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Which marks security to please;

And scenes, long past, of joy and pain,
Came wild'ring o'er his aged brain-
"Amid the strings his fingers stray'd,
And an uncertain warbling made-
And oft he shook his hoary head.
But when he caught the measure wild,
The old man rais'd his face and smil'd;
And lighten'd up his faded eye,
With all the poet's ecstasy!
In varying cadence, soft or strong,
He swept the sounding chords along ;
The present scene, the future lot,
His toils, his wants, were all forgot;
Cold diffidence, and age's frost,
In the full tide of song were lost.
Each blank, in faithless mem'ry void,
The poet's glowing thought supplied;
And, while his harp responsive rung,
'Twas thus the LATEST MINSTREL sung."
p. 6.-8.

We add, chiefly on account of their brevity. the following lines, which immediately succeed the description of the funeral rites of the English champion :

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 their way to Tweed, Had only heard the shepherd's reed, Nor started at the bugle-horn!

"Unlike the tide of human time,

Which, though it change in ceaseless flow, Retains each grief, retains each crime,

It's 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 Mem'ry'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 I beside him laid!Enough-he died the death of fame; Enough he died with conquering Græme."

pp. 93, 94. There are several other detached passages

"The harp's wild notes, though hush'd the song, of equal beauty, which might be quoted in

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The mimic march of death prolong;
Now seems it far, and now a-near,
Now meets, and now eludes the ear;
Now seems some mountain's side to sweep,
Now faintly dies in valley deep;
Seems now as if the Minstrel's wail,
Now the sad requiem loads the gale;
Last, o'er the warrior's closing grave,
Rings the full choir in choral stave."

pp. 155, 156.

The close of the poem is as follows:

Hush'd 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;
A simple hut; but there was seen
The little garden hedg'd with green,
The cheerful hearth and lattice clean.
There, shelter'd wand'rers, by the blaze,
Oft heard the tale of other days;
For much he lov'd to ope his door,
And give the aid he begg'd before.
So pass'd the winter's day-but still,
When summer smil'd on sweet Bowhill,
And July's eve, with balmy breath,
Wav'd the blue-bells on Newark's heath;
And flourish'd, broad, Blackandro's oak,
The aged Harper's soul awoke!
Then would he sing achievements high,
And circumstance o' Chivalry;
Till the rapt traveller would stay,
Forgetful of the closing day;
And Yarrow, as he roll'd along,
Bore burden to the Minstrel's song."

pp. 193, 194.

Besides these, which are altogether detached from the lyric effusions of the minstrel, some of the most interesting passages of the poem are those in which he drops the business of the story, to moralise, and apply to his own situation the images and reflections it has suggested. After concluding one canto with an account of the warlike array prepared for the reception of the English invaders, he opens the succeeding one with the following beautiful verses:"Sweet Teviot! by thy silver tide,

The glaring bale-fires blaze no more!

proof of the effect which is produced by this dramatic interference of the narrator; but we hasten to lay before our readers some of the more characteristic parts of the performance.

The ancient romance owes much of its interest to the lively picture which it affords of the times of chivalry, and of those usages, manners, and institutions which we have been accustomed to associate in our minds, with a certain combination of magnificence with simplicity, and ferocity with romantic honour. The representations contained in those performances, however, are for the most part too rude and naked to give complete satisfaction. The execution is always extremely unequal; and though the writer sometimes touches upon the appropriate feeling with great effect and felicity, still this appears to be done more by accident than design; and he wanders away immediately into all sorts of ludicrous or uninteresting details, without any apparent consciousness of incongruity. These defects Mr. Scott has corrected with admirable address and judgment in the greater part of the work now before us; and while he has exhibited a very striking and impressive picture of the old feudal usages and institutions, he has shown still greater talent in engrafting upon those descriptions all the tender or magnanimous emotions to which the circumstances of the story naturally give rise. Without impairing the antique air of the whole piece, or violating the simplicity of the ballad style, he has contrived in this way, to impart a much greater dignity, and more powerful interest to his production, than could ever be attained by the unskilful and unsteady delineations of the old romancers. Nothing, we think, can afford a finer illustration of this remark, than the opening stanzas of the whole poem; they transport us at once into the days of knightly daring and feudal hostility; at the same time that they suggest, and in a very interesting way, all those softer sentiments which arise out of some parts of the description.

