | iT. | pa wild pass went Harold, bent to prove, Hugh Meneville, the adventure of thy lay ; Gunnar pur sued his steps in faith and love, Ever companion of his master’s way. oe | SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. i Midward their path, a rock of granite gray From the adjoining cliff had made de- scent,— A barren mass—yet with her drooping spray Had a young birch-tree crown’d its battle- ment, Twisting her fibrous roots through cranny, flaw, and rent. This rock and tree could Gunnar’s thought engage Till Fancy brought the tear-drop to his eye, And at his master ask’d the timid Page, sf ee is the emblem that a bard should In that rude rock-and its green canopy?” And Harold said, ‘‘ Like to the helmet brave Of warrior slain in fight it seems to lie, And these same drooping boughs do o’er it wave | Not all unlike the plume his lady’s favour gave.’’— ** Ah, no!” replied the Page ; ‘‘the ill-starr’d love Of some poor maid is in the emblem shown, Whose fates are with some hero’s interwove, And rooted on a heart to love unknown: And as the gentle dews of heaven alone Nourish those drooping boughs, and as the scathe Of the red lightning rends both tree and stone, So fares it with her unrequited faith,— Tier sole relief is tears—her only refuge death.”’— iil. ‘Thou art a fond fantastic boy,” arold replied, ‘‘ to females coy, Yet prating still of love; Even so amid the clash of war I know thou lovest to keep afar, Though destined by thy evil star With one like me to rove, Whose business and whose joys are found Upon the bloody battle-ground. Yet, foolish trembler as thou art, | Thou hast a nook of my rude heart, H _ And thou and I will never part ;— ‘ Harold would wrap the world in flame Ere injury on Gunnar came.” IV. | The grateful Page made no reply, | But turn’d to heaven his gentle eye, And clasp’d his hands, as one who said, “My toils—my wanderings are o ‘erpaid ! is Then in a gayer, lighter strain, Compell’d himself to speech again ; And, as they flow’d along, His words took cadence soft and slow, And liquid, like dissolving snow, They melted into song. Vie | ‘* What though through fields of carnage wide I may not follow Harold’s stride, | Yet who with faithful Gunnar’s pride Lord Harold’s feats can see? ee oa a A ee ae ee ee ~ aweeape tra CR ee gsr ELLE FOE AS AN TES tS NE TON ET AO EE TET ES EET NN APs PONTE RET EE EY Mn NO Ne HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. And dearer than the couch of pride He loves the bed of gray wolf’s hide, When slumbering by Lord Harold’s side In forest, field, or lea.”— VI. ** Break off !”’ said Harold, in a tone Where hurry and surprise were shown, With some slight touch of fear,— ‘* Break off, we are not here alone; A Palmer form comes slowly on! By cowl, and staff, and mantle known, My monitor is near. Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully ; He pauses by the blighted tree— Dost see him, youth ?—Thou couldst not see When in the vale of Galilee I first beheld his form, Nor when we met that other while In Cephalonia’s rocky isle, Before the fearful storm,— Dost see him now ?’’—The Page, distraught With terror, answer’d, ‘‘ I see nought, And there is nought to see, | Save that the oak’s scathed boughs fling down | Upon the path a shadow brown, That, like a pilgrim’s dusky gown, Waves with the waving tree.”’ Vik. Count Harold gazed upon the oak As if his eyestrings would have broke, And then resolvedly said,— * Be what it will yon phantom gray— Nor heaven, nor hell, shall ever say That for their shadows from his way Count Harold turn’d dismay’d : I'll speak him, though his accents fill My heart with that unwonted thrill Which vulgar minds call fear. { will subdue it !’”—Forth he strode, Paused where the blighted oak-tree show’d Its sable shadow on the road, And, folding on his bosom broad His arms, said, ‘‘ Speak—lI hear.” VILT. The Deep Voice said, ‘‘O wild of will, Furious thy purpose to fulfil— Heart-sear’d and unrepentant still, How long, O Harold, shall thy tread Disturb the slumbers of the dead? Each step in thy wild way thou makest, The ashes of the dead thou wakest ; And shout in triumph o’er thy path The fiends of bloodshed and of wrath. In this thine hour, yet turn and hear! For life is brief and judgment near.” | IX. Then ceased The Voice.—The Dane replied | In tones where awe and inborn pride ‘or mastery strove,—‘‘ In vain ye chide The wolf for ravaging the flock, Or with its hardness taunt the rock,— | | am as they—my Danish strain Sends streams of fire through ev'ry vein. 42i Amid thy realms of goule and ghost, Say, is the fame of Erick lost, Or Witikind’s the Waster, known Where fame or spoil was to be won ; Whose galleys ne’er bore off a shore They left not black with flame ?— He was my sire,—and, sprung of him, That rover merciless and grim, Can I be soft and tame? Part hence, and with .my crimes no more upbraid me, Iam that Waster’s son, and am but what he made me.” < The Phantom groan’d ;—the mountain shook around, The fawn and wild-doe started at the sound, The gorse and fern did wildly round them wave, As if some sudden storm the impulse gave. ** All thou hast said is truth—Yet on the head Of that bad sire let not the charge be laid, That he, like thee, with unrelenting pace, From grave to cradle ran the evil race :— Relentless in his avarice and ire, Churches and towns he gave to sword and fire ; Shed blood like water, wasted every land, | Like the destroying angel’s burning brand ; Fulfill’d whate’er of ill might be invented, Yes—all these things he did—he did, but he REPENTED ! Perchance it is part of his punishment still, That his offspring pursues his example of ill. 3ut thou, when thy tempest of wrath shall next shake thee, Gird thy loins for resistance, my son, and awake thee ; | If thou yield’st to thy fury, how tempted soever, The gate of repentance shall ope for thee NEVER !”’— xh ‘He is gone,” said Lord Harold, and gazed as he spoke ; “There is nought on the path but the shade of the oak. He is gone, whose strange presence my feeling oppress'd, Like the night-hag that sits on the slumberer’s breast. My heart beats as thick as a fugitive’s tread, And cold dews drop from my brow and my head. — Ho! Gunnar, the flasket yon almoner gave; He said that three drops would recall from the grave. For the first time Count Harold owns leech- craft has power, Or, his courage to aid, lacks the juice of a flower ! ” The Page gave the flasket, which Walwayn had fill’d Vith the juice of wild roots that his art had distill’d— | So baneful their influence on all that had breath, One drop had been frenzy, and two had been death. a ed ee al 2. ... anes aa aati v a werner amma eilfe ” ¥ onl ot oy, ey iii 1 oo —~ = x — eo SS ee —E———SSS SS < x 2) Sa ERSL XS Fon be hah Harold took it, but drank not; for jubilee | shrill, And music and clamour were heard on the | hill, And down the steep pathway, o’er stock and o’er stone, The train of a bridal came blithesomely on ; There was song, there was pipe, there was timbrel, and still The burden was, ‘‘ Joy to the fair Metelill!” XII. Harold might see from his high stance, Himself unseen, that train advance With mirth and melody ;— On horse and foot a mingled throng, Measuring their steps to bridal song And bridal minstrelsy ; And ever when the blithesome rout Lent to the song their choral shout, Redoubling echoes roll’d about, While echoing cave and cliff sent out The answering symphony Of all those mimic notes which djvell In hollow rock and sounding dell. XIII. Joy shook his torch above the band, By many a various passion fann’d ;— As elemental sparks can feed On essence pure and coarsest weed, Gentle, or stormy, or refined, Joy takes the colours of the mind. Lightsome and pure, but unrepress’d, He fired the bridegroom’s gallant breast ; More feebly strove with maiden fear, Yet still joy glimmer’d through the tear On the bride’s blushing cheek, that shows Like dewdrop on the budding rose ; While Wulfstane’s gloomy smile declared The glee that selfish avarice shared, And pleased revenge and malice high Joy’s semblance took in Jutta’s eye. On dangerous adventure sped, The witch deem’d Harold with the dead, For thus that morn her Demon said :— “< Tf, ere the set of sun, be tied The knot ’twixt bridegroom and his bride. The Dane shall have no power of ill O’er William and o’er Metelill.” And the pleased witch made answer, ‘“‘ Then Must Harold have pass’d from the paths of men ! Evil repose may his spirit have,— May hemlock and mandrake find root in his grave,— | May his death-sleep be dogged by dreams of dismay, And his waking be worse at the answerin g | day.” | XIV. Such was their various mood of glee Blent in one shout of ecstasy. But still when Joy is brimming highest Of Sorrow and Misfortune nighest, Of Terror with her ague cheek, And lurking Danger, sages speak :— sO gf ‘ sn a wth ie nn SCOTL’S POLTICAL WORE | Their snares beside the primrose way.— | Beset by Harold in his wrath. | His destined victims might not spy ra | | These haunt each path, but chief they lay Thus found that bridal band their path Trembling beneath his maddening mood, High on a rock the giant stood ; His shout was like the doom of death Spoke o’er their heads that pass’d beneath. The reddening terrors of his eye,— The frown of rage that writhed his face,— The lip that foam’d like boar’s in chase ;— But all could see—and, seeing, all Bore back to shun the threaten’d fall — The fragment which their giant foe Rent from the cliff and heaved to throw. | Kove Backward they bore ;—yet are there two For battle who prepare: No pause of dread Lord William knew Ere his good blade was bare ; And Wulfstane bent his fatal yew, But ere the silken cord he drew, As hurl’d from Hecla’s thunder, flew That ruin through the air! Full on the outlaw’s front it came, | And all that late had human name, And human face, and human frame, That lived, and moved, and had free will | To choose the path of good or ill, Is to its reckoning gone; | And nought of Wulfstane rests behind, Save that beneath that stone, | Half-buried in the dinted clay, | A red and shapeless mass there lay Of mingled flesh and bone! XVI. As from the bosom of the sky The eagle darts amain, | Three bounds from yonder summit high Placed Harold on the plain. | As the scared wild-fowl scream and fly, So fled the bridal train ; As ’gainst the eagle’s peerless might The noble falcon dares the fight, But dares the fight in vain, So fought the bridegroom ; from his hand The Dane’s rude mace has struck his brand Its glittering fragments strew the sand, Its lord lies on the plain. Now, Heaven! take noble William’s part, | And melt that yet unmelted heart, Or, ere his bridal hour depart, The hapless bridegroom’s slain ! XVII. Count Harold’s frenzied rage is high, There is a death-fire in his eye, Deep furrows on his brow are trench’d, His teeth are set, his hand is clench’d, The foam upon his lip is white His deadly arm is up to smite! But, as the mace aloft he swung, To stop the blow young Gunnar sprung, Around his master’s knees he clung, And cried, ‘‘ In mercy spare ! K ee re FAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. aa5. 4 O, think upon the words of fear ity ' ; Spoke by that visionary Seer, CANTO SIXTH, The crisis he foretold is here,— Grant mercy,—or despair !” ty This word suspended Harold’s mood, WELL do I hope that this my minstrel tale Yet still with arm upraised he stood, Will tempt no traveller from southern fields, And visage like the headsman’s rude Whether in tilbury, barouche, or mail, That pauses for the sign. To view the Castle of these Seven Proud | *“*OQ mark thee with the blessed rood,” Shields. 19] i The Page implored ; ‘‘ Speak word of good, Small confirmation its condition yields | i Resist the fiend, or be subdued !” | To Meneville’s high lay,—No towers are 7 He sign’d the cross divine— seen i Instant his eye hath human light, On the wild heath, but those that Fancy ifs Less red, less keen, less fiercely bright ; builds, ie His brow relax’d the obdurate frown, | And, save a fosse that tracks the moor with . ; : The fatal mace sinks gently down, green, He turns and strides away ; | Is nought remains to tell of what may there . Yet oft, like revellers who leave have been. il Unfinish’d feast, looks back to grieve, lid | As if repenting the reprieve And yet grave authors, with the no small : ih | He granted to his prey. waste WW Yet still of forbearance one sign hath he given,| Of their grave time, have dignified the spot | And fierce Witikind’s son made one step to-| By theories, to prove the fortress placed \ i wards heaven. By Roman bands, to curb the invading Scot. | i) i) : Hutchinson, Horsley, Camden, I might | ii quote, iN XVIII. But rather choose the theory less civil : i i La) ere Of boors, who, origin of things forgot, iii eh though his di eaded footsteps part, Refer still to the Sighs of evil, ; 1H | Death is behind and shakes his dart ; Pech oiier cthicir sd ladies a choaeet Vat ii Lord William on the plain is lying, teal il t oe d the Devil Oem LemOoee _ . HP Beside him Metelill seems dying !— ae eee a: | Bring odours—essences in haste— : 4} And lo! a flasket richly chased,— I. 11) | But Jutta the elixir proves Therefore, I say, it was on fiend-built towers Ere pouring it for those she loves— That stout Count Harold bent his wondering . Then Walwayn’s potion was not wasted, gaze : For when three drops the hag had tasted, When evening dew was on the heather . So dismal was her yell, flowers, i *| Each bird of evil omen woke, And the last sunbeams made the mountain i) | The raven gave his fatal croak, blaze, iH} And shriek’d the night-crow from the oak, And tinged the battlements of other days The screech-owl from the thicket broke, With the bright level light ere sinking | And flutter’d down the dell! ae watt So fearful was the sound and stern, Illumined thus, the dauntless Dane surveys | iy The slumbers of the full-gorged erne The Seven Proud Shields that o’er the portal | { Were startled, and from furze and fern frown, ) 1 ' Of forest and of fell, . | And on their blazons traced high marks of old | : | The fox and famish’d wolf replied, renown. A | (For wolves then prowl’d the Cheviot side,) : 4% From mountain head to mountain head A wolf North Wales had on his armour- | BL The unhallow’d sounds around were sped ; coat, | But when their latest echo fled, And Rhys of Powis-land a couchant stag ; : | The sorceress on the ground lay dead. Strath-Clwyd’s strange emblem was 2 | aa stranded boat, : : | Donald of Galloway’s a trotting nag ; ei | mike A corn-sheaf gilt was fertile Lodon’s brag; | Cit ' Such was the scene of blood and woes, ie. dudgeon-dagger was by Dunmail worn ; 4) At With which the bridal morn arose | Northumbrian Adolf gave a sea-beat crag ! 1 One Of William and of Metelill ; | Surmounted by a cross—such signs weie : iin But oft, when dawning ’gins to spread, _ borne : : | | The summer-morn peeps dim and red Upon these antique shields, all wasted now Above the eastern hill, and worn. | Ere, bright and fair, upon his road . ea | The King of Splendour walks abroad ; ; So, when this cloud had pass’d away, These scann’d, Count Harold sought the Bright was the noontide of their day, castle-door, And all serene its setting ray. Whose ponderous bolts were rusted to decay ; Yet till that hour adventurous knight for- tos bore The unobstructed passage to essay. APA AS Se ORDER Tr her enue 2: met we me 424 More strong than armed warders in array, And obstacle more sure than bolt or bar, Sate in the portal Terror and Dismay, While Superstition, who forbade to war With foes of other mould than mortal clay, Cast spells across the gate, and barr’d the onward way. Vain now those spells ; for soon with heavy clank The feebly-fasten’d gate was inward push’d, And, as it oped, through that emblazon’d rank Of antique shields, the wind of evening rush’d With sound most like a groan, and then was bush’d. Is none who on such spot such sounds could hear But to his heart the blood had faster rush’d; Yet to bold Harold’s breast that throb was dear— It spoke of danger nigh, but had no touch of fear. Li Yet Harold and his Page no signs have traced Within the castle, that of danger show’d ; For still the halls and courts were wild and waste, As through their precincts the adventurers | trode. | The seven huge towers rose stately, tall, and } broad, Each tower presenting to their scrutiny | A hall in which a king might make abode, And fast beside, garnish’d both proud and high, Was placed a bower for rest in which a king might lie. As if a bridal there of late had been, Deck’d stood the table in each gorgeous inallis And yet it was two hundred years, I ween, Since date of that unhallow’d festival, Flagons, and ewers, and standing cups, were all Of tarnish’d gold, or silver nothing clear, With throne begilt, and canopy of pall, And tapestry clothed the walls with frag- ments sear— Frail as the spider’s mesh did that rich woof appear. Vv. in every bower, as round a hearse, was hung A dusky crimson curtain o’er the bed, And on each couch in ghastly wise were flung The wasted relics of a monarch dead ; Barbaric ornaments around were spread, Vests twined with gold, and chains of precious stone, And golden circlets, meet for monarch’s head ; While grinn’d, as if in scorn amongst them thrown, d The wearer’s fleshless skull, alike with dust bestrown. a ~ Oe uf frat escensene nee ereerearn sre 3s yar rsa ata tNONNN eaeor wnosnnnntenvenne i eer ton wr SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. For these were they who, drunken with delight, On pleasure’s opiate pillow laid their head, For whom the bride’s shy footstep, slow and light, Was changed ere morning to the murderer’s tread. For human bliss and woe in the frail thread Of human life are all so closely twined, That till the shears of Fate the texture shred, The close succession cannot be disjoin’d, Nor dare we, from one hour, judge that which comes behind. VI. But where the work of vengeance had been done, In that seventh chamber, was a sterner sight ; There of the witch-brides lay each skeleton, Still in the posture as to death when dight, For this lay prone, by one blow slain out- right ; And that, as one who struggled Tong in dying ; , One bony hand held knife, as if to smite : One bent on fleshless knees, as mercy cry- ing ; One lay across the door, as kill’d in act of flying. The stern Dane smiled this charnel-house to see,— For his chafed thought return’d to Mete- > And ‘ Well,” he said, “hath woman’s per- fidy, Empty as air, as water volatile, Been here avenged.—The origin of ill Through woman rose, the Christian doctrine saith ; Nor deem I, Gunnar, that thy minstrel skill Can show example where a woman’s breath Hath made a true-love vow, and, tempted, kept her faith.” Vil. The minstrel-boy half smiled, half sigh’d, And his half-filling eyes he dried, And said, ‘‘ The theme I should but wrong, Unless it were my dying song, (Our Scalds have said, in dying hour The Northern harp has treble power,) Else could I tell of woman’s faith, Defying danger, scorn, and death. Firm was that faith,—as diamond stone Pure and unflaw’d,—her love unknown, And unrequited ;—firm and pure, Her stainless faith could all endure ; From clime to clime,—from place to place,— Through want, and danger, and disgrace, A wanderer’s wayward steps could trace.— All this she did, and guerdon none Required, save that her burial-stone Should make at length the secret known, ‘Thus hath a faithful woman done.’— Not in each breast such truth is laid, But Eivir was a Danish maid.”- — wat weprere o~ag a + 2 — oo ae VIII. “ Thou art a wild enthusiast,” said Count Harold, ‘for thy Danish maid : And yet, young Gunnar, I will own Hers were a faith to rest upon. But Eivir sleeps beneath her stone, And all resembling her are gone. What maid e’er show'd such constancy In plighted faith, like thine to me? But couch thee, boy ; the darksome shade Falls thickly round, nor be dismay’d Because the dead are by. They were as we ; our little day O’erspent, and we shall be as they. Yet near me, Gunnar, be thou laid, Thy couch upon my mantle made, That thou mayst think, should fear invade, Thy master slumbers nigh.” Thus couch’d they in that dread abode, Until the beams of dawning glow’d. IX. An alter’d man Lord Harold rose, When he beheld that dawn unclose— There’s trouble in his eyes, And traces on his brow and cheek Of mingled awe and wonder speak : “My Page,” he said, ‘arise ;— Leave we this place, my Page.”—No more He utter’d till the castle door They cross’d—but there he paused and said, ““My wildness hath awaked the dead— Disturb’d the sacred tomb! Methought this night I stood on high, Where Hecla roars in middle sky, And in her cavern’d gulfs could spy The central place of doom ; And there before my mortal eye Souls of the dead came flitting by, Whom fiends, with many a fiendish cry, Bore to that evil den! My eyes grew dizzy, and my brain Was wilder’d as the elvish train, With shriek and howl, dragg’d on amain Those who had late been men. x ‘With haggard eyes and streaming hair, Jutta the Sorceress was there, And there pass’d Wulfstane, lately slain, All crush’d and foul with bloody stain. — More had I seen, but that uprose A whirlwind wild, and swept the snows ; And with such sound as when at need A champion spurs his horse to speed, Three armed knights rush on, who lead Caparison’d a sable steed. Sable their harness, and there came Through their closed vizors sparks of flame. The first proclaim’d, in sounds of fear, ‘Harold the Dauntless, welcome here !’ The next cried, ‘ Jubilee! we’ve won Count Witikind the Waster’s son!’ And the third rider sternly spoke, ‘Mount, in the name of Zernebock !|— From us, O Harold, were thy powers,— Thy strength, thy dauntlessnegs, are ours : Nor think, a vassal thou of hell, With hell can strive.’ The fiend spoke true! My inmost soul the summons knew, As captives know the knell HAROLD THE DAUNTLESS. 425 _ That says the headsman’s sword is bare, And, with an accent of despair, Commands them quit their cell, I felt resistance was in vain, My foot had that fell stirrup ta’en, My hand was on the fatal mane, When to my rescue sped That Palmer’s visionary form, And—like the passing of a storm— The demons yell’d and fied ! ry “* His sable cowl, flung back, reveal’d The features it before conceal’d : And, Gunnar, I could find In him whose counsels strove to stay So oft my course on wilful way, My father Witikind! Doom’d for his sins, and doom’d for mine, A wanderer upon earth to pine Until his son shall turn to grace, And smooth for him a resting-place.— Gunnar, he must not haunt in vain This world of wretchedness and pain: [’ll tame my wilful heart to live In peace—to pity and forgive— And thou, for so the Vision said, Must in thy Lord’s repentance aid. Thy mother was a prophetess, He said, who by her skill could guess How close the fatal textures join Which knit thy-thread of life with mine : Then, dark, he hinted of disguise She framed to cheat too curious eyes, That not a moment might divide Thy fated footsteps from my side. | Methought while thus my sire did teach, I caught the meaning of his speech, Yet seems its purport doubtful now.” His hand then sought his thoughtful brow. Then first he mark’d, that in the tower His glove was left at waking hour. eS aeeoeeneeninioeineee eee XII. Trembling at first, and deadly pale, Had Gunnar heard the vision’d tale : But when he learn’d the dubious close, He blush’d like any opening rose, And, glad to hide his tell-tale cheek, Hied back that glove of mail to seek ; When soon a shriek of deadly dread Summon’d his master to his aid, XIII. | What sees Count Harold in that bower, So late his resting-place ?— | The semblance of the Evil Power, Adored by all his race ! | Odin in living form stood there, | His cloak the spoils of Polar bear ; | For plumy crest a meteor shed | Its gloomy radiance o’er his head, | Yet veil’d its haggard majesty | To the wild lightnings of his eye. Such height was his, as when in stone | O’er Upsal’s giant altar shown; So flow’d his hoary beard ; Such was his lance of mountain-pine, So did his sevenfold buckler shine ;— But when his voice he rear’d > | ' | | ’ : | | | | | i me, K ON RE SAL LE CEE ET AE, OC COE EE LTO SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS Deep, without harshness, slow and strong, The powerful accents roll’d along, And, while he spoke, his hand was laid On captive Gunnar’s shrinking head, XIV. “‘ Harold,” he said, “ what rage is thine, To quit the worship of thy line, To leave thy Warrior-God ?— With me is glory or disgrace, Mine is the onset and the chase, Embattled hosts before my face Are wither’d by a nod. Wilt thou then forfeit that high seat, Deserved by many a dauntless feat, Among the heroes of thy line, Hric and fiery Thorarine ?7— Thou wilt not. Only I can give The joys for which the valiant live, Victory and vengeance—only I Can give the joys for which they die, The immortal tilt—the banquet full, The brimming draught from foeman’s skull. Mine art thou, witness this thy glove, The faithful pledge of vassal’s love.” — XV. ““Tempter,” said Harold, firm of heart, **T charge thee, hence! whate’er thou art, I do defy thee—and resist The kindling frenzy of my bréast, Waked by thy words; and of my mail, Nor glove, nor buckler, splent, nor nail, Shall rest with thee—that youth release, And God, or Demon, part in peace.” — ‘* Hivir,”’ the Shape replied, ‘‘is mine, Mark’d in the birth-hour with my sign. Think’st thou that priest with drops of spray Could wash that blood-red mark away? Or that a borrow’d sex and name Can abrogate a Godhead’s claim?” Thrill’d this strange speech through Harold’s brain, He clench’d his teeth in high disdain, For not his new-born faith subdued Some tokens of his ancient mood.— *“ Now, by the hope so lately given Of better trust and purer heaven, I will assail thee, fiend! ”—Then rose His mace, and with a storm of blows The mortal and the Demon close. XVI. Smoke roll’d above, fire flash’d around, Darken’d the sky and shook the ground ; But not the artillery of hell, The bickering lightning, nor the rock Of turrets to the earthquake’s shock, Could Harold’s courage quell. Sternly the Dane his purpose kept, And blows on blows resistless heap’d, Till quail’d that Demon Form, And—for his power to hurt or kill Was bounded by a higher will— Evanish’d in the storm. Nor paused the Champion of the North, But raised, and bore his Eivir forth, From that wild scene of fiendish strife, To light, to liberty, and life! ee XVII. He placed her on a bank of moss, A silver runnel bubbled by, And new-born thoughts his soul engross, And tremors yet unknown across His stubborn sinews fly, The while with timid hand the dew Upon her brow and neck he threw, | And mark’d how life with rosy hue , On her pale cheek revived anew, | And glimmer’d in her eye. | Inly he said, ‘“‘ That silken tress,— What blindness mine that could not guess ! Or how could page’s rugged dress That bosom’s pride belie? O, dull of heart, through wild and wave In search of blood and death to rave, With such a partner nigh !” XVIII. Then in the mirror’d pool he peer’d, Blamed his rough locks and shaggy beard, The stains of recent conflict clear’d,— And thus the Champion proved, That he fears now who never fear’d, And loves who never loved. And Hivir—life is on her cheek, And yet she will not move or speak, Nor will her eyelid fully ope ; Perchance it loves, that half-shut eye, Through its long fringe, reserved and shy, Affection’s opening dawn to spy ; And the deep blush, which bids its dye O’er cheek, and brow, and bosom fly, Speaks shame-facedness and hope. XIX. But vainly seems the Dane to seek For terms his new-born love to speak,— For words, save those of wrath and wrong, Till now were strangers to his tongue ; So, when he raised the blushing maid, In blunt and honest terms he said, (Twere well that maids, when lovers woo, Heard none more soft, were all as true,) ‘“‘ Hivir! since thou for many a day Hast follow’d Harold’s wayward way, It is but meet that in the line Of after-life I follow thine. To-morrow is Saint Cuthbert’s tide, And we will grace his altar’s side, A Christian knight and Christian bride ; And of Witikind’s son shall the marvel be said, That on the same morn he was christen’d and wed.” CONCLUSION. AND now, Ennui, what ails thee, weary maid? And why these listless looks of yawning sorrow ? No need to turn the page, as if ’twere lead, Or fling aside the volume till to-morrow.— Be cheer’d—’tis ended—and I will not borrow, To try thy patience more, one anecdote From Bartholine, or Perinskiold, or Snorro. Then pardon thou thy minstrel, who hath wrote A Tale six cantos long. yet scorn’d to add a note. seen mga et i OAS te A EE EE LLL LOO LL ACC EEL spresec-yr-esrmcrestae eit I TLE N IE PE RLS E TE ELE LEE E LOT ET LEE LOO OLIN ELLA LDL! LL LEE EAL LOLA IL ee aamenind Hermitage Castle. Border Minstrelsy a - | | | | | | (ee ee Contributions to the order Winstrelsy, a Oo Thomas the Abvmer. IN THREE PARTS. —W— PART FIRST. ANCIENT. FEw personages are so renowned in tradition as Thomas of Ercildoune, known by the appellation of The Rhymer. Uniting, or sup- posing to unite, in his person, the powers of poetical composition, and of vaticination, his memory, even after the lapse of five hundred years, is regarded with veneration by his countrymen. To give any thing like a certain history of this remarkable man would be | indeed difficult; but the curious may derive | some satisfaction from the particulars here brought together. It is agreed on all hands, that the residence, and probably the birthplace, of this ancient bard, was Ercildoune, a village situated upon the Leader, two miles above its junction with the Tweed. The ruins of an ancient tower are still pointed out as the Rhymer’s castle. The uniform tradition bears, that his sirname was Lermont, or Learmont; and that the appellation of The Rhymer was conferred on him | which he had acquired by his personal accom- plishments. I must, however, remark, that, down to a very late period, the practice of distinguishing the parties, even in formal writings, by the epithets which had been bestowed on them from personal circum- stances, instead of the proper sirnames of their families, was common, and indeed necessary, among the Border clans. So early as the end of the thisteenth century, when sirnames were hardly introduced in Scotland, this custom must have been universal. There is, therefore, nothing inconsistent in suppos- ing our poet’s name to have been actually Learmont, although, in this charter, he is distinguished by the popular appellation of The Rhymer. We are better able to ascertain the period at which Thomas of Ercildoune lived, being the latter end of the thirteenth century. I am inclined to place his death a little farther | back than Mr. Pinkerton, who supposes that in consequence of his poetical compositions. } There remains, nevertheless, some doubt upon the subject. In acharter, which is subjoined at length,! the son of our poet designed himself * Thomas of Ercildoun, son and heir of Thomas Rymour of Ercildoun,” which seems to imply that the father did not bear the hereditary name of Learmont; or, at least, was better | known and distinguished by the epithet, l From the Chartulary of the Trinity House of Soltra. Advocates’ Library, W. 4. 14. ERSYLTON. Omnibus has literas visuris vel audituris Thomas de Ercildoun filius et heres Thomz Rymour de Ercildoun salutem in Domino. Noveritis me per fustem et baculwn in pleno judicio resignasse ac per presentes quietem clamasse pro me et heredibus meis Magistro domus Sancte Trinitatis de Soltre et fratribus ejusdem domus totam terram meamin cum omnibus pertinentibus suis quam in tenemento de Ercildoun hereditarie tenui renun- ciando de toto pro me et heredibus meis omni jure et | appears as a witness.—Chartulary of Melrose. clameo quze ego seu antecessores mei in eadem terra alioque tempore de perpetuo habuimus sive de futuro habere possumus. In cujus rei testimonio presentibus his sigillum meum apposui data apud Ercildoun die Martis proximo post festum Sanctorum Apostolorum eezsonie et Jude Anno Domini Millesimo cc. Nonagesimo Nono. ee = he was alive in 1300, (List ef Scottish Poets,) which is hardly, I think, consistent with the charter already quoted, by which his son, in 1299, for himself and his heirs, conveys to the convent of the Trinity of Soltra, the tenement | which he possessed by inheritance (hereditarie) in Ercildoune, with all claim which he or his predecessors could pretend thereto. From this we may infer, that the Rhymer was now dead, since we find the son disposing of the family property. Still, however, the argu- |}ment of the learned historian will remain unimpeached as to the time of the poet’s birth. For if, as we learn from Barbour, his prophecies were held in reputation! as early as 1306, when Bruce slew the Red Cummin, the sanctity, and (let me add to Mr. Pinker- ton’s words) the uncertainty of antiquity, must have already involved his character and writings. In a charter of Peter de Haga de Bemersyde, which unfortunately wants a date, the Rhymer, a near neighbour, and, if we may trust tradition, a friend of the family, 1 The lines alluded to are these ;— **I hope that Thomas’s prophecie, Of Erceldoun, shall truly be, In him,” &c. . ee ee Oe ee Sena eal ieeeeiineetee neeeeeeee ve c > ee OAR ro oe aE: or: “Sees rrr eS A NREL POEUN ER Oe sh CRE GAS, iS Le ES tear OCs Se ae er spotty 0 eee PAE OILED IE EL TREE : ms 4 Nd ns EE TENTS TF % PORTIS ID 428 It cannot be doubted, that Thomas of Ercil- | doune was a remarkable and important person in his own time, since, very shortly after his | death, we find him celebrated as a prophet and as a poet. Whether he himself made any pretensions to the first of these characters, or whether it was gratuitously conferred upon him by the credulity of posterity, it seems difficult to decide. If we may believe Mac- kenzie, Learmont only versified the prophecies | delivered by Eliza, an inspired nun of a con- vent at Haddington. But of this there seems not to be the most distant proof. contrary, all ancient authors, who quote the Rhymer’s prophecies, uniformly suppose them to have been emitted by himself. Thus, in Wintown’s Chronicle— ‘* Of this fycht quilum spak Thomas Of Ersyldoune, that sayd in dere, There suld meit stalwartly, starke and sterne. He sayd it in his prophecy ; But how he wist it was ferly.” Book viii. chap. 32. There could have been no ferly (marvel), in| Wintown’s eyes at least, how Thomas came by his knowledge of future events, had he ever heard of the inspired nun of Haddington, which, it cannot be doubted, would have been a solution of the mystery, much to the taste | of the Prior of Lochleven.! Whatever doubts, however, might have, as to the source of the Rhymer’s prophetic skill, the vulgar had no hesitation | to ascribe the whole to the intercourse between. | the bard and the Queen of Faéry. The popular | tale bears, that Thomas was carried off, at an | early age, to the Fairy Land, where he acquired | all the knowledge, which made him afterwards | so famous. After seven years’ residence, he was permitted to return to the earth, to en- lighten and astonish his countrymen by his | prophetic powers; still, however, remaining bound to return to his royal mistress, when she should intimate her pleasure.2 Accord- ingly, while Thomas was making merry with his friends in the Tower of Ercildoune, a person came running in, and told, with marks TRUE THomMAS lay on Huntlie bank ; A ferlie he spied wi’ his ee ; And there he saw a ladye bright, Come riding down by the Hildon Tree. 1 Henry the Minstrel, who introduces Thomas into the history of Wallace, expresses the same doubt as to the source of his prophetic knowledge :— “Thomas Rhymer into the faile was than With the minister, which was a worthy man. He used oft to that religious place; The people deemed of wit he meikle can, And so he told, though that they bless or ban, In rule of war whether they tint or wan: Which happened sooth in many divers case ; [ cannot say by wrong or righteousness. It may be deeined by division of grace,” &c. History of Wallace, Book ii. 2 See the Dissertation on Fairies, prefixed to Zamlane. On the | the learned | For thy peer on earth I never did see.” — nS A A IN TE EL TT TE TN SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. of fear and astonishment, that a hart and hind had left the neighbouring forest, and were, composedly and slowly, parading the street of the village.! The prophet instantly arose, left his habitation, and followed the wonderful animals to the forest, whence he was never seen to return. According to the popular belief, he still “drees his weird” in Fairy Land, and is one day expected to revisit earth. In the meanwhile, his mem- ory is held in the most profound respect. The Hildon Tree, from beneath the shade of which he delivered his prophecies, now no ‘longer exists; but the spot is marked by a large stone, called Hildon Tree Stone. A /neighbouring rivulet takes the name of the | Bogle Burn (Goblin Brook) from the Rhymer’s | supernatural visitants. The veneration paid to | his dwelling-place even attached itself in some | degree to a person, who, within the memory 'of man, chose to set up his residence in the | yuins of Learmont’s tower. The name of this man was Murray, a kind of herbalist; who, ‘by dint of some knowledge in simples, the possession of a musical clock, an electrical machine, and a stuffed alligator, added to a 'supposed communication with Thomas the 'Rhymer, lived for many years in very good |eredit as a wizard. It seemed to the Editor unpardonable to | dismiss a person so important in Border tradi- tion as the Rhymer, without some farther notice than a simple commentary upon the following ballad. It is given from a copy, obtained from a lady residing not far from Ercildoune, corrected and enlarged by one in Mrs. Brown’s MSS. The former copy, how- ever, as might be expected, is far more minute as to local description. To this old tale the Editor has ventured to add a Second Part, consisting of a kind of cento, from the printed prophecies vulgarly ascribed to the Rhymer ; and a Third Part, entirely modern, founded upon the tradition of his having returned with the hart and hind, to the Land of Faéry. | To make his peace with the more severe anti- | quaries, the Editor has prefixed to the Second . Part some remarks on Learmont’s prophecies. Her shirt was 0’ the grass-green silk, | Her mantle o’ the velvet fyne ; At ilka tett of her horse’s mane, Hung fifty siller bells and nine. True Thomas, he pull’d aff his cap, And louted low down to his knee, ‘* All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven ! “O no, O no, Thomas,” she said, ««That name does not belang to me ; Iam but the Queen of fair Elfland, That am hither come to visit thee. 1 rere SELL TE TI TT 1 There is a singular resemblance betwixt this tyradi- tion, and an incident occurring in the life of Merlin | Caledonius. se nrerererwr acurr sana vamacvavcngrenaccatattsti ttt MANOA DRE A TRL A TE es re een 8 OO teas rer tines nnanommapianis Lapin snaennenn A neem NC AO ts nema tern erin ms mee ewan. cody 2 on! i ' £ N Tf > a ore TCV V- , ~ > rT) $ ; i CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MINSTRELS V. 429 | ; io @ > . ; re iread “ Harp and carp, Thomas,” she said : “But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, ’ “Harp and carp along wi’ me; Whatever ye may hear or see ; _ And if ye dare to kiss my lips, For, if you speak word in Elflyn land, Sure of your bodie I will he.” — “Ye'll ne’er get back to your ain countrie, ” ** Betide me weal, betide me woe, That weird shall never daunton me,”—1 O they rade on, and farther on, Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, And they waded through rivers aboon the All underneath the Eildon Tree. knee, br f < : And they saw neither sun nor moon, N ow, ye maun go wi’ me, she said ; But they heard the roaring of the sea, True Thomas, ye maun gO wi’ me; And ye maun serve me seven years, Thro’ weal or woe as may chance to be.” It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae ; : ; stern light, She mounted on her milk-white steed ; And they waded through red blude to the She’s ta’en true Thomas up behind: knee ; | And aye, whene’er her bridle rung, ‘ For a’ the blude that’s shed on earth The steed flew swifter than the wind. Rins through the springs 0’ that countrie, ‘ O they rade on, and farther on : The steed gaed swifter than the wind ; Syne they came on to a garden green, _ Until they reach’d a desert wide, And she pu’d an apple frae a tree—! And living land was left behind. “ Take this for thy wages, true Thomas : 4 It will give thee the tongue that can never “ Light down, light down, now, true Thomas, lie,” — - ° And lean your head upon my knee: | Abide and rest a little space, And I will shew you ferlies three, “My tongue is mine ain,” true Thomas said : s ; “A gudely gift ye wad gie to me! O see ye not yon harrow road, oat I neither dought to buy nor sell, So thick beset with thorns and briers ? At fair or tryst where I may be. That is the path of righteousness, : Though after it but few enquires. ’ ‘ S 4 “1 dought neither speak to prince or peer, ; “And see ye not that braid braid road, Nor ask of grace from fair ladye.”— f That lies across that lily leven ? “Now hold thy peace!” the lady said, | That is the path of wickedness, “For as I say, so must it be, "— Though some call it the road to heaven. ) ‘And see not ye that bonny road, He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, That winds about the fernie brae ? And a pair of shoes of velvet green ; That is the road to fair Elfland, And till seven years were gane and past, Where thou and I this night maun gae. True Thomas on earth was never seen. i : : ; ; NOTE. | f . THE reader is here presented, from an old, | Incipit Prophesia Thome de Erseldoun. i and unfortunately an imperfect MS., with the In a lande as I was lent, undoubted original of Thomas the Rhymer’s ers ing of the day, intrigue with the Queen of Faéry. It will In Huntle bankys me for to play ; : , % T saw the throstyl, and the jay, ; afford great amusement to those who would Ye mawes movyde of her song, ; - - A Mkt Tien Ape Ye wodwale sange notes gay, ; Study the nature of traditional poeti y, and That al the wod about range. | the changes effected by oral tradition, to com- In that longyng as I lay, ; ’ : . fat 3 Undir nethe a dern tre, ' | pare this ancient romance with the foregoing I was war of a lady gay, _ ballad. The same incidents are narrated, Zogh ER ite Geren 5 5 : © ’ { even the expression is often the same; yet a = ag to wrabbe and wry, E ‘ ertenly all hyr aray, ' the poems are as different im appearance, as if | It beth neuyer discryuyd for me, the older tale had been regularly and system- | . . x ere te | 1 The traditional commentary upon this ballad informs | atically modernized by a poet of the present us, that the apple was the produce of the fatal Tree of { day. | Knowledge, and that the garden was the terrestrial] i | paradise. The repugnance of Thomas to be debarred the ; Sa a use of falsehood, when he might find it convenient, has a ; l That weird, &c,—That destiny shall never frighten me. | comic effect. 5 Do netrteennre a AN is Re aR ae A Ci Se RCW EAs cee Ps we erm vanaaaa nies tig ee - ene . >| = t Lf SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. Alas, he seyd, ful wo is me, I trow wy dedes will werke me care, Jesu, my sole tak to ye, Sn C8. reir pinararmmmmnen a . . Hyr palfra was dappyll gray, | Sycke on say neuer none ; As the son in somers day, Sy ae re ARIE ETT IIE ITT Sar a aN ETE SEATTLE TCT I All abowte that lady schone. Hyr sadel was of a rewel bone, A semly syght it was to se, 3ryht with mony a precyous stone, And compasyd all with crapste ; Stones of oryens, gret plente, Her hair about her hede it hang, She rode ouer the farnyle, ‘A while she blew, a while she sang, Her girths of nobil silke they were, Her boculs were of beryl stone, Sadyll and brydil war - - 3 With sylk and sendel about bedone, Hyr patyrel was of a pall fyne, And hyr croper of the arase, Her brydil was of gold fyne, On euery syde forsothe hang bells thre, Her brydilreynes - - - ‘A emily 8YZb)~ a Crop and patyrel - - - In every joynt - - - - She led thre grew houndes in a leash, And ratches cowpled by her ran ; She bar an horn about her halse, And undir her gyrdil mene flene. Thomas lay and sa - - - In the bankes of - = - - He sayd Yonder is Mary of Might, That bar the child that died for me, ; Certes bot I may speke with that lady bright, Myd my hert will breke in three ; I schal me hye with ail my might, Hyr to mete at Eldyn Tre. Thomas rathly up her rase, And ran ouer mountayn hye, Tf it be sothe the story says, He met her euyn at Eldyn Tre. Thomas knelyd down on his kne Undir nethe the grenewood spray, And sayd, Lovely lady, thou rue on me, Queen of Heaven as you may well be. But Lama lady of another countrie, Tf I be pareld most of prise, I ride after the wild fee, My ratches rinnen at my devys. If thou be pareld most of prise, ‘And rides a lady in strang foly. Lovely lady, as thou art wise, Giue you me leue to lige ye by. Do way, Thomas, that were foly, I pray ye, Thomas, late me be, That sin will fordo all my bewtie. Lovely ladye, rewe on me, ‘And euer more I shall with ye dwell, Here my trowth I plyght to thee, Where you belieues in heuin or hell. Thomas, and you myght lyge me by, Undir nethe this grene wode spray, Thou would tell full hastely, That thou had layn by a lady gay. Lady, mote [ lyge by the, Undir nethe the grene wode tre, For all the gold in chrystenty, Suld you neuer be wryede for me. Man on molde you will me marre, And yet bot you may haf your will, Trow you well, Thomas, you cheuyst ye warre; For all iny bewtie wilt you spill. Down lyghtyd that lady bryzt, Undir nethe the grene wode spray, And as ye story sayth full ryzt, Seuyn tymes by her he lay. She sayd, Man, you lyst thi play, What berde in bouyr may dele with thee, That maries me all this long day ; I pray ye, Thomas, let me be. Thomas stode up in the stede, And behelde the lady gay, Her heyre hang down about hyr hede, The tane was blak, the other gray, Her eyn semyt onte before was gray, Her gay clethyng was all away, That he before had sene in that stede Hyr body as blow’as ony bede. Thomas sighede, and sayd, Allas, Me thynke this a dullfull syght, That thou art fadyd in the face, Before you shone as son so bryzt. Tak thy leue, Thomas, at son and mone, At gresse, and at euery tre, This twelmonth sall you with me gone, Medyl erth you sall not se, Whedir so euyr my body sal fare. She rode furth with all her myzt, Undir nethe the derne lee, Tt was as derke as at midnizt, And euyr in water unto the kne ; Through the space of days thre, He herde but swowyng of a flode ; Thomas sayd, Ful wo is me, Now I spyll for fawte of fode ; To a garden she lede him tyte, There was fruyte in grete plente, Peyres and appless ther were rype, The date and the damese, The figge and als fylbert tre; The nyghtyngale bredyng in her neste, The papigaye about gan fle, The throstylcock sang wald hafe no rest. He pressed to pulle fruyt with his hand, ‘As man for faute that was faynt ; She seyd, Thomas, lat al stand, Or els the deuyl] wil the ataynt. sche seyd, Thomas, I the hyzt, To lay thi hede upon my kne, ‘And thou shalt see fayrer syght, Than euyr sawe man in their kintre. Sees thou, Thomas, yon fayr way, That lyggs ouyr yone fayr playn? Yonder is the way to heuyn for ay, Whan synful sawles haf derayed their payne. Sees thou, Thomas, yon secund way, That lygges lawe undir the ryse? Streight is the way, sothly to say, To the joyes of paradyce. Sees thou, Thomas, yon thyrd way, That lygges ouyr yone how ? Wide is the way, sothly to say, To the brynyng fyres of helle. Sees thou, Thomas, yone fayr castell, That standes ouyr yone fair hill? Of town and tower it beereth the belle, In middell erth is none like theretill. Whan thou comyst in yone castell gaye, I pray thee curteis man to be; W hat so any man to you say, Loke thu answer none but me. My lord is servyd at yche messe, With xxx kniztes feir and fre ; I shall say syttyng on the dese, T toke thy speche beyond the le. Thomas stode as still as stone, And behelde that ladye gaye 5 Than was sche fayr, and ryche anone, And also ryal on hir palfreye. The grewhoundes had fylde thaim on the dere, The raches coupled, by my fay, She blewe her horne Thomas to chere, To the castell she went her way. The ladye into the hall went, Thomas folowyd at her hand ; Thar kept her mony a lady gent, With curtasy and lawe. Harp and fedyl both he fande, The getern and the sawtry, Lut and rybid ther gon gan, Thair was al maner of myustralsy, The most fertly that Thomas thoght, When he com emyddes the flore, Fourty hertes to quarry were broght, That had ben befor both long and store. Lymors lay lappyng blode, And kokes standyng with dressyng knyfe, And dressyd dere as thai wer wode, And rewell was thair wonder. Knyghtes dansyd by two and thre, All that leue long day. Ladyes that were gret of gre, Sat and gang of rych aray. Thomas sawe much more in that place, Than I can descryve, Til on a day, alas, alas, My lovelye ladye sayd to me, Busk ye, Thomas, you must agayu, Here you may no longer be: Hy then zerne that you were at hame, I sal ye bryng to Eldyn Tre. Thomas answerd with heuy And said, Lowely ladye, lat me be, For I say ye certenly here Haf I be bot the space of dayes three. Sothly, Thomas, as I telle ye, You hath ben here thre yeres, And here you may no longer be; : ; | : TOE ere EE EEE TOES IIT EOE CE TT OS CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MINSTRELSY. 