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introduced at supper; and the stranger, after | mainland:-And, with the description of this disclosing himself to be "James Fitz-James, feat, the second canto concludes. the knight of Snowdoun," tries in vain to discover the name and history of the ladies, whose manners discover them to be of high rank and quality. He then retires to sleep, and is disturbed with distressful visionsrises and tranquillises himself, by looking out on the lovely moonlight landscape-says his prayers, and sleeps till the heathcock crows on the mountains behind him:--And thus

closes the first canto.

The second opens with a fine picture of the aged harper, Allan-bane, sitting on the island beach with the damsel, watching the skiff which carries the stranger back again to land. The minstrel sings a sweet song; and a conversation ensues, from which the reader gathers, that the lady is a daughter of the house of Douglas, and that her father, having been exiled by royal displeasure from the court, had been fain to accept of this asylum from Sir Roderick Dhu, a Highland chieftain, who had long been outlawed for deeds of blood, but still maintained his feudal sovereignty in the fastnesses of his native mountains. It appears also, that this dark chief is in love with his fair protegée; but that her affections are engaged to Malcolm Græme, a younger and more amiable mountaineer, the companion and guide of her father in his hunting excursions. As they are engaged in this discourse, the sound of distant music is heard on the lake; and the barges of Sir Roderick are discovered, proceeding in triumph to the island. Her mother calls Ellen to go down with her to receive him; but she, hearing her father's horn at that instant on the opposite shore, flies to meet him and Malcolm Græme, who is received with cold and stately civility by the lord of the isle. After some time, Sir Roderick informs the Douglas, that his retreat has been discovered by the royal spies, and that he has great reason to believe that the King (James V.), who, under pretence of hunting, had assembled a large force in the neighbourhood, was bent upon their destruction. He then proposes, somewhat impetuously, that they should unite their fortunes indissolubly by his marriage with Ellen, and rouse the whole Western Highlands to repress the invasion. The Douglas, with many expressions of gratitude, declines both the war and the alliance; and, intimating that his daughter has repugnances which she cannot overcome, and that he, though ungratefully used by his sovereign, will never lift his arm against him, declares that he will retire to a cave in the neighbouring mountains, till the issue of the threat is seen. The strong heart of Roderick is wrung with agony at this rejection; and, when Malcolm advances to offer his services, as Ellen rises to retire, he pushes him violently back-and a scuffle ensues, of no very dignified character, which is with difficulty appeased by the giant arm of Douglas. Malcolm then withdraws in proud resentment; and, refusing to be indebted to the surly chief even for the use of his boat, plunges into the water, and swims over by moonlight to the

The third canto, which is entitled "The Gathering," opens with a long and rather tedious account of the ceremonies employed by Sir Roderick, in preparing for the summoning or gathering of his clan. This is accomplished by the consecration of a small wooden cross, which, with its points scorched and dipped in blood, is circulated with incredible celerity through the whole territory of the chieftain. The eager fidelity with which this fatal signal is hurried on and obeyed, is represented with great spirit and felicity. A youth starts from the side of his father's coffin, to bear it forward; and having run his stage, delivers it into the hands of a young bridegroom returning from church; who instantly binds his plaid around him, and rushes onward from his bride. In the mean time, Douglas and his daughter had taken refuge in the mountain cave; and Sir Roderick, passing near their retreat in his way to the muster, hears Ellen's voice singing her evening hymn to the Virgin. He does not obtrude on her devotions, but hurries to the place of rendezvous, where his clan receive him with a shout of acclamation, and then couch on the bare heath for the night.This terminates the third canto.

The fourth begins with more incantations. Some absurd and disgusting ceremonies are gone through, by a wild hermit of the clan, with a view to ascertain the issue of the im pending war-and this oracular response is obtained-"that the party shall prevail which first sheds the blood of its adversary." We are then introduced to the minstrel and Ellen, whom he strives to comfort for the alarming disappearance of her father, by singing a long fairy ballad to her; and just as the song is ended, the knight of Snowdoun again appears before her, declares his love, and urges her to put herself under his protection. Ellen, alarmed, throws herself on his generosityconfesses her attachment to Græme-and with difficulty prevails on him to seek his own safety by a speedy retreat from those dangerous confines. The gallant stranger at last complies; but, before he goes, presents her with a ring, which he says he had received from the hand of King James, with a promise to grant any boon that should be asked by the person producing it. As he is pursuing his way through the wild, his suspicions are excited by the conduct of his guide, and confirmed by the musical warnings of a mad woman, who sings to him about the toils that are set, and the knives that are whetted against him. He then threatens his false guide, who discharges an arrow at him, which kills the maniac. The knight slays the murderer; and learning from the expiring victim that her brain had been turned by the cruelty of Sir Roderick, he vows vengeance on his head; and proceeds with grief and ap. prehension along his dangerous way. When chilled with the midnight cold, and exhausted with want and fatigue, he suddenly comes upon a chief reposing by a lonely watch-fire;