The feast was over in Branksome tower;
And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower;
Her bower, that was guarded by word and by
Deadly to hear, and deadly to tell-
Jesu Maria, shield us well!

No living wight, save the Ladye alone,
Had dar'd to cross the threshold stone.

'The tables were drawn, it was idlesse all;
Knight, and page, and household squire,
Loiter'd through the lofty hall,

Or crowded round the ample fire.
The stag-hounds, weary with the chase,
Lay stretch'd upon the rushy floor,
And urg'd in dreams the forest race,
From Teviot-stone to Eskdale-moor."

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pp. 9, 10. After a very picturesque representation of the military establishment of this old baronial fortress, the minstrel proceeds,

"Many a valiant knight is here;

But he, the Chieftain of them all,
His sword hangs rusting on the wall,
Beside his broken spear!
Bards long shall tell,
How Lord Walter fell!
When startled burghers fled, afar,
The furies of the Border war;
When the streets of high Dunedin
Saw lances gleam, and falchions redden,
And heard the slogan's deadly yell-
Then the Chief of Branksome fell!

"Can piety the discord heal,

Or staunch the death-feud's enmity?
Can Christian lore, can patriot zeal,
Can love of blessed charity?
No! vainly to each holy shrine,

In mutual pilgrimage, they drew;
Implor'd, in vain, the grace divine

For chiefs, their own red falchions slew. While Cessford owns the rule of Car,

While Ettrick boasts the line of Scott,
The slaughter'd chiefs, the mortal jar,
The havoc of the feudal war,

Shall never, never be forgot!
"In sorrow o'er Lord Walter's bier,
The warlike foresters had bent;
And many a flower and many a tear,
Old Teviot's maids and matron's lent:
But, o'er her warrior's bloody bier,
The Ladye dropp'd nor sigh nor tear!
Vengeance, deep-brooding o'er the slain,
Had lock'd the source of softer woe;
And burning pride, and high disdain,
Forbade the rising tear to flow;
Until, amid his sorrowing clan,

Her son lisp'd from the nurse's knee'And, if I live to be a man,

My father's death reveng'd shall be !'
Then fast the mother's tears did seek
To dew the infant's kindling cheek."-pp.12-15.

There are not many passages in English poetry more impressive than some parts of this extract. As another illustration of the prodigious improvement which the style of the old romance is capable of receiving from a more liberal admixture of pathetic sentiments and gentle affections, we insert the following passage; where the effect of the picture is finely assisted by the contrast of its two compartments.

"So pass'd the day-the ev'ning fell,

'Twas near the time of curfew bell;
The air was mild, the wind was calm,
The stream was smooth, the dew was balm;
Ev'n the rude watchman, on the tower,
Enjoy'd and blessed the lovely hour.

Far more fair Margaret lov'd and bless'd
The hour of silence and of rest.

On the high turret, sitting lone,
She wak'd 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 eye sought the west afar,
For lovers love the western star.

"Is yon the star o'er Penchryst-Pen,
That rises slowly to her ken,

And, spreading broad its wav'ring light,
Shakes its loose tresses on the night?
Is yon red glare the western star?-
Ah! 'tis the beacon-blaze of war!
Scarce could she draw her tighten'd breath;
For well she knew the fire of death!
"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 glar'd;
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.

"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,'
&c. pp. 83-85.

In these passages, the poetry of Mr. Scott is entitled to a decided preference over that of the earlier minstrels; not only from the greater consistency and condensation of his imagery, but from an intrinsic superiority in the nature of his materials. From the improvement of taste, and the cultivation of the finer feelings of the heart, poetry acquires, in a refined age, many new and invaluable elements, which are necessarily unknown in a period of greater simplicity. The description of external objects, however, is at all times equally inviting, and equally easy; and many of the pictures which have been left by the ancient romancers must be admitted to possess, along with great diffuseness and homeliness of diction, an exactness and vivacity which cannot be easily exceeded. In this part of his undertaking, Mr. Scott therefore had fewer advantages; but we do not think that his success has been less remarkable.

