A rich collation spread in vain. The banquet proud, the chamber gay,* The window seeks with cautious tread. XXIV. Lay of the Emprisoned Huntsman. Hunting the hart in forest green, I hate to learn the ebb of time, Drive the fleet deer the forest through, of my flax is on the spindle, but not yet twisted into proper yarn. I am glad you like the battle of Beal' an Duine. It is rather too long, but that was unavoidable. I hope you will push on the notes. To save time I shall send the copy wher ready to St. John Street.-W. S." 4 MS.-"The banquet gay, the chamber's pride, Scarce drew one curious glance aside." 6 MS.-"Earnest on his game."' 6 MS." was meant for me." 7 MS." From darken'd steeple's." " And homeward wend with evening dew; XXV. The heart-sick lay was hardly said, XXVI. Within 'twas brilliant all and light,' 1 MS.-"Within 'twas brilliant all, and bright The vision glow'd on Ellen's sight." MS-"For him who own'd this royal state." Fitz-James alone wore cap and plume. XXVII. As wreath of snow, on mountain-breast, To him thy woes, thy wishes bring; I stanch'd thy father's death-feud stern, What clouds thy misbelieving brow! XXVIII. Then forth the noble Douglas sprung, 3 See Appendix, Note 3 Y. MS.-"shrinking, quits her stay' That brought this happy chance to speed. Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring- XXIX. Full well the conscious maiden guess'd And more she deem'd the Monarch's ire Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand:- To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!— MS." Pledge of Fitz-James's faith, the ring." MS.-"And in her breast strove maiden shame; More deep she deem'd the monarch's ire Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire, Against his sovereign broadsword drew; And, with a pleading, warm and true, She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu." "Malcolm Græme has too insignificant a part assigned him, considering the favor in which he is held both by Ellen and the author; and in bringing out the shaded and imperfect character of Roderick Dhu, as a contrast to the purer virtue of his rival, Mr. Scott seems to have fallen into the common error, of making him more interesting than him whose virtues he was intended to set off, and converted the villain of the piece in some measure into its hero. A modern poet, however, may perhaps be pardoned for an error, of which Milton himself is bought not to have kept clear, and for which there seems so natural a cause in the difference between poetical and amiable characters."-JEFFREY. Hast thou no other boon to crave? 7 May idly cavil at an idle lay. "And now, waiving myself, let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities; he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the 'Lay.' He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particularly the poet of Princes, as they never appeared more fascinating than in Marmion' and the Lady of the Lake.' He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your James's as no less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both," &c.-Letter from Lord Byron to Sir Walter Scott, July 6, 1812.-ByRON'S Life and Works, vol. ii. p. 156. 8 MS.-To the Printer." I send the grand finale, and so exit the Lady of the Lake from the head she has tormented for six months. In canto vi, stanza 21,-stern and still, read grim and still; sternly occurs four lines higher. For a similar reason, stanza 24-dun-deer, read fleet-deer. I will probably call this morning. Yours truly, W. S." Much have I owed thy strains on life's long way, Hark! as my lingering footsteps slow retire, Some Spirit of the Air has waked thy string! 1 "On a comparison of the merits of this Poem with the two former productions of the same unquestioned genius, we are inclined to bestow on it a very decided preference over both. It would perhaps be difficult to select any one passage of such genuine inspiration as one or two that might be pointed out in the Lay of the Last Minstrel-and perhaps, in strength and discrimination of character, it may fall short of Marmion; although we are loth to resign either the rude and savage generosity of Roderick, the romantic chivalry of James, or the playful simplicity, the affectionate tenderness, the modest courage of Ellen Douglas, to the claims of any competitors in the last-mentioned poem. But, for interest and artificial management in the story, for general ease and grace of versification, and correctness of language, the Lady of the Lake must be universally allowed, we think, to excel, and very far excel, either of her predecessors.”—Critical Review, "There is nothing in Mr. Scott of the severe and majestic style of Milton-or of the terse and fine composition of Pope-or of the elaborate elegance and melody of Campbell-or even of the flowing and redundant diction of Southey,-but there is a medley of bright images and glowing, set carelessly and loosely together—a diction tinged successively with the careless richness of Shakespeare-the harshness and antique simplicity of the old romances-the homeliness of vulgar ballads and anecdotes-and the sentimental glitter of the most modern poetry,-passing from the borders of the ridiculous to those of the sublime-alternately minute and energetic-sometimes arti hcial, and frequently negligent, but always full of spirit and 'Tis now a seraph bold, with touch of fire, Fainter and fainter down the rugged cell, A wandering witch-note of the distant spellAnd now, 'tis silent all!-Enchantress, fare thee well!! vivacity-abounding in images that are striking at first sight to minds of every contexture-and never expressing a sentiment which it can cost the most ordinary reader any exertion to comprehend. Upon the whole we are inclined to think more highly of the Lady of the Lake than of either of its author's former publications. We are more sure, however, that it has fewer faults than that it has greater beauties; and as its beanties bear a strong resemblance to those with which the public has been already made familiar in these celebrated works, we should not be surprised if its popularity were less splendid and remarkable. For our own parts, however, we are of opinion that it will be oftener read hereafter than either of them; and that, if it had appeared first in the series, their reception would have been less favorable than that which it has experienced It is more polished in its diction, and more regular in its versi fication; the story is constructed with infinitely more skill and address; there is a greater proportion of pleasing and tender passages, with much less antiquarian detail; and, upon the whole, a larger variety of characters, more artfully and judiciously contrasted. There is nothing so fine, perhaps, as the battle in Marmion-or so picturesque as some of the scattered sketches in the Lay; but there is a richness and a spirit in the whole piece which does not pervade either of these poems-a profusion of incident, and a shifting brilliancy of coloring, that reminds us of the witchery of Ariosto-and a constant elasticity and occasional energy, which seem to belong more peculiarly to the author now before us."