and, though challenged in the name of Rod-vent the combat, by announcing that both erick Dhu, boldly avows himself his enemy. Sir Roderick and Lord Douglas are in the The clansman, however, disdains to take ad- hands of their sovereign. vantage of a worn-out wanderer; and pledges himself to escort him safe out of Sir Roderick's territory; after which, he tells him he must answer with his sword for the defiance he had uttered against the chieftain. The stranger accepts his courtesy upon those chivalrous terms; and the warriors sup, and sleep together on the plaid of the mountaineer.

The sixth and last canto, entitled "The Guard Room," opens with a very animated description of the motley mercenaries that formed the royal guard, as they appeared at early dawn, after a night of stern debauch. While they are quarrelling and singing, the sentinels introduce an old minstrel and a veiled maiden, who had been forwarded by Mar to the royal presence; and Ellen, disclosing her countenance, awes the ruffian soldiery, into respect and pity, by her grace and liberality. She is then conducted to a more seemly waiting-place, till the King should be visible; and Allan-bane, asking to be taken to the prison of his captive lord, is led, by mistake, to the sick chamber of Roderick Dhu, who is dying of his wounds in a gloomy apartment of the castle. The high-souled chieftain inquires eagerly after the fortunes of his clan, the Douglas, and Ellen; and, when he learns that a battle has been fought with a doubtful success, entreats the minstrel to sooth his parting spirit with a description of it, and with the victor song of his clan. Allan-bane com

They rouse themselves by dawn, at the opening of the fifth canto, entitled "The Combat," and proceed towards the Lowland frontier; the Highland warrior seeking, by the way, at once to vindicate the character of Sir Roderick, and to justify the predatory habits of his clan. Fitz-James expresses freely his detestation of both; and the dispute growing warm, he says, that never lover longed so to see the lady of his heart, as he to see before him this murderous chief and his myrmidons. "Have then thy wish!" answers his guide; and giving a loud whistle, a whole legion of armed men start up at once from their mountain ambush in the heath; while the chief turns proudly, and says, those are the warriors of Clan-Alpine-plies; and the battle is told in very animated and "I am Roderick Dhu!"-The Lowland and irregular verse. When the vehement knight, though startled, repeats his defiance; strain is closed, Roderick is found cold; and and Sir Roderick, respecting his valour, by a Allan mourns him in a pathetic lament. In signal dismisses his men to their conceal- the mean time, Ellen hears the voice of ment, and assures him anew of his safety Malcolm Græme lamenting his captivity from till they pass his frontier. Arrived on this an adjoining turret of the palace; and, before equal ground, the chief now demands satis- she has recovered from her agitation, is startfaction; and forces the knight, who tries all led by the appearance of Fitz-James, who honourable means of avoiding the combat comes to inform her that the court is assem with so generous an adversary, to stand upon bled, and the King at leisure to receive her his defence. Roderick, after a tough combat, suit. He conducts her trembling steps to the is laid wounded on the ground; and Fitz- hall of presence, round which Ellen casts a James, sounding his bugle, brings four squires timid and eager glance for the monarch; But to his side; and after giving the wounded all the glittering figures are uncovered, and chief into their charge, gallops rapidly on James Fitz-James alone wears his cap and towards Stirling. As he ascends the hill to the plume in the brilliant assembly! The truth castle, he descries the giant form of Douglas immediately rushes on her imagination:approaching to the same place; and the The knight of Snowdoun is the King of Scot reader is then told, that this generous lord land! and, struck with awe and terror, she had taken the resolution of delivering him- falls speechless at his feet, clasping her hands, self up voluntarily, with a view to save Mal- and pointing to the ring in breathless agita colm Græme, and if possible Sir Roderick tion. The prince raises her with eager kindalso, from the impending danger. As he ness-declares aloud that her father is for draws near to the castle, he sees the King and his train descending to grace the holyday sports of the commonalty, and resolves to mingle in them, and present himself to the eye of his alienated sovereign as victor in those humbler contentions. He wins the prize accordingly, in archery, wrestling, and pitching the bar; and receives his reward from the hand of the prince; who does not condescend to recognise his former favourite by one glance of affection. Roused at last by an insult from one of the royal grooms, he proclaims himself aloud; is ordered into custody by the King, and represses a tumult of the populace which is excited for his rescue. At this instant, a messenger arrives with tidings of an approaching battle between the clan of Roderick and the King's lieutenant, the Earl of Mar; and is ordered back to pre