In the following description of Melrose, which
introduces the second canto, the reader will
observe how skilfully he calls in the aid of
of the picture which he presents to the eye:
sentimental associations to heighten the effect

"If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright,
Go visit it by the pale moonlight:
For the gay beams of lightsome day
Gild, but to flout, the ruins gray.
When the broken arches are black in night,
And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
When the cold light's uncertain shower
Streams on the ruin'd central tower;
When buttress and buttress, alternately,
Seem fram'd of ebon and ivory;
When silver edges the imagery,

And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die;
When distant Tweed is heard to rave,
And the owlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave;
Then go but go alone the while-
Then view St. David's ruined pile!
And, home returning, soothly swear,
Was never scene so sad and fair!" pp. 35, 36.

In the following passage he is less ambitious; and confines himself, as an ancient minstrel would have done on the occasion, to a minute and picturesque representation of the visible object before him:

"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 shap'd of buff,
With satin slash'd, and lin'd;
Tawny his boot, and gold his spur,
His cloak was all of Poland fur,

His hose with silver twin'd;
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,
Hung in a broad and studded belt;
Hence, in rude phrase, the Bord'rers still
Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will."-p. 141.

The same scrupulous adherence to the style of the old romance, though greatly improved in point of brevity and selection, is discernible in the following animated description of the feast, which terminates the poem :

"The spousal rites were ended soon;
'Twas now the merry hour of noon,
And in the lofty-arched hall
Was spread the gorgeous festival:
Steward and squire, with heedful haste,
Marshall'd the rank of every guest;
Pages, with ready blade, were there,
The mighty meal to carve and share.
O'er capon, heron-shew, and crane,
And princely peacock's gilded train,
And o'er the boar's head, garnish'd brave,
And cygnet from St. Mary's wave;
O'er ptarmigan and venison,

The priest had spoke his benison.
Then rose the riot and the din,
Above, beneath, without, within!
For, from the lofty balcony,
Rung trumpet, shalm, and psaltery;
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 smil'd.

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 staghound's 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."-pp. 166, 167. The following picture is sufficiently antique in its conception, though the execution is evidently modern:

"Ten of them were sheath'd in steel,
With belted sword, and spur on heel:
They quitted not their harness bright,
Neither by day, nor yet by night;

They lay down to rest

With corslet laced,

Pillow'd on buckler cold and hard;

They carv'd at the meal

With gloves of steel,

[met barr'd."

And they drank the red wine through the hel

The whole scene of the duel, or judicial combat, is conducted according to the strict ordinances of chivalry, and delineated with all the minuteness of an ancient romancer. The modern reader will probably find it rather tedious; all but the concluding stanzas, which are in a loftier measure.

66

'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!— In vain, in vain-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!
"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 rais'd the dying man;

Loose wav'd 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 dark'ning eye,
And still he bends an anxious ear,
His falt'ring 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; 'tis o'er, 'tis o'er!
Richard of Musgrave breathes no more."

p. 145-147.

We have already made so many extracts from this poem, that we can now only afford to present our readers with one specimen of the songs which Mr. Scott has introduced in the mouths of the minstrels in the concluding canto. It is his object, in those pieces, to exemplify the different styles of ballad narrative which prevailed in this island at different periods, or in different conditions of society. The first is constructed upon the rude and simple model of the old Border ditties, and produces its effect by the direct and concise narrative of a tragical occurrence. The second, sung by Fitztraver, the bard of the accomplished Surrey, has more of the richness and polish of the Italian poetry, and is very beautifully written, in a stanza resembling that of Spenser. The third is intended to represent that wild style of composition which prevailed among the bards of the northern continent, somewhat softened and adorned by the minstrel's residence in the south. We prefer it, upon the whole, to either of the two former, and shall give it entire to our readers; who will probably be struck with the poetical effect of the dramatic form into which it is thrown, and of the indirect description by which every thing is most expressively told, without one word of distinct narrative.

"O listen, listen, ladies gay!

No haughty feat of arms I tell; Soft is the note, and sad the lay, That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

"-Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew! And, gentle Ladye, deign to stay!