-JEFFREY. APPENDIX. NOTE A. The heights of Uam-Var, And roused the cavern, where, 'tis told, A giant made his den of old.-P. 185. Ua-var, as the name is pronounced, or more properly Uaighmor, is a mountain to the northeast of the village of Callender in Menteith, deriving its name, which signifies the great den, or cavern, from a sort of retreat among the rocks on the south side, said, by tradition, to have been the abode of a giant. In latter times, it was the refuge of robbers and banditti, who have been only extirpated within these forty or fifty years. Strictly speaking, this stronghold is not a cave, as the name would imply, but a sort of small enclosure, or recess, surrounded with large rocks, and open above head. It may have been originally designed as a toil for deer, who might get in from the outside, but would find it difficult to return. This opinion prevails among the old sportsmen and deer-stalkers in the neighborhood. NOTE B. Two dogs of black Saint Hubert's breed, Unmatch'd for courage, breath, and speed.-P. 186. "The hounds which we call Saint Hubert's hounds, are commonly all blacke, yet neuertheless, the race is so mingled at these days, that we find them of all colours. These are the hounds which the abbots of St. Hubert haue always kept some of their race or kind, in honour or remembrance of the saint, which was a hunter with S. Eustace. Whereupon we may conceine that (by the grace of God) all good huntsmen shall follow them into paradise. To return vnto my former purpose, this kind of dogges hath bene dispersed through the counties of Henault, Lorayne, Flanders, and Burgoyne. They are mighty of body, neuertheless their legges are low and short, likewise they are not swift, although they be very good of sent, hunting chaces which are farre straggled, fearing neither water nor cold, and doe more couet the chaces that smell, as foxes, bore, and such like, than other, because they find themselves neither of swiftness nor courage to hunt and kill the chaces that are lighter and swifter. The bloodhounds of this colour prone good, especially those that are cole blacke, but I made no great account to breed on them, or to keepe the kind, and yet I found a book which a hunter did dedicate to a prince of Lorayne, which seemed to loue hunting much, wherein was a blason which the same hunter gave to his bloodhound, called Souyllard, which was white: 'My name came first from holy Hubert's race, Souyllard my sire, a hound of singular grace. Whereupon we may presume that some of the kind prone white sometimes, but they are not of the kind of the Greffiers or Bouxes, which we haue at these dayes."-The noble Art of Venerie or Hunting, translated and collected for the Use of all Noblerten and Gextlemen. Lond. 1611. 4to, p. 15. NOTE C. For the death-wound and death-halloo, Muster'd his breath, his whinyard drew.-P. 186. When the stag turned to bay, the ancient hunter had the perilous task of going in upon, and killing or disabling the des perate animal. At certain times of the year this was held par ticularly dangerous, a wound received from a stag's horn being then deemed poisonous and more dangerous than one from the tusks of a boar, as the old rhyme testifies: "If thou be hurt with hart, it brings thee to thy bier, But barber's hand will boar's hurt heal, therefore thou need'st not fear." At all times, however, the task was dangerous, and to be adventured upon wisely and warily, either by getting behind the stag while he was gazing on the hounds, or by watching an op. portunity to gallop roundly in upon him, and kill him with the sword. See many directions to this purpose in the Booke of Hunting, chap. 41. Wilson the historian has recorded a providential escape which befell him in this hazardous sport, while a youth and follower of the Earl of Essex. "Sir Peter Lee, of Lime, in Cheshire, invited my lord one summer to hunt the stagg. And having a great stagg in chase, and many gentlemen in the pursuit, the stagg took soyle. And divers, whereof I was one, alighted, and stood with swords drawne, to have a cut at him, at his coming out of the water. The staggs there being wonderfully fierce and dangerous, made us youths more eager to be at him. But he escaped us all. And it was my misfortune to be hindered of my coming nere him, the way being sliperie, by a falle; which gave occasion to some, who did not know mee, to speak as if I had falne through feare. Which being told mee, I left the stagg, and followed the gentleman who [first] spake it. But I found him of that cold temper, that it seems his words made an escape from him; as by his denial and repentance it appeared. But this made mee more violent in the pursuit of the stagg, to re cover my reputation. And I happened to be the only horseman in, when the dogs sett him up at bay; and approaching near him at horsebacke, he broke through the dogs, and run at mee, and tore my horse's side with his hornes, close by my thigh. Then I quitted my horse, and grew more cunning (for the dogs had sette him up againe), stealing behind him with my sword, and cut his hamstrings; and then got upon his back, and cut his throate; which, as I was doing, the company came in, and blamed my rashness for running such a hazard.”— PECK's Desiderata Curiosa, ii. 464. NOTE D. And now to issue from the glen, No pathway meets the wanderer's ken Until the present road was made through the romantic pass which I have presumptuously attempted to describe in the preceding stanzas, there was no mode of issuing out of the defile |