given, and restored to favour-and bids her ask a boon for some other person. The name of Græme trembles on her lips; but she cannot trust herself to utter it, and begs the grace of Roderick Dhu. The king answers, that he would give his best earldom to restore him to life, and presses her to name some other boon. She blushes, and hesitates; and the king, in playful vengeance, condemns Malcolm Græme to fetters-takes a chain of gold from his own neck, and throwing it over that of the young chief, puts the clasp into the hand of Ellen!

Such is the brief and naked outline of the story, which Mr. Scott has embellished with such exquisite imagery, and enlarged by so many characteristic incidents, as to have rendered it one of the most attractive poems in the language. That the story,

the same sovereign-the same manners--the same ranks of society-the same tone, both for courtesy and for defiance. Loch Katrine, indeed, is more picturesque than St. Mary's Loch: and Roderick Dhu and his clan have some features of novelty:-But the Douglas and the King are the leading personages; and the whole interest of the story turns upon persons and events having precisely the same character and general aspect with those which gave their peculiar colour to the former poems. It is honourable to Mr. Scott's genius, no doubt, that he has been able to interest the public so deeply with this third presentment of the same chivalrous scenes; but we cannot help thinking, that both his glory and our grati fication would have been greater, if he had changed his hand more completely, and actually given us a true Celtic story, with all its drapery and accompaniments in a corresponding style of decoration.

Such a subject, we are persuaded, has very great capabilities, and only wants to be introduced to public notice by such a hand as Mr. Scott's, to make a still more powerful impression than he has already effected by the resurrection of the tales of romance. There are few persons, we believe, of any degree of poetical susceptibility, who have wandered among the secluded valleys of the Highlands, and contemplated the singular people by whom they are still tenanted-with their love of music and of song-their hardy and irregu lar life, so unlike the unvarying toils of the Saxon mechanic-their devotion to their chiefs

upon the whole, is well digested and happily carried on, is evident from the hold it keeps of the reader's attention through every part of its progress. It has the fault, indeed, of all stories that turn upon an anagnorisis or recognition, that the curiosity which is excited during the first reading is extinguished for ever when we arrive at the discovery. This, however, is an objection which may be made, in some degree, to almost every story of interest; and we must say for Mr. Scott, that his secret is very discreetly kept, and most felicitously revealed. If we were to scrutinize the fable with malicious severity, we night also remark, that Malcolm Græme has too insignificant a part assigned him, considering the favour in which he is held both by Ellen and the author; and that, 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 thought not to have kept clear; and for which there seems so natural a cause, in the difference between poetical and amiable characters. There are several improbabilities, too, in the story, which might disturb a scrupulous reader. Allowing that the king of Scotland might have twice disappeared for several days, without exciting any disturbance or alarm in his court, it is certainly rather their wild and lofty traditions-their naextraordinary, that neither the Lady Margaret, tional enthusiasm-the melancholy grandeur nor old Allan-bane, nor any of the attendants of the scenes they inhabit-and the multiat the isle, should have recognised his person; plied superstitions which still linger among and almost as wonderful, that he should have them,-without feeling, that there is no existfound any difficulty in discovering the family ing people so well adapted for the purposes of his entertainers. There is something rather of poetry, or so capable of furnishing the ocawkward, too, in the sort of blunder or mis- casions of new and striking inventions.* The understanding (for it is no more) which gives great and continued popularity of Macpheroccasion to Sir Roderick's Gathering and all son's Ossian (though discredited as a memorial its consequences; nor can any machinery be of antiquity, at least as much as is warranted conceived more clumsy for effecting the de- by any evidence yet before the public), proves liverance of a distressed hero, than the intro- how very fascinating a fabric might be raised troduction of a mad woman, who, without upon that foundation by a more powerful or knowing or caring about the wanderer, warns judicious hand. That celebrated translation, him, by a song, to take care of the ambush though defaced with the most childish and that was set for him. The Maniacs of poetry offensive affectations, still charms with occahave indeed had a prescriptive right to be sional gleams of a tenderness beyond all other musical, since the days of Ophelia down- tenderness, and a sublimity of a new characwards; but it is rather a rash extension of this ter of dreariness and elevation; and, though privilege, to make them sing good sense, and patched with pieces of the most barefaced plato make sensible people be guided by them.giarism, still maintains a tone of originality Before taking leave of the fable, we must be permitted to express our disappointment and regret at finding the general cast of the characters and incidents so much akin to those of Mr. Scott's former publications. When we heard that the author of the Lay and of Marmion was employed upon a Highland story, we certainly expected to be introduced to a new creation; and to bid farewell, for awhile, to the knights, squires, courtiers, and chivalry The Tartan fever excited in the South (and not of the low country-But here they are all yet eradicated) by the Highland scenes and characters of Waverly, seems fully to justify this sugges upon us again, in their old characters, and tion; and makes it rather surprising that no other nearly in their old costume. The same age-great writer has since repeated the experiment.