4 31 And I sal tele ye a skele, To-morowe of helle ye foule fende -Amang our folke shall chuse his fee ; For you art a larg man and an hende, Trowe you wele he will chuse thee. Fore all the golde that may be, Fro hens unto the worldes ende, Sall you not be betrayed by me, And thairfor sall you hens wende. She broght hym euyn to Eldyn Tre, Undir nethe the grene wode spray, In Huntle bankes was fayr to be, Ther breddes syng both nyzt and day. Ferre ouyr yon montayns gray, Ther hathe my facon ; Fare wele, Thomas, I wende my way. * *® + +: + * The Elfin Queen, after restoring Thomas to earth, pours forth a string of prophecies, in which we distinguish references to the events and personages of the Scottish wars of Ed- ward III. The battles of Duplin and Halidon are mentioned, and also Black Agnes, Coun- tess of Dunbar, There is a copy of this poem in the Museum of the Cathedral of Lincoln, 'another in the collection in Peterborough, but unfortunately they are all in an imperfect | state. Mr. Jamieson, in his curious Collection | of Scottish Ballads and Songs, has an entire copy of this ancient poem, with all the col- lations. The lacune of the former editions have been supplied from his copy. PART SECOND. ALTERED FROM ANCIENT PROPHECIES. THE prophecies, ascribed to Thomas of Ercil- doune, have been the principal means of se- curing to him remembrance “amongst the sons of his people.” The author of Sir Tristrem would long ago have joined, in the vale of oblivion, “Clerk of Tranent, who wrote the adventure of Schir Gawain,” if, by good hap, the same current of ideas respecting antiquity, which causes Virgil to be regarded as a magi- cian by the Lazaroni of Naples, had not exalted the bard of Ercildoune to the prophetic charac- ter. Perhaps, indeed, he himself affected it during his life. We know at least, for certain, that a belief in his supernatural knowledge was current soon after his death. His pro- phecies are alluded to by Barbour, by Wintoun, | and by Henry the Minstrel, or Blind Harry, | as heisusually termed. None of these authors, however, give the words of any of the Rhymer’s vaticinations, but merely narrate, historically, his having predicted the events of which they speak. The earliest of the prophecies ascribed to him, which is now extant, is quoted by Mr. Pinkerton from a MS. It is supposed to be a response from Thomas of Ercildoune to a question from the heroic Countess of March, renowned for the defence of the castle of Dun- When prude (pride) prikes and pees is leyd in prisoun ; When a Scot ne me hym hude ase hare in forme that the English ne shall hym fynde ; When rycht ant wronge astente the togedere ; When laddes weddeth lovedies ; When Scottes flen so faste, that, for faute of shep, hy drowneth hemselve ; When shal this be ? Nouther in thine tyme ne in mine; Ah comen ant gone Withinne twenty winter ant one.” PINKERTON’S Poems, from MAITLAND’S MSS. quoting Jrom Hart. Lib. 2253. F. 127. As I have never seen the MS. from which Mr. Pinkerton makes this extract, and as the date of it is fixed by him (certainly one of the most able antiquaries of our age) to the reign of Edward I. or II., it is with great diffidence that I hazard a contrary opinion. There can, however, I believe, be little doubt, that these prophetic verses are a forgery, and not the production of our Thomas the Rhymer. But iam inclined to believe them of a later date than the reign of Edward I. or II. The gallant defence of the castle of Dunbar, | by Black Agnes, took place in the year 1337, The Rhymer died previous to the year 1299 (see the charter, by his son, in the introduction to the foregoing ballad.) It seems, therefore, very improbable, that the Countess of Dunbar could ever have an opportunity of consulting | Thomas the Rhymer, since that would infer bar against the English, and termed, in the | familiar dialect of her time, Black Agnes of Dunbar. This prophecy is remarkable, in so | far as it bears very little resemblance to any } verses published in the printed copy of the Rhymer’s supposed prophecies. The verses are as follows :— “ La Countesse de Donbar demande a Thomas de Esse- | doune quant la guerre d’Escoce prendreit fyn. Eylla repoundy et dyt, When man is mad a kyng of a capped man; When man is levere other mones thyng than his owen; When londe thouys forest, ant forest is felde ; When hares kendles o’ the her’stane ; When Wyt and Wille werres togedere; When mon makes stables of kyrkes, and steles castels with stye; When Rokesboroughe nys no burgh ant market is at Forwyleye; When Bambourne is donged with dede men; When men ledes men in ropes to buyen and to sellen; When a quarter of whaty whete is chaunged for a colt of ten markes; that she was married, or at least engaged in state matters, previous to 1299; whereas she is described as a young, or a middle-aged woman, at the period of her being besieged in the fortress, which she so well defended. If the Editor might indulge a conjecture, he would suppose, that the prophecy was con- trived for the encouragement of the English invaders during the Scottish wars; and that the names of the Countess of Dunbar, and of | Thomas of Ercildoune, were used for the greater credit of the forgery. According to this hypothesis, it seems likely to have been composed after the siege of Dunbar, which had made the name of the Countess well known, and consequently in the reign of Edward IIL. | The whole tendency of the prophecy is to aver, | that there shall be no end of the Scottish wa: | (concerning which the question was proposed), till a final conquest of the country by England, attended by all the usual severities of war, i nti NE e en Pearipmiatemmmancrs or: caper orange pe) smears An . ‘ we Some nf cuties envi es eRe es "y : ; A ee Se ey I 8 I ERE ER TENS YN NE NOR YO ee EN mee Treg r= a meron meannmenans comes rum we eesti: SrA = te ar RI 432 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. ‘““When the cultivated country shall become forest,” says the prophecy ;—‘‘ when the wild animals shall inhabit the abode of men ;—when Scots shall not be able to escape the English, should they crouch as hares in their form ”— all these denunciations seem to refer to the | time of Edward III., upon whose victories the prediction was probably founded. The men- tion of the exchange betwixt a colt worth ten marks, and a quarter of ‘“‘ whaty wheat,” seems to allude to the dreadful famine, about the year 1388. The independence of Scotland was, however, as impregnable to the mines of superstition, as to the steel of our more power- ful and more wealthy neighbours. The war of Scotland is, thank God, at an end; but it is ended without her people having either crouched like hares in their form, or being drowned in their flight, ‘‘for faute of ships,” —thank God for that too.—The prophecy, quoted page 429, is probably of the same date, and intended for the same purpose. A minute search of the records of the time would, probably, throw additional light upon theallusions contained in these ancient legends. Among various rhymes of prophetic import, which are at this day current amongst the people of Teviotdale, is one, supposed to be pronounced by Thomas the Rhymer, presaging the destruction of his habitation and family: ‘The hare sall kittle on my hearth stane, Aud there will never be a Laird Learmont again,” The first of these lines is obviously borrowed from that in the MS. of the Harl. Library,— ‘“*When hares kendles o’ the her’stane”—an emphatic image of desolation. It is also inac- curately quoted in the prophecy of Waldhave, published by Andro Hart, 1613: ‘This is a true talking that Thomas of tells, The hare shall hirple on the hard stane.” Spottiswoode, an honest, but credulous his- torian, seems to have been a firm believer in the authenticity of the prophetic wares, vended in the name of Thomas of Ercildoune. ‘ The prophecies, yet extant in Scottish rhymes, whereupon he was commonly called Thomas the Rhymer, may justly be admired ; having foretold, so many ages before, the union of England and Scotland in the ninth degree of | the Bruce’s blood, with the succession of Bruce himself to the crown, being yet a child, and other divers particulars, which the event hath ratified and made good. Boethius, in his story, relateth his prediction of King Alex- ander’s death, and that he did foretel the same to the Earl of March, the day be‘»re it fell out ; saying, ‘That before the next day at noon, such a tempest should blow, as Scotland had not felt for many years before.’ The next morning, the day being clear, and no change appearing in the air, the nobleman did chal- lenge Thomas of his saying, calling him an impostor. He replied, that noon was not yet passed. About which time a post came to advertise the earl of the king his sudden death. ‘Then,’ said Thomas, ‘this is the tempest I foretold ; and so it shall prove to Scotland.’ Whence, or how, he had this knowledge ean | hardly be affirmed ; but sure it is, that he did divine and answer truly of many things to come.”—SPorriswooDE, p. 47. Besides that notable voucher, Master Hector Boece, the good archbishop might, had he been so minded, have referred to Fordun for the prophecy of King Alexander’s death. That historian calls our bard ‘‘ rwralis ille vates.”—FoRDUN, lib. x. Cap. 40. What Spottiswoode calls ‘‘the prophecies extant in Scottish rhyme,” are the metrical | productions ascribed to the seer of Hrcildoune, which, with many other compositions of the same nature, bearing the names of Bede, Mer- lin, Gildas, and other approved soothsayers, are contained in one small volume, published by Andro Hart, at Edinburgh, 1615. Nisbet the herald (who claims the prophet of Ercil- doune as a brother-professor of his art, found- ing upon the various allegorical and emble- matical allusions to heraldry) intimates the existence of someearlier copy of his prophecies than that of Andro Hart, which, however, he does not pretend to have seen.! The late ex- cellent Lord Hailes made these compositions the subject of a dissertation, published in his Remarks on the History of Scotland. His atten- tion is chiefly directed to the celebrated pro- 1 “The muscle is a square figure like a lozenge, but it is always voided of the field. They are carried as principal figures by the name of Learmont. Learmont of Ear'ls- toun, in the Merss, carried or on a bend azure three muscles; of which family was Sir Thomas Learmont, who is well known by the name of Thomas the Rhymer, because he wrote his prophecies in rhime. This pro- phetick herauld lived in the days of King Alexander the Third, and prophesied of his death, and of many other remarkable occurrences; particularly of the union of Scotland with England, which was not accomplished until the reign of James the Sixth, some hundred years after it was foretold by this gentleman, whose prophecies are much esteemed by many of the vulgar even at this day. I was promised by a friend a sight of his pro- phecies, of which there is everywhere to be had an epitome, which, I suppose, is erroneous, and differs in many things from the original, it having been oft re- printed by some unskilful pers ns. Thus many things are amissing in the small book which are to be met with in the original, particularly these two lines con- cerning his neighbour, Bemerside :— ‘Tyde what may betide, Haig shall be laird of Bemerside.’ And indeed his prophecies concerning that ancient family | have hitherto been true; for, since that time to this day, the Haigs have been lairds of that place. They | carrie, Azure a saltier cantoned with two stars in chief and in base argent, as many crescents in the flanques or; and for crest a rock proper, with this motto, taken from the ahove-writteu thyme—‘ Tide what may.’”—NISBET on Marks of Cadency, p. 158. He adds, ‘‘that Thomas’ meaning way be understoo? by heralds when he speaks of kingdoms whose insignia seldom vary, but that indiyidual families cannot be discovered, either because they have altered their bearings, or hecause they are pointed out by their crests and exterior ornaments, which are changed at the pleasure of tue bearer.” Mr. Nishet, however, com- forts himself for this obscurity, by reflecting, that “we may certainly conclude, from his writings. that heranldry was in good esteem in his days, and well known to the vulgar.”—Jbid. p. 160. It may be added, that the publica. tion of predictions, either printed or hieroglyphical. in | which noble families were pointed out by their armorial | bearings, was, in the time of Queen Elizabeth, extremely | common; and the influence of such predictions on the minds of the common people was so great as to occasion a prohibition, by statute, of prophecy by reference to heraldic emblems. Lord Henry Howard also (afterwards | Barl of Northampton) directs against this practice much of the reasoning in his learned treatise, entitled, ‘A Defensation against the Poyson of pretended Pro- phecies.” [2p ASRS ROP TS LOO ITI OL IOEPE ST SE CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MINSTRELSY. 433 phecy of our bard, mentioned by Bishop Spottiswoode, bearing, that the crowns of England and Scotland should be united in the | person of a King, son of a French Queen, and related to Bruce in the ninth degree. Lord Hailes plainly proves, that this prophecy is perverted from its original purpose, in order to | The | groundwork of the forgery is to be found in | apply it to the succession of James VI. the prophecies of Berlington, contained in the same collection, and runs thus: “Of Bruce’s left side shall spring out a leafe, As neere as the ninth degree ; And shall be fleemed of faire Scotland, In Frauce farre beyond the sea. And then shall come again ryding, With eyes that many men may see. At Aberladie he shall light, With hempen helteres and horse of tre. However it happen for to fall, The lyon shall be lord of all; The French Quen shall bearre the sonne, Shall rule all Britainne to the sea ; Ane from the Bruce’s blood shal come also, As neere as the ninth degree. Yet shal there come a keene knight over the salt sea, A keene man of courage and bold man of armes; A duke’s son dowbled, a born mau in France, That shall our mirths augment, and mend all our harmes ; After oe date of our Lord 1513, and thrice three there- after ; Which shall brooke all the broad isle to himself. Between 13 and thrice three the threip shall be ended, The Saxons shall never recover after.” There cannot be any doubt that this pro- | phecy was intended to excite the confidence of | the Scottish nation in the Duke of Albany, regent of Scotland, who arrived from France in 1515, two years after the death of James IV. in the fatal field of Flodden. The Regent was descended of Bruce by the left, i.e. by the female side, within the ntnth degree. His mother was daughter of the Earl of Boulogne, his father banished from his country—‘‘fleemit of fair Scotland.” His arrival must necessarily be by sea, and his landing was expected at Aberlady, in the Frith of Forth. He was a duke’s son, dubbed knight; and nine years, | from 1513, are allowed him, by the pretended | C2ble to the union of the crowns. prophet, for the accomplishment of the salva- tion of his country, and the exaltation of Scotland over her sisterand rival. All this was a pious fraud, to excite the confidence and spirit of the country. The prophecy, putin the nameof our Thomas the Rhymer, as it stands in Hart's oes | afterwards Duke of Chatelherault, during the Rhymer upon a land beside a lee, who shows | to a later period. The narrator him many emblematical visions, described in Who can doubt, for a moment, that this refers to the battle of Flodden, and to the popular reports concerning the doubtful fate of James 1V.? Allusion is immediately after- wards made to the death of George Douglas, heir apparent of Angus, who fought and fell with his sovereign :— “The sternes three that day shall die, That bears the harte in silver sheen.” The well-known arms of the Douglas family are the heart and three stars. In another place, the battle of Pinkie is expressly mentioned by name :— “At Pinken Cluch there shall be spilt Much gentie blood that day ; There shall the bear lose the guilt, And the eagill bear it away.” To the end of all this allegorical and mystical rhapsody, is interpolated, in the later edition by Andro Hart, a new edition of Berlington’s verses, before quoted, altered and manu- factured, so as to bear reference to the acces- sion of James VI., which had just then taken place. The insertion.is made with a peculiar degree of awkwardness, betwixt a question, | put by the narrator, concerning the name and abode of the person who showed him these strange matters, and the answer of the prophet | to that question :— “Then to the Beirne could I say, Where dwells thou, or in what countrie ? [Or who shall rule the isle of Britane, From the north to the south sey ? A French queene shall bear the sonne, Shall rule all Britaine to the sea ; Which of the Bruce’s blood shall come, As neere as the nint degree; I frained fast what was his name, Where that he came, from what country.) In Erslingtoun I dwell at hame, Thomas Rymour men cals me.” There is surely no one, who will not conclude, with Lord Hailes, that the eight lines, enclosed in brackets, are a clumsy interpolation, bor- rowed from Berlington, with such alterations as might render the supposed prophecy appli- While we are on this subject, it may be proper briefly to notice the scope of some of the other predictions, in Hart’s Collection. As the prophecy of Berlington was intended to raise the spirits of the nation, during the regency of Albany, so those of Sybilla and Eltraine refer to that of the Earl of Arran, minority of Mary, a period of similar calamity. This is obvious from the following verses :—~ “Take a thousand in calculation, no mean strain of poetry. They chiefly relate to the fields of Flodden and Pinkie, to the na- tional distress which followed these defeats, and to future haleyon days, which are promised And the longest of the lyon, Four crescents under one crowne, With Saint Andrew’s croce thrise, Then threescore and thrise three: to Scotland. One quotation or two will be sufficient to establish this fully :— ‘* Our Scottish King sal come ful keene, The red lyon beareth he ; A feddered arrow sharp, I ween, Shall make him winke and warre to see. Out of the field he shall be led, When he is bludie and woe for blood ; Yet to his men shall he say, * For God’s love turn you againe, And give yon sutherne folk a frey ! Why should I lose the right is mine? My date is not to die this day.’ ” Take tent to Merling truely, Then shall the wars ended be, And never again rise. In that yere there shall a king, A duke, and no crowned king: Becaus the prince shall be yong, And tender of yeares.” The date, above hinted at, seems to be 1549, when the Seottish Regent, by means of some succours derived from France, was endeavour- |ing to repair the consequences of the fatal battle of Pinkie. Allusion is made to the ee namin fi + . ™~ SCOTT'S. POETICAL) WORK supply given to the “‘ Moldwarte by the fained | hart,” (the Earl of Angus.) The Regent is described by his bearing the antelope ; large supplies are promised from France, and com- plete conquest predicted to Scotland and her allies. Thus was the same hackneyed stratagem repeated, whenever the interest of the rulers appeared to stand in need of it. The Regent was not, indeed, till after this period, created Duke of Chatelherault ; but that honour was the object of his hopes and expectations. The name of our renowned soothsayer is liberally used as an authority, throughout all the prophecies published by Andro Hart. Be- sides those expressly put in his name, Gildas, another assumed personage, is supposed to derive his knowledge from him ; for he con- cludes thus :— “True Thomas me told in a troublesome time, In a harvest morn at Eldoun hills.” The Prophecy of Gildas. In the prophecy of Berlington, quoted, we are told, ‘* Marvellous Merlin, that many men of tells, And Thomas’s sayings comes all at once.” While I am upon the subject of these pro- phecies, may I be permitted to call the atten- tion of antiquaries to Merdwynn Wylit, or Merlin the -Wild, in whose name, and by no means in that of Ambrose Merlin, the friend of Arthur, the Scottish prophecies are issued? That this personage resided at Drummelziar, and roamed, like a second Nebuchadnezzar, the woods of Tweeddale, in remorse for the death of his nephew, we learn from Fordun. In the Scotichronicon, lib. 3, cap. 31, is an account of an interview betwixt St. Kentigern and Merlin, then in this distracted and miser- able state. He is said to have been called Lailoken, from his mode of life. On being commanded by the saint to give an account of himself, he says, that the penance which he | performs was imposed on him by a voice from heaven, during a bloody contest betwixt Lidel and Carwanolow, of which battle he had been the cause. According to his own prediction, | he perished at once by wood, earth, and water ; | for, being pursued with stones by the rustics, he fell from a rock into the river Tweed, and was transfixed by a sharp stake, fixed there | for the purpose of extending a fishing-net :— already | ** Sude perfossus, lapide percussus, et unda, Heec tria Merlinum fertur inire necem. Sicque rwit, mersusque fuit lignoque prehensus, Et fecit vatem per terna pericula verum.” But, in a metrical history of Merlin of Cale- donia, compiled by Geoffrey of Monmouth, from the traditions of the Welsh bards, this mode of death is attributed to a page, whom Merlin’s sister, desirous to convict the prophet | of falsehood, because he had betrayed her in- trigues, introduced to him, under three various | disguises, enquiring each time in what manner the person should die. To the first demand | Merlin answered, the party should perish by a fall from a rock ; to the second, that he should die by a tree ; and to the third, that he should be drowned. The youth perished, while hunt- ing, in the mode imputed by Fordun to Merlin himself Fordun, contrary to the French authorities, confounds this person with the Merlin of Arthur ; but concludes by informing us, that many believed him to be a different person. The grave of Merlin is pointed out at Drum- melziar, in Tweeddale, beneath an aged thorn- tree. On the east-side of the churchyard, the brook, called Pausayl, falls into the Tweed ; and the following prophecy is said to have been current concerning their union :— ‘‘When Tweed and Pausayl join at Merlin’s grave, Scotland and England shall one monarch have.” On the day of the coronation of James VI. the Tweed accordingly overflowed, and joined the Pausayl at the prophet’s grave.—PENNYCUICK’S History of Tweeddale, p. 26. These circum- | stances would seem to infer a communication betwixt the south-west of Scotland and Wales, of a nature peculiarly intimate ; for I presume that Merlin would retain sense enough to choose for the scene of his wanderings, a country having a language and manners similar to his own. Be this as it may, the memory of Merlin Sylvester, or the Wild, was fresh among the Scots during the reign of James V. Waldhave,! under whose name a set of prophecies was published, describes himself as lying upon Lomond Law; he hears a voice, which bids him stand to his defence; he looks around, and beholds a flock of hares and foxes? pur- 1 JT do not know whether the person here meant be | Waldhave, an abbot of Melrose, who died in the odour of sanctity, about 1160. 2 The strange occupation, in which Waldhave beholds Merlin engaged, derives some illustration from a curious passage in Geoffrey of Monmouth’s life of Merlin, above quoted. The poem, after narrating that the prophet had flea to the forest in a state of distraction, proceeds to men- | . . . | tion, that, looking upon the stars one clear evening, he discerned from his astrological knowledge, that his wife, Guendolen, had resolved, upon the next morning, to take another husband. As he had presaged to her that this would happen, and had promised her a nuptial gift (cau- tioning her, however, to keep the bridegroom out of his | sight,) he now resolved to make good his word, Accord- | ingly, he collected all the stags and lesser game in his neighbourhood ; and, having seated himself upon a buck, drove the herd before him to the capital of Cumberland, where Guendolen resided. But her lover’s curiosity | leading him to inspect too nearly this extraordinary cavalcade, Merlin’s rage was awakened, and he slew him with the stroke of an antler of the stag. The origina] runs thus ;— Dixerat ; et siluas et saltus circwit omnes, Cervorumque greges agmen collegit in unum, Et damas, capreasque simul ; cervoque resedit, Et, veniente die, compellens agmina pre se, Festinans vadit quo nubit Guendolena. Postquam venit eo, pacienter ipse coegit Cervos ante fores, proclamans, ‘Guendolend, Guendolena, veni, te talia munera spectant.’ Ocius ergo venit subridens Guendolena, Gestarique virum cervo miratur, et illum Sic parere viro, tantwm quoque posse ferarum Uniri numerum quas pre se solus agebat, Sicut pastor oves, quas ducere suevit ad herbas. Stabat ab excelsa sponsus spectando fenestra, In solio mirans equitem, riswmque movebat, Ast ubi vidit eum vates, animoque quis esset Calluit, extemplo divulsit cornua cervo Quo gestabatur, vibrataque jecit in illum, Et caput illius penitus contrivit, ewmque Reddidit exanimem, vitamque fugavit in awras ; Ocius inde suum, talorwm verbere, cervum Diffugiens egit, siluasque redire paravit.” For a perusal of this curious poem, accurately copied from a MS. in the Cotton Library, nearly coeval with the author, I was indebted to my learned friend, the late Mr. Ritson. There is an excellent paraphrase of it in the curious and entertaining Specimens of Early English Romances, published by Mr. Ellis, einstein a CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MINSTRELSY. 435 sued over the mountain by a savage figure, to whom he can hardly give the name of man. At the sight of Waldhave, the apparition leaves the objects of his pursuit, and assaults him with a club. Waldhave defends himself with his sword, throws the savage to the earth, and refuses to let him arise till he swear, by the law and lead he lives upon, “to do him no | harm.” This done, he permits him to arise, and marvels at his strange appearance :— “ He was formed like a freike all his four quarters ; And then his chin and his face haired so thick, With haire growing so grime, fearful to see.” He answers briefly to Waldhave’s enquiry con- cerning his name and nature, that he “ drees his weird,” z.e., does penance in that wood ; and, having hinted that questions as to his own state are offensive, he pours forth an ob- scure rhapsody concerning futurity, and con- cludes, “Go musing upon Merlin if thou wilt: For I mean no more, man, at this time.” This is exactly similar to the meeting be- twixt Merlin and Kentigernin Fordun. These prophecies of Merlin seem to have been in re- quest in the minority of James V. ; for, among the amusements with which Sir David Lind- say diverted that prince during his infancy, | matron, called Sybilla, Regina — ae S rim, were - ae eee INL TET IEEE LES LET Ie OLLI LLL ET TT SCOTT?S. POETICAL WOKKe. : 430 | Bothwellhaugh rode straight to Hamilton, where he was received in triumph; for the ashes of the houses in Clydesdale, which had been burned by Murray’s army, were yet smoking ; and party prejudice, the habits of the age, and the enormity of the provocation, | seemed to his kinsmen to justify his deed. After a short abode at Hamilton, this fierce and determined man left Scotland, and served | in France, under the patronage of the family of Guise, to whom he was doubtless recom- mended by having avenged the cause of their niece, Queen Mary, upon her ungrateful bro- ther. De Thou has recorded, that an attempt was made to engage him to assassinate Gaspar | de Coligni, the famous Admiral of France, and | the buckler of the Huguenot cause. But the character of Bothwellhaugh was mistaken. He was no mercenary trader in blood, and rejected the offer with contempt and indignation. He had no authority, he said, from Scotland to commit murders in France; he had avenged his own just quarrel, but he would neither, for price nor prayer, avenge that of another man.— | Thuanus, cap. 46. The Regent’s death happened 23rd January, 1569. Itis applauded or stigmatized, by con- WHEN princely Hamilton’s abode Ennobled Cadyow’s Gothic towers, The song went round, the goblet flow’d, And revel sped the laughing hours. Then, thrilling to the harp’s gay sound, So sweetly rung each vaulted wall, And echoed light the dancer’s bound, As mirth and music cheer’d the hall. But Cadyow’s towers, in ruins laid, And vaults, by ivy mantled o’er, Thrill to the music of the shade, Or echo Evan’s hoarser roar. Yet still, of Cadyow’s faded fame, You bid me tell a minstrel tale, And tune my harp, of Border frame, On the wild banks of Evandale. For thou, from scenes of courtly pride, From pleasure’s lighter scenes, canst turn, To draw oblivion’s pall aside, And mark the long-forgotten urn. Then, noble maid! at thy command, Again the crumbled halls shall rise ; Lo! as on Evan’s banks we stand, The past returns—the present flies. Where, with: the rock’s wood cover’d side, Were blended late the ruins green, Rise turrets in fantastic pride, And feudal banners flaunt between : Where the rude torrent’s brawling course Was shagg’d with thorn and tangling slve, The ashler buttress braves its force, And ramparts frown in battled row. | temporary historians, according to their reli- | gious or party prejudices. The triumph of | Blackwood is unbounded. He not only extols the pious feat of Bothwellhaugh, “who,” he observes, ‘‘ satisfied, with a single ounce of lead, him, whose sacrilegious avarice had stripped the metropolitan church of St. Andrews of its covering ;”’ but he ascribes it to immediate divine inspiration, and the escape of Hamilton to little less than the miraculous interference of the Deity.—JEBB, vol. ii. p. 263. With equal injustice, it was, by others, made the ground of a general national reflec- tion; for, when Mather urged Berney to assassinate Burleigh, and quoted the examples of Poltrot and Bothwellhaugh, the other con- spirator answered, ‘that neyther Poltrot nor | Hambleton did attempt their enterpryse, with- out some reason or consideration to lead them to it; as the one, by hyre, and promise of preferment or rewarde; the other, upon des- perate mind of revenge, for alyttle wrong done unto him, as the report goethe, according to the vyle trayterous dysposysyon of the hoole natyon of the Scottes.” —MurDIn’s State Papers, vol. i. p. 197. Tis night—the shade of keep and spire Obscurely dance on Evan’s stream ; | And on the wave the warder’s fire Is chequering the moonlight beam. | Fades slow their light ; the east is grey ; | The weary warder leaves his tower ; Steeds snort; uncoupled stag-hounds bay, And merry hunters quit the bower. The drawbridge falls—they hurry out— Clatters each plank and swinging chain, As, dashing o’er, the jovial rout Urge the shy steed, and slack the rein. First of his troop, the Chief rode on ;} His shouting merry-men throng behind ; The steed of princely Hamilton Was fleeter than the mountain wind. From the thick copse the roebucks bound, The startled red-deer scuds the plain, For the hoarse bugle’s warrior sound Has roused their mountain haunts again. Through the huge oaks of Evandale, Whose limbs a thousand years have worn, What sullen roar comes down the gale, And drowns the hunter’s pealing horn? Mightiest of all the beasts of chase, That roam in woody Caledon, Crashing the forest in his race, The Mountain Bull comes thundering on. was James, Earl of Arran, Duke of Chatelherault, in France, and first peer of the Scottish realm. In 1569, he was appointed by Queen Mary her lieutenant-general in Scotland, under the singular title of her adopted father. ; 1 The head of the family of Hamilton, at this period, | CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER Fierce, on the hunter's quiver’d band, He rolls his eyes of swarthy glow, Spurns, with black hoof and horn, the sand, And tosses high his mane of snow. AAim’d well, the Chieftain’s lance has flown : Struggling in blood the savage lies ; His roar is sunk in hollow groan— Sound, merry huntsmen ! sound the pryse /! ‘Tis noon—against the knotted oak The hunters rest the idle spear ; Curls through the trees the slender smoke, Where yeomen dight the woodland cheer. Proudly the Chieftain mark’d his clan, On greenwood lap ull careless thrown, Yet miss’d his eye the boldest man, That bore the name of Hamilton. “Why fills not Bothwellhaugh his place, Still wont our weal and woe to share? Why comes he not our sport to grace? Why shares he not our hunter’s fare ?”— Stern Claud replied,? with darkening face, (Grey Paisley’s haughty lord was he,) ‘* At merry feast, or buxom chase, No more the warrior wilt thou see. ‘* Rew suns have set since Woodhouselee3 Saw Bothwellhaugh’s bright goblets foam, When to his hearths, in social glee, The war-worn soldier turn’d him home. 1 Pryse—The note blown at the death of the game.—In Caledonia olim frequens erat sylvestris quidam bos, nune vero rarior, qui, colore candidissimo, jubum densam et demissam instar leonis gestat, truculentus ac ferus ab hwnano genere abhorrens, ut quecunque homines vel | manibus contrectdrint, vel halitu perjfiaverint, ab iis multos post dies omnino abstinuerunt. Ad hoc tanta audacia huic bovi indita erat, ut non solum irritatus equites furenter prosterneret, sed ne tantillum lacessitus omnes promiscue homines cornibus ac ungulis peteret ; ac canwn, qui apud nos ferocissimi sunt, tinpetus plane con- temneret. Ejus carnes cartilayinose, sed saporis suavis- simi. LErat is olim per illam vastissimain Caledonic syluam frequens, sed hwmnana ingluvie jam assumptus tribus tantum locis est reliquus, Strivilingiit, Cumber- naldie, et Kincarniew.—LESLAUS, Scotize Descriptio, p . £3, 2 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 to the cause of that unfortunate princess. He led the van of | her army at the fatal battle of Langside, and was one of the commanders 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. 3 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 whence she was expelled in the brutal manner which occasioned her leath, are still to be seen in a hollow glen beside the river. Popular report 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 present Wood- houselee, 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 Honourable Alexander Fraser Tytler, a senator of the College of Justice, is situated 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, —-_ MINSLRELS VY, Ast “There, wan from her maternal throes, His Margaret, beautiful and mild, Sate in her bower, a pallid rose, And peaceful nursed her new-born child. ““O change accursed ! past are those days ; False Murray’s ruthless spoilers came, And, for the hearth’s domestic blaze, Ascends destruction’s volumed flame. “What sheeted phantom wanders wild, Where mountain Eske through woodland flows, Her arms enfold a shadowy child— Oh! is it she, the pallid rose? ‘* The wilder’d traveller sees her glide, And hears her feeble voice with awe— ‘Revenge,’ she cries, ‘on Murray’s pride ! And woe for injured Bothwellhaugh !’” He ceased—and cries of rage and grief Burst mingling from the kindred band, And half arose the kindling Chief, And half unsheath’d his Arran brand. | But who, o’er bush, o’er stream and rock, Rides headlong, with resistless speed, | Whose bloody poniard’s frantic stroke Drives to the leap his jaded steed ;! Whose cheek is pale, whose eyeballs glare, ° As one some vision’d sight that saw, Whose hands are bloody, loose his hair ?— ’Tis he! ’tis he! ’tis Bothwellhaugh. | From gory selle,? and reeling steed, Sprung the fierce horseman with a bound, And, reeking from the recent deed, He dash’d his carbine on the ground, Sternly he spoke—‘‘ Tis sweet to hear In good greenwood the bugle blown, But sweeter to Revenge’s ear, To drink a tyrant’s dying groan. | “‘ Your slaughter’d quarry proudly trode, At dawning morn, o’er dale and down, But prouder base-born Murray rode Through old Linlithgow’s crowded town. ‘* From the wild Border’s humbled side,3 In haughty triumph, marched he, While Knox relax’d his bigot pride, And smiled, the traitorous pomp to see. 1 Birrel informs us, that Bothwellhaugh, being closely pursued, ‘after that spur and wand had failed him, he drew forth his dagger, and strocke his horse behind, whilk caused the horse to leap a very brode stanke, by whilk means he escapit, and gat away from all the rest of the horses.” —BIRREL’S Diary, p. 18. 2 Selle—Saddle. A word used by Spenser, and other ancient authors. 3 Murray’s death took place shortly after an expedition to the Borders; which is thus commemorated by the author of his Elegy : ‘* So having stablischt all thing in this sort, To Liddisdaill agane 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 yeiris before. Nae thief durst stir, they did him feir sa sair ; And, that thay suld na mair thair thift allege, Threescore and twelf he brocht of thaine in pledge, Syne wardit thame, whilk maid the rest keep ordour. Than mycht the rasch-bus keep ky on the Border.” Scottish Poems, 16th century, P. 232. + y i essence ea a se Se OS no EN a AS A OPER OSES GOST MPO OPN UP ORES ONO En DT STEPS LT OE SY : S “ 452 SCOTT'S POETICAL Wena **But can stern Power, with all his vaunt, Or Pomp, with all her courtly glare, The settled heart of Vengeance daunt, Or change the purpose of Despair? ‘* With hackbut bent,! my secret stand, Dark as the purposed deed, I chose, And mark’d, where, mingling in his band, Troop’d Scottish pikes and English bows. **Dark Morton,? girt with many a spear, Murder’s foul minion, led the van ; And clash’d their broadswords in the rear The wild Macfarlanes’ plaided clan.3 “Glencairn and stout Parkhead 4 were nigh, Obsequious at their Regent’s rein, And haggard Lindesay’s iron eye, That saw fair Mary weep in vain.5 “Mid pennon’d spears, a steely grove, Proud Murray’s plumage floated high ; Scarce could his trampling charger move, So close the minions crowded nigh.6 the Kegent was shot, is preserved at Hamilton Palace. is a brass piece, of a middling length, very small in the bore, and, what is rather extraordinary, appears to have been rifled or indented in the barrel. It had a match- lock, for whieh a modern firelock has been injudiciously substituted. 2 Of this noted person, it is enough to say, that he was active in the murder of David Rizzio, and at least privy to that of Darnley. 3 This clan of Lennox Highlanders were attached to the Regent Murray. Hollinshed, speaking of the battle of Langside, says, ‘‘In this batayle the valiancie of an Heiland gentleman, named Macfarlane, stood the Regent’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 Queen’s people, that he was a great cause of the dis- ordering of them. This Macfarlane had been lately before, as I have heard, condemned to die, for some outrage by him ommitted, and obtayning pardon through suyte of the Countess of Murray, he recompensed that clemencie by this piece of servic? now at this batayle.” Calderwood’s account is less favourable to the Macfarlanes. He states that ‘* Macfarlane, with his Highlandmen, fied 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. apud KEITH, p. 489. Melville mentions the flight of the vanguard, but states it to have been conmimanded by Morton, and com- posed chiefly of commoners of the barony of Renfrew. 4 The Earl of Glencairn was a steady adherent of the Regent. George Douglas of Parkhead was a natural brother of the Earl of Morton, whose horse was killed by the samme ball by which Murray fell. 5 Lord Lindsay, of the Byres, was the most ferocious | and brutal of the Regent’s faction, and, as such, was em- | ployed to extort Mary’s signature to the deed of resigna- tion presented to her in Lochleven Castle. He discharged his commission with the most savage rigour; 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. 6 Not only had the Regent notice of the intended at- tempt upon his life, but even of the yery house from which it was threatened. With that infatuation at which nen wonder, after such events have happened, he deemed it would ke 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 a deliber- ate aim.—SPOLTISWOODE, BUCHANAN, 7°22 Pp. 233. lé ““From the raised vizor’s shade, his eye, Dark-rolling, glanced the ranks along, And his steel truncheon, waved on high, Seem’d marshalling the iron throng. ‘* But yet his sadden’d brow confess’d A passing shade of doubt and awe; Some fiend was whispering in his breast ; ‘Beware of injured Bothwellhaugh !’ “The death-shot parts—the charger springs— Wild rises tumult’s startling roar ! And Murray’s plumy helmet rings— —Rings on the ground, to rise no more, ‘“What joy the raptured youth can feel, To hear her love the loved one tell— Or he, who broaches on his steel The wolf, by whom his infant fell! ‘But dearer to my injured eye To see in dust proud Murray roll ; ; ; _,_ | And mine was ten times trebled joy, 1 ackbut bent—Gun. cock’d. The carbine, with i ears | To hear him groan his felon soul. ‘“My Margaret’s spectre glided near ; With pride her bleeding victim saw ; And shriek’d in his death-deafen’d ear, ‘Remember injured Bothwellhaugh !’ “Then speed thee, noble Chatlerault! Spread to the wind thy banner’d tree !1 Each warrior bend his Clydesdale bow !— Murray is fall’n, and Scotland free.” Vaults every warrior to his steed ; Loud bugles join their wild acclaim— “Murray is fall’n, and Scotland freed ! Couch, Arran! couch thy spear of flame! ’ But, see! the minstrel vision fails— The glimmering spears are seen no more ; The shouts of war die on the gales, Or sink in Evan’s lonely roar. For the loud bugle, pealing high, The blackbird whistles down the vale, And sunk in ivied ruins lie The banner’d towers of Evandale. For Chiefs, intent on bloody deed, And Vengeance shouting o’er the slain, Lo! high-born Beauty rules the steed, Or graceful guides the silken rein. } 7 And long may Peace and Pleasure own ; The maids who list the minstrel’s tale ; : Nor e’er a ruder guest be known On the fair banks of Evandale! i : 1 An oak, half-sawn, with the motto through, is au ancient cognizance of the family of Hamilton. | SS? —— ) If " awe LOE AO OLD AE yor bem s | CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MINSTRELSY. 453 Che Gray Brother. A FRAGMENT. —Q— THE imperfect state of this ballad, which was written several years ago, is not a circum- stance affected for the purpose of giving it that peculiar interest, which is often found to arise from ungratified curiosity. On the con- trary, it was the KEditor’s intention to have completed the tale, if he had found himself able to succeed to his own satisfaction. Yield- ing to the opinion of persons, whose judgment, if not biassed by the partiality of friendship, is entitled to deference, he has preferred in- serting these versesasa fragment, to his inten- tion of entirely suppressing them. The tradition, upon which the tale is founded, regards a house upon the barony of Gilmerton, near Lasswade, in Mid-Lothian. This build- ing, now called Gilmerton Grange, was ori- ginally named Burndale, from the following tragic adventure. The barony of Gilmerton belonged, of yore, to a gentleman named Heron, who had one beautiful daughter. This young lady was seduced by the Abbot of New- battle, a richly endowed abbey, upon the banks of the South Esk, now a seat of the Marquis of Lothian. Heron came to the knowledge of this circumstance, and learned also, that the lovers carried on their guilty intercourse by the connivance of the lady’s nurse, who lived at this house of Gilmerton Grange, or Burn- dale. He formed a resolution of bloody ven- geance, undeterred by the supposed sanctity of the clerical character, or by the stronger claims of natural affection. Choosing, therefore, a dark and windy night, when the objects of his vengeance were engaged in astolen interview, he set fire to a stack of dried thorns, and other combustibles, which he had caused to be piled against the house, and reduced to a pile of glowing ashes the dwelling, with all its in- mates. ! The scene with which the ballad opens, was | suggested by the following curious passage, extracted from the Life of Alexander Peden, one of the wandering and persecuted teachers 1 This tradition was communicated to ine by John Clerk, Esq. of Eldin, author of an Lssay wpon Naval Tactics, who will be remembered by posterity, as having taught the Genius of Britain to concentrate her thunders, and to launch them against her foes with an unerring aim. THE Pope he was saying the high, high mass, All on Saint Peter’s day, With the power to him given, by the saints in heaven, To wash men’s sins away. of the sect of Cameronians, during the reign of Charles II. and his successor, James. This person was supposed by his followers, and, perhaps, really believed himself, to be possessed of supernatural gifts; for the wild scenes which they frequented, and the constant dan- gers which were incurred through their pro- scription, deepened upon their minds the gloom of superstition, so general in that age. *“ About the same time he came to Andrew Normand’s house, in the parish of Alloway, in the shire of Ayr, being to preach at night in his barn. After he came in, he halted a little, leaning upon a chair-back, with his face covered ; when he lifted up his head, he said, ‘They are in this house that I have not one word of salvation unto;’ he halted a little again, saying, ‘ This is strange, that the devil will not go out, that we may begin our work!’ Then there was a woman went out, ill-looked upon almost all her life, and to her dying hour, for a witch, with many presumptions of the same. It escaped me, in the former passages, what John Muirhead (whom I have often men- tioned) told me, that when he came from Ire- land to Galloway, he was at family-worship, and giving some notes upon the Scripture read, when a very ill-looking man came, and sat down within the door, at the back of the hallan, immediately he halted and said, ‘There is some unhappy body just now come into this house. I charge him to go out, and not stop my mouth!’ The person went out, and he in- sisted, yet he saw him neither come in nor go out.”