Rest thee in Castle Ravensheuch, Nor tempt the stormy frith to-day. The black'ning wave is edg'd with white; To inch and rock the sea-mews fly; The fishers have heard the Water-Sprite, Whose screams forbode that wreck is nigh. 'Last night the gifted seer did view

A wet shroud roll'd round Ladye gay:
Then stay thee, fair, in Ravensheuch;
Why cross the gloomy frith to-day?"

""Tis not because Lord Lind'say'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 Lind'say 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 light, And brighter than the bright moonbeam. "It glar'd on Roslin's castled rock,

46

It redden'd 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,

Sheath'd in his iron panoply.

Seem'd all on fire within, around, Both vaulted crypt and altar's pale; Shone every pillar foliage-bound, And glimmer'd all the dead-men's mail. "Blaz'd battlement and pinnet high,

Blaz'd every rose-carv'd buttress fairSo 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

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But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !

And each St. Clair was buried there,

With candle, with book, and with knell; But the Kelpy rung, and the Mermaid sung The dirge of lovely Rosabelle!"-pp. 181-184. From the various extracts we have now given, our readers will be enabled to form a tolerably correct judgment of this poem; and if they are pleased with these portions of it which have now been exhibited, we may venture to assure them that they will not be disappointed by the perusal of the whole. The whole night-journey of Deloraine-the opening of the wizard's tomb-the march of the English battle-and the parley before the walls of the castle, are all executed with the same spirit and poetical energy, which we think is conspicuous in the specimens we have already extracted; and a great variety of short passages occur in every part of the poem, which are still more striking and meritorious, though it is impossible to detach them, without injury, in the form of a quotation. It is but fair to apprise the reader, on the other hand, that he will meet with very heavy passages, and with a variety of details which are not likely to interest any one but a Borderer or an antiquary. We like very well

*Isle.

to hear "of the Gallant Chief of Otterburne," or "the Dark Knight of Liddisdale," and feel the elevating power of great names, when we read of the tribes that mustered to the war, "beneath the crest of old Dunbar, and Hepburn's mingled banners." But we really cannot so far sympathise with the local partialities of the author, as to feel any glow of patriotism or ancient virtue in hearing of the Todrig or Johnston clans, or of Elliots, Armstrongs, and Tinlinns; still less can we relish the introduction of Black John of Athelstane, Whitslade the Hawk, Arthur-fire-the-braes, Red Roland Forster, or any other of those worthies who

"Sought the beeves that made their broth, In Scotland and in England both," into a poem which has any pretensions to seriousness or dignity. The ancient metrical romance might have admitted those homely personalities; but the present age will not endure them: And Mr. Scott must either sacrifice his Border prejudices, or offend all his readers in the other parts of the empire.

There are many passages, as we have already insinuated, which have the general character of heaviness, such is the minstrel's account of his preceptor, and Deloraine's lamentation over the dead body of Musgrave: But the goblin page is, in our opinion, the capital deformity of the poem. We have already said that the whole machinery is useless: but the magic studies of the lady, and the rifled tomb of Michael Scott, give occasion to so much admirable poetry, that we can on no account consent to part with them. The page, on the other hand, is a perpetual burden to the poet, and to the reader: it is an undignified and improbable fiction, which excites neither terror, admiration, nor astonishment; but needlessly debases the strain of the whole work, and excites at once our incredulity and contempt. He is not a "tricksy spirit," like Ariel, with whom the imagination is irresistibly enamoured; nor a tiny monarch, like Oberon, disposing of the destinies of mortals: He rather appears to us to be an awkward sort of a mongrel between Puck and Caliban; of a servile and brutal nature; and limited in his powers to the indulgence of petty malignity, and the infliction of despicable injuries. Besides this objection to his character, his existence has no support from any general or established superstition. Fairies and devils, ghosts, angels, and witches, are creatures with whom we are all familiar, and who excite in all classes of mankind emotions with which we can easily be made to sympathise. But the story of Gilpin Horner can never have been believed out of the village where he is said to have made his appearance; and has no claims upon the credulity of those who were not (riginally of his acquaintance. There is nothing at all interesting or elegant in the scenes of which he is the hero; and in reading those passages, we really could not help suspecting that they did not stand in the romance when the aged minstrel recited it to the royal Charles and his

mighty earls, but were inserted afterwards to suit the taste of the cottagers among whom he begged his bread on the Border. We entreat Mr. Scott to inquire into the grounds of this suspicion; and to take advantage of any decent pretext he can lay hold of for purging "The Lay" of this ungraceful intruder. We would also move for a Quo Warranto against the spirits of the river and the mountain; for though they are come of a very high lineage, we do not know what lawful business they could have at Branksome castle in the year

1550.

We have called the negligence which could leave such lines as these in a poem of this nature inexcusable; because it is perfectly evident, from the general strain of his composition, that Mr. Scott has a very accurate ear for the harmony of versification, and that he composes with a facility which must lighten the labour of correction. There are some smaller faults in the diction which might have been as well corrected also: there is too much alliteration; and he reduplicates his words too often. We have "never, never," several times; besides "tis o'er, 'tis o'er"-"in vain, in vain"-"tis done, 'tis done;" and several other echoes as ungraceful.

Of the diction of this poem we have but little to say. From the extracts we have already given, our readers will perceive that We will not be tempted to say any thing the versification is in the highest degree ir- more of this poem. Although it does not regular and capricious. The nature of the contain any great display of what is properly work entitled Mr. Scott to some licence in this called invention, it indicates perhaps as much respect, and he often employs it with a very vigour and originality of poetical genius as any pleasing effect; but he has frequently ex-performance which has been lately offered to ceeded its just limits, and presented us with the public. The locality of the subject is such combinations of metre, as must put the likely to obstruct its popularity; and the auteeth of his readers, we think, into some thor, by confining himself in a great measure jeopardy. He has, when he pleases, a very to the description of manners and personal melodious and sonorous style of versification, but often composes with inexcusable negligence and rudeness. There is a great number of lines in which the verse can only be made out by running the words together in a very unusual manner; and some appear to us to have no pretension to the name of verses at all. What apology, for instance, will Mr. Scott make for the last of these two lines?

"For when in studious mood he pac'd St. Kentigern's hall."

or for these?

"How the brave boy in future war, Should tame the unicorn's pride."

adventures, has forfeited the attraction which might have been derived from the delineation of rural scenery. But he has manifested a degree of genius which cannot be overlooked, and given indication of talents that seem well worthy of being enlisted in the service of the epic muse.

The notes, which contain a great treasure of Border history and antiquarian learning, are too long, we think, for the general reader. The form of the publication is also too expensive; and we hope soon to see a smaller edition, with an abridgement of the notes, for the use of the mere lovers of poetry.

(August, 1810.)

The Lady of the Lake: a Poem. By WALTER SCOTT. Second Edition. 8vo. pp. 434: 1810. MR. SCOTT, though living in an age unusu- | proof of extraordinary merit,- --a far surer one, ally prolific of original poetry, has manifestly outstripped all his competitors in the race of popularity; and stands already upon a height to which no other writer has attained in the memory of any one now alive. We doubt, indeed, whether any English poet ever had so many of his books sold, or so many of his verses read and admired by such a multitude of persons in so short a time. We are credibly informed that nearly thirty thousand copies of "The Lay" have been already disposed of in this country; and that the demand for Marmion, and the poem now before us, has been still more considerable,-a circulation we believe, altogether without example, in the case of a bulky work, not addressed to the bigotry of the mere mob, either religious or political.

A popularity so universal is a pretty sure

we readily admit, than would be afforded by any praises of ours: and, therefore, though we pretend to be privileged, in ordinary cases, to foretell the ultimate reception of all claims on public admiration, our function may be thought to cease, where the event is already so certain and conspicuous. As it is a sore thing, however, to be deprived of our privileges on so important an occasion, we hope to be pardoned for insinuating, that, even in such a case, the office of the critic may not be altogether superfluous. Though the success of the author be decisive, and even likely to be permanent, it still may not be without its use to point out, in consequence of what, and in spite of what, he has succeeded; nor altogether uninstructive to trace the precise limits of the connection which, even in this dull world, ir disputably subsists between success

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