which has recommended it in every nation of the civilised world. The cultivated literati of England, indeed, are struck with the affectation and the plagiarism, and renounce the whole work as tawdry and factitious; but the multitude at home, and almost all classes of readers abroad, to whom those defects are less perceptible, still continue to admire; and

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See the proud pipers on the bow.
And mark the gaudy streamers flow

From their loud chanters down, and sweep,
The furrow'd bosom of the deep,
As, rushing through the lake amain,
They plied the ancient Highland strain.

"Ever, as on they bore, more loud

And louder rung the pibroch proud.
At first the sounds, by distance tame,
Mellow'd along the waters came,
And ling'ring long by cape and bay,
Wail'd every harsher note away;
Then, bursting bolder on the ear,

The clan's shrill Gath'ring they could hear;
Those thrilling sounds, that call the might
Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.
Thick beat the rapid notes, as when
The must'ring hundreds shake the glen,
And, hurrying at the signal dread,
The batter'd earth returns their tread!
Then prelude light, of livelier tone,
Express'd their merry marching on,

Ere peal of closing battle rose,
With mingled outcry, shrieks, and blows;
And mimic din of stroke and ward,
As broad-sword upon target jarr'd;
And groaning pause, ere yet again,
Condens'd, the battle yell'd amain;
The rapid charge, the rallying shout,
Retreat borne headlong into rout,
And bursts of triumph to declare
Clan-Alpine's conquest-all were there!
Nor ended thus the strain; but slow,
Sunk in a moan prolong'd and low.
And chang'd the conquering clarion swel
For wild lament o'er those that fell.
"The war-pipes ceas'd; but lake and hill
Were busy with their echoes still;
And, when they slept, a vocal strain
Bade their hoarse chorus wake again,
While loud an hundred clansmen raise
'T'heir voices in their Chieftain's praise.
Each boatman, bending to his oar,
With measur'd sweep the burthen bore,
In such wild cadence, as the breeze
Makes through December's leafless trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,
'Rod'righ Vich Alpine, ho! iero!"
And near, and nearer as they row'd,
Distinct the martial ditty flow'd.
"BOAT SONG.

"Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!
Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine!
Long may the Tree in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!"-
"Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripp'd ev'ry leaf on the mountain,

The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Menteith and Breadalbane, then,

Echo his praise agen,

'Rod'righ Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

"Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine!
O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,
Were wreath'd in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,

Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow
Loud should Clan-Alpine then
Ring from her deepmost glen,

'Rod'righ Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" " pp. 65-71. The reader may take next the following general sketch of Loch Katrine :

"One burnish'd sheet of living gold,
Loch Katrine lay beneath him roll'd;
In all her length far winding lay,
With promontory, creek, and bay,
And islands that, empurpled bright,
Floated amid the livelier light;

And mountains, that like giants stand,

To sentinel enchanted land.

High on the south, huge Benvenue

Down to the lake in masses threw

Crags, knolls, and mounds, confusedly hurl'd
The fragments of an earlier world!

A wild'ring forest feather'd o'er

His ruin'd sides and summit hoar;
While on the north, through middle air,

Ben-an heav'd high his forehead bare."-pp. 18, 19.

The next is a more minute view of the same scenery in a summer dawn-closed with a fine picture of its dark lord.