—The Life and Prophecies of Mr. Alexander Peden, late Minister of the Gospel at New Glen- luce, in Galloway, part Ti. § 26. A friendly correspondent remarks, ‘‘that the incapacity of proceeding in the performance | of a religious duty, when a contaminated per- son is present, is of much higher antiquity | than the era of the Reverend Mr. Alexander Peden.” —Vide Hygini Fabulas, cap. 26. ‘ Me- dea Corintho exul, Athenas, ad Afgeum Pandionis jilium devenit in hospitium, eique nupsit. ** Postea sacerdos Diane Medeam exagi- tare coepit, regique negabat sacra caste facere posse, eo quod in ea civitate esset mulier venefica et scelerata ; tune exulatur.” The Pope he was saying the blessed mass, And the people kneel’d around, And from each man’s soul his sins did pass, As he kiss’d the holy ground. DT . en ' SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. And all, among the crowded throng, Was still, both limb and tongue, While, through vaulted roof, and aisles aloof, The holy accents rung. ; At the holiest word he quiver’d for fear, And falter’d in the sound— And, when he would the chalice rear, He dropp’d it to the ground. “The breath of one of evil deed Pollutes our sacred day; He has no portion in our creed, No part in what I say. ““A being, whom no blessed word To ghostly peace can bring ; A wretch, at whose approach abhorr’d, Recoils each holy thing. ‘Up, up, unhappy ! haste, arise! My adjuration fear ! I charge thee not to stop my voice, Nor longer tarry here !””— Amid them all a pilgrim kneel’d, In gown of sackcloth gray ; Far journeying from his native field, He first saw Rome that day. For forty days and nights so drear, I ween he had not spoke, And, save with bread and water clear, His fast he ne’er had broke. Amid the penitential flock, Seem’d none more bent to pray ; But, when the Holy Father spoke, He rose and went his way. Again unto his native land His weary course he drew, To Lothian’s fair and fertile strand, And Pentland’s mountains blue. His unblest feet his native seat, Mid Eske’s fair woods, regain ; Thro’ woods more fair no stream more sweet Rolls to the eastern main. And lords to meet the pilgrim came, And vassals bent the knee; For all mid Scotland’s chiefs of fame, Was none more famed than he. And boldly for his country, still, In battle he had stood, Ay, even when on the banks of Till Her noblest pour’d their blood. Sweet are the paths, O passing sweet ! By Eske’s fair streams that run, O’er airy steep, through copsewood deep, . Impervious to the sun. © There the rapt poet’s step may rove, And yield the muse the day ; There Beauty, led by timid Love, May shun the tell-tale ray ; From that fair dome, where suit is paid, By blast of bugle free,! To Auchendinny’s hazel glade,2 And haunted Woodhouselee.3 Who knows not Melville’s beechy grove,4 And Roslin’s rocky glen, Dalkeith, which all the virtues love,6 And classic Hawthornden ?7 Yet never a-path, from day to day, The pilgrim’s footsteps range, Save but the solitary way To Burndale’s ruin’d grange. A woful place was that, I ween, As sorrow could desire ; For nodding to the fall was each crumbling wall, And the roof was scathed with fire. It fell upon a summer’s eve, While, on Carnethy’s head, The last faint gleams of the sun’s low beams Had streak’d the gray with red; And the convent bell did vespers tell, Newbattle’s oaks among, And mingled with the solemn knell Our Ladye’s evening song: 1 The barony of Penuycuick, the property of Sir George Clerk, Bart., is held by a singular 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 Edin- burgh. Hence, the family have adopted, as their crest, a demi-forester proper, winding a horn, with the motto, Free for a Blast. The beautiful mansion-house of Penny- cuick is much admired, both on account of the architec- ture and surrounding scenery. 2 Auchendinny, situated upon the Eske, below Penny- cuick, the present residence of the ingenious H. Mac- kenzie, Esq., author of the Man of Feeling, &c.—Edition 1803. 3 For the traditions connected with this ruinous mau- sion, see Ballad of Cadyow Castle, p. 449. + Melville Castle, the seat of the Right Honourable Lord Melville, to whom it gives the title of Viscount, is delight- fully situated upon the Eske, near Lasswade. 5 The ruins of Roslin Castle, the baronial residence of the ancient family of St. Clair. The Gothic chapel, which is still in beautiful preservation, with the romantic and woody dell in which they are situated, belong to the Right Honourable the Earl of Rosslyn, the representative of the former Lords of Roslin. 6 The village and castle of Dalkeith belonged, 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. 7 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, perforated by wind- ing 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 Musselburgh, no stream in Scotland can boast such a varied succession of the most interesting objects, as well as of the most romantic and beautiful scenery,—-1803. The beautiful scenery of Haw- thornden has, since the above note was written, recovered all its proper ornament of wood.—1831, EA ERO EE RE SS aT a ED CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE BORDER MINSTRELSY. 455 The heavy knell, the choir’s faint swell, Came slowly down the wind, And on the pilgrim’s ear they fell, As his wonted path he did find. Deep sunk in thought, I ween, he was, Nor ever raised his eye, Until he came to that dreary place, Which did all in ruins lie. He gazed on the walls, so scathed with fire, With many a bitter groan— And there was aware of a Gray Friar, Resting him on a stone. “Now, Christ thee save!” said the Gray Brother ; ** Some pilgrim thou seemest to be.” But in sore amaze did Lord Albert gaze, Nor answer again made he. **O come ye from east, or come ye from west, Or bring reliques from over the sea ; Or come ye from the shrine of St. James the divine, Or St. John of Beverly?”— *‘T come not from the shrine of St. James the divine, Nor bring reliques from over the sea; I bring but a curse from our father, the Pope, Which for ever will cling to me.”— | ** Now, woful pilgrim, say not so! | But kneel thee down by me, | And shrive thee so clean of thy deadly sin, That absolved thou mayst be.”— “And who art thou, thou Gray Brother, That I should shrive to thee, When He, to whom are given the keys of earth and heaven, Has no power to pardon me ?’’— “OQ Tam sent from a distant clime, | Five thousand miles away, | And all to absolve a foul, foul crime, Done here ’twixt night and day.” The pilgrim kneel’d him on the sand, And thus began his saye— | When on his neck an ice-cold hand Did that Gray Brother laye. * FLEE ESSN ih) ERED, are ™ 9G t atte Re ee NS NE IRE ET SAE ET | | | | a wt ON SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS: | WHar-Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons. —0o-—- ** Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms? Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general con- guest. Had we a difference with some petty isle, Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks, The taking in of some rebellious lord, Or making head against a slight commotion, After a day of blood, peace might be argued: But where we grapple for the land we live on, - The liberty we hold more dear than life, The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours, And, with those, swords that know no end of battle— ' Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour, _ Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance, ' And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest, And, where they march, but measure out more ground f To add to Rome » It must not be—No! as they are our foes, Let’s use the peace of honour—that’s fair dealing ; But 1n our hands our swords. ‘The hardy Roman, That thinks to graft himself into my stock, , Must first begin his kindred under ground, | And be allied in ashes.” ——— Bonduca. THE following War-Song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers to which it was addressed, ' was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas.! The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and dis- ciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. Tosuch a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus : ‘‘ Proinde iturt in acieimn, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate.”—1812. To horse! to horse! the standard flies, The bugles sound the call ; The Gallic navy stems the seas, The voice of battle’s on the breeze, Arouse ye, one and all! From high Dunedin’s towers we come, A band of brothers true; Our casques the leopard’s spoils surround, With Scotland’s hardy thistle crown’d ; We boast the red and blue.? 1 Now Viscount Melville.—1831. 2 The royal colours. Though tamely crouch to Gallia’s frown Dull Holland’s tardy train ; Their ravish’d toys though Romans mourn ; Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, And, foaming, gnaw the chain ; Oh! had they mark’d the avenging call! Their brethren’s murder gave, Disunion ne’er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown, Sought freedom in the grave ! Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, In Freedom’s temple born, Dress our pale cheek in timid smile, To hail a master in our isle, Or brook a victor’s scorn? No ! though destruction o’er the land Come pouring as a flood, The sun, that sees our falling day, Shall mark our sabres’ deadly sway, And set that night in blood. For gold let Gallia’s legions fight, Or plunder’s bloody gain ; Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, To guard our king, to fence our law, Nor shall their edge be vain. If ever breath of British gale Shall fan the tri-color, Or footstep of invader rude, With rapine foul, and red with blood, Pollute our happy shore,— Then farewell home! and farewell friends ! Adieu each tender tie! Resolved, we mingle in the tide, Where charging squadrons furious ride, To conquer or to die. To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam ; High sounds our bugle call ; Combined by honour’s sacred tie, Our word is Laws and Liberty ! March forward, one and all! 1 The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the fatal roth August, 1792. It is painful, but not use- less, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, en- couraged and authorized the progressive injustice, by which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free people upon the continent, have, at length, been con- verted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state Gegraded is half enslaved,—18r2. 457 Cranslations or Jmitations from the German, Che TArlo Huntsman, —0— Tus is a translation, or rather an imitation, of the Wilde Jager of the German poet Biirger. The tradition upon which it is founded bears, that formerly a Wildgrave, or keeper of a royal forest, named Faulkenburg, was so much ad- dicted to the pleasures of the chase, and other- wise so extremely profligate and cruel, that he not only followed this unhallowed amusement on the Sabbath, and other days consecrated to religious duty, but accompanied it with the most unheard-of oppression upon the poor peasants, who were under his vassalage. When this second Nimrod died, the people adopted a superstition, founded probably on the many various uncouth sounds heard in the depth of a German forest, during the silence of the night. They conceived they still heard the cry of the Wildgrave’s hounds; and the well- known cheer of the deceased hunter, the sounds of his horses’ feet, and the rustling of the branches before the game, the pack, and the sportsmen, are also distinctly discrimi- nated ; but the phantoms are rarely, if ever, visible. Once, as a benighted Chasseur heard this infernal chase pass by him, at the sound of the halloo, with which the Spectre Hunts- man cheered his hounds, he could not refrain from crying, ‘‘Gluck zu, Falkenburgh!” [Good sport to ye, Falkenburgh!] ‘‘ Dost thou wish me good sport?” answered a hoarse voice ; **thou shalt share the game ;” and there was thrown at him what seemed to be a huge piece of foul carrion. The daring Chasseur lost two of his best horses soon after, and never per- fectly recovered the personal effects of this ghostly greeting. This tale, though told with some variations, is universally believed all over Germany. The French had a similar tradition concern- ing an aérial hunter, who infested the forest of Fountainbleau. He was sometimes visible; when he appeared as a huntsman, surrounded THE Wildgrave winds his bugle-horn, To horse, to horse! halloo, halloo ! His fiery courser snuffs the morn, And thronging serfs their lord pursue. | with dogs, a tall grisly figure. Some account | of him may be found in ‘‘Sully’s Memoirs,” who says he was called Le Grand Veneur. At one time he chose to hunt so near the palace, that the attendants, and, if I mistake not, Sully himself, came out into the court, sup- posing it was the sound of the king returning from the chase. This phantom is elsewhere called Saint Hubert. The superstition seems to have been very general, as appears from the following fine poetical description of this phantom chase, as it was heard in the wilds of Ross-shire :— “ Ere since, of old, the haughty thanes of Ross,— So to the simple swain tradition tells,— Were wont with clans, and ready vassals throng’d, To wake the bounding stag, or guilty wolf, There oft is heard, at midnight, or at noon, Beginning faint, but rising still more loud, And nearer, voice of hunters, and of hounds, And horns, hoarse winded, blowing far and keen :— Forthwith the hubbub multiplies ; the gale Labours with wilder shrieks, and rifer din Of hot pursuit; the broken cry of deer Mangled hy throttling dogs; the shouts of men, And hoofs, thick beating on the hollow hill, Sudden the grazing heifer in the vale Starts at the noise, and both the herdsman’s ears Tingle with inward dread. Aghast, he eyes The mountains’ height, and all the ridges round, Yet not one trace of living wight discerns, Nor knows, o’erawed, and trembling as he stands, To what, or whom, he owes his idle fear, To ghost. to witch, to fairy, or to fiend; 3ut wonders, and uo end of wondering finds.” Albania—reprinted in Scottish Descriptive Poems, pp. 167, 163, A posthumous miracle of Father Lesley, a Scottish capuchin, related to his being buried on a hill haunted by these unearthly cries of hounds and huntsmen. After his sainted relics had been deposited there, the noise was never heard more. The reader will find this, and other miracles, recorded in the life of Father Bonaventura, which is written in the choicest Italian. | The eager pack, from couples freed, | Dash through the bush, the brier, the brake: | While answering hound, and horn, and steed, | The mountain echoes startling wake. le ee Pe SSS — =e i ah a nae nat — —-~ ~~ — a —_——- ; = Dee eeeen eee ee ee ~ 458 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS The beams of God’s own hallow’d day Had painted yonder spire with gold, And, calling sinful man to pray, : Loud, long, and deep the bell had toll’d : But still the Wildgrave onward rides ; Halloo, halloo! and, hark again ! When, spurring from opposing sides, Two Stranger Horsemen join the train. Who was each Stranger, left and right, Well may I guess, but dare not tell ; The right-hand steed was silver white, The left, the swarthy hue of hell. The right-hand Horseman, young and fair, His smile was like the morn of May; The left, from eye of tawny glare, Shot midnight lightning’s lurid ray. He waved his huntsman’s cap on high, Cried, ‘‘ Welcome, welcome, noble lord ! What sport can earth, or sea, or sky, To match the princely chase, afford ?”— **Cease thy loud bugle’s changing knell,” Cried the fair youth, with silver voice; ““ And for devotion’s choral swell, Exchange the rude unhallow’d noise. “*To-day, the ill-omen’d chase forbear, Yon bell yet summons to the fane ; To-day the Warning Spirit hear, To-morrow thou mayst mourn in vain.”’— ‘“ Away, and sweep the glades along!” The Sable Hunter hoarse replies ; **To muttering monks leave matin-song, And bells, and books, and mysteries.” The Wildgrave spurr’d his ardent steed, And, launching forward with a bound, ‘Who, for thy drowsy priestlike rede, Would leave the jovial horn and hound? ‘*“Hence, if our manly sport oftend ! With pious fools go chant and pray :— Well hast thou spoke, my dark-brow’d friend ; Halloo, halloo! and, hark away! ” The Wildgrave spurr’d his courser light, O’er moss and moor, o’er holt and hill; And on the left, and on the right, Hach Stranger Horseman follow’d still. Up springs, from yonder tangled thorn, A stag more white than mountain snow ; And louder rung the Wildgrave’s horn, ** Hark forward, forward! holla, ho!” A heedless wretch has cross’d the way ; He gasps, the thundering hoofs below ;— But, live who can, or die who may, Still, ‘‘ Forward, forward!” on they go. See, where yon simple fences meet, A field with autumn’s blessings crown’d ; See, prostrate at the Wildgrave’s feet, A husbandman with toil embrown’d: ‘OQ mercy, mercy, noble lord ! Spare the poor’s pittance,” was his ery, In scorching hour of fierce July.” — Karnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey; The impetuous Earl no warning heeds, But furious holds the onward way. ‘“‘ Away, thou hound! so basely born, Or dread the scourge’s echoing blow !””— Then loudly rung his bugle-horn, ‘* Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!” So said, so done :—A single bound Clears the poor labourer’s humble pale ; Wild follows man, and horse, and hound, Like dark December’s stormy gale. And man and horse, and hound and horn Destructive sweep the field along ; While, joying o’er the wasted corn, Fell Famine. marks the maddening throng. Again uproused, the timorous prey Scours moss and moor, and holt and hill ; Hard run, he feels his strength decay, And trusts for life his simple skill. Too dangerous solitude appear’d ; He seeks the shelter of the crowd; Amid the flock’s domestic herd His harmless head he hopes to shroud. O'er moss and moor, and holt and hill, His track the steady blood-hounds trace ; | O’er moss and moor, unwearied still, The furious Harl pursues the chase. | Full lowly did the herdsman fall ;— | ‘OQ spare, thou noble Baron, spare These herds, a widow’s little all ; These flocks, an orphan’s fleecy care !”— Earnest the right-hand Stranger pleads, The left still cheering to the prey ; The Earl nor prayer nor pity heeds, | But furious keeps the onward way. ‘*Unmanner’d dog! To stop my sport Vain were thy cant and beggar whine, Though human spirits, of thy sort, Were tenants of these carrion kine !”— Again he winds his bugle-horn, ‘* Hark forward, forward, holla, ho!” And through the herd, in ruthless scorn, He cheers his furious hounds to go. In heaps the throttled victims fall ; Down sinks their mangled herdsman near ; The murderous cries the stag appal,— Again he starts, new-nerved by fear. With blood besmear’d, and white with foam, While big the tears of anguish pour, He seeks, amid the forest’s gloom, The humble hermit’s hallow’d bower. 1 et ees, | ‘““ Karn’d by the sweat these brows have pour’d, $e SEAT BPE S TS LEIA ED te ee eS Fe I Re Le RT TR eae nn ee EERE BET EE TRANSLATIONS, &c., FROM THE GERMAN. 459 But man and horse, and horn and hound, “‘Oppressor of creation fair ! Fast rattling on his traces go; | Apostate Spirits’ harden’d tool! The sacred chapel rung around Scorner of God! Scourge of the poor! With, ‘‘Hark away ! and, holla, ho!” The measure of thy cup is full. All mild, amid the rout profane, ‘Be chased for ever through the wood ; The holy hermit pour’d his prayer ; For ever roam the affrighted wild ; ** Forbear with blood God’s house to stain ; And let thy fate instruct the proud, Revere his altar, and forbear ! God’s meanest creature is his child.” « ) ! Oj. Yo TRANSLATIONS, c &c., FROM THE GERMAN. em a es» Che Hire-King. —O0— “The blessings of the evil Genii, which are curses, were upon him.” Eastern Tale. —_0Oo— Tas ballad was written at the request of Mr. Lewis, to be inserted in his ‘‘ Tales of Wonder.”! It is the third in a series of four | ballads, on the subject of Elementary Spirits. | The story is, however, partly historical ; for it is recorded, that, during the struggles of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, a Knight-Tem- | plar, called Saint-Alban, deserted to the Sara- | cens, and defeated the Christians in many | combats, till he was finally routed and slain, in a conflict with King Baldwin, under the | walls of Jerusalem. —_—_— Botp knights and fair dames, to my harp give an ear, Of love, and of war, and of w2nder to hear ; And you haply may sigh, in the midst of your glee, At the tale of Count Albert, and fair Rosalie. 9 see you that castle, so strong and so high ie And see you that lady, the tear in her eye? And see you that palmer, from Palestine’s land, The shell on his hat, and the staff in his | hand ?— ‘Now palmer, grey palmer, O tell unto me, What news bring you home from the Holy | Countrie? And how goes the warfare by Galilee’s strand ? And how fare our nobles, the flower of the land ?”— “ ae : 4909 | é : ae ed Se | Right where his charge had made a lane, : " His valiant comrades burst, ; With sword, and axe, and partisan, 4 , And hack, and stab, and thrust. I The daunted Lion ’gan to whine, : And granted ground amain, f The Mountain Bull! he bent his brows, f And gored his sides again. is ‘ = f Then lost was banner, spear, and shield, ' At Sempach in the flight, } The cloister vaults at Konig’ sfield } Hold many an Austrian knight. It was the Archduke Leopold, So lordly would he ride, But he came against the Switzer churls, i And they slew him in his pride. The heifer said unto the bull, “‘ And shall T not complain ? There came a foreign nobleman To milk me on the plain. ‘* One thrust of thine outrageous horn Has gall’d the knight so sore, That to the churchyard he is borne, To range our glens no more.” An Austrian noble left the stour, And fast the flight ’gan take ; And he arrived in luckless hour At Sempach on the lake. He and his squire a fisher call’d, j (His name was Hans Von Rot,) ““ For love, or meed, or charity, Receive us in thy boat!” Their anxious call the fisher heard, And, glad the meed to win, ; His shallop to the shore he steer’d, And took the flyers in. And while against the tide and wind ' Hans stoutly row’d his way, ° wi The noble to his follower sign’d He should the boatman slay. The fisher’s back was to them turn’d, The squire his dagger drew, Hans saw his shadow in the lake, The boat he overthrew. — He ’whelm’d the boat, and as they strove; He stunn’d them with his oar, “Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, You'll ne’er stab boatman more. “* Two gilded tishes in the lake This morning have I caught, ) Their silver scales may much avail, Their carrion flesh is naught.” ! A pun on the URUS, or wild-bull, which gives name to c server eet nee cncencomamaeamssv inl at senate Be NN LT ETT ELECT ETE EL LD wight, Who sings of strife so stern, Albert the Souter is he hight, The night he made the lay, Returning from the bloody spot, Where God had judged the day. Now would you know the minstrel A burgher of Lucerne. A merry man was he, I wot, f woe Has sought the Austrian land : ** Ah! gracious lady, evil news! SCOTT'S POETICAL WOR ** What tidings of despair!” His bloody corpse lies there.”— ** Ah, gracious God!” the lady cried, My lord lies on the strand. ** At Sempach, on the battle-field, It was a messenger 0 * eS —— FE St a ee eee ee ee ae ———— i ks AS ee ee ee aD TRANSLATIONS, &¢., FROM THE GERMAN. A7t | o~ Che 4 be Hoble Moringer. AN ANCIENT BALLAD. —0— Tue original of these verses occurs in a col- | iI. lection of German popular songs, entitled, | ,,,,... rea conan eilesimnee is Sammlung Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, | Tis f a vow'd a pilgrimage unto a distant 2 shrine, | is WV ISSTS. se j Rus Vc | * m i beeen both. Bepcnaet cacos niy the eee And I must seek Saint Thomas-land, and leave ‘ , oe : eo the land that’s mine ; ! ; ' : ) | : 5 : ' ’ ; 7 distinguished for their acquaintance with the te ante popular poetry a legendary history Here shalt Dae dwell the while in state, so of Germany. e, thou wilt pledge thy fay, In the German Editor’s notice of the ballad, That thou for my return wilt wait seven it is stated to have been extracted from a | twelvemonths and a day. manuscript Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, | chaplain to Saint Leonard in Weisenhorn, | which bears the date 1533; and the song is III. stated by the author to have been generally | F sung in the neighbourhood at that early Then out and spoke that Lady bright, sore period. Thomann, as quoted by the German troubled in her cheer, Editor, seems faithfully to have believed the | “‘ Now tell me true, thou noble knight, what event he narrates. He quotes tombstones | order takest thou here ; and obituaries to prove the existence of the And who shall lead thy vassal band, and hold personages of the ballad, and discovers that thy lordly sway, _ there actually died, on the 11th May, 1349, a And be thy lady’s guardian true when thou uady Von Neuffen, Countess of Marstetten, art far away?” who was, by birth, of the house of Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been Moringer’s IV daughter, mentioned in the ballad. He quotes : the same authority for the death of Berckhold | Out spoke the noble Moringer, ‘‘ Of that have Von Neuffen, in the same year. The editors, thou no care, on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of | There’s many a valiant gentleman of me holds Professor Smith of Ulm, who, from the lan- | living fair ; guage of the ballad, ascribes its date to the | The trustiest shall rule my land, my vassals 15th century. and my state, The legend itself turns on an incident not | And be a guardian tried and true to thee, my peculiar to Germany, and which, perhaps, lovely mate. was not unlikely to happen in more instances , than one, when crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their disconsolate dames received no tidings of theirfate. A story very | « Ag Christian-me seds st k . similar in Rrciristancee, but without the | oe ete tae! ta San rn etsy miraculous machinery of Saint Thomas, is | When I am far in foreign land. remember thy told of one of the ancient Lords of Haigh- true knight ; e ‘ “20 hall in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheri-| 4nd cease, my dearest dame, to grieve, for i : tance of the late Countess of Balcarras ; and vain were sorrow now, the particulars are represented on stained | But erant thy Moringer his leave, since God | glass upon a window in that ancient manor- hath heard his vow.” house. hi 2 ay Re oe Ee eee Oe ee SSS ee pe-cacemeememtt at A A LE: LEE EL LE TLE ETL Vie iy I. VI. ) O, WILL you hear a knightly tale of old Bohe- | It was the noble Moringer from bed he made ; mian day, him boune, } ' It was the noble Moringer in wedlock bed he | And met him there his Chamberlain, with ~ if i lay ; ewer and with gown: ' He halsed and kiss’d his dearest dame, that | He flung the mantle on his back, twas furr’d | | ' was as sweet as May, with miniver, And said, ‘“‘Now, lady of my heart, attend | He dipp’d his hand in water cold, and bathed | : ; the words I say. his forehead fair, am, io rrr leeds a nnnSRNENSDnnnisdimiieiineiaaiemaenoe ; } > ae ileal : 4 > * Now hear,” he said, ‘‘ Sir Chamberlain, true | It was the noble Moringer within an orchard vassal art thou mine, slept, And such the trust that I repose in that proved | When on the Baron’s slumbering sense a worth of thine, boding vision crept ; For seven years shalt thou rule my towers, | And whisper’d in his ear a voice, “’Tis time, and lead my vassal train, Sir Knight, to wake, And pledge thee for my Lady’s faith till I Thy Lady and thy heritage another master return again.” take. Vill. eve The Chamberlain was blunt and true, and | “ Thy tower another banner knows, thy steeds sturdily said he, another rein, gee ; “Abide, my lord, and rule your own, and ; And stoop them to another’s will thy gallant take this rede from me; vassal train ; 6 That woman's faith’s a brittle trust—Seven | And she, the Lady of thy love, so faithful twelvemonths didst thou say? _ once and fair, ; Pil pledge me for no lady’s truth beyond the | This night within thy father’s hall she weds seventh fair day.” Marstetten’s heir. Ix. XVI. The noble Baron turn’d him round, his heart | I¢is the noble Moringer starts up and tears was full of care, his beard, " His gallant Esquire stood him nigh, he was | “Oh would that I had ne’er been born! what Marstetten’s heir, ; tidings have I heard ! To whom he spoke right anxiously, ‘Thou | To lose my lordship and my lands the less trusty squire to me, would be my care, Wilt thou receive this weighty trust when 1 | But, God! that e’er a squire untrue should am o’er the sea? { wed my Lady fair. ~ XVII. **To watch and ward my castle strong, and to ! ,, O good Saint Thomas, hear,” he pray’d protect my land, = Pee : nay And to the hunting or the host to lead my A tra of oko meet a while dina vassal band ; eae y pay ; nena re | my vow! And cee pais ae s faith, till seven | My wife he brings to infamy that was so pure And gua er as Our Lady de . of name, ! or € . ear Was O71 arde | ; Ss : . i : net john.” . ; pa AS d And I am far in foreign land, and must endure y We . the shame.” 2 ae Marstetten’s heir was kind and true, but fiery, hot, and young, | And readily he answer made with too pre- | sumptuous tongue ; | ‘““My noble lord, cast care away, and on your journey wend, And trust this charge to me until your Pa | XVIII. | | It was the good Saint Thomas, then, whe heard his pilgrim’s prayer, And sent a sleep so deep and dead that it o’erpower’d his care ; He waked in fair Bohemian land outstretch’d beside a rill, ‘ High on the right a castle stood, low on the grimage have end. left a mill. KIX “Rely upon my plighted faith, which shall | The Moringer he started up as one from spell be truly tried, unbound, : ; i To guard your lands, and ward your towers, | And dizzy with surprise and Joy gazed wildly and with your vassals ride ; i all around ; , : And for your lovely Lady’s faith, so virtuous | “I know my father’s ancient towers, the and so dear, mill, the stream I know, I'll gage my head it knows no change, be | Now blessed be my patron Saint who cheer'd absent thirty year.” his pilgrim’s woe ! XII. XIII. Sux The noble Moringer took cheer when thus he | He leant upon his pilgrim staff, and to the heard him speak, — mill he drew, And doubt forsook his troubled brow, and | So alter’d was his goodly form that none their sorrow left his cheek ; master knew ; A long adieu he bids to all—hoists topsails, | The Baron to the miller said, “Good friend, and away, | for charity, And wanders in Saint Thomas-land seven Tell a poor palmer in your land what tidings twelvemonths and a day. may there be?” Se RT NEE ECTS HEIN, END I TE NE CORE ery IE er URE er roe me et Stet tile = $ Ee rrr err TREES: te eer epenemes enemas a A : : | { { . 4 } me NT en 2 a a A FE a a ey a a ee AT str TRANSLATIONS, &<¢., x And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn’s side ; But where is the harp shall give life to their name? | And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? ' And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair, | Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair ; What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die? Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been ; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold, And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, Unconquer’d thy warriors, and matchless thy maids ! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell, my loved Harp! my last treasure, farewell! —o-— THE NORMAN HORSESHOE. AIR—The War-Song of the Men of Glamorgan. Tue Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous coun- try, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman cavalry. Occa- sionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of CLaRE, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of | NEVILLE, Baron of Chepstow, Lords-Marchers |of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a stream which | divides the counties of Monmouth and Gla- | morgan: Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very ancient castle. Rep glows the forge in Striguil’s bounds, And hammers din, and anvil sounds, And armourers, with iron toil, Barb many a steed for battle’s broil. Foul fall the hand which bends the steel Around the courser’s thundering heel, That e’er shall dint a sable wound On fair Glamorgan’s velvet ground ! | From Chepstow’s towers, ere dawn of morn, | Was heard afar the bugle-horn ; And forth, in banded pomp and pride, Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. os SCOTT'S POLTICAL VW Gea SE eee amram mena Toten Se 1 ty epee ‘480 They swore, their banners broad should gleam, In crimson light, on Rymny’s stream ; They vow’d, Caerphili’s sod should feel The Norman charger’s spurning heel. And sooth they swore—the sun arose, And Rymny’s wave with crimson glows ; For Clare’s red banner, floating wide, Roll’d down the stream to Severn’s tide! And sooth they vow’d—the trampled green Show’d where hot Neville’s charge had been : In every sable hoof-tramp stood A Norman horseman’s curdling blood ! Old Chepstow’s brides may curse the toil, That arm’d stout Clare for Cambrian broil ; Their orphans long the art may rue, For Neville’s war-horse forged the shoe. No more the stamp of armed steed Shall dint Glamorgan’s velvet mead ; Nor trace be there, in early spring, Save of the Fairies’ emerald ring. —o— THE POACHER. WELCOME, grave Stranger, to our green retreats, | Where health with exercise and freedom meets ! Thrice welcome, Sage, whose philosophic plan By Nature’s limits metes the rights of man ; Generous as he, who now for freedom bawls, Now gives full value for true Indian shawls ; O’er court, o’er customhouse, his shoe who | flings, Now bilks excisemen, and now bullies kings. Like his, I ween, thy comprehensive mind Holds laws as mouse-traps baited for man- kind ; Thine eye, applausive, each sly vermin sees, That baulks the snare, yet battens on the cheese ; Thine ear has heard, with scorn instead of | awe, Our buckskinn’d justices expound the law, Wire-draw the acts that fix for wires the pain, And for the netted partridge noose the swain ; And thy vindictive arm would fain have broke | The last light fetter of the feudal yoke, To give the denizens of wood and wild, Nature’s free race, to each her free-born child. Hence hast thou mark’d, with grief, fair Lon- | don’s race, Mock’d with the boon of one poor Easter chase, And long’d to send them forth as free as when Pour’d o’er Chantilly the Parisian train, When musket, pistol, blunderbuss, combined, And scarce the field-pieces were left behind! A squadron’s charge each leveret’s heart dis- may’d On every covey fired a bold brigade: La Douce Humanité approved the sport, For great the alarm indeed, yet small the hurt ; Shouts patriotic solemnized the day, And Seine re-echo’d Vive la Liberté! But mad Citoyen, meek Monsieur again, With some few added links resumes his chain. Se ne, Then since such scenes to France no more are | known, | Come, view with me a hero of thine own ! | One, whose free actions vindicate the cause Of silvan liberty o’er feudal laws. Seek we yon glades, where the proud oak | o’ertops Wide-waving seas of birch and hazel copse, | Leaving between deserted isles of land, | Where stunted heath is patch’d with ruddy | sand ; And lonely on the waste the yew is seen, Or straggling hollies spread a brighter green. | Here, little worn, and winding dark and steep, Our scarce mark’d path descends yon dingle deep: , Follow—but heedful, cautious of a trip,— | In earthly mire philosophy may slip. Step slow and wary o’er that swampy stream, | Till, guided by the charcoal’s smothering steam, | We reach the frail yet barricaded door | Of hovel form’d for poorest of the poor ; No hearth the fire, no vent the smoke receives, The walls are wattles, and the covering leaves ; For, if such hut, our forest statutes say, | Rise in the progress of one night and day, (Though placed where still the Conqueror’s hests o’erawe, And his son’s stirrup shines the badge of law,} | The builder claims the unenviable boon, | To tenant dwelling, framed as slight and soon As wigwam wild, that shrouds the native frore On the bleak coast of frost-barr’d Labrador. Approach, and through the unlatticed win- dow peep— | Nay, shrink not back, the inmate is asleep ; | Sunk ’mid yon sordid blankets, till the sun Stoop to the west the plunderer’s toils are done. : Loaded and primed, and prompt for desperate hand, Rifle and fowling-piece beside him stand, While round the hut are in disorder laid The tools and booty of his lawless trade ; | For force or fraud, resistance or escape, The crow, the saw, the bludgeon, and the crape. His pilfer’d powder in yon nook he hoards, And the filch’d lead the church’s roof affords— | (Hence shall the rector’s congregation fret, | That while his sermon’s dry his walls are wet.) The fish-spear barb’d, the sweeping net are there, Doe-hides, and pheasant plumes, and skins of hare, Cordage for toils, and wiring for the snare. | Barter’d for game from chase or warren won, | Yon cask holds moonlight,? run when moon | was none; | And late-snatch’d spoils lie stow’d in hutch apart, To wait the associate higgler’s evening cart. sigs eT | 1 Such is the law in the New Forest, Hampshire, tend- ing greatly to increase the various settlements of thieves, | Smugglers, and deer-stealers, who infest it. In the forest | courts the presiding judge wears as a badge of office an | antique stirrup, nid be have been that of William Rufus. —See Mr. William Rose’s spirited poem, entitled, ‘* The Red King.” ; 2 A cant term for smuggled spirits. a * — Look on his pallet foul, and mark his rest: What scenes perturb’d are acting in his breast ! His sable brow is wet and wrung with pain, And his dilated nostril toils in vain ; For short and scant the breath each effort draws, And ’twixt each effort Nature claims a pause. Beyond the loose and sable neckcloth stretch’d, His sinewy throat seems by convulsion twitch’d, While the tongue falters, as to utterance loath, Sounds of dire import—watchword, threat, and oath. Though, stupefied by toil, and drugg’d with gin, The body sleep, the restless guest within Now plies on wood and wold his lawless trade, Now in the fangs of justice wakes dismay’d.— ‘© Was that wild start of terror and despair, Those bursting eyeballs, and that wilder’d air, Signs of compunction for a murder’d hare? Do the locks bristle and the eyebrows arch, For grouse or partridge massacred in March?’ — No, scoffer, no! Attend, and mark with awe, There is no wicket in the gate of law! He, that would e’er so lightly set ajar That awful portal, must undo each bar ; Tempting occasion, habit, passion, pride, Will join to storm the breach, and force the barrier wide. That ruffian, whom true men avoid and LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. 481 Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same, Till the revenue baulk’d, or pilfer’d game, Flesh the young culprit, and example leads | To darker villany, and direr deeds. Wild howl’d the wind the forest glades along, And oft the owl renew’d her dismal song ; Around the spot where erst he felt the wound, Red William’s spectre walk’d his midnight round. When oe the swamp he cast his blighting ook, From the green marshes of the stagnant brook The bittern’s sullen shout the sedges shook ! The wading moon, with storm-presaging gleam, Now gave and now withheld her doubtful beam ; The old Oak stoop’d his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky— ‘Twas then, that, couch’d amid the brushwood sere, In Malwood-walk young Mansell watch’d the deer: The fattest buck received his deadly shot— The hace: keeper heard, and sought the spot. Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife, O’erpower’d at length the Outlaw drew his knife. Next morn a corpse was found upon the fell— The rest his waking agony may tell! dread, Whom bruisers, poachers, smugglers, call Black Ned, Was Edward Mansell once ;—the lightest heart, That ever play’d on holyday his part! The leader he in every Christmas game, The harvest-feast grew blither when he came, And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance, When Edward named the tune and led the dance. Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong, Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song ; And if he loved a gun, his father swore, “Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o’er, Himself had done the same some thirty years before.” But he whose humours spurn law’s awful oke, Must Seed with those by whom law’s bonds are broke, The common dread of justice soon allies The clown, who robs the warren, or excise, With sterner felons train’d to act more dread, Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled. Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass, Leavening and festering the corrupted mass,— Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw, Their hope impunity, their fear the law ; —_—0— SONG. Ou, say not, my love, with that mortified air, That your spring-time of pleasure is flown, Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair, For those raptures that still are thine own. Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine, Its tendrils in infancy curl’d, Tis the ardour of August matures us the wine, Whose life-blood enlivens the world. Though thy form, that was fashion’d as light as a fay’s, Has assumed a proportion more round, And thy glance, that was bright as a falcon’s at gaze, Looks soberly now on the ground,— Enough, after absence to meet me again, Thy steps still with ecstasy move ; ; Enough, that those dear sober glances retain For me the kind language of love. —~o-— * 2 SCOTL’S POETICAL WORKS. EPITAPH, DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT IN LICHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD. AmiD these aisles, where once his precepts show’d The heavenward pathway which in life he trode, This simple tablet marks a Father’s bier, And those he loved in life, in death are near; For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise, Memorial of domestic charities. Still wouldst thou know why o’er the marble spread, In female grace the willow droops her head ; Why on her branches, silent and unstrung, The minstrel harp is emblematic hung ; What poet’s voice is smother’d here in dust Till waked to join the chorus of the just, — Lo! one brief line an answer sad supplies, Honour’d, beloved, and mourn’d, here SEWARD | lies! Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say,— Go seek her genius in her living lay. HEALTH TO LORD MELVILLE. 1806. AIR—Carrickfergus. SINCE here we are set in array round the table, Five hundred good fellows well met in a/| hall, Come listen, brave boys, and I’ll sing as I’m able How innocence triumph’d and pride got a/| fall. But push round the claret— Come, stewards, don’t spare it— With rapture you'll drink to the toast that I give: Here, boys, Off with it merrily— MELVILLE for ever, and long may he live! What were the Whigs doing, when boldly pur- suing, Pitt banish’d Rebellion, gave Treason a string ? Why, they swore on their honour, for ARTHUR O’CONNOR, And fought hard for Desparp against coun- try and king. Well, then, we knew, boys, Pitt and MELVILLE were true boys, And the tempest was raised by the friends of Reform. Ah, woe! Weep to his memory ; Low lies the pilot that weather’d the storm! And pray, don’t you mind when the Blues fir-t were raising, And we scarcely could think the house safe o’er our heads ? ; When villains and coxcombs, French politics praising, Drove peace from our tables and sleep from our beds ? Our hearts they grew bolder When, musket on shoulder, Stepp’d forth our old Statesmen example to give. Come, boys, never fear, Drink the Blue grenadier— Here’s to old Harry, and long may he live! They would turn us adrift; though rely, sir, upon it— Our own faithful chronicles warrant us that The free mountaineer and his bonny blue bonnet Have oft gone as far as the regular’s hat. We laugh at their taunting, For all we are wanting Is licence our life for our country to give. Off with it merrily, Horse, foot, and artillery, | Each loyal Volunteer, long may he live! | Tis not us alone, boys—the Army and Navy | Have each got a slap ’mid their politic pranks ; CORNWALLIS cashier’d, that watch’d winters to save ye, And the Cape call’d a bauble, unworthy of thanks. But vain is their taunt, No soldier shall want | The thanks that his country to valour can give: Come, boys, : Drink it off merrily,— | SIR een and PopHam, and long may they ive! And then our revenue—Lord knows how they view’d it, | While each petty statesman talk’d lofty and big ; But the beer-tax was weak, as if Whitbread had brew’d it, And the pig-iron duty a shame to a pig. In vain is their vaunting, Too surely there’s wanting What judgment, experience, and steadiness give: Come, boys, Drink about merrily,— ae to sage MELVILLE, and long may he ive ! Our King, too—our Princess—I dare not say more, sir,— May Providence watch them with mercy and might ! While there’s one Scottish hand that can wag a claymore, sir, They shall ne’er want a friend to stand up for their right. Be damn’d he that dare not,— For my part, I'll spare not To beauty afflicted a tribute to give: Fill it up steadily, Drink it off readily— Here’s to the Princess, and long may she live ! And since we must not set Auld Reekie in glory, And make her brown visage as light as her heart ; Till each man illumine his own upper story, Nor law-book nor lawyer shall force us to | part. In GRENVILLE and SPENCER, And some few good men, sir, High talents we honour, slight difference for- give ; | But the Brewer we'll hoax, Tallyho to the Fox, | And ne MELVILLE for ever, as long as we | ive !"— —~o— THE BOLD DRAGOON; OR, THE PLAIN OF BADAJOS, 1812. ‘Twas a Maréchal of France, and he fain would | honour gain, And he long’d to take a passing glance at Portugal from Spain ; With his flying guns this gallant gay, And boasted corps d’armée— LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. Three hundred British lads they made three _And a single word of Bonaparte before I close | When they meet the bold dragoons, with their O he fear’d not our dragoons, with their long | swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. To Campo Mayor come, he had quietly sat down, Just a fricassee to pick, while his soldiers sack’d the town, When, twas peste! morbleu! mon General, Hear the English bugle-call ! And behold the light dragoons, with their long | swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. Right about went horse and foot, artillery and all And, as the devil leaves a house, they tumbled | through the wall ; They took no time to seek the door, But, best foot set before— O they ran from our dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, . Whack, fal de ral, &. Those valiant men of France they had scarcely fled a mile, When on their flank there soused at once the British rank and file ; For Long, De Grey, and Otway, then Ne’er minded one to ten, But came on like light dragoons, with their long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. | ‘* No, not to these, for they have rest,— ; The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, | The stag his lair, the erne her nest, | But those for whom I pour the lay, | Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain grey, | Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day, Their hearts were made of English oak, their So huzza for brave dragoons, with their long Then here’s a health to Wellington, to Beres- THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE, 1692. Thy wayward notes of wail and woe, | The very household dogs were dumb, | Unwont to bay at guests that come 483 thousand reel, swords of Sheffield steel, Their horses were in Yorkshire bred, And Beresford them led ; swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. ford, to Long, ( my song: The eagles that to fight he brings Should serve his men with wings, long swords, boldly riding, Whack, fal de ral, &c. — 0— ON 1814, ‘‘Q TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow Far down the desert of Glencoe, Where none may list their melody ? Say, harp’st thou to the mists that fly, Or to the dun-deer glancing by, Or to the eagle, that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy ?”