224

SCOTT'S LAY

DETACHED VOLUNTARIES.

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 of 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."- p. 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 sug gested. 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!
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!

IMPROVEMENTS ON THE OLD ROMANCE.

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 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;

225

Enough he died with conquering Græme."— p. 93, 94.

There are several other detached passages of equal beauty, which might be quoted in 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

226

SCOTT'S LAY

ADMIRABLE PICTURE OF

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 in Branksome tower;

And the Ladye had gone to her secret bower;
Her bower, that was guarded by word and by spell,
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."

- p. 9, 10.

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

FEUDAL MANNERS AND FEELINGS.

"Can piety the discord heal,

66

Or staunch the death-feud's enmity?
Can Christian love, 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 matrons 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."— p. 12-15.

227

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.

228

SCOTT'S LAY-IMPROVEMENT ON OLD MINSTRELS,

66

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 way 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.

p. 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 invalu able elements, which are necessarily unknown in a period of greater simplicity. The description of external objects, however, is at all times equally inviting, and