The summer dawn's reflected hue
To purple chang'd Loch Katrine blue;
Mildly and soft the western breeze
Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees;
And the pleas'd lake, like maiden coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy!
The mountain shadows on her breast
Were neither broken nor at rest;
In bright uncertainty they lie,
Like future joys to Fancy's eye!
The water lily to the light

Her chalice rear'd of silver bright;
The doe awoke, and to the lawn,
Begemm'd with dew-drops, led her fawn,
The grey mist left the mountain side,
The torrent show'd its glistening pride;
Invisible in flecked sky,

The lark sent down her revelry;
The black-bird and the speckled thrush
Good-morrow gave from brake and bush;
In answer coo'd the cushat dove
Her notes of peace, and rest, and love.
"No thought of peace, no thought of rest,
Assuag'd the storm in Rod'rick's breast.
With sheathed broad-sword in his hand,
Abrupt he pac'd the islet strand:
The shrinking band stood oft aghast
At the impatient glance he cast;-
Such glance the mountain eagle threw,
As, from the cliffs of Ben-venue,
She spread her dark sails on the wind,
And, high in middle heaven reclin'd,
With her broad shadow on the lake,
Silenc'd the warblers of the brake."-pp. 98-100.
The following description of the starting of
"the fiery cross," bears more marks of labour
than most of Mr. Scott's poetry, and borders,
perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration;
yet it shows great power.

"Then Rodrick, with impatient look,
From Brian's hand the symbol took :
Speed, Malise, speed!' he said, and gave
The crosslet to his henchman brave.
The muster-place be Lanric mead-
Instant the time-speed, Malise, speed!'
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,
The barge across Loch Katrine flew;
High stood the henchman on the prow;
So rapidly the bargemen row,

The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat,
Were all unbroken and afloat.
Dancing in foam and ripple still,
When it had near'd the mainland hill!
And from the silver beach's side
Still was the prow three fathom wide,
When lightly bounded to the land.
The messenger of blood and brand.
Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide
On fleeter foot was never tied.
Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste
Thine active sinews never brac'd.
Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast,
Burst down like torrent from its crest;
With short and springing footstep pass
The trembling bog and false morass;
Across the brook like roe-buck bound,
And thread the brake like questing hound;
The crag is high, the scaur is deep,
Yet shrink not from the desperate leap;
Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow,
Yet by the fountain pause not now;
Herald of battle, fate, and fear,
Stretch onward in thy fleet career!
The wounded hind thou track'st not now,
Pursu'st not maid through greenwood bough,
Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace
With rivals in the mountain race;
But danger, death, and warrior deed,
Are in thy course-Speed, Malise, speed!'"'

48

pp. 112-114.

The following reflections on an ancient field of battle afford one of the most remarkable instances of false taste in all Mr. Scott's writings. Yet the brevity and variety of the images serve well to show, as we have formerly hinted, that even in his errors there are traces of a powerful genius.

"a dreary glen,

Where scatter'd lay the bones of men,
In some forgotten battle slain,

And bleach'd by drifting wind and rain.
It might have tam'd a warrior's heart,
To view such mockery of his art!
The knot-grass fetter'd there the hand,
Which once could burst an iron band;
Beneath the broad and ample bone,
That buckler'd heart to fear unknown,
A feeble and a timorous guest,
The field-fare fram'd her lowly nest!
There the slow blind-worm left his slime
On the fleet limbs that mock'd at time;
And there, too, lay the leader's skull,
Still wreath'd with chaplet flush'd and full,
For heath-bell, with her purple bloom,
Supplied the bonnet and the plume."-pp. 102, 103
But one of the most striking passages ir
the poem, certainly, is that in which S
Roderick is represented as calling up his mer.
suddenly from their ambush, when Fitz-James
expressed his impatience to meet, face to
face, that murderous chieftain and his clan.
44 4 Have, then, thy wish!'-He whistled shrill :
And he was answer'd from the hill!
Wild as the scream of the curlew,
From crag to crag the signal flew.
Instant, through copse and heath, arose
Bonnets and spears and bended bows!
On right, on left, above, below,
Sprung up at once the lurking foe;
From shingles grey their lances start.
The bracken-bush sends forth the dart,
The rushes and the willow-wand
Are bristling into axe and brand,
And ev'ry tuft of broom gives life
To plaided warrior arm'd for strife.
That whistle garrison'd the glen
At once with full five hundred men.
As if the yawning hill to heaven
A subterranean host had given.

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Watching their leader's beck and will,
All silent there they stood and still.
Like the loose crags whose threat'ning mass
Lay tott'ring o'er the hollow pass,
As if an infant's touch could urge
Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain-side they hung.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side;
Then fix'd his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James-"How say'st thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true ;

And, Saxon,-1 am Roderick Dhu!"

Fitz-James was brave :-Though to his heart
The life-blood thrill'd with sudden start,
He mann'd himself with dauntless air,
Return'd the Chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly plac'd his foot before:-
Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I.'-
Sir Roderick mark'd-and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprise,
And the stern joy which warriors feel
In foeman worthy of their steel.
Short space he stood-then wav'd his hand:
Down sunk the disappearing band!
Each warrior vanish'd where he stood,

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