— Abode of lone security. Could screen from treach’rous cruelty. “ Their flag was furl’d, and mute their drum, In guise of hospitality. His blithest notes the piper plied, ( Her gayest snood the maiden tied, The dame her distaff flung aside, To tend her kindly housewifery. «The hand that mingled in the meal, At midnight drew the felon steel, And gave the host’s kind breast to feel Meed for his hospitality ! The friendly hearth which warm’d that hand, At midnight arm’d it with the brand, That bade destruction’s flames expand Their red and fearful blazonry. ‘Then woman’s shriek was heard in vain, Nor infancy’s unpitied plain, More than the warrior’s groan, could gain Respite from ruthless butchery ! EE Rg Os OC i Aa ' { t SCOTT'S POETICAL WOKS The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloked the hill, Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than Southern clemency. «‘ Long have my harp’s best notes been gone, Few are its strings, and faint their tone, They can but sound in desert lone Their grey-hair’d master’s misery. Were each grey hair a minstrel string, Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring, ‘Revenge for blood and treachery !’” PROLOGUE TO MISS BAILLIE’S PLAY OF THE FAMILY LEGEND. 1809. 'Trs sweet to hear expiring Summer’s sigh, Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die ; ‘Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear Of distant music, dying on the ear; But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, We list the legends of our native land, Link'd as they come with every tender tie, Memorials dear of youth and infancy. Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. Whether on India’s burning coasts he toil, Or till Acadia’s winter-fetter’d soil, He hears with throbbing heart and moisten’d eyes, And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise ! It opens on his soul his native dell, The woods wild waving, and the water’s swell ; Tradition’s theme, the tower that threats the | plain, The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain ; The cot, beneath whose simple porch were told, By grey-hair’d patriarch, the tales of old, The infant group, that hush’d their sports the | while, And the dear maid who listen’d with a smile. The wanderer, while the vision warms his | brain, Is denizen of Scotland once again. Are such keen feelings to the crowd con- | fined, And sleep they in the Poet’s gifted mind ? Oh no! For She, within whose mighty page Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. Yourselves shall judge —whoe’er has raised the | sail By Mull’s dark coast, has heard this evening’s tale. The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, Points to the fatal rock amid the roar |Of whitening waves, and tells whate’er to- night | Our humble stage shall offer to your sight ; | Proudly preferr’d that first our efforts give ee glowing from her pen to breathe and ive; | More proudly yet, should Caledon approve | The filial token of a Daughter’s love. | —_o— FOR A’ THAT AN’ A’ THAT. A NEW SONG TO AN OLD TUNE. 1814. THoucu right be aft put down by strength, As mony a day we saw that, The true and leilfu’ cause at length Shall bear the grie for a’ that. For a’ that an’ a’ that, Guns, guillotines, and a’ that, The Fleur-de-lis, that lost her right, | Is queen again for a’ that! We'll twine her in a friendly knot With England’s Rose, and a’ that ; The Shamrock shall not be forgot, For Wellington made braw that. The Thistle, though her leaf be rude, Yet faith we’ll no misca’ that, She shelter’d in her solitude The Fleur-de-lis, for a’ that. The Austrian Vine, the Prussian Pine, (For Blucher’s sake, hurra that,) | The Spanish Olive, too, shall join, And bloom in peace for a’ that. | Stout Russia’s Hemp, so surely twined, Around our wreath we'll draw that, And he that would the cord unbind, Shall have it for his gra-vat ! Or, if to choke sae puir a sot, » Your pity scorn to thraw that, The Devil’s elbow be his lot, Where he may sit and claw that. In spite of slight, in spite of might, In spite of brags, an’ a’ that, The lads that battled for the right, Have won the day, an’ a’ that! There’s ae bit spot I had forgot, America they ca’ that! A coward plot her rats had got Their father’s flag to gnaw that: Now see it fly top-gallant high, Atlantic winds shall blaw that, And Yankee loon, beware your croun, There’s kames in hand to claw that! For on the land, or on the sea, Where’er the breezes blaw that, The British Flag shall bear the grie, And win the day for a’ that! —_—~o—_— nt ZVRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. | Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the SONG, sad measure, The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright Bee treasure, pee ea POO TLAND. | The wisdom that plann’d, and the zeal that etd obey’d. | Fill WELLINGTON’s cup till it beam like his O, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the | glory, omen, Forget not our own brave DALHOUSIE and When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter’d | GR2ME ; in vain, | A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at And beholding broad Europe bow’d down by | their story, her foemen, | And hallow the goblet that flows to their Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her | fame. reign ! Sd Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his | brave spirit B To take for his country the safety of shame; | PHAROS LOQUITUR. O, then in her triumph remember his merit, | Far in the bosom of the deep, And hallow the goblet that flows to his O’er these wild shelves my watch I keep ; name. A ruddy gem of changeful light, Bound on the dusky brow of night, Round the husbandman’s head, while he traces The seaman bids my lustre hail, the furrow, And scorns to strike his timorous sail. The mists of the winter may mingle with | rain, | j= He may plough it with labour, and sow it in | sorrow, = And sigh while he fears he has sow’d it in | LINES, vain ; hy sod : ee ! He may die ere his children shall reap in their ADDBESSUDI TO -BANALD MACDONALD: ERGs gladness, | OF STAFFA. But the blithe harvest-home shall remember | 1814 his claim ; rs And their jubilee-shout shall be soften’d with StaFFa, sprung from high Macdonald, sadness, Worthy branch of old Clan-Ranald ! While they hallow the goblet that flows to | Staffa! king of all kind fellows! his name. Well befall thy hills and valleys, Lakes and inlets, deeps and shallows— ; mae | PU ae ng || Cliffs of darkness, caves of wonder, ee ae and timeless his life was ex- Echoing the Atlantic thunder ; In toils for our country preserved by his Mountains which the grey mist covers, care ai : here ee spirit hovers, as aN . —s ee ausing while his pinions quiver, one ea ere one ray o’er the nations st retch’d to quit our land for ever! ‘ ea pm ae : tach kind influence reign above thee ! 7” oe long darkness of doubt and Warmer heart, ’twixt this and den The storms he endured in our Britain’s De- Beats not, than in heart of Staffa! cember, The perils his wisdom foresaw and o’ercame, a In her glory’s rich harvest shall Britain re- | member, LETTER IN VERSE And hallow the goblet that flows to his name. | ON THE VOYAGE WITH THE COMMISSIONERS OF NORTHERN LIGHTS. Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in | we, Ws affliction, Is deaf to the tale of our victories won, TO And to sounds the most dear to paternal affec- | tion, | HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCCLEUCH, The shout of his people applauding his Son ; By his firmness unmoved in success and dis- ETC, ETC, ETC. aster, : ats 7 Lighthouse Yacht in the Sound of Lerwick, By his long reign of virtue, remember his Zetland, Sth August 1814. claim ! With our tribute to Pirr join the praise of his HEALTH to the chieftain from his clansmen Master, . true ! Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to} From her true minstrel, health to fair Buc- his name, cleuch ! | Ay ) 486 SCOTL"S POLTICAL WOR Health from the isles, where dewy Morning | Hard fate of war, which bade her terrors sway weaves His destined course, and seize so mean a prey ; Her chaplet with the tints that Twilight | A bark with planks so warp’d and seams so leaves ; riven, Where late the sun scarce vanish’d from the | She scarce might face the gentlest airs of sight, heaven : And his bright pathway graced the short-lived | Pensive he sits, and questions oft if none night, Can list his speech, and understand his moan ; Though darker now as autumn’s shades ex- | In vain—no Islesman now can use the tongue tend, Of the bold Norse, from whom their lineage The north winds whistle and the mists ascend! | sprung. Health from the land where eddying whirl- | Not thus of old the Norsemen hither came, winds toss Won by the love of danger or of fame ; The storm-rock’d cradle of the Cape of Noss; | On every storm-beat cape a shapeless tower On outstretch’d cords the giddy engine slides, | Tells of their wars, their conquests, and their His own strong arm the bold adventurer power ; guides, For ne’er for Grecia’s vales, nor Latian land, And he that lists such desperate feat to try, Was fiercer strife than for this barren strand ; May, like the sea-mew, skim ’twixt surf and | A race severe—the isle and ocean lords, sky, Loved for its own delight the strife of swords; And feel the mid-air gales around him blow, With scornful iaugh the mortal pang defied, And see the billows rage five hundred feet | And blest their gods that they in battle died. below. TE ASE SS OR a eT OU wW* eater er oes Such were the sires of Zetland’s simple race, And still the eye may faint resemblance trace In the blue eye, tall form, proportion fair, The limbs athletic, and the long light hair— (Such was the mien, as Scald and Minstrel sings, Of fair-hair’d Harold, first of Norway’s Kings ;) But their high deeds to scale these crags con- fined, Their only warfare is with waves and wind. Here, by each stormy peak and desert shore, The hardy islesman tugs the daring oar, Practised alike his venturous course to keep, Through the white breakers or the pathless deep, By ceaseless peril and by toil to gain A wretched pittance from the niggard main. And when the worn-out drudge old ocean leaves, What comfort greets him, and what hut receives? Lady ! the worst your presence ere has cheer’d | Why should I talk of Mousa’s castled coast? (When want and sorrow fied as you appear’d) | Why of the horrors of the Sumburgh Rost? Were to a Zetlander as the high dome May not these bald disjointed lines suffice, Of proud Drumlanrig to my humble home. Penn’d while my comrades whirl the rattling Here rise no groves, and here no gardens blow, dice— Here even the hardy heath scarce dares to | While down the cabin skylight lessening shine grow ; The rays, and eve is chased with mirth and But rocks on rocks, in mist and storm array’d, wine? Stretch far to sea their giant colonnade, Imagined, while down Mousa’s desert bay With many a cavern seam’d, the dreary haunt | Our well-trimm’d vessel urged her nimble way, Of the dun seal and swarthy cormorant. While to the freshening breeze she lean’d her Wild round their rifted brows, with frequent side, cry And bade her bowsprit kiss the foamy tide? As of lament, the gulls and gannets fly, And from their sable base, with sullen sound, In sheets of whitening foam the waves re- bound. VRS RA nace Such are the lays that Zetland Isles supply ; Drench’d with the drizzly spray and dropping sky, Weary and wet, a sea-sick minstrel I.——wW. Scort. Yet even these coasts a touch of envy gain From those whose land has known oppres- sion’s chain ; For here the industrious Dutchman comes POSTSCRIPTUM. once more fe To moor his fishing craft by Bressay’s shore ; Kirkwall, Orn), 5a ee Greets every former mate and brother tar, In respect that your Grace has commission’d Marvels how Lerwick ’scaped the rage of war, a Kraken, Tells many a tale of Gallic outrage done, | You will please be inform’d that they seldom And ends by blessing God and Wellington. | are taken ; Here too the Greenland tar, a fiercer guest, It is January two years, the Zetland folks say, Claims a brief hour of riot, not of rest ; Since they saw the last Kraken in Scalloway Proves each wild frolic that in wine has birth, bay ; And wakes the land with brawls and boister- He lay in the offing a fortnight or more, ous mirth. But the devil a Zetlander put from the shore, A sadder sight on yon poor vessel’s prow | Though bold in the seas of the North to assail _ The captive Norseman sits in silent woe, | The morse and the sea-horse, the grampus and , And eyes the flags of Britain as they flow. whale. o> LYRICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. A67.°% ee If your Grace thinks I’m writing the thing | Pursued by seven Orkneymen’s boats and no that is not, ‘ more, You may ask at a namesake of ours, Mr. | Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn Scott— | on the shore! (He’s not from our clan, though his merits | You'll ask if I saw this same wonderful sight ; deserve it, | I own that I did not, but easily might— But springs, I’m informed, from the Scotts of | For this mighty shoal of leviathans lay Scotstarvet ;) On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop of the bay He question’d the folks who beheld it with And the islesmen of Sanda were all at the spoil, eyes, | And flinching (so term it) the blubber to boil ; But they differ’d confoundedly as to its size. (Ye spirits of lavender, drown the reflection For instance, the modest and diffident swore | That awakes at the thoughts of this odorous That it seem’d like the keel of aship,and no| * dissection.) | To see this huge marvel full fain would we go, axerusSD AES more— Those of eyesight more clear, or of fancy more But Wilson, the wind, and the current, said no. | high, | We have now got to Kirkwall, and needs I - Said it rose like an island ’twixt ocean and must stare i sky— | When I think that in verse I have once call’d | But all of the hulk had a steady opinion it fair ; | it That ‘twas sure a live subject of Neptune’s | "Tis a base little borough, both dirty and | i dominion— mean— . And I think, my Lord Duke, your Grace hardly There is nothing to hear, and there’s nought | ‘ would wish, to be seen, . To cumber your house, such a kettle of Save a church, where, of old times, a prelate — fish. harangued, _ Had your order related to night-caps or hose, | And a palace that’s built by an earl that was ) Or mittens of worsted, there’s plenty of those. | hang’d. 4 Or would you be pleased but to fancy a whale? But, farewell to Kirkwall—aboard we are And direct me to send it—by sea or by mail? | going, The season, I’m told, is nigh over, but still | The anchor’s a-peak, and the breezes are blow- I could get you one fit for the lake at Bowhill. ing ; Indeed, as to whales, there’s no need to be | Our commodore calls all his band to their thrifty, places, Since one day last fortnight two hundred and | And ’tis time to release you—good niglit to ii fifty, your Graces ! i SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. Verses, Wottocs, *c., FROM THE WAVERLEY NOVELS AND TALES. —0— From ‘“ WAVERLEY.” 1814. BRIDAL SONG. 7a the tune of ‘‘ Ihave been a Fiddler,” &c. AND did ye not hear of a mirth befell The morrow after a wedding day, And carrying a bride at home to dwell? And away to Tewin, away, away ! The quintain was set, and the garlands were made, ‘Tis pity old customs should ever decay ; And woe be to him that was horsed on a jade, For he carried no credit away, away. We met a concert of fiddle-de-dees ; We set them a cockhorse, and made them play The winning of Bullen, and Upsey-frees, And away to Tewin, away, away ! There was ne’er a lad in all the parish That would go to the plough that day ; But on his fore-horse his wench he carries; And away to Tewin, away, away ! The butler was quick, and the ale he did tap, The maidens did make the chamber full gay ; The servants did give me a fuddling cup, And I did carry ’t away, away. The smith of the town his liquor so took, That he was persuaded that the ground look’d blue ; And I dare boldly be sworn on a book, Such smiths as he there’s but a few. A posset was made, and the women did sip, And simpering said, they could eat no more: Full many a maiden was laid on the lip,— ['ll say no more, but give o’er, (give o’er.) Appendix to the General Preface. —~o— VERSES BY EDWARD WAVERLEY. LatE, when the autumn evening fell On Mirkwood-Mere’s romantic dell, The lake return’d, in chasten’d gleam, The purple cloud, the golden beam: Reflected in the crystal pool, Headland and bank lay fair and cool ; The weather-tinted rock and tower, Each drooping tree, each fairy flower, So true, so soft, the mirror gave, As if there lay beneath the wave, Secure from trouble, toil, and care, A world than earthly world more fair. But distant winds began to wake, And roused the Genius of the Lake! He heard the groaning of the oak, And donn’d at once his sable cloak, As warrior, at the battle cry, Invests him with his panoply: Then, as the whirlwind nearer press’d, He ’gan to shake his foamy crest O’er furrow’d brow and blacken’d cheek, And bade his surge in thunder speak. In wild and broken eddies whirl’d, Flitted that fond ideal world ; And, to the shore in tumult tost, The realms of fairy bliss were lost. Yet, with a stern delight and strange, I saw the spirit-stirring change. As warr’d the wind with wave and wood, Upon the ruin’d tower I stood, And felt my heart more strongly bound, Responsive to the lofty sound, While, joying in the mighty roar, I mourn’d that tranquil scene no more. So, on the idle dreams of youth Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth, Bids each fair vision pass away, Like landscape on the lake that lay, As fair, as flitting, and as frail, As that which fied the autumn gale— For ever dead to fancy’s eye Be each gay form that glided by, While dreams of love and lady’s charms Give place to honour and to arms ! Chap. ¥. --—-——— SE RE LN I TIE OTE OC I AN en VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 489 DAVIE GELLATLEY’S SONG. FALSE love, and hast thou play’d me this In summer among the flowers ? I will repay thee back again In winter among the showers. Unless again, again, my love, Unless you turn again ; As you with other maidens rove, I'll smile on other men. - “This is a genuine ancient fragment, with some alteration in the last two lines.” ‘«__-The questioned party replied,— THE Knight's to the mountain His bugle to wind; j The Lady’s to greenwood Her garland to bind. The bower of Burd Ellen Has moss on the floor, That the step of Lord William Be silent and sure, Chap. ix. —_—o— ‘‘HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY.” DAVIE GELLATLEY’S SONG. HIE away, hie away, Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest, Where the lady-fern grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the black-cock sweetest sips it, Where the fairy latest trips it: Hie to haunts right seldom seen, Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, Over bank and over brae, Hie away, hie away. Chap. Xii. —o— ST. SWITHIN’S CHAIR. ROSE BRADWARDINE’S SONG. On Hallow-Mass Eve, ere you boune ye to rest, | Ever beware that your couch be bless’d ; | Sign it with cross, and sain it with bead, Sing the Ave, and say the Creed. | For on Hallow-Mass Eve the Night-Hag will ride, And all her nine-fold sweeping on by her side, Whether the wind sing lowly or loud, Sailing through moonshine or swath’d in the cloud. The Lady she sate in St. Swithin’s Chair, The dew of the night has damp’d her hair: Her cheek was pale—but resolved and high Was the word of her lip and the glance of her eye, a | She mutter’d the spell of Swithin bold, | When his naked foot traced the midnight wold, When he stopp’d the Hag as she rode the night, And bade her descend, and her promise plight. He that dare sit on St. Swithin’s Chair, ; When the Night-Hag wings the troubled air, | Questions three, when he speaks the spell, | He may ask, and she must tell. | The Baron has been with King Robert his liege, | These three long years in battle and siege ; | News are there none of his weal or his woe, | And fain the Lady his fate would know. | She shudders and stops as the charm she speaks ;— | Is it the moody owl that shrieks? | Or is that sound, betwixt laughter and scream, |The voice of the Demon who haunts the stream? The moan of the wind sunk silent and low, And the roaring torrent had ceased to flow ; The calm was more dreadful than raging storm, When the cold grey mist brought the ghastly form ! # % se * Chap, xiii. —_J0— arene GELLATLEY’S SECOND SONG. | YouNG men will love thee more fair and more fast ; Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? | Old men’s love the longest will last, | And the throstle-cock’s head is under his wing. The young man’s wrath is like light straw on fire; Heard ye so merry the little bird sing ? But like red-hot steel is the old man’s ire, And the throstle-cock’s head is under his wing. |The young man will brawl at the evening board ; | Heard ye so merry the litile bird sing ? | But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword, And the throstle-cock’s head is under his wing. Chap. xiv. ——O0— JANET GELLATLEY’S WITCHCRAFT. ‘‘This ancedote ledinto along discussion of,” Aut those idle thoughts and phantasies, Devices, dreams, opinions unsound, Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies, And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies, Chap. xiii. SCOTT S (OL Gar FLORA MACIVOR’S SONG. THERE is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the ; Gael. _ A stranger commanded—it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb’d every hand ! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden’d with rust ; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer. _ The deeds of our sires if our bards should re- hearse, - Leta blush ora blow be the meed of their verse! | _ Bemute every string, and be hush’d every tone, | That shall bid us remember the fame that is | flown. ' But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past, The morn on our mountains is dawning at last ; Glenaladale’s peaks are illumed with the rays, And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze. O high-minded Moray!—the exiled—the dear!— In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear ! Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly, Like the sun’s latest flash when the tempest | is nigh ! Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break, Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake? That dawn never beam’d on your forefathers’ eye, But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die. O sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state, Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengary, and Sleat ! Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow, And resistless in union rush down on the foe. True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel, Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish | thy steel! Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle’s | bold swell, Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell! Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kin- ail, Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the ale ! May the race of Clan-Gillian, the fearless and free, Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee! Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven, WORKS. oe | Unite with the race of renown’d Rorri More, To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar! How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display The yew-crested bonnet o’er tresses of grey ! How the race of wrong’d Alpine and murder’d Glencoe Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe! Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar, Resume the pure faith of the great Callum- More! | Mac-Niel of the Islands, and Moy of the Lake, For honour, for freedom, for vengeance awake ! Awake on your hills, on your islands awake, Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake ! ’Tis the bugle—but not for the chase is the call ; ’Tis the pibroch’s shrill summons—but not to the hall. Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death, When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath ; They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe, To the march and the muster, the line and the charge. Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin’s in his Be ire! | May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire ! Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore! Or die, like your sires, and endure it no more! ——0-— LINES ON CAPTAIN WOGAN. TO AN OAK TREE, IN THE CHURCHYARD OF , IN THE HIGH- LANDS OF SCOTLAND, SAID TO MARK THE GRAVE OF CAPTAIN WOGAN, KILLED IN 1649. EmBLemM of England’s ancient faith, Full proudly may thy branches wave, Where loyalty lies low in death, And valour fills a timeless grave. And thou, brave tenant of the tomb ! Repine not if our clime deny, Above thine honour’d sod to bloom, The flowrets of a milder sky. These owe their birth to genial May ; Beneath a fiercer sun they pine, Before the winter storm decay— And can their worth be type of thine? No! for, ’mid storms of Fate opposing. Still higher swell’d thy dauntless heart, And, while Despair the scene was closing, Commenced thy brief but brilliant part. a a ne hee emer nn y Tae a cnc i — = ‘Twas then thou sought’st on Albyn’s hill, (When England’s sons the strife resign’d,) A rugged race resisting still, And unsubdued though unrefined. Thy death’s hour heard no kindred wail, No holy knell thy requiem rung ; Thy mourners were the plaided Gael, Thy dirge the clamorous pibroch sung. Yet who, in Fortune’s summer-shine, To waste life’s longest term away, Would change that glorious dawn of thine, Though darken’d ere its noontide day ? Be thine the Tree whose dauntless boughs Brave summer’s drought and winter’s gloom! Rome bound with oak her patriots’ brows, As Albyn shadows Wogan’s tomb. Chap. Xxix. —o — “FOLLOW ME, FOLLOW ME.” But follow, follow me, While glow-worms light the lea, T’ll show ye where the dead should be— Each in his shroud, While winds pipe loud, And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud, Follow, follow me; Brave should he be That treads by the night the dead man’s lea,” Chap. \xiii. From ‘‘ Guy MANNERING.” 185. SONGS OF MEG MERRILIES. NATIVITY OF HARRY BERTRAM. Canny moment, lucky fit ; Is the lady lighter yet? Be it lad, or be it lass, Sign wi’ cross, and sain wi’ mass. Trefoil, vervain, John’s-wort, dill, Hinders witches of their will ; Weel is them, that weel may Fast upon St. Andrew’s day. Saint Bride and her brat, Saint Colme and her cat, Saint Michael and his spear, Keep the house frae reif and wear. Chap. iii. —~o-— VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 491 “TWIST YE, TWINE YE.” TWIST ye, twine ye! even so, Mingle shades of joy and woe, Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife, In the thread of human life. While the mystic twist is spinning, And the infant’s life beginning, Dimly seen through twilight bending, Lo, what varied shapes attending |! Passions wild, and follies vain, Pleasures soon exchanged for pain ; Doubt, and jealousy, and fear, In the magic dance appear. Now they wax, and now they dwindle, Whirling with the whirling spindle. Twist ye, twine ye! even so, Mingle human bliss and woe, Thid. — — THE DYING SMUGGLER. WASTED, Weary, wherefore stay, Wrestling thus with earth and clay? From the body pass away ; Hark ! the mass is singing. From thee doff thy mortal weed, Mary Mother be thy speed, Saints to help thee at thy need ;— Hark ! the knell is ringing. Fear not snow-drift driving fast, Sleet, or hail, or levin blast ; Soon the shroud shall lap thee fast, And the sleep be on thee cast That shall ne’er know waking. Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, Karth flits fast, and time draws on,— Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, Day is near the breaking. ‘The songstress paused, and was answered | by one or two deep and hollow groans that ' seemed to proceed from the very agony of the mortal strife. ‘It will not be,’ she muttered to herself. ‘He cannot pass away with that on his mind ; it tethers him here. ‘ Heaven cannot abide it ; Earth refuses to hide it. I must open the door.’ Se She lifted the latch, saying, ‘Open locks, end strife, Come death, and pass life.’” Chap. xxvii. —o— THE PROPHECY. THE dark shall be light, And the wrong made right, When Bertram’s right and Bertram’s might Shall meet on Ellangowan’s height. Chap. xii 2H none te RE REISE TE SS + 492 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. Ht | SONGS OF DIRK HATTERAICK AND ELSPETH’S BALLAD. r GLOSSIN. THE herring loves the merry moon-light, i The mackerel loves the wind, i ie Saufen bier, und brante-wein, But the oyster loves the dredging sang, ; Hine Schmeissen alle die fenstern ein ; For they come of a gentle kind. i Ich ben liederlich, : ; Du bist liederlich, Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle, — Sind wir nicht liederlich leute a. And listen great and sma’, é . And I will sing of Glenallan’s Earl F “** Well said, my hearty Captain!’ cried That fought on the red Harlaw. i . eS Seat ear aane to catch the tone of The cronach’s cried on Bennachie, i ; TONG IY) = | And doun the Don and a’, By | And hieland and lawland may mournfu’ be Gin by pailfuls, wine in rivers, | For the sair field of Harlaw.—— Dash the window-glass to shivers : | For three wild lads were we, brave boys, They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, f : And three wild lads were we; | They hae bridled a hundred black, a | : f Thou on the land, and I on the sand, With a chafron of steel on each horse’s head, | And Jack on the gallows-tree ! And a good knight upon his back. . Lh Chap. XXxiv. : : . : I) They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, vn | A mile, but barely ten, ) Fh é - é When Donald came branking down the brae i! From ‘‘ THE ANTIQUARY. Wi’ twenty thousand men. HE | 1816. i Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, f TIME The pibrochs rung frae side to side, g if j Would deafen ye to hear. ; ¥ “ Way sitt’st thou by that ruin’d hall, t i Thou aged carle so stern and grey? The great Earl in his stirrups stood, ' , | Dost thou its former pride recal, That Highland host to see : f fll Or ponder how it pass’d away ?”— “« Now here a knight that’s stout and good i n May prove a jeopardie: i *“Know’st thou not me?” the Deep Voice | ‘ 4 air! cried ; ““What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay, j \ *‘So long enjoy’d, so oft misused— | ‘That rides beside my reyne,— vib | Alternate, in thy fickle pride, | Were ye Glenallan’s Harl the day, bi : Desired, neglected, and accused ! And I were Roland Cheyne? i ; bce rel in ¢ 9 _ “Before my breath, like blazing flax, ao fbi wore wend ea rae : Man and his marvels pass away ! | What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne, And changing empires wane and wax, : Were ye Glenallan’s Earl ?”— ’ Are founded, flourish, and decay. | “Were I Glenallan’s Earl this tide, ‘Redeem mine hours—the space is brief— | And ye were Roland Cheyne, i While in my glass the sand-grains shiver, | The spear should be in my horse’s side, i } And measureless thy joy or grief, | And the bridle upon his mane. | When Time and thou shalt part for ever!” Chap. X. ‘If they hae twenty thousand blades, And we twice ten times ten, we Yet they hae but their tartan plaids, | And we are mail-clad men. UNSERE EE EPITAPH ON JON O’ YE GIRNELL. | ‘‘My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, ron. Chanter oi As thr ough the moorland fern,— ra Then ne’er let the gentle Norman blude HEIR lyeth Jon o’ ye Girnell. | Grow cauld for Highland kerne.” Erth has ye nit and heuen ye kirnell. » In hys tyme ilk wyfe’s hennis clokit, c . ‘ : * i K: : » Ilka gud mannis herth wi’ bairnis was stokit, | i ; a z mat _ He deled a boll o’ bear in firlottis fyve, | He turn’d him right and round again, _ Four for ye halie kirke and ane for pure Said, Scorn na at my mither ; mennis wyvis. Light loves I may get mony a ane, eee But minnie ne'er anither. | & Chap. xl. >} $________________ a a MOTTOES IN THE ANTIQUARY. | | ““THE scraps of poetry which have been in most cases tacked to the beginning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention. I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, and, in the situation of the theatrical mecha- | nist, who, when the white paper which re- presented his shower of snow was exhausted, continued the shower by snowing brown, I drew on my memory as long as I could, and when that failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in some cases, where actual names are affixed to the supposed quotations, it would be to little purpose to seek them in | the works of the authors referred to. In some cases, I have been entertained when Dr. Watts and other graver authors have been ransacked in vain for stanzas for which the novelist alone | was responsible, '’—Jntroduction to Chronicles of the Canongate. [ knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and pru- dent, Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him ; But he was shrewish as a wayward child, And pleased again by toys which childhood please ; As—book of fables graced with print of wood, Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, Or the rare melody of some old ditty, That first was sung to please King Pepin’s cradle. CHAP. IX. ““Be brave,” she cried, ‘*you yet may be our fuest. Our haunted room was ever held the best : If, then, your valour can the fight sustain Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain ; If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk ; If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb, I'll see your sheets well air’d, and show the room.” True Story. CHAP. XI. Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, And order’d all the pageants as they went ; Sometimes that only ’twas wild Fancy’s play, — The loose and scatter’d relics of the day. CHAP, XII, Beggar!—the only freemen of your Common- wealth Free above Scot-free, that observe no laws, Obey no governor, use no religion But what they draw from their own ancient customs, Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebels. Brome. VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 493 CHAP, XIX. Here has been such a stormy encounter, | Betwixt my cousin Captain, and this soldier, About I know not what !—nothing, indeed ; Competitions, degrees, and comparatives | Of soldiership ! A Faire Quarrel. CHART Xx If you fail honour here, Never presume to serve her any more; Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, And the honourable name of soldier Fall from you, like a shiver’d wreath of laurel By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. A Faire Quarrel. CHAP. XXI. The Lord Abbot had a soul | Subtile and quick, and searching as the fire: By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, And if in devils’ possession gold be kept, He brought some sure from thence—’tis hid in Caves, Known, save to me, to none—— The Wonder of a Kingdome. CHAP. XXVII. ——— Many great ones Would part with half their states, to have the plan And credit to beg in the first style.— Beggar's Bush. CHAP. XXX. Who is he ?—One that for the lack of land Shall fight upon the water—he hath challenged Formerly the grand whale ; and by his titles | Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth. | He tilted with a sword-fish—Marry, sir, Th’ aquatic had the best—the argument Still galls our champion’s breech. Old Play. CHAP. XXX1, Tell me not of it, friend—when the young weep, Their tears are lukewarm brine ;—from our old eyes Sorrow falls down like hail-drops of the North, Chilling the furrows of our wither’d cheeks, Cold as our hopes, and harden’d as our feel- ing— Theirs, as they fall, sink sightless—ours recoil, Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us. Old Play. CHAP. XXXIII. | Remorse—she ne’er forsakes us !— | A bloodhound stanch she tracks our rapid step Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us ; efoe } ~ a SR 494 Then in our lair, when Time hath chill’d our joints, And maim’d our hope of combat, or of flight, | We hear her deep-mouth’d bay, announcing all Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. coo Old Play. CHAP, XXXIV. Still in his dead hand clench’d remain the strings / hat thrill his father’s heart—e’en as the limb, ' Lopp’d off and laid in grave, retains, they tell : us, Strange commerce with the mutilated stump, Whose nerves are twinging still in maim’d existence. Old Play. Dee SE CHAP, XXXV. ——— Life, with you, ‘Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaff’d, That glads the heart and elevates the fancy :— uueenepu t SCOTT’S POETICAL WOK ' Fortune, you say, Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries ; | + - ome Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream, For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. The Loves of the Sea- Weeds. OA NE TEE TT A CHAP, XLII. Let those go see who will—I like it not— For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp, And all the nothings he is now divorced from By the hard doom of stern necessity ; Yet is it sad to mark his alter’d brow, Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil O’er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish, Old Play. CHAP. XLIII. | flies from us—She but circles, Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler’s skiff, — Lost in the mist one moment, and the next ) | Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing, | | As if to court the aim.—Experience watches, | Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling Old Play. CHAP. XXXVII. Yes! I love Justice well—as well as you do— But, since the good dame’s blind, she shall excuse me, If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb ;— The breath I utter now shall be no means To take away from me my breath in future. I BR Te | Mine is the poor residuum of the cup, t } | Kl i ' 1 Old Play. e CHAP. XXXVIII. kil Well, well, at worst, ‘tis neither theft nor coinage, ih Granting I knew all that you charge me with. What, tho’ the tomb hath born a second birth, And given the wealth to one that knew not on ’t, Yet fair exchange was never robbery, ipa Far less pure bounty —- i Old Play. rep CHAP. XL. Pty H { Life ebbs from such old age, unmark’d and | silent, if As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.— Late she rock’d merrily at the least impulse That wind or wave could give; but now her keel Is settling on the sand, her mast has ta’en An angle with the sky, from which it shifts not. Each wave receding shakes her less and less, Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain Useless as motionless. Old Play. va CHAP. XLI. So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, Incumbent, brooded o’er her eggs of gold, j Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. | With hand outstretch’d, impatient to destroy, > s 7 — —— wn ee EN OE I NOE RR EEE TREE RR ES I wu eet ee peter Sn res ee And has her on the wheel.— Old Play. | | | CHAP. XLIV. ewer ore | Nay, if she love me not, I care not for her: | Shall I look pale because the maiden blooms? ) Or sigh because she smiles—and smiles on ) others ? Not I, by Heaven !—I hold my peace too dear, | | To let it, like the plume upon her cap, ) | Shake at each nod that her caprice shall dic- tate. Old Play. ——+ From ‘‘THE BLack DWARF.” 1816. MOTTOES. CHAP. V. THE bleakest rock upon the loneliest heath Feels, in its barrenness, some touch of spring ; And, in the April dew, or beam of May, Its moss and lichen freshen and revive ; And thus the heart, most sear’d to human pleasure, t Melts at the tear, joys in the smile of woman. Beaumont. CHAP. XVI. | ——--——. "T'was time and griefs That framed him thus: Time, with his fairer hand, | Offering the fortunes of his former days, | The former man may make him—Bring us to | him, And chance it as it may. Old Play. QO Sewanee er errr 2 VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NO MOTTOKS. 1816, CHAR V. VELS. 493 From ‘‘OLD MorTALIty.” AROUSE thee, youth !—-it is no common call, — Es a rod’ hurch is leaguer’d—haste § @ MAJOR BELLENDEN’S SONG. God’s herd is leaguer’d—haste to man the Haste where the Red-cross banners wave on high, Signals of honour’d death or victory. James Duff. AND what though winter will pinch severe Through locks of grey and a cloak that’s old, Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier, For a cup of sack shall fence the cold. CHAP. XIV. My hounds may a’ rin masterless, But time and years would overthrow ? My hawks ey fly frae tree to,tree, My lord may grip my vassal lands, Chap. xix. For there again maun I never be! oo Old Ballad. VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL’S POCKET-BOOK, WRAPT ROUND THE LOCK OF HAIR. Tuy hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright, As in that well-remember’d night, When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper’d love. For time will rust the brightest blade, And years will break the strongest bow ; Was never wight so starkly made, CHAP. XXXIV. Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife ! To all the sensual world proclaim, One crowded hour of glorious life Is worth an age without a name, Anonymous. ——+4-— Since then how often hast thou press’d From “Ros Roy. The torrid zone of this wild breast, 1817. Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell With the first sin which peopled hell, A breast whose blood’s a troubled ocean, Wom Each throb the earthquake’s wild commo- | {0 THE MEMORY OF EDWARD THE tion !— BLACK PRINCE. O, if such clime thou canst endure, Yet keep thy hue unstain’d and pure, What conquest o’er each erring thought On Fontarabian echoes borne, Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought ! The dying hero’s call, I had not wander’d wild and wide, | That told imperial Charlemagne, With such an angel for my guide ; How Paynim sons of swarthy Spain Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me, Had wrought his champion’s fall. [f she had lived, and lived to love me. O For the voice of that wild horn, | Sad over earth and ocean sounding, And England’s distant cliffs astounding, Such are the notes should say How Britain's hope, and France’s fear, Victor of Cressy and Poitier, In Bourdeaux dying lay. Not then this world’s wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, My sole delight the headlong race, And frantic hurry of the chase ; To start, pursue, and bring to bay, Rush in, drag down and rend my prey, Then—from the carcass turn away ! Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound which pride in- flamed ! Yes, God and man might now approve me, If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me. Chap, Xxill. ‘« Like me, he sinks to Glory’s sleep, —I7— His fall the dews of evening steep, As if in sorrow shed. EPITAPH ON BALFOUR OF BURLEY. | ** Raise my faint head, my squires,” he said, ‘** And let the casement be display’d, That I may see once more The splendour of the setting sun Gleam on thy mirror’d wave, Garonne, And Blaye’s empurpled shore.” So soft shall fall the trickling tear, | When England’s maids and matrons hear HERE lyes ane saint to prelates surly, Of their Black Edward dead. Being John Balfour, sometime of Burley, Who, stirred up to vengeance take, |“ And though my sun of glory set, For Sclemn League and Cov’nant’s sake, | Nor France nor England shal] forget Upon the Magus-Moor, in Fife, | The terror of my name ; Did tak’ James Sharpe the apostate’s life ; ; And oft shall Britain’s heroes rise, By Dutchman’s hands was hacked and shot, New planets in these southern skies, Then drowned in Clyde near this saam spot. Through clouds of blood and flame. Chap. xliv. | Chap. ii. a - .; ~ ei“ OA ee TY oi ET CET ws mes Lot kn a RPE Ra aN Rie it BS ~ wt a 496 5. CO 1a: POETICAL WORKS. The desperate revelries of wild despair, TRANSLATION FROM ARIOSTO. Kindling their hell-born cressets, light to aw tana eee ae 1807, deeds | That the poor captive would have died ere LADIES, and knights, and arms, and love’s fair | practised, far ne, | Till bondage sunk his soul to his condition. Deeds of emprize and courtesy, I sing ; The Prison, Scene iii. Act i. What time the Moors from sultry Africk came, | Led on by Agramant, their youthful king— CHAP. XXVIL He whom revenge and hasty ire did bring Far as the e , | Far ¢ ye could reach no tree was seen, O’er eS broad wave, in France to waste and | Rare clad in russet, scorn’d the lively green; | vi | b Cc Cc : Such ills from old Tr ojano’s death did spring, | ae boo ee bee te hon Which to avenge he came from realms afar, | No streams, as amber smooth, as amber alan _ And menaced Christian Charles, the Roman Were seen to glide, or heard to waxiae nee Emperor ‘ <7 Prophecy of Famine. Of dauntless Roland, too, my strain shall sound, C | In import never known in prose or rhyme, Ba eee | How He, the chief of judgment deem’d pro- | ‘+ Woe to the vanquish’d !” was stern Brenno’s ) found, . word, | For luckless love was crazed upon a time — | When sunk proud Rome beneath the Gallic sword— : «There is a great deal of it,’ said she, | ‘“‘ Woe to the vanquish’d!” when his massive | glancing along the paper, and interrupting blade the sweetest sounds which mortal ears can} Bore down the scale against her ransom | drink in; those of a youthful poet’s verses, | weigh’d, namely, read by the lips which are dearest to | And on the field of foughten battle still, them.” : | Who knows no limit save the victor’s will. ; 5 Chap. XVI. The Gaulliad, ae ae) b CHAP. XXXII. ; MOTTOES. And be he safe restored ere evening set, | Or, if there’s vengeance in an injured heart, : CHAP. X. | And power to wreak it in an armed hand, j In the wide pile, by others heeded not, Your land shall ache for 't. Old Plat Hers was one sacred solitary spot. +Y- W Beta ie aisles and bending shelves con- | Cubes For moral hunger food, and cures for moral | Far ewell to the land where the clouds love to pain. rest, Anonymous. Like the shroud of the dead on the mountain’s cold breast ; ‘‘The library at Osbaldistone Hall was a | To the cataract’s roar where the eagles reply, gloomy room,” dc. | And the lake her lone bosom expands to the sky. ; CHAP. XII. ae | Dire was his thought, who first in poison From ‘‘TuEe HEART oF Mip LOTHIAN.” : steep’d The weapon form’d for slaughter—direr his, 1818. And worthier of damnation, who instill’d —_—— The mortal venom in the social cup, | 1 7 ’ To fill the veins with death instead of life. MADGE WILDFIRE’S SONGS. | The lavrock lies still; ; : Anonymous. | WuEN the gledd’s in the blue cloud, | ) CHAP. XXII. When the hound’s in the green-wood, Look round thee, young Astolpho: Here’s the | The hind keeps the hill. place Which men (for being poor) are sent to star ve | O sleep ye sound, Sir James, she said, in,— When ye suld rise and ride? Rude remedy, I trow, for sore disease. There’s twenty men, wi’ bow and blade, Within these walls, stifled by damp and | Are seeking where ye hide. stench, oe Doth Hope’s fair torch expire; and at the Hey for cavaliers, ho for cavaliers, snuff, | Dub a dub, dub a dub; Ere yet tis quite extinct, rude, wild, and way- | Have at old Beélzebub,— | ward, Oliver’s running for fear,— of Me Jp cree eer a ED ee ? =~ 5 I glance like the wildfire through country and town ; I’m seen on the causeway—I’m seen on the own ; The lightning that flashes so bright and so free, Is scarcely so blithe or so bonny as me. —— What did ye wi’ the bridal ring—bridal ring— bridal ring? What did ye wi’ your wedding ring, ye little cutty quean, O? I gied it till a sodger, a sodger, a sodger, I gied it till a sodger, an auld true love o’ mine, O. Good even, good fair moon, good even to thee; | I prithee, dear moon, now show to me The form and the features, the speech and degree, Of the man that true lover of mine shall be. It is the bonny butcher lad, That wears the sleeves of blue, He sells the flesh on Saturday, On Friday that he slew. There’s a bloodhound ranging Tinwald Wood, There’s harness glancing sheen ; There’s a maiden sits on Tinwald brae, And she sings loud between. Up in the air, On my bonnie grey mare, And I see, and I see, and I see her yet. In the bonnie cells of Bedlam, Ere I was ane and twenty, I had hempen bracelets strong, And merry whips, ding-dong, And prayer and fasting plenty. Sae far ayont the sea, And it is but my blithesome ghaist That’s speaking now to thee. ! My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard | | I’m Madge of the country, I’m Madge of the town, And I’m Madge of the lad I am blithest to own— The Lady of Beever in diamonds may shine, But has not a heart half so lightsome as mine. | I am Queen of the Wake, and I’m Lady of May, And I lead the blithe ring round the May-pole to-day ; The wild-fire that flashes so fair and so free Was never so bright, or so bonnie as me. He that is down need fear no fall, He that is low no pride ; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide. VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 497 Fulness to such a burthen is That go on pilgrimage ; Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age. ** As Jeanie entered, she heard first the air, and then a part of the chorus and words of what had been, perhaps, the song of a jolly harvest-home.” Our work is over—over now, The goodman wipes his weary brow, The last long wain wends slow away, And we are free to sport and play. The night comes on when sets the sun, And labour ends when day is done. When Autumn’s gone, and Winter’s come, We hold our jovial harvest-home. When the fight of grace is fought,-—— When the marriage vest is wrought,— When Faith has chased cold Doubt away,— And Hope but sickens at delay,— When Charity, imprisoned here, Longs for a more expanded sphere ; Doff thy robe of sin and clay ; Christian, rise, and come away. “Her next seemed to be the fragment of some old ballad :”— Cauld is my bed, Lord Archibald, And sad my sleep of sorrow : But thine sall be as sad and cauld, My fause true-love ! to-morrow. And weep ye not, my maidens free, Though death your mistress borrow 3 For he for whom I die to-day, Shall die for me to-morrow, ‘“‘Again she changed the tune to. one wilder, less monotonous, and less regular. But of the words only a fragment or two could be collected by those who listened to this sin- gular scene ;”— Proud Maisie is in the wood, Walking so early ; Sweet Robin sits on the bush, Singing so rarely. ** Tell me, thou bonny bird, When shall I marry me?’’— ** When six braw gentlemen Kirkward shall carry ye.” ** Who makes the bridal bed, Birdie, say truly ?”— ** The grey-headed sexton That delves the grave duly. “ The glow-worm o’er grave and stone Shall light thee steady, The owl from the steeple sing, ‘ Welcome, proud lady.’ ” “Her voice died away with the last notes, | and she fell into a slumber, from which the 498 experienced attendant assured them, that she | would never awake at all, or only in the death- | agon ce y: | er first prophecy was true. The poor | maniac parted with existence, without again | uttering a sound of any kind.” From Chaps. XV.—xxxviii. | —_—0— MOTTOES. CHAP. XIX. To man, in this his trial state, The privilege is given, When lost by tides of human fate, To anchor fast in Heaven. Watts’s Hymns. CHAP. XXIII. Law, take thy victim !—May she find the mercy In yon mild heaven which this hard world denies her ! CHAP. XXVII. _ And Need and Misery, Vice and Danger, bind ' In sad alliance, each degraded mind. CHAP. XXXY. ; I beseech you— | These tears beseech you, and these chaste hands | woo you, That never yet were heaved but to things hol Things like yourself—You are a God above us ; Be as a God, then, full of saving mercy ! The Bloody Brother. CHAP. XLVI. Happy thou art! then happy be, Nor envy me my lot; Thy happy state I envy thee, And peaceful cot. Lady C—— C—l. —+>—-. From “THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR.” 1819. LUCY ASHTON’S SONG. Look not thou on beauty ’s charming,— Sit thou still when kings are arming, — Taste not when the wine-cup glistens,— Speak not when the people listens,-— Stop thine ear against the singer,— From the red gold keep thy finger,— Vacant heart, and hand, and eye, Easy live and quiet die. Chap. iii. 4 € lc SCOTT?S POETICAL WORKG | Or, from the garner-door, on zether borne, | The chaff flies devious from the winnow’d ¥ ob ——~ +s NORMAN THE FORESTER’S SONG. THE monk must arise when the matins ring, The abbot may sleep to their chime ; But the yeoman must start when the bugles sing, Tis time, my hearts, ’tis time. There’s bucks and raes on Billhope braes, There’s a herd on Shortwood Shaw ; | But a lily white doe in the garden goes, a | She's fairly worth them a’, Chap. ii. —-~0— THE PROPHECY. WHEN the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravens- wood shall ride, And wooe a dead maiden to be his bride, He shall stable his steed in the Kelpie’s flow, And his name shall be lost for evermoe ! Chap. xviii. —_o— MOTTOES. CHAP. VIII. The hearth in hall was black and dead, No board was dight in bower within, | Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed ; ‘‘Here’s sorry cheer,’ quoth the Heir of Linne. Old Ballad, {Altered from “ The Heir of Linne.”] CHAP. XIV. As, to the Autumn breeze’s bugle-sound, Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round ; corn ; : So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, From their fix’d aim are mortal counsels driver. Anonymous. CHAP. XVII. Here is a father now, Will truck his daughter for a foreign venture, Make her the stop-gap to some canker’d feud, Or fling her o’er, like Jonah, to the fishes, To appease the sea at highest, Anonymous. CHAP. XVIII. Sir, stay at home and take an old man’s counsel : Seek not to bask you by a stranger’s hearth ; Our own blue smoke is warmer than their fire. : Domestic food is wholesome, though ‘tis homely, And foreign dainties poisonous, though taste- ful. The French Courtezan, : ( 7 : ‘ Sacer menenneneneennns SB a ae en SU - F 7 4 CHAP. XXV. True-love, an’ thou be true, Thou has ane kittle part to play, For fortune, fashion, fancy, and thou Maun strive for many a day. I’ve kend by mony friend’s tale, Far better by this heart of mine, What time and change of fancy avail, A true love-knote to untwine. Hendersown. CHAP, XXVII. Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the fore- | lock, And if she ’scapes my grasp, the fault is mine; He that hath buffeted with stern adversity, Best knows to shape his course to favouring MOTTOES, VERSES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 499 THE ORPHAN MAID. (Sung by Annot Lyle.) NOVEMBER’S hail-cloud drifts away, | November’s sun-beam wan | Looks coldly on the castle grey, \ When forth comes Lady Anne. The orphan by the oak was set, | Her arms, her feet, were bare; | The hail-drops had not melted yet, | Amid her raven hair. [ | | | | | “And, dame,” she said, “by all the ties That child and mother know, | Aid one who never knew these joys,— Relieve an orphan’s woe.” | The lady said, ‘“‘ An orphan’s state breezes. Old Play. From ‘‘THE LEGEND OF MONTROSE.” ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY. (Sung by Annot Lyle.) Birps of omen dark and foul, Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl, Leave the sick man to his dream— All night long he heard you scream. Haste to cave and ruin’d tower, Ivy tod, or dingled-bower, There to wink and mop, for, hark ! In the mid air sings the lark. { | Hie to moorish gills and rocks, Prowling wolf and wily fox,— Hie ye fast, nor turn your view, Though the lamb bleats to the ewe ; Couch your trains, and speed your flight, Safety parts with parting night ; And on distant echo borne, Comes the hunter’s early horn. The moon’s wan crescent scarcely gleams, Ghost-like she fades in morning beams ; Hie hence, each peevish imp and fay That scare the pilgrim on his way. Quench, kelpy! quench, in bog and fen, Thy torch, that cheats benighted men ; Thy dance is o’er, thy reign is done, For Benyieglo hath seen the sun. Wild thoughts, that, sinful, dark, and deep, O’erpower the passive mind in sleep, Pass from the slumberer’s soul away, Like night-mists from the brow of day: | Foul hag, whose blasted visage grim Smothers the pulse, unnerves the limb, | Spur thy dark palfrey, and begone ! Thou darest not face the godlike sun. Chap. vi. Is hard and sad to bear; Yet worse the widow’d mother’s fate, Who mourns both lord and heir. ‘‘Twelve times the rolling year has sped, Since, while from vengeance wild Of fierce Strathallan’s chief I fied, Forth’s eddies whelm’d my child.”— “Twelve times the year its course has borne,” The wandering maid replied ; ‘Since fishers on St. Bridget’s morn Drew nets on Campsie side. | “St. Bridget sent no scaly spoil ; An infant, wellnigh dead, They saved, and rear’d in want and toil, To beg from you her bread.” | That orphan maid the lady kiss’d,— **My husband’s looks you bear ; St. Bridget and her morn be bless’d ! You are his widow’s heir.” | They’ve robed that maid, so poor and pale, In silk and sandals rare; And pearls, for drops of frozen hail, Are glistening in her hair. Chap. ix. ——(J— MOTTOES. CHAP. x. | DaRK on their journey lour’d the gloomy day, Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way ; ? More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful, show’d The mansion which received them from the road. The Travellers, a Romance. CHAP. XI, Is this thy castle, Baldwin? Melancholy Displays her sable banner from the donjon, Dark’ning the foam of the whole surge be- neath. 2 a 8 2 SCO LIST POE Were I a habitant, to see this gloom Pollute the face of nature, and to hear The ceaseless sound of wave and sea-bird’s » scream, I’d wish me in the hut that poorest peasant E’er framed to give him temporary shelter. Browne. CHAP. XIv. This was the entry, then, these stairs—but whither after? Yet he that’s sure to perish on the land May quit the nicety of card and compass, And trust the open sea without a pilot. Tragedy of Brennovali. —_¢¢——_—. From “ IvANHOR.” THE CRUSADER’S RETURN. Hicu deeds achieved of knightly fame, From Palestine the champion came ; The cross upon his shoulders borne, Battle and blast had dimm/’d and torn. Each dint upon his batter’d shield Was token of a foughten field ; And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, He sung, as fell the twilight hour: ‘*Joy to the fair !—thy knight behold, Return’d from yonder land of gold; No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need Save his good arms and battle-steed ; His spurs to dash against a foe, His lance and sword to lay him low : d Se 4 See TICAL WORK — Se THE BAREFOOTED FRIAR. I'LL give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain, To search Europe through from Byzantium to Spain ; But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. Sd ae SS Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career, And is brought home at even-song prick’d through with a spear; I confess him in haste—for his lady desires No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. Your monarch !Pshaw! many a prince has been known | To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; But which of us e’er felt the idle desire To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a | Friar? The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has LK ec RAS SS Stet chennai gone, | The land and its fatness is mark’d He can roam where he lists, he ca he tires, For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. for his own; n stop where ete nants eae eee | He’s expected at noon, and no wight, till he | comes, | May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums ; For the best of the cheer fire, Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar, , and the seat by the Such all the trophies of his toil, | Such—and the hope of Tekla’s smile ! ‘‘ Joy to the fair! whose constant knight Her favour fired to feats of might! Unnoted shall she not remain Where meet the bright and noble train : Minstrel shall sing, and herald tell— ‘Mark yonder maid of beauty well, "Tis she for whose bright eyes was won The listed field of Ascalon! ‘“ “Note well her smile !—it edged the blade Which fifty wives to widows m de, When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell, Iconium’s turban’d Soldan fell. See’st thou her locks, whose sunny glow Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow? | The He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot y broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot ; | And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire, Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar, Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope, The dread of the devil and For to gather life’s roses, briar, Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. Chap, xviit. trust of the Pope! unscathed by the —_o— Twines not of them one golden thread, But for its sake a Paynim bled.’ ‘‘ Joy to the fair !—my name unknown, Each deed, and all its praise, thine own; Then, oh! unbar this churlish gate, The night-dew falls, the hour is late. Tnured to Syria’s glowing breath, I feel the north breeze chill as death : Let grateful love quell maiden shame, And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.” Chap. xviii. SAXON WAR-SONG. (Sung by Ulrica from the burning castle.) Wuet the bright steel, Sons of the White Dragon! Kindle the torch, Daughter of Hengist ! The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, A - It steams andeglitters blue with sulphur. Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling! Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon! Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist ! The black clouds are low over the thane’s | castle : The eagle screams—he rides on their bosom. Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud, Thy banquet is prepared! The maidens of Valhalla look forth, The race’of Hengist will send them guests. Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla! | And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! Many a haughty step bends to your halls, Many a helmed head. Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle, The black clouds gather round ; Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them ; He, the bright consumer of palaces, Broad waves he his blazing banner, Red, wide, and dusky, Over the strife of the valiant ; His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers ; He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound ! All must perish ! The sword cleaveth the helmet ; The strong armour is pierced by the lance : Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes, Engines break down the fences of the battle. All must perish ! The race of Hengist is gone— The name of Horsa is no more! Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword ! Let your blades drink blood like wine ; Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter, By the light of the blazing halls ! Strong be your swords while your blood is warm. VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 501 And spare neither for pity nor fear, For vengeance hath but an hour ; Strong hate itself shall expire ! I also must perish. Note.—‘‘It will readily occur to the anti- quary, that these verses are intended to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds—the minstrels of the old Scandinavians—the race, as the Laureate so happily terms them, “ Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, Who smiled in death.” The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilization and conversion, was of a different and softer character ; but, in the circumstances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposed to return to the wild strains which animated her forefathers during the times of Paganism and untamed ferocity.” i Chap. xxxii. REBECCA’S HYMN. WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her fathers’ God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonish’d lands The cloudy pillar glided slow ; By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands Return’d the fiery column’s glow. There rose the choral hymn of praise, And trump and timbrel answer’d keen, And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays, With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. No portents now our foes amaze, Forsaken Israel wanders lone: Our fathers would not know Tuy ways, And THou hast left them to their own, But present still, though now unseen ! When brightly shines the prosperous day, Be thoughts of THEE a cloudy screen To temper the deceitful ray. And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path In shade and storm the frequent night, Be Tuou, long-suffering, slow to wrath, A burning and a shining light! Our harps we left by Babel’s streams, The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn ; No censer round our altar beams, And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn, But TuHou hast said, The blood of goat, The flesh of rams I will not prize ; A contrite heart, a humble thought, Are mine accepted sacrifice. Chap. x1. —O— THE BLACK KNIGHT'S SONG. Anna-MARIE, love, up is the sun, Anna-Marie, love, morn is begun, Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free, Up in the morning, love, Anna-Marie. Anna-Marie, love, up in the morn, The hunter is winding blithe sounds on his horn, The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna-Marie. WAMBA. O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet, | Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit ; For what are the joys that in waking we prove, Compared with these visions, O Tybalt! my love? Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill, Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill, Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, But think not I dream’d of thee, Tybalt, my love. Chap. xii. —“~—— = SONG. THE BLACK KNIGHT AND WAMBA. “The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in the like man- ner,” KNIGHT AND WAMBA., _ THERE came three merry men from south, west, and north, Ever more sing the roundelay ; 3 To win the Widow of Wycombe forth, And where was the widow might say them nay ? _ The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came, Ever more sing the roundelay ; And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame, And where was the widow might say him nay ? _ Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; | She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire, ot RO EPL SITES EEN NAIC BS Ba LA ILE I SIT OE ICI EIT Sn TA A ns ae { ; fame : ' For a yeoman of Kent, For she was the widow would say him nay. WAMBA, The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails, Merrily sing the roundelay ; Iiur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur’s lineage was of Wales, And where was the widow might say him nay ? Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; She said that one widow for so many was too few, And she bade the Welshman wend his way. But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of | Kent, Jollily singing his roundelay ; He spoke to the widow of living and rent, And where was the widow could say him nay ? BOTH. So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, There for to sing their roundelay ; with his yearly rent, a widow could say him nay. Chap. xli. There ne’er was —o— FUNERAL HYMN, Dust unto dust, To this all must ; The tenant hath resign’d The faded form To waste and worm— Corruption claims her kind. ee Through paths unknown Thy soul hath flown, To seek the realms of woe, Where fiery pain Shall purge the stain Of actions done below. In that sad place, By Mary’s grace, Brief may thy dwelling be! Till prayers and alms, And holy psalms, Shall set the captive free. Chap. xiii, —_o— MOTTOES. CHAP. XIX. Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle, Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs, Chequers the sunbeam in the green sward alley— Up and away !—for lovely paths are these To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne : Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp, With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. Eitrick Forest. CHAP, XXI. When autumn nights were long and drear, And forest walks were dark and dim, | How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn ! Devotion borrows Music’s tone, And Music took Devotion’s wing, And, like the bird that hails the sun, They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. The Hermit of St. Clement’s Weil. CHAP. XXVII. The hottest horse will oft be cool, The dullest will show fire : The friar will often play the fool, The fool will play the friar. Old Song. CHAP, XXIX, This wandering race, sever’d from other men, Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; | The seas, the woods, the deserts which they haunt, Find them acquainted with their secret trea- sures ; And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blos- soms, Display undream’d-of powers when gather’d by them. The Jew. ——_________.¢f SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. ReE RS Ra MASTS ALU NUNC RO ab oD PSURs Re Lt ast be ae ener Tire Once Uae RTS RIES : ; i | j 4 ; CHAP, XXXI. Approach the chamber, look upon his bed. His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, Which, as the lark arises to the sky, ‘Mid Bef sweetest breeze and softest | ew, | Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and | tears ! Anselm parts otherwise. Old Play. CHAP, XXXItItI. Trust me, each state must have its policies: Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their char- ters 5° Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk, Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline. For not since Adam wore his verdant apron, Hath man with man in social union dwelt, But laws were made to draw that union closer, Old Play. CHAP. XXXVI. Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian deserts, Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire Of wild Fanaticism. Anonymous. CHAP, XXXVII. Say not my art is fraud—all live by seeming. The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seem- ing: The clergy scorn it not, and the bold soldier Will eke with it his service.—Al admit it, All practise it ; and he who is content With showing what he is, shall have small credit In church, or camp, or state.—So wags the world. Old Play. CHAP. XXXVIII. Stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; Stern was the law, which at the winning wile Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; But sterner still, when high the iron-rod Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. The Middle Ages. —_++——. From ‘THe MONASTERY.” 1820. SONGS OF THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. ON TWEED RIVER. MERRILY swim we, the moon shines bright, Both current and ripple are dancing in light. We have roused the night raven, I heard him croak, As we plash’d along beneath the oak MOTTOES, VERSES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 503 That flings its broad branches so far and soa wide, | Their shadows are dancing in midst of the tide. | “Who wakens my nestlings?” the raven he said, ‘*My beak shall ere morn in his blood be red ! For a blue swollen corpse is a dainty meal, And T’ll have my share with the pike and the eel.” Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, There’s a golden gleam on the distant height : There’s a silver shower on the alders dank, And the drooping willows that wave on the bank. | L see the Abbey, both turret and tower, [t is all astir for the vesper hour ; |The Monks for the chapel are leaving each cell, But where’s Father Philip should toll the bell? Merrily swim we, the moon shines bright, Downward we drift through shadow and light ; Under yon rock the eddies sleep, Calm and silent, dark and deep. The Kelpy has risen from the fathomless pool, He a lighted his candle of death and of ool: Look, Father, look, and you'll laugh to see | How he gapes and glares with his eyes on thee ! Good luck to your fishing, whom watch ye to- night ? A man of mean or a man of might? Is it layman or priest that must float in your cove, Or lover who crosses to visit his love? Hark ! heard ye the Kelpy reply as we pass’d,— ““God’s blessing on the warder, he lock’d the bridge fast ! All that come to my cove are sunk, Priest or layman, lover or monk.” Landed—landed ! the black book hath won, Else had you seen Berwick with morning sun ! | Sain ye, and save ye, and blithe mot ye be, | For seldom they land that go swimming with me. Chap. v. ——O— TO THE SUB-PRIOR. Goop evening, Sir Priest, and so late as you | ride, ; | With your mule so fair, and your mantle so | wide; | But ride you through valley, or ride you oe: | hill, There is one that has warrant to wait on you | still. 3ack, back, The volume black ! I have a warrant to carry it back. What, ho! Sub-Prior, and came you but here To conjure a book from a dead woman’s bier? ; : a eee ence A : em pe TLR NE OEE ER ¥ 4 ¢ 504 SCOTT'S POETICAL Worn eee o ME Sain you, and save you, be wary and wise, | The breeze that brought me hither now must Ride back with the book, or you'll pay foryour | sweep Egyptian ground, prize. The fleecy cloud on which I ride for Araby is Back, back, bound ; There’s death in the track ! | The fleecy cloud is drifting by, the breeze In the name of my master, I bid thee bear | sighs for my stay, back. | For I must sail a thousand miles before the | “In the name of my Master,” said the as- | tonished Monk, ‘‘that name before which all | things created tremble, I conjure thee to say | what thou art that hauntest me thus?” The same voice replied, — That which is neither ill nor well, That which belongs not to heaven nor to hell, A wreath of the mist, a bubble of the stream, | ‘Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping | dream ; A form that men spy With the half-shut eye In the beams of the setting sun, am I. Vainly, Sir Prior, wouldst thou bar me my | right ! Like the star when it shoots, I can dart | through the night ; | I can dance on the torrent, and ride on the | air, | And travel the world with the bonny night- | mare. Again, again, At the crook of the glen, Where bickers the burnie, I'll meet thee again. | | Men of good are bold as sackless, Men of rude are wild and reckless, Lie thou still In the nook of the hill, | For those be before thee that wish thee ill. Chap. ix. —o— HALBERT’S INCANTATION, THRICE to the holly brake— Thrice to the well :-— I bid thee awake, White Maid of Avenel ! Noon gleams on the Lake— Noon glows on the Fell— Wake thee, O wake, White Maid of Avenel. —_—~o— TO HALBERT. Youtu of the dark eye, wherefore didst thou call me ? | Wherefore art thou here, if terrors can appal | thee ? He that seeks to deal with us rust know nor | a fear, nor failing ; To coward and churl our speech is dark, our | gifts are unavailing. | close of day. —_—__ What I am I must not show— What I am thou couldst not know— Something betwixt heaven and hell— Something that neither stood nor fell— Something that through thy wit or will May work thee good—may work thee ill. Neither substance quite, nor shadow, Haunting lonely moor and meadow, Dancing by the haunted spring, Riding on the whirlwind’s wing ; Aping in fantastic fashion Every change of human passion, While o’er our frozen minds they pass, Like shadows from the mirror’d glass. Wayward, fickle, is our mood, Hovering betwixt bad and good, Happier than brief-dated man, _ Living ten times o’er his span ; Far less happy, for we have Help nor hope beyond the grave ! Man awakes to joy or sorrow : Ours the sleep that knows no morrow. This is all that I can show— This is all that thou may’st know. —_—— Ay ! and I taught thee the word and ‘the spell, | To waken me here by the Fairies’ Well. But thou hast loved the heron and hawk, | More than to seek my haunted walk $ And thou hast loved the lance and the sword, | More than good text and holy word ; And thou hast loved the deer to track, | More than the lines and the letters black : | And thou art a ranger of moss and wood, | And scornest the nurture of gentle blood. Thy craven fear my truth accused, Thine idlehood my trust abused : He that draws to harbour late, Must sleep without, or burst the gate. There is a star for thee which burn’d, Its influence wanes, its course is turn’d Valour and constancy alone Can bring thee back the chance that’s flown. . , Within that awful volume lies ‘The mystery of mysteries ! Happiest they of human race, To whom our God has granted grace To read, to fear, to hope, to pray, To lift the latch, and force the way ; And better had they ne’er been born, Who read to doubt, or read to scorn, ee Many a fathom dark and deep I have laid the book to sleep ; SS SN ES URAC AS BRS SAC cad ater ese a TSE S s Oe BS AS TA PSS RR SE A RE SIE OO EE SSS I BA SE SU — ‘ A a He se i re ERTS OSS SE Ethereal fires around it glowing— Ethereal music ever flowing— The sacred pledge of Heav’n All things revere, Each in his sphere, Save man for whom ’twas giv’n: Lend thy hand, and thou shalt spy Things ne’er seen by mortal eye. Fearest thou to go with me? Still it is free to thee A peasant to dwell; Thou may’st drive the dull steer, And chase the king’s deer, But never more come near This haunted well. VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 505 | For this is a day that the deed was wrought, Here lies the volume thou boldly hast sought ; | Touch it, and take it, ‘twill dearly be bought. Rash thy deed, Mortal weed To immortal flames applying ; Rasher trust Has thing of dust, On his own weak worth relying : Strip thee of such fences vain, Strip, and prove thy luck again. Mortal warp and mortal woof Cannot brook this charmed roof ; All that mortal art hath wrought In our cell returns to nought. The molten gold returns to clay, The polish’d diamond melts away ; All is alter’d, all is flown, Nought stands fast but truth alone. Not for that thy quest give o’er: Courage ! prove thy chance once more. Alas! alas! Not ours the grace These holy characters to trace : Idle forms of painted air, Not to us is given to share The boon bestow’d on Adam’s race. With patience bide, Heaven will provide The fitting time, the fitting guide. Chap. xii. —O-- HALBERTS SECOND INTERVIEW WITH THE WHITE LADY OF AVENEL. “‘She spoke, and her speech was still song, or rather measured chant; but if, as now, more familiar, it flowed occasionally in modu- lated blank-verse, and, at other times, in the | lyrical measure which she had used at their former meeting.” Tus is the day when the fairy kind Sit weeping alone for their hopeless lot, | | In which we have neither part nor share, For the children of clay was salvation bought, But not for the forms of sea or air ! And ever the mortal is most forlorn, Who meeteth our race on the Friday morn, Daring youth ! for thee it is well, Here calling me in haunted dell, That thy heart has not quail’d, Nor thy courage fail’d, And that thou couldst brook The angry look Of Her of Avenel. Did one limb shiver, Or an eyelid quiver, Thou wert lost for ever. Though I am form’d from the ether blue, And my blood is of the unfallen dew, And thou art framed of mud and dust, "Tis thine to speak, reply I must. A mightier wizard far than I Wields o’er the universe his power ; Him owns the eagle in the sky, The turtle in the bower. Changeful in shape, yet mightiest still, He wields the heart of man at will, From ill to good, from good to ill, In cot and castle-tower. Ask thy heart, whose secret cell Is fill’d with Mary Avenel ! Ask thy pride, why scornful look In Mary’s view it will not brook ? Ask it, why thou seek’st to rise Among the mighty and the wise,— Why thou spurn’st thy lowly lot,— Why thy pastimes are forgot,— Why thou wouldst in bloody strife Mend thy luck or lose thy life? Ask thy heart, and it shall tell, Sighing from its secret cell, "Tis for Mary Avenel. Do not ask me; On doubts like these thou canst not task me. We only see the passing show Of human passions’ ebb and flow ; And view the pageant’s idle glance As mortals eye the northern dance, When thousand streamers, flashing bright, Career it o’er the brow of night, And gazers mark their changeful gleams, But feel no influence from their beams. By ties mysterious link’d, our fated race Holds strange connection with the sons of men. The star that rose upon the House of Avenel, When Norman Ulric first assumed the name, That star, when culminating in its orbit, Shot from its sphere a drop of diamond dew, And this bright font received it—and a Spirit And the wood-maiden sighs to the sighing | Rose from the fountain, and her date of life | Hath co-existence with the House of Avenel wind, And the mermaiden weeps in her crystal grot ; 1 And with the star that rules it. Se a TO me a 506 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS: Look on my girdle—on this thread of gold— ‘Tis fine as web of lightest gossamer, And, but there is a spell on’t, would not bind, Light as they are, the folds of my thin robe. But when ’twas donn’d, it was a massive chain, Such as might bind the champion of the Jews, Even when his locks were longest—it hath dwindled, *minish’d strength, As sunk the greatness of the House of Avenel. When this frail thread gives way, I to the elements Resign the principles of life they lent me. Ask me no more of this !—the stars forbid it. Hath in its substance and its Dim burns the once bright star of Avenel, Dim as the beacon when the morn is nigh, And the o’er-wearied warder leaves the light- house ; There is an influence sorrowful and fearful, That dogs its downward course. Disastrous passion, Fierce hate and rivalry, are in the aspect That lowers upon its fortunes. Complain not on me, child of clay, If to thy harm I yield the way. We, who soar thy sphere above, Know not aught of hate or love; As will or wisdom rules thy mood, My gifts to evil turn or good. When Piercie Shafton boasteth high, Let this token meet his eye, The sun is westering from the dell, Thy wish is granted—fare thee well ! Chap. xvii. —dO— THE WHITE LADY "TO MARY: AVENEL. MAIDEN, whose sorrows wail the Living Dead, Whose eyes shall commune with the Dead Alive, Maiden, attend! Beneath my foot lies hid The Word, the Law, the Path which thou dost strive To find, and canst not find.—Could Spirits | shed Tears for their lot, it were my lot to weep, Showing the road which I shall never tread, Though my foot points it.—Sleep, eternal sleep, Dark, long, and cold forgetfulness my lot !— But do not thou at human ills repine ; Secure there lies full guerdon in this spot For all the woes that wait frail Adam’s line— Stoop then and make it yours,—I may not | make it mine! Chap, XXX. = |THE WHITE LADY TO EDWARD | GLENDINNING. THovu who seek’st my fountain lone, With thoughts and hopes thou dar’st not own; Whose heart within leap’d wildly glad, When most his brow seem’d dark and sad ; Hie thee back, thou find’st not here | Corpse or coffin, grave or bier; The Dead Alive is gone and fled— Go thou, and ‘join the Living Dead! The Living Dead, whose sober brow Oft shrouds such thoughts as thou hast now, | Whose hearts within are seldom cured Of passions by their vows abjured ; Where, under sad and solemn show, | Vain hopes are nursed, wild wishes glow. Seek the convent’s vaulted room, Prayer and vigil be thy doom ; | Doff the green, and don the grey, | To the cloister hence away! Chap. xxxii. THE WHITE LADY’S FAREWELL. FARE THEE WELL, thou Holly green ! Thou shalt seldom now be seen, With all thy glittering garlands bendiny As to greet my slow descending, Startling the bewilder’d hind, | Who sees thee wave without a wind. Farewell, Fountain! now not long Shalt thou murmur to my song, While thy crystal bubbles glancing, Keep the time in mystic dancing, Rise and swell, are burst and lost, Like mortal schemes by fortune cross’d. The knot of fate at length is tied, The Churl is Lord, the Maid is Bride! Vainly did my magic sleight Send the lover from her sight ; Wither bush, and perish well, Fall’n is lofty Avenel! Chap. XXXVii. J BORDER BALLAD. Marcu, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in | order ? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story, Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory. 7 SOS EL I ET LTTE ESE st ;» Y Pe EE Ce et ore mee eee A118 TES ACR RTE Se “Pn ADE ee ee VERSES, MOTTOES, Gc, FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 1507 Come from the hills where your hirsels are | grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and Bel roe ; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. Chap. xxv. —_O— MOTTOES. CHAP, I. O ay! the Monks, the Monks, they did the mischief ! Theirs all the grossness, all the superstition Of a most gross and superstitious age.— May HE be praised that sent the healthful tempest, And scatter’d all these pestilential vapours ; But that we owed them all to yonder Harlot Throned on the seven hills with her cup of gold, I will as soon believe, with kind Sir Roger, That old Moll White took wing with cat and | broomstick, And raised the last night’s thunder. Old Play. CHAP. II. In yon lone vale his early youth was bred. Not solitary then—the bugle-horn Of fell Alecto often waked its windings, From where the brook joins the majestic river, To the wild northern bog, the curlieu’s haunt, Where oozes forth its first and feeble streamlet. Old Play. CHAP. V. A priest, ye cry, a priest !—lame shepherds | : ey, How shall they gather in the straggling flock ? Dumb dogs which bark not—how shall they compel The loitering vagrants to the Master’s fold ? Fitter to bask before the blazing fire, And snuff the mess neat-handed Phillis dresses, Than on the snow-wreath battle with the! wolf, The Reformation. CHAP. VI. Now let us sit in conclave. That these weeds Be rooted from the vineyard of the Church, That these foul tares be sever’d from the | wheat, We are, I trust, agreed. Yet how to do this, Nor hurt the wholesome crop and tender vine- plants, Craves good advisement. The Reformation. CHAP. VIII. Nay, dally not with time, the wise man’s treasure, Though fools are lavish on ’t—the fatal Fisher Hooks souls, while we waste moments. Old Play. CHAP. XI. You call this education, do you not? Why, ‘tis the forced march of a herd of bul- locks Before a shouting drover. The glad van Move on at ease, and pause a while to snatch A passing morsel from the dewy green-sward, While all the blows, the oaths, the indigna- tion, Fall on the croupe of the ill-fated laggurd That cripples in the rear. Old Play. CHAP. XII. There’s something in that ancient superstition, Which, erring as it is, our fancy loves. | The spring that, with its thousand crystai bubbles, | Bursts from the bosom of some desert rock | In secret solitude, may well be deem’d | The haunt of something purer, more refined, And mightier than ourselves. Old Play. CHAP. XIV. Nay, let me have the friends who eat my victuals, As various as my dishes. The feast’s naught, Where one huge pl Plaintext, | He shall be mighty beef, our English staple ; The worthy Alderman, a butter’d dumpling ; Yon pair of whisker’d Cornets, ruffs and rees ; Their friend the Dandy, a green goose in sippets. And so the board is spread at once and fill’d On the same principle—Variety. New Play. CHAP. XV. He strikes no coin, ’tis true, but coins new phrases, And vends them forth as knaves vend gilded counters, Which wise men scorn, and fools accept in payment, Old Play. CHAP. XVI. , A courtier extraordinary, who by diet Of meats and drinks, his temperate exercise, Choice music, frequent bath, his horary shifts Of shirts and waistcoats, means to immortalize Mortality itself, and makes the essence Of his whole happiness the trim of court. Magnetic Lady. CHAP. XIX. Now choose thee, gallant, betwixt wealth and honour ; There lies the pelf, in sum to bear thee through The dance of youth, and the turmoil of man- hood, a. 2 - we a, Peete Pome — . PRI Ra Beet ee Yet leave enough for age’s chimney-corner; | But an thou grasp to it, farewell Ambition ! Farewell each hope of bettering thy condition, And raising thy low rank above the churls That till the earth for bread ! Old Play. | CHAP, XXI. | Indifferent, but indifferent—pshaw! he doth | it not | Like one who is his craft’s master—ne’erthe- | less I have seen a clown confer a bloody coxcomb On one who was a master of defence. Old Play. | CHAP. XXII. Yes, life hath left him—every busy thought, Each fiery passion, every strong affection, | The sense of outward ill and inward sorrow, Are fled at once from the pale trunk before me ; And 1 have given that which spoke and moved, Thought, acted, suffer’d, as a living man, To be a ghastly form of bloody clay, Soon the foul food for reptiles. Old Play. CHAP, XXIII. ‘Tis when the wound is stiffening with the cold, The warrior first feels pain—’tis when the heat And fiery fever of his soul is past, The sinner feels remorse. Old Play. CHAP. XXIV. | I'll walk on tiptoe; arm my eye with caution, My heart with courage, and my hand with weapon Like him who ventures on a lion’s den. Old Play. CHAP. XXVII. Now, by Our Lady, Sheriff, ‘tis hard reckoning, That I, with every odds of birth and barony, Should be detain’d here for the casual death Of a wild forester, whose utmost having Is but the brazen buckle of the belt In which he sticks his hedge-knife. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. You call it an ill angel—it may be so ; But sure I am, among the ranks which fell, ‘Tis the first fiend ere counsell’d man to rise, And win the bliss the sprite himself had for- feited. Old Play. CHAP, XXXI. At school I knew him—a sharp-witted youth, Grave, thoughtful, and reserved amongst his mates, Turning the hours of sport and food to labour, | Starving his body to inform his mind. | Old Play. <6 oe, (A SS AR PS RT A OR ATT os > { : > SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. CHAP, XXXIII. Now on my faith this gear is all entangled, Like to the yarn-clew of the drowsy knitter, Dragg’d by the frolic kitten through the cabin, While the good dame sits nodding o’er the fire— Masters, attend; ‘twill crave some skill to clear it. Old Play. CHAP. XXXIV. It is not texts will do it—Church artillery Are silenced soon by real ordnance, And canons are but vain opposed to cannon. | Go, coin your crosier, melt your church plate | down. | Bid the starved soldier banquet in your halls, And quaff your long-saved hogsheads—Turn them out Thus primed with your good cheer, to guard your wall, And they will venture for ’t, —— Old Play. From “THe ABBOT.” 1820. THE PARDONER’S ADVERTISE- MENT. “At length the pardoner pulled from his scrip a small phial of clear water, of which he vaunted the quality in the following verses ; ’”— Listneth, gode people, everiche one, For in the londe of Babylone, ; Far eastward I wot it lyeth, And is the first londe the sonne espieth, Ther, as he cometh fro out the sé; ; In this ilk londe, as thinketh me, Right as holie legendes tell, Snottreth from a roke a well, And falleth into ane bath of ston, Wher chast Susanne in times long gon, Was wont to wash her bodie and lim— Mickle vertue hath that streme, As ye shall se er that ye pas, Ensample by this little glas— Through nightés cold and dayés hote, Hiderward I have it brought ; Hath a wife made slip or slide, Or a maiden stepp’d aside ; Putteth this water under her nese, Wold she nold she, she shall snese. Chap. XXVII. —-U— MOTTOES. CHAP. Vv. In the wild storm, The seaman hews his mast down, and the merchant Heaves to the billows wares he once deem’d precious : So prince and peer, ’mid popular contentions, Cast off their favourites. Old Play. CHAP. VI. Thou hast each secret of the household, Francis. I dare be sworn thou hast been in the buttery Steeping thy curious humour in fat ale, And in the butler’s tattle—ay, or chatting With the glib waiting-woman o’er her com- fits— These bear the key to each domestic mystery. Old Play CHAP. VIII. The sacred tapers’ lights are gone, Grey moss has clad the altar stone, The holy image is o’erthrown, The bell has ceased to toll. The long ribb’d aisles are burst and shrunk, The holy shrines to ruin sunk, Departed is the pious monk, God’s blessing on his soul! Rediviva. CHAP. XI. Life hath its May, and all is mirthful then: The woods are vocal, and the flowers all odour ; Its very blast has mirth in ’t,—and the maidens, The while they don their cloaks to skreen their kirtles, Laugh at the rain that wets them. Old Play. CHAP, XII. Nay, hear me, brother—I am elder, wiser, And holier than thou ; and age, and wisdom, And holiness, have peremptory claims, And will be listen’d to. Old Play. CHAP. XIV. Not the wild billow, when it breaks its barrier— Not the wild wind, escaping from its cavern— Not the wild fiend, that mingles both together, And pours their rage upon the ripening har- vest, Can match the wild freaks of this mirthful meeting— Comic, yet fearful—droll, and yet destructive. The Conspiracy. CHAP. XVI. Youth ! thou wear’st to manhood now, Darker lip and darker brow, Statelier step, more pensive mien, in thy face and gait are seen: Thou must now brook midnight watches, Take thy food and sport by snatches! For the gambol and the jest, Thou wert wont to love the best, Graver follies must thou follow, But as senseless, false, and hollow. Life, a Poem. VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 509 CHAP. XIX. It is and is not—'tis the thing I sought for, Have kneel’d for, pray’d for, risk’d my fame and life for, And yet it is not—no more than the shadow Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polish’d mirror, Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living sub- stance Which it presents in form and lineament. Old Play. CHAP. XXIII. Give me a morsel on the greensward rather, Coarse as you will the cooking—Let the fresh spring Bubble beside my napkin—and the free birds, Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to bough, To claim the crums I leave for perquisites— Your prison-feasts I like not. The Woodsman, a Drama, CHAP. XXIV. "Tis a weary life this Vaults overhead, and grates and bars around me, And my sad hours spent with as sad com- panions, Whose thoughts are brooding o’er their own | mischances, Far, far too deeply to take part in mine. The Woodsman. CHAP. XXV. And when Love’s torch hath set the heart in flame, Comes Seignor Reason, with his saws and cautions, Giving such aid as the old grey-beard Sexton, Who from the church-vault drags his crazy engine, To ply its dribbling ineffectual streamlet Against a conflagration. Old Play. CHAP. XXVIII. Yes, it is she whose eyes look’d on thy child- hood, And watch’d with trembling hope thy dawn of youth, | That now, with these same eye-balls, dimm’d with age, And dimmer yet with tears, sees thy dis- honour. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. In some breasts passion lies conceal’d and silent, Like war’s swart powder in a castle vault, Until occasion, like the linstock, lights it ; Then comes at once the lightning and the thunder, And distant echoes tell that all is rent asunder Old Play 510 SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS: CHAP. XXXIII. Death distant ?—No, alas! he’s ever with us, And shakes the dart at us in all our actings: He lurks within our cup, while we’re in health ; Sits by our sick-bed, mocks our medicines ; We cannot walk, or sit, or ride, or travel, But Death is by to seize us when he lists. The Spanish Father. CHAP. XXXIV. Ay, Pedro,—Come you here with mask and lantern, Ladder of ropes, and other moonshine tools— Why, youngster, thou may’st cheat the old Daedeat Flatter the waiting-woman, bribe the valet ; But know, that I her father play the Gryphon, Tameless and sleepless, proof to fraud or bribe, | And guard the hidden treasure of her beauty. The Spanish Father. CHAP. XXXV. It is a time of danger, not of revel, When churchmen turn to masquers. The Spanish Father. CHAP. XXXVII. Ay, sir—our ancient crown, in these wild times, Oft stood upon a cast—the gamester’s ducat, So often staked, and lost, and then regain’d, Scarce knew so many hazards. The Spanish Father. ——_+¢——_- From ‘‘ KENILWORTH.” 1821. GOLDTHRED’S SONG. OF all the birds on bush or tree, Commend me to the owl, Since he may best ensample be To those the cup that trowl. For when the sun hath left the west, He chooses the tree that he loves the best, And he whoops out his song, and he laughs at his jest, Then, though hours be late, and weather foul, We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. The lark is but a bumpkin fowl, He sleeps in his nest till morn; But my blessing upon the jolly owl, That all night blows his horn. Then up with your cup till you stagger in speech, And match me this catch, till you swagger and screech, And drink till you wink, my merry men each ; For, though hours be late, and the weather be oul, We'll drink to the health of the bonny, bonny owl. Chap. ii. | the gigantic warder dropped his club, resi | | | | SPEECH OF THE PORTER AT KENILWORTH. ‘“‘Av the approach of the Queen, upon sight of whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, ed his keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the night, and all her magnificent train.” WuatT stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones? Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones ! Sirs, I’m a warder, and no man of straw ; My voice keeps order, and my club gives law. Yet soft—nay stay—what vision have we here? What dainty darling’s this—what peerless peer? What loveliest face, that loving ranks enfold, Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold? Dazzled and blind, inine office I forsake, My club, my key, my knee; my homage take. Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss ;— Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this ! Chap. XXX. —_—I— MOTTOES. CHAP. Iv. | Nor serve two masters ?—Here’s a youth will try it— Mook i serve God, yet give the devil his ue; Says grace before he doth a deed of villany, And returns his thanks devoutly when ’tis acted. Old Play. CHAP. V. He was a man Versed in the world as pilot in his compass, The needle pointed ever to that interest Which was his loadstar, and he spread his sails With vantage to the gale of others’ passion. The Deceiver, a Tragedy. CHAP. VII. This is He Who rides on the court-gale ; controls its tides ‘ Knows all their secret shoals and fatal eddies ; Whose frown abases, and whose smile exalts, He shines like any rainbow—and, perchance, His colours are as transient. Old Play. CHAP. XIV. This is rare news thou tell’st me, fellow ; There are two bulls fierce battling on the green For one fair heifer—if the one goes down, The dale will be more peaceful, and the herd, Which have small interestin their brulziement, May pasture there in peace. Old Play. my good | TS LEERY ANC RNP EY RIOT IB SS OTT EEN TS. NRE ELSES IROL 9 ck” CHAP. XVII. Well, then, our course is chosen; spread the VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 511 CHAP. XXXII. The wisest sovereigns err like private men, And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword sail, Heave oft the lead, and mark the soundings | Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder, well ; Look to the helm, good master; many a shoal Marks this stern coast, and rocks where sits the siren, Who, like ambition, lures men to their ruin. The Shipwreck. CHAP. XXIII. Now God be good to me in this wild pil- grimage ! All hope in human aid I cast behind me. Oh, who would be a woman? who that fool, A weeping, pining, faithful, loving woman? She hath hard measure still where she hopes kindest, And all her bounties only make ingrates. Love’s Pilgrimage. CHAP. XXV. Hark ! the bells summon, and the bugle calls, But she the fairest answers not; the tide Of nobles and of ladies throngs the halls, But she the loveliest must in secret hide. What eyes were thine, proud Prince, which in the gleam \ Of yon gay meteors lost that better sense, That o’er the glow-worm doth the star esteem, And merit’s modest blush o’er courtly inso- lence? The Glass Slipper. CHAP, XXVIII. What, man, ne’er lack a draught, when the full can Stands at thine elbow, and craves emptying !— | Nay, fear not me, for I have no delight To watch men’s vices, since I have myself Of virtue nought to boast of.—I’m a striker, Would have the world strike with me, pell- | mell, all. Pandemonium. | CHAP. XXIX. Now fare thee well, my master ! if true service | Be guerdon’d with hard looks, e’en cut the tow-line, And let our barks across the pathless flood Hold different courses. The Shipwreck. CHAP, XXX. Now bid the steeple rock—she comes, she comes ! Speak for us, bells! speak for us, shrill tongued tuckets ! Stand to the linstock, gunner ; let thy cannon Play such a peal, as if a Paynim foe Came stretch’d in turban’d ranks to storm the ramparts. We will have pageants too ; but that craves wit, And I’m a rough-hewn soldier. The Virgin Queen, a Tragi-Comedy. The tall, the strong bark of the fearless rover, Which better had been branded by the hang- man. What then? Kings do their best,—and they and we Must answer for theintent, and not the event. Old Play. CHAP. XXXIII. Here stands the victim—there the proud betrayer, R’en as the hind pull’d down by strangling dogs Lies at the hunter’s feet, who courteous proffers To some high dame, the Dian of the chase, To whom he looks for guerdon, his sharp blade, | To gash the sobbing throat. The Woodsman. CHAP. XL. | High o’er the eastern steep the sun is beaming, And darkness flies with her deceitful shadows ; | So truth prevails o’er falsehood. Old Play. FRom ‘“‘THE PIRATE.” 1821, THE SONG OF THE TEMPEST. ““A NORWEGIAN invocation, still preserved in the island of Unst, under the name of the Song of the Reim-kennar, though some call it the Song of the Tempest. The following is a free translation, it being impossible to render literally many of the elliptical and metaphor- ical terms of expression peculiar to the ancient ” Northern poetry :”— STERN eagle of the far north-west, | Thou that bearest in thy grasp the thunder- bolt, | Thou whose rushing pinions stir ocean to madness, | Thou the destroyer of herds, thou the scat- terer of navies, | Amidst the scream of thy rage, Amidst the rushing of thy onward wings, Though thy scream be loud as the cry of a perishing nation, Though the rushing of thy wings be like the roar of ten thousand waves, Yet hear, in thine ire and thy haste, Hear thou the voice of the Reim-kennar. Thou hast met the pine-trees of Drontheim, Their dark green heads lie prostrate beside their uprooted stems ; Thou hast met the rider of the ocean, wit eae SE hak AO BSE — a And she has struck to thee the topsail That she had not veil’d to a royal armada: Thou hast met the tower that bears its crest among the clouds, The battled massive tower of the Jarl of for- mer days, And the cope-stone of the turret Is lying upon its hospitable hearth ; But thou too shalt stoop, proud compeller of clouds, When thou hearest the voice of the Reim- kennar. There are verses that can stop the stag in the forest, Ay, and when the dark-colour’d dog is open- ing on his track ; There are verses can make the wild hawk pause on the wing, Like the falcon that wears the hood and the esses, And rib knows the shrill whistle of the fowler. Thou who canst mock at the scream of the drowning mariner, And the crash of the ravaged forest, And the groan of the overwhelmed crowds, When the church hath fallen in the moment of prayer ; There are sounds which thou also must list, When they are chanted by the voice of the Reim-kennar. Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the ocean, The widows wring their hands on the beach: Enough of woe hast thou wrought on the land, The husbandman folds his arms in despair ; Cease thou the waving of thy pinions, Let the ocean repose in her dark strength; Cease thou the flashing of thine eye, Let the thunderbolt sleep in the armoury of Odin ; Be thou still at my bidding, viewless racer of the north-western heaven,— Sleep thou at the voice of Norna the Reim- kennar. Eagle of the far north-western waters, Thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennar, Thou hast closed thy wide sails at her bidding, And folded them in peace by thy side. My blessing be on thy retiring path ; When thou stoopest from thy place on high, Soft be thy slumbers in the caverns of the unknown ocean, Rest till destiny shall again awaken thee; Eagle of the north-west, thou hast heard the voice of the Reim-kennayr. Chap. vi. —Oo— CLAUD HALCRO’'S SONG. MARY. FAREWELL to Northmaven, Grey Hillswicke, farewell ! To the calms of thy haven, The storms on thy fell— mts ee EEN EAT SA OPIS EEE 6 PRY ACS DEL CT NE RS TIEN SOIT 512 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. To each breeze that can vary The mood of thy main, And to thee, bonny Mary! We meet not again ! Farewell the wild ferry, Which Hacon could brave, When the peaks of the Skerry Were white in the wave. There’s a maid may look over These wild waves in vain,-— For the skiff of her lover— He comes not again! The vows thou hast broke, On the wild currents fling them ; On the quicksand and rock Let the mermaidens sing them: New sweetness they'll give her Bewildering strain ; But there’s one who will never Believe them again. O were there an island, Though ever so wild, Where woman could smile, and | No man be beguiled— | Too tempting a snare To poor mortals were given ; And the hope would fix there, That should anchor in heaven, Chap. xii. FMA ES ORS LS LS OO Ae RI Rc —O-— THE SONG OF HAROLD HAR- FAGER. THE sun is rising dimly red, The wind is wailing low and dread ; From his cliff the eagle sallies, Leaves the wolf his darksome valleys ; In the mist the ravens hover, eep the wild dogs from the cover, Screaming, croaking, baying, yelling, Each in his wild accents telling, “Soon we feast on dead and dying, Fair-hair’d Harold’s flag is flying.” Many a crest on air is streaming, Many a helmet darkly gleaming, Many an arm the axe uprears, Doom’d to hew the wood of spears. All along the crowded ranks Horses neigh and armour clanks; Chiefs are shouting, clarions ringing, Louder still the bard is singing, ‘Gather footmen, gather horsemen, To the field, ye valiant Norsemen ! ‘*Halt ye not for food or slumber, View not vantage, count not number: Jolly reapers, forward still, Grow the crop on vale or hill, Thick or scatter’d, stiff or lithe, [t shall down before the scythe. l‘orward with your sickles bright, Reap the harvest of the fight.— Onward footmen, onward horsemen, To the charge, ye gallant Norsemen ! ““Watal Choosers of the Slaughter, O’er you hovers Odin’s daughter ; Hear the choice she spreads before ye,— Victory, and wealth, and glory; Or old Valhalla’s roaring hail, Her ever-circling mead and ale, Where for eternity unite The joys of wassail and of fight. Headlong forward, foot and horsemen, Charge and fight, and die like Norsemen !” Chap. Xv. — SONG OF THE MERMAIDS AND MERMEN. MERMAID. FatHoms déep beneath the wave, Stringing beads of glistering pearl, Singing the achievements brave Of many an old Norwegian earl ; Dwelling where the tempest’s raving, Falls as light upon our ear, As the sigh of lover, craving Pity from his lady dear, Children of wild Thule, we, From the deep caves of the sea, As the lark springs from the lea, Hither come, to share your glee. MERMAN. From reining of the water-horse, That bounded till the waves were foaming, Watching the infant tempest’s course, Chasing the sea-snake in his roaming ; From winding charge-notes on the shell, When the huge whale and sword-fish duel, Or tolling shroudless seamen’s knell, When the winds and waves are cruel ; Children of wild Thule, we Have plough’d such furrows on the sea, As the steer draws on the lea, And hither we come to share your glee. MERMAIDS AND MERMEN, We heard you in our twilight caves, A hundred fathom deep below, For notes of joy can pierce the waves, That drown each sound of war and woe. Those who dwell beneath the sea Love the sons of Thule well; Thus, to aid your mirch, bring we Dance, and song, and sounding shell. Children of dark Thule, know, Those who dwell by haaf and voe, Where your daring shallops row, Come to share the festal show. Chap. xvi, —?o-— NORNA’S SONG. For leagues along the watery way, Through gulf and stream my course has been ; The billows know my Runic lay, And smooth their crests to silent green. VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 513 The billows know my Runic lay, — The gulf grows smooth, the stream is still ; But human hearts, more wild than they, Know but the rule of wayward will. One hour is mine, in all the year, To tell my woes,—and one alone; When gleams this magic lamp, ’tis here,— When dies the mystic light, ’tis gone. Daughters of northern Magnus, hail! The lamp is lit, the flame is clear,— To you I come to tell my tale, Awake, arise, my tale to hear ! Chap. xix. —QO— CLAUD HALCRO AND NORNA. CLAUD HALCRO. Moruer darksome, Mother dread; Dweller on the Fitful-head, Thou canst see what deeds are done Under the never-setting sun. Look through sleet and look through frost, Look to Greenland’s caves and coast,— By the ice-berg is a sail Chasing of the swarthy whale ; Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Tell us, has the good ship sped? NORNA. The thought of the aged is ever on gear,— On his fishing, his furrow, his flock, and his steer ; But thrive may his fishing, flock, furrow, and herd, While the aged for anguish shail tear his grey beard. The ship, well-laden as bark need be, Lies deep in the furrow of the Iceland sea ; The breeze for Zetland blows fair and soft, And gaily the garland is fluttering aloft : Seven good fishes have spouted their last, And their jaw-bones are hanging to yard and mast ; Two are for Lerwick, and two for Kirkwall, -- Three for Burgh-Westra, the choicest of all. CLAUD HALCRO. Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Thou hast conn’d full many a rhyme, That lives upon the surge of time: Tell me, shall my lays be sung, Like Hacon’s of the golden tongue, Long after Halcro’s dead and gone? Or, shall Hialtland’s minstrel own One note to rival glorious John? NORNA. The infant loves the rattle’s noise ; Age, double childhood, hath its toys ; But different far the descant rings, As strikes a different hand the efrings. The eagle mounts the polar sky— The [mber-goose, unskill’d to fly, Must be content to glide along, Where seal and sea-dog list his song. + Sa teiccnincentg iced get eded tae * 514 ! | SCOTT*S POETICAL WORKS. CLAUD HALCRO. Be mine the Imber-goose to play, And haunt lone cave and silent bay ; The archer’s aim so shall I shun— So shall I ’scape the levell’d gun— Content my verses’ tuneless jingle, With Thule’s sounding tides to mingle, While, to the ear of wondering wight, Upon the distant headland’s height, Scften’d by murmur of the sea, The rude sounds seem like harmony! * * * * * * Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, A gallant bark from far abroad, Saint Magnus hath her in his road, With guns and firelocks not a few—- A silken and a scarlet crew, Deep stored with precious merchandise, Of gold, and goods of rare device— What interest hath our comrade bold In bark and crew, in goods and gold? NORNA. Gold is ruddy, fair, and free, SPARSE SS ELAINE ARICA ES A SST ASS i eet a nes i Blood is crimson, and dark to see ;— I Jook’d out on Saint Magnus Bay, And I saw a falcon that struck her prey,— A gobbet of flesh in her beak she bore, And talons and singles are dripping with gore ;— | | | | Let he that asks after them look on his hand, | And if there is blood on’t, he’s one of their band. CLAUD HALCRO. Mother doubtful, Mother dread, Dweller of the Fitful-head, Well thou know’st it is thy task To tell what Beauty will not ask ;— Then steep thy words in wine and milk, And weave a doom of gold and silk,— For we would know, shall Brenda prove In love, and happy in her love? NORNA. Untouch’d by love, the maiden’s breast Is like the snow on Rona’s crest, High seated in the middle sky, In bright and barren purity ; But by the sunbeam gently kiss’d, Scarce by the gazing eye 'tis miss’d, Ere, down the lonely valley stealing, Fresh grass and growth its course revealing, It cheers the flock, revives the flower, And decks some happy shepherd’s bower. MAGNUS TROIL. Mother speak, and do not tarry, Here’s a maiden fain would marry. Shall she marry, ay or not? If she marry, what’s her lot? NORNA. Untouch’d by love, the maiden’s broast Is like the snow on Rona’s crest ; So pure, so free from earthy dye, It seems, whilst leaning on the sky, Part of the heaven to which ’tis nigh ; But passion, like the wild March rain, May soil the wreath with many a stain. We gaze—the lovely vision’s gone— A torrent fills the bed of stone, That hurrying to destruction’s shock, Leaps headlong from the lofty rock. Chap. Xxi. —_o— SONG OF THE ZETLAND FISHERMAN. “WHILE they were yet within hearing of the shore, they chanted an ancient Norse ditty, appropriate to the occasion, of which Claud Halcro had executed the following literal translation :”’-— FAREWELL, merry maidens, to song, and to laugh, For the brave lads of Westra are bound to the Haat ; And we must have labour, and hunger, and pain, Ere we dance with the maids of Dunrossness again, For now, in our trim boats of Noroway deal, We must dance on the waves, with the por- poise and seal ; The breeze it shall pipe, so it pipe not too high, And the gull be our songstress whene’er she flits by. Sing on, my brave bird, while we follow, like thee, By bank, shoal, and quicksand, the swarms of the sea ; ; And when twenty-score fishes are straining our line, Sing louder, brave bird, for their spoils shall be thine. We'll sing while we bait, and we’ll sing while we haul, For the deeps of the Haaf have enough for us all: There is torsk for the gentle, and skate for the carle And there’s wealth for bold Magnus, the son of the earl. Huzza! my brave comrades, give way for the Haaf, We shall sooner come back to the dance and the laugh ; For light without mirth is a lamp without oil ; Then, mirth and long life to the bold Magnus Troil! Chap. xxii. CLEVELAND'S SONGS. LOVE wakes and weeps While Beauty sleeps ! O for Music’s softest numbers, To prompt a theme, For Beauty’s dream, Soft as the pillow of her slumbers ! : jaf ee SS SS SSeS Ss ct ~sSni r s nrsSE LSS ST SE AE SRE SS Se sess etieneeameenessnasensessarnsnesin ese Through groves of palm Sigh gales of balm, Fire-flies on the air are wheeling ; While through the gloom Comes soft perfume, The distant beds of flowers revealing. O wake and live ! No dream can give A shadow’d bliss, the real excelling ; No longer sleep, From lattice peep, And list the tale that Love is telling. Farewell! Farewell! the voice you hear Has left its last soft tone with you,— its next inust join the seaward cheer, And shout among the shouting crew. The accents which I scarce could form Beneath your frown’s controlling check, Must give the word, above the storm, To cut the mast, and clear the wreck. The timid eye I dared not raise,— The hand, that shook when press’d to thine, | Must point the guns upon the chase— Must bid the deadly cutlass shine. To all I love, or hope, or fear,— Honour, or own, a long adieu ! To all that life has soft and dear, Farewell! save memory of you! Chap. xxiii. —0O-— CLAUD HALCRO’S VERSES. AnpD you shall deal the funeral dole ; Ay, deal it, mother mine, To weary body, and to heavy soul, The white bread and the wine. And you shall deal my horses of pride; Ay, deal them, mother, mine ; And you shall deal my lands so wide, And deal my castles nine. But deal not vengeance for the deed, And deal not for the crime ; The body to its place, and the soul to Heaven’s grace, And the rest in God’s own time. Saint Magnus control thee, that martyr of treason ; Saint Ronan rebuke thee, with rhyme and with reason ; By the mass of Saint Martin, the might of | Saint Mary, Be thou gone, or thy weird shall be worse if thou tarry ! If of good, go hence and hallow thee ;— {f of ill, let the earth swallow thee ;— If thou’rt of air, let the grey mist fold thee ;— If of earth, let the swart mine hold thee ;— If a Pixie, seek thy ring ;— If a Nixie, seek thy spring ;— VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 515 If on middie earth thou’st been Slave of sorrow, shame, and sin, Hast ate the bread of toil and strife, And dree’d the lot which men call life ; Begone to thy stone! for thy coffin is scant of thee, The worm, thy play-fellow, wails for the want of thee: Hence, houseless ghost! let the earth hide thee, Till Mictiael shall blow the blast, see that there thou bide thee !— Phantom, fly hence! take the Cross fora token, Hence pass till Hallowmass!—my spell is spoken. Where corpse-light Dances bright, Be it by day or night, Be it by light or dark, There shal] corpse lie stiff and stark. nd Menseful maiden ne’er should rise, Till the first beam tinge the skies ; Silk-fringed eyelids still should close, Till the sun has kiss’d the rose ; Maiden’s foot we should not view, Mark’d with tiny print on dew, Till the opening flowerets spread Carpet meet for beauty’s tread. Chap. xxiii —o— NORNA’S INCANTATIONS. CHAMPION, famed for warlike toil, Art thou silent, Ribolt Troil? Sand, and dust, and pebbly stones, Are leaving bare thy giant bones. Who dared touch the wild bear’s skin Ye slumber’d on, while life was in ?— A woman now, or babe, may come And cast the covering from thy tomb. Yet be not wrathful, Chief, nor blight Mine eyes or ears with sound or sight ! I come not, with unhallow’d tread, To wake the slumbers of the dead, Or lay thy giant reliques bare ; But what I seek thou well canst spare. Be it to my hand allow’d To sbear a merk’s weight from thy shroud; Yet leave thee sheeted lead enough To shield thy bones from weather rough. See, I draw my magic knife— Never, while thou wert in life, Laidst thou still for sloth or fear, When point and edge were glittering near’ See, the cerements now I sever— Waken now, or sleep for ever ! Thou wilt not wake—the deed is done !— The prize I sought is fairly won. Thanks, Ribolt, thanks,—for this the sea Shall smooth its ruffled crest for thee— And while afar its billows foam, Subside to peace near Ribolt’s tomb. errs ao PA LS BNR RT A a ER A AT EEE EDS SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS: Thanks, Ribolt, thanks—for this the might Of wild winds raging at their height, . When to thy place of slumber nigh, Shall soften to a lullaby. She, the dame of doubt and dread, Norna of the Fitful-head, Mighty in her own despite,— Miserable in her might ; In despair and frenzy great, In her greatness desolate ; Wisest, wickeuest who lives,— Well can keep the word she gives. Chap. xxv. [AT INTERVIEW WITH MINNA. ] Thou, so needful, yet so dread, With cloudy crest, and wing of red; Thou, without whose genial breath The North would sleep the sleep of death ; Who deign’st to warm the cottage hearth, Yet hurls proud palaces to earth,— Brightest, keenest of the Powers, Which form and rule this world of ours, With my rhyme of Runic, I Thank thee for thy agency. Old Reimkennar, to thy art Mother Hertha sends her part ; She, whose gracious bounty gives Needful food for all that lives. From the deep mine of the North Came the mystic metal forth, Doom’d amidst disjointed stones, Long to cere a champion’s bones, Disinhumed my charms to aid— Mother Earth, my thanks are paid. Girdle of our islands dear, Element of Water, hear! Thou whose power can overwhelm Broken mounds and ruin’d realm On the lowly Belgian strand ; All thy fiercest rage can never Of our soil a furlong sever From our rock-defended land ; Play then gently thou thy part, To assist old Norna’s art. Elements, each other greeting, Gifts and power attend your meeting: ——s Thou, that over billows dark Safely send’st the fisher’s bark,— Giving him a path and motion Through the wilderness of ocean : Thou, that when the billows brave ye, O’er the shelves canst drive the navy,— Didst thou chafe as one neglected, While thy brethren were respected ? To appease thee, see, I tear This full grasp of grizzled hair; | | | | | And she who takes rest in the Dwarfie’s cave Oft thy breath hath through it sung, Softening to my magic tongue,— Now, ’tis thine to bid it fly Through the wide expanse of sky, ‘Mid the countless swarms to sail Of wild-fowl wheeling on thy gale; Take thy portion and rejoice,— Spirit, thou hast heard my voice 1 at —_—_ She who sits by haunted well, Is subject to the Nixies’ spell ; She who walks on lonely beach, To the Mermaid’s charmed speech : She who walks round ring of green, Offends the peevish Fairy Queen ; A weary weird of woe shall have. By ring, by spring, by cave, by shore, Minna Troil has braved all this and more ' And yet hath the root of her sorrow and ill A source that’s more deep and more mystical still.— Thou art within a demon’s hold; More wise than Heims, more strong than Trolld. No siren sings so sweet as he,— No fay springs lighter on the lea; No elfin power hath half the art To soothe, to move, to wring the heart,— Life-blood from the cheek to drain, Drench the eye, and dry the vein. Maiden, ere we farther go, Dost thou note me, ay or no? MINNA. I mark thee, my mother, both word, look, and sign ; Speak on with thy riddle—to read it be mine. NORNA. Mark me! for the word I speak Shall bring the colour to thy cheek, This leaden heart, so light of cost, The symbol of a treasure lost, Thou shalt wear in hope and in peace, That the cause of your sickness and sorrow may cease, When crimson foot meets crimson hand In the Martyr’s Aisle, and in Orkney land.— Be patient, be patient ; for Patience hath power To ward us in danger, like mantle in shower ; A fairy gift you best may hold In a chain of fairy gold ;— The chain and the gift are each a true token, That not without warrant old Norna has spoken ; But thy nearest and dearest must never be- hold them, -| Till time shall accomplish the truths I have told them. Chap. xxviii. _ BRYCE SNAILSFOOT’S ADVERTISE- MENT. Poor sinners whom the snake deceives, Are fain to cover them with leaves. Zetland hath no leaves, ’tis true, Because that trees are none, or few ; But we have flax and taits of woo’, For linen cloth and wadmaal blue ; And we have many of foreign knacks Of finer waft, than woo’ or flax. Ye gallanty Lambmas lads appear, And bring your Lambmas sisters here, Bryce Snailsfoot spares not cost or care, To pleasure every gentle pair. Chap. XxXxii, —do— MOTTOES. CHAP. II. ‘Tis not alone the scene—the man, Anselmo. __| The man finds sympathies in these wild | wastes, And roughly tumbling seas, which fairer views | And smoother waves deny him. Ancient Drama. CHAP. VII. She does no work by halves, yon raving ocean ; Engulphing those she strangles, her wild womb | Affords the mariners whom she hath dealt on, Their death at once, and sepulchre. Old Play. CHAP. IX. This is a gentle trader, and a prudent— He’s no Autolycus, to blear your eye, With quips of worldly gauds and gamesome- ness ; But seasons all his glittering merchandise With wholesome doctrine suited to the use, As men sauce goose with sage and rosemary. Old Play. CHAP. XI. All your ancient customs, And long-descended usages, Ill change. Ye shall not eat, nor drink, nor speak, nor move, Think, look, or walk, as ye were wont to do; Even your marriage-beds shall know muta- tion ; The bride shall have the stock, the groom the wall ; For all old practice will I turn and change, And call it reformation—marry, will I! ’Tis Even that we're at Odds. CHAP. XIV. We'll keep our customs—what is law itself, But old establish’d custom? What religion, ‘I mean,with one-half of the men that use it,) | Save the good use and wont that carries them To worship how and where their fathers wor- | VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 514 shipp’d ? All things resolve in custom—we’ll keep ours. Old Play. | CHAP. XXV, I do love these ancient ruins ! We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history, And questionless, here in this open court, | (Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather,) some men lie interr’d, Loved the Church so well, and gave so largely to it, They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday ;—but all things have their end Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death which we have. Duchess of Malfy. CHAP. XXIX. See yonder woman, whom our swains revere, And dread in secret, while they take her counsel When sweetheart shall be kind, or when cross dame shall die ; Where lurks the thief who stole the silver tankard, And how the pestilent murrain may be cured ;— This sage adviser’s mad, stark mad, my friend ; | Yet, in her madness, hath the art and cunning To wring fools’ secrets from their inmost bosoms, And pay inquirers with the coin they gave her. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. What ho, my jovial mates! come on! welll frolic it Like fairies frisking in the merry moonshine, Seen by the curtal friar, who, from some chris- tening, Or some blithe bridal, hies belated cell-ward-— He starts, and changes his bold bottle swagger To churchman’s pace professional,—and, ran- sacking His treacherous memory for some holy hymn, Finds but the roundel of the midnight catch. Old Play CHAP. XXXII. I strive like to the vessel in the tide-way, Which, lacking favouring breeze, hath not the power To stem the powerful current.—Even so, Resolving daily to forsake my vices, Habit, strong circumstance, renew’d tempta- tion, Sweep me to sea again.—O heavenly breath, Fill thou my sails, and aid the feeble vessel, Which ne’er can reach the blessed port without thee ! ‘Tis Odds when Evens meet. -—— 518 SCOTT'S POE CHAP, XXXIII. Parental love, my friend, has power o’er wis- dom And is the charm, which, like the falconer’s | lure, Can bring from heaven the highest soaring | spirits. — So, when famed Prosper doff’d his magic robe, It was Miranda pluck’d it from his shoulders, Old Play. CHAP, XXXIV. Hark to the insult loud, the bitter sneer, The fierce threat answering to the brutal jeer ; Oaths fly like pistol-shots, and vengeful words Clash with each other like conflicting swords,— The robber’s quarrel by such sounds is shown, And true men have some chance to gain their own. Captivity, a Poem. CHAP, XXXVII. Over the mountains and under the waves, Over the fountains and under the graves, Over floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest, Love will find out the way. Old Song. From ‘‘THE FortTUNES OF NIGEL.” 1822, MOTTOES. CHAP. I. Now Scot and English are agreed, And Saunders hastes to cross the Tweed, Where, such the splendours that attend him His very mother scarce had kenn’d him. His metamorphosis behold, From Glasgow freeze to cloth of gold ; His back-sword, with the iron-hilt, To rapier, fairly hatch’d and gilt; Was ever seen a gallant braver ! His very bonnet’s grown a beaver. The Reformation. CHAP. II. ? This, sir, is one among the Seignory, Has wealth at will, and will to use his wealth, And wit to increase it. Lies in a thriftless sort of charity, That goes a-gadding sometimes after objects, Which wise men will not see when thrust upon them. The Old Couple. CHAP, IV.. Ay, sir, the clouted shoe hath ofttimes craft in6, As says the rustic proverb ; and your citizen, +€ }+-- eee eee eennoeenestacenerunnseutenerenrercen Marry, his worst folly | TICAL WORKS. | In’s grogram suit, gold chain, and well-black’d shoes, | Bears under his flat cap ofttimes a brain | Wiser than burns beneath the cap and feather, Or seethes within the statesman’s velvet night- cap. Read me my Riddle. CHAP. V. Wherefore come ye not to court? Certain ‘tis the rarest sport ; There are silks and jewels glistening, Prattling fools and wise men listening, Bullies among brave men justling, Beggars amongst nobles bustling ; Low-breath’d talkers, minion lispers, Cutting honest throats by whispers ; Wherefore come ye not to court? Skelton swears ’tis glorious sport. Skelton Skeltonizeth. CHAP. VI. O, I do know him—’tis the mouldy lemon Which our court wits will wet their lips withal, When they would sauce their honied conversa- tion With somewhat sharper flavour.—Marry, sir, That virtue’s wellnigh left him—all the juice That was so sharp and poignant, is squeezed out; | While the poor rind, although as sour as ever, | Must season soon the draff we give our grunters, For two-legg’d things are weary on't. The Chamberlain, a Comedy. CHAP. VII. Things needful we have thought on; but the thing | Of all most needful—that which Scripture terms, | As if alone it merited regard, The one thing needful—that’s yet uncon- sider’d. The Chamberlain, CHAP, VIII. | Ah! mark the matron well—and laugh not, Harry, At her old steeple-hat and velvet guard— I’ve call’d her like the ear of Dionysius ; I mean that ear-form’d vault, built o’er the dungeon, To catch the groans and discontented murmurs Of his poor bondsmen,—Even so doth Martha | Drink up, for her own purpose, all that passes, | Or is supposed to pass, in this wide city— | She can retail it too, if that her profit Shall call on her to do so; and retail it For your advantage, so that you can make Your profit jump with hers. The Conspiracy. € + : ———+£: ri > Sa A NR a Rl ec se | os ee mm: VERSES, CHAP. X. Bid not thy fortune troll upon the wheels Of yonder dancing cups of mottled bone ; And drown it not, like Egypt’s royal harlot, Dissolving her rich pearl in the brimm’d wine- cup. These are the arts, Lothario, which shrink acres Into brief yards—bring sterling pounds to farthings, Credit to infamy ; and the poor gull, Who might have lived an honour’d, easy life, To ruin, and an unregarded grave. The Changes. CHAP. XU. ———— This is the very barn-yard, Where muster daily the prime cocks o’ the game, Ruffle their pinions, crow till they are hoarse, And spar about a barleycorn. Here, too, chickens The callow, unfledged brood of forward folly, MOTTOES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 519 And they be men, who, hazarding their all, Needful apparel, necessary income, And human body, and immortal soul, Do in the very deed but hazard nothing— So strictly is that ALL bound in reversion ; Clothes to the broker, income to the usurer,— And body to disease, and soul to the foul fiend ; | Who laughs to see Soldadoes and fooladoes, Play better than himself his game on earth. The Mohocks. CHAP. XVIII. Mother. What! dazzled by a flash of Cupid's mirror, With which the boy, as mortal urchins wont, | Flings back the sunbeam in the eye of pas- sengers— Then laughs to see them stumble! Daughter. Mother! no— It was a lightning-flash which dazzled me, | And never shall these eyes see true again. Learn first to rear the crest, and aim the spur, | And tune their note like full-plumed Chanti- | cleer. The Bear Garden. CHAP. XIII. hook, Then strike, and then you have him.—He will | wince ; Spin out your line that it shall whistle from you Some twenty yards or so, yet you shall have him— Marry! you must have patience—the stout | rock, Which is his trust, hath edges something sharp ; And the deep pool hath ooze and sludge enough To mar your fishing—’less you are more care- | ful. Albion or the Double Kings. CHAP. XVI. Give way—give way—I must and will have justice, And tell me not of privilege and place ; Where I am injured, there I'll sue redress. Look to it, every one who bars my access ; I have a heart to feel the injury, A hand to right myself, and, by my honour, That hand shall grasp what grey-beard Law denies me. The Chamberlain, CHAP. XVII. Come hither, young one—Mark me! Thou art now ’Mongst men o’ the sword, that live by reputa- tion More than by constant income—Single-suited They are, I grant you; yet each single suit Maintains, on the rough guess, a thousand followers— Beef and Pudding, an Old English Comedy. CHAP; XIX. By this good light, a wench of matchless mettle! This were a leaguer-lass to love a soldier, To bind his wounds, and kiss his bloody brow, | And sing a roundel as she help’d to arm him, eee eemor gorge the teather'd | Though the rough foeman’s drums were beat so nigh, They seem’d to bear the burden. Old Play. CHAP. XX. Credit me, friend, it hath been ever thus, Since the ark rested on Mount Ararat. False man hath sworn, and woman hath believed— Repented and reproach’d, and then believed once more. The New World. CHAP. XXI. 1 a . | Rove not from pole to pole—the man lives here Whose razor’s only equall’d by his beer ; And where, in either sense, the cockney-put May, if he pleases, get confounded cut. On the Sign of an Alehouse kept by a Barber. CHAP. XXII. Chance will not do the work—Chance sends the breeze ; 3ut if the pilot slumber at the helm, The very wind that wafts us towards the port May dash us on the shelves.—The steersman’s part is vigilance, Blow it or rough or smooth. Old Play. CHAP. XXIV. This is the time—Heaven’s maiden-sentinel Hath quitted her high watch—the lesser spangles Are paling one by one ; give me the ladder And the short lever—bid Anthony C eos arene —_=—— 10 So a ORR NTE TT en eRTRR ee 520 Keep with his carabine the wicket-gate ; And do thou bare thy knife and follow me, For we will in and do it—darkness like this Is dawning of our fortunes. Old Play. CHAP, XXVv. Death finds us ’mid our playthings—snatches us, As across nurse might do a wayward child, From all our toys and baubles. His rough call Unlooses all our favourite ties on earth; And well if they are such as may be answer’d tn yonder world, where all is judged of truly. Old Play. CHAP. XXVI. Give us good voyage, gentle stream—we stun not Thy sober ear with sounds of revelry ; Wake not the slumbering echoes of thy banks With voice of flute and horn—we do but seek On the broad pathway of thy swelling bosom To glide in silent safety. The Double Bridal. CHAP, XXVIL. This way lie safety and a sure retreat ; Yonder lie danger, shame, and punishment. Most welcome danger then—Nay, let me say, Though spoke with swelling heart—welcome e’en shame ; And welcome punishment—for, call me guilty, I] do but pay the tax that’s due to justice ; And call me guiltless, then that punishment Is shame to those alone who do inflict it. The Tribunal. CHAP. XXIX. How fares the man on whom good men would look With eyes where scorn and censure combated, But that kind Christian love hath taught the lesson— That they who merit most contempt and hate, Do most deserve our pity —— Old Play. CHAP, XXXI. Marry, come up, sir, with your gentle blood ! Here’s ared stream beneath this coarse blue | doublet, That warms the heart as kindly as if drawn From the far source of old Assyrian kings, Who first made mankind subject to their sway. Old Play. | CHAP. XXXV. We are not worse at once—the course of evil Begins so slowly, and from such slight source, An infant’s hand might stem its breach with clay ; But let the stream get deeper, and philo- sophy— SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKe: : FROM ‘‘ PEVERIL OF THE PEAK.” 1823. MOTTOES. CHAP. II. Why then, we will have bellowing of beeves, Broaching of barrels, brandishing of spigots ; Blood shall flow freely, but it shall be gore Of herds and flocks, and venison and poultry, Join’d to the brave heart’s-blood of John-a. Barleycorn ! Old Play. CHAP. Iv. No, sir,—I will not pledge—I’m one of those Who think good wine needs neither bush nor preface To make it welcome. If you doubt my word, Fill the quart-cup, and seeif I will choke on’t, Old Play. CHAP. VI. You shall have no worse prison than my chamber, Nor jailer than myself. The Captain. CHAP. XVI. Ascasto, Can she not speak? Oswaid. If speech be only in accented sounds, Framed by the tongue and lips, the maiden’s dumb ; But if by quick and apprehensive look, | By motion, sign, and glance, to give each meaning, Express as clothed in language, be term’d speech, She hath that wondrous faculty ; for her eyes, Like the bright stars of heaven, can hold dis- course, Though it be mute and soundless. Old Play. CHAP. XVII. This is a love meeting? mourns, And the sad suitor bends his looks on earth. There’s more hath pass’d between them than belongs To Love’s sweet sorrows. See the maiden Old Play. CHAP, XIX. Now, hoist the anchor, mates—and let the sails Give their broad bosom to the buxom wind, Like lass that wooes a lover. Anonymous. CHAP. XXII. He was a fellow in a peasant’s garb ; Yet one could censure you a woodcock’s cary- Ay, and religion too,—shall strive in vain To turn the headlong torrent. Old Play. ing, Like any courtier at the ordinary. The Ordinary. CHAP, XXIV. We meet, as men see phantoms in a dream, Which glide and sigh, and sign, and move their lips, But make no sound; or, if they utter voice, ‘Tis but a low and undistinguish’d moaning, Which has nor word nor sense of utter’d sound. | The Chieftain. CHAP. XXV. The course of human life is changeful still As is the fickle wind and wandering rill ; Or, like the light dance which the wild-breeze weaves Amidst the faded race of fallen leaves ; Which now its breath bears down, now tosses high, Beats to the earth, or wafts to middle sky. Such, and so varied, the precarious play Of fate with man, frail tenant of a day! Anonymous, CHAP. XXVI. Necessity—thou best of peacemakers, As well as surest prompter of invention— Help us to composition ! Anonymous. CHAP. XXVII. This is some creature of the elements Most like your sea-gull. He can wheel and whistle His screaming song, e’en when the storm is loudest— Take for his sheeted couch the restless foam Of the wild wave-crest—slumber in the calm, And dally with the storm. Yet ’tis a gull, An arrant gull, with all this. The Chieftain. CHAP. XXXI. I fear the devil worst when gown and cassock, Or, in the lack of them, old Calvin’s cloak, Conceals his cloven hoof. Anonymous. CHAP. XXXIII. ‘Tis the black ban-dog of our jail—Pray look | on him, But at a wary distance—rouse him not— He bays not till he worries. The Black Dog of Newgate. CHAP. XXXVIII. ‘* Speak not of niceness, when there’s chance | of wreck,” | The captain said, as ladies writhed their neck To see the dying dolphin flap the deck : “< Tf we go down, on us these gentry sup ; We dine upon them, if we haul them up. Wise men applaud us when we eat the eaters, As the devil laughs when keen folks cheat the cheaters.” The Sea Voyage. VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 521 | Here stand I tight and trim, | Quick of eye, though little of limb; | To speak of dreadful judgments that impend, CHAP, XL. Contentions fierce, Ardent, and dire, spring from no petty cause. Albion. CHAP. XLIII. He came amongst them like a new-raised spirit, And of the wrath to come. The Reformer. CHAP. XLIV. And some for safety took the dreadful leap ; Some for the voice of Heaven seem’d calling on them; — Some for advancement, or for lucre’s sake— Leap’d in frolic. The Dream, CHAP. XLv. High feasting was there there—the gilded roofs Rung to the wassail-health—the dancer’s step Sprung to the chord résponsive—the gay \| gamester To fate’s disposal flung his heap of gold, And laugh’d alike when it increased or less- en’d: Such virtue hath court-air to teach us patience Which schoolmen preach in vain. Why come ye not to Court ? CHAP. XLVI. He who denieth the word I have spoken, Betwixt him and me shall lances be broken. Lay of the Little John de Saintré. —~9— From ‘‘QuENTIN DURWARD.” 1823. SONG—COUNTY GUY. An! County Guy, the hour is nigh, The sun has left the lea, The orange flower perfumes the bower, The breeze is on the sea. The lark, his lay who thrill’d all day, Sits hush’d his partner nigh ; Breeze, bird, and flower, confess the hour, But where is County Guy? The village maid steals through the shade, Her shepherd’s suit to hear ; To beauty shy, by lattice high, Sings high-born Cavalier. The star of Love, all stars above, Now reigns o’er earth and sky ; And high and low the influence know— But where is County Guy? Chap. iv. SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS. MOTTOES. CHAP. XI. PaInTERS show Cupid blind—Hath Hymen eyes ? Or is his sight warp’d by those spectacles Which parents, guardians, and advisers, lend him, That he may look through them on lands and mansions, On jewels, gold, and all such rich donations, And see their value ten times magnified ?— Methinks ‘twill brook a question. The Miseries of Enforced Marriage. CHAP, XII. This is a lecturer so skill’d in policy, That (no disparagement to Satan’s cunning) He well might read a lesson to the devil, And teach the old seducer new temptations. Old Play. CHAP. XIV. I see thee yet, fair France—thou favour’d land Of art and nature—thou art still before me; Thy sons, to whom their labour is a sport, So well thy grateful soil returns its tribute ; Thy sun-burnt daughters, with their laughing eyes And glossy raven-locks. But, favour’d France, Thou hast had many a tale of woe to tell, Tn ancient times as now. Anonymous. CHAP. XV. He was a son of Egypt, as he told me, And one descended from those dread magi- cians, Who waged rash war, when Israel dwelt in Goshen, With Israel and her Prophet—matching rod With his the sons of Levi’s—and encountering Jehovah’s miracles with incantations, Till upon Egypt came the avenging Angel, And those proud sages wept for their first- born, As wept the unletter’d peasant. Anonymous, CHAP. XXIV. Rescue or none, Sir Knight, I am your cap- tive ; Deal with me what your nobleness suggests— Thinking the chance of war may one day place you Where I must now be reckon’d—i’ the roll Of melancholy prisoners. Anonymous. CHAP, XXV. No human quality is so well wove In warp and woof, but there’s some flaw in it; I’ve known a brave man fly a shepherd’s cur, A wise man so demean him, drivelling idiocy Had wellnigh been ashamed on’t. For your crafty, Your worldly-wise man, he, above the rest, Weaves his own snares so fine, he’s often caught in them. Old Play. CHAP. XXVI. When Princes meet, astrologers may mark it An ominous conjunction, full of boding, Like that of Mars with Saturn. Old Play. CHAP. XXIX. | Thy time is not yet out—the devil thou servest _ Has not as yet deserted thee. He aids | The friends who drudge for him, as the blind man, Was aided by the guide, who lent his shoulder | O’er rough and smooth, until he reach’d the brink Of the fell precipice—then hurl’d him down- ward. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. ‘ Our counsels waver like the unsteady bark, That reels amid the strife of meeting currents. Old Play. CHAP. XXXI. | Hold fast thy truth, maiden, | Keep you your promise plight—leave age its subtleties, | And grey-hair’d policy its maze of falsehood ; | But be you candid as the morning sky, | Ere the high sun sucks vapours up to stain it. The Trial. asa FRom “St. Ronan’s WELL.” 1823. MOTTOES. CHAP, IIT. THERE must be government in all society— Bees have their Queen, and stag herds have their leader ; Rome had her Consuls, Archons, And we, sir, have our Managing Committee. The Album of St. Ronans, Athens had he CHAP. X. Come, let me have thy counsel, for I need it; Thou art of those, who better help their friends With sage advice, than usurers with gold, Or brawlers with their swords—I’ll trust to thee, For I ask only from thee words, not deeds. The Devil hath met his Match. CHAP. XI. Nearest of blood should still be next in love; And when I see these happy children playing, While William gathers flowers for en's ringlets, young soldier.—Gentle a ae ee ee And Ellen dresses flies for William’s angle, I scarce can think, that in advancing life, Coldness, unkindness, interest, or suspicion, Will e’er divide that unity so sacred, Which Nature bound at birth. Anonymous. CHAP. XXIII. Oh! you would be a vestal maid, I warrant, The bride of Heaven—Come—we may shake your purpose : For here I bring in hand a jolly suitor Hath ta’en degrees in the seven sciences That ladies love best—He is young and noble, Handsome and valiant, gay and rich, and | liberal. The Nun. CHAP. XXXII. It comes—it wrings me in my parting hour, The long-hid crime—the well-disguised guilt. Bring me some holy priest to lay the spectre ! Old Play. CHAP. XXXV. Sedet post equitem atra cura——_—— Still though the headlong cavalier, O’er rough and smooth, in wild career, Seems racing with the wind ; His sad companion—ghastly pale, And darksome as a widow’s veil, CAarE—keeps her seat behind. Horace. CHAP, XXXVIII. What sheeted ghost is wandering through the storm ? For never did a maid of middle earth Choose such a time or spot to vent her sor- rows. Old Play. CHAP, XXXIX. Here come we to our close—for that which follows Is but the tale of dull, unvaried misery. Steep crags and headlong lins may court the pencil adventures ; VERSES, MOTTOES, &c., FROM WAVERLE} - NOVELS 523 From ‘THE BETROTHED.” SONG—SOLDIER, WAKE. SOLDIER, wake—the day is peeping, Honour ne’er was won in sleeping, Never when the sunbeams still Lay unreflected on the hill : "Tis when they are glinted back From axe and armour, spear and jack, That they promise future story Many a page of deathless glory. Shields that are the foeman’s terror, Ever are the morning’s mirror. Arm and up—the morning beam Hath call’d the rustic to his team, Hath call’d the fale’ner to the lake, Hath call’d the huntsman to the brake : The early student ponders o’er His dusty tomes of ancient lore. Soldier, wake—thy harvest, fame: Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game. Shield, that would be foeman’s terror, Still should gleam the morning’s mirror Poor hire repays the rustic’s pain ; More paltry still the sportsman’s gain: Vainest of all the student’s theme Ends in some metaphysic dream : Yet each is up, and each has toil’d Since first the peep of dawn has smiled : And each is eagerer in his aim Than he who barters life for fame. Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror! Be thy bright shield the morning’s mirror Chap. xix. SONG--THE TRUTH OF WOMAN. | Woman’s faith, and woman’s trust— ‘ Tj c aAYa 7 . Like sudden haps, dark plots, and strange | Write the characters in dust ; Stamp them on the running stream, But who would paint the dull and fog-wrapt | moor, In its long tract of sterile desolation? Old Play. ——— From ‘‘ REDGAUNTLET,” 1824. As lords their labourers’ hire delay, Fate quits our toil with hopes to come, Which, if far short of present pay, Still owns a debt and names a sum. Quit not the pledge, frail sufferer, then, Although a distant date be given ; Despair is treason towards man, And blasphemy to Heaven. | And each evanescent letter | Shall be clearer, firmer, better, And more permanent, I ween, Print them on the moon’s pale beam, Than the thing those letters mean. I have strain’d the spider’s thread ‘'Gainst the promise of a maid; I have weigh’d a grain of sand ‘Gainst her plight of heart and hand; I told my true love of the token, How her faith proved light, and her word wag broken: | Again her word and truth she plight, | And I believed them again ere night. Chap. xx. —_—— RS ee Se Se ‘ ——<— = tet > aye = SONG—I ASKED OF MY HARP. I ask’n of my harp, ‘‘ Who hath injured thy chords ?” And she replied, ‘‘ The crooked finger, which I mock’d in my tune,” A blade of silver may be bended—a blade of steel abideth— Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- dureth. The sweet taste of mead passeth from the lips, But they are long corroded by the juice of wormwood ; The lamb is brought to the shambles, but the wolf rangeth the mountain ; Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- dureth. I ask’d the red-hot iron, when it glimmer’d on the anvil, “Wherefore glowest thou longer than the fire- brand ?” ‘‘T was born in the dark mine, and the brand in the pleasant greenwood.” Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- dureth. I ask’d the green oak of the assembly, where- fore its boughs were dry and sear’d like the horns of the stag ; And it show’d me that a small worm had gnaw’d its roots. SCOTT'S POLTICAL WG The boy who remembered the scourge, undid the wicket of the castle at midnight. Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- dureth. Lightning destroyeth temples, though their spires pierce the clouds ; Storms destroy armadas, though their sails in- tercept the gale. He that is in his glory falleth, and that by a contemptible enemy, Kindness fadeth away, but vengeance en- dureth. Chap. Xxxi. —_—~o— MOTTOES. CHAP. II. In Madoc’s tent the clarion sounds, With rapid clangour hurried far ; Each hill and dale the note rebounds, But when return the sons of war! Thou, born of stern Necessity, Dull Peace! the valley yields to thee, And owns thy melancholy sway. Welsh Poem. CHAP. VII. O, sadly shines the morning sun On leaguer’d castle wall, When bastion, tower, and battlement, Seem nodding to their fall. Old Ballad, ee CHAP. XII. Now all ye ladies of fair Scotland, - And ladies of England that happy would prove, Marry never for houses, nor marry for land, Nor marry for nothing but only love. Family Quarrels. CHAP. XIII. Too much rest is rust, There’s ever cheer in changing ; We tyne by too much trust, So we'll be up and ranging. Old Song. CHAP. XVII. Ring out the merry bells, the bride approaches. The blush upon her cheek has shamed the morning, For that is dawning palely. Grant, good saints, These clouds betoken nought of evil omen! Old Play. CHAP. XXVII. Julia. Gentle sir, You are our captive—but we'll use you so, That you shall think your prison joys may match Whate’er your liberty hath known of pleasure. Roderick. No, fairest, we have trifled here too long ; And, lingering to see your roses blossom, I’ve let my laurels wither. Old Play. = From ‘‘ THE TALISMAN.” 1825. AHRIMAN. Dark Ahriman, whom Irak still Holds origin of woe and ill! When, bending at thy shrine, We view the world with troubled eye, Where see we ’neath the extended sky, An empire matching thine ! If the Benigner Power can yield A fountain in the desert field, Where weary pilgrims drink ; Thine are the waves that lash the rock, Thine the tornado’s deadly shock, Where countless navies sink ! Or if He bid the soil dispense Balsams to cheer the sinking sense, How few can they deliver From lingering pains, or pang intense, Red Fever, spotted Pestilence, The arrows of thy quiver ! Chief in Man’s bosom sits thy sway, And frequent, while in words we pray Before another throne, Whate’er of specious form be there, The secret meaning of the prayer Is, Ahriman, thine own. hn ity ETE Say, hast thou feeling, sense, and form, Thunder thy voice, thy garments storm, As Eastern Magi say ; With sentient soul of hate and wrath, And wings to sweep thy deadly path, And fangs to tear thy prey? Or art thou mix’d in Nature’s source, An ever-operating force, Converting good to ill; An evil principle innate, Contending with our better fate, And oh! victorious still? Howe’er it be, dispute is vain, On all without thou hold’st thy reign, Nor less on all within ; Each mortal passion’s fierce career, Love, hate, ambition, joy, and fear, Thou goadest into sin. Whene’er a sunny gleam appears, To brighten up our vale of tears, Thou art not distant far ; ’Mid such brief solace of our lives, Thou whett’st our very banquet-knives To tools of death and war. Thus, from the moment of our birth, Long as we linger on the earth, Thou rul’st the fate of men ; Thine are the pangs of life’s last hour, And—who dare answer ?—is thy power, Dark Spirit ! ended THEN? Chap. iii. -—O0— SONG OF BLONDEL.—THE BLOODY VEST. ’Twas near the fair city of Benevent, When the sun was setting on bough and bent, And knights were preparing in bower and tent, On the eve of the Baptist’s tournament ; When in Lincoln green a stripling gent, Well seeming a page by a princess sent, Wander’d the camp, and, still as he went, Enquired for the Englishman, Thomas a Kent. Far hath he fared, and farther must fare, Till he finds his pavilion nor stately nor rare,-- Little save iron and steel was there; And, as lacking the coin to pay armourer’s care, With his sinewy arms to the shoulders bare, The good knight with hammer and file did repair The mail that to-morrow must see him wear, For the honour of Saint John and his lady fair. “‘Thus speaks my lady,” the page said he, And the knight bent lowly both head and knee, *< She is Benevent’s Princess so high in degree, And thou art as lowly as knight may well be— He that would climb so lofty a tree, Or spring such a gulf as divides her from thee, Must dare some high deed, by which all men may see His ambition is back’d by his high chivalrie. | VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢. FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 528 “Therefore thus speaks my lady,” the fair page he said, | And the knight lowly louted with hand and with head, ** Fling aside the good armour in which thou art clad, | And don thou this weed of her night-gear in- stead, For a hauberk of steel, a kirtle of thread: And charge, thus attired, in the tournament dread, And fight as thy wont is where most blood is shed, And bring honour away, or remain with the dead,” Untroubled in his look, and untroubled in his breast, The knight the weed hath taken, and rever- ently hath kiss’d: ‘* Now bless’d be the moment, the messenger be blest ! Much honour’d do I hold me in my lady’s high behest ; | And say unto my lady, in this dear night-weed dress’d, To the best arm’d champion I will not veil my crest But if I live and bear me well ’tis her turn to take the test.” Here, gentles, ends the foremost fytte of the Lay of the Bloody Vest. Fytte SEconp. |THE Baptist’s fair morrow beheld gallant feats— There was winning of honour, and losing of seats— | There was hewing with falchions, and splinter- ing of staves, The victors won glory, the vanquish’d won graves. O, many a knight there fought bravely and well, Yet one was accounted his peers to excel, And ’twas he whose sole armour on body and breast, Seem’d the weed of a damsel when boune for her rest. There were some dealt him wounds that were bloody and sore, But others respected his plight, and forebore. ‘‘Tt is some oath of honour,” they said, ‘‘and I trow 'Twere unknightly to slay him achieving his vow.” Then the Prince, for his sake, bade the tour- nament cease, He flung down his warder, the trumpets sung peace ; And the judges declare, and competitors yield, That the Knight of the Night-gear was first in the field. The feast it was nigh, and the mass it was nigher, When before the fair Princess low louted a squire, t eRe eee ms vm — NE A LCT et SS 2 eS etd Ee SCOLTES POETICAL WORKS. And deliver’d a garment unseemly to view, With sword-cut and spear-thrust, all hack’d and pierced through ; All rent and all tatter’d, all clotted with blood, With foam of the horses, with dust, and with mud, Not the point of that lady’s small finger, I ween, Could have rested on spot was unsullied and clean. “This token my master, Sir Thomas a Kent, Restores to the Princess of fair Benevent ; He that climbs the tall tree has won right to the fruit, He that leaps the wide gulf should prevail in his suit ; Through life’s utmost peril the prize I have won, And now must the faith of my mistress be shown: For she who prompts knights on such danger to run, Must avouch his true service in front of the sun. “*T restore,’ says my master, ‘ the garment I’ve worn, And I claim of the Princess to don it in turn ; For its stains and its rents she should prize it the more, Since by shame ’tis unsullied, though crim- son’d with gore.” Then deep blush’d the Princess—yet kiss’d she and press’d The blood-spotted robes to her lips and her breast. “Go tell my true knight, church and chamber shall show, If I value the blood on this garment or no.” And when it was time for the nobles to pass, In solemn procession to minster and mass, The first walk’d the Princess in purple and But the blood-besmear’d night-robe she wore over all; And eke, in the hall, where they all sat at dine When she knelt to her father and proffer’d the wine, Over all her rich robes and state jewels, she wore That wimple unseemly bedabbled with gore. Then lords whisper’d ladies, as well you may think, And ladies replied, with nod, titter, and wink ; And the Prince, who in anger and shame had look’d dow n, Turn’d at length to his daughter, and spoke with a fr own: “Now eed thou hast publish’d thy folly and ruil Hen SiOhe with thy hand for the blood thou hast spilt ; Yet sore os your boldness you both will re- pen When you wander as exiles from fair Bene- vent,” 4 Then out spoke stout Thomas, in hall where he stood, Exhausted and feeble, but dauntless of mood : “The blood that I lost for this daughter of thine, I pour’d forth as freely as flask gives its wine; And if for my sake she brooks penance and blame, Do not doubt I will save her from suffering and shame ; And light will she reck of thy princedom and rent, When I hail her, in Bngland, the Countess of Kent.” Chap. xxvi. MOTTOES. CHAP. IX. Tus is the Prince of Leeches; fever, plague, Cold rheum, and hot podagra, do but look on him, And quit their grasp upon the tortured sinews, Anonymous. CHAP. XI. One thing is certain in our Northern land, Allow that birth, or valour, wealth, or wit, Give each precedence to their possessor, Envy, that follows on such eminence, As conea the lyme-hound on the roebuck’s trac Shall pull cect down each one. Sir David Lindsay. CHAP. XIIT. You talk of Gaiety and Innocence! | The moment when the fatal fruit was eaten, They parted ne’er to mest again ; and Malice | Has ever since been playmate to light Gaiety, ; From the first moment when the smiling infant Destroys the flower or butterfly he toys with, To the last chuckle of the dying miser, Who on his deathbed laughs his last to hear His wealthy neighbour has become a bank- rupt. Old Play. CHAP. XVI. ’Tis not her sense—for sure, in that There’s nothing more than common ; And all her wit is only chat, Like any other woman. Song. CHAP. XVII. Were every hair upon his head a life, And every life were to be supplicated By numbers equal to those hairs quadrupled, Life after life should out like waning stars Before the daybreak—or as festive lamps, Which have lent lustre to the midnight revel, Each after each are quench’d when guests depari | Old Play. SS 2 ee SPC ae MOTTOES, VERSES, &¢., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 527 CHAP. XIX. FRom ‘‘ WOODSTOCK.” Must we then sheath our still victorious 1826, sword ; Turn back our forward step, which ever trode : O’er foemen’s necks the onward path of glory ; AN HOUR WITH THEE. Unclasp the mail, which, witha solemn vow, In God’s own house we hung upon our shoul- f ders ; | Dapples with gold the eastern grey, That vow, as unaccomplish’d as the promise | Oh, what can frame my mind to bear Which village nurses make to still their chil- | The toil and turmoil, cark and care, dren, | New griefs, which coming hours unfold, And after think no more of ? And sad remembrance of the old? ] ith thee. The Crusade, a Tragedy. O06 RORY eG tee AN hour with thee !—When earliest day One hour with thee !—When burning June Waves his red flag at pitch of noon ; CHAP. XX. What shall repay the faithful swain, " pees . His labour on the sultry plain ; hie eee ao pe ike. fea hi And more than cave or sheltering bough, ‘ Oe , » He dare not raise AIS | Cool feverish blood, and throbbing brow ?— Far less expand the terror of his fangs, One hour with thee, So great Alcides made his club a distaff. <2 : Se ee. ay 2 One hour with thee !—When sun is set And spun to please fair Omphalé. O, what can teach me to forget - Anonymous. The thankless labours of the day ; | The hopes, the wishes, flung away ; CHAP, XXIII. | The increasing wants, and lessening gains, ; ; The master’s pride, who scorns my pains ?7— ’Mid these wild scenes Enchantment waves her I One “yaa saere thee, hand, : To change the face of the mysterious land : ChaperXNre Till the bewildering scenes around us seem mi cae The vain productions of a feverish dream. Astolpho, a Romance. MOTTOKS. CHAP. II. CaP. XXIV. | ComE forth, old man—Thy daughter’s side ——— A grain of dust | Is now the fitting place for thee : ‘at i re A sat | When Time hath quell’d the oak’s bold pride, Soiling our cup, will make our sense reject hoe ie youthful tendril yet may hide Fastidiously the draught which we did thirst | The ruins of the parent tree. for; A rusted nail, placed near the faithful compass, | : Will sway it from the truth, and wreck the | CHAP. III. argosy. Now rj ades, that mak inns , Even this small cause of anger and disgust oe ee Ea Will break the bonds of amity ’mongst princes, | To yapour forth the acts of this sad age, And wreck their noblest purposes. Stout Edgehill fight, the Newberries and the The Crusade, | West, : | And northern clashes, where you still fought CHAP, XXVI. best ; ; Your strange escapes, your dangers void of The tears I shed must ever fall! | fear, I weep not for an absent swain, | When bullets flew between the head and ear, For time may happier hours recall, | Whether you fought by Damme or the Spirit, And parted lovers meet again. Of you I speak. Legend of Captain Jones. I weep not for the silent dead, Ee pains are past, their sorrows o’er, CHAP. IV. And those that loved their steps must tread, 7 WI Sihichall joi ee = ———— Yon path of greensward nen death’shall join to part no more. | Winds round by sparry grot and gay pavilion ; | There is no flint to gall thy tender foot, 3ut worse than absence, worse than death, |There’s ready shelter from each breeze, or She wept her lover’s sullied fame, shower. — ; An LAC ~ 1 _ < = 5 ‘ e And, fired with a the pride of birth, But Duty guides not that way—see her stand, She wept a soldier’s injured name. With wand entwined with amaranth, near yon Ballad, | cliffs. Oft where she leads thy blood must mark thy footsteps, 1} fT ; HHH oe : ; ey neat ee | . 528 SCOTT’S POETICAL WChie . Oft where she leads thy head must bear the From “CHRONICLES OF THE GANOMGLIEL™ : storm, ) And thy shrunk form endure heat, cold, and 1827. , | hunger ; hie But she will guide thee up to noble heights, | ‘ Which he who gains seems native of the sky, MOTTORS. : While earthly things lie stretch’d beneath _ his feet, THE TWO DROVERS. : ; | Diminish’d, shrunk, and valueless—— Phil CHAP. II. | Anonymous. i‘ . DERIK WERE ever such two loving friends |— CHAP. V. How could they disagree ? : . . O thus it was he loved him dear, } My tongue pads slowly under this new lan- And thought how to requite him, BT guage, And having no friend left but he, ; And starts and stumbles at these uncouth He did resolve to fight him. hrases. ; They ae be great in worth and weight, but Duke upon Duke. hang —o— ' Upon the native glibness of na ee ; : | Like Saul’s plate-armour on the shepherd boy, , + re ; ) | Encumbering and not arming him. MY AUNT MARGARET'S MIRROR. ; Wh} 4 There are times Hy a : . : | When Fancy plays her gambols, in despite i | : CHAP. X. Even of our watchful senses, when in sooth i! —__-____ Here we have one head cone my shadow, shadow substance i Toone Ba teee ae ade aioe ea Dnt When the broad, palpable, and marked parti- | These two have but one meaning, thought, and | Twix a hich ; Ke an : : counsel ; wixt it aat which is and is not, seems dis- i _ And when the single noddle has spoke out, _, Solved, Re i The four legs scrape assent to it. | As if the mental eye gain’d power to gaze a Old Play | Beyond the limits of the existing world. } H i ‘ | Such hours of shadowy dreams I better love unl : Creer Than all the gross realities of life. re | Anonymous. f! | ——_—-—— Deeds are done on earth, piel ' Which have their punishment ere the earth ——— og ' closes bibl | Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working _ Of the remorse-stirr’d fancy, or the vision, From “ “HL” Shh Distinct and real, of unearthly being, ot THe Fe ee bie | All ages witness, that beside the couch 1828, _ Of the fell homicide oft stalks the ghost ——- ; 4) | Of him he slew, and shows the shadowy 4 I | wound. THE LAY OF POOR LOUISE. ya Old Play. ; | It CHAP. XVII. AH, poor Louise ! the livelong day 4 She roams from cot to castle gay ; ia ei We do that in our zeal, And still her voice and viol say, ih ‘filly Our calmer moments are afraid to answer. Ah, maids, beware the woodland way, } Anonymous. Think on Louise. — Ah, poor Louise! The sun was high, Heese! It smirch’d her cheek, it dimm’d her eye, The deadliest snakes are those which, twined | The woodland walk was cool and nigh, | ’mongst flowers, | Where birds with chiming streamlets vie Blend their bright colouring with the varied To cheer Louise. blossoms, : Their fierce eyes glittering like the spangled | Ah, poor Louise! The savage bear _ dewdrop ; Made ne’er that lovely grove his lair ; In all so like what nature has most harmless, The wolves molest not paths so fair— That sportive innocence, which dreads no| Sut better far had such been there danger, For poor Louise. _ Is poison’d unawares. : Vat Old Play. Ah, poor Louise! In woody wold She met a huntsman fair and bold ; sates His baldric was of silk and gold, And many a witching tale he told ae i : To poor Louise. VERSES, MOTTOES, &c:., FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 529 Ah, poor Louise ! Small cause to pine Hadst thou for treasures of the mine ; For peace of mind, that gift divine, And spotless innocence, were thine, Ah, poor Louise ! Ah, poor Louise! Thy treasure’s reft! I know not if by force or theft, Or part by violence, part by gift; But misery is all that’s left To poor Louise. Let poor Louise some succour have ! She will not long your bounty crave, Or tire the gay with warning stave— For Heaven has grace, and earth a grave For poor Louise. Chap. x. —o— DEATH CHANT. VIEWLESS Essence, thin and bare, Wellnigh melted into air ; Still with fondness hovering near The earthly form thou once didst wear ; Pause upon thy pinion’s flight, Be thy course to left or right ; Be thou doom’d to soar or sink, Pause upon the awful brink. To avenge the deed expelling Thee untimely from thy dwelling, Mystic force thou shalt retain O’er the blood and o’er the brain. When the form thou shalt espy ‘That darken’d on thy closing eye ; When the footstep thou shalt hear, That thrill’d upon thy dying ear ; Then strange sympathies shall wake, The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake ; The wounds renew their clotter’d flood, And every drop cry blood for blood. Chap. xxii. —0— SONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN, Yes, thou mayst sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and ground. Thy life its final course has found, And thou must die. Yes, lay thee down, And while thy struggling pulses flutter, Bid the grey monk his soul-mass mutter, And the deep bell its death-tone utter— Thy life is gone. Be not afraid. ’Tis but a pang, and then a thrill, A fever fit, and then a chill ; And then an end of human ill, For thou art dead. Chap. XXX. MOTTOES. INTRODUCTORY. THE ashes here of murder’d Kings Beneath my footsteps sleep ; And yonder lies the scene of death, Where Mary learn’d to weep. Captain Marjoribanks. CHAP. I. | <‘ Behold the Tiber!” the vain Roman cried, | Viewing the ample Tay from Baiglie’s side ; | But where’s the Scot that would the vaunt | | | repay, And hail the puny Tiber for the Tay? Anonymous, CHAP. XI. Fair is the damsel, passing fair— Sunny at distance gleams her smile! Approach—the cloud of woful care Hangs trembling in her eye the while. Lucinda, a Ballad. CHAP. XV. O for a draught of power to steep The soul of agony in sleep! Bertha, CHAP. XXIII. Lo! where he lies embalm’d in gore, His wound to Heaven cries ; The floodgates of his blood implore For vengeance from the skies. Uranus and Psyche. —_+-—_- From ‘‘ ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN.” 1829. THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. MeEasuRERs of good and evil, Bring the square, the line, the level, — Rear the altar, dig the trench, Blood both stone and ditch shall drench. Cubits six, from end to end, Must the fatal bench extend,— Cubits six, from side to side, Judge and culprit must divide. On the east the Court assembles, On the west the Accused trembles— Answer, brethren, all and one, Is the ritual rightly done? On life and soul, on blood and bone, One for all, and all for one, We warrant this is rightly done. | WiTE It} Vt : i ' Ah ; j 2. $<. (ae NYY | . : 530 How weurs the night ?—Doth morning shine | In early radiance on the Rhine? What music floats upon his tide? Do birds the tardy morning chide? Brethren, look out from hill and height, And answer true, how wears the night ? The night is old ; on Rhine’s broad breast Glance drowsy stars which long to rest, No beams are twinkling in the east. There is a voice upon the flood, The stern still call of blood for blood ; "Tis time we listen the behest. Up, then, up! When day’s at rest, ‘Tis time that such as we are watchers ; Rise to judgment, brethren, rise ! Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes, He and night are matchers. Chap, XxX. —_o— MOTTOES. CHAP. III. CURSED be the gold and silver, which persuade Weak man to follow far fatiguing trade. The lily, peace, outshines the silver store, And life is dearer than the golden ore. Yet money tempts us o’er the desert brown, To every distant mart and wealthy town. Hassan, or the Camel-driver. CHAP. v. ——— I was one Who loved the greenwood bank and lowing herd, The russet prize, the lowly peasant’s life, Season’d with sweet content, more than the halls Where revellers feast to fever-height. me, There ne’er was poison mix’d in maple bowl. Anonymous, Believe CHAP. VI. When we two meet, we meet like rushing tor- rents ; Like warring winds, like flames from various points, Lhat mate each other’s fury—there is nought Of elemental strife, were fiends to guide it, Can match the wrath of man. Frenaud, CHAP IE: We know not when we sleep nor when we wake. Visions distinct and perfect cross our eye, Which to the slumberer seem realities ; And while they waked, some men have seen such sights As set at nought the evidence of sense, And left them well persuaded they were | dreaming. Anonymous, | i 4 fA AOL ACETAL OLESEN smasct eee 2 nS SCOTI’S POETICAL WORKS CHAP. XI. These be the adept’s doctrines—every element Is peopled with its separate race of spirits. The airy Sylphs on the blue ether float ; Deep in the earthy cavern skulks the Gnome ; The sea-green Naiad skims the ocean-billow, And the fierce fire is yet a friendly home To its peculiar sprite—the Salamander. Anonymous. CHAP. XVIII. Upon the Rhine, upon the Rhine they cluster, The grapes of juice divine, Which make the soldier’s muster ; O, blessed be the Rhine ! jovial courage Drinking Song. CHAP. XXII. Tell me not of it—I could ne’er abide The mummery of all that forced civility. ‘* Pray, seat yourself, my lord.” With cring- ing hams The speech is spoken, and with bended knee, Heard by the smiling courtier.—“ Before you, sir? It must be on the earth then.” Hang it all! The pride which cloaks itself in such poor fashion Is scarcely fit to swell a beggar’s bosom. Old Play. CHAP. XXVIII. A mirthful man he was—the snows of age Fell, but they did not chill him. Gaiety, Even in life’s closing, touch’d his teeming brain With such wild visions as the setting sun Raises in front of some hoar glacier, Painting the bleak ice with a thousand hues. Old Play. CHAP. XXX. Ay, this is he who wears the wreath of bays Wove by Apollo and the Sisters Nine, Which Jove’s dread lightning scathes not. He hath doft The cumbrous helm of steel, and flung aside The yet more galling diadem of gold; While, with a leafy circlet round his brows, He reigns the King of Lovers and of Poets. CHAP. XXXI. ——— Want you a man Experienced in the world and its affairs? Here he is for your purpose.—He’s a monk, He hath forsworn the world and all its work— The rather that he knows it passing well, ‘Special the worst of it, for he’s a monk. Old Play. CHAP. XXXIII. Toll, toll the bell! Greatness is o’er, The heart has broke, To ache no more; An unsubstantial pageant all— Drop o’er the scene the funeral pall. Old Poem. | | + | | | . | i : | i. : . ) ) t ft i wn et jh beige we wees eyes - onl — CHAP. XXXV. ———— Here’s a weapon now, Shall shake a conquering general in his tent, A monarch on his throne, or reach a prelate, However holy be his offices, E’en while he serves the altar. Old Play. —_+4+—_- From ‘‘CountT ROBERT OF PARIS.” 1831. MOTTOES. CHAP. II. Othus. ————-——— This superb successor Of the earth’s mistress, as thou vainly speakest, Stands ’midst these ages as, on the wide ocean, The last spared fragment of a spacious land, That in some grand and awful ministration Of mighty nature has engulfed been, Doth lift aloft its dark and rocky cliffs O’er the wild waste around, and sadly frowns In lonely majesty. Constantine Paleologus, Scene I. CHAP, III. Here, youth, thy foot unbrace, Here, youth, thy brow unbraid, Hach tribute that may grace The threshold here be paid. Walk with the stealthy pace Which Nature teaches deer, When, echoing in the chase, The hunter’s horn they hear. The Court. CHAP. V. The storm increases—’tis no sunny shower, Foster’d in the moist breast of March or April, Or such as parched Summer cools his lip with ; | Heaven’s windows are flung wide ; the inmost | deeps Call in hoarse greeting one upon another ; On comes the flood in all its foaming horrors, And where’s the dike shall stop it! The Deluge, a Poem. See LIFE, vol. x., p. 37. CHAP. VI. Vain man! thou mayst esteem thy love as fair As fond hyperboles suffice to raise. She may be all that’s matchless in her person, And all-divine in soul to match her body ; But fae this from me—thou shalt never call er | Superior to her sex, while one survives, | And I am her true votary. Old Play. | To meet a lover’s onset. VERSES, MOTTOES, &¢. FROM WAVERLEY NOVELS. 531 CHAP. VIII. Through the vain webs which puzzle sophists’ skill, Plain sense and honest meaning work their way ; So sink the varying clouds upon the hill, When the clear dawning brightens into day. Dr, Watts, CHAP. IX. Between the foaming jaws of the white tor- rent, The skilful artist draws a sudden mound ; By level long he subdivides their strength, Stealing the waters from their rocky bed, First to diminish what he means to conquer ; Then, for the residue he forms a road, Easy to keep, and painful to desert, And guiding to the end the planner aim’d at. The Engineer. CHAP. X. These were wild times—the antipodes of ours : Ladies were there, who oftener saw themselves In the broad lustre of a foeman’s shield Than in a mirror, and who rather sought 'To match themselves in battle, than in dal- liance But though Nature Was outraged thus, she was not overcome. Feudal Times. CHAP. XI. Without a ruin, broken, tangled, cumbrous, Within it was a little paradise, Where Taste had made her dwelling. Statu- ary, First-born of human art, moulded her images, And bade men mark and worship. Anonymous. CHAP. XII. The parties met. The wily, wordy Greek, Weighing each word, and canvassing each syl- lable ; Evading, arguing, equivocating. { And the stern Frank came with his two-hand sword, | Watching to see which way the balance sways, That he may throw it in, and turn the scales, Palestine. CHAP, XVI. Strange ape of man! who loathes thee while he scorns thee ; Half a reproach to us and half a jest. What fancies can be ours ere we have pleasure In viewing our own form, our pride and pas- sions, Reflected in a shape grotesque as thine! Anonymous. CHAP, XVII. ‘Tis strange that, in the dark sulphureous mine, Where wild ambition piles its ripening stores Of slumbering thunder, Love will interpose His tiny torch, and cause the stern explosion To burst, when the deviser’s least aware. Anonymous, is a err “ a . ~ Eee = = ane ~~ = - ~— -- --———— a ae oS Se ears + ee ewe SS SSS a ee eee 5 ee 532 CHAP. XXIV. All is prepared—the chambers of the mine Are cramm’d with the combustible, which, harmless While yet unkindled, as the sable sand, Needs but a spark to change its nature so, That he who wakes it from its slumbrous mood, Dreads scarce the explosion less than he who knows That ’tis his towers which meet its fury. Anonymous. ———————————— CHAP, XXv. Heaven knows its time; the bullet has its billet, | Arrow and javelin each its destined purpose ; _ The fated beasts of Nature’s lower strain _ Have each their separate task. ESF ECR EY PRESTO Old Play. From ‘‘CasTLE DANGEROUS.” i 1831. MOTTOES. i CHAP. Y. _ A TALE of sorrow, for your eyes may weep; A tale of horror, for your flesh may tingle ; A tale of wonder, for the eyebrows arch, And the flesh curdles if you read it rightly. Old Play. : ; 4. SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. ‘ —— LOLS a LL EP SE IN SE SS I CRC ER Fn ohh _—_ —~= | 6 , a b | rT ALJ CHAP, XI. ao he? Has the deep earth swallow’d im 7 Or hath he melted like some airy phantom That shuns the approach of morn and the young sun ? Or hath he wrapt him in Cimmerian darkness, And pass’d beyond the circuit of the sight With things of the night’s shadows? Anonymous. CHAP. XIV. | The way is long, my children, long and rough— The moors are dreary, and the woods are dark ; | But he that creeps from cradle on to grave, Unskill’d save in the velvet course of fortune, Hath miss’d the discipline of noble hearts. Old Play. CHAP. XVIII. His talk was of another world—his bodements Strange, doubtful, and mysterious ; those who heard him Listen’d as to a man in feverish dreams, Who speaks of other objects than the present, And mutters like to him who sees a vision. Old Play. CHAP. XxX. Cry the wild war-note, let the champions pass. | Do bravely each, and God defend the right ; | Upon Saint Andrew thrice can they thus cry, And thrice they shout on height, And then marked them on the Englishmen, As I have told you right. ° Saint George the bright, our ladies’ knight, To name they were full fain ; . Our Englishmen they cried on height, And thrice they shout again. Old Ballad a Miscellaneous Poems. —o0— | Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, | To measure the seas and to study the skies : | May he hoist all his canvass from streamer to FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HicH CuHier or KINTAIL. deck, FROM THE GAELIC. | But O! crowd it higher when wafting him back— 1815.—/ET. 44. | Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan’s glad “ol 4 ale THE original verses are arranged to a beautiful | gj,. ee ee Pips oh Chi Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to Shall Pe ate Mackenzie, High Chief of the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and | ar’ which is therefore distinct from the ordinary | ea jorrams, or boat-songs. They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the | Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at | insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, | in the year 1718. —— FAREWELL to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Sea- orth ; To the Chieftain this morning his course who began, Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail! O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, May her captain be skilful, her mariners true, In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil, Though the whirlwind should rise, and the | ocean should boil: On the brave vessel’s gunnel I drank his bonail, And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ! Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale ! Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his sail; Be prolong’d as regret, that his vassals must | know, Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their woe: Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale, Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail! IMITATION OF THE PRECEDING SONG. So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart, When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, are heard Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard ; Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter gale, As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. From the far Southland Border a Minstrel came forth, And he waited the hour that some Bard of the north His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast, And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast ; But no bard was there left in the land of the ael, To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kin- tail. And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim, Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame? No, son of Fitzgerald! in accents of woe, The song thou hast loved o’er thy coffin shall flow, | And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wail That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail, —_—— = \ ikl 7 " bie == ae 534 In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong ; Fate deaden’d thine ear and imprison’d thy | | tongue ; For brighter o’er all her obstructions arose The glow of the genius they could not oppose ; And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael, Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail ? Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love, All a father could hope, all a friend could approve ; What ’vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell,— In the spring-time of youth and of promise | they fell! Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male, To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kin- | tail. And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear, to | thy grief, For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief, Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have Of thy husband, and father, and brethren bereft, To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail, That salutes thee the Heir Kintail ! —o— WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN, .HIGH CHIEF oF MACLEAN. FROM THE GAELIC. 1815. THIS song appears to be imperfect, or, at least, like many of the early Gaelic poems, makes a rapid transition from one subject to another ; from the situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the clan, who opens the | song by lamenting the absence of her lover, to | an eulogium over the military glories of the Chieftain. The translator has endeavoured to imitate the abrupt style of the original. A WEARY month has wander’d o’er Since last we parted on the shore : of the line of | Heaven! that I saw thee, Love, once more, Safe on that shore again !— ‘Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word : Lachlan, of many a galley lord: He call’d his kindred bands on board, And launch’d them on the main. Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone; Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known ; Rejoicing in the glory won In many a bloody broil : For wide is heard the thundering fray, The rout, the ruin, the dismay, When from the twilight glens away Clan-Gillian drives the spoil. ~£ eta cars ee Woe to the hills that shall rebound ____ a} SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. Our banner’d bag-pipes’ maddening sound ; Clan-Gillian’s onset echoing round, Shall shake their inmost cell. Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze, Where Lachlan’s silken streamer plays! The fools might face the lightning’s blaze As wisely and as well ! —~o— SAINT CLOUD. Sort spread the southern summer night Her veil of darksome blue ; Ten thousand stars combined to light The terrace of Saint Cloud. The evening breezes gently sigh’d, Like breath of lover true, Bewailing the deserted pride And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. The drum’s deep roll was heard afar, The bugle wildly blew Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, That garrison Saint Cloud. The startled Naiads from the shade With broken urns withdrew, And silenced was that proud cascade, The glory of Saint Cloud. We sate upon its steps of stone, Nor could its silence rue, When waked, to music of our own, The echoes of Saint Cloud. Slow Seine might hear each lovely note Fall light as summer dew, While through the moonless air they float, Prolong’d from fair Saint Cloud. And sure a melody more sweet His waters never knew, Though music’s self was wont to meet With Princes at Saint Cloud. Nor then, with more delighted ear, The circle round her drew, Than ours, when gather’d round to hear Our songstress at Saint Cloud. Few happy hours poor mortals pass,— Then give those hours their due, And rank among the foremost class Our evenings at Saint Cloud. THE DANCE OF DEATH. 1815. NIGHT and morning were at meeting Over Waterloo ; Cocks had sung their earliest greeting: Faint and low they crew, For no paly beam yet shone On the heights of Mount Saint J ohn ; € . I be A a as A A env a Tempest-clouds prolong’d the sway Of timeless Garkness over day ; Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, Mark’d it a predestined hour. Broad and frequent through the night Flash’d the sheets of levin-light ; Muskets, glancing lightnings back, Show’d the dreary bivouac Where the soldier lay, Chill and stiff, and drench’d with rain, Wishing dawn of morn again, Though death should come with day. ‘Tis at such a tide and hour, Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, And ghastly forms through mist and shower Gleam on the gifted ken ; And then the affrighted prophet’s ear, Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear Presaging death and ruin near Among the sons of men ;— Apart from Albyn’s war-array, ’T was then grey Allan sleepless lay ; Grey Allan, who, for many a day, Had follow’d stout and stern, Where, through battle’s rout and reel, Storm of shot and hedge of steel, Led the grandson of Lochiel, Valiant Fassiefern. Through steel and shot he leads no more, Low laid ’mid friends’ and foemen’s gore— But long his native lake’s wild shore, And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower, And Morven long shall tell, And proud Bennevis hear with awe, How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras, Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra Of conquest as he fell. ’Lone on the outskirts of the host, The weary sentinel held post, And heard, through darkness far aloof, The frequent clang of courser’s hoof, Where held the cloak’d patrol their course, And spurr’d ’gainst storm the swerving horse. But there are sounds in Allan’s ear, Patrol nor sentinel may hear, And sights before his eye aghast Invisible to them have pass’d, When down the destined plain, ’Twixt Britain and the bands of France, Wild as marsh-borne meteor’s glance, Strange phantoms wheel’d a revel dance, And doom’d the future slain.— Such forms were seen, such sounds were | heard, When Scotland’s James his march prepared For Flodden’s fatal plain ; Such, when he drew his ruthless sword, As Choosers of the Slain, adored The yet unchristen’d Dane. An indistinct and phantom band, They wheel’d their ring-dance hand in hand, With gestures wild and dread ; The Seer, who watch’d them ride the storm, Saw through their faint and shadowy form The lightning’s flash more red ; And still their ghastly roundelay Was of the coming battle-fray, And of the destined dead. | | | MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. SONG. ‘* Wheel the wild dance n~ While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Our airy feet, So light and fleet, They do not bend the rye That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, And swells again in eddying wave, As each wild gust blows by ; But still the corn, At dawn of morn, Our fatal steps that bore, At eve lies waste, A trampled paste Of blackening mud and gore, ‘Wheel the wild dance Vhile lightnings glance, And thunders rattle ioud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Wheel the wild dance ! Brave sons of France, For you our ring makes room ; Make space full wide For martial pride, For banner, spear, and plume. Approach, draw near, Proud cuirassier ! Room for the men of steel! Through crest and plate The broadsword’s weight Both head and heart shall feel. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Sons of the spear ! You feel us near In many a ghastly dream ; With fancy’s eye Our forms you spy, And hear our fatal scream. With clearer sight Ere falls the night, Just when to weal or woe Your disembodied souls take flight On trembling wing—each startled sprite Our choir of death shall know. Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, Redder rain shail soon be ours— See the east grows wan— Yield we place to sterner game, aii —— “4 + H ; rae Ssiesnnsbcisumssnsmnnseesicaivansoeenmees i SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. SS epi TS EDTA Aa Ia enceeanee Eke Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame Shall the welkin’s thunders shame: Elemental rage is tame To the wrath of man.” At morn, grey Allan’s mates with awe Heard of the vision’d sights he saw, The legend heard him say ; But the Seer’s gifted eye was dim, Deafen’d his ear, and stark his limb, Ere closed that bloody day— He sleeps far from his Highland heath,— But often of the Dance of Death His comrades tell the tale, On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, And waning watch-fires glow less bright, And dawn is glimmering pale. ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. FROM THE FRENCH. 1815. THE original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript collection of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, which was found on the field of Water- loo, so much stained with clay and with blood, as sufficiently to indicate the fate of its late owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of the style of com- position to which it belongs. The translation is strictly literal. This was really written by Hortense Beauharnois, Duchesse de St. Leu, | Ex-Queen of Holland. Ir was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, But first he made his orisons before St. Mary’s | shrine: “And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,” | was still the Soldier’s prayer, “That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair.” His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword, And follow’d to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord ; Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill’d the air, “Be honour’d aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair.” They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said, “The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid.— My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair,” | And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary’s shrine, | That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and | hands combine ; | And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapel there, Cried, ‘‘ Honour’d be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!” —o— THE’ TROUBADODR. FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. Also written by Hortense Beauharnois. 1815. GLOWING with love, on fire for fame, A Troubadour that hated sorrow, Beneath his Lady’s window came, And thus he sung his last good-morrow : ““My arm it is my councry’s right, My heart is in my true-love’s bower ; Gaily for love and fame to fight Befits the gallant Troubadour.” And while he march’d with helm on head | And harp in hand, the descant rung, | As, faithful to his favourite maid, The minstrel-burden still he sung: ““My arm it is my country’s right, My heart is in my lady’s bower ; Resolved for love and fame to fight, I come, a gallant Troubadour.” ven when the battle-roar was deep, With dauntless heart. he hew’d his way, ‘Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, And still was heard his warrior-lay : | “* My life it is my country’s right, My heart is in my lady’s bower ; For love to die, for fame to fight, Becomes the valiant Troubadour.” | Alas! upon the bloody field He fell beneath the foeman’s glaive, But still reclining on his shield, Expiring sung the exulting stave :— ‘My life it is my country’s right, My heart is in my lady’s bower ; For love and fame to fall in fight Becomes the valiant Troubadour.” —0— FROM THE FRENCH. Also found with the two preceding at Waterloo. 1815. Ir chanced that Cupid on a season, By Fancy urged, resolved to wed. But could not settle whether Reason Or Folly should partake his bed. What does he then ?—Upon my life, ‘Twas bad example for a deity— He takes me Reason for a wife, | And Folly for his hours of gaiety. ee LT TIE IES es Sc i C0) RO TEE 60S ee a: ma mR MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 537 Though thus he dealt in petty treason, And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe He loved them both in equal measure ; measure Fidelity was born of ‘Reason, To each Laird and each Lady that witness’d And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. our fun, And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure, ee To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won. Then up with the Banner, &e. SONG, | May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward, ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE | From the hall of the Peer to the Herd’s OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ingle-nook ; | / ! “170 arta , TACT PITA Siena A UGH. And huzza ! my brave hearts, for BuccLrucH and his standard, Z | For the King and the Country, the Clan, | and the Duke! | \ 1815. From the brown crest of Newark its summons ; rf Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, extending : : Our signal is Ee in smoke and in flame: She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; , s _In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, 1 each f ithe, fr his tai ; : A eee atte, from his moun a With heart and with hand, like our fathers descending, Sess Bounds light o’er the heather to join in the | efore. game. ene CHORUS. LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF. AIR—" Cadutl gu lo.” Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan ner, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more ; In sport we'li attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before. O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; When the Southern invader spread waste and The woods and the glens, from the towers 1815. disorder, which we see, At the glance of her crescents he pausedand ‘They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. withdrew, O ho ro, iri ri, cadul gu lo, For around them were marshall’d the pride of O ho ro, iriri, &. the Border, : : The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of | V, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, BUCCLEUCH. It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; Then up with the Banner, &c. Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, sae Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy A Stripling’s weak hand to our revel has borne ee aa Pe ec Pia ae . her, : O horo,iriri, &. No mail-glove has grasp’d her, no spearmen surround ; ), hush thee, my babie, the time soon will But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should 0 peace ae y : scorn her, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet A thousand true hearts would be cold on oe way ore ; y l the ground. I hush thee, my darling, take rest while Then up with the Banner, &c. Soe ai meee y o For strife comes with manhood, and waking We forget each contention of civil dissension, | with day, And hail, like our brethren, HomsE, DouGLas, O ho ro, iri ri, &, and CAR: And ExuioTt and PRINGLE in pastime shall es mingle, As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. Then up with the Banner, &c. THE RETURN TO ULSTER. | 9 Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be =e the weather, ONCE again,—but how changed since my And if, by mischance, you should happen to wand 'rings began— fall, I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and There are worse things in life than a tumble Bann, on heather, And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the And life is itself but a game at foot-ball. roar Then up with the Banner, «c., That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore. - . \ f Se | sO REE RN A 4 EE——— ew” t | ' 1 533 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS, J ———— Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou | | JOCK OF HAZELDEAN, burn ? With plc aeeenes of my youth can its raptures AIR—A Border Melody. Can I live the dear life of delusion again, 1816. That flow’d when these echoes first mix’d with | THE first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. my strain? The others were written for Mr. Campbell’s Albyn’s Anthology. It was then that around me, though poor and ae unknown, | « Wry weep ye by the tide, ladie ? High spells of mysterious enchantment were | Why weep ye by the tide? thrown ; I'll wed ye-to my youngest son, The streams were of silver, of diamond the | And ye sall be his bride : dew, And ye sall be his bride, ladie, The land was an Eden, for fancy was new. Sae comely to be seen ”— I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on But aye she loot the tears down fa’ fire | For Jock of Hazeldean. At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of | their lyre: Now let this wilfw’ grief be done, To me ‘twas not legend, nor tale to the ear. And dry that cheek so pale ; But Seles of noontide, distinguish’d and ere - eee Langley dle eae His step is first in peaceful ha’, ' His sword in battle keen ”— Ultonia’s old heroes awoke at the call, But aye she loot the tears down fa’ And renew’d the wild pomp of the chase and For Jock of Hazeldean. the hall ; And the standard of Fion flash’d fierce from ‘ A chain of gold ye sall not lack, on high Nor braid to bind your hair ; Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is Nor mettled hound, nor managed hawk, nish nn Nor palifrey fresh and fair ; ae , Tet ae And you, the foremost o’ them a’, It an Seer the harp of green Erin once | Shall ride our forest queen ”— Could renew all the glories she boasted of I ee Yet why atremembrance, fond heart, shouldst The kirk was deck’d at morning-tide, thou burn? The tapers glimmer’d fair ; ; They were days of delusion, and cannot return. The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight are there. They sought her baith by bower and ha’; But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who The ladie was not seen | stood by, ie hee > And ee my lay, while she turn’d from mine oe ecg ane Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view, Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to ee dew ? Oh! would it had been so,—Oh! would that PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. her eye sng : 430 Had been but a star-glance that shot through AIn—" Plobate Of DOU Dia the sky, d 1816. And eee that was moulded to melody’s Tuts is an ancient pibroch belonging to the Clan MacDonald, supposed to refer to the expedi- tion of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated the Haris of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of Oh! would it had been so,—not then this poor | an army superior to his own. The words of Had been but a zephyr, that sigh’d and was still ! heart the melody, to which the pipe variations are Had learn’d the sad lesson, to love and to | applied, run thus in Gaelic :— part ; : : Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care, Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; While I toil’d for the wealth I had no one to | Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ; share | Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. zl as The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, Not then had I said, when life’s summer Was | The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, done, | The war- ipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place And the hours of her autumn were fast speed- p> tnverioeey ca. ing on, ‘Take the fame and the riches ye brought in | PrprocH of Donuil Dhu, your train, Pibroch of Donuil, And restore me the dream of my spring-tide | Wake thy wild voice anew, again,” Summon Clan-Conuil. > Se eaaEnEinie ie and so forth. Come away, come away, Hark to the summons! Come in your war array, Gentles and commons. Come from deep glen, and rom mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlocky. Come every hill-plaid, and True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one. Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter ; Leave the corpse uninterr’d, The bride at the altar ; Leave the deer, leave the steer, Leave nets and barges: Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes. Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended ; Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded : Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; See how they gather! Wide waves the eagle plume, Blended with heather Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set ! Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset ! —~o— NORA’S VOW. AIn—"' Cha teid mis a chaoidh.” WRITTEN FOR ALBYN’S ANTHOLOGY 1816. ix the original Gaelic, the Lady makes pro- testations that she will not go with the Red Earl’s son, until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake—until one mountain should change places with another, It is but fair to add, that there | is no authority for supposing that she altered her mind—except the vehemence of her pro- | testation. HEAR what Highland Nora said,— ‘—— ‘ Favour?” said John, and eyed the Sultaun hard, ‘“ It’s my belief you come to break the yard !— | But, stay, you look like some poor foreign | sinner, — Take that to dinner. ’’— With that he chuck’d a guinea at his head; But, with due dignity, the Sultaun said, * Permit me, sir, your bounty to decline ; A shirt indeed I seek, but none of thine. Signior, [ kiss your hands, so fare you well.’’— ** Kiss and be d—d,”’ quoth John, ‘‘and go to hell!” buy yourself a shirt and XVII. Next door to John there dwelt his sister Peg, Once a wild lass as ever shook a leg When the blithe bagpipe blew—but, soberer now, She doucely span her flax and milk’d her cow. And whereas erst she was a needy slattern, Nor now of wealth or cleanliness a pattern, Yet once a-month her house was partly swept, And once a-week a plenteous board she kept. And whereas, eke, the vixen used her claws And teeth, of yore, on slender provocation, | She now was grown amenable to laws, A quiet soul as any in the nation ; The sole remembrance of her warlike joys Was in old songs she sang to please her boys. John Bull, whom, in their years of early strife, She wont to lead a cat-and-doggish life, Now found the woman, as he said, a neigh- | bour, Who look’d to the main chance, declined no labour, | Loved _a long grace, and spoke a northern | jargon, And was d—d close in making of a bargain. XVIII. The Sultaun enter’d, and he made his leg, And with decorum curtsy’d sister Peg: (She loved a book, and knew a thing or two, And guess’d at once with whom she had to do.) She bade him “ Sit into the fire,” and took Her ae her cake, her kebbuck from the NOOK ; | His garment 543 Ask’d him ‘‘about the news from Eastern parts ; And of her hearts ! If peace brought down the price of tea and pepper, And if the nitmugs were grown ony cheaper ;— Were there nae speerings of our Mungo Park—~ Ye’ll be the gentleman that wants the sark ? If ye wad buy a web o’ auld wife’s spinnin’, I'll warrant ye it’s a weel-wearing linen,” absent bairns, puir Highland OTe Then up got Peg, and round the house ’gan scuttle In search of goods her customer to nail, | Until the Sultaun strain’d his princely throttle, And hollo’d.—‘‘ Ma’am, that is not what I ail. Pray, are you happy, ma’am, in this snug glen ?”— “Happy?” said Peg; ‘“‘ what for d’ye want to ken? Besides, just think upon this by-gane year, Grain wadna pay the yoking of pleugh.”— ‘* What say you to the present ?””—“ Meal’s sae dear, To mak’ their brose my bairns have scarce aneugh. ”— the | * The devil take the shirt,’ said Solimaun, | “ I think my quest will end as it began. — Farewell, ma’am ; beg ’”’—— “ Ye’ll no be for the linen then?” said Peg. nay, no ceremony, I OS Now, for the land of verdant Erin, The Sultaun’s royal bark is steering, The Emerald Isle, where honest Paddy dwells, The cousin of John Bull, as story tells. For a long space had John, with words of thunder, Hard looks, and harder knocks, kept Paddy under, Till the poor lad, like boy that’s flogg’d un- duly, Had gotten somewhat restive and unruly. Hard was his lot and lodging, you'll allow, A wigwam that would hardly serve a sow ; | His landlord, and of middle-men two brace, Had screw’d his rent up to the starving-place ; yas a top-coat, and an old one, His meal was a potato, and a cold one; But still for fun or frolic, and all that, In the round world was not the match of Pat. XXI. | The Sultaun saw him on a holiday, Which is with Paddy still a jolly day: When mass is ended, and his load of sins Confess’d, and Mother Church hath from her binns Dealt forth a bonus of imputed merit, Then is Pat’s time for fancy, whim, and spirit ! To jest, to sing, to caper fair and free, And dance as light as leaf upon the tree. ““ By Mahomet,” said Sultaun Solimaun, | “That ragged fellow is our very man ! SS ee Paks ; ment pn Sic FEES RE SOP ILS TOOT NEL CAD ———_——- SITS TASES SITE : =o . | } 4 a 544 SCOTT’S POE Rush in and seize him—do not do him hurt, But, will he nill he, let me have his shirt.”— XXII. (Much less provocation will set it a-walking, ) Whack ; him—Alack ! Up-bubboo! Paddy had not back ! !! shame, Went back to Serendib as sad as he came. —O-— MR. KEMBLE’S FAREWELL ADDRESS, ON TAKING LEAVE OF THE EDINBURGH STAGE. 1817. As the worn war-horse, at the trumpet’s sound, ground— Disdains the ease his generous lord assigns, And longs to rush on the embattled lines, So I, your plaudits ringing on mine ear, Can scarce sustain to think our parting near ; To think my scenic hour for ever past, And that these valued plaudits are my last. Why should we part, while still some powers remain, That in your service strive not yet in vain? Cannot high zeal the strength of youth supply, And sense of duty fire the fading eye ; And all the wrongs of age remain subdued Beneath the burning glow of gratitude? Ah, no! the taper, wearing to its close, Oft for a space in fitful lustre glows ; But all too soon the transient gleam is past, Jt cannot be renew’d, and will not last ; Even duty, zeal, and gratitude, can wage But short-lived conflict with the frosts of age. Yes ! It were poor, remembering what I was, To live a pensioner on your applause, To drain the dregs of your endurance dry, And take, as alms, the praise I once could buy ; Till every sneering youth around enquires, *“Is this the man who once could please our sires?” scorn mien, To warn me off from the encumber’d scene. This must not be ;—and higher duties crave, Some space between the theatre and the | grave, _ ‘That, like the Roman in the Capitol, i may adjust my mantle ere I fall: My life’s brief act in public service flown, The last, the closing scene, must be my own. - — ~ amy = Sa: = - - pay " —— 2 — — ~— : = ESTE = Rb en eee = TT > = - - ~ ~—— ~ ~~ - mee ~~ — — aia - -_—— a ~ =e = > —_—-~ - “ A I - — STs ene SRR SES Sat idk ES £}-— “> 546 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS: His neck from Hymen’s mystic knot made loose, ; He twisted round my sire’s the literal noose. Such are the fruits of our dramatic labour Since the New Jail became our next-door | neighbour. Yes, times ave changed ; for, in your fathers’ age, The inwers were the patrons of the stage ; However high advanced by future fate, There stands the bench (points to the Pit) that | first received their weight. The future legal sage, ‘twas ours to see, Doom though unwigg’d, and plead without | a fee. But now, astounding each poor mimic elf, Instead of lawyers comes the law herself ; Tremendous neighbour, on our right she | dwells, | Builds high her towers and excavates her cells ; While on the left she agitates the town, With the tempestuous question, Up or down? "Twixt Scylla and Charybdis thus stand we, Law’s final end, and law’s uncertainty. But, soft ! who lives at Rome the Pope must | flatter, And jails and lawsuits are no jesting matter. | Then—just farewell! We wait with serious awe | Till your applause or censure gives the law. Trusting our humble efforts may assure ye, We hold you Court and Counsel, Judge and | Jury, —_o— MACKRIMMON’S LAMENT. 1818, AIR— Cha till mi tuille.”—( We return no more.) MACKRIMMON, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud ; and hence the Gaelic words, ‘‘Cha till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon,’—‘I shall never return : although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!” The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from the West Highlands and | Isles usually take leave of their native shore. | MACLEOD’s wizard flag from the grey castle sallies, The rowers are seated, unmoor’d are the galleys; Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target | and quiver, As Mackrimmon sings, ‘‘ Farewell to Dun- vegan for ever ! | Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are | foaming ; | Farewell, each dark glen, in which red-deer are roaming ! rarewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river ; Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall | never ! ia ‘ SELLE TIE LET OTT AS EEL A EOS TOSS OEE LSE LATE LEAS OTT IEG SST is A: Nt 5 i Se. |<‘ Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping ; Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping ; To each minstrel delusion, farewell!—and for ever— ; Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never! The Banshee’s wild voice sings the death-dirge before me, ' The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o’er me; But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not shiver, | Though devoted I go—to return again never! : “© Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon’s be- wailing Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sail- ing ; Dear land! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, . Return—return—return shall we never ! Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille! Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille, . Gea thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon !” —o-— DONALD CAIRD’S COME AGAIN. AIR—“ Malcolm Caird’s come again.” 1818, CHORUS. DONALD CalRD’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Caird’s come again ! Donald Caird can lilt and sing, Blithely dance the Hieland fling, Drink till the gudeman be blind, Fleech till the gudewife be kind ; Hoop a leglin, clout a pan, Or crack a pow wi’ ony man; Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Cuird’s come again. Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again ! Tell the news in brugh anc glen, Donald Caird’s come again. Donald Caird can wire a maukin, Kens the wiles o’ dun-deer staukin’, Leisters kipper, makes a shift To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift ; Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, He can wauk when they are sleepers Not for bountith or reward Dare ye mell wi’ Donald Caird. Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Gar the bagpipes hum amain, Donald Caird’s come again. Donald Caird can drink a gill Fast as hostler-wife can fill; Ilka ane that sells gude liquor Kens how Donald bends a bicker ; NE A ARE SO ttt reswee A A a a OE ER ——¢) -'. MISCE LLANEOU A} POEMS. 547 When he’s fou he’ s stout and saucy, Keeps the cantle o’ the cawsey ; Hieland chief and Lawland laird Maun gie room to Donald Caird! Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Tell the news in brugh and gler Donald Caird’s come again. Steek the amrie, lock the kist, Else some gear may weel be miss’t ; Donald Caird finds orra things Where Allan Gregor fand the tings; Dunts of kebbuck, taits 0’ woo, Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, Webs or duds frae hedge or yard— "Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird ! Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Dinna let the Shirra ken Donald Caird’s come again. On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Craig to tether, legs to airn ; But Donald Caird, wi’ mickle study, Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie ; Rings of airn, and bolts of steel, Fell like ice frae hand and heel! Watch the sheep in fauld and glen, Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Donald Caird’s come again! Dinna let the Justice ken, Donald Caird’s come again. —~O— EPITAPH ON MRS. ERSKINE (Inscribed on her Tomb, Saline, Fifeshire.)} 1819. PLAIN, as her native dignity of mind, Arise the tomb of her we have resign *d : Unflaw’d and stainless be the marble scroll, Emblem of lovely form and candid soul.— But, oh! what symbol may avail, to teil The kindness, wit, and sense, we well! What sculpture show the broken ties of life, Here buried with the parent, friend, and wife ! Or on the tablet stamp each title dear, By which thine urn, tear ! Yet taught, by thy meek sufferance, to assume Patience in anguish, hope beyond the tomb, Resign’d, though sad, this votive verse shall flow, And brief, alas! as thy brief span below. loved so KupHEMIA, claims the | oy many a cairn and trenched mound, Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, And springs, where grey-hair’d shepherds ‘te ll, That still the fairies love to dwell. Along the silver streams of Tweed, Tis blithe the mimic fly to lead, When to the hook the salmon springs, And the line whistles through the rings ; The boiling eddy see him try, ' Then dashing from the current high, | Till watchful eye and cautious hand Have led his wasted strength to land. "Tis blithe along the midnight tide, With stalwart arm the boat to guide ; On high the dazzling blaze to rear, And heedful plinge the barbed spear ; Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, Fling on the stream their ruddy light, And from the bank our band appears Like Genii, arm’d with fiery spears, Tis blithe at eve to tell the tale, How we succeed, and how we fail, Whether at Alwyn’s lordly meal, Or lowlier board of Ashestiel; | While the gay tapers cheerly shine, 3ickers the fire, and flows the wine— Days free from thought, and nights from care | My blessing on the Forest fair ! FAREWELL TO THE MUSE. 1822, _ ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy’d | me, At the close of the evening through wood. lands to roam, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espiea me, Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home. Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild speaking The language alternate of rapture and woe: Oh! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are breaking, The pang that I feel at our parting can know. Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow, Or pale disappointment to darken my way, What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-morrow, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day ! ON ETTRICK FOREST'S MOUNTAINS | But when friends drop around us in life’s weary DUN. 1822. Own Ettrick Forest’s mountains dun, "Tis blithe to hear the sportsman’s gun, And seek the heath-frequenting brood Far through the noonday solitude ; waning, The grief, Queen of } assuage ; Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remaining, The languor of pain, | age, Numbers, thou canst not and the chillness of SSE —_ > SCOTT'S POLTICAL WORKS | ‘Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewailing, Pi To sing how a warrior lay stretch’d on the t plain, . Anda maiden hung o’er him with aid unavail- ing, And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; , As vain thy enchantments, O Queen of wild Numbers, To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o’er, And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slum- bers— : Farewell, then, Enchantress! I meet thee no 2 more ! SEI -~-0-— THE MAID OF ISLA. AIR—'' The Maid of Isla.” WRITTEN FOR MR. GEORGE THOMSON’S SCOTTISH MELODIES. 1822, Ou, Maid of Isla, from the cliff, That looks on troubled wave and sky, Dost thou not see yon little skiff Contend with ocean gallantly ? Auld England held him lang and fast ; | And Ireland had a joyfu’ cast ; But Scotland’s turn is come at last— | Carle, now the King’s come! ( | | | Auld Reekie, in her rokelay grey, | Thought never to have seen the day ; He’s been a weary time away— But, Carle, now the King’s come! She’s skirling frae the Castle-hill ; The Carline’s voice is grown sae shrill, Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill— Carle, now the King’s come ! | | “Up, bairns!” she cries, ‘‘ baith grit and sina’, | And busk ye for the weapon-shaw ! Stand by me, and we'll bang them a Carle, now the King’s come ! ; ‘Come from Newbattie’s ancient spires, Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires, And match the mettle of your sires— Carle, now the King’s come! ““You’re welcome hame, my Montagu ! Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch ; I’m missing some that I may rue— Carle, now the King’s come ! Now beating ’gainst the breeze and surge, And steep’d her leeward deck in foam, Why does she war unequal urge ?— Oh, Isla’s maid, she seeks her home. **Come, Haddington, the kind and gay, You’ve graced my causeway mony a day ; I'll weep the cause if you should stay— Carle, now the King’s come ! ee oe Sa \ ' ase a Bt vy | Oh, Isla’s maid, yon sea-bird mark, Her white wing gleams through mist and spray, Against the storm-cloud, lowering dark, As to the rock she wheels away ; Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Why to the shelter should she come Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave ?— Oh, Maid of Isla, tis her home ! SSS ERTS OT LEU SP PIS ED EI a EES As breeze and tide to yonder skiff, Thou rt adverse to the suit I bring, And cold as is yon wintry cliff, Where sea-birds close their wearied wing Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave, Still, [sla’s maid, to thee I come ; For in thy love, or in his grave, Must Allan Vourich find his home. SASS SRI —)— CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME. SK Sa BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING. 1822, THE news has flown frae mouth to mouth, The North for ance has bang’d the South ; The deil a Scotsman’s die o’ drouth, Carle, now the King’s come ! CHORUS. Carle, now the King’s come! Carle, now the King’s come ! Thou shalt dance, and I will sing, Carle, now the King’s come ! t —- Swe 2 § I IE PCE NII ECCI ) “Come, premier Duke, and carry doun Frae yonder craig his ancient croun ; It’s had a lang sleep and a soun’— But, Carle, now the King’s come! | “Come, Athole, from the hill and wood, Bring down your clansmen like a clud ; ' Come, Morton, show the Douglas’ blood,-— Carle, now the King’s come ! | **Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath ; Come, Hopetoun, fear’d on fields of death ; ; Come, Clerk, and give your bugle breath ; Carle, now the King’s come $ “Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids ; ¥ Come, Rosebery, from Dalmeny shades ; Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids ; Carle, now the King’s come! | «Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, | Girt with the sword that Minden knew ; | | We have o’er few such lairds as you Carle, now the King’s come! ** King Arthur’s grown a common crier, : | He’s heard in Fife and far Cantire,— ‘Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire!’ Carle, now the King’s come! ] “‘ Saint Abb roars out, ‘I see him pass, | Between T'antallon and the Bass !’ { Calton, get out your keeking-glass— | Carle, now the King’s come |” The Carline stopp’d ; and, sure [ am, For very glee had ta’en a dwam, But Oman help’d her to a dram.— Cogie, now the King’s come! Cogie, now the King’s come! Cogie, now the King’s come ! I’se be fou and ye’s be toom, Cogie, now the King’s come ! i) PART SECOND. A Hawicx gill of mountain dew, Heised up auld Reekie’s heart, I trow, {t minded her of Waterloo— Carle, now the King’s come! Again I heard her summons swell, For, sic a dirdum and a yell, It drown’d Saint Giles’s jowing bell— Carle, now the King’s come! ‘My trusty Provost, tried and tight, Stand forward for the Good Town's right, There’s waur than you been made a knight— Carle, now the King’s come! “* My reverend Clergy, look ye say The best of thanksgivings ye ha’e, And warstle for a sunny day— Carle, now the King’s come! “My Doctors, look that you agree, Cure a’ the town without a fee; My Lawyers, dinna pike a plea— Carle, now the King’s come ! ‘Come forth each sturdy Burgher’s bairn, That dints on wood or clanks on airn, That fires the o’en, or winds the pirn— Carle, now the King’s come ! «Come forward with the Blanket Blue, Your sires were loyal men and true, As Scotland’s foemen oft might rue— Carle, now the King’s come! ““Seots downa loup, and rin, and rave, We're steady folks and something grave, We'll keep the causeway firm and brave— Carle, now the King’s come ! “ Sir Thomas, thunder from your rock, Till Pentland dinnles wi’ the shock, And lace wi’ fire my snood o’ smoke— Carle, now the King’s come! “Melville, bring out your bands of blue, A’ Louden lads, baith stout and true, With Elcho, Hope, and Cockburn, too— Carle, now the King’s come ! *« And you, who on yon bluidy braes Compell’d the vanquish’d Despot’s praise, Rank out—rank out—my gallant Greys— Carle, now the King’s come! “Cock o’ the North, my Huntly bra’, Where are you with the Forty-twa? Ah! wae’s my heart that ye’re awa’— Carle, now the King’s come! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 549 | oe bi ‘ | “ But yonder come my canty Celts, With durk and pistols at their belts, Thank God, we’ve still some plaids and kilts— Carle, now the King’s come! ** Lord, how the pibrochs groan and yell! Macdonnell’s ta’en the field himsell, Macleod comes branking o’er the fell— Carle, now the King’s come! ‘* Bend up your bow each Archer spark, For you’re to guard him light and dark: Faith, lads, for ance ye’ve hit the mark— Carle, now the King’s come! | ** Young Errol, take the sword of state, The sceptre, Panie-Morarchate ; Knight Mareschal, see ye clear the gate— Carle, now the King’s come! ** Kind cummer, Leith, ye’ve been mis-set, But dinna be upon the fret— Ye’se hae the handsel of him yet, Carle, now the King’s come ! ‘* My daughters, come with een sae blue, Your garlands weave, your blossoms strew ; He ne’er saw fairer flowers than you— Carle, now the King’s come! “‘ What shall we do for the propine—— We used to offer something fine, | But ne’er a groat’s in pouch of mine— Carle, now the King’s come! ‘* Neil care—for that I’se never start, We'll welcome him with Highland heart ; Whate’er we have he’s get a part— Carle, now the King’s come ! “‘ 171] show him mason-work this day— Nane of your bricks of Babel clay, But towers shall stand till Time’s away— Carle, now the King’s come! “ Tll show him wit, I'll show him lair, And gallant lads and. lasses fair, And what wad kind heart wish for mair? Carle, now the King’s come! ‘* Step out, Sir John, of projects rife, Come win the thanks of an auld wife, And bring him health and length of life— Carle, now the King’s come !” —o-—- THE BANNATYNE CLUB.! Sir W. Scott, was first President and wrote these verses for the first anniversary dinner, March, 1823. Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore As enables each age to print one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, We'll ransack old Banny for one volume more. 1 The club was instituted in the year 1822, for the publica- tion or reprint of works connected with the history and antiquities of Scotland. It consisted, at first, of a very few members,—gradually extended to one hundred, at which number it made a final pause. They assume the name of the Bannatyne Club from George Bannatyne, of = ds ee te re ae ee Se Sra cr anne a eaten ——— cere oe — he a ae Selle ee Sage s7 eee eae Re a ee ———a— oe ERE ES SE a ee er ¢ 550 And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean From Bannatyne’s Hortus his bright Ever- green ; Two light little volumes (intended for four) Still leave us the task to print one volume more. One volume more, &e. His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin How much he left out, or how much he put in; The truth of the reading he thought was a bore, So this accurate age calls for one volume more. One volume more, &e. Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes, And weigh’d every letter in critical scales, But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor, And castrated Banny in one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more ; We'll restore Banny’s manhood in one SCOTT'S POETICAL WORKS Since by these single champions what wonders were done, What a not be achieved by our Thirty and Mey Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we countin our | corps, And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more. One volume more, &c. Ancient libelsand contraband books, Lassure ye, We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury ; Then hear your Committee and let them count o'er The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more. e Three volumes more, &e. They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and Sext, And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops come next; One tome miscellaneous they'll add to your store, volume more. John Pinkerton next, and I’m truly concern’d | I can’t call that worthy so candid as learn’d ; fle rail’d at the plaid and blasphemed the clay- more, And set Scots by the ears in his one volume | more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume more. As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar, His diet too acid, his temper too sour, Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more. But one volume, my friends, one volume more, We'll dine on roast beef and print one volume more. The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll, With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal ; And honest Greysteel that was true to the core, | Lent their hearts and their hands each to one volume more. | One volume more, &e. | whom little is known beyond that prodigious effort | which prodaced his present honours, and is, perhaps, | one of the most singular instances of its kind which the literature of any country exhibits. His labours | as an aimanuensis were undertaken during the time of pestilence, in 1568. The dread of infection had induced | him to retire into solitude, and under such circumstances he had the energy to form and execute the plan of saving | the literature of the whole nation; and, undisturbed by | the general mourning for the dead, and general fears of | the living, to devote himself to the task of collecting and | recording the triumphs of human genius in the poetry of | his age and country ;—thus, amid the wreck of all that was | mortal, employing himself in preserving the lays by | which immortality is at once given to others, and obtained for the writer himself. He informs us of sume of the numerous difficulties he had to contend with in this self- imposed task. The volume containing his labours, depo- sited in the Library of the Faculty of Advocates at | Edinburgh, is no less than eight hundred pages in length, | and very neatly and closely written, containing nearly all the ancient poetry of Scotland now known to exist.— Quarterly Review, Trials, “eb, 1832, EA RS A SUR se ivestenenne see: Resolving next year to print four volumes more. Four volumes more, my friends, four volumes more ; Pay down your subscriptions for four volumes more. a —J— TO J. G. LOCKHART, ESQ. ON THE COMPOSITION OF MAIDA’S EPITAPH. 1824, ““ DEAR JOHN,—I some time ago wrote to in- form his Fat worship of jaces, misprinted for dormis ; But that several Southrons assured me the januam Was a twitch to both ears of Ass Priscian’s cranium, You, perhaps, may observe that one Lionel Berguer, In defence of our blunder appears a stout arguer: But at length I have settled, I hope, all these clatters, By arowt in the papers—fine place for such matters. I have, therefore, to make it for once my com- mand, sir, That my gudeson shall leave the whole thing in my hand, sir, And by no means accomplish what James says you threaten, Some banter in Blackwood to claim your dog- Latin. I have various reasons of weight, on my word, sir, For pronouncing a step of this sort were absurd, sir.— Firstly, erudite sir, ’twas against your advis- ing _I adopted the lines this monstrosity lies in ; For you modestly hinted my English transla- tion ART. Pitcairn's Ancient Criminal | ne better far such a dignified | station, MISCELLANEOUS POEMS a0 Second—how, in God’s name, would my bacon be saved, By not having writ what I clearly engraved? On the contrary, I, on the whole, think it better To be whipped as the thief, than his lousy resetter. Thirdly—don’t you perceive that I don’t care | a boddle Although fifty false metres were flung at my noddle, For my back is as broad and as hard as Ben- | lomon’s, And I treat as I please both the Greeks and | the Romans ; Whereas the said heathens might rather look serious At a kick on their drum from the scribe of Valerius. And, fourthly and lastly—it is my good plea- sure To remain the sole source of that murderous measure. So stet pro ratione voluntas—hbe tractile, Invade not, | say, my own dear little dacty]l ; If you do, you'll occasion a breach in our intercourse ; To-morrow will see me in town for the winter- course, But not at your door, at the usual hour, sir, My own pye-house daughter’s good prog to devour, sir. Ergo—peace !—on your duty, your squeamish- | ness throttle, And we'll soothe Priscian’s spleen with a canny third bottle. A fig for all dactyls, a fig for all spondees, A fig for all dunces and dominie Grundys ; A fig for dry thrapples, south, north, east, and west, sir, Speates and raxes ere five for a famishing guest, sir ; And as Fatsman and I have some topics for | haver, he’ll Be invited, I hope, to meet me and Dame Peveril, Upon whom, to say nothing of Oury and Anne, you Dog shall be deemed if you fasten your Janua, —o-— LINES, ADDRESSED TO MONSIEUR ALEXANDRE, THE | 4 | CELEBRATED VENTRILOQUIST. GIVEN HIM | NEXT MORNING AFTER A PERFORMANCE AT ABBOTSFORD. 1824. Or yore, in old England, it was not thought good To carry two visages under one hood ; What should folk say to you ? who have faces such plenty, That from under one hood, you last night | show’d us twenty ! Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth, Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth? Man, woman, or child—a dog or a mouse? Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house? | Each live thing, did I ask ?—each dead imple- ment, too, A work-shop in your person,-—saw, chisel, and screw ! Above all, are you one individual? I know You must be at least Alexandre and Co. But I think youw’re a troop—an assemblage—a mob, And that I, as the Sheriff, should take up the job; | And instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse, Must read you the Riot-Act, and bid you dis- perse. EPILOGUE. TO THE DRAMA FOUNDED ON ‘ST. RONAN’S WELL.” 1824, Enter MrG Donpps, encircled by a crowd of unruly boys, whom a town’s-officer is driving off. | TxHat’s right, friend—drive the gaitlings back, And lend yon muckle ane a whack ; Your Embro’ bairns are grown a pack, Sae proud and saucy, They scarce will let an auld wife walk Upon your causey. [ve seen the day they would been scaur’d, | Wi’ the Tolbooth, or wi’ the Guard, Or maybe wud hae some regard For Jamie Laing— The Water-hole was right weel wared On sic a gang. But whayr’s the gude Tolbooth gane now ? Whar’s the auld Claught, wi’ red and blue? | Whar’s Jamie Laing? and whar’s John Doo? And whar’s the Weigh-house? | Deil hae’t I see but what is new, : Except the Playhouse! | Yoursells are changed frae head to heel, | There’s some that gar the causeway reel | With clashing hufe and rattling wheel, And horses canterin’, ; Wha’s fathers daunder’d hame as weel Wi’ lass and lantern. ' Mysell being in the public line, I look for howfs I kenn’d lang syne, Whar gentles used to drink gude wine, And eat cheap dinners ; | But deil a soul gangs there to dine, Of saints or sinners ! | Fortune’s and Hunter’s gane, alas! And Bayle’s is lost in empty space ; And now if folk would splice a brace, Or crack a bottle, They gang to a new-fangled place they ca’ a Hottle. The deevil hottle them for Meg ! | They are sae greedy and sae gleg, That if ye’re served but wi’ an egg, (And that’s puir pickin’,) In comes a chiel and makes a leg, And charges chicken! ee ee et SE Ra RS Se a a i os oe ee SEER SR 2S TATE a he SR A BR ee ’ Troth, if there’s onybody near aa rn Cae EN Aa Re SRA Rane IRE 552 SCOTT’S POETICAL WORKS. PE Eee ““And wha may ye be,” gin ye speer, ““That brings your auld-warld clavers here?” That kens the roads, I'll haud ye Burgundy to beer, He kens Meg Dodds. I came a piece frae west 0’ Currie ; And, since I see you’re in a hurry, Your patience I'll nae langer worry, But be sae crouse As speak a word for ane Will Murray, That keeps this house. Plays are auld-fashion’d things, in truth, And ye’ve seen wonders mair uncouth ; Yet actors shouldna suffer drouth, Or want of dramock, Although they speak but wi’ their mouth, Not with their stamock. But ye tak care of a’ folk’s pantry ; And surely to hae stooden sentry Ower this big house, (that’s far.frae rent-free,) | For a lone sister, Is claims as gude’s to be a ventri— How’st ca’d—loquister. Weel, sirs, gude’en, and have a care The bairns mak fun o’ Meg nae mair ; For gin they do, she tells you fair, And without failzie, As sure as ever ye sit there, She’ll tell the Bailie. —o— EPILOGUE. INTENDED TO HAVE BEEN SPOKEN BY MRS. | H. SIDDONS IN THE CHARACTER OF QUEEN MARY. 1824. | THE sages—for authority, pray look Seneca’s Morals, or the copy-book— The sages, to disparage woman’s power, Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower ;— ! cannot tell—l’ve small philosophy— Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die, | But, like the violet, when decay’d in bloom, Survives through many ayear in rich perfume. | Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone, | A third wanes fast, since Mary fill’d the } throne. Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny | day, ‘Twixt Pinkie’s field and fatal Fotheringay : But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you boast, Shall sympathy with Mary’s woes be lost? ©'er Mary’s mem’ry the learned quarrel, By Mary’s grave the poet plants his laurel, Time’s echo, old tradition, makes her name The constant burden of his fault’ring theme ; In each old hall his grey-hair’d heralds tell Of Mary’s picture, and of Mary’s cell, And show—my fingers tingle at the thought— The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen wrought, Jn vain did fate bestow a double dower Of ev’ry ill that waits on rank and pow’r, Of ev’ry ill on beauty that attends— False ministers, false lovers, and false fricnds. wp i! Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst, They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst, In spite of errors—I dare not say more, For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore. In spite of all, however, humours vary, There is a talisman in that word Mary, That unto Scottish bosoms all and some is found the genuine open sesamum ! In history, ballad, poetry, or novel, It charms alike the castle and the hovel, Even you—forgive me—who, demure and shy, | Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly, Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign | The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain. —~o— THE DEATH OF KEELDAR. 1828. Percy or Percival Rede of Trochend, in Redes- dale, Northumberland, is celebrated in tradi- tion as a huntsman, and asoldier, He was, upon two occasions, singularly unfortunate ; once, when an arrow, which he had discharged at a deer, killed his celebrated dog Keeldar ; and again, when, being on a hunting party, he was betrayed into the hands of a clan called Crossar, by whom he was murdered. Mr. Cooper’s painting of the first of these incidents, suggested the following stanzas. Up rose the sun, o’er moor and mead ; Up with the sun rose Percy Rede ; Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed, Career’d along the lea ; The palfrey sprung with sprightly bound, As if to match the gamesome hound ; His horn the gallant huntsman wound: They were a jovial three ! Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame, To wake the wild deer never came, Since Alnwick’s Earl pursued the game On Cheviot’s rueful day ; Keeldar was matchless in his speed, Than Tarras, ne’er was stancher steed, A peerless archer, Percy Rede: And right dear friends were they. The chase engross'd their joys and woes, Together at the dawn they rose, Together shared the noon’s repose, By fountain or by stream ; And oft, when evening skies were red, The heather was their common bed, Where each, as wildering fancy led, Still hunted in his dream. Now is the thrilling moment near, Of sylvan hope and sytvan fear, Yon thicket holds the harbour’d deer, The signs the hunters know ;— With eyes of flame, and quivering ears, The brake sagacious Keeldar nears ; The restless palfrey paws and rears ; The archer strings his bow. eee ne The game’s afoot !—Halloo! Halloo ! Hunter, and horse, and hound pursue ; But woe the shaft that erring flew— That e’er it left the string ! And ill betide the faithless yew ! The stag bounds scatheless o’er the dew, And gallant Keeldar’s life-blood true Has drench’d the grey-goose wing. The noble hound—he dies, he dies, Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes, Stiff on the bloody heath he lies, Without a groan or quiver. Now day may break and bugie sound, And whoop and hollow ring around, And o’er his couch the stag may bound, But Keeldar sleeps for ever, Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, Mark the poor palfrey’s mute surprise, He knows not that his comrade dies, Nor what is death—but still His aspect hath expression drear Of grief and wonder, mix’d with fear, Like startled children when they hear Some mystic tale of ill. But he that bent the fatal bow, Can well the sum of evil know, And o’er his favourite, bending low, In speechless grief recline ; Can think he hears the senseless clay, In unreproachful accents say, * The hand that took my life away, Dear master, was it thine? ** And if it be, the shaft be bless’d, Which sure some erring aim address’d, Since in your service prized, caress’d, [ in your service die ; And you may have a fleeter hound, To match the dun-deer’s merry bound, But by your couch will ne’er be found So true a guard as I.” And to his last stout Percy rued The fatal chance, for when he stood ‘Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud, And fell amid the fray, F’en with his dying voice he cried, *“Had Keeldar but been at my side, Your treacherous ambush had been spied— | I had not died to-day!” Remembrance of the erring bow Long since had join’d the tides which flow, Conveying human bliss ana woe Down dark oblivion’s river ; But Art can Time’s stern doom arrest, And snatch his spoil from Lethe’s breast, And, in her Cooper’s colours drest, The scene shall live for ever. —o— MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ' Art thou a parent? THE FORAY. SET TO MUSIC BY JOHN WHITEFIELD, MUS. DOC. CAM. 1830, THE last of our steers on the board has been spread, And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red ; Up! up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and begone, | There are dangers to dare, and there’s spoil to be won. The eyes, that so lately mix’d glances with ours, | I’or a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers, And strive to distinguish, through tempest and glooin, The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. The rain is descending ; the wind rises loud ; And the moon her red beacon has veil’d with a cloud ; |’Tis the better, my mates! for the warder’s dull eye Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh. Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Grey ! | There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh ; Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane Shall marshal ‘your march through the dark- ness and rain. ; The drawbridge has dropp’d, the bugle has blown ; Ore pledge is to quaff yet—then mount and begone !— To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the slain ; To their health and their glee, that see Teviot again ! —_—v— INSCRIPTION FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEORGE SCOTT. 1830. To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. Reverence this bier, 'he parents’ fondest hopes lie buried here. Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start, With opening talents and a generous heart, Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine own? Lo! here their end—a monumental stone But let submission tame each sorrowing thought, ileaven crown’d its champion ere the fight was fought. EDINBURGH AND !1.0NDON ° v a a ay 4 < 4 < a > sO a i 4 aay ae oy ewe: ce I IA I IEE DELO EI Or | ee Se . 4. ¥ ae = CRI I ae ae a es ry -<—— ee oe Se Te teen, a . - Seems or. : 2 aE utd 5 ee ccs le ne al ee a i ela ‘ i eae UNIVERSiTy OF LLINOIS-URBANA 821 §C081895 C001 Complete Poetical works of Sir Walter